#what a world we live in that asking for a ceasefire is considered hateful and political
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If you've been boycotting Eurovision, you may have missed out on how bad it truly was, so here are a few events in no particular order:
The opening act of the semi-finals was Eric Saade, a swedish-palestinian singer who participated in Eurovision 2011. He wore a keffiyeh, a palestinian headdress, around his arm like a wristband.
Despite not making any political statements or drawing attention to his accessory, he was reprimanded by the EBU for "compromising the non-political nature of the event".
During their semi-final performance, the Irish contestant had the word "ceasefire" in old irish runes painted on their face. They were ordered to change it for the final, as it was deemed too political.
The contestant from Israel was not allowed to mingle with the other contestants, due to supposed security risks.
During an Interview, she was asked if she felt any concerns over her participation potentially endangering the event and the people present. The host told her she did not have to answer this question. Dutch contestant 'Joost' asked "why not?"
Joost, while not openly antagonizing the Israeli contestant, has made covert critical remarks about the EBUs decision to allow Israel to participate.
On Friday, the day before the Finale, Joost was investigated by the swedish police for a supposed incident where he threatened an EBU crew member. Thursday, a female camera operator had followed him off-stage to continue filming, even though there was an agreement not to film him off-stage. After she ignored his requests to stop, he threatened her with some sort of gesture.
Joost was disqualified mere hours before the finale. He was slotted to perform just before Israel and considered a favorite and potential winner.
The show itself did not address his disqualification. The dutch entry was simply skipped with no further comment.
Israeli broadcaster KAN was confirmed to have broken EBU rules during their coverage of the Irish act in the Semifinal. The commentator spoke negatively about their act, condemning the very scary goth aesthetic, and noting their willingness to criticize Israel's actions.
Despite Irish contestant Bambie Thug lodging a complaint with the EBU, there was no penalty or other repercussion.
If you were hoping that the event itself would turn into some sort of protest, I have to disappoint you:
Despite rumors of other contestants dropping out over Joost's disqualification, all of them performed.
There was audible booing every time Israel was on-screen, including their performance, announcement of points, and every time they received points. There was equally audible cheering.
No contestant or spokesperson directly addressed the ""controversy"" (read: ongoing genocide being artwashed), although very few made covert remarks about peace, love, dignity, and equality.
The most explicit it got was the Austrian spokesperson, saying something along the lines of "It's hard to find only positive words in a time where heartlessness prevails. But we hope everyone can unite through music and show that everyone deserves to be treated equally"
No one stormed on stage or held up a palestinian flag or anything, if you were hoping for that. I certainly was.
Israel gave its 12 points (both Jury and public) to Luxembourg. The singer is half-israeli and born in Jerusalem.
Jury votes mostly ignored Israel, netting them a total of 52 points through jury votes, which put them somewhere in the middle of the scoreboard. Norway, Cyprus, and Germany awarded them 8 points each, making them the main contributors.
In contrast, Israel received 323 points from the public voting. They were second only to Croatia with 337. 15 public votings, including "rest of the world" awarded Israel their 12 points, more than any other country would receive. The only countries not to award any points to Israel in the public vote were Croatia and Ukraine.
Israel thereby placed 5th out of 25.
But hey, at least the winner (Switzerland) was nonbinary, diversity win amirite.
Notably, they had to smuggle in their pride flag, since EBU guidelines only allow flags of participating countries and the rainbow flag. (This is also why palestinian flags were not allowed. It's not a new rule, but they certainly weren't going to start bending it now.)
If there's one thing to take away from this: Do not ever think the rest of the world is on your side, just because your social media is. The rest of the world has shown their allegiance, and it lies with Israel and Genocide.
Do not stop fighting for what is right.
#esc 2024#eurovision#boycott eurovision#joost klein#boycott israel#palestine#long post#political#bambie thug#ceasefire#what a world we live in that asking for a ceasefire is considered hateful and political#“stop killing each other” should not be a controversial take#also im not interested in any discourse about it#this is a retelling and some numbers on it#go bother someone else if you must
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im a white jew, i was born in israel,
ive lived there all my life and was brought up in an environment that fosters racism driven by nationalism, nationalism driven by racism.
in israel, they teach you jews and muslims (though usually, they just say arabs) have always been enemies, the same way the US deems the entire middle east as a inherent war zone, ridding them of the responsibility for perpetuating war in thst region.
they tell you "were the fair and humane side who strives for peace! its the arabs who never accept the offer!"
i remember the first time i began doubting that sentiment was in fourth grade, when we were having a discussion in class about the character of Saul from the Torah. the teacher was talking about how Saul, the first monarch of the Kingdom of Israel, used to fight the Philistines, and when she added that the Philistines were the natural enemy of the Israelites, she asked the class what group of people is their modern equivalent to which everyone very eagerly replied "Arabs!" and nevermind that there in that same class sat two arab boys, one of whom sat next to me, who i looked at and thought "but he isnt my enemy? hes just a boy in my class."
they teach you to hate arabs. sometimes they say it outright. sometimes they say it more carefully, or make a distinction between good and bad arabs, those who are with us and those who are against us.
in a state based on the idea of (white) jewish supremacy, they teach you jews are naturally superior. they use the conspiratorial narrative of "jews controlling the world" to their favor, giving their own watered down explanation for why antisemitism exists, saying that it must be driven by jealousy.
the zionist movement always used antisemitism to its advantage, either for reinforcing the notion of jewish supremacy or appealing to the real pain and trauma of generations, people who survived the holocaust, connecting them to stolen land where they are "guaranteed" safety ergo granting "justification" for the suffering of others.
its using peoples real pain that makes fear mongering so effective, and when the israeli population grows up being told all of their neighboring countries want to kill them, they quickly get defensive of the "only land where they can feel safe", but the only explanation ever provided for Why these neighboring countries are considered enemies is because theyre arabs.
and when it comes to palestine, it isnt even recognized as a country, nor identity. just a threat. ive talked to many people who are genuinely unaware of the occupation, and they arent willing to believe it either, because the media narrative has successfully shifted the blame on hamas. because "how could it be us? we want peace! its the terrorists who make us look bad! and their children, they grow up to be antisemites*, might as well get rid of them too!" they never stop to think what environment these children must grow up in to develop these "radical" ideas.
* what they mean by antisemite is really just antizionist, but the term anti/zionist isnt practiced in local dialect, being a zionist is treated as a given
any jew who stands against israels oppression is dubbed a self hating jew, but the biggest contributors to antisemitism is the people in charge of an ethnostate, because at any moment they could decide who is not white enough to be jewish, who is too jewish to be white, who stood against the current coalition government and who is an obedient dog.
israelis arent a monolith, but many of them have been won over, convinced its an "us v them" situation, when in reality it could never be the "us" that "loses"
the israeli government was waiting for an event like the massacre on the seventh of october to declare war, to have the so called "right to defend itself", so they could initiate the final steps of an ethnic genocide and displace, if not kill, all remaining palestinians. under the guise of bringing peace.
it isnt too late to call for a permanent ceasefire, to end the occupation.
please contact your representatives, attend protests and rallies if you are able. palestine will be free, and the flowers will rise again.
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i work for a school district and our labor union back in november wanted to put out a ceasefire statement that didn’t condemn hamas and blamed israel for the conflict. i live in a pretty liberal area where there have been a lot of protests and even riots since the war started. there are only like 10 jews in the entire district and we rallied to go to the executive board meeting and talk about why this was a dangerous thing to do especially at a time when literally none of us were going to shul bc of all the bomb and shooting threats. i spent an hour on the worst zoom call of my life traumatizing myself trying to explain to the people in my union who i fully believe had good intentions why this was not something that was appropriate for a teachers union on the other side of the world with literally no stake in the conflict to do and that it would disproportionately impact the few jewish folks who actually work here and are materially impacted by the war. after listening to my union president go on about how she doesn’t want to be “the arbiter of what is and is not antisemitism” (which, nobody was asking you to do that. we literally just wanted you to listen to us when we told you a thing was antisemitic) one of the staff from my school (bless him) suggested rewording the statement to be more specific to the union so that instead of taking a position on the war, it was acknowledging the impact it was having on our communities and pledging solidarity with any union or community members who were affected by it. and that’s what they ended up doing! which felt pretty good despite having to sit there and be questioned and attacked for saying “maybe you don’t have to have an opinion on something that literally doesn’t affect you and maybe you should listen to the people who actually have a stake in this and are being attacked because of it”
fast forward to yesterday. without announcing to the general union members they voted again on a ceasefire resolution and pushed it through, sending out a link to call your congressperson about calling for ceasefire to all union members. i’m just. what was even the point of all of that if they were going to ignore everything we said and push it through anyway. i get that things are bad and i hate the war too. but all this is doing is alienating the few jews in the district who are already being attacked by their coworkers and students over the war regardless of our position or opinion on it. i’m lucky in that my building staff has been really supportive to my face and have stood up for me behind my back. my coworkers at other schools are having a very different experience and it’s so frustrating that those experiences are constantly diminished and compared to others. none of the things that we talked about back in november have changed. all of the reasonings for not making a statement on this are the same. but the union leadership pushed it through anyway, without telling the union until after it was already over and done. i’m just so tired of being ignored by the group that is supposed to be advocating for me. i’ve been having issues with district admin overloading my classes and the union has ignored me because of what i did at that meeting back in november (when i was terrified and traumatized and begging them to not endanger us further) and the district obviously isn’t going to help me. i’m in my second year of teaching considering quitting because of all of this. what the hell am i supposed to do now.
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As somewhat of a sports blogger, I wanted to wake up talking about a great Super Bowl and all the congrats and memes and everything. But I'm sorry, if that post does come, it's gonna have to take a while. I can barely focus on it considering the latest in Israel's long line of abhorrent war crimes in Palestine, specifically a deadly bombing in Rafah and hinting at a ground invasion after months of herding Gazans over there as a "safe zone". All the while they fund Super Bowl ad propaganda again painting opposition to their evil as antisemitism (Big difference) asking to "bring the hostages home" after months of them turning down hostage exchange deals. Just as it's clear that this was timed to distract the U.S. from it with the Super Bowl, it's revoltingly clear the hostages are totally expendable to them for the sake of prolonging this genocide. (Not a war, a genocide.) And all the while, the Western world, especially the U.S. government and the Biden administration, are funding and supporting it. Funding a generational display of evil with billions of dollars while acting like there's no money to fix a sagging economy where just about all everyday Americans are getting suffocated by the jaws of late-stage capitalism. No way to fix that apparently, but tens of billions of ways to help Israel deal with the aftermath of an attack they had telegraphed a year in advance. (Gee, it's almost as if Israel put their own people in the crosshairs as fodder to excuse more oppression of Palestine like the past 75+ years since they stole it.) Not to mention them being the one vote in the UN to reject a ceasefire. And also how the vast majority of American corporations are backing Israel in all sorts of heinous ways. Now fast forward four months and the outcome? Tens of thousands of innocents dead, over a third of them children who likely never knew what they were being slaughtered for and never got to live out their lives. Millions displaced and traumatized. A beautiful culture battered. No justice or ceasefire in sight. I know that it's wrong to lose hope, and I definitely do hope that Palestine will be free soon enough, Zionism loses, and that at least a shred of justice hits everyone responsible for this. But man, I'll be honest, it just feels beyond hopeless to do anything. Besides, even if complete witchcraft took over and justice was served and the ceasefire was granted, nothing's going to bring back the people martyred, cure the trauma of the survivors, or reassemble all the rumble. And certainly, nobody should ever forget or forgive Israel and all its allies for participating in these atrocities. It absolutely should haunt all of them forever, and that 100% includes this country's government.
If it helps at all though, still don't forget to give your daily clicks to arab.org to fund UNRWA (which everyone cut funding to because of course they did). (In fact, assuming Incognito mode still gives out ad revenue, which the site uses, you could totally close and re-open arab.org to keep it going. I mean, it hopefully works for me! It's about time we found a great cause to use all those bots on! (maybe)
Maybe soon enough I'll have the somewhat normal posting again, but now doesn't feel like the time. And I know I expressed my pessimism earlier, but then again, history has constantly shown that bigotry and hate can only reign for so long, and hopefully...
From the river to the sea, Palestine will be free!
#palestine#free palestine#free gaza#rafah#save rafah#anti zionisim#genocide#i stand with palestine#current events#israel is a terrorist state#from the river to the sea palestine will be free#i'm so done with all this#to avoid going too tmi my future into adulthood is far from certain and moving very far away would be a fantasy for a long time#but if i had everything i needed to move then i would book it to somewhere like norway at the first chance i get#(or maybe canada even if it's hardly *that* much better in some ways)#just anywhere less likely to have successfully aided in another genocide than decrease the odds of any kids i have getting shot up in schoo#and then proceeding to have said attack used as an excuse to futher fascistic queerphobia and bigotry#but now's not the time for that rant#rambles#what a woeful world#arab.org#i do mean this wasn't very coherent but i just needed to get it out somehow
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Like Old Times (Father-Son Bonding AU)
A direct sequel to the “Expiration Date” fic, which I’ll link in a reblog. I’ve also posted all my fics in this AU to AO3!! Thanks again to @thetriggeredhappy for their help and just generally being a cool dude, and the Scoutsune Discord server for indulging my brainrot
No warnings beyond family schmoop!
Less than an hour after the bread monster incident, the Administrator called for a ceasefire. “Only while your base is repaired,” she said over the TV screen. “BLU is quite disappointed in this negligence- as am I. Regardless, you may use these three days as you see fit. Go home, stay here- whatever you do, no more bread monsters.” The screen turned off with a click.
Scout exhaled through his nose. He was thankful there was no mention of him or Miss Pauling’s woodchipper.
Spy decloaked behind him. “Less time than I wanted, but c’est la vie.” Scout looked at him over his shoulder. “I’m meeting with an old contact during our break,” Spy said in Italian. “Would you like to come along? It’ll be like old times.”
Scout’s brow furrowed, but he nodded. At least this way, he’d get out of helping Engie and Heavy with repairs. And possibly meeting Miss Pauling’s woodchipper.
“Excellent. Our flight is at 7 AM tomorrow.”
“We’re flying commercial?” Scout asked, also in (more hesitant) Italian.
“Our destination is continental. We’ll leave the base by 5:30.” Scout groaned as Spy started to leave. But- wait, he hadn’t-
“Oi, where are we going, anyway?” he called back in English.
Spy paused to look at him and smile. “Boston.”
“Why do we always get the ass-crack-of-dawn flights?” Jeremy asked groggily, reclining his seat.
“They are the ones with first-class seats available,” Raphael replied. He took a sip from his mimosa.
“Yeah, cuz God forbid you fly coach for once.” Jeremy shifted, trying to get comfortable. “Hey. Have I ever been to Boston before?”
Raphael didn’t answer immediately. His lip sucked in, as if in thought. “Yes. When you were very, very young. You wouldn’t remember.”
Jeremy nodded. He wanted to ask more, there was something Raphael wasn’t saying but… well, he was never a morning person. He fell asleep before the plane even took off.
. . .
It was mid-afternoon by the time they landed in Boston. Jeremy was never fond of long flights; having his legs cramped like that for extended periods of time was murder. He was half tempted to take a jog around Logan International. Raphael, on the other hand, was ushering them both to the car rental. “Can’t even get a stretch in, huh?”
“Unfortunately, we are expected by 4, and I would hate to keep my contact waiting,” Raphael explained in French, accepting the keys from the girl at the counter. “She’s not a very patient woman, in some regards.”
Jeremy huffed but didn’t argue. He just followed his father to the rental, tossing his suitcase in the backseat. “Y’know, the girl at the counter-”
“We will not have time for you to go out on a date, Jeremy.”
“No! No, it was- her accent’s kinda like mine, it’s weird,” Jeremy said. Raphael started the car. “Cuz I’ve only been here as a baby, and I got mine from TV and shit. It’s just… really strange, is all.”
Raphael made a quiet noise of agreement. “Some of the shows you watched as a child were filmed here. It’s not as complex as you think it is.”
“Yeah, probably not…”
The pair lapsed into silence as Raphael drove. Storefronts and high rises morphed into houses. It had been a while since they were in a residential area. RED, for understandable reasons, kept away from civilians.
Raphael took the roads with practiced experience. Sure, it had been implied he knew the area. If he had a contact here- one with a house, presumably- he must’ve spent time here. But this- this was far too familiar. A bit suspicious, actually.
Eventually, Raphael slowed in front of a more rundown Brownstone. Still quite nice, just needed a little work. It felt… welcoming, in a way Jeremy couldn’t name.
“Lotta cars,” he observed as Raphael parallel parked. “Must be a party going on somewhere.”
“Hmm, perhaps,” Raphael said, turning the car off. “Would you mind ringing the doorbell for me? I need to grab something from the trunk. Ask for Sara Jane.”
OK, now Jeremy knew something was up. He was never the one to make the first contact, that was always Dad’s job. Jeremy might be a full-grown adult, but there were some things that didn’t change. This was one of them.
Still, he nodded. He climbed up the front steps and ringed the doorbell. He heard- multiple voices from inside, predominantly male, but they quickly silenced themselves. A TV, perhaps? They really ought to get that flower box on the second story window fixed-
The woman who opened the door was a bit shorter than him, though not by much. She was wearing a simple dress, hoop earrings, and flats. Her hair was dark, curved to her chin. But her nose and earlobes felt… achingly familiar. Like Jeremy saw them all the time.
“Um, hi, I’m looking for Sara Jane? My name’s-” The rest of his speech was knocked out of him as the woman launched herself at him. Jeremy braced for an attack, but quickly realized she was… hugging him.
She was hugging him, sobbing, and choked out the word “Jeremy.”
Wait. He knew that voice. He had only heard it a few times in his life, few enough he could count them on one hand, but he knew it. “M-Ma?” he whispered.
The woman- Sara Jane- Ma looked up at him, still crying. Her hands found his face as she observed him. “Y-yeah, sweetie, it’s me, it’s-it’s your ma,” she said.
“Ma!” he laughed, tears of his own dancing down his cheeks. He hugged her back, practically lifting her off her feet. “Oh my God, Ma! I-I never thought I’d-”
“Oh Jeremy, sweetie, look how tall you’ve gotten! Last I saw you, you fit in my arms! My baby, my handsome baby,” she spoke over him. She rubbed circles into his back as they embraced. It felt so, so right.
Jeremy laughed even harder. “Are you kiddin’? I got it from you, you’re beautiful, Ma!” He stared at her, trying to commit every mole and wrinkle and perfect flaw to memory. “I can’t believe- oh my God, I’m actually meeting you!”
“It was long overdue,” another voice said, as Raphael joined them on the front stoop. “I had put it off for safety reasons, but considering our current, ah, situation… I felt it was worth the risk.”
Sara Jane squealed, pulling Raphael into the hug as well. “You’ve been taking good care of my boy, you promise me, Raphael?”
“Don’t worry Ma, he’s the best dad I could ask for, considering,” Jeremy teased.
“Oh, don’t I know it. Called me up last night and told me to get the whole motley crew together. Even managed to get Melvin to bring his twin daughters, bless his wife’s heart,” she explained.
Jeremy blinked. “Uh- Melvin? Daughters?”
Sara Jane laughed. It sounded so much like Jeremy’s it practically hurt. This was his mother. Lord, he’s finally seeing her. “Melvin’s your older brother, sweetie. Eh, sixth oldest. Bobby’s the oldest.”
“I have a brother?”
“Oh honey, you’re the youngest of eight,” Sara Jane said plainly.
“...fuck,” Jeremy whispered.
. . .
He didn’t just have seven brothers. He had seven brothers, four of which brought their wives, one who brought his boyfriend, and three who brought their kids. And the kids totaled to an additional six, counting the babies.
It was… an admittedly tight squeeze in the living room.
Sara Jane introduced Jeremy. Jeremy had been expecting to be treated like a stranger. He had vanished when he was a baby, after all, and his younger-older brothers probably wouldn’t remember him at all.
And yet, it was like he knew them all his life.
They teased him and punched him playfully and acted so friendly, so familial it nearly made Jeremy break down. He was still crying from meeting Ma, but being dogpiled with so much affection was suffocating. In a good way. He had seen on sitcoms the intrinsic bond between family, and while he felt it with Dad, they also risked their lives nearly daily. But it was real, it was here, and it was wrapping him in a warm blanket.
Despite the chaos and the sheer number of people, Jeremy didn’t feel overwhelmed. He laughed and played along with their jokes, cracking some back when he could get a word in. Scott ragged on his dog tags, he countered by pointing out the hole in his pants. Michael told him he was still a shortass, he replied with “it takes one to know one.” Elliot and Ricky were the closest to actually getting hurt, and that was only because Jeremy elbowed them both so hard they nearly fell over.
For the first time in 25 years, Jeremy understood what “home” meant.
The kids were especially curious, eager to meet their uncle and step-grandfather. Within seconds, young Rebecca- only four years old- was challenging Jeremy to a race around the house. “I’m the fastest kid in the world,” she bragged, puffing out her chest.
“Oh yeah?” Jeremy asked. “That a fact?”
“You wanna test me? I beat Johnny Three-Legs at running, and he’s got three legs!” Jeremy laughed and stood from the couch, letting her lead him outside. “On the count of three, OK?”
“You’re on, pipsqueak,” Jeremy teased.
“Onetwothree GO!” Rebecca yelled, taking off in a sprint. Jeremy knew that, by all accounts, he should beat her. His legs were longer, she didn’t have the proper running stance, and it was his job to be fast. That’s what he got paid to do. But some small voice was telling him to let her win, so he did. “Ha! I told ya!”
“Ya sure did,” he replied, mock panting. “Look at you, a freaking blur on the green. You’re goin’ to the Olympics, kid.”
Rebecca beamed and hugged his leg. “Promise, Uncle Jeremy?” He nodded because, after that display, there was no way he could speak without squeaking like a chew toy.
Rebecca skipped back inside, past Raphael, who was watching on the stoop. “You’re a natural with children,” he observed. “I used to do the same thing when you were that age.”
“Wait- wait, really? You sure fooled me,” Jeremy said.
Raphael rolled his eyes. “What’s my job again, mon lapin?”
“Yeah, yeah…” Jeremy leaned against the railing, watching Raphael’s cigarette smoke in the wind. “Hey. Uh… thanks for arranging all of this. You really didn’t need to.”
“But I did. I meant it when I said this was overdue. I’ve been wanting to introduce you to the rest of the family for a while, but have been unable. Then that whole ordeal with the supposed tumors, and-” Raphael exhaled slowly. “It wouldn’t have been fair to you if you died without knowing them. I would’ve never forgiven myself.”
Jeremy punched his shoulder lightly. “Don’t be so hard on yourself, pops. It all worked out, we’re still kicking, and that roast chicken Ma’s making smells incredible. Everything’s perfect.”
Raphael finished his cigarette and smiled. “Oui. It is.”
. . .
While Sara Jane had been able to get the rest of the family here, it was a school night. Kids needed to be tucked in by 9:30, so most of Jeremy’s brothers were gone by 8. Elliot was staying overnight, as was his boyfriend. Otherwise, the house quickly went from bustling to barren.
It gave Jeremy a chance to explore his would-be childhood home.
He made his way upstairs, pushing open one of the doors. It led- to little surprise- to a bedroom. It was set up like a nursery, with a crib in one corner and a toddler bed in the other. Toys were scattered about across the floor.
He heard Sara Jane sigh behind him. “This was your room, you know.” Jeremy turned to look at her as she flipped the light switch. “That crib… I had put you to bed the night your father planned to fake his death. I was in on the whole plan, naturally. He wanted to hold you one last time, so I said OK. When I woke up the next morning… you were both gone.” She exhaled slowly, grabbing onto his shoulder. “I wrote both of you off as dead, but I knew what had happened. Honestly, should’ve figured it out before then. You hadn’t woken me up crying,” she joked. Her eyes were watering.
Jeremy hugged her, pulling her close. “You never took the crib down?”
“By the time I was ready, Bobby’s wife was pregnant, so I kept it up for my grandbabies. I knew- I knew you were out there, sweetie. Both of you.” She kissed his cheek, squeezing him.
“I-I never got to be a normal kid, really,” he confessed. “I mean, Dad did his best, gave me comic books and board games and stuff, but-but I never went to school or made friends or anything like that. I-I didn’t even know I had a family. It took me forever to even realize I had a Ma. An-and everything I did-” The tears were flowing again, more freely than earlier. “Ya missed me losing my first tooth, and potty trainin’, and all that stuff parents should know about. I-I’m sorry,” he whispered.
Sara Jane wiped his cheek dry. “Don’t apologize for what your father did, Jeremy. And definitely don’t apologize for me not potty training another kid. Besides… hold on, I’ll be right back.” She made her way down the hallway. Jeremy didn’t follow, instead deciding to examine the crib. This was where he grew up. It was a simple crib, obviously well-used. Not worn-down, mind, just… used. It had a history. A history that Jeremy wanted to decode, but unlike his dad’s ciphers, he didn’t have the key.
“Took me a second to find it,” Sara Jane said. She handed him what appeared to be a scrapbook. “Raphael- he wrote when he can. Taught me some basic codes, would send out letters whenever you’d leave a town. Never left a return address, but…” Jeremy flipped through the pages, moving to sit on the small bed. The letters were all coded but appeared to be about how much Raphael missed Sara Jane. Updates on Jeremy’s growth. Letters from a father to his lover and son’s mother.
One page jumped out to him, though. “I remember this,” he said, running his fingers against the paper. It was a simple drawing of a young boy, holding a catcher’s mitt, and a taller man next to him. “I drew this after Dad took me to my first baseball game, for my eighth birthday. I thought I lost the drawing after we skipped town, but- he sent them to you?”
Sara Jane nodded. “And I kept them all. Oh, honey, the day I first heard your voice on the phone- Mikey can tell you, I damn near fell over. You sounded so happy, and even if I couldn’t see you, that’s all a mother wants.” Jeremy leaned against her and she shut the book. “That’s all a mother wants, sweetie. To see her kids be safe and happy.”
“I am, Ma,” he assured her. “I promise.”
They sat like that for a while, with Sara Jane commenting on various letters and drawings in the scrapbook. Apparently, Raphael sent her money when he could- more frequently now that Mann Co. paid so well. She also had a rough idea of their current occupations. “I figure, if you and your father are working for the same company- with his skills, there’s gotta be a whole lot of nonsense going on out in that desert.” Jeremy laughed at that because she wasn’t wrong. “But I also figure since he raised you right, he’ll keep the both of you safe.”
“I keep him safe too, don’t worry,” Jeremy added. “Uh- listen, it’s touching and all you kept the crib, but I don’t have to sleep in it, right?”
They both had a good chuckle over that. Their laughs were in perfect harmony.
. . .
The next two days were a mix of learning the family history and exploring Boston. It was the offseason, so there weren’t any games going on at Fenway, but Jeremy still got a picture in front of the park. Sara Jane took the pair to a restaurant that served “the best damn clam chowder in the contiguous United States.” Which, incidentally, led them to discover Jeremy was allergic to clams. Thankfully they didn’t have to go to the hospital- he just sort of immediately got sick before it passed- but it did suck.
It was damn good chowder, though.
They went down to the harbor where the Boston Tea Party happened. It was crowded with people, resulting in them not staying long. Jeremy was a bit better with crowds than Raphael, but neither was great with them. Came with the job. Getting overpriced memorabilia from a nearby gift shop, though, went over much more smoothly.
When not out on the town, Sara Jane dug out more scrapbooks and photo albums, catching Raphael up on what his stepsons had been up to. She showed Jeremy pictures from Ricky’s first school play to Scott opening up his butcher shop. Graduation pictures, wedding pictures, baby pictures- it was all there, and Jeremy devoured it. He wanted to know these people. He wanted to know his family.
And he did. He learned about Michael’s stint in the Navy, Melvin meeting his wife, how Bobby’s son could dribble a basketball for twenty minutes straight. He learned about how his parents met. How Raphael loved each of Sara Jane’s children, even if they weren’t biologically his. How Jeremy wasn’t planned- few of the kids were - but they were both so, so happy to realize he was coming.
He also learned that, while diner food would remain the undisputed king, homemade meatloaf came pretty close.
. . .
The only problem came when it was time to leave. It wasn’t that Jeremy didn’t want to return to work, or leave his Ma behind. Sara Jane wasn’t even torn up over losing her son and lover again. It just felt like there was so much left to say, to do. There was uncertainty as to when they’d be able to return.
“We get time off for Smissmas, I know that’s months away but I’ll be here, I promise,” Jeremy swore, hugging Sara Jane for the eighth time.
“You better,” she said, squeezing him tightly. “You have 25 years worth of gifts to catch up on, not to mention birthday gifts-”
“Ma, you don’t have to go that far,” he whined. He was touched, sure, but the thought of that much luggage was truly frightening. Oh God, he was going to have to get gifts for everybody, wasn’t he? What do kids even want for Smissmas?
“Hush, let me spoil my baby,” Sara Jane told him, kissing his cheek. “Oh, Jeremy…”
Jeremy nodded. “I know, but I’ll call. I’ll write, too. Send pictures if I can.”
“I’ll make sure he does,” Raphael assured her. Sara Jane stood to kiss his lips, with Jeremy looking away pointedly. “You have my word, ma petite chou-fleur.”
“Alright, alright- now get going, I don’t want you two missing your flight. That boss of yours sounds like she’ll tear you both a new one if you’re late,” Sara Jane said, shooing them away. “Love you boys!”
“I love you too, Ma!” Jeremy shouted back, for the very first time.
The drive back to the airport was quiet. Jeremy stared out the window, watching his hometown- he had a hometown- pass by. “Hey, dad?” he asked, still looking outside. Raphael grunted to acknowledge he was listening. “One of these days, our contracts with Mann Co. are gonna expire. We’re gonna have to find new jobs.”
“Yes, that’s correct,” Raphael said. He tapped a rhythm against the steering wheel.
“And-and I was thinking when that time comes… maybe we could come back to Boston. Find some gigs out here,” Jeremy suggested.
Raphael sighed. “Unfortunately, being a spy means that you don’t have the option of retiring, Jeremy. Not until you’re unable to complete your job. At that point, though, you’ve probably died a dozen times over,” he explained. “Even if I could retire, settling down somewhere so close to people I care about- I would still have enemies.”
“Right. ‘Course,” Jeremy said. “It’s OK.”
“That being said,” Raphael continued, “you have the luxury of youth and not being tied down to such a career. If you want to find a job in Boston after we finish with RED, there’s nothing stopping you.”
“But people will still be after me, since I’m your son. And you wouldn’t be around.”
“Every child leaves their parents someday. And you’re strong, Jeremy. You can protect yourself and your family.” Raphael smiled. “I don’t believe Sara Jane needs much protecting, but I do worry.”
Jeremy laughed. “I mean, did ya see the muscles on Scott and Michael? Guys can probably bench press a tractor!”
They both chuckled before settling into quietude. Eventually, though, Jeremy had to break the silence. His voice was barely above a whisper. “I love you.”
“I love you too, mon lapin.”
“...so your nickname for Ma is fucking ‘little cauliflower?’ What the hell, Dad?”
#father-son bonding au#Team Fortress 2#team fortress 2 au#tf2#tf2 fanfiction#tf2 scout#tf2 spy#tf2 scout's mom#dad spy#thetriggeredhappy#spy x scout's ma#noodle writes
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coin toss | jjk
you and jeongguk go way back, even before you were the menacing duo many knew you to be, even before he brought you into the mafia and left you there to join the city’s detective agency. a call for cooperation comes out of a common enemy, requiring the two of you to reconcile for one last mission.
pairing: jeon jeongguk x reader
word count: 25.4k
genre: soft and hard angst, mafia/detective agency au, complicated exes (?)
warnings: language, violence, blood, character death, sexual implications, little bit of gore, jimin has a weird hatred of yoongi idk don’t take it seriously, mentions of torture, grief, too many italics
a/n: long time no see everyone, hope you’re doing well! this story was inspired by my favorite anime, bungou stray dogs (it’s got a soukoku type beat & you’ll recognize some structures). it’s my first back in a while, and it’s also the longest piece i’ve written, so i hope you all enjoy it! <3
To be called to the Boss’s office for a quick word is almost always a sealed exit ticket from this world. One, because regular meetings of necessity are always held in the boardroom and discussed amongst the executives. Two, one on one meetings mean no witnesses. You’ve been there once before and barely made it out alive. To make it out a second time? The chances are practically nonexistent.
The room feels less like an office and more like an 18th-century study, a dark academia dream with the coffee-toned furniture and ceiling-high shelves stacked with books. The only sign of modernity is the pristine silver laptop sitting perfectly on his desk. The guards to the side of the room look straight ahead, no indication of how this will end for you.
“My dear, good to see you,” The Boss purrs, eyelids falling into tender crescents as you place yourself gently on the cushion of his ornate bergère. Typically there are two of a kind that sit across from his dark oak bureau, but at this moment one has been removed from the space so yours could be positioned parallel to his own chair.
The Boss has an intimidating air about him. From the gentle yet feline-like movements that look like they mask something sinister, to his signature verbosity that’s almost professorial, he’s the perfect paradigm of a godfather.
“And you, Boss. It’s been a while.” You maintain a cool tone, not breaking his eye contact. He was a dog that could smell fear and would drag it out of you if he thought it could sate his twisted desire for control.
He sighs as his cheshire smile fades. “I don’t like beating around the bush, as I’m sure you know. You... must have heard the rumors of a third party organization stepping foot in this city, yes?”
The whispers started only days ago, and the most you heard was only an assumption from another underling at the bar. Considering how much people loved to gossip and how boring it got around here, you were just going to brush it off. However, if it was enough to bring you here, it had to be something worth your attention.
“Yes, it’s been floating around.” You clear your throat. “Is it something to be worried about?”
He puts his elbows on the table and clasps his hands together, sucking a breath through his teeth. “This has happened before, when a new group tries to disrupt our hold on the functioning of our territory, and we have always squashed them from the picture quietly. But unfortunately, those who call themselves the Syndicate play dirty.”
It seems as if things were not heading in the track you imagined when being escorted on the long walk here. But then he orders the guards at the sides of the room out, and your heart jumps to your throat.
As the large doors close behind them, he resumes talking.
“Last week, twenty-two of our men were killed and one taken during a weapons exchange with a western group...who we thought were a western group. All they left behind was a handful of playing cards.” His wrist flicks up suddenly, a black card tucked between his two fingers. The shine on the back glints under the dim lamplight. He stares in disdain.
The nervous habit of jumbling your fingers started up in your lap, asking, “Who was it?”
“Underlings of the Syndicate,” he brushes past, holding up a single finger before continuing, “The key is that the missing one was a trusted man in our central intelligence unit. He was carrying knowledge of our expansion plans within the next year. When backup came, he was gone. Intelligence then reported that the Syndicate was also responsible for the crisis of our allies in the Midwest, Fox Lodge, two years ago. And a year before, the Federacy in Europe. They crumbled in a matter of weeks.”
The man sweeps his dark hair from his forehead, an undetectable motive flaring in his eyes, the one person you could never read.
“Simply,” he shrugs, “this fish is too big to fry on our own.”
You couldn’t help but swallow. “And that means…?”
“I’ve spoken to the director of the Detective Agency. A temporary ceasefire has been agreed upon... Similar interests, a common enemy, you see.”
Existed an extensive list of things that did not have the capacity to surprise you anymore in this life. But a ceasefire? That was impossible; The Detective Agency and the Mafia had always been at odds like a fated grudge of the gods above. The fighting had been continuous for all your time spent in the organization.
“I know,” he nods, “It is a miraculous thought. But they have the resources and we have the manpower. While it would be great to let Syndicate take them out for us, we would ultimately be next on their list. Cooperation is our best bet.”
And the thought of what this conversation may be coming to strikes you like lightning on waiting sand. “I thought you didn’t approve of betting, Boss.”
“Hmm… I see you’ve caught on,” he says pensively, a smile rising on his face as fast as it disappears. “This gamble is one I have much faith in. It used to be our ace in the hole, you remember?”
Weakly, you mumble, “I do.”
“You must realize that our situation is grave. I would not suggest it if there was another way. In the kindest manner I can put it, dear, your willing partnership is required.”
And there’s the kicker, the whole reason why. A sick feeling seethes in the pit of your stomach, makes you want to gag or throw up or pass out. You have a choice, of course, but not a real choice. To clarify, it was agree, or be squashed out quietly, as Boss liked to say. On the off chance you would choose death over discomfort, he had to call you to his office for safe measure.
“I understand, Boss,” is all you could manage.
“I’m glad,” he smiles. “Though we have all turned a bit sour since Jeon’s departure, I’m sure you are capable of uniting for the sake of our city. I wouldn’t mind if you killed him after the mission is complete, either, but I will leave that up to your judgment.”
The name is awkward coming off his tongue, even with the chuckle he throws in to lighten the mood, implying an air of distance and estrangement.
Jeon. That bastard. The thought of working with him… incredible. It was silly of you to think that you’d never see him again while fighting for control of the same city, but there you were, awestruck and in embarrassing shock. “Thank you, Boss. I’ll do what is needed.”
“Get some rest. I’ll be calling a meeting tomorrow with the other executives and we will talk about the plan. You are excused.”
With an obedient nod, you are lifting yourself from the chair and heading toward the door, the sound of your heels muted on his burgundy carpet.
“Oh, and dear?”
You pause, turning your head over your shoulder and clearing your throat. “Yes?”
Out of the corner of your eye, you watch as he traces his thumb along the blade of his knife, glinting in the dim glow of the moonlit window. “You know I trust you.”
“Yes, sir.”
Without a falter in his expression, he makes a swift movement with his wrist. Before you can blink, the blade flies past your ear and lodges itself in the door in front of you. “Don’t make me regret it.”
A threat not to be taken lightly.
“Of course.”
As you tread down the hallway on your way out, you can't help but chastise yourself. How dumb could you be? Of course he would try to intimidate you like that. Any other day, you could have sensed it and caught it before it even parted with his palm. That was how it was supposed to be, as the renowned Scorpion, right? Was the thought of Jeon and having to see him again so debilitating that you let your guard flounder like that? Pathetic.
Hopefully he’d only take it as a slip-up. Take it as a respectful allowance and understanding as opposed to weakness. If you were losing your skills, your value was lost, as was your privilege to live.
The ride back to your apartment is the worst you had in years. Even the radio station you listen to regularly for mind-numbing background noise has you wanting to burst. The traffic lights make you want to scream, the sound of the air pushing past the open window has you bubbling with fury, the blinking advertisements circulating building perimeters driving your mind blank. Somewhere in a moment of clarity, you know it all starts with fear.
Truth was, you and Jeon were partners once. In crime, the trump card the Mafia put down to play dirty, no way to get around you. In tandem, a menacing duo, the bold and the lethal, the Lion and the Scorpion. In the sheets, from time to time, after a few too many drinks or a few too many flirty looks on a sober night. Two sides of the same coin. But that was then, in a different time and a different world, and in a way that you hated how your mind had retained him so perfectly in his bitter absence.
☆☆☆
To be honest, the atmosphere of the first meeting really couldn’t have been any better than expected. It’s the furthest thing from civil, of course, but it can be considered a blessing that everyone participating was still breathing.
For protective purposes, office space had been rented out for a few hours for the intents of the meeting. There were only eight of you gathered in the small space; From the Mafia, the four top executives and from the Agency, the VP and three head advisors. One of them, none other than Jeon himself. The president and the boss stayed out for this meeting in an attempt to lower the tension, which was certainly an effort taken. Personal affairs mixing in would have resulted in at least one dead body within the first thirty seconds.
While there is some sort of discussion occurring around you, you are only focusing on how pathetic you feel in that you’re actively avoiding Jeon, as well as the discomfort in the pit of your stomach that appeared as soon as he did. You always thought that you’d be strong and bold the next time you met, but now that the time has come, you’ve let yourself down. Seeing him face to face after all this time is a reminder of everything you’ve been pushing to the back of your mind for years.
Meanwhile, Jeongguk isn’t sure what the playing field looks like just yet. He’s resting his head on his fist, sneaking a glance at you when he can and wishing you’d speak up so he’d have a good reason to look at you for longer than a blink, but you’re awfully quiet. He hates to think it might be because of him.
“We received an anonymous tip this morning about an underground base in the Coral District. Supposedly, there are multiple entrances from bars in the surrounding area, creating a tunnel system.” Namjoon, the VP, pushes his glasses up and closes the manila folder in his hands he had been referencing. “As our only lead, I think it is in our best interest to take a look.”
Namjoon is by far the most uptight man you had ever met. A little pretentious, of course, but in a way that almost made him cute. His calculative nature made him a good asset, but you couldn’t imagine how much of a bore he must have been in his daily life. You could bet without a doubt that he had been the most opposed to collaboration - if not by the countless moments he had spent sighing in your past encounters, then surely by how his condescending tone went into overdrive the second he sat down.
Yoongi, one of your fellow executives, states plainly, “That means nothing.” He seems more focused in the dirt tucked beneath his fingernails than the meeting at hand.
“It’s anonymous. For all we know they’re trying to trick us,” adds Yeji, personality plagued with suspicion. She doesn’t want to be here as much as you do, but she’s trying. Yeji is scrutinizing and not impressed by the image of naivety that stems from such a simple deduction, and that’s on top of her personal problem with the righteous narrative of the detective agency. You don’t blame her.
“And for all we know, it could be useful. The people of this city are our eyes and ears.” Jimin shoots back, stare unwavering. “It’s not like we should just ignore it. Do you have anything better?”
The strain in the air is almost unbearable, pulling up the hairs on your arms with all the tense energy circulating. It’s as if lightning was about to strike any second. No one says another word, only dirty looks being exchanged between headstrong personalities until a defiant knock comes to the door, startling the aggression into temporary submission. Taehyung raises an eyebrow at you, the only movement he had made this entire time. You only shrug at him.
“Who is it?” Namjoon asks, standing from the table.
“Just clean up. I’m here to take out the trash.” Silence engulfs the space like a dense fog hanging in the air, until the man behind the door calls again, “It’ll only be a second.”
Hesitantly, Namjoon makes the call for him to come in. All eyes flick over to the man, who cautiously enters the room with a nervous laugh. He is clueless to what he’s walking into. He waves a hand of greeting before fetching the bin from the corner of the room, taking it to the main dump on wheels in the hallway. After a few shuffles and plunks, he comes back in to put it in its place.
Namjoon adjusts his tie and clears his throat as he sits down again, resuming the meeting.
“I don’t care what we do as long as we can be done with this,” Taehyung mumbles, resting his head on his palm with half-mast eyes. He’s practically falling asleep, like a cat resting in the sunbeams pouring through a window.
Wendy, another advisor, rolls her eyes at him, responding with a scoff, “Of course you don’t care…”
“Oh, like you’re such a saint.”
The boardroom erupts into yet another argument, different groups spitting words at their own personal targets. All you can do is sit and listen, your hope for this mission decreasing exponentially as the seconds tick by. At least if it didn’t work out, you won’t have to see Jeon again after this.
“Creep,” mutters Yeji under her breath from the chair next to you. She had been removing herself from the argument like you save for a few special dramatic sighs and trivial insults that you didn’t condone, but didn’t exactly scold her for either. After all, she is the closest thing you have to a best friend.
“Huh?” you inquire wisely. “Who?”
She tilts her head to the hallway. Your head whips around to see the janitor through the walls of windows walking away with a peculiar bounce in his step, one he most certainly did not arrive with.
“What’s his problem?” you whisper, leaning in.
“I don’t know, but he was laughing to himself while they were arguing. He’s probably just another weirdo,” she snubs with a sigh. “You know how people are in this city.”
Though you had a slight feeling of discomfort from the commencement of the meeting, since stepping foot in the lobby of the building even, you simply brushed it off as paranoia, or nervousness from who you were about to see. But it just seems too strange to ignore anymore. Wasn’t the building supposed to be completely empty today, aside from those in the conference taking place right now? Your instincts scream at you through a closed mouth, wariness freezing your limbs, but why?
You hold your hand up discreetly as you stare at the simply dark grey bin across the room. It’s the only thing that seemed out of place - besides the meeting table and chairs, the room is completely empty. The pristine board room, black and grey and sparkling clean. And then, the cheap plastic bin.
The argument settles when Yeji whistles, getting their attention.
“What’s wrong?” Wendy asks obliviously before you shush her with a raise of your pointer. All focus zeroes in on the bin… and that barely noticeable line trailing from it to the door handle.
One tick is all you need to hear.
“We gotta go, now,” you state, standing up hurriedly from your chair. Chatter and confusion ensue again as you drag it behind you over to the floor-length window. You pause, narrowing your eyes at the distance down from the second story. Considering there were no other exits from the room and you suspected that no one here was a part of the bomb squad, it was the only way to go. You drawback, hands gripping tightly around the armrests and hoist it up, swinging it around your side. it effectively shatters the glass, the piercing noise as shards clatter to the floor making you squint.
“Woah, woah, what are you doing? Do you know how much that’s gonna coast?” Namjoon shouts, becoming frantic as you further knock the glass out from the surrounding area.
“They knew where we were. Look at the bin,” you explain quickly. Their surveillance of you averts to where you had been looking moments before, realization dawning as their sight finds the transparent cord set tight.
“Taehyung, you first.” The boy trails to the make-shift exit without question, blond locks bouncing in front of his face as he hurries over. Carefully, with a hand on the frame, he peers out to see what he’s working with. He’s made do with worse before. He lowers himself out onto the ledge one foot at a time, cautious not to cut himself on the jagged glass poking out. With a deep breath, he commits to the jump and launches off, landing cleanly on the flower beds below.
He cranes his neck up to you with disgust written all over his features.
“It’s new still,” he complains with a frown, toeing the dark mulch which must be fresh and with a rotten stench. You don’t have the time to admonish his behavior as you usher the others out, keeping an eye on the bin and the hallway. Yeji is out next, hitting the ground lightly with Taehyung’s guiding arms.
You fish a compact walkie from your pocket, tossing it down to her. “Find the janitor. Evacuate anyone else you see. Channel Six.” She catches it with ease, only providing a nod before sprinting off around the corner, ponytail whooshing behind her. Namjoon, now on the ground with Jimin, spares a word with him before Jimin takes off after Yeji to catch up.
“You run a well-oiled machine, Y/N. I’m impressed.” Jeon’s voice from beside you grabs your attention, to which you can only hold his eyes for a moment before breaking it off. He stands smugly with his arms crossed in front of him.
He immediately cringes internally at the way it comes out. It was just supposed to be a compliment, genuinely, but the tinge of complacency in his voice took it all away. The way you don’t respond clamps his heart, but only pushes out more awful dialogue with an inappropriately playful tone.
“What, you’re just gonna ignore me?
Swallowing your nerves, you insist, “Get down.” Now, of all times, he chooses to chat you up? The chipper attitude had your nails imprinting half-moons to the base of your palm.
But he can’t stop himself. Even as he reads your growing impatience, he acts like a whiny toddler, emphasizing, “No, no, ladies first of course.”
“Get down.”
He’s trying not to let your firm edge get to him, playing it off with, “God, so cold. You’re hurting my feelings-”
“Get down, Jeongguk!”
The once fluid movement of the world slows as you shout at him, your own voice becoming muted as you listen for it. A blinding light bursts from across the room, ripping through the walls and bursting the glass like balloons, growing brighter and brighter as you watch. In a split second you’re falling, tearing through open air while barely sensing your entanglement in something soft before hitting the ground with a blunt stop.
He had pulled you into him instinctively as the blow forced him off his feet, but the regret is instant in Jeon’s mind as he struggles to move. Not for grabbing you, but for the stupid words he couldn’t close the dam on as they poured out. The threat completely left his mind in the effort to get you to respond to him. He wants to smack himself, but his body hasn’t had the chance to recoup yet.
You groan, body practically frozen in ache. Rolling off of him, you rub your lids and scratch the hair out of your face, looking up to see smoke pouring out of where you just stood moments before. Jumping to your feet, you brush the small shards of glass from your clothes and ignore the dizziness, aiming to put as much distance between the building and you as you could, but not before pulling a disoriented Jeon to his feet to take him with you. He’s coughing and clutching at his rib, your weight hitting him as an extra beating once he had landed.
Collapsing on the curb out front, you try to catch your breath. That bastard. If it weren’t for his necessity to uphold such a jackass mentality, you wouldn’t have needed the extra painful push out of the building. Without even needing to look, the sound echoing alone let you know that the building was collapsing in on itself. While you can’t feel it now because of the adrenaline, you know you’ll be hurting later.
A muffled noise comes from the walkie in your back pocket. It’s Yeji, who is suspiciously breathing fine as her heavy footfalls transmit as loud as her voice, reporting, “Finally caught up to him. It looks like he’s heading to Coral District, we’re on his tail but we don’t know what we’re going into!”
The device jumbles in your shaky hand as you scramble to get back to her. “We’re on our way, don’t worry. Don’t do anything I wouldn’t.”
You bring yourself to your feet, your fleeting moment of recovery already gone.
“Namjoon, can you stay behind for cleanup? Rest of us will catch up to Yeji. You heard her, right?”
He nods solemnly, and you suppose the blast to the building also was one to his ego. His notorious calculative nature had failed him this time around with that poisonous hatred in the way. Maybe he’ll reference it next time.
You think that Jeon is going to come up with another snarky comment to make, but all he does is pinch his nose bridge and massage his temples. He chooses to stay behind also as you, Wendy, Taehyung, and Yoongi follow in quick pursuit. It’s no surprise that Yoongi, one of the most sloth-like yet efficient strong suits of the Mafia, is already pulling over a civilian vehicle to take.
“Yeji, current location?” You ask into the radio, trying to keep up an acceptable trot behind the group.
It only takes a second for her voice to crackle back through. “Corner of Park Ave and Third. It’s weird though - he’s not just running away from us, he’s running to somewhere.”
Up ahead, Wendy is pushing Yoongi aside as she shows her ID to the astonished woman floundering for words, admirably commandeering the car rather than stealing. No surprise, but smart nonetheless. One less lawsuit to worry about.
It only takes a second to envision a mental map of the city. The Corner of Park and Third is heading toward an unfamiliar side of town. What was even over there? The subway station, a shopping center? No place plausible for a bar, and definitely not near the Coral district. There was no place you could think of he might be leading them to - unless, of course, he was leading them away from something.
In fact, his direction is almost exactly opposite from…
“Tae!” you shout, just as he’s getting into the car. “Corner of Park Ave and Third. Get on your walkie, I’m taking a detour!”
He tips his head back in understanding as he jogs backwards to the car, soon ducking in slamming the door shut behind him, the car speeding off with a squeal. The thought of being in that car with them makes you shudder, but it’s not like where you’re off to is any better.
The location is printed on the backs of your lids in vermilion red ink. You had to know it regardless of whether you were a frequent visitor or not, because being aware of your surroundings when doing the kind of work required for your job was just as necessary as the job itself. You couldn’t be making arms deals in the alleys behind the Detective Agency unless you were aiming to spend some time behind bars.
Your heart drops as you round the corner to see the building absolutely sacked, your sprinting pace coming to a standstill with disappointment. A small crowd of people have surrounded the area, phones out to snap pictures and take videos. The windows lining the building are smashed in violently, and small plumes of smoke wisp their way out of what remains, the alarms that alerted no one still ringing.
Light footsteps approach from behind you as your own step carefully over the glass to get a closer look. He’d been in his head for only a few minutes after you left, but when he saw you crossing back over to the other side of town, while he was stuck pathetically on the curb, it sparked his brain back up into working condition.
“Huh. Smart cookie,” states Jeon, seeming to finally be back to reality. Enough to make it here, anyway. In less than a second your blade is against his neck as a firm warning. All he does is smile cheekily, raising his palms up so you could see them.
“No need to be hostile,” he tries, hiding the way he gulps when you look away. “Just a compliment.”
“We are nothing more than work partners. I advise you to drop the act now,” you spit, sure you’d break your jaw with how hard your teeth were pressed against each other, hearing the sandpaper sound grinding in your ears. You lower the blade and tuck it away, exchanging it for your gun in hand as you approach the entrance.
It’s a mess inside. The walls are dented, desks broken, drawers and filing cabinets sprawled all over the floor. Random papers make a muddle of everything visible. The computer screens are cracked and wires mangled as if someone with a bad temper had taken a baseball bat to them. Even the potted plants had been bashed in, fragments of terracotta and clumps of dirt spread out everywhere.
“Was anyone working?” you ask, fingers tracing over the splintered edges of the welcome desk.
“No,” replies Jeon, in awe of the state of the office. “The President doesn’t come in, and two of our teams are off carrying out other tasks. We sent our office staff home to keep them out of danger.”
Not one thing untouched. Such great care was taken to ruin every piece of the space - but when no one was home. If the office staff were here, would they have hurt them? Or was it a purposeful decision in favor of the empty building?
Jeon’s shoulders slump, bottom lip jutting from his pout. Upon your questioning brow, he says, “They took my octopus pen.” He stares longingly down at what you assume is his desk, or what was his desk.
You squint in confusion, about to prompt further explanation, but Taehyung comes in through the radio. “We caught the janitor. Don’t know anything yet, but he’s being taken into police custody. We looked for the tunnels, but there’s nothing so far. I think it was a misdirect.”
“I think it was too,” you sigh. “The DA was ransacked.”
The waves flatten into grey static. You can picture the confusion that was rising among the group with Tae’s relay of information. When it comes back on, it is a different voice.
“Ransacked, you said? How bad?” It’s Wendy, the panic blatant on her tongue.
“Everything in it was destroyed…” you say, knowing this was just as much a loss for you as it was them. “They knew where we were and bombed us, and then led us on a chase so they could eliminate one of our bases. Let the others know and we’ll regroup later.”
“Copy that,” says Yoongi shortly, and that ends the exchange.
One of your strongest pieces was impressively knocked off the board. There was no way to get the building back in operating shape in the time span you had to eliminate the threat. While you still had their people and outside resources, the building was essential to the functioning of the agency, and the city along with it. If they had already taken down the home base of the detectives, wouldn’t the Mafia be next? Granted, there was no one set base, but things would surely get fishy if you didn’t act fast. Like Boss said, Fox Lodge crumbled in mere weeks. Whatever your opinion was, you couldn’t deny the Mafia was integral in monitoring the underground of the city, and letting control fall into the hands of such self-serving villains would be far worse than anything already occurring.
Jeon sighs loudly from across the room, spinning on his heels to catch your gaze. He tsks and sweeps a stray strand of hair behind his ear with a delicate hand. “What are you thinking?”
You hum in thought. “It’s a warning,” you conclude, observing the rows of overthrown furniture. “They wanted to show what they’re capable of. Intimidation.”
He purses his lips innocently. “...What next?”
“I don’t know everything, Gguk,” you snap, sending him a fierce glare. “The Agency has to figure out what’s missing, if anything, and then we’ll go from there. Try to figure out a motive or something.”
You’ve been asking for a challenge for years, always unsatisfied with the ease it took to get your way. Laying in bed wide awake all night wanting things to be different, wanting things to have meaning. But with the high stakes, with so much at risk, this was certainly not what you intended.
You have to reassure yourself that you’re capable regardless. Once you get in the rhythm, surely things will be fine. Surely you’d get yourself together and pull through for the sake of the town. When you’ve been biting your nails and staring blankly at a ripped magazine for who knows how long, Jeon interrupts you again.
“Y/N?” The way he speaks your name is gentle and soft, a fondness to it that never failed to pluck at your heartstrings. It’s that special quiet tone of his that you haven’t heard in so long yet could always recall so clearly. It’s a sign of candor coming your way. “It’s good to see you.”
And it boils your blood.
“The park by the marina. Tomorrow at five. Don’t be late.”
☆☆☆
Penny has already started making dinner when you step through the door, just about to slump against the hardwood floor and resign yourself to the eternal slumber. Though she’s only ten, her palate is more tasteful that yours was last year. In times like these, you are grateful for the way she takes care of you sometimes.
“You look tired,” she observes, sparing you a welcome look over her shoulder as she stirs the contents of her pot.
“That would be because I am,” you breathe a huff of laughter, slowly and carefully sliding off your jacket as to not irritate your sore muscles more than necessary. Taking a peek into the pot, your brain allows you a taste of serotonin that you welcome with open, starved arms. “Fettuccine alfredo? Pen, that’s my favorite.”
A small smirk appears on her face at your amazement. “I know.”
You plant a chaste kiss at the top of her head. “You need a trim soon, kiddo. Can barely see your eyes anymore.”
“That makes me look more mysterious though, doesn’t it?” She allows herself a giggle before turning off the heat, giving the pasta one last mix before transferring it to the two identical bowls on the counter. Her technique is a little awkward as her arms reach up to maneuver the tongs, but that’s to be expected of a kid who hasn’t fine tuned her motor skills just yet. Your mouth is absolutely watering as you fumble through the draws for two forks and some sort of napkin.
She hops up on the stool next to you and digs in, splattering sauce all over her chin nonetheless, but as long as she was fed and having fun.
Taking Penny in was by far the best decision you had made with what your life had come to. It was about two years ago when you stumbled upon her crying in a back alleyway during a job, her parents' lives the casualties suffered in a drug trade gone wrong. Further than that, you didn’t pry. You had those moments, too, the ones that felt better tucked inside a secret place in your heart.
Your only option was to take her with you. While he was incredibly beneficial to the Mafia, Yoongi was also hopelessly cold-blooded. He wanted to kill her to end the trail, to avoid suspicion directed at the organization. You ultimately made the call, because while what you did for a living was in no way guided by a moral compass, you still had your boundaries. Fortunately, it was just when you had gotten your current executive position and started making your fair share for the work you did - and while the both of you knew what went on outside of the apartment, inside was a safer space with more love than you could ever afford to show anywhere else.
Housing people was one of the organization’s biggest costs. Most who joined did so out of necessity, whether they were out of work or a place to feel welcome. As long as you took care of her, it was an unspoken rule that they’d go easy on her. Occasionally they made her run errands and do deliveries, as children were an easy way to escape qualms from authorities. More often they used her for bait and leverage over those they needed the upper hand on; There’s no better way to manipulate someone than pretending a little girl’s life depends on their next decision. Usually it worked out the way they wanted and she was sent home, but there were times when you noticed bruises or scrapes adorning her thin arms, or hidden beneath her bangs. At least you could provide her with hope.
“So what went wrong today?”
Were you too obvious, or could she just read you inside and out?
You twirl the pasta on your fork before downing a big bite.
“Got stuck in a pickle for the first time in a while. There’s a lot more on the table than I expected there to be.”
“Obviously,” she says, still shoveling her food down her throat. “I mean what happened?”
You sigh, letting yourself sink into your chair as you recount the order of events that unfolded today. Trying to simplify it as best as you can, you settle on, “I can’t say too much because I don’t want to get you in trouble, but it’s not just the Mafia and the Agency running things around here anymore, so there’s some collaboration going on right now that is getting tough to manage. And these new people moving in on the city… they’re smart. They led us on a goose chase today while they took out the DA.”
“Well, you’re smart too. You can manage it. You always do.”
“I know I’ll have to. It’s more the teamwork thing.” Mindless fingers tap at the countertop. “It was a little bit of a curveball they threw at me.”
“Is the curveball what caused all the bruises?” She looks at you slyly, a teasing simper just begging to make an appearance.
Your eyes roll breezily. “Yeah, it is.”
And all of a sudden the air turns quiet, her demeanor more timid. She looks to you for encouragement before she can even get the words out. With a small prompting nod, she asks, “Is… is it your old partner?”
An awkward chuckle bubbles its way out of your throat in surprise. “Um, yeah. How- how do you know about that?”
It’s a little bit of a shock. You don’t want to make her feel bad, but having this conversation is not one you are completely prepared for. Jeongguk, though his existence in your mind is stormy, is one of those things you always wish you could just keep to yourself, like a small love letter sealed in an envelope and tucked away under a mattress for you to pull out when you want to reminisce, but unfortunately everyone has read that letter and its contents seems to perpetuate underground gossip wherever you walk.
The atmosphere returns to normal when she shoots you a playful look, correcting it to the way it should have been. “I don’t just go to work and come back, you know, people talk to me. Especially some of the other kids my age. They sometimes mention how it’s so cool that I’m living with this legendary assassin, and they tell me supposed stories of… what was it, the Lion and the Scorpion? Yeah, and that he left.”
You bob your head along as she explains, somewhat in awe of her level of awareness of who you were outside of your relationship with her. The observant and lethal disposition you take on at work is a rude juxtaposition to the looser, lively personality you allow out at home. Above all, you wonder if she still thinks you’re cool.
“And what do you say?”
That she laughs at. “Well, it depends on the person who’s talking to me about it. Sometimes I say that you’re really scary and strict and sometimes if I like them I say that you’re really nice… I’m careful about it though, don’t worry. As long as you’re cool, I’m cool.”
Bingo!
“Hey, I trust your judgment,” you state through a mouthful of food, “I condone messing with people sometimes, and if it can harden my reputation around the place, I’ll take it.”
Lighthearted laughter ensues as you eat. The topic fades away and relief starts to take its place, but nothing good can ever last, can it?
“But Y/N…” she trails back, “Why is the Lion a curveball if you worked with him in the past?”
You click your tongue, tapping your fork at the bottom of your dish trying to stitch together the splinters of words floating around your mind into a cohesive answer.
“I’m sure some kids told you about the rumors,” you say, propping your elbow on the table to support your head as you looked at her. “But he and I… weren’t really just work partners.”
“You were dating?” She exclaims loudly, eyes widening.
“Shh! No, no… well, kind of. But not really. Things were just a little bit more than work-related, that’s all. Listen, it’s not all black and white, and you’ll understand what I mean by when you start to care for people like that.”
“Well did you love him?”
She says it casually and straightforward, as if it didn’t weigh the emotional turmoil of years spent heartbroken and yearning. As if it’s that easy.
Penny’s expression floods full of curiosity. She is so investigative and eager, you wish she could be going to school and learning from real teachers that could give her a real education, not just snippets from your memories that you pulled up for her from time to time. If this wasn’t her life, you can’t imagine what she’d be doing because there’d simply be too many possibilities.
“Yeah, I did.”
And yet, as the words spill, you can’t not remember the pain of his desertion. You can’t not remember the one morning you woke up and he was gone, panic floating through the hallways about him, confusion and worry swirling in your head. Just to find out he had defected without giving you a clue. Not considering what it could mean for you. Not even a goodbye.
“Do you still love him?”
You purse your lips, meeting her eyes softly. “That’s why I called him a curveball.”
Penny grasps on to the fact that that was the most she’d be getting from you today. It was a lot more than most days - you blame it on your tattered spirit from today’s tiring occurrences. She leads in the kitchen clean up, scooping the leftovers into tupperware for tomorrow’s meal and tossing her dishes in the outdated washer.
You pass behind her in the tight space, carrying your own empty dish with you. “You don’t repeat a word, got it?” you whisper.
She visibly sinks in vexation, head coming to a tilt as she stares at you. “C’mon, you just said you trusted my judgment! I’m almost insulted you feel the need to say that.”
You let yourself indulge in another laugh. The credit of her sharp vocabulary character no doubt belongs to your influence. “You know I have to.” Nuzzling the top of her hair, you add, “Don’t stay up too late. I love you.”
And for leading a life that was so cruel and devoid of light, crowded with guilt and regret, lacking most that makes you human, nothing ever felt more like home than when she says, “I love you too.”
☆☆☆
The next meeting is only better because of the fresh air separating both sides and the imminent fact that last time’s events have everyone so weary they can no longer think about arguing. It has started to sink in that this is no longer a piece of cake, or maybe that it never was to begin with. As well, a park full of citizens going on walks and taking their day slow is no place to expose yourself. It’s warm for spring, one of the nicest days you’ve had in a while, and you’d hate to ruin it.
There is a large circular expanse of white concrete with different pathways branching off into the park, green shrubbery lining each walkway. Pillars on both sides of each one hold up an awning providing much-appreciated shade. You no longer have to squint and can see everyone clearly.
Namjoon, sulking on a decorative cement bench, kicks off the meeting with a depressing statement on the Agency. “They didn’t take anything physical, but we traced their footsteps back through our computers. It looks like they downloaded a lot of our reports from the past few years and files on both our members and yours.”
“What do you mean?” Yeji’s eyebrows furrow deeply in confusion. “What kind of information was in the reports?”
“A lot of profiles. Skills, incidents you’ve been involved with, current standing position… things like that. On nearly every important person in the Agency and in the Mafia.”
“Why though?” asks Jimin, leaning back against one of the pillars beside Namjoon. “Can’t they find that information anywhere? A lot of it isn’t a secret. Ask anyone around here and they’ll tell you Min Yoongi is a lazy bastard that-”
Jeon gives him a light punch on the shoulder, his disappointed grimace almost saying, “c’mon, man.” Yoongi looks like he couldn’t care less.
Taehyung, who has been pacing the narrow concrete walkways, speaks up. “Get to know your enemy better, I guess? Can’t hurt.”
“To be honest, I don’t think they really needed it either. It looked more like it was meant to be taken as a threat. They probably just did that because they could and they had the time,” You say, recalling the attentive wreckage of the Agency.
“Well, I don’t know about that. We know that they’re tricky, obviously, but they can’t know everything. I think they were also trying to get a better idea of what they were up against. Plus, it’s always intimidating when you come into contact with someone and it seems they know every detail about you when you don’t even know your name.”
Namjoon’s take makes sense. His frustrating attitude is an easier pill to swallow if he’s able to make conclusions like that. Not much could scare you off, but if a random person approached you in a fight and began talking about your past, or your personal life, or mistake you’d made, you’d definitely be unsettled, maybe just enough to slip up. With this group, you’re sure that a slip up is all it takes.
Wendy looks like she has something to add, but there’s a frog stuck in her voice box. She gives a shy look to Namjoon and then continues, something perhaps he was planning on leaving out. “To be specific, there were multiple traces of the words “Lion” and “Scorpion” in the information they stole... It makes me think they’ve heard of your, um, past reputation and wanted to see what they could dig up.”
“Oh, great.” You’re unable to help yourself from rolling your eyes.
“Wow,” Jeon muses, “Didn’t know we were so famous.” His playful regard meets your own, but you’re too down to react with anything else but a blank stare before flicking your eyes away as soon as they meet.
He looks good today. You hate how much your brain keeps begging you to take another experimental glance as if one wasn’t enough. His button-up drapes gently over his shoulders and is tucked loosely into his trousers, sleeves folded all the way up to his elbows. Not that you’re paying such close attention.
Namjoon clears his throat. “I wasn’t going to say anything because I didn’t want to alarm you without any pretense, but…”
You raise an eyebrow at him, crossing your arms over your front. “Well, I’m glad she spoke up. What if they target us because they think we’re a threat? They already know we’ve been working together.”
Wendy offers a small smile of appreciation, but it is not to ignore how the agents all share looks of hesitation toward each other, visibly uncomfortable with Namjoon’s secrecy.
“Yeah… that seemed kind of important,” Yoongi says, squinting into the sunlight as he tilts his head up. “You can’t keep things from us if we’re working together. I hate this just as much as you do, but we aren’t gonna win if we aren’t honest.”
Jimin sighs. “He’s right. If one side tries to get an upper hand it’ll just cause a rift that makes us easier to pull apart.”
“Okay. That’s fair. I... apologize.” Namjoon is stiff, refusing to look anyone in the eye. He wants to avoid further questioning, but for the time being, you won’t press it. There’s enough on your plate right now.
“Anyway… what’s our next move?”
Yeji’s question goes unanswered. It sits under the afternoon light, the peaceful chirps of birds and casual chatter and boat horns filling in the blank space that no one knows what to do with.
“We don’t have a lot to go off of. The investigation is still looking for identification factors, but it could take time, which, as I’m sure you know, we don’t have a lot of. The most we can do is conduct some interviews with witnesses and passersby, but…” the Vice President looks up at you, “we are counting on them slipping up somehow.”
The dejection in the air is hard to ignore. Everyone feels it. Regardless of how impossible it might be for the two sides to see eye to eye, they can see how hopeless the fight has gotten in a span of mere days.
With the DA out of the picture, all of their employees are either working from home or in last-minute rented offices with limited resources. Never in a million years did any of the executives think they’d see the building that represented their struggle go up in flames. Yet the day it did, they couldn’t be happy about it. It only struck fear.
“So there’s really nothing we can do?”
No one needs to answer for you to know.
“Okay. Let’s wrap this up then. Just be careful from here on out. You know, be cautious of what you say, where you say it. They might be monitoring radio waves, might have bugged places you think are safe.”
In times like these, you have good reason to be a little paranoid. They already knew where your office space was and the time it had been rented. The Syndicate was skilled and definitely had their reach online, and you didn’t doubt it extended to the personal world. There’s nothing money can’t bribe.
It’s disheartening to see how downcast the group is on a day so bright. Everyone begins to mobilize, though slowly, but they get a move on, going back to wherever they need to be or where they want to be. For now, you decide you want to be here.
Waving goodbye to Yeji and the others, you find a nice spot under some shade on a well maintained wooden bench. It faces the water, today clear and calm, and out in the distance is the gleaming modern drawbridge that closes off the port. To the right, the port terminal stretches out long into the river for the large ships that come in, the marina docked with boats of all shapes and sizes tucked in closer to the city behind it. The boats flood in and out, passing you by, the sails floating in the breeze so temptingly you can just see yourself hopping on one so easily and going along to wherever it may take you.
The dream is short-lived, because Jeon’s presence beside you tugs you from your imagination.
“What do you want?” You can feel him looking at you, but you can’t pull your eyes away from the ships drifting by.
It’s a hit to the confidence he strode over here with, but he continues. “What, we can’t make small talk? We’re partners for this, Y/N.”
Any opportunity he sees to make contact with you, he’ll take. He knows why you’re the opposite, but he’s dying to see you, and not just from across a meeting table or a park.
“Partners don’t need to make small talk, they just have to do the job they’ve been assigned and be done with it.”
He exhales tiredly, disappointed in your lack of engagement, like he expected at least a small something more. “Listen, I just wanted to talk to you. I know how things are, and-”
“No, Gguk, you don’t know how things are,” you snap, finally facing him. “You had the past three years to talk to me, but you didn’t. You don’t get to come and take care of things now while it’s convenient for you.”
“It’s not like that.”
“It sure looks like that.”
“Well it’s not.”
“Then what is it?”
“It’s me wanting to talk to you. Because it’s been a long time and I miss you.”
You make a sound caught somewhere between a scoff and a laugh, feeling even more let down than you thought you could be. “Yeah, okay.”
It sounds like bull to you. Does he really think you’re that gullible? Does he really think you were going to see him again and run into his arms like a bride who's been tying yellow ribbons around an old oak tree? The anger you felt at the agency yesterday returns, for what happened in the past, for what’s happening now, for all of it. How he can say he missed you when he had all the time in the world, when he was clearly happy after running away from what he had with you, you can’t understand.
Meanwhile, Jeon feels his heart palpitating as he waits for a reply. The explanations want to roll right off his tongue, but he knows this is not the time and place to bring up the subject matter he’s really urging to talk to you about. That conversation will be held soon as he finds it possible. He thought it might be worth it to just start the build-up with trivial chatter, but it’s not working, and probably never will with you.
He picks at his nails, scraping the minimal dirt out. Should he say it? A part of him wants to go for it, and another wants to wait in fear of scaring you. Unfortunately, he thinks it will either way.
“I heard you’ve been taking care of a girl.”
Unbeknownst to you, he’s right.
It steals the breath from your lungs, that residing anger booking it to make room for fear. Though you try to conceal it, you’re sure he’s seen through it, already felt how the atmosphere has shifted. He shouldn’t know about Penny. In fact, no one outside the Mafia should. You can’t meet his eyes, taking more interest in trying to count every strand of fine hair on the space between your knuckles.
It feels just like what Namjoon had talked about, and though you’re sure deep down he wouldn’t try to hurt you like that, it plants a seed of dread in you. In any other world, it might be similar to someone asking, “How are the kids?” and there would be nothing out of the ordinary about it, just a friendly gesture. This instance, however, is layered with a cocktail of warning and concern.
Penny can fend for herself, she’s responsible, of course, but no one is invincible. It’s only up to a certain point, especially knowing that she’s only a child.
“How do you know about her?”
“I still get around,” he says, letting the pause marinate before adding faintly, “Don’t worry. No one that’s gonna try anything knows. I made sure of it.”
The way he still knows what you’re thinking makes you shiver. Or want to throw up. You pass over the slight relief of his last statement in favor of the bliss that comes with ignoring it.
When you don’t reply because you simply don’t know what to make of it, he continues. “It’s honorable. But that’s dangerous for you. To have someone important to you.”
“I know that,” you admit.
It wasn’t like you were stupid. Sure, you were an executive, but what did that mean when Penny made you so vulnerable? The same way they used her against their enemies could be used against you in a heartbeat for tenfold the amount they wanted. She was your weak spot.
“You have to be careful.”
“I know that.”
Jeon winces at your icy inflection. He’s like a child being scolded by his mother. His eyes squeeze shut, thoughts circling back to all the words that were just aching to pour out of him.
“Listen, Y/N, maybe we can go get some coffee? Or-”
You have to cut him off before he gets too out of hand, palms hitting your thighs. “I think that’s enough for today, Gguk.”
He wants to object to your leaving, but he doesn’t want to push you. Your deep sigh is proof of the distress he caused in the past and still continues to leave behind.
So much for some nice quiet time on your own, huh? You stand up and turn from him, heading down the exit path. Realistically, you’re glad he doesn’t call out after you, because you know it would just get you worked up and that was the last thing you needed. When you were around him, you felt the piercing image your reputation had created crumbling to ruins. It pains you to think of the consequences of an emotional err during times like these.
Yet still, it breaks your heart to leave.
☆☆☆
“He’s been really getting to you, huh?”
Yeji’s voice is quiet above the cacophony of clinking silverware and incoherent conversation, but intelligible enough for the both of you to hear in your own space.
You smear some whipped cream on your forkful of waffle, placing it in your mouth and letting both the fluffy texture and immaculate taste sweep you off your feet for a moment, as brunch is everything good and great in the world. Or at least in your world, at this very moment.
You swallow before answering, your usual temper tamed by the sedative of a certain portmanteau of breakfast and lunch. “Of course he has. He won’t leave me the fuck alone.”
“Well, he does have to work with you.”
As you chew, you shake your head in wide, dramatic arcs. “No, I mean he keeps acting like we’re old friends. After the meeting he asked me If I wanted to get coffee with him!” you exclaimed, “Like no, I’m not getting fucking coffee with you, who do you think you are?”
Yeji flashes her pearly whites at your short fuse, the one she’s versed in remedying. Deft hands lift up her mug for a thoughtful sip.
“Maybe his intentions aren’t that bad. He’s always been happy-go-lucky like that and he’s probably just too oblivious to think about the consequences of what he did. Yeah, pretending like it didn’t happen hurts, but because of what’s going on right now... it might be a blessing in disguise.”
Despite her intimidating appearance, Yeji was an exceptional conversationalist and particularly thoughtful in her advice. It feels more like a talk between two childhood friends catching up over some food, gossiping about people from high school and boy drama. Though it’s not quite that simple, it lets you take a back seat for a little while. Yeji is one of the only people you’d consider a friend.
“What, like making it easier for the mission?”
“Yeah, 'cause if you can push that issue out of the picture temporarily, you can get the job done and either deal with it after or forget about it entirely. And hey, you’re the Scorpion!” Yeji leans across the table in an enthusiastic whisper. “Scorpions are badass and vicious and don’t spend their time getting worked up over men. In fact, Scorpions reel men in and then kill them, especially you.”
You know she’s trying to encourage you, but the thought is spectacularly unappealing. While she was right in what you did, it’s not like you enjoyed it or were proud of it. You hate to be described that way. Perhaps that is your character among the mafia and the image you spread to protect yourself, and perhaps it’s even true when you get in the work mindset, but is that really you? Talk about an identity crisis.
You reach for your water, the condensation slippery on the glass. “That’s just my reputation.”
She sighs, slumping back into her side of the booth. “Okay, scratch that then. What I mean is that, besides the people you’re close to like Penny and I, you’re this astute, intelligent, skilled executive. You’ve accomplished a lot to get where you are. Why are you letting him get under your skin and uproot that?”
Yeji wouldn’t let someone make her feel like that, and she wishes you wouldn’t either. As much as she secretly admires you - for both that reputation and the real you - she cares about you all the same. Maybe one of the only people that does.
“I guess you have a point.”
“You know I have a point.”
“It’s not that easy though, Yeji,” you say weakly, staring down into your glass. “Every time I see him, I don’t know whether I want to kiss him or beat his ass.”
She laughs at your comment, making you crack a smile too. “It happens, Y/N. Love and hurt go hand in hand.” When you look up at her, she reaches a slender hand over the table and interlocks her fingers with your own with a squeeze. “Just tolerate it for now.”
A troubled exhale leaves you at the prospect, but you squeeze back nonetheless.
“I can do that.”
☆☆☆
It's two days later when you get a call from none other than the Lion himself. The time has been passing unbearably, slower than a soul train passing an ambulance. You and Penny relaxed by bingeing an ungodly amount of shows and movies, even delving into your weekly budget for a stockpile of snacks and drinks. But with every laugh that tumbled out of you and blended into the live audiences’, the nervous thoughts of the situation lingered in the back of your mind.
But hopefully, this call will have some good news.
“What’s up?”
“Good news.”
Eureka! For once, you’re happy to be speaking to Jeon.
“Like Namjoon said, they slipped up. Someone wasn’t wearing gloves and left a fingerprint in the DA. Intelligence was able to track it down to a random guy living in the Gambling District. I’ll tell you more about him, but I’m coming to pick you up now.”
You to your feet from your seat on the couch, wedging the phone between your shoulder and ear so you could throw your stuff together. Penny pauses the show for you, sending a raised brow. In silent conversation, you shrug.
God, it’s too early. You’re rummaging around the room for your wallet and trying to process cohesive thoughts simultaneously, and it’s not working out.
You stop to let your hands rub at your eyes. “Okay, but how do we know this was an actual slip up? We don’t have footage to check… it might have been on purpose to lead us somewhere.”
The one thing you had learned in all your time was to play like your opponent. Never underestimate them - especially the Syndicate, who clearly wanted that message to reach you. But if you were trying to get the upper hand on the people you were trying to eliminate, it wouldn’t be far fetched to give them a false lead the same way you had before.
“It’s all we got. And if we are led somewhere, we’ll figure it out.”
“Okay. Talk to you in a bit. I’ll meet you in the parking garage?”
“No need. Already walking up.” In the background, you hear Jeon’s keys jingling as he strides. “Also, we’re stopping for food first. Bye.” A blunt click signals the end of the call.
Shit. He’s coming to your apartment? The current state is an indescribable mess - hopefully he wouldn’t call CPS on you. More importantly, you are still in your pajamas, and there is no way he can see you like this.
“Was that the curveball?” Penny asks with an impish interest.
Your eyes squint. “Take a guess.”
Hurrying down the cramped hallway to your shared bedroom with Penny, you trade your sweats for some comfortable jeans and, with the time ticking down, throw a moto jacket over your hoodie. As the knock on the door sounds, you’re gathering your hair into a ponytail.
When you reach the living room, Penny is already pulling the door open. You hear a greeting, and then Jeon’s head appears around it comically, peeking into the apartment.
“There you are,” he says, looking at your current state with confusion. Not exactly what you might wear to base, but it got the job done. He snickers. “What, did I catch you off guard?”
Trying to hold back your minor pants from running around so much, all you can muster is, “Yeah, a little bit.” You turn to the mirror and pluck a bobby pin from your lips, tucking it into your hair to keep the flyaways down.
“Okay, let’s hit it. Penny, super sorry about this, I’ll finish watching with you later when I get home. There’s food in the fridge, you know where the money is, and I’ll call Yeji to check in on you if it gets late, okay?”
She pouts. “Okay.”
“Hey, you remember the safe word?”
Penny nods dramatically, her dark bangs bouncing, standing on her tippy toes to whisper in your ear, “Cherry-cola… also, he’s really cute.”
You pull away laughing, giving her a light noogie with your fist as her nose scrunches up. She wasn’t wrong, of course. Your time apart did him well, and you assume he must have gotten tips on how to dress because of how effortlessly put together he looked these days. But that's beside the point.
“Love you, Pen. Bye. And make sure your ringer is on.” With a small peck on the top of her head and bidding goodbye with a promise to return, you’re pulling away and leading Jeon out the door, being careful in locking it behind you.
“What’s with the safeword?” He asks, starting down the hall to the elevator. An uncomfortable tilt to his lips fixes on his face. “Isn’t that… kinda inappropriate?”
You roll your eyes, swatting at his shoulder. “Ew. Not that kind of safeword, dumbass. It’s so she knows who she can trust and let inside. There’s a lot of people that I trust that she doesn’t know, so if I have someone swinging by I tell them so she knows she can trust them too.”
He makes a sound of understanding, slipping his hands into his pockets. The way he ambles is spirited yet composed, shoulders relaxed with purposeful steps. Jeon always came and went like low tide in the morning, a calmer view of his personality considering his notorious “devil may care” attitude.
“Can you tell me?” Once he sees the disapproving expression on your face, he continues, “Listen, I already know about her. What if something happens and you need me to get her and you’re too busy dying to tell me?”
Crossing your arms in front of you, you shake your head. “Hopefully that will never happen in the first place, but god forbid…” you cautiously lower your voice, “Cherry-cola.”
“Cherry-cola?” he repeats casually.
You shush him loudly, glaring and speaking through gritted teeth. “The point of a safeword is that not everyone knows it!”
“Sorry,” his lips purse as you press the button and begin waiting for the elevator. “Why that one?”
“It’s our favorite drink. Goes with anything.”
“Well...”
You cut him off with a hand as the thick metal doors slide open and the two of you step inside. “Not a matter of opinion. I don’t want to hear it.”
He raises his hands up in defense. “Okay, okay. I will respect that, but you know...”
It’s then that you see him giving you a look, an impish smile adorning his cheeks. The dimples that gently poke his skin are the kind that make you feel lucky.
“What?”
His eyes avert, head shaking as he turns away and exchanges his view for his sly reflection in the metal. “Oh, nothing.”
“Gguk.”
A teasing tone coats his tongue as he speaks. “Well, I don’t know, it just reminded me, you know, just pulled the thought from the deep recess of my brain, that.... we used to have one too.”
You almost couldn’t believe your ears, even considering asking him to repeat himself. The arch look in his eyes told you everything you needed to know. “Yeah, we did,” you agree. “Not like I ever had to use it...”
He faces you with a disbelieving breath of laughter leaving his open mouth, astonished. “What, did you want to have to say it?”
You shrug nonchalantly, raising your voice to say, “No, no… you were always just a little soft about it, that’s all.”
You can’t help the grin growing on your face as his lips part in offense, one corner slowly turning up in a knowing open-mouthed smile. His lids drop in the slightest manner, barely noticeable if you didn’t pay such close attention, and you have to turn away before your face starts to blaze too unbearably. “Oh, you know I was not soft.”
Both of you are thinking the same thing, no doubt about it. Memories roll back like pristine tapes on a projector, ones that most definitely prove his point.
You clear your throat, unsure of where the conversation is going and not bold enough to let it brew. “Anyway, about the guy…?”
He’s disappointed in your choice to change the subject, the tell in the way his head drops and chews at his lower lip for a split second, but abides nonetheless. “Twenty-six years old, been working at lots of casinos around as a dealer but his most recent job was three months ago at King’s Crown. After that, no record. Unfortunately, we have to take him alive since the investigation has the police involved.”
“Unfortunately?”
“Well, kind of. It’s just limiting when there’s a stipulation.”
“Okay. I will respect that.”
Your callback is the cause of a smile taking over his face. You’re glad he doesn’t mention your attitude - if he did, your dignity wouldn’t let you continue. Maybe it’s your good mood paired with his unexpectedness, maybe it’s Yeji’s advice telling you to tolerate him, but regardless, you won’t deny that it feels better than the anger. With hope of a lead comes hope that this could work out.
“By the way, what’re you in the mood for?” Jeon asks casually, turning to you. “We can do fast food, we can do Firehouse...”
As soon as he says the word, memories from long ago that almost don’t even feel like yours resurface. Firehouse was always your and Jeon’s go-to pizza place on lunch break or for celebration after a job well done. Though you haven’t been there in years, the delectable taste of their pies is still fresh in your mind. It’s tempting, but you don’t want to make the decision. You weren’t that hungry, anyway. Jeon stares, awaiting an answer.
At your shrug, his patience runs out and he fishes his hand into his pocket. “Okay, I’m flipping a coin. Firehouse is heads, tails is the nearest drive-thru.”
He says it naturally, but you know he’s testing the water by the way his gaze lingers, measuring your reaction to see if you’ll be angry with him. Not one, but two fond tokens from the past, all in the span of thirty seconds? At one point, flipping a coin was an everyday occurrence to settle disagreements, whether it be where to eat, what time to close up shop, or whose plan to follow. You know he’s trying to jog your good memories, but maybe it’s not such a bad thing.
The metal flings from his thumb and lands with a muted tap in his opposite palm. He slaps it over to the backside of his hand.
“Heads. Firehouse it is.” His eyes flick up to yours, an eyebrow raised in curiosity.
You grin. “Sure. Wanted that anyway.”
He rolls his eyes. A shy smile crawls up his face, the faint hallmark scar at the edge of his cheekbone shifting. “Yeah, alright. Tell me next time before it lands on something you don’t want.”
The elevator doors open with a ding, freeing you into the open world. If you let the resentment subside for a few minutes, it feels just like it used to when things were okay - you and Jeon against the world.
☆☆☆
“So this is it?”
You’re staring up a beat down brick building four stories high. It’s dilapidated and nearly falling apart, in contrast to the virgin casinos, modern and flawless with intricate architecture and an ambiance of expense just half a mile away. Supposedly, your guy was somewhere in there, and it was your best bet that he had something of value to give you.
Jeon slams his side of the car door, still licking at pizza grease on his forearm, and comes around to stand next to you. “Yeah. Floor two, apartment two.” You laugh to yourself incredulously at his casual antics, but he doesn’t seem to care as he walks right up to the door.
He finds that no buzzer is needed for entry, so with your guns at the ready, you take slow steps inside. Jeon leads, you trailing to the side of him. It’s eerily quiet, not a single person out to encounter, none of the hustle and bustle a usual apartment would contain, not even the sounds of footsteps or moving furniture. Did anyone actually live here?
The floors of the hallways are decorated with faded forest green carpet, stains and dust covering the washed-out fabric. There is an ugly floral strip of wallpaper at the top of the beige walls that are dented and scraped in random places.
You’re careful to keep down the volume of the creaking stairs as you shift your weight over them, but it’s nearly impossible. Upon further inspection, the door frame of apartment two was covered in scratches and markings, thin cobwebs joined in the corners. The door itself looks cheap and it has what seems to be a few drops of blood splattered near the knob. You and Jeon share a look of uncertainty, those gut instincts kicking in to let you know that something was off.
He begins to count down, and on three, you’re pushing in the door. He rushes in first with you on his tail to scope out the sides. The apartment is empty, except…
“Well, that’s fucking fantastic.”
There’s a dead body occupying the chair in front of the television. It’s the man, alright, but his throat has been slit, red coating his neck and clothes, head hanging back over the seat. There’s no smell, though - it couldn’t have been that long since others were here, especially due to the slight glisten of blood not yet dry on his skin.
They didn’t bury him, either. Just left the body out in the open for you to find. One alarming step ahead, just like last time.
“Covering their tracks. They knew he fucked up and took care of him before we could,” says Jeon, scouring the rest of the beaten-down unit. No signs of a struggle, no mess, no nothing. A dead end.
When you pat the body down, reach into his pockets, there’s nothing. When you move to his bedroom and start to search through his nightstand, it strikes you that there might be something invasive about rustling through a dead man’s belongings, but you’ve done it too many times to still be sensitive to it. You peer around his closet, look under the mattress, filter through his drawers, until a certain glint of light catches your eye.
On the side of his bed closest to the window, a small card lies on the carpet beneath, hidden by the frame if it weren’t for the shiny sticker on the back. You bring it up for a closer look in the light.
It’s got his name, picture, and contact information as well as a barcode at the bottom. Not a driver’s license, but an ID card for the Belvedere Casino. The sticker in the top corner makes out a small icon of a spread of playing cards.
You’re about to shout out to Jeon, but stop yourself as soon as you open your mouth. You take a slow once over around the room. Namjoon’s words echo in between your thoughts - Could the place be bugged? They were here not so long ago, and considering how they kept seeming to be a step in front of you at all times, it wasn’t a far stretch. There was no way to be sure, but you had a hunch.
Walking back to the main room, you catch his attention from where he is snooping around the shelves.
“Didn’t find anything. I think we’re out of luck.” When he turns to look at you, you widen your eyes and make an intense gesture with your finger to your lips before pointing a finger from your ear to the ceiling and directing your eyes around the room. You’re grateful when he understands immediately.
“Seriously? Nothing?” he asks timidly.
“Yeah. They got us. We should head back and call for cleanup, see if they can find anything.” You start for the door, pulling it open.
He hums, eyeing the item in your hand as he walks out behind you. “Good idea… I don’t really want to be here anymore anyway. Feels too weird.”
It’s silent all the way down. Was it too obvious? Was the dialogue too strange, too choppy? The two of you reach the street, careful of your surroundings, before getting back in his car.
“What was that about?” he asks, shutting the door as he slides into the driver’s seat.
You hold out the card for him to take. “Look. You know how you said there was no recent record of employment besides at King’s Crown? He’s been working at the Belvedere the past three months.”
He looks at you incredulously. “And?”
For whatever reason, he makes you doubt yourself. Suddenly, that solid idea you had in mind that made you split from the apartment is no longer so solid.
“The Belvedere has to have something. That’s our new lead!” Pulling your seatbelt over your body, you reach for your phone to give the Boss an update.
“He could have just been working off-record and gotten involved with the Syndicate some other way.”
You turn to him seriously. “Jeon. If it’s separate, why bother? Why would he be working for the Syndicate when he has a stable source of income as a dealer unless the two come hand in hand? They have to be hiding in plain sight.”
“And you’re willing to bet all your cards on that?” You almost find the doubt in his voice offensive.
You exhale deeply, trying to push down your temper. “The people in the Syndicate who killed him made sure there was nothing left on him to tell us who he was. No wallet, no keys, no license, no nothing, because they wanted his identity hidden. If he was working for them separately, why would they bother to do that? They would have just killed him and left. But it was about who he was and what he did. Which was dealing at The Belvedere.”
The car goes silent, and Jeon doesn’t reply. He only looks at you blankly, his poker face hard to break through, but not impossible. You know when he lets a hand slip up to tug at the strands at the nape of his neck.
“Good job,” he grins, hooking the key in the ignition and rumbling the car to life. He pulls out of the parking spot and onto the road casually.
“Are you fucking kidding me?” You cross your arms in front of you protectively, glaring at him from the side.
“Oh, come on. I never actually doubted you, I was just messing around.”
You scoff loudly, turning to the window. “You’re such a fucking liar, Gguk. You didn’t get the connection until I explained it and the fact that you can’t even admit that you’re wrong, the fact that you have to act like you always knew, blows my fucking mind!”
He makes a left turn, looking out at the road, clearly avoiding you even though you’re stuck in the same damn car a foot away. “Calm down, Y/N. It’s not that serious.”
“But it is that serious! It was going so well, Gguk. We were finally acting like regular partners on a job. You always have to ruin everything, don’t you? It always has to be about you, and how much of a hero you are-”
“I never said I was a hero.”
“But you sure act like it.”
“You’re being ridiculous.”
“Oh, I’m being ridiculous? Comes from the guy who claims he was ‘just joking around’ during a serious case like this when you know it’s not like what it used to be.”
“Okay, fine!” He shouts, hands slamming down on the steering wheel. “I did doubt you. I thought it was far fetched.” Jeon's voice booms as he rambles quickly in aggravation. “And then you explained it and I remembered that you’re really fucking smart and I wouldn’t have made that connection myself. And I lied because I didn’t know what else to say. I’m sorry, okay? Are you happy?”
Jeon’s free hand, which had been jerking around as he yelled, finds itself gripping the wheel again regretfully. Silence fills the car, hanging in the air as heavy and solid as concrete. You’re almost scared to breathe in face of all the tension. He looks like he’s about to say something else but stops himself before the words fall out.
The way you were fuming brings tears to your eyes. When your parents died, all you had was Jeongguk. But Jeongguk’s heart had been rooted in the mafia since he was young. The two were mutually exclusive, and your best option was following after him. It was hard to believe the boy you put your trust in so blindly all those years ago had grown into the man sitting next to you now, bringing you to tears with the way he infuriated you. Where did it all go wrong?
“No. I’m not.”
☆☆☆
You’re tired when you go to bed that night, and you’re tired when you wake up. Though you’re barely awake, you can feel Penny nestled into your side, body rising and falling as she breathes. It’s a small comfort, especially after the rough day you had. Last night had been a mess as you tried to hold it together for her, but simply couldn’t.
Today, you’ll be heading over to a motel in the Gambling District to stay at indefinitely with Jeon while you work on the case. You have no clue how long it will take - you’ll be taking a look at the Belvedere, but what comes after that, you don’t know.
It was important to note that somehow, the two of you had moved up to the faces of the mission, even though both sides were working tirelessly in the search.
The last thing you want to do right now is see him, but you have no choice. The sooner you start working and get it done, the sooner you can get home. But for now, you have to start packing. You take another moment to lay with Penny, because when you’ll next feel this safety and comfort again, you can’t be sure of. Then, you carefully unlink her from you and begin laying things out.
Something nice to wear for the casino, clothes to sleep in, essentials for hygiene, an extra pair of socks…
Eventually, Penny stretches out and groans to inform you of her awakening while you roam around the room. Her feet shifting under the comforter push a t-shirt off the bed.
“Sleep okay?”
She rubs her eyes. “Yeah, you?”
“Eh. Could have been better.”
While you are away, Penny will be home by herself. The Boss said that she wouldn’t be required for work while you were gone - she could stay home and safe, for your reassurance. It still makes you nervous, of course, but bringing her with you isn’t an option. Yeji promised she would stop in from time to time, and you would be leaving her with a sum of money in case she needs it to order food or something of the sort.
“When are you leaving?”
“I have to be there by one, so probably in an hour or so.”
“Can we make waffles then?”
You sigh, letting your arms go limp at your side. Waffles were a hassle, and the cleanup could be a nightmare, but… something told you it was worth it over the potential mess.
“Sure, go get the machine set up and I’ll come out in a sec.”
It takes a few more minutes to get everything packed, take a few extra bottles of soaps and gels just in case, quickly zipping up your duffle bag and tossing it down onto the bed for when you return later.
Out in the kitchen, Penny has gotten more of a move on. She has already retrieved the ingredients from the pantry, even started measuring amounts out accordingly with the instructions on the back of the box.
You let her have a little fun and crack the eggs this time - though some shell gets in there, it’s nothing you can’t pick out. She makes jokes and you can’t help but laugh, and something about it has its way of calming you down. It reminds you of how precious moments spent together are. Something about the girl just makes you let go of the burdens you carry.
But it’s much too soon that you’re cleaning up. A small ending for a small fragment of your day bound to be filled with things much larger than you’re ready to handle.
The rain falls like feathers when you pull into the lot, plunking consistently on your windshield. You turn the key and take it out, shutting down the vehicle’s rumbling engine, the lights dimming out all around you. You should get inside sooner than later, before the weather worsens, but you can’t seem to bring yourself out of the car. Jeon’s is already parked, meaning he’s inside waiting. But there’s no other choice you have. You’ll have to see him at some point, anyway. Postponing will only anger you further.
You push open the car door quickly, grabbing your bag and darting up the stairs as they clang under your shoes. The droplets smack against your skin and drip down relentlessly. It could be worse, but it is certainly not pleasant. Once you find shelter under the awning, you raise your hand in preparation to knock, but Jeon is already yanking open the door and stepping aside to make way for your entrance.
Inside, you dab at your hair with your sleeve carefully, fixing it in the mirror opposite to you. As clued in by the backpack and laptop already set up on the right side of the singular bed in the room, you deduced he had already claimed it. Therefore, you take the initiative to place your own bag on the left side, closest to the wall.
“So… how are you?”
“I’m fine.” You reach into your bag to begin unpacking a few of your essentials, feeling his eyes glued to you as you move around the room. Even as you plug in your charger, toss your computer on the bed, you could sense his firm yet uneasy presence behind you.
“Have you started yet?” you ask, brushing back the hair that had fallen forward onto your face. You’d prefer to start your work instead of floating around the elephant in the room awkwardly.
He tucks his hands into his pockets. “No, I was waiting for you.” Jeon has been stuck to the same spot near the dim lamp beside the door since you stepped through the threshold. It inclined you to think that maybe he’s as nervous as you are, but you’re sure it’ll pass over in a matter of minutes once he gathers himself.
“Okay.” You exhale in thought, sweeping yourself into a comfortable position on the bed. “I’ll start doing background on the casino and it’s ownership records. You can look into workers or people associated with the man who was killed. Or call the agency, I don’t know. You do you.”
He makes a small noise of agreement, flipping open his laptop. However, with the slow movement of his fingers across the keyboard, the air void of purposeful clicking, you can tell he’s not getting much done. In fact, you can see in your peripheral his stillness, as if he’s waiting to make a move.
When you spare a glimpse over to him, he offers an expression of deep thought, only to say, “There are snacks, too. In case you get hungry.”
Your scampering flow of typing pauses. “Okay.” All you can offer is a brief, tight pull of your lips, what you could barely define as a smile.
Luckily, he seems to receive your message loud and clear, turning back around in his chair to start up whatever he was planning on. You know what you want to get - the information most valuable to doing what you needed to do and confirming what you already suspected, which was in the past records of the proprietorship. It would also be helpful if you could find current workers and see what they were doing; Maybe even more helpful if you could find nothing at all.
The records you stumble upon are nothing short of interesting once you finally break down that barrier. Ownership of the casino had been consistent up until three months ago, when the deed holder - a healthy man of only fifty-six years old - made a business deal and swiftly moved out of the country, only to be found dead in his home a month later. The new owner’s background appeared without even the slightest scratch. The lack of suspicion is suspicious in itself - you don’t think the Falcon would have the place under his own name, but having it under someone who is pristine as a newly minted coin is dubious all the same.
It’s the shut of Jeon’s laptop that sucks you back into the reality of the motel room from your online sanctuary. He stands up to stretch and makes a move for the bathroom. The room is shrouded in the darkness of nighttime, save for the moonlight streaming in through the windows and the sorry excuse for a lamp on your night table. It wouldn’t kill you to call it a night either.
When he emerges, you take your turn, bringing a change of clothes with you so you won’t have to face the tension that might arise if you came back out in just a towel. The shower is pleasant; For a second, if you close your eyes, you’re no longer in the same space with him and can enjoy the time for yourself.
Your heavy heart can’t be kept at bay for too long. Outside the bathroom is a surprisingly accurate reminder of old times, when scenes just like this were the regular, and the feeling was the same. But at this moment, the way you’re avoiding his eyes while you braid your hair in the mirror is a show of just how much things have changed.
“Why are you looking at me?” you pipe quietly over the steady padding of your feet on the carpet, his watch following you hesitantly.
Jeon sits back at the head of the bed, not sure where to direct his gaze anymore now that you’ve verbally interrupted it. His constant attention, and especially the way he doesn’t deny it even in the face of your attitude towards him, leaves you with a weary ache that you’re quickly getting tired of feeling all the time.
A charming, shy smile fixes on his face as his head tilts endearingly, testing the waters. “What, I can’t look at you?”
“Not like that,” you mumble, barely above a whisper, lifting up the sheets to crawl in, leaving as much space as possible between the two of you. When you turn your back to him to look at the wall, you think he might make another teasing comment, but he doesn’t.
“It’s the braid,” he elaborates, as if it’s some sort of excuse sufficient enough to play flirty and cool with you when the situation is anything but. “It reminds me of when we were kids… you used to wear it like that every day.”
It’s almost as if to say, do you remember? But of course you remember. Afternoons spent at the playground, your hair in a loose braid thrown over the front of your shoulder. Mornings spent in the courtyard, scribbling down answers to work that was due in ten minutes. Evenings spent wandering around town, laughing and joking together as kids should. But nothing offered by the times of the past could dismiss the times of the present.
You lean over and tug the chain on the lamp, darkness enclosing your small room.
“Go to bed, Gguk.”
He doesn’t make another sound that night.
☆☆☆
The storm has proven its resilience yet continues to torrent, horribly testing the aging logs of trees and endlessly splattering your windows. Even still, it has something to say, residing anger it wants to make you feel, trapping you inside your room and limiting your options. It’s a deep pain, but perhaps if you were a storm, you’d let yourself drain out every ounce of deplorable wrath until there was nothing leftover, too.
Jeon sits at the small table near the door. He’s been there for who knows how long, flipping through pages, making phone calls that connect no dots, wasting his time. There is nothing that can be done at the moment, not with the state of the weather at least. Weather, a trivial matter, the most popular topic choice for insignificant conversation, heeds your course of action without a known resumption.
In the meantime, you enjoy yourself as much as you can. You make popcorn in the less than appealing microwave and settle in to watch whatever piques your interest in the slightest, meaning there is not a wide selection. Right now, you’ve got on a show about the aliens who have supposedly visited ancient Egypt and other societies bygone, and have been consistently present throughout the timeline of human history.
“Y/N. Let me ask you a question.” Jeon rubs his forehead, slumping over in his chair. “Did you come here with the intention of helping this case, or just to vacation?”
You nod in thought, humming. “Good question. I’d say the former, but I don’t think your question was intended to have an answer. Let me ask you a question then.”
His tired face turns to you expectantly.
You take a pensive breath before raising your hand and asking slowly, “Do you think that aliens provided advanced technologies to the Germans to build new weapons for the Third Reich?”
He stares at you blankly, meeting your still and inquisitive expression for just a moment until he cracks, shaking his head and looking away toward the window, as if he’ll find something better to say out there.
“No, I’m serious,” you insist as you toss another kernel into your mouth, hoping he takes your biting satire to heart. “Because, this guy is saying that the Germans built a flying saucer. A whole fucking flying saucer, called the Haunebu, and no, wait, listen, it was said to use mythical technology from old Indian texts.”
You stare, intent on waiting for a response. Jeon pinches the bridge of his nose, the way his fuse was quickly shortening keeping you bitterly entertained. “You have to work with me, Y/N. Can you please just work with me?”
The joke dissolves and you blankly turn to flip through the channels. “I am working with you. There’s just nothing to work on.”
He puts his head in his hands. “For God’s sake, can you stop? I know you don’t care for me, but if you could just cooperate-”
Your eyes widen in surprise. “Care for you?” you repeat, your smile fueled with gallons of flammable offense, sitting upright on the bed.
He spins in his chair to face you again, eyebrows knitting together before confirming, “Yeah, care for me!”
A sour laugh escapes you, arms folding over your front. “I don’t care for you? That’s rich, Gguk.”
“No, you don’t! And I don’t think you ever have, quite frankly, because you’re acting like such a bitch to me and can’t even give me a chance!” Jeon stands now, leaning into his words as his hands stretch out in dramatic gestures.
You jump to your feet. ”Why should I give you a chance? What good has that ever done me?”
Jeon’s jaw visibly clenches, his hand shooting up to meet his chin as he eschews your scrutinizing eye. You feel your nails digging into your palms as your fists clench, but you’re sure you’ll swing at something if you stop.
Your throat begins to sting, masking your cracking voice with a low tone. “I almost died for you, Gguk. And a week later, you left me.”
The room collapses under the weight of the elephant. It’s everything you’ve wanted to say for years bubbling to the top.
As soon as the venom leaves your mouth, you know he remembers. The guilt washing over his features says it all, awful clips of the last mission you ever went on together passing through his vision.
It was supposed to be an easy interception of a deal, but Jeon’s inability to differentiate between necessary risk and recklessness cost you your covers. He got away. You were captured.
It was torture at the expense of his safety. Excruciating pain in order to protect him from his own mistake. Your blood spilled, your tears cried, your body hurt. Yet at the end of every video, every call, every threat, your only message to him was that it was okay.
They were the worst you had ever encountered. They wanted leverage over the Boss; They wanted Jeon. And the only way to him was to you. At the time, it was worth it. You wouldn’t give him up, you wouldn’t let yourself become a part of an exchange for his life. You put his over your own in a heartbeat.
And where had that gotten you?
Your depth of a breaking point had provided that desperately needed time to organize a plan of attack, and even though you hadn’t been there quite yet, even though you had been trained and it was far from your first rodeo, it wasn’t anything less than scarring.
Even though the mafia infiltrated and rescued you successfully, the inner turmoil never fully recovered. Though you moved past the nightmares and the flashbacks that hid in your damaged subconscious, the memory never stopped hurting. Especially when he up and left you to deal with it on your own.
“I know,” is all he can muster.
A thrilling laugh of spite rips from your throat. He hates it.
“What? That’s all you can say? You can’t even give me an explanation?”
“I… I was out of options for us, Y/N. After the mission, I knew it was me making you vulnerable. People were hurting you over me, and I didn’t want that for us anymore. I made a plan to leave, and I thought that you could come with me… but I was stupid and in a rush and the deal was only for my cooperation if the Agency helped me out. They wouldn’t let me take you.”
Your usual crisp verbosity fails you now, everything you need to say stuck in your throat. A stabbing anguish falls like bullets in a downpour, a storm born only in the bitterest winter.
“I know I fucked up, Y/N, I know I did. And I’ll always be sorry and I’ll always regret it. And I’ll spend every second of my life trying to make up for it.” Jeon’s lip quivers through his shaky breaths, his eyes now soaked, the ache in his heart unforgiving. “And I know I can’t ever take it back, but you hate me so bad…”
A pained upturn of your lips feeling the grudge of a thousand wrongdoings phases over your expression, for him, for you, for everyone you’d ever known in this sickening lifetime.
“I don’t hate you, Gguk,” you sob through your teeth, wiping furiously at your eyes, “I hate… I hate that I love you regardless of what you do.”
He winces. “Please don’t do that to me.”
“Do what?”
Hot streams of tears trickled down his supple cheeks, voice cracking as he whispers, “Say that you love me when you know how I feel.”
“Oh shut up, Jeongguk!” you yell, wet rage prickling your veins as it courses through you. Your cheeks are now just vessels for a dam breaking loose. “I have always loved you!”
And it hurts so bad to say it. The way he makes your stomach flutter feels like a betrayal to yourself. But that smile he wears like a medallion, those eyes that are always searching for you, that golden heart that loved you so well - everything you hate is everything you love. Even when you want to ignore the truth for everything it’s worth and all the weight it heaves on its shoulders, it’s impossible to escape the way you love him even when you wish you could just hate him.
You calm yourself with a shaky breath. “I loved you before, and I loved you after, even when you left and I knew you weren’t coming back.”
“That’s not true,” he sputters, taking a step toward you. “I was always going to come back. Every day, I begged for help to get you out. But the deal I made with the agency was only my rescue for my cooperation, and it didn’t include you, no matter what I tried to do.”
It stings your chest. You have to turn away when your head drops to your palms, but he’s quick to reach a hand to your shoulder for your attention.
“It’s been over three years, Gguk,” you whisper, sniffling as you wipe your running nose with your sleeve. Your voice is clogged in disappointed acceptance. “Don’t lie. Just say my relevance to you faded and you forgot.”
He grasps your arm gently, beckoning your eyes to meet his. While your tears are slowing from tire, his are an endless faucet left on in negligence.
“No,” his tone softens, “No, I was waiting until it was safe.”
You shake your head, the soreness in your chest present as ever as you try to hold it all in. “It was never going to be safe.”
“Maybe. And maybe it won’t ever be. But you have to let me make it right.”
“How do you intend on doing that? Putting snacks in the fridge doesn’t do shit, Gguk.”
He inhales deeply as his lips press together. Jeon takes a careful glance around the room, eyebrows furrowing as he silently pleads with you.
“I made a plan to get you out after the mission is completed. The higher-ups at the Agency agreed just in exchange for you to give a private report with as much as you know for future reference. From there, it’s you going wherever you want, no strings attached, no extra deal you have to make.”
“That won’t work,” you scoff.
“Yes, it will! I promise it will! Listen, everything is already planned. My friends are taking extra care because they trust me. You’ll have new records, a new passport and a license, new everything, and even…”
“Gguk...” You whisper as he continues rambling. “Gguk. Jeongguk!”
He takes in a sharp breath as his words are cut off mid-stream, feeling his heart drop to his stomach.
In a quiet, calm whisper, you explain, “I can’t. I have Penny and other people here that I care about. For god sake, I have money I've been saving for years in that apartment, all our stuff is there, I can’t just leave and not come back.”
The desperation in his voice is now out in the open. “I know. I wasn’t expecting that, but I’m working on her now, too. You just have to trust me.”
For a second, he lets himself swell with hope, but your deep, despondent sigh crumbles him right back down to where he started.
“Gguk…” you start, but he can’t bear to hear it, leaning down to meet your hesitant eyes straight on. Distress clouds his watery pupils as he implores you with every ounce of sincerity he can muster to the surface for you. He doesn’t know how else he can make you see he’s being more honest now than he ever has been in his life.
“It’s okay if you can’t forgive me. I understand, and I’ll never stop being sorry. And, and I’m sorry for how I acted when I saw you again, but I was just so scared.” His lip trembles as he searches for eyes for something, anything. “I didn’t know what I was supposed to do because I was so scared of what you’d say and how you’d feel and I thought if I acted like it was fine, it wouldn’t hurt as bad.”
He swallows on a dry mouth, trying not to stammer but his heart denying him that ability.
“I, I thought about you every day. Every day. And I knew it was complicated and everyone told me I should just let go and, and I just couldn’t! I just knew it was you. It was always you. And I am so, so sorry I made you feel it wasn’t.”
By now, you can’t restrain your tears, no matter how hard you clench your teeth or comfort your face. In a moment of deep affliction, there’s no other place to turn but him. The second you pull him to you is relief synonymous with the feeling of when a battered castaway finally spots a plane coming for their rescue; it is joint.
“I wish I could trust you, Jeongguk,” Sobs muffled by his comforting chest, you cry, ”But I don’t know if I can do that. I want to believe you so bad, but I… I don’t know if it’s worth it.”
The comforting warmth of his body is a mean juxtaposition against the harsh sobs that rack through it. Jeongguk smells of something sweet and nostalgically familiar, like sunny beach days spent down by the salty water, plucking seashells from the sand and digging for hermit crabs once the waves pull away from the shore. Light sunscreen and grainy memories that flash by as your brain slides through like film.
“That’s okay,” he mumbles into your hair. Your will splinters in his arms. “Just think about it. That’s all. Just think about it.”
Though you nod against him in shaky assent, it’s not a promise.
☆☆☆
Not the next day, but the day after, is when you decide to make your move.
The casino is a home base, hidden in plain sight. Not even that - crowded by the public eye, and yet not a suspicion raised despite its astronomical numbers being reported over the past few months. Sure, it was bustling full of rich men in need of something to spend their money on, but not enough to sustain those incredible reports.
And under that brittle, flimsy assumption comes your similarly brittle, flimsy plan. Go in, see what you can see. Scout for suspicious activity, chat up drunk patrons and loosen their lips, explore the building a bit. See what you see.
Your fingers are nimble, but your prickling nerves make them fumble as you try the clasp on your necklace. The nail on your pointer can’t seem to hold the small lever down for long enough, even when you twist the chain around so you can lean forward to do it in the mirror. You even consider just tossing it to the side and going without the necklace.
Jeon, standing awkwardly to the side and already having fixed his sleeves in place countless times, glances over to you in the mirror briefly. You sigh when you catch his hesitant watch in the reflection - his shy offer goes unspoken, just a reminder that it’s there if you want to take it. All it takes is a minuscule top of your head to give in.
Resisting Jeongguk is like resisting gravity. It pulls you down sooner or later, no matter how high or far you push yourself off. But at the end of the day, it keeps you grounded.
His footsteps are barely audible on the carpet as he approaches timidly. Light on his feet, as always. You surrender the ends of the necklace to him and tug the pendant back around to the front. The pads of his fingertips are rough as they drag lightly across your skin in the exchange, igniting a flaming feeling in their path. You can feel the hairs on the back of your neck prickle as he pushes them out of the way with the back of his hand. Considering his extensive training and incredible eye, you’re sure he notices it, but you’re grateful he doesn’t say anything.
You try not to let your eyes wander in the mirror for too long. For your excursion tonight, your dress is one of the best you own - a simple, dark satin gown with a generous leg slit to steal some eyes, but not enough to make you uncomfortable. The deep cowl neck is flattering in its pristine v-shape, especially with the way the pendant hangs itself just above.
Jeon is sporting all black. His shirt is ironed smoothly, fitting well over his shoulders and tucked with care into his trousers and secured with a sturdy belt. His sleeves are rolled up to his elbows to reveal his skin, tattoos peeking out in a shamelessly appealing way, and the collar…
Okay, too much. You’ll go into sensory overload if you look any longer. He’s caught onto it, the way a smirk creeps onto his face. He lingers a second longer after he’s clasped the jewelry in place. The Gguk you know flicks his eyes up quickly and throws a small, short smile your way, hands reluctant to pull away as they take the time to drift over your bare shoulders.
You clear your throat, taking the initiative to get on your way. He hides the way his spirit dips at the rejection, but he knows he can’t expect more. Once you’re outside and have locked the door behind you, the night air hits you, cool and fresh and promising. But for what exactly, you can’t be sure.
☆☆☆
The Belvedere is one of the most expensive-looking places in the city - in the months since you’d last worked a case around the gambling district, it had certainly been renovated. At the very front, the casino’s name glows light blue in a thin font while large ivory columns hold up a wide intricate ceiling to shade the pavilion. A wall of luxe glass doors lines the entrance, so sparkly and reflecting you think it can’t be just glass.
As inviting as the front entrance seems, it is not your way in. Too many scrutinizing eyes, too many cautious cameras, too much security for your type of job. That leads you to the side of the building, a small alley between buildings with one side entrance. The agency already looped the footage twenty minutes ago just to be safe.
But of course when you try it, it’s locked.
“And… what now? They’ll notice if we just break in.”
Jeon shrugs. “Maybe not until a little while. Besides, we’re covered.” His pointer finds the camera up above the two of your for reference.
“I’d rather hold off on the damage we do.”
As he racks his brain for another option, your brain tunes in to the muted sound of shoes on linoleum. He raises a question just as you put your ear to the door but your shush quiets him immediately. The footsteps are coming your way.
Just as you feel the door about to open, you tug Jeon to the side next to the door’s hinge, pulling him down by his collar into a kiss. The door opens loudly and his hands, after his initial shock dissipates, find themselves on your waist as your own snake their way around his neck. You make sure one hand covers the side of his face generously and that your hair masks your own, meanwhile Jeon can’t help himself from getting swept up in you.
A guard, you think it is, halts when he sees the two of you, but takes it off his radar when he can no longer stand to watch your shamelessness. Or rather, Jeon’s shamelessness. His lips persistently press themselves to yours, nipping and pulling all the while his large hands push into your waist. Something about it makes you think it’s not just for a distraction.
The man shakes his head and turns the opposite direction, walking out toward the street. Before the heavy door falls closed behind him, you reach an arm out to grab the handle. Jeon pulls back slowly, blinking dumbfoundedly. He never thought you’d do such a thing - but clearly, it wasn’t such a thing to you by the way you were grinning like you’d only told a joke. He swallows, mentally slapping himself in a note to get himself together. You’re already stepping inside, and he picks up to follow suit.
You follow the hallway down the main room, and no one raises any concern, probably unable to sense suspicion in their state of inebriation. The two of you weave your way through crowds of people with too much money to spend, quietly thinking of how easy it would be to pickpocket them - but that’s for another time.
A quick scan of the room provides you with the bar, rows of slot machines, pool tables, and a large lounge area filled with the sounds of mindless chatter and glasses clinking. You order drinks to blend in, nothing alcoholic, because as much as you wish you could get drunk and have fun in a casino, that wasn’t the reason you were here. Jeon hands you your coke with a practiced movement.
In a cheesy sort of cheers, he says, “To… the Lion and the Scorpion? Or is that too soon?” He purses his lips, half scared you’ll agree its too soon. It’s relief when he hears the laugh he missed so dearly.
“Not too soon, just a little embarrassing.” You clink your glass to his and take a sip. Jeon leads you over to the dartboards in excitement, one of his favorites to partake in. He chooses the one at the end of the row so you can stand beside him, supposedly to be impressed by his skills and praise him.
“God, this reminds me of Macau,” he sighs out contently. His coffee eyes roam around the large expanse of the hall, seeming to glitter under the crystal chandeliers hanging above you as he walks back from the controls, darts in hand. He gets into position and throws his first, landing for two points in the ring of red. As if you didn’t already know, he adds, “I loved Macau.”
You scoff. “What, because of the way our covers were blown and we had to massacre the lobby, or the sex?”
“Why not both?” He shrugs, smirk creeping onto his face. Another dart leaves his grip, expert aim leading right to the bullseye.
You take another sip of your drink. “Careful,” you warn, “Can’t be too good at this. It comes with questions.”
He hums, and you wonder if he’s even listening. “And you still had blood on your chest. Weirdly sexy.” His eyes narrow jokingly as he speaks just low enough so only you can hear it, and the reaction it pulls from you is exactly what he wanted when he starts to laugh. He lets go of his last dart with a shake of his head, either at the memory or his bad throw that says he’s going fishing.
He turns back to you. At your annoyed expression, he takes another swig of his drink and leans down to your ear. “Seriously though. That was hot.”
You roll your eyes before sending a scowl his way. “I’ll make sure to be extra messy tonight, just for you.” Your eyes crinkle peevishly. The sarcastic tone doesn’t escape him, but he does look hopeful.
“Hey, speaking of, this could be my New Macau. If you’re feeling frisky after the mission.” He throws you a flirtatious wink. While your poker face implies disinterest, your stomach is somersaulting head over heels, and you have a feeling he knows it by the way his eyes linger on you when you raise your glass to your lips.
The phone in your purse vibrates. It’s a text from Yeji - need to get a move on. Jeon already has your gaze when you look back to meet him, but he knows it’s time from your expression alone. With a small nod, he goes up to end the game on the machine’s screen. Instead of coming back to you, though, he subtly taps your arm as he walks past and heads off to the door of the main floor, disappearing from your sight. You wait for a good thirty seconds, let people pass across the camera view at random, before hopping down from the barstool to follow in his footsteps.
You find him waiting in a secluded hallway, away from crowds or casino-regulars. He looks solemn, back pressed against the wall, and you have a feeling that what he has to say might upset you. He thinks so, too.
“Listen, you have to make a decision now. Before we split up, because there’s a chance I might not see you after this.”
You shrug. “I haven’t decided yet.” His eyebrows draw together as he gives you a pleading expression. His eyes flick to both sides of the hall before coming back to you, releasing a deep breath before pushing his hair from his eyes.
“I gave you the time, Y/N. You have to before it’s too late.” Jeon gulps, fumbling for the words. “Just come with me, please. I know it’s a lot to ask and I know you’re scared but you can trust me. I can help you.”
“No, Gguk. You don’t get it - It’s not possible. It’s not an option.” You sigh in resignation. A depleted smile surfaces as you shake your head. “Not in this life.”
“I’m not leaving you.”
“You did it once, you can do it again.”
“I’m not… I- I won’t. Y/N, please…” His lip quivers, his eyes glossing over.
He can’t accept the answer your silence provides. It’s not enough, not something he’s willing to endure. If it’s going to be a no, he has to hear it loud and clear.
He purses his lips tight. “I’ll flip a coin then.”
“...What?”
“I’ll flip a coin. Heads, you come with me. Tails, I’ll go,” he says shakily, swallowing, “...and I’ll never speak to you again.”
Before you can stop him, he’s wiping away the tears that have not yet had the chance to escape and aggressively fishing a quarter from his pocket, placing it on the tip of his thumb. Desperation burns in him, but you’re paralyzed. All you can do is stare, a fish out of water being held in the grip of an angler who just can’t let go. Or maybe one that’s urging you back out to sea.
His thumb flicks and the coin flies, the sound barely audible in this corner of the building but piercing to your ears. It flips in the air, every rotation executed with purpose - in that moment, as its arc nearly completes, the thought strikes you like lightning and without a second thought, you hand reaches up and snatches it midair.
Jeon is awestruck. He searches for something to say as his fountain of hope runs dry.
Weakly, you mutter, “Okay.” Its compliance, but a strange relief that makes you feel guilty the second it washes over you.
“Okay?”
“I’ll come.”
A tight-lipped smile spreads on his face - it’s the best he can do after such stress. In a heartbeat, he embraces you tightly, broad shoulders enveloping your form. His grip is familiar and only full of good things, even if it might suffocate you. His long, wavy locks brush lightly against your jaw as he buries his face in your neck. For once, you let yourself have that rare moment of comfort.
“I won’t let you down,” he says, a vocal assurance for himself maybe more than for you. He thinks that maybe he shouldn’t say it, but he has to. “I promise.”
It’s his first small triumph tonight. If nothing else, it is a debt repaid. He won’t push for more. He pulls back, lets you fix your hair and readjust your dress.
“Let’s get a move on. I’ll search the main floor, you take a look around the building. Keep in touch.”
You’re about to turn away from him, but his arm catches your wrist at the last second. When you look back to see what he has to say, he has trouble finding the right words.
“Listen… Y/N, I don’t know what it is, but I have this awful feeling. And I’m trying to ignore it, I know I’m probably just nervous, but I just want you to know in case. You don’t have to say anything…”
The hair framing your face bounces as your head begins to shake, trying to deny him before he can even say it. “No, Gguk, I know-”
“No. I...I love you. And you gotta know that, no matter what happens.” His thumb traces small circles on the patch of skin where yours meets your index. Before you have a chance to respond, he gives your hand a tight squeeze and plants a chaste kiss to your cheek, lips plush and sweet against your dimple, his last action as your token of remembrance.
He doesn’t know why he feels so frail as he walks away, wiping away the wetness leaking from his eyes as he tries to calm himself down. Maybe it’s the lack of information, maybe it’s you possibly being in danger again. He tries to push it down as he struggles to resist the urge to look back at you; He’s just all up in his head, right? You can defend yourself, you’ll be fine without him, he reassures himself. You can make rope from kitchen twine.
You’re stuck on your own as the distance between you grows, heart racing as your time to say it back runs out like sand in an hourglass. In less than seconds, his figure has already disappeared around the corner.
A delicate finger reaches up to press the small button on the spyware piece tucked behind your ear. The whisper is low but you mean every syllable, regardless of the leftover turmoil that has consistently tempted you into anger the past few years - “I love you, Jeongguk.”
It’s a shot in the dark for you without his physical presence, but he hears it. It’s barely audible, but he hears it, and rings in his mind for moments after. It makes him feel right, like the moment when everything sifts into the bowl perfectly, no clumps of doubt left behind in the minuscule metal crosshatches. Even if just for a few seconds, the feeling of relief stays frozen in time.
You’re on your way back to the main hall when a buzz from your purse alerts you to an unknown number calling your phone. Typically you’d let it ring, thinking it was spam - but considering this was an agency phone, that wouldn’t make much sense. Your finger hovers over the green accept button, hesitantly pressing down and lifting it to your ear.
The response is immediate. “The Scorpion,” a man on the other end addresses you, sounding much too enthusiastic for your taste. His voice is masked with a changer, the tone fluctuating as he speaks. “I’m glad you could make it tonight. I’ve spent a lot to make this place nice.”
The theatrics elicit an impatient eye roll from you. “Who is this?”
“Who do you think? You’re a smart cookie. There’s a reason they call you the Scorpion, isn’t there?”
He lets the pause marinate and continues, “I actually wanted to meet with you. I need to discuss something vital to you in person, but you’ll have to do some things for me first.”
You begin to turn around, spinning on your heels and intent on heading to Jeongguk downstairs, but the voice on the phone stops you. “Where do you think you’re going?”
You freeze, an eyebrow raising at the voice’s inquiry. Keen eyes scan quickly, landing on the faceless lens of a security camera -
“It’s my casino. Of course I can see what you’re doing.”
A skeptical breath escapes you, squinting at the camera focused on your position. “...What do you want?”
“I just want to talk.” It’s casual.
“How do I know it’s not a trap?”
“You don’t. But you don’t have any other option, really. If you need convincing… why don’t you check your home security?”
The dubious persona falters as your heart stops. It couldn’t be. You exit the call and open the app on your phone right away, and a sinking feeling hits you like a truck on the freeway, full speed and with reckless abandon. The view from the camera, grey and grainy, displays the apartment in pieces, furniture overthrown and papers scattered. The dread crawls up your spine as your worst nightmare, the one thing you always prayed for despite the lack of faith, comes to life; Penny is gone.
You call the number back.
“What now?” you say, jaw clenched. trying to calm your breathing.
“Take out your earpiece, toss it to the floor, and crush it. I need to protect my location somehow, right? Just a precaution.”
You slowly remove the receiver from its spot nestled in around your ear, thumbing the tiny matte black tech. It’s your connection to the outside, to safety. It’s your connection to Jeongguk. But the Falcon has played his cards right, leaving you with no other option. It falls from your fingertips, clatters to the linoleum, and you crush it underneath your heel.
“Now, your weapons. My guards will come to escort you - hand over your gun and any knives you may have on you. I know you’re sneaky, but now… really isn’t the time. I’ll see you in a bit.” A cold click ends the call and he’s gone.
On cue, two masked men dressed in all black emerge. They don’t frighten you, you know you could take them if you needed to. However, the priority is Penny, so you have to. You surrender your weapons and phone to them, and then they begin to shuffle you away to wherever the Falcon had made his nest.
Despite the nerves prickling like electric shocks, uneasiness itches in the back of your mind. Something about the phone call - was it the strange familiarity that made you feel so nauseous? You couldn’t quite place your finger on what was so off, on what about it pulled the alarm, but something besides the obvious situation at hand was wrong.
☆☆☆
Jeongguk doesn’t have much to go off of. He’s looking for something, anything, that can clue him in. He finds a creepy looking stairwell and decides to take it down. That’s how you find everything in need of being found, right? By following what feels off?
He comes to a storage room full of dusty metal shelves, all lined with boxes upon boxes. He takes a quick sweep of the room, shrugging to himself before delving into one. It’s just piles of text he doesn’t understand, pages and pages of orders and receipts dating back years and years. Maps of the building, information of repairs and inventory and renovations. It doesn’t mean anything useful, until he sees orders under names that ring a bell.
But from where? People he went to school with, maybe? For the life of him, he can’t remember where he knows them from.
He’s frantically flipping through pages, pulling boxes from the shelves and trying his best to read under the dim light. It’s not making any sense, until he lands on orders filed under the name… Jeon?
He freezes, all alone in the middle of a storage room full of thousands of documents, a sickly feeling washing over him.
A trembling hand reaches up to press the button on his earpiece.
“Y/N? I think I just found something.”
He waits, and no response from you.
“...Y/N?”
☆☆☆
The penthouse is in the heart of the city, just a few blocks away from the Belvedere. The view is enough to tell it to you - it overlooks miles of blinking lights and busy streets with which you have an archetypal love-hate relationship with.
You’ve stepped fresh off the elevator into an open room that is in dire need of an interior decorator, or at the very least some basic furnishing. It’s basically empty, the dark hardwood floors even coated with a light layer of dust. Nothing except the moon and the fireplace at the other end of the room illuminate the space.
There’s shuffling, and the guards on either side of you are grabbing firmly onto your arms.
“What the fuck are you doing?” You struggle against them, fighting to get out of their grip, but one of them mutters how it’ll be better for you if you cooperate. You strain against the instinct to escape, every bone in your body screaming disgusted by the forced submission. Handcuffs click into place, and pressure on your shoulders pushes you to your knees. Then, they resign themselves to the back corners of the room.
A door creaks open at the far side of the room. The man sports a dark coat that obscures his figure, and long, dark hair hangs over the man’s face. His steps are slow and calculated on the wooden floor as he makes his way to the fire. Slender, practiced fingers grab onto the poker and stir the fire, glowing orange embers soaring in a blizzard of an inferno. A silver ring glints in the moonlight - one you’d recognize anywhere.
The details flood back, chains of connections like dominoes tipping over the edge of gut-wrenching betrayal -
“...Boss?”
The man pauses, followed by a sudden clasp of his hands in… delight?
He spins on the heel of his oxfords to face you, hair sweeping back as he smiles at you.
“Keen as ever, my dear. You truly are the Scorpion. I know how you feel about your title, but you’re deserving of it.”
A shaky breath leaves your throat, eyes stinging as you make out a low, “What is this?”
At the sight of your panic, the boss hurries over to you, making a show of how he takes your jaw in his hands. Though you flinch, he wipes the escaping tear with a calloused thumb.
“No, dear, no need to cry! This doesn’t have to be difficult. You are just leverage - you won’t be hurt as long as what needs to happen, happens.” The way he shakes his head, the twisted compassion in his eyes, makes you sick.
“Then where’s Penny?”
His sigh is accompanied by a sad smile. “Penny is the leverage over you. In case you get any funny ideas.”
“For what? What is this about?” you press, “What about the Syndicate, huh? Aren’t you gonna tell me what this is for?”
A rush of air, and then a sharp pressure on your throat. The Boss’s blade creeping up your throat - a small burn as he nicks your skin.
“I’d watch my mouth if I were you. You should remember where your loyalties lie.”
You swallow thickly, and he continues.
“The Syndicate is real. Their presence in this city is real - but we are on good terms with them. I help them, they help me. They sacrifice a few men because they do what’s needed for the terms of the agreement, just like us.”
He blew up a building, ransacked the agency, led you on a wild goose chase in search of a threat that didn’t exist? There was always something psychotic about the Boss, that’s why he instilled so much fear in you - his lack of empathy, the lengths he’d go just for a show of power, but a ploy like this?
“And what’s that got to do with me?”
He scoffs. “It’s not about you, my dear. It never was. It’s about your connection to who it is about…”
His grin grows inverse to your pained frown, lips quivering as the realization dawns on you. “Jeongguk.”
“You’re the link, Y/N. I know how much you hate to love him. Only if you were forced to for the sake of the city. The reconnection wouldn’t be easy, but that boy is persistent, and the moment he heard you say those words back, it was sealed.”
You’re choked by the weight of his words crashing down on your throat. It’s horrifying, the way the tears well up and spill recklessly, finding it hard to breathe with your arms restrained. You focus your hardest on the effort to stay conscious, but the nausea is eating away at you.
“He was honest, too. He’s tried multiple times to fish you out of here. And it always rubbed me the wrong way. He’ll leave me behind, but not you? You’re my best, Y/N, but I despise you simply because of what your existence means.”
“You’re going to kill him?” you bite your lip to hold back the sob trying to crawl its way from your chest.
The Boss blinks, tilting his head in a faked compassion. “Only if he makes the same mistake again.”
An alert sounds out from his pocket. He fishes out his phone and holds it up to show you a map with a green dot steady on a location, seemingly yours.
“And it looks like we’ll find out right about… now.”
The elevator behind you opens, and the guards point their guns straight at the figure stepping off. His gun is held up protectively, but he has nowhere to go, face falling as he reads the situation - reads the pain on your face as you stare back at him on the floor.
He lowers his pistol, glaring at the man waiting smugly in front of him.
“Nice to see you again, Jeongguk.”
His lip turns down in disgust, spitting rancor -
“Can’t say the same for myself, Dad.”
☆☆☆
The tension in the air is tight, like a thousand strings of yarn pinned wall to wall and floor to ceiling and impossible to maneuver. The Boss tsks at the cold reunion, more bitter than he had hoped.
“What, you didn’t miss me all these years? I raised you, after all.”
“Raised me?” Jeongguk scoffs incredulously. “Try training me into your personal pawn, like some fucked up trophy for you to flaunt.”
“It was only so you could someday take my spot, son. I treated you the same way my father did me.”
The bitter timbre of his voice is laced with venom, so uncharacteristic of the Jeongguk you know. “Well, I worked out my daddy issues with a therapist. Maybe you should give it a shot. You should also probably mention how fucked up you are to plan a scheme like this just to bring me here.”
“You left, Jeongguk. I’d do anything for my son.”
“Oh, please-”
A loud click, and cool metal pressed against your forehead. Jeongguk freezes, and he knows the stakes. His blood boils from the blatant manipulation. There was a reason he left - he hated feeling this exact moment, and he hated reliving it even more. It was a place he thought he’d never be in again.
The Boss rolls his eyes again. “Always with something to say, forgetting I’m your elder, your father no less. Plan on letting me speak soon?”
His eyes are as cool as Jeongguk’s now. Dark, disappeared from dramatic frills or drawn-out tones. The resemblance is stunning, strikes fear in your heart, both physical and the mannerisms long-buried by time now resurfaced by each other.
When you meet the Boss’s eyes, they show no remorse for someone he claimed thinks of as his best.
Jeongguk’s eyes flick down and back up. Cooperation.
“Thank you.” He pulls the gun away, letting you catch a breath. “It’s simple, son. You agree to come back, and everything goes smoothly. If not, you won’t be leaving this room alive, and neither will she. Can’t have my trump cards playing against me.”
“Leave her out of this.”
“She’s the reason you’re here, how could I leave her out of this?”
“This is you and me. Not her.”
His father muses the idea, chews it up, spits it out. “Okay,” he grins. “Just us. I’d say go until one surrenders, but that’s not how us Jeons do it. If you can kill me, you’re free to do what you want.”
The guards lower their weapons, leaving the room at a snap of the Boss’s fingers, and Jeongguk’s grip on his tightens, knuckles turning white as he nods sharply in agreement. He’s been caught, a three-year-long game of cat and mouse finally come to a standstill. The man he looks at is just another cruel, cold-hearted crook on a power trip. The last thing he wants to do is fight him, because as skilled as Jeongguk might be, his father is equally such. He also has the upper hand: No feelings of remorse.
But he sees you on the floor, and when it comes to your life on the line, he knows he’d do anything. No matter the risk or the cost, he’d play a losing hand if he had to, if just to keep the fear from your mind. He steps past you, eyes speaking of reassurance when they meet yours, but it’s not a promise.
Once Jeongguk has made his way around you to the center of the room, the Boss’s attention falls to you.
“Hear that, dear? This is a family issue. But in case you need any more convincing…”
The same door he creaked through minutes ago flies open, and in shuffles two people. Penny’s figure mirrors your own, arms tied behind her back. Her eyes are red and puffy, hair mussed and clothes wrinkled. There’s no blood or bruising visible, but it kills you the second you lay eyes on her. Your chest heaves silently, panic rising as she is brought in front of the fireplace, led by… Yeji?
The sleek, dark ponytail is unmistakable, and her cat eyes flick over to you in guilt as your words confirm her presence.
“I’m sorry,” she mouths, tears clouding her eyes. “I didn’t know.”
It was impossible to believe how easily everything was collapsing. Maybe your foundations were not as strong as you once thought. Wasn’t it just a week ago you had last spoken to her, taken her advice on working with Jeongguk?
“Again. No need for anyone to get hurt as long as you don’t interfere.”
But would Yeji hurt Penny, even at the Boss’s command? Was she that scared of him? Penny finds you, and you try your best to communicate reassurance, but you fall short. She trembles in fear the same as you.
Without warning, the Boss’s blade flies across the room. Jeongguk side steps, but the red gash sliced along his cheek taunts him for being a second too late. He reaches up a finger to dab at the blood in awe.
His anger fuels him forward. He raises his gun, ringing out shots that bury themselves in the drywall as he closes the gap. The Boss dodges each one. Slender fingers pull the gun from its holster, firing back immediately, glass shattering behind the younger.
Jeongguk zig zags on his feet, blade swinging up viciously at his father while he pulls the trigger in his left hand. The Boss is quick despite his age, no hesitation to his wide, ruthless swings. Jeongguk ducks and spins, changing their positions, knocking a knife from his grasp.
The man laughs. “That was good, but you can do better!” he yells, evading Jeongguk’s relentless swipes. As he taunts, a shard of glass reaches your vicinity. “Or are you too scared to hurt your old man?”
Your fingers bleed hot as you force the shard into the keylock, lifting up the metal lever.
It only fuels Jeongguk’s fire. A firm kick to the chest sends the Boss stumbling back. Jeongguk progresses, his knife dropping around in his grip, taking the slim moment to drive a sharp ice pick stab to his father's shoulder.
His eyes flick to you, and he doesn’t have the time to pull it back out. His father parries his left wrist outward and the gun is knocked from his fingertips, skidding to the floor, arriving kindly right in front of you. A single shot blasts out and Jeongguk lets out a clipped yelp. Your wrists free from the lock and reach for the solution just inches away.
But it’s already checkmate. The Boss’ blade is pressed up against Jeongguk’s throat, who is on his knees as he clutches at his thigh, crimson seeping through his fingers.
“Has the Lion been tamed since I last saw him?” The Boss mocks. There is nowhere for Jeongguk to go. “I’m disappointed, son. Love has made you weak.”
It steals the breath from your lungs. His eyes dart to your figure, mirroring his son’s actions just moments ago. He dares you to make a move. With his play, you can’t.
But that’s where the Boss is wrong. The man void of love sees it as a shot with a predetermined course from point A to point B, easily interfered with by the right tools, by the right move. However, love should not be mistaken for something meager. It’s an ever-weaving thread, crossing and connecting each and every way. Love does not have to be star-crossed and dire, it is not always a fated, tragic romance. There is no one love to outlast all others - not when it can be one you choose.
Yeji meets your eyes from across the room. The Boss has only a bluff catcher against her, the mistake of expecting loyalty before knowing for sure. It’s a twisted collusion that you never would have chosen, but it’s not your hand to play anymore.
Her vision is blurry through her tears. Yeji takes a breath she’s sure will be her last and releases it shakily. She has to do it now. She thinks of every other woman roped into his scheme, every future Penny that will be taken if it doesn’t end here, and she knows you can do it, because she was never strong enough to.
“Forgive me,” she croaks.
An enraged bellow leaves the Boss, but all too late. She has already fired, breaking the lock that has held you captive all these years. A scream rips from your throat as Penny’s body falls forward and collapses to the hardwood.
Yeji is shredded by the entourage of bullets ripping from the Boss’s gun. She stumbles back, hits the wall, sinks to the floor.
Your hands instinctively reach for the weapon in front of you, hands fumbling as you pull the trigger with the weight of a thousand lives behind your index alone. The Boss falls, knife slipping from his fleeting grip, the third and final seal to the game.
The silence is stunning. Nothing feels real. It’s all shock before the pain rushes in, the inability to breath, the feeling of drowning. It’s utter anguish as you fight to the other side of the room, but Jeongguk holds you back. Pushing past him, only for him to spin you around and make you look him in the eye.
“We have to go,” he says through gritted teeth, voice cracking. His eyes plead with you as they blink away tears. Blood coats his hands, urgently dripping down his wrists as they grip yours. “Y/N, we have to go.”
It dawns just as the day on the glowing horizon behind him that it’s over, but there is no victory in sight.
☆☆☆
The coming days are a whirlwind. Most of the time you’re numb, finding yourself stuck in your mind replaying memories over and over, and wincing to pull yourself out of them to the real world that is not much better. The funerals are a blur, long and tiring processions of black and sympathies you are not capable of accepting that leave your head pounding by the time you finally can sleep. But the dream world is not as kind to you as you would have hoped.
It isn’t the memory of her death. It’s the memory of her smile, bright and tender, that could not see another day to shine. You haven’t stepped foot in the apartment yet. You will at some point, but not yet.
Yeji is another story. It’s a moral dilemma of what your inner compass tells you is wrong and your love for the only friend you ever had. Yeji was not bad, you know that. But it was murder, and perhaps that was why it did not go unpunished. Were her actions the results of weakness, or strength? Of personal desire, or wide-scale consideration? You could spend hours wondering whether things might have been different if she hadn’t done it, but at the end of the day, you would never get the chance to know.
In the meantime, the mafia is collapsing. Those who wanted to leave took their chance the second the news of the Boss’s death came in. Ran away to other cities, shelters, anywhere they could to get away from the struggle of the organization. Others who had nothing else are stranded picking up the pieces. They won’t be able to make a comeback, you know that. They’ll turn to other forms of crime, maybe even those that you’ll have to face again in the future.
You can get away from it all for a few moments of peace, but not much more.
Jeongguk’s apartment is close to the marina. He’s lucky for such a beautiful view. This early in the morning, the world is silent, relaxing without the mindless bustling of life. Boats float calmly across the harbor, sails reaching up to the sky streaked with blossoming pinks and clement oranges. Daybreak’s retiring light glitters as it touches the surface of the water with a gentle hand.
The glass door slides open slowly behind you, and Jeongguk’s presence enters to calm your thoughts. The slight limp in his step is barely visible, and he’s lucky that his father’s bullet avoided his femoral artery. If it did, he’d probably be in a much more dire situation than he has now. Since that night, rumors have surfaced that the Boss missed due to nervousness, or fear. Jeongguk knows that his father’s aim was too sharp to miss, and also that he was a hypocrite.
He takes a seat in the chair beside yours. His hair is mussed from a long night of tossing and turning, the same as yours.
“Couldn’t sleep,” you mutter, tongue coated with exhaust.
He hums. “Me neither.”
The flux of air from his sturdy chest is a comfort that relieves the pain for just a little while. Lifts it away like a fog being cleared, and the weight falls off your shoulders so you can breathe again. His eyes swim with affection, and you’re sure that a thousand particles of stardust must be locked away behind his irises.
It never fails to amaze you how Jeongguk always seems to know what you’re thinking. “It’s not your fault,” he says.
“I know.” It’s weak, barely a whisper. Your head drops to your palms despite your claim. “But it really feels like it.”
He takes a deep breath, atmosphere placid and unassuming. “You did everything you could. Some things are just out of your control, no matter what you do. It’s not fair, but just because you couldn’t stop something bad from happening doesn’t mean you caused it.”
You swallow blearily. “I just don’t even know where to go from here. It’s never going to be the same. So what do I do now?”
“I don’t know,” he speaks gingerly, “Maybe you should get out of here. Start again, somewhere else. I’ll probably do the same eventually.”
Your head begins to shake at the thought.
“I don’t want you to go,” you pause. “I told you that.”
Jeongguk softens. “Oh… okay. I, I won’t then.”
Finally, your head raises to see him properly. His calm guise masks the need of reassurance beneath. “I mean it. Do you remember when you said to tell you the next time so it didn’t land on what I didn’t want?”
He nods slowly.
“When it was in the air, there was just this split second watching it that it hit me. I knew what I wanted. Despite everything,” the corners of your mouth upturn, but not all that happily, “I wanted to choose you.”
Dark, wavy hair falls in front of his eyes, brushing at the healing cut that will certainly leave a scar. His gaze is tender and soft and all that’s good in this world. He looks at you like you’re the only thing he’s ever wanted. And if you asked him, he wouldn’t hesitate to agree.
“I forgive you, Jeongguk. For everything, I don’t care. I’d go through it again and again if I had to.” A fleeting smile pushes the tears from their deep wells. “‘Cause I need you.”
Jeongguk suffered the subtle heartbreak of unknowing for years on end. He’d sit on his balcony just like this, mild evenings under the setting sun, knowing you were out there living under the same sky as him, yet so far apart. He thought of you crossing city streets, breathing the air of the home you loved and hated simultaneously, maybe even sitting out on the fire escape of your own apartment. You were within a radius of just miles, which sounds like nothing compared to how far he’d go for you.
He saw you everywhere. Saw you in every crevice and crack of the city. When the sun was shining brightly, when rain poured like bullets. From the window of the train, from the coffee shop. Retracing his routine steps was hard when he always saw your footprints right beside his own.
It was the feeling he’d been waiting on. At last, he feels contentment in his chest. It’s all he’s ever wanted. His pulse stutters as he thinks that he might just be dreaming, but when he reaches out to touch your clasped hands, steady fingers curling over yours, he knows it’s real. You’re real. It’s pure, unadulterated sunshine splintering over his soul.
Jeongguk stands, holding out his hand for you to take. He pulls you up with care and tugs you into his embrace, warm and kind. His arms around you are safe and sound, and the gentle beat of his heart eases the noise in your mind. It’s the heart that wouldn’t quit on you, the one the angels must either admire or envy. It’s the only thing that feels okay.
One day, things will be better. It’s far away and hard to grasp, but it’s there, waiting for you. Things that are meant to be will find a way, no matter how long it takes, just as Jeongguk and you found your way to this very balcony. But for now, sharing the weight of a heavy heart soothes the lonesome burden of loss, and what it means to love.
#jungkook fanfic#jungkook oneshot#jungkook fanfiction#jungkook angst#btsguild#bts fanfic#bts fanfiction#bts oneshot#bts angst#jungkook#jungkook x reader#jungkook fluff#bts fluff#bts x reader#jungkook scenario#jungkook x you#jungkook fic#jungkook imagine#bts imagine#yoondoze
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ALL THESE THINGS THAT I'VE DONE
The war against Paradis is over. Eren and Annie are forced to confront their mortality in a world that seems to have no need of them, and their significance to each other. [Post-Canon]
I didn't know there was an ereani week this year until a couple days ago, but I figured: cool, I should probably post something. Title comes from the track of the same name by The Killers.
The prompt is: Day 3 (4/12): "I love you" / "I loved you"
[Ao3 | FFNet]
i.
When the war was over, it was Armin who took the glory. That was a new look for him, Eren thought. Smart but eternally overlooked until he inherited the role of the Colossus Titan. Willing to carry the burden of humanity's savior without much complaint, unlike his teenage self who had always been plagued by doubts and fears. Eren wouldn't have thought Armin would be ready to chew the bullet while he quietly slipped into the background—but he was the leader, and Eren had always been accustomed to his status of figurehead.
Their roles had inverted with age.
As part of an overarching deal with Queen Historia, Eren was granted quarters—a cabin ten miles from the border of what had once been Wall Rose—and a modest pension, as long as he held his tongue and did not make any attempt to intercept the negotiations between Paradis and the surrounding countries. Eren put in an application for professor at the local military academy and spent the days trying to record what he could remember of his experiences in Marley.
The cabin had been around since the start of the war. About ten or so miles from the nearest village. Perhaps even before Eren was born, when Paradis was just a penal colony in name and the boundaries on inhabitable territory were less strict. The pipes still worked and there was evidence of an outhouse as well as quarters for a small animal—he wondered if it had been a hunter’s lodge.
After growing up in the back end of Shiganshina for the first nine years of his life and living in barracks and halfway houses for the next ten, it was a lot quieter. He felt oftentimes as if he were on a permanent state of leave, awaiting orders that would never come. There was so much time to fritter away now, without a war on the backburner.
ii.
In a bid to lessen the severity of his scarring, Eren tried growing a beard. He couldn't sprout a full one like Zeke could, just the chin-hairs, an innate reminder of his days in Marley. Most often he kept his hair pulled back in a short ponytail or else cut it short in the warmer seasons, though never as short as it had been in his days of adolescence.
He'd regenerated his leg and other limbs since the ceasefire, regained his motor functions in a week-long, agonsing process that he was sure Hanji would've loved had she been alive to witness it—but a day or so after settling into the cabin the old pain was flaring up again. He had a vivid memory of asking Commander Hanji once, at seventeen, after exhausting his father’s journal, but the only conclusion either of them could come up was phantom pain. Even if he were whole and unmarred, he did not anticipate sleep as any source of relief. Colours in his right eye gradually turned dull and it was getting harder to read even by candlelight, disorienting to walk out into harsh sunlight. Eventually he just began wearing a patch for the sake of simplicity. His other eye was unaffected.
He could still remember Ramzi's face better than most of his dead Scouts and it kept him up at night for hours. His way of life—the Titans, ODM gear—was quickly being phased out, trading blades and canisters for rifles and ammunition. His place among the armistice seemed moot.
Eren thought more often of his father. He did not wish to, explicitly, but the memories of him that popped into his head were usually indecipherable and triggered by stress.
The doctors in Marley would define this as shellshock. Other times they left impressions like the outline of the sun under closed eyelids; warmth, family, agony, guilt that would eat away at him for the rest of his remaining life.
Eren was, at least, confident in the fact that he was nothing like his father. He didn't pretend he was doing anything morally righteous, nor had he allowed himself to be molded into a pariah like Zeke. He had only accomplished what those same men were afraid or unable to do. It was nothing to crow about. He did not blame Zeke for that upbringing. Eren had taken action, knowing he would be hated and feared by his own comrades. He could only leave behind his memories in print, and if by some Godforsaken chance they somehow managed to fall into the hands of a like-minded company—well, perhaps one day he would be understood or misconstrued further. Rotting in the ground he could not defend his truth or bias.
But while he was alive, he could not rest. He knew better than most that all of this was fleeting.
It wasn’t as though he was out of shape with all the walking. He still stuck to drills in the morning to keep himself busy; awaiting orders that would never come. It sounded like something Armin might say. But Armin was content to busy himself with the sons and brothers of deceased bureaucrats; the succeeding generation to the brilliant men and women who'd led them right into the mouths of hell and out again.
Commander Hanji was dead. Commander Irvin had been dead four years now. Captain Levi was on his way to retirement and attempting to get Mikasa to replace him.
After seven years of military service his soldier’s inclinations remained unshakeable. He'd wake up every morning, going through the motions as though he were still a stowaway in Marley. He'd never allowed himself to consider a life beyond the pretext of enlistment and eventual expiration within the Scouting Regiment, much less the seemingly endless war between Paradis and the rest of the world. In the best case he had assumed he would die eventually, of old age or a more unheroic death out in the field. He'd never allowed himself to be ruled by that fear of mortality because he had to eradicate the Titans first—it was a child’s logic that had gotten him through military academy. Yet here he was, nineteen, with four going-on three years left to kill. Annie had three, going-on two. That was the only certainty she'd admitted to him without need for prying.
So Eren had to be sharp for the rest of their sakes. The war on Paradis had ended and brought with it economic turmoil. A mourning period that seemed to extend indefinitely. The next decade of prosperity would not be won in a year, nor three, and it would come on the backs of the losing side and breed the same old resentment, and then inevitably the same slow descent towards outrage and madness and oppression. Always in the back of his mind like the learnt urge to drink, or his inherited memories—he could almost convince himself of his hard-won stability. It was a good enough reason as any to stop answering Mikasa's letters.
iii.
The door opened to reveal the very last person he had ever expected to see again. She was every bit the woman he had seen in Marley and little of the girl in the crystal remained. What could he say to a four-year old crush-turned-heartbreak whose face he could scarcely recall among the hundreds of thousands of other casualties? "You shouldn't have come back."
When he moved to close the door, she stopped him with her heel. "I'm no longer a Warrior, nor a soldier. I have nowhere else to turn. You and I understand each other, so there's no point in bloodshed."
He gauged this, chewing his tongue. "Did someone send you?"
Her shoulders stiffened. "No one you'd know."
"I suppose you were sent here to finish the job for Marley?"
"No." Bluntly, she forced herself into the doorway. "I came here on my own. I just—"
"—all right, it seems like there's been some kind of miscommunication between you and whoever sent you."
"I was told you'd be able to accommodate me."
"I don't need anyone else here."
Annie squinted at him. Her hand was clenched tightly on the doorjamb. "You must get bored living up in the mountains. And you could use another pair of hands if you're not regenerating." Eren said nothing. "Did you carve your eye out again?"
"Goddamn you," he growled, and wrenched the door open.
He let her walk past the threshold. Looked at her once, and then away. "I'll set a place aside for you to sleep," indicating a well-worn sofa, "you can stay as long as you need to until you find somewhere you like."
"I don't know why you're so upset. You could have killed me years ago. You've had every opportunity, and yet—"
"—I've moved on." He said it flatly, almost resigned. "You haven't, obviously."
Annie didn't flinch. "So you're just going to stay here and wait to die?"
"I keep myself busy."
"What do you do?"
"I teach the new cadets over at the Academy. It's about two hours from where we are; nothing special, but they seem eager to learn."
"I see."
He turned finally to face her. "What about you?"
Annie hesitated. "Used to work with the other displaced soldiers up until a few days ago."
"How'd that treat you?"
"It was all right. Why, are you too good for it now, now that you're a war hero?"
Eren ignored the barb. "It's been a while since everything settled down, so I wondered how you would fare."
"What, so you just popped up in this house?"
He scoffed. "Of course not. There was a tribunal, and it was decided to let me live on the condition I'd be kept far away where I wouldn't bother with anyone. I can't say the same for the others."
"You sold them out?"
He chuckled. "I didn't have to say much. They did it to themselves. We shared a common goal at one point but never the same ideology. At the very least, I can say I took no pleasure in what I—"
"—Ackermann gave you an out?"
Eren gauged the sharpness in her tone, the stiffness of her posture. "I didn't ask her to." He frowned. "You never told me how you got here. Did Mikasa have something to do with this?"
Annie froze, then averted her eyes. "I didn't have much of a choice. It was either come here or work myself to death doing manual labor. I wouldn't have minded that."
"Why didn't you tell me that she sent you?"
"I don't know. She seemed to pity you."
"Oi, it's not your fault. She can feel however she wants." He sounded bemused, scowling. "What the hell else she she think I'm going to do in four years? I have no plans to start another war."
Annie finally eyed him in her peripherals. "We didn't talk much other than that."
Within the next few hours he'd gotten a few more details out of her. In exchange for agreeing to be quartered here, her record was wiped clean. She had recently reapplied for the MP brigade under a new name and secured a position as secretary in the Karanese district headquarters. She had also admitted to him that she was dying to get back onto the streets again.
As a bedfellow Annie was, in some ways, more than he could've hoped for. Despite the introduction, she talked far less than they had as cadets. She did not seem particularly happy or unhappy, just neutral. She woke up each morning at six hours and left to do her drills. She would come back in an hour and offer to help him with whatever menial tasks needed doing, as if they really were holed up together in the remnants of a cabin lost ten years ago to a threat that would live on in sordid, haunting memory. The kind of life one would find beyond the realm of a weathered photograph.
Unobtrusive without becoming idyllic. The best outcome he could afford her was three years of uneventful domesticity.
They didn't spar anymore. Not for lack of want, or kicking the habit. Eren just couldn't keep up with her the way he used to. His leg was shaky and she pointed it out first. It would have an impact on the kind of punishment he could take as opposed to when he was fifteen and shrugged off every injury like it was nothing. His eye was not healing.
Annie was in better condition. Just by studying her gait it was obvious that she'd taken better care of herself. She had not had to bunk up with a gang of stinking, vulnerable soldiers riddled by shellshock. Trying to communicate with them in German worked, but it got him a lot of funny looks and no end of comparisons to fathers and grandfathers enlisted or long since dead.
Annie wasn't interested in his stories from Marley but she didn't brush him off either. She just tolerated it in a much more polite way than Mikasa or Armin would.
At twenty years old she came up to his chest. Either the crystallization had stunted her growth or she was naturally short. She was also scarred enough down her face but it was of the same sheer consistency as her hair. You would only know what she was if you were paying close attention.
She got skittish and temperamental if he tried to push his luck training with her. Initially it had pissed him off:
"What do you think I'm going to do?"
She'd looked at him bluntly. "You're still recovering. Why overexert yourself?"
He'd never told her about his injuries but the idea of her picking up on it this quickly rankled for reasons he did not care to discuss. "I'm not a kid."
Something flashed in her eyes. "I'm not going to push you."
And that was the end of it. He'd decided that this ritual mattered more to her than him, and respected her space. He still did his own drills.
But every time they locked eyes now he'd get that same, absurd itch in the back of his mind from a year ago. Sharpened his tongue and made him want to speak in ways he didn't think he should attempt to justify whilst sober.
iv.
Days passed. He did not always see her until late in the evening.
In the middle of the night he rolled over onto his bad leg and the pain woke him. In silence he got up, not enough to require medication but still pretty uncomfortable.
“Eren?”
He went still. Annie was up herself, over by the window, staring at him as though he were on his deathbed. In the low light her eyes looked strange and luminous. “Does it hurt?”
“Does—what?”
“Your leg.”
Eren sat up slowly as not to aggravate his condition. She didn't say anything else. “It’s not so bad that I can’t sleep.” He studied her face for signs of age, finding naught but scars, a weariness in her eyes he could speak to. She didn't frown. She just watched him coolly. Eren shrugged. “You can’t sleep either?" No answer. "Thinking about to-morrow?”
“I can get you something for it.”
Eren shook his head. “That's not necessary."
"Don't be stupid."
"This isn't something I can just take pills for.”
"It's chronic." Her tone pregnant with incredulity. "Why haven't you seen a doctor for this?"
"Annie, what the hell is a regular doctor gonna do for either of us? We already fix ourselves. There are other veterans that have been stranded here, they aren't growing their limbs back. They need all the help they can get. Anyway, it's only, what, three more years of living? I can take three. Fuck, I've taken ten."
The more he kept talking, the darker her eyes became. Clench in her jaw, tautness of her shoulders, pronounced enough to notice from a distance—an involuntary reflection of his own revulsion.
"I don't know how you managed to win one war, let alone, if you can't even prevent yourself from running into the ground." Her voice was icy and distinctly contemptuous. She stalked over to him. Cold fingers dug into the meat of his naked shoulder, pushed him upright between the wall and headboard; tight, controlled movements. "Four years later and you still want to pretend you're a fucking martyr. It might've worked on Mikasa, but I'm not your sister. I'm not going to help you hurt yourself."
She kneaded at his leg in a much brusquer way than the way the orderlies in Marley. Eren didn't argue. She was not going to take no for an answer. When it was done she coaxed him to lie down again. He stiffened as he felt her weight join his on the mattress, curled almost tentatively against his chest. She didn’t try to hold him, just huddled as though for warmth. She did not explain herself.
Eren had a vague recollection of the last time this had happened. Back then she came up to his chin, rather than the middle of his chest; their disparity was only thrown into relief. He could feel the human warmth of her through the thin undershirt, the softness of her hair on his cheek. He’d dreamt about this a lot when he was sixteen, while the tragedy of her betrayal was no longer fresh but still painful in his mind. He had no energy left to hate her then, for she was not his enemy.
He heard her breathing even out.
She had stayed this long. There was no sense in abandoning her now.
v.
Sometime after that, Eren started noticing her in more tangible ways. Smell of her hair. The subtle glint in her eyes in lieu of a smile. She'd wait up for him in the mornings before he left. He'd tell her good-bye.
When he came home he’d catch her eyes lingering on him in profile.
Just one day too many of the same quiet inactivity. The fact that they had slept in the same bed was just a catalyst of how familiar they were with each other already.
She woke up an hour later than usual and, fuming, went out to train. A light rain had started. Eren made breakfast. Over the next twenty minutes the light sheet became much more torrential. Annie came back in about half-an-hour, dripping water all over the floor. He would've told her off but she grabbed his wrist. He turned as she leant up and took his face in her hands and kissed him like her life depended on it.
Maybe the situation had always been building to this. He had forgotten about its immediacy until the moment presented itself. But now there was nothing left to say. So he gathered her up and placed her on the counter, kissing her breathless, bunching up her threadbare shirt, palming her tits through the military-issue brassiere—he muttered, "see, I thought you were just being nice," and she scoffed, set her heel to the small of his back even as he put his mouth on her. She was chilled from the rain; it was not yet summer. Half-dressed and needy, he took her right there on the countertop. Afterwards, there was no shame or lingering uncertainty that would have been present as cadets. She pressed her cheek to his.
"I'm going to be away for a while. It's higher pay if I stay in Karanese. Maybe two or three weeks." She looked up at him. Her eyes were bright but her tone was stoic. "I just…" She trailed off because he was only looking at her face. Eren smoothed her damp hair away from her cheek.
"I love you." Then he stopped. Like he was finally coming to grips with the idea. Annie blinked rapidly. A crease formed in her brow. Her mouth worked but no sound came out. Eren kissed her chin. "But, if you're gonna be trackin' mud everywhere you'd best clean it up after yourself."
She finally came back to herself. Shoved him lightly in the chest. "Fuck off." Then hoisted herself off the counter, fixed her trousers, and asked in a dry voice where he kept the washbasin.
vi.
On his own the cabin felt distinctly empty. Sometimes he'd wake up hard and just—take care of it. Annie on top of him. On her knees. Pulling him up to her. He missed her a lot more than he'd care to admit to her face and it wasn't just in the sense that she was available. She'd probably just smirk at him anyway.
But when she returned it was nice to have her around, even for a little while. She kept to herself and he gave her space; it was as though she had never left.
It was still morning. He was working when he felt her come up behind him, hands slipping over his wrists. “Oi,” he muttered, “I’m a little busy.”
“You’re just sitting there.”
He scoffed. “Really? How would you know what I’m doin’?” No answer. Eren closed the book. “You really are demanding, ain’t you?” Faux-annoyance. But he turned.
She looked prettier in uniform. Hair pulled back into less of a bun, more of a severe ponytail. She was looking him up and down as though deciding something for herself.
She leant down, kissed him firmly, nipping at his lip until went with it, half-amused. She stepped back, breathing evenly, eyes glinting. She cupped his face, a vestige of tenderness he did not anticipate.
Then her eyes shifted, something empty, strange. A harsh crack against his jaw he could not anticipate and he took it, worked his jaw, blinking rapidly. “What the hell are you—?”
Annie jerked her head back slightly, fixing him with the same expectance he realised he’d completely misinterpreted. “Hit me.”
Eren didn’t move. Her jaw trembled, then set. He caught her wrist. “That’s enough.”
“Why?” She sounded annoyed. “It’s all right. I can take it.”
“What is this?”
“I’ll be dead before you anyway, it would be easier just to take—”
“—I said that’s enough,” he said, terse. “I’m not going to do anything to you."
Her brow furrowed. "I thought you understood.”
Eren just stared, fighting to keep himself calm when he wanted to grab her shoulders and demand her to justify why the hell she wanted to be hit. "What am I supposed to understand?"
Annie’s eyes darted over his face and then to his wrist. “I want you to hit me back.”
“I’m not going to do that.” He cupped her jaw and she almost flinched; his stomach twisted. “Do you understand me?“
Silence built up between them. "I know you’d stop if I asked you to.”
“I’m not going to wait until after I’ve hurt you to stop.”
Annie pressed her face into his chest. He took her by the shoulders, watching her stiffen.
“Do you hear me?”
She nodded.
"Why d'you want me to hit you?"
"Do you want a list?" He gripped her tight enough to make her flinch and immediately regretted the look of fear that came across her face. He let go of her. "I’ve been complicit in the death of your comrades.” Her voice thickened. “And I’ve taught you everything I know. You don't need me here for anything other than your own gratification.” Returning to the facade of impassivity with unnerving ease. “So, there’s no point in comparing our tallies.”
“Annie—"
“Are you stupid?” Annie spat, the most emotion she had exhibited thus far. “You've taken my country and my life and my father and you—now you want me to love you back. You want to marry me as if we're ever going to—I'm the one who killed your friends, why would you ever want to be reminded of—"
"You love me." She looked helpless in her vulnerability. "What? What's the matter?"
"Why would you want me? I—I can't even have children. I'm going to die in four years. I'm going to watch you die unless I kill myself fir—"
"—Annie—"
"—you could fuck anyone you wanted!" she exploded. "Why does it have to be me?"
"Because you don’t have to earn anything from me! I just want to be around you—can’t you accept that?”
Annie kissed him hard. He trembled though he was holding her.
“Take me to bed." Eren opened his mouth and she kissed his chin. “I want you to take me to bed. I—”
Even then, he was hesitant to touch her. She led the way, stripping down to skin and splaying on his bed. He caressed her when she asked him to, a gentleness in his hands that betrayed his own sympathy; for once she didn’t chastise him.
Her scarring was far more pronounced in the light. He'd noticed before, briefly on the counter and more clearly with enough attention, but not like this. It clustered around her sternum and down her spine. He wondered, briefly, if that was why she'd wanted to do it quickly. Now her eyes were bright and shimmering but she took him into her, reached for him.
"Is this OK?" His voice was a croak.
Her eyes flickered to him. Cautious, sure. "Yeah."
He was on his knees, lifting the small of her back, working her towards a much sweeter surrender. He slid one arm around her waist to support her and touched her breasts, the side of her neck, cupping her jaw. His thumb ran over her scarring.
“Annie.” She gasped at the sound of her name. “Ann. Look. Come here.” She was biting her lip. Head fallen back, her hair was almost diaphanous in the light. He murmured her name and she was shivering with emotion. She turned into her elbow and told him in an unsteady voice to go faster, and the bed creaked to match him.
Her body arched, jaw slack. She wouldn't stop shivering. Her voice did not rise in expectation. It just wavered, edgeless.
He took her wrist away from her face and—she flinched. This serrated, ugly, sound that jerked out of her body. He pulled out, holding her. “Look at me,” his voice hoarse and horrified, “please.”
Annie curled up against his chest and shook. Eren just kept apologizing. She didn't push him away.
Eventually she stopped. Raised her head. Their eyes met and she lost composure again. He brushed her hair from her face. “Stay,” she croaked, “please. I need you.”
He kissed her brow. She almost flinched. He tucked his chin into her shoulder, arms around her back, until she’d calmed down.
"You don't have to do anything," he said quietly. "Do you understand that?"
"I know."
Laying prone, she only came up to his sternum. Annie sat up first. She got to her feet and went over to the window. Her shoulder was parallel to the glass. His attention stayed firmly on her profile. “You’re gonna get colder than hell. Come back here.”
She turned and glanced at his forearm curled half-surreptitiously against his stomach. Scar tissue along her breasts was prominent. In the dead light of this cloudy, April afternoon she finally looked her age.
There was a naked uncertainty in her eyes that made him freeze. "You're not my father and you never will be. You've been kinder towards me than I deserve, given the circumstances. I wish I could despise you."
Eren rolled his shoulders. The silence held for a while. "I don't know if what either of us have done can be forgiven. But, as long as you’re here, I want you to know that I don't hate you." All she did was stare, a slight crease in her brow. “I never could.”
“You love me,” she said. Not with scorn. Like she was testing the idea in a way they would have shied away from as kids. She averted her face towards the window.
She watched him get up and tensed. He limped towards her in a couple strides and draped the blanket around her shoulders with the same tentativeness. She did not put her arms around him. She pressed her face into his shoulder. His arm came around her back and she closed her eyes, just existing in the cold slats of wood against her feet and the rise and fall of his breast.
He put the blankets around her and laid beside her.
He’d always supposed he would heal with enough rest. He didn't know how to put what he felt into words, but eloquence had never been his forte. It was not unlike laying on your deathbed, mulling over all the things that hardly seemed to matter until there was no time left to spare.
There was no pain now, just certainty in the presence of another—the old urge to drink was absent.
This is a cleaned-up version of a couple tumblr WIPs + some old/new material blended in for fun. Think of it as a pilot episode for a much larger fic.
For what it's worth I did like the ending of AoT. Elements of that ending will likely factor into the aforementioned larger fic. I am totally disinterested in arguing about ships or wasted potential—at this point, I’d rather write whatever seems interesting, and leave it at that, canon or not.
And hey, if you think acknowledging canon will override my crippling addiction to the "morally challenged antihero/problematic blonde" dynamic… I really don't see that happening. Even after exiting this fandom, it's like, ALL I've been writing for a year (looking at YOU Insult to Injury) and I feel like I'm going insane. Back on topic though: Now that AoT has concluded, I find I am far less stressed at the prospect for writing for this series again. It won’t be my main focus, but I do like this fic’s concept enough to flesh it out.
#ereaniweek2021#ereannieweek2021#eren jaeger#annie leonhardt#ereani#ereannie#snk#aot#shingeki no kyojin#attack on titan#apologies for any disparity between canon#I'm a bit behind but I have the jist of what happens#fanfic#fanfiction
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Febuwhump Day 20
Prompt: Betrayal
Read on AO3
Shattered... (from a Certain Point of View)
Never in Rex's short life did he think he would ever betray his Jedi. None of them. Not General Kenobi or Skywalker. Certainly not Commander Tano. To follow orders was part of his programming, but not only that. He would follow his leaders to hell and back if they asked him-- if he considers Umbara or Zygerria and Kadavo hell, then he truly did. The Jedi have become honorary brothers in his mind. They put their lives on the line right next to him and the others, most of the time more-so. They've saved his life more times than he can count, only to be rivaled by the number of times they've gotten him into trouble.
They earned his respect. His friendship. And the respect and friendship of the other men.
Which is why, when the hooded figure shows up on the holo and utters a phrase Rex has never heard before, but suddenly just knows what to do...
"Execute Order 66"
He feels a part of him snap into place, and another part of him shatter into pieces.
"Yes, Lord Sidious," he replies, a surge of adrenaline and anger coursing through him. The door behind him opens, and Rex tightens the grip on his blaster.
But when he hears her voice...
"Rex!"
So familiar, tugging at memories so fond.
"It's Anakin."
Another name he knows too well. Too closely. The hand holding his helmet begins to quiver.
"I feel like something terrible has happened."
Something terrible is about to happen. It's the strangest sensation. Like his mind has been split into two and both sides are fighting for dominance. One side is telling him to draw his blaster and shoot Ahsoka Tano before she has a chance to do a thing. He's a quick shot, and if he misses there are guards at the door.
Good soldiers follow orders.
The other side is screaming at him. Pleading him. No! This is wrong! You can't do this!
His helmet slips from his grip and clatters to the floor. She's still standing behind him, and he can hear the confusion in her voice as the commlink tones of the other troopers begin to chime in.
"Rex?"
He knows the sound of blasters being aimed far too well. The two guards have received their orders. In a moment Ahsoka Tano will be dead. Rex draws in a breath. The mere thought of that as a truth, makes his entire body feel numb.
"No," he says firmly, but the shake in his voice is undeniable. He turns around, taking in the sight of the two troopers with orange and white painted helmets ready to fire. "I'll do it,"
"Rex? What's happening?"
He doesn't even remember picking up both his blasters before he's raising them, both pointed straight at her head. Staring down barrels, Rex finally looks at her. Looks her in the eye. All he can see in her big blue eyes and young face is the look of utter confusion and alarm. A kid! She's only a kid!
"Stay back!" he yells. His hands have never shaken like this before but now they won't stop. He's taken countless lives in this--this war for the Republic. Or for the Separatists? Who is winning now? Was anyone ever winning? He has no idea. What he does know is his hands have never shaken and he hardly ever misses a shot, but right now it is looking like both of these things are his reality. A part of him is frustrated and a part of him is praying to whatever higher power that may be listening that he misses this shot, please. "Find him," he says, feeling that his free will is quickly being overtaken. Like a parasite invading his brain, the good memories of Tano, Skywalker, and Kenobi are being pushed out by force. "Find him. Fives."
He can't take it anymore.
"Find him!" he screams and then fires his blaster wildly in the wrong direction. It's all the warning she needs. Ahsoka bolts into action, moving faster than his eyes can even perceive. Faster than he can react to her body slamming into his and cracking the back of his head into the console. White-hot pain flashes through him and he crumbles to the ground with black spots dancing before his eyes.
Execute Order 66, the shrill voice echos in his mind. Kill the Jedi. Good soldiers follow orders.
He groans, pushing through the haze of pain and blaster shots to get back on his feet. He hears his name being called, sounding faraway, but he can feel that it's near.
Rex starts to fire again. And again. Not really knowing where he's aiming, just knowing that he needs to kill the Jedi.
And when she disappears, the urge only grows.
__________
They search the ship. Tirelessly. Frantically. Like nothing else has mattered this much the entire war.
Except it has. Everything has been an uphill battle and we have done it every time with the help and guidance of the Jedi.
He grits his teeth. Nearly slams his fist into the wall of the lift he's in. Their orders are to execute her.
When have the orders of this Lord Sidious ever mattered before?
Rex's shoulder slams into a doorframe he wasn't paying attention to. He hisses at the blunt pain, shakes it off. A squad of troopers passes him in a steady jog. Headed to their sector. They will find her if they have to tear this ship apart.
He starts to run, but is caught by troublesome droids blocking his path. He slams into one, taking an opportunity to kick it.
"Hey! Hey, out of the way." The droid seems to laugh at him, and he has half a mind to run his blaster through it instead. Then the blast doors shut around him, locking him in the hallway. "Are you cross-wired?"
A holographic Commander Tano appears from within the droid. "Rex. I think I know what's happening. I saw your report on Fives,"
Fives. Rex's entire body shutters at the remembrance of his death. How he fell limp in his arms.
"It isn't your fault." There's a surprising amount of sympathy in her eyes to be looking at the man who just tried to murder her. "You were programmed. Your mind was altered to do this when you were very young. I can help you."
Good soldiers follow orders.
You were programmed.
The hologram dissipates. His eyebrows slant. Another surge of anger from a place deep with him. He points the blaster at the droid as if it could tell him anything of use. "Where is she?"
"I'm right here," as he turns, a burst of electricity shoots through him, and the world goes black.
__________
The sound of battle wakes Rex up better than any alarm. His heart is already pounding with adrenaline, but when he opens his eyes he finds he is much less prepared for battle than his body seems to be.
His head is pounding. Lights too bright. He tries to process what's going on around him.
Medbay. Lights in medbay. Blasters. Stretcher. Injured? Lightsaber.
Lightsaber. Ahsoka.
Rex pushes through the wave of nausea and finds himself on the receiving end of an endless stream of blaster shots. He'd be more blaster wounds than man if it weren't for Commander Tano crouched at the end of his bed, the bright blue of her lightsabers moving at an impossible speed. She blocks every single blast with perfect precision, but Rex realizes none are being aimed back at the troopers.
The troopers are trying to kill her. He reaches for his guns as a blast manages to strike her shoulder and she staggers back. He aims them as she screams for the droid to respond, her energy obviously waning.
Rex remembers the last time he picked up both his blasters. They were pointed at his Jedi. Armed to kill. But the feeling is suddenly gone from his system. The voice no longer echos in his mind.
He aims. He shoots. This time, he doesn't miss.
Four brothers cry out as his shots hit as they always do, their bodies falling as the door finally shuts. In the sudden silence of immediate ceasefire, Commander Tano turns around and looks at him with those big blue eyes. Her young face is full of confusion and alarm..,. but also hope.
And to see her look at him with hope is the worst possible way she could have looked at him because. when he looks at her all he can see is the reflection of his own betrayal. She shouldn't be staring at him with such concern, moving toward him instead of running away.
His hands start to shake again. He's still pointing his pistols at her, but his fingers aren't even on the triggers. He is just too shellshocked to know what to even do right now. If she ignited her sabers and took him out, he wouldn't blame her in the slightest.
She should hate him. She should kill him. She has every right to that.
Instead, she asks if he is okay.
No, I am not okay... but hearing her voice calms him. Snaps him out of the haze of waking up to such a shock, and he slowly lowers the blasters.
"Yeah. Yeah, kid, I'm okay."
The pounding in his head begs to differ. He reaches up to the source, feeling a thick bandage on the side of his head. You were programmed.
They put a chip in his head to control him when they needed him. To control all of the clones.
"I was framed because I know the truth... the truth about a plot. A massive deception... A sinister plot in the works against the Jedi!"
Shame courses through him at the judgment he cast upon his friend. The disbelief at what he was saying. Fives knew. Fives was right.
"It's in all of us. Every clone."
Every clone.
It sounded crazy at the time. He thought Fives had lost it the way he'd seen countless other brothers descend into madness.
"It's bigger than any of us. Than anything I could have imagined."
Now Rex sees it. The entire plan in action with no way of stopping it. The clones have their orders to kill their Jedi, and he knows for a fact that on their own, the Jedi don't stand a chance against their battalions of thousands.
"I just wanted to do my duty... The mission... the nightmares... they're finally... over"
Fives' last words hit him like a speeder to the stomach. All this time they were put here not to fight and die for the Republic, but to act as sleeper agents until they were needed. Mere pawns created for Lord Sidious's master plan that Rex doesn't even fully understand. What scenario constitutes a purging of an entire religion? It's a war crime at the very least. Their duty was always what they were told to do... but no more. He is tired of being a pawn. He doesn't have anything forcing him into obedience hidden within his mind.
Now, he has a new duty. To stay by Commander Tano's side, and try to stand by those who fought alongside them the last few years. Good soldiers follow orders, but better soldiers do what's right.
#febuwhump#febuwhumpday20#betrayal#rex#captain rex#ahsoka tano#shattered#i can really write 4000 words in like 6 hours but not an 800 word essay in a week.#dialogue from s7e11 and s6e4
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Layman’s Guide to the Sixth House
You know, it’s been a long time (literal years) since I’ve infodumped bullshit about Morrowind to people, and I feel the itch now and maybe this’ll inspire some people to actually play the damn game. If not, at least it’ll lay the groundwork for people when I inevitably angry-write some kind of twisted eldritch House Dagoth bullshit to provide myself the content I want (after I get done with all the HLVRAI/Half-Life shit I have on my plate).
OKAY COOL.
I present: “The Sixth House for Dummies: You’re Not Actually Dummies But I Will Explain This To You Anyway”
Dateline: Year 668 of the First Era
You are an elf named Voryn Dagoth. You are a very powerful elf in charge of a very powerful political house, House Dagoth, and the best friend of the war-king of your people, some asshole named Nerevar Indoril. Your people--the Chimer--are living in the shadow of a very technologically advanced, elitist, perpetually bitchy race of elves known as the Dwemer who, for a long while, were your enemies because... well, your people just stormed onto their land after an argument with their old neighbors and said, “We live here now.”
The Dwemer and Chimer only stopped fighting because other people tried to show up on your lawn and live there. And now your king, Nerevar, is trying to make that ceasefire last because it’s kind of nice to not be always beating the shit out of each other.
But oh! There’s a problem! During some run-of-the-mill diplomatic visit with the higher-ups of the Dwemer, you discover that they’re building a goddamn, divinely inspired war machine in their basement. That... does not sound good. That actually sounds really fucking bad.
So, what do you do? You politely excuse yourself, run home at Mach II, throw open the king’s door, and yell, “Holy FUCK, you know those assholes we’ve been trying not to fight? Bitch, I think they’re going to nuke us.”
Because that is, admittedly, something a technologically advanced, elitist, perpetually bitchy race of elves would do.
So your king says, “Dude, I’m gonna go talk to them about it like a civilized adult, because me and their king are tight as fuck now that we ain’t bludgeoning each other to death. I’m sure it’s all a huge misunderstanding.”
A few hours later, though, your king comes back and says, “Okay, so. That didn’t work out how I hoped it would.”
Your name is Voryn Dagoth and you have accidentally started a war.
Dateline: Year 700 of the First Era
Okay, you are Voryn Dagoth and things were a lot worse than you expected. The Dwemer are building a literal war god out of dead god parts they found in a volcano, and now everyone is involved. Nerevar has an entire posse of people to act as advisors/generals--you; some dude named Vivec who wants to have sex with anything that moves; Nerevar’s wife, Almalexia; Sotha Sil, a mage who doesn’t know how to people very well; and this guy named Alandro Sul who nobody will remember, I promise. You are the oldest, and you do not like these other people very much, but you know what? They know what they’re doing, so we’ll let it slide.
The war has been terrible and, to be honest, considering the fact the Dwemer have goddamn robots on their side and your people are still fighting with spears, it’s impressive you’ve not been utterly destroyed. Again, these advisors seem to know what they’re doing. So much so, actually, that in a final, decisive battle, they help you and Nerevar bust straight into the citadel where they’re building this war god so you can just fight this war god yourself.
The Dwemer panic. The guy in charge of building the war god pulls out a fancy set of tools the second he sees you coming and does... some weird ritual that involves the heart of a dead god. Their entire race vanishes, bringing the war to a very anticlimactic end.
So here you are, confused, standing there with Nerevar and the Scooby-Doo Mystery Gang, holding these weird tools at arm’s length going, “What the hell are we going to do with these? The fuck is this? We should melt these down, right? This seems bad.”
Except most of the Mystery Gang (barring Alandro) is begging you not to destroy them, and Nerevar is flustered and dazed from having the ever-loving fuck knocked out of him, so he tells you, “Bro, I’m gonna go talk to god and see what she has to say about it.”
And you’re like, “... O... kay. I guess I’ll stay here.”
“Don’t let anyone touch this shit, though. Deal?”
“Yeah, cool. I won’t let anyone touch it. Go talk to god, I guess.”
And so Nerevar and the barnyard gang leave you there, alone, with these magical objects that just obliterated an entire race. And you sit there, kind of wondering how it works. So you play with them a bit--feels weird, man--but you’re still pretty thoroughly convinced these things need to be tossed in the volcano and bulldozed over. You hold this thought until the barnyard gang comes back, sans Nerevar and Alandro, covered in blood and demanding the tools.
“Where’s the boss?” you ask. Well, they tell you he’s busy or whatever and you know that’s bullshit. These motherfuckers just killed your best friend, and now they’re asking for these items that just obliterated an entire race. They don’t seem like the type of people who should have them, so you flippantly tell them that your goddamn king told you not to let anyone touch the fancy tools and if they want them so bad, they can go get Nerevar and have him come take them from you himself.
They do not like this answer.
Your name is Voryn Dagoth. Your best friend’s murderers have just killed the shit out of you and taken your impossibly dangerous tools away.
Dateline: Year 882 of the Second Era
Your name is Voryn Dagoth and you are somehow not dead. You wake up in the place you were “killed” and are incredibly pissed off by what happened. The world has changed significantly. Your people, the Chimer, are now called the Dunmer and look completely different. The guys who killed you have somehow obtained god-like powers and are worshiped as deities. Nerevar is now patronizingly considered a saint by his murderers, who also used his dead body as an undead servant and then fucking lost it somehow.
Oh, and your political house? You, your family, everyone? Have been branded “evil” and responsible for every calamity that has befallen your homeland (now named “Morrowind”, apparently, which is also different) since you’ve been out cold. They won’t even speak your name out loud. “House Dagoth” is now “The Sixth House” and “The House Unmourned” because everyone hates you. You know, for doing what you were told and not murdering your king.
Fine. Fine! Two can play at this game, can’t they? In the words of a great scholar, “I was supposed to be good, but you forced me to be bad. So I’m going to be BAD.”
You decide that you’re going to finish the war god. You’re going to take over Morrowind. Fuck, you’re going to take over the whole fucking continent. You’re going to restore order, you’re going to fuck shit up. If they’re gonna fuck with you, you’re going to fuck right back.
You plot. You scheme. When your murderers, thinking you are very dead, come back to use their fancy tools on the Heart (now with a capital H) to restore their stolen divine essence, you mug the shit out of them. You take the tools, you chase them off, you bring back your kin who were executed for just being a part of House Dagoth and you say, “Rise and shine, bitches! We’re starting a religion! Who wants to be immortal?”
And everyone raises their hands because, like, come on. Wouldn’t you?
Now you and all of your brothers and sisters are back and angry, construction on the war god resumes, and you start hardcore studying these magical tools to figure out how the fuck to use them properly. Because you are going to cram your foot so far up the asses of the people who killed you that they are going to be choking on your toenails.
Your name is Voryn Dagoth, and you are feelin’ fine as fuck.
Dateline: Year 427 of the Third Era
You are Voryn Dagoth, and things are going pretty okay. You can do a lot of weird shit with the heart of a dead god, you find, though it’s not the prettiest way to make things happen. You’ve always prized yourself on being a diplomatic and poised guy so, you know, the fact you’re having to stoop to some rough, not-very-aesthetically pleasing lows is not ideal, but it works, and that’s what counts.
Like, you can control disease. The people call it Divine Disease, and it’s got about a 50% success rate on people afflicted, with half of them becoming weird masses of tumorous growths who just drool and eat people and the other half decaying and regrowing parts until they look like weird elephant squids who are still all-there in the head but look really weird. They’re loyal and they’re good company, though, and for some reason everything the disease touches is immortal and insanely strong so. You know. It works out.
You can also mind control people, and infiltrate dreams. It’s good for recruiting people without a plague, and it’s good for issuing orders, and it’s good for freaking people out. That last one is proving to be the most useful, because all of these idiot mortals are now pointing fingers and arresting each other whenever they have a nightmare because, “Oh my GOD, Becky! You’re a DEVIL WORSHIPER.”
So, that’s fun.
The war god is almost constructed and even though it’s taken over four-hundred years (which has given an invading Empire time to take over your home; sucks to suck, huh?), you’re getting a good foothold. Stealing your fancy tools from your murderers means they’re garbage at being gods now, and you’ve managed to expand your enterprise to all sorts of caves and strongholds where your followers butcher non-believers and dance around naked by candlelight. You have assassins in major holy cities that are tearing shit up. You got operatives selling cursed idols right outside of temples in borderline plain sight.
But, lo, there is something on the horizon and it’s vaguely familiar. It’s some scraggly motherfucker that gets dumped off of a boat in the middle of a swamp, and you can’t help but feel as though you’ve seen them before. Or, well, felt somebody like them before. It’s a vibe thing, really, since they don’t look anything like anyone you know, and you don’t really know anyone because you’ve been living in a volcano for hundreds of years.
You take a special interest in this one because of the familiarity. You send them dreams, and you send them personalized invitations to come join your cult. You send your followers to watch them sleep and, like, try to kill them because you’re not sure if this is a good familiar or a bad familiar. They never really take you up on your offer or, you know, die, though.
And the longer you watch them go on, the longer you watch them do things, the more you realize... holy shit it’s Nerevar, bro.
Sure, some superstitious tribals have been chanting about how Nerevar Indoril will come back from the dead for revenge someday (as claimed by Alandro Sul, that guy that nobody remembers), but that was so far beneath your gaze that you kind of let it slide. And now here he is, amnesiac and wearing a new face but checking all the boxes, and he’s being specifically led on a path to come meet you. You know, to kill you.
So, you disease that motherfucker. Incurable god plague, baby! Except he somehow... cures the incurable god plague and he’s still coming. Jesus Christ, he’s persistent.
And... oh no, he’s siding with Vivec, the slutty guy who fucking killed him. You’re raking your claws down your face grumbling under your breath because, you dumb sack of shit, that man murdered you. Don’t listen to him, listen to me. I’m the one in the right, bro, I’m the one who was loyal to you.
And now god herself has endorsed him and he’s walking into your citadels and stealing your stolen tools back and, dude no. Stop. We were friends, bro, what the fuck is wrong with you?
And now he has the tools and he’s coming into your actual house and you’re just sighing in exasperation and trying to explain to him that, you know, you guys are friends. You will totally still let him join your side if he stops cracking open your followers’ skulls. Except he’s still skull-cracking and he’s still coming and...
... Great, now he’s right in front of you. Fantastic.
Okay, so you want to offer him amnesty one more time, but it isn’t going to work. You’re tired, you’re pissed off, Nerevar has somehow grown to believe that you are somehow in the wrong (which you are obviously not; taking over the world with a manufactured war god and a horrific plague seems perfectly justified to you), and worst of all? He has so many questions. He’s just blathering, demanding to know why you are the way you are and it’s just like.
Bro, this is kind of your fault. You left me alone with dangerous, desirable objects while you went to go talk to god. If you’d just let me destroy them in the first place, this never would have happened. Fuck it, offer rescinded. You can’t join my club anymore, Nerevar. Now throw hands or get out of my house.
So, Nerevar throws hands.
You and the reincarnation of your former best friend and king are now having a hair-pulling, spell-slinging, bloody fucking knock-down-drag-out in the middle of a volcano in the shadow of a war god. Your cultists are idiots who keep falling into lava trying to intervene. Nerevar keeps attempting to bypass you to get to the creamy, god-heart nougat at the center of your war god because you know he knows how to undo all the magical shit it’s capable of.
Somehow. Probably because Vivec figured it out and told him.
And if he gets to the Heart and he does that ritual, then your war god is done for. So are your falsely-divine murderers. And, unfortunately, seeing as those divine powers are the only thing keeping you alive after your murder, so are you.
And he’s getting so fucking close and he’s actually got there and you’re trying to burn him alive or claw his face off or literally anything you can do as your powers weaken the longer this ritual goes on until, finally, you look up and see that your war god is collapsing. Nerevar has won. The world is going black. It’s like somebody flipped an “off” switch in your brain.
Your name is Voryn Dagoth. You accidentally started a war, did all the right things, and were murdered. You tried to enact your revenge, you thought you were restoring order, and now your best friend has come back from the dead and killed you.
The last thing you see before you hit the ground is all of your hard work literally falling on top of you. You still don’t understand how any of this was your fault.
#kogoramble#morrowind#info dump#this is VERY long#I apologize#spoilers for a game that's nearly 20 years old
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(Whispers) FFXV ten years younger AU; Noctis is like, 10yrs younger than C!Noct. How do you think that would work out???
HGFDSDHGFDS WAIT WAIT WAIT.
I’M CONFUSED.
Do you mean that Noctis is BORN ten years later and the plot still kicks off? Or that Noctis time-travels and ends up ten years younger. I’m gonna assume you mean the former so here we go. I’m sticking this under read more because I am going to RAMBLE LIKE CRAZY.
-The wedding is not a thing. Because Noctis is TEN.
-It is quite possible that he never got attacked by the Marilith, because by the time he was eight, Tenenbrae might have already been invaded.
-That or the invasion was delayed until Noctis got there, which means Luna would be 22 when she meets Noctis and Ravus is 26 so both are WAY more mature and comfortable in their own skin/morals by the time the invasion happens. Ravus does not beg Regis for help but instead helps with the evacuation, Luna is not dumb enough to stop and let the MTs take her, Sylva may or may not still die, but at least she doesn’t take a flame-thrower to the face (might still get stabbed by Glauca).
-Also Gladio is there because he’s like- 21 at this section of timeline and has taken his Crownsguard oaths. Ignis is there too.
-Imma go with my petty side and say that with two adult oracles, an adult Ravus (who was no doubt trained to be a deadly guardian of his sister), a Very Angry Gladio, and a semi-homicidal and reckless Ignis, Glauca has a Bad Day. Maybe dies, maybe not.
-Luna and Ravus escape with teeny Noct and Regis and take sanctuary in Lucis and denounce the Nifs for what they’ve done (Sylva too if she isn’t dead? Which she might be) and the world goes on something of a mass riot because the reason they didn’t attack the Oracles before was for fear of what the public would do if they found out.
-They’re called consequences you morons. You poisoned your cake now eat it.
-Luna and Nyx are a thing. Because Noctis is way too young to even consider it and Nyx finds this feisty Oracle woman who demands to be trained in the glaive with her brother to be Really Hot.
-Luna becomes the Glaive healer, using the Kingsglaive’s movements to disguise her own from the empire so she can still help people.
-If Glauca is still alive, he Glauca tries something as Titus and is murdered by one very angry Luna and one Super Angry Ravus who now has LC magic on top of whatever brand of magic male Nox Fleuret can use (yes I know oracle magic is a girl only thing but MAGIC, the boy has to get something even if its not healing based) because he joined the Kingsglaive.
-Ravus maybe becomes the new Captain of the Glaive? Either him, Nyx, Libertus, or Luche, who is not a traitor because I’ve grown to like him.
-Noctis loves his Shield and his Oracle Sister and Big Brother Ravus, Luna can feel destiny bearing down on them and often cries in private because Noctis is TEN.
-With the world rioting in fury over the truth of what happened in Tenebrae (which I HC in canon was never leaked because the two royals were being held hostage and the Tenebraen people either didn’t know or where being blackmailed into silence with the lives of their beloved royal children), the Nifs take some serious damage to their power base.
-Nifs offer a ceasefire with Lucis to begin “making reparations” with the Tenebrae line and Lucis two years after the invasion.
-Regis smells a rat.
-The rat looks like Ardyn.
-Still, he DOES have little choice but to accept, BUT with the Oracle’s healing and the world public on his side, Regis has way more leverage in this treaty, demands territories be returned and stuff (Galahd included).
-Nifs agree to the terms and come for the signing, Regis doesn’t send Noctis out of the city because as bad as his feelings are, Noctis is TEN and Ignis and Gladio are just young adults.
-The Nifs still pull their invasion nonsense because- well- NIFLHEIM. The Emperor is pretty power mad at this point and is like “if we crush Lucis the dissenters will shut up out of fear”.
-It’s pretty intense. Fire everywhere, traitors making trouble (NOT in the glaive, the Glaive were lured out of the city with leaked reports of a fleet to get them out of the way, it’s corrupt Nobles and disgruntled citizens that do this).
-Without Glauca there, Regis doesn’t die, but he DOES probably get injured and separated from his son, whom Ignis and Gladio take and flee the Citadel, trying to escape the chaos.
-In the chaos of trying to flee the city, they bump into a rookie Crownsguard who just took his oath like- a WEEK ago and he helps them evacuate the prince with his crack shot aiming skills and his knowledge of the city’s back streets (”I like to take photos of the alley cats okay????”)
-The four end up outside the city, separated from all backup, in a hotwired car that Ignis took (”Since when do YOU know how to hotwire a car?” “Since I thought the skill might come in handy now shut up and watch the road”).
-Insomnia doesn’t fall, but the Empire is freaking stubborn and starts a siege or something, so the bros can’t get back in, and since they encountered some Crownsguard traitors in the chaos so they don’t trust anyone outside their foursome and they’re being actively hunted by the Empire ...
-Who’s up for a road trip?
-Also Regis probably thinks Noctis is dead because Angst and is furious beyond words and Luna smuggles herself out of the city to go wake up the Astrals and ask what to do now only to find out from a really vague Gentiana that the Chosen Lives so she’s off doing that solo adventure playing Hot-Cold with the bros as they run around trying not to get spotted by Nifs and figuring out WHAT TO DO. HELP.
(and this is the point where I could either make this a horrible tragedy about child kings and sacrificial lambs but I hate sad endings so I won’t so have some crack-flavored Fluff instead)
-Cor smuggles himself out to join the search but Ignis is doing his job a little Too Well so nobody can find these bros as they run around and Noctis ends up befriending Titan through the sheer power of his Cute and then Ramuh comes down to see because the Chosen isn’t old enough to take on his destiny except oh look. BBY. and his Granddadly instincts are roused for the first time in Millenia and so now the group has a doting Grandpa showing up at random to give advice and Smite People.
-Noctis continues to befriend just about Anything That Breathes as Big Bro Gladio, Brother Ignis, and his new Brother Prompto cart him around the wilderness of Lucis trying to figure out how to get safely back in Insomnia when there is a siege happening (the Siege is keeping the Glaives busy btw, which is why they aren’t out in force looking for Noctis).
-At one point Noctis gets separated from his bros in like- Lestallum or something and is wandering around freaking out when he bumps into someone. “Sorry,” he sniffles, trying hard to be dignified but also is so close to crying. The figure turns and ... looks at him. He doesn’t like that look.
-Noctis, who has been repeatedly told that he is in danger and needs to keep a low profile, starts to duck away from the man, afraid of being spotted, but then the man is in front of him, blocking his way and there are no other people around and Noctis is shaking and terrified, magic sparking under his skin as the man REACHES for him with a leer- and Noctis sobs and his magic reaches out instinctively in search of help-someone-please-PLEASE-
-A sword goes through the man’s chest, pinning him to the wall and suddenly there is a stranger there. A stranger with crackling, snapping magic that coils around Noctis, old and deadly and wounded but not- not evil. The new stranger turns and looks at Noctis, something cold and confused in his gaze, and maybe Noctis should be terrified of this man with red hair and tacky clothes and what looks like black makeup that’s all runny like he’s gotten it wet or been crying, but all Noctis can think is that someone rescued him, someone is HERE and that man has magic just like Noctis so he must be safe and-
-Ardyn feels like the wind has been knocked out of him less because of a scrawny ten year old cannoning into his waist in a desperate sobbing hug and more because- because-
-He hadn’t expected the Chosen to be a child.
-He had known, conceptually, that Regis’s son was very young but that- that was different from seeing it. From feeling young, immature magic latch onto his in desperation and needy trust and looking down at this tiny child who was already sobbing his heart out into the waistcoat of a MONSTER.
-The Chosen King is a child.
-And Ardyn can already feel two Covenants burning under the boy’s skin.
-The Astrals mean to make a CHILD their sacrifice? They will not even wait until he is grown?
-And Ardyn is not ... sane really, but no matter what he tells himself he still has standards and underneath the screaming of the scourge the old Healer King, the older brother who did more to raise his sibling than their father ever did, rears its head and snarls NO.
-Gladio, Ignis, and Prompto, who are all losing their minds over getting separated from Noctis, find him sniffling but content on the hip of a strange hobo-like man who smiles false smiles and says nothing with a great deal of words and somehow inserts himself into their group and never leaves. Noctis doesn’t WANT him to leave and the three are terribly astonished when Noctis blurts out that this poor man is sick and has magic like Noctis, but his sickness makes him tired and cranky.
-Ardyn is trying not to laugh to the point of tears over such a SIMPLE explanation of the Starscourge.
-Anyway to make an already stupid long ramble shorter, Noctis cutes his way to victory by melting the heart of the Accursed into going “Mine. My Nephew Now.” The Empire overreaches and gets it’s back broken by mass riots and Lucis’s defense and Altissia and Tenebrae both rising up in a bid for freedom, Ardyn gets medical help from a Very Confused Luna and they end up curing the Starscourge through the Power of Cute and the Power of Spite (aka Noctis and Ardyn) and then come back to Insomnia with a defected chancellor in tow who is now fully cured and mostly sane again and utterly devoted to his cute nephew.
-Regis is too grateful at finding his son alive and well despite prophecy to really care about the ex-Chancellor happily passing Noctis candy under Ignis’s exasperated eye every time Noctis looks the slightest bit Cuter than Normal.
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me: bro don’t do it. don’t start another fic that you won’t finish. ok but imagine e2l jungkook
(don’t click if u hate unfinished fics)
jungkook // enemies to lovers // 3k words
With the rain pouring down outside, you hum delightedly as you bite into your juicy chicken sandwich that you had lathered in honey mustard. Sure, it wasn’t particularly healthy, but you could care less about that, especially when it’s 9 pm and you had just gotten off work. Not to mention the fact that you’re completely drenched seeing as you had forgotten to look at the weather app, again. At this point, you could care less. To be quite honest, you’ve become numb to everything. You guess that’s just what being another cog in the capitalist machine does to you.
It’s been over a year since you moved to the big city for a job. At the start you were a bright-eyed college graduate, ready to take on the world. Now, you’re just a shell of a human being, and one of the only things that can bring you joy is the very chicken sandwich you’re feasting on.
You like this place at this time of the night. It’s not as busy, just the soft chatter of some of the customers or rather the collective munching of all the other people who just got off work, feeling and looking exactly like you. The standing bar by the window is where all the tired, beaten down employees find solace with earphones plugged in and glazed over eyes looking out into the streets ahead. That’s your routine and just like any other night, you’re doing the same. Slowly chewing, as your mind drifts off somewhere, the music playing in your ears barely registering.
Tap.
Tap. Tap. Tap.
You see a semblance of a figure standing in front of you on the other side of the window pane, but you’ve encountered enough oddballs in all your trips to this store that you’ve learnt to ignore anyone that stands in front of the window. Most times, it’s some crazy guy, going on some rant, expecting you to care. Your eyes only refocus when the person next to you taps you on the shoulder and directs your attention to the man waving wildly in front of you. You squint, trying to make out the person’s face through the rain, but by then the person has moved on, disappeared. You only shrug at the person who tapped your shoulder, turning your attention back to your sandwich instead.
“Y/N?”
It’s soft, but you think you hear someone calling your name over the music.
“Y/N!”
You pull out your earphones, head whipping around just to make sure you weren’t going crazy and oh god, when your eyes meet his, you sure hope this is just a fever dream.
“Christ, it’s like you’re on a different planet. I’ve never had to work so hard to get someone’s attention before,” The boy in front of you says as he wipes his rain-soaked face with a paper napkin.
“Jungkook?” You mumble, confused, staring at him with your mouth hanging half opened. What was he doing here and more importantly what was he doing here talking to you?
“Yes, sweetheart,” He smiles. “Keep looking at me like that and I might get the wrong idea,” He smirks.
God, he hasn’t changed at all.
“How is it possible that every time I see you, your ego is just 5 times the size it was before?” You question. “How do you manage to find space to keep it in that tiny brain of yours?”
“Easy,” He grins. “I store it in a bigger organ,” He directs your attention simply with his eyes, looking down towards his nether region.
You swear you almost throw up in your mouth. You simply shake your head at him, placing your earphones back in your ears before you turn towards what mattered the most. Your chicken sandwich.
“Oh come on,” Jungkook chuckles, yanking your earphones out. You absolutely hated it when people do that. “That’s no way to treat an old friend. Why the cold shoulder?”
“In what universe were we ever friends?” You ask. “Acquaintances maybe, but never friends.”
“Ah, that hurt,” He groans, clutching his chest. “You mean you don’t consider all the times I chased you around school with worms in my hands, quality time with a friend?”
“No,” You answer, with a curt smile. “And just in case you’re wondering, activities such as yanking my hair, putting tadpoles in my water and double knotting my shoelaces together under the table are also other events I don’t consider quality time with a friend.”
“Shame,” The boy pouts. “I really thought we were the best of friends.”
You roll your eyes at him, though a hint of a smile shows.
Jungkook, truly and genuinely is nothing more than an acquaintance… even if, both your parents wish otherwise. See, the two of you attended the same primary school and that’s how your mother had met his. After yet another torturous day at school with Jungkook attempting to put a live frog in your bag, you had ran up to your mother in tears. She assured you that she was going to have a stern talk with this Jungkook boy. She stepped up, ready to give the boy a piece of her mind when Jungkook’s mother stormed right up, ready to fight. It was hostile at first but soon enough the mothers were laughing together. Wait. This wasn’t what you wanted. After a lengthy chat, one that basically had both you and Jungkook ready to take a nap right on the bench the two of you had been sitting on, you heard your mother making plans to have tea with his mother one day. Hold on. You definitely didn’t want that. Yet, it happened. Jungkook never got reprimanded for trying to put a live frog in your bag and as your mother became friends with his mother, and later, best friends, Jungkook would soon earn a pass to play whatever heinous prank he wanted on you. Oh, but that meant so did you and so began the war between you and Jungkook.
Though you’ll agree that you weren’t quite as creative as Jungkook when it came to coming up with disgusting pranks, you could hurt him in different ways. See, Jungkook wasn’t the most studious kid and he was abysmal at math. You’ve seen him try to hide his report card many times, yet somehow or the rather, courtesy of you, it would end up straight in his mother’s hands. Oh, you still remember the way he would look at you. If looks could kill, you would’ve been dead and buried 50 times over. In any case, whatever amount of nagging Jungkook got wasn’t your problem. If he wanted it to stop, he should spend less time collecting tadpoles and more time studying.
Your war with Jungkook continued on until you were 12. By then, you had many battle scars. You’ve had gum stuck in your hair, had your shoes dipped in sewage water, your textbook put up onto the ceiling fan, among many other seemingly ‘harmless’ pranks that your mother would shrug off. If you had to go on living like this, there’s no telling what you would do to the boy. Luckily, as the year came to a close, and all the students got their results from the national test, you receive the best news you’ve ever heard. You had almost leaped with joy when Jungkook’s mother told you which school was bound for, it was the one just a few streets away, while you, you had gotten into a private school in the neighbouring district considering that you had passed the test with flying colours.
So began the ceasefire between you and Jungkook, or so you thought.
Granted, life was better now that you didn’t see Jungkook every day but that didn’t mean he was out of your life forever. Perhaps, you thought now that you and Jungkook were at different schools, your mothers wouldn’t be close considering they didn’t get to catchup every time they picked the both of you up from school. Oh, how wrong you were. Not only did your mothers stay friends, but soon enough, your fathers became golfing buddies too. Great. Just wonderful.
The worst part about having your fathers become golfing buddies was the fact that they would have these huge get togethers with all the other golfers and their families. They were quarterly events and though the adults had great fun with their booze and chit-chat, it was almost always awkward for the kids. All the kids would be lumped together in multiple ‘kids tables’ and everyone would just sit and stare at each other, trying to make small talk. Though you hated it, the food was almost always amazing and even if you had to be seated next to Jungkook, you didn’t mind because that meant his brother was never too far away.
You’ve had a crush on his brother, Junghoon, for as long as you can remember. Sure, he was four years older but he was everything Jungkook wasn’t. He was nice, sweet and best of all, he never tried putting tadpoles into your drink, or sticking gum in your hair. In fact, you think he’s the only one that listens to you and tells Jungkook off for misbehaving. He was an angel, your saving grace, the boy you would forever be in love with. Jungkook tells you that you’re wasting your time, that his brother has been dating the same girl since he was 11 and he was 17 now. Just because there’s a goalkeeper in front of a goal, doesn’t mean you couldn’t score, you would remind him.
So, that’s how those quarterly dinners went. You dreamily conversing with his older brother while Jungkook made his moves on all the girls in the room. That is, until Junghoon started bringing his girlfriend to the events. Now, you had to sit there and watch them act all lovey-dovey while you were stuck next to Jungkook. Wonderful. Of course, it was of no help that puberty seemed to hit Jungkook like a train. He went from looking lanky and shabby to… hot. As much as you hated the boy, you couldn’t deny that he was plain attractive. If anything, the girls at the dinners, constantly trying to talk and flirt with him was a glaring reminder of how good looking he’d become. It wasn’t like you were staring but he had a well-built chest, solid thighs and of course his face that bordered between cute and straight up sultry depending on how he styled his hair. Towards the later years, he started leaning away from his favourite bowl cut, which meant it started getting harder to pretend that you most definitely thought he was handsome and if he wasn’t the Jungkook that you knew, you’d be like any one of the other girls trying to strike up a conversation with him.
Despite it all, you still looked forward to the dinners because of the delicious food, and perhaps also because you and Jungkook would sneak towards the table at the back where the bottles of wine and hard liquor were placed, often stealing a sip or two when no one was looking. As the years went by, the two of you got bolder, both pouring yourselves a generous serving of whiskey and of course pouring in some coke after that to make it seem like you were good little kids, sipping on soda. Though from afar, it may seem like you and Jungkook were friends, you were adamant that the two of you were nothing more than acquaintances. It wasn’t very easy to convince people because he often posted up pictures of the two of you. He usually looked great in them meanwhile he usually caught you while you’re placing your spoon into your mouth, or while you’re in the midst of sneezing. It was deliberate of course and you had expected nothing less from Jeon Jungkook.
Though Jungkook and you didn’t share the same circle of friends, most of your classmates knew him. With a face like that, of course they did. Of course, the fact that he was exceptional at sports didn’t help. He’d gotten close to some of your friends when he would meet them at sports meets. All the schools in the same district would often duke it out before moving on to the next level, and the next until they reached the state level and finally, nationals. Jungkook got as far as the state level when it came to swimming. Honestly, he had the talent to go all the way, but he was always too busy trying to chat up girls instead of trying to best his own record. In fact, you think he only decided to be a swimmer because he could post pictures of himself in that itty-bitty swimming costume and get all the girls to swoon. Also, yes, you’ve been forced to attend his swim meets, usually at the request of his mother and god, it was torture trying to pretend like you weren’t staring at the boy half the time. You just had to admit that you loved the fact that he had that V-line. God, what you’d give if you could just run your finger along— no, never mind, thoughts like that weren’t meant to be wasted on boys like him.
Many times, you’ve had girls in your school come up to ask you if you could perhaps introduce him to them. You would often say no, but that you could give them the next best thing and that is his number. Can’t you at least only give my number to the hot ones? Jungkook would ask you when he saw you at the quarterly dinners. You would tell him that each time you gave out his number was only revenge for each tadpole he had put into your water bottle back in primary school. God, you’re so petty, he would groan. He promised he’d get his revenge on you too.
As high school rolled on to college, Jungkook had learnt that mentioning your name to his mother gave him the all good sign to go hang out until whatever time he wanted. If my mum calls, just tell her I’m with you, he would say. Truth is, the two of you really would be together, except on the opposite end of the same club. So, you’d oblige when he would ask you to pose for a picture together. In fact, you needed to send one to your mother too because you had told her the same lie, that you’d be hanging out with Jungkook for the night. The two of you usually staged the photo, walking to a nearby restaurant, to sit down and snap a picture before heading to the club.
Back at the club, the two of you were truly acquaintances at best. A rare smile, an even rarer few shared sentences and that was it. Of course, barring the times Jungkook would send his friends your way for a neat little prank. You had caught on pretty quick though. Anytime, a boy would approach you, your go to sentence would be, if Jungkook sent you then sure, I’d give you my number but only if we split whatever it is he’s giving you. So that’s how you ended up with a few extra ten dollar bills by the end of the month. Even so, it started getting annoying, so of course, you had gone up to tell Jungkook that you’ve had enough. At that he only scoffed before telling you that each time he sent a boy your way was only revenge for all the times you had given out his number. He promised that unlike you he only sent the good-looking boys your way… because it looked like you could use a good lay. Oh, you wanted to strangle him right there and then.
After that, you got smart. You told any of the boys that came your way that you were willing to pay double of whatever Jungkook was paying if they would kick him in the balls for you. Turns out boys aren’t quite loyal and after being assaulted a few too many times, Jungkook learns to stop sending boys your way. You thought that would be the end of it, that you would be able to enjoy your nights in peace but You should’ve known better. Jungkook was hard to miss at the club. He was loud, obnoxious, and god, did he look good in a button down. If anyone looked closely, they would’ve mistaken you for any other girl, almost drooling as you watched him sip from his whiskey glass, seated on the couch with his legs spread out. He would wink in your direction, as if inviting you take a seat. Fuck, what you’d give to do just that. To grind down on him and put your hands on his broad chests that you— no, wait, thoughts like these really shouldn’t be wasted on boys like Jungkook. Of course, your mind would never really listen, so you would find one of his friends instead, giving Jungkook a full view of what could have been if he wasn’t such a dickhead.
Ignoring Jungkook was a tough task, really, and honestly if he tried anything more than harmless flirting with you, you think you would end up under him in less than a second. Which of course, is bad news. You truly had no self-control when it came to handsome men, but to be fair… look at him. Would any sane person say no? However, fortunately for you, you would get your one and only true, clean break from Jungkook. University. The two of you had gone to universities on opposite coasts and so, the two of you hadn’t seen each other in three good years. You had spent your breaks volunteering and travelling and it seemed so did Jungkook. Whenever the two of you went back home, one of you would have already left. Of course, you still knew what he was up to. It seemed like he was getting even more attention in university. It shouldn’t surprise you. Being on a university campus meant everyone was your age and equally as horny, so of course he was having fun. To be fair, so were you. In any case, you think whatever lingering attraction or rather lust you felt for the boy, had long died away. Yes, that is what you thought… until of course you find Jungkook standing in front of you after four long years of not seeing him and against all laws of nature, it seems like puberty had hit him a second time. That or your dry spell was just really starting to get to you. You reasoned that you would be okay, that this would be the one and only time you and him would run into each other in a city so big, but no, you would run into him time and time again. Then he would convince you to do something so stupid, that you believe the only explanation to you saying yes was that you were possessed. That’s the only way to think about it… because why else would one say yes to sharing a studio apartment with the devil incarnate, Jeon Jungkook himself?
click for some more secret sauce (aka my collection of unfinished fics bc i have no self control)
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Under Fire - Pt 15
Masterlist | <Previous | Next >
Title: Under Fire
Word Count: 6K
Rating: M
Genre: Gang AU/ Mafia AU, Drama, Slow Burn Romance
Warnings: Violence, Smut Scene (Fingering, Oral (F receiving), Unprotected Sex, Masturbation, Voyeurism (3rd party viewer without consent to watch))
Pairings: Hyung Line x Reader (Primarily Namjoon x Reader), very slight OT7 x Reader.
Pairings (in this chapter): Namjoon x Reader, Suga x Reader, J-Hope x Reader, Jin x Reader
Summary: As a child you lived among the most wealthy and powerful, after the death of your mother you were shipped off to stay with her sister. Even after finishing your education you continue to live apart from the elite, but a visit home creates an unexpected disaster. You are suddenly roped into a darker world, and who better to be your guide than the infamous gang known as BTS.
Chapter 15 - Display of Dominance
POV (Y/N)
The day of, preparations are running smoothly. You and JK are setting up a secure line that will handle possible interference from other radios, while V beefs up the security at the manor and repairs your father’s watch for you to wear.
You eye the radios with envy. Jk notices, but continues with his work. At 6 pm Suga comes to fetch JK and V. JK grasps you hand before leaving slipping an earpiece into your palm, giving you a small smile as he leaves.
Suga closes the door behind JK leaving the two of you alone. “I know you’ve been hiding something. Should we be expecting your company tonight despite RM’s instructions?”
You panic wondering if he had told Namjoon of his suspicions, “Suga I don’t plan on going against his orders.”
“So you have no intention of sneaking out tonight?”
“What would you do... If you were in my position?”
“I’d tell him to go fuck himself.”
You smile treading carefully upon your words. “Unless RM admits his mistake I have no plans to attend.”
Suga’s eyes narrow noticing the thought you had put into your statement, but he doesn’t push any further. Instead he pulls out a small handgun with a holster from inside his jacket “While you’re alone, I want you to have this. V has set up the panic room but a little extra protection couldn’t hurt. You’ll be okay to use it if necessary?”
You nod hoping that the ceasefire would hold strong.
...
You take your laptop downstairs so you can hold your video conference in the sitting room right next to the foyer. Seeing all of them ready to leave in high fashion suites was unexpected.
“50% of the accords is just showboating. We have to remind them the wealth we’re bringing to the table,” V explains.
There is still a part of you expecting Namjoon to change his mind. A part of you that expects him to pull you out into the SUV and accompany them. You hate the thought of having to resort to your underhanded tactics.
Half of the team is still upset, the other half ashamed, Namjoon being the only outlier who stands strong. He’s also the last to exit, lingering after the rest of the members have left. You notice your father’s ring on the hand holding the door. It’s the first time he’s worn it since the day you had given it up.
“You can still change your mind Namjoon.” You nod the the heirloom upon his finger. “Please don’t cut me out like he did. I can’t go through that again.” You plead with him, hoping that he would understand the overwhelming feeling of worthlessness he has added to your fear of being alone.
“I know it may seem weak of me to keep you here, but I can’t take you with me. I won’t be able to concentrate knowing that I have just put you in harms way. I am just trying to do what’s best for my team. That includes you.” With that he shuts the door behind him.
...
You have 30 minutes to prepare before your call. You had not anticipated the dress code of the meeting quickly running back to your room to change. Taking out one of the dresses from Gucci that Hope had inquired about. A bright red gown form fitting down to the floor. The sleeves and neckline are what truly makes it unique with the lace giving it the appearance of flames crawling up your arms to your collar. You tuck your mother’s pendant into your dress, keeping it close, but perhaps not as close as Suga’s useful gift which you’ve just strapped to the inside of your thigh.
Upon looking in the mirror you find your scarred shoulder fully on display. You consider trying to find a method to cover it, but this crowd is far different than your elite connections. They shouldn’t see a scar as a weakness but as a strength.
Before returning to your computer, you grab a suit jacket to cover the top half of the dress. Not wishing to appear as if you are sidestepping this meeting for another event. You ready yourself at the desk tucking your ear piece in.
...
You listen as they step out into the lot of the warehouse with the slamming of car doors.
A notification pops up on your computer, reading ...Incoming call: Mr. Shin... You answer pulling the video feed up on the screen.
“Thank you, for meeting with me Miss Park.”
“The pleasure is all mine Mr. Shin.” You get straight to the point with no time to waste. “After reviewing your needs I can see that you’ll need a large amount of assistance to continue running.”
“That is correct.”
“In that case I wish to set you up directly with one of our donors who as expressed an interest in your program. I feel that this might be a better fit, not only will you get the funding you require but they will be able to address any other needs you have in a timely manner.”
“That would be ideal.”
“If I may, I would like to introduce Mr. Dae.” Dae joined the conversation with a simple greeting a mere second after you clicked adding his account to the call. “He is a bank manager that has reached out to me with the hopes of increasing the company’s philanthropy efforts. I’m sure you two gentleman have much to discuss. I don’t wish to get in your way.”
“Thank you again, Miss Park.”
“Yes, thank you for this opportunity.” You detect a bit of cynicism in Dae’s voice, so you pull him over the coals one last time before logging off.
“Mr. Shin if anything in this arrangement does not work for your program, you have my office’s number. Don’t hesitate to reach out, I will happily find a replacement if necessary...”
You end the call just in time to hear your team being greeted, leaving you to assume they had entered the warehouse. Namjoon issues directions, “Split up like we discussed earlier, Hope and V, Jimin and Jin, JK you’re with me. Suga wait here, we’ll use this as a rendezvous point. Let’s try to keep it level till midnight”
You pull out your phone finding Wonho in your contact list and sending a brief message.
...Fancy giving me a lift?...
...I thought you would never ask...
You throw your blazer aside before exiting the manor.
Their van pulls up in front just as you make it to the gate. Minhyuk opens the sliding door. “I can see why they left you behind, you’re far to distracting.”
You jump into the back. “I’ll take that as a complement.”
“We are going to get in such shit for this,” Shownu sighs.
“Your agreement with RM, he expects a full report every time you meet right?”
“Yeah.”
“Well it’s convenient then that I didn’t tell you of my plans before. You won’t see him again until we’re already there. You aren’t breaking any rules.”
Kihyun shakes his head and smiles.
JK had given them access to the com-line, allowing everyone to listen on the drive over. The negotiations don’t seem to be going well.
You can hear several people ask of your whereabouts. Your team’s reply is always the same.
“She is maintaining her cover at a meeting for her families foundation.”
There are several scoffs, some people coming back with insults of an elitist nature while others imply that you’re too scared to face them.
As you reach the warehouse things go from bad to worse. You hear Namjoon’s voice on the line. “We’re almost dead in the water, even VIXX is holding out saying that the wish to meet Fire before entering into a full agreement.”
You really didn’t want to have to do this, but how else would you gain the upper hand for your team. “IM I need you to program this call to go out to this number 15 minutes after we go in.” You hand him a slip of paper and a flash drive with an altered audio file.
“Are you fucking crazy? This could get us killed!” He passes the info over to Kihyun and Wonho for them to take a look.
“You have to trust me, I have a plan. Even if I go in there they still might not take me seriously.”
As if on cue you hear over the radio someone suggesting to Hope if you’re “free” for the evening he would consider making a deal. Hope’s response brings a chuckle to your lips, “You know what, I’ll ask her. Come find me after 12 and I’ll give you her response.”
Everyone looks to Kihyun for the final verdict who reluctantly agrees. “All right we’ll do it... what do you need from us?
“A clear path and provide cover while I deal with the situation.”
...
As the clock hits 8 pm Shownu opens the door to exit the van.
“No wait, I can’t go in yet.”
“Why not.”
“I made a promise to someone.”
Your can hear the members of you team bickering inside.
“We’re fucked...”
“When is Monsta X getting here?”
“They should be here by now.”
“Why aren’t they answering, JK you gave them access to the line right?”
Suga’s voice rings out clearly amidst the others. “Just say it RM, this would have gone better if Fire was here.”
“What good will that do us now?”
“Just admit your fucking mistake!” Suga seethes.
“Okay, you’re right, I shouldn’t have kept her out of this. I misjudged the situation.”
“Thank you Suga,” You whisper to yourself, before turning back to Shownu. “Right, now we can go.”
Inserting the earpiece back in you exit the van first. Wonho escorts you to the door, sporting a half smile as he looks down at you. You grip his arm tightly mentally preparing yourself to meet some of the most wanted in Seoul. Shownu speaks to the man guarding the door through the hatch.
Every head turned the second you entered the building. With your chin up you evaluate the space. The old owner had made good progress with the renovations, but judging from the broken windows and age of discarded objects he had given up several years ago. There are seats and tables everywhere with drinks on hand. If you hadn’t have known what you were walking into, you might have thought you were in for a simple night out at a dingy rundown bar.
The doorman holds out an empty hand to you. “Gun.” It’s not a request but a demand.
You scoff at the idea of leaving yourself unarmed in a place like this, but when Monsta X starts pulling out their own, you understand that it’s non negotiable. That this must be their way of implementing the cease fire on site. You scan the room questioning how effective it is, almost certain that there must be concealed guns and knives hiding in suit jackets of the other attendees. Not wanting to get caught with yours though, you reluctantly comply. Opening your dress from the side you expose your leg pulling out the gun that Suga had given you.
“You’ll get it back when you leave.” Wonho whispers in your ear try to ease your distress as you relinquish the firearm.
You find Suga amongst the crowd first. Sitting alone in a booth taking a sip of beer as he gazes upon you with a smirk on his face. He lifts a finger pointing up to the level above you. Looking down over the railing is Namjoon caught between shock and anger. You smile back at him tilting your head, watching his brow furrow even more.
You take your time approaching Suga giving some of the other members a chance to collect around the table first.
“Sorry I’m late, luckily I was able to hitch a ride.”
A few groups started to move into earshot, you hate the haughty tone you’ve set for yourself, but if they wanted a fearless patron on their level that’s what you would show them.
“What about the meeting?” V asks.
“I convinced one of the bank managers that he should pledge his own money or I would take mine from them. They’re sorting out the business matters now, I figured I would leave the boring matters to them.”
V smiles at the prospect of using the banker.
“I’ve asked Monsta X to join us for the night, I figured we could discuss a few matters.” The observers around you drink in the act.
J-Hope guides you into a booth seat wedging you between himself and Jin. He whispers in you ear, “This is a nice surprise.” His fingers trail the lace of you dress on the back of your shoulder.
“Just think, you might have missed this sight had I not come.” You snap back playfully.
Namjoon approaches the table last taking the seat directly across from you with a dark expression. “The meeting with Shin?”
“Done.”
He nods back sternly, you know he’s holding himself back unable to call you out in front of potential allies. You take another glance around focusing this time on the warehouse’s occupants, spotting EXO and GOT7 sitting together from across the room. You freeze in anger. As their members speak among themselves, Chanyeol’s eyes meet yours.
You phone vibrates in your clutch. You pull it out perplexed when you see no one else at the table with their phone out.
...I’ve been looking for you everywhere, you haven’t been out with the others...
...Is this why he won’t let you out to play Angel?...
He sends a suggestive photo of you pulling your gun out from your dress.
...Does he like to keep you locked away for himself? I guess we aren’t so different in that regard...
You take a sharp inhale attempting to remain calm, knowing he’s watching your reaction. “JK I think you might have forgotten to change something. Henry had my number didn’t he?”
He whispers a quiet swear. Namjoons eyes widen for a fraction of a second before his jaw clenches, V places a hand on his shoulder to remind him of his own orders. “Keep it together.”
Jin disregards V, pulling your phone away from you and ripping out the sim card after reading the messages.
With his anger on display he’s playing right into Chanyeol's hand. You tilt Jin’s head towards you with a finger under his jaw moving closer you whisper into his ear. “Don’t let him get to you, just play along. Hold on to what he can’t.” With that you give him a lingering kiss to the edge of his mouth. Jin smiles back at you with a smirk placing an arm around your waist.
You look over wishing to gauge Chanyeol's reaction to your display but the path between you becomes blocked. Another exceptionally tall gang moves in your direction, this had to be VIXX. Jin pulls his arm back as they greet you.
“Park?”
“Call me Fire.”
“We were worried that you wouldn’t be able to make an appearance tonight.”
“I had the same worry.”
“We were in talks with RM before, but we wanted to be sure of your true motives before agreeing.”
Before you can respond you hear the whistle of several police sirens approaching. You heart stops... Why are there so many?... Your steps replay in your mind. It was a simple trespassing call that you had recorded, an anonymous tip to get them to make an appearance.
You had given it to IM to program so you would not be seen making a call just before they arrive, but from the sounds of it the police had sent at least a dozen responders. This was not part of the plan.
The room freezes for a moment each group unsure of how to proceed. Everyone makes a break for the back, with the exception of Monsta X. With a nod from Wonho they continue to act on your orders despite the unexpected aggressive response by the police.
Jin slides you out of the booth but Namjoon grabs you by the upper arm in an attempt to guide you deeper into the warehouse. You pull away, with the intent of moving in the opposite direction. The longer you wait to head them off the more danger you are putting your team in.
He grabs your waist and tries to pull you along again. “(Y/N) you have to move away. This is exactly why I didn’t want you to come, what will happen if your caught among this crowd?”
“Nothing, because no one is going to be arrested...” You hiss back to him trying to keep the conversation between you two.
His eyes widen, “You didn’t...”
“I made a mistake, there was far more of a reaction than I intended. Get the others out and let me handle this.”
He doesn’t move.
“Please just trust me.”
He slowly lets go of you but remains by your side giving orders to the others. “Jin you're with us. Suga and Hope take the others back, get them out if this goes south.”
“I would rather stay.” Suga retorts.
“Suga please...” You beg. He locks eyes with you before turning away as directed.
Loud knocks echo through the building as Namjoon takes you to the door. You notice several other groups attempting to fade away into the darkness. The doorman had been pushed out of the way by Shownu, with the guns restored to their grasp the rest of Monsta X takes posts nearby. Making it look like the were ready to shut down the police if necessary.
With a deep breath and insuring the view behind you was clear. you open the door to several officers heavily geared up. Namjoon remains concealed behind the door with Jin at your other side to assist with the police. You concentrate on defusing the situation as quickly as possible. “Officers what can I help you with?”
They look taken aback by you and Jin’s appearance. “We’ve received a report of possible trespassing, do you have permission to be here?”
“Ah I see, it’s all a misunderstanding.” You pull the deed out of your clutch. “I purchased this lot just recently. We have plans to re-purpose the building. I figured it would be fun to have my investors over for a bit of a celebration before we start the work. Forgive them for not coming to greet you too they are evaluating the other rooms.” You take a pause while they examine the paperwork. “I’m sorry you had to drive all the way out here for a call like this, and so many of you too.”
He hands back the paper with a smile. “We just wanted to make sure. Would you mind if we took a look around? This area can get a little dodgy at night.”
You remain calm knowing the disaster that would strike if they gained access, “I will have to decline your request, unless you have a warrant that is.” You chuckle trying to keep things light. “Sorry, some of my fellow investors are quite private and would not appreciate the intrustion. But thank you for concern.”
“Sorry for the interruption then. Everything seems to be in order, we’ll head out.”
You let out a sigh and they pull away. Namjoon whispers for the team over the mic to return to the table.
You wait at the front until ever car leaves before stepping back to the booth. your team has once again occupied and taking a seat, with Monsta X taking the next table over. Jin sits down beside you awestruck. Namjoon takes your other side gripping your wrist beneath the table. You find it difficult to tell if he is clinging to you out of anger or worry.
The rest of the attendees slowly crept back out with the same look on their faces as Jin. You look over to where EXO and GOT7 were seated only to find the space vacant. You can only assume they slipped out the second they heard sirens. Keeping Chanyeol’s affiliation to EXO from the police was clearly a higher priority over gaining more allies.
VIXX approached once again. “Gentleman, we are clear to continue if you wish?” You offer with a small grin.
There’s a silent nod from their leader N.
“You asked before what my motives are. I simply want to look after my people and take revenge on those who took something from us. But in order to do that we need to increase our numbers.
N responds positively, “RM if the deal is on the table, I think we can make this work.”
...
Seventeen, iKon, and Pentagon would also sign on before the end of the night. They’re all relatively fresh according to J-Hope, but numerous in members.
You leave shortly before midnight, everyone retreating before the end of the ceasefire. Saying goodbye to Monsta X at their van before you go your separate ways.
“Thank you for going against your better judgement.”
“Your full of surprises, working with you should be interesting.” Kihyun comments
Wonho waves you off with a reluctant look, “We’ll see you soon.”
...
It’s a loud car ride home. The younger boys celebrating the successful end of the accords. Namjoon keeps glancing over to you as you sit on the other side of Suga.
As you pull into the manor’s garage Namjoon calls out. “Fire I need to talk to you...privately.”
“Come on RM, no more work tonight. We should celebrate.” V whines.
“You guys go ahead and get started, we’ll join you later.” Namjoon answers.
He pulls you into his office and shuts the door behind. Leaving you by the door he marches away running his hands through his hair and shaking his head. When he turns back to you it’s with overwhelming anger. “What the hell were you thinking?”
“What do you mean what was I thinking? I saved our chances by showing up!”
“That’s not what I’m talking about. Would you care to inform me why you thought it would be a good idea to call the police?”
“I had to prove myself to them. Those people don’t fear each other as they do losing their freedom behind bars, or they wouldn’t hold something like this. If they could see me in control of what they feared most maybe I could gain their trust.” You take a breath hoping that your motives behind the idea would finally dawn on him. “I made an anonymous trespassing call. There shouldn’t have been that many responders, I was planning on handling it with Monsta X without getting you involved.”
“People could have died tonight, you put your whole team in danger.”
“No! I told you to leave, you insisted on staying with Jin.”
He continues disregarding your correction, while taking a step towards you. “Not to mention the possibility of blowing our cover. We have worked hard to stay off the police’s radar and out of their books. If someone had reacted impulsively, if one of the officers was killed... having their blood on our hands would have changed that.”
You remain silent as he continues advancing upon you, making his point known.
“What if another gang found out you had called them? Both us and Monsta X wouldn’t have been able to keep all of them away from you, we wouldn’t have been able to save you from their onslaught.” He’s close enough for you to feel his breath on your skin. “You plan for the best outcome knowing that the worst is always a possibility. If you’re not willing to make that sacrifice for the goal then you change the plan. I’m not willing to sacrifice your life for the sake of your prestige.”
“Do you think I like working behind your back? I know I fucked up, but so did you. If you had included me I wouldn’t have had to resort to my own plans. You have to understand if you continue to try to bench me from this I will not hesitate to work alone. This is what you wanted me to do Namjoon, in the beginning this is what you wanted. What changed?”
“Your motives changed. I heard you the other night speaking to Wonho. You risked your life for us not the goal. Do you know what your father said to me when I spoke to him after meeting you in Busan? When I expressed that we should tell you the truth? He was worried that you would fall in too fast too quickly. He was right, I’m trying to fix that now. We’re not worth you risking your life. I’m trying to save you from yourself. So please, just let me protect you.” There’s a soft sigh along with his last words. He locks his eyes with yours as if looking for you to give in.
“You honestly think that? How can you expect me to place your lives any lower than my own? You saw how I lived before I came here, how alone I was. I can’t risk losing you, I won’t go back to that life without you. I won’t watch from the sidelines as you put yourself in danger for my sake. But don’t expect me to believe that you would let me risk more for the goal. You said it yourself, you wouldn’t be able to concentrate knowing I would be in danger. It’s not just my motives that have changed Namjoon.”
You turn towards the door again thinking that the conversation is over. As you reach out grab the handle Namjoon takes your hand and turns you around. Your back is pressed to the door as he leans against you. His other hand rests on your jaw tilting your head up with his thumb resting at the corner of your mouth.
“You’re right, I hate the thought of you walking into the line of fire. But if it had been anyone else who pulled that stunt I would have to cast them out from the team. You’re lucky I’m so fucking selfish, that I can’t seem to let you go. I would do anything to prevent you from walking out that door. ”
You allow your free hand to rest on his chest, you look down fingering one of his shirt buttons before looking back up to his eyes. “Then give me back my reason to stay. I’m tired of fighting you Namjoon.” You realize how much you had missed this, having him hold you close, feeling his touch on your skin.
You grab his shirt pulling him down to meet you. You must have taken him by surprise as both his hands slam against the wood on either side of your head to keep his balance. He presses further against you, a subtle groan escapes him. As you release his shirt he lifts you up. Carrying you in his arms he places you on the edge of his desk. His full lips move to your neck, giving you the occasional nip against your skin. With each bite you gasp, his lips pull tight, smiling at you reaction to him. His hands trail up your thigh, one of them finding its way beneath the fabric. Locating the holster with the gun. “You have a lot of explaining to do wearing something like this.” He sets your gun to the side but comes back to grip to the strap on your leg pushing it up just a little higher on your thigh.
You reach for his suit jacket pulling it off before your fingers move to unbuttoning his shirt.
“The dress or the gun?” You tease, as he slowly unlatches the leather strap.
Instead of letting it fall to the floor he pulls it tighter across your sensitive skin, causing you to yelp as he gives you his answer. “Both.”
He continues to hold on as his nips your skin harshly, giving you no reprieve. “Even before you got there, I had men inquiring for you, wanting to see if they could take a turn with you. Knowing you were safe back home was the only thing that kept me from reacting. I should have strapped you to the fucking bed to keep you here.” He growls.
“I find it hard to believe that you would leave me like that.” You whisper back.
“No you’re right. I would have brought you to the verge coming and then finished you when I return. Since that’s exactly what you did to me tonight.” The tips of his fingers brush the back of your neck searching for the zipper and dragging it down. “The second you stepped in you had me on the edge. I was forced to keep to myself, bound by those watching, when all I wanted to do was rip off this fucking dress and take you in front of them.
His hands roll over your shoulders as he exposes your skin. The lace dress falls as you stand for a moment letting it slip to the floor, before returning to your seat on the desk. He takes off his pants in a swift motion and throws them down next to you.
His index finger tips the cup of your bra allowing him to trail kissed down to your breast. Giving him a moan of pleasure, you urge him to continue, he slowly unfixes the clasp releasing you from it. His warm hands softly roam your chest dragging his fingers back and forth. His mouth assists by giving you the occasional flick of his tongue. While he is distracted you remove your now damp underwear, packing it in the pocket of his pants as a surprise for later.
He reaches down. Letting out a gasp when he finds that you have removed your final piece of clothing. His fingers tease between your wet folds. “You have no idea how much I wanted to do this as I sat beside you.” His other hand returns to your chin tilting your face up to him . “Having them watch as you react to my touch. Having my fingers coated with you as I shook the hands of others.”
You give him a smirk back playing along, but your face begins to heat with thought of such an act, “Then why didn’t you?”
He reaches deeper inside you but only for a moment, just long enough to extract a moan from your lips. “I told you, I’m selfish. Seeing you like this, completely undone, that’s my privilege.”
He brings his index, now slick from you, to his mouth for a taste. Groaning as he samples you. “Sweeter than sweet.” He whispers quietly with a smirk. He kneels in front of you. As if hungering for more he parts your lower lips with his tongue lapping at your juices. With every brush of his tongue he sends jolts through you. Teasing with long and short strokes.
Despite his boldness you could still feel his fingers tremble as they trail across your thighs. Even now he was holding back, protecting you from his full strength and demand. Your fingers trail along his jaw tilting his head up. He rises back up to meet you, capturing you lips once more as he release himself from his boxers.
“Are you ready for me baby?” Hearing the word baby roll off his tongue is all the encouragement you need to slide forward on the desk to meet him, but his hands hold your hips in place. “Tell me what you want first.”
“You... fuck I want you inside me.” You trail your fingers along his shaft teasing him. He lets out a low growl moving himself closer. You continue to drive your point across as you direct him further, “No need to be gentle. I promise I won’t break.”
A lusting groan breaks from him as his first thrust glides in filling you. His power enough to push you further on the desk, He counteracts his force with one hand gripping your hips the other tugging on the holster he left strapped to you. With every push he leaves you gasping, your moans rising in volume as he plunges deeper.
...
POV ???
Pulling up the camera feed to RM’s office was a mistake. It had been a long night. I didn’t want to wait if you and RM where going to continue fighting for hours. I just wanted to see if you were starting to come to a resolution. I had turned down my phone volume so the other members around me wouldn’t hear your spat. But now, staring at the screen I realize they would have heard something far different.
The camera is placed on the wall overlooking the front of the desk. RM’s back is to the shot, but you, you are in clear view of the lens. I watch as your dress falls to the floor... I watch as he softly kisses your chest drawing it to his mouth... I watch as you carefully slip your underwear into his pocket. I know this is wrong but I can’t tear my eyes away.
I place my hand into my pocket to conceal my growing erection. But it’s only made worse when I see him push his fingers inside of you. The silence is killing me, I desperately wish to hear the moans coming from your lips. I dim the screen and pause the footage carefully getting up. I tell the others to continue on without me and inform them of my destination.
I can’t get there fast enough. Once alone I rewind and turn on the audio. Your sinful sounds claim me through the speaker, they alone would be enough to satisfy my need for you. I lick my lips, as RM sucks on his fingers dripping with your wetness. Letting out a groan myself as I watch him go down on you. My craving for you grows stronger, making me to criticize his simple taste of you. Oh how I would drink from you. I can only imagine what it would be like to draw my tongue across your slit as my mouth encases your folds. I picture you bucking against my caresses with pleasure, holding you in place I would roam deeper with my tongue than he ever could.
I growl with approval when I hear the vulgarity of your words. Here you are begging him for more, when I’m ready to give everything to you in that moment, my body, heart and soul... they’re all yours.
I meet my complete downfall when I see your face as he enters you. I unbuckle my pants reaching in to grip myself. Every whimper from you causes me to pulse against my hand. I bite my lip as I watch your nails dig into his back, you leave marks that I can only envy. As he carries you closer to your climax, I observe a blush creep onto your skin. I disregard his name falling between your moans. Knowing my own would sound so much sweeter coming from your lips.
You shudder one last time as you cry out in ecstasy. Collapsing back on to the desk after he too releases.
I pause the footage berating myself for what I had just witnessed. But the swell in my hand is still prominent, my disgust is not enough to prevent me from scanning the footage back. I close my eyes, roll my head back and continue to take pleasure from your passionate voice. The voice that burns me from the inside.
..........
AN: Welp I think that’s my best cliff hanger to date... so you can either live in despair for a week or two not knowing who the POV belongs to... or you can play my horrible little game of finding the clues and hints I (in true LeMonJoonAh fashion) left for you. I would love to hear your guesses.
Also, side note this was the first smut scene(s) I’ve ever written, thoughts and feedback are welcome!
#bts fanfiction#bts fanfic#bts x reader#bts reader insert#bts smut#namjoon smut#namjoon x reader#rm x reader#yoongi x reader#suga x reader#jhope x reader#hoseok x reader#jin x reader#seokjin x reader#bts under fire series#bts hyung line x reader#bts gang au#bts mafia au#bts x reader x monsta x
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The lawyer that was promised : that post of yours where you argue that Jon's "using" Daenerys to get her North was really good. I hated reading it because I'm Jonaerys all the way, but it was really well thought and I had to ponder for a while before I could answer. Still, I came up with a few things: I wouldn't say Dany is being "evil" in that cave. I think she "believe' Jon in the sense that she believe there's "something" North of the Wall; she just doesn't really get how serious it is. Not
@tatticstudio55 I’ll paste the rest of your ask here because it’s really very reasonable and warrants a response:
The lawyer that was promised : that post of yours where you argue that Jon’s “using” Daenerys to get her North was really good. I hated reading it because I’m Jonaerys all the way, but it was really well thought and I had to ponder for a while before I could answer. Still, I came up with a few things:
I wouldn’t say Dany is being “evil” in that cave. I think she “believe’ Jon in the sense that she believe there’s “something” North of the Wall; she just doesn’t really get how serious it is. Not to mention there’s still a wall between them and the WW (at that point, at least). As she say to him herself in ep 6, “If we hadn’t gone I wouldn’t have seen it. You have to see it to know”. There’s believing, and then there’s knowing. So, evil? I don’t know. I’d say “naive”. If Dany truly understood the threat, she’d be willing to fight in the North with or without Jon’s allegiance; or else, as Jon puts it, she’d be left with a graveyard to rule. It’s a lot easier for Cersei to wash her hands of the WW matter : she’s (likely) right when saying that if dragons and 3 armies can’t beat the Night King, it’s not her contribution that will tip the scale.
Now about Jon : as you said, he’s a smart fellow. He certainly understand that if Dany really wants the North, she’ll take it with or without him bending the knee. In the first episode of season 7, he can afford to ignore Cersei’s warning because the North might still stand a chance against her. But the North wouldn’t stand a chance against dragons, and neither does Cersei, which means that, as far as Jon knows, he’ll eventually be “asked” to bend the knee to Daenerys Targaryen one way or another. Essentially, Jon’s taking advantage of the fact that Dany won’t downright burn him alive for not kneeling to her, to try shoving into her head that the WW threat is real and urgent. I think it was you who pointed that, had he knelt right away, he’d be forced to enter Dany’s war against Cersei when there’s clearly no time for that - excellent point. My guess is, Jon probably accepted the fact that he’ll have to kneel to Dany one day; he’s just buying time and waiting (hoping) for her to switch her priorities before, so that the northerners, as you pointed out, won’t be dragged into a war that’s basically a waste of very precious time and resources. In his mind, bargaining for the North’s independence is out of the table. And that might explain his “sight’ at the end of ep 6, after Dany left his bedside. "What about those who swore allegiance to you” basically means Dany WAS considering giving the North his independence. Hearing her say that, Jon was probably like “shit, if only I had knew”. He kept it a secret from Davos, but then again, Dany kept it a secret from Tyrion, too, so I’m not sure what to make of that.
About the excursion North of the Wall : one thing people seem to forget is that Dany’s not the only one who has to be concerned with Cersei. I can see only one reason why the Lannister wouldn’t attack the North in season 7, and that is, they already have their hands full with Dany. Get Dany out of the picture and the North is in big shit. So the armistice Dany wants so much could definitely benefit Jon as well - more than Dany, actually, since Dany, if really necessary, could wipe out Cersei’s threat much quicker and easier than Jon. You said Jon had no reason to trust Cersei, but consider that he had MUCH less interaction (direct or otherwise) with her than with his other siblings. (Sansa points that out to him in the first episode) : he spend most of his time dealing with problems at the wall, north of the wall, or with the Bolton, not with Cersei’s sh**t. Dany might want an armistice more, but the one who needs it most right now is Jon, not her. While Dany might be involuntarily “shielding” the North from Cersei at the moment, Westeros isn’t a straight line and the Lannister could find a way to invade the North while the northerners are busy dealing with the WW. On top of that, someone already pointed out that Jon wasn’t only bringing the wight to Cersei, he was bringing it to Kingslanding : just because Cersei is a whacko doesn’t mean everyone in KL is. If Jaime can abandon Cersei, anyone can. So to say that the expedition North of the Wall was solely to get Dany North is a bit extreme, in my opinion. Although I agree that the Dany factor was definitely part of it.
Lastly, just a few things you said:
Ep 3 : “you better get to work, Jon Snow.” I don’t think Dany was “rushing” Jon to work, it was more about avoiding a question she didn’t know what to answer to.
Ep 7 : Dany didn’t say she wouldn’t go North if Cersei didn’t agree to an armistice. She said Viserion would have died for nothing (which is true). Also, when she’s saying “I can’t forget what I saw North of the Wall. And I can’t pretend that Cersei won’t take back half the country the moment I march North”, she only means that she’s in a no win situation. If anything, it sounds more like she’s saying she’ll go North anyway, while knowing very well that things with Cersei will turn to shit.
True, Jon doesn’t talk much about Dany. Then again, he didn’t talk much about Ygritte either. Nor about Arya or Sansa. Or Bran, or whatever. He doesn’t seem like much of a talker when it comes to things that matter to him on a more personal level.
In conclusion : objectively, Jon doesn’t have any particular reason to “resent” Dany, and bending the knee to her was, in his mind, an inevitability anyway. Brownies points if they’re on good terms.The loot train attack in ep 4 and the dragons vs WW in ep 6 made it clear that the WW represent a much bigger threat to Dany (regarding everything, including her claim to the throne) than the Lannister. Dany knows it, Jon knows it, and I’d say Jon knows that Dany knows it. At this point, an armistice with Cersei would’ve been convenient, but not absolutely necessary for Dany to fight the WW in the North, so all to say… nan, I don’t think Jon’s taking advantage of her affection for him.
You nearly had me convinced, though.
P.S Sorry for the grammar mistakes. English isn’t my first language XD
I am impressed with your comfort with English considering it’s not your first language!
First, the good news: There’s plenty of time for you to reconsider and come fully onto our side! Haha
Forgive me if I don’t address every single point. I’m throwing this together over a lunch break. Now, onto your ask/response!
[ Dany in the cave being “evil” or “naive” ]
I largely agree with MOST of what you said here. The difference with my post was that the show DID indicate that she believed Jon. Maybe she doesn’t fully understand…but she shows some measure of understanding that there was a huge war with these supernatural ice beings thousands of years ago and now they are back. At the very least - she seems to believe Jon that they exist and clearly knows he has a significant fear of these creatures and she uses that as bargaining leverage.
The difference between Jon and Dany is pronounced: to be an ally with Jon, he pretty much just requires that you be “living” because his mission is one that transcends traditional politics. To be an ally with Dany, you must swear fealty, even after she displays a partial belief that the world is facing an existential threat. It’s a bad look basically no matter what.
[ The armistice was necessary for Jon; not just for Daenerys ]
I’ve heard this argument a few times and I simply find that this requires a lot more leaps in logic than my conclusion (that Jon Snow is on the wight hunt to secure the ceasefire strictly for Dany’s benefit).
The reason I think my conclusion is far more likely is that it’s completely supported by Jon Snow himself. Not once does he bring up trying to secure a ceasefire with Cersei. Multiple times he makes the point that the wars for the Iron Throne don’t matter.
He says while on the wight hunt that the only way Dany will fight for the North is if he bends the knee…which would seem to indicate that Jon doesn’t find think successfully completing the wight hunt will get Dany to come North.
You are correct that there might be the indirect benefit of getting Jaime on board but this would point only to basically a lucky side effect because that’s certainly not what Dany had in mind for the ceasefire.
[ Dany indicated she would go North but just expressed she was in a no-win situation ]
I just can’t get on board with that read of the situation. Essentially, you’re saying she would be going North with Jon without a ceasefire which is exactly the thing that Jon had been asking of her for the entirety of S7. If you believe she’s saying she’ll go North but feels it’s a no-win situation (and think she’s right) then you would also have to believe that she has more wisdom about the situation than Jon, since Jon had asked her multiple times to come North without caring whether there was a ceasefire.
Further, if Jon sees no value in a ceasefire in the first place (and he’s shown that it’s not on his radar beyond thinking it might help secure Dany’s commitment to go North) because Cersei is completely untrustworthy…it’s hard to argue that Dany was right about any of this because we already know Cersei has betrayed the agreement.
[ Jon doesn’t talk about Dany but he doesn’t really ever talk about anything he cares about ]
It’s certainly true that Jon doesn’t routinely wax poetic but the idea that he never talks about what’s meaningful to him isn’t actually true - he just rarely has much opportunity. Jon’s arc has been almost constantly centered on his having to tirelessly pursue hugely significant objectives. Often while having to also make friends with former enemies and watching former friends turn into enemies.
There just hasn’t been much opportunity for leisurely talk. However, in those rare moments we HAVE gotten a glimpse of what Jon Snow cares about.
Before reuniting with Sansa, he was able to share those things with Sam. He talked about Ygritte (in hilariously unpoetic fashion), he talked about growing up with Robb…basically Sam was his outlet for personal discussions. With Ygritte he talked at length about Winterfell and Northern (”Southern” to Ygritte / “Northern” to Jon) culture and he was even fairly open discussing their physically intimate moments, even if it still was with his trademark reserve.
Then with Sansa, they spoke so openly about their past, their family, their shared goals. When on Dragonstone (and with LF) Jon keeps his calm and shows absolutely nothing personal except for when Sansa is brought up as a topic. With LF, it causes the most vicious reaction we see from Jon in all of S7. With Tyrion, a passing joke from an old friend triggers a thousand mile stare and causes Tyrion to immediately try to smooth over the exchange. With Theon, Sansa became the only reason a visibly emotional Jon decided not to kill a man with his bare hands. Sansa is the cause of Jon’s fury towards other men, and otalso the soothing balm to his aggression.
I’ve seen it claimed (not by you) that Jon doesn’t really think much of anything of Sansa and they only bicker and that he’s relieved to go. Given how canonically vicious Jon can get in defending any perceived transgression against her name - and how emotionally calming she is in his mind (think of how suddenly she snaps him out of pummeling Ramsay and how she stands as the only reason he doesn’t kill Theon immediately upon reuniting with him) that idea that Sansa is not tremendously important to Jon just holds no water.
More to the point of your ask, in moments where Jon is not “hyper-mission-focused” he talks about Sansa, Winterfell, and his family. In moments that could easily have been used to show his personal affections for Daenerys, we never get that from him. If telling a love story, it’s absolutely imperative to have those moments with other characters. The absence of those moments has to be met with at least some feeling of ambiguity about Jon’s state of mind.
[ Your conclusion that Jon isn’t taking advantage of Dany’s affections ]
I think the question of whether Dany prioritizes fighting the Night King or Cersei will be definitively answered in S8. My view is that it’s easy to use Dany going North as definitive evidence that she understands the big picture now…but that’s overlooking the fact that she was foolish to trust Cersei’s agreement as a matter of principle, she refused to forget about Cersei despite Jon’s wishes, and we KNOW that Cersei has already betrayed the deal.
The ceasefire plot’s purpose (IMO) was to postpone Dany’s inevitable and character-defining choice between seeing through the war with the Night King or abandoning the mission to seek revenge on Cersei. It’s hard for me to find any other purpose for showing Dany wrestling with the idea of pausing her invasion to face an existential threat. When a show places a character in her position of wanting two different things, it’s GOING to make her make a choice. Her choice will centered on this question: Is she willing to sacrifice her pursuit of revenge and power for the purpose of achieving a more significant goal when she hears that Cersei has betrayed the ceasefire?
For Dany, this will be her character-defining choice. The reason I see her making the wrong choice is that she’s already headed North with Jon with her ceasefire - and if she chooses “correctly” then nothing changes. From a storytelling perspective, that robs the significance of the choice of having any narrative impact. The only way she can go is the route that will impact the story, which is her abandoning the right choice for the choice that reveals what she really wants.
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U.S. Navy SEALS hunted down Osama bin Laden (pictured center in 1998 and bottom right in 2011) in a squalid compound in Abbottabad, Pakistan, modeled below. An interior photo shows bin Laden watching TV, left; top right, one of bin Laden’s letters recovered in the raid. Photo Illustration By Sean McCabe; Photos: Getty Images, Associated Press, NGA, CIA
The Last Days of Osama Bin Laden
— By Peter Bergen | July 30, 2021 Wall Street Journal
In the first weeks of 2011, Osama bin Laden was worried. For five years, he had concealed himself and his extended family—wives, children and grandchildren—in a compound in Abbottabad, Pakistan, but now it appeared that his carefully constructed hideaway was coming apart. His longtime bodyguards were two brothers, members of al Qaeda whose family originated nearby. They did everything for bin Laden, from shopping in the local markets to hand delivering his lengthy memos to other leaders of al Qaeda.
But bin Laden’s bodyguards had become fed up with the risks that came with protecting and serving the world’s most wanted man. Bin Laden confided to one of his wives that the brothers were “getting exhausted” and planned to quit. Things got so bad that on January 15, he wrote a formal letter to them, despite the fact that they all lived together, acknowledging how angry they were with him and begging them to give him time to find new protectors and a new hideout (the compound was registered in the name of one of the brothers). He set down in writing that they had agreed to separate by mid-July.
Bin Laden never did find a new hiding place, however. He was killed, along with his son, Khalid, his two bodyguards and one of their wives, when U.S. Navy SEALs raided the compound on May 2, 2011. The operation not only rid the world of a terrorist mastermind; it recovered some 470,000 computer files from a trove of ten hard drives, five computers and around one hundred thumb drives and disks.
President Barack Obama and his national security team during the raid on Abbottabad, May 1, 2011. Photo: Pete Souza/The House Elephant House/Associated Press
To understand the man who directed the attacks on New York and Washington on September 11, 2001, and set the course of American foreign policy for two decades to follow, there is no better resource than these documents—thousands of pages of his private letters and secret memos. Released in full only at the end of 2017, the files reside on the website of the Office of the Director of National Intelligence.
Among them is a handwritten journal, kept by two of bin Laden’s daughters, that records the last few weeks of his life. Its script is difficult to decipher, so it has previously received scant attention from journalists and researchers. But together with the other Abbottabad documents, it helps to clear up some important mysteries about bin Laden and al Qaeda.
Perplexed by the Arab Spring. During early 2011, in the weeks before he was killed, bin Laden, then in his mid-fifties, was agitated. History seemed to be passing him by. Uprisings swept the Middle East in what became known as the Arab Spring—events that he believed were the most important in the region in centuries. Yet the hundreds of thousands of protestors who risked their lives to protest in Egypt and Libya were not waving his organization’s banner or echoing its call for violent jihad. They were simply demanding basic human rights. Bin Laden was perplexed as to how to respond.
“Is it going to have a negative impact that this happened without jihad?” one of the bin Ladens asked about the Arab Spring.”
Fortunately, his oldest wife, Umm Hamza—“the mother of Hamza”—rejoined him in Pakistan at just this time. Bin Laden regarded Umm Hamza as an intellectual peer. She was eight years his senior, with a Ph.D. in child psychology and a deep knowledge of the Koran, and she had spent a decade under house arrest in Iran, since shortly after the 9/11 attacks. Now bin Laden believed that she could help him solve a problem: The Arab Spring revolutions were largely instigated by liberals. Could he nonetheless present himself as the movement’s leader?
Osama Bin Laden
In the weeks before he was killed, bin Laden held almost daily family meetings in the Abbottabad compound to discuss how he should respond to the Arab Spring. These consultations included Umm Hamza and his second oldest wife, Siham. A poet and an intellectual with a Ph.D. in Koranic grammar, Siham often edited bin Laden’s writings. She and Umm Hamza were his indispensable intellectual sounding board.
Bin Laden’s two daughters took notes on the family meetings, which show bin Laden, his older wives and his adult children puzzling over the striking absence from the uprisings of al Qaeda’s ideas and followers. A family member asked bin Laden, “How come there is no mention of al Qaeda?” Bin Laden answered concisely and a tad defensively, “Some analysts do mention al Qaeda.”
Bin Laden complained to his family that he had released a public statement as far back as 2004 urging his followers to “hold Arab rulers accountable” and that his intervention had been ignored. Umm Hamza said, “Maybe your statement is one of the reasons for the Arab Spring uprisings?” But, of course, it was not. Even bin Laden’s family members were dimly aware of the fact. One of them observed of the Arab Spring’s largely peaceful revolutions, “Is it going to have a negative impact that this happened without jihad?”
On March 10, 2011, bin Laden prompted his older wives and two adult daughters for their insights: “I would like to know your comments on what you saw on the news that you were watching this afternoon,” he said. Bin Laden’s kitchen cabinet told him that he needed to make a big speech for public release. The family firmly believed that bin Laden’s words could change the trajectory of the Arab Spring.
Fighters for al Shabaab, al Qaeda’s affiliate in Somalia, February 17, 2011. Photo: Farah Abdi Warsameh/Associated Press
An apology to Muslims. As part of his public outreach, bin Laden was seriously considering releasing some kind of apology on behalf of al Qaeda and its allies. Not an apology, of course, to the hated Americans. Rather, bin Laden was acutely conscious that since 9/11, groups allied with al Qaeda—for example, al Qaeda in Iraq, al Shabaab in Somalia and the Taliban in Pakistan—had killed many thousands of Muslim civilians and that these exploits had undercut the notion that al Qaeda was fighting a holy war on behalf of all Muslims.
Now bin Laden thought to reposition al Qaeda in the Islamic world as an organization that did not wantonly kill Muslim civilians. He wrote to a top lieutenant saying that he planned to issue a statement in which he would discuss “starting a new phase to correct the mistakes we made.” So badly tarnished had the brand become in bin Laden’s mind that he even considered changing the group’s name. He was seeking a kinder, gentler al Qaeda.
President Barack Obama, left, and General David Petraeus, right, at Bagram Air Field in Afghanistan, December 3, 2010. Photo: Pablo Martinez Monsivais/Associated Press
Bin Laden’s proposed rebranding did not extend, however, to stopping planning for terrorist attacks against American targets. As the tenth anniversary of 9/11 approached, bin Laden was eager to memorialize the occasion with another spectacular strike. He told his lieutenants that he wanted “effective operations whose impact, God willing, is bigger than that of 9/11.” He explained that killing President Barack Obama was a high priority, but he also had General David Petraeus, at that time the U.S. commander in Afghanistan, in his sights. Bin Laden told his team not to bother with plots against Vice President Joe Biden, whom he considered “totally unprepared” for the post of president.
Friends and foes: Pakistan, the Taliban, Iran. Bin Laden’s compound in Abbottabad was not far from Pakistan’s equivalent of West Point. For this reason among others, many observers surmised that bin Laden must have received some support from Pakistani officials or military officers.
Yet the thousands of pages of documents recovered from bin Laden’s compound contain nothing to back up the idea that bin Laden was protected by Pakistani officials or that he was in communication with them. Quite the reverse: The documents describe the Pakistani army as “apostates” and bemoan “the intense Pakistani pressure on us.” They also include plans for attacks against Pakistani military targets.
Al Qaeda’s leaders did contemplate negotiating a deal with the Pakistani government during the summer of 2010. Representatives of bin Laden’s group reached out to leaders of the Pakistani Taliban, who maintained contacts with Pakistan’s military intelligence service, to see if they could negotiate a ceasefire with the Pakistani government. But these negotiations fizzled without yielding a truce.
“The Iranians are not to be trusted,” bin Laden wrote to a top deputy while several of his family members were in Iran under house arrest.”
Relations with the Taliban in Afghanistan, on the other hand, remained close. Apologists for the Taliban claim that the group long ago spurned al Qaeda—a premise crucial to the protracted peace talks with the U.S., which required the Afghan militants to reject al Qaeda in return for a complete withdrawal of American troops from Afghanistan.
But the Abbottabad documents make clear that al Qaeda and the Taliban had no intention of severing their alliance. In fact, al Qaeda maintained friendly relations with the Taliban and cooperated with them on military operations and funding. According to the documents, bin Laden’s group kidnapped an Afghan diplomat in Pakistan, released him for five million dollars in ransom and then, in 2010, paid a branch of the Taliban known as the Haqqani Network “a large amount” of that money. One of the network’s leaders, Sirajuddin Haqqani, is now the number two leader of the Taliban.
The Abbottabad documents also help to clarify al Qaeda’s murky relationship with the Iranian government. Some al Qaeda leaders and bin Laden family members, such as Umm Hamza, lived under house arrest in Iran for a decade after 9/11. The documents contain no evidence to suggest that al Qaeda and Iran ever cooperated on any attacks. Instead they show bin Laden’s intense distrust of the Iranian regime and record some incidents that served to stoke it.
For example, according to a memo that an al Qaeda member sent to bin Laden, Iranian Special Forces dressed in black and wearing masks stormed the detention center in Iran where some bin Laden family members and al Qaeda leaders were being held on March 5, 2010. The soldiers beat the detainees, including members of bin Laden’s group. Around this time bin Laden wrote to a top deputy that “the Iranians are not to be trusted.”
Still in charge but unaware of strategic failure. After the initial U.S. incursion into Afghanistan, many in the news media and intelligence services imagined that bin Laden was living isolated in a remote cave, cut off from the lieutenants who ran al Qaeda offshoots in his name. The Abbottabad documents instead show that even in the final weeks of his life, al Qaeda’s leader was still managing his organization.
Imam Anwar al-Awlaki in Yemen, 2008. Photo: Muhammad Ud-Deen/Associated Press
Bin Laden was deeply involved in important personnel decisions and provided strategic advice to his followers in the Middle East and Africa. In 2010, al Qaeda in the Arabian Peninsula nominated a Yemeni-American cleric, Anwar al-Awlaki, as a possible new leader, but bin Laden nixed the appointment. Leaders of al Qaeda in Yemen suggested establishing an “Islamic State” in Yemen. In an undated memo, bin Laden told them the moment wasn’t ripe, and they acceded to his wishes. In a letter he wrote on August 7, 2010, bin Laden urged the Somali terrorist group al Shabaab not to publicly identify itself as part of al Qaeda, and the group complied.
For all his micromanagement, the bin Laden who emerges from the Abbottabad documents is a leader with no awareness that his signature accomplishment, the 9/11 attacks, had spectacularly backfired. Bin Laden made the common mistake of coming to believe his own propaganda: in his case, that the U.S. was a “paper tiger,” that it would pull out of the Middle East following the 9/11 attacks, and that then its client regimes, such as the one in Saudi Arabia, would fall like dominos.
Boys play at the site of Osama bin Laden’s demolished compound in Abbottabad, February 11, 2021. Photo: Farooq Naeem/AFP/Getty Images
In fact, following 9/11, the U.S. waged military campaigns against jihadist terrorist groups in seven Muslim countries—Afghanistan, Iraq, Libya, Pakistan, Somalia, Syria and Yemen. Though these campaigns were certainly costly—to date, some six trillion dollars, more than 7,000 American lives and hundreds of thousands of civilian deaths—they are far from the retreat that bin Laden anticipated. After 9/11, American bases proliferated throughout the region, while al Qaeda—“the Base” in Arabic—lost the best base it ever had in Afghanistan.
Only now, two decades after 9/11, is the U.S. finally pulling out of Afghanistan and to some degree Iraq—countries where bin Laden never envisaged a U.S. presence. At the same time, the U.S. continues to maintain substantial bases in countries such as Bahrain, Kuwait, Qatar and the United Arab Emirates. The 9/11 attacks didn’t end the U.S. presence in the Middle East; they greatly amplified it.
Osama bin Laden was one of the few individuals who can be said to have changed the course of history, but the results were not at all what he had hoped for. In 2011, as the tenth anniversary of 9/11 approached, his overriding goal was to carry out another spectacular terrorist attack against the U.S. He died knowing that he had failed.
— This essay is adapted from Mr. Bergen’s new book, “The Rise and Fall of Osama bin Laden,” which will be published by Simon & Schuster on August 3. He is a vice president at New America, a professor at Arizona State University and a national security analyst at CNN.
Peter Bergen is CNN's national security analyst. Bergen is also a print and television journalist, documentary producer, professor, think tank executive and the author of five books, three of which were New York Times best-sellers and four of which The Washington Post named among the nonfiction books of the year. The books have been translated into 20 languages and have been turned into three documentaries. Two of the latter were nominated for Emmys, and one of them received the award.
He is a vice president at New America in Washington, where he directs the international security program; professor of practice at the School of Politics and Global Studies at Arizona State University, where he is the co-director of the Center on the Future of War; and a fellow at Fordham University's Center on National Security.
Bergen is on the editorial board of Studies in Conflict & Terrorism, the leading scholarly journal in the field, and has testified before congressional committees about Afghanistan, Pakistan, al Qaeda, drones, ISIS and other national security issues. He is a member of the Aspen Institute's Homeland Security Group, a contributing editor at Foreign Policy and writes a weekly column for CNN. He has held teaching positions at the Kennedy School of Government at Harvard University and at the School of Advanced International Studies at Johns Hopkins University.
In 2016, Bergen published "United States of Jihad: Investigating America's Homegrown Terrorists." The Washington Post named it one of the best nonfiction books of the year, and HBO adapted it for the documentary film "Homegrown: The Counter-Terror Dilemma."
His 2012 book, "Manhunt: The Ten-Year Search for bin Laden, from 9/11 to Abbottabad," was a New York Times best-seller. The book was translated into eight languages, and HBO produced a documentary based upon it, with Bergen as the executive producer. The film was in the Sundance Film 2013 competition and won the Emmy for best documentary in 2013. The Washington Post named "Manhunt" one of the best nonfiction books of 2012, and The Guardian cited it as one of the key books on Islamist extremism. The Sunday Times also named it best current affairs book of 2012. The book was awarded the Overseas Press Club of America's Cornelius Ryan Award for best nonfiction book of 2012 on international affairs. Bergen was awarded the Stephen E. Ambrose Oral History Award in 2014.
"The Longest War: The Enduring Conflict Between America and Al-Qaeda" was a New York Times best-seller in 2011. The book won the $30,000 Gold Prize for best book on the Middle East of 2011 from the Washington Institute. Bergen's previous book, "The Osama bin Laden I Know: An Oral History of al Qaeda's Leader," was named by The Washington Post as one of the best nonfiction books of 2006. The book was translated into French, Spanish and Polish, and CNN produced a two-hour documentary, "In the Footsteps of bin Laden," based upon it. Bergen was one of the producers of the film, which was named the best documentary of 2006 by the Society of Professional Journalists and was also an Emmy nominee.
Bergen is also the author of "Holy War, Inc.: Inside the Secret World of bin Laden" (2001). It was a New York Times best-seller, has been translated into 18 languages and was named one of the best nonfiction books of 2001 by The Washington Post. A documentary based on "Holy War, Inc." aired on National Geographic and was nominated for an Emmy in 2002.
Bergen was the recipient of the 2000 Leonard Silk Journalism Fellowship and was the Pew Journalist in Residence at the School of Advanced International Studies at Johns Hopkins in 2001 while writing "Holy War, Inc." He was a fellow at New York University's Center on Law and Security between 2003 and 2011.
Bergen has written about al Qaeda, Afghanistan, Pakistan, counterterrorism, homeland security, ISIS and countries around the Middle East for a range of American newspapers and magazines, including The New York Times, Los Angeles Times, Foreign Affairs, The Washington Post, The Wall Street Journal, The Atlantic, Rolling Stone, Time, The Nation, The National Interest, Mother Jones, Newsweek, Washington Times and Vanity Fair.
His article on extraordinary rendition for Mother Jones was part of a package of stories nominated for a 2008 National Magazine Award. He has also written for newspapers and magazines around the world such as The Guardian, The Times, The Daily Telegraph, Prospect, El Mundo, La Repubblica, The National, Der Spiegel, Die Welt and Focus. And he has been a correspondent or producer for documentaries that have aired on National Geographic, Discovery and CNN. He was the editor of the South Asia Channel and the South Asia Daily, online publications of Foreign Policy magazine.
In 1997, for CNN, Bergen produced Osama bin Laden's first television interview in which the al Qaeda leader declared war against the United States for the first time to a Western audience. In 1994, Bergen won the Overseas Press Club's Edward R. Murrow Award for best foreign affairs documentary for the CNN program "Kingdom of Cocaine," which was also nominated for an Emmy.
Bergen co-produced the CNN documentary "Terror Nation," which traced the links between Afghanistan and the bombers who attacked the World Trade Center for the first time in 1993. The documentary, which was shot in Afghanistan during the civil war there and aired in 1994, concluded that the country would be the source of additional anti-Western terrorism.
From 1998 to 1999, Bergen was a correspondent-producer for CNN. He was program editor for CNN Impact, a co-production of CNN and Time, from 1997 to 1998. Previously he was a producer for CNN on a wide variety of international and US stories. From 1985 to 1990, he worked for ABC News in New York. In 1983, he traveled to Pakistan for the first time with two friends to make a documentary about the Afghan refugees fleeing the Soviet invasion. The subsequent documentary, "Refugees of Faith," was shown on Channel 4 in the UK.
Bergen has a degree in modern history from New College, Oxford University, where he received an Open Scholarship. Before then, he attended Ampleforth College.
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AYF DC ‘Freedom Caravan’ Demands Azerbaijan’s Immediate Release of Armenian Captives
New Post has been published on https://armenia.in-the.news/society/ayf-dc-freedom-caravan-demands-azerbaijans-immediate-release-of-armenian-captives-70999-22-03-2021/
AYF DC ‘Freedom Caravan’ Demands Azerbaijan’s Immediate Release of Armenian Captives
WASHINGTON—The Washington, D.C. Armenian community demanded immediate release of over 200 Armenian prisoners of war and civilian captives with a protest and “Freedom Caravan” organized by the Armenian Youth Federation “Ani” Chapter.
The March 20, 2021 rally began at the Azerbaijani Embassy, where protesters also urged the Biden Administration and U.S. Congress to play a more active role in pressuring Azerbaijan to release Armenian POWs by working closely with the OSCE Minsk Group co-Chairs and passing House Resolution 240, introduced earlier this week.
AYF Ani Chapter Secretary, Nareg Kuyumjian, led the impassioned crowd with a series of chants including “Free Armenian POWs Now!” and “Stop the torture, stop the hate!” Kuyumjian shared the community’s solidarity with the families of those who continue to be held hostages and those who lost loved ones during the war, vowing to continue advocating for their release until all are returned.
Members of the AYF, including Alina Yousefian, Areni Margossian, Nayiri Shahnazarian, Galy Jackmakjian, Kristine Antanesian and Kuyumjian, then recited the poem “Ashkhari Tsavov” (“With the World’s Pain”) by Moushegh Ishkhan.
These solemn words were followed by a compelling speech by Aram Balian, AYF Eastern Region Central Executive Treasurer.
“Today, though the fighting may have ended on the front line as a feckless and demagogic prime minister signed a disastrous peace agreement, hundreds of Armenians are still kept captive to satisfy the cruel and malicious nature of the despotic dictator in Baku,” Balian declared. “So I stand here, in front of the Azeri Embassy with my fellow Armenians, to demand the release of our heroes. To demand justice for the crimes committed against our people and our nation. To demand humanity from the butchers in Baku.”
Rev. Sarkis Aktavoukian of Soorp Khatch Armenian Apostolic Church, a stalwart supporter of the community’s demands for justice, participated in the protest. ARF Washington DC Sebouh Gomideh members offered guidance throughout the planning process.
The crowd, buzzing with the energy from the speech, then lined up to drive out for a 15 mile “Freedom Caravan”, following a digital truck with action items lit across the back and two sides of the vehicle. In neon lettering, the truck read “Release the 200 Armenian POWs Being Tortured by Azerbaijan.” The ad went on to urge onlookers to support passage of H.Res.240. The “Freedom Caravan” was inspired by similar events held in Philadelphia and New York, organized by members of the Philadelphia ARF Gomideh to share a strong message heard clearly by thousands.
The route strategically targeted DC main historical and touristic destinations. Increasing international visibility, it passed through Massachusetts Avenue, a street lined with embassies representing countries from all around the world. It crossed Dupont Circle, Chinatown, and Georgetown, three bustling hot spots with plentiful outdoor restaurants, businesses, and shops. Additionally, the caravan passed through the national mall, marked by the beautiful monuments and memorials that DC is famous for.
“To me, this protest symbolized the Armenian resilience. No matter how hard Turkey and Azerbaijan want us to give up and lose hope, we will never stop fighting for what is right,” said AYF DC Ani member, Nayiri Shahnazarian.
Before finally returning to the Azerbaijani Embassy, the “Freedom Caravan” drove by the White House. A serpentine line of cars, adorned with tricolors of the Armenian and Artsakh flags graced Pennsylvania Avenue, turning the heads of passersby along the National Mall. The Armenian Cause, in its demand for the release of Armenian POWs, was placed front and center in the streets of DC.
“This type of protest was the first of its kind in Washington DC, where we were able to bring awareness throughout our nation’s capital. We had passersby ask us questions, engage with us positively, and learn about our Cause. Being able to target a wide audience on the Armenian POW issue felt empowering and inspired hope, especially considering the lack of international response during the war. It’s so important for the Armenian diaspora to take the streets and demand justice for our captive heroes,” said Alina Yousefian, Chairwoman of the AYF Ani DC Chapter.
In addition to the “Freedom Caravan”, the AYF Ani Chapter has raised over $3000 for an ongoing legal effort to secure the release of the Armenian captives, led by the Yerevan-based International & Comparative Law Center and the Armenian Legal Center for Justice and Human Rights. The AYF Eastern Region Central Executive has a goal of $15,000 to support the initiative, with chapters across the region participating. Support the effort.
The legal efforts and the current plight of the Armenian hostages was discussed in a Facebook live discussion, on Sunday, March 21, co-hosted by the Armenian Youth Federation Eastern Region, ANCA Eastern Region, and the Armenian Legal Center.
Under the 1949 Geneva Convention, POWs must be released without delay after the end of conflict. Azerbaijan still holds over 200 Armenian POWs, of which about 10% are civilians, despite the ceasefire on November 09, 2020.
The Geneva Convention also mandates that all prisoners of war be treated humanely, protecting POWs against murder, torture and inhumane treatment. Azerbaijan has violated these international conventions by not only illegally detaining the captives, but also brutally torturing them for four months since the ceasefire’s signing.
Read original article here.
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Another Hero of Covid-19 Meet Dr. Armen Henderson
Once again the Popo has had a field day with a man of color. This time it was with a physician and associate professor no less, who was testing homeless people in Miami, for the Covid-19 virus. And he just happens to be,you guessed it, African American.
So racial profiling is still the name of the game in Florida and a man of great intention gets the police in an uproar for doing the right thing:
https://www.democracynow.org/2020/4/16/meet_the_african_american_doctor_who
I ask you America, when does DEMOCRACY return to our fair or not so fair country?
When do we stop viewing race as a part of our out-dated class structure and accept each other for the color of our skin DURING A PANDEMIC!
OY VEY, THIS ONE IS GORGEOUS, TOO! Help me honey-lambs! Mama is ready to faint in the doctor’s arms! Get me my smelling salts and face mask. I’ll waltz into the battlefield of service to others with this one!
Dear Gorgeous Doctor Henderson: Please DO run for Congress. You have my endorsement! And bless your parents for raising a man of good conscience! Listen to this podcast from Democracy Now on the great doctor.
https://hwcdn.libsyn.com/p/1/e/d/1ed6369797f933a8/2020-0416_PODCAST_DrHenderson.mp3?c_id=70159997&cs_id=70159997&expiration=1587120437&hwt=1c6e4ee4ba9838e0edb14caf30b2027b
Meanwhile back on the stump for the race to what used to be a noble office:
Amy Kobuchar demanded Congress pass her Vote-By-Mail bill. And rightly so since all of us are in lock down at home. So how else can we all vote safely, nu?
Tarriff Man, however, in his last ditch attempt to save himself from a fate worse than losing his grip on America’s cojones, claims that voting by mail is a horrible thing.
He should know since he won by a margin of 2: HE VOTED FOR HIMSELF as did his playmate of a wife!
https://www.sun-sentinel.com/news/politics/fl-ne-donald-trump-palm-beach-county-voter-20200401-zpl3jignmzflvfguteeahbjtbm-story.html
WHAT’s WRONG WITH THIS PICTURE AMERICA?
THIS IS:
A revolting duo if every there was one. Let’s hope they finally get it when he loses the next bid for World Leader of Idiots ( in Latin the word idiot means : VOTERS, friends.)
Let’s also hope they do the right things - which would be to shelter in place in their hideous manse in Palm Beach and leave us alone with politicos who truly have the American people’s best interest at heart. They are out there. We VOTERS just have to get them into office!
At least he won’t build a Presidential library. WHY? because he HATES TO READ! Unless his name is in the book!
I know its considered a sin to speak about our leaders like this, at least from a Judeo-Christian perspective.
Yet on this weekend after Passover and Easter, when the world is still rampant with a virus that is spreading like wildfire and other global leaders are collectively calling for ceasefires in war torn countries, perhaps the war in America to BE GREAT AGAIN should cease, too.
Perhaps we should honor those who are truly in service during this time and all of the time:
THOSE WHO CONTINUE TO RISK THEIR LIVES ON THE FRONT LINES CARING FOR THE SICK AND BURYING THE DECEASED!
Not some pandering hack and his pussycat doll.
Like this couple:
Wait for it, friends. Peace through service to each other is just a face mask away.
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