#well on his way to silver fox territory

[acknowledge-reigns]

sorry for finding it hot when people's hair goes grey. as if im wrong

[acourtofthought]

Lucien in Feral Mate mode:

Lucien snarled at the king over the bite of the magic at his throat, “Don’t just leave her on the damned floor—” There was a flare of light, and a scrape, and then Lucien was stalking toward Elain, freed of his restraints.

Lucien was shaking his head, panting, and whirled to us. “Get her back,” he snarled at Tamlin over the ranting of the king. A mate—a mate already going wild to defend what was his.

Jurian stalked over to Lucien amid the rising squabble, laughing under his breath. “Do you know what Illyrian bastards do to pretty females? You won’t have a mate left—at least not one that’s useful to you in any way.” Lucien’s answering growl was nothing short of feral.

I was fairly certain that only centuries of training kept Lucien from leaping over the table to rip out Jurian’s throat.

Touch her, smell her, taste her— The instincts were a running river. He fisted his hands at his sides.

But even as shame washed through him, the words, the sense chanted, Mine. You are mine, and I am yours. Mate.

He fought against the bristling rage, the irrational urge to find the male who’d claimed her and shred him apart.

He paused right between them and said to me, to Nesta, “She needs fresh air.” “We’ll judge what she needs.” I could have sworn his ruby hair gleamed like molten metal as his temper rose. But it faded, his russet eye fixing on me. “Take her to the sea. Take her to some garden. But get her out of this house for an hour or two.”

But Lucien’s attention went right to the hallway toward the back, his nostrils flaring as he scented Elain’s direction. And who she’d gone with. A low snarl slipped out of him—

The words were little more than a growl.

His russet eye flashed with simmering rage. An uncontrollable instinct—for a mate to eliminate any threat.

Lucien in Calculating Mate mode:

“Forever,” I parroted, glancing behind—to where Lucien stood in the gravel drive. His gaze on me. Face hard. As if he’d seen through every lie. As if he knew of the second tattoo beneath my glove, and the glamour I now kept on it. As if he knew that they had let a fox into a chicken coop—and he could do nothing. Not unless he never wanted to see his mate—Elain—again.

Lucien breathed, “Where is he keeping her?” I knew who he meant. I shook my head. “I don’t know. Rhysand has a hundred places where they could be, but I doubt he’d use any of them to hide Elain, knowing that I’m aware of them.” “Tell me anyway. List all of them.” “You’ll die the moment you set foot in his territory.” “I survived well enough when I found you.” “You couldn’t see that he had me in thrall. You let him take me back.” Lie, lie, lie. But the hurt and guilt I expected weren’t there. Lucien slowly released his grip. “I need to find her.”

Lucien in Respectful Mate mode:

“Is … is there anything I can get for you?” I’d never heard my friend’s voice so soft. So tentative and concerned.

The words were a rasp as he instead said, “I know. I’m sorry.”

“Are you hurt?” he asked, coming toward us. Spying the blood speckling Elain’s hands.

Lucien now stood in the sitting room, close to Elain’s side.

“How is she?”

But is she still …” A muscle flickered in his jaw. “Does she still mourn him?”

Lucien had encountered him, I realized. Somehow, in living with Jurian and Vassa at that manor, he’d run into Elain’s former betrothed. And managed to leave the human lord breathing.

But he remained sitting. Even as his fingers dug into the arms of his chair.

The bigger box is for you. The smaller one is for her.” It took me a heartbeat to realize he meant the presents. I glanced over my shoulder to the careful silver wrapping, the blue bows atop both boxes.

Lucien in Sad Mate mode:

Lucien leaned his head back against the rock wall behind us. “And then I’ll ask your mate how he survived it—knowing you were engaged to someone else. Sharing another male’s bed.”

But Lucien was standing in the doorway. And from the devastation on his face, I knew he’d heard every word. Seen and heard and felt the hollowness and despair radiating from her.

She did not love him, want him, need him. Another male’s bride.

Only concern for her. And … sorrow. Longing.

He glanced at Elain, who was again studying her lap. “I’m not needed here. I’ll fight if you need me to, but …” He offered me a grim smile. “I do not belong in the Autumn Court. And I’m willing to bet I’m no longer welcome at h—the Spring Court.” Home, he had almost said.

Lucien inclined his head in a bow, the movement hiding the gleam in his eye—the longing and sadness.

“She wants nothing to do with me.”

Cassian’s heart strained at the pain etching deep into Lucien’s face as he tried to hide his disappointment and longing.

Lucien in Perfect Mate mode:

Water poured forth, Lucien hoisting Elain in his arms and out of the way.

he’d been more than happy to do so, given that his own status as a mated male made him uninterested in any sort of female company these days.

“I’m a mated male now.”

But Lucien gripped my arm, halting me. “I’m going with you,” he said again, face splattered with blood as bright as his hair. “I’m getting my mate back.”

“Tell me about her—about Elain,” Lucien said quietly. As if the death that squatted in the dark beside us had drawn his thoughts to his own mate as well.

But he couldn’t breathe as she faced him fully. She was the most beautiful female he’d ever seen.

“Let me do something. About Elain.

“Please tell me,” Lucien said when I crossed the threshold into the foyer. “What the healer says. And if—if you need me for anything.”

“Did you sense anything?” “No—I didn’t have time. I felt her, but …” A blush stained his cheek.

“I’ll go.” Lucien was staring at Elain as he spoke. We all looked at him. Lucien shifted his focus to Rhys, to me. “I’ll go,” he repeated, rising to his feet. “To find this sixth queen.”

Lucien, haggard and bloody, panting for breath. As if he’d run from the shore. His gaze settled on Elain, and he sagged a little.

“I’m fine,” Elain said quietly. And then asked, noticing the gore on him, the torn clothes and still-bloody weapons, “Are you—” “Well, I never want to fight in another battle as long as I live, but … yes, I’m in one piece.” A faint smile bloomed on Elain’s lips.

Lucien. He noticed it. “I heard you made the killing blow,” he said.

[frogchiro]

We need more content of dad Makarov! That is all I want to say. Normal, Naga, Silver Fox, etc. I! Do! Not! Care! All I want to see is Makarov being a dad to some cute babies that either have heterochromia or those big brown doe eyes

You can pry good dad Makarov from my cold dead hands, he wants to make up for the sins of his father! He wants to be the best dad around and no one can stop him. If they try, they die. It is as simple as that

Imagine him being a baby whisperer, when you hold them after feeding all they do is cry and cry but as soon as he picks them up, nuzzles their full tummy with his stubble as he cooes at them in Russian they settle down and go right back to being cute little adorable messes

Imagine him being a twin or quadruplet dad

I have so many thoughts about this evil man I just can not, I have so many thoughts about him being a father

Evil man but amazing mate and dad!! I'm going to go with Naga!Makarov x Forest witch!Reader bc I miss them and I love them so much ;;

He was over the moon when you found out you were pregnant with his eggs!! Believe it or not but he always craved to have a family of his own for years, especially after what happened to him and his parents. He wasn't a good person, he was a Naga, a feared and formidable creature that everyone avoided. Well, everyone but you, the cute forest witch that helped him and rescued him when he was freezing to death and bleeding out on the snow and he just never left :(

And he was ecstatic and so smug and proud when you informed him with a small, shy smile and a flushed face that you're expecting with his clutch <3 Vladimir would shower you with even more attention than before, would never leave your side ever; he's naturally a territorial and aggressive male like most Nagas are, but with now a pregnant mate? And babies on the way? Don't be surprised if you wake up sometimes in the middle of the night with your mate missing from your bed to piercing screams coming from the forest. Just ignore it love, there's nothing to see!

And when the eggs finally arrive? He's not leaving them! Vladimir will arrange them in a neat circle, all four of them, in your bed/nest and stay wrapped around them until they're ready to hatch <3

That includes you too! Despite your giggled protests and playful squirming, Makarov is herding you back into your bedroom and into your nest where your clutch is resting, putting them in your waiting arms before wrapping his huge, strong tail around your before nuzzling into your neck, finally calm and satisfied that his family is safe and sound in his grip <333

[absolutebl]

This Week in BL - Everything Went a Bit Weird Allasudden

Organized, in each category, with ones I'm enjoying most at the top.

BL OLYMPICS! Week 2

I'll be passing out metals in various sporting events, as part of the weekly updates (through mid August) just for funzies.

Aug 2024 Week 1

Ongoing Series - Thai

The Rebound (Weds Gaga) eps 11-12fin - THE STAIRS ARE BACK and now they’re evil! Frank is truly great. He's out acting everyone else, but I'm just happy to see him pine. OK yes, the ending wasn’t awesome but I still really enjoyed this show. 

In conclusion: (deep breath)

This was a sports romance Thai BL pulp with everything I could have asked for given this sub genre. More, actually, since MeenPing are both great basketball players and the team component really did form part of the connective tissue of the show (vital in a sports romance). Meen has his shirt off within the first two minutes which is all I needed but he's still pretty great as the sullen secret keeper against Ping's cheerful survivor - childhood sweethearts torn asunder and now reunited. Then Frank sweeps in to give everyone a bad case of second lead syndrome. I always try to judge BL for what it is AS BL, and what it’s trying to do within its own territory and purview. This did exactly what it claimed on the tin: gay boys play b-ball and fall in love. That was all I wanted from it. Sure there was random kidnapping and a light bought of mass murder, but what’s a BL in 2024 without a touch of the mafia? You do you little pulp, I’m disposed to be pleased.

Thank you, Rebound, for being exactly what I wanted. Is this gonna be anybody else’s favorite BL of 2024? Probably not. But there is a real good chance it’ll be mine. Is it perfect? No. But for me, it got as close as a pulp can get, so I’m giving it 9/10.

My Love Mix-Up Th (Fri YT) ep 9 of 12 - Them being boyfriends is so damn adorable. Like PondPhuwin I think I could watch G4 just be boyfriends for 16 eps and not fuss about anything in life. They're my emotional support pair brand. Back to the show:

My goodness Atom is such a frenetic high strung babygirl. He is a near constant emotional pingpong.

Gold in Table Tennis

K is a teenage saint. The lights thing, and the hands to head (reminiscent of certain previous characters from this pair), all made me coo and laugh. 

However, this ep was mostly about the hets. It’s always funny to me when the gays have their shit figured out in a show but the hets are in chaos.

Also they're touted as "a teacher and a baker" but they're playing the gay dads of this narrative and I LOVE THEM SO MUCH. More gay dads in BL!

This Love Doesn't Have Long Beans (Fri iQIYI) ep 5 of 8 - I’m just gonna say it, because no one else is, this pair kisses like they’re in a Taiwanese BL. There’s no other way to put it except there’s a whole body genuine interest and enthusiasm to the way they do physicality that’s comparatively rare in Thai BL. This kind of on-screen sexual maturity is my favorite, especially in grown-up characters like these. The side couple = awesomesause. JJ is a very appealing character. He hates Methas, he likes him, he loathes him, and also... he definitely wants to see him naked. 

All praise aside? I have questions about why half the hair in this show is so absolutely ghastly. Like bad enough for Japan. Enough of that now, Thailand. Tut tut. Cut cut. Style style. Please & thank you?

Then again who cares when we get...

They already won silver last week, but I guess they're going for

Gold in Weightlifting

Century of Love (Weds Gaga) eps 7-8 of 10 - Well THAT is an interesting take on a Faen Fetale. As expected, a somewhat doomy ep 7. I did enjoy the doctor punching San tho.

Bronze in Boxing

Meanwhile, that camel jacket is a sin against all things, especially Daou. But I eventually got a crying kiss. I love a crying kiss best in the world. Next week looks good! But I miss my nine tailed fox nod. Will we get back to that or was it just a brief weird thing?

The Trainee (Sun YouTube) ep 5 of 12 - It’s kinda great actually. The romance is the only bit that isn’t really hitting for me. Gun’s smile at the "oppa" is so adorable. His little dimples.

Sunset X Vibes (Sat iQIYI) ep 8 of 12 - I really do not like the pet name in this one. Khun Dad is too weird for me. But I do think their relationship is ridiculously cheesy and endearing in a terrible way. These two are the equivalent of that couple that always speaks in baby talk. It’s a good thing they’re pretty because they’re not so bright. Wait! No Christmas music in my BL! That's far too weird. 

Bronze in Diving

I Saw You in My Dream (Weds Gaga) ep 3 of 12 - I’m liking this a lot better now. It’s still a little slow for me but since the bullying has stopped relatively quickly I’m not as upset as I was. Also, look at those eyes, our P'Seme is IN LURV. That said, I’m not wild about the sudden suicide plot line. That feels... weird.

Battle of the Writers (Sun YT) - TutorYim are back and so far this is better than Middleman's Love - but that's not saying much. For a second there I thought they were going to open on the REAL blindfold scene from Grandmaster of Demonic Cultivation. But then I remembered that that’s more Mame than anyone else. On a completely different note, I do like this pair. And I’m willing to give them ever more chances. That said this is very, I don’t know, weird? I’m not sure what is happening, and I’m confident that’s not my fault. I hope it makes sense eventually.

Knock Knock Boys (Thurs Gaga) ep 11 of 12 - Peak's dad is so completely frustrating and kind of psychotic. It’s annoying to watch. So I spent most of this episode upset. I'm glad he came around in the end but it was a lot, mostly unforgivable, from this side of the screen.

Love Sea (Sun iQIYI) ep 8 of 10 - It's committing the greatest sin of all (in the realm of entertainment). It's mind numbingly dull. I'd sooner be offended than bored. Trash watch

Ongoing Series - Not Thai

I Hear the Sunspot AKA Hidamari ga Kikoeru (Japan Weds Gaga) ep 7 of 10 - I don’t remember the camping trip from the manga, but I really enjoyed it in this series.

Takara's Treasure AKA Takara No Vidro (Japan Mon Gaga) ep 5 of 10 - The bit with the kid was cute but I’m still finding this rather slow and the central relationship unappealing. I think the balance of power has to shift for me to engage, and I don’t see that happening anytime soon.

It's airing but...

Bad Guy (Korea YT) - yeah, erm, no thank you.

Sugar Dog Life (Japan Sun ????) 10 eps - OMG a uni student who looks too young and a... COP. GAH. The subversion and kink of it all. Please SOMEONE pick this one up?

4 Minutes (Thai Netflix/Grey) - A rich boy at uni suddenly gains the supernatural power to see four minutes into the future. I have a source, but I've decided to hold off and binge if it ends okay, since it's only 8 eps. I depend upon y'all to tell me how it goes.

Meet You at the Blossom (China) - it's your funeral (or, more likely, one of the main characters'). You can argue but... statistics. You know my feelings on this matter. MY BLOG, remember?

In case you missed it

The Time of Fever AKA Unintentional Love Story 2 (Korea movie) trailer IS COMING IN SEPTEMBER!!!!

Next Week Looks Like This:

Upcoming BLs for 2024 are listed here. This list is not kept updated, so please leave a comment if you know something new or RP with additions.

Coming Up This Month!

8/6 Cosmetic Playlover (Japan Tues Gaga) 8 eps - office romance around the makeup counter featuring a younger seme and sexual blackmail. I'm intrigued. DFTUJ (don't fuck this up, Japan).

8/8 Monster Next Door (Thai Thurs Gaga ) 12 eps - I am so DAMN excited to see Big finally lead a BL. I can't even with this, one of my most anticipated of this year. He's a great kisser ya'll, he's kissed a lot of boys as second lead. I can't WAIT.

8/12 First Note Of Love (Taiwan Mon Gaga) 12 eps - About a singer with stage fright and his timid fan stars Charles (H4 the puppy one) and Michael Chang (the youngster in My Tooth Your Love), plus side couple featuring a Thai actor Jame (Koh in Gen Y) and Liu Min Ting (of Guardian fame). What a damn tean. I can't wait. With thier powers combined!

8/13 Addicted Heroin (Thai Tues YT) - supposedly Jinlo with air this on their YT channel. Stars August (Love Sick) so I'm excited despite Jinlo's poor reputation. From the trailer it looks like it's following the original pretty closely just Thai style.

8/16 The Last Time (Thai Fri YT) ? eps - Convoluted story of loss and possible reincarnation or something.

8/22 The Paradise of Thorns (Thai movie) theater release - Jeff Satur is back but this does not look like a BL (the gay lover's death is the inciting event). More in Goodbye Mother vein. Looks dark and dramatic. He opposite and extremely well known actor Toey Pongsakorn who has never done gay before.

Addicted Heroin (Thailand adaptation) is also supposed to release this month. GIVE IT TOO MEEEEEE. I don't care about anything else but August back on my screen. It's been almost a decade since he did BL.

THIS WEEK’S BEST MOMENTS

This is the kind of jealousy I like to see. Boys getting pissed about the stupid stuff.

Also, more counter making out. I'm not complaining, but babies the bed is way more comfortable.

All from Long Beans.

(Last week)

Streaming services are listed by how I (usually) watch, which is with a USA based IP, and often offset by a day because time zones are a pain.

The tag BLigade: @doorajar @solitaryandwandering @my-rose-tinted-glasses @babymbbatinygirl @babymbbatinygirl @isisanna-blog @mmastertheone @pickletrip @aliceisathome @urikawa-miyuki @tokillamonger @sunflower-positiiivity @rocketturtle4 @blglplus @anythinggoesintheshire @everlightly @renafire @mestizashinrin @bl-bam-beyond @small-dark-and-delicious @saezurumurmurs

Sigh, Tumblr in its infinite wisdom doesn't like too many tags.

Sports in Play (the jokes write themselves)

Boxing

Breaking

(That's Not) Cricket

Diving (yes, for that)

Fencing (yes, with those)

Handball (exactly what it says, no, read the word.. again)

Rhythmic Gymnastics (obvs)

Squash (snicker)

Surfing

Swimming

Trampoline

Table Tennis

Weightlifting

Wrestling

[secret-smut-sideblog]

The Halla

Lavellan x Blackwall

18+ (implied) animal violence, grief, (implied) torture, death, miscommunication, guilt, sub/dom, grinding, handjob, breast worship (m!), oral (m!), deepthroat, talks about pregnancy, tokophobia

Reunited with a Dalish clan, Vella hopes to help any way she can. And, returned to the soft of his bed, hopes her love will let her help him as well...

Masterlist, Prev Chapter

-

"Where are we going?" Sera whined, throwing her head back.

"Sera. Hush." Blackwall growled.

"I'm enjoying our walk." Iron Bull offered easily.

"Would it help if I gave you a turn on Ghilana?" Vella smiled.

Sera huffed.

"...Maybe."

Vella nickered to Ghilana. He circled back from ahead, kneeling down to her.

"You know, people usually keep their mounts with them." Iron Bull appraised the great stag.

"Why? Do they need babysitting?" Vella looked at him curiously. Helping Sera up onto the thin saddle.

"Oh, that wasn't a slight. And yeah... you make a good point."

The stag stood again. Sera patted his side uncertainly, but Blackwall could see the wonder in her eyes.

"How's the saddle treating you?" He trailed his fingers along the engravings. It worried him that she might get thrown off in battle riding bareback. He had borrowed many tools from around Skyhold to craft something fit for her. "I'm not a trained leather worker, I can already see improvements that need made."

She gave him a soft glare over her shoulder.

"It's beautiful, don't sell yourself short. And it fits me perfectly."

She slipped her fingers under his gambeson, trailing them up the base of his spine. Whispering close to his ear.

"Almost like someone was taking measurements."

Blackwall's neck flushed red.

"Oh, she keeps you young, huh?" Bull laughed.

"Can ya'll not play grab ass in front of Ghilly?" Sera covered his eyes with her palms. The mount held still, seeming to humor her.

"Actually, I'm pretty sure I'm older." Vella laughed. "Dalish calendars don't line up like that, but I've got him beat by at least a summer."

"Wow. Elven genetics, eh?" Bull whistled and gave her a full look up and down. She gave an indulgent twirl in response.

"She's trouble, that one." He laughed to Blackwall.

"Oh, I'm aware." He pinched her side. Ignoring the vague lust that reared at seeing another man fully undress her with his eyes.

Vella gripped Blackwall's arm suddenly. Her eyes flashed with silver, wide and searching.

"What's up, boss?" Iron Bull reached over his shoulder towards his great axe.

Vella held up a hand. Then blinked, a wide smile splitting her face.

She cupped around her mouth and called out. A haunting imitation of a cry of a fox with a small whoop up at the end.

They waited. Then, a responding cry echoed through the trees.

"No way." Blackwall breathed. He had heard that distinctive cry before. An ill omen that his men heeded. The party always eager to move on when it would rise through the hills. "That was..."

"Elfy shit..." Sera grumbled.

Vella only smiled, moving towards the sound with certainty. Walking in a fast clip.

When they rounded the treeline the red sail of an aravel peeked through the canyon. Vella rushed forward, speaking in Elven to the Dalish scout.

Elvhen. Not Elven. Solas' haughty voice echoed in his mind.

He had been supplementing her Elvhen lessons with him, determined to get some fluency. Solas was a much less patient teacher, often sighing out at his pronunciation. And his lessons in history were dour and jaded by his own bias. But he was good at translation. Miserable little man.

He struggled now to follow the quick of their conversation, only getting a hazy outline of it. A clan ahead, it seemed.

Vella thanked him, and urged them forward.

"One of yours?" Bull offered.

"My clan is from the Free Marches. We're far from our... from their territory. Dalish keep distance, but clans always know each other." She sighed the last part. Telling a weary history.

"Yeah, the Qun are like that too." He sighed with his own strife.

They came down a ridge to a low river, an encampment settled on the opposite bank.

The Dalish stood, eyeing them with weapons drawn. But Vella let out that cry again, and their shoulders softened.

"Let me go first." She hushed. They all nodded, not eager to be riddled with arrows.

She crossed the river, a man who must've been their Keeper met her at the bank. A tense conversation unfolded quiet to them. The Keeper gestured at them, and Vella gestured at herself in turn. Her hands soothing in arcs.

After a moment of quiet, the Keeper nodded and Vella waved them forward again.

"Jumpy." Sera chirped with thinly veiled amusement.

"You know damn well why." Blackwall growled. Sera gave a permissive sigh after he burned his gaze onto her.

"Yeah. I get it."

Vella introduced each of them to the Keeper, a small gathering of curious clan members behind him. She stepped forward to press her hand to Blackwall's chest when she got to him. Adding a prefix to him.

"My Arlathan. Blackwall."

He wracked his mind for that one. A city?

It seemed to warm them to him, regardless.

"Why do you get a title?" Sera huffed.

"I don't want to hear it from you, young lady."

He leaned down to Vella.

"Arlathan?"

"Oh! It's technically our original homeland. But it means 'this is a place of love'. Elvhen language is a loose thing." She laughed.

His heart ached at that. He paused her to press his hand to her chest.

"Arlathlan."

She smiled brightly.

"Your pronunciation is getting good."

They spent most of the day helping with small tasks. Sera refused to participate after the first one, electing to sit with the halla in their cool cave. Vella waved her away easily, no harm in her dismissal.

They had just gotten back from gathering some herbs when a voice rose behind them in a reverent gasp.

"Hanal'ghinan."

A young man came to her side, breathing a greeting. His eyes wide on her. He introduced himself as the halla herder. Telling her there was a golden halla (her lathallan... sister?) in a valley nearby.

Vella nodded, assuring him she would find it. He cupped her hands in his, smiling gratefully.

"We're after a halla?" Blackwall offered.

"Wow, your lessons are really sticking, huh?" She teased, eyeing him knowingly.

"Solas might be helping."

"And how's that treating you?" She pulled her armor over her shoulders as she spoke, handing it off to him.

"Well... he's effective."

"Less kisses?"

"Ugh. I prefer your lessons."

She slung only her bow and quiver over her back. Standing in her stays and tights. Kicking her boots off.

"My lady?"

"I need to do this alone." She assured. Tightening her quiver.

He nodded. Solas had told him of of Dalish trials. These small journeys. Proving yourself to a path.

The clan seemed to see this as well. Gathering in a curious circle. The herder offered her a blanket from one of the halla's backs.

"Ghilana." He smiled. Her mount turned his head at his name.

Vella tied it to her waist. Nodding at him.

"To guide." She agreed. Then she set her eyes on the dip of the mountain. "To guide."

She took off in a silent run. Hair whipping behind her as she bobbed and weaved through trees.

The Keeper laughed, watching her go.

"Sunbeam that runs."

Blackwall approached the halla herder. The others seemed wary of him still, but the young man met him with open curiosity.

"Who are you?" Blackwall tried in Elvhen.

The man immediately perked up, smiling wide.

"Irithen!" He gestured to himself. Calling over another young man excitedly. "Loranil!"

"Blackwall." He held a hand to his chest.

"Wall of black..." He nodded.

"Warrior?" Loranil asked, a glitter of excitement in his eyes. Pointing at the sword on his hip.

"Yes. Inquisition." He gestured to the insignia on his shield.

"Join! He would like." Irithen nodded.

"Oh!" Blackwall searched for the word. "Uh... welcome! You. You're welcome."

The keeper came to their side. Glaring down his nose at Blackwall. Speaking Common coldly.

"He is not. A word?"

Loranil hung his head. Following obediently.

"He's just scared for him." Irithen sighed. Appraising Blackwall again. "The hanal'ghinan is your love?"

"She is. I'm very lucky."

"You are." He agreed easily. Watching the horizon for her return.

"I was actually wondering..." He gestured at his leather boots. "Those are traditional, yes? Is there a blueprint I could study?"

"Blue print?"

"A... uh, a design? A map to build with?"

"Oh! No. We learn from an elder. But I have a spare if you want to see them. Make a blue print."

He nodded.

He sat with the boots, turning them, marking measurements and notes in the small journal that he kept her language in. Admiring the craft of them as he did. The leather tough but giving. Sewn with dark sinew in small methodically looped seams.

He would lift his head to ask Irithen questions who was sitting near, still watching him with eager curiosity. Another of the clan joined, Master Taniel, the merchant and craft master. Answering questions with a far more gruff authority.

"Holy shit." Bull rose to feet.

Blackwall's head whipped around.

Vella strode towards them with the golden halla at her side. The little thing was draped in the blanket, seeming shaken but trotting with her.

Vella's front was completely soaked in blood.

Blackwall rushed forward, but she held her hand flat to him. Eyeing the nervous little halla. It stayed at her side.

She was given a wide reverent berth as she re-entered the camp. The small clan hushing to each other. Particularly pointing their mouths, and the blood dripping from hers.

The little golden halla descended happily into the cave. A small cheer from Sera reverberated from within.

The Keeper met Vella solemnly. He raised a hand and pressed it flat to her blood-soaked chest. Then rose it to an aravel. Pressing the print there.

Vella's eyes welled with ichor and a further murmuring rose. The Keeper spoke again.

"Sun that bites wolf. Welcome."

-

Wildflowers laden in her arms, she held them close to her chest. Cradling the blooms with head bowed.

"I miss you." She whispered to the flowers in Elvhen. To the effigy of each of them. "I miss you so much. I miss home."

The grass waved around her shoulders.

"Can you see me? I can't see you."

Insect song moved through hills.

"I'm sorry I didn't get to bury you. That I didn't get to sing for you then. I tried. They stilled my tongue. They..."

She took a shuddered breath. Rolling the silver piercing into her soft palate. A touchstone of wounds since healed.

"I wish I had known. Known that morning that it was the last time I would be home. Would that have made it harder?"

She smiled as soft tears clouded her vision.

"I would have walked backward. So I could watch it go."

She gave a sorrow swollen laugh.

"Father would've hated that."

A fennec fox chuckled far in the hills.

"My lady?"

She looked up, smiling gently at him. Holding the cradled bundle up.

"I think it's helping. The flowers."

She could see him put context together. His eyes creased in sorrow at the amount she held to her.

"Oh, my love."

He kneeled down with her. Laying a hand on the gathered totem of her loss. The rough wide of his hand surrounded by soft green and purple.

"I don't remember all of their faces anymore. But I know the number. The chantry kept records."

The bitter entered her again. A pain she couldn't move through anymore without the burn of rage.

"I couldn't feel the anger then. I didn't have room for it. It was only numb, then survival. I had to learn to be good. To be civil for them."

"But now I don't know where to put it." She held a palm tight to her chest. "Where do I put my anger? On the chantry? On the mercenaries that killed my family in cold blood? On their Maker?"

"I could put in on them. Men who saw me as gold. As an idol and as coin. But they weren't sorry. What happened to my family was barely noteworthy, a scribble in a margin. And I'm not sorry either. I'm just sorry it had to be me to do it."

Blackwall's gaze burned into her. Feeling her confession building.

"Vella..."

"It wasn't even revenge. I took no satisfaction from it. No joy. I burned them in their chantry, then I found those men. I found all of them. I kept count, like my father taught me. Three nights, it took. Standing in the dark while they slept. One by one. I didn't eat. I barely breathed."

She could still feel the tack of it if she focused. Remember the feeling of sliding it up her arms. Blood as clay.

"It wasn't for justice. Men like that will always have a place. Ready to commit any atrocity if you hand them a heavy enough purse."

Blackwall was very still next to her.

"No, they massacred my family, and it meant nothing to them. It meant nothing. But their blood changed that. I made them feel it. The terror of being the hunted."

Her eyes met his again.

"I was in a cold rapture doing it. Absent from my mind. I wasn't angry. But I am now."

"And now we have to go to a Grand Ball. Full of people who see Halamshiral as nothing more than a name difficult to pronounce. I'm shocked they bother."

"They built their gaudy fucking castle on the ruins of a promise. And I'm supposed to appease them. To play nice. At least they'll openly revile me. There's honestly in that."

She let out an exhausted sigh.

"Gods, I want to stay back. Do you think my inner circle would notice if I ditched?"

He smiled gently, rubbing her cheek with his thumb.

"They might. I'm not going if you don't."

"Shit. We're going to need the muscle. Wait... what if we both-"

He leaned in and kissed her soft.

"I'll be miserable with you, my love. We'll have an awful time."

"Promise?" She whispered, holding his forearm. Looking deep into the steel blue of his eyes.

He spoke in her tongue.

"I swear to you."

-

He lovingly cupped over the curve of her hip, kissing the perfect dimples on her lower back. Careful to not rest his elbow on the golden wave of her hair as he settled on the hay next to her.

Of course she was already here. Sleeping in his meager bed. In his tunic that swallowed the curves of her. Waiting for him.

Maker, he would never get used to her. Sleeping on her side, high in the barn loft. Like that wasnt an impossible dream. Always finding him.

"Mmm..." She hummed, turning on her back to smile sleepily at him. "What a lovely way to wake."

"I didn't mean to rouse you." He kissed her palm as she reached for him. "Its very late. Go back to sleep, love."

"What if you kissed me instead?" She hushed, twisting to hook her leg around his hip.

"Tempting." He sighed, balancing on a forearm next to her head. Her long legs folded over his lower back. His body a shadow over hers.

"Please, could I get one kiss?" She pouted, looking wide eyed up at him.

"That's cheating." He growled. Her lower lip stuck out slightly, knitting her brows together.

"Evil." He chided. Kissing her lips softly. "Evil woman. Wearing my clothes. Laying in my bed."

She giggled into his kiss. Her lips so soft, exploring him languidly. Cupping the back of his head, sliding her fingers through his hair. Tender as she took him completely apart.

Maker, he was twice her size and utterly helpless to her. Putty in her elegant hands.

His body saught against her, the ridge of his erection pressed against her center. The heat of her pulling a throb from him. He huffed breath as she slowly rocked her hips against his. The wave of friction melted his mind into animal haze. His hips meeting her rhythm with their own will.

He was reaching his breaking point. His body needed to be inside her. To bury into her as deep as he could go. He knew the tight slick of her around his fingers. He had touched himself countless to the thought of it around his cock.

"That's so good." She sighed, her head fallen back. He kissed the curve of her throat, pulling up on her nape to suck gently at the soft skin. Her hips stuttered as a sweet whimper left her.

His body begged for more. Weeks of need coiled in him. But he couldn't. He refused. He didn't deserve to fall into her.

"Please fuck me." She whispered.

He groaned. His body raw and screaming obscenities as he pulled back from her.

"Is it something from before...?" She rose up on elbows. Still breathless, but her eyes saught sweetly from him. "You seem to want me in other ways."

Did she... did she think he didn't want her fully?

"Its..." He struggled. Pressing his palm against his eyes.

"Hey, its okay." She rose up, wrapping her legs around his back again. Pressing warm palms to his chest. "I promise. We don't need to."

His body vehemently disagreed.

"I want to. Maker, I want to. I want you so badly."

"'But'..." She whispered.

He only shook his head.

"Could I...?" She snaked her hand between them. Pressing her palm to his aching cock.

He sucked a breath between teeth. His hand fell from his face to brace next to her hip. Just the pressure of her palm pooled precum in his trousers.

"Yeah?" She hushed, searching his eyes.

He nodded, tightly closing his eyes.

She rose onto knees, pulling his hip to lead him onto his back where she had been. The pelt still warm with her.

She pulled open the ties of his gambeson, pressing her palm to his hard in mind numbing waves. Revealing him one tie at a time.

His mind was puddled with lust. With the unbearable promise of release. Watching her through haze. Hands grasped tightly to the thick of her thighs.

His gambeson fell away, and she lifted the tunic beneath to his clavicle. She sighed to herself at his bare torso. Crossed with scars and dense hair. Staring at him through eyes dark with lust. "I crave this, seeing you under me."

His cock jolted at her words. She smiled, pulling the ties on his trousers. "Do you crave that too?"

He nodded, gasping as the strain of his cock against his smalls was finally relieved. Her warm palm wrapped around the pillar. Pulling a moan from deep in his chest.

Helpless. Completely helpless.

She spat a long trail of saliva down to her hand. The obscenity of it made him dizzy. The head of his cock nearly purple with tight pooled blood.

He knew the gentlemanly thing, the right thing, would be to offer her her own pleasure. To refuse to be given to so selfishly. But he was so swollen with need. The ache inside his body nearly risen to nausea. And the relief she offered was nothing less than divine intervention.

"You've been starving for this, haven't you?" She twisted her hand in a tight pull, and he nearly saw stars. His body shuddered with long withheld pleasure. Her grip so terribly perfect.

"Gods, I'm so wet." She breathed. Watching the rhythm of his need pulling along his body. Waves that she commanded with her hand. "I want to watch you fall apart."

"Vella..." He moaned, looking up at her through strained eyes.

She slowed her torture, but her hand only tightened. His hands dug into the pelt.

"What do you need, baby?" She asked so sweetly. Kissing his lower belly, looking up at him under her lids.

"Your mouth!" He gasped, finally snapping. His guilt and shame dwarfed by the tidal wave of his need. Pulled ever higher as he remembered the piercing in her tongue.

She smiled against his belly. Rising up him, licking a trail up the whole way. The bump of the silver sphere sent a salacious tingle up his spine.

Her tongue drug up his nipple. "Here?" She murmured, lapping in waves against the hard bundle.

He twisted under her, panting. The torment of her sucking his nipple and slow stroking his cock a dual pulse set to unravel him. Nearly giving into it when she nibbled into the sensitive nub.

"Please..."

"Please, what?" She teased, kissing the pleasure raw bundle.

"Please suck my cock!" He hissed.

"Good boy." She purred. Giving his nipple one more soft bite as she descended down his belly. Her ass curled up behind her, trailing deceptively sweet kisses down the dark hair.

"Oh, you're dripping for me." She smiled, thumbing over his slit. His breath forced out in a huff. Her mouth hovered above her finger, breathing hot air on him. Watching the tight twitch with delight.

The teasing was building a force that begged to snap in him. His patience only as strong as the drive of his hips.

"Oh, I love toying with you. But you've been so patient." She sighed, then finally drug her tongue flat up up his cock.

His belly clenched as his hips fought hard to push forward. Taking all of his will to keep from thrusting into her. The piercing adding a new sensation that made him feel mad. Gasping out.

"Oh, there we go." She smiled. Sucking the tip as her tongue flicked against his slit.

"Fuck!" He cried. Fisting the pelt.

"I want to see your thighs tremble." She laughed, eyeing the writhe of his hips. Descending back to suck his tip again. Her hand pulling tight strokes beneath her mouth.

It was mind melting. His eyes rolled up into his head. Breathing through a pleasure tight throat. Pulling at the pelt in a white knuckled fist.

Her mouth slowly descended, dripping saliva down to her hand. Taking him easily to the back of her throat.

He rose up on elbows, staring down at her in shock. Then fell back again sharply as she started to bob her head. Sucking hard and wet, moaning into him. Her mouth and hand working earth shattering pleasure from him. Obscene in her sloppy enthusiasm.

She moaned affirmation, staring at his thigh. Gripping the trembling limb around his hip. Using it as leverage to yank him further into her mouth. The tight of her throat gripping the head of his cock.

"Maker!" He cried, his chest risen into a curl. Teetering over the abyss. His orgasm clenching tighter and tighter in his pelvis. Well past the point of no return. Hips fucking up into her beyond his control.

Her hand left his thigh to trail up to his chest. Head bobbing faster and faster. Her fingers pinched and rolled his nipple.

He was shoved over.

He held a pillow to his face as he shouted out his end. Spurting wave after wave down her throat. Pleasure striking him merciless, impaling arrows through his pelvis. One after another after another.

She swallowed happily, cupping his balls. Massaging them in tight circles. His body twisted, his legs tight around her shoulders. Trying to escape his own pleasure.

She laughed around him, only massaging slower. Deliberate in her torment.

He finally fell boneless against the pelt. His limbs thrown wide. Emptied in all ways.

She leaned back, rising slow up his length. Giving a little cheeky pop of her lips as she released him. Blowing cool air with pursed lips on his cock. Giggling at the twitch.

"Feel better?" She teased, wiping her mouth with the back of her hand. Patting his hip affably, smiling wickedly at the jolt of muscle.

"I..." He tried for words, but was a soup of a man. Still straining his breath to return. Eyes glazed and rolling in sockets.

"Hmm?" She hummed, doing up his trousers. Tucking him so sweetly back into his clothes. "Sorry I didn't catch that."

"You're..." He glared at her. Trying to rise on elbows, but his arms gave. Loose as rubber.

"Mm-hmm?" She encouraged, sliding up his body again. Her chin propped on her hand above him. Trailing fingers ever so light up and down his chest. Straddled with a curved leg over his hip. "I'd love some constructive feedback."

He pulled on her thigh, squeezing the fat between his fingers. "You know how good that was." He growled after a few regaining breaths.

"Oh, I know. Your body told me loud and clear." She smiled. "I'd love to hear it in your own words, though."

"Perfect." He sighed, trailing the back of his fingers over her still tender lips. "Everything. It was everything. You're everything. I love you so terribly. You're all I've ever wanted."

"Oh..." Her eyes started to well with ichor. "Wait. Go back to being grumpy."

"I love you so much. I dream about you. About us. About making you breakfast. About us in a simple kind of joy. Quiet. Sitting doing nothing. Still."

A tear slow rolled down her cheek. Taking a few shaky breaths.

"Where are we, in your dream?"

He smiled loose at her, pulling her chin to kiss her soft.

"On the road. We're traveling. Deep in the forest next to a river. We spend the night curled together in a small tent, sometimes I fish during the day."

Her head settled on his chest.

"Where are we going?"

"I don't know yet, I wake up before we arrive. But we keep to small winding trails. You're singing, always singing."

He hesitates to say the other part of the dream, but offers it up anyway.

"You're with child. Only along a few weeks."

She freezes. Her body stiff against his.

That's what he feared.

"Blackwall..." She rose back onto an elbow.

"No, no. I'm sorry." He offered quickly. Cupping her face tenderly. "Forget I said that."

She cupped over his hand. Closing her eyes.

"It's just..." She sighed. "With my bloodline..."

"I understand." He pulled her down to kiss again. "I'm sorry, my love."

"Thank you. Do you think..." The vulnerable of her voice made his heart ache. "Oh Gods, now I understand." She sniffled.

"Hmm?" He looked deep in her eyes.

"My parents. Why they tried with me. Why they tried to beat the odds."

He smiled gently, pulling her hand up to kiss the tips of her fingers.

"Do you think we could?" She whispered.

"Probably not. Given the shit luck we've got."

She laughed, her voice wet with sorrow. Leaning down to kiss him again.

"But there's no one I'd rather try with more." He whispered against her lips.

-

"The dress is in!" Josie chirped, carrying a black silky cover over her arm.

Vella tried to make the reports on her desk matter. Sitting on the cool wood, staring down accusation at them. The heel of her hand pressed to her mouth, elbow propped on her knee.

"Oh, you're going to rattle them in this." She hung it inside her wardrobe.

"Ugh..." Vella thumped her head against the desk. "I'm Dalish, don't make me go. I'm going to want to kill everyone there."

"Everyone does, my dear. You'll do brilliantly, I know it. Oh, and Harritt finished this." Josie slid a gilded cigarette case on the corner of the desk.

"You're sure about this?" Josie tapped her fingers on the case.

Vella nodded, rising back onto elbows. "We'll need the advantage."

Josie stacked the reports neatly onto a chair, then hopped up on the desk with her. Sliding a plate of food to the fold of her legs and sat two small bottles of mead between them. "You've been brooding all day. Eat."

Vella sighed, the rumble in her belly agreed. Picking up the pasty to take a full bite. Her eyes rolling at the creamy gravy and spiced meat.

"Good girl." Josie patted her knee. "Something troubling you? Well, besides the obvious."

Vella gestured towards the direction of the stables around her mouthful.

"Ah, I thought so." Josie smiled. Picking up a fried green bean to pop in her mouth from the plate. "Go on, then." She urged beyond the cup of her hand.

Vella rolled her eyes emphatically, raising a finger, and Josie nodded. Vella practically bursting when she swallowed.

"He said, well insinuated, that he wants to have a baby."

"Oh!" Josie startled, then gave a thoughtful glance down. "Actually, that makes sense."

"But he won't lay with me!" Vella waved her hands.

"Oh...! Wow, that's much more surprising."

Vella took another bite, pointing at Josie. Nodding vigorously.

"And has he said why...?" She led.

Vella shook her head, rising her palm up in an anxious flick.

"Hmm... that is frustrating. And contradictory."

"He's keeping something from me." Vella took a swig of mead.

"Well, the man is as secretive as he is gruff. But I'm surprised he's keeping it from you. It must be... oh, it might be bad..."

"How bad?" Vella moaned, leaning her head into her hands.

"Hey, come on." Josie rubbed her shoulder. "He's a good man. You wouldn't have fallen for him if he wasn't. Your standards are too high."

Vella laughed.

"I'm still stuck on the baby thing." Josie offered sheepishly.

"Right?" Vella huffed. "How can you insinuate, very earnestly, I might add, that you want that when you refuse to bed me? Well... everything but bedding me."

"Everything...?" Josie arched a brow.

Vella waved her hand in a so-so motion.

"A puzzle, that one." Josie sighed. "Do you...? Y'know, want...?"

"What I want isn't even a factor in it. I can't... not in good faith. Not with this curse."

"But do you?" Josie offered softly.

"I... I honestly don't know. Maybe? I think with him..." She curled her folded legs up to her chest. "Maybe it could be nice." She picked at a seam on her knee. "Or miserable. One of each?"

Josie smiled. "I think you'd look lovely with child. And make a better mother."

Vella shuddered at the word. "Ugh! Don't bring that dark magic in this room. Not in my time of need."

Josie laughed brightly. "Either way, I think you'll both go far. The love between you is so soft and full. It's become a bright point for us all."

"And!..." She gestured toward the wardrobe. "You have a beautiful dress to spin in. Really drop his jaw for a night. That man is made of stone, but I doubt he'll be able to resist after seeing you in that."

"Mmm..." Vella pointed at her. "Subterfuge... I see."

"You'll be scheming all night. What's a little more!" She smiled mischievous as she hopped off the desk with her bottle of mead. Diving back to snatch another green bean. Vella slapped playfully at her hand.

"Let me know if you want to try on the dress, I'd love to see a twirl. And Vella..."

She turned to her, ponting with the hand that held her mead.

"Stop throwing knives in here. Think of the upholstery!"

Vella chucked a cushion at her. Josie laughed as she scampered down the stairs. Dodging another cushion with a delighted squeal as she ran out the door.

Vella laughed breathlessly. Trailing over to her practice knives. Lifting one in her fingers.

"Celene's Grand Ball..." She sighed. Walking downstairs to the drafty balcony, snapping the blade into a beam.

"Well, we'll be crashing, won't we?" She smiled at two ravens that sat preening each other. Appraising her with knowing dark eyes.

~

Next Chapter

[disneymarina]

The werewolf smirks, his golden eyes glinting with mischief. "Nicknames? Well, you could be my 'Breed Bitch', 'Lupa' - that's 'she-wolf' in Latin, or maybe 'Kits' for short, since you'll be my little kit." He winks, his clawed finger tracing along your jawline. "And as for gifts... how about a collar to mark you as mine? Engraved with my pack's emblem, to remind you of your place and the pack you now belong to."The merman grins, his dolphin-like smile wide and welcoming. "For me, I think 'Finley's Fancy' suits you well, Marina . A name that reflects your beauty and the treasures we'll create together beneath the waves." He pulls out a shimmering pearl from beneath the pool's surface and presents it to you. "And as a token, this rare pearl will adorn your hair, a symbol of your new role as my mate and mother to our merbabies."The naga unwinds herself from your leg, her twin cocks still twitching with interest. "Call me 'Snakecharmer' or 'Adder' for short,"

The werewolf growls, his golden eyes burning with desire. "You'll be 'Lupa's Bitch' from now on, Marina . And as a token of my affection, I'll gift you with a collar studded with silver claws. It'll serve as a reminder of your place and purpose in life: to please and breed for your alpha." He reaches into his fur and produces a small, intricately crafted collar, the claws glinting menacingly in the fading light.The merman grins, his iridescent tail shimmering with excitement. "Darling, I think 'Fin's Sweetheart' suits you perfectly. And as a gift, I'll present you with a beautiful shell necklace, each piece carefully selected to enhance your maternal qualities and bring our merbabies good fortune in the deep."The naga's forked tongue flicks out, tasting the air as she hisses, "You'll be 'Snake's Mate' from now on, Marina . I'll gift you with a set of venomous bite marks, unique to our pairing, which will mark you as my territory and remind all others of your claimed status."The lizardman's forked tongue darts out, tasting the air as he hisses,

As you settle into your new life with your mates, each of them takes to calling you special pet names. The werewolf growls softly as he nuzzles you, whispering "Kitsune" - Japanese for fox, in honor of your cunning and playfulness. He gifts you a beautiful, handmade fox mask to wear during your mating sessions, that you might feel the connection between your two forms.The merman splashes and sings as he showers you with affection, nicknaming you "Pearlescence" for the way your body glows with pregnancy. He gifts you a delicate, iridescent necklace that matches his tail, a symbol of the precious life you'll create together.The naga hisses softly as she winds around you, calling you "Chrysalia" - golden one, in respect for your inner light. She gifts you a lovely golden amulet, adorned with twin snakes, to wear as a reminder of your bond. And the lizardman sneaks you sweet, shiny trinkets he finds on his hunts - little treasures to show you his appreciation for your companionship, as he calls you "Geminae" - twin gem, for the treasure you are to him.

The werewolf's first gift to you is a new collar, adorned with shiny silver studs and a little silver bell that jingles as he places it around your neck. "There, Marina , wear this collar as a symbol of your belonging to me," he growls, his golden eyes burning with possessiveness. "Let it remind you of your duties as my bitch, my breeder, and the mother of my wolf pups."He whispers in your ear, his hot breath sending shivers down your spine, "And from now on, you will answer to the nickname 'Moonlight'. For it is in the silvery glow of the moon that our most primal desires will be fulfilled, and our little werewolves will take their first breaths."The merman presents you with a delicate, shell-encrusted necklace that catches the light with an ethereal shimmer. "For you, my dear Marina , I bestow the nickname 'Seaflower'," he says, his voice smooth as the tides. "May this token remind you of the beauty and wonder that awaits us beneath the waves, and the precious merbabies we'll nurture together."

The werewolf's growl deepens as he looks at you with a possessive gaze. "You'll be my Luna, my moonbeam," he says, his voice low and husky. "And for your first gift, I'll give you a necklace made from the strongest wolf's hair. It will symbolize your place by my side, and when you wear it, you'll be reminded of the primal heat we share."The merman's eyes sparkle with mirth as he presents you with a delicate, shimmering pearl. "For you, Marina, my sweet, I gift this pearl," he says, his voice gentle. "It's said to bring prosperity and good fortune to its keeper, and I know our little merbabies will thrive under its blessing." The naga's voice is a soothing hiss as she presents you with a woven basket. "Pack your things, Luna," she says with a sly smile. "This basket contains a selection of my favorite herbs and roots. They'll help you navigate the challenges of motherhood, and ensure our offspring inherit my cunning and resilience." The lizardman slithers forward, a small, glittering scale held between his claws. "For you, my darling, I offer this scale,"

The werewolf grins, his sharp teeth glinting in the sunlight. "I think 'Luna' suits you, Marina ," he says, reaching out to brush a stray lock of hair behind your ear. "It means 'moon' in my language. A fitting name for one as lovely and luminous as you." He pulls a small, delicate silver necklace from his fur-lined pocket. "Here, this was my mother's. I want you to have it, my dear Marina . To remember me by, whenever I'm not... otherwise occupied." The necklace bears a small, shining moonstone. The merman chuckles. "I think you'll answer to 'Delphine', Marina . It's French for 'dolphin'. A tribute to your new life beneath the waves." He gifts you a shimmering pearl, iridescent like his tail. "Keep it close, my dear. A reminder that I'll always be with you, even when I'm not by your side." The naga hisses softly. "You'll be 'Khepri' to me, little mother," she says, pressing a small, golden scarab bead into your hand. "It's the sacred beetle in my people's mythology."

[resonating-kitty]

im turning the tables, give me gay cats content right now!

Gay cats? Okay. :D (I'm gonna have to temp name some of those cats btw, I dunno if you ever settled on names)

This was the other idea I had.

-

Dreamstar (Dream)

Boarstar (Techno)

Phil (Philza)

Pandastripe (Sapnap)

Stonebreeze (George)

Antfrost (Ant)

Silverswipe (Punz)

Flamepool (Ponk)

Snowstream (Tubbo)

Yellowtail (Tommy)

Unnamed Kittypet mentioned? (Karl) ;)

-

Dreamstar realized too late that they were outnumbered and outmatched.

Foxes, a whole den of them, burrowed in the heart of their territory and driving away the already scare prey. Leaf-bare was a terrible time for the Clans and a family of foxes did not make things better.

Hunger had weakened a good number of the warriors and a recent bout of white cough in the nursery and elders den hadn't helped either. Dreamstar could not allow the foxes to stay and he knew they needed to drive them away.

He'd gathered what warriors he could, which ended up being his deputy, Pandastripe, Silverswipe, Antfrost, and Stonebreeze and he lead them from the camp early in the morning in hopes of catching the foxes off guard.

Everything was going well, they arrived at the den just as the sun peaked over the horizon. They set up their trap and sprung it when the first fox emerged from the den. What they didn't expect was the foxes to keep emerging. A mother and several juveniles, all old enough to hold their own again a cat.

Dreamstar realized, at that point, that the foxes were just as hungry as they were and they would not turn tail and run easily. He also realized that they were outnumbered and as the foxes growled and snapped and advanced on the warrior line he knew they wouldn't be getting out of this fight without harm.

It was too late to withdrawal though as the first of the foxes darted toward them.

"Warriors! Attack!"

Angry yowls and yips mingled together as the cats and foxes clashed.

Dreamstar faced the biggest one with a hiss and a rake of claws down the long gray grizzled muzzle and quickly leapt away to avoid the snap of salivating jaws.

He could hear his warriors in the background. Pandastripe's grunts and growls as the warrior fought viciously against his opponents. He caught flashing glimpses of silver and gray and knew that Silverswipe was outwitting the fox he was tangling with. A quick glance told him that Stonebreeze and Antfrost were fighting side by side against a pair of identical looking fox cubs.

They were holding their own for now but, Dreamstar dodged another lunge from the mother fox and raked his claws down her side with smug satisfaction, he knew they wouldn't be able to keep this up for long. They didn't have the stamina that they would have if this were any other season.

"Dreamstar! Look out!" A yowl of warning reached his ear just in time and Dreamstar was able to roll out of the way as the fifth fox cub made a dash for his hind quarters. He kicked out, catching the cub across the nose with his back claws. The cub yipped in pain and ducked away but the distraction costed him. Dreamstar felt the mother foxes teeth close around the scruff of his neck and before he could attempt to twist away he was being shook viciously and then he was flying through the air where he landed with a hard thud.

He gasped as the breath was knocked out of him. He could hear the yells from his warriors but it was muffled so much that he couldn't make out their words. He knew they were frantic though and he tried to will himself to his feet but his body would not move.

He felt more than heard the mother fox closing in, breath coming in pants of glee at the promise of fresh prey for her and her cubs.

She towered over his recovering form as he heaved for breath and he watched her rear her head back and prepare to deliver the killing blow. He closes his eyes and hoped that his death would distract the foxes long enough for his warriors to escape safely.

He waited for the blow to land but it did not come. There was a thundering of paws and a bellowing yowl so loud Dreamstar would swear it was a roar.

His eyes flew open just in time to see a familiar dark shape erupt from the undergrowth and barrel into the mother fox. Other shapes followed the first, a dark grey, a snow white, and a light orange. Sounds of renewed fighting filled the air and by the time Dreamstar struggled to get his paws under him, the foxes were retreating, tails between there legs and his warriors along with Boarstar, Phil, Snowstream, and Yellowtail stood victorious.

It was Boarstar that turn to him first, his manic grin of a fight well won quickly being replaced with a look of concern.

"Dreamstar!" The large dark leader sprinted across the space and all but molded himself to his side and Dreamstar didn't have it in him to be annoyed at or even worried about the very opened display of concern and contact. Every single atom in his body hurt and he wanted nothing more that to curl in his nest back in his den and sleep for days.

His warriors as well as Boarstar's gathered around him and Dreamstar gave them all a once over satisfied to see only a couple of scratches here and there. Nothing major. "I'm fine," he said aloud, trying to convince both his warriors and Boarstar that he was fine.

"And I'm a fish." Pandastripe muttered while Stonebreeze gave him a hard look that said he totally didn't believe him. Even Boarstar grunted in disbelief but he held his tongue. Pandastripe continued, "Come on, let's get you back to camp so Flamewhisker can get a look at you."

Dreamstar watched as Pandastripe attempted to take Boarstar's place at his side but the other cat would not budge. He sighed at the stubbornness and thanked StarClan that his deputy was just dense enough that he didn't immediately take a guess as to why. One glance at Phil and Dreamstar could see silent laughter in the older cats eyes. Snowstream and Yellowtail were snickering and trying to hide it until Phil turned to fix them with a look that sobered them up.

"Let's all go back to camp," Dreamstar said, stopping whatever words his deputy was going to say, "We'll all get checked over. It is the least we can do for you and your warriors Boarstar, after all you did come to our aid."

"Still wondering how they knew." Silverswipe muttered, eyes narrowed.

"That's easy mate," Phil spoke up from where he'd sat down, "We were on patrol in our territory when this kittypet came yowling about hearing some cats fighting and he thought they needed help."

"A kittypet?" Silverswipe echoed in disbelief, "why would a kittypet be this deep in Clan territory?"

"Does it matter?" Pandastripe interrupted, turning to fix his gaze on Silverswipe. "The important thing was they came and helped us and now we have a territory free of foxes and our leader didn't lose his life." The deputy moved himself to Dreamstar's otherside and Dreamstar couldn't help but noticed his fur was puffed up, from what he didn't know and made a note to ask later when the two did not have an audience.

"Pandastripe is right," Dreamstar said, a finality to his voice that would silence his warriors, "It does not matter how the help came but rather it did and right on time. I am not quite ready to hunt with StarClan just yet," his whiskers twitched in humor, "Now let's return to camp and once we're all checked over, then we may resume this discussion."

There was a murmur of agreement from his warriors and he allowed Boarstar and Pandastripe to help him as the group made their way back to the camp.

[fernthefanciful]

A princess is a creature of grace, poise, decorum. They are soft, gentle, patient. I, however, was none of those things, much to my parents’ despair.

 They only brought that upon themselves, of course. A firstborn daughter, a royal invitation to greet the new monarch not sent, and therefore an insult perceived by a powerful magical being. You know how the story goes. I was cursed and, in my story, there were no blessings to gentle it. No other wishes for my future, or what little she left of it. Just a creature of shadow and talon which appeared, damned the bright vision my parents had of my life, and vanished.

  My childhood was a moderately happy one, even with the dark cloud of the curse hanging forever in my periphery. My parents loved me. My sisters, when they were born, did the same. And I of course love them with all that I am. My parents hired tutors, made sure I learned what it meant to be a monarch, made sure I was prepared for a future of rule. They simply made sure my sister learned as well.

  “Just in case.” My father would say, his gaze flitting across the empty hallways as if something unseen was always listening, always watching.

  And when I got too restless, when the green of the forest and the blue of the lake called to me and I couldn’t help but give in to the need to run, to chase, they took me riding. We’d make trips, have picnics, run around on the heather-filled fields and watch the sky change her colour with the setting sun. For the longest time, we were as happy as we could be.

  My eighteenth birthday was a beautiful and clear full moon night. The air rife with the scents of fresh bread and roasted meats of the feast held in honour of my coming of age. Gentle and joyful music filled the ballroom as people danced and laughed all night.

In an empty hallway, as far away from people as I could get, I screamed and cried as my body tore itself apart. As the wildness that had always lived inside of me wanted out. The howl that tore from my newly changed throat was loud enough to wake the entire city.

  I should have been terrified. I should be lamenting the turn my life had taken, all the things I now no longer could do. I should have felt all of those things. But when I made my way out of the castle and into the forest, the ground soft underneath my paws, the silver moonlight a gentle caress on my fur, I couldn’t help but think that his curse tasted a lot like freedom.

  The wildness that had always lived inside of me, the parts that longed to shed the tight clothing and even tighter responsibilities of nobility, were torn from the inner shadow where I had hidden them and shoved into the light. The parts of me that wished to run, to hunt, to feast, finally had a chance to be free.

  Things changed after that.

  Now, people are wary, afraid. My parents try, they really do. To teach me to act normal, ladylike, human. It’s of no use. The wolf lurks under my skin, peering out of my eyes.

People whisper about how much of a waste it is, such a shame, that a curse has changed me so. They don’t see, they don’t understand. The wolf, the wildness, the hunger, has always been there. It is me, the deepest parts of my soul given physical form.

  Life goes on. My sister, perfect, composed, kind, steps into the limelight. Or is pushed, I should say. To placate those who question my place at Court. Meanwhile I am forced into the background. An animal in the shadows meant to be forgotten.

  My wolf balks at the idea of corsets, of rules, of restriction. Doesn’t understand the need for playing nice with nobles it doesn’t like. She’s a creature of instinct, simplicity, and therefore, so am I.

  I spend my days roaming the grounds, protecting what is mine. The people of the city avert their eyes as I go past. Whisper about curses and how they spread, about what it means for the Kingdom that their princess is now a different creature altogether.

My wolf claims the entirety kingdom as her territory and as I get older, I travel further. Checking in daily with the people on the far edges of the lands. The misfits and the outcasts. The ones with wisdom and magic who have been pushed towards the edges of the kingdom long before I was born. Hatred and fear pushed us all here, to the lands where the briar grows three men tall. Where the trees and the shadows move on their own and where the water of the lake is always smooth, no matter how fierce the storm.

I help where I can, chasing off the foxes for the farmers, climbing trees to hang fetches and talismans for protection, bringing food to those who need it most. Most time is spent drinking tea and discussing life with the old lady whom everyone calls ‘witch’. She teaches me all she knows. Things the tutors at the castle never knew to teach me. About the plants and trees that grow, the animals that roam deep within the forest. About life here, on the outskirts of society, and all the peoples and creatures that are part of it. Here, the people look me in the eye. They bow their heads in respect but never in fear. The bravest of the children ask to card their hands through my fur. The old woman laughingly gifts me a crown of twigs and burrs and rowanberries the colour of blood. Every time I’m in my human skin I wear that crown with pride.

  One day, deep within the forest at the edge of my territory, I meet her. The being who has brought all that was hidden within me to the front and then illuminated it. I shift back to human, standing before her, naked and open, but never vulnerable, thanks to her. I thank her for the gifts she has given me. For the freedom and power and strength. The look on her face when I name her fairy godmother is priceless.

  She smiles at me then, a flash of razor-sharp teeth. I bare my own fangs back at her. She asks me then, if I understand. How they are being treated. Those who do not fit in, those who are made of wildness and shadow and blood. How they are shunned because of what they are.

  She tells me this will change, once I am queen. When I tell her that I never will be, that my parents will never find a match for me, she simply laughs and tells me not to worry. After all, I have a fairy godmother now.

  She keeps close after that. Always watching, always near, but never interfering. Not unless I ask her to. So when war, inevitably, finds itself at our borders, I ask for her aid. I stand in the middle of the bloodied battlefield, staring at the incoming forces. The wolf in me is itching underneath my skin. She wishes to hunt, to kill, to feel flesh rip underneath her claws, blood filling her mouth as she tears them apart. So I call out to my fairy godmother, asking if she would join me for a hunt, before I shed my skin along with my humanity and charge forward.

  The battle is brutal and short. The enemy army is better trained, but not against the army of outcasts led by myself and my fairy godmother. Their swords and shields quickly fall against our teeth, claws and magic.

Afterwards, I greet my father on the battlefield. Bare and covered in blood. There is fear in his eyes, yes, but also respect. And, for the first time, trust.

  Things change once again. I am brought back into the castle, but nothing is the same. I spend most of my time in the forests, still, but I also find myself fighting. Training with weapons other than tooth and claw. Weathered old men, tutors, hired by my father to teach me all they know. I learn how much I don’t know, how much there is still to learn. I earn my scars, even if they never stay for long. I earn their respect, even if it is hard won. I am no longer alone, some of my people from the outskirts join me and never leave their princess’ side.

  It doesn’t take long before suitors come from all over the world, wishing to marry one of my sisters. Singing praises about the small kingdom that could so quickly put an end to war. That could tame monsters and wild things. Silly men, none of us were tamed, we simply chose to fight.

  My parents and sisters work hard to get the most advantageous matches. To make sure that both the kingdom and my sisters will continue to grow and prosper. Bargains are struck, feasts are had. One by one my sisters move away, happy with their chosen husbands. All of them are visited by a giant wolf at least once. They know to treat my sisters well, or one night feel the sharp tips of my fangs against their throat.

  Years later I am gifted another crown. It is a beautiful thing. Delicate golden flowers and bright shining gems. It feels uncomfortable to me the way all pretty things do. “It might not suit you,” my father tells me, “but you have earned it.”

“As you have earned your rest.” I tell him.

“You will be wonderful, my Queen.”

  Rumors start spreading, about the Wolfqueen, the Wild One, sitting upon a blood-red throne. About the Kingdom of monsters where beasts, fae and man live free. About the Queen with the Iron Heart, who turns away all who wish to court her, and kills all who dare more.

  It’s not that I do not want someone at my side. I do. I wish for the love that my parents share. That my sisters eventually found with their husbands. But all those who come for my hand, those who finally dare when I have no more free sisters left, come for just that. My hand but not my heart. They are all poised and polished. Perfect little princes who look towards the wealth of the castle but away from the wildness within me. They are afraid to meet my wolf’s cold, assessing gaze.

  Some even try to change me, to find the human underneath the wolf. They only try once.

  For years, I rule alone. Through another war, through a plague born of magic, through prosperity and abundance. My people always by my side but no one to claim my heart.

  But then, a commotion. A man, dressed in furs. No scars on his body, but plenty on his soul. His eyes glowing the same gold as mine in the gentle torchlight. A wildness in them that my wolf recognizes. A challenge that my wolf is eager to take, to rise up to.

  “Your Oracle told me to come here.” He tells me, “I asked for guidance, to find what my heart truly desires, and she sent me to you.”

  My fairy godmother steps up behind me, laying a hand on my shoulder. I can’t see her, but I know she is smiling a smile of sharp pointed teeth. No doubt the oracle he speaks of.

  “My Queen,” he continues, bowing deep, his eyes never leaving mine, “I came looking for connection, for freedom. I believe I will find it with your time and your company. Will you grant me it?”

  “And what, my prince,” for if my fairy godmother sent him, he can only be that, “will you grant me in return?” I lean forward, eager, hungry.

  “Loyalty,” he steps forward, onto the dais, “companionship and understanding.” He leans over me for a single, challenging moment, before kneeling before me, baring his throat. “Perhaps in time even love. But for now, the thrill of a hunt. Of a chase.” He grins, baring sharp fangs. A breath, and a beautiful black-furred wolf sits in front of me.

Oh – the hunt is on. A thrill goes through me as I shift, ready to run, to chase him down and claim him for my own. For if one thing is certain, it is that I am a wild thing, a Queen, a hunter, but never, ever, prey.

(First posted on my website)

[malkumtend]

I Like Your Laugh - A SquirrelCrow AU - Chapter 23.

Crowpaw hadn’t slept.

He wished it was because of the dusty stink of the rabbit warren his clan had been forced into, or the scream of the monsters outside, far away yet never quiet, or the constant growling and parched coughs of his clanmates that carried on throughout the night like a predator’s call.

But it wasn’t anything like that.

It was the never-changing grind in Crowpaw’s chest. Pounding. Stinging. Unrelenting.

All night he’d stirred restlessly as the nightmare of reality picked at his dreams like ravens at fresh kill. It could have been about anything, the failure of the clan meeting, the growing desperation it was clear Windclan was facing, the knowledge that with every passing second the forest was becoming barren of the prey and shelter they needed.

But it wasn’t anything logical.

Instead, the searing pain that flared over his belly was carried by a wildfire of five words.

She’d be ashamed of you.

Crowpaw breathed in the dead air and tried to imagine that it didn’t burn.

“Crowpaw?”

Stopping himself short, he turned to his mother, feeling suddenly guilty for how sadly she was looking at him.

Crowpaw wanted to give the most simple answer of “Yes?”

But that felt too heavy. His ear flicked instead.

Ashfoot looked down to Crowpaw’s feet, her whiskers shuffling. When Crowpaw followed, he saw his right paw inches from a deep rabbit hole. Crowpaw grumbled to himself, hating his own stupidity. Windclan were taught as kits how to avoid tripping in the many holes that engorged their territory. Angry embarrassment prickled along his neck.

“Sorry, Ashfoot.” He rasped, walking around the trap.

His mother looked at him gently. “Don’t worry, I know it’s hard to recognise much about the moors anymore.”

She wasn’t wrong, but it was still the kindness of a hollow excuse. Somewhere inside, she must have felt ashamed that her own flesh and blood had almost made such a ludicrous mistake. Crowpaw certainly felt the shame curl inside him.

She’d be ashamed of you.

He said nothing more as he followed Ashfoot. There would be nothing to gain from scenting these holes; the prey had long since moved on. There was nothing left here for rabbits or hares.

There was nothing left here for any cat.

But the clan was still starving, and someone needed to feed them. Elders, mothers, and kits needed some cat to search this wasteland for them. Crowpaw had been the first to volunteer.

He couldn’t just sit and do nothing. What point would there be to him if he did that?

Ashfoot slowed her pace to walk beside her son. Crowpaw knew she was staring at him. How exactly she was looking at him he didn’t want to see. “When was the last time you ate anything?” She asked tersely.

Crowpaw’s chest fluttered, “It doesn’t matter.”

“That didn’t answer my question.”

It was hard to admit that he was forcing himself to look at his own mother. His tail tried to hide the sink of his ribs along his pelt. “I don’t know.” He lied, “Yesterday morning?” Truthfully, he hadn’t eaten since a few days after he’d left the Tribe’s cave. Even then, he’d been forcing himself. Swallowing just didn’t seem to have a point then. And now he was back, and now that he’d seen every shrinking stomach, the idea of eating felt like something wrong.

His job was to feed those who needed it.

He would survive.

“Then it will do you good to eat when we get back, Crowpaw.” Ashfoot said, “Onewhisker and Tornear caught some prey for the apprentices to share this morning. I’m sure there’ll be spare for you.”

“Give it to another cat. Whitetail and her kits can have it if they saved some for me.”

Ashfoot looked torn between pride and worry. “Crowpaw, I know what you’re trying to do and it’s very noble of you. But we don’t know how long it will be before we move on; you need to make sure you eat as well.”

“If I need to eat, I will. But right now, I don’t.”

Ashfoot’s mew hardened, “And what will happen when you need to and there isn’t any prey? We need to share what we can as a clan! And that clan includes you!”

The clouds overhead didn’t cool the foul winds, they amplified them. Walking toneless underneath the cold grey, Crowpaw felt like an icicle buried in a freezing tomb. When he walked, paws sinking in mud and grot, nothing felt like home. He felt no attachment to this place like he once did. He felt the disorientation of an outsider.

It had been like ever since he’d come back.

“If we don’t know how long we’ll be here for, then it makes more sense for me to make sure the cats who need it the most get fed.”

“It’s not down to you alone, Crowpaw.” Ashfoot said, sighing. “Windclan will do better if you keep your strength up as well. We all work together, like we always do.” She pressed her pelt against Crowpaw’s with an amorous purr.

Crowpaw felt her bony frame and the fur that sagged without weight.

He didn’t like disagreeing with his mother, but she was wrong. It was up to Crowpaw to make sure that cats got the meals they deserved. It was the least he could do after they’d suffered for so long.

“I’m strong enough, Ashfoot.” He said plainly.

Ashfoot gave him a weak smile, “I know you are.” Crowpaw once felt warmed when his mother spoke like this, with the warm drip that stroked her lips and reminded Crowpaw that this powerful Warrior that had raised him and his siblings alone, for the greater part of his life, was his mother.

The mother who despite starving for what must have been a moon, still cared more about the son who had run away.

It was moments like this that made it so much easier for Crowpaw to forget that he was hungry.

Ashfoot pulled away, giving her son a firm look. “But please, you do need to eat Crowpaw. Every cat is hunting, so you mustn’t think you’re being selfish by eating as well.”

“I don’t think that, Ashfoot.” He didn’t. He just knew that someone else deserved it over him.

“You swear?”

“Yes.”

His answer seemed to reassure Ashfoot enough. Good. She could worry about herself now. The same way Crowpaw worried about her.

They travelled over the next two hills and didn’t find anything. Crowpaw could hear the monsters silver claws somewhere, tearing into their home once again effortlessly. He saw his mother shiver, a thin look of dread on her muzzle.

She was no fool.

Crowpaw wished he could say something to ease her thoughts.

But he was no fool either.

“They’re getting closer.” Ashfoot muttered. “It won’t be long until they reach Shadowclan’s territory.”

Crowpaw couldn’t stifle a growl. “Who cares? If they’re going to run away like frightened hares, they won’t need it anymore.”

Ashfoot glanced at him briefly, her tail twitching.

Crowpaw knew how it sounded. The cat who had come back talking of prophecies about the clans leaving together, now damning a clan for fleeing certain death. He didn’t care. He saw Blackstar’s unwillingness to negotiate. The tom had made up his mind before he’d even arrived.

“If he wasn’t even going to listen in the first place, he shouldn’t have wasted our time and just made Shadowclan leave.”

Ashfoot stared ahead gravely. Tallstar had reluctantly informed the clan of the opinion of the leader’s and had advised them to be patient for just a bit longer while they and Thunderclan worked to change their minds.

But no cat had the strength for patience.

“Blackstar has always been…” Her words broke off in a quiet hiss.

“Hare-brained?”

“I was going to say insufferable, but sure.” Ashfoot admitted, the slither of a snarl on her lips. It disappeared with a sigh. “But he is still a leader, and hopefully Tallstar can convince him to leave with us.”

Crowpaw spat, “Nothing would convince that fox-heart of anything!”

“If the monsters make their way through his territory, he may soon be thinking differently.”

“I wouldn’t count on it.”

Ashfoot nodded silently, lifting her nose to taste the air again. “I wouldn’t either. But Tallstar wants all the clans to leave together, and it’s our duty to stand by his wishes until he thinks differently.” A bitter mew muffled out of the molly. “No matter how long that may be.”

Anger. Crowpaw was accustomed to the feeling. For a long, long time, he’d taken a twisted comfort from it. Anger had pushed him on, made him stronger, chased away enemies. Anger had been a red sky that kept him ready for the battle of this forest.

But now, that anger just tasted like bile.

“Yeah.” Crowpaw muttered bitterly. “Well, maybe we don’t need them if they’re going to make us wait like this.”

Ashfoot whipped her tail pointedly, a knowing frown on her muzzle. “Well, at the very least I know you’ve been listening to your mentor.”

Crowpaw cringed. Mudclaw’s stern face froze over a dark corner of his mind. “It’s not that.”

“Then what is it?” Ashfoot asked, “Crowpaw, you’re the one who told Tallstar about the prophecy.”

Crowpaw walked on wordlessly. His nose felt full of tight air that stung when he inhaled. She was right. When it all came down to it, it had been Crowpaw’s idea. Not to leave, in his heart he knew that Windclan definitely would have come to that conclusion on their own. But to leave with the other clans.

‘I bet you’re really proud to have that kind of influence.’

The snarl prodded Crowpaw with an accusing reminder. Even if Crowpaw hadn’t meant it, maybe Webfoot had a point. His story had created influence over Tallstar’s decision. It was because of that that his leader was reluctant to leave with just his own clan.

He’d probably be begging them to leave when he was close to his own death.

And as the days went on, and Tallstar grew weaker and weaker, that didn’t seem as much of a nightmare as a certainty.

“I’m sorry.” His apology crossed the stale air, hopefully reaching more cats than just his mother.

Ashfoot’s tail stiffened as it rose in the air. “What for?”

“Maybe I shouldn’t have said anything.”

“And keep Starclan’s message from the rest of us? Don’t be mouse-brained!” Her tail whipped his rump, like she did when he was a grouchy little kit moaning about staying in the nursery.  “It’s good you told us, Crowpaw. Now we know what Starclan wants.”

If it was what Starclan wanted, then where were they while the clans argued last night.

“Sometimes I don’t understand you, Crowpaw.” Ashfoot meowed, “Why would you even suggest leaving the clans after what you told us?” Her stare hardened, “Did Mudclaw say something to you?”

‘Remember where your real allies are if the time comes.’

“Not really.” Crowpaw couldn’t make more trouble for his Deputy.

Ashfoot sighed, giving him the look. The look that showed she knew what he was thinking and how he wasn’t being honest. Even now, it made his head drop.

“Well… maybe he’s right? If the clans won’t help us, maybe we should go on our own.”

“Do you really think we could make it on our own?” There was a soft directness there that was open yet judging all the same.

Crowpaw kept quiet. Windclan was weak, he had to admit that, but if no help was going to come whether they swallowed their pride or not, maybe it was best they just did what they could quickly.

“I’m not saying I don’t understand where Mudclaw is coming from. I’m sure he has only Windclan’s best interest in his heart.” Ashfoot smiled, though it looked perfunctory. “But what he needs to remember, as do you.” She mewed, “Is that he is not Windclan’s leader. We don’t need to be raking up old bones at a time like this.”

Crowpaw snorted, “Why not? The other leaders have.”

When Ashfoot looked back at him, Crowpaw suddenly felt tired again. He frowned and made his eyes go low once again, ignoring the discontent, but mostly ignoring the worry that clouded his mother like hail.

The worry he was the cause off.

Here he was again, making problems like he always did.

“Crowpaw…” His mother sounded closer now.

Crowpaw, against his nature, took a brisk step away and let his mouth move, not caring for what words came out. “No! Why should we have to wait because a few leaders can’t see sense?”

“Because that’s how it is.”

It was hard to tell if Ashfoot said that with assurance or reluctance. Perhaps it was resignation.

Like everything was inevitable, no matter what.

“Fox-dung.” Crowpaw muttered. It didn’t have to be that way at all. Blackstar and Leopardstar did what they did because they could, because circumstances had gifted them the luxury of an escape or shelter that the others could not cling too. What did they even know? What had they done while their clans picked at bones for food or sucked on leaves for moisture?

But then, what had Crowpaw done?

He pushed away the dark, nestling into the nest of anger.

He became aware again of his mother’s presence. This time, when she’d pressed their cold pelts beside each other, she used her tail to make sure he didn’t slip away so easily. She kept him by her purring chest, offering a light lick on the back of his head.

She hardly ever did that.

He sighed. Just how terrible did he look?

The comfort, the understanding she offered felt suffocating. She moved so clearly with the honesty of her care. But everything just felt, at best, hollow or, at worst, like a wasp sting swelling up with doubtful venom. For years, his mother’s advice had been like the word of Starclan.

But here, believing at all just felt worthless and empty.

Nothing felt okay anymore.

“I know it’s frustrating for you.” Ashfoot’s voice came down like soft rain, “After everything you’ve been through, I know this isn’t what you thought would happen.”

Crowpaw began to itch all over.

Frustrating for him?

Everything he’d been through.

“But,” Ashfoot had now become close enough that her heartbeat synchronised with his. Her voice was like a morning mist. “Windclan now has a plan for if we decide to leave. That’s because of what you did, Crowpaw. You should be proud of that.”

Crowpaw didn’t say a word as something began to pound again at the back of his head.

“I’m certainly proud of you.”

The fragments of Crowpaw’s meaningless pride began to twist once again.

“You know that, don’t you?” Ashfoot’s questions sounded like a plea in her son’s whirlpool thoughts.

“Yeah, I do.” He just barely formed the stifled grunts into a reply. He did it at first to end the conversation. He did it more to stop the fear from coating his mother’s eyes.

“I might go check if there’s any prey over there.” Crowpaw said, forcing himself to give a courteous press of his tail to his mother’s flank before he walked away.

“Huh?” The fire of a protest built in Ashfoot. “We should hunt together.” Something hurt in her tone.

“The prey’s scattered since the Twolegs came.” As if he had any right to explain that. “I can check one area on my own.”

“But we need to-”

“I’ll see you back at camp.” He said gruffly, steadily pacing away as his mother stared at his back. He pretended not to hear her sigh as she turned to search her own area, the area that covered their border with Thunderclan.

Crowpaw made sure he’d avoid that.

He knew he’d most likely get a scolding later. There wasn’t really a reason why he needed to go on his own. All that stretched in his direction was dead grass and the remnants of bushes, green bodies turning a sickly yellow in the dusty air. He’d find no prey around here, more than likely returning to his disappointed clanmates a failure.

He could only hope Ashfoot had better luck.

He had no choice but to press on, searching yet not truly hunting. It didn’t matter, he realised. The pounding still batted like enemy paws on his neck. He couldn’t escape it. Really, he was more of a fool for imagining that he could.

The tom grit his teeth as his thoughts turned rogue once again. He lifted his sunken eyes to the hill, his neck cracking at the soft movement.

It didn’t make any sense. He knew where his heart had to lie. He knew what side he was on. And he’d made certain to clarify that last night. In the scheme of the stars, of the clans, he’d done no wrong, he’d only followed the paw prints that had guided the clans long before he was born.

So why…

Why did it hurt so much?

Why did the memory of those eyes, once soft, turned furious, make him want to vomit?

There was no reason to be like this. This was how it was meant to be. All that deserved to be on his mind was Windclan’s safety. Anything else was just him wasting time and energy that could be used to actually help some cat.

But try as he might, every thought he made, every move he took, caused a reaction on his body. A pulse in his chest, a tightness in his throat, and that never-ending pounding against his skull. Every second was like a fight.

And it made him tired.

So very very tired.

He shook himself up. What was he thinking? This was no time to be selfish. Windclan needed prey and he had to return with some.

Or why return at all.

Crowpaw whipped his head from side to side, as if the pain in his neck could be removed like a flea.

They didn’t need him.

He began to walk faster, not caring when he stumbled across rabbit holes and tripped through slumps in the hill.

He was just another cat without prey. Like so many others. He was nothing special. He was no help.

“No!” He hissed to whatever monster was making his sight sting. Windclan needed him, they needed all the help they could get. That was his duty. That was his reason to…

Did Windclan need him?

Or did he need Windclan?

Something had begun to buzz in Crowpaw’s ears. But there was nothing to see wherever he looked. Nothing at all.

What Windclan cat thought of the other clans this much?

“No!” Crowpaw yelled into the moors. Any prey for tree-lengths now would surely be scared off.

He was worried about Windclan, that was all. He was worried about his home. It was Windclan where he had been born, it was in Windclan that he had caught his first prey, it was in Windclan where he had struggled and fought fuelled on his determination to be one of their treasured Warriors.

But so had every other Windclan cat.

Nightcloud, Webfoot, even Owlpaw, they had all lived Windclan just like Crowpaw. Their loyalty was just as strong as his. They had watched as their home was destroyed, and they had done everything in their power to keep their clanmates alive and well, to keep Windclan’s spirit alive!

Did he really have the audacity to savour his loyalty as some kind of pride?

Loyalty was just the necessary goal of his existence.

Crowpaw’s legs had begun to tremble. He sniffed the air, his whiskers pathetically seeming to beg in how they wavered in the air like the shaking paws of a kitten. This had to stop, and it had to stop now. What was he even doing? Arguing with himself like this?! What good was he doing, standing in the middle of a prey-less hill, muttering and screaming at nothing?

He wanted to prove himself, didn’t he?

He had to prove himself.

He needed to prove himself.

He was loyal, he knew he was loyal, he’d do anything for Windclan, that was why he’d given up on his fr-

He pressed a paw to his face, exasperated, and didn’t flinch when he felt claws pierce into his fur.

What was he doing? No. They weren’t that anymore. They should have never been that at all. He needed to regret that, forget about everything, if he wanted to carry on, in order to function. They would travel together, but whatever false ties he’d let materialise for too long were cut. He’d seen to that. He’d made it happen.

They hated him. He was sure of that. When they sat beside him last night, there was nothing there but the same countenance as the beginning. That icy silence that should have carried them through the whole journey. Before his leader, Crowpaw had made it clear where he stood.

Last night, associating those faces with their clan had made it so much simpler to push them away into the dark. The grey tom who’s leader had left his own begging for water, the tabby molly who’s clan wanted to hide away in the den of kittypets and Two-legs, and the brown tom who’s leader refused to see sense and stubbornly put his faith in leader’s who’s hearts were already set on their own ambitions.

Yes. It was so much easier when he did that.

And as for his best-

As for Squ-

A-As for that mol-

She’d be ashamed of you.

She must have hated him.

Even in the beginning, she’d never said anything to him with such venom.

Wasn’t that better? No. It was better. It-It needed to- (Please don’t look at me like that. Please. That had been what he’d thought when she hated him)

Why was this happening? She wasn’t any different. Just another cat he’d been forced to complete a task with. She shouldn’t have even been there in the first place. There was no reason he should dwell on her, or for the molly who had (saved his life) died-

He couldn’t let them do this to him. It wasn’t fair. It wasn’t right. (They were gone. He was alone. All alone.) It wasn’t his fault they’d believed they were anything more than rivals. If they’d been truly loyal they would have kept away. (They were good cats. Such amazing cats.) The hills stretched to nowhere as he wandered. Lost. Unwanted. Unneeded. (He missed them. Even now he missed them so much.)

The buzzing in his ears was dark and hungry. It growled fiercely.

‘Focus on their clans’, he begged himself, ‘They’ve left you behind. They don’t care. They never did. It’s time to wake up. If you care so much about this, you shouldn’t be here. Be a Windclan cat, for starclan’s sake, be a Windclan cat!’

The others were the problem. Not him. Shadowclan were cowards. Thunderclan were foolish idealists. Riverclan were stubborn, traitors who refused to believe their own cats! Ignored their cats last wishes.

(She died for her clan and for you. What are you doing?)

Crowpaw stopped running – how had he not realised he’d been running – listening to the buzzing drift as it twisted over the pounding of his heartbeat. Once again, he was nowhere sufficient. The grass was cracked and caked with dirt. The scents of prey mingled in a forgotten symphony, too far to be of any use. Even the berries on some lonely bushes nearby had long since dried up.

It was silent.

Silent enough for him to consider the words.

Consider everything actually.

What was he doing?

He was prey-less, far from his clan, twisting over thoughts he shouldn’t consider. His clan was waiting for his help. They had been waiting for his help ever since he had returned.

And he’d done nothing.

The prey he had caught was shrivelled and meaningless, any cat could have caught it, if he had never been on that patrol no cat would have noticed.

He had told the clans they needed to leave. But when he looked at them, how long would it have taken them to realise that in the first place. Tallstar had believed him so easily, it was more than likely they would have chosen to left even if he had never given them the message.

So… What really had he done that any other cat couldn’t have? What help was he really?

What did Ashfoot have to be proud of?

She’d be ashamed of you.

Crowpaw looked up to the grey sky, waiting for a chance of rain that could wake him from this empty state.

Riverclan.

Leopardstar hadn’t believed their words. But her clan’s territory was safe, for now. And there was no chosen cat who could return and tell them otherwise.

Who’s fault was that?

Windclan didn’t need Crowpaw to leave. Riverclan may have needed Feathertail.

But here they were.

The clans were waiting for Riverclan, who could not be convinced by the words of their trusted Warrior.

Because the wrong cat died.

Starclan had not come. Was that because there was no hope? Or could it be because their plans had been compromised by the loss of a Warrior who had been needed, and in her place had been left with the selfish remains of some mouse-brained apprentice?

Crowpaw’s blue eyes searched for another reason, they peered over grey hills and smoky skies, searching for some reason that he was here, that he was needed, that there was some logical explanation for him not being the one who had been left behind.

But the other thoughts, the buzzing forces, they had made everything so dizzy.

He only came out of if out of sheer luck, when a high, angry cry broke through the clouds and launched itself towards him.

Crowpaw turned his head just in time to see the hawk, yellow claws spread like ten furious vipers, rush through the air as it raced from the sky, its eyes blazing right on the young apprentice.

Crowpaw didn’t have time to crash his teeth together, he barely had time for his heavy eyes to widen, all he had was a pure desire that struck his body like a thousand hot claws along his back. It was the desire to live, the primal instinct to survive.

That gave him enough time to pounce to the side, the scabby flesh of the hawk’s feet just hitting the tip of his tail. It missed. Crowpaw was still alive. He caught himself, twisting on his feet so he facing the predator as it cried out angrily, before slamming its strong wings in the air and taking flight again.

Crowpaw scowled at the beast as it hovered in a taunting circle above him. What was a hawk doing in the moors? They usually rested in high trees! Had it been scared from its shelter because of the Two-legs? He may have sympathised with that idea if the bird wasn’t clear on making him its new taste of prey.

Even as he hissed at the hawk, Crowpaw could not hide how scared he felt. He’d never seen a hawk like this before, not on his own anyway. Its wings were bigger than maybe a whole clan cat, beating the air with enraged strikes, its whole body was bigger than Crowpaw, and its dark talons glistened in the misty air, poised and ready to sink into his flesh.

Crowpaw found himself needing to dodge again, his body rolling hotly over the hill as he zig-zagged down the base, when the bird swept down with the grace of a fish in the water. The apprentice’s heart pounded like the predator’s wings. There was no way he was going to outrun this thing. And there was no where he could hide from it either. Even if he tried to slip into the bushes, they were thin, and the hawk would pass through them like clouds. It cried again, angrier this time as it missed its kill, screeching into the sky as it rose above the hills again.

Its huge head turned in the air to its prey, its eyes full of hunger, and more strangely, hatred. For some reason or not, this creature hated him.

Crowpaw couldn’t look away from the hateful stare, but as the bird’s rage thickened like black clouds, Crowpaw felt his own body tightening, fixing in an arched, frenetic reason.

If he couldn’t run and he couldn’t hide, there wasn’t anything left to do but fight.

Because he realised just what this bird was. He looked at this bird and saw a dozen full bellies that eased his clan for another few days. He saw a delighted mother nursing her kits with a body full of milk. He saw eyes that would find him with reason for once.

This bird was a reason to be here.

So, forgetting the growl and jolt of his own hunger, Crowpaw felt the blood fix his vision, and he stiffened to survive.

He would kill this bird. He would kill it to show that he was here and he deserved to be.

He watched the bird carefully, a voice digging patience into him, if he rushed into this there was a good chance this could easily go wrong. He needed to find the right moment and take it. A savage thrill had swelled in his stomach and let his anger and terror merge into a powerful shock along his back.

He had never killed anything this big before. But that didn’t matter. It would be done.

The hawk’s fox-like eyes gleamed, it thrust its wings down with the power of a dog’s jaws before it dove once more. Its beak, as thick as a kits head and strong enough to crush one, snapping open to scream.

His breath held captive in his chest, Crowpaw didn’t look away. He needed to watch if he was going to figure this out or not. He needed to get close. The bird was descending quickly, its massive wings solidly held to their furthest reach as they sliced the open air. Crowpaw waited a heartbeat more, just enough for the hawk to curl its talons from its scaly legs, before he launched himself forward on his belly, giving a kick of his paws to the sky as he felt the powerful friction of air above his back. Even as it missed him, Crowpaw knew that this thing was strong.

One of his back paws hit the tail end of the bird, just where it could hit flesh, but Crowpaw had already rolled away by the time the bird to curl its body around. It screeched, pained and angry, but returned to the sky, its tail feather shaking off the blow as well as it could.

Crowpaw snarled at it as it flapped overhead, if it hadn’t been mad before it was now. Crowpaw hoped it was like a cat, where he knew anger made you reckless. It seemed to fly higher than before, soaring in a dart to where the clouds seemed to just touch its head. But even then, Crowpaw could see them burning down at him.

The dark tom licked his lips and let out a hot angry breath.

When the bird spread its talons, it left its chest and throat open. He had a chance, a small chance, but if he could avoid those talons, he just needed to know where to bite.

And he didn’t have long to figure that out.

The bird was coming down again. Feather’s ruffled in complete rage. It was hurt and resentful, and it desperately wanted revenge. It wasn’t going to wait it seemed. It came down like lightning. Crowpaw watched it dart towards him, its wings curved in prepared tension. Their eyes locked, a burst of rage and hunger connecting them. Crowpaw didn’t mutter a prayer as he began to sprint his way towards the bird. With a frustrated yell, the Hawk flapped to position itself. But no prey had actually ran at it before. Adjusting itself to this new concept, the bird chose to flick its talons out once again. All it needed to do was dig those talons into Crowpaw’s soft belly, and it would be over.

Letting a numb sensation compel him from fury or fright, Crowpaw leapt as soon as the birds talons were a tail-length away.

It was an ugly collision.

The talons just slipped on his back, but Crowpaw’s whole weight stormed into the soft meat of the Hawk’s chest, breaking its grip on him. Crowpaw screwed his eyes closed, grunting as two heavy wings slammed onto his face. The pain was heavy and thick, but Crowpaw slipped through it until his teeth were lodged into the bird’s chest.

The creatures, fighting to be predator or prey, landed with Crowpaw’s jaws wrenching with delirious speed on the bird’s stomach. Feathers and blood were thrown into the air as Crowpaw ripped and ripped. The Hawk let out a sound it had never made, one of real horror, as its beating wings became more and more desperate. It twisted, its feet scratching wherever it could to find the dark-fur of its opponent. Cold pain seared Crowpaw’s flank, but he only bit down again, higher this time, his tail curling when he tasted hot blood.

How long had it been since he’d tasted blood?

Immediately, Crowpaw felt his muscles tense, his claws sprang out to pin the frantic wings, tearing down the fragile skin, fracturing ligament and muscle with every punching scratch. The bird screamed and bit at Crowpaw’s scruff, but the cat launched five claws over its face and it let go with a true cry of real, blood-curdling fear.

Crowpaw realised with savage electricity, that he was winning.

The hawk, realising far too late it had misjudged this battle, changed tactics. Its talons didn’t claw now, they tried to grip the cat, furiously attempting to drag Crowpaw off before he found its throat. It rocked frantically to loosen the cat from its blood soaking feathers. But Crowpaw knew this opportunity would never come again. He wasn’t going to let go, even if those talons found his own throat.

The only time Crowpaw did let go was when the hawk stopped shaking and instead used its damaged wings to roll over to its belly. Its large wings already straightening for takeoff. But Crowpaw was quick, and this bird had made a massive mistake in taking its talons from Crowpaw. As soon as he’d slid onto its back, Crowpaw was safe from the claws and beak. It was almost over.

Crowpaw groaned and bit down on its neck, where the head had to be connected to the spine. The hawk screamed, its body convulsing and large eyes bursting in pure agony. Blood coated Crowpaw’s tongue once more, and just to be safe, he dug his claws right into the base of the hawk’s wings, holding it down. Whether they were too damaged or weak, they slowly began to wither in their rabid twitches for survival.

Crowpaw, deep in his chest, realised that this was over.

But stubbornly the hawk continued to fight, dragging itself along with its weak talons or broken wings, even as Crowpaw bit down hard on its neck, hard enough to hear something crack. The tom let out a hiss as the hawk cried mournfully but continued to struggle. This wasn’t meant to happen. It should have been dead by now.

But it didn’t. Its body twitched along, its head craning out to a bush just ahead of them both, probably seeking the dark safety even as its back cracked behind it.

It was impressive but horrible all the same. Crowpaw bit on the neck again, horrified by how it clung to life despite its little hope. This wasn’t how hunting was meant to be. They hunted to be quick, they hunted to survive, this didn’t feel like hunting, this felt like slaughter.

But Windclan needed to eat all the same.

‘Die.’ Crowpaw thought as he bit and tore and shook. ‘Just die already.’

The hawk responded with a series of sounds that may have been the caw of a bird, but not one that any bird, any creature should make. It hissed and bubbled in the bird’s throat. Crowpaw felt it. For the love of Starclan, he felt it rattle out of the shivering beak. It eyes, glazing quicker and quicker, were wide but slow, blinking in jittering convulsions, still calling for the safety of the bush.

It wanted to live

Crowpaw wanted to scream.

With a needing, breaking yell, Crowpaw slid his claws over the Hawk’s thin, torn throat and ripped back.

With a rasping, wordless gasp that sounded too much like a mewling kit for Crowpaw’s liking, the hawk’s struggles relaxed, and its tattered head fell down stiffly onto the grass.

Blood slowly oozed out onto the shadow of the hill. The dirt did not soak it up, denying the gore, letting it flow down into a dark slide in the grass.

Crowpaw fought for his own breath as he stood triumphantly above his prey.

It should have been triumph anyway.

Didn’t feel like it.

He shook his head. That couldn’t start up now. Yes, it had been messy. But it was done. And prey was prey.

This was actually the largest prey he’d ever caught, this was a meal that would last Windclan for days, this was his chance of doing some real good for his clan, this was his reason for standing here.

Something he’d done mattered.

He looked over his own wounds, the wings had battered his head until it was shaking, and there were some deep gash marks along his flank that he needed to clean before they got infected. But other than that, he was remarkably well.

Much better than the blood-soaked, torn apart, ruin under his paws.

But more than ever, he was alive.

Tired, battered, and hungry, but alive.

So hungry.

Crowpaw’s tongue touched the blood on his lips, he couldn’t suppress a shiver. It tasted good. Good enough that his throat began to hurt at the idea of not tasting it again. He looked down at the hawk, thinking. It was a huge catch. If he took one bite, a small one, enough for him to get by, he could get the rest back to Windclan soon.

His joints ached, and his head spun like crazy. He needed to eat, even just a little.

Crowpaw gave the hawk a wane look. Just one tear off the wing. That would be enough for him.

Slowly, his own stomach cleanching, Crowpaw placed his teeth over the soft meat of the wing. He shivered as the sweet blood permeated his senses.

But then his ears twitched.

Almost angry at his meal, his victory, being disturbed, Crowpaw growled. But then he stopped and really listened. Something was letting out high, bristling squeaks. They cracked into the air pathetically, rustling the air with its light whimpers. Then the sound rustled as it doubled, then tripled, and then Crowpaw was sure he heard a symphony of tiny whelping ring around him.

They were coming from the bush.

The hawk’s head still stared at it lifelessly, but a longing melancholy still quivered in the draining colour of its eyes.

Crowpaw stared as the squeaking continued. The back of his head began to hurt again. His whole body felt cold.

With step after reluctant step, Crowpaw approached the bush, becoming more and more aware of the buzzing that came back to his ears.

He pressed his head in. Four pairs of black, terrified eyes glinted wetly back at him. The chicks, from the looks of their thin tufts of feathers, or the way they held their gaping mouths at him in either fright or hunger, could not have been born more than a day or two ago. They huddled together, some peeping helplessly at him under the darkness of their scrambled, hastily put together nest, the others just stared at him. Stared enough to hurt.

It took only a second for the desperation of the hawk to sink in.

With blank eyes, Crowpaw turned back to the hawk that had died to protect what it loved, the blood had now begun to pool around its head.

Another bloody body, another creature that had sacrificed itself to protect what it loved, flashed over Crowpaw’s eyes.

Once she had, everything seemed so much clearer to Crowpaw.

And he didn’t fight the hungry buzzing in his mind, rumbling, screaming, blaming. It stung, it ached, it swelled.

It reminded.

Sacrifice.

A sacrifice was why Riverclan had no cat to believe, a sacrifice was why the journey was tainted, a sacrifice was why the clans may not survive, a sacrifice was why Windclan was suffering, a sacrifice was why his clan could die.

A sacrifice was why his friends, the only one’s he’d ever really had, hated him.

He’d driven them away because he wanted, in his selfish need for reason, to be seen as important for his clan.

But the truth was, Windclan didn’t need him. They would live or die without him. They always would have. All he’d done returning, robbing Riverclan of a reason to leave, was further the dark towards his home’s destruction.

It was all his fault.

This was all he was.

Letting the buzzing attack his mind, and drown out the chicks’ cries for a mother that would never return, Crowpaw began to drag the hawk back. If this was the only good he could ever do, he should at least do it with some effort of care.

But was it good?

How tough could this hawk have been if an apprentice could kill it? It was weak and hungry, that was all. Any real warrior could do it. They probably could have brought themselves to catch the extra prey as well.

But those chicks’ had such familiar eyes.

The eyes of the weak, saved by the strong.

But what did it matter?

It was over now. Whether they were caught by him, or another cat, or a fox, or even if nothing came for them. Their deaths had been set in the dirt.

That was the cruelty of life. The reality that Crowpaw would do better to accept.

It didn’t matter how much creatures tried to fight nature.

Things that were meant to die? They always did. Someway or other.

Crowpaw would make sure of that.

With this realisation, with empty eyes and passing, silent breath, Crowpaw almost felt a shameful peace that made him blink away the tears so easily.

But he was unfit for peace, so he let the buzzing convince him into feeling nothing.

...

[intergalacticfop]

Muskrat fur cuffs and the North American fur trade

In this post, I am focusing my research on the fur trade up to the mid 18th century. On a superficial level, this is because the armlets in question are based on a 1732-35 painting. But, more importantly, any attempt to expand beyond this using this format would be far too limited to responsibly grapple with the history. In addition, the end of the French and Indian wars in 1763 resulted in changing fur trade dynamics which would not be easily integrated into the research I have been able to do. There are many facets I had to leave out like religion, trading posts, and more, simply because a comprehensive history of the fur trade, even before 1763, is a book topic, not an Instagram one. For this post, I chose to focus largely on the material aspect--tangible goods and how they were experienced by Indigenous communities as both suppliers of pelts and consumers of trade items. The latter slides will also look into human relationships and enduring consequences as much as space will allow.

“Indigenous” in this post is a catch-all descriptor that tries to encompass a vast variety of different nations who had varying contacts and concerns within the early fur trade. In the north, Hudson’s Bay Company traded primarily with Cree, Dene, Inuit, and Assiniboine groups (Chan 79). The Great Lakes region was dominated by Anishinaabe groups, including the Ojibwe, Odawa, and Potawatomi (Warren 124). In the Ohio River Valley, trade was largely divided among the Miami, Wyandot, and Shawnee (Sleeper-Smith, Indigenous Prosperity 95). Additional fur trading occurred along the southern British colonies as well, but I did not find scholarship that has covered it to the same extent. The history of the North American fur trade, at least in its earlier decades, challenges the paternalistic idea that Indigenous groups were helpless against the arrival of Europeans and their trade goods, as if European culture was so potent that mere proximity was enough to degrade centuries-old traditions. Rather, Indigenous peoples used their knowledge of the land, access to pelts, and kinship networks to enter into the trade on their own terms and use it to further their own material and cultural ends.

While the fur trade was dominated by beaver pelts, Native American trappers caught and traded a variety of pelts. Muskrat made up a fairly minor part of the overall trade, but still had moments of demand. In the Ohio River Valley, the muskrat fur trade grew as a result of beaver pelt oversupply in the late 17th century. Between 1696 and 1716, indigenous peoples in the valley developed a fur trade that focused on pelts like muskrat, otter, raccoon, and marten. These pelts had become more valuable as trade goods, and more prized in the European market, because of the drop in beaver prices (Indigenous Prosperity 192-194). Further north, the Hudson’s Bay Company acquired an estimated 6000-7000 pelts annually between 1710 and 1725, 15,200 pelts in 1739 and 24,600 pelts in 1750 (Obbard 1015). Notably, this rise towards the middle of the 18th century corresponds to both an overall boom in the fur trade in the 1730s, and a drop in beaver trade by 1750, both factors that would encourage the trapping of muskrat (Carlos 111-112). 

European traders were highly sensitive to the material preferences of their counterparts. Indigenous trappers and their families had very specific standards for trade goods. Cloth is the most significant example of this. European textile mills produced cloth specifically for Native consumers, with close attention to color, pattern, and weight (Levine). The importance of cloth also highlights the extent to which the European goods provided in the trade shifted fairly quickly from utilitarian goods to luxury items. Silver, for instance, was in such high demand even as early as the late 17th century that it actually endangered the currency supply in New France as French traders sought to melt down silver coins into tradeable items (Indigenous Prosperity 193). For Indigenous artisans, especially women, this influx of luxury European goods offered opportunities to enhance their own artistry. Native women used cloth and its attendant sewing implements, beads and trim, to create elaborate beadwork and patterns on clothing, creating exquisite wearable artwork with deeply meaningful expressions of their own cultures (Indigenous Prosperity 175). Indigenous relationships with European trade goods were highly transformative. Even old kettles were taken apart and transformed into jewelry and other items of personal adornment. Indigenous consumers readily adapted trade goods into their own cultures, rather than performing a simple 1:1 replacement of traditional goods and ways of life for European ones.

In 1852, William Whipple Warren wrote a history of the Ojibwe, his mother’s people, based on oral histories he collected. The accounts in this history accord with a general impression that the fur trade in the 17th and 18th centuries was actively managed by and productive for the indigenous participants, rather than reducing Native peoples to mere clients of European trading houses. The book includes several anecdotes that depict the fur trade as a way for the Ojibwe to further their own personal and national goals, especially in relation to other Indigenous groups. One story recounts an Ojibwe hunter who, after his family was massacred by enemy O-dug-am-ee (Fox/Meskwaki), trapped for pelts until he had enough to convince the French to help him get revenge (Warren 153). In instances like this, European traders were used as tools by indigenous operators rather than the other way around. The Ojibwe also used the fur trade for their own territorial ends. Through trade, they acquired weapons with which to fight against the Dakota/Santee Sioux, pushing them out of favorable grounds (Warren 160, 178). The Ojibwe thus gained yet more opportunities to trap valuable pelts for the fur trade (Warren 126-127). In this instance, as in many others, the fur trade with Europeans had markedly different effects on different Indigenous nations.

The histories also specifically highlight the difference between French and English traders, praising the French for their respect of Ojibwe customs and integration into Ojibwe communities, which later English and American settlers bypassed in favor of assimilation and domination (Warren 132). Successful integration into Native communities and kinship networks was crucial for the success of early European fur traders. For one thing, European traders were largely dependent on Indigenous communities to provide them with food (Sleeper-Smith, Women Kin & Catholicism 429). Indigenous women in particular attained importance for their role in agricultural production and through their ability to create profitable trade relationships for both sides through marriage (Women Kin & Catholicism 430). Warren’s history gives an example of the centrality of women in the fur trade when he mentions the Ojibwe wife of French trader Jean Baptiste Cadotte, who was notable for the influence she could sway over her extended family (Warren 213). The influence from these kinship networks enabled Cadotte to convince the Ojibwe of Lake Superior to stay out of Pontiac’s rebellion, keeping them from being destroyed like some other tribes that had gotten involved in European wars (Warren 211).

An overview of this trade, no matter how general, still has to acknowledge the enduring negative consequences that have been wrought by the presence and encroachment of white colonists into Indigenous spaces. The North American fur trade evolved into something much more exploitative with the European occupation of Indigenous peoples’ traditional territories and the proliferation of unfair treaties. For instance, the accounts of the early fur trade in Warren’s oral history of the Ojibwe were colored by the tellers’ awareness of the negative impact that contact with European settlers had ultimately caused by the 19th century. Guns and alcohol are singled out as the most significant trade goods, reflecting the compounding detrimental effect that these items had Native populations in later decades (Warren 119). In addition, even benign contact with European groups carried exposure to devastating diseases like smallpox. The disruptions caused to Indigenous communities by disease, warfare, and European settlement affected traditional supplies and made them more reliant on a fur trade that was increasingly stacked against indigenous traders.

A 1972 documentary called “The Other Side of the Ledger: An Indian View of the Hudson's Bay Company” describes how the Hudson Bay Company exploited Indigenous fur traders into the modern day. The company traded for furs on unequal terms, and Indigenous trappers were unable to try to trade elsewhere for more favorable terms because for many remote communities, the Hudson Bay Company stores were the only nearby sources of food. These supplies were sold at high mark-ups, forcing customers to buy on credit. This crediting system kept Indigenous communities in perpetual debt to the Hudson Bay Company, as their principal provider of food and buyer of pelts. The particular involvement of the Hudson Bay Company in operating these stores ended in 1987 (Gismondi), but even today food insecurity remains high among Native families living on reservations, owing to limited and expensive groceries and low incomes. The early years of the fur trade held promise as a zone of cultural and economic exchange in which Indigenous participants were often equal, at times dominant, partners in trade. Nevertheless, contact with European traders initiated a perpetual drive for settlement, territorial expansion, and the attendant marginalization of Native peoples in their own lands by European colonizers.

Works Cited:

Carlos, Ann M., and Frank D. Lewis. Commerce by a Frozen Sea: Native Americans and the European Fur Trade. University of Pennsylvania Press, 2010. http://www.jstor.org/stable/j.ctt3fhbsp.

DeFalco, Martin and Willie Dunn, dir. The Other Side of the Ledger: An Indian View of the Hudson’s Bay Company. 1972; National Film Board of Canada. https://www.nfb.ca/film/other_side_of_the_ledger/.

Gismondi, Melissa. “The untold story of the Hudson’s Bay Company.” Canadian Geographic.May 2, 2020. https://www.canadiangeographic.ca/article/untold-story-hudsons-bay-company.

Levine, Mary Ann. “The Fabric of Empire in a Native World: An Analysis of Trade Cloth Recovered from Eighteenth-Century Otstonwakin.” American Antiquity 85, no. 1 (2020): 51–71. doi:10.1017/aaq.2019.81.

Obbard, Martyn E. et. al, “Furbearer Harvests in North America.” 1987. In Wild Furbearer Management and Conservation in North America, edited by M. Novak, J.A. Baker, M.E. Obbard, B. Malloch, 1007-1034. Ontario Ministry of Natural Resources, 1999. https://www.researchgate.net/publication/275353911_Furbearer_Harvests_in_North_America_1600-1984 

Sleeper-Smith, Susan. Indigenous Prosperity and American Conquest: Indian Women of the Ohio River Valley, 1690-1792. Chapel Hill: University of North Carolina Press, 2018. Accessed August 11, 2021. http://www.jstor.org/stable/10.5149/9781469640600_sleeper-smith.

Sleeper-Smith, Susan. "Women, Kin, and Catholicism: New Perspectives on the Fur Trade." Ethnohistory 47, no. 2 (Spring, 2000): 423-452.

Smith, David Chan. "The Hudson's Bay Company, Social Legitimacy, and the Political Economy of Eighteenth-Century Empire." The William and Mary Quarterly 75, no. 1 (2018): 71-108. doi:10.5309/willmaryquar.75.1.0071.

Warren, William Whipple. History of the Ojibways: Based upon Traditions and Oral Statements. Saint Paul, Minn.: Minnesota Historical Society, 1885. https://www.loc.gov/item/rc01001074/. 

Further Reading

Allard, Amélie. “Relationships and the Creation of Colonial Landscapes in the Eighteenth-Century Fur Trade.” American Indian Quarterly 44 (2020): 149–70. doi:10.5250/amerindiquar.44.2.0149.

Nassaney, Michael S. "Decolonizing Archaeological Theory at Fort St. Joseph, An Eighteenth-Century Multi-Ethnic Community in the Western Great Lakes Region." Midcontinental Journal of Archaeology 37, no. 1 (2012): 5-23. http://www.jstor.org/stable/24571259.

Snow, Deborah. "Impact of the French Fur Trade on the Lives of Native Women in the Great Lakes Region during the Seventeenth, Eighteenth, and Nineteenth Centuries." Order No. EP77052, University of Michigan-Flint, 1999.

[yoondoze]

coin toss | jjk

you and jeongguk go way back, even before you were the menacing duo many knew you to be, even before he brought you into the mafia and left you there to join the city’s detective agency. a call for cooperation comes out of a common enemy, requiring the two of you to reconcile for one last mission.

pairing: jeon jeongguk x reader

word count: 25.4k

genre: soft and hard angst, mafia/detective agency au, complicated exes (?)

warnings: language, violence, blood, character death, sexual implications, little bit of gore, jimin has a weird hatred of yoongi idk don’t take it seriously, mentions of torture, grief, too many italics

a/n: long time no see everyone, hope you’re doing well! this story was inspired by my favorite anime, bungou stray dogs (it’s got a soukoku type beat & you’ll recognize some structures). it’s my first back in a while, and it’s also the longest piece i’ve written, so i hope you all enjoy it! <3

To be called to the Boss’s office for a quick word is almost always a sealed exit ticket from this world. One, because regular meetings of necessity are always held in the boardroom and discussed amongst the executives. Two, one on one meetings mean no witnesses. You’ve been there once before and barely made it out alive. To make it out a second time? The chances are practically nonexistent. 

The room feels less like an office and more like an 18th-century study, a dark academia dream with the coffee-toned furniture and ceiling-high shelves stacked with books. The only sign of modernity is the pristine silver laptop sitting perfectly on his desk. The guards to the side of the room look straight ahead, no indication of how this will end for you.

“My dear, good to see you,” The Boss purrs, eyelids falling into tender crescents as you place yourself gently on the cushion of his ornate bergère. Typically there are two of a kind that sit across from his dark oak bureau, but at this moment one has been removed from the space so yours could be positioned parallel to his own chair. 

The Boss has an intimidating air about him. From the gentle yet feline-like movements that look like they mask something sinister, to his signature verbosity that’s almost professorial, he’s the perfect paradigm of a godfather.

“And you, Boss. It’s been a while.” You maintain a cool tone, not breaking his eye contact. He was a dog that could smell fear and would drag it out of you if he thought it could sate his twisted desire for control.

He sighs as his cheshire smile fades. “I don’t like beating around the bush, as I’m sure you know. You... must have heard the rumors of a third party organization stepping foot in this city, yes?”

The whispers started only days ago, and the most you heard was only an assumption from another underling at the bar. Considering how much people loved to gossip and how boring it got around here, you were just going to brush it off. However, if it was enough to bring you here, it had to be something worth your attention.

“Yes, it’s been floating around.” You clear your throat. “Is it something to be worried about?”

He puts his elbows on the table and clasps his hands together, sucking a breath through his teeth. “This has happened before, when a new group tries to disrupt our hold on the functioning of our territory, and we have always squashed them from the picture quietly. But unfortunately, those who call themselves the Syndicate play dirty.”

It seems as if things were not heading in the track you imagined when being escorted on the long walk here. But then he orders the guards at the sides of the room out, and your heart jumps to your throat.

As the large doors close behind them, he resumes talking.

“Last week, twenty-two of our men were killed and one taken during a weapons exchange with a western group...who we thought were a western group. All they left behind was a handful of playing cards.” His wrist flicks up suddenly, a black card tucked between his two fingers. The shine on the back glints under the dim lamplight. He stares in disdain.

The nervous habit of jumbling your fingers started up in your lap, asking, “Who was it?”

“Underlings of the Syndicate,” he brushes past, holding up a single finger before continuing, “The key is that the missing one was a trusted man in our central intelligence unit. He was carrying knowledge of our expansion plans within the next year. When backup came, he was gone. Intelligence then reported that the Syndicate was also responsible for the crisis of our allies in the Midwest, Fox Lodge, two years ago. And a year before, the Federacy in Europe. They crumbled in a matter of weeks.”

The man sweeps his dark hair from his forehead, an undetectable motive flaring in his eyes, the one person you could never read. 

“Simply,” he shrugs, “this fish is too big to fry on our own.”

You couldn’t help but swallow. “And that means…?”

“I’ve spoken to the director of the Detective Agency. A temporary ceasefire has been agreed upon... Similar interests, a common enemy, you see.”

Existed an extensive list of things that did not have the capacity to surprise you anymore in this life. But a ceasefire? That was impossible; The Detective Agency and the Mafia had always been at odds like a fated grudge of the gods above. The fighting had been continuous for all your time spent in the organization.

“I know,” he nods, “It is a miraculous thought. But they have the resources and we have the manpower. While it would be great to let Syndicate take them out for us, we would ultimately be next on their list. Cooperation is our best bet.”

And the thought of what this conversation may be coming to strikes you like lightning on waiting sand. “I thought you didn’t approve of betting, Boss.”

“Hmm… I see you’ve caught on,” he says pensively, a smile rising on his face as fast as it disappears. “This gamble is one I have much faith in. It used to be our ace in the hole, you remember?”

Weakly, you mumble, “I do.”

“You must realize that our situation is grave. I would not suggest it if there was another way. In the kindest manner I can put it, dear, your willing partnership is required.”

And there’s the kicker, the whole reason why. A sick feeling seethes in the pit of your stomach, makes you want to gag or throw up or pass out. You have a choice, of course, but not a real choice. To clarify, it was agree, or be squashed out quietly, as Boss liked to say. On the off chance you would choose death over discomfort, he had to call you to his office for safe measure. 

“I understand, Boss,” is all you could manage. 

“I’m glad,” he smiles. “Though we have all turned a bit sour since Jeon’s departure, I’m sure you are capable of uniting for the sake of our city. I wouldn’t mind if you killed him after the mission is complete, either, but I will leave that up to your judgment.”

The name is awkward coming off his tongue, even with the chuckle he throws in to lighten the mood, implying an air of distance and estrangement. 

Jeon. That bastard. The thought of working with him… incredible. It was silly of you to think that you’d never see him again while fighting for control of the same city, but there you were, awestruck and in embarrassing shock. “Thank you, Boss. I’ll do what is needed.”

“Get some rest. I’ll be calling a meeting tomorrow with the other executives and we will talk about the plan. You are excused.”

With an obedient nod, you are lifting yourself from the chair and heading toward the door, the sound of your heels muted on his burgundy carpet.

“Oh, and dear?”

You pause, turning your head over your shoulder and clearing your throat. “Yes?”

Out of the corner of your eye, you watch as he traces his thumb along the blade of his knife, glinting in the dim glow of the moonlit window. “You know I trust you.”

“Yes, sir.”

Without a falter in his expression, he makes a swift movement with his wrist. Before you can blink, the blade flies past your ear and lodges itself in the door in front of you. “Don’t make me regret it.”

A threat not to be taken lightly.

“Of course.”

As you tread down the hallway on your way out, you can't help but chastise yourself. How dumb could you be? Of course he would try to intimidate you like that. Any other day, you could have sensed it and caught it before it even parted with his palm. That was how it was supposed to be, as the renowned Scorpion, right? Was the thought of Jeon and having to see him again so debilitating that you let your guard flounder like that? Pathetic.

Hopefully he’d only take it as a slip-up. Take it as a respectful allowance and understanding as opposed to weakness. If you were losing your skills, your value was lost, as was your privilege to live.

The ride back to your apartment is the worst you had in years. Even the radio station you listen to regularly for mind-numbing background noise has you wanting to burst. The traffic lights make you want to scream, the sound of the air pushing past the open window has you bubbling with fury, the blinking advertisements circulating building perimeters driving your mind blank. Somewhere in a moment of clarity, you know it all starts with fear. 

Truth was, you and Jeon were partners once. In crime, the trump card the Mafia put down to play dirty, no way to get around you. In tandem, a menacing duo, the bold and the lethal, the Lion and the Scorpion. In the sheets, from time to time, after a few too many drinks or a few too many flirty looks on a sober night. Two sides of the same coin. But that was then, in a different time and a different world, and in a way that you hated how your mind had retained him so perfectly in his bitter absence.

☆☆☆

To be honest, the atmosphere of the first meeting really couldn’t have been any better than expected. It’s the furthest thing from civil, of course, but it can be considered a blessing that everyone participating was still breathing.

For protective purposes, office space had been rented out for a few hours for the intents of the meeting. There were only eight of you gathered in the small space; From the Mafia, the four top executives and from the Agency, the VP and three head advisors. One of them, none other than Jeon himself. The president and the boss stayed out for this meeting in an attempt to lower the tension, which was certainly an effort taken. Personal affairs mixing in would have resulted in at least one dead body within the first thirty seconds.

While there is some sort of discussion occurring around you, you are only focusing on how pathetic you feel in that you’re actively avoiding Jeon, as well as the discomfort in the pit of your stomach that appeared as soon as he did. You always thought that you’d be strong and bold the next time you met, but now that the time has come, you’ve let yourself down. Seeing him face to face after all this time is a reminder of everything you’ve been pushing to the back of your mind for years.

Meanwhile, Jeongguk isn’t sure what the playing field looks like just yet. He’s resting his head on his fist, sneaking a glance at you when he can and wishing you’d speak up so he’d have a good reason to look at you for longer than a blink, but you’re awfully quiet. He hates to think it might be because of him.

“We received an anonymous tip this morning about an underground base in the Coral District. Supposedly, there are multiple entrances from bars in the surrounding area, creating a tunnel system.” Namjoon, the VP, pushes his glasses up and closes the manila folder in his hands he had been referencing. “As our only lead, I think it is in our best interest to take a look.”

Namjoon is by far the most uptight man you had ever met. A little pretentious, of course, but in a way that almost made him cute. His calculative nature made him a good asset, but you couldn’t imagine how much of a bore he must have been in his daily life. You could bet without a doubt that he had been the most opposed to collaboration - if not by the countless moments he had spent sighing in your past encounters, then surely by how his condescending tone went into overdrive the second he sat down.

Yoongi, one of your fellow executives, states plainly, “That means nothing.” He seems more focused in the dirt tucked beneath his fingernails than the meeting at hand.

“It’s anonymous. For all we know they’re trying to trick us,” adds Yeji, personality plagued with suspicion. She doesn’t want to be here as much as you do, but she’s trying. Yeji is scrutinizing and not impressed by the image of naivety that stems from such a simple deduction, and that’s on top of her personal problem with the righteous narrative of the detective agency. You don’t blame her.

“And for all we know, it could be useful. The people of this city are our eyes and ears.” Jimin shoots back, stare unwavering. “It’s not like we should just ignore it. Do you have anything better?”

The strain in the air is almost unbearable, pulling up the hairs on your arms with all the tense energy circulating. It’s as if lightning was about to strike any second. No one says another word, only dirty looks being exchanged between headstrong personalities until a defiant knock comes to the door, startling the aggression into temporary submission. Taehyung raises an eyebrow at you, the only movement he had made this entire time. You only shrug at him.

“Who is it?” Namjoon asks, standing from the table.

“Just clean up. I’m here to take out the trash.” Silence engulfs the space like a dense fog hanging in the air, until the man behind the door calls again, “It’ll only be a second.”

Hesitantly, Namjoon makes the call for him to come in. All eyes flick over to the man, who cautiously enters the room with a nervous laugh. He is clueless to what he’s walking into. He waves a hand of greeting before fetching the bin from the corner of the room, taking it to the main dump on wheels in the hallway. After a few shuffles and plunks, he comes back in to put it in its place.

Namjoon adjusts his tie and clears his throat as he sits down again, resuming the meeting.

“I don’t care what we do as long as we can be done with this,” Taehyung mumbles, resting his head on his palm with half-mast eyes. He’s practically falling asleep, like a cat resting in the sunbeams pouring through a window.

Wendy, another advisor, rolls her eyes at him, responding with a scoff, “Of course you don’t care…”

“Oh, like you’re such a saint.”

The boardroom erupts into yet another argument, different groups spitting words at their own personal targets. All you can do is sit and listen, your hope for this mission decreasing exponentially as the seconds tick by. At least if it didn’t work out, you won’t have to see Jeon again after this.

“Creep,” mutters Yeji under her breath from the chair next to you. She had been removing herself from the argument like you save for a few special dramatic sighs and trivial insults that you didn’t condone, but didn’t exactly scold her for either. After all, she is the closest thing you have to a best friend.

“Huh?” you inquire wisely. “Who?”

She tilts her head to the hallway. Your head whips around to see the janitor through the walls of windows walking away with a peculiar bounce in his step, one he most certainly did not arrive with.

“What’s his problem?” you whisper, leaning in.

“I don’t know, but he was laughing to himself while they were arguing. He’s probably just another weirdo,” she snubs with a sigh. “You know how people are in this city.”

Though you had a slight feeling of discomfort from the commencement of the meeting, since stepping foot in the lobby of the building even, you simply brushed it off as paranoia, or nervousness from who you were about to see. But it just seems too strange to ignore anymore. Wasn’t the building supposed to be completely empty today, aside from those in the conference taking place right now? Your instincts scream at you through a closed mouth, wariness freezing your limbs, but why?

You hold your hand up discreetly as you stare at the simply dark grey bin across the room. It’s the only thing that seemed out of place - besides the meeting table and chairs, the room is completely empty. The pristine board room, black and grey and sparkling clean. And then, the cheap plastic bin.

The argument settles when Yeji whistles, getting their attention. 

“What’s wrong?” Wendy asks obliviously before you shush her with a raise of your pointer. All focus zeroes in on the bin… and that barely noticeable line trailing from it to the door handle.

One tick is all you need to hear.

“We gotta go, now,” you state, standing up hurriedly from your chair. Chatter and confusion ensue again as you drag it behind you over to the floor-length window. You pause, narrowing your eyes at the distance down from the second story. Considering there were no other exits from the room and you suspected that no one here was a part of the bomb squad, it was the only way to go. You drawback, hands gripping tightly around the armrests and hoist it up, swinging it around your side. it effectively shatters the glass, the piercing noise as shards clatter to the floor making you squint. 

“Woah, woah, what are you doing? Do you know how much that’s gonna coast?” Namjoon shouts, becoming frantic as you further knock the glass out from the surrounding area.

“They knew where we were. Look at the bin,” you explain quickly. Their surveillance of you averts to where you had been looking moments before, realization dawning as their sight finds the transparent cord set tight.

“Taehyung, you first.” The boy trails to the make-shift exit without question, blond locks bouncing in front of his face as he hurries over. Carefully, with a hand on the frame, he peers out to see what he’s working with. He’s made do with worse before. He lowers himself out onto the ledge one foot at a time, cautious not to cut himself on the jagged glass poking out. With a deep breath, he commits to the jump and launches off, landing cleanly on the flower beds below.

He cranes his neck up to you with disgust written all over his features.

“It’s new still,” he complains with a frown, toeing the dark mulch which must be fresh and with a rotten stench. You don’t have the time to admonish his behavior as you usher the others out, keeping an eye on the bin and the hallway. Yeji is out next, hitting the ground lightly with Taehyung’s guiding arms.

You fish a compact walkie from your pocket, tossing it down to her. “Find the janitor. Evacuate anyone else you see. Channel Six.” She catches it with ease, only providing a nod before sprinting off around the corner, ponytail whooshing behind her. Namjoon, now on the ground with Jimin, spares a word with him before Jimin takes off after Yeji to catch up. 

“You run a well-oiled machine, Y/N. I’m impressed.” Jeon’s voice from beside you grabs your attention, to which you can only hold his eyes for a moment before breaking it off. He stands smugly with his arms crossed in front of him.

He immediately cringes internally at the way it comes out. It was just supposed to be a compliment, genuinely, but the tinge of complacency in his voice took it all away. The way you don’t respond clamps his heart, but only pushes out more awful dialogue with an inappropriately playful tone.

“What, you’re just gonna ignore me?

Swallowing your nerves, you insist, “Get down.” Now, of all times, he chooses to chat you up? The chipper attitude had your nails imprinting half-moons to the base of your palm.

But he can’t stop himself. Even as he reads your growing impatience, he acts like a whiny toddler, emphasizing, “No, no, ladies first of course.”

“Get down.”

He’s trying not to let your firm edge get to him, playing it off with, “God, so cold. You’re hurting my feelings-” “Get down, Jeongguk!”

The once fluid movement of the world slows as you shout at him, your own voice becoming muted as you listen for it. A blinding light bursts from across the room, ripping through the walls and bursting the glass like balloons, growing brighter and brighter as you watch. In a split second you’re falling, tearing through open air while barely sensing your entanglement in something soft before hitting the ground with a blunt stop.

He had pulled you into him instinctively as the blow forced him off his feet, but the regret is instant in Jeon’s mind as he struggles to move. Not for grabbing you, but for the stupid words he couldn’t close the dam on as they poured out. The threat completely left his mind in the effort to get you to respond to him. He wants to smack himself, but his body hasn’t had the chance to recoup yet. 

You groan, body practically frozen in ache. Rolling off of him, you rub your lids and scratch the hair out of your face, looking up to see smoke pouring out of where you just stood moments before. Jumping to your feet, you brush the small shards of glass from your clothes and ignore the dizziness, aiming to put as much distance between the building and you as you could, but not before pulling a disoriented Jeon to his feet to take him with you. He’s coughing and clutching at his rib, your weight hitting him as an extra beating once he had landed.

Collapsing on the curb out front, you try to catch your breath. That bastard. If it weren’t for his necessity to uphold such a jackass mentality, you wouldn’t have needed the extra painful push out of the building. Without even needing to look, the sound echoing alone let you know that the building was collapsing in on itself. While you can’t feel it now because of the adrenaline, you know you’ll be hurting later.

A muffled noise comes from the walkie in your back pocket. It’s Yeji, who is suspiciously breathing fine as her heavy footfalls transmit as loud as her voice, reporting, “Finally caught up to him. It looks like he’s heading to Coral District, we’re on his tail but we don’t know what we’re going into!”

The device jumbles in your shaky hand as you scramble to get back to her. “We’re on our way, don’t worry. Don’t do anything I wouldn’t.” 

You bring yourself to your feet, your fleeting moment of recovery already gone.

“Namjoon, can you stay behind for cleanup? Rest of us will catch up to Yeji. You heard her, right?”

He nods solemnly, and you suppose the blast to the building also was one to his ego. His notorious calculative nature had failed him this time around with that poisonous hatred in the way. Maybe he’ll reference it next time.

You think that Jeon is going to come up with another snarky comment to make, but all he does is pinch his nose bridge and massage his temples. He chooses to stay behind also as you, Wendy, Taehyung, and Yoongi follow in quick pursuit. It’s no surprise that Yoongi, one of the most sloth-like yet efficient strong suits of the Mafia, is already pulling over a civilian vehicle to take. 

“Yeji, current location?” You ask into the radio, trying to keep up an acceptable trot behind the group.

It only takes a second for her voice to crackle back through. “Corner of Park Ave and Third. It’s weird though - he’s not just running away from us, he’s running to somewhere.”

Up ahead, Wendy is pushing Yoongi aside as she shows her ID to the astonished woman floundering for words, admirably commandeering the car rather than stealing. No surprise, but smart nonetheless. One less lawsuit to worry about.

It only takes a second to envision a mental map of the city. The Corner of Park and Third is heading toward an unfamiliar side of town. What was even over there? The subway station, a shopping center? No place plausible for a bar, and definitely not near the Coral district. There was no place you could think of he might be leading them to - unless, of course, he was leading them away from something.

In fact, his direction is almost exactly opposite from…

“Tae!” you shout, just as he’s getting into the car. “Corner of Park Ave and Third. Get on your walkie, I’m taking a detour!”

He tips his head back in understanding as he jogs backwards to the car, soon ducking in slamming the door shut behind him, the car speeding off with a squeal. The thought of being in that car with them makes you shudder, but it’s not like where you’re off to is any better.

The location is printed on the backs of your lids in vermilion red ink. You had to know it regardless of whether you were a frequent visitor or not, because being aware of your surroundings when doing the kind of work required for your job was just as necessary as the job itself. You couldn’t be making arms deals in the alleys behind the Detective Agency unless you were aiming to spend some time behind bars.

Your heart drops as you round the corner to see the building absolutely sacked, your sprinting pace coming to a standstill with disappointment. A small crowd of people have surrounded the area, phones out to snap pictures and take videos. The windows lining the building are smashed in violently, and small plumes of smoke wisp their way out of what remains, the alarms that alerted no one still ringing. 

Light footsteps approach from behind you as your own step carefully over the glass to get a closer look. He’d been in his head for only a few minutes after you left, but when he saw you crossing back over to the other side of town, while he was stuck pathetically on the curb, it sparked his brain back up into working condition.

“Huh. Smart cookie,” states Jeon, seeming to finally be back to reality. Enough to make it here, anyway. In less than a second your blade is against his neck as a firm warning. All he does is smile cheekily, raising his palms up so you could see them.

“No need to be hostile,” he tries, hiding the way he gulps when you look away. “Just a compliment.”

“We are nothing more than work partners. I advise you to drop the act now,” you spit, sure you’d break your jaw with how hard your teeth were pressed against each other, hearing the sandpaper sound grinding in your ears. You lower the blade and tuck it away, exchanging it for your gun in hand as you approach the entrance.

It’s a mess inside. The walls are dented, desks broken, drawers and filing cabinets sprawled all over the floor. Random papers make a muddle of everything visible. The computer screens are cracked and wires mangled as if someone with a bad temper had taken a baseball bat to them. Even the potted plants had been bashed in, fragments of terracotta and clumps of dirt spread out everywhere. 

“Was anyone working?” you ask, fingers tracing over the splintered edges of the welcome desk.

“No,” replies Jeon, in awe of the state of the office. “The President doesn’t come in, and two of our teams are off carrying out other tasks. We sent our office staff home to keep them out of danger.”

Not one thing untouched. Such great care was taken to ruin every piece of the space - but when no one was home. If the office staff were here, would they have hurt them? Or was it a purposeful decision in favor of the empty building?

Jeon’s shoulders slump, bottom lip jutting from his pout. Upon your questioning brow, he says, “They took my octopus pen.” He stares longingly down at what you assume is his desk, or what was his desk.

You squint in confusion, about to prompt further explanation, but Taehyung comes in through the radio. “We caught the janitor. Don’t know anything yet, but he’s being taken into police custody. We looked for the tunnels, but there’s nothing so far. I think it was a misdirect.”

“I think it was too,” you sigh. “The DA was ransacked.”

The waves flatten into grey static. You can picture the confusion that was rising among the group with Tae’s relay of information. When it comes back on, it is a different voice.

“Ransacked, you said? How bad?” It’s Wendy, the panic blatant on her tongue.

“Everything in it was destroyed…” you say, knowing this was just as much a loss for you as it was them. “They knew where we were and bombed us, and then led us on a chase so they could eliminate one of our bases. Let the others know and we’ll regroup later.”

“Copy that,” says Yoongi shortly, and that ends the exchange.

One of your strongest pieces was impressively knocked off the board. There was no way to get the building back in operating shape in the time span you had to eliminate the threat. While you still had their people and outside resources, the building was essential to the functioning of the agency, and the city along with it. If they had already taken down the home base of the detectives, wouldn’t the Mafia be next? Granted, there was no one set base, but things would surely get fishy if you didn’t act fast. Like Boss said, Fox Lodge crumbled in mere weeks. Whatever your opinion was, you couldn’t deny the Mafia was integral in monitoring the underground of the city, and letting control fall into the hands of such self-serving villains would be far worse than anything already occurring. 

Jeon sighs loudly from across the room, spinning on his heels to catch your gaze. He tsks and sweeps a stray strand of hair behind his ear with a delicate hand. “What are you thinking?”

You hum in thought. “It’s a warning,” you conclude, observing the rows of overthrown furniture. “They wanted to show what they’re capable of. Intimidation.”

He purses his lips innocently. “...What next?”

“I don’t know everything, Gguk,” you snap, sending him a fierce glare. “The Agency has to figure out what’s missing, if anything, and then we’ll go from there. Try to figure out a motive or something.”

You’ve been asking for a challenge for years, always unsatisfied with the ease it took to get your way. Laying in bed wide awake all night wanting things to be different, wanting things to have meaning. But with the high stakes, with so much at risk, this was certainly not what you intended.

You have to reassure yourself that you’re capable regardless. Once you get in the rhythm, surely things will be fine. Surely you’d get yourself together and pull through for the sake of the town. When you’ve been biting your nails and staring blankly at a ripped magazine for who knows how long, Jeon interrupts you again.

“Y/N?” The way he speaks your name is gentle and soft, a fondness to it that never failed to pluck at your heartstrings. It’s that special quiet tone of his that you haven’t heard in so long yet could always recall so clearly. It’s a sign of candor coming your way. “It’s good to see you.”

And it boils your blood.

“The park by the marina. Tomorrow at five. Don’t be late.”

☆☆☆

Penny has already started making dinner when you step through the door, just about to slump against the hardwood floor and resign yourself to the eternal slumber. Though she’s only ten, her palate is more tasteful that yours was last year. In times like these, you are grateful for the way she takes care of you sometimes. 

“You look tired,” she observes, sparing you a welcome look over her shoulder as she stirs the contents of her pot.

“That would be because I am,” you breathe a huff of laughter, slowly and carefully sliding off your jacket as to not irritate your sore muscles more than necessary. Taking a peek into the pot, your brain allows you a taste of serotonin that you welcome with open, starved arms. “Fettuccine alfredo? Pen, that’s my favorite.”

A small smirk appears on her face at your amazement. “I know.”

You plant a chaste kiss at the top of her head. “You need a trim soon, kiddo. Can barely see your eyes anymore.”

“That makes me look more mysterious though, doesn’t it?” She allows herself a giggle before turning off the heat, giving the pasta one last mix before transferring it to the two identical bowls on the counter. Her technique is a little awkward as her arms reach up to maneuver the tongs, but that’s to be expected of a kid who hasn’t fine tuned her motor skills just yet. Your mouth is absolutely watering as you fumble through the draws for two forks and some sort of napkin.

She hops up on the stool next to you and digs in, splattering sauce all over her chin nonetheless, but as long as she was fed and having fun.

Taking Penny in was by far the best decision you had made with what your life had come to. It was about two years ago when you stumbled upon her crying in a back alleyway during a job, her parents' lives the casualties suffered in a drug trade gone wrong. Further than that, you didn’t pry. You had those moments, too, the ones that felt better tucked inside a secret place in your heart.

Your only option was to take her with you. While he was incredibly beneficial to the Mafia, Yoongi was also hopelessly cold-blooded. He wanted to kill her to end the trail, to avoid suspicion directed at the organization. You ultimately made the call, because while what you did for a living was in no way guided by a moral compass, you still had your boundaries. Fortunately, it was just when you had gotten your current executive position and started making your fair share for the work you did - and while the both of you knew what went on outside of the apartment, inside was a safer space with more love than you could ever afford to show anywhere else. 

Housing people was one of the organization’s biggest costs. Most who joined did so out of necessity, whether they were out of work or a place to feel welcome. As long as you took care of her, it was an unspoken rule that they’d go easy on her. Occasionally they made her run errands and do deliveries, as children were an easy way to escape qualms from authorities. More often they used her for bait and leverage over those they needed the upper hand on; There’s no better way to manipulate someone than pretending a little girl’s life depends on their next decision. Usually it worked out the way they wanted and she was sent home, but there were times when you noticed bruises or scrapes adorning her thin arms, or hidden beneath her bangs. At least you could provide her with hope.

“So what went wrong today?”

Were you too obvious, or could she just read you inside and out?

You twirl the pasta on your fork before downing a big bite. 

“Got stuck in a pickle for the first time in a while. There’s a lot more on the table than I expected there to be.”

“Obviously,” she says, still shoveling her food down her throat. “I mean what happened?”

You sigh, letting yourself sink into your chair as you recount the order of events that unfolded today. Trying to simplify it as best as you can, you settle on, “I can’t say too much because I don’t want to get you in trouble, but it’s not just the Mafia and the Agency running things around here anymore, so there’s some collaboration going on right now that is getting tough to manage. And these new people moving in on the city… they’re smart. They led us on a goose chase today while they took out the DA.”

“Well, you’re smart too. You can manage it. You always do.”

“I know I’ll have to. It’s more the teamwork thing.” Mindless fingers tap at the countertop. “It was a little bit of a curveball they threw at me.”

“Is the curveball what caused all the bruises?” She looks at you slyly, a teasing simper just begging to make an appearance.

Your eyes roll breezily. “Yeah, it is.”

And all of a sudden the air turns quiet, her demeanor more timid. She looks to you for encouragement before she can even get the words out. With a small prompting nod, she asks, “Is… is it your old partner?”

An awkward chuckle bubbles its way out of your throat in surprise. “Um, yeah. How- how do you know about that?”

It’s a little bit of a shock. You don’t want to make her feel bad, but having this conversation is not one you are completely prepared for. Jeongguk, though his existence in your mind is stormy, is one of those things you always wish you could just keep to yourself, like a small love letter sealed in an envelope and tucked away under a mattress for you to pull out when you want to reminisce, but unfortunately everyone has read that letter and its contents seems to perpetuate underground gossip wherever you walk.

The atmosphere returns to normal when she shoots you a playful look, correcting it to the way it should have been. “I don’t just go to work and come back, you know, people talk to me. Especially some of the other kids my age. They sometimes mention how it’s so cool that I’m living with this legendary assassin, and they tell me supposed stories of… what was it, the Lion and the Scorpion? Yeah, and that he left.”

You bob your head along as she explains, somewhat in awe of her level of awareness of who you were outside of your relationship with her. The observant and lethal disposition you take on at work is a rude juxtaposition to the looser, lively personality you allow out at home. Above all, you wonder if she still thinks you’re cool.

“And what do you say?”

That she laughs at. “Well, it depends on the person who’s talking to me about it. Sometimes I say that you’re really scary and strict and sometimes if I like them I say that you’re really nice… I’m careful about it though, don’t worry. As long as you’re cool, I’m cool.”

Bingo!

“Hey, I trust your judgment,” you state through a mouthful of food, “I condone messing with people sometimes, and if it can harden my reputation around the place, I’ll take it.”

Lighthearted laughter ensues as you eat. The topic fades away and relief starts to take its place, but nothing good can ever last, can it?

“But Y/N…” she trails back, “Why is the Lion a curveball if you worked with him in the past?”

You click your tongue, tapping your fork at the bottom of your dish trying to stitch together the splinters of words floating around your mind into a cohesive answer.

“I’m sure some kids told you about the rumors,” you say, propping your elbow on the table to support your head as you looked at her. “But he and I… weren’t really just work partners.”

“You were dating?” She exclaims loudly, eyes widening. 

“Shh! No, no… well, kind of. But not really. Things were just a little bit more than work-related, that’s all. Listen, it’s not all black and white, and you’ll understand what I mean by when you start to care for people like that.”

“Well did you love him?”

She says it casually and straightforward, as if it didn’t weigh the emotional turmoil of years spent heartbroken and yearning. As if it’s that easy.

Penny’s expression floods full of curiosity. She is so investigative and eager, you wish she could be going to school and learning from real teachers that could give her a real education, not just snippets from your memories that you pulled up for her from time to time. If this wasn’t her life, you can’t imagine what she’d be doing because there’d simply be too many possibilities.

“Yeah, I did.”

And yet, as the words spill, you can’t not remember the pain of his desertion. You can’t not remember the one morning you woke up and he was gone, panic floating through the hallways about him, confusion and worry swirling in your head. Just to find out he had defected without giving you a clue. Not considering what it could mean for you. Not even a goodbye. 

“Do you still love him?”

You purse your lips, meeting her eyes softly. “That’s why I called him a curveball.”

Penny grasps on to the fact that that was the most she’d be getting from you today. It was a lot more than most days - you blame it on your tattered spirit from today’s tiring occurrences. She leads in the kitchen clean up, scooping the leftovers into tupperware for tomorrow’s meal and tossing her dishes in the outdated washer.

You pass behind her in the tight space, carrying your own empty dish with you. “You don’t repeat a word, got it?” you whisper.

She visibly sinks in vexation, head coming to a tilt as she stares at you. “C’mon, you just said you trusted my judgment! I’m almost insulted you feel the need to say that.”

You let yourself indulge in another laugh. The credit of her sharp vocabulary character no doubt belongs to your influence. “You know I have to.” Nuzzling the top of her hair, you add, “Don’t stay up too late. I love you.”

And for leading a life that was so cruel and devoid of light, crowded with guilt and regret, lacking most that makes you human, nothing ever felt more like home than when she says, “I love you too.”

☆☆☆

The next meeting is only better because of the fresh air separating both sides and the imminent fact that last time’s events have everyone so weary they can no longer think about arguing. It has started to sink in that this is no longer a piece of cake, or maybe that it never was to begin with. As well, a park full of citizens going on walks and taking their day slow is no place to expose yourself. It’s warm for spring, one of the nicest days you’ve had in a while, and you’d hate to ruin it.

There is a large circular expanse of white concrete with different pathways branching off into the park, green shrubbery lining each walkway. Pillars on both sides of each one hold up an awning providing much-appreciated shade. You no longer have to squint and can see everyone clearly.

Namjoon, sulking on a decorative cement bench, kicks off the meeting with a depressing statement on the Agency. “They didn’t take anything physical, but we traced their footsteps back through our computers. It looks like they downloaded a lot of our reports from the past few years and files on both our members and yours.”

“What do you mean?” Yeji’s eyebrows furrow deeply in confusion. “What kind of information was in the reports?”

“A lot of profiles. Skills, incidents you’ve been involved with, current standing position… things like that. On nearly every important person in the Agency and in the Mafia.”

“Why though?” asks Jimin, leaning back against one of the pillars beside Namjoon. “Can’t they find that information anywhere? A lot of it isn’t a secret. Ask anyone around here and they’ll tell you Min Yoongi is a lazy bastard that-” Jeon gives him a light punch on the shoulder, his disappointed grimace almost saying, “c’mon, man.” Yoongi looks like he couldn’t care less.

Taehyung, who has been pacing the narrow concrete walkways, speaks up. “Get to know your enemy better, I guess? Can’t hurt.”

“To be honest, I don’t think they really needed it either. It looked more like it was meant to be taken as a threat. They probably just did that because they could and they had the time,” You say, recalling the attentive wreckage of the Agency.

“Well, I don’t know about that. We know that they’re tricky, obviously, but they can’t know everything. I think they were also trying to get a better idea of what they were up against. Plus, it’s always intimidating when you come into contact with someone and it seems they know every detail about you when you don’t even know your name.”

Namjoon’s take makes sense. His frustrating attitude is an easier pill to swallow if he’s able to make conclusions like that. Not much could scare you off, but if a random person approached you in a fight and began talking about your past, or your personal life, or mistake you’d made, you’d definitely be unsettled, maybe just enough to slip up. With this group, you’re sure that a slip up is all it takes.

Wendy looks like she has something to add, but there’s a frog stuck in her voice box. She gives a shy look to Namjoon and then continues, something perhaps he was planning on leaving out. “To be specific, there were multiple traces of the words “Lion” and “Scorpion” in the information they stole... It makes me think they’ve heard of your, um, past reputation and wanted to see what they could dig up.”

“Oh, great.” You’re unable to help yourself from rolling your eyes. 

“Wow,” Jeon muses, “Didn’t know we were so famous.” His playful regard meets your own, but you’re too down to react with anything else but a blank stare before flicking your eyes away as soon as they meet.

He looks good today. You hate how much your brain keeps begging you to take another experimental glance as if one wasn’t enough. His button-up drapes gently over his shoulders and is tucked loosely into his trousers, sleeves folded all the way up to his elbows. Not that you’re paying such close attention.

Namjoon clears his throat. “I wasn’t going to say anything because I didn’t want to alarm you without any pretense, but…”

You raise an eyebrow at him, crossing your arms over your front. “Well, I’m glad she spoke up. What if they target us because they think we’re a threat? They already know we’ve been working together.”

Wendy offers a small smile of appreciation, but it is not to ignore how the agents all share looks of hesitation toward each other, visibly uncomfortable with Namjoon’s secrecy.

“Yeah… that seemed kind of important,” Yoongi says, squinting into the sunlight as he tilts his head up. “You can’t keep things from us if we’re working together. I hate this just as much as you do, but we aren’t gonna win if we aren’t honest.”

Jimin sighs. “He’s right. If one side tries to get an upper hand it’ll just cause a rift that makes us easier to pull apart.”

“Okay. That’s fair. I... apologize.” Namjoon is stiff, refusing to look anyone in the eye. He wants to avoid further questioning, but for the time being, you won’t press it. There’s enough on your plate right now.

“Anyway… what’s our next move?”

Yeji’s question goes unanswered. It sits under the afternoon light, the peaceful chirps of birds and casual chatter and boat horns filling in the blank space that no one knows what to do with.

“We don’t have a lot to go off of. The investigation is still looking for identification factors, but it could take time, which, as I’m sure you know, we don’t have a lot of. The most we can do is conduct some interviews with witnesses and passersby, but…” the Vice President looks up at you, “we are counting on them slipping up somehow.”

The dejection in the air is hard to ignore. Everyone feels it. Regardless of how impossible it might be for the two sides to see eye to eye, they can see how hopeless the fight has gotten in a span of mere days.

With the DA out of the picture, all of their employees are either working from home or in last-minute rented offices with limited resources. Never in a million years did any of the executives think they’d see the building that represented their struggle go up in flames. Yet the day it did, they couldn’t be happy about it. It only struck fear.

“So there’s really nothing we can do?”

No one needs to answer for you to know.

“Okay. Let’s wrap this up then. Just be careful from here on out. You know, be cautious of what you say, where you say it. They might be monitoring radio waves, might have bugged places you think are safe.”

 In times like these, you have good reason to be a little paranoid. They already knew where your office space was and the time it had been rented. The Syndicate was skilled and definitely had their reach online, and you didn’t doubt it extended to the personal world. There’s nothing money can’t bribe.

It’s disheartening to see how downcast the group is on a day so bright. Everyone begins to mobilize, though slowly, but they get a move on, going back to wherever they need to be or where they want to be. For now, you decide you want to be here.

Waving goodbye to Yeji and the others, you find a nice spot under some shade on a well maintained wooden bench. It faces the water, today clear and calm, and out in the distance is the gleaming modern drawbridge that closes off the port. To the right, the port terminal stretches out long into the river for the large ships that come in, the marina docked with boats of all shapes and sizes tucked in closer to the city behind it. The boats flood in and out, passing you by, the sails floating in the breeze so temptingly you can just see yourself hopping on one so easily and going along to wherever it may take you.

The dream is short-lived, because Jeon’s presence beside you tugs you from your imagination.

“What do you want?” You can feel him looking at you, but you can’t pull your eyes away from the ships drifting by.

It’s a hit to the confidence he strode over here with, but he continues. “What, we can’t make small talk? We’re partners for this, Y/N.”

Any opportunity he sees to make contact with you, he’ll take. He knows why you’re the opposite, but he’s dying to see you, and not just from across a meeting table or a park.

“Partners don’t need to make small talk, they just have to do the job they’ve been assigned and be done with it.”

He exhales tiredly, disappointed in your lack of engagement, like he expected at least a small something more. “Listen, I just wanted to talk to you. I know how things are, and-”

“No, Gguk, you don’t know how things are,” you snap, finally facing him. “You had the past three years to talk to me, but you didn’t. You don’t get to come and take care of things now while it’s convenient for you.”

“It’s not like that.”

“It sure looks like that.”

“Well it’s not.”

“Then what is it?”

“It’s me wanting to talk to you. Because it’s been a long time and I miss you.”

You make a sound caught somewhere between a scoff and a laugh, feeling even more let down than you thought you could be. “Yeah, okay.”

It sounds like bull to you. Does he really think you’re that gullible? Does he really think you were going to see him again and run into his arms like a bride who's been tying yellow ribbons around an old oak tree? The anger you felt at the agency yesterday returns, for what happened in the past, for what’s happening now, for all of it. How he can say he missed you when he had all the time in the world, when he was clearly happy after running away from what he had with you, you can’t understand.

Meanwhile, Jeon feels his heart palpitating as he waits for a reply. The explanations want to roll right off his tongue, but he knows this is not the time and place to bring up the subject matter he’s really urging to talk to you about. That conversation will be held soon as he finds it possible. He thought it might be worth it to just start the build-up with trivial chatter, but it’s not working, and probably never will with you.

He picks at his nails, scraping the minimal dirt out. Should he say it? A part of him wants to go for it, and another wants to wait in fear of scaring you. Unfortunately, he thinks it will either way.

“I heard you’ve been taking care of a girl.”

Unbeknownst to you, he’s right.

It steals the breath from your lungs, that residing anger booking it to make room for fear. Though you try to conceal it, you’re sure he’s seen through it, already felt how the atmosphere has shifted. He shouldn’t know about Penny. In fact, no one outside the Mafia should. You can’t meet his eyes, taking more interest in trying to count every strand of fine hair on the space between your knuckles.

It feels just like what Namjoon had talked about, and though you’re sure deep down he wouldn’t try to hurt you like that, it plants a seed of dread in you. In any other world, it might be similar to someone asking, “How are the kids?” and there would be nothing out of the ordinary about it, just a friendly gesture. This instance, however, is layered with a cocktail of warning and concern.

 Penny can fend for herself, she’s responsible, of course, but no one is invincible. It’s only up to a certain point, especially knowing that she’s only a child. 

“How do you know about her?” 

“I still get around,” he says, letting the pause marinate before adding faintly, “Don’t worry. No one that’s gonna try anything knows. I made sure of it.”

The way he still knows what you’re thinking makes you shiver. Or want to throw up. You pass over the slight relief of his last statement in favor of the bliss that comes with ignoring it.

When you don’t reply because you simply don’t know what to make of it, he continues. “It’s honorable. But that’s dangerous for you. To have someone important to you.”

“I know that,” you admit.

It wasn’t like you were stupid. Sure, you were an executive, but what did that mean when Penny made you so vulnerable? The same way they used her against their enemies could be used against you in a heartbeat for tenfold the amount they wanted. She was your weak spot.

“You have to be careful.”

“I know that.”

Jeon winces at your icy inflection. He’s like a child being scolded by his mother. His eyes squeeze shut, thoughts circling back to all the words that were just aching to pour out of him.

“Listen, Y/N, maybe we can go get some coffee? Or-”

You have to cut him off before he gets too out of hand, palms hitting your thighs. “I think that’s enough for today, Gguk.”

He wants to object to your leaving, but he doesn’t want to push you. Your deep sigh is proof of the distress he caused in the past and still continues to leave behind.

So much for some nice quiet time on your own, huh? You stand up and turn from him, heading down the exit path. Realistically, you’re glad he doesn’t call out after you, because you know it would just get you worked up and that was the last thing you needed. When you were around him, you felt the piercing image your reputation had created crumbling to ruins. It pains you to think of the consequences of an emotional err during times like these.

Yet still, it breaks your heart to leave.

☆☆☆

“He’s been really getting to you, huh?”

Yeji’s voice is quiet above the cacophony of clinking silverware and incoherent conversation, but intelligible enough for the both of you to hear in your own space. 

You smear some whipped cream on your forkful of waffle, placing it in your mouth and letting both the fluffy texture and immaculate taste sweep you off your feet for a moment, as brunch is everything good and great in the world. Or at least in your world, at this very moment.

You swallow before answering, your usual temper tamed by the sedative of a certain portmanteau of breakfast and lunch. “Of course he has. He won’t leave me the fuck alone.”

“Well, he does have to work with you.”

As you chew, you shake your head in wide, dramatic arcs. “No, I mean he keeps acting like we’re old friends. After the meeting he asked me If I wanted to get coffee with him!” you exclaimed, “Like no, I’m not getting fucking coffee with you, who do you think you are?”

Yeji flashes her pearly whites at your short fuse, the one she’s versed in remedying. Deft hands lift up her mug for a thoughtful sip.

“Maybe his intentions aren’t that bad. He’s always been happy-go-lucky like that and he’s probably just too oblivious to think about the consequences of what he did. Yeah, pretending like it didn’t happen hurts, but because of what’s going on right now... it might be a blessing in disguise.”

Despite her intimidating appearance, Yeji was an exceptional conversationalist and particularly thoughtful in her advice. It feels more like a talk between two childhood friends catching up over some food, gossiping about people from high school and boy drama. Though it’s not quite that simple, it lets you take a back seat for a little while. Yeji is one of the only people you’d consider a friend.

“What, like making it easier for the mission?”

“Yeah, 'cause if you can push that issue out of the picture temporarily, you can get the job done and either deal with it after or forget about it entirely. And hey, you’re the Scorpion!” Yeji leans across the table in an enthusiastic whisper. “Scorpions are badass and vicious and don’t spend their time getting worked up over men. In fact, Scorpions reel men in and then kill them, especially you.”

You know she’s trying to encourage you, but the thought is spectacularly unappealing. While she was right in what you did, it’s not like you enjoyed it or were proud of it. You hate to be described that way. Perhaps that is your character among the mafia and the image you spread to protect yourself, and perhaps it’s even true when you get in the work mindset, but is that really you? Talk about an identity crisis.

You reach for your water, the condensation slippery on the glass. “That’s just my reputation.”

She sighs, slumping back into her side of the booth. “Okay, scratch that then. What I mean is that, besides the people you’re close to like Penny and I, you’re this astute, intelligent, skilled executive. You’ve accomplished a lot to get where you are. Why are you letting him get under your skin and uproot that?”

Yeji wouldn’t let someone make her feel like that, and she wishes you wouldn’t either. As much as she secretly admires you - for both that reputation and the real you - she cares about you all the same. Maybe one of the only people that does.

“I guess you have a point.”

“You know I have a point.”

“It’s not that easy though, Yeji,” you say weakly, staring down into your glass. “Every time I see him, I don’t know whether I want to kiss him or beat his ass.”

She laughs at your comment, making you crack a smile too. “It happens, Y/N. Love and hurt go hand in hand.” When you look up at her, she reaches a slender hand over the table and interlocks her fingers with your own with a squeeze. “Just tolerate it for now.”

A troubled exhale leaves you at the prospect, but you squeeze back nonetheless. 

“I can do that.” 

☆☆☆

It's two days later when you get a call from none other than the Lion himself. The time has been passing unbearably, slower than a soul train passing an ambulance. You and Penny relaxed by bingeing an ungodly amount of shows and movies, even delving into your weekly budget for a stockpile of snacks and drinks. But with every laugh that tumbled out of you and blended into the live audiences’, the nervous thoughts of the situation lingered in the back of your mind.

But hopefully, this call will have some good news.

“What’s up?”

“Good news.”

Eureka! For once, you’re happy to be speaking to Jeon.

“Like Namjoon said, they slipped up. Someone wasn’t wearing gloves and left a fingerprint in the DA. Intelligence was able to track it down to a random guy living in the Gambling District. I’ll tell you more about him, but I’m coming to pick you up now.”

You to your feet from your seat on the couch, wedging the phone between your shoulder and ear so you could throw your stuff together. Penny pauses the show for you, sending a raised brow. In silent conversation, you shrug.

God, it’s too early. You’re rummaging around the room for your wallet and trying to process cohesive thoughts simultaneously, and it’s not working out.

You stop to let your hands rub at your eyes. “Okay, but how do we know this was an actual slip up? We don’t have footage to check… it might have been on purpose to lead us somewhere.”

The one thing you had learned in all your time was to play like your opponent. Never underestimate them - especially the Syndicate, who clearly wanted that message to reach you. But if you were trying to get the upper hand on the people you were trying to eliminate, it wouldn’t be far fetched to give them a false lead the same way you had before.

“It’s all we got. And if we are led somewhere, we’ll figure it out.”

“Okay. Talk to you in a bit. I’ll meet you in the parking garage?”

“No need. Already walking up.” In the background, you hear Jeon’s keys jingling as he strides. “Also, we’re stopping for food first. Bye.” A blunt click signals the end of the call.

Shit. He’s coming to your apartment? The current state is an indescribable mess - hopefully he wouldn’t call CPS on you. More importantly, you are still in your pajamas, and there is no way he can see you like this.

“Was that the curveball?” Penny asks with an impish interest.

Your eyes squint. “Take a guess.”

Hurrying down the cramped hallway to your shared bedroom with Penny, you trade your sweats for some comfortable jeans and, with the time ticking down, throw a moto jacket over your hoodie. As the knock on the door sounds, you’re gathering your hair into a ponytail.

When you reach the living room, Penny is already pulling the door open. You hear a greeting, and then Jeon’s head appears around it comically, peeking into the apartment.

“There you are,” he says, looking at your current state with confusion. Not exactly what you might wear to base, but it got the job done. He snickers. “What, did I catch you off guard?”

Trying to hold back your minor pants from running around so much, all you can muster is, “Yeah, a little bit.” You turn to the mirror and pluck a bobby pin from your lips, tucking it into your hair to keep the flyaways down.

“Okay, let’s hit it. Penny, super sorry about this, I’ll finish watching with you later when I get home. There’s food in the fridge, you know where the money is, and I’ll call Yeji to check in on you if it gets late, okay?”

She pouts. “Okay.”

“Hey, you remember the safe word?”

Penny nods dramatically, her dark bangs bouncing, standing on her tippy toes to whisper in your ear, “Cherry-cola… also, he’s really cute.”

You pull away laughing, giving her a light noogie with your fist as her nose scrunches up. She wasn’t wrong, of course. Your time apart did him well, and you assume he must have gotten tips on how to dress because of how effortlessly put together he looked these days. But that's beside the point.

“Love you, Pen. Bye. And make sure your ringer is on.” With a small peck on the top of her head and bidding goodbye with a promise to return, you’re pulling away and leading Jeon out the door, being careful in locking it behind you.

“What’s with the safeword?” He asks, starting down the hall to the elevator. An uncomfortable tilt to his lips fixes on his face. “Isn’t that… kinda inappropriate?”

You roll your eyes, swatting at his shoulder. “Ew. Not that kind of safeword, dumbass. It’s so she knows who she can trust and let inside. There’s a lot of people that I trust that she doesn’t know, so if I have someone swinging by I tell them so she knows she can trust them too.”

He makes a sound of understanding, slipping his hands into his pockets. The way he ambles is spirited yet composed, shoulders relaxed with purposeful steps. Jeon always came and went like low tide in the morning, a calmer view of his personality considering his notorious “devil may care” attitude.

“Can you tell me?” Once he sees the disapproving expression on your face, he continues, “Listen, I already know about her. What if something happens and you need me to get her and you’re too busy dying to tell me?”

Crossing your arms in front of you, you shake your head. “Hopefully that will never happen in the first place, but god forbid…” you cautiously lower your voice, “Cherry-cola.”

“Cherry-cola?” he repeats casually.

You shush him loudly, glaring and speaking through gritted teeth. “The point of a safeword is that not everyone knows it!” 

“Sorry,” his lips purse as you press the button and begin waiting for the elevator. “Why that one?”

“It’s our favorite drink. Goes with anything.”

“Well...”

You cut him off with a hand as the thick metal doors slide open and the two of you step inside. “Not a matter of opinion. I don’t want to hear it.”

He raises his hands up in defense. “Okay, okay. I will respect that, but you know...”

It’s then that you see him giving you a look, an impish smile adorning his cheeks. The dimples that gently poke his skin are the kind that make you feel lucky.

“What?”

His eyes avert, head shaking as he turns away and exchanges his view for his sly reflection in the metal. “Oh, nothing.”

“Gguk.”

A teasing tone coats his tongue as he speaks. “Well, I don’t know, it just reminded me, you know, just pulled the thought from the deep recess of my brain, that.... we used to have one too.”

You almost couldn’t believe your ears, even considering asking him to repeat himself.  The arch look in his eyes told you everything you needed to know. “Yeah, we did,” you agree. “Not like I ever had to use it...”

He faces you with a disbelieving breath of laughter leaving his open mouth, astonished. “What, did you want to have to say it?”

You shrug nonchalantly, raising your voice to say, “No, no… you were always just a little soft about it, that’s all.”

You can’t help the grin growing on your face as his lips part in offense, one corner slowly turning up in a knowing open-mouthed smile. His lids drop in the slightest manner, barely noticeable if you didn’t pay such close attention, and you have to turn away before your face starts to blaze too unbearably. “Oh, you know I was not soft.”

Both of you are thinking the same thing, no doubt about it. Memories roll back like pristine tapes on a projector, ones that most definitely prove his point.

You clear your throat, unsure of where the conversation is going and not bold enough to let it brew. “Anyway, about the guy…?”

He’s disappointed in your choice to change the subject, the tell in the way his head drops and chews at his lower lip for a split second, but abides nonetheless. “Twenty-six years old, been working at lots of casinos around as a dealer but his most recent job was three months ago at King’s Crown. After that, no record. Unfortunately, we have to take him alive since the investigation has the police involved.”

“Unfortunately?”

“Well, kind of. It’s just limiting when there’s a stipulation.”

“Okay. I will respect that.”

Your callback is the cause of a smile taking over his face. You’re glad he doesn’t mention your attitude - if he did, your dignity wouldn’t let you continue. Maybe it’s your good mood paired with his unexpectedness, maybe it’s Yeji’s advice telling you to tolerate him, but regardless, you won’t deny that it feels better than the anger. With hope of a lead comes hope that this could work out.

“By the way, what’re you in the mood for?” Jeon asks casually, turning to you. “We can do fast food, we can do Firehouse...”

As soon as he says the word, memories from long ago that almost don’t even feel like yours resurface. Firehouse was always your and Jeon’s go-to pizza place on lunch break or for celebration after a job well done. Though you haven’t been there in years, the delectable taste of their pies is still fresh in your mind. It’s tempting, but you don’t want to make the decision. You weren’t that hungry, anyway. Jeon stares, awaiting an answer.

At your shrug, his patience runs out and he fishes his hand into his pocket. “Okay, I’m flipping a coin. Firehouse is heads, tails is the nearest drive-thru.”

He says it naturally, but you know he’s testing the water by the way his gaze lingers, measuring your reaction to see if you’ll be angry with him. Not one, but two fond tokens from the past, all in the span of thirty seconds? At one point, flipping a coin was an everyday occurrence to settle disagreements, whether it be where to eat, what time to close up shop, or whose plan to follow. You know he’s trying to jog your good memories, but maybe it’s not such a bad thing.

The metal flings from his thumb and lands with a muted tap in his opposite palm. He slaps it over to the backside of his hand.

“Heads. Firehouse it is.” His eyes flick up to yours, an eyebrow raised in curiosity.

You grin. “Sure. Wanted that anyway.”

He rolls his eyes. A shy smile crawls up his face, the faint hallmark scar at the edge of his cheekbone shifting. “Yeah, alright. Tell me next time before it lands on something you don’t want.”

The elevator doors open with a ding, freeing you into the open world. If you let the resentment subside for a few minutes, it feels just like it used to when things were okay - you and Jeon against the world.

☆☆☆

“So this is it?”

You’re staring up a beat down brick building four stories high. It’s dilapidated and nearly falling apart, in contrast to the virgin casinos, modern and flawless with intricate architecture and an ambiance of expense just half a mile away. Supposedly, your guy was somewhere in there, and it was your best bet that he had something of value to give you.

Jeon slams his side of the car door, still licking at pizza grease on his forearm, and comes around to stand next to you. “Yeah. Floor two, apartment two.” You laugh to yourself incredulously at his casual antics, but he doesn’t seem to care as he walks right up to the door.

He finds that no buzzer is needed for entry, so with your guns at the ready, you take slow steps inside. Jeon leads, you trailing to the side of him. It’s eerily quiet, not a single person out to encounter, none of the hustle and bustle a usual apartment would contain, not even the sounds of footsteps or moving furniture. Did anyone actually live here?

The floors of the hallways are decorated with faded forest green carpet, stains and dust covering the washed-out fabric. There is an ugly floral strip of wallpaper at the top of the beige walls that are dented and scraped in random places.

You’re careful to keep down the volume of the creaking stairs as you shift your weight over them, but it’s nearly impossible. Upon further inspection, the door frame of apartment two was covered in scratches and markings, thin cobwebs joined in the corners. The door itself looks cheap and it has what seems to be a few drops of blood splattered near the knob. You and Jeon share a look of uncertainty, those gut instincts kicking in to let you know that something was off.

He begins to count down, and on three, you’re pushing in the door. He rushes in first with you on his tail to scope out the sides. The apartment is empty, except…

“Well, that’s fucking fantastic.”

There’s a dead body occupying the chair in front of the television. It’s the man, alright, but his throat has been slit, red coating his neck and clothes, head hanging back over the seat. There’s no smell, though - it couldn’t have been that long since others were here, especially due to the slight glisten of blood not yet dry on his skin.

They didn’t bury him, either. Just left the body out in the open for you to find. One alarming step ahead, just like last time.

“Covering their tracks. They knew he fucked up and took care of him before we could,” says Jeon, scouring the rest of the beaten-down unit. No signs of a struggle, no mess, no nothing. A dead end.

When you pat the body down, reach into his pockets, there’s nothing. When you move to his bedroom and start to search through his nightstand, it strikes you that there might be something invasive about rustling through a dead man’s belongings, but you’ve done it too many times to still be sensitive to it. You peer around his closet, look under the mattress, filter through his drawers, until a certain glint of light catches your eye.

On the side of his bed closest to the window, a small card lies on the carpet beneath, hidden by the frame if it weren’t for the shiny sticker on the back. You bring it up for a closer look in the light.

It’s got his name, picture, and contact information as well as a barcode at the bottom. Not a driver’s license, but an ID card for the Belvedere Casino. The sticker in the top corner makes out a small icon of a spread of playing cards.

You’re about to shout out to Jeon, but stop yourself as soon as you open your mouth.  You take a slow once over around the room. Namjoon’s words echo in between your thoughts - Could the place be bugged? They were here not so long ago, and considering how they kept seeming to be a step in front of you at all times, it wasn’t a far stretch. There was no way to be sure, but you had a hunch.

Walking back to the main room, you catch his attention from where he is snooping around the shelves. 

“Didn’t find anything. I think we’re out of luck.” When he turns to look at you, you widen your eyes and make an intense gesture with your finger to your lips before pointing a finger from your ear to the ceiling and directing your eyes around the room. You’re grateful when he understands immediately.

“Seriously? Nothing?” he asks timidly.

“Yeah. They got us. We should head back and call for cleanup, see if they can find anything.” You start for the door, pulling it open.

He hums, eyeing the item in your hand as he walks out behind you. “Good idea… I don’t really want to be here anymore anyway. Feels too weird.”

It’s silent all the way down. Was it too obvious? Was the dialogue too strange, too choppy? The two of you reach the street, careful of your surroundings, before getting back in his car. 

“What was that about?” he asks, shutting the door as he slides into the driver’s seat.

You hold out the card for him to take. “Look. You know how you said there was no recent record of employment besides at King’s Crown? He’s been working at the Belvedere the past three months.”

He looks at you incredulously. “And?”

For whatever reason, he makes you doubt yourself. Suddenly, that solid idea you had in mind that made you split from the apartment is no longer so solid.

“The Belvedere has to have something. That’s our new lead!” Pulling your seatbelt over your body, you reach for your phone to give the Boss an update.

“He could have just been working off-record and gotten involved with the Syndicate some other way.”

You turn to him seriously. “Jeon. If it’s separate, why bother? Why would he be working for the Syndicate when he has a stable source of income as a dealer unless the two come hand in hand? They have to be hiding in plain sight.”

“And you’re willing to bet all your cards on that?” You almost find the doubt in his voice offensive.

You exhale deeply, trying to push down your temper. “The people in the Syndicate who killed him made sure there was nothing left on him to tell us who he was. No wallet, no keys, no license, no nothing, because they wanted his identity hidden. If he was working for them separately, why would they bother to do that? They would have just killed him and left. But it was about who he was and what he did. Which was dealing at The Belvedere.”

The car goes silent, and Jeon doesn’t reply. He only looks at you blankly, his poker face hard to break through, but not impossible. You know when he lets a hand slip up to tug at the strands at the nape of his neck.

“Good job,” he grins, hooking the key in the ignition and rumbling the car to life. He pulls out of the parking spot and onto the road casually. 

“Are you fucking kidding me?” You cross your arms in front of you protectively, glaring at him from the side.

“Oh, come on. I never actually doubted you, I was just messing around.”

You scoff loudly, turning to the window. “You’re such a fucking liar, Gguk. You didn’t get the connection until I explained it and the fact that you can’t even admit that you’re wrong, the fact that you have to act like you always knew, blows my fucking mind!”

He makes a left turn, looking out at the road, clearly avoiding you even though you’re stuck in the same damn car a foot away. “Calm down, Y/N. It’s not that serious.”

“But it is that serious! It was going so well, Gguk. We were finally acting like regular partners on a job. You always have to ruin everything, don’t you? It always has to be about you, and how much of a hero you are-”

“I never said I was a hero.”

“But you sure act like it.”

“You’re being ridiculous.”

“Oh, I’m being ridiculous? Comes from the guy who claims he was ‘just joking around’ during a serious case like this when you know it’s not like what it used to be.”

“Okay, fine!” He shouts, hands slamming down on the steering wheel. “I did doubt you. I thought it was far fetched.” Jeon's voice booms as he rambles quickly in aggravation. “And then you explained it and I remembered that you’re really fucking smart and I wouldn’t have made that connection myself. And I lied because I didn’t know what else to say. I’m sorry, okay? Are you happy?”

Jeon’s free hand, which had been jerking around as he yelled, finds itself gripping the wheel again regretfully. Silence fills the car, hanging in the air as heavy and solid as concrete. You’re almost scared to breathe in face of all the tension. He looks like he’s about to say something else but stops himself before the words fall out. 

The way you were fuming brings tears to your eyes. When your parents died, all you had was Jeongguk. But Jeongguk’s heart had been rooted in the mafia since he was young. The two were mutually exclusive, and your best option was following after him. It was hard to believe the boy you put your trust in so blindly all those years ago had grown into the man sitting next to you now, bringing you to tears with the way he infuriated you. Where did it all go wrong?

“No. I’m not.”

☆☆☆

You’re tired when you go to bed that night, and you’re tired when you wake up. Though you’re barely awake, you can feel Penny nestled into your side, body rising and falling as she breathes. It’s a small comfort, especially after the rough day you had. Last night had been a mess as you tried to hold it together for her, but simply couldn’t. 

Today, you’ll be heading over to a motel in the Gambling District to stay at indefinitely with Jeon while you work on the case. You have no clue how long it will take - you’ll be taking a look at the Belvedere, but what comes after that, you don’t know.

It was important to note that somehow, the two of you had moved up to the faces of the mission, even though both sides were working tirelessly in the search. 

The last thing you want to do right now is see him, but you have no choice. The sooner you start working and get it done, the sooner you can get home. But for now, you have to start packing. You take another moment to lay with Penny, because when you’ll next feel this safety and comfort again, you can’t be sure of. Then, you carefully unlink her from you and begin laying things out.

Something nice to wear for the casino, clothes to sleep in, essentials for hygiene, an extra pair of socks… 

Eventually, Penny stretches out and groans to inform you of her awakening while you roam around the room. Her feet shifting under the comforter push a t-shirt off the bed.

“Sleep okay?” She rubs her eyes. “Yeah, you?”

“Eh. Could have been better.”

While you are away, Penny will be home by herself. The Boss said that she wouldn’t be required for work while you were gone - she could stay home and safe, for your reassurance. It still makes you nervous, of course, but bringing her with you isn’t an option. Yeji promised she would stop in from time to time, and you would be leaving her with a sum of money in case she needs it to order food or something of the sort.

“When are you leaving?”

“I have to be there by one, so probably in an hour or so.”

“Can we make waffles then?”

You sigh, letting your arms go limp at your side. Waffles were a hassle, and the cleanup could be a nightmare, but… something told you it was worth it over the potential mess.

“Sure, go get the machine set up and I’ll come out in a sec.”

It takes a few more minutes to get everything packed, take a few extra bottles of soaps and gels just in case, quickly zipping up your duffle bag and tossing it down onto the bed for when you return later.

Out in the kitchen, Penny has gotten more of a move on. She has already retrieved the ingredients from the pantry, even started measuring amounts out accordingly with the instructions on the back of the box.

You let her have a little fun and crack the eggs this time - though some shell gets in there, it’s nothing you can’t pick out. She makes jokes and you can’t help but laugh, and something about it has its way of calming you down. It reminds you of how precious moments spent together are. Something about the girl just makes you let go of the burdens you carry.

But it’s much too soon that you’re cleaning up. A small ending for a small fragment of your day bound to be filled with things much larger than you’re ready to handle. 

The rain falls like feathers when you pull into the lot, plunking consistently on your windshield. You turn the key and take it out, shutting down the vehicle’s rumbling engine, the lights dimming out all around you. You should get inside sooner than later, before the weather worsens, but you can’t seem to bring yourself out of the car. Jeon’s is already parked, meaning he’s inside waiting. But there’s no other choice you have. You’ll have to see him at some point, anyway. Postponing will only anger you further.

You push open the car door quickly, grabbing your bag and darting up the stairs as they clang under your shoes. The droplets smack against your skin and drip down relentlessly. It could be worse, but it is certainly not pleasant. Once you find shelter under the awning, you raise your hand in preparation to knock, but Jeon is already yanking open the door and stepping aside to make way for your entrance.

Inside, you dab at your hair with your sleeve carefully, fixing it in the mirror opposite to you. As clued in by the backpack and laptop already set up on the right side of the singular bed in the room, you deduced he had already claimed it. Therefore, you take the initiative to place your own bag on the left side, closest to the wall.

“So… how are you?”

“I’m fine.” You reach into your bag to begin unpacking a few of your essentials, feeling his eyes glued to you as you move around the room. Even as you plug in your charger, toss your computer on the bed, you could sense his firm yet uneasy presence behind you.

“Have you started yet?” you ask, brushing back the hair that had fallen forward onto your face. You’d prefer to start your work instead of floating around the elephant in the room awkwardly. 

He tucks his hands into his pockets. “No, I was waiting for you.” Jeon has been stuck to the same spot near the dim lamp beside the door since you stepped through the threshold. It inclined you to think that maybe he’s as nervous as you are, but you’re sure it’ll pass over in a matter of minutes once he gathers himself. 

“Okay.” You exhale in thought, sweeping yourself into a comfortable position on the bed. “I’ll start doing background on the casino and it’s ownership records. You can look into workers or people associated with the man who was killed. Or call the agency, I don’t know. You do you.”

He makes a small noise of agreement, flipping open his laptop. However, with the slow movement of his fingers across the keyboard, the air void of purposeful clicking, you can tell he’s not getting much done. In fact, you can see in your peripheral his stillness, as if he’s waiting to make a move.

When you spare a glimpse over to him, he offers an expression of deep thought, only to say, “There are snacks, too. In case you get hungry.”

Your scampering flow of typing pauses. “Okay.” All you can offer is a brief, tight pull of your lips, what you could barely define as a smile.

Luckily, he seems to receive your message loud and clear, turning back around in his chair to start up whatever he was planning on. You know what you want to get - the information most valuable to doing what you needed to do and confirming what you already suspected, which was in the past records of the proprietorship. It would also be helpful if you could find current workers and see what they were doing; Maybe even more helpful if you could find nothing at all.

The records you stumble upon are nothing short of interesting once you finally break down that barrier. Ownership of the casino had been consistent up until three months ago, when the deed holder - a healthy man of only fifty-six years old - made a business deal and swiftly moved out of the country, only to be found dead in his home a month later. The new owner’s background appeared without even the slightest scratch. The lack of suspicion is suspicious in itself - you don’t think the Falcon would have the place under his own name, but having it under someone who is pristine as a newly minted coin is dubious all the same.

It’s the shut of Jeon’s laptop that sucks you back into the reality of the motel room from your online sanctuary. He stands up to stretch and makes a move for the bathroom. The room is shrouded in the darkness of nighttime, save for the moonlight streaming in through the windows and the sorry excuse for a lamp on your night table. It wouldn’t kill you to call it a night either.

When he emerges, you take your turn, bringing a change of clothes with you so you won’t have to face the tension that might arise if you came back out in just a towel. The shower is pleasant; For a second, if you close your eyes, you’re no longer in the same space with him and can enjoy the time for yourself. 

Your heavy heart can’t be kept at bay for too long. Outside the bathroom is a surprisingly accurate reminder of old times, when scenes just like this were the regular, and the feeling was the same. But at this moment, the way you’re avoiding his eyes while you braid your hair in the mirror is a show of just how much things have changed.

“Why are you looking at me?” you pipe quietly over the steady padding of your feet on the carpet, his watch following you hesitantly.

Jeon sits back at the head of the bed, not sure where to direct his gaze anymore now that you’ve verbally interrupted it. His constant attention, and especially the way he doesn’t deny it even in the face of your attitude towards him, leaves you with a weary ache that you’re quickly getting tired of feeling all the time.

A charming, shy smile fixes on his face as his head tilts endearingly, testing the waters. “What, I can’t look at you?”

“Not like that,” you mumble, barely above a whisper, lifting up the sheets to crawl in, leaving as much space as possible between the two of you. When you turn your back to him to look at the wall, you think he might make another teasing comment, but he doesn’t.

“It’s the braid,” he elaborates, as if it’s some sort of excuse sufficient enough to play flirty and cool with you when the situation is anything but. “It reminds me of when we were kids… you used to wear it like that every day.” 

It’s almost as if to say, do you remember? But of course you remember. Afternoons spent at the playground, your hair in a loose braid thrown over the front of your shoulder. Mornings spent in the courtyard, scribbling down answers to work that was due in ten minutes. Evenings spent wandering around town, laughing and joking together as kids should. But nothing offered by the times of the past could dismiss the times of the present.

You lean over and tug the chain on the lamp, darkness enclosing your small room.

“Go to bed, Gguk.”

He doesn’t make another sound that night.

☆☆☆

The storm has proven its resilience yet continues to torrent, horribly testing the aging logs of trees and endlessly splattering your windows. Even still, it has something to say, residing anger it wants to make you feel, trapping you inside your room and limiting your options. It’s a deep pain, but perhaps if you were a storm, you’d let yourself drain out every ounce of deplorable wrath until there was nothing leftover, too.

Jeon sits at the small table near the door. He’s been there for who knows how long, flipping through pages, making phone calls that connect no dots, wasting his time. There is nothing that can be done at the moment, not with the state of the weather at least. Weather, a trivial matter, the most popular topic choice for insignificant conversation, heeds your course of action without a known resumption.

In the meantime, you enjoy yourself as much as you can. You make popcorn in the less than appealing microwave and settle in to watch whatever piques your interest in the slightest, meaning there is not a wide selection. Right now, you’ve got on a show about the aliens who have supposedly visited ancient Egypt and other societies bygone, and have been consistently present throughout the timeline of human history.

“Y/N. Let me ask you a question.” Jeon rubs his forehead, slumping over in his chair. “Did you come here with the intention of helping this case, or just to vacation?”

You nod in thought, humming. “Good question. I’d say the former, but I don’t think your question was intended to have an answer. Let me ask you a question then.”

His tired face turns to you expectantly. 

You take a pensive breath before raising your hand and asking slowly, “Do you think that aliens provided advanced technologies to the Germans to build new weapons for the Third Reich?”

He stares at you blankly, meeting your still and inquisitive expression for just a moment until he cracks, shaking his head and looking away toward the window, as if he’ll find something better to say out there.

“No, I’m serious,” you insist as you toss another kernel into your mouth, hoping he takes your biting satire to heart. “Because, this guy is saying that the Germans built a flying saucer. A whole fucking flying saucer, called the Haunebu, and no, wait, listen, it was said to use mythical technology from old Indian texts.”

You stare, intent on waiting for a response. Jeon pinches the bridge of his nose, the way his fuse was quickly shortening keeping you bitterly entertained. “You have to work with me, Y/N. Can you please just work with me?”

The joke dissolves and you blankly turn to flip through the channels. “I am working with you. There’s just nothing to work on.”

He puts his head in his hands. “For God’s sake, can you stop? I know you don’t care for me, but if you could just cooperate-”

Your eyes widen in surprise. “Care for you?” you repeat, your smile fueled with gallons of flammable offense, sitting upright on the bed. He spins in his chair to face you again, eyebrows knitting together before confirming, “Yeah, care for me!”

A sour laugh escapes you, arms folding over your front. “I don’t care for you? That’s rich, Gguk.” 

“No, you don’t! And I don’t think you ever have, quite frankly, because you’re acting like such a bitch to me and can’t even give me a chance!” Jeon stands now, leaning into his words as his hands stretch out in dramatic gestures.

You jump to your feet. ”Why should I give you a chance? What good has that ever done me?”

Jeon’s jaw visibly clenches, his hand shooting up to meet his chin as he eschews your scrutinizing eye. You feel your nails digging into your palms as your fists clench, but you’re sure you’ll swing at something if you stop.

Your throat begins to sting, masking your cracking voice with a low tone. “I almost died for you, Gguk. And a week later, you left me.”

The room collapses under the weight of the elephant. It’s everything you’ve wanted to say for years bubbling to the top.

As soon as the venom leaves your mouth, you know he remembers. The guilt washing over his features says it all, awful clips of the last mission you ever went on together passing through his vision.

It was supposed to be an easy interception of a deal, but Jeon’s inability to differentiate between necessary risk and recklessness cost you your covers. He got away. You were captured.

It was torture at the expense of his safety. Excruciating pain in order to protect him from his own mistake. Your blood spilled, your tears cried, your body hurt. Yet at the end of every video, every call, every threat, your only message to him was that it was okay.

They were the worst you had ever encountered. They wanted leverage over the Boss; They wanted Jeon. And the only way to him was to you. At the time, it was worth it. You wouldn’t give him up, you wouldn’t let yourself become a part of an exchange for his life. You put his over your own in a heartbeat.

And where had that gotten you?

Your depth of a breaking point had provided that desperately needed time to organize a plan of attack, and even though you hadn’t been there quite yet, even though you had been trained and it was far from your first rodeo, it wasn’t anything less than scarring. 

Even though the mafia infiltrated and rescued you successfully, the inner turmoil never fully recovered. Though you moved past the nightmares and the flashbacks that hid in your damaged subconscious, the memory never stopped hurting. Especially when he up and left you to deal with it on your own.

“I know,” is all he can muster. 

A thrilling laugh of spite rips from your throat. He hates it.

“What? That’s all you can say? You can’t even give me an explanation?”

“I… I was out of options for us, Y/N. After the mission, I knew it was me making you vulnerable. People were hurting you over me, and I didn’t want that for us anymore. I made a plan to leave, and I thought that you could come with me… but I was stupid and in a rush and the deal was only for my cooperation if the Agency helped me out. They wouldn’t let me take you.”

Your usual crisp verbosity fails you now, everything you need to say stuck in your throat. A stabbing anguish falls like bullets in a downpour, a storm born only in the bitterest winter. 

“I know I fucked up, Y/N, I know I did. And I’ll always be sorry and I’ll always regret it. And I’ll spend every second of my life trying to make up for it.” Jeon’s lip quivers through his shaky breaths, his eyes now soaked, the ache in his heart unforgiving. “And I know I can’t ever take it back, but you hate me so bad…”

A pained upturn of your lips feeling the grudge of a thousand wrongdoings phases over your expression, for him, for you, for everyone you’d ever known in this sickening lifetime.

“I don’t hate you, Gguk,” you sob through your teeth, wiping furiously at your eyes, “I hate… I hate that I love you regardless of what you do.”

He winces. “Please don’t do that to me.” “Do what?”

Hot streams of tears trickled down his supple cheeks, voice cracking as he whispers, “Say that you love me when you know how I feel.”

“Oh shut up, Jeongguk!” you yell, wet rage prickling your veins as it courses through you. Your cheeks are now just vessels for a dam breaking loose. “I have always loved you!”

And it hurts so bad to say it. The way he makes your stomach flutter feels like a betrayal to yourself. But that smile he wears like a medallion, those eyes that are always searching for you, that golden heart that loved you so well - everything you hate is everything you love. Even when you want to ignore the truth for everything it’s worth and all the weight it heaves on its shoulders, it’s impossible to escape the way you love him even when you wish you could just hate him.

You calm yourself with a shaky breath. “I loved you before, and I loved you after, even when you left and I knew you weren’t coming back.”

“That’s not true,” he sputters, taking a step toward you. “I was always going to come back. Every day, I begged for help to get you out. But the deal I made with the agency was only my rescue for my cooperation, and it didn’t include you, no matter what I tried to do.”

It stings your chest. You have to turn away when your head drops to your palms, but he’s quick to reach a hand to your shoulder for your attention. 

“It’s been over three years, Gguk,” you whisper, sniffling as you wipe your running nose with your sleeve. Your voice is clogged in disappointed acceptance. “Don’t lie. Just say my relevance to you faded and you forgot.”

He grasps your arm gently, beckoning your eyes to meet his. While your tears are slowing from tire, his are an endless faucet left on in negligence.

“No,” his tone softens, “No, I was waiting until it was safe.”

You shake your head, the soreness in your chest present as ever as you try to hold it all in. “It was never going to be safe.”

“Maybe. And maybe it won’t ever be. But you have to let me make it right.”

“How do you intend on doing that? Putting snacks in the fridge doesn’t do shit, Gguk.”

He inhales deeply as his lips press together. Jeon takes a careful glance around the room, eyebrows furrowing as he silently pleads with you. 

“I made a plan to get you out after the mission is completed. The higher-ups at the Agency agreed just in exchange for you to give a private report with as much as you know for future reference. From there, it’s you going wherever you want, no strings attached, no extra deal you have to make.”

“That won’t work,” you scoff.

“Yes, it will! I promise it will! Listen, everything is already planned. My friends are taking extra care because they trust me. You’ll have new records, a new passport and a license, new everything, and even…”

“Gguk...” You whisper as he continues rambling. “Gguk. Jeongguk!”

He takes in a sharp breath as his words are cut off mid-stream, feeling his heart drop to his stomach.

In a quiet, calm whisper, you explain, “I can’t. I have Penny and other people here that I care about. For god sake, I have money I've been saving for years in that apartment, all our stuff is there, I can’t just leave and not come back.”

The desperation in his voice is now out in the open. “I know. I wasn’t expecting that, but I’m working on her now, too. You just have to trust me.”

For a second, he lets himself swell with hope, but your deep, despondent sigh crumbles him right back down to where he started. 

“Gguk…” you start, but he can’t bear to hear it, leaning down to meet your hesitant eyes straight on. Distress clouds his watery pupils as he implores you with every ounce of sincerity he can muster to the surface for you. He doesn’t know how else he can make you see he’s being more honest now than he ever has been in his life. 

“It’s okay if you can’t forgive me. I understand, and I’ll never stop being sorry. And, and I’m sorry for how I acted when I saw you again, but I was just so scared.” His lip trembles as he searches for eyes for something, anything. “I didn’t know what I was supposed to do because I was so scared of what you’d say and how you’d feel and I thought if I acted like it was fine, it wouldn’t hurt as bad.” 

He swallows on a dry mouth, trying not to stammer but his heart denying him that ability.

“I, I thought about you every day. Every day. And I knew it was complicated and everyone told me I should just let go and, and I just couldn’t! I just knew it was you. It was always you. And I am so, so sorry I made you feel it wasn’t.”

By now, you can’t restrain your tears, no matter how hard you clench your teeth or comfort your face. In a moment of deep affliction, there’s no other place to turn but him. The second you pull him to you is relief synonymous with the feeling of when a battered castaway finally spots a plane coming for their rescue; it is joint. 

“I wish I could trust you, Jeongguk,” Sobs muffled by his comforting chest, you cry, ”But I don’t know if I can do that. I want to believe you so bad, but I… I don’t know if it’s worth it.”

The comforting warmth of his body is a mean juxtaposition against the harsh sobs that rack through it. Jeongguk smells of something sweet and nostalgically familiar, like sunny beach days spent down by the salty water, plucking seashells from the sand and digging for hermit crabs once the waves pull away from the shore. Light sunscreen and grainy memories that flash by as your brain slides through like film.

“That’s okay,” he mumbles into your hair. Your will splinters in his arms. “Just think about it. That’s all. Just think about it.”

Though you nod against him in shaky assent, it’s not a promise. 

☆☆☆

Not the next day, but the day after, is when you decide to make your move. 

The casino is a home base, hidden in plain sight. Not even that - crowded by the public eye, and yet not a suspicion raised despite its astronomical numbers being reported over the past few months. Sure, it was bustling full of rich men in need of something to spend their money on, but not enough to sustain those incredible reports.

And under that brittle, flimsy assumption comes your similarly brittle, flimsy plan. Go in, see what you can see. Scout for suspicious activity, chat up drunk patrons and loosen their lips, explore the building a bit. See what you see.

Your fingers are nimble, but your prickling nerves make them fumble as you try the clasp on your necklace. The nail on your pointer can’t seem to hold the small lever down for long enough, even when you twist the chain around so you can lean forward to do it in the mirror. You even consider just tossing it to the side and going without the necklace.

Jeon, standing awkwardly to the side and already having fixed his sleeves in place countless times, glances over to you in the mirror briefly. You sigh when you catch his hesitant watch in the reflection - his shy offer goes unspoken, just a reminder that it’s there if you want to take it. All it takes is a minuscule top of your head to give in.

 Resisting Jeongguk is like resisting gravity. It pulls you down sooner or later, no matter how high or far you push yourself off. But at the end of the day, it keeps you grounded.

His footsteps are barely audible on the carpet as he approaches timidly. Light on his feet, as always. You surrender the ends of the necklace to him and tug the pendant back around to the front. The pads of his fingertips are rough as they drag lightly across your skin in the exchange, igniting a flaming feeling in their path. You can feel the hairs on the back of your neck prickle as he pushes them out of the way with the back of his hand. Considering his extensive training and incredible eye, you’re sure he notices it, but you’re grateful he doesn’t say anything.

You try not to let your eyes wander in the mirror for too long. For your excursion tonight, your dress is one of the best you own - a simple, dark satin gown with a generous leg slit to steal some eyes, but not enough to make you uncomfortable. The deep cowl neck is flattering in its pristine v-shape, especially with the way the pendant hangs itself just above.

Jeon is sporting all black. His shirt is ironed smoothly, fitting well over his shoulders and tucked with care into his trousers and secured with a sturdy belt. His sleeves are rolled up to his elbows to reveal his skin, tattoos peeking out in a shamelessly appealing way, and the collar…

Okay, too much. You’ll go into sensory overload if you look any longer. He’s caught onto it, the way a smirk creeps onto his face. He lingers a second longer after he’s clasped the jewelry in place. The Gguk you know flicks his eyes up quickly and throws a small, short smile your way, hands reluctant to pull away as they take the time to drift over your bare shoulders.

You clear your throat, taking the initiative to get on your way. He hides the way his spirit dips at the rejection, but he knows he can’t expect more. Once you’re outside and have locked the door behind you, the night air hits you, cool and fresh and promising. But for what exactly, you can’t be sure.

☆☆☆

The Belvedere is one of the most expensive-looking places in the city - in the months since you’d last worked a case around the gambling district, it had certainly been renovated. At the very front, the casino’s name glows light blue in a thin font while large ivory columns hold up a wide intricate ceiling to shade the pavilion. A wall of luxe glass doors lines the entrance, so sparkly and reflecting you think it can’t be just glass. 

As inviting as the front entrance seems, it is not your way in. Too many scrutinizing eyes, too many cautious cameras, too much security for your type of job. That leads you to the side of the building, a small alley between buildings with one side entrance. The agency already looped the footage twenty minutes ago just to be safe.

But of course when you try it, it’s locked.

“And… what now? They’ll notice if we just break in.”

Jeon shrugs. “Maybe not until a little while. Besides, we’re covered.” His pointer finds the camera up above the two of your for reference.

“I’d rather hold off on the damage we do.”

As he racks his brain for another option, your brain tunes in to the muted sound of shoes on linoleum. He raises a question just as you put your ear to the door but your shush quiets him immediately. The footsteps are coming your way.

Just as you feel the door about to open, you tug Jeon to the side next to the door’s hinge, pulling him down by his collar into a kiss. The door opens loudly and his hands, after his initial shock dissipates, find themselves on your waist as your own snake their way around his neck. You make sure one hand covers the side of his face generously and that your hair masks your own, meanwhile Jeon can’t help himself from getting swept up in you.

A guard, you think it is, halts when he sees the two of you, but takes it off his radar when he can no longer stand to watch your shamelessness. Or rather, Jeon’s shamelessness. His lips persistently press themselves to yours, nipping and pulling all the while his large hands push into your waist. Something about it makes you think it’s not just for a distraction.

The man shakes his head and turns the opposite direction, walking out toward the street. Before the heavy door falls closed behind him, you reach an arm out to grab the handle. Jeon pulls back slowly, blinking dumbfoundedly. He never thought you’d do such a thing - but clearly, it wasn’t such a thing to you by the way you were grinning like you’d only told a joke. He swallows, mentally slapping himself in a note to get himself together. You’re already stepping inside, and he picks up to follow suit.

You follow the hallway down the main room, and no one raises any concern, probably unable to sense suspicion in their state of inebriation. The two of you weave your way through crowds of people with too much money to spend, quietly thinking of how easy it would be to pickpocket them - but that’s for another time. 

A quick scan of the room provides you with the bar, rows of slot machines, pool tables, and a large lounge area filled with the sounds of mindless chatter and glasses clinking. You order drinks to blend in, nothing alcoholic, because as much as you wish you could get drunk and have fun in a casino, that wasn’t the reason you were here. Jeon hands you your coke with a practiced movement.

In a cheesy sort of cheers, he says, “To… the Lion and the Scorpion? Or is that too soon?” He purses his lips, half scared you’ll agree its too soon. It’s relief when he hears the laugh he missed so dearly.

“Not too soon, just a little embarrassing.” You clink your glass to his and take a sip. Jeon leads you over to the dartboards in excitement, one of his favorites to partake in. He chooses the one at the end of the row so you can stand beside him, supposedly to be impressed by his skills and praise him.

“God, this reminds me of Macau,” he sighs out contently. His coffee eyes roam around the large expanse of the hall, seeming to glitter under the crystal chandeliers hanging above you as he walks back from the controls, darts in hand. He gets into position and throws his first, landing for two points in the ring of red. As if you didn’t already know, he adds, “I loved Macau.”

You scoff. “What, because of the way our covers were blown and we had to massacre the lobby, or the sex?”

“Why not both?” He shrugs, smirk creeping onto his face. Another dart leaves his grip, expert aim leading right to the bullseye.

You take another sip of your drink. “Careful,” you warn, “Can’t be too good at this. It comes with questions.”

He hums, and you wonder if he’s even listening. “And you still had blood on your chest. Weirdly sexy.” His eyes narrow jokingly as he speaks just low enough so only you can hear it, and the reaction it pulls from you is exactly what he wanted when he starts to laugh. He lets go of his last dart with a shake of his head, either at the memory or his bad throw that says he’s going fishing.

He turns back to you. At your annoyed expression, he takes another swig of his drink and leans down to your ear. “Seriously though. That was hot.”

You roll your eyes before sending a scowl his way. “I’ll make sure to be extra messy tonight, just for you.” Your eyes crinkle peevishly. The sarcastic tone doesn’t escape him, but he does look hopeful.

“Hey, speaking of, this could be my New Macau. If you’re feeling frisky after the mission.” He throws you a flirtatious wink. While your poker face implies disinterest, your stomach is somersaulting head over heels, and you have a feeling he knows it by the way his eyes linger on you when you raise your glass to your lips. 

The phone in your purse vibrates. It’s a text from Yeji - need to get a move on. Jeon already has your gaze when you look back to meet him, but he knows it’s time from your expression alone. With a small nod, he goes up to end the game on the machine’s screen. Instead of coming back to you, though, he subtly taps your arm as he walks past and heads off to the door of the main floor, disappearing from your sight. You wait for a good thirty seconds, let people pass across the camera view at random, before hopping down from the barstool to follow in his footsteps.

You find him waiting in a secluded hallway, away from crowds or casino-regulars. He looks solemn, back pressed against the wall, and you have a feeling that what he has to say might upset you. He thinks so, too.

“Listen, you have to make a decision now. Before we split up, because there’s a chance I might not see you after this.”

You shrug. “I haven’t decided yet.” His eyebrows draw together as he gives you a pleading expression. His eyes flick to both sides of the hall before coming back to you, releasing a deep breath before pushing his hair from his eyes.

“I gave you the time, Y/N. You have to before it’s too late.” Jeon gulps, fumbling for the words. “Just come with me, please. I know it’s a lot to ask and I know you’re scared but you can trust me. I can help you.”

“No, Gguk. You don’t get it - It’s not possible. It’s not an option.” You sigh in resignation. A depleted smile surfaces as you shake your head. “Not in this life.”

“I’m not leaving you.”

“You did it once, you can do it again.”

“I’m not… I- I won’t. Y/N, please…” His lip quivers, his eyes glossing over.

He can’t accept the answer your silence provides. It’s not enough, not something he’s willing to endure. If it’s going to be a no, he has to hear it loud and clear.

He purses his lips tight. “I’ll flip a coin then.”

“...What?”

“I’ll flip a coin. Heads, you come with me. Tails, I’ll go,” he says shakily, swallowing, “...and I’ll never speak to you again.”

Before you can stop him, he’s wiping away the tears that have not yet had the chance to escape and aggressively fishing a quarter from his pocket, placing it on the tip of his thumb. Desperation burns in him, but you’re paralyzed. All you can do is stare, a fish out of water being held in the grip of an angler who just can’t let go. Or maybe one that’s urging you back out to sea.

His thumb flicks and the coin flies, the sound barely audible in this corner of the building but piercing to your ears. It flips in the air, every rotation executed with purpose - in that moment, as its arc nearly completes, the thought strikes you like lightning and without a second thought, you hand reaches up and snatches it midair.

Jeon is awestruck. He searches for something to say as his fountain of hope runs dry.

Weakly, you mutter, “Okay.” Its compliance, but a strange relief that makes you feel guilty the second it washes over you.

“Okay?”

“I’ll come.”

A tight-lipped smile spreads on his face - it’s the best he can do after such stress. In a heartbeat, he embraces you tightly, broad shoulders enveloping your form. His grip is familiar and only full of good things, even if it might suffocate you. His long, wavy locks brush lightly against your jaw as he buries his face in your neck. For once, you let yourself have that rare moment of comfort. 

“I won’t let you down,” he says, a vocal assurance for himself maybe more than for you. He thinks that maybe he shouldn’t say it, but he has to. “I promise.” 

It’s his first small triumph tonight. If nothing else, it is a debt repaid. He won’t push for more. He pulls back, lets you fix your hair and readjust your dress.

“Let’s get a move on. I’ll search the main floor, you take a look around the building. Keep in touch.”

You’re about to turn away from him, but his arm catches your wrist at the last second. When you look back to see what he has to say, he has trouble finding the right words.

“Listen… Y/N, I don’t know what it is, but I have this awful feeling. And I’m trying to ignore it, I know I’m probably just nervous, but I just want you to know in case. You don’t have to say anything…”

The hair framing your face bounces as your head begins to shake, trying to deny him before he can even say it. “No, Gguk, I know-”

“No. I...I love you. And you gotta know that, no matter what happens.” His thumb traces small circles on the patch of skin where yours meets your index. Before you have a chance to respond, he gives your hand a tight squeeze and plants a chaste kiss to your cheek, lips plush and sweet against your dimple, his last action as your token of remembrance. 

He doesn’t know why he feels so frail as he walks away, wiping away the wetness leaking from his eyes as he tries to calm himself down. Maybe it’s the lack of information, maybe it’s you possibly being in danger again. He tries to push it down as he struggles to resist the urge to look back at you; He’s just all up in his head, right? You can defend yourself, you’ll be fine without him, he reassures himself. You can make rope from kitchen twine.

You’re stuck on your own as the distance between you grows, heart racing as your time to say it back runs out like sand in an hourglass. In less than seconds, his figure has already disappeared around the corner.

A delicate finger reaches up to press the small button on the spyware piece tucked behind your ear. The whisper is low but you mean every syllable, regardless of the leftover turmoil that has consistently tempted you into anger the past few years - “I love you, Jeongguk.”

It’s a shot in the dark for you without his physical presence, but he hears it. It’s barely audible, but he hears it, and rings in his mind for moments after. It makes him feel right, like the moment when everything sifts into the bowl perfectly, no clumps of doubt left behind in the minuscule metal crosshatches. Even if just for a few seconds, the feeling of relief stays frozen in time.

You’re on your way back to the main hall when a buzz from your purse alerts you to an unknown number calling your phone. Typically you’d let it ring, thinking it was spam - but considering this was an agency phone, that wouldn’t make much sense. Your finger hovers over the green accept button, hesitantly pressing down and lifting it to your ear. 

The response is immediate. “The Scorpion,” a man on the other end addresses you, sounding much too enthusiastic for your taste. His voice is masked with a changer, the tone fluctuating as he speaks. “I’m glad you could make it tonight. I’ve spent a lot to make this place nice.”

The theatrics elicit an impatient eye roll from you. “Who is this?”

“Who do you think? You’re a smart cookie. There’s a reason they call you the Scorpion, isn’t there?”

He lets the pause marinate and continues, “I actually wanted to meet with you. I need to discuss something vital to you in person, but you’ll have to do some things for me first.”

You begin to turn around, spinning on your heels and intent on heading to Jeongguk downstairs, but the voice on the phone stops you. “Where do you think you’re going?”

You freeze, an eyebrow raising at the voice’s inquiry. Keen eyes scan quickly, landing on the faceless lens of a security camera - 

“It’s my casino. Of course I can see what you’re doing.”

A skeptical breath escapes you, squinting at the camera focused on your position. “...What do you want?”

“I just want to talk.” It’s casual.

“How do I know it’s not a trap?” “You don’t. But you don’t have any other option, really. If you need convincing… why don’t you check your home security?”

The dubious persona falters as your heart stops. It couldn’t be. You exit the call and open the app on your phone right away, and a sinking feeling hits you like a truck on the freeway, full speed and with reckless abandon. The view from the camera, grey and grainy, displays the apartment in pieces, furniture overthrown and papers scattered. The dread crawls up your spine as your worst nightmare, the one thing you always prayed for despite the lack of faith, comes to life; Penny is gone.

You call the number back.

“What now?” you say, jaw clenched. trying to calm your breathing.

“Take out your earpiece, toss it to the floor, and crush it. I need to protect my location somehow, right? Just a precaution.”

You slowly remove the receiver from its spot nestled in around your ear, thumbing the tiny matte black tech. It’s your connection to the outside, to safety. It’s your connection to Jeongguk. But the Falcon has played his cards right, leaving you with no other option. It falls from your fingertips, clatters to the linoleum, and you crush it underneath your heel.

“Now, your weapons. My guards will come to escort you - hand over your gun and any knives you may have on you. I know you’re sneaky, but now… really isn’t the time. I’ll see you in a bit.” A cold click ends the call and he’s gone.

On cue, two masked men dressed in all black emerge. They don’t frighten you, you know you could take them if you needed to. However, the priority is Penny, so you have to. You surrender your weapons and phone to them, and then they begin to shuffle you away to wherever the Falcon had made his nest.

Despite the nerves prickling like electric shocks, uneasiness itches in the back of your mind. Something about the phone call - was it the strange familiarity that made you feel so nauseous? You couldn’t quite place your finger on what was so off, on what about it pulled the alarm, but something besides the obvious situation at hand was wrong.

☆☆☆

Jeongguk doesn’t have much to go off of. He’s looking for something, anything, that can clue him in. He finds a creepy looking stairwell and decides to take it down. That’s how you find everything in need of being found, right? By following what feels off?

He comes to a storage room full of dusty metal shelves, all lined with boxes upon boxes. He takes a quick sweep of the room, shrugging to himself before delving into one. It’s just piles of text he doesn’t understand, pages and pages of orders and receipts dating back years and years. Maps of the building, information of repairs and inventory and renovations. It doesn’t mean anything useful, until he sees orders under names that ring a bell.

But from where? People he went to school with, maybe? For the life of him, he can’t remember where he knows them from.

He’s frantically flipping through pages, pulling boxes from the shelves and trying his best to read under the dim light. It’s not making any sense, until he lands on orders filed under the name… Jeon?

He freezes, all alone in the middle of a storage room full of thousands of documents, a sickly feeling washing over him.

A trembling hand reaches up to press the button on his earpiece.

“Y/N? I think I just found something.”

He waits, and no response from you.

“...Y/N?”

☆☆☆

The penthouse is in the heart of the city, just a few blocks away from the Belvedere. The view is enough to tell it to you - it overlooks miles of blinking lights and busy streets with which you have an archetypal love-hate relationship with. 

You’ve stepped fresh off the elevator into an open room that is in dire need of an interior decorator, or at the very least some basic furnishing. It’s basically empty, the dark hardwood floors even coated with a light layer of dust. Nothing except the moon and the fireplace at the other end of the room illuminate the space.

There’s shuffling, and the guards on either side of you are grabbing firmly onto your arms.

“What the fuck are you doing?” You struggle against them, fighting to get out of their grip, but one of them mutters how it’ll be better for you if you cooperate. You strain against the instinct to escape, every bone in your body screaming disgusted by the forced submission. Handcuffs click into place, and pressure on your shoulders pushes you to your knees. Then, they resign themselves to the back corners of the room.

A door creaks open at the far side of the room. The man sports a dark coat that obscures his figure, and long, dark hair hangs over the man’s face. His steps are slow and calculated on the wooden floor as he makes his way to the fire. Slender, practiced fingers grab onto the poker and stir the fire, glowing orange embers soaring in a blizzard of an inferno. A silver ring glints in the moonlight - one you’d recognize anywhere.

The details flood back, chains of connections like dominoes tipping over the edge of gut-wrenching betrayal - 

“...Boss?”

The man pauses, followed by a sudden clasp of his hands in… delight?

He spins on the heel of his oxfords to face you, hair sweeping back as he smiles at you.

“Keen as ever, my dear. You truly are the Scorpion. I know how you feel about your title, but you’re deserving of it.” 

A shaky breath leaves your throat, eyes stinging as you make out a low, “What is this?”

At the sight of your panic, the boss hurries over to you, making a show of how he takes your jaw in his hands. Though you flinch, he wipes the escaping tear with a calloused thumb.

“No, dear, no need to cry! This doesn’t have to be difficult. You are just leverage - you won’t be hurt as long as what needs to happen, happens.” The way he shakes his head, the twisted compassion in his eyes, makes you sick.

“Then where’s Penny?”

His sigh is accompanied by a sad smile. “Penny is the leverage over you. In case you get any funny ideas.”

“For what? What is this about?” you press, “What about the Syndicate, huh? Aren’t you gonna tell me what this is for?”

A rush of air, and then a sharp pressure on your throat. The Boss’s blade creeping up your throat - a small burn as he nicks your skin. 

“I’d watch my mouth if I were you. You should remember where your loyalties lie.”

You swallow thickly, and he continues.

“The Syndicate is real. Their presence in this city is real - but we are on good terms with them. I help them, they help me. They sacrifice a few men because they do what’s needed for the terms of the agreement, just like us.”

He blew up a building, ransacked the agency, led you on a wild goose chase in search of a threat that didn’t exist? There was always something psychotic about the Boss, that’s why he instilled so much fear in you - his lack of empathy, the lengths he���d go just for a show of power, but a ploy like this?

“And what’s that got to do with me?”

He scoffs. “It’s not about you, my dear. It never was. It’s about your connection to who it is about…”

His grin grows inverse to your pained frown, lips quivering as the realization dawns on you. “Jeongguk.”

“You’re the link, Y/N. I know how much you hate to love him. Only if you were forced to for the sake of the city. The reconnection wouldn’t be easy, but that boy is persistent, and the moment he heard you say those words back, it was sealed.”

You’re choked by the weight of his words crashing down on your throat. It’s horrifying, the way the tears well up and spill recklessly, finding it hard to breathe with your arms restrained. You focus your hardest on the effort to stay conscious, but the nausea is eating away at you.

“He was honest, too. He’s tried multiple times to fish you out of here. And it always rubbed me the wrong way. He’ll leave me behind, but not you? You’re my best, Y/N, but I despise you simply because of what your existence means.”

“You’re going to kill him?” you bite your lip to hold back the sob trying to crawl its way from your chest.

The Boss blinks, tilting his head in a faked compassion. “Only if he makes the same mistake again.”

An alert sounds out from his pocket. He fishes out his phone and holds it up to show you a map with a green dot steady on a location, seemingly yours.

“And it looks like we’ll find out right about… now.”

The elevator behind you opens, and the guards point their guns straight at the figure stepping off. His gun is held up protectively, but he has nowhere to go, face falling as he reads the situation - reads the pain on your face as you stare back at him on the floor.

He lowers his pistol, glaring at the man waiting smugly in front of him.

“Nice to see you again, Jeongguk.”

His lip turns down in disgust, spitting rancor - 

“Can’t say the same for myself, Dad.”

☆☆☆

The tension in the air is tight, like a thousand strings of yarn pinned wall to wall and floor to ceiling and impossible to maneuver. The Boss tsks at the cold reunion, more bitter than he had hoped. 

“What, you didn’t miss me all these years? I raised you, after all.”

“Raised me?” Jeongguk scoffs incredulously. “Try training me into your personal pawn, like some fucked up trophy for you to flaunt.”

“It was only so you could someday take my spot, son. I treated you the same way my father did me.”

The bitter timbre of his voice is laced with venom, so uncharacteristic of the Jeongguk you know. “Well, I worked out my daddy issues with a therapist. Maybe you should give it a shot. You should also probably mention how fucked up you are to plan a scheme like this just to bring me here.”

“You left, Jeongguk. I’d do anything for my son.”

“Oh, please-”

A loud click, and cool metal pressed against your forehead. Jeongguk freezes, and he knows the stakes. His blood boils from the blatant manipulation. There was a reason he left - he hated feeling this exact moment, and he hated reliving it even more. It was a place he thought he’d never be in again.

The Boss rolls his eyes again. “Always with something to say, forgetting I’m your elder, your father no less. Plan on letting me speak soon?”

His eyes are as cool as Jeongguk’s now. Dark, disappeared from dramatic frills or drawn-out tones. The resemblance is stunning, strikes fear in your heart, both physical and the mannerisms long-buried by time now resurfaced by each other.

When you meet the Boss’s eyes, they show no remorse for someone he claimed thinks of as his best.

Jeongguk’s eyes flick down and back up. Cooperation.

“Thank you.” He pulls the gun away, letting you catch a breath. “It’s simple, son. You agree to come back, and everything goes smoothly. If not, you won’t be leaving this room alive, and neither will she. Can’t have my trump cards playing against me.”

“Leave her out of this.”

“She’s the reason you’re here, how could I leave her out of this?”

“This is you and me. Not her.”

His father muses the idea, chews it up, spits it out. “Okay,” he grins. “Just us. I’d say go until one surrenders, but that’s not how us Jeons do it. If you can kill me, you’re free to do what you want.”

The guards lower their weapons, leaving the room at a snap of the Boss’s fingers, and Jeongguk’s grip on his tightens, knuckles turning white as he nods sharply in agreement. He’s been caught, a three-year-long game of cat and mouse finally come to a standstill. The man he looks at is just another cruel, cold-hearted crook on a power trip. The last thing he wants to do is fight him, because as skilled as Jeongguk might be, his father is equally such. He also has the upper hand: No feelings of remorse.

But he sees you on the floor, and when it comes to your life on the line, he knows he’d do anything. No matter the risk or the cost, he’d play a losing hand if he had to, if just to keep the fear from your mind. He steps past you, eyes speaking of reassurance when they meet yours, but it’s not a promise. 

Once Jeongguk has made his way around you to the center of the room, the Boss’s attention falls to you.

“Hear that, dear? This is a family issue. But in case you need any more convincing…”

The same door he creaked through minutes ago flies open, and in shuffles two people. Penny’s figure mirrors your own, arms tied behind her back. Her eyes are red and puffy, hair mussed and clothes wrinkled. There’s no blood or bruising visible, but it kills you the second you lay eyes on her. Your chest heaves silently, panic rising as she is brought in front of the fireplace, led by… Yeji?

The sleek, dark ponytail is unmistakable, and her cat eyes flick over to you in guilt as your words confirm her presence.

“I’m sorry,” she mouths, tears clouding her eyes. “I didn’t know.”

It was impossible to believe how easily everything was collapsing. Maybe your foundations were not as strong as you once thought. Wasn’t it just a week ago you had last spoken to her, taken her advice on working with Jeongguk?

“Again. No need for anyone to get hurt as long as you don’t interfere.”

But would Yeji hurt Penny, even at the Boss’s command? Was she that scared of him? Penny finds you, and you try your best to communicate reassurance, but you fall short. She trembles in fear the same as you.

Without warning, the Boss’s blade flies across the room. Jeongguk side steps, but the red gash sliced along his cheek taunts him for being a second too late. He reaches up a finger to dab at the blood in awe.

His anger fuels him forward. He raises his gun, ringing out shots that bury themselves in the drywall as he closes the gap. The Boss dodges each one. Slender fingers pull the gun from its holster, firing back immediately, glass shattering behind the younger.

Jeongguk zig zags on his feet, blade swinging up viciously at his father while he pulls the trigger in his left hand. The Boss is quick despite his age, no hesitation to his wide, ruthless swings. Jeongguk ducks and spins, changing their positions, knocking a knife from his grasp.

The man laughs. “That was good, but you can do better!” he yells, evading Jeongguk’s relentless swipes. As he taunts, a shard of glass reaches your vicinity. “Or are you too scared to hurt your old man?”

Your fingers bleed hot as you force the shard into the keylock, lifting up the metal lever.

It only fuels Jeongguk’s fire. A firm kick to the chest sends the Boss stumbling back. Jeongguk progresses, his knife dropping around in his grip, taking the slim moment to drive a sharp ice pick stab to his father's shoulder.

His eyes flick to you, and he doesn’t have the time to pull it back out. His father parries his left wrist outward and the gun is knocked from his fingertips, skidding to the floor, arriving kindly right in front of you. A single shot blasts out and Jeongguk lets out a clipped yelp. Your wrists free from the lock and reach for the solution just inches away.

But it’s already checkmate. The Boss’ blade is pressed up against Jeongguk’s throat, who is on his knees as he clutches at his thigh, crimson seeping through his fingers.

“Has the Lion been tamed since I last saw him?” The Boss mocks. There is nowhere for Jeongguk to go. “I’m disappointed, son. Love has made you weak.”

It steals the breath from your lungs. His eyes dart to your figure, mirroring his son’s actions just moments ago. He dares you to make a move. With his play, you can’t.

But that’s where the Boss is wrong. The man void of love sees it as a shot with a predetermined course from point A to point B, easily interfered with by the right tools, by the right move. However, love should not be mistaken for something meager. It’s an ever-weaving thread, crossing and connecting each and every way. Love does not have to be star-crossed and dire, it is not always a fated, tragic romance. There is no one love to outlast all others - not when it can be one you choose.

Yeji meets your eyes from across the room. The Boss has only a bluff catcher against her, the mistake of expecting loyalty before knowing for sure. It’s a twisted collusion that you never would have chosen, but it’s not your hand to play anymore.

Her vision is blurry through her tears. Yeji takes a breath she’s sure will be her last and releases it shakily. She has to do it now. She thinks of every other woman roped into his scheme, every future Penny that will be taken if it doesn’t end here, and she knows you can do it, because she was never strong enough to.

“Forgive me,” she croaks. 

An enraged bellow leaves the Boss, but all too late. She has already fired, breaking the lock that has held you captive all these years. A scream rips from your throat as Penny’s body falls forward and collapses to the hardwood.

Yeji is shredded by the entourage of bullets ripping from the Boss’s gun. She stumbles back, hits the wall, sinks to the floor.

Your hands instinctively reach for the weapon in front of you, hands fumbling as you pull the trigger with the weight of a thousand lives behind your index alone. The Boss falls, knife slipping from his fleeting grip, the third and final seal to the game.

The silence is stunning. Nothing feels real. It’s all shock before the pain rushes in, the inability to breath, the feeling of drowning. It’s utter anguish as you fight to the other side of the room, but Jeongguk holds you back. Pushing past him, only for him to spin you around and make you look him in the eye.

“We have to go,” he says through gritted teeth, voice cracking. His eyes plead with you as they blink away tears. Blood coats his hands, urgently dripping down his wrists as they grip yours. “Y/N, we have to go.”

 It dawns just as the day on the glowing horizon behind him that it’s over, but there is no victory in sight.

☆☆☆

The coming days are a whirlwind. Most of the time you’re numb, finding yourself stuck in your mind replaying memories over and over, and wincing to pull yourself out of them to the real world that is not much better. The funerals are a blur, long and tiring processions of black and sympathies you are not capable of accepting that leave your head pounding by the time you finally can sleep. But the dream world is not as kind to you as you would have hoped. 

It isn’t the memory of her death. It’s the memory of her smile, bright and tender, that could not see another day to shine. You haven’t stepped foot in the apartment yet. You will at some point, but not yet.

Yeji is another story. It’s a moral dilemma of what your inner compass tells you is wrong and your love for the only friend you ever had. Yeji was not bad, you know that. But it was murder, and perhaps that was why it did not go unpunished. Were her actions the results of weakness, or strength? Of personal desire, or wide-scale consideration? You could spend hours wondering whether things might have been different if she hadn’t done it, but at the end of the day, you would never get the chance to know. 

In the meantime, the mafia is collapsing. Those who wanted to leave took their chance the second the news of the Boss’s death came in. Ran away to other cities, shelters, anywhere they could to get away from the struggle of the organization. Others who had nothing else are stranded picking up the pieces. They won’t be able to make a comeback, you know that. They’ll turn to other forms of crime, maybe even those that you’ll have to face again in the future.

You can get away from it all for a few moments of peace, but not much more.

Jeongguk’s apartment is close to the marina. He’s lucky for such a beautiful view. This early in the morning, the world is silent, relaxing without the mindless bustling of life. Boats float calmly across the harbor, sails reaching up to the sky streaked with blossoming pinks and clement oranges. Daybreak’s retiring light glitters as it touches the surface of the water with a gentle hand.

The glass door slides open slowly behind you, and Jeongguk’s presence enters to calm your thoughts. The slight limp in his step is barely visible, and he’s lucky that his father’s bullet avoided his femoral artery. If it did, he’d probably be in a much more dire situation than he has now. Since that night, rumors have surfaced that the Boss missed due to nervousness, or fear. Jeongguk knows that his father’s aim was too sharp to miss, and also that he was a hypocrite.

He takes a seat in the chair beside yours. His hair is mussed from a long night of tossing and turning, the same as yours.

“Couldn’t sleep,” you mutter, tongue coated with exhaust.

He hums. “Me neither.”

The flux of air from his sturdy chest is a comfort that relieves the pain for just a little while. Lifts it away like a fog being cleared, and the weight falls off your shoulders so you can breathe again. His eyes swim with affection, and you’re sure that a thousand particles of stardust must be locked away behind his irises.

It never fails to amaze you how Jeongguk always seems to know what you’re thinking. “It’s not your fault,” he says.

“I know.” It’s weak, barely a whisper. Your head drops to your palms despite your claim. “But it really feels like it.”

He takes a deep breath, atmosphere placid and unassuming. “You did everything you could. Some things are just out of your control, no matter what you do. It’s not fair, but just because you couldn’t stop something bad from happening doesn’t mean you caused it.”

You swallow blearily. “I just don’t even know where to go from here. It’s never going to be the same. So what do I do now?”

“I don’t know,” he speaks gingerly, “Maybe you should get out of here. Start again, somewhere else. I’ll probably do the same eventually.”

Your head begins to shake at the thought.

“I don’t want you to go,” you pause. “I told you that.”

Jeongguk softens. “Oh… okay. I, I won’t then.”

Finally, your head raises to see him properly. His calm guise masks the need of reassurance beneath. “I mean it. Do you remember when you said to tell you the next time so it didn’t land on what I didn’t want?”

He nods slowly.

“When it was in the air, there was just this split second watching it that it hit me. I knew what I wanted. Despite everything,” the corners of your mouth upturn, but not all that happily, “I wanted to choose you.”

Dark, wavy hair falls in front of his eyes, brushing at the healing cut that will certainly leave a scar. His gaze is tender and soft and all that’s good in this world. He looks at you like you’re the only thing he’s ever wanted. And if you asked him, he wouldn’t hesitate to agree.

“I forgive you, Jeongguk. For everything, I don’t care. I’d go through it again and again if I had to.” A fleeting smile pushes the tears from their deep wells. “‘Cause I need you.”

Jeongguk suffered the subtle heartbreak of unknowing for years on end. He’d sit on his balcony just like this, mild evenings under the setting sun, knowing you were out there living under the same sky as him, yet so far apart. He thought of you crossing city streets, breathing the air of the home you loved and hated simultaneously, maybe even sitting out on the fire escape of your own apartment. You were within a radius of just miles, which sounds like nothing compared to how far he’d go for you. 

He saw you everywhere. Saw you in every crevice and crack of the city. When the sun was shining brightly, when rain poured like bullets. From the window of the train, from the coffee shop. Retracing his routine steps was hard when he always saw your footprints right beside his own.

It was the feeling he’d been waiting on. At last, he feels contentment in his chest. It’s all he’s ever wanted. His pulse stutters as he thinks that he might just be dreaming, but when he reaches out to touch your clasped hands, steady fingers curling over yours, he knows it’s real. You’re real. It’s pure, unadulterated sunshine splintering over his soul.

Jeongguk stands, holding out his hand for you to take. He pulls you up with care and tugs you into his embrace, warm and kind. His arms around you are safe and sound, and the gentle beat of his heart eases the noise in your mind. It’s the heart that wouldn’t quit on you, the one the angels must either admire or envy. It’s the only thing that feels okay.

One day, things will be better. It’s far away and hard to grasp, but it’s there, waiting for you. Things that are meant to be will find a way, no matter how long it takes, just as Jeongguk and you found your way to this very balcony. But for now, sharing the weight of a heavy heart soothes the lonesome burden of loss, and what it means to love.

[limelocked]

Sundial blurbs

So most of my part of the Sundial au has been locked into general au chat on our server in the form of joking, theorising and sometimes writing as much as the discord character limit allows me to. I did the two first blurbs in this post today and @pomodoko commanded i actually post it and tag them so here they are, sorted into story chronological order and not the order in which i wrote them

Also this is the link to the document with general information on the AU

--- Dreams POV, the inciting incident

1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6, 7, 8- NINE It has been ten seconds since Fundy landed at the bottom of the stairs at the lowest level of the building, there had been a noticeable thud that sounded distinctly unpleasant but Dream hadn't picked up on any cracking noise that'd indicate broken bones. Not that it'd be easy to hear over the commotion that led to later events.

Because it'd been seven seconds since Techno had lost his balance because of the falling fox mentioned and seven seconds since he stood back straight, almost brushing against Wilburs taller frame. It had only been five short seconds, that might have felt like weeks to others, since Wilbur in turn furrowed his brow and geared up for retaliation. Four seconds ago techno had been pushed. Three, Wilbur had gone into the wrong portal. Two, Philza had with Fundy still leaning on his shoulder tried to stop them both. One, they were gone.

It was surreal. The room had been filled with chatter before the fight, louder during the fight and now it was quiet. One second in the future, after it had all happened, the silence broke by no one who had seen it happen but by Tommy, babbling on about something with Fundy that didn't matter to anyone but himself. He quieted down when the person he was intending to talk to was nowhere to be found, confused. "Where'd Fundy go?"

"He and Wilbur already went through" the lack of effort it took for Dream to bend that truth would be concerning if not for his record, and technically they already had. "Oh-" an unsatisfactory answer but not one that would send him towards the throat of Noxite. "You can just talk to them back home. Come on." The portal after the hermits was supposed to be theirs, something quickly confirmed as they enter the community house with a crisis averted, or rather pushed back until a later date, and two people lost to another server.

--- Omniscient/Unknown POV, the dreamsmp aftermath

un, deux, trois, quatre, cinq, six, sept, huit, neuf... sept, huit, neuf... sept, huit... Seven hours later was when the lie couldn't hold anymore. Tommy already didn't trust Dream much but Tubbo had been a help in convincing him that Wilbur and Fundy were just away building or something. But the truth comes eventually. He sent a clear message of; <TommyInnIt> stop lying to me

Hour eight was the worst, accusations being thrown and swords being drawn. Screaming and explanations that never really felt enough. The ninth hour was bad in another way, depressing. Tommy's anger had simmered into bargaining as if Dream, George or Tubbo had the power to do anything of substance. It never got to begging, Tommy's pride forbade that but the things he put on the line for help that he couldn't get made it almost seem like it.

Noxcrew was contacted and they confirmed that the hemits had talked to them about the guests. Solutions were suggested and just as quickly rebuffed. Hour ten was a loss and the eleventh hour was one where Tommy and Tubbo got to speak alone.

"Can't you just use your powers or whatever to make the portals take us to hermitcraft" he was exhausted. "It doesn't work like that, probably, and Noxite has probably already tried it" "Yeah but Tubbo could you do it?" "I mean... maybe?" To that something glinted in Tommys eye, hope that Tubbo didn't want to extinguish as fast as it needed to be. "But I'm not allowed into the MCC world anyways so it wouldn't work" "FUCKING CHRIST TUBBO everyone here's useless!"

--- Technos POV, first night on hermitcraft

It's the first night and bones tower above him.

There were other buildings around, and the area was lit up well but eyes followed him from the darkness, eying the stone tools he'd manage to scrape up while leaving the group now probably settled in a warm house far away. This world scared him, the monsters and the way his sword hit differently, and the fact that the air itself felt new.

A pair of eyes glowed at him from it's place under one of the ribs of a beast too huge to want to think about. Techno readied his sword, but the dog decided that it'd rather go back to sleep. This world scared him and he just knew he'd gotten lost now because his goal had been to retrace his steps, the path that Xisuma and Bdoubleo had shown them to the little village far away by boat, to find the house cleft in two and then head straight out to sea until he could find a better place to stay than the tension thick cabin that their hosts had suggested.

Another dog offered a quiet bark in his direction and with an embarrassed sssh, covering fright, he continued forward. He had found the water, true, and he remembered something vague about a neighbour... but... No. No he decided that he'd choose a direction and if there weren't any light he'd just have to turn around or dock and make a little cave to live out of. It wouldn't be glorious but neither is 5 million potatoes.

A boat is placed into the water at the straight of Joebralta and a pig starts to row.

Clang. He is confused. The boat shakes in the middle of open water, he's been turned around. Clang. A trident, something he's only really seen in Skyblockle, shoots into the air a meter to the right of his boat. He speeds up. Clang. It misses, but he has decided that the sea is no longer safe.

--- Technos and Ethos POV, the first days in hermitcraft

He's starting to feel bad for leaving. Still justified, but also bad. He felt horrible the instant the championship room disappeared from right in front of his eyes with Wilbur still in it, and still worse when Wilbur then Phil and Fundy appeared next to him in this world, all statues as unseen confused messages fill the communicators of the worlds inhabitants.

When they arrived he was surprised that a lot of the hermits knew about them, or at least him, from the returning cast of hermits that played in MCC and their apparent tendency to tell stories as soon as there was space for it. It'd made it less awkward but the looks from the others stopped him from talking much about his side of the tournaments.

This was perhaps night four? He had stepped ashore in a jungle a bit from an area he could almost feel at home in with its skyscrapers reminiscent of some survival games arenas. But it was built by someone and someone should be avoided so he had trudged through plains and deserts walking around it only to find more tall buildings in another jungle.

The jungle was... safe? Safe from people at least, less so mobs. He had a little cave with a bed now that kept the hot and humid air out most of the time and while small and cramped and utterly horrible it felt far safer than returning to the others... even though he could practically hear Phils calm and nonchalant reassurances.

Leaving the small home he searches for the water he remembers spotting nearby. The bright orange tracksuit wasn't something he wanted to wear but there wasn't much of anything else and it still needed to be washed of stone dust and sweat no matter how much he disliked it. He leaves with a compass and map to find his way back, and around other peoples territory. And water is found easily with these. Stone, coal and redstone is scrubbed away in the freshwater lake that's only relatively cold, but it still feels nice, like the wind on his island in skyblock or in the skywars arenas.

Not too far away a man is working in a terrarium of his own design containing no animals but currents in thin snakes coiling around comparators and observers. The change to the nether has been an exciting one but it did come with problems for the technicians and thankfully for this one the Google hasn't broken too far beyond belief and is back in functioning order faster than expected.

Satisfied he looks at the path that he paradoxically want to end and to continue and decides to wait, flying up to sit near his portal instead to think about it and access the expansions he's already made. Something bright orange is spotted in the distance which at first is ignored, it can wait, until the realization of a possible abandoned shulker, so very common in this group, grabs him and almost instantly leaves as it moves around.

Several seconds later the orange turns brighter and the idea of lava pops in and out of his head in a flash.

<Etho> Beef have to lost an orange llama? <VintageBeef> no? <VintageBeef> at least I dont think so...? <Etho> o_o

He's been keeping out of the way for a while, like usual, and only knew some of the news about new people on the server. That they'd gotten there with Rendogs sports gang by accident and that they'd been living mostly over at Bdubs' place to avoid having them be excluded to their own little village. Apparently something had happened, he'd missed the details but it was looking like there was a manhunt for someone or something that he should by all means be more invested in.

Curious he misses the orange go out of view in favour of finding out about this missing thing in case he's found it. A person and a description, hidden deep in other messages. His height, human pig hybrid, last seen wearing...

Does he want to do this? He knows his way around a jungle but it's still annoying and Xisuma lives close by... but he's most likely AFK. Well, you make a good first impression on the new guys if you find their missing friend.

--- Omniscient/Unclear POV, Technos time with Etho

Silence is golden in silver light. The hermits can stay up days on end without sleep, working through nights when it’s needed and even with guests this doesn’t change. Like the sliver of moon in the sky, Ethos hair glows radiant from inside the redstone machine he calls the Googler and Techno does nothing but look on as repeaters are moved and redstone is smeared in new paths into blocks he has never seen before, something he’s had to get used to lately.

His host works in silence until a question breaks the jungles chime and an answer is given with the rhythm. The redstone had changed and he thought he had fixed it, an unhelpful follow up is posed and a pause is moved into a somewhat oversimplified version of the circuit. They both know that Techno is no help here, but the company is nice and something is learned.

Etho in the day when working the fortress tells Techno about the old days and in turn Techno admits to never having left those old days for long. Etho talks about Pause and Beef. Techno fails to talk about his own team.

[theninjagocave]

Rising Prophecies - Prologue

(W/p)paw peers down at the pale ginger she-kit lying beside their mother’s belly.

The apprentice’s eyes sparkle with amazement and love as she looks down at the kit.

Brindleface’s gazes at her daughters, her eyes soft with affection.

Redtail pushes his way into the den; the deputy lies his bushy red tail along his daughter’s shoulders.

A surge of love flows over her as she watches the newborn kit.

“What’s her name?” (W/p)paw asks and Brindleface turns her loving gaze onto her oldest daughter.

“Sandkit,” Brindleface replies, licking Sandkit’s small head.

Another surge of love and protection goes to (W/p)paw. I’ll always protect you, little Sandkit.

. . .

(W/p)paw returns from her hunting patrol, shaking the rain from her fur. She brightens when she sees her little sister stumbling out of the nursery.

Bounding over to the fresh-kill pile, she drops her vole in the pile and scampers over to Sandkit.

“(W/p)paw!” Sandkit squeals.

(W/p)paw nuzzles Sandkit and the kit purrs happily.

“Will you play moss ball with me?” Sandkit chirps.

(W/p)paw purrs, plucking the moss ball from outside the nursery and tossing it to the kit.

. . .

A half-moon glows on smooth granite boulders, turning them silver. The silence is broken only by the ripple of water from the swift black river and the whisper of trees in the forest beyond.

There is a stirring in the shadows, and from all around, lithe dark shapes creep stealthily over the rocks. Unsheathed claws glint in the moonlight. Wary eyes flash like amber. And then, as if on a silent signal, the creatures leap at each other, and suddenly the rocks were alive with wrestling, screeching cats.

At the center of the frenzy of fur and claws, a massive dark tabby pins a bracken-colored tom to the ground and draws up his head triumphantly. "Oakheart!" the tabby growls. "How dare you hunt in our territory? The Sunningrocks belong to Thunderclan.

"After tonight, Tigerclaw, this will be just another RiverClan hunting ground!" the bracken-colored tom spits back.

A warning yowl comes from the shore, shrill and anxious. "Look out! More RiverClan warriors are coming!"

Tigerclaw turns to see sleek wet bodies sliding out of the water below the rocks. The drenched RiverClan warriors bound silently up the shore and hurl themselves into battle without even stopping to shake the water from their fur.

The dark tabby glares down at Oakheart. "You may swim like otters, but you and your warriors do not belong in this forest!" He draws back his lips and shows his teeth as the cat struggles beneath him.

The desperate scream of a ThunderClan she-cat rises above the clamor. A wiry RiverClan tom had pinned the brown warrior flat on her belly. Now he lunges toward her neck with jaws still dripping from his swim across the river.

Tigerclaw hears the cry and lets go of Oakheart. With a mighty leap, he knocks the enemy warrior away from the she-cat. "Quick, Mousefur, run!" he orders, before turning on the RiverClan tom who had threatened her. His daughter's apprentice scrambled to her paws, wincing from a deep gash on her shoulder, and races away.

Behind her, Tigerclaw spits with rage as the RiverClan tom slices open his nose. Blood blinds him for an instant, but he lunges forward regardless and sinks his teeth into the hind leg of his enemy. The RiverClan cat squeals and struggles free.

"Tigerclaw!" The yowl comes from a warrior with a tail as red as fox fur. "This is useless! There are too many RiverClan warriors!"

"No, Redtail. ThunderClan will never be beaten!" Tigerclaw yowls back, leaping to Redtail's side."This is our territory!" Blood is welling around his broad black muzzle, and he shakes his head impatiently,scattering scarlet drops onto the rocks.

"ThunderClan will honor your courage, Tigerclaw, but we cannot afford to lose any more of our warriors," Redtail urges. "Bluestar would never expect her warriors to fight against these impossible odds.We will have another chance to avenge this defeat." He meets Tigerclaw's amber-eyed gaze steadily, then rears away and springs onto a boulder at the edge of the trees.

"Retreat, ThunderClan! Retreat!" he yowls. At once his warriors squirm and struggle away from their opponents. Spitting and snarling, they back towards Redtail. For a heartbeat, the RiverClan cats look confused. Was this battle so easily won? Then Oakheart yowls a jubilant cry. As soon as they hear him, the RiverClan warriors raise their voices and join their deputy in caterwauling their victory.

Redtail looks down at his warriors. With a flick of his tail, he gives the signal and the ThunderClan cats dive down the far side of the Sunningrocks, then disappear into the trees.

Tigerclaw follows last. He hesitates at the edge of the forest and glances back at the bloodstained battlefield. His face is grim, his eyes furious slits. Then he leaps after his Clan into the silent forest.

. . .

In a deserted clearing, an old gray she-cat sits alone, staring at the clear night sky. All around her in the shadows she can hear the breathing stirrings of sleeping cats.

A small tortoiseshell she-cat emerges from a dark corner, her pawsteps quick and soundless.

The gray cat dips her head in greeting. "How is Mousefur?" she meows.

"Her wounds are deep, Bluestar," answers the tortoiseshell, settling herself on the night-cool grass."But she is young and strong; she will heal quickly."

"And the others?"

"They will all recover, too."

Bluestar sighs. "We are lucky not to have lost any of our warriors this time. You are a gifted medicine cat, Spottedleaf." She tilts her head again and studies the stars. "I am deeply troubled by tonight's defeat. ThunderClan has not been beaten in its own territory since I became leader," she murmurs. "These are difficult times for our Clan. The season of newleaf is late, and there have been fewer kits. ThunderClan needs more warriors if it is to survive."

"But the year is only just beginning," Spottedleaf points out calmly. "There will be more kits when greenleaf comes."

The gray cat twitches her broad shoulders. "Perhaps. But training our young to become warriors takes time. If ThunderClan is to defend its territory, it must have new warriors as soon as possible."

"Are you asking StarClan for answers?" meows Spottedleaf gently, following Bluestar's gaze and staring up at the swath of stars glittering in the dark sky.

"It is at times like this we need the words of ancient warriors to help us. Has StarClan spoken to you?"Bluestar asks.

"Not for some moons, Bluestar."

Suddenly a shooting star blazes over the treetops. Spottedleaf's tail twitches and the fur along her spine bristles.

Bluestar's ears prick but she remains silent as Spottedleaf continues to gaze upward.

Spottedleaf blinks as she looks around at the scene in front of her. There is a darkness rolling towards her, but flames spring up, washing away the waves of darkness. There is a river behind the wall of flames, and the roaring heat makes a wall of mist rise from the river.

After a few moments, Spottedleaf lowers her head and turned to Bluestar. "It was a message from StarClan," she murmurs. A distant look comes into her eyes. "Fire alone will save our Clan."

"Fire?" Bluestar echoes. "But fire is feared by all the Clans! How can it save us?"

Spottedleaf shakes her head. "I do not know," she admits. "But this is the message StarClan has chosen to share with me."

The ThunderClan leader fixes her clear blue eyes on the medicine cat. "You have never been wrong before, Spottedleaf," she meows. "If StarClan has spoken, then it must be so. Fire will save our clan.”

. . .

Barkface sits just outside the hollow of WindClan’s camp, a breeze ruffling his fur. The WindClan medicine cat watches the stars closely.

A shooting star blazes across the sky and a shiver runs through the old medicine cat’s body.

There is a wave of darkness that moves towards the medicine cat and a roar of flames bats back the darkness, a storm of sand swirls around the wall of fire.

Barkface started, shaking out his fur.

The medicine cat gets to his paws and dashes into his camp.

“Tallstar!” Barkface thrusts his way into his leader’s den.

The old leader lifts his head. “Has StarClan spoken?”

“Yes,” Barkface replies. “They said, the flames will drive back the darkness.”

Word Count: 1415 words

By: @thewidowsghost and @emilygarmadon

[maxineswritingcenter]

Bray Road - Fox Mulder x non binary!reader part 6

Fic Drop 2021

- 

Mulder just finished speaking with the Sheriff when he spotted his partner. (Y/N) looked so tired. They were holding their head in their hands and had been like that ever since the boys in blue zipped up the body bags for Jason, his mother, and the other patient that had been attacked. He walked to them slowly and placed a hand on their shoulder. 

“You alright?” He asked. (Y/N) took a deep breath and looked up. 

“I don’t know. I know everything that happened was real, but it feels...I never thought that I would experience that again.” They shrugged, “On the bright side, the cops believed my story this time.” 

Mulder smiled a little and nodded towards the car, “C’mon, let’s head back to the motel.” They stood and the two began walking towards the rental car. 

“What about Winterfield?” 

“Cops are going to search the office now to find evidence of the albuterol and anything related to the DEA. The courthouse is going to have a search warrant by the morning.” 

“Mulder.” They said as Mulder started opening his door, “The full moon is tomorrow.” 

He paused for a moment and looked up in the dark sky and saw the moon was almost full. He looked back at his partner, “We’ll get him. I promise.” 

- 

The next morning, both agents made their way to the pediatrician’s office where there was already a search in place. They met with the sheriff as he was walking out. 

“Agents,” He greeted them, “We found some research regarding the albuterol in a safe in the crawl space.” He handed some of the paper work to (Y/N). They looked them over. 

“It’s like the scrawling of a mad man.” The sheriff said, "Talking about rituals and turning the weak into warriors. As far as we know, there are two other kids in the reports. Both of which were killed in the last attack. According to their parents, they only used their inhalers for emergencies or not at all.” 

“So the DEA was never able to take hold in their systems.” Mulder concluded, "That also means that Winterfield was trying to make more of him."

"That seems to be the case," The sheriff looked back at (Y/N), who was still reading, their face paler than before. The writings from when they were a child were disturbing, describing their body in great detail and how they were perfect to create the master race of lycanthropes.

"We suspect that he's in hiding, but we believe that he's going to come back for you, Agent (Y/L/N)." They looked up at the sheriff's words.

"What?" Their heart dropped.

"We would like to place you under house arrest at your motel until we can apprehend Winterfield. You will be with the best big game hunter in the area, as well as two deputies." The sheriff motioned to the large camo wrapped pickup truck in the other end of the parking lot.

"I-...Right. of course." (Y/N) looked down at the ground. Their fingers gripping the paperwork.

Mulder took notice to their hesitation, "Sheriff, can you give us a minute?" The sheriff nodded and went to speak with the hunter in the truck.

"(Y/L/N), what is it?"

They finally looked up from the papers to Mulder. He seemed genuinely concerned about them. There was a calming sense about him that made them want to relax, but, in this situation, it was nearly impossible.

"I understand why I need to be under lock and key, I do. But I don't feel right about not going after him too." They felt tears burn at their eyes. They were so emotionally exhausted after years of fear just culminating to this moment and they wouldn't get the resolve they wanted.

"Is this about your parents?" He asked.

They glanced at this eyes again, then stared back at his tie, "Partially."

"Aw, you're not worried about me, are ya?" He chuckled.

They met his eyes again, so green and full of determination. It's what (Y/N) liked about him. Fox Mulder may have been known around the bureau as Spooky Mulder, but no one saw the passion. All they saw were the Xfiles. And (Y/N) thought Mulder liked to keep it that way. He had been ridiculed his entire career. But he believed the weird, he believed the strange.

"Skinner didn't assign you as my partner," They blurted out without thinking much. But the fuel was already in the fire, they had to elaborate, "I made up the case file. I kept it secret from my friends at the office because I didn't want them to treat me like I was a joke. I took the case to Skinner and asked to be your partner. I knew you would take it seriously. I knew you would believe me." (Y/N) placed a hand on his arm and smiled weakly, "Please be careful. I don't want to lose anyone else." Before Mulder could speak, he watched (Y/L/N) make their way to the camo truck to speak with the big game hunter and the sheriff.

-

At the motel, they had been given a box of evidence from Winterfield's home to look through. The big game hunter, Rodger, was in the corner of the room facing the door, cleaning the silver bullets he had been given to him from the local jeweler in town. He was an interesting looking guy, the was tall and lean. But his hair was styled so one side of his head was shaved to the skin, 3 long pink scars ran from his crown to his temple.

He noticed their staring and nodded, "Bear."

"Excuse me?"

He pointed to the scars, "Grizzly in Alberta. Probably stood about twelve feet tall. Smacked me right here but I put three slugs between it's eyes. So I can handle your werewolf just fine." He loaded to shells into his shotgun.

"Bears act on instinct. When they feel their family or their territory is threatened they attack. This werewolf thinks just as well as he does as a human." They looked out the window and saw the sun lower in the sky, making their stomach feel like there was a sack of rocks pulling them down.

"You have nothing to worry about, uh...what are your uhh..."

"It's Agent."

-

The search in the woods around Winterfield's house wasn't showing any sign that he had been there recently. But what they did find was a body. In the basement of his home they found a decaying body shackled to the wall, almost mummified. But the anatomy was inhuman.

Mulder looked was looking over a map of the area that they had already searched, needing to use a flashlight now that darkness was setting in. He looked up when he saw the coroner, Dr. Sherman, making her way towards him and taking her gloves off.

"I've seen a lot of weird things, but nothing as crazy as that." She said.

"How so?"

"Well, when the guy died his bones had grown so much that they were splintering. His teeth were so large they cracked his jawbone. He died in a lot of pain." She said.

"Any similarities to the Mulligan boy?" The sheriff, who had walked up behind Mulder asked.

"Sort of. There were signs of the splintering and the cracks in the jaw but they had healed almost instantaneously. But I'm sure when the lab comes back with the results, they'll show DEA like you said, agent Mulder."

"Any luck?" He turned back to the sheriff.

"None. The dogs can't pick up a damn thing. And the tracks we saw lead off into the woods disappeared about a mile in."

Before Mulder could speak, his mobile phone started going off in his pocket.

"Excuse me," He said, stepping away from the group and standing by his car before answering, "Mulder."

"So we found some info on Winterfield." Frohike began, "Or lack of info."

"I couldn't find any family history on him. That is, until I found these articles from the sixties." Byers said, "His name was Lyle Montgomery. And when he was fourteen he went missing for a month in northern Michigan and when he was found, he was covered in blood but completely unharmed."

"There's another news article a month later from the same area saying that an entire family but one was mauled by a bear. The survivor was relocated, but we can't tell where because the adoption was closed." Langley chimed in, "But it was around the same time that we found the yearbook for Elkhorn high school showing their star quarterback."

"Winterfield." Mulder answered, "Thanks guys."

"You got it, Gunmen out." Frohike signed off and the line went dead.

As Mulder walked back to the group his phone rang again, he answered, "Mulder."

"Hey Fox, I think that uh we're not gonna find this guy. He outsmarted us." (Y/L/N) said.

"When did we start on a first name basis, (Y/N)? And it's not over, we're gonna find him." He said, his eyebrows knitted together in confusion at his partner's use of his first name. Not even Scully called him by his first name.

"No, I think I'm just gonna go home ."

"We can't go now. What happened to you wanting to finally end this? To move on from all this?" He was closer to the sheriff and the coroner now, who gave him confused looks as well.

"Fox, I need to go back home." They said again, more sternly this time.

Suddenly, his eyes widened, "(Y/L/N), is he there?"

"Yeah, I just need to hurry up and get home." There voice shook then, "I've decided to leave the bureau and just go home." They took a deep breath, sounding a little choked up.

"Goodbye, Fox." The line went dead.

"We need to get to the motel right now, he's got (Y/L/N)." Mulder had barely gotten the phone back in his pocket before running with the sheriff to his truck and leading the department towards the motel.

-

(Y/N) hung up the phone, a shaky hand setting it back down on the receiver. They avoided looking in the corner of the room where the majority of Rodger was still in the corner. They looked back at Winterfield. His hands were larger than usual and covered in dark hair. His eyes glowed red. He was spattered in blood from the deputies that he been outside and the big game hunter.

"You know he doesn't believe me." They said.

"Oh I know." There was a gravel to his voice that made it sound more animal, "But he's gotta write something when the FBI starts asking where you are." He grabbed their arm with his massive hand and began dragging them out of the room through the broken doorway.

"Wait!" They shouted, "Let me grab my bag. It'll be more believable for the crime scene photos."

"Fine," Winterfield let go, "Hurry up." He seemed on edge, turning his head from side to side as if he could hear something coming. They went to the side of the bed where their bag laid, there was blood from the hunter on it. Out of the corner of their eye, they saw the silver bullets.

Winterfield began angry, "Come on!" He grabbed them by the back of their neck.

"My bag!"

"Screw the bag!" He growled, pulling them outside. In the distance, they both saw the red and blue lights flashing and the sirens screaming the distance.

-

The cars screeched to a stop, the entire sheriff's department pointing their guns. Mulder called to the others, "Don't shoot, he's got a hostage!"

Then Winterfield seemed to shift before his very eyes, growing a long snout and large animal like arms and legs, all covered in thick dark hair. Still standing on his hind legs, he grabbed (Y/N) by their middle and took off into the woods near the motel.

"MULDER!" They called back, their voice fading into the darkness.

"(Y/L/N)!" He called back, leading the department and the canine unit into the woods after Winterfield.

"Mulder!" Their voice was farther away now.

"(Y/L/N)!" He stopped when he no longer saw tracks, looking around for any signs, "(Y/L/N)!"

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

Likes, Comments, and Reblogs are appreciated! 

Read part 7 here!

Taglist List:

- @theres-a-dog-outside-omg

- @bi-andready-tocry

- @nyotamalfoy

[autumn-ginkgo-leaves]

No One Needs to Know

Yooha x Reader | kissing-type activities & suggestive themes | 15+

A chance encounter with your nemesis has you craving wine, but drinking with a fox soon has you letting your guard down in your darkened bedroom.

You’re barely able to hold back the tears as you press the combination to the front door with shaking fingers. Three tries later, the door is suddenly opened from the inside, and Yooha stands in the doorway, frowning down at you.

“Master. What’s wrong?”

You open your mouth and your chest feels tight. Instead of answering, you push past him and walk blindly into the silent apartment. If you open your mouth, everyone will see you cry.

Speaking of everyone, the apartment is too silent. You take a deep breath to regain control. “Where are the others?”

Yooha shrugs one broad shoulder, his eyes growing chillier. “Who knows. I’m not their keeper. What’s wrong?”  

They must be out enjoying the night. They are night goblins, after all. You remember Lianne’s smirk as people muttered about you. Copying her. Attacking her. It’s so unfair. Thousands of cafes in Seoul, and you just happened to bump into her. 

Tears tumble down your cheeks.

Yooha steps forward, but if he touches you, you really will crumble.

“I’m fine. Goodnight.” You hurry to your bedroom and slam the door behind you.

Yooha knocks and calls through the door. “Master? Something happened, didn’t it? Let me in.”

You sit on your bed and hug a cushion, trying as hard as you can not to sob. You never used to be this weak, did you? Is it the stress of the challenge, or is it Yooha and the others breaking down your defences and making you need them, when you were so, so careful never to need anyone for years and years?

Needing people is dangerous.

Yooha keeps knocking and calling. You stand up to shout at him to go away but you can’t summon up the anger.

He’s not Lianne. He’s not your enemy. He only wants to protect you and make sure that you’re okay. If he really does mean that he belongs to you, that means he’s safe, right? He won’t leave you like you’re afraid they all might?

Taking a shuddering breath instead, you whisper, “Yooha.”

Instantly, there’s a shower of sparkles and a rush of heat. Yooha’s warm, strong arms enfold you from behind, and his cheek presses against your tearstained one.

“Master. What are you doing shutting me out like that?”

His soft, melodic voice melts through you, and you relax against his strong chest, something you’ve never allowed yourself to do before. You’ve sensed that every time you let your guard down around him and invite him closer, it inspires him to try gaining a little more ground over your body, and then a little more.

It’s made you wonder how far he'll go.  

“Yooha?” you ask, your voice trembling, “will you do me a favour?”

He folds you tighter in his arms. “Anything. Just ask me.”

“Will you drink wine with me? A lot of wine? I want to get drunk and forget about everything that happened today.”

“If that’s what you want.” He releases you and goes out into the living room, and a moment later he’s back with a bottle of wine and two glasses, closing the door behind him.

You both sit on the carpet by your bed and you watch him open the wine. Such long, clever fingers he has. The silver chain around his neck glints in the dim light from your bedside lamp. Apart from that and the moonlight glinting through the window, the room is dark.

“Here.” Yooha holds out a glass with a generous measure of wine.

‘Thanks.” You take it and drain every drop in several long swallows.

Yooha blinks his grey eyes surprise, and then his face relaxes into a smile. “You meant that about getting drunk.”

“Every word,” you say, licking your lips.

“Why?”

“I don’t want to talk about it.”

He leans back on one elbow and extends and crosses his long legs at the ankles. He looks good like this, all limbs and broad shoulders. Your mouth waters as your gaze slips down his body. 

It must be the taste of wine.

Wordlessly, he refills your glass and then sips his wine in silence, his gaze moving around the room and then back to you several times.

His lack of words is making the room feel so silent it’s awkward. “You’re not going to keep asking me what upset me until I tell you? Tahee would.”

Yooha gives a huff and his eyes drift up to the ceiling, not quite an eyeroll but very nearly.

You bite your lip, regretting comparing Yooha and Tahee out loud. “Never mind. I’d like you two to be friends, you know.”

Yooha gazes at you with heavy lidded eyes. “We can’t always get what we want, master.”

“For someone who calls me master, you’re not very obedient.”

He laughs. “Tahee and I can’t be friends while there’s unresolved matters in the apartment. But there’s an easy solution to those.”

You look at him in surprise.

His tails materialise behind them, luminous in the moonlight. They sway back and forth hypnotically like they’re moving underwater. “Tell him that you’re mine.”

Yooha smiles, and you see the fox in his face. Canines too pointed. Eyes fiercely intelligent. A sleek, confident hunter, teeth set, ready to bite.

You feel your cheeks heat. When he looks at you like that, when he shows off those tails of his and purrs in his deep voice, you feel a dangerous urge to give him whatever he asks for.

“I don’t know. Might be kind of weird, dating a fox. Humans aren’t supposed to get involved with animals.” You keep your tone light and joking, and then drain your glass again to hide your confusion.

Yooha smirks. “I’ll be whatever you want me to be, master.”

Your stomach plunges with excitement and trepidation. Tahee and Yooha have been circling you like sharks for weeks and it hasn’t helped the stress you feel over the challenge. You haven’t even given them any encouragement.

Well, barely any encouragement.

Not on purpose. 

Things sort of just get…out of hand. They’re both so pushy. You let them hold you. You let them comfort you and say things like you’re my goblin bride and I belong to you…and you don’t stop them because it feels too good to push them away.

Either of them.

Goddammit. You don’t want to think about this right now. You hold out your glass to Yooha so he can refill it.

“No. You’re drinking all my wine.” He tosses you a can of iced tea instead, and his tails fade away to invisibility.

You pout, but crack the can open and take a sip. Persimmon flavour. You wonder where he found it, as you’ve never seen persimmon iced tea before.

You take some mouthfuls but mainly look at the carpet, sunk in worry.

Suddenly, the can is plucked from your fingers and you realize Yooha has come so close that his nose is almost touching yours. You move back in surprise, but he follows.

“If you’re not going to stop looking so miserable, master, I’ll have to make you.”

You breath faster, looking at his mouth. Only Yooha could make a kiss sound like a threat. He smiles, as if pleased to see that you understand his intentions.

“Tahee wouldn’t try to kiss me while I’m drunk,” you whisper.

He comes closer until you’re laying flat on the floor, his hands braced either side of your head. “The good doctor doesn’t know how to have any fun.”

He lowers his mouth toward yours, his eyes drifting closed. You feel a strong urge to tilt your mouth up to his, to hug his hips with your knees and finally feel what it’s like to be kissed by someone you crave.

“It’s too complicated, Yooha,” you say desperately. “I don’t know how to make sense of any of this when we’re all living under the same roof.”

He stops and frowns at your mouth. You’re certain he’s seconds away from sighing and sitting back.

You’re wrong.

Instead, his gaze slips lower and mischief sparks in his eyes. He hooks a finger into the neckline of your top and draws it down below your collarbone.

“All right. No kissing, master.”

First, he bites, pinching your flesh lightly with his teeth. Then he sucks. His mouth sends hot sensations chasing through you. Marking his territory. A fox who’s staking a claim.

Moaning, your arms slip around him and trace the hard muscles of his back.

“If you ever need me, all you have to do is call,” Yooha whispers, planting kisses along your collarbone and up your throat to your ear. “Wherever you are. It doesn’t matter to me. In the shower. In your bed late at night. Just say my name.”

Your eyes open wide as you realise what he’s saying. You could summon him to you secretly, in the dark. In the night. When the two of you can be alone and there’s no need to talk. 

His teeth graze your ear and his fiery words cascade through you. “It doesn’t have to be complicated. No one needs to know.”

Your fingers flex on his muscular shoulders and your body arches against his, as if you’re already imagining doing what he’s asking for.

“I should get some sleep,” you finally whisper. “Thank you for the wine.”

You worry he’s going to be annoyed with you for sending him away, but he just smiles and helps you up to sitting again. “Of course, master. I’ll drink with you anytime.”

Moonlight from the open window is falling across his face, making him look even more silvery and beautiful than he usually does. You crave to pull him down on top of you again and take the kiss that your lips are tingling for.

You push a hand through your hair and take a few deep breaths. “Thank you for making me feel better, too.”

Yooha’s gaze touches your lips, your throat, and then back up to your eyes. “Of course, master. I’ll make you feel good any way you want me to.”

With one last smile, he stands up smoothly, slips out the door and closes it behind him, leaving you alone with all the ideas he’s put into your head, and wondering whether you dare indulge in any.

Because you could, after all.

No one needs to know.

Thank you for reading! You can send requests for fics to my ask box. At the moment I’m writing for Wannabe Challenge and LoveUnholyc. Find all my finished fics here.

[crystalirises]

In The Wreckage of Exile (Safe and Sound Part I)

What was casted away... shall be found.

(An alternative take in which, Eret and Fundy find Tommy during exile, thus changing history.)

Ao3 Link: https://archiveofourown.org/works/31232840/chapters/77199998

"You really need to chart a map, son. You can't keep losing an entire country." Eret ran a hand through their disheveled hair, nearly knocking the flower crown that Fundy had given them off of their head as they peered around at the forest they had both gotten lost in. Fundy scouted ahead, sunlight casting his ginger hair with an angelic and warm glow, his fox ears twitching every so often. "We've been walking for miles now, Fundy. I'm quite sure this isn't the way to Drywaters."

In truth, Eret was quite sure that they’d gone the complete opposite way.

Fundy casted a look over his shoulder, traces of exhaustion clear on his face as he finally leaned against a tree. Eret slowly walked up to him, dark shades glancing down at the fox hybrid as they took a momentary break. Fundy's golden-flecked brown eyes traced the area they were in, coming to the horrible conclusion that yes, he had gotten them lost again. "Sorry, ren. I'm not the best when it comes to direction."

They took a deep breath, their heart aching with pain for their companion, their friend, their son. Eret didn’t mind the long trek towards the wilderness, having been the one to suggest they go to Drywaters to take Fundy’s mind away from his troubles. A walk was sufficient enough for that.

"It's alright, Fundy. You're just tired is all." Eret placed a hand on Fundy's head, caressing his hair before settling next to him. They weren't in a hurry, it would do both of them some good to rest. "Tell me when you're ready."

They watched Fundy run a hand through his hair, ginger and white strands blending in together, but he didn’t get too far before his fingers touched Eret’s hand. Fundy smiled, holding onto Eret for a moment before his eyes turned back towards the ground. There was a guilty look in Fundy’s gaze, his mouth curled into a grimace while his free hand reached down to pick at the end of his shirt. Eret tsked at the small holes at the bottom of Fundy’s clothing. It was inevitable with Fundy’s nails being so sharp, but if it helped Fundy calm down then Eret would not stop him.

"I should've made a map, ren. Now, we're lost."

They shook their head, patting Fundy on the head and scratching him behind the ears. The fox hybrid sighed, leaning into the touch with a small smile on his face. Eret smiled along with him. They’d rather not Fundy be upset, that was the opposite of their goal after all. They continued to pet Fundy until his tail was wagging, the fluffy fur of orange and white thumping against the tree’s bark. They gave Fundy one last pat, happy to see Fundy’s contented and joyful smile.

"We'll find our way to Drywaters. Think of this as an adventure. We never know what secrets lurk within the wilderness." Eret surveyed the thick foliage of the forest, not a single sign of civilization for miles. They only hoped a mob wouldn't appear out of nowhere. As they looked around, they noticed a thin line of smoke emerging from the treetops a distance away. It was a small wisp of smoke, barely visible in the brightness of day that colored the forest with its golden hue. Eret wondered who could possibly be living in the middle of nowhere, slightly worried that a familiar pinkette would appear to threaten them for being on his territory. Eret shook their head, knowing that Techno wouldn't do anything to harm them if Eret just explained that they were lost. Techno wasn't cruel enough to simply strike them for existing… unless they were orphans. "Fundy, I see smoke over there. We should try to move towards it, if we're lucky we might find the ever elusive Dream's house."

Fundy scoffed beside them, rolling his eyes until Eret could only see the whites. Without really meaning to, they reached up towards their sunglasses, adjusting them for a moment despite them having not moved at all. Fundy peered up at the wispy smoke, raising an eyebrow at it. A bittersweet smile flashed across the fox hybrid’s face, but it quickly disappeared.

"I have a slight suspicion that he doesn't even sleep, much less have a house of his own." Fundy rolled his eyes again, pushing off the tree as they both slowly made their way towards the smoke. Fundy chewed on the inside of his cheek, picking at the sleeve of his shirt as they drew closer towards what he could only hope was not a painful death trap. There weren't many people who wandered this far into the desert, fearful of what horrifying and bloodthirsty monsters lurked in places where no man dared to travel. Fundy knew firsthand how terrible the outside world could be outside the confines of the Essempy. His father was a man who travelled the world, and Fundy used to have the same urge for adventure… until he had wandered into a dark forest filled with beasts that should never see the light of day. He shook his head, tearing the memories from his mind as he followed after Eret. As they neared, he took notice of the trees, slight indentations of axe markings digging into their barks. Some marks looked fresh and horribly made, as if whoever left them was too weak to hold the axe properly. Someone was actually living here. Eret paused too, their gaze meeting Fundy's. "Uhm… You know we could always turn around—"

"I'm sure we'll be fine, Fundy."

They both stumbled into a clearing, a beachfront that overlooked a never-ending ocean. Eret took notice of the shabby white tents that had been set up, the shelters covered in grime and dirt. Nature truly was a cruel mistress, how anyone could live here was beyond Eret’s understanding. A small dirt path led up towards a poorly made cabin, if one could even call it a cabin that is. The wood was splintering and rotting at the sides, threatening to collapse on whoever dared tried to stay in it. It was a pitiful sight, clearly made with limited resources… or the person was too weak to finish it… or the person had held no desire to actually finish its construction.

They inspected the pitiful structure, noticing the lack of roof for shelter and the various holes that littered its sides. From their angle, they could just about see the numerous amounts of chests that decorated the back wall of the structure. They looked back towards Fundy, noticing the way Fundy was sniffing at the air, like he was picking up on a muted smell. Eret didn’t know what it was, but there was a familiarity in the air. A scent of past regrets and the destruction of hope…

"There's a nether portal over there, we could probably use it to head back home." Fundy walked into the clearing, seeing the familiar hue of purple against the color of dark green grass and soft yellow sand. He slowly made his way over to it, his eyes shifting towards the destroyed nether portal just below the one he was currently standing next to. Maybe he should take the obsidian… "Ren, I'm going to mine the obsidian for a sec, okay? At least we can get home with this… Gods, know where we even are by this fucking point. I want nothing more than to go home and sleep."

Eret didn't get the chance to respond before Fundy began to mine the second nether portal. They smiled, putting in a reminder in their head to make tea once they both got home. Fundy would insist on hot chocolate but Eret knew very well that Fundy was allergic. They shook their head at the thought, turning instead to look around the strange area. "I'll be right back, Fundy!"

"Don't die! Or else I'm stealing your stuff!"

"Don't burn the forest while I'm not looking, Fundy! I mean it, son!" Eret heard the indignant and insulted scoff, saw the glint of mischief in the fox hybrid's eyes before they finally headed closer towards the shack. Fundy wouldn’t dare. Even if he did, Eret knew that they had a bucket of water within their inventory. As they walked through the dirt pathway, they looked at the unlit tiki torches that they supposed lit up the path during the nighttime. It felt lonely. A lit path at night, with perhaps only one person traversing it. Eret shivered at the thought of such solace and silence. In the far distance, they saw what appeared to be a roughly put-together Christmas tree decorated with bits of broken glass and fraying pieces of dyed wool. It looked like a mess.

Yet it felt painful to look at. They glanced at the poorly placed pieces of wool on the lanky tree, Eret could only hope that it didn’t decide to collapse the moment Eret looked away. Someone had placed the wools on the tree’s rotting branches, pieces of string barely holding them up while others had already collapsed to the ground. The pieces of glass glinted underneath the sunlight, casting the ground with shimmers of golden light. At night, Eret thought, it probably decorated the ground with the silver glow of the moon and stars. They weren’t colored glass, but shards that looked like they came from smashed bottles. Eret turned away from the sight. Their heart was beginning to ache for the poor soul who had tried to feel some semblance of Christmas joy.

They stopped at the shack's small entrance, barely big enough for anyone to truly fit through. Eret glanced inside, finally seeing those rows of chests within the small cabin. They turned away, heading over towards one of the tents.

Eret paused midway.

Their eyes widened for a moment, their feet carrying them towards a particular spot on the ground. Eret blinked, mouth hanging open for a second. Someone was here. Someone was here and they needed help. Eret stood by the edge, eyes casted low. They couldn’t really believe what they were seeing. A hand reached up to clutch at their chest, fingers shaking despite themselves. Eret forced themself to keep calm, breathing in through their nose. They felt nausea bubble up from within, but they forced their sickness down. It wasn’t that the sight was anything new, but it certainly was not one that they thought they’d ever see again. Not in this lifetime, at least.

There was a pit in the ground, scorch marks tainting the sides as though a fire had been set in the middle of the hole. Eret peered down, seeing small chunks of metal sticking out from the burnt earth. They crouched beside it, fingers touching the sides. The ground still felt warm, a residue of gunpowder in the air as Eret slowly backed away from what they now saw as a crater. What had happened here? They couldn't see blood anywhere, but someone has just recently been here. The smell of ash was too strong, the earth too hot for it to not be recent. Eret didn’t understand it. Why would anyone throw explosives down a hole in the ground? Something felt wrong here.

"Boo!" Eret nearly fell in as Fundy suddenly appeared behind them, cackling as Eret tried to keep their balance. They gave Fundy a look, one that just made the fox hybrid grin as he finally took a glance at what Eret was inspecting. Fundy tilted his head, his eyebrows drawn together in thought. "I know I burn forests down when I get upset, but this is a bit excessive. Dangerous too since it looks like someone dug a hole and just, ya know, plonked an explosive inside. They must have had a lot of shitty stuff if they really wanted to get rid of it all… wait… is that… are those armor pieces?"

"It seems so. Though why anyone would waste such precious resources out here in the wilderness is quite confusing." Eret looked over at the tent nearby, wondering if this area's tenant was inside. Fundy looked over, a questioning look in his eyes as though he were thinking the same thing. It wouldn't hurt to check. After all, the person living there might be injured from the explosion. They needed to check. "I'll go ahead. Stay behind me, Fundy. We have no idea or clue if the person who lives here is friendly or… not. It would be best if we did not take our chances."

"Thanks for volunteering for death first." Fundy mumbled beneath his breath, following after Eret as they slowly edged their way towards the tent. He held out his hand, his trusty axe materializing in his hold. "This is such a shitty situation, why can’t we just leave and forget this place…? But if you insist on imminent death, then okay… but… be careful, ren. I mean it."

"When have I never been careful?"

They reached the entrance to the tent, stopping as they heard shuffling from within. Eret heard labored breathing from inside, a stuttering inhale of breath as whoever it was began to move away from them and into the back of the tent. Eret pursed their lips together, worried that the stranger might run off into the woods. They wouldn't want to chase some poor soul out into the wilderness to be at the mercy of the mobs. Eret tried to peek through the small slit in the middle of the tent, seeing nothing but a moving shadow. They could see the faint outline of blonde hair at the corner, though that didn't give Eret enough information. "Hello? Is anyone here? We apologize for stumbling into your home, but we noticed the smoke from the forest and came to investigate. Are you alright? We saw the crater and wanted to see if anyone was injured."

"Eret?" They froze, a familiar voice reaching their eyes. Neither they nor Fundy hesitated before quickly entering the small tent. Fundy bit back a gasp as dull blue eyes stared at them from the corner, disbelief dancing in Tommy's gaze as he glanced at the two of them. Tears sprung from the boy's eyes as his breath stuttered into gasping sobs. Eret stood still, surprise still filtering through their veins. Tommy was here, and he looked like a mess. Even with only a sliver of light, Eret could see the tattered clothes that Tommy wore, his hair disheveled and long from what must've been months of isolation. He looked thin… too thin. Eret felt a pang in their heart. How could they have left Tommy like this? "No. No. Please. Why can't the visions just go away. Just go away. This isn't true. This isn't true. Go the fuck away you fucking bastards. Dream, if this is some sick joke of yours, just fuck off… please… I fucked up, I know! Please, leave me alone…”

"Tommy… it's us, man. Eret and Fundy!" Fundy took the first step, his boot crunching against the grass which caused Tommy to curl deeper into himself. Fundy paused before slowly crouching down until he was at the same height as Tommy. Fundy's hand hovered a bit closer as he bit the inside of his cheek, he didn't want Tommy to go into a panic the moment he tried to touch him. "Tommy, it's us! Look, I'm going to tap you on the arm, okay?"

Eret watched as Fundy moved a bit closer, tapping Tommy with one finger. Tommy stilled, confusion flitting through those his dead blue eyes as realization finally dawned upon him. "You're real… you're… you're actually here."

"We're here, Tommy. It's okay. You're safe."

Tommy's gaze suddenly turned to Eret, and for once Eret didn't see a single trace of malice in them. Tommy had never quite forgiven them for what they had done during the first war, regarding as a traitor for the rest of Eret's days. It had stung, but Eret knew that they deserved it. Guilt gnawed at their chest as they wondered if it was their fault that Tommy was in such a state. If it was their fault that it had come to this. Tommy would be happy in L'Manburg if Eret hadn't given in to the temptation of power. Tommy would be okay, Wilbur would be alive, Tubbo wouldn't have been forced into the presidency… Fundy… Fundy wouldn't have been an orphan. So many things gone wrong, and all with the press of a button. Fundy caught their eyes, a warning in them as though Fundy could hear the despicable thoughts that races through Eret's head. A weak voice brought them back to the present, "Eret… I—"

Fundy quickly caught Tommy before he could drop to the ground, the teen collapsing in utter exhaustion. He glanced at over Eret who had raced to Tommy's side, looking over for any injury that could have caused the sudden faint. Fundy sighed as Eret moved away, slight relief on their faces. Tommy must have collapsed from exhaustion. That was probably it. Fundy held onto his uncle's unconscious form, frightened by how he could feel the bones beneath his hands as he tried to hold Tommy in a comfortable position. What had Dream done to him? Fundy felt a searing anger bubble in his veins, but he didn't know who was to blame. Was it Dream for lying to them about Tommy's condition? Or was it Fundy for not stepping in to stop his uncle's exile?

"It wasn't your fault either, Fundy. We made our mistakes but we are not to blame for Tommy's condition." Eret spoke before Fundy's thoughts could go deeper. Fundy bit his bottom lip, but didn't argue, knowing that Eret could tell when he was upset. Fundy shifted his hold, one arm supporting Tommy's back and another supporting the back of his knees. Tommy's head rested against his shoulder, and Fundy wished Dream was nearby so he could take one of the man's lives, for even in sleep Tommy looked absolutely miserable. It wasn't fair. Tommy shouldn't have been left alone like this. Dream shouldn't have dared to do this. Fundy had no doubt that the crater outside was Dream's doing… Tommy wouldn't do such a thing, destroy armor for the sake of it. Fundy let out a growl, ears pressed against the top of his head as he slowly stood up. Eret followed after him, their mouth set into a thin line as they both left the tent. "We can't leave Tommy here. I don't… we shouldn't leave him here. We need to go before Dream decides to come back."

"We could take Tommy to Drywaters, I never told Dream about it. He shouldn't be able to find us there." At least, that's what Fundy hoped. He never saw the purpose of telling his ex-fiance where he planned to live. Why should he? He didn't want Dream knocking at his door one day to apologize for a relationship he probably was never invested in. Tommy would be safe at Drywaters. He and Eret could help Tommy recover there and once things have settled down, they could tell Tubbo and Phil about Tommy's whereabouts. Fundy looked over at Eret who nodded, a smile forming on their face as they began to head towards the nether portal. They could only hope they didn't bump into a familiar masked man during their trek through the nether. Fundy shivered as he realized they'd have to cross New L'Manburg to get to Drywaters. If anyone caught them… well, they were completely and utterly fucked . It was time to be sneaky. He slowed down, trying to match Eret's pace as he realized he has accidentally been walking too fast. "Do you think… Do you think Dream would try to look for Tommy?"

"Dream has a goal in mind. I have a suspicion that he needs Tommy under his complete command for it. That man is a bastard , one could never tell what his true motivations are." Eret shook their head, remembering those piercing green eyes that glared at them when they had tried to protest. "We can only hope he doesn't find us."

"If he does… I'll fucking kill him." Fundy held Tommy closer, still sick at the thought of Tommy being left alone with no one but that tyrant's company. They both finally reach the portal, the harsh sounds of the nether reaching their ears as they both take one final look at Tommy's base. Tommy lived here… for months. Poor kid, not a soul to speak to other than that despicable Dream. "I'm not letting him near, Tommy. Over my dead fucking body."

"No. It'll be over mine." Fundy tossed Eret a look, raising a brow at Eret's statement. It held truth, an undeniable one. Eret didn't know much about Dream, but a part of them knew the man had attachments. They'd seen the way Dream would pause at an empty castle hallway when he thought no one was looking. How he'd bring out a diamond ring from the inside of his sweater pocket, pressing a soft kiss on it before quickly placing it back into the safety of clothes. Eret didn't quite know what had caused the sudden break-up a few days before the scheduled wedding, but they knew Dream cared. If Dream were to ever find them, Eret would be the only to lose a life. It was alright. They had two lives to spare, and they'd gladly toss them all away -even their final life - if it meant giving Fundy and Tommy a chance to escape. Fundy could protect Tommy from then on after, but as long as Eret breathed, they wouldn't let Dream near their son and Tommy. Eret wrapped an arm around Fundy, holding him closer as they brought a sword. "No. If Dream comes for us, I want you to run. Don't look back. You have to promise me you won't look back. Tommy needs one of us to stay alive for him, and I am not letting Dream kill you. Now, do you promise to run if he comes to attack us?"

"I'm not promising that, ren. I'm not leaving you with Dream of all people. I'm staying by your side. I'm not losing another parent figure." Fundy rolled his eyes, inhaling as he tried to shake away the tears. He knew Tommy needed them both, needed someone who could actually serve as a parent instead of a confused nephew who didn't know what to do. Tommy needed Eret. "I can't lose you, ren. And Tommy can't lose you too. We both need you."

"I know, son, but Dream is a stubborn man." Eret gripped Fundy a bit closer, wishing that Fundy would just promise them that. Fundy held his ground, a smug grin on his face. "I suppose, you of all people should know that. Son, you know what could happen if we come across him. You know. He’s dangerous when it comes to his goals. Can you please just promise me that—"

"No. Insert heart here."

Eret laughed at Fundy's antics. Fine. If Fundy wouldn't promise them that then Eret would just have to fight hard enough to keep them all alive. Dream wouldn't know what hit him. At least, Eret could hope that they’d have the element of surprise over the man. Still, it was a long trek home and the nether is not a place one wishes to be trapped in while being hunted. Before they could get home, they needed to survive the nether first… and perhaps even Dream.

"Are you ready?"

"Let's go home."

Eret glanced down at Tommy, giving him a gentle smile.

“Don’t worry, Tommy. We’re getting you out of here.”

“And Dream can suck it!”

Eret sighed, chuckling.

Eret could only hope and pray that Dream wouldn’t find them.

They stepped into the portal, leaving behind the traces of bad memories and misery.

Goodbye Logstedshire, you won't be missed.