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threeletterslife · 4 years ago

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Insurrection (It’s About Time)

→ [4/7] of the Glossary Series

→ summary: If you told Park Jimin he was going to fall in love with a young cult leader, he would've laughed. But honestly, who's laughing now??

→ pairing/rating: jimin x reader | PG-15

→ genre: 90% angst, 9.9% fluff, 0.1% crack | high school!au

→ warnings: death, mentions of suicide, academic dishonesty, cult-like activities, profanity, school threats (bombs & shootings)

→ wordcount: 18.3k

→ a/n: this is a story that is near and dear to my heart. it actually kind of hurt to write because a lot of these scenes are similar to my experiences or the experiences of loved ones. i’ve had this idea for almost two years now and i finally decided to write it out. i hope you enjoy (:

Jimin is punctual. In fact, he is on another level of punctuality. At any given event, he arrives at least fifteen minutes early. For what reason? His answer would be 'just in case.' There are a plethora of events that can go wrong, a multitude of catastrophes that can erupt in his face last-minutely. Jimin's not going to take any chances jeopardizing his own future.

Especially his future in education.

Much accordingly, since he is exceedingly punctual, Jimin can not—for the love of god—stand people who dilly dally. The atrocity of them to dare to be late and waste others' time!

This is the exact reason why he absolutely despises his calculus teacher.

I sacrificed my goddamn lunchtime studying for this exam. And now he decides to be late.

Jimin's hands shake violently as he brings up his notes to his face, eyes boring into the paper filled with equations and example problems. Hands clammy and sticking to the paper, he balances himself on the balls of his feet and rocks in an attempt to try to settle his spiked nerves.

This is definitely not a good way to start off finals weeks.

Jimin has exactly an 88.3% in AP Calculus BC, and a morbid B+ will do no good in his future—at least that's what the school propaganda and his parents say. He'll have to score extremely well on this fall semester's final exam, especially because his teacher refuses to round up the grades.

Goddamn. He's really late. Late to his own final.

Jimin starts biting his nails again. At this point, there isn't much nail to bite left, but he manages to gnaw at the skin around it. It's a small habit that goes far; he does it when he's nervous, but nail-biting always does such little to do away with his gargantuan amount of stress.

In frustration, Jimin lets out a massive sigh, clutching at his chest where his lungs threatened to collapse on him. His stomach feels tight and queasy, which doesn't have much to do with the fact that he hadn't eaten. He is just anxious. Unlike the others around him.

Next to Jimin, Jeon Jungkook, his friend, casually leans against the brick wall, eyes focused on his phone screen as he mumbles nasty profanities under his breath. "That's motherfucking right, die, bitches," he mutters. Jungkook moves his body along with the avatar inside his game. He's so into it that his eyes gleam when he reigns victorious. "Ha!" he screeches, throwing up his hands. "Fuck you, you cowards! I win!"

Jungkook finally looks up from his game and meets eyes with Jimin. He grins. "Hey, bro, wanna log on too?"

Jimin's mouth hangs open with a mixture of complete surprise and utter disapproval. "We have a final this period, Jungkook. Aren't you the tiniest bit worried?"

He regrets asking that because he knows the answer he's going to get.

"No, not really," Jungkook snorts. He looks back at his phone screen and hoots. "Fuck, yeah! He's not here yet! I think I can squeeze in another game."

If Jimin's parents knew that his friend—aside from his straight A's and musical accomplishments—played video games, namely Fortnite, to pass time, they'd probably transfer Jimin to another school. A school that could be worse than this one. Which might as well be a prison.

Jimin shakes his head, harshly gripping his notes and looking away from Jungkook. Jimin doesn't want to admit it, but he's jealous. While he's stuck having a mini internal breakdown over the teacher's tardiness, Jungkook's taking the extra leisure time to play some shitty mobile game.

It's unfair. Jungkook gets his straight A's without moving so much of a goddamn muscle. While Jimin, on the other hand, has to stay up until four in the morning every other day, studying or doing homework from the moment he's awake to the time he goes to bed. He will never understand why, despite his grueling efforts, that he has a fair share of B's in his transcript.

It's a shitty, unfair system. But then again, it was set up to be unfair, anyways. Here at Welton High School, every student has taken a rigorous entrance exam, of which only the top 25% scoring students are accepted. Every student is well above average—they are students from all over the world and have probably never heard the word 'average' spoken to them in their entire lives. Until they faced Welton, of course. Now of the top 25%, only 1% can truly be special.

Jimin sometimes thinks that when he was accepted to Welton, he must've been barely at the cut off line. He speculates that he must've been in the top 24.99%, and was very lucky that he wasn't waitlisted.

He worked twice as hard from freshman year until now, junior year, to be on level with the young, walking Einsteins of Welton. But no matter how hard Jimin tries, he has never been able to outsmart the intellectuals who were born to change the world with their IQ's alone.

Competition is way too fierce.

No, Jimin thinks. Competition is deadly.

And it is. Student suicides, school shooting threats (from the students), student protests... Teenagers crack under pressure. But what can Jimin do about it? The system's shitty, yes, but he has no choice but to follow it, or else the promise of a stable future goes down the drain and into the sewer. For that exact reason, Jimin studies like there's no tomorrow every day.

Wake up. Go to school. Eat. Study. Sleep (if he's lucky). Wake up (sometimes). And do it all over again.

So fine. Jimin's jealous of Jeon Jungkook. Because he doesn't seem to put in the effort for his perfect grades. And it irks Jimin. But it shouldn't. Jungkook's his friend, so Jimin should be happy for him.

It's hard though when the person you're closest to is so far beyond your league that you begin to think yourself inferior to them.

"Sorry, class!" Jimin's calc teacher huffs as he nearly spills over his coffee while skidding to a stop in front of the classroom door. "We've lost time for the final! Get in your seats, take out a pencil, eraser and graphing calculator! Be ready in your seats so I can pass out the exams!" he orders in a frenzy.

How can you be so irresponsible? Jimin thinks, glaring daggers at the back of his teacher's head.

He's almost blinded by rage until he realizes what he's really here for: to take the test. Right. His stomach flips at the thought. Jimin shoves his notes into his backpack, wincing when he hears some of the papers ripping.

Shit, this is the moment. He's been dreading this exact time for weeks now. Each step into the familiar class makes him feel like he's walking the plank, inching closer and closer to his impending doom.

Shit. Shit. Shit. Jimin feels a migraine creeping in already. I don't know if I can do this.

Next to him, Jungkook is still playing Fortnite. Jimin doesn't know if he should spitefully tell his friend to stop or to let him continue. God, it's not fair.

Jimin's teacher is all over the place, holding his cup of coffee while also carrying dozens of test booklets in the other hand. For a split second, Jimin wishes his teacher would spill his coffee on the tests. Maybe that would delay the final. Maybe Jimin would get his first stroke of good luck in the nearly three years of high school he had already faced.

But luck is not on Jimin's side today. It never was.

The test booklets make it out in perfect condition, and Jimin's slightest bit of hope is crushed when his teacher finally sets down his coffee on his desk.

"Get your tests! Come on, pick them up!" his teacher shrills. Jimin breathes in deeply. At this point, he's just going to accept his fate. He might as well accept a B+ in this class. God, I feel faint.

"Don't write on the test," the teacher continues. "The scratch paper is up here if you need it and—"

The loud, blaring fire alarm interrupts him. It echoes deafeningly through the class, the raucous noise piercing through Jimin's ears to such an extent that he covers them with his hands. Jimin shakes in his seat, making eye contact with Jungkook.

For once in his life, Jungkook looks confused in a class setting. 'What the fuck??" he mouths aggressively to Jimin.

What the fuck, indeed.

Sometimes, the administration liked to schedule secret fire drills to get the students and staff better prepared in case of a real emergency. But really, during finals week? When students are already nerve-wracked from exam season? God, they had no shame for fuck's sake.

Jimin's teacher sighs, running his fingers through his head of unkempt hair. "All sorts of things happening today," he mutters to himself. "Must be a mistake," he declares with an affirmative nod of the head. "Class, as I was saying before—"

"Holy fuck, the other classes are evacuating!" Jungkook shrieks, pointing out the classroom window. Sure enough, teachers are already herding their students outside to the evacuation areas on the soccer fields. "I don't think this is a dr—"

Before Jungkook finishes his sentence and the teacher disciplines him for his explicit choice of language, the intercom buzzes, momentarily halting the horrendous fire alarm. Everyone freezes and it goes completely silent. So silent that Jimin can hear his own heartbeat.

A loud crackle and another buzz ring from the intercom, then the principal begins to speak in a hurried voice: "This is not a drill. Please proceed to evacuate out of the buildings. Thank you."

The moment he finishes, the intercom crackles again and the fire alarm carries on.

Jimin's anxiety flies to the roof. Not a drill? What could've possibly happened?

His teacher looks almost as—or even more—shaken as Jimin and he yells panicked directions to the students. "I'll be the last one out! Meet me at our safety corner on the field!"

Jimin quickly finds Jungkook and the two of them walk side by side out of the building. As soon as Jimin can see the sky, he looks up instinctively to check for smoke. But there is none. In fact, the sky looks clearer than normal today.

"Do you even think there's a fire?" Jimin asks his friend. He almost lets out a scoff of disbelief when he sees Jungkook playing his mobile game again.

"No idea," Jungkook replies nonchalantly, jabbing at his screen with his thumb. "Don't think it's anything serious. Probably just a small fire in chem class. Nothing to worry about."

Jimin's still uneasy. "You don't think anyone's hurt, do you?"

At that, Jungkook hums, his forehead creasing slightly as he finally shuts off his phone and pockets it. "There's no ambulance," he points out. Jungkook turns to Jimin fully, grinning at him to Jimin's shock. "Loosen up, Jimin. This is junior year. We might have a chance at canceled finals because of this real evacuation! Now isn't that nice?"

"I guess..." Jimin mumbles. But I need the final to raise my grade...

It's strange to see his peers smiling and laughing as they walk side by side with their friends. It's almost as if the fire alarm isn't threateningly blaring in the background. Do none of them care that this could be a serious matter??

"By the looks of it, we're definitely going to skip the calc final today!" Jungkook shouts victoriously, pumping his fist in the air. "No more fucking math!"

"True..." Jimin admits nervously. "But he might have to take the final after school..." He's almost too embarrassed to say that he needs this final to raise his grade.

Jungkook snorts. "Welton's not allowed to keep us after school with such short notice," he says. "If things go right, we might not have finals for the rest of the day."

When Jungkook puts it that way, the thought sounds heavenly.

"Yo! Bros!" a familiar voice calls, breaking Jimin from his reverie. "Y'all okay? We could've literally died!"

It's Taehyung, Jimin's other friend. The only guy in the whole school who's unafraid to use the word 'y'all' and be judged for it.

"Man, I heard the girl's locker room caught on fire!" Taehyung announces.

Jungkook cocks an eyebrow. "Unless you were in there, how would you know?" he teases.

Jimin laughs as Taehyung huffs disapprovingly. "Some girls told me. I would never sneak in there," he pouts, crossing his arms.

"Really?" Jimin says. "How would the fire have started in there, though?"

"Oh, you'd be surprised to see what goes down in the girl's locker room," Jungkook says, wiggling his eyebrows suggestively.

"What went down so hard to cause a fire??" Jimin asks.

"Nah, don't believe him, Minnie," Taehyung laughs. "Jungkook probably sneaks in there from time to time to be a little perv."

Jungkook shrugs, unfazed by the accusation. He even plays along with it. "Well, I need something interesting to do in my high school career."

At that, Jimin and Taehyung shoot each other a look. Them and a majority of the students at Welton don't have enough hours in the day to study, let alone to seek for 'something interesting to do' in their high school careers. It's so like Jeon Jungkook, the genius, to say shit like this.

"Whatever, y'all," Taehyung says. "I don't even care what happened. We're still alive, you know? I'm just glad I'm missing out on that stupid physics final."

"Lucky," Jimin says. "I'm supposed to take that shit tomorrow."

"Uh, yeah, if there even is a tomorrow," Jungkook says, scrolling through his phone. Jimin thinks he's playing some mobile game again, but he soon realizes he's reading something. "It's not a fire in the girl's locker room after all..."

The three boys immediately stop walking, Taehyung and Jimin looking over Jungkook's shoulder to read what was on his screen. It's an email sent from the principal to all attending students and their guardians:

Dear Welton Community,

Today at approximately 12:48 pm, an unidentified caller phoned in a bomb threat to Welton High School. The caller stated seven pipe bombs had been planted on campus and were going to detonate in 25 minutes. The Police Department was called and immediately responded. Along with them, the School Administration decided to evacuate all buildings and bomb-sniffing dogs were called to search the entire school. When they have completed their search, I will send out another message to our community with the all-clear.

Thank you.

Bombs. Bombs?!?! Jimin panics again. Actual bombs! Seven pipe bombs could do serious damage—maybe even decimate half of the population of Welton High. What if they go off? Will this really be the end?

"Well, that explains the excessive amount of helicopters flying above us," Jungkook says, shrugging.

Before Jimin can shoot his friend a look of utter incredulity, he hears the sharp voice of his calc teacher. "Jimin! Jungkook! What are you doing out of line? I'm taking roll!"

"The Grinch is calling," Jungkook snickers. "We'll see you later," he tells Taehyung who salutes the two of you.

"See you guys," Taehyung says before sauntering off to his physics class.

"Text us!" Jimin calls.

Taehyung doesn't turn around but gives two big thumbs up indicating that he had heard Jimin.

Quickly, Jimin and Jungkook get in line while their dratted teacher takes roll. Once they see that their teacher isn't eagle-eyeing them, they slip out their phones, opening their group chat with Taehyung. It looks like Taehyung had already sent them multiple texts. All cries of pity.

Group: dead men + kook

[half-dead cowboy]: y'alls

[half-dead cowboy]: literally save me

[half-dead cowboy]: idk anyone in this class

[half-dead cowboy]: keep me entertained

[half-dead cowboy]: don't leave me hanging

[half-dead cowboy]: guyds

[half-dead cowboy]: guys*

[nO yOu]: serves u right for deciding to take physics ii lmfaoo

[half-dead cowboy]: shut up kook

[half-dead cowboy]: where's my boi minnie when i need him

[lil dead man]: Shit Tae I keep forgetting to tell you not to call me that

[half-dead cowboy]: you know why?

[half-dead cowboy]: because you not-so-secretly lobr it

[half-dead cowboy]: ugh

[half-dead cowboy]: love*

[nO yOu]: how did u even get in welton tae lmfao u can't even spell

[half-dead cowboy]: no

[half-dead cowboy]: i can SPELL i can't TYPE

[half-dead cowboy]: there's a difference you jerky

[half-dead cowboy]: ARE YOU KIDDING ME

[half-dead cowboy]: jerk********

[lil dead man]: AHAHAHAHAHAHAH

[nO yOu]: i feel quite honored to b called a jerky

[half-dead cowboy]: stfu

[nO yOu]: no for real bro

[nO yOu]: thank you

[lil dead man]: Back at it again with the sarcasm Kook

[lil dead man]: Anyways what's the girl's locker room like ( ͡° ͜ʖ ͡°)

[half-dead cowboy]: not the lenny face

[half-dead cowboy]: please no

[nO yOu]: nO yOu

[lil dead man]: How long have you been waiting to say that

[nO yOu]: months

[nO yOu]: thanks for noticing. u my man

[nO yOu]: also if tae won't say anything bout the girl's locker room i will

[lil dead man]: What the fuck bro I thought you were joking when you say you knew the shit that went down????

[nO yOu]: lmfao i'm still jokin chillax minnie

[half-dead cowboy]: i hate you guys :((((((

[nO yOu]: damn that frowny face has 6 chins holy mothatruckafucka

[half-dead cowboy]: :(

[lil dead man]: That's more like it!!

[half-dead cowboy]: hold up hold up

[half-dead cowboy]: oh shoot y'all hearing this?

[nO yOu]: no?? we're texting? wE hAvE nO vOicE

[half-dead cowboy]: no you illiterate f*cks they just cleared the school the bomb threat as phony

[lil dead man]: Whew

[lil dead man]: I'm happy I won't blow up into smithereens but also pissed off as fuck that we'll have to live to take finals??

[nO yOu]: agreed, minnie

[nO yOu]: k but more importantly

[nO yOu]: tae did you just censor out a fucking cuss word

[half-dead cowboy]: i'm trying not to cuss as much anymore if you haven't noticed. but y'all make it f*cking hard. f*ck

[lil dead man]: We'Re sOrRy wE'Re bAd iNflUenCe

[half-dead cowboy]: :(((((((((((((((

[nO yOu]: 15 chins lets git itttt

[half-dead cowboy]: F*CK Y'ALL

It feels strange. The shortened school day had been so eventful... but also uneventful? Sure, there was a bomb threat, but it had been fake. Jimin thought a full-on Hollywood action scene would've commenced after the bombs detonated, but the bombs were never there in the first place. There weren't any finals either. All of them had been rescheduled to take next week, which was good news for most students.

It wasn't just good news, too. It was great news. Superb news. The best news students have gotten since they began attending Welton High School. Now, students are thanking the bomb threat for its rather impeccable timing. Some are even pissed that it hadn't happened earlier (so more finals could have been missed).

"We need to celebrate this once in a lifetime opportunity!" Taehyung announces as soon as the three boys are reunited. "It's not every day that a bomb threat cancels your finals!"

"We deserve a break, anyways," Jimin says. "I'm down. Kook?"

"Mm..." Jungkook makes an unintelligible sound at the back of his throat as he pauses his video game with the tap of his finger. "Sorry guys. Can't. Have to go somewhere."

"You?" Taehyung gasps dramatically. "Have plans?"

"And without us?" Jimin says, feigning a hurt expression. "Are you ditching us?"

Jungkook rolls his eyes. "No. I'm just... busy."

"Ha! Busy," Taehyung snorts. "Yeah, busy with that little sophomore girl you've been—cough—seeing."

"What the fuck," Jungkook scoffs. "How do you know about that?"

Taehyung opts not to answer the question, instead, he giggles. "It's a date, isn't it?" he sings.

Jungkook puffs out his cheeks in annoyance. "Fine," he says, slipping his phone inside his back pocket. "It's a date."

"Oh, we are so following you," Taehyung says.

"Don't you dar—"

"No, we're following you," Jimin grins.

"No, I swear to fucking g—"

Jimin and Taehyung are following Jungkook. The boy's surprisingly agile as he zig-zags around stumpy trees, tall bushes and overflowing trash cans. Sometimes, he quickly looks behind him as if to see if someone was trailing his back. Every time, Jimin's heart sinks with the fear of being caught, but Taehyung seems to love the thrill of the adrenaline rush.

At this rate, Jimin feels like an outlaw. But he's only just chasing his rather suspicious-looking friend. Or maybe he really wanted his relationship with the sophomore girl as a secret?

Or maybe there was no sophomore girl in the picture at all. Jimin's not too sure.

"It's as if he doesn't want anyone to know he's dating a teeny weeny 10th grader," Taehyung whispers, a mischievous grin stuck on his lips.

Yeah. If the girl exists. But Jimin doesn't say that. "I wonder who she is," he whispers back. "I mean, who on earth is worthy of dating our Kook?"

"My expectations for this girl are high," Taehyung snorts. "She better be the most intelligent girl I've ever—wait, what the fucK??"

The latter is more of a reaction. Taehyung grabs Jimin's arm, pulling him to take refuge behind a particularly bushy bush. He points at a rather unsettling scene unfolding before them.

Through the leaves of the shrub, Jimin can make out Jungkook, all right. There's also a girl—who might be a sophomore, standing confidently on a tree stump. Jimin doesn't even know if you go to Welton. But what makes the whole situation peculiar is that there are others—including Jungkook—gathered in this little half-forest clearing. And they're gathered around the tree stump in which the girl is standing on.

Jimin tries to make a rough estimate of the number of people—seemingly students because they're all wearing backpacks— in his head. Twelve? Maybe fifteen students? He's confused, furrowing his brows as he squints at them through the bush. "What's this shit for?" he whispers to Taehyung who looks equally confused.

"No idea," Taehyung mutters. "Looks like a cult," he snorts. "But it could be a stupid Fortnite club for all I know."

"I doubt that a club would meet at such a sketchy place," Jimin murmurs to himself.

There is something definitely fishy going on here...

Jungkook blends in way too easily in the crowd of supposed students. The only person that stands out is the girl. The one on the tree stump. She stands casually, favoring her left leg. She's petite, but her posture and stance emit an aura of valiance and authority. Her eyes seem to sparkle with determination and her lips are curled up in a happy smile. A... victorious smile.

"That's her!" Taehyung whispers aggressively. "The girl I've seen our Kook with! The little sophomore!"

Ah... She's a sophomore... Jimin nods, cocking his head as his eyes scan the group of students to see if he recognized anyone other than Jungkook. He sees a few seniors (that he can't quite remember the name of) and finds it weird that they're huddled below the sophomore girl as if waiting for her command.

Whoever she is, she's the leader. The president, maybe? Of whatever club this was? If it even was a club, that is.

Jimin's thoughts are proven when the girl clasps her hands together, taking a deep breath before bellowing out a "Thank you for coming!" She offers a friendly wave to everyone looking up to her (literally) in awe.

Jimin has never seen the genius himself, Jeon Jungkook, respecting an underclassman before. Even the seniors in the crowd look at the girl approvingly. As if she were a queen and not just the president of a small club.

The girl speaks again in her light, lilted voice, turning to a lanky boy with unkempt blonde hair covering his eyes. "Yoongs! Attendance, please?"

"Perfect attendance, Y/N!" the boy deemed as Yoongs reports back to the girl. He winks. And she—Y/N—blushes.

Jimin frowns. What was going on???

You giggle, looking fondly at Yoongs before returning your attention to the rest of the crowd. "So, our experiment worked as expected," you say, shrugging rather casually. "I did feel bad for wasting people's time..." you trail off, unsure.

Experiment? Jimin feels chills run down his spine when he realizes you probably mean the bomb threat.

"It was worth it, babe!" Yoongs calls from the group.

You smile. "It's always worth it," you reply. "I'll make today's meeting short for those of you working on college apps and the others of you participating in competitions."

You're so casual in the way you speak—as if the people you were looking over were your friends. But you're also entrancing. As if everyone else has to be silent to hear what great words you have to say. And apparently, you have a lot on your mind to share.

"As I always say," you start, "never waste your time on your grades. They don't define you. Nor will they shed a light on the person you are inside. Nevertheless, everyone here should have straight A's..." you smile, looking over at Yoongs. "A round of applause for Yoongi's excellent coding skills for which we would've never been able to pull this off without them!"

The crowd erupts in enthusiastic applause, leaving Yoongi beaming from his proud accomplishments.

You wait for the crowd to simmer down before speaking again. "We tricked and cheated the system," you admit. "You might have doubts about that. Morality and integrity may play into your thoughts. But," you take a dramatic pause, "how moral are grades, really? They're tools for adults, which is as far as it goes. Teachers corrupt the system, watch silently as all hell breaks loose from the intense student competition... They make it a game. They know you'll do anything to get the letter grade you want," you take a painful breath. "We're only fighting against something that is as equally as or more morally ambiguous. The world cares about you as a human. They won't care about a robot that spits out impeccable grades but has no soul, no passion, no life. They want you at your best—what you can do that will benefit others. We don't need to take part in something as trivial as our high school grades, do we?" you smile as the students around you cheer.

"Of course... college is a different story. Depending on the college you go, that is..." you trail off. "When you start to learn about things that you have a genuine interest in, that's when grades might matter. But for now, struggling this hard on obscure subjects that you'll never touch again after graduating from Welton? I say it's a good thing we're cheating the system. How great was the system anyway to have contributed to three student suicides in the last two years?"

There's a collective murmur as students nod their heads.

"A moment of silence for Heegyung, Bonsoo and Chaewoon, please," you say, voice barely above a whisper but everyone hears what you say and they all bow their heads down to obey. You, yourself, close your eyes. Your face is etched with pain and actual remorse, which makes Jimin feel a little guilty he wasn't truly mourning the students' deaths.

After a few minutes pass, you clear your throat, blinking your eyes open and waiting for the other students to look up at you again. "Ah, yes," you say. "Thank you for the short mourning period we were able to squeeze into this meeting... But now to get to the purpose of this gathering," you pause for a split second before continuing again. "The finals you will have to take next week shouldn't be as stressful as other school days. Apply our methods and you'll be fine. If you need extra help, text me as soon as possible." You pause again, but this time, it wasn't to gather your thoughts, it was to shift the mood of your speech. A bright grin settles on your face.

"Now, for the moment we've all been waiting for!" you exclaim. "Let's give a special round of applause for Jeon Jungkook and Min Yoongi for their collaboration on this excellent evacuation plan!"

The crowd does more than applaud. Students whoop, yell and chant their names. But Jimin's not in a celebratory mood.

Jungkook did what?? Jimin shoots Taehyung a panicked look. It was one thing to realize that this group of students probably somehow organized the bomb threat, but it was another thing to realize that Jungkook was a large part of it.

"It was extremely difficult to create an automated call that couldn't be traced—" you begin.

"Eh, it wasn't that bad," Yoongi shrugs nonchalantly. "Child's play."

You laugh, eyes twinkling as your turn to Yoongi. "Well, thank you," you say. "Ah, and as for Jungkook, thank you for volunteering to use your voice to record the bomb threat. It must've been so nerve-wracking."

Jungkook snorts, shaking his head. "All I really did was speak into a mic. And we totally distorted my voice. Severely fucked up the frequencies and all that."

Jimin's blood runs cold. He looks over at Taehyung with his eyes wide. His friend isn't faring any better with his jaw clenched and fists tightened.

"It took an immense amount of courage to sacrifice your voice for an experiment like this," you say, smiling down at the older boy. "Oh, yeah! How's your album going, by the way?"

Jungkook beams. "It's going great!" he says happily. "I've been having so much fuckin' time to work on it that the whole process has just been insanely smooth."

"Love that!" you say. "Productivity at its finest, right?"

Everyone nods eagerly.

"Well!" you sigh, placing both of your hands on your hips. "The meeting's officially over, now! Please text me your work progresses, guys. They're due before midnight. Thank you so much for coming!"

"Thank you for hosting it, babe!" Yoongi says, rushing over to help you off of the tree stump by offering his hand. You take it gladly, stepping back on the dirt ground.

You start waving at the students who begin to file out of the meeting place. When Jimin sees them start to move towards him and Taehyung, he grabs his friend's arm. "Shit, Tae, we've got to—"

"Hey, Jungkook?" you call. The boy turns around, looking at you expectantly. "Can you please tell your two friends that hiding behind a bush is quite ineffective?" You giggle when Jimin falls to the ground in shock. "Park Jimin and Kim Taehyung, was it?"

Jimin's in shell-shock, unable to move or dust off his pants. How the fuck did you—

"You can come out of hiding, you know," you reassure them with such a honey-like quality to your voice that it's almost impossible to resist. "We don't really bite," you giggle. "But... I mean, Yoongi might," you tease, earning a flirtatious shove from the boy.

At your invitation to quit hiding, Taehyung jumps out from behind the bush, dragging Jimin along with him. "Who the fuck are you and how do you know our names?!" Taehyung roars.

Guess he already gave up his no-cussing streak, Jimin sighs. But he's also glad that he's not the one who has to stand up for both of them.

"Don't be so rude, you ass," Jungkook scoffs. "Motherfucking stalkers. I told you not to follow me."

Stalkers?? We were just looking out for you! Jimin thinks. "We're sorry, Kook," he manages to say. "But you lied to us! And more importantly, you obviously haven't been telling us things."

Jimin's frankly hurt by his friend's lack of honesty, but it seems so that Taehyung is more vocal about it.

"Yeah, Jeon Jungkook, what the fuck?" Taehyung yells. "You're a cheater!" he accuses Jungkook, stepping closer and poking at his chest harshly with his pointer finger. "You're a fake! You're a bomb threatener!!"

"Wait a minute!" you cut in. "Let's not get into accusations like that so early. Jimin, Taehyung, I—"

"How do you know our fucking names?!" Taehyung screams. "We don't even know who you are, you cheater!!"

"Watch it," Yoongi says dangerously. He tries to take a step forward, but you stop him, placing a hand on his arm.

"I'm Y/N," you say. "We're all students of Welton, so there's no reason for the animosity. Besides, I memorized the yearbook." You shrug, but you gesture apologetically to Jimin and Taehyung. "I'm very sorry, but I didn't invite you two to join our little group for a major reason. Of course..." you trail off. "Now you have to join... For safety reasons."

"Little group?" Taehyung snorts. "Where did the specificity go?"

"Hmm," you hum. "What do you think about a school revolt?"

Jimin does not like the idea of a school revolt at all. It sounds stupid. Students would never be able to pull it off. Even Taehyung, who's usually more open-minded than Jimin, seems skeptical.

You ask Jimin and Taehyung to meet up in Panera, later that day with Jungkook, to discuss the specifics. By the time Jimin and Taehyung get there, you and Jungkook have already saved a corner spot in the cafe.

Jungkook's eating pieces of sourdough bread while you sip your frozen lemonade. It looks to Jimin and you and Jungkook are getting along as both of you gesture wildly as you speak. You even let out a large laugh after Jungkook says something funny.

Jimin feels weird interrupting the already happy conversation, but Taehyung seems to have no problem. Taehyung slides into the seat next to Jungkook, leaving Jimin to sit with you. Jimin suddenly feels very self-conscious about himself.

"Glad you two could make it!" you chirp, setting down your frozen lemonade. "Want anything to eat or drink? They have hibiscus lemonade here and it's literally amazing!"

"I'd rather you cut to the chase," Taehyung says, frowning as he folds his arms.

Jimin agrees with a short nod.

"Oh," you say, "sure!"

"You said something about a school revolt," Taehyung says. "Explain."

"God, would it kill you to say please?" Jungkook rolls his eyes. "She's doing you guys a fucking favor. Man, if Yoongi was here, he'd whoop your asses."

"It's fine, Jungkook," you say. "I get how confusing this can be... Our little group has one goal," you start. "I want to help struggling students. You know what Welton is... Ruthless competition. Kids cramming without actually understanding the material. Rote memorization... Wasting time by doing four pages worth of math homework every night... Way too specific reading quizzes that have nothing to do with the storyline of the novels..."

The more you talk, the more Jimin begins to relate.

"It's horrible," you sigh. "That they're making us become a servant to the school. They use the students to boost the credibility of the teachers. They thrive off of our hard work, you know."

"They're bitches," Jungkook snorts. "Never really care for us. Remember Chaewoon? He told his counselor about his suicidal thoughts and she didn't do shit. He might still be alive with us if the counselor cared."

You nod. "Yes, our mental support system at this school amongst the grown-ups is preposterous," you say. "There are too many problems with Welton. And I reach out to deserving students to offer them a solution."

"A solution?" Jimin mutters.

You turn to him, nodding politely. "Yes! A solution. Students have dreams, Jimin. Taehyung, don't you ever wish you could be putting in your time somewhere else instead of studying for a subject you don't care about?"

Taehyung nods. "Who doesn't wish that around here?"

"Exactly," you say. "I'm offering you, Tae, and Jimin a great chance to follow your dreams. High school is when you feel the spark growing inside you. The spark is an extracurricular or a hobby of some sort that you've always loved with your whole heart. You probably had to sacrifice a lot to join Welton's elite debate team, right Taehyung?"

"Never even liked debate that much," he answers. "I had to quit theater for that shit."

"And you couldn't do both because...?" you say.

"Because the debate coach told me theater would interfere with the debate practice schedules," Taehyung says. "And he said that debate is much more intellectual than theater. He said that I won't be able to balance my studies with both debate and theater."

"Exactly," you say. "It's utter bs, don't you think? Why do we have to sacrifice our hobbies, our passionate dreams to do what some adult tells us to do? You do realize that they put down the arts because they want their smartest students participating in their intellectual or STEM-related activities? The more intelligent students that are in these activities, the higher the school rating skyrockets. It's purely selfish reasons."

"That is utter bullshit," Taehyung scoffs. "You're right. That is pretty fucking selfish."

"Right," you say. "I want to teach you, Tae," you say, looking the boy dead in his eyes. "I'll take care of your grades. I'll teach you the best ways to get away with outsmarting the teacher. I'll plan class distractions—like today—and if things still don't go well, my boyfriend—you met Yoongi today, right?—can make a last-ditch effort to hack into the grades system and work his magic. You'll have extra time to do theater—at school and at other professional intern sites. How does that sound?"

"Fuck," Taehyung curses. "That sounds fucking great when you put it that way."

Jimin's not so sure. "What if someone snitches?"

You laugh. "Oh, they wouldn't," you say. "I have eyes and ears everywhere."

"She does," Jungkook says. "There's no one she doesn't know. C'mon she's the first sophomore Editor-in-Chief of the school newspaper. You'll be safe if you join."

"You're juniors as well," you say. "There's a lot of pressure to do perfectly in school now. And you'll be in college before you know it. I reckon that you want to know your ride-or-die interest before you attend university."

Jimin looks down at his hands. This is wrong, he tells himself. But it'll do so much good. Not moral good, of course. But still.

Taehyung already seems sold on the idea, a fast grin spreading across his face as he nods his head enthusiastically.

You notice Jimin's skeptical look. "Hey, I'm gonna run to the bathroom," you say. Jimin gets out of the seat to let you through, and as soon as you're out of sight, he collapses on the seat and groans.

"Great, she's fucking gone," Jimin says. "Tae, you can't possibly think this is a good idea."

"What do you mean? It's a fucking fantastic idea!" Taehyung says. "Dude, don't you understand? I'll get to do what I love without sacrificing my grades! Once in a lifetime opportunity, bro."

Jungkook snorts. "Yeah, well, I have my music and you have your acting shit, Taehyung, but Jimin doesn't know anything other than the pages of a stupid fucking textbook."

It hurts because it's brutally true. Jimin bites his lip and shakes his head.

"Fifteen people is awfully small for a cult," Jimin grumbles.

"It is not a cult," Jungkook argues, crossing his arms over his chest. "And no one knows how many students are actually involved except for Y/N. She figured it'll be safer that way."

"Bro, I'm in," Taehyung says. "I was in like seven minutes ago."

"Good choice, man," Jungkook says, slapping Taehyung's back approvingly. "And honestly? Jimin? You don't exactly have a choice. You have to join."

Jimin scoffs. "Why?"

"Because you know this group exists and it's likely you'd snitch on us if you don't get anything out of it," Jungkook says, raising an eyebrow at his friend. "Y/N's being really generous with you right now. You're basically going to freeload."

"Freeload?" Jimin says, glaring at the man with intense ferocity. "I didn't ask for any of this!"

"Hey, it's okay!" Taehyung says. "You can just find some hobby or something. So you're still following protocol."

"Um, easier said than done," Jimin mutters.

It's silent after that as Jimin sulks in his seat and Jungkook and Taehyung awkwardly watch him do so. You come back from the "bathroom" (you were gone for much longer, so Jimin suspects you were just giving them time to discuss) only to see the three boys sitting in complete silence.

You cock your head. "Everything all right?"

"Yeah, yeah!" Taehyung says. "It's final. Jimin and I are joining!"

"Great!" you say, smiling as you clasp your hands together. "Oh, you'll have to get started on your theater process right away," you tell Taehyung. "And Jimin, it's fine that you don't know what you like now. You can hang tight until you find something, all right?"

Jimin lets out a grumbling, "Yeah, sure."

"It's set, then!" you say, sipping your not-so-frozen lemonade drink. "Thank you, Jungkook. I owe you."

"No, it's fine, really," Jungkook laughs, shaking his head. "Just doing my job."

You smile at him fondly before turning to Jimin and Taehyung. "I'll text you the details pertaining to each of you, okay?" You glance down at your watch and gasp. "Oh, shoot, I'm late for my date! Um, I'll see you three at our next meeting? Or at school. Bye, guys!!" With that, you grab your drink and practically fly out of Panera, never looking back once.

Jimin and Taehyung are a bit dumbfounded.

"I gotta go work on producing my album," Jungkook says. "See you guys, too?"

"Yeah, duh," Taehyung grins as Jungkook slides out of the seat. "You basically saved our lives."

Jungkook snorts. "Sorry I didn't say anything about it earlier, by the way," he says. "We're not allowed to talk about it to anyone. Mostly because we don't really know who's involved."

"Nah, it's fine, man," Taehyung says, shaking his head. "At least we know now, right?"

Jimin stays quiet.

"Well, see you," Jungkook sighs as he glances at Jimin but doesn't say anything further. He leaves quickly.

"God, Jimin, he's your friend," Taehyung says as soon as Jungkook turns a corner and is no longer in view. "You shouldn't be that cold."

"Oh, really?" Jimin says. "He was living lavishly all this time and didn't bother saying anything!"

"He just said he didn't have a choice, Jimin!"

"God!" Jimin says, running his hand through his hair. "Now how are we any different from the motherfucking cheaters out there?"

Taehyung frowns. "I don't mind cheating. Y/N didn't even call it cheating. She called it 'outsmarting the teachers.' And besides, we have a reason for it too."

Jimin shrugs. "Yeah, whatever..."

"You'll come around," Taehyung smiles, shaking his head. "But what the heck do you think Jungkook meant by saying no one knows who's in the group??"

"No idea."

But it soon becomes quite obvious when Jungkook escorts Jimin and Taehyung to their first official meeting. Jimin and Taehyung gape as they realize no one they saw last time was here. You must hold several of the same meetings. All with different people.

Now it's for sure that nobody knows how many people are in the goddamn cult except for you. It dawns on Jimin that he's getting himself into something much, much larger than he had previously believed.

You've created quite an advanced system. So advanced that it took Jimin a while to get used to. It was a cheating plot so elaborate and well-planned that it almost didn't feel like cheating. Instead, it was like embarking on an evil heist in the adult world.

You had a master plan behind every single class in Welton. Jungkook said you harbored hundreds of paper documents (not digital, or they could be hacked) that had information about every teacher, every subject in the school. From there, you would investigate each subject and find the students who were genuinely interested in pursuing it in the future—the experts. Those students would then be in charge of making and organizing all of the class lecture notes; it would be their responsibility to fully learn the material and redistribute it to the other students who, more or less, didn't give two fucks about the class.

Homework was rotated amongst the "expert" students, and they'd send the other students the answers. (But, of course, there were always different versions of the homework so teachers would never suspect.)

Tests weren't a problem either. Somehow, you'd get a copy of every test or quiz before the exam date and distribute it to the experts. In a day's time, the rest of the students would obtain the answers (and work, if it was a math-based test). But to ensure that not everyone got the same exact score, you'd implemented quite a simple but complex system.

Test grades were higher for experts (especially experts who were able to make large progress on their personal projects). From there, the non-expert students were given scores solely based on how well they have updated their progress to you, and how much they have advanced in their extracurriculars.

The hardest questions on every exam were hand-picked by the experts themselves. And only the experts were allowed to answer the question correctly.

Essays were different. Not everyone read the given book, but the experts would always be ready for all kinds of topics—the holy grail was definitely the database of all past Welton essays that you handled yourself.

In that way, you had every single class in the whole school covered for the students in your group. (Which was ultimately a huge bummer for the students who had no idea of the behind-the-scenes 'outsmarting' that was going on.)

Jimin thinks the system is good. Could be better, but it works.

He's just pissed that he never has any progress to report back to you, so he always ends up scoring a high B on exams. It happens to be a pretty good deal, though, factoring in the fact that he didn't study for them. Scoring B+'s on exams was enough to keep his grades at an A.

But sometimes, it just feels wrong. Especially on his physics tests (where the class average is 60%, but he ends up with a raw score of 88% without having to put in the minimal effort). No matter how many times you call the action 'outsmarting the teachers,' Jimin thinks he's just plain cheating.

He's been wanting to report it for a while... Just because the little angel sitting by his shoulder is telling him that this is unfair to all the other students who were truly trying but weren't even getting close to the scores that Jimin was getting just by copying others' answers. Jimin remembers when he had been in that unfortunate position. When he'd watched students do suspiciously well on certain subjects while having time to do other activities, while he, himself, had to study for eight hours straight to get a C on the test.

But Jimin's not part of that unfortunate group of students. He's now pretty damn fortunate.

And he can't stay fortunate if he reports the cheating. Jimin's desperate. He's desperate to obtain decent grades without spilling countless tears and studying from early morning to the next morning after. It's the only reason that he hasn't reported your little group yet.

Besides, Taehyung is seemingly adapting better to this non-student-like lifestyle. He's already joined two theater productions and is applying to work as extras in films and such. And Jungkook's been continuing to work on his album too.

Jimin's friends seem to love being a part of the group.

Maybe Jimin's just salty because he hasn't found his passion yet. Though he doesn't know everyone in your little school cult, it seems like everyone involved in it has a passion, a dream they want to reach for, except for him.

A part of him wants to find a hobby just to say he has one when someone asks. But another, larger, part of him wants a hobby because of greed. Finding a passion and pursuing it meant Jimin would get a higher chance of getting better test grades for texting you about his progress. But Jimin can't just latch on to any existing hobby... He needs some advice.

Well, you'd told him that he should come to you if he needed advice... It's weird to think that he, a junior, has to ask advice from a sophomore. But maybe he's that desperate.

You're usually in your own little private newspaper office (as the Editor-in-Chief). So Jimin decides to give you a visit. But when he walks into the room after school, he sees you comforting a crying girl. Whether she's part of the cult is unclear, but Jimin immediately discerns her as one of those band girls—with frizzy hair, leggings and a boxy t-shirt. The girl's crying so hysterically that Jimin feels uncomfortable intruding. He leaves without another look.

Crying girls are not a good sign; he'll just come back tomorrow.

When tomorrow comes and Jimin walks into your private newspaper room, there is no crying girl to his relief. You're on your computer, probably reading or editing some student-written articles. Jimin feels awkward disrupting you being so focused on your work, but the longer time he spends just waiting for you to finish, the more time he wastes.

So: "Um, hi... Uh, Y/N?" Jimin says. He grabs a chair and pulls it up next to you.

"Oh! Jimin!" you greet him, turning from your computer to face the boy in front of you.

"I came yesterday," Jimin says, shrugging, "but you were busy with someone else... I came back today."

"Ah, you mean Chunseo," you say, nodding. "She was having a hard time yesterday."

Jimin's silent, waiting for you to elaborate, but you don't. It becomes quite clear to him that you don't like to talk about others behind their backs.

"So, what are you here for today?" you chirp. "Advice? Questions? I know everything must be new to you, so I just hope you feel comfortable with the whole system."

"Oh, uh..." Jimin would like to tell you that you're doing a great job and that everything's going fucking great, but that's unfortunately not what comes out of his mouth. "I still don't know what to pursue. I mean, I have so much extra time on my hands now, but I'm just spending it on my phone. My friends have been advancing in their passions, but I have nothing... I was just wondering if you could um, help me? Help me find a passion, maybe? I don't know."

"Hm," you say, looking thoughtfully at Jimin. "I can definitely help you with that..." you trail off, looking Jimin up and down and cocking your head. Jimin thinks you're analyzing him—not just his physical qualities but his personality as well. He feels almost vulnerable under your gaze.

"Have you ever had any hobbies, Jimin?" you ask him.

"That's the thing," he sighs. "No, I haven't."

He looks so miserable that you have to place a comforting hand on his arm. "Hey, it'll be fine, Jimin," you say. "I'm sure it'll come to you one day. A hobby isn't something you should necessarily force out of yourself. When you feel a connection with an activity—when you aren't exactly looking for one—then that meets you've found your hobby. And if you really love this hobby, then it can grow to be your passion. You just need to be patient. Don't worry," you smile, "you'll find something."

Jimin glances at your hand on his arm and then glances up at your face. God, you have a way with words. He feels much better, even though you didn't exactly offer him a cut-out solution.

"Thanks," he says. "I needed that."

"No problem, Jimin," you beam. "I know not having a personal project to work on leaves you with the lower grades, but you're probably only at the A- ranges, right? That's not too bad," you say. "Hm, how about this?"

Oh? It looks like you're going to offer him a plan. So Jimin scoots closer to you on his chair and listens intently for your next words.

"You're a junior, and before you know it, you'll have to write your college apps. Maybe instead of spending time on your phone, you can start with your college essays now? Is that all right to suggest?" you say, cautiously. "It never hurts to get a head start, you know."

You're right. Jimin should probably be productive, just like everyone else in the group. "Yeah," he says. "That's a good idea, actually."

"Great!" you say, clasping your hands together. "And I really appreciate you coming here to tell me the truth. You'd be surprised that a lot of others don't do the same as you."

"Oh..."

"Yeah," you giggle. "Hey, what about this? We'll compromise. I'll ask my boyfriend to change something for you as a thanks from me to you for being open and honest."

"Really??" Jimin says, his eyes growing wide and a small smile appearing on his face. "Thank you!"

You shake your head. "No problem, Jimin. Good luck on your college apps!" you call to him as he leaves the room.

"Thanks!"

Wow.

Jimin's heard a lot of great things about you from his friends, but now he realizes they really weren't kidding. You're a leader, all right. But a balanced one too.

Not only did you offer him emotional support with your words of affirmation but also you showed him a solution—at least a temporary solution to his problem. And you're also incredibly generous as well.

Hm. Now Jimin can't possibly think to report your little cult. Of course, it's still half wrong, what you're doing... But after talking to you, after receiving your feedback and help, there's no way Jimin would be able to double-cross you. As weird as it sounds, you kind of have a nice smile, and he doesn't want to cause you stress or grievances that you're actively trying to avoid with your group. In other words, he doesn't want to be the cause of your frowning.

Jimin's never seen you frown before, but he doesn't exactly want to see it in the future.

"Damn, I was such a bad procrastinator before joining the student group! The study group? The group? I don't even know what to call it," Taehyung laughs. He takes a large gulp of his boba drink and continues, "I feel like being a part of this community is improving my lifestyle. Like seriously, though. I haven't had a normal or healthy lifestyle since eighth grade!"

Jungkook nods vigorously. "Dude, I know! I've never been this productive before I met Y/N! Doesn't it feel so nice to be able to dedicate time to your strongest fucking passions?"

"Duh!" Taehyung says. "Man, what if this makes me peak in happiness in high school?"

Jungkook throws his head back to laugh, but Jimin doesn't find it so amusing.

Instead, he feels a bit left out. While his friends were diving deep into their passions, Jimin had yet to find a hobby. "Why doesn't the group have a name, anyway?" he asks. "Seems kind of inconvenient."

Jungkook wiggles his eyebrows at Jimin teasingly. "Because..." he trails off spookily. "A name can always be traced back to the source. Haven't you thought of that?"

"Apparently Y/N did," Taehyung snorts. "Sometimes I wonder how she's so big-brained. God has favorites, I'm telling you."

"She's a fucking legend," Jungkook says. "I would worship her if I wasn't so stubborn about holding onto my dignity."

Jimin laughs, nearly choking on a tapioca pearl doing so. "Too bad she has a boyfriend, huh?" he jokes. "Jungkook sounds like he'd totally hit her up."

"I do not!"

"Sure, bro," Taehyung snickers. "When you talk to her, your pupils dilate."

"They fucking don't!" Jungkook says. "I have my interests elsewhere. Thank you very much!"

"Another girl?" Jimin gasps, placing a hand to his chest in shock. "Who?"

"Not a fucking girl, you bimbo," Jungkook says exasperatedly. "My music! I have interests in music. You guys fucking suck."

Jimin and Taehyung spiral into a fit of laughter. And the teasing and back-and-forth passive-aggressive remarks continued until the boba cups were empty and the three friends realized they talked up enough of a storm.

It used to be rare to meet up like this—because Jimin and Taehyung would always be overwhelmed in schoolwork—but now that their academic life was taken care of by you, they've been able to give themselves healthy breaks.

Jimin feels refreshed albeit a bit tired after parting with his two friends. He decides to walk home because his mother would kill him if she had to pick him up from the boba place when he should be studying at home.

The outside air feels nice against his cheeks, and Jimin finds himself becoming much more attentive to his surroundings. Back when he was a full-time serious Welton student, he couldn't ever spare to look at the intricacies of the vicinity—he always had to jump straight to the point, skipping the little moments to shove his face into his textbooks. It's a nice change.

Jimin notices a whole bunch of stores and studios on his walk home and he takes the time to admire each logo and memorize each name.

Damn. I never even knew some of these places existed...

There's even a dance studio called Hart's Dance Studio that Jimin swears he's never seen. The logo is an eye-catching red with a silhouette of a ballerina jumping over the 'Dance.' Jimin finds himself staring at it. Then, his eyes gravitate to the glass walls where he can see the dancers just... dancing.

And a lot of them are good. Like dancing is as easy as walking to them. But an unmoving figure amongst the active dancers catches Jimin's eyes. When he squints to get a better look, he realizes the stationary figure is you.

You're furiously typing on a laptop, occasionally looking up to watch the dancers once in a while.

What are you doing there? From your skinny jeans and lace top, it doesn't quite look like you're there to dance. Maybe you have a sibling in dance class?

But then again, Jimin remembers that Jungkook had once told him in a hushed whisper that you are definitely an only child... only after you lost your older sister to suicide, that is.

So really, what are you doing there?

Jimin cocks his head at you but realizes how weird it is to stand in front of the studio and stare. So finally, he just walks away.

But you're quite the mysterious figure. You're the exact type of person who makes others want to get to know you. You have an open quality where everyone feels welcome to talk to you, but you're also enigmatic, refusing to tell people a lot about yourself. Jimin sometimes even wonders if he's ever seen you at school with the same friend group. It looks like you're always jumping around.

Maybe you don't like to get to know people in a deep way. It's possible that you're a fan of shallow relationships, which there is nothing wrong with, of course. But then again, you have a boyfriend, whom you seem to really like. You're very hard to crack.

And even when winter break comes, Jimin's still been wondering what you've been doing at the dance studio, typing on your laptop. He's run all kinds of scenarios in his head. Maybe your mom works there? Or your friend dances there? But something inside him tells him whatever reasons he came up with are incorrect.

Meanwhile, Jimin's still waiting to find a hobby. He's already been to Taehyung's play and listened to the rough draft of Jungkook's album. But nothing seems to give him the inspiration that he needs.

Jimin just decides to go on a walk. The cold winter air nips at his skin, so he tightens his coat around himself, breathing steadily as he looks around at his surroundings. It's then when he finds himself stopped in front of Hart's Dance Studio.

He walks a bit closer to get a better look into the glass windows. And he smiles when he sees you. There is no one else around you, but you don't seem to mind. This time, however, you're not vigorously typing on your keyboard. You're... dancing.

Jimin doesn't know what prompted him to enter the dance studio, but the next thing he knows, he's inside.

You don't see him because your eyes are closed. Jimin takes the time to notice that you're wearing a simple black outfit consisting of a tank top and leggings. Your feet are left completely bare.

But the strangest part—you're not dancing with music. It explains your rather awkward movements. As if you can see yourself dance freely in your head, but you can't quite execute it in reality. Still, no matter how awkward you look, you radiate a majestic aura. So much so that from far away, you could look like a professional dancer.

Jimin doesn't realize he's staring until you startle him.

"Hey! Jimin!" you say. Your eyes are bright and wide open now and you wave at Jimin, motioning him over to you. "Hi!"

"Hi," Jimin agrees as he walks closer to you. "I didn't know you danced. Is that your passion?"

"Oh, god no," you giggle, shaking your head. "God forbid, no. It's for this book I'm writing!"

It finally makes sense. She's part of the school newspaper, and I'd seen her typing on her laptop.

"What kind of book?" Jimin asks curiously as he sits down on one of the metal benches in the dance room.

You take a sip of water from your water bottle before smiling. "It's this fictional book about a broken dancer. I'm an aspiring author! I've really been trying to get into my character and experience dancing so I can write her more realistically!"

"Oh, wow," Jimin laughs. "That's dedication."

"It's what I do to try to get good content," you say. "How's your winter break been going, by the way?"

"Pretty uneventful," Jimin says, leaning back on the bench. "I wrote and rewrote five drafts of my college essays. I don't think writing's my thing."

You laugh. "Well, we can rule that out in the list of possible hobbies you can partake in."

"Yeah," Jimin agrees. "I'm still trying to find—but not actively look for—a hobby."

"It's hard," you shrug. "You shouldn't stress too much about it, Jimin. I'm telling you, it's gonna come. I can see you be so dedicated. You just have to wait until the time's right."

"Sometimes I feel like my time will never come," Jimin admits. "Taehyung's already been writing, directing and filming his own short film these days and Jungkook's adding four more tracks to his album. I don't know whether I should feel inspired or pressured."

You shake your head. "You need to get out of your competitive mindset, Jimin," you say. "Realize that you should be doing things on your own time. Everyone has different paces, you know. Maybe you should take your mind off of everything you've been thinking of these days. Wanna dance with me?"

Your question catches Jimin off guard. "Sorry, what?"

"Would you like to dance with me?" you repeat, giggling. "Sorry, it was kinda abrupt but my character needs to experience partner dancing and so do I to write that scene. I've already asked Yoongi, but he won't budge! That boy hates dancing! So maybe you can dance with me?"

"Uh," Jimin awkwardly fidgets his fingers. "I've never exactly danced before."

You snort. "Well, honestly me too. I suck. But whatever, you know? We're going to try."

"What kind of dance?" Jimin says. "I think the only dance steps I've ever learned were the square dancing steps from fourth grade."

"We could try waltzing," you say. "It's pretty simple, I think. C'mon!"

You drag Jimin to the dance floor, guiding his right hand to lay on your back and taking his left hand in yours. Jimin feels awkwardly close to you, but when you laugh and joke about how preposterous the two of you must look, he feels a little more comfortable.

"This might end up with me stepping on your feet constantly," you say apologetically, "but I'm trying to capture the feeling of dancing with a partner. So essentially, it's the emotions that count, not the physical steps."

Jimin laughs. "I'll try not to step on your feet."

"No way," you say. "How are you better at this than I am right now? I thought you said you didn't know how to dance!"

"I don't!" Jimin protests.

But something feels right. Something kind of clicks. And the moment Jimin parts from you and rushes home, he watches dance videos online. He finds out that there are many genres, and the ones he finds the most moving are contemporary and lyrical. There has never been something that has enamored him more.

Jimin irrevocably and quite willingly falls into the rabbit hole of dance.

It's been two weeks since Jimin danced a simple waltz with you at Hart's Dance Studio, but the time seems to have flown by too quickly. The next time Jimin passes by the studio, you're still trying to dance. And when he walks in to greet you, he's met by music. You're dancing to music this time!

"Hi, Y/N," Jimin speaks over the music, breaking you from your reverie.

"Oh, gosh! Jimin! Hi!" you say, immediately turning to pause the song. "Long time no see! How's school?"

"Great," he answers. "Um, just thought I would visit the studio. Do you still need a dancing partner?"

You grin. "Well, kind of," you say. "I need to see an amateur dancer do a little improv routine. Do you mind? I tried doing it myself and recording it, but it's just not fun seeing myself be a fool on camera."

Jimin laughs. "I don't mind at all."

You gesture to the dance floor. "It's all yours."

"Thank you."

Jimin stares curiously at the dance floor, the bright lights flooding the whole room. He feels like he's on stage, but he likes that feeling. He closes his eyes and sees the hundreds of dance videos he binge-watched every day for hours. And then he dances.

Somewhere along the way, you turned the music back on, which makes it even easier for Jimin to dance. He moves instinctively, fluidly like he's water. And he stops only when he finds himself out of breath.

Your jaw is dropped open when Jimin opens his eyes.

"Jimin!" you exclaim, hands thrown in the air. "You're a natural! How did you do that? What the heck??"

Jimin shrugs bashfully, shrugging. He doesn't mention the hours and hours of stretching and practicing he had done before coming here. There would've been no way he would have agreed to improv dance for you if he hadn't felt so confident. And it's funny. Dancing is the only thing Jimin's found in his life that makes him feel self-confident so far. He would've never expected it.

"You should enroll in this studio!" you say. "With some training... You could do great things, Jimin, I mean it!"

Jimin's not too sure about that. Yes, he likes to dance, and maybe it was a hobby. But enrolling in the studio meant full-time commitment. He isn't so sure if he is ready for that. He isn't sure his parents are ready for that.

"Okay," Jimin says. "I'll um, think about it." But not really.

It's like you can see right through his lie, though. "Oh, okay," you say. "Then maybe you can practice dancing in this studio by yourself. I'm friends with the owner so she lets me swing by whenever I want. Wanna meet here every Friday? I could use a beginning dancer like you to really write a story about a dancer's progression."

Jimin's face lights up. Getting to dance one day a week in an actual dance studio?? "Yeah, sure!" Jimin says. "I'd really love to." Now I have an excuse to go to the studio and dance.

This could be the start of something great.

The start of something great it was. Fridays quickly become Jimin's favorite day of the week. After school, he rushes to the studio to meet you and work on learning the basics of dance by watching tutorial videos on the internet. Usually, he works in silence—except for the clicking sounds of your laptop, but today, when he strides onto the dance floor, you're waiting for him in the middle.

"Do you have music requests?" you ask him, scrolling through your phone as if you are deep in thought. "I always feel like it's easier to express yourself with the music you actually like."

"Music?" Jimin frowns. "I, um, don't listen to music that much."

Your jaw drops. "What??"

"I don't even have earphones," he laughs awkwardly.

"You don't have what??"

And that was all it took for you to teach Jimin music for the whole day. You went through the hundreds of songs in your playlists, putting Jimin on the dance floor and making him dance to the songs he likes best. By the end of the session, Jimin still feels like he's soaring. His heart in his chest beats to the rhythm of the music. When he steps out of the dance studio and parts ways with you, he can't help but wish it were next Friday.

But at least he has a whole week to go music hunting. Jimin's never been much of a music man, but he's found that certain songs make him want to dance. He'll search them out and practice with them in the following days.

At school, Jimin feels like a mindless machine. He's still on the fence about cheating the system that's supposed to help him; the ethical part of Jimin wants him to stop—of course it's nothing against you. Jimin just thinks that if the system to help the students exists, every student should be involved. Even he was invited into the group much later (and technically, at first, he was forced to join for catching a meeting in progress).

Yet at the same time, Jimin owes it to you and your group that he's able to do what makes him happy. And he can't bear the thought of betraying you.

At home, Jimin lies on his bed, listening to all of the songs you showed him on repeat. His family doesn't have any music streaming services so he secretly started a three month free trial on iTunes. But he knew his parents wouldn't approve of his music taste (they usually don't approve of anything too teenager-y, so Jimin borrows his father's pair of earbuds.

Jimin didn't know, but earbuds bring a whole new dimension to music. He lies face up, closing his eyes as he pictures himself jumping, dancing, moving to the sweet rhythms of the songs. It's like he's been introduced to a whole new world.

Friday rolls around way too slowly for Jimin's taste, but when he's finally there, talking to you and dancing upon your request, it feels like he's on cloud nine. Today, you ask Jimin to describe what it feels to dance.

Jimin's not exactly very good with his words but he tries his best.

"I don't know," he says at first, blushing as he looks down at the brightly lit dance floor. "It makes me feel like... how do I say it? Like I'm just in a vast room with no one but myself? The moment I hear a good song, I just get this heavy gut feeling to move, I guess. And then I see the colors and the movements... And I dance."

"A vast room?" you say in awe as you unceasingly type across the expanse of your keyboard. "Elaborate, please."

"I guess it feels like I'm on my own stage. And it's a good thing because it feels like no one's watching me," Jimin says. "Uh, kinda like I'm dancing for myself. I'm dancing to express how I feel. And if there's someone watching, I don't really feel it because I'm so uh... I'm so..."

"Enraptured by your own world?" you finish for him.

"Exactly!"

You smile. "Thank you, Jimin! You meeting me here every Friday is so helpful. I really don't know how to thank you properly."

"Oh," Jimin shakes his head. "You've helped me so much already. There's nothing you could possibly do to help me better."

After exchanging a few more words with Jimin, you deem that you have to go home early to celebrate your mother's birthday. Jimin bids you farewell, but he remains in the studio. It feels empty without you, but it doesn't really matter. He's always by himself when he dances, anyway.

Jimin turns on his music, which echoes across the dance room, ringing against the walls and thumping in his chest. He can't stop himself from moving. His body twists graciously and he leaps across the dance floor as the synths in the song sing their melodious tones. He's so into the dance that he doesn't notice a tall woman watching him in the background.

Jimin finishes off his improv dance by striking a majestic pose he had come up with himself a few days ago. He didn't expect anyone to clap when he had finished, but there was this sharp-looking woman who was applauding and smiling at him approvingly.

"O-Oh," Jimin stutters. "I'm so sorry. Uh, Y/N left a bit earlier so I just thought it was okay to stay..."

"You're Jimin!" the lady says. "I'm Miss Hart. I run this dance studio. Y/N's told me how talented you are."

Jimin blushes. "I don't know about talented."

Miss Hart shakes her head, walking closer to Jimin in graceful strides akin to that of a ballerina. "I want to offer you a spot in my dance studio. This is a personal offer."

"I-I, uh," Jimin stutters. He's caught off guard by this sudden invitation and he looks left to right in a very panicked manner. "I-I don't think my parents will allow it... Um, sorry... I have to, um, go..."

He flees before Miss Hart can get another word out of him.

It's the sad truth. Jimin's parents would likely never approve of his current hobby—even listening to music while he studied was a stretch for them. But the more Jimin thinks about Miss Hart's offer, the more he realizes how great of an opportunity that is for him to progress in the path to find his true passion.

As nerve-wracking as is it, during dinner, Jimin asks his parents if it would be okay if he started taking dance lessons. Their reactions aren't as severe as he had expected, but his parents still seem pretty surprised.

"Isn't it too late to start something new?" his mother says. "You're a junior now, Jimin. You should already know what you're good at."

"I agree with your mother," his father says. "Why the sudden interest?"

"I don't know," Jimin answers truthfully. "It just happened. I really, really like it though..."

Jimin's father raises his eyebrows. "Really?" he sighs. "I don't think so, Jimin. Think about it. I know your grades are good right now, but now you should be busy with getting ready for college, shouldn't you?"

Jimin had expected this. "Oh..."

"And have you been taking my earbuds?" his father says.

"Oh, yeah... sorry," Jimin winces. "I'll give them back right now." He trudges up the stairs, feeling dejected and miserable at the same time. He decides to give the earbuds one last listen, plugging them into his phone and placing the buds in his ears. The familiar light-hearted, serene music floods into his head. Jimin can't help it. His eyes close, his mouth parts and he begins to move. His feet take him across his room, leaping over textbooks and dirty socks as his arms move fluidly to support his upper body.

Time has a mind of its own when Jimin enters the dancing world.

He doesn't notice an audience member at the entrance of his room. Jimin's father stares at his son, taken aback by the pure emotion and passion put into such a performance. He cannot hear Jimin's music, but he is able to feel it through Jimin's movements. Jimin's father watches the dance a bit longer, then leaves. When Jimin tries to return the earbuds to his father, he rejects them. "Keep the earbuds," he tells his son. "I don't need them anymore."

On Saturday morning, Jimin's surprised when his father calls him downstairs to talk. Truth be told, Jimin's a little nervous to have a serious one-on-one talk with his father. But his anxiousness melts away when his father asks:

"Have you been learning dance by yourself?"

Jimin perks up. "Uh, yeah! Um, well, kind of. I just saw YouTube videos... And I go to a dance studio every Friday with a friend to um, practice..."

"What studio?"

Jimin freezes. "H-Hart's dance studio?"

Jimin's father nods. "All right. Here's the deal. The moment your grades slip, you're going to have to quit, okay? Let's go enroll you right now."

Jimin almost faints from the sheer amount of happiness.

It is official. Jimin is to have private dance lessons (to make up for being such a late starter) once a week. This was a bit like a trial run; Jimin might get more lessons per week if he really decided to pursue dance.

And now that Jimin's actually a student at the studio, he can come in to practice anytime he wants! Which was every day after school for three hours.

When Jimin tells you the good news on Friday, you insist that you ditch today's dance-writing sessions and get some celebratory boba.

It's the first time Jimin's with you, alone, outside of school, without being in the confines of the dance studio. If he didn't know any better, this felt like more than two friends meeting up on a Friday afternoon. It felt like a date.

You're rather chatty with Jimin, making him feel comfortable and trying to get to know him better. But it comes to the point that Jimin wants to get to know you. So he finally asks the question he had been dying to know the answer to since he'd first met you in the dance studio.

"Do you mind if I ask what your book is about?"

"Oh, I don't mind at all!" you say, aggressively sipping your boba as you think. "Hm, okay, well, I kind of changed the plot halfway through... So now instead of a broken dancer, the story's about this newborn dancer who realizes her talents rather late in her life, but she throws all of her doubts—and others' doubts—away because she realizes if she's passionate about something, it doesn't really matter how long she's been pursuing it. What matters is that she is pursuing it in the present."

"Wow," Jimin breathes.

"Yeah," you giggle, tucking back a strand of your hair behind your ear. "It's a coming of age story. I want it to be heartbreaking, bittersweet and heart-wrenching." You sip your boba. "But I might have to rewrite a lot of scenes because I'm thinking about changing the gender of the main character from female to male. I think it feels more right."

"Oh, that's gonna be a lot of work," Jimin says.

"But it's going to be worth it."

Jimin nods. Of course it will be. You put your best effort into everything. "Do you know what your title is going to be yet?"

"Eh," you laugh, shrugging goofily. "I'll think of it one day."

The light-hearted conversation takes a twist as the outside of the boba place gets darker and the afternoon morphs into the night. Jimin finds himself talking about his personal struggles as an "average" Welton student. He reflects vocally upon the times in which he had to beg to receive an A in his classes. The times in which he despised himself and didn't understand the exact point of life. The times when he was existing and not living.

It's then when you reveal your own darkest moments. And what lies beneath the smiling curtains was a murky past.

Your freshman year at Welton hit you like a bomb—it was the same year that Jimin had been suffering in the depths of sophomore year's turmoil. You became miserable, competing for first place in your classes in subject matters that you had no interest in. The tests contained little material about understanding and more about the nitty-gritty details (that were barely significant). You used to write your stories the moment you came home from school until you had to go to bed. But now, you would be lucky if you could even get a few paragraphs down before being pressured into studying something tediously and frankly, useless. It drove you nuts.

To the point that you were tempted to be pulled under into the dark world of self-hatred and suicidal thoughts. Your older sister had jumped off a building when you were only eight; you watched her stuck in a coma in the hospital with twelve broken bones until she died in her sleep. So you figured if your sister did it, so could you.

But slowly, gradually, rationality took charge of your head, driving out the demons. You garnered your anger and self-hatred towards Welton and not yourself. And during the last few weeks of school in your freshman year, you decided that you were going to make a system to help every student in need—for those with big dreams but little time.

Jimin watches and listens in awe as you continue to tell your story.

"I met Yoongi in freshman year when I was interviewing him for winning first place in a tech comp so I could write about him in the school newspaper," you explain. "He was the first person I told my idea to. And then from the summer between freshman and sophomore year, I planned the whole system. Yoongi assisted me a bit, too, but I didn't want him to be burdened."

Or, Jimin thinks, you don't trust other people.

"Yeah, and then we really kicked off," you say.

"Wait, you and Yoongi? Or the whole system you created?"

"Both," you grin. "Yoongi and I started dating during the summer. And as you can tell, our whole group flourished too. Now you're here!"

"The group's relatively new then," Jimin says. "So um, I don't know if I can ask but, how many people are really involved?"

You smile, shaking your head and denying Jimin an answer. "The trick that I use to run this system is to never trust anyone."

"Oh... wow. Not even your boyfriend?"

"Oh, it's the people you're closest to that end up failing you. Just ask my sister," you shrug. "And you never know. You aren't still thinking of reporting me, are you? I know you were contemplating that for a while..."

"O-Oh!" Jimin stutters. "Oh, shit. No, uh, definitely no. Not anymore. God, I didn't know you knew. I'm sorry."

"It's really no matter," you tell him, giving him a reassuring smile. "I think it was really nice talking to you. When we usually meet up, you're dancing and I'm taking notes or writing so this is a really nice change."

"Yeah," Jimin agrees. "I had a lot of fun, getting to know you." He glances at his watch for a split second and his eyes turn huge. "Shit, Y/N, it's almost 10 p.m.!"

That's when Jimin's able to notice that there is no one else in the boba place except you and him. The store must be closing soon. And the outside is nearly pitch black.

"Oh, wow, we've been talking for a long time," you laugh. "I guess that means we'll have to leave, huh?"

Jimin wants to be in your company for longer, but he nods, agreeing with you. "Yeah, I guess," he says. "I'll see you on Monday?"

You nod, tucking your hair behind your ear. "Goodnight, then, Jimin."

"Goodnight, Y/N."

Jimin's now been getting dance lessons three times a week now, and according to Miss Hart, he's improving at an alarming rate. Miss Hart proudly tells Jimin and his parents that he would be able to compete in local dance comps in three months and easily place.

"The boy's born to dance," Jimin overhears his teacher tell his father. He repeats those words over and over again to himself until he falls asleep that night.

His parents took his success in dance a whole different way. Immediately, Jimin was to train his muscles and stretch every day to accommodate three days' worth of hardcore lessons. And he was also ordered to join the school dance team—even though Jimin tried to tell his parents that tryouts had already been held ages ago.

But when Jimin expresses his problems to you, you bring a solution the very next day. Apparently, you had some inside sources in the dance team; you just had to pull a few strings, and the next thing he knew, Jimin was in Welton's elite dance team.

For the first time in the cult, no, group meetings, Jimin has something to show. He's able to track his progress by videos and live performances that you watch on Fridays. With all the advancement in his newfound passion, you reward Jimin with the second-highest scores on every exam (because the highest scores were reserved for the "experts").

Jimin's now sitting at the peak of a figurative mountain. His grades are soaring. His passion is soaring. He feels like his whole life has become a never-ending, high-velocity dance.

And he loves it.

There are no more meetings left after this one, you explain to all of the students. It's the last meeting for it's the week before finals. The school year will end soon, which is a huge relief to every Welton student.

You claim that outsmarting the teachers with the finals would be easy, especially with your advanced system, so there was really no need to worry. The meeting is short, concise and sweet. You douse everyone with your love and passion and thoroughly thank each and every individual for allowing another wonderful school year.

The meeting ends on a great note. You tell everyone that you have great plans for next year. Something that'll top the bomb threat. Something that'll effectively help the students and put the teachers and administrative staff to shame.

Everybody is excited.

The first time Jimin meets you during the summer is in the dance studio. He'd dressed in his workout clothes but still had enough self-dignity to spritz some cologne and put on some deodorant before seeing you.

But when he walks into the studio, he finds that you're not alone—you're with your boyfriend. Laughing. Joking. Touching. Yoongi has his arm around you and you have a casual hand placed on his thigh, leaning into him as you talk animatedly to your boyfriend.

Yikes. Jimin thinks it's going to be awkward before he actually feels awkward.

You and Yoongi really seem to like the time you're spending together and Jimin doesn't exactly want to interrupt. And there's something about the way that Yoongi tugs you closer and looks at you with sparkling mirth in his eyes that sets Jimin off.

He quickly recognizes the feeling as jealousy. It confuses Jimin even more.

Oh, fuck it.

"Hi, Y/N!" he says, waving at you. "Hey, Yoongi."

You stand up immediately rushing to greet Jimin as Yoongi stays in his spot, nodding his salutations to Jimin. "Yoongi just wanted to know what I was doing every Friday after I said no to a fifth Friday night date," you giggle. "Is it okay if he joins us today?"

"Of course," Jimin says. "I don't mind."

I kind of do.

Meeting at the dance studio was an activity exclusive to you and Jimin only... It's weird to see Yoongi butt in.

"Okay, great. Thanks!" you say. "Just do your thing, and I'll be taking notes as usual!"

Jimin nods, bracing himself to dance after he turns on the song he'd been listening endlessly these days. But today, he feels stiff. Rigid. Something's not quite right.

Today, he doesn't feel like he's on a stage alone. He feels someone watching him from the audience with scrutiny. Suddenly, Jimin can't move. He feels trapped in his own world. When he turns to look at you, he finds that you and Yoongi are immersed in a deep conversation. You're usually watching his every move.

Jimin tries to focus again, closing his eyes to immerse himself into the music. But he can't do it. Not when you and Yoongi are talking like that. Shit. Why is that so distracting?

Jimin figures one day of giving up practice wouldn't kill him. He turns off the music and walks over to you and Yoongi and plops down on the bench.

You smile but Jimin watches as Yoongi flinches just slightly, and a disgruntled look flashes across his face just briefly. Jimin ignores him.

"Yoongi and I were just talking about legacy," you explain to Jimin. "You know, what we'll leave at Welton High School."

"Oh, wow. You'll be leaving a whole elaborate system," Jimin says. "But what's going to happen to it when you've graduated?"

You shrug. "We'll have to wait and see," you say teasingly.

"I'll already be gone by that time," Jimin huffs.

"We'll keep in contact," you say. "I promise."

It's a small promise but Jimin's heart skips a beat. He wonders if you'd still be dating Yoongi then.

Why am I like this? This definitely isn't the right time.

Maybe Yoongi senses Jimin's thoughts because he tugs you closer to him. "Come on, babe, do we have to stay here forever? I want to take you out on a date..."

"Aw, Yoongs," you coo. "I don't know... Maybe the three of us can go get boba or something?"

"Babe..." Yoongi whines softly, intertwining your hand with his.

Jimin watches the movement and another pang of jealousy hits his chest, this time larger than the last. He couldn't possibly have feelings for you. Jimin concludes that he's not jealous because Yoongi is your boyfriend, he is jealous because he's stealing you away when he and you should be hanging out.

But he doesn't exactly want to get in the way of Yoongi, who already seems to dislike Jimin for hanging around his girlfriend.

So Jimin shrugs. "I don't want to intrude on a date. It's fine, Y/N, enjoy your date night."

Yoongi shoots Jimin a grateful look and even lets out a beaming smile. "Really, Jimin? Thanks!" you say.

Jimin has to admit, seeing you skip away with Yoongi arm in arm makes him happier. Fuck, no. He's starting to mirror your emotions.

This isn't a very good sign.

Jimin's right. It isn't a very good sign. He's starting to feel weird around you—emotions that he can't quite explain or justify with words.

The more he hangs out with you, the more he notices little things about you—your little habits, your speech patterns, your dimples when you smile...

It comes to the point, you confess to him one day, "You know, Jimin, I've been hanging out with you more than my boyfriend."

Jimin feels honored by that, "Well, I've been hanging out with you more than my own to friends."

And it's true. Taehyung's been busy with his theater things and has picked up a girl along the way—the girl who was notorious for spilling tears arbitrarily. Jungkook's got his eye on some shy girl Jimin doesn't really know. So the friend group's already pretty split up. But Jimin doesn't really mind as much as he should. He and his friends are happy and have split to pursue their interests. There are no regrets.

Sometimes, when Jimin notices the blush on your cheeks after he teases you, he wonders how you truly feel about him. If all the time you spent around him was doing any good.

"I guess we've become quite the team?" you smile, nudging Jimin's shoulder. "I would've never been able to come up with a revamped idea for my book without you."

"I don't think I would've come this far in dance without you."

"No, it's your pure talent," you say. "I didn't do anything." You giggle, admiring the ruffles on Jimin's dance costume. "Break a leg out there, Jimin. I know you'll kill it in the solo division."

"Thanks, Y/N. I swear, I'm not even that nervous."

That's a lie. Jimin's so nervous he's been feeling like he needed to use the bathroom for two hours now. What if I forget a step? What if I'm offbeat for a split second? What if I trip on my costume? What if the wrong song plays?

There's absolutely no pressure that you've offered to come to watch Jimin dance to write about a dance competition in your book. Jimin has to get his routine down perfectly unless he wants to wind up embarrassing himself and disappointing his eager parents. He needs to be perfect. Maybe to impress you.

But this will be the first time that Jimin will be on stage with a true audience. Even though he will dance like he's the only one in the world, he will have hundreds of watchers and a panel of judges who will scrutinize his every move.

Jimin tugs at the ruffles of his white blouse and looks to the stage nervously.

"Hey, you've got this," you whisper to him, patting his shoulder. "What matters is dancing. It doesn't matter what place you get."

You're right. Jimin's here to dance. He is not here to flaunt his talents to others; he is here to make his own progress for himself, for his passion. What matters is that he has fun on stage.

Jimin keeps that in mind when he walks on the platform. The lights shine down on him, and his ears ring incessantly. But as soon as the cello begins to let out its low, elegant sound, he dances. The music envelops his body, and he sees nothing but colors. There is no need to think of which step is next when it comes to him naturally. He twists and turns accordingly to the rueful tones of the oboe, leaps at the entrance of the violins and finishes the dance with a grand pose in the middle of the stage.

He doesn't hear the clapping when he shakily gets off the platform.

Jimin's numb. He can't remember the performance, nor can he remember if he had gotten all of his steps right. But when you lunge at him with open arms and a bouquet of flowers (that you hadn't had before) in your hands, none of his performance matters anymore.

"JIMIN!" you screech at him, almost knocking him over with the force of your hug. "YOU WERE AMAZING!"

He's so taken aback, he can't answer, just holding you to his chest as you laugh happily in his arms.

"I hope you don't mind that I recorded the performance," you tell him. "It was just... wow. I can't even think of words to describe it because... wow."

Jimin pulls away from you, grinning wildly and his heart thumping in his chest—from post-dancing or from hugging you, he doesn't really know.

"Was it that good?"

"Yes!" you say. "Come on, we just have to wait to see how you placed. Not that it matters."

And it really didn't. Even though Jimin took home silver, otherwise known as second place, everyone—his parents, Miss Hart, you—was proud of him. No one could argue that his dancing was the most emotional—the most beautiful. The dance competition was only the beginning of Jimin's journey.

Now it's even more normal for you and him to hang out. Even outside the dance studio to just talk and keep each other's company. Anyone can find you typing on your laptop and Jimin dancing and think it's a normal occurrence. Especially with the two of you on summer break, it became insanely frequent to spend a whole day out together.

Sometimes it seems as though you're flirting with him, but Jimin just tells himself that it's his imagination. You have Yoongi, for fuck's sake. You would never go after Jimin because you've said it yourself—you and he are best friends.

Yet it's socially unacceptable, apparently, to only be friends with the opposite gender (especially a younger opposite gender in Jimin's case) and expect the relationship to be purely platonic. Jimin's been noticing you stealing a couple of extra glances at him when he stretches before he dances. And he's been guilty of staring at you when you write because he likes how focused you can get in your typing sprees.

A couple of times, Jimin swears he could've leaned in to kiss you. But being rejected scares him away to ever take the chance. Besides, he doesn't want to come between you and Yoongi. That would be unfair and immature of him.

God, Jimin's mind is mixed up and his feelings are confused. He's not ready to admit it to himself yet, though. So he stays confused until a new school year comes around.

Being a senior opens up Jimin's eyes, and he realizes he had been just plain stupid—and blind. He likes you.

Fuck.

It's not a question of when these feelings had developed, but a question of why. You have a boyfriend. Jimin's already a senior, which means he'll be gone next year. You're the leader of a group—that's practically a cult, according to Google—and you keep secrets from everyone no matter how much you love them. It's just not going to happen.

And if it did happen, then what about Yoongi? He's an essential member of your group. If you break up with him to be with Jimin, assuming that you even feel the same way, then what might Yoongi do? Would he ditch your group and let it fall to the ground? Would he report you and your system to administration? Would he get revenge on Jimin?

No way is Jimin going to get involved.

He should've seen it coming. He should've prevented himself from completely falling for you the moment you started caring for him, hanging out with him, helping him... But he didn't and now he doesn't know what to do.

Well, actually, he does.

Jimin's just going to simply get rid of his feelings for you for his own sake and yours. He just won't see you for a couple of months, and by then, his feelings for you would be gone, vanished into thin air. At least, that's what he hopes.

So, Jimin creates an elaborate plan of his own to avoid you for several months, max. He secretly changes his dance lesson times and tells Miss Hart to keep his schedule from you. And when his teacher inquires why, Jimin makes up a bullshitted lie that he wants to surprise you with his next performance. Then, he skips all of his individual practices and dances at home instead so you won't be able to find him. He even misses scheduled group meetings, texting you that he was sick (when he was only lovesick).

She's just using me to write her story, Jimin tells himself. I'm nothing but a character for her.

Deep down inside, Jimin knows that's false, but he makes himself believe it. Maybe it'll help him dislike you—which isn't exactly possible—but it could at least help him stop liking you.

But it turns out that maybe you never liked Jimin the way he liked you. All too soon, Jimin finds out from Miss Hart that you haven't been coming to the dance studio, so he switches his lessons back to his normal time. You've stopped texting him about coming to group meetings too. Which was strange because Jimin was still given homework copies and test answers when he needed them.

Maybe you took the hint that Jimin didn't want anything to do with you? Jimin doesn't know.

He does know that still, every time he thinks of you, he thinks of a generous, beautiful, mature, thoughtful person who chases after her own dreams and encourages others to do the same. It's hard to stop liking you, in other words.

Already, finals week is around the corner. Jimin has a few suspicions that you're going to hatch a complex plan again to put an end to student stress altogether, but he wouldn't know because he hasn't been attending the meetings. But whatever you were planning, it would be better than the last bomb threat for sure. Because you were always looking to improve, to better yourself to help others.

God, fucking shit. Jimin can't seem to think of one bad thing about you.

His days are spent dancing mostly as he'd submitted his college apps early (thanks to your suggestion), but he also can't get you out of his mind. Your absence makes him grieve for your presence. But he can't give up now. He doesn't want to show up in front of you one day and have to explain why he avoided you for months.

So he continues with his plan.

It's the Friday before finals week.

Jimin sits around in the corner of his school's dance room as the rest of his teammates go over the routine for the winter dance competition. He'd told the captain that he was getting a bad migraine, so he was allowed to sit out for the rest of the practice.

In reality, Jimin can't stop thinking about you. He knows you're here, after school, in your newspaper room, finishing up your last edits before publishing the paper on Saturday. He wonders if you'll welcome him if he meets you. He wonders if he should apologize for avoiding you. Maybe he can get rid of his feelings by hanging out with you more. Or he'll just act like the two of you are best friends and pretend he doesn't want anything more than a platonic relationship.

Jimin doesn't know what courses through his veins to make him stand up.

"I'm going to the bathroom," he murmurs, trudging out of the dance room and outside. He'll have to cross the quad to reach the newspaper room. Jimin nervously checks his watch. 4:42 p.m., it reads. You usually leave by 4:45 p.m., so Jimin doesn't have much time.

Or maybe he shouldn't go to you at all? He hesitates, lurching forward but taking a step back.

He sees another girl, not that far away from him, walking across the quad. There's a boy behind her, yelling "Wait up!" as he tries to catch up with her while holding a stack of heavy textbooks. The girl looks back around and laughs, taking half of the boy's stack and nudging his shoulder. They continue to walk across the quad, side by side. They must be dating.

Jimin quickly recognizes the tall boy to be Namjoon, his acquaintance, and as soon as he's about to wave, there's a loud bang!

Jimin flinches. Was that a...? He can't quite believe it. But there's a lot he didn't believe but still has come true at Welton High School. Or maybe this was another one of your plans. Fake a school shooting to cancel finals. He wouldn't know. He didn't attend the meetings.

But the blood rushes out of his face and it dawns on him that this is reality as he watches Namjoon's girlfriend fall to the ground in slow motion. His own breath quickens and his eyes are alert but he's almost frozen. No. This has to be fake. This has to be a trick. There's another bang! and this time, Namjoon lurches forward, hitting the ground with a resonating thump.

Jimin's frantic, trying to find the source of the loud bangs. Maybe Namjoon and his girlfriend are part of the group. Maybe it's all a plan. Time flies too quickly and slowly at the same time. Jimin sees blood leaking from the girl as she lay face down on the cement. Namjoon is knocked unconscious. That has to be fake. You can buy fake blood, right?

But deep down inside, Jimin knows the truth. He panics. It's hard to breathe.

Then there's another bang. Jimin feels searing heat engulf his chest. He feels himself fall backward, and he clutches his wet chest—not in pain but in shock.

He tilts upwards, and his last view is of the soft gray clouds in the darkened sky.

Then everything becomes black.

Two students, two seniors are reported to be dead. One shot in the head, another in the heart. One has miraculously survived a gunshot wound and is being treated in the hospital.

"Do you know them?" you say in a shaky breath.

Your boyfriend hugs you. "You know one of them..."

"Oh, god," you whimper. You can hear the police and see the bright flashing red and blue lights from afar. "The shooter was targeting students involved in after school activities. How cowardly. When there would be fewer adults around. They were looking to attack the students."

"I know, babe," Yoongi says. "The girl... she was part of the volleyball team. Her boyfriend is the one who survived, apparently. And the other boy... He... He was on the dance team."

Your eyes turn wide as you pull away from your boyfriend. "H-He..."

"Jimin, Y/N. It was Jimin."

You feel like you're falling down a pitch-black abyss with no one to catch you or help you. "A-Are you sure it was him?" you manage to whisper. "What was he doing outside the dance room?" you sob, throwing yourself into Yoongi's chest as your boyfriend tries to comfort you.

"Park Jimin, yeah... It was him," Yoongi says, petting your back. "I heard from the dance captain that he was having a bad day. Something about migraines..."

You can't speak. Nor can you even think straight.

"Jimin's body was found significantly away from the other two," Yoongi says. "He could've run away."

A heavy weight tugs at your heart and you let out another sob of despair. "Yoongi, he could've thought it was fake."

"What do you mean?"

"Don't you get it?? He thought it was like the bomb threat!—fake! Planned! God!" you shriek, pushing Yoongi away and standing up, starting to walk around in frantic circles. "I killed him, Yoongi! I fucking killed him!"

You collapse on the ground with your hands on your head. "I killed him..."

"You didn't kill him, Y/N," Yoongi says. He crouches down with you. "Hey, it wasn't your fault. He's the one who wasn't coming to your meetings. If he did, he would've known we weren't going to pull off a stunt like that until next year's finals."

You shake your head, hitting your forehead repeatedly with your palm. "It doesn't matter, Yoongi! I should've never faked such a serious ordeal!"

"Y/N..."

"I deserved to be out there in the quad."

"You're the students' hero, babe... Don't think otherwise."

"Oh? Really?" you scream. "If I really were a hero, then why the hell was the school shooter a student from our school, huh? I obviously wasn’t keeping everyone happy!"

Yoongi falls silent.

"I don't care what you say, Yoongi," you say, your voice shaking from anger and devastation. "I failed. I tried making a system, but it didn't work... And now, people are dead... And I never got to say goodbye..." And he was avoiding me for months. I never got to know why...

"Hey, hey. Your system is perfect, baby," Yoongi answers. "It just doesn't work on psycho murderers."

That makes sense, too.

"I'm sorry, Yoongi," you say. "I'm sorry I'm such a mess. Thank you. For comforting me. God, I'm sorry..."

"It's okay," he says. "Things will be fine." He pauses. "You know, on the bright side, they might cancel finals."

[2 years later]

The moment you graduated out of the hellhole of a school, you discontinued your idea of a school revolt, and your system collapsed without you nurturing it.

Welton High School went under investigation after hundreds of parents and students protested. Counselors were fired and replaced. Administration was put on probation. It didn't take until two students' murders to fix things.

Funny.

Three student suicides weren't enough for them to realize something was wrong with the school.

You're bitter, but you try not to let it get in your way. Jimin will never get full justice because he will never get the life he deserved back. He was supposed to win hundreds of dance competitions. He was supposed to get to the end of the path of his dreams. But his life cut him short.

You dedicate your debut novel to him.

Now, when you walk around a supermarket, a library, a bookstore, you see your book on the stands or stacked up on tables. The white cover contrasts from the title inked in a black font: To Jimin (It's About Time I Told You I Love You).

The book tells the tale of Jimin. A newborn dancer who becomes tangled in the depths of a rigorous high school. There's one twist, though.

The story is told from a girl's perspective. A girl who loves Jimin, but never admits her feelings until it's too late. She watches him grow, blossom and become a star. But she isn't there for him when he dies.

She is you.

And you think it's about time you admit to yourself that you loved Jimin. Except he probably never loved you.

—masterpost

—masterlist

#ficswithluv #btswritersnet #btswriterscollective #bangtanfairygarden #btswritingcafe #jimin #park jimin #jimin imagine #jimin fanfic #jimin fanfiction #bts #bts fanfiction #insurrection #this story just makes me so 😭😭#sometimes when i envision the scenes i just get so eMoTionAl

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laur-rants · 4 years ago

Text

Fic Update: Blood Wolf

Chapter 4

Fandom: Dishonored Ship: Daud/The Outsider, but I’ll heavily focus on the Daud and his Whalers relationship

Rated: Mature to Explicit, Strong Violence and Gore Ahead!!

Synopsis: Daud-Centric Prequel to Wolfbann. Origin Story, pre-canon. Centers on how Daud turned, and his subsequent marking by the Outsider and his formulation of the Whalers. Notes: There probably won’t be nsfw content in this fic, but it WILL be… violent. I want to play with my own boundaries of written violence and also Daud’s start wasn’t nearly as clean as Corvo’s. Their contrast on dealing with the werewolf transformation is one of the things I want to really explore, and Daud gets very close to falling off the wagon.

CHAPTER TAGS: His hands do violence, but there is a different dream in his heart. Alternatively, Daud talks to the Outsider, saves a girl, frightens a medic. AO3 link

Previous :: First :: Next

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Midnight, ???

The Month of Songs -- 1820

Daud drew breath and it burned cold in his lungs. He checked himself; somehow, his clothes remained intact, untouched by… whatever had just happened to him. He lifted his gaze and when he inhaled again, it felt like gaseous seawater at the back of his throat.

Where there once stood the Fink Manor, the house was now splintered, cracked, and floating into a vast, sky blue expanse. Though he was still standing in the pantry, the shrine humming next to him, the other two walls and the roof were destroyed as if by a bomb. A whale breached next to the stone platform this all stood on; it's massive eye met his briefly before disappearing down again. Daud felt his heart lurch.

His hands flexed. He whirled back to the figure still watching him so adoringly.

"What kind of game is this?" Daud asked, his chest still fighting to find air, still unsure if he was breathing water or not. The atmosphere was thicker here than it ever was in the waking world; not even the Serkonan summer had settled so heavily in his chest. Daud met those black eyes and refused to flinch. "Who are you?"

The entity just frowned, and something about that disappointment hit him like a carriage. He immediately regretted saying anything at all, especially something so pitiable, and he bowed his head in apology. A cold hand lifted his chin, forcing him to look back up into those glassy eyes.

"Oh, Daud, you know who I am. Even if you never were the worshipping type…" A slender thumb ran over those wounds on his cheek and he shivered. "No, you're the gambling kind instead, aren't you? Betting with your life instead of coin. You've always been like this. Perhaps that's why I took such a liking to you in the first place."

"I don't understand," Daud said, his head feeling clouded under the touch of such an ancient being. "The Outsider is just a myth, a fantasy to keep children at home, to give nobles something to jerk off to, or to give the Abbey a scapegoat while they piss on the Strictures." He shrugged out of the Leviathan's hold, grabbing at the hand with his own. The Outsider watched the motion, his face full of glee at the contact.

"Oh? It's not that complicated with me, Daud. You had a bet, remember? And I so wanted you to keep it."

Daud frowned. He racked his brain, searching for the memory. As he did so, the Void around them warped, unbidden, and the Outsider smiled as a forgotten vision burst forth. Daud's eyes widened, looking up at two massive monsters fighting in a sewer. One was grey and malnourished, covered in boils and scars. And the other was a snarling mass of black fur, it's face glistening with dark blood that poured from fresh wounds that looked exactly like--

"What the fuck?" Daud's lip curled and he mirrored the black, wolflike creature of his memory. His tongue touched his teeth and found them sharp. The Outsider just grinned all the more.

"I needed to save your life, or I would lose you before your story even began. So, I gave you the gift of your power a little earlier than others who have had the misfortune of being attacked by such a void-touched creature. Yes; you were cursed the moment those claws broke your jaw and split your throat, but I knew your tale wasn't so easily finished." The Outsider gave him a once-over, the gaze was so hungry it made Daud squirm. "You do not know your own importance and it is so splendid to behold."

There was a reverence there that Daud didn't trust, but it stirred something in his soul. "I'm just an assassin," he managed, taking a step away from the god of the Void. The Outsider just watched, but made no move to follow.

"You will move the tides of the entire Isles, Daud."

"You sure about that," he sneered, his fists clenching. "I am cursed now, you said it yourself. Cursed. I am doomed to go mad, just like the beast before me."

The Outsider held out his left hand. The smile he held was deadly.

"Will you be worth my time, Daud?"

Daud's lip twitched, wanting to refuse, but in the end, curiosity won. He relented.

"Bet," he growled, then gave his hand over to the Outsider to shake. As soon as he did, the back of his hand burned, seared as if branded with an iron. He hissed, not breaking his grip even as he turned his palm to see the back of it. There, glowing bright and smoking with arcane magic, a Mark appeared, one of an intricate arrow-and circle design. He stared at it, transfixed, as a new sort of power flowed through him.

"My Mark," the Outsider said casually, running his hand over Daud's soothingly. "It will keep the beast of you at bay, give you the control you so desperately seek." He grinned, his eyes glittering maliciously. "But how long can you keep up that control? I wonder…"

The god pulled Daud closer, dragging him in like the riptide. The Outsider smirked against his ear and Daud felt the shiver all the way down his spine.

"Can you shape the world to your will, Daud?" He whispered, holding the statement between them like a secret. "Or will you be ruined by it?"

The Outsider pulled away, his smile far too knowing.

"Until we see each other again."

Then, as suddenly as he appeared, the Outsider was gone. His cold, suffocating presence fled from Daud and when he opened his eyes, he was no longer in the Void. Instead, he was in the very real Fink Manor, the weight of reality far heavier than the pressures of the deep. Daud swallowed, first retrieving the runes from the shrine before stepping back across the pantry threshold.

The house was in ruins. The rampage he had caused nearly razed the building; a pipe from the kitchen was spitting water, the pantry wall was burst and the dog and handler were lying dead at his feet. Down the hall, he could see evidence of his huge body crashing through doorways with little remorse and forethought. Blood splattered the walls and limbs settled in places far and away from their original owners.

It was the sight of a massacre, one of Daud's own making. He choked on the bile clawing up his throat.

This wasn't his handiwork. It couldn't be. Assassins were meant to be clean, quick, quiet. A good assassin left no trace of themselves behind; a great assassin could even clean and dispose of the body before someone found the scene of the crime. The City Watch was founded to try and protect the streets, but they could do nothing against men and women like him. The best of them were, in all ways, untraceable.

If anyone saw this house, they wouldn't see the work of a trained killer. They would see a contained storm, or perhaps a Tyvian fanged bear set loose on a dare.

They would see the work of a monster.

Daud silently stepped through the wreckage, spotting a woman -- a maid, by the clothing -- with her throat ripped open, the lines jagged and unclean from where her trachea was bitten into. A wolfhound, ripped in two; the other half, he could not find, no matter how hard he searched for it. It left him light-headed, slightly nauseous, considering he vaguely remembered Eustace's arm in his mouth, the blood in his jaws --

He retched dryly. He fought the sick that threatened to come up, not really wishing to repeat what happened on the roof earlier. Certainly, he didn't want to know or see what would come up if he succeeded in vomiting. With a monumental effort he kept it down, gasping for breath and running a shaking hand over his face.

The fingers of his left hand traced over the new scars on his cheek and the sensation sent an intense shiver down his face and neck, all through his arm. He jerked his hand back away from his face, hissing in discomfort. The Mark on his hand burned for a moment, reminding him of his newest annoyance. He flexed his hand; the Mark lit up, itching, begging to be used.

He pulled curiously at the power beckoning to him. His fingers immediately morphed into long, black claws; he yelped, shaking his hand out in surprise. The claws disappeared-- but the power remained. He frowned, trying again. He focused on one spot near the stairs; the Void grabbed him at his request, pulling him forward in a rush and leaving a trail of ash in his wake.

Daud's eyes went wide and his mouth hung open. He had traversed 10 meters in just a moment, the Void whispering in his ear as he did so. It was heady, thrilling; he grinned, feral, and tried the power again.

He landed in a nearby living room where he had ripped a couch in half and knocked a woman in fine jewelry into a wall, breaking her neck. He was about to jump through space again when he heard a squeak, a yelp; he froze, looking to the sound.

What he saw brought a vice around his heart. A child, a girl, trapped under some fallen wood and plaster from the ceiling above. She caught sight of Daud and when Daud caught sight of her, her eyes shone with tears, threatening to spill over.

"Sir…" she said weakly, her voice bubbling up, full of pain and fear. He rushed over, pulling his glove back over his left hand. She squirmed, choking in sobs. "Is it gone? Is-is...where did it go? That beast…"

Daud shushed her gently, trying not to let shock set into his features even as his limbs ran cold. Of course the child didn't recognize him as the monster she witnessed slaughtering her whole family. "Don't use too much energy now, I'll get you out of there." He gently moved some plaster and she squealed in pain; he shifted a joist to the side and clenched his jaw tight.

A large nail had impaled her tiny calf, the wound covered in blood, the color of it darkening her slacks. He looked at her carefully; she was staring at her leg and when she went to grab it, he caught her hand in his.

"Do not touch it," he told her quietly. "You'll make it worse. How long have you been injured?" She just gripped his hand tight and shook her head as her chest heaved with swallowed cries. Void, she couldn't be older than eight.

"I don't know… it just hurts," she wept, her hands bloodied, her face pale. "My mother, she-she…" the child gulped, fighting for air.

She was spiraling. Daud put a hand on her head, trying to ground her. "Hey, I'm here, okay? You aren't going to die. Did--" his mouth went dry, and he tried again. "Did the monster touch you?" As he asked the question, he dug through a pouch on his hip, his eyes darting down to look for a familiar lime-green vial.

"No, I got trapped and then the dogs came and then…" her face screwed up in agony, and Daud had a feeling not all of it was physical.

Did it have to be a child? He hated this, hated thinking he had let a kid see something so needlessly brutal. "It's going to be alright. I'm going to get you out of here. I'm not going to leave you to die on this nail."

Her eyes met his for the first time all night, searching for the truth. He didn't waver, opting instead to hold her little hand tighter. He swallowed, and when he saw the returning trust in her eyes, he pulled out a small dart and showed it to her.

"This is a sleep dart," he told her, holding it out for her to see. "It will put you to sleep for an hour or so. It will sting a little, but it will help lessen the pain, and it will help me get you off the nail without it hurting. Do you trust me with this?"

What other options did she have? He knew she had very few, and there was nothing she could do on her own. She would die of infection here.

She nodded, but grabbed his hand before he could administer the dose. "Wait," she said. "What is your name first?"

He blinked. "Daud."

She smiled. "Daud, like Dad." That settled very unpleasantly in his stomach, but he did not correct her. "I'm Emma, it's nice to meet you."

He nodded. "Likewise. Now, are you ready?"

She let go and nodded. He adjusted the dose in the dart and then stuck it in her arm. Her eyes drooped; in the next few seconds she was asleep, and completely unaware.

Daud moved as quickly as he could. He had some bandages on him, as well as a few rags for quick wound wrapping, but nothing sustainable. He got up, using the Void to rush through the house and find the bathroom. He looted it swiftly; the first aid kit would have to do for now. He transversed back to where she lay, still stuck to the nail. He breathed, then got to work.

Daud had a very strict policy on children when it came to assassination jobs, one that put him at odds sometimes with his colleagues in the business. Other assassins would happily off a whole family to prevent leaks or future loose ends. In a way, it was self-preserving more than anything; a dead child could not speak of what they witnessed. Sometimes, the hit was on the child itself; easy to poison an unwanted heir, for example.

But Daud… he wasn't in this line of work to slaughter kids. He left kids alive; he took parents away from the home if he had to, so that it looked like an accident. He had even dropped a child off at an orphanage, an unfortunate leftover from a hit he and Rulfio once conducted. Rulfio had argued with him about it, but they both decided it was better than ending up dead, abused, or in the Golden Cat.

Never kill the kids. Not if he could help it. Whenever he saw a child, he saw a young Daud, stolen from his home, made to kill and perform for coin until he finally roused the courage to off his own abuser.

Then Daud had run off to become a killer of bastards just like the one who abducted him.

He frowned as he tightened the tourniquet and eased Emma's leg off the nail. The wound spurted with blood and Daud quickly staunched the flow as much as he could, before quickly wrapping the leg with bandages soaked in disinfectant. Through it all, the girl slept, and Daud sighed. This would not be enough, he knew; he worked his jaw, the scent of the blood and rubbing alcohol strong in his nose. He packed back up, lifting the girl carefully before shifting her so she was cradled in his right arm. His left fist clenched and he ignored the claws itching their way free as he jumped through the Void once again. He traveled back up the stairs, back to Eustace's room; the whole time, Emma slept. He kept a bead on her heart, the beat of it steady in his ears.

The bedroom was even worse than the rest of the house. Eustace Fink's body was wretched apart, nearly unidentifiable. Daud neared the pile of human viscera, trying not to think of how he had lost control, bursting forth and slaughtering the man.

Never again, he thought to himself, but even as he held the girl tight, he did not know the long-term validity of those words.

He spotted his whaler blade and mask; he grabbed both, carefully sheathing the sword, then, after a moment of hesitation, he clipped the mask to his belt. He then pulled the audiograph from Fink's remains and carefully swept the room for anything else of value.

A safe with gold ingots and 500 coin. A few choice books, stashed away. Notes from his brother-- Daud paused at these, frowning down at the ledgers.

Eustace,

Jerome changed last week; he will be ready for challengers soon, so get those hound fighters excited for our next event! The first week of the month of Clans will be best. I will test this brute against the others; as a former assassin, I cannot believe how strong his killer instinct is! Brimsley was right; the stronger the person turned, the more likely they are to survive to put on a show! I don't expect the others to fare so well, but now we know that we at least have a sure-fire way to lure Dunwall assassins into a trap.

Be careful if you come down to the ampitheatre to see this dog, however. I can hear it in my mind… it taunts me, hates me, tries to overpower me. I always just shock it back into submission; it's so weak it can't carry out it's bigger threats. But Eustace… please. Your mind is not as strong as mine. Do not be swayed. These monsters of the Outsider are no longer human, like you or I, no matter what it says to you.

Here is the list of the next possible brutes I have selected, and also the date for the next Hound Pits fight. Don't forget the fliers, we need the noble's coin to keep this up!

The snarl that ripped through Daud was so strong and loud it shocked even him. The girl stirred but did not wake; he looked to the body of Eustace Fink and no longer regretted his fate.

They truly had found some giant monster, one like him perhaps, that had attacked someone and then that person had turned. And then the next person, and then the next until they trapped an assassin -- Spirits. He knew Jerome, had seen him in passing; he was from Potterstead, was raised into the profession, was cleaner than all of them. Surgical, even.

And he had been tortured into blindness, forced to fight dogs, and then Daud himself had…

Daud bit down on his cheek until he tasted blood. He scoured the room once more, then pulled out a bolt from his satchel on his belt. Carefully, he set the girl down in a chair, then readied his wristbow. Three incendiary bolts flew through the room, igniting expensive fabrics, flammable wallpaper, the remaining useless documents on the table. He watched the fire spread, pulling a cigarette out and lighting it. He pulled the drag, then threw it into the growing flames.

Then, he secured his belt, carefully lifted Emma back into his arms, and left the burning wreckage of the home he single-handedly destroyed.

------

It was another late night, one that Misha knew he would not be walking home from. It was well past midnight and even with the Watch prowling about, the Hatter's were likely to jump anyone unsuspecting, stealing money for months rent, or worse. So instead, he just sighed and closed the downstairs shutters, pulling the curtains in and locking the door. The one lamp still illuminated the front desk where his assistant had been sorting paperwork earlier; end of month books, on top of end of year numbers. His numbers had seen better days. Between the gangs clogging up the streets and his brothers getting caught up in hound fight gambling, he had lost more than he had recuperated.

He missed his brothers. He did not miss them asking him for more coin every week of every month, effectively bleeding him dry.

He had tried a few times to dissuade them, but all in vain. They were his brothers, two versus his one. They knew how to guilt him, especially with the death of their mother hanging over the practice like a cloud. So he had given them what they asked for, knowingly enabling them like a bar enables a drunkard, and hoped everything would be okay in the end.

It wasn't okay. His brothers were presumed dead and he had no money for a dying practice. All he could do was try to set the remaining things right. Hiring the assassin gave him a grim sort of satisfaction, some twisted sense of justice. After the deed was done, he'd file with the Watch, see if their bodies couldn't be recovered. The hardest part was between step one and step two; waiting for the completed assassination.

As he headed up the stairs to retire to his office for the night, he stopped at the calendar on the way up. He looked at the final week of Clans-- then put an X over the 28th day, the last day of the month. Four other angry Xs precede the 28th, all counting down from when he and Daud had come to their agreement. He frowned, flipping the calendar to Songs.

Daud had said that his job took time, but gave no frame of reference to ease Misha's worries. He sulked for a bit at the calendar on the wall before finally moving on, entering the office and lighting the desk lamp easily. He then -- as he had done so every night for the past four nights -- went over to the terrace and moved to unlock it, just in case Daud returned with news and wished to enter the way he had initially done.

He didn't expect the man to suddenly appear before him in a swirl of ash and smoke. He also didn't expect the small, pale body Daud was carrying in his arms, either.

And he certainly didn't expect Daud's face to be visible, his eyes burning, long scars cutting valleys into his otherwise young face.

Misha gaped. He fumbled with the latch, pushing the door open to give Daud more access. The assassin pulled in a ragged, tired breath.

"Daud--" Misha started, following the other man as he swiftly entered the office. "What happened? Is Fink--"

"Dead," Daud said, the roughness of his voice contrasting how gingerly he handled the body in his arms. "I need your expertise. Do you have a table?"

Misha glanced towards the small figure and nodded, pushing open the far door; it led to a small operating room, separate from the others and one that he used for special cases. He turned on the light over the table as Daud placed a small child -- Void, a child -- down onto it. She was asleep but her breath was shallow, sweat beading on her brow. Her leg was bandaged, but it was already bleeding through, the blood dark and angry.

Misha immediately let himself still, evaluating this new, sudden patient. His emotions detached, and his brow furrowed in focus. He quickly grabbed gloves and sharply demanded, "Tell me what happened."

Daud hesitated, then, "Nail. She impaled her leg on a nail. Got trapped in the home."

"And you just took her?"

"Everyone else was dead." He said it softly, as if full of remorse. Misha knew the time for questions was now past. Instead, he got to work. He unraveled the leg and pulled over a bowl, cleaning solution, and a syringe.

"I used a sleep dart on her," Daud explained. "I don't know how much longer the sedative will last."

Assassin sleep darts, he knew, were usually sodium pentothal, and at the dose Daud probably used, the girl would still be down for a while. Still, a local anaesthetic wouldn't be a bad idea.

"Here, be useful. My usual assistant isn't here so I will need your help cleaning this." Daud complied, then began the task of fetching anything that Misha asked of him. Sutures, clamps, saline solution, scalpel, magnifier, light. The girl whined in her sleep, and Daud, surprisingly, was there for her, holding her hand in a heavy glove. It wasn't long before her leg was properly cleaned and closed, the sutures staying as he carefully bandaged the leg back up.

"If all goes well and the wound stays clean, her leg will survive," Misha sighed, pushing tiredly away from the girl and removing bloodied gloves. Daud just nodded, watching the girl carefully as she slept. A whisper tickled at the back of Misha's head and he grimaced, scratching at his hair. The movement made Daud's head jerk to look at him, inhuman and unnatural.

It was now that Misha was actually able to get a good look at the face of his hired hitman. He had short black hair, styled back and out of the way, though now it was tousled and out of place. His eyes were a striking blue, but not in the way that left him feeling flustered. Instead, they were like ice, splintering into his chest and making him feel as if a wild predator was evaluating his continued existence. The scars on his face tugged as he frowned; the longest line cut from his right forehead all the way down over his throat,a and the second longest also sliced through his cheek alongside the first. The last two sat partially hidden under his chin, over his throat, and Daud's frown deepened as he caught the doctor staring.

Misha's face flushed. He was never one to hide his feelings well, and definitely not as easily as a hardened assassin.

"Daud..." he started, trying to cover the intrusion. The assassin suddenly stood up, his hand flat on the table, challenging and threatening Misha to continue speaking.

"Go on, say it," Daud said, dangerously soft. "Others already have. They didn't have to be a doctor or an assassin to know I shouldn't have survived -- this." He waves at his neck, as if disgusted by the scars.

Upsetting an assassin seemed to be a poor life decision. Misha chose his next words carefully.

"You need to clean up, and you seem invested in the child. Would you like to stay the night, to at least be there when she wakes up?"

Daud's face immediately closed off. Again, something itched at the back of Misha's head, and he tried to rub it away. A whisper, almost… indecision? Misha had not expected an emotion to come forth. When he questioned it mentally, it disappeared, so still he shrugged it off as imagaination. He watched Daud as he pulled his face out of the lamplight and back into shadow, his eyes still bright in the gloom. His fist clenched.

"No, no, I'd rather not. I've already done enough to ruin her life." He looked around the office and then, finding what he was looking for, went to fetch it.

Misha almost missed it; Daud's left hand twitched and then suddenly, in a rush of ash, he was across the room, and then back. Misha gaped as Daud scrawled words over the paper he had fetched, then handed the paper to Misha.

"Outsider's eyes," he breathed out, but the look on Daud's face silenced him.

"This address; when she's well, take her there. Tell them Daud sends his regards, and hopes Jason is well. Also--"

He pulled a purse from his satchel, setting it down. "That's for the girl." Then he pulled out a whole gold ingot and handed it to Misha. "And this is for you."

Misha gaped. He'd never seen so much gold -- he shook his head, holding his hands up. "What--! I can't accept this-- Don't tell me that you are paying me for--"

"Don't worry, I have another," Daud assured. "I made sure I'd be paid well for this too. Besides, I told you, 'half now--'" he pushed the ingot to Misha more insistently. "'half later.' Here's your half, later."

Misha gulped. He had a feeling that Daud was not going to take no for an answer. He acquiesced, gently taking the gold, and the assassin relaxed. He stood back, giving Misha some space.

"Don't spend it all in one place," he suggested, a dry attempt at humor. Misha managed a tired smile in return.

"Am I allowed to offer my appreciation, now?"

Daud said nothing. He looked away.

"May we be blessed to never meet again, Misha Romanov."

Misha, personally, did not see that as a blessing-- but perhaps, given Daud's line of work, it was for the best. He nodded, not wishing to argue with a man who could so easily murder him.

"Regardless… Thank you, Daud."

Those prickled whispers returned, just as Daud met his eyes. There was something mildly astonished in his gaze, and Misha tried not to push away the foreign white noise that invaded his mind. Instead, somewhere in there, he thought -- imagined, he reminded himself -- that he caught the faintest expression of " You're welcome."

As quickly as it built up, the emotion was gone-- and so was Daud. Misha blinked, putting a hand to his ringing ear. He looked to the open terrace and was suddenly filled with the urge to follow, to rush out to the balcony so he did, throwing the doors apart in his wake. He breathed the night air and there he was, on the opposite rooftop, eyes and scars burning, even in the dark. Daud looked back at Misha; their eyes met.

Daud's left hand raised, smoking and black. His fist clenched.

And in a flurry of ash and wind, he was gone.

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servinglemonade · 4 years ago

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WandaVision Review

BEWARE: SPOILERS FOR ALL WANDAVISION EPISODES AHEAD

Didn't WandaVision end over a month ago now? Yes. Wasn't The Falcon and Winter Soldier finale yesterday? Yes. Is that going to stop me from talking about this incredible show? No, it won't.

Hi everyone! I started writing this review while WandaVision was still airing, but got so swamped with life that I did not have time to finish it. But here we are, finally! I adore this show, it is a fresh and different take on the MCU and I personally loved every second of it. The concept should not have made sense, like Paul Bettany kept saying, it is bonkers! However, somehow, they just made it work and I just enjoyed it so much! The sitcom aspect, the different songs and score, the attention to detail, the new characters, and spending time with Wanda and Vision was just fantastic! Because at the end of the day, that was what this was all about, Wanda and Vision and their relationship! For a more in-depth and spoiler review of every episode, keep on reading!

Episode 1 - Filmed Before A Live Studio Audience

Many people expressed their annoyance with the fact that the first two episodes that aired were very slow, and yes they are. But that is not necessarily a bad thing. This is not a movie, it is a show, they are building the story, just enjoy the ride and the mystery because even the first episode left so many questions! I loved seeing Wanda and Vision as the stars of the show for once and I enjoy spending all this time with them. The production value of the whole show is amazing but the black and white episodes are something special. I have never watched the old school sitcoms they are referencing here in episode 1 (and 2) but I found it so charming and cute. The square aspect ratio, the black and white, the old school VFX, the laughing track from the audience. I thought it was really cool to see. One of my favorite moments in this episode was the dinner scene with the Harts. When Mr. Hart chocked and Mrs. Hart just kept saying stop it, and Wanda and Vision just kind of looked at each other like what is happening, was so tense. When Wanda looked at Vision and said to help him was so well done by both Elizabeth and Paul! So, I really loved this first episode.

Episode 2 - Don’t Touch That Dial

Episode 2 is where you really start to see that nothing is at it seems in this ‘perfect’ world. So, there is a talent show that day and our favorite unusual couple is preparing for their magic act. Wanda also tells Vision that is their home and she wants to fit in. Later, Vision goes to the Neighborhood Watch because of a strange sound he heard the night before, where we meet some more people from Westview and Vision’s co-workers. Vision mentions he does not eat food. However, when Herb offers him gum, he takes it but accidentally swallows it. This leads to a really cool animation that Vision might not be doing so well after eating that piece of gum. Meanwhile, Wanda hears a strange noise so she goes to check it out, and it is this little red and gold-colored drone with a logo on it... Which was later revealed to be the SWORD logo. But then who comes to visit... Agnes. She was suspicious since the beginning and we were right about that... So Wanda joins Agnes for a meeting with the Planning Committee. Here we meet, Geraldine aka Monica Rambeau, Dottie, and some more people from Westview. So, Wanda is trying really hard to fit in but is not really successful. They say the talent show is for the children but are not any children in Westview... Fishy! Then Wanda has to clean everything up after the meeting and has a really weird moment with Dottie. Someone is trying to contact Wanda through the radio which freaks Dottie out completely, the glass breaks and Dottie’s blood is red, while the rest is still black and white just like that little drone... So, when it’s time for the magic show, Vision shows up at the nick of time and appears to be acting a little weird or ‘drunk’ so to speak. So of course, everything goes wrong during the show and Wanda tries to cover it up. But everyone thought they were being funny so they won! And they go back home, and Wanda turns out to be pregnant! I thought it was a really cute reveal but it did not last long because there is some strange dude outside in a beekeeper costume coming out of the sewer and Wanda is like ‘oh hell no’ and rewinds time like it never happened. Badass.

Episode 3 - Now in Color

In this episode, Wanda and Vision prepare for the arrival of the baby, which of course causes some trouble not just in the house but in the neighborhood of Westview too. I loved how Vision was making Dad jokes and was quite nervous about becoming a dad. Yet, Wanda was just like chill, we got this, so cute. The pregnancy goes very fast, which confuses Vision. He also starts questioning the situation they are in and how weird the citizens of Westview act sometimes. He even looks straight into the camera! So, Wanda looks a bit scared and rewinds again!! So, it was becoming very clear that Wanda is pulling the strings here and can alter what happens. Afterward, Vision runs to get the doctor and Geraldine (aka Monica) shows up. At some point, Geraldine realizes what’s up and she helps Wanda deliver her baby, or babies as we later find out. Twins! What a twist, as Darcy says in the next episode (although it was in the trailer that there were 2 babies, I just wanted to make that joke). So, everyone is very happy and as Vision lets the doctor out, Monica stays with Wanda. Now, this is where this episode gets super weird. So, Vision sees Agnes and Herb talking and they are discussing how Geraldine is an outsider since she just showed up in Westview with no home and family. Then, Herb wants to say something important, but of course, Agnes stops him. Meanwhile, Wanda and Monica are inside and Wanda mentions Pietro for the first time in a long time!!! I think since Age of Ultron. Speaking of Ultron, Monica then mentions that Pietro was killed by him. We do not see what happens next (just yet hehe) but the aspect ratio changes and we go outside of Westview where SWORD is monitoring the hex very closely... This episode brought up a lot of questions, which is one of the things I loved about it. A scene I liked was when Wanda’s water broke and the house got all wet. So, Wanda used her powers to create some wind to dry off. She was standing there very gracefully and Vision was in the background struggling to keep his balance. I just thought that was funny.

Episode 4 - We Interrupt This Program

Did I mention how much I love the titles for every episode, I think they are so clever. In this episode, we see the last 3 episodes but from outside the hex! So, we get a couple more answers to our questions. For example, that it is ALL WANDA! Wanda is creating a reality where she can live in a perfect world with Vision. We get re-introduced to some characters we have not seen in a while! Jimmy Woo, who has mastered close-up magic like he was practicing in Ant-Man and The Wasp! We love to see it. And Dr. Darcy Lewis, who is now an astrophysicist, just like Jane! I think it was really good to pair these two together because they had a great dynamic and quickly became such a fun duo! We also get introduced to one of the worst people in MCU history, the new director of SWORD... Tyler Hayward. The literal definition of a bastard. I mean this man is a liar and is sitting in Monica’s chair (who should obviously be the new director). This brings me to the beginning of the episode, which in my opinion is the best perspective on the Blip we have gotten so far. The VFX when Monica blipped back was incredible. I also thought that whole sequence in the hospital showed how chaotic it must have been for some places after Hulk snapped everyone back. For example, when this one guy said “Everyone is coming back, we don’t the capacity!” I think that is a really interesting angle to explore the ramifications of The Blip. But the most heartbreaking thing about that scene was Monica finding out her mother, Maria, passed away while she was blipped. That was just awful. A fun thing about this episode was that everyone at SWORD was kind of like us, trying to piece together what was going on! But the best part about the episode was, of course, seeing how Wanda took Monica out of the hex. She really looked and sounded like a villain. It was amazing, but the most creepy thing I have ever seen in the MCU was talking zombie Vision. Really good jump scare and very unexpected and dark!

Episode 5 - On a Very Special Episode...

And we are back with Wanda and Vision living their ‘perfect’ life, trying to get the twins to sleep, which is not really working out for them. And of course, Agnes shows up to help them. Vision is kind of apprehensive and prefers if Agnes does not get too close. However, Agnes starts acting weird and asks Wanda: "Do you want me to begin from the top?" WHAT...?! I thought this sounded like she knew Wanda was in control. Wanda tries to talk some sense into her and lets Agnes do her thing. Vision starts getting really suspicious of the situation in this episode and I loved seeing that and how Wanda dealt with it as well. We catch up with SWORD and our favorite duo has become a trio!! Jimmy Woo, Darcy, and Monica! Hayward is briefing everyone about Wanda’s history, tells more lies, Monica actually sticks up for her (yas), and Jimmy & Darcy agree with the whole world that Hayward is a bastard. Back in the hex, we are introduced to Sparky the dog, and the twins age up to ten. Later, our favorite trio is on a mission to figure out what is going on. What I found most interesting about this scene was when Jimmy mentioned Captain Marvel, Monica was super dismissive... I smell some drama between those two. They then figure out if they can send something in the Hex to contact Wanda. While Vision is at work, they get a mysterious e-mail from SWORD trying to make contact inside the hex, which results in Vision waking up Norm from someone’s control!!! Such a cool scene, very well acted as well. Back at the Vision residence, Wanda has a little heart to heart with the twins about family, which I thought was very heartwarming. But then, a SWORD drone has come into the hex and Hayward actually weaponized it. And we get one of Wanda’s most badass scenes ever! She comes out of the hex and throws the drone right back at them and tells them to leave her alone since she has everything she wants. Then, she amplifies the hex with her powers and now it has this red glow around it. What I found really interesting about this was her Sakovian accent, which was so present here. The commercial for ‘Lagos’ paper towels this episode was very clever: ‘when you make a mess you did not mean to.’, which is obviously a reference to what Wanda did to that hospital in Civil War. So, Sparky is missing and they find him dead in Agnes’ hands. RIP :(. The ending of the episode where Wanda and Vision fight was amazing and SO WELL ACTED by both of them. Super tense! And of course, in the end, Evan Peters shows up as Pietro. I have never seen the X-Men movies (I know, I am sorry.), so I had no clue that he actually played Quicksilver in the FOX movies.

Episode 6 - All-New Halloween Spooktacular!

This was one of my favorite episodes and it may or may not be because of the Halloween elements. I thought the twins talking to the audience in this episode was really cute and a great way for us to get to know their personalities as well. Wanda comes downstairs looking fabulous in her classic Scarlet Witch costume from the comics!! The kids and Pietro kind of think the costume is a bit meh, but they obviously do not know what they are talking about... Pietro then talks about trick or treating with Wanda in Sakovia and Wanda says she does not remember... Clue #1 that this Pietro is being kind of weird. Later, Vision shows up in his classic comics costume, which was funny to see him in that. So Vision tells Wanda he cannot go trick or treating with them because he is doing some stuff with the Neighborhood Watch tonight, while in fact, he is going to be doing some investigating in Westview. So Pietro joins the fam instead with his classic Quicksilver costume and Tommy has the same outfit on because it is later revealed that he also has super speed. I really enjoyed the trick-or-treating bit. So, Vision is nearing the edge of the Hex and seems as though people are either stuck in a loop but still conscious or just standing completely still. Back at SWORD, our favorite trio is taking matters into their own hands and are trying to figure out a way to go back into the hex and they find out that Hayward is tracking Vision and the decay of Vibranium. Which raised a bunch of questions for me, like is Hayward just after Vision? Darcy mentions that going in and out of the hex is changing Monica’s cells. Interesting and scary. When Vision found Agnes at the edge of the hex and got her out of the spell, she knew about the Avengers but Vision did not since he has no memory. She was acting really weird though... AS ALWAYS! The town square with all the Halloween decorations looked so cute and gave me serious Halloweentown vibes! Pietro is fishing for answers with Wanda and we get another jump scare with zombie Pietro... This was even worse than Vision. Then, we get this heartbreaking scene, where he is trying to get out of the hex and tries to tell SWORD the people need help and he is slowly falling apart and nobody tries to help him but Darcy. I really thought he was going to die again and I was not ready for that. Luckily, Billy senses his dad is in trouble and goes to Wanda. She then freezes the whole town and EXPANDS THE ENTIRE HEX. That was just crazy and what a cliffhanger.

Episode 7 - Breaking The Fourth Wall

This is the Modern Family style episode and as a huge fan of that, this was sooooo well done! The humor, the confessionals to the camera, the camera work even. It was perfect. So, it’s not going so well in the hex. A lot of furniture and things in the house are switching between decades, like the twins’ game consoles and the milk. Wanda kept saying she was fine, while we can all see she obviously is not. Agnes suggests taking the twins so Wanda can have a little self-care time. Speaking of which, her confessionals to the camera were so funny! Vision seeks out Darcy and Darcy just thinks he wants to go on a date with her. All I kept thinking was: Vision, just take her out of the spell. Which of course he does later and Darcy says how she thought it would be fun to be on WandaVision but in reality, it was not, that was great. They then escape the circus by getting in a funnel cake truck. Meanwhile, Monica and Jimmy meet up with the engineer who turned out to be no one we knew. But she did bring a vehicle that Monica could use to get back in the hex. Which eventually did not work, so Monica literally runs in there without any protection really. But we got this beautiful sequence where Monica gets her powers and it was just stunning. She hears all these voices of her past and she is also ripped apart somehow with different versions of herself but she pulls them all together and she goes comes out on the other side in a superhero landing and GLOWING eyes, wow. Vision and Darcy are stuck somewhere in Westview like someone really does not want them to get to Wanda. Darcy basically tells Vision his whole story and he finally learns what Wanda had to endure concerning his death as well. Vision’s confessionals in front of that funnel truck were hilarious as well! Another thing I loved about that was that Darcy mentioned how she had been watching WandaVision (just like us hehe) and the love Wanda and Vision share is real, which I thought was really cute. Monica visits Wanda at home and she is NOT happy. Elizabeth Olsen is really selling the more villainous moments and Teyonnah Parris killed this scene as well, the emotion in her voice was on point. Agnes sees what happens and goes to stop it and takes Wanda to her house. Wanda sits in the living room and the twins are nowhere to be found, so Agnes says they are in the basement. Which has these really weird branches coming out of it, Wanda goes down and there are all these weird artifacts and this book, very WITCHY... And it is revealed that Agnes is Agatha Harkness, a witch!!! This leads to the instantly iconic smash hit, Agatha All Along!!! (which I am still very much obsessed with) So we see her messing with events like the talent show and it was also revealed that she was the one that killed Sparky... I had been following theories throughout the show, so some already suspected Agnes was Agatha but the way it was revealed was just iconic.

Episode 8 - Previously On...

I loved this one too. This episode gives us some answers to our questions and a glimpse into Wanda's past. Hosted by none other than Agatha Harkness! (I love how she was giving commentary on everything this episode, Katherine Hahn is amazing!) In the beginning, we also see some of Agatha's past and I thought it was really cool, I love the magic section of the MCU and I feel like they are starting to explore it more and more. It was also a very dark scene, really great stuff. After that, Agatha is explaining to Wanda why she came to Westview, why is she is seeking her out specifically, and showcases her magic. She also explains how she brought FIETRO in the picture (cannot stop calling him that now lol). We then take a trip down memory lane. First up, Sokovia. I thought this was cute and gave us an answer to why they are referencing sitcoms. I did not expect to see the bombing that Wanda and Pietro talked about in Age of Ultron and as it turns out the bomb did not go off because Wanda put a spell on it! Then we move to the Hydra facility where Wanda and Pietro volunteered. So when Wanda was alone with the scepter, the mind stone went to her by itself, almost like it chose her or something. I thought it was really cool that it was showing her true self or her future self for that matter. Next up, the Avengers compound. I loved how when Vision entered he came through the wall, just like he did in Civil War and he is kind of confused about the sitcom she is watching. They have a little heart-to-heart about how Wanda is feeling after Pietro's death. I have to say the writing and lines here are great but Vision says this gorgeous one: "But what is grief, if not love persevering?" That is one of the best lines in the show and MCU, so beautiful. I mean even Agatha had to wipe away a tear. The last scene was incredible. So we find out that Wanda never took Vision's body from SWORD and that Hayward is a lying bastard (tells us something we do not know). I was on the verge of tears when Wanda went to Vision's body and said she could not feel him anymore. Gosh, that was sad and made me think of Infinity War. She then leaves the SWORD HQ and drives to Westview and she stops at this empty plot of land... Because Vision bought that for them to live there :( That is just so sad and Wanda her grief was so great that SHE created the hex out of nothing. On top of that, she even created a new Vision. That whole scene was so visually striking, it was incredible. So back to 'reality'. Agatha leads Wanda outside and she is wearing her costume (which looks great btw!) and her hair is blowing in the wind and she is holding the twins hostage and she tells Wanda she used chaos magic to create the hex, which makes her THE SCARLET WITCH!!!!!! SHE SAID IT! The way I screamed omg, it was amazing!

Episode 9 - The Series Finale

We've made it!! Congrats if you have made it this far, cause this a long post. Let me start off by saying that even though some people hated this finale because of all the theories that had been spread on the internet, I really enjoyed it! Yes, even I was convinced that some of them were true, particularly Mephisto and Doctor Strange showing up. It did not happen and at the end of the day, I was fine with it because they were just theories, it was not confirmed. Now, the whole Evan Peters thing... It was a bit weird that he was just a nobody, but I was honestly not that invested in that storyline, so yeah, I get why other people were disappointed. But to say it ruined the whole show, no way, it was never about him in the first place. With the mystery of WandaVision, I think we all looked too much into every single detail. WandaVision is about Wanda dealing with her grief and the love she shares with VIsion, which they delivered on in spades and I loved seeing that. Plus, it is not to say that Mephisto will never show up, there were a lot of clues here that he might in the future with all those devil references... The finale wrapped up this story and gave some teases for what is to come. It delivered some great action at the beginning of the episode with Wanda vs. Agatha and Vision vs. White Vision. I thought the little philosophy session with the Visions was so in character, it was great. Speaking of White Vision, now that he has all of Vision's memory... WHERE DID HE GO?! I am sure we will see him again. I thought the scene where the people from Westview surrounded Wanda and were blaming her for all their trauma these past weeks, which is totally within their right, was so intense and Elizabeth really sold it!! All the Wanda vs. Agatha scenes were awesome and loved seeing them use their magic in different ways. Now, my two favorite moments of this finale. I did not realize what Wanda was doing while fighting Agatha in the air, not until Agatha could not use her powers anymore... Wanda literally used Agatha's own tricks against her by casting those ruins inside the hex! Wanda accepting her destiny as the Scarlet Witch was such a beautiful moment, I had legit chills! AND HER NEW COSTUME LOOKS STUNNING! With her hair and the headpiece, omg yes queen. Also, I think we will be seeing Agatha again, they really established that her path will cross with Wanda in a future MCU project! Now, my other favorite moment. Wanda saying goodbye to her family. Some of the lines were just beautiful and the score was emotional. I thought it was chilling how you could just see the hex closing in on them, it felt very cinematic. I genuinely think it is among some of my favorite moments in the MCU. It was a beautiful ending to this story. So, what's next?! One post-credit scene was Monica being recruited by a SKRULL!! I love it when the Skrulls just pop up out of nowhere, it's great. So the Skrull tells her there is someone who wants to see her up there... That has to be Nick Fury right?! The last time we saw him he was on some sort of space station with Skrulls in Far From Home. Maybe Monica will also play a part in Secret Invasion?! I am excited about that reunion nonetheless! The other scene was Wanda settled in a secluded area in the mountains. Wanda has been confirmed for Multiverse of Madness with Doctor Strange and I am SO excited for that. This scene confirmed it too! If u listen closely you can hear a different version of Doctor Strange's theme!! I thought it was really cool and a little scary that Wanda could be awake and have her astral projection reading the dark hold at the same time! That was powerful!

So, here we are, we made it! I loved this show and I am so happy Wanda is becoming a very big part of the MCU and her future shines brighter than ever!! Thank you so much for reading this! I hope you enjoyed it :) Next up, The Falcon and The Winter Soldier! (spoiler alert: it was amazing!!!!) Hopefully, my review will be up before Loki has started ;)

PS. I loved all the songs and scores from the show so much, I put all my faves in a Spotify playlist! Check it out here

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kimvvantae · 6 years ago

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Umbra; 13

➜ being ruled by an ancient commandment, your sole purpose is to serve. you were born to protect the king with your life, tied by an everlasting oath; you are nothing but a shadow, a silent and insignificant being. he appears to you like the sun, the warmest and brightest star in the sky, and gives you a chance to live. it is then that your entire universe starts to orbit around this sun, and you decide that you are truly willing to die for him.

pairing: King!Taehyung x (f) hybrid!reader

genre: royalty au, fantasy, angst

warnings: descriptions of violence, blood and death that might be triggering.

word count: 9k

➜ Chapters: check up masterlist in bio!

The little boy hugs his own legs.

Another lightning tears the air outside the cabin, making him jump. He tightens the blanket around his chubby body. He hates storms, he always did.

The small cabin he calls home is dark and cold, damp due to the strong rain that falls nonstop. He also hates darkness, but mommy always told him to be strong. Mommy says he's brave, and because of that, he tries not to be scared of being alone. He tries not to be scared of the forest around him, he tries not to be scared of the wild animals that might be hiding and watching him, he tries not to be scared of another thunder that explodes so strongly he feels it in his bones.

“You're a strong wolf,” his mommy would always say.

Mommy isn't home yet.

She said she would come back before dawn, but the sun has disappeared long ago and she still didn't return.

What could have happened? His mommy never stayed away for so long. Sometimes he's left alone, but never until late at night. Mom always comes back to cook dinner and put him to sleep. Why is she taking so long today? Again, the little boy tries to control his nerves. He holds the tiny fang around his neck - a gift his mom gave him, the symbol of his family. A family of wolves. He has to be brave. He has to be strong-

He hears the sound of horseshoes over the storm.

A smile immediately appears on his lips, as well as a sigh of relief. Finally, mommy is back! He gets up from the bed, still holding the blanket tight, and walks over to the door. He hears steps on the mud. He's ready to jump on mommy's arms and hug her-

The door opens.

All the excitement is gone in one second. Instead, a cold shiver of fear takes place.

A tall man stands in front of him. Too tall, too imposing; his sole presence fills the place. He looks around the small cabin with obvious disgust on his eyes, as if he has just entered a sewer. The little boy knows this man. He comes from time to time, talks to mommy and leaves. He never addressed the little boy, but this man always sends significative stares.

As if… inspecting him.

The little boy doesn't know anything about him, but he knows that mommy doesn't like him. She's always uneasy and nervous whenever he comes over. The kid tightens his small fists.

“Where is mommy?” He asks angrily.

The man finally looks down at him, as if noticing the kid for the first time. The little boy shivers again at his piercing gaze. There is no hint of affection or any bright feeling. His eyes are as cold as ice, authoritarian, strong.

The little boy does not understand it yet, but that gaze means contempt.

“Your mother won't come back,” he simply says, his voice deep and resounding.

The little boy freezes in place.

What…?

“You're lying. Mommy said she would come back soon…” he stutters weakly.

“Your mother is dead, kid.” Is all the man says nonchalantly. As if he's explaining something simple. As if he's not making the world crumble under the boy's feet with that sentence.

Instead of immediate sadness, the boy feels anger. It was that man. Mommy never liked him. He must've done something… but he can't believe she's dead. No. She can't be.

“What did you do to mommy?! What did you do?!” the little boy screams and launches himself over the man, fists tight, hitting everything he can find. But he makes little to no damage. The man looks down at him, again, with pure disgust, and simply pushes him back. Although he did not use much strength, the boy falls back easily.

“You need to be educated,” his deep and cold voice crosses the air. He's still calm, impassive. As if the boy is not a big deal, as if he's just a dog that messed up his carpet. “Take him.”

Two more man enter the cabin and drag the boy by his arms. Even though the kid struggles and screams and even tries to bite them, he's still too small and weak. The men just keep carrying him and throw him into an old carriage.

The door is locked.

The boy doesn't know where they are taking him. Panic, despair, anger - everything explodes inside of him all at once. He screams until his throat hurts, he tries to open the door until his fingertips are bleeding, he cries until there are no tears left to cry.

And then, he stops.

The sobbing ceases.

He breathes.

His mother's voice whispers on his ears. You're a strong wolf.

When the doors opens and he is forced to leave, he does it with no complaints. No crying. Not even a word.

His innocence died right there.

He still carries the little fang around his neck.

Blank.

Everything was blank. My mind, my emotions. Blankness is comforting somehow. I didn't see, I didn't hear, I didn't feel. I don't know how long it lasted.

What yanked me out of the blankness was pain.

As my senses slowly came back to me, I soon found out that my entire body was aching; every member felt heavy in a way it has never been. It felt as if someone had crushed all of my bones and cooked my muscles.

Was I punished?, I thought.

Punishments didn't hurt as much as it hurts now, though. No human could put me under so much pain.

No human…

Oh.

Hoseok's face suddenly popped on my mind.

Nothing is above honor. Not even you.

The memories flowed back to me so quickly it gave me a headache. Everything that happened in a short period of time… obsidian soldiers, the rebellion- my mother. Athena's heiress was murdered and a combat has been claimed for the first time in over a decade. Hoseok.

What… what happened after that?

Perhaps I am dead. Perhaps I'm in such pain because I'm being punished in Helheim.

But… does Helheim has such soft mattresses?

I soon noticed that I was laid in the softest thing I've ever been. My mattress felt like a rock compared to this. It even made the pain bearable somehow. Is this what it feels like to lay on a cloud?

Definitely, not my tiny bedroom.

I opened my eyes slowly.

A beautifully decorated ceiling.

A chandelier made of crystals, gold and diamonds.

It took some time to my vision to adjust clearly, and the light still bothered my sensible eyes. I still stared at that ceiling for many moments, being sure I knew this place, but still not remembering well where it was…

One of the palace's sumptuous rooms, I was sure.

No… more than that. This chandelier was too huge, and the ceiling was too high. This was the most luxurious room from the entire palace…

The King's room.

My eyes widened. My heartbeat increased.

Slowly, I looked around, now fully conscious. This was definitely his room. I never realised how the bed was big - five people could sleep comfortably here, I guessed. Why would someone even need a bed this big? Many fluffy cushions surrounded me, and my head was rested in the softest of the pillows. A white blanket covered me. Sunlight filled the entire room, making all the golden decoration gleam. It still bothered my eyes. The place was silent; I could only hear distant voices coming from far corners of the palace, the sound of the wind, and-

And someone's soft breathing right beside me.

I looked to the left.

My heart nearly stopped.

There he was. Sitting on an armchair in a seemingly uncomfortable position; he was sleeping heavily, his hair a mess. He placed the armchair right beside the bed. I was sure his neck would ache when he'd wake up. But still…

He looked beautiful.

Sunlight hit this profile. Every line of his face was fine and elegant. I noticed bags of tiredness under his eyes, the messy clothes. I have never seen him look so messy in my life - at least not when he was being Vante. King Taehyung is always well composed.

For some strange reason, I felt tears on my eyes.

It was hard to believe he was actually right there; was it an hallucination? I was sure not long passed since the attack, however being away from him hurt me. I remembered that I wondered if I would ever see him again during the combat, when I thought I was about to die. I thought of him. I remembered his thunderous voice…

However touches her will die!

It just seemed too good to be true…

However, more memories came back to me.

My child, he seduced you.

He's just using you. What will you be? His secret prostitute?

A part of me did not like this idea, but I had to be rational. And this sane part took the best of me.

I tried to sit up, but my members still felt too heavy and every move seemed to ache even more. I lifted myself on my elbows very slowly, my face a painful scowl. Have I ever been this injured before? I didn't remember one time that I couldn't get up, not even when they punished me for days and nights. If I couldn't even walk, how was I going to leave? Sitting up in that moment felt like a difficult exercise. Unconsciously, I let a painful grunt pass my lips.

I forgot how Taehyung wakes up easily.

He immediately opened his eyes and looked around, confused. I honestly panicked. I knew that, in the moment our eyes met, I would lose all my will to leave.

That's exactly what happened.

When Taehyung's eyes finally focused on me, he looked surprised and gasped. In one second he was already up on his feet and hurried towards me. “Hey, hey! Don't try to get up yet! You're too injured!”

His hand rested on my back to give me some support; with this simple contact, I felt my body heating up.

I missed his touch.

I missed his smell.

I missed the sight of those dark strands of hair falling over his eyes.

I missed everything about him.

I watched in silence as Taehyung did his best to put me on a comfortable position, adjusting pillows and cushions. It even took me some moments to realize I had bandages all over my arms and my stomach.

“Does it hurt too much?” He asked. God, I missed his deep, velvety voice - which was shadowed by concern at the moment. My throat was too dry, so I just nodded instead of speaking. Taehyung quickly took a glass bottle of a strange blue liquid that I recognized as a potion and poured a little of it on a glass. “Here. It will ease the pain.”

I didn't have enough strength to even take the glass; Taehyung placed it on my lips gently instead, his other hand rested on the back of my neck. Surprisingly, the potion had a sweet taste. I couldn't tell exactly what it tasted like, but it almost felt like a juice and not a potion.

I closed my eyes and rested my head on the pillow again. I could hear Taehyung moving around me. He placed his hand on my forehead for some moments, what made me look at him again.

“You had fever all those nights,” he explained quietly. Everything about his expression and body language told me how tense and concerned he was. “A high fever. But it seems that your temperature is normal now.”

“How many… days?” I managed to ask in a raspy and weak voice. I noticed Taehyung shivering for a moment.

“You've been unconscious for five days.”

Five days since the combat? It never happened to me before. How many things might have happened during these five days?

“Hey.” Taehyung caught my attention again. “Don't think too much right now, okay? Just focus on healing.”

“I'm… not,” again, my voice sounded annoyingly weak. He chuckled lightly.

“Yes, you are. I can see your brain fuming. Right now you should just rest. Nothing else is important.”

I wanted to argue, but I wasn't strong enough to come up with an argument. Instead, I just laid there and watched as Taehyung proceeded to examine me. I have never seen him look so concerned, but Taehyung was still trying to keep a composed demeanor. He couldn't pretend in front of me anymore, though. His aura was a troubling mess.

At the same time, he was deeply relieved.

The potion made me sleep again at some point, and when I woke up again, my body didn't ache as much - of course, the pain didn't go away, but it was more bearable now.

Taehyung was still sitting by my side. He had a serious expression, reading what I supposed to be a letter.

“Another week has passed?” I questioned, surprising Taehyung. The way his face lit up when he looked at me made my heart flutter. He smiled - I missed that smile so much - and placed the letter on the nightstand. “No, just two hours.”

“What is this?” I asked, but Taehyung shook his head slightly. He was already standing by my side.

“It doesn't matter right now. How do you feel?”

“Bad, but better than before.” He was touching my forehead again. And my cheek. And my neck. I knew he was just checking my temperature, but it still made me flustered.

“Your temperature is okay.” He murmured, sounding relieved. Taehyung took many pillows and cushions, placing them behind me, until I could rest my back and still be in a sitting position, and then proceeded to examine me all over again.

Now that I was more conscious, the fact that he had to touch me so much made me even more flustered, as stupid as it sounds.

Once again, I asked myself if Taehyung was a telepath, because I desperately needed to pee (what was embarrassing to ask him) but before I could say anything, he called some maids that helped me to walk to the bathroom. I asked myself how did they deal with my body fluids while I was unconscious, what (once again) made me embarrassed. When they brought me back to bed, there was already a plate full of soup waiting for me on a tray. The idea of having something in my stomach was very unpleasant.

“Don't make this face. You need to eat,” the telepath King said.

“I'm not hungry.”

“Sorry, I'm not hearing. Open your mouth.” And then he was holding a spoonful of soup in front of my face.

“I-I'm not a kid, I can eat by myself…”

“Open your mouth.”

He had that annoying stubborn face. That adorable face. Feeling completely flustered, I opened my mouth. The soup wasn't bad - it was the best soup I have ever tasted, to be honest, what made me think the “soups” I used to eat were nothing but boiled water with some vegetables on it. This soup even had chicken, though. I wasn't used to eat meat at all.

“I still can eat by myself.” I murmured again.

“I'm just making sure you'll eat all this,” he stubbornly said and proceeded to blow a spoonful of soup. I couldn't help but stare at his lips.

He kissed me.

This memory made me reach the peak of embarrassment. I just ate the rest of soup in silence.

The soup actually made me feel better, my thoughts getting clearer. Taehyung put the tray aside and started to examine me again, and at this point I was sure he was just being paranoid.

“I'm fine,” I reassured him.

“You're not,” he simply said.

“Well, I feel fine.” I gazed at him again. “You don't look fine.”

“I'm not important at the moment.”

“You are.” I whispered, but he still didn't stop. “Taehyung,” I called, touching his arm.

This made him stop and look at me. His nervousness and worry was obvious, so intense he was shivering slightly. Taehyung gulped and blinked, some sort of astonishment covering his features, as if he just realized he was actually talking to me.

“I'm sorry,” he whispered weakly. That fragile side of him he didn't show in front of anyone but me. Slowly, he sat down on the armchair again. “It's just that… I didn't know if you would survive. I was… I don't know…”

Kim Taehyung out of words is something rare. He looked tired, drained. I tried to open a comforting smile. “Do you really think I would die so easily? I'm tough, remember?”

Taehyung opened the smallest of the smiles. “You're doing it.”

“What?”

“Trying to take care of me. It's the opposite now, okay? I'm taking care of you.”

It was a strange concept. I was always taking care of him, not the opposite… that's why his words made my heart beat fast. I wasn't used to have anyone taking care of me, both because no one cared and because I was too proud sometimes to ask help for Yoongi or Chuu.

I didn't care that Taehyung was taking care of me, though.

What made me remember of other facts…

“Why am I in your room?” I asked, shifting uncomfortably.

Taehyung frowned. “What's the problem?”

“There are many rooms in this castle. And…” I gulped. “Wouldn't it be strange of a married King to keep a woman in his room?”

Taehyung frowned even more. “What? I'm not married.”

Oh.

“That's what Gilliard told me. He said that the wedding couldn't be delayed…”

“Gilliard,” Taehyung huffed and pronounced the Counselor's name as if it had a horrible taste on his tongue. “He lied, obviously. How could I have a wedding after all that happened? The Capital was a mess, it still is, to be honest. And you disappeared. I had to search for you.”

Just as I suspected - Taehyung would never allow a combat under such circumstances. And how he mentioned my disappearing as if it was just as important as the attack…

“Where were you, Y/N?” He asked quietly, leaning in my direction slightly. His dark eyes were shadowed with concern and fear. “We searched for you through the whole kingdom, I even sent people to check on Niflheim, but we still had no sign of you. When I stopped feeling you through the Royal Ring I-”

Taehyung interrupted himself in the middle of his sentence and gulped. I knew what he was going to say.

I thought you had died.

Because the only way to break the connection between the Royal Ring and the medallion is if one of the two is dead.

However, what surprised me was Taehyung's expression of pure fear.

I have seen him showing many emotions, but nothing came close to this. He avoided my gaze, ruffled his hair. The King suddenly looked small and helpless in front of me, fragile like a little bird with a broken wing. Kim Taehyung, the man that never kept his head down to anyone, the man that was a symbol of power and confidence.

He seemed about to cry.

All that because he thought I had died.

It made my head spin, my heart beat fast and feel tight at the same time, my body feel hot. I wanted to hug him just to remind him that I was right there, I was safe. I wanted to promise him I would never disappear like that again. I almost told him everything - my whereabouts, the things I discovered-

But Ehemerald's voice whispered in my mind again.

He's just using you.

That's what he wanted, don't you see? He made you fall for him to keep you loyal.

I could not ignore her words.

As much as I hated it, as much as I wanted to deny it, Taehyung was always suspicious. After all that happened, I couldn't let my guard down so easily. It wasn't just about us; it was about all the injustice, it was about my ancestors, it was about a war just waiting to explode.

She was right about something. Taehyung had my heart. He had me around his finger, he had since the very beginning. But it was time to be rational and ignore my feelings right now.

I couldn't give my heart to a man that might be my worst enemy. He had to prove me that he deserved it; he had to prove that I didn't defend him against my own people in vain. So, instead of doing what I wanted, I did what needed to be done.

I knew the truth of the world now. Taehyung didn't know I discovered the whole truth, though. I used it in my advantage.

“Taehyung,” again, after hearing me calling his name, he seemed deeply impacted. But he noticed how my voice changed, and it made him straighten his posture. “Do you remember the promise you made? That you would tell me everything?”

He nodded. “Of course I do.”

My eyes locked with his again. “It's time for you to keep the promise.”

Taehyung looked surprised and confused.

The truth. That was all I needed to hear. If Taehyung told me the same thing Ehmerald did, the exact same facts, then I would know he wasn't a liar, that he wasn't bad. If he said anything but the truth…

Please don't.

“Why do you want me to do it now? You're not in good conditions-”

“Why not now? We finally met, we're finally alone. You promised me. I can't wait anymore.”

Please, tell me the truth. Don't lie to me.

Taehyung gulped. He ruffled his hair again, seemed hesitant for some moments.

But then he nodded, placed his elbows over his legs, and took a deep breath.

Prove it to me.

“You're right. As always,” he chuckled humorlessly. “I should have told you everything earlier. I'm sorry that I took so long, it was a mistake of mine.”

Please.

“I don't even know where to begin… Y/N, this involves not only you, not only me, but the whole world. Everything we learn since we're kids. It's something that dynasties have been trying to hide from the population for millennia.”

I almost couldn't breathe.

“All you know about the past is a lie.”

And then, he proceeded to tell me.

He said about the Council, about the four races. He explained to me how the world lived in peace, how elves weren't gods as we were indoctrinated to believe, that dragons weren't evil. He explained about Merlin and Opal, about dragon hybrids, about the fall of the Council and the genocide. He told me about the First War of the Clans, the division of the Five Great Kingdoms, the way rulers of the past distorted the entire history and made the world believe in lies.

Taehyung told me exactly the same story as Ehmerald.

I just listened, imobile, speechless.

“Even when the Second War of the Clans happened and the Kim House, my family, put an end to the Brzenski Dynasty, they chose to keep the truth hidden,” he kept explaining, voice quiet but serious. “Every dynasty decided to do the same. It is such a secret that only royals from the highest branches of the family know about it. The others are ignorant.”

I took a deep breath. My hands were shaking slightly.

“How long… how long do you know about it?” I asked in a weak voice, what Taehyung probably thought was shock.

“I was only supposed to find out after my coronation ceremony,” he said. “It happens when every King and Queen from the Five Kingdoms is crowned. Another secret ceremony happens, only a few members of the council and high royals present, where the facts are told. Then, they must swear to protect this secret with their lives. There is a book… it is called the Book of Merlin, where they have to sign their names with their own blood to settle the oath. This book has hundreds of names signed, King after King and Queen after Queen, from all the Kingdoms.” Taehyung chuckled humorlessly. He sounded bitter. “The only thing the Five Kingdoms keep in common is protecting a terrible lie.”

I had to take some moments before speaking again. “You said you were supposed to find out about it after the crowning. Did you already know…?”

He nodded. “Yes. As I told you, I made a deal with my father and he let me travel the world. That's how I met Petrus, and after I became his apprentice, he told me the truth. This is also why he decided to leave the Royal Mages and break any bond he had with governments. He was horrified. This is why he joined a rebellion as well.”

Again, I felt as if the air was knocked out of my lungs. The rebellion.

“What rebellion?” I was once more taking advantage of his ignorance. What Taehyung's opinion about the rebellion was?

Taehyung straightened his posture. “This rebellion… I think that calling them resistance is more suitable. They started as a group of hybrids that knew about the facts of the past, passing the story from generation to generation. It was - still is - very dangerous because the royal houses hunt the people that spread it. They wanted the whole world to know the truth at first, but as the group got stronger, they started to wish for more. Their goals are to reestablish the Ancient Council and to free all the hybrids. And, to do so… they expect to reunite the Four Races again, or at least what remains of them.”

Taehyung looked at me deeply.

“And that's when you become important.”

I shivered.

Taehyung knew everything.

“As I already said, the Ancient Council had the dragons as members. The rebellion wants to reestablish it the way it used to be, and the only race that remained are dragon hybrids. The dragon chosen used to be the strongest of all… you are this person, Y/N.”

I shivered again.

“Me?” I whispered. Taehyung nodded. He was trying to be delicate at the moment, choosing his words carefully. “H-How long do you know about me?”

Taehyung hesitated before speaking again.

“Around three years ago, the rebellion received the information that a female dragon born during a Red Moon existed. I didn't know it was an important information back then, but then I remembered… I remembered of the ghost princess Seokjin told me about. I remembered of seeing a little girl following my father when I was a kid. I connected the dots and things started to make sense.

“I came back to the palace for some time in order to gather more information. I found out that, yes, the royalty knew about the rebellion very well, and they were worried because they were spreading the story throughout Ëlv'en and the continent. The royals also knew about their intentions of doing a coup d'etat and reuniting the Council again. In fact, they knew about it for some decades… they were always very aware of the dragon hybrids at Niflheim, searching for someone that could be possibly stronger and become the rebellion's leader.”

Taehyung avoided my gaze.

He looked ashamed.

“They knew that a female dragon born during a Red Moon existed. But, instead if getting rid of her… of you… my father had other idea. When you got older enough, Taejun sacrificed his old guardian and chose you as the next one.”

I felt as if someone had just buried a dagger in my heart.

“Why?” My voice was barely a whisper.

Once again, Taehyung hesitated before speaking. “Because he wanted to keep an eye on you. He wanted to make sure you wouldn't represent any danger. He also wanted to make other Kingdoms fear him, because he had the strongest of the dragons with him.”

My fingers tightened around the blanket so much that the knots of my fingers got white. I gathered all of my will not to start crying right there.

They have been using me in deeper ways than I have ever imagined…

It meant that Taejun really never cared about me. Not that it should be a surprise after all, but still - I had lived my whole life with him and for him, putting myself in danger without hesitance, considering him my sun. However, Taejun… I was nothing but his toy. His trophy.

“I also discovered that many counselors and other royals were against his decision. They thought you were too dangerous.” More things made sense now… flashes of the past. Gilliard's voice echoed in my mind: “I always kept your reins very tight, Y/N, but I knew that it wouldn't be enough. I tried to warn Taejun many times. We had so many chances to get rid of you, but he never listened. His stubbornness was what led him to his death after all.”

They wanted to kill me so bad that Gilliard was about to begin a war between Athena and Ëlv'en, just so I couldn't be what the rebellion expected me to be.

“There are more important things to protect than Ëlv'en's supremacy.” That's what Gilliard said.

Taehyung watched me in silence, waiting for my reaction. I honestly didn't know what to say or do. I was just trying not to cry like a kid.

“A-And why did you chose me that day?” My voice was shaking. I hated it. “D-Did you want to keep me submissive, too?”

He widened his eyes, but didn't seem offended. He just looked sad and ashamed.

“I did it that day because I knew how important you are, what you represent, and because I knew that the counselors and the royal family wanted nothing more but to see you dead. They finally had an excuse since my father died. I couldn't let that happen.��

“Why?”

“Because I agree with the rebellion.”

This made me shocked.

I stared at him in silence, mouth ajar.

“But, Taehyung… they want you dead.”

He was looking at his own hands.

“I know.” He said, nodding. “They are aggressive and full of anger. But they have all the rights to be. My family, they… the Kim Dynasty let a trail of blood wherever they went to. How many people died because of us? I just think it's time for it to end.”

I was even more shocked.

For the first time, I finally realized what was that tiredness over Taehyung's shoulders all the time, that rooted sadness, that strange hue of deep blue on his aura.

Taehyung felt guilt for everything his family did.

He has been feeling guilty for years.

He felt the responsibility for the discrimination and misery the hybrids went through, he felt the weight of all those deaths as if he did it himself, as if his hands were dirty with blood.

He was just… tired.

“Taehyung, you can't-”

“Let's not focus on me right now,” he interrupted me, waving his hand dismissively. “I already said, I'm not important at the moment.” He sighed. “Since I had no choice but taking the throne, I decided to do something useful. I have been trying to at least make up for some of the mistakes my family made. And this begins with you.” Taehyung looked at me again. He seemed more drained than ever. “I'll be honest, when I first met you that day at the dungeons, I was horrified. When you said you “didn't intend to avoid your fate”... I swear, I wanted to resurrect my father just to break all his bones. And it just got worse as we spent more time together. You were always so quiet and submissive and…” Taehyung swiped his hand over his face. “God, what did they do to you?”

I felt my eyes filling with tears again; there was a strange mix of sadness and shame inside of me.

“My initial plan of telling you the whole truth couldn't be accomplished. Look, I know I sound very manipulative right now. I also used you somehow and for this I apologize. I hid many things from you.” He did look ashamed. “But I just couldn't tell you everything, because you would never believe me or agree with me, not when you thought so little of yourself.”

Taehyung was right. The “me” from months before would never consider any of this; it was still hard for me to associate everything after all, it was still hard for me to not see myself in a depreciative way and I knew it would take some time until I was completely free from all the old misconceptions. I've been taught like that my whole life, things so deeply rooted don't change so easily. I had made much progress, though.

“So… this is why you've been so kind to me since the first day?” I questioned. Now, I was the one avoiding his gaze.

“I've been kind to you since the first day because that's how everyone deserves to be treated, Y/N.” Taehyung gulped. “Being honest, I was scared when I saw you being so grateful when I did the bare minimum to you. I was just treating you like a person… like that day, when you burned your arm with the cursed rock. How could I not take care of that? You looked so amazed. And all those times when I thanked you or apologized…” Guilt was almost visible around him. “I felt so sad. I still feel. You are so powerful, Y/N. I can feel your power from kilometers of distance. Yet, my father made you believe that you're not worthy of anything good.” He shook his head slightly. “I think that nothing that I do will ever be able to make up for what he did to you. That day when I told you about the work policy and I showed you that you would have a salary? I have never felt so stupid. No amount of money in this world will be able to compensate what they did to you.”

My heart was beating fast again, but this time I didn't know why. So many mixed emotions… how he was being considerate of me, all the sadness and the anger. I was getting dizzy.

“Little by little, I saw that you were beginning to change. I already noticed how you became different after the first time we visited a hybrid village. That's why I took you to more and more, both because I needed information about the rebellion and because, maybe if you started to sympathize with the hybrids, maybe if you could understand about your own strength… you could someday agree in reestablishing the Ancient Council.”

“But what about the cursed rock? It was all an excuse?”

“No,” he said, shaking his head. “It was real. At first, I thought that they were trying to kill me, but then it became obvious that they were aiming you. I had to keep you around all the time. I know it sounds stupid, because I'm not even close to be as strong as you are, but I was trying to protect you from them. If you were in my company all the time, they would not hurt you.”

This made me remember something… that night, when Taehyung had a dinner with Princess Sana and I felt so sad that I couldn't watch anymore. I ran to my room and blocked our connection for the first time. Then, Taehyung showed up on my door looking sweaty and desperate…

Please, don't do that again. I was concerned, he said.

Taehyung thought something bad happened to me that night.

My eyebrows frowned. “They who?”

He crossed his arms. “Who else could it be? Gilliard, other high ranked counselors and royals. They've been wanting to kill you for years, and they also hated me on top of that for all I've been doing. I knew they would want to get rid of me someday, too. They were also who cursed my father with that disease.” I widened my eyes.

“King Taejun was really murdered? Why?”

Taehyung frowned. “That's one of the few things I still don't know. Apparently, Taejun disagreed with them about something, and then they decided he wasn't useful anymore. That's what they do with the people that go against them.”

“And where are they now? Isn't it dangerous to have these people around?” I asked, concerned.

“They're all locked in the dungeons.” He said casually, making me shocked.

“What- how did you do that? You can't arrest people unreasonably.”

“It wasn't unreasonably. They disobeyed an immediate order of mine, that was forbidding the combat to happen. It is against the law. I reunited proof enough about their involvement, so all of the were arrested… this is around 90% of the Council and some relatives of mine.”

That devilish satisfaction of him was somehow scary.

Some moments of deep silence hovered above us. I was staring at my own hands, feeling small and fragile, and Taehyung looked at me with hesitance. I could feel how tense he was.

“This is all I know.” He said quietly. “I still don't know why Petrus was murdered, though. I also don't know who the shapeshifter that has been watching us is.” I saw him scratching the nape of his neck uncomfortably. “I'm sorry for keeping the truth from you for so long. You were angry with me the other night and you were right. I already said… I'm not exactly a good person.” He looked down at his lap, his shoulders falling sadly. His next sentence was almost a shy whisper: “Deep down, I think… I think that I hid all that from you for so long because I was scared that you would hate me.”

I couldn't hate you not even if I wanted, I thought, but my mouth kept shut. I felt as if the walls were getting smaller suddenly, my throat tightening painfully.

More silence.

“Please, say something,” he pleaded, shifting on the chair. He sounded and looked out of place. “Even if you want to curse me and beat me up, please do. Anything is better than this silence.”

That strange feeling in my throat got worse, my vision got blurry. I'm about to cry in front of him, I realized in panic - and I also realized that I couldn't hold back the tears anymore.

I hid my face behind my hands and sobbed.

After the first tear trickled down my cheek, more and more came, and more sobs, and then I was shivering and crying desperately. Not only my body ached at the moment, but also my soul. I've never felt so hurt, small and fragile as in that moment.

I felt Taehyung's arms wrapping around me softly.

I could tell he was hesitant - he wanted to console me, but wasn't sure if I wanted to be consoled by him. However, when I rested my head on his chest almost instinctively, Taehyung understood it as a “permission”. He sat by my side on the bed, pulling me closer to him and hugging me delicately, being careful not to squeeze my injuries. His chin came to rest at the top of my head.

And Taehyung just kept silent the whole time.

No one ever saw me crying like that, and the fact that he was the person witnessing my weakness made me embarrassed to the core - but I had just reached a point where all my emotions boiled and exploded all at once. I didn't even know exactly why I was crying. All those feelings were like a giant rock crushing me.

I've been used my entire life, ever since I was born. I've been humiliated, punished, injured, treated like something less than an animal, like I was barely a maggot or worse. The one I almost sacrificed my life for was never considerate of me. Not only me, but everyone that came before me were treated the same way and died without knowing how much more they could have been. I was also crying because of the hybrids, because I found out my mother was alive, because an invisible weight was thrown over my shoulders suddenly - the weight of responsibility, for everyone expected me to be some type of leader; even Taehyung did. And I was also crying because Taehyung told me the truth, he wasn't the bad person Ehmerald suspected, and because I have missed him so much and it still felt unreal that he was there hugging me in that moment.

It all felt unreal and overwhelmingly real at the same time.

“I-I killed my own f-father,” I stuttered between the sobs, needing to let at least someone know.

I noticed Taehyung's surprise. “What?”

“Jaejoong was my f-father. I fought against him in a combat years ago,” I leaned away slightly so I could wipe the tears away with my fists. “D-Deep down, I always thought something was wrong. How c-could a trained dragon lose to a kid?” I tried to gulp, but the sobs wouldn't go away. “I think he knew I was his daughter. I think… I think he let me win.”

Taehyung looked completely shocked and confused. He clearly didn't know who Jaejoong was and how I discovered he was my father, but I knew my words affected him. He pushed me against his chest again, hugging me a little tighter now.

“I'm so sorry,” he whispered. When I felt his lips kissing the top of my head, my body got warm. “I wish we would have met earlier, Y/N. If I could go back in time, I would have tried to change things. I would have gone after you earlier. I'm so sorry.” His voice sounded weak and terribly sad.

“Why are you apologizing? None of it was your fault.” I tried to convince him.

“But… I feel responsible. All the things my father did to you-”

“You're not your father,” I interrupted. “King Taejun was never even close to be the man you are. You're the only person that shouldn't feel guilty about what happened in my life.”

Silence hovered above us again.

When Taehyung spoke again, his voice was fragile, featherlight.

“I said I was scared that you would hate me, but now that you know the truth… I wish you would hate me.” He gulped. “I wish you would scream at me and say you don't want to see me anymore. I wish you would throw all your anger over me. I am still a Kim after all. I hate the blood that rushes through my veins. I just wish you would hate it, too…”

What he said alarmed me. Did… did Taehyung actually hate himself?

The best person I've ever know hated himself?

“You're being irrational,” I said softly and freed myself from his grip, sitting straight so I could look at him in the eye. I sniffled and wiped my cheeks again. The bags beneath his eyes were really dark. He had been awake for so many hours? “Look… the reason that kept me accepting all that suffering in silence was because I thought I had a debt with the world. I was taught that my ancestors were murderers, I thought that I deserved to suffer because I was one of them. Now I know that that's not true, but… even if it was true, it would still be not my fault. Now I understand. I never did anything wrong to deserve any of what happened to me, even though it's still my race. It is the same with you, Taehyung.” He looked surprised. “You're thinking the same way I used to think, and this is wrong. The Kim Dynasty did many horrible things, that's right, but you didn't take part in any of it. Your family doesn't define you. The fact that you even feel guilty just proves what I'm trying to say; you're good, you're different from them. You don't deserve any hate, Taehyung.”

Taehyung stared at me in shock. He seemed about to say something, but closed his mouth again.

He was looking at me the way he always did, as if he was amazed. I was sure no one had ever looked at me the way he did.

Taehyung raised his hand and put a strand of hair behind my ear. The delicate touch of his fingers made my cheeks flush.

“How can you still be this good after everything you went through?” He asked quietly. “I don't understand. If I were in your place, I… I don't know what I would have done.”

I shrugged (and regretted, because my shoulders ached). “I think I'm just tired of doing nothing at all. I'm trying to be useful.” I said as his hand dropped. “And I didn't finish yet. Taehyung, you are the best King this kingdom has ever saw. The rebellion just wants you dead because they don't know you yet. You deserve Ëlv'en's crown. I already said, you're nothing like your father. When the rebellion realize it, they will change their minds. Many people already changed their minds because of your actions; it's not as if you don't have hybrid's support.”

“They won't listen to me, Y/N,” Taehyung sighed tiredly. “They knew me as Vante, the kind human, but even if I revealed to be who I really am back then, they would have killed me in the blink of an eye. Centuries of repressed hatred aren't forgotten so easily.”

“But they will listen to me.” I exclaimed, remembering how they seemed amazed by me and respected me. Rubra said I could end the war before it even started, and maybe I knew how; I could be the bridge between Taehyung and the rebellion. “We'll find a way out.”

He frowned. “How are you so sure about it?”

For a moment, I forgot that Taehyung didn't know that I've been in Baïkarh and met the rebellion. Instead of explaining, I just opened a small smile. “Just trust me.”

A smile appeared on his lips, too. “You're doing it again.”

“What?”

“Trying to take care of me.”

I shrugged again (and regretted again). “I can't kill old habits.”

He chuckled. Strangely, after crying so much, I felt the invisible weight easing a little; I was light again. It seems that I needed to let it all out for a moment. Being strong all the time hurts.

“What are you going to do now?” I asked after some moments. “We're still not sure of who conjured those obsidian soldiers, and we don't know who the shapeshifter is. I'm sure that King Hugo isn't happy at the moment… and Vanaheim's Council must be impatient, I think they don't want your wedding to be delayed anymore-”

“There won't be wedding.”

I froze.

“W-What?” I stuttered.

Taehyung rested the weight of his body on his hands. His beauty annoyed me. He stared at nothing in particular. “There won't be wedding.” He repeated louder.

My fingertips were trembling, so I gripped the sheets to pretend I wasn't so affected. “But- what about the accord to unite the kingdoms? What about King Satoshi? What about Princess Sana?”

I was just pretending to be rational at the moment, because inside of me I felt as if fireworks were exploding and I wanted to laugh the most maniac laughter the world has ever heard.

Taehyung sighed.

“Me and Sana decided this together. We talked a lot. We're both tired of people trying to control us.” He opened a small smile. “Sana will be a wonderful Queen. She doesn't need anyone by her side… I just hope her father will understand this.”

He went silent, but I knew he hadn't finished yet. So I just stared at him, waiting until he would speak again, trying to hide how happy I was.

When he pushed his hair back, I honestly felt that the air was knocked out of my lungs.

“For a long time, I… I really thought I could do it,” his voice was calmer, sweet like honey and smooth like silk. He wasn't looking at me. “I found out I would have to marry Sana when I was fifteen. All those years, I've been making my mind about it. I thought it wouldn't be difficult. Royal marriages don't involve feelings; my parents never loved each other, and most married royals don't as well. Sana is also an easy person to live with. Until some time ago, I still thought I would be able to do it.”

Taehyung tilted his head slightly and finally looked up at me.

Those dark, beautiful eyes seemed to be seeing the very core of my soul.

“But falling for you wasn't in my plans.”

His words made me confused for some seconds.

Then, I understood.

And I couldn't breathe anymore.

“I- What-” was all I could stupidly stutter.

He smiled - the most sincere smile I ever saw, the smile that seemed to be lightening up the whole world.

“I thought it was obvious by now.”

My lungs really seemed to be failing. I didn't know what to do, I didn't know what to say, I felt as if my soul had disconnected with my body and I was somewhere just watching that scene instead of living it. It didn't feel real.

I gulped and held the sheets even tighter.

“D-Does it mean you like me?” I stuttered again, because it seems that my whole body was malfunctioning. “That type of “like”?”

Taehyung laughed joyfully and leaned his body towards me, searching for my eyes as I avoided his.

“It's a little bit more than just liking you, Y/N,” he said, still smiling, holding my face with both hands. My heart seemed about to explode as he came closer and closer, and my body was stiff and tense because I knew he was going to do it again and I couldn't help but feel nervous and close my eyes tightly and-

When he kissed me, I forgot about anything else.

The tension was gone the moment his lips touched mine, my whole body relaxed. It was different from the first time. It wasn't rushed nor desperate. Taehyung was more delicate than he has ever been, as if scared to break me. Our lips moved slowly, his more confident than mine (I still didn't really know what I was doing after all), until I felt brave enough to place my hands on his neck. His lips tasted like him and everything around me smelled like him and even though my eyes were closed I could only see him and his existence was embracing me and filling me and completing me.

Him, him, him.

Taehyung was all that mattered.

In that exact moment, when we were both broken and fragile and full of scars, when Taehyung showed me his most sensible side, I gave him my heart.

I knew he was a human and I was a dragon. I knew I would live much more than him. I knew that, when Taehyung would be on his elderly years, I would still be very young... his life would pass by my eyes way too fast. Yet, I decided to give him my heart anyway; I would spend my days with him as much as the Universe would let me, I would cherish his life, I would want to be with him to see every smile of his and to wipe away every tear, to help him heal any scar, to be on the happiest moments and on the saddest ones.

I would be with him until his last breath and I would love him until my last breath.

He broke the kiss, but still kept his head very close to mine, analyzing my features. His eyes were so beautifully, overwhelmingly piercing. I felt exposed whenever he looked at me like that, but not in a bad way…

My fingers were still trembling. “I-”

He pecked my lips.

I stared at him with wide eyes. “Why-”

He pecked my lips again.

This time, I frowned. “Won't you let me spe-”

He pecked my lips again. And again, and again, and again, until he was laughing as I tried to push him but not really wanting him to stop.

“Taehyung!” I exclaimed. He tilted his head to the side, smirking in a playful way that made him look the age he actually was.

“If you call my name like that, I won't want to stop.”

I was sure he laughed because I was blushing furiously. “Y-You're always trying to make me flustered, right?”

“Of course. Teasing you is the funniest thing in the world. Both because you look cute when you're shy and you look hot when you're mad at me.”

His last sentence almost made me explode. I had a faint idea of what calling someone “hot” meant. Taehyung laughed at the top of his lungs before putting his arms around me and falling back on bed, making me lay my head atop his chest, what surprised me.

“What are you doing?” I made the stupid question. He sighed deeply, however, now he sounded happy.

“I think we both need to sleep a little bit,” he said. “Pretend we're normal people for a little bit.”

He repeated the sentence he used to tell me when we were traveling, what made me smile. At least, inside his giant bedroom, we could be normal people. We were just… me and him.

Being on his arms like that, resting my head on his chest felt even more comfortable than his soft mattress alone. I remembered that for a long time, I wanted nothing more but be on his company; I just wanted him to look at me or address me. Being like that felt like a dream.

“I will call Yoongi and Chuu to see you later,” Taehyung said, voice deep. I could hear the sleepiness on his voice. “They were very worried.”

“Did you meet Yoongi?” I looked up at him. Taehyung nodded.

“Of course. I thought that your friends might've known where you were. He is a good person. They helped me a lot.”

I nodded and rested my head on his chest again.

Another memory made me widen my eyes.

“What about Hoseok?” I asked myself, concerned. Hoseok disobeyed the King, what was considered high treason. The punishment was death…

“He's here at the palace,” I looked up at him again, surprised that Taehyung even knew who I was talking about. “He asked me to come along. I didn't want to at first… he was the person that put you in this state after all. But I understood the situation. Here he could have some safety.”

As I rested my head on his chest again, I noticed how his voice and expression changed as he talked about Hoseok. Then, I remembered that Taehyung knew that Hoseok was part of my “deal”...

“Are you jealous?” I asked.

Taehyung gasped.

“No.” He was lying.

I bit my bottom lip to hold back a smile. “I was jealous of you with Princess Sana, you know. All the time.”

He gasped again.

“I’m sorry. I never looked at her this way.” I just smiled. Teasing him was funny, too.

“It's alright, Taehyung.”

“Ah, I really like to hear you saying my name,” he sighed. “Can you promise me you'll never call me by “Your Majesty” again? I really hate that.”

“I promise. Taehyung.” I said, giggling. He seemed very satisfied.

Many minutes passed in a peaceful silence. Although I had been asleep for so long, I still felt tired. My eyelids slowly became heavy…

But I remembered another thing.

“You came flying in Alpha,” I said, seeing that incredible scene in my head again.

“Yes,” his voice sounded sleepy.

“How was it?”

“Horrifying,” he admitted, making us both giggle. “ I've never been so scared in my life.”

He went quiet for some time.

“No… the idea of losing you was much more scary than any height.”

He confessed before finally falling asleep.

For some reason, tears were streaming down my cheeks again… due to happiness this time.

Taehyung was there with me.

It was real. We were real.

He was mine.

The deep waters of the Styx River were gleaming in front him.

The man stood there, watching the river flow endlessly in the cold night, the only sounds he could hear were of the wind, the water, and crickets singing around him. He could not even fathom how deep these waters were. The river crossed the whole continent, beginning in the Niflheim mountains and ending in the ocean at Vanaheim. The river that gave life to ancient civilizations, the magic waters capable of enchanting steel until it became almost indestructible. The Cursed River, legends say. It is at West, opposite from the Baïkarh forest at East; dishonored opposed to honored; damned and holy, the entrance to Helheim and the entrance to Alfheim.

What people should be aware of, though, is that many legends are real.

The man lifted his hands and started to chant a song in an unknown language.

All crickets went silent all at once.

Small animals on the riverfront started to run away.

Something started to happen in the water. The man kept chanting, his voice loud and full of intent. He could not fathom the deepness of the river, but he knew what was below it, he knew what laid deeper than it.

It was time to finally finish it all.

He still carried the little fang around his neck.

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alfredosauce50 · 5 years ago

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Who’s the bad guy? (2p + 1p America x reader) 15

Wordcount: 2,212 The reader is referred to as she/her

For a get-together between four people to come up with an intricately-thought out plan that dragged on into the small hours, it was not even that good in Allen's opinion. Nothing but a table lamp illuminated the interior of the house, but that was no big deal for all the souls under that roof were huddled together in the living room. Tens and tens of ideas and strategies were scrapped, tweaked and polished until it all came down to this. Alfred had suggested doing a team up with the NYPD for backup, to where Happy agreed to with no objection at all. Allen and Flavio, on the other hand, were not so keen on this idea.

"What did I say about getting the police involved with our business, Alfred?" The redhead murmured with a click of the tongue. "I'm not on the best terms with them and Flavio sure as hell ain't either because of his shithead of a brother. I don't wanna repeat this anymore." His voice was husky and low with vexation as he addressed the small group huddled around the coffee table. A soft hum of agreement was heard from the blonde just next to him whose arms were wrapped around his knees buried in his chest.

"Yep. I don't want to be rounded up for questioning because of my brother. So telling the po po about this is an absolute no no." He added, causing the men sitting opposite to exchange looks. The one with blood-stained bandages returned his visage to the rest and leaned forward in a hunch. Lines of white coiled around his shoulder and chest, and the pristine condition of them all was ruined by bright red blotches seeping into the material from underneath. His brows lowered in a small frown and so did his eyes. What were they to do without the support? They needed all the help they could get; no longer would they be afraid of being outnumbered if the whole department was there with them, but being outgunned would forever be a problem. How else were Luciano and the empire he built able to survive so long engaging in the most heinous crimes? His name was on the very top of the list of FBI's most wanted, and yet, nobody had even scored something as pathetic and significant as a single lead. Not the feds. Not anyone. All except for a few well-informed inhabitants of New York City. Alfred's eyes flew open and lit up. "Yo... I just came up with the best fucking idea ever." He finally broke the silence and he scanned the faces with a mischievous grin that practically screamed you-are-never-going-to-guess-what-I-came-up-with. "Let's go and consult with the police! We can threaten them with the knowledge we have about Luciano and his gang," His cousin clicked his fingers. "And we give them a couple of conditions to follow before we give it to them. Alfred, you actually suggested something smart for once." Happy let out a small laugh. "Yeah, that idea isn't half-bad!" Said man narrowed his eyes at his cousin. "Hey! That's not nice!" "Since when was I nice to you?" "... Touché. But things have improved, I guess." Alfred shrugged. The other just sat there and made no response. He was taken aback by what he said, but he was not wrong. "Anyway, let's not run off on a tangent. So our plan to get the police to help us is to bribe them with information on the most wanted cartel they never could get their hands on. Then we give them a few rules to follow that'll work in our-" He dragged the last word on for a while and let it change into something else. "-your advantage. Flavio's too." "-And we also tell them to drop all of my criminal charges." Allen added. An awkward silence ensued, but it was broken by a few coughs. Before then, Flavio and Happy had their brows raised at him. Alfred's lips stretched into a thin line after the coughing ceased. "Okay... I'm not even gonna ask." It was unexpected for him to leave the conversation there, and yet it wasn't. The redhead eyed him with an incredulous look and fixated his visage on him for a while as if he expected those lips to move again along with his sharp tongue. Knowing him, he would be up his ass by now with a few insults thrown here and there about his questionable background. But this time, he heard nothing but a statement indicating his intention to continue moving forward with a change of subject. It was nice, actually. Weird too. An unprecedented event it was, for he never anticipated himself to ever experience feelings of gratitude towards his cousin. Allen folded his arms together and darted his eyes away to the rest. "Great. So that's solved." He murmured. He too, leaned forward in a hunch when his mind floated off to the other details of their skeleton of a plan. "Wait." Everyone returned their attention to him. Rubbing his chin with an index finger and thumb, he glided his tongue over his bottom lip. "How are we supposed to get the police to help us without... Making it obvious that the police are helping us? You know how the whole world knows when the cops pull up with their bright-ass lights?" A hum rumbled from Alfred's throat and he nodded. "I see where you're coming from. Their uniforms also give it away." "Exactly. They can't just suddenly crash the place, cuz that little piece of shit has eyes and ears everywhere. They'll disappear down the friggin' sewer before we can infiltrate the damn place." His cousin pointed at him with a million dollar smile. "I just had another epiphany." He mumbled, sounding as though he was biting back an explosion of obnoxious laughter. "Disguises, dude. Undercover cops! We'll have em all waiting around outside in the cafes and stores and shit. They'll look like normal citizens, but nahh-" Shooting up on the spot, he pulled out an imaginary gun from under his imaginary clothes and fired it a few times at the door. "Bang, bang, bang! Put your hands up in the air where I can see them!" Happy knitted his brows together and gawked at him with disbelief. It was understandable that he was being paid a six-digit salary to protect a big shot like him, but seriously? He'd rather risk his life for the president. "Alfred-" He hissed. "Just- just- sit down." The other let out a disappointed whine and sat back down. "What? Was my idea bad?" "No. I just want you to act your age." He responded. Alfred felt his eye twitch. "I don't wanna act like an old fart like you!" "The fuck did you say?" Happy growled. "I'm not old! I'm only a few years older than you, you manbaby!" "Well, it sure looks like a whole lot more than that!" As the two bickered on, Allen pulled the butcher's paper splayed out on the glass surface closer to himself and popped off the cap of a pen. Letting the nib glide across the sheet quickly, he wrote a few dot points that really looked like a few squiggles. The figure with a baby pink scarf coiled around his neck leaned over to watch him work his magic with illegible writing. "Whatcha writing?" "Everything we just said." He grumbled, drilling his scorching gaze at the two men wrestling each other on his carpet. A vein was popping around his neck as he bit back all the anger he had lodged in his throat. Even at a crucial time like this when your whereabouts and fate were unknown, they still had the audacity to argue about their insecurities, and it made his blood boil. "Because right now, Alfred and Happy aren't contributing." Allen rose his voice sharply when their names rolled off his tongue. The two stopped what they were doing and sat up at the mention of their names. When they caught the hint of death glinting in those dangerous scarlet eyes glaring at them, they paled like they had just seen a ghost. And If they did not cooperate with him, a ghost was what they were going to become. Allen set his pen down without breaking away from their intense stare down. That way, he would know if they were listening or not. "According to Flavio, Luciano's next auction is going to be held in two days at the Four Seasons Hotel. We're going to one of the police departments tomorrow to get them to join us. Together, we'll solidify a plan." He needed to ask Flavio a few times if he was sure that the venue for the auction was correct. It was just too close to them that it was suspicious. It was as if Luciano wanted them to come to him. Usually, they would take place in other cities- different states even, like Las Vegas. Thankfully, there was no need to fly across the United States just to get to The Bellagio. All they needed was a short car ride to Manhattan, to the same godforsaken site where you were taken in the first place. *** The moment the group stepped into the police department, all eyes were on them. Mixed reactions were stirred, ranging from awe to disgust depending on who you were gawking at. Striding down the halls were a billionaire, his bodyguard, a fugitive, and a guy who liked fashion. Making their way past a wall displaying New York's most wanted, Allen pointed at one of the men and joked that he looked like Alfred. "Hey! This 11201 motherfucker looks just like you! He looks more like you than you do!" They were not given the warmest welcome per se, for the figure in the bomber jacket was shoved to a wall shortly after teasing his cousin. His face collided with the cold harsh surface and he let out a painful grunt as his skin began to sting. A dent was already made by the strong impact of his head making contact with the wall. A burly man standing at about 6 feet tall had appeared out of nowhere to hold him there against the wall. Letting his piercing icy blue eyes search those red ones, he neared his face with a patronizing glare. "You've got guts walking in here, Allen." Before any of them could explain themselves, Alfred walked up to them with a smirk. "Karma got right back at ya." With invaluable knowledge on Luciano's cartel delivered straight to their door, it was impossible to keep it closed. Even if they needed to be convinced to accept some of the conditions, it all worked out in the end. Now, everyone was on the same page with the same goal in mind-- to seize an illegal auction, save a hostage and arrest the mastermind behind it all. *** Restaurants and eateries that lined the street were swarmed with hungry patrons whose mouths all watered for a delicious lunch. For those who already ate, retailers and boutiques called for all the shopaholics to enter them with their inviting display of high-end goods. And outside those establishments was the bustle of life, people walking and talking with friends and family to fill the air with the hum of lively chatter. To be frank, the sheer number of those there in that particular street was unbelievably high, especially for a working day. But what was the reason for the influx of people? Half of those in the cafes were not even intending to eat anything. Two-thirds of those browsing in the shops never touched their wallets. Instead, their eyes kept darting to the entrance of a five-star hotel. Those who were situated at much closer proximity were noting down the faces and appearances of guests stepping out of the polished cars and limousines that pulled up in the driveway. Comparing to what they were all wearing, the onlookers of what looked like a party or convention were pathetic. The women adorned themselves in beautiful dresses flowing like fabric waterfalls, and on top of that, they decorated their necks, wrists, and ears with priceless jewelry that glimmered under the sun. Their male counterparts did not fall far behind either. Although they were less flamboyant than their partners, their tuxedos were just as dashing. A man with choppy blonde hair continued to flicker his bright green irises to the esteemed guests stepping out of their vehicles, but when he spotted a young woman that fit a certain description nailed into his brain through the art of repetition, he reached up to scratch his ear. Or at least, it looked like he was scratching his ear. "Hostage sighted. She's wearing a black knee-length dress with spaghetti straps. She just entered the hotel with a man... Dark auburn hair and weird looking eyes. Standing at about five foot seven. Wait..." The revelation pierced through his body like an arrow. Clamping a hand over his mouth as he gagged into it, he swallowed down his lunch he had consumed around an hour ago. "Fuck me." He whispered, never tearing his dumbfounded expression away from the man. "It's Lucky Luciano."

#hetalia #Axis powers ヘタリア #Axis Powers Hetalia #hetalia x reader #reader #reader insert #aph #aph america #america x reader #alfred f jones #aphamerica #2ptalia #crime #fanfic #hetalia fanfic #fanfiction #2pamericaxreader #2pamerica #romance

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softboyuris · 7 years ago

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Normal

A/N: Welcome to a world in which my children Stan Uris and Eddie Kaspbrak did, in fact, not die. Death who? So, I was thinking about what would have gone down had, you know, King not killed off Eddie, like what the fuck the end of his sentence is and we all know he wasn’t going to say he hated being called Eds, so I wrote it. The text in italics is straight from Stephen King's novel “IT”, full credit to him. It got shitty towards the end, I’m sorry. Go easy on me please:) Also, below the cut is my reasoning for what Eddie was actually going to say.

Eddie fell to the floor, the ragged stump of his arm spraying blood, faintly aware that Bill was getting shakily to his feet, that Richie was weaving and stumbling toward him like a drunk at the end of a long hard night.

“—eds—“

Far away. Unimportant. He could feel everything running out of him along with his life’s blood … all the rage, all the pain, all the fear, all the confusion and hurt. He supposed he was dying but he felt … ah, God, he felt so lucid, so clear, like a window-pane which has been washed clean and now lets in all the gloriously frightening light of some unsuspected dawning; the light, oh God, that perfect rational light that clears the horizon somewhere in the world every second.

“—eds oh my god bill ben someone he’s lost his arm, his—“

He looked up at Beverly and saw she was crying, the tears coursing down her dirty cheeks as she got an arm under him; he became aware that she had taken off her blouse and was trying to staunch the flow of blood, and that she was screaming for help. Then he looked at Richie and licked his lips. Fading, fading back. Becoming clearer and clearer, emptying out, all of the impurities flowing out of him so he could become clear, so that the light could flow through, and if he had had time enough he could have preached on this, he could have sermonized: Not bad, he would begin. This is not bad at all. But there was something else he had to say first.

“Richie,” He whispered.

“What?” Richie was down on his hands and knees, staring at him desperately.

“Don’t call me Eds,” he said, and smiled. He raised his left hand slowly and touched Richie’s cheek. Richie was crying. “You know I … I …”

“It’s alright. Take your time. You’re not dying … I won’t let you.” Richie whispered, desperately trying to maintain eye contact with the frail, paling boy beneath him while also trying to think of a way to stop the bleeding.

Eddie could feel himself slipping further into the void, and he was oddly okay with it. He stopped struggling, he wasn’t sure if he had ever started. “I love you, Rich.”

Richie’s lips were moving at a frantic speed, and even as Eddie’s vision blurred he could see the corners of his mouth turn up in a smile, but he could no longer hear the outside world. His arm, which had entirely numbed at this point, was suddenly brought back, a searing pain shooting from what little remained and through Eddie’s chest. The world went black.

Bright, blinding lights. Eddie, even in his groggy state, knew exactly where he was. The sights, blurry though they may be, were all too familiar. He was in a hospital bed. His vision was obscured every few seconds as he couldn’t stop blinking, looking around the bleach-white room.

First to the stump that was now his right arm. This disoriented him more than he enjoyed, having forgotten the details to his hospital visit until the gauze wrapped shoulder brought them back. And with those memories came the words, words which he had spoken, spoken to Richie. Fuck.

Then he looked to his left to find a mop of messy brown curls. Richie’s head had fallen onto the thin bed, small snores left his lips so softly Eddie could barely hear them. But he wasn’t focused on his best friend’s adorable sleeping habits. His attention was given fully to the fact that Richie had Eddie’s left hand gripped loosely in his own. It felt normal, almost too normal.

“Rich?” Eddie whispered, still in a haze.

Surprisingly, as Richie was normally a heavy sleeper, his head snapped up instantly and almost immediately, tears brimmed in his eyes. He let out a very shaky breath and gave the still-pale boy on the hospital bed a sad smile. The doctors told him Eddie would be fine, it would be an adjustment living with only one arm, which they grilled each group member on and no one could come up with a good enough lie, so the truth it was and the hospital attendants probably thought they were insane. But it was ensured that he would live.

Despite the assurance, there was a nagging feeling in Richie’s stomach that hadn’t left since they were in the sewers. “We really thought we lost you Eds.” Richie gave Eddie’s hand a squeeze. I really thought I lost you.

“Don’t-“ Eddie was cut off by Richie’s full lips being pressed roughly against his own. Normal. “— call me that.” Eddie finished when Richie finally pulled away. “And did you really think I was going to die before you. I’m not leaving anytime soon.”

“Well neither am I. You’re stuck with me whether you like it or not, Eds.”

“Shut up and kiss me, Trashmouth.”

Richie did as he was told and never let go. And you know what, the fear was gone. It was Normal.

So while I was copying over Stephen’s little part, ya know right before Eddie “dies”, I was obviously reading it and noticed a lot of small hints about what he was going to say.

Now, I have reblogged someone’s post once about this and added on saying that he no longer felt fear because he was able to defeat IT. Here

So as many people point out, King states twice that Eddie was thinking and he would not have to think about saying something which he is so accustomed to saying. But if he was coming out, thinking of the right way to phrase it would be something he would need some time on and he never did get that time. He was thinking about how to finish it, about what words to pick and how or what he wanted Richie to know.

I made the point that the only way they could defeat Pennywise/IT is by no longer fearing him, or more their worse fear, and as Eddie is lying there watching Richie stumble over to him and everything is becoming really clear, it says that the fear ran out of him along with the confusion. What would he have been confused about....? Questioning his sexuality, maybe?

And then when he looks over to Richie, not right when Richie calls him Eds, which yes could be blamed on him dying but I just feel like Eddie would have automatically said he didn’t like being called that had that been the case. And when he looks over to Richie, in that moment is when it says he would preach if he had time but knowing he was short on time, he would opt to say the other thing.

He tells Richie not to call him Eds, smiles, and then fucking caresses Richie’s cheek. Why, when my tiny child is on his last breath, would he waste his energy to touch Richie’s cheek and smile if he was simply going to say he hates it? Yes, it could just be because the words hold fond memories and he’s smiling at those but let me tell you if I was dying and my last words were going to be I hate it when you call me that, I would not bother wasting my energy to touch my friend's cheek. No, I would smile and touch their cheek and tell them I love them.

I wholeheartedly believe Eddie was going to say he loved Richie but that does not mean he meant it in a dating sense, he literally could have just wanted Rich to know that he loved him. I am fine with either scenario. But as most of the fandom has determined, he was not going to say I hate it. That’s all.

As always, this is all up for interpretation as it is fairly vague in the sense that it could have gone either way.

#reddie #it #it 2017 #richie toizer #eddie kaspbrak #richie #reddie fanfic #reddie fic #i dont know #mine

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mulder-isms · 7 years ago

Text

The storm that I believe in - (Thorcid Fanfic)

A\N: Ti’s the season to water the thorcid crops! So this part I of a Christmas special I’m working on 🎅 As usual, songs are my main inspiration and this fic was inspired by a The Cardigans song.

As usual, send me note, a slap in the face, any sign of life 👋

December 2011

A long time ago in a distant birthday and sunny California little Jamin got a sketchbook for his 7 year old birthday. He liked gardens and he spent a whole afternoon, his knees digging in the dirt, trying to catch all the details of the different leaves and petals, but not the flowers as a whole, focusing in all their unique details. Flowers could look all the same to some people, but not for him.

Somehow he never stopped noticing all hidden details in people. Jamin was excellent in cutting people’s bullshit, but as his sister always pointed out, it was a curse and a blessing. He could be somehow oblivious to their emotions too.

It was Christmas again. It took him time to accept the bleakness and nostalgia of New York Christmas, and even more to Brooklyn Christmas. His very small family wasn’t there and his few good friends could kept him company on that night.

The bar was crowded as usual and the weather was damp and windy. The forecast was for an unusual storm. Red Christmas lights were dim in the cloud of smoke hovering the booths. The thunders were lighting up the sky warning that different paths were being made or diverted.

Jamin never celebrated his birthday, that happened in the beginning of the week, so his friends wanted at least to take him out to a celebration of sorts the other day. There were some places in Brooklyn he just couldn’t go and some queens he didn’t want to see. But it was a special occasion, even if he didn’t want it, so he agreed to meet Alice and Ethan, a couple of actors he became friends with during the rehearsals of Caligula Maximus. He was very excited about the theater production, and doing something different besides drag was giving him room to breath again. To see life outside pretentious and obnoxious younger queens that were getting on his nerves.

When Jamin got to his booth he removed his black sweater revealing the gray t-shirt underneath and military green cargo pants. His hair was messy, a bit of eyeliner under the eyes and bleached blonde for the character, which was a pain in the ass to keep it that way, but necessary to break through. Betty was always changing hair colors but Jamin always felt safer with the black locks. At least the thick arrow glasses were on so he could hide somehow from unwanted encounters.

He checked his phone as ordered a drink for the waitress. Alice’s message on the screen saying she was stuck in traffic. Jamin looked through the glass of the booth outside and it was definitely raining. They wouldn’t make it in time for sure and he was exhausted and wanted to go home. He sent Alice a message to not even bother, he was going to finish his drink and be on his way before the sky collapsed.

His eyes were wandering over the booth and faces on the bar when a familiar one walked in the wooden doors. Thorgy entered the place quickly and shook himself like a golden retriever on the doormat. It’s been ages since Jamin saw him out of drag, in his full Shane form. He was probably meeting someone in the bar since he went directly to the counter and asked for a drink.

Jamin drew back his attention to his cellphone to see if Alice replied and lowered his head even more so Shane couldn’t see him, but he kept looking up over people’s head observing him. Maybe it was the rain but Shane didn’t seem bubbly as usual. He removed his round glasses and covered his face for way too long. That too long that doesn’t mean you’re tired, but too sad to care if you’re crying in a bar.

“Fuck” he muttered annoyed with his own empathy. He knew Thorgy for quite a long time and that was legitimately the first time he saw him not laughing like a crazy person or way too quiet.

Alice finally replied and said it was okay, that she was staying in Ethan’s house because the world was going to end in a big storm that night. The thunders outside as scenery of a horror moving trying to blend with the Christmas songs playing inside. It was mortifying to see Thorgy like that indeed.

Thorgy was confident and vibrant. Shane otherwise, as Jamin gathered from the their casual meetings, was the typical nerd from the band at school hiding in baggy clothes and oatmeal beanies. He didn’t know how the hell he could help that defeated kid.

Jamin got out his booth and went on his way, having the strange sensation of deja vú, of that night a few years ago when they were also talking on a bar’s counter and ended up making out in a bathroom’s stall.

“Um, Thorgy?” he touched his shoulder lightly as Shane was playing with the straw of his drink and staring blankly into the bottom of the glass.

He side looked and opened a smile and wiped his wet face with the back of his palm, his glasses had raindrops and he was very wet. He positioned himself and pat on the stool next to him, a sigh for Jamin to sit.

“Betty? Hi! Oh my god, the sky is falling down. We’re gonna need a boat to get out of here. Girl, it’s been ages!” he replied slapping his knee a few times in the speed of light avoiding actually looking at Jamin, calling the waitress. “Make it double. Are you?”

“No, I’m leaving. I mean, I was leaving. I was supposed to meet some friends here but they got stuck”

“Me too! I was going to TnT to see Ruby but she managed to get there and the show probably has started but I’m stuck”

The waitress arrived with the shots of whiskey and Shane gulped down two shots. He seemed already drunk even before that. Jamin widened his eyes and chuckled. Shane shrugged and finally actually noticed Jamin’s face.

“Your hair! Oh my god I love it” he said running his fingers through Jamin’s hair with no ceremony and caressing his forehead absently. Jamin had forgot how Thorgy was very into physical contact but somehow never made people uncomfortable about it. A true gift. The tip of his fingers were a bit rough, probably because of the years of violin practice.

“Oh! It’s for that play, right? Bitch, people are talking about it. Acid Betty taking over the musicals.”

“Yeah, probably hoping that I bomb”

Thorgy agreed laughing. A genuine laughter this time.

“Are you okay, I noticed you from my booth. I mean, you seemed a bit upset, I don’t know….” Jamin tried awkwardly to find the words while Shane observed and appreciated his effort.

“This is one of the few moments I’m going to use this, first because I’m drunk and second because you don’t have forty minutes so I can explain you in details the whole thing. Long story short: my boyfriend broke up with me last week. Not because he cheated, which he swore he didn’t, but because he fell in love with somebody else”

Jamin grimaced and Shane raised a finger like he wanted Jamin to wait although he didn’t say a word and he gulped down a bottle of beer the waitress left while he was talking.

“And he is already dating that somebody else. Who happens to be a drag queen also. I don’t think I ever loved someone like I loved him and that’s it. So my plans for tonight is getting caught by this storm and my body will be floating on the sewer in the morning.”

Jamin pondered a bit as he watched Shane playing with his straw in silence and was watching the tv on the bar’s wall.

“Look, I’m not gonna say that he is a jerk and you deserve something better. Even though I think you do. This sucks deep balls and you’ll be drenching in this misery for some time but it will pass. It doesn’t feel like it now, but hold on to that thought”

Shane stared at Jamin and opened a sweet smile under his puffy eyes and red nose.

“You’re...nice, Betty? I’m telling everyone”

“Shut up. I’m leaving, and please avoid the sewers” he said standing up the stool when Shane’s face froze in complete panic. Jamin looked behind and he saw a couple of two guys next to the bathroom standing up and he connected the dots quickly. “Are you fucking kidding me”

Shane couldn’t even answer.

“Please, stay, I can’t do this by myself. I look like a wet Afgan Hound” Shane pleaded squeezing his leg, his eyes already glistening.

The couple was approaching them, but only the tall brunette with a thick beard come forward.

“Shane… Hi, I didn’t, I- how are you?” he stuttered.

“I’m fine. Um, Jamin, I think we can go home? I’m going to the cashier can you”

Jamin didn’t know how to react but he just followed Shane’s lead and they both paid their drinks. As Shane held Jamin’s hand he noticed how sweaty and cold they were. Shane was silent the whole time, probably trying to contain the turmoil of emotions inside.

They went outside the bar and the rain was still strong, making the city look like a melted painting. Luckily there was a taxi outside, the first thing to go right in that weird night. They both got in in the back seat. The taxi driver greeted them and Jamin looked at Shane hoping for directions but he seemed so troubled he decided to take control.

“I can stay in your place until the rain is lighter. Greenpoint, right?”

Shane just nodded relieved and covered his face not being able to control his tears anymore. Jamin hesitated to place a hand on his back but did it, rubbing as he listened to his friend sobbing.

The whole way to Shane’s apartment was quiet and somber. He was a bit drunk and Jamin helped him to get the key in the lock and when he turned on the light Jamin analysed the place. Different objects and decorations all together, a cello on the corner.

Shane was taking off his shoes on the way and removing his drenched sweater throwing absently on the couch and reaching for a bottle of wine on the fridge.

He turned on the stereo in the living room, handed a glass to Jamin with drops of wine falling on the carpet but didn’t mind and collapsed on the couch holding the bottle. Jamin recognized Billy Holiday singing. He was a bit hesitant of sitting on the armchair across the couch but he peered outside the window, the rain was still heavy with no signs of fading away.

“It’s ridiculous, right?” Shane uttered his first words after that half hour of silence.

“This night has been extra” he replied gulping down his glass and deciding to sit while Shane drank from the bottle. “You should get some sleep. Change into dry clothes. Girl, you drank the whole bar”

“You’re right” he uttered trying to sit down but he stopped midway as of he suddenly had an epiphany “Do you think we’ll ever get married?”

The question made Jamin’s stomach swirl and a thunder rattled loud outside.

“What?” Jamin asked laughing of his nonsense. “Oh, you mean, the right to get married.”

“Um, so you were that serious with him...”

Shane nodded completely zoned out still motionless staring at the coffee table in front of him.

“It’s raining like a tropical forest in the middle of December. Everything is possible”

“I really thought he could...you know what I mean?I don’t think anyone would ever endure me...there is always this point where they’re like, shit, what am I doing with this crazy person”, he waved pointless his hand. “But he really seemed to understand me. To see me. Not the whole, but the different parts and not getting tired of them. Well…”

Jamin observed him for a bit while the man finally got back on his feet. The words still echoing in his head.

“I-I’m going to bed and watch whatever is on TV. I have clothes” he laughed at how stupid his sentence sounded. “I have DRY clothes, the heater doesn’t work here we can sleep together”

Jamin’s reaction was immediately shaking his head. He was devastated and drunk and he didn’t want that night to get even weirder.

“Sha-

Shane interrupted him raising his bottle as a defense document in a court, “I know I sound like I wanna fuck you but I can’t even find the zipper of my pants now let alone suck a dick”

Jamin thanked the living room was kinda dark because he really felt his cheeks burning.

“I mean, I know you don’t wanna have sex with me, I’m ridiculous and I don’t even know if you’re a bottom and-”

Jamin got up quickly pushed him to walk towards the room before the whole thing got even more awkward.

“Ooookay! Just go first and I’ll be there in a minute”

Jamin checked his cellphone for a few minutes and he was starving. He took the liberty to look for something in the fridge. Jamin knew Thorgy had a roommate and he wondered where was him. He grabbed a bottle of juice and drank a glass, a neutral food that probably nobody would mind him drinking a glass.

He remembered Shane’s last words and laughed shaking his head. His plan was to stay and offer help if he feels sick and leave right after since it was getting late and he needed to be on rehearsal early in the morning. He checked the fridge again and there was ice cream. Jackpot.

Nothing better than sugar to heal broken hearts and possible monumental hangovers. When he got into Shane’s room he was all spread on his bed, laying on his back watching what it seemed to be...The Mighty Ducks?

“I love December tv” he announced with the ice cream on hands. Shane looked up and smiled positioning himself to sit crossing his legs.

Jamin noticed he was wearing worn out pajamas shorts and a tank top. Shane was skinny, but had broad shoulders. They were covered by freckles and unusual tattoos, a circle on his shoulder, crooked circles on his collarbones and chest, bubbles under his arm and a woman’s name on the inside part of his arm. His legs were very hairy and paler than the rest of his body. He was an unworldly creature.

“I’ve never noticed you’ve had so many tattoos” Jamin commented handing him the pot and retrieving a spoon for himself. Shane dug even fast and was lickling his finger that was covered with the white cream in a such a sinful way that made Jamin quite unsettled. Oh god.

“They are all bulllshit but these ones”

He raised both of of arms showing the inside part of the night one.

“Mom and Brahms. She gave me my arms and he gave them purpose” and then he made a mimic of playing a violin with using his spoon as a bow giggling.

He felt a connection with him, they were completely different people and still had this shared pain of losing a mother but finding themselves through art and music. The first time actually seeing Shane undressed of all the things that he wore as a disguise and now he could understand Thorgy’s exaggerated acts. Shane kept digging the ice cream, his rhythm was slowing down and his eyelids getting heavier.

“Are you not changing? You’re getting a cold…” he noticed being quite wise for a drunk but his eyes never left the TV.

“I’m taking off these pants. My shirt is still dry”. He removed the pants and luckily he was wearing shorts underneath. Even though they had cartoon french fries patterns all over it. He noticed Shane checking him out even though he was very languid.

“Cute” Shane teased smirking innocently and Jamin picked a pillow and covered the front of his briefs.

They ate the whole ice cream pot while commenting the movie. As time was passing, they were getting closer, leaning on the bed’s headboard, the pot in the middle of them. It was the first time of Shane watching the hockey movie and he was very excited about it, dozing out in some parts, but never stopped talking and questioning the plot holes of the movie. Jamin knew that the rain was finally taking a break, but he was too comfortable to leave.

“Emilio Estevez was so hot I’m watching all of his movies this week”

The movie ended Shane was laid down again, his head almost resting on Jamin’s thigh, his cheek touching the fabric of Jamin’s shorts.

“I could totally be a hockey player...but I’ve always been too tall and clumsy to skate” he mumbled and yawned as the credits were going up.

Jamin was feeling very sleepy too so he slid on the bed and laid beside Shane while “We are the champions” was playing in the black background of the TV. Shane was lying on the side, his breath on Jamin’s neck and he could feel his eyes on him.

“Go to sleep, Shane”

“What’s your favorite Queen song?”

Jamin deep sighed and gave up turning to lay on the side too, facing Shane. Their faces were very close, their knees almost brushing, he could even smell of the wine mixed with vanilla ice cream of Shane’s breath. His glasses all crooked with the position, because he was using his hands as a pillow.

“Killer Queen” he replied fixing Shane’s glasses and brushing some dreads back that were tangling his neck. “I take yours is probably Bohemian-

They both answered together “Rhapsody”

They kept staring at each other, Shane’s eyes completed clouded. Jamin didn’t even know how he was still up with the amount of alcohol he drank.

“You really look hot with this bleached hair” Shane cut the sexual tension creating even more.

Jamin scoffed but when he realized Shane was already pulling him for a kiss. Oh fuck. Here we go again. Wine and Vanilla ice was an excellent combination and Shane’s lips were swollen and soft, his leg was already over Jamin’s hip pulling him closer. He really, really tried to not kiss him back but Shane had an incredible grip for a drunk, grinding on him desperately and Jamin trying to pull away.

“Shane, Shane...you’re drunk...” he whispered gathering every ounce of willpower on his body to not getting turned on, but with Shane’s cock rubbing on his stomach, covered only by that the thin fabric of his worn out shorts... it was too much to handle. Shane was now sucking on his neck making Jamin brush his lips on Shane’s neck unwillingly. He was hot and smelled like the rain outside.

Jamin stared at the ceiling hoping that a lighting hit them both because he wasn’t going to be able to stop.

“Please...don’t you want me? Please...” he pleaded moaning and reaching for Jamin’s cock which made him positively in panic. Jamin was faster and grabbed both of Shane’s wrists and pulling away. Oh he wanted him, and it was pretty obvious since he was getting rock hard.

“Shane, this is a mistake and I’m not taking advantage of -

His eyes were closing and his limbs getting softer. Jamin released his grip and in seconds Shane was passed out and snoring, his leg still over Jamin’s hip.

“Great” he grunted annoyed.

He slowly set free from his embrace and stood up fixing his hair, all hot and bothered.He looked down at his own erection on the shorts and shook his head thinking about how that night escalated to absolute chaos.

Jamin took a quick shower, and even though jerking of naturally crossed his mind he just felt too weird about it. He got the couch to sleep with no Shane interventions. He slept with the jazzy sound of Billy Holiday. A really good night of sleep.

He woke up with the smell of scrambled eggs and a brunette man, with black long hair staring at him. He was sitting on the armchair in front of him, the image finally getting focused but he needed his glasses so he fumbled on the coffee table until he found them.

“Morning. I’m Alvaro. Shane’s roommate” Alvaro waved at him with a starstruck face holding a bowl of cereal. “You’re Acid Betty, right? Big fan here. Your drag is amazing. I mean, really drag, not the clown stuff Shane does…”

Jamin sat on the couch shyly and just nodded sitting properly and getting relieved that he put his pants on before sleeping. Shane approached them handing Jamin a plate with scrambled eggs and two toasts and an orange juice. He picked a chair from the kitchen and sat next to Jamin on the couch embracing his long legs.

“Girl, that’s the least I can do, I feel so embarrassed” he said placing a hand on his palm.

Jamin wondered if Shane was embarrassed about making a move on him or the night as a whole, but he seemed oblivious.

“Shane told me what happened. Ouch. I never liked that guy anyways, he has terrible taste for men. He is a very annoying drunk. It takes him ages to finally shut up and sleep so bless you”

Shane nodded in agreement feeling worried. He actually looked better that yesterday. He wasn’t wearing his round glasses and Jamin could see his face with nothing on the way for the first time. All his individual details lit by the morning sun. That nerdy kid from the band was actually a very handsome man. Alvaro and Shane noticed that he got a little bit distracted gazing at Shane.

“Um” Jamin realized what he was doing and cleared his throat and reaching for his shoes, “Aren’t you not even a bit hungover?”

“No. Norwegian blood. But I can’t remember shit after the taxi...just that we watched The Mighty Ducks and ice cream?” Shane questioned rubbing his forehead trying to remember. He didn’t seem faking it.

“Yeah, that was it” Jamin reassured him maybe afraid of sounding too disappointed. Alvaro kept switching his gaze between Shane and him very suspiciously like he was watching a very interesting soap opera. “I have to leave.” he wolfed down the eggs and took the toasts wrapped in a napkin to go. “Bye Alvaro. I don’t have any Betty gigs for the moment, but I’m on Caligula Maximus, the opening is next week”

“I’ll definitely watch it” he replied with a smirk still holding his bowl.

Shane followed Jamin to the leave and he was holding the door searching for Jamin’s eyes.

“Look Betty, I mean, Jamin, I think our friendship reached another level after yesterday, right?” he smiled exasperated. “Really, thank you for being my...boat yesterday”

He smiled and shook his head. He had to keep the memory of vanilla and wine only for himself.

“You’re a cuckoo bird. Take care, Thorgles…”

Shane closed the door and touched his own lips, as if they had traces of something he couldn’t recall. He joined Alvaro in the living room and ate the rest of the scrambled eggs Jamin left.

“So?” Alvaro asked, “How was it? Fucking Acid Betty?”

Shane coughed the eggs a little bit and drank the juice to help him swallow.

“What? We didn’t do anything. Didn’t you hear the story? I was pathetically drunk and still am heartbroken”

“Exactly. You had that man in your bed and you didn’t do anything?”

“That’s Acid Betty, she is my friend and you’re crazy”

“That is a man. Honestly, you didn’t learn nothing from me.”

They kept eating in silence. Shane tried really hard to recall what happened but everything was a blur. But he was pretty sure he just fell asleep while they were watching a movie.

“Not even a friendly handjob to distract from the heartache?”

“STOP” Shane was chewing mortified putting the plate down.

“ At least you’ve made out once in that New Year’s eve”

“Yeah, and it was so good he got back to his boyfriend the other day”

“You do have a point” Alvaro finally agreed, drawing his attention to the bowl of cereal. “He is single now though”

“Oh my gooooood” Shane grunted annoyed leaving his friend laughing alone victorious.

The memories of that New Year’s eve would haunt Shane from time to time, and maybe he was getting too good in suppress what he could possibly felt after that day. He started washing the dishes and recalling the look on his ex-face in the bar, the wound still fresh. Somehow he felt healed, because he did remember Jamin’s old lady cackle and the feeling of being comfortable with someone that could see him. The memories not clear, but his body reacting, the sensations still sparkling inside.

#rpdr fanfiction #thorgy thor #acid betty #thorcid

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apathetic-revenant · 7 years ago

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by the skin of your teeth: part seven

(AO3 Link)

HELLO

this one took a lot longer partly because of Things, but also just cause it got to that terrible middle part where the momentum kind of died and I sort of had all the rest of the pieces of the story but wasn’t sure how to put them together. buuut the good news is I’ve pretty much plotted out how things are going to go from here on (I mean there are always surprises but I think I’ve got it down pretty well) so it shoooooould be easier to keep it moving.

I think there will probably (again: always surprises) be about three or four more updates...or at least, I have three more, uh, story chunks, but some of them may be big enough that they’ll have to be split down further. or, we might just wind up with some really long chapters. who knows. we’ll see.

gotta give a shout out to @mirrorfalls for pointing out the Batman thing, and to...uh...whoever it was that came up with the theory about Ford being turned to pyrite instead of gold, sorry, I honestly can’t remember, but even though that doesn’t really have anything to do with what’s going on here that was where I got the inspiration for the use of pyrite as a mcguffin.

SO.

There were a lot of notes.

When they started creeping onto the couch, Stan got up and went out for a smoke. It was not terribly relaxing, since it was so damn cold outside it hurt to breathe, and even clenched inside his jacket pockets his fingers ached. When he came back in, the note-covered area of the couch was up to about two-thirds, Ford and Fiddleford were deep in discussion over something having to do with the elasticity of the amygdala and psycho-thaumaturgical practices of the ancient Egyptians, and he was pretty sure neither of them had noticed he was gone.

When the paper started piling up on the floor, he went out for food.

He came back with a stack of styrofoam to-go cartons, snow in his hair, and the phone number of the waitress from the local diner. He had not, in fact, been intentionally soliciting this, given that there were rather more pressing concerns on his mind and anyway he didn't even have a phone. But as soon as he'd started talking to her, he'd turned on the charm without even realizing it. It was just force of habit, at this point. He turned everything into a show, a larger-than-life act, because he didn't know how not to.

Anyway, he wasn't really used to not needing the extra help to get what he needed. Pulling out Ford's wallet to pay for the food had felt...strange. Like he was going to get called out, like someone was going to point and shout, any moment, because what was he doing with money, anyway? He must have stolen it from someone. He wasn't sure he hadn't.

He took his lukewarm waffles to the kitchen-if it could be called that; the tiny little side-room didn't even have a table, just a chair in the middle of the floor for some reason-because he knew that if he got syrup on any of those notes Ford would probably try to stab him with his own plastic fork. Besides, the constant rattle of nerd-talk was starting to irritate him. Stupid, he knew, but every stream of jargon those two spewed out felt like a pointed reminder of how smart they were, and how smart he wasn't. That, and they would periodically make high-pitched noises of excitement or disappointment at each other, which was not helping his headache any.

He did, eventually, manage to get them to take a break, once it looked like they had about come to some sort of standstill anyway. Fiddleford was looking especially glum, so Stan offered him the second box of waffles, which the man attacked with a gusto that was frankly rather astounding from someone so weedy.

Ford, unsurprisingly, expressed no appetite for cold diner waffles, but with Stan and Fiddleford flanking him, he was eventually coaxed into taking some of the cold medicine with a little of the chicken noodle soup Stan had bought. Mostly he just drank the broth, but that was still more calories than Stan suspected he'd had for a while.

“So...what's the verdict so far?” Stan asked as Ford stared at the papers and aimlessly tapped his spoon against the cheap bowl.

There was a long silence. Ford and Fiddleford looked at each other, and then looked away.

“It...should work,” Ford said. “I think...well, the theory seems sound anyway. Seems. Of course it's difficult to tell, dealing with...something like this...”

Stan rolled his eyes. “You sound so optimistic.”

“The memory gun would have to be modified to be able to effectively target Bill,” Ford said. “Which would require some additional materials, not all of which I have on hand...and...erm...the gun wouldn't be usable for its original purpose afterward.”

Those sounded like fairly surmountable problems to Stan, but the tension hanging in the air between Ford and Fiddleford seemed to say otherwise.

“It's...alright,” Fiddleford said tightly. “I can make another one.”

“I- Fidds, I, you know I don't approve of your use of this device, but-but that's not-”

“I know that's not what it's about.” Fiddleford crossed his arms tight to his chest and pressed himself back up against his chair. He didn't look entirely convinced by his own words. “I'm not...I know this is serious. I ain't that petty that I wouldn't help you get a world-endin' demon out of your head just...'cause it happens to destroy my own work along the way.”

Ford fidgeted with his bowl. Fiddleford rocked the swivel chair back and forth, making a very irritating squeaky noise.

Stan coughed loudly, eager for both the awkward silence and the squeaky noise to end. “So, uh, what kinda additional materials are we talking here? Is it stuff we can get?”

“Well...” Ford shuffled some papers around and extracted one with a list scrawled all over it. “Some of it we can get at a hardware store, but the rest of it is a bit more difficult. Let's see...I still have some moonstone, I think, and...gold...”

His face darkened for a moment, which baffled Stan; that was certainly not the look that would have been on his face if he was declaring that he had gold. Maybe Ford was just upset about having to use it for the device. That...probably made sense.

“...but we also need some pyrite, if my calculations are correct,” Ford went on. “Which I don't have any of. I don't think. Also mercury and, erm, I think I have some ectoplasm left over, I'm not sure-”

“Ectoplasm?” Stan said incredulously. He was ignored.

“I think there's some pyrite in the museum,” Fiddleford said. “In the gold rush exhibit.”

“Oh, good call.” Ford frowned. “They...probably wouldn't just give it to us if we asked nicely, would they?”

Stan perked up. “Hey, do we need something stolen? I can do stealing.”

Ford groaned and rubbed at his eyes. “I suppose we don't really have any other options...”

“Sure,” Stan said. “So, where do we steal the mercury from?”

“Don't need to,” Fiddleford said. “I've got some.”

Stan blinked. “You just have mercury laying around?”

“I do not have mercury laying around,” Fiddleford said haughtily. “I have mercury in a secure container. Which, uh, happens to be under my bed at the moment, but there's not a lot of room in this place-”

“You know what, never mind,” Stan said. “Okay, what else...you did say ectoplasm, right? Like...from ghosts?”

“Yes,” Ford said, in a distinctly underwhelmed voice.

“You're telling me ghosts are real.”

“Yes. And they're very annoying.” Ford blew out an intensely frustrated sigh. “But not as annoying as...who we need to go to for the last thing.”

“The last thing?” Stan said. “There's something else?”

Ford looked despondent.

“Oh no,” Fiddleford said. “Not-”

“Unicorn hair,” Ford said, in the sort of tone someone might use to say we need to steal plutonium with our bare hands or possibly the only way out of this is through the sewers.

Stan had to take a moment to process this one.

“Unicorn hair,” he said. “Did I hear that right? Unicorn hair?”

“Yes,” Ford said glumly.

“Okay, this is like-some kind of science joke, right? Like there's some plant or something called 'unicorn hair' that we have to find-”

“No,” Ford said. “I'm talking about real hair. From real unicorns.”

Stan sat down on the couch and stared at the wall.

“Well, that's sunk it, hasn't it?” Fiddleford said. “Are you sure we need it?”

“Believe me, I've thought very thoroughly about whether there was anything else we could use,” Ford said. “There may be some substitutions, but they're not promising at all. There's simply nothing else that can channel the thaumaturgical energy well enough to power a working of this magnitude. Without that hair the entire operation will most likely short out before it can function.”

“Unicorns,” Stan said.

“Yes, Stanley,” Ford snapped. “Try to keep up.”

“Oh, sorry,” Stan said, voice oozing with sarcasm. “Sorry I had a wee bit of trouble keeping up with the revelation that UNICORNS EXIST.”

“Why is that more unbelievable than ghosts?” Fiddleford asked.

“It...it just is!” Stan threw his hands in the air. “So what? What's the problem? Let me guess, unicorns are super rare. Or, or they all live in Canada. Or they went extinct with the dinosaurs. Or we can only contact them by journeying inside the magical land of a nine year old girl's trapper keeper-”

“Unicorns are rare, but they're not impossible to find,” Ford said tiredly. “There are some who live not too far from here, in a secluded magical glade deep in the woods. The problem isn't finding them, it's dealing with them. They're the most frustrating creatures on the planet.”

“Um, excuse me,” Stan said. “Are you saying that some dumb horse with a pointy forehead can be more frustrating than me? Because I take offense to that.”

That actually got a very small smile out of Ford. “Perhaps not...but all the same, this is no easy task we're talking of. Unicorns are extremely...selective about who they will interact with. In fact I'm not sure there's anyone that meets their standards. They will only deal with those who are pure of heart...which I evidently am not, they were very emphatic about that.”

Stan snorted. “Are you kidding me? No one's pure of heart. That's bullshit.”

“The unicorns disagree,” Ford said. “They have some degree of telepathic ability which lets them judge people, that much I know, and it doesn't seem to be swayed any by arguments about moral relativism.” He shrugged despondently. “Not that I could make much of a case for myself at the moment anyway, given that I have an ancient force for hedonistic evil camping in my head.”

“Eh, you're doing better than me,” Stan said. “Well...we could always find someone who's 'pure of heart' and shanghai 'em.”

“...I don't think kidnapping will make the unicorns more favorable to us,” Ford said, though Stan was pretty sure he'd actually considered it for a moment. “Also, that's highly unethical.”

“Just thought I'd put it out there.”

“Do you think there's any chance they'd be more amenable under the...circumstances?” Fiddleford wondered. “I mean, there's a fair difference between wanting hair and such for scientific samples, and wanting it to prevent the end of the world.”

“True,” Ford said. “I suppose there's no harm in trying, at least...but I'm disinclined to stake my hopes on it.”

“Well, let's burn that bridge when we come to it,” Stan said. “So...hardware store, museum, mystic glade. Anywhere else?”

“I believe that's it...for the moment, at least,” Ford said. He moved the notes into a loose stack and set his bowl down on the table. “We might as well get started-”

“Hold on a minute now,” Fiddleford said, looking sharply over at Ford. “You're in no shape to go adventuring.”

Ford bristled. “We don't have time for me to be coddled. I'm perfectly capable-”

“Can you finish that soup?” Stan asked.

Ford glanced down at the still half-full bowl. “Well...”

“Yeah, uh huh,” Stan said. “Fiddlesticks has a point. You can barely stand up. You can't just go charging off into the woods, it ain't gonna work. You'll just fall over in the snow and die of hypothermia or something.”

“Don't call me that,” Fiddleford said.

“We can't wait for me to recover,” Ford said, glaring sullenly at the table. “The longer this takes, the likelier it is that Bill will realize what we're up to.”

Fiddleford flinched slightly at the name. “Well, that's another reason you shouldn't be coming along. What if...if it comes with you and finds out what we're doing?”

Ford looked stricken.

“You're right,” he murmured, running his hands through his hair anxiously. “We can't risk attracting his attention that way...”

“Look, this is easy,” Stan said. “Let me go out and get this unicorn stuff while you smart guys work on the gun or whatever. I'm good at acquiring things.”

“Stan, we're not talking about robbing a convenience store,” Ford said huffily. “This venture will require dealing with powerful, dangerous supernatural creatures, and I can't guarantee that I'd be able to give you all of the information you would potentially need. Finding the unicorn glade alone will be difficult, it's deep in the woods...maybe if you and Fiddleford went together, he has some experience with the area, but-”

Fiddleford paled, an impressive feat considering the state of his complexion to begin with.

Stan shook his head. “I'm not leaving you alone. What if you fall asleep again? Or we come back and you've coughed your lungs out onto the floor-”

“Honestly, Stan, I'm not-”

“He's got a point,” Fiddleford said. Ford glared at him, but the engineer held steady. “And I ain't just saying that because I'd rather set my hair on fire than go back in those woods again. You're in a bad state, Stanford, and anyway if what you say is true it's too dangerous to leave you alone when you've got that thing in your head.”

Ford sighed and slumped back against the couch. “I don't like it.”

“Join the club,” Stan said.

“If only there was some way we could communicate long distance...” Ford mused. “So we could stay in touch-”

“Sure there is,” Fiddleford said. “You still got those radios we were using?”

Ford blinked and sat up a little straighter. “That's right!”

“Radios?” Stan said.

“We had a pair of two-way radios we were using when we were working on the portal,” Ford explained.

“Cause it was a pain in the ass to have to keep going all the way from the basement and back for every little errand,” Fiddleford added.

“...Yes, that,” Ford said. “Anyway, I still have them back at the house, so that works out perfectly.”

“Excepting that we have to go back to the house,” Fiddleford muttered.

“What? We were going to have to do that anyway,” Ford said. “That's where all my equipment is.”

Fiddleford made a face and looked away.

“Suppose it was inevitable anyway,” he muttered. “Well, if we're doing this, there's no sense dawdling, is there?”

“Quite right.” Ford stood up abruptly, and just as abruptly swayed and almost collapsed down again before Stan and Fiddleford caught him.

“Oh yeah,” Stan said, steadying Ford against him. “Off to a great start.”

“Oh, shut up,” Ford said.

They stopped by the museum first. It was on the way.

“Huh,” Stan said as he stopped the car. “This is bigger than I expected, for a town this size.”

“Gravity Falls has quite a bit of very interesting history,” Ford said. “For one thing, I believe there may be a conspiracy regarding-”

“Yeah, okay, don't wear yourself out,” Stan said, shoving the car door open. “Why don't you two nerds stay here and talk about nerd things. I'll be back in a minute.”

“But-” Ford began, but Stan was already gone. Ford huffed in annoyance and slumped back in his seat.

The two of them sat there for a while in a fidgety silence.

“So that's your brother, huh,” Fiddleford said.

“Yes.”

“He seems...uh...” Fiddleford chewed on his lip. “Well, he's not what I expected.”

“Oh?” Ford said. “What were you expecting?”

“Erm...well...well, I'm not sure, really.” Fiddleford thought for a moment. “I...suppose I wouldn't have expected him to stick around this long.”

Ford looked down at his hands.

“Yeah,” he said. “...Neither did I, really.”

The quiet stretched out a moment longer. Ford stared straight ahead at the doors to the museum. Fiddleford moved his foot back and forth across the floor of the car.

“Y'know, there's a lot of unused space in this museum,” Fiddleford said. “I've been thinking it might make, uh. A good headquarters.”

“For what?” Ford said snidely. “Your cult?”

“It's not a cult, stop calling it a cult-”

“You've got a bunch of people running around in hooded robes,” Ford said. “Red hooded robes. With an ominous symbol on them. And they chant. What were you expecting it to be called?”

“...In retrospect I can see how that might be taken the wrong way,” Fiddleford admitted. “But it's not a cult. It's, it's more like...a secret society. Like the Masons.”

“Oh, don't get me started on the Masons,” Ford said.

Thankfully the door to the museum opened and Stan came sauntering out before the conversation could disintegrate any further.

“That was remarkably quick,” Ford said as Stan got in.

“Would've been quicker if I hadn't had to wait for a school group to get out of the way,” Stan muttered, starting the car. “Never would've thought anyone could talk so long about coal.”

“Oh.” Ford frowned. “So...did you get it?”

Stan sighed and pulled a small chunk of glittering rock out of his pocket. “Here.”

Ford took the pyrite and turned it over in his hands. “You don't sound very happy-”

“There is no security in that museum at all,” Stan grumbled. “None! I didn't even have to pick the lock on the case, I just pulled on it and it came off!”

“Are you...disappointed?” Fiddleford asked.

“Hell yeah I'm disappointed!” Stan gunned the engine, making Ford wince. “I've always wanted to do a cool museum heist. But there wasn't any challenge! Not even a little bit of challenge! Honestly, that's no way to run a museum. I mean, I wasn't expecting laser grids or anything, but the least they could do is put proper locks on their display cases.”

Ford rolled his eyes. “Well, I for one am happy that you got what we needed without undue risk or difficulty.”

“Oh, shut up, you're never happy,” Stan said.

Ford opened his mouth to respond, but whatever he meant to say was swallowed as Stan shot the car out of the parking lot.

Despite extensive and loud trepidation from the passengers, they made it to the hardware store without any undue vehicular mishaps. Fiddleford was made to wait in the car. Apparently he wasn't to be trusted in hardware stores.

Stan followed Ford through the aisles, keeping one eye on his slightly swaying brother and one on the old man behind the counter in case they needed to make a quick escape. He wasn't too worried; the guy looked about a hundred years old and probably couldn't see much more than a foot in front of him. Still, best to be careful.

Ford collected a small armful of things, including a packet of screws, some wire, drill bits, and a part of some kind that Stan didn't recognize. He weighed this last one in his hand for a while, looking back and forth between it and the shelf.

“What's the matter?” Stan asked. “Not what you want?”

“...17, 18...no, this will work,” Ford said absently. “I'm just not sure if I have enough money left to pay for all this...how much did that food cost?”

Stan rolled his eyes, grabbed all the little items away from Ford and, after a quick look at the proprietor-he was reading a newspaper about two inches away from his face, perfect-tucked them all into his jacket.

Ford looked aghast. “Stan-”

“Shhh, would ya keep it down, bro? Kinda defeating the purpose here.” Ford shut his mouth, but he was still glaring indignantly. Stan sighed. “Look, it's for the greater good, right?”

“Do you realize how many atrocities have been committed in the name of the greater good?” Ford snapped.

“Yeah, enough that lifting a few things from a podunk hardware store doesn't even rank,” Stan replied. “If it makes you feel better, we can...uh...come back later and pay for it. After, y'know, the fate of the world isn't at stake.”

Ford still looked unhappy, but from the look on his face Stan knew he didn't have an argument.

“Alright,” he muttered finally. “But we're paying for this, at least.” He waved the part in his hand.

“Whatever floats your boat,” Stan said evenly. “Though, you know, if you're so worried about paying for things, it might help if you didn't literally burn money.”

“I had to burn it,” Ford said as they made for the counter. “It was watching me.”

“It was...oookay. You know what, I'm not even gonna touch that one.”

Ford muttered something else under his breath that Stan didn't catch.

They paid for the part; the old man rang them up with excruciating slowness, peering uncertainly at the price tag on the part for a long time, and taking just as long to pass the bills Ford gave him. Probably they could have easily walked out with the entire inventory under their coats and gotten away with it, Stan thought with considerable annoyance. But no, Mr. Rich Guy had to pay for the part.

“You get everything?” Fiddleford asked as they got back in the car.

Stan took the things out of his coat one by one and handed them back to Fiddleford along with the controversial part. Fiddleford stared at him.

“Did you...you paid for all this, didn't you?” he said.

“Sure,” Stan said.

Ford glared out the window.

“Wh...I can't believe you two,” Fiddleford said as Stan started up the car.

“You were alright with stealing from the museum,” Stan pointed out.

“I'm not alright with stealing from a museum,” Fiddleford protested, tugging on a strand of his hair anxiously. “But that was...that was the only way, we couldn't buy pyrite anywhere. This is... you can't just go in somewhere and take what you want just because you don't want to pay for it!”

“Sure we can,” Stan said easily. “It's a lot easier than the alternative, actually.”

“But it's not right!”

Stan ground his teeth. “Well, if it bothers you that much, why don't you just erase it and you won't have to think about it anymore?”

Ford threw him a startled look. Stan could hear Fiddleford spluttering angrily from the backseat, but he kept his gaze locked on the road.

He had no memory gun to wipe out bits of himself, no demon to blame things on. He didn't even have the luxury of holding some kind of moral high ground. There was nothing lofty about his goals, nothing superior about him; he knew damn well what he was, and he didn't pretend to be anything else. Or, well, alright, he did pretend to be something else quite frequently, but to himself, to the two other people in the car, to the universe in general-on the rare occasion that he got up the nerve to look it in the face-he was a cheat and a liar and a thief, and he made no claims otherwise.

He didn't need Fiddleford's stammering recriminations, or Ford's chiding, as if he might somehow not know, as if he had spent ten years conning his way to get by without ever having the faintest spark of self-awareness until these two high and mighty geniuses came along to point it out to him. Especially not when they were happy for his criminal expertise when it came to pursuit of their goals, then turned around to sneer at him the rest of the time.

And probably that wasn't entirely fair, but then again, nothing was.

The drive back to the house was very quiet.

“Good Lord above, it's cold in here,” Fiddleford said as they stepped into the house. “What happened to your heating, Stanford?”

“Oh. Uh...” Ford looked around, as if he were only just now noticing how cold it was in his house. Which, Stan thought resignedly, was entirely possible. “I...hm. I don't really remember when it went out...I suppose they must have shut it off at some point. I haven't really been keeping up with, um. Things. Bi-payments.”

Fiddleford shook his head. “No wonder you got sick.”

“It's not that bad,” Ford said defensively, as he made his way through the clutter to what was probably a desk.

“Nah, I gotta agree with Fiddler on this one,” Stan said. “It is that bad.”

“Don't call me...ah, never mind, I've heard worse.” Fiddleford joined Ford at the desk and rifled through some of the papers. He briefly unearthed one with a lot of red stains on it, which he stared at in horror before hastily covering it up again.

Ford, meanwhile, found a notebook under the mess, flipped it open, and hastily began writing in it. “Now, Stan, there are some important things about the woods that you need to know if you're going out there. I'm going to write down directions to the glade and I want you to follow them exactly, do you understand?”

“Yeah, yeah.”

Ford looked up at him. His eyes were shot through with red and wide with a strange urgency. “Stan. This is important.”

When they were kids, reading comics in their blanket fort on rainy days, Stan liked to point out the mad scientist characters, the ones with wild hair and wilder eyes bent on some zany evil plan. “That's you,” he'd say, elbowing Ford. “That's what you sound like when you get going.” And Ford would roll his eyes and point out some goon or monster and say, “Oh yeah, well that's you!” and they would both dissolve into helpless giggles and usually wind up slapping each other with their respective comics.

Ford looked like that now, like a caricature, like the very idea of an raving, unstable genius ripped off the page and into real life right in front of him, and it wasn't funny, it wasn't funny at all.

Stan put a hand on his brother's shoulder and felt it shaking slightly.

“Hey, okay,” he said. “I'm listening. Really. It's okay.”

Ford closed his eyes briefly and pinched the bridge of his nose. “Alright. Alright. There's no time to tell you about everything that's in the woods, even if I knew for sure... you'd better take my journal. That will help. It has information about the unicorns as well...where is it?”

His head snapped to the side in a sudden panic and he started frantically digging through the mess on the desk. “Where is it? What... what did I… I don't remember. I don't...I can't have lost it, I can't, I-”

“Whoa, Ford, buddy.” Stan finally managed to get his twin’s attention. “I've got it. See?”

He pulled the journal out of his jacket pocket. Ford stared at it.

“You... you've been carrying that all this time?”

Stan shrugged. “You told me to keep it safe.”

“Oh. Um. Well...yes. Good.” Ford took the journal and began rifling through the pages. “Here. I'll...I'll mark the relevant sections.”

Stan perched on the edge of the desk and watched as Ford dogeared various pages, muttering to himself all the while. “Generally the best strategy in dealing with the denizens of these woods is to avoid confrontation. Mostly, things will leave you alone if you leave them alone-”

Fiddleford laughed.

Ford turned to glare at him. “What? I realize there are some creatures that will attack unprovoked, but the larger percentage-”

“And how would you know?” Fiddleford said. “When have you ever left anything alone?”

“...I do sometimes,” Ford mumbled.

“Uh huh,” Fiddleford said. “Name one time.”

Ford mulled over that one for a moment.

“Well, how would you know, anyway?” he said eventually. “You've forgotten-”

“Yeah, I forgot a lot of things, but not so much I don't know you, Stanford.”

“Guys,” Stan broke in, “This is very entertaining, but-”

“Right, yes, yes,” Ford said hastily. “Where was I? Yes, so, your best bet is to be non-confrontational. And polite. I realize this is a tall order for you, but-”

“Hey now. I can be non-confrontational.”

Ford gave him a look.

Stan gave him a look. “ You want non-confrontational? I put up with you for eighteen years and didn't murder you once.”

“Sounds like a good track record to me,” Fiddleford said.

“You be quiet.” Ford thrust the journal at Stan and turned back to the notebook he had been writing in. “Now, you may encounter some gnomes...”

“Gnomes?”

“Yes, gnomes. Now-”

“Like...with beards? And little red pointy hats?”

“Yes, Stan. The gnomes are very common in the forest. They're...ah...”

“Freaky,” Fiddleford muttered.

“I was going to say 'unsettling', but that also works. They have no particular weaknesses that I've found, but they don't pose a significant threat, by and large...”

Stan sat and nodded as Ford went on and on about various things that he might encounter in the woods. Most of it sounded completely unbelievable (aside from one far too causal comment about “oh yes, there are mountain lions around here”) but it felt increasingly futile to point any of that out.

“...and it would probably be best if you took a weapon,” Ford said finally.

Stan blinked and stirred out of the half-trance he tended to fall into when listening to Ford talk. “What? Oh. Don't worry about that. I have my knuckledusters and-”

Ford, as usual, wasn't listening. “I have a gun you had better take. And there's the crossbow-”

“No thanks,” Stan said.

Ford drew up short. “What?”

“I said no thanks. I don't like guns.”

Ford stared at him like he'd just started speaking in Latin-although, actually, Ford would probably understand Latin better than what he'd just said. “How do you...what do you mean, you don't like guns?”

“I mean I don't like guns,” Stan said bluntly. “Like...uh...Batman. Yeah. Batman doesn't like guns and neither do I.”

“Stan,” Ford said sternly. “This is no time to be silly-”

“You ever been shot, Ford?”

The words came out before he even knew he was saying them and he instantly regretted it because dammit, he didn't want to get into this now, he didn't want to get into this ever, but Ford just didn't know when to shut up, did he-

“...Well...no,” Ford said, staring at him with that stunned rabbit look he always got when people said things that he hadn't planned for them to say.

“Good for you,” Stan said. “Here's an interesting fact about guns. People can take them away from you. Especially if they can tell that you're not really, totally sure that you want to shoot someone...and then you have a gun pointed at you and it's really hard to talk your way out of that one...”

Fiddleford was staring at him now too and Stan hated it, hated it because dammit Ford could get mutilated by a demon and loftily wave it aside and he was supposed to just act like it was no big deal but if he brought up one thing, one thing that well in the past now and didn't even matter anyway.

“Look,” he said. “I don't like guns. I like punching things. Okay?”

Ford rallied himself the tiniest bit. “...The crossbow?”

“I have no fucking idea how to use a crossbow, Ford.” Stan sighed heavily. “Look, I'll be okay. I can handle myself, y'know. It's not like this is the first dangerous situation I've ever been in.”

He expected to be challenged, expected for Ford to say something like this is nothing like you've ever experienced Stanley, but he didn't. He just swallowed and looked away.

“Just...be careful, please,” he said.

And then, in a voice so low Stan was sure he wasn't supposed to have heard it: “...I just got you back...”

Fiddleford coughed awkwardly into the ensuing silence.

“Erm, say, Stanley, you, uh-how's about I take a look at that cut before you go out? Might, er, might wanna put something on that.”

For a moment Stan didn't even know what he was talking about. Then he realized, and his hand went up unconsciously to his face, and he saw a look flash across Ford's face that made him squirm.

“Yeah, um, that. That sounds good,” Stan said, hastily lowering his hand. “Good idea. Yeah.”

“Let's, ah...go somewhere with better light, then.”

Stan trailed after the nervous engineer, throwing a guilty glance at Ford, who was staring at the wall and twisting his fingers back and forth.

Lost in thought, he didn't realize where Fiddleford was headed until the man had a hand on the bathroom doorknob.

“Oh, you might, uh, not want-” he said hurriedly, but the door was already open.

Fiddleford stared.

“What in God's good name...” he whispered. “What happened?”

“Uh,” Stan said. “Bill, I think.”

Fiddleford flinched at the name. “You mean...using Stanford?”

“...Yeah.”

Fiddleford's shoulders tensed, and when he finally turned around, Stan was surprised to see that although his face had gone milk-white, his eyes were sharp and angry.

“To who?” he said.

Stan blinked. “Uh. What?”

“Who's the damn victim?” Fiddleford insisted. “Or is it victims? Who's he been doing this to? Are they-well, they can't be alright, but are they alive?”

It took Stan a moment to realize what he was thinking. “Wait, you mean-”

“I know Stanford ain't been himself, and I know this...B-Bill is...I know it's an evil thing, but you might have told me it had gotten this bad! What else is going on that I don't know about? What else has it done-”

“Hey, hey, hey.” Stan put up his hands placatingly. “You've got the wrong idea. This isn't...I mean, there wasn't anyone else. It was...it was just Ford.”

Fiddleford stared at him, and Stan saw comprehension dawn on him slow and horrible. “It did all this...to Ford?”

“Yeah.” Stan looked away. He wished Fiddleford would close the door again. “He, uh...he said Bill thinks it's...funny.”

Fiddleford swallowed hard. He looked a bit like he might be sick. “Why didn't he say anything?”

Stan shrugged. “I don't think he really wants to talk about it. He said it wasn't important.”

Fiddleford groaned. “He would.”

His eyes slowly tracked onto Stan's face. Stan avoided his gaze.

“Stanley,” Fiddleford said slowly. “How did you get that...that cut?”

Stan sighed.

“Last night,” he said. “Uh, when I got here, Ford and I...we, well, we argued and he...he kinda passed out on me. And then I guess Bill...well, he found me and he tried to, y'know, strike a deal with me. And when I wouldn't, he...tried to get rid of me, basically. So I wouldn't get in his way.”

“...What stopped him?”

“Well, you've seen that shiner Ford has-”

“I see.” Fiddleford stared at him a moment longer before, thankfully, pulling the door shut. “If I recall, there's a bathroom off of Stanford's study. Is that one any...ah, cleaner?”

“Oh,” Stan said. “I...have no idea, actually.” He'd completely overlooked that door in the study last night. Well, that would have been nice to know about earlier.

“Well, let's see. It, uh, I think it might be best to wash that cut out a bit...”

He turned and positively scurried down the hall. Stan followed in silence.

The bathroom attached to the study was tiny but thankfully free of bloodstains. Stan sat on the couch while Fiddleford washed the cut out with warm water, then dabbed a generous amount of peroxide over it. It stung like hell, but Stan did his best to sit still.

“This ain't quite as bad as it looks, but you still oughta be keeping an eye on it,” Fiddleford said, opening one of the fresh rolls of bandages Stan had bought. “It'll be real nasty if it gets infected.”

“You're telling me,” Stan said, thinking of New Orleans.

Fiddleford measured out a length of bandage, held it up to Stan's face, and frowned. “It'd probably be easier if you could tie your hair back.”

“What, like a ponytail? Ew.”

“What's wrong with ponytails?”

Stan scowled. “People will think I'm a hippie.”

Fiddleford rolled his eyes. “Okay, one, I seriously doubt anyone would mistake you for a hippie. Two, you're going out into the middle of the woods, there ain't gonna be anyone there to see you in any case. And three, don't you think all three of us are a bit past the point of keepin' up appearances?”

Stan couldn't really argue with that one. Having a mullet, after all, didn't give him a lot of ground to stand on in the first place. “Alright...but I don't have anything to tie it back with.”

Fiddleford considered this for a moment. Then he cut out a long, thin strip of bandage, tied it in a loop, and handed it to Stan.

“Fair enough.” Stan tied his hair back awkwardly, hoping the engineer wouldn't ask how he knew how to do that in the first place. Thankfully, Fiddleford set about bandaging the cut with no further comment than, “Yeah, that helps.”

“You got some experience with this or something?” Stan asked as Fiddleford tied a firm knot behind his ear. His bandaging was a lot neater than Stan's, not to mention a lot more confident.

“Ah, well, my wife has some medical training. I suppose it's rubbed off here and there.” Fiddleford stepped back to examine his work. He seemed satisfied.

Stan raised his eyebrows, which felt strange with the bandage on. “You're married?”

“Sure am. Is that surprising?”

“Well...no...I guess not.” Stan shrugged and scratched the back of his neck where the bandage itched. “It's just-I mean it looked like you were living alone.”

“Oh, she's not here with me. I just came up for a little while to help Stanford. Maddie's back in Palo Alto with Tate-that's our son.” Fiddleford smiled fondly. “I sure do miss them. Tate was so tiny when I left...”

“Oh.” Something twisted in Stan's stomach. “That must be nice.”

“Hmm?” Fiddleford said vaguely.

“Uh. Nothing. I mean, just...having a family to go back to.” Stan flushed and looked away hurriedly. “You uh, that is, if you are going back-”

“Of course I am! I just have to...” The dreamy look on Fiddleford's face turned into something lost. “I just...I have to...do...something...”

His confused expression was rapidly shifting into one of horror and it was terrible to watch.

“There must be...there was something...” His foot started tapping frantically. “I-”

“You know what? I'd better be going,” Stan said, getting up quickly. “Gotta...gotta find those unicorns...”

“Right,” Fiddleford mumbled, still staring straight ahead. “Right. Yes.”

He followed Stan out of the room at a slow, lagging pace. Stan hunched his shoulders and didn't look at him.

They found Ford in the so-called living room, throwing various things into a satchel. “Ah, Stanley,” he said, not looking up. “I'm packing a few things for you, just in case. Here's the radio-it's very simple, just press this button to turn it on and this one to talk. And it would probably be best if you wrapped up well-it's quite cold out there.”

“Really?” Stan said. “I hadn't noticed.”

This, predictably, sailed right over Ford's head.

“Yes, well, I found an extra sweater and a sturdier coat...” He gestured at the armchair, which did indeed have a pile of clothing on top of it. Stan made a face, but at least the sweater and coat were fairly inoffensive compared to Ford's usual wardrobe. Besides, as Fiddleford had pointed out, it was a bit late to start caring about looking cool, especially when the alternative was feeling very cold.

“Ah, I've thought of one other thing,” Ford said as Stan struggled into the second sweater. “I think...you should probably retrieve my third journal.”

Stan managed to tug the collar of the sweater down over his head without dislodging the bandage-no easy task-and frowned at his brother. “Your third journal? Wait, how many are there?”

“Just three. I hid the first two here in Gravity Falls but I was concerned about them all being so close together, which is why I called you...” Ford shook his head, completely missing the look of abject exasperation on Stan's face. Because of course his brother had decided the best way to conceal highly sensitive information was with a damn scavenger hunt in his hometown. Of course he had.

“Anyway,” Ford went on. “The second journal would be...difficult to retrieve at the moment, but the third journal is hidden in the woods, not too far from here. It has some information about the Dreamscape that we may need for the modifications.”

“About the what-scape?”

Ford sighed and held out a folded piece of paper. “Just get the journal, Stan. I've written down instructions here for how to find and access it.”

“Sure,” Stan muttered, taking the paper a bit sullenly. Maybe a lot sullenly. “Not like I need to know what you're doing or anything.”

“It would take a very long time to explain-”

“Yeah, yeah, I get it. It's alright.” Stan shrugged into the coat and re-wrapped his scarf around his neck.

Ford followed him to the door, wringing his hands. “I can't think of anything else to tell you...and you do have the radio...but-”

Stan paused in front of the door. “Oh, wait. Actually, there is something I need to know.”

“Yes?” Ford said frantically.

“These unicorns, they're not the kind that only approach virgins, are they? Cause-”

“Stanley!” Ford yelped. “This is serious!”

“It was a serious question! I'm just askin'-alright, alright, geez, I'm going, I'm going.” He shoved the door open and stepped out onto the ice-slick porch. The temperature differential wasn't nearly as noticeable as it should have been. “Try not to die until I get back.”

“You try not to die until you get back,” Ford replied.

“That would be preferable. Now close the door before you get even more sick.”

Ford closed the door and watched through the little window as Stan waded out through the snow.

“You think he'll be alright?” Fiddleford said.

“I hope so.” Ford stared mournfully at his brother's retreating back. “I used to think he could survive anything. Now I'm...not so sure.”

He sighed and turned away. “Come on. We'd better get to work.”

#gravity falls #gravity falls fanfic #by the skin of your teeth #scribulations #fanfic #stangst #for the record I personally have nothing against ponytails but it seemed like Stan might

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