#hire me remedy

[div-divington]

things Remedy could definitely sell in their Official Merch Store that would undoubtedly make them A Sum of Money (a very serious and extremely cost-friendly non-exhaustive list):

- Black mug with the Federal Bureau of Control's seal on it (either the simple, clean, modern all-white version or the full coloured version)

- plushies of The Former. they're cute and i like them.

- mini-fridge that looks like AI10-KE (the Arctic Queen)

- literally just normal stationary with FBC imagery attached. Lemme buy Pope's clipboard.

- Oceanview Motel & Casino keychain

- Inverted Black Pyramid keychain

- Replica posters for all the fun little posters in the Oldest House (Do as you're told! Don't eat the Mold!)

- Get a real actual wizard to curse a buncha rubber duckies so they actually follow buyers around and quack at them (may not be profitable depending on wizard rates)

- The hairclip Jesse gets when she finishes the base game

- just. That poster Ahti has on his office door. Of himself.

- Tiny Little Hotline

- hoodie with Bureau seal on it

- small high-detail statues of Jesse and other characters (Emily, Arish, Langston, Marshall, idk) in action poses (or just dynamic poses)

- a vinyl record featuring literally nothing but Langston's freestyle poetry/rap from AWE on loop (on both sides) (cover art should be a low-res PNG of Langston with 2013 MLG sunglasses Photoshopped poorly onto him and "Langston's Greatest Hits" written in hot pink Comic sans font)

There are also a buncha Alan Wake options too:

- Life-sized cutout of Alan complete with book-holding shelf

- book sleeves so you can dress any unrelated book up as a litany of Alan's literary wonders

- Oh Deer Diner mug

- More of those thermoses (I will eradicate the scalpers that bought them all within literally seconds of them being made available)

- all the Manuscript pages from all the Alan Wake games (including the tiny amount we hear him narrate in AWE) in either an FBC "CLASSIFIED" folder or a dirty envelope

- real gun

- any and all posters from any and all AW games. Like the ones advertising Tom Zane's movies, or the ones telling you to celebrate Deerfest or the ones telling you to visit Coffee World

- plushie of Mayor Setter :)

- plushie of the Coffee World mascot (make it do the terrifying laugh when you squeeze its hand too)

- Barry Wheeler desk statue where the headlamp and Christmas lights light up

- "Not The Worst Mom" mug (PLEASE)

- deer masks

- anatomically accurate Taken-Nightingale statue with removable heart (show me the terror)

- just a framed print out of Alex Casey giving us the Look he always does

- Dr. Hartman's "The Creator's Dilemma" book sleeve so we can bask in his smug smile

- official Alan Wake branded flashlights

- Saga's sweater/sweaters?

- for $3000 Sam Lake just personally shows up at your house and sends you to the Dark Place

feel free to add more

[thelivingautomaton]

i started playing max payne 2 and was immediately so put off by how he no longer has sam lake's face that i decided to put together a collection of some of the max payne 1 panels that i really liked. enjoy <3

[thechurn]

also what is it with aa and strongly implied lesbianism that is never explicitly acknowledged as such and also one of them is always dead. can we have nice things for once

[theliteraryarchitect]

A Word of Advice About Critique Groups, Beta Readers, and Other Peer-Based Feedback on Your Writing

In my time as a professional editor, I've had many writers come to me with stories they've been trying to improve based on suggestions from critique groups, beta readers, or other non-professional feedback sources (friends, family, etc.). The writers are often frustrated because they don't agree with the feedback, they can't make sense of the comments they've gotten, or they've tried their best to implement the suggestions but now they've made a big mess of things and don't know where to go from here.

If this happens to you, you're not alone. Here's the deal.

Readers and beginning writers are great at sniffing out problems, but they can be terrible at recommending solutions. For that reason, critique groups can be a disastrous place for beginning writers to get advice.

Here's a good metaphor. Imagine you don’t know the first thing about cars. Someone tells you, “There’s oil leaking onto the driveway. You should cover the car with a giant garbage bag.” Alarmed, you oblige, only to be told the next day that “now the car smells like burning plastic and I can’t see out the windows.”

A mechanic would’ve listened to the critic’s complaint and come up with their own solution to the leaking oil, ignoring the amateur’s ridiculous idea, because they know how to fix cars and can use their skills to investigate symptoms and find the correct solution.

Critique groups actually aren’t bad places for experienced writers, because they can listen to the criticism, interpret it, and come up with their own remedies to the problems readers are complaining about. Beginning writers, on the other hand, can end up digging themselves into a deeper hole.

There's a great Neil Gaiman quote about this very conundrum:

Remember: when people tell you something’s wrong or doesn’t work for them, they are almost always right. When they tell you exactly what they think is wrong and how to fix it, they are almost always wrong.

So what to do?

First, try to investigate the reader's complaint and come up with your own solution, instead of taking their solution to the problem. Sometimes, in the end, the reader's solution was exactly right, which is lovely, but don't count on it. Do your own detective work.

Second, take everything you hear with a huge grain of salt, and run the numbers. Are 9 out of 10 readers complaining about your rushed ending? It's probably worth investigating. Does nobody have an issue with your abrasive antagonist except your cozy mystery-loving uncle? Then you might not need to worry about it.

Third, give everything you hear a gut check. Does the criticism, while painful, ring true? Or does it seem really off-base to you? Let the feedback sit for a week or so while you chill out. You might find you're less sensitive and open to what's been said after a little more time has passed.

Lastly, consider getting professional feedback on your writing. Part of my job as an editor is to listen to previous feedback the writer has gotten, figure out whether the readers were tracking the scent of legitimate problems, and offer the writer more coherent solutions. Of course, some professional editors aren't very good at this, just like some non-professional readers are amazing at it, so hiring someone isn't a guarantee. But editors usually have more experience taking a look under the hood and giving writers sound mechanical advice about their work, rather than spouting ideas off the top of their head that only add to the writer's confusion.

Hope this helps!

[re-lmayer]

i've found myself in a bad situation. the tl;dr is i have to move, but i can't afford to. i'm a disabled student and just do not have the funds required to rent a truck, hire movers, and cover deposits. so, i'm offering various services on my kofi, but if you don't need those you can also donate there or via paypal. my cashapp and venmo are both erinshelley91 if you'd like to donate on those platforms (i couldn't figure out how to link to those)

if you can't afford to commission me or to donate, reblogging this post and sharing my twitter thread is a free way to help me out and is so appreciated!

more context and stuff under the cut, i just don't want to make a long post on ppl's dashboards

my landlord has been cheating on his husband, and their relationship is rocky. he also has a massive spending addiction according to his husband. his spending addiction is making him not want to perform the actual duties of a landlord, because investment costs are cutting into his shopping spree funds

ex, he is illegally not fixing a leak in the shower of the upstairs tenants, and claims the costs are more than their rent. he told them to "figure it out, or get the fuck out." (verbatim.) he also told me it would be cheaper for him to not have tenants at all bc his utility bills would be smaller. he then left it to ME to inform another tenant to leave (then gaslit me and denied it in front of his husband when his husband questioned it)

in his words, we have 90 days to leave. i am disabled and a full time student and have been living on my fafsa returns, and the last job i had made one of my disabilities worse to the point i've had intensive physical therapy (several hours several times a week) and am likely going to have to undergo surgery

i'm also mi/nd, so even on a good day i'm not very well equipped to handle things, and the recent stress has also caused my therapist to see me several times a week in lieu of institutionalization

all that said, i'm not in a good spot physically or mentally, hence the best i can do right now is offer some of my skills on kofi

i'm currently working with my state's vocational rehab to try and find a suitable job until i can get my degree, but even then i simply would not be able to afford the costs of a sudden move in the timeframe i've got to work with

UPDATE MARCH 25, 2024: i want to invest in a scooter to do gig work like doordash. this will let me work at my own pace, and earn towards the move myself, then i'll have some more independence to continue doing that after as well

they require 50cc or under, which means i could get a scooter for under $1,000. i'd also need to cover fees to renew my license (i let it lapse since i haven't had a vehicle), get a helmet, and get insurance (roughly $100 annually)

i also made some amazon wishlists for folks who would like to help but prefer to know exactly where their money's going. i have one for housewarming stuff here, and one for necessities here

update as of april 5: my cat peed on my bed, and since it's a memory foam mattress it soaked all the way through and ruined it

update as of april 7: she did it again. this time there's blood in it

update as of april 14: i still haven't been able to take her to the vet, but i've been trying to do at home remedies

[fanaticsnail]

Cross-Guild Masterlist

Navigation Masterlist Here

Art link

Buggy D. Clown:

You Kissed the Clown? (15/15 Series)

An upper-class tinkerer finds herself amongst the crew of the Staw-Hat pirates. Falling within the blast of a giant flash of red smoke and captured with her crew in the claws of the Buggy Pirates; she is confronted by her flight, fight and freeze response. Immediately, she finds another way of distracting the infamous clown-captain: a passionate and disarming kiss. As time and distance fall between them, feelings of romance, infatuation, fascination and longing cling to the clown and the tinkerer in each other's absence. How could they feel so deeply for each other; they only shared one single kiss?

Happy Birthday, Pumpkin (one-shot)

Buggy longs to kiss you but always shies away in case his affection is not reciprocated. Finally, an opportunity presents itself for a consequence-free kiss and he can barely hold himself back in anticipation. Happy birthday!

I Can't Do This Without You (one-shot)(smut)

Buggy attempted to use some unusual, waxy pollen to form into a "buggy-ball". He was an idiot. He can't manage the consequences without his loyal and ever faithful crewmate to help him out.

A Small Kindness (Smut One-Shot)

A blue-haired man with a round red nose is down on his luck. He's lost everything, not a single berry to his name after being defeated again by the straw-hat crew. A small kindness from a stranger propels him to get back on his feet. How could he repay you? Surely you needed something in return.

Headcanons & Drabbles:

Soft-Dom BuggyBratty BuggyCross-Guild InterrogationThe Clown Apologises

Buggy x Reader x Mihawk:

Swing, Sway, Shag, Smimmy (Buggy x Reader x Mihawk) (4/4)

Buggy is infatuated with his prized acrobat. He issues a dance night-off for his pirate crew, choosing to "make a move" in the hopes of charming his beautiful acrobat under the hawk-like gaze of his guest of honour. Unbeknownst to Buggy, the feeling of infatuation is mutual regarding the acrobat. Can they learn to 'play nice' to woo the acrobat? Yes, yes they can.

Dracule Mihawk:

The Apprentice (6/7 Series)

Mihawk is a bitchy boss, the apprentice is his bratty underling. Professionalism, sword-mastery and affiliation for wine consumption drives their relationship.Mihawk pushed his apprentice a little too far, prompting her to submit a formal resignation effective immediately. Calling her bluff, he attempts to chaperone her towards a cellar door to begin an afternoon of wine-tasting, only to find absence at his side as his apprentice simply walked away from him. And he was angry about it.Ongoing series.

You Should Be Sad (Completed Series):

Upon rising to the title of Warlord and Worlds-Greatest-Swordsman, Dracule Mihawk began to neglect his fiancé and her desires. Unable to provide her with the one thing she truly longed for, he remained apathetic as she broke from their lengthy courtship.A decade later, and many a bottle of brandy relinquished, he drifts to Baratie in hopes of drowning away the memory of her: only to have his hopes shattered as the hired band begins to play with his ex-fiancé singing her vengeance at him.

Let Me Take Care of You (one-shot)

The personal assistant to Dracule Mihawk notices he is not quite acting himself: a small wince as he reaches for his breakfast wine glass, a grimace as he draws it to his lips and the narrowing of his eyes as he begins to slouch. Luckily for the both of them, the assistant has a resume of many a skill: remedial massage being the key element provided to the broody warlord. He reluctantly accepts their touch, longing for the burden to be released from his shoulders.

El Tango de Mihawk (one-shot)

A talented thief manages to obtain an invite to the marine ball and decides to utilize it as a great opportunity to steal from the wealthiest members of the world government. Mihawk immediately recognizes them and decides to toy with their scheming, tango dancing ensues.

The Marine's Mistake (request) (one-shot)

Something horrible occurred to rid the warlord of his signature facial hair. Cadets had gathered and began whispering in hushed tones as Garp held a seated meeting with the warlord at a table in a run of the mill tavern. A new transfer does not recognize the sleek cheeks of the handsome gentlemen and immediately decides to approach to flirtatiously engage him over a drink or two. Mihawk is amused.

My Love Mine All Mine (request) (one-shot)

Mihawk returns to his castle in kuraigana nine days after he was due to return. He finds his lover sleeping in his bed, face falling to rest atop his pillow. Soft drabble, pining, longing.

Hanahaki: The Hawk and the Fledgling (request) (one-shot) Part 2

Mihawk notices his Fledgling, an apprentice he took under his wing, has become lazy in their training. Upon one final vocal reprimand, they collapse; sputtering a cocktail of saliva, blood and... petals? Is that petals in their hand? Surely not.

The Spear and the Sword (request) (one shot)

Drabble Part 2

Mihawk is required by Vice-Admiral Garp to obliterate an approaching armada of barbaric pillagers from their attack on a marine base. As this army was not enough for him to handle alone, Garp calls in another warlord, a ferocious warrior-woman armed with a spear, to aid in his ability to complete this task with as much succession as possible with as little damage done to the defenseless base. Both begin their armed ascension, showcasing their abilities in contest to see how many troops they best by the end of battle, against how many injuries they themselves acquire in the thralls of combat.

Little Sparrow (one-shot: drabble)

Mihawk has been up with your daughter, soothing her as she experiences her leap weeks. You spend some moments with your husband as he holds her in his arms.

Sapsorrow: (9/10 Series)

Upon receiving an invitation from the lord of Kuraigana to train his wards, you never expected your career as a governess to lead you here. As your tour of the keep was conducted, a ring was slipped onto your finger: invoking an ancient curse you truly did not understand. Setting three conditions for marriage, your newly betrothed immediately made haste to complete them with you blissfully ignorant that his life hung in the balance should be fail his task.

Macule Drihawk (drabble)

When Dracule Mihawk drinks, he becomes an entirely different person. That person's name is Macule Drihawk.

Pretty Bird (series)

Mihawk is an injured avarial trapped in his raven form while healing. You nurse him back to health, and he becomes smitten with you.

Obsession (one-shot)

Many believe Mihawk keeps the knowledge of his spouse a secret because he is a private man. Truth of it is, he is simply obsessed with you and doesn't believe any other pair of eyes is worthy of meeting their gaze with your majesty.

Happy Trail (mini fic)

Mihawk is not as well groomed as he usually keeps himself. You notice, and you can't help yourself.

Sir Crocodile:

My Favorite (Sir Crocodile x Reader)

Sir Crocodile has founded a league of highly trained assassins named "The Choirs" - all coded after the nine choirs of angelic influences. You are his favorite: his prized "Seraphim" who's ferocious brutality is only outmatched by your incredible beauty. Not truly knowing if your affection is all an act to continue being paid a wage in berry, he has not made a move of his own aside from calling upon you to sit on his knee of an evening, and have you utter praises into his ear. It is only when the two other members of the Cross-Guild begin flirting does he find his limit being tested. Will he bend, or will he break?

Sands of Time: Intentions of Series

Sir Crocodile thought he was safe from the intentions of the haunting Sapsorrow Queen. His soul has been laid claim, his time is running out. How can he have a stranger fall in love with his within the year? Would she truly take his sould should he fail?

When We Wake (one-shot)

Blissfully waking within the arms of your lover, you are both struck with the thoughts of how precious you have become to one another. Whispering confessions of adoration to one another while the other slumbers, you are both completely overcome with such deep devotion.

The Duality of Sir Crocodile (NSFW drabble)

Misc Multiples:

The duality of a dominating gentleman. Spoiling and endearing, encumbering and brutal.

Warmth (One-Shot)

Sir Crocodile is out for a walk in Arabasta with his pug, and he is stopped by a curious child who desires to pet them. As you, their guardian, approaches, Sir Crocodile is intrigued by your candor.

Get Well Soon (Drabble one-shot)

You're sick, and they do their best to support you through it. Zoro, Sanji, Mihawk

Please, I'll be good (one-shot)

After rescuing you in the heat of battle, he can no longer contain his desires for you. He was so good. He can keep being good if it means you'll keep kissing him.

Koby, Sanji, Corazon, Sabo, Buggy, Shachi, Ace, Penguin

How They Kiss (drabble)

Four different kisses with all of your favourites. Where would you place them in these categories?

Hallmark Piggyback (drabble)

Short piggyback on @indydonuts post about OP characters in a hallmark movie. Drabble is for Law x reader x Mihawk - amnesia trope

You're Angry at the Tall Men: Drabble (One-Shot)

He knows what he did to earn your wrath; your fury ignited in your eyes and the flames physically tangible and searing the room with your scorn. Your brow was furrowed, your lips curling into a snarl to bare your pearled teeth at him.Buggy, Shanks, Mihawk, Sir Crocodile, Corazon, Doflamingo.

An Affectionate Embrace: Drabble (One-Shot)

It was a simple reaction, an impulse you felt organic and out of your control. Their cheek was right there, and the swell in your chest and spike of adrenaline prompted you to lunge forward and capture their cheek beneath your lips. How do they react to such a soft touch? Do they shy away, or do they respond in kind?Buggy, Mihawk, Sir Crocodile, Shanks, Benn Beckman

Forehead Kisses (short drabble)

You're being a brat because they're neglecting you. Prepare to be greeted with the forehead kiss you crave from them.

Zoro, Crocodile, Kid, Killer, Beckman, Mihawk

Interrogation (crack dialogue)

Cross-Guild crack dialogue x reader

Dreaming of You (One-Shot) NSFW

They couldn't help it. You looked so heavenly in their dreams. The way they had you wrapped around their body as a marionette in their minds, dancing for them as they awoke to sticky blankets when they jolted upright. Their thoughts got the better of them, and they are wracked with guilt. Sir Crocodile, Buggy, Dracule Mihawk

[writingquestionsanswered]

Hi, I'm quite new to writing and would like to start writing fanfiction as practice, but I find it hard to keep my writing in character. Do you have any recommendations for that? I've tried keeping like notes of how they act, but I'm unable to keep track of them.

Fan-Fiction: Keeping Canon Characters in Character

If you're struggling to keep a canon character in character, it's very likely you're just not familiar enough with the character to write them yet. This can be remedied easily by consuming the canon material--particularly when the character in question is heavily featured--and, if it's a TV, movie, or video game character, you can look for character tribute videos on YouTube, which often highlight the key elements of the character.

Other things you can do: make sure you know their backstory and understand how it influences who they are and how they behave, make sure you're familiar with their "voice," or in other words how their personality comes out in the things they say and think. Make sure you know their strengths and flaws and highlight them accordingly. Keep in mind what motivates the character and what life goals they're striving toward, as these often affect character behavior.

Some exercises you can do: find an "about me" questionnaire and fill it out as if you were the character. Try doing a little role playing and answer the questionnaire questions out loud as though you were being interviewed. Write a detailed analysis of the character as though you were analyzing them as someone potentially thinking of hiring them for an important job. Look at a favorite moment from canon involving the character, then write it in first-person POV from the character's POV. What do they think about the moment? What do they feel in the moment? What internal emotional cues do they feel? Alternatively, try writing a few diary entries from their perspective, detailing canon events, or expanding on moments that aren't canon but could be.

Happy writing!

•••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••

I’ve been writing seriously for over 30 years and love to share what I’ve learned. Have a writing question? My inbox is always open!

♦ Questions that violate my ask policies will be deleted! ♦ Please see my master list of top posts before asking ♦ Learn more about WQA here

[writersdrug]

Please continue to write literally anything for konig, I’m having the worst work week of my life and your fics always sustain me! I just finished chapter 13 and I almost cried because I realised I’d have to wait for more to come out 😔 this isn’t really a request or question just encouragement!!!

I don't have much queued up for König besides I Don't Need You, but here are some headcannons I have!! Also I'm sorry your work week was bad, let König cheer you up

NSFW at the end

We all know he would love to go on rants bout knives, guns, history, etc. But I also imagine that if you tried to chime in with your own, semi-relatable topic he'd glare at you and say "I wasn't finished," before continuing on his schpeel. He's not trying to be mean, he just has to tell you about Richard the third and how he definitely killed the two princes in the tower.

If you ask if the two of you can get a cat, he comes home the next day with one - but he didn't go to the pet store, or a shelter. He went to the restaraunt you always drag him to and waited by the dumpster with a can of tuna. Caught the scruffy thing and brought it to you, tucked under an arm with a big smile on his face.

He had to help you bathe the spitting kitten, poor baby was covered in fleas.

This man unironically adores the bucket of chicken you can get from KFC. Just a pail of chicken all for himself.

If you're out shopping or really anywhere where you take the lead, people are always asking if you're ok - "That man looks like he's following you," they whisper, "do you need me to get someone to walk you out?"

It's just König, standing behind you in a balaclava, hands in his pockets and dark clothing. Just 👁👁

Goes for an hour-long run at 4 am every morning, comes home to shower, then crawls back in bed with you to sleep until you have to go to work.

His phone screen is probably gross. Lock screen is you, doing your makeup and wearing a stunning dress for date night, unaware of König lurking in the doorway for a photo; background is the poster for Lord of the Rings: Return of the King

This man is known as a terror among door salesmen. They're just trying to get him to buy their services for cleaning gutters and he's dragging them to the backyard to show them how he cleans it himself, talking to them for an hour about how you don't need to hire someone to do "simple work"

He plays D&D with other veterans every Thursday night - you both usually host at your house, and he gives you an appreciative smile/pat when you come through with more drinks.

(Based on a tiktok) he once came in through the back door, standing in the dining room awkwardly as he watched you sort through the mail. He stared at you with a blank expression, until you finally looked back at him. "What's wrong, baby?"

He then slapped a lizard on the table, making you scream and throw a pile of mail at the thing as it scurried across the wood. He laughed for a good thirty minutes.

When he's sick, he tries to get away with downing a shot of Everclear and moving on with his day. "Alcohol kills bacteria, no?" (You'll have none of that nonsense, and he's not complaining when you dote on him and hand-feed him soup.)

If you're in the shower, he's in the shower. Doesn't matter if he had one an hour ago.

If you have a child, he loves to gaslight them (especially in their elementary years). Agrees to play Princess with them, but then proceeds to say that he's the Princess.

"I'm always the Princess!"

"Nein, you said I could be this time!"

"No I didn't!"

"Well I'm the Princess, so I make the rules."

Believes eating your pussy will make you feel better in any situation (sometimes it does). Bad day at work? He's kneeling in front of you and telling you to flip your skirt up. Cramps? Orgasms are the best remedy, schatz. Your tomatoes aren't growing well this year? Ah, shucks. Let him eat you out.

Anyways this is bleh but hope this helps!!

[skzdarlings]

final part: bodyguard!felix x reader

masterlist.

PART I ; PART II ; PART III ; PART IV ; PART V ; PART VI ; PART VII ; PART VIII ; PART IX ; FINAL PART.

( READ ON AO3. )

Your father hires an inconspicuous bodyguard to accompany you at school and supervise you at home. What seems like an innocuous change in routine eventually spirals into a forbidden romance that grows more passionate over the years.

pairing: lee felix/reader content info: smut. violence. parental abuse. situations of intense peril overall. forced proximity. enemies2lovers. angst with eventual happy ending. (chapter word count; 19k words)

warning for this chapter: the usual story dynamics plus explicit violence, intense peril, threat and injury to reader, graphic depictions of death, explicit sexual content.

-

Your father will be here soon.  He kept his distance during the rescue operation but will reconvene with his team before the journey home. 

You and Felix wake long before his anticipated arrival, when dawn is only just peeking into the hotel room. 

You lay in bed, your head on his bare chest and his arms around you.  You discuss the potential confrontation ahead.  Last time you were taken, your father was less than sympathetic to your plight.  Even though this was more his fault than yours, you are certain you will take the blame.   He cannot take responsibility for a misstep.  If he is fallible, he is weak, and that puts his whole existence in jeopardy.  It must always be someone else’s fault.    

Therefore it is likely he will punish you.  Therefore it is likely he will ask Felix to do it. 

“Felix,” you say when he does not look at you.   He is staring out the window with a look of pure frustration. 

“I know,” he says.  “You want me to do it.  Last time I…” 

“Yes.” 

There is no need to discuss last time.  You both know he fumbled that exchange.  Felix is meant to be the personification of resolute strength and obedience, the perfect soldier.  His moment of weakness snared your father’s attention, as weakness always does.  Your quick response remedied the situation well enough, but you will not be so lucky next time.   The only thing worse than a moment of weakness is the persistence of it.  He cannot hesitate again. 

“If,” you say slowly, “we want to find a way out… then now, more than ever, we cannot give him any reasons to be suspicious of us.” 

“I know,” he says, but his jaw is still clenched and his gaze is faraway.  

“Felix.”  You touch his jaw, minding the darkening bruise, and turn his face to yours.  His expression softens when he meets your gaze.  “Thank you,” you say.  “I love you.  I trust you.  It will be okay.” 

He cups your cheek and lifts your face.  His looks at you like he is studying every small detail.  Even though he must know your face perfectly – seeing it when he wakes, before he goes to sleep, every day for so much of his life –  he looks at you like he is seeing you for the first time all over again. 

You laugh when he flicks your bottom lip, the little pout he has long since called his weakness. 

“You could convince the sky it wasn’t blue,” he says, and kisses you tenderly.  “I love you too, sweetheart.” 

Maybe it is the novelty of hearing that out loud, or maybe you will just be crazy about him forever, but you feel flustered.  You laugh and squirm, your skin hot.  It makes him laugh, the menace kissing down your throat just to make you wriggle more. 

“Don’t let my daddy catch you then,” you tease, breathlessly.  “He wouldn’t like that very much.”    

The returned chuckle makes you shiver.  You run your fingers through his hair but he grabs your wrist and pins it down.  Your breath catches when he sucks a bruising kiss on your throat.  He is usually so careful about leaving marks, but today he dips his head to the soft skin of your breast and bites a mean little mark into the tender skin, making you gasp and buck beneath his hold. 

“No, he wouldn’t, would he?” Felix says, his deep voice dropping even lower.  “What would everyone say, hmm?  Your daddy, your guards… all those rich boys at those fancy parties who think they have a chance with you…” 

“Everyone thinks I’m a frigid bitch,” you reply, joining his game, smiling knowingly.  “And I am, aren’t I?  Nothing but trouble.”

“Nothing but trouble,” he says with a grin.  He flicks the covers off, then his hands are on your hips and he flips you as smoothly.  You yelp when he drags you halfway down the bed, arranging you as he kneels behind you.  “You can’t fool me, sweetheart,” he says.  One hand curls around your throat and the other snakes down your backside.  “Frigid?  Mm. I don’t think so.  I actually think you are very, very soft… and warm…” 

His fingers slip inside you easily, wet from your previous lovemaking and wetter still from his voice.  Every little breath and tortured groan has you twitching and gasping. 

“Felix,” you say.   

It is the right thing to say.  You are clawing at the bedsheets moments later, hiccupping on each watery breath as he holds your hips and fucks you right down into the mattress.  You press against it like you could disappear there, fucked into freedom, never to return to this dire world again. 

You sink into the bed and float in your mind, sighing when he wraps his arms around you and covers you with his body.  He is hot and whole and so alive, and everything seems possible while you are joined together.  You have each other, completely and irrevocably.  That is all you need to survive. 

You finish not a moment too soon.  You are nestled in his arms, kissing and kissing and kissing, flushed and satisfied and content, when reality comes knocking.  Felix throws on some pants while you scurry into the bathroom and close the door. 

Felix steps into the hall.  Between the bathroom door and the hotel room door, you only hear muffled voices.  Then a few clicks, then another knock, then you jump.   You are wearing a blanket and it slips with your surprise.  You adjust it frantically, but Felix says, “It’s just me.”  

You crack open the door to Felix in a t-shirt and his combat pants.  You recognize the tired lines on his face, cracks in the mask he is struggling to don.  His reassuring smile is not convincing. 

“Here,” he says, handing you some clothes.  “Your father is here.  He wants to see you at breakfast.” 

“Of course he does,” you say, just for something to say, letting your frustration seep into your tone. 

The bathroom tiles are cold under your feet.  A sharp snap of sensation and a reminder of reality.  Felix makes the world feel small in comparison to him, but the world is still there, ever turning with its usual machinations and politics and powers.  You are still suspended helplessly in the centre of it all.  Though you pushed the darkest truths to the corner for a few hours, making love and comforting each other, all those hurts and agonies are still there.  You see it in his eyes, his glance flickering from here to there as he roams with his thoughts.   

Neither of you have ever had a normal life and you do not know what to do with one.  He has been making difficult choices since he was a child.  Neither of you truly knows if you are making the right one now. 

You do the best you can with a strong hug.  It is a lingering, affectionate embrace, fitting your bodies together until you feel grounded. 

Felix looks over your shoulder, catching his own reflection.   You look back as well, his cheek against yours, your eyes meeting in the mirror. 

“I couldn’t stand the sight of my own face,” he says, his voice low even though you are alone, like the words are fighting his tongue.  It is hard to admit.  He swallows hard but continues, “I hated the stupid kid looking back at me… I wanted to be someone better, someone who could actually do something right…” 

You look at him rather than his reflection.  When you touch a strand of blonde hair, he closes his eyes, as if he can feel the pad of your finger on a lock of hair, smarting more than his bruises. 

“Is that why… the hair?” you ask clumsily.  You do not know how to wade through ten years of emotion.  Felix has coloured his hair regularly since the day you met him.  The blonde suits him but it is clearly unnatural.  It has not been soft in a very long time, coarse from repeated dye jobs. 

The colour is just one more layer of his meticulous mask, crumbling in front of you as he nods and sighs.  An admittance.  He could not stand to look in the mirror and see that other version of himself, the boy he was, the boy who made all those mistakes.   You see him, the years of questioning his choices, the impossible tether around his throat.  There has never been a day he has not questioned his choices.  Working for one bad man or another.  Rescuing his friend or his lover.   Letting violence happen or letting the violence use him.

You kiss his cheek, then below his jaw, threading your fingers through his hair.  You scratch at his scalp, just a feathery light touch, one that makes him melt in your arms.   

“I love you,” you say.  You find it is an addicting word yet it never loses its potency.  Your heart still races when he touches his forehead to yours, when he strokes your sides and hums a gentle sound of pleasure.  “Things have changed a lot over the years.  But we’re still here.”  Still living your lives, even in broken bits, those stolen pieces you mentioned so long ago.  “We’ve changed.  We’ll change again.  Things will happen and we’ll figure it out.  But please don’t hate that boy anymore.  I care about him a lot.  I want him to be happy too.” 

His face scrunches with the threat of tears, but he controls himself.  He pushes the emotion into a laugh, though it is humourless.  Then he closes the space between you and kisses you, cups the back of your head and holds you there until you are both satisfied. 

“All right,” he says in a rough voice.  “Get dressed.  It’s going to be a long day.” 

“You’ll be there, though,” you say. 

“Always,” he says, a hint of amusement touching the corner of his lips.  “I’m your bodyguard, hmm?”

You laugh and kiss him again. 

“Right,” you say.  “Always.” 

-

Your father sits at a dining table in the penthouse suite.  Behind him, a window wall flaunts the city skyline.  Daylight casts a glow around him like some deified king lording over his petty kingdom.  Guards loiter in the room and the corridor, keeping their eyes sharp as hotel staff prepare the table. 

You sit across from him with the sunlight in your eyes, the usual position of discomfort and inferiority.  He does not look at you, nor does he greet you, his eyes on his phone until the table is set.  A staff member goes to serve him but he dismisses them. 

“All of you, go,” he says, not just to the staff but his team as well.  They filter out of the room one by one.  

The penthouse is a ostentatious space, all white linen and gilded frames, tall ceilings and bay windows, but as the room empties, it becomes frighteningly big.  Or maybe you just feel frighteningly small, his tactics working as they often do.  Your father knows how to push your buttons because they are the same as his.   He is scared.  It makes him angry.  He makes you scared.  It makes you angry. 

“Felix,” he says.  “Stay.”

Felix is all that tempers you.   He stands against the wall but you do not look at him, staring at your father until he finally looks your way.  Despite the light, you hold his stare, feeling a modicum of triumph when he looks away first. 

“Did they damage you?” he asks.  His phrasing almost makes you laugh.  Damaged.  As if outside forces were needed for that. 

“I’m fine,” you say.  “My bodyguard rescued me.  Your team was damaged, though.”  You throw the word right back at him.  You cross your leg and sit back, like you are as unbothered as him.    

You know that underneath his cold exterior, he is anything but casual.  He is letting his rage simmer as he builds to some awful retaliation.  He was conducting a mission, sending his best asset on a job, and it was interrupted by your kidnapping.  A kidnapping that nearly lost him more than his heir, but that same irreplaceable asset.  An asset that previously made a mistake in front of his eyes.  This is no longer a game, a squabble between a parent and child, but a real world crisis with dangerous consequences.    

You should not provoke him, and that is why you do.  Because provoking him is something you have always done and you need him to see you as that hapless child if you are going to beat him.  You do not want to arouse further suspicion in him, that you are sitting here thinking about your own schemes, that you know more about his assets and operations than he could ever suspect.

So you toss your rejoinder and he catches it, as he always does, with a cruel smirk. 

“There are more where they came from,” he says.    

Returning like cockroaches and squashed just the same.  If only a multi-generational empire could be toppled as easily.  But your father is more than a man across a table; he is ten men in the corridor and more on the ground, he is paid staff and investors and a whole society.  

Though you feign nonchalance, inside adrenaline pounds.  Sweat gathers, your heart races.  He is good at making you feel small, but at least it is predictable.  The scene unfolds  in your mind before it happens, the script playing before a single action is commanded.   You will be scolded.  You will be reprimanded.  You will be punished. 

“Felix, come here,” your father says.

You predicted he would involve Felix after what happened last time.  The only question is what manner of punishment he will force from his hand.  All you can do is trust Felix to play his role so you can play yours.  You made it clear the physical pain was meaningless, that you could take whatever he inflicted.  Just another inside joke between you.  You will laugh about it one day. 

You do not look away from your father.  Your eyes are locked in a challenging stare, daring the other to break.  You are scared, but you feel so much more than fear and rage.  With your love for Felix, with the hope in your heart, you are an ocean of feeling and you are not ashamed of it anymore.  You stare your father down and mutely convey that you are not broken, that he did not win, that he never will win. 

His answer is the flick of a kitchen knife.  It slides across the table and nearly tumbles right over the lip.  It teeters within arm’s reach of you.  It is tempting to look and consider its purpose with the trepidation you feel, but you do not.  You tell yourself he will only hurt you so much, that putting you in true peril would surely be counterproductive to his overall efforts.  Whatever plan he has for that knife will be a momentary pain you can recover from.

Then he says, “Felix.” 

Felix steps into your periphery, the black of his fatigues a shadow at your side. 

“Pick up that knife,” your father says.  “Put it through your hand.  Right through to the table.”

It is not the demand you were expecting, not by a long shot.  As your father stares you down, steady where you start to waver, you realize this test is not for Felix.  It is for you.   

“I trust,” your father hisses the word, “you know the spot that will inflict the least permanent damage.”

The last time your father made this demand, you and Felix were kids at the start of your messy life together.  Instinct propelled you to stop him.  Over the years, you have mastered schooling your reactions.  The girl who tackled Felix, the girl who sobbed while he was beaten, that girl learned to save her tears for later.  Your father’s version of you is a cold, headstrong, hateful fool.  She might stop Felix to combat her father, or she might let him suffer out of pure hatred. 

Both options feel wrong.  Regardless of what you choose, you feel like you are giving something away.  You feel like your father will see right past it.  He stares at you like he will find your secrets written on your face.    

You have seconds to decide and that is not enough time.  The moment passes you by.  Felix plants his hand and takes the knife.  Your father does not count him down.  He watches you, willing you to make a mistake, to show your weakness.  To prove him right. 

You flinch when the knife thuds into the table, the soft reverberation of the wood accompanied with a gross little squelch that sounds too loud in this too big room.  Your reaction is strongly stamped on your face, disgusted and upset.  You look away to stop the tears that stab behind your eyes. 

Everything that has happened, everything you have done, and you are right back here.  After everything, he still ended up with that knife in his hand. 

Your father rips it out.  Felix catches his breath but does not cry out.  You catch a glimpse of the bloody knife before your father tosses it on the floor, as if he is discarding something insignificant. 

You slowly meet his gaze.  He is still assessing you.  You cannot tell if you passed or failed his test.  By the scrutiny of his regard, it seems he does not know either.  All you can do is look at each other while Felix bleeds beside you.

“You may go,” your father says, cold as the ice that locks your limbs.  It takes you a moment to stir life back into them. 

“Felix,” your father says.  “You stay.  We have business to discuss.” 

You do not look at Felix.  You cannot bear to look at him.   On the escorted march back to your room, you are quiet, biting the inside of your cheek to stop any more unwanted reactions.  Only when you are alone in the room do you let it out, an aggravated cry as you rip a pillow off the bed and whip it blindly across the room. 

This was never going to be easy, but now it feels like the ongoing struggle between you and your father has led to an insurmountable deadlock.  He has you enclosed in his fist and he is threatening to crush you in it. 

You do not think he knows about the true nature of your relationship with Felix.  He might suspect anything, an affair the last of it.  Even a menial friendship would be a detrimental betrayal to him.  All he sees is a smudge of a weakness in what should be the strongest cog in his machine. 

He is testing you and tormenting you.  He is perched on his pedestal, waiting for you to throw yourself at his feet in eventual penitence.   

You will not.  Not this time.  Your father is expecting retaliation in the form of equal dramatics and you will not satisfy him.  You will sit quietly.  You will do what you have been doing, stealing pieces of your life in the silence and shadows.  He controls a realm of power, affluence, and violence.  You control yourself.  Love has saved you all this time.  It will be your means of escape for good. 

You sit in quiet repose until Felix returns.  Although you promised to remain calm, you cannot help but fuss over his injured hand.  It has already been stitched and bandaged but you peek beneath the binding, almost gagging at the sight.

“All right, enough,” Felix says.  He lifts your head and guides it onto his shoulder instead.  You are sitting on the small loveseat under the window.  You throw your arms around him and hold tight. 

“I’m sorry,” you say, a tear sliding from your cheek to his shoulder.  You sniffle. 

“Don’t be,” he says.  “I can take the pain.  It means nothing.  Sweetheart, he means nothing.”

“I know,” you say, but you sniffle one more time anyway.  Gathering yourself, you lift your head to look at him.  “What did my father want after I left?” 

“I don’t fully know,” Felix says, the tenderness in his expression giving way to uncertainty.  “He said he wants to continue the job,” Felix says.  “He and Miroh, they’re both chasing these long-term investments in some government building contracts… Miroh has been getting in the way of your father’s deals, so he’s been mostly standing guard.  Then he got intel that a significant asset of Miroh’s would be involved in securing an upcoming bid…  And he thought… he thought with the right team he could… acquire whatever this asset was…” 

“Chris,” you say, a breathless note.  “That’s why he brought you on, isn’t it?  He told you the acquisition was Chris.”

“If Chris was alive, if he was working for Miroh even after everything…”  Felix swallows.  He looks pained, like all these words are hard to say.  His voice is rough and the words scratch like sandpaper as he forces them out.  “Between me, your father’s back-up team, and the element of surprise… We had a chance of stopping Miroh’s subterfuge and getting… rescuing… Chris.  Finally.” 

But Chris might be dead.  Your father might have killed him.  Miroh has a vast artillery and the asset in question could be anyone or anything.  It makes more sense your father was using Felix to eliminate this obstruction.  That is what he always does.  He uses someone like a thing, strengths and weaknesses calculated, and works them into his scheme. 

You look at the bloody bandage, wrapped tight around that wounded hand, and you cannot bring yourself to vocalize these awful, pessimistic thoughts.  You say instead, “But why would he want to continue the job now?  You no longer have the element of surprise.”   

“No,” Felix says.  “We don’t.  That’s because the job is over and your father is lying.” 

“What?”

“Chris is dead.”  Felix says it for you, with a hard set to his jaw that you recognize as a shield against emotion.  He does not look at you because it exposes that vulnerable, human part of him, and right now he is fighting to maintain his composure.  Cool, collected, he plainly states, “There is no chance of this job succeeding anymore.  Miroh caught onto us.  He interrupted us.  Whatever we were after is not there anymore.  Your father is just pulling my leash to see if I fight back.”  He takes a deep breath before saying more.  “He wants an excuse to question my loyalty.” 

“He is provoking us,” you agree.  There is a second of silence, both of you in contemplation, then you say, “We can’t let him.” 

“If I refuse this job, he will just get worse,” Felix says.  “If we try to run right now, we won’t get far.  We need to do this right, we need to—”

“Take the job,” you say.  “You said yourself, the job is over.  My father is a bastard and an idiot but he would never risk sending his best team somewhere dangerous when he has nothing to gain from it.  Call his bluff.  Take the job.” 

“I can’t leave you again,” Felix says, eyes closing as he clenches his good fist.  “I won’t leave you alone with him again.  Not right now, not like this.  Sweetheart, if something happened—”

“I’ll be fine,” you say, wrapping your hand over his fist and gently uncurling his fingers.  You nudge your nose against his chin, coaxing him to turn his head.  He finally does, sighing as he looks down at you.  You smile.  “I’ll be safe in the house.”

“It’s more dangerous in there than out here,” he says. 

“You know he won’t do anything worse than he’s ever done before,” you say.  You look down when you touch the bandage on his hand.  “We can take the cuts and bruises a little longer.  Do the job, then come back to me.  And who knows…”  You kiss his cheek, a touch of comfort.  “Maybe you’ll find the truth about Chris.” 

“I know the truth,” he says, unmoved.  “He’s dead.” 

You do concede it is incredibly likely.  If anything stopped your father from killing Chris, it was not morality, rather the practicality of breaching Miroh’s defences.  But it sounds like Chris was trouble to Miroh, so it is possible there was no pushback.    

It still breaks your heart to see Felix like this.  The burden of this bargain has caused him strife for so long, but you can see how it motivated him too.  As the hope leaves him, a light dims, and even your affection cannot ignite it. 

“How do you know that?” you ask helplessly. 

“I just feel it,” Felix says.  “In my heart.  I guess.  I think, umm.  I think.  I think I’ve known for a long time.  Maybe from the last time I ever saw him.  But I needed to believe in it.  I think I needed to believe Chris could be saved because then maybe—”  He looks down at his injured hand.  His fingers twitch when he fails to close his fist.  “Then I would have done something good,” he says miserably.  “Maybe then I could be worth saving too.”    

“Felix. Baby.”  You touch his face, still minding the bruise that grows more vicious by the second.  It only adds to the ache in your chest as you look at him, beaten and battered for someone else’s sake.  He has been taking hits every day since he was fourteen years old.  Whether it was for you or his friend, he was willing to surrender his life if it meant even a possibility of saving someone else.  “Felix, you have more heart and humanity than anyone I have ever known,” you say.  “Everything you have ever done has been because of love, despite what they tried to make you otherwise.  How can you not see what I see?” 

He looks at you, really looks at you, the way he did this morning.  He traces the curve of your cheek and brushes the subtle pout of your lips. 

“You’ve always seen more than most people do,” he says.  “You give me something else to believe in, you know?”

“Stop flirting,” you tease gently.  “This is serious.”

He laughs, his smile soft but sincere.  You kiss him slowly, until you are breathing the same uneven breaths, your hearts no doubt beating in tandem.  

Then you pick yourselves up and prepare for what comes next.   

-

Your father claims they will be gone for a week but you know it is not true.  There is no real mission so they will return in a few days at the latest.  For your part, you can only wait.  

Even though you have a tenuous plan, it is still hard being separated from Felix.  You remind yourself that you could not protect him in the field anyway, but logic is meaningless to your heart.  You imagine a version of yourself that is possessed of so many skills, she could wipe out every obstacle without breaking a sweat. 

But you are you.  Your skills are more emotional than physical and right now that physicality is even worse than usual.  You are lethargic from a brutal couple days, weak from the drugging, sore all over, and you cannot sleep well in an empty bed. 

You wake repeatedly in the night, startled by a nightmare where you are being taken, where Felix is being beaten, where your father kills him and a dozen boys like him and all you can do is watch.  The nightmares drag you into consciousness where you are barely eased, the reality of the world not so different from your nighttime horrors. 

In the daylight, you maintain the healthiest disposition possible.  You keep your distance from the security team, sitting in your room or quietly on the couch.  You do not engage when they antagonize you.   They grow bored of your presence soon enough, especially when they cannot get a rise out of you, leaving them with nothing to report to your father.

You expect the hours to drone endlessly.

Then you have a visitor. 

You ignore the doorbell.  The security team does not seem surprised by the interruption so you disregard it.  Maybe it is just another member of the team. 

You ignore the bell and the bustle of guards.  You head to the kitchen to scrounge for some lunch instead.  You hum as you chop vegetables, not paying any mind to the footsteps behind you.  You expect it is a member of the security team, stalking you in the name of supervision.  You turn to address him, a saccharine sweet smile at your face and a drole quip on your tongue, but your heart stops at the figure standing across from you. 

“Hyunjin?”

You breathe more than whisper his name, like surprise has winded you. 

You stand there, knife in hand, jaw hanging open as you stare into the face of your old friend.  He is somehow even more handsome than you remember, long dark hair framing his face, eyes fierce and cheekbones sharp.  An expensive blazer hugs his trim form.  His boots resound with a softer thump than combat boots, so you should have realized it was someone else sooner.

You never would have guessed him.  You have not seen Hyunjin in years. 

“Hello, my girlfriend,” Hyunjin says with a smile, dazzling and beautiful and oh-so very fake. 

“What are you doing here?” you ask tentatively, so perplexed by his appearance in your house that you do not know where to begin.  You nearly pinch yourself to make sure you are not dreaming. 

“Your dad called my dad,” Hyunjin says, his voice very light and casual, like he is picking up a conversation you paused an hour ago and not years ago.  “He thought you needed company so you wouldn’t try running away off or something.  So here I am.  Ta-daaa.  Company.” 

Security shuffles past the kitchen.  Hyunjin pauses, listening to the scuttle of their booted feet.  When the din quiets, he smiles at you again.  It does not reach his eyes. 

“Hyunjin,” you whisper, laying the knife down.  “What on earth is happening?  Why are you here right now?”

Voices, laughter, the team in the other room.  You and Hyunjin look at the door.  His smile droops and he leans closer when he says, “Somewhere quieter please.” 

You are still in something of a daze when you lead Hyunjin downstairs to the gym.  A guard departs after giving the room a sweep, as if anyone or anything could have gotten down here with all the security.

Then it is just you and Hyunjin. 

Hyunjin crosses the room, taking in the space and equipment.  He whistles long and low while shaking his head.  It makes you laugh despite everything. 

“No, no, it’s nice,” Hyunjin teases.  “I never saw this room before.  But I always remembered your house was very small and understated.”

It’s a joke but you cannot force a laugh because his reminiscence sends you hurtling through your own memories.  He turns and you see a younger version of him, just for a moment, beaming and bright.  Hyunjin used to be the hopeful one, the person with a plan and ambition.  He believed there was more to life and he believed he could achieve it.  He was so certain that it sparked a flicker of hope in you.  Now your flame is an inferno but there is no light or fire behind his eyes.  He is so cold that it is hard to believe there was ever a flame. 

“Hyunjin,” you say, imploringly.  “What happened?” 

“A lot,” he says.  He puts his hands in his pockets like he feels at ease, but his eyes keep darting around the room, betraying his discomfort.   

Though your friendship was short, it was substantial.  You know him.  Right now he is labouring beneath the weight of his performance, his charming expressions crooked, like poorly fitted clothes.   He looks like an uncanny duplicate of the boy you once knew. 

You step closer to him.  He does not move, frozen in the middle of the room with his hands in his pockets.   When he eventually looks at you, it is with a slow lift of the head.  You swear you can see a curtain drawing across his face as it happens.  This close, you realize just how pale and wan he looks.  He is grey at the edges, like he is fading away before your very eyes. 

“Hyunjin,” you say, instinctively reaching out.  He flinches away from your touch, then tries to smile like it didn’t happen.  You do not hide your distress. 

He finally drops the pleasant façade.  His hands fall out of his pockets and swing at his sides.  His countenance is even colder, his striking features sharper than ever as he levels you with a venomous stare. 

“Don’t pity me,” he says.  “I can’t stand it.  I made my choices and I’m living with the consequences.” 

“Consequences?” you ask.  “Did they catch you trying to—”

 “I never left,” he says.  “I never even tried.  I was close.  I had a whole plan.  A way to start over.  But then...”  He turns without any warning and walks to the mirror wall where he looks at himself.  His hand hovers in the air, fingers curling.  “I met someone,” he says.  “And he wasn’t who I thought he was.” 

When he does not elaborate, you step closer.  You reach out to touch his shoulder, a consolation on the tip of your tongue.  Before your touch even lands, he spins around and looks right at you. 

“It turns out he was working for my father,” Hyunjin says.  He speaks in a plain tone, conveying facts without any unnecessary sentiment, but you can see the red in his eyes as he strains to hold back emotion.  “It was my fault for being so stupid.  With the way things were going, I should have seen it coming.  There is no such thing as selfless love.  Everyone serves themselves in the end and I was stupid to compromise my well-being for someone else.  I deserved the betrayal.” 

“That’s not true,” you say without hesitation.  He is talking about someone else but his words feel like a slap against your friendship too.   You grab his hand like you can squeeze sense back into him.  “I’m so sorry you were hurt,” you say.  “But you can’t honestly think—”

“Hurt.”  He chokes on the word and rips his hand back.  “It nearly killed me.  I wish it killed me.  I wish I was anywhere but here.  But I am stuck here because of my stupid feelings.  Everyone has a weakness waiting to be exploited and you can’t trust anyone not to take advantage of yours.”

It sounds so much like your father that you stumble back.  It resonates with a heavy slam against your ribs and the heart beating inside them.   That heart feels so wrung out these days, swollen with so much love one second then shrivelled with pain the next.  It throbs now.  You are hurt just witnessing his pain.  He has been betrayed and broken and he is unreachable in his grief.  You can only imagine what he has endured to end up back here, in this house, with you. 

You cannot blame him for guarding himself, but your combative side rears its stubborn head.

“There are good people,” you say.  “There are people that can be trusted.  You can trust me, after all.” 

“I don’t know that,” he says.  “We don’t know each other anymore.” 

“That is definitely not true,” you say.  You and Hyunjin clicked so well because your circumstances were so similar, your fears and pain the same.  “We know each other perfectly, Hyunjin,” you say. 

He looks away, blinking rapidly.  His shoulders hunch.  It looks so wrong for a man like him to curl in on himself in shame. 

“Fine,” he says.  “One person.  It doesn’t make a difference.”

“One person makes all the difference,” you say.  “Remember Minho?” 

That one really makes him flinch.  You are pretty sure a slap would hurt less. 

“And Felix,” he says, his voice softer now.  He scrunches his eyes shut like he can stop his pain with enough concentration.  He pushes through and says, “He works for your father, doesn’t he?  I remember him at that party.  He was with the security team.” 

“Yes,” you admit.  “He works for him.  In a way.” 

“And you still trust him?”  Hyunjin laughs.  He rolls his eyes and crosses his arms.  “That’s just stupidity.”

“It is not.”

“He works for your father and takes his money and you still trust him not to betray you?  That’s stupid.” 

“It’s not.”  Frustration bubbles inside you.  You want to grab him and shake him around, like you can sift through and find the real Hyunjin underneath all this.  “I know I can trust him completely.”

“You can’t possibly know that for sure,” he says.  “He’ll betray you for the right price.  Everyone has a price.  You don’t think there’s something he’d trade you for?” 

That does sting, if only infinitesimally, as you recall Felix and his conflicting desires.  But you do not begrudge Felix for his life choices.  He was an impressionable boy, raised to follow orders with no thoughts of his own.  It made him wise in some ways and naïve in others.  He fell into a bad bargain with a scheming man and found himself trapped.  He was forced to make difficult decisions.  It was not about choosing you or Chris.  You would never make it about that.   

“Felix loves me,” you say.  “And I love him.   You’re right.  There are things he wants desperately.  But he doesn’t have to trade me for it.  He knows I would surrender myself willingly to see him happy.  Just like I know, no matter what else happens, he will always come back for me.  No matter where they hide me.  No matter where I hide myself.  No matter what men like my father do to him.  We choose each other.” 

“Everyone breaks,” Hyunjin says weakly.  “No one’s that strong.” 

“Not on their own, maybe,” you say.  “We’re not alone.” 

There was so much ice in his feigned arrogance that you are startled when Hyunjin starts crying.  He covers his face with his hands.  His shoulders shake and his breath hitches. 

“Hyunjin,” you say, your own voice breaking.  You rush up to him in a flustered hurry.  You touch his head and his shoulders, trying to peer at him through his fingers.  “Hyunjin, talk to me, please,” you beg.  “Something else is wrong, isn’t it?  Hyunjin, why are you here?  Where are your parents?  Why did my father call yours?”

“My parents are dead,” he barely manages to speak, gasping between his hiccupping cries.  “It’s just me.  They came for me and my father was difficult, he asked for too much, and they— and I—”

“They?” you say. 

It is then you see it.  You are clutching his shoulder and it tugs at his blazer.  A shirt button pops open and your eyes drop to the exposed bruises across his collarbone.  You blink in disbelief at the horrible mosaic beaten into his skin, angry welts of red and purple and yellow.  It seems to go all the way down his chest.  When you part the material of his shirt, something else catches your eye. 

You freeze.

“Oh,” you say.  “Hyunjin.” 

He is wired.  Someone is listening.  Your father is listening. 

You stop breathing for a moment.  The world gets quiet.  You look at Hyunjin.  An old friend showing up at your house out of nowhere, presented like an offering.  Jisung was not important enough for your father to remember, but Hyunjin is a different matter.  He is rich if not wealthy.  His parents were upwardly mobile, his father the kind of pathetic rich man who thought he was equal to a man like your father.  Willing to do awful things to his own son to keep him in his clutches, then selling him to the highest bidder if it meant advancement.  His only mistake was asking for too much when he was ultimately expendable.  There are always more where he came from. 

You want to be wrong.  Your father is a busy man.  He would not waste time finding Hyunjin and putting him through so much just for this, just to corner you into a confession.  But you know he did.  This is exactly what he would do.  He moves like a coward, killing civilians and poisoning innocent boys, then he makes a show of throwing it in your face. 

He always told you friendship was beneath you.  What a way to prove it. 

“I think you’ve fallen in with a bad crowd,” you say, forcing a laugh through the gathering tears. 

“I’m so sorry,” he says, a tearful whisper.  He touches your arms like he wants to hug you, but holds himself back. 

“Me too,” you say.  You warned him a long time ago that befriending you was dangerous.  You wish you had been wrong. 

You pull him into a hug and he immediately envelopes you, his arms around your shoulders and yours around his waist.   He chokes out a sob and squeezes you so tight that your breath catches.  Then he just holds you there. 

You do not know if it is his cologne or his shampoo, but it smells so familiar.  It takes you back to that treehouse, looking over a glittering neighbourhood as the sun set and he dreamed about the dawn. 

“I still remember that rhyme, you know,” you say.  The address of that cabin, written in a rhyming lilt that you never forgot.  “If you ever have a chance again… promise me you’ll try…” 

He chokes out another sob. 

“How can you still care about what happens to me?” he asks.  “What about you?” 

“I’ll be fine,” you say.  It is spoken calmly, for all that it is a lie.  “Promise me?”

He just nods, then pulls you closer again. 

You cling to him for as long as you can.  It gives you the strength to stay upright despite your shaking legs, even when you hear footsteps coming down the stairs.  You brace yourself for the worst, halfway expecting the whole house to erupt in a violent explosion. 

It is just a guard.  He says, “Time to go, Hwang. Visit’s over.” 

You want to keep hugging.  You feel like you will fall through the floor if he lets you go.  He is just as reluctant, but withdraws when the guard steps into the room.   He does not look at you as he leaves, head down as he trails towards the stairs. 

“Goodbye, Hyunjin,” you say. 

It stops him for a moment.  He nods then continues.  There is nowhere else to go but back up those stairs. 

You are left standing by yourself in the middle of the room.  The mirror wall makes the space feel never-ending.  You look at your reflection.  You look so rough already, scarred from your kidnapping, tear-streaked from crying.  Your hands tremble uncontrollably.  You remember a younger version of yourself sitting in front of this mirror with Felix, for a moment feeling like a normal girl with her boy.  His touch brought you to life.  He made you feels things you thought you would never feel. 

It will be your own voice your father plays back to you, your own confession betraying you. 

You will not be sorry for it.  

You look at yourself and wipe your face.  You take a breath.  You walk to the stairs, one step after another.  There are guards upstairs but they pay you no mind.  They have clearly received no orders, not yet.  You could try to make a run for it, but you would not get far on your own. 

Instead, you go upstairs to your room.  You look around like it is the last time you will ever see it.  You know that is not true, logically.  Your father will not kill you, but there are fates just as devastating. 

You walk through the room.  It is plainly decorated with a mix of things owned by you and Felix.  For all that this house is not a home, you carved a shared space in this room.   You sit on the bed and study everything from discarded clothes to books to computer parts. 

Something compels you to open the drawer on his side of the bed, that same single drawer you allotted when he first moved in.  A ragged old beanie sits at the bottom of it, the first thing he ever owned.  You fold it over in your hand and squeeze it like a talisman, like it will infuse you with some magic to endure whatever storm is blowing your way. 

You cross the room and touch a few more things.  You find some university textbooks and your heart aches with the desire to return to those times.  You lived a fleeting few years like you were completely free, in love and happy and home. 

You will probably never see Seungmin or Jeongin again, but it brings you some peace to know they will live good lives.  You will never forget their willingness to intervene on your behalf despite the odds being so stacked against them.  Maybe they were not very good at it, smacking chairs and throwing drinks, but you will remember them fondly.  You wish you could say goodbye. 

With that thought, you pause.  Your gaze drifts to your computer. 

You cannot say goodbye to Seungmin or Jeongin, but you can say goodbye to someone else. 

You never wanted to risk contacting Jisung from home, just in case your father was found out.  But everything is ending today, one way or another.  There is nothing more you can lose.   You will take some comfort in a final word to an old friend before you are sealed in this gilded mausoleum.

You sit at your computer.  You log into the blank profile you made some time ago.  It is hard to tell if you are nervous because your stomach is so twisted in knots already, but you think there might be some happy anticipation.  You try to manage your expectations because there is a chance Jisung did not read the messages, seeing as they came from a blank account. 

You should have known better than to doubt him.  You log in to several new messages, laughing from the first line.

OH MY GOD!!!!!!!! IT’S YOU????? MY GIRL!!!!!!!

Okay sorry about that I am totally so cool I promise.  I’m just in shock.

I know you told me not to, but just so you know, I spent a year trying to reach you... 

Well, actually, I spent like four months crying my eyes out and being miserable and pathetic first..  On god, I eyed a jar of peanut butter with some serious thought for a minute there!!!  But then no, no way.  I had to keep going. 

I tried to find you.  Your bitch ass dad is famous because he’s an ugly rich loser so his properties are listed all over a million websites.  I found the one in town where you must live and I rode my bike there a bunch of times but uhhhhh yeah much to my eternal disappointment I am not James Bond and that security system was insane.  Don’t even get me started on when all the dudes in the army gear kept showing up.

On an unrelated note it’s way harder to buy explosives than you’d think. 

Just want you to know I did try to get in there.  You were never alone even if you felt like it. 

But it sounds like you’re not alone anyway HELLLL YEAHHHHH she is getting SOOOME.  All jokes aside I am crazy happy for you.  You deserve it for real.  He better be treating you right though or I WILL find a way through that gate and I WILL kick his ass.  Just say the word and I will be there in a heartbeat. 

He goes on for a while, the whole length of his message making you smile.  When you did not respond, he sent a few more, spaced further and further apart from each other.   The last message he sent was just a few days ago.

Hey I don’t know if you’re getting these.  I like to think so.  You don’t have to answer if you are.  I know you are in a dangerous spot.  Or maybe you’re not anymore and you got out.  In that case, I hope you never read these.  I hope you’re out there living your best life.  Maybe we’ll cross paths again but if not, I count myself lucky for knowing you at all.  I think we’re both slightly insane and everyone else I meet is way too normal haha. 

What I’m trying to say is I miss you like crazy.  I hope we can laugh together again someday.  Even if we never do, let’s say we will.   Keep smiling till I’m there.  Catch ya later crazy girl.

You smile.   Then emotion takes over, tears returning as you lay your hands on the keyboard to type a response. 

You have just hit send when there is a knock at your door, then it is opened without your permission.  You turn and look at the stoic guard who beckons you forward. 

“Your father is home,” he says.  “He wants a word.” 

You nod.  You spare one last look at you screen before logging out and shutting down.  You are certain it is the last message you will get to send.   A warmth fills your chest regardless.  You know it will reach Jisung.  His laughter and energy fills you with the strength you need to walk steadily out that door and down the hall.

-

Hi Jisungie. 

Thank you for your messages. I just read them all now. It wasn’t easy for me to check them before, but I did it today because it might be the last time I have an opportunity to do so.  My father found out about my love affair and seeing as it was with the one person he could not afford to lose, I have no doubt that a reckoning is on its way.  I thought he was bad before, but he has only gotten worse over the years.  I am sure this betrayal will put him over the edge.

I do not know what is going to happen.  I was scared until I read your messages.  They truly made me smile.  You have always made me a little braver.  I think I got less rebellious over the years because I got scared, but now… The worst has happened and I’m still here. 

I will figure it out.  But in case I never get the chance to talk to you again, I just wanted to say thank you one more time.  I miss you too, Jisungie.  I think about you so much.  I wish I could laugh with you again, the kind of laughter where nothing is all that funny but we can’t stop anyway.  Thank you for the times we did. 

I am happy to have lived my life because I knew you. I appreciate all the good times so much more because of the hard times.  You were a one-of-a-kind friend.  I’d do it all again in a heartbeat.

Keep smiling for me.    

Goodbye. 

-

Your father is behind his desk. 

There is no one else in the room.  They close the door behind you.  You walk calmly up to the desk and take a seat in your usual spot.  You sit as straight as you can, perched on the edge of the seat.  You are still lower than him, but you feel bigger and stronger than you have ever felt in your life. 

Your father draws out the silence, perhaps waiting for you to break down.  You stare at each other.  When he opens his mouth to speak, you interrupt him.  You are uninterested in games and dramatic embellishments, which you know he will indulge.  You simply ask, “What did you do to Hyunjin?” 

“I would not worry about the Hwang boy if I was you,” your father says spitefully.  “You have bigger concerns—”

“And yet I am asking about him,” you snap.  “What are you doing with him?”

“What I do with everything when it is no longer useful to me,” he says.

It is the answer you were expecting but it still draws your rage like a magnet.  It punches out of you, your eyes wet with tears when you say, “You’re pathetic.”

“How many times must you suffer humiliation at my enemy’s hands before you understand that none of this is a game?”  His voice rises as he speaks.  “Do you want to be out on the streets?  Do you want to be brutalized?  Do you want—”

“I would rather die rotting in the sewers with Felix than spend even one more minute under your roof,” you say.

You wonder what surprises your father more: the vicious tone or your blatant confession.  It stuns him into silence.  You know you have disrupted his script.  There is little sense in taunting you with your words if you utter them plainly before he can try. 

“I see,” your father settles on saying.  He presses a button on his desk and the buzzer in the corridor resounds.  “Let’s put that to the test, shall we?”

The door opens and several guards usher inside.  You spare them a fleeting glance before your attention narrows to the figure between them. 

“Felix!”  You stand but cannot reach him.  He is surrounded by guards and they will not let you touch a hair on his head. 

He moves like he is completely boneless, evidently drugged with something to make him bleary and slow.  He thumps heavily onto his knees when they put him there.  His eyes are hazy as he looks around the office.   They pause on you, flicking up and down, then he smiles through the pain. 

The pain.  It is not just a drug.  He looks like he went a few rounds with a cement wall, his lip split and his jaw bruised.  His bandaged hand is soaked through with blood, the rest him as battered.  His injuries disappear beneath his shirt and pants but you know it is not a pretty sight.  You swallow down the bile in your throat before looking at your father. 

“He’s your best asset,” you say.  “You can’t lose him.” 

“Oh?  Can’t I?” your father asks.  “Can’t I?  Can’t I?  You think you know something?  You think you can tell me what to do?  You, when all you do is destroy what I make?  I give you everything and this—this is how you—”  His yelling sharpens to a shriek before he starts breaking things.  It pulls Felix further out of his haze, his eyes tracking the frantic movements as your father smashes a vase near your feet. 

You think about that tiny shard of glass from last time, the miniscule thing that started it all.   It makes you laugh even though nothing is funny.  Laughter is an emotional output just like crying, so it pours out of you with no regard for the actual gravity of the situation. 

It only worsens your father’s rage. 

“Does something here amuse you?” he asks, but you are laughing too hard to answer.  There is a vein throbbing in his forehead and you imagine it bursting.  You imagine all your problems solving themselves as he drops dead from his own rage.   The image is even funnier because you truly cannot imagine this man dying.  He is a monster.  If you stab him, you fear he will just mutate and come back worse. 

“You want to laugh?” he snaps.  He crosses the room to Felix.  “Laugh.” 

He holds out his hand and someone places a gun in his open palm.  This snaps you out of your delirious giggles, a winded whoosh spilling out of you.  

Your father does not execute action himself.  He always puts the gun in someone else’s hand.  The fact he is pointing it at Felix should tell you that his threat is not serious. 

But he has never been this furious, his anger a white hot cascade of fire.  Felix is just inches from the barrel of the gun.  Even an inexpert marksmen like your father could drive a bullet between his eyes. 

So the moment he grips the weapon, you shout, “Stop!” 

Your father looks at you with a cock of his head, satisfied with your reaction. 

Then he jumps back because Felix rushes to his feet, most of the fog dissipated.  Your father’s stupid men did not think for a moment that Felix would repeat a strategy.  Just days before he allowed himself to be captured so he could rescue you.  It seems he has done that again, feigning the depth of his condition.  He swings to his feet and kicks out. 

His injuries restrict his movement.  He is good at ignoring pain but his body overrides his consciousness.  He fights nonetheless, struggling with the guards while you watch. 

You look around for something that can help.  You snatch a paper weight off the desk  and prepare to throw. 

Your father is a step ahead of you.  Suddenly you are staring down the barrel of a gun, your father on the other end, fuming. 

“No—!”  Felix says before he is beaten down.  With his attention diverted, a guard kicks the back of his legs.  His knees buckle and he goes down with a groan. 

You look at him then flick your eyes back to your father.  You raise both hands and lift a challenging eyebrow. 

“You want to do this?” you ask.  “Really?  After everything?”

“After everything,” your father says.  “Exactly my words.  A house, an education, unending protection.  You want for nothing.  All I ask in return is obedience and you cannot even grant me that.  You have the audacity to betray me for this animal.”  He waves the gun around like the clumsy, ungainly thing he is.  It makes a few heads duck, including yourself.  You fear this man will kill someone without even trying.  It makes it hard to listen, which might be for the best, as he goes on a long tirade about privilege and position and loyalty. 

He starts merely angry but it turns downright diabolical. 

“And you.”  He turns to Felix.  “I dug you out of Miroh’s gutter!  I made you a bargain!  I gave your meaningless life purpose!  You are nothing without me.  How dare you think to take what is mine.  How dare you think you are anything more than a dog.  How long have you kept this secret?  How am I supposed to trust it is the last?  You are a liar.  For all I know you are lying about everything.  Is that it?  Are you a spy, feeding reports back to Miroh?  Is that why I can never succeed in my missions?  Have you been—” 

Felix bursts into laughter.  His face scrunches with delight, his cheeks dimpled. The low rumble of his laughing voice sounds real, honest amusement at the proclamation.  It fades to a sigh, then he looks up.

You have never seen such a dark glare shadow his features, made all the more horrifying thanks to his bloody injuries.  It makes your stomach drop even though it is not directed at you. 

“You fail at all your missions because you’re an incompetent idiot,” Felix says.  “You couldn’t even control two children. What makes you think you can control Miroh?”

“Have you forgotten our bargain?” your father yells, waving the gun towards Felix again.  “You lie and trick your way into my household and still expect—”

“Our bargain,” Felix spits the word and some blood sprays out.  He spits the rest on the floor and shakes his head.  “I know he’s dead.  You killed him a long time ago.”   

The room is quiet for a moment.  Your father is still holding the gun, though it dangles at his side.  He and Felix stare each other down.  Although Felix is kneeling, his sinister stare is far more terrifying than your father’s blank gaze.  But then that empty gaze turns cold and your father smiles, one of those sharp smiles that opens like a slash across his face. 

“Now how would you know that,” your father says, “if you are not a spy for Miroh?”

“One of Miroh’s men told us at the warehouse,” you interrupt.  It earns you nothing but a wrathful glare from your father.  He gestures to you and a guard puts a threatening hand on your shoulder. 

“You will speak when spoken to,” your father snaps.  He looks at Felix again.  “Oh.  Yes.  You.  Whoops.  I very nearly forgot, it was so long ago when I killed your friend.  Does that make you sad?  Poor little boy.  You should have remembered your place.  Your kind are born to die for men like me.”

“Men like you,” Felix says.  Mourning will have to wait so he laughs because he cannot cry.  “You’re pathetic.  Not a surprise, though, yeah?  Since your father took care of everything before I killed him—oh.  Whoops.”  He tilts his head and smiles, speaking with the same saccharine tone your father just used to mock him.  “It was so long ago.  I almost forgot I shot your daddy in the fucking head.  Does that make you sad?  Poor little boy.  You should have remembered your place and stayed behind your walls.  You’ll never be a man like him.” 

Your father has never looked so stricken.  You did not even know his face could contort such a way.   It makes him look very human for the few heartbeats that it lingers.  You can almost picture a younger version of your father, breaking under the fist of his father before him.  

Then he schools himself.  Once more, the untouchable monster stands before you.  The gun wobbles only a little when he raises it, taking aim at Felix. 

“Stop!” you shout.  You were just picturing the passing of generations, so maybe that explains why your panicked brain compels you to blurt, “You can’t kill him! I’m pregnant!” 

This time every head in the room swivels towards you.  Even the other guards do not hide their surprise.  Your father stares, jaw agape, and Felix looks just as bewildered.  You feel bad because you can see thought flickering behind his eyes, wondering if maybe you are telling the truth.  It makes his face change, pain flashing.  Panic seeps into his veins. 

“Excuse me?” your father says. 

You almost trip on the chair.  Your knees knock and your voice shakes when you say, “You heard me.” 

“I know what I heard.”  At least it succeeds in garnering your father’s attention.  He forgets about Felix entirely as he stalks towards you, gun clutched in his undoubtedly sweaty hand.  “My problem lies in understanding how this can be.”

“Well,” you say slowly.  “I can’t imagine you really want me to explain that—”

You father backhands you across the face.  You careen into his desk, barely catching yourself. 

“It could work in my favour yet,” your father says.  “Start fresh.  Fix where I went wrong with you.  Because you are an irredeemable and entirely lost cause.” 

This baby is not even real yet you panic at the thought.  It unspools an infinite and horrifying future, this house an eternal monstrosity birthing a new generation of tyrant and monster.  Hurting and contorting everyone in the family name for the sake of maintaining that vast estate.  

This has to stop. 

“Of course I am,” you say.  You take a long, steadying breath, then you push yourself upright.  You turn to your father and meet his gaze, aware of the gun but feigning complete nonchalance.  “I can’t believe it has taken you this long to realize it,” you say.  “You lost me a long, long time ago.  You want to control everything because you’re scared of losing anything.  But you’ve already lost what you were trying so hard to protect and you can never, ever get it back.  I will not continue what your father started.  I will not be what you have become.  I am not like you and I am proud of that.  I am proud that I love my friends, and Felix, despite how much you tried to stop me. But I am me and I am not scared.” 

You dive at him, a vicious tackle spurred by that hurricane of emotion inside you.  You tackle him so quickly that it takes the guards a second to react.  The gun clatters to the floor as it flies out of his hand.  He throws up his fists to protect his face when you swing down with all your might.  What you lack in physical strength you compensate with drive, slamming your fists down without care for where they land, again and again and again. 

Then someone grabs you by the collar and yanks.  It is one of the guards, pulling you to your feet.  Your father shrieks and hollers like a wounded dog, snarling and frothing like one too.  He gets to his feet and swings at you. 

Felix rises, struggling to reach you.   You stretch out your hand, your fingertips touching before you are yanked apart from each other.  You cry out, struggling in the guard’s death grip to no avail.  Felix is fighting the other guards but his injuries put him at a disadvantage. 

You are dragged away from the chaos.  Your father picks up the discarded gun on his way. 

“Take her outside!” he shouts at the guard, then turns to the mess in his office.  “Don’t waste your energy.  Shoot the boy.”

“No!” you scream, so guttural you hardly recognize the sound.  You cry as gunshots ring in the office, but you lose sight of the skirmish as you are dragged, kicking and screaming, down the stairs and out the front door. 

You curse at your father and the guard, bits of your shirt ripping when you fight to escape.  You are smacked and twisted, your shoulder popping so painfully that it makes you wail. 

“Stop it, stop it!”  You are fully sobbing, either from pain or panic.  It does no good as you are dragged into the night.  The grand driveway is lit like a stage awaiting players, lamps and towers beaming over the pavement.  The gate opens to the street beyond.  It is pitch black.  There are no other houses on this hillside, the estate sprawling across its expanse, so there are no streetlights.  A black car is parked on the curb.  It feels like a chariot to the underworld, black and swallowed by shadow.  You are as good as dead.  Felix might be truly dead. 

You struggle some more but you are in so much pain.  Your father is shouting directions at the guard and it splits his attention.  His grip loosens and you successfully break free. 

You do not hesitate.  You run into the street, straight through the pitch black.  If you run far enough, you will eventually reach a proper street leading into the city.  You do not even care which direction you go.  You just run, ignoring the screaming pain in your muscles as your feet hit the pavement.

A gunshot pierces the quiet night.  You stumble to a stop, throwing your hand up over your heart.  You touch your chest, expecting to find a bloody wound.  But there is nothing, not a single drop.   You were not shot. 

You spin around and watch the guard fall to the ground, a bullet in his head.  Your father turns too, holding his own gun at the approaching figure. 

Your knees almost buckle as relief washes over you, Felix storming down the driveway with a gun of his own raised at your father.  Felix is badly wounded, but even at his worst he is a far better shot than your father.  They both know it too, staring each other down as Felix gets closer and closer. 

“Stop where you are!” your father screams, his voice breaking. 

Felix ignores him, gun still raised.  Your father fires a shot that goes wide.  Felix does not even blink as it ricochets off a wall.  He walks calmly to the sidewalk where your father stands.  He does not smirk or gloat.  He just looks at the frightened man who terrorized the world to make himself feel better, and he lines up a shot. 

Felix pulls the trigger. 

Nothing happens. 

His brow furrows before his face twists with fury.  The gun has jammed or it’s out of bullets, but either way it is useless.  He lowers his arm, the gun dangling from his hand as he stares at your father.

Your father just laughs, a ridiculous and semi-hysterical laugh as he stumbles back but never lowers the gun.  Felix is much closer now.   Even your father could not miss this shot.   

Felix drops his gun and smiles weakly. 

“She’s funny, you know,” Felix says.  “And smarter than anyone I know.  She picks up on things everyone else misses.  It’s too bad you can’t see it.  But then, you’re not like her.” 

“Shut up,” your father snaps.  “You have exceeded your uses, boy.” 

You realize you are running.  Even before the conscious thought reaches your mind, your body spurs you into action.  Instinct commandeers control and you hand yourself over to it.   Felix looks up just as you emerge from the dark.  He sees your face for a split second, enough time for him to realize what you are doing and shout, “Stop!”

Your father’s finger is already on the trigger.  A shot rings out and this time it does hit you, sharp and searing as you dive in front of Felix. 

The gun hits the ground.  Your father looks at you with petrified eyes.  Felix catches you, supporting your weight as he sinks to his knees with you in his arms. 

“Sweetheart,” he says, touching your face, your neck, your chest.  “Sweetheart, look at me.  Stay with me.” 

The pain is excruciating, like nothing you have ever felt before.  You cannot even tell where it is coming from.  It feels like your neck and shoulder and heart all at once.  It radiates and burns.  The pain is so overwhelming that you do not notice the wet, tacky feeling of blood.  You see it before you feel it, all over Felix’s fingers as he finds the bullet wound in your shoulder. 

“It’s okay,” he says, barely more than a gasp.  His chest is rising and falling rapidly.  You scream in agony when he grabs your shoulder and squeezes it hard in his fist.  “I know, I know,” he says.  “It exited clean.  There’s nothing vital there.  You’ll be okay, sweetheart, I got you.  I just have to staunch the blood.  We just have to—”  His voice breaks on a sob and he looks up at your father, his hand covered in your blood and his rage as red on his face.  “We have to get her help.  Now.”  

Your father’s response is to pick up the gun.  He nearly drops it, his shaking hands clammy, but he gets an unsteady grip eventually.  He points it at Felix again.  

“Are you fucking serious?”  Felix shouts in aggravation.  “Your daughter is going to bleed to death if you don’t do something.  Put the fucking gun down!”

“Get away from her,” your father says.  “Get away from her and put your hands up.  I’ll get her help.” 

“No,” you say, shaking your head then crying when pain lances down your neck.  “No, Felix. Don’t.” 

Your father will not take another shot at Felix, not with you in his arms.  Your father might want to control you, but he does not want you dead.  You are the only thing that is protecting Felix now.  If he moves, he dies. 

“Don’t go,” you beg.  “Felix, please.”

“I’m not going anywhere, sweetheart,” Felix says.  He looks up at your father, venom in his voice as he asks, “Are you really going to stand there and let your daughter die?” 

“Are you going sit there and let her die?” your father retorts.  “Get away from her and I will save her.” 

You feel Felix twitch. He presses his fingers a little harder, stopping a rush of blood.  It makes you weep and you plead, “Felix no.  Please.  I can’t watch that.  I’d rather it end like this.”

“Don’t say that.”  Felix looks down at you.  His bloody hand is shaking, tears spilling down his cheeks as he looks at you.  “Nothing’s ending.  You’re gonna be fine.” 

“It never ends,” your father babbles.  He almost drops the gun when he trips over the lip of the sidewalk, stumbling backwards into the street as he stares at you.  You stare back, wondering if it is your blurry vision or if he is really crying.  All you can see is him wiping his face, the gun trembling in his hand.  “It just keeps going,” he says.  “Only I can end it.” 

He is taking aim again.  You cannot tell if he is aiming for you or Felix, maybe some half-baked delirious plan in his twisted mind to put you out of your misery and take Felix with you. 

Felix does not have time to attack.  He can only curl his body around yours to protect you from the shot. 

Then a beam of light shatters the dark.  It flies up the street, illuminating your father.  He looks in that direction.  Everyone is drowning in their sobs and it is all so loud that it takes a second to hear it: the heavy, growling drone of a speeding car, hurtling ever closer.  The white of a high-beam headlight blinds your father with lightning hot intensity. 

It is the last thing he ever sees. 

Felix is as startled as you.  You both cry out in horrified shock.  He blocks your body to shield you from the sudden and unexpected gore.  Noiseless convulsions tremble through your whole body as you stare up at Felix, not understanding what just happened. 

You both look over as the car rapidly reverses, disappearing just as quickly as it came.  In its wake is your father, or what remains of him.   

Just like that, the whole world tilts on its axis.

You cannot comprehend what you are seeing.  This man was a towering, nightmarish monstrosity, bigger than life and death, holding the world in his fist.  Even he desperately believed in his own mythology.  It seems impossible that he could be that nightmare but also be this, a broken and very human body, muscle and gristle and protruding bone, half flattened to the tarmac.  A sudden and entirely undignified death, comically animal, and as lowly as everything he ever disparaged.   

You and Felix stare at him, at the mess of his ruined dead body on the dark street.  It is so, so quiet.  The house is so still.  The street is empty.  You can hear the soft buzz of the floodlights. 

You make a hurt noise.  Felix looks down with a perplexed shake of his head.  But he only has a moment to mind you, his mouth open with some unspoken thought, when you hear the car again. 

You both look over, your heart racing and your blood spilling over his hand.  He is wearing his most determined face, braced to face an adversary. 

You do not know who to anticipate.  It makes no sense for Miroh to be here.  He would not have known anything unusual was transpiring at this house tonight.  How could he know to send someone?  Yet it is the only thing that makes sense.  The only person who could have taken down someone like your father would be someone just like him. 

You are braced for the worst when the car comes to a stop.  The dead body looks more grotesque as the headlights flash over it. 

The driver does not turn off the engine.  You hear the patter of frantic footsteps before the silhouette is illuminated by the car lights.  Wide eyes meet yours and your heart stutters.  Your tears are halted by the face staring back at you. 

“Oh my god,” Jisung says.  “That was the bad guy, right?” 

Felix reacts first, a bark of laughter made in disbelief as he stares at your startled best friend. 

Han Jisung is both the same and different, with a flop of dark hair and big brown eyes, but years have passed, leaving him bulkier and more mature.  He pushes a pair of glasses up his nose, the wide frames only exaggerating his eyes, making it very easy to hold his gaze when he looks at you. 

“Jisung,” you say, and start crying all over again.  “Jisung.”  You cannot seem to find another word.  You just gasp his name between sobs.

Jisung practically flies towards you, landing on his knees. 

“Hey, stranger,” he says, carefully touching your cheek.  “You’ve looked better, I’m not gonna lie.” 

You laugh even though it hurts, reaching for him with a shaking hand.  He takes it despite it being sticky with blood, cupping it safely in his own. 

“You’re here,” you say.  “How? Why?” 

“Of course I’m here,” he replies in a soft voice.  “I got in my car as soon as I saw that goodbye message.”  He gently squeezes your hand.  “You didn’t think I’d let you get away twice, did you?”        

Your laugh is more of a sob, in too much pain to truly smile.  Felix asks Jisung to help, showing him where to apply pressure.  Jisung complies, holding you while Felix tugs off his shirt.  It leaves him in a tank top, all his scars and bruises on display.  You want to fuss over him too but he gives you no opportunity to linger, using his shirt as a makeshift tourniquet for your wound. 

“So your boyfriend is Felix,” Jisung says while he works.  “That’s great. I was rooting for you two crazy kids.  Felix had a pretty obvious crush on you in high school.  I didn’t say anything because you kinda seemed to hate his guts but I guess that’s not true anymore.  You had some bigger bastards to hate.  Speaking of, that was your dad I got right?  I mean, I didn’t even think, I just saw him waving that gun around and I hit the pedal.  Next thing I knew—ohhh shit, Felix, you’re really strong, what the fuck, man.  Have you been working out—” 

Felix scoops you into his arms and stands.  His usual unwavering strength falters just a little, his injuries protesting his action.  You tell him to put you down because it will do no good for you both to collapse.  Jisung stands and helps steady you.  They both lay a hand on your back, taking some of your weight as your feet touch the ground and you wobble. 

“That’s my girl,” Jisung says.  “Oh man, that’s a lot of blood, ha ha ha – AHH.  No, it’s fine, we’re okay.  Careful—”

“Jisung,” Felix says, looking past you to meet his eye.  “Are you okay?”

A more than fair question considering how fast everything just happened.  Jisung stops rambling and takes a few deep breaths before he answers. 

“Okay, yeah,” he says.  “Totally fine.  For now.” 

“Okay,” Felix says.  “Because I need you to take her while I—”

Your ignore their conversation.  Your eyes are on your father.  You cannot even call it his body; it is a carcass.  His lower half is gored but his face is mostly whole.  You half-expect his mouth to open with a wailing shout.   You are so distracted with the thought, you misstep and your weak ankles give out.  You are spared a kiss with the pavement when Jisung catches you.  It is a haphazard embrace, throwing his arms around you to keep you upright. 

“Can you take care of her until I get back?”  Felix asks. 

“Uh-huh. Yes,” Jisung says.  He puts his growing bulk to use and lifts you into his arms, bridal style.  You cannot move your shoulder to lift your arms around him, but you rest your head in the curve of his neck as he carries you to his car. 

His car.  Hysterical giggles bubble inside you, quashed only by the physical ache of your body.  Han Jisung really raced back into your life and annihilated the worst of your demons by driving right at him.  

Years of nightmares and beatings and pain.  Years of your father lording his power over you and the world.  Years of believing he was terrifying and untouchable.  

Jisung always said it was that easy.  He was just a teenager, lookingat the impossible powers that surrounded his friend but believing whole-heartedly he could save her anyway.  You argued and pushed him away, but he knew better all along.  Jisung was not cowed by money and influence, not impressed or frightened by men like your father who ravaged the world and gloated about it.  Jisung had no power or influence of his own but that didn’t matter.  He saw his friend was in a bad situation and he wanted to save you.   So he did. 

He carefully rests you in the passenger seat.  In the time it takes him to circle to the driver’s side, you break down crying.  The pain exacerbates it, your body seeking release, but it is sentiment that pours out of your heart. 

Jisung gets in, looking very startled.  He adjusts his glasses. 

“Did it get worse?” he asks, reaching for you with a bloody hand.  You look at it, you look at him, very literally stained with blood on your behalf.  He is staying composed but you can see the jitters under his skin.  He just killed someone for you.  It might have been a panicked, spur of the moment decision, but the end result was the same.  Even though your father was not a good man, taking a life is a serious burden. 

And here he is, placing that weight aside so he can check on you. 

“Jisung,” you say.  You wish your hands were not so dirty because you want to touch his face or hold his hand.  You satisfy yourself with leaning towards him, touching your forehead to his cheek as you cry. 

“Hey, it’s okay,” Jisung says.  He shifts so your foreheads are touching, his clean hand cupping your cheek.  “I got you, okay?  It’s over now.  Felix is gonna take care of it and I’m gonna take care of you.  It’ll be okay.  Don’t be scared, all right?”

“I’m not,” you say.  “What did I do to deserve you?”

“You’re my friend,” Jisung says.  “You don’t have to do anything to deserve it, okay?  Look.  I know what will make you feel better.”  He reaches past you into the glove compartment.  You have no idea what he could possibly have in there that will make you feel better while bleeding out of a bullet wound in the passenger seat of his car, the same car he used to murder your abusive father. 

He fishes around then pulls out a bag of spicy peanuts, the same flavour you used to eat all the time in high school.  Even though he was allergic, he bought them whenever he found them, just because he knew you liked them. 

You take them slowly, staring at the familiar packaging.  You sniffle.    

“It was always going to be you, wasn’t it?” you say softly.  You could cry all over again.   “You really came back.”

Of course Jisung saved you.  You realize now your father could never be bested by Miroh or someone like him.  They would be locked in a perpetual stalemate, predicting each other’s every step, giving and taking and killing in a circle of violence with no end.  But Jisung is not like them. 

Whether the gesture was big or small, whether it was peanuts or a rescue, it was selfless, and someone like your father would never understand that.  He never saw it coming. 

“Well, yeah,” Jisung says.  “My promise was forever, remember?”

You can only nod, bumping your heads together.  Jisung wraps you in a hug then kisses your forehead before buckling in and taking the steering wheel. 

“All right,” he says.  “We can catch up after.  Let’s get away from this place.  It’s giving me the creeps.” 

-

It is strange looking at your house on a news report.  It makes you feel like you are watching someone else’s life. 

You are stitched and showered, sitting on the floor of a twin bed motel room.  You are still damp from the shower but each little trickle feels like blood, your jittery fingers constantly swiping at your skin. 

Jisung sits behind you on the bed, his legs bracketing you, double checking your stitches.  Felix said it was paramount to avoid a hospital or any other institution that would identify you.  He told Jisung to book a room at a motel on the highway and wait for him, that he would stitch you up himself when he arrived.  Jisung took the initiative, boasting some first aid training for his job at the grocery store. 

“Usually I’m putting bandages on a cut finger,” Jisung said, hands covered in blood as he fixed your wound, “but this is, uh, similar I guess.  Sort of.” 

Felix arrived while you were in the shower.  Now he is in there, cleaning himself and minding his own injuries while you and Jisung watch the evening news report.   The blinds are closed, rain pelting the canopy over the balcony, but you are tucked away from the storm, hidden from the world as it mourns you. 

“A devastating house fire is believed to have left no survivors on the premises,” the reporter says, backdropped with a video of an inferno ravaging your father’s house.  “Police are still investigating, but among the suspected dead is a prominent local businessman and his daughter.”  They show a portrait of your father and an old yearbook photo of you.   That girl looks nothing like the battered woman you are now.  You really do feel like you are watching someone’s else story end.

“Wow,” Jisung says, watching too.  “How does it feel to be dead?”

You rest your head against his knee, sighing as you stare at the television. 

“I’m not dead,” you say, staring at the photo of you.  That girl might be dead, but you are very alive. 

Felix accidentally swings the bathroom door too hard, the thud like a gunshot in your mind.  You jump a mile out of your skin, digging your nails into Jisung’s leg unthinkingly. 

“Ah ah ah ah—”  Jisung grabs your wrist to pry you off. 

“Sorry,” Felix says, truly apologetic.  He closes the door with a gentle click then approaches.  He sits beside Jisung on the bed, laying his hand on your head and looking you over.  “How are you?” Felix asks.   He pays no mind to the news report but that is likely because he is responsible for the story they are broadcasting.  You know Felix would tell you every detail if you asked, but you decide you do not want to know how he moved the bodies around.  It is enough to see the walls of that place burning. 

He packed a few things first.  A stuffed duffel bag sits on the other bed.  Perhaps it should feel daunting, that all you have left is a single bag of necessities, but it feels freeing.  You are not burdened by the weight of more.  Your hands might be shaking and you might be hurt in more ways than one, but you can exhale. 

You take Felix’s hands and kiss his scraped knuckles.

“I’m fine,” you say.  “What about you?”

“Nothing I can’t handle,” he says.  He looks more tired than you have ever seen him, but he manages a laugh when you pout at him.  “Don’t do that,” he says, flicking your bottom lip.  “Just some bad bruises, yeah?  I’ll be fine.” 

You know he is not fine but you respect his desire for peace.  You can check his injuries later when he has settled. 

“Well then, what about you, Jisungie?” you ask.  You turn around to face him.  “How are you?”

“Uh, honestly…”  Jisung rakes his fingers through his hair then exhales on a shaky laugh.  “I’ll let you know when I know.  It’s all a bit—uh—”  

“Yeah,” you say, taking his hand.  “I know.” 

You suspect there will be no proper words for a while.  You cannot even think of recovery while your wounds throb.  There are still gunshots firing in your mind.  When you close your eyes, you see a body on the pavement.  You expect a knock at the door and a gun in your face, even though there is no reason for that.  Miroh is probably sitting back and laughing at the detonation of your father’s house.  Your father’s people and investors will scramble over the company tomorrow.  That world will turn without you.  You will not miss it.    

You struggle to sleep that night.  You lay on your back to mind your shoulder but that is not your only grievance.  Felix lays beside you where he belongs and Jisung is in the other bed, so you are not alone anymore, but your adrenaline will not dwindle.  Now that you have a moment of peace, it feels more chaotic than ever. 

When you start breathing harder, Felix wraps an arm around you. 

“Sweetheart,” he whispers.  He does not ask what is wrong.  It is more than self-explanatory.  You do not need to speak. 

You want to roll over and bury your face in his neck, but you cannot move because of your shoulder.  You suffice to hold his arm tight, closing your eyes as his protective embrace surrounds you.  His heart beats against your body and you let it lull you into a gentle repose. 

You do not sleep for long.  There is morning light when you wake but it is a bleary, early grey light.  Everything smells a little damp from the rain.  This is a small motel, meant to serve as a momentary respite for passing travellers.  You cannot stay here. 

Felix wakes when you do.  After a few morning kisses, he rises to use the washroom.  Jisung is still fast asleep in his bed, his cheek squished and his hair a shaggy mess on the pillow.   You smile, looking at him.  There is a gap between the beds but he is close enough to touch if you stretch.  You content yourself with looking, thinking about how lucky you are to have him again.  It is a light and happy thought, but it darkens very swiftly when you recall what he did to save you.  It is going to weigh on him, whether all at once or in pieces. 

The weight of trauma will be a heavy burden, but you are alive to carry it.  There are others who are less lucky.  You think about Hyunjin and your heart strains, recalling his final miserable departure.  Your father implied he had Hyunjin killed.  If he was not bluffing to antagonize you, then Hyunjin did not stand a chance.    

You are sniffling with tears when Jisung blinks awake.  He mutters in groggy gibberish before reaching for his glasses.    His tired voice is tinged with concern when he asks, “What is it?  Do you need something?” 

“No,” you say, wiping your tears.  “I was just thinking I know where I want to go next.” 

It is hard to talk about Hyunjin so you opt for vagueness over specificity.  The boys do not question the subject of the cabin when you mention his name.  You do not tell them he might be dead.  You feel like if you speak it out loud, it will make it true. 

It will take a week to reach the cabin by car.  Jisung helps you loads the necessities into the back a truck that Felix procured, only questioning its seeming manifestation after the fact. 

“I stole it,” Felix answers. 

“You stole a car?” Jisung asks.  It is a good thing the motel parking lot is empty because he practically shouts it, like stealing a car is the most horrifying thing he has ever heard.  You remember how you had the same reaction the first time Felix stole a vehicle. 

It makes you laugh when Felix draws his lips into a thin line, shaking his head at Jisung.  He turns to you and says, “You two really are identical, you know?”  

“What does that mean?”  Jisung asks. 

“I said the same thing the last time he stole a car,” you say.

“Dude!”  Jisung whips around.  “You stole two cars?”

“You know I’ve killed people, right?” Felix says dryly. 

“Well yeah, I mean, who hasn’t,” Jisung says with a nervous giggle. 

You whack him on the arm and shake your head.   “That’s not funny,” you say. 

“It’s a little funny,” he whispers while you roll your eyes. 

Though you want to keep him at your side, it feels selfish to ask Jisung to come with you.  He has a life here and he has already done so much to help you.  But he surprises you by emphatically volunteering himself, saying he at least wants to help get you there. 

“I don’t think I could just walk back into my normal life tomorrow like nothing happened,” Jisung says, tucking you under one arm.  “I don’t know what’s gonna happen next.  Can’t control it.  But I know where I want to be right now.  I’ll figure out the rest after.” 

So you take to the road, your destination a small cabin far away from your old life.  You stop along the way, at first for food and other necessities, mostly stolen by Felix, but then for pleasure when you drive through towns with interesting landmarks.   On the clearer nights, you sleep in the bed of the truck. 

You still do not stop for a real discussion.  You indulge the mental break while you can, all three of you taking the time to literally stop and smell the flowers on the journey. 

Bandages still need changing.  Stitches need minding.  The night before your anticipated arrival, you are in another motel room.  You and Felix sit in the small kitchenette, playing cards at the tiny table, while Jisung showers and goes about his nightly routine. 

You throw down a couple cards.  You look at Felix while he studies his hand.  The swelling on his face has gone down which is good for numerous reasons.  He has been wearing a baseball cap everywhere, the brim pulled low, to stop people from staring. 

There is a hard set to his shoulders.  It has been like that for a few days.  Even in your father’s house, there were moments Felix would soften, namely when he was curled up in your shared bed and the world seemed far away.  Maybe he cannot relax because the world is so immediate now.  It is strange that potential happiness can cause as much anxiety as its opposite.  Perhaps it is because it is so unfamiliar.  Your body only knows how to brace itself. 

Felix was raised for that express purpose.  Road trips and gardens and motel rooms was not in his training.  High school corridors and uniforms once baffled him, the mundanity of everyday life more exhilarating and frightening than a battlefield. 

You want to smooth his brow and soften his shoulders.  He sits like he is holding a breath and you want to draw it out of him.  A part of your stirs with arousal at the consideration, thinking how you could do that.  You have always found your humanity in that intimate space.  But you are both much too injured to try anything heavier than a kiss right now. 

This time, you reach across the table and touch his cheek, with no intention but a soft caress.  He blinks up at you, the cards forgotten.  You do not know what to say.  You just touch him.

He cups his hand over yours, holding it to his cheek.  He looks at your shoulder and other bruises.  It will take you a long time to heal, but nothing is infected.  You do not know how his injuries are faring because he will not let anyone look at them.  He claims he is fine.  You know he is not. 

“I love you,” you say.  “I swear it gets stronger every day.  Is that crazy?  Not a day goes by where I am not grateful for you, just as you are.”

He closes his eyes and swallows.  He nods. 

“I love you too,” he says in a soft, low voice. 

When Jisung leaves to get some dinner, Felix proves you wrong about lovemaking.  You are too injured for anything vigorous, but he can still lay you down, can still stretch alongside you.  He slips his hand beneath your waistband and touches you with long, careful strokes.   You unravel in his arms, your sore spots aching but the pain worth the pleasure.  You wrap a hand around the back of his neck and tug him down for a kiss.  You kiss him until he sighs and rests his forehead to yours. 

“Can I please see?” you ask. 

He finally acquiesces.  His scars are not too bad, more plentiful than painful.  He hisses but exhales when you kiss your way across a couple worse marks. 

“We’ll find a way to feel better,” you say, grazing your fingertips along his skin.  You recall what Jisung said, about how you did not have to deserve love, you just had to accept it.  “You don’t need to prove yourself anymore, Felix,” you say.  You dance your fingers down his bare chest to his waistband, kissing his shoulder as he sucks in a breath.  “Just be with me.  Let me love you.” 

“Always,” he says, dropping his head back as you touch him.  He cups the nape of your neck, squeezing lightly as you flick your wrist and stroke. 

You reach the cabin the next day.  It is late afternoon when you find the right place, passing a few other cabins before you find a quaint but charming one in the midst of a meadow.   The cabin itself does not flaunt much excess, but the meadow is flooded with flowers, a carpet of colour in the late afternoon light that makes it look like a something out of a fairy tale. 

The only problem is the smoke in the chimney.  The cabin is clearly occupied. 

“Is this the right place?”  Felix asks.  He and Jisung were admiring the meadow while you stared at the cabin, heart palpitating when you realized it was not empty. 

“It is,” you say. 

“Maybe it’s Hyunjin,” Jisung says. 

“It’s not.”  You close your eyes.  Hyunjin did not say anything about selling the property when you brought it up.  But, then again, there was a lot happening in that final exchange.  You made him promise he would try to get away if he could, but it might have been an empty platitude.  He knew he was going to die.  He knew you would never find out anyway. 

The distractions of the past week flutter into nothingness as you reckon with the grim reality of the world your father left behind.  You hang your head, swallowing hard. 

Jisung and Felix stare at you, their faces falling when they realize what you mean. 

“How?” Jisung asks. 

“My father chased him down,” you say.  “He used him.  He discarded him.  It’s what he does.” 

“What he did,” Jisung reminds you.  “And maybe Hyunjin got away.  We did!  That stupid hot weasel was a bitch but he was resourceful as fuck.” 

“Jisuuung,” you say, smacking his arm.

“What? I’m not speaking ill of the dead because he’s not dead,” Jisung argues.  “And if he was, he wouldn’t want me to suddenly be all fake and nice to him.   I annoy him.  That’s how I show my love.”  He kisses two fingers and waves it at the sky, then flips his middle finger too.  You laugh in spite of yourself, shaking your head.

Felix steps behind you and takes your hand.  He kisses your cheek. A breeze blows through his hair, his hat in his other hand. The three of you stand in the meadow for a time, looking at the flowers as you contemplate what to do next. 

The front door of the cabin opens.  You all turn.   An apology sits on your tongue, sorry for trespassing on someone else’s property.  The sight of you is no doubt disconcerting. Despite showers and meticulous first aid, you all look very rough, three obviously tired and run down people, a little dusty from the road and streaked with dirt from your hike to the cabin. 

You look at the person as they stand on the front stoop.  Your brow furrows and the apology disintegrates on your tongue, a bemused question poised to take it’s place.

“Minho?” is all you manage. 

You have not seen your first teenage crush in many, many years.  He looks older but not too different overall.  He is still very striking, even in his homey flannel and jeans, standing on the cabin stoop and looking at you with equal confusion. 

“Do I know you?” he asks, which makes sense.  You might have had a crush on him, but so did half the school.  He was a popular guy.  He knew Hyunjin but he only met you briefly. 

You want to tell him that.  You want to say you are friends with Hyunjin but you find it hard to say his name, especially with Minho gazing at you so innocently.  Why is he at the cabin?  Was he still friends with Hyunjin?  He likely does not know he is dead. 

You are spared your turmoil when Felix tugs on your arm, a sharp bid for attention.  You look at him, bemused, and he nods his head forward.  You look past Minho to the open cabin door as another figure steps into view. 

All that twisted pain unspools in your chest.  You nearly start sobbing in relief.

“Hyunjin!”  You ignore the surprised look on Minho’s face and run right past him.

Hyunjin is standing in the doorway, looking wary until he recognizes you.  Then his face breaks into a smile and those long limbs jump the porch steps.  You trample a few flowers that have grown over the path, meeting in an embrace amidst sprigs of lavender and vibrant hyacinths.   It is a very messy embrace, you and Hyunjin both forgetting you are injured.  You crash together only to yelp, your shoulder smarting and his bruised chest just as tender.  You laugh at each other then hug gently.  When your cheek touches his chest, your eyes water. 

“Am I dead after all?” you ask thoughtlessly, the beauty of the terrain and the embrace of your friend momentarily making you think so.    

Hyunjin laughs and shakes his head.  “I thought you were,” he says.  “It was all over the news.  I thought for sure—”

“I thought for sure you—”  You overlap with him, both of you laughing again.  “How did you get away?” 

“Nothing special,” Hyunjin says.  “I was being watched but they were waiting for final orders from your father.  Then word got out that he was dead so they just left.  I don’t know if they went to investigate or just abandoned post.  I didn’t stick around to find out. I packed my things and disappeared the first chance I got.” 

“We made a few stops on the journey over,” you say.  “I’m not surprised you beat us.” 

“I really thought you were—”  Hyunjin shakes his head.  “And that it was my—”

“It wouldn’t have been your fault anyway,” you say. 

“That’s what I told him,” Minho interrupts, his tone quippy but his lips quirked up in a smile.  He wiggles his fingers in a wave when you look at him.  “So you’re the friend,” he says.  “Nice to meet you.”

“I’m the friend’s friend,” Jisung says, skipping into the scene and waving at Hyunjin.  “Hey, man.  Missed me?” 

He is being playful but Hyunjin pulls him into a hug, very obviously surprising Jisung who almost falls right over.  Poor Jisung’s face goes red as a rose.  You remember his video about having a crush on his high school rival and can’t help but giggle into your palms. 

Felix puts a hand on your shoulder, smiling cordially at Minho.  “Hi,” he says. 

“This is Felix, my—”  You look at each other.  You lips move as you look for the right word.  Bodyguard is not strictly true anymore.  Boyfriend and partner sound so very mundane, but you realize that is what you are now.  “Boyfriend,” you say, feeling hot with embarrassment for no good reason.  You suspect the little things will have you flustered for some time. 

“Boyfriend,” Felix repeats, looking quite delighted for a second.  You are certain only you see the flicker of sadness that follows.  He blinks, his gaze faraway, but he covers it with another smile quickly enough.  “Nice to meet you,” he says. 

“I guess I’ll have to make a bigger dinner,” Minho says, playfully dry like the idea is a hardship, but smiling a knowing smile at Hyunjin, clearly very happy for him.  “Come on then.  Get inside already.  You’re crushing the tulips.” 

The cabin is one floor with a loft.  The main bedroom, kitchen and facilities are downstairs, some extra makeshift bedding thrown together in the small sitting area by the fireplace.  The upstairs loft is a small second bedroom, sparsely furnished with a mattress and blankets and little else.  The ceilings are low but the space is blessedly private.  You think it is some of the finest accommodations you have ever stayed in.   

You throw yourself on the mattress, curling up with a pillow and blanket.  Felix smiles and leans down to kiss the top of your head.  When he pulls away, you take his hand, regarding him imploringly. 

“Just gonna take a shower,” he says.  “Wanna clean up, yeah.”

You nod.  Even though you can see he is struggling with something, you let him go.  If he is not in the mood to talk, you will wait.  A shower will help him feel better.

He takes his bag and climbs back down the ladder.  You mean to wait for his return, but you feel such calm at finally reaching your destination.  The laughing voices of your friends float up to the loft, putting you even more at ease.  You release a breath and lay your head on a pillow.  The next thing you know, you are blinking awake.  The sky is a purpling pink, the day drawing to a close.  You can smell something cooking downstairs.  Your friends are still yammering away.  Hyunjin’s relentless giggles at Jisung’s goofy jokes makes you smile. 

You climb down the ladder and wander into the main room.  Felix was not upstairs but he is not with the others either.  He must have finished his shower a long time ago now. 

“Where’s Felix?” you ask, an edge of panic in your voice. 

“He’s just outside,” Minho says from behind the kitchen counter.  “He said he just wanted some air.”

“Oh,” you say, feeling a little foolish for panicking without reason.  “Right. Thank you.”

“Don’t worry,” Minho says, winking to comfort you.  You smile but nonetheless wrap your cardigan tighter around you, feeling a little embarrassed. 

Felix has been glued to your side for ten years.  Your instinct now panics in his absence, but you realize his absence is a good thing.  He does not need to be beside you at all times.  He is free to wander if that is what he wants.  You are glad he stepped outside for some air, rather than sitting over you. 

You step onto the small porch and look across the meadow.  You can see a shape sitting among the flowers at the edge of the field, looking down the slope to the park valley below.  You cross the flowers, minding where you step.  The breeze parts your cardigan and you tug it closed.  It is a somewhat clumsy walk overall.  Your last few steps are a proper stumble over a rock.  You miss it completely, distracted with what you find. 

Felix sits with his back to you.  You thought he was wearing a hat, but now you can see it is his hair.  He dyed it a shock of pitch black and trimmed the edges.  It is a messy, jagged cut that you will certainly have to fix later.  You suspect he did not spend much time looking in the mirror. 

“What’s this?” you ask.  “Is this why you wanted to stop at that drug store?”

Felix looks up at you.  The dark hair somehow makes his freckles stand out more.  He looks different but still very handsome.  You think you might be falling in love all over again, a little flushed inside as you sit beside him on the grass. 

“Yeah,” he says.  He runs his fingers through his hair, glancing up at the dark locks from beneath his lashes.  He sighs.  “And I don’t know why.  I just…” 

You put your arm around him, drawing him close to rest his head on your good shoulder.  He falls against you, breathing out again.  His shoulders droop, losing some of the tension that has plagued him. 

“I don’t know what to do now,” he says.  “I know this is all good, but I feel like I’ve done something wrong.  Like I’m not supposed to be here.  And I keep thinking about Chris.  How I—”  He rubs his face, then chokes tears.  “What am I supposed to do with all this life, especially when I couldn’t give him back his?” 

He cries properly now and you let him.  There is no right thing to say, not that you can think of, so you just hold him until he has expended the worst of his pain through his tears.  He takes a few shaking breaths before he sits upright, wiping his face.  You rub a circle on his back. 

“And you,” he whispers.  “It’s like, I feel everything all at once.  You call me your boyfriend and I’m happy, then I see you hugging Hyunjin and I think—he knows how to be a person.  I don’t know how to be anything.”

“Felix, you know Hyunjin is gay, right?” you ask.  You guarded that secret before but seeing as Minho is here at the cabin, you suspect Hyunjin is not keeping it secret anymore. 

Felix stutters on a shaking breath, looking momentarily confused. 

“Huh?  He is?” he asks, then gets a little weepy again, saying, “That’s nice for him.”

“Oh, baby,” you say.  You kiss his cheek and snuggle close to him, resting your head on his shoulder.  “I don’t know what to say.  I’m a mess too.  I don’t know how to do any of this right.  But I’m pretty sure grieving your friend makes you more of a person, not less.”  You look at each other.  You touch his cheek and stroke a thumb over his freckles.  You think you have them mapped by memory, every last dot.  “You’re not alone,” you say.  “I want to be with you when things are bad, not just when they’re good.  And you and me, we’ve known a lot of bad.” 

He laughs, his breath dancing over your lips with your proximity.  You smile fondly. 

“I think it’s time we feel some good,” you say.  “We’ll figure out what that means eventually.  Together.” 

He draws you close and kisses you, a sweet kiss that deepens.  You cuddle when the breeze blows a little harder, the evening chill creeping into the sunset.  Still, you do not move, sharing heat between you and sitting among the flowers until the pink has left the sky and a blue evening blurs into the purple wash. 

Minho sticks his head out the door to call you in for dinner.  You stand first and offer your hand.  Felix takes it, then kisses you one more time.  You walk back to the cabin, hand in hand.

Warmth wraps around you like a fuzzy blanket when you step inside from the cold.  Hyunjin and Jisung are playfully arguing at the table, Minho standing over them and yammering some nonsense back.  You and Felix smile at each other before joining them all at the table.  After he has served the portions, Minho sits as well. 

There is a moment of silence, everyone looking around the table at everyone else.  They all looked flushed with warmth and life, Hyunjin smiling and Jisung beaming at you.  Felix puts his hand on your knee under the table, squeezing softly.  You look at him with another smile, then a laugh, a sound of disbelief that resonates with everyone.  You are here, impossibly but truly.  You have no idea what happens now.   

“I’ll break the ice,” Jisung says.  “Because I have a confession, while we’re all here, and Hyunjin has his hot boyfriend cooking us a meal.  Hyunjin, my man, I’m sorry for being the dick of all dicks when we were in high school.”  Jisung lays a hand on his heart and dramatically makes his confession.  Hyunjin’s eyebrows shoot up into his hairline as your goofy friend continues, “Turns out having an arch nemesis is super gay.  And I was a stupid repressed bisexual who thought furiously staring at you for seven hours a day was a totally normal thing to do.  Sorry, man.  Congrats on the hot boyfriend, though.” 

“I’m not his boyfriend,” Minho says.  His elbow is on the table, chin in his hand.  He is grinning at Jisung. 

“Come again?” Jisung says. 

“Not his boyfriend,” Minho says, laughing.  “I’m his friend.  He was in trouble and asked for my help.  I’m a good friend so here I am, helping him get settled.  I’m actually married.”  He holds up his hand, proudly displaying a wedding band.  He giggles some more.  “He’s single, though.”  He gestures to Hyunjin. 

Jisung looks at Hyunjin who has gone very pink in the face.  He glances at Jisung and laughs, covering his mouth to try and contain it. 

“Oh.  Oh.  Oh.  Yeah.  Cool.”  Jisung scratches the back of his neck, then his brow, then his chin.  He taps the table and nods his head rapidly.  “Awesome,” he says.  “Well, I’m really glad we clarified that before I made a really ridiculous confession in front of everyone.  That would have been super embarrassing for me.”

You all laugh, genuinely as Jisung soaks it in with a silly little grin.  The sound of your collective delight fills the cabin before chatter begins again and you start eating. 

You glance around the table while taking a bite.  Your shoulder aches, and Felix’s bruises are still healing, and you will not be surprised if a nightmare jolts one of you out of sleep tonight.  But you will wake beside Felix, you will comfort each other, and you will fall back asleep.  You will wake up tomorrow and try it all again. 

You know the times ahead will not always be easy.   You are ready to make mistakes and try.

It is not a perfect ending, but it is a perfect beginning.   

[sinisterexaggerator]

Final Straw

Nick Valentine x Fem Reader | Ao3

Summary: You're sick to death of listening to people insult and belittle Nick; you take matters into your own hands, much to the Synth's surprise, but your methods are a little bit unorthodox.

Warnings: None, except for blood, violence, and foul language. NICK GETS SUPER PISSED AT YOU, and you also share a kiss. 💋

IT'S FLUFF.

Notes: This is SELF-INDULGENT AF. I hate it when people insult Nick in the game. This is my way of getting them back! And I want to kiss him and tell him I love him so bad. ;-:

Word count: 2k

It was the final straw, the one that broke the brahmin’s back, Nick Valentine left to defend himself against hate and bigotry for the umpteenth time, and you would not be party to it.

For so long you had traveled by Nick’s side, learning of the many facets to his personality. If there was a single thing about him you did not like, it had to be the ease with which he practiced self-deprecation, not knowing how to remedy the awful perception he had about himself.

Oftentimes, he regurgitated what came out the mouths of others; it had been internalized, compartmentalized, processed, and stored in his long-term memory, the detective unable to let things go—just like so many cases that remained unsolved.

“Shit, a Synth— don’t come near me. What a freak, thinks he’s human…”

“Don’t worry, I wouldn’t go near you if it meant tomorrow I’d wake up from this nightmare.”

Your soul ached, knowing that every insult, every snide remark caused some level of psychic damage to your partner, his expressions all too readable for those times he was robbed of his fragile dignity, though always walking away the bigger man.

A culmination of varying factors led you to this, Nick’s tragic past haunting not only himself, but you; what you wouldn’t give to make it better, only wishing you had the power to convince him he was worth more than half the Commonwealth combined.

If Valentine could equate himself to nothing more than garbage, you could be the one to remind him that someone else’s trash was frequently another’s treasure— in this case, he was yours.

Though not privy to your feelings, you adored Nick completely. So much so, you were not above engaging in a physical altercation on his behalf.

“Say that again,” you threatened scathingly, turning to face the asshole who had just dared to disrespect your companion, and for no good reason.

“I said he’s a freak, lady—and what’s a pretty thing like you doing traveling with him, anyway?” the ill-mannered caravan guard asked, acting as if Valentine was some disease he could catch, making a blatant show of his disgust. 

The hired gun pulled no reaction from the Synth, though Nick stared at you tight-lipped, unnatural, glowing eyes trained hard on your face. His silence spoke volumes, instructing you with a stern look beneath the shade of his hat to drop the matter and turn the other cheek—it was something you weren’t willing to do this time, meeting your newfound enemy head-on.

“Apologize!” you demanded, shoving your adversary backward with a forceful push, both your palms making contact with his ribs. Your cheeks burned, accompanying a rise in your temper, readying yourself for if this vermin should do anything but grovel at Nick’s feet.

“Forget it, this guy ain’t worth it,” Nick offered laconically, hoping to appeal to your common sense. “I’ve heard worse in my time; being called a freak is the least of my concerns.”

“But you’re worth it!” you protested, Valentine’s forehead arcing upward at the conviction in your voice. He had a momentary lapse, his concentration faltering as he tried to get a handle on the situation, Nick having visualized an entirely different outcome based on variables that were currently in flux—namely the sudden change in your mood.

It seemed the shithead had caught on, smarter than he looked, eyeing the two of you with suspicion and derision, as if the very idea you could have feelings toward this hunk of junk was baffling when able-bodied, strong men like him existed.   

“Oh, I get it. You’re real sick, lady, a real pervert—you fucking a machine? What’s the matter, human men aren’t good en—”

The jerk was cut off mid-sentence, your balled up fist coming into contact with his jaw; a resounding crack split sound waves as blood spurted from his lips. His colleagues had already wandered off down the road, not wanting to be a part of whatever trouble he had found himself in, having silently agreed to let this member of their team fend for himself.

“You fucking bitch!” the guard twice your size growled, swinging wildly only to miss. Your leg extended; you were pleased when he stumbled, only wishing he had fallen flat on his face.

“Now, wait a—”

He was quick to right himself, spinning on the ball of his heel—you were quicker, kneeing him in the nuts so hard he doubled over, but you weren’t finished yet.

Lifting your arm to gain momentum, you drove the point of your elbow into his spine, causing the offender to drop onto the dirt at your feet.

“I'd say he's down for the—”

Nick couldn’t get a word out; you didn’t appear to be listening, the android observing your uncharacteristic actions with rapt concern. You were pounding your knuckles into the bastard’s nose repeatedly, sticky crimson coating your fist and the man’s sorely wounded face.

As if coming to from a trance, Valentine whisked forward, snatching your wrist before you could cause the poor schmuck any more damage, thinking he may look worse off than even he, what with his bare wires and metal frame exposed to the elements.

“Hey! What’s gotten into you?!” Nick barked, his tone alone condemning your inappropriate conduct, the Synth yanking you up so fast you audibly gasped.

“There ain’t no excuse for this—this guy may be a jackass, but that doesn’t mean he deserves to die!” Nick protested, brows knit in anger the likes of which you had never seen.

You glanced down, only now seeming to notice the extent of his injuries; the man was out like a light. You only cared because he did.

“Nick, I—” you began, voice quavering, losing all resolve as you had been forced to witness Valentine’s sweet disposition vanish, quickly replaced by something undeniably frightening.

You never once imagined yourself to be the victim of his choler, finding you absolutely hated it, breaking down all at once to cry despite not meaning to. You felt simultaneously overwhelmed by guilt and embarrassed beyond measure, unable to look him in the eye.

“Don’t Nick me, this isn’t like you, this—” The man froze, his grip slackening as he loosely held on, thoroughly confused by how you could go from nearly murdering a man in cold blood with your bare hands, to shedding tears in the span of under a minute; he moved to grasp you by your shoulders.

“What’s going on?” he asked, perplexed, the question dry on his tongue. He searched your face for any hint of what the matter was, wondering if you’d lost a screw sometime after leaving Diamond City, as he thought he had a handle on how you operated.

You could not will yourself to respond, vision clouded, droplets pelting your cheeks as you gazed at the ground. You felt worse than a scolded child; you had never meant to upset him so, it being decidedly more terrible than any physical pain you had yet to endure.

“Look at me, damn you!” Valentine demanded, gently jostling you back to the present moment, though your tears only increased, Nick having never cursed at you before.

“Valentine,” you whispered, eyes shimmering, Nick’s fury subsiding to a dull roar as he waited for you to explain yourself. The crease of his brow evened out, the Synth notably more relaxed, though he did not trust you wouldn’t lash out again.

“Go on,” he urged sharply, wanting to get to the bottom of your behavior. It was unnerving, not knowing what else you were capable of at the drop of a dime.

It was an understatement to say that he was surprised when you lifted your arms, pulling the man forward to enfold in your tight embrace. You buried your cheek in the tattered, stained fabric of his coat, crying more softly now as it started to rain.

“Don’t listen to them,” you pleaded, “don’t ever listen to them. You’re perfect just the way you are,” you spoke with earnest, your lips pressing a tender kiss to the spot that lacked a heartbeat, though the gesture stood apart on its own.

“I can’t stand it—the way people treat you, the way they talk down to you—if only they knew—if only they could see what I see—” you sobbed, the sound of your cries muffled against his chest; it was firm, his shirt smelling like coolant and ozone—cigarettes mixed with something earthy—you breathed in deeply, overcome with silent relief when Nick placed his metallic hand on the crown of your head.

“I... I appreciate you, doll,” he started, his voice turning toward a soothing cadence, the way he pet your hair in long, slow strokes comforting you more than it should. “But you didn’t have to do that; would have preferred if you didn’t. Jerks like him get their comeuppance, but it shouldn’t be at the price of dirtying your hands.”

You had never been this intimate with him, nor had you ever planned to be—his words were unscripted, and his affection given of his own volition. You curled in tighter, nuzzling your way into the crook of his good arm, wanting to entomb yourself there for all eternity.

“I’m sorry,” you offered apologetically, feeling the pressure of Nick’s own arms around you, returning your hug, making you feel as if you could die happy at this moment, not minding in the least that there was an unconscious, bleeding man lying only a hairbreadth away. “It hurts me, like I know it hurts you.”

Nick was quiet, mulling over the fact it didn’t do you or him any good to disparage his own person when there were others to do it for him. He had never considered the effect it might have on those around him; it came naturally to want to harp on his own shortcomings—or had it come natural to the real Nick? That was the million-dollar question, wasn’t it.

“You’re right, it does. But I shouldn’t let it bother me, not when I have people like you by my side.”

“I love you, Valentine,” you countered, not recognizing the softness of your own voice. You felt a shift beneath you, your head being coaxed to rise by way of a slow tilt of your chin.

Nick stared down at you, gleaming, golden eyes emoting dolefully as he gazed into yours. He held a deep-seated sorrow, not only for you, but for himself, wishing that he was human, if only so he could touch you, hold you, kiss you the way he wanted to.

“That’s not the smartest thing you’ve ever said, but I take it you mean that,” Valentine replied, bending low to brush soft, silicone lips across yours of flesh and blood; they were cool and rough in texture, but not unpleasant. The fact he was kissing you at all was a dream come true.

“With all my heart,” you replied, cupping the Synth's battered cheek in the bowl of your palm, fingers trailing over artificial skin in a light caress.

“So, that’s what this was all about,” he remarked, conjuring up a smile. “You know, I’d give you mine,” he added solemnly, his glum tone indicative of something he was not telling you.

Instead of elaborating, Nick changed the subject, always one to brighten a dark mood. “Next time, just tell me what’s on your mind instead of beating the living daylights out of some poor schmo, all right?”

You managed a smile of your own, delighting in his sarcasm, glad for the fact your confession had taken a lighthearted turn. “I can’t make any promises,” you quipped.

The detective gave a small shake of his head, that lopsided, infectious grin of his spreading up one side of his face. “Taking a page out of my book, are you?”

“I learned from the best,” you breathed, kissing him once more. Though selfish of you, for all you cared, the world could undergo another nuclear war, and you wouldn’t bat a lash, not for as long as you had your funny Valentine.

[koenigami]

tags : fem!reader, fluff, little angsty because pining wrio scared of being vulnerable a/n: happy birthday to juicy buttocks man 🩶

WRIOTHESLEY didn’t get the chance to experience copious amounts of love throughout his life. And the little that he received, he’s not sure if any of it was ever real. Whether his foster parents’ I love yous were ever uttered with sincerity, he will never know. Even if he could, he probably would not care, because the things that they made him feel were real, even if only temporarily. 

But the things that you are able to ignite inside him- they’re terrifying him. Yes, good ol’ Wriothesley being scared. Not something that you get to see quite often, right? But it’s true. Because everywhere he goes; you’re there. While taking a lazy stroll through the Fortress of Meropide to ensure its order, Wriothesley seems to look for you in every nook and crevice of it. Your smile, your eyes, the sound of your voice. In every room that he steps, he seems to find glimpses of you. It gets worse when he realises that he cannot think straight anymore. Signing documents and reading through reports, simple and almost daily tasks for him, all of a sudden feel like hard manual labour. All due to one single person invading his thoughts and not letting go of him.

It’s a day like any other when you visit him, unloading another pile of paperwork for him on his desk, yet what you don’t expect is the sudden proximity between the both of you when he suddenly stands right in front of you. Your forehead wrinkles slightly in worry, noticing his scowl and ragged breaths. “Wriothesley-” “Get out.” Your eyebrows lift questioningly. Taking a step back, you wonder what might have led to his sudden request and rude demeanour as you’ve been getting along more than well the last few weeks. So well that you thought there might actually be something between you-

Warmth envelopes your wrist once you attempt to take the staircase, vainly trying to fulfil his wish, not even wanting to question it, only for him to pull you back. “Here.” with a gentleness that you haven’t gotten the chance to witness from him before, he guides your hand up to his head, lightly tapping the pads of your fingers against his temple. “Get out of here.” It’s only now that his tired looks become more evident. Wriothesley is desperate. He can’t hire someone to solve this problem for him, there is no one who can deal with this mess inside his head and heart except himself. 

“I would, if that is what you truly wished for.” you sigh, gracing him with that soft smile of yours before letting your hand settle on his cheek. Delicately, you trace the light stubble along his jaw with your thumb and Wriothesley, for the first time in forever, feels weak. “But the issue is that you won’t let me go.” 

And Wriothesley recognises that resisting these feelings, fighting against himself; all of it is futile. Sometimes the remedy can be worse than the disease, so letting you go without confessing his devotion to you would only torment him further. Gingerly, as if assessing whether his next move would scare you off, he leans his forehead against your shoulder and buries his face into the crook of your neck. Like a child seeking warmth and comfort in its mother’s bosom. And you let him. 

Embracing him and placing a hand on the nape of his neck, playing with his messy strands of hair, you ask softly, “Does the prospect of loving me seem that unpleasant to you?”  

That’s not it. And he’s sure you know that too but are merely trying to tease him in order to lighten the situation. It’s the fear of not being good enough, not being able to love you the way you deserve it, not being able to protect you from any possible harm, or even from himself. It’s the fear of causing you pain and sorrow instead of providing you with a happily ever after. 

He gulps audibly before lifting his head to look at you again, despite the lighthearted grin that he flashes you, his face carries a desolate expression. 

“Sweetheart, I’m not a man worth-”

“You truly are a scumbag, Wriothesley. You know that?” As always, you manage to leave him speechless but despite your insult, he leans back into you when you lift one of his hands and place it on your cheek. Your silky and soft skin a contrast in comparison to his rough and scarred self. “I think I should be the one to judge whether you’re worth it or not. Don’t you think so too?”

With a defeated sigh, Wriothesley can only nod before he leans his forehead against yours. Resisting you is hard but opposing you? Impossible.  That's why he lets you see past the cool and cocky walls that he has built up since his adolescence. Like a newborn lamb on shaky legs, ready to fall and get back up again, he allows himself to indulge in this newfound situation of defencelessness.

[alastor-simp]

Female Demon Who Sings Like "Ado" - Hazbin Hotel Gang Part 1/2

❥Note: This headcannon is going to be the hazbin hotel gang reacting to a demon who sings like my favorite singer Ado. This is similar to what I did for Twisted Wonderland. Similar to that, the characters are going to have a favorite song by the "Ado" reader as well.

Might have more than one favorite song choice for certain characters (Charlie and Alastor) since I know how much they adore music. This will be in in two parts. Enjoy everyone:)

Charlie🌈

🌈Charlie was a MASSIVE fan of music. She wasn't picky about any genre or form, she does adored music. She is the type of person who would go to musicals 24/7 and just admire it all. She could also sing as well, which increased her love for music tremendously

🌈She had found you one day, wondering the streets of Pentagram City, appearing lost and confused. Being the sweetie she was, she dragged you back to the hotel, saying you could stay there for as long as you want. The two of you became quick friends after that encounter.

🌈Her discovery of your amazing talent was entirely accidental. She was wondering around the hotel gardens, when she heard someone belting out a high note. She ran towards where the sound was coming from to discover you. You were gracefully moving your body, twirling around, as you continued to sing. You were so lost in your singing that you didn't notice Charlie.

🌈Once you were finished, a loud squealing was heard next to you, causing you to turn your head in shock. Charlie was bouncing up and down in excitement, eyes shining in amazement. She ran up to you and started asking you a thousand questions a second, ranging from "OH MY SATAN!! I DIDN'T KNOW YOU COULD SING?!" to "WHAT LANGUAGE WAS THAT! TELL ME!" After waiting for Charlie to calm down, you went and explained your past life to her.

🌈You told her you were a very famous singer in Japan. You started singing at a young age, doing some song covers on the internet and eventually got discovered by a very famous music company, and started singing your own songs as well as performing in live concerts. Charlie listened to everything you were saying, eyes filled with excitement. She never heard of a "Utaite" before, but she was adamant in learning more about it.

🌈You told her that you wanted to continue singing even in Hell, but you knew that it was going to be an easy thing to accomplish down here. Welp, never underestimate Charlie. She would go out of her way to find a popular music corporation in Hell to hire you, and if not, she would hire you personally to sing at the Hazbin Hotel. She even contacted her dad to help with everything, setting up a recording room in the hotel, and also setting up a stage/venue in the hotel for you to perform as well.

🌈You tried to tell Charlie she didn't have to do all of this, but she said it was perfectly fine. She wanted you to continue your passion for singing. She gave out flyers to everyone in hell and also made another advertisement, letting everyone know to come to Hazbin Hotel to see you perform. Everything was set in place, but there was one problem, your identity. You preferred your face and identity to be kept secret in Hell, it was what you did when you were alive so you preferred to keep it that way. Charlie was quick to remedy that. She could try to see if her dad or Alastor could you their powers to change your form or wear a mask to conceal your face.

🌈Your first performance at the hotel was a huge success. All the sinners who attended were left stunned by your amazing vocals. The hotel became increasingly popular after that, more sinners would come to the hotel to attend your performances, and some of the demons who came actually wondered about the whole redemption process, and maybe would want to give it a try.

🌈Charlie became a bit of a music producer for you. She would help with setting up for you performances and she would also listen to a new song you were creating, offering tips and support. Her favorite songs that she enjoys from you is "New Genesis" and "Fireworks"

Vaggie🎀

🎀Vaggie enjoyed music, but not as much as her girlfriend, Charlie. She was Salvadoran, so her preferred genre consisted more of Latino/Hispanic songs, but she did love it when Charlie would sing.

🎀She first met you when Charlie brought you to the hotel. The grip on her spear was strong, but the more she interacted with you, the less she gripped onto her spear. She soon realized you weren't much of a threat, and considered you an avid member of the hotel.

🎀She had no idea you were musically talented until she heard you one day on the hotel roof. She was heading up there to deal with her migraine after dealing with Angel and Alastor's shenanigans. Getting ready to push the door, she stopped when she heard singing from the other side.

🎀Curious, she opened the roof door slowly. Peaking through, she spotted you, at the edge of the hotel roof, your back facing her. Your voice was memorizing, and she was really drawn to your lyrics despite not understanding fully what they meant. Once you finished, you heard clapping. Turning around, you realized Vaggie was behind you, sporting a small grin.

🎀She walked closer to you, with her hands on her hips while you looked away flustered. “Quite a powerful voice you got.” She smiled back at you, and took noticed of your shy expression. Vaggie questioned what was wrong and you heaved a sigh, explaining your past.

🎀You told her about your life in Japan, and how at the age of 17, you got founded by a popular music company, and began singing and performing music on the internet and live shows. You did mention that you almost never revealed your identity whenever you sang, which is why you were embarrassed when Vaggie found you. Vaggie was amazed when you told her your life story, and felt slightly bad.

🎀She gave you a shoulder hug, and went on to describe that your voice was astounding, and she thinks she can help you and maybe speak to Charlie about your talent, maybe become beneficial for the hotel as well.

🎀After Vaggie spoke to Charlie and Alastor, since he was interested in the idea, the three of them helped to create another radio station tower in the hotel, where you could broadcast your singing, and maintain your identity as well. The hotel got its own frequency, which would help broadcast to all the radios in hell as well. After your performances, you would also throw in a small ad about the Hazbin Hotel and recommended sinners to attend.

🎀The hotel did gain a bit more popularity after that, with a few sinners coming to the hotel for redemption, which made Charlie and Vaggie extremely happy. Vaggie had gotten much closer with you after that, making sure you were well rested and giving your voice a break and bringing you meals when you were broadcasting to make sure you were eating. Her favorite song of yours is "Value"

Angel Dust🕸

🕸Angel Dust was an avid music listener. He enjoyed a lot of pop and jazz songs. He was a stripper/porn star, so he would pole dance to a lot of the sexual/seductive songs for customers.

🕸He was lounging on the hotel couch, when he heard Charlie announce that there was a new guest at the hotel. He looked up, and saw you walking along with Charlie, appearing very shy. "Heh, cute." he thought. It was a bit awkward in the beginning, considering how timid you were, but he eventually warmed up to you, becoming your best friend.

🕸The both of you hanged out a lot, either you crashing in Angel's room or him coming to yours, to either chat or laze about. He was making his way to your room at high speed. He was irritated with work and he needed to rant to you about it since you would always listen to him. Entering inside your room, he noticed you were not there. Sounds of running water could heard, which made Angel realize that you were taking a shower in the bathroom.

🕸Shrugging his shoulders, he decided he would wait for you to finish, plopping onto your bed. As he was laying there, he heard the sounds of someone singing. Angel arched his head on the bed, trying to hear it better, realizing that you were the one that was singing. Your voice was flowing into him, giving him goosebumps all throughout his body. The effects of your singing was almost putting him into a trance, like he was getting high on drugs again.

🕸The sound of the water turned off, bringing Angel back to reality. Walking out the bathroom with a towel on your head and loungewear, you glanced up, only to jump in shock at seeing Angel laying on your bed, smirking at you. "Nice set of pipes you got there toots!" Angel said, as he continued to smirk at you, based on how red your face was.

🕸Covering your face, you slowly sank to the floor, which caused Angel to give you a concerned look. "Woah woah! Toots, what's wrong? I wasn't making fun of ya. You sounded really good." Angel got up from the bed, and bent down to pick you up, walking back to the bed and placing you on it as he took a seat on it again.

🕸Angel continued to observe you, worried that he had hurt your feelings. Finally, you removed your hands from your face, staring back at Angel. You told him that you were just shocked and very embarrassed that he saw you singing, since you were more use to singing privately. Angel raised an eyebrow, wondering what you meant. Heaving a sigh, you told Angel about your past life when you were still alive.

🕸You told him you were Japanese and when you got a bit older, you started singing song covers and posted them on the Internet, but you concealed your identity. After a while of doing that, a music company founded you and immediately got you. You continued singing and making new songs as time went by, coming a very well known singer in your country until your death. After telling Angel all of that, you told him that you still wanted to continue singing, but it was just a bit more difficult, being in hell and all.

🕸Angel was smiling down at you kindly, two of his arms still placed on your shoulders. He was happy you told him all of this, and glad that he didn't upset you. He was actually kinda stunned too, at that fact that he was friends with a very famous singer and had no idea about it until now. He wanted to press more on why you hid your identity, but he shot that thought down as he came to the conclusion that if it made you more comfortable that way, then it’s fine.

🕸️”Well why don’t you start singing again. With a voice like that, you would have sinners crawling all over you, begging for you to sing to them?” He said, as he waited for your response. You told him that it wasn't gonna be easy, especially since you didn't know where to start and you didn't have powers to conceal your identity. Angel threw his head back in laughter, before looking back at you "Haha! Toots, I know several clubs in the area that you could perform at. Trust me. They always looking for someone. And the whole identity thing, you can always wear a disguise or put on makeup. I do drag so I'll be able to help ya out with the look."

🕸After that, Angel basically dragged you to all the clubs that he and Cherri have gone too that he knew were top class, and not sleazy like other places. He avoided the ones that he knew his boss, Valentino, frequented. Last thing he wanted was for him to spot you and drag you into a soul contract, like he did to him. You were finally able to find one that looked amazing inside and out, had good pay, and also had a boss who wasn't a total a✪✪hat.

🕸Your first performance at the club blew the audience away. The more and more you performed, the more sinners would pile up in the club. There was even lines outside, waiting to see you perform. Angel was able to conceal your identity, by putting on makeup on you, and also giving you a wig and other accessories to make you appear much different then how you normally looked.You became well known in that area in hell, even the internet was buzzing about you and how amazing you were.

🕸Angel became your sort of stylist and bodyguard. He would help with your outfits and makeup, and he would stick around during all of your shows, as he wanted to make sure no one attempted anything, and he also wanted to enjoy your singing. His favorite song of yours is "Chocolat Cadabra"

TO BE CONTINUED IN PART 2

Tag List:

@pepperycookie , @yourdoorisunlocked, @ghostdoodlen, @aceofcards0-0, @jyoongim, @saturnhas82moons, @unholycheesesnack , @luujjvi , @forbidden-sunlight, @pinkcrystal44 , @veethewriter , @rains-sleeping , @danveration , @demoarah, @cookiekyo , @iiotic, @delectableworm , @91062854-ka , @alastorsgoldie , @lokis-imaginary-friend , @themysteriousslenderman , @huntlowfan , @pawstrey , @futureittomainn , @christinaatyourservice92 , @littledolly2345 , @just-trash-yeah-thats-it , @angelinevalentine89 , @yunimimii , @staryosh1 , @mihawksdemoness , @crystalreads , @blahblahbruhmeow , @madam-strawberryrose , @inkslayer , @azazel-nyx , @lixanjewel , @ainsliemac , @sweet06tart , @nobuharashinyao , @aria-tempest , @fluffismystaplefood , @darischerry , @nightmarenaya , @mooniee123 , @yakultt-art , @ktssstuff , @blakedbeanss , @sweet06tart , @ihyperfixatedagain , @alastorssimp , @sadnessiscoldtea , @artemisandhunters , @crystalreads , @thereeallink , @justchillaine , @felice-jaganshi , @batmanmonstarr , @dilucragnvindr-my-beloved , @imacollasaltitan , @ask-theradio-demon , @lousypotatoes

[lovezbrownies]

Office lady Nia office lady Nia office lady Nia offOffice lady Nia office lady Nia office lady Nia office lady Nia office lady Nia office lady Nia office lady Nia Office lady Nia office lady Nia office lady Nia office lady Nia office lady Nia Office lady Nia office lady Nia office lady Nia office lady Nia office lady Nia Office lady Nia office lady Nia office lady Nia office lady Nia office lady Nia..

Making this made me blush don't ask why

The office's Monarch. (Yandere Queen?Boss? x GN!Reader.)

Nia's Masterlist - General Masterlist

Synopsis: You're overworked, and your bachelorette of a boss has the remedy.

Nia Bloodwen x GN!Reader

Warnings: Big bad boss Nia, the office not liking darling, overworked darling, kinda suggestive? But that's a given with Nia tbh

Today, you couldn’t afford to do anything but work. The prospect of a lunch break was nothing more than a distant dream, as you stared at the seemingly endless rows of emails and stacks of paperwork that had been cruelly dropped onto your desk. All courtesy of a coworker who was probably basking in the sun on a beach somewhere, enjoying their paid vacation. The memory of their smug grin as they left only fueled your growing frustration. Damned rat.

The gnawing hunger in your stomach was easier to ignore than the heavy weight of responsibility pressing down on you. There was simply no time to stop and eat. Deadlines loomed large, and your priority was getting through the mountain of tasks in front of you before they became an avalanche.

You sighed, leaning back in your chair for a moment of respite. Most of the office didn’t like you anyway—no one would even notice if you disappeared for a few minutes, but you couldn’t bring yourself to do it. You’d earned their disdain without ever meaning to, and truth be told, you couldn’t entirely blame them.

From the moment you had been hired, Nia Bloodwen, your boss, had taken a particular interest in you. She had carved out a special place for you in the company that no one else seemed to occupy. Whether it was extending your lunch hours, giving you extra time off, or offering extensions on projects without a second thought, Nia was always there to make sure you were treated differently. Far better than the rest of the staff, to be precise.

And everyone had noticed. There was no hiding it—Nia didn’t even try to be subtle. Her favoritism was as blatant as the sky was blue, and you’d been given the unfortunate title of “Boss’ Pet,” a nickname that followed you through the halls like a shadow. The bitterness of your coworkers was palpable. WenBlood & Co. didn’t have an “Employee of the Month” program until you arrived, but since your first week, your photo had been plastered up on the wall every single month. It was as if Nia had created the title just for you, a constant reminder to the others that you were different. Special. Untouchable.

It didn’t help that whenever someone tried to strike up a casual conversation with you, Nia would appear out of nowhere, ready to defend her favorite.

“Mister Bajaj! What are you doing loitering by L/N’s desk? Get back to work!”

Or, with an icy glare at Mrs. Alotaibi, “I expect better from you. Don’t distract L/N with idle chatter. I won’t tolerate it.”

Even minor offenses like a friendly email exchange would end in a scolding that echoed across the office. People learned quickly to avoid you, preferring to keep their distance rather than risk being humiliated by the boss. The few who still dared to interact with you did so cautiously, sending projects to your personal email just to avoid Nia’s wrath. She monitored everyone’s work emails like a hawk, and no one wanted to be the next victim of one of her public takedowns.

“Mister Bajaj, another non-work-related email and you’re done. L/N has real work to do, not time for your cat gifs.”

And it wasn’t just a casual comment. Her voice would cut through the air like a blade, sharp and cold, as she openly threatened anyone who dared waste your time. Nia’s “minions,” as she liked to call the rest of the office, were left walking on eggshells whenever you were involved.

For them, Nia was terrifying. She ruled with an iron fist, barking orders, threatening layoffs, and keeping everyone in a constant state of anxiety. But with you? She was different. For reasons you couldn’t quite grasp, Nia was always soft and gentle, as if she were a completely different person when she was around you. Her cold demeanor would melt, replaced with warmth and compassion that bordered on obsessive. She listened to your complaints, accommodated your requests—even when you didn’t ask for anything. One day, you had casually mentioned that you liked coffee, and by the next morning, a brand-new coffee machine had been installed on your desk.

That’s when you learned to stop admitting to liking things. Nia took every word you said as gospel, going to great lengths to cater to your needs—even when you didn’t need it.

Normally, you could tolerate it. You even found it amusing at times, though you were always careful to never push Nia too far. She was your boss, after all, and your job was on the line if she ever decided you weren’t worth the trouble. But today was different. Today, the sheer volume of work in front of you left no room for her theatrics.

Emails kept pouring into your inbox faster than you could respond, and the paperwork—God, the paperwork—had only grown worse by the hour. Your own tasks were still manageable, but your coworker’s load, due tomorrow, was like a ticking time bomb. You cursed yourself for agreeing to take it on. You’d wanted to be helpful, to show your coworkers that you weren’t just Nia’s little pet. But now? Now you were paying for that decision, drowning in work that wasn’t even yours to begin with.

You exhaled slowly, your hands shaking slightly from the stress. Why did you care if your coworkers liked you anyway? Half of them probably didn’t deserve your time. You barely knew them, and what little you did know wasn’t exactly flattering. Yet here you were, breaking your back for them, hoping in vain that maybe, just maybe, they’d see you as more than Nia’s golden child.

While you sat stewing in frustration, Nia had been hovering at the edge of your desk, trying to coax you into joining her for lunch. For the last five minutes, she had been relentless, her voice soft yet insistent, like a melody you couldn’t get out of your head.

“I’ll give you an extension if you’re so worried about your work. Just leave it for now and come with me. I can hear your stomach growling from here.”

Her low-cut top and open blouse were impossible to ignore as she leaned forward, making her presence all the more unavoidable. Nia had never been shy about her appearance, and no one dared to say anything about it. Her last name ensured that. Even HR wouldn’t touch her, not with her father, the CEO, pulling the strings. And while Nia had always dressed fashionably, you couldn’t help but notice that she had amped it up since you started working at WenBlood. Whether you were shallow enough to care didn’t matter—she knew how to get your attention, and today was no different.

But today, you were too tired. Too worn down. You kept your eyes glued to the screen, fingers flying across the keyboard as you tried to finish one last email. “No, Nia,” you muttered. “I’ve got too much to do. This can’t wait. I’ve got snacks in my drawer if I need them.” You pulled open the drawer to reveal an overstuffed collection of snacks, though you didn’t even glance at it. “Go ahead without me.”

Nia wasn’t pleased with that answer. Her lips pursed slightly as she walked around the desk, her eyes flicking to your monitor. It didn’t take her long to figure out what was going on. “Wait a minute,” she said, narrowing her eyes at the project label on your screen. “I assigned these to Miss Smith. Why are you doing them?”

You hesitated for a split second, unsure of how to respond. “She’s on vacation,” you finally said. “I told her I’d handle it while she’s gone.”

Nia’s expression darkened, her irritation evident in the way her eyes flashed. Without warning, Nia walked around the desk, now right behind you as she reached down and powered off your monitor, effectively halting your work. You let out a surprised gasp, but before you could even begin to protest, Nia spun your chair around to face her.

Her manicured nails tapped against the backrest of your chair, just inches from your head. She was so close you could smell the faint traces of her expensive perfume—something floral, with a hint of spice. The scent wrapped around you, making it impossible to think straight.

“You,” she said, her voice dangerously low, “are going to take a well-deserved break with me. We are going to enjoy lunch together, and that’s final.”

Her presence was overwhelming, her beauty almost hypnotic as she stood over you, her eyes locking onto yours. You could feel your heart pounding in your chest as her words sunk in. She wasn’t asking. She was telling.

Before you could muster a response, Nia’s hand slipped into yours, pulling you to your feet with surprising ease. She wasted no time looping her arm through yours, guiding you toward the door like it was the most natural thing in the world. Your legs felt shaky beneath you, your mind racing as you tried to process the sudden shift in the atmosphere.

The sudden proximity made you stiffen. Her perfume—something floral and impossibly expensive—lingered in the air between you. Your heart thudded in your chest as she pulled you along, completely ignoring the confused stares of your coworkers.

You could feel their eyes on you as Nia led you through the office, her heels clicking confidently on the tiled floor. Most of your coworkers either shrank back or quickly pretended to be busy, not wanting to draw her ire.

Outside, the heat of the midday sun hit you like a wall, and you stumbled slightly as Nia led you toward her car. It wasn’t the sleek black sports car she usually drove—it was something far more extravagant today. A silver Rolls-Royce, polished to perfection.

“Really?” you muttered under your breath, but Nia just laughed as she opened the door for you, gesturing for you to get in. “Come on, darling. You deserve to be spoiled today.”

You hesitated, glancing between her and the car. But there was no way out of this, not without making a scene. You slid into the plush leather seat with a resigned sigh, and Nia slipped in beside you, a satisfied smile tugging at her lips.

The restaurant she took you to was even more ridiculous than you’d imagined. Crystal chandeliers hung from the ceiling, and the walls were lined with gold-framed mirrors. The entire place screamed luxury, and as soon as you entered, the staff treated Nia like royalty, ushering you both to a private table.

“You’ve got to be kidding,” you muttered, glancing around in disbelief. Nia just smiled, unfazed. “Nothing but the best for you, my dear. Can you even think of anyone else who can do it like me? Hah, of course not!”

The restaurant buzzed with life, the soft hum of conversation and clinking silverware creating an atmosphere that should’ve been relaxing. But with Nia sitting across from you, calm and poised, you couldn’t quite shake the sense that this wasn’t just lunch—it was something else entirely. Something orchestrated. Nia always had a way of making situations bend to her will, and today, it felt like you were the focus of her attention in a way that left you on edge.

"Relax," Nia said, her voice warm, noticing the stiffness in your posture. She slid into the seat across from you, her eyes shining with that same playful glint. "I promise, I’m not going to bite. Unless you want me to." Nia giggles, blush overcoming her cheeks.

Her tone was light, but there was a careful precision to her words, as if each one was chosen with intent. The waiter appeared and took your orders without even bothering to ask if you wanted a menu. Nia, it seemed, had already decided what would be best for you—an assumption that only deepened the quiet unease growing inside you.

You didn’t argue. It never seemed worth it.

The conversation began as usual, with Nia recounting bits of office gossip and teasing remarks about your coworkers, her voice lilting with amusement. But there was something else woven into her words, a subtle shift in the way she spoke about them—diminishing their roles, highlighting how little they mattered compared to you. It was easy to laugh along, but you couldn’t ignore the lingering sense that you were being nudged into a certain way of thinking.

And then, as the food arrived, Nia’s tone changed again, softening, becoming almost... intimate.

"I don’t like seeing you stressed," she murmured, her voice quiet and soothing. "You’re always doing so much for other people, taking on more than you should. And for what? People who don’t appreciate you?" Her gaze locked onto yours, her expression all concern, but her words dripped with something more. A subtle pressure.

You shifted in your seat, caught off guard by her intensity. "I’m fine," you replied, forcing a smile, though the weight of everything you had been dealing with was beginning to press down on you.

"Are you?" Nia asked, her voice soft but pointed, like she already knew the answer. "You’re too kind, too generous. It’s admirable, but it’s not fair. I don’t want to see you burning out just because you can’t say no." She paused, letting her words sink in, then leaned forward slightly, lowering her voice even further. "You don’t have to be that person for everyone. You don’t have to be that person for them. Not when I’m here."

The way she said it made it sound like a favor, a gift—like she was the only one who truly understood you. Before you could respond, she reached across the table, her fingers grazing the back of your hand in a gesture that seemed gentle, but there was a possessiveness to it. A subtle claim.

"L/N," she continued, her thumb tracing a slow circle on your skin, her eyes never leaving yours, "let me help you. You don’t need to carry everything on your own. I can make things easier for you." Her smile was soft, sweet even, but there was an unmistakable hint of satisfaction in her eyes, as if she knew she was pulling you closer, bit by bit.

There it was again—the sense that her kindness wasn’t without strings. But the way she said it, the way she looked at you, made it hard to resist. It was as though she was offering you exactly what you needed, exactly when you needed it. A lifeline, wrapped in velvet.

"You trust me, don’t you?" Nia asked, her voice now barely above a whisper. It wasn’t really a question, more of a statement—an expectation.

As you looked at her, you could feel the weight of her words settling around you, a promise mixed with something much heavier. And yet, there was a part of you that couldn’t help but lean into it, just a little.

"Let me take care of you, like I always do," she added, her smile widening ever so slightly, her tone light and playful again, though the undercurrent was unmistakable. You were hers, whether you realized it or not.

[rockrosethistle]

A list of Nightmare Time episode ideas that I thought of and I think would be cool:

1.) Mr. Chasity has been trying to sell the old Waylon Place for far too long. After trying and failing over and over, he decides to take matters into his own hands by going in himself to see what all the fuss is about. But nothing could have prepared him to meet the real ghosts of Waylon Hall. And boy oh boy do they have shenanigans in store. (The episode would be called 'Unholy Ghost') .

2.) It's been a few months since Hatchetfield was destroyed in that awful 'accident'. Emma and Paul have been living under the aliases Kelly and Ben Bridges. (there can be a joke where Emma doesn't even pretend to care about her alias and Paul cares too much.) They live in Colorado now. Emma's finally started her pot farm, and Paul is working in marketing. For the most part, they have a good life. Only Paul's acting a bit different lately. Emma caught him humming company jingles, tapping his foot to a beat she can't hear. Maybe those spores he inhaled had some effect on him. It's probably nothing, but he's never sung in the shower before...(I don't have a name for this one yet.) .

3.) Max Jägerman is failing remedial algebra. In fact, he's doing so poorly that his dad shells out and hires him a tutor, PJ. (Bryce's nerd from 'Literal Monster.) He reluctantly lets her help him. At first it seems to work and his grades are rising steadily, but as PJ lets her guard down, Max starts to notice some things. Strange symbols scribbled in the margins of her notebook, almost like...jagged smiles? Weird stains on her hands, when she gets too close she smells like roadkill. And there's this white spider that keeps showing up in his room. Sometimes he feels like it's trying to tell him something. Or warn him. Without knowing what he's gotten himself into, Max has to evade getting his soul swallowed by a hungry god of darkness. (The episode is called 'Dirty Dude Soup') .

4.) Charlotte Sweetly is jealous. Her church friend, Carol Davidson, has exactly the kind of life she wants. Charlotte's seen the way her boss talks about his wife, and would give anything for Sam to feel that way about her. One day, Charlotte finally gathers her courage and asks her how she does it. Carol takes pity on her, and decides to reveal an important secret: it's all the product of a ritual, an ancient spell she stumbled upon on a trip to an amusement park. She claims that ever since she did it, her husband can't get enough of her. "I am all he sees. He calls me the apple of his eye." Charlotte doesn't believe her at first, but Carol gave her the instructions, and why the hell not? She tries it. Unfortunately, Charlotte messes up the wording. The spell still works, but not quite as intended. And an all-seeing police officer could be a good thing, but Sam is not a good police officer. (maybe let's call this one 'Omnipocop'. But that's awful to spell so suggestions are welcome) .

5.) While trying to be an assistant, Steph accidentally botches one of Pete's science projects. He forgives her, but she still feels bad even as he assures her it's no big deal, throwing the mix of chemicals out his window just to prove it. What he doesn't know is that the last family that lived in the Spankoffski house buried their dog in the backyard, and Pete's chemical slurry just brought it back to life. On a probably unrelated note, Paul has been trying to ignore the damage he's finding in his apartment. He's been chalking most of the tipped over garbage cans and torn apart cushion up to rats--giant rats?--or maybe a squirrel. But when a decades-old "missing dog" poster shows up on his doorstep, he can't ignore the truth for any longer. (the episode would be called "Patches' Revenge" and I thing it would work because it's just the right amount of weird. It would end with Paul teaming up with the nerds to defeat undead Patches with science.) .

6.) To his utter delight, Miss Holloway finally agreed to go out with Duke on a proper date. Nothing huge, just some ice cream and a walk on the beach. They're both enjoying themselves when Miss Holloway hears something. Duke can't hear it, but he still follows her down the shore to some kind of cave grotto, where she claims the noise is coming from. She tosses a pebble into the water, testing how it might react. A few moments later, the pebble come flying out again. Duke is stunned, but Miss Holloway tosses her ice cream cone. Sure enough, a few moments later is comes flying back, perfectly dry. They've clearly discovered something, and over the next few days, Duke and Miss Holloway experiment and try to learn about the grotto and the water in it. It's too deep to see the bottom, so their tests mostly involve tossing different things to see how they'll react. Little do they know, there was a reason Miss Holloway could hear a noise coming from the cave. There's a reason it drew her in, too. There's something singing to her, something that lives at the bottom of the grotto. And with each thing they feed it, it becomes a little bit stronger...(and then it's called something unassuming like "Wavecrest Cave")

So that's Nightmare Time season four all lined up. Please tell me if you have a good name idea for episodes 2 and 4. Also if anyone wants to use these as writing prompts, be my guest (just tag me so I can read them)

[lexirosewrites]

hi, I’m LexiRoseWrites

(pfp made by @/itcanbepalped)

☆ you can call me Lexi or Lex

☆ 28, nonbinary, bisexual, autistic, and a nurse

☆ they/he/she, but they/he preferred— gendered terms of any sort are fine with me!

☆ twitter/X: @LexiRoseWrites1

☆ my inbox is open and you’re welcome to ask me anything or send me a request! (I will delete hate/bullying sent, so don’t bother)

☆ please ask before writing about one of my posts! I am not a prompt generator, so make sure you ask first!!

☆ this is an 18+ blog because while I write lots of steddie and specifically omegaverse content, occasionally you’ll find NSFW things or a dead dove here (always heavily tagged) because I’m apparently the big scary proshipper you’ve been warned about

☆ blog navigation: #my fics, #my asks, #wip Wednesday, #throwback Thursday fics, #spreadsheet Saturday, #slick Sunday

↓ masterlist of ficlets and fics below the cut ↓

TUMBLR FICLETS

Steddie:

☆ Amnesia ☆ Card Games ☆ Dinner Reservations ☆ Handcuffs ☆ Lingerie ☆ Not Dating ☆ Serial Killer Soulmates: part 1 | part 2 ☆ Steve Accidentally Summons a Demon: part 1 | part 2 ☆ Steve Isn’t Coping ☆ Transfem Stevie ☆

Omegaverse Steddie:

☆ 24-Hour Diner: part 1 | part 2 ☆ Alpha-for-Hire Eddie ☆ Autistic Omega Steve ☆ Baby Mine ☆ Birthday Massage ☆ Bitchy Omega Steve / Lovesick Alpha Eddie: part 1 | part 2 | part 3 ☆ Camboy Steve ☆ Everyone is a Beta ☆ Expectations ☆ Fake Dating Fertility Clinic ☆ Fate Binds Us ☆ Hairdresser Steve/Rockstar Eddie ☆ Health Class ☆ Hellfire Cult ☆ I didn’t know we were dating: part 1 | part 2 | part 3 ☆ Infertility ☆ Kas Eddie ☆ Losing Control ☆ Nestless Omega Steve ☆ Older Steve/Younger Eddie ☆ Oral Coach Steve ☆ Pathetic Omega Steve ☆ Platonic Stobin ☆ Scent Blockers ☆ Speak Now ☆ Steve Gets A Puppy ☆ Such A Good Boy ☆ The Bachelor ☆ The Best Present ☆ The Reunion ☆ Time Loop ☆ Unknowingly Claimed ☆ Wealthy Steve/Busker Eddie ☆

General Omegaverse:

☆ Alpha/Omega Voices ☆ Basic Guide to Omegaverse Terms ☆ Bite Lore ☆ Rejection Sickness ☆ Scruffing ☆

AO3 FICS

All of my fics are steddie unless otherwise stated, mostly explicit and omegaverse, but check actual tags before reading anything please!

☆ Current WIPs ☆

A Million Dreams: A/B/O, circus AU, 2/4 chapters, 10k

Keep Digging (until you find my heart buried next to yours in the ground): A/B/O, archeology au, soulmates, reincarnation, 2/3 chapters, 17k

Scatter The Ashes: A/B/O, mafia AU, sequel to Watch It All Burn, 4/16 chapters, 18k

Waking Up In Vegas: A/B/O, accidental mating, rockstar Eddie, 5/15 chapters, 33k

☆ Unfinished (Series) ☆

Going For The Gold: A/B/O, ice skater Steve/hockey player Eddie, 18k

Jailbirds Can’t Fly: A/B/O, dead dove, prison AU, bitching, 12k

Keep It On Campus: A/B/O, college AU, 22k

Lucky Number 666: A/B/O, mafia AU, single parent Steve, 3k

My Heart’s Been Borrowed and Yours Has Been Blue: A/B/O, divorced kindergarten teacher Steve/tattoo artist Eddie, 25k

The Bunny and The Wolf: A/B/O, mafia AU, 154k

☆ Complete ☆

A Prince and His Pauper: A/B/O, medieval/royalty AU, stuttering Steve, 100k

All I Want For Christmas Is You: A/B/O, Christmas fic, 6k

And The Sun Will Rise: A/B/O, zombie apocalypse AU, 41k

Baby Mine: A/B/O, omega Eddie/alpha Steve, unplanned pregnancy, hurt/comfort, 2k

Bandaids (And Other Home Remedies): A/B/O, pediatric nurse Steve/single dad Eddie, 87k

Bleeding Heart: A/B/O, vampire Eddie/human Steve, 21k

Business Before Pleasure: A/B/O, Buckingham, Office AU, 16k

Exigency Contact: A/B/O, threesome, Steddie/Stargyle/Steddigyle, rockstar Eddie, 10k

Five Years: amnesia, 1k

Fragile (Handle With Care): A/B/O, soulmates, rockstar Eddie, 117k

He’s So Mean: A/B/O, high school AU, 3k

Let Me Be Your (Teddy Bear): A/B/O, bitching, 11k

Mad World: trans male Eddie, childhood friends, 3k

More of You to Love: A/B/O, chubby Steve, 4k

Never Be Alone Again: A/B/O, dead dove, stalker Eddie, 3k

Oblivious: t4t, mutual pining, 3k

On A Different Page: A/B/O, didn’t know they were dating, 7k

Online, Offline (Out of My Mind): A/B/O, soulmates, online dating, actor Steve/mechanic Eddie, 41k

Screaming Your Name In The Dark: A/B/O, dead dove, Kas Eddie, alternating past/present timelines, 27k

Silver: A/B/O, silverfox omega Steve/younger alpha Eddie, 6k

Tell Me About It, Stud: A/B/O, studding, 7k

The Rings Stay On: cis female Steve, 4k

The Start of Something Perfect: A/B/O, soulmates, 2k

The Stutter and The Freak: stuttering Steve, 14k

Touch Me: A/B/O, omega/omega, therapist Eddie/touch-repulsed Steve, 12k

Unholy Matrimony: demon Eddie/human Steve, 5k

Unsafe Bet: A/B/O, high school AU, dating as a prank, 65k

[slurmdog]

modern au of scum villain and quasi-Twilight vampire fusion, which, hear me out:

pre-vampirism: shen yuan originally tutors on the side through a school program initiative while he's undergrad in college to be a high school bio teacher. he tutors a teenaged binghe (so bright and intelligent!) who absorbs everything he teaches him and proceeds to run with it all the way to straight A's. binghe is also going through like, 5 awakenings a week getting tutored by shen yuan.

tianlang-jun the vampire king, meanwhile, has been searching for su xiyan's child - it shouldn't be possible for there to be one, but lo and behold: it's half-human half-vampire luo binghe, academic star of his school & extracurriculars, playing around at being human. he snatches binghe as soon as he finds him to teach him the ropes, even if zuzhi-lang is most of his education in the end.

[and then binghe gets dragged around and benignly foiled at every turn in his mission to return to shen yuan for years until tianlang-jun deems him strong enough to defend himself AND shen yuan so he doesn't die like his mother]

so then shen yuan's excited for binghe's graduation, except... when shen yuan goes to his graduation ceremony to surprise him, he's not there. shen yuan knows his grades were good! he should be graduating valedictorian! but nobody's able to find him, and his name is called to an empty stage. shen yuan tries everything short of hiring a private investigator (he has the money, but they just tell him that there's nothing they can do.)

post-vampirism: so for the next 10 years, shen yuan searches for binghe around every corner, until he's teaching a remedial night class at the local high school and... binghe walks in, looking handsome as ever and only a little bit older. he's introduced as a transfer student; apparently binghe has been a chronic school hopper.

see: shen yuan has no social media presence outside of his Peerless Cucumber handle, which he uses exclusively to rail against Airplane's shitty vampire webnovel.

binghe only knows that shen yuan was on track to be a high school teacher, so he finds himself going through the faculty lists of schools nearby (and less optimistically occasionally, the obituaries) and attending night classes like some kind of immortal freak, except he's deeply disinterested in hormonal teenagers and moreso interested in his now probably 30ish-year old prior tutor.

binghe is trying to figure out how to break it to shen yuan that he's a vampire & shen yuan is trying to figure out how to break it to binghe that he's realized he's gay. there's definitely some swooning involved.

shen yuan doesn't really know what to do about this!