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furiousgoldfish · 3 years

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Tactics of narcissistic abuse

Love Bombing & Mirroring are tactics to gain your favour. These will come from a narcissist you’re just getting to know and they’re trying to convince you they’re your perfect partner, soulmate, best friend, ideal lover. Love bombing is showering you with over-the-top affection and support, they’re likely to see what works best on you, then give you just that. They’ll convince you that you’re special and make you feel special, whether it’s with attention, gifts, promises, love phrases, or making you look and feel very good in front of other people. If they can spin this as fate or destiny, they will. You have one lucky coincidence? It’s destiny that you met. They’ll create the image of ‘it’s us against the world’ and convince you that they’re all you need to never be alone, unappreciated or unhappy again. They will say phrases like 'We were born to be together’ or 'You’re the only one who understands’ and make you feel like you’re in a romance film. Mirroring is the way to convince you that they are just like you, your perfect match. They do this by pretending they want the same things as you. All of your opinions will be shared, your desires will be their desires too, however you want to live, that’s now their ideal life too. If you want children, so do they, if you want to live in a cottage, so do they.

These will be repeated until you feel like you finally got something perfect from life, you commit to them and trust them completely. You will become lenient with your boundaries and disregard minor red flags, because hey, you finally found love, or someone like yourself who makes your life better. These are crucial to keep you around for a long time; the illusion of happiness and perfect companionship you always wanted will keep you holding onto them in hope that things could once again, be this perfect for you. You will not want to let go of them even after the love bombing and mirroring is long gone. Love bombing and mirroring are not indicative of how they’re planning to treat you once you’re committed to them; as soon as they feel you are ready to fight for a life with them, roles will change and you will have to endure escalating abuse from this person, endlessly.

Scapegoats and people badly damaged by trauma will often not get the full love bombing or mirroring, narcissists will be able to win our devotion by acts of basic decency, small thoughtfulness and acting tolerant of our trauma symptoms, this will feel like everything to us, and once we decide this is a good, special person who makes us feel safe and we’d do anything for them, they’ll turn and exploit us endlessly.

Only way to spot this on time is: there will be a little voice of suspicion in your head going ’Isn’t this actually a little too perfect to be real? A little too convenient and ideal?’ and you will not want to listen to that voice. You should listen to it. It’s your instinct, trying to tell you something is off. I won’t blame you if you don’t. Most people won’t just walk away from their ideal partner because things seem 'too perfect’. But, get suspicious at least. Alert to red flags.

Enablers and Flying Monkeys

Narcissists can’t abuse if they’re on their own; they will work hard to build a reputation and charm people who they can later use for purposes of enabling, triangulating, controlling, scapegoating and smear campaigns. Enablers, or Flying Monkeys, are people who are either admiring the narcissists, want to be in narcissists good favour, are trauma bond and scared of the narcissists, are emotionally manipulated or simply too cowardly to point out that the narcissists is wrong and cruel. Most people will fall under the influence and want to be on narcissists side because it’s easier, tempting, feels safer, and doesn’t require much thinking. Narcissist will sometimes emotionally manipulate people to go do their dirty work; they will cry about how they miss their runaway children so flying monkeys would harass and judge children for running away, they will invent stories of abuse and insanity of their spouse so people would shame and judge the spouse who the narcissist is abusing. They create environment in which they can keep abusing and other people will jump to defend, justify, victim-blame and further confuse the victim. “They had a hard life”, “They’re your mother/father/uncle, you have to forgive them” or “He’s not that bad” are the phrases you’ll hear from enablers and flying monkeys. The term “Flying Monkey” is taken from the Wizard of Oz, because the Wicked Witch owned an army of brainless flying monkeys who would do her bidding – much how narcissists do with their enablers.

What enablers are doing is absolutely wrong. They should not be ready to defend abuse, or excuse and justify it, or believe and act on smear campaigns, not for any reason. They are hurting and isolating the victim, and regardless of how much they suck up to the narcissist, they will eventually become the targets too. Victims are right to cut out enablers just how they’re right to cut out abusers. You do not have to suffer for their cowardice or stupidity.

Triangulation is a form of abuse where narcissist brings another person into the relationship in order to bypass your boundary. For instance, you refuse to speak to the narcissist, so they send your family members, friends, or their friends, to talk to you about how much you’re hurting the narcissist and how cruel and unfair you’re being. Or, you’re trying to set a boundary in your marriage, and suddenly a friend or a relative comes talking to you about how unreasonable it is to set such awful boundary and to think of your spouse’s feelings and how bad they have it. Narcissist may try to use you for triangulation too, for example, they might tell you 'Go tell your sister she should do xyz and she’s making a mistake, she’ll listen to you’. It’s implied you agree with the narcissist, and that both of you are doing it for the sister’s good, when it’s more likely the narcissist is trying to force this person to do something they’re deeply set against and would only serve the narcissist. Narcissists will use their children to triangulate a marriage, they will often 'gang up’ other family members on their spouse, or one of the children. If you’re the victim, you’ll find yourself cornered, isolated, and in doubt whether you’re doing the right thing, trying to establish a boundary. Narcissists will also often show affection, compassion or even love to a third person simply to make you jealous and worried that something is wrong with you since you don’t get the same treatment. It’s what creates an illusion that the entire world is agreeing with the narcissist and no matter what you do, you look unreasonable for fighting them.

Narcissists will sometimes invent completely boogus scenarios and try to terrify people into doing their bidding and believing they’re right. As if the world will fall if narcissists don’t get what they want.

Society at large will often enable abusers; you can call out abuse and be rendered a 'killjoy’ because people prefer to enjoy cruelty together with the narcissist than to oppose them. Narcissists are capable of rousing a whole gang of people to turn against the victim and to aid in their abuse; this is scapegoating.

Gaslighting is a form of abuse where the abuser attacks your sense of reality. They will usually do this to obscure and deny acts of abuse. “I never said that” “That didn’t happen” “That’s not how I remember it” “You imagined it” or “You’re crazy, I would never do that!” are common gaslighting phrases abusers use for events that absolutely happened, and they absolutely remember. It’s even more powerful if they get other people to agree that you’re insane for remembering a past event of abuse. They can sometimes try to convince you that something didn’t occur while it’s still happening. This renders your intention of calling out abuse impossible; you’re now debating whether the event even happened and your sanity is questioned.

The point of this is to drive you into insanity; prolonged gaslighting will make you doubt your own memories and senses, and you will no longer be secure in your own point of view or version of reality. You will not be able to fight abuse, because you will get stuck on wondering if it’s even real, or if you’re making it up. Narcissist wants not only to abuse you, but to control your perception of it, reaction of it, and to disable you from telling anyone and being taken seriously. Smear campaign and gaslighting ensures that everyone thinks you’re lying to make problems, even you.

You can attempt to block gaslighting with phrases like 'That was not my experience’ 'I know the truth and I am not debating it with you’ ’ Don’t tell me what happened, I was there’ or ridiculing them for thinking it would work, but sometimes abuse will escalate if you refuse to play along, so be very careful with them.

Baiting, Projection and Scapegoating

Baiting is the way narcissist finds out which triggers will work on you. Types of baits are: Scaremongering, Accusations, False Claims, Guilt-tripping, Victim-playing, False Hope, or Intrigue. They will use these to elicit either fear&anxiety, or guilt&responsibility. You are likely to get pulled in and respond emotionally to these, and thus the narcissist will discover which one of these is most triggering and they can use it to either control you, or to affirm that they can still get you riled up, scared, guilty – they feed on being able to provoke these, it makes them feel powerful. They can later use the same trigger to push you into guilt and fear if you try to resist their control. If they continue doing this to you for a long time, you are likely to develop self-doubt and anxiety about your own persona. Way to counter this is to grey rock them.

Projection is a primitive defense-mechanism, where a person feels uncomfortable with their behaviour or thinking, so they accuse someone else of it to deflect the bad feelings from themselves. This can feel the same as baiting, but narcissists do it without realizing they’re giving you the information about what they’re actually feeling and doing. For instance, a narcissist will accuse you of being self-absorbed after they start feeling uncomfortable with how self-absorbed they are, they will start to call you selfish when it comes to their mind how selfish they are. They will accuse you of the exact shit they’ve been doing whether it’s lying, manipulating, faking for attention, cheating, exploiting, lacking compassion, stealing. These claims will feel like they’re coming out of nowhere at first, but eventually you will wonder if you’re really like that, and accept their projection on yourself, believing to really be as bad, or worse than they are. Even though they’ve done 100% of these things, while you have done none of it. This can also be countered by being aware what is going on and grey-rocking them. Deflecting the blame back to them will not work because they’ll either deflect it back, or throw a tantrum and insult you.

Scapegoating is the most vicious abuse narcissist can inflict on their victims and is designed to completely break a person’s spirit while creating power out of terror. Scapegoating doesn’t only serve to terrify and control the victim; it shows everyone what the narcissist is capable of, causing them to go very far to avoid becoming the next scapegoat. This creates enablers, flying monkeys and other benefits for narcissist to enjoy, while the scapegoat is isolated, not believed, and often shunned by the community to show loyalty to the narcissist.

Scapegoat will be blamed for every narcissists flaw, accused of provocation and creating trouble, shamed for their likes and interests, humiliated for their appearance or needs, their work will be rendered worthless and any pain and injury will be treated as if the scapegoat deserved it, or wanted it. Nothing is out of bounds to criticize or belittle in the scapegoat; flying monkeys will do it too, to either affirm themselves with the narcissist, or because they too crave power by stepping on someone defenseless. If a narcissistic parent decides to scapegoat a child, the other parent might stop caring for the child, and agree that the child deserves only to be neglected and shunned. The illusion narcissists create, of entire society agreeing that a person is irredeemable, deserving only of pain and ridicule, has turned people to suicide.

Scapegoat absorbs all of the narcissist’s malice, cruelty, sadism, baiting, projection, guilt and tantrums, so other people in the environment can get some relief and can use the scapegoat as their shield. You can be chosen to be a scapegoat for challenging the narcissist and standing up to them, for refusing to scapegoat someone else, for seeing thru them and showing any potential for undermining their authority, if narcissist is jealous of you, if narcissist feels threatened by your intellect, compassion and emotional depth they lack. And often, you’ll just be chosen because they’re in position of power and you’re unprotected. If you’re their child, a lonely classmate, employee with no high reputation or lots of friends, a minority, different in the way of sexuality or behaviour, anything that is easily used to sway a group of people against you. Narcissists will make sure to spread a smear campaign filled with lies against you, so that nobody would align with you, or believe you if you try to counter their word.

This type of treatment is beyond anything a human being could deserve, and devastating for the victim’s self esteem and sense of reality. After surviving a scapegoating situation, people might not want to find themselves in any social setting anymore. They might start believing themselves to be unlovable and defective. There is usually no way to counter it or fight your way out, unless there’s a higher authority who could side with you, or there’s a way to physically remove yourself from this environment.

Grey Rock, Hoovering and No Contact

Grey rock is a way to counter baiting and projection; narcissists learn and thrive on our emotional responses, it gives them a thrill to be able to send us into rage, terror, disbelief, shock or panic. Grey rocking means you give zero emotional response, and thus prove yourself very boring and a bad source of narcissistic supply. So, regardless of what egregious threat, accusation, claim or insult they make, you just reply with 'mhmm’ and look completely disinterested. You reply with one-word sentences, say 'sure’ or 'yup’ if they accuse you of something or try to fearmonger, answer questions with 'maybe’ or 'I don’t know’, agree with whatever bs they’re pulling out of their ass without caring, refuse to get pulled in or baited, give them no significance in the conversation until they leave. It is very hard to do, because they will up their game and even fly into rage to get a response, if they feel entitled to it. In some cases they might resort to violence. Often, they’ll keep changing the tactics until something works, and if nothing does, they’ll feel dejected and go find another source of supply. If they feel like they can’t get to you, this undermines their imagined power over you.

No contact is the only way to truly win against a narcissist; if they can’t reach you, they can’t manipulate or hurt you. This means no responding to messages, no letting them know where you live, blocking them on every service, and in most situations, even the enablers have to be no contact, because the narcissist is likely to send them into triangulation and use them to get to you. If you’re unable to go no-contact with a narcissist, a lot of people opt for 'low contact’, which means you only hear from them once a year, or once every 6 months, insufficient for them to gain control over you, and you grey-rock them all the way, and never share any personal info that might be used against you. Hoovering is something a narcissist will do to you after you’ve left them. They might leave you alone for a long time, then suddenly send a message saying they miss you, or they’re thinking about you and wishing you could do xyz together. They might also influence another person to tell you 'x misses you, they wish to see you again, they’re doing bad without you’. This is done to remind you of the 'good times’ and an attempt to draw you back in, as you’re supposed to have forgotten all the abuse already and be ready to take them back. It might come as outrageous expectation or denial of everything bad that happened – that’s because it is. All you have to do is grey-rock this, not respond, and enjoy in knowledge that even if you can’t ensure revenge, you can take yourself away from them, and they will never have you back.

Sources: Baiting, Scapegoating, LoveBombing, Gaslighting(video), Projection(video), Triangulation, Mirroring(video), FlyingMonkeys (video), Hoovering, Grey Rock

#narcissistic abuse #scapegoating #psychological abuse #narcissistic parents #emotional abuse #gaslighting #love bombing #mirroring #baiting #projection #triangulation #flying monkeys #enablers #this took 3 days to write wow #did you notice tumblr beta has a character limit???#i had to turn it off to be able to post this #i don't want a character limit on tumblr #let people read

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fandompitfalls · 3 years

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Prodigal Son and why Living Shouldn't Be Controversial

Originally posted 1/27/2021

After my last post I wasn’t sure what I would write about. Several of my upcoming posts are research intensive and potentially controversial so as far as I’ve gotten on them was to put them in my book for blog post ideas and that’s about it.

And then Season Two of Prodigal Son aired. So what am I doing? A research (not so intensive) and potentially controversial post. At least I’m on brand.

For those who don’t really know the show: In its second season Prodigal Son is the story of ex-FBI profiler Malcolm Bright who was fired for his risk-taking habits and came back to the NYPD at the request of Captain Gil Arroyo. Malcolm Bright is also Malcolm Whitly, the son of the influential and extremely wealthy Whitley family. The Patriarch of the Whitly family, Dr. Martin Whitly, a convicted serial killer known as “the Surgeon”, is currently in a secure psychiatric facility. His son Malcolm put him there. Malcolm now works for the NYPD under Gil’s team that includes Detectives JT Tarmel, and Detective Dani Powell and Medical Examiner Edrisa Tanaka. While not solving crimes, Malcom must deal with his tenacious television reporter sister Ainsley Whitly and their wealthy, hovering mother Jessica Whitly. As well as his father who is trying to make his way back into his family’s life via Malcolm by assisting via telephone with certain cases.

Except for the Whitly’s (who while wealthy are probably not very good role models), the entire main cast is made up of people of color: Filipino, Black, Asian. While the first season was introductions to everyone and dealing with Malcolm’s lost memories regarding his father, the father/ son dynamic, cultivating a loyal fanbase and potentially starting some ships both purposefully and accidentally (I’m looking at you Brightwell and Maldrisa shippers), this second season started off with a bang. Something that might have been relegated to a side plot, I feel, had become larger than this season’s overarching plot and will end up and absolutely deserved to be in equal standing.

In the first season, we are introduced to JT, the by the book detective who doesn’t like Bright in the beginning but by the end of the first season, they’re…okay. We also meet JT frankly adorable wife Tally and discover that he’s going to be a dad.

In season two, months have passed, and JT is acting Captain while Gil is out on medical leave. He brings Bright in on a case involving a justice killer. At the end while back up is being sent to Bright’s apartment for the final conflict, Dani rushes up while backup is on its way and JT is right behind her. He arrives moments before the back up and when they arrive, he directs them up to the apartment. What happens instead is something we’ve all seen on the news this past summer. The first cop that arrives tackles JT and presses him against the wall, baton at his throat telling him to stop resisting. The terror in JT’s eyes is startling as he realized that these officers, the one holding him and the other five who have their guns trained on him are not going to let him explain that he’s a cop. It isn’t until Dani runs out holding her badge and Malcom following close behind, both of them yelling to stand down, that he’s a cop does the office let go of JT and step back. Back at the station, Gil is furious and wants to take it to I.A., but JT insists it won’t do any good and he needs to think about it. He has a family now and he doesn’t want the retaliation. The scene ends with Gil, Dani and Bright supporting his decision and telling him they have his back. JT is emotional and for good reason. The people who are supposed to be working with him just tried to kill him.

Episode two didn’t let up; in the middle of a chase, Gil tells JT to call for back up and what happens is enraging. As JT calls on his police issued walkie for backup, the person manning the other end tells him that the line if for police use only and uses the term “boy” before disconnecting. Later, it shows JT and Dani standing outside the office watching Gil yell at the dispatch for not sending officers for a potential hostile situation. JT decides to not file a report mentioning that he has a family to worry about and he must work with these people. It is harassment and emotional terrorism at its worst.

In the first episode this season, Dani and Bright are talking and Dani mentions the institutionalized racism she’s been dealing with. With this show being categorized as a police procedural, showing this sort of dangerous institutional racism within the police force is both tricky and important. While police shows have mentioned an episode or two of racism within the force, it’s usually an episode and the one bad cop is taken to task by the white Captain and the entire thing is brushed over. The good thing about this show is so far, all the people in power we’ve seen on the force have been people of color. It also makes it harder to pull the “white savior” role as Bright, while on the team, has no real standing with the NYPD and could be kicked off cases in a heartbeat. Jessica, with all of her wealth and ties (or not, make up your mind Jess) to Gil, can’t really do anything expect throw money at the issue. The brunt of the conflict will lie between Gil and his team facing the police force including these cops who “are just doing their job” and the veil of secrecy that lies within the Thin Blue Line. It’s not something that can be erased in a five-episode arc and I really hope it’s not. The racism within the department has been established, it can’t be erased with the firing of the cop who attacked JT and it can’t be addressed with the Commissioner coming in to make everyone go to training to make it all magically go away.

The showrunners spent the entire first season introducing us and making us love these characters and given the current climate of the world, this was a bold and correct decision, one that needed to be addressed. I know there is talk on message board stating that this season is too “political”. Black Lives Matter, is not political, institutionalized racism within the police force is not political. Men and women of color that are on police forces are risking their lives to do good and make streets safer and do not deserve to wonder if they’re going to take “friendly” fire from one of their own. This year we’ve heard too many stories of officers who were threatened out of uniform and officers who spoke up only to be removed from duty. This isn’t a new thing. Nobody should be murdered for living their lives, for sleeping, for complying with proper police requests.

Personally, as a white person, watching these scenes hurt. Watching JT’s reactions hurt. Hearing someone who was supposed to have his back use a term that has racist undertones when said as it was, made me furious. Which is what it’s supposed to do. But this is also a dangerous road the showrunners are taking. There is no clean and easy way out of this, to have it discussed and “fixed” isn’t reasonable nor believable anymore, to ignore it after three episodes isn’t doing it justice. I don’t know how this will turn out, but it absolutely needs to be addressed this season. To the extent of having it a plot equal to Malcom’s covering up a murder and hiding the body without getting caught.

If you want more information or want to get involved, please look at the websites linked. It shouldn’t take a television show to spread awareness, but if it does, so much the better. People are starting to get involved with activism because media and it’s good (sometimes). Television should start a conversation, that’s when it’s working best.

#FPBlog #Prodigal Son #racial tension #televison #blog

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thr-333 · 3 years

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Could you possibly do one where Mari/Mari and marine is/are the daughter/son of the joker?

I actually planned quite a lot for this after you asked but could never get my thoughts to make something comprehensive so I give up here's what I got!:

-Twins are Joker and Harleys kids born before the two split up(and so help me they will split up this story needs gay aunt Ivy)

-As you might know, these two clowns have another kid; Lucy. Harley left Lucy with her sister when she was born. In canon, she thinks Harley is her aunt but I would say in this fic she learned the truth when the twins were also dropped off.

-So the twins grew up in Gotham with their aunt and big sister knowing full well who their parents are; as such they make the responsible choice to suppress every part of themselves that resembles them and constantly dye their hair in an effort to avoid looking like them. You know healthy coping mechanisms. -

-Naturally, Marinette has brown hair with blue eyes and Marion blonde with brown eyes.

-Their personalities are a bit different from Mismatch.

-Marion is still a trickster and a trouble maker but this time around has Marinette fully involved and responsible for his shenanigans. He has a bit of a habit of talking to himself(or singing random phrases), sometimes in the third person; he hates when he does, so Marinette always tells him off. He’s always gets the impulse of dying his hair outlandish colors and will vehemently deny his favorite color is green.

- Marinette is crafty, both figuratively and literally. She’s smart, her mother is a doctor after all she can be manipulative to people that arent her(close) family to protect the ones she cares about. She has a deep-seated fear of becoming a trophy, an object to be put on display like her mother and so dresses the opposite and pushes away her love for fashion.

-They will always call each other Mari but if someone else tries they both answer its a nickname they strictly use for each other.

-In a world where Gotham exists it makes absolutely no sense that Gabriel wouldn't start his reign as Hawkmoth in Gotham(the place with the most negative emotions like geez) so that works out perfectly for the twins becoming heroes(Adrien can move to Gotham or be left in Paris to be kept safe your choice)

-Instead of the twins proving themselves by helping an old man up off the street they go a step further is beating up the thugs that try to rob him(all Fu’s set up of course). When they come home to find two mysterious boxes on their beds they make the only rational conclusion children of the joker would; it’s a bomb!

-Not wanting to get the police involved for obvious reasons they find the security footage(which gets the police involved in a different way) and start tracking down fu to see why he’s trying to kill him.

-And as you may recall at this point in canon Ladybug and Chat Noir are defeating an Akuma, well they're not here they’re off to beat up an old man so thats Batman’s job for the time being.

-The twins get caught up in the fight as civilians and are saved by Batman who immediately recognizes them(you don't think Batman has case files on all of Jokers hellspawn?) so that’s gonna be a problem later but never mind that for now~

-The twins track down Fu, who is wondering why they aren’t out fighting the Akuma. Long story short Fu comes back to the house with them and proves they aren't bombs giving them the miraculous.

-I’m a bit indecisive on the names. I thought Marinette would be Red Bug and Marion Black Cat(yes I know that names already taken I don’t care). But I thought Crimson Bug would work better because then their names would start with the same letters. Then I wanted alliteration like Black Bug and Crimson Cat but that obviously doesn't make any sense since Chats color is green not red-- then I realized it would be completely in character for them to call themselves that confusing everyone in the process so no one quite sure whos name is who(if you wanna write it go with whatever I just thought it could be funny)

-As for costumes Marinette's probably wouldn't be skin tight because deep down she really doesn't want to look like that but more practical armor or less form-fitting at least. Marion's hair turns green when he transforms something he freaks out about and Marinette's turns red(glowing or not either would look cool)

-So anyway they go off to defeat the akuma blah blah blah Batman seeing these two young untrained superheroes can only think of one thing: I have to adopt them. So that’s gonna be fun!

-Anyway they go back home trying to be sneaky and immediately get caught by Lucy: ”Don’t tell Aunty!”-- ”Oh I already know” (her names Delia by the way)

- So now the twins get a support system and a family that will look out for them unbelievable right? This support system immediately threatens Fu making sure he actually trains them and doesn't just set them loose on Gotham.

Anyway that's the end of my semi-cohesive plan and here's a vague outline for the fic:

1. Becoming ladybug and chat noir setting up adoption, and school(Bruce invites them to Gotham academy to keep an eye on the jokers children)

2. First day at school setting up Artemis(and by extension young justice), and own passions, Adrien is also at this school now so Marinette falls, Jason finds out falling in love with Marion

3. Becoming friends with Artemis, convinces them to give their passions a try, Marion runs from hood, some let me adopt you stuff also Jason's spite for Cat Noir

4. Skip a bit of time a few months or so, young justice need help Artemis suggest mari and mari, Marinette has a smackdown with batman about their heritage, at odds with young justice Artemis comes to their defense. Young Justice have an ‘oh’ realization on the job when Marion sings a lullaby to a scared child, now the young justice form the mari and mari protection squad

5. Doing ladybug and cat stuff batman approaches them again this time luring them into adoption with a partnership on finding hawkmoth, Red Hood and cat fight. Marion comes back all huffy and there's a scene with Lucy this time comforting them, Marion goes out to get air runs into hood marion bristles stirring Jason to meet him as a civilian, class come to visit, at odds with lila

6. Doing well at school even made a few friends when the Paris class come to visit completely under lila’s control, lila tries to slander the twins for not worshiping her only to out herself when she tells everyone they laughed at her(the twins never laugh), Jason also drops by further discrediting her, lila tries to throw their heritage in their face but they get support openly working with heroes as civilians, this little section ends quite happily with them being sort of accepted at school and batman tolerating their existence for not attacking the person who tried to make their life miserable

7. Time skip few years out of high school now, ladybug and cat are working well with gothams vigilantes widely considered part of the batfam even if no one knows each other's identities. As mari and mari they are doing good work mainly outside of gotham. Marinette is starting a fashion boutique with a little financial help from Wayne enterprises she also does costume design for heroes and villains, villains mainly because she can't stand their current outfits. Marion quite likes his music but isn't sure how he will feel in the public eye is great friends with Jason and the skip picks up with them officially starting to go out identities unknown. They are still hesitant about their identities in civilian life Marinette starting her business under a false name and Marion cant start his because of his heritage. Jason officially has to admit they are going out to the family is met with grilling by aunt and sister, joy by harley once she tries giving them sex advice they leave, his brothers tease and both are tense about Bruces reaction but he begrudgingly accepts. Are out as ladybug and Cat still snippy with hood but it’s not as bad they are closing in on hawkmoth. Go to hang out with young justice as well they aren't well-liked in Gotham but they’re fine with that(not really)

8. NOW things can go to shit joker finally has enough of them deciding to get a hold of them but I think it should be as ladybug and chat revealing their identities to the world. The twins are terrified rightfully so. Get saved now it’s weird between hood and marion, marion feeling betrayed Jason knew who he was and knew who his father was but still decided to date him and he just can't understand why. Adrien was so scared for Marinette and now they both have to work out why. Gotham is at odds the heroes they admire are born from a villain they fear. Bats are a bit weird feeling like they were tricked while also kind of acknowledging the twins are good people

9. Harassed in their everyday life now the twins go to young justice where they get met with awe for being established independent heros, bats there are acting weird but the twins say something to shift perspective leaving to let them mull on it. Jason tries to apologise saying he doesn't see Marion like that blah blah Marion has a breakdown asking how he can be anything but a villain. Marinette's having whiplash going from loved to hated and still dealing with the trauma of seeing her father. They snap. In public a big ol scene and they get akumatised everyone sees it, it’s on tv. Hawkmoth comes out to get their miraculous the batfam can’t beat him. He’s monolouging probing at their deepest fears when they snap back to reality realizing none of it’s true every part of them has worked to be good people and they are they don't hand over their miraculous beating the akumatizaton and beating hawkmoth while akumatised.

10. They are released from the hospital a few days later, getting hesitant recognition on the streets. It's not thunderous applause but it is something. Their family comes to pick them up, Adrien is crying to Marinette about not scaring him like that(her family took him in when Gabriel was revealed). Marion gets picked up by Jason they patch things over. They get accepted into the batfam and work as ladybug and cat for everything. Marion decides to start playing music and Marinette reveals her face to her fashion brand.

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ethelphantom · 4 years

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My Every First Will Be Yours

Would you look at that, I’m back on my bullshit. This time it’s Maribat March. Am I the only one who’s like, way too excited for it? I am? Oh, okay. This one’s for day 1, firsts though, and it took me embarrassingly long to realise that the first day was firsts. Oh well.

Anyway, I think there's going to be something during my Maribat March for everyone, because I'll at least have a lot of Timari and Dickinette, rather much Jasonette, some Daminette, one StephMari (well, the last two are there if I manage to write them in time), and some platonic prompts. There's going to be AUs, angst, fluff, my horrible attempts at humour, big sister Mari, BartAdrien, Mari meeting the Amazons, friends teasing (and making fun of) friends, more angst (what did you expect? It's me we're talking about), and yeah. Also yes, I can tag you to the month (or all Maribat content, but specify, thanks) if you ask me to, either in the comments or via an ask or message. Anything works.

Ao3

This is Maribat -- don’t like, don’t read

_______________

❋❋❋

And this was precisely why she despised getting into fights, especially out of suit. It wasn’t like she couldn’t do it, or that she minded injuries that much, but her knuckles were hurting after she delivered a punch a bit wrong because she’d been cornered and didn’t have enough space to get into a good position.

Besides, there were multiple people that were trying to attack her. Her best guess was harassment or an attempt at kidnapping or rape, but she couldn’t be too sure. Regardless, whatever it was, they were there, she was alone against four or five people, and she was scared, and a scared person too used to having defend herself in a fight against people (or things) bigger than her fought back without really thinking about it more than that. So, it really shouldn't have come as a surprise that once Marinette cleared her way past them and away from the alleyway and someone tried to grab her, her first reaction was to punch them in the face. The person backed off immediately to hold their nose that was now bleeding (and oh god, she’d probably broken their nose, but then again if they were trying to help those other guys, they did deserve it), and there was no way she was risking anything by staying.

The obvious thing to do was to run away, and run she did.

❋❋❋

Oh god. Marinette was ready to murder Dick, no doubts. He’d told her that he had a date organised for her and someone else he knew, assuring her that the person was a good person. While she trusted Dick, meeting the person whose nose she’d broken a few weeks earlier was not a good basis for a date.

Because no, while she hadn’t actually recognised the person sitting in front of her, he had, and he’d just immediately blurted out something along the lines of “oh shit, you’re the girl that punched me in the face a few weeks ago.”

So yeah. That did not go too well.

She ended up finding out that he’d witnessed the fight and tried to help her because she’d been trembling on her feet and looked ready to pass out but she had just freaked out so she'd punched him (miraculously, Tim didn't even blame her for it), Dick was his brother, his name was Tim Wayne, and it took her an embarrassingly long time to realise that yes, Tim was in fact the third son of that Bruce Wayne, and if Dick was his brother, then that meant he too was a Wayne. Tim had simply laughed when she brought that up.

Regardless of how awfully their first meeting had gone, Marinette ended up having a wonderful time. Tim was a wonderful conversationalist, he was intelligent, a good person, and was the CEO of his father’s company already at the age of 19 — had apparently been for quite the while already. They exchanged numbers and decided when they’d go out again, though both agreed they’d prefer a place more quiet and peaceful.

They met only a few days later again, and Dick positively beamed when he heard they got along well.

❋❋❋

Clutching Tim’s dirtied jacket in her hands, Marinette cried and buried her face in Tim’s chest. Tim brought his arms around her and held her tight, rocking her in his embrace as she sobbed. One would have imagined it was Marinette that had gotten hurt.

Tim had been kidnapped. He’d been gone for five weeks and they weren’t able to find him. World’s greatest detectives, her ass — Marinette could hardly like Tim’s family when most of them just let the fact Tim had disappeared be for two weeks until they realised there was someone asking for a ransom, and even then it took them ages to pay said ransom because they were determined to use the following two and half weeks trying to find him on their own, perfectly well aware that there was a chance they’d kill him. They never did find him, the kidnappers were too good, so they were forced to pay the money when they found Marinette freaking out and ready to commit homicide because she was going crazy when no one could find anything and no one seemed to care, either.

But now he was back. He was back, alive, mostly uninjured aside from the few bruises he had gotten, nowhere near the brink of death. And Marinette couldn’t have been happier at that moment, even if she was sobbing helplessly.

Tim cupped her face with one hand and brought it closer to himself before he pressed a kiss on her lips. It took Marinette a second or two to realise what was happening, but when she did just as Tim was backing off, Marinette lunged forwards and claimed his lips again. She clung onto Tim desperately, like someone would take him away from her again if she let go, and so she didn’t. She was not going to risk it. She couldn’t risk it. Not again. She couldn't handle losing Tim twice.

And so she stayed there, letting herself melt against the one she’d realised she loved when he had been taken away, hating the fact it had taken that to happen before she understood the love she felt for him.

And he let her melt against him, holding her tight, both hoping they’d be able to make one another whole again, or at least fit their broken pieces so that they wouldn't break more.

❋❋❋

It might have taken them a few sleepless… days? Perhaps? but eventually they had fallen asleep. Together. They had, in their exhausted and barely functioning states crawled under Bruce’s desk and just… cuddled up there and fallen asleep.

It certainly made an amusing story for Bruce, Dick and Jason to tell later on, because when Bruce had found the two in his office, it had both been so amusing and so adorable that he had had to call his oldest son to look at them (and preferably take a picture of them while he was at it). As it was, Dick had been with Jason at the time so Jason had also tagged along, and they were all amused (especially Jason who had to go outside the office to laugh because even he didn’t dare to wake up the two that were finally sleeping.)

At least he had had the sensibility to get a blanket and two pillows while he was at it, so they managed to make the sleeping place a little more comfortable for their precious, hardworking brother and future sister-in-law.

Tim and Marinette ended up receiving a printed picture of the moment in their mail a few weeks later when they’d mostly forgotten about it all.

❋❋❋

They had fought. For the first time. It felt horrible, but neither Marinette or Tim could bring themselves to go to the other and apologise. No, instead, Marinette had holed up in the guest room she was occupying, and Tim had run from the Manor completely. She had no idea where he was.

It was just that— god, she never realised that bringing up the fact Tim kept disregarding his own health for everyone else, doing WE work, helping his family, trying to make sure everything was as they should, that it would lead to something like this. She had been right, he wasn’t supposed to sacrifice himself for everyone like that, she hated it, she'd seen it happen once before with another person and hated it back then too, and Tim knew this, but then he’d brought up the point that he was doing it because that was the only way he could ever be worth anyone or anything. It had shocked her, because she hadn’t realised this was also a question of self-worth.

But at that moment both their feelings had been heated so neither stopped to think the other’s points and pushed back even harder until it had just exploded and it had led them here.

And Marinette couldn’t do a damn thing about it because she knew Tim had left his phone back as well. She was so scared this was the end.

(It wasn’t. After about a week, Tim had come back (not home, because it wasn't really a home to either of them) from wherever he'd been with his friends, and both of them had apologised, looking like someone had died. Or possibly, like they were scared someone would break and die if they didn't. It took them a lot of time to figure out everything, but they reached a compromise. Later on Dick pointed out that technically Marinette punching Tim was counted as their first fight, but then Marinette had threatened to punch him as well because that didn’t count, and they both knew she hated being reminded about it unless it was Tim himself, and Dick backed off, thankfully.)

❋❋❋

So, in the end, maybe they should have let Barbara come along and help them choose a house because maybe deciding to buy a house based on what kind of coffee machines there were that the owner had said they could give away wasn’t their smartest idea.

Then again, the coffee machines were great and they had not been able to come to a decision otherwise. Tim was used to mansions, huge manors, while Marinette had lived nearly all her life in a relatively small house, above a bakery. It was difficult deciding even the size of the house, let alone anything else. It was a little problematic when the parties of the relationship were a rich ass boy and a baker’s daughter — their standards differed greatly.

Besides, in the house they ended up choosing there were like ten different coffee machines, two studies, a wonderful kitchen Marinette had instantly fell in love with, a huge bath, and it was on a good spot as far from the Arkham Asylum and the Wayne Manor as humanly possible considering neither no longer knew how to leave Gotham.

They were barely 21 at that point and had known one another for 2 years, but that was fine. This was the best they could ever ask for.

And when on the day they finally moved in Marinette got on one knee because she wanted to surprise Tim, they both knew there were so many more years to come.

Yes, they celebrated their engagement by testing every new coffee machine they now had.

❋❋❋

____________

@freshbark @maribat-march2020 @kris-pines04 @thethirdwheelfriend @daminett4life @abrx2002 @persephonebutkore

#tim x marinette #timari #timinette #maribat #Maribat March #Tim Drake #marinette dupain cheng #miraculous ladybug #dc #dc x mlb #ml x dc #ml #ethel's writing #fanfiction #fanfic

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gumnut-logic · 4 years

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Reactions (Bit 1)

This is Fandomversary 2020 Fic Three. Well, the first part of it. It doesn’t even have a title yet. I’ve written more, but I’m tired and falling asleep, so you’re getting part one and hopefully I can get the next bit to you asap.

This is for @soniabigcheese who asked for Gordon and Bedlam. That’s where it started...it seems to want to go in directions I hadn’t planned.

Many thanks to @onereyofstarlight and @scribbles97 for all their wonderful help with this fic (and always).

I hope you enjoy it.

-o-o-o-

“What the hell were you thinking?!” Virgil ducked a fist aimed at his head, grabbed the guy around the belly and flipped him face-first into a wall.

“I dunno! Maybe I wasn’t?” Gordon darted out of the way of his own opponent’s fist.

Virgil grabbed a woman’s dropped scarf from a nearby table, his fingers brushing against broken glass. He shook the material and more glass tinkled to the equally strewn floor. The man in his other hand writhed and attempted to kick him in the shins with the heel of his boot. Virgil just shoved him harder into the wall.

Twisted scarf made excellent restraints, particularly when looped into a chair which was conveniently bolted to the floor.

It was a bar. It was supposed to be a quiet night with Gordon. A couple of brothers shooting the breeze after a hard day at work. It wasn’t often they got to sit down for a moment, have a meal and just talk.

There had been a false alarm. A reported mine collapse that hadn’t been as serious as suspected and after three earlier rescues in that day, Virgil had called a halt and invited Gordon out for dinner.

His fish brother had looked at him somewhat strangely for all of two seconds and then enthusiastically accepted.

Stashing Two at the nearest GDF base, donning casual clothes, they’d borrowed a car, driven into town, and after a couple of personal errands, found a decent looking bar and ordered steak and a couple of beers.

It had been really good. It wasn’t often that they got time to just relax and enjoy each other’s company.

The alcohol had been minimal as technically they were still on call. Gordon had a quite long and persuasive discussion with John as to whether he should drop down and join them.

John politely declined.

Gordon threatened his tribble collection.

John threatened a fish tank or two.

Gordon threatened a telescope.

John threatened to tell Penelope about Gordon’s fangirly underwear collection.

Virgil stepped in before Gordon exploded.

As it was, the couple one table over were staring over their shoulders at the two guys apparently arguing with their collars.

John was wrestled into a promise of some downtime day after next and asked to tally it up with the rest of the brothers as a family get together.

All was good and well and enjoyable.

Until they walked into the bar.

It wasn’t a rough bar. In fact, it showed signs of families visiting during the day and had a few older folks out the back playing the slot machines.

But every community had this type and every community had to handle their bullshit.

Five of them in total. Two of them decided to harass a woman sitting by herself at the bar. Gordon happened to be ordering some mineral water to follow up on their beers at the time and, of course, he stepped in.

And this was the result.

Of course, the entire situation split the bar into three camps – the Tracy side, the annoyance side, and the innocent bystanders who just wanted a quiet meal at the pub.

Virgil had a foot each in the first and last camps.

But he was a Tracy and a guy built even bigger than Virgil loomed over Gordon with all the signs of intending to smush his brother.

While Gordon was quite capable of wiping the floor clean with the guy’s head, Virgil hadn’t been comfortable with the four others paying far too much attention to the matter.

So, he had swallowed the last of his beer and, putting the glass down, wandered over to stand beside his shorter brother.

Now, Virgil wasn’t particularly tall, but where Gordon’s swimmer’s strength was mostly hidden by his shirt, Virgil’s heavy lifting strength most certainly wasn’t.

The loomer eyed Virgil with a little more respect, but unfortunately the man’s height must have outpaced his IQ, because he didn’t back down.

He had far too much confidence in his buddies.

Loomer threw a punch and Gordon educated him in WASP fighting techniques.

It was a very short lesson.

Virgil took on the four who didn’t like that.

God bless his wonderful sister for all that training, sans coffee at five in the morning or not.

Gordon finished off Loomer and took on two of the guys Virgil had been dancing with.

From then on it had been dodge and attempt to restrain. Virgil had no interest in causing injury, he just wanted to contain the idiots.

They didn’t seem to want to comply.

So, there were bruises and broken furniture.

Virgil felt sorry for the bar owner. No doubt Tracy money would be fixing a few things. Scott was not going to be impressed.

Virgil walked up behind a guy who had thought it would be fun to team up with Gordon’s opponent in a semi-coordinated attack. He didn’t bother hitting the man, he just grabbed an arm and yanked. Spinning him around he used another convenient wall to bring his attack to a very abrupt halt.

The man’s language was explicit and quite offensive.

“Okay, now break it up.” Several police officers walked into the bar.

Gordon’s opponent was already on the floor. The aquanaut held both of his hands up and backed up to show he was no threat.

Virgil had to keep a hold of his still profane antagonist, so he was only able to hold up one hand.

A gun clicked. “Let the man go.”

A frown and Virgil did as he was asked, holding up his remaining hand.

Foul Mouth spun around and before the police officer could react, planted his fist in Virgil’s cheek bone.

“Hey!” And there were suddenly police everywhere. Hands grabbed Virgil as he attempted to shake the stars from his eyesight.

Goddamn, that hurt.

“We’re the victims here. He’s my brother, let him go!”

Blinking, he tried to straighten, but his arms were wrenched behind his back and handcuffed.

His head spun.

“Do you have any idea of who we are?!”

Gordon, shut up or we’ll be on the networks within minutes.

Then Scott would be really pissed.

Virgil wilted in the grip of the men holding him.

His brother was going to be apoplectic.

-o-o-o-

#thunderbirds are go #thunderbirds #thunderbirds fanfiction #Virgil Tracy #Gordon Tracy #nuttys fandomversary

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talpup · 3 years

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Summary: Yami Sukehiro just wanted to join the Magic Knights and make his mentor proud. He knew there would be trails. He knew trouble would come his way. Knew he would be faced with discrimination for being a foreigner and a peasant. What he didn’t know. Didn’t expect. Was that literal Chaos would come his way. That he and his mentor’s sister would be at the center of world ending trouble. Or that he would fall in love with his mentor’s sister and face more than discrimination; but the jealously of Nozel Silva who loved the same woman he did.

Please remember this fic is rated mature and has warnings of violence, abuse, sexual tension, eventual sexual behavior, and other possible triggers. For a full list of story tags please check the fics AO3 (link to that at the top of my tumblrs homepage).

Someone asked about Teris’ riding dress. If interested you can go to my Tumblr’s homepage to see pics of what Fuegoleon and Nozel’s preferred choices were.

Chapter 73

When Nozel exited the dress shop yesterday to find a non-murderous Teris, he had been worried. An angry Teris always meant one of two things. A murderous Teris. Or a simmering silent Teris. But Teris hadn’t exploded at him. Nor had she given him the silent treatment that all but promised she was quietly letting her anger stew as she brewed plans of vengeance.

Instead she had done something more worrisome than any outrage or silence. She had spoken to him as if nothing happened. Even Fuegoleon had been taken aback by that never imaged reaction. Too unsettled, it had taken Nozel till supper to come to the dumbfounded realization that Teris wasn’t holding his knowledge of her measurements against him. Simply put, Teris Nova was incapable of bluffing her lack of anger that well.

Still relieved the next the morning, Nozel sat to his Father's right at the breakfast table with Teris to his left.

“The Decoration Ceremony will be held this afternoon, followed by an informal gathering with finger foods so eat up while you can.” Nathyn instructed Teris and his children.

“Will my brother be returned by then?” Teris asked. It wasn’t so much that she wanted to see more of Fyntch; but being alone with the Silva’s felt a little too much like a sampling of a future she refused to be a part of.

“I don’t believe so.” Nathyn answered.

In fact the Silva knew Fyntch wouldn’t be returning since it was he who had ordered the Nova patriarch away for the day. Nathyn wanted Teris to arrive at court on his sons arm, not behind her brothers shoulder. He wanted Teris and everyone else at court to be reminded who she was meant for. Who she, despite Leonidas words to the contrary, belonged to.

Looking down the table at Teris, Nathyn assured. “I’m sure your brother be back by the morrow. I doubt he would want to miss your birthday.”

“If only all this could have waited a year.” Nebra pouted. “Then I too would get to stand before the court and be honored.”

“What makes you think that?” Solid laughed.

“Because I would have been a Magic Knight and part of brother, Nozel’s, team.” Nebra said.

Unlikely as that was, Nozel didn’t dissuade his sister her fantasy.

“One of the Kings men will be by shortly after breakfast to fetch you and walk you through the ceremony.” Nathyn told Nozel and Teris. “I doubt there will be much time to change after, so as soon as you’re done with your breakfast, excuse yourself and dress for the ceremony.”

“In that case. Please excuse me, my Lord.” Teris said, setting down her fork and wiping her mouth.

Nozel quickly stood, pulling out her chair and helping her to her feet. Nathyn and Solid stood as well, Nathyn’s eyes watching his eldest son excuse himself and following Teris out.

Appearing hopeful, Solid asked. “May I be excused as well, father?”

“No.” Nathyn told, retaking his seat and turning his attention to the mornings paper.

Outside the breakfast room Teris sighed. “I’ll be glad to be rid of dresses and stupid shoes, if only for a while.”

Teris had been surprised at how easy it was to be open and friendly with Nozel after Mereoleona’s words yesterday. As much as their relationship strained every time Teris was reminded she was Nozel’s intended, or Nozel hinted at his romantic affection; Nozel truly was a dearly beloved friend.

Teris had thought of and occasionally mourned the lost she would suffer in Fuegoleon. But she had foolishly never really considered how her friendship with Nozel would suffer once things came to a head. Of course it would be so much worse between Nozel and her than her and Fuegoleon. She would be refusing to wed Nozel after all. With all the royals and nobles knowing they had been intended to wed since they were children, the hit to Nozel’s pride alone would create a rift that time would never fully heal.

“What do you mean rid of dresses and proper shoes?” Nozel questioned.

“For the ceremony. We’ll be wearing our squad cloaks.” Teris said.

“Yes.” Nozel cautiously agreed. After a beat, he said. “Teris. You are aware that you’re expected to wear the riding dress. Right?”

Teris’ brows furrowed. “What?”

“Why else would we have picked one?” Nozel questioned. “It’s not as if we had any plans of going out riding.”

“But I’m a Magic Knight.” Teris argued.

“You are also a royal lady.” Nozel replied.

“But I’m going to court to be recognized for my deeds as a Magic Knight, not as a royal.” Teris said.

“Which is why you are allowed to wear a riding dress instead of a proper court gown.” Nozel said. “You know these things. At least you should. How do you not?”

Teris shrugged. “I skipped a lot of ladies guild stuff before they kicked me out. Even when I went I never paid attention.”

Nozel sighed heavily. How could he love a woman as irregular and insufferable as this? They were so different. There were so many things about her that bothered and annoyed him to no end. But as much as he wanted to mold and tame her, he didn’t want to change her. Of course she’d have to look and act the part of his wife and represent the family as Lady Silva. And he hoped that Teris would come to find some enjoyment in doing what was socially expected of her as Lady Silva. But Nozel also wanted Teris to keep some of her wild and free ways. So long as they were kept privately between them.

Still, this was a lapse in her teaching that shocked even him. Did Teris truly think she could show up to court and stand before the King in her everyday clothes? Granted she had been allowed stand in court like that the day the war had been announced. But that had been a completely different circumstance. Magic Knight or not, Teris was a royal lady. And considering she would wed him, she would always be a royal lady. The same couldn’t be said of her always being a Magic Knight.

Looking at her, Nozel bid. “Riding dress. Please.”

“Fine.” Teris rolled her eyes.

Was it the entire royal court or just the men of court that demanded the women of rank constantly be harassed by unyielding skirts. Bound up in corsets. And at the mercy of a mans assistance for the simplest thing such as sitting down and standing up because of such stupid uncomfortable shoes and garb. At least riding dresses were less voluminous and bore far less unnecessary frills. Teris repeated Mereoleona’s sagely words in her head. Who knew if she’d ever be in court as a royal lady again. Not that she would miss it. But as Mereoleona had said, it was something that would soon end. Never to happen again.

Teris gave Nozel a smile. “Thanks for making that clear.”

Nozel blinked. He watched her turn off toward the guest wing wondering if Teris had somehow traded places with a transformation mage. His brow lifted. The Black Bulls had a Transformation Mage. His eyes narrowed. No, he thought shaking his head. Even Teris wouldn’t dare do such a thing. Besides, Abril was far more ill behaved and lacking in proper courtesies than Teris was.

Continuing down the hall, Nozel turned the corner to his quarters. He was quickly grabbed and roughly pulled. Nozel cloaked himself in mana only to let the cloak drop when he saw his would be attacker was Fuegoleon.

“What in mana’s name?” Nozel jerked free of the mans hold. Noticing the Crimson Lions state of disarray and dark circles under blood shot eyes his nerves were put edge again. “What’s the matter?”

Fuegoleon stepped to him. “I have to know.”

Nozel stepped back. His rival was not acting at all like himself. Between Teris and now Fuegoleon, Nozel was beginning to wonder if he was experiencing a lucid dream or some sort of unfunny joke.

“Know what?” Nozel asked. He took another step back when Fuegoleon took another step toward him.

“I have to know.” Fuegoleon repeated. His violet eyes shot about the hallway, making sure they were alone. “Did you know? When did you know?”

“Know what?” Nozel asked again, impatience rising. He had an hour at most to prepare before the Kings man came to walk them through the ceremony.

“About Yami!” Fuegoleon whispered harshly. “Did you know your father tired to have him killed?”

Nozel’s eyes snapped around the hall. Grabbing Fuegoleon roughly by the arm, he dragged the Vermillion to his soundproof chambers. Closing and locking the door with a click, he spun around to face the Crimson Lion.

“Who told you that?” Nozel demanded hoarsely, keeping his voice low despite the quarters soundproofing.

Fuegoleon shook his head. “No one. I heard it.”

Nozel’s eyes widened. “Heard it? From whom?”

“So it is true.” Fuegoleon had hoped that his father and Mereoleona had been wrong. Or that he had somehow misunderstood what they had been talking about. Not that their words and meaning hadn’t been clear enough. “Did you know? Of course you knew. You would have reacted differently if you hadn’t. When did you know?”

Growling, Nozel gripped the Vermillion by his crimson squad cloak. “Who did you hear it from?”

“I didn’t mean to.” Fuegoleon told, feeling guilty for overhearing his father's private conversation.

“Who!” Nozel demanded.

“My father and Mereoleona were discussing it.”

Nozel looked away cursing. Slowly, he let go of Fuegoleon’s cloak and stepped back.

“When did you know?” Fuegoleon asked.

Unable to look him in the eye, Nozel spoke to the floor. “My father summoned me to Silva Manor one day. Had me sit in front of his desk and told me what was about to happen. There was nothing I could do.”

Fuegoleon exhaled in relief. “So you weren’t a part of it.”

Nozel’s head shot up. “Of course I wasn’t a part of it! You know me. How could you even think such a thing?”

“Sorry.” Fuegoleon apologized.

“Yami knows--”

“Yami knows! He knows your father--” Fuegoleon stopped, unable to say the terrible words again.

Nozel nodded. “We’ve—talked about it I guess you could say.”

“And?”

“And...” Nozel sighed. “Even if my father were to hire and send people a second time, I’m pretty sure they’d meet the same fate as the first. As much as it pains me to say it. Yami is a formidable opponent.”

“A second time?” Fuegoleon repeated. He stared a moment at his friend. “So did you not know about the first time? Or did Lord Silva try again without informing you?”

Nozel blinked. “Pardon?”

“I heard them. My father was rather upset about yours trying not just once but twice. Even admitting that there could have been more that they weren’t aware of.” He stared a moment, concern and dread coursing through him. “Nozel. Just how many times has your father attempted to have Yami taken out?”

Nozel shook his head, mind in a daze. “I... only knew of the one.”

73.2

It was telling to how busy they were that five days after the war had ended Greywright was just now meeting with Sir Jorah to discuss King Morris’ ten minute talk with Teris. The Knights Commander had already sent the Wizard King his report of the discussion; but reports didn’t allow for an incidents nuance or questions Jorah might have. So a few minutes had been carved out for the Wizard King to ask those questions and Greywright to relay those nuances.

Jorah got right to the point as soon as the Magic Knights Commander entered. “What do you think King Morris hoped to gain meeting with Teris Nova like that?”

“You read in my report saying King Morris tried to get her to agree to a conversation before I was ever brought in. I’m sure he would have led their talk down a completely different path if I hadn’t been there. But with me present Morris had to be more mindful. Honestly, I think he was trying to get a feel for her. You read the questions he asked. More stuff a friend would pose. Nothing overly alarming, other than his last words and the amount of detailed info he had about her. But we already surmised he had spies watching her and Yami.”

Jorah nodded. “Morris tipped his hand with that last question. Purposefully so, I would image. He’s smart. And thanks to the disturbing amount of information he seems to have gathered on Teris, and probably Yami, I wouldn’t be surprised if he knows those two are in a relationship. Likely knows the Nova’s and Silva’s intend for Teris and Nozel to wed, and Teris’ unruly plans to disobey her family’s command. ’Would you consider coming to live here?’” Jorah repeated Morris’ last question and sighed.

Whether Yami Sukehiro followed Teris Nova into banishment or not; that was something the Wizard King could not allow. His duty to protect Clover Kingdom and its people meant he would have to kill the girl before letting her be banished and go to either the Diamond or Spade kingdoms, possibly aligning with them. Light magic was just that rare and powerful. And if Yami Sukehiro did follow her into banishment…

“You did good ending things before she answered Morris’ question.” Jorah said. Still, a seed had been planted in Teris’ mind. ‘When the time comes, know that I would accept you and Yami into my kingdom. Such powerful weapons would be a welcome addition to my ranks.’ Jorah thought of Morris’ parting words to the girl and sat back. In two years time things could potentially be a real mess. All because a spoiled royal girl wouldn’t do her duty and wed who her family told her to. “Do you think Morris was trying to appear friendly to her?”

“If it was anyone other than King Morris, I might be tempted to think so. Other than his parting words, there were a few questions he asked that stood out.” Greywright answered.

“And those were?” Jorah prompted.

Greywright glanced at Ellara entering and replied. “Morris asked Teris how she liked being a Magic Knight.” He caught Ellara’s eyes dart to him, her shoulders stiffening ever so slightly. Was it the mention of Teris that had the Advisor reacting? Greywright chided himself. Humoring Julius’ concerns about Ellara was making him paranoid. He went on. “Morris asked if she was happy here. Happy with her family. Had closed friends. Basic, simple questions. But also questions that would give him a better idea of her allegiance and contentedness here.”

“We already knew Morris was interested in Yami and Teris.” Jorah said.

Greywright nodded. “Like you said, Sir. He tipped his hand with his final question and parting words. Odd that he didn’t ask that last question sooner though. Like you said, he’s smart. He had to be as aware of the passing seconds as I was. Yet he saved such a question for last. Waiting till time was close enough for me to call its end.”

“You think Morris timed it thus? Knew you wouldn’t allow Teris to answer?” Jorah asked.

Ellara set down a stack of papers in front of the Wizard King and shuffled through a pile at the end of his desk.

“I’m sure of it.” Greywright said.

Jorah clicked his tongue in annoyance. “So Morris asked questions that gauged Teris’ happiness here to see if she could be tempted to the Diamond Kingdom. Then remind her of the banishment she might face. And say that he would welcome her and Yami.”

“There’s little doubt in my mind Yami would follow her if things ended with Teris banished. If Morris could get them to willingly seek refuge and home in the Diamond Kingdom—”

“That’s not going to happen.” Jorah cut in.

“What’s that?” Greywright asked.

“Teris being banished because of her unwillingness to do her duty as a royal daughter. If that girl does remain a stubborn brat, and refuses to bend and obey her family's command, I may be forced to act.”

Greywright and Ellara shared a look wondering what the Wizard King would, or even could do.

“But that’s a possible problem for a later date.” Jorah went on. “Right now I am more disturbed about King Morris knowing Yami and Teris are in a relationship.”

“Sir?” Greywright’s eyebrows knitted together.

“You think Morris and other ill intents wouldn’t exploit their relationship for their own aims? That they wouldn’t take and threaten one to bend the other? The Agents of Chaos already used similar methods against them and found success.” Jorah shook his head in tired displeasure. “The less people who know about their relationship, the better and safer it is for them and ultimately us.”

Thinking about Lord Nathyn Silva having hired two gangs of assassins to kill Yami, that they knew of, Greywright couldn’t help but agree.

“Sir, it’s time.” Ellara said, looking at the timepiece behind the Wizard Kings desk.

“Yes, yes.” Jorah got to his feet. Straightening his robes, he told Greywright. “The decoration ceremony for our acting Magic Knights Captain and his squad.”

“One of the few good things to come out of the war.” Greywright commented, proudly.

“As trying as these days have been, I’m going to enjoy this.” Jorah agreed.

73.3

Teris hadn’t been keen to arrive at court on Nozel’s arm. A part of her wondered if that was why Fyntch had left for the day. It was odd though. While Nozel always took on an overly formal persona when in the Kings Palace, he never did so to this extent. More than that, he had been acting odd since this mornings breakfast.

Nozel’s inexplicable distant quiet had turned Teris solicitous. With the ceremony over, she and Nozel made their way with everyone else to the informal gathering held in one of the Royal Residences many gardens. Her hand fidgeted on his. Short as the ceremony had been, Teris had figured Nozel would’ve been happy. Proud. They had done more than survive the trek into the Diamond Kingdom. They had completed the task the King and Sir Jorah had given, winning peace for the kingdom. But instead, Nozel was lifeless, merely going through the motions.

After trying and failing to get Nozel to converse with her, Teris broke down and asked. “What’s with you?” When he didn’t respond but continued leading her to the garden in line with everyone else, she stopped walking and turned to him. “Nozel.”

Nozel’s eyes slid to her, his face unreadable.

“Are you mad at me? Cause I’m really trying here. After what Mereoleona told me—ow!” Teris winced.

Nozel’s hand turned under hers, clasping and squeezing her fingers too tight. Teris tried to pulled her hand free, the rings on her fingers bruising in his unforgiving grasp. But Nozel’s grip remained firm.

“Excuse us. Pardon me.” Nozel said, his position and upbringing making him mindfully polite as he weaved between nobles and fellow royals, pulling Teris along.

Teris was half led, half dragged down the main hall and then rushed down a side hall. Her skirts, tight corset, and stupid shoes making it impossible to keep up with his pace.

Nozel flung the doors to a withdrawing room open, startling two courtly lovers.

“Out!” Nozel snapped, barely giving them a look as he entered, pulling Teris in behind him.

The lady slapped the gentleman for whatever reason and stormed out. The nobleman bowed. “Your Highness. My Lady. Congrad--”

“Out. Now.” Nozel growled dangerously, cold blue eyes turning on the nobleman.

“Highness.” The man gave a hasty bow and raced from the room.

Nozel closed the doors and turned to Teris, grabbing her roughly by the shoulders. “What did Mereoleona tell you?”

Out of breath and confused, Teris stared up at him. “I--I don’t-- What--”

“Tell me. What did she say?” Nozel commanded. His hands tightened on her shoulders. It was a struggle to take care and not shake her.

Teris winced and tried to free herself from his grasp. “Nozel. You’re hurting me.”

Nozel barely heard her, his racing heart roaring in his ears. All he knew was that Teris hadn’t answered him. Gripping her tighter, he demanded. “What did the Vermillion tell you?”

“That this time was fleeting and I should enjoy it before it all changed in a couple years.” Teris answered, her voice trembling in fear. Body shaking in pain from his too tight hold.

Nozel blinked. For the first time he took in her beautiful face filled with a mix of fear, anxiety, and pain. He realized just how tightly his hold on her was and released her, the fabric of her dress keeping the divots where his fingers had clawed into her.

“S--sorry.” Nozel swallowed and took a step back. Dazed, he reached behind him searching for something to steady himself.

Eyes glazed with fearful tears, Teris was about to tear into him until she saw how distressed Nozel was. Her once fearful, angry expression softened in concern.

“Nozel? Are you alright? Here. Let’s sit you down.” Teris stepped to him and guided him to a lounge. Watching him carefully, she asked. “Should fetch a healer?”

Nozel wrapped a staying hand around her wrist. “No! Please, don’t. There’s no need for that. I’m... feeling better.”

“Liar.”

“I don’t need a healer.” Nozel assured.

Teris reached out a hand to comfort him, then thought better of it. Thankfully he was staring at the floor and didn’t noticed the canceled movement. After a moment, she asked. “What’s going on?”

Nozel took in a long deep breath and exhaled. “Nothing.”

“There you go lying again. At least when there was something I didn’t want or couldn’t tell you, I told you as much.”

Nozel lifted his head and looked at her out of the corner of his eye. Mana, she was beautiful when she pouted and sulked. He ran a still shaky hand over his mouth. He didn’t know what he would’ve done if Mereoleona had told Teris the truth he was so fearful of Teris learning. He couldn’t imagine what they would do if Teris ever found out what his father had done. Had attempted to have done. Nozel was positive Teris wouldn’t differentiate between his knowing but unable to do anything, from him being complicit. Not when Yami’s life was involved.

Heart rate slowing, adrenaline ebbing, Nozel felt silly for thinking Mereoleona would have told Teris about the hired assassins. His relief made him laugh softly at his foolishness.

Teris’ expression of concern grew.

“It’s alright.” Nozel assured. “While I can’t say more. I can tell you that much.”

Teris looked him over wondering what he wasn’t telling her.

“Stop it.” He commanded with more bravo than he felt. “You’ll ruin the surprise I thought Leona told you about.”

Teris’ brows furrowed. “Surprise?”

Nozel nodded, wondering how he was going to come up with a surprise that even slightly justified his reaction. Fuegoleon would have to help him. After all it was the Vermilion's fault for coming to him this morning and dropping all this in his lap.

Worse than learning that his father had made a second time on Yami’s life, was finding out that others knew about it. Nozel couldn’t help but wonder who else besides the three Vermilion's knew. What if Yami had told his friends? No, Nozel told himself. Yami didn’t want Teris to know any more than he did. Yami wouldn’t tell anyone and risk it possibly getting back to her. But if Mereoleona and her father had found out and discussed it where Fuegoleon could overhear, what was there to stop Teris from somehow learning about it all as well?

“Nozel?” Teris prodded after a moment.

“I told, you that’s all you get.” Nozel said, somewhat harshly. “Sorry.” He sighed and gave what he hoped was an apologetic and reassuring smile. “Still working out the details.” He stood, offering her his hand. “Shall we? We don’t want to stay closed up in here over long. People might get the wrong impression.”

Teris rushed to her feet and quickly made for the doors, swinging them open. She sneered the small gathering that had been attempting to eavesdrop, watching them scatter like a flock of startled birds.

“That’s my fault.” Nozel muttered, at her shoulder.

“Yes. It is.” Teris growled, silently repeating Mereoleona’s words like a mantra.

“I apologize. Your image and honor is of paramount importance to me.” Nozel told, truly sorry for any whispers about her this might cause.

Teris shrugged. “Nothing happened. If they were able to hear they’ll know that. Even if they weren’t. Who cares? We know the truth.”

Nozel blinked. Was her image and honor more important to him than it was to her? He thought of how she had so openly cavorted with Yami the night of the Lava Springs and ground his teeth, trying to push the unwanted memory way.

“There you two are.” Julius said, turning down the hall. He had seen Nozel pull Teris out of line and had followed as best he could; but too many people had been in his way, many of whom he had to politely promise to find later because they had wished to speak with him. “May I steel my sister for a moment?”

“Certainly.” Nozel gave Teris a slight bow and headed off to the gathering.

Julius gently nudged Teris back into the room she had just exited.

“Stop shoving me.” Teris snapped.

“I’m not shoving. Lower you voice.” Julius closed the doors behind them and turned to her. “What was that about?”

“I don’t know. He pulled me in here demanding to know what Mereoleona told me.”

Julius’ brows furrowed. “What Leona told you? Why? What did she tell you?”

“Basically to have a better attitude and outlook on these stupid boring events and the hateful people I’m forced to deal with at them. To enjoy the societal relations I have while I can. Which,” she looked at her brother, “you’re making quite difficult to do.”

“And Nozel pulled you in here for that?”

“No. He pulled me in here mid-sentence. I told you, I don’t know. It was weird. He’s been weird since morning. Even by Nozel standards.”

“So it was nothing you did or said?” Julius questioned.

Teris glared up at him. “No, Julius. It was nothing I said or did. You got your message across perfectly before you abandoned me to my fate. Yet again.” She regretted the last bit as soon as she said it but couldn’t take it back.

Julius blinked. He couldn’t have been more stung if she had slapped him. Just when he thought she had forgiven him for leaving so soon after their mother's death, Teris went and said things like that. Swallowing his emotion, he apologized. “Forgive me for thinking it was something you’d done. Nozel isn’t the type of person that would do something like that without great reason.”

Thinking of the stolen kiss in the stables at Nova House and the bruises she’d likely have on her still aching shoulders, Teris muttered. “You have no idea what type of person Nozel is.”

“What’s that?” Julius questioned.

Teris shook her head. “Nothing.”

“Has he done something like this before?” Julius asked.

“No. Nothing like this has happened before.”

“Teris. You’d tell me if—if he had attempted anything untoward or overly harsh, wouldn’t you?” Julius asked scrutinizing her every movement.

Teris sighed. “Really, Julius. You tell me that you’re busy and won’t be around, and now you pull me in here harassing me.”

“Teris--”

“May I go? Or is there anything else you’d like to accuse me of disappointing you in?”

“You aren’t a disappointment. Not to me. Couldn’t be even if you tired.”

“I’m sorry for my comment about you abandoning me.” Teris apologized. “It was more than untrue. It was uncalled for and childishly mean spirited.”

Julius gave her a weak tentative smile. “You’re a brat.

“Thanks?” Teris huffed, smiling back and making a face.

“Come here.” Julius pulled her into a hug. “You’re precious to me.” He told, resting his chin on her head. “You’re the only thing that gives me pause when I think about possibly one day becoming Wizard King. To not be able to call or even think of you as my sister...”

Teris’ heart seized. It was too much. Needing to lighten the mood least she tear up, she pulled away. “It’s alright, Juls. Whether you’re Wizard King by then or not, you won’t be able to do that in a couple years anyway.”

Julius smiled sadly at the effort she made to sound playfully confidant. As much as she had left to learn, she had had numerous hard lessons in her young life and had learned quickly how best to deal with hardship, going on when others would have broken.

“You would tell me though, right? About Nozel?”

Teris sighed. “Julius. If there was a problem like that, I’d take care of it long before you heard of it. I can take care of myself. If you doubt me, we can head over to one of the training yards at Magic Knights Headquarters and I can prove it to you.”

He knew she was deflecting which only served to make him certain Nozel had done something. He remembered finding her crying in the stables at Nova House and piecing together what had happened. Hopefully that was the only thing Nozel had done to distress his sister. But Teris was right about being able to take care of it herself. She had done so in that cell when she and the rest of Nozel’s team had been captured. It wasn’t that Julius doubted she could take care of herself. It was that he didn’t want her to have to. A selfish part of him wanted his little sister to rely on him even though he wouldn’t always be there for her as her big brother. In any case, she and Nozel appeared to be getting along fine, most of the time at least. So Julius figured whatever it was, Teris had indeed handled it, forgiven him, and trusted Nozel not to attempt anything like it again.

Given her persistently hard stance, Julius didn’t pressure her anymore and instead apologized. “Sorry. I’m well aware you’re a powerful Mage. It’s only your third year as a Magic Knight and you’re already ranked as a Second Class Senior. It’s just... Seeing you like this...” He gestured to her outfit. “It makes me think of you more as a young lady who may need assistance.”

Teris forced her small smile to hold in place, thinking that dressed in this garb made her feel more like a submissive lady who required assistance. It was one of the main reasons she hated wearing such outfits. She wasn’t completely herself in them. That, coupled with her still dealing with the emotional effects of what happened in the cell was why she had been more frightened than fearsome when Nozel pulled her in the room.

“Then there’s the whole I’m your brother and all.” Julius shrugged a shoulder and smiled crookedly at her.

“And an excellent, caring brother you are.” Teris put in.

Becoming serious, Julius felt the need to say. “But you can come to me. You don’t have to shoulder everything on your own. As your brother it’s more than my duty to protect you. It is my honor and privilege. If anyone did anything that made you feel uncomfortable or threatened, I would hope you wouldn’t feel that you had to handle it on your own.”

Teris knew this wasn’t going to end unless she gave him that much, and so said. “I know. And if I wasn’t up to it I would most definitely come to you. Without hesitation.” Changing the subject before things became even more uncomfortable or sappy, she said. “When Nozel and I first entered, there was a couple in here necking.”

“Really, Teris. Gossip.” Julius scolded.

“It’s not really gossip if it’s true. Beside, I know you’re not gonna go around telling everyone.”

“Who were they?”

Teris gave her brother a playful censuring look. “Really, Julius. Gossip.”

Julius smirked and opened the doors, leading her out.

73.4

Nozel stopped beside the nobleman talking with Fuegoleon.

“Your Highness.” The man greeted Nozel, bowing slightly. “Congratulations on your Golden Clover Medal of Honor.”

“Thank you.” Nozel replied, his eyes never turning to the noble. “Will you excuse us?”

There was a slight moment of confusion on the nobles part as Nozel had been looking at Fuegoleon when he had spoken; but he quickly realized the words were meant for him.

“Yes. Of course, Your Highness.” The noble bowed at both Princes. “Your Highness’” There was another moment of awkward silence where the man realized that Nozel didn’t actually want be excused with Fuegoleon; but wanted him leave them. He clumsily bowed again. “If Your Highness’ will excuse me.”

Despite his stress and the pressing need, Nozel gave a tired sigh surprised that they would let someone so lacking in courtly graces within the walls of the Royal Castle.

Fuegoleon turned to the Silva. “Sometimes your rudeness even catches me by surprise.”

“Shut up. I need your help.”

“Well that’s an interesting way to ask for it.” Fuegoleon commented. “Don’t know how effective--”

“I need to figure out a surprise for Teris.” Nozel said over the Vermillion. “A substantial one, but nothing too big that will make her uncomfortable or refuse it.”

Fuegoleon’s eyes narrowed. “What’s this about?”

“I messed up.” Nozel confessed.

“You seem to do that a lot with her. Something else that shouldn’t surprise me but still occasionally does.”

Nozel stepped closer to the Crimson Lion and whispered. “I overreacted when she said she was really trying due to something Mereoleona told her. I dragged her off and demanded to know what your sister had said.”

“Why?”

Nozel looked about. Stepping even closer, he lowered his voice further. “You know why.”

“You thought Leona told her?” Fuegoleon questioned, voice raising at the preposterous thought.

“Keep your voice down!” Nozel whispered harshly.

“She would never do that. Why would you think Leona would do such a thing? What were you thinking?”

“I clearly wasn’t.” Nozel growled.

“Clearly.” Fuegoleon huffed. He went on, sounding offended. “Leona would never tell Teris. No one who truly cared about Teris would tell her. I can’t believe you thought Leona had. Not to mention if Teris knew, she wouldn’t have been calmly speaking to you.”

Hearing Fuegoleon spell it out made Nozel feel all the more foolish, which he supposed was the point. Irritated, Nozel questioned tersely. “Are you going to help me or not?”

“I’ll help you.” Fuegoleon answered. “For Teris’ sake. Not yours.”

“I don’t care why you’re doing it, so long as you do it.”

“Because if you screw this up,” Fuegoleon continued on as if Nozel hadn’t spoken, “Teris will wonder why you overreacted. She’ll start poking around trying to figure out the real reason.” He frowned at the Silver Eagle, hands curling into fists. “I swear, Nozel. If she finds out about all this because of your thoughtless paranoid reaction I’ll kill you myself. You know it’ll only drive her further away and closer to him.”

Nozel’s jaw tightened at the thought of Yami Sukehiro. Glaring at Fuegoleon, he clipped. “Just help me think of something convincing.”

“First, I’ll need to know how badly you overreacted.” Fuegoleon said.

Nozel made a face, thinking of the way he had grasped Teris. The way his fingers had ached upon releasing her. He wouldn’t be surprised if he had left bruises on her shoulders. He’d be leaving that bit out when he told the Vermillion. There wasn’t anything Fuegoleon could say about that that he wasn’t already angry with himself over.

“We have a couple of hours between this thing and the royal dinner and ball.” Fuegoleon said. “Come to Vermillion Castle and we can talk more freely in my study.”

“Why must I go to you?” Nozel questioned, tersely.

“Because you’re the one that screwed up.” Fuegoleon said, heatedly. And, he thought, Teris will be at Silva Castle getting ready for the evenings events. He wanted them to be as far away as possible from his cousin while they discussed this.

73.5

Tobin staggered as he shrunk down to his normal size. “Well that wasn’t easy. You think we’re just overworked and tired”

“No.” Yami rolled his neck and shoulders. “They were just that good. And, unlike us they worked well together.”

“That’s not my fault.” Tobin stormed. “It was you and--” he gestured to Iban, “--that one. For a while I thought you two were gonna start fighting each other. Think this lot did too.” He kick a toe at one of the magically bound thieves they had subdued.

Yami couldn’t argue against that. Iban had been staring at him the entire time they had tracked the gang. That hadn’t bothered Yami so much at the time. He was use to people staring for whatever reasons. He didn’t care. It was the fact that he was certain Iban knew more than he was telling about the whole Chaos and zealots mess. Granted when he had spoken with the Blood Mage out in that field the day Iban had attacked Teris, Yami had believed the answers Iban had given. But that didn’t mean the man didn’t know anything, it only meant that Yami had asked the wrong questions. Between Iban first attacking him and later Teris, Yami had stayed on guard and mindful of the Blood Mage. Treating him as Olsen had suggested a year ago, like a wild Saber Wolf that could turn from watchful to attacking without warning.

They had been doing alright on this mission until Iban had commented that the battle reminded him of a year ago. Yami had turned quickly to Iban at that. Iban’s bright golden eyes had been focused on him. The Blood Mage wearing the same stupid smirk he had worn that night in the cave nearly a year ago. Things had gone downhill fast from there.

Yami sheathed his katana in disgust. Their difficultly had been of his own making. He refused to go any further until he made certain such a thing wouldn’t happen again.

Looking at Tobin, Yami ordered. “Watch them.”

“I’m pretty sure they’re not going anywhere.” Tobin said, impressed by Yami’s dark magic binding spell.

“Then just stay here.” Yami snapped. “Iban. With me.” He ordered, making his way to the meadows treeline.

“Woah!” Tobin turned, worried.

“Shut up! Do as you’re told!” Yami ordered, without giving his friend a glance. He might not be Vice Captain yet; but he was the highest ranking Magic Knight here and he’d be damned if he let someone question his command, friend or not.

Iban smirked, eyes traveling from Yami to Tobin and back. “Yes, sir,” The Blood Mage sang, following.

Tobin watched the two men walk away. The further they got the more he worried.

Reaching the treeline, Yami stopped and turned. “I refuse to chance a mission or put a comrade in danger like that again. Even if it is your creepy ass. So tell me everything you know and maybe we can put this bad blood behind us.”

Iban’s gold eyes danced. “Interesting choice of phrase.”

Yami’s left hand rested lazily on the hilt of his katana. “Why do you think I used it?”

“Most find you dim and slow Yami Sukehiro. But there is so much you see and know that you never let on. Tell me, does it suit you to let everyone believe that you are dumb?”

“It comes with far less expectations and the occasional benefit of surprising folk. So yeah. It suits me fine. Now tell me what you know. All of it.”

“Very well.” Iban sighed. He gave a seconds thought and smiled. “You will not like this but I assure you, all my family’s ties to the Agents of Chaos have long since been severed.”

Yami’s eyes narrowed.

“My grandmother’s grandfather was once the Master of the Agents of Chaos.” Iban’s smile grew at Yami’s reaction. “Thought that would get your blood pumping.” He closed his eyes, breathing deeply from his nose, sensing Yami’s blood as it coursed through the mans veins. It was intoxicating.

With difficultly, Yami kept his control. “How is it that the family of a former Master of those crazies now has nothing to do with them?”

“My grandmothers grandfather was outed from his position as Master of Chaos. Killed in a ritual duel that the members believe Chaos himself oversees and gives his strength to whom he deems worthy.” Iban answered.

“Killed by who? The Master before Alowishus Spade?” Yami asked.

“By Spade himself.” Iban told, enjoying Yami’s struggle to hide his shock. “Alowishus Spade far older than you or his followers could imagine. I’m sure even his wife has no idea.”

Yami raised an eyebrow at that last bit, unsure why he found it surprising that Alowishus Spade had a wife. Women liked all sorts, just the same as men did. Though Spade was a rare case, pieced together as he was by parts of powerful dead mages. “How old is he?”

Iban shrugged a shoulder. “I have no idea. My grandmother only told me that Spade was at least three times older than her grandfather at the time of the challenge.”

“How’d she know that?”

“Blood magic. It runs in our family. And blood does not lie.”

Iban didn’t say that his grandmothers grandfather had thought he had won the duel. That Alowishus had been laid out in ceremonial sparring circle, his heart no longer beating. That his ancestor had turned his back, guard lowered and begun to raise his hands in victory when Alowishus, heart still stopped, had risen from the ground and hugged the man from behind. That his grandmother, a young girl at the time, had seen her grandfather wither and decay before her eyes. First to a mummified corpse, then to bleached bones, and finally crumbling to nothing more than a small pile of dust.

“After putting an end to the previous Master of Chaos’ reign Alowishus Spade allowed my family to leave and live peacefully so long as we didn’t interfere with the Agents of Chaos’ goings on's.” Iban told Yami. “Before my great-grandfather and his family were cast out of Sanctuary, he managed to dip the tip to his cloak into a bit of blood that had spilled from Alowishus Spade during the dual. My great-grandfather was certain that Spade had somehow cheated and thought the mans blood would prove it. Given that the sample was tainted and no longer fresh by the time he was able to examine it, his findings were frustratingly unclear. But what little he learned was enough for him to forgo vengeance and keep his promise to stay well away.”

Yami stared silently, wondering how Alowishus Spade could be so old. The corpse magic the man used could only go so far. Julius had been clear that the internal organs of a person likely couldn’t be replaced. How long could a heart pump if the body it was attached to was healthy enough to go on? What was the lifespan of a persons insides? Yami pressed his teeth together at the thought of such macabre things.

Iban watched Yami, gold eyes glinting in the fading light of the setting sun.

Finally, Yami asked. “So you know what they believe? Why they’re so interested in Teris and me? What sick rituals they have planned for us and all that.”

“Possibly.”

“What do you mean possibly?” Yami growled.

“When Spade took over, much changed. The purpose, beliefs, and plans of the order of the Agents of Chaos turned on its head in many regards. That is why my grandmother’s grandfather accepted Spades request of a dual so readily. When Spade was first a member of the Agents of Chaos he was always challenging the Master of Chaos, my ancestor. Spade was often often caught holding his own secret meetings with a large number of fellow followers where he instructed them on his own beliefs and teachings. It got to the point where the Master wanted to put an end to Spade’s growing influence as quickly as possible. The dual Alowishus challenged him to for right of who would be Master was the perfect opportunity to not only be rid of Alowishus Spade but to negate whatever wrong and dangerous teachings he had infected the followers with.”

“Only your ancestor lost. And in everyone’s eyes your beloved Chaos deemed Alowishus Spade right and worthy.” Yami said.

Iban inclined his head.

“So you’re part of the old, dare I say, saner guard.” Yami said, recalling how Sir Jorah had made clear everything he finally divulged to Teris and him came from what little knowledge they had of the Agents of Chaos before Spade had become Master.

Iban inclined his head once more.

“So anything you tell me would be of little to no use.” Yami sighed in disgusted disappointment.

“As I already told you.” Iban said.

Yami made a face and shook his head. It was one mess after another. Every thought he had or road he took to find answers always led to a dead end.

Looking at Iban, Yami commanded. ”You don’t tell anyone this. Especially Teris. She’ll hound you to no end and I don’t want her anywhere near you. I still don’t trust you.”

“Nor should you.” Iban agreed.

Yami gave him a look that had even made Bronn look away nervous; but Iban only stared back in amusement.

“Let’s go.” Yami rumbled.

“One more thing. If I may.” Iban ventured. “Have the dreams, the ones like Teris experienced, begun for you?”

“Why?” Yami questioned, uneasily.

Iban shrugged. “Just figured Chaos would have more to say to you given that Darkness is the child of Chaos and Death, and Death has a closer connection to Chaos than Life. Not to mention, Death is the one trying to awaken Chaos.”

Yami’s jaw clenched at that. He wasn’t sure he believed all that primordial forces business but he knew Alowishus and his Agents of Crazies did. All Yami was willing to admit at the moment was there was something more to all of this than rare, strong magic.

“And I suppose you all think Light was born from Order and Life.” Yami huffed.

Iban smirked. “Far from it. Light was born from Life and Chaos. I suppose you could say Light is Chaos ordered.”

Yami’s brows furrowed, not understanding. Annoyed, he turned away. “What’s it matter if the stupid page speaks to me? I wouldn’t remember anything anyway. That’s how that works. Isn’t it?”

“It need not have to be.” Iban said, watching Yami’s back tense. “I can help you remember.”

Yami looked back at him. “Even a Communications and Time Mage working together couldn’t do that.”

Iban smirked, knowing he had Yami interested, if not temped. “Marx and Julius weren’t using the right magic or correct incantation spell.”

“And you just happen to have the right magic and know the correct spell?” Yami said, dubiously.

“My grandmother’s grandfather was once the Master of Chaos.” Iban reminded.

“Then how is it that the current so called Master of Chaos doesn’t know of this spell?” Yami asked, certain that Alowishus wouldn’t have bothered questioning him and Teris about the pages communication if he had such a thing at his disposal.

“My grandmother took her grandfather's Rights and Rituals Book after Spade killed him in the dual. Snuck it out of Sanctuary without anyone the wiser. Since it was a secret item, shared from Master to Master and their families, neither Spade or the other followers knew of its existence and therefore wouldn’t have missed it.”

Yami eyed the Blood Mage. “And you still have this book.”

“I do. It is a fairly painless ritual.”

Yami huffed. Iban’s definition of fairly painless probably meant it would be excruciating. But it wasn’t fear of pain that kept him from agreeing.

Heading back to Tobin and their captives, Yami said over his shoulder. “Thanks. But no thanks.”

Iban watched Yami, wondering how long it would take for him to come and demanded the spell be done.

So this 'arc' started with chapter 71 and will go on until the end of 'Book I' which is chapter 83. To date, this arc has been one of my favorite to write for this fic. Which has me wondering. So far what has been your favorite arc, scene, or event? Also, if you have one, I would love to know which oc in this fic is your favorite so far. Really wanna make my day? Let me know which oc you like and hate the most.

Don't forget to check to see Fuego and Nozel's riding dress preferences for Teris, if you want.

As always, THANKS for reading. Comments, questions, keyboard smashes, and reblogs are always welcome and very much appreciated.

Next chapter snippet:

“We can still be friends.” Teris said. “Our friendship is more important than any hurt feelings he may have about Yami and I being together.”

“Especially when he still thinks you’re going to marry him.” Olsen put in.

#yami sukehiro #nozel silva #fuegoleon vermillion #julius novachrono #mereoleona vermillion #Black Clover #light in the darkness

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shivae · 4 years

Link

Confession

Dawn gets both Marianne and Bog to a dance, where Roland makes a move on Marianne.

How did it end up like this? Marianne snarled at the dress she had been put into. It was made out of moonflower petals, a simple purple dress that accentuated her curves and left her shoulders bare. The skirt went down almost all the way to the floor and flared out.

Next to her, Bog stood wearing a satiny black tunic made from black petunia petals, making it look velvety and soft. A matching cape fell between his wings, strapped around his waist to keep it from getting tangled in his wings in case he needed to fly. He looked as bewildered as Marianne felt, his staff having been left behind in his room. “You two look great!” Dawn circled them in a quick flap of her wings, making sure their outfits were perfect.

Dawn wore a dress meant for dancing like many of the attending fairy women would be wearing, bi-colored four O’clocks, pink with golden orange streaks that matched her wings. It flared out around her as she moved, and Marianne grumbled.

“Dawn, stop flying in that dress. You’re going to flash your panties at everyone!” Marianne snapped at her little sister, momentarily forgetting Bog, who turned bright red at even the mention of such a thing. Seeing Bog flush red, made Marianne do the same thing, realizing what she had just said. The only thing that would have been worse was if he asked what panties were. Thankfully, it seemed he had a good idea as he dropped his eyes to the floor.

Giggling, Dawn landed in front of them, beckoning for them to follow her. “Come on, let’s go! You two don’t have to dance, but I can’t wait for Dad to see you!” Marianne and Bog sighed simultaneously.

“You don’t have to do this,” whispered Marianne.

“No, ye don’t have to do this,” Bog whispered back. “Ye are only coming because I am.”

“Someone has to make sure you’re not bored to death,” growled Marianne, stepping beside him, reaching for his hand. “We don’t have to dance.”

Bog nodded, smiling slightly as Marianne slipped her tiny, warm hand into his. “Whatever Dawn wants.”

“I hope that wears off soon. Who knows what she’ll want to do to you tomorrow,” laughed Marianne as they followed Dawn.

Bog had no idea what to expect as he was led through the castle and entered a massive ballroom filled with bright lights and soft music. All eyes fell on him, and Marianne as they entered, fairy women immediately stepping closer to their partners. Bog frowned at that reaction. It was what he expected from fairies. Revulsion.

He looked away, turning his attention to Marianne, who was furiously leading him to the far side of the hall, avoiding the dance floor. Crouching as he walked, Bog wished he could vanish from view, find some dark place to hide in, and sit in silence.

“Where are you going?” Dawn bounced after them, grabbing Bog’s other hand. “Dance with me!” She laughed, her light blue eyes glimmering innocently. “Just one dance, Boggy!”

“Bog.” He smiled at Dawn. “I’m not sure if I would be a good dance partner, Dawn.”

“Oh, it’s okay. You don’t have to be good!” The young fairy tugged on his hand, but this time, Marianne intervened.

“No, Dawn. You got him to dress up, if you want to see him dance, then I will take him out myself, so he won’t be embarrassed.” Marianne looked up at Bog, who was trying his best to keep a straight face and not flee from all the bright lights and spectacle. “Bog, would you like to dance? Can you dance?”

“I know how to dance,” muttered Bog nervously. “However, I am not certain I know fairy dances. Ye will have to teach me, but I learn quickly.”

“Well, you taught me, so I guess it’s time for me to teach you.” Marianne glanced at her sister, who was smiling at them and hadn’t said a word. “One dance.”

“Make sure he has fun!” Dawn giggled, turning away from them and bouncing after a passing boy.

“I hate dances,” growled Marianne. “They’re so stupid, just a bunch of idiots showing off.” Bog nodded, taking a deep breath, aware there were eyes on him, so many eyes. “We’ll do this, then we can go sit somewhere, drink some wine, and ignore everyone.”

Bog swallowed nervously as they stepped out onto the dance floor, the smooth rock surface almost painfully cold beneath his bare feet. Still, he didn’t want to disappoint Marianne as she moved his left hand to rest on her slender waist and took his right in hers.

“Follow me,” whispered Marianne, coming far closer to him than he expected. “The steps are simple and just repeat them, then turn with me. When you have it down, you need to lead.” Marianne moved carefully, whispering which foot to move to Bog as she did it.

They had plenty of room to practice for a few minutes before Bog took over. The other fairy couples fled to the edges of the ballroom, leaving only Bog and Marianne dancing to the music. Bog ignored them, concentrating on the steps and doing them correctly.

All was well until he caught a glimmer of green armor out of the corner of one eye and saw HIM approaching them. Marianne scowled, also spotting him. “Ignore him.”

“Marianne,” Roland greeted politely as the song ended. “May I have the next dance?” He ignored Bog, even as Marianne took a step closer to the towering goblin king.

“I’m here with Bog,” stated Marianne, giving Roland a cold look.

“He’s not even a fairy!” Roland hissed, glancing up at Bog, then back to Marianne.

“I can get rid of him again.” Bog rumbled, glaring at Roland.

“You would attack me in the middle of a dance?” Roland gasped. “How absolutely beastly!”

“Back off, Roland.” Marianne stepped between him and Bog, pushing him on the chest to make him move back. “I will never dance with you again. Come with me, Bog, we’re leaving.” She turned to Bog, taking his hand to lead him away. Bog bared his teeth at Roland over his shoulder and was gratified at the visible shudder passing through the obnoxious fairy man. Marianne snagged a bottle of wine off a table in passing.

As grateful as he was to leave the dance hall, Bog was troubled by the encounter. It was clear that Marianne loathed Roland, yet he did not leave her alone. Such things were not tolerated in his kingdom, and he couldn’t understand why it was tolerated here. Marianne was silent, but he could feel the heat coming off her, her short nails digging into his palm.

They passed through a crowded hall, then down increasingly less busy halls. Then, Marianne led him onto a large, empty flight balcony, closing the doors behind them, so they were alone. Fires burned on either side of the balcony, and it was decorated with wreaths of flowers and sheer curtains. There were a few cushions scattered around it for seating.

He was alone with her.

Bog glanced around the balcony, hearing the music from the celebration still going on a few halls away floating in the air around them. His wings twitched anxiously as Marianne sat on one of the cushions and tipped the wine bottle up to take a long drink.

“Should, should I go, Marianne?” Bog kept his distance.

“I’m sorry,” stated Marianne. “This isn’t your problem. You can go if you want.”

Bog stepped up on to the rail, prepared to leave. Not back to his room, but to the Dark Forest. He had no real reason to be here. And he would have gone if he hadn’t heard a stifled sob come from Marianne. He glanced over his shoulder in time to see her wipe away a tear on her cheek.

This was not something he wanted to deal with, a crying female, but it touched off something more inside. She was hurting, and perhaps he could do something for her. He wanted to do something, he had such strong, warm feelings toward her. Bog turned, stepping off the railing to walk up to Marianne, approaching her in a timid crouch.

“Is there something I can do for ye, Marianne?” Bog inquired, stopping inches away from her. “Anything.”

Marianne sighed, reaching up to touch Bog’s face, and he flinched from her touch. “I bet it’s worn off entirely by now, hasn’t it?” She gave him a smile, withdrawing her hand.

“Mostly,” Bog admitted. “But the potion isn’t affecting my mind now. I was free to do whatever I wanted last night.” He turned and settled into a cushion next to Marianne as she stared at him in wonder.

“Why didn’t you leave then? This isn’t your kingdom,” she stated, wiping her eyes again quickly.

“I didn’t want to,” grunted Bog. “Ye see, there’s something here I don’t have in my kingdom. When I found it, I wanted to explore its uniqueness.”

“And what is this thing you found?” Marianne smiled at him, still attempting to maintain her composure.

Bog was silent for a long moment, with the only sound, a gentle hum from his wings. He looked out, over the balcony railing, running one hand over the other, unsure if he wanted to say it. He took a breath, whispering, “You.”

Marianne laughed, sipping from the bottle before handing it to Bog. “Me?”

“Yer a little different.” Bog smiled, taking the bottle and tilting it to take a deep drink of the fairy wine, hoping it would help calm his nerves.

“That’s an understatement,” grumbled Marianne.

“Why is he allowed to continually harass ye?” Bog set the bottle down between them. “He should not be allowed to even talk to ye, let alone approach ye. Ye are royalty.”

Marianne looked at Bog thoughtfully, chewing on a fingertip. “I never told anyone what he did.”

“And what did he do?” Bog was afraid to ask but did so anyway.

“We were supposed to get married,” sighed Marianne, looking out over the balcony railing again, anywhere but at Bog. “I caught him with another woman right before our wedding. I was in my wedding dress.” Bog gasped, and his shoulder plates rattled slightly, hearing the offense. “And I was ashamed to admit it because it meant admitting I wasn’t good enough to be enough for him.”

“Ridiculous.” Bog hissed sharply. “That man was a fool. He still is a fool.”

“Yeah, a beautiful, good-looking fool, and what does that make me for falling for him?” Marianne grumbled, picking at her dress.

“Just like anyone else? Attracted to someone because they are beautiful?” grunted Bog. “Seems to me, ye are a princess, and ye can send that moron away at any time.”

“You talk a lot more when you’re not faking being love dusted,” laughed Marianne, leaning her shoulder against his arm. “I decided from that point on, to embrace my differences and never trust a man again.”

“A good policy.” Bog nodded in agreement.

“Don’t trust anyone.” They said it together and laughed, then there was silence between them.

“Ye know, beautiful Marianne, a flower that blooms at night is different from a flower that blooms in the day, but they are still flowers, with the same needs.” Bog fidgeted, shifting how he sat to lean toward her. “They still need the sun, water, and the earth.”

“You think I’m beautiful?” Marianne smiled at the compliment.

“Probably doesn’t mean much coming from me,” grumbled Bog. “But yes, ye are, inside and out.”

“Let’s go back to why you’re still here.” Marianne smiled, reaching out to lay a hand on one of Bog’s. “Why are you still here?”

“Because I am a fool,” replied Bog, looking down at her hand on his. “There is absolutely no reason for a stunning fairy woman to look my way, yet both ye and yer sister were kind to me when ye didn’t have to be.”

Marianne laughed. “I wasn’t that nice to you at the start.”

“I didn’t exactly make the best first impression.” Bog sighed. “Spring always does that to me, makes me furiously angry about everything. I could have just asked, but I had to make a spectacle of myself instead.”

“A gloriously awful spectacle,” agreed Marianne with a laugh. “Your voice is beautiful, Bog.”

“Well, that’s not something I hear often,” he chuckled, eyes still locked on his hands and how Marianne’s fingers stroked over his palm, sliding up the underside of his wrist where there was no armor.

“I like you,” muttered Marianne.

“What?” Bog leaned in closer, thinking he had not heard her clearly.

“I like you,” Marianne repeated a little louder.

“I like ye too, Marianne.” Bog grinned, reaching out tentatively to lay his hand on hers.

“So, I told you my secret. Why does spring make you angry instead of all light-headed and overly happy like it does everyone else?” The question made Bog cringe and grind his teeth.

Bog began breathing shallowly, a ribbon of cold winding up his back. After a moment, he found his words. “When I was young, I did something foolish. I loved someone, and I desired them to love me, but I wasn’t patient. I wanted their love immediately, and I went to the Sugar Plum Fairy for the love potion.” Bog shivered, his wings twitching violently for a moment. “It didn’t work. Instead of loving me, she ran away, revolted. I am, I am so awful, so unsightly, not even a love potion could bring me love.”

“Oh.” Marianne listened, watching his face as he spoke, realizing just how much it took out of him to simply make that admittance. He really was far different than she initially thought, but her observations of him under the effects of the love potion seemed accurate. Under all that armor, he was hurt, injured in a way that cut to the core.

The song he sang, it was true.

It was painfully true.

“And now that I know what the love potion feels like.” A shade of guilt passed over Bog’s eyes, staring out into the darkness. “It’s not real love. It would have all been fake. It would have been cruel if it worked.”

“Yes.” Marianne nodded, sliding an arm around his, hugging him.

“So that is why I imprisoned the Sugar Plum Fairy, to keep her from giving people false hopes for something that I didn’t believe existed,” Bog rumbled, closing his eyes, a small smile creeping over his face at Marianne’s warmth around his arm. “And also, because it wasn’t fair that such a thing existed, yet it didn’t work on me.”

“But it did!” Marianne laughed suddenly, trying to change his mood. “Do you remember the things you did and said?”

“I remember everything,” grumbled Bog. “I was always there, I just couldn’t think about anything but ye and Dawn. I deserved what happened to me.”

“So, where do we go from here?” Marianne stood and moved to stand in front of Bog, her hands resting on his shoulder pauldrons.

“I don’t know,” stated Bog, staring up at her, unsure of what she was doing, but not about to stop her. Somewhere deep inside nudged him that he was about to enjoy something special.

“Do you know, you’re the only man who has ever offered to spar with me? To teach me? To encourage me to be me?” Marianne tilted her head, her wings rising behind her. And they glowed in the firelight, swaying gently in the light spring breeze. “Why don’t we see where this goes?” She leaned forward, lifting her hands to caress Bog’s face, having made a decision. He gazed at her through half-lidded eyes, the touch sending comforting sensations through his body. Just her fingers made him stay still, his anxieties calming for the moment. It was clear any fears he had about being rejected were not necessary, no, this was anything but being rejected.

“Marianne?” The door to the balcony opened, sending brilliant light flooding over it and onto Bog and Marianne, who both froze, feeling a shared sense of being caught doing something they shouldn’t have.

#strange magic #fanfic #butterfly bog #butterflybog #bog king #marianne #dawn #Roland is awful #Misdirection #love dusted bog

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roatsww · 4 years

Photo

Dancing in the Devil’s Playground.

This is my Life, By Michael Drysdale

An Introduction to Dancing in The Devil’s Playground.

Some of you may know that I have been trying to write my life story for some time now, that I started in 2008, and then just left it hiding on my desktop, I don’t know if I’ll ever finish telling it, even though I have to tell my story, as ugly as it may be. Some of you may have read some of the extracts from my life over the past two years, in pieces which I have written such as: -

Only a Boy

Once Was A Soldier

A Little Case of Murder and The Men of the number

The Crime Of Silence

Living with AIDS, My journey Through Hell,

Cholera In The Heart of An Epidemic

The Child Of My Heart

The Lessons of Men

The Sins Of The Fathers

Rags to Frocks - The World of Fashion

On a mission of Faith

My Life For a Horse

Predators

Etc.

I kept so much of it hidden for so many years, it became a ‘Bond of Silence’ between Rosie (my sister) and I, something we never spoke of among ourselves or dared to speak of to the world, in so many of the incidents, Rosie was always there to help me pick up the pieces, never questioning, never criticizing, just quietly giving me the strength of her love and her understanding.

The past eleven years were a rollercoaster ride through the Devil’s Playground, first with my losing the child of my heart, and then two years later having to lose my sister, my best friend, my soul-mate and my protector, Rosie to cancer, Two years after that it was a little case of murder, that finally brought all my walls of safety crashing to the ground, and two years later with Shaun’s incarceration, when I started a journey of terror by the infamous “Numbers Gang”, which led to my being attacked in my home by two of the gang in a murder attempt, and then the terror on the streets as I was harassed and robbed on an ongoing basis, to end with my being gang raped by “the Numbers Gang” on the 31st of October 2015, and then the floodgates opened and years and years of silence came crashing to the fore.

I know that most will not accept my story, but in trying to write it, I have had to open some of the most painful and disturbing parts of my life to my own scrutiny, and dredging up memories that flash with startling clarity and all the physical and emotional pain as when they occurred, makes it hard for me to accept, I sleep even less at night, now that I have opened the doors to my past.

The thing which has shocked me the most in dredging through these memories is my memory of the actions and the reactions of not only the participants but also those who were involved on the periphery. I did not sleep at all last night, I just cried, because I realised the ultimate truth, “Nobody Cares” and “Nobody wants to get involved”.

Oh yes, some will say ‘Oh, I’m so sorry’, others will comment, “Get over it, and move on”, but, nobody will do anything especially those who are in a position to do something, and last night I realised that I have spent more than fifty years “as a broken doll’ and I will spend the rest of my life “as a broken doll” because there is no hope of ever fixing me while the abuse continues, and it does continue because I am trapped in a never ending cycle of abuse, the latest incident having occurred as little as 11 days ago, and the people who were in a position to help, simply ignored my cry for help the following morning.

Writing the story of my life is the hardest thing I’ve ever done, because in doing so I realise that even though there have been a very few friends on the side-lines, I’ve had to endure and walk through life in a pair of shoes that were not made for me, and that I have had to do it alone, because there is no man who is strong enough to have endured what I have endured and continue to endure to this very day.

I quote an example (of just how people choose to look the other way) here from the chapter on my early childhood: -

The following year I started school for the first time and went to grade one, and it was in the first few months that I realised for the second time, that nobody cares and nobody would save me.

Sitting in the class one day the teacher was moving around and looking at the work that we were doing, and when she got to me, she leaned down and patted me on the back, I had no choice, I screamed, you see, daddy had given me a particularly vicious beating the night before. The teacher took my hand and led me into the class’s store room, where she asked me to take off my shirt, I heard her “Oh my God!” as my shirt came off, she asked me to take off my school shorts as well, and then immediately helped me to get dressed again, and led me back to my seat, she said not a word, and went on with teaching us until the bell rang for home time. This teacher totally ignored me for the next two years, she never looked at me, never spoke a word to me, never touched me, and she simply ignored me as though I never existed, until I was finally moved to a higher class and out of her sphere of teaching.

Memories......... of violence and fear, that leave me once again drenched in nightmares that had ceased so long ago.

Dancing in the Devil’s Playground.

This is my Life, By Michael Drysdale Forward/Preface

This world that we live in is the playground of the devil, I have no choice this is where I am, I am Dancing in the Devil’s playground, the music of life starts at birth, and the song only ends with the last breath that you take. The only choice you have in life is whether to dance or to listen, I have no choice but to dance and to keep on dancing, for if I sit it out for one minute then the children of the devil make their move, and I never know what evil they may perpetrate, so I just have to keep on dancing.

I try so hard to keep dancing the waltz of life with God, but, before I know it the devil has stepped in with his tango of death, and the battle to escape his clutches begins again, at times I beg for the music to end so that I can find peace for my soul, I have even on many occasions tried to stop the music just so that I can rest a minute or two, but the music just keeps playing, in this, the devil’s playground.

This is also a story of the tremendous struggle that I have with my faith, my see-saw relationship with my God, who will not let me go, and who has carried me through some of the darkest days of my life, when all of man turned their backs on me, it is the story of my struggle to survive life as a gay man, and dealing with the hand of cards which was dealt for me..

Throughout my life I have had so many who carelessly throw advice my way, people who make judgement on me without ever having walked a single step in my shoes, and I wonder, were they ever to step in my shoes would they ever complete the dance through the Devils’ Playground? Many of those who read my story, will jump up in judgement and condemnation of me, they will criticise me and my life and they will try to destroy the little that remains of me, of this I am sure, but, I accept it as part and parcel of revealing my dance through the playground of the devil.

I have changed some of the incidents, names and places, in the hopes of protecting the privacy of innocent individuals who were involved.

Chapter One - Only a Boy

I can smell it, it’s always with me, something’s dead in the house and the smell of rotting flesh permeates everything. When I first smelt deaths ugly odor, I searched every-where, and any-place where death could possibly have occurred at my own hand. As much as I have searched, there was never a decaying corpse. Still, as much as being enveloped by this ungodly tormentor I could also taste it. No matter what I do, still putrefaction stalks me. Gradually, like a dormant canker it has dawned on me, this all-embracing, consuming smell of death comes from my own mouth, it comes from my soul. Death is waiting, lurking on the threshold, waiting to take me, as it has so patiently for so many years and no matter how much I avoid it, it stalks me still, for death is one of the pitfalls of the devil’s playground.

I’m in my waning years, poverty and disease have aged me beyond my mark, the air hangs thick as a Basotho blanket around my shoulders, my life is an African heat, thick and cloying in its humidity, dry and cutting in its cold.At times, my life has been an African storm where you can smell the sweet wet dust of Africa, the rain in the air, a storm that brews its violence with the first large drops of rain that lift the dust to tantalise your nostrils. One of those violent all consuming African storms, that rent the air and leave nothing unscathed. A typical Highveld storm, with glaring flashes of lightning and deafening, ear splitting thunder, and hot, heavy rain, pelting down for an hour or two, and then gone as suddenly as it had come. Nothing is left untouched, every blade of grass, every branch, and all living things are soaked and when it’s all over, it’s as though the earth has emerged anew, washed clean of its sins, until the next one comes. And after the storm is always calm and a peace, just waiting to be disturbed, just waiting for the heavens to reach boiling point..

Mine is a life lived in a twilight world, with my own mistakes the only light to guide my way, and mistakes, yes I have made them by the dozen, I am no-longer an innocent, and as I’ve progressed through life the mistakes have mounted, I’ve tried so hard not to repeat them, but, I also realise that I am only a man, an imperfect man at that, a man struggling with not only the normal issues that every other man struggles with, but I struggle with so many others, and this is the tale of my struggles, of my failures and my triumphs, of my coming to terms with having to face my abusers in the aftermath of the cruelty that has been visited upon me, and yes throughout my life I have had to face my abusers continually and pretend that nothing ever happened, I have become an expert at wearing a mask.

I remember my childhood in flashes as clear as a photograph, I remember a little boy, a small boy who was always lost and alone, something like this old man who sits in this barren, soulless house so empty of love, tranquillity and affection.

I remember a little boy who’s aim it was to find some meaning to life, . . . . . . . a little boy who has become an old man still searching.

‘n Kind se Gebed

“Liewe Jesus vat asseblief vir papa se seer,

Liewe Jesus steek dit weg waar papa dit nie kan kry nie,

Want as ek dit weg steek en pappa kry dit,Dan slaan papa my eers seer.”

“Liewe Jesus, hoekom slaan papa my so seer?

Liewe Jesus, sê asseblief vir papa,Dat hy my nie meer mag slaan nie.”

“Liewe Jesus, sê asseblief vir papa,Dat hy vir my moet lief wees,

Want Liewe Jesus, ek is lief vir papa,Maar ek is ook baie bang vir papa.”

“Asseblief Liewe Jesus,Ek vra mooi Liewe Jesus.”

En nou na meer as vyftig jaar wonder die kind nog steeds hoekom het Liewe Jesus nooit Pappa se seer gevat nie.

Does God not feel my Loneliness? Does God not see my tears? Does God not hear my crying?

I can remember as though it were yesterday, at the time I was probably three or four, and yet the images are as clear as though they had just happened.

The wind was howling, sweeping up the debris of small town life and swirling it across deserted streets, The sky a musty brown the dust which got into everything had stolen the perfect blue of the sky. The long grass in the vacant stand across the street was leaning towards me bowing in submission to the wind. My options were few as there was nowhere to play outside, and the dust got into your eyes and brought false tears. So inside I went, into the gloomy mining house, where my family lived.

The walls were painted a light olive green and the long passageway which dominated the house, was dark and forbidding, it was a silent house. Nobody made any noise, there were no childish screams and shouts, none of the laughter of children at play, just an empty silence. The safest place would be a world of childhood fantasy in my bedroom, a good place to seek shelter, a comforting place. Out came the dinky toy cars and plastic animals and soon I was lost in a world forbidden to adults, a secret world, a world where I was allowed to be a child.

Shattering the silence! I heard it, the sound of furniture toppling and crashing, glass breaking and my mother’s scream. In total fear, because I knew that I would be next, I crept down the passageway, halting beside the door to my parent’s room, that one place in the house revered and feared as a forbidden shrine. I could hear the muffled slap of flesh on flesh, stifled sobs, and as another ear splitting scream rent the silence, I stretched on tiptoe and reached up to the doorknob. Shaking with fear, my eyes peeked through the gap between door and frame, and I witnessed what no child should see. . . . . .

The big bed where my parents slept was awash with linen, the bedclothes strewn about. The Night lamp lay broken on the floor; my mother’s treasured pretty things lay scattered. My mother, stood naked, cowering against the ancient wardrobe, my father’s clenched fists rained down, blow after blow, on her obscenely exposed body. It was too much to bear for a little boy, and without closing the door I ran, with hot wetness trickling down my legs, I ran to the only safety I knew, and dived headlong under my bed. Gripped with fear and panic, my mind was in turmoil,

“Why was daddy hitting mommy?” “Why didn’t mommy have any clothes on?”

“Why was the room all broken?”

“What did I do to make daddy hit mommy?”

“What’s going to happen to me?”“Is daddy coming to hit me next?”

It was too much for a little boy to understand, what I did know was that the only safety in daddy’s house, was to keep out of the way. It was why it was always so quiet, I couldn’t make daddy angry.

Daddy taught me well, daddy taught me about fear, something no little boy should ever learn.

I couldn’t remember how long it was that I remained under that bed. All I remembers was that when I emerged, driven by childish hunger and a desperate need for comfort and with a pounding heart, my little body wracked with the ever present trembling of fear I crept out of my room. The house and the world I knew were equally dark. No cooking smells, no busy sounds from the kitchen, there would be no supper tonight. Hungry, in need of comfort and reassurance, I crept to my bed, my safety, and lost myself in nightmares because daddy had gone to the pub.

Memories are like an ear-splitting crash which shatters and startles leaving me a little disoriented, the memories come like a bolt of lightning followed by an immense crash of thunder. They come like a Highveld thunder storm ripping across the Eden that is Africa, Memories......... of violence and fear, that leave me once again drenched in nightmares that had ceased so long ago.

My father worked on the mines as a fitter and turner, and the mine had a siren which could be heard all over town, which went off at the start of the work day and again at knock-off time, I dreaded that siren, and from the moment it went off I was immobilised with fear, because I knew that Daddy was coming home, the minute I heard the car stopping outside I’d pee my pants, somehow I just knew when it was going to be a bad day.

Rosie only a year older always tried to protect me, she would constantly try to think up new hiding places for me, under the bed, in the washing basket, in the Apricot tree, Rosie always tried to find a new hiding place, but, daddy always found me, and then the nightmare would start.

He’d grab me silently, and with so much violence, drag me to my bedroom, strip me naked and then the beatings would begin. Daddy had a wooden plank I guess it was about eighteen inches long, and it had a thick leather strap which was probably a little longer nailed to the end of it, and depending on daddy’s mood or how much he’d had to drink, sometimes it would be a beating with only the plank, other times it would be the full swing of the strap at the end of the plank, and the more I screamed the harder daddy swung. It was always only across my back and my buttocks, never my arms or legs, I was always just simply black and blue and in agony, it was only years later that I finally realised that if I kept quiet during the beatings, they were less harsh.

The strangest thing of all was that I adored my father, I loved him and so badly wanted him to love me back, but, it never happened, and he never touched my sisters or my half brother who was to come later, they never felt the swing of his fists, the slap of the strap or the crack of the plank, they just witnessed in silence. It was always me, naked across the bed, while the blows rained down and the same litany of curses spewed from my father’s mouth:-

“Useless, a waste, you’ll never amount to anything, you’re rubbish, good for nothing,”

“I don’t know where you come from; you should never have been born!”

It was inevitable, but, eventually my mother and father got divorced, we three children moved with my father to my grandmother’s house, while my mother and the new man in her life sorted themselves out, yes, my mother had been doing a little of the hanky panky on the side. We’d only been with Granny for a short while when my father came home one day and sat the three of us down in the kitchen. He told us that my mother had gotten married and had a new house, and did we want to go and live with her, my sisters immediately said yes, and my father replied.

“Well that’s it then, you girls will go to your mother and Michael stays here,she doesn’t want him!”

My sisters moved out and I stayed behind, it was a little easier living at Granny’s house, the beatings were less frequent, and Granny knew what was going on, but, Granny kept quiet, and when daddy wasn’t around, granny lavished me with attention, and told me that I had no choice that I just had to “Suck it up!”It was the first time that I realised that nobody would ever save me.

The following year I started school for the first time and went to grade one, and it was in the first few months that I realised for the second time, that nobody cares and nobody would save me.

“Oh my God!”

as my shirt came off, she asked me to take off my school shorts as well, and then immediately helped me to get dressed again, and led me back to my seat, she said not a word, and went on with teaching us until the bell rang for home time. This teacher totally ignored me for the next two years, she never looked at me, never spoke a word to me, never touched me, and she simply ignored me as though I never existed, until I was finally moved to a higher class and out of her sphere of teaching.

I was often shunted backwards and forwards between my father and my mother, spending a few months with one, and then again with the other, it was never settled, I became an introvert, my only friend the budgie which Granny had bought for me, it talked the hind leg off a donkey, and refused to be separated from me (Granny had bought the budgie for me as a result of the trauma I suffered every time Granny needed one of the chickens to be slaughtered for the pot, and as it was my job to feed and look after the chickens, they always ended up becoming my playmates and hence the trauma when it came time for a killing).

Even though there were constant periods of separation between us, Rosie was still my friend, my soul mate, my companion and my protector; she was always looking out for me, and even secretly got me a Barbie doll, so that we could play together, until the day that daddy found the Barbie, and then I suffered one of the worst beatings of my childhood. On one of my early moves back to my mother’s house, it was the year before I was to start school, on a bitterly cold night, my mother took me out to the middle of the street, told me to leave, because she had no place in her home for me, she turned around, went back into the yard, closed the gate and padlocked it, then walked back into the house and slammed the door, I was terrified, I was only six years old. There was a block of apartments across the road from my mother’s house I first went in to their parking garage and hid behind some cars, but, the terror was just too much.

I then walked to the mine sports grounds which were always lit up with flood-lights, and climbed to the top of the bleachers (Grandstand) overlooking the rugby field. I crawled under one of the seats, and lay there for the night, because from where I was, I could at least see if anyone came along. It was a very long night filled with unimaginable fears.

The following morning tired from lack of sleep and desperately hungry I walked back into town, and as I passed a boarding house, an old woman came out, she had been watching me, and asked me if I wanted a cold drink, I said yes, and she took me inside, and gave me a glass of milk while she made some crumpets and gave them to me with jam, all the while talking to me, I eventually fell asleep at the kitchen table only to be woken some time later with my mother shouting at me that I was embarrassing her in front of strangers, I was then dragged back to my mother’s house where I got a terrible beating from my step-father. This scenario with my constantly being thrown back and forth between my mother and father just continued it never stopped, if not the one, then the other would constantly tell me that I was use-less, good for nothing and should never have been born.

I lived a terribly solitary life, I didn’t have birthday parties like other children, I didn’t have friends from the neighbourhood and when I eventually began to go to school, I was the weird boy that nobody wanted to be friends with, I was just a little boy when I first learned the meaning of true loneliness, of isolation and of playing the eternal game of solitaire. I remember so clearly the humiliation, but it was something that my little sister thrived on, my mother used to come and fetch my sisters from school each day, I had to take the bus back to my grandmother’s house, but when the final bell for the school day ended, and everyone poured out of the school gates to waiting parents I’d come out, and there would be my mother with my sisters, and my little sister would shout out, “Mommy, Daddy’s been beating Michael again!”, I don’t know how she knew sometimes, but she always did, And I would be called over to the car and there in front of everyone, I’d have to take off my shirt and pull down my pants so that my mother could see the stripes and the bruises, and all she’d say was “Oh! He’s at it again.”, and I’d have to walk off to the bus in all my humiliation.

You may wonder why I write almost nothing of my little sister, but, it is hard for me, because she was truly her daddies little girl in every way, and even at a young age she became the abuser that my father was, Rosie never ever referred to her by name, but always referred to her as “My Evil Sister!”, she truly was and even to this day, is pure evil. I will write more on her and the spiteful things which she did to me during my later years.

I was in my third year of school when my father came home from work one day, sat me down and told me that it was time that I toughened up, he told me that the only choice I had was in which sport I chose, otherwise I had no choice. He offered me boxing, or Judo, I was horrified, in boxing all I could see was a continuation of my father’s beating at the hands of some-one else. I had no choice so I told him that I would take up Judo. At the hall near the railway station where the Judo classes were given I became the favourite fight partner of every boy, they all knew that I had no fight in me, because my father had beaten it out of me at a very early age, and the other boys realised that against me they would always win, and I ended up being beaten to a pulp twice a week.

One Tuesday night, I was dropped outside the hall as usual by my father, with him going to the pub to wait for me, when the whole world came crashing down, in the first fight of the evening, one of the bigger boys partnered me, and being as skinny as I was, I was a very easy throw over his shoulder, and as my back hit the mat, I started screaming and didn’t stop, I just lay on that mat and screamed, you see, I had received a particularly vicious beating from my father the night before. In those days there were no cell phones, and my grandmother didn’t know where to get hold of my father, and when daddy eventually arrived I was a sobbing heap that the Judo Instructor loaded into my father’s car with the following words, “Don’t you ever bring him back here again.” None the less, when my father got me home I got another beating for humiliating him by being a ‘sissy boy’. It was the first time in my life that I was to hear that awful word, said with so much hatred and which I would for the rest of my life associate with humiliation and hate............... Will I ever finish I don’t know......

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casstheultimatemess · 5 years

Text

Alone Together; Chapter 3

AO3 Link

Trigger Warnings: toxic masculinity, harassment, implied sexual harassment, transphobia, panic attack, swearing, food mention. Please tell me if I am missing anything!

Special thanks to my beta Virgil (@therubyjailcell) for putting up with my rambling and bad grammar. Thanks V!

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Patton and Virgil keeps talking for what feels like hours. They talk about everything, from simple life achievements, to favorite foods. At one point, Virgil mentions that he liked a band named ‘My Chemical Romance’ and lets Patton listen to one of their songs. Patton is quick to say that this isn’t his type of music, and they both laugh about that.

Right there, Virgil makes a decision. Even though he has never heard of his uncle until the day before, he already knows that he will never be able to let him go.

At around six in the afternoon, both start to get hungry. It becomes quickly known that neither Patton or Virgil want to cook, so the unanimous decision falls on pizza from a local Italian place. And that is how they end up walking through the streets of Carstairs.

“I tell you Virgil, Flavio makes the best pizza I have ever tasted. How an Italian wound up in this old town is beyond me, but as long as he keeps serving his pizza you don’t hear me complaining,” Patton has been rambling for the entire way there, and Virgil provides comments with the occasional snicker or sarcastic remark.

“Well, here we are. You wanna go inside kiddo?”

Virgil looks through the window and sees that the shop is not only very tiny, but also cramped with people.

“I, uh, I would prefer not to… so many people,” he says, thinking his words would fall to deaf ears. But to his surprise, Patton’s reaction is positive.

“No problem Virge. Just wait out here, I’ll be right back,” Patton quickly ruffles Virgil’s hair before heading inside. When the doors open, Virgil can hear the many voices chattering over each other and he is really glad he doesn’t have to go in there. To many people are like oil for his anxiety fire.

Virgil pulls out his earbuds and his phone and selects a playlist full with musical songs. He might be a first class emo, but Broadway has some nice tunes that are to addicting to him. After 2 songs, he quickly forgets the world around him and is bopping along with ‘The Schuyler Sisters’, shyly acting out the dance moves and mouthing along with the lyrics.

He is so caught up in the music he doesn’t even notice a group of guys walking towards him and calling him until one of them pushes him. Virgil stumbles over, his earbuds yanking out of his ears and his phone sliding away from him over the pavement. He wants to chase after them, but something grabbed his arm.

“Hey are you deaf or something? Jeff here was asking you something,” A boy with smooth blond hair is tugging Virgil’s arm, smirk clear on his face.

“No, no I… Phone…” the panic is getting to Virgil, breathing and thinking starts to become harder and harder.

“Good, you are new in town right? I have never seen you before, and I know all the girls here,” the other boy, Jeff, Virgil assumes, says. But there it is again, girl. People see him as a girl, and will never see him as anything else than a girl and he is just being annoying and…

“Hello, earth to newbie? We want to show you around town, because we are such nice guys and a small girl shouldn’t be alone around here. We can take care of you,” the first boy says, smirk growing even bigger, and Virgil knows these boys are trouble. But somehow, a wave of courage washes over him, and he speaks up.

“I’m… I’m a boy,”

The boys look at each other confused for a moment, and then smirk back again.

“Awh, little kitten thinks she is tough? Thinks she is a big boy?” Jeff says in a baby voice.

“Maybe we should change that attitude,” boy one said. They looked at each other again and then both start tugging Virgil on both his arms, the grip very painful. Virgil struggles to get out, but the grip only becomes stronger.

“Shh little kitten, we will learn you how to be a good girl. Just come with us and..”

“HEY ASSHOLES! LEAVE THEM ALONE!” a voice booms through the street, the boys looking up to the source of the voice, looking at each other again, then dropping Virgil harshly to the ground and running away. Virgil rolls into a ball, tears now streaming down his face paired with silent sobs. Why? Why did this always happen to him?

“Hey, shh, you are okay,” a voice whispers in his ear. Patton? The thought of Patton makes him calm down, the sobs becoming less frequent.

“Yes, that’s good. Breathe,” A hand rubs in circles on his back, and while he normally doesn’t like to be touched, this touch is comforting and grounding. Eventually the crying stops, and he slowly looks up to the source of the voice.

That… that isn’t Patton.

Above him is sitting a man with auburn hair and brown skin. He flinches back.

“Hey hey, shh, I don’t mean harm. I have your phone here,” the man say, holding Virgil’s phone in his hands like a peace offering.

Virgil slowly comes forward and grabs his phone out of the hands of the stranger. He inspects it quickly. The case is a bit damaged, and one corner is chipped off, but nothing too bad. He looks up to the stranger again.

“Gotta say, you got good taste. I love Heathers!” the stranger says, grinning wide.

Virgil finds himself grinning back. This man helped him after he almost got kidnapped, he thinks. Guess he deserves some trust.

“And…” Virgil scrapes his throat. God, it sounds like he has swallowed a bunch of sand.

“And who are you supposed to be then? Chandler?”

“Neh, I picture myself more as McNamara. And what about you JD?”

Virgil chuckles. “Yeah, sure,”

The man reaches out a hand.

“Wanna get up? The pavement isn’t exactly that comfortable,”

Virgil grabs the hand gratefully, and the stranger hoists them both up.

“Roman Kingston by the way. Nice to meet you,”

“Virgil…” Virgil hesitates. What was his last name, now that his parents kicked him out? Roman apparently doesn’t seem to mind.

“Nice to meet you Virgil! Now, what did those boys want from you? You know them?” Roman asks, worry in his voice.

“Never seen them before today. I moved in today anyway,” He says. He doesn’t really feel like talking about what else they said. Besides, no need to explain his problems to Roman if he didn’t hear about him.

“Ah, another brave soul looking into the unknown. I moved in just last week. I was tasked with renovating the theater,” Roman says, and Virgil snickers because of his dramatics. Is this guy for real?

“Now do you have someone looking over you here or…”

“Virgil!”

Patton comes running from the pizzeria, pizza boxes slinging around in a tin plastic bag.

“Virgil, god kiddo I was worried when I didn’t see you outside the pizza place. You alright?”

Virgil nods. “yeah Patton, no problem. Roman helped me,”

Patton finally seems to notice Roman, who in his turn holds out a hand for Patton to shake.

“Roman Kingston, nice to meet you mister. I was just wondering where his parents could be,”

“No mister please. Just Patton. And I am not his father, just his uncle,” Patton says shyly.

“You seem like a cool uncle, Patton. Now I don’t know exactly what happened, but these two boys dragged him away, saying something about teaching him how to be a girl?” Roman says. Well, so far for Roman not knowing Virgil thought. Patton looked at Virgil worriedly, but Virgil only nodded.

“I scared those assholes away, but do you know if there is any reason they might have come after Virgil?”

Patton wants to speak up, but Virgil is quicker.

“I’m trans, and they couldn’t understand that I am a boy,”

Roman looks up to Virgil, surprised, but then his eyes fills with rage and sorrow. Virgil is afraid Roman is about to smash something to pieces, but he just takes a deep breath and focuses on Virgil again.

“I’m sorry. But please let me tell you that you are such a brave knight! Fighting for his own kingdom!”

Virgil snickers again. Apparently this guy is indeed for real. Patton is also doing his best to stifle a laugh.

“Now, I have to go, but please feel welcome to drop by the theater any time! I can use some god manpower because that place is a mess,” Roman says. Patton shakes up.

“Oh so you bought the old theater! I am so glad that it is in good hands. There were some rumors going around that it would be broken down,” He says to Roman

“I would never destroy a place of the arts. Now, it was nice meeting you! Hope to see you!” Roman says while walking away.

Patton stays silent for a few moments, but then he hears a small snicker from besides him. Virgil is doing his absolute best to contain his laughter, but is failing miserably. Just when he is starting to calm down, he looks the way Roman just walked away and whispered something.

“Sure, Princey,”

The laughter starts all over again.

#alone together au #sanders sides fic #sanders sides #Virgil Sanders #patton sanders #roman sanders #trans!virgil #thomas sanders #cassie can write #tw: transphobia #tw: harrasment #tw: panic attack #tw: food

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tellywoodtrash · 5 years

Text

Weekends are for watching truly trashy TV...

... (as opposed to irony-watching semi-trash) so this week I decided to forego my newest addiction Divya Drishti to binge the new AltBalaji show BOSS: Baap of Special Services.

[crowd yelling: “... But TT you’re always going on about not caring for KSG! You’re adamant about it and battle anon wank on the topic! How could you possibly......?????”]

Well kids, all I can say is don’t try to put me in a box. For all my highfalutin media snobbery, there’s also that side of me which has watched KRK’s Deshdrohi multiple times. (Only to discover that one of my college-mates was an extra in the songs. True story, mummy kasam.) I honest-to-god have a favt. movie featuring Sonu Nigam as an "actor". No, not the cult classic Jaani Dushman, but the equally noteworthy Love In Nepal. Which I have also seen multiple times, because the amount of cheap kicks I get from Sonu's ridiculous hamming is indescribable. Anyway, I’m trash for the professional-couple-with-opposing-personalities trope (especially in the field of law enforcement), and was majorly missing B99 (HOW LONG TILL THE NEXT SEASON GODDAMNIT?????)/Krishna Arjun (WHY WON’T YOU JUST PUT IT UP ALREADY, HOTSTAR?????????) so I decided to scratch the itch with this. (Also this blasted weather has brought an influx of mutant mosquitoes into my house, so watching this was also an attempt to keep my mind off those literal itches. I'm not an NRI anymore, but my body hasn't gotten the memo yet and continues to overreact to every bug bite.)

Plot:

It was pretty much what I expected from the trailer; a middling crime/mystery series with occasional moments of the mildest intrigue. It has a ‘case of the episode’ format, with each resolution sorta feeding into the larger mystery driving the plot. The smaller cases are completely unremarkable; always a murder (I used to think Shimla was a chill place with relatively low crime rates? Apparently not; in this show's universe the murdering is so bad, a whole special task force has to be formed - with like, national-level shooting champions and imported super-cops from other states.) The bigger mystery is the only compelling part of the show, keeping me invested to watch till the end. I wouldn't say it had a completely satisfying wrap-up (a too-tidily ghusaaya hua culprit and motive in the end; not to mention loose ends that just went nowhere. For eg. they introduce - never show - a character that the lead has been obsessing about for months now and goes to great lengths to track down, only to be casually told that he died a few months ago. And like...... nothing. We just move on, zero frustration.) but at least it brought like 2.67% complexity to the main lead beyond “Satyromanic Sherlock”.

A more appropriate name for the show would have been BOSH: Baap of Sexual Harassment, coz KSG's character spends most of his screentime leering at the nearest adult woman and propositioning her with the most unimaginatively sexist innuendo. Said woman (other than our stern female lead, of course) is so bowled over that she’s immediately willing to get it on with him on closest stable surface that can support the weight of 2 people. Each episode has on an average of 2-3 utterly tacky and tasteless sex scenes which I promptly forwarded the fuck through. Everyone knows I'm a tharki of the first order, so you can guess just how distasteful they were to get ME to do that. (Does KSG have some kinda clause in his non primetime-TV contracts that he must be given scenes to paw at a woman in the most unattractive manner?) The reaction to all this nonsense is always smirky admiration from the other men, and disgust from female lead. Except for when he puts the moves on her in later eps; then she reacts with coy exasperation. I cannot (yet somehow also can - because we truly do live in the darkest timeline) believe something like this got made and released in the #MeToo era? Forget #MeToo, the leads more than once wake up with the people in bed next to them murdered, and it has like zero legal repercussions beyond a withering glare, so THAT's the kinda universe we're operating in.

Cast:

KSG‘s made 'charming haraami with/without heart of gold’ his go-to role over the years now, so this is right in his wheelhouse. I've seen him give a waaaay more compelling performance in QH so eh... Can't say I was too impressed with him here. This was just Law Enforcement Armaan. An errant man-child doing whatever the fuck he wants and getting by in life thanks to conventional attractiveness. His facial hair situation is also very distracting; the continuity lapses rivaling Iqra Aziz's hair in SC2.

I haven't watched Sagarika Ghatge in anything other than Chak De, so I'm genuinely wondering: is she capable of anything other than ‘sullen girl who's constantly making an annoyed/perplexed face’? Her face occasionally relaxes into a wry smirk, but other than that, she could be Captain Holt's Desi Spirit Daughter. I couldn't quite tell if it's the stereotypical role of ‘female cop who has to be a strict stickler to be taken seriously in a male-dominated profession’, or if she just doesn't have the range. Maybe it's both? It’s probably both.

Gaurav Gera shows up as a sidekick to KSG - some kinda "hacker" who regularly comes to school the police's cyber-crime head - because she's a woman, how could she possibly be the authority on tech stuff? Anything that keeps him from making more of those dumb "shopkeeper" vids is a good thing in my book, I guess. Sagarika's character has two sidekicks - who contribute nothing to the investigation part, they just serve as muscle who chase the fleeing suspects and haul them into the police van. Ayaz Khan toh I suspect just took the role to get to hang out with best bro KSG in Shimla for a few days, coz his character is an undistinctive personality-less blob. The sidekick cop who's not Ayaz (aforementioned shooting champion) looked super familiar; it took me like 3 episodes to realize it's the dude who plays Komolika's deranged brother in KZK these days. The insta clips of him constantly attacking one Sharma sister or another is where I knew him from. He plays his character with some bright-eyed earnestness and is mostly tolerable, if completely forgettable.

Minor bright spot(s): Mishal Raheja as a grey character! Now there's the charming haraami I'd want to watch a whole show about! Also Daljiet Kaur in a tiny but important role; kind of a chilling AU version of Anjali from IPK, if she didn't have Arnav in her life to balance out her constantly-teteering-on-the-brink waala mental instability.

Overall Impression:

Lol, I can't recommend it or anything, but if you miss watching the OG 1990s/2000s-era episodes of CID, but with a 400% more cringeyass sexual situations straight out of soft porn, I guess you can go for it? Pretty sure it's no more a waste of time than the newest Bhai movie that's released on Prime.

#boss: baap of special services #tt reviews

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cinnaminsvga · 6 years

Text

Zemblanity | Jimin (M)

→ summary:

“I’ll write a song for you, Park Jimin,” you say, unaware of the weight of your promises slowly finding its way around your neck.

”Pinky swear?”

The noose tightens. “I swear on my life.”

→ genre: fan!jimin, idol!reader, horror/thriller, angst, smut || part of this collab!! → warnings: major character death, non-graphic descriptions of rape and sexual harassment, psychological + physical torture, physical violence, and obsessive behavior → words: 11.8K → a/n: this physically hurt to write, mostly because i was drunk 99% of the time. also a lot of triggering material in this, so be warned. and i’m sorry jimin for always making you the bad guy... some day, i’ll write a soft fic for you. (special thanks to @seokkbuns for supporting me the whole way... love you)

Sometimes you wished the universe would congratulate you for being a decent human being. Sure, that would defeat the purpose of giving awards in the first place, but can you really help that you wanted to be recognized for your mediocrity, occasionally? Maybe a little ribbon for opening the door for a stranger, or perhaps a coupon from Mcdonalds for not parking in the handicap spot. You weren’t asking for a lot.

Hell, where the fuck was your Nobel Peace Prize for not absolutely decimating your annoying, hoity-toity, bitchass, toe-sucking CEO? If you could somehow convert the anger slowly seeping its way through your veins into renewable energy, you could probably power the entirety city of Seoul at this point.

“Y/N. How difficult can it be to produce one fucking album?” President Kim Namjoon groans, gesticulating at the air madly like the buffoon that he is. All he needs is a banana and unicycle, and his Harambe cosplay would be complete.The ridiculous mental image hardly calms you down, dumbfounded by the absolute audacity of his question.

“Are you seriously asking me that question, or are you just pretending to be an idiot to make me angry?” You seethe, teeth gnashing in a way that would probably make your dentist cringe. Namjoon is not fazed by your reaction. Instead, he reaches into his desk drawers and pulls out a thin stack of papers. You can’t see any of the text, but you have a good idea as to what it was about.

“This is a compilation of news reports written about you and Serendipity over the past year,” he emphasizes, slamming a page filled with graphs and jargon whose meaning escape you. He jabs a finger at one of the angry red graphs, and you can see that he was pointing at what appears to be a significant drop. “As you can see, there haven’t been many reports, if at all.”

“So? That’s what happens when an idol group is waiting for their next comeback.” You shrug your shoulders, kicking a leg up onto his table just to piss him off. Namjoon is quick to stab your ankle with a pencil in retaliation, causing you to pull back with a yelp. “Yo, what the fuck! That hurt!” You exclaim, rubbing the reddening spot sullenly.

“It’s like you’re purposefully being difficult, Y/N.”

“So you’ve noticed?”

Namjoon heaves a sigh, and you speculate that it might have been his thirtieth one within the past hour. A tense silence befalls the two of you, and you watch as the older man rubs his temples in frustration. You can’t help but notice the age lines beginning to form on his forehead, and do your eyes deceive you? Were those wrinkles under his eyes?

“You’re getting old, chief,” you comment, grabbing one of Namjoon’s numerous pencils to poke the lines away. He swats at you tiredly, but it is clear that he knows it is useless scolding you. If getting mad at you would produce results, you would’ve bended to his will ages ago. As it is, the man looks ready to drop dead in his seat. He slumps over his desk, eyes closing in meditation.

“No thanks to you, I assure you,” he mumbles back, voice muffled from his table. “Why can’t you just be like Hoseok? He writes music like it’s his only drug.”

“That’s because that kid is literally always on drugs, chief.” You snort, crossing your arms. “And at least the drugs help him with inspiration. Me? I’ve been stuck in a ditch since January. You know this, Joon.”

“I know. It doesn’t make it any less frustrating. What happened, Y/N? I’ve given you almost everything you could ask for.” Namjoon says, lifting his head up to stare back at you. He appears as dejected as you feel. “Why isn’t that big head of yours making music like it used to?”

“You haven’t given me everything I could ask for.”

“What else do you need? You have the studio, the resources, the funding…”

“Time. You haven’t given me enough time.”

Namjoon sighs his thirty-first sigh. “That’s simply a request that even I cannot grant, Y/N. You and I both know that this industry… it moves quicker than any of us would like. Soon enough, people will forget your name. Your members will be left in the dust. Do you want that, Y/N? Are you willing to succumb to your writer’s block in exchange for your members’ livelihoods?”

The two of you already knew the answer to that. You could only glare back at him, irritated that he had used the only weakness you had, the only people you were willing to risk a limb for.

He smiles sadly back at you. “Three months, Y/N. We need an album by December, or else your group is gone. I don’t want you to fail, believe me.”

Oh, I believe you, you think bitterly to yourself, slamming the door to his office with more force than necessary. Of course the bastard doesn’t want you to fail. Other than Hoseok’s group, Serendipity was the only other money-making group in the company. Rookie group after rookie group have debuted in the past, but none of them have stuck out to the public. They were all waiting for you to come back, whenever that may be.

“Maybe I should just go solo,” you whisper wistfully to yourself, but the image of your three other members staring at you in betrayal is the only thing holding you back.

It would have been easy, too. As the main vocalist in the group, you could potentially survive if your group were to disband. With numerous songwriting and producing credits under your belt, you could definitely stay afloat for another year or so.

These thoughts have been burdening your mind for months now, but you have tried your best to hide this from your members. Perhaps the stress of speaking with Namjoon is what allowed your walls to crumble, making your internal conflict clear as day on your face. Contrary to how you had acted in front of your superior, you actually did feel the strain of your hiatus. Your members were itching to return to the limelight, especially since all of them lived and breathed performance. You hated going home everyday, their eyes sparkling with hope for news of a comeback, only for it to fizzle out as quickly as it had come.

With all this mind, you suppose you shouldn’t have been all that surprised when you arrive back in your dorm that afternoon, your three sisters are sitting forlornly in the living room, waiting for you to arrive.

“What’s with the impromptu meeting? Did Sooyoung clog the toilet again?” You try to joke, but there is no sign of mirth in the eldest’s eyes. Sooyoung clearly means business if she can’t even bother cracking a smile; the kind leader has never looked so dark.

“Y/N. We need to talk,” Sooyoung says. The two younger girls nod in tandem, their head bobbing like pendulums on a taut string. You feel sweat beginning to form on your palms.

“I know what you guys are want to say and I get it. We all want a comeback. Do you think I don’t want to return to the stage? To perform in front of thousands of fans?” You can’t help yourself for immediately going into defensive mode. It feels like you were being cornered by a pack of hyenas, as you were certain they had gathered here to gang up on you. Your worst fears are getting realized, and the thought of going solo passes your mind for the second time that day.

“You sure aren’t acting like it,” Hana murmurs, but the maknae stomps on her feet to silence her. Hana yelps in shock, pouting sulkily.

“Shut up, Hana,” Gowon warns, her normally bright face marred with a deep frown. She turns to you, smiling apologetically. “Sorry, Y/N… She didn’t mean it.”

You snort. “Yeah? If she didn’t mean it, then why the hell are you all sitting here just waiting to attack me?”

“We’re not here to attack you, Y/N. Stop overreacting,” Hana says, rolling her eyes. She yelps again, rubbing her arm petulantly where she had been slapped, but Gowon’s face is an indomitable fortress. For once, you wonder what your maknae would do if she were truly pissed off.

“Y/N, we just wanted to ask if you needed any… help?” Sooyoung tries, brows furrowed in concentration. It is obvious that she is choosing her words slowly, as if she is afraid to startle you off like a deer. “Like, I know none of us are even half as good at producing like you, but if you need someone to take the wheel instead…”

“No, that won’t be necessary,” you say, voice edged with ice. You had not meant to say that as coldly as you did, but you couldn’t help that the stress was talking for you. Hana’s face goes dark in an instant.

“Oh? Does little miss producer have her shit together? Because at the very least, you’d think you would have some work to show for it,” she mocks, irises dancing with flames. Gowon tries to get her to shut up, but the elder seems to have a lot more to say.

“You think we don’t know what you do in that studio of yours? Sooyoung-unnie looked through your hard drive and found hundreds of unfinished samples. Hundreds! If you’re so good at your damn job, then I don’t see why you can’t finish even one of your stupid––”

Before you realize it, your palm is stinging with heat as the two other girls stare in shock at Hana’s reddening cheek. Hana stares at you too, mouth opening in shock rather than in pain. You raise your hands up in surrender, appalled by your own actions. The silence is a blanket, suffocating the air out of your lungs as the two of you are locked in a heavy stalemate. Then, she scoffs.

“Oh, is that all you got? Not even an excuse? If you can’t even defend yourself, I don’t even know why I’m bothering to listen,” she says, standing up to leave. Gowon tries to tug her back down, but she swats the younger’s hand away. “Sorry Gowonnie. I know you care a lot for Y/N, but I can’t care for someone who doesn’t even care for us,” she hisses. The slam of her bedroom door reverberates across the dorm, rattling your bones.

With Hana gone, Sooyoung sighs deeply, rubbing her temples not unlike the way Namjoon had done earlier that day. You hate yourself for not noticing the deeper lines forming across her forehead, too.

“Y/N. We know that you are very proud of your work, and that you’re trying your best. We really do. But it wouldn’t hurt if you could at least… be transparent with us.”

You snort, disbelief coloring your face at Sooyoung’s audacity. “I can’t believe you can say that with a straight face after you looked through my stuff without permission.”

Sooyoung has the decency to look guilty. “I’m sorry, Y/N. You left your studio door open once and well… I was just curious, you know? You never talk about your music process with us, and the girls and I were wondering if you actually… still cared.”

The sadness in her voice quickly dispels any dredges of anger still left in your body. Sighing in defeat, you haphazardly throw your tired body where Hana had been sitting. With the cool leather of the couch enveloping you in a hug, it is only then that you notice how incredibly weary you felt.

“I know. I’m sorry, I really am,” you murmur, closing your eyes so you don’t have to see their disappointed faces. You can feel Sooyoung’s soft hands carding themselves through your hair. “I just… I’m trying so hard to make an album for you guys but it’s just so difficult because I have to think about charting on Billboard and adjusting beats to the choreographies…”

“We understand, unnie.” Gowon says softly, patting your knee. “And believe me, it’s all thanks to you that we were able to win seven times during our last comeback. We don’t always have to beat our last record, you know? I’m sure the fans will love anything you put out.”

“I know,” you sniffle, allowing a few tears to escape. The same gentle hands leave your hair to wipe them away. “But I still don’t wanna disappoint you all…”

“You won’t, Y/N. We’re all very proud of you,” Sooyoung says, wrapping her arms around you. Gowon joins soon after, and you feel guilty for allowing yourself to believe them. You don’t deserve their patience––not after all the grief you had inadvertently put them through.

“I doubt Hana feels the same way,” you laugh, but it comes out sounding more like a creaky door more than anything.

Gowon pinches your cheek lightly. “Ah, she’ll get around. You know how she gets when things don’t go her way. I’d say we were all itching to slap her once or twice in our life.”

The three of you laugh, only feeling slightly bad for bad-mouthing the poor girl. As grumpy as the younger girl might be, all of you still love her despite her faults.

“Y/N-unnie? I have a suggestion, actually.” Gowon says, once the laughter had died down. You hum, raising your eyebrow at her.

“Yeah? Do you want to help me write some songs?”

Gowon shakes her head, waving her hands in embarrassment. “No! Well, I do, but that’s not what I wanted to suggest,” she says, rubbing her neck nervously. You squint at her, curious as to what has gotten the younger feeling too anxious to say.

“Do you think that maybe… a vacation might do you well?” she says, almost too quietly. You think you must have misheard her, and judging by the way she pouts back at you, the confusion must have been visible on your face.

“I said, you need a vacation, unnie. A real one, and not one that will get filmed for a reality show or something,” she repeats, firmer this time. From the corner of your eye, you can see Sooyoung nodding in agreement.

“That’s a great idea, Gowon. Y/N, I think you need a little break from all the stress. Perhaps you can get inspiration during your time away from work,” Sooyoung adds. You turn to face the eldest, eyebrows reaching your hairline at the fact that she was even agreeing to such a terrible idea.

“It’s not a terrible idea, for your information,” Gowon huffs, seemingly having read your mind. “Out of all of us, I think you deserve to relax and learn how to have fun.”

You splutter indignantly, somewhat offended at Gowon’s frank admission. “I know how to have fun! I bought a rice cooker last week with a coupon from the newspaper. I saved $20!”

“Oh my God,” Sooyoung laughs, shoulders shaking with mirth. “How the fuck are you younger than me, ahjumma?”

“This is what I’m saying,” Gowon deadpans, flicking your forehead. You yelp, rubbing the area with a pout. What is it with this girl and doing bodily harm on her members? “When I mean fun, I meant regular, young adult stuff. Shit like…”

“Going to karaoke! Watching movies! Travelling! Spa treatments! Reading books!” Sooyoung lists, bouncing up and down in her seat. If you hadn’t known better, it is as if Sooyoung was planning her own vacation instead.

“Maybe sex?” Gowon adds, and that earns a strangled cough from you.

“Gowon!” You yell, slapping the giggling maknae in the back. “Who told you about the s word?”

“Learned from the best,” she says coyly, earning another slap from you. “Ouch! Okay, I’m joking. But I have to admit, Sooyoung-unnie has some good ideas. Maybe you should travel or go back home?”

“If the company will even let me,” you say, rolling your eyes. “Do you really think Namjoon-ssi will let me leave when he basically gave me only three months to produce an album? I don’t think so.”

“I’ll make him agree,” Gowon says ominously.

“You’ll make him agree,” you repeat.

“Yup,” she says, a mysterious smile on her lips. “So, since you’re agreeing to my proposal––”

“Who says I’m going?” you interject, but Sooyoung slaps a hand over your mouth, silencing you.

“Hush! I have an idea. You see, one of my old high school classmates owns a spa resort up in the mountains near Busan. It’s super remote, so you don’t even have to worry about being recognized by anyone.” She prattles on, already whipping out her phone to text who knows what. Her fingers are flying at the speed of light, and you try your best to snatch it out of her hands.

When you try to grab it, Gowon holds your arms behind your back, effectively imprisoning you. She points a shit-eating grin at you. “Nu-uh, Y/N. You’re going to relax, even if it fucking kills you. So let Sooyoung and I handle everything, okay? We’ll get Namjoon’s approval tomorrow, and you’ll be off to Busan by the weekend. Sound good?”

No, it did not sound good at all. You have been an idol for five years now, plus your three years working as a trainee. You hardly remember what it felt like to not work, and you can only imagine how bored you’ll be once you get there.

Before you know it, Sooyoung finishes speaking with her classmate, booking a room for three nights. Gowon claps excitedly, already planning to pack for you to lessen your burden. You smile wryly at the two of them because you can’t help but be endeared by their pure enthusiasm.

You go to your room that night, wanting to believe Gowon’s words. Maybe she’s right; all you need is a vacation. When your eyes finally close and your breathing has steadied, you go to sleep believing that everything might turn out okay.

––♡♡♡––

It does not turn out okay, unsurprisingly.

Like Sooyoung had mentioned, the spa is remote, far away from any semblance of city life. It sits halfway up the mountain, where it is said to have the nicest hot spring baths in the country. There is a small town at the bottom of the mountain, which is where the taxi had dropped you off. When you ask him why he can’t drive you all the way to the resort, he shakes his head apologetically.

“Sorry, miss. The roads up to Blue Springs Resort are pretty narrow and I can’t risk going up there at this time of night. You could probably ask one of the locals here to drive you up. Good luck!” He bids you goodbye cheerily, snatching your payment out of your hands and driving off without another word. You stand at the edge of the road, mouth agape at his brazen desertion.

“Fuck me, I guess,” you groan, taking your phone out to try and dial for help. Of course, the reception is horrendous, and you suppress your screams at this terrible turn of events.

“This is all Sooyoung’s fault,” you mutter darkly, dragging your suitcase into the dark town to look for help. It is only 7pm, but it seems like the townsfolk have decided to hit the hay for the night. The shop windows and houses that you pass are all dark, and your dying phone can barely light the way as you try to find any sign of human life that might help you find a place to stay.

After thirty minutes of searching, you are two seconds away from just breaking and entering into some poor bastard’s house when a young man exits his house. He stares at you, with your sweat matted hair and scuffed luggage, and you have half the mind to wonder if there were any traces of ketchup on your lips, leftover from the hotdog you had eaten on the way there.

“Hi,” you greet. You raise your hand hesitantly.

He raises his own, incredibly confused. “Uh. Hi?”

“Sorry, I know I look really weird and all, but I was wondering if you could help me find a way to Blue Springs Resort? The taxi I took pretty much left me on the side of the road, and I don’t have anywhere else to stay,” you finish, teeth chattering from the cold. The man’s eyes soften, and he approaches you.

“Oh, that happens sometimes. The resort usually has a shuttle come through here, but I guess it’s too late to call them now,” he explains, “I could drive you there, if you want? I was going to head to the city, so I could drop you off first before heading out.”

You can hardly believe your ears, unsure whether you could trust this man’s goodness or not. “Are you sure? I’m not bothering you, am I? Also, not to look a gift horse in the mouth, but I don’t really feel safe going inside a stranger’s car.”

The man laughs, shaking his head. “Nah, I get you. If it makes you feel any better, I actually work at this town’s local police station. I can show you my badge in my car, if you want,” he says, rubbing his neck shyly. “My name is Jungkook, by the way. Officer Jungkook, usually, but I’m off duty so feel free to drop the title.”

You grin, charmed by his little awkward mannerisms. “Nice to meet you, Jungkook. I’m Y/N.”

To your relief, his expression doesn’t change at the sound of your name, but you had already figured that he didn’t recognized you from the moment you met. It isn’t like you expected everyone in South Korea to know who you or your band was, but it never hurt to be cautious. You loved your fans, but you never knew what type of things they could do to you.

The two of you jump into his car after he kindly pops his trunk open and takes your luggage from you. He lets you take control of the radio, and the soft sound of some American ballad fills the car as the two of you ride into the night. The drive is silent, save for the music and your occasional humming. True to his word, a police radio and badge are sitting idly on his console, and you half expect it to come to life with news of some incident or whatnot.

Jungkook notices your curious gaze, and he grins at you. “Don’t worry, Y/N. I’m off duty, so I doubt I’ll be getting any calls. Besides, hardly anything happens in this sleepy town, so I’d be surprised if that radio would light up, even when I’m on patrol.”

“Not to be offensive, but doesn’t it get boring around these parts? With nothing happening?” you ask, lightly fingering the radio and badge in fascination.

Jungkook shrugs his shoulders. “Boring is safe, I suppose. That’s what my chief always says. Besides, it isn’t entirely quiet. There are always reports of crashes around the mountains because the roads are so difficult to maneuver. Speaking of…” he trails off, his driving growing increasingly slow as the path begins to grow narrow. “Gotta be careful. The mayor has been working to get railways around these roads, but funding it pretty tight. It’s particularly dangerous at night.”

You watch, tense as his grip grows tighter on the wheel. You are starting to get worried that Jungkook might accelerate off the cliff, but he manages to offer you a shaky smile in assurance. “Don’t worry, miss. I’m a good driver, and I’m used to these parts. Just gotta make it past this one particularly nasty turn and––”

He goes silent, brow furrowed in concentration as you arrive at the aforementioned turn. He slows the car to a crawl, inching his way around the sharp edge when the radio suddenly switches the song from a love ballad to an energetic pop song. The sudden noise startles Jungkook, and he jams his foot straight down on the pedal.

You scream, clutching your seatbelt as the car revs forward and for a brief moment––you are flying. Your stomach flies to your throat as you feel nothing but weightlessness, and you think you can hear Jungkook cursing obscenities as he tries to pull the break but––nothing.

The car drops, crashing like a tin can against a large tree. Pain blooms all across your body, and you want nothing more than to scream, but no sound would come out. In the edges of your consciousness, you can still hear the radio playing, the sound of your own sweet melodious voice being the last thing you remember before your world fades to black.

––♡♡♡––

Everything hurts. Scratch that––it feels like there were broken shards of glass that had a physical vendetta against your vital organs inside of you. You swear that there are weights attached to your eyelids, and it feels like hours until you can finally get them to open.

The first thing you notice is that it’s bright. The room (“A bedroom,” you murmur, noticing the bedside table and closet near the door. There is an electronic keyboard gathering dust in the corner too.) is filled with sunlight, the small window on your right devoid of any curtains. The sheets smell like lavender, and there are at least two pillows underneath your head. When you try to move, your body screams in protest as a sharp pain throbs somewhere on your torso.

Craning your neck, you gingerly peel the blanket off your body, and even then the effort is too much. When you successfully pull everything off, you are bombarded with the sight of bandages everywhere. You look like those discount mummy costumes, the ones that no one bought and are always sold for a third of its original price. You must have jostled one of your wounds while you were shifting, and you watch with morbid fascination as red starts to bloom across your stomach.

You think you are going to be sick.

Panic surges through your bones and you feel the desperate urge to get out of bed––for what reason, you do not know. It isn’t like you could go anywhere in your condition, but you just needed to do something. You don’t know where you are, or what happened, or even what day it is. You need to get out of here––

Suddenly, the door opens, and a man with blonde hair and droopy eyes enters with a cup of tea in hand. He yelps in surprise when he sees you, one leg already off the bed as you were still in the middle of your panic-induced escape. He rushes towards you, and gently pushes you back onto the bed.

“Hey, hey… Relax. You’re going to hurt yourself if you move too much,” he says, his tone soft and calming. Your heartbeat refuses to relax, and you must have looked crazed to the young man. He places the cup of tea by the table, and firmly tucks the blanket back over your body.

“Oh damn. I think your stitches might have opened… I’ll have to clean that up later,” he murmurs. He reaches behind you to fluff up your pillows, and you catch a whiff of his lavender body soap. He sits by your side, a worried look marring his soft features. He places a hand on your head and asks, “Y/N, does your head hurt? I’m not all that good with head injuries, so I’m not sure if I bandaged it correctly… I tried researching techniques, but I’m worried I didn’t do it right…”

His words feel like cotton in your ears, but you manage to catch the first part of his sentence. “Wait, how do you know my name?” You ask, voice sounding hoarse after hours (days?) of misuse. The man notices, and offers you his cup of tea. You try to wrap your hands around it, but even your fingers are wrapped in bandages. You notice there is a splint on your index finger, and you let out a sob at the sight. How would you be able to play the piano now?

Pitying you, Jimin brings the cup to your lips and lets you drink. The tea scalds your tongue, but your sandpaper throat accepts it with open arms. He places the empty cup by the table before answering your question. “My name is Jimin. I’m the owner of Blue Spring Resorts. I was a friend of Sooyoung back in high school.”

At the mention of Sooyoung and the resort, memories of the previous night floods your mind. You remember how the car had driven off the side of the road, the feeling of weightlessness and dread filling you like poison. You remember the sound of music playing as you slipped in and out of consciousness. You remember––

“Jungkook,” you say, gripping the man’s arm with frightening strength. He holds your hand, alarmed. “Jungkook,” you repeat, tears welling in your eyes. “Where?”

“Jungkook? Who’s Jungkook?” Jimin asks, patting your hand in an attempt to calm you. You push his hand away, and shake his arm more urgently.

“He––he was in the car, with me. He was the one driving me to this resort when he accidentally drove off the cliff. He––where is he?” You stutter, words flying out of your mouth quicker than you can process. Luckily, Jimin seems to understand the gist of your babbling.

“I’m sorry, Y/N. When I found you on the side of the cliff, I only saw your body under the mangled car. I didn’t bother checking further, because I was more concerned with getting you back to safety,” he explains, tears springing in his eyes from guilt. Your heart drops. “I’m so sorry. I just wanted to get you out of there.”

Tears flow freely down your cheeks as you sob, a loud wail escaping you as you think about the sweet police officer who was probably dead on the side of the road. Jimin wraps an arm around you, rubbing your shoulder as you choked on your sins.

“I––I can go check again later. I was meaning to head back to town to shuttle some more customers to the resort until I saw your car…” he says, lips pursing. “I can also go back to salvage whatever I can…” he offers, and you nod sadly, already weary despite having just woken up.

He gazes at you sadly, unfurling your fingers off of his arm and putting them back onto your lap. He does not berate you for the small nail marks you had left against his honey skin. “Go to sleep, Y/N. I'll be back by nightfall. Get some rest."

Soon after he had made sure your blankets and pillows are at their optimal position, you fall into a fitful sleep, your heart feeling heavier than it did before.

––♡♡♡––

Just as he had promised, he returns later that night. You had awakened when you heard the faint sound of a door slamming shut, the anxiety starting to build until Jimin's fluffy blonde head peaks out from behind the bedroom door.

He smiles apologetically, clicking the door shut as he enters the room quietly. "Sorry, did my arrival awaken you?" he says, sitting beside your form. He notices your breathing relax at his proximity, and the grin spreads like wildfire on his face.

"It's fine. I was going to wake up soon, anyway," you say, voice still warbled with grogginess. He smiles, patting your knee before standing up once more.

"I'm gonna get you some water and food," he says when he notices your curious gaze. "Also, I passed by the wreckage again, and..." he trails off, sounding worried for your reaction. You steel yourself, and you try your best to look like you weren't about to burst into tears at any moment.

"There wasn't anyone there," he says, finally. You freeze, confused by his admission.

"What?"

"It's true," he says, shrugging his shoulders. "I tried looking everywhere, even around the vicinity of the crash. All I found was the car and your things."

You deflate at the news, but you can't help the remaining dredges of hope beginning to resurrect in your heart. Maybe he had escaped and had run off to get help, or at least you wished.

"Did you try contacting the police? Jungkook mentioned that he was part of the police force."

An odd look flashes across his face, but it leaves before you can decipher it. He coughs awkwardly, rubbing his nose. "Uh, yes. I contacted the police about the crash a few days ago, and they said they would be focusing on looking for that Jungkook fella. For now, I'll take care of you until you can safely return to town."

If his reasoning sounds odd, you don't question it. You are too busy grieving Jungkook that you can barely think for yourself. Jimin rubs your shoulder, before turning to leave and fetch your belongings.

When he returns, he brings the remains of what was once your black suitcase. He places them by your side, riffling through the things he salvaged from the wreckage. "I tried taking some of your clothes and toiletries, but I'm afraid your laptop was crushed completely," he says, placing your folded clothes beside you. When he takes out the ruined laptop in question, and you gaze at it with empty acceptance.

It isn't the end of the world, you suppose. You saved most of your photos and music online and in your work computer, so all is not lost. To your surprise, however, Jimin pulls out another small black object from his bag and hands it to you.

"My hard drive survived?" You stare at it in wonder, turning it over in your hands delicately. You ignored the pain in your fingers as you clutch the small object to your chest, tear ducts starting to burn. You give Jimin a grateful look. "Thank you for everything," you whisper.

Jimin's cheeks turn a brilliant shade of pink, eyes downturned in sudden embarrassment. "I-it's no big deal," he stammers, twiddling his thumbs. You chuckle, pinching his cheeks endearingly.

"No, really. You did so much for me when I've done nothing to deserve it. You even bandaged me up, which I have no idea how you managed, by the way."

Somehow, Jimin's cheeks darken even further. The color spreads like wildfire, inking the delicate skin of his neck and ears. "I, um... About that..." He coughs awkwardly, looking anywhere but at you. You raise your eyebrows in question.

"Yeah? You didn't do anything weird right? I'm not gonna get out of here with an extra foot, am I?" You joke, and it seems to have made Jimin loosen up slightly.

He shakes his head, a small grin on his lips. "No, of course not. But I did have to undress you, and uh..." He trails off once more, unable to finish his sentence. You feel blood start to rush to your face as well, but you try your best to seem unfazed by his confession. Clearing your throat, you pat his shoulder as nonchalantly as you can.

"I would hope so. Bandages wouldn't exactly work if I had clothes underneath them, wouldn't you say?" You quip, and your ears are blessed with the pleasant sound of his tinkling laughter. You feel your breathing stop, and you wonder if it would be weird if you could ask him to do it again.

"Cute," you eventually say, which probably isn't any less embarrassing than your previous intrusive thought. The blood vessels around Jimin's face must be working on overtime right now, but you can't find it in yourself to feel bad when he looked so damn cute.

"Me? You must be mistaken... You're the cute one here," he squeaks. He must have only belatedly realize what he had said because he slaps a hand over his mouth in shock, screaming slightly muffled by his hands. "Oh my Gooood I did not just say that!"

You let out a loud laugh, the action agitating your dry throat but you can't help but do it anyway. He takes a peek at you from behind his hands, eyes wide in awe.

"Your laugh is even prettier in person," he says absentmindedly, before slapping his hand over his mouth again. "Fuck! I mean––"

"In person?" You question, peering at him inquisitively.

Jimin shrugs his shoulders, sheepish. "I'm, uh... a bit of a fan of yours, I guess? When I found out that Sooyoung had joined a girl group all those years ago, I couldn't help myself from researching you guys and I supposed you've caught me in your spell ever since," he confesses, the redness in his cheeks never fading. "You could say that you're my..."

"I'm your favorite?" You finish, smiling cheekily. He nods back, his mortification palpable. Taking pity on him, you choose not to tease him and instead ask, "Speaking of Sooyoung, do you mind lending me your phone? I want to call her to tell her I'm alright."

"Oh, there's no signal out here, unfortunately," Jimin explains, frowning. "However, I do have a landline you could use, but it's too far away... I could call her for you, if you'd like?"

"That would be great, thanks." You say, grabbing his hand gratefully. Jimin stills, allowing your bandaged fingers to caress the calluses on his palms. "I mean it when I say that, you know? I owe you my life."

Jimin swallows, hands shaking as he laces his fingers through yours. Poor kid must be nervous being with his idol, you think to yourself, impossibly endeared by this lovely boy.

His smile is as sweet as his voice. "Anything for you, Y/N."

––♡♡♡––

After that, Jimin brings you some dinner. He bashfully admits that he isn't the best cook around, and he'd normally ask one of the chefs at the resort to cook something up but they were all incredibly busy due to the influx of customers. When he spoon-feeds you some of the kimchi stew, your eyes light up from the explosion of flavor on your tongue.

"This is wonderful, Jimin!' You exclaim, mouth already opening for the next spoonful. Jimin chuckles at your enthusiasm, beaming proudly as his favorite idol sings praises over his cooking.

The two of you spend the remainder of the night getting to know each other. You ask him a myriad of questions, mostly about his job and the resort. You find out that he had inherited this place after his father had passed away, despite his initial dreams of becoming a singer. You apologize for prying, but he shakes your concern away.

"Nah, it happened years ago. It's fine," he says, his eyes crinkling from the intensity of his smile. You can't help your face from mirroring his own, despite noticing the slight sadness tinging his tone. "Besides, I love my job. I get to meet lots of interesting people like you."

"You're just saying that because you're my fan. I'm not interesting," you say, cheeks dusted with pink. Jimin shakes his head, and you're almost worried that he might dislodge his head from how violently he moves.

"No! You're amazing! All your fans and members know that you're amazingly talented. The songs you write are so incredibly deep and meaningful, and you've helped a lot of them go through some tough times––me included," he admits. You gaze sadly at him, knowing that he isn't the first one to share this with you.

"I know... But I haven't been all that good at writing these days. In fact, the only reason I came out to this resort was to get some inspiration..."

Jimin stares at you, a look of concern in his irises and something... else. When you look closer, all you see are his shiny brown eyes gazing back at you. "I'm sure you'll be fine. You're the amazing Y/N. I'm sure anything you write will be fantastic."

You doubt it, but you nod your head anyway to appease him.

"Since you said you wanted to be a singer, maybe I'll write a song for you in the future," you say, laughing lightly when he stares at you incredulously. He points at himself, as if uncertain that you were talking about the same person.

You roll your eyes. "Yes, I was talking about you, silly."

He shakes his head, disbelief coloring his face but you don't miss the way a slight blush has invaded his honey skin. "For me? But I'm a nobody. You don't even know if I can sing well."

"I think you'd be a great singer, Jimin. You've got a nice, soothing voice," you say, shameless.

"Stop teasing me," he says, pouting in such an adorable way that you can't help but continue teasing him.

"I'll write a song for you, Park Jimin," you say, unaware of the weight of your promise slowly finding its way around your neck. “I swear on my life.”

Even if you had no intention of fulfilling that promise or not, it is definitely worth seeing the way a soft smile blossoms across Jimin's cherubic features.

"By the way Y/N, I had been meaning to ask... You don't have to answer by the way, but..." he starts, hesitant to continue. Judging from his sudden shift in demeanor, you have a feeling you already know what he's going to ask, anyway.

"You're going to ask about the comeback, right?"

Jimin's face lights up immediately. "Yeah! So, it's happening soon, right? We've all been waiting since November of last year, so I was wondering..."

You shrug your shoulders noncommittally. "I guess... But like I said, I haven't been writing as well as I'd like, so I don't know how soon it'll happen but... Yeah, it's in the works."

Jimin sighs as if a weight had been lifted from his shoulders. "Thank God... I've been arguing with people on Twitter who had been making weird rumors that you guys were going to disband... I knew you guys would never do that, right?" he says, eyes sparkling with pure adoration.

You swallow down your guilt, unable to bear looking at his hopeful face. You croak, "Yeah. We would never."

Two nights pass quickly as you lay in Jimin's cabin to recover. You had learned that he had placed you in his room because it was comfier than the guest rooms, and when you had insisted to be moved, he quickly shut you down, assuring you that he was perfectly fine with letting you stay as long as you needed. You acquiesce, pouting as the young man practically babied you and attended to your every beck and call.

You know he means well, and it isn't like you were averse to the attention being showered upon you by this handsome boy. So you allow yourself to be pampered just this once; after all, you were supposed to be at a spa resort.

"Speaking of," Jimin says after he finishes feeding you your lunch. "I wanted to offer you something, if you don't mind." You hum, eyelids closing from the blissful feeling of being well-fed.

"What do you think about having a massage?"

That wakes you right back up.

"What?" You ask, gaping slightly at the young man. Jimin, who had been previously emboldened by your satiated state, is sweating bullets, astonished by his own brazenness.

He tries to backtrack. "Uh, you can say no, of course. I was just, well, since we're at a spa and such, and it just so happens that I happen to be a licensed masseur, and uh––"

"I'd love one, if you don't mind."

"And just, I mean––wait? You want one?" He splutters, plump cheeks turning pink. You tap them gently, giggling when they redden under your attention. God, you wanted so badly to kiss them and see if they were as soft under your lips as they were under your hands.

"Yeah. I mean, my company did pay for this trip, and I'm supposed to be here to relax, so I might as well take advantage of the situation," you say plainly.

Jimin nods dumbly, semi-disbelieving that you had agreed so easily. He assures you that he'll be careful, the both of you still worried about your injuries. He says that he'll pay more attention to your shoulders and upper legs, since those seem to be the only areas where you aren't severely wounded.

He turns you over gently, a continuous stream of apologies leaving his mouth every time you let out even the slightest hiss of pain. With your back fully exposed to him, he carefully peels your the night shirt off of you, and you can only imagine the way his cheeks must be reddening all the while. Thankfully, he leaves your shorts on as he goes about to preparing the materials for the massage.

"Tell me if I'm being too rough, okay?" he says, and you can hear him opening the cap of massage oil. After a few moments, you feel his steady hands start kneading soft circles into your shoulders, and a sigh escapes you before you can stop it.

Jimin chuckles lightly. "Good?"

"Wonderful," you sigh, feeling the tense knots from months of stress starting to unravel under his skilled fingers. A particularly hard press of his fingers elicits a loud moan from you, and you whimper when his fingers freeze abruptly.

"Why'd you stop?" You whined, nudging his thigh with your foot. You can't see Jimin's face, so you are unsure as to why he had stopped so suddenly.

"N-nothing," he stammers, and he continues on as if nothing had happened.

Under his care, you release a litany of moans and whimpers, unable to stop yourself from enjoying the smooth glide of his hands. In the edges of your pleasure-addled brain, you wonder what would have happened if your body hadn't been seriously injured. You can imagine how his hands would descend lower down your back and onto your hips, pressing dangerously close to your center but never quite reaching it. You squeeze your legs, hoping that Jimin doesn't notice that your moans might have started sounding a little bit more erotic than before.

As if reading your mind, Jimin pauses to clear his throat. "Uh, would you mind if I moved on to your thighs? If you don't want me to touch you there, then..."

You don't know what comes over you. His fingers have you locked under some sort of spell, so you can only whimper pathetically back in response. He takes that as a sign of approval, and the next thing you know, you feel him grabbing fistfuls of your thighs.

"Oh fuck," you moan out, your voice loud in the silence of the room. Jimin's ministrations quicken, almost as if he was trying to milk the sounds out of you. Somewhere along the way, you moan something that sounds suspiciously like "Jimin," a fact that the man greatly appreciates.

"Fuck, you're so hot," Jimin groans, his thumbs snagging onto the edges of your shorts. He tugs them down slightly, and you feel your lower regions light up like wildfire. You lift your hips imperceptibly, but it's enough for Jimin to wrench your flimsy shorts out of the way, leaving you bare for him and his hands.

Breathing heavier than before, Jimin takes a moment to calm himself. He rubs himself against the edge of the bed, biting his lip as he tries to keep his own moans at bay.

"Touch me," you whine, snaking your hand around your back and grabbing his wrist in impatience. You direct him directly to your center, the both of you gasping at the wetness already there. Jimin experimentally swipes a finger up your slit, gazing in awe as your slick mixes with the oil already on his digits.

Ever the gentleman, he asks, "Can I really...?"

You think you might be going insane from his indomitable patience. "Yes! Just fucking finger me already, Jimin," you gasp, feeling his fingers rubbing small circles around your clit. He teases you like this for a few moments, and you're about to sneak your hand down there to take care of it yourself when you hear the sound of a phone ringing from downstairs.

Jimin pauses, removing his hands from your core and leaving you feeling cold and wanting. You manage to turn your head to the side, and you see Jimin looking torn as he stares at you and the door.

"I have to..." His voices tapers off, a war waging in his warm brown eyes. "Customers, and..."

Even though you would love nothing more than for him to finish you off, you of all people understand the importance of work. "Go," you say, offering him what you hope is a comforting smile.

He gives you one last rueful look before he leaves, the sound of the door closing echoing in your skull.

"Fucking hell," you groan, your treacherous hands trailing down your body after his departure. When you reach your climax to the image of blonde hair and plump cheeks, you trick yourself into thinking your fingers were not your own.

––♡♡♡––

"I don't think I can keep staying here anymore, Jimin."

The weather has turned colder overnight, and Jimin has to reinstall the curtains back onto his bedroom window. You had been stuck in this room for a week already, with only Jimin as your only source of comfort.

You would always be grateful for the kind man's hospitality, but sitting in a room for days on end was starting to get to your head. You didn't really see yourself as the type to get cabin fever, since you were used to being cooped up in the studio for even longer periods of time. But you suppose there is a difference, since you couldn't even properly make music here with Jimin always staring down your neck at every opportunity. At the very least, your days spent here have done wonders on your stress, as it has given you the time to ponder and contemplate some of pressing your life choices.

"Oh? But you're not fully healed though," he comments dismissively, collecting the plates and utensils you had used for dinner that night. You thank him quietly, but he doesn't respond to it like he normally would. He places them by your bedside before tucking you under your blanket until only your head can be seen.

"Yeah, I know but I think I should be well enough to head back home, don't you think?"

"Maybe in a few more days," he says, refusing to look you in the eyes. When you grab his shoulder to force him to pay attention to you, his gaze is still averted to the ground.

"Jimin."

"Y/N."

"Why won't you look at me?"

Jimin finally does, and you are surprised by the amount of sadness that you find. "I'm sorry. I guess I'm just... worried? I don't want to risk taking you down this mountain and having you get injured again..."

"I won't though, right? You're used to driving down the mountain. I trust you," you say, honeying your words to try and get him to agree. It must have worked, judging from the way his shoulders droop in defeat.

"Yeah, I guess. But maybe after the weekend? It's a bit busy at the resort this week, so you'll have to wait until Monday."

Squealing at the prospect of going home, you envelop the man in a bone-crushing hug, ignoring the way your stomach protests at the sudden movement. "Thank you so much, Jimin. You don't understand how hard it's been being away from home, but I'm glad it was you who I got to spend this time with," you say.

Jimin smiles, patting your back. "Of course. Anything for you––"

"What's more, my time here has allowed me to really think about my life, you know?" You interject, prattling on as if he hadn't spoken. He furrows his brow, looking at you curiously.

"What do you mean about your life?"

"Oh, you know. I know that I said that I came here to write songs for Serendipity's comeback, but I actually came here to think about my own solo career," you say, shrugging your shoulders. You miss the way Jimin's entire body freezes as you continue on speaking. "I've been thinking about the pros and cons of what would happen if I actually did leave the band, and suffice to say I think it really would be for the best if I left the group. I was never the favorite member anyway, so I think it would be best if––"

"No."

"––I left the company and––excuse me?" You pause, finally noticing the rigid way Jimin was sitting. You stare at him, confused by his sudden change in demeanor. "What do you mean by 'no?'"

"I mean, you can't fucking just leave the band, Y/N," he snarls, standing up and beginning to pace around the room. You sit up on the bed, feeling on edge at this sudden appearance of a Jimin you had never met before.

"Of course I can. My contract is about to end in a year anyway, so it's not like the company can force me to stay––"

"What about your fucking promise then, huh? Was all of that bullshit?" Jimin roars, the volume of his voice startling you immensely.

"What promise?" You squeak when he slams a fist into the bed frame, rattling your entire mattress from the force.

He raises his hands in the air, unperturbed by the purple bruise already forming across his fist. "Of course you don't remember! It's because you were lying. You were lying to all of us."

"What the actual fuck are you talking about?"

"On your first win, don't you remember? You made a promise that Serendipity would never disband, not even when you turned 50," he says, breathing turning ragged with rage. He stalks his way towards you, and you try your best to burrow yourself under the covers.

"Well, things change okay? The Y/N from 5 years ago probably didn't know she would be neck deep in stress to the point where she thinks she's going to die, okay? I thought you, as my fan, would understand that my well-being should come first," you say, your voice growing louder as you realized the ridiculousness of this situation. Who the hell did Jimin think he was? Who gave him the right to be angry when you were only doing what was best for you? "Hell, you wanted to be singer, didn't you? You should understand better than anyone how difficult it is to always be under public scrutiny!"

The sneer on Jimin's face is feral-looking, almost murderous. "No, I don't. I don't understand."

Before you can react, he goes to slam the door shut, the sound of the lock clicking in place. The final nail on your coffin. No matter how hard you twist the knob or bang your hands against the door, no one would come. No one could hear you.

––♡♡♡––

Jimin doesn't visit your room once in over three days. That means he has stopped giving you food and water, purposefully starving you until you bend to his will. He had only slipped a small note under the door frame, detailing the conditions for nourishment.

"If you want to live, then you'll write me a song. Prove to me that you don't break your promises."

Easier said than done. Even during a life and death situation, that specific part of your brain refuses to cooperate, and you can hardly write a verse without breaking down and crying.

How pathetic. What type of producer were you, if you couldn't even safe your life by doing the only thing you were supposedly good at?

On the third day, your vision has started to grow hazy from dehydration. You have yet to resort to drinking your own urine, but you were hoping to attempt to satiate Jimin before that. With the lyrics and notes hastily scribbled on a piece of paper, you slide it under the door, waiting for your captor to judge your draft. Never has a song frightened you as much as this, and you laugh mirthlessly at how you had been worried about charting just a week prior.

You hear his footsteps approaching, and you wait with bated breath as the rustle of paper signals that he has begun to read your song. You hold your breath, the seconds feeling like decades as you wait for him to pass his judgment.

The lock clicks. The door opens.

Jimin, with his blonde hair and plump cheeks, crumples the paper in his hands without a word. He rips the paper in shreds, and you watch in horror as he grinds his foot into the sorry remains of your draft.

"Nice try, but I know this song. I listened to the songs on your hard drive all those nights ago, and I know this is a draft for a solo song," he says, grinning sadistically at the sight of your face crumpling in despair. While you are still in the midst of mourning your one chance of escape, he walks past your kneeling form, grabbing something from the bedside table.

When you look, you see the small black hard drive in his hands. He waves it at you, almost mockingly, before slamming it onto the ground––hard. He stomps on it, grinding his foot onto it just like he had done to your draft just minutes ago. You scream, jumping to save your precious hard drive from further harm––but alas. It is too late.

Bits of wire and shards of plastic are all that's left of your entire library of secret solo songs. These are the files you hadn't saved to your studio computer in fear of it being discovered by the wrong people. Years of blood, sweat, and tears––gone.

In an instant, your vision grows red, red, red.

"I'll fucking kill you!" You scream, hurtling your weak body at him with all the power you could muster. Despite his small frame, he is able to wrestle you down quickly, barely breaking a sweat as you squirmed and screamed murder at him. Tear blurred your visions as you tried your best to hurt Jimin in any way you can, but he takes it like it's nothing. Growing tired of your noise, he slams your head against the floor, knocking you unconscious.

––♡♡♡––

When you awaken a day later, you find cuts all over your legs and arms, as well as a strange ache between your legs. You don't even have the energy to let out a sob as you curl back into yourself.

A note by your bedside table:

"Since I took something away from you, I thought it was only fair that I gave you something back in return. Something you will always remember me by."

––♡♡♡––

You keep trying to write songs to please Jimin. As it turns out, anything you churn out will earn you his seal of approval, so long as it is none of the drafts from your old hard drive. Every song you write garners you a meal and cup of water. You don't know what he does with the songs you write, and you honestly don't care. None of the songs have any meaning to you; they are all just strings of words and notes hastily sewn together for the sake of having something to present to Jimin.

Five days since he had broken your hard drive, and you have written almost twenty songs in that time frame. "Enough songs for an album," you mutter darkly to yourself, staring forlornly out the window. Some time during your confinement, Jimin had installed metal bars across the window, leaving you no means of escape––or death.

You were his own personal music box.

In the distance, a police siren blares. Your ears perk up, straining your eyes to find any signs of an approaching car. To your incredible joy, you can see the telltale signs of a blue and red light growing closer to the cabin. You start hammering on the windows, hoping for them to notice you, but your cries are unfortunately unheard from the third floor. You watch, hopeless as two police officers jump out of the car and towards the front door. From your perch, you cannot see their faces, but you think you can see one of them dragging their foot with a light limp.

Pressing your ear against the floor, you try your hardest to listen to their conversation, but Jimin has always talked in very hushed tones. You catch the sound of a deeper voice, loud enough to hear but not enough to decipher his words. There is another voice, but this one is slightly familiar. You pound your fists against the floorboards, but neither of the police officers seem to have noticed.

You try your best to scream for help, but your voice is too hoarse from hours of crying yourself to sleep. You punch the floor in misery, despair wracking your body as another chance to escape slips through your fingers for the second time.

Your gaze catches on the keyboard in the corner of you room. You had forgotten about its presence, largely unable to use it due to some of your fingers still being broken. You plug the thing in, raising the volume to its highest setting and testing it out to find that it was much louder than you had anticipated.

Despite the insistent throbbing of your fingers, you begin to play.

––♡♡♡––

"What's that sound?" Officer Yoongi says, turning back just as Jimin was about to usher him out the door. Jimin huffs in annoyance, but his face melts back into its usual sunshine-y way when the officer stares at him expectantly.

"Oh, probably my guest. She likes playing the piano during this time of day," he replies smoothly. Officer Jungkook limps back into the house, peering at his chief curiously.

"Chief? What are you waiting for? We still have other houses to search," he says.

"I recognize this song," Officer Yoongi replies, humming slightly as the piano's haunting melody echoes throughout the house. "I used to play piano back in the day. I think this is Schubert."

"Shoe who?" Officer Jungkook laughs, the mirth dying in his eyes when he sees the concentrated look on his chief's face. "Yoongi-hyung?" He questions once more.

"Nothing," he finally says, his gaze still turned upward in thought. He waves absentmindedly at Jimin. "Sorry for intruding. Like Jungkook said, we still have other houses to search. Let us know if you hear news about Y/N."

"No problem," Jimin says sweetly, shutting the door firmly on their way out.

When the car reaches the bottom of the mountain, it is only then when Yoongi remembers. "Erlkönig. That's the song," he says.

Something stirs uncomfortably in the pit of his stomach.

––♡♡♡––

Days have passed and it takes longer for you to produce enough songs to feed yourself. Malnourished and severely weak, you pass out almost consistently, unable to keep awake long enough to even leave the bed to write. After the fourteenth day, you suppose Jimin must have taken pity on you, because suddenly you find yourself submerged in a warm bath with his gentle hands rubbing soap all over your body.

You might have tried resisting, or you might have not. It’s hard to remember the details, even while it is happening You are too weak to even speak, allowing this wretched man to wash you without struggle. He rubs at your breasts and thighs, his fingers grazing your core teasingly, but you feel nothing. You are a living corpse, waiting for your captor to let you rot in peace.

"This must feel good, huh? After weeks of leaving you in your own filth... See? I can be forgiving too," he murmurs, fingers rubbing circles over your slit.

Your tired eyes can barely keep themselves open, but as luck might have it, you manage to see the toilet's porcelain cover is slightly ajar. Perhaps Jimin had been busy repairing the toilet earlier that day––it did not matter. All that matters is that you had one final chance to escape right under your fingertips, and you'd be damned if you wouldn't try one last time before completely submitting yourself to your fate.

I will not die. I will not die. I will not die.

You chant these words incessantly into your head until it is all you can hear, see, feel. Jimin turns his head for a moment to get more soap, and in that moment, you are filled with enough energy to grab the porcelain slab and slam it against his head. Jimin crumbles against the impact, his body folding in agony as he cradles his head in pain.

You swing it again and again, aiming for his head every time until he moved no longer.

"And stay fucking dead," you finish, dropping the chipped slab onto his unmoving carcass.

Adrenaline continues to pump through your veins as you slump back into the tub, the gravity of what you had done still keeping your mind on overdrive. After a few more minutes of heavy breathing, you manage to pull yourself out of the tub. You shrug on your shirt and pants, limping haphazardly out of the door.

When you go to lock the bathroom door, you scream in surprise when Jimin jams his foot in the doorway. Awake and alive, he struggles to go into a sitting position, his eyes blazing with unrestrained fury. You slam the door repeatedly over his foot, but he manages to hold the door open enough to pull himself up.

"You bitch," he growls, blood dripping from his broken skull. You scream louder, desperately pushing his foot out of the way in order to close the door. Despite Jimin's unexpected reanimation, it appears that he is still weak from your brutal battering to his head, so you are able to push his foot out of the doorway and lock the door. To your horror, you can hear his nails scratch against the wood, his cries of anguish sounding warbled and inhuman. You step back, waiting for the door to burst open and for your inevitable death––and it never comes. The scratches stop, the wailing ends, and the house is still.

Finally free of your captor, you run out the front door and take your first breath of fresh air in weeks. With a smile on your face and blood on your hands, you promptly pass out in the middle of the lawn.

––♡♡♡––

You wake up in the back of Jungkook's police car.

"Wha––?" You jolt awake, fear starting to pump through you as you whipped around to survey your surroundings. A large hand pushes you back into your seat, and your eyes focus on the face of a dead man standing.

Well, sitting.

"Y/N, relax! You're safe with us," he whispers, urging you to take deep breaths. You inhale and exhale, eyes still wide in shock at the sight of the man you had thought to be dead.

"I––Jungkook, I thought you were de––"

"I'm so sorry Y/N," Jungkook says instead, enveloping you into a tight hug. You release a sob, partly in confusion but mostly in relief for having a friend around you. The two of you cry in tandem, apologies coming out of your both your mouths as you tried to make sense of what was going on.

"Wait, why are you sorry? I was the one who crashed the car and led you to being kidnapped," Jungkook says, tears staining his handsome face.

You shake your head. "No. This is all my fault. If I hadn't asked you to drive me all the way to this stupid resort at night, we wouldn't have crashed and just––"

"Hey," Jungkook whispers, shushing with a finger. "Let's stop blaming ourselves, okay? We're taking you to the hospital downtown so you can get your injuries checked. Yoongi-hyung sent the other officers to clean up Park's resort while we––"

"No!" You scream, shaking Jungkook off of you in a panic. You shake the driver, begging him to turn around. "Jimin is still alive! He's going to kill them––"

"Aish. Jungkook-ah, restrain Miss Y/N, will you? I don't want the three of us getting killed by an avoidable car crash, okay?" The driver growls. Jungkook carefully hugs you to his chest, effectively imprisoning you in his gentle but firm hold.

"Yes sir, Officer Yoongi," he says before turning his attention to you. "Don't worry, Y/N. Jimin's dead. We found his body outside his garden. He jumped out of the bathroom window, probably in an attempt to escape the authorities," he explains. You shiver at the news, knowing full well that Jimin had probably been on the way to murder you.

“How did you find me? I thought I was going to die in front of that house,” you ask, hands trembling despite the warmth of the car. Jungkook cups your bloodied fingers in his larger ones, being careful not to jostle your wounds too much. You want to tell him that it’s fine––most of it was Jimin’s blood, anyway.

“After the crash, I had woken up alone with my legs broken. I called dispatch to try and look for you, but it seems that we had been missing for two days already,” he explains, voice soft and smooth. It’s almost odd hearing him speak, after being so used to listening only to the sound of Jimin’s voice and your own sobs.

“We had visited Jimin’s cabin a few days ago, trying to find you. Yoongi-hyung already had a bad feeling about him, since his mannerisms seemed too practiced and controlled––trademark signs of someone who is very good at hiding his secrets. Then, we heard the sound of your piano,” he says, gazing at you in awe. “It was brilliant of you.”

“Erlkönig,” Yoongi comments from the front, nodding grimly. “I thought it was an odd choice to play. It’s a song laced with death. I’m glad I trusted my gut instinct and returned to the cabin after we received a search warrant.” He shifts his head slightly to look at you, his gaze piercing but kind. Different from the sickly saccharine gaze that Jimin always used to have. “Music really did save your life.”

You don’t want to think about music right now. You don’t want to think about anything at all. "I just want to go home," you whisper, body slumping from exhaustion. Jungkook cards his hands through your hair, murmuring words of comfort as you slowly dropped off into dreamland.

"It's going to be all right... You're safe now... Nothing can ever hurt you again..."

––♡♡♡––

5 years later.

You enter the concert venue's VIP booth without a sound. Most of the other attendees hardly bat their eyes as you slink your way to your seat. You hold a picket fan with Gowon's smiling face on it, a banner with Sooyoung's name, and a wristband with Hana's grumpy face emblazoned on the side. You make it just in time for them to open the concert with their opening song.

The deep bass of Zemblanity filters its way through the overhead speakers, and the sound of thousands of screaming fans almost drown out the song entirely. You grin at the sight of young men and women screaming the fanchants in tandem, even laughing loudly when you'd catch the faint sound of "Y/N" mixed in at the end. You join the chants for most of the songs––all except the first song.

A boy with pink and yellow hair notices your silence, and points a boxy-grin back at you.

"Not a fan of Zemblanity? Even though it topped the Billboard charts twice in a row?"

The boy looks nothing like him. His cheeks are too thin, and his eyes are too dark. And yet, there's something about him that brings a chill up your spine. You make a mental note to make an appointment with your therapist first thing in the morning.

"Nah. Not a big fan. Heard the producer is an asshat," you say, shrugging your shoulders. The boy laughs, loud and pretty.

#BangtanWriters-Net #networkbangtan #jiminnetwork #bts scenarios #bts fanfiction #bts #bts imagines #park jimin #jimin #jimin imagine #jimin scenarios #jimin au #bts horror #bangtan #BTS x you #bts fanfic #bro im... what the fuck was this LMAO #anyway... im going to bed

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kneipho · 5 years

Text

Law's Challenge (Short(ish) ) Story

Written and submitted by the demiurgic @dreamwriter5000

Law’s Challenge

“It’s gotten worse. I can hardly feel it anymore.” Her twin, Gavin said, coming out of the light trance he used to find and collect magical energy.

Mara shivered with dread. Without magic, they would have to rely on fire for heat, and their own skills for the other amenities of life. After so many generations of magic use, there were tasks where she wasn’t sure those skills were sufficient any longer.

“Did you See anything?’ Gavin added as he held out a hand in a request for help getting to his feet. She complied, helping him up and helping him balance on his good leg while he retrieved his staff. He’d been born lame, the victim of a curse cast on their mother when she was pregnant with them. The curse had caused the ankle bone in his left leg to warp, making standing or walking on it very difficult. Healers had been unsuccessful in their efforts to counter the curse’s effects. Gavin could manage with the aid of a staff and on a horse he was the equal of anyone in the clan.

“Yes.” Mara said carefully. “I’ve seen the one who can help us.”

“Isn’t that a good thing?” Gavin asked, puzzled by her somber mood. Firelight danced in his blue eyes and caught highlights in hair so pale, one could be forgiven for thinking either of them was wearing a cap of snowbird feathers.

“The one I saw is a bone priestess.” As she expected, Gavin’s disquiet became a tightly controlled anger. He hated the bone people, holding one of their priestesses responsible for the curse cast on their mother and for his own disability. He said, “Are you sure she is one who can help us, and not one who is responsible for the fading of the magic?”

“No, the vision was nebulous. I saw the priestess and I saw her familiar, a dark haired ape. Aside from this, there was only the sense that I needed to find her and that her familiar was central to the return of the magic.”

Mara shivered again at the memory; a sallow skinned woman with dark, tightly braided hair. She’d worn a purple and black headscarf with floral patterns and her face, above the lips was covered by the mask that identified her as a priestess.

Their mother had shown them such a mask once, taken from a defeated enemy. They were made of carefully carved and decorated bone. The decorations on each mask declared not only the priestess’s level of skill with magic, but also her family affiliation and the number of enemy magicians she had defeated.

The decorations Mara had seen on this woman’s mask included a yellow ellipse on the forehead, a dark half circle beneath it, and three short lines bisected by a fourth beneath the half circle. Ten vertical lines had been painted along the mask’s edge above her lip. When Mara described it to her mother, she’d learned the masked woman was a junior priestess from an unknown family who had won at least ten arcane battles.

Gavin said, “Have you spoken to the Elders about what you saw?”

“Yes. I was with them before I came here. They are discussing who will come with me.”

“With us.” Gavin corrected.

“I hope so.”

“There is no question. I will not allow my sister to face a Bone Priestess alone.”

Mara dropped her eyes and did not utter her doubts that their parents would be willing to risk both their children to such a venture.

###

It may have been a longer road, but it’s better than declaring war on the Bone People. Mara gave her horse’s rein to Jag, one of the five clansfolk chosen to accompany her and Gavin as they sought contact with the priestess Mara had Seen, and dismounted. The rest of their party did the same.

Jag was a horse caster. He’d mastered spells for communicating with, healing, and controlling horses. As with almost everyone else, his spells were less effective now that the Magic had faded, but so far, his experience was making up for the lack.

This village was a trade hub called Tolerance Point. A prominent sign at the city gates listed an impressive number of rules forbidding persecution or harassment of any visitor and the punishments handed out to those who broke them. Mara had already reminded Gavin of the list twice as they passed travelling members of the Bone clan. When one of those had plainly been a priest of the Bone clan, Mara had wondered for a moment if the reminder would be enough. It had, barely.

Sheki was a finder. If she knew what she was Looking for, her spells led her to it. Of all of them, she was the only one who’s spells had maintained their efficiency, becoming noticeably stronger the closer they got to their target. Not even Torg, their mage, knew why. Mara might be able to See the Priestess, and know she was involved in the Magic’s loss, but Sheki would be the one who led them to her.

Torg had studied combative magic, particularly counter spells and spell breaking. With help from Gavin, who Collected Magic’s energy and could conduct it to a spell’s caster, Torg would shield them from arcane attacks, but his primary job was to figure out why the Magic was fading and counter whatever was causing the loss..

Karn was their master of stealth. He knew more ways of hiding and moving silently than anyone in the clan. He had his own collection of spells, but he’d also studied purely physical techniques of moving silently and avoiding notice. His skill with a dagger was unparalleled. He hunted by approaching without being noticed and cutting the throat before the prey knew he was there.

Shae was their Envoy. She knew spells for charm and for reading another’s intent. She also knew what the Clan Elders would and would not approve in terms of contracts and treaties. If they did run into Bone People, she would handle any negotiations. At the moment, she was securing lodgings for them.

With this group, one wonders why I am here. I’m not sure why a Seer is needed now that Sheki has her focus. Mara thought. She had other skills that would be useful on the trip; she was a particularly good at cooking without magic, for example, but nothing the others didn’t also possess.

“You can provide a reminder if Sheki loses her trace.” Gavin murmured as they waited for Sheki to finish her latest search. “Your presence also keeps the rest of us focused. Without you, Sheki will forget she does not have Shae’s sweet tongue and try to take on the first unfortunate soul that gets in her way. Torg would lose himself in the pool of magic I create for him, Jag would do the same with the horses, and Karn would decide it might be fun to see how many Bone People he can surprise.”

Mara met his gaze with a raised eyebrow. He always knew when she was troubled, and generally had a pretty good idea of the reason. When they were younger, she’d thought he should train as an Envoy, but he could only read her. Their mother thought it came of being twins.

“And you? What do I keep your focus from?”

“Joining Karn.” He said with a grin, before adding, “If I thought I could. More likely I would become lost in a Collector’s version of twiddling my thumbs. There is beauty in power, especially when a Collector has the leisure to structure it as he wishes.”

Mara made no reply, remembering how Gavin had listened to many of Karn’s lessons. He’d even learned some of the spells. He accepted training as a Collector only when he had proved to himself that he would never be able to master the physical skills Karn was learning. Mara was certain he still felt envy for Karn’s ability to move and kill silently.

The Bone People would be a smaller tribe if he could.

She looked to Sheki, who had completed her search and now gestured toward the better of the town’s two inns. Mara said, “Is she there?”

“Not at the moment,” Sheki said. “She’s off in that direction.” Sheki pointed toward the market square before adding, “She was there this morning, and has been in and out for the last three or four days.”

“Then it’s good that they have rooms left.” Shae said, returning from her hunt for lodgings. “I got the last two rooms. One on the ground floor, the other on the—”

“She’s mad!” Gavin exclaimed suddenly, drawing stares from more than one passerby. Mara signaled sharply for him to watch his words. His next words were quieter, but equally fervent. “Torg! Look at the third floor room, what do you See?”

Mara had no ability to sense magical energy, she could only watch as not only Torg, but everyone else focused their magical senses on the indicated room. After several moments, Torg’s breath caught and he muttered several obscenities. The reactions of the others were not as strong, but clearly something was amiss in the room Gavin had noticed.

Mara tapped Gavin’s shoulder and raised a questioning eyebrow.

Gavin glanced back briefly, shuddered, and then faced her and said, “Whoever did this, they’ve twisted the magic so that it feeds back on itself. This draws in more and more magic, like a metal blade will attract a lodestone.”

“Why is that wrong? I thought that was what you did.”

“It is, but here, the magic is confined, not allowed to disperse when there is nothing for it to do. If whoever did this was not constantly draining it, it would—combust or explode. The release of that much uncontrolled magic, it would overwhelm even set spells. Everything would get washed away. Those who can see magic, we’d be blinded; temporarily if we’re lucky, forever if we’re not. The energy might even leak into the physical world, causing fires or earthquakes.”

The others had turned their attention away from the source of magic and Shae had noticed an increase in the attention passersby were paying them. She said,

“Perhaps we could continue this conversation inside. I don’t know about everyone else, but I could use a bath and a meal before I have to contemplate an uncontrolled explosion of magic.”

“So,” Mara’s soft words reached only Torg’s ears. “How likely is this explosion of magic?”

“Not very.” Torg kept his own voice low. “ The containment and whatever is draining power is stable. I would not have dared such a situation, but whoever set this up knew what they were doing.”

Torg shrugged and headed inside. Seeing his confidence, the others followed, except for Jag, who took the horses to the Inn’s stable. They split the rooms, with the men taking the ground floor room and the women taking the one on the third floor, where three doors separated them from the magic’s source.

When Jag returned from caring for the horses, everyone collected clean clothes and met in the common room. Shae directed them to the bath house and arranged for a meal.

Clean, and anticipating food she had no hand in preparing, Mara returned to the common room with Sheki to find the Torg and Shae already digging into a generous dinner of spiced beef, sautéed vegetables, and bread. She had her choice of beer or cider to drink. The others trailed in soon after and they all dug into the food with enthusiasm.

The door to the main entrance opened and a woman paused at the threshold while her eyes adjusted to the lower light level.

Sheki drew a sharp breath and gripped Mara’s shoulder. She said, “That’s her.” Mara tried to see past the glare of the sun shining behind the woman and failed. The woman’s dress was very similar to the one she’d seen in her vision and her hair was drawn back in a similar fashion. Details required waiting until the woman entered the common room.

Their quarry felt their regard and, as her eyes adjusted, she recognized their costume. Her posture became defensive and one hand went to the largest of the medallions hanging from her neck. She said, “I don’t want trouble.”

“And I won’t have it within my walls.” The innkeeper added. “Take your issues outside.”

Torg laid a restraining hand on Gavin’s wrist and Shae put on her Envoy “face”. An abrupt sense of calm told Mara she’d cast a spell to prevent any hasty or violent actions. The Bone woman apparently had an impressive shielding spell, for she remained tense and defensive as Shae said, “ We don’t want trouble either, only answers to some questions. Will you eat with us?”

The Bone woman relaxed a bit and her hand left the medallion. She nodded and Jag got up long enough to purloin a chair for her from another table.

“I’m Shae, of the snow clan.” Shae introduced the rest of their group and said, “And what shall I call you?”

“Laroi. Of the House of the Rising Sun.” She said. A waiter arrived with Laroi’s dinner and Shae waited for him to leave and for Laroi to take several bites of food before saying,

“Has the Rising Sun clan noticed the fading of magical energy in the lands to the north?”

Laroi took her time in answering, so much time that Gavin almost hurled a barbed conversational goad. Instead, Laroi nodded and said, “Yes, but it is not only the northern lands, it is happening in all the lands surrounding our home.”

“Not in your own lands?”

Laroi shook her head. “Do you know why? Shae asked.

“I do not know,” Laroi said, her tone flat, not hostile.

“You have suspicions?” Shea answered.

“There are always rumors.” Laroi admitted.

“What is the most prevalent rumor?”

Laroi didn’t answer, preferring to inquire, “Why do you want to know?”

“Because my companions and I have been charged with finding out why the magic has faded and how to restore it. If you cannot tell us, we must find someone who can.”

“And what will you do, when you find him, or her, or them?”

“That depends on whether they agree to help us.” Gavin snapped. Shae glared at him and he subsided, but his expression was rebellious.

“My companion is…impetuous, and forgets his manners on occasion, but he is correct.” Shae admitted.

Laroi went silent again, plainly debating some internal question. With another warning glare at Gavin, Shae settled back to wait and see what she decided. Eventually Laroi said,

“Are any of you skilled in spell breaking? Exceptionally so, the spell I have in mind is not for amateurs. Breaking it will be no idle lark for a rainy day that holds nothing better to do.”

“Such skill is why I am part of this group,” Torg said. “Do you speak of a spell working in a certain room on the third floor?”

Laroi dropped her gaze and nodded. She said, “It was set on, you would call him a familiar, I think. He is more than a pet and less than an equal. Having charge of him is a sign of favor within my House. His kind do naturally what I think your impetuous companion has learned to do, collect and direct magic’s energy.

He was given to me when I achieved my current rank within the temple. At the time, I thought decisions regarding his welfare were entirely mine, unless my superiors thought I was neglecting or abusing him. I have learned that is not the case. The spell was cast without my consent. Since its placement Joso’s health has been slowly failing.

Among the members of my House, there are three magicians who are riding a wave of growing power. One of them created the spell. All three worked together to cast it on Joso and five other familiars. All I know of the spell, besides what it is doing to Joso, is that it forces him to collect far more energy than he would normally and store it, rather than pouring it into a spell. My superiors have decreed that it must remain in place until I complete my assigned task and return home. I do not think Joso will live that long.”

“What is your task?” Shae asked.

“To present a new treaty to each of your clans. Once it is signed, or refused, I would advise my superiors and they will release the magic. Only when that is done, will I be given the counter spell.”

“So, tell them you finished and everyone refused.” Gavin said, his voice drenched in sarcasm. Laroi ignored his tone and caught Mara’s eye. Mara could almost hear the thought behind her expression.

Baby Brothers. Can’t live with them, and once they reach a certain age, you can’t give them punitive chores.

Mara couldn’t stop a smile. Well, she was older than Gavin, by a few minutes. Technically, he was her baby brother.

Laroi said, “I cannot. Even if I traveled at a pace that would harm Joso, I could not reach all of your clans before next fall.”

“Assuming I can counter or remove the spell, what will happen when I do?” Torg asked. Laroi blinked in surprise, and said, “I’m not certain.” She admitted. “I hope Joso will release the magic he is holding and its energy will become available to everyone again. Then Joso should recover.”

“But the shock could cause him to release it without control and we have the explosion the spell currently prevents.” Torg pointed out. Laroi sighed.

She said, “Yes. I understand if you are not willing to risk it.”

“Of course I am. I wish to know why you are. Your seniors hope to profit by this spell. That should benefit your people. Why are you willing to act against them?”

Laroi stared at him, speechless with horror that he thought she would consider not helping Joso. She gave a small shudder and said only, “Follow me, please. “ She got up from the table, leaving the last bits of her meal uneaten. Her invitation had been to Torg, and the others remained, reluctantly, seated, but Mara’s curiosity was too strong and she followed, relieved when Laroi did not object. They reached Laroi’s room and she opened the door and ushered them inside.

It was a well-appointed room, with a couch and several chairs covered in plush cushions surrounding a low table. A fire had been laid in the hearth and it was warm enough that if they were going to stay for any length of time, Mara would become uncomfortable.

She didn’t have to worry about the heat for long. One look at the dark furred primate asleep on the couch inspired a different and more unpleasant kind of discomfort.

Joso was covered with a woolen blanket. Despite the cover, Mara could tell he was not well. Beneath the fur, he was far too thin. His skin, where not covered with fur, was black, and did not show pallor, but there were bald patches on his neck beneath a dull white torque that appeared to be made of bone. When he woke at their entry, his eyes were cloudy.

“If you had spent the past five years responsible for his care, responsible for gaining his trust and friendship, would you leave him like that? Could you?” Laroi demanded.

Torg looked distinctly unwell as he said, “I would not leave one of your clerics in such a state, never mind a child of the forest. Will he allow me to sit near him?”

“Yes.” She went to Joso, and switched from trade tongue to her own language. She spoke quietly for a moment and Joso chittered back and closed his eyes again.

Torg turned to Mara and said, “There is nothing you can do here. I must study the spell’s structure. Would you ask Gavin to join me and bring my pack?”

Mara nodded and did as he asked. Karn helped Gavin with the stairs and Mara took a seat before the common room’s fire and tried to forget the pitiful figure she’d seen.

“Torg got his answer, I take it.” Shae gave Mara’s shoulder a sympathetic squeeze.

“Yes. They’re in Laroi’s room.” She turned away, plainly not interested in explaining further, so Shae changed the subject.

“All right. I looked at the treaty they gave Laroi. It’s plain robbery. In exchange for the return of magic, we become vassals of her House; owing an exorbitant yearly tribute and compelled to help defend against anyone who offers violence. Most of the Clan Elders I’ve met would have laughed her out of their territory, if they didn’t kill her and send her head back to her own people first.”

“You think she knows that?”

“Unless she’s a lackwit. She’s made some powerful enemies back home, that’s for certain.”

Jag had gone out to check on the horses, but Karn had returned and sat with Sheki nearby. Karn was sharpening his knife. Sheki was repairing a weak spot on her horse’s bridle. Both were listening to Shae’s words.

“Let’s hope Torg can accomplish something.” Mara said, and quiet settled over their group.

###

“It’s like a huge collection of ropes holding back the tree that is about to fall on you.” Gavin muttered. “If you untie them in the right way, you lower the tree safely. If not, it squashes you like a bug. You can’t just cut them away, but untying them without letting the tree fall is going to take forever.”

“And don’t forget the venomous snake that looks like a piece of rope hiding within the mess.” Torg added. “We certainly won’t be bored.” He leaned forward, held one hand over the back of Joso’s neck, and began his study of the spell. A moment later, Gavin joined him.

It was past midnight when Torg leaned back and stretched. He rubbed his face briskly with both hands and finished off the cup of tea Laroi had left for him.

Gavin slouched in the other chair, napping. He’d spent the afternoon creating safe draining conduits for the magic’s power in case Torg failed in his efforts to find a counter spell. Until Torg had a plan, there was nothing more for Gavin to do.

Laroi had fallen asleep with Joso’s head in her lap. Now she woke and met his gaze with inquiry.

“I can do it, but Joso will not enjoy the process.” Torg said.

“Why?” She asked.

“When I break the spell some of the energy will feed back to him. Gavin will be able to deflect some of it, but not all. It will hurt. A lot. Can you keep him from attacking me when it does?”

“Yes.” She spoke with unnerving confidence.

“As weak as he is, he may not survive my efforts. Are you sure you want me to try?”

“Better that than continue to suffer as he is. If you can break the spell, please, do.” Now her tone held only ironclad resolve that told Torg she would try and break the spell if he did not. She was as utterly committed to ending Joso’s suffering as the spell’s casters had been to inflicting it.

Yes, She understands those who cast this spell. She knows they will probably not honor their promise to free Joso, even if he does survive the journey. She knows she is not likely to survive either, but is determined that Joso will suffer not more than is absolutely necessary.

Torg nodded and reached over to jostle Gavin’s shoulder. “Time to go back to work lad.”

###

Gavin rubbed his eyes and sat up. He said, “What’s the plan?”

“We’re going to try and let the tree down slowly.”

They set to work. The spell was hideously complex and held several clever traps. Laroi sat next to Joso, immersed in her own form of trance, holding one of the familiar’s hands. Gavin took the energy Torg fed him and sent it down the drainage conduits he’d established. Torg reached the last ‘knot’ as dawn broke. “This is it.” He told Laroi. “You ready?” She nodded and said, “I will be working a spell to calm Joso, do not be alarmed.” She gave Joso’s hand a brief squeeze and took a deep breath.

Torg began working at the magical ‘knot’ and Laroi began her spell. Gavin didn’t have much attention to spare for what she was doing, he was too busy monitoring the flow of energy. So he was unprepared when the energy backlash hit Laroi, and not Joso.

Joso chittered frantically as the energy writhed over Laroi and was transmuted by her spell into something that flowed from her to Joso, healing him and causing the white torque to crack and fall off in two pieces.

Torg leaned forward and took her hands, concern blossoming across his expression.

“That was foolish.” He said quietly as Laroi panted with pain and exhaustion. If you were able to break the spell, why did you ask me to?”

“I would not have been able to heal Joso. He would have died. You have helped me pay a debt. I am grateful.”

“What debt ?” Gavin asked, watching with horrified confusion as her spell devoured the last of the back lash and began consuming her personal energy. If it continued to do so, she would not live much longer. He tried to pull energy for her, but the magical field was in chaos. It was like trying to hold the wind with your bare hands.

“What could he have done that demands you risk your life?”

“He stayed with me, even when he found out what the seniors planned for him. I told him to go, but he stayed. Now, he’ll be able to go. Help him go home. Please.”

She took a last shuddering breath and departed. Joso uttered a long, keening wail, touched her forehead briefly, and left the couch to go to the fireplace and begin damping the fire.

Torg got to his feet as well and said, I’m going to alert the innkeeper and the authorities. Are you alright staying here? Or do you want to rejoin the others?”

“She was supposed to be a monster.” Gavin muttered. “They’re monsters. Caring people don’t curse unborn children.”

“And monsters don’t sacrifice themselves for others.” Torg agreed sympathetically. “She didn’t curse your mother. She’s not a monster. Do you want to grant her request? Shall we take Joso to his home?”

Gavin nodded, but remained immersed in the question that haunted him. Who am I supposed to hate now?

(please do not remove writer credits)

#dreamwriter5000 #fiction #short story #writers on tumblr #poets on tumblr #throwback thursday #law’s challenge #submission #written word #other

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blazardragon · 6 years

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English Translation of Korotan B: Chapter 4

In this chapter, Pui meets Isogai’s family! Apparently, they have a traditional household sauce. I wonder what it’s made of? Other highlights include Terasaka, Itona, and Korosensei getting duped, Chiba, Hayami, and Nakamura discussing catchphrases, and Pui’s backstory finally getting revealed!

Also, unlike last chapter, while boobs are mentioned, there’s no sexual harassment this time (phew!)

Chapter 4: An Assassination You Can Be Proud Of Time

“This is my house. Go ahead and come in!”

Isogai brought Pui to his house after school.

When Korosensei asked his students if there was anyone willing to provide a home-stay for Pui, Isogai was the first to raise his hand.

“Isogai-kun, you’re good at taking care of others, making you more than qualified for the job. Obtaining an understanding of each other will be a boon to your assassination attempts.”

Korosensei, too, indulged in Isogai’s offer.

When Isogai opened the door to the entrance, he found two primary school-aged children waiting for him.

“Welcome home, big brother!”

“Wewcome hoowme!”

Isogai patted his little brother’s and little sister’s heads.

“I’m home! Where’s Mom?”

“She’s asleep now!”

“I see. Then, let’s be quiet so that we don’t wake her up, okay?”

“Okay!”

Isogai took off his shoes at the entrance and explained to Pui,

“You take off your shoes and then you come in.”

After watching Isogai’s example, Pui timidly entered his home.

~~~

The Isogai household was having hot pot tonight. Pui prepared some wild hare he caught when he was deep in the mountain, while Isogai added some Kawahara* grass.They flavored the hare meat with wild perilla and ginger and seasoned it with the Isogai household’s traditional sauce. Everyone circled around the now finished hot pot. This was the first time Isogai had ever eaten hot pot made with hare meat, and he was struck with admiration for the taste,

“To think hare meat would taste so good! We’re able to try new ingredients all thanks to you, Pui!”

Pui made a satisfied expression upon receiving appreciation from Isogai and stuffed his cheeks with meat.

When it was time for bed, Isogai put away the dining table and pulled out futons from the closet. His little sister and brother were put to bed in one futon, and when Isogai placed the other futon down, the floor became fully covered.

“Sleep here. It’s narrow, but it’ll have to do.”

Pui got into the futon as Isogai told him.

“Where will you sleep, Isogai?”

“I’ll sleep at the entrance.”

Isogai pointed to the entrance with a smile and started to head toward it.

“No way. I doesn’t want Isogai to sleep at the entrance.”

“Don’t mind me! I can sleep just fine even at the entrance!”

However, Pui wouldn’t listen to him and shook his head.

“If Isogai sleeps at the entrance, I won’t be able to sleep. Sleep with Pui.”

“Eh?”

“I always sleep in the same bed with my little brothers and sisters. I won’t mind.”

Pui grabbed Isogai’s arm and pulled him to the futon. Isogai gave in to his pushiness and reluctantly got into the futon with Pui.

Isogai’s younger siblings fell asleep in no time at all. Isogai, on the other hand, being in the same futon as Pui, a killer whose age wasn’t too different from his, was too nervous to feel drowsy.

‘Even if he’s a killer, he’s almost the same age as me, and we’re both human, right? What am I so afraid of?’

Isogai told himself to break the walls in his heart.

Suddenly, Pui began to speak.

“Isogai, I have one little brother and two little sisters.”

“You have even more than me? They must be quite the handful!”

“My brother is nine-years-old. He’s more useful at home than Pui. I want to protect them…”

Pui abruptly stopped talking.

“Pui? What’s wrong?”

Pui didn’t answer his question. He turned on his side and stayed quiet.

Although Isogai could practically feel Pui’s silence, he hadn’t yet closed the gap between them, so he felt that he couldn’t press on further.

‘I wonder if I was being too intrusive. However, I want to say one more thing.’

Isogai spoke to him one more time.

“If you’re ever in any trouble, let me know. My friends and teachers in Class E are pretty reliable.”

After saying this to Pui’s back, Isogai closed his eyes and fell asleep.

~~~

The next morning, there was a crowd of students in front of the classroom. Pui was showing off his talents on top of a platform. He prepared three empty boxes of caramels. One of the boxes had a mark on the inside. It was a game where Pui shuffles the boxes, and if the spectator chooses the box with the mark, they win. However, Pui’s judgement was brilliant, so it was hard to win against him. Terasaka was an easy mark for Pui, and he lost one game after another.

“Goddammit, I thought for sure it was the middle one! You’ve gotta have a trick set up in these boxes! Show ‘em to me!”

Terasaka took the boxes from Pui, flipping them over and tapping them as he searched for some hidden trick. Muramatsu laughed at the sight with his trademark “Shi shi shi”.

“Only Terasaka would be dumb enough to be caught in such a simple trick. You should be angrier at yourself.”

Frustrated at having been made a fool of by Itona as well, Terasaka made a face and yelled,

“If that’s what you think, then how about you try!? Tryin’ to make a fool outta other people…”

“Sure. I’ll show you a good example.”

Itona switched with Terasaka and stared at the platform closely. Pui grinned as he shuffled them, changing each box’s position one after another.

Pui movements were mysterious, giving the illusion that he had three, or even four, hands. Itona watched so closely it seemed as if his eyes would become bloodshot, and at Pui’s call he immediately pointed to the box on his left. Pui moved to touch the box, but stopped when Itona told him to wait.

“I’ll be the one to flip it open, okay?”

“If you want.”

Pui did as Itona told him and raised both his hands in the air. Itona opened the box, only to find that there was no mark.

“How lame! You can’t make fun of other people now, can ya!?”

“……There must be some kind of mistake. I’ll get the next one right for sure.”

Pui grinned, showing his white teeth to Itona and Terasaka.

“You’re all quite noisy today. It’s almost time for class.”

Korosensei had entered the classroom. The sight of Pui playing with Terasaka and Itona put a satisfied smile on his face.

“Pui-kun, is it alright if sensei has a try, as well?”

“Sure!”

Pui lightly shuffled the boxes, showed him the box with the mark, and then mixed them together again so that he wouldn’t know which one was which.

“This is a type of street gambling common in many countries outside of Japan. You’re quite experienced with it, I see. However, you cannot deceive the eyes of a Mach 20 super-creature!”

When Pui stopped his hands, the three boxes were side by side.

“Pick which one you think is right.”

Without hesitation, Korosensei chose the box in the middle. When Pui opened the box, there was no mark to be found.

“Nyu-yah!?”

With a calm face, Pui began shuffling his boxes again.

“My eyes must have deceived me…… though, there’s no way that should be the case.”

“Let me try again!”

Pui flipped all the boxes open to show that there was only one box with a mark before shuffling them again.

“I won’t make any mistakes this time. I can clearly see which box has the mark!”

When Pui stopped his hands, Korosensei exclaimed, “It’s this one!”, and held down the left box with his tentacle.

“May I be the one to open it?”

“Go ahead.”

Pui let go of the box. Korosensei carefully opened the box, which, as one would expect, didn’t have the mark on it.

“Nyu-Yaaaaah!!?”

The whole class erupted in laughter.

“T-this can’t be……..”

Korosensei was staring at the boxes so intensely he could bore a hole through them. At that moment, a knife flew at him from the back of the class. Korosensei managed to dodge it by just a hair’s breadth, panting as he shouted with a hoarse voice,

“W-Who did that!? Sensei’s kind of in the middle of something right now!”

“Huh~ Your reaction time was pretty slow this time. So, if you’re absorbed in gambling, your reaction time falls.”

“S-so it was you, Karma-kun!? Good grief……”

Korosensei fixed his necktie and turned toward Pui.

“Pui-kun, your technique is magnificent, but don’t become too involved with gambling. There are people who have gone crazy with gambling in every country.”

“I understand, Korosensei. I’ll be careful.”

Pui pretended to bow before thrusting at Korosensei with a knife he kept hidden from view. Even if the first strike is dodged, he would press on with his attack and swipe at his sides. This would push Korosensei to the door, cornering him. Or, at least, that’s what was supposed to happen, but instead, Korosensei was back at his podium in a flash. Struck with a sense of powerlessness, Pui’s hands dropped to his sides.

“That attack was quite good. You’ve certainly made a lot of progress in the past two days. However, it’s not quite enough for that flower-circle.* Let’s polish your blade even more!”

After dodging Pui’s knife attacks, a flower-circle mark appeared on his face. Pui’s suddenly began to glare at Korosensei, eyes filled with hatred. This sudden change in his demeanor piqued Nagisa’s curiosity.

‘I wonder why Pui is so obsessed with him? If he was just driven by a pro’s sense of responsibility, I don’t think he’d look so vindictive.’

While Nagisa’s head swam with doubts, he pulled out his notebook for class.

~~~

Once class was over, Pui finally sat down in a chair. He made many attempts on Korosensei’s life during class, until Korosensei ordered him to stand for the rest of the lesson. Seeing Pui stick out his lips and pout, Karma smiled gleefully and said,

“You want me to spell it out for you? One of the rules of this classroom is that our assassination attempts are not to hinder his class. If you want the 300 billion yen reward for assassinating that octopus, I suggest you follow them~”

“……300!? Isn’t it 100!?”

“If a group assassinates him, then the reward is 300. It’s so we combine our powers to assassinate him rather than try to trip each other up.”

“I see…… Then, Pui won’t lose anything if Pui cooperates with you guys?”

“That’s right.”

Nagisa joined Karma’s and Pui’s conversation.

“I’ll teach you about Korosensei’s weak points. They’re all things we’ve noticed while together with him.”

“Please, teach me.”

Nagisa flipped through his memo pad.

“First of all, Korosensei’s speed decreases when he panics. He exposes his weaknesses when he tries to act cool, and he has a surprisingly short fuse. Also, he’s weak to big boobs, so it’s good to aim for his life when he’s lovestruck by them.”

“……Every guy is weak to big boobs.”

Okajima and Itona instantly held their thumbs up in approval of Pui’s opinion.

“That’s your only reaction!?”

Nagisa couldn’t help but comment on the two’s reaction to Pui. Chiba, who was sitting in front of them, turned around to speak.

“Hey, if you’re working together with us, you’ll share any new information if you happen to get any, right?”

“Sure, Chiba!”

Pui nodded with a convincing look on his face.

“Ah, that’s right! This is important. Suicide attacks are no good. That was my first assassination attempt, and Korosensei got angrier than you could imagine!”

“How’d you try to kill him, Nagisa?”

“I put a toy grenade around my neck, which would scatter anti-sensei pellets everywhere, but he covered me with his molted skin, so I failed.”

Pui opened his mouth wide with shock.

“He can molt!?”

“Yeah, it’s his trump card, which he can use once a month. His speed drops after he molts, so it’s also something we aim to make him do.”

Pui’s eyes shone brightly.

“That information about molting is really valuable. But why are suicide attacks no good? It should be fine as long as you kill him.”

Nagisa felt that Pui’s question was only natural. Nagisa had a hunch that the reason lay with Korosensei.

“Korosensei told us at the start to, “Have an assassination that makes you smile and puff out your chest with pride”. We don’t really understand his reasoning, but it’s the major premise of this classroom.

“An assassination that makes you puff out your chest with pride…..? I am always doing assassinations that make Pui puff my chest with pride. I kill for my family.”

After Pui said that, he fell silent.

‘I think I put him in a bad mood.’

Worried, Nagisa wondered if he had somehow angered Pui.

“Just leave him be, Nagisa-kun.”

Upon being told by Karma, Nagisa quietly separated himself from Pui. Pui wasn’t angry at all. In fact, Nagisa’s words were echoing inside Pui’s head.

‘I wonder if, this time, I can have an assassination that makes me puff out my chest with pride?’

~~~

“Your English is improving quickly, Pui!”

“As one would expect, the concentration power of a pro assassin is something else.”

Chiba and Sugaya started praising Pui after English class was over.

“Hey, hey, Pui!”

Nakamura approached Pui’s seat, peeking at his face as if she was dying to ask him something.

“You’ve done a lot of work up ‘til now as a killer, right?”

“Yeah.”

“Do you have a catchphrase you use when you kill someone?”

“A catchphrase……?”

“Like, words you’ve decided your targets will hear as they’re dying. I wanna know what it’s like to hear one from a real killer.”

Pui was stumped by Nakamura’s surprising question. Hayami took that chance to interpose herself into the conversation from the side.

“I don’t think that a real killer would say anything like what you see in manga or movies.”

“I wonder. I think that different killers would have different traits and styles, so there must be a few in this world that have a catchphrase. For example, something like, “If you’re feeling resentful, resent my client”.”

Chiba also got onboard with the conversation.

“In a drama, the assassin would say, “Someone wishes you dead, so please die,” or, “Allow me to explain the reason behind your death. It’s because you said too much”.”

“They’d be focusing on their work, so I don’t think they could afford to do something like that. Even so, they might bluntly say “Sorry” or “I was asked to give you a present”.”

Hayami was thinking more realistically.

“You’re so persuasive, Hayami-chan! It’s because of that professional air you have!”

Nakamura nodded her head to everything Hayami was saying.

After having time to think, Pui finally replied to Nakamura’s question.

“When it comes to catchphrases, I…… don’t really have anything in particular. I press my hands together in prayer, then I kill them. That’s all.”

“So, you’re the kind of guy who works in silence, huh? That kind of stoicism is cool, too~”

Pui became sullen upon being told he was cool by Nakamura and hung his head down in shame.

“Hey, Pui, can I see your knife?”

“Sure.”

Upon Chiba’s request, Pui took out his knife from the bamboo scabbard he had hanging on his belt. Chiba examined it thoroughly, flipping it over and touching it in various places.

“It looks incredibly sharp.”

“Don’t touch it too much, or you’ll hurt yourself. It cuts better than a standard knife.”

“Seriously? You must take great care of it, then.”

Chiba carefully returned the knife to Pui.

“Hey, hey, who taught you how to be a killer, Pui? You must have had a teacher, right?”

“Half of my skills I taught myself, the other half I learned from my master. There’s a lot of martial artists in my village. My master is really good at splitting people’s heads open with his elbow and skewering people with tree branches!”

“Skewering people with tree branches……”

“Master always makes his own weapons. There’s always tree branches, nuts, and stones lying around, and those can be turned into weapons you can use to kill others. Even that grass over there can be used as a knife to slit your opponent’s throat. The most amazing technique my master can use is to shoot and kill people with pebbles he flicks with his fingers. He can flick them away like a gun shooting bullets!”

“Are you serious… no way…”

“You don’t believe Pui? Want Pui to do it to you?”

Pui threatened before laughing and lightening the mood with a “Just kidding!”

“Hey, don’t scare me like that.”

Chiba let out a cold sweat.

“Though, I guess a lot of things must have happened up until now for you to become a killer at your age. Why did you become a killer, anyway?”

“There was no other way for Pui to make a living. My village is close to the border of my country, and we’re constantly at war. My father got hurt when he stepped on a landmine, and the fields are all burned down.”

The classroom fell silent as Pui told them his harsh personal story.

“I didn’t get to go to school very much. A lot of my friends got involved with the war and died. I also have friends who were shot by my country’s own soldiers. I learned a lot from my master so that I could protect myself. I learned martial arts and English so that I could kill those soldiers when I needed to. I’ve killed them with traps made from bamboo spears and knives. It became my job. In order to feed my family, I’ve continued that work. But, this time, my job is different.”

Pui pulled a photograph out of his pocket. In the photo, two adults, one man and one woman, and three children were tied up and restrained. There was also a man wearing a black suit and sunglasses and another man with a scorpion tattoo on his upper arm who was holding a gun.

“This is my family. We are being threatened. If I don’t kill the target and win the 100 billion yen bounty, they will be killed.”

The students of 3-E froze. The color drained from Isogai’s face as he listened.

“The money is due in three days.”

“You should’ve said so sooner!”

Nagisa blurted out in Japanese without thinking. He took the photo and ran to the staff room. Korosensei was flipping through a book called “Guide to Conquering the World’s B-Grade Gourmet* Foods” before lifting his head.

“Oh? Well if it isn’t Nagisa-kun. And everyone else, too. What on Earth happened?”

“Please do something, Korosensei! It’s your responsibility!”

“Wha-What!? I have no idea what’s going on! Please explain from the beginning!”

“Here, look at this! Pui’s family is in this picture! If Pui doesn’t assassinate you in three days, they’ll be killed!”

Korosensei was overcome with a cold sweat as he looked at the photograph. After taking a moment to examine the photo, he placed it on his desk and turned toward the window.

“Pui-kun is a killer. This may sound cold, but when you make killing a business, such dangers are an unavoidable part of the job.”

“But that’s…! That’s terrible! Are you just going to abandon him!? Can’t you at least give him a chance!? He studied to together with us over these past two days and improved his English so much!”

Nagisa tenaciously appealed Pui’s case.

“……I guess I did tell him to study and assassinate together with you all. I’ve given you students a chance to hone your blades and assassinate me, so I suppose it would be unfair of me not to give the same chance to Pui-kun.”

“Right!?”

“Then, let’s test him to confirm that he has been polishing his blade properly. I will hand him a test to measure the progress of his English. If he passes, then I promise I will give him a chance to assassinate me.”

A smile flashed on Nagisa’s face.

“It’s a promise!”

Nagisa and the others quickly returned to class. Korosensei once again examined the picture of Pui’s family left on his desk.

“So, his family is being held hostage…… It appears there are some people in need of help.”

~~~

After class, Pui alone remained in the classroom to take Korosensei’s test. To ensure that his students don’t help Pui cheat out of pity for his circumstances, Korosensei chased the other students out of the classroom and supervised the test alone. Worried about the results, the students of 3-E loitered outside the school building, quietly waiting for the results.

“……Do you think Pui will make it?”

Nagisa anxiously asked Isogai.

“He made a lot of progress in such a short period of time. I’m sure that’ll show in his test results!”

‘If only I had listened more to what Pui had to say last night. Please, do your best.”

Recalling the impact Pui’s confession had on him, Isogai continued to wait for him, praying for his success.

“It’s almost time, I guess.”

Sugino couldn’t stay still, frequently checking his watch as he stretched. Then, the window to the classroom opened with a rattle, and Korosensei’s head popped out.

“The test is over. I will be announcing the results of the test, so those of you who are interested should head inside.”

And so, the students who were scattered outside the school building all ran inside.

~~~

“Pui-kun, please come here. I will hand you your test.”

Pui was almost pitifully nervous as he walked to the front of the class. His fingers trembled as Korosensei handed him his graded paper.

“You scored 95 points. A magnificent job. The passing limit was 90 points, so you easily cleared this test.”

“Alright!”

Class E cried out with joy. However, as for Pui himself, his expression relaxed only a little. He didn’t show any joy.

“Korosensei, you’re gonna give him a chance like you promised, right?”

“Yes, of course! A promise is a promise!”

“What kind of chance are you going to give him?”

“Preparations are already complete. Look!”

Korosensei pulled out a hemp rope.

“I’m going to use this to tie myself to a tree, and–

Class E all began to boo at him.

“Nyu-yah!?”

“What!? That’s not even a handicap!”

“That’s totally unfair! You should give him a better chance than that!”

“You better not run away from this, you damned octopus!”

Isogai, Nakamura, Terasaka, and the others all hammered Korosensei with complaints. Korosensei nodded thoughtfully.

“Pui-kun, everyone in Class E is telling me I ought to give you a big chance. Are you prepared to bet on it?”

“Of course!”

Pui answered immediately.

“Good. Then, let’s move to a place more befitting of such a big chance. I’ll also allow those who have supported you up until now to help you.”

Korosensei brought out a huge travelling bag out of nowhere. While everyone was taken aback, Korosensei stuffed Pui and several of the students into the bag in a flash and flew away.

“They’re gone!?”

The remaining students could only look around, wondering where they had gone.

Notes:

*Kawahara (河原) was a town located in Yazu District, Tottori Prefecture, Japan. It merged with other cities to form the city of Tottori.

*The word Korosensei uses is 花丸, which means flower circle, which is used in Japan as an equivalent for those gold star stickers you earn in primary school for doing a good job. It’s the mark you see him use a lot when he grades 3-E’s papers. Personally, I always thought it looked like a Naruto.

*B-Grade gourmet refers to dishes that are delicious, inexpensive and provided in abundant amounts.

Ughh, this chapter was long... Pui’s home country sounds a lot like Korosensei’s. Can you guess who Korosensei packed in his bag? I’ll give you a hint: there are six students accompanying Pui.

#assassination classroom #ansatsu kyoushitsu #Isogai Yuuma #Korosensei #Chiba Ryuunosuke #hayami rinka #Nakamura Rio #terasaka ryoma #itona horibe #Nagisa Shiota #Pui #Korotan B #translations

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