#the idea that the monstrosity comes about because of a difference between what is demanded of that person

[braingone]

Sure, let's go ahead and slap the myth of Tam Lin onto Ambrose too, while we're at it

[thestobingirlie]

So much fic seems to miss how different things were in the 80s compared to now (also seem to forget how long ago stranger things is set... like season 1 is set 40 years ago this year.)

One thing I notice it a lot in is the talking about video/ the setting with Steve and Robin working at family video and just how home media worked.

First part of it, you can always tell when someone only grew up with dvd/ bluray/ video on demand. Because VHS did not have home menus, scene selection, or an additional features menu. You put the tape in and the only options were play, pause, fast forward or rewind. And when people write DVD instead of VHS for what family video offer. Like that format did not come out until the mid 90's and didn't overtake VHS until the early-mid 2000's, which lead to the monstrosities that were the combo DVD/VHS player. (I even saw one fic where Steve and Robin had to rewind returned DVD's. That is just not how it works.)

A lot of the time I think people don't understand is how new accessible home video/ home media was. Like when Steve and Robin start at family video, VHS was less than a decade old. Home video that was accessible and available to the masses only really came about with Betamax in 75 and VHS in 76. And because of that it was expensive, which is why rental stores were such a big thing. In the mid 80's a normal single-tape VHS could easily cost $80-$90, which is the equivalent of over $200. When Back To The Future was released on VHS in 86 it cost $80. So when its written that someone (often Eddie) has rented the same movie a few times, and they have Steve or Robin say that it would be cheaper to buy a copy, it just doesn't make sense.

Then its the time between theatrical release and home release. It could easily be a year between theatrical release and VHS release (Using BTTF again, theatrical release date was July 3rd 1985, VHS release was May 22nd 1986. So nearly 11 months.) And film companies didn't just release their entire back catalogue onto VHS right away. They looked at what was in demand. (Disney didn't finish releasing their "classics" onto VHS until well into the 90's). The one I see people getting wrong the most in fic is The Rocky Horror Picture Show. Now I could see Robin and Eddie loving Rocky Horror, but they probably weren't all that aware of it. It was released in 75, but it wasn't available on VHS until 87 in the UK, and 1990 in the US, and it wasn't broadcast on TV until 93. Yes, there were midnight screenings in a lot of cities, but it was rated R, and they just might not have heard of it. (Sorry, but Rocky Horror is my other hyperfixation/ special interest and I could talk about it for hours on end). But, yeah, unless they'd managed to get hold of a bootleg copy, they probably hadn't seen it.

Sorry for the long ask, but this is just something that bugs me a little, because it would take just a few seconds to google it to find out if what they've written actually makes sense with the time it's set.

i read a fic that mentioned they were all watching a dvd and i literally stopped reading the fic. it just totally took me out of it.

obviously if you’re younger you won’t know as much about vhs, but it’s not that hard to find out (also, someone had to rewind dvds??? come on man, never having actually seen a vhs, sure. but have these people never watched a dvd??)

$80? that’s so expensive! i had no idea! i do love how you know so much about this tho lmao

people focus on the rocky horror picture show too much. i think it’s the only queer media they know from around the 80s, and while it’s fun, i really don’t think robin/steve/eddie would’ve known much about it, and if they did watch it, would probably be post st canon.

don’t worry about long asks! small things like that bug me too lol, especially because they’re so small it would take two seconds to look it up! but i guess if you’ve never really experienced 80s shit, you don’t even know you have to look stuff up.

[lxpinwrites]

Excerpt from an AU from my partner’s story

(for @gingerly-writing‘s craving asdfasfadsf)

--

He should have died.

The thought rang clear in his otherwise fuzzy mind the moment he awoke in the cold cell, his entire body aching as if struck with a fever. 

As if he had lost a crucial battle, one that he never meant to walk out of anyways.

He sat up slowly, stretching his weary muscles and growing worried when his prosthetic didn’t move, momentarily thinking that it was malfunctioning until he saw the mangled arm lying limply against his side, the product of yet another one of Dante’s monstrosities.

He removed the useless arm with a pang, trying to ignore how unnatural he always felt without it. The crystal once used to power it fell to the ground with a clatter, now glowing with a bright green magic that he remembered all too well. Dante had corrupted it, then, just to render him useless enough to be unable to work his crossbow.

Quentin had been right. He would have never won. 

A heavy door screeched in protest from somewhere within the dungeon, casting the room in a strange light as boots clattered towards him slowly, confidently. Momentarily he considered ripping part of the prosthetic into a shard, to end his imprisonment before it could worsen, but all he could think of was Quentin, of Maria, of how he would never get to see them again.

“A fine prisoner you make, Flemming.” 

The voice, once clear and smooth, scratched through a ripped out throat, harsh in Aleksander’s ears. He didn’t want to look up at the speaker. He didn’t want to see what his - what Dante had become. He didn’t want to know the lich who had changed his name to reflect his monstrosities.

The caged door flew open and green magic was surrounding him, forcing his head back until he could see Xakras, looking down at him as if he were a mere insect on the ground to be stomped. 

“Quiet for once, are you? I don’t believe I’ve ever seen a Sorian in their place before. Or is it perhaps too painful to speak to me?”

Aleksander’s brow furrowed in confusion, momentarily wondering if Xakras was speaking of perhaps grief. That is, until he opened his mouth to speak, the words inarticulate as his tongue throbbed in pain. “You’re a monster.” 

Xakras laughed, a cruel sound that made his heart ache. Dante’s laugh had always been so warm, a fireplace in the winter. Aleksander bitterly thought of the feelings he had long ago held for him, naively thinking that making Dante laugh would make him fall in love. That had been a foolish thought, for Aleksander only ever fell deeper whenever Dante laughed. 

How idiotic he had been. 

“It would be unwise to reopen an already infected wound, Flemming,” Xakras remarked, releasing him of his magic. “I believe we both know that your constitution is rather... unsuitable for infection, is it not? Though, it wouldn’t pain me to see your tongue removed.”

Aleksander looked down at the scepter he held, his stomach flipping uneasily when he saw dried blood on the blade, wishing that it was only his own blood, that Alyssa wasn’t dead. 

“I’ll die anyways,” Aleksander said, irritated that he couldn’t even speak like normal. It seemed that Xakras had taken away both his body and spirit. He wished he could hate him. “The best doctors in Soria couldn’t cure the infection.”

“The best doctors in Soria didn’t use magic.” Xakras spoke easily, as if stating a simple fact and not caring for the hope it brought him. He leaned against the caged door, looking down at him and for once, almost seeming like Dante again. “And I didn’t give you permission to die.”

A sudden anger overcame Aleksander, his fevered cheeks red. “I won’t become what you are. I - I won’t. Even if you force your curse on me, I’ll - I’ll find a way to die.”

“I wasn’t offering you lichdom,” Xakras said, rolling his eye. “Spending five minutes with you is long enough. I am, however, choosing to heal you.”

Magic paralyzed Aleksander yet again, and before he was able to process what was happening, Xakras was approaching him, pointing his scepter at him until the pain was only a memory. He released him roughly, not caring that Aleksander didn’t have two arms to catch himself. 

He must have noticed how Aleksander was looking at the prosthetic like he had missed an opportunity, because he scoffed. “Please. I was a weakling when you lost your arm. It would have taken ten of me to heal the sickness you had.”

Aleksander thought that for a moment, Xakras sounded regretful, though the feeling passed as quickly as it came. Xakras turned towards the exit, his ripped cloak swaying in the wind. He watched as, before his eyes, a strange magic surrounded Xakras until - to his surprise - he looked like Dante again.

In his shock, he didn’t even react when the prison door was left open. Nor did he react when Xakras said, “You’ll find your old study repurposed for your new life. Don’t try to escape - you’ll find yourself stuck between myself and my guards. Pray that the guards happen to find you first.”

With that, he left, leaving Aleksander with a hopeless exit to inevitable enslavement, wondering only what purpose he could possibly have for Xakras, wondering if Quentin would think to come find him. 

—

Aleksander had wondered if it was pity that made Xakras spare him, though the study that had been transformed into a workshop told him otherwise. He barely remembered the dusty old room, having used it when he lived in Sipara. Now, it so closely resembled his workspace in Soria that, for only a moment, he feared that Xakras had already infiltrated his home. 

There were several differences, however, that never allowed him to feel quite at home. 

Aleksander had stolen one of the guest bedrooms at his estate, turning it into the very place where he had built the first prototypes for his prosthetic. He remembered how Maria would catch him awake late at night, working through the last kinks of his most recent idea. She had always scolded him for sleeping so terribly, and yet she had always left a steaming cup of his favorite coffee on his desk, kissing his forehead before going back to bed. 

She had made the entire room warm, despite the constant draft it had.

He sat down at the workbench roughly, still exhausted from the fight. He wanted to do nothing more than sleep, yet he was too terrified to dare close his eyes in Xakras’s palace, fearing that at any moment, someone would come to kill him. 

Instead, he scavenged the room for metal, having memorized the blueprint for his prosthetic in case he ever lost it. Building was harder than before, and Aleksander realized that he had grown spoiled by having two arms again. Now, he was practically useless, and he occasionally considered asking one of the guards nearby for help.

He didn’t realize that time had passed until the sun was low in the sky, casting his desk in a red light that, strangely, made him long for his little knight. Gods, he could only imagine what Quentin would have done if he had been imprisoned. The poor bastard had panicked enough when the elves had captured them. 

Aleksander stood with a shaky breath, frustrated at the slow pace of which he was building. He wasn’t surprised to find that the only window in the room was barred, though it seemed like a useless precaution. The room was several stories in the air - and Aleksander was terribly afraid of heights. 

Dante would have remembered that about him, Aleksander thought. 

He stared at the horizon, watching the ocean from afar and wondering where Quentin and the others had sailed to - if they had even survived the chaos of Loria burning. The smoke of a burning village nearby still hung in the air. It had been a massacre, supposedly. He had been unconscious during it, stuck in the dungeon for who knew how long. 

Aleksander knew Xakras was near when the guards outside his door kneeled in unison, their heavy armor clanking about and echoing in the empty halls. He tried to prepare himself for whatever the tyrant was planning, though he didn’t think he would ever be able to face him without thinking of Dante, without wishing things had gone differently. 

He briefly wondered - only for a moment - what would have happened if he had refused Alyssa’s quest, if he had instead demanded a conversation with Dante instead of an assassination. 

He supposed it would have all ended the same, anyways. He wasn’t Oklena, so he supposed there was no use in trying to predict what was the best decision. 

“It’s not your best work, I’ll admit.”

Aleksander flinched, whipping around to see Xakras by the workbench, observing the barest mechanics of a prosthetic with a scrutinizing eye. “Don’t tell me you’ve forgotten your abilities already.”

“It’s hard to build with one real arm and one hunk of mangled metal,” Aleksander remarked, his throat lumping bitterly. “The crystal in it is - it’s all beyond repair.”

Xakras snorted. “Did you think it would be easy, facing me? You built the original with a fever and a half-dead arm. What’s the difference?”

“The difference is I had a friend with me, last time.”

[idreamtofmanderleyagain]

Morality-Focused Frameworks Of Discussion As Acts of Control

This is a post in response to a larger conversation I’ve been having with @eshusplayground. I have a perspective that I think would be really relevant to the conversation but I also don’t want to derail the specific focus of the following posts she’s been making recently.

(Trigger Warning For Abuse Discussion and Brief Mentions of Rape)

---

So I’m in the Hellraiser fandom. More specifically, I’m a Pinhead/Kirsty shipper.

For those of you that don’t know, Pinhead is a demonic torturer from hell who’s design is inspired by the BDSM community. Characters who open a magical puzzle box have unknowingly given themselves away to his violent underworld community of eternal torment and depravity. Hellraiser is a film about romantic and sexual horror, and there’s quite a lot in there about abuse and trauma. Kirsty is a traumatized person, and in my personal opinion, very likely a CSA victim.

And I ship these two characters together.

So the subject matter of my particular fandom is extremely intense and niche and complicated to navigate, although YMMV (I have no trouble with this franchise, but I cannot really handle GOT or American Horror Story, for example). After I grew interested in Hellraiser and integrated into it’s fandom, my perspectives about the way we have conversations about villainous characters started to have a major shift.

I often see people have these intense conversations (and arguments) about where a particular character exists on a moral scale, with the subtext (or outright text) that if they tip too far one way or another, they can be rendered unworthy of their own subgroup of fans within their own fandom. People who love those characters or find them shippable are then subject to moral judgements.

So how does one apply such logic to a psychosexual torture demon?

The answer is you can’t.

The frameworks people online use to have these discussions do not make any sense when talking about my fandom. Hellraiser is a dark horror fairytale presenting disturbing, surreal images and behaviors in order to discuss complex and difficult experiences and perspectives. The monsters within it, like Pinhead, are more metaphor than anything.

Now, my follower count is too low and my fandom is too niche for me to really be on the receiving end of a lot of the cruelty that manifests online about the moral validity of the fiction I enjoy. That said, between the anti-kink TERFS and the younger folks involved in purity culture on this site, I can imagine exactly what it would look like. You know what they would look like.

“You’re an Abuse Apologist!”

“You’re an Abuse Fetishist!”

“You’re reinforcing sexism!”

“he’s an irredeemable torturer, you’re probably okay with literal real world rape lmao uwu”

“This is bad kink representation and you’re complicit in the abuse real men do to women because you like this!”

Now, setting aside the fact that the canon lore context of Pinhead involves him having a human soul brainwashed by a monster god to become what he is, and is also in a roundabout sense “redeemed” in canon, I think most people utilizing this kind of framework would assume that I believe Pinhead can be redeemed in the way online Discourse (tm) means it, because that’s how we talk in fandom about the villains we really like.

I do not want to redeem Pinhead. I don’t think he even needs redeeming. I don’t even see value in that conversation at all. Redemption is not a concept that makes sense for what he is, or what he could become as a character. The framework of Pinhead as a Real-World-Equivalent Human Male Abuser who Cannot Be Redeemed From His Actions would inevitably dominate all conversation, regardless of the fact that it is inherently incorrect and detrimental to real, robust literary analysis of the narrative he exists within and how brilliantly it actually interacts with male on female abuse as a subject. By nature of it’s gross oversimplification and misrepresentation, It ruins the potential for greater, more nuanced and complex conversations.

And that’s the thing: my engagement with this particular story and it’s characters has a lot to do with the potential in the narrative to examine how trauma interacts with love, desire and gender politics. Hellraiser has a very unique way of exploring that kind of subject through a storytelling aesthetic that appeals to me (horror/fairytale, gothic romance, etc).

This is about to get personal, so strap the fuck in.

I am the victim of gendered abuse, in that I had an emotionally abusive step father and sexism was absolutely a factor in why that manifested the way it did. I am also a second hand victim of gendered abuse, in that my biological father was a serial stalker and rapist, and other male abusers (or just self-centered family members) caused severe emotional destabilization in my childhood. I grew up viewing adult men as unstable, selfish children. My family endured a lot, and I came to resent the men in my mother’ life for not taking on the role of protector and nurturer when she needed them most. I had discovered the great lie of traditional masculinity: in the face of real crisis, grown men were not protectors. They did not hold together the domestic space. They abused or faltered and abandoned us. This was a repeated pattern among several men in different roles. I was often left picking up all the pieces, taking on roles as a child that these men could not. I had to have strength they did not.

My experience of desire for romantic intimacy with men and men in roles of stable, nurturing authority now inherently involves a jumbled emotional soup of fear, pain, and a deep longing that comes from a place of feminine vulnerability, a desire to be taken care of instead of being the caretaker.

The narrative of Hellraiser pushes a lot of buttons for me. It speaks to my own trauma experiences in a very specific way. In an effort to further that conversation, I’m trying to create a piece of art (a fic) inspired by the deeply personal feelings this film gives me.

For me, Pinhead represents the Jungian shadow masculine, a simultaneous mix of fear and desire, the potential for suffering and pleasure, and everything in between. These experiences are inherently intertwined for me. And Kirsty’s experiences mirror many of my own.

In other words, in order for me to get out of Hellraiser what I get out of Hellraiser, Pinhead has to be exactly what he is, and everything that he is. Which includes monstrosity. Which includes the potential for change. His place in the narrative must fully, truly embody this conversation I need to have with masculinity, which inherently involves painful, scary things.

Anybody demanding that I either denounce my interest in him as morally offensive because he’s a monster in the full sense of the word (and not just the aesthetic one like what is currently trending in Monster Boyfriend fandom), or force a traditional redemption arc upon him as if he were a real life human person who must repent for his real life sins, are essentially saying that I am not allowed to engage with this work of fiction in a way that is transformative for me. And that’s very unfortunate, because honestly, I think my perspective is so much more dynamic and has so much more to offer.

This is not just about basic catharsis. This is not even a power fantasy about emotionally transforming a powerful (white) dude, or “bad boy” fantasies, both standard arguments for villain stanning that feels like it has never truly represented me or the complexity of my experiences and interests. This is a full-on conversation and act of self expression I want to have through art about the experience of fear and trauma when dealing with men as a woman who desires men.

And I don’t think a person has to be traumatized in order to want to engage with this type of fiction. I want to be clear that my experience is not a justification for my interest (I do not need to justify myself), it is an example of a perspective that gets erased by the framework of these conversations.

To me, the framework of moral validity for enjoying fictional villains and monsters and whatever you please feels incredibly stifling to the complex, dynamic ideas and analysis that I want to engage in, because I, and many people I know, are consistently pressured to structure their thoughts with this framework as the only acceptable baseline of discussion. This is so ubiquitous that when people I’ve known have tried to engage in ways that diverge from that framework, the responses they get are outright confused or direct the conversation right back to the original framework they tried to avoid. Complex conversation gets steamrolled.

Somewhere in the conversation we were all having about acknowledging and discussing abuse and oppression, and acknowledging troubling patterns in media which reinforce the normalization of abuse and opression, some people decided that there was a very serious moral discussion to be had regarding the mere act of liking things which involve dark subject matter and complex, or even monstrous characters. They now argue that there are very clear cut, simple moral frameworks for A) telling stories and B) enjoying stories, and most importantly, that this moral framework is a valid justification for the social treatment and silencing of certain people.

A framework, by the way, which I think is actually not functionally a framework, because like the toxic American fundamentalist christian groups it’s thinking is structured from, it does not account for the vastly diverse moral landscape within it’s own space. There is no objectively consistent body of knowledge anybody is working from, because morals are derived from the human experience, which is inherently subjective.

Interestingly, no where does this have more of an impact than with marginalized people, and people like me, who want to express something deeper and more meaningful in the conversation about abuse and oppression than what this framework really offers us. To be honest, The more I see this kind of conversation making the rounds, the clearer it becomes that it’s a means of control and power game playing. It’s not about morality, but about how morality can be leveraged in order to silence truly diverse and nuanced perspectives and uphold people’s sense of self-comfort. It is a means of supplanting more convenient and easily digestible understandings of these highly complex subjects that require more intensive, thoughtful engagement, especially when it gets challenging. This kind of rhetoric absolves people of making room for complex and diverse experiences, and reinforces an (at face-value) easy to follow set of moral rules of how we are all allowed to think and feel.

The implication of all of this is that if we all adhere to the One True (alleged) Moral Framework of Fandom Engagement, then we will somehow come out on the other side with all the Good People having a Great Time having Squeaky Clean Fun. And I don’t think I should have to tell you at this point how stifling and disturbing the implications of that kind of mentality really are.

 Quite frankly, I think a lot of us are very tired of constantly speaking on other people’s terms.

[hwallout]

quatervois - ljy

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

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

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

warnings: (not explicit) violence, murder, language

early an: holy shit it’s here

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Almost.  

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Eventually though, the boy disappeared.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

That's what drug debt does to you.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“...that hooded man...”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Something told you to go and follow.  

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You weren't sure where he was coming from.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

But she never did.

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

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

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

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

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

“Who is it tonight?”  

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

°•. ✿ .•° °•. ✿ .•° °•. ✿ .•° 

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

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

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

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

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

°•. ✿ .•° °•. ✿ .•° °•. ✿ .•° 

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

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

“I’m sorry this is a-”  

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

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

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

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

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

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

°•. ✿ .•° °•. ✿ .•° °•. ✿ .•° 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

°•. ✿ .•° °•. ✿ .•° °•. ✿ .•° 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I don’t know, should you?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

And then it quietly fired.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

But the thing was, you only shot once.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“You’re a smart one”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Your name. Your real name.

The one no one ever used.

“Good luck, you’ll need it”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Neither moved.

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

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

And neither moved.

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

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

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

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

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

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

Still, the weapons didn’t move.

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

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

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

You were set to break apart.

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

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

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

And then it all crashed down.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Bet you hurt yourself, clumsy”

“Yeah, bet”  

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

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

Guess we would never know.

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

[flowerfan2]

Ok friends, I’m cracking up sitting here right now, because I just took a quick trip to get bagels, came inside with the bag of bagels in my hand, and then sat down to post today’s chapter before allowing myself the reward of eating breakfast... and this is how the first line of today’s chapter begin:

David comes into the house with a bag of bagels in one hand and a tray of hot beverages in the other...

I got iced coffee instead of hot, but still, I guess it was meant to be!  Hope you enjoy Chapter 15.  @perryavenue​ is going to recognize where I got my inspiration for this one...

David x Patrick, A03, 3k this chapter, 48k so far.  

Chapter 15

David comes into the house with a bag of bagels in one hand and a tray of hot beverages in the other, listening to see if Patrick is awake yet.  He was hoping to surprise him with breakfast in bed.  Unfortunately, sunny Saturday mornings mean long lines at the bagel place, and it all took a lot longer than he had hoped.

David deposits the bagels on the counter, spotting Patrick sitting outside on the lanai.  Drinks in hand, he joins him at the table and leans over to give him a quick kiss.

“Successful trip?” Patrick asks, taking the lid off his tea and inhaling appreciatively.

“Mmm, yes.  I checked several of the bagels on the way home.  The French toast flavor is overrated, but they do an excellent marble rye.”

“Leave any for me?”

“Even I can’t eat a dozen bagels in half an hour.  Three, maybe, although that would still be a mistake.  There are plenty left for you to choose from.”

Patrick grins at him and leans back, putting his bare feet up on David’s lap.  David frowns.

“What, are foot rubs before coffee incorrect?”

David mock-glares at Patrick, even though he loves these silly call-backs to their history together.  “Bare feet outdoors is incorrect.”

“But there’s a swimming pool.”

“The pool is over there,” David waves his hand.  “You are here, sitting at a table, eating breakfast.  Not swimming.”

“Technically I was reading the news on my phone.  Not eating breakfast.”

“Keep antagonizing me and there won’t be any breakfast in your future, either.”

Patrick grins at him, then removes his feet from David’s lap and goes inside to retrieve the bagels, along with plates, cream cheese and lox.  Ordinarily David would insist on toasting his bagel, but these are so fresh and warm that they demand to be eaten immediately.  They busy themselves with their food for a few minutes, David moaning in appreciation, mostly just to watch Patrick react.

“So, I had an idea for what we could do today.”

“Is eating a pile of bagels and then taking a nap not good enough for you?”

Patrick chuckles.  “I was actually thinking of going kayaking.”

David nearly chokes on his food, and Patrick pats his back good-naturedly.  “Kayaking?”  He doesn’t screech, but it is a near thing.  “What about me, exactly, suggests that I would want to go kayaking?”

“Come on, David.  We’ve been sitting around here for weeks.  I did just get the all clear from the doctor.  It’ll be fun.”

David does not think for a minute that it will be fun, as kayaking will undoubtedly involve bugs, unstable vehicles, and the threat of drowning.  But Patrick has been beached, so to speak, ever since his injury, and David knows it has been weighing on him.

“I don’t suppose we could go on a nice, safe hike instead?”

Patrick laughs.  “We can do that another day.  I called a place about a half hour from here, they have two boats available this afternoon.  Just give it a try.  If you hate it, we won’t stay out long.”

Much to his surprise, David does not hate it.

They show up at the launching area in their swim trunks and shirts, David with his long-sleeved swim shirt on, and Patrick with some kind of sports related jersey.  Their guide makes them wear ugly life preservers, which ruin David’s look but do give him a bit of relief when it comes to his drowning concern.  After a short lesson, during which Patrick asks lots of excited questions and David tries valiantly to follow along, they each get into a kayak and are pushed out into the water.

The sun is shining rather enthusiastically, and David is glad that he has sunglasses on – he even made them stop along the way to buy a cheap pair, in case they wind up in the water.  Patrick bought a ridiculous strap that holds his on his head, and he’s got a ball cap on as well, so there’s not much to see of him except his lovely pale arms which David very much enjoyed slathering in sunscreen.

David pulls his attention away from Patrick and focuses on stroking his paddle through the water, trying to put the guide’s instructions into action.  Patrick stays near him, offering quiet corrections, and soon they both fall into a comfortable rhythm.

David knows that he’s in better shape now than he’s been in for most of his life.  Although running doesn’t do much for his upper body, at least he’s got stamina.  He tries to relax and enjoy it.  If he paddles just right, the kayak cuts through the water without very much effort on his part.  It’s kind of neat.  Soothing, even, almost like the way it feels when he gets into a groove on a run.

They aren’t out on the Gulf, as ocean kayaking is far beyond their skill level.  Instead, they are making their way down an inlet of some kind, a broad waterway with docks and houses on both sides.  Soon they are out in the bay, and Patrick directs them past a piling with an egret’s nest on top, over to a bristly bunch of trees at the water’s edge.

“These are mangroves,” Patrick says, indicating the dense tangle of scrubby looking trees with visible roots.  “They’ve adapted to living in salt water, extracting the fresh water they need.  Some of them push the salt out onto their leaves.  The leaves even taste salty.”

David doesn’t ask how Patrick knows this.  He’d just wind up watching him lick a leaf.

They paddle closer, and David can see into the clusters of plants, the roots and branches weaving together.

“Want to go through?”

David has no idea what Patrick is talking about, but he follows him as he kayaks around the edge of a cluster.  There’s an overhang, and what looks like a tunnel into the middle of the clump of mangroves.

“Are you serious?”  David asks under his breath, but Patrick is already nearing the entrance.

“Go slow,” Patrick says over his shoulder.  “Try not to point into them, and if you do get stuck, just grab on carefully and lever yourself off.  Remember not to overbalance.”

It’s a recipe for disaster, but David gently eases himself into the tunnel.  It’s cooler and dim inside, with branches and green leaves all around him.  It smells like low tide, musty and brackish.  The nose of his kayak gets hung up briefly as he turns too hard in one direction and for a brief moment it lists dangerously sideways, but he takes a breath and then uses his paddle to back up a bit and set himself on a straighter path.

He catches Patrick looking back at him, having executed some kind of fancy twisting maneuver so that he can see David.  “Nice paddling, David.”

They rest for a minute there, Patrick showing David how to move his paddle to make his kayak go sideways (“it’s like a figure eight”) with limited success.  Then Patrick spends some time pointing out to David the difference between the red, white, and black mangroves, which doesn’t make any sense because they are all clearly green.

David doesn’t argue with him.  It’s far too nice here, hidden among the curving branches with Patrick who is so clearly, uncomplicatedly happy.  David will wear an ugly life jacket and take his chances with the alligators anytime if it makes Patrick smile.

After they extract themselves from the mangroves, Patrick makes them paddle into the wind in order to reach a spot where they can pull up on to the beach.  It’s less pleasant than drifting in the trees, but it’s worth it when their kayaks land on a sandy shore.  Patrick jumps out of his boat first, pulling the bright orange monstrosity up out of the water, and then returns to help David get out of his without tumbling over, which David very much appreciates.  

They sit down and stretch their legs, Patrick continuing to chatter about the birds they saw on the way over, how he’s never seen so many of the pink ones (roseate spoonbills, they’re called, but Patrick likes to correct David, so he pretends he doesn’t remember), how they’re fortunate to see so many birds of some kind or another this time of year.

After a while David just pulls Patrick against him, and Patrick shuts up, kissing David with the taste of salt on his tongue.  They make out for a while, alone on the shore, their kayaks shifting slightly as the water laps against their sterns.  Patrick lies back on the sand and David hovers close, his elbow braced against the ground as his other hand slides Patrick’s sunglasses off so that he has more skin to kiss.

They can’t go too far, for obvious reasons, but it feels wonderful to kiss and cuddle in the sun.

Finally they sit up, a little shy, and Patrick takes David’s hand in his and squeezes it.

“Thanks for doing this today,” Patrick says, and David’s heart swells.  It’s not such a big deal, participating in an activity just because your partner asked you to.  And it really wasn’t a hardship.

“It’s fun,” he concedes.

“I didn’t think you’d agree to come.”  Patrick looks away, out across the water.

David puts a hand on Patrick’s chin and turns his face towards him, until his brown eyes are locked onto his own.  “You asked.”  There’s very little he wouldn’t do for Patrick.  He can’t quite say that out loud, but he doesn’t have to.  He thinks Patrick hears it anyway.  

That night David’s putting away the remains of their take-out (Thai food, purchased on the way back from their kayaking adventure) when Patrick dances over to him and presents him with a package.

“What’s this?  Aside from an already opened and poorly resealed cardboard box?”

“Open it and find out.”

Inside under the blue tissue paper is a menorah, a pretty silver-plated one with a leaf and branch design.  It can’t have been cheap.

“Patrick, you didn’t have to-”

“I always imagined getting you a nice menorah, when we finally had a place together.  I had seen this one online, and when I realized it was Hanukkah, well.  Here it is.”

David just stares at it for a moment, tongue-tied.

“Do you like it?”

He wraps his arms around Patrick and kisses him soundly.  “I love it.”

It’s actually the end of Hanukkah already, so they load up the menorah with the appropriate number of candles and David mumbles what he remembers of the blessings.  It’s a rather lovely moment on top of a particularly lovely day, and David has to take a minute to keep it from overwhelming him.

Patrick notices, of course, and wraps his arms around him from behind, his chin on David’s shoulder, and they breathe together for a while.  When David relaxes Patrick nuzzles his ear.  “Want to go to bed?”

David turns in Patrick’s arms, a smile tugging at the corner of his mouth at the eager look on Patrick’s face.  “Someone’s having a good day.”

Patrick captures David’s lips in a kiss, hot and insistent, and when he pulls back David is breathing hard.  “Tell me you’re not.”

He shakes his head, happiness bubbling out of him.  “Can’t do it.”

They make it back to the bedroom just before clothes start to come off, and soon they are naked and wrapped around each other, hands skimming over heated skin.  Patrick seems to have a plan, he’s wound up and raring to go, and David loves it.

“What did you have in mind?” he asks as Patrick straddles him, holding his head in his hands and nipping along David’s jaw.

“I want you to fuck me,” Patrick says into the shell of David’s ear.  “Open me up like this, and then fuck me.”

A thrum of arousal pulses through David at Patrick’s words.  They’ve had a lot of sex over the past week, but Patrick hasn’t asked for this yet.  

Their initial attempts at penetrative sex hadn’t gone particularly smoothly, back when they first got together.  After a few mishaps they had ignored it for a while, content to turn each other on and get each other off in a variety of easier ways.  David was happy to introduce Patrick to the pleasures of a really excellent blow job, and Patrick was, as always, a quick study, finding that he loved to bring David to the edge and then tease him until he was reduced to a writhing, begging mess.

And David was always quick to reassure Patrick that penetrative sex wasn’t the only way to have sex, that no matter what he thought in the past, they could make each other happy in any way they were comfortable with.

But Patrick was nothing if not determined, and so eventually they made their way back to it, first Patrick tentatively pushing into David, and later, when Patrick was in just the right mood, Patrick asking for David to do the same for him.  

“You don’t have to like it,” David remembers saying to Patrick, one night when Patrick was feeling some combination of bad and nervous and embarrassed about the whole issue.  “It’s okay if you don’t want to do it.  It really is.”

At some point, though, something happened that changed Patrick’s mind.  David’s pretty sure it had to do more with Patrick’s headspace than anything else, his gradual letting go of heteronormativity and becoming more comfortable with his view of himself as queer, but his prostrate probably factored into it as well.  Afterwards Patrick clung to David like an octopus, both of them sweaty and blissed out.

“How do people not do this all the time?” Patrick asked, pressing his face into David’s neck.  “How can it feel so good?  Why didn’t you tell me?”

David had laughed and hugged Patrick tight, too caught up in his fiancé’s astonished joy to wonder how he was going to keep the attention of such an amazing man.  It had been a very good night.

Tonight was shaping up to be even better.

Patrick holds himself over David while David finds the lube, and lets out a low moan when David reaches down and starts to press at his hole.  David takes his time, circling gently, then increasing the pressure, all while Patrick moans and sways above him.

Patrick leans down to kiss him, his mouth open and trailing wetly down David’s jaw, catching on the stubble.  He’s got a hand on David’s chest, and then Patrick shifts so his mouth can continue its journey, finding one of David’s nipples and sucking hard.

“God, Patrick,” David whines, just holding on to Patrick’s hips while Patrick bites at one nipple and then the other, sending sparks of electricity through his body.  “Come here, let me-” David gets his fingers back where he wants them, and then he’s pressing inside, Patrick fucking his fingers.

“Ah – David – oh god, yes, there, oh-” Patrick pushes back against David’s fingers, rocking back and forth, hands grasping at David’s arm and his chest and then valiantly pulling at David’s cock, although his attention is understandably elsewhere.  “Ohhhh, David, now, please, fuck me now.”

“Like this, or…?”

Patrick slides off David’s fingers and stretches out on the bed, pulling David on top of him.  “Like this.  Please. Now.  Come on.”  

David’s helpless to resist, Patrick’s big eyes pleading with him, his hands running up and down David’s arms, grabbing at his ass, squirming underneath him like he can’t wait a moment more.

“Okay, baby, okay.  I’ve got you.”  And he does, lubing himself up with a few quick strokes, and then positioning himself carefully between Patrick’s quivering thighs, one hand bracing himself on the bed as he slides into Patrick’s tight heat.

“David,” Patrick moans, “oh, fuck, yes.”  He’s reaching for David, trying to pull him into a kiss, and it’s messy and breaks David’s rhythm and he doesn’t care, it’s so good, Patrick wanting him like this.  David’s heart is slamming against his chest in time with his thrusts, and Patrick is writhing underneath him.  The slick slide of their bodies feels so good, David doesn’t know how he can hold it all inside.

“Patrick, baby, I love you, I love you,” David pants out, heat pooling inside him, a familiar tightness building.  

“Come on, David, oh god, come on,” Patrick pleads roughly.

David’s hips are moving frantically now, his muscles burning.  He’s shaking, dripping sweat everywhere, and he’s close, he just needs to keep going a little longer, for Patrick, he can do it.  

“David, I’m so close, oh god, you can, David-” Patrick gets a hand on his own cock and pulls, and David feels him, feels him quaking and shivering.

David comes with a rush of sensation, light exploding behind his eyes.  Patrick is almost there too, and David gets a hand on him, both of their hands on Patrick’s cock, twisting together, over and over.  Suddenly Patrick’s back arches and his whole body convulses as he comes, head thrown back in ecstasy, a long whine falling from his open mouth.

David collapses next to Patrick on the bed, turning his head to press his face against Patrick’s shoulder.  Patrick drapes himself over David’s side, arm sliding over his back, nose digging into his collarbone.  They lie there until the aftershocks subside, and then some, not wanting to move.

“Gonna have to change the sheets,” David finally says.

“That’s the first thing you think about, at a time like this?”  Patrick teases, a shaky hand brushing David’s hair out of his face and onto his forehead.

“No, it’s not,” David says.  “But it’s the first thing I can say without blushing, and I don’t have the energy for that.”

“David,” Patrick says, pressing a kiss to David’s lips, then pulling back before David has a chance to enjoy it.  “Are you feeling things tonight?”

David snorts.  “I’m feeling quite a lot.  Seemed like you were, too.”

Patrick starts to hum <i>“Feeling Groovy”</i> and David can tell it’s coming, he can tell before Patrick even gets a whole phrase out, and he slaps a hand over Patrick’s mouth.

“For once could we finish up our lovemaking without a concert?”

Patrick is laughing against David’s hand, and he bites gently at the ball of his thumb.  “Do you really want me to stop?” he asks, his breath warm against David’s skin.

“No,” David confesses, too open to argue even about this, about Patrick’s awful love songs whispered in his ears at highly inappropriate times.  “I don’t want you to stop.  Don’t stop any of it.”

“Deal,” Patrick says, easing David’s hand away from his mouth and wrapping him in his arms.  David settles in, not caring anymore about sticky sheets and sweaty skin.  All of that can wait for tomorrow.  For now, he’s just going to focus on how wonderful it feels to drift off to sleep with the love of his life holding him close.

[pixieungerstories]

The Captive - 13

The crafters were nervous.  Elly had taken over the space that had been for spinning with crafting books.  Not just yarn related crafts, which they would have understood, but sewing, quilting and cooking too.  Lashandra had organized Posy and Cloe to bring over a gift basket for Elly in the most insulting way possible. 

“I’m sorry business isn’t good dear.  But don’t worry!  The community will support you!  The town may be too small to have much of a food bank, but here are some things to help out.”

Elly wanted to kick the women’s teeth in.

She put all the roving on sale at cost and reduced her hours to five days a week instead of six.  And she hired workmen to come in the night and build the partition wall between the yarn shop and the bakery.  The stairs made the perfect division point and the trust paid extra for them to come in on a Friday afternoon and be finished by Monday morning.

That also meant the crafters were there when the construction started.

Elly felt a little bad for stressing out the nice old ladies, but the bitches three were ruining it for everyone.

Ben was noticeably worried but forcing himself to remain calm, so Elly had him over for dinner that Friday.  She showed him the architect's drawing and the planning permission from the town.  Ben listened carefully and poured the wine.  Then he asked the question she was not expecting.

“What does George think of all of this?”

“What do you mean?  The partition wall still has double french doors and is in keeping with the style of the house.  He isn’t involved in the business.  What difference would it make?

Ben stared hard at his wine glass.  “Elly.  The workmen are going to be here almost around the clock for the next two days.  How are you going to be able to smuggle food down there for him?  Nevermind visiting!  Is George in solitary lock up for the whole weekend?”

Elly opened her mouth to respond, then closed it again.  “It will be fine,” she finally muttered.

“Really?  Because how comfortable would you be locked in the basement, alone in the dark for three days?  I would be pretty pissed off.”

Elly pressed her lips together and picked at the nail bed on her thumb for a moment.

“Fuck it!” Ben announced. “George likes spicy food.  I’m ordering from that Indian place.  I’ll take it and my laptop down there.  We can have guys movie night if you aren’t going to do anything.”

Elly still didn’t know what to say.  ‘Hey Ben, George is trying to seduce me,’ wasn’t going to fly.  Except, was that even what this was?  He said he desired her, then promptly went back to what was normal for them.  He hadn’t brought it up again and it had been over a week.  “Now there’s a thought,” was the best she could come up with.

“How territorial is he?” Ben asked.  Elly choked.  “It’s just,” he started again, “if he isn’t too freaked out about people in his space, I would bring over a sleeping bag and -”

“And have a slumber party?” Elly asked, raising an eyebrow.  “Will you be having half naked pillow fights while you’re at it?”

“Only if you join in,” Ben replied without missing a beat.

Elly gritted her teeth.  She didn’t really like the idea of Ben down there alone with George.  And it pissed her off that she hadn’t thought about how the construction would affect them while it was happening.  She had been focused on getting to the end and had lost track of the details.  

Nyx decided that her person’s moment of stillness was the ideal time to jump into Elly’s lap and demand affection.

“I don’t think your cat is growing, Elly.  Is she ok?”

“What?  Oh!  Yeah.  She’s fine.  She is getting heavier.  I’ve been using my kitchen scale to make sure.  I just don’t think she’s going to be a big cat.  Probably just as well, since she thinks she’s a parrot.”

As if to prove her point, Nyx climbed Elly’s shirt, ignoring the wincing as her claws pricked and settled in to hide in Elly’s hair.  Elly sighed and took another sip of her wine.  Nyx hissed at Ben when he laughed at them.

“Yes, yes you are a ferocious and terrifying beast,” Elly muttered reaching up and making scritching motions for Nyx to lean against.

“What does she think of all of this?” Ben asked.

“Nothing as far as I can tell.  She has been riding around in my pocket at work since I got her and no one has noticed.  I’m going to end up getting her one of those cat wearing things at some point.”

Ben nodded, “They have ones that look like Pokémon balls.”

“I was thinking more the Baby Bjorn like in that comic strip.”

“Oh my god!  You are joking, right?”

Elly just smirked.

----

Dragon and curry sleepover was more work to set up than they thought.  First thing was to talk to George.  He hesitantly agreed.  Then Elly moved the cat box downstairs.  Ben brought over some sleeping bags and air mattresses.  Then Elly had to organize a 50 foot extension cord to run the pumps to inflate them.  Fortunately, the workmen had one and didn’t ask too many questions.

Ben went for food, Elly brought down a cooler and a box of wine.  Then she had to explain the concept to George and put up with his disdain at the very idea.  He let it go when she pointed out it meant they could stay down there longer.

Next was her string of christmas lights. That only took a six foot extension cord under the door and they nicely lit up the stairs and brightened the tiny room at the bottom of them.  Elly had been aware of the space being much bigger than just a table and chair underneath the heating ducts, but the light certainly emphasized that this was only one corner of a much bigger structure.

“It’s like the Mines of Moria down here,” she muttered.

To her surprise, George burst out laughing.  “Fewer orcs and goblins, but there is a dragon so more like Erebor.”

Elly just stared at him.  George stopped laughing and held out his hands.  “My claws tear the paper, but many of your predecessors have been kind enough to read to me.  I was quite fond of Tolkien, but I believe the Ents were written specifically to annoy Lewis.”

Elly squeaked, then coughed to clear her throat, “What, uh, what did you think of Lewis?”

George shrugged, “Not bad but his religion was showing.”

Elly just stood there, frozen on the spot.  George sighed and pointed upwards.  “Did you notice the arches?  In the 1300’s they called that fornication.”

Elly looked up.  She hadn’t noticed before, but the ceiling was vaulted and carefully covered in mosaic tiles.  “Who rib vaults a basement?” she murmured.

George snorted, “People with money.  Come, treasure, you can help me move the table.”

Elly was prepared to let that one slide, it was starting to grow on her.

She was not prepared to deal with the table.  “I have a couple of questions.  How many people are you expecting that you think we need a table that big and how the hell do you expect me to help move that monstrosity?”

George was suddenly absolutely still.  Elly hadn’t really noticed how some part of him was always moving, even if it was just his tail twitching until it wasn’t.

“It is the table that I have.  Based on Ben’s description of the food, you won’t be eating it sitting on the floor.”

“I’m sorry,” Elly said softly.  “That was rude.”

George nodded.

“I have a card table we could use,” she suggested.  “Or maybe … do you have a large footstool or a flat topped chest?”

He looked at her with narrowed eyes.  “A treasure chest?”

“Well, I was thinking more like a steamer trunk.”

“That I have.”

----

Ben came back with enough food to feed an army, a second cooler, this one full of beer, two sleeping bags and a box full of random blankets.  He also brought his laptop, a small projector and a roll of duct tape.  The tape plus a white sheet made a good enough screen, and the workmen weren’t getting their extension cord back.

Ben was spreading the food out on the impromptu table when he asked, “Did you pick out a movie yet?”

“How about Lord of the Rings?”  Elly suggested.  “It’s long enough to keep us busy for most of the weekend.”

Ben laughed, “It is if we watch The Hobbit first.”

“I should save room for popcorn,” Elly mused.

“You should, but will you?”

“Not a chance,” she replied with a grin.

“I am not following this conversation,” George said flatly.

“You said you liked Tolkien.  They made movies of The Hobbit and Lord of the Rings,” Elly explained.

George considered this.  “I have seen 8mm films before.  The picture moves, but the people do not speak.”

Ben grinned, “You watched silent films?”

“He might mean home movies.  Was it Ann who you watched movies with?” Elly asked politely.

“Yes.  Her family would send her films of them,” the dragon explained cautiously.

“The technology has changed a bit since then,” Elly was trying to be diplomatic.

George snorted, “As it is wont to do.”

[ninjakitty15]

Hair Today, Gone Tonight (Loki Oneshot)

It was not uncommon for Loki to take his time in his bathroom preparing himself for the day, he was a prince of Asgard after all and had to keep up appearance in every aspect. It was also not uncommon for him to stare long and hard at himself in the mirror to make sure every detail was perfect about himself, especially when he was always beside his perfect older brother the crown prince who could do nor look no wrong and constantly demanded all eyes to be on him. It was then slightly more uncommon for Loki to linger at his reflection as only once in a grand while would he actually find an imperfection or flaw that needed his utmost attention and time to fix or magic away. So in theory it was normal for Loki to take an awfully long time glaring at his reflection once more before he greeted the rest of the royal court of Asgard. Today was however an exception to all these things as it was a very rare occurrence for him to be cursing the Norns and growling in frustration during his daily preparations. The reason for this of course was because what was staring back at him in the mirror between his keen nose and his snarling, thin upper lip wasn’t just an imperfection but an impossibility. 

Loki had come to accept early on in his long life that he would never sport such an eyesore of a facial feature as was seen mocking his otherwise perfect appearance. It wasn’t even a dashing looking mark like Fandral had, that suave blond bastard. He had long since come to take pride in his smooth, hairless appearance though as Volstagg and Thor were proof that with great hair comes great irresponsibility. Whenever there was a great feast within the palace walls, and there was always a feast for some reason or another, between the two of those bilgesnipes there would be a massacre that started at the dining table and end on their face. And Frigga wondered why Loki wasn’t gorging himself during the feasts like everyone else was. It wasn’t that hard to figure out when you’re stuck sitting between the beast with two beards, you either grow a stronger stomach or lose your appetite quite quick.

It also wasn’t hard to figure out that because it was impossible for Loki to grow face fuzz that not only was the one he had now not natural, but it wasn’t his doing at all and thus someone had to answer for that crime. No amount of scrubbing, potions, illusions, shapeshifting, or even old fashioned makeup could get rid of it either which further irked him but also narrowed down his list of suspects to one person. just the one, that had both access to his personal chambers within the palace walls but more importantly was foolish enough to prank the trickster god while he was taking a much needed nap after sparring against his brute of an older brother. Just one royal resident in fact besides Loki himself had inherited Frigga’s gift for magic as was clearly the source of this monstrosity of a moustache as if the mere sight of it didn’t irritate him enough. That fool was toast.

Loki threw open his bedchamber doors with vengeance in his eyes, already knowing his prey wouldn’t be too far, wanting to see his reaction to what transpired before running off. Right on cue as the door banged open, Loki could hear not too distant wicked giggling and the quickened pace of hasty foosteps fleeing from him. The telltale signs of a brat about to be caught that was too troublesome and young to master a decent gambling face, especially when they’re enjoying their troublemaking entirely too much. Loki easily started gaining on the little gremlin before their rounded a corner and disappeared into the nearest room with a squeal of, “save meeee!” Loki wasted no time blasting open the doors the brat was hiding behind with a wave of his hand which was still glowing green with his own magic to see Thor standing between him and his prey unsurprisingly, arms crossed and attempting to look imposing to someone that grew up with his own shenanigans. 

“Step aside, brother, I have a pesky little bug to squash,” growled Loki, his gaze fixed on the twerp hiding behind Thor.

“I know you don’t mean my son but as I don’t see any other living thing here besides us, I think you must be mistaken on there being anything here to squish,” Thor challenged back.

Loki rolled his eyes at Thor’s attempt at diplomacy. “The only mistake here besides your attempt to stop me is your son’s current choice in free time activities and that is why I’m here to see that he fixes it before I fix him.”

“What are you prattling on about?” demanded Thor defensively.

Loki had also long since mastered the art of deception and redirecting people’s attention from an issue thanks entirely to his brother’s baffoonery as younger adults so he had been keeping his face turned away from his brother’s gaze to keep an eye on his prey. Till now when he actually met Thor’s eyes whose widened in surprise and mirth.

“Can’t you just wash that off?” Thor suggested, trying hard to suppress his laughter.

“That’s brilliant, Thor, I wish I thought of that first! Oh what a great help you are!” snapped Loki before he snapped his glowing fingers and a green ring appeared around Thor before the elder brother fell through the floor, leaving his son, Loki’s nephew wide open.

The little brat had the audacity to stand his ground as his father had taught him after fleeing initially and put up his fists in a fighting stance, even less imposing looking than his father was being less than half Thor’s size and not remotely as strong either.

“Who will save you now, I wonder?” growled Loki as he advanced on the cornered kid, a million different versions of vengeance dancing through his mind.

“You wouldn’t hurt your own nephew, would you?” the child had the balls to ask innocently.

“You are aware of our family’s long history of deception and betrayals, aren’t you?” Loki asked incredulously. “Why would I be exempt from that rule after you just followed that trait yourself, enchanting this disgusting feature on me? Get it off and I might consider a more merciful fate for you than what I’m currently planning.”

“And what are you planning?”

“Try my patience stalling the inevitable and you may have your answer soon enough. Off. Now.” To emphasize Loki’s point, he summoned a dagger in one hand while his other still glowed with magic.

The child reluctantly magically erased the enchanted ink scribbled on Loki’s face before a dagger was hurled at his head as Thor returned to the scene through the window behind him. The child however vanished as an illusion projection, the dagger at the same time disappearing as well as Loki clearly wasn’t actually going to stab him with it, it took years for Thor to get used Loki’s points, his child had a ways to go. Despite both child and weapon not being present in the room, Thor still had a sense to confront Loki after being literally dropped by him earlier. Loki however had other thoughts and a vast majority of them were still vengeance before dishonor, he too disappeared from the room before Thor could have a few choice words with him. 

Thor’s son was very much like his dad in that he thought he had become pretty clever and believed he knew Loki fairly well. Well enough to trick the trickster at least. He also knew that anything and everything within Loki’s room was something secretive, powerful, and valuable and he wanted in on that. So that’s where he was, trying to sense with his quickly growing magical abilities where Loki kept those special artifacts. Finally, he managed to find something tugging on his magic from under Loki’s massive kingsized bed and eagerly scrambled under it in hopes of some kind of cool treasure to show off to his peers later. His hands brushed against a small wooden chest that seemed to be locked but he easily magicked the lock to open for him. He could barely contain his excitement as he grasped the lid of the chest with both hands eagerly and the faintest of green glows came from the box before he popped it open. He barely had time to scream as a large green snake sprang from the chest and wrapped itself around his hands and arms, effectively restraining him while its head was stationed next to his and poised to bite his neck, baring its fangs as if to strike. As he writhed and struggled against the snake’s hold, his ankles were suddenly seized by an icy cold grip and he was yanked out from under the bed and lifted upside down to face a lean, gold and green adorned abdomen.

“You think you were the first to try this tactic on me? Where do you think you got that idea from?” 

The snake still wrapped around the brat seemed to laugh at his captive while the owner of the snake let go of his ankle, keeping the kid afloat before he was turned right side up to face the bemused god of mischief he was caught by properly.

“Perhaps you should ask your father what actually happened anytime he tried his little attempts at tricking a master trickster, his mistakes could be your lessons.”

“Or my triumphs,” snarked the kid back.

“And how is that working in your favor thus far?” Loki asked him slyly. “Your father has had centuries to try that on me, how old are you again?” He let the kid go and the snake melted into a large toy snake the kid was quick to escape from. “If I see you in my room without my permission, if you ruin a nap for me again, you’ll find your worst fear under your bed.”

“I don’t fear anything.” The kid held onto the toy snake, hoping to at least impress his peers with its realistic though rubber look.

“Your father said the same thing when I gave him that warning and he didn’t stop checking under his bed till he he had women in it.” Loki snapped his fingers and the kid was sent out of his room and back to his father for good this time.

Loki stalked back to his bathroom once more and looked at himself in the mirror just to be sure it was gone for good before sticking out a forked tongue at his reflection and smirking. He wondered if fears were a hereditary thing as that would make this whole “uncle” thing that much easier though he always liked a challenge in the end and his nephew having magic did have its merits. Let the prank wars begin...

[goodomensbingo]

We are counting down the days to our sign-ups with a daily drabble! Today’s chosen prompt was Droit du seigneur and has been written by mod Pestilence!

--

Best laid plans

Prompt: Droit du seigneur (also known as jus primae noctis, was a supposed legal right in medieval Europe, allowing feudal lords to have sexual relations with subordinate women, in particular, on their wedding nights.)

Rating: PG

Tags: supposedly historical 

Warning: one or two double entendres/references a supposedly historical right of a feudal lord to impose himself sexually on subordinat women.

---

"Angel!" Crowley hissed between clenched teeth.

Aziraphale simply stood a little taller - or as tall as she could. She'd chosen to make her female corporation a little shorter, simply because she'd long since learned that it would get her further in the end than when she was taller than most of the men.

Men tended to be more manageable if she kept her corporation at a shorter height than theirs.

Well, human men at least.

Apparently a demon was easier to unsettle.

"Really, Crowley," she huffed. "Droit du seigneur?"

"I didn't realize what they meant until it was too late to back out of - and while we're at it," Crowley growled menacingly (or tried to at least, he'd never scared Aziraphale), "what are you doing here?"

"If you must know, the poor family only had one daughter - where would it leave them if she wasn't a virgin on her wedding night?" Azirpahale huffed again. She had been ready to deal with a human idiot whom she could easily dupe and turn away, leaving him to think he'd gotten what he'd come for without for one second giving him what he'd want. "You know how they are about this idea of purity and virginity."

Crowley, the vexing creature, was a completely different kind of problem.

Especially considering the current setup.

Crowley, posing as a landowner, demanding his right and she, posing as a virgin girl, sent to his bedroom.

If Gabriel ever caught wind of this...

Crowley all but deflated. "I guess it's not so bad - I mean, now I won't have to make some poor peasant girl think she'd had a lousy night with some bastard landowner."

Aziraphale felt her own stern demeanor soften somewhat. Of course Crowley hadn't planned to do anything heinous. She should have known and trusted him that much.

"Nice corporation, by the way, Angel," Crowley said, cocking his head to the side. "Not often I see you like this."

Aziraphale preened, ignoring the fact that pride was one of the seven deadly sins. This was Crowley, afterall, no harm done.

"Well, neither of us are served by me leaving in the dead of night," Aziraphale said airily. Then she narrowed her eyes at the demon. "How is you wine selection this century?"

Crowley made a face. "Not nearly good enough for you, Angel. The ale's not too bad, though." The last was added with a hopeful look.

Aziraphale shimmied in her seat. Oh, she did so like the ale.

"Shell we settle in for the night, then?" she asked, completely ignoring the flush of Crowley's cheeks matching the colour of his hair.

"You'll be the death of me, Aziraphale," Crowley muttered, not without a touch of respect as he snapped his fingers and the wooden chair opposite his own became a comfortable, soft monstrosity for her to sit in.

"One does try, my dear."

[sir-huffman]

tagged by: @songzhong​ (hello, here’s a wall of text, and I enjoyed reading about you Mao!) tagging: @you on the dash - aka you see this you’re tagged.

———  BASICS!​

Name: Duke ( any pronouns, but most use masculine  )

Face Claims:       - Itsuki Kamiyama from GOTH (professional like above)       - Suga from Night of Drizzling Rain (general)

———  THREE  FACTS!

1) I am an ISTJ and a Taurus...so take that what you will. I’d like to say I’m friendly, but tend to put a very large wall (of text) up so people know what they’re getting into with me and to give an explanation for my actions...as such I am very introverted and only have so much energy for interaction. This leaves me seldom to contact people in the RPC unless I have a specific idea in mind for our muses...which honestly I never do. The best is for me to just chuck a meme at people and see how our muses vibe. After that, well uh...yeah. I’m one of those RPers who have more people I interact IC than OOC cuz OOC interaction takes a lot out of me unless we somehow vibe well.

And by vibe well, I mean our muses generally interact well and aren’t apathetic towards each other. There are so many muns that I respect and consider friends and admire from afar, but we’re not close due to just our muses just not vibing as well as others (which is totes fine it’s just how things sometimes go, ya know?).

( you’ll find that I write a lot hence the read more )

2) I am very stubborn and have a little bit of tunnel vision in my own HCs and world crafting. My muses tend to be people who hold an authoritative and demanding presence where their opinions are stated as truth...which is the complete opposite of my own personality. But I’ve learned that I have to kinda draw my lines and I feel like I can probably give people whiplash between my timid and nervous nature and when it comes to defining my muses. Honestly I’m just very flexible with molding my muses to help fit for interaction, but I do have hard lines and like to make it clear if I’m bending my characters vs how they would naturally act...I tend to make my muses push overs unless I’m like 100% comfy...and even them I make them push overs...hence the amount of my crack threads because I have no sense control and just wanna have fun...with my tight assed muses.

3) That said...I’m just a meme. My main reputation is just being that one mun who RPs a Team Rocket OC with 6 Magikarps. But I truly just have two sides. The very crackish side where (1) I’ll just throw our muses in ridiculous situations and (2) the very angst heavy side that usually only talked about due to my muses handling trauma and very apathetic and nonchalant towards breaking hearts. And as I write this out I feel like I’m giving people whiplash on whoever is reading this since they see Huffman here and is like “oh, how cute what a soft boy” and then I bring up Morax who is just a monstrosity of a muse where I’m toning him down 99% of the time because...well...(*looks at hands*) he’ll end up killing a muse 99% of the time if I don’t stop him and that isn’t fun to RP.

———  EXPERIENCE!

My first experience in RPing in general was on an old website called TinierMe and also a mobile app called VampiresLIVE (lol). However I officially started RPing on Tumblr in 2014 as a Gijinka!Groudon blog originally known as theruleroftheland. After that I’ve slowly branched out of the Pokemon RPC but hold a strong connection with the friends I’ve made there (or kinda, I’m horrible at keeping contact with others since I disappear for months/years at a time). But I’ve found I’m most comfortable writing on tumblr due to the amount of formatting and organization that comes with RPing on here.

I’m slowly branching out to Discord (thank you to my dear RP partners over there who are patient with me because I’m slow) and becoming more accustom with being social over there.

———  MUSE  PREFERENCE!

Gender: 100% male to RP as. I find that I gravitate towards males since I have disconnection with male muses from myself and I like having that wall. Writing females get a little too personal for my own comfort so having that extra layer of distance really helps. Also it helps me look at things differently.

Multi or Single: 

I prefer single-muse blogs to run as I like keeping things strictly relating to my muse on one blog and another muse on another. Over the years I’ve been interested in throwing my old muses onto a multi-muse blog but honestly I can never bring myself making a multi-fandom multi-muse blog due to my own heavy need for organization.

As for shipping, I work under what I call a Quasi-Single shipping (aka multi- and single- ship). I operate under the impression that my muses are in an overarching timeline of their life that is heavily affected by their relationships. As such the MULTISHIP aspect is prone to have cheating and relationship overlap. I’m into having muses naturally engage in threesomes, foursomes, lying, cheating, misunderstandings, fights, break ups, get back togethers, etc. with all muses and muns participating together in the joy of it all. Jealousy and questioning of my muses’ relationships and actions are welcomed as I like having the sense that my muses are human and things aren’t so cookie cutter.

That said I am also SINGLESHIP in the sense that most of my muses are not polyamorous and are very much interested in having an end goal relationship where they settle down and marry. With who and how that happens really depends on both my muse and my partner’s muse. So whoever my muse is really shooting to get married to and actively advances will be my main single ship partner...or really whoever is going to influence my muse the most and I can see my muse actually yearning for (which honestly isn’t that many muses *cries*).

That said...Huffman in particular is going to be really hard to single-ship with as he is 100% dedicated his entire life to his lord and savior Lord Barbatos and this is the thanks he gets to Mondstadt and he will betray his own lover and such for Mondstadt.

He is also a(ego)romantic so he has a huge disconnection with serious relationships as he will honestly treat them just like he treats every other citizen in Mondstadt and it can slowly get to any of his partners since he just thinks is just apart of his job as a partner...which is the same job he has with the people of Mondstadt.

fluff/angst/smut:

Fluff: Generally I don’t find myself interested in fluff, but I realized that is only because of my previous muses couldn’t handle fluff at all. For this particular blog (Huffman) fluff is honestly the only thing that I can offer due to the nature of his character. Fluff with the undertone of angst is going to happen a lot, it’s not going to be sugary sweet fluff but just a result of Huffman’s very grounded and relaxed nature. He is calm and level headed, very rational (a little too rational) and very determined to make sure everyone is happy...and as such angst won’t really happen because Huffman tries to avoid such things naturally.

Angst: I enjoy angst, I’m that person who loves crying and my favorite tropes (especially in shipping) is unrequited love especially when it’s with a character who has so much love and dedication to one person. As such, I find that I’m more inclined to talk about angst than actually RPing it. I’m very slow (really really slow) when it comes to RPing unless it’s crack or relaxed banter. So when it comes to angst, I like to set time aside and fully write it out...making me having to respond weeks to months later...haha sorry. Also I naturally have muses who are apathetic towards angst and other muses feelings that is hard for me to write because I’m the opposite and I get heavily invested...it takes a lot out of me.

That said...most of my angst comes from very slow burns rather than actually writing it out. It’s more of the anticipation of the heartache, breakup, betrayal, cheating, etc. that I’m more inclined to talk about than actually RP...as stated above my muses are generally cold hearted and very accepting of any consequence to their actions...they tend to be planners and expect karma to creep up on them someday.

Smut: I am very particular about smut. I personally like talking about it but actually writing it takes a lot more time for me to do. There are some words that I refuse to write (which happens to be a lot of the smutty words lol) due to how I read them in my head irks me and doesn’t flow right (my worst subject in school was English so I don’t know many words okay). As such, it takes time for me to fully write smut and even then the way I tackle it is very action oriented rather than immersive (I like to think) so uh...RIP my rp partners who want to write smut since I usually respond when I’m half asleep and have no filter and probably stare at me like “wtf did I just read?”. I’m sorry my smut partners who have to deal with me.

plot/ memes:

Memes: I’m more inclined to send memes than actually get around to responding to them. I like keeping my thread count low because I’m slow and usually memes require immediate interaction (something that I may or may not have the time for). However, most of my threads come from memes that will fizzle out over time and I eventually drop without warning- it just how it goes.

Plots: I like plotting and defining pre-established relationships. Having to start everyone off with a blank slate isn’t something I like unless it just seems natural for our muses (ie. for Huffman he probs doesn’t know many Liyue characters, but he definitely is close to Mondstadt characters at least on a name basis). As such, I tend to like establishing relationships and then going from there so I know how Huffman will interact with them.

Plotted threads, however, take a lot out of me as I like coining an idea and then having a starter be written and then go from there. If there are checkpoints to happen, I get awkward because my muses are 95% certain to shift the narrative based on what is being written and the situation that arises. So heavily plotted threads isn’t good, but defining the trajectory of a relationship is something I’m down for...mostly because I’m a quasi-single ship and 99% of my muses relationships are going to fail naturally - which is something hard to bring up when there is ship talking happen.

[recurring-polynya]

can you please do a drabble where Renji is remembering his wild squad 11 style birthday party but then at the end once he finishes his flashback he’s celebrating his birthday in the present with Rukia and Ichika

“This is number 10,” Zaraki informed Renji, beady, bloodshot eye staring into beady, bloodshot eyes. “Not everyone makes it to ten.”

“I would stop after one,” Yumichika made his frowniest frowny face.

“You’re smarter than the rest of us,” Iba replied.

“I am ready,” Renji confirmed, gripping his cup as the Kenpachi filled it with sake from his “special stash.”

Renji had drunk a lot of horrible sake in his time. As it turned out, rotgut from deep North Rukongai had an entirely different flavor profile than the pigswill of his Southern youth. It hit you in the nose, rather than the ears, smelled more like a bog than an armpit, and the unpleasant aftereffects tended to come out the opposite end. On the other hand, bad sake was bad sake, and it was hardly a birthday without it.

“Kampei!” Renji and Zaraki shouted together, and down the hatch it went. Cheers went up around them.

“You’re a good man, Abarai,” Zaraki declared, standing up, and clapping him on the shoulder. “Happy birthday. I’m out. Yachiru! It’s bedtime!”

“Thank you, sir!” Renji hollered, far too loud, as Yachiru abandoned the bowl of wasabi peas she had been mainlining to hop onto the Kenpachi’s shoulder.

“Night, sir!” various members of Squad 11 chorused.

Zaraki was a good captain, Renji mused to himself, drunkenly. He showed up, drank enough to show that he cared, but then he took off, because no one really wanted to get birthday-wasted in front of their boss.

Birthdays at the Eleventh were very thoughtful affairs, in Renji’s opinion. First thing in the morning, you got to have a big public fight with anyone from the squad. Seated officers could choose to fight the big man, which, of course, he had. This year, he had made it 52 seconds, and was feeling very pleased with himself. He was given the rest of the morning off to nap, and then he got to run newb drills all afternoon. And now it was half past booze o’clock. A perfect end to a perfect day.

“I got you your favorite. Happy birthday, loser,” Iba announced, sliding a fizzy blue concoction bristling with fruit on toothpicks down the table.

“Maybe you should give him a chance to catch his breath,” Big Maki suggested. “Zaraki shots are no joke.”

“This is catching my breath,” Renji replied, fishing out a pineapple chunk and eating it. Iba always got him this tropical shit as a joke, and Renji always drank them, absolutely stonefaced, as though curly straws and paper umbrellas were just standard issue drinking equipment. The joke was on Iba, to be honest, these damn things were delicious.

“Where is the birthday booooooy?” a musical voice trilled.

Renji’s head whipped around, which immediately made him very dizzy. He waved his hand enthusiastically.

“Don’t get up,” Yumichika warned, standing and beckoning more staidly. “He’s over here! He’s pretty well soaked already.”

Suddenly, there was a shapely pair of arms wrapped around Renji’s neck, and a more sensuous than necessary kiss pressed into his cheek. “Happy birthday, cute stuff!” Matsumoto said throatily. “That’s a fancy drink, can I have some?”

“Get your own!” Renji crowed cheerfully.

“Ha, ha, I would never,” the lieutenant of the Tenth laughed, sliding into the seat next to him, and then stealing a cherry out of his glass.

“I would not have guessed a bar called ‘Five Fingers of Death’ would serve fruity drinks,” Hisagi Shuuhei, Third Seat of the Ninth added, plopping down on Renji’s other side.

“Shuuhei!” Renji exclaimed.

Ever since he got promoted to Sixth Seat, Yumichika had been trying to get Renji involved in his larger social circle, which mostly orbited around Matsumoto. The fact that it included Hisagi, whom he had known in school, had been a pleasant surprise. He definitely remembered looking up to Hisagi in his youth, but since they had reconnected, Renji was continually struck with how cool the guy was, and also how good-looking.

“Well?” Renji demanded from Shuuhei, with a boldness that came from having enough sake in his gut to pickle a daikon. “Matsumoto paid up. Where’s my birthday present?”

Shuuhei laughed and planted a kiss on his other cheek, before fishing something that might have been a chunk of mango out of the blue monstrosity. Renji felt warm and happy. “Better buy me another drink, Iba,” he hooted, “Everyone’s stealing mine.”

“Buy your own, asshole” Iba rejoined merrily.

“That wasn’t your birthday present, by the way,” Matsumoto replied suggestively.

“Oh?” Renji asked, trying to raise an eyebrow, except that he couldn’t feel most of his face.

“A little bird,” Matsomoto went on, “who went to school with you, told me about a trick you used to do at the bar.”

Renji wracked his brains. He hadn’t done a lot of drinking in his school days, and certainly not a lot of drinking in bars, mostly because he’d been broke all the time.

“It wasn’t at the bar, it was at the gym,” Shuuhei clarified.

Realization hit Renji like a dropped free weight. He slammed his hands palm down on the tabletop excitedly. “Is it Bench Your Friends day?”

“You’re not benching me,” Yumichika immediately declared.

“What’s Bench Your Friends day?” Ikkaku demanded, intrigued.

“Bench press is a very efficient way to work your entire upper body,” Renji explained with the self-perceived gravitas that comes with being sloshed out of your gourd. “Free weights are a better way to build muscle, ‘cause you are responsible for your own balance and stability. Next step up from that, control-wise, is to bench press a person, especially if that person doesn’t particularly want to be bench-pressed.”

“Why would you let him do this to you?” Yumichika grimaced.

“Well, I really just want to see him bench press someone else, but I wouldn’t mind,” Matsumoto mused. “I think I would look very sexy being used as exercise equipment.”

“If you can bench Hisagi, I’ll let you try to bench me!” Ikkaku roared.

“I did not volunteer,” Hisagi pointed out.

“DEAL!” Renji bellowed.

🎉 🍹 💪

“UP!”

Renji blinked, slowly returning to present day reality. “Huh?”

“Pick me UP, Daddy! I want to do a high dive!”

“Alright, alright.”

It took two tries to get up from the lawn chair, but he made it. He took a long stretch, and made a show of flexing his upper arms for his daughter, who was completely unimpressed. Finally, he scooped her up and held her by the hips over his head. “You ready?”

“I am ready!” she announced, holding her arms over her head in a diving position.

“Here we go!” Renji yelled, and lowered her slowly into the rubber inflatable pool that was set up in their backyard. Ichika made a variety of poses on the way down, pointing her toes, making wide, elegant gestures with her arms. “Perfect 10,” Renji announced, when she was sitting in the pool, spitting water in a little fountain. “Do you want to go again?”

“I want to run around.”

“Go, then.”

Ichika leapt to her feet and went tearing, pell-mell around the yard again. Renji flopped back into his lawn chair and plopped his feet back in the pool.

It had been brutally hot all day, but the heat was finally starting to subside as evening came on. Akon had made the pool and brought it over last week for Nemu and Ichika to play in, because evidently, every time he set one up over at the 12th, it got “repurposed.” Renji did not want to know the details. Renji was a big fan of the pool. Ichika had been nominally playing in it all afternoon. Mostly, she was running around in her bathing suit, shouting. Occasionally, she would hurl herself into it, thoroughly splashing her father, and then run off again.

Rukia stepped onto the porch, sliding the door closed behind her with one foot. She’d changed from her shihakushou into a Living World style sundress that left her arms and legs bare. Even after a long day at work, she looked cheerful and gorgeous. Renji smiled fondly at her. After a long afternoon of chasing his toddler around, he was sure he looked like hot, damp dogshit.

Rukia made her way over to him, nimbly dodging Ichika as she serpentined her way around the yard. She held out a glass containing a pale green liquid. It was practically radiating cold. “I have made you,” she said, as Renji took it gratefully from her hand, “a margarita. I followed Uryuu’s directions very carefully and then doubled the alcohol.”

Renji took a sip as Rukia flopped into the lawn chair next to his, and slid her feet gracefully into the pool. “It’s perfect,” he declared. “You’re a genius.”

“Happy birthday,” Rukia said, tipping her head over onto his shoulder. “I’m sorry it wasn’t much.”

“What are you talking about?” Renji grunted. “I got to yell at my squad for 2 hours this morning, like I like. I spent all afternoon digging up worms with my amazing kid, and then my beautiful wife brought me take-out, so I didn’t have to cook. I am way too tired to actually go to the bar, but I don’t have to, because you brought this right to me, here, in my luxury cabana. Another one or two of these and I am definitely gonna be lights out. Can’t think of a more perfect birthday, to be honest.”

“Hmm, if we can get Ichika to go to sleep, I had some ideas for some things that could happen between margaritas number two and three.”

“Oh, really?” Renji asked, cocking an eyebrow.

Suddenly, Ichika crashed into his lap, wet, with bits of grass plastered up her legs. “DADDY!” she yelled. “Is it dessert time! Can we eat the taiyaki Mama brought home now?”

“The what Mama brought home?” he asked, faking surprise.

“Do you remember what a secret is?” Rukia reminded her daughter. “We talked about it?”

“But it’s time to eat them, so they aren’t secret anymore!”

“Yeah, Rukia, obviously,” Renji managed with a perfectly straight face.

“I would call you a traitor, but it’s your birthday, so I will go get you your fish waffles,” Rukia replied, shoving her drink into his free hand and pressing a kiss into the side of his temple.

“I LOVE TAIYAKI!” Ichika sang at the top of her lungs. “I WISH EVERYDAY WAS DADDY’S BIRTHDAAAAAAAAY!”

Renji admired the way his wife’s rear end swayed as she headed back into the house. He contemplated whether he could still drink out of two glasses at the same time, another old bar trick he was once modestly famous for. “Me, too, kid,” he agreed. “Me, too.”

[hello-im-not-a-possum]

ATDT!AU Post-Escape Halloween thing 1-5 (or more)

The little town at the base of Mt. Ebott was practically buzzing with excitement. Normally, due to restrictions put on by an H.O.A that feared and hated Halloween as “The Devil’s Birthday”, Halloween parties were rarely held unless they were in secret and at home. A lot of normal people in town were delightfully surprised that the power-tripping harpies in charge didn’t try to ban trick-or-treating or house decorating altogether but the townsfolk were often muffed at the strict rules surrounding it: “Trick-or-treating starts at 6:30 and ends at 7:00″, “Any house that puts up decorations before Oct. 28th and or leaves its decorations up after Nov. 3rd will receive a fine”, “All Outdoor Halloween decorations must be 5′ tall or shorter”. And other such ridiculous rules were put in place to shackle Halloween to the ground.

But what made this year so different? This year, Mettaton and Sammy Lawrence were holding what could only be described as the BIGGEST Halloween party/Haunted mansion romp in the history of humans, monsters, and toons. And thanks to the co-stars’ charisma, Mettaton hiring a really good lawyer, and the currently dominant half of Sammy being too darn spiteful to be contained by mortal means, the H.O.A. was completely powerless to stop them.

However, it didn’t stop them from trying anyway. This week, Linda Simmons (Not to be confused with Linda Stein, who is a lovely lady and an excellent member of society but is not human in the slightest.) Was the one to march up to the monstrosity of a haunted mansion in progress to demand to speak to the pair.

She clutched the cross on her necklace tightly in her hands as she saw the mansion in all its ‘unholy’ glory. As per Mettaton’s usual ‘go big or go home’ approach to his work, the damned thing looked like something out of someone’s nightmares! The mansion itself looked like an old-fashioned but normal one but the “Decorations”? Large patches of fleshy growths scattered all over and presumably within the mansion, giant human-like bones and organs growing in and around the area, thick black fluid being pumped into the monstrosity, and god knows what else!

Linda felt sick to her stomach when she walked up the thing, almost swearing that she saw the flesh patches writhing, as well as the bloodshot eyes embedded into the outside walls staring directly at her. In her other hand, she held a copy of the H.O.A.’s very strict rule book, clutching onto it as if it were a bible. She took a deep breath in, and pounded on the door.

“Just give me five minutes Darling!✨”

The mechanical menace whom she once adored on television before meeting him face-to-face oh too cheerfully responded over the sound of a roaring chainsaw and nails being pounded into wood on the other side of the door. After an exact five minutes had passed (she checked her watch between impatiently knocking on the door and tapping her foot on the ground), she was greeted with a giant calculator-like robot wearing a spiffy Halloween-themed suit complete with a tie with a bat pattern on it.

“Why Linda, how nice of you to drop by!”

She frowned at the superstar machine.

“Mettaton, are you aware that you’re violating the H.O.A. rules regarding Halloween decorations?! And what on earth are you two thinking holding a Halloween party here?! Do you have any idea how many noise complaints you’ll get?! The fine you’ll get is-”

“SShhhhhh”

Mettaton put his finger against her lips and Linda crossed her arms in frustration as he continued to draw out that ‘shush’ noise. His other arm extended into the room behind him and retracted with a large pile of papers in hand. He stopped shushing when the papers where in her face. She internally groaned at the sight of them, she hated it when people found loopholes.

“As you can see here, here, here, here, here, here, and here... Everything we’re going is completely within the H.O.A. rules and regulations.”

“What the?!” Her eye twitched, her face turned red, and after skimming through Mettaton’s papers, she spoke through gritted teeth “Okay, so your decorations are Technically allowed... But only because nobody would ever think that we’d have to make a rule against animating MEAT with black magic to make Halloween decorations... But what about the party itself?! And the noise?!”

While Mettaton did not have eyes at the moment, Linda could feel him rolling them at her.

“The ‘Party’ you claim we’re throwing is actually a charity ball that happens to have a Halloween theme to it, which as you can see under this section right here, IS allowed.”

She raised an eyebrow at the robot.

“What type of charity?”

The lights cut out, all replaced with a single spotlight on Mettaton, who was now dramatically draped over a piano while a sad melody on a violin began to play and white rose petals started to fall on him.

“A great tragedy had fallen on thousands upon thousands of innocent lives... Men, women, and even small children stripped from their homes, from their friends and families and all brutally slaughtered! And after death? Their souls broken, and forcefully fused together within a prison of vile ink made by a cruel man who cared not that he was turning nightmares into reality, as long as it meant his dreams come true... These restless souls have finally been freed from their devilish tormentor, and had grown attached to this world, no longer humans, but not quite monsters either. These people are lonely, confused and scared in a new modern world that while offers them new chances and opportunities, is a strange and foreign place that overwhelms them to the point where they want to go back. As having a familiar yet horrible home can be more welcoming than an unknown yet kind home at times. We’re raising money and awareness to help these poor people get back on their feet.”

 Linda bit her lip and rolled her eyes at Mettaton’s overly sappy and over-dramatic speech, she knew that the “people” he was referring to were most likely those strange, hyper, 2-D creatures and or those disgusting, smelly, ink things that took up residence inside Mt. Ebott after all of the regular monsters came up here.

“And what about noise complaints?”

The lights flicked back on and Mettaton threw himself off the piano in annoyance.

“Well, Sammy and I are constructing sound proof walls as we speak, so when the building is properly complete, there wont be a thing to worry about.”

Linda threw her head back laughing.

“Sammy is helping build them? Sammy Lawrence? That weird giant slug thing with the creepy mask? What does he do? Ooze on the wood that needs to be nailed up?”

“You can always ask him what he does yourself, Darling!” He pushed her down the hall and into the next room before slamming the door behind him while she stayed on the other side. “He loves to answer questions!”

“Hey! Don’t just shove me in here with that disgusting mass of slime! I don’t care if you’re a celebrity or not, I can have you arrested and- Oh sweet Jesus, Mary and Joseph...”

“Have a Banana, Hannah, Try the salami, Tommy, Get with the gravy, Davey, Everybody eats when they come to my house.”

While she was pounding on the door, she looked back just to make sure that the creature Mettaton often worked with wasn’t about to pounce on her and gnaw her limbs off, but instead of a giant black slug that had arms and reeked of spoiled meat and moldy art supplies, she was starring at a human being. And he was the most beautiful man she had ever seen in person.

“Try a tomato, Plato, Here’s cacciatore, Dorie, Taste the baloney, Tony, Everybody eats when they come to my house!”

The man was tall and broad, his skin was clean-shaven, on the paler side and had healed claw marks all over it, he wasn’t wearing a shirt at all (A fact which Linda was very thankful for.) which revealed that he had a large, strange tattoo on his back, and he had dirty-blond hair that was so long that it was only stopped from dragging on the floor thanks to the braid it was in.

“I fix your favorite dishes, Hopin’ this good food fills ya! Work my hands to the bone in the kitchen alone, You better eat if it kills ya!”

He had his back turned to her, singing to himself and clearly very focused on the task in front of him, but she happily watched his every move in awed silence. In addition to his body, the man also had a lovely singing voice.

“Pass me a winda, Linda,” he gestured behind him. “In all seriousness, if you could pass me that window pane behind you, that would be great.”

“Oh!”

Linda snapped up and instantly scrambled for the window he had gestured to.

“Thank you, that’ll do.”

The head of the PTA and member of the H.O.A. stared intensely at him, taking in every single detail of his front. From his black pants to his washboard abs- until he gently tilted her head up so that she was looking at the man’s face.

“You know,” He said teasingly with a wink. “My eyes are up here.”

His sharp-featured face that only had one long claw mark on it as opposed to the rest of his body, his bright white smile that she couldn’t find a single flaw in, and his eyes, his deep, dark brown eyes that just made her melt by looking at them. Oh sweet lord, this man was so far out of her league that she honest to god thought he was blind to be flirting with her.

“I’m so sorry sir!”

Linda blushed redder than a jar of tomato sauce and looked away altogether, trying to fruitlessly cobble together an explanation.

“MettatonpushedmeinheretospeakwithSammyLawrencebutyouwerehereinsteadandyouhaveareallyprettyvoiceandimsosorry-”

“Wait, Mettaton sent you in?”

“Y-yes..?”

“And you’re looking for Sammy?”

“Yes?”

“Well why didn’t you say so sooner? What do you want to speak with me about?”

She went from bright red to white as a sheet as soon as that sentence left his mouth. Now that she thought about it, didn’t the local news channel say that the ink creatures could shape-shift? Oh god, this man was that gross slimy creature... The gross slimy creature that she kicked in the face with her high heels the second she saw it in person...

“N-nothing!”

She then ran out of the house as fast as her legs could carry her, jumped into her car, slammed down the breaks and sped as far away as she could. Once she was possibly miles away from everyone, she buried her face into the car horn and screamed.

Back at the haunted mansion, Sammy let out a long held sigh of relief.

“Thank fucking God she’s finally gone, just listening to that harpy’s voice makes me want to bash my head in against a wall.”

“Oh my...” The robot star half-dejectedly mused. “And here I thought the winds of romance would turn her cold, dead heart.”

“Mettaton, my standards might be rock bottom, but they’re not in the mariana trench.”

[jaskierswolf]

You Set My Heart Ablaze Pt.2/25

Previous

Triss Merigold was bloody exhausted. The start of the school term was always the worst. She had barely had a break for the whole of the first two weeks. She flopped onto the sofa in the staffroom with a dramatic sigh. She loved the kids. She hated the parents. Already she’d been caught up on the phone with parents from the younger tutor forms just calling in to check up on their little darlings. No matter how many times she or the other teachers assured them that the school would notify them of any problems. The parents of the older kids were just as bad, blaming the teachers for their bad parenting skills and insisting that all their children should have been top of the class.

“It’s not that bad Triss.” Istredd Gynvael from the Feainnewedd tutor group hummed.

Istredd was the history teacher for the secondary school children and looked after one of the year ten forms. Overall he was well liked by most of the students, he wasn’t a strict teacher but Triss knew the students sometimes found his classes on the dull side. Not that Triss would ever tell him that. No, that little tidbit was between her and Yennefer alone, maybe Tissaia…

She’d never tell the Headmaster, Stregobor, at least.

“You don’t have to talk to the parents until parents’ evening, Is.” Triss moaned. “I have to deal with them all year round. They all think their angels can do no wrong.”

“We become teachers for the children. The parents are an unfortunate side effect.” Istredd sighed.

There was a murmur of agreement from across the staffroom.

“Sabrina’s mum called me a disgrace and failed artist last year.” Tissaia sighed as she turned a page in her book. “Apparently, they weren’t happy that I gave their daughter some constructive criticism on the use of lighting in her portraits. I’m not going to just throw compliments at every student. They’d never learn otherwise.”

Tissaia de Vries was the school’s art teacher. She was also the form teacher of Forget-Me-Nots, one of the year six classes. She’d been the person to encourage Yennefer’s career as an artist ever since she’d been a student at the school. It had been because of Tissaia that Yennefer had started teaching in the first place.

“Oh hang on!” Jaskier perked up from where he was scribbling in his notebook. “I happen to like the parents of my class.”

Triss rolled her eyes. Jaskier had dropped by her desk at reception at the end of the first day to ask for all the parents’ contact details so he could write his weekly emails. He’d been particularly interested in Ciri’s dad. Of course, Ciri was an interest to all the teachers at the school. She’d already been through hell and she was only six years old. The young girl didn’t seem all that bothered on the surface about her sudden change in circumstances. It was all a bit peculiar.

“That’s because you are a bit of a freak, Julian.” Mr Marx drawled from his corner of the staffroom.

Jaskier’s face turned to thunder and slammed his notebook shut.

Jaskier and Valdo Marx had known each other since before Jaskier started at the school. Their rivalry was legendary amongst the staff. No one was entirely sure of the details behind their feud. From what Triss could tell they had been at University together, both studying music at Oxenfurt. They had had some kind of falling out at some point. No one was really sure what about but last Solstice things had flared up when Valdo had had an affair with Jaskier’s partner. It was also Valdo that had told Stregobor and the rest of the staff that Jaskier’s birth name was Julian, something that her friend seemed to despise. Valdo refused to call Jaskier by his chosen name which never ceased to end in an argument between them.

This time was no different as Jaskier coiled up like a spring, ready to pounce on the other teacher.

“Call me that again one more time and I’m putting in a grievance. Wally.” Jaskier sneered. “Some of us actually care about the children we teach, and that means taking an interest in their home life and working out the best way to teach each child individually.”

“Name calling, Julian. How original.” Mr Marx smirked and patted Jaskier on the head as he moved to leave the room.

“Oh fuck you!” Jaskier called after him. “He’s just bitter because all the year twos wish they were Buttercups and not Foxgloves.” He muttered.

“He’s just bitter because he doesn’t get to talk to Mr Rivia at parents evening.” Triss sighed wistfully. “I would climb him like a tree.”

Jaskier’s scowled faded into a blissed out smile. “Oh he is dreamy isn’t he? Those eyes, like molten amber and that voice. Gods, it’s like sex personified.”

Triss giggled. “I knew it!”

Jaskier went wide eyed and slammed his hands over his mouth. “I said that out loud didn’t I?”

“Must you all be so dramatic?” Istredd called over Triss’s squeals of joy. “I’m trying to mark homework.”

“I think we’ve all earned a break, Istredd, if you want to mark in peace go back to your desk.” Tissaia hummed with eye roll.

Istredd sighed. “Just keep it down, maybe try and remain professional.”

“Oh come on, Is. You’ve not seen him. Geralt Rivia is hot!” Triss nudged her friend.

“Geralt? Yen’s ex?” Istredd put down his marking with a sudden scowl.

“No no no!” Jaskier whined. “Please tell me, I’m not competing with Yennefer Vengerberg!”

“Don’t worry Jaskier, that ship has long sailed. Isn’t that right, Is?” Triss winked at the history teacher. Istredd’s fingers gripped tighter around his pen and he muttered something under his breath before burying his nose back into the sheets of paper in front of him.

“Alright!” Jaskier called. “How many people here have had a crush on Yennefer Vengerberg? Hands up!”

“We’re not your kids, Jaskier.” Tissaia rolled her eyes at the younger teacher’s antics.

“True.” He admitted. “But humour me.”

Triss unashamedly put her hand up. Istredd was next. Chireadan was next and a handful of the other staff. Overall, just over half the staff in the room had their hands up.

Jaskier was not one of them.

“Not your type, Jask? I thought everyone was your type?” Triss teased.

Jaskier gasped and put his hand on his heart. “Triss! Just because I’m bisexual does not mean everyone is my type! She’s hot. I can admit that, but she fucking terrifies me.”

“And Geralt doesn’t?” Triss asked with a roll of her eyes, deciding not to point out that she was pansexual and already knew the myths of their sexualities were not true. “He could probably snap you like a twig.”

Jaskier beamed. “Oh I know!”

“Do we need to chaperone parents’ evening, Jaskier?” Tissaia asked cooly but her eyes were twinkling with amusement.

“I’ll have you know I am a professional!” He gasped in mock outrage. “But yes absolutely. I have no idea how I managed to talk to him on the first day. Gods, he looked at me and I wanted to melt. I could write ballads about those eyes.”

“Please don’t” Istredd sighed. “Geralt’s not that great.”

“Oh come on, Is, you just don’t like the fact he used to date Yennefer.”

“Yenna is better than him.” Istredd scowled.

“Oh ho ho!” Jaskier laughed. “Are you going to finally ask her out then?”

“Shut up, Julian.” Istredd hissed.

“Jaskier’s got a point, Is.” Triss gave Istredd a pointed look as Jaskier visibly bristled at the name. “But what about you and Geralt?”

Jaskier grumbled as he moved to retrieve his notebook. “Nothing. There’s nothing about me and Geralt. He’s a parent and I am a professional.”

Istredd sighed loudly and gathered up his belongings and left the room. Tissaia chuckled as she sipped her tea and continued to read her book, but seemed to be content with the gossip that was rife in the staffroom. Other teachers were beginning to file out as the lunch break was ending.

“But you fancy him.” Triss persisted as she checked the time on her phone. She didn’t need to be back at the front desk for another ten minutes and she didn’t have to worry about lesson planning like the other teachers. Her job did have some perks.

“So do you.” Jaskier shot back. “I am simply appreciating that Mr Rivia is a good-looking man but his daughter’s in my class and you know me, I fall in love with everyone I meet.”

“Except Yennefer.” Triss pointed out.

Jaskier paled at the memory. “I have met Yennefer once and I genuinely thought I was going to die a terrible and painful death.”

“Oh it wasn’t that bad.” Triss giggled.

_________

Yennefer didn’t come back to school very often when she was in town but occasionally she would pick Triss up if they were going to the pub after school finished. Sometimes Yennefer would glide through the halls of her old haunt to reminisce over her days as a teacher, popping in to say hello to her old colleagues. The first time she’d visited after Jaskier had started teaching she’d visited her old classroom, the classroom that Jaskier now occupied.

“What the fuck has happened to my door?” Yennefer glared at the bright yellow monstrosity that stood at the entrance to her old classroom. During Yennefer’s time at school the door had been painted lilac with elegant black silhouettes of flowers.

Jaskier had rather a different approach. His door was so bright you almost needed sunglasses to look at it and his class had drawn their own buttercups to cover the door. Their teaching style was completely different too.

Yennefer luckily had been in charge of an older class and mostly taught English Literature and Language to the Secondary school children. Yennefer was firm, and at times strict, she demanded respect from her students and many of them ended up in detention for missing out on homework or mucking about in class. Yennefer’s theory was that by messing about it was both a waste of her time and theirs. Yennefer was not a lover of wasted time. Every action she took was planned down to the letter. She knew what she wanted and how to get there. Her writing was very much the same.

The scripts she wrote for the school plays were intricate and beautiful. Every line, every stage direction, every detail in the costumes had some hidden meaning that would be revealed later on in the play. As a director she was fierce and many of the older students were scared shitless after their time in the theatre but many also went on to attend drama schools. Yennefer could have become an award winning author, actor or director but that wasn’t where her passion lay.

Yennefer Vengerberg loved art.

She always had ever since she’d studied at the school under Ms de Vries. She was a remarkably talented painter but her real skill was in her reviews and critiques of others art. Her analysis was unparalleled and her wit and sarcasm had drawn in a wide audience from all across the Art world.

As soon as she’d been able to earn enough money from her work at a critic she’d flown from the school, much to the delight of her poor students.

Jaskier on the other hand was a ray of sunshine. He was the sun to Yennefer’s moon. The kids adored him and almost everyone on the staff fancied him, not to mention the parents. His charm could have melted the heart of the ice queen herself and had to got him out of many a bad situation in the past, of course it had gotten him into just as many tight spots as well. Where Yennefer was unwaveringly focussed and unrelenting in her teaching, Jaskier was easily distracted and flitted from one topic to another like a whirlwind. He was kindhearted and nurturing to the children, playing his guitar almost every day and encouraging the kids to be the best they could be. He was entertaining and fun, and every child wanted to be in Buttercups.

The layout of the building had changed a lot since Yennefer’s time and this section of the school now housed the primary school classes which was why Jaskier’s class was now in the old English room.

Yennefer burst through the door, Triss trailing behind her. “Seriously! What the fuck?”

Jaskier jumped up from behind his desk, knocking his paper work all over the floor. “Bollocks! Shit! I mean… oh cock!” His travel mug tipped over as he scrambled after the the sheets of maths homework. Coffee poured everywhere, including down his teal floral shirt.

“Triss!” Yennefer snapped. “Why is there a child teaching in my classroom?”

Triss sighed and walked over to help Jaskier save his marking from the coffee that was now leaking onto the floor. “Yen, this is Jaskier Pankratz. Our new year two teacher.”

“What are you, twelve?” Yen asked raising her eyebrow at the young brunet.

“I’m twenty-six!” Jaskier pouted. “I just have good genes and quite frankly a fabulous skincare routine. Did you want a copy?”

“Are you saying I look old?” Yennefer smirked at Jaskier who visibly started to panic.

“Oh no. No no no. You look very radiant, ethereal! Eternally youthful. Please don’t kill me?” He fell backwards in a fluffy of maths homework.

“Oh dear god.” Yennefer covered her face with her hand. “I thought this place couldn’t get any worse. Come on Triss, there’s a couple of bottles of wine with our names on it. See you around, Buttercup.”

“See you on Monday, Jaskier!” Triss passed him a handful of sheets she had managed to salvage from the coffee.

“Holy mother of…” Jaskier breathed as he stared after the hurricane that was Yennefer Vengerberg.

_______________

Triss giggled at the memory. It had been just under three years ago, back when Yennefer and Geralt were still going through their off and on again stage. Jaskier had looked like a deer stuck in headlights in the fierce presence of Yennefer. Triss knew her friend could be quite intimidating but underneath it all was a loyal friend. A lot of her scary demeanour was just a mask to hide her insecurities. Yennefer wanted everything in life, a family, a career, fame, money, power. She wanted it all.

But she was so terrified that she would never be enough, never deserve the things that she desired. Her relationship with Geralt hadn’t help. They burned brighter than the sun on their good days but their fights could have risen the Gods from their slumber. They pulled and pushed at each others souls, tearing each other apart. Triss had never met Geralt before Ciri had started at the school but she’d been there for Yennefer every time he broke her heart.

“It absolutely was that bad.” Jaskier pouted. “I ruined my favourite shirt and made a complete fool of myself. She was looking at me with murder eyes!”

Triss patted his arm sympathetically. “If Yennefer wanted you dead, Jaskier, you and I wouldn’t be having this conversation right now.”

Jaskier staggered back and stomped over to pick up his guitar case and satchel. “Wow. Thanks Triss. That is… so comforting.”

The bell chimed in the corridors, signalling the end of lunch.

“Bollocks!” Jaskier cursed and scampered out of the room. “This is all your fault Triss Merigold.”

Triss smirked after him. “You love it, Buttercup!”

_____________

Triss pulled her thick wooden green coat around her. It was surprisingly cold for the end of September and she’d forgotten to bring gloves. She was on home time duty this week which mostly involved waiting in the playground with the kids for the parents who had yet to learn how to read a damn clock. She stuffed her hands in her pockets in a poor attempt to keep them warm. At least her hair was long and thick enough to keep her ears warm. She daydreamed happily about a warm bath and a hot chocolate with extra marshmallows and whipped cream.

“Ms Merigold?” A small voice broke through her daydream and she felt hands tugging at her coat. She looked down at Ciri who was staring back at her with tears in her eyes. “Where’s Coën?”

Triss glanced down at her watch and bite her tongue to stop herself from swearing. Ciri’s babysitter was over thirty minutes late. It was unheard of. He was normally waiting at the gates as soon as the bells rang to signify the end of the day, but today Ciri was the last kid left.

“I don’t know, sweetheart. Come on, let’s go inside and I’ll give Geralt a call.” Triss took the young girl’s hand in hers and gave it a squeeze. Ciri clung on to her tightly and sniffed, wiping her eyes with her free hand.

“What if he’s hurt?” Ciri asked quietly.

“I’m sure he’ll be alright.” Triss reassured her, wishing that she could believe her own words.

The pair of them hurried back inside and out of the cold. Triss let go of Ciri’s hand so she could search her desk for the file where she kept the emergency contact details.

“Mr Jaskier!!” Ciri cried and flew off down the corridor.

Triss looked up to see a very confused primary school teacher, guitar case slung haphazardly over his shoulder, struggling with an armful of small child. His leather satchel had dropped to the floor, books spilling out with a clatter.

“Ciri?” He stammered before he regained his composure and met Triss’s gaze with a worried look.

“Coën’s in trouble!” Ciri cried. “He’s going to leave me! Everyone always leaves me!”

“Oh Ciri.” Jaskier returned the girl’s clinging hug as she sobbed against his chest. “Ms Merigold is going to call your dad. We’ll figure this out together.”

Ciri sniffed loudly but nodded. “‘Kay.”

Triss found Geralt Rivia’s number with ease and dialled, praying that he would answer. She made a mental note to get Coën’s number too, he picked up Ciri most evenings during the week, depending on Geralt’s shift pattern, it was foolish that the young man hadn’t provided his contact details.

The phone rang three times before Geralt’s gruff voice answered.

“Geralt.” He grunted.

“Geralt, Hi. This is Ms Merigold, from Ciri’s school.” Triss started.

“Fuck. What’s happened?”

“Coën didn’t show at pick up today. Mr Pankratz is here with Ciri but she’s not taking it well.” Triss explained in a rush. She glanced over at Ciri and Jaskier. He’d sat down on the floor with her and seemed to be distracting her with a story. She still looked shaken but had calmed down and appeared to be completely captivated by the stories he was weaving.

“I’m on my way.”

Triss didn’t get a chance to reply as Geralt hung up the phone and the line went dead. She strolled over to Jaskier and Ciri, sitting down beside them. Jaskier glanced up at her without pausing his tale of knights and bards and princesses, and she nodded.

Ciri wasn’t an idiot though. She cut Jaskier off mid-sentence. “Is my dad coming to pick me up?”

“Yeah. We’ll wait here until he arrives yeah?” Triss suggested. “No point staying in the cold.”

“Is Mr Jaskier staying?” Ciri asked with wide eyes.

“As if I would leave you here!” Jaskier gasped and placed a hand over his heart, dramatic as always. “You are one of my Buttercups and we stick together!”

Jaskier pulled out his guitar whilst they waited for Geralt Rivia to arrive. Triss always enjoyed watching Jaskier play. She didn’t often get the chance. She knew he played for his class but her job kept her at her desk for the majority of the school day and they didn’t socialise that much outside of work. Occasionally, a handful of the teachers would head to the pub on a Friday evening but it wasn’t exactly the place to start playing acoustic guitar. Usually she’d only get to see him play quietly in the corner of the staffroom if he was working on a new song, or occasionally at a school event.

This was different though, it was intimate like a lullaby being sang in the dead of night. Triss was completely enchanted by her friend and was really starting to wonder how he wasn’t a famous musician. She’d expected him to play something uplifting to distract the young girl but Jaskier seemed to have other ideas. He played a song about heartbreak that was so full of yearning that even Triss could feel the telltale prick of tears in her eyes, and it seemed to do the trick. Ciri cried too but it wasn’t the chaotic full-bodied sobs from before. Tears rolled down her freckled cheeks quietly and Triss suddenly understood.

Jaskier was allowing the young girl to grieve.

He was telling her, through his music, that it was ok to be scared. It was ok to have these feelings and to cry. The teachers had all been concerned that Ciri didn’t seem to have processed the trauma of her young life very well and here was Jaskier, drawing out those emotions that the young girl had kept tucked away. Coën not turning up had triggered something in Ciri, some fear of abandonment that no one had realised had developed.

Triss smiled as she wiped a tear from her eyes. The young teacher had more depth than she’d realised. She’d underestimated him, perhaps they all had.

“Ciri!” Geralt came rushing through the doors, shattering the moment into a thousand shards of shimmering glass.

The girl in question squealed and flung her tiny body towards Geralt. Jaskier almost dropped his guitar in surprise and even Triss jumped a little at the sudden rush of movement.

“Dad!” Ciri cried as she wrapped her arms around her father.

“I’m here, Princess. I’m here.” Geralt reassured her in a low voice.

“Where’s Coën?” Ciri asked wide-eyed.

“Flu. He text me but it didn’t come through until I left work. I’m sorry.” Geralt explained as he kissed her hair. The silver-haired man then looked up to face Triss and Jaskier. “I am so sorry. What do I owe you?”

“Owe us?” Jaskier spluttered. “Geralt.”

Jaskier said the other man’s name like a prayer, fervently and full of adoration.

“You would have been home over an hour ago if it weren’t for me.” Geralt insisted.

Triss noticed with barely hidden glee that Geralt was focussed almost completely on Jaskier. Triss was certain that she could have slipped away and back to her car, and Geralt wouldn’t have noticed. So it seemed that Jaskier’s little crush wasn’t quite an unrequited as he thought.

“Geralt, it’s our job to ensure the children are safe. It was simply an unfortunate and completely unforeseen event. This is not your fault, nor is it Ciri’s or Coën’s. You owe us nothing.” Jaskier insisted.

“Hmm.” Geralt hummed but continued to watch Jaskier intently as the younger man packed up his guitar. “Thank you.”

“That’s quite alright, Geralt. We’re happy to help, right Triss?” Jaskier blushed and looked towards her.

Triss smirked. “Delighted, Mr Rivia, but try not to let it happen again, or I’ll have to inform Yennefer.” Triss teased.

Geralt scowled but Ciri perked up at the name. “Auntie Yennefer?!” She squealed in delight.

“An old dear friend of mine, Ciri.” Triss nodded, throwing a smile at the young girl.

“Please don’t tell Yen.” Geralt groaned.

“Yeah, Ms Merigold. No need to get Yennefer involved.” Jaskier mumbled, glancing down at his feet and then back up at Geralt.

Geralt peered at the brunet. “I thought you only met her once.”

“A story for another time I think.” Jaskier blushed and sent her a warning glare.

Triss rolled her eyes. “Ask Yen next time you call her.”

“Dad.” Ciri tugged Geralt’s arm. “I’m hungry.”

Geralt growled. “Right. Time to go. Thank you for keeping her safe, Ms Merigold. Jaskier.”

“Anytime!” Jaskier replied brightly. “I’ll see you tomorrow, Ciri! See you, Geralt.”

“Have a good evening you two.” Triss waved them off.

Once they’d left the building, Jaskier sank to his knees and groaned.

“Alright there, Jaskier?” Triss teased with a laugh.

“Fuck me, he’s gorgeous.” Jaskier buried his face in his hands. “This year is going to destroy me.”

“Wouldn’t you rather Geralt destroy you?” Triss giggled as she pulled him to his feet and linked their arms.

“Triss Merigold!” Jaskier gasped. “No, no. You’re right. Oh good lord!”

“Ask him out.” Triss suggested.

Jaskier laughed weakly. “Not gonna happen. Stregobor would have me quartered.”

“Coward.”

“Absolutely! Come on, I think we deserve a drink! To the pub!” Jaskier announced loudly and together they finally left building for the evening.

______

Next

[jalebi-weds-bluetooth]

There's More to Her #2

Previous Chapter

All Chapters

Confession

It’s a tragedy that love is given the place of tragedy. An atheist begins to pray, a devotee renounces his beliefs, a conman’s deception falls, an innocent’s credit is restored - all at the face and result of a tragedy. Hence it’s a pity that when people try to shield themselves from facing another tragedy, they end up in one worse than the one they feared.

Today Payal realized that she had long overcome her grief of being left at the altar because it barely hurt her as much as the sight of Akash’s glasses lying amidst the thorns. He didn’t have to die. It was avoidable. She should have listened to him. Explained her reason. How many times would she lose the one closest to her heart?

“I lost you,” Payal choked, “now how will I tell you that I love you?” She reached for his glasses amidst the thorns.

Khushi gasped, it was one thing to see confessions in movies and another to see it in real life. Love did happen. Arnav saw it too. He felt it because Khushi lived it; from the moment Payal confessed to Akash’s magical appearance to prevent the thorn from hurting Payal further.

When Payal hugged Akash, Khushi instantly grabbed Arnav’s arm, forgetting who they were and what was between them.  In a few, rare moments Arnav watched Khushi bask in a happiness that almost rivaled Payal’s.

A surge of relief shot through Payal. She hadn’t lost Akash, unlike her mother. Akash treasured her, his hands hesitant of touching her, aware of the audience they had. Slowly, he let himself believe that Payal was indeed in his arms.

One sign broke Payal’s bubble. A small thumbs up exchanged between Arnav and Khushi.

It was an act.

Coldwater splashed on Payal. Her embrace lost its warmth.

“So this was orchestrated?”

“Payal,” Akash put himself between the two people who had helped him so long. He held her gaze and said, “I’m sorry we lied, I’m sorry I lied, but if this plan wasn’t in place then how would you know that you love me too?”

Every inch of relief was replaced by anger. There was no regret, no confusion in Akash. Only a soft smile.

“Do you think I refused you because I didn’t love you?” Payal asked.

“But you just told me that you could not marry me-”

“Jiji-” Khushi interrupted.

“No,” Payal snapped, harsher than intended. “I am especially disappointed in you. What were you thinking?”

“Jiji, you were in denial!”

“Exactly. I am aware I love him and I choose not to think about it. This,” Payal gestured to all of them, “made a mockery of what I feel for him and Akash ji-” Payal turned to face him, “-I would come to save anyone if they told me they were committing suicide because of me, even Abhishek.”

Payal let out a small, sad smile at Akash’s confusion, “Of course, you won’t know who Abhishek was. He was my fiance.”

“Payal, please if you didn’t turn up then I would have really-”

“Don’t Akash ji. I respect you, but you cannot blackmail me to love you. And now I wonder if you even loved me?” Akash stepped back, physically hurt from her accusation. Khushi held her head, how did everything go south! There was Payal getting the one chance to be in love and she was squandering it away?

Arnav knew he had to intervene. Payal, truly like her sister, was being overdramatic. The confession was done, the feelings were mutual and reciprocated, everything else could be handled.  

“Payal, he does love you. If you’re worried about the status difference then I’ll talk to them-”

“Arnav ji, please. Do not interfere. You lost your parents, and Khushi, you too lost your parents, I lost my mother too so how could I think of this as a joke?” Payal wept, uncaring of her injured hand. Why did her reservations not matter? She leaned against the SUV, a migraine throbbing at her temples.

Khushi did not need any reminding that she had lost her parents, neither did Arnav. Akash, shocked, held her bleeding hand.

“I’m so sorry, Payal, Bhai and I had no idea-”

“How would any of you know? But Khushi...” Payal took her hand out of her grip and looked at her sister. Her involvement in this plan, especially with Arnav, felt like a betrayal. This kind of insensitivity was expected from Akash’s older brother, but not from Khushi. Not from the girl who went out to confront her brother in law if he wanted the dowry.

“Jiji-” Payal gestured her to be quiet. Even now Payal could not bring herself to be angry with her sister, it was obvious that the plan was hers but it was Akash who agreed.

For once Arnav and Khushi could do nothing but stare at their siblings because their interference was neither wanted nor necessary. They had the painful duty to sit still, be helpless and simultaneously learn that not everything went the way they wanted.  

“Payal… I love you.” Akash whispered.

“And there is a reason why I can’t say it back.” Payal wiped her tears and stood straight. Any tear of hers would betray the love she felt and every practical reasoning of hers would be ignored for that one tear. She needed the strength to not be persuaded when she badly wanted to be so.

“Akash ji, you told me to forget the class difference, our families. But I don’t just love you, I want to marry you.” She confessed. In a moment all of life restored in Akash, he held her hand again, eager for any reassurance of a future he began dreaming the moment he saw her eyes.

“And marriage includes family. With the experience I have had to know with each Raizada,” Payal shot a pointed look at Arnav, “The class difference matters - not don’t shake your head - it’s the truth. You have all been kind, but your kindness is magnified because it’s a rich family being kind to a poor one.”

Payal took a pause and allowed herself to look into Akash’s eyes, “You were the only one who was different. You never let me know you were rich, you never tried to show you were nice despite us being middle class. You were nice because of just who you are, who I am. There was no one moment of kindness in a series of monstrosity, there was just deep respect. So how could I not fall for you?”

Arnav looked away. He felt humiliated, even though there was no malice in Payal’s words. Unintentionally being the first Raizada Payal had ever met, Arnav saw that he had become a measurement of how the other Raizadas fared. Arnav didn’t know if he was happy that Payal could truly see Akash, or disheartened if Khushi saw him in the same light as well.

“And I’m not ungrateful to any of you, the way you all supported us when Babuji was paralyzed… even our relatives won’t do that. But you see, we can receive your help, but not refuse it.”

“What do you mean?” Akash asked.

Khushi walked up to her sister and held her shoulder, “No Jiji, they are nice people, no need to-”

“Khushi, you realize I will be living my whole life with him, right? So how do I know whether or not they will accept me?” Payal argued.

“I guarantee you that they will accept you,” Arnav said.

“Because you’ll accept me, for your brother, because he wants it?” Payal countered. “Imagine Arnav ji, that your brother refused to marry me and Khushi came up to you, asking for help because she knows I love Akash. Tell me you would help just as much as you’re helping now.”

Arnav couldn’t answer.

“Why don’t any of you understand that I know that in that house I will always be afraid. Dress up to your standards, become a part of your social circle. Akash, you love me but you don’t know me and you’re already expecting me to change my entire life.” Payal now held Akash’s arms, nearly yanking him to wake up and listen, if not understand, her.

“Are those all of your reasons?” He asked.

“No. How can I go and live with a family that has continuously disrespected my sister?”

“Jiji!” Khushi protested, “You know it does not matter-”

“Maybe not you.” Payal stopped her. She looked back at Akash and said, “Akash, your mother does not even call me by my name. I can’t go with Khoon Bhari Taang for the rest of my life. I can’t completely forgive your sister for giving no choice to mine.”

Arnav frowned, when had his sister pushed Khushi?

“Arnav ji, I think your sister knows the way of the world. She slapped the contractual fine of one lakh rupees, that you had written for Khushi if she didn’t turn up for this ridiculous job of training Lavanya.” Payal addressed Arnav.

“Jiji, forget the old-” Khushi intervened.

“No. I cannot forget if I’m marrying into this family. They don’t have a habit of listening to ‘no’. If I tell Akash no, here’s the suicide plan. If you tell Anjali ji no, then you have to pay one lakh. If I tell Akash’s mother no, she’ll say I don’t have a right to say no.”

And my brother does not have a habit of listening to no. These were the precise words Arnav had used when he asked-no-demanded Khushi’s help in getting Akash and Payal together.

“So that’s it, my family, our status, our wealth is the reason why you are refusing to marry Akash?” Arnav asked. Until this point Arnav wanted Payal to marry Akash because his brother loved her, but now Arnav knew that there would be no other woman better than Payal.

Had she been more agreeable, he might have not found her agreeable. It hurt. It hurt because each word that Payal had said was painfully true.

“Arnav ji, I think Jiji has made her point clear. I think you both need time and I’m-” Khushi turned to Payal, “I’m sorry.” Payal hugged her sister but kept her eyes on Akash. The shock, disbelief, and confusion on his face clarified another doubt. She broke the hug and approached Arnav.

“You did tell Akash why my marriage broke, and why we relocated to Delhi, right?”

“No.” For a fleeting second Payal regarded Arnav with respect for his honesty.

“Payal, what does Bhai have to do with all of it.”

Khushi flinched, the memory of the night still fresh in her mind. Arnav and Payal noticed it.

Arnav looked at his brother and fear gripped him. Akash trusted him, blindly. Arnav genuinely did not know that Khushi was innocent, that it would lead to Payal’s broken wedding. That he consciously gave another woman the trauma his sister faced.

“I didn’t want that to happen to you.” He confessed. Khushi and Payal nodded.

“But still, tell your brother what you did,” Payal asked. It would have been cruel, if not for Payal’s honesty. Khushi left them and walked towards the cliff, the weight of her engagement sitting heavy on her. For once she wished the tapes weren’t released. Then she would have never connected Shyam and become engaged to him.

Love made one irrational. Khushi, still, had no problem with the man who destroyed the night but a problem with the man who saved her in Lucknow and was a decent man. Fates certainly had played on her for she was loved by the last man she wanted to be loved by.

“Payal-” Arnav began.

“-my sister spent the last four months of her life being publicly shamed for what she never did. And she’s still being judged, by you, for it. So I’m requesting you to only tell the truth to your brother.” Payal asked, knowing Arnav rarely told a lie.

And he did not disappoint.

--

Next Chapter

[higuchimon]

[fanfic] Meaning of Choices:  Chapter 2

Ken floated somewhere. He wasn’t certain of where, but he knew that it wasn’t a place he wanted to be. He wanted to be with Daisuke and Wormmon. But here he floated all alone, and wherever Daisuke and Wormmon were, it wasn’t with him.

They should have been. He wasn’t sure why they weren’t. Had someone taken them away? Or – he thought this made more sense - he was the one who'd been taken. He didn’t know why anyone would want him.

Well, there was one reason he could think of. It wasn’t a reason he especially enjoyed considering, but it was a reason all the same. If someone decided that he should pay for his crimes as the Kaiser – well, he couldn’t blame them. He tried so hard to move on, to not blame himself for his action in those days, to eternally strive for a future that at times seemed as if it would never arrive.

But not all of the Digimon wanted to believe that he’d changed. More than once he’d seen a young Digimon, a Child level or younger, spy him somewhere and whimper, refusing to go near him. Usually Daisuke or Wormmon or V-mon or any of the others could help, explaining how he’d changed since then. Sometimes the Digimon would calm down and listen and let him help if there was anything that he could do.

Sometimes the Digimon simply left, refusing to have anything to do with him. Ken never blamed them. There were moments when he didn’t want to have anything to do with himself either. Daisuke kept on telling him that he didn’t need to feel that way.

If only it were that easy. All the good intentions in the world didn’t help in the dark of the night when he woke from the most vivid of dreams, of ideas he’d had and never brought to fruition,, of plans that hadn’t panned out and ways that they still could.

Sometimes he would call Daisuke and let his partner calm him down. Sometimes he just stayed there in the dark and waited for the morning light – especially when the dreams had involved Daisuke himself. He didn’t need to hear Daisuke’s voice then, not when it called to a deeper, darker part of himself that whispered how Daisuke belonged to him, how Daisuke existed to be a possession, a toy, a plaything, and for him to be all of those things to Ken.

On those nights he wrapped his arms around Wormmon and told himself over and over that the Kaiser was no more, that he fought now to save the Digital World and to protect it. He refused to listen to that honey-sweet voice in the back of his mind, so like and yet so unlike the Kaiser.

But I’m not the Kaiser. I’m you. Only better.

If Ken had seen his reflection, he might well have turned as pale as a ghost just then. The voice rang clear as crystal and he wished that he had Wormmon to hold right now.

“Who are you?” He wasn’t ever going to believe that voice was his. No matter ho much like him it sounded like.

I told you. I’m you – and yet I’m not you. I’m the part of you that you don’t want to admit exists.

Ken wasn’t sure of where he was but he knew enough to guess that he shouldn’t have heard booted footsteps coming towards him. In between one breath and the next, he found himself in an endless plain of shades of blue and violet. In front of him there stood an image, one that he’d seen in mirrors and in nightmares.

The other stood his exact height and had his same build. There were tiny differences, however – his eyes weren’t violet, but scarlet, and instead of one of his school uniforms or his preferred casual clothes, he wore a strange outfit of black and blue. On his back there hung twin swords, and his lips were twisted into a cold sneer.

“Who are you?” Ken demanded again, and his dark reflection laughed, the sound terrifying.

“Don’t you know? Didn’t they tell you?” He licked his lips, staring at Ken hungrily.

“Kaiser…” Ken murmured, but the doppelganger shook his head.

“No. The Kaiser is a weak copy of me – the least of what I am capable of.” He raised his head up, and Ken could see a king’s pride in this person's every line. “I am Akogimon – the son of Piemon.” His lips curved for a single breath. “As are you.”

Ken shook his head without hesitation. “No!” He remembered now – he remembered quite vividly how Koushiro-san explained it all to them. He’d not wanted to listen but he had no choice.

How some of them – seven of the twelve original Chosen – carried Digimon blood to some extent or other. The first four knew themselves, knew what they could do. It took time spent in the Digital World before one of those of crossed blood could awaken to their power, and it grew closer to their time. So Koushiro decided to tell them.

“You can deny it all you want. That just makes it easier for me to take over, eventually.” Akogimon strolled around Ken. “You could ask Anbumon – Ishida – about that if you like. If you ever wake up.”

“What are you talking about?”

“I thought it would be obvious. Perhaps not.” Akogimon shrugged. “But right now, you’re not very connected to your body. This is your soul, your essence. I am the other half of you – the part of you that is a true Virus Digimon. Either one of us could go back. I think it’s going to be me.”

Ice clamped around Ken’s heart and spine. He refused to take a step back. He wasn’t going to give ground here.

“No. This is my body and my life and you can’t have it..”

“It’s mine too. I just haven’t had the chance to live it yet.” Akogimon kept on circling Ken. “But I do want to. There’s so much that I long to taste. Those Rings and Spirals were a decent idea but I can do so much better – I should rule the Digital World by right, not because someone forces everyone to bow down to me.”

Ken thought if he shook his head any harder, then it might well fall off of his neck. Akogimon lost not a drop of his amusement.

“Do you think you can stop me?” With a flick of one hand, he drew one of his blades. “I might not be as skilled as Anbumon, but you can’t even do as much as I can.” he held the blade horizontally before meeting Ken’s gaze with his own. “But I won’t kill you. We’re too connected. To kill one is to kill both of us.”

“Then what do you think you’re going to do?” Ken snapped. He didn’t want Wormmon to be here – he didn’t want Daisuke here either. If this monstrosity was a part of him, which wasn’t something Ken felt ready to admit either, then he needed to be the one to contain him.

��You’re going to stay here, out of the way. You won’t see or hear anything. I’ll put you to sleep.” Akogimon’s smile glinted like diamonds. “It’s better that way. There will always be those who refuse to forgive. You’ll never see them again. Never have to worry about them. Never wake up to realize the help you could give, they don’t want. You’ll never have another nightmare, either. You’ll sleep dreamlessly. You wont’ even get a hint of what I’m doing.”

Ken pressed his lip together, clenching his fists. He didn’t want to admit how tempting that was. To just go to sleep and never have to worry about any of this ever again. So very tempting – and that was the problem in and of itself. He’d seen temptation before and he knew to avoid it.

“And what are you going to be doing?” He wanted more than what Akogimon told him. He wanted what this twisted image of himself refused to say.

“Oh, nothing that you’ll want. After all, you don’t want him kneeling at your feet, do you?” Akogimon smiled a slow and lazy smile. “You don’t the Digital World held firmly in your grip. You don’t want those things – but I do.”

He didn’t have to say who he talked about. Ken knew. There was only one person that it could be.

“You’re not going to hurt Daisuke. Or anyone else.” Ken drew himself up and his nails dug into his palms. Here in this inner world of visions, it shouldn’t have hurt. It did regardless. “I won’t allow it.”

Akogimon tilted his head. “Really. And how do you think you won’t allow it? You’re far too weak to resist me.”

Ken drew a breath that he didn’t need and wasn't sure existed in the first place. He flexed his hands and in the space of time it took to think, a familiar weight rested there. He didn’t look down. He thought Akogimon would know what he had there regardless.

“I can do what I need to do to keep you away from my friends.” Ken set himself. “So if you want a fight, bring it on!” And he drew his right hand back, a long silken whip trailing on the ground.

There had to be an answer. Something that would get Sorcerimon to come help Ken. If only Daisuke could figure out what it was!

But he couldn’t think o it. Sorcerimon’s resistance didn’t so much as waver. He’d made his statement – that if Ken were truly Piemon’s son, then he wouldn’t die, and if he weren’t, then he should die anyway.

Daisuke pressed his lips together as Sorcerimon regarded him with infinite icy calm. The mage Digimon hadn’t exactly expressed trust in him either. A tiny part of him wasn’t very happy about that. He’d never done anything to him. He was being mistrusted because of what he was – something that he hadn’t even known for a solid week yet.

“Ken deserves to live,” he said at last, crossing his arms over his chest. “Why are you so set on making sure that he doesn’t?”

“You know nothing of Piemon and what he did to this world,” Sorcerimon told him. “Nor do you know of your own creator.”

“I don’t care.” Daisuke snapped. “I’m not him. I don’t know about him and I don’t want to know. Whatever I do, it’s because I want to do it and because I can do it, not because of anything else.”

Sorcerimon looked as if he were about to say something else, but now Wormmon moved forward.

“It’s the same thing for Ken-chan. He’s not Piemon. He’ll never be Piemon – and if he dies, then I die too.” Wormmon ducked his head low. “Is that what you want?”

Sorcerimon shrugged. “You Digimon who are bound to the Chosen – that is your fate. What I want or don’t want has no meaning here. Though if I could shatter that bond, I would.”

“Don’t you dare!” Wormmon raised himself up onto his back pods. “I’ll always be Ken-chan's partner! No matter what!”

“Of course you will.” Sorcerimon’s lips couldn’t be seen but Daisuke got the impression they curled in contempt regardless. “That is what you partner Digimon are like. If he chose to once again conquer the Digital World, then you’d stand by his side.”

Wormmon shook his head. “He won’t do that.”

“Wormmon tried to stop him,” Daisuke pointed out, “and he wasn’t the only one. But he’s not going to do that.”

“And what makes you so certain of that? The blood of one of the most powerful virus Digimon runs in his veins. It is his nature to desire rule over others – as it is your nature to destroy and ruin, Akigaramon.”

Again hearing that name sent shards of dulled fury racing through Daisuke – though not quite as dulled as it had been once before. Tiny sparks of energy coursed through him, sparking thoughts that Daisuke knew he’d never thought before.

If Sorcerimon wanted to blame him for destruction that hadn’t even happened yet, then why shouldn’t it happen? He could destroy everything. It wouldn’t even be that hard. What had Oushimon – Koushiro – said? He was a Perfect level by nature, but with the potential for evolution. Daisuke wasn’t sure how he knew that, but it felt right.

I could destroy Sorcerimon right now. It really wouldn’t be that hard. The Digimon was only an Adult level. It would hardly even be a fight.

So easy. So easy.

“Daisuke’s not like that!” Wormmon stood before him now, in between him and Sorcerimon. Daisuke shook his head, trying to clear it from the miasma of rage that danced along his skin and flowed through his veins. Part of it felt as if it didn’t belong there at all. Another part that ran far, far deeper purred in pleasure and knew that it was as much a part of him as his skin or his hair or his eyes.

Of course I am. He wasn’t thinking. It was a voice, a voice like his own – no one that was his own, but with a different edge to it. A sound that he’d never heard before. Get out of my way. He wants to kill what’s mine. Or let it die.

Ken. That voice, whoever it was, meant Ken. Daisuke shook his head again.

“No,” he murmured. “No, I won’t let you.” He knew what the other wanted. All those thoughts of destroying Sorcerimon made it clear.

I wasn’t asking. You want him to be safe, don’t you? If this idiot won’t do it, then Akogimon will have to do it himself. A sense of pride, a sense of desire that bubbled up under his skin, and choked in Daisuke’s throat.

Sorcerimon regarded him, ignoring Wormmon. “Were you warned? Those who carry viral Digimon blood have two sides to their heart – one side of sanity and sense, another side of cruelty and power. Given the correct impetuous those two sides can speak to one another.”

Daisuke’s breath sped up. The voice he’d heard chuckled. He’s right. I’m you – your other half. Apocalymon’s spawn, his creation. You can call me Akigaramon.

“I don’t care,” Daisuke strained to get each word out, feeling as if he fought for control of his own vocal cords. “I don’t care. You’re not going to hurt Ken.”

Truth to tell, he didn’t know if he were talking to Akigaramon or to Sorcerimon. Perhaps it didn’t matter. One enemy within, one enemy without. And he didn’t know how to fight either of them.

To Be Continued

Notes: And here we go again! Once again, weekly updates until it’s done.

[pluviophile-bookworm]

Thoughts/ reaction to AWAE 3x9

I’m honestly scared of what I might see in this episode. But we all know I’m watching it anyway.

Oh my, one can’t even trust the cold open anymore. Ka’kwet has internalised the toxic things she was forcibly taught at that horrible school. After she escaped that place, no less. I was right to be scared. This episode is already making me cry. 

At this point I’m just sitting here enjoying the opening theme, It may as well be the only bright and wholesome thing I see in this episode. 

Anne’s confession of her love for Gilbert to Marilla sounded very, very much like her response to Gilbert himself last week. I mean, it’s probably not even two days later, so the effects that night had on her still haven’t worn off completely. 

Marilla did not just draw the parallel between Anne’s situation and her own history with John Blythe, did she? But I mean, it’s kind of ironic that Marilla not taking her chance with John is a factor in making Gilbert’s very existence possible, you know. And then, to think of all the accidents that brought Anne into the Cuthbert family, and everything that brought her and Gilbert together... those two were really meant to be - look at how small the probability of them ending up together in the same place was, but they did. This is bigger than chance. This is fate. 

Matthew is pure gold and that’s that. I mean, he sees a totally messy, agitated Anne who’s obviously not thinking very straight, hears her say she loves Gilbert (she really said she loved him just like that three times already), which, to him, is completely out of the blue, and just goes like “ok” and drops everything to support his not-so-little girl... pure gold,

The very blatant yet incredibly visually smooth parallel between Anne and Gilbert riding off is just... peak poetic cinema Shirbert at this point. 

“Play ‘Dashing White Sergeant’”... Minnie May really went there - whether she realises it or not. And Gilbert just walked in right in the middle of it, and it obviously reminded him of a certain scene in 3x5... At this point I would very much believe it if someone told me Minnie May is, in fact, God. 

Oh my, we do have some wholesomeness in this episode, after all - provided by Anne being just as excited to meet Bash’s mum as she was to meet Bash, if not more. And then - did she just call Gilbert part of her family? You have no idea, girl. 

And as if to reinforce that she’s really part of Gilbert’s family, Anne just let herself in, took a piece of paper without asking and sat down at their table to write her note... poor Hazel LaCroix will need some time to process all of what just happened. 

Wow. What a note. Anne really was like, all straightforward about loving Gilbert, but she wouldn’t just let the love note be a love note, she had to go and ask for her pen back. That’s so Anne!

Aww, I see Delly is still wearing the little yellow socks her dad made for her... so pure and wholesome. 

Gilbert is not about to propose to Winifred with his mother’s ring and with Anne’s pen in his pocket, is he? He can’t do that. I mean, I believe he physically won’t be able to do it. 

I wonder what Diana will do with the valuable information she just overheard. 

I am now more than ever before convinced that Minnie May is God. She could have let Diana go and try to tell Anne what she heard or, you know, do  whatever she was about to do, and yet she went ahead and told their mother about it so Diana couldn’t go. The point is that Anne and Gilbert must realise their feelings for each other on their own. That’s also why Gilbert will not read that note. I mean, the way Anne tucked it almost completely under the vase, it was almost like she didn't want it to be easily seen.

Whites in the Mi’qmaq village... that can’t be good. And they have a rifle, too. I’m scared. 

After seeing this utterly horrifying scene, I have two things to say. On the one hand, I’m glad I waited until the morning to watch this episode (it’s 3 a.m. where I live when they air, and I usually stay/wake up to watch the new episode immediately), because I can’t see myself going back to sleep after what I saw. On the other hand, that scene will haunt my dreams for a long, long time. 

It was high time Bash called his mother out on her behaviour to Gilbert, Delly, and himself. “This isn’t the plantation”, after all. But it pains me to think what both of those two have been through when they were at the plantation. 

But honestly, his mother leaving is the last thing Bash needs right now. 

Miss Stacy breaking down about possibly never having a baby  of her own or a worthy replacement of her late husband... right after Bash’s mother said she was leaving... they’re definitely setting up a Bash/ Muriel Stacy relationship and I’m not sure how I feel about it... but I would definitely support it if it made both of them happy. 

I don’t know if it was the free speech protest sign or the boys’ words, but somewhere between those things Gilbert will be convinced once and for all that he’s not meant for Winifred, but for Anne. I just hope the realisation comes before it’s too little too late. 

The fact that a fifth-grade maths lesson (isn’t Minnie May too young for it?) is “beyond [her mother’s] comprehension” should be a tell to Diana that a proper (yes, proper) education, and not an education in propriety (notice the difference) is what she needs and wants. She wants to be different from her mother after all, doesn’t she? I also like the choice of words there, “improper fractions” and all. How symbolic is it that a 100% proper woman like Eliza Barry doesn’t understand improper fractions?

Marilla is still... reserved... towards the natives - didn’t she learn anything from Anne?

Ka’kwet’s mum conveying her message to Marilla even through the language barrier... beautiful. In a makes-me-bawl-my-eyes-out kind of way, but it was beautiful. After all, mothers all over the world speak one language, and if Anne has ever taught Marilla something, it’s to be a mother. This is beautiful. 

That note might never be found. Or maybe it will be, weeks, months, even years later, and it will be too late for it to serve its purpose then, but I know it in my heart that its purpose will be served by one thing or another. 

Poor Marilla looks like a woeful wife whose husband went to war - and in a way, she is the housewife of the family whose loved ones left her home to fight for what’s right. And then we have both her and Diana all worked up about Gilbert proposing to Winifred, when I know for sure he’s not going through with that wedding. Even if he does propose, which I do not think is really possible at this point, he will eventually break it off. I know it and I speak it into existence. 

So Bash’s mother finally came around. It was high time. “This isn’t the plantation”, after all. Gosh, why did I remind myself of that?

Not even for a second should Anne doubt that she is, indeed, “a strong and brave heart”, and she and Matthew will get Ka’kwet back to her home. What is more troubling to me is this, though - will Ka’kwet ever forget the toxic erasure she was taught at that “school” (more like prison for innocent children)? I don;t think she could. But I am hopeful that she will learn once and for all that it’s not right and she is not “worthless”, and that they can never break her spirit - she, too, is a strong and brave heart. This scene is making me cry yet again, but I’m not giving up hope that things will be alright at the end. Eventually. 

I am so proud of Matthew in this moment - shy, quiet Matthew who has never spoken a harsh word to anyone in his life, standing up for Ka’kwet and her family. But I’m worried for him, too. How dare those people threaten innocent, unarmed people with a gun? This is a monstrosity.

I am glad the nun stepped in and stopped them before anyone was harmed beyond repair. That does not excuse the way she treated Ka’kwet in the previous episode, but I’m willing to give her the benefit of the doubt. Maybe she, too, was taught that that is what’s right, and she’s too little too old to be re-taught now. I hope things turn out fine...

Anne is absolutely right about writing to a newspaper and spreading the word to all of Canada. You know, this reminds me of what I was taught in history class - about when my country was enslaved by the Ottoman empire. I’m not sure about details here, so please don’t attack me on this. Anyway, I was taught that such outrageous things were done to my ancestors that the word spread to influential countries whose people were outraged by what they heard, so they eventually came to our aid. That was how we ended up liberated at the end. So, as far as I know, this has happened in history. Why wouldn’t it work here as well?

It makes me so happy that Ka’kwet’s parents are not giving up. It’s beyond messed up how they’re treated, but they’re not giving up. I deeply admire these people. 

To be fully honest, with all that happened to Ka’kwet and her parents, I almost forgot about the Shirbert subplot. I cannot believe he is still planning on going through with this proposal. And Anne has done nothing to deserve so much suffering in a single episode. 

Will Anne and Diana please stop speaking over one another? I cannot understand  a word they’re saying. I did make out “give another girl his mother’s ring” from Diana, and honestly, I’m 100% with her on that. I think I mentioned it somewhere above. But honestly, I’m just happy to see my girls together again, like nothing ever happened. Where is Jerry, by the way?

If there’s one thing Anne has learned for sure after all she’s been through, it’s that there are a lot of things that are way worse than hurt feelings. She’s absolutely right. She must demand a clear answer from Gilbert - especially after she gave him - or so she thinks - a clear answer after all. Too bad he never got that note.

Oh my, Bash’s mum is now treating her own son (part- sarcastically, part-not so sarcastically) like she treats white people. I thought she had come around already. Could have guessed it would take a little more time for such a dramatic change. 

Bash’s father was lynched? Because he wanted a house and land of his own? I was sure there was some dark, scary reason for his mother to act as she does. but this is darker and scarier than I could have imagined. And it explains everything. It wasn’t the time and place for what he wanted back then, so he payed for it with his life. But now Bash has what his father wanted him to have, and nobody’s threatening him. I hope she realises things are different and calms down a bit. But with all that is happening to the Mi’qmaq, I’m left here wondering if things are really different. I mean, black people are accepted, but Indians are not? What kind of double standard is that? I guess that’s just how things are/ were. Am I being too optimistic in believing things will be alright eventually? Or am I thinking this from my privileged, white, modern-day point of view?

I’m having sympathy heartache for both Bash and his mum right now, if that’s even possible, and that’s making it hard for me to give even a tiny bit of my attention to the Shirbert subplot that is happening right at the same time. I could be watching Friends, or something equally harmless, right about now. Instead I’m here suffering for fictional characters and their fictional drama. Why do I keep doing this to myself? I guess there are things in this world that make you hurt sometimes, but you still love them and come back for them regardless - like parents and children, you know. What does the fact that I just compared AWAE to a parent or child say about me?

This episode did not just end by acknowledging how many unresolved plot lines it’s leaving to the next one. It looks a bit ambitious to me - counting on the finale to tie all those loose ends up. I mean, I know Moira can do that, but the real question I’m asking here is: can I handle that finale? Can we, as a fandom?

To sum up, in this penultimate episode of the season, we saw: remaining traces of the “White Man’s Burden” school’s brainwash in Ka’kwet; Anne, still flustered from that conversation with Gilbert and her big realisation afterwards, confesses to both of her parents right away; lots of Shirbert parallels; Minnie May is God; Hazel LaCroix still can’t adjust; Gilbert has the audacity to even think of giving Winifred his late mother’s ring; armed whites attacking innocent, unarmed Mi’qmaq; potential mother Miss Stacy; propriety and improper fractions at the Barry house; the language of motherly love crosses language and racial barriers; Matthew and Anne take off to save the day; Marilla is a true woeful housewife in times of war; Anne lives up to  her Mi’qmaq name; in Matthew we trust - again; the dark truth about Bash’s father; way too many loose ends for the finale to resolve.

Because there are too many for me to disregard them, here’s a list of things we did not see in this episode that I was hoping for: Jerry - I demand a decent resolution of the Derry plot line; Cole and Aunt Jo, but mostly Cole - Gilbert did go to Charlottetown, didn’t he; Ruby - I want my Ruby/ Moody scenes; what happened to Josie and the Andrews family after all; Tillie and her two Pauls - not relevant to  the main plot lines, I just miss them; Rachel Lynde and Marilla being in the board of trustees together - also, who are the other two women who were supposedly added to the board? I thought they agreed on three women being added; I’m sure there’s more but that’s all I can think of right now.