#thanks for giving me an excuse to talk extensively about this topic i have been physically holding myself back lmao

[red-rover-au]

Listen. I hold your face-- listen. I have been following so many separated au's. that the details I'd used to analyze the fighting styles of your friends in particular have been completely muddle-mixed with every other draxum dad-ed turtle. I think to myself "Leo has the weapon that's most likely to kill/maim" but is that a rr Leo trait? no! I think to myself "yet donnie is the one who murders most often" but do I remember examples of that? no!! My head is Empty my good writer.

The fact that 2 out of 3 responses to the fights have been "no thoughts head empty" lmaoo

Interesting that the family truama is the thing that stands out about my au! Yeah, my history with domestic abuse isn't a secret, and the fact that I always make Slightly Flawed parents 10xs worse in every fandom I touch is one of the funnier symptoms djskdjd

I could write a full essay on the complicated nature of having abusive parents who DO love you.

The rest under the read more cuz i accidentally did oops. Content warning for child abuse, obviously

I see a lot of depictions of abusive parents that feel extremely text book based, like someone read about the cycle of abuse and copied it down step by step, when in my experience and the experience of almost all of my friends who were hit as kids- its really not like that at all

I think I project onto Leo the most in terms of responding to an abusive parent. Cuz like, when your parent abuses you but you KNOW that they love you, it creates this unstable dynamic where you're never sure how much you can get away with. But when you're a stubborn and prideful kid like I was, you just try getting away with everything cuz fuck it, you know the storm is gonna pass eventually, they won't be mad at you forever, they'll probably even (poorly) apologize later

The most personal example was in the latest chapter- chapter 18. While Leo is getting whipped the only thing on his mind is how annoying it is that Draxum didn't even start with an explanation this time. He doesn't actually care why tho; anything could've set Draxum off, really. But he also has to carefully craft a mask that isnt too stuck up/neutral, else the beating will go on longer and that would be annoying- but he also has his Pride so he doesn't want to look super shaken from the whole thing. That might've been the autism in me, idk.

I dont know how to end this i got carried away lmao

Point is, ur right and Im glad the nuance comes through (I also have three siblings who's reactions to the exact same abusive behavior I could draw from, so that helps) and yis Leo keeps his snark because of course he does, he's Leo

[kiose]

Hope you're doing well currently. Do you think Lysithea would have a white horse or a black horse? Either color would fit her well, but I was curious what horse color do you prefer? Mind if I share a few headcanons;

Lysithea would actually have poor/bad horsewomanship/riding habits at first, like blaming her horses for mistakes/using harsh tack/overuse of riding aids/use of riding aids as punishment instead of encouragement, but thanks to Leonie, she starts and fully embraces kinder horsewomanship as she gets better at riding.

Lysithea loves giving her horses (sometimes too many) sugar cubes (and eating some sugar cubes for herself).

Lysithea's horses' names would be moon related.

Leolysi have double horseback riding dates with Marihilda.

Lysithea would be a Dressage Queen/Master.

Lysithea's horses are draft horse breeds.

Lysithea sometimes goes horseback riding with Edelgard.

Her horse has chewed on Lysithea's hair at least twice.

That's all I got. What do you think?

Heya! My wrist's been acting up a bit, but other than that I'm good…well, more than good because ya shared all this quality headcanons with me so I am THRIVING Hope you're doing good as well ✨✨✨

While I feel like a white horse would be cool because it would go well with Lys color scheme (and as far as I know white horses are very RARE, so that's even cooler) there's a part of me that feels Lysithea would be a riot with a black horse, I offer this for consideration:

"This is Zelgius, their coat is as black as my soul and their diet consists on the souls of my enemies" (edgy Lysithea is canon, Warriors more than confirmed it) But gotta admit, a white horse with a moon-related name would kick ass as well.

I don't think Lysithea would consider getting a horse on her own, so I find very funny the idea of Lysithea being forced to ride a horse, like either Byleth asked her to, to increase her mobility on the battlefield or something and Lysithea trying hard to pretend taking care of the horse is a chore but the horse she gets is too cute and she starts to warm up to them 🐴✨ (of course she would carry around sugar cubes and pretend they're for her horse, but when no one's looking she eats some too).

I can absolutely see Lysithea seeing her horse as a tool at first and treating them like such, expecting it to perform like a machine instead of a living creature and being frustrated when the horse can't do that (of course that's not outta malice, but because she pushes herself to the highest standard, I could really see her getting frustrated when her mount --which should act like an extension of her-- is not meeting said standards). Also she would probably be mystified that Leonie can almost effortlessly make the horse do what she asks (Leonie might not be able to talk to horses like Marianne, but that proficiency in horse riding is nothing to scoff at). The moon-related names was something I hadn't considered either, but it's also pretty fun to think about (I could see it starting because Lysithea named a horse Luna, after the dark magic spell, but people thinking it's because of the actual moon and suddenly Lysithea is just rolling with it).

The Leolysi-Marihilda double date idea is EXCELLENT, may I suggest adding, Hilda getting competitive over Marianne being "better at handling horses" and Lysithea defending Leonie's horsemanship and both of them heatedly discussing who's better, while Leonie and Marianne are busy tending to the horses. I could really see Hilda just bringing up the topic to tease Lysithea (I cannot see them having boring or peaceful double dates, they're probably a riot hahaha).

Also, I really love Edie and Lysithea just using horseback riding as an excuse to get away from the castle and just spend some time alone together in a peaceful place (maybe even pack some cake to eat afterwards). I could see them just doing it on a whim, but also scheduling horseback riding expeditions specifically after having stressful weeks.

That last hc about Lysithea's horse chewing on her hair gave me such a cute mental image, I could see someone else (Leonie, probs) touching a lock or hair for some reason and Lysithea slapping the hand as a reflex because that's what she does whenever her horse starts trying to chew on her hair.

Some people severely underestimate the power of receiving cute headcanons in the askbox, but this honestly gave me so much cute things to think about, it fueled me an filled me with so much energy (like again, that thing about Lysithea practicing dressage is amazing and I love it to death now).

Again, thank ya so much for dropping by the askbox to share this extremely good stuff with me, for real, I'm grateful I might be real slow at answering but I don't mind ya sharing further thoughts or headcanons if ya feel like it. Thanks again and take care!

P.S. - I just want ya to know that this ask inspired another drawing but I got carried away with it, so I'm taking a bit more time with it and uploading it on its own, so I hope ya manage to see it when it gets posted.

[shihalyfie]

Regarding Konaka’s influence on Tamers (or how much he actually didn’t have)

(Rest assured that if you’ve had a conversation with me recently about this issue, I’m not vaguing you; this conversation has come up a lot in the last few weeks, especially in my private chats, so this is just me deciding that I should write something about this for once since it’s been weighing on my head lately.)

I think, right now, with what happened regarding the DigiFes debacle, a lot of people are having complicated feelings about how to feel about Tamers, and this is completely understandable. I think there are also some things that may be inevitably unavoidable, such as starting to second-guess certain nuances in the series and what they might lead to. All of that is perfectly reasonable, and in the end, it’s going to be up to everyone to decide how they feel.

In light of this, a lot of people have been bringing up the fact that, while Konaka was the head writer, he was by no means the only person working on it. This is very much true, but I’d like to add something else to the equation: this is an issue that goes much deeper than the usual claiming death of the author for the sake of sanity. The full picture is that Konaka has always had much less influence on the series than the fanbase tends to attribute to him. Official statements have been very clear as to not attribute the entire series to him, and, among all the other controversial statements he’s made, Konaka himself has at least been very active about crediting the other staff members as far as their influence on the series! The idea that he was the only person who ever did anything substantial for Tamers is something I’ve been warning against since long before any of this happened (if you want proof, I have a post from April with this sentiment in it), and right now we just happen to be seeing what’s basically the worst possible outcome of the fanbase constantly worshipping him like the only real creative heart behind the series to borderline cult-like levels...when that’s never been true, and has resulted in unfairly taking credit away from people who deserved it.

I’ll go into detail below, and I hope this can help people understand the situation better and sort out how they feel about it.

Note that I make references to his infamous blog in this post, which I’m deliberately refraining from directly linking for obvious reasons, but all of the information is still there, so it should be verifiable if you decide to look for it yourself.

Personally, I’ve always found it really bizarre how there’s been this obsession with portraying Konaka as some kind of auteur whom the entirety of Tamers depended on. I’m not saying this out of spite towards him, because, again, even he himself was very insistent on disclaiming credit for things he wasn’t actually responsible for (he was quite humble in this respect, actually). Not to mention that I think it’s a mistake in general to constantly pin a single person in a multi-person production as the sole heart behind it, and the Digimon fanbase has historically had this strange double standard behind it when it comes to uplifting him as the only heart behind Tamers when nobody says that about any of the head writers for...anything else. (How many times has Nishizono’s name ever popped up when talking about Adventure? People are usually more obsessed with talking about Kakudou or Seki.) Konaka’s work is certainly distinctive, but Tamers had a lot more going on besides just that.

In fact, based on his own statements on the matter and all of the other official information we’ve gotten about Tamers production, while you can’t really quantify such things, it’s generally been estimated that Konaka was responsible for something like only a fourth of the series. Which is an incredibly low amount compared to what the fanbase would have told you before all of this happened, because of this fixation that he must be the genius mastermind behind the whole series. Not only that, this “brilliant auteur” image of him was so inflated that people were attributing way more of 02 to him than he deserved; 02 episode 13 was the only thing he contributed to the series and he was specifically brought on as a “guest writer”, and the overall plot of the episode was determined by the rest of the production staff and not him -- but ask the fanbase and they’ll tell you stories about how he invented some grand planned arc for 02 that got cancelled, or even that Tamers exists because of a “writer revolt” from him and other writers not being allowed to do what they wanted. (You know, as much as I understand 02′s a controversial series, it would be really nice if people didn’t make up completely baseless stories like this just to scapegoat it...)

I honestly cannot emphasize enough how much of the problem we’re in right now has been horribly enabled by the weird pedestal the fanbase has been putting him on. This is to the point where there’s even been a double standard where some of the more unpopular/criticized elements of Tamers must not have been the fault of a brilliant writer like him, and in fact was forced on him by the executives (this excuse had always been brought up anytime someone doesn’t like something about Tamers, just to make sure the image of him as a perfect writer was maintained). Turns out, as per his own admission on the infamous blog, while he wasn’t the one who initially had the idea of putting Ryou in, the part that rubbed the fanbase the wrong way -- that he came in as an accomplished senior who was better than everyone and played up by everyone in the cast -- was unabashedly his idea (he apparently was enamored with the idea of having someone like Tuttle from the movie Brazil). Again, this is a weird scenario where even Konaka himself has been more humble about this issue than the fanbase’s perception of him; he fully admitted whenever he had trouble writing certain parts. For instance, he doesn’t actually like writing about alternate worlds, felt they were out of his comfort zone, and only wrote in the Digital World because the franchise needs one; he’d stated that if he’d had his way, the Digital World arc wouldn’t have come in as early as it did, which might be a pretty shocking statement for a Digimon fan to hear.

If you want even more specifics, here are some extremely major parts of the series that Konaka was not actually the one behind:

The character backgrounds. Konaka stated on his blog that he wasn’t interested in going too much into character backstories because he felt it was too plot-limiting to say that a character is the way they are thanks to something in their past or background (basically, he cares more about plot than character for the most part), and that he’s also not into worldbuilding. Certain things like Ruki going to a girls’ school were supplied by Seki, who infamously loves worldbuilding, family backgrounds, and character settings.

Certain nuances of Ruki’s character, especially the part where she’s pigeonholed into uncomfortable places due to being a girl, were informed by Yoshimura Genki, writer from Adventure and one of the head writers of 02 (who eventually would go on to create an entire career out of feminist cinema).

According to the posts on his blog, Impmon’s character arc didn’t have much input from Konaka himself and was largely written in by Maekawa Atsushi (also a writer from Adventure and one of the head writers of 02).

The whole concept of Yamaki being redeemable in the first place was something Konaka didn’t originally plan for; he’d initially intended to make him a straightforward antagonist, but, of all things, his Christmas song, combined with the input of the other writers (especially Maekawa) humanizing him, led to the development where Yamaki eventually changed sides and became sympathetic. (This makes Konaka’s recent stunt revolving around Yamaki a bit painfully ironic.)

The director, Kaizawa Yukio, was deliberately picked because he didn’t have experience on the prior series, for the sake of changing things up, and he spent Tamers as a period of studying what Digimon should be like. Based on what he’s hinted, it seems Konaka's writing style and choices were able to have as much influence as they did because Kaizawa approved of them -- that is to say, Konaka’s detailed imagery and descriptions were extensive enough that Kaizawa could go “sure, let’s go with that.” But in the end, nothing Konaka did would have gone through unless Kaizawa and Seki (among many others) didn’t also approve of it or provide input. Moreover, Kakudou Hiroyuki (director of Adventure and 02) has also been stated many times to have been a valuable consultant on invoking Digimon so that the new staff could understand what to aim for and how to get the right feel (and also assisted with providing stuff for the mythos, such as the Devas). Nevertheless, Kaizawa also seems to have had his own strong opinions and input on the story; he especially seems to get passionate when it comes to the topic of making the story something the kids watching it could relate to and imagine. (He would eventually go on to direct Frontier and Hunters, along with several episodes of the Adventure: reboot.)

So in other words, looking at this, a lot of these things that people emotionally connected to and loved about Tamers are things that literally were not his personal creation, and were largely contributed by the other writers! Of course, Konaka’s “creator thumbprint” is very obvious -- he was the head writer, after all -- and all of this had to go through his own vetting to make sure he personally liked it as well -- but nevertheless, you can see that this very much was a collaborative effort from head to toe, with him being very open about this fact himself. Insisting on making sure that this fact is well-known isn’t just a coping mechanism to try and remove his presence in the series, but rather a desire to get people to seriously stop giving him credit that really should be going to others (especially since, again, even he himself was very diligent about assigning that credit).

In the end, I’ll leave you with another thing to keep in mind: Konaka doesn’t get paid anymore for Tamers work (unless they make something new like the DigiFes thing), so continuing to buy Tamers merch and supporting the series through fanart and such will probably end up going more towards the Digimon IP as a whole. Basically, if we’re just talking about Tamers specifically, what degree this is going to matter is only really relevant to the content in the original series, which is now twenty years old and remains unchanged. By Konaka’s own admission, he wasn’t into all of these conspiracy theories until 2010 at the earliest, so while it’s understandable to be a bit wary about the themes in Tamers having traces of the base sentiment, the original series itself does not seem to be an outlet for alt-right propaganda, and it’s probably forcing it a bit much to read into it that way. Konaka’s also repeatedly insisted that all of his attempts at a Tamers sequel have been rejected and that he’s been doing increasingly strange swerves to get around members of the original cast not entirely being available, and the Japanese audience has turned out to not be very fond of the contents of the 2018 drama CD and the stage reading for reasons entirely separate from the politics, so it’s also unlikely we’ll be getting a Tamers sequel from him or something in the near future.

So -- at least for the time being -- what’s done with him is done, and the remaining question is how all of us feel about Tamers. I think everyone will have differing feelings on it, and that’s perfectly understandable. Personally, given everything I just said above, I’m going to continue treating it as a series very important to me, and one that many people (including, as it seems, a very different Konaka from twenty years ago) worked on with a lot of effort and love, although you may see me getting a bit more willing to be critical about the series and its themes thanks to my concerns about some of the sentiments in it and what they imply. I also completely understand that there are probably people whose associations are going to be much more hurt and who will have a much harder time seeing the series the same way ever again, and I think that’s reasonable as well. But at the very least, going forward, I hope all of us can understand the depth of this situation, give credit where it’s due, and not force credit where it’s not due.

[crystalas]

Starting to see

More of Demon Bull Divorce AU, this is set before Hindsight and Medical Muddles.

Warning: mentions of physical abuse.

Starting to See

It had been over two weeks since Red Son had shown up to pay back his father’s debt for helping them with the whole Lunar New Year event, which Pigsy was immediately suspicious about. He may be a modern demon but even he knew that if you had a dept you paid it yourself you didn’t send your kid to do it for you especially when you are demon royalty. He wasn’t giving Red Son a chance to try anything, despite MK and Mei’s arguments in the demon boy’s defence.

If Red Son wants to work off this debt, then Pigsy wasn’t going to let free labour go by so he quickly set the fire demon to work and surprisingly he didn’t resist or mind. He was currently cleaning out Pigsy’s tricky stove, all he had wanted was for him to fix it so he didn’t need to kick it every time he wanted it on. Red Son went above and beyond and had not only fixed it but was giving it a thorough cleaning and check-up, which is why he was currently trying to reach around the back of said stove to check the pipes. Red Son had taken off his jacket to avoid getting it stained with oil, grease and whatever else might have found its way at the back of the oven, as he stretched his shirt travelled up and that’s when Pigsy saw it.

“That’s one heck of bruise Red!” he whistled when he saw the markings peeking out. Red Son jolted back up as if he had been hit by an electric shock and pulled his shirt down.

“Do you mind?!” he snapped. “It’s bad enough having you stare at me the entire time now you’re ogling me?!”

“Heck yeah I’m keeping an eye on you demon boy, don’t want you planting a bomb or something in my kitchen when I’m not looking!”

“This stove was so broken give it a few weeks and it would have blown up on its own!” Red Son growled they stared at each other for a second before Red Son tugged his shirt down a second time before getting back to work. Pigsy watched him for a little while before giving a hefty sigh and walked over to the other side of the kitchen and pulled out a large basket that had a first aid symbol on it. Most kitchen had a small box for any small cuts and burns one might get while cooking, Pigsy’s was designed for wounds one might get fighting monsters and demons so it was far more extensive.

“Want me to fix you up?” Pigsy asked.

“Excuse me?” Red Son retorted “I do not need your pity!”

“Last I checked you’re here on your father’s wishes, I don’t want you going back and him seeing that and assuming we had anything to do with it!” Pigsy explained as he rummaged through the box but stopped and looked at Red Son “You didn’t get that from us, right?” Red Son shook his head before he carried on going through the basket. “At the very least he would be insulted that we didn’t at least tend to your injuries…” he pulled out a jar labelled ‘healing balm’.

Red Son grumbled under his breath as he tried to fight that logic and stood up, Pigsy gestured to a stool and the fire demon sat down with a thump with his arms crossed. Pigsy pointed at his top and with a reluctant sigh and took off his shirt, Pigsy resisted the urge to whistle or remark even further. He first thought the bruise ran along the base of his spine but it travelled up his back and along his side, it was a big ugly bruise of several shades.

Red Son flinched a bit when Pigsy started to apply the healing balm.

“So how did it happen?” Pigsy asked.

Now if Pigsy could claim a super power he could say his was a super sense of smell which should be obvious as to why, it was a brilliant boon in his industry as he could tell which herbs and spices have the best flavour for a dish and the freshness of his ingredients with a single sniff. Tang had remarked that it made food shopping with him an absolute pain in the ass but he didn’t have a world-famous dish for nothing. However, this also meant he could smell other things too.

Like fear.

And Red Son was suddenly reeking of the stuff, but what worried Pigsy more than that was the fact that Red Son still had his what Mei called ‘resting bitch face’ but he also noted that the fire demon had yet to answer.

“Well?”

“I fell out of my chair” he said casually as if Pigsy had asked him what he had for tea last night.

You fell out of a chair? Pigsy thought to himself. At what speed? Mach two?

Pigsy was brought back to the horrible memory of being in a similar situation with MK when he first came into his life. Sitting there trying to figure out why MK had burn marks that looked to be from cigarette butts on his arms but MK would swear up and down that they were ‘nothing to worry about’.

“When did it happen?” Pigsy carried on.

“About a week ago so they are on the mend, give them a few days it’ll be gone” Red Son replied and Pigsy knew that was a freaking lie. Demons healed fast; he should know he was one! This must have happened yesterday the day before at the most. Once again, the ease of which these excuses and cover ups came worried Pigsy.

“It’s nothing to concern yourself Pig man, I was just careless” Red Son stated, Pigsy finished applying the balm and started to put it back where he had gotten it from. Red Son watched him from the corner of his eye and gripped his hands to stop them from shaking.

Red Son wasn’t lying he had been careless. He should have known better than to be out of his room while his parents argued for what felt like the hundredth time that week, he had given up trying to mediate or stop them as it seemed that his mere presence made it worse.

It was his fault they were fighting after all.  It would be best if he stayed out of it for now.

He had been in the family study, he figured if he was out of the way then he couldn’t be a bother to anyone right? Red Son had found a new recipe book and was looking through for new stuff to try with his father when Demon Bull King wanted to relax or spend time with him.

He had been careless, he could have known better to be out in the open with a recipe book of all things, the very topic which seem to start these fights. He should have listened out for the door, the click of heels…

It had happened so fast, before he could even register what was going on he found himself caught in a hurricane gale that pushed him out of his chair and flying into a nearby bookcase sending the shelves and books crashing down on top of him.

He hadn’t been lying he DID fall out of his chair…

He gave a wince as he tried to clamber out and saw his mother standing there glaring at him with utter distain before glancing over to the desk he had been at, she picked up the recipe book with her finger and thumb as if it was a disgusting rag and threw it into a nearby bin with such force the bin skidded away a few feet.

“You better tidy up that mess you’ve made before your father sees it!” she declared coldly before walking away.

Red Son was glad he had come up with this plan, if anyone asked, he had the Debt to explain his reason for being there. He could stay out of the house for as long as possible and sneak back in before either parent noted his absence.

Not like they even noticed he was gone most days.

And it was nice to have people to talk to, Noodle Boy and Dragon Horse girl would chat to him about all sorts of stuff that intrigued him. Noodle Boy would show off his art and Dragon Horse girl her motorbike which got Red Son demanding the schematics. Mr Tang would talk to him about history and he was very interested on what Red Son had to say about demon culture. When there was a quiet moment in the noodle store they would just hang out and chill…

He felt a pang of guilt, he shouldn’t feel more at home with his enemies than his family. He shouldn’t feel like he had to hide from his own mother for his never-ending failures and mistakes, but here he was cowering under the pretence of an honour bound agreement because of the dumpster fire he had started at home. He should have never suggested the BBQ stand, he should have never even suggested such a peaceful means to get by.

He should have never come back…

“Hey Red!” Pigsy stated causing Red Son to pull out of the mental spiral he was in. “You alright?”

“Yes, I’m fine. Thank you for your aid” he put his shirt back on, the ache of his injuries seeping away under the warmth of the balm. “I’ll get back to work now.”

As he returned to fixing and cleaning the oven, Pigsy watched him with growing concern on his face.

“Hey just so you know, if you ever had any more problem with ya know… “chairs” just let me know ok?” Pigsy offered and he could see Red Son stiffen slightly before he relaxed again and turned to face him.

“…thanks” he mumbled quietly.

[sachigram]

With Teeth Chapter 2

((click here to read on ao3!))

“Shizuo-senpai has been quiet lately.”

Shizuo glances at Vorona as they walk side by side, trailing behind Tom. She isn't looking at him, but Shizuo never gets much out of her expression anyway.

“Yeah. Sorry.”

“Talking about negative experiences is usually best in moving past them,” Vorona says, and she does look at him this time, her pale eyes studying him.

“It's nothing,” Shizuo says quickly. “Or it's just...a lot. A lot of nothing. Ugh.” He runs his hand through his hair, as bad with words as he ever was. “I don't think it's worth talking about, is all.”

How could he talk about it with anyone? Where would he even begin? Sure, Celty is a good friend of his, and her existence is technically beyond belief, but Shizuo never thought much of other supernatural beings until he became one. Speaking of, he really should talk to Celty soon. He should talk to anyone that isn't the fucking fleabag.

“I see. That is unfortunate.” Vorona looks ahead again. “I will keep the invitation open.”

“Thanks.”

It goes quiet again. Neither of them are very good at conversation. Tom likes to tell Shizuo that Vorona has a thing for him, and he certainly holds a candle for her, but how could there ever be anything more between him when he's...the way he is? He was a monster even before that werewolf took a bite out of him.

“Alright, I'm starving,” Tom announces, stopping in front of them. He turns around and grins, his hands going in his pockets. “How about some barbecue? There's a Korean spot up here.”

“That sounds good,” Shizuo says, grateful to Tom for taking steer of the conversation. Shizuo has tried before to imagine himself on a date with Vorona, but it's hard. He has no idea what they would talk about, or if they would talk at all.

After they order their food and settle into a cozy booth, Vorona excuses herself and heads to the bathroom. Tom watches her go and then turns back to Shizuo, a small frown on his face.

“Alright, man. What gives?” he asks.

“Huh?” Shizuo grunts, his mouth already full. He's been careful to make sure he isn't the least bit hungry. He doesn't need to feel less in control of himself.

“You and Vorona! Aren't you going to ask her out? If you don't hurry up, she's going to think you aren't into her!” Tom says exasperatedly.

“I can't,” Shizuo says simply, and Tom pulls at his own hair, a long-suffering sigh escaping him.

“I don't understand you! The two of you were getting so close, up until a few months ago. Then you just stopped talking to either one of us about anything! Vorona doesn't know you like I do, so she isn't used to you being so hot and cold, but mark my words, someone is going to snatch her away from you if you don't wise up!”

“I know that. She's too good for me anyway. One slip up is all it would take for me to hurt her beyond repair, or possibly even kill her. How am I supposed to know that and pursue her anyway?” Shizuo asks, and Tom's expression softens.

“You don't hurt people you care about. You're being too hard on yourself.”

“I'm not. I've made up my mind about it.”

Tom sighs again. “I'm worried about you. This is different than your usual levels of isolation. Why are you so hellbent on being miserable, huh? If you don't want to date Vorona, that's fine, but you could still talk to her like she's your friend. And I'm your friend, too.”

Shizuo takes another bite of his chicken, guilt gnawing at him. He didn't mean to make anyone worry. He mutters a soft apology between his chewing.

“Don't be sorry. Just know you can talk to me about anything. I've never judged you before, have I?” Tom grins and then starts to dig into his own food. “You shouldn't suffer on your own.”

Shizuo considers this as Vorona returns to sit with them. The flea's face flashes in his mind, and he grips his chopsticks hard enough to break. He'd rather be dealing with this alone than with him.

“You need me.” Izaya had said, and the vindictive little smile on his face was enough to make Shizuo nauseous. It's true, isn't it? It's true, and Shizuo hates it.

After lunch, they head back into the city. There's only a few more targets for the day, and Shizuo is thinking about doing laundry and speaking to Celty for the first time in a while when he catches sight of a familiar fur coat.

Izaya is across the street, perched up on a wall, drinking coffee as he chats animatedly with Kadota, who is listening with an indulgent expression. Immediately, Shizuo stiffens, as do Tom and Vorona, who have obviously spotted Izaya as well.

“Shizuo, come on. It's not worth it,” Tom says, putting a hand on Shizuo's shoulder. Shizuo keeps looking at Izaya, who is laughing at something Kadota said, looking entirely too at ease. Why the fuck does Shizuo have to keep seeing that rotten bloodsucker? Why should Izaya be allowed peace when Shizuo spends every waking moment in fear of what he is and what he could do?

“Fine. You're right.” Shizuo grunts as he allows Tom to lead him away. Izaya's putrid stench stays in his nose, haunting him every step he takes. Turning away from Izaya feels wrong, but killing him doesn't seem right either anymore.

Shizuo doesn't know when everything got so fucking complicated in his life.

***

“I'm sorry.”

Neither of his parents looked up at him. They were engaged in what seemed to be a heated conversation, both of them talking through clenched teeth and gesturing broadly with their hands. Shizuo was sent home from school again after wrecking the classroom. Some kid called him an idiot for getting a math question wrong, and Shizuo didn't remember much about what happened after that.

He was always sorry for it, but it never mattered.

Kasuka wandered in, and he moved to Shizuo's side. He didn't say anything, but he gripped Shizuo's sleeve loosely, and it was a comfort all the same.

“Oh, Shizuo...” His mother noticed him at last, and immediately moved to hug him. Shizuo could see her eyes were wet. He didn't know why it made his eyes wet, too.

“I'm sorry,” he said again.

“I know,” his mother said, and together, they wept.

***

Going to Shinra's, annoying as it can be, is always a comfort, as well.

He didn't mean to stay away for so long. If anyone would understand what Shizuo's going through, it would be Celty, and by extension, Shinra. It's just not an easy topic to discuss, and Shizuo hasn't discussed it with anyone other than Izaya, who never has anything nice to say. If anything, every conversation with the fucker just feels like rubbing salt in an open wound. An infected open wound. Shizuo would rather amputate than deal with it anymore, but he knows he doesn't have a choice in the matter.

He knocks at the door of Shinra's apartment, his hands going into his pockets while he waits for an answer. There's clattering behind the door, footsteps, and then the sound of various locks being unlocked. Celty got a lot more paranoid after that stalker attacked Shinra, so Shizuo waits patiently.

“Sorry, sorry!” Shinra says as he throws the door open. He pauses upon seeing Shizuo, and then a wide smile spreads across his face. “Shizuo-kun! What a nice surprise!”

“Yo,” Shizuo grunts, stepping around him and taking his shoes off in the entryway. The apartment is warm, the scent of something cooking wafting from the kitchen. It feels like a home, even more than Shizuo's own place does.

“Celty is in the bath! Oh, she'll be so excited to see you! She's missed you so much! Ah! I need to stir my stew—“ Shinra runs towards the kitchen, disappearing from sight before his voice calls out. “Will you stay for dinner? There's plenty!”

“Yeah, sure,” Shizuo says, plopping down onto the couch. He leans back against the cushions, closing his eyes as the feeling of belonging washes over him. He thinks of his parents, and he decides he should call them soon.

There's the sound of a door opening, and then soft footsteps. A pause. And then—

“Shizuo?! Where the hell have you been? How are you? Do you know how worried I was about you?! How are you feeling? How—“

“Celty.” Shizuo pushes the bright PDA away from his face as Celty bounces on the couch next to him, bombarding him with questions. “Can we ease into the interrogation part?”

“You can hardly blame her!” Shinra calls. “We've barely heard from you for months. The chatroom she frequents was full of terrible rumors.”

“You could've come to see me,” Shizuo mutters, and he feels guilty for it when her shoulders droop.

“I didn't want to bother you... I thought you had enough to deal with.”

“Yeah.” Shizuo leans back, sighing loudly. “Yeah, you weren't wrong.”

“So!” Shinra lilts, walking back into the room, soup ladle in hand. “Are we finally going to talk about the whole 'you being a werewolf' thing?”

“You knew,” Shizuo says, waiting to feel surprised. Celty is busy attacking Shinra, jabbing at him while Shinra wails apologies for being blunt. “Of course you fucking knew.”

“Well, yes, of course! Celty could sense it, and then you weren't around, so—!” Shinra whines again as he doubles over, Celty's fist in his stomach.

“We didn't want to invade your privacy! I thought if you wanted me to know, you'd tell me, so we weren't there for you as we should've been. I'm so sorry, Shizuo. Please forgive me.”

“Don't apologize. You did the right thing. I...didn't want to talk about it. I still don't, but I'm also tired of running from it.” Shizuo looks down at his hands, clenches them into fists before he continues. “I'm a monster just like everyone always said.”

“Technically yes, but it's not like you're wreaking havoc every full moon! As long as you aren't spreading the curse, I'd say you're handling it very responsibly,” Shinra says. “You haven't bitten anyone at all, and it's been half a year!”

Shizuo glares up at him, and Celty steps in between him and Shinra, her arms outstretched.

“Ignore him, you know he always says the wrong thing. I'm really glad you're here, Shizuo. I wish I could do more for you, but I don't know much about werewolves aside from the folklore.”

Shizuo pretty much assumed that, already. Without her head, Celty doesn't have memories from her past life. The only one who can really help him is...

“Surprised Izaya didn't tell you about it,” Shizuo snaps at Shinra, who shrugs.

“Oh, he doesn't like to talk about you. I already knew from my dear Celty, here, but Izaya-kun is surprisingly secretive about your transformations. He doesn't offer anything that I don't explicitly ask.”

“Is he really helping you?” Celty's body language reads incredulity, and Shizuo can't exactly blame her for that.

“He's giving me potions. I don't know if I'd call it 'helping' so much as him being a smug little fucker.” Shizuo huffs before he crosses his arms over his chest. “Always knew something freaky was up with him, but to think he's actually a fucking witch. No wonder he was always able to know exactly where I was, and exactly how to get on my nerves.”

“You would think you'd be at least a little grateful to him,” Shinra says, a cool edge to his voice. “It's thanks to him you aren't rampaging every month, after all.”

Shizuo and Celty both stare at Shinra, who suddenly turns around, saying something about his stew again. He flounces from the room, and Celty turns back to Shizuo.

“Is Izaya being absolutely terrible to you? I can't imagine how he wouldn't be.” Celty types, and Shizuo grunts in irritation.

“The flea's as shitty as ever, yeah. I'm kind of surprised he hasn't told everyone what I am. Maybe no one's paid him enough money for the information yet.”

“It's not really up to him. Humans aren't meant to know much about the other realm. Besides, he couldn't out you without outing himself, too.”

“It's not like it's a huge secret, what he is. He has all kinds of people visiting and asking for help with things.” Shizuo remembers being there during one full moon, Izaya busy clacking away at his desk when some white-haired vampire just appeared. Izaya seemed annoyed by it.

“Actually, it is a secret!” Shinra says from the kitchen. “Izaya-kun is one of the last of his kind. A lot of the other witches were wiped out.”

“Why?” Shizuo asks.

“They're hard to control, usually mad with power. At least, that's what I was able to find out,” Shinra replies.

“Sounds about right.” Shizuo grimaces, thinking of Izaya's eerie smile and his cat-like gaze. “Surprised he's allowed to just do whatever the fuck he wants, then.”

“I wouldn't say that,” Shinra says, and then he smiles. “Dinner's ready, by the way.”

Despite the huge lunch Shizuo had, he's able to scarf down three bowls of stew, as well as some bread. Shinra chatters on and on about increased appetite being the most common side effect of 'lycanthropy', and he doesn't shut up until Shizuo throws a spoon at him.

“I hear enough of that shit from the fleabag,” Shizuo hisses.

“Well, at least you only have to see him for a few minutes every month! It could be worse,” Shinra says as he pries the spoon from the wall.

“Try hours,” Shizuo says.

“Huh? Hours?” Shinra turns to him, adjusting his glasses. “Are you staying the night there?”

“Izaya didn't tell you that?” Shizuo asks.

“Of course not. That's just— Wow. I'm shocked he's allowing that. No wonder he gets so annoyed when I ask about your transformation.”

“You don't have to suffer in his company, anymore.” Celty types. “You can stay here next time. If anything happened, I could restrain you. Even if you did bite me, I'm immune.”

“I'll think about it,” Shizuo mutters. Truth be told, he doesn't want anyone to see him that way, even Izaya, but at least Izaya couldn't possibly think less of Shizuo than he already does. They hated each other on sight, after all.

***

Shizuo always tried to keep in mind that even if people were afraid of him, it didn't mean they didn't love him.

His mother still doted on him when he hurt himself and wound up in the hospital, would still kiss his bandages and comfort him even after ducking away in fear when he lost himself to his rage. Kasuka told him once that none of them were scared of him, that it was just something they were used to, and Shizuo decided it somehow hurt even worse that he was something to 'get used to'.

There was never really anyone in his life that wasn't at least a little afraid of him, even if they hid it well. Shinra was, well. Himself. He would stay by Shizuo's side, but he definitely was in it for his own morbid curiosity. It was obvious he was terrified of Shizuo by the way he'd cower in fear and apologize if Shizuo so much as blinked at him too long. Tom was a good friend, but even he would duck and cover, scared of getting hit in the crossfire when Shizuo really got going.

Shizuo never blamed any of them for it. How could they not be scared of him? He was uncontrollable when he got past a certain point. The static in his mind drowned out everything, even the screams of terror. He wouldn't know if he was hurting someone he cared about. He was never able to stop himself. How could he get angry at them for being afraid of him when even he was afraid of him?

No, it wasn't until he met Orihara Izaya that he truly faced someone who didn't know fear.

Shizuo was livid as he stared at Shinra's friend. He'd heard of Orihara Izaya before. Shinra positively gushed about the boy, as much as Shinra could gush about anyone that wasn't Celty. Shinra's words were always peppered with insults, but it was clear he cared about this other friend of his, and he was constantly trying to get Shizuo to meet Izaya, would call Shizuo's house and invite Shizuo and Kasuka both to hang out with them. From Shizuo's understanding, Izaya was as against it as Shizuo was. Neither of them seemed to want to meet the other, but there Izaya was, sitting next to Shinra, eyes full of mischief and wonder as he clapped his hands together from the display of violence, the thing Shizuo hated most about himself.

“You piss me off,” Shizuo had said, and something in Izaya's eyes changed, but Shizuo couldn't name it. He only knew he didn't see fear when Izaya looked at him, and in the end, that might've been part of what made Shizuo hate him so much.

“It's a real shame,” Shinra said once. He was busy patching up Shizuo's wounds after one of his more brutal matches with Izaya. “I really think you two would get along if you tried. You have so much in common!”

“What could I possibly have in common with that fucking parasite?!” Shizuo snapped, and Shinra immediately bowed his head in apology. “Did you know he sent those fuckers after me? He was there, watching me fight them!”

“Yes, well, I never said he was a good person!” Shinra straightened himself after Shizuo huffed and turned away from him. “You both always reminded me of each other, is all I meant.”

“I don't see how,” Shizuo said, angry at the comparison, and also at how much the ointment Shinra was using stung.

“You're both incredibly stubborn,” Shinra said. “And you're both someone I wouldn't want mad at me.”

“Great.”

“It seems you're also both determined to be alone.”

***

As he walks down the street, returning home after leaving Shinra's, Shizuo stretches his arms above his head, feeling better in spite of himself. It's true he's changed, but he isn't alone, is he? He still has his friends, even if they're afraid of him. It's the same as it's always been.

“My, my, don't you look content.”

Shizuo growls as he turns to look at Izaya, who is walking along the wall next to him, arms held out to balance himself.

“Why're you still in my city?” Shizuo barks, instantly annoyed. This is what he gets for not chasing Izaya out earlier.

“So you did see me! I thought you did. And you kept walking! Are you finally learning restraint?” Izaya grins down at Shizuo as they walk in step with each other. “I work here, Shizu-chan. You know that, already.”

“Tch. Nothing good comes from you being here.”

“But you let me go! Tell me, are you growing fond of me all of a sudden?” Izaya asks, and Shizuo stops in his tracks to look up at Izaya with as much disdain as he can muster.

“Get the fuck away from me,” Shizuo says, and Izaya leers at him.

“There's my monster,” he coos. “You're leaving Shinra's, right? Did you confide all your beastly secrets in that headless friend of yours?”

“You're the monster,” Shizuo says, starting to walk again. “Shinra said he was surprised you're helping me. Come to think of it, I'm surprised, too. What's in this for you?”

“Pardon?” Izaya asks, his grin sharpening.

“You hate me. I know you do. Why would you help me, then? Why aren't you telling everyone what I am?”

“Oh, it's enough that I know it,” Izaya says, waving his hand. “Besides, me keeping this secret for you seems to have allowed me passage to Ikebukuro without you throwing things at me. Isn't that payment enough?”

“No,” Shizuo says, knowing Izaya too well to buy into that.

“Then consider this,” Izaya replies, looking at Shizuo with such contempt it actually makes Shizuo take a step away. “Maybe it's not my choice.”

“Yeah, right. I know you had something to do with all this. Everything bad in my life has always been because of you, in some way. You sent that guy after me; I know you did.”

“More like you need someone to blame, and I'm an easy target,” Izaya lilts, going back to balancing along as he walks. “You and I finally have something in common, don't we? We're both part of both realms, all at once.”

“I never fucking asked for this,” Shizuo hisses angrily. “I wanted a peaceful life, something far away from you. I never wanted to be part of this otherworldly bullshit. I didn't want to be this thing.”

“Yeah,” Izaya says, and his voice sounds a little tight. “I know what you mean.”

Shizuo pauses, turning to face Izaya, who is looking up at the sky with a thoughtful expression on his face. Izaya hums before he looks back down at Shizuo, his usual smirk back in place.

“Anyway, you think I send everyone after you. You're an anomaly, Shizu-chan. That makes you a target all on your own. You really think you'd ever be able to live a peaceful life when everyone in this city has seen what you can do?” Izaya fucking giggles, and it makes Shizuo's teeth clench. “What a simple mind you have.”

“Stop talking to me. No, just get the hell away from me.”

“I'm teaching you something!” Izaya says, and he jumps down in front of Shizuo, arms waving as he talks. There's a manic look about him, and Shizuo somehow feels pity mixed in with his hatred for the person before him. “You aren't considering human nature at all, are you? You say you hate violence, but everyone has seen you in the middle of one of your rampages. You've proven yourself to be a key player in the city, so of course people are going to go after you. Everyone who wants power is going to target the most powerful. It's how humans are.”

“What's up with you?” Shizuo asks, narrowing his eyes at Izaya. “You're being crazier than normal.”

“You blame me for ruining your peace, but you ruined it for yourself before you even met me. Sure, I sent people after you, but they were after you even before high school, weren't they?” Izaya prattles on, ignoring Shizuo's question. “You're incapable of accepting your role in ruining your own life.”

“Where's any of this even coming from?” Shizuo asks, more confused than angry, but growing angrier by the second. He's never liked any of Izaya's stupid psychobabble, especially when it's directed at him.

“You've trapped yourself in this endless loop, you simplistic cretin.” Izaya's eyes are wide, his pupils blown and Shizuo finds he can't look away. “This city is like fly paper, isn't it? And you've gone and thrashed around so much that you'll almost never be free.”

Shizuo frowns down at Izaya, once again failing to understand a single word out of his mouth. Their ways of talking are just so different, Shizuo usually opting for a direct approach while Izaya never gets to his point. Still, Shizuo can tell something isn't quite right with Izaya tonight, and he finds himself actually looking for injuries on the flea. Maybe he's concussed or something, and there's dried, matted blood in that wild hair of his. But then, wouldn't Shizuo smell it?

Izaya, predictably, snorts, and then he turns on his heel, starting to walk away.

“Oi! Where are you going?” Shizuo asks, hurrying to follow after him.

“I don't know why I bother. Logic is wasted on you,” Izaya laments.

“Maybe I'd know what the hell you were talking about if you ever made sense!” Shizuo counters.

“Get away from me now, monster, I've had all I can tolerate of your presence,” Izaya says, still not looking at him, and Shizuo finds himself grabbing Izaya's wrist and pulling him back.

“What's wrong with you? Why're you acting even weirder than usual?”

Izaya scoffs up at him, and then he pauses, his brow furrowing like he's trying hard to listen to something. “You're wondering if I'm hurt,” he muses. He rolls his eyes at the sour look Shizuo gives him. “Yes, I'm reading your mind. No, I don't do it very often. I'm just trying to get away from you, and you're making it very difficult.”

“Bullshit you don't do it all the time,” Shizuo huffs, but he releases Izaya all the same.

“I don't. It's no fun always knowing exactly what to say to someone to push their buttons. I'd rather make an educated guess. Sometimes leaving things up to chance is the only true way to play.” Izaya turns and starts walking away again. “And anyway, I'm not hurt. Even if I was, I'd already be mostly healed, just from the course of this pointless conversation.”

“Apparently you can't heal yourself from being crazy!” Shizuo calls after him, but Izaya doesn't stop walking, and soon enough he's out of Shizuo's sight. Shizuo stands in the middle of the sidewalk, gnawing his teeth together. He can't help but wonder how much of this is actually Izaya's fault, but that was the flea's point, wasn't it? He growls lowly after Izaya, at another night of shattered peace.

“FUCK!” he shouts at the sky, drawing stares from everyone around him, but he can't bring himself to care. Izaya has ruined so many things in Shizuo's past, and he's ruined all hope of serenity in Shizuo's future.

Shizuo's stuck, just like Izaya said.

[strangestdiary]

under your spell | nandor the relentless

relationship: Nandor/Fem!Reader

request: Hi! Are you still taking requests? If so can I request a jealous!Nandor x reader? 

words: 2.7k

warnings: Angst, asshole dates, fluff

A/N: I feel like the jealousy isn’t really there but I hope you still like it. 

REQUESTS ARE OPEN

---

Nandor noticed there was something different about you today. Having come for his daily visit just as it went dark outside, you had only given him a hello before stalking back over to your closet to nervously comb through your clothes asking what looked better before throwing it into the steadily growing pile. You kept sighing to yourself, mumbling under your breath that you needed a little more color in your wardrobe. He found it strange how urgent you seemed to be, the sweat beading on your forehead being proof enough that you were working yourself up over something seemingly very important to you. 

Since you were Nandor’s first actual human friend in a few centuries give or take he couldn’t help but feel like he was out of the loop, confusion and curiosity pecking at the back of his head. He shifted his legs so they crossed, leaning back in your desk chair and watched as you groan yet again, running your hands over your face. 

“So what exactly is all of this about?” Nandor asked, your frenzied state leaving a tinge of worry as he watched you. Watching you take a blouse he had never seen you in before off it’s hanger with a sigh mumbling how ‘this should do’. 

You glanced over at him, noting how it would almost look like he was floating if it weren’t for the pink back of the desk chair poking out from behind him every so often when he moved from side to side idly. “Chloe set me up on a date with her friend, I sort of know him from when he would come hang out with us sometimes.” You turned back around to your closet again, kneeling down to look for a pair of shoes that would actually look decent with the shirt clutched in your hand. “This is the first actual date I’ve been on in like a year so I’m kind of freaking out if that wasn’t already noticeable.” Your tone of voice was heavy with self depreciation, a chuckle following afterwards to smooth it all down. “He’s nice though. I just hope I don’t screw it up.”

Nandor swore he almost felt his dead heart sink a little, a date? “Interesting.” Was all Nandor found himself saying, he was kind of shocked to even think of the idea of you going on a date. Sure he knew you had human friends and that you didn’t just talk to him or Nadja but it was hard to think of you going on a date with someone. Even then he couldn’t help but scowl, why would some human you barely knew be more important than him? He could offer far more than some weak mortal that your friend had paired you with. Nandor wondered just how interesting this man had to be in order for you to skip a night with himself. 

Nandor’s bitter train of thought was cut off by your voice “I hope you don’t mind. I mean I know we usually have movie nights tonight but he said that tonight was the only good night for him.” You sounded so genuinely apologetic.

Nandor shifted in the small chair as you awaited his response “It is okay. I will just ask Guillermo to watch the Pet Semeteries with me instead. You can go on your little human date.” His response was a lot more defensive than you had hoped, it made your stomach knot slightly, feeling bad for flaking on Nandor without warning. Especially since this was your designated movie night. You couldn’t help but still feel bad though like in a way you had betrayed him especially since Nandor was one of your closest friends, someone you usually told everything to.

“I promise I’ll make it up to you Nandor.” You walked over to him, his head tilting up only barely to look up at you putting on a closed smile that didn’t meet his eyes. A strange aching feeling growing in his chest, even with your promise he still couldn’t help but still feel disappointed. You were giving up your time with him for some puny human man? He wanted to hiss at the thought. 

“It is okay, I understand.” He stood from the desk chair and patted you on the bicep twice, a certain awkwardness to the gesture. “Now if you excuse me I will make my way back home, I have important things to do as well.” The tone of his voice completely betrayed what he was saying, blatantly trying to guilt you out of the date all together. 

You couldn’t help but smile up at him, feeling a distant ache of your own resting in your heart. “I’ll see you tomorrow Nandor, and to make up for skipping movie night I’ll let you pick out two movies to watch.” Before he turned his back to you and walked out the door you grabbed his hand, his cold skin comforting in your night of nervousness “I really am sorry.” 

Nandor’s eyes were on your joined hands, a certain fluttering feeling ripping through his stomach. “I- It’s okay.” His gaze lifted up to catch your eyes, a soft smile stretching across his lips before slowly releasing your hand from his own. “I will see you tomorrow.” 

----

You had finally gotten ready after Nandor left and drove to the restaurant you and Daniel were meant to meet at. This wasn’t your first time meeting him but it was the first time you had been alone with him, usually Chloe being there as well as some other friends. 

He had seemed kind and caring and like he was genuinely interested in you when Chloe was around, and according to her he had practically begged her to score this date with you. You had liked him then but when he sat himself down in front of you now, there was something different about him. The smile he gave you made your skin prick uncomfortably but you brushed it off thinking it was merely first date jitters. 

You smiled back at him, looking at him fully. “You look good.” you complimented truthful in your words, noticing how the grey button up he wore brought out the freckles sprinkling his skin. His hair was styled nicely, looking soft and fluffy. You noticed his nails were painted notably a while ago given how chipped the black coating was now, it reminded you of Laszlo for a second. 

He looked at you over the top of the menu, a brow raised in question “Thanks.” He replied with a slightly cocky tone, setting the menu down in front of him. “You look nice too.” He gestured to you.

You felt your chest swell with pride, maybe tonight would go a little better than you had previously thought. Your nervousness melted away in the moment as you glanced down at the menu. 

Though unfortunately it wasn’t long before Daniel began to show his true colors, slipping in condescending remarks and a teasing chuckle any time you would talk about something you were interested in, only to cut you off to talk about him more and more. You couldn’t help but sigh audibly as he droned on about his extensive research on war history, specifically the second world war, it almost made you think Colin had somehow learned how to shapeshift but you also knew that Colin had the decency to at least be a tad bit respectful. 

“So what’s your favorite film?” He asked, “Mine is probably pulp fiction. You know the way Tarantino just knows how to make a good film is just amazing.”

You shrugged your shoulders lightly, mulling over the question “I don’t know, probably something horror, it’s hard to choose.” 

Daniel groaned before shaking his head “I don’t understand why people watch that shit, I mean why do people want to get scared on purpose?” He smiled over at you, “I mean seriously it just seems stupid. I personally hate horror movies, and the gore.” He let out a sigh and shook his head again as if disgusted with even the idea of horror movies “I just don’t get how people watch that stuff without feeling sick.” 

After that it just seemed like he wouldn’t stop talking, topic after topic he dominated with his overbearing opinions. Anything you expressed interest in he would belittle, undermining them and making them seem lesser than his own, and yet he still smiled over at you as if you were supposed to be having fun. 

“How about we get outta here? I can take you back to my place.” He reached over the table to grab your hand, you instinctively pulled away from him. Disgust settling like a rock in your stomach. “Come on, don’t act like that.” He chuckled. There was something in his eyes that unsettled you more than anything that night. “I could show you a really good time.” He reached for your hand again, fingers wrapping around your wrist blunt nails biting into your skin.

You grabbed your bag, backing up in your chair feeling your eyes sting, wrenching your wrist out of his hand. “N- no that’s fine actually. I have someone who’s coming to pick me up.” You stumbled over the chair leg a little when you stood ignoring his exasperated huff before trying to convince you to sit back down. You shakily tore money from your wallet not even bothering to count it before throwing it next to your unfinished drink and rushing away from the table. 

----

You burst through the gothic Staten Island home with a sob, having held it in the whole drive to the house as a way to avoid crashing your car. Relief briefly filled you as you noticed there was nobody in the foyer to witness your much less than presentable state. With how quiet the home was you assumed nobody was even home, but either way you still rushed to Nandor’s room hoping to seek some type of solace after your disastrous night. There was a certain lightness that you felt in your heart at the thought of Nandor being there for you, a flutter in your chest. 

Once you opened the door you couldn’t help but let out a relieved sigh that he was standing at his antique writing desk that you had bought him as a birthday gift just two years ago. He spun on his heels letting out a surprised gasp “Is it Halloween already?” he said before noticing it was just you. 

You let out a teary laugh sniffling grossly, Nandor did a double take before realizing the messy tears and black streaks running down your face. A certain type of rage settled over him like a shadow, who had done this to you? His kind and caring human trembling at his door. 

Nandor walked over to where you stood grabbing your hand gently and ushering you over to the small loveseat sitting in the corner of his room, more of a decorative piece than used for actual comfort. You didn’t miss the dust that picked up around the both of you as you sat down. “What creature did this to you?” There was a darkness in his voice, a threatening look washed over his features. 

“Daniel…” You spat, the night replaying in your head. For a second you had wondered if you were overreacting. Maybe it wasn’t that big of a deal and you were pushing it out of proportion, but you couldn’t help but feel that disgusting crawl on your skin where he had touched. He had seemed like such a nice person the other times you had met him, why was he so different now? What had changed? 

Nandor remembered now, your human date that you had been so nervous about a few hours prior. He felt one of his hands curl into a fist, a certain type of anger he couldn’t place overcoming him. Some worthless human had hurt you this badly, the pain he wished to bring this Daniel was unthinkable. 

You sniffled again wiping your nose with the back of your hand before forcing out a pitiful laugh, a painful sound to Nandor’s ears “I’m sorry for coming here… I’m probably just overreacting.” You shook your head at yourself before giving him a strained smile,. “He was just a jerk... I’m probably being stupid.” 

Nandor’s dead heart aches when hearing you speak, why were you sorry? You were clearly hurt so why did you feel so apologetic when someone else had hurt you. “It is not your place to say sorry, Y/N.” Nandor reasoned. His hand came up to cup your face, thumb raking over your stained cheek. “I am here if you wish to tell me about your date.” He almost sounded reluctant to say the word itself. 

You smiled at him a few more tears slipping from your eyes at his gentleness, a complete contrast to the other man you had tortured yourself with, but you guessed it wasn’t your fault. “He was awful.” You started “And he didn’t shut his mouth. All he did was look at me like I was a piece of meat.” You vented to Nandor for almost two hours, his attention never venturing away from you. He gripped onto every word you said, not even interrupting to say a quip of his own like usual. 

Once you were done and your second round of tears had finally dried Nandor smiled at you sweetly, his thumb caressing the top of your hand. “Well if you would like. Maybe some night I could take you on a real date.” You tensed up a little, taken by surprise yet again that night, but for a completely different reason. 

Never in your time knowing him had you ever considered the possibility of Nandor uttering words quite like that. He wanted to go on a date… with you? A human? He looked at you with such sincerity you felt your heart swell. You had suspected your feelings for Nandor for a while now but never even thought about pursuing them given how your mortality circumstances. You had always assumed he would look down on something so taboo as a vampire dating a human. 

“You look like a soul sucking ghoul just entered the room.” Nandor commented squeezing your hand in his. 

“Those exist?” You couldn’t help but ask, a laugh following. You felt winded looking into Nandor’s adoring eyes. “I didn’t even think you would be into the whole human vampire thing.” His face twisted slightly before smoothing back over.

“I wasn’t really… Not before I met you I’ve come to realize.” He said “I’m not one to judge but it wasn’t really my type of thing, but after Nadja had brought you to the house for the first time. Then when we actually became friends, well I guess my perspective began to shift.” Your stomach felt like it was doing flips, a smile coming to your lips. 

You intertwined your fingers with Nandor’s, nodding your head after considering his heavy hitting words “I would love to go on a date with you Nandor.” Your eyes were stinging once again “I mean in a way I’m sure I’ve always had feelings for you since we first met.” You confessed thinking back to the time you saw him for the first time only four years ago, your nervousness and Nadja’s encouraging words before hissing at Laszlo who assumed you were meant to be food. 

Nandor hoisted you up off the dusty loveseat with a wide smile spreading across his face “Wonderful! Let’s go.” 

“What right now?” You asked as he dragged you towards his bedroom door and down the hall to the foyer where Colin was rounding the corner. It only took a second to remember how messy you probably looked, knowing your makeup was probably ruined and stained against your cheeks. 

“Yes! There’s still three more hours until daylight!” Nandor enthused, grinning at you over his shoulder. 

[incorrect-ikevamp-quotes]

[SPOILERS FOR LEO’S ROUTE❗️] okay so i just got to the bit after leo reveals what he is, and mc and comte are talking on the balcony & comte offers to turn her into a vampire if she would like. obviously mc declines but i guess my question is, how do you think leonardo would react if mc DID agree to that offer? i am enjoying his route, but i kinda get the feeling he mostly/only loves mc because she is human :/ im interested abt what might happen if she didn’t say no? thank you v much💖💖ly lots

Aww, ily3 hun tyty 💕💕💕I’ll offer my thoughts below, I hope I can answer your questions to satisfaction! 

Ah yes, the point in Leo's route where I essentially get shot in the leg and limp through my walk of shame

Jk jk, but I think there has been a considerable degree of displeasure associated with Leonardo's line in the proverbial sand. No life with him can be spent as a vampire, MC must remain human. Despite his easygoing nature, he remains stalwart in his opposition no matter what the MC or Comte has to say. To summarize it quickly, Comte’s relieved exasperation at the end of Leo’s MS gets more across than I think any of my analysis can convey “Thank heavens one of you has good sense.” It offers the implication that he has tried to broach the topic with Leonardo out of concern, only to be met by a brick wall--or doesn’t try at all for fear that he’ll only ensconce Leonardo further into rejecting a greater future for him and MC.

As to how he would react I......really don’t think it would go well? Only because I think it would serve to reinforce the rifts that already exist in Leonardo’s self-perception. He would believe it was his own fault for pushing her in that direction, and while I don’t think he would hate Comte, he would definitely become estranged from one of his only close friends in life. (What GUTS ME about Comte offering to turn MC is that he is probably well aware Leo might beat the shit out of him, never talk to him again, or both--and he still fully accepts that he could lose his best friend to guarantee a future for both of them. Excuse me while I bawl in the corner) He probably wouldn’t hold it against Comte for too long, but he wouldn’t be any less aggrieved and hurt. And when Leonardo is vulnerable, he will hide and nurse his wounds until he can behave with some level of calm--or at the very least until he can pretend he’s okay after an initial explosion. He doesn’t feel comfortable troubling people with his own problems, so he tends to fall into silence when personal things come up. This doesn’t necessarily mean he resolves all of his emotional turmoil, or heals that fast; it only means that he wallows in those feelings alone unless they’re tugged out of him and worked through forcibly.

Basically, I see only one of two possibilities coming to fruition. The first is that he and MC would wobble only to completely fall apart if some kind of resolution could never be found. He’d continue to blame himself and start sabotaging his own happiness, and that would likely mean some level of selfishness directed at MC--resulting in anguish for the both of them. If MC takes on too much without complaint or Leonardo goes too far...I get the feeling that relationship would either end in shambles immediately, or result in a kind of twisted union in which both feel responsible for the other’s hurt but neither one can relieve it (until they’d be forced to split up before someone gets seriously hurt). They would be the source of each other’s suffering, so much so that the walls climbing between them might never again lower. 

This might sound odd, but if there’s one thing that Leonardo needs it’s control when it comes to his relationships with others. It is a subtle, but acute trait that might not seem obvious knowing his magnanimous disposition. He decides if MC gets to be a vampire, he bargains with Sebastian because he refuses to be a test subject, he refuses to validate Comte’s conclusions (despite knowing he’s right) because he doesn’t want to cede the power silence/smokescreens offer his emotional vulnerabilities. Even around villains like Shakespeare and the final serial killer, pay close attention. Shakespeare begins revealing deeply personal information and wishes that Leonardo holds close to his heart on purpose, snatching Leonardo’s agency and ability to control how his feelings are being conveyed. How does Leonardo respond? With explosive, forbidding anger--instantaneous and barely contained, nothing at all like his breezy attitude and calm.

If you think about it, it’s a fairly obvious extension of the humiliating powerlessness by which he was raised (he needs to be in control; he needs to be the one who decides who gets to walk away and who doesn’t. He doesn’t come on to MC because he wants to, he does it for the sole purpose of scaring her out of wanting to be a vampire. He doesn’t even attempt to explain where he’s coming from because he falls into whole-scale panic. When he loses control of the trajectory of others--of how they perceive certain things about him--all of his charisma fails him. If he can’t explain or justify where he is mentally, when he’s too afraid they won’t hear him or care, then he needs to redirect the opposing party). Additionally, he feels responsible; that he can better adjust the outcome with his experience--and while that may be true for some things, sometimes he gets ahead of himself. Only an individual can decide their own future and their own happiness, the most others can do is enhance or worsen aspects of life. He doesn’t have enough faith that his presence is positive or worthwhile enough to guarantee his spouse’s happiness ;-;

The other possibility I see is MC coaxing him as best she can into reassurance that she’s happy with her new life. While he may have doubts, there is absolutely room for her to help him approach those fears little by little. If Leonardo has even a hint of doubt in regards to his dismal feelings about her being turned, a potential for acceptance may be nurtured. I don’t think his uncertainty would ever fully vanish; there will always be a lurking fear that a fate tied to his can only mean suffering and disappointment. Prove his worth and compassion with time, and this man will be unable to remember how life was lived before her. It would take a great deal of patience and a sizable obstacle, but it wouldn’t be impossible. His heart is much too big for that, I think.

I don’t think happiness with a turned MC is impossible, only that it would take a lot of work to swing it after a heated moment of decision. I think the way to go with Leonardo is a more enduring effort. He shows much more receptivity after years of being together. I think time, ironically, helps him relax into the possibility of forever as a couple. I think he cannot conceptualize a world in which he is in love, and that this love is not conditional--not dependent on his ability to be the perfect companion, the brilliant inventor, the equanimous mentor. I think he needs to see for himself that love can be gentle and real and whole even when he’s at his worst (by his self-perception). 

Also I put some extra meta under the cut because I have brainworms and just can’t stop thinking about Leonardo rn so read if you like, but it’s more related to why he feels this way abt turning MC than necessarily about the outcome. 

That being said, I'm conflicted because I don't necessarily think Leonardo only loves MC because she's human? (Rather, I think it’s more a result of his history and the values he’s developed in response to that upbringing. But I’ll loop back to this in a bit, so stay tuned)

I say this for two reasons. Firstly, I don't want to say that no person in this period shared his values (I mean look at Comte)--this would be an overstatement, even if it was rare. But it does appear that Comte and Leonardo are acute exceptions within vampire society in elevating human beings to an equal status among vampires (if not a higher status at points or depending on the person). As such, a vampire partner he’d be comfortable living with is unlikely. Human beings are more optimal in some regards (more adaptable and more egalitarian than vampires, most likely), but he also knows that he’s more susceptible to falling in love with a human; so he makes sure to squash his feelings or remove himself when his feelings become too intense. 

Secondly, he's in close quarters with MC by necessity, and reacts to her isolation by virtue of the situation. That's probably half the reason they get together at all; he was fully intending to keep his distance despite his initial curiosity. One thing this signals to me is that even when Leonardo did feel attraction to any person he was in contact with, he would avoid them until they were removed from his presence--or he deflected their romantic approaches enough times for them to give up. With this in mind, it can come as no surprise that Leonardo has kept to himself for nearly five hundred years now. If it was another vampire hitting on him (especially a pureblood), he would be playing into his parents' expectations and would approach the vampire social hierarchy he was working so hard to escape. If they were human, he would deem himself a burden; he could never love them within the normal expectations of a human couple (growing old together, raising a family, etc etc). So ultimately I think it's less her being human, and more their compatibility and context.

As such, I think he just locks himself into a kind of Catch-22? Because in the end I think this is more about his own fears and insecurities--that he can never make someone happy, that he himself will never be enough (hello child of abusive home). Not to oversimplify his character, but one crucial element of his upbringing must be considered if he is to be analyzed properly.

There's something I often think about:

Comte, quoting Leonardo: "‘Not all parents love their children, or even think of them as such.’"  [Though he got away and was able to make a life for himself, he had to do it alone.]

There is. A LOT to unpack here. While we may not have evidence of what his familia is like firsthand, this description tells us...so many heartbreaking things. It tells us that Leonardo never once felt like anything more than a child intended to carry on a legacy. The likelihood that his insights, his feelings, or his entire self-hood were acknowledged is pretty much at a hardcore negative three. While it's been a good number of years since he was the problem child/family disappointment, I feel like so many of those experiences seep into his capacity to properly accept the love of another person. It's a good portion of the reason he struggles so intensely with being loved despite his unfathomable wealth of affection for other people. When a person is diagnosed with unlovable and cringe for having positive feelings for others, it's not really surprising that a person might have trouble accepting a commitment or attraction to another person. There is...a kind of Sisyphus dilemma that surfaces in the wake of that kind of life, a constant push + pull between craving acceptance and either expecting it’s loss and/or fearing it’s disappointment. Though he shows signs of healing from it, there are still portions that linger. (Jean-Paul shakes him from this self-berating in his MS, but after four hundred years he still struggles to overcome those instincts. I wish there were words for the extent to which that knowledge breaks my heart...Many say time heals all wounds, but sometimes I think only others can heal them.)

Keep in mind, I don't think his enduring fallacy that "human beings are the epitome of untainted purpose and vitality" is irrelevant or less problematic here. I just think it's a reflection of a deeper disturbance and loss. It's a reflection of his parents' unilateral rejection of the kinder parts of him; his devotion to patience and understanding. It's a kind of reiteration or what he's already known: he's doing exactly what his parents did in an odd way, he's rejecting vampirism whole-scale despite evidence of both pros and cons (just as it is for humanity). I will always offer that his fear of something going wrong during the change is completely valid--but it does feel more like a fear of admitting that vampires (and eternity for that matter) aren't inherently awful. He ran away from his parents for good reason of course, but for all his running he didn’t escape their black and white logic.

It’s funny too, because his absolutism is kind of reflected in his inability to commit to a single discipline in some ways; while part of it is that he probably exhausts study, I have to wonder how much of him oscillating is a fear of eventual failure. (Think his reaction to MC’s knowledge that he can’t dance, his mortification and utter...shock that she wouldn’t use it as a way to make him feel terrible about himself). He probably prefers to hone his skills helping people because the motivation of providing relief is a much more powerful motivator than knowledge for knowledge’s own sake. He needs the impetus, that drive to move him.

Granted, I won't fault anyone for feeling like Leonardo only loves MC for her humanity. At first glance it really did feel that way! But the more I think about it, the more I feel it has more to do with the weight of his life's experience, and the parts of himself he hasn’t been able to reconcile.

Sometimes, with Leonardo, I urge gentleness. So much of who he is disguises all the ways in which he has been hurt. While his decision is selfish and foolish, it comes from a broken place. My unhappiness will always lie predominantly with the fact that he believes to his core that happiness and self-respect is something he doesn’t deserve. 

[canyouhearthelight]

The Miys, Ch. 124

Second half of the exhibition!  Mac’s performance here is based on an actual incident that occurred with one of the many actual cats that Mac is based on.

Trigger warnings for blood here.

Thanks go to @baelpenrose for his beta-reading and Arthur, @zommbiebro for Jokul, @books-and-cartoons for GK, @werewolf2578 for Michael and all the other characters you have added to this story, and @charlylimph-blog for her characters. <3 you both!

“Who is competing in the canine rounds?” Coffey asked, steering the topic smoothly. 

“Myself,” Grandma Kim gestured. “Michael and Sparkles, Derek and Machiavelli, for the service round. I believe there are a few more for the security round, but I don’t recall whom.”  From GK, that was basically saying they were so far beneath her notice that she refused to learn their names.

A chime sounded, indicating that the intermission had ended. Arthur, Coffey, and I made our way back into the stands, waving to Simon as he worked his way onto the sidelines. Ivan had initially come down ahead of me and Maverick, but was also packing the floor with the competitors for the upcoming events. As soon as we took our seats, Evania announced the next event - sure enough, it was the service and security animal exhibitions.

Rather than the participants stepping forward, Antoine took the floor after Evan. “Previously, these events were separated and considered the ‘canine’ events.  However, it has been brought to my attention, most ardently, that service and security animals are not limited to canines, even with the limited amount of animals we currently have on the Ark. As such, we are combining the service and security events, and this year there is a non-canine participant.  Due to the nature of the exhibition, I will be personally monitoring from the sidelines in case there is any need for interventions.  Also, as with in the past, please be assured that all participants in these events are volunteers and a med bay is on standby.”

Medbay is on standby? I wondered. I didn’t recall that before, but I also hadn’t paid more attention than was necessary to know how many jerky treats to give Lyric and Sparkles.

First up was our veteran, Lyric the First. The elder stateswoman of Ark companions may have hobbled onto the field, but she went through her paces as a service animal with tidy precision. On top of that, the second the ‘security’ portion started and someone brandished a weapon at GK, all concept of ‘elder’ went out the window and Lyric became 120lbs of teeth and fury, daring the faux-attacker to come within six feet of her charge.

I could feel Coffey shudder beside me, at the same time that I could see Arthur nod with approval.  I couldn’t lie - there was a part of me that remembered this same dog standing over me when Maverick first dropped by unexpectedly, and I was warmed to know that I had been so safe in that moment.

After the applause due such a respected member of the community, Lyric the First was taken off the field, and it was Lyric II’s turn to show how she lived up to the name.  Sure enough, she displayed the same precision in the service animal rounds, but it was clear that she knew this was for show in the security segment.  Rather than the degree of savagery her mother had shown, Lyric II was clearly a little confused by the fake-attack.  She still received her applause and treats, however, while GK was obviously considering how much more training was needed.

Michael and Sparkle were next, and their performance was on-par with Lyric the First. Rather than having Sparkle function as a service animal for Michael, Sam had volunteered. The moment loud noises started to upset Sam, Sparkle nudged him into a prone position and brought his ribbon over.  If someone tried to step to close, she calmly pushed them back. Due to her youth, Michael did step in for the security portion - Sparkle wasn’t trained to decide between security and support yet - and that was where she shined.  Without hesitation, she took a defensive stance at any aggression toward Michael, and really did Lyric the First proud.

And then, the fourth round happened. That was what set the crowd’s eyebrows on end, the round with non-stop chatter throughout.

On the contrary to the rounds with both Lyrics and Sparkle, there was no leash, there were no steps to walk through. Instead, the crowd saw Derek Okafor walk out, carrying a lavender blanket and pillow, with a solid mass of feline ink trailing behind him.  Rather than lead Mac through any actions, Derek set the pillow down, curled up on the floor, and covered himself with the blanket.  In an action I had witnessed on more occasions than I could count, Mac curled his impressive mass on the blanket, just outside of Derek’s elbow.  Directed audio amplified Mac’s purring so everyone could hear it, even in the furthest seats.

Suddenly, the audio in the gym played discordant noises.  Not even waiting for Derek to flinch, Mac darted under the blanket and a lump erupted where Derek’s ear had been.  After a moment, the sound cut off, and instead a bowl of food - one so strong-smelling that I could catch it from my seat - was brought out. Mac poked his nose out and started sneezing convulsively, hissing at the bowl as he moved towards it.

The coup de grace was what came next. Without warning, as soon as the bowl was taken away, someone darted towards Derek from the other side. I could actually feel my soul chuckle for this poor slob as I anticipated what would happen.

Sure enough, Mac became a blur of void and vaulted over Derek, clawing the interloper from elbow to wrist, then from thigh to knee. He hissed and spat, clawing at anything and anyone that came within reach.  Nothing could stop the ball of feline fury until Derek darted out an arm to scoop Mac back under the blanket while the poor volunteer - who looked like they had a bad date with a Cuisinart - was led to the aforementioned med bay.

“I’m not sure they knew they were signing up for this,” I murmured to Maverick and Coffey.

Coffey made a firmly negative gesture. “I assure you that they were aware. That particular volunteer? She has been Machiavelli’s training target for three months now.”

“Why?” I sputtered.

“Some people are afraid of dogs,” Coffey shrugged. Given his clear discomfort watching both Lyrics perform, it made more sense suddenly.  I knew he wasn’t afraid of dogs - he kept treats in his pocket for Lyric and Lyric II, at all times - but we weren’t far enough removed from Earth to make everyone comfortable with the kinds of dogs that worked best as service animals.

A cat, though? I knew from a lifetime of experience that nothing was as persistent or vicious as a cat, when properly motivated.

The audience was respectfully silent until Mac and Derek left the gym, before cheering wildly.  Even from where I was sitting, I could hear people talking about the potential of having a cat once the colony was established.  As a firmly devoted cat owner, I couldn’t even make up an excuse to argue.

Arthur leaned over so I could hear him clearly. “You never told me you have an attack cat.”

“I’ve always had them,” I admitted. “I just didn’t know it wasn’t a normal thing.”

“Mac is a good kitty.”

“The best kitty,” Coffey corrected with a grin. At some point, he had adopted Derek as a younger brother/nephew figure, and by extension doted on Mac to the point of chemical warfare.

“The only kitty,” I pointed out. I would have loved for the Ark to have ship cats, but we had learned - the hard way - that genetic enhancements were necessary for them to thrive in the gravity we were operating under.  It was part of the reason Mac was so large - four years ago, he had actually undergone a heart transplant so his vasculatory system would function in the increased gravity. Where Lyric II and Sparkles had benefited from what Miys learned from the original Lyric, Mac was the original.

The next event was thrown projectiles, so I took the opportunity to go grab some popcorn and sausage-rolls for the last two events. No one in my family was participating in the javelin/spear exhibition, but I knew that Xiomara and Evan would be eyeing these candidates closely for colonial security, so I made a point to pay attention. However, despite my original reason for keeping an eye on the event, I found myself fascinated. Each spear had a different range for accuracy, a different technique for throwing… I found myself filing the information away for later, anticipating a very rousing conversation with our Councillor of Security and her protege. Ivan Thorsson, to nobody’s surprise, excelled.

However, the last event of the exhibition was finally at hand - archery.  Charly had made several attempts to have this event be its own exhibition - the projectiles were not thrown, nor were they combustion - but a sheer lack of participants inevitably led to the sport being included with the ‘non combustion’ weapons exhibition, in the same way the animal companion events were.  On the plus side, participation this Von-year made a strong case for archery being its own event.

Participants were allowed ten arrows, ten targets, and fifteen minutes to fire all arrows. Bows could be any size, but had to be pulled by hand - no crossbows, no hooks to draw. Targets were only 25cm in diameter, and any shots that missed the desired target were counted off, with a double ‘friendly fire’ deduction if the arrow hit an entirely different target.

Even with all the restrictions, there were no less than twelve participants in this event, more than any other.

Maverick was first. While he was exceptionally precise, his Shinto-style did not lend itself well to speed. Next came Tyche, who landed killing hits on every shot, though with far less aplomb than her knife-throwing had shown. Arthur had a similar result - fast and deadly, but less accurate than Maverick - before MIchael Smith took the stage again, to my surprise.

My jaw hit the floor as he pulled just as fast as Tyche and Arthur, with the same accuracy of Maverick. Very few people took part in multiple exhibitions, and to see him do so well in three was a shock.  Nonetheless, he swapped out with the next participant with zero acknowledgement of his performance.

After that, the event continued: several people I did not recognize, before all that was left were Conor and Charly.  Similar to his style of throwing knives, Conor drew ambidextrously and over the shoulder. The connection was crystal clear as you watched his motion - a smooth draw, looped into a pull and release.  The only difference was that, where he would throw a knife, he would draw the arrow.

Next, I expected Charly, but what I saw made my head spin: Simon Rodriguez stepped out of a back room, with a longbow and a quiver full of arrows.  Even more incredibly, he did not stand in front of any specific target, but stood in the center of all ten.  With one deep breath, he started drawing from his waist, firing and drawing, arrow after arrow, in a smooth, mechanical motion.

Every arrow struck the center of the target.

The blood drained from my face as I realised why Tyche had threatened Conor with allowing Simon to use him for target practice…. I had no idea, at the time, that Simon was such an incredible shot. Immediately, I felt guilty.

Before I could apologize to him, Charly and her bow walked out. Speaking now felt like an obscenity, since this was the reason so many people were still here. Sure enough, as soon as the targets were replaced, she displayed a foreign calm as she fired shot after shot.

Ten shots. Ten exact centers. Ten arrowheads protruding from the back of targets by a minimum of two inches.

Twelve seconds total.

The transition between Simon and Charly took place so quickly that I had no idea who the applause was for - the Twelve Second Sorceress, or her clear protege. Either way, the end of the exhibition was explosive, to say the least.

I turned to Conor, ready to apologise for not taking the previous threat as serious at it was, when he said something that made me slap my face and groan.

“Bless it, do you think Simon will show me how to do that?”

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[daybreak-academy-fanfic]

[Kingdom Hearts] Already Strong

Summary: Written for @khuxweek, in which Skuld, excited to be a Keyblade wielder, starts her own party.

Rating: K

Word Count: 1,633 words

If you liked this story, please reblog!

☆ ⚬ ☆ ⚬ ☆ ⚬ ☆ ⚬ ☆ ⚬ ☆ ⚬ ☆ ⚬ ☆ ⚬ ☆

For Skuld, nothing had been greater than finding that she was a Keyblade wielder. She had nearly been bouncing on her toes when she was shown her new home in Daybreak Town. She tried hard not to squeal at the Foreteller as they explained the roles of the Unions. She trained and studied her new weapon of light with an eagerness befitting any newbie of something exciting. Skuld had even started her own party, in an innocent hope of making friends while they worked together to gather lux.

It took a week for that excitement to wear down. Perhaps even a little time before that; during those long, tireless days of gathering lux, but no one joining her party. She still kept busy- continuing to work on her skills as a wielder. But the nagging feeling of being ignored by other wielders started to grow. Did her lack of knowing other wielders stop them from joining? Maybe it was the party name she chose- she kinda figured it would be too hard to pronounce earlier. Maybe she should change it to something more witty, or memorable. Although she really liked the name it had now. She spent a good portion of an afternoon coming up with it. But if it was a reason why people weren’t joining…

No, she decided with a shake of her head. People didn’t care about names when it came to the parties they were a part of. It was the people in it that could make or break a group. As long as Skuld kept her party high enough in rankings, people would come along eventually and offer to help her out. Hopefully. It was honestly the only thing she could place faith in. That, and consistency. Even if no one came to visit her, or asked to join her party, she still waited at the same spot in the event someone did want to join.

And one day, someone did.

“Is this where Einherjar Gundan is meeting?”

Skuld jumped. She turned her attention to a boy not much older than she was. His skin was fair and brought attention to a head full of fluffy white hair. Sparkling blue eyes that held a clever curiosity looked over her as he studied her reactions.

“Yes, it is!” Skuld agreed as she got to her feet. “My name is Skuld, I’m the party’s leader.”

The boy nodded, then took a small look around. “Excuse me for asking, but is there anyone else in your party besides you? I noticed that your party came up pretty high in last week’s rankings, but there’s no one else here...”

Skuld flinched. “No.” she said, her voice a bit more quiet than before. “I started my party not long after becoming a Keyblade wielder, but no one’s wanted to join yet.”

“How long have you been a wielder?”

“A month.”

“Oh…” was all the boy could say. He gave a small cough into his fist before straightening back up again. “You mind if I join, then?”

Skuld’s head snapped up to look at him. “You are serious? Of course I don’t mind!”

The boy smiled at her eagerness before adjusting his red scarf a bit. “You’re not going to ask me what Union I belong to?” he casually asked her. He ran a hand through his hair as he looked back at her. His smile was still unwavering.

“No?” Skuld wondered, completely thrown off by the question. “Why would I do that?”

The white haired boy just gave a smirk. “No reason.” he claimed with a roll of his shoulder. “Now, grand leader, what are we doing today?”

Skuld blinked. “I don’t even know your name yet.”

Now it was the boy’s turn to blink at her. “You don’t?” he asked. He let out a sheepish chuckle as he rubbed the back of his neck. “Sorry about that. The name’s Ephemer.”

“Skuld.” Skuld nodded, holding out her hand for Ephemer to take. He took her cue immediately, placing his hand in hers and giving a firm handshake.

“It’s a pleasure to meet you Skuld.” Ephemer said. “Now that we’re properly introduced, we’re back to the original topic at hand- what’s our mission, chief?”

It was at this point that Skuld realized that she had no idea what to do when she actually had people working with her.

“We should start small since it’s just the two of us,” she decided. “How about the Castle of Dreams? The Heartless there have a moderate difficulty to them.”

“Sounds perfect.” Ephemer agreed. “Lead the way.”

Skuld looked at Ephemer, as if she expected him to say that he was only joking with her- as if he was going to say that he didn’t actually want to be a part of her party. But she could see -she could feel- his sincerity. Finally, she let her fears wash away as she summoned her Keyblade. She opened up a portal to a new world, and the two of them went on through.

On the way to the Castle of Dreams, Ephemer and Skuld better refined their mission. Both agreed that taking out the Heartless was a more reasonable goal than collecting a certain amount of lux. To make things a bit easier on both of them, they would share the total defeated instead of making individual totals. That way, there wasn’t any competition between them. They were a team, and they were going to work together as one.

Working with someone else did not feel much different than being alone, though. Or maybe it was just because there were still two of them. Regardless, taking down the number of Heartless they agreed to was a snap. Something else in the area seemed to think so too. The area was cleared of Heartless, but the atmosphere grew more dark and tense. A Raid Boss had given the duo its grand appearance. Seeing it made Ephemer grin from ear to ear.

“How are we taking down this thing?” he casually asked Skuld, readying his Keyblade for the command.

Skuld gave him a wary glance before turning to the Heartless. Easily identifiable as a Jewel Princess, with its crystalline body, crown, and scepter. It hovered a good distance away from the duo- almost like it was waiting for their first move.

“Let’s attack its lower body.” she decided. “Speed attacks should be our priority.”

“You got it!” Ephemer agreed before heading in. Skuld gave herself an affirmative nod before attacking as well. As the Heartless fought back, and while the duo wore it down, Skuld couldn’t help but wonder if she would have been able to face the Raid Boss alone. Ephemer was a big help, and in dealing with the Heartless earlier, they both knew enough of each other’s attack patterns to compliment the other.

When the Heartless was defeated, Skuld instinctively let out a sigh of relief. She walked over to Ephemer (who was still in a battle stance, just in case) and put a hand on his shoulder. She could feel him jump a little at the touch.

“Thank you.” she told him. “I don’t think I could have taken that Heartless down alone.”

Ephemer turned around, a grin etched onto his face but his hand absently rubbing the back of his neck.

“Don’t discredit yourself,” he told her. “Your speed attacks were far better than mine.”

Skuld smiled at the compliment.

“What should we do next?” Ephemer then asked. Confused, Skuld gave him a wary glance.

“What do you mean?”

“We got our goal done for the day,” came the cheerful reply, “So what else are we going to do?”

This was another thing that Skuld had failed to plan for. Sheepishly looking away from him, she offered, “How about we meet up again tomorrow? Same time, same place?”

“Sounds great!” Ephemer agreed. He brought his Keyblade up to summon a portal. Before stepping through, he turned to give Skuld a small salute. “See you tomorrow, leader.” And with that, he was gone.

This became Skuld’s new routine over the next few days. She and Ephemer would meet up, go out with some goal set, and then come back with the promise to meet up again the next day. When others started to notice the effort Skuld and Ephemer put into their party, they too wanted to join. In just a few week’s time, Skuld’s party was at its max capacity. It was both thrilling and disappointing that her party had gotten large enough that she had to turn others down. But it was with this sudden growth that it became hard to keep track of everyone. There had been fighting, people Skuld had to kick out because of their actions, and a small handful would leave without any kind of warning. As Skuld tried to keep her party organized, she saw Ephemer less. The only time they were ever able to talk was when he gave in his daily lux totals. Other than that? They were as good as strangers again.

The day Ephemer pulled her aside and announced that he was going to switch Unions (and by extension, leave her party), Skuld was in a state of shock. She asked if it was because they didn’t talk anymore, but Ephemer denied it.

“You’re strong on your own,” he had told her. “Keep at it and we’ll meet again. May our hearts be our guiding key, right?”

She had nodded, agreed with him, but a part of her wanted to fight it. She wanted him to stay. In time, she would find that Ephemer had been right. She had her own strength-  she just needed to see it for herself. And even to this day, she knew she had Ephemer to thank for all of it.

[leahxx129]

Truth or Cut (Dean Winchester x Reader x Sam Winchester)

Hello there! This my * very VERY * late submission to @dontshootmespence​ ‘s   Alphabet Angst for 8k Challenge. I am incredibly sorry for this delay but I had to take a break away from Tumblr and social media in general in order to focus on my mental/physical health & other issues in my private life. Now I think I’m ready to return and create content again. As for the story, I hope you like it. This is my first attempt at a love triangle. Important: does not include Wincest so it’s safe to read for anyone who’s not into that. Also, I inserted a ‘Keep reading’ line, I hope it’s visible.

Summary: The British Men of Letters try a new approach to acquire the Winchesters’ cooperation, which leads to heartbreaking revelations. 

Warnings: cursing, bloodshed, mentions of sex, character death

Word count: 2.750-ish

* Moodboard is mine, pictures used are not.

You gain consciousness to two male voices calling your name frantically.

“She’s opening her eyes, Sam! She’s alright… Look!” the hoarse baritone belonging to the elder Winchester reassures his brother a second after your eyelashes have started fluttering.

“Well, that’s the overstatement of the year, Dean… Let’s just say I’ll live.” you grumble once you fully come around. “What the hell?!”

Usually you’re more eloquent than that but at the moment it’s the best you can muster, considering that you’ve awakened in what appears to be an abandoned warehouse and all three of you are handcuffed to uncomfortable metal chairs organized in a neat triangle, facing each other. The only source of light are a few flickering candles placed on a table nearby.

“That’s what we’re trying to figure out, babe.” your long-term boyfriend Sam replies in a soothing tone.

His handsome face seems intact – minus a couple of scars he obtained in previous fights – so being ambushed is crossed off the list of possible explanations on what happened and how you got here. Maybe you were drugged? If yes… by whom? The things that go bump in the night prey upon their enemies and slash their throats open, not abduct them.

A heavy silence falls on the place, only the crackle of the candle flames can be heard.

You have no idea how much time has passed – it could’ve been an eternity as well as ten minutes – when suddenly a consecutive knocking sound fills your auditory canals.

“Are those… are those high heels?” you ask aloud incredulously.

“Louboutin’s to be exact, my dear.”

Every head snaps to the accent’s direction just in time to see an elegantly dressed slender woman step into the candle-lit area.

“But excuse my manners… talking about fashion before introducing myself? How rude of me. I’m Lady Toni Bevell on behalf of the British Men of Letters.”

“You’ve got to be kidding me!” Dean growls “You know, here in America no means no, Lady! We’ve already told your stupid little boyband to fuck off. We’re not here to do their bidding, we’re here to save lives.”

“So I’ve heard.” She nods in understanding. “But yet, we’d still like to gather some information, one way or another.”

She walks over to the table and unfolds a neatly wrapped package, revealing a knife. Suddenly, Sam’s sarcastic chuckle fills the place.

“And you think you can get us to spill by torturing? Seriously?”

A predatory smile spreads across Toni’s face as she casually picks up the weapon of her choice.

“I was thinking about playing a game that may involve torture. It’s up to you whether it does or does not.”

“What game?” you ask suspiciously.

“I’d like to call it Truth or Cut. Maybe Truth or Stab, depending on the importance of the information you intend to withhold. The rules are the following… I ask something and if you reply, that equals truth, and nothing will happen. If you do not wish to answer, just say cut and I’ll sink my knife into your flesh.”

“You’re crazy!” Sam exhales in disbelief.

“Thank you, Sam! I’m going to take that as a compliment. And since we are already engaged in a conversation, let’s start with you.” She walks to the center of the triangle to face the younger Winchester. “I’d like you to give me the names of American hunters you consider the best.”

Sam leans a bit forward, his face is unreadable.

“Bite me!” he hisses through gritted teeth. “I’m not gonna participate in your psychotic game. You can’t make me.”

Toni flashes a dangerous smile once more.

“Are you sure about that?”

She slowly walks behind your chair and places the blade under your right collar bone.

“If you refuse to pick either truth or cut, your loved ones will pay the price for it, big guy.”

Sam’s eyes search yours for confirmation of the next step and you nod.

“You’re bluffing.” He counters Toni.

The next second you feel the metal pressed against you slash into soft skin and you can’t suppress a loud grunt of pain. Blood starts oozing from the wound and your white tank top soon begins to acquire a shade of crimson.

The brothers yell ‘No!’ in unison, then Dean delivers an impressive selection of curse words – sneaking in some that were new even to you.

Toni strolls over to Sam.

“Now I ask again. Name the best American hunters you know.”

“Cut.” Sam responds in a tone just above whisper. He soundlessly flinches when the woman draws blood by sliding the blade across his left forearm.

“Alright… Who wants to be next? Perhaps Dean? List all the places where we can find extensive knowledge on the supernatural, not counting the Man of Letters safe houses of course.”

Dean’s gaze meets Toni’s and for a second you think you can see her confidence falter because of the deadly rage and utter disdain that radiates from the hunter, but she soon regains composure.

“So? Is it truth or cut, Dean? You know what will happen if you refuse to choose.”  

“Cut!” he emphasizes the t at the end.

You’re next and you pick cut as well. Then the cycle starts all over again...

You’ve made three rounds without anyone breaking and giving Toni what she wants, which visibly annoys her.

“Let’s shake things up a bit by changing the topics, shall we?” she announces out of the blue, making all of you knit your brows.

Spinning around on her heels, she turns to Sam.

“Sam! Did you manage to decide where you want to propose to Y/N? In my personal opinion the place where you said your first I love you-s is more romantic than the place where you first met, but that’s just plain old me.”

Sam’s eyes widen in shock, reflecting your own facial expression.

“Sam? What is she talking about?” you question in a thin voice, perplexed.

A shy, boyish smile appears on his face as he looks deep into your eyes, reminding you of the very first time you’ve seen him.

“Uh, yeah. She’s right. Although I have no idea how she knows this, but I did indeed plan on proposing to you at one of those places, probably where we met… up until now. Now I have to come up with something else I guess.”

A mixture of emotions floods your heart, making you undecisive what to say first. You finally open your mouth to speak but before a sound can escape, Toni directs the next question to Dean.

“Alright, that was a truth, so no cuts. Now, Dean! I am certain she will not get offended so you can tell me honestly… Is Y/N a good kisser?”

“How would I know?” he asks back, lacking any hesitation. “I think you’re mistaking me with Sam, her boyfriend. You know, the tall guy whose proposal you’ve just ruined? Next time you play this game with someone, have your facts checked first, Suit pants.”

The confusion on Sam’s face slowly starts to fade away, but Toni presses on relentlessly.

“Oh, Dean... That was a very convincing performance! But, unfortunately for you, I did have my facts checked. And according to these facts, you and Y/N locked lips passionately just two years ago, in 2015. Isn’t that right, Y/N?”

Everybody’s eyes are on you waiting for your reaction, and you can’t help but reminisce about the event in question.

You were having a hard time finding the key for the motel room you were renting - courtesy of the bottle of bourbon you’d consumed earlier. All those keys on the chain looked the same and neither of them seemed to fit into the lock, let alone open the damn door… In addition to that, the world slowly started spinning and you had to prop yourself against the doorframe to prevent an ugly fall.

“Need a hand there, Sweetheart?”

Your heart skipped a beat from the scare but soon calmness washed over you as you identified the person. You could recognize that husky voice anywhere, intoxicated or not.

“Dean Winchester!” you exclaimed, turning around to find him leaning against your car you’d parked near the doorway. “The world’s deadliest hunter and mightiest panty dropper turned hell’s cruelest demon! To what do I owe this pleasure? Considering that you’ve gone out of your way to ignore both me and Sam in the past couple of months.”

He leisurely pushed himself from the car and started walking towards you.

“I needed a breath of fresh air, that’s all. But speaking of whom… where’s Sam?”

He almost left no distance between your bodies when he finally stopped. What was he doing? If he wanted to kill you, he probably would’ve done it already…

“I don’t know. Why don’t you give him a call, huh? Ask him how he’s doing? You could make him the happiest man alive…” you replied with a bitter undertone.

A shit-eating grin formed on Dean’s handsome face.

“Uh-oh. Is there trouble in paradise?”

“Shut it, Dean! It’s really none of your business.” You said, crossing your arms and averting your gaze.

His comment hit a nerve – you both knew that – but the last thing on Earth you wanted to do was discussing your relationship crisis with him. If you still had a relationship, that is.

To much of your surprise, the next second he grabbed your chin, forcing you to look at him and pressed his lips against yours. It felt terribly wrong but incredibly right at the same time… It took you half a minute to gather all your willpower and push him away.

“Y/N? Is it true?” Sam’s voice brings you back to reality.

Tears start dwelling up in your eyes, providing a wordless answer. He swallows hard.

“Why?”

“It’s all my fault, okay?” Dean speaks up as you’re clearly unable to form a coherent sentence. “I kissed her, man. It happened when I was a demon… I figured if I kissed her, I’d piss you off enough to leave me alone. Besides, she was totally hammered and still pushed me away.”

“Is that supposed to make me feel better, Dean?!”

“I don’t know… a little, maybe?”

Sam scoffs then all of a sudden realization hits him.

“You didn’t answer the question.”

“What?”

“Is my girlfriend a good kisser?”

Both you and Dean stare at him in shock.

“C’mon man, you can’t seriously want me to answer that…” Dean attempts to change the subject but doesn’t succeed. Sam’s stare makes it obvious he won’t let this one slide. He won’t let go until he hears the truth no matter how unpleasant it may be.

“Yes.” Dean blurts out. “She’s a good kisser. In fact, she’s one of the best kissers I’ve ever encountered in my entire life. Happy now?”

The only response is a nod.

“Oh wow…” Toni lets out an excited sigh. “Changing the topic was the best idea ever, don’t you agree? Now, let’s move on to Y/N. She’ll get the most interesting question in my repertoire.”

She slowly walks over to you, her Louboutin’s menacingly tap against the concrete every step of the way. She crouches down, tucks a strand of hair behind your ear and asks the most ruthless question in the sweetest voice.

“Which one of the Winchester brothers is better in bed?”

The tears you’ve been holding back for quite some time now break free and roll down your cheeks swiftly.

“I mean, it’s not entirely true what Dean said, now is it? You did push him away but then you pulled him back...”

Complete silence ensues and you swear you can hear three hearts break if you listen closely.

You were standing there more confused than ever. What the hell was Dean doing?! Was this a long time coming or was he playing some sort of a game? Either way… If you were sober, you most certainly would’ve punched him in the mouth. But due to your condition – or at least that’s what you’ve been telling yourself ever since – you pulled him back and kissed him there instead. The part of how you got inside the room was a blur, but soon enough you found yourself tangled up with him in the sheets. Torn clothes peppered the floor, a smell of bourbon lingered in the air and Dean treated you as if you were the single, most important person in the entire universe. You truly thought you’d never been happier – then came the morning and shattered everything to a thousand pieces.

“You know, to encourage picking truth regarding this question, I am going to tell you something you yourself may not even be aware of, Y/N.” Toni breaks the silence. “There is something else that’s not true in what Dean said. He did not spend that night with you just to piss Sam off… He’s been attracted to you ever since you’ve met and being a demon allowed him to shamelessly do something about it.”

You whisper ‘Cut’ as a reply and Toni’s face hardens.

“Oh, honey… withholding this information is worth a stab.”

Before you can comprehend her words, she swings the knife and it ends up in your right thigh. You don’t think you’ve ever seen this much blood come from a stab wound… Both Winchester men yell in protest, but their voices become distant as you slowly slip into unconsciousness.

Mary and Castiel tracked down your location and arrived just in time. You almost bled to death, but the angel managed to heal the wound. For a while you wished he didn’t.

Three weeks later you’re sitting in your car at an abandoned gas station. About fifteen minutes after your arrival, a black SUV parks near you. You limp to the vehicle and tear its door open, barely containing your fury.

“What the fuck was that, Toni?!” you question while getting in and pointing a gun at her.

She glances at the weapon then looks you in the eye.

“Is that necessary?”

You cock the gun in response.

“Alright. So, as you know, the management decided that you delivering information to us about the Winchesters is not enough anymore.”

“Yes, that’s why you’ve contacted them directly, I know.”

“Correct. But since they refused to cooperate, the management came up with a plan of disrupting their unity. This way it’s just a matter of time and one of them will be knocking on our door. I suspect it will be Sam.”

A bitter laugh escapes you lips.

“So that’s what this was? A disruption of unity? Really?! And why didn’t I know of this, huh?”

“We needed your reactions to be genuine.”

“God, you’re a bunch of psychopaths… You know what, I’m not gonna do this anymore. I quit.”

She lets out a loud scoff.

“Please… what are you going to tell them? Furthermore, how do you think they will react when they learn that the love of their lives is a snitch?”

You let your gun down.

“I’ll make sure they know why I became a snitch... I’ll make sure they know how I made a crossroad’s deal years ago to save them both. I’ll make sure they know how you offered to delay the hellhounds in exchange for some information every now and then. I have no idea how they’ll react, but maybe someday they’ll understand and find it in their hearts to forgive me.”

Toni stares daggers at you.

“I suggest you think this through carefully, Y/N, as we still hold your deal. One bad move and the hellhounds will come and get you. No more delaying.”

You flash her the biggest smile you can summon.

“Well, it’s been a while since the last time I played with puppies from the pit… I think I’m ready.”

Not waiting for her reaction, you get out of the car and start limping back to yours. By the time you get in, Toni is gone.

You’re all alone.

Well, not entirely alone to be fair.

The grumbling hellhounds in your backseat keep you company.

You take your phone out of your pocket avoiding any sudden movements and type a quick message to the Winchesters:

‘My nightstand, second drawer.’

Toni thought she could prevent you from exposing the truth by taking action quickly, but she wasn’t paying attention. You never said you were gonna tell them everything. You said you would make sure they know. And the detailed farewell letters you left for them in your drawer will serve the purpose well.

[hobidreams]

Bloom | KNJ {M}

Family is who you kill for. Who you die for. In this society, you and your kin are shadows, clinging to the darkness to obey orders absolute. But when such orders command you to abandon what little honor remains for wealth and notoriety, you find yourself lost in lonely uncertainty about the only vocation you’ve ever known. That is, until you meet a man with gentle hands, a poet’s heart, and a love for coaxing the world into bloom.

pairing: assassin!reader x florist!namjoon genre: smut, angst, action, sprinkles of fluff words: 20.7k contains: descriptions of violence & blood, weapons, minor character death, fingering, dirty talk, oral (f), protected piv, multiple smut scenes, namjoon talks to his plants a/n: this piece challenged every ounce of my creativity (in the best of ways) & i’m so ecstatic to share it with you all! i tried my best with the floral research, please forgive me for any inaccuracies.

Night is coming.

With steady hands, you draw taupe curtains on windows that reflect the light of a dying sun, melting into the horizon to pave the way for the illustrious moon. The space now cast in darkness, you follow the trail of shadows to the full-length mirror that lines a wall in the entryway of this hotel room.

“Lights on, 60%.”

You tilt your head to a side, scrutinizing the dress that hangs loosely from your figure, done in a muted, subtle navy. With no loose threads to be found, you focus on your hair, on the carefully pinned bun and the solitary tendrils that weave their way down the side of your face. Just below, two earrings, diamond studs, add just a hint of distracting sparkle. But the most important accessory of your night will be the ring on your right hand’s middle finger, and the thin, imperceptible needle hidden inside, filled with exactly one dose of lethality.

From the designer purse that sits at your side, you extract your mini-communicator. A few taps has the hologram pixilating to life, bursting from the screen as you confirm the details of your mission. Tonight, you intend on making the acquaintance of one Park Siyeon. Multi-millionaire. Entrepreneur. Target.

Why Siyeon? That’s the one thing this file doesn’t mention. Nor did your brother Yoongi, when he issued your orders, though that’s been the trend for the last while. Tonight is the culmination of months of extensive planning, and Yoongi made it clear that this mission was not one you could afford to fuck up. Especially not after the last... incident.

Inhale.

Exhale.

It’s been a while since you were in action, but you’ve pored over the documents. You know Siyeon’s face, her habits. And this is not your first kill.

You drop the mini-com back into its home with your handkerchief and lipstick. The watch on your left wrist reads 7:31pm. The charity event downstairs started thirty minutes ago, and now you will be perfectly, fashionably late. Thoroughness (or perhaps paranoia) dictates you take one last look in the mirror. Then you slip into your nude heels before reaching for the door handle.

“Lights, off.”

By the time the steel elevator doors slide open to deposit you on the luxury hotel’s ground floor, the mingling is in full swing. Confidence radiates from your every step as you stalk to one of the men standing guard before the entrance. “Good evening, ma’am.” You offer a stolen invitation in response to his outstretched hand. “Thank you. Please enjoy your night.”

“Thank you.” You step inside, blending in effortlessly as you lift a flute of fizzy champagne from a nearby waiter’s tray. You have less than an hour before the main event begins to make contact, to make use of the hidden syringe that will render Siyeon incapacitated exactly twenty minutes after injection. It will look like a heart attack, a sudden tragedy brought on by unfortunate circumstance (stress being the usual suspect). By then, you will be safely miles away, retreating into the shroud of your underground headquarters.

You return smiles and head nods to those who toss them your way, probably assuming you are another one of the countless business associates in this flood. Weaving your way through the crowd, you sip at the bubbly drink.

“I haven’t seen you at one of these events before. What’s your name?” A deep voice interrupts your search. You turn to find a pudgy man grinning at you. Well, more like leering. You rattle off a fake name. “That’s pretty. Which company are you with?”

You feed him another false tidbit. He starts rattling on about how his company knows yours, how he’s senior executive whatever, and would you like to get a “business” lunch sometime? You’re not actually listening, too busy landing eyes on the lady of the night. Siyeon stands near the front of the room, draped in exquisite Chanel and a glittering shawl. Though her back is turned towards you, you catch enough of her face when she turns to greet someone who approaches her. Perfect.

“Of course, I’ll have my office call yours.” All the creep gets is one perfunctory nod before you step away, ignoring his protests that you didn’t even give him a card.

It is just your luck that there are a few tables set up near where Siyeon stands. You pick the one slightly to her right, in earshot of her conversation with an elderly woman. You need the perfect opportunity to cause a quiet commotion, just enough to distract her from the slight pinch of inevitability.

“Oh, please, you flatter me! I didn’t start my company alone. I have a lot of people to thank for all of this, truly.”

Hearing Siyeon’s voice in person is somewhat jarring, as you’ve only listened to it in surveillance footage. But if it bothers you, it never shows on your perfectly-crafted face.

“Always so humble, Siyeon. That’s why we all like you so much. By the way, I hear congratulations are in order! How far along are you now, Siyeon?”

“Thank you, thank you. I’m about eighteen weeks in now!”

Your breath catches. No... Purposefully, you shift. You swivel just enough to catch a better glimpse of Siyeon’s body. Your stomach drops.

Looks like the file left something else out.

Siyeon has loosened her shawl. The midnight of her dress bulges over her stomach. It’s not too obvious yet; you perhaps wouldn’t have noticed at first glance. But now, you can’t ignore the growing swell, no matter how much you want to. Siyeon cups the underside of her belly with dreams in her eyes.

Damn it. You’re no expert, but eighteen weeks doesn’t sound like very much. In fact, it doesn’t sound like much at all. Medical advancements in the past century have been vast, but a tiny infant of eighteen weeks might just be impossible to save on its own.

...But that’s not your problem, is it? You were given orders. Orders that have to be carried out, or else.

You spot someone walking purposefully towards the pair from the other side, probably to pull her speaking companion away. This transition would provide the perfect chance for you to make your move. You will only have a few seconds, not enough time or space for hesitation.

This is what you’re supposed to do. This is what you’ve always done. You finger the ring on your hand as you shift in your shoes, moving just an inch closer. You find the activation switch, though you don’t press it yet.

“Siyeon, are you feeling alright, my love?”

You fight the urge to spin towards the voice as your thoughts are interrupted. You recognize the tone, one smooth and self-assured. It comes from beside you. The owner, suit-clad, slim, brushes your arm as he passes by. Kim Seokjin. Siyeon’s husband of a few years, another company head and one of the most handsome men you’ve ever seen.

Through your peripheral vision, you watch Seokjin slide an arm around Siyeon’s waist to pull her in close. He presses a kiss to her cheek, turning her towards him as his other hand comes down, slides over her belly. “You’re not tired? Do you want to sit down?”

“No, no, I’m just fine, honey.” Siyeon beams at him.

“Ah, Seokjin! Siyeon was just telling me about the baby.”

Seokjin’s smile blossoms into utter bliss. “Our favorite topic! We just renovated the baby’s future bedroom, actually.”

“Jinnie here is going to build the cradle himself when we get to England. Can you believe it?” A burst of laughter, like chimes.

“Anything for my baby girl.”

You want to curse but hold your tongue. You press your eyes closed, squeeze in irritation at yourself, at Siyeon, at chance. You could still do it. Erase the light from her eyes and his. It would be simple. Too easy, in fact. But your thumb falls away from the ring like dead weight. It would take a strength far greater than what you possess to find the switch again, no matter what logic dictates.

The unknown guest reaches the trio to pull the older woman away as you predicted. But you stand rooted to the spot as you let them go, watch the opportunity slip away like sand through half-heartedly cupped fingers. Seokjin and Siyeon are still trapped in their bubble of pure joy, gushing about baby clothes or names or something you can’t stand to listen to any longer. You turn away.

Excuses whirl through your head, knowing there’s going to be hell to pay but there’s probably worse if you carry out the orders. You’ve found another damn line you can’t bring yourself to cross. Another line that reminds you that you’re weak, no matter how you try to hide it. Your footsteps feel too loud on the marbled floor despite the music and the chatter as you surge through the bodies in seek of the exit.

Then your instincts kick in.

The raise of a hand to an ear, from one of the suits standing against the wall: the telltale sign of a hidden ear-com. You whip your head around, spot another woman in a short dress speaking into a com that looks far too official for your liking. You don’t even make it ten more steps before you spot a man with a bulge in his jacket that can only belong to a holstered weapon. They would be invisible, well-camouflaged to the layman’s eye. But you’re a professional.

To make it to the exit, you have to pass the man near the wall. But now he’s on the move, seemingly headed to the same direction you are. Have you been made?

You reach for your communicator. Now you’re less than fifty steps away from the exit. He’s less than thirty from you. There would have to be something from HQ if they caught even a whiff of danger, especially from the NIS. The National Intelligence Service has always been a pain in your ass, trying their best to ruin what you and your family have built. But the mini-com you pull out is devoid of any new info. You fail to notice your handkerchief coming out with it, falling onto the floor as you shove the com back into your purse.

Close. Freedom is so close. You speed up.

“Ma’am?”

A man’s voice comes from behind, but there’s no way you’re going to stop for him. If you turned, you might have noticed him pick up the bit of cloth. Instead, you rush past the guards, keeping a pace that just looks like you have to run to the washroom for some emergency. But instead of going deeper into the hotel, you head for the automatic double doors that part quickly for you.

“Ma’am, you dropped something!” But the words aren’t loud enough to surpass the music to make it to your ears.

Onto the street, you’re hit with the last rays of sunlight. You blink, mind working overtime. You can’t outrun them; hiding is your only option.

You decide right instead of left. Two doors down from the hotel, you find a store overflowing with flowers in the storefront. You ignore the almost-sickly saccharine perfume as you yank open the entrance and throw yourself inside.

A glance at the counter tells you that any employees here are thankfully absent. Hidden behind several, giant potted plants, you watch as your pursuer runs out past the glass window. He looks around, turns a few times, but can’t find who he’s looking for. Afraid he’ll look into the shop, you turn as well, focusing on the table behind you. Which just so happens to be laden with flowers, delicate and exploding with color.

It occurs to you that you’ve never been in a flower shop before. While the scent of the blossoms was overwhelming at first, your nose is steadily becoming accustomed to the sweetness that is nature coming to life. There’s no harm in taking a few more minutes here, you think as you take steps towards the table. You have to wait out the man outside anyway. And curiosity has always been one of your vices.

The flower that catches your eye is circular in shape; its oval, almost-spikey petals are dyed in a soft pink. It sits elegantly in its pot, a single floret amidst a bed of green. You reach out for it with a palm, not wanting to crush or ruin anything as you cradle it in your warmth. You don’t notice the soft smile waning your lips as you memorize its curves. You haven’t the slightest idea what kind of flower it is, but you can’t remember the last time you saw something this beautiful.

“I see you’re fond of the dahlia.”

“Oh!” Caught off guard by the sudden voice, your hand jerks up. The pot shakes violently from the sudden movement. It spins, wobbling over and—

“Whoa!” All you see is a flash of dark hair and flying clothes as the speaker hurtles towards you. He catches the pot just as its about to tip over. Then he sets it back onto the counter. “Phew... That was close.” He’s squatting, tall enough to still comfortably reach the pot as he gives the dahlia a light pat.

“Sorry! I’m sorry.” You hide both hands behind your back, not wanting to accidentally ruin anything else.

In response, he offers you a dimpled smile that does the opposite of setting your heart at ease. “No worries. I’m sorry I scared you. Are you alright?” He stands up, faces you.

“Yes, I’m fine. But is the flower okay? The, uh, dahlia?” You’re trying your best not to stare, but that’s a difficult task when he goes to brush his bangs back, taut arm muscles shifting along with it. His outfit is simple, a white tee and black jeans, with a stained black apron thrown overtop, but there’s something oddly attractive about it.

“She’s fine too.” There’s a fondness when he stares at the bloom, a tenderness that makes you feel more like the intruder you are in this precious space. “She’s been giving me trouble during growth so I’m a bit overprotective. Haven’t you, girl?” He chuckles lightly at himself, covering his lips with his palm as if he’s embarrassed.

“That’s cute,” you blurt out before you can help yourself.

“Is it?” That makes him smile again, and you swear your cheeks flush. He makes sure the dahlia is secure before he looks back at you. You follow his eyes as they rake across your outfit, taking in the formal dress and diamonds. “It can’t be comfortable walking around in that all day. Me, I prefer jeans over heels.” He laughs, and you can’t help joining him.

“No, no, I was at an event.”

“Oh, at the hotel?” You raise your eyebrows, not expecting him to know of it. “A few people came in to buy bouquets and wreaths for it earlier.”

“Ah, right. I remember seeing them. They’re beautiful. You did a fantastic job.”

“Thanks.” You’re beginning to realize it makes him shy to receive compliments, from the way he breaks your gaze to stare distractedly at the dahlia with lightly pinking cheeks. “So, why aren’t you there now?”

“I can’t stand those kinds of events.” It’s not technically a lie. “They’re always boring.”

“Why do you go then?”

“...Family obligation.” You cut this line of questioning short by focusing on another flower, this one multiple spheres of small purple blossoms. “What’s this one?”

“Oh, that one? It’s a hydrangea. If you look here...” He continues to talk as he closes the distance. A scent like fresh linen and soap cuts through the floral perfume, a summer’s day at its most stereotypical but you find yourself drawing closer for more. There’s something so soothing about his voice and the love weaved into every syllable as he gushes about the flower. Yet, you don’t even know his name. And it should stay that way for your safety, and for his.

When he takes an elongated pause for breath, you realize enough time has probably passed. You don’t see the NIS agent outside any longer, and the best course of action is to make your way back home as swiftly as possible.

Yet you find yourself asking, “why do you love flowers so much?”

He looks taken aback, like he wasn’t expecting the question. Then excitement glows in his warm eyes. “Stop me if I’m rambling too much, okay?” He smiles as if he already knows you have no such inclination. “At first, I was interested because there’s something so satisfying about watching a plant grow. About raising it from a tiny seedling or rescuing it from dying.” He reaches for a nearby pair of scissors to lightly trim off some greenery. “But the more I learn about nature and flowers, the more fascinated I am with how much they really understand and silently absorb from us.”

“What do you mean by that?”

“Well, for example, if you talk to a plant every day, it’ll grow much better than a plant left in silence.”

You look absolutely bewildered. “Really? That can’t be true. There’s no way they understand us.”

“It is!” He’s becoming more and more elated as he talks, his entire face brightening at your inquiry. “Research has proven it. And I know the latest tech in 2105 is that self-watering, self-growing planter but I think that’s all bull. Those flowers will never grow as beautifully as these ones. Plants are just like pets, or people. They need care, affection, and interaction too.”

“Hm. I’ve never thought about it that way.” You’ve never thought about flowers at all before today, actually. But his smile and clear enthusiasm is infectious, making one of your own bloom on your lips. “I think you might just be right.”

Before either of you can say anything else, your phone buzzes. A succession of three pulses, like the quick-quick-slow of a dangerous tango. “Sorry,” you mumble, grin faltering as you pull out your com. Come back. Now. Three short words spell your doom. You let it fall into your purse, keeping neutrality on your face even though there’s disappointment in your heart. “Um, I should get going. It’s getting late.”

“Right.” Is it your imagination or does he look just as upset to let you go? “Wait, just a second. Let me give you something. A gift for letting me talk all over you.”

“Uhh, no, that’s alright. I was happy to listen.”

“Please. I insist.” He disappears for a few moments behind the shrubbery to the back room.

You stare at the door, feeling your communicator and the words on its screen spurring you to leave right now. You just walk out the door, and this florist will never find you again. That’s the logical thing to do. ‘Never get attached’ is practically lesson number one. Right up there with ‘don’t accept anything from strangers.’ But you’ve already broken one rule today. What’s another?

“Here.” The man returns with a small cardboard box, the top flaps yet to be closed. You tilt your head, look inside to find a tiny plant with rounded petals, almost like a lotus, but swathed in dirt instead of water.

“What is this?” You take the box though, mimicking how he held it – like something precious.

“A succulent.”

“I really can’t—”

“Just take it. It reminds me of you and... I get the feeling you need it.” There’s that smile again, the one that makes your heart weak, its doors pliable. “Take good care of it. I know it’ll be safe with you.”

“Ahh, fine.” You fold up the box, feeling like you’re standing on the cusp of something wholly new and rather terrifying. You’ve never been responsible for another living thing before, even if this is just a plant. “Thank you.”

“Joon. I’m Joon. And you?”

You purse your lips. “...Dahlia.”

That makes Joon laugh, and you half-expect him to question you over the obvious pseudonym but he doesn’t. He just nods his head. “I hope I see you again, Dahlia.”

You’re not afraid to return his grin before you push out into the fresh air, knowing too well that this meeting will be your first and last.

“Where have you been?” The second you plunge into the darkness that is the underground headquarters, your arm is grabbed. The voice belongs to Taehyung, one of the members of the family. “Yoongi hyung is really angry.”

“Shit.” You hurry through the dimly-lit hallway, familiarity trumping illumination as you head towards the meeting room. “I didn’t know it was so late.”

Another body comes up to join you on the other side, this one belonging to one of your younger siblings, Jun. “Hey, what’s that?” He indicates at the box in your hands. “Food?” He grins with cheeky hope.

“No. Uh, can you put it in my room?” You pass it over to Taehyung, careful not to jostle it too much lest the small pot overturn. “It’s fragile, okay?”

“Mhm.” Taehyung nods, taking it from you.

Jun’s eyes soften with pity. “Good luck.”

You know you’re going to need every ounce of that luck as you continue on alone. Rounding the corner, you’re a few feet away from the dark door of Yoongi’s office. You gulp, desperate for any sort of excuse to delay your entrance, but you know that reckoning is inevitable.

You knock. Twice. Short raps before you let your hand fall.

When the door opens, it’s Hoseok that greets you instead of your brother. His face is somber, betraying no thoughts as he backs up to grant you entry. Yoongi utters your name like a curse as he pushes up abruptly from his chair. It rolls backwards, colliding with the wall to rattle before joining the tense silence that follows as you walk inside. “Where have you been?”

“Out for the mission.” You gesture at your dress.

“Oh, right, right. The mission.” Yoongi’s fist lands on the desk with a crash. His old-fashioned fountain pen jumps an inch to the right and you’re seconds away from doing the same. “The one you fucking failed.”

You stay silent, because that look in his electric eyes says he’s not done yet.

“Park Siyeon is on a private jet as we speak. She’s not coming back. Not for years. Tonight was the only chance we had and you let it go.” You want to shy away from the anger in his expression but he rounds the desk to trap you in his glare. “Why didn’t you kill her?” The question sits in the stale air; you can taste its bitterness on your tongue. “Why didn’t you complete one of the simplest jobs we’ve ever had?”

“She...”

“She, what?” Yoongi leans in. You can see Hoseok in your peripheral vision, but he's not about to intervene. “Speak up.”

“The files. The case files...” You squeeze your fingers until they ache. “They didn't say she was pregnant.” Right now, the truth is the only thing you have. You cling to it like a lifeline. But it’s going to be the thing that drowns you.

Yoongi stops, as if frozen on a screen. You actually see mirth seep into his eyes, false as it is. “Pregnant? She’s pregnant?” His bark of laughter rings out like a bullet. It makes you jolt back, instinctively needing distance before-- "Who the fuck CARES if she’s pregnant? You had one task. One fucking task and you just cost us three hundred. Million. Won."

"B-But it's just money, Yoongi." Your hands twist together as you cast a look at Hoseok only to gain a frown of sympathy. "We can get it back with the next job, I promise! There'll be other contracts."

"Bullshit. Your promises mean nothing to me right now. We need the cash!" Yoongi scatters the stack of silver credits on his table with an angry swipe. "We need as much of it as we can goddamn get."

"Do we? Do we really?" You try to stand your ground, despite trembling legs. "We're all doing decently. Well, even! Isn't that enough, Yoongi?"

"No!" His voice surges. It’s an explosion in the taut space. "It's not enough! When will you understand it will never be enough if we want to be on top? Those damn Foxes have already been stealing clients and contracts from us, getting more powerful by the minute!"

"But when did it start being about who’s on top?” Frustration leaks through your every word as your pinned hair comes more undone by the second. “You never even told me why we have to kill Park Siyeon anyway! Is it really that important? What if she did nothing wrong? We have to punish her baby too?”

Yoongi makes a face so vicious that you know if you were anyone else, you’d already be violently punished. “We are not the police. We are not the fucking NIS. We’re assassins. It’s not our job to question why.” His voice has quieted but lost none of its intensity. You’d prefer the yelling. It’s this coolness that truly frightens you. “We just carry out the hit. And then we get paid.”

“But I—”

“I don’t have the time to argue with you anymore. Bottom line is, you fucked up the job. Again.” Yoongi pauses, inhales deeply. When he speaks next, he does so deliberately, enunciating every word. “If you fuck up one more time, you’re out of the family.”

“Wait, what?” You blink. “Yoongi, I’m your sister. Your blood sister, I—”

“Family is who you kill for. Family is who you die for. If you don’t understand that, then you’re out.”

He turns, forcing the conversation to come to an end even though you’re far from done.

Your voice trembles. “The NIS. They were there tonight too. They looked like they knew that someone, like they knew I, was going for Siyeon. If I had done anything...” You don’t even wait for an answer before you whirl on your heel. “Maybe I should have just let them take me.”

You steel yourself, managing to keep your head high as you stalk out of the room. Your pace quickens as you speed towards your room, heart pounding in your ears. You crave sanctuary, somewhere you can just wilt without witnesses. Somewhere along the way, you started sprinting. You don’t stop until you burst through your door.

Off go the shoes. Then the purse, tossed onto the floor. You unravel the rest of the bun, let your locks fall freely, haphazardly. Your fingers claw at the zipper of the expensive dress, uncaring if some seams are ripped apart in the process. You just need to get out of this. Out of this constricting fabric and out of this makeup and out of all of this.

The dress collapses into a puddle around the shoes. It’s joined by your bra, then the thin knife taped to your thigh. Your heart thrums, pulsing like a livewire that causes jitters to spark beneath your skin and they won’t stop, they won’t calm down because your mind is just as much of a mess as your breath and—

You spot the box when you whirl around to grab an old t-shirt.

A tiny box, inconspicuously perched on top of your cabinet. You pull the shirt on as you walk towards it, prying open the top like a gift even though you already know what’s inside. A succulent. Sitting delicately at the bottom, its teal leaves are gentle, soft.

With great care, you lift it out of its cardboard cradle. You force yourself to inspect it, your trembling hands stilling more with each ounce of care you pour into the action. You remember Joon, with his soft voice and kind eyes.

“Um... Hi?” You mumble at the pot, feeling a bit silly. You pat one of its leaves, and it wobbles a bit to the side. “Hi. Guess you’re mine now.” Of course, there’s no reply. But there’s something oddly cathartic about this whole process nonetheless.

Before you can do anything else, you hear three quick raps at your door.

“Come in.”

You know it’s Hoseok even before his face appears. “Hey.”

“Hey.”

You manage a sort of shaky half-smile, meant to put that worried look on his face at ease. It doesn’t work. “Can I stay for a bit?” He asks, already settling himself on your bed.

“Yeah. Always.” You join him, the bed creaking under your weights.

“Boss was pretty hard on you.”

“He’s right though. I failed the job. I cost us a lot of money. I knew that when I walked away.” You stare at your hands. “But when I saw how happy she was... And the baby... I just couldn’t do it.” Inhale. Exhale. Inhale. “Isn’t that pathetic? That lately, I can’t do something that I’ve been doing all my life?”

Hoseok says nothing. He just wraps his arm around you, lets his warmth and cologne comfort you.

“Hoseok, it... It never used to be about the money.” You have no qualms taking out a corrupt politician or a criminal set free by a failed system. What laws cannot govern, you take into your own hands. But just a few weeks ago, it was a nameless father whose life you ended. And it was that father whose three-year-old you spared, leaving a potential witness. Yoongi had found out about that too. Before the father, it was an inventor, a professor, an heiress. All these people. And you were given no reason for their demise. Only promises of deep pockets and the jingle of ill-gotten credits.

“I know.” Hoseok squeezes you tighter. “But we do as we’re told. Those are the rules. Those have always been the rules of being a Nightingale. You, of all people, know it best.” He frowns. “Besides... We can never escape death in this world. If we don’t kill, someone else will. That’s the way it goes.”

You bite your lip. You don’t think that’s good enough of a reason, but there’s truth behind it. Exhale. “You’re right, Hoseok. This family... You guys are all I have. You’re what’s important. I can’t lose you.” You’re not related by blood except to Yoongi, but they’ve been with you since you were barely two feet tall.

“Then you know what you have to do.” Hoseok’s eyes harden. “This is the legacy we have to uphold. Family is—”

“Who you die for,” you finish. “Yeah.”

“And for what it’s worth... We didn’t know about the NIS. There were no signs that they planned to be there, and no information leaked. Yoongi would never have sent you in if he knew about them.”

“I-I know. But these jobs just keep getting riskier. Our chances of getting caught keep going up and I’m worried that...” You can’t bring yourself to finish the sentence. “Anyway, thank you, Hobi.” You slip easily into the childhood nickname you created when you first met him, when you were five and him a couple years older. When you knew nothing of this dark world, and he already knew too much. “Truly.”

Hoseok holds you for a few seconds more before he lets go. “I still have to scout a location tonight, so I can’t stay any longer. Are you going to be okay? Should I get Tae or Jun to keep you company?”

Instinctively, your eyes flicker to the succulent on the dresser. “I’ll be fine. Thanks for checking in on me.”

Hoseok follows your gaze. “That’s new,” he chuckles. “Never pegged you for a gardener. But alright. Whatever works, as long as you feel better.” He stands, pats your head. “Don’t forget to water it!”

You summon the strength to smile back. “I won’t.”

It is two weeks before you are sent on another contract, though you’re certain it is only because you are the sole member of the family with the right appearance and time for the job. Still, it’s a sign that Yoongi’s irritation with you is lessening with the passage of time.

Tonight, the plan is a seduction, leading to a sudden, fatal ‘heart attack’ in a locked hotel room.

You sip on a glass of wine as you watch the target pull up and park his car outside the bar. He looks like an average man in every sense of the word, a suit in tie corporate drone, and you wonder who would pay to have him gone. The ring on his finger glints in dull gold. His shiny oxfords look well polished, expensive. You finish the last dregs of your drink, setting the long-stemmed glass on the counter as he enters the bar. You compose your mask. Time to make the approach.

Hours later, the job is completed. Your escape is safely secured and executed. Everything has gone to plan. You return to headquarters with a desperate wish for a scalding shower because you feel utterly disgusted. Chiefly by the haste in which the target followed you into the hotel, then with how he made for you with his ring-clad hands without a trace of hesitation. Finally, it was how eager he had looked when you flashed him a bit of skin to distract him from the needle.

You need to wash the feel of him off. But first, you have a report to make.

“Yoongi, the job is done.”

Yoongi looks up from his computer. “Good.” He’s buried back in the work for about a second before he locks eyes with you again. “You okay?” Maybe he’s caught on to how much paler you look.

But what can you say? You just end up nodding, a few curt dips of your head. “Fine.” You close the door firmly shut behind you as you leave.

Back in the safety of your own room, you let the fatigue wash over you. Each contract seems to take more and more out of you, no matter how easy the actual task is. “Do it for the family,” you remind yourself as you strip from your dress. Each job fulfilled just solidifies the Nightingales’ position further, ensures that you will prosper for the years to come. This is bigger than you. This is what you have to do.

After the relief of a hot shower, you change into dark jeans and a hoodie.

As is your new nightly routine, you pad through headquarters in sneakers, making your way upstairs to the ‘house’ parts of the space that act as camouflage towards the rest of the public. You’ve been moving the succulent between these two worlds every day, for you figure it needs sun that your basement room cannot offer. But you can’t seem to sleep without it at night, without the comfort that there’s something growing, thriving in life just a few feet away.

“Time for your watering.” You fill a small cup with water, dousing the succulent until its soil is pooling, collecting the excess liquid before it sinks in. You watch the dirt suckle at sustenance, lips twisting into wistfulness. Joon was right again. Something about sustaining a life tugs so fondly at the pit of your stomach. “I’m sorry,” you end up whispering, an apology that the family of tonight’s target will never hear. You pour another splash of water in.

It is when you pick up the pot that you realize something is off.

The leaves on the side facing away from you are puffy. You capture one petal lightly between your fingers, but its squishy where it once was hard and sturdy. “Lights on, 80%.” You’re stunned when the room floods with light and the succulent’s once teal color has yellowed, becoming almost translucent. “What the...” When you nudge a leaf aside to check on the ones at the bottom, it falls clear off.

Even with your limited plant knowledge, this is one thing you can diagnose too well. It’s dying.

He trusted it to you and now it’s dying.

Strange, overwhelming panic douses you like a bucket of ice water. Instinctively, you grab a tote bag, nestling the plant inside. You swing the straps over your shoulder, one hand placed on the pot to ensure it won’t shake too much as you rush out the door. Your destination: the quaint flower shop you swore you’d never visit again.

It isn’t until you’re standing right outside the flower shop that you realize it’s half past ten, and no reasonable person would still be at work. All the shops around you are closed, neon signs turned off for the night. The streetlights blinking red and green and the cars flying over your head are the only illumination. You should probably just go home.

But you’ve come all this way. And your succulent needs saving.

Stubbornness and panic dictate you peer inside the glass door. The plants that are normally decorating the storefront have already been brought in for the night; they obscure your vision, but you think you can just faintly make out a light in the back.

You knock, biting your lip as you wait. When there’s no answer, you knock again, harder this time. Please. Please be here.

It’s another minute before a familiar face appears through the plants like a woodland spirit. You step back as the door swings open. “Hi, sorry, we’re closed...” Joon’s sweet eyes meet yours; recognition flickers. “Oh. Dahlia?”

You don’t blame him for the question mark. The last time you saw each other, you had a full coat of makeup on. Right now, you’re bare faced and a sweaty mess. “You’re still here!” you breathe in relief.

“You okay? Come in.” You follow him into the maze of flowers. “What’s wrong?”

You wipe away the perspiration coalescing on your forehead with a sleeve. “The plant. The succulent. I messed up somehow, I must have...” You’re almost ashamed to show him the pot, but you unwrap it from the bag. He takes it gingerly to place it on the counter, before crouching down beside it. “I’m really sorry! I’ve been trying to give it sun and water and I’m even talking to it, but it’s just...”  Your babble trails off as he inspects the leaves, then touch a finger to the soil. The poor succulent looks even more sickly in this light. “I know you’re closed. I just didn’t know where else to go.”

When Joon looks at you next, he’s smiling so softly it stirs your heart. “Don’t worry about it. I’m usually here working late anyways.” He straightens, dusts off his apron. “And the succulent is just overwatered.”

“Overwatered?” You repeat, incredulous. “Plants can be overwatered?” You were under the impression of the more the better.

Your surprise makes his eyes crinkle with a chuckle. “Yup, they can be. Especially succulents. They’re used to much drier climates. It’s my bad, really. I should have given you better instructions.”

“So... it’s not dead, then?”

“No, just weakened. If you dial back the watering and let it stay in the sunlight, it’ll become nice and healthy again. Don’t worry, it’s a good thing it’s summer! This little guy will recover quickly.”

“Wow... Thank god...” Your tired muscles finally relax as you lean against the counter, relief spreading through your veins. You never could have imagined feeling this way about a plant of all things, but there’s no denying that it’s become a sort of companion to you in the last few weeks. The only thing that listens without demanding, without commanding.

An adorable, low-toned chuckle makes you turn your head to him; Joon is all dimples with a grin so wide it makes you bashful. “Now who’s the one that’s all cute, fretting over a plant?” He doesn’t seem shy now, keeping the eye contact between you so steady you’re afraid he can see right through you.

“I just panicked, okay?” You mumble, playing with an errant lock of hair as you feel a heat on your cheeks. You wish he’d stop staring. “It’s my first time taking care of anything like this. Ugh, I really should have at least looked it up online or something. It was careless of me.”

“Well, don’t beat yourself up about it. Your heart was in the right place.” Joon pats the succulent fondly. “This isn’t easy.”

“No, it sure as hell isn’t.”

He laughs, his easy, pure-hearted mirth addictive. “You can ask me for help anytime. I live in the apartment above the shop, so I’m usually around. But try not to come out so late! It’s not safe. You never know what’s out there in the dark.”

The weight of the hidden blade taped to the back pocket of your jeans reminds you that you know perfectly what secrets the shadows hold. “Right. Thanks.”

Joon turns back to your succulent, snipping away a curled leaf you hadn’t even noticed was there. “Had a long day at work?” He asks.

“Mm, something like that.”

“What do you do, anyway?” It’s a casual question, but it sends you for a spin. Thankfully, he’s too focused on doing something to the soil to notice how you tense. “Definitely nothing to do with gardening, huh?”

You roll your eyes. “No... I’m in the family business.”

“Do you like it?”

It’s clear nobody could love their job as much as Joon does. You know you should lie to him, but somehow that makes you uncomfortable when he’s always been straightforward and honest with you. “It’s alright, I guess. I never really thought about doing anything else.”

“Why not?” Joon cocks his head to a side. “I mean, I know family obligations are strong, but it’s your life. You should live it how you choose.” He grimaces. “Not to be preachy or anything.”

“... It’s complicated. But my family needs me. Even though we may yell at each other or want to bite each others’ heads off, they’re still all I have.” You bite your lip. “And I owe them everything.”

“But what do you want?”

You stare blankly at Joon, mind searching for words that only come up muddled. When is the last time someone asked you that? All the letters, the languages that you speak yet there’s nothing coherent enough to be sent out on your heavy tongue. You’re barely aware your hands have clenched into fists, nails carving crescents into your palm. You don’t even realize you’ve begun to hold your breath.

Then your com buzzes.

[11:01pm] hoseok: where are u?

“Everything okay?” Joon asks as you shake yourself out of your stupor after reading the text on the tiny screen. Reality calling yet again.

“Yeah! Yeah. Sorry. I was just...” You slide the com into your pocket. You give an awkward laugh, not sure who you’re trying to convince more, yourself or him. “Anyway, I should get going. I shouldn’t be keeping you here this late.” You throw a glance towards the door.

“Hah, you had to leave early last time too. Are you Cinderella?”

“Can’t let my jeans turn back into a pumpkin. Is that how it goes?” You smile, turning back for your succulent. You weren’t expecting Joon to be right beside you. He’s standing so close you can feel his warmth, smell the scent that makes you think of home. Not yours, but what you always imagined the magazine depictions would be like in your childhood.

“For what it’s worth, I think you’d look adorable as a jack-o-lantern,” he murmurs. Those sweet midnight eyes could hold a galaxy’s worth of stars within them, but tonight, they reflect only you.

...You could kiss him right now. It would be so simple for you to touch those gentle lips with your own and leave a trace of yourself behind in this oasis forever. But you know better than that.

Taking the succulent from his hand, you force yourself to walk to the door. At it, you bow, grateful for how he’s saved the life of the plant, grateful for how he listened to you ramble, grateful for him. “Goodnight, Joon.”

His eyes sparkle. “See you soon, Dahlia.” You don’t, can’t, respond.

It isn’t until you get home that you discover he slipped a dart of hardened paper into the pot, hiding just beside a petal. When you unfold it, ten numbers in raven ink stare back at you. And at the end, a single word: Anytime.

“Ugn! Hah! Yah!”

Sweat drips in rivulets down your forehead as you slam your glove-wrapped fists into a punching bag. You relish the bite of the friction, the soreness in your muscles as you whip around and kick the side to a satisfying thwap. Evening training has always been your favorite. Especially these days, when your body feels like one of the only things you have control over. Well, your body and the cute succulent you’ve named Moon.

“Hey, boss called a meeting!” Hoseok’s voice blares out just as you land another hook on the abused sandbag. He pokes his head into the training room, his expression carefully neutral.

You lower your fighting stance. “Okay. I’ll be right there.” You peel the moist gloves off your hands. Why a meeting? Weird.

When you walk out of the room and into the common area, the familiar faces of your family are already gathered. All fifteen of them look nervous as they mumble amongst themselves, probably trying to guess what this is about. You fill the open space between Hoseok and Taehyung. Yoongi stands at the head of the room, inspecting documents.

“Where’s Jun?” You quietly ask Taehyung.

“Mission.”

“Okay.” Yoongi straightens, drops the papers on the table before him. “Listen up, Nightingales. I’m sure you’ve noticed that we’ve been losing contracts. To the Foxes.” He spits the name out like poison. “Those assholes have been taking what’s rightfully ours. The money that should be in our pockets. I found out today that we were passed over for the assassination of that visiting VP of GCF Industries.”

“Shit.”

“Shit is right.” Yoongi paces a few feet before he whips his cold eyes to behold his brothers and sisters. “We have to do better. We have to be faster. But we still have to be careful. As if the Foxes aren’t enough of a pain in my ass, the NIS have been poking their noses where it doesn’t belong again.” Yoongi rests a strained hand on the table. “If any of you are caught by them...” His gaze finds yours.

Slam!

The sound of a door being violently thrown open makes all your heads snap up.

Within seconds, Taehyung’s off, his lazer pistol in hand. You’re right behind him, extracting your switchblade. Nobody would be stupid enough to attempt an infiltration of your headquarters. But lately nothing surprises you.

This long hallway seems to go on forever.

You can’t see what’s right in front of you. Taehyung’s form blocks the bulk of your vision, but you trust him to be your eyes. You focus on silencing your steps.

“Jun!”

When you pool into the foyer, Taehyung bolts forward like a bullet. “Jun! Shit!”

You see the puddle of blood first. Then you see Jun at the foot of the stairs, clutching at his leg. His top is stained dark crimson, his breathing too haggard. That sweet face is contorted in pain, as if living itself hurts him more than anything else.

Rushing to the wall, you smash the hidden switch for the secret cache. You’re not going for the weapons, but instead the first aid kit. You drag the whole bag to Jun’s side. Immediately, you inspect the wound. A deep slash scars his thigh. Your thoughts sharpen into hyperfocus: you have to stop the bleeding.

“What the hell happened?” Yoongi bursts into the room, eyes blazing. “Jun?!”

Jun automatically tries to push himself up a little further. He’s so earnest, always trying to impress Yoongi, even at a time like this. It almost makes you smile. “Foxes... Park J-Jimin...” Jun takes huge shuddering inhales. You try to shush him, to tell him to conserve his strength, but he shakes his head. “Client must’ve given them the same contract. I got in his way so...” He waves a hand over his wound. “Fuck, that really... hurts...”

“No shit, you got stabbed!” You spit out as you clean the wound. Your hands are trembling because the energy is draining from Jun’s usually bright eyes.

“Let me do it,” Hoseok says, taking over. You acquiesce.

“Fuck!” Yoongi slams his fist into a wall. When his hand comes away, his knuckles are scraped and bloody. He hardens his jaw, clamping down so aggressively on his lip you’re afraid you’ll have to treat him next. “Fuck...!” For a moment, just a flicker of a second, you think you see the brother you once knew. Fearful, uncertain, worried.

But Min Yoongi, head of the Nightingales, is back just as soon as he was gone. “You. And you.” He points at Taehyung, then, surprisingly, at you. “Tomorrow... Tomorrow, you two have a hit to do.”

“On who?” You’re bewildered that he’s still thinking about contracts at a time like this. “Can’t we talk about this later?”

“On that Park Jimin’s girlfriend. The one he thinks he’s kept hidden from all of us.”

“W-What?” You stutter in surprise, almost biting your tongue. “Why her?”

“You have to teach him a lesson. You have to teach him not to fuck with us. There are consequences for taking our hits. And hurting our men.”

If Jimin’s hiding his girlfriend, she has to be a civilian. An innocent. One who just happened to fall in love with the wrong man. “No, Yoongi, I’m not going to take his girlfriend out! There are other ways to send a message.”

“No, there aren’t. So just listen for once and do as I say.”

No, no, you’re not getting this go without a fight. Even if you have to resort to a low blow, a gutter punch. “Mom and dad would have never—”

“Mom and dad are gone!” Yoongi actually draws blood when his teeth sink into his lip this time. “They left the family to me. And I’ll be damned if I let it die in my hands!”

You fling yourself to your feet. “You’ve gone too far, Yoongi! Min Yoongi!”

“Just take a look at Jun and tell me if it’s too far.”

You don’t have to look. You don’t think you’ll ever forget Jun’s face, losing color by the second.

“Or what? Are you going to wait until they kill one of us next?”

Yoongi turns his back on the silence he’s created. You watch him stalk out, shoulders slightly hunched, cradling his bruised fist. It’s a sight you’ve become familiar with after all these years. But for the first time, it’s like staring at an utter stranger.

“I’m sorry you had to come.” Taehyung’s voice is doused in pity. “I could have done this alone.”

“No, you need backup just in case. And besides... Yoongi gave me the order.” In the darkness of your hiding spot, you offer Taehyung a tight smile. “I’m doing this for Jun.”

“I know.” Taehyung turns his attention back to the tiny, obscure café across the street, where Park Jimin’s girlfriend has the closing shift every Tuesday night. You had to travel quite a bit outside the city to get out here. He really tried to hide her well, though he should have known it could come to this one day.

The plan is straightforward. You are to approach when she is alone, and you are to activate the fast-acting poison that has none of the subtleties of the heart-attack mimic. No, this poison is one specially developed by the Nightingales. The traces of it left behind will let Jimin and the rest of the Foxes know exactly who carried out the hit. And they’ll ensure the police don’t catch a whiff of this, lest it be traced back to them.

You watch the girlfriend wave goodbye to her coworker with a sunny smile. “We’ll wait one more minute, then we’ll go,” you say. She’s already begun pulling the blinds down for the night.

“Okay.”

There are two exits to the café, which bodes well for escape. You and Taehyung, arm in arm, looking like a picturesque couple, take the one to the right when you enter. You pretend to be taking in the quaint décor, but you’re actually scoping out any potential hazards, any signs that the Foxes have put protective methods in place. You don’t see anything. Did Jimin hide her from his family too?

“Hello! Welcome!” She greets you both, grinning widely. “Sorry, we’re closing in a few minutes, but I can still help you until then.”

You force yourself not to look at the nametag pinned to her apron, because you don’t want to know. You don’t want to remember. Instead, you squeeze Taehyung’s arm twice before letting go. All clear. You hope he also gets the message to do this quickly.

“Thanks. Could you tell me about this cake here...this one in the display?” Taehyung chooses a dessert that’s not so easily seen from behind, forcing her to come around the other side. While she’s distracted, you flip the open sign to closed.

“Of course!” She leans down, bending to see what cake Taehyung’s referencing.

She never sees it coming, but you do. The quick flash of a silver needle.

“Ow!” A gasp. A squeal. Her doe eyes widen as she jerks back and stumbles.

You swallow guilt with a dry throat. “Let’s go,” you harshly whisper, grabbing Taehyung’s hand. You don’t want to stay here any longer than you have to. He nods.

You’re about to take the second exit when the door chime jingles again. Shit. A customer?

“Honey? Surprise!”

A voice that’s full of love rings out just as the woman crumples to her knees.

“What... What the hell?!”

The person that enters, you’ve only seen once before. Park Jimin. But you might as well be seeing him for the first time. Anger corrupts his face when he recognizes you. When he realizes who the hell you are.

“Nightingales!” He growls, his blade in his hand in an instant. You reach for your own knife, shifting into a defensive crouch. You’re sure he’s going to rush you. Certain he’s going to do whatever it takes to sink his own silver into your flesh in another twisted cycle of retribution. You wouldn’t blame him for it.

Jimin takes five steps and falls beside her. His weapon clatters to the ground.

He reaches for the woman with desperate hands, cradles her close against his chest with a rough fragility, a brutal elegance. “No,” he sobs. “No, no...” It’s a wail. A carnal howl that claws at your shattering soul.

“Please, stay with me.” He’s dropping desperate kisses against her forehead, against her cheeks, anywhere he can reach as if to capture the last remaining warmth in her veins. But her hazy eyes refuse to focus. Refuse to acknowledge his existence even with the tears he weeps on her paling skin. “I’m sorry, I’m so sorry. Please...!”

“Let’s go!” Taehyung’s yell yanks you back. He forces you out the door. Even though Jimin makes no effort to give chase, you’re running as soon as you hit the cool night air, sprinting at full speed towards the hidden car. You need to get as far away from this place as possible. As if that could make you forget.

You shiver in the front seat as Taehyung speeds away. This. This is why you’re taught never to stay. Never to see the aftermath. Because ignorance is such sweet bliss and now even that’s been ripped from you. And it’s your own damn fault.

It is no wonder you cannot find comfort in sleep later that night.

You don't deserve it. You're haunted by the images imprinted in your mind, stubborn and too real. You can feel the weight of them crushing your heart but you're more afraid of who you'd be if it weren't there at all.

The hour has stretched past midnight, and you are no closer to relief. Sick of staring at the concrete of your ceiling, you turn to a side. Catch sight of the space where your plant usually sits, except you've forgotten it tonight in your haste to bolt into bed. But your communicator sits nice and handy bedside.

Before you can stop yourself, you're thumbing through the screen for a certain number saved beneath the sole symbol of a leaf. And by the next second, you're calling it.

Brrrrng.

You should probably hang up.

Brrrrng.

Your breath is coming quicker.

Brrrrng.

It's almost two in the morning, he's not going to--

Click.

"Hello?"

The comfort that floods you is instantaneous, palpable.

"It's me," you say, before realizing that's not helpful at all. "Dahlia. I'm sorry, I know it's late..."

"Dahlia." He breathes the word. It's not even your name, but there's such a fondness in his tone that you can't help but flush. "I said anytime. I meant it. What's up?"

"...Can I come over?" You end up asking. "You can say no."

"I'm unlocking my door right now."

"Thank you."

"Thank me when you get here, yeah?" You can hear the smile on his lips.

It takes your hasty steps and a short Skytrain ride to deposit you in front of the floral shop less than twenty minutes later. There's a strange sort of anticipation, a thrill humming beneath your skin that makes you more and more nervous with each step you climb, up the stairs that lead to Joon's front door. Just as he promised, you find it unlocked.

It still feels like you’re intruding, even though he gave you permission. But you forage ahead. You knock on the door after you close it behind you to announce your arrival. Then you turn to catch your first glimpse of Joon’s apartment amidst the dim, muted lights.

It’s a simple space, sparser than you would have imagined. But the warm, earthy colors of the wooden coffee table, the couch, come as no surprise. The only decorations that Joon seems to have are plants, in all shapes and sizes as they scatter across every open counter, flourishing and well-nourished with their crisp greens and exploding scarlets. And among them, he stands, tipping a mini watering can over a succulent.

“Dahlia.”

“Hi.”

The light casts shadows over his handsome face, over the full lips you force yourself not to stare at. The white shirt and grey sweatpants fit his lean frame nicely, though you’re not sure if the top is half-tucked out of fashion or carelessness. “Is it too dark?” He asks.

“No,” you murmur, “it’s perfect.”

Joon sets the can down. He washes his hands as you inspect a nearby purple bloom. Then he beckons to you with a hand like one would a stray cat as he pads to the sofa in his slippers. “Come, sit. I made tea, if you drink that.”

“Sure.” You peel off your shoes.

You’re not quite sure what you’re doing here, really. But when you join him on the couch, when take your first sip of hot tea surrounded by his scent, overwhelming normality hits you. A feeling that’s familiar yet so foreign all at once. Like some ancient crevice inside you is being filled.

“Dahlia.” He waits for the tea to spread its way through your veins, heating your chilled system before he calls your attention to him. To him and to the doleful eyes that always behold you with such care. “What happened?”

“It’s just... Family stuff again. I know, I’m a broken record.” You pull your legs up onto the couch and rest your cheek on your knees. “But I just had to get out of there. I couldn’t sleep.”

You take Joon’s silence as encouragement to go on.

“It’s not like they were trying to hurt me.” Yoongi’s face floats in your mind. How ashen he’d looked when he saw Jun. How the doctor said he’d visited the infirmary more than a handful of times over the course of a single day. “They try to do what’s right for everyone. I just... I don’t agree sometimes.”

“You don’t?”

“No. And I don’t think I ever will. Not with some things.” You let your eyes trace the lines of the floorboards. “But that doesn’t matter, in the end. What matters is that I do as they say. For the good of everyone. How I feel about it... That’s just my problem.”

“That doesn’t sound right.”

A small exhale that’s almost laughter escapes you. If only he knew. “No, to me, family... Family is who you die for.”

“But if they care for you, if they love you,” he whispers, “wouldn’t they want you to live?”

Your tongue finds naught but silence in response; you make no move to rectify that. The truth is, you don’t dare to search your mind for the answer. Like how a child fears what might lay beyond a closet door, beneath a four-frame bed. Not the monster itself, but the possibility.

“Dahlia.” You can’t bear to meet his eyes, to accept the intensity within their dark depths. “Are you okay?”

Maybe it’s the knowledge that you don’t have to lie for once, to say that you’re fine. Maybe it’s that Joon doesn’t need you to be strong or stoic. Or maybe you’re just tired of it all. But that question, so plain, so easy, is what breaks you.

You fight the sobs that surface, swallow them down with each stuttered breath. You have absolutely no right to let the tears fall, damn it. No right when they belong to Jimin as his grief, his sorrow. But still they choke you like hands wrapped tightly around your throat. Squeezing, squeezing until they’ve stolen every last vestige of oxygen from your exhausted lungs.

“I’m sorry. I’m so sorry,” you babble brokenly, closing in on yourself as if that would make you disappear.

You feel the weight of the sofa cushion next to you as Joon reaches for you, wraps his arms around you for the first time. Warmth. All-encompassing warmth that could rival the sun that you’ve spent so long hiding from. “Don’t be sorry. Never be sorry.”

Now you give yourself to the heat, let it melt away the fatigue that drips down your face as salty droplets of rain. You can’t recall the last time you let yourself cry, and in front of someone else, nonetheless. But now you can’t imagine why you’ve held yourself back, not when every tear you shed eviscerates another burden, at least until you’re made to leave this sanctuary. But for now, in this blessed now, you just let go. You memorize the rhythm of his breath against your skin, and you let go.

When you finally muster the courage to meet his eyes with your own, red-rimmed and watery, he just smiles. It’s a gentle smile to reassure you, and tell you that he can withstand anything. “I’m here for you,” he says without decorum, just a plain stating of fact as if anything else would be a ridiculous notion.

And before you can control yourself, you’re kissing him.

He’s so soft, lips tasting like oolong tea and promise as you drag him closer with hands carded through his hair. You shift. Your feet hit the floor in a bid to remove any obstacle between you. Why haven’t you done this before? Your mouths come together like miscolored puzzle pieces, never meant to belong but somehow sliding into place all the same for a perfect fit despite logical reasoning. He groans into the kiss, a delicious noise that stirs at your heart.

Here, you feel something different. Something so terrifyingly visceral that you can only describe it as being alive.

You want more.

But Joon is already pulling back, guilt in his expression. “No, Dahlia, you’re upset, we shouldn’t—”

“Please, Joon.”

He is the one secret that is yours, and only yours. That knowledge alone makes you want to be irrefutably selfish. Because you know damn well that he’ll let you. You know by fleet gallop of his heart and by the arms that hold you like precious blades of nightshade, blooming silently in this pensive dark. “You asked me what I want before,” you mumble against his lips, cupping his cheeks in your calloused palms. “It’s you.”

You can no longer register the tears that roll down your face for he whisks them away with his thumbs. All you want to focus on is the feel of him against you, his hands sliding down to find your waist. There’s a clumsiness to how he acquaints himself with your body, but you find it utterly charming. Nibbling on your bottom lip, he coaxes the first moan from your hoarse throat. You respond by tracing the outline of his mouth with the tip of your tongue, encouraging him to open and to let you in.

When he draws your hips towards him, you let yourself fall. Your back meets the plush couch, welcoming the weight of him on top. What you think is his cock presses fervently against your thigh, but he makes no move to seek his own relief. Instead, he trails his lips down your jaw, across the smooth column of your neck.

You pull him back to your mouth, seeking the warmth you’ve already become addicted to. Every kiss stokes the urgency in your veins further, turning it into an insatiable, impatient beast that cannot be reigned in. “More,” you exhale, afraid of what might come back if he stops. “Give me more, Joon.”

“More...?”

You guide his broad hand to the waistband of your terrycloth shorts. “Yes.”

“Are you sure?” He refuses to cross that barrier while he searches your eyes for hesitation. But he’ll find none. Only the desire to lose yourself in this moment and his touch.

“Completely.”

He swallows before he slides his hand inside for his first intimate contact. You arch into him when his fingers brush past your fabric-covered clit, testing the waters. That seems to give him confidence, as do the silken moans that drip from your tongue. He hungers for more, knowing every ounce of pressure he lavishes pushes you closer to the edge. Intentionally or not, the underwear becomes a kind of torture, dulling the friction of the fingertips you want against your bare skin.

“You’re so beautiful.” His voice has dipped lower, gathered a husky quality that stirs you, rouses like no other. What poetry could that tongue could pen against your clit? “I’ve thought so from the first time you walked into my shop.”

“What if I never returned? You didn’t have my number.”

He chuckles. “I knew.” He nudges aside the cotton to find you soaked. “I knew you would come back.” He collects arousal with upward swipes, parting and teasing the petals of your lower lips until you can’t stand it any longer. You moan into his ear, feeling his hot breath brush against your neck in return.

“Liar.”

“You tell me.” And he plunges in a finger. Before you can become accustomed to the stretch, he adds another, curling ruthlessly against your walls. His digits are much longer than you thought as they fill you so, so well. You can only dream of how his cock must feel, but there’s no time for fantasizing when his thumb finds your clit again.

Even your shorts cannot staunch the soaked squelch of your cunt, made thoroughly subservient to his agile fingers. You haven’t any idea how he manages to find your sweet spot in seconds, dancing around only to suddenly zero in on it again. You’ve never been one for whimpering but it’s a natural reaction when he scissors in tandem with the relentless strokes. Every pump forces you closer and closer. All the while, his mouth makes love to your tongue, sucking hard as if to claim it as his.

You know you’re not going to last long.

Clinging to him, you scrunch his shirt in a tight fist as climax sweeps you away in its fury. You don’t know how noisy you are with the moans that burst forth, but you can’t control them. Can’t hold anything back as he thrusts through the pulse to elongate the high. Even your legs are trembling in their strain, but god, you’re purring with pure pleasure and delight.

When the peak finally wanes, it’s a tiredness that settles in, renders you immobile while you just let everything melt away. All your worries and stress that have built up seem to go along with it, a welcome change even if it’s only temporary. You just breathe him in, let his scent wrap you in ease.

He doesn’t push you further.

Perhaps he can tell that you are exhausted, not only in your muscles but your mind, weary of this long night and of thinking. Despite his own need, he just holds you until your breathing calms. Until you are truly spent, shuddering against him while the last throbs of your core peter out, but leave you so satisfied.

He wipes his fingers on a tissue then drops a kiss to your forehead. “Will you stay?”

You sigh. “No. I can’t.” You have to be home for the morning, before they discover you’re gone. In fact, you’re already probably late. Still, you take your time re-doing the tie on your shorts. “Joon... I’ll see you again.” Another rule now utterly broken. But one you don’t think you can bear to uphold any more anyways.

“Okay.” You don’t know if he recognizes that this is the first time you’ve promised a future possibility, but he smiles all the same. “I’d really like that.”

You stand, the soon-to-rise sun marking the end of this tryst. He walks you to the door, watches as you pull on your shoes. “Goodnight, Joon. Thank you for listening to me, again.” Your heart flutters as you can’t resist turning back for one last swift kiss on his full mouth. “I’ll text you.”

“Goodnight.” He leans against the frame, arms crossed, expression content as you start down the steps. “Be safe.”

From that night on, Joon becomes your most cherished secret, a treasure of which you are fiercely protective. For him, you slip the confines of your headquarters, of your family, and become simply Dahlia for a handful of hours. Dahlia, who is ironically more yourself than you have ever been. It’s a mask that you’ve grown comfortable in over the past three weeks; it and he are the only things that keep you sane through the contracts Yoongi sends your way.

“No, no, look there! See it?”

Lying on a picnic blanket, shoulder to shoulder, you follow the arm Joon points up at the midnight sky. “Mmm, nope. Still don’t.” You turn, snuggling into his side. “Just looks like stars to me.”

Joon turns too, but to plant a kiss on your cheek. Then he captures your fingers, laces them together with his own. “Here.” Raising your linked hands, he walks you through the trail his sleepy eyes have found. “They look like flowers, don’t they?”

You squint. “I guess... Is that even a constellation?”

“No.” Joon grins, never letting go of your hand. “I just wanted to give you a bouquet tonight.”

“How very on brand of you.”

Joon pops a grape into his mouth. “I’m always consistent, huh? Or maybe you just know me too well.”

“Not well enough, I don’t think.” That’s the truth. With Joon, you’d gladly become an encyclopedia of information, voracious for every tidbit you can uncover about him, about the entire world that he seems to treat with such fascination. Just last week you listened to him describe the allure of crabs with rapt enthusiasm. You, in turn, gushed about the facets of language, how interesting it was the way a tongue wrestled with a foreign sound and structure. Conversations that could go on for days but must end when the first rays of sun peep over the horizon.

“We’ll get there.” He holds up a grape to your lips.

“I hope so.” You open, drop a flirty kiss on his fingertips before biting into the exploding sweetness. “Let’s start with you telling me why you chose to go stargazing. Besides the opportunity to feed me fruit, that is.”

“Heh. While that has its own charms… I like to come out here at least once a month.” He runs fingers through his dark hair. “It reminds me that my problems aren’t as big as they appear to be. There are just so many stars and so many universes out there. It seems like a miracle I was even born in the first place. So, shouldn’t I try to shine the brightest before my time is up?”

You didn’t expect a less eloquent answer from him. You swallow his poetics, imagine them settling in the cavity of your chest, right next to your thudding heart. With wide eyes, you stare at the twinkling lights that wink at the two of you, wind-cooled and half-drunk on life. “I think I’m glad I was born in this galaxy,” you softly confide. Something you never thought you could feel. “In this world, that is.” In this world that has brought you to him.

Joon squeezes your hand as if he’ll never let go again. “Me too.”

You creep inside headquarters just as the sunlight begins to filter through the windows above ground. You’ve made it two feet past the stairs when a hand slaps down on your wrist. You whip your head towards it. You have the good sense to clamp your lips shut before any noise can betray you. A low voice mutters your name.

“Where have you been?” Taehyung’s eyes come into view in the darkness. They’re not filled with anger, but worry instead.

“Tae. Uh, I was scouting,” you lie. You hate to do it, but the truth is far too caustic to reveal. “It took longer than I thought.”

Taehyung’s fingers release you from the hold as he sighs. “Okay. You weren’t answering your com. So. I just. I got scared. Especially after…” He trails off, but you know what he means. It’s only now that Jun has really started to heal; the stab had been immensely deep, the blood loss great. But he had escaped with his life.

“I know. But I don’t think the Foxes have made any moves against us. And they probably don’t plan to. Not if it’ll lead to more death on both of our sides.” You can still recall Jimin’s face with startling clarity. It still comes to you in the depths of particularly quiet nights, when you are alone with your all-too-active thoughts. “Maybe we’ll be okay.”

Taehyung looks off into the darkness aside your ear. The gauntness in his eyes suggests he hasn’t been able to forget either. Biting his lip, he utters, “…I’m not so sure.”

You are so accustomed to seeing (your friend? your lover?) your Joon beneath the cover of night that it is almost startling when you run into him by pure chance a week later on your quest to fetch coffee. And to gather intel on a future target.

“Joon?”

He turns at the sound of your voice, face brightening with surprise, then delight. “Dahlia! What’re you doing here?”

“Just getting some coffee,” you say, holding up the cup. The target has settled in to eat his scone, so you have a few minutes. He’s practically beaming at you, and you imagine you look the same. You can’t seem to control the smiles around him. “You?” It’s then that you look beyond Joon and realize he’s sat at a table for two. There’s a young, bright-looking man on the other end, staring curiously at you. “Oh, sorry, I’ve interrupted you!”

“No, no, don’t worry, you haven’t. This is my friend.”

The man stands politely to offer you his hand with a sweet smile. Hm, he’s handsome, in an effortless, boyish way. “I’m JK. Nice to meet you.”

You take the hand, find his grip strong. “Are you a florist too?”

“Nah.” He sits back, relaxes in his seat again. “Personal trainer.”

Considering the muscles that bulge from beneath his dark t-shirt, it most definitely suits him. Maybe Joon catches you slightly ogling, because he cuts back into your field of vision with a subtle tilt. Too cute. He’s always cute, today especially in his blue jeans, a casual button-up thrown over top that’s just a little dressier than his usual tees. Impossible to resist.

“What are you doing later tonight?” You surprise even yourself by asking, but you seem to be riding on the instinct that you want to see more of him; this small run-in just reminds you of how much you’ve missed him in the past few days. Headquarters feels so empty when his presence is only in your mind, for you’ve been too busy even for your whispered midnight calls. Your outburst makes JK’s eyebrows raise in cheeky amusement.

“Well...” Joon ignores JK as a smile stretches across his plush lips, flashing you those dimples that have become your greatest weakness. “I usually go to the gym on Thursday nights with JK but...” He gives his companion a look. “I’ll stay in for you.” Joon trails his fingers lightly down your bare arm. “Why don’t you come over and I’ll try to make us dinner? Or order us takeout when I mess up the cooking?”

You laugh. “Okay. I’ll be by around eight?” The target has now scarfed down the scone, and is pushing up from his seat. Time to go.

“Perfect.” Joon gives your arm a last squeeze. “See you then.”

“See you. And nice to meet you!” You wave to JK before quickly turning away, feeling actually giddy, like the schoolgirl you never were. It feels like your first ‘official’ date instead of a stolen moment here and there. It feels like you’ve taken one huge step towards the realm of normalcy, something you thought was something outside your grasp. And you wouldn’t give that or Joon up for the world.

It is half past seven that night that you slip from your room, a dark trench coat pulled over the dress that you finally settled on after much agonizing. Normally around this time, most of your siblings are in the training room or in their rooms, working on their skills. Jun is among them now, recovering slowly but well. Yoongi has the habit of locking himself in his room immediately following dinner (or sometimes without it), so it shouldn’t be difficult for you to slip out. You’ve never left this early before, but you hate making Joon stay up so ridiculously late every time. You owe him at least this.

You chose flats tonight for the ease of movement. You move through the familiar halls silently, hurrying along because you are just too damn excited. You wonder what he’s attempted to make. Then you wonder what he ended up ordering after he burnt his attempt. Just the image of him standing over a smoking, charred pot puts a silly grin on your face.

“You’re heading out?”

“Eep.” You skid to a stop, emitting a noise of surprise. You turn to find Hoseok advancing from a side corridor, head tilted to a side. “Sorry, what’d you say?”

“What’re you thinking so hard about?” Hoseok asks with a hint of a smile. “I just asked if you’re going out.”

“Oh. Yeah, I am. Just for a bit. Just… want to go for a walk and get some air. Clear my head.” Being with Joon does exactly that.

“Ah… Okay.” Hoseok doesn’t look too convinced, but that’s probably because you’ve never been one for walks. Usually, you prefer the sanctity of your room and the heaps of blankets. “I... won’t hold you any longer then.”

“Thanks. I’ll see you later.”

You hurry along, taking the steps up two at a time. You make sure to check on Moon before you leave. You give her a few ounces of water, watching with satisfaction as the soil eagerly accepts the liquid. “Grow up big and strong,” you say, eyes tender, full of hope.

You are unsurprised when a thin layer of smoke greets you from the cracks of Joon’s apartment when you get there almost right on the dot at eight. You snicker as you knock on the door, wondering just how much of a panic he must be in right now. Poor guy. He’s amazing at a lot of things, but anything in the kitchen sends him into a tailspin.

He opens it seconds later, sweating in a dark apron, his bangs falling down. “Hey! Dahlia!” He sniffs the air, watching as a small cloud of smoke billows out. “Oh god. Sorry about all of this. Come in.”

“What happened?”

“Turns out, making pasta is pretty hard.” Joon grimaces. ���I managed to put out the fire though.”

“There was an actual fire?” That’s impressive, even for him.

“Uh… no? Nope. Definitely no fire at all…” He chuckles awkwardly, using a hand to break up the smoke. “I lit some candles to get rid of the smell.” He’s cracked open a window a few inches. And by ‘some’ candles, he means about fifteen, that all fill the space left by the plants he seems to have moved aside for the night. Joon clearly doesn’t do anything in moderation. “Good news is that we have takeout coming. So, we’ll still get Italian. Actually edible Italian.”

You giggle at how he flusters. Watching him run around, you leave your shoes by the door, then undo the knot of your coat to hang it up.

“How’s a glass of red wine sound?” He asks, rattling something in the cabinets.

“Sounds perfect.”

You make your way to the kitchen island. You slide into one of the barstools that faces the stove. Joon pops the cork, pouring crimson liquid into a tall-stemmed glass. It’s when he turns to give it to you that he gets his first good look at your outfit, at how you’ve dressed up for the evening. His hand jolts so much that he almost drops the glass entirely.

“O-Oh!” He (unusually) manages to catch himself at last minute. He sets the wine down on the table with a loud clatter. “Shit, sorry. I just. God.” He grabs a towel from the side to soak up the stray droplets that spilled. “Wow. You look amazing.”

You smile as you tuck a lock of hair behind your ear. “Thank you.”

“No, seriously, like… wow.” He takes in the tease of a neckline, purposefully curved over your chest. Subtlety has never been his strong suit but now he’s abandoned it entirely as he practically drinks you in like the wine in his hands. You don’t mind. Quite the opposite really. It bolsters your confidence when he reacts like this, as if he hasn’t been knuckle-deep inside you while you cried out in release.

You lean forward under pretext of reaching for the glass, giving him a bit more to dream about. Joon almost chokes on his sip of alcohol. You just grin in response.

“A-Anyway… Honestly, I’m surprised your evil stepmother and stepsisters let you out this early.” He turns and effortlessly throws the towel into the sink.

“Hehe. I did an extra good job of cleaning the house.”

“I’m sure even the floors are sparkling.” He’s about to take a seat when the doorbell rings. “Ah, that has to be food. Be right back.”

Minutes later, he returns with takeout boxes in hand. “Give me a sec. I’ll make it nice.” He moves swiftly, moving like he has much practice with plating the food. That amuses you too, as you wonder what other ‘special’ skills he has hidden away.

Joon adds one last sprinkle of parmesan. Then he sets it down in front of you with all the flourish of a gourmet. “Tada. Dinner is served.”

“Why, thank you.” You take up your chopsticks. “You have excellent taste.”

“Ah yes. I cooked it with my credit card.”

You can’t help laughing along with him. “Well, my compliments to the chef!”

Between bites of creamy linguine and a soon-depleted bottle of wine, the evening passes quickly. Too quickly for your liking as the hours slip by, counted by peals of laughter and flirty grins. The plates have long been emptied, sitting messily in front of you both. The conversation has winded down to a temporary lull as you both drain the last dregs of wine from your cups.

You’re fairly certain you haven’t drunken enough to be tipsy, not that you’d allow yourself to become so inebriated in front of him, so you decide it’s not just your imagination that he keeps looking aside your ear at something behind you. The first two times, you just figured he was searching for the next conversation topic. But now, you’re seriously convinced it’s either a ghost or you’re boring him.

“Joon... Why do you keep looking behind me?” You ask as you turn. Your eyes fall onto the couch you became quite familiar with just a few weeks ago. Oh. Oh…

“Um, sorry,” he mumbles when you look at him again. He puts both hands over his lips, as if that could hide the slow blush creeping across his cheeks. “I, uh, can’t seem to stop thinking about what happened the last time you were here…” You decide he’s probably too honest for his own good. You stay silent, and he seems to take that in the worst way possible. “Is that awful? Oh god. I don’t want to make this night about that or anything. That’s not why I invited you over for dinner. Seriously. You don’t have to—”

“Joon.” You push your seat back and let your feet hit the floor. “It’s not weird. It’s not awful.” You feel more nervous than you have in ages with each step you take towards him. “I’ve been thinking about it too.” His hands drop at your words. You seize this chance and press your mouth to his.

He tastes like cream sauce and the dizzying sweetness of wine. By now, you’re no stranger to his lips, to the chaste kisses he drops like butterflies during your brief pockets of time together. But these kisses are more, much more as you push yourself up on your toes. Every cell in your body seems to be tingling, sparking to life to urge you closer to those plush lips.

You try to deepen the kiss but can’t shake the feeling there’s some hesitation on his part; he’s merely responding to you, not taking any initiative when you want the opposite. “Come on, Joon.” You rest your forehead against his, let your tone dip around his name. “What’re you afraid of?”

He knows he’s been caught. His large palm comes up to cup your cheek. “Sorry... It’s just, last time things were so strained and—”

“This isn’t the same. This time, I’m here because I want you.” You lick your bottom lip, torturously slow so he has to watch. “And I’m not as delicate as you seem to think.”

“...Fuck.”

That’s all the warning you get before he’s finally, really kissing you. He’s half-falling out of his chair but it doesn’t matter when your tongues are moving in tandem, matched in desire. One hand finds itself in your hair, threading through the locks while the other stays on your cheek like reassurance that he isn’t going anywhere. That there is no place in heaven or hell he would prefer.

He moans when you coax his tongue between your lips, when you hollow your cheeks to suck. “Let’s move this to the bedroom,” he mumbles, “please.” The obvious bulge in his pants is convincing enough on its own, but you appreciate the need in his tone all the same.

“We should blow out the candles first. We don’t want to cause another fire, right?” You laugh, pulling away with all the grace of a fairy as you flit around the room, dousing flame after flame. He helps you out, too eager to feel you against him again not to.

When you blow out the last flickering candle, he scoops you into his arms. You take it a step further, daring to wrap both legs around his waist, trusting him to hold you aloft. He cups your butt securely as he maneuvers the familiar darkness to his room. All the while he can’t keep his mouth off your skin, tasting anywhere and everywhere.

Once inside, he kicks the door closed behind you with a little too much force; it slams closed before he’s pushing you against it. Neither of you bother with the lights, too enraptured in the feeling of the other, using touch to understand instead of sight. What soft moonlight drifts in the half-open blinds is enough to cast a glow upon your bodies, tangled in heat. You both seem to acknowledge that some things are better left to be experienced, like the lush of his lips against the crook of your neck, the need in every nuzzle ineffable.

When the hands beneath your ass squeeze with the excuse of finding a better grip, you grin. Then you grind against the clothed bulge you didn’t get to sample before. It makes him chuckle right back – a rich, delicious sound. “Like what you feel?”

“Very much.”

You squeal in delighted surprise when he spins around to make you both fall onto the softness of his bed. His weight on you feels so natural, so effortless that you could just cuddle here for a lifetime and be content. But the wetness between your legs longs to be slathered over his shaft.

“Mm, I want to feel more of you,” you whisper, pushing your hips up to meet his bulge.

“Patience, baby.” He gives you one more kiss before he shifts down to the edge of the bed, settling right between your thighs. “Let me have a taste first.”

“You’re still hungry after all that pasta?”

Joon flicks his gaze up and you instinctually swallow at the darkened lust in his eyes, lit by beams of moonlight slashed across his face.

“Starving.”

His nose indents your thigh as he breathes in your scent. You silently pray he won’t take his time nibbling his way up your legs, because you’ll be even more of a mess by the time he reaches your sex. Thankfully, he seems every bit as impatient as you. Too eager to even deal with your dress as he scrunches the fabric up. He exposes the dark lace that clings to your core, sticky with viscous arousal. He pauses at the sight, fingers stuttering to a complete stop.

That makes you nervous. You’ve only worn this set once before though it’s your favorite; you didn’t want to taint it with the hands of your targets, didn’t want guilt staining the delicate stitching. The sole other time had been for a hookup, just a quickie to sate bodily needs before you realized it didn’t matter what you wore because it wasn’t about you. It was only about what your body could offer. But Joon’s touch replaces your memories of that man with every stroke.

“…Is something wrong?” You whisper.

Joon shakes his head. “No. Of course not. You… You’re so damn beautiful.” He traces the fabric stretched across your mound. “You just keep drawing me in more and more.” He slips a finger into the waistband, crushes the elastic as if he’ll rip it off. “It makes me want to say things I shouldn’t.”

You can feel his breath swirling over your skin, making you whine in anticipation. “Like what?”

“Like how much I’ve been missing your pussy.” The word sounds almost too dirty for him but god, what it does to you is undeniable. Especially when he eases the underwear down, removes it entirely and you barely notice in the process because you’re too distracted by the infuriatingly gentle kisses he plants around your clit.

“Joon…”

“Mmm, like how I’ve been dreaming about you so slick, dripping around my fingers.” Perhaps it’s the wine that’s so loosened the tongue that hovers above where you need him most. You’re already drunk on the honey it produces. “You sang so prettily when you came. I want to hear it again.”

You obey with a heady moan when he finally dips his mouth enough to swirl the tip of his tongue around your clit. You scrunch his bedsheets in tight fists, pushing the back of your head against the firm pillow as he follows up with long, reverent strokes, splayed like his calloused fingers across your quivering thigh. He smears your wetness across his mouth without care, only focused on the hitch of your breath, the guttural song wrenched from your parted lips.

Your legs jerk, tense around him when he drags the flat of his tongue against you again and again, sliding along down the folds to tease your cunt with a shallow dip. Then he’s right back at your clit, suddenly sucking so hard you whine. You automatically buck into him as the need for something to fill you eviscerates everything else.

“God,” you gasp when he releases with a noisy pop, leaving you breathless and wanting.

His eyes slide up the gorgeous canvas of your body, finding your gaze. He holds it with a certain, thrilling confidence as he gathers wetness on his finger, coating himself thoroughly. “God can’t help you here,” he teases. “So just cum for me, baby.”

You wait for the delicious stretch, but he turns those slick fingers on your needy clit instead. You’re still sensitive from his mouth but he walks the fine tightrope, instinctively knowing what’s too much by your spilled whimpers. His tongue teases what’s to come next as it plunges inside your cunt, lapping at the walls that contract so tightly around. His fingers just keep circling, the pressure building in relentless crescendo with the blinding pleasure between your thighs. You know you’re no match for him. Him and that mouth, those hands, fuck...! You let yourself fall with hands fisting his hair.

A sharp expletive and the sudden cinch of your walls mark your peak as everything skids to a standstill. You’re vaguely aware that he’s watching you cum but you haven’t the mind to care, not when you’re grinding into his mouth, deliriously needing his heat. Sweat pricks your skin, proof of the bliss that is white hot through your veins: merciless.

Finally, you drop back onto the sheets on a tremulous exhale.

Joon extracts himself lazily, a trail of saliva clings to his lip before he licks it off. “Just as incredible as I remember,” he groans, grinding his bulge into the bed as he indulges in the scent of your lost control. “Hope you don’t mind. I plan on giving you more.”

“Not without you inside me,” you say, still finding it hard to speak properly but you pull you up to kiss. You taste yourself on the tongue that tangles with yours.

“Your wish, my command. Let me get this dress off you first.” He rocks back on his haunches after a nibble on your bottom lip. “It’s gorgeous, but right now, it’s in the way.”

Gladly. He could ruin it for all you care. Still, you spin around to expose the zipper holding the outfit together. You stretch out upon the sheets that are drenched in his scent, fleetingly wishing you could stay here forever. Then you’re distracted by the broad hand that finds the steel clasp and starts to pull. His bangs tickle your skin as he leans down, kisses every inch of skin he exposes in a languid, mesmerizing trail down your spine.

You feel the cool air fan across your body when the last of the dress falls away. His broad hands cup, then part your ass cheeks, admiring the bounce, the glisten of your soaked cunt. “Do you even know how wet you are?” He mutters. “So ready to be taken.”

“Mmm... Fill me, Joon.”

You hear the thump of his clothes landing on the floor, then a rustle, a hurried rip of a package. Then his weight advances, knees on either side of your legs as he slides his hands down your waist. His thick cock presses against your cunt with such firm urgency you moan at the expectation alone. He drops one kiss on your back and plunges his cock inside.

“Oh, fuck, you’re so damn tight,” he groans the second your walls accept him, squeeze him for all he’s worth. You sink deeper into his pillow, but it can’t staunch your moans from the stretch. Incomparable to anything you’ve ever had before, you can only tremble with pleasure as need builds in your stomach again.

“Fuck,” he swears again, unable to even form words with how good you feel around his cock. He feeds you well, sinking in deeper with every thrust until his crotch presses firmly against your ass. Length translates to him nestled right against your cervix, nudging against your deepest core. And his first full thrust makes you cry out, not expecting the jolt of pain when the head smacks roughly against the tight nerves. He pauses. “Are you okay? Does it hurt?”

“No, no, never.” You feel him shift, the friction tantalizing. “Joon, I don’t think it’s ever been this good.”

“For me too.” You can hear the smile in his voice. “Never.”

There’s no more time for speaking, only fervent moans when he falls into the pattern of brutal pumps, drawing your wetness every time he slams into you to the sound of a fresh slap. His hands can’t keep off you; they caress the slope of your back, the curve of your waist, finally finding home over your breasts while his breathy groans define the nape of your neck. You’re addicted to him in this form, unrestrained and desperate like you’ve never seen him before.

Every stroke of his cock is devastating to your cunt, carving the shape of his cock into your walls as you spur him on for more. You want him to ruin you until you can never forget the feeling of him even if it’s deep, too deep it hurts, because that’s the ache of being so fiercely alive. You throw your hips back, forcing him further still.

“Mm, I really want to see your face.” That’s all the warning you get before the pressure disappears, and he rears back to give you space to flip. You’ve barely been on your back for a second before he’s between your thighs again, grinding the entire length of himself against your sodden slit.

“Are you teasing me?” You laugh, knowing he’s torturing himself in the process too. You reach down, capture the swollen cock head between your fingers and pressure his frenulum enough to wrench a heady gasp.

“Not half as much as you tease me with those little moans.” He lets you guide him back to your cunt, dips himself in your ambrosia.  “So,” a thrust, “fucking,” a delicious stretch, “hot.” He palms a breast while his mouth finds the other, tongue toying with your taut nipple while his hips work ceaselessly.

He’s forced to let go when his pumps become too rough, too frenzied in their lust for him to stay bent. He’s slamming himself into you, hooked his arms beneath one of your knees to give himself the space to fuck against your core. The bed is practically vibrating beneath you from the sheer strength of every plunge. He drags over your upper wall every time, ensuring you haven’t a second’s rest. Not that you’d want it.

You are reduced to mewls by the time his rude fingers find your clit to rub. “Too... Fast... Joon...!” You can already feel your undoing rising but he doesn’t slow even though you want this to last. Thank god he lives alone as your voice climbs in volume, feet curling, back arching—everything is heat and everything is him.

“Let go, baby.”

He forces you into climax before you know it, cock battering against the sweetest, most wanton spot as the ultimate thrill rushes through you. His fingers never relent upon your clit because he’s high on how you sing for him, how your throbbing cunt accepts him whole for a perfect, damning fit.

Your orgasm drags him into his own, one so blinding he hardly recognizes his own voice as he drops down over your body. He gives you his deepest thrusts yet, shoving himself as far as you’ll allow and then some more. His groans come out choked as he empties his cum inside your walls, wishing there wasn’t this flimsy plastic in the way so you could truly feel him. But you squeeze him all the same, clutching him close so your heartbeats match and his mouth never leaves yours, not even for air.

“Joon, god, Joon,” you mumble, palming his cheeks and returning every kiss until the crest has ebbed into lazy waves of bliss that lap at your shores. You are exhausted and sated, and you wouldn’t have it any other way.

He flashes the dimples at you as he straightens, wipes a few droplets of sweat from his brow with the back of his head. He disposes of the condom with haste, so he can collapse at your side seconds later, breathing deeply to quell his thrumming heart. You smile deliriously as you turn to face him, to slip yourself into his embrace again despite the sweltering heat. Satisfaction and fatigue pull at your eyelids, but you fight their siren call. You need to savor every last moment you have in this space where you are naked—wholly, completely so in every sense of the word.

“Hey. Stay with me tonight,” he whispers, tracing your cheekbone with the backs of his fingers as if he knows what he’s asking for is too much. “I think... I think I need you by my side.” They are words like glass, so fragile it is as if they’ll disappear if he dares to utter them any louder.

“Joon, I...”

The arms that shelter you tighten, longing in every flex. “Forget your family. Your curfew, the rules. Just—everything. Please. Forget it all, at least until morning comes.” Intimate kisses brush across your forehead. “Then... I promise, I’ll let you go.”

You can find no argument. You never could against those sombre eyes, their darkness alight with the moon, betraying just how deep his affection runs. Though you’ve never said it aloud, you are certain your gaze reflects the same. Something you’ve been afraid of feeling all your life, but now you can’t imagine why, when it’s so precious.

“Okay. I’ll stay.” For tonight, one single night, you’ll pretend that the rest of the world has disappeared.

He grins, the dimples making their appearance as if to reassure you that you made the right choice. He presses one last kiss on the tip of your nose. Consequences are a problem for tomorrow. You watch his eyelids droop and his breathing slow. Smiling, you lay your palm over his chest to feel the strong beats of his heart. Your own vision blurs, slumber finally coming easily against his steady rhythm.

The next thing you register is a clatter.

Instantly, you’re alert.

You didn’t hear the front door open, but that could have just been a symptom of the sleep working its way through your body. You quiet your breathing and listen. The walls shake almost imperceptibly in time with silent, foreign footfalls, undetectable to anyone else. It’s an intruder. And they’re a professional.

You need to get to your dress. A hidden pocket sewn inside contains your knife. It’s not the best, but it’s better than no weapon at all. Thank god the candles are out. It has to be the Foxes. You were a fool, really, to think they wouldn’t try something. You just... never thought they’d find Joon.

But that’s what Jimin had thought too.

You untangle yourself from his arms as subtly as you can, but he stirs the second you move off the bed. Damn it. “Dahlia? What’s wrong?” Joon’s voice is hushed, sending goosebumps up your spine.

You swallow with a dry mouth. “I heard something.”

“A noise...? Let me go check it out.” He rubs at his sleepy eyes.

“No!” You snap it, a harsh whisper that makes his eyes widen. “No, I mean, I’m sure it’s just the wind...”

Joon’s already moved the blankets off, dropping to a crouch like you are. “Well, if it’s just the wind, then I’ll just close the window. I am taller than you.”

You roll your eyes in mock amusement. “That means nothing to me.” You pull the dress on, then fumble through its fabric. You slip the switchblade into your hand, one finger on the trigger.

“Just stay back, Dahlia.”

Damn him and his heroics. Still, there’s no use fighting him. Not when that increases your chance of being heard. He creeps towards the door. You shadow him; he doesn’t have to know you’re ready to fling yourself in front of him at moment’s notice.

You hold your breath when he reaches for the doorknob.

He knows how to turn it silently. The wood doesn’t betray him as he eases it open a sliver. You can hear the footsteps clearer now. They’re roaming through the kitchen. What the hell are they searching for? Is this not a hit but a heist instead? You stay carefully out of view.

Before you get any answers, Joon suddenly straightens. He whips the door open. It slams into the wall with a thundering crash. “Whoever the hell you are, get out!”

Your heart stops. What the fuck—

You catch the glint of steel in Joon’s hands.

A shot rings out before you can react. Is it coming or going? All you know is there’s an enormous clatter, like all the pots tumbled to the ground in the intruder’s unfamiliar haste. What the fuck is Joon doing with a gun? He holds it with practiced fingers, a proper grip.

Another shot. Definitely going. You recognize the telltale muted snip of a modified pistol; one with an excellent silencer. The kind those in your business routinely use. The kind Joon has pointed right at your uninvited guest.

“Get out!” Joon roars. He turns, using the doorframe as leverage. He uses practiced point swivels to keep his advantage. One more shot. This time, it results in a strangled choke of a noise. The shadow hurtles towards the front door in the moonlight. The door is yanked with so much desperate ferocity it almost rips off its hinges. Seconds later, the shadow is gone, disappeared into the darkness of the night.

When Joon looks back towards you, he finds himself on the business end of your knife.

“Dahlia, I—”

“Save it.” You’re trembling. Your legs are shaking harder than they’ve ever been. You despise the worry on his face. You hate the fact you still feel the ache he left between your thighs. “Don’t fucking say a word to me.” You don’t know who the hell that person was, and apparently you don’t know Joon either. Assassin that he is. The Fox has been by your side all along.

“Why didn’t you just kill me when we first met?” You circle the room. Blood pumps hot through your veins. “Why? You wanted intel on our family? Is that it? Is that why you asked all those questions?” You’re moving towards the door like a caged beast. Were you the one that lead to the stolen contracts? Has it been your fault all along?

“I’m not trying to kill—”

“Bullshit! That’s bullshit! You just shot at whoever the fuck that was, and you...” You blink away a hot tear, wishing it’s from fury, not grief. “You just...” Even now. Even now you can’t understand why the hell he doesn’t just shoot you where you are.

You’ve reached the bedroom door.

One quick sprint and you’ll find the freedom from him you never thought you would need. You take one last eyeful of his frame, frozen solid like ice. You can’t bear to look into the false constellations in his eyes. “I hope you got what you wanted.”

You turn.

You run.

You burst through the doors of home like a mess, hair wind-blown and feet blistered, jacket pulled tight around your body. You’re afraid you’ll definitely be caught this time. Excuse after excuse pop in your head, none of them sticking or coherent as you rush down the stairs. When you reach the bottom, you realize that didn’t matter at all.

Headquarters is in an uproar.

“What’s going on?!” You ask one of your sisters, who seems to be rushing from the infirmary.

“Hoseok. Hoseok was shot!”

“Badly?” You ask, but the look in her eyes is answer enough. “Got it.” You head right towards the storm.

First thing you see: Hoseok lying prone on a white bed, blood staining his stomach and sheets. They didn’t even bother to undo the harness strapped across his chest. His black turtleneck is yanked up to give your in-house doctor space to work. Hoseok groans, sweat dripping from his pale forehead and matted bangs.

“Where the fuck have you been?” Yoongi’s eyes blaze as they take in your dishevelled appearance.

You ignore him. Your shoes clatter on the tile as you speed to Hoseok’s side. “What happened? Where were you? What did you send him into?” You glare at Yoongi, certain he took another unnecessary risk. Another gamble with someone else’s life.

“Not his fault...” Hoseok breathes out. “A scout. Supposed to be... empty...”

“You got shot scouting? Where?”

“Stop talking if you want to live through this, Hoseok. Save your energy.” The doctor holds up forceps. “We have to take it out. It’s a modified bullet. Can’t leave it in, you’ll get poisoning.”

“Fuck.” Hoseok leans back, squeezes his eyes shut.

You look away, not wanting to watch the doctor work. “Where, Yoongi? Where did you send him?”

Yoongi grits his teeth. “Where else? To find one of those NIS dogs that’ve been on our ass.”

“NIS?” You repeat. Your brow furrows. Not the Foxes?

Hoseok fights for strength. “Asshole had... pistol. Nice one. With a silencer.”

“Hoseok, shut up!” The doctor is terrifying in his own right, and Hoseok finally falls silent.

You, on the other hand, want to scream.

Because this is too much of a coincidence.

Because you just saw the dull light of a silenced pistol thirty minutes ago.

No. Your mind instantly rejects your next thought as you stumble, reaching behind you to grasp desperately at anything to support your falling weight. Joon... There’s no way. He has to be a Fox. Or someone from another family. Not a NIS agent. Anything but. No. No. No—

“What’re you doing?” Yoongi snaps.

You whip your eyes up, then bolt in lieu of answer out the door. The room is too suffocating despite your aching feet. You need time to think. You need to figure out what the hell is happening. You need to know the truth, god damn it, and not just the twisted mess your mind is making of every little piece of evidence that just seems to lead to the worst conclusion.

“Hey!” Taehyung calls, but you blow past him.

You finally find safety in the form of your room and a slammed door. You slide down against it, cradling your drooping head in your arms. Don’t be stupid. Think! You force yourself to focus on the evidence, on the knowledge that you know for a certainty, not the way he smiled into your kisses with lips lethally sweet. Or how he held you close as if he could be your safety, your world instead of the very knife that slices across your heart. You close your eyes.

One fact remains absolute.

He has betrayed you. No amount of feelings, regardless of how complicated and intense, changes that. He is your enemy. He has always been your enemy, even if you only feel alive, truly alive in his arms.

“...I have to tell Yoongi,” you whisper to yourself, but you can’t bring yourself to move, unknown whether from sorrow or fatigue. Your breathing slows. “He needs to know.” But sleep is heavy on your body, refusing to release its hold. You don’t fight it. You let your head fall another few inches. You’ll tell Yoongi in the morning, in a couple of hours. The settling darkness decides this for you.

This is the last shred of kindness you’ll give to Joon.

You wake to cold steel pressed against your forehead.

It is crammed with enough strength to leave a pink indent, a painful swell that you instinctively shift away from. You are still disoriented from slumber, blinking, trying to gather yourself. But the tapered end chases you down like a relentless hound.

Something shoves your arm. You wince when you hit the floor, forced from the door. Your instincts finally kick in, and you propel yourself away, as far away as you can. Who the hell... You let out a strangled noise when you see.

Yoongi stares down at you, ice in his eyes, a gun pointed squarely at your head.

“Yoongi, wh—”

“You betrayed us.”

You immediately shake your head. “No. No, I haven’t!”

“You think I haven’t noticed you sneaking out?” Yoongi takes a step, bringing his gun closer. “Creeping around like a rat.”

He... knew? You made sure you weren’t being followed each and every time. But did you slip up in your haste?

“I let you go. I know you’ve been having issues. But tell me, is it fun to spill all our secrets to your friends at the NIS?” A delirious grin is stretched across Yoongi’s lips. Your quivering eyes shift between that and the barrel of the gun. “Is it fun to watch the rest of us flounder in the dark? You hate what’s been left to us so much?”

“No, Yoongi, please, you have to believe me, I didn’t—”

“Then how did the NIS know Hoseok was coming?!” Yoongi shakes the pistol, tilting it on its side. “Every Thursday, they have a meeting. A mandatory meeting. Yet there he was, waiting for OUR MAN to appear.”

Your tongue is fat in your mouth. He said he was free. He said he was going to the gym. He— Oh god, it’s your fault. It’s your fault Hoseok was shot.

“No answer, huh? Just as I fucking thought.” Yoongi snorts. “Maybe you should be more careful the next time you talk to ‘Joon’.”

“H-How...”

He holds up your com, the triple lock utterly bypassed. “Or should I say Kim Namjoon. Agent of the NIS.” Your stomach lurches. “I told you not to trust anyone outside of the family, and look what you’ve done! You’ve compromised all of us. You’re out, sis.” Yoongi raises his hand and he cocks the gun.

Do you knock it out of his hands? Do you run? Or do you just take the punishment you deserve?

You suck in a breath that could very well be your last one.

“Get down!”

A scream hurtles through your open door. “Get the fuck down!” Explosions like fireworks blast from far away, sounding like they’re coming from the foyer.

A body dashes past your room. “What’s going on?” Yoongi yells as he turns, his hand faltering. “What’s happening?”

You see your chance. You lunge forward and wrestle the gun from his grip. “Hey!” You twist your body to avoid a shot but none goes off as you shove Yoongi to the floor.

“I’m sorry!” You gulp as you speed past him in bare feet. “I’ll explain everything later, I promise!” You can’t die yet. You can’t die here. You know Yoongi has other weapons on him. He’ll be fine if it comes to that.

You run towards the source of noise, staying in the shadows of corners, of tiny hideaways. The shots just keep firing, peppered with yells and cries so muddled you can’t recognize any of them. You are a turn away when you spot Jun in the foyer.

“Ju—”

“Aaagh!” Jun crashes to the ground, skids. A suit has one knee on his back, yanking his arms behind him to slap steel handcuffs on. NIS. So clearly NIS with that uniform. How did they find you? How did they get here?! You’re rooted, your face half hidden in the dark, half lit with the bleary, unchanging light. You desperately want to save him, but you only have one gun.

The agent on Jun suddenly whips his head up. His eyes connect with yours, and you recognize him. JK. Joon, no, Namjoon’s ‘friend’. They really played you for a fool and you ate it all up. But now JK’s arm is coming up, about to betray your location.

“Get out!” Jun screams at you before his cheek is forced to the concrete again.

“I’m sorry,” you whisper, knowing your voice is too quiet to reach him. Then you go.

The agents swarm your headquarters, spreading like flies across the space. You spot them down the corridor leading to the infirmary. Hoseok must be compromised too. You keep running.

There is one exit deep within that is bound to be safe. There’s no way they’ve penetrated so deeply. Not yet. It’s hidden in the office that used to belong to your parents: a tiny tunnel. You just have to get past the dining hall first. A wide open space.

“Get the fuck back!”

Yoongi’s voice cuts across the hall as soon as you reach the doors. You duck, taking shelter behind a wall. Yoongi is locked in a stalemate, staring down an agent with his lazer pistol. They’re taking steps back, slowly moving closer to where you are. He’s trying to get a vantage point, knowing this space much better than the NIS.

Then you see the agent coming from his blindside.

No! You leap out, instantly aiming your gun at the agent’s arm. You pull the trigger.

No shot comes out. You desperately pull it again, but it’s too late.

“Fuck!” Yoongi finally spots the suit but by the time he spins, an electric shock pulses through the air from the agent’s immobilizer. It smacks Yoongi right in the side, coursing through his system as he shakes uncontrollably before collapsing. And he stays down.

You blink away the tears as you rip yourself from the scene. The breaths come up in great shuddering gulps as you try to keep calm but your hands just keep shaking. They shake so badly you can barely pull the bullet chamber out. It’s empty. God damn it. God damn your brother and his bleeding heart.

You claw at your coat collar, trying to loosen what feels too tight around your constricting throat. Adrenaline makes your head pound, and you know you have no more time to spare. You have to go. You have to leave Yoongi behind.

The dining hall is out, but there’s one more pathway to the office. It’ll take longer, but you have no other choice. You change directions, tucking the gun into your pocket like a safety charm.

A handful of excruciating minutes later, you find yourself in front of the office door. You haven’t been here in years, unable to bear the emotions that surface but you’re already so frazzled it doesn’t matter anymore. You slip inside.

The entrance is only accessible via fingerprint, built into the wooden desk that looks so ancient no one would suspect the technology it holds. You approach, instantly swept with relief. Thank god. On the desk, you see a tiny V drawn in red. Taehyung was here. Taehyung is safe. Three dots are haphazardly smeared next to it. Three others made it out with him. You’re going to be the fourth.

You flip the cover and press your thumb to the scanner.

Then someone calls your full name. Your real name. The voice is a rich baritone, one you could never forget. “Please. Wait.” The door shuts again with a click.

You face him, hoping every line of fury is carved in your expression. “Kim Namjoon.” Your hands curl into fists. “NIS agent.”

“...Yeah. That’s me.”

Namjoon stands before you in one of those tapered black suits that look so odd on him when you’re used to the slacks, the baggy tees. His hair is slicked back, and he holds that same pistol you saw in the darkness of his apartment.

You scoff. “I have nothing to say to you, Namjoon.”

“What about to Joon?”

“He doesn’t exist.”

“Neither does Dahlia.”

You press your lips together into a thin line. “What do you want with me? I’m useless to you now, aren’t I?”

“No. Never.”

You rake an exasperated hand through your sweaty hair. “I don’t know what you want me to say, really.” You want to scream at him, to let out every ounce of frustration but you just feel exhausted. “I fucking slept with you, Namjoon. Meanwhile you and all your buddies were probably laughing your asses off at how stupid I was. I broke every rule to be with you and you were just lying to me. About everything.”

“Well, I broke protocol too! It’s not like I went in there trying to sleep with you. I would never use you like that.”

You scoff. “Forgive me for finding it hard to believe you right now.”

“Please.” He tries to step closer, but you shake your head, glare at him to keep his distance. “Tonight and every night we’ve spent together. It meant something to me.”

“It meant you were getting the info you wanted.”

“No. My duties as agent ended the second I kissed you tonight. What came next was all me. It’s always been me with you on the drives. The picnics. Watching the stars.” You have to give him credit, he actually looks apologetic. Maybe ‘actor’ should be on his resume too. “Please.” He repeats your real name, and it sounds so foreign in his mouth you almost want to recoil. “You felt something tonight too. You can’t deny it.”

“Don’t talk like you know me.”

He shakes his head. “But I do know you. I know how your eyes sparkle when you talk about all the things you want to see, all the world you still want to explore. I know that you laugh at stupid puns and that you love the smell of stale movie popcorn like a weirdo. And I want to know so much more. I always do.”

You swallow the emotion that you can’t make entirely disappear, hating that he’s so goddamn right. “Look, Joon, Namjoon, whatever. None of that matters anymore. I... I have to go.” The trapdoor in the floor is still open, standing by. And the longer you wait, the more agents infiltrate your family, corrupt this space.

“Okay.” Namjoon sighs, and you think he’s going to arrest you. But instead, he just looses his grip on his gun. “You can leave. I’ll let you. I’ll pretend I didn’t see you, that I was too late.” He lets the pistol fall. It hits the floor with a dull thud. “But just know that you’ll be running forever.”

He suddenly extends his arm to you, palm up. “Or you can come with me. And you’ll have to face the consequences, but I’ll fight for you. I promise, I’ll fight damn hard. And at the end of it all... It might take months, it might take years, but you’ll be free.”

You stare at the pitch black of the tunnel.

Taehyung is waiting for you on the other side with your family. The people you’ve grown up with, the people responsible for giving you life. Or at least, the façade of life you’ve lived up until now. How much do you still owe them? When will it be enough?

On your exhale, you find Namjoon’s eyes. See the flicker of light reflected in their depths.

Trembling, you place your hand in his.

a/n: thank you for reading. truly. this is my first time writing something so ambitious. i wanted to present a world where things are all various shades of grey, where there is never a right answer. some characters were so difficult to write, but i hope their reasons for their actions were clear enough in the end. i would love to hear your thoughts on the piece & any feedback is always greatly appreciated! 

special shout out to @jeonshome who fed my insanity throughout the writing & kept me from imploding. please send her tons of love. i would give her all the star flower bouquets in the sky if i could ✨

p.s. you can find extra drabbles for this AU on my masterlist!

[punz4lyfe]

Now you've been asked what you do like about him what about the opposite what don't you like about goh?

Aw man, this is gonna hurt.

TL;DR - Goh’s a completely lovable character, but I have three particular issues with him that I feel could become worse if not taken care of properly.

First off, DISCLAIMERS!! To all my fellow Goh fans, please know that writing this, I do not mean any hatred to Goh in anyway. I LOVE Goh, and if you’ve seen literally ANY of my past anipoke posts, you would already know that. These are just issues I find with his character that I want to be changed for the best.

Now with that outta the way, here’s what I don’t like about Goh:

1. His iffy character development. While he’s doing fine in becoming more open to people and more willing to help Pokemon, his fighting skills are what I have trouble with it. Let’s go back to his first ever official battle.

It was at Hoenn’s Frontier Cup where he used Scorbunny and Scyther against a trainer’s Mightyena. Despite having a type advantage with Scyther, he lost horribly, which is completely understandable. He’s a beginner and doesn’t possess the same kind of street smarts and experience Ash and many other trainers have. Alright then, so maybe this will lead to a change in character of wanting to become better in battles by getting some training with Ash, who made quick work of that Mightyena trainer. Surely we’ll get some development over this topic after this episode!

He beats Saffron City’s Karate Master and scores a free Hitmonchan.

...Okaaaay, I mean, we’ve never seen the Karate Master in battle before, so perhaps it was just another fodder trainer the anime is filled of. I sure we’ll get some more Goh development after thi-

He easily defeats and captures a powerful Flygon.

.....Alright, alright, it was only a wild Pokemon. Everyone can beat those, right? Heck, in the next episode, he technically suffers a curbstomp loss against Kiawe and admits he only battles Ash every so often. Perhaps this loss will encourage Goh to train more with Ash so he could become a stronger trainer. I mean, despite his good luck with Pokeballs, he’s gonna need to be as strong as he can be for tougher mons, like Legendaries. I’m 100% sure we’ll get something out of thi-

He takes down a wild Zapdos and NEARLY captures it.

.........Uh, okie dokes, it wasn’t a successful capture, and who knows? Even though we have not seen him battle/train that much on-screen, maybe he just got a little lucky. Even in the games, it happens to the best of us. Perhaps this barely missed victory will finally give Goh the time to actually development more on-screen so that he could have a better chance agai-

He defeats Oleana’s Milotic, using his fire-type Raboot who only wanted to use a weak fire-type move.

..............Allllriiiiight, maybe Oleana just got a little cocky later on. Plus, Raboot finished Milotic by evolving in Cinderace and finishing it off with Pyro Ball. With this powerful evolution in hand, maybe Goh will finally realize that, in order for Cinderace to reach its greatest potential, he must start training for once and obtain some proper development for a chance against stronger threa-

Cinderace fights decently well against Mewtwo, even lasting longer than Pikachu and being on-par with the more trained Lucario.

....................At this point, I’m all out of excuses for him. Overall, Goh’s development as a trainer is very rushed to the point seeing him achieve numerous victories despite all odds being against his favor to be iffy.

2. Slightly touchy topic, but there are some negatives with his whole catching all Pokemon goal. So Goh wants to catch every single mon he can in order to reach up to Mew, as he said to Mewtwo in episode 46. And yes, this includes Legendaries as well. Unfortunately, this is where my issues with his goal starts. First off, where in the world will Goh keep any Legendary he encounters? Cerise’s glorified garden dome? Yeah, keep Dialga and Palkia, literal beings of space and time, inside a glass dome with a bunch of weaker mons. And speaking of which, wouldn’t catching mons like the Creation Trio or the Island Guardians cause quite the upset in, well, y’know, the natural balance of things? Sure, Goh technically hasn’t caught a single Legendary yet (Eternatus doesn’t count because it had to be sealed away), with how the anime is playing out, issues like this will surely rise throughout the series.

And yes, the anime is playing it out for Goh to indeed catch every single mon before reaching Mew. If you pay attention to the openings as well as many of Goh’s own character moments, such as episode 46, then you can easily see the signs telling us that Goh is bound to catch them all, just as Ash is bound on defeating Leon. In the past, pretty much all of Ash’s traveling companions had their own goals as well, but it’s usually because of those goals is why they leave Ash by the end of their journeys, like May and Dawn pursuing contests in other regions, Brock wanting to become a doctor, Iris wanting to find more Dragon types, Kiawe wanting to become an Island Kahuna etc. Because of that, it becomes up to the audience’s interpretation (and fanfics) on how they achieve their dreams and what challenges they could face throughout the way. With Goh, there will a lot more focus and emphasis placed on his goal, and while this isn’t necessarily a bad thing, it’s too bad there aren’t really any stakes or obstacles in Goh’s journey!

Really now, another glaring issue with Goh’s goal is that he has NO trouble going through with it at all. From his very first fodder capture, all he has to do is get a good throw and then PING! Pokemon caught. Guess the thing of having to weaken a Pokemon first before capturing it has been retconned out of the anime forever. With that said, there’s absolutely no struggle for Goh to overcome in his journey, which kinda makes things boring. Where’s the challenge? Where are his rivals? Are there any doubts? Does he have any issue of having to catch and connect every single mon in existence? No, well then good for him I guess! Sad thing too is that he catches so many Pokemon with so much potential, but they then disappear completely after their debut.

Remember that free Hitmonchan he scored from Saffron’s Fighting Dojo who seemed completely willing to train with Riolu and Farfetch’d? Never seen again. That female Raichu who loves giving berries? Completely forgotten about. That Aerodactyl Goh resurrected and bonded with before catching? Thanos snapped. The Heracross Goh obtained from a trade at the cost of a second Pinsir he worked hard to find? Literally who?

3. And my biggest issue with Goh. The fact he’s somehow on the same scale as Ash.

Don’t believe me? Well, let’s go back to the ending of episode 46. After Mewtwo teleported him, Ash, Pikachu, Lucario, and Cinderace back home, Goh said this: “We’ve still got a long way to go.”

Excuse me, but WHAT?!?!?!

You BOTH got a long way to go, even though you both suffered a complete curbstomp from a mon that would probably even make the likes of Lance, Cynthia, and Leon comparable to Youngster Joey?!?! What the Distortion World?!?! Why is Goh and, by extension, the writers implying he and Ash are on even terms when it comes to being a trainer? Goh, as a reminder, you literally only began your trainer career 45 episodes ago!!

Alright, let’s talk about Ash for a second and what he’s been through since he started his trainer career. Ash started in Kanto, and while he really only fairly achieved three out of his eight badges (Brock and Misty’s were givens, Erika’s was a thank-you gift, Sabrina’s was all Haunter’s doing, and Jessie and James are complete jokes that no one should take seriously), he still partook in as many battles as he could against tough trainers while getting some pointers from the much more experienced Misty and Brock. After that, he went on to become a much more impressive trainer in later journeys. Instead of a full recap, I’ll just list two impressive things Ash has done in each region he’s journeyed through after losing in the Kanto League.

Orange Islands: Won his first official double battle with Pikachu and Charizard despite neither initially getting along at first and then defeated the Orange League champ, Drake.

Johto: Survived an entire forest of bloodthirsty Ursaring with his friends and defeated Gary’s Blastoise with his Charizard.

Hoenn: Helped stopped both Team Magma and Team Aqua’s elemental threats and reached Top 8 in the Hoenn League despite only two of his mons being fully evolved with one being a glass cannon bird.

Kanto again: Conquered the Battle Frontier and tied with May in his first ever contest.

Sinnoh: Helped protect a Riolu from the famed Hunter J and knocked out two of Tobias’ Legendary Pokemon.

Unova: Defeated Iris’ Dragonite twice (Charizard pretty much had the high ground in their fight) and helped protect Meloetta.

Kalos: Defeated four Mega Evolutions (Lucario, Abomasnow, Absol, and Sceptile) and was one of the main heroes against Lysandre.

Alola: Became an Ultra Guardian and conquered the Alola League.

And right now as of Journeys: Defeated Korinna’s Mienfoo and Mega Lucario with only Dragonite right after the two curbstomped Gengar and defeated Chairman Rose.

And this isn’t even scratching the surface, and yet, somehow, Ash is still on the same scale of Goh. This doesn’t make any logical sense, it completely negates Ash’s experience while over-wanking Goh’s, and it ruins any semblance of power scaling between the two. Logically, Ash should be leagues above Goh and the latter should always confide to Ash whenever he needs assistance or pointers, not “Oh, we both lost to a powerful legendary, guess that means we both have stuff to learn and we’re both beginners lul”. It’s like Deku and All Might both losing a villain that’s beyond both of their capabilities, and then Deku saying that they BOTH have much to learn afterwards! Does it make sense? HECK NO.

If they had to have Goh comment about their loss, why couldn’t he say something that would’ve made more sense? Maybe say something like “Wow, I can’t believe I lasted that long, honestly.” And then Ash would say, “Hey, you’re only getting better. And me and my team will always be there in case you need more training.” Have the two acknowledge the fact that even trainers like Leon wouldn’t fare any better than them against Mewtwo. Just absolutely anything that doesn’t completely ruin what we know of these characters to the point the two are considered equals, despite all the evidence saying otherwise.

I’m getting a little exhausted now, so I’m done, but thanks for asking, anon!

And for anyone reading, please feel free to agree or disagree. I’m completely acceptable to anyone else’s thoughts/opinions over Goh and would love to hear them.

[rjhpandapaws]

A Cup of Something Better

Ch7: When Stuck in One Place, Try Another

Hank was in a tight spot, his manuscript was late already, and it was only going to get later. Hank was out of ideas, well, kind of, distracted was probably a better word for it. Somehow he didn't think his editor would take the excuse of 'so I'm gonna need an extension on that deadline because I'm out of ideas, and also the time I could have spent writing I've spent thinking about a guy that I've seen like once,' all that well. Kaya was great, don't get him wrong, she put up with a lot of his bullshit, but even she had her limits. Hank being almost a month late with a manuscript was definitely one of them, that he unfortunately knew from experience. Best to get this over with. After his meeting with Kaya he was meeting Jeffrey for lunch, something they didn't do as often as they should.

Figuring he'd sat outside her home office long enough, Hank turned off his beat up old car and got out to head inside. The sooner he got this over with the better. She met him at the door, her red hair tied back in a bun, her green eyes were narrowed behind wide red framed glasses. He was definitely about to get an earful.

"You're late," she said in place of a greeting stepping aside to let him in, "but im beginning to notice thats the one garuntee with you."

"Good afternoon to you too Kaya," Hank remarked letting the tall redhead lead the way to her office.

She sat in her office chair and Hank took the couch. Kaya waited until he was seated before she spoke, "Please tell me you have something, even just a progress check. You're creeping up on a month and the company is starting to breathe down my back."

Hank cleared his throat rubbing at his beard, trying to find words that wouldn't get him flayed alive, "the college has been keeping me pretty busy, when I've had time to write I havent been able to get anything down. I was, um, I was wondering if I could get an extension or maybe a hiatus period. I honestly thought I'd be done by now, I'm sorry Kaya."

She sighed, an incredibly swdate response compared to the anger that was burning in her eyes, "an extension Hank? You come in here a month overdue with nothing to show for it and you have the nerve to ask for an extension! You never fail to amaze me. I'll see if I can get you marked as on hiatus. I'll cite your being a professor as my reasoning." Hank breathed a sigh of relief, though the feeling was short lived as Kaya continued, "If you do something like this again the company is going to drop you most likely."'

"Thanks Kaya." Hank responded, "I know I'm not the easiest to work with, but this shouldn't happen again."

She watched him stand with a distant expression, "you know what happens if it does."

He nodded as he made his way to the door, "Have a good day Kaya."

"You too Hank."

Hank figured this was a long time coming, but it was still a surprise to hear just how close he was to being dropped. Not that it wasn't deserved, only a few of his manuscripts had ever been on time. For a few months out of the year he could blame it on being a professor, but the main reason for it was just that his writing process was unstructured and slow.

He needed a pick me up if he was going to be dealing with Jeff as well as Kaya. He drove the familiar route toward the university, planning to stop by the cute cafe again. He parked and walked into the cafe, making his way to the counter with plans to try that same latte again with less espresso since he was feeling more human today. There was a different barista working the counter today, Josh, according to his nametag.

"Hey," Josh said with a charismatic smile, "welcome to Hand Brewed Hope, what can we get started for you?"

"I'll take a medium vanilla latte with two shots of espresso," he almost ordered something for Jeff but then thought better of it.

"Connor will have that down at the other counter for you when its done," Josh said handing the cup off to the other barista.

Hank followed the action with his eyes and then his brain froze. It was the barista from yesterday, he figured as much from the name, either the kid from his night class or his twin. He was just as struck by Connor this time as he had been before and it took all of his strength not to just stare. If anything he was more attractive now that Hank was awake enough to take in more than just his eyes.

Connor was tall, maybe a couple inches shorter than Hank. His brown hair was styled back neatly save for one errant curl that fell defiantly onto his forehead giving the look boyish charm. Hank caught himself staring and decided to make conversation.

"So, uh, Connor, was it?" Hank asked in the ineloquent way that seemed to be the usual of him when he was around the barista.

"Yes professor?" Came the almost immediate response and Hank needed a minute.

Hank stared again, trying to assess if he had in fact heard that correctly. Upon the realization that he he had, his stomach turned on itself. Nothing said dirty old man quite like crushing on one of your students.

"Well that answers that I suppose," Hank said, and hopefully he didn't sound like he was choking on his words.

Connor couldn't be more than in his early twenties at best, and Hank was turning thrity-nine come September. On top of being his professor, the age difference would make anyone uncomfortable. This crush needed to be tucked away, it couldn't become anything. He was pulled from his thoughts by the paper togo cup coming into his line of sight. He took it with a weak smile.

"Have a good day professor," Connor said kindly as he turned to leave.

"You too kid," he responded lifting the cup in place of a wave as he left the cafe like the devil was on his heels.

He could already hear Jeff giving him a hard time about falling for yet another pair of pretty brown eyes, as well as the following lecture about appropriate behavior. He rolled his eyes at his own thoughts and started his car heading to their usual place, a diner by the police station. He drank from the latte, deciding that two shots of espresso was ideal, the bitter perfectly balanced by the vanilla.

Hank arrived before Jeff as was usual and picked a table close to the door, somewhere easy to spot. Jeff arrived a few minutes later, sitting across from Hank. He eyed the coffee cup.

"Good to see you're as much of an asshole as I remember," Jeff joked in way of a greeting, "stopped for a fucking coffee and didn't even get me anything."

Hank laughed shaking his head, "I don't see you for six months and the first thing you do is bitch at me for not buying you a coffee. Some friend you are."

"How's the new book coming along?" He asked looking over the menu.

Hank winced, "I asked to be put on hiatus with my publisher because of got nothing in me right now."

Jeff gave him a sympathetic smile, "how's the university treating you then?"

"Good," Hank replied setting his own menu down having decided on a bacon burger, "night classes are pretty relaxed. How are things at the station?"

"Hectic." Came the reply as Jeff flagged for a waiter, "just got a bunch of new academy graduates and they all think they're hot shit."

"You know how it is, give them a few months and the gravity of the job will set in."

There was a lull in the conversation long enough for them to place their orders. Then the topic finally turned away from work. Though Hank didn't like the new topic that much better.

"So you seeing anyone Hank?" Jeff asked right as he was drinking from his latte. His choking must have marked him as guilty because Jeff continued with, "let me guess, brown eyes."

"Its complicated," Hank replied when he caught his breath, staring at the table as though it held the solution to all of his problems, "he's one of my students. I met him here though." He said tapping the paper cup, "he's a barista."

He could feel Jeff's eyes on him and he looked up. "You've got it bad, its written all over your face." Hank could feel the lecture coming, "you know you can't do anything right? At least not until the semester is out."

"I know that Jeff, jesus." The second half took a little longer to catch up with Hank, "wait what?"

"He's taking night classes right? So that usually means older students. Try talking to him outside of class, like at the shop once the semester is over," Jeff said casually, as though he wasn't suggesting that Hank talk to a guy that was younger than him but also definitely out of his fucking league.

Hank was saved from having to reply when their food arrived. Content silence followed as they enjoyed their lunch, though in the background Hank was overtaking what Jeff had said. Could he approach Connor? Would that be okay? Worst comes to worse Connor would just assume him an overly conversational customer. It couldn't hurt to try he supposed, but then again he'd always been a sucker for brown eyes.

They switched to lighter topics until it came time to part ways. Like always they parted with the half empty promise that they would do this more often. Hank giving a less empty promise that, yes he would at least try and talk to Connor when the semester was out.

Hank had left in a better mood than he had arrived in. For the first time in months he felt inspired, he wanted to write. Not for his manuscript, but maybe it was time to start a new project. Something that better fit what he was feeling, something light and happy. A short piece probably, but well worth the wait. Something that reflected the warmth that can be found in warm brown eyes.

[alice1290]

Can you do a headcanon on Marco, Thatch and ace finding their s/o cutting themselves. Thanks. 🥰🥰

Hello, Anon. Thank you for your patience while you waited for this ask.

Please, please, please… anyone and everyone, my box is always open should you need to talk, vent, or any form of the above. I am here, to offer advice or to just listen. I have been there, no joke, no lie, I have been there. And I’m here to tell you, no matter how you are feeling now, no matter what life is throwing at you, it does get better. It does.

Warning: Self-harm triggers

Below the cut due to topic!

Marco, Thatch, & Ace – Finding Their S/O Self Harming

Marco

Marco is the most shocked. So shocked that he reverts to doctor mode instead of tender lover. His voice is soft as he chastises them for harming themselves. “You should have come to me, yoi. I can help you. You’re too beautiful of a person to hurt yourself.”

His touch is gentle as he cleans and bandages the cuts. He forces you to drink some orange juice before he drags you to his room for some alone time together. If he had other plans for the day, they’re canceled. If someone comes looking for him, he tells them to go away. He delegates all duties to his second or another Commander.

He spends the rest of the day with you. Mostly laying together on the bed. He’s willing to talk if you decide to open up, if not he’s okay with the quiet. Sometimes he fills it with his own thoughts, and sweet words of affection, reminding you that he cares, that you matter. Marco strokes your hair and back, running his fingers up and down just to feel you alive beneath his touch. He’s thankful he found you in the middle of the act and not worse, but he’s still upset with himself.

Definitely more upset with himself than with you. He loves you, deeply, and he should have seen the signs. He’s a doctor! He knew you struggled with mental health, and Marco promises then, aloud, softly to you, that he’ll do better, you both will, together.

Marco researches extensively into any sort of medication or treatment that may help you. Anything he can do as a doctor and as a lover to assist you and help you through your destructive thoughts. It’s a learning process. It’s trial and error and stressful and painful and difficult, but Marco won’t give up and he won’t allow you to give up either.

Thatch

“Baby girl.” It’s all he’ll say. He doesn’t chastise, he doesn’t say much at all really, at least not with words. His expression however says it all. He’s hurt, he’s afraid, he’s saddened, and most of all he’s disappointed in himself for not seeing the signs sooner.

Thatch beats himself up internally all the while comforting his partner.

For the next several days Thatch keeps them occupied with anything and everything in the kitchen, using the excuse that he just really needs the extra set of hands, so that’s they’ll stay near him. He also makes all their favorite dishes and drinks, spoiling them and reminding them how much he loves and cares about them.

Thatch makes sure to spend extra time with his s/o. He wants them to always know he’s there for them, that they aren’t alone, and he drops little hints in his actions, short notes and single flowers on her pillow, those favorite foods and snacks prepared at meals, quick, stolen moments together during the day, and if they stop at an island, Thatch always finds a little trinket to bring back and he spends the night telling his s/o why he bought it and how it reminded him of them.

Ace

Ace is heartbroken. His hands instantly wrap around his s/o’s, gently, so gently. Tears are in his eyes and some may have already spilled down his cheeks.

“No, Sweetheart, no. Not this way.” His voice trembles when he whispers.

He helps them clean up, if they’re willing, he takes them straight to Marco to be tended to, but if not, Ace bandages them up himself. Carefully, tenderly. He places gentle, soft kisses on every spot his fingers touch.

If his partner is willing to open up, Ace is there to listen. All night long. If they aren’t willing to talk about it right away, or at all, that’s okay too. Ace understands how it feels to bottle up his feelings inside, and he’s there for physical comfort.

He tells them everything he loves about them. Everything. Ace, a little selfishly, reminds them of how much he needs them too. How much they mean to him and how special they are to him.

He’s cautious after catching them the first time. He does some research, even going so far as to ask Marco some questions in private. Then, he uses what he’s learned to look for signs that you’re stressing out, or reaching a breaking point, and he is instantly there, brining you back from the edge and reminding you of all the good. He doesn’t want you to ever reach the point of harming yourself again. You’re too beautiful, inside and out, and worth it, and Ace makes it his permanent mission to make sure you believe it too.

[ashleyswrittenwords]

Correlation Doesn’t Imply Causation

Another Zelink Oneshot

Commissioned by @truffeart :)

Post-BOTW fluff with needless angst mixed in

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

It took time for the people of Hateno to warm up to the presence of the Princess with the blood of the goddess. They were folks of the countryside where the strangest occurrences had been the occasional Goron traveller or the time a youngster swore up and down that one of the cattle could speak. Miffed hadn’t covered their wonder when the mysterious young man who had brought the decaying house by the cliffs brought home a wide-eyed blonde who suspiciously met the description of the fabled princess. 

The man had only stayed in the house for short periods of time, typically buying out Pruce’s stock of arrows and visiting the odd scientist at the peak of the village. A wild, insatiable heart for adventure was something to be expected and the older gossip mongers suspected he would bring back a woman from his travels. What they hadn’t expected was his bashful admittance the day after to Ivee and her mother that he was last century’s fallen hero, that Calamity had been vanquished, and that Princess Zelda was resting in his house.

When one person knows something in Hateno, everyone does.

Initially, it was something Zelda worried extensively about. One-hundred years. Would she be out of touch? Even worse, would they see her as a monster? During her excessive ramblings, the latter question made Link do a double take and immediately steer her off the topic. He had been awake for a little over a year and reassured her that the people of Hateno were harmless, but for the first couple weeks he didn’t dispute her flimsy excuses to stay in the home when he went out on short errands.

Actually, he was very supportive of her. Link’s love for cooking had turned into more of a passion and he had easily taken the mantle of the house chef. She could tell he allowed her to do menial tasks like dicing onions so she could feel helpful, and it worked. While out to gather ingredients for meals, he brought back gardening and sewing supplies to supplement her time; even taking her measurements and returning with three colorful Hateno dresses.

And Zelda was thankful, so thankful that after two weeks she let Link introduce her to the people he knew. She had slinked a couple paces behind him, uncomfortable by the stares once they reached the main road. Amira, the wife of the general store owner, had laughed during their brief introduction, “Nack was going around spreading rumors that you glowed in the dark. I don’t suppose that’s true?”

With a wobbly smile, Zelda affirmed that it hadn’t been true. The day got easier after that. People realized they weren’t going to witness anything other than a socially anxious girl and went about their chores as if nothing happened. Of course, she also dissuaded formal titles and told them she wanted to be a normal person for as long as possible before piecing together the kingdom that had already been underway by the Sheikah.

The days went by slow, but the months sped by her. Before she knew it, Link had woken her up to the smell of herbal tea and fruitcake - sweets in the morning had always been her guilty pleasure.

“Happy three months,” Link said with a hum as he set out some plates.

Blearily, she smiled and took a seat at the table to watch him work. “Has it really been that long?”

He barely nodded. “Official this evening.”

She observed him from behind. A soft hum smoothed over their silence and she allowed herself to enjoy this less guarded Link. He talked more often. It seemed to come naturally to him now.

Zelda let herself melt into the wooden chair and thanked herself for making patterned seat cushions. It wasn’t uncommon that she took in her surroundings, comparing what she lost to what she has now. Materially, it was a deficit but never did she feel so complete. There was no real goal other than to just be. 

They ate in a comfortable silence, both still wearing what they slept in.

When noon rolled around, she disappeared upstairs to pull on a deep green dress with sewn in flower patterns and jotted down a list of items to pick up from East Wind. 

“Do you not wish to accompany me?” she asked, tying a rupee pouch to her belt. There wasn't any accusation in her voice, merely simple curiosity due to his affinity to keeping by her side. And, admittedly, she did enjoy his company.

“As much as I do,” he grumbled shortly as he tapped the Sheikah slate repeatedly. “Impa sent a letter last week that travelling merchants were having bokoblin issues in the mountain pass.”

Link wore his riding trousers and a simple Hylian tunic. Without words, they had both understood that she had claimed his Champion tunic to sleep in after days of mending. Her heart sank, it meant the shrines weren’t working today and he would need to ride horseback.

He seemed to read her mind, reaching to thread his fingers passed her ear and through her shortened locks. A commonality after she decided thigh-length hair wasn’t practical anymore.

“I should be back at nightfall. Will… you be okay?”

It was a question born of genuine concern despite the knowledge that she was fully capable of cooking and caring for herself, but he needed that affirmation for himself and she was fully willing to allow him that. When she nodded, he pulled away and she mourned the loss of warmth. Zelda forced the corners of her lips upward. The sight reassured him.

“Be careful,” she chided once he packed a small bag and swung onto his horse. Link looked down at her, grinning as if he knew something she did not. “I mean it. Don’t do anything rash.”

“I know,” he breathily said, “I won’t.”

The manner in the way he spoke sounded like her nagging had caused him great exhaustion, which elicited a playful swat at his leg. 

“Tonight?” she said, sounding more like a statement than a question.

Unwavering cobalt eyes fixated on her. A chaste nod. They didn’t say much more by the time he secured the reins in one hand and urged the horse into a slight trot. Soon he was over the bridge and down the road. By the time she retrieved her basket, he had long disappeared into the Hateno woods.

Autumn made herself known in the tree leaves that were displaced by Zelda’s steps and the chill that bit her cheeks. She fell in love with the season all over again. Ivee’s voice was clear as day once she stepped on the village road. Two people on horseback road passed her towards the inn up ahead. They politely nodded to the woman as she shouted out today’s discounts and carried on their way.

Ivee grimaced at their backs and stiffened at Zelda’s footsteps. Suddenly, with a bright smile, she twisted around to ring out a warm invitation.

Zelda offered a weak wave when the greeter’s face fell. “Sorry.”

The store owner’s daughter waved her apology away with a sigh and continued sweeping away fallen leaves from the doorstep. “Don’t be. Dad’s been on me more about getting newcomers in before the first snow.”

“Is business bad?” she asked, taking a glance about the area. There were more people than usual. 

“Quite the opposite, it’s our busiest season,” Ivee pursed her lips in thought before gesturing towards the door with a scowl. “He’s always like this. Thinkin’ we’re missing out on customers if I don’t lose my voice by sunset.”

Zelda’s shoulders bounced with silent laughter as Ivee leaned back on her heels to wipe sweat from her brow.

“I saw Link leave not too long ago,” the brunette raised her brow. “Seemed to be in a hurry.”

A shrug was Zelda’s answer as she said, “I suppose Kakariko is having a monster problem and, well, you know how he is.”

She grinned wryly, “Can’t ignore a damsel in distress?”

The basket swung with Zelda’s idle swaying and she rolled her eyes. “Oh, no,” she considered, then remembered why she came by. “Have the truffles been restocked?”

“I’m afraid not,” Ivee pouted, “I tried to save some yesterday before they sold out again, but Dad nearly lost his head.”

“I appreciate the thought, Ivee,” Zelda hummed in contemplation. She’d have to do something else for dinner.

The woman looked down, then hazel eyes shot up to hers with an idea.

“Nikki’s daughters go truffle hunting down in the lower forest. Such troublemakers, those girls,” Ivee mumbled the latter notion under her breath. “But now that moblins aren’t as much of an issue, I’m sure they wouldn’t mind if you tagged along.”

“I’d love to, but Link has still been wary about me straying too far from the village. I’d rather not give him a heart attack.” And Zelda wasn’t too keen on wandering far without him; the Yiga were still active on the roads outside the village. Until now, they were careful to keep a low profile.

Ivee sighed and leaned on her broom. Wistfully, she smiled, “I wish I had a protective husband like you. You would think I could find a respectable man already, but everyone our age in this town has the maturity of a child.”

The basket in Zelda’s hands froze mid-sway. “I beg your pardon?”

She didn’t seem to notice the change in the blonde’s body language and went on to stare off, “Link is so protective of you. Zelda, you’re lucky to have snatched up a man like that early on. I’m starting to think I’m either horribly unlucky or Calamity Ganon made them extinct.”

Surely her ears weren’t mistaken. 

Husband?

Snatched up?

The woven wood splints of the basket handle dug into her palm, but she carefully guarded her expression - a testament to her upbringing. 

“There’s plenty of agreeable men in the village garrison,” she said, trying to shrug off the odd feeling. “I can make Link put in a good word for you.”

Ivee quirked her lips to the side, “I don’t know, Zee… but honestly I have nothing to lose. Will being into soldier types make me as smart as you?”

They laughed it off and Zelda politely excused herself with a slight stiffness. From East Wind, she picked up grains and milk while making sure to leave a good report to Pruce of Ivee’s behalf. On her way out, Pruce chuckled.

“Send my regards to your better half!”

Her brows scraped the highest reaches of her forehead, but Zelda quickly reeled herself in and sent a bright smile behind her. As she walked down the road with the sales shouting of Ivee behind her, she felt the shock of their assumptions settle into a stark warmth against the chill air.

There were several variables that insinuated… a very misconstrued aspect of her relationship with Link. The tips of Zelda’s ears flared. But, no, she was a scientist and understood that correlation did not mean causation. It could simply be an assumption drawn from Amira and Pruce’s household only. 

“Zelda!” 

She jumped at the hiss, spinning towards its direction and coming face to face with Nikki. The woman gripped her wrist and dragged her around the corner of a house. Then, Amira popped up from behind a barrel.

“You’re good!” she loudly whispered. “He didn’t notice.”

“Who didn’t notice?” Zelda said, making Nikki momentarily panic when her voice was too loud for her liking. The antics of the two women were fairly normal, but this situation was entirely new.

Amira, who was glaring around the bend, appeared again with shifty eyes. “There’s a man going around asking nearly every woman on a date.”

Nikki puffed out her chest victoriously. “You’re lucky. He got distracted by the innkeeper’s daughter. He kept going on about boots. His boots this, his boots that. My goodness, he’s fortunate he didn’t pull that on me. My Nacky would have let him have it.”

“O-Oh,” Zelda exchanged glances between the two of them. “Thank you.”

“Absolutely, darling,” Amira proudly declared. “We wouldn’t want Link running around trying to find the man who wanted to steal you from him, now would we? It’d be bad for business.”

Before Zelda knew it, she was nodding vehemently. “Yes, I know what you mean.”

She most certainly did not know what they meant. At all. Quickly, she bid them a good day and began her way up the slopes to the Sheikah lab. Despite Amira and Nikki’s warning, the boot man never appeared to steal her away.

Purah’s squeaky voice was heard above the ticking of gears as Zelda pushed open the doors. Calculating brown eyes met hers, “I was wondering if you’d ever visit me.”

“I was here yesterday.”

She still appeared to be a child, but Zelda noticed she was taller than the prior day. From her stool, she squinted down into the cavernous body of a small guardian. It had long been deactivated by Link before he defeated Calamity Ganon, and Zelda was set to use it for a better purpose than rotting in a junkyard. 

The Sheikah waved her off, “Did your potion make only my mind older because I distinctly remember Symin being the only one here.”

Symin barely looked up from a diagram, “She was here for four hours, Purah.”

All the scientist did was hum a tune. Zelda helped herself to the desk space she had occupied a day before. Scattered across it were miscellaneous notes in Zelda and Purah’s handwriting. Small illustrations were more prevalent in Purah’s more recent studies. At least her physical form was growing older and the blonde was quick to scribble down her observations. 

Beyond that, however, Zelda grew relentlessly distracted. Any progress was dashed when she remembered how they referred to Link. Three desperate attempts to read through the same paragraph were thwarted by the time she slammed the book shut, unable to get the notion of being married out of her head.

Husband. Husband? That would make her his wife, logically. But what wasn’t logical would be the ability to fathom this idea in the first place.

“Symin,” she suddenly said, catching the larger man’s attention. He swiveled a bit in his stool to face her.

“Do you need another reference?” He was referring to the Guardian mandible in his lap.

Zelda shook her head before choosing her words carefully. 

“What are your thoughts on marriage?”

“Um,” Symin wrinkled his nose and gazed up at the ceiling above. “Uh, I have very little on the subject. Why ask me?”

“Don’t hit on my assistant, Zelly,” Purah’s voice echoed from within the Guardian body she was dismantling. “I’ll tell on you to Linky.”

That made Zelda place her hands on the table and partially stand. The metal parts lying on her skirt clattered to the ground. 

 “So, you think we’re married too?” She was louder than she usually was with a tone of finality. 

Symin nearly gawked, “You aren’t?”

“No!”

“You aren’t?” Purah echoed, popping her white head of hair out of the sea of wheels and cogs.

“Purah you should know this!”

“Zelly, you must know old women don’t poke their noses into other people’s business! Consider it an educated guess.”

Zelda groaned, falling back into her seat with her head in her hands.

The researcher’s assistant beside her shifted awkwardly in his seat.

“Well,” he started, then stopping and starting again. “It must have been another dramatization when the story began spreading across Hyrule.”

“What’s the story say then?” she said, defeat in her stature and embarrassment on her cheeks. “I might as well know how it was told.”

Purah had fully reemerged now, her clothes stained from oil. She wriggled onto the table. “Something something, before the Princess’s birthday,” she sang, “the goddesses something something and under the watchful eye of Hylia they eloped or whatever.”

“We eloped?”

“I don’t know!” Purah threw up her short arms. “That’s what the bird said!”

“Look,” Symin steered her away from his mentor. “Maybe it’d be best if you got home and explained it to Link before he hears it from someone else.”

She considered it. He was right. Zelda should rip the bandaid off early on, then the awkwardness could pass faster.

Right? 

“I will say, I was hurt that I wasn’t invited,” Purah pouted, handing Zelda her basket. “But remember that when there’s a real wedding.”

She didn’t have the emotional energy to argue at that point.

It had been hours since she had ascended the cliff and now the impending sunset brought dropping temperatures. The clouds over the sea hadn’t lightened her mood either.

By the time Zelda returned home, night had fallen outside and it caused her to assume that Link was wise enough to spend it in Kakariko. He knew she didn’t like the thought of him riding past dusk.

She waited until small bubbles manifested over the sea of oil and melted the butter for her mind to wander. It wasn’t… imposterous to make inferences based on their interactions. After all, they had known one another for over one-hundred years (with all minor happenstances abiding). Perhaps it was only natural that they developed their familiar bond.

Zelda had difficulties with darkness and he, with sleep, so it wasn’t an uncommon occurrence that she made herself a space amongst his makeshift pallets by the hearth, nor him in her bed in the loft. How many times has that happened?

Many times. Most nights.

The heat on her face was quickly blamed on the simmering risotto base. Gradually, she stirred in the rice and spices, copying the movements she’s seen Link do before. 

Besides, sleeping together - no, merely sharing the same proximity - was born of necessity. There were plenty of activities a married couple performed that they didn’t. Nikki and Nack called one another the most egregious nicknames. Zelda nodded to herself, stirring the contents of the pan with fervor. That was something they never did.

They were comfortable roommates. Who slept together on the occasion.

And who shared lingering touches when words didn’t suffice. 

She was wary to confess the feelings she harbored for those small moments when he’d brush the side of her cheek and down the length of her hair; the only times she regretted her dubious haircut. And maybe she did enjoy the opportunities to remind him to shave by cupping his cheek in her hand. Thrill wedged itself in her heart when he leaned further into her touch.

Discomfort sat at the bottom of her stomach. Zelda frowned deeply. The familiar sensation of impending disappointment ebbed at her.

The door at the head of the room clambered open, revealing the sheets of rain falling from the heavens. Boots stomped a couple steps on the hard-wood and the door shut more gently than it opened. 

“I’m sorry,” a chilled, but deeply familiar voice said. “I’m late.”

Zelda sat back on her haunches, taking Link in as he peeled off his sopping cloak. His shoulders shook as the rain had long set into his clothes.

“Link,” she whined. “Hylia above, what have I told  you about riding in the rain? Especially in this weather!”

“I know,” he grinned wryly at her from across the room. “And I nearly rented a room, but then goddesses told me you were cooking tonight.”

She would have chastised him further and ran to grab him an extra change of clothes, but her previous thoughts pounded in the back of her brain and the steady bubbling of risotto kept her in her place.

“You’re too much for me,” she huffed, barely looking at him. “Can you check to see if this is done?”

Suddenly, his breath was right next to her ear. “I’ll move out anytime you want me to.” 

A pause.

“It’s perfect, Zel.”

Her hand stilled in its stirring. There went the nickname criteria.

Zelda caught his eye and his amused expression deflated slightly. She blinked, “This is your house.” 

A small crease formed between is brow. “And?”

“And,” she emphasized, “you’re going to catch a chill in your own home if you don’t change.”

Link didn’t move immediately and she could feel his stare, but eventually he relented to her nagging. She could hardly hear him shuffle about the room once his boots were removed. When Zelda pulled the pan from the fire, he was descending down the loft in a simple cloth shirt and trousers.

“Did I do something?” he said, idling by the foot of the stairs.

That had made her brow furrow and her frown to deepen. 

“No,” she nonchalantly answered, throwing down a potholder on the table with more force than needed.

He eyed her from the cabinet and pulled out a couple plates.

“I am fine,” she copied his stare and could tell the question was on the tip of his tongue. Still, he held her gaze from across the room. Zelda pressed the appropriate silverware onto the placemats.

“Link, stop that. I’m fine.”

When he closed the distance to put the appropriate plates on their mats, he hadn’t yielded to her reassurances and took note on the way she stepped away to give him extra room.

Annoyance wormed into Zelda’s chest and she dimly noticed that this manner of interrogation was used before.

“Have I done anything?” Link asked again, genuinely this time. “Because I’m sorry if I worried you.”

It was a wonder how this was the same man who could take on three lynels at once. She only knew because she’s seen it. The fire was there when he stared down Ganon after a year of waking up from a century of slumber, it hadn’t stifled the flame in his eyes. But now, he was careful with her. The blue of his eyes was soft, gentle and fully willing to apologize when there was nothing he did wrong.

“No,” she said, forcing herself to match his demeanor because it wasn’t fair for her own troubles to affect him. “No, you haven’t.”

His follow up question didn’t need a voice.

“I heard something in town and,” she stopped to let her stiff shoulders sag. “I don’t think you’ll like it.”

Gods, she sounded like she was a child about to admit to breaking something. As she said the words, she realized that the idea itself hadn’t bothered her. What had bothered her was his potential reaction. 

Zelda could say they were friends, even close friends, but lovers? Spouses? The pull of her heart at the thought scared her.

Disappointment. There would be disappointment in his eyes that would leave her  to hurt.

“They think,” she paused. He tried to take her fidgeting hands in his, but she pulled away and left him dumbfounded. Zelda didn’t like that expression at all on him, only making her more flustered in what to do. 

“Who?” His tone was gentle, like calming a spooked horse.

Zelda breathed in a large breath, “This morning. Ivee and- and Pruce and… Nikki and Nack...”

She trailed off, searching the floor and Link for words.

“The townspeople?” 

Tentatively, she nodded, not quite able to spit out what she needed to say.

Now, he was fully confused. “What do they think? Zelda, I promise you they don’t judge you for what had happened.”

The Calamity. Of course he would be thinking she was worried about that with how aloof her mannerisms suddenly were. Assuming he guessed right, his small frown upticked to sympathy.

“They’d never pin that on you. If anything, they warmed up to you more than they did to me.”

He began to tell her about the odd stares he got when he began reconstruction of the house. All the stories that would typically make her laugh, but all she could do with stare at their feet.

“They think we’re married!”

The words that flew from her were unequivocally hers yet her ears could hardly believe it. Link’s lips fell into a small “o” as he took a step back. Shock barely registered on his features, and it made her regret saying anything at all. She hated the way his eyes left hers.

Unsure of what to do, she watched him pace to the opposite wall and back. Never did he meet her gaze in turn for the rafters above. A hand brushed through his damp hair.

He swallowed the remnants of his tales, more softer with a certain disbelief, “Married, huh?”

Her quiet response affirmed him.

If this had been any other situation, she would have poked fun at the way he was behaving. Nothing about him exuded the certain confidence he so often employed in front of her. Lucky was a word she would have used if she managed to confound him like this.

“Ivee was the first to mention it in passing,” Zelda placated. “I thought it was a simple misunderstanding until Pruce then Nikki then Amira until…”

“Until it wasn’t so simple,” he finished for her. She smoothed a piece of hair behind her ear with a nod.

They fell back into a quietness. Some of Link’s shock gave way for, what she assumed, a reluctant acceptance.

The risotto was growing cold and neither had the stomach to point it out.

Zelda wasn’t ignorant about her feelings. However, she knew she was a coward. Before the Calamity, she had an understanding of why his name suddenly filled up the pages of her diary. Back then, Link had a silent charm to him that let her be herself for a short moment. It enraptured her. But she also had an excuse to never admit it. 

Now, she had nothing to hide behind. No Calamity Ganon was going to drag her away from the man who was obviously embarrassed to be seen as her husband.

“Married?” he asked again, as if she hadn’t confirmed it for the umpteenth time. He was leaning against the table with his hand rubbing his neck.

“Yes, Link,” she was growing frustrated. “They think we’re… you know.”

Then, he looked up. “Is that a bad thing?”

Link’s eyes swept the room at her startled reaction. “Well,” he said with a raised brow and a small shake of his head. “If you’re completely against it then I am too, but-”

Then, to her absolute surprise, he shrugged. “It’s not horrible.”

“What are you saying?”

“I’m saying,” there was defensiveness in his voice, “that other people assuming I’m married isn’t the worst rumor in the world.”

Now Zelda was thoroughly convinced he had stumbled upon a pub on his way home. “You do realize that it would mean I would be your wife.”

His shrug was more grandiose this time. “And I would be your husband.”

By then, the room was much dimmer. The fire lacked wood and Zelda hadn’t had time to think about lighting candles. She could make out his features, but could hardly read them.

“So, you’re not mad?”

Link wasn’t leaning on the table anymore. The action made her feel closer to him. 

“Why would I be mad at you?”

She crossed her arms over her chest. “Not at me. The rumor.”

There was hesitation in his movements, but he crossed the little amount of space between them. “Honestly? It makes sense why more people haven’t outwardly hit on you.”

That comment made her let out a short laugh.

“But no,” he said; she could hear his smile. “I’m not mad… not at all.”

Link’s approach was slower than usual, but she opened up to his enticing pulls that evolved into a gentle embrace.

There were many doubts Zelda harbored. Most old, some new. To her, they were indistinguishable. Yet, all were forgotten, if only for a little while when he held her close in his arms.

When she bunched the cloth of his shirt in her hands, she felt him shiver. 

“You’re going to catch a cold,” Zelda muttered.

All he did was hold her closer. 

[coeurdastronaute]

Either/Or: Single 9

Previously on Single

Things were going well. Things were going outrageously well, and Lena didn’t know what to do about it. Sometimes, she didn’t even think about it, just kind of did it. As much as she wanted to overthink her way out of everything, it just didn’t happen, because Kara was easy, and Lena felt good, for the first time in such a long time. It was like waking up and realizing she hadn’t been aware of so many things. 

Most importantly, Lena was finding that she just fit well with Kara Danvers. She fit well enough to be comfortable, and she wasn’t sure that she’d ever been comfortable with another person, and as foreign as it was, Lena wasn’t running away, as she thought she might. Weirdly enough, she stuck around. 

“I’m sorry I’m late. I am so sorry. I got stuck on the phone. I’m so so sorry,” Lena chattered as she hurried to sit down at the table her girlfriend held. 

“Hey, take a breath,” Kara chuckled and waited until Lena actually took a breath. She smiled and waited. “I got your text. Don’t worry. It’s okay.” 

“I know, but I didn’t mean to be late.” 

“I’d hope not. I’m a great lunch companion.” 

“That’s true. My favorite.” 

Kara beamed, and Lena loved that smile. She loved the feeling of making Kara smile the most because she never imagined she was someone who was funny enough to make anyone, let alone Kara smile. 

“You look very pretty today,” Kara offered. “Even when you’re all frazzled.” 

“I’m never frazzled. I am a Luthor. We do not get frazzled.” 

“Tell that to the girl who just ran into Gio’s like her butt was on fire.” 

“You look beautiful, by the way.”

“There’s my girl.” 

Lunch dates were a fairly new invention to Lena who was used to dates late in the evening after work, usually with drinks, usually with sex after. That was the extent of the interactions she had in the dating world. But lunch dates were honestly the best. It meant Lena got out of the office, and it meant an hour of solid flirting and talking with Kara, uninterrupted by anything else. Sometimes, lunch dates were in one of their respective office, and sometimes it was in a new restaurant or an old favorite. Lena made sure to ask Kara at least once per week. She was doing her best to quantify being a girlfriend, and a great one. 

Most of the time they were successful in being uninterrupted. It was easy to do when even Jess was fond of letting Lena have those lunches. 

“Oh, I’m sorry, but I have to…” Kara trailed off as she looked at the number that appeared on her phone. 

“I’ll allow it, as the better girlfriend.” 

She rolled her eyes before picking up the call and excusing herself from the table to take it outside. Lena smiled into her glass and grabbed another slice of pizza from the shared tray between them. Even though she now had the moment to do it, Lena didn’t bother picking up her phone. 

“Can you take care of the check with this?” she smiled politely at the waitress and handed over her card. “And if you could, two orders of tiramisu, one for the table, and one to go.” 

“Of course, Ms. Luthor. How was everything?” 

“Gio is going to be responsible for my wardrobe not fitting.” 

“It’s worse working here. I have to work out twice as much.” 

“I can’t imagine. My girlfriend has the metabolism of a greyhound. I’ve never been more jealous.” 

“That’s a superpower I would want most of all. Eat all of the carbs and they didn’t count,” she chuckled and picked up a few plates and glasses. “I’ll be right back with that. And I’ll box up this up for you.” 

“Thanks.” 

It took a few more minutes, but Kara came back to the table, noticeably more sullen than when she walked outside. 

“That face doesn’t look like someone who has tiramisu on the way and another to take home for their afternoon snack.” 

“God, you’re the best,” the reporter sighed, though her mood didn’t improve. “That was a lead on my pollution story. I wasn’t sure I’d get the chance to interview a controller and purchaser for the state, but there was an opening through a friend of a friend. What?” 

“Nothing, you’re just… I like when you talk about work. Usually it’s me that does that. It’s refreshing. Tell me more.” 

The tiramisu was placed in front of them, and Kara picked up a fork immediately as she kept talking. 

“I’ve been waiting for a break, or at least a chance to ask some real questions. I mean, I’ve practically memorized the budget for waste management and funding for companies and their waste. But I haven’t been able to get anyone to go on record.”

“But you’ve found someone,” Lena reminded her, taking a bite of the shared dessert. She watched Kara watch her lips and gulp before going for more. 

“I, uh, yeah, I do. But I don’t have anyone to watch Katie. Alex is away on her anniversary trip, my mom is at a conference. And I can’t string together everyone else. It wouldn’t work.” 

“Ow long do you have to go for?” 

“Should just be like two days. I have to go the capitol. But I can fly back. You know. Like… fly, fly.” 

Things had been easy since Mon-El left. There was a peace that existed there, and Lena really didn’t mind spending time with Katie. It was easier to do when she knew everything, and even when she heard Kara’s stories of home and her mother. But somehow Kara’s ex made the couple feel closer together. Weirdly enough, it made Lena feel more comfortable to know that Kara was all in. 

“I’ll take her.” 

“Um, what?” Kara furrowed and debated before giving Lena the last bite. She was gunning for the best girlfriend slot again and that was the most selfless thing she could think of. 

“You didn’t ask me, but I can watch Katie.” 

“Well, yeah, but we’re going slow. And I didn’t-- I mean I wouldn’t--”

“It’ll be a good way to get to know her and I’m a responsible adult individual who can do that.” 

Across the table, Kara looked at her girlfriend and debated. Her daughter was a lot, and was even more for someone who didn’t have much experience. But Lena knew everything already and she was a capable adult individual. 

“Are you sure?” 

“Yes. I mean it. I am going to have to get good at kids… or at least one kid, and it’s this kid. So I should try. I mean, she’s indestructible, so who better to practice on.”

“That’s almost a good point,” Kara nodded and chuckled at Lena’s pragmatic explanation. “But are you sure you want to?” 

To her credit, Lena thought about it again, debating over her idea. And when she looked at Kara, she felt her heart grow and swell and her chest grew warm. It was a feeling she adored having, but she was afraid of getting used to it. If she fell in love with Kara, and if she couldn’t do the kid thing, then it would hurt. Better to find out sooner, rather than later. 

Plus, she was trying to be the best girlfriend, and Kara had given her the last bit of tiramisu. 

“I want to. I want you to be able to go do  your work stuff and not worry. You should be able to count on me.” 

“I do.” 

“Okay. Then it’s decided. I will be an expert babysitter and you will conquer the world.” 

“You’re amazing, did you know that?” 

“I did actually.” 

Kara smiled and let her girlfriend have it. Lena might not have known it, though Kara suspected she did, since her brain was always thinking things over-- but it was a big deal, and they knew what it meant. 

“So long as you knew,” Kara smiled. 

XXXXXXXXXX

Lena didn’t do anything without careful planning and extreme research. Babysitting was no different. For a few hours, she shirked work and looked up topical subjects to discuss with a five year old. She looked up all kinds of things, reading parenting blogs about how to handle things like tantrums and what foods were healthiest. Lena even learned basic life-saving techniques like the Heimlich and refreshed her CPR skills as best she could from a webpage. She had a wonderful pep talk and extensive list of instructions from her girlfriend. 

She was ready. Or as ready as anyone could hope to be. 

Somehow, in the grand scheme of things, Lena found herself standing outside of an elementary school, waiting for a child to appear.  

“Lena! I’m so ‘cited to see you!” Katie hopped down the steps and skipped toward her through the crowd of people. 

“Hey! I’m excited to see you too.” 

“Do you want to help me with my homework but can we play first?”

There was a lot of energy happening, but Lena smiled because Katie held her hand and persisted to tell her about her day at school. She truly was like her mother in so many ways. 

“We can definitely play first. I really want to go on the swings,” Lena decided. “And I was thinking maybe cheeseburgers for dinner?” 

“Oh, I love cheeseburgers!” 

“Me too!” 

The park was fairly busy with the bustle of the afternoon crowd, but still, they tossed the backpack in the car and took to the park joyfully. Lena came prepared, exchanging her heels for sneakers and work out clothes. The thing she kept reading was that the best practice with children was to get on their level and take part in their activities. That meant running around, and as much as she kind of dreaded pretending to have fun, Lena allowed herself the time to enjoy it. 

They stopped at the best burger place in the city and ordered their food when Kara called to check on them and say goodnight. Lena found it comical how big her phone was in comparison to Katie’s tiny hand. 

“How’s the investigating going, darling?” Lena smiled into her phone while Katie asked for help with her ketchup packet. 

“So far so good,” Kara breathed, somewhat relieved on the other side of the line. “You two seem to be having a good time.” 

“I don’t want to jinx it, but we are. We’re going to head back home and do homework, bath, and bed. Easy night.” 

“And I am across the country while you’re in my bed. It’s a travesty.” 

“I agree.” 

There was a tiny blush as Lena hurried to eat a fry and shut up before she said something stupid in front of a kid.

“Thank you for doing this. I mean it. It means so much to me, and--”

“Just admit I’m the best girlfriend.” 

“I admit it. I’ll sing it from the rooftops.” 

“Don’t worry about us here. Just go do what you gotta do, and we’ll see you on Sunday evening.” 

“It’s a date. Have a good night. I’ll try to call in the morning.” 

“Bye Mommy!” Katie sang towards the phone. 

“Bye, Kara,” Lena offered with just as much joy. 

“Bye ladies. Have fun!” 

With the phone hung up, and the two left at their small table, Lena looked at Katie who just looked back at her before taking a big bite of her burger. 

“Is this what it’s always like?” Lena asked. 

“Yeah except we don’t always eat burgers sometimes Mom makes me eat other foods.”

The CEO just smiled and ate another fry. 

XXXXXXXXXX

Maybe she was just overprepared or overconfident, but Lena found that following her schedule was a perfect way to pass the time with a kid. As she promised Kara, they worked on some homework and got a bath and shower respectively. Lena was only nervous half of the time of doing something wrong, and that was a win and a half for her. 

“And they lived happily ever after,” Lena finished reading the story and closed the book, satisfied by the book well enough. 

Part of what made her nervous about kids was that she honestly had no interest in how unintelligent they were. They just weren’t fully formed yet and found burps amusing and watched such droll and dull shows and read such easy books, and she couldn’t fake interest well at all. She’d been pleasantly surprised by how unannoyed she found herself with all of Katie’s childish things. 

“We can read another,” Katie offered, trying to get out of bed to find another book. 

“I think three was more than enough,” Lena shook her head, amused by the treachery that was attempted. “You should sleep now so I can work on my homework.” 

“Do you need some help? I’m good at homework, you saw mine. It was so good.” 

“Mine’s very boring. You wouldn’t like it,” she promised, pulling the blankets up. “But thank you for offering.”

“Is Mommy going to be home soon?” 

Her eyes were like Kara’s and her chin tilted in the same way. It was amazing to see in person, and genetics, though a simple enough concept, was magnificent. 

“She will be home in a couple of days. But for now, I’m going to stay here. I’ll sleep in your mom’s room.” 

“Like when you stay over sometimes.” 

“Yes, right, exactly,” Lena blushed slightly. 

“Where do you live?” 

“Oh, Well, I live downtown. My house is high up in a tall building

“Can I see it?” 

“There aren’t any toys or fun things for kids to do, you wouldn’t like it.” 

“But you live there and you’ve seen where I live.” 

That was fair Lena realized before being caught by the notion that a five year old was outsmarting her somewhat in the logic department. 

“Maybe we’ll go see it. But I can’t promise.” 

“Sounds good.”

“Good night, Katie. Sleep well. Sweet dreams.” 

“Night, Lena.”

Door finally closed behind her, Lena wasn’t aware of how exhausting Katie had been until she was left in the quiet. And she still had the kitchen to clean up and her work to get done. She wanted to tell Kara that she was amazing for getting it all done and still working on her career. Instead of calling her though, Lena decided she was going to be someone Kara could count on more often. 

XXXXXXXXXX

“Oh Christ!” Lena jolted awake when she saw two eyes staring back at her and felt a hand on her cheek. Her heart leaped and thumped until she realized where she was and who was touching her. 

Katie just giggled and climbed into the bed completely. 

“Good morning. I woke up and went potty and now I’m very hungry. Like I could eat a stack of pancakes.” 

“Let me catch my breath… for a minute…”

“You’re scared when you waked up.” 

“I don’t have kids at my house waking me up usually. I was just a little frightened.” 

Lena turned her head and looked at the little girl who made herself comfortable in the big bed, very close to her. Before she could say something, she felt her phone vibrating and reached for it quickly. 

Katie bounced a little and urged Lena to help with breakfast while the CEO tried to hear what was happening on the other end of the line. 

“Why don’t you go set the table for breakfast,” Lena tried, covering her phone while her assistant kept telling her about what happened with some deal. 

An instant later, little feet made their way down the hall and Lena was able to focus on the task at hand. In a matter of five minutes, she realized that she would have to go into the office to handle it, and now she was unsure of if babysitting was a good idea. 

But it was too late to second guess it. 

“George, hey, I’m so sorry to call-- yes,” Lena smiled as she made her way down the hall. “Could you pick me up at Kara’s…” Katie was already watching cartoons. “And stop and pick up a booster seat.”  

XXXXXXXXXX

“Wow… your office is very cool and awesome,” Katie observed as she sat behind the big desk, eyes wide and enjoying the seat. “I like the windows.” 

“Thanks. It’s alright, I guess,” Lena smiled to herself as she looked around her office. 

“That’s my mom.” 

Katie pointed at the picture frame that had the pair at a gala month ago. Kara had her arm around Lena’s waist and was smiling happily. Lena remembered when they got a little tipsy and stumbled back to her place and the dresses didn’t survive the needy hands and eagerness both exhibited. It was a good memory, and it took that for Lena to realize what useful things photographs were. 

“It is. We went to a party together.” 

“Why do you have it on your desk?” 

“Because I like to look at it and feel happy. Your mom makes me feel happy when I’m kind of bored or stressed. She makes me smile.” 

Katie thought about it and nodded, furrowing at the picture. 

“Yeah, she’s good at making people smile.” 

Her legs kicked and couldn’t reach the floor. Lena took a picture and sent it to Kara so she could see her daughter as CEO-in-training. And then Lena got to the task of running her company while entertaining a child. It was an extra level of difficulty she hadn’t anticipated, but Katie was well behaved, coloring a little and then watching a movie on the couch in the corner while Jess plied her with popcorn and juice. Every step of the way, she asked Lena what she was doing, and even though she didn’t understand anything at first, she listened intently and decided that Lena’s job really was boring. 

Lena had to agree. 

“So the other people didn’t like your… stipala-- stiplat-- what was it?” 

“Stipulations,” Lena explained again with a smile. “Right. So now I have to give them more money to accept those and my board doesn’t want to.” 

“You have lots of money?” 

“Yes. But do you want to know a secret?” Katie nodded eagerly as she leaned against the desk. “When you have a lot of money, you don’t tell people that you do.” 

“Why?” 

“It’s kind of boring to talk about.” 

“What does this company do?” 

“They kind of make new inventions.” 

“That’s pretty cool.” 

Lena type away for a second and waited for another call from her board. She knew the telltale signs of someone who was sick of being stuck in the office, as she’d once been that little girl dragged along when promised something else. She was really mucking up the whole babysitting thing, and she did, desperately, wanted Katie to like her. 

“I don’t think there’s much more I can do right now, they just need my signature,” Lena sat back. “Want to do a little experiment? I can show you what this new company does with magnets and electricity.” 

“An experiment?” Katie asked, perking up slightly. 

“Press that button,” Lena pointed toward her phone. “And you can ask Jess for our supplies.” 

Lena wasn’t sure she’d ever seen such excitement, and she was certain she’d never connected with a kid like she did right there with Katie, her entire life coming full circle. Katie slid into her lap and Lena thought she might have understood a little better.