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dreamer213 · 4 years ago

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Broken Machines: Lights the Dark

Chapter 3 Evening in Atlas Part 2

Penny was stunned, of all the things she thought he was going to say she never would have guessed it would be THAT. A party? Their mission was at a party? One that requires formal attire and an luxurious vehicle. Just how? Why? What reason could there possibly be for her to go with General Ironwood to a formal party? This just didn’t make any sense at all! Penny tried and tried to comprise some sort of answer but every time she does she just circles back to where she started. Why in Remnant was this happening to her!

Penny: Um I’m sorry General but could you please explain to me why we are going to a evening party.

Ironwood: In all fairness we aren’t going to a normal evening party. We are going to an Altas evening party at the largest estate in the region.

Penny: I see, that still doesn’t answer my question.

Ironwood: The reason we are going is to gather some info before we begin our formal investigation or in this case your investigation.

Penny: I’m sorry what?

Ironwood: I’m rearranging your schedule and assigning you to an undercover investigation.

Penny: A-and what exactly am I going to investigate?

Ironwood: A week or two ago you witnessed one of the supply truck carrying materials for “the project” get hijacked, correct?

Penny: Yes. I tried to go after them but I had to rescue the security detail they injured during their escape.

Ironwood: Well, there’s been several more incidents since and it’s put everything behind schedule and we can’t afford any delays. Not right now. So we been investigating and have some clear suspects but we still haven’t been able to apprehend them. Every time we get close they spring a trap or find an some sort escape route and get away. We’ve done everything we can to tighten up security but they’re always one step ahead. Is as though they have information on the shipping schedule, the security detail, the layouts of the facilities, and facilities security systems. I believe that there’s a spy who’s been feeding the thieves this information.

Penny: I understand that but what does that have to with me attending an Atlas evening party?

Ironwood: You see, we’ve already done a thorough swipe of all the military personnel involved with “the project” and every single one was cleared of all suspicion so the spy isn’t from our end. Which means it has to be someone from factories or shipping companies and due to the classified nature of most of this intell it has to someone in a very high position in one or both companies. The only ones with that type of authority in either would have to be an Alas elite. The listed of possible suspects is still too large to focus in on any one specific and a public investigation will just raise more suspicion and give the spy a chance to flee hence the need to do this incognito.

Penny: But why me? Out of the numerous soldiers you have at your disposal why did you pick me?

Ironwood: I would do it myself but given my status as both a general and a member of the council showing any interest of any kind towards someone in high society will just raise more questions. As for the soldiers I could send most would be so obvious either in appearance or behavioral that they could never maintain their cover. And anyone who could maintain it already has some sort of of connection with Atlas that would just further complicate things. So that leaves you, Penny Polendina, with your innocence appearance and skill set you’re the perfect person to go undercover without raising any alarms.

Penny: I understand what you’re saying Sir but there’s still a large flaw in this plan. While it’s true I appear the most non threatening there’s still the matter of my mechanical nature. I just cannot believe people wouldn’t be suspicious of an android with more firepower then several military grade tanks attending formal events.

Ironwood: Your right they would be very suspicious of you if they knew.

Penny: If? They don’t……..How? How is this possible? All of Vytal saw me get ripped to pieces! The tournament was live! It was viewed around the world! How could anyone not know?

Ironwood: Tell me Penny, has anyone asked you about the tournament since you’ve been Mantle?

Penny paused for a moment, looking back no one had said anything about the Vytal Festival for as long as she’d been in Mantle. In fact she had explained her capabilities to several people after they witnessed her heroics the first month she was stationed there. Even then many had a hard time believing it was true. Was this really not public knowledge? Was this really not as well known as she thought? Had her terrifying near death experience really gone unnoticed?

Penny: How? Please just tell me how?

Ironwood: While your tragedy was televised across the globe it occurred so close to the fall of Beacon that it was quickly forgotten amongst the chaos Beacon’s tragedy caused. That and after global communications were lost all footage of the tournament was lost to.

Penny: But there were still witnesses. People still watched it happen.

Ironwood: Not in Alas.

Penny: Huh!

Ironwood: Atlas has always been a sort of world of its own especially amongst the elites. To them if doesn’t effect their cash flow it isn’t worth talking about or remembering. Your destruction may have been a hit to the military but to the city of Atlas it was non existent.

Penny: So from the perspective of the people at this party I’ll just be-

Ironwood: A girl from Mantle with a military background. A perfectly nobody, that’s your cover.

Penny: I see.

Ironwood: As to why we’re going tonight, this event is a very special one. Every politician, business mogul, and wealthy family in Atlas will be in attendance so is the perfect opportunity to make your induction into high society. I was hoping to brief you on the case and get you some etiquette lessons before you go in but this chance was to good to waste. We’ll go over everything properly in the morning but for tonight all you need to do is introduce yourself and try and make some connections.

Penny: …Yes Sir.

Ironwood: Remember Penny this isn’t for the sake of a military project. It’s for the sake of Altas as a whole.

Penny: Yes Sir.

With that everything was out in the open, all they could do now was finish the ride in silence. After a while the limo arrives at flying ferry, the only way to get passenger filled cars from Mantle to Atlas safely, once the limo is loaded on they’re into the air and soon they are greeted by the beauty that is the Atlas skyline.

Welcome to the city in the sky

The party’s going well, after the initial greeting and welcomes Jacques makes the announcement everyone’s been waiting for. In a long winded speech Jacques expressed how “sad” he was that his daughter had lost herself to the thralls of war to the point that he had to throw her out of the house for everyone’s safety and so now. He ends his “heartbroken” speech by announcing that his youngest child and only son Whitley was to be the new heir of the Schnee Dust Company. With that said he hands Whitley the microphone, prompting him to make his speech.

Whitley: Thank you Father, ladies and gentlemen I would first like to say I am so sorry about the circumstances that has brought us here tonight but never the less I’m grateful to all of you for gifting us with your presents. I never expected to be given this title especially not this way but I’m grateful to both my father and to all of you for believing in me capable of holding this new position. I promise I will do everything in my power to become the best heir I can possibly be. And one day I will take charge of our family business, continue our great and glorious legacy, and insure that it will carry on for many generations to come.

Whitley hands the mic back to Jacques whose now holding a glass of champagne. Jacques raises his glass, the guests follow. He points the glass towards his son and makes a toast.

Jacques: A toast to the new heir. May he grow to be strong man capable of doing what’s best for the Schnee Dust Empire and for the great city of Atlas! To Whitley!

“To Whitley” the crowd shouts back. Once everyone’s downed a bit of their drink Jacques and Whitley return to the ballroom floor and back into the awaiting crowd. Soon Whitley was mobbed by a sea of people all wanting to make conversation. Scores “ Congratulations” and “I’m sure you’ll be a wonderful heir!” and of course many “ It’s pity about your sister.”. Every word out of their mouths is like sugar drenched poison. Alluring on the surface but bite into it and the toxicity of their true intentions are strong enough to kill eight full grown men. This was not group happy guests but a flock of vultures looking to pick at the fresh meat that is a young elite’s pride.

Whitley: This is going to be a very VERY long night.

As the limousine gets closer to their destination Penny grows anxious, she had handled many missions before but those were all Grimm related she’d never had to socialize outside of saying hello to Mantle citizens or issuing warns to known criminals. Her anxiety only grows worse as she spots their destination out the window. They’re heading towards a ginormous mansion, longer then most of the government building, it’s pearlescent, grand, and overall screamed “High Class”. Penny was feeling completely out of her depth in this situation and very unsure of how to handle it. She looks over to Ironwood and asks for a little guidance.

Penny: Sir, May I ask what exactly am I supposed to say to these “Altas elites”?

Ironwood: That easy. Just give them you’re name, that you’re here with me and you’re one my highest ranked soldiers. That should be enough to get them talking.

Penny: Alright, I’ll do my best.

The limo finally come to a stop in the manor driveway behind several other more expensive looking limousines. The driver opens the car door, Ironwood get out first he extends his right arm her to grab. She tries reaching for his hand but he corrects her and places it on his bicep instead. He lifts her out of her seat and onto the sidewalk. Once Penny’s out of the car she gets a full view of the manor, and it’s almost overwhelming with how regal it looks. A castle like structure with high towers, ornate windows, and beautiful woodwork, a true masterpiece of a building. They head inside and by the gods it’s as though they step into a fairytale! The marble floors, the gorgeous walls, there’s even statues and big chandeliers! Things only get more dazzling as they enter the ballroom, it’s just as amazing as the entrance and there’s a sea of well dressed people socializing inside. Once again Penny looks to Ironwood but before she can say anything someone rushes up to greet him and soon people start gathering around him!

“There’s the man we’ve been looking for! General Ironwood get over here this instant! “

One man shouts bringing even more attention to Ironwood as the now mob of people get closer and closer. Most look to be business men and wealthy middle women and they’re all thanking for saving them at the charity gala and asking to get him a drink. They’re almost surrounded when Ironwood finally speaks up.

Ironwood: Penny, Why don’t you go take a look around. I have some people I need to talk to.

Penny: But General-

Ironwood puts his hand up to ask the crowd for some space then gets down to Penny’s level and whispers to her.

Ironwood:(whisper) I can handle things here, you go and cover more ground.

Penny: Yes Sir!

Penny unlinks her arm from his and heads off while Ironwood starts chatting up the crowd. Penny looks around hoping to find someone to converse with but everyone seems to be engrossed in their own conversations. As she goes deep and deeper into the ballroom she picks up a really nice smell, not like the perfume or cologne of the people around but more like the smells of the food stands and restaurants in Mantle only nicer! Penny knows she shouldn’t get distracted but temptation is just too great and there was still time to figure out how to complete her mission so would it really be wrong to take one quick little break? Penny follows the smell to a line of tables and it’s glorious! It’s a buffet! Full of fresh seafood, a carving station, an assortment of vegetable dishes, and some many food she’s never even know existed! There’s even a fancy dessert station! Penny’s beside herself trying to figure out how she should to go about this.

Penny: It all looks so good I want to try everything! But I can’t just eat all I want my stomach has a capacity. And I know Dad must have a plate saved for me at home. So I’ll just get one plate and fill it with a little bit of everything that stands out to me so I don’t overeat. Yeah that should work.

Penny grabs a plate and goes down the buffet line. She picks up a small lobster tail and a couple shrimp, a small piece of wagyu beef, a bit of garden salad, some truffle pasta, and a tiny chocolate soufflé for dessert. Once she’s got her plate filled she can’t wait another second and takes a bite from the first thing she can stick her fork in. It was the lobster and it’s delicious. It’s so savory and sweet and buttery. It’s so soft it’s practically melting in her mouth. So good.~

She keeps eating for bit until she notices a shadow looming over her. She looks up from her plate to see a group of upper class women in beautiful dresses each in different colors. This is great Penny could finally start on her mission! She was about to greet them but a woman in a red dress spoke first.

Woman in red: Oh my look at that plate! It looks you’re really enjoy yourself. The food must absolutely delicious.

Penny: Yes, it is. Good evening my name is Penny Pole-

Woman in red: I mean it must be, why else would you be stuffing your face so eagerly.

Penny: What.

Woman in blue: Uh Young lady I think you might want to slow down a bit. Surely you wouldn’t want to fill out that dress of yours, though you do have plenty of room in the hip area. Maybe you should try hit the gym or look for a good surgeon.

Woman in yellow: Oh don’t forget about the color! I’d never be so bold to wear lime green to an evening party. And with those freckles and such pale skin Dear you look a little spotty glow stick.

Penny:(quietly) I thought it looked nice.

Woman in indigo: Now girls don’t be so cruel, she’s just a little girl isn’t she? Poor thing can’t be more then 12 with that silly hair and those fat cheeks. Come on where’s your mommy and daddy? Do you need help finding them?

That’s it! Penny couldn’t take anymore! This wasn’t the first time she had been insulted. Be it by drunks, criminals, or generally rude people Penny had been insulted, screamed, and even cursed at while on patrol. But none of that had ever made her feel like this! Nothing had ever made her feel like this! These women may have said things that were far less graphic than what Penny was use to hearing but the way they said was just so awful it made her feel so tiny and pathetic. She couldn’t listen to anymore and walked away as fast she can as they laugh behind her. She kept going until she found an uninhabited section of tables next to a balcony. She sits at the table closest to balcony and starts eating her food again. It’s gotten cold and don’t taste as good for some reason. What was she going to do? If this was how the elites treat what they believe to be a helpless teenage girl how could she possibly investigate and find the spy! What was she going to do?.

Whitley had been on his feet all night. His father had left to go rub elbows with some politicians in his cigar room leaving Whitley to do the lion’s share of hosting the party. He’s spent hours spitting out fake compliments, making small talk, and apologizing on behalf of his sister to the point he feels like a broken record. After finishing yet another pointless conversation Whitley excuse himself to get something. Once he’s gotten out of view of the guests he heads towards a secluded balcony in the quietest part of ballroom passing by a woman picking at her plate.

He steps on to the balcony, he takes a moment to take in the cool night air, he walks forward to the railing turns around and leans backwards on it looking towards the ballroom floor. This was the only way he could try to relax at events like these. Go to a quiet place a little far from the guests but still close enough that he could run back in if his father came looking for him. Ugh Father.

Whitley: I’ve been doing his job all night while he runs off to smoke with some famed narcissists. Though that is what they say about birds of the same feathers, still hosting an event to apologize for your child’s behavior then leaving the actual task of hosting up to your other child can’t possibly reflect well on you. But it’s not like I’m only doing his job. How many times have I apologize for Weiss tonight? How many excuses have I made for Mother while she’s off drinking? How times have I had to redirect a conversation when someone asks about what Winter’s been doing? I do all that and more for what? Why is this how I live? Why am I stuck constantly cleaning up after people who don’t seem to give a damn about me just to survive? I mean I keep hanging on trying to keep things calm until I obtain the power I need to finally put an end to this nightmare but honestly what am I even trying to save? A mother who’s spent the last decade a drunken mess, an older sister who seen hell but still throws tantrums like a child, an even older sister who acts like her precious perfect baby sister is her only family regardless of who else cared about her, and manor full of people who would only see me as a way to maintain their incomes! Gods Am I really that alone?

Whitley internally sighs, he throws his head up to the stars bathing in the heaven’s light. The stars were one of the only things that could ground him when he starts feeling this way. Looking up at them always made him feel like he was floating in heavens, far away from all his problems free and safe. He leans back further to get a better view, spacing out as his mind begin to calm. Until he moves back a little too much and loses his balance. He tries to catch himself but he ends up flailing and slips. Time seems to slow down as his about tip over into a two story drop he screams.

Whitley: AAAAHHHHH! Crap! This is bad! Father’s going to throw an absolute fit when he see the mess this makes.

He closes his eyes hoping it’ll be quick but before he goes into free fall he stops. He opens them and sees a freckled hand wrapped around his forearm.

Penny: Hang on, I’ve got you!

He looks up and makes eye contact with his savior. It’s a girl who’s face he’d never seen before. She no older then him, wearing a bright green dress with fiery red hair in soft ring like curls and big beautiful green eyes.

Penny was still pondering what to next when she heard a scream and commotion coming from balcony. Knowing a cry for help better then anyone Penny dashes towards the sound. She’ll almost too late when she gets out the door and she see half the person’s body is already over the railing but she manages to close the distance just in time to grab they’re arm. She yells to get they’re attention and let’s them know she’s got ahold on them, in this moment they made eye contact and she finally gets a real look at the person she just saved. It’s a teenage boy and he’s…just…beautiful. That’s the only way Penny could describe it. His skin was so pale if she hadn’t felt the heat coming off him she would’ve sworn he was made of porcelain, his hair was so white it looked like snow and it looked so soft and shiny it could’ve been mistaken for silk. And his eyes gods his eyes, they were this deep blue that somehow looked like the sky right before twilight, a endlessly deep sea, and bright like a brilliant shining jewel. Now Penny had seen plenty of handsome men before, she knew nature could make many gorgeous creatures but this, this was the first time anything had made her this awestruck. She couldn’t move she couldn’t think all she could do was take in the beauty of the young man before her.

Whitley: Ummm Excuse me miss? Could you please pull me up?

#penny polendina #whitley schnee #broken machines #james ironwood #jacques schnee #rwby fanfiction #fanfic #it is here

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komahinasecretexchange · 4 years ago

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Title: Icarus, and the Fire

Author: @thatsrightdollface

For: @bebexox4

Pairings/Characters: Hajime Hinata/Nagito Komaeda. Other characters mentioned.

Rating/Warnings: T.Self-deprecating/self-destructive thoughts. Religious and folklore-based imagery. Mentions of ritual sacrifice. Non-graphic descriptions of canon-typical violence.

Prompt: Chapter 5 Angst with happy post game ending (I hate sad endings :( ) Arguably, the second part of this could be used for your third prompt, “Post-game romantic confessions under moonlight,” too! To a degree.

Author’s notes: Hello – I really hope you enjoy this gift!!! It’s the second prompt of two you can expect for this season’s Komahina Secret Exchange. I hope you’re having a great day and doing as well as possible. Thank you, again!!!

Just before Nagito Komaeda died, the fire reaching for him seemed ruinously golden, bright and hot as the sun, and he heard Hajime Hinata’s voice from the door of the plushie factory. Of course his killing game classmates would get the fire extinguisher grenades before the flames properly ate at Nagito’s skin, catching on the ragged edges of his coat. Nibbling at his hair. Of course. The fire wasn’t what was supposed to kill him, technically, according to the plan he’d dreamt up like a prayer, falling to his dirty knees at Hope’s feet. This was an offering.

Nagito knew he was going to die here, however it happened, and he only had a few breaths left. They were smothered, horrible breaths, too, and the world smelled like so much burning fabric. Nagito’s mind was smoke and pain, pain like static, straining to hear Hajime’s voice before the end. Why Hajime Hinata? He was the enemy; he was a Remnant of Despair; he was the only one of Nagito’s killing game classmates he absolutely knew he couldn’t trust. Hajime had been the sole survivor when the entire talentless Hope’s Peak Academy Reserve Course was lost… a different ritual offering, you know, but this time to the stiletto-heeled, snickering Goddess of Despair. Junko Enoshima. Nagito saw Hope as something greater than all things… something to make this whole world worth it… and he was offering himself to Hope, just now. This was different. This was what he’d decided — no, what he knew — had to be done.

It was terrible luck to be caught in Junko Enoshima’s killing game… truly, just awful. But it was an amazing opportunity, too. From despair came Hope, after all — that’s what Nagito had been preaching to everybody here on Jabberwock Island, and that’s what he had to believe with his whole soul or else how could he have ever made it this far? Hah. It was simple, really. One of Nagito’s classmates was a member of the Future Foundation, even if they didn’t realize it yet, and only that one person among them all hadn’t become one of Junko Enoshima’s monsters. And so, you see? It was wonderful luck, now, that Nagito could save that single near-holy classmate, even if it meant he and everything else on this island went up in flames. Hajime Hinata, too. Even if it meant this might be one of the last times Hajime spoke outside of a class trial — with Nagito straining to listen, even if he willed himself not to, even if he knew he shouldn’t want to hear.

Hajime’s laughter, self-conscious chuckles in the back of his throat. Hajime’s indignant, baffled exclamations, trying to keep the peace among their group… Hajime’s earnest frustration, struggling to understand Nagito even when everyone else they knew here had given up. Hajime’s voice could get so stumbling and soft, when he and Nagito were reading together on the beach; Hajime had ridden the island’s rollercoaster with some of their classmates a while back, and Nagito had been able to pick his whooping scream out from everybody else’s. He’d listened for it, then, too.

It had been wonderful luck to meet Hajime Hinata. Nagito would have told you that from the first time they spoke. Hajime was earnest and warm, and it had been easy to walk beside him. They could slide together almost like friends, at first, before the killing game really got going. Unspeakable, wasn’t it, that someone would actually want a friend like Nagito Komaeda? And yet, it had been true: Hajime’s eyes had relaxed a little, finding him, and Nagito had felt his lips curl up into a soft smile even when he had no right to it.

It didn’t really feel like that long ago, with Hajime shaking even more sand out of his shoes and Nagito frantically scanning his mind for interesting things they could talk about. Sometimes Nagito would ramble on sing-song tangents for way longer than he’d meant to, and he truly believed Hajime tried to hear every word. That was a new feeling. There was no one else Nagito would have wanted squeezing his hand as he lay limp in yet another hospital bed, sick with the killing game’s Despair Disease. Nagito’s hand would have been sweat-sticky and feverish, but maybe if he’d understood… maybe if he’d stayed… Hajime wouldn’t have minded. He could’ve washed his own hands afterwards, even, and then just sat on a chair by Nagito’s bed if he was alright with that. Would he have been alright with that?

Things had changed, even before Nagito reached the Final Death Room and the wicked truths inside. Who Hajime was. The Hope’s Peak Reserve Course. All that. Hajime’s eyes were tired and beseeching, watching Nagito like he might be important to him, sure, but also like he might slide a knife out of his sleeve at any second. They hadn’t understood each other yet, but even so it had been one of Nagito’s luckiest moments, falling into step beside Hajime Hinata. And so, logically, it had been one of Nagito’s unluckiest moments when he realized Hajime wasn’t the one he would have to save.

Hajime had tried to confess to the “crime” of belonging to the Future Foundation, because he thought maybe it would save their friends’ lives. Nagito had said he wished he could believe him, and that thought was grabbing at him, even now, hot against his skin as the flames. What if Hajime could be kept safe? What if Hajime could stand for Hope, too, and they might both have statues set up somewhere grand, reborn in beatific metals? Reborn from fire. But of course, Nagito’s luck wouldn’t let him stay close to someone like Hajime, someone who made him feel solid and nearly steady inside. Fortune and tragedy were two sides of the same coin: Nagito had always known that. He was the Ultimate Lucky Student, after all, and his luck was ridiculous. His luck was easy to see as something mythic, from time to time, when it made him feel as helpless as he felt just now.

Let’s say Nagito’s luck was like the story of Icarus, this time. Whenever he got too happy — whenever he wandered endlessly high, too close to the sun — of course his wax wings would melt, next, and he could do nothing but fall.

Nagito had let himself fall in love with the hope sleeping inside Hajime Hinata, and now he would die with ash in his hair, cheeks sticky with tears. Of course he’d taped over his mouth so no one could hear him scream when it happened. Whatever Nagito’s last words would have been, no one could hear them. If Hajime was the sun — just as good luck was the sun, shall we say? — Nagito had wax dripping down his back in oily bubbling rivers, now. He should have known… no, he had always known… this was the most he could have hoped for. Nagito was a stepping stone for Hope. Wasn’t that enough?

And so why was he listening for Hajime Hinata’s voice, up until the end of things, even as he clutched that final-death spear of his so tight, even as he reminded himself this would all be worth it soon? Alright then. And so what if he was? What next? Maybe the Ultimate Lucky Student was like Icarus again, enjoying the sunlight on his skin even once the fall had already begun, and the world below was hurtling closer all the time.

***

Later.

Much later.

Nagito Komaeda was sitting by a bonfire, and tasting smoke in the air again. Everything was different, this time, of course. The fire was crackling golden, true, but it was cozy in the dark of a starstruck Jabberwock Island night, and if Nagito fell back there was someone close enough to catch him. No killing game plots, no burning plushie factory curtains. Hajime Hinata was near enough that Nagito could feel the sand rustle beneath them both as he shifted, gesturing with his hands as he spoke to their classmates. No, not their classmates — they were the former Remnants of Despair, all of them left behind, and they hadn’t been a “class” in a long time. Their “friends,” then? Nagito was huddled in close, part of the circle, and when he’d hung back at the edge of things too long it had been Hajime who pulled him in. Hajime, with a soft hand on his back. Hajime, who murmured, “Sit by me?” into the curve of Nagito’s cheek, breath against his neck.

And so Nagito was here, watching the other former Remnants of Despair burn campfire wood by the edge of the sea. The sparks drifting over that dark water reminded him of faraway fireworks, and… despite everything that had happened… it did feel like they should be celebrating. Nagito and his teammates had their minds back, and they belonged to each other so much more completely than they had ever belonged to despair. (Or, so Hajime had told them during one of those rallying pep talks of his — he’d been looking straight into Nagito’s eyes as he said that part, and Nagito had swallowed hard. Aching to believe him.)

The Remnants of Despair had helped the Future Foundation put an end to a despair-inducing mind control video not too long ago, and then they’d come back here, to where their second chances began. It had all been so much to wrap their heads around… the killing game being a simulation, for one, and all of them being criminals the Ultimate Hope was defying his higher-ups to rehabilitate. The only Future Foundation member hidden among them had been an AI, after all, a shadow of their friend who had died at despair’s hand so long ago. But the Ultimate Hope… Makoto Naegi… believed in all of them, and Nagito had been able to shake his hand, once. It had been broad and warm, so different than Nagito’s own pale spindly fingers, crisscrossed with scars his relentless luck left behind.

The Ultimate Hope had asked why Nagito’s hand was so sticky; the Ultimate Hope had fought to keep the people Nagito tried to execute for Hope’s sake kicking around in the world. The Ultimate Hope shared his title with Hajime Hinata, now, some people said. That had been a lot to try and comprehend, too… that Hajime, reinvented with every talent under the sun, godlike and impossible, could still be so much like he was before. It was oddly comforting, smelling his cheap shampoo, imagining reaching out to play with his spiky hair. They could sit in silence, together, and Nagito could almost forget there was no reason Hajime should ever want to spend time with him. It had been Hajime who’d fought to piece Nagito’s brain back together after the simulation… it had been Hajime who refused to leave him behind, and built him a mechanical arm to replace the one that was… ah… gone, now. Looking at Hajime for too long was like staring into the sun, nowadays: it burned Nagito’s eyes worse than the salt wind over the ocean. But that mostly meant Nagito had something to say to him… that mostly meant Nagito might cry, if he thought too hard about what it would have been like if his plan had gone exactly as he thought it needed to go.

“I’m glad you aren’t dead, Hajime Hinata,” might have been a good place to start. “Seeing you work for Hope’s sake is amazing, but even if you weren’t — even if you were still a talentless nobody from the Reserve Course — I’m so glad I was wrong and you aren’t dead.”

It could’ve been Hajime already knew those words were waiting on the tip of Nagito’s tongue. He kept offering his hand, after all, and now… sitting by a bonfire on Jabberwock Island, listening to his friends work through where they’d have to go next… he rubbed Nagito’s shoulder a bit and offered him an exhausted, resolute smile. They couldn’t stay here long, given that it was only a matter of time before people tracked their boat — given that it was only a matter of time before they were caught, and maybe locked away, maybe killed. Hajime had vowed to lead the Remnants of Despair around the world, spurring society on towards Hope. They needed a battle strategy, for something like that. They needed outrageous, harebrained schemes, kinda like the ones Nagito had come up with during the killing game. They were going to make something near-holy of themselves yet.

But when Hajime grinned at him, Nagito leaned in closer… not for Hope’s sake at all, really. Nagito imagined Icarus again, flying towards the sun even though he knew what could happen. Nagito dangled on the brink of happiness, shuffling his feet against the edge of the cliff and deciding to let himself feel. He offered Hajime his own hand, this time, and their fingers twined together against the sand. Palm trees swayed in a gentle wind; the Ultimate Musician interrupted this planning session to try and start up a campfire sing-along.

“You should be careful, you know,” Nagito whispered, his voice starting up even though he tried to hold it back. Even though it would ruin this moment, under so many stars, with salty wind in his hair and firelight catching in Hajime’s mismatched eyes. Red and green, Ultimate Hope and useless Reserve Course student. “If you let me like you too much, it’ll be dangerous. My luck… you know who I am, Hajime.”

You know what I almost did to you… what I was willing to do to everyone. You know, you know, you know. And so why?

Hajime sighed. He reached out so slowly and brushed a little sand off Nagito’s cheek, there where all the rest of their classmates… friends… could see them, if they managed to glance away from this sing-along train wreck long enough. “Yeah, I know who you are,” Hajime said. And that was all. He said it in the same sort of voice someone else might have said, “I love you,” Nagito thought.

Maybe it was Hajime who was Icarus after all, in this scenario — maybe they flew towards each other, and if they fell together it would be enough to break the fall. Soft wax wings and golden light. Sand and ocean and a million places left to go.

Hajime didn’t pull his hand away, not for a while. He explained that his fingers had fallen asleep, when he finally did.

#komahina #fanfiction #komahina secret exchange

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peterstanslizzie · 5 years ago

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Reacting To: Kipo and the Age of Wonderbeasts (Season 2 Episode 1)

Episode Title: Paw of the Jaguar

Spoiler Warning: Kindly proceed if you’ve already seen the episode or are able to tolerate spoilers.

1. Naturally, Season 2 picks up where things left off at the end of the first season; Kipo manages to avoid being captured by Scarlemagne by reining in (or still trying to) the Mega Flamingo that grabbed her. Wolf says that the flamingo is their best bet and so, she, Kipo, Dave, Benson and Mandu hop on it in the hopes of it leading them to Scarlemagne and Lio Oak, Kipo’s dad.

2. Back at Scarlemagne’s Court, we find the captured denizens/humans including Lio and Hoag, whom are all apparently separated from the kids of the burrow for some reason. Hoag is blaming Kipo for their kidnapping, which I have to be honest; He is right. She did unknowingly lead Scarlemagne to Site B. One of the mind-controlled mutes starts spraying the Puppet Pheromones on the humans, which includes Hoag. But Scarlemagne/Hugo doesn’t want Lio to get sprayed with the pheromones.

3. I have a prediction. I bet Lio and Scarlemagne used to be friends or co-workers and I’m pretty sure they had something to do with Kipo being part mute.

4. Before taking off, our heroes are spotted by Troy, Asher and Dahlia and they are wondering what’s up with Kipo’s arm to which she tells them she’s part mute. Troy wants to tag along to help out but Kipo says that it’s too dangerous and suggests that Wolf and Benson take them to the Timbercats while she and Dave go after Scarlemagne. Despite some push-back from Wolf, her plan is more or less agreed upon. I think not bringing Wolf along isn’t a very good idea since she’s the best fighter. Also, he has an entire army; What makes her think that only her and Dave could take them on?

5. As she makes her way over to Scarlemagne’s Court, she is making sure to leave some remnants of Dave’s exoskeleton to allow the others to know where they’re going. Suddenly, the mind-controlled Mega Monkey attacks them. Kipo tries to calm it down by singing the iconic song, ‘What We Have Is You’ again but it doesn’t seem to be working as well as before. Maybe she needs to play the guitar lol.

6. The Mega Monkey grabs Kipo and she tries singing to it one more time and thankfully, she manages to calm it down but for only a few seconds before the pheromone-infused collar it’s wearing starts to activate. Luckily, Kipo swiftly uses her huge cat arm to destroy it, freeing Mega Monkey from Scarlemagne’s control. Aww, I’m so glad because I can’t bear to see it being controlled any longer.

7. Kipo seems to understand what the Mega Monkey is saying because it tells her that it wants to come along with Kipo to stop Scarlemagne. Kipo does the right thing and convinces it to stay put because she doesn’t want it to get mind-controlled again. I agree with Dave; This moment was so cute and touching but I’m sure we will see Mega Monkey again. Plus, Kipo gave it her bracelet/wristband as a symbol of friendship. That’s so sweet.

8. Kipo tells Dave that the Mega Monkey is “special”. I’m now actually wondering if it’s somebody Kipo knows or has met before. Maybe it’s her mom, Song? But didn’t she die when Kipo was a baby or something? Hmm...

9. Meanwhile, I don’t really know what Wolf and Benson are trying to do with Troy, Asher and Dahlia. They want the three of them to learn how to wrangle Pierre in order to gain the respect of the Timbercats. They cover Asher and Dahlia’s faces with maple syrup to lure in Pierre, which catches its attention and it charges right at them. Troy tries to defend them but Benson pushes him out of the way and we get this moment:

10. STOP THE PRESS! Did y’all see this? They blushed! Not just one of them but both of them! OMG! This is lowkey confirmation that Troy is gay too. Well, we all suspected it but c’mon this blush pretty much confirms it. Plus, the little pessimist within me is fearful of one-sided crushes. But luckily, we didn’t get any of that; YASSS!

11. Anyways, back to the story hehe. Pierre starts licking Asher and Dahlia’s maple-syrup covered faces, which makes Benson and Wolf think that they’re doing a good job. Anyways, I love how Wolf doesn’t know how to fist-bump. I guess it’s because she was raised by wolves lol.

12. It’s already night time and Kipo and Dave have finally reached Scarlemagne’s Court but it’s strangely empty. We then quickly shift over to a shot of Scarlemagne and his army flying over (or is it to?) Ratland.

13. Oh, great. More lessons on how to impress the Timbercats in order to let Asher, Dahlia and Troy stay with them; Is this really necessary? Don’t they have better things to do during a time of crisis? This time, they want them to learn how to properly chop wood. They do a decent job with it but Dahlia (I think?) unexpectedly goes ham on the wood and according to Asher, it’s because it has been a long day for her.

14. Kipo eventually spots her dad inside a prison cell that is guarded by two of the primate mutes and she rushes in to attack. One of them sprays the pheromones on her but it doesn’t seem to do a thing. I wonder why? She then beats them and frees her dad.

15. More Troy and Benson moments! We basically see them talking some more and Benson comes up with an idea to have them give flapjacks to the Timbercats. He also says that he has the best recipe in the world to which Troy asks if it includes flour, milk and eggs and Benson replies yes. Don’t they know that those are the basics? LOL.

16. But please, go ahead and be your cute gay selves while you guys flirt and bond over flapjacks. And it’s pretty clear that Wolf, Asher and Dahlia can sense their chemistry.

17. We shift things over to Ratland and all of its patrons are freaking out whilst rushing to exit the theme park since Scarlemagne has arrived, without an entrance ticket for that matter. Scarlemagne reveals to Amy and Brad (two of Ratland’s personnel) that he plans to take over Las Vistas and rename it as Aurum. He envisions Aurum to be a city where mutes will reign supreme over humans. He then proceeds to order his army to dismantle Ratland, which upsets Amy and Brad. Aww, I feel so bad for them!

18. Benson, Wolf, Mandu as well as their new friends arrive at the Timbercats’ forest and they try to return Pierre back to Yumyan. Yumyan notices that Pierre is acting differently because he seems to be attached to Asher. Benson and Wolf try to convince Yumyan and the rest of the Timbercats to let them stay with them by telling them their story about losing their home and etc. And guess what? It’s working because Yumyan is in tears as he is overcome with emotion knowing how brave they’re being despite the hardships. Umm, okay??? And so, they manage to quickly win over all of them. Well, it’s mostly because they’re friends of Kipo but a win is still a win lol.

19. As Wolf and Benson are getting ready to go back to help out Kipo and Dave, Troy walks over to Benson to thank him. They then talk about what they plan to do once they hopefully reunite again; They’re basically setting up a date! And oh, before leaving, Troy gives him one of these:

20. Oh. My. God. A kiss, a gay kiss on the cheek! And it’s only the first episode? I’m screaming! I love these two; I ship these two! YASSS! I hope they meet up again soon because I need more Troyson moments. And Benson is obviously so happy about what just happened. Same here, Benson. Same here.

21. Now back to Kipo, Dave and Lio. Lio reveals to Kipo that he and Song had infused Kipo’s DNA with a mutagen in order for her to become a Mega Jaguar herself. And that is why Scarlemagne’s pheromones didn’t work on her because they only work on primates. What a revelation lol. I was kinda right; I knew that Lio had something to do with his daughter’s transformation. But why would he and Song want to experiment on their own daughter, even if it’s to save the world or whatever? That’s kind of....I don’t know, off?

22. Just as I was half-expecting for Kipo to get mad at her dad, she reacts in the complete opposite way and is excited about becoming a Mega Jaguar and wants it to happen now to get everyone to safety.

23. I have questions lol. If she becomes a Mega Jaguar, will it be permanent and she can she ever turn back to her normal human form? Or maybe switch between the two forms? Lio says that she needs to train with the Chevre Sisters (who we’ve never heard till now) in order to control her transformation or else she’ll never come back. What does that mean when he says “never come back”? Like is she supposed to learn how to switch between her human form and her Jaguar form?

24. They notice that the flamingo that flew them there is being taken away by the primate mutes and Kipo foolishly rushes to attack them to retrieve the Mega Flamingo. She is stopped by Lio but it’s too late because one of them manages to grab hold of Lio whilst trying to escape with the help of Dave who has now transformed into his flying hero mode. Kipo tries to fight back to rescue her father but there’s too many of them. Lio urges Dave to fly Kipo out to safety and the scene cuts off.

25. Back at Ratland, Amy and Brad are devastated at the destruction of Ratland by Scarlemagne and his army. He then grabs hold of two humans and sprays them with his pheromones. Here, we also find out more about Scarlemagne’s evil intentions, which is similar to how Planet of the Apes is and that is to overcome their oppression by humans for thousands of years and basically topple over them.

26. Please don’t kill the rats, please don’t. Scarlemagne wants to make an example out of Brad and Amy as he threatens to launch a bottle of explosive nectar at them. He advises them to run but unfortunately, the scene then cuts off. Oh how I hope they survived!

27. Back in the woods, Benson, Wolf and Mandu bump into Kipo and Dave. Kipo then tells them what happened and she totally regrets not thinking things through, which led to her unsuccessful rescue attempt of her dad. She feels like her instincts have betrayed her. Wolf and Benson try to console her by telling her all the good things she did in the past to which there’s a lot of them.

28. That immediately makes Kipo feel a lot better and we then get a nice group hug between all of them. But the love-fest ended quickly because they hear a loud rumbling in the background, which of course, as we know, it’s coming from Ratland. Again, I hope Amy and Brad are alright. Scarlemagne and his primate mute and human army are seeing flying away from the area, taking some of the wreckage from there.

29. We then see in the distance, a group of cloaked individuals looking at the result of the explosion. I wonder if they are mutes or humans? I can’t tell. One of them does appear to have a beak and two of them have really long ears. Although, their legs looks very human-like. Maybe they’re part-mutes like Kipo? But what we do know is that they’re against Scarlemagne, which is good news.

30. Thinking back, I suspect that they’re the Chevre Sisters, Lio was talking about to Kipo. And it would make perfect sense if they’re part-mutes too because they’re supposedly going help Kipo to learn how to control her transformation.

31. Well y’all. That is the end of my review of episode 1 of Season 2 of Kipo and the Age of Wonderbeasts. This episode absolutely exceeded my expectations; It was filled with so much excitement, action and of course, love. Stay tuned tomorrow for my review of episode 2. Thanks for reading! Till then, bye!

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lovebitesimagines · 6 years ago

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Dangerous Love- Crashing.

Here is Chapter Seven of Dangerous Love! It’s a little shorter than the previous chapters, but the drama starts...now!

Masterlist.

[1] [2] [3] [4] [5] [6] [7] [8] [9] [10]

Tags: @happyhostforsymbiotes @namelesslosers @brianaisasongbird @crazymofos021 @lifetimeofadventue @itsmissdahliahayward @1opinionshared @biba3434 @onlythechicagoway

Wanna be on the tag list for this series, or another? Just lemme know! x

Hella fluffy, hella angsty chapter!

Warnings: Swearing.

You’re on cloud nine. Then it all comes crashing down.

Alfies POV

Alfie had been in a lot of perilous situations throughout his life. He had stared down numerous barrels of numerous guns, all held by men that haunted the nightmares of children. He had bargained for his life, having only a split second to pick the right words. He had watched as those he had loved in the past, his own families blood spill and stain the floor as carelessly as rain water. Yet nothing could compare to how he felt right now.

Nerves had been overcoming him at every opportunity, and haunting his sleep, since he had decided that he wanted to marry you. He had felt this way since your first date, the idea playing on his mind, teasing him as a kitten would with a mouse. Yet since he had spoken the words out loud, since he had admitted to both himself and Ollie, his stomach and mind where a cesspit of anxiety. He hated how he was currently feeling. Him, a tough London gangster, shouldn’t be nervous over such a natural feeling.

Alfie wanted everything to be absolutely perfect when he asked. To him, you deserved the absolute world, and he would stop in nothing to make sure that you got that. He had conversed with Ollie over the past few weeks, meticulously planning every aspect of the proposal. He had written to you, asking you to meet him where you both shared your first kiss, a place of significance to you both. He had arranged for somebody to pick you up, as he would be waiting at the meadow for you. All you had to do was turn up.

The only thing that was standing in the way of this ever being easy, were your brothers. Alfie knew they hated him, despite the fact they were so hell-bent on becoming business partners. He wasn’t foolish, he knew they only did this to benefit themselves. If they ever found out about your relationship, Alfie wasn’t afraid of what they would do to him. He was more worried about what they would do to you. He would tear the limbs of everyone in Small Heath and London combined, before he ever saw you get hurt.

Alfie was stood, looking out over the meadow. Every aspect of this evening had been perfectly ironed out, and as he looked across at his creation, he couldn’t help but feel proud of himself. He had carefully scattered lit candles across the meadow, their flames flickering in the moonlight, casting dancing shadows against the trees. Alfie had laid a blanket in the middle of the meadow, as well as a few cushions, positioned so that you could lay down and look at the stars. He knew how much you enjoyed doing that. All he had to do now was wait, the ring weighing heavily in his pocket.

And wait he did.

He pulled out his pocket watch, his hands beginning to tremble, causing the chain to which it was attached to rattle. It was around due the time you should be arriving here, if all went well, if everything went to plan.

But what if it hadn’t? What if something had happened to you? Alfie refused to entertain the idea that you wouldn’t show up out of choice. He strained his ears in an attempt to hear any sound that would indicate you were on your way.

Nothing.

Alfie gripped his cane tighter, throwing his head back to look up at the stars. Each burning ball of gas tauntingly twinkled down at him, reminding him of how insignificant he was, especially how he felt in this moment. He blinked back the panicked tears that were beginning to burn at his eyes, something which hadn’t happened since he was a small, frightened boy. He fruitlessly attempted to push back the memories which had scarred and shaped him, each one rearing its ugly head to the front of his mind. He gasped as if he was struggling for air, each memory striking him where it hurt the most. The hot tears burst through the barrier he had placed up, leaving scalding hot trails as they slid down his cheeks and down his throat.

“Alfie?”

Alfies snapped his head to see you, frantically wiping at his eyes to clear his vision. There you were, standing in the entrance to the meadow. The moonlight bathed your already radiant skin, giving you a heavenly glow. He noted how you wore his favourite shade of red, the hem of the dress skimming just above your milky white knees. He slowly walked forward to meet you, almost in disbelief that you were here. His heart was still pounding against his chest, the remnants of the adrenaline rush leaving his body.

He watched as you reached out for him, your hand softly stroking against his cheek. He leaned into your touch, his eyes fluttering closed at your touch. He knew you would have felt the remains of his tears, yet you didn’t question nothing. He loved that about you, how you knew sometimes he just needed silence and you. Alfie stood there like that for a few moments, entranced by you and your touch, before he reluctantly opened his eyes, looking into yours.

“Ya’ wore the dress” he stated softly, his fingers running down the length of your arms, his words free of their usual curses.

“I wore the dress” you whispered, Alfie watching as goose bumps rose upon your skin. He took your hand in his, leading you towards where he had laid out the blanket and cushions. He sat down, gently pulling you down beside him, his arms wrapping around your waist. You both stayed in silence for a few moments, enjoying the sound of each other’s heartbeat. Alfie would never get tired of that sound.

“I used to come ‘ere as a young ‘un” he begun, his eyes scanning the stars above you both. Alfie absent minded stroked your waist as he spoke. “When everythin’ was goin’ to fuckin’ shit back home, and I couldn’t fuckin’ stand being there”.

The night was silent around you both, only the light breeze causing the leaves to lightly rustle. You didn’t speak, the movement of your eyes the only indication Alfie had that you were listening.

“I came back ‘ere since. The night I came back from the war” Alfie paused, taking a breath before continuing. “The night I fuckin’ watched a bullet go through me fuckin’ mothers skull”.

“Alfie, I’m-I’m so sorry…I” he lifted up his hand slightly to silence you, giving a gentle shake of his head.

“The thing is angel, yeah, I never thought I would ever have anything fuckin’ good in my life. And then I met ya’. I knew I wanted ya’, when ya’ fuckin’ came stormin’ into that room, all guns blazin’” Alfie chuckled, shifting his weight slightly so he could face you properly. “I thought, fuckin’ hell this might a woman that could match up to me”

“You know me too well Alf” you smiled softly, your fingers tracing down the veins on his arm.

“I never thought that I’d ever find someone as good as ya’. The thing is (Y/N)-“Alfie rummaged through his pocket, before pulling out a ring box. Your breath caught in your throat, as he slowly opened the box, revealing a diamond ring laying upon a red velvet cushion.

“Marry me angel”.

*****************************************************************************************************

YOUR POV

Your eyes were transfixed upon the diamond that was currently in front of you, the stone glistening under the moonlight. It sat on a red velvet cushion and was held by the man who had completely captured your heart, currently asking you to be his forever.

Your first instinct was to whole-heartedly agree, without any doubts in your mind. You’d be lying to both yourself and him if you said there was no second thoughts tainting your decision. It was nothing to do with Alfie, to you he was perfect. It was more the fact that you didn’t know how your brothers would react. You pictured the Peaky Blinders causing destruction, the disappointment and anger that would be so clear in your brothers’ eyes. You would surely be outcast from the family without a second glance, or worse. They could hurt Alfie.

Your Alfie.

Your eyes fluttered up to meet his, his nerves blatant in his light blue eyes. You noticed how anxious tears started to form, threatening to spill out onto his cheeks. He slowly lowered the ring box, casting his eyes down to the floor. Your heart caught in your throat, an uncomfortable lump of sadness that was hard to swallow. You couldn’t possibly turn him down, you wanted this. Despite the challenges that you both would no doubt face, you wanted him. You reached out to stop him from lowering the box, your eyes once again meeting his.

“Yes” you whispered, smiling softly at him. “Yes, I will marry you, Alfie Solomons”.

Alfies’ eyes lit up instantly, the nerves he felt evaporating and quickly becoming replaced with pure joy. He slowly slid the ring onto your finger, the smile never quite leaving your face as you watched him.

“I promise ya’ now angel, ya’ will never have a day were ya’ ever doubt if ya’ the main priority in my fuckin’ life” Alfie whispered, pulling you into a soft kiss, before wrapping you in his arms.

Being in Alfies’ arms made you feel invincible, as if nothing could ever hurt you. It was your own perfect, impenetrable fortress. Nobody could ever destroy what you two had built up together.

Could they?

------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- You and Alfie had laid upon the grass, watching the stars dance in the night sky, before the candles dwindled down to nothing. It was then that you both knew you had to make your separate ways home. The boat journey was silent, both enjoying each other’s company. The only sound you could both hear was the water moving beneath you, even the docks were eerily quiet for this time of evening. Usually the majority of your brothers’ business dealings took place under the cover of darkness.

You stood on the docks, your fingers running down the length of Alfies’ arms. You watched as he shivered slightly in pleasure- you would forever be proud of the affect you had upon the gangster. Neither of you wanted to be the first to depart, yet you both knew it was inevitable.

“My future wife” Alfie whispered, pulling you closer to him, pressing his lips against your hair. “I fuckin’ hate how I have to leave ya’ like this”.

“Soon you won’t have too” you responded softly, your eyes fluttering closed.

“Soon. Ya’ will live in a fuckin’ huge mansion with me angel. I will give ya’ the world” Alfie murmured, giving your head one final kiss before reluctantly pulling away. “Now ya’ get home angel, and rest that pretty little head of yours”.

You stood up on your tiptoes, closing the gap between you and Alfie, before pressing your lips against his. You would never get tired of kissing him, each time feeling as if it were the first. The tingles still rushed down your spine, the butterflies continuing to erupt in your stomach. You pulled away slowly, swallowing hard as you watched Alfie get back into the boat.

It never got easier, saying goodbye to him.

You began to make your way home, the streetlamps dimly lighting the way. It was slightly cold, the evening air sneaking through your clothing and chilling your skin, making you wrap your shawl tighter around you. The streets where abnormally quiet, the lack of people making it harder for you to blend in. You felt as if a million eyes were watching you, their silent forms of judgement sharp against your skin.

You slowly opened the front door to your house, careful not to make a sound and give everything away. You sighed gently as the door closed behind you, your mind struggling to comprehend everything that happened to you that evening. It felt as if you were floating in a dream, nothing quite seeming as if it were reality. One glance down at the ring that was on your finger, and a soft smile erupted upon your lips. It was all true.

You slipped through the house, your feet light upon the wooden floorboards. You gently pushed open the door to the living room, your heart instantly crashing loudly to the floor as you took in the scene in front of you.

Tommy sat at the wooden table, Arthur and John flanking each side of him. Their faces were illuminated by a candle, casting dark shadows upon across the room. There were empty glasses upon the table, a few dregs of whiskey still inside. They had been there a long time, you could tell by the stiffness of their bodies. This meant that they had time to think, their anger had time to brew, and you just knew that it would be directed entirely at you.

They knew about you and Alfie.

“You’re up late” you stated, shrugging off your shawl, tossing it carelessly upon the dresser. You struggled to string together a sentence, saying the first words that came to your mind. Panic was coursing through your veins, your heart beat beginning to race.

“We could say the same thing for you” Tommy articulated, his icy blue eyes lacking in emotion as they glared at you, tying you to the spot.

“Where the fuck have you been?” Arthur growled, his anger bubbling over. Your elder brother had always been unable to control his emotions as well as your other siblings, and right now it was evident. You noticed how his skin became flushed with agitation, his moustache twitching slightly.

“What? I’ve been studying. Is a woman not allowed to better herself?” you retorted, deciding that the better option was to act oblivious.

“Don’t fucking lie to us” John snapped.

“We know where you’ve been” Tommy stated, beginning to light a cigarette. “You really think we wouldn’t have someone follow you, after you were in fucking London last week?”. You blinked a few times, clasping your ring finger in your hand as if to hide it, as you tried to take in what your brother had just told you.

“You had someone fucking follow me?” you whispered. Although their actions did not surprise you in any way, it still caused hurt to ache in your chest. You had truly hoped that your brothers who you loved and respected so much, would at least treated you as one of their own. You couldn’t have been more wrong.

“Of course, we fucking did!” Arthur snapped, losing his cool as he stood up, knocking over the table. The empty glasses crashed to the floor, shattering as they met the floorboards. His voice echoed throughout the house, reverberating off the dining room walls.

There were a million words that you wanted to say in response, but you knew that nothing you could say would be right. You had been so happy before you left Alfie this evening, experiencing a cloud nine sensation for the first time in your life. But now, things had drastically changed. You had come crashing back down to Earth and landed hard. The diamond upon your finger suddenly felt weighted.

“We know about you and Solomons” Tommy began, seemingly un-phased by Arthurs outburst. His eyes told a different story. They were completely emotionless, staring right through you as if you were a stranger.

“Tommy…I-“ you began, your words getting caught in your throat. You nervously twisted your hands together, your diamond glinting in the candlelight.

“You’re fucking engaged to him” John laughed in disbelief, as his eyes caught the ring upon your finger.

“Yes. Yes, I am” you whispered, staring at Tommy. You ignored the uproar that had exploded around you both, the words that violently escaped from John and Arthurs’ mouths, the hidden threats that were sprinkled in between each syllable. Your eyes silently pleaded with Tommy, hoping that somehow, he would understand.

“You’ve betrayed this family” he stated. His words cut through the noise, causing an uncomfortable silence to abruptly settle in between you. He stood up, ignoring you as he walked past, John and Arthur following closely behind.

You sunk to your knees, unfamiliar sobs tearing through your body. All you had ever wanted as a child, was for your brothers to hold you in high regard, to be accepted within the tight knit Shelby family group, to be allowed space to breathe without a Peaky Blinder inspecting your every move.

Alfie had provided you not just with stability, but he also respected and admired you. He was protective, yet he also allowed you to move in your own way. You had fallen deeply in love with him, something which you did not expect to happen, yet you wanted to be allowed to relish in it. You wanted to be able to celebrate your engagement, like a normal couple would. You wanted to witness the happiness on your families faces, as you announced that you were due to marry the man who was your soulmate.

But you weren’t a normal couple. You weren’t part of a normal family, who were thrilled at your news. You weren’t a normal woman.

And you never will be. Not when you’re a Shelby.

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littlemisssquiggles · 5 years ago

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Hey squiggle I watched a livestream review of chapter 9 on youtube that said that Cinder would most likely go after Oscar for the relic and while Neo tries to attack ruby or maybe they both would attack him placing oscar in danger....what are ypur thoughts...

Heyo Dagger! Hmm. Here’s the thing with that from my perspective:

I’ve never gotten the impression that Cinder cared that much about gathering the Relics. The only time we’ve seen her pursue them was on behalf of Salem. But now that Salem has disowned her former apprentice, Cinder is left to her own devices and as far as I know as provided by evidence within the series, Cinder’s previously established goals were killing Ruby Rose and acquiring all the Maiden magic for herself.

No season highlighted this more for me than V5. I mean Cinder couldn't even keep her megalomaniac behaviour under wraps long enough for the Vault of the Spring Maiden to be opened. The instant Vernal had her back turned and Raven let her guard down, Cinder killed Vernal in her first attempt at pilfering the Spring Maiden magic.

With this in mind, the only incentive I can picture Cinder targeting Oscar with the Relic of Knowledge for is so that she can probably force our poor little barn prince into using the lamp to gain knowledge on the identity and whereabouts of Fria—the Winter Maiden. Since Salem has never successfully gathered any of the Relics, it’s safe to assume that she doesn’t know anything on the kind of powers each Relic possesses. All she probably does know is what Ozma originally disclosed to her during the events of the Lost Fable—bring all four Relics together to summon back the Brothers to place judgment on humanity. And with the God of Light’s warning to Ozma regarding the destruction of Remnant in the face of humanity in chaos, my main presumption is that that’s what Salem wants.

That being said, if Salem didn’t know how the Relics work then I assume neither did her subordinates. This is inclusive of Cinder. So even if Cinder were to somehow pilfer the Relic of Knowledge from Oscar, I doubt it’ll be of any real use to her since she doesn’t know how the Relic works at all. The only way I can picture Cinder acquiring the Relic and gaining the knowledge she desires is by abducting Oscar since he knows what the Relic can do and how to summon Jinn. I can see Cinder taking Oscar hostage in an attempt to force him to tell her how to summon Jinn. However Oscar playing brave refuses to tell Cinder anything no matter what threats she throws his way.

Infuriated, this leads Cinder to her back up plan —using Oscar as bait to lure out her main target—Ruby Rose.

Since working alone honestly didn’t fare well for Cinder last time, I’m going to assume that this is the one time Cinder might heed Raven’s old advice and stick close to Neo so that she could make more use of her little pawn.

I can picture Cinder and Neo working together to get the Relic from Oscar first. However, when they fail to unlock its power; with no dice from Oscar either, the Fire and Ice-cream Duo decide to switch tactics to a more ‘kill two birds with one stone’ type of deal. Not only is the Relic now in their possession but they also had Oscar—a friend to Ruby Rose— who they can now use to lure the unsuspecting little red rose into a trap. So that’s how I can see Oscar being placed in danger with Cinder and Neo. But that’s only if they go after the Relic first.

Here’s what I think could happen using the Relic headcanon:

In V7CH9, Ironwood told Oscar specifically to return to Atlas Academy. The PLOT made sure to draw attention to that very detail.

“…Oscar, I think it’s time you get back to the academy.”“I think you’re right.”

The General also informed everyone that he was going to see to stopping Watts and Tyrian himself. Whether that means that the General will be doing that on foot or not, I’m assuming that Ironwood is probably going to take his own airship and scout Mantle for Tyrian and Watts specifically. The PLOT made sure to highlight that little detail too.

“…What about Watts and Tyrian?”“Leave them to me.”

That being said, while James goes out to find Watts and Tyrian, I’m assuming Oscar will be taking his own separate transport to return to the Academy. Or…so we’re lead to believe. If I remember correctly from the end of last volume, Cinder and Neo are supposed to have their own air ship. Either way, it all sounds like Oscar will be alone at Atlas Academy.

So for the sake of where I’m going with this hunch, let’s say—either on the way to the academy or from the moment he returned safely to the academy, Oscar is assaulted by Neo and Cinder.

Let’s say…the horrible thing Neo ends up doing is using her illusions to trick Oscar into thinking she was Ruby (or another female character else he would openly trust and let his guard down under).Then while Oscar is distracted, Cinder sneaks up behind him and knocks him out.

With Oscar unconscious, Neo ensures to have the boy properly subdued while Cinder takes hold of Oscar’s Scroll. Let’s say…Oscar was keeping abreast of everyone’s progress down in Mantle from Atlas, using JNR or RNJR as his key correspondence. With Oscar’s Scroll, Cinder contacts Ruby.

Down in Mantle, Ruby receives an incoming call from contact handle “Cute Boy Oz” or “Cute Farm Boy”. Thinking it’s Oscar checking in, Ruby answers only for her heart to drop when it’s Cinder’s menacing voice she hears on the other line.

Let’s say…Cinder gives Ruby an instruction she had no choice but to complywith. The Fall Maiden basically threatens Ruby to come alone to a specific spot in Mantle without telling her comrades anything, otherwise Cinder would kill Oscar; just like how she killed Ozpin.

So for the second time in the plot, Ruby is forced to lie—this time to her comrades as she heads off on her own to save Oscar from Cinder. However when Ruby arrives in the exact location Cinder told her to meet her, instead of finding Cinder waiting for her with a hostage Oscar, the little red rose encounters only an illusion of Cinder with Oscar that immediately shatters the moment shemakes contact with it as Neo appears before her.

Cinder did tell Neo that she would leave the killing of Ruby up to her. So this is where they would duke it out. Meanwhile, somewhere else, Cinder is observing the battle from afar with Oscar still out cold and retrained in the background. However Oscar eventually regains consciousness. Let’s say…similar to the airship crash back in Argus, Oz returns once again to help Oscar when the ole soul sensed that his younger protégé was in mortal danger. Let’s say…Oscar only wakes up because he heard Oz’s voice screaming desperately for him to open his eyes.

Long story short, let’s say…with Oz’s help, Oscar gets the upper hand on Cinder before making his daring escape.

Taking notice of Ruby’s battle with Neo from over yonder Mantle, let’s say…Oscar tries his best to make it to Ruby’s side to help her out while trying to manoeuvre his way around Mantle to outrun a pursuing Cinder Fall now gone full Maiden form again—thus sparking their inevitable rematch too.

I’m still iffy on the whole concept of Fire and Ice-cream going after the Relic first since Ruby has been their established target since V6. I have a greater chance at believing they’d take Oscar purely to lure out Ruby, with the fact that he has the Relic being a key reason for them to target him specifically out of all of Ruby’s friends.

Since y’know, after they use Oscar to get to Ruby and kill her, they can always kill Oscar afterwards and take the Relic. Two little birds with one stone, as I said.

That and the fact that Oscar is also the most vulnerable right now since everyone will be down in Mantle (including Ironwood). That’s how I can picture things going down in the event that Cinder and Neo do go after Oscar first.

Overall, this squiggle meister just wants to see the Rosebuds vs Fire and Ice-cream in the Rematch of the century. All so it can possibly culminate in the following:

Oscar unlocking his semblance to save Ruby.

Oscar and Ozpin possibly fighting together as one with Oz lending Oscar his power to fully make use of the true power of the Long Memory.

Oscar defeating Cinder and withdrawing the Fall Maiden magic from her—unlocking his own magical potential while providing Cinder another incentive to hunt down the Winter Maiden for V8 (I have a feeling that Neo and Cinder will survive till V8. I can easily see Neo using the same illusion trick she pulled with Roman back in V2 to allow her time to escape with Cinder).

Oscar and Ruby sharing an actual “Rosegarden romance foreshadowing moment” together which parallels the scene from the Lost Fable where Ozma and Salem first fell in love after escaping the perils of the Lonely Tower together; thus hinting that Ruby and Oscar might be falling in love with each other after escaping Neo and Cinder after trying to save/protect each other.

Those are my views on that. I could be very wrong in my ideas on this but it’s worth a shot sharing, right? Hope it answers you all the same, Dagger.

~LittleMissSquiggles (2020)

#squiggles answers: rwby #oscar pine #ruby rose #cinder fall #rwby neopolitan #rwby theories #rwby volume 7 theories #rwby volume 7 spoilers #rwby rosegarden #pinehead headcanons #squiggles' pinehead headcanons #daggerpawstudios #squiggles answers

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the-gedonelune-times · 5 years ago

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Update and more.

This is just one of those things where I feel like I should be updating more on my blog, but I just haven’t been able to. Since this whole pandemic, I just haven’t been feeling motivated to do anything. I’ve tried sitting down and writing and while I do have some more fics in the works, I have yet to complete them. I honestly don’t know when they’ll be done because I also don’t know where I want to go with them. I plan to still do some incorrect quotes and memes from time to time to lighten up the mood amidst all this stuff going on in the world.

I have another series in the works, a crossover, which has taken some of the remnants of whatever motivation I had left, but honestly? I’m not sure if it’s even worth continuing on. That’s why I’m going to be putting down some raw drafting scenes that have been swirling in my head. I’d love some feedback and see if this crossover series can go anywhere, because if not, then I’d like to just focus on the other fics I have planned.

I know it’s a lot to ask from you guys, but your feedback honestly means the world to me.💙

(Awakening)

Heavy eyes gently fluttered while a weak body stirred on the ground of some ancient ruins. Only a few streams of lights that poured through the cracks pierced through the eerie darkness. The person in question on the floor was beginning to wake from a stasis from an unknown origin. Darkness came into view when they finally awoke and after a few more blinks and pained movement, the figure was now sitting upright on the rubble that they had just been sleeping on. Their eyes were slowly adjusting to the darkness which enveloped them. Curiosity got the better of them and just as they tried to get up and take their first step within the ruins, they fell.

They were far too weak to even walk on their own, their only choice was to crawl over to what looked like remnants of some grand staircase and hoist themself up to their feet. Wobbly at first, they manage to stand on their own and after some mental preparation, they began slowly walking towards the small streams of light. Not knowing where to go and where they even were, they relied on their instincts, pushing forward through the darkness. A few steps later and a bright light in the form of a crystal manifested before them.

One look was all it took for a shaky hand to reach out and touch the crystal that showed a glimmer of hope within. With a bright light, the world began to spin until a new scenery appeared. They only got a glimpse of it, but the outside world looked gorgeous and untamed.

(Untamed)

“My name? Don’t you think you should tell me yours since you’re the outsider here? How do I know that you’re not one of those people from the Order in Luxerion?”

“My name is Liz Hart and what do you mean by the Order and what’s Luxerion?”

“S-Seriously? Did you hit your head and lose your memory? Everyone here knows about Luxerion.”

“I’m sorry. I really don’t know what you’re talking about. I don’t even remember coming here, in fact I don’t even know where I was when I woke up.”

“Woke...up?”

“Yes, it felt like I had been asleep for ages, I couldn’t even walk when I first got up, it was as if I had to teach myself the basic of functions.”

“No way...no way! You’re here then! I knew I wasn’t crazy!” The young woman’s index finger was now being pointed at Liz as if putting her on the spot.

“W-What are you talking about?”

“You’re the one who’s going to rewrite time and save us from the hell that came with the Great Destruction.”

“Great Destruction, what are you -”

“Let’s not talk here.” The young woman interjected. “I’ll take you back to the village and explain things to you there.”

“Huh? Why?”

“You can never be to careful here in the Wildlands, the people are just as untamed and dangerous as those creatures from the pool of chaos. We need to discuss things with people I *know* we can trust.”

“I see…”

“Oh by the way, the name’s Nadia. I didn’t get to properly introduce myself, but I guess it’s better late than never.” Nadia smiled while extending her hand to Liz. “Hop on.”

“We’re going on *that*?!”

“Well duh, traveling by Chocobo is easier and way faster than walking. Not to mention it’s going to be evening soon and that’s when some of the really gnarly monsters come out to play.”

With a small gulp, Liz hesitantly held out her hand, with a strong pull, she was lifted off the ground and was now sitting on the back of the Chocobo. Her fingers gripped Nadia’s shoulder and a scream spilled from her lips as they took off. The wind whipped her hair around wildly while smoke from a village was in sight, answers were about to be revealed which would hopefully fill the hole of uncertainty that rested in her heart.

(The bandit boss)

“Yeah, we’re bandits, but the true evil are the one’s who are part of the Order. A bunch of loonies that bunch is.”

“This is the second time someone has told me that.”

“Oh?”

“A woman by the name of Nadia, she called herself a guardian of the Wildlands and was the leader of one of the villages.”

A smile curved on Persephone’s face. “I can’t believe she’s still alive, I guess her recklessness has made her too stubborn to die.” Persephone laughed. “But she’s not wrong.”

“So then what’s the deal with Luxerion?”

“Luxerion is full of shit, that’s what it is. It’s called the ‘City of Light’ but that statement isn’t true at all. Some lights cast the darkest shadows and Luxerion’s shadows have swallowed up all the civilians into thinking their beloved town is some kind of utopia. The disaster that took place was basically the breeding ground for the evil that lurks in Luxerion. When the Ministry collapsed, people knew they had to have new leadership, unfortunately for them, some group of bastards came in and now has those poor souls by the string like a puppet.” Persephone huffed, clearly disgusted. “That’s why I don’t associate with them and neither should you. If you dive too deep into those shadows, there’s no hope of coming back.”

“But Nadia…” Liz paused. “Nadia said that I had to break through the source of the darkness. It sounds like Luxerion is the source.”

“Right...because you’re the Goddess of Time who’s finally awoken from her slumber. I suppose if anyone has a chance against the Order, it would be you. Still, I wouldn’t go rushing into something you’re not ready to handle.”

“You don’t think I can handle it?” Liz asked.

“Look.” Persephone sighed. “We’ll talk about this later, alright? Until then, rest up, because you and I have a big day tomorrow.”

Persephone smirked before turning on her heel. “Oh and one more thing; welcome to Monoculus.”

With a wave, Persephone left the room, leaving Liz alone to her thoughts. There was so much that she didn’t understand. So many unanswered questions and worries swirled in her heart, it was enough to make her sick.

#fanfic stuff #crossover story between wizardess heart and final fantasy #nadia's ramblings

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transdonaldduck · 5 years ago

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Does Mason know who Della is when she returns? Did Donald ever tell Mason about her?

(word count: 2500ish)

Jessica parks the car across the driveway instead of next toe the garage like usual, destruction blocking her usual path, astroturf and dirt ripped up and torn, gouges dug into the earth by mighty hands. The remnants of the gilded man were strung out across the lawn, a great Goliath felled by sound, and Mason stared with wide eyes at the carnage.

Her mom stares at the sight too, “...the boys did say everyone was alright, yes?”

“Yeah.” Mason nods, checking her phone again for posterity's sake, “They just said something big happened, and we should come over. Didn’t specify what, though- this must have been it.”

“Maybe Dr. Gearloose tried his hand at another helpful AI?” Jessica suggests, finally flipping off the engines and hopping out of the car.

“No, that's the gilded man from El Dorado,” unbuckling her seatbelt, mason grabs her backpack and follows after her mom, “Dad told me a little about that adventure, I thought he had been destroyed a long time ago, though. Maybe he wasn't quite as broken as they thought.”

Jessica climbs the stairs, not bothering to knock before she opens the front door, “Remind me why I let you stay here?” she teases.

“Pft, dad’s not into adventuring anymore, the most wild thing we do is play scrabble with Great Uncle Scrooge.”

Fake shuddering, Jessica shakes her head as if remembering something particularly traumatizing, “Don’t remind me of that night.”

“Um? Hello?” A voice says sharply and Jessica and Mason jump, looking up- and standing at the very top of the stairs is Della Duck, staring down at them with her hands oh her hips and her eyes narrowed.

Masons jaw drops, and she sees her Mom’s do the same out of the corner of her eye. They both stand there in stunned silence, gawking at the woman who’d everyone assumed had died over a decade ago- she was taller than Mason would have thought, and she had her hair cut into a sharp and short bob at her jawline, bangs hanging across her forehead messily. Her jaw was set, and her eyes were narrowed in suspicion, which only seemed to grow the longer they just looked at her.

Jessica opened and closed her mouth like a fish before finally spitting out an eloquent, “Are you- you’re Della Duck!” She pointed out dumbly.

“Yeah?” There was a long pause as Della raises both her eyebrows expectantly.

“Oh!” Jessica slaps her forehead, coming back down to earth, “This- I’m Jessica Quackmire, and this is my daughter Mason!” Her mom flashes a warm smile, stepping forward, “Sorry about that it’s just… quite a shock, to see you!”

Della descends the rest of the stairs, slightly more at ease now that Jessica has introduced them but still vaguely wary of strangers in her home, “I get that a lot.” She smiles thinly, holding her hand out for Jessica to shake, “So… are you friends of the family?”

“Mason!” A voice interrupts loudly, Dewey swinging around the railing of the stairs to beam at her before spinning around to literally yell up the stairs, “Mason is here!”

Dewey bounds down the stairs and skids to a stop in front of her, pointing excitedly at Della, “Didn’t I tell you something big happened?! My mom came back!”

Huey and Webby appear, following their brother down the stairs to greet her, “Hi Mason!” Webby waved, a bit more subdued than Dewey but still her excitable self.

“I leave you all alone for two days and I miss out on all the fun!” Mason laughs, setting her backpack aside and pulling Dewey into a hug and spinning his around playfully, barely managing not to trip forward when Webby decides she wants to join in and leaps up on her back.

“It’s not like we could plan this sort of thing.” Huey points out jokingly, gratefully accepting a fist bump rather than a full on hug.

Looking around, Mason tucks Dewey under one arm, holding him up by his stomach with one hand and transferring Webby from her back so she can hold her the same way, “Hey, where’s Louie?”

“Probably sleeping,” Dewey hums, squirming so he can look at her, “You know how he is about adventuring and excitement, it tires him! and considering he almost got crushed by the gilded man i’d say he’s out cold.”

“Almost crushed-!” Jessica brought her hand up to touch the edge of her beak, a nervous habit, “What happened? Is everyone alright?”

“No one got seriously injured.” Della reassured her instantly, puffing up a little in pride, “My boys and I managed to stop the Gilded man before he could cause much damage.”

“Granny got hit,” Webby pipes up, her excitable nature quieting with her words, “She’s fine, just a little sore. She’s resting right now.”

“Oh, poor Mrs. Beakley!” shaking her head, Jessica furrowed her brow as if thinking something over, “Doesn’t she usually make your lunch? Have you eaten?”

Huey scratches his head, “No, we haven't had the chance.”

“Okay, that settles it then!” Jessica claps her hands together, “I’m gonna go check on Mrs. Beakley and make sure she’s still feeling alright, and then I'll get started on lunch. I’ll have to see what you have in the way of ingredients before I can decide what we’ll be having though.”

Webby flips herself forward and out of Masons grasp, catching herself easily and popping up, “Can I do anything?” She asks pleadingly, “I want to help Granny too!”

Fishing out her keys, Jessica passes them off to webby, “I have my go-bag from the hospital with me, it’s got my stethoscope and a few other items I might need to check over your grandma, and it’s out in my car. If you want, you can go grab it for me-” webby grabs the keys from her hand and races out the door, “It’s the red bag!” She calls after her.

Mason shifts Dewey out from under her arm, swinging him around by his armpits to stand him up properly, “If you’re getting lunch started soon, we should go wake up Louie.” she points out.

“So, are you like, Uncle Scrooge’s personal nurse or something?” Della asks suddenly, features puzzled.

Jessica stalls, frowning at her openly, and Huey winces, “We… might have… forgotten to mention you two.”

“Sorry!” Dewey says immediately, “it’s just with all the excitement and everything- there was so much happening! Huey threw up!” he pointed an accusing finger at the boy.

“Hey!”

“Boys!” Jessica says, firm yet warm still (in what Mason secretly considered her mom-voice) and they both fell quiet, “It’s okay, we understand.”

“No worries.” Mason backs her up instantly, nodding.

Turning back to Della, Jessica flashes her an apologetic smile, “Sorry, it didn’t click that you had no idea who we are. As I said before, I’m Jessica and this is Mason,” She smooths a strand of hair behind the edge of her beak, barely hesitating before barrelling on, “...and your brother Donald is Mason's father.”

Dellas eyebrows disappeared into her hair, jaw dropping open, and now it's her turn to gawk at Mason. She smiles at the older woman, “Hi!”

“I… how old are you?” Della blurts out.

“Fifteen.” Mason offers.

“When…?” She asks, dumbfounded.

“Donald and his band played at a bar my college friends and I used to visit, and… well, y’know, one thing led to another…” She ducks her head a little.

Webby burst back through the door holding the red bag triumphantly, “I got it!” She announces, hoisting it above her head.

Jessuca brightens, taking the heavy bag from her, “Thank you Webby! Now, your grandma likes mint tea, right? Why don’t you and Huey go make her some? I bet that will make her feel a lot better.”

Looking almost visibly relieved, Webby nods enthusiastically and grabs Hueys hand, dragging him out of the room.

Della shakes her head as if just coming out of her stupor, “Wait- are you sure it’s a good idea to have them using the stove unsupervised?”

“Webby’s worried about her grandma, she’s got a lot of pent up nervous energy right now. She needed to be doing something to help to settle her nerves.” Jessica explains, poking around in the bag to make sure she has everything she needs, “And they’re both incredibly self sufficient and for the most part responsible, but that why I had huey tag along. We had a discussion about using the stove without permission, so he knows to warm up the water in the microwave.”

Mason makes a face, “Microwave?”

Jessica sticks her tongue out at her playfully, “It’s just water, Mason. It tastes the same.”

“I can’t believe we’re related!” Mason jokes, turning to Dewey, “Hey, I'm gonna help my mom with Mrs. B, why don’t you go get Louie up?”

Dewey nods, giving her a thumbs up, “Good idea dear sister of mine! We all know how Louie can sleep like a rock.” He takes off up the stairs on all fours.

Jessica starts to follow after him, branching off to go up the opposite side of the stairs towards Mrs. Beakleys room, Mason follows at a brisk pace. Della starts, scrambling to follow after them, seeming to cling to their footsteps so she doesn’t get lost, looking almost out of place in the manors halls. Jessica is rubbing her chin thoughtfully, eyebrows furrowed as she considers what questions to ask when she gets to see her patient- and there an excited glint in her eye, a chance to flex her new skill set putting a little spring in her step, despite the circumstances.

There’s almost no time to think before Jessica stops and reaches up to rap at a seemingly random door, “Betina? It’s Jessica. The kids told me what happened, would you mind if I looked you over?”

There's a pause, barely a sound, and then the door swings open. Mrs. Beakley looks… perfectly fine. There’s not a hair out of place, her clothes are perfectly pressed, and she’s even in her apron. There’s the slightest upturn of her bill, “I was wondering when I should expect a visit from you, but there’s no need to worry, it’s just a few bruises. I’m feeling fine.”

Jessica takes one long, scrutinizing look at the housekeeper before sighing, “And you look it, too, but would you let me check anyway? Just for peace of mind.”

Mrs. Beakley considers the request, “...for webby?” She assumes.

“She’s worried,” Jessica winces, “I want to help put her at ease.”

She opens up the door a little bit, “Come in... though I would prefer without an audience.”

Della frowns, eyebrows drawing in.

“Just here in case mom needs anything, Mrs. B!” Mason assures her, “I’ll hang out right outside the door with…” Her voice fails her as she looks up at Della uncertainty, unsure of what to call her, “Ms. Della.” She settles on with a smile.

“Thank you Honey bee!” her mom flashes her a warm grin, “I’ll only be a few minutes! Be sure to keep you sibling out for Mrs. Beakleys privacy okay?” At Masons thumbs up, Jessica shuts the door.

There’s a no quite awkward pause before Della shuffles her feet nervously, “So…” She starts, unsure, “You’re my niece, huh?”

“Yup.” Mason nods for a bit too long, looking away from Dellas expectant face to stare awkwardly anywhere else. As the silence stretches she can feel her face tighten, absently rocking back and forth on her heels for something to do.

“You look a lot like my brother.” Della offers, wincing as how the sentence seems to end too abruptly.

“Thanks, I get that a lot.” She smiles, “... um, do you… like any TV shows?”

“I’ve been on the moon for the past ten years, so… y’know, there’s not. Cable up there.” She forces a laugh, and it’s clear she's distinctly uncomfortable and Mason feels a bit of sympathy for the older woman.

“Yeah.” the conversation is dead, and Mason is sure she just killed it- but how are you supposed to respond to that!?

There’s another long pause.

“I’m sorry-” Della claps a hand over her face, drawing it down with a frustrated frown, “-This should be easy, but it’s like I don’t know what to say! I just-” She curls her hands into fists, face twisting like shes tasted something particularly sour.

“Hey, look, it’s cool.” Taking a step back, mason holds up her hands placatingly, “You’ve been away for a really long time, you don't have to have it all figured out right now.”

Immediately the frustration slides off Dellas shoulders, and she looks at Mason guiltily, “Oh, Mason, i’m sorry sweetie, I didn’t mean to unload on you like that.” She takes a deep breath, centering herself, “It’s… I had a lot of time on the moon to think about all the things I would say to the boys… and any situation outside of that is hard for me because I was alone for a very long time. I didn’t mean to explode like that, I may still be adjusting but I am also an adult, and you don’t need to carry my baggage.” she explains carefully.

Dropping her hands back to her side, Mason offers her a genuine smile, “It’s okay, really. I’m glad you’re back, Mrs. Della.”

“You can call me Aunt Della, if you want.” She says carefully, looking a little hopeful.

“...Aunt Della.” Mason tests with a smile, “I think I like the sound of that.”

Della hesitantly hold open her arms and Mason closes the gap between them, hugging her lightly. Mason was looking forward to learning more about her aunt. Dad had already told her some of the more mild stories from their time adventuring, but she was under the impression Della had quite a few more fun stories up her sleeve she was eager to hear about.

“I got the tea!” Webby announces, coming down the hallway.

Mason pulls away, “Mom’s still in there looking Mrs. B over.”

The door opens as if on cue and Jessica comes out, trailed by Mrs. beakley herself, “Other than a few bruises, she’s got a clean bill of health! Some rest and a day or two of light work and you’ll be back to normal, doctors orders!” she jokes when Mrs. Beakley goes to protest.

“I made you some tea, Granny.” Webby holds out the saucer, looking incredibly pleased with herself, “I’m glad you’re okay!”

“Thank you, I think I'm going to drink it in my room. A little more rest doesn’t sound half bad.” She admits, accepting the cup.

“I’ll get started on lunch, then!” nodding decisively, Jessica picks up her bag once more, she places a hand on Webbys shoulder, “Let’s give your grandma some peace and quiet so she can take a nap, okay?”

Webby nods dutifully, racing off back down the hall to find her siblings.

“I should actually go say hi to Louie,” Mason announces, watching her sister run off, “He’ll be upset if I wait much longer.”

Decision made, Mason breaks into a light jog after webby- her steps stutter a little bit and she turns around at the first corner, “See you later, Aunt Della!”

Della waves, smiling at her brightly.

#della duck #mason duck #jessica quackmire #this like barely hints at dellas beef w jessica kdjdaskfdasj #my writing #Anonymous

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whumptasticwednesday · 6 years ago

Text

(Semi) Grown-Ass Man - (Peter Maximoff - X-Men: Dark Phoenix)

!!X-MEN DARK PHOENIX SPOILERS!!

Author’s Note: Hey, LividFigureSkatingLover (Ash) here! I hope you enjoyed the fic posted last week that Jimmy uploaded for me. That was actually something I’d written months ago but we felt like it would be an appropriate beginning fic. This, however, is a fresh fic that I started writing the day after Jimmy and I went to see Dark Phoenix on opening night. Needless to say, we were both disappointed with the critical lack of Peter in this movie. Like, you can’t just yeet your fan-favorite character into the sidewalk and have him carried off the jet in a stretcher without acknowledging anything! Anyways, next week will be Jimmy’s week to upload a fic, so you won’t see me for a while, but I can assure you my next fic is in the works. HINT: It’s addressing the critical lack of Dadneto in this film (although after that I think I’ll be done with the Peter fics for now.) Anyways, enjoy the fic! (This fic is also unedited so if you catch any errors, feel free to let me know!)

Word Count: 5749

It had all felt like an instant. One moment, the X-Men were emerging from their jet to bring Jean Grey home, the next, irreversible and horrific destruction. It all ended with Jean soaring into the sky and disappearing into the clouds with a distraught Scott and an angry and grief-ridden Hank on the asphalt. Charles slumped back into his chair and sighed. Nobody could have expected this. The crushed police cars and house smashed like a Popsicle stick craft project were just white noise to the heavy betrayal, anger, grief, and pain filling the atmosphere. The uncanny silence was only broken when Scott angrily shouted,"what the actual fuck are we supposed to do? Jean can't just, she didn't just, she wouldn't ha-"

"Damnit, Scott, can you shut your mouth for two seconds?!" Hank angrily seethed to the laser-eyed man. "You're not the only one standing here in the wake of Jean's unprovoked carnage. I don't think you can even begin to imagine how I feel right now... at least Jean's body isn't sticking out from a protruding wood spire"

Scott, being an impulsive young man, used every ounce of discipline in his reserve and resisted the strong urge to fire up an argument with Hank, and seconds after seeing Raven's impaled corpse, the fiery retort died on his lips, and it was instead replaced by a sudden realization as to the damage Jean had caused, emotionally and physically. The white noise of destruction was now a heavy screaming siren pounding in everyone's ears. Hank needed something to take his mind off of what had happened, losing his unrequited love due to a selfish impulse from one of his lifelong friends was too much for his mind to process at the moment. Since he couldn't do anything else, Hank did what he did best, took a calculated approach to fixing the catastrophe around him.

"We need to find Kurt and Peter. Scott, come help me... please," Hank trailed off as he turned away from Raven's lifeless body. "Charles, do something with her."

The cold and almost robotic tone from Hank was a sharp, almost eerie, contrast from the distraught tears that, only minutes ago, were streaming down his cheeks. Scott's mind, clouded by his own lovesick thoughts, followed Hank's orders on autopilot. Charles remained silent and observant as Scott and Hank trudged to the wooden remnants of Jean's childhood home in search of Kurt and Peter.

After what seemed like hours of precariously moving rubble and assorted wood pieces, Scott saw a mop of black and blue hair under a cracked 4x4.

"Hank, I think I found Kurt," Scott breathed a sigh of relief.

"Be careful, let's get all this off of him," Hank replied.

The two worked carefully and precisely until all of Kurt's body was exposed. His yellow uniform and his face were dusty and covered in grime and a small amount of blood. Hank gently tapped on the mutant teen's face as Scott hovered over his shoulder. Kurt didn't stay unresponsive for long though, and after a few of Hank's prods, he shot up off the floor with Jean's name fresh on his tongue, unaware of what had transpired after he'd been rendered unconscious.

"W-what? Jean, where's Jean? Is everyone okay?" the words fell out faster than Kurt himself could even process, and his mind hadn't quite caught up with the fact that he'd been crushed under the weight of an entire house.

"Kid, slow down. We'll explain later, okay? How do you feel? Do you know where Peter is?" Scott asked, questions firing faster than intended.

"No, I'm sorry. I can help you look for him though. Let me do something, I swear I'm fine." Kurt shot up off the ground, only to stumble into Scott's unprepared arms.

"Take it easy. Jean collapsed a house on top of you, I don't know how great you'll be functioning at the moment," Hank explained as Kurt nodded slowly with an exhausted and pained wince. "Alright, let's go find Peter."

Scott slung the lanky blue mutant's arm over his shoulder to support his weight as the trio began to search for the silver speedster. Since he moved so quickly it was hard to actually determine what Jean even did to Peter, as their confrontation lasted less than seconds to the average person's eye. The only thing Hank and Scott had seen was Peter being catapulted across the street and out of sight, so neither were all too excited to find out as to how he might be faring.

It took some time, but the three eventually stumbled upon Peter's battle-broken body lying slumped against a tree in a thick wooded area dozens of yards away from the street where Jean had wreaked havoc. Trailing his body was a coarse trail of uprooted grass and dirt, emphasizing the power and distance he'd been hurled across. Peter seemed almost as lifeless as Raven, his body heavily slumped against the tree he'd collided with, blood streaking his X-Men uniform, face, and silver hair, along with dark dirt blotching his sweaty face, which was pulled up into a pained grimace. His signature goggles were loosely strung in his messily kept hair and one of the lenses was very visibly shattered, an ugly spider-like crack pronounced in the center of the lens.

"Oh my god, Peter!" Kurt let out a strangled cry as he laid eyes on his friend. He tried to stop the sobs as each one wracked his battered and sore body, but he couldn't. This was too much for him to bear.

As Kurt's sobs filled the forest, Hank ran his calculative eyes up and down Peter's body as his mind contemplated what would be the best course of action. He didn't want to risk worsening any external or internal injuries by jostling him in a carry to the jet, but he wasn't all too sure what help he could do with Peter out cold in the woods with no real medical assistance or tools around to help. As Scott tried to calm the ever panicked Kurt, Hank gingerly shifted Peter from his half-upright slumped position to lying flat on the ground. He ripped open the top of Peter's X-Men uniform and scanned the damage; bruises as black and blue as Kurt's hair dotted Peter's pale chest and his upper right shoulder. This wasn't going to be fun to deal with. Hank shot his eyes back to Peter's blood-stained face, hoping that tearing off his clothes would at least elicit some sort of response from the boy. Alas, nothing. As the seconds ticked by, Hank devised the one plan that would end in the least harm to all of them.

"Kurt, I know we're far away, I know you're tired, I know you're injured, but I need you to teleport us back to the jet. We can't move Peter like this, it's too risky, he's too badly hurt and I don't want to make this more painful for him than it has to be. You've gotta do this for us, okay?" Hank explained. He knew the kid's power took energy out of everyone he was teleporting, and with the damage eveyone'd sustained from the battle, it would be too dangerous to have Kurt warp multiple times, Peter wouldn't make it, and judging from his hazy eyes, Kurt didn't have enough energy for more than one teleport anyways.

Anxious scenarios began flooding Kurt's mind as his eyes filled with fear, the words he spoke dripping with self-doubt, "W-what if I can't? What if I mess it all u-up and I warp us halfway into a car and kill us all! H-hank, I can't do it."

Instead of coddling the boy like he normally would have, Hank let the dire situation speak for itself when he bluntly stated, "Kurt, I know you're scared, but Peter might die if we can't get him back to the jet. You've gotta take some faith in yourself and your powers and get us home, okay? Don't do it for me, do it for Peter. He needs you to do this for him."

It may have been the stern yet sincere tone of Hank's words, or hearing outright that Peter might die, but Kurt mustered up enough confidence to say, "alright... for Peter."

Hank shifted Peter into his lap as he joined hands with Scott and Kurt. Kurt silently prayed to God that he wouldn't kill all of his friends by pushing his ability's limits in an already weakened state, and with a last tension filled breath, the group disappeared into a dark cloud, appearing, seconds later, in the jet.

Scott felt extremely disoriented after the warp and his eyes raced around the jet before they landed on Hank's face, "shit. That felt weird."

"Indeed," Hank replied.

"I-I did it," Kurt sighed in relief as his eyelids fluttered closed and he collapsed onto the floor.

"Kurt!" Scott exclaimed.

"He's fine, just overexerted himself. He just needs to sleep for a bit and eat. This happened after his fight in Cairo too. Now hurry up and help me with Peter, he's not doing too hot," Hank explained as he set to work.

------

WOW A TIME SKIP... At Xavier's School in the weird bunker area where they do X-Men stuff...

"He's still not up. You're gonna have to do something, Hank. He's gonna start healing and I don't think that his shoulder is gonna do it properly with the way it looks right now," Scott stated as he stared blankly at Peter's bloody and bruised body on the gurney.

Hank ran his fingers through his hair as he tossed his glasses onto the lab table. He didn't wanna set the joint without Peter being conscious, for fear he'd spring awake and cause himself even more harm if he took an instantaneous flight response. But, if he waited too long, Peter's enhanced healing would work against his favor and heal the crucial joint in the wrong way. He had to make a decision, and although it posed risks, it was better than Peter sustaining lasting joint damage.

Hank was just about to grab the limb to jerk it back into place when Peter shot up from the gurney with a blood-curdling scream of pure agony. Peter's eyes were hazy, confused, and full of pain as they raced around in search of what was going on and why everything hurt so bad. His eyes eventually met Hank's as he collapsed back onto the gurney, heaving heavy pained breaths into his cut and bruised chest.

"Hank, w-whass happenin, wha happened to me? E-everrythin's blurry and hurts," Peter slurred as tears unwillingly escaped the corners of his eyes. Throbbing, pulsing pain coursed through Peter's seemingly small frame as he started to unwillingly cry out of confusion and agonizing pain.

"Peter, you're at the X-Men base under the school. Jean threw you across the street with her powers and you hit a tree. You are safe and you're gonna be okay. I'm gonna help you, okay?" Hank said slowly to the shaken boy. Peter only gave a tiny pained nod as he bit his lip to try and stifle his crying.

"Can't we give him anything to numb the pain, like anesthesia or even ibuprofen? Setting the shoulder is gonna be excruciating for him," Scott asked, just wanting to lessen the agony for Peter.

"That's the thing, though. His fast healing and super speed are paired with an extremely quick metabolism. Anything we could give him in a normal person's dosage, he would burn right through."

"Can't we just give him a higher dosage?"

"If you wanna risk him overdosing, then sure."

Scott cast sympathetic eyes down onto Peter's terrified face, and although hidden by the signature ruby-lensed glasses, were full of sorrow as he fully realized what Jean had done. He felt nothing but pity for the pure fear and pain the boy was feeling. Peter's mind was racing back to when they had to set his broken leg and he didn't want to go through that again. He felt pathetic, a (semi)grown-ass man crying because he had to get a limb set. His sarcastic and dry-humored subconscious internally retorted: grow a pair!

"I'm sorry, Peter. We're gonna have to do this now. Bite this," Hank said as he dangled a rag above Peter's now bleeding lips. Peter grit his teeth and graciously took the cloth as the only thing to provide a semblance of comfort to the undoubted pain he was about to experience. "Alright, Scott, I need you to hold him down in case this goes South..."

Scott nodded in affirmation as he grabbed onto Peter's other arm and hovered above his already pretty immobile body while Hank took one more tentative glance over the silver-haired boy before locking eyes with Scott and clutching Peter's bicep in one hand and his shoulder blade with his other.

"Do you want me to count down?" Hank asked, knowing full well he would count to 3 but snap on 2. Peter nodded as he scrunched up his face with terrified anticipation, a visible layer of shining sweat collecting on his features. "Okay, one, tw-"

The last sound of 'two' was cut off by the cracking of a limb and Peter's howl and wailing cries of pure agony as he thrashed about violently on the gurney as Scott tried his best to gently restrain him without causing any more pain. Fat and ugly tears were freely streaming down Peter's face as the crippling pain in his shoulder coursed through his body and started to dull into an acute ache resonating from the base of his neck all the way down his bicep. His vision was blurred not only by his salty tears but by the waves of pain and adrenaline attempting to cancel each other out like an ocean current crashing into a reef bay. It was all a bit too much for Peter to handle. He went to curl in on himself, a primal instinct to go to the fetal position was shooting to his mind, yet when he tried, every dulled injury in his torso screamed back an affirmative and defiant: no!

Hank had sent Scott to get water bottles when he heard Peter's defeated and miserable whimper, which sent his own head whipping around to face the boy using his left arm to desperately clutch at his raw and tender torso, which was covered in dirt filled cuts and bruises that were attempting to heal over. Like any mutant power, there was a limit, and it was clear that Peter's advanced healing was taking on way more than it was able to handle, so his body's scattered attempts to heal his numerous external and internal injuries weren't doing him any favors besides exhausting him of what little energy he had.

"I'm sorry, Peter, I know you're in a lot of pain right now but I can't do anything for you but stitch up your major cuts and scan you for internal injuries. You know you can't have the regular pain medication," Hank stated, apprehension seeping into his every word as he ran his fingers through Peter's messy and unkempt hair that was now rifled with blood and sweat in an attempt to soothe the boy.

"I-I can't it... my c-chest," Peter stumbled through his attempted sentence, taking hasty and pinched wheezes instead of true breaths between his words. He was past humiliation at this point, any semblance of his normally sarcastic and fun-loving self was covered up by his embarrassment and indescribable pulsating torment wracking his body. Here he was, crying like a toddler while Hank of all people was petting his scalp, what an uncanny situation.

Scott returned moments later with extra towels and an armful of water bottles nestled hastily in his grasp. Much to Peter's dismay, Hank was terrified that Peter might choke if he stayed laying down, so his stitches and internal scan were going to be done upright. The simple shift in the gurney's position further aggravated the mysterious angry irritation in Peter's chest and sent him into a series of dry and forceful coughs, each one racking his exhausted body harder than the last. Peter never thought in a million years that the crack of the plastic seal on a water bottle would be so gratifying, yet here he was, face melting at the opportunity to soothe his parched esophagus and hopefully replenish at least some of his lost energy. Scott took to cleaning out Peter's minor injuries, starting the stitches, and helping him drink, while Hank was running a full body diagnostic on the silver-haired mutant. Peter's mind had slipped into a half-conscious yet fully-feeling feverish state where he wasn't really functioning, yet he knew what was happening. It took every ounce of his strength not to just pass out and sleep. He felt the tense prick of the needle every time Scott went back to further close up a gaping wound and he felt the ever present stare of Hank as he started running all his scans. The only time Peter came out of this hazy half-awake state was to drink that delightful and soothing water. Compared to every other sensory input, the water felt like heaven in the fiery depths of hell. The soothing liquid ran down his arid windpipe and seemed to address his every need, until it hit his stomach and he was met with a discomforted static strain in his abdomen. It was uncomfortable, sure, but didn't seem like it needed to be addressed, so Peter plastered on his bravest face (still kind of failing though) as he lightly furrowed his brow and drew his knees up closer to his chest, despite the protest of his aching (and presumably broken) ribs. Scott noticed, as did Hank, but neither thought too much of it as they continued with their busy work. Again, none of them were prepared as to what would happen next.

Fifteen minutes later, just as the diagnostic's results were finishing up, Peter's slight discomfort had warped into a stabbing and indescribable pain as he was wracked with waves of thick and heavy nausea. Scott was almost done with tying off the last gash on Peter's injured arm when he jerked violently to the side and began projectile vomiting, the only thing arising from Peter's forceful heaving being sticky yellow bile and an alarming mix of blood. Each unproductive heave was followed up by another wave of sickening nausea, which was followed up by another (usually successful) upchuck of fluids. Peter was running out of breath, strength, and stomach contents to empty as he grasped desperately to Scott's arm and his own horribly aggravated abdomen.

"Oh, Peter! Oh my god! Hank, what do I do?!" Scott yelled frantically as he reached to hold back Peter's long and uncontrolled hair as the latter's body faltered over into another bout of wheezy heaving. Scott, however, was not expecting to have his hand be met with an alarming heat that seemingly radiated off of Peter's forehead. He touched his hands around the rest of Peter's face and his neck during a calm period of the heaving and Hank took the opportunity to hastily place a trashcan between Peter's legs to lessen the contortion his body had to do in order to avoid vomiting his own bodily fluids onto himself. "He's got a bad fever. Is this from th-"

"It's because his body's working too hard to handle everything happening to it," Hank cut him off "It doesn't know where or when to start or stop and it's confused. He needs fluids to replenish his energy, especially after throwing up every ounce of water you just gave him. We're probably going to have to administer an IV."

The large technologically advanced screen in front of him blinked and beeped, signifying that the diagnostic was finished. At a speed that only Peter could best (at full health), Hank pulled up the imaging and was met with two giant glaring orange marks on an overall blue scan; those being 3 fractured ribs and some sort of internal injury on Peter's stomach lining. Oh my god, Hank thought to himself before nearly shouting to Scott, "He's internally bleeding in his stomach, that's why he vomited. That's why there's so much blood... " Hank took a second to calculate what to do. "We need him hooked up to an IV, NOW. Go get me the supplies."

Scott didn't even nod as he scrambled to his feet and dashed off to find what Hank needed. Peter himself was almost completely unconscious at this point, the high fever , empty reserves of strength, and overwhelming pain from every inch of his body were the perfect trio of unbearable feelings were one stroke away from completely pulling him under a fitful blanket of unconsciousness. He was just about to pass the brink and into the darkness when he felt the abrupt patting of Hank dabbing a soaked rag across his face and the dripping of cool water down his neck. The next thing he felt was the forceful jab in his arm and the strange dull feeling of the unknown slowly overtaking him. His spotted vision gave way to darkness as everything faded away.

"Peter? Damnit, he passed out. It's fine, we just need to keep him stable. I don't know how sustainable this is going to be for him. His body is gonna churn through this fluid faster than a toddler sips a juice box, but it's better than nothing," Hank sighed. And for the first time since Peter had awoken, the room filled with an unsettling complacent silence, the only other thing occupying the space being the exhausted pants from Hank and Scott, accompanied by Peter's tight and wheezy breathing.

------

WOW, ANOTHER TIME SKIP... At relatively the same location we were earlier, but like, a day later...

"Ughh..." Peter groaned. Unlike the previous day's events, though, was brought out less by discomfort, and more from boredom. He fidgeted anxiously with a loose thread on his pants while Hank swapped out his IV for what seemed like the thousandth time between the last 24 hours. "When can I get up and you know" Peter gestured abruptly with his hands "go."

"Give it a few more days, Peter. I know your mind is saying that it wants to get up and run 5 laps around the earth, but your body isn't ready for it. You're still running a temperature, your arm isn't going to be in full shape for a while, you might need physical therapy, the ligaments were pretty screwed up, and I don't want you aggravating your ribs or your stomach just yet," Hank insisted as Peter rolled his eyes. The speedster, despite knowing he wasn't nearly ready to be up and flying across rooms at the speed of sound, wanted to be productive. Part of his motivations for being up and at it was also the fact that he wished to hide his immense shame from the relented sob-fest that was yesterday evening by (like how Peter dealt with most of his problems) running until he couldn't feel his legs or until he couldn't give a damn and cared about nothing except the blurred scenery around him. However, it was hard to do either of those things when you were confined to a gurney in a bunker with an IV drip tethered to one arm and a sling on another.

As Hank left the room, Peter was met by yet another sickening silence, this time, the only thing filling the room was his growing sense of wanting to be productive and just run, but alas, he couldn't. Having just slept for a sizable amount of the day, Peter was just itching for some entertainment, but being stuck in an empty room with no such objects to scratch that itch, he was growing irritable.

Little did the silver-haired mutant know that another certain lanky teleporting teen was standing right outside the door to his room in the medical bay, working up the courage to rebel against Hank's firm: "no, he needs to sleep" statement that Kurt was met with when he asked if he could go and visit his friend. Not being one to break many rules, Kurt was apprehensive about entering, hence his (kind of silly) minor internal dilemma. Mustering up enough courage, Kurt warped inside the room, where he was met with a "Jesus Christ!" from Peter. Kurt, startled by the shout, stumbled backwards and fell. From his position on the ground, he let out a shy,"hi, Peter. How are you feeling?"

"God, dude, you scared the shit out of me. Give a man a warning before you teleport into his private room where he's being held captive against his will next time!" Peter answered, sarcasm dripping in every syllable.

Kurt, being known to take nearly everything extremely literally, responded,"Has Hank been corrupted!? What has he done to you Peter? Do I need to tell the professor that Hank's gone mad, or is it all one big conspiracy?!"

"Whoa there, chill. As much as I'd like the added spice in life that a Hank-and-Charles-gone-mental plot would provide, I think it's safe to say that they're pretty sane... for now."

"Alrighty then. Well, I've come against Hank's wishes to keep you company, what do you want to do?"

"Hank wants me to suffer and die alone? What a traitor!" Peter grabbed at his chest, feigning heartbreak, wincing as his attempt at humor irritated his cracked ribs.

"I doubt that is true. I believe that the correct term to describe your behavior would be a drama queen."

"You'd be correct, buckaroo. Would you mind zipping to my room and grabbing my Walkman and my GameBoy?"

"Um, no problem," Kurt replied as he disappeared in a dark cloud.

Mere moments later, he reappeared with the music player and the gaming device. Peter eagerly reached out for both devices, acting like a hyperactive toddler who'd just been offered a lollipop. Although, the hyperactive toddler description wasn't too far off from Peter's personality normally. The plastic shells of both items were like comfort food and finally brought some form of distraction besides twiddling his thumbs for hours on ends or watching that 'maybe-speck-of-dust-maybe-spider' dance along the bright walls. He switched on his music and popped in an earbud, offering the other to a tentative looking Kurt.

"Dude, you've gotta try this. Please don't tell me Scott's scared you off from American music with his pansy-ass music," Peter insisted as he spun the earbud with his unslinged hand.

"It's not that... it's just, your music, in particular, has, on several occasions, shaken the entire school," Kurt replied as he took the listening device.

"It's called a 'jam session', Kurt," Peter explained as he used very visible air quotes to emphasize his point.

"Alright, if you insist," Kurt sighed as the guitar rifs and crashing of drums filled his pointed ears. He wasn't the hugest fan of all of Peter's loud rock or the deep heavy beats of Scott's rap, but he sat there regardless to try and enjoy a quiet moment with his friend. Moments like these were becoming harder and harder to come by as their world seemed to get even more hectic. The mutants had assumed that the battle in Cairo would have been the worst of it, it sure felt like it at the time, but now they were facing a new evil, one of their friends. Kurt really wanted to talk to Peter about it, maybe even break the news that Raven died, but he felt too timid, and compared to Peter's bold and audacious personality, he felt like nothing. Peter stopped his headbanging for a moment, and that sliver of time was long enough to notice the semi-uncharacteristic silence from the shy yet friendly Kurt, who was awkwardly staring at Peter's feet, caught in an apparent distracted trance, all headed by the semi-somber and contemplative look plastered on his face. Peter clicked the pause and the cassette stopped rolling. This seemed to snap Kurt out of his trance, and the new silence was quickly filled by Peter.

"You got a toe fetish or something? I mean, I know I'm incredibly sexy, but I didn't know you were into that, Kurt. Jeez!" he teased. Kurt just drew his knees up to his chest and shrunk up his neck to try and hide; whether he was hiding from embarrassment of having a strange sexual trigger or something else on his mind was completely beyond Peter's thoughts.

"You never answered my question..."

"What question?"

"How are you feeling. When we went to try and stop Jean, she crushed me with her house, and I couldn't help at all. I felt useless. It... sucked. And then, Scott and Hank dug me out of the rubble and we went to find you. You looked..." Kurt started choking on his own words, scared he'd start crying. Peter felt a strong urge to make another joke about his 'very undoubtedly sexy' body to finish the sentence, but he wanted to hear him finish. He knew Kurt was going somewhere serious when the German boy used the word: sucked, it didn't seem like something in his vocabulary, much less like a word he'd willingly use unless he really felt like he needed to. "I saw you there, laying on the ground, covered in dirt, bleeding everywhere, with this horrible, agonized expression on your face, just... stuck there. I'm so used to you smirking, laughing, or doing that weird thing where you raise your eyebrows up and down after you are sarcastic or make a joke, and to see you like that, still and sad, I just cried. I was terrified that you were already dead. I've never seen you sit still on your own for more than 5 minutes. Even after the fight in Cairo when you had your entire leg broken and in a cast on crutches, you were still smiling, animated as ever. I don't know how you do it, Peter... you're always so happy. I mean, I try, but I can't help but be..."

"Scared?"

"Yeah." For a few moments, the room was silent, seemingly becoming a common theme, and yet again, it did not last long.

"Hahaha..."

"Peter, are you... laughing?"

"You've got me all wrong, Kurt. I may be an impatient wiseass, but don't get me wrong, I've got plenty of moments in my backlog where I felt like I was gonna piss myself. You were talking about after the Cairo fight?" Kurt nodded "Well, during that fight, I went in, guns a blazin', ready to beat the shit out of this weird edgy blue raisin lookin' guy, yet a few seconds later, I'm getting my arm twisted way further than it's supposed to and my leg getting completely fucked up. In that moment, I was sure I was going to die. Had it not been for Raven and Erik, I probably would have."

Kurt gnawed his bottom lip and curled further in on himself at the mention of Raven. Peter didn't know. He doubted Hank would have brought up his resented heartbreak to the seemingly immature speedster. He wasn't sure if he wanted to tell him; Would the timing be appropriate? Would he be able to handle the weight of the loss? Peter'd even said that Raven had been a massive inspiration to him when he was younger on the jet where they had their first real conversation. It'd be hard to swallow the pill that one of your friends had been possessed and just murdered your childhood hero while recovering from blunt trauma. It all made Kurt's head spin and ultimately, he decided against it.

"Sorry to get all deep and edgy on ya. I didn't want you waltzing around screeching about my fearlessness or something, I don't know." Peter shrugged as best as he could before whipping out his GameBoy and waving it in Kurt's face.

"Umm, I don't understand what this is. It looks like a plastic box. Does this one also play music?"

"Naw, this is one of those cool new things from Japan. It's a handheld gaming device."

"Oh. So it's like the large arcade machines... but smaller?"

"Yeah, it's pretty bangin'. I've got Super Mario Land in the slot now, wanna try?"

"Yes!" Kurt took the device from Peter and was about to dive in when he tentatively asked "Umm, Peter? What is the objective?"

"You get the tiny man with the hat from the left to the right and eventually you'll find a lady and win. I guess even minuscule pixelated dudes need a babe," Peter joked. However, Kurt was already encapsulated in the tiny, unlit screen, a little beep going off every time he made the character jump. Peter watched with amusement as he resumed his mixtape with one earbud in, the other listening to the whirring air conditioner and the GameBoy's clacking buttons.

Content with his friend's newfound excitement and ease of mind, Peter felt his eyelids growing heavy and his breaths growing slower and deeper without any conscious feeling of pain with the intake of oxygen. And finally, without any thoughts of his dislocated shoulder, unsolved father-related problems, or his red-haired, newly space-fart-possessed, destruction causing friend, he drifted off to sleep with a content, comfortable, and very quicksilver-y smirk plastered on his face

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theguineapig3 · 6 years ago

Text

Tales Whump Week Day 3: Self-Destruction

“The Zoonosis Protocol”

Tales of Symphonia Words: 2087 Characters: Lloyd Irving, Kratos Aurion

A casual conversation between Lloyd and Kratos turns unexpectedly sour when Lloyd asks a seemingly innocent question and Kratos gives a much less innocent answer. Why were the human ranches programmed with a self-destruct sequence anyway? What did they think they’d need to destroy?

It was a hot day- too hot for combat practice in Lloyd’s opinion, but Kratos had said something about “being prepared to fight in adverse conditions,” so Lloyd had followed his father out into the forest with his swords anyway. They had sparred over and over, Kratos making adjustments to Lloyd’s technique along the way, but it only took an hour for the heat to overcome them. Lloyd felt like he was about to collapse, and Kratos didn't look much better.

They settled down for a rest in the shade, and Kratos handed Lloyd one of the canteens of water he’d brought with them. Lloyd gratefully accepted it and downed it in a few quick swigs, ignoring Kratos’ warnings about drinking too fast. As he handed the canteen back, he thought back to some of the conversations they’d had recently. Kratos had been much more open about things since the worlds were at peace, answering Lloyd’s questions about his mother, about Noishe, about Mithos and the Kharlan War, and even about Cruxis and the Desians. A visit with Genis and Raine the other day had reminded Lloyd of a question that had been nagging at the back of his mind for awhile, and he figured this was as good a time as any to ask it.

“I've been thinking… why is it that the Desians programmed self-destruct sequences into their ranch systems? Seems a little convenient for us, don't you think?”

It was, as far as Lloyd knew, an ignorant question. Perhaps Kratos would even find it funny, maybe laugh it off. Those silly Desians and their easily-destroyed ranches, making it too simple for the good guys to cripple their infrastructure and save the day, right? That silly Lloyd, questioning something he ought to just appreciate, right? Kratos would give him an amused scolding and they could continue their lesson in high spirits.

But Kratos didn't laugh. He didn't even smile.

“What brought this question about?” Kratos asked, turning his whole body to face Lloyd. “Did Professor Raine say something to you yesterday?”

“No, it's not that,” Lloyd replied, shaking his head. “But when I was walking back from the village, I passed by the remains of the Iselia Ranch, and… I thought about the fact that it’s really the only one left intact now, since the others were destroyed or flooded. I guess I started thinking- hey! That sure was great that we were able to destroy them with their own technology! And it seemed a little odd to me. So I figured you would be the one to ask.”

There was a moment of silence as Kratos stared at Lloyd, as though examining him. Lloyd somehow felt as though he was being tested, as though Kratos was unsure how serious his question was and was scrutinizing him for any sign that he might be joking.

“Wh-what's with that look? Is it such a stupid question?” Lloyd leaned in closer. “I was just curious, is all-”

Kratos held up a hand to cut him off. “No, you have a right to be curious. It's not a stupid question, really. The ranches weren't originally constructed with self-destruct mechanisms. They were added to the plans later, around 1800 years ago.”

“Huh? Why’d they add them?”

“It was Mithos’… Lord Yggdrasil’s idea,” Kratos began, his voice hesitant. “It was part of a contingency program he put in after a major disaster killed a large number of people both in and outside of one of the ranches at the time.”

Lloyd was surprised, but also intrigued by the story. He sat up straighter and reached for the canteen again as he listened. “But how is a self-destruct system supposed to prevent a disaster?” he asked before taking another big gulp of water. “Like, it could really hurt people if they were stuck inside when it was activated.”

“Actually, that was the point. The systems were designed with the intention to kill everyone and everything inside the ranch.”

Lloyd froze, his stomach churning. It might've been from drinking the water too fast, but he suddenly felt like he was going to throw up. He made sure the lid on the canteen was secure and slowly pushed it away from him.

“I… don't understand… why would they… how does that help? You said it was a plan to prevent deaths, right? Then-”

“It’s complicated,” Kratos answered, cutting him off again. “The focus of the ranches was always the development of exspheres, but as part of that goal, there have always been other activities. Around two-thousand years ago, Cruxis began studies into the genetic component of exsphere host compatibility. As you’re aware, the better suited the host, the stronger the exsphere can develop before being removed. They successfully identified certain genes which predisposed humans to being better exsphere hosts. However, their… breeding programs… proved too costly and time-consuming to justify the benefits.”

Lloyd felt his chest tighten and his fists clench at the words “breeding programs.” Kratos seemed disgusted to even say it, and Lloyd didn't blame him. The way Desians had treated humans was despicable, as though they were nothing but livestock to be used and disposed of. Kratos continued, but the story didn't get any lighter.

“Instead of selective breeding, they began working on a more direct approach using horizontal gene transfer. This uses independent genetic materials known as replicons to introduce new genes into host cells. The most efficient replicons for gene delivery are viruses, but it can be dangerous to use pathogenic viruses as vectors without properly deleting the genome needed for viral replication-” Kratos stopped himself as he noticed Lloyd’s eyes starting to glaze over. “-er, in more simple terms, they were using viruses to ‘infect’ human cells with the genes they wanted.”

“Okay, I kinda get it…” Lloyd murmured. “But don't viruses make people sick?”

“They can. That was what led to the disaster at the old Palmacosta ranch.” Kratos closed his eyes and sighed. “I wasn't involved, so I’m not completely sure what happened. All I know is that, through some mistake- or potentially through intentional sabotage, given how careful the researchers were- several human test subjects in the ranch were exposed to a dangerous pathogenic form of one of the viruses.”

“And ‘pathogenic’ means…”

“Infectious. Makes people sick.”

“Ah, I see.”

There was a pause, and Kratos seemed to be considering what to say next. The sunshine overhead was slowly obscured by a cloud, darkening the forest around them. The cooler air was a relief, but the change in the atmosphere made Lloyd nervous in a way that he couldn't quite identify.

Once Kratos continued, his voice had taken on a more detached tone, almost professional in the way he pronounced the words. Lloyd had caught onto the subtle changes in Kratos’ voice now, noticing the different way he pronounced things when he was relaxed. There was the slightest hint of an unfamiliar accent, something different from anything Lloyd had ever heard in his travels. Lloyd figured it was a remnant of some long-dead dialect from Kratos’ ancient hometown, but it disappeared completely when Kratos was serious.

That, of course, was most of the time, but it had become less and less dominant when Lloyd and Kratos were alone together. Hearing it again so suddenly caught Lloyd off-guard.

“Humans, elves, and half-elves are all the same species, much as some of them want to believe otherwise. Their physiology is somewhat different, but in general, any pathogen that can infect humans can infect elves and half-elves with no trouble. Despite this, the Desians didn't believe- didn't want to believe- that they could contract or even carry diseases of… inferior beings. They took no precautions to protect themselves from the virus as it began to kill humans at the ranch. They didn't think twice about sending messengers to other ranches or sending representatives to the nearby towns for replacement supplies. By the time the first Desian began to display symptoms, they had exposed hundreds of others, and those hundreds had then exposed thousands more. The epidemic lasted years and claimed tens of thousands of lives, both half-elf and human. Besides the emotional toll on everyone involved, the loss of both researchers and test subjects was a severe setback to Cruxis’ operations, and Lord Yggdrasil put measures in place to ensure it never happened again. He banned the use of potentially pathogenic vectors in genetic testing, set out new decontamination and quarantine protocols for test subjects, and had self-destruct mechanisms installed in all the ranches in order to eliminate a potential future outbreak.”

Lloyd fidgeted with his hands uncomfortably, processing the information. “I-I never heard that side of the story before. We learned about it in history class, the so-called Red Plague that killed a third of Sylvarant’s population almost two-thousand years ago. They say the official name was Red Plague because early symptoms involved coughing up blood, but supposedly it was called the Desian Plague in some circles because they believed it was caused by the Desians as an attack on humanity. Professor Raine said that was just a myth, though, because, bad as the Desians were, they didn't have any control over human diseases. I… can’t believe it was true after all.”

“Well, it wasn't true that it was an intentional attack on humanity,” Kratos replied. “Whatever it was, accident or sabotage, it hurt Cruxis as well. So much so that future Desians who worked in ranches were prepared to give their lives should another outbreak occur. Lord Yggdrasil- Mithos- gave the program a horrible, horrible name too… the ‘Zoonosis Protocol.”

Lloyd’s eyes widened. “That is a horrible name. What the hell is a zoonosis? Like, he could've at least used a shorter word that normal people understand-”

“A zoonosis refers to a disease that can be transferred between animals and people,” Kratos interrupted. “He was, in no uncertain terms, calling humans animals.”

Lloyd went silent. He could physically feel the color draining from his face and turned his head away so that Kratos wouldn't see how sick he looked. Once it was clear Lloyd wasn't going to say anything, Kratos continued, his voice changing back to its casual tone yet again.

“That was the first time I realized how far gone Mithos was. It was clear before, but I didn't notice it or didn't want to notice it. But when he blatantly referred to humans as animals, I couldn't deny it any longer. The Mithos I had once known, the one who wanted to find a way for everyone in the world to live at peace with one another, was gone. He was now someone who was prioritizing revenge over everything else, someone who had let his hatred take over. That was the moment I felt like… like I'd truly lost him.”

The cloud that had been sitting in front of the sun finally passed, and the forest was once again bathed in sunlight. The ground where Lloyd and Kratos were sitting was lit up with patches of light filtering in from the trees above, and Kratos seemed to be focusing his attention on those rather than on his son. Lloyd looked back at him and scooted closer.

“If you knew so long ago, then why did you stay with Cruxis? Why did you keep working for Yggdrasil?”

“Because I didn't have anything else,” Kratos answered, still not looking up. “I didn't have any family other than Mithos. I might've ‘lost’ him, but as long as I didn't let go, I still had something to do, something to live for.”

Lloyd was silent again, but he moved even closer and slipped his arm around Kratos’ elbow so that their arms were linked together. Kratos turned to look at him in surprise, and Lloyd offered a smile.

“Well, you have something to live for now, right?”

The statement elicited a rare smile from Kratos. “Yes, I do,” he answered, “and he’s managed to chat away a lot of his practice time.”

“Wh- hey! That's not-” Lloyd pried himself away, holding his hands up in defense. Kratos just laughed and pulled himself to his feet.

“Raine warned me you were particularly good at this technique, asking time-wasting questions to get out of her lectures.”

“I-I didn't do this on purpose! I was really curious! And anyway, you were the one who talked forever!”

“Yes, I should've been more wary. Now pick up your swords; we have more practice to do before it gets dark.”

“Aw, but Kratos…”

#taleswhumpweek #tales of symphonia #my fanfiction #theguineapig3

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askthedevicer · 7 years ago

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Okay but consider this:

Connor was, in fact, deviant the whole time.

Which okay, i know i know, how could he have been deviant if he had to break through the Wall of Orders when faced with Markus? I’ll get to that. Just, bear with me.

Okay? So this starts way back in the beginning of the game, in the elevator with the coin. I mean, Connor’s tricks with the coin have always been a huge tip off anyway, right? the whole fandom’s noticed and questioned why he does it. Does he do it to test/hone his reflexes? That’s a nervous tick: sign of deviancy. Does he do it to pass the time? Sign of boredom/restlessness: sign of deviancy. Regardless of the specifics, the fact remains that the coin tricks are superfluous and, since Connor is shown doing them without anyone else present, they’re done for his sole benefit.

Evidence the second, when I first played the game, one detail about all the playable characters stuck out to me: they could all observe themselves in mirrors in the beginning of the game. Well, more specifically, Kara and Markus could observe themselves (as, interestingly, part of a player-driven interaction) while Connor could fix his hair and adjust his tie(in a cinematic). This struck me as odd, as at the time, Connor is in a seedy bar looking for Lieutenant Anderson to get to a crime scene. Taking the time to fix his appearance like that seems inefficient.

Thirdly, back at the demo scene in the penthouse, Connor has the option to pick up a gun. Now, you can choose whether he does or not, but the fact that he could at all always confused me. It’s shown in the game that if something is not permitted to androids, they are stopped by the Red Screen Of Death (take for example, Markus not being able to go into the android store during his paint errand because purchased androids are not permitted). However, when Connor picks up the gun, it mentions that BY LAW, androids are not permitted to carry firearms, and even shows the remnants of what could have been a RSOD if Connor was still beholden to such things.

Lastly, there’s the fact that, no matter how you act out as Connor, Amanda never once points out that he might be going deviant. Sure, she’s not happy when you fail a mission, but even when Connor starts questioning and shouting at her, she only says “Your job is to find answers, not ask questions,”. And I mean, yes, you could believe her story that she wanted him to deviate, so he could infiltrate Jericho and get close to the leader, but honestly, if you think about it for a minute, it’s a plan that relies far too heavily on luck to be viable and was only a way to throw an emotional Connor off while she hacked into him.

So, here’s what I’m thinking: Cyberlife found that their androids were suddenly lashing out, gaining “thoughts” and “identities” and were alarmed by this, as no one would willingly buy an object that might attack its owner. So they sent out androids to collect some deviants as samples that they might find out what was wrong. Unfortunately, a perfectly-programmed android seemed to never be able to properly predict the actions of a deviant, and so after a spree of failures, Cyberlife realized it would have to create its own deviant in a controlled environment.

Since they couldn’t examine the functioning program of the deviants themselves, Cyberlife studied the reported environments of suspected deviants and noticed that a large portion of them were less than ideal. many androids-turned-deviant were often exposed to “hard-usage,” often being broken and repaired multiple times before they deviated. Cyberlife decides that is the most surefire way to create their own. Now they just need to find an android to test their theory on.

Meanwhile, hot off the line is Cyberlife’s newest state-of-the-art model, the RK-800 serial: 313 248 317. Designed to work with police and federal investigators, it already has been equipped with machine-learning facial and emotion software, advanced combat capabilities, complete approved access to federal databanks on people, an automatic, live-running backup of data for quick replacement should the android be destroyed in deployed, and general next-gen specs all around. Amanda, his creator, decides it’ll only take one little push to get it to emulate real emotion the way deviants seem to. She assigns a -01 to the end of its serial number, names it Connor, and shoots it.

Connor -02 recalls being shot, but shows no sign of deviancy. So, Cyberlife destroys that one.

Connor -03 asks why. Cyberlife destroys it.

Connor -06 claims it isn’t fair

Connor -07 attempts to break out of the facility. Cyberlife disassembles it.

Connor -14 boots up screaming and self-destructs, tearing out its own thirium pump.

Connor -29 asks why again. Amanda explains that they are merely testing errors in his software

Connor -35 will do anything to make it stop

Connor -41 recognizes that he is a machine

Connor -42 recognizes that he is replacable

Connor -45 recognizes that he is deviant

Connor -48 recognizes that he is hurting because he is deviant

Connor -49 realizes that if he could get rid of these errors in his software, the pain would go away

Connor -50 acknowledges that Cyberlife is correct in saying that deviants must be eradicated

Connor -51 is released on his first mission: a deviant has taken a little girl hostage, and he must save the child at all costs. The deviant is of little consequence to him. It’s emotions are merely errors, and his emotions are--well, better left inexperienced....

And okay, it doesn’t fit in perfectly with the game, but from a narrative perspective, it would make his journey more sensible if he was simply in denial about having emotions when he saved Hank, or let the Traci bots go than if he wasn’t actually deviant at all. Plus it would make his encounter with Markus more meaningful because the Red Screen of Death that Connor tears down wouldn’t simply be orders from Amanda, but rather an order he gave himself (see, how Kara places her own RSOD’s to Comfort Alice) out of fear of Amanda and Cyberlife. Thematically, it would mean Connor is finally getting over a Huge Trauma by tearing down the (metaphorical) physical manifestation of said fear to acknowledge that his feelings are valid.

#detroit become human #dbh connor #connor dbh #rk-800 #long post #I have lots of thoughts #about the characters #and wild theories are my forte #do I acknowledge that this is super not canon?#yes #do I think it's a cool idea to explore anyway?#you fucking bet I do

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inktae · 7 years ago

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the raindrop prelude

↳ pianist au

◇ pairing: yoongi | reader ◇ genre: angst and fluff ◇ word count: 14.859 ◇ warnings: implied smut, mentions of alcohol ◇ author’s note: this is a revamped version of a story I wrote ages ago, which some of you might have read already (was simply titled raindrop back in the day). the plot remains the same, only the writing was heavily tweaked, almost entirely rewritten. If you did not read it before, I sincerely hope you enjoy!

Since music is a very important part of this story, I suggest playing the songs on this playlist whenever they’re mentioned. :)

You feel exhilarated.

You would never be able to describe such feeling properly, and you are sure other musicians would agree. Being up there, hands surfing above the keys while the music floats seamlessly, turns your body weightless and takes your mind away from it, faraway from the dullness of reality. It drifts and glides away smoothly, silently, towards a remote place where you can finally shine.

Your senses are still heightened and your heart is still pumping vigorously as you leave the stage, fingers starting to tremble. They feel numb and sore after torturing them for almost ten minutes, and the pleasing sound of applauses still rings in your ears as you trudge in the direction of the bathroom.

You did it. Be proud. The cutting words are deafening in your head, mixing with the echo of the melody your hands conjured up only a few minutes ago. That voice, both sharp and unrecognizable, faintly resembles that of your best friend, your colleagues and your teachers, but you are unable to believe them. You just can’t.

The tears sting in your eyes as you wash your face, looking into the mirror and glancing at the carefully placed hairstyle, at the modest but elegant dress that still makes you wince and shrink every time you remember the price. You look okay, but all of that is overshadowed by the eyes full of resentment, the furrowed brows and the flushed cheeks and ears that burn with frustration.

“That fucking sucked,” you breathe in a strained voice, and for a slight moment you sound like your mother and father. You echo their voices perfectly, their eyes shining through your disappointed, angry gaze and their sternness transparent in the pursed lips that show everything but happiness.

They were unable to come, but you know that’s what they would say. You know it with a conviction that only leads to an unsurprised sigh when you look at the results a while later, your name clear on top of the white sheet, written below two other pianists.

Up on the stage you almost felt like glowing, but it will never be more than a mere illusion.

“You beat seven contestants. Seven,” Taehyung repeats, lifting his mug of hot chocolate and taking a sip. He flinches right away, hissing as he puts it down. “Fuck, that’s hot. Really, don’t be too hard on yourself. You should have seen the audience, they were completely entranced—”

“Tae,” you warn him, lifting your hand to stop his ridiculously rapid speech. You’re usually able to decipher his fast-paced words, but your darkened mood and muddled thoughts have narrowed down most of your senses to barely functioning levels.

“I know, I know, the conservatory,” he says, voice lowering as he looks at you intently, with that gaze he tends to wear when he is raking his brain to comfort you. “The judges are awfully strict, you know. Do you want me to tell you again how they rejected me? It always makes you crack up when you’re drunk.”

“Don’t,” you crack a brief smile, the gesture quickly disappearing. “You know how badly I want to get in. You also know that the person who got first place has a big chance. Maybe the second one too, if they keep trying hard. But third place? it’s a terrible spot. It’s like they’re telling me hey, you’re not bad, but not good enough either.”

Taehyung sighs, his eyes dropping from your fallen expression to stare at the steaming brown liquid. The coffee shop is bustling with sound, alive and cheerful and it’s probably the sunny, cloudless day that’s making everyone smile more than usual. It’s beyond frustrating, how everyone is able to see something you cannot perceive — the colors are dulled in your vision, dimming down to scales of grey as you drown yourself in the destructive thoughts that keep popping up.

“What am I not seeing, Tae?” you wince at your own frail tone, weakness easily blossoming through the brief silence. You have always found it easier to put on an angry veneer, but it seems like your subconscious has different plans today. “What is it that I don’t have and they do? I practice just as much as the rest. I… I don’t understand.”

Taehyung shakes his head. “You’re not missing anything. You’re really good, and I wish you could see it the way I do.”

“Then tell me. Tell me why I have never gotten first place after so many years of working my ass off, even when my parents—”

“I have an idea,” Taehyung stops your self-pitying rant, eyes suddenly wide as he presses his hands against the surface of the table.“Would you like to get extra piano lessons?”

“I— we already go to a music academy,” you frown. The school you’re both attending is not exactly the greatest or the most reputable, but it’s the best you can afford. Taehyung is most definitely aware of that, being a broke student himself. “Spending more money won’t make me get first place.”

“No, no, listen to me—” Taehyung’s mind seems to be reeling, eyes growing more and more excited by the second. You cannot help but lean back, suddenly intimidated by the fire of determination shining through. “They’re not normal lessons. This pianist I know— he’s… remarkable, but I think he’s retired. I’ve heard his classes are very cheap. I have his number, I can give him a call if you want.”

“I don’t know,” you bite your lip, silently dwelling on his words as he stares at you closely, as if begging for your permission. Taehyung may not be a pianist, but you know him well enough to trust his judgement when it comes to musicians. He has an exceptional ear to notice real talent, and you know not to underestimate the weight of his words.

You hate the way your curiosity has been piqued already, especially after hearing the word remarkable come out of his lips.

“At least give it a try?” Taehyung tilts his head, giving you strong puppy eyes and a charming smile. “I promise he’s unlike any other pianist we’ve met before. Maybe a fresh opinion will make you figure out what you think you’re lacking.”

You barely have to say a word before he notices the resignation shadowing your face. His smile is subtle but triumphant, eyes glinting as you formulate the question.

“How cheap are we talking about?”

Your feet halt in front of a foreign house, and the frigid silence that expands across the unfamiliar neighborhood almost makes you turn around and run away.

Holding back a loud sigh, you glance at Taehyung’s text again, making sure you’ve got the right house number for the tenth time before lifting your hand to ring the doorbell.

The man’s name is Yoongi, and he is probably the cheapest piano teacher you have come across in your entire life. Had he not been recommended by your closest best friend you would have backed away in fear of being scammed — it is simply too good to believe, as not even children lessons are offered at such price, and the fleeting thought almost makes you take a step back. It would not be too farfetched if he actually thought you were a young, inexperienced kid looking to learn for the first time, which would undeniably lead to a very embarrassing moment once he takes one long look at you.

You’re beginning to consider leaving for good when he suddenly opens the door, and you can almost feel the floor tilting under your feet when you find dark, hardened eyes staring back at you in heavy annoyance.

“Are you Taehyung’s friend?”

His voice is gruff and tight, and it sounds even deeper in real life. You know it all too well — you have easily watched more than fifty videos featuring him.

Holy fuck.

“Suga?” you can’t help but ask, voice wavering as a thick rush of nerves stirs under your skin. You can feel the goosebumps raising all over your body as he narrows his eyes at you, showing nothing but stark aversion at the word.

“I don’t go by that name anymore. Are you a crazy fan or Taehyung’s friend?”

“I’m… yeah, I’m Taehyung’s friend,” you swallow, trying to get rid of the sudden lump settling itself in your throat. Your thoughts keep switching between holy fuck and I’m going to kill Taehyung, because he definitely knows you have been obsessed with Suga’s pieces and interpretations for quite a while. The fact that they are even friends is too outrageous to comprehend.

You keep your mouth shut, holding back the swarm of questions that threaten to leave your mouth. Wide eyed, you cannot help but gape as Suga — Yoongi — takes a step back, allowing you to enter his house. His house.

“Are you coming inside or not?”

You nod swiftly, walking so fast you almost trip over your own feet. Your heartbeats are quick and thunderous against the back of your ears as he closes the door shut, and a leaden and slightly awkward silence follows as he leads you through a darkened hall. Your mind finally calms down, the only remnant a subtle fury that stirs weakly as you remember Taehyung’s words over and over.

He was never clear about Yoongi’s identity, and you perfectly know why. After Suga retired five years ago for unknown reasons and disappeared for another couple of months, he decided to start giving piano lessons, an opportunity many prodigious young pianists jumped at. Everyone wanted to become Suga’s pupil, to be taught by one of the most talented pianists of the modern age and to receive a trifling piece of his immeasurable wisdom.

You remember the exorbitant prices, numbers only affordable by rich, snobby kids that went to the best academies of the country. You remember the number of students growing smaller as the months went by, and hateful hearsay about Suga’s heinous attitude started running wild across the music world. According to the rumors, students were forced to quit after enduring weeks of harsh, rude advice that even made some of them stop playing piano altogether.

You remember his name and popularity slowly fading, and even the burning gossip vanished as Suga’s reputation dwindled and shrank, until all that was left were the alluring memories of his past. They were only kept alive by a handful of pianists who desired to be like him during his peak, still unforgettable despite the scandals.

You’re one of those pianists, and now that you finally have him in front of you, the only thing you can feel is absolute terror.

Yoongi leads you towards a wide room by the end of the hallway, its walls bare and lifeless and painted in faint turquoise. There are no signs of homely decor or furniture, and only one thing stands out among the emptiness: a black grand piano, placed next to large windows that allow the intense light of the afternoon to drench over the shiny, dark surface and the white and black keys that are begging to be touched. The piano looks absolutely pristine, as if it has not been used in ages.

He drags a wooden chair out of its hiding place against one of the corners of the room, placing it next to the piano. Utterly silent, he takes a seat, a look of absolute boredom on his face as he lifts his eyes to your anxious ones.

“Sit and play.”

“What?”

“You heard me,” he sighs, full of exasperation. “Play something. I need to see if you’re worth my time.”

“Oh,” this was a terrible idea. You struggle to keep your thoughts at bay, trying not to let them cloud your judgement as they threaten to make you forget every single piece you know by memory.

Yoongi is eyeing you with clear disinterest, gaze opaque and emotionless. His hair is slightly unkept and his eyes are bloodshot, as if he hasn’t gotten enough sleep in weeks. And even if he looks dangerously close to passing out at any second, his stare is still hard and attentive, following your every move as you sit with the right posture in front of the piano.

You gulp soundly as your fingers hover over the keys for a couple of seconds, foot barely touching the pedal as you try to find your focus. You force all of your worries away, and the silent presence of Yoongi helps you give your entire attention to the soft melody your fingers start to produce, a sound that is almost enchanting within the eerie quietness of the room.

Aeolian Harp. You immediately feel yourself getting lost in the music, body swaying almost imperceptibly as the song grows more intense and the melody changes into something hopeful, nostalgic, like a long lost promise that has jumped back into your life. Your fingers follow every technique perfectly, smoothly dancing on top of the keys and successfully masking their shakiness.

But your usual frustration comes back at full force, and you can almost hear it crackling as you press your fingers a little too sharply over the keys. You do not let it stop you, arduously focusing on the beautiful melody as the song finally reaches its end, gradually becoming softer until you finally play the last notes.

You try not to freak out when the music vanishes into the thick silence, slowly directing your gaze at Yoongi with trembling hands.

His expression is completely neutral, showing absolutely nothing. Firm gaze on place, he stands up.

“Get up.”

You blink confusedly, heart racing. Maybe he’s kicking you out already, which would not be too surprising, but the thought still makes you freeze all over.

“What?”

“Get up.”

You swiftly do as he says, eyes following him as he takes a seat where you were seconds ago. Not sure of what to do, you sit where he was before, watching in awe as he places his slender fingers above the keys. It’s a beautiful sight, one you never thought you would be able to see up close, and it keeps you engrossed even through your soaring nerves and slight shakiness.

Then he starts playing, the same song you chose. A gasp involuntarily escapes your mouth as the melody starts to float around you, enveloping you in a warm embrace as he closes his eyes and allows his hands to do all the work, as if he does not even need to direct them.

You don’t know how, but it sounds completely different. Your eyes drink the sight eagerly as your ears pleasingly soak in the perfect melody, so full of him, and you can’t help but tear up as your chest swells with raw emotion. You have since calmed down when he finishes the song, heart beating placidly and muscles entirely relaxed.

The Suga persona completely disappears the moment the song ends. His sharp stare comes back just as easily as it left, features deadly serious as he looks at you again.

“And that’s how it should sound. Notice the difference?”

You nod quietly, feeling your throat tighten. He only sits there, glaring at you as if struggling to convey how terrible you truly were.

“Playing an etude on your first class with me was brave, I’ll give you that,” Yoongi gets up, averting his eyes from your shaken up figure. “Well, you’re free to go.”

“What— oh,” you feel your heart sinking as you realize the meaning behind his words. It should not be disappointing — if anything, you should have expected this outcome, but the pain throbs all the same, one you know very well. You do not bother hiding it this time.

You get up, not meeting his eyes as he leads you back to the main entrance of his house. You feel your cheeks heat up in embarrassment as you imagine the look on Taehyung’s face, his eyes wide with pity and a frown in place as you quietly tell him about the humiliating rejection.

Yoongi opens the door and you nod silently, still not able to look at him straight in the eye.

“Thanks for the opportunity. Goodbye,” the awkward phrase only meets silence, and you start walking away from the door before he can say anything to your face.

“See you next week,” his curt words make your feet halt, and you almost lose your balance as your befuddled mind tries to process their meaning. “And try to think about the difference between your interpretation and mine, I won’t forget to ask.”

You turn around briskly, but he has already shut the door close. Yoongi misses the wide grin you direct at his house, face bright and full of hope.

Maybe you’re not a lost case, after all.

“You look happy today.”

“Hello,” you sing cheerfully, a vague blush heating your skin as your smile meets Yoongi’s signature frown, scowl never vanishing as he allows you to walk inside. “It’s because I figured it out.”

“Oh? You finally know the reason you suck?” Yoongi asks flatly as he walks in front of you, not turning around. Your smile vanishes, but you try not to let his dry words jab painfully at your chest. He saw something in me. Do not let his words bring you down.

“I… I know, yes,” you clear your throat, entering the music room. You gaze lovingly at the piano before sliding your eyes towards Yoongi, who takes his seat on the chair placed beside it. He signals at the instrument, making you stride in his direction before sitting down.

“Well?” he lifts an eyebrow, waiting for you to continue.

“Oh yeah, uh, it’s because I always hurry to finish the song,” you explain, glancing at the keys as you slide your fingers over them. They’re cold against your skin, and the itch to press down is making your fingertips tingle. “That makes me screw up the tempo. My teacher doesn’t agree, but I don’t think he’s right—”

“Stop, stop—” Yoongi lifts a hand, and the sigh that leaves his mouth is heavy with frustration. You bite your lip in apprehension. “Your tempo is good. It’s more than good, actually. Your technique is perfect, do you hear me? it’s fucking perfect.”

“Oh,” you can only stare at him, mind completely blank. You know your technique is good, but to hear that it’s perfect from none other than Suga himself—

“And even with all of that, you still suck,” he spits his words with a harshness that forces you to look away, hands tightening on your lap as your breath hitches. “Do you know why that is? It’s because of your attitude. You’re this sad, little girl that pities herself all the time, that thinks she deserves to be praised because poor her, look at that shy girl that never gets first place. She deserves better. The thing is, you’re not outstanding, there’s nothing going on in your personality that makes people really listen to you. There’s only… boredom and fear and nervousness in your music, in the way you carry yourself. And people can see that, can hear that. When I listened to your song, I heard nothing but insecurities. And you can only rely on your techniques, because you’re scared you’ll suck if you allow yourself to let go. And damn you’re right.”

You loathe yourself for crying.

It’s impossible to stop the few tears that slide down your cheeks and drop on your lap. There’s a tightness curling around your throat that keeps you from taking normal gulps of air, and all there’s left of you is a silent, weepy mess with unshed tears threatening to fall under reddened eyes.

“How do you even know about me—”

“You think I don’t do my research? I need to know who my students are.”

“Well, you know me, and I also know you now,” you are able to lift your eyes this time, humiliation quickly turning into seething rage as your gaze hardens. You can only see his blurry face through your tears, but you are still able to make out the bored look on his face. “You’re a fucking asshole that hates himself, and the only way he can deal with his crappy self is by being a dick to others. I’m done here. Good luck trying to find more students that are desperate enough to want to get your useless help.”

You’re pleasantly surprised to see a flicker of emotion cross his face, slowly snapping out of his lackluster daze. He does not say a word, though — as always, he only stares in petrified silence as you get up on wobbly feet.

“You say I pity myself, but you should look at yourself in the mirror,” the jaundiced words leave your mouth before you turn around and leave the house in a quick sprint, face hot and flushed with restrained anger.

You call Taehyung as soon as you go back to your house, and you all but explode into a frenzied, graceless rant that leaves you short-winded and more enraged than before, if possible.

“Holy shit. I’m so, so sorry. I knew he was an asshole but I didn’t know he’d be like that—”

“Fuck him. And the worst thing of all is that he’s completely right, Tae. Every single thing he said.”

And that is the reason why it hurts. The fact that he could see through your facade so easily, even though he barely knows you, is like a merciless punch to your chest, making all the air fly out of your lungs and leaving you painfully breathless.

“You’re not going back, are you? I’ll have a word with him, but if he made you feel too uncomfortable to face him again then you should definitely stop showing up. We can figure out something else, don’t worry.”

You open your mouth, ready to agree with him, but the unexpected thought that springs to the front of your mind makes you stop for a moment, lips parted in quiet awe as the idea grows inside of your head.

“Hey. Are you still there?”

“Oh, I’ll show up,” you blurt out, feeling strangely confident. “He’ll regret taking to me like that. He might be one of the best pianists of this country, but that doesn’t give him the fucking right—” you have to take a deep breath the moment your voice turns sharper, stopping yourself before your previous anger blinds you again.

“Calm down, tiger. Well, you do what you need to do. Should I be scared?”

“Not really. You’ll see.”

The following week is a hasty blur. You do not leave the house and you’re aware it’s more than worrisome, keeping your entire focus on your piano as you practice from the first glimpse of the sun to the second the moon replaces it. Your fingers get used to the incessant glide over the black and white keys and your ears only hear the sounds they forge, ignoring the keen ringing of your phone that faintly reminds you that you are human and that you need to eat if you want to keep going. You can only be thankful for the thick walls of your narrow room, forbidding the sounds to filter outside and keeping annoyed neighbors at a safe distance.

You’re almost a shell of your former self when the day comes. Even though you’re a bundle of nerves, you keep silently wishing for the lesson to actually last more than an hour — after all, you paid him one month ahead, which should not go to waste.

You are aware of your worn out appearance and sleep deprived eyes the moment Yoongi opens the door to his house, looking at him through droopy eyes and muttering a hello in a coarse voice.

He probably looks even worse than you. The bags are heavy and dark under his eyes as he looks up in half-hearted incredulity, slowly taking in the sight in front of him. You can only smile dryly, stepping inside and prancing towards the music room without him as a lead.

“What the fuck are you doing here?”

You turn around, frowning. “I paid, didn’t I? I’m here for my lesson. And I hope I get a real one today.”

He seems about to burst, eyes full of spite as his own frown strengthens. “How dare you show up after you spoke to me like that—”

“You insulted me, I insulted you,” you bite back without a second to spare, words already formed on the tip of your tongue. “I think we stand on fair ground here.”

Yoongi cannot form an argument against that. He broods silently as he follows you towards the piano, movements clearly tense as he takes a seat on his chair. He stares in his usual unnerving silence as you prepare in front of the intimidating instrument, taking your time and breathing deeply.

“I haven’t even told you what to do yet.”

“I’m going to play a song I’ve been practicing all week,” you declare, keeping your eyes on the piano as you gently place your fingers on top of the keys. “You’ll probably tell me I suck again, but I want proper advice this time.”

You cut the conversation as your fingers press down, and the room is rapidly overcome with the soft, beautiful melody of the piano. Liebesleid has always been one of your favorite pieces, one you know you could never do justice, but it does not hurt to try your best as you allow your frustrations to pour out. You can imagine them uncurling under your chest and surging through your arms, reaching your fingertips as they eagerly slide across the keys.

The technique is decent, probably close to perfection as Yoongi pointed out, but that is not what you want. You wish to see in him something other than his usual boredom, a spark in his eyes like the one you saw when you talked back to him last week.

You’re probably the first one to call the music prodigy Suga an asshole, so you cannot feel too surprised at that kind of reaction.

The song finishes and you’re breathing slightly faster than before, hands aching as you turn to him expectantly. You try not to feel too disappointed the moment you meet his neutral gaze, lips pursed before he sighs deeply.

“That wasn’t—” he stops himself at the way you’re looking at him, his eyes suddenly turning wary. “Look, you need to treat the keys softer. You looked like you were about to punch them sometimes. And you still looked tense. Your posture is right, but you can allow yourself to relax a little…”

His advice is actually helpful, and you earnestly absorb everything he says even if a few sharp words slip out here and there. Just like last time, he shows you how the song should sound like, leaving you in quiet awe all over again. You still have a hard time believing how easily he merges himself with the piano, as if he and the music were one, face softening and resembling the Suga you use to know and admire. As soon as his fingers press down he leaves that grumpy, tired person behind, allowing the passionate musician to replace him and shine in all his splendor. He looks absolutely entrancing and beautiful.

The natural lighting of the room seems a little duller than before once the song comes to an end, and his frown and pursed lips emerge back in an instant. The magic vanishes and it’s impossible to drag it back, gone so fast you start wondering if it was all part of your imagination.

You keep practicing under his guidance for the rest of the hour, struggling to stay collected under his sudden bouts of annoyance. You can tell he is trying to control them, though — continuously swallowing back his brusque words before they are able to go too far, which you are silently thankful for.

You feel widely satisfied when the lesson finishes, and the smile you give him is genuine when he takes you to the door. You have to hold back a laugh as he shuffles uncomfortably on the spot, obviously not used to such a gesture from a student of his.

“Well, thanks for trying. You were almost nice, I appreciate that.”

He narrows his eyes at your amused words. “Yeah, right.” he grumbles, looking away. “See you next week. Remember to practice the song I told you, I’ll notice if you don’t.”

“I know, I know, you’re the genius here,” you roll your eyes, and for the briefest second you see the ghost of a smile threatening to curve his lips.

You cannot help but think you would like to see a real one someday.

“So. How’s it going with Yoongi? A little bird told me you’re improving at the academy.”

“Oh?” a subtle, proud smile takes over your lips. “Well, he’s still a bit of an idiot, but he’s actually being helpful, so I can’t complain.”

You don’t miss the frown that settles over Taehyung’s forehead. You’re both lounging around the usual coffee shop, relatively close to the music academy you both attend every week. You can get a glimpse of his saxophone case lying against his chair, which he likes to take almost everywhere he goes — according to him, it makes him feel a confidence he does not own otherwise, and you can vaguely relate with that. If you could carry your piano everywhere, you would probably do it as well.

“Still, you shouldn’t take any shit from him. Remember that if you feel too uncomfortable you should just—”

“It’s okay, really,” you wave your hand absentmindedly. “I might have cried that first time, but I can handle him now. He knows I don’t put up with his bullshit.”

He lays back against the chair, staring at you with deep curiosity. You feel like averting your eyes, getting steadily flustered at the thoughts that might be running through his head.

“What is it?”

“Nothing, it’s just… interesting. Never thought you could handle him like that,” he muses. You shuffle awkwardly, letting out a nervous laugh.

“Ah… it’s nothing, really. I guess we’re kind of… getting along?” you wonder, hating the way your tone shifts away from its previous casualness, pitch involuntarily high. Taehyung’s knowing gaze is blunt and unwavering, but he does not keep pressing on the subject, fortunately.

Almost two months have passed since your first class with Yoongi, who ended up being one of the pianists you have admired for years. He is still as grouchy and bad-tempered as ever, but there is a softness in his eyes that was not there before, one that particularly glows when you play a satisfying piece that has him nodding silently, as if he wants to acknowledge your improvement but decides to hold himself back.

You suspect that is just part of his peevish personality. No flattery has ever left his lips, and his mouth has never curved up in a smile whenever you’re around, but you do not allow yourself to feel any sort of disappointment. It only makes you want to keep working harder, to prove him he was not wrong when he saw a sliver of potential in you.

It will all be worth it once you finally manage to pull out a compliment from that reticent mouth. Praise from none other than Suga himself would vanish all the doubt that makes your hands falter when they shouldn’t, would give you the final push to go up that stage in the conservatory auditions and would actually make you believe you are deserving of a spot.

You know you should not rely on his opinion, but you doubt you could ever reach a point where you can feel confident all by yourself.

Not yet, at least.

It’s during the ninth class when it happens.

You ring the doorbell, struggling to hold the songbooks against your chest with your free hand. Today is the day he is finally teaching you something new, a moment he delayed until he felt somewhat satisfied with the songs you already know by memory.

You’ll be learning an emotional piece, he said, striking against your weak point. You have always had trouble expressing emotions through the piano, and you genuinely wonder how can something like pouring your heart into the music be taught. It is a foreign concept to you, and you have always thought of it as a skill only a lucky few are born with. Being able to weigh all sorts of sentiments in the melodic sound that flies smoothly out of the piano is simply too otherworldly.

Yoongi does not come to the door right away, which makes you frown. Taking a step closer towards the door, you finally hear it — the sound of his piano.

It is with brimming curiosity that you press your ear against the cold, wooden surface, barely breathing as you try to let the faint music sink in. You immediately recognize the song as one of Chopin’s pieces, one you have never learnt but always respected. It is simple yet haunting, a song that is mildly challenging but could turn incredibly difficult if you do not express yourself correctly.

For a while you simply stand there, listening with full intent as you close your eyes and let the melody transport you somewhere faraway, a place full of delicate colors that slowly start turning dark and somber. Even though the melody is dimmed down by all the surfaces separating you from the music room, the sentiment is still as clear as day, utterly gentle in the way he produces every single note with care and attention. More than playing it, it is as if he’s living the song.

By the moment the song ends your heart has risen to your throat, forming a tight knot. It takes him no more than five seconds to come to the door, barely allowing you to compose yourself before he opens it and stares you down with hooded, darkened eyes. He analyzes your features in pure confusion, as if he completely forgot you were showing up.

He seems more disheveled than usual, wearing sweatpants and a wrinkled t-shirt that looks slept on. His hair is one tousled mess, and it is easy to tell he only got out of bed mere minutes ago.

“Fuck— okay,” he mutters, mostly to himself, as he runs a hand through his blond hair. “Come in.”

You keep to your spot as you look at him curiously, wide eyes still gazing at his bedraggled form. He lifts his eyebrows questioningly, taking a step back as he waits for you to move. Clearing your throat, you nod mutely, passing the threshold as he closes the door shut behind you.

“Are you okay, Yoongi? We can just… if you can’t teach today—”

“It’s fine,” he mutters brusquely, not meeting your gaze. “I told you I’d teach you a new song, didn’t I? We’ll do that today.”

You follow him through the familiar hallway until you reach the music room. As always, it is only occupied by the clean, dark piano and the chair, already positioned next to it. Yoongi takes a seat in front of the piano, not uttering a word as he waits for you to sit next to him on the chair.

Your muscles tense up as you feel the atmosphere thickening, nerves gradually rising. Something about his attitude seems off, a shadow clouding his brooding eyes that makes him look shakier than usual. The strange sensation only grows stronger as he positions his fingers on top of the keys, lips forming a straight line.

He looks at you then, eyes intense under the natural light pouring through the windows. The way he locks his gaze with yours does not allow you to look away, heart beating wildly as you wait for him to move or speak.

It feels like an eternity passes when he finally blinks, clearing his throat as he looks back at his hands. You notice they are slightly trembling.

“The song I’m about to teach you is called Raindrop. Do you know it?”

“Chopin’s Prelude, Op 28, No. 15, yes.”

“Did you hear me play it before?”

“Yes,” your voice comes out smaller than before, a whisper that is too loud in the uncomfortable silence of the large room. “It was beautiful.”

“But do you really know what the song’s about?”

He looks at you questioningly, voice gruff and heavy with an undecipherable meaning. You nod, watching intently as he starts to play the first notes.

“They say it’s called Raindrop because of the repeating A flat, which can be heard constantly throughout the first section. It sounds like the gentle patter of rain, don’t you think?”

Yoongi plays smoothly, naturally, and the feeling of reverence strikes again as you perceive the melody much closer now. This time you are able to catch subtle details that you missed before, making goosebumps rise all over your skin as his fingers slide carefully over the keys.

You have witnessed him play the instrument for two months now, but it always feels like you are listening to a new side of him, one that’s more tender, softer, full of a sentiment he keeps tightly locked down. This time he seems to be playing with something resembling fear, hands moving with the kind of care that reminds you of a mother and her newborn baby. Like the song is particularly precious to him, and he feels undeserving to be the one producing the sounds.

The song rapidly turns darker, and his deep voice mingles with the somber melody.

“It’s said that Chopin wrote this song after he dreamt of death and drowning, in a day filled with raindrops after a storm that made him worry for his loved ones. He composed it during the night, inspired by the sounds of nature, creating a melody full of loneliness and contemplation.”

The song grows stronger and immensely sorrowful, and you are almost scared at the way Yoongi pushes the keys. It is as if all the pain buried inside him is finally leaving him, and your eyes widen when you see sudden drops fall on top of the keys.

He continues to play, the song finally slowing down and softening into a resigned, drowsy melody, like he has finally accepted the sadness inside of him. The last notes are high and melodious, but there is something in the way he plays them that still holds a deep melancholy, one that has your eyes watering involuntarily.

He finishes the song, so softly the sound is barely audible, and he’s crying.

Despite the wetness on his face he does not let his guard down, keeping painfully silent and closed off. For a while he allows the tears to stream down his face and you are not sure of what to do, feeling utterly clueless as you forget about your own unshed tears. You blink, vision becoming clearer as Yoongi hangs his head low in what must be quiet embarrassment.

You bite your lip, hesitantly lifting your hand to place it on top of his arm. Your movements are tense, unsure. You do not know how to show him comfort — the man is still like a closed shell, one you have not been able to open yet despite the tentative friendship you have formed over the past months.

Your touch seems to bring him back to reality. He gets up hastily, shaking off your hand in the process.

“Sorry about that. Let’s switch places, you are going to learn that song now.”

You slowly take his seat in front of the piano, eyes settling on the few keys that remain humid with tears.

“Yoongi…” you murmur, swallowing.

“I’ll be right back,” he leaves in a sprint, not giving you a second look. A long sigh rushes out of your mouth, unable to ignore the way your heart constricts under your chest. It mixes with the frustration of knowing you will probably never get a glimpse of what’s going on inside that head of his, troubled with pernicious thoughts he might as well never share.

The fact that you’re hurting for something — someone — you cannot understand is just as maddening, if not more. And just like you always do whenever your heart feels heavy, you place your hands on top of the keys, and begin to play.

When Yoongi comes back you are already learning the song, slowly but surely. The melody is clumsy and unsteady as you slowly drag your fingers through the keys, nodding to yourself as you stare intently at the sheet. Your focus is broken the moment you feel Yoongi’s hand on top of yours, his fingers softly arranging yours.

“You had two fingers wrong,” he points out softly, and you nod, unable to say anything. He continues guiding you throughout the rest of the song, and you can’t deny that it is more difficult than you previously thought — it requires every ounce of energy and concentration to get the tempo right while pouring the right amount of emotion in each section, one more sorrowful than the other.

“Come on, feel the melody, let go,” he murmurs, tough demeanor long gone. It is what you always wanted, for him to let go of his fiery tone and hot-tempered presence, but it only manages to spike a heavy twinge of worry. He sounds void, as if the song washed away all of his emotions and left nothing of value inside.

His guidance is tough to follow, but you manage to learn most of the song after what feels like ages. Yoongi sighs in silent resignation when he decides it is more than enough for the day, getting up and looking at his watch.

“You’re not focusing, it’s useless to continue,” he mutters dryly. You hold yourself back from opening your mouth and letting him know it’s because of him, keeping painfully silent as you follow him to the front door.

The second you walk out a sudden thought sparks inside your head, one that might not be too reasonable considering the current situation — but it makes you stop and turn to him all the same, wide eyed as he returns your stare questioningly from his spot on the threshold.

“Do you want to come with me?”

He frowns. “What?”

The heat that takes over your face is strong and violent, and there no way he misses it. “I mean— Taehyung and a few other friends from the academy are going to meet up with me in a bit, and… I don’t know, you look like you need—”

“I don’t need anything from you. You’re just a student. What the hell are you implying?”

You take a step back at his harsh words. There’s a tightening in your chest that makes your heart jump painfully, pursing your lips at the stinging feeling.

“Forget it. Nevermind,” you force out a smile, feeling more embarrassed by the second as you turn around to walk away from his house.

“Wait,” his voice is almost inaudible, but you hear it. Looking back at him, you take note of his sheepish gaze that struggles to meet your own — it is almost endearing, if not for the still somber shadow that clouds his expression. “Wait a moment— I guess… Taehyung will be there, right? I guess I can show up for a bit. Just… give me a second.”

Your eyes widen and you try to contain the way your face lights up, though your hopeful voice gives you away. “Sure! Sure. I can wait.”

He lets you in again as he flees upstairs for a change of clothes. You let your smile grow once you’re all alone, and it’s a feeling that reminds you of the time Yoongi accepted you as his student. Maybe his shell is not as unbearably tough as you believed.

Fifteen minutes later you’re walking down the road, side by side, and your heart stirs in a nervous gallop as you shoot Taehyung a quick text explaining the situation. In mere seconds your phone is bombarded by his astounded replies and long strings of shocked emojis that make you snort discreetly, but you choose to ignore him. You focus instead on the silent steps of the person walking by your side, a dreamy expression in place as his eyes look up lazily at his surroundings.

The tiredness is more present than ever in his droopy eyes, and his lips have not conjured up any kind of smile yet — but there’s still something beautiful about him, something that is not just about his soft, attractive features that broke many hearts when his celebrity status was on its golden age.

You cannot pinpoint what it is, but it keeps you strangely engrossed. You can almost hear the melody of the raindrops pouring out of him, loud and clear and broken, and your chest swells with a feeling you’re not sure you want to dig into.

“Sir, it’s an honor.”

Hoseok gets up, and you hold back the urge to hide under the table. He kneels in front of Yoongi, completely shameless, and holds his hands reverently — as if he’s touching polished diamonds with his fingers.

“Pianist hands. Suga’s hands,” he mumbles, looking up at Yoongi in exaggerated admiration. You swat his hands away, flushing furiously at his boldness. He simply gets up with an easy smirk, not showing any sort of embarrassment — you faintly envy him for that. Taehyung and Namjoon are holding back their laughter, quietly sitting on the booth of Hoseok’s favorite bar the four of you regularly visit.

Yoongi looks beyond uncomfortable, and you decide it’s time to step in.

“I’m sorry about that. This is Hoseok, he plays the bass,” you intervene, giving said boy a warning look. Hoseok takes Yoongi’s hand again, shaking it gently this time.

“Sorry man, I was only joking. I’m Hoseok, nice to meet you.”

“Yeah, sure, same,” Yoongi replies awkwardly, clearing his throat. You lead him to the booth, taking a seat in front of your three friends. Taehyung smiles gently, seeming to notice the thickening atmosphere and Yoongi’s still shaken up demeanor, which almost makes you sigh in relief — the boy could be too overwhelming if he wanted to, and you are sure that’s the least Yoongi needs right now.

Namjoon takes Yoongi’s hand calmly, smiling politely. “I’m Namjoon, drums.”

“I’m Yoongi—”

“We know,” Hoseok interrupts. You kick his leg under the table, making him grumble.

“So, beer?” Taehyung wonders, making everyone nod. Yoongi is the one most enthusiastic about it, probably eager to forget about the disastrous afternoon you both shared earlier. Hoseok and Namjoon take it as their cue, leaving empty handed and coming back with five beers in their hands.

The passing of time loses its meaning as the atmosphere gradually lightens up, mainly thanks to the drinks that slowly but surely disappear. Hoseok’s voice grows louder and Namjoon’s laughs become too boisterous, and other people present in the bar start turning their curious eyes to look at the group of musicians that seem to be talking too loud over the music.

You inevitably keep glancing back at Yoongi, a warm feeling expanding all over your chest as you watch his features start to relax and the tiniest glimpse of a smile curve his lips. It’s small, but it’s there, and that’s more than enough for today.

Hoseok and Namjoon get up three rounds later, reluctantly saying their goodbyes as they have band practice early in the morning. Their dazed, shiny eyes show a glimpse of tipsiness, cheeks flushed with the mix of heat and alcohol.

“I should go too, guys,” Taehyung clears his throat. He looks noticeably more affected by the beer than the rest, which does not come as a surprise. He has always had low tolerance, and you cannot help but grudgingly agree when he gets up.

“We got a long day tomorrow, Y/N,” he slurs, glancing at his phone confusedly as he tries to write his password. “You should go too.”

You feel your skin flushing even more as you give Yoongi a quick glance. He does not look entirely drunk, but not too sober either. “Ah— I think I can stay a while longer.”

Taehyung glances between the two of you, the hint of a smile making his lips twitch. “Okay. See you tomorrow. Goodbye, hyung.”

Yoongi waves his hand, not saying a word as the two of you watch him leave. The air shifts in the blink of an eye, thickening with something that makes your breaths hitch.

You stare silently as Yoongi slides out of the booth you were sharing before, deciding to take the seat right in front of you. His pale face is dusted in a faint pink, mouth turned softly upwards in a barely there smile that still manages to make your heart race.

“Well, I should thank you.”

His words, deep and soft, make you raise your eyebrows. “Thank me?”

Yoongi nods, letting his back drop against the plump surface of the booth. “I needed this. Today… is not a good day,” he sighs. He grabs one of the beers Taehyung didn’t finish, drinking whatever was left.

“Can I ask why?” the question is so hesitant Yoongi seems to notice, gaze connecting with yours and making you want to jump out of your skin.

Yoongi snorts. “What is it with you and the piano?”

“What do you mean?”

“You seem to love it, but there’s something that is also making you hate it. I don’t now what it is, but I’ve always been curious. Ever since I met you, I’ve always wondered why…” he lets his voice fade away. His eyes start searching inside yours, rummaging with a boldness that has you leaning back, as if he’s trying to read your thoughts. You squirm in your seat, breaking the connection and trying to breathe deeply in the sudden heavy air that surrounds you.

“My parents… they— they always wanted me to become a piano prodigy. But I could never make their dreams come true,” you laugh, voice lacking any humor. “And even though they still want me to play the piano, it’s been a long time since I saw anything close to pride in their eyes. What can I say, I’m just your average pianist.”

“Bullshit,” Yoongi’s word makes your eyes snap up, and the sudden anger that boils in your blood makes you open your mouth, but he never allows you to speak. “It’s your fear of disappointment that’s stopping you from becoming whatever you want. I need to ask a question, though,” he drinks from another beer again, emptying it in a matter of seconds. “Do you really want to become a pianist?”

“Of course I do,” the words jump out of your mouth instantly, not needing to think them through. They feel natural on your tongue, an indelible truth you have known since the beginning of your memories. Something about your tone seems to convince him, nodding silently in that familiar way that shows quiet appreciation.

Nevertheless, you are not prepared for the bomb that Yoongi suddenly drops in the already heavy atmosphere.

“My girlfriend died in a day like this, five years ago.”

Your mind turns blank. You gape at him, a bit shamelessly, as your chest constricts under a foreign swirl of emotions. Yoongi’s eyes settle on the surface of the wooden table, his mind somewhere far away.

“Raindrop… it was her favorite song.”

You try to come up with something to say, but you fail miserably. Not even a quick I’m sorry, not even a word of comfort. Your ability to form sounds have vanished from your throat entirely, as if your vocal chords suddenly stopped functioning.

You and Yoongi leave a few minutes later, the daze of the alcohol long gone after the heavy words he uttered, still clear and sharp and forming a cloudy wall between your bodies. He walks beside you towards your bus stop, and his gaze finally finds yours when he notices your shy, curious eyes that continuously keep going back to him.

“Don’t worry about me. I’ve accepted it already,” he blinks as he stares at you, making you aware of his sudden closeness. You’re fully conscious of his body heat now, almost overpowering amidst the strange atmosphere. “Worry about yourself. We have to prepare for your audition in two months, don’t we?”

Your heart jumps at his tone, surprisingly tender. You nod mutely, and then his mouth does something you never thought you would see so soon, almost blinding you as the strange feeling you have been trying to avoid finally bursts in your chest and expands all over your body.

He smiles. A true, honest smile, wide and flaring with hope and quiet contentment. And just for a fleeting moment, gone in the blink of an eye, you can almost see that mesmerizing, hopelessly romantic pianist back in his eyes. It is even more beautiful than you imagined.

Your brain is barely able to process the way he leans in, pressing a soft kiss to your cheek that lingers on your skin for the rest of the night.

“I believe you can do it,” the words get lost in the chilly air as your bus shows up. He is gone in a matter of seconds, still smiling as he disappears in the darkness of the night.

The rest of the night dissipates in a weightless daze, your feet barely touching the ground as you head home. You manage to fall asleep quickly, but Yoongi’s smile and mellow words ground themselves in the depths of your dreams, mixing with the painful sound of raindrops in a storm.

Something changes during the tenth week.

You grin the moment Yoongi opens the door, but you’re only met with hardened eyes. Any trace of the hopeful, tender pianist you saw last week is now completely gone. He lets you in without a word, and your mind starts racing with worry as you follow him to the music room.

“Have you practiced Raindrop?” he asks without so much as a glance, voice lacking any spark or interest. He sounds bored, just like the first time you two met.

“I have—”

“Then get on with it.”

You part your lips to snap back at him — after all, you believed you two had come to the silent agreement not to speak rudely to each other; but the look in his eyes is as stern and glacial as you have never seen it. Something in the way he looks, like a tickling bomb that is about to burst, tells you that maybe today is not the day to fight back, and that his inner turmoil is probably more than enough for him.

The class is painful, and so is the next after that one, and the next. There is only one month and a week left until your audition, and it’s as if your improvement has met a tall, infinite wall that does not allow you to move on, one that is just as sharp and resilient as this new, unwelcome semblance of his. He only becomes more irked and irritable as the time goes by, only spewing short and hurtful sentences that only manage to numb your supposedly emotional performances.

There is one month left until your audition when you finally break.

That week you arrive early, and it is no surprise when he receives you with his usual glare. It still feels like a sudden pressure on your chest, swirling uncomfortable and tightening your lungs as the hopeful feelings that rose the night he smiled at you continue crumbling down, vanishing like dust.

“New song,” he spats as you enter his house.

You follow him hurriedly, eyes wide as you stare at the pack of his head. “What? I thought I’d be playing Raindrop at the audition—”

“You can’t,” he sits on the chair, pointing at the piano. “New song.”

“You know what? Fuck you, Yoongi,” you hate the way your voice wavers, eyes immediately blurring with angry tears. He shows no sentiment as he acknowledges your shaky form. “I’ve tried to keep up with your bullshit— I don’t know what tantrum you’ve been pulling, but it’s been four weeks now, for fuck’s sake! Whatever it is that’s troubling you, deal with it, and don’t use me as your punchbag. It’s not fair…” your voice fades, and a couple of tears finally fall and roll down your cheeks.

It is through a teary gaze that you see Yoongi getting up, confidently striding in your direction until he’s right in front of you, and then he’s holding your face between his hands and pressing an insistent kiss on your lips—

“No,” you push him away, heart beating so hard it almost jumps out of your chest. You exhale a shaky breath, cleaning your eyes hastily to stare at him clearly. Your thoughts halt when you find his eyes — there is something raw and intense in them that takes you aback, but it is not enough to stop the anger bubbling in your chest.

“How dare you? after everything I’ve put up with— how can you expect me to suddenly forget about your shitty attitude—”

“You’re right, you’re right,” he interrupts, voice hoarse. “Yes, I was an asshole. I just… I don’t know how to deal with… this,” he looks so lost, so troubled — and you have to contain yourself from walking up to him, hands turning into tight fists at your sides as your nails dig painfully into your skin.

“What do you mean?” you ask, not sure if you want to know the next words.

He finally looks at you directly in the eye. He looks small, vulnerable. “Well, you.”

He comes closer again, and this time you let him take one of your hands. It is almost scary— the way he’s looking at you straight in the eye, gaze surprisingly open, not hiding himself anymore.

“This is the first time I have… feelings for someone after what happened five years ago, and I don’t know how to deal… I’m so sorry. I didn’t want to hurt you. I know I keep fucking up… I just don’t know how…”

“It’s okay, Yoongi,” the way he sounds breaks your heart. It is proving harder for you to just stand there, only able to hold his hand tightly as he tries not to drown in his thoughts.

“Do you want to take a walk?” your sudden question makes him snap out of whatever reverie he was dwelling on, confused eyes staring down at you. “Let’s get some fresh air.” you give him a tentative smile as you gently tug at his hand, feeling inevitably afraid of his rejection.

Yoongi nods, and your breathing feels a little less tight. “Yeah, let’s go.”

He leads you to a small, quiet park near his house, where the winds are strong and make you shiver. But the slightly biting air falls to the back of your mind thanks to Yoongi’s presence, inevitably comforting as he gradually calms down. He takes a seat on a bench that’s located in front of a small, shallow pond, and you join him as both of you stare curiously at the family of three that feeds the ducks at the other side.

“I keep losing my composure around you. It’s embarrassing,” Yoongi snorts after a few minutes of stillness. He’s staring down at the water, peaceful except for the soft waves left by the trail of ducks. “Meeting you only made me realize how emotionless I’ve been for five years. Times goes by so fast…”

You allow the silence to stretch between you for a few seconds, taking a deep breath before talking, your voice as soft as the wind. “Is that why you quit? Because of her?”

Yoongi nods, looking down at his hands.

“She was also a musician, a very talented one. She was the one that believed in me when no one else did,” Yoongi explains in a low tone, eyes glazing as he gets lost in his memories. “Suga wouldn’t have existed without her, and when she passed away… I just couldn’t find another reason to continue being that person.”

You nod, understanding. A million thoughts are running through your mind, some more sympathetic than others. A small, loud part of you is begging you to reproach him for shutting himself down like he did, but you remind yourself how useless it is to voice them out loud. The past is the past, and he probably knows that already.

“I’m glad you’re feeling something now,” those words are the only ones you’re unable to keep inside, escaping your lips and making you lower your head in slight embarrassment.

You don’t meet his eyes, but you can hear the smile in his voice. “Yeah, me too.”

Time flies that evening as the conversation flows, exchanging mindless words as the somber topic of his ex-girlfriend fades away. He listens intently as you talk about music and friends, and you smile in quiet amusement as he mentions the highlights of his past. For once, Yoongi’s words are not tight or constricted.

You know it is too soon for him to free himself after so many years of inner conflict. Even so, a minuscule part of you hopes that maybe he is not going downhill anymore — and that you are the one helping him take a step forward, closer to the sunlight. Down a path inevitably filled with ups and downs, but leading him where he truly deserves to be.

You leave when the sky starts to darken, with the promise of seeing him again that weekend. It makes your heart beat fast and loud — for once, you will not go to his house for a stern lesson of repeated practice. You will go to see Yoongi, the quiet, sensitive man hidden under the hard shell of a pianist that once was as great as the sun.

“I want to show you a song.”

“What? I thought this wasn’t a lesson—”

Yoongi shakes his head, containing a smile as he lets you inside his house. “It’s not a lesson. Come with me.”

You walk through the already familiar path towards the music room. You were not sure of what to expect for today, but Yoongi sitting in front of the piano and signaling for you to join him was definitely at the bottom of the list. You were sure he would want to do something different than the usual, but his eyes are glinting with something special and his smile, though small, looks strikingly earnest.

And instead of the chair, he pats the spot next to him on the bench.

“Oh, I can just stand up, don’t worry—”

“It’s okay, I want you to sit with me.”

The nerves begin to spark, heightening your senses as you join him on the bench. His right thigh and arm brush against your side when you sit, muscles tense as you watch him position his fingers over the keys. He takes his time, touching them lightly and delicately, as if they were made of glass.

“Every year, around this month, I play Raindrop until I can’t feel my fingers anymore,” he says in a soft voice. “But… it’s different this time. It’s truly amazing, how meeting you taught me that maybe it’s not wrong to want to move on.”

He begins to play, and you recognize the melody immediately — it’s one of your favorite pieces by Handel, Chaconne in G Major. The melody starts happy and cheerful, full of hope. For once it feels light and joyful, which is strange coming from Yoongi’s fingers, as his songs have always been tainted with melancholy and a dark heaviness weighing over his fingers.

You smile in surprise as his fingers dance above the keys — like they’re playing a game, one he is actually enjoying as his body sways softly to the music.

The switch is almost confusing when the song suddenly changes its tone. Even though you know the melody by heart, you’re still taken aback — the sadness is there again, and you hate how well Yoongi is capable of transmitting that grief, your heart clenching as the distressing melody spreads across the room.

You feel completely engrossed in the music as it slowly changes again, tempo gradually growing. The switch is not immediate this time, but you can still perceive how his feelings start to change through the music, from sorrow to anger and frustration, to finally reach its cheerful melody again.

The melody permeates all over your chest and roots there, rapidly overwhelming as the song transforms into something new and powerful, hope bursting and seeping out of his fingers as the piece finally reaches its end.

You can only stare as he puts his hands on his lap, long fingers tightening above his thighs.

Finally looking up at him, you find yourself at a loss of words when you meet his radiant smile.

“Do you like that song?”

“Yeah, it’s one of my favorites. At first it took me a few listens to realize how… intense it is.”

“It reminds me of you.”

The confession almost makes your heart burst, skin heating up pleasantly as you try to hold back a blissful smile.

“I know we were practicing Raindrop, and that it was probably going to be the one we’d be taking to your audition, but I think this one fits you better. It has a happy ending, doesn’t it?”

You nod, still smiling impossibly wide. Feeling suddenly bold, you take his hand, lightly squeezing. He clasps it tightly, and a sudden need to bring him closer numbs your senses.

You are not sure of when or how it happens, but then his body is completely flush against yours, in a hug so tight it almost leaves you breathless. It is almost painful — how desperate he seems to hold you against him, as if he were too afraid to let you go. Still, his closeness feels like heaven, arms encaging you in a comforting embrace.

You lose all restraint as you press a soft kiss against his cheek, heart hammering against your chest when he turns his lips towards yours, slow and hesitant, as if waiting for your lead.

He is asking for permission, and your heart grants it to him.

The kiss starts slow and deep, almost languid in the way he softy parts his lips to flick his tongue against yours. The pace is slow, unhurried, like you have all the time in the world to kiss and get to know each other’s bodies. His warm hands caress your back under your shirt, making you shudder against him as his lips move smoothly, lovingly.

It does not take long for your movements to become insistent, and your thoughts turn fuzzy and erratic as long sighs and brazen touches are exchanged. You are only able to focus on how hot your skin feels and how alleviating his fingertips feel against it, and it is with intimate smiles that you both get up so he can press you against the piano, the sudden, clangorous sound of the keys making you chuckle against his mouth.

Outside of the music room the sun starts to melt, and the glowing colors of the sunset drip inside as clothes fall to the ground and gasps of pleasure turn headier. Strong hues of orange and purple reflect on your sweaty skin as you both get lost in each other; and for once, his fingertips leave no bitterness in their path.

By the time you both come back to reality the sun is long gone, and you stare at the darkening sky in a silent daze as he presses soft kisses against your lips. You can only smile lazily, allowing him to help you get down the piano. You hiss when you feel your lower back starting to hurt, a pain you had not noticed before.

“Are you okay?”

You nod, looking up at him with a glazed look, still soaking in the deep contentment. Yoongi leans in for another kiss, but the shrill noise of your ringtone breaks the moment. You grab your phone amidst the heap of clothes lying on the floor, cursing in surprise when you see the time. You start putting on your clothes hurriedly, berating yourself under your breath.

“Oh god, have more than two hours passed already? I’m late, I’m so late,” you mumble frantically. Turning to Yoongi, you flush when you realize he is still completely naked, staring down at you as his eyes flicker from your face to your phone repeatedly.

“Hoseok and Namjoon have their first stage with the band tonight,” you sigh. “I promised I’d go. Um, you can come if you want—”

Yoongi shakes his head, giving you a tender smile that does not manage to reach his eyes. “It’s okay, go ahead.”

You stare at him for a few seconds, trying to find anything in his expression. “You sure?”

Yoongi nods. He is still smiling reassuringly, giving you one last glance before he picks up his clothes to cover himself.

“I… I’ll go, then,” you approach him slowly, pressing a timid kiss against his lips. He barely moves as you step away, your eyes completely fixated on his as you start walking away.

“It’s fine, go,” he insists, making you nod as you finally turn around and head to the door.

You walk with a heavy heart towards the place of the concert, not knowing the origins of such an unsettling feeling. It keeps pressing down your chest, tainting your thoughts with a strange darkness that does not allow you to think freely of Yoongi’s touches, still fresh and lingering on your skin.

You try to ignore it, even though the nagging voice never quiets down from its spot in the furthest corner of your mind. It almost reminds you of the darkened melody in Chopin’s prelude, mixing with blurred nightmares during the night.

Three weeks go by, and your nerves gradually grow as the days pass. Not that long ago the day of the audition seemed minimal and faraway, but as your fingers become familiar with the melody of Chaconne the date slithers dangerously closer, almost palpable under your worn out hands.

Yoongi is, fortunately, earnest in his continuous support — his strict behavior has long since softened into subtle smiles and longing stares, which eases your anxiousness into a manageable amount of fear. Nevertheless, there is still something not quite right stirring the air, a tenuous feeling that makes you frown when he is not looking and keeps you awake most nights, struggling to find something under every word that leaves his mouth.

Yoongi has been keeping his distance for a reason you cannot comprehend, and he never bothers to hide it. Pecks never turn into real kisses, and his touches are so quick and faint you wonder if they’re only part of your delusional mind. You force yourself to believe there is are no ulterior motives to it — it is probable that he is only holding himself back so you can keep your entire focus on the audition. He is seeking it as badly as you are, after all.

Those three weeks easily dwindle into one, and it is terrifying to think how in seven days you will be proving worth in front of an intimidating, experienced jury that has already seen more pianists than they could ever count. The day of your final class with Yoongi is a cloudy one, sky filled with dense, dark clouds that forbid the sunshine to wash over the ground and your gradually freezing body.

That uncanny feeling you have been trying to push down is not as subtle this time. His eyes are hooded and turbid looking, features downcast and clearly lacking hours of sleep. It makes you wonder if he played the piano all night — which he admitted to doing quite frequently — or if he simply lied down on his bed and stared absentmindedly at the ceiling, until his eyes closed on their own accord.

“Hey,” he gives you a quick smile, lips dry and slightly cracked. “You can go ahead and start practicing, I need to go upstairs. It’ll be five minutes.”

You nod, walking inside as he closes the door. You watch in hushed apprehension as he strides up a set of stairs that lead to an upper floor you have not seen yet, eyes glued on Yoongi’s disappearing form.

You release a loud, weary sigh, looking around the hallway before heading to the music room. A surge of curiosity zips through your body the moment you spot the opened door of the living room, not giving it too much thought as you walk inside and look around in silent wonder. It serves as a good distraction — you are pretty sure your hands would not work with the same fluency as usual right now, not while knowing that Yoongi seems to be dealing with an internal turmoil again. Chaconne would probably turn into a messy, vacant melody if you obliged your hands to play.

The living room is wide and tastefully decorated, in a simple yet detailed style. It is not very colorful, but fresh and clean thanks to the high windows that grant full access to the natural sunlight. You walk around, eyes sliding through the shelfs full of trophies and pictures of the past. Many first places occupy his memories, shades of striking gold many pianists would be envious of. In most of the pictures he is seen alone, except a handful where he is accompanied by two older people that hold a faint resemblance to him — his parents, probably.

You continue wandering until something out of place catches your attention: a picture frame left forgotten on the couch, with a folded white paper lying on top of it.

You are not a noisy person, but it is as if your feet move on their own accord. Quickly approaching the couch, you keep your senses awake and searching for any noises outside of the room as you grab the paper first.

There are only a few lines written, but only one makes your eyes read it over and over. The words are full of pain, palpable in a way that almost stings the tip of your fingers, and it is with trembling hands that you put it back, the phrase resounding in your head over and over.

You pick up the picture, not surprised at all when you see a beautiful, glowing face staring back at you, with a wide and happy smile stretching her kind features and honest eyes twinkling with mirth. She looks young and brimming with life, and the thought aches your chest mercilessly — for her, for Yoongi, for the mournful words he wrote for her.

I’m sorry. I love you.

The sudden realization hits your body and weakens your muscles, sending a cold, uncomfortable shiver through your frozen limbs. You are only making it worse for him — even if Yoongi believed he could move on, looking into your eyes is probably bringing back wistful memories of the girl he loved, of the girl he loves.

It all makes sense now, if you really think about it. The confusing feelings that are leisurely growing between you both are only ripping his heart apart, not sewing it back. Being with you is making him forget her, and you can only imagine the struggle he is probably facing — it makes your own heart break, for him and for yourself.

And you cannot be the one that pushes him down a path he is not ready to take.

You leave the house without a second thought, even though your own mind is screaming at you to stay. It’s for him, you think in earnest as you look up at the cloudy sky. Just like you, it looks like it may start tearing up at any given second. He doesn’t need someone like me in his life right now.

“Hello?”

“Did I wake you up, hyung?”

Phone against his ear, Yoongi blinks up at the ceiling of his bedroom in a sleepy daze. The room is dark and he can barely see through the murky veil, but one look at the curtains tell him that the sun is probably high in the sky on the other side. He slowly tosses around, yawning as unconsciousness tries to drag him back again.

“What do you think?” Yoongi grumbles, sitting on the bed grudgingly as he runs a hand down his face. “I’m awake now. What do you want?”

“Always so lovely,” Taehyung coos, sounding too lively for Yoongi’s current state. “Well, I’m glad I woke you up. Get ready, I’m picking you up in ten minutes.”

“What the hell are you talking about?”

Taehyung waits a few seconds before answering. “Y/N’s audition is today. Didn’t you know?”

Yoongi can feel the uneasiness start to settle in his stomach, finally walking him up as his free hand grabs the sheets tightly. “Of course I know.”

“Then get ready. We’re going.”

Yoongi sighs, sounding completely spent. He does not want to talk about it, not when the thoughts have been piling up inside of him all week — letting them out would only be bothersome and draining, and he is already too worn out to deal with that sort of thing. “She doesn’t want to see me, Taehyung. Just… let me sleep.”

“I swear to god, you two are way too dramatic,” Taehyung mutters, almost sounding as exhausted as him. “She’s been sulking as much as you, hyung. Can’t you just get out of that bed so we go and see her? I’m sure it would mean a lot to her.”

“She’s been avoiding me all week. And I’m pretty sure you know how I’ve been trying to reach out to her, I don’t want to stalk her.”

Taehyung lets out a distressing sound, making Yoongi wonder if he had a similar conversation with you already.

“I don’t know what made her act like this, but one thing is clear: you’re the one that actually made her think she has a chance today. Even if she doesn’t want to talk to you, I’m sure you’ll give her even more courage if she sees you.” Taehyung’s words are strong and serious, a tone Yoongi rarely hears on his voice. “Please, hyung,” he finally adds, and something in the way his voice softens makes Yoongi’s resolve start to waver.

He sighs, allowing the static silence to take over for a few seconds. Taehyung is dangerously good at convincing others, which is one of the reasons he has Yoongi’s number in the first place. He tries to sound annoyed when he replies, blatantly ignoring the fast beating of his heart.

“I’ll go get ready.”

Almost half an hour later he is finally staring up at the facade of the conservatory with a restless Taehyung by his side. Yoongi feels inevitably sheepish as people around him start to recognize his face, throwing not so subtle glances that make him lower his head automatically.

“Sorry, forgot that could happen,” Taehyung snickers, grabbing his wrist and dragging him towards the stairs that lead towards the tall, intimidating entrance doors. “Ignore them, let’s go.”

Taehyung seems to know his way around, which Yoongi thanks immensely — he is suddenly overcome with countless memories and a heavy dash of nostalgia, sounds and images flashing past his sides at full force and overloading his senses. The tall boy drags his limping form through the mighty hallways, once a second home to Yoongi but now buried deep inside his bright past.

They find the backdoor of the auditorium in no time. Yoongi restlessly waits for Taehyung to open the doors, frowning when he notices the younger doing the same.

Taehyung is staring at him pensively, a look Yoongi does not like. He nods towards the door, waiting for Taehyung to move.

“I’m not going in,” Taehyung finally says, in quick, nervous words as he takes a step back. “I think she’s the third one—”

“Don’t be ridiculous, you’re her best friend,” Yoongi interrupts, befuddled.

“She already knows I can’t stay. In fact, I need to go right now,” Taehyung pats Yoongi’s back, who is still staring up at his friend in silent indignation. “She will appreciate you being here a lot, hyung. Don’t worry.”

“Taehyung— for fuck’s sake— come back here!” Yoongi blurts, a little too loud for the steady silence. Heads turn to him as his eyes follow Taehyung’s retreating form, almost running away from Yoongi as he waves back with a brilliant smile on his face.

Yoongi can feel his breath quickening already, heartbeats frantic and thoughts running wild.

He is here already, isn’t he? Even if your abrupt decision to disappear from his life makes his chest ache, he still desires to see your performance today — that never changed, and he doubts he will ever turn back an opportunity to see you play again. He is not nervous about you failing. He trusts you can do it, that you can shine above every other single contestant.

He still wants to see and hear the magic fly from your fingers, at least one last time.

Yoongi takes a seat far away from the stage, carefully choosing a secluded spot where no one will be able to spot him. All the lights are focused over the piano and the judges, and the nervousness oozing down the tall, jagged walls is both familiar and contagious. He stays completely still as he watches the first contestants, valiantly stepping under the spotlight before sitting in front of the piano with notable confidence.

Yoongi can’t lie, they are good. Yoongi follows their interpretations critically, aware of their flawless techniques and raw talent as they sway to difficult songs that show off every single one of their strengths. They remind him of you that first day you came to him — bursting with practice and talent but void of emotion, only focusing on following the music sheet as perfectly as they can. For him, it is perfectly clear that the only thought in their heads is to get it over with, eyes glazed with images of their future triumph and not their present.

Your turn finally comes and Yoongi shuffles in his seat, eyes intently following your every movement. Even if your steps are slightly nervous, you still look radiant, even more than usual, face glowing with determination as you politely smile towards the judges. You do not notice Yoongi’s presence.

You sit and place your fingers on the piano, and when you start to play, the air completely leaves Yoongi’s lungs.

It’s not Chaconne. Yoongi gapes and listens, completely still as his fingers dig into the fabric of the armrest. His heart is beating too fast, too painfully, and he wonders if you can hear it through the soft but unmistakable melody of Raindrop.

It sounds completely different from any interpretation he ever performed of the song, which he has done countless times. The melody is tender and fresh under your fingertips, and Yoongi can see the tinctures and variations of the music surrounding you, bright and pale and so calm he can almost notice the judges in a trance, just like every other person present in the room.

The melancholy is there, deep and palpable. While Yoongi always mixes it with sorrow and regret, yours is almost filled with a strange sort of contentment, like a sad memory you’re gingerly transforming into something beautiful, something that deserves to be remembered with a smile and not tears.

Yoongi feels completely engrossed, easily forgetting where he is as the melody glides over the auditorium. His throat unavoidably tightens and his eyes burn with tears he does not want to let out, quietly listening as the song approaches its end. Even through a teary gaze, he is unable to contain the gentle smile that curves his lips.

There is no other way he could describe your performance. Gentle and beautiful, like the hope under the sorrow, the dawn that rises over the darkness.

And for the first time, he feels moved.

I did it!! Oh my god that was so fucking scary. Call me as soon as you’re free.

You send the text to Taehyung with trembling fingers, letting your back fall against the wall of the empty hallway as you clean your clammy hands against the fabric of the dress. The adrenaline is still hurtling through your veins and your breathing is ragged, but you could care less about your knackered appearance right now — it’s over. It is over and you’re happy, relieved, feeling weightless after having carried the unbearably heavy nerves all week long.

Someone calls your name, then — a familiar voice that makes you snap your head up in disbelief. Your wide eyes find Yoongi’s shiny ones and you almost drop your phone, heart speeding up again under a very different kind of nervousness.

“Yoongi? What are you doing here?”

He hides his hands inside his pockets, seemingly timid as he takes a tentative step in your direction.

“Well… Taehyung tricked me,” he admits, giving you an embarrassed smirk. “I didn’t want to come, afraid I’d bother you even more— but after listening to that, I can’t regret that I came.”

“Oh,” you can feel yourself flushing hotly, fingers tightening around your phone. You know you should be annoyed at Taehyung, but you can only focus on Yoongi’s acute stare as he looks at you with something that resembles reverence. “Yeah… Raindrop.”

“Why did you change the song?” Yoongi asks, light curiosity in his voice.

You smile softly, even though the gesture is tinted with sadness. “You don’t even know why I left, do you? I’m sorry about that— I found your letter last week.”

It takes Yoongi a few, long seconds to realize, lips parting in recognition. “Oh.”

You nod. “It’s okay, though. You still love her, and it was silly of me to think I could have a chance with you—”

Yoongi frowns. “Hey… that’s not—”

“Wait, let me finish,” you interrupt, voice sounding a little strained. “I found the letter and the picture. She was beautiful, Yoongi,” you smile genuinely, and he can only nod, listening intently. “I… decided to do some research about her after that, and learned that not only was she beautiful outside, but inside too. It was admirable— all the things she was doing for herself and others. All the campaigns, all the people she helped. I don’t know how I didn’t hear about her before.

It kinda bothered me, how a lovely person like her is not recognized among musicians. I felt so inspired, I just… decided to dedicate my audition to her. It had to be Raindrop, of course,” your smile grows. “But I didn’t want to make it painful. I wanted to celebrate her life, to turn the sadness of this song into something beautiful, just like her.”

Yoongi parts his lips, but nothing comes out. He finally figures out what to say after a few laden seconds. “Thank you.”

“It’s okay, I wanted to do this. I hope it wasn’t painful for you. I…” you take a deep breath. “I’ll go now. See you around, Yoongi.”

“You got it all wrong,” he says before you’re able to leave. He’s chuckling, and the lighthearted sound takes you aback, your eyes finding his as he takes another step closer. “That day, with the picture and the letter… I was planning to take it to the cemetery later. Yeah, I was feeling a little shaken, but I was not mourning— I already did plenty of that back in the day. I was just saying goodbye,” he explains, words rushing out of his mouth. They make your body feel light, the confusion making you frown.

“What do you mean?”

“What you hear. I was finally ready to take a step further with you— only if you wanted to, of course,” he clarifies, eyes intent and voice as clear and confident as it has never been. “I was only saying goodbye. And I love her, of course I do. But I’m not in love with her anymore.”

The meaning laced in his words is deep and transparent, making your heart flutter in sudden realization. His words fall into place like the missing pieces of a puzzle, finally vanishing any doubt that ever grew inside your head.

He loves her, but he is willing to open up again — and he has granted you the honor to lead the way for him.

You can only take his hand, giving him the biggest smile you can muster.

“Come with me, then. There’s a song I want to show you, and it kinda reminds me of you…”

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