#not with any emotional debt but out of genuine curiosity

[your-local-hoemie]

ꕥgenshin impactꕥ boyfriend head-canons. Number 2 Liyue boogaloo~

The first one I did got so much attention like thank you so much, I’d die for you all ^^

No I didn’t put xiao first because I was too excited to write him and no I didn’t get carried away with his scenario. Shut up.

I’m still super busy, I kid you fucking not I’ve been trying to get fired but it isn’t working for some god damn reason and I’ve had like four hours sleep in total since my last request so I apologise if this is completely incoherent, I am rapidly becoming very unhinged <33

This was just for funsies and to keep me sane so I still apologise for not get to any requests at the moment :(

Summary: Just the Liyue boys as your S/O uwu

Warnings: fluff, swearing, established relationship, gn!reader, a little suggestive (childe), not proof-read.

Characters: Xiao, Zhongli, Childe (I know he’s from that Russian place I can’t spell for the life of me but shush).

I really wanted to do baizhu but I just pulled him and I wanna go through his story so I can really get his character traits, I’ll be doing my fruity baby in the future~

Xiao~

Oh my sweet baby

My boy

The man, the myth :(, the legend~

He’s the reason my standards are too high

Curse his pretty face

Absolutely oblivious before confessing

Everyone around him could tell how different he was around you

But no matter how much they mentioned it he’d just be like

“Adepti have no need for such feelings, you mortals have such foolish ideas and no respect”

Meanwhile he’s trying his best to stomach the cake you made him just because you made it for him

At first he genuinely thought you were kinda annoying lmao

Always being so nice to him and wouldn’t leave him alone

Only when you went away to Inazuma did he realise how much he grew accustomed to your strange daily rituals of bringing him qingxings that you picked yourself just to follow him around like a puppy

I actually don’t think he’d appreciate being given too much almond tofu

Even though he likes it better than any other food can you imagine being fed the same thing everyday non stop :/

Proceeded to ask his dad Zhongli for advice

He doesn’t understand why he feels all weird and tingly

Genuinely thinks it’s his karmic debt

Zhongli proceeds to be a shit and tell’s him to “find out on his own” for some kind of moral lesson or something idfk

When he accidentally brings it up with Goldet, things get fun

Well not really for him but for everyone else’s entertainment, yes

Even with exTREME reluctance he somehow gets roped into “how to express emotions 101” lessons

Has to practice having a full conversation with a scarecrow that Goldet ever so kindly dragged in for him :)

Embarrassed, Humiliated, overwhelmed

And yet still he persists for reasons unbeknownst to him

It isn’t until he overhears some rumours about a show down between the electro archon and a mortal that he realises he might like like you

That and the constant teasing and encouragement from Zhongli and Goldet

Boys distraught

First of all he can’t have feelings for someone

He’s just going to hurt you!

He has a duty to uphold!

Only after brooding to himself for a few days does he accept it

Take it slow with him please, he may be a demon killing yaksha but he’s so scared and paranoid

Red flags? Nah we colour blind here

When you get back from Inazuma it’s very clear that your patience is thin and energy being nonexistent

Fuck you tsurimi island I hope you burn

So seeing when returning to Wangsheng Inn to find the one person you’d be holding out to see after so long, not there and a letter left to you telling you to head to the top of gingyun peak

You were not happy to say the least

Thought it was another commission and almost didn’t go

Curiosity got the better tho and that’s where he awkwardly gave you his own qingxing flowers and a amusingly bad attempt at making your favourite food

Tries to hide how red he is

Seeing you cloaked in the moonlight, leaves and fireflies framing your pretty face~

Boys a mess~

He doesn’t even have to say anything, you just pull him in for a hug and after the initial shock of it he decides then and there that you’re now bound together <3

Rarely openly admits he loves you

Too scary

At least for the moment

He is a bird

So you know what that means?

Bird behaviour goobery activated~

Brings you flowers, pebbles, crystals and anything “pretty” he comes across during his day

Pda is a no unless you want him teleporting away and pouting for a good 48 hours because he got flustered

When you’re alone though he’s more open

Hand holding, forehead kisses, sometimes even cuddling if the planets align and his karma isn’t bothering him as much that day!

He’s so touch starved he just needs to get used to affection ;-;

Stalks you romantically

He just wants to keep you safe, he’s lost so much and gone through unimaginable pain

It took some time for him to be ok with you being so close to him since he’s scared of his karmic debt hurting you

Gets super red when talking about you~

“Hm? Y/N? Well they’re..um..very important to me I suppose”

Poof. he’s suddenly “needed” somewhere else

Even if it doesn’t seem like he cares too much I can assure you that he treasures you

You’ve given his life filled with pain and loss so much meaning and even though he’s bad with expressing his emotions he’ll always find some way to make sure you know how special you are to him <3

I don’t think he’d use much pet names

Either calls you by your first name/Qingxing/sweetheart/love.

Zhongli~

Mmm fancy gentleman

British but if British people weren’t a mistake

Sighs in being British

He’s such a gentle dude ;-;

Always pulling chairs out for you or kissing your hand while holding a door open

Don’t be mistaken though

He’s an absolute smug little shit

He just hides it very well

Teases you in the most unholy of ways only to look at you with confused innocent eyes

Impossible to be mad at istg

Sliced fruit dad™️

Teaches you how to traditionally make tea after he noticed you using tea bags

Genuinely mortified him

Likes to take you on walks around Liyue and tells you stories from his life as a archon

Speaking of which I’m 100% sure he was completely unhinged when he was younger

When he first realised he was falling for you he was the sweetest person

He’d take time to somehow “accidentally” cross paths with you and just so happened to be there if you needed help

Brings you the prettiest bouquets of flowers all personally arranged by him

He has experience to a certain degree

We all know the back story and if you don’t I’m not spoiling uwu

When he decided he had dragged it on for long enough he decided to finally confess

Surprisingly nervous

Man had to keep adjusting his collar and tie and absolutely wasn’t sweating just a little

Made casual conversation while walking with you to that big crystal tree where he kept his traumatised dog

Held both of your hands right as the sun spilled golden sunlight across the mountains and probably end up cupping your cheek with the softest smile ;-;

“I have witnessed many beauties in my time but the warmth of your smile truly is the most awe inspiring sight I ever have and ever will lay eyes upon”

Xiao gets so tired of hearing him brag about you

Even Hu Tao is wearing thin 💀

Doesn’t get jealous

He knows he has nothing to worry about between his trust for you and his not very subtle ego

Tries to be better at earning and holding money just because he wants to treat you!

Doesn’t want to give Childe the luxury of knowing his money is the cause of your happiness

Not that it necessarily is anyway

It’s just the experience of seeing how your face lights up when you try that really expensive food you always wanted or find that adorable plush you’d been eyeing up, on your bed

But of course that being said it’s truly the small things you both enjoy the most

The walks and stories

Teaching him how to be more accustomed to mortal life

He loves to hold your hands or pet your head!

Also loved it when you randomly peck his cheek or nose when he’s being adorably oblivious

Good luck to anyone who tries to hurt you btw

Man will summon his pillar so far up their ass they’d legally be a lollipop

That’s a threat I swear

If you come home hurt he’ll immediately roll his sleeve up and grab the first aid

Probably scolding you for not being careful enough but he really can’t keep the act up for long

He’s just worried ;-;

He’s lived for so long

You don’t even begin to understand how much he adores and admires you for bringing excitement and warmth back to his life~

Pet names are darling/dear/love/sweetheart/jewel.

Childe~

Someone slap him please

I love him but good god

Clingy™️

I know deep down he’s a really nice boy and very soft very caring yes very nice 10/10 boyfriend

But you need to housetrain him

Dead ass would sit on the couch covered in blood and put his feet on the coffee table and get so confused to why you were mad 💀

Do not flirt back

Don’t even attempt it

Not unless you want to encourage him and make it 20x worse

You will nEVER live it down

Is actually very sweet though, if not a little dumb sometimes

Immediately knew he liked you the second you met

How did he go about showing he liked you?

Pestering you constantly

Buys you lots of things too

Have to literally threaten him to stop

Which ofc turns him on hardly works

There’s really no winning with him

That is until you realise you can bring the mighty Tartaglia, 11th of the Fatui Harbingers to his knees by just kissing his cheek or holding his hand

He’s so immune to his own teasing that he forgot to consider that affection is a pretty good way to get people to warm up to you

Jealous boy

Well sort of

He trusts you but he gets easily insecure under his cronchy ego front

Casually talks about the most fucked up shit and then laugh it off

Indirectly asked Zhongli for help confessing

Reluctantly Zhongli finds out your favourite food/hobbies/Ect.

Yeah help him but not Xiao, betrayer

I’m not getting salty at my own headcanons shut up

When he invited you to dinner, you already knew why

He’s not subtle

Quiet is the last thing he can do well without cracking up every now and then

Either that or it was the candlelit table surrounded by roses that had been set up for you near the harbour and a very nervous ginger waiting for you with the biggest, goofiest grin imaginable

He’d be on his very best behaviour ;)

Stares at you in the candlelight before you ask him what’s up in hopes to make the tension a little less overwhelming

“I have won countless battles but none have meant quite as much to me as winning your heart does”

Congrats on become Liyues new power couple

He’d be lying if he didn’t feel at least a little smug seeing people gawk at you both

You’re so pretty together, how can they not?

Some dude tried to hit on you one time while he was drunk

Somehow Dottore magically ended up with a new play thing

When he introduced you to his family he was so happy!!

Tonia, Teucer, and Anthon all adore you!!

He does get a little jealous though when you play house with Teucer and you tease him by purposefully refusing to be his spouse

Good job keeping that act up for too long

Has absolutely sent piles of letters to his family telling them all about you!

His parents probably know pretty much everything there is by now

Though if you have boundaries he’ll respect them :)

He loves to show his affection to you no matter where you are!

Teasing kisses, hand holding, hugging

He’ll often barge into your room and plop his head down on your lap just so you can play with his hair while he talks~

If you fall asleep then he’ll wrap you all up and cuddle you uwu

Had to decide if he should tell you about his occupation

He was so scared that you’d leave him or become scared ;-;

Sure, you and the fatui aren’t exactly on close terms but it’s different with him

When you asked to have some time to think he was terrified

Please give him hugs and reassure him when you return

He’s even seemed to calm down a little since you got together

Of course he’s still a battle crazed maniac that gets hard just off the thought of being challenged

But he’s devoting more of his time to cherishing you and spending time together <3

Gets so excited when you ask to spar him

Does the whole thing where he’ll stand behind you while he shows you how to hold his bow

All steamy and shit

Elbow him

You also have to admit his status has its plus points

You never have to worry about being in danger while on commissions or having enough mora to survive

Romantic idiots 3.0

Though you’re probably a little less unhinged

Probably not by much if you’re dating him tho~

When you’re tired or don’t have the time to deal with his neediness he’ll go full pout mode

All whiny and touchy

Give him a head pat and a kiss that lasts maybe a little longer than it should and he’ll satisfied

Expect for the times he carries you back home to enjoy your attention a little more~

Honestly a 50/50

He always makes sure to tell you how much he loves you and how much happier you’ve made his life~

If you look close enough you might even see a slight sparkle in his deep blue eyes that never used to be there <3

Pet names areeee: cutie/babe/baby/honey/droplet/spark/love

I know xiaos was long enough to be it’s own post but let me have my silly little obsession with my silly little traumatised men!

[boykink]

i adore being a freak who is just under the radar enough to fit in with normies

[wesimpforxiao]

Say My Name and I’ll Be There: 8.3; Lantern Rite Part 2

Author’s Note:  Happy Valentine’s Day ;)

........

--Can feel your emotions...emotions cannot be permanently ignored...fall on deaf ears...early grave... Xiao scoffed and downed the rest of his tea before forcefully setting the cup back down onto the table. "You think admitting my alleged feelings for a mortal human would solve the problem?"

"She's done her part, now it is your turn," Zhongli straightened. "If you fail to do so, I fear she will perish from your karmic debt in no time at all. If what you say is true, it's a miracle she's still alive. Your admittance would seal the bond, as it would eliminate the side effects altogether."

Xiao's head whipped in the direction of the playing of an instrument note, but was only greeted with the joyful screams of children running around nearby. "Tch. How annoying," he played his mishearing off and returned to his normal sitting position.  A few beats of silence passed before he spoke again.  "I would only be prolonging her untimely demise.  If we stay together, if she stays by my side, my sins will affect her with or without the bond."

"That is correct."

The archon was never one to sugarcoat things.  "It would be selfish of me to admit to those emotions, selfish to indulge in them--she would die at my hand."

"Yes."

"Then why should I seal the bond, if us getting closer seals her fate?"  The yaksha's voice nearly cracked, but he hid it well with his piercing gaze as he questioned his master.  "Why?"

"How long do you plan on protecting Liyue?"

The random question made the yaksha falter.  "For as long as our contract endures."  What a silly question--it wasn't even for debate.  It was his duty to protect Liyue, to absolve his sins and pay thanks to the archon that redeemed him.  Why would Zhongli bring it up now?

"How much longer can you protect those who reside in Liyue?  How long until the cracks begin to form within you, too?"

'Just as my fallen friends...' Xiao searched his master's eyes for a moment before parting his lips.  "I--"

"I do not know the end of your story, Xiao, but I brought your unruly fate upon you.  When the time comes for you to face the same darkness that's consumed you, you cannot face it alone."

.........................

Zhongli watched the three of you push your way through the crowd to greet him, his eyes narrowing at you in particular.  "I see you have found your other teammates," he nodded approvingly.

"Yeah."  You hadn't stopped scanning the crowd, and didn't so much as look his way despite being prodded by Aether.

"Something's wrong with her," the boy warned Zhongli.  "She's not--"

"Do not concern yourself, traveler.  She will be just fine."

"Huh?"  Paimon grumbled.  "What do you mean by that?  Have you no concern for her?"

"We've convened earlier today.  I will inform you, but first..." His eyes slid back to you, and he raised his voice to catch your attention.  "You wish to see him?"

"Hm?  U-um, yes..."  His piercing gaze saw right through you, and it was an uncomfortable feeling.  "What?"

"I'd advise you to leave the harbor," he nodded to the mountainside that was on the other side of the city gates.  You nodded a quick thanks before running away at full speed.

I'm here, Xiao.  But the yaksha didn't need to hear your impolite prayers to know that you were, when he could hear the distinct conversations of the people you ran past even though he was literal miles away from the harbor.

..............

You felt him before you saw him.  Sitting on the rocky hill that overlooked the guarded entrance of Liyue Harbor, you peered over your shoulder to find the one person you had longed to see all day.  The yaksha stopped in his tracks when you met his eyes.  

"What...are you doing here?"  It was like he was uncertain if he was hallucinating, eyes narrowing cynically as you stood to greet him.  It was clear that he was weary from his day-long battle, but any pure exhaustion was hidden behind his tough façade.  

"Childe brought me back for the Lantern Rite," you caught him snarling when you said the harbinger's name.  "I--"

Your vision was suddenly obscured by his face once he appeared before you at the speed of light.  His hand gingerly traced your cheek, a rare gentleness, a fondness seeping through his cynical eyes.  You hadn't realized how much you had been craving his touch;  your hand kept him from removing his from your cheek.  How long had it been?  Two weeks? It had to have been three by now, but it felt like an eternity from how much you had to deal with Childe or watch people die.

Real, Xiao's lips twitched into an unnoticeable smile, but the light in his eyes was bright as day.  The two of you stood with foreheads pressed together for who knows how long until the yaksha was the one to pull away and regain his neutral composure.  His eyes floated to that of the dark ocean before landing on the small lantern that sat next to your viewing rock.

"They'll be releasing them soon," you say, noticing his gaze.  "I meant to make two, but it turns out its REALLY hard to make them..."

"Mm."  He acknowledged you before sitting on the left side of the rock, silently prompting you to join him.

You did.  "H-hey, is that blood?"  You finally noticed the smear on his right cheek, worry entering your voice.  "Are you okay? Here, let me see--"

"It's not mine."  Xiao leaned away from your hand and wiped the smudge away himself.

Back to pushing me away, you faltered back, wavering eyes refocusing their attention on the black horizon to distract yourself from the hurt that panged in your chest.  You sat on your hands as if to close yourself off from him--to restrain yourself from invading his personal space.

I did it again.  Xiao inwardly cursed himself out for causing the sad look in your eyes.  It's not like he meant to.  He's too used to shutting people out for their safety; he's too accustomed to being alone.  Xiao watched you out of the corner of his eye before finally gathering the courage to speak.  She needs to know.

"I need you to understand," he started, sending you a brief glance before facing the ocean again.  "Yakshas accumulate karma from the eons of slaughter we're tasked with.  It eats away at our souls, corrupts us, or drives us mad.  We become the monsters we're meant to destroy.  Outsiders, companions, anyone who gets too close, will share and suffer that karma.  It is why I order you and Aether to leave, and it is why I keep everyone at a distance."

You watched him continue to carefully sort his thoughts out.  He's never talked so much without your prompting.  

"None of us have had, nor will have, a happy ending.  This is our fate.  And it will be your fate too, if you continue to stay at my side.  The karma I've accumulated will only grow in future years, and you won't be a stranger to it."

Your shoulders dropped.  Is he...Is he going to leave me completely? Is he going to push me away for good?

Xiao heard your worries, and he briefly met your eyes again.  "Could you still love a yaksha, while knowing this information?  While knowing your fate will be sealed, and you won't find peace?"

"Of course."

"This isn't a light decision," Xiao admonished and rotated his body slightly to face you.  "You cannot--"  Do humans not understand danger?

"Xiao."  The determination in your eyes made his next words stick to his throat.  "I've already thought about it long and hard.  I've seen your past.  I've felt some of your pain.  Even if this bond thing doesn't 'seal'--whatever that means--even if I am stuck with hearing those awful voices for the rest of my life, I will never be able to stop my feelings for you.  Even if you don't return my feelings.  I've come to accept all of it."

Could Xiao bring himself to admit his feelings if there was a high chance that fate would set its cruel sights on you?  You could say all this now, but you've only felt the karma for a month.  What happens in a year from now? A decade? A century?  Your life wouldn't be as short as a humans because of his blood...Could he find it in him to confess if you were driven mad and he, ridden with guilt from causing your downfall?  Sealing the bond wouldn't guarantee that the voices would leave you, and it definitely wouldn't make you immune to his karma.  Xiao had thought he had decided on confessing, but now that he saw that raw, naïve determination in your gaze, maybe it was better that he kept it to himself for your safety--

"Do you trust me, Xiao?"  His attention snapped back to you.  "You felt my love for you in Zapolyarny Palace, didn't you?  If you did, then you know my feelings are genuine..."

That's right...your feelings were so warm back then, and the way you had hugged him close...He felt his own version when he had heard your moonsong.  'How long can you continue protecting Liyue? When the time comes for you to face the same darkness that's consumed you, you cannot face it alone.  Zhongli was righ--Archons, forget it.  You had never lied to him, and he doubted you'd ever plan on doing so in the future.  You were still just as stubborn as all those years ago on your deathbed of bloody soil; that aspect of you never changed.  And if you were this stubborn, it wouldn't make sense for him to label your decision as a half-hearted, half-thought out answer.

Xiao examined you carefully for a silent minute, not quite listening to the words that flew out of your mouth.  He didn't know how much longer he could stand tall against the swarms of darkness that swirled in his heart; he liked to think he could do so for another millennia, but that could change with one wrong move, one wrong thought, or one misplacement in willpower.  But maybe as Zhongli said, he could find a new purpose, a new ray of light that could help him continue his duty if the day for evil to overwhelm him ever comes.

The yaksha couldn't quite find a place in the mortal realm, but he was curious on how it worked, how the humans were, what kind of customs they created.  His karma made it impossible to quell that curiosity, and equally as dangerous for mortals.  But he met you, that four year old girl that didn't do anything but provoke his curiosity and longing for kinship further.  And then he really got to know you, all those months ago--what made you tick much like the other humans, the way you smiled, how you had the same sense of humor as him, the aggressive and the kind sides of your personality that clashed together to form this perfect, messy example of how humans worked.

Maybe he found out where to start when it came to you mortals, and that starting line was with you.  You shone at the end of the tunnel, a beacon for safety and dare he call a symbol of peace that he could come home to.  Xiao's eyes never left you as you continued to ramble on.

"--Then, I suppose, I could love you."  The yaksha muttered the words like they tasted sour, but his eyes were soft when they landed on you.

"I--You--Huh?"  You had thought he was trying to pull away from you for good, but this? He was confessing?  Your oblivious mind wouldn't have guessed this would happen...So this is what Zhongli was inferring earlier!

"What?"  Xiao narrowed his eyes and looked away as if he were embarrassed.  "It's not that significant," he pouted.  "Humans are flustered too easily by the smallest matters."  Despite his crimson cheeks and beet-red ears, he found it difficult to fight back a smile when he saw the ridiculous look on your face.

"You..."  Faint lights shone down on your little moment, and you glanced up to find that the lanterns were being released.  "Wow, look!"  You rose to your feet and stared at the distant lanterns before remembering that you had one of your own.  Your gaze dropped to it, and an idea struck you.  "Xiao...would you like to do this one together?"  You picked it up and lit it with the match you had in your pocket.

"I still don't understand why humans discard their trash into the ocean," he muttered before standing as well.  He watched the small flame burn brighter as it sat in your hands.  "What's the point?"

"The lanterns represent our wishes and thanks to the adepti," you explained and gestured for him to take hold of the other side of the lantern.  He reluctantly did so, but curiosity overcame him and he patiently listened to you with a slight childlike wonder in his eyes.  "As for why we chose lanterns, I think it's just because they're pretty."

"Hmph."

"Do you have any wishes for the archons?  We're supposed to write them on the lantern," you pulled a small pen out from your back pocket and uncapped it, offering the other end to him.

"Adepti don't go by your mortal ideals," he scoffed.  

His clear distaste for your question drew a laugh from your lips.  "I figured there was no harm in asking again! Okay.  Even if you don't have a wish, let's release it, yeah? One, two, three..."  The two of you gently pushed the lantern into the air, where it slowly made its journey to join the rest of its companions that now floated all around you.  

"You didn't write your wish," he commented, his brows furrowing in confusion.  How dare you ask him to write a wish, yet you did no such thing.  The hypocrisy of humans!

"Why would I need to if it already came true?"  You gave him a smirk before facing the sky.  "They're so pretty," you marveled, nearly making yourself dizzy from staring straight up.  "Don't you think so?"

"Mm."  He agreed, but he was only looking at you.  It took you a few minutes before you could gather the courage to return his gaze, feeling his stare while you watched the lanterns sparkle like the stars.  Well, it was also when your neck got tired.

You returned your eyes to the yaksha only to find him staring hard at you with an unreadable expression.  "W-what?"

"You're serious about me, even if it ends up killing you?"  He still couldn't understand why...Wouldn't self-preservation be what everyone chooses when put in a perilous situation?  Is this human stupidity, or is there some type of logic behind your trust that he failed to grasp?

You blinked, facing him fully.  "One hundred percent."  I don't need to think twice about my answer, but he's still concerned about me?  "Xiao, do you trust me?"

He didn't answer and instead approached you after a few beats of silence until you almost breathed the same air.  He was visibly struggling with something, but as for what, you had no idea.  He allowed himself to slide a hand through your hair and play with the strands before it settled against the nape of your neck.  He pulled you closer until his lips grazed across your eyelids.  He ignored the shocked gasp that left your parted lips and let his brush across your other eyelid before they settled against the spot between your brows.

He then pulled away, his head resting against your forehead, and for a second you wondered if any of that was real until you managed to snap out of your daze.  "D-did you just...?  Xiao...?"

[arkt-nehrim-archive]

                         A Story in Spring : Renewal {1/3} 

"I have a proposition for you."

The walls of the fallen seraph's humble hut had so far been something of a passive comfort, yet Lithirill found no sense of ease.  Her host, and fellow Tel'lmaltath could certainly tell, eyeing her with some hint of concern, slowly rising to his full height, turning to face her once the fire had suitably caught. "Go on."

The encouraging mannerism was commonplace in their interactions thus far, but it didn't do much to make her desirous of speaking her mind, as images played in her head of all she had been plotting in secret, only thinking to bring the matter to him when she -knew- beyond a doubt she could -achieve- her goals. "It is a...personal matter, to you specifically.  I hesitate to even ask, truthfully." At that notion, her company raised  a sculpted brow. How he might've read her words differed from what she seemed to mean by her body language; a normally stood straight, confident woman now half hunched and barely maintaining eye contact.  He simply watched, resting a hand along his hip. It was the only prompt to continue she was going to get. "...Right.  -Arkt-.  I will speak plainly." even then she hesitated, a sigh accompanying an expression of complete honesty, "...I want to reconstruct your wings. I would see you fly again."  

There weren't many things reality could offer him that still surprised, but that had done it, the gentle carefulness in her tone most of all. It wasn't just an offer, but a plea. Arkt's gaze fell to his floorboards, called back to the moment she had seen the tattered remnants, and the conversation that followed where he learned much and more about the individual he chose to champion. Her perseverance in the face of impossible odds had ensured his second chance at freedom from past mistakes, yet here she was still giving. It was not debt fueling her either, but desire, leading him to a thought forgotten sensation; confoundment.

Lithirill only fidgeted in the quiet, narrowing her eyes in passive calculation, half braced for some kind of impact. It took him some several moments to recover, clearing his throat. The ever-present ache at his back he'd still struggled with flared up. Even to this day, the injury pained him, centuries "dead" had been his only reprieve.

"You are firmly familiar with the reasons I lost them in the first place..." he began, watching his company instinctively tense, ready for rejection; instead he would give her a question, "Knowing that, I must ask -why-? To what end would you go to such efforts?" Asked with genuine curiosity, over any manner of accusation; he suspected her of nothing.

Lithirill nodded, crossing her arms and easing her weight onto one leg. "History was one among a few reasons I have debated asking. As for why, well. I feel there are certain wrongs afflicted to those I’ve come to care for, and it is within my power to unravel those wrongs.”

Arkt watched her carefully crafted mask slipping, the woman ever at odds with herself. He wondered if there would ever be a time where she did not engage in the practice, and simply felt at home in his company.

"As you did with Arantheal?"  he questioned, curious to see if he could keep her at that boundary.

Lithirill puzzled over the question for a moment, pondering if it was harmless comparison or an accusation. Foolish to think it the latter, knowing Arkt had no history of resisting her intent.

"...Yes. As I did -for- Narathzul." She corrected, offering a sideways nod and a shrug, "Know I don't need an answer -today-. I only wanted you to know that the idea lingered in mind long enough to...plan for.”

Ultimately, Arkt was touched. Shock still kept a whirlwind of emotions at bay at the mere hint of taking to the skies again, permitting the warmth of the smile behind his veil to only grow as he watched her. She was not having so easy a time, clearly having wrestled with herself on the matter for awhile.

"Is this what has kept you from your usual visits of late?" he wondered, gesturing with a hand in a motion pushing down from his midsection;  'Relax.' he said silently.

Her eyes followed his hand, flicking up to his face like the lash of a serpent's tongue before she took in a breath and let it out, chuckling to herself.  

"In part. Alongside the politicking and the visits somewhere warmer. Thoughts?"

He sighed through his nose as he partly answered with the considering tilt of his head and a prolonged shutting of his eyes, continuing to chew on the notion.

"Too many to rightly voice in a manner composed or remotely understandable. Would you mind returning to Castle Darlan for the moment? I'll have an answer for you come the evening."

"Of course.~"

The professional manner in which she pulled herself together and turned from him showed a wall climbing between them that he had no patience for, the old seraph chuckling when she moved to open the door.

"Lithirill."  

She twitched, shoulders bunching as her fingers fumbled at the doorknob, before she straightened again and smiled a familiar, shy curve over her shoulder. Her eyes lit up a touch when she saw he’d pulled down his veil.

"Yes?"  

"...Thank you."  he spoke, genuine appreciation clear in his expression.

A hint of color, and the wall scattered; his only goal in the moment. She departed with an amused, "See you soon.", quickly on her way.

                                                   ~~~ As promised, Arkt had arrived that evening, uncharacteristically anxious, but Lithirill could hardly blame him. She could not imagine the weight of what her offer truly meant to him.

In times long gone, the loss of his wings, however deeply traumatic, had served a purpose; symbols had power, as much in their creation as their destruction and his fall signaled the end of an era where the Lightborn could rule without fear of repercussion. Yet now that all his battles were over, and this new life lay before him...

It was not long before the old seraph was waxing poetic, teetering back and forth in his words, as was his way. He all but danced between every sentence- whilst Lithirill only offered more wine when his glass neared empty. She refused to rush him in coming to a decision, simply enjoying his company, equal parts devilishly curious and genuinely empathetic.

Such camaraderie came to it's end at the dawn of the following day, Arkt admitting in the quiet of the morning fog that he accepted her offer; even with her many warnings of risk and pain, he had seen firsthand what she was capable of; he knew he was in good hands, even if a fair few of her achievements were with his shadowed aid.

Two weeks had passed since he agreed to her offer, wasting no time in getting started. The first bout had been the hardest thus far- having not yet known just how -much- it took to render a seraph numb, and having the unfortunate task of plucking the feathers he still had. A meticulous, painful, unexpectedly bloody process...but it was safer to start with a clean slate than try to rebuild all that was under them when half the limb had been shorn down to bare bone.

Trippling the dosages from there made things much easier, at least for Arkt. His struggle was not with pain in the familiar sense now, it came instead from a nameless sensation;  the agonizingly slow return of what should never be, able to sense every -tiny- thread of what was lost reconnect. It was as torturous as it was euphoric, and it could only be overcome by sheer force of will.

Tonight would be no different. Lithirill had learned his tells after a few sessions. When in the throes of her spell work, she could spare little attention for observance, but awareness returned as she dialed back, murmuring gentle nothings mostly for her own comfort; though it signaled to Arkt he could stop taking such measured breaths.

The touch of the Sea crept away like the retreating tide, Arkt opening hazy eyes, idly stretching his fingers.  He knew well enough not to move until his companion told him to do so, watching her over his shoulder. There was a slight notion of fear that kept him from immediately looking upon his wings, naked and ghastly as they were. He only had eyes for Lithirill's face, noting the knitted brow and how she clicked her tongue when observing progress, pondering how to proceed.

"I'd hoped to have had bone completely covered by now..." she lamented, drawing again the magicked circles that held his wings in subtle regeneration between sessions, "I've underestimated how deeply the burns go. I should’ve-”

"You need not fret, Lithirill."  Arkt spoke up, a look of assurance crossing fair features, "This shall take as long as it will take, and you have plenty to grapple with without adding the unnecessary elements of haste and worry.~"

"...Perhaps. Still, I don't savor putting you through further pain I could have avoided." she spoke idly, glad he could not feel it as she undid the slings above, gently moving the humble beginnings to rest on cushions whilst she worked tension from developing musculature.

"We went into this knowing it would be difficult. We will endure." he replied, his tone as much an attempt to comfort as it was a statement of fact; she was far too deep in it now to safely -stop-.  "Which for you to manage, requires heady use of those flasks behind you, as I recall."

It was a gentle, but earnest jab to not neglect her own health whilst taking care of him. She might have been Tel'lmaltath, but healing at -this- level for such prolonged bouts tested the limits of even legendary resolves, and Arkt did not fancy the idea of a Shadow God turned Oorbaya.

Satisfied with her ministrations, she sighed and nodded, letting her hand trail down his back as she turned and gingerly stepped away to pluck a flask of Ambrosia from a stockpile. The edges of a smirk tugged at his lips as she made a show of drinking half the vial like it didn't taste awful, raising both brows at him in a silent 'satisfied?'.

"...-Thank- you." he muttered, humming a chuckle, "Do not lose sight of your own well being in concern for me. I must stress, we have nothing but time."

Lithirill tilted her head at him as her eyelids drooped, well accustomed now to the odd heated popping in her ears as the Ambrosia did its work, blanketing the red pressure in her head and quieting the skittering under her skin.

"-Now- whose fretting?" she teased, setting down the flask so she could help him to stand, not letting his wings droop as she supported them from the base, "I don't intend to go hurrying into the arms of the Blue Death, I promise. Come now.~"

Twas a short jaunt to the spare bedroom within her personal quarters, Arkt leading the way and Lithirill matching his steps. The seraph counted his blessings that his pride could not be so easily wounded as she settled his wings into yet another set of slings, these ones arranged to allow them to safely hang whilst he rested. He knew -she- worried about such mental troubles, but he was far too old and that much more taken by fascination in all she insisted upon doing for him to care for foolish things like shame.

"Tell me something, Lithirill." he said, eyes on her as she arranged the vials that would help him sleep, and come the morn, ease his pain,  "What do you suppose I'm meant to do in return for all of this?"  

The question was laced with an undertone of playfulness that reminded her of when the seraph had taken an almost catty tone in Arktwend, all but making -gossip- of the infatuation between those who'd brought Narathzul into the world. She could only raise a brow at him in plain curiosity, willfully stepping into whatever trap this might have been.

"That is hardly a matter to burden the likely recipient, don't you think?  Or am I -supposed- to be reading between some manner of line here?" The teasingly scrutinizing gaze she leveled upon him was nothing to the coy look he gave her beneath the messy strands of his hair, the two locked in a quiet contest before she relented; as she always did where he was concerned. "...ponder and plot all you like, my friend. But hold to that patience you've assured me with. I would say it is early yet to be planning anything more than recovery."  she offered.

Arkt sighed through his nose at that, uncapping the cork to her sleeping drought and drinking it down with a quick chaser of water. Her answer was as good as any. Ponder and plot indeed then.

"Fair enough. Rest well, when you find it."  he bid gently, offering only a smile. For a would be God according to most's definition, who had seen millennia pass and returned even from -death-, he seemed to be handling the life of a crippled patient quite well.

Lithirill could only take that profound patience and trust in her ability to heart; ensure no matter her doubts that she'd finish the job.

She returned the evening farewell and meandered to her own bed, falling upon it like a stone. All too swiftly would the sun rise, and the pair would be again until their great task of renewal was complete.   Lithirill could only hope she'd be done by Spring.

                                                   ~Fin~

[s4ijoh]

CHARACTER ANALYSIS. OIKAWA TOORU

DISCLAIMER: this is based on my personal opinion. you have every right to disagree.

WARNINGS: suggestive themes

early on his teenage years, i think oikawa would be one to often mistake having a crush with being in love. therefore, he falls out of love just as fast he fell in - but dont get him wrong, he is still treating his partners with the utmost respect during their time together but once realization hits him, he recognizes he is wasting his time and he is not sugarcoating it, he is leaving - he learns to not get attached to any of his partners because he has seen many of them come and go + will start to grow frustrated with all these hopeless relationships. so he learns to not take them too seriously. his relationships were mainly boring and, to him, always felt temporary, like they were always missing something, some meaning (ill mention this further on!!) 

so, it is true he gets out of a relationship as fast as he got into it: and i think this is where he might get his womanizer reputation from, although that couldn’t be further from the truth - he is not on a selfish quest to satisfy his needs, he doesnt see every girl as someone to conquer. i dont think he is one to actively look for a relationship - if the girl likes him and he thinks she’s pretty, once again, he might mistaken his crush for love and get into a relationship w her, only to realize, later on, that he was not actually in love with her - nor is he one to actively seek for sex, like he won’t seduce girls to get laid. it might eventually lead to that point but it usually happens because it just seems people cant resist his charms and he usually ends up going with the flow. he wont persuade people on purpose tho, hes just being his usual genuine charming and flirtatious self. but dont think im delusional, i know hes not an angel, he will sometimes flirt with people just for the sake of it, no second intentions tho he’s just finds it fun to tease them a little.

that being said i also believe he started messing around very early. (+ im not sexualizing a minor, we all know people are having sex b4 theyre 18 so dont even get me started, ffs). i see him as someone who is curious about sex and so when he got into his first relationship, both parties agreed they were ready so they were like,, well, why not? honestly, it was not too bad but it was not great either, he was disappointed for it was not as extraordinary as he had expected it to be. was this what people yearned for oh so desperately, he doesn't get it.

eventually, when his first girlfriend breaks up with him he doesnt seem all too phased and gets over it in a couple days. - we have seen that on the anime, when his nephew mentions that his girlfriend broke up with him, hes not that bothered although im aware it might as well been him trying to hide his pain but, for the sake of this story, i dont think this is the case.

he learns that despite all his curiosity, sex is not something that is essential to him. on future relationships, he keeps chasing after that ecstatic feeling everyone keeps talking about - he wants to know what the fuss is all about - but to no use bc still, he can’t quite put the finger on it but, he is never quite satisfied, it lacks something.

and this, ladies and gentlemen, is where it gets interesting. i very much believe that, that something, is a strong emotional bond with his partner! he is a gemini mars!! and, bear with me here, it takes a lot to keep him interested but when he has sex with someone that he truly loves... hes whipped. like, the experience is mindblowing, hes immediately wrapped around your finger!! he will put all his effort into making sure your relationship lasts and!! as i mentioned before, hes not one to give everything up for a one night stand or whatever womanizer/fuckboy behaviour people always portray him to have. hes not playing games, he would never break someone’s heart on purpose. and now, that he thinks he finally found the one, much less. he feels it in his gut, that this one is meant to last and he’s definitely not letting go of you!

you introduce him to a whole new world! hes getting butterflies every time you come around, hes never experienced this before? the feeling is so strong and this baby feels so overwhelmed. is this what falling in love feels like? he now gets what people meant about the beauty of being in love.

he is definitely seeing the world through rose tinted glasses, now that he is in love, the world around him is so much more beautiful. he has so much love inside of him that he projects it onto every little thing. he finds beauty in the colourful leaves falling to the ground when autumn is just around the corner and days are getting shorter and suddenly, his walks back home are not as dull for he finds comfort in the dimly lit street, watching as fireflies cling onto the warmth radiating from the streetlamps - yes he is a romantic!

you will find this man talking about you to all of his friends which, despite popular belief, didnt happen regarding his past girlfriends because he had more important things on his mind, had other priorities, but suddenly he is all you can think about, his mind is inundated with thoughts of you! he has an ! urge ! to talk about you, about every little detail he can remember about you; how you snore ever so lightly or how your hands are always warm. he wants to show you off to all his friends and wants them to see how lucky he is to have you. he won’t shut up about you but honestly his friends are so happy for him they wont mind his never ending babbling.

in the end, even though life might eventually send the both of you on your separate ways, he will always hold onto the way you made him feel - he will never forget you were his first true love - and he is so thankful that he got to experience it in this lifetime with you. he is forever in debt to you for showing him what it feels like to be in love. you changed his life, as dramatic as it might sound for once he has experienced this kind of bond he is never going back to his old ways, he now knows what devotion is all about.

[january3693]

The Long Con - Part 05 (A Someone We Used to Know Side Story)

This is outside of the main storyline of Someone We Used to Know, but it provides some insight into Sirius’s “missing” years. It probably won’t make much sense if you’re not reading the main story though, which you can find, along with the first parts of this side story on the Someone We Used to Know Master List.)

By necessity, there’s a certain amount of flexibility built into every confidence trick, especially long cons. Not even the best grifter in the world can predict every variable, every possible cock-up the universe might throw their way. Laverna builds her cons well, but the sudden addition of a teenage boy might be too much to work around even for her.

 Assuming, of course, that the boy in question survives the night.

 At the moment he’s unconscious on the sofa in Laverna’s hotel suite, a healer bent over him whispering spells. The healer’s hands shake. A side effect of the drinking problem that led to her dismissal from more reputable work. She’s making a mess of things, but it’s an effective mess.

 Beneath her trembling wand, flesh knits together, slowly, sloppily, crookedly.

 “He’ll live?” Laverna asks. She’s standing in the doorway separating the suite’s bedroom and sitting room, a very full glass of wine dangles temptingly from her fingers.

 The healer eyes Laverna’s wine as she finishes her spell. She nods, eyes still on the wine.

 “He’ll be in pain for a while, and there will be a scar, but he’ll live.”

 He’ll live, and he’ll be deep in Laverna’s debt for that.

 In the long run, she’s sure that will be a boon, but in the near future she foresees it causing all sorts of problems.

 First things first though.

 She sips her wine. The healer stares with obscene longing. “Make sure you clean up, then join me for a drink,” Laverna instructs.

 Bloodshot eyes fixate on the glass. The healer nods and does as asked. Good. Laverna hates cleaning bloodstains the Muggle way.

 She grabs the bottle and fills a generous second glass. It’s a waste of good wine on bad company, but it pays to be generous to someone so useful, especially when that someone is also usefully chatty.

 “Thank you for saving him,” Laverna says. There’s a soft tremble to her voice. If the healer misses that affectation there’s a matching dampness shining in Laverna’s eyes. She dabs at it with a tissue, intentionally letting it muss her mascara.

 Only after she’s sure her show has been noted does she hand the healer a glass of sangiovese.

 The healer drains half of it in one go then sighs happily and finally remembers a shred of manners. “Of course,” she says. “I’m glad I got here in time.”

 Laverna smiles, letting it tremble just enough. A strong woman trying not to show affection. A strong woman trying not to show weakness.

 Even drunks are plagued by curiosity.

 “Is he your…” She hesitates. She looks between Laverna and the boy, trying to calculate ages and potential relationships. Too young to be Laverna’s lover, too old to be her son.

 “My nephew,” Laverna supplies.

 She tops off the healer’s glass. There’s another bottle open and waiting in the wings.

 She sighs, forlornly, and lets her gaze soften as she glances back over at the boy still out cold on her sofa. “That boy, I have no idea what terrible sort of trouble he’s gotten himself into this time.”

 The healer drinks deeply.

 She glances at the boy on the sofa, purses her lips, and drinks again. Deeper than before.

 Laverna pours more wine and waits.

 Most of the second bottle is gone before Laverna gets to the meat of the matter.

 The healer is thoroughly drunk now, but not too drunk. Alcoholics are a delicate balance, but Laverna’s mother gave her plenty of practice.

 The healer nods, sympathetically.

 “I’m so grateful you were able to save him,” Laverna simpers. Another pour of blood red wine. “Have you ever seen a wound like that before?”

 The healer nods. She’s just drunk enough to be easily flattered, too drunk to be cautious, and not quite drunk enough to be insensible.

 Laverna hides a smile around the rim of her wine glass. She’s measured well.

 “Two years ago, at the hospital…” the healer says. She sounds genuinely mournful. “The girl was only thirteen…she didn’t make it.”

 No wonder the woman drinks.

 “Poor little witch,” Laverna clucks.

 “No,” the healer says, “not a witch. The girl was a squib.”

 Laverna’s face shows no surprise. It shows no fury. No sorrow. No empathy. If any of those emotions try to blossom beneath her façade, she tears them out before they can grow roots.

 “Tell me more,” she orders the healer as she pours the last of the wine into the other woman’s glass.

 This isn’t personal. Not for her.

 It’s just good business to know what sort of trouble you’re getting yourself into.

[of-tatooine]

mercy. | chapter 7 - unknown

you are a mystery he brought upon himself, one he is unsure if he wants to unfold.

It was not often that someone willingly put their life at risk for him.

Trust did not come easy in the remaining scorched earth with what was left of humanity shedding skin to reveal what had been suppressed within all along - greed, selfishness, the urge to spill so much red simply because it could, stealing, slaughtering.

To trust someone even for the slightest of seconds as you did so much as to look the other way, was signing off a death contract with your name on it, effective immediately. One look away, and there would be a rusty blade pressing dangerously deep into your throat. One single slip-up with the wrong person, and your head would be blown off - blood and brains coating the old paint. One wrong word out of your mouth, the slightest hint of information, and your entire camp would be slaughtered like pigs.

One moment of forgetfulness and get your throat chewed on by a freshly-turned, just like that little boy Sam would have done if they let him.

It was very much unlike the infamous, ruthless smuggler that he had molded himself into - everyone he crossed paths with knew he barely had any mercy for himself, let alone helpless survivors. He would try to reconcile himself and his thoughts by telling himself he only helped you out to have another pair of arms protecting over Ellie, knowing you would be indebted to him - had you tried to cross him or the little girl, one bullet in your skull would do the trick, wouldn't it now? Wouldn't it come as easy as breeze to put a bullet into the lone survivor he carried to safety?

Joel Miller knew, from the depths of his barely living fragments of his soul, that giving a second chance to a woman who had been in her deathbed was a complete and utter mistake.

It was yet another mystery to add onto his already confused state as to why that mistake had saved their asses willingly and relentlessly, more than once.

Who the hell were you?

The gruff man would internally curse something colorful, faced with yet another consequence of taking in a companion - the unknown. He knew of your first name, and that had been about it - the very simple limitation of his knowledge over you.

Another thing he had learnt about you earlier had been just how much of a fucking fighter you were - shooting men who belonged to one of the most dangerous factions on the face of doomed earth, like they were nothing more than target practice. Not a trace of hesitation to get to what you had wanted, even if it meant getting innocent blood on your hands, doing all of that with the remnants of lead lodged into your thigh from weeks ago. And not once did you back away from keeping an eye out for Ellie and him, leading the ghost of a good man inside him to believe that you were loyal to your promise. The survivor that engulfed his being only believed in that when you had taken the Firefly stragglers by your own, with him not even interfering as he watched the members of the very kin he searched for during this entire mission across the country get murdered.

Those two, now deceased, incapable stragglers were the least of his worries as he concentrated on the tension that having a stranger sit right beside him created - one who had been good as well as unpredictable with a pistol. In an attempt to ease his worries, he had taken the trusted revolver from you after the encounter - which was now tucked alongside his own on the side of his worn-out dark jeans, on his left hip.

All he needed to do was get to wherever the fuck his brother had holed up, safe and sound, and then tell you that you had been on your own from then on - that you had paid him back for saving your life, and you could disappear from the face of civilization for all he cared. Those fabricated scenarios were what he would tell himself, trying to make himself believe more than anyone, as if trying to hammer down a nail into sturdy wood - yet the nail would not go in, no matter how hard he hit.

Why would you, when you had been apparently more than capable of taking care of yourself, protect him and Ellie when you were not even asked to do so? Sneak inside with a recovering, trembling thigh and fight your way out to provide a means of escape, doing so without any help nor threat coming from his side?

He did not like questions he did not know the answers to, not one bit. He liked to be the one asking them, using any means necessary to obtain just exactly what he wanted. Sometimes, he did not even bother asking, instead opting to unholster his handgun. Above all, it had been the shoot and never ask questions mentality that got him this far into the end of the world.

Then why, for God's sake, was he repeating those same ones in his head, pondering possible answers that he so desperately needed at this point?

With Ellie dozing off into some deep slumber in the back, Joel's calloused hands gripped onto the steering wheel as he drove in steady gear, a void expression on his face relishing in the quietness of the atmosphere, the only sounds being Ellie's little snores and your soft breathing to accompany the low rumble of the engine.

The unwarranted companion in this scenario, you let your tired eyes wander around as the slightly damaged tires sled rather smoothly on whatever had been left from the cracked asphalt of the interstate.

It was a weird feeling, riding in an actual running car again, even though you were not in the driver's seat for a change. This time, you tried to make yourself as comfortable as you could on the passenger seat, extending your legs out to rest after being pushed to the point of exhaustion.

The slowly setting sun served picturesque views in front of you, casting the dashboard and everything around in a reddish pink hue, illuminating your features adorned with dried blood. The late summer heat, ready to surrender itself to the breezy night. Trees lined up ever-so-unkempt around the highway, stray abandoned cars scattered here and there along the way.

It was times like these, when the nature bestowed its beauty upon you at sundown, that took you back to the old world. How it all used to be. Enjoying the warmth of the fading sunlight without worrying about bullets whizzing around you. The days you would sip an ice-cold drink happily without checking for spore contamination first.

But for then, you counted your blessings. It had been pure luck that the man beside you had not killed you yet, pure luck that he let you live this long alongside of the duo just at the price of protecting them till they reached their God-forsaken destination - traded in with your precious life, that seemed like a fair deal you were willing to honor as long as it kept your head attached to your body.

You needed to stay alive first and pay your debt to this man - then, you would go after and find out about just why the fuck the Fireflies wanted you again.

It had been hours since you had infiltrated that suburban house to steal this truck you now rode in. The leftover adrenaline still coarsed through your veins, sending tingles over and around your body, which had been unusual given how habituated you had become with killing over the years. It was as if your body and mind were in unison knowing that these last two victims under your wrath had been no ordinary ones. They had been ones you used to drink and eat with, ones you used to belong to - members of your old allegience, tasked with findig you at all costs, merely obeying orders and putting their life at risk for the safety of the greater good. You had learned not to put remorse in your system as you took lives, yet a part of you ached knowing that they were only following orders just like you had been once upon a time.

The thoughts lurking on your mind were interrupted with the man right next to you clearing his throat in a low rumble, catching your attention and making your gaze turn towards him. His features supported an unusual curiosity, like he was trying to talk to you somehow yet was trying to pick just the right words, his jaw clenched beneath that peppered beard.  

“How you holdin’ up?” came his rumble of a sentence. Due to your survival mode fading off in a much, much slower pace than normal, the pain in your injured thigh came gradually, shots of shivers emanating through your entire body. In the haze of your thoughts, you did not even realize that your bloody fingers had been pressing onto the wrappings, tightening around the dirty fabric. The fucker had managed to pop off some of the scabs around your wound, thankfully the opening was not a threatening one - nevertheless, it hurt like someone was still poking at it, like someone was twisting and turning a rusty blade in it.

The stare in your orbs softened in slight appreciation of his concern - you could not give a damn if it had been genuine or not, there were not many people around who would even ponder asking. “I’ll manage. He got some good hits in.”

“Alright then,” he gave out in a tone that reflected his pensive state, opting to lay his elbow on the side as one hand kept on steering. The last remnants of pink sunlight reflected the greens in his irises mixed in with the gold as you held your stare for a second too long - it was the most you had ever looked at the man, after all, with the past weeks being nothing but pure survival and following their path against your will.

“Look, back there, in the house,” he started, voice gruff as ever as he casted a side glance at you. To your surprise, his orbs did not house hostility, rather had a softer gleam of an emotion you could not discern yet. “ - it was either them or us.”

Oh, if only he knew.

“And I appreciate it. Reckon we’ll arrive in a couple days - then we go our separate ways.”

To that, you could only nod slowly, your face devoid of emotion. You could not blame the man - even though he was the one asking for some sort of payment for your life, no survivor wanted a stranger tagging along for more than necessary. The words uttered out of his lips, however, were no threat - they simply remarked the fact that you did not belong there with them, you were there out of sheer need of guarantee and you would be left alone again very soon.

Only this time, as you gazed at the fading orange skies, maybe being alone was not what your heart had desired.

[sassy-starker]

Running

A Starker Drabble

There was something oddly therapeutic about running away, about knowing that nobody has any clue where you are, about having no idea where you’re headed. Nobody on the street pays attention to you, because you’re just another stranger heading somewhere— heading nowhere— and nobody gives a shit about you or your life. There’s nothing significant about you, no feature that makes you stand out amongst the crowds as you wander through the towering building and blinding lights of New York City in the nighttime. There was— is— something therapeutic about running away, and Peter Parker knew that.

It wasn’t anything important; he wasn’t on the run from a terrorist organization or a life of crime or his debts to the mob. There was no reason for him to run, for him to think about getting out of New York and never returning. He shouldn’t be running, shouldn’t be leaving, but he just couldn’t bring himself to stay after he’d found out. When he walked into his apartment and found out that Quentin was cheating, he didn’t think about his options. His first thought was simply:

Run.

It was dumb, and he knew that. He couldn’t just run away from his apartment, from his home, and never face what had happened. He should go back and sit down with his boyfriend— ex-boyfriend?— and talk about it, but the more he thought about turning back, the more unappealing it sounded.

So, instead, he walked, head down and hood pulled up, along the dark streets of the city, ignoring the world around him, and the world ignored him right back. He had no clue where he was going or when he would stop running. He had his phone, a charger, fifty bucks, and a small container of chocolate hearts that he’d bought to give to Quentin when he came home that evening after work.

Coming across the stairs leading to the subway, he went down, the sound of his sneakers tapping against the concrete drowned out by the sounds of the city. Making it to the bottom, he jumped the gates, a skill he’d had extensive practice at as a teenager. Finally, he stood at the bottom, waiting for the next train to come.

The station was empty, the tunnels eerily quiet with only the faint sounds of the world above drifting down, muffled by the amount of space between him and the city. It was calming, in a way, just like running, with nobody there to stop him, no person there to tell him to turn back. He was in control, he could go anywhere.

He could go nowhere.

He heard the train before he saw it, the deafening sound of it coming down the tracks echoing through the tunnels. The glare of the front lights made him squint his eyes a little, but he didn’t turn away.

When it came to a screeching halt, the doors slid open with a creak. He stepped into the cart closest to him, which was nearly empty except for one man sitting in the corner looking down at his phone. Peter sat down on a seat about in the middle of the cart, across from the doors he entered through and a little to the left, so he was in the same half of the car as the stranger.

The runaway didn’t pull out his phone or close his eyes, instead staring straight at the windows across from him and watching the concrete tunnels and blazing orange lights go by.

Nobody got on at the next three stops.

Peter could feel the other passenger sneaking glances at him, but said nothing and didn’t spare him a look, sitting unmoving as he continued to just stare out the dirty windows.

Another stop went by.

“Are you okay?” the stranger asked.

The brunet startled a bit and turned to look at the man, who was gazing at him with eyes full of what appeared to be genuine concern.

“Yeah. Why?” Peter replied, tone turning

slightly defensive, but a voice crack betrayed his assurance of being okay.

“You just looked like you were disassociating and I didn’t want you to miss your stop or anything.”

“Well, I’m fine, so you don’t have to worry.”

“No offense, but that sounded so fake that I’m only worrying more.”

Peter sighed, closing his eyes and running his hands down his face before opening his eyes again and looking back to the man.

“I’m just having a rough night,” he admitted with a shrug, hoping he could leave it at that.

“I figured. Not many people are riding the subway this late because they’re having a great day.” His voice was slightly humorous, but there was still that tone of concern underneath. The brunet found it almost endearing how much this stranger seemed to care about him.

“Well, wouldn’t that mean that you’re here because of a shitty night too?” Peter shot back, praying it would shift the focus off of him.

“I am,” the man confessed with a slightly sad smile. “How about this: if I tell you why I’m here, will you tell me why you’re here?”

Peter mulled over it for a few seconds, weighing the pros and cons. The logical part of him said that he shouldn’t even be talking to a random man on the subway, as you never knew who you could trust in New York City, but his curiosity wanted to find out why this stranger was here. Eventually, he came to a decision.

“Sure. What could go wrong?” Peter told him with a shrug, trying to act uninterested. “Why are you on the subway at two am, talking to some random twenty-two year old?”

“I’m a businessman and my assistant got pissed at me because I might have ruined a deal for the company I work for and I couldn’t sleep because I was so worried about it.” The sentence came out easily, no hesitation in the man’s voice. It was obvious to Peter that he was telling the truth. “Now it’s your turn.”

“I came home from a late shift at work and found out my boyfriend of two years was cheating on me,” Peter confided in the stranger, voice quiet and tone sounding almost embarrassed.

The man paused, simply staring at the brunet with a concerned face, looking even more worried than before.

“I’m really sorry. Being cheated on sucks.”

“It’s okay. I just didn’t know what to do and all I could think of doing was running, so here I am.”

The car stopped at the next station. Nobody got on.

Tears slowly started to leak out of Peter’s eyes and he didn’t realize how much he had wanted to cry until that moment. Still, he began to furiously wipe them away.

“Sorry. I sound like such a baby.” The tears wouldn’t stop falling.

The man got up and walked over, careful to keep his balance as the cart rocked back and forth on the tracks. He sat down near Peter, one seat between the two, enough to be close, but also enough so the brunet didn’t feel trapped by him.

“You don’t sound like a baby. Being cheated on feels awful, and I know that from experience. I don’t know why you would think that it’s dumb to feel upset over this.”

“Quentin, my boyfriend, I mean, he always told me I was just being dumb when I cried over things, and I am. I’m being a baby over this whole thing. Instead of facing him, I just ran away.”

The man sighed, eyes gleaming with sorrow and a controlled rage.

“He sounds like a dickhead.” That got a light chuckle out of Peter. “You’re allowed to be upset. You’re allowed to feel emotions. The fact that you’re emotional over him cheating on you is completely normal. He’s a manipulative asshole for making you feel like you can’t be mad at him.”

“You really think so?” The absolute hope in the brunet’s voice was heartbreaking, so full of innocence and wonder.

“I know so.”

The cart fell back into silence for a few moments as it came to a stop at the next station. Nobody got onto the cart.

“I’m Peter, by the way. Peter Parker,” the brunet introduced himself, deeming the stranger trustworthy.

“Tony Riggs,” the man replied, lying through his teeth about his last name. After all, his company didn’t give a face to the name of their owner, and he wasn’t about to give up his identity.

“It’s nice to meet you, Tony.” There was a soft smile on Peter’s face.

“You as well.” Tony matched his smile.

The cart came to a stop at another station and Peter gave a small sigh.

“I should get off. I need to go somewhere. I hope I see you again, Tony.” He stood up and walked off, leaving the man, who was in a bit of shock as the brunet walked off abruptly.

Tony was a moment too late to stand up and call after Peter, but the brunet was already gone. He didn’t know where the boy had come from or where he was going, but he did know one thing.

He wanted to meet Peter again, and he would go to the ends of the earth and back to see that soft, rosy-cheeked face and puppy dog brown eyes once more.

Notes: this was slightly inspired by this short fic by @birdycurtains and partly by a story of me talking to a stranger on the subway who was very nice to me and helped me through some shit. i’m open to writing a sequel to this if y’all want!

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Brick Club 1.5.13 “Solution of Some Questions of The Municipal Police”

Oh man. This one got long.

The spectacle continues. Fantine and Javert do not walk to the precinct alone; they’re followed by all the jeering spectators that were watching the fight. They are still yelling, laughing, genuinely finding amusement in Fantine’s humiliation. Fantine has returned to the mechanical lack of self she had before the fight. In the course of this chapter we’ll see her continuously oscillate between outbursts of presence and self-assertive distress, and moments of frightened distance and emotional shut-down.

“Curiosity is gluttony. To see is to devour.” Hugo keeps reiterating this. One of the worst things, aside from being an actual antagonist, aside from being an actual actor in the ruin of a person, is to be a bystander, a rubbernecker. There are no innocent bystanders, and by standing there, watching, finding glee and entertainment in the suffering of others, you are part of the problem. Curiosity is good, when it’s curiosity in pursuit of a solution or an answer in order to help someone. Curiosity is bad when the interest is purely voyeuristic. (I want to know why Hugo decided to use “to see” (voir) rather than “to watch” (regarder) in this sentence.)

Hugo’s discussion of the relationship between sex workers and cops is so sharp. The police have complete control over what happens to sex workers, who they choose to let go and who they bring in, how they are punished and for how long. I imagine, in cases that don’t include Javert, there’s a lot of “I won’t detain you if you sleep with me etc” type behavior from other cops. (Perhaps this is why Javert is so scary; he can’t be bribed or convinced and doesn’t use his status as leverage like that.) The police can “confiscate at will those two sad things they call their industry and their liberty.” This line just gets to me. The only thing people as poor as Fantine feel they have left is their way of making a living, and their freedom to be alive. Everything is else is on loan or in debt. And the cops can take those last two things at any moment. Not only that, but their industry and their liberty are both intrinsically connected to their bodies. Their industry isn’t something they can leave at the end of the day; they are always existing within the body that is also the main component of their livelihood.

I don’t know enough about legal proceedings of the era, but Javert is judge and jury here, condemning Fantine all by himself to six months in prison. On the other hand, Valjean (and Champmathieu) must go to court at Arras in order to be sentenced. Is this Hugo doing his Artistic Liberties handwavy thing, or could this have actually been done? It seems odd that some people could be sentenced by a random policeman and others have to go to court in front of a jury.

“It was one of those moments in which he exercised without restraint, but with all the scruples of a strict conscience, his formidable discretionary power.” Javert is extremely aware of his role in all of this. What’s fascinating to me about Javert is that he isn’t going around convicting people willy nilly, randomly making up crimes and things to fit a quota the way cops do in present day. With Fantine (and later, with Valjean, and even with the Thenardiers) he sits and he considers and he thinks about what he’s witnessed until he’s sure he’s seen a crime. The problem is, his morals and opinions are so rigid and unchanging that he could probably find crime almost anywhere, because he’s completely inflexible about what things are good or bad. Also, this arrest of Fantine is apparently a “great” (grande, as in big) thing, which I find interesting. Prostitution is essentially legal, so perhaps for him it’s a big thing because he finally has a reason to arrest someone whose legal profession he morally disagrees with? Or perhaps Fantine isn’t registered while most others are? Or maybe it’s big because it’s not just an arrest of a sex worker, but of a sex worker who has committed violence against a well-to-do gentleman? I don’t know.

“He was conducting a trial.” Nearly every time Hugo uses this phrase, when an individual character is conducting a trial of someone or something else, the resulting judgement is incorrect or too extreme. This happened with Valjean’s trial against religion, Javert is doing it here and will do it again at the end of the novel, Marius sort of does it to Valjean after the wedding. Each time a person’s worth is judged by a single person, the judgement falls short.

Fantine is terrified of prison, but part of her fear isn’t prison itself, but the wages. She’s more worried about the welfare of Cosette than herself. This makes sense to me. To her, prison itself probably doesn’t feel like it would be too much more miserable than her current state. The only increase in her misery would be her worry for Cosette and her inability to pay for her daughter’s care.

“Without getting to her feet, she dragged herself along the floor, dirtied by the muddy feet of all these men, clasping her hands, on her knees.” What an intense image. This is the condition of poor women: forced to beg for mercy from men who have power over them, while crawling through all the problems caused by those men’s uncaring and manipulative actions, dirtied by the utter lack of assistance from anyone with the actual power to help, and scoffed at when they clasp their hands and kiss the coattails of their oppressors.

Fantine’s monologue to Javert makes me so sad because she goes back and forth between “I did nothing wrong” and “maybe I was wrong to react the way I did,” when her reaction was so completely right. She asks, “Do they have the right to throw snow down our backs when we are going along quietly without harming anybody?” and I feel as though, in Javert’s eyes, they kind of do, because he disapproves of her profession in the first place. Fantine also brings up her illness here and in her other monologues, never as an excuse or even as an attempt to elicit pity, simply as an explanation. She also says “I wasn’t immodest with him, I didn’t speak with him. That was when he put the snow on me.” She literally tells Javert that she wasn’t trying to engage with Bamatabois in any way, that she was completely ignoring him even as he tried to incite her. The last chapter doesn’t mention how long he was mocking her for, only that her pacing brought her back to his spot “every five minutes,” which means he must have been out there harassing her for quite some time before he shoved snow down her back and she snapped. And yet, here she talks herself in a circle, suddenly turning around and saying “Perhaps I was wrong to get mad.” It’s just so sad that she’s completely in the right and yet she doubts even that.

And Javert doesn’t hear a word of her explanation or her pleas. She realizes this, and instead tries to use Cosette. But this isn’t her using Cosette to save herself, this is using Cosette to save Cosette. She realizes that if she goes to prison she won’t be able to pay for Cosette. She tries to use her “poor starved child,” tries to ask for pity for Cosette. If Javert won’t pity her, a sex worker, maybe he’ll pity her as the mother of a little girl. But considering Javert’s childhood, he probably sees Cosette as equally as bad as her mother, because she’s the child of a prostitute, born out of wedlock, living in poverty with some random innkeepers two hundred miles away.

“I’m not a bad woman at heart. It’s not laziness and greed that have brought me to this; I’ve drunk brandy but it was from misery.” God, this line. I don’t even know who would think something like greed or laziness (but especially greed) could bring someone into this line of work. Maybe if she was, like, a well-known professional sex worker in a Paris brothel she could make good money, but as a random woman walking the streets in a garrisoned town? She clearly makes practically nothing. And poverty like this isn’t lazy at all. Every second not spent sleeping is spent trying to make money, worrying about being able to pay rent or debts or to find food or some way to keep warm or whatever. I hate that even today people still think poverty comes from laziness.

“Great grief is a divine and terrible thing that transfigures the wretched. At that instant Fantine had again become beautiful.” I don’t really know what to do with this line. It feels like a weird fetishization of poverty and suffering?

“She would have softened a heart of granite; but you cannot soften a heart of wood.” Why can’t you soften a heart of wood? Because wood only rots when it gets soft. I do find it interesting that Hugo calls Javert’s heart wooden, but uses statue imagery for him for the rest of the chapter.

Javert declaring that "The Eternal Father in person couldn’t help you now” is a heavy line. The law is above even god here. If god appeared right now and told him to free Fantine, Javert is saying he wouldn’t do it. A page later we see him reluctantly stand down to Valjean, which negates this statement, but it’s interesting that at this instant, he says wouldn’t even be moved to mercy by god. And it’s true, he’s not moved to mercy, ever. At no point is it ever his decision to let Fantine go. He does not bow to pleas for mercy, but he will bow to authority, even if he questioned it a moment before.

Valjean enters without being noticed and watches the exchange. I feel like this is a weird reversal of Hugo’s “to see is to devour” from earlier in the chapter. Valjean is watching, but not out of voyeuristic curiosity. He intends to actually act, to do something about what has happened and help someone who needs help.

Throughout the last few chapters, Fantine has grown rougher with each loss. Her speech and personality has changed, she drinks, she is louder, less polite, and more childish. She’s lost her “modesty” and with that any pretense. There’s no more masking. She’s not trying to fit in, because that’s not happening anymore.

Somehow I’ve glossed over this line each time I’ve read the book, but when Fantine spits in Madeleine’s face, Hugo seems to imply that it reminds Javert of his suspicions re: Madeleine’s true identity. Javert sees this action and makes the connection between convict-Valjean and Fantine, and instead of seeing the sacrilege of a prostitute spitting on a mayor, for a moment he sees an interaction between two outlaws of society: a convict and a prostitute.

I’ve noticed that Fantine talks to herself in reaction to being freed in the same way that Valjean talked to himself when Myriel was first kind to him/when the bishop told the gendarmes to set him free, and the same way Eponine talks to herself. There’s a marked difference between moments when characters “talk to themselves” but it’s obvious that it’s a narrative mechanic of them thinking in their heads, and when they actually talk to themselves while other people are present. For Fantine and Valjean, it’s in moments when they are in great emotional shock/distress that they speak aloud to themselves while other people are present. (I’m not sure what to make of that in terms of Eponine, who always seems to be speaking mostly to herself.)

Fantine starts out this monologue talking to herself, but then she turns it into talking to Javert. It’s interesting that her utter rejection of Valjean means that she’s actually turning to Javert to speak, despite being absolutely terrified of him only moments ago.

Fantine announces that she’s not afraid of Valjean. Of course she’s not; in her eyes he’s done everything to her that he can. He has caused all her suffering and doesn’t have the power to cause anything more. She’s still afraid of Javert because he still has the power to hurt and ruin her. He can fine her or send her to prison, and condemn her for as long as he likes. She doesn’t know anything about Valjean, except that she assumes he doesn’t care. What she knows about Javert is that he does care, only that care is on the side of punishment, not one of mercy. It’s interesting then that she continues to try and appeal to his better nature (one which he does not possess) or to his pity (which he also does not possess). She also continues to try and convince herself that it is Javert who has decided to let her go, not Madeleine. It’s almost as though she thinks that if she can convince herself that he’s the one letting her go, she can also convince him to actually do it.

Fantine’s monologues keep coming back to wages. She specifically criticizes the way that the prison contractors do wrong to poor people by paying them so little for so much labor. Her discussion of her own expenses is also still applicable to modern day. She still owes money to the Thenardiers, but she’s up to date on her rent. This is still the experience of the poor: you deal with more immediate expenses first, and debts come second, even as they continue to rack up.

Both Fantine and Javert are thrown off balance by Madeleine’s declaration. Fantine spends her entire monologue before attempting to leave trying convince herself that it is Javert that has let her go. It is only when she hears Madeleine confirm that he was the one who declared it that she is thrown off-kilter, having to reconcile her opinion of Madeleine with his (perceived) actions. Javert is thrown by someone in an authority position acting the way that Madeleine is; this is the first time we see him actually question authority and refuse to act on an order.

“...that order, law, morality, government, society itself, were personified in him, Javert?” This is the only time, I think, where Hugo implies that a character is consciously becoming a Symbol. The fact that Hugo even suggests the potential for Javert to see himself as the embodiment of law, morality, society, etc is unique, because no other character sees themselves as the embodiment of such big concepts. The closest might be Valjean seeing himself as a Bad Person Forever, but even that is a much smaller concept, in that Valjean is looking at his past self, not at himself as the entire concept of Criminals Everywhere. But Hugo only gives two choices when it comes to Javert: either he is questioning authority for the first time in his life, or he is consciously becoming a Symbol. It turns out to be the former, but both of these things are really extremely significant.To become a conscious symbol, or even to have the potential of becoming a conscious symbol, is a unique level of conceptual engagement for a character, almost like starting to break the fourth wall. And questioning authority is a First for Javert here, significant because it starts the ball rolling and he continues to question Madeleine’s authority from here on out, even if it’s only to himself and not to his face.

“The insult does not belong to him, but to justice.” Okay so Hapgood translates this line a little differently, but WOW I love this FMA version a lot. Just the idea that something as small as an insult doesn’t even get to belong to the person it was directed at, but instead can be entirely claimed by the law. Now, I know that this line is supposed to mean that Fantine’s insult to Madeleine was by default also an insult to justice due to Madeleine’s authority position, but I always read it as the law taking this insult for its own use. Like, “This societal outcast insulted someone, so now we can arrest her, because any sort of social indiscretion from someone like that belongs to the law” or “this insult, because it was made in the presence of police by someone in custody, now belongs to the law rather than her or her target.” (It also reminds me of modern day cops, who arrest or threaten to arrest people simply for hurting their little baby feelings despite doing nothing illegal.)

Fantine goes through a parallel struggle to Valjean here. The man she hated so much (Madeleine) was her savior, just as the religion Valjean doubted and hated had been his. I mean, literally they have the same “two paths, one of light and one of darkness” symbolism, the same angel/demon symbolism, the same conflict about whether or not they must change their whole soul and beliefs, the same absolute terror, and then the final feeling of hope and gratitude. She kneels in front of Valjean the same way Valjean knelt in front of Myriel’s door.

This is also the first time we see Valjean’s benevolence in speech, action, and monetary terms. He rescued Fauchelevent, but we don’t seem him speak to Fauchelevent after that despite the purchase of his horse and cart and getting him a new job. We never see him speak to anyone else that he helps, especially since his usual mode is Reverse Robbery (thank you Mellow for that term btw) rather than in-person benevolence. But we do get him not only rescuing Fantine from prison, but speaking to her, offering her monetary help, offering her pretty much any assistance towards happiness. I wonder if the difference between Valjean’s interaction here with Fantine, and his interaction with Fauchelevent or any other person he gives money to or helps, is that this is the first instance that he feels guilty or personally responsible. Every other act of charity, including Fauchelevent is just that, selfless charity just because. But this, Fantine, is Valjean righting a wrong that has been done. Even though it was without his knowledge, he still seems to feel responsible.

Once again, we have a moment of hope for Fantine that is immediately dashed. Fantine is free, she’s going to get her daughter back, she can leave her miserable life for something better, her debts will be paid, she can be happy. Only she faints, and she spends the rest of her time in hospital until her death.

[kittinoir]

Phantoms Ch. 1

Read on Ao3

“I know my actions in the past have hurt many of you. I understand forgiveness may be asking too much. All I’m asking for is a chance to prove to you, my beloved city, that I’ve made a change, and for the opportunity to regain your trust.”

Marinette bit her lip as Chloe Bourgeois’s voice on-screen was drowned out by the wave of reporters shouting questions, but Queen Bee seemed unphased by the crowd. Instead of panicking as Marinette would have done, she instead simply waved once, loosed her yo-yo, and left the press-conference. Only when her teammate was safely gone did Marinette release the breath she’d been holding.

“Say what you will about the girl, but she knows how to handle a crowd,” Alya said. She leaned back on Marinette’s chaise, lowering her phone to her lap as the video ended. Their completed homework lay scattered around them - the price for Miraculous-related new and Marinette’s tried-and-true study technique.

“She’s always had a tough shell,” Marinette said with a begrudging half-smile. “But I’m beginning to see it’s hiding a soft heart.”

Marinette had offered “Ladybug’s” support at that same conference, but Chloe had shot her down, saying her mistakes were hers alone, and she would win back the cities trust on her own merit, not Ladybug’s endorsement. Marinette hadn’t insisted - she didn’t know how to be friends with this girl, but she found she was beginning to like her a little more.

And of course, she owed her a debt she wasn’t sure she could ever repay: her memories after she’d given up the Miracle box in order to protect her partner.

And, incidentally, the love of her life.

The truth of Adrien’s identity still rocked through her even now, just over a week after rediscovering it. It wasn’t as though it shocked her whenever he made mention of things only Chat Noir would know; more so specific events jumped out at her, things she’d done with Chat Noir that she was continually realizing she’d actually done with Adrien.

But they hadn’t talked about any of it. Not yet at least anyway. Not what happened before, and  especially not what happened during the time she’d given up being Ladybug. Chat Noir had always been so vocal about his feelings for Ladybug, but Adrien hadn’t said anything about them now that he knew it was her behind the mask. Part of her wanted to ask him about it, but the part of her that had always kept her from confessing to him in the first place was terrified of the answer - terrified that she’d done something unforgivable and irreparable in giving up the Miracle box and disappearing on him, no matter how good her intentions had been or how the wires had gotten crossed.

And so she was left to agonize over what had gone from a crush to full-blown love. She’d thought she’d had feelings before; they were nothing compared to the realization that her two favourite people in the world were actually the same person. It had been devastating in the best possible way - and the worst.

“I think Chat Noir and I are going to stop by on patrol tonight,” Marinette said, glancing at the clock. Her stomach flip-flopped in anticipation. “Check in on the new spokesmodel of our team, see how she’s doing.”

“Sure you don’t want Rena Rouge and Carapace along?” Alya asked. Her eyes practically glittered as she fingered the Miraculous around her neck.

“You know training doesn’t start until next week,” Marinette said with a grin. “Besides, you guys have Tuesday morning.” A usually quiet time when Hawkmoth was either busy or no one had gotten upset enough to be akumatized yet. “Give it a few weeks and you’ll be begging to give that back to me.”

“As if, girl,” Alya laughed, slipping her phone into her bag. “You’re stuck with me.”

“I think I’ll manage,” Marinette teased, but her giggle faded as she finally broached the subject of the Ladyblog. “Al, are you sure you’re ok running interference for the team? I know how important your journalistic integrity is to you.”

But Alya firmly nodded. “Absolutely. I think you were right about how not knowing each others’ identities is risker than knowing them, but the less the public knows, the safer we’ll all be. I have a special ready to go for 8pm speculating about the new team members and a follow up tomorrow night of yet another round of Chat Noir specs. Adrien actually hasn’t been mentioned this time.”

Alarm bells went off in Marinette’s head. “But he has before?”

Another nod. “I thought it was crazy at the time, but he’s a bit of a celebrity, so I wasn’t totally surprised. Knowing him personally, I never would have thought it was him.”

“That’s…I guess I bit of a relief,” Marinette said, laying a hand over her pounding heart. “And…me…?”

“Not even once, girl,” Alya said. “Like I said, Adrien’s a celebrity who shares a few traits with the hero; I’m pretty sure some fan girls wanted it to be him more than they actually believed it was him. After all, who wouldn’t want to get rescued by a handsome teen model?”

“Yeah,” Marinette sighed, a blush creeping over her cheeks. “I mean no! I mean he’s…he’s just Chat Noir.”

Alya quirked an eyebrow and smirked. “So you’re over him then?”

“I…” Marientte trailed off, unable to even begin to organize her thoughts. How could she explain that the boy she thought she’d been in love with had turned out to be more selfless, sweet, funny, and brave than she’d ever imagined he could be? That she didn’t think she’d ever get over him, ever. That if soulmates really did exist, that he was hers - and that she lay awake at night in fear of a future she thought she’d averted. “No,” she said simply. “No, I’m not over him.”

“Then what are you waiting for, girl?” Alya demanded with a grin. “Everyone knows Chat Noir’s in love with Ladybug - which means Adrien’s in love with <em>you</em>! Why haven’t you gotten your guy?”

“Lots of reasons,” Marinette said with her best attempt at a smile and an eye roll. She couldn’t tell anyone about the horrific future she’d seen, not ever, for risk of altering their path agaiin; instead she gave her friend a version of the truth - one of the many reasons she hadn’t pursued her crush. “I might be Ladybug, but I’m also still Marinette. I still can’t think straight around him.”

Ok, that was a total lie. Talking to Adrien had been easy for some time now, even before she knew who he was - or…no. Her memories jumbled and rearranged themselves, the old mixing back in with the new, until she realized it wasn’t until after she’d discovered Adrien was Chat Noir the first time that she’d been comfortable around him. Apparently memories came and went but the heart was less easily convinced than the mind.

“Marinette? Before you take off to meet up with your dream guy, I…I kind of also wanted to apologize,” Alya said abruptly, bringing Marinette back to the present. “I’ve been thinking about it for some time now, and I didn’t know really how to bring it up, but it’s silly to keep waiting for the right moment. I’m sorry about Lila.”

Marinette stiffened at the girl’s name. “What…what about her?”

“When you went berserk about her lying, I thought it was just about Adrien,” Alya said. “I realized that first night, after the rooftop meeting, that the reason you were so upset was because she’d dragged Ladybug into it as well. You never used Ladybug to get to Adrien; I can see why you’d be upset someone else did.”

The whole truth pushed at Marinette’s lips, desperate to finally get out - that Lila wasn’t just a liar, but that she’d threatened to take everything and everyone from her by the end of the school year.

But Adrien’s advice still echoed in her mind: <em> “As long as we both know the truth, does it really matter?”</em> Well, now everyone knew the truth. They might not put it together as quickly as Alya had, but the next time they saw Lila or she mentioned her best friend, Ladybug, it would be the nail in her own coffin. Marinette almost felt bad for her. 

But only almost.

“I’m sorry she gave you fake stories for the blog,” Marinette offered instead, but Alya waved her off.

“That’s my own fault. I could have waited to double check with ‘Ladybug’ before posting them. It was a tough lesson to learn, but I guess every journalist has to learn it eventually. I’m more sorry I didn’t believe my best friend.”

This time Marinette’s smile was genuine. “I couldn’t really offer you much in the way of proof at the time. What matters is that you stood by me, even when you thought I was being unfair.”

“And you stood by me when I made a mistake about Lila,” Alya said, but guilt still flickered in her eyes.

So Marinette borrowed a trick from the very girl they were discussing and told Alya what she needed to hear - except she actually meant it. “You were the new girl this year, too. I understand why you gave her the benefit of the doubt. Being the new girl is hard. So…friends?”

“Best friends,” Alya said, the guilt finally replaced with a familiar mischievous glint. “Any chance Ladybug would like to give a statement to the Ladyblogger about her feelings on those particular stories?”

Marinette understood what her friend was offering: a platform to defend name with, and a chance to set her own boundaries where Lila’s stories were concerned - an action to back up her apology. Tikki actually looked over from where she and Trixx had been playing on her desk, her face a careful mask of simple curiosity, even if Marinette could almost hear the kwami’s voice in her head nudging her towards the high road.

But it was Adrien’s voice that came back to her, and she suddenly understood his advice in an entirely new light. Did it really matter? Not when Hawkmoth was still out there, still taking advantage of every negative emotion that flitted across his radar. Not when confronting Lila had already resulted in half a dozen akumatizations, including Marinette’s own first brush with one of the corrupt butterflies. It really felt like there was no winning, but there was one clear distinction: with Lila’s stories, people rarely got akumatized - but if she confronted her, especially as Ladybug, the chances of it happening would shoot up. 

And more than that…Marinette was finding it hard to care anymore. Even when she hadn’t known Adrien was her partner, her Chat Noir, he had still ended up siding with her against the world. It was enough. 

Which was why Marinette said, “As long as we know the truth, it doesn’t matter.” She smiled as she shared Adrien’s advice and was relieved when, for once, a blush didn’t give her away.

��Very cool, Marinette,” Alya said. “No wonder you were picked to be Ladybug. Girl, sometimes I still can’t believe it. Next time you have to tell me what happened when your dad got akumatized. It was like something out of a fairytale!” Alya winced. “But if you don’t get a move on, you’re going to be late for your patrol.”

“I’m always late,” Marinette teased, but she stood as she caught sight of the time. The truth was, for the first time in her life, she’d intentionally given herself as little time as possible in the hopes she’d have less time to obsess over the next few hours - and yet some small part of her brain seemed entirely devoted to only that no matter what she was doing. “You’re ok to go out on your own?”

“Go save the city, girl,” Alya said, shooing her friend towards her skylight as Trixx swirled into her bag. “And beep me if an akuma shows up. I girl has to maintain her identity, you know.”

“I’ve heard it can be a challenge,” Marinette laughed as her friend made for the door, savouring the ease of the moment, the freedom of not having to lie to her best friend anymore.

“Oh, if only you knew, dah-ling!” Alya threw her a wink and disappeared, but Marinette could hear her laughter as she descended the stairs. She lingered in the moment a little longer as she called on her transformation, but she she made her way to the balcony, waving one last time to her friend in the street below, there was no more avoiding what she was about to do.

It was time to meet up with the boy she loved - and to hope, for the first time, that he didn’t love her back.

[themangoyogurt]

Between 29th & Astoria: A Bad Habit Develops

Chapter 3

It was exactly 7:49 AM when you arrived at your desk. After your little outburst last night, you didn’t want to risk Mr. Ren having any excuse to have an aneurism over tardiness. You had just finished sorting and filing paperwork when the source of your troubles strolled into the office. The man hesitated for a moment at your desk before you looked up.

“Good morning, Mr. Ren.”

“Hello, PA...”

You instinctively cleared your throat, cutting the man off while timidly supplying your first and last name. Kylo tilted his head as an amused smile barely grazed his lips. You coughed once and quietly explained, “Please, sir. I would prefer if you called me by my name.”

Kylo nodded and slowly repeated the name, as if testing the way the letters tasted on his lips. He liked it. It suited you. He repeated it one more time before walking past you into his office.

Your morning continued with little fanfare as you made your way to personally drop off paperwork at various destinations. Seeing that whatever Kylo handled was confidential, he didn’t trust e-mailing anything. Walking over to Mitaka on the thirtieth floor, you held back a giggle at the memory of Rose slurring her own theories about Ren during a rare night out.

”You know, if he wasn’t rich and handsome, he’d probably be one of those weirdos who believes in space people spying on humans or whatever. Who doesn’t trust the internal communication system of their own company? Maybe if you made him a tinfoil hat, you’ll get on his good side.”

You had your own theory - the man just liked making you suffer. After all, what better way to plague your assistant than make her traverse multiple floors in stilettos? Giving the dark-haired assistant of Hux a polite nod, you dropped a folder off at his desk. Next, you marched over to Phasma with some personal paperwork regarding payroll. You were in the middle updating the woman on your progress when your phone aggressively buzzed.

Kylo Ren | 11:18 AM | Where are you?

Kylo Ren | 11:19 AM | I want you in my office NOW.

“Shit!” You spat. It wasn’t exactly professional to curse in front of your HR rep, but something about Phasma’s straightforward and tough demeanor hinted that she wasn’t bothered by it. She rolled her eyes and dismissed you with a wave of a hand.

Sprinting back to your desk, you noticed that Kylo’s doors were ajar. Darkness roved back and forth across the glazed window indicating that Mr. Ren was pacing back and forth. The sound of muffled shouting was interrupted once in a while with the smash of an object being broken.

Normally you’d wait outside for one of his episodes to clear, but he had indicated that you were to appear as quickly as possible. Gingerly leaning against the door, you pressed it open to step into the private office. Ren ignored your presence as he continued to shout into the phone.

“I don’t care if it’s a national holiday in France. If those projections are not in my inbox by the time I’m finished with lunch, I will personally see that your firm is dismantled piece by piece. I swear I’ll take the clothes off your fucking back!”

He angrily tapped his phone before flinging the device against the wall. You had never seen the man so upset. At least not this closely. His shoulders heaved with each labored breath as he stared into space without moving. Various office supplies laid scattered and destroyed around his feet, and you cringed thinking that you’d have to pick everything up once he was out of the room.

Suddenly, Kylo snapped back to the present. Snatching his blazer from the back of his leather chair, the man stalked towards the elevator. Stopping just as he passed through the door, he bellowed, “You. You’re coming with me.” A squeak escaped your lips as you scurried towards the angry man just as he entered the elevator.

With aggression rolling off of Kylo, you were surprised that the man didn’t just rip doors off their hinges as he stomped through the lobby and out onto the street. He paced for a moment, clearly attempting to level his mood now that he was in public.

“Take me somewhere pedestrian.”

“Excuse me?”

“Are you deaf?”

You frowned at his attitude, but bit back a retort of your own. Kylo sighed and explained, “I want to eat lunch somewhere I won’t run into a business associate. After the conversation I just had, I’m going to lose it if I have to put on airs with some infuriating Wall Street shmuck. And if I stay in the office I run the risk of having to deal with Hux’s superiority complex.”

You swallowed the desire to point out that it sounded like Kylo was describing himself. Instead, you nodded and motioned for him to follow. A few blocks later, and you were sliding into a booth at the back of a nondescript pizza parlor. Kylo silently paid for the meal, and then settled in across from you with two cups of Coke in his large palms.

Shit. Shit. Shit. You were about to spend the most time alone with your boss since starting the job.

It seemed as if a similar train of thought crossed Ren’s mind as he awkwardly looked anywhere but you. He had shucked off his blazer and was now idly rolling up his sleeves. For someone who never left the office, he had a surprisingly strong build. Tracing the veins up his forearms, your eyes rested at his broad chest.

“So, how does a little mouse such as yourself end up working for the First Order?”

Kylo smirked as you choked on nothing. Flattening your palms against your skirt, you replied, “I have bills to pay.”

The man snorted and placed an elbow on the table before resting his cheek against his palm. You had never seen him so relaxed.

“Normally Phasma sends me more capable assistants. Tough individuals who can stomach dealing with the business of war. I was surprised when she sent me someone so mild.”

Your palms closed into fists. Sure, you weren’t a wise-cracking career climbing type of gal. But in your eyes that didn’t make you weak. It just meant you operated under a specific decibel. As politely as one could seethe, you responded, “Sir, I may be ‘mild’, but that doesn’t make me incapable of performing my duties. I am still here after two months.”

His head tilted the other direction as he stared you down. A slight blush bloomed across your face and Kylo smiled.

“I guess I keep you around for the humanity.”

Before you could ask the man to elaborate, a teenaged boy interrupted by setting a large pizza down. The smell of pepperoni and cheese wafted into the air, and instantly everything seemed like it would be okay. Kylo motioned for you to serve yourself first, and watched in amusement as you rapidly dug into the meal before he began eating. The two of you ate in relative silence before Kylo ventured with another question.

“What was your major in college?”

You swallowed a mouthful of carbohydrates and reached for your drink to buy some time before replying, “Photography.”

“Then why aren’t you a photographer?”

Sheesh, for someone who manages a billion dollar company, he wasn’t exactly good at making small talk was he? You considered the man in front of you. Prior to the interview you had done your due diligence and researched as much as you could. It was an easy task - the man came from a high profile family and generations of wealth and success. You were pretty sure he changed his name to “Kylo Ren” just to be a dick to his parents.

“Photography doesn’t pay the bills when you have a mountain of debt.”

“No family to help?”

You scoffed. Of course Kylo Ren, heir to the Organa-Solo fortune, would assume that you could just ask your parents for help. You wiped a hand on a napkin and flatly answered, “I am no longer on speaking terms with my family.”

He looked to be deep in thought as he mulled over your words. How did things get so personal so quickly? Something about Kylo completely disarmed you. Any more time alone with the man and you were at risk of spilling embarrassing stories about puberty. His jaw clenched for moment before he softly replied, “I understand.”

His softened eyes took you by surprise. Catching himself in the moment, Kylo abruptly stood from his seat and barked for you to return to the office. He sharply mentioned being late for a meeting before flying into a cab and disappearing down the street. You stood in awe for a moment, unsure of what exactly transpired over lunch.

A playful thought danced through your mind as you walked back to the office. You’d show Mr. Ren that you were no little mouse, and that you certainly weren’t scared of the man.

.・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。. 

Kylo was exhausted. He hated face-to-face meetings. All of the pomp and circumstance. The peacocking and the flattery. Regardless how how much money he raked in with each secured account, he still left every meeting with a hollow feeling. For a while, seeking the physical pleasures New York City offered was enough to numb the loneliness.

Like a drug though, each shiny new toy, expensive meal, or flighty model he bedded only left the ache growing worse and worse. Just as he was reaching the end of his rope, a new doe-eyed assistant stepped into his life.

From the get-go, your naiveté and subtleness caught him off guard. He was used to those around him scrambling to please and use Kylo Ren, CEO of First Order Enterprises. But there you were, stumbling along behind him every step of the way. It was your earnestness caught the man off guard.

His curiosity began with a single look. You happened to be by his desk during one of his famous outbursts. A deal went south, and along with it millions of dollars and hours of work wasted. As he threw a stapler across the room, he was taken aback by your expression - sadness. It wasn’t fear. He knew fear, and the way your lips turned downwards wasn’t it. You were genuinely sad for the man. Empathizing with his frustration and disappointment.

Ren continued to prod and harass you in an attempt to elicit more emotions from your soft features. He’d watch in amusement as each feeling was clearly displayed front and center. You weren’t very good at hiding your thoughts. At least not in the way your brows would furrow or the way your pretty red lips twitched.

He continued his relentless assault until finally, finally, you stood up for yourself. And that was the best reaction he had ever witnessed from your placid demeanor. The way you deliciously defended yourself was like a dessert on its own.

Kylo couldn’t explain it, but you were such an oddity in his life. A curiosity he itched to unravel piece by piece. He checked his Patek Philippe watch as he returned to First Order and rode the elevator back up to the forty-fifth floor. It was six now, and with his absence in the office you were probably jumping at the chance to escape on time for once.

Just as the doors slid open, he was met with your delicate laughter. Kylo froze momentarily as he took in the sight before him. You had switched into a pair of beaten in black Converse hightops, and your typical office attire had been changed for a breezy white off-shoulder dress speckled with lace. Was your hair always this long? Kylo only noticed the length as your locks curled around your shoulders, wavy from being in a bun all day.

“I know Rose! I can’t believe my luck either. I’ll finally get to see Finn perform and meet the cast afterwards! Do you think Poe is out of the...oh shit, mybossisheregimmeasecond!”

You squeaked out the ending of your sentence as Kylo stepped off the elevator and stopped directly in front of you. His calendar indicated that he had no more meetings, and you assumed that the man would just go home afterwards. What kind of lunatic would willingly return to the office if there was nothing else on the agenda?

Feeling totally underdressed with Kylo scrutinizing your appearance, you awkwardly tucked a stray curl behind your ear. You stuttered, “Hello, sir. Uhm, I thought that you wouldn’t be returning to the office. Uhm, I can...is there...”

Kylo cut you off with a wave of his hand. He murmured, “It’s alright. Go enjoy your night.”

A huge smile spread across your face as you profusely thanked your boss before jumping into the elevator. Your unbridled happiness tugged a rare smile out of Ren as he shuffled back towards his desk as something deep inside of him craved to see that smile more often. Slowly loosening his tie, he unbuttoned the top of his dress shirt as he surveyed the night view. A bright pink box suddenly caught his attention, and he picked up the offending object from his table. Picking at the tag, he read:

”Something sweet always puts a smile on my face. I hope you day gets better!”

He chuckled and opened the package to reveal a slice of chocolate cake. He never did eat much dessert, but perhaps it was time to develop a new habit. Kylo could do with something sweet in his life.

[angelicthor]

billion dollar man - part 1

pairing: tony stark x reader

summary:  after mounting bills and debt cause you to look at alternative means of making money, you’re thrown into a whole different kind of life when one of the most famous billionaires on the block offers to be your sugar daddy, of course in exchange for a different from of payment. non-superhero au.

warnings/genre: +18 only, sugarbaby/daddy relationship

masterlist | billion dollar man masterlist 

One more ‘final notice’ bill was all it took. The final straw: the one that broke the camel’s back. You were done. Post-college life was nothing like you anticipated, no amount of degrees was going to change the absolute dryness of the job market and you were beyond finished with working yourself to the bone to pay off your debts and bills and still not have enough money to make it through the month.

You had graduated from law school with expectations of landing your dream job but life had other ideas; you had shining recommendation letters from your professors, you’d passed the Bar exam with flying colours and you’d completed god knows how many internships over the years you were in school in different law firms to gain experience – though the only experience you really did gain was learning how some hot-shot lawyer liked his coffee – and it still wasn’t enough to land you a job at a law firm. Then there was the unfortunate incident with your ex which put you in a more than unfortunate position and did nothing to help your career ambitions. Instead, you were stuck waitressing in the dinner a couple of blocks away from your apartment in Brooklyn; the pay was pitiful, and you mainly relied on tips from some of the rudest customers you’d ever known.

Enough was enough, staring at the blaring red letters printed on the front of the envelope you recalled a rather alcohol-induced conversation with an old college friend you had a couple of weeks ago regarding how she managed to fund her college experience – she was a sugar baby. At the time it seemed a ridiculous idea, I mean people surely didn’t do this did they? But she’d convinced you it was a completely legitimate way of making ends meet and right now you were running out of options.

Later that night you stared at the blaring screen of your laptop that was in dire need of an upgrade, the login screen to the website your friend told you about sat staring at you, daring you to make a move. Taking a deep breath, you tried to steady your nerves; you were just signing up – relax, this wasn’t a solid commitment to anything, you’d be fine. After plugging in your details, you were rerouted to a page showcasing potential ‘daddies’, it was basically a dating site and that helped put your mind at ease, you browsed through the profiles and decided that it wasn’t the worst idea, especially when you saw the kind of money they were offering. It wasn’t something you could pass-up, not anymore.

After finishing your profile, you searched for someone who you thought might be compatible, who would agree to your terms. Even though you were more than willing to sleep with whoever you chose - a girl has needs after all and to say it had been a while for you would be an understatement - you didn’t want to be anyone’s lover, no deep emotional attachment was to be involved at all. You were looking for no more than a friends-with-benefits type of relationship, with your benefits mainly being in the form of green bills.  

Most of the profiles, you discovered, had usernames to keep their identities anonymous until they could trust someone enough to reveal themselves. It made sense really, to have the kind of money spare that they were offering, they were probably high profile and this wouldn’t help in the publicity area. Babble Babe would eat these kinds of stories alive, you could almost see the headlines on the notoriously nosey website now; Infamous Millionaires caught buying their dates!

You couldn’t help but wonder if any of the profiles you’d seen had been people you’d heard off on the Upper East Side, the ones that constantly ended up spread across the pages of Babble Babe for their latest exploits.

Over the next week, you messaged multiple profiles to try and strike up conversation with someone to see if you could click, although you weren’t looking for love you sure as hell had to make sure you had some connection to them if you were going to be spending copious amounts of time together – not to mention potentially sleeping together.

One profile you were messaging stood out above all the rest, he wouldn’t tell you his name claiming it to be so high profile you’d instantly recognise him – you had to roll your eyes at this but then considered he could actually be right. His username, iron_man, had you beyond confused at who he could be but that didn’t matter; you both discovered you were after the same thing, he needed someone to show off in public with the appearance of a partner, you needed money and nothing more – neither of you were looking for anything beyond that arrangement. However, ‘iron_man’ made one thing explicitly clear, he was expecting sex to be part of the agreement, something that he promised you’d enjoy. Again, cue eye roll.

You continued messaging him to get a better sense of his character, the messages the only thing you knew about him (apart from the other very obvious basics; he was obscenely rich and lived in New York), you found him to be quite funny, if not a little cocky and big-headed but hey, he had the money, right? He could be whoever the hell he wanted. You could tell he was intelligent and if you were being honest with yourself he was kind of charming - that was until his smug self-assuredness shone through.  

He had requested you send a picture of yourself to make sure he wasn’t being catfished or anything of the sort and you provided him with one, albeit nervously, you were afraid he may reject you after seeing your picture. However, ‘iron_man’ shocked you once more with his bold flirtatious nature: the three dots appearing, letting you know he was typing before his message came through.

    -  Damn baby, can’t wait to see that in person. 

You couldn’t help but laugh at him, you’d adapted to his sense of humour in the days you’d been messaging and to be honest with yourself, you genuinely thought he was funny. This could actually work. When you asked for a picture he refused, saying he couldn’t risk it and that only piqued your curiosity on who it was you were talking to.

Eventually mystery-man asked to meet you, asking if you could make it to Visions – one of New York’s fanciest and most expensive restaurants – at seven that Friday. You had expected him to at least reveal his name to you at this point, how else would you be able to meet him in the restaurant with no picture or no name? Surely, he wasn’t that famous that you’d recognise him by name? The only response you got to your questions was his cryptic response: You’ll know who I am. Trust me, I’ll sort everything out, just be there by seven.

You agreed even though the idea had butterflies erupting in your stomach as your nerves flourished, the reality of the situation beginning to sink in.

What if you met and you didn’t like him? What if he was really a dick and managed to fool you? What if it was too awkward in reality to work? What if, what if, what if.

So many questions rushed through your mind until you’d had enough, silencing the anxiety crashing through you. You’d never know if it was feasible unless you tried, right? And if it didn’t it didn’t, no harm done, but the money being offered was too much, too needed, for you to not try. And so Friday night you dressed up in your best dress, which wasn’t nearly as high-end as everyone else would probably be wearing, this was a lavish place after all and everyone would probably be wearing something that cost more than your apartment was worth.

As you sat on the subway – there was no way you could afford a taxi from your Brooklyn apartment to Manhattan – your heart began to pound, your hands becoming clammy as everything sank in. You were about to meet up with complete stranger you’d found on the internet in hopes he’d provide you with money in exchange for a fake relationship. Sweet Jesus what am I doing?

Reminding yourself of your growing pile of bills at home, the idea of being homeless on the streets of New York far scarier than anything that could possibly go wrong with mystery man, you willed yourself to enter the restaurant, immediately feeling out of place at the pure opulence of the building.

Approaching the maître d, you couldn’t help but feel the unimpressed looks shot your way: you were so out of place and everybody there knew it. Any normal day, you wouldn’t have taken a single dirty look shot your way, but you highly doubted whoever you were meeting would have been impressed by your antics. Besides, if this went well you’d have to put up with New York’s snobbiest regularly – might as well start practising, right?

The tuxedo-clad man arched an eyebrow at your figure and you successfully fought back the roll of your eyes. Before you could open your mouth, he was plucking a menu from the station in front of him: “If you’ll follow me this way, ma’am.”

You trailed after him as he expertly manoeuvred through the tables, leading you to a more secluded part of the restaurant, towards a table in the back where a man sat. An extremely recognisable man. You’d never seen him in person before but that billion-dollar smile had been plastered on enough newspapers and magazine covers for you to know who it was.

Well, I guess he was right.

You did know who he was. Everyone did.

Tony fucking Stark.

a/n: i don’t have a tag list but if you want alerts please follow @angelicthorwrites and turn on notifications

[treatian]

The Chronicles of the Dark One:  The Dark Curse

Chapter 104:  The Friendly Interrogation 

It was quiet. Too quiet.

Perhaps he would have noticed earlier if it weren't for the fact that he'd spent most of his day screaming and shouting. He'd captured the thief that morning, then taken him down into his dungeon to get some answers out of him. He wanted to know his name, why he wanted the wand, who had told him there was one in his castle, who had told him how to break in, where to find the wand, how he'd managed to get so close without being detected, who had given him that bow?

They'd been at it for hours. For hours he'd questioned the prisoner. For hours the prisoner had remained quiet. Mostly. They spoke, of course, he gave answers to his questions, they just weren't the answers that he wanted. "I'll never tell." "You'll never know." "My sources are my own." "I'm a skilled thief, I need no help." "It was lying out for all the world to see." "From another realm." Those were his answers. Or at least some variation on those answers all day long. What had started as a gentle and prodding conversation had soon escalated. When he'd left for dinner, after warning the man to consider his loyalties carefully, his throat had felt raw.

He hadn't a clue what the maid had fixed for dinner. He didn't taste it, didn't even look at it. Just took a long drink of water to soothe his throat and shoveled food into his mouth. He didn't intend to return to the man, not tonight, not when he was as angry as he was. If he went down there again tonight, he would likely kill the man. One answer. All he needed was one answer, and he would have something that he could use against him then he was certain he could get the man to break. That wand was a centerpiece in his collection. He couldn't just ignore an attempt to steal it.

That was the last thought he'd had before he realized how quiet it was.

It probably was no different than an ordinary night. Despite his new live-in maid, it was an expansive castle, it was hard for two people to make noise no matter how annoying one of them was. But that was just the problem. Tonight wasn't an ordinary night. He should hear something. He should have heard her shrieking her disgust at him for keeping the prisoner by now. He should have heard irritated sighs and felt the glare of her eyes upon him. But he didn't. Just like it was a normal night, she'd given him his food and gone.

Gone where?

He knew where.

He wanted to roar, to yell, and to scream at her. She had a soft heart, a weak one, and he felt certain that he'd left the door to the damn cell vulnerable to the outside world. He had to do something about that, but first, he had the feeling he was going to have to do something about her!

He was nearly to the cell when the silence stopped. His suspicions were confirmed. Muttering. He could hear it between two people, the first was the familiar voice of the thief, the second was the gentle voice of his all too gullible servant. If she thought that she was going to go in there and-

"Don't call him that!" he heard her roar out. It wasn't her words that made him feel like he'd been slapped in the face. It was her tone. He'd heard her sound powerful before, but this was stronger than that. She'd spoken in her father's war room with authority, but this was angry. It was an anger that was red and hot and so different from the chilly cold anger she used when she was with him. "He's not my master," he heard her insist. "And he doesn't control my fate any more than you do. I'm here because of me, because of my own choices!"

"See," he heard the prisoner comment. "I knew there was more to you."

"And what about more to you?"

He heard the words, but only just barely. While she'd shouted at him, he'd only made a simple calm comment. She hadn't just brought him food or intended to set him free. The pair were having a conversation. And up until she'd asked her question, no matter what it was, he'd intended to go in and break it up, but now he wondered. She was a welcoming, non-intimidating soul. Could she get the answers that he craved? Could she at least get him anything he could use?! He crept closer, keeping his footsteps light as he listened to them talk. It sounded like the foolish girl had left the door wide open. Bless the ignorant.

"Good thief or not, why would anyone try to break in here? Why would anyone steal a wand?!" he heard her ask him. He stopped and held his breath, waiting for the answer.

"For good reason."

"And what exactly might that be?"

He smiled and held back a small chuckle. There she went again, impressing him when he least expected it. A proper young woman would have taken the cues he'd left her with and not come back to the question. But she was persistent.

"That's my concern."

And so was he.

"And the reason that you didn't simply make a deal with him like everyone else on the planet-"

"Because I'll be in debt to no man! Much less a monster like that!" he snapped quickly at her. Finally! Information he hadn't heard from the man. And that information led to pride! Oh, how quickly it could be someone's downfall. "Much like you, I am my own person, and I don't wish to pay an over-inflated price for something I can do on my own or something that should be done for free for the greater good."

And look where that decision had gotten him. Stuck in a jail cell, being questioned by a girl and a monster. Pride never did lead to smart choices.

Inside the cell, he heard Belle sigh with something like disappointment. Frustration, perhaps? That she hadn't gotten any farther than he had? Or had she? They were talking, which was more than he could say for all the hours he'd spent with him. And they had been talking before he'd arrived to listen. Suddenly he yearned to hear what he'd missed.

"Where are you from?" she asked simply, with obvious genuine curiosity.

"All over. I go where I'm needed."

"Have you been to Avonlea recently?" she asked.

Now that caught his attention. Had he been to Avonlea "recently" she wanted to know. Not last year or ever in his life, but "recently". Was she trying to use her influence? Send a message to her family? Did she know him?

"That Kingdom has never needed my particular brand of services, and up until recently they were involved in a terrible war, destruction of the entire Kingdom. It was unsafe territory to trod."

"Until recently?" she prodded with a strained voice.

"The ogres were removed not long ago. The Kingdom is rebuilding, but still well off without the threat. Why is it so important to you?" he questioned after a pause. "Do you have family there?"

He dug up his magic, prepared to extract her should she attempt to reveal something he didn't want her to. Instead, after a few seconds, when she finally spoke, all she muttered were the words "something like that."

"Something like that." Heavy with emotion, perhaps even a little sniff. Something like that…she hadn't been asking because she was trying to send for help, or get a message, or even tell the thief who she was. She'd asked because she didn't know what had happened there. Because she didn't trust him. He couldn't blame her, but for some reason that realization ripped through him. How had he not thought of that before? Why hadn't it dawned on him to give her some assurance her home was well?

"You are a woman of many mysteries then, aren't you?" the thief observed. Many mysteries indeed. And none that he would need to discover in his time here. It was clear their conversation was going nowhere. Perhaps it was time to break it up. But how to do it?

"And now, you need to leave and not return!"

For a moment, he thought that the words had been a vision, something he'd concocted in his own head. It wasn't until she responded with a shocked "what?!" of her own that he realized the prisoner had spoken the words aloud for him.

"Servant, or something more, I won't bear knowing that you are risking your life just to bring a thief food. You are kind, and no matter who you are, your life is valuable. Don't come back here and put yourself in danger again. Please."

A thief with a code of honor. Now he really had seen it all. And yet the very idea of such a thing was familiar to him, and he still couldn't figure out why. Where had he seen all this before?

He needed to leave. He needed to go before the pair caught him eavesdropping on their conversation. As much as it pained him to admit it, she had gotten farther with him than he had. And she was a naïve kind of person. He was issuing his warning and request, but he could easily see her disobeying it in the future. But not if she knew he was listening. He had to go before she-

"Belle!"

He stopped when the prisoner cried out for her. He knew her name…did she know his?

"I am grateful, for everything you've done and are doing for me, and for the meal. Don't underestimate yourself, it was quite delicious."

"Thank you," he heard her mutter before her footsteps quickened and grew closer.

He rolled his eyes and let himself disappear before being discovered.

[youngster-monster]

The color of the wheat fields

Out of all the books her mother used to read her, The Little Prince had always been Karen's favorite. Adventure called to her in the way it called to every child; she drew maps of the world, clumsy and colored, on which was carefully traced the itinerary from Vermont to The Desert — because surely there could only be one of them in the world.

She used to dream about the desert, about foxes and snakes and roses on faraway stars. She sat in her cardboard boxes-plane, with a wool hat and swimming goggles, pretending to be both a space princess and the daring pilot lost in the wild. She learned to draw the best sheep anyone had ever seen, and then roses and snakes and foxes too, so the sheep wouldn't be all alone.

She had grown up, eventually, and the cardboard plane and childish drawings were forgotten in the attic with all the rest of her (and, eventually, Kevin's) childhood. Teenagers don't have time for toys or play-pretend, college students even less so.

But the book had kept its place in her bookshelf, pages creased from being dogeared so many times, cover falling out and being stitched back on again. It was always the first book she put up after each move, and often the first one she read during her first night in a new place, the best cure to the bittersweet taste of homesickness. She carried it with her everywhere — in her suitcase during family holidays, to the hospital waiting room that one time Mary, her college roommate, broke her ankle and had to be driven to the ER, in her bag when she went to work. It was always there, in case she needed it.

Adulthood had yet to prove to be more than a succession of increasingly painful headaches, but it had yet to steal the fun from this book. If anything else it had enhanced it; Saint-Exupéry's personal brand of philosophy had meant much to her, in many different ways, for as long as she had known enough about the alphabet to decipher the story all by herself.

Wesley, on the other hand… Wesley had changed that.

It felt wrong to handle the book, which was nothing if not a tale of kindness in the face of life's everyday cruelty, with hands still heavy with the weight of a gun. She felt as if there was still dried blood stuck under her nails, despite the fact that his blood never even brushed the touch of her fingers, and she feared the marks she would leave on the pages. The bloody fingerprints of a murderer. Innocence had died with a full clip discharged in a monster's chest — innocence had died with blood not her own on her clothes and the empty-eyed stare of a dead body. This book, this story, was all there was left of it. She refused to be the one to taint it with the smell of gunpowder, the darkness of death which clung to her like a too-large coat.

She did not regret it. She only wished there had been another way out — a way to keep her hands clean and herself safe. A way that would not have disappointed small Karen quite so much.

So The Little Prince had been dropped at the bottom of a box, covered by the clothes she had worn that day, and hidden under her bed. Out of sight, out of mind — out of reach.

But then Frank Castle happened. Bloody, bruised, battered Frank, with his voice like a thunderstorm heard from far away, rumbling in his chest and unable to quite escape it.

She had grown fond of him, a man so dangerous yet so close to his breaking point, a glass sculpture balanced at the edge of a tall shelf. She had traded curiosity for understanding, had lost fear along the way and replaced it by an odd sort of care for him.

Had found it again, hidden like a forgotten bill between the pages of an old book, folded in a tight corner behind her ribs, when he had looked up at her — a wounded man at his feet, more fitting in that tableau than ever before — and told her he was already dead. Fear felt like an old, unwelcome friend, or an ember stuck in her throat, fire eating at her flesh and slowly smothering her with the smoke.

Fear had not come alone.

At first, yes, she had been scared. For the colonel, who was an asshole but who deserved justice all the same. For her. For him. For the path he was threading on, combat boots leaving bloody footprints in his tracks.

And then she had been angry, because how dare he makes her care? Her heart was wounded enough as it was, a mass of scar tissue and bruised and fresh paper cuts that still, stubbornly, refused to break. She didn't need his trauma, his blood lust, didn't need him to come by and throw a few glass shards in the mix.

But, in the end, all she had been left with was sadness. A sort of grief, perhaps, for the man he used to be, the man he could have been. A man she wanted to keep, to hold on to with two hands and never let go, until she realized she never had him to begin with.

Sadness, for Karen Page, had one simple cure, held between the pages of a downright antique hardcover edition of The Little Prince.

For the first time in months, in the first grey light of an insomnia-induced early morning, Karen rummaged through the cardboard box under her bed and dug out an old battered book. It had the worn corners and half-faded illustrations of a well-loved story carried from childhood to adulthood whole by sheer affection for it — and a few haphazard patch jobs. Her name was still written on the first blank page in red crayon; her favorite passages still underlined in pencil, careful straight lines under words she could still quote by heart.

A rock pile ceases to be a rock pile the moment a single man contemplates it, bearing within him the image of a cathedral.

She wondered, for a moment, if a murderer remained such after a foolish wannabe reporter had observed him and seen a good man in his place.

The Little Prince had always been her favorite way to deal with emotional turmoil. Nothing seemed to matter quite as much after reading the quest of a young boy through space and back again, and once she turned the last page, she found herself a little more settled, a little less likely to have a full blown panic attack.

It didn't mean she forgave Frank. That wasn't something she envisaged herself doing anytime soon, if ever. But she could accept his decision — it had, after all, basically nothing to do with her. What was she to him but a bait, an obstacle on his warpath? Not much, that was what. And she found that she was okay with that.

Karen, thrill-seeker extraordinaire, had been lost to student debts and soul-sucking jobs a long time ago. Her recent come back from the grave to haunt Karen, responsible if mildly traumatized adult, had only served to remind her that this was not the life for her.

She would gladly leave vigilante-chasing to bolder, braver people. She was quite fine as she was, not being shot and never seeing the blank hospital walls from the point of view of a patient.

Unfortunately it seemed that, even when Karen did not look for danger, danger still, against all odds, looked for Karen.

Fear came in many flavors, so to speak. It came as a burn, an all-consuming wildfire trapped behind wide, wild eyes; the survival instinct inherent to everyone who was not a vigilante. It came as the hot-blooded rush of adrenaline when your mind, thrown into its most basic fight-or-flight response, decided offense was the best defense, bloody knuckles and copper sharp on your tongue.

Karen found herself prey to one last kind of fear, one she had experience once before, in a warehouse empty of everything but a table, a monster, and a gun. A freezing kind of fear, frost climbing her spine and turning it to steel, the kind of fear that slowed down time into one moment of pure clarity.

In that second in the eye of the cyclone, two thoughts came to her.

The first was that no amount of whits and stalling would save her from this particular situation. An old man died from a bullet through his forehead for screaming too loud and Karen looks down, wondering if this fate was maybe not kinder than what is in store for the rest of them.

The second was, I wish Frank was there. It was genuine enough that she was briefly surprised, but not for long. It was, after all, completely true: of all the people she knew, Frank seemed like the best suited to rescuing people from blood-thirsty gangsters, and against her best judgment she had started to feel— safe, knowing he was out there, bringing hell right to the doorsteps of criminals.

Strange, how safety and danger could become twisted-entangled-unified, sometimes.

But Frank was not there. They were. Turk and her and all the nameless, innocent victims quivering behind her, voice breaking in useless supplications. People she had started to feel responsible for as soon as she had realized she was the most level-headed of them all — her, Karen Page, a human mess and a murderer.

Her, Karen Page, powerless to save any of them.

There was nothing to do to hide the blinking red light attached to Turk's ankle. Nothing that could be said that would placate their captors long enough for help to come.

Nothing that could be done to save him.

A blade was drawn from its sheath — it glinted in the low light, cold as iron, cold as steel. The man knelt in front of them, pinning Turk's ankle to the ground one handed and letting the knife rest on his skin, just a second before he started cutting.

Blood welled up under the sharp edge. Turk cried out, trying and failing to drag himself back.

Then, a gunshot — Karen wondered, for a second, if another of the screaming people at her back had been silenced by a bullet through the skull, before the knife fell from limp fingers and the gangster slumped forward with a single hole through his forehead.

Karen scrambled away from her kidnappers and looked back with them, shock and hope and terror fighting for the control of her mind, and as she lifted her eyes she saw—

Black boots, leaving bloody footprints—

Bullet casings, falling to the ground, all too loud despite the chaos around—

Dark clothing, as if the shadows themselves had decided to fight against the corruption—

A riffle, held between bruised fingers, bloody finger resting on the trigger—

A skull, white against a backdrop of darkness, the sight made all the more jarring by the blood splattered over it—

Frank.

A wave of relief washed over her, drowning all the fear and the anger and the regrets, only leaving behind it the knowledge that things were going to be alright, but first they were going to get a lot worse.

And then she yelled, “Get down!” and lunged to the ground herself, dragging Turk with her, seconds before bullets started flying from both side. Some ricocheted on the walls or the ground and briefly illuminated the Punisher in a shower of sparks, throwing hard shadows on his face. Each of his shots struck true; one shot, one kill.

Karen crawled on the floor, scrambling for cover from the firefight. She hid behind a pillar, curled on herself, closed her eyes, and counted in her head.

Shot, shot, reload. Shot, shot, reload. She could almost follow his path through the room by the echo of bullet casings falling, the screaming, the pounding of feet as gangsters tried to get away from the massacre. None went very far.

Silence fell and she kept counting. The sudden absence of sound, where they had just been so many of them, was not enough to make her open her eyes.

Step, step, step, stop. She could imagine him checking each of his victim for signs of life. A shot; agonized groaning stopped short. A mercy killing, if such thing could be said of anything a man like Frank Castle ever did.

Step, step, step, stop. She could feel the weight of his gaze on her bent neck. Could hear the shifting of clothes as he knelt in front of her, stretched his hand toward her and stopped short of her hair. The silence was deafening, barely broken by the occasional whimpering of the other victims.

His hand ever so slowly came to rest on the top of her head. Softly, Frank said, “Hey.”

She lifted her head, slightly, enough that she could look at him in all his blood-splattered glory. His eyes were large and dark, full of something much like fear — she had never known him to be afraid before. Except maybe once, lying on the floor of her apartment in the shaking seconds after shots were fired through her windows, his weight pinning her down — holding her down — and eyes scanning his surroundings, jumping from side to side like that of a wolf backed in a corner.

“Hey,” She replied, barely above a sigh. His expression softened, lost some of its manic edge. She wanted to tell him— something, but she couldn't, for the life of her, find what to say. She didn't want to tell him he was dead to her. Didn't want to tell her she forgave him.

He could apparently read this on her face, or in her eyes, or in the way she shifted, halfway through breaking away from his touch or leaning into it, she couldn't say. He gently pressed on her head until she was resting against his shoulder, one of his hand petting her hair reassuringly and the other rubbing her back. His leather jacket smelled like gun smoke and blood, but everything of his did, in the end, so she had a hard time bringing herself to care about it.

“You're okay, now, hear me?” He whispered into her ear, as soft as his voice ever got. “You're safe. You all are.”

She sighed, a quivering, wet thing, and wondered who he was trying to reassure: him or her. Maybe both.

She watched him kill people before, and still each time all she saw was a good man pushed to his breaking point. She started to wonder if, maybe, she had made him that way, with half-coherent pleas for mercy when there was place for none.

She started to wonder him maybe it simply took a killer to tame a killer. Maybe all it took was gunpowder fingers clutching his arms hard enough to leave bruises, tears shed on his jacket that's as most leather as it is blood and rust. A little show of foolish, fearless trust.

You become responsible, forever, for what you have tamed.

Karen took one last deep breath of his awful-familiar scent, wiped her tears on her sleeves, and got to her feet.

“You have a job to do,” She said, sounding more sure than she felt. “And so do I.”

He looked at her, searching for something — answers, maybe — in her eyes. What he found there seemed to satisfy him because he nodded, once, said, “Ma'am,” and left as he came — in stride, combat boots leaving a trail of blood in his wake, rifle resting against his chest.

She couldn’t quite begrudge Frank for the deaths. It was, after all, as much her fault as his, for wishing him there.

She couldn't find it in herself to feel guilty about it, either.

Karen squared up her shoulders, looked around the room and said, “The way down is clear. Let's get out of there.”

[hvnaa]

        ʜᴇ ᴛʜᴏᴜɢʜᴛ ʜᴇ ᴡᴀs ᴀʟᴏɴᴇ. finding moments of privacy can be rare here, no shortage of tasks ( his services weren’t bought for him to sit around ) and jobs for him to do. in some ways he can be thankful for being assigned to one place for so long. the turbulence of his job can be overwhelming. here, working for this man, he knows what to expect day to day. it is not easy, sure. it can be violent as ever. but he doesn’t have to guess at what sort of blood he might have to spill. doesn’t have to relive the deaths of others over and over. it shouldn’t be a relief to work for a criminal. but it is.

even with all of that it can be grueling. collecting debts and interrogation are what he detests the most. no matter where he goes or who he works for it always seems to come down to this: torture. it’s what he’s good at, isn’t it? he knows just how to hurt people, how to tear them apart physically, emotionally and mentally all in one. but to know that he has to know them, understand them in a way only possible when you’re inside their head. when you know what it’s like to be them…when you have become them, it’s difficult to be apathetic.

he got the job done. he always does. he has no choice. but it’s worn him down. he sits in silence in some room he wandered into, forearms resting on his knees. he can feel the man inside his head still. can feel every fucking hope and dream he ever had. every heartbreak and pain. the terror emil caused him…he doesn’t try to stop the tears on his cheeks. he never does. he rarely lets anyone here see it, however. it’s not exactly the environment for it which is why he had found somewhere quiet and private.

or at least it was that way until he hears someone stirring in a doorway. head lifts and emil blinks a few times before his gaze focuses on hana. long inhale is drawn in as he sits up. the boss’s daughter probably isn’t the worst person to find him right now. if it were up to him he wouldn’t have to see any of them for some time. he doesn’t want to have to see anyone. it isn’t this job, not when it’s no where near as horrible as many others are. it’s having to do these jobs in general. he doesn’t want extraction from this assignment he just wants…extraction from it all. but he doesn’t belong to himself. emil steels himself before speaking, weariness still in his voice  “ what do you need me to do?  ” @futuresees​

it seemed every time that she was home there was a new face, whether it was one she would see again the moment she wondered out and away from the property or not varied depending on what in the world her father was dabbling into at the respective moment. she rested her shoulder into the ebony wood of the archway into the room, poise had its time and place when she felt like it, but right now she slouched slightly because she was curious, one valentino harness boot crossing over the other to rest toe on the same dark wood floor as the beam she leaned herself into. 

there was a moment of silence where hana swept her eyes over the man, noting a few things; she had never not been observant it was only a matter of what she chose to do with her observance and the mood she was in. hana wasn’t feeling very opportunist today, so while she gathered and noted a mixture of emotions fleeting through the man’s posture and expression, she released every note that touched her too. 

the question had her canting her head, only a few seconds she had stood here in silence; he seemed readily available to her for...something, it seemed, considering the question he so quickly posed to her, and that interested her, piqued her curiosity more. “i’m...not sure, what do you do?” she asks, a small arch of her brow, hana gave a polite and small smile, merely pointing out in fewer words that he didn’t seem to be hired help for the estate such as a gardener or housekeeping her mother hired on, not because she actually needed the help but because nicola enjoyed interaction and conversing, the company. did her mother finally decide to be a mistress and send wolfe downstream? 

she’s not genuinely asking that question because she does know better, and it’s thoughts floating in space really as she pushed her shoulder off of the framing to move to an upholstered arm chair in the room, only to sink down into it with her legs resting over one arm. she sat so that she could still see him but she wasn’t directly staring. “the front door is unlocked, can’t you make a break for it?” she jests lightly, still a softness in her tone, a genuine glance. she didn’t like being here longer than she felt like being so she amused herself believing that everyone who visited must feel the same way; walls were suffocating. now a serious question. “dare i ask what you think you’re here for?” is she prying into what her father is playing with these days? most definitely, and shamelessly really. 

[yoonseoksoftie]

bonnie and clyde(s) | pt.ii

› pairing: min yoongi x original character x jung hoseok › 4.3k words. › criminal!sope › two petty thieves and a bartender in the search for revenge and money find something much more valuable with each other. › parts: i | ii

An involuntary grunt leaves the back of your throat while you help Hoseok hoist Yoongi’s unconscious body onto a beat up gurney. You quickly wipe the sweat clinging to your forehead with the back of your hand before zipping up the black body bag you’ve stuffed Yoongi into in an effort to portray the act of a couple of medics delivering an unfortunate bystander. The back entrance of the morgue reeks of rancid chemicals and waste, making it difficult to restrain yourself from gagging. The risk of bringing Yoongi to a morgue located in the heart of the city whilst he is indisposed is incredibly high; not to mention idiotic considering the building is attached to the police station. You almost injured yourself when Hoseok revealed where he’d be taking Yoongi, snapping your neck in his direction so briskly it cramped. There are numerous APBs alerting every cop in neighboring districts to be out in the lookout for the three of you. On one hand, you knew he was sticking it to the cops by encroaching their property right under their noses and on the other, you knew he had his reasons for choosing whatever individual was inside the morgue.

The morgue’s hallways are dimly lit by flickering lightbulbs located on the roof in rows of two, the air is impregnated with a stagnant smell that told you no fresh air has circulated through the building’s corridors for a very long time. Every hallway you step into is as dead as a burial ground, no sign of a living soul in sight as you maneuver your way through them. The squeaking sound of the gurney wheels rotating echo off the beige colored walls, reminding you of a bow gliding against the strings of a badly tuned violin.

“How do you know this guy again?”

Once Yoongi was safely laid in the back seat of his GTO, Hoseok had stepped on the accelerator, driving like a mad man on a mission. You’ve never seen a man break so many laws in a matter of minutes, you were sure his driving had earned him a spot in the world’s record book for worst driving in an urban area.

“I don’t,” Hoseok mutters nonchalantly, gearing the gurney into another hallway. You remain silent, waiting for him to offer any other form of information. You scoff when you are greeted with more silence, finding it completely ironic that he chooses to remain quiet at a moment like this when it is rare for him to ever suppress his endless stream of unsolicited facts around you but you know better than to push for information.

When you’d first met him, you had been intimidated by him, he was polite but somewhat aloof. Most men came into the casino in search for cash and perhaps a few women, Hoseok however, came to the casino three days out of the week, played for three hours, had three alcoholic beverages and rejected the advances of the many beautiful women that approached him. He was a challenge you gladly accepted. It took time before you could make conversation with him that didn’t consist of pleasantries. During the months he came in you learned that alcohol clouded his thinking and that he was a self-proclaimed prodigy. He reeled you in with his words and his impressive knowledge, making you addicted to everything he did. Without you realizing it, he became a huge part of your nights, some days you found yourself latently memorizing rare facts about the world in exchange for a few minutes of conversation with him. He was a drug you couldn’t get enough of, the more you interacted with him the more you wanted. Like an addict you came back for a hit, taking every crumb he offered you. It wasn’t until later that you understood that his aloofness was a default safety precaution rather than an actual disinterest in people, which made you want to uncover every layer he hid behind. Your interest only grew when you discovered that cards were nothing but child’s play for him. Winning was guaranteed attainment for a man like Hoseok.

“I am rather fond of the company this place provides me with,” he explained one night, a sly smile hiding behind the rim of his glass. Offering no further details when you’d asked what the point of playing was if he knew the ending result.

A set of grey double doors comes into view, signaling the hallway is coming to an end. You don’t know what to expect once you step behind the double doors. There are only two sequences of events in which this could end, one: Hoseok’s contact fails to mend Yoongi’s wound or two: his contact is successful in mending Yoongi’s wound but you find yourselves surrounded by pigs. For all you know, this is a trap that results in you spending the next seven years of your life in a six by eight.

The trolley comes to a halt and you look up to meet Hoseok’s unusually soft gaze.

“You trust me?” The words hang heavy in the narrow space between the two of you.

Do you trust him? Of course, you do. You trust him the way a child trusts its mother to care for it, he is the security blanket that fights off your nightmares.

You trust him blindly.

You nod.

“Good.” He nods back, pushing the double doors open with his back.

As soon as you enter the room your nostrils are bombarded with the strong stench of chlorine and what you believe to be formaldehyde. The room is big, white, and immaculate. Metal cabinets line the perimeter of the room, stacked with different colored chemical bottles and equipment. In the center of the room sit three long shiny metal tables. A blonde haired man is perched on the middle table typing away furiously at his laptop’s keyboard, too immersed in his task to notice the sweaty criminals that have entered his morgue.

He jumps at the sound of the double doors slamming shut, accidentally banging his head against the scale hanging next to him.

The man spins around rubbing at the side of his head, eyes wide in alarm as he eyes the both of you.

He looks at you, then at Hoseok, then back at you. The boy stands from the table reluctantly, mouth agape, unable to formulate any words as he takes in your appearance. You can only imagine the sight Hoseok and you paint for him. The lace one piece you are wearing leaves little to the imagination and you are colored red with blood. You hold back the urge to cross your arms and shield yourself from his gaze, instead you cock an eyebrow at him defiantly. Next to you, the blood on Hoseok’s black three-piece suit goes unnoticed but the fire in his eyes and the words that are about to fall from his lips are threat enough to warn the guy against any funny business.

“Stop fucking looking at her,” Hoseok snaps, causing the poor man to flinch. “Your name is Park Jimin, you’re twenty-six years old and you live in a shitty fucking apartment a few blocks north from here. You have a younger brother named Jungkook, he’s fresh out of high school and is currently attending the University of Daegu. You are behind three months in rent and are in deep debt with some really bad people back in your hometown.”

The information flows out of Hoseok’s mouth like the harsh current of a river, creating a maelstrom in its wake, leaving you to process the violation of privacy he is delivering. His words overwhelm you despite the various instances in which you’ve been a witness to the extent of his knowledge. He likes informing himself about every inanimate object he comes into contact with, you should’ve figured it’d be no different with people.

When they first taught you how to handle a gun Hoseok had gone into specific detail about the maker and history of the gun, stating that becoming acquainted with your weapon was an advantage your opponent rarely possessed. His interest went beyond understanding how an object worked, it was genuine curiosity that fueled him to expand his knowledge about the many creatures and objects in his environment. Being around him was like owning a never-ending fountain of information, spilling unwarranted facts left and right. Moments like these make you wonder if he is just as informed about you. A dark part of you relishes the thought of someone having a partiality this big towards you, interested enough to learn every aspect of your life, past and present.

Your joy is short-lived, that same thought making you realize how little you know about them.

Your knowledge of them is rather superficial. Like the scar Yoongi has on his left side, stretching from his armpit down to his hip bone or the many cigarette burns Hoseok has on his lower abdomen. They are physical scars that carry emotional damage but you know nothing of how they acquired them. From the months you’ve spent together you’ve noticed that Yoongi always has to face the entrance of any room he is in and that Hoseok despises the smell of cinnamon, perhaps there isn’t any correlation between those two instances but you can’t help your curiosity.

“You patch him up, no questions asked and you’ll be rewarded handsomely, understood?”

Hoseok’s thundering voice brings you back from your gloomy thoughts.

It is your turn to move. You walk towards the man, Jimin, slipping the bag off your shoulder and throwing it onto the metal counter, the harsh smack created by the weight of the bag against the lean surface echos throughout the silent room. You open the black bag to reveal stacks upon stacks of bills.

The man’s eyes widen even more at the sight of all the green paper.

Hoseok unzips the body bag, uncovering Yoongi’s bloody body. Jimin visible swallows when he sees the man laying on the gurney, blinking a couple of times unable to believe his eyes. His eyes roam every part of Yoongi, gasping when he notices the rise and fall of his chest.

He is used to working with dead people, not living.

“I-I,” he stutters, words failing him as he retrieves a pair of gloves from a plastic box next to the metal table. “I don’t think I can help him, I’m n-not a—”

“Think again,” Hoseok interjects, the sharpness in his voice sending goosebumps all over your body.

Jimin walks towards the gurney and pulls the opening of the bag apart from each other to get a better look at Yoongi’s wound.

“H-hello, my name is Jimin,” he speaks quietly to Yoongi. “I’m going to untie the jacket around your thigh to get a better look at your wound, p-please let me know if the pain becomes unbearable.”

The wounded man doesn’t respond, too far gone to formulate a response.

Jimin sighs and turns to the two of you.

“Help me get him on the examination table.”

Tick, tick, tick.

The sound of the clock’s hands is a deafening annoyance in his ears, ticking every second away. Your gaze is fixated on the translucent clock hanging on the opposite wall. He can tell impatience is eating at you from the way you chew on your bottom lip, coloring it a deep cherry red that will give away blood if you keep it up. You rise, untie your hair, run your hands through it, and gather it in a low bun. Your pacing back and forth creates a steady rhythm that increases with every second that passes as you wait on Jimin.

Jimin had asked for both of you to wait in his office. Hoseok agreed to step aside once he made it crystal clear to Jimin that any out of place movement would earn him a 12mm inside his head.

“Will you sit down for a moment?”

You halt and turn towards him.

“They’ve been out there for thirty minutes,” you state like it’s the most important words to ever leave your mouth.

He ignores the pointed look you give him.

“It’s been ten minutes,” he counters, looking down at his watch. “Ten minutes and twenty-five seconds to be precise.”

You huff at him, clearly annoyed at his response. You untie and tie your hair again before throwing yourself onto the couch.

Despite the blood on your clothes and disgruntled appearance, he can’t help but find you completely enticing. Perhaps it has something to do with the undisguised emotions swimming in your eyes. In his world, projecting emotion without restriction is a risk that more often than not follows with dire consequence. Granting a person the opportunity to witness such vulnerability is something he steers clear from but not you. You offer every bit of yourself with every word you speak and without realizing it you have become the most fascinating thing in his life. It is a foolish thing to do, giving a man in his position such sweet poison without thinking twice, no care for what he might do with it. He trades information, guns, drugs, and people for money. Blackmails when necessary with said trade yet, you never change the way you speak to them, and such innocence on your part only draws him to you and makes him want to protect you from men like him.

You’re concerned. Concerned about Yoongi, concerned that this might be the end, concerned about the unspoken drift Yoongi’s brush with death has brought to your relationship with them. He knows, and the dark and neglected parts of himself find your distress delightful. It means you care about them, about him. He’s noticed the way your hands linger on his body and the way you push his lips against yours at night when you think Yoongi is asleep, eager for another kiss. But he wants more than just faint touches from you, he wants hair pulling, skin ripping, eyes rolling into the back of his head touches from you. He wants you naked and sprawled out in front of him.

He wants you completely.

His seat offers him a beautiful side view of your face and he is everything but ungrateful as he takes in the elegant curves of your face, the outline of your nose and lips. Sometimes when he’s drunk out of his mind, you come to his aid and take care of him. In moments like those he believes you are a figment of his own imagination, a chimera he abuses to cope when the walls cave in on him and there seems to be no end to his pain. The kindness in your eyes when you look down at him is the light that guides him out of the dustiest places inside his mind, offering him a warmth he wants to submerge himself in.

“Hyung is a very strong man,” Hoseok drawls out, a few tears slip from your eyes and down the side of your cheeks.

He hates seeing you cry, even more so when it’s caused by him or Yoongi. They don’t deserve your tears. They are cheaters, killers, outlaws that answer to nobody but themselves. Although lately, he feels like he has to explain himself to you, make you understand why they did what they did. Will you damn them? Abhor them? He can only imagine the look in your eyes when you face the hurtful truth. There is no going back once the truth reveals itself, he knows that but he will walk the darkest depths of hell to keep you by their side.

“While the ratio of nerves to muscle in the human body is incredibly high, the strength harbored in our body allows us to have feats of super strength. For instance, a trained athlete can activate up to eighty percent of their muscle strength while a regular human can only activate sixty-five. Hyung is trained in these,” he pauses for a second, moving his spread hands in circular motions back and forth in search for the proper word, hoping the movement alone will bring the correct word to him. “…aspects of life. It isn’t the first bullet he’s encountered so his body is familiarized with the interaction. He will pull through.”

Your eyes remain closed but he can still see a few tears spilling from them. He retrieves a silver cigarette box from the inside pocket of his suit, pulling out a thin nicotine cylinder and placing it between his dry lips before lighting it. Taking a long drag, he lets the venomous fumes fill his lungs, holding them there until his chest burns and he’s forced to release them. He hates himself for not being able to comfort you in the way you need it. Unlike guns, bombs, or planning scores, human interaction does not come easily to him. He can’t walk over to you and wrap you in his arms the way he wants to because it doesn’t feel right to him. How could physical contact assure you of his hyung’s safety? There is no correlation between the two. Facts, in his opinion, are a better form of consolation because they can’t be denied. They are proof that holds no uncertainty. What better way to reassure someone than with the solid truth? And the truth is that his hyung is an incredibly resilient man who has survived crueler and severe situations. A simple bullet is nothing more than a scrape for him, or at least that’s what he wants to believe.

Between the two men, Hoseok is the weak one, and he is man enough to admit it. From the day Yoongi rescued him from the vicious and belittling hands of his father he has grown to rely on him. Yoongi is a resourceful man, from selling illegal narcotics and distributing them, to robbing warehouses full of merchandise, he always finds a way to provide for the two of them while Hoseok simply follows and tries to make himself useful. His thirst for knowledge was birthed out of incompetence. From his years in the business, he has learned that the most powerful man is always the most knowledgeable, not the one with the bigger toys. Knowledge is power and he is on a mission to become the most powerful man, that is the only way he can keep those close to his heart safe. He has trained his mind and body relentlessly for years, honing his proficiency under the false presence of self-reliance when in truth he is a hypocrite. Each day he fights to achieve perfection in hopes of running away from the very thing he chases. Deep inside he is still a beaten down good for nothing child, afraid of abandonment. No matter how much he trains and studies he will never escape the fundamental truth. He is as useless as an appendix, rotting away and bound to bring ruination to those around him.

“Princess,” he calls, lowering his legs from the desk, voice so hoarse it sounds like he hasn’t said a word in years. “Come here.”

You open your eyes slowly, blinking away the wetness in your eyes. Sitting up you turn to face him and the look in your doe-eyed eyes sucker punch him straight in the stomach.

A tender warmth spreads through his chest. Perhaps he isn’t all bad.

“Noona,” Hoseok calls for you again, his voice a soft caress.

He opens his arms for you, invitingly.

You shake your head. “I’ll get you dirty,”

He quirks an eyebrow, “So?”

“That’s a very expensive suit Hobi,” you point out.

“It’s just blood,” he shrugs, taking the dangling cigarette from his lips and putting it out on the desk. “C’mon now.” He ushers you, flexing his fingers back and forth to get you to hurry.

You walk towards him and lower yourself onto his lap, laying sideways and throwing your legs over the side rails of the chair. He cradles you in his arms like a baby, holding you close against his chest. You snuggle him, basking in his warmth. He smells of gunpowder, sweat, and cigarettes, a strange combination you have grown to love. The feeling of having you in his arms is something Hoseok will never tire of, it’s when he feels the most at ease knowing no harm can come to you. The slight bruising on your side sets his anger ablaze, if he ever gets his hands on the asshole that colored you black and blue he will make sure the man never takes another breath. He will tear the world apart if it meant his hyung and you will never feel any semblance of pain.

“Don’t you worry any further. Once he is well-rested, hyung and I will take you far away from this place. I promise.”

From the many stakeouts Hoseok had done in his life this one had to be the most entertaining and tedious one. His gaze drifted from the various waitresses walking across the crowded room, trays full of drinks and appetizers in hand, scanning for the face he had acquainted himself within the past two weeks. If he was being honest, the greed filled venture was not his scene. It was lost on him why men subjected themselves with blind abandonment to such an unfruitful vice. Their loss was much higher than their gain but he supposed that was the motivation behind such establishments. Despite not being an enthusiast of these sort of games he couldn’t deny the appeal, winning money out of sheer luck was, in fact, an attractive endeavor.

The fluorescent lights reflecting against every corner of the room strained his eyes, a dull ache pressed against the inside of his head. The waiting was the most wearying part about stakeouts, the lack of action made him want to crawl out of his skin, but it was a necessary strategy. He took a drag from his cigarette and tipped his head backward, closing his eyes and allowing the nicotine to run its course through him.

“Good evening sir,” a sweet voice resonated in his ears. “I will be your server for the night, would you like to order anything before joining one of our many gaming tables?”

Opening his eyes, Hoseok sees the outline of your frame out of the corner of his eyes. He angles his body sideways, releasing the fumes through his nose and lands his eyes on your figure. All his life Hoseok had to work hard in order to achieve his many desires but it seemed that the heavens were finally smiling down on him. Standing in front of him stood the key to the treasure of his life, you. He knew what he was there for, he walked into the casino knowing that you would be serving tables from eight to midnight and would then switch shifts to the gaming tables from twelve thirty to two. What he didn’t know was that you would come so easily to him. Releasing a dry chuckle he placed his elbows on the table, folding both of his hands under his chin.

“What does the house recommend?” He asked, scanning every inch of your face and then moving down to your attire. A simple black and white ensemble that hugged your curves amazingly, an invitation for the many drunk men to spend more money than necessary he was sure.

“Well,” You began, reciting the daily specials from memory. “Today our cuisine specials consist of Seoul Bristo and Ginseng. If you are not looking to dine, happy hour is about to begin, although you would have to sit by the bar for that, sir.”

He nodded approvingly at your waitressing skills, competence was a quality he admired and was fond of. You waited patiently for his reply, hands behind your back and the kindest smile he had ever seen plastered on your face. This was going to be an easy job. Not only did he know everything from your height, weight, academic history, who your best friend in high school was, all the way down to the color of your bedroom, but you were also an open book. Transcribing all your emotions onto your eyes, he could already picture himself surrounded by thick crates of money and diamonds.

However, there was something about your eyes that set his nerves on edge. He felt as if he were being dissected the longer you looked at him, no sign of annoyance at his silence.

“Would it be allowed for me to smoke at the bar?”

“Of course,” you asserted. “The left section of the bar is reserved specifically for customers who smoke. We also provide different varieties of cigars if you have a particular preference.”

He had never seen someone so well informed and enthusiastic about their job, you were truly something else.

“Particular preference, eh?” he offered you a small smile, cocking his head to one side. He was still unaware of what tactic he would have to use on you. Were you easily beguiled? He really hoped so, he didn’t want to lose the bet against his hyung, he’d lost plenty already.

“Y-yes sir,” you cleared your throat, meeting his eyes with a strange fire inside them.

“Would you like for me to…” you paused for a second, looking at him from under your lashes, a faint rosy color staining your cheeks. “escort you?”

Were you trying to flirt? Perhaps this was his lucky day. He couldn’t wait to snatch his money out of his hyung’s hands and watch as the arrogant smile fades from his face.

He truly applauded himself, tonight’s work proved to be nothing easier than stealing candy from a baby. Perhaps he’d reward himself with a few rounds of cards, although the competition would fall short against him. He sighed, easy money was always welcomed no matter how monotonous acquiring it may be.

“Please,” he stood up, retrieving his suit jacket from where it hung on the backrest of his chair. Across the room, a raven-haired man sat on a bar stool, nursing a whiskey on the rocks. Hoseok offered him a knowing look to which the man simply nodded. “Lead the way.”

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