#but i’m truly like how are people still referring to characters as ‘the taller man’ and shit. like isnt everybody always talking about

[dashiellqvverty]

obviously the best way to become a better writer is to read real books but there’s so many things that annoy me in fic that i feel like should be able to be addressed by simply READING MORE FANFICTION. i’m going to be mean here but so often i will see things like the way people use commas (or more accurately, don’t use them), or calling characters “the blond” “the younger man” etc, or idk those are the main examples on my mind at the moment but other shit like that. and i’m like surely even if you don’t read books you read other fanfic right??? do you not think it sounds bad when other fic reads like this???

[alluringjae]

until dawn - ljn

part I | part II

⤑ summary: basic number one rule of the museum is not to touch the art. but no one told jeno that falling for one of them isn’t allowed either.

⤑ pairing: jeno x female reader

⤑ word count: 14k

⤑ genre: fluff, humor, angst | broke architecture major!jeno, historical figure!reader, college!au

⤑ warnings: jaemin mentions onlyfans as a joke, references to actual historical figures (some try to flirt with jeno lol) and literature, explicit language

⤑ author’s note: wow, i’ve had this idea for almost two years! this one was inspired by one of my favorite childhood movies, night at the museum. it definitely required a lot of research and brainstorming, and finally i brought it to life! it was so fun to play around with the characters, and even if majority of them are real people, this is all still fiction.

i also wanna mention one of my moots, marge for enlightening me about her life as an architecture major.

⤑ taglist: @renjunniehome​ (dm me if you want to be added) 

⤑ leave me some feedback, constructive criticism or hellos!

Dormitory rent was another thing to worry about aside from the inflated university tuition per semester. Although he’s lucky to have his parents backing him up already on it, paying the monthly rent for his dorm was the remaining objective on Jeno’s list.

Plus, money for food. The man was a heavy eater, following the whole “gym is life” mantra.

Splitting it already with two of his dorm mates turned best friends, Renjun and Jaemin, his plate felt lighter. But the question still lies: where on earth was he going to get the money?

He’s practically checked out every available part-timing job in university and anywhere near campus. Barista at the same café Jaemin works at, teaching assistant for an art school for kids, convenience store cashier, library assistant, all taken in a heartbeat. The burden of his friends paying his debt these past months took a toll on him, almost to the point he almost considered making an Onlyfans.

“Yah, just find something else! Part-timers are in demand right now!” Renjun intensely closed his laptop before his older friend gets any suggestive thoughts.

“I mean, you didn’t work out your body to look the way it is for nothing.” Jaemin pitched otherwise, lifting the front back up. “When do you want to start filming? Loads of chicks would dig a piece of you!”

The contradicting opinions of his friends were like the devil and angel debating on his shoulders. Useless, he gave this worry a rest and returned to drawing new plates. A common thing when you’re an architecture major. Those deadlines were nearing. Looks like he’ll pull another all-nighter again.

Good thing most of his classes were late in the morning until 6 pm.

As if someone from above heard his petition, Jeno saw a help wanted sign posted on the bulletin board outside of the university museum. He initially went there to document some artwork and architecture models from Greek and Roman times, further analyzing how they’re still apparent in modern buildings.

The sign explained the need for one part-timer from any college to cover the night shift of the museum due to the current night guard’s full semester absence. He only had to come in 3x a week, choosing his days since he was still a student. Even the pay was above average, considering that most part-timers never go beyond midnight. Jeno would, on the other hand, always staying for his projects or gaming with the boys. Drinking sometimes during late-night Fridays with his entire college crew.

The pay would leave him a load of extra cash for himself, thus he sent an application to the museum office right before he left. A week later, while he was out with the boys, he got a text from the office that they wanted to meet him again for a final interview first thing on Monday.

Perhaps it was having architecture as his course and a healthy physique that landed him the part-timer position. Mainly, the latter because guards required strong endurance and fighting skills when worse comes to worst. It would start at 9 pm until 6 am the following day, and there was a designated uniform of it too. Blue blazer with matching trousers, white dress top, and loafers.

Aside from the typical museum etiquette the head director instructed him about, there was an unofficial list of tips written on paper given from the night guard on leave when the director handed you over his box of office-related things.

Only read at the night guard office once you’re the remaining staff left.

He did as he was told like an obedient son, flipping the succeeding page.

 To my temporary replacement,

This part-timing job is nothing regular than the other jobs. You’ll witness things as you’ve never imagined them to be, almost like witchcraft. You’ll be lost and maybe frightened, or that’s how I felt the first time because no one led me through it all those years ago. Lucky for you, I made this small guide on how to properly take care of the place that the other staff doesn’t know about.

Before you proceed, I request you take a 5-minute stroll around the lobby first to understand what I’m talking about. After such, go back to the office or somewhere quiet then browse through the guide as quickly as you could.

Art is timeless here, so they need to be taken care of.

Good luck!

 Park Sanghoon

Night Guard on Leave

 Nothing could’ve prepared Jeno for what’s to come once he unlocked the office door. They say that art brings so much color to our life, allowing us to feel all sorts of emotions in a glimpse. But no one ever interpreted art to be literally alive and walking in the halls.

Behold, random wax figures and marble sculptures that he’s seen in the past roamed the hallways, as well as the paintings were interacting with each other side by side. Even the standee of a puppy from the entrance played fetch with one of those sculptures. He swore he looked like Hermes the messenger god from his arrow headpiece and sandals.

It made more sense why the guard on leave explained his feelings during the first day because it resembled Jeno’s. But unlike that guard, Jeno sucked it up. No one ever does well on the first day, even if others say otherwise. The first day was a learning experience, so he collected his thoughts even though the goosebumps triggered his body during that one rotation.

There was an indoor garden, already locked by the day guard earlier. The only room without any art piece, where students lounge to study the plants or relax in nature.

The sculptures section ahead, showcasing various fictional figures specifically from Greek mythology, chattered away about family drama and beliefs. The sculptures of Hades and Zeus, according to their title plate, argued relentlessly about power while Athena always intervened by shouting or even throwing arrows or daggers to any of the lightbulbs there.

That was one rule in the guide, but Jeno didn’t know yet until he came inside the room and swerved the attention of the arguing duo.

“Well, what do we have here?” Zeus, in the center, straightened his posture on his throne to present himself in a more regal way. “Are you perhaps the temporary replacement of Sir Sanghoon?”

“Sir Sanghoon’s stand-in is rather good looking, don’t you think?” Hera mused, stepping down from her throne beside Zeus to take a closer look at the taller male. Her cold fingers trailed his jaw until his chest, where his heart was beating intensely. She even pinched his toned bicep, mouthing wow.

“Truly handsome you are, my dear. So full of life, please introduce yourself to us.”

While Jeno introduced himself to everyone in that room, he answered any sorts of questions they had for him too. From his age, educational background, hobbies, Aphrodite just had to ask him if he had a girlfriend because he was that handsome.

“Nope, I’m single. With my degree in architecture, the requirements are so heavy I can’t even try dating.”

Mentioning his degree excited the gods, telling him how their people created and designed all these temples to house them and perform rituals. They loved it so much. This was a copy-paste of what Jeno learned from his history classes, and for a first, he’s hearing the perspective of the Greek gods.

Mind-boggling that he hasn’t fully freaked out yet. That’s what Athena anticipated when Sanghoon told her about his short leave, putting her in charge of everyone for the meantime while the replacement settled down.

The college museum was built during the late 70s as a gift from one of the alumni. It was for the purpose to preserve history and educate college students outside the classroom. The Greek mythology exhibit was the oldest one, making Athena have more seniority. Over her stay, she’s seen every new guard lose their senses during the first night. Some not even returning for a second night. She got used to every outcome, and so far, only 8 people lasted after the first night. A couple of students in the 70s and 80s, Sanghoon in the 90s, and now Jeno was one of them.

“Jeno, aren’t you terrified by us? You just got a job in a museum that comes to life every night, and it’s not a normal thing.”

“Well, I’m still shaken up about it. But it’s my first night, and it’s when I learn everything about the place from head to toe. Plus, I really need the money.”

“Money for what? But you’re young, a student even!”

“Yes, I am. However, I do pay for the rent in my dorm. So, this job is like my first big responsibility, and I want to perform well.”

Athena commended his sense of authority, capable of leading himself. She noticed how well-spoken and poised he is, respecting and listening to everything the gods and goddesses said even if they were nonsense. She never liked to compromise with her power, taking a while to like Sanghoon back in the day. Though Jeno looked like a natural leader on his first night. If he could take care of himself well, he’s skilled to take care of the rest in the museum as well.

Plus she had full control on the nights he won’t be there, especially the weekend.

With his potential, Athena mentored him the entire night about the gist of the entire museum. Every upcoming leader needs an intelligent mentor, right? She was naturally gifted with worthy leadership skills, managing Jeno like her own child.

Athena explained how the museum came to life, which was through a royal golden plate from the Oriental room. It was a gift from a popular sorceress in China to an affluent family from the Han dynasty, who wished them a long life after she was saved from invaders due to them. The plate preserved over time, becoming an artifact. Its power remained immortal, mutating to bring life wherever it goes. In this case, the museum since its arrival in the late 70s as well.

“That’s why the Oriental room must be locked always so no one could touch or break the plate.”

After she ordered Jeno to lock the mentioned room, alongside the Foreign Art Exhibit Room which he checked out for his class, she led him to the best view of the entire museum. Center of the second floor, where stairs were on both sides. Jeno marveled at the vivacious atmosphere, witnessing actual art living, breathing, and enjoying themselves.

“Unreal, right?” She leaned in the railing, scanning through the chatty paintings.

Jeno also leaned down, deep in thought and wonder. “Absolutely, Athena. How come no one knows about this? Art coming to life? It’ll invite more students to the museum.”

“That goes against a golden rule as a night guard in this museum.” She replied bluntly. “The life that goes on inside this museum at night must remain a secret to the public.”

Jeno predicted this kind of response, having watched too many films where anything supernatural mustn’t be revealed. Although he liked the advantage of knowing something this powerful, he’d never abuse it.

Athena’s intellect was beyond the world, seamlessly reading Jeno’s expression and what he was thinking. He had good intentions even if he’s a bit mischievous. She needed to keep a keen eye on him, but for now, he needed to explore on his own.

“Anyways, Sanghoon still left out some other details. So if you have any questions, I’ll be at my exhibit trying to shut my father and my uncle up again.”

“Can you not use any weapons to do so?”

“Can’t make any promises, Jeno.” She slyly cracked her knuckles and neck as if she was fighting another battle.

Jeno was silently left with himself, finally browsing through Sanghoon’s guide while seated in one of the museum benches.

It consisted of 25 rules, wherein the first two rules consisted of locking up. One, for the doors and gates of the museum, so no art piece could escape. If they do, they will turn into dust when the sun is out according to Athena. Two, locking the Oriental and Foreign Art Rooms, which was already done.

Rule #5: Let Mochi the puppy from the lobby tag along with you; feed him treats if you have any.

On cue, the little guy barked from the corridor and raced to his side. Jeno carried him, babying him for a little and letting him lick his face a few times before putting him back down. He’s surely going to the pet store first thing in the morning with the museum allowance the director gave him.

Since he was on the second floor, he read and followed the rules that fit in before returning downstairs. On the other side of the floor were the wax figures exhibitions: one for prominent men in history while the other for prominent women. Well, more people to get acquainted with.

It’s the exchange of gasps and profanities he received when he chose the latter room. Seeing their faces, these were women he’s learned in school and online. Now in the (fake) flesh. Except for one girl he’s never heard of, unbothered in her corner sketching her life away in a sketchpad. But before he could check who she was, a suggestive touch on his arm distracted him.

“My, oh my, Hera wasn’t lying when she said that the new night guard was a fine specimen.” By her dark blue eyeshadow and eyeliner with the snake-like crown, Cleopatra studied him like he was one of the most renowned art pieces. Even patting his chest, abdomen, and arms with both her hand, Jeno caught a suggestive glint in her eyes and a smirk across her red lips.

Rule #13: Reject Cleopatra’s seductive advances at all costs.

“Goodness, Cleopatra. It’s only his first night, and you’re scaring him.” With her accent, round eyes, and a chic formal outfit, she carried a posh aura while unhesitatingly scolding the Queen of the Nile.

“Come on now, Diana. He’s stunning, who wouldn’t go after him?” If no one knew her, you’re not reading up on your world history. She’s said to have been a lovely and intelligent woman, gone so soon. Jeno definitely understood why after she detached Cleopatra’s raging hands off him.

Rule #14: Treat Princess Diana and Hera like your own parent.

“Your highness.” Jeno nodded at her out of respect, only making her chuckle uncontrollably.

“No need to address me like that, love. Now, come here.” She widened her arms for Jeno, hugging him amiably. He sensed her motherly warmth, accepting such a gesture. “You remind me so much of my youngest son, Harry. Welcome to the night shift of the museum, love.”

Similar to the Greek mythology exhibit, he introduced himself and responded to any questions that the women wax figures may have. Good for him, they weren’t crossing any borders and kept him at ease.

“A student like you working at night to pay rent?” Katherine Johnson, an African-American NASA mathematician whose calculations led to the success of a lot of famous spaceflights, cannot believe her ears. Students must only focus on school, nothing else. “What about your studies, boy?”

Rule #15: Engage in academic discussions with Katherine Johnson whenever you can.

“Most of my classes are in the afternoon, Miss Katherine. So I’ll sleep in the entire morning later and study during my breaks.”

“Mr. Jeno, what do you like to do outside of work?” Anne Frank, a German-Dutch teenager whose revolutionary diary that documented her life in hiding from the Nazis gained popularity worldwide after publication dreamily asked from her section of the exhibit. Her life was robbed of greatness merely because of her religion and war.

Rule #16: Bring delicious food or gifts to Anne Frank.

“Well, I like to bike with my friends, exercise, and draw whatever comes into mind!”

Everyone he’s met so far acquired pleasure in knowing about who he was and his passion for architecture, ridding the “freaking out” phase Athena assumed he had. Yet not everyone in this exhibit bothered to give him a shot.

Jeno’s attention from Anne talking about her crush towards Peter van Daan, a teenage boy who lived with her, switched to the section beside her, where an unacquainted figure was zealously sketching as if something was due to the following day. It reflected how he’d look when he’s cramming one of his plates due to first thing in the morning. While he properly excused himself, he quietly gazed at the way this woman scrunched her eyebrows when she erased something then drew it again. She was someone he’s never seen or heard before, reading the information plate in front of him about her.

 (Y/N) (Y/L/N), Explorer and Author. (1854-1900)

 Wealthy women in the Victorian Era only served one purpose in society: marry a man from a prestigious family, have his children and join whatever interests they have. However, for (Y/N), she wasn’t going to conform to those standards.

Born into the affluent house of (Y/L/N), she was the youngest of 8 children. She was said to be the kindest and sweetest sibling out of everyone, not capable of hurting anyone or anything. She said it herself that she can’t throw away a dying flower because it’s too painful. While 5 of her older brothers were sent to school, she stayed at home with her 2 older sisters Cecilia and Amelia where she learned how to play the piano and take voice lessons from impressive teachers. Due to the huge age gaps between them (12 and 8 respectively), she never felt close with them. She was only closest to the 6th and 7th siblings, her twin brothers Benjamin and Liam whom she only had a 2-year gap. She was also best friends with one of the scullery maids her age, Lily, because she found her amusing that than the boring rich girls her mother forced to interact with.

The moment it bothered her that she wanted to live a more meaningful life was when Amelia got married. She was 12 years old at the time, and it left her as the last unwed daughter in the family. Badly did she want to revolt, which she gradually did. Instead of practicing piano, she’d sneak in to read every book in her father’s office. She secretly studied the notes of her older brothers from school and even dressed as a boy numerously thanks to Benjamin and Liam to join their classes or field trips.

This was her routine up until the age of 18 when she stomped her foot down and expressed to her parents that she wasn’t going to let Victorian society dictate her. The night before her parents were bound to send her to her great aunt’s home down South to sort her out, she successfully snuck out her house thanks to Lily, Benjamin, and Liam. It’s another good thing that she saved a lot of money for that moment.

Off she went across Europe first, then sailed to America and even parts of Asia. Initially under the name Lilibe, coined from picking the first two letters of her brothers and best friend, she documented her days and nights through her journals and sketches. Over time, she sent them to her brothers for publication. It started the franchise, “The Adventures of the Young and Free Lilibe”. There are 10 books under it.

She learned French, Spanish, Mandarin, Japanese, and Korean by herself as she made friends from those places. It was rare of someone like her to be fluent in Oriental languages, surprising locals every time she spoke to them. She was the only explorer to vividly describe life in different Asian lands in English, talking about their history and culture. With her accurate drawings of diverse citizens and their daily lives, it educated a lot of those living back home in Europe about them rather than speaking lowly of them.

In Seoul did she stayed the longest until her death from pneumonia at the young age of 46.

In her posthumous work, Finding Me, did she reveal her real identity, dedicating it to her parents whom she apologized and expressed her love for them despite everything that occurred between them. She talked about the last years of her life in Seoul, how locals were so nice and inviting to her, and how she adopted kids instead of having her own through the years.

“It’s not because I never found love in men. It’s more like I found love in doing things I’m passionate about. Traveling, learning new cultures, it outweighed the human need of romance.”

Due to her thrill in taking risks and embarking on wondrous adventures, it brought inspiration to a lot of young girls pressured to marry at that time to pursue what they really want.

 A remarkable background you had, Jeno contemplated. How come no one discussed her in his classes?

You kept brushing the bangs of your hair back as it fell repeatedly. But you got irritated instantly because it sabotaged your drive, you brought out a hairpin from her desk and attached it on both sides. But when you shifted your angle of focus, the corner of your eye locked with Jeno’s attentive gaze.

He didn’t flinch, even he should’ve. He wasn’t one to linger his look on anyone’s physical appearances, but your story and the passion on your face as you sketched mesmerized him. He was charmed, to say the least.

“Uhm, hello there?” You broke the silence due to your uneasiness about it. What’s his deal?

Jeno bowed, reintroducing himself to you. As soon as his presence settled in the room when Cleopatra attempted to hit on him, you could’ve cared less. Though this man was a first for you, a first in a long time as all guards would feel intimidated by you during the first night. Even your sharp tongue didn’t faze him. “Staring is rude, sir. Didn’t your mother teach you manners?”

“She did,” He wandered through the exterior of your section, by the fence that separated you and him. Not breaking eye contact, his eyes turned into moon crescents as he smirked with trouble. “Though she also told me to appreciate the art too.”

Snorts noisily exhaled from Cleopatra, who took the center section of the exhibit, succeeded by Princess Diana’s whispered gasps and Katherine’s side-eyeing Anne beside her while she taught her math. That was an odd way a guard conversed with you, but Jeno was merely doing what the rules stated. Partly, he was impressed with his cheesy pick-up line, partly embarrassed because he’s never spoken like this to anyone.

Rule #17: Act playfully around (Y/N) (Y/L/N) to break the tension; she’s a harsh one.

There was irony between the information he read about your life versus the wax model. Even when you faced sexism and ran away according to your history, never were you impolite to anyone in your life. You couldn’t even kill a lurking fly when it roams around your food! It showed Jeno a possibility that as much as you’re just a wax version of someone famous in the past, maybe the external environment around you had a heavy influence too.

“You fool!” His confidence exasperated you, urging you to persistently throw balls of paper with your failed sketches at him. No one dared to talk to you like that, most especially a night guard. “Take that for your comment!”

If you thought he’d scram away and act repentant, you were proven wrong. His reflexes were parallel to a spider, capturing every single paper ball without fail. Up and down his body went, one arm held on to them and no more were left on your part. Never a single defeat during the first meeting in years, but that seemed to alter now.

“Give up already, Ms. (Y/L/N)?” Jeno remarked vibrantly as he discarded your mess in the trash bin behind him. If he managed to get everyone to like him tonight, he wanted to make sure to have you onboard too.

Whatever agenda he had, you weren’t up for it. You’d treat him the same way you usually treated Sanghoon for the past 20 something years: cold and ignorant. From your stool, you left your comfortable position to come face to face with this man. He better be grateful for that barrier in between you, or else you would’ve caused mayhem.

“Never in your wildest dreams, Mr. Lee.” Your mouth gave a half-smile, clenching on the bars to liberate your annoyance. Before you could fend back, that’s when Princess Diana intervened between your heated dialogue.

“Oh heavens, children!” She stood by the barrier, mostly to protect the newbie Jeno with her body. “(Y/N), he just wanted to know you. Must you be so cross?”

This Princess Diana embodied all the traits the real one had: soft-spoken, intelligent, and protective. She’s gotten so used to your gradual temper, staying on standby whenever anyone tried to mess with you. Even if it was harmless, you could get so mean!

“Diana, he was mocking me! Saying such a sleazy phrase as if to amuse me, ha! Not a chance, I hate people like that.”

“Not us women though; you just despise men in general.”

“And you’re absolutely right!” With a smug smile, you greedily rejoiced. “Anyways, escort this disgrace out. I’m not in the mood to get angry when I have a lot of inspiration on mind right now.”

While you resumed your sketching to let go of that extra steam, Jeno was left with Diana who apologized on your behalf. Your pride was too high to do that, and as the motherly figure among them, she always took care of things in your exhibit.

“I’m so sorry for that, Jeno. She’s not really like this, but I know how much you tried your best. It was quite a fresh spectacle honestly.”

Whatever was responsible for your abrasiveness, Jeno yearned to know. He couldn’t understand who you were yet even knowing your life story. All he wanted was to get along with everyone. It was the key to successfully maintain his job for the next 6 months.

“How can I make her come around then?”

A demanding question that no one had a solid answer to. Diana recalled how much Sanghoon didn’t let your dislike for him get to him, maintaining a respectful boundary in between each other after his past attempts. Though with Jeno, observing how he riled you up and your focus entirely on him, she hasn’t seen anything like it since the 80s.

There was something in Jeno that may just get you to warm up and return to your kind nature.

“Aside from acting playful, as Sanghoon recommended, I can think of two ways, love.” By the doors of her exhibit, where Jeno was already waltzing the corridor to visit other rooms, she suggested smartly. “One, argue back to her opinions. She hates whenever anyone tries to get her way, but boy, you’re just as wise as her. No one was brave enough to peeve on her until you came.”

“How about the second way?”

“Do your research, love. Aside from libraries, you have those small technology devices that allow you to search up anything.” She tousled Jeno’s brown locks as if it were her actual son’s. Some habits just don’t die when you do.

“Brush up on your history, Jeno. Not only will it help you with (Y/N), but it’ll serve purposefully with the other art pieces here.”

Boy, he was ready to crash in his bed for a few hours after all those interactions. His introverted nature required to be revitalized.

Towards the last hours of his shift, the art pieces who’ve strolled in the first floor lessened his plate by not leaving any major clutter behind. As if she listened to him, Athena didn’t break any lightbulbs too.

His main highlight would be meeting the men of the historical male section, who flaunted a more humorous ambiance. Freddie Mercury from Queen insisted he drink a glass of his wine and to bring more wine next time, which he denied since it would against Sanghoon’s rules. King Sejong the Great and Martin Luther King Jr. argued back and forth over the most random things (pineapple on pizza specifically), while Steve Jobs mediated whenever one crossed the line. Meanwhile, William Shakespeare was too preoccupied in his writing and speaking to himself about his books, wondering how to improve them.

During one of his breaks today, he multitasked drawing a new plate with his research on every art piece to know them better. He started with the exhibit of sculptures of the Greek gods and goddesses, which were Zeus, Hera, Hades, Athena, Hermes, Aphrodite, Poseidon, Artemis, Dionysus, and Circe. They weren’t the complete roster because the rest were in other museums across the globe, as said by Athena before sunrise. The majority of them he knew what they were in charge of, but the rest were foggy to his knowledge. Typing away and jotting notes down, he started downloading his favorite jazz songs too.

Rule # 4: Play jazz music to the paintings on the first floor so they can relax and dance within their frames.

Circe is a minor goddess, the daughter of the sun god Helios. She’s recognized for her versatility in incantations and herbs, capable of transforming people into animals. From Jeno’s perspective, she’s mostly within her space with her journals and magic wand, trying new spells or combinations of herbs. For the latter, he had to keep a closer eye on.

Rule #9: Don’t let Circe, god of potions, into the Oriental Room to get plants and herbs.

He discovered that Dionysus is the god of wine, happiness, and theatre. That’s why every god in the exhibit had full wine glasses during their gathering. It also added up why Freddie Mercury always comes to him when his bottles run empty, though he mustn’t go overboard.

Rule #18: Make sure Freddie Mercury doesn’t get too drunk from the wine of Dionysus; he might make numerous scenes if he does.

After his lone studying session, he took a short trip to the pet and convenience stores to buy food. He got a dumbfounded look from Jaemin back in the dorm room, who was studying for one of his quizzes in Biology in a couple of hours.

“Woah what’s with this stash? Is it for yourself or something?”

“The museum surprisingly has a lot of tasks needed to be done at night. And no, not from my wallet but the allowance they gave me before you get a heart attack.” Jeno plopped on his solo bed, covering his face with a pillow.

“Thank God.” A relaxed sigh escaped Jaemin’s lips, taking back his balled-up fists meant for his roommate. “I think I would’ve stormed that boring museum if they made your broke ass spend a cent.”

“Boring?” Jeno removed the cushion hastily, eyeing his busy and coffee-high roommate. The scent of black coffee from his mug spread in the room, assuming that this upcoming test was testing his roommate’s patience again.

Not even trying to look at Jeno while reviewing his handwritten notes, Jaemin continued giving his opinion. “Museum culture is dead, Jeno. Not everyone has the time to roam around one, plus people can always look up the artifacts online these days.”

People were entitled to their own opinions on numerous things, though Jeno begged to differ with his roommate’s. Especially after witnessing the magic of the night shift, you shouldn’t merely judge a book by its cover. In this case, you shouldn’t judge an artwork or art piece merely on its history and legacy.

Maybe because his roommate was in the science department, he thought this way. A lot of art students regularly visit the museum both for fun and for their classes, and Jeno was one of them. Though he was too sleepy to explain his side, he let it slide for now and snoozed throughout the late afternoon.

An hour before the start of his shift, Jeno promenaded the emptying museum to inspect anything else he might’ve missed out on from last night. There were two areas according to his rotation, both in the first floor.

One was the Diorama Room. Divided into 4 sections, highlighting some of the well-known ancient civilizations in world history. Ancient Egypt and Ancient China to your left, Ancient Rome and Ancient Maya to your right. They acted as if they were the actual people during those times, giving Jeno a laugh when they cracked jokes in between. Such tiny figures, yet the rule for them said otherwise.

Rule # 7: The small figurines in the Diorama Room are feisty, so make sure they don’t fight with one another again.

The remaining room left was the Theater Room. He’s never been here, though his art friends have for film festivals held by the university.

The interior of it was set to look like an actual cinema place you’d see in a mall. There was a mini lobby with a few posters of iconic films over the years. Singin’ in the Rain, Back to the Future, Titanic, those were some framed and hung on the wall. There were two other doors there: one leading to the chairs and the other where the movie projector was. The latter room was pretty riveting, wherein you can choose to watch old short films through an 88mm film projector or switch to a cd player for the newer releases.

Back to those posters, they weren’t an exception to the magic and a simple rule was left for Jeno to do.

Rule # 10: Chatter with the movie posters in the lobby of the Theater Room; they love meeting new faces.

Since there wasn’t anyone checking out the Art Rooms on the second floor, he closed them. Though as he was about to lock the Oriental Room, the ravishing plants around the royal plant appealed his interest. Said to hold magical properties from his research, Jeno was reminded of another rule to keep in mind for later.

Rule # 3: The fake flowers in the Oriental Room come to life too at night, so when no one is lurking, water it diligently.

Instead of lounging at Sanghoon’s office first, he brought his important items to the front desk of the lobby and continued sketching his plate. He wanted to watch the art come back alive with his two eyes. Usually, he’d have coffee when he does his work, but due to another crucial rule in the guide, he’d rather not take the risk.

Rule # 6: The lobby room can get rowdy, so keep any drinks away from important items.

On the dot, the cries and yawns from the art pieces around him reverberated. Closing his sketchpad, his night guard mode was on. Connecting his laptop on the aux cord of the museum speakers, he tapped play on his playlist of jazz music that’ll last for the entire shift duration. As the first notes flooded the entire vicinity, sounds of joy left the lips of each painting. Some were humming, dancing, and even singing along.

“You can never go wrong with Frank Sinatra!”

“This Jeno lad really did the heavens’ work quick!”

Having the sense of accomplishment on his sleeve, the small barks of his fluffy pal reached closer to him. As he kneeled to find him, he was only taken by surprise as Mochi excitedly jumped on him. Tumbling over, Jeno chuckled innocently as Mochi licked his face numerously. This puppy was friendly, easily liking everyone at first sight. He wasn’t as choosy like Daegal, the puppy of his friend Chenle studying Business Management.

Once he composed himself and cradling the dog like his own, he fed him a dog treat from the desk.

“Good boy, Mochi!” He rubbed his fur while the puppy happily munched on it, ready to fulfill more of his duties.

He skipped the Greek mythology exhibit since Athena was doing a good job not letting anyone go overboard with their powers, though he’ll check in again in a few hours. He met the posters of the theater room, who were celebrities he grew up watching on tv. Sanghoon was right; they were the kinder group in the entire museum because they were more laidback.

On to the second floor, all the female wax figures lounged by the male section due to another lecture from Shakespeare. Although the guide informed him that most of the time it could get boring, this lecture was more stimulating. On his platform, he elaborated with conviction the lines of one of his famous books, Romeo and Juliet. A must-read book back in his high school days, there’s no way Jeno could’ve missed that out.

From the looks of it, Jeno perceived that Shakespeare was performing spoken word poetry due to him reading only Romeo’s lines while Cleopatra read Juliet’s beside him. This kind of show was one of the sources of entertainment to these figures, so Jeno leaned by the side of the door to listen. After all, the famous author of it was a few feet away. Cleopatra channeled such a naïve character to her ability, absentmindedly saying as she clutched her chest.

“O Romeo, Romeo! wherefore art thou Romeo? Deny thy father and refuse thy name; Or, if thou wilt not, be but sworn my love, And I'll no longer be a Capulet.”

“Shall I hear more, or shall I speak at this?”

“'Tis but thy name that is my enemy; Thou art thyself, though not a Montague. What's Montague? it is nor hand, nor foot, nor arm, nor face, nor any other part belonging to a man. O, be some other name! What's in a name? That which we call a rose-”

The flow of an engaged Cleopatra was abrupted by the loud yell from Shakespeare in front, specifically to an amused Jeno. “Jeno, my boy! Welcome back!”

Such an announcement diverted everyone’s attention to the back, some running to Jeno to give their respective greetings. It’s rare for everyone to feel at ease with a new guard, taking them weeks to approach them due to the intimidation. Though Jeno’s bright presence felt welcoming, so they accepted it. Perhaps it’s because of his youth, it reminded them of theirs too.

Shakespeare highly requested (or forced) Jeno to take his part as Romeo, intrigued to watch someone younger read his lines. Since most of the male wax figures were aged, it never satisfied Shakespeare so he jumped on this opportunity as quickly as he could. With the roaring cheers from the other figures, Jeno might as well give it a try. It wasn’t like his friends were here to clown him like they usually would if he did something humiliating.

Jeno shockingly liked this activity as he wasn’t much of a performer on stage, but someone who does the behind-the-scenes of it. He realized as he read the lines from the book Shakespeare asked him to follow along with why people held university-wide spoken word shows a few times per semester. He was no actor, but it’s delightful to have tried it at least once in his life.

“O, wilt thou leave me so unsatisfied?” As if the edge of the platform was the balcony of Juliet (or Cleopatra rather), he knelt as he ardently spoke his lines. He’s emphasizing this rush of uncontrollable desire for her, rambling whatever he would do to get the girl.

“What satisfaction canst thou have tonight?” Cleopatra questioned from her chair, inching closer to the young boy. Even outside character will she attempt to charm Jeno, but Jeno was quick to catch it and kept his distance.

“The exchange of thy love's faithful vow for mine.”

“I gave thee mine before thou didst request it, and yet I would it were to give again.”

“Wouldst thou withdraw it? For what purpose, love?”

“But to be frank, and give it thee again. And yet I wish but for the thing I have. My bounty is as boundless as the sea, my love as deep. The more I give to thee, the more I have, for both are infinite.”

Everyone was condensed by their top-notch acting, as if this was the actual play unfolding before them. Jeno wasn’t so sure how he got himself in character without preparation, yet he felt what his character felt. He comprehended the material a lot better now than when he was still in high school.

However, there was always that one killjoy to ruin the heartfelt mood.

“How dumb is it to say that you’re in love after the first glance?” You opposed, putting the spotlight on you. This book was said to be a classic in literature, but as you matured physically and mentally, you could no longer agree with it. “Isn’t love the same thing that killed Romeo and Juliet in the end?”

Remembering what Princess Diana told him, he wasn’t going to let this pass. He wanted to give a piece of his mind too, caring less if the show must be paused. “Love is an emotion we don’t ask to feel. It’ll come to us when we least expect it, even when the timing of it can be crucial.”

“Of all the people Juliet could’ve gone for, it just had to be the enemy.” In all the years you’ve been brought to life, no one dared to test your opinions because they were aware of your intelligence, from the streets to the books. When someone bark, you’d bite back. Hard. “With all due respect, I love your works, Shakespeare. Yet the fate you’ve given these two at a young age was grave, could’ve you given them a better outcome or another character to love instead?”

“Giving them extra characters to love won’t address the horrific life fact that love can be dangerous. Regardless of what status you’re in, you can’t stop the attraction towards someone. The heart wants what it wants.” Jeno pressed his hand to his chest, pumping it a bit. Unknown to you and him, the audience found more entertainment in your argument. Anne, who was munching on the popcorn Jeno gave her earlier, passed the snack to Katherine who just couldn’t stop watching.

If this man wanted a challenge, you’re all ears. Who was he to compete with you? Was he not intelligent to know who you are?

“So are you insinuating that we just go with the flow? Be a slave to our emotions too and let them dictate our next motives?”

“Slave is such a strong word to use, (Y/N). But it’s not like we can’t choose who want to love because we actually can. In this case, Romeo chose Juliet and vice versa.”

“But what happens if the person you choose doesn’t choose you in return?”

“At least you tried your best, right? It’ll hurt like hell though, but it won’t last forever.” From his kneeling position, Jeno strutted his way with confidence. Trying not to let it mess with you, your extreme stare at him as if they’ll shoot lasers. Inches away from you, Jeno declared. “Love always has risks, that’s a given. Romeo and Juliet still tried and followed their hearts despite the downfall. But it was a needed downfall to get the message across.”

“No one would be that foolish to risk their lives for love though, right? Life is so precious, why would they do such a thing?”

“Even if they knew what their lives were without each other, they still preferred living a life where they were both in the picture. Therefore, they tried all they could that time because the regret of not doing anything at all carries a heavier burden.”

Whenever anyone argued with you, their debating points they spat back would further piss you off because most of the time, it never made sense. Back when this rude man told you to go home and be a wife in your earlier years of exploring, you civilly told him to fuck off, kicking his balls because he cornered you in an alley. For the first time, a man who tried to challenge you actually made sense. Was it because he lived in a modern time, where minds were more open? Because of the amount of sexism you faced in the past, you’ve turned a blind eye to the current period.

But your high pride maintained, not submitting into anything he said. “I still think it’s stupid to risk your life for love. There’s no such thing as having only one true love anyways, and you have to be alive to see it.”

“Fair point, but again, the feeling of regret and carrying it your entire life doesn’t fade easily. It’ll make you reflect on the what-ifs, and it’s heart-wrenching.” Jeno digressed, walking around you in circles. He’s intentionally trying to drive you mad, but he could care less. He wanted someone to put you in your place and open your mindset. “The question stands: would you rather try and go for it even knowing its risks or regret not even trying for the rest of your existence? Quite ironic for me to ask you that, don’t you think?”

Past the information board, Jeno researched more of your life history online. Your whole life was grounded on risks, from breaking the standards of your society, leaving your family and home country, to fending yourself from disrespectful men. Rather than living the original life expected from you, you chose not to because it didn’t make you happy. Such a risktaker he knew you are, but with the topic of love, he wondered why you were on a fence with it. Though some records stated you’ve had rendezvouses with a few men in your journeys, love was never in the equation. The single life was what you chose and you were more than satisfied, plus your adopted kids filled that supposed void anyways.

This man may have studied your history, but so much he still doesn’t know. Information that never made the books because you chose not to write or tell anyone about it. Aside from the discomfort growing in your chest, everyone else felt the awkward tension when you were lost for words.

Never been defeated in an argument, until tonight. Your mind lost its drive and willpower.

“Touché, Lee Jeno.” Indeed, his name you’re acquainted with. Numerously passed around in your exhibit, mostly from the lips of Cleopatra, who’d fantasize all the graphic things she would do to him. Too much information, least of your interest. “Please excuse me. I’d like to work on my sketches to ease my mind.”

As you quietly exited the room, an all too familiar sculpture leaned against the railings overseeing one side of the museum. Just like you, she hated accepting defeat or compromises. She always rooted for you to win. With a faint chuckle, “Facing a loss for the first time, I see.”

“Don’t even lecture me about it, Athena. I’m still fired up, and I need to relax.”

“Jeno is a different breed, isn’t he?” She stuck to your side, strolling wherever your feet led you.

“Different as in he’s a man? Yes. What else is there to it?”

“Men these days aren’t as trashy as those back in the day though. Shouldn’t you give him a chance?”

“Last time I did, it destroyed my heart. I’m not allowing myself to let men in even as a friend, Athena.”

She knew exactly what you were referring to, not touching on it further. No way will you let heartbreak or disappointment from men bother you. Even Sanghoon’s sweet company took a while to tolerate. You really needed to sketch this out on your pad right now, excusing yourself from Athena’s presence. Isolation wasn’t new to you; it’s what’s protecting your entire being. Immortal as you are, you had to recover from the past pain so the next decades won’t feel as brash.

You hoped to return to your old self when you were a fresh new figure in the 70s. So naïve, only proud of your accomplishments, and purely happy.

While Jeno continued to finish his scene in respect to Shakespeare, he received a standing ovation for his mini-show. Cleopatra didn’t expect such talent from him, growing fonder of the younger male. Whether she seduces him or not, he was never afraid to try new things and she liked that about him.

“Bravo, love!” Princess Diana praised, clapping at him.

Although Jeno appreciated all this positive attention, his thoughts bounced back to your and your stance on love. The debate earlier was just out of being playful, interested to hear your opinions. Though, he’s worried that he might’ve offended you. It may have been time to finally witness something like that, but then again, he was sure he touched something personal to you. No matter how you tried to fight it off, your eyes can’t lie. Staring down at him, there was pain beneath it. Your eyebrows scrunched to the center, thinking deeply yet remained utterly speechless.

A win he didn’t feel good about.

“It’s time she encountered something new in the years she’s been here. Give her some space tonight, then try again to reach out to her. Kindly this time; I’m not in the mood for another brawl that could end up like the Greek gods’ past fights downstairs.”

These clever words shared by Katherine loitered his mind for the rest of the night, eventually going back to finishing his current plate since everyone was behaving well. As great it is to get the approval of the majority, he tried brainstorming ways to make you like him too.

He understood the whole “men are trash” concept in today’s modern society, but if he could prove it wrong to at least one person, it would be you. Whatever is holding you back, he only hoped that you’d let it go. Questionably unsure as to why he was so persevering, he concluded that it was so he could perform his job better as the night guard. Set higher standards than Sanghoon even.

Nothing more, nothing less.

Weeks passed, and his attempts continued to be unsuccessful.

The capability for you to ignore his efforts remained strong, whether he was pestering you over small things or debating with you again about anything. Life, books, morals, the two of you always head butt each other. Anything good he did, you searched for a flaw in it. Whatever acts he’s tried and continued trying, not one flinch from you ever.

Even if that’s his state with you, his job no longer felt stressful nor strenuous. He’d try to sleep more on days he was off-duty. Although the fatigue of staying beyond his usual sleeping time was inevitable, he compromised to take a nap lasting an hour or two when the art pieces weren’t acting frisky.

Plus, there have been multiple times they adapted to any alterations so his physical well-being wouldn’t fall sick. Per order of Princess Diana and Hera, who by instinct became his motherly figures here, only wanting what’s best for the kids.

He became accustomed to everything that went on at night, discovering things on his own without Sanghoon’s guide. Anne talked about how much she missed biking in her neighborhood, so one night, Jeno snuck his bike inside and let her use it around the first floor. With proper monitoring so none of the paintings would be unbothered or pieces wouldn’t tumble.

Hermes the messenger god was fluent in every language possible, so every so often, Jeno would freely speak to him in Korean because sometimes he felt he could explode by the amount of English he used every night. Bilingual things, you know. He knew you were multilingual too, but for obvious reasons, he couldn’t converse with you.

Because Jeno was heavily favored, that should’ve been enough to push through his night shifts before the end of the semester. In addition to that, the hourly rate was above the average of whatever Jaemin or Renjun was earning. For the past 2 months, Jeno paid upfront first, even paying back all his debts. It almost made Renjun want to switch jobs with him.

“Trust me, Renjun. You don’t want it, being the lowkey scaredy cat you are.”

Work no longer felt like work, and that’s what everyone aspired to feel. Nevertheless, he tended to worry over you mid-shift, glancing at you from his side view. Sketching, reading, and writing were your default actions. No matter how many times he said to himself not to let your dislike for him affect him, it’d always backfire.

Why were you so cold?

What made you lose your fire from all the research he did about your lively personality?

When morning arrived and he gathered his stuff, you’d be the last thing he’ll check on. Frozen in your standing pose, smiling as you held a book and a pencil, he detected how fake it was. Bystanders would only assume your happiness was from your achievements, though Jeno’s gut firmly pried that something grand overpowered that happiness. And definitely, not in a good way.

Out of all the art pieces, he investigated on you the most. Skimming through every material in the library, endless searching on the net, even asking professors from the History department thanks to Renjun, he did whatever he could. People may already think he was obsessed with who you are, but only little did they know.

Another plate was done and submitted, and he promised himself to look you up one last time before surrendering. For someone who’s rarely given up on a challenge, this one was really out of his control. Maybe he should follow Sanghoon’s footsteps now.

You lived centuries before him, and there’s limited material of you left. Rather than learning of your adventures again, he dug through what things you liked over your life. Maybe by giving one of them, it’ll lessen the tension from a 100 to 99. Maybe you preferred gifts over words, he’ll never know until he tried.

Boom.

According to one of your journal entries, there’s a fond liking you’ve acquired for lavender roses from Benjamin and Liam when they visited you in Paris in secret because of how much you missed them. It went both ways, praying your family ties could be recovered.

It’s a good thing he needed to refill his stock of items for the art pieces so he could pass by the flower store a few blocks away from his dorm. That night, without further words, he graciously offered you a fresh lavender rose in between your new sketching session.

“I may not know exactly why you’re spiritless around me, but with this rose, I hope we could work something out.”

Your frigid face of disdain, keeping your chin high and squinting your eyes with judgment, began to crumble down.  Of all things as a peace offering, he gave you that? Then again, it’s not like he knew that an item you liked so much became something you’ve grown to hate and why so. No history books could teach him that.

Vulnerability was a normal thing, yet feared by many. Once one uncovered your weak spot, they could harm you. You still couldn’t trust Jeno fully, not willing to show your helplessness nor were you ever going to tell him. Hidden from his knowledge, everyone else including Sanghoon were familiarized as to why this kind of flower tormented you.

You sprinted like thunder out the exhibit room to wherever it’s private to control your senses. You may not have a physical heart, but your emotions were just as actual as a human’s. You needed to regulate your panting breath. In the past decades, you’ve not shed a singular tear but the cycle broke when they streamed out your miserable eyes like a flowing river. Quiet sobs, an empty corner near the fire exit was where your wobbly legs faltered, the painful memories of the past replayed in your head. Once beautiful, but now an agonizing reminder of what could’ve been.

Katherine, Cleopatra, and Anne were swift on their feet to hunt you down, anxious of what you may do next. Seeing or the mention of these flowers still affected you despairingly. Sanghoon must’ve forgotten to write them down, or perhaps he didn’t know either about this fact during all the years he’s worked there.

It’s one of the biggest secrets of his museum. By the clueless face Jeno had with his eyebrows raised, mouth, and small eyes slightly open, he repeatedly asked what he did wrong and adding that he never meant to harm you. Indeed, they knew that yet what occurred involved a secret in the list of museum secrets. Confidential only between art pieces according to Athena, none of the male wax figures spoke a word, only pitying the boy.

“I wasn’t here yet that time, but they said that it was once beautiful, but now it’s a rough period.” With hesitation, Princess Diana chose to reveal it to rid Jeno’s misery. She didn’t mind having to argue about it with Athena later on, as this may further affect the two of you later on.

“A long time ago in the early ‘80s, there was a night guard around your age named Junmyeon. Also, a college student, trying to make ends meet. He did it for 3 years until he graduated. Though within his stay, not only was he such a delight to everyone, he broke a golden rule in the guide. I believe you do know the guide much more now, Jeno?”

“Yes, I do, Princess Diana. Memorized it even, but which one specifically?” Jeno’s desperate eyes pleaded, only hoping for the best and to fix what he messed up.

“You can form friendships with the art pieces, but nothing more.” Princess Diana replied bitterly. “Junmyeon was an aspiring painter, a different path from his business-oriented family. He was seen as the black sheep. She resonated with him, sharing the burden and lifting it by doing whatever fun they could in the museum. In time, they both fell in love with each other; they were each other’s first loves.”

“Why must something beautiful like love be broken? It’s not like you can control it. That golden rule makes no sense.”

“It does, unfortunately. Wax figures like me cannot age, while humans like you can. None of them could accept the reality, always pushing it away. Until Junmyeon’s last week in university, he broke it off with her unexpectedly. From there, (Y/N) was heartbroken for decades. With heartbreak, giving the cold shoulder and bitterness followed. Then with the lavender rose you gave that she used to love became a flower that she associated with Junmyeon too because he gave her one almost every night for those past 3 years.”

Things finally added up, and the guilt in Jeno’s gut expanded. His major lightbulb moment was a major failure.

“Has Junmyeon ever returned to try and win her back?”

“Well, there was one time he did come back for an art exhibition for his paintings in the 2000s. I was already here, then he had a woman around his shoulder with an adolescent boy holding his hand. He roamed around our exhibit and kept gawking at (Y/N). We may be asleep, but we remember the conversations exchanged in the room. So, his son then asked him if he knew who she was.”

“What did he respond?” Jeno attentively listened, on the edge of such a hurtful tale.

“He knew her name, praising her for historical achievements. However, nothing as a former friend or lover. From what I predict, he ingested one of Circe’s potions.”

“But I thought Circe isn’t allowed to make potions for actual consumption. She’s not even allowed to enter the Oriental Art Room.” Jeno pointed out, overwhelmed at the puzzling past. Princess Diana was mindful that she had to stop spreading too much information, so she had to end her discussion with the lost boy.

“There are a lot of secrets about this museum, Jeno. Unfortunately, I cannot reveal to you to protect our peace.”

With due respect, Jeno quit his follow-up questions and concerns. The only thing he wished to do was mend his relationship with you. As vague as to where you even stood in the first place, he unintentionally crossed a line due to his selfish intention to befriend you.

“What can I do now, Princess Diana? You know I’d never push her buttons like that, even if I’m a whimsical person.”

“Oh, my boy.” Princess Diana soothed, holding both her hand on his sweaty palm and cupping his cheek. “For the meantime, give her space. No taunting for a while, and just observe her from a distance. Though do not fret the slightest; I’m sure she’ll be okay again.”

During that interval, you were hunched on the wall, bawling and weeping like the wound was brand new again. While Katherine and Anne stood by your side, on the lookout for anyone who’d be spying on you, Cleopatra knelt in front of you as your infinite tears gushed down.

“My dear,” She tried to wipe some of them while holding your hand. “It’s been years, and Jeno didn’t know a single thing. He didn’t mean to do it.”

“I don’t care, Cleopatra! He should’ve stopped trying to socialize with me because I won’t ever live down my experience with Junmyeon.”

“As if crying like this will bring Junmyeon back to your life,” Cleopatra exclaimed, holding in her temper. Acquainted with heartbreak, it’s awful that it changed you entirely, but you should’ve found a way to heal. Throughout your attitude change, it’s mostly you in pain, not those you inflict it to. “My dear, I love you a lot. But this Jeno boy is different, and you know it.”

“He’s still a nightguard, for Christ’s sake, Cleopatra.”

“You shouldn’t generalize that all night guards are bad just because of one encounter that occurred at the wrong time.” Brushing some strands stuck by your wet visage, she professed to you bluntly. “You’re never going to know how good Jeno is unless you slowly open up again, (Y/N). Not forcing you the slightest, but healing started once you’ve acknowledged the past and move on from it.”

“But I’m scared, Cleopatra.” You restlessly admitted, hunching even more against the wall. Your poor, metaphorical heart could only take so much. You barely expressed sorrow towards others as you always held a strong exterior, only letting it out alone. Not holding back anymore, Cleopatra brought you in for a hug. The last time she did that was the first night after Junmyeon left, calming your intensified emotions so you wouldn’t do anything dumb that night. No violence, just pure sorrow.

“My dear, it’s alright.” She whispered while stroking your back upwards. “But you’re a risktaker; that’s how people remember you. Now, you must challenge yourself to move on from things that didn’t work out. Because once you do, it’ll put your heart and mind at ease.”

“Do you think I’ll be okay again?”

“Yes, you will be, my dear. You are not alone, and never will be.”

Acting like the dutiful son he always was, Jeno distanced from you.

He still cracked jokes, chatted with the art pieces, and followed the rules, yet never did he utter anything to you. You’ve proudly anticipated it since day one, not wanting him up in your business or teasing you ever. But this time, it felt odd.

On nights he didn’t report, you’ve unconsciously wondered what he may have been up to. A job like this at his age was just as Sanghoon once said: nothing in the regular.

Was he with his friends?

Was he resting well?

From the moment you chose to let go of your limitations and old thoughts, it included your grudge against past guards. Asking for forgiveness to Sanghoon when he returns was on the top of your list, however, that’ll take a while to happen. In the start, you’re baffled as to why he no longer picked on you like every night he’s been present. Somehow, it became a habit you’ve gotten used to, having so many comebacks planned to fend yourself. But you didn’t want to concede to it, maintaining what was left of your pride since that breakdown.

While on the subject, you suspected if anyone told him anything that night because that also indicated the last time he reached out to you. By anything, it would be your unwritten past with Junmyeon. A part of yourself in the museum that you didn’t want to disperse like rapid-fire again. It would be the last thing you wanted Jeno to know.

To your misfortune, Princess Diana came clean due to your growing concern over it. Although your attitude changed and people got used to it, you could only blame yourself that you were responsible for Jeno’s change.

“All he wanted was to understand and enlighten us with his likable presence. Then with you, you were his challenge because of your high walls. Out of everyone, he tried to learn everything about you. From my observation, whenever he has a goal, he’s determined to achieve it.”

“But I’m trying to be better now, Diana. Why did he stop?”

“He may have determination, but he knows where the boundaries lie.” Princess Diana patted the side of your arm, giving you a half-grin. “It hurt him when he hurt you, even if it was accidental. So he opted to give you space; that way, you could catch a breather and he wouldn’t harm you anymore. It was what you wanted from the start anyways, right?”

A hard pill to swallow, though it was a fact. It’s just that now, you’re slowly willing to release yourself from the dark. It’s been decades, and more to come. Nothing can move on unless you do.

“Where is he, Princess Diana?”

Just as she predicted right on the edge, Diana completed the grin on her face and led you to the entrance of your exhibit. She may be younger than you, but you’re reverted in your twenties while she remained in her mid-thirties. Gaping the wide museum from the railing, starting from the painting exhibit in the lobby to across the other side of the museum, Diana spotted the black hair of the boy in the Foreign Art Room.

“Over there.”

Observing where her eyes focused, you caught a glimpse of a recognizable side profile. The owner’s eyes were completely taken by whatever he was drawing on the fold-up desk he brought out from the storage room. By the tedious action of his right hand going up and down, you’ve gotten so used to his part-time identity as the night guard to entirely dismiss his current status as a university student.

Architecture specifically as he first introduced himself to you. The same path your oldest brother, Christopher, worked in. The look of tenacity Jeno presented as his eyebrows continuously scrunched, his crescent orbs hastily spied his work for any unnecessary details and his veiny hands brushed his already messy hair, you were profoundly reminded of Christopher when he was designing his possible future house. You were 8 years old, and he was 22, who just got married. He explained how many floors it’ll have, what rooms to put and what extra furniture he’ll place to make it feel more at home.

Seeing how exceptional his art skills were, you started to sketch like him. With flowers first, it turned into bedrooms and sceneries of your neighborhood. You felt your shoulders rise in accomplishment when you were able to accurately draw people. As much as you credited Benjamin and Liam the most in your works, it’ll only be within yourself to know that you also held a soft spot for Christopher.

Excusing yourself to Princess Diana, you bravely yet quietly ventured into the Foreign Art Room. Hiding first from one of the cement columns, you resumed watching him sketch. Instead of a pencil, he used a black pen with a tip as thin as a pencil. Your assumptions would be it was for a class, basing it on him informing everybody earlier that he’ll be inactive for the remaining hours of his shift to focus on his midterm requirements. That must be difficult to balance, yet he still does everything expected from him. Maybe the second cup of iced coffee beside him stimulated his bones and mind, letting his imagination free.

Through the limited space, you tiptoed whilst holding the side of the column to make up his work. There were 2 and a half rectangular shapes stacked on top of each other, the third one he was still tracing. A sign encrypted with tiny written words you couldn’t decipher, the beauty and modernity of Jeno’s plate cannot go unappreciated.

“That’s absolutely beautiful.”

Sweet words you didn’t think would bounce back in the room, Jeno’s pace ceased whilst you hid again. Art pieces capable of walking weren’t allowed here, he locked the door even beforehand! Or he thought as he was rushing to get his work done because one of his terror professors moved up the deadline to tomorrow morning. Not even 25% finished, he petitioned for everyone’s cooperation just for tonight.

He used up his 2 days of not having the night shift for other projects, and not wanting to ruin his perfect attendance, he proceeded to show up.

The voices from the foreign paintings around him hushed for him out of respect. So possibly someone snuck in, his head looking around for intruders. But only did he quit it when he saw your blurry reflection leaning against the column. The glass windows slightly mirror back what it sees, without you knowing that.

Not to mention, the small bit of your lilac dress was left out. Of all people, it was you?

“Do my eyes deceive me or is Miss (Y/N) (Y/L/N) inside when she’s not allowed so?”

To break the killing tension, he tested the waves with an innocent taunt. Never did you reach out to him, so least to say he was entertained whilst keeping his distance.

Fixing your proud stance, you responded in a low baritone voice you used to persuade numerous men in her adventures. “Uhm no, I don’t know who she is.”

As intelligent as you were, Jeno was a few steps farther than you this time. Educated about the risky ways you’d get around and one of them was changing the pitch of your voice, he heartily laughed at your unsuccessful attempt.

“Okay don’t lie, (Y/N). I can see a trail of your dress and your cloak. Oh, your reflection too.”

Damn, you peeked a little to realize that he was correct. Hauling your dress back in to readjust your outfit, you pushed your hair back before appearing to him. Though when you did such, you didn’t suppose that he was practically beside you the entire time. Bumping into his towering stance of 5’10 while the sleeves of his dress shirt rolled up, your proud posture loosened up. He even discarded his blazer. A few more inches, he could’ve cornered you on the column if you didn’t take another step back.

Has he always been this tall or were you so used to your boots having high heels under? Oh wait, maybe because you wore flats this time because it’s making your toes sore. Your head bowed from struggling to maintain eye contact with him, your palms caressing your cheeks that suddenly heated up. Clearing your throat, you straightened your back again like nothing happened.

Jeno thought otherwise, shrugging his shoulders as he chuckled. He’s never seen you get shy, not that it was a bad thing either. The temptation to play around it more was there, but he was running out of time for his assignment.

“Come in. I’ll let you off the hook this time.” His arms opened up, allowing you access to such a wonderful exhibit. Paintings from different European periods, miniature versions of famous infrastructures inside glass containers, and replicas of Greek columns in the front entrance, no wonder it’s important to protect them all.

“Are you sure?” Watching him return to his spot, which was a bench in the center of the exhibit with a table in front, it didn’t process that you were gawking at his toned back. His broad shoulders and the evident muscles in his arms while he stretched, your eyes were speedy to look away when he tried to take a glance at you.

“I don’t think the paintings here and I mind.” Sitting down again, he tapped the vacant space beside him. “Feel free to watch me draw if you want to.”

Settling by his side, he recommenced where he left off. Now with a closer view of his piece, it did look like a building as you thought. He was sketching the remaining outline of the 3rd floor of this hypothetical place, continuously checking his ruler to monitor if the lines were consistent. Able to pick up on the words of the sign beside the building, you wowed with one hand on your lips.

“You’re redrawing Seoul National University Museum of Art?”

“One of my plate assignments was to visualize a renovation of a certain place, so I chose the museum.”

“Why so?”

“Well,” Jeno shook his pen so the ink could come out. “This entire place comes to life with the royal plate, so I think we should expand the space and bring in more art pieces to life if we add another extra floor. A rooftop area for visitors and events would be fun. And definitely, we should modernize the exterior and interior a bit because it looks outdated personally. That’s also what my friends think too.”

Noticing the minor details of his plate whilst removing any unnecessary pens so it wouldn’t smudge, “Huh, I quite agree with you.”

For the first time since his night shift, you, (Y/N) (Y/L/N), came into an agreement with him. He became so accustomed to clashing opinions that now, you had no contrasting points to make at all. A good change perhaps was what he’s witnessing.

“Woah, who are you agreeing with me and where’s (Y/N)?” He creased his brows whilst locking eye contact with you. This time, you didn’t wince away and just nudged him on his shoulder to get back to work.

“Hush, Jeno. Isn’t that due later? Get to work, I’ll roam around here for the meantime.”

After decades in this museum, you’re enlightened with the foreign paintings in which some you’ve heard of in your younger years and some that were created beyond your time. The Birth of Venus, Liberty Leading the People, Girl with a Pearl Earring, there’s an advantage of learning about their stories that humans couldn’t interpret. Logical that this section must be off-limits because these pieces were extra special, yet there’s so much more than what meets the eye.

There’s peace in silence while you wandered around, though it doesn’t hinder only at the art. Jeno hasn’t uttered a word since he got back to drawing, and once you asked him what’s doing now, still no answer back. Odd, he’s constantly awa-

Oh, my. You must’ve jinxed it.

Your eyes laid on Jeno leaning forward on his desk with his arms serving as his pillow, resting his head sideways. Soft snores and minimal movement in his upper body to shake the growing cold temperature of the room, he was sleeping like a log.

Putting into perspective, he hasn’t acquired enough rest specifically this past 2 weeks. The endless number of plates due making him work extra during his shift rather than sleeping in the slightest, exhaustion must be an understatement. Coffee no longer pushed him to his maximum for this week even.

But this was the path he chose, and it’ll have its challenges. Still, if you could relieve the stress in any way, you would. This would be one of the ways to repay for all the rudeness you’ve passed on him. Scurrying to his side, placing the plate on the side with his other things. You returned the caps of his open pens so they don’t spill. They must be expensive, recalling how Jeno shared the cons of being an architecture major to Princess Diana. One was the pens needed for sketching, and any tiny damages to them meant buying them again.

With his watch on clear display, he only had 2 hours left until his shift was done. Then, 4 hours until his plate assignment was done, and his current plate was far from done.

The blunt impulse to wake him up slithered your mind, though his calm state deflected your duty. As if you were on board a ship again for your explorations, you paid attention to the view with a relaxed mindset.

Lee Jeno specifically was the view.

His coffee-stained lips were parted and his sharp nose breathing in and out at a relaxing pace, he must be dreaming a happy moment the way half his lips curved into a smile. If he’s resting well, then you too would be calm.

Because of your past disinterest in him, only at this moment did you observe how sharp his jawline was and the cuts on his arms he sought refuge in. No matter how many times you tried to deny Hera’s compliments of him on the side, you couldn’t.

Lee Jeno embodied attractive features; both physical and emotional.

Back to his plate, it’ll put him at a disadvantage if he submitted the way it looked before he passed out. But you remembered all those extra details he mentioned and wanted to add to this project. Being an explorer, you documented all your ventures through words or drawings. You’re fast to adjust to anything new too.

For all the good he’s done for everyone, he only deserved some help in return.

Your version of help was sketching the remaining details of this plate, using other pens for more emphasis. It’s a risk also, but no way could you turn a blind eye on Jeno this time.

Around 5:30 am, Jeno’s eyes blinked open due to a brightening light from the outside. Stretching his limbs, he finds a velvet cloak wrapped around him like a blanket. But before he could question it, he pulled his arm in to see the time on his watch.

“Fuck!” He cursed, realizing that his so-called 10-minute snooze break aborted.

“Oh my, you’re awake!” From his frazzled state, there you were. So put together yet active, some strands of your hair falling down your face even with your hair up in a ponytail. “How was your sleep?”

This whole time he could’ve been woken up, yet you chose not to. You’re aware of his deadline, yet you let him rest entirely. He could’ve burst out in stress, yet he didn’t. You and he may have started on the wrong foot, yet it’s impossible of you to do such an evil thing. He’ll just have to tolerate the outcome later today.

“Refreshing. I really needed it.” Packing his things in his bag and closing the table, you trailed along as he exited with you. Locking up, he has 30 minutes left to accomplish the cleaning. A long good morning indeed.

But his worry of that vanished when you admitted that you had it all covered.

“Everyone helped out in cleaning, plus there are no damages made either.” From your hand, you returned one of his keys that was on his guard blazer. “I double-checked the Oriental Room and locked the doors again.”

“Why are you suddenly so nice to me, (Y/N)?” He questioned with confusion, wearing his blazer again and patting away any creases. He placed your cloak over you again like a true gentleman.

Without a word, you simply invited him to walk you back to your exhibit as parts of the sun began to rise. As you returned to your section, your fellow figures readying themselves to pose again,

“It’s my way to apologize for my very rude first impression and the succeeding moments after. I was too cooped up in my past that I was too afraid to let humans in again, night guards in particular.” You admitted, removing your cloak and placing behind your chair like always. “I’m so sorry, Jeno. Everyone was right about you and your kind heart.”

“About time.” Cleopatra’s sultry voice cut in, laying on her day bed.

Before you had the chance to flip off, Jeno mediated swiftly. With a gentle smile, “No worries about it. I’m just happy you’re okay, after all you’ve been through.”

“Can we start over then?”

“Absolutely.” With his free hand, he brought it out. No matter what kind of introductions, shaking one’s hand was the best way to start a friendship. “Good evening. I’m Lee Jeno, the new museum night guard.”

“(Y/N) (Y/L/N), explorer and author.” Sighing at his humor, you still replied by shaking his hand. “And I believe you’re mistaken, Lee Jeno. It’s a good morning.”

Seconds after, you imitated your typical pose and smile. Only now, the latter was more genuine. Finally, a fresh start to end your agony.

Once the sun fully revealed itself, every figure including yourself froze back to sleep. Something Jeno wished to catch up on if it weren’t for his damn plate. He was so screwed, already contemplating his next steps if he does fail this class. The possibility of getting delayed in all aspects, he dreaded it already.

Heading back to his dorm, where both his roommates completely passed out from soju on the couch, he sat by his work desk and turned on his night lamp for more light since the sun wasn’t strong enough yet.

With another cup of coffee, he cracked the joints of his knuckles and laid out his pens. He had 2 hours left to submit this plate, and at most he should accomplish 50% of his initial plan. However, he didn’t anticipate such a gorgeous outcome when he brought out his plate.

Picture perfect of every detail he desired, even adding a rooftop area with that he’d love to have if ever the museum does go under renovation one day. Rather than setting the plate during the day, it was at night as the skies were dark and bright specks of yellow inside the building symbolized light.

So much for wasting coffee, he’ll just give it to Jaemin when he wakes up later. Below the final product, a note written in cursive was stuck on it.

 I knew you wanted to get this specific plate done, but you mustn’t compromise your sleep for it. It’s your inhumane professor’s fault!

To make up for my faults, I wanted to help you out. I paid extra attention to the details you spoke highly about, so I only hoped that I interpreted it correctly. It’s risky, but as someone who researched so much about me, would you be surprised that I did such a thing?

PS: Get back to sleep. I’m quite sure your desk is laid out the same way in the Foreign Art Room.

Respectfully,

(Y/N)

 Turning off his lamp, Jeno jumped the covers of his bed to continue his lost sleep. Without an ounce of care that he hasn’t changed into cleaner clothes, he’s relieved that he won’t flunk his class.

Most of all, he’s relieved that you’ve melted the ice in you and allowed kindness to come in. Jeno may never understand how hard that must’ve been for you, yet he raved you for it.

“Oh, (Y/N) (Y/L/N). Surprise is an understatement when it comes to you.”

[ironlime]

60 Years After

So somebody in the tumblrverse posted about their headcannon in which Ned Coats was Sam Vimes' kid having traveled through time. I am a fan of this. It explains a lot. So when I read it back in... April? I then sat down and wrote up this little fanfic thing. And assumed that I could not only get it posted today, but also edit it so that it's not filled with so many of my own headcannons. And is closer to the original material. But L-Space is my job, and it really does do crazy things to time (and space.) On top of that I was really hoping I could post this to that original headcannon post but... I can't find it. So, OP, if you come across this... Well, I'm sorry. I'm more sorry to Sir Terry (GNU), though.

Quick note: my friends and I have found it easier to call Vimes' kid "Wee Sam" than "Young Sam" because "Young Sam" is one of the names (along with Vimesy and Lance Constable Vimes) that Vimes calls his younger self and... yeah. We find it confusing when nerding out about a single series with two different characters called 'Young Sam'. So we Feegle it up. Even though I wouldn't be surprised if 'Wee Sam' is actually a bit taller than his dad.

~ ~~~~~~~ ~~~~~~~

“What happened just then, Sarge? You blurred.” Wee Sam said, while he thought Oh so that’s what that looks like.

“You only get one question, Ned,” The man who would be his father looked a little seasick, and Wee Sam knew exactly how he felt. “Now, let’s show Snapcase where the line’s drawn, shall we? Let’s finish it--”

To the majority of people there that day, Sergeant-At-Arms John Keel stood, turned towards the enemy, and charged. To two people, Commander Sam Vimes ran towards Carcer, ready to drag him kicking and screaming into the past. Or the future. Depending on who you asked.

That was what gave Wee Sam his frame of reference, actually. He remembered hearing stories about Carcer, about how his dad had arrested the bastard the day Wee Sam was born. But was this actually May 25th for his dad? Was this weeks before the arrest? Hours? He couldn’t ask. Not yet.

“Glad to see you’ve joined us and are getting along with the Sarge, Coats.” Fred Colon said, touching him on the shoulder as they ran towards the fight.

“Yeah, Fred.” Oh, Fred. Fred Colon had died a few years ago, happy and surrounded by great-grandchildren. But here and now he was young and actually capable of running. And he was running towards the fray.

Sweeper had told Wee Sam to stay away from the center of the fight, and to try not to actually kill anybody, so he stayed on the edge near the unconscious Lance-Constable Sam Vimes who had been hidden by his older, more cynical self. Three men in a battle with the same name, and two of them were the same person. Good thing Wee Sam was the only one who had to really keep track of which of them was where. He certainly didn’t trust anybody else to.

So he fought, in a very curbed way, knocking his adversaries unconscious when he could and doing his best not to step on Nobby Nobbs, who was doing his best to very slowly inch away from the battle while simultaneously pretending to be a corpse. Over by the Watch House, Reg Shoe was doing a much better impersonation of a corpse, seeing as how he was one, but in a couple of hours he’d discover that it just didn’t work for him.

“You’re nicked, my ol’ chum.” It was probably because he had been listening for it, but his father’s whisper carried. Nobody else seemed to hear it, and nobody but Wee Sam turned in time to see the two men vanish. In the same instant, a single body appeared on the ground near where they had been. So, now that he had seen that through, there was one more…

A dark grey-green shadow passed by his shoulder, and his mind registered Uncle Havelock before adding the word Young.

Havelock Vetinari ran into the fight, cutting down Carcer’s men much more brazenly than the Assassin's Guild would like, a lilac bud between his teeth. Even in Wee Sam’s time, when Vetinari’s wardrobe consisted entirely of black and everything he did was in moderation, the Patrician indulged in a little drama on a regular basis.

He chose to have Commander Sam Vimes in his life, after all.

There was a sound to Wee Sam’s left, which he recognized though his mind didn’t associate any words with it. It was a sound any human would recognize, even those who first approached the Delta where the Ankh River met the Circle sea thousands of years ago. If Wee Sam had to find Morporkain words for it, and as a Vimes he did like to use his vocabulary, they were Confused, followed by Hurt followed by… wait for it… there it was. Anger.

Wee Sam could make that noise, though he rarely did. His father’s upbringing, on the other hand, had been considerably less balanced. The kid who was the source of the sound ran into the center of the fight, and Wee Sam deftly stepped out of his way while pushing an adversary in his way. The boy chopped down the Unmentionable with one graceful movement, and Wee Sam felt that he could safely say that he hadn’t been the one to kill the bastard. And nobody had been so foolish as to tell him to prevent his father from killing anybody.

Vetinari didn’t pause, but he did turn to look at this vengeful newcomer. Vetinari hadn’t been there when young Sam Vimes participated in the first part of the battle, and Wee Sam recognized the young assassin’s look of interest.

Tell me, Uncle Havelock, will you recognize him in 15 years? Or will you need to get him well and truly angry to realize you’ve found him?

Wee Sam knew this wasn’t the first time Havelock Vetinari saw Sam Vimes, but this was probably the first time he saw the potential. That he was more than just That Kid Who Follows Keel Everywhere. I bet you didn’t actually expect him to be so damned smart. His father still didn’t think of himself as intelligent. It was infuriating, especially when he and his father were having a disagreement. A drawn out, decade-long, disagreement.

Young Sam Vimes sent a lot of the Unmentionables running, and Wee Sam cut down any of them which could be seen as ‘coming towards him with a drawn weapon’. Since they were escaping a fight, that was anyone who came within reach not wearing a lilac.

Time travel really can get to a man. He thought, feeling a little cold. There would be no arrests here, just death and fleeing and at the end of the day Sam Vimes, Havelock Vetinari, Fred Colon, Gaskin, and, less literally, Nobby Nobbs and Reg Shoe would all be left standing. That was all that mattered.

He saw Vetinari turn away from young Sam Vimes, who then spun, and for the briefest moment they had their backs to each other, and Wee Sam wished he had his paints. It was a gods awful place to paint, there was a reason battles were always ‘immortalized’ after the fact, but the color and everything was just perfect--

And then the color faded.

“You should have fallen by now.” Sweeper observed from behind him.

“I wanted to see them fight together.” Wee Sam admitted, not turning. He had a notebook on him, and a pencil, but he knew that even with Time paused he didn’t really have it. Not to sit down and do a proper preliminary sketch. He was just going to have to remember.

Vetinari had a stiletto, an assassin’s weapon used to kill up-close. Young Sam Vimes hadn’t learned to dual-wield yet, but he had good instincts for the sword. Wait until you discover the axe.

Sweeper sighed. “Fine, and now you’ve seen it. I’m going to put the time back on and you had better be prepared to drop.”

“Yes yes alright.” Wee Sam shifted slightly, so he could seriously inconvenience the man who he was blocking before he dropped.

“Oh and stop killing people.”

“I’m a Vimes. You knew that when you hired me.”

“Indeed.” Sweeper said, and it took Wee Sam a moment to realize it was an attempt at a Vetinari impression. Before Wee Sam could reply, the color came back, and his adversary frowned in confusion.

“Oi, you blurred!” The man cried.

“This just isn’t your day.” Wee Sam gave the man a wound which might heal, if somebody tended to it within the next 10 minutes, and then fell over in a needlessly complicated way, specifically so he wouldn’t hit Nobby Nobbs.

And when he landed, the boy was looking right at him, frowning. Damn, Nobby was always the brains of Colon & Nobbs.

“You ain’t injured.” The boy hissed at him.

“Try to pick my pockets and you’ll regret it.” Wee Sam whispered back. Of course he wouldn’t dream of hurting Nobby, but the kid didn’t know that. Besides, picking the contents of his pockets back would be a relaxing way to end the day.

Nobby was still frowning at him. “You got eyes like the Sarge...”

“Nobby, get out of here before you get stepped on.” Wee Sam growled in his best imitation of his father, the Sergeant, within the past three days. The kid’s eyes went wide, and he took off running. Wee Sam glanced over to where Vimes and Vetinari were taking care of the last of Carcer’s men, and the color faded once more.

“I hope you are pleased with yourself.” Sweeper said, which Wee Sam took to mean he could stand up and dust himself off.

“Young Vimes and Vetinari live to grow up and become two of the most powerful men in Ankh-Morpork history, Carcer went back to his time more or less accompanied by my my dad so the one can be arrested by the other, your rogue ‘Time Vigilantes’ have been sorted out, oh and I don’t cease to exist either. My work here is d--” He stopped, and watched as Q and some other Technical Monks lay down a man about the same age, size and coloring as Wee Sam. “Wait, so there really was a Ned Coats?”

Sweeper had walked off without him, and Wee Sam jogged to catch up. The old monk didn’t turn to look at him when they were side-by-side, but he did start talking. “Of course there was. He was also from Psudopolis and knew the real Keel.”

“How’d he die?”

“The Agony Aunts, on his first day here. He was the real reason the real Keel accepted a job in Ankh-Morpork. The real Ned Coats was not a good man.”

“Keel... left his home to track down a criminal…” Wee Sam slowed. “That’s what my dad did! As Keel! Only, it was Carcer he had to catch.”

“Time likes continuity.” Sweeper nodded, and thanked Wee Sam quietly for holding the door open as they entered the monastery. Once in the building, color returned, with motion and sounds and smells. They were back in the Present.

The walk through the building was in relative silence, the rumbling of the procrastinators keeping it from ever becoming truly quiet here. Wee Sam could sleep almost anywhere, but the rumbling reminded him of the steam engines back home and Susan’s offer to help him find a job in Sto Lat ‘if he really couldn’t stay in Ankh-Morpork’.

Not long after his parents first met his dad had gotten fired for a couple of days, and his mom had offered to get him a job working for Susan’s parents. Susan had been young then, and sometimes he wondered what kind of person she would have grown up to be with his dad as part of her household staff.

Of course, with his parents living in two different cities, he would have never been born.

His mother would have never left Ankh-Morpork.

Then again, his father had chosen not to leave. He had stayed on the case. He… sorted it out, more or less. He kept Vetinari from getting killed. Had he done that during the battle? Young Sam and Vetinari had been facing opposite directions, had Vimesy blocked any blows aimed at the future patrician?

There was the crunch of stones under his feet, and Wee Sam consciously acknowledged they had arrived at the Garden of Inner-City Tranquility. His eyes swept the space, falling on and acknowledging the Cigarette Pack of Air, the Cat Doings of Disharmony, the Sonkie of Organic Harmony, the Cabbage Stalks of Dim Comprehension, the Discarded Fish-And-Chip Wrapper of Infinity, the Beer Bottle of Pissing Off Sweeper, and….

“The Cigar of Capriciousness is still here.” Wee Sam said, stopping between the door and the bench Sweeper always went to. He tilted his head slightly. “Or… Another cigar. Same brand, same style, smoked the same amount, probably by the same man, at the same angle... but it’s wrapped just a little differently.”

“Is it? I’ve stopped noticing.”

“You haven’t noticed the cigar that’s been smouldering here for the past month?” Wee Sam turned to Sweeper in disbelief. “I understand not paying attention to the condoms and cat doings, but time passes in here!”

Sweeper shrugged. “There is always a cigar. Even if we get rid of it, a new one shows up. If the new one lands closer to the wall, the garden always pushes it to the center.”

“Always? Since, what, the dawn of time?”

“Oh no. Since the day you were born. Or thirty years before. It’s hard to say.” Sweeper was looking at him evenly, and Wee Sam suddenly realized his reaction was being gauged.

“My dad. But…” Wee Sam looked at the cigar. “He doesn’t smoke them anymore.”

“He does. On special occasions.”

“Like what?”

“Your birthday. And when he pays certain visits.”

“He talked you into not keeping me on?” His gaze moved swiftly from the old man to the cigar, and with purpose he stalked into the middle of the garden and brought his foot back, prepared to give the thing a swift kick.

“You did that just fine without his help.” Sweeper’s voice was quiet, but it froze Wee Sam where he stood. “Corporal, we both know you don’t want to do this.”

“The mission is over. Coats is dead. I’m not a corporal anymore.” His foot fell heavily, not coming into contact with the cigar but still sending a spray of stones ahead of them. He scowled as they came sliding back towards him, settling where they had been around his foot. “This job is the closest I’ve ever gotten to what I was made to do.”

“I realize that. I’m sorry.”

There was some silence as the last of the stones slid into place. The procrastinators here were small, used only for the bathrooms in the far right corner, even though the city’s sewer pipe system now meant that they were just inconveniencing themselves in exchange for saving very little money. Wee Sam had done the math.

“Did you tell Susan?” Wee Sam didn’t want to be the one to tell her, but he also didn’t want anybody else to explain that he had squandered this opportunity.

“No. That is your problem, my boy.”

“Good.” Wee Sam squatted down, getting a closer look at his father’s cigar. The smell brought him back to his childhood, and it was comforting if not at all healthy. His mother had never allowed them in the house, but his father smoked them all the time outside and in his office, so the scent clung to his uniform like… Well like Wee Sam had back then. “Please don’t hold… me... against her. She was just looking out for me. She does that. Wish I knew why.”

“She is aware of your potential.” Sweeper said, and Wee Sam was so surprised he looked over his shoulder at the old man. “You’re good at investigating and putting the pieces together. And, some day, you will once again make a very good cop.”

“Someplace other than Ankh-Morpork.” Wee Sam grunted, but the old man shrugged, and he asked, hopefully “In Ankh-Morpork but in the future?”

“That is not for me to say.”

“No, it’s for my father to say.” He glared at the cigar, and then pushed himself to a standing position.

“You know, I didn’t just take you on because Susan asked and there happened to be another Vimes-shaped opening.” Sweeper said as Wee Sam turned towards the door.

“No?”

“I wanted to get to know the man the Theives Guild deemed ‘too dangerous’ for membership.” Sweeper sounded amused, and Wee Sam turned to look at him.

“I keep killing people. Assassin's school graduate, and all.” Wee Sam reminded him, but Sweeper waved the comment away.

“We both know neither of those things are relevant to today’s theive’s guild.” Sweeper shook his head. “Your father is afraid of you becoming him; and, well, so is everyone else. Vimeses walk in and take control. Especially under Vetinari’s influence.”

“And how do you know what my father is afraid of?” Wee Sam asked, narrowing his eyes. He was choosing to ignore the comment about Vetinari’s influence because it was true. After 300 years of cops and / or drunks it took Havelock Vetinari telling his father ‘not’ to investigate three deaths to bring his family name back to the list of the city’s gentry.

“You should ask him.” Sweeper did not ignore the narrowed eyes, but he did meet them evenly. “What he’s afraid of.”

Wee Sam turned towards the door, intending to stalk out, then thought better of it and spun so he was completely facing the old man. “You know what? I think I will.”

Then he ran, took a leap to place one foot on the bench beside Sweeper and jumped so his hands easily grasped the top of the wall. His own momentum brought him sideways, and he hurtled over the top. There was an alley on the other side, and he landed lightly. He was exactly where he expected to be, of course, and took off at a run towards the Cemetery of Small Gods.

And slowed to a walk before he reached the gates. It would not do for him to be out of breath when he arrived at the graves.

Twilight was falling, so his dad would be there, but so would Uncle Havelock and maybe Reg Shoe. Wee Sam was less concerned about how Reg saw him, especially now that he had seen Reg alive, but as far as his family was concerned he wanted to take steps towards appearing dignified. Even though they had known him his whole life, and knew better.

Sure enough, he passed Reg first. The Zombie was carrying a long-handled shovel over his left shoulder, and nodded in acknowledgement. Wee Sam managed to nod back before they passed each other.

He had expected Reg to recognize him. Reg had never noticed him behind the barricade, his father never noticed him behind the barricade, but Wee Sam had been playing Ned Coats for a full month before Sam Vimes had shown up as John Keel. Maybe Reg had never noticed that his father was Keel? How did Zombie memories work, anyway? Their brains certainly weren’t making new pathways… Did vampyre brains make new pathways?

This train of thought kept him pretty well occupied, along with the question of how he could politely go about getting some answers, when he noticed Uncle Havelock and his ‘cane’ striding silently towards him. A simple nod wouldn’t do.

“Good evening, Uncle Havelock.” Wee Sam called, since his mother had drummed into his head that you always greeted your superiors first. Admittedly, this sometimes meant that he approached his uncle with a question about what he would call the color of the sunset above a specific building at that exact moment, or if there was a poison which exploded in a particularly satisfactory fashion, but the patrician never complained. Nor did he complain if Wee Sam wandered in his office and started talking about alternative methods for coding clax messages or an unusual bird he had noticed riding the thermals above the University. And, thank gods, Havelock Vetinari knew that a formal greeting from Wee Sam Vimes meant that he didn’t want to talk.

“Happy Birthday, Wee Sam.” His uncle replied, “I trust you’ll be on time for dinner?”

Oh. That was a reminder. And a warning. “Thank you. Yes, we won’t be long.”

“Good. See you then.” The Patrician nodded, and then passed him.

“Yes.” Wee Sam muttered, and then reached for his pocket watch. When he pulled it out, he saw the time was all wrong and swore quietly. Well, from the graves he would be able to see the Tower of Art, and set his watch to the present. The battle of the lilac boys had been in the mid-morning, and it was most definitely not a quarter to noon.

John Keel’s grave marker was wood, and though it had been replaced often it had never been strong enough to support the weight of an average-sized man. Reg’s, on the other hand, was granite, and he apparently didn’t mind that Commander Sam Vimes leaned against it more and more every year.

Wee Sam didn’t make any noise, he never made any noise, but he could never sneak around his father. Commander Sam Vimes turned his head ever so slightly, and Wee Sam tooka good look at him.

Oh gods, he was so old. When had that happened? True, the last time he had seen his father he must have been about 50, but before that Wee Sam had spent three decades watching his father age and yet… It had never struck him so hard. He never could quite reconcile his memories of young Sam Vimes, that kid who had joined The Watch for three square meals a day and a little extra cash for his family. But he hadn’t thought his father had changed so much.

The old man looked him up and down. “How’d the battle go? After I left?”

Wee Sam stopped abruptly, and looked down at his outfit. He had forgotten to change into the clothes he had left at the monastery. This outfit was a uniform the Monks had given him, so he wouldn’t have the problems ‘accidental’ time travelers experienced with their clothes and meals and things staying in the time they came from. He even still had his lilac, somehow, even though that had come from the past.

“Don’t you remember?” You kicked ass.

His father shook his head. “I remember the original timeline, when Keel died at the barricade. I was pretty sure Coats wasn’t there.”

“Yeah, I don’t think he was, either.”

“I guess Vetinari showed up?” His father smirked. “Had a lilac in his teeth and everything?”

“I thought you didn’t remember it.” Wee Sam frowned.

“I don’t, but he tells me about it sometimes. I think he’s waiting for me to remember, or maybe now he’s wondering why I don’t.”

“Because time travel is a mess.” Wee Sam turned away from his father and looked across the city. He could see his family’s house from here.

“So Sweeper explained it to you?” The interest in his voice was practically tactile.

“No, but I had to run around for a month foiling somebody who had been sent to kill Havelock Vetinari. And it gave me time to wonder.”

“Why it was different the first time around?”

Wee Sam shook his head. “Would I have survived being born if you didn’t go back and meet Lawn?”

There was absolute silence between them, until Commander Sam Vimes quietly swore.

“Sweeper told me you have to think of things as one event in front of another, which is fine, except if you hadn’t gone back in time you wouldn’t have known Lawn was competent. You had heard of him, sure, but he would have never crossed your mind.”

“So we owe your existence to the damn time monks?” There was an angry edge to his father’s voice, but Wee Sam already knew his father was protective as hell. That was how he had gotten into this mess. Sort of.

“No. As far as I can tell, we owe it to some modern young idiots who thought they could go back and kill Vetinari. Time tries to fix things, and so you were sent back in time, to meet Lawn and Carcer went with you and killed Keel so there was a place for you to be and when you were done my life got saved and the monks were able to send me back to save Vetinari’s life and… Time is what it should be. Go us.” There was something about owing his life to terrorists that made him feel sarcastic.

“For all we know Vetinari or Rosie Palm might have recommended Lawn.” His father pointed out, which wasn’t a bad alternative. But it wasn’t what had happened, and there wasn’t really anybody they could ask. At least, nobody who they could ask who would give them a meaningful answer. They both knew Vetinari was a capable doctor, but apparently neither of them could imagine Vetinari getting involved in a problematic birth when there were other competent people around to do it.

More silence. Wee Sam noticed the time on the Tower of Art, and pulled his watch back out. If they were going to avoid talking about the massive argument they had that morning, he may as well take the time to re-set his watch.

“There was the sound of dice.” His father said so quietly that it didn’t initially register.

“Hm?” Wee Sam pushed the pin in, and watched with satisfaction as his watch and the tower struck the time at the exact same minute.

“Before the Library got struck by lightning. There was the sound of dice. Were the people who wanted to kill Havelock associated with a specific god?”

“I… Don’t know. They didn’t say anything about one.” He shut the watch, and shoved it in his pocket. ‘Havelock’ meant his dad was worried. “But there was a thunderstorm, right? Was the sound of dice rolling at the exact moment as the thunder?’

“Yes.”

“Io!” They both said it at the same moment, and Wee Sam felt his heart fall to his stomach. The self-proclaimed King of the Gods had been trying to subjugate their family for a long time. The only reason he had eased up lately was because Wee Sam had trained with the witches in Lancre. And so, to a lesser extent, had his father. It made them harder targets. But Io was still The Thunder God because he had murdered all the others. And then there was the question of who he would be forced to answer to. And how. Neither of the Vimes men had an axe sharp enough for that.

“Damn, why didn’t I realize that?” His father asked the night at large.

“The gods are always playing games. And besides, you had no reason to think Io was responsible for… Well he’s probably not responsible for the Dragon Incident, at least. Or the Goblin Incident.”

“Yeah, but we’ve been operating under the assumption that he was involved in that Dam Slam.” He was rubbing his thumb thoughtfully over the inside of his left wrist, where the Mark of the Summoning Dark had been. When Wee Sam was 8 it had changed, to a symbol generally called the Guarding Dark by anyone who cared to reference it. His father never talked about either Mark, but Wee Sam didn’t blame him. The Marks were indicative of 7 year period which did a number on his view of magic, and his identity.

Speaking of.

“I haven’t told Susan yet, but the monks kicked me out.” He tapped his toe against the grass, bringing it down as softly as he could so it wouldn’t damage the grass. Leggy would be so mad if he damaged his precious ‘terf’.

“Do you want to be a Monk?” His father asked quietly.

“No, I want to be a Watchman.” He whispered. Today was his 30th birthday, though technically he was a month older than that. He felt so much older than that. “But you’re apparently so terrified of me getting myself hurt that you’ve been doing Every Damned Thing you can think of to get between me and that and so I went ahead and tried to join almost any guild in the city and quite a few refused me and I’ve been kicked out of Each. And. Every. One. which would take me and now the only thing I can think of is taking Susan up on her offer to put in a good word for me with the Sto Lat Watch unless you’re going to step in and mess that up too and I wish you would knock it the hells off because as much as I love mum and her dragons I cannot spend the rest of my life working at the damn dragon sanctuary so--”

“Corporal.” His father’s voice was conversational, and somebody who had spent less time listening for the Commander’s voice probably wouldn’t have heard it.

“I’m not finished! Will you--” Wee Sam stopped abruptly. “Is that why you made me a Corporal? You couldn’t have recognized me. I hadn’t been born yet!”

“I recognized potential. And I was right, though you didn’t have as much control as I originally thought. Was all that sparring really necessary?”

“You’ve been standing between me and what I’ve been made to do!”

“And how would 50 year old me have known that?”

“It was easier to fight… him… than you.” Wee Sam grumbled, then realized he was starting to dig up the sod with his toe. Feeling bad about the grass, he brought his toe down in the other direction, to flatten it back down.

“Easier? I kicked your ass. I’d probably have a harder time of it now.”

“I never wondered if I should hold back.” Wee Sam admitted.

“Ah.” The 80 year old nodded. “I know that feeling. I’ve often wondered what it would be like if Vetinari and I had a proper fight when we were young.”

“You could sell tickets and solve all the city’s financial problems.” Wee Sam shifted his gaze to his father. “Actually you probably still could--”

“No. Your mother would have a conniption.”

“Oh right. Yeah, she would. Shame.”

“Do I want to know who you think would win?”

“No.”

“Your faith in me is staggering.”

“Well I figure either it would be a draw or he’d kick your--”

“Yes I understood your answer to my question, thank you.” But he was smiling ever so slightly.

And then the city’s clocks started chiming 9 in the evening. His father pushed himself slowly to his feet, and Wee Sam offered his arm. Cheery had offered to get his father an axe to use as a cane, but Commander Vimes would not hear of it. He did touch Wee Sam’s arm briefly, but once he was standing straight he let go, and the pair of them headed towards the exit.

They didn’t bother to try talking until the clocks had stopped, about five minutes after Wee Sam’s watch struck the hour.

“Did those people who tried to kill young Vetinari have any friends who stayed in our time?”

“I believe so.” They were walking slowly, and Wee Sam waited a full block before he added. “You want me to turn all my information over to anyone in particular?”

“I’m not afraid of you getting hurt.” It didn’t seem like a related response, but that didn’t mean it wasn’t. “I mean, of course I am, but that’s not why I’ve been saying no.”

“Really?”

“I don't want people treating you like a target for their hate for me. If you could join the way Carrot or Angua or Cheery did, that would be fine. But it’s gotten so big since they joined up.”

“Ah.” He didn’t know what else to say.

“I don’t think it would be any better if you joined anywhere else within the Clacks network.”

“Which is pretty much the whole world at this point.”

“And there’s all this scrying now.”

“Which doesn’t need towers.”

His father glared at him, but didn’t tell him to knock it off. “So I suspect your joining a Watch anywhere would ultimately be just as risky.”

“Which is your reasoning for why I shouldn’t bother with Sto Lat.”

“No, my reasoning for why you shouldn’t bother with Sto Lat is that we pay better and have the best medical benefits on the Sto Plains.”

Wee Sam stopped abruptly. “What.”

“You survived the Watch I started out in. As far as I’m concerned, you can handle today’s watch.” The old man stopped and looked back at him. “You’re going to be the oldest cadet though. Because I’m not going to let you jump straight to Corporal. We’re not at war.”

“Right. Yeah. That’s fine.”

“We’re going to be late if you don’t get moving.”

“Right.” Wee Sam managed to keep himself from skipping, so the pent up energy became a jog to his father’s side. They walked in silence, Wee Sam’s mind racing as he wondered if there was some way for him to accidentally mess this up.

“You should give your mother two week’s notice though. It’s only fair.”

“You didn’t run this by her first?” Wee Sam turned to him, shocked.

“Oh we’ve been talking about this for years.” The unspoken word ‘decades’ hung in the air between them. “Her, Vetinari, Carrot, Angua, Cheery--”

“Cheery?”

“She and Igor think you should be in forensics. I mean, it’s your choice of course-- after you pass the tests.”

“Forensics would be great.” He agreed, and thought about how fun it could be to put his Medical and Alchemical and Assassin training to something useful for once. Which reminded him “You know, there is a smouldering cigar in the center of The Garden of Inner City Tranquility at the Monastery.”

“Yeah, it hit me after you left. I had called you ‘sunshine’ during our fight, and Vetinari basically asked how you were handling turning 30, and seeing him standing there with the lilac pinned to his shirt it hit me.” He paused for a moment. “He wore it in the original timeline too, you know. I wish I had asked, but we didn’t get along as well then.”

Wee Sam felt his mouth tug into a half-smile. For his father and the patrician, ‘getting along as well’ involved an increased number of arguments. Also, he remembered ‘Keel’ using that ironic term of endearment during their spar. “You realized I was Ned Coats.”

“So I… walked as fast as I could… to the Monastery and… knocked on the damned door… And threatened to make one hell of a scene if Sweeper didn’t let me in.”

“So of course he did.”

“Of course.”

“And he took you to the garden. And… you told him what you worked out?”

“Actually I just told him that if anything happened to you I was holding him personally responsible. I knew Ned Coats died. I just didn’t know if he died the way John Keel died. I hadn’t stayed long enough to find out.”

“And what did he say?”

“He asked if my holding him responsible was more or less lethal than Susan Sto Helit holding him responsible.”

Wee Sam laughed. “Sweeper hasn’t met mum.”

“Yeah, that’s true.” His father chuckled quietly. “Anyway, Susan will be at dinner so you can tell her all about how the monks kicked you out with an audience. Your mother will find it interesting, I’m sure.”

“Does mum know about you going back...”

“Oh yes. Vetinari can’t keep a secret from her.” And neither could her husband.

“Will there be anybody at the dinner who doesn’t know?”

“Hm, no. I don’t think so. You were the only one who wasn’t in a position to make conversation then, and while Susan wasn’t involved in my adventure as far as I can tell…”

“But with Susan who knows. In any case, I think I’ll wait until we can get some privacy.”

“Suit yourself, but be warned. Everyone knows I told you I was ok with you joining the Watch. They’ll make a big deal about it. You know how they are.”

Wee Sam looked up at the big, brightly-lit, house as they waited for his dad to fully get his breath back. “I’ll try to be strong.”

Commander Sam Vimes snorted. Wee Sam opened the door, held it while his father entered the house, and followed right behind him.

[sarahjtv]

BNHA Chapter 319 Spoiler Analysis: Found Family

Holy crap what a phenomenal chapter!  This arc in general has been great, but this chapter might be one of my favorites of the arc.  Not just because it focuses on Class 1-A (I’m so glad to see the kids again), but because of the growth we see in these kids in general especially Bakugo and Shoto IMO.  Like, holy shit ESPECIALLY BAKUGO!  I stand by my opinion that Bakugo is one of the best developed characters in the series.  There’s so much I want to say about this chapter and I’ll try my best to do so if my poor injured left hand will let me 😭:

The chapter starts off with the first of 3 colored pages we’re going to get over the next few weeks to celebrate 7 YEARS OF MY HERO ACADEMIA!!!  CONGRATS, HORIKOSHI-SENSEI!!!  This series revived my love of anime/manga and really helped me in some really rough spots in my life.  I will forever be grateful towards Horikoshi for bringing this series to life and blessing us with such an incredible story full of beautiful characters.  MHA may be a little overrated, but I still think it deserves all the love it can get.  

Anyway, the color page.  It shows Uraraka, Iida (who has red eyes here, so IDK why the anime gives him blue eyes though I do think they work better for him personally *shrugs*), Shoto, Tokoyami, and Bakugo after basically figuring out where Deku went.  Bakugo is shown tearing up his letter (which says something like “Thank you for being there, Kacchan”; there’s more but I can’t translate it 😭) and you can kinda see some bandage wrap around his arm where he was stabbed.  Also, both Bakugo and Shoto still have some visible injuries on their faces and Bakugo’s hands, so they’re still recovering from the War.  It’s a really pretty page in general and I can’t wait to see what the next 2 color pages are going to look like.  I also kinda want Horikoshi to take a break after this too again so he doesn’t overwork himself.  Maybe he’ll treat himself to the MHA: World Heroes Mission movie 🍿.  

So, Shoto and Bakugo have figured out that Deku is most likely with Endeavor, Hawks, and Best Jeanist.  Problem is that none of them are answering their phones.  I like that Bakugo calls Best Jeanist “Pair of Denim Pants” 😂 and Shoto’s image of Endeavor is still a very angry version of his old man.  Shoto’s still making amends with his father, but he’s still not THERE yet.  Regardless, these kids are smart enough to know that something’s up.  Especially since All Might hasn’t returned to UA either.

It’s basically confirmed by Ojiro that because classes have been suspended, our Class 1-A kids are still 1-A; they haven’t moved into their second year yet.  That clears up the confusion on whether we should still refer these group of kids as 1-A still or not.  

Now Bakugo’s showing how much of a genius he really is despite his personality.  Bakugo figures out that the Top 3 and All Might are working together as a group based on how they all connected with each other back at Central Hospital.  Also, Bakugo concludes that All Might snuck Deku’s letters under their doors while Deku started running.  Ultimately, Bakugo does know more about Deku and All Might more than anyone else does.  He’s been around his childhood friend and he’s admired his idol longer than most people have.  Bakugo understands how bad the situation is and he’s ready to take action.  

As are the other kids.  You can see how determined they are and you can see Kirishima’s black roots coming in 🥺!  Even Uraraka gets some shine here by bringing up the idea to trick Endeavor to come via getting help from Principle Nezu as Endeavor was a UA student.  It’s really interesting to see Ochako in a more serious roll than usual, but I actually like it.  I hope she’s still as bubbly as she always was at the end of the day, but she’s definitely matured and grown a lot over the corse of the series.  Even the simple things like her hair show it as it’s not as floaty as it was before.  I love it when Horikoshi shows small details like this.  It adds to the characters and stories a lot.  Also, the art in this chapter is amazing.

And now it’s Endeavor vs. Class 1-A in a much needed conversation.  All the kids are wearing their school uniforms to make this as formal and serious as they can.  EVEN BAKUGO IS PROPERLY WEARING HIS TIE YOU KNOW SHIT’S ABOUT TO GO DOWN!!!  And, I must say, Bakugo looks damn good with a tie 😳.  You can also get a decent height measurement on the kids here if you want.  Ngl, sometimes I forget that Shoto’s about 2 inches taller than Bakugo.  It’s definitely the hair.  

Shoto’s the first to step up and he scolds the hell out of his old man.  Rightfully so tbh.  Endeavor shouldn’t have ignored Shoto’s calls even though I kind of understood why.  Shoto reminds Endeavor of their plan to stop Dabi though thankfully that’s what’s pushing Endeavor forward so he hasn’t forgotten.  Shoto calls his father “Endeavor” and gets mad at him fro leaving Deku and All Might alone.  The rough translations say he called Izuku “Deku” here too btw.  Endeavor has no response.  I think this anger Shoto’s unleashing is very justified and has been burning inside him since Deku left UA.  His best friend just up and left him and his friends with nothing but a letter to kinda explain things.  Also, Shoto and the rest of 1-A (minus Bakugo) have basically been lied to for about a year.  I’d want answers too if someone did that to me.  

Bakugo steps in by putting a hand on Shoto’s shoulder (🥺) to calm him down a bit and to say his piece.  Ultimately, he thinks what Deku is doing is right, but that the way they’re all doing it is wrong.  I love Deku and All Might, but they’re sacrificial idiots.  They care more about others than they probably ever will themselves.  That’s how All Might lost his OFA in the first place.  It’s because of that that All Might doesn’t have it in him to stop Deku from going down this path.  They shouldn’t have been left alone.  Someone should’ve kept a closer eye on them.  I know the Top 3 were all worried about getting too close to Deku before, but really, someone should’ve been watching them closer on the sidelines.

The next page is a really cool drawing of Endeavor flinging his phone to the kids to catch.  The previous panels showed Endeavor with this face that’s regretful and I think he realized something: That Bakugo is right and that the kids might be better off finding Deku than he is.  So he basically gives the kids his GPS on his phone.  Those are just my thoughts, but it does look like that.  I don't think Endeavor’s just going to up and give up though.  He’s probably going to start rethinking things though.

As Sero manages to catch Endeavor’s phone, he and the rest of the kids think about how even though they’ve only known Deku for a year, they still think of him as family and cannot let him go down this thorny path alone.  They’ll carry the OFA burden with him if they have to.  They can’t smile without Deku around.  These kids truly have become a family over the year.  It’s amazing to see.  Everyone’s like a brother and sister and it’s really nice to see.  I just love Found Family stories, guys 😭❤️

And really quick, I want to focus on my ❄️🔥 boy, Shoto, really quick.  As he’s thinking about Deku, he mentions how shocked he still is about Deku keeping OFA from them and how Deku thought just a letter would suffice.  He has this sad look on his face like he’s trying to say: “I still can’t believe my best friend hid this from me for so long.  Why?  Did he not trust me?”  That’s just my interpretation.  Still, I can’t imagine how upset Shoto must feel.  I think he still cares a lot about Deku enough to go out and find him, but he’s gotta feel some sort of betrayal.  More so than the other students outside of Bakugo because, again, Deku was essentially Shoto’s best and closest friend 💙😭

Endeavor is rightfully worried about letting the kids out in the state of Japan right now, but now Principle Nezu speaks up and praises the kids on growing up so well.  He’s also took into account Deku's feelings about his mission which is why he agreed to the team up.  Also, Deku’s still welcome back to UA whenever he wants thank god ☺️.  He’s a student who has to be protected.  There’s a cute panel of Uraraka and her mom crying happily after getting her acceptance letter too.  Not 100% why this is shown other than Acceptance Letter part, but it’s cute to see.  Maybe Ochako realizes how much Deku needs to be protected or something.

As for the refugees, Nezu had the security system strengthened in time for the Cultural Festival earlier, but they never used it before.  It’s call The UA Barrier.  God, how strong is this thing?  Is it strong enough to stop Shigaraki who was able to Decay the last barrier?  This seems like something that’ll be used in the final battle TBH.  

So, Nezu trust the 1-A kids to bring Deku back home.  Which is exactly what they plan to do as all 19 of them enter Kamino in a badass full page.  I actually wasn’t sure if all 19 of them were there at first since I couldn’t find Shoto for the life of me, but then my eyes saw the BIG-ASS ICE WALL IN THE BACK AND I THOUGHT “OH THERE HE IS!!!” LOL 😂 

The next panel actually does show Shoto with Momo as they capture the villain from the last chapter.  Momo politely calls Bakugo “Bakugo-san”, but Bakugo demands that he be called his insane hero name: “GREAT EXPLOSION MURDER GOD DYNAMIGHT”!  I CAN’T WITH THIS DUDE SOMETIMES WHY DO I LOVE HIM SO MUCH 💥🧡

Deku sees his friend and wonders why they came.  Ochako answers because that they were worried about him, but Deku tries to convince everyone (including himself) that he’s fine.  He’s obviously not and Bakugo calls TF out on him!  He even drops a good F-bomb for good measure.  Bakugo mocks Deku for trying to act like All Might and asks Deku if he can even smile right now.  I actually really like it that Bakugo’s calling Deku out on his shit.  I think Deku needs some good tough love right now to knock some sense into him.  Who would be better to do that than Katsuki Bakugo himself?

As Deku is trying to convince everyone that’s he’s fine (while still looking like a demon btw), there’s a small focus on Iida.  Actually, a few panels this chapter have focused on Iida.  Maybe he’s remembering the time Deku saved him back when they went up against Stain.  Deku saved him then so it’s now Iida’s turn to save Deku.  Also, Iida hasn’t gotten much focus lately and I really like his character, so I’m glad he’s being brought back to the forefront again.  Also, I like hearing Kaito-san’s voice in general so I’d be happy to hear him again (thanks for that one, Haikyuu).

The final spread shows Deku telling everyone to move away while Bakugo, Iida, and Ochako get ready to stop him.  IT’S DEKU VS. CLASS 1-A!!!  WE’RE ENTERING CIVIL WAR FOLKS!!!  Seriously, though, this is great.  I was thinking that it would be just Bakugo and a few other students finding Deku.  Instead we got the whole class.  And looks like that “helping hand” thing will happen later because we got a battle to fight first.  

Bakugo’s become a damn fine leader and I love to see his growth every freaking time🧡! I like how Iida has his hand on Bakugo’s back to support him btw.  It’s weird that Shoto’s not in this page though.  He’s one of Deku’s best friends, so I would think he would be in this page along with Bakugo and his first 2 friends (Ochako and Iida).  Maybe Horikoshi’s saving Shoto for a more 1-on-1 conversation with Deku.  God, I hope that happens because I think along with Bakugo, Shoto deserves a good talk with Deku the most.  

Honestly, I’m not sure who would win this battle.  I’ve been going through scenarios in my head on who would win, but I can’t come to a solid answer.  Class 1-A has 19 versatile Quirks under their belt and they have more energy than Deku to fight, but Deku still has 6 insanely powerful Quirks that he’s been practicing for a while.  The kids could probably win if they strategize enough and use Deku’s exhaustion against him, but again, Deku has OFA and multiple other Quirks.  If he could beat Lady Nagant, one of the best snipers around, he might be able to beat the 1-A kids.  He could just escape with Smoakscreen, Black Whip, and Float if he wants to really.  That would put 1-A on another wild goose chase.  There’s also Deku’s Danger Sense which will be a pain to deal with.  Also, Deku said that he’s as strong as All Might was in his prime with Fa-Jin and OFA combined.  Only AFO and Shigaraki were strong enough to take on THAT.  Plus, we still don’t know what the 2nd OFA Holder’s Quirk is yet.  Deku might use it in this battle.  God, I have so many theories in my head now.  I think this battle will be awesome, but ultimately, I want Deku to come home 😭💚

Me reading and loving My Hero Academia: 

[slothsnuggle]

"Am I? " (Rhys x OC)

Disclaimers :

-Most of the character and the ACOTAR universe belong to SJM, I'm just having fun writing about one of my favorite book series!

-The main relationship that will be developed being between Rhys and an OC, I'd like to say I still LOVE feysand and have nothing against it, I just wanted to try something different!

-Also English is not my first language so I'm really sorry if there's some things that I write wrong! Do not hesitate to correct me 😊

CHAPTER ONE

She observed the three men now standing in front of her.

The High Lord of the Night Court and her father - the Emperor of Vask - seemed as different as they were similar. Her father was kind of the physical opposite of the Lord, who had purple eyes, so bright they disturbed anyone who dared looking at them, black, short hair and sharp facial features. Alexander of Vask was blond, his hair falling on his shoulders, a bump on his nose, and had brown eyes and a serious obsession for royal blue, the main color of his Empire.

But she was positive that they were both as cunning, egotistical and cruel. As a lot of kings were.

There was something about the Lord though, in his stillness or maybe behind his fake smirk that was truly frightening. She thought the last thing she could wish was to find herself alone in a room with that man. Not to mention that everytime she stood near him, she felt like something was staring at her, looking at each of her moves - something as dark as invisible, that gaves her uncontrollable chills. She didn't like him. Her father referred to him as "Lord Valtyan", which must be his name. His son, who was standing next to him, was called Rhysand, if she had heard the name right. She knew that he was about the same age as her, maybe 18 or 19, though he was already a bit taller due to his race.

Illyrians. Her parents always described them as violent beasts, savage warriors born to fight. Thinking about it, they were saying almost the same things about some slaves. Slaves who had been forced to fight their whole life not to let their family starve. But the boy's bat wings and his dad's were nowhere to be seen. She had imagined some sort of hideous monsters, but the two individuals in front of her looked pretty much like any of the high members of her own court. Except maybe that they wore darker clothes and that their skin was tanner. Well, even if it wasn't very difficult to look tanner than her. She let herself stare at the prince a bit more.

He was very good looking in his traditional suit, his dark hair perfectly displayed under a thin, silver crown. The Night Court heir's crown. His chin was high and his back straight, and she could have sworn that she could even see a bit of arrogance in his eyes. Typical.

But when she looked closer a bit later, she realized how obvious it was that the boy was trying his best to satisfy his father, controlling each of his moves and words. Was he scared of him? She almost smiled sarcastically, saying something like "yeah, we're all there playing roles aren't we?", but instead kept her face neutral and her mouth shut. After all, that was what was expected from a good little princess. To look good, smile a bit and let the big men talk together. A pleasure.

She wondered if the prince's true self was really different from his father or if he was just another handsome asshole. Their eyes were not exactly alike.

__________

Rhysand turned himself into his father's son. The heir of the Night Court. The glorious Prince of Darkness.

He hated that. That character he was forced to play. But he had no choice. As he had no choice to make his beloved wings disappear : the pride of any Illyrian. To be honest, he was as scared of his father as he admired him. And the Lord won't forgive any error from him.

So he pushed back those thoughts deep into his heart and entered the reception room as his father called his name.

"I present to you our guests for this week, the Emperor Alexander of Vask and his daughter Eelin."

Rhysand greeted them as conventionally as he could and stood with a remarkable obedience next to his father.

He kept the same lame face as he remained shocked by how obvious it was that the man in front of him was a stranger from a very different country. He had nothing to do with his people or himself. This huge, blue cape he was wearing mixed with this golden, overdecorated armor and the big crown on his head was one of the most extravagant yet ridiculous things he'd ever seen. No one, not even his father would wear anything like that on their land. The Emperor looked very confident though, and Rhysand had to admit he really looked like a monarch.

His daughter next to him looked far more discreet. She was wearing a light blue, fluid dress with just a thin belt and some jewels. Some parts of her dark-blond hair were tied behind her head and she had pink lips that contrasted a lot with her extremely pale skin. She almost looked sick. Rhysand knew the people of Vask were generally naturally pale, but even the Emperor's face was more colored than hers, though he wasn't supposed to be exposed to the sun that much. Maybe she wasn't allowed to go out of her family's castle at all, which was possible since most of the princesses weren't allowed to do much on their own until they were married. He noticed later the coldness of her face, the authority in her way to simply stand here, and the way she looked at him. Mother, for a second he thought she was as intimidating as a grown High Lord. If his father had heard him saying such things, he would probably have been slaughtered. But he couldn't be reading his mind right now, right?

[ask-the-riders]

A Game of Chance

I felt like writing something to kinda introduce Roulette, so ye. You get to see a little more of her and what she's like, I guess

Roulette has a nightmare, and her favorite tiger demon unintentionally winds up providing the exact kind of comfort she needs

Some warnings for: implied alcohol consumption, abusive language, references to gambling, guns/gun violence, threats, and character death. There's a little bit of implied nudity at one point too, but it's super brief and could be easy to miss

"Ah, I'm sorry, bud! Your bankroll's empty again. Better luck next time!" 

The middle-aged man that the dealer had addressed scowled in response to her words, the stench of alcohol on his breath as he spoke, "Like hell it is! You're just tryna get rid of me, aren't you?" The dealer tilted her head, her lips curving into the sweetest smile she could manage, "No, sir. You're out of money, and I'm afraid that means you won't be able to keep playing." He continued to scowl, "I am NOT out of money! I know I put down more than what you just took!" Her smile became smug and condescending for just a fraction of a second; There was some truth to this man's words... But he didn't need to know that.

She placed a hand on her chest in a gesture of mock sincerity. Using the opportunity to make sure the wad of cash that she'd slipped into her top was still there, she furrowed her brows, morphing her expression into a concerned frown, "Would it help if I contacted my supervisor? You could dispute this further with him, if you'd like." The drunk shook his head, his face slowly reddening from what she assumed was a mix of anger and the alcohol he'd already gulped down, "No, I don't want no damn supervisor. I want my MONEY." The dealer sighed, "Sir, I can't do that. You lost it in the game, fair and square." He rose from his seat, slamming his hands down on the tabletop and roaring, "BULLSHIT." 

Seeing the other people at her table begin to look concerned, she lifted her hands as if surrendering, "Sir, I need to ask you to calm down. If you can't calm yourself, then I'll be forced to call security." The drunk growled in annoyance, not quite shouting, but still speaking much louder than necessary, "Give me my money and then I'll leave." She slowly shook her head, "I'm sorry, sir. I can't-" Her breath caught in her throat as the man drew a small, handheld gun and pointed it at her. The other casino-goers immediately stood and backed away from the table, visibly terrified as he raised his voice at the dealer again, "HAND OVER MY MONEY, YOU STUPID BITCH. I WANT WHAT'S MINE." She was frozen, her dark eyes wide with fear. The woman tried to form words, but couldn't produce any sound whatsoever.

As security began rushing toward him, he shouted another string of obscenities and pulled the trigger.

The bunny demon bolted up in bed, gasping for air. Beads of sweat gathered on her forehead and she trembled, her eyes wide. Her frantic gaze swept around before catching on her companion, who was still sound asleep beside her. The sheets were tangled around his body, and his already tousled, black hair was now such a mess that she couldn't even see his eyes. Her gaze drifted lower, and she frowned as it settled on the large hole that went clean through his chest. Power boosts, like the one he'd been talking about getting lately, took a heavy toll on a demon's body. They reopened all of their previous wounds, even those that had long since healed. As she gazed at his chest wound, she couldn't imagine how much pain he'd have to endure if he were to go through with getting another power boost. 

Letting out a deep sigh, Roulette carefully slipped out of the bed, leaning down to grab her companion’s discarded shirt from the floor. Tugging it on in a lazy attempt to cover herself, she made her way to the attached bathroom. Once she reached her destination, she ducked into the room, her vision going black for a second as she gingerly closed the door. As soon as it was closed, she flicked on the light, squinting her eyes tiredly as they tried to adjust to the sudden brightness. Roulette gave them a moment to adjust before she approached the sink, leaning over it to gaze at her reflection in the mirror. She brushed her bangs aside, wincing as a small and deep, x-shaped scar came into her line of sight, situated just above her left eyebrow. Yep... Sure enough, it was still there. 

She frowned, her brows furrowing as her thoughts began to wander back to the friends she'd left behind, as well as her family. She was never close with her parents, but she had a little brother that meant everything to her, and she could never see him again. Her eyes began to sting and she blinked back tears, one of her large, white rabbit ears lifting the tiniest bit in response to some sound that was just outside the bathroom door. Processing that it was likely just Othni, she relaxed, her ear drooping and hanging limply behind her again. Roulette quickly fixed her bangs, combing her fingers through them and covering her scar again before she grabbed ahold of her ears, slipping a hair tie around them and tightening it just enough to guarantee that it wouldn't come loose. 

Othni stumbled into the bathroom, very clearly still half-asleep as he squinted his eyes, unhappy with the amount of light that greeted him. Roulette remained where she stood, watching quietly as he approached, wrapping his arms around her from behind and resting his head on her shoulder, his voice rough with grogginess, "What are you doing out of bed, Bon-Bon? It's late..."  The bunny demon smiled softly, lightly leaning back against him, "I could ask you the same thing, Tiger." He snorted, his voice becoming muffled as he turned his head and buried his face in the crook of her neck, "I'm up because I rolled over and didn't feel you there in bed with me... Wanted to check on you, that's all." 

Roulette's expression softened a bit further and she hummed in response, "Awe... Well aren't you sweet?" Othni's voice remained muffled as he grumbled, "I can neither confirm nor deny such things. Now, can we go back to bed, or is something wrong?" She sighed deeply and turned to face him, offering him a small, reassuring grin as she gently touched his face, "I'm ok, Othni... It was just a bad dream again, that's all. You're exhausted, so I think we should head back to bed." Othni tiredly leaned into her touch, making a sound in acknowledgment as his eyes began to slowly drift shut. Realizing that he was already dozing off again, Roulette smiled softly. 

Her magic flared up, and their surroundings began to rapidly change. The bathroom shifted into her sitting room, and she gently coaxed Othni over to the sofa. She climbed onto it first and then turned her body, leaning back against the armrest. Almost as soon as she'd finished getting comfortable, Othni was already climbing onto the couch with her. He settled in the space between her legs and leaned down to lay his head on her chest, listening quietly to the sound of her heartbeat. Roulette's magic faded away and she smiled to herself, beginning to very gently pet him, gingerly running her fingers through his tangled, curly locks. Even as he drifted off to sleep, he purred faintly, enjoying her touch.

She watched him for a moment, her cheeks gaining a slight blush. Sure, he had his flaws like everyone else, but it was times like these, where she couldn't help but admire how soft some of his features were. His skin was smooth, and while there were some scars along his arms and one of his sides, his face was completely devoid of any imperfections. His cheeks were rosy, he had beautiful eyes, and lord, his physique. The guy was a bit taller than her and was quite slender, but at the same time... She slid a hand down to one of his shoulders, allowing it to explore the area and trace along his bare back, being mindful of his injury. He was slender, but he still had a little muscle, and she could definitely appreciate that. 

Roulette smiled to herself; He was truly the most beautiful demon she'd ever laid her eyes on.

[cherienymphe]

Crossfire (Biker!Bucky x Reader x Steve)

Warnings: eventual NON-CON, eventual violence (including domestic), eventual kidnapping

PLEASE DNI IF ANY OF THIS OFFENDS YOU

summary: You and your new husband Steve move back to his hometown. It is here that his past catches up with him, and you both pay the price.

Ok guys! Its back up! Thank God I have all my stories in Word because the clown really jumped out five minutes ago. Heads up, if you liked or reblogged the original, it is gone! That post ceases to exist so here it is to make the rounds again :)

~

You tightened your hold around Steve’s neck, looking around in awe as he carried you through the threshold. The large house was older, but you didn’t care about how modern it was or not. It had character and charm…and it was all yours now.

“Someone comes to keep up with the place every now and then, but…,” he trailed off, setting you down.

“Steve, I love it! How could I not? Besides, this house has been in your family for years. I’ll take this over some cookie cutter barbie house, any day,” you said, taking his hand.

Truly, it was nothing a little TLC couldn’t fix. To be perfectly honest, you were a bit impressed. When Steve had told you that his family owned a house, you were expecting something much more modest. After all, he grew up in a small town, so you hadn’t gotten your hopes up by expecting much.

He wrapped his arms around you from behind, and you giggled when he nuzzled your neck.

“I’m glad you like it…wife,” he whispered.

You bit your lip, wrapping your hands around his forearm as he pressed kisses into your neck. The two of you had been married for a little over a month, now, but your stomach still fluttered whenever he called you that. Mrs. Y/N Rogers. You didn’t think you would ever get used to that. You felt an unexplainable happiness fill you as you looked around again.

You had met Steve on the way to a doctor’s appointment one day. You’d bumped into each other, coffee was spilled, apologies were given, and numbers had been exchanged. The rest was history. There were times when you thought it was almost too good to be true. Steve was virtually perfect. Handsome, smart, charming, and funny. Sure, he could be stuck in his ways a bit, but you found it endearing.

The two of you had been seeing each other for a little over a year when he popped the question. You had been completely caught off guard, especially since the topic had never come up. There had been a time when you thought you would never get married, but then you met Steve, and all of that changed. You remembered the shock you felt as you realized there was no hesitation in you to say ‘yes’.

The wedding was small and tasteful, full of nothing but close friends and family. Most of them were yours, and even though Steve wasn’t bothered by the fact that only three people came for him, you were. It was why you tried so hard to make him feel at home in your family, because he didn’t have any left.

“Let’s get the boxes inside…and then we can focus on breaking in the new bed,” he hummed, lips brushing against your skin.

“Sounds like a plan to me,” you purred, following him out of the house.

It had started to drizzle slightly while you were inside, and a shudder passed through you as the cold droplets hit your skin. As you opened the trunk to get another box, you heard a rumble coming from down the street. It was the familiar sound of a motorcycle, and you brushed it off. You gripped the box with some difficulty and didn’t pay it any mind when you noticed Steve had paused in his own task, hand resting on the hood of the car as he stared down the street.

You gently set the box down just inside with a huff, sliding it out of the doorway with your foot as the sound of a motorcycle engine grew closer. You brushed your hands off, stepping outside with a slight frown as two drivers made their way into the driveway, parking their bikes not far behind the car. Steve was standing in the driveway, now, arms crossed over his chest. He tilted his head slightly as he heard your footsteps.

“Y/N, go back-.”

“Steve!”

Your eyes widened at that, realizing that these men knew him. You shouldn’t have been surprised. It was a small town after all, but they didn’t really seem like Steve’s kind of crowd, especially not close enough for them to just pull in his driveway unannounced, but if you had learned anything over the past year and a half or so, it was that Steve could be full of surprises.

“Well, well, well… Look who’s back in town. I see you moved back into the old house too,” one of the men said as he swung off of his bike.

He was the taller of the two, dark hair cut low and facial hair connecting around his mouth. The other had a much fairer complexion, short brown hair pushed away from his face as his blue-green eyes studied you. They both sported worn jeans and similar leather jackets. You noted, with disapproval, that neither one of them wore helmets.

“Sam, it’s been too long,” your husband said.

You watched as they leaned in to do that weird man hug thing, and Steve repeated the action with the other man. You heard Steve refer to him as Clint. You felt a bit awkward as Steve backed up, and you wondered if it was just your imagination or was he blocking you a bit.

“…and…who is this?” Clint wondered, tilting his head to look around Steve’s shoulder and get a better look.

You were stepping forward before Steve could say anything, offering your hand.

“Hi! It’s so nice to meet some of Steve’s friends,” you said.

Their grips were firm, hands rough as they accepted your offer. You didn’t miss the way Clint ran his eyes over you, and you remembered that rain was currently soaking your shirt. You stepped back, and Steve wasted no time in wrapping his arm around your waist, pulling you into his side.

“This is my wife, Y/N,” Steve answered Clint’s question.

You glanced at him, wondering about the strange tone in his voice.

“How long have you guys known Steve? I’m sorry if I’m prying, its just Steve only had about two friends back in New York, so I’m glad to know more of you exist,” you chuckled.

“Y/N,” Steve whispered with a groan.

“What?” you quietly whined, slightly hitting his chest.

Sam and Clint joined in on your laughter, and Sam stuck his hands in his pockets.

“Oh, we go way back with Steve. Don’t worry about him, sweetheart, Steve has plenty of friends around here,” he answered.

Your eyes widened, a noise of appreciation escaping your lips.

“That’s…wonderful!” you said, clapping your hands together. “I’d invite you guys in, but the house is scary looking, right now.”

You turned towards Steve.

“Maybe when we make it presentable, we can invite your-.”

“Y/N, they all have their own lives, now, and they’ve seen the house a million times…”

You studied him, eyebrows furrowed. There was something off about his tone, and you decided to take the hint. You turned back to the men in front of you with a smile.

“I guess we’ll just have to play it by ear. I’m going to go finish unpacking, but it was nice meeting you!”

Their response mirrored yours as you turned to go back inside, brushing your hand over Steve’s shoulder.

“I’ll be right in,” he quietly said, hand grazing your waist.

You glanced over your shoulder as you walked up the steps. Sam was talking to Steve, but Clint’s bright eyes were focused on you. You turned back with a slight grimace and headed towards the waiting boxes.

 ~

Your nails trailed down Steve’s back, running over the ridges and feeling the way his muscles moved as he thrust into you. His hard chest was pressed against yours, your legs locked around his waist, head thrown back into the pillow. His soft lips never parted from you, and he’d told you once that enjoyed being inside of you with the taste of your skin on his tongue.

“Steve,” you moaned, one of your hands sliding upwards to tangle in his hair.

He groaned against you, skin slapping against yours in the quiet room. His hands were digging into your hips, holding them to the bed as he had his way with you. You were sure to be aching there tomorrow, but you didn’t mind. It was always worth the pain. You arched your chest into him, lips brushing against his.

You whined when he pulled away, and he only chuckled in response. He loved to do that, tease you, and you loved him for it. You tried to kiss him again, but he only pulled back some more, and because his hands were pinning your hips to the bed, you could only lean up so much.

“Steve,” you begged.

“I love that sound,” he murmured. “You beg so pretty for me, but I know you can do better than that.”

“Wanna kiss you,” you whispered, eyes fluttering at a particularly hard thrust.

You dug your nails into his skin, a choked moan leaving your lips.

“Oh, you can do better than that,” he purred.

His blue eyes sparkled with mischief, determination to see you beg outweighing his desire to put his lips on yours.

“Steve, please,” you whined.

“Mm, only good girls get rewards…and you have been so good for me, haven’t you?”

He covered your mouth with his own, and you both groaned into the kiss. You were drenched, positive you were making a mess of the new sheets already, but you didn’t care. Steve’s hard length felt heavenly inside of you, and once again, you were struck with the fact that this man was yours forever. As if he heard your thoughts, Steve spoke.

“Tell me you’re mine,” he mumbled against your lips.

“I’m yours, Steve. Forever,” you gasped, clenching around him.

He hissed into your mouth.

“Say that again…”

“I’m yours,” you panted.

His hips stuttered, and your climax hit you just as he emptied himself inside of you with a low moan. Your body trembled, and he pulled you against him as he turned to lay on his side. His softening cock was still inside of you, and a lazy smile fell over your lips, sure that he’d be pinning you to the bed again as soon as you woke up in the morning.

You reached up to brush your fingers along his face, tracing his jaw, and he hummed. His eyes fell closed, fingers drawing circles into your back. You suddenly remembered something, and you paused in your ministrations.

“Steve…”

“Hmm?”

“Are you ashamed of your friends?”

His eyes flew open, studying you. You blinked.

“…or…maybe me?”

He pushed himself up to lean on his elbow, looking down at you with a frown.

“Why would you say that?”

You shrugged.

“It just seemed like you didn’t want me around your friends, is all,” you explained.

He sighed, briefly closing his eyes before shaking his head.

“No, no, sweetheart. I didn’t want them around you.”

“Why? They’re your friends, aren’t they?”

He fell back onto his back, exhaling as he stared at the ceiling.

“There was a time when they were my friends, yes, but not anymore…”

You waited for him to continue.

“I was a different guy then, Y/N…much different. We’re talking late high school early college years. I was caught up in stuff that makes me ashamed to even touch you-.”

“Steve,” you admonished, frowning.

He looked up at you as you leaned over him, reaching up to brush a finger along your neck.

“I’ve spent years trying to be the guy who would deserve a woman like you, and ever since I met you, I’ve been trying to make up for the fact that I don’t deserve you, because… God, I don’t deserve you,” he groaned.

“Don’t say that-.”

“It’s true. Those guys…they were content, are content, with their lives, this town…the things they do. I wanted more, so I left. I don’t have much in common with them anymore.”

You traced your fingers along his chest with a sigh.

“I’m sorry. I wish that weren’t the case… After all, they were your friends once,” you replied.

He chuckled, and you cut your eyes to him.

“God, I love you,” he said, reaching out to pull you down.

You laid your head on his chest, listening to the sound of his heartbeat as sleep wrapped you in its arms.

 ~

“Y/N Rogers!”

You jumped up from your seat, approaching the counter with a grin as the woman bagged your food. You could feel the conversations in the small diner quiet just a bit, and you just accepted that this would be the norm for a while.

It was a small town indeed, and apparently Steve and his family were well known, had been an integral part of this town. You were the newcomer, his wife that he’d returned to town with after so many years of being gone. You were the new face with a load of baggage so to speak. At least, that’s what the girl at the counter had told you when you had placed your order. Wanda was her name.

“Hey, I told you, don’t be so nervous about it. Folks are just curious,” she said, handing you your food.

“I know, I know. I’m just not used to this, at all. I didn’t grow up in a town like this, not even close,” you laughed.

“A city girl,” she guessed with a smile.

“Yeah,” you sheepishly replied.

“Is that how you met Steve? In the city?” she wondered, a slight unfamiliar accent peeking through.

“Yeah! I literally ran into him on the way to a doctor’s appointment one day. The rest was history,” you shrugged.

“How sweet. Are you going to be working here?”

“Yes, actually! I’m a teacher…”

“Oh, I adore kids,” she said, leaning on the counter, intrigued.

“Me too. I hope to have some of my own one day, but until then, I’m going to be teaching at the elementary school,” you told her.

“You’ll love it. The children here are darling. The adults on the other hand…,” she trailed off with a slight chuckle, and you joined her. “You’ll do great there though.”

“Thanks. Are you friends with Steve?” you suddenly asked.

She sadly shook her head.

“No. My brother and I moved here about 4 months before Steve left town all those years ago. I didn’t really speak with him much, but my brother did. They were in the…the same club together,” she stuttered over her words, straightening as she grabbed the rag.

You watched her demeanor change as she wiped the counter, and you wondered why.

“Oh, okay. Well, it was nice meeting you, Wanda. Hopefully, I’ll see you around.”

“You too,” her words were soft, cautious, and you frowned.

You waved her goodbye as you took your food, making your way out of the restaurant. Relief flowed through you as the weight of prying eyes lifted. It was getting late, the sun starting to set, and you hurried to get to your car to get home. It was why you had gotten takeout. The day had slipped you by, and you wouldn’t have time to cook anything.

You were walking and reaching for your keys, one hand occupied with the food while the other dug into your purse. Your foot stumbled over a broken parking bumper. Your shoe caught against the pavement, and you cursed when the food slipped out of your hand. You weren’t going to catch it in time, but that didn’t stop you from trying. However, another hand beat you to it.

You stumbled back in shock, straightening up as you faced the stranger. You glanced down at your food, reaching out for it with a small ‘thank you’ on your lips when your savior pulled his hand back. You frowned, cutting your eyes up to gaze at the person in question. You blinked at the unfamiliar face.

He looked to be the same height as Steve, and just as muscular. Maybe a bit bulkier now that you looked again. Unlike Steve though, his dark hair was lengthy, the ends of his locks brushing the tops of his shoulders. His facial hair was light, like he was in the process of growing it out fully. He sported a similar leather jacket to the one Sam and Clint had worn at your house, and it was accompanied by equally dark jeans and a shirt and boots to match.

His blue eyes, so much like Steve’s, were focused on you. They were heavy and piercing, and you cleared your throat, reaching out for your bag.

“Thank you,” you said.

Again, he pulled it out of your reach, and apprehension filled you.

“You’re new here,” he noted in a deep, husky voice.

You swallowed, nodding.

“I just moved here with my husband a few days ago. Can I have that back, please?”

He ignored your request, instead raking his eyes over you. He hummed when his eyes landed on your ring, and it didn’t sound like an approving sound.

“Husband… What’s your name, sweetheart?”

You frowned at the term of endearment but bit your tongue. If living in the city had taught you anything, it was to pick your battles with strange men wisely.

“Y/N,” you quietly replied.

He didn’t respond right away, instead taking you in. You shuffled on your feet, glancing at the darkening sky before looking around. You noticed a large bike parked not too far away, and you assumed it was his. There seemed to be quite a few bikers in this town. When you met his eyes again, there was a faint smirk on his pink lips.

The bag that held your food gestured to the dark grey car parked beside him.

“This your car?”

You nodded, slowly following as he rounded it, eyes observing the tag.

“New York,” he said with a whistle. “That’s a long way to travel….”

“My husband is from here. We wanted to move back to his hometown,” you explained, nervousness growing. “Can I please-?”

You were cut off by his soft chuckle, his smirk growing, now as he eyed you. If possible, you would have sworn that his eyes had gotten darker, amusement taking residence there.

“Mrs. Rogers, I presume?”

You didn’t respond because you didn’t feel the need to. It seemed that he already knew. With another chuckle, he finally handed your food back to you, his fingers grazing your hand as he did so. He was close, so close that you could smell whatever shampoo he had used that morning.

You took a step back, hitting the side of your car as he reached out. His hand was pressed to the door, caging you in as you eyed him, heart racing. He looked over you one final time before opening your driver’s door, and with a start, you realized that you must have left it unlocked. He licked his lips as he held the door open for you, and you hurriedly slipped inside.

His grip was tight, preventing you from closing it, and you started to reach for your cell phone when he spoke.

“Tell Steve his old friend Bucky said hello. Can you do that for me, sweetheart?” he asked, leaning his body on the open door, head peaking out over the top.

You nodded, and the corner of his mouth lifted.

“You drive safe…Mrs. Rogers.”

He closed your door, and you stared after him with wide eyes before shaking your head. With trembling hands, you buckled your seatbelt and started the car, rushing to get home.

 ~

tags: @mcudarklibrary​ @xoxabs88xox​ @darkficreposter​ @sebabestianstan101​ @sherrybaby14​ @kellyn1604​ @villanellevi​ @readermia​ @katwayne​ @chamberofsloths​ @eqhorics​ @leniaana​  @jtargaryen18​ @notyourtypicalrose​

[begrudginglytumbling]

Part One, Part Two, Part Three, Part Four, Part Five, Part Six

Time for the next installment of my Bai Yu Sitting Project.

Unlike Part One, this'll focus on just one drama because the damned thing is 38 episodes long and I'm pretty sure the man spends a large majority of his time sitting, leaning, and/or lounging.

It’s called Grow Up, a medical drama that I cannot find English subtitles for, and it's been around long enough that I doubt I ever will. But, hey, things like this are the whole point of trying to learn the language, right?

So, those willing to join me in the continuation of whatever this is turning out to be, get yourself comfortable and head on under the cut, this is gunna be long.

For little weirdos like me doing nonsense projects like this,Grow Up is a veritable treasure trove. I mean the man does this in the very first episode.

He makes them put the box down and immediately sits on it and pulls a leg up. And he’s making a point, I get it, I mean I don’t understand it, since, y’know, it’s all Chinese and I can only pick out a few characters, but why did the leg have to go up? He could’ve sprawled, done a bit of manspreading that I know he is fully capable of after watching this. But no. Leg up. Only one foot may touch the floor.

So, yeah, it’s a treasure trove of sittings and leanings and loungings. Even though his character, Xie Nanxiang, is technically only a ‘support role’, I’ve still managed to gather about 70 screenshots, and that doesn’t actually catalogue every time he sits, leans, and lounges.

I was going to try and whittle the screenshots down, but I couldn’t bring myself to really do it. I think I managed to cut about three? So when I say this is going to be long, I mean it’s going to be long and pretty image heavy.

I have however made attempts at organisation. So instead of just a random array of images, I’m going to group them under sets...that’s filming sets, not position sets.

We’ll start off with the nurse’s station/desk. You know those tall desks you get on wards? Yeah, if they were on that set then it was pretty much guaranteed Bai Yu would be leaning on it. And if he wasn’t leaning on it initally, then he would be by the end.

I didn’t take a screenshot every time he leaned, I managed to rein my madness in enough to not do that at least, but I’ve catalogued the different kinds of lean.

The first is the common arms crossed lean, which, I will grant you, makes sense to use, considering I don’t know anyone who hasn’t leant on this kind of desk like this.

The second is the single arm lean. He didn’t need to lean here. Would’ve been fine to stand. But this is Bai Yu we’re talking about. So lean he did.

Third is the casual backwards lean. He probably shouldn’t be leaning here. I’m fairly certain that’s one of the chaps they refer to as Laoshi talking to them. Everyone else is standing respectfully. Bai Yu? Nah mate, Imma lean.

And lastly - if a surface is at butt leaning height, Bai Yu will take advantage.

Something I’ve noticed while watching this (and bear in mind I skipped most of the non-Bai Yu parts), more often than not, Bai Yu is the only one to be leaning/sitting/whatever posture he’s taking. It’s kinda fascinating.

The next set is the hospital in general, so corridors and rooms that aren’t the staffroom because that’s a whole set in and of itself.

This one made me giggle, because the moment the woman he’s trying to impress left, he practically flung himself back on this bed and got comfy.

Like, did he need to do that? Probably not.

Was that going to stop him? Of course not.

Just as a side note, is patient privacy a thing? Like, yeah, they’ve the big curtains to draw around the bed. But that’s a big window, with no curtains, no frosted glass, and a path beside it. Are you inviting the general public to a show? The lack of cover is just begging nosy passersby to look in.

Of course leaning is a common occurrence in the hospital. But if you put a bar at Bai Yu butt height you really can’t expect anything different.

Also it always throws me when he turns sideways in the doctor’s coat. From the front, it gives him a width he doesn’t have, then he turns and suddenly goes flat, and you have to blink because for a moment you’d forgotten just how damn skinny the man is.

I dubbed this the ‘no help. just lean’ shot. Those are his parents, yet why would he help packing when there is a convienient windowsill at butt leaning height?

The vending machine is also a favoured leaning post, both in sickness and in health.

For the final lean of this set, can you spot him? This is an example of Bai Yu leaning while everyone is standing. It’s a legs crossed side lean.

And look at this. He gets up shortly after this, but of everyone in the room, he’s lounging on the sofa. He could’ve been standing like the rest of them. But that wouldn’t have the same effect now would it? I’m beginning to wonder if Bai Yu’s penchant for leaning, sitting, and lounging is not just him being...well him, but also an indicator of Bai Yu being a very clever man and a rather good actor.

Now then look at that face. Regardless of how ridiculous this Project is, I shall always be grateful to it for giving me the expressions Bai Yu has in this scene. His pouty, disgruntled, get-me-off-this-ride face makes me want to squish his cheeks.

I also find it endlessly amusing that although he is topless in this scene, great efforts seem to be made to keep him more or less covered as this is not one of Those dramas that have a Designated Bath/River/Body of Water Topless Scene.

Also injury and illness counts because he gets to spend his time lying about on a surgery table.

And finally for the general hospital set we have...this.

Everyone else is sitting on chairs and stools.

Bai Yu?

Weird animal toy thing.

He could’ve sat on a chair, a stool, even the floor. But no. He chose to sit on this. How is that even remotely comfortable?

(Still with me? We’re almost halfway...kinda. Maybe I should split this drama into two posts. We’ll see how long the next set is first)

From inside the hospital we move to the outside, because that’s natural progression right?

Outside the building we can encounter things such as the common sprawling lounge. He seems to enjoy hooking his elbows over things.

Then he will head to some planetarium type thing where they have the screen on the ceiling. And, just, I know he’s having some kind of emotional issues, with angsting over failed relationships and whatnot (ok to be fair I’m only assuming that’s the case given everything that’s going on, even though I don’t understand what’s being said). But! Bai Yu, sweetie, precious, dearest darling man, get your goddamn shoes off the headrest of the seat in front of you!

I want to bundle him up in a cuddle and thwack him with a rolled up newspaper at the same time.

Bai Yu and cars.

I’m becoming vaguely convince the man has a magnet or something in his arse.

And just look at this.

Bai Yu, sir. What’s that saying?

Once is chance, twice is a coincidence, three times is a pattern.

Y’know, I don’t know why, but I was actually surprised he could do sit-ups.

He was doing them before he was interrupted by the girl, then he ended up doing more with the bloke. Of course he didn’t get his arse off the ground when the bloke, one of the teachers/mentors, turned up. Unlike the girl who popped up to her feet.

There is something oddly appealing about the image he makes laid out on the grass though.

I mean, she looks like she’d probably welcome the sweet release of death, and if they’ve just done exercise then same, girl, same.

But he just makes you want to curl up next to him and have a nap or something.

This bar scene...*sigh*

He could sit in a chair.

But no. He chooses to lean on the pillar.

And when he does decide to sit. Does he pick a chair?

No.

No he does not.

The angsty roof, where people seem to go to have a bit of a cry or emotional stare off into the distance.

For a bit of context, this is how people tend to be on that roof.

They stand, they might lean. They have their angsty moment.

But Bai Yu?

Bai Yu is not built for this boring sort of crying angst.

No no no.

He must do more.

So he sits on the bloody wall, crossing his legs over the thin metal bar that is probably cutting off his circulation, while he has his emotional moment.

How did he even get up there? That is not a short wall. You can’t boost yourself up like it’s a kitchen counter. The pair standing next to each other in the context images? The taller one is Bai Yu, just look where the top of this wall comes to. There is no boosting onto this.

So did he hop up onto the table, then the wall, and walk around the edge until he got to this spot for his angsty moment?

*sigh* this man.

Last ones for outside the hospital.

They are, oddly enough, of instances where Bai Yu isn’t sitting.

I know, weird right?

But look, he could be sitting. The sofa is right next to him, and he falls asleep there not long after this. And it would make sense to sit on the sofa, or at least the arm of the sofa because that photo he’s looking at was on the table top, not on the shelf below it.

This is an instance where he probably should be sitting.

But no. Bai Yu goes against that and instead he just crouches. Because that makes sense right?

Then here!

Everyone else is sitting.

He has the perfect place to sit right behind him.

But he remains standing for the entirety of this scene. There is not even a hint that he might sit down in such a fashion as I’ve come to expect from this man.

But maybe, just maybe, that’s the point.

A point I’ll look at more in Part Three, because the length of this would be truly ridiculous if I kept going.

So! Next time on the Bai Yu Sitting Project! Dorm Rooms and Staffrooms! Awkward angles and did-your-roommate-seriously-just-tuck-you-in? moments!

Part One, Part Two, Part Three, Part Four, Part Five, Part Six

[giant-sketches]

Oh GOD!  I’ve been trying my best to get better at writing these pieces so you all can enjoy both the art and writing thoroughly, but I have to say this time it got a little corny. Which, I mean, it’s Roman so it makes since and I just hope it all makes you swoon more than cringe by the end of it. Please do enjoy though, I worked super hard on both parts!!!

- Night had set in as Roman and Virgil exited the fort to go off on their stroll. Virgil was excited to be spending some personal time with Roman and at the same time nervous. Since their bonding exercise last week he had noticed a tremendous change in Roman’s demeanor when present. Roman’s eyes would sparkle at the sight of him and his voice would become boisterous. Virgil could tell Roman was always looking forward to seeing him and enjoyed his company. So many things had changed for the better, if not suddenly. At times it was difficult to process it all, but nonetheless he was happy.

Virgil: “I’m glad you invited me out for a walk Roman.” Roman: “Of course! Tonight is your night and I intend to make it one for the history books!”

- Virgil smiled sheepishly as he slumped his blushing face away from Roman’s gaze. Noticeably that they had been walking for quite some time now and grew Virgil curious about where they were headed.

Virgil: “Where are we going Roman that’s so far out?” Roman: “We’re headed to a secret spot of mine. You’re going to love it!”

- A big smile formed on Roman’s face as he led Virgil by the hand to a special spot where he loved to stargaze. As they pushed past the foliage, Virgil’s view opened up to reveal a wide open valley covered in moonlight. Virgil was in awe at the stunning view of the star filled sky above him. Roman had gone ahead until he reached the center of the field; there he motioned for Virgil to come join him. The cool night air brushing past Virgil’s face was refreshing as he walked up towards Roman.

Virgil: “This place is beautiful Roman.” his eyes were still transfixed on the sky in wonder. Roman: “Beautiful indeed.”

- Roman wasn’t looking up at the sky as he spoke, but instead at Virgil. Slowly he slid his hand over and interlocked his fingers now between Virgil’s. Surprised, Virgil immediately turned his attention towards Roman as his face glowed bright red.

Roman: “You don’t like it?” Virgil: “No, I-I…it was unexpected is all.” he shook his head violently.

- Virgil felt silly for overacting about holding hands and tightened his grip. Roman smiled and brushed his shoulder up again Virgil’s arm. The two inched closer to one another as they stood silently gazing up at the stars. It felt as if time had stopped as both of them found themselves lost in thought about the other.

Roman: “Virgil, would it be alright for you to hold me?” Virgil: “Do you mean like a hug?”

- Unsure of what Roman meant Virgil shot him a confused look. Roman giggled and lifted up his hand while still attached to Virgil’s. Carefully he uncurled his fingers to expose his palm and used one of Virgil’s fingers as a pointer.

Roman: “Here, I want you to hold me here in your hand.” Roman pointed to the center of his palm. Virgil instantly knew what he was referring to now, but was understandably concerned.

Virgil: “Oh…are you sure? I know we’ve been having fun with my smaller growth spurts, but this-this is a big leap in size. Are you going to be o-” Roman: “I’ll be alright. I trust you completely, also I’ve even started dreaming about this moment.” Did Virgil hear that right? Virgil: “Yo-you’ve been dreaming about me?!” Roman: “You don’t need to be so surprised about it! I-It’s embarrassing enough to say out loud.”

- Roman retracted his hands and cupped them together against his chest. He was trying desperately to quiet his heartbeat. Honestly, it was never his plan to reveal such a fact to anyone, more so the person in question. All Roman could do was hope Virgil would make his dream come true.

Roman: “So what do you say?” His eyes twinkled in anticipation for a favorable answer. Virgil: “Sure.” he responded softly.

- Roman was elated with Virgil’s response as he began bouncing up and down with joy. Then, without warning, Virgil touched his right hand gently to Roman’s face and stroked it. His hand was cold from the brisk night air and the sudden touch caused Roman’s face to redden. As Roman lifted his hands up to caress Virgil back he failed to notice that the hand had already outgrown his entire head and was continuing to expand. Virgil grew taller at a casual pace and as he began towering over Roman, he kept smiling towards him as reassurance. Once he reached a certain point, Virgil bent down to his knees and stretched out his hand towards Roman.

Virgil: “Only a little more to go. Once I get big enough you can climb right on.”

- In front of Roman now was a giant hand that was big enough to hold him like a doll. Still, he wanted it to be bigger, he wanted to be completely encompassed by that hand. It appeared that Virgil also wanted this as he continued to grow. His form was now covering up Roman’s view of the Moon. Roman chuckled at the thought of Virgil being the Moon and himself the North Star.

Virgil: “I think this height will do. By the way, what were you laughing about earlier?”

- Virgil had stopped growing as Roman quickly climbed aboard. The hand was now the perfect size for Roman to sit upon and still have space to roam about. Gingerly, Virgil shifted his position upwards and started to rise onto his feet. He now stood at a staggering 130 feet tall with a tiny Roman resting in his palm.

Roman: “I thought you resembled the moon.” he whispered. Virgil: “The moon? Is it because of my size?” Roman: “There’s that, but you’ve always had an air of mystery about you. You’re also not half bad looking.” Virgil: “Roman, we have the same face…” Roman: “See! Then if I’m handsome you must be as well.” Virgil: “You really are a character sometimes, you know that?” Roman: “Of course! I am a man of the theater after all!”

- Virgil couldn’t stop himself from laughing and Roman did the same. Both found themselves completely amused by the other as the night went on. Virgil carefully moved Roman to his shoulder and the two continued to gaze up at the starry sky. As Roman snuggled up against Virgil’s neck he pointed out the constellations. Virgil would in turn playfully draw his own constellations with his arm outstretched. Roman loved Virgil’s creativity and began pointing out his own constellations and formed stories about them. Their exchange of laughter and smiles between each other could only be described as magical.

Roman: “Hey Virgil, I know this will sound crazy but I want you to hear me out first.” Virgil: “What is it?” Roman: “I want you to grow even bigger.” Roman pressed his head up against Virgil’s neck affectionately. Virgil: “Bigger?! You want me to grow even taller than this? You’re right, that does sound crazy.” he was bewildered by Roman’s request. Roman: “You don’t want to?” Virgil: “No, it’s not that I don’t want to…why do you want me to grow more anyway?” Roman: “I want to be your North Star.” Virgil: “My North Star? What does that even mean?” his voice cracked. Roman: “You see that star up there near the Moon? The one that’s shining the brightest is called the North Star. I want to feel like that tiny star next to the giant Moon is all.” Virgil: “You don’t feel like that right now?” Roman: “No, it’s not about how I feel right now. Sometimes, despite how I act, even I have my insecurities. Once in a while I feel like one of those regular stars, one out of many. That no matter how hard I try to stand out I’ll always be lost in someone else’s glow.”

- Virgil had gone silent. He never imagined Roman of all people could feel anxious about such things; he pretty much exuded confidence. Virgil could relate heavily to those kinds of feelings and wanted Roman to feel like the bright, beaming star he truly was.

Virgil: “Then let’s do it. Let’s make you a star!” Roman: “You mean it?” Virgil: “As long as you’re okay with it, then I’m okay with it.”

- Virgil lifted up his hand to his shoulder and placed it horizontally against his collarbone in order to keep his palm flat. Roman was overcome with excitement as he climbed back onto Virgil’s hand once again.

Virgil: “I’m going to start growing again and this time I’m going to get really big, are you ready?” Roman: “Ready!”

- Right after Roman responded enthusiastically Virgil began to stretch upwards rapidly. Standing tall, Virgil grew almost exponentially as he whizzed by 200, 300, 400 feet and onward. Roman was so small that Virgil’s fingers that once matched the height of a person, now resembled towers. Last time Virgil had grown to this height was back in the facility when he lost control, but this time was different. He had been practicing constantly in order to never again put his friends in danger. There was no pain, dizziness, or sudden pulses; he was in complete control. All Roman could do was look on in astonishment as Virgil finally rested at an enormous height of 700 feet tall. Unsure about talking, Virgil meekly smiled at an almost microscopically small Roman staring up at him with wide eyes. Cautiously, Virgil began moving his arm upwards towards the night sky. The sudden movement caused Roman to lose his footing a bit as he fell to his knees. Virgil noticed this, but believed that stopping his current movement abruptly wouldn’t be a wise idea and carried on until his arm was fully straightened. Roman was lost as to what Virgil was trying to do until he saw how close he was to the night sky. He gasped in surprise and turned back to look at Virgil. Virgil smiled gently, squinting his eyes, and gave a nod. With that Roman sprung to his feet and started racing up Virgil’s pointer finger. Now at the tip-top Roman energetically shouted,

Roman: “How do I look? Am I the North Star now?” Virgil: “You look even brighter.” he answered quietly.

- Roman blushed deeply and a huge smile covered his face. He truly was bright as the moonlight washed over him, highlighting his outline sharply. Roman couldn’t help thinking that this was the best moment in his entire life and it was all thanks to Virgil. He bowed gracefully towards the now massive giant he stood upon.

Roman: “Thank you Virgil.”

- No one could imagine how much those words meant to Virgil. He had been thanked for being the way he is. After all those moments of being belittled, viciously insulted, and treated less than human, someone finally loved the way he was. He had to hold back his tears in order not to flood the valley down below, but his heart was pounding loudly. Roman could feel each beat underneath his feet as he straightened up. The cool night air was getting to him, especially at that height.

Roman: “It’s pretty chilly up here, huh?”

- Virgil couldn’t relate as at his current size he couldn’t even feel the wind, let alone get cold. He was also enjoying his new size and wasn’t ready to shrink back down. Still, he couldn’t let Roman freeze so he instead offered an alternative.

Virgil: “I’ll warm you up then.” Roman: “What do you mean?” Virgil: “First walk down back to my palm.”

- Roman did as he was told and hastily walked back down Virgil’s finger to his palm. Once back down Virgil slowly lowered his arm and raised his hand close to his face. Following that motion he made a fist with the thumb sticking out with his free hand and moved it over to the hand Roman was on.

Virgil: “Here, I want you to climb up on my thumb.” Roman: “Okay, but what are you going to do?”

- After a bit of trouble Roman had successfully climbed up onto Virgil’s thumb and kept himself steady by grabbing on to the nail.

Virgil: “Alright, up we go!” Roman: “Wha-”

- Suddenly, the thumb turned upwards and began moving towards Virgil’s mouth. Roman froze, was this what he thought it was? Next thing Roman knew he was being softly pushed into Virgil’s upper lip as his frame was pinched between Virgil’s thumb and pointer finger. Roman’s mind went blank as he let himself completely melt into the world’s biggest kiss. He had never experienced anything like it as the sensation of Virgil’s warm lip spread throughout his being. Although, it was a bit too warm. 

Quickly, Roman’s breathing became shallow as he huffed deeply. Even though it felt like he might suffocate, he didn’t hate it as his entire body boiled. He began to sweat profusely and his face had turned a bright scarlet as he reached his hand out from underneath Virgil’s lip and began slapping it in urgency. He had reached his limit and was on the verge of passing out.

Roman: “Vir-gil. I-I can’t take i-it any mo-ore.” His voice was weak from overheating.

- Despite his size, Virgil felt Roman slapping his hand on his lip and could hear him mumbling something. As he jerked his head back Roman gave out a loud gasp and collapsed backwards onto Virgil’s thumb. Virgil titled his thumb slightly in order to get a better view of Roman who was panting aggressively. At a glance he could tell he may have gone too far with his kiss, but nonetheless Roman wasn’t cold anymore.

Virgil: “Sorry Roman, are you okay?” Roman: “Yeah, I-I’m fine. Ju-just a little out of breath.” His breathing had become extremely shallow. Virgil: “Hey, I’m going to start shrinking back down. I don’t think it’s safe for you to be out of breath so high up.” Roman: “You ha-ve a-a point.” Virgil: “Can you climb back down to my palm on your own, or do you need some help?” Roman: “I-I can do it.”

- Roman then began sluggishly dragging his feet down Virgil’s thumb and onto his palm. There he went down on his knees and further laid on his stomach with his arms tucked underneath his head.

Roman: “I’m just going to lie down for a little bit.” he whispered as his eyes closed.

- The tiny frame lying still on his palm was beyond adorable. Virgil couldn’t help but ruffle Roman’s hair amusingly with his massive finger before he swiftly started shifting downwards. He stopped at 12 feet tall and gently carried Roman closer to the treeline. There he sat down criss-cross with Roman resting in his arms, sleeping soundly. It had gotten late and while he wanted to get back to the fort, Virgil also didn’t want to wake Roman. As he continued to figure out what to do next  he was startled by the sudden sound of trees toppling over and being crushed underneath an unknown pressure. Out of the darkness came a terrifyingly familiar voice.

Remus: “Found you!~”

To be continued.

@gentlegiantdreamer​ @paranoidgurl​ @suckedinfandoms​ @pattonvirglsanders​ @crystalk17​ @sanders-sides-virgil​ @just-some-gt-trash​ @notkolaidoscop​ @bluegreeninbtwn​ @lgbtqiaemo​ @enby-phoenix​ @avenirunknown​ @rainbowbowtie​ @ncanspeak​

[seiin-translations]

2.43 S1 Chapter 1.4 - Young Yunichika

4. MISCONDUCT

Translation Notes

1. Bon refers to a young man from a well-to-do family

2. These are lyrics from the opening theme for the famous volleyball anime, Attack No.1

3. I know nothing about Attack No.1 so I have no idea what this is referring to. The original line is “ヒロイン訛ってるって”. If you know anything about this, let me know

4. The kanji for Meisei is 銘誠.   銘 from 座右の銘 (means favorite motto) and 誠 is pronounced makoto by itself

5. Meisei-chuu as in Meisei Middle School

Previous || Index || Next

Haijima Kimichika was an idiot. No, his grades overall weren’t that bad. He was slightly above middling for his third semester finals. However, Kuroba was dumbfounded when he saw the breakdown of that “slightly above middling.”

In regards to math and social studies, he was well above the average, and in fact, he was at the top of the class in his grade. Math, ninety-five. Social studies, ninety-nine—that was the first time he ever saw ninety-nine on an exam paper. He was taken aback by the brilliance of the two 9’s next to each other.

But, things didn’t look good from there. Science, seventy-three. English, sixty. His marks around here were so normal that it made you wonder what his high marks in math and social studies were. Apparently, his strong areas were unusually inclined towards calculation and memorization.  

Japanese,

Thirty points.

…They really were unusually inclined.

“Ooh, there’s a whole row of x’s here. What a nice view.”

It was a question about close reading a novel. The answers to “What are the emotional states of the characters”-type questions were continuously absurd, and the way the x’s were written was becoming increasingly desperate, as if to represent his Japanese teacher’s emotional state.

“For the question ‘Please answer in eighty words or less why you think the king forgives Melos,’ you answered, ‘Melos was naked      the cow,’. I can see the signs of suffering from trying to write a little more, but not being able to write a sentence and getting frustrated. …Cow?”

“Shut up. You’re always joking about people’s exam answers.”

“Ow ow ow!”

Kuroba groaned as he fell prostrate on the exam papers spread out between his legs with a weight pressed tightly against his back. The other club members laughed at the two stretching as a pair.

“You shouldn’t laugh at other people, Yuni. You got forty-two in math and fifty-five in social studies.”

“Hey, don’t read it aloud. This is an invasion of privacy.”

“Japanese…oh? Eighty-seven. Not bad.”

“For real?”

His back lightened with Haijima’s upset-sounding voice. He lifted his body with a self-satisfied look that said “Fufufu. Japanese is the only thing this guy’s good at,” but Haijima, who snatched and returned Kuroba’s Japanese exam paper, once again pressed down on his back tightly with his entire upper body while staring at his answers with a slightly displeased look on his face. Kuroba grumbled “Ow ow ow” while facing the floor in an open-legged forward bending position.

“Why did you answer the cow question like this? I don’t get it at all.”

“First, let go of the cow…I think the first issue is that no cows appear in the story. I’m getting worried about whether or not you can get into high school.”

He briefly wondered if one could get into school through a volleyball recommendation, but even if one could, it didn’t matter because there was no chance of their weak club reaching the point where they could get noticed in a big tournament. If Haijima was in his previous middle school, recommendations might come, however—he hadn’t asked Haijima himself, but there was no doubt that he had been in a fairly strong volleyball club with a decent coach. He had no idea what a full-scale stretching regimen was until he started practicing with Haijima. Next, Kuroba laid on his back as Haijima took his legs and thoroughly stretched them.

I thought that since Haijima would have nothing left if you took volleyball away from him, it would be his greatest desire to go to a strong volleyball school, but…

Haijima Kimichika was a volleyball fanatic.

The ban on club activities, which had been suspended a week before finals, had been lifted, and they held a practice day at once. With people turning up once they knew it was active, the boys’ volleyball team, which used to be as good as non-existent, had more or less taken on the appearance of club activities recently. With just barely six people, they still haven’t been in a match yet.

It was when they stood up and stretched their backs after finishing their brief stretching session.

“Kuroba, how tall are you now?”

Haijima said while looking up at his hair whorl.

“Hmm? Didn’t I say I was one-seventy-three?”

“When did you measure that?”

“Um…in fall, I think…November?”

He tamped down his hair whorl, but his bed hair bobbed back up. He felt depressed when he wondered if he had been exposing this hair to people all day since morning.

There was a scale on the door frame of the gym equipment room that could be used to measure height, and was used to compare heights for fun during club activities and gym class. It was probably the work of students from decades ago. It was the culmination of very precise work, with each millimeter being carved out from one-fifty to one-eighty centimeters with a utility knife.

“One-seventy-five-point-zero.”

Putting an empty powdered drink box to the top of Kuroba’s head, Haijima read the scale out loud.

“Ooh, I grew two centimeters?”

“My turn.”

They exchanged places and now it was Haijima with his back to the scale.

“Don’t raise your heels. Um, one-seventy-two-point…seven.”

“Ah. I grew too.”

But, Haijima didn’t seem too happy about it. With a sullen face, he left the scale and grumbled “Two centimeters off.”

“Two-point-three centimeters off. Don’t round it down. You’re a setter, so you don’t have to be so worried about your height, right?”

“I have a favorite player. It’s Abe, who was selected for the national team. He’s a setter, but he’s one-ninety-one. Even for setters, the bigger you are, the better you block and the faster you set. And, Abe’s ambidextrous, and he has a good left dump.”

“Huh? That reminds me, do you also…”

Haijima served with his left hand. But which hand did he hit with outside of those times...he didn’t have a clear impression. He felt like he recalled him hitting with his left and with his right.

“Use both hands?”

“I do,” He said carelessly, but was that something so easy to do? “There’s still an eighteen-centimeter difference, huh… But Abe can’t hit jump serves, so once my height catches up, I’ll be better.”

When it came to the subject of volleyball, Haijima became more talkative than usual. The way he spoke was basically like cutting short the front part of the context and throwing away the back end, but he came to be able to speak fairly long lines in a polite manner. He must love it a lot, he thought in half amazement and half admiration.

“I’m not sure if you have way too much confidence in yourself or is just an idiot…but I never thought you’d compare yourself to a member of the national team.”

He forced a smile, and got glared at with resentful eyes. He got scared, wondering if he said something that made him angry. He still wasn’t very good at knowing what set Haijima off.

“Kuroba, at the practice game, you see blocks and differentiate between hitting the ball cross and straight, right?”

“Cross-court and straight…oh, straight is where you hit the ball right down the middle, and cross is where you twist a little and hit it outside.”

“It’s the other way around, dumbass.”

He had answered with hand gestures while tilting his head to the side in confusion, but was completely denied with an insult.

“A cross is a spike that passes through the court at an angle. A straight is a spike that goes straight and parallel to the sidelines. When you’re hitting on the front row, you tend to step towards the center in front of the net a lot, so if you hit it straight on, it becomes a cross, and if you hit it with the intention to twist it outside, it will be straight.”

“So complicated…”

“It’s not that complicated, but…oh well. I’ll teach you step by step.”

He thought “Teach me?” every time, but why was he naturally acting like he was above him?

“Even if you don’t understand it with your head, you have good eyes, so you can deal with blocks. Being able to naturally rotate your trunk midair, the length of your time in the air, the suppleness of your shoulders…those are qualities you’ve probably always had. You will get good. It’ll be in no time if you do it properly. You’ll be taller, too.”

“…? Do you have a fever?”

He stared at Haijima’s face suspiciously and got a suspicious look in return.

“What. Did I say something weird?”

“No, it’s just that you’re always so self-important, so I thought you were someone who wouldn’t praise or acknowledge people in that way.”

“If there’s something to acknowledge, then of course I’m gonna acknowledge it. But, there’s no way to acknowledge what’s not there.”

Haijima stated, pouting and seeming truly upset.

Haijima never flattered. He wasn’t humble. He couldn’t hold himself back. Indeed, he might be sincere and straightforward in a sense. …But, he thought it was probably a tough way to live. Most people didn’t want to be told the truth right to their faces.

“You will get good.”

Afterwards, slowly but steadily, a ticklish feeling welled up in the depths of his body. It was uncool to take someone at their word, so he purposely looked indifferent and said,

“I have a talent for volleyball, huh. It won’t make me all that popular though.”

He feigned ignorance and talked big. Unlike Haijima, he felt like he had been drifting through life frivolously, with a bunch of façades lined up in front of him, obscuring reality.

***

The days have become longer, and the chill had subsided considerably. It was now often possible to sneak peeks at patches of blue in the sky which had been covered by depressing snow-laden clouds in midwinter. The sun had completely set when he nearly ran over Haijima in front of that karaoke box in February, but by mid-March, there was still some faint light left in the sky at that same time of day. A rusty copper sunset fringed the ridgelines of Mount Nokude in the distance.

Since their houses were in the same direction, he ended up going home with Haijima on days they had club activities. Their enamel bags, slung over their shoulders, rattled, and they tread on the rugged road in their snow boots. Although the snow on the road melted during the day and was close to becoming sherbet, it had begun to freeze again in the shape of punched-through car ruts and footprints. During the snowfall season from December to March, elementary and middle school students were prohibited from cycling to school, so it took forty minutes to get there on foot. There was no doubt that they would starve before they reached home, so the two stuffed their cheeks with sweet bread as they walked. Incidentally, he stuffed himself with two pieces of bread before club and of course he was going to eat dinner when he got home. At any rate, he was hungry. And at any rate, he was sleepy.

Until one or two months ago, he would have wanted to skip over middle school and become a high school student as soon as possible, but come to think of it, he had stopped thinking about that recently. He had no time to think about superfluous things because after he finished club activities, went home, ate, and took a bath, he immediately went to bed. He fell asleep feeling like he was sinking into the floor with his futon, and then when he woke up, it was next morning.

Finals were over, and now it was time to neglect everything and go into spring break. And whether he left it alone or made a fuss, once the break ended, he would become a third-year. The word examinee still didn’t really strike home for him.

“Haijima, what are you gonna do for high school? Are you taking it here?”

He finally broached the subject that actually wanted to ask him about during club, but hesitated over.

“Well, I was thinking of taking it here, but…”

He got stuck on how Haijima trailed off at the end of his sentence, which was unusual for him.

“But? Is there a condition or something?”

He once again asked Haijima’s profile, which was bulged out with the bread he stuffed in his mouth. He wasn’t wearing his glasses right now. Haijima always followed the procedure of putting in contact lenses and taping his hands before club started. If he taped first, he wouldn’t be able to handle his contacts. When club activities were finished, he followed that procedure in reverse, but there were days when he went home as he was, perhaps because he couldn’t be bothered. From the point of view of Kuroba, whose vision had never fell below 20/20 and whose fingernails and bones seemed healthy and strong, he had a difficult constitution.

“More importantly, new first-years will come in April.”

“Hmm? Oh yeah. Skilled guys would get picked up by the other clubs, so it’s better not to get your hopes up, but maybe we can get one or two people.” More importantly? He had a feeling he was changing the subject, but the timing to repeat the question escaped him.

“If we get more members, I wanna go to a tournament. I don’t know the tournament schedule here, but there should be a prefectural tournament before the summer inter-school.”

“Tournament, huh. But even if we can be in it, I don’t think we can win at our level…”

“It’s no fun if you don’t play a game. I wanna be in a match. I’m gonna train you all to be presentable enough by summer. I’ll take care of the rest.” Once again, he said that he was gonna train us without hesitation. Is he treating us like performing monkeys or something?

Ah, there it was. The sparkle in his eyes like that of a dinosaur-loving elementary schooler. Though he was just being arrogant and saying something self-centered, when he had that look in his eyes, he couldn’t help but feel that it was as though it was being secretly switched with something of pure purpose. Kuroba realized that he couldn’t oppose those eyes at all.

“Ooookay, got it. We need an advisor to be in a tournament or it’s no good, right? Let’s ask tomorrow.”

When he said that with a sigh, a crude voice called out to them from the side of the road.

“Hey, isn’t that the head house’s bon walking there?” (1)

It came from in front of the signboard of the aforementioned “Karaoke Box Monshiro”. Was this the only place to hang out? Well, it probably was. There were three men. Two 125cc motorbikes and one moped. Each of them was sitting astride their seats and hanging their butts on their tandem grips, smoking cigarettes as they tucked their chins inside their collars of their jackets, looking cold. They had the appearances of what countryside delinquents should be.

“Oh, Yori-chan!”

Kuroba called out to him with a smile, but Yorimichi only took a glance at his appearance and looked away.

The other two were Yorimichi’s senpais, both from the neighborhood. When someone other than his relatives called him the “head house’s bon”, it was probably filled with ridicule, but since he was used to it, he didn’t react to it every single time, and Kuroba greeted them in a friendly manner as well.

“’Sup. It’s been a while. I didn’t know you guys are back.”

“It’s spring break in uni too. Bon, how much you got today?”

“Oh…I only have some coins. I’ve been doing club activities lately so there’s a lot of times when I’d be leaving my bag alone.”

“’Club activities’?”

The two repeated it with a rising inflection that contained laughter.

“Oh, is that what Yorimichi was talking about?”

Smirking, they eyed Kuroba from the top of his head to his feet. He uncomfortably let his gaze escape to Haijima, who was waiting next to him. When he looked at Haijima, he could see his own appearance like he was looking into a mirror, or rather, he was just copying Haijima, but—he was wearing a knee-length padded coat over his jersey with his rectangular enamel sports bag slung over his shoulder, and he really did look like he was coming back from a sports club. In regards to the padded coat, Kuroba saw Haijima’s and also bought one recently.

“You do receives or something, how did that go again? We didn’t do it in gym in high school, so I completely forgot.”

The two had mean smiles on their faces, pointing their chins. Either the smoke of their cigarettes or the whiteness of their breath from the cold made their stubbled mouths misty.

“Um, it’s like this, I guess…?”

Kuroba had no choice but to drop his hips on the spot and did the posture for an underhand pass, and the two cackled and applauded.

“Wow, looking pretty good, aren’t you? I know, it’s that thing, Attack No.1, right?”

“That old manga? It’s that ‘I won’t cry, I’m just a girl’ thing, right?” (2)

“The heroine spoke in dialect. Gyahahaha!” (3)

“Haha…”

When Kuroba forced a smile while feeling his face turning hot, his bag was suddenly pulled on. The strap was biting into the pit of his stomach. “Gueh,” he groaned as he turned around.

“Haijima?”

“You’re just getting looked down on. We’re not playing around.  Don’t keep them company.”

Like he was pulling on the leash of a not particularly disciplined dog, Haijima primly started walking while gripping the strap. “Okay, okay, don’t pull me. It’s dan…” Right when he twisted his body around and rushed to follow him,

“You’re hanging out with us, right, Yuni?”

Yorimichi called out to his back.

Haijima turned around, not even trying to hide his annoyance. Kuroba also followed his gaze while feeling lost. Turning away and smoking his cigarette, Yorimichi snorted sarcastically.

“Don’t tell me you’re getting’ influenced by Fighting Spirit Chika-chan, are ya? You’re the one who’s gonna be embarrassed later.”

“Hey…oh, hey Yori-chan, are you mad at me? Sorry for not hanging out with you lately. We’ll do stuff together during spring break.”

“Kuroba, we’re practicing during spring break too.”

Haijima’s dissatisfied sounding voice pierced the back of his ear. “We can’t practice everyday, right?” When he turned around with a half-smile, his face seemed to say, As a matter of fact, of course we are. “If we’re going to the summer tournament, we’ll still never make it in time even with that.” “Are you serious…” He was of course ready to have fun and relax during spring break, so when he was told to be prepared to completely spend that time on club activities… I underestimated this guy’s volleyball obsession.

“Yuuuuni. You understand, right? It’s no good for you. It’d be less embarrassing if you stop playing around. I ain’t patient either, so I can’t wait too long for you.”

“Hey, even Yori-chan’s being mean? You’re not serious, right?”

He looked at Yorimichi again with a twitching smile. “Oh, you’re pretty popular, Bon. If you pick one, you have to cut off the other. This is a real mess.” The two university students irresponsibly jeered and aggravated the situation.

“You, you get it, right? I have the same blood in my veins as you, so we get fired up and cooled off easily.  I’ll probably get bored halfway, right?”

He ended up prioritizing putting Yorimichi in a good mood with a joking tone. A cold sweat ran down the nape of his neck as he felt Haijima’s burning gaze scorching it.

He knew that he was playing it safe. He was still afraid now that Yorimichi would throw him away. He wanted to secure the warm place he could always return to if things got tough. Don’t put me together with you, he grumbled in his mind. Haijima, who didn’t have an ounce of doubt about himself doing volleyball, probably wouldn’t understand, but for us until just now, guys who went hardcore for club activities were just something to be watched from a distance and gawked at.

Yorimichi bared his teeth and grinned.

“Haha, that’s right. You’re the same as me.”

Relieved, Kuroba also slackened his cheeks.

And, the heat wave of Haijima’s gaze that was burning the back of his neck also abruptly disappeared. The strap was released to send him flying.

“Then quit now.”

Haijima said it bluntly in a cold voice, a complete reversal from the heat of earlier.

“Hey, no need to go that far…”

“I don’t want to the tournament to get messed up.”

“Messed up…”

He immediately guessed that he was talking about scandals that would result in a suspension. Kuroba himself didn’t smoke or drink, but he overlooked Yorimichi doing it. It wasn’t illegal to ride double on a bike, but having only one helmet was probably not allowed. It wasn’t a good look to sneak into karaoke bars either. He didn’t really care about it until now, but it was somewhat understandable that school sports were sensitive to those kinds of issues.

Haijima’s concern was reasonable, and perhaps this was where he should be sorry. But on the contrary, antagonism reared its head. So, from the beginning, he wasn’t worried about whether or not Kuroba would continue to do volleyball or not, but about that?

“You showed your true colors, eh!”

Yorimichi’s loud voice suddenly rang out. Haijima glared suspiciously at him and Kuroba was also confused. Peeling his lips back in a vicious grin that made him draw back a little, Yorimichi continued to speak in a theatrical way.

“The infamous ‘Genius Setter’ of Meisei Middle School only thinks about satisfying his own desires, right?”

“Yori-chan? What are you talking about?”

“You were the one who wanted to know, Yuni. You asked why he came back here. That’s why I investigated.”

Haijima’s sharp gaze immediately moved to Kuroba. He did voice his doubts, but he thought the conversation ended there, so to think that Yorimichi would investigate it…

“Oops, you’re barking up the wrong tree if you’re blaming Yuni. It’s that ‘you reap what you sow’ kind of thing, right?”

Yorimichi came down from his bike and stepped on his cigarette to put it out. He thrust his hands into the pockets of his down jacket and approached him with bowlegs and swinging shoulders, looking particularly vulgar. “Move, Yuni,” he said, pushing Kuroba aside and standing before Haijima.

“I could have easily gotten the name of your school from your grandpa through mine. Well, I used Itoko though, since I’ve been given up on by Gramps. So when I quickly searched the net…oh look, there’s slander of the ‘Genius Setter’ who reigned over Meisei Middle until last year. The net sure is terrifyin’. Everything’s on there. Well, I guess it means you’re not liked very much.”

The more Yorimichi talked, the stiffer Haijima’s expression became. The color disappeared from Haijima’s face that seemed to embody the world’s arrogance and fearlessness, and his gaze dropped downwards. The shadow of Yorimichi, who was a size bigger in height and width, hung over the head of Haijima, who was looking down and biting his lower lip. “Oi oi, look at the poor guy, Yorimichi. Don’t bully middle schoolers. You’ll make him cry.” The two university students saying insincere things were completely taking the role of spectators.

“Yuni.”

“Huh? Y-yeah.”

Kuroba reflexively responded, unable to catch up with the conversation very well. Yorimichi’s face changed from that of someone tormenting a dying animal, and when he turned around, he was no longer smiling. It was an extremely serious expression.

“I don’t have anything against Chika, but I don’t really care. I think it’s petty to talk about other people behind their backs online. It’s all for you. Don’t get too absorbed in it. After all there was apparently someone who attempted suicide because of this guy——”

An instant later, Haijima barked something that couldn’t be expressed in words and grabbed Yorimichi. “Oh?” Although Yorimichi staggered a little, their physiques and amount of fight experiences were different. He grabbed Haijima’s face and thrust it aside, just like he was grabbing a ball—a dodgeball instead of a volleyball—with one hand and throwing it violently. Haijima was lightly blown off two or three meters away, the side of his face crashing into the muddy snow-covered road.

Because it was the first time he heard Haijima’s enraged voice, Kuroba was temporarily distracted by that. He hurriedly broke into Yorimichi’s path.

“Yo-Yori-chan, stop! Violence is no good!”

“He was the one who charged at me. Ah, it’d be no good for a sports boy to be violent, right? Didn’t you say that yourself? I’m being kind by ending it with just knocking him down.”

Yorimichi threw mocking jeers at Haijima over Kuroba’s shoulder. Kuroba turned around and ran up to Haijima, who was crouching and holding his hand to his face. “Oi, you’re alive…” he knelt down and was about to touch his shoulder, but what Yorimichi said flashed across his mind and he stopped his hand.

…Attempted suicide…?

“Let’s go back. My ass is frozen.”

Urging the two university students, Yorimichi returned to his bike.

“Yuni, get over here.”

Summoned, Kuroba looked up at the chin of Yorimichi, who was sitting astride his bike, but hesitated and returned his gaze to Haijima. His earlobe, which was poking out from the gaps between his hair, were terrifyingly white. No way, is he actually dead? He thought, but he saw a fist clenching the snow underneath his face pressed against the ground. Mud soaked into his white taping and stained it brown.

He couldn’t leave him here and go home.

“Even if you say go home, you won’t let me ride double anyways. I’ll send him home, okay?”

“Well, whatever.”

Yorimichi backed down easily with just a shrug of his shoulders. The sneering had already disappeared and he returned to his normal self.

“Don’t forget. Wash your hands of him as soon as possible. From his reaction, it doesn’t seem like those are groundless rumors. Be careful on your way home. I’m talking about the snowy roads and your teammate next to you.”

Perhaps Yorimichi also felt that he went a bit too far. He awkwardly turned his face away, made his engine roar its usual crude and vulgar sounds, and departed on the Komashi-gou.

***

“Mei from zayuu no mei and makoto, Meisei. (4) It’s called Meisei Private Academy Middle School. It’s a middle and high school in one, and their sports clubs are pretty strong. Apparently the distribution map of famous private schools is common knowledge among Kanto kids. You can’t really experience it here, can you? There aren’t enough schools to choose from. Hey, everyone’s gonna hang out in the city after the end-of term ceremony, so do you wanna come with us? I wonder if Haijima would come if we invited him. You guys have been getting along well lately.”

“Um, oh, yeah. If that’s all I can ask then I’m good for now. Thanks.”

He hung up first because it seemed like the conversation would never end if he left it alone.

Itoko said “Everyone”, so the group probably included girls. To tell the truth, he was really jealous of this merry spring break-like event. Normally he wouldn’t be able to refuse. But, it was only today that he couldn’t get into the mood at all. He was willing to bet that Haijima would never come either.

He put the phone handset next to the desk and turned towards the computer again. Since he had an agreement to not own a cell phone until high school, the only place he could access the Internet at home was the laptop in his dad’s study. When he tried to convert Meisei-chuu (5), he realized he didn’t know the kanji for it, and since Yorimichi said he learned it by way of Itoko, he called to ask her directly. Based on the current feeling, Yorimichi had really only gotten the school name, and it seemed he didn’t tell Itoko more than that. He felt relieved about that.

A school with a strong athletic department. If this school was that famous, then it might not be strange for there to be a rumor or two to float around the Internet. After all, there was even a message board titled “[Monshiro Town] Old Man Kuroba [Yokai]”—Yorimichi thought it was hilarious and told him about it, but Kuroba never searched for it because he was scared of learning the contents.

“Tokyo meisei academy middle school boys volleyball club attempted suicide”

He entered the search words, and just when he was about to click the search button, his finger stopped. He couldn’t easily press the key. Of course he was unbearably curious. But, he was afraid to find out the contents for that more than Grandpa’s message board.

“Yuni? Where are you?”

His mother’s voice came from somewhere on the other side of the sliding screen door. He twisted himself around on the tatami chair and raised his voice.

“In here! The study!”

“Why are you there? Aren’t you going to take a bath?”

“Okay!”

After thinking about it a little bit, he ended up pressing the backspace key to delete everything he typed in. Once he did so, he completely gave up, closed the computer and stood up.

Previous || Index || Next

[a-flickering-soul]

do kylux for the ask meme 😳 you + me = mental illness

i love you so much for sending this in this truly is the mortifying ordeal of being known

putting this under a readmore because it is LITCHERALLY 1.2k words because i am literally clawing at the walls of my enclosure about these two

ANYWAYS go ahead and send me a character and i’ll give you some headcanons bc im having fun doing these!!!

Kylo Ren

Sexuality Headcanon: ambiguously queer. Don’t make me think about him having sex he makes me so angry

Gender Headcanon: he Must be a cis man. He has so much mommy issues. He is such an incel. He is so full of toxic masculinity. He must be a cis man.

A ship I have with said character: Kylux. Every single angle you take this ship from it’s funny and good. Canon—they hate each other and want each other dead. AU—they still hate each other but they’re (probably) less fascist and genocidal. It’s just so funny. They are so obsessed with each other. They gaslight each other into love confessions. It’s unreal. I’ve been thinking about Kylux for the past month and I feel like an entire geological age has passed. You can tell I’m a Kylux shipper and a R*ylo anti because I almost exclusively refer to him as Ren instead of Kylo. The gay angel went to superhell for Kylux to go canon in Lego Star Wars (twice) and a kids’ comic book. God mocks me to my face.

A BROTP I have with said character: This got literally shot to shit but post-TFA when a bunch of people headcanoned Rey as Luke’s kid and she and Ren were cousins and he reluctantly babysat her because he was literally ten years older than her (hhhhh.) and they had this weird mildly-contentious relationship as adults where they grudgingly acknowledge they are both the most powerful Force users in the galaxy and are the only ones who mutually understand the legacy they bear and care about each other but also cannot be in the same room together and hold a civil conversation for more than five minutes before resorting to uncomfortable silence. Like when you’re at a family reunion and you’re automatically shunted with the only other kid around your age so you have to make conversation but you are just so fundamentally different there’s nothing to talk about. Unreal.

A NOTP I have with said character: Hhh. R*ylo. I’m one of those evil lesbians who hate that ship viciously and one of my dreams is to be one of the mean antis that that bully a shipper in a story that’s clearly exaggerated or made up and then get cancelled for having good taste.

A random headcanon:  I think he and Phasma used to spar a lot. I keep thinking about the five years he spent on the Finalizer pre-canon and I can’t reasonably justify the Knights of Ren hanging out with him for the entire time on a literal military ship and I like the idea of them being the only people that are reasonably on par physically (I also like how Phasma is an inch taller than him because....whew).

General Opinion over said character: God. He drives me wild. I have a lot of thoughts about him and how good he was in TFA and the pre-canon comics/novels as a really fucking good example of a morally-conflicted villain (especially the comics where it made it really clear that he was very much manipulated and gaslit since like…ten years old). Like! The way he could flip at will from drawing strength from both the light AND dark side of the Force is just!! So cool! The way his strength literally derives from moral conflict is just really interesting to me but….idk the way post-TFA he was thrown into a redemption (Rendemption) arc that hinged on Rey being a literal genuine fascist sympathizer made me just really disappointed. He had a lot of amazing potential to be either a really interesting semi-redeemed Byronic antihero OR a full on unhinged animalistic power-mad villain that Rey has to mercy-kill like a rabid dog. And then. Well. Yeah. I like him a lot in very specific contexts and flat out hate him in most others.

 Armitage Hux

Sexuality Headcanon: gay! He is gay! I have an entire list of reasons why he’s gay and it grows daily! Without a doubt a homosexual! Gay and repressed!

Gender Headcanon: Also a cis guy even though I still do have a lot of half-formed thoughts about gender in the First Order/post-collapse of the Empire society.

A ship I have with said character: Kylux! Again! I’m obsessed with how obsessed Hux is with Ren. He hates him so much it’s unreal. I keep reading the novelizations and thinking so fucking hard about how consumed Hux is with hatred for this one man. He’s so repressed. He’s so damaged. It’s unreal. The brainworms in my head have metamorphosed into moths and they’re flapping their wings so hard they’re disintegrating my grey matter. I think near-daily about how he personally went down to retrieve Ren from the collapse of Starkiller Base and yet would not touch him to drag him to shelter in the Hux graphic novel. Would you take off your glove to check his pulse or would you attempt to feel it through the leather and touch something’s dead skin rather than his living warmth. I’m so deeply unwell.

A BROTP I have with said character: Him and Phasma!!! The way they are on first-name terms with each other….the way one of the few times in the graphic novels you see him smile is when Phasma comes back onto the base…..the way they plotted to kill Brendol together….truly evil mlm/wlw solidarity you simply love to see it

A NOTP I have with said character: Oof I see a lil bit of shipping him with Resistance members (I think I’ve seen him with Rose and also Poe??) and I know TROS made the decision to have him defect from the First Order (out of. again. his obsessive hatred with another man. writing choices.) but it makes me INSANELY uncomfortable seeing people of color being shipped with a literal fascist parody of British colonialism and imperialism lmao like….just ship Kylux bro they’re mutually bad people AND a power couple

A random headcanon: Frankly at this point I joke so much about how much like a sick Victorian orphan he looks like that I could write an entire fake medical file for him but I’ll spare you all and simply say that I am incredibly partial to the headcanon that Hux is a freak that bites string cheese instead of peeling it like a normal person. Also…the implications that he Personally placed the tracker in Ren’s belt rather than someone else, so that he alone could keep tabs on him…..I’m unwell. Enough.

General Opinion over said character: If Ren is a character I love to hate, Hux is a character I hate that I love. I just. I can’t stop thinking about this gay little war criminal. It truly, genuinely baffles the mind how much information there is about him. It triggers that same little part of my brain that goes wild over like. ARGs and stuff. There’s just so much lore. With every new piece of canon or semi-canon information I learn about him I can feel my grip on sanity slipping. He owns a black robe. He has a personal hitman in the First Order ranks to poison people he doesn’t like. He drinks tea. He’s a bastard son. He’s great with kids. He was in charge of a squad of feral orphan child soldiers at five years old. I just. I just don’t get it. I’m enamored with him. His compulsive attention to grooming. His hubris. His ambition. How literally unhinged he is (the “rabid cur” line genuinely lives in my head rent free). The way he systemically killed every single person who saw him weak and abused as a child. There’s just so much to talk about with him. He’s so evil. He’s so fucked up. I love him so deeply. He is such a horrible person and he is so fun to make fun of and he is so fun to think about. God wants there to be a bullet in my head so badly.

[fuckyeahharryhart]

HARRY HART FAN FICTION Because they better give him a good story for the last Kingsman. In case they don’t, I wrote something myself.

KINGSMAN III Fan Fiction REDACTED Part 1 (in case they mess up the last Kingsman movie)

Because I’m both excited an afraid of what they are planning for the last Kingsman. I, as well as A LOT of people were pissed that they killed off Merlin, let alone all the others. This is my Fan Fic for what I thought should happen in Kingsman 3 and how they could possibly bring Merlin back....And A LOT of Harry Hart, and some new characters, too..

MULTI PART SERIES:(My version of Kingsman 3)

Harry Hart x Original Character 

Warnings: Reference to violence 

Word Count: 5,900

Summary: After the events of Kingsman, The Golden Circle, Harry, Eggsy and the rest of the survivors rebuild their agency to it’s former level of integrity. A new player arrives unexpectedly, carrying memories of the past that will change the future of Kingsman.

-----

PART 1

The evening was still warm and pleasant as the sun dropped behind the last of the buildings overlooking the London skyline. For a few brief moments, when the final rays of light glanced off the windows facing the west, the sky seemed to flame.

The sun struggled to hold its place, but as it conceded, the day began its transition into night. A new energy would begin to blanket the momentary quiet streets.

So the sun set on another day in London. Saville Row stilled once more as store fronts closed up and settled down for the evening.

Further along the walk, two gentleman were about to descend the stone steps of one of the shops. One man stood a little taller, a little older, more distinguished than the other. Both were impressively attired, as would be the case if they were in the company’s employ. But of course, this was to be expected. What this street was best known for was being the undeniable home of hand-crafted British bespoke - thus named because when customers used to choose their cloth it was said to "be spoken for".

The older gentleman, the taller of the two, had broad shoulders and a lean figure, with long legs and a silhouette that suggested strength and movement. The younger man, though shorter, had a compact, sturdy build with a wide chest and a distinctly strong jaw line, sandy hair and blue eyes. He had the shape and movements of an athlete, and the personality to match. Gregarious, enthusiastic, like a puppy who was just beginning to grow into his paws.

It might have been the younger man’s youthful exuberant energy and confidence that caught your eye, but it was the older man whose quiet, distinguished gravitas that held your gaze and kept it.

As twilight embarked on its journey to introduce the night sky, the new Kingsman shop glowed with golden light among the dark streets of London. In the heart of Savile Row, the street was, perhaps, a bit too quiet.

The younger man was jesting the older in the manner of both a comrade and a son. And with the patience of both a father and the derision of an older brother, the man, resigned to be the long suffering confidant, obliged the mischief with a somewhat exasperated, but affable, good nature.

“So.” The younger man queried. “You gonna get one of them new Kingsman cars for your birthday?”

He eyed him with a sideways glance. “What would you know of my birthday?” the stately gentleman countered, skeptical.

“Know it was long time ago.”  He chaffed under his breath.

“That’s certainly one way of looking at it.” He replied briskly.

“You gonna have a do?”

“Rubbish.” “ he replied, unamused.

“You should.”

“I will be sure to keep that in mind.” However, the quip in his voice and his doubtful expression suggested that he had already dismissed the notion as utterly preposterous.

They both took the steps down to the pavement and toward the waiting car. The new taxis, upgraded with first rate technology, were still in production. In the meantime, hire cars were made available for their use.

“When are the Kingsman cars gonna be ready, anyway?”

The older man he reached down to unlock the car door.  He was about to reply when the key fob was shot out of his hand.

Apparently, not soon enough, he thought as he dropped down to the ground. Who ever had taken that shot was sending a message, and if the message included bullets, it was best to fall below the line of fire.

More gunfire erupted, this time from a different direction. Mayhem, of course. He sighed. Would he never be able to enjoy a quiet evening ever again? Perhaps he was getting too old for this.

His expectations for a peaceful, uneventful evening were simply entertainment for a higher power. Every time one makes a plan, he thought reaching for his own weapon, God laughs. He would be sure to bear that in mind next time.

——

If the word gentleman were to take on a physical shape, that shape would look like Harry Hart.  If you were in his presence, you had no choice but to look at him. No other option existed. It was as if there were an unseen magnetic force that held your gaze upon him.

Harry Hart was a man you saw immediately. He carried an air of timelessness. There was neither a sense of young or old. Nor future or past. He was both modern and old world. He was a contradiction that somehow made perfect sense.

He was an arresting figure. From his dark horn rimmed glasses, all the way down to the impeccable shine of his black Oxford shoes. The immaculate cut of his bespoke suit emphasized the sleek masculine lines of his body and he carried himself as naturally and as easily as though he was born to wear it.

The suit seemed to enhance his movements, rather than hinder or constrict. He presented a certain ease and grace of movement, as if the lines of the suit knew how he moved and thus moved with him. But even as he grew still, the suit would hang perfectly in place.  Only a slight movement of his hand would smooth out his jacket or a flick of the wrist to adjust his cuff links.

He existed as if being Harry Hart was effortless. Without a hint of doubt or hesitation. A man who was never one to question his purpose in life or in his work.

There was no denying, that even in his late fifties, that Harry Hart was a handsome man. Each individual feature was attractive, but it was the man, as a whole, that was truly beautiful. He was the kind of being that if he were to walk by, he would turn the heads of both men and women. All intrigued for reasons they wouldn’t be able to explain in words.

If you asked someone in passing what he looked like, they would say he was handsome. But if queried further they would be curiously unable to recall any exact details of his physical appearance.

It was the rare quality of a person completely at ease in his own skin, who never doubted the reason for his existence or the meaning of his life. Who does not need or desire anything that lies outside the present moment. He possessed a rare, undefined quality that communicated without speaking a word. It said honor, integrity, decency and benevolence.

Harry Hart was the sum of all his parts.

Yet, one could not deny that he was a man of exemplary physical characteristics. If you had the opportunity to sit and observe him for longer than a passing moment, you would determine that his presence, his immediacy, was also due to the fact that he was a very tall man, a substantial man, with broad shoulders, slim hips, and long legs that were able to carry him with a grace and elegance that was inimitable.

Looking more closely, you would notice the pleasing structure of his face, clear, golden brown eyes below a strong brow and a smooth broad forehead. His hair was a light brown, made even lighter by the dusting of silver at his temples and around his ears. His hair was combed back and styled into smooth waves, but if left on its own you suspect that it would be a little wild, a little untamed.

He also exuded strength and power, but not in a purely physical sense, for his suit covered his body from the nape of his neck to the soles of his feet. These qualities seemed a part of him, naturally. He was not a man who worked out for vanity. His strength was not an end to achieve, in and of itself, but rather the means for a greater purpose. As opposed to the bulk muscle of a weight lifter, whose strength was inert, motionless, without purpose, whose power lacked a driving force. Harry’s strength seemed lighter, more balanced and suggested the movement of a precision instrument, guided by an expert hand.

If, perchance, you were able to see him in his own surroundings or with people close to him, you would be able to glimpse the finer points of his character.

That his clear brown eyes could see into anyone he chose to observe. He had the ability to maintain eye-contact with a singular focus that was unwavering, direct, sometimes disconcertingly so. He could speak as clearly with his gaze as he could with words. Or, if needed, close himself off to any inquiries that might not be welcome.

But also, those brown eyes, with just a little softening, could exude kindness, warmth, and affection. Or at other times, a twinkle of amusement or mischief. Maybe a slight narrowing, a hint of displeasure, maybe concern, a glint of approval.

Perhaps, in a quiet moment, you had the chance to hear his voice.  Deep and calm, soothing even. Articulate. He was not known for his garrulousness, so the words he did speak were deliberate, communicating precisely what he wanted to say. Measured pauses of silence were often as eloquent as his words.

Surprisingly, he was a more quiet man. You expected his voice to be louder, but then you realized that his tone and his pace were calculated. He wanted whoever he was speaking with to be present and concentrate on his words.

But just underneath the steady low, tones you could hear the steely vibrations of a more dominant voice. Just as his physicality suggested a latent power he only need to tap into. Never one to shout or yell to be heard, all he needed to do was unleash that forceful voice to ensure the attention of those around him.

Unknowingly to those around him, all of these features made Harry Hart a lethal and ruthless secret agent with the ability to annihilate his enemies with ease. His mind was sharp and exacting, honed by years of training, experience in the field, and natural talent and skill. Combined with his physical prowess and his innate unflappable nerve, he was nearly unstoppable.

Yet, even beyond these features, could be found a hint of something more, a softness, a gentleness, a kindness and a vulnerability. If only someone took the time to look for them.

—

In the hushed shadows of the evening, as the sky blackened and welcomed the night, a lone figure stood in the shelter of the darkness. A female figure, though it would be difficult to tell at first glance. Ambiguously attired in appropriate, but unremarkable clothing. She was tall and slight. Her features were obscured beneath the cap she wore. Which was her intention.

Her objective was to observe, and even so, remain unseen. To achieve this, she had to be unmemorable, forgettable, average, so she could continue her surveillance without raising scrutiny. Careful not to linger too long in one spot, she continued to move steadily in the direction of the two men. She remained within the shadows between buildings, in a store front, near a set of stairs.

She maintained her air of causal nonchalance.  Under the pretext of quietly browsing at the collection of mens wear and accessories, she paused on the landing of a closed shop. As would anyone just getting off of work and arrived too late, after the shop closed and chose to stay and window shop.  The two men were conversing as they closed up.

Keeping a close eye on her subjects, she simultaneously scanned for possible counter surveillance. Watching out for other people, watching her as she watched her mark. Recording all the people she saw along the street, the make and models of the cars that drove past, any subtle shifts in the temperature and feel of her surroundings. An aspect that appeared out of place, shop lights that remained on past closing, a delivery lorry that arrived behind schedule. Anything that fell beyond the edges of the routine she had documented over the past four weeks. Her sharp sense of hearing, honed to listen and analyse approaching sounds, vehicles, the footsteps of nearby people, their gait, speed and direction, would alert her to any suspicious activity that was out of her immediate view.

After all, Kingsman was a covert intelligence agency, performing under the umbrella of a bespoke tailor shop. but in the end, they were all just spies practicing tradecraft.

——

For the last fortnight, the routine of the two men remained the same. Surprisingly sedate and unremarkable. They would meet at the shop in the mornings, between 8:00- 8:30am. Opening hours were 9am to 5:30 am during the week from Mondays to Friday. Saturdays were 10am to 3pm or by appointment. Closed on Sundays. They followed this schedule diligently, which simplified her task. Perhaps there were some outings during the day for either of them. As the days passed, one indistinguishable from the next, she began to suspect that they had a secondary location.

It would make sense. Kingsman was their backstop, their front organization so they could keep their intelligence operations secret. Many individuals entered the doors to their shop. Some stayed suspiciously longer than others. After detailing the amount of foot traffic stepping through their shop, she gathered that they must have an ancillary site, or an annex, whether it be at this location, or somehow connected.

An unusual number of clients entered the store, but the corresponding number of customers did not exit the shop. With the size of the shop, the footprint of space that was available, she estimated there to be at least three fitting rooms in addition to the showroom, workshop, a studio, and perhaps a small living area. The shops of Saville Row were not known for being expansive. Most could be termed cozy if one was being generous. She highly doubted that the number of well dressed men that she saw entering the shop, but not leaving, were entertaining themselves with tea and biscuits and conversation for most of the day. However, at the onset of the eve, without fail, after she was able to distinguish the clients from the employees, one by one, like rabbits out of a warren, they stepped out from the front doors and disappeared into the city for whatever evening they had planned.

—

Her first fortnight was spent mapping out the city, learning its lines of traffic, communication and commerce, so she could build an internal map in her head. At sunrise, she was a figure on the move. Walking one day, riding the Tube the next. She traveled up and down the streets. She took the Overground, the tram, the light rail. But mostly she walked. She walked through the markets with their fresh bread and curries and trendy second hand clothing. One day the Tate Modern stood to her right. The following day she walked past with the Natural History Museum on her left. She noted how the morning light struck the dome of St. Paul’s Cathedral and how the sunset on the two western towers of Westminster Abbey. She crossed the River Thames via the London Bridge and then crossed back by the Tower Bridge on her return. She walked from Piccadilly Circus to Leicester Square and then around to the National Portrait Gallery.

Though the sites were beautiful, she wasn’t sightseeing. However, she was, indeed taking mental snapshots wherever she went.

She wasn’t memorising routes.

She was learning the lay of the land.

She was following the flow of the River Thames.

She was reading the structure of the city.

She was noticing points of convergence.

She was looking for routine and repetition.

She was identifying patterns.

She sought out patterns from the cities routes to the naming of streets. If she had to go on the run, time wouldn’t stop so she could check her phone or ask for directions. She needed to know where she was going, and if she needed to, how to get back.  Knowing where she’d just been was as important as knowing where she was going. So the same way she was mapping where she was going, she utilised a post-route mental street mapping technique to backtrack. Reliance on technology could be a weakness and she made a point to “go analog” when it was opportune. And if her confidence yielded to encroaching doubt, she always circled back to square one.

Always remember your training.

She was trained to look for signs of directions no matter where she was.

And to do that, she first had to establish a known point.

——

She commandeered Kingsman as her known point, a sort of home base, but for mapping purposes. She used it rather than her hotel since it was the main site of her surveillance. It was the logical choice. If she mapped properly she would be able to maintain where she was in relation to the shop no matter where she was in the city. Having Kingsman as her known point helped her connect the mental map she was creating in her head to the physical landscape of the city. If she ever found herself lost, she could use her known point as a sort of primitive means of navigation. All roads lead back to Kingsman, she thought with irony. For her, they actually did.

From her known point, she determined where north, south, east and west were. In any direction she went, no matter how near or far, she continued to add on to her mental map, making it more comprehensive and precise.  The architecture of the city was invaluable. She used the landmarks to help her navigate distance, direction, and orientation. If it was a full overcast day, she wouldn’t be able to rely on the sun’s location in the sky to determine time and orientation. But if she knew the history of the city or how the architecture was initially planned, she could use structures as directional indicators. Studying which sides of a structure shows bleaching or corrosion could also help her determine cardinal directions or aid in maintaining a “heading” of travel without drawing attention herself, without seemingly wandering around lost.

Half of this knowledge she would never have to use. Hell, 99% would just be filed away, never to have an occasion to be helpful. But today’s preparation determined tomorrow’s achievement. Or, depending on her mood, as one “Big Ben” once said, “By failing to prepare, you are preparing to fail.”  Regardless of attitude, she had to be prepared for any scenario. There would be no second chances. She had no safe house, no handler guiding her, no fancy tech at her fingertips. Every operation of hers was a black operation. If there was blowback, she was the first and last in line. There was no station that she could return to, no case officer to back her up, no one to offer her operational security, no diplomatic cover, no plausible deniability. There was no protocol she could follow for what she had planned. She was acting purely on instinct and intuition and the intelligence that was already in her possession. It was all she had. SHE was all she had. She was all she ever had.

——

When she first arrived in the city, she was overwhelmed. Overwhelmed by the city itself, true, like it was a living and breathing entity. But mostly, she was overwhelmed by the purpose of her journey. Her reason for being in London. It was a delicate mission with an uncertain outcome and could easily be derailed by a single misstep. She was determined not to make one. Hence the extra time for reconnaissance and surveillance. Failure was unthinkable.

She had journeyed from Paris, underneath the channel, to London via Eurostar. The high speed train was clean and modern. It ran on time. She found the seats comfortable. The Wifi connection was strong and she had plenty of outlets to charge her many devices. She was pleased to avoid Heathrow, as she found the whole process of flying a test of her patience. When she arrived at London St. Pancras International in the evening, she collected her few belongings. Which mostly consisted of her laptop, two smart phones and a tablet. Securing her bags, she stepped off the train, onto the platform and followed the flow of arriving travellers.

When the station opened up to a huge concourse, she was greeted with the sparkle of brightly lit, colourful shops. An impressive range of high end luxury stores and boutiques, selling everything from perfume, to crystal, to gourmet foods. Bars and restaurants were brimming with patrons. Clinking glassware, the shuffle of plates and silverware underscored the many voices all layered within their conversations. Among the droves of people, there were the homecomers and those who were departing for their own destinations. Immersing her senses with the spirit of the evening, her pace subsided until she halted to a standstill. She was a rock that split the stream of travellers and they flowed on either side of her. She felt them pass by. They posed little interest to her. She asked herself, one final time, if she was doing the right thing. She stood underneath beams of the vaulted ceiling that curved high overhead. She witnessed all of these people, coming together, converging, merging on this one spot, this open space where paths meet.

She took a deep breath in. She took a long breath out.

She hoped that the path she had chosen was the right one.

Hitching her bag higher on her shoulder she stepped into the stream and disappeared within the throng of journeyers, the transients, and the seekers.

-----

Back at Saville Row, at the top of the street, she spotted the front end of a dark blue, two door Vauxhall Corsa turn the corner. Twice now, she had seen the same vehicle drive past. The likelihood of the same car, navigating the one way streets and having to backtrack to come around the same corner a third time, was not happenstance. It might be the third most common car in London, but when the plate had the identical three letter identifier, HFK, it was not a coincidence, and in fractions, she was fully alert.

The length of Saville Row, from one end to the other was less than 900 feet.  Which left her with only heartbeats to decide what to do. Asking herself “what if” would burn through seconds she did not have. That was a rabbit hole not to fall into. The best way to stay calm and focused was to decide what to do next. A suspicious car rolling down the street could mean anything, from something as simple and innocuous as a tail, to something as dangerous as a kidnapping, to an attack with possible devastating effects, if they had a VBIED, a vehicle borne improvised explosive device.

Clearing her mind of anything outside her assessment of the possible threat, she processed the information in-front of her.  Having something to concentrate allowed her mind to remain focused no matter what was happening in the background.

Identify the problem. When you saw hoof prints, you thought horse, not zebra. The circumstances were less than ideal for a kidnapping; the vehicle too small, the street too prominent, two targets rather than one. For a VBIED, while it could be a VERY effective way to eliminate two targets at once, unless they were thinking of suicide bombing, the vehicle should have been set up in advance with a trigger mechanism to ignite the device, like a pressure plate or a vibration switch. Could their taxi have been booby trapped with a device? She observed no suspicious activity. Was there another vehicle on the street that could be hooked up with a secondary explosive device? Certainly, an effective means of blocking the entire area against police and emergency staff. The blue Corsa could be used as a road block or could carry a remote trigger. Two explosions, without knowing the payload of the bombs, could not only be devastating, but catastrophic. The rabbit hole was slipping under her feet. Too many “what if’s”. She stepped back from the edge and bet on the horse.

Once again, she closed the door to any uncertainties. What kind of problem was this? She recognised the set up for a drive by shooting when she saw one.

Something was going to happen next regardless of what she did. So when that something happened, she wanted to be the deciding factor. Again, what to do next?

Shooting the vehicle would only incapacitate their transportation. They would still be dangerous. She could take out the windshield and the driver at the same time. But they would surely have a second shooter, especially for two targets, and he would still be active and armed. Plus, if she had time to take out the second man, that meant the second man had time to take out one of his targets. One out of two was still one too many for her. Which led her to her course of action.

For the two men to survive, they needed to get down. And she wasn’t talking about ducking.  Not dodging, not looking for cover. They needed to hit the ground, and hit it fast. With feeling. Her options? If she just pulled a warning shot, chances were likely that they would look around for the source of the gunshot, and there was no way to distinguish her shots as “friendly fire”.  Friendly fire could still kill, regardless of the intent. The bullet didn’t care why it was fired. When there were bullets coming in your direction from an unknown gunman, it was all enemy fire.

Because of their training, they would react instinctively to the sound of gunshots.  Experience would tell them to take cover, quick draw their own weapons, and return fire in the direction of where the shots came from. For once, she cursed their skills. When the target was not aware that the gunshot they just heard was friendly fire or a warning shot, that just meant that the shooter aimed and missed. Thus the shooter was a poor shot, giving them a chance to shoot back.

She needed to make her threat as immediate as she could. Instinct would tell them the only option for survival was taking cover. A shot above their heads would definitely get their attention, but that still didn’t guarantee that they would move out of the line of fire. Not her line of fire, but from the threat. A single shot had to tell them she could have easily killed them, the bullet did not miss, the shot was intentional, and the message was, GET DOWN NOW. Bonus points if they rolled. That would be even better.  Where to take that shot? If she missed her target, well, saying that would be bad, would be the understatement to understate all statements.

Firing her gun was her last option. Regrettably, it was her only option. She was carrying illegally, and with no doubt, would alert both sides to her presence. Even though they would have minimal information, she preferred they didn’t even know that information existed.

Many things would result from putting her gun into play.  If she used her gun for a warning shot, then she had to be prepared to be directly involved in a fire fight. And if she was going to be in a firefight, she damn well was going to come out on top. And if she was forced to fight, she would sure as hell fight to win.

She processed all of this in the matter of seconds. Her weapon was drawn before her last thought completed its message.

Her final thought. Fuck.

She wasn’t extravagant with her choice of firearms. She preferred performance and reliability over looks. A Glock 26 sub-compact was her pick for conceal carry. It had less recoil, more on target accuracy, and a fast rate of fire for a gun of its size. Compact enough to be easily concealed, even on her slim frame. A shoulder holster was her carry position of choice. Other positions risked printing. It still had sufficient barrel length to get decent performance out of her ammunition. Ten round magazines were her preference, though it had the capacity for more. She found it cumbersome on the field and only used larger capacity mags when she was target practicing. With the smaller barrel, it had a little more lift than her full size weapon, the Glock 19, but she could compensate easily for the difference between the two. She always kept one in the chamber, ready to be fired. Now she was very glad she did.

The blue coupe rolled toward the men at a deliberate pace as they descended the few steps to the pavement. Tinted windows and the glare of the streets lights blocked her view of the car’s interior. She kept its position in the periphery of her mind. As she drew her weapon, she was comforted by its familiar weight, shape, feel, and the trust that she had with the nuances of its operation. When her weapon was on her, whether holstered or drawn, it became, essentially, an extension of her own body, and thus, was as personal to her as the hands that used it.

No matter where or how she shot her weapon, whether it be for practice, self defence, or to kill, she always returned to the same training, every single time, no matter her target. Repetition, after all, was mastery.

Accuracy was paramount. The biggest lesson she had ever learned?  If you didn’t hit what you intended to, you would, of course, hit something else. And you were the one responsible for it.  Guns didn’t miss, shooters missed. The bullet would land wherever the muzzle and front sight were pointed when the trigger was engaged.  If she didn’t hit her mark, it happened because her front sight and the muzzle were pulled, pushed or jerked out of alignment with the straight line between her eye and her target. And if it deviated, it did so because of the way she manipulated the trigger. Basically, a missed shot was down to user error.

When firing her weapon, she always came back to the relationship between her front sight, rear sight, trigger, her eye and the target.

The more precise the shot, the more precise her sight picture had to be. And this had to be one of the most precise shots she’d ever had to take out in the field. What had she been thinking about understatements?

Well, whatever she thought fell aside and she focused singularly on the task in front of her.

She adopted her modified weaver stance, by instinct.  Feet a little wider than shoulder width. Knees soft. Dominant foot slighty behind the other. Her weight was evenly distributed, but she was  leaning forward just slightly and angled away from her target. Basically, a boxer’s recovery stance.

She looked at the exact spot on the target that she wanted to hit

She visualized a straight line between her eye and that spot.

She raised her weapon and brought it up to eye level.

She relaxed her grip until it felt natural.

She made sure that front and rear sight intersected the line she drew between her eye and the target.

She levelled the top of the front sight with the top of the rear sight.

She changed her eye focus from the spot on the target to the front of her gun, until her sharp focus centered on the front site.

She could still see her target in line in the distance.

She softened and relaxed the muscles of her face until it felt peaceful.

She shifted her weight just the tiniest bit to the balls of her feet to minimise the lift of the muzzle.

She curled her index finger around the face of the trigger until it nested in the perfect spot.

At the bottom of her exhalation, with just the amount of pressure necessary, no more no less, she smoothly pressed the trigger straight back to the rear.

The sharp report rang in her ears. As the muzzle lifted from the recoil, she kept her focus on the top of the front sight,  and maintained alignment with the invisible thread that was pulled tight from her eye, completing her follow throughprecisely at the same time as her bullet hit its mark.

All of this happened, seamlessly, without hesitation, within fractions of a second. In situations such as these time and space had no meaning.

She had just triggered, pun intended, a chain of events that she hoped wouldn’t end in bloodshed. But if it did, she had faith that it wouldn’t be theirs.

The two men fell to the ground, already reaching to draw their own weapons. Without a second thought, she adjusted her aim and stance toward the vehicle that was now passing by the store front. Its window was rolled down and she could see the barrel of a large handgun materialise from the darkness. A shot fired in their direction. She didn’t bother noting the make and model of the gun. Most likely an illegal side arm. Her whole process started from the beginning once more, this time with the anticipation that she may have multiple targets to shoot between.

Her next shot hit the barrel of the weapon before it could pull a second round.

She stole a quick glance at the two men on the ground. Shit. Rather than lining up with the shooters in the car, the older gentleman immediately turned his head in her direction. He was looking for the original shooter. He was good, he nearly zeroed in on her exact location despite gunfire coming from two separate sources. She weighed her options. She could pull back so as not to be seen, but if she did, she would no longer have sight on the car. She could not be certain that they had been incapacitated and without being certain, she couldn’t drop her cover fire position. It would leave the two men vulnerable.

With misgiving, she stayed in place. And, fuck, for a split second their eyes met. She and the car both pulled off one last shot, hers hitting, theirs missing the mark before the vehicle decided that the unknown in the equation was more than they had bargained for. They sped off without her getting a good look at the passengers. They were banking on the element of surprise but she had knocked all of their chips off the table before they could cash out.

Gunfire, uncommon in the streets of London, especially in high traffic, upscale areas like Saville Row, would definitely be suspicious. Reports would be made to the police. She wasn’t sure what the protocol for the two Kingsman were, if they would handle the situation as civilians or remain under the cover of Kingsman, which operated outside the rules of law. She wasn’t waiting around to find out.

She holstered her weapon, adjusted her face and body to a person of no significance or consequence, turned, and took her leave in the opposite direction.

----If you got this far, thanks for reading! First time for a posting a longer fanfic. Apologies for any first timer quirks. Let me know what you think! Liked it, loved it, hated it, burn it, no worries, all feedback is welcome. (but of course, I hope you had at least kinda an enjoyable time.) ALWAYS FEEL FREE TO REBLOG or send to someone who might be interested.

[justimajin]

One Bad Case of the Jeon Sniffles

⇢ Pairing: Jungkook x Reader

⇢ Genre: Fluff, Comedy, Angst

↳ Doctor/Surgeon AU, Sequel to the Doctor Blues Universe - read here first! 

⇢ Words: 15.5k

⇢ Warnings: jungkook being a scared bunny & jimin actually needing to chill (as always)

⇢ Summary: Jeon Jungkook is a very capable individual; he’s spent years and years studying and training for his role as a doctor, noted to be one of youngest candidates to take on the job, as well as having an innate caring need inside him to see his patients well and healthy. Although there’s no underestimating his ability to work within a hospital, it goes without being said that the doctor isn’t as talented with some other area’s of his life - and it’s something that the young doctor can no longer run away from after one surprise encounter. 

⇢ A/N: This story is going to feature two Y/N’s because it is a sequel, but to avoid any confusion both characters are referred to as separate people. 

The dusty white hospital doors creak open once more, this time being pleasantly greeted with a different pathway. Long gone are days filled with resentment and outrage, hours consumed with electric tension between two sets of stern eyes and remains of faint bickering that once echoed through the familiar walls.

Instead, the hallway begins to gradually narrow down onto a fresh new road – one that has heavy stomps beating against the solid tiled ground, the young doctor pushing his falling bangs aside swiftly.

The knuckles of his hands are fisted, a plastic board becoming adorned with multiple markings when his signature meets every single one of the fluttering pages with a sharp swipe. He occasionally pauses his scribbling, focused eyes tracing along with the new patients being transferred into his wards.

His eyes fall onto one of them, particularly the way said patient was battling through a prickling chain of hoarse coughs.

The board is shifted underneath one of his arms, a stethoscope already being unlooped from his neck and by his side when he places a warm hand on the elderly woman’s shaking back. Although there’s a prominent crease lining between his brows and his hunched shoulders droop down, there’s a smile on his lips when he requests one of the nurses for a specific medication.

Taking a step back, he quietly observes the relief meeting the woman’s expression when the nurse hands her the medicine he has recommended, eyes already brimming with gratitude. The smile on his lips only seems to grow with every passing minute, only withering when he hears a thunderous clap behind him.

Eyes serious and shoulders tensing immediately, it dissolves away when his vision comes into contact with a familiar doctor.

“Well done, well done!” The man exclaims, walking over to him and circling an arm around his neck. Cries of hysteria begin to escape him as he clutches onto his chest, his shirt being crumpled in the process, “My Jungkookie has grown up so well!”

He shakes his head at the comment, but there’s a small smirk contained on his lips that he can’t seem to hide.

“I guess you can say it was because I was trained by the best.”

The man’s eyes instantly enlarge, practically bulging out of his eye sockets when he races over to another doctor, blonde locks falling onto his eyes when he adjusts an IV, “Yoongi! Yoongi! Did you hear that?!” His arms are outstretched, a giant ecstatic grin surfacing, “He said he was trained by the best.”

The other man chuckles, standing up straight as he watches his patient’s monitor, “By what? The best lunatic?” Offense crosses the man’s delicate features and Yoongi devilishly chuckles, “Oh right, he meant doctor. My bad.”

The black-haired doctor throws his hands up, seemingly letting out a tantrum while low chuckles escape the blonde doctor, completely ignoring him as he focuses back onto his work.

Jungkook can only softly smile at the display from afar, wondering how despite having this brand-new role assigned to him, there were some things that never changed within the hospital walls.

“Uh…e-excuse me?”

His head immediately snaps back, eyes lined with black circles on full alert until he realizes that the voice wasn’t coming near him, but actually below him. 

His eyes widen and he’s instantly bending down, coming into eye level contact with the young girl that teeter tooters on her feet. A pained expression is on her features, contorted when she faintly touches her arm.

“Sit down on that chair and I’ll have a look at it.” He points over to the side and the girl gratefully nods, following his instructions.

Grabbing his clipboard, he quickly continues the rest of his reports before he’s soon striding over, examining the girl’s arm hastily when he can see her eyes knitted in discomfort.

He lets go of her arm, scribbling down on his board, “The bone is healing well but the muscle seems to be irritated as a result.” His voice changes, turning into a much more soothing tone compared to usual, “I can give you something to feel better though. Does that sound okay?”

The girl eagerly nods and Jungkook gives her a warm smile, assisting her up from the chair when he mumbles some quick instructions to another nurse.

However, the moment she leaves, Jungkook slumps down. A lengthy drawn out sigh escapes his lips and he shuts his dry eyes for a moment that have been kept wide awake for far too long. When he opens them again, they drift over to the two doctors also in the same ward as him.

He truly doesn’t know what’s worse – the fact that he was running on only two hours of sleep and still had more paperwork to file along with new patients to attend or the fact that the two doctors near him were getting the job done faster than he was and still had the energy to talk to one another.

Another sigh escapes him; this time even deeper as he rubs the sore lids of his eyes. He sinks back into the chair, almost melting into it as he savours the spare time he has for once.

In a way, he knows. He knows that this is what he wants, this is what he trained for, what he spent countless hours studying for and prepared endlessly day and night. There is no other place he rather be at and he just knows – knows that no matter how difficult, this is what his life is to become.

But why was it getting harder and harder to breathe as time went by?

He immediately retracts, as if slipping away from the whole idea itself. Head pushed back, he instead decides to drown his ears with the roaring banter coming from the corner of the room.

“Y/N and Taehyung still haven’t come back?”

“Nope! They left us all here Yoongi, I’m telling you, they jumped ship!”

“Well Daegu’s pretty far…and they needed some time off anyways…”

“Do you miss them~”

“No.”

“You miss them~ Yoongi you misssss them~”

“Yah Park Jimin! Get off of me!”

Dimples form when a small smile crosses his lips, knowing that if he had merely turned his head to the corner slightly he would get the perfect view of Jimin suffocating a protesting Yoongi into a hug.

Maybe this was how it was supposed to feel, maybe at the end of the day he knows he still has them.

Another sigh escapes him and he leans further back into his chair, the tiredness seeping into his bones when his shoulders begin to relax and his mind falls clear.

“DR. JEON!”

He jolts up as if he’s been electrocuted, blurry eyes hurriedly searching around for the source of distress only to be greeted with nothing. Suddenly two hands are on his arm, shaking him relentlessly when he scatters out of the chair.

“A patient!” Jisoo, his intern quickly says, words tumbling out of her lips as she persistently drags him over, “There’s an unconscious patient with a severe head injury!”

He blinks, his vision sluggishly descending into focus until it all snaps in and soon he’s tugging on his white coat, straightening himself up as he matches up with Jisoo’s rushed steps.

A metal stretcher greets his eyes and he takes his stethoscope out in a flash, measuring the breathing and heart rate of the collapsed man.

“I need an oxygen mask and an IV right now.” He sternly states and Jisoo nods, dashing over to grab him what he needs.

As she does so, he starts to examine the patients head, looking for any points of serious bone breakage or muscle rupture. Thankfully enough, he lets out an exhale when neither seems to have occurred and at most, his suspicions are that the injury must have just caused a minor concussion – in which the impending trauma to the brain must have knocked the man out of consciousness.

He’ll be okay and his symptoms can be managed, Jungkook mentally notes down to himself, his eyes searching around for hopefully his returning intern. Time seems to tick by at a snail’s speed when his gaze eventually falls down, awkwardly shifting from foot to foot.

He stares down at the man, a frown lining his lips when he takes in the shaggy brown hair and long lashes, a noticeable mole right beneath his eye. His frown only intensifies, brows creasing when the man’s features seem distinctly similar to ones he hasn’t seen for quite a while, but he shakes it off when this man is too lean and much taller for that to make any sense.

He’s seen a dozen of patients today and he’s barely gotten a decent minute of sleep, there was no way possible–

A loud groan breaks his thoughts and his shoulders instinctively flinch when the sound comes from the man currently lying down on the stretcher. Turning when he hears the sheets shuffle, he notices the man’s eyes are now wide open yet strange – as if they were stuck in a dazed, confused state.

“You’re in the hospital.” Jungkook blurts out, being too aware of a patient’s weary position after a going through a concussion, “You were brought here because of a head injury.”

The man blinks again, this time sitting up straight as Jungkook shoots out an arm, bringing it around his back so he doesn’t fall down. However, instead of trying to focus back onto his surroundings like many patients do, the man blatantly stares at him.

His eyes narrow, mouth falling agape when he whispers, “J-Jungkook?”

The young doctor freezes; eyes enlarging until they fall across on the man’s confused face, like he was beginning to connect the scattered dots.

Before Jungkook can even say anything, Jisoo comes hurriedly running along, an oxygen mask and IV in hand. “Dr. Jeon!”

“Thank you Jisoo, I don’t think we’ll need the oxygen mask anymore but I’ll take this.” He reaches out for the long IV, dragging the white monitor with it, “It’ll sting but I’ll be quick.”

Jungkook leans down, eyes focused yet his hands waver a bit when the man continues to stare at him, his surprised eyes soon sinking down into a warm tone.

“Dr. Jeon, huh?”

The words hold a layer of amusement within them and Jungkook can’t contain his smile, eyes looking up in confirmation when the IV is hooked up.

“To be honest, I’m still not used to the sound of it.”

“So it’s recent?” There’s a wide grin on the man’s face and from a distance, Jisoo watches the entire interaction with her own eyes. She can’t deny the change in the air, something that casually dips away from professionalism and into something else entirely.

“Do you two know each other?”

They both turn at the exact same time to stare at her, but the man next to Jungkook simply laughs.

“You’ve never talked about me before? I’m hurt Jungkook, really.”

“Well nothing stupid ever came up into conversation.” Jungkook mumbles and it earns him a pout from the man, to which Jungkook just chuckles at, “This is Kim Yugyeom, Jisoo. One of my old friends from college.”

“Back in our glory days.” Yugyeom raises his fist, but winces when he does.

“Don’t try to move too much.” Jungkook immediately says, gesturing to Jisoo to bring the necessary paperwork in to admit his friend. She obliges, understanding that leaving would also give the two some privacy. “What do you do to yourself this time?”

“Why do you always assume I did something?” Jungkook raises an eyebrow at him, “Okay maybe it really was me this time, but it wasn’t directly my faul–“

“What happened Yugyeom?”

“Bambam threw a ball at me and I couldn’t catch it in time.”

 Jungkook doesn’t mean to, but soon his eyes are crinkling and the laughter is erupting out of him.

“Don’t laugh at that! It seriously hurt!” He rubs his head, scrunching up his features at the soreness.

Jungkook wipes away the water from his eyes, straightening himself up, “Glad to see you still suck at basketball.”

“I wouldn’t suck so much if someone wasn’t studying all the damn time and actually came out to practice with me.” Yugyeom furrows his brows, eyes latching onto the young doctor before they begin to roam around, “I can’t believe this is where you ended up…”

Jungkook hums, looking around and for a moment, he feels a sense of pride swell up deep inside him. Even though he had been only working in the hospital for a short period of time, the place already feels like a second home to him.

“It’s pretty nice.” Yugyeom smiles, “How’s it like working here?”

Jungkook pursues his lips, “Not bad, I usually work long hours so I’m here most of the time.”

“Long hours? How long?”

“If I’m lucky, not the whole day.” 

Yugyeom pauses, gawking at Jungkook in disbelief, “Even through the night?”

“Even through the night.” Jungkook tiredly replies and for a split second, he can immediately recognize the look of pity his friend is shooting him. “Don’t worry, I chose this.”

“Yeah but is this all you ever do?” Yugyeom brings his arm to his head and pouts when Jungkook tugs it down, frowning as he makes sure the IV is still in place, “Geez Jungkook, you need to stop working so much all the time.”

“Well we’re currently understaffed so for now it’s an exceptio–“

“No dude.” He pushes his hands away, staring directly at the doe-eyed doctor, “It’s literally college all over again. You’re still stuck in those books and you won’t get out of them.”

“Back then it was the shit ton of studying you had to do and now it’s this.” He points to the coat resting on Jungkook’s shoulders, “You’ll keep working and never give yourself a break.”

Jungkook looks at his friend confused, feeling a tad offended, “I do give myself breaks.”

Yugyeom wasn’t having any of it though, “Really now? What have you done aside from constantly going to work?”

“Well I-…uh...”

“Any hobbies? Interests?” He gestures to himself, “Hanging out with friends? Dude, I literally haven’t seen you in decades.”

Jungkook grows quiet, mind pondering on every single thing the man was sprouting out. Yugyeom sighs, suddenly realizing that he was the one with the injury that needed to be treated, not Jungkook. Taking a pause, he attempts to recollect himself, “Listen, I’m not saying that working all the time is bad, just come out every once in a while, you know?”

“It’s a lot of work, I know, but you can’t spend all your time here and miss out on other stuff.”

Jungkook dryly laughs, although it’s obvious to Yugyeom how strained and weakened his laugh comes out as. He knows his point has probably drilled itself into the doctor’s mind at this point, so he quickly turns the conversation around to lighten the mood.

“And I bet after all this time, you still suck at talking to girls.”

It seems to work, because Jungkook snaps out of his self-loathing daze and glares at the man, “Hey I’ve gotten better!”

Yugyeom hums, a smirk on his face, “I think so too, you seem to be talking to that intern of yours a lot. Is she single?”

Jungkook’s mouth drops, scoffing, “You haven’t changed one bit.”

“And you still haven’t answered my question.” Yugyeom sighs, brushing some of his hair away, “By the way, do you have a girlfriend yet?”

“Me?” Yugyeom nods, “Definitely no.”

“Ah come on man, you were just talking to a girl! And what’s even better is that you didn’t pass out at the sight!”

The glare in Jungkook’s eyes just increases with the time being, but Yugyeom excitedly points to him, “That! That right there was the stare too! You even stared properly!”

Jungkook darts his pointing hand away from him with a scowl, “I work in a hospital full of woman Yugyeom.”

“So you notice them too! That’s great!” Yugyeom grins, “They probably notice you too if you look around every once in a while.”

“Really?” Jungkook whispers and he rolls his eyes, wondering how much more oblivious his friend could be.

He swings his arm that’s not attached to the machine around him, “You my friend, are one handsome looking dude.”

Yugyeom wishes to himself that he had a camera in his hand within that one second, because the sheer blush spreading across his friend’s cheeks is too much of a treasure to miss. He chuckles, finally being able to see his old young friend hidden away in that mature doctor’s coat.

“You were an ace in college too but you had your head stuck in those books instead.” The mention sparks something in his eyes, especially when the knowledge of what his dear friend had been up to is on clear alert to him, “Have you even stayed in contact with anyone else?”

“No.” Jungkook truthfully admits, “You’re the first person I’ve actually seen up till now.”

The knowledge falls onto Yugyeom like a brick and for a moment, he just stares, looking for any traces of humour from his friend.

He’s only greeted with a dead serious look and he just can’t take it anymore, “Not even Bambam?” Jungkook shakes his head, “Mingyu? Jaehyun?”

Jungkook keeps shaking his head and Yugyeom sighs, placing a finger on his chin, “So you really haven’t talked to any of the boys….” His eyes light up, instantly sparkling, “Oh! What about Y/N? Talked to her recently?”

Jungkook’s eyes immediately widen and Yugyeom places a reassuring hand on his shoulder, “I ran into her the other day and she mentioned you Jungkook!” His friend slowly starts to step back but Yugyeom doesn’t lift his iron grip off of him and quickly rambles on, “She’s exactly the same as before, you could try asking her ou– “

“My, my, what’s going on here~”

Yugyeom pauses, wondering when where the new voice was coming from until he’s greeted to a young man wearing a white dress shirt, his black hair sleeked and parted to the side. He adorns a giant mischievous grin, inching closer and closer to the duo by the minute.

He wonders what the situation perhaps looks like, Jungkook appearing to be stuck in a frenzy as Yugyeom is practically grabbing onto him and not letting him to slip away. It’s something the man undoubtedly stares at too, “How is it that you know my precious intern?”

“Precious intern?” Yugyeom questions with an inquiring brow, releasing Jungkook who straightens himself up.

“Of course.” The man immediately latches onto Jungkook, his eyes crinkling until you can no longer see them, “I raised him with my bare hands.”

“You raised him?” Another voice scoffs, strolling along until it heard the appalling obscure fact, “I don’t think so.”

Yugyeom turns to the second man, a white coat handing off his broad shoulders when he abruptly taps the side of his clipboard against the first man’s arm, causing him to yelp and let go of Jungkook.

“Jungkook’s a doctor now Jimin, be a little professional.”

“Jin hit meee!” Jimin exclaims, clutching onto Jungkook and fake sobbing into his shirt, causing the man to awkwardly pat his back despite the annoyance spreading on his face like usual.

“Good.” A blonde doctor soon joins them, hands behind his back as he exchanges a knowing look with Jin before his eyes narrow onto Yugyeom, “Who is this guy?”

Jungkook manages to push Jimin’s hair away from his chin enough to answer, “This is Yugyeom, one of my friends from college.”

“College?!” Jimin immediately shrieks, racing over to the man with magnified eyes, “You knew my precious intern during college?” 

Yugyeom nods with an endearing laugh and Jimin’s grasps onto his hands, “What was he like?”

He goes silent, leaning down to whisper in Jimin’s ear.

“He used to look like a baby.”

Jimin squeals, a high-pitched deafening sound that hurts everyone’s ears, “I need to know more! I need to know more!”

Jungkook watches the two from a distance, wondering to himself if it was such a great idea letting his former doctor counterpart become close with one of his college friends, but then he hears something tumble out of the doctor’s mouth that makes him instantly regret it all.

“You have baby pictures of my Jungkookie in college?!”

Before he can say anything though, Jimin is soon pressing a hand against his chest in awe when Yugyeom flashes a picture of the two posing.

“You look so adorable!” Jimin latches onto him again, poking his cheek, “My precious intern!”

“Past intern.” Jungkook annoyingly corrects, disbelief crossing his features when he sees Jin slowly shuffle over in curiosity.

He eyes Yugyeom in approval, “Can you send me this?”

Yugyeom nods and they begin to hurriedly exchange numbers, much to the doctor’s resentment, “Hey! Don’t send him those!”

“Send me a copy too.” Yoongi mumbles underneath his breath, causing Jungkook to glance at all of them with more disbelief, his neck straining from the extra weight currently still attached onto his torso.

“What’s going on here?” A new, authoritative voice pokes out and Jungkook turns to see Namjoon watching them with a confused look, papers in hand that he was most likely reading over.

“Jungkook’s pictures from college Namjoon! His friend has tons of them!” Jimin exclaims, but Namjoon frowns, placing his papers underneath his arm as he strides over.

He plucks the loud doctor off of his old intern, to which Jungkook is extremely grateful for. “I don’t want to ruin the moment but you should all be getting back to work, there’s new patients that need to be filed in.” He warmly smiles, “Just because we’re short two doctors, it doesn’t mean we have no work to do.”

Namjoon’s words work like a spell, all the doctors realizing that they should listen to him when they return back to their places, although Jungkook isn’t the most enthusiastic when he sees Jin eagerly eyeing down a collection of his old pictures. He sighs, returning back as well when he’s painfully aware of the sheer amount of work awaiting his arrival.

***

Night draws into the brightly lit windows of the hospital, accompanying the footsteps of a young doctor as he scribbles away on perhaps the thousandth paper he’s seen today.

With one last swipe of his signature, Jungkook looks up, eyes barely adjusting to the light when he notices that the hospital has gone silent, patients beginning to prepare to rest for the night. He sighs, stretching his arms and legs out when he trudges back over to his office, grateful that the day was finally over and that he could do the same as the patients after being awake for more than twenty-four hours.

He arrives at his office but pauses for a moment, hearing the faint sound of giggles coming nearby. Intrigued, he looks up to be greeted by his former doctor counterpart, also locking up for the day as he chatters away with one of the hospital’s old interns.

The sight almost makes Jungkook falter, a warm smile on the doctor’s face when he speaks to his girlfriend, eyes twinkling when she laughs at some bizarre joke he’s managed to come up with. Although they’re speaking to each other in public, Jungkook’s notices, the moment seems intimate at the same time, as if their eyes were only able to see no one else except for each other.

It should be described as being beautiful, even sweet, but all Jungkook can feel is his heart sinking further and further down when the voice of his friend rings loudly away inside his mind. He can only think about how much he’s done to progress his career, to move forward and climb the escalating demanding ladder when others have done the exact same, but also managed to grow other parts of themselves that Jungkook hasn’t even imagined to, despite being the youngest doctor among all of them.

When’s the last time he did something else other than work? When’s the last time he’s had some fun? Gone out with friends?

His eyes lock onto the couple again.

Actually…thought about being with someone?

The crease in between his brows increases and although the day had just ended, Jungkook’s shoulders are hitched up as if the day had just begun. It seems like his heavy gaze was noticed though, because soon the doctor is excitedly waving over at him.

“Jungkookie~” Jimin says, brightly smiling. Chaeyoung turns around too, eyes lighting up instantly when she notices Jungkook and offering him a friendly smile.

However, Jungkook can’t find it in him to do the same, not when the two seem to be practically glowing as a twisted stormy cloud brews over his mind. He simply chooses to sharply nod, opening his office door in a hurry and locking himself inside.

Jimin’s bright smile falters, eyes immediately sinking down into concern when he exchanges a silent look with Chaeyoung, who reflects the same look he holds.

***

Jungkook’s barely gotten a single second of sleep.

He’s attempted to do so many times, rolling over and flopping onto different sides of the bed, squeezing his eyes shut and feeling relieved when he feels himself being pulled away.

Until the thoughts enter his mind.

At first, he does what he’s used to doing – ignoring them – but the thoughts continue to creep on him, not letting his pink tinged eyes get even a second of peace.

He doesn’t regret meeting his friend, if anything the encounter brought up warm memories Jungkook had long forgotten about, pieces of the past he didn’t realize he missed until he saw his friend’s face again. However, just like a recorder, his friend’s words drag him back to instances in college, instances that Jungkook wants to say he tried his hardest, actually putting in the effort instead of hiding away in his books.

Unfortunately, he can’t say any of that.

Which is why when Jungkook trudges through the hospital halls at the spike of dawn, he looks like a hollow empty shell. He wonders if he had perhaps underestimated how well he was at keeping his feelings at bay, because soon a certain someone is eyeing him down with troubled eyes.

He deeply sighs and suddenly his arm is being yanked, a loud yelp to escaping him.

“That’s the seventh one I’ve heard today.” The black-haired doctor mumbles, dragging him over to his office before shutting the door behind him. Jungkook remains bewildered when Jin plants him down onto a chair, standing in front of him with crossed arms and narrowed eyes. “What’s wrong?”

“Nothing’s wrong.” Jungkook immediately blurts, but Jin frowns more when he takes in the heavy dark circles lining the young doctor’s eyes.

He isn’t having any of it.

“Are you being overworked? Should I talk to Namjoon?” Jungkook bring his hands up instantly, shaking his head.

“N-No, it isn’t that…” Jungkook lowers his gaze, staring at the ground as he keeps his hand clasped together. It’s a little difficult for him to look Jin directly in the eyes, for the former was watching him carefully to catch any sign of what was causing him the distress.

Jungkook clears his throat, hesitantly bringing his eyes up, “Do you regret becoming a doctor?”

Jin blinks, not expecting the question, “No, why?”

Jungkook sighs, “I mean…more like being a doctor at this age.” He looks up, “Do you regret not doing it sooner?”

Jin’s arms fall to his sides and the confusion begins to dissolve away from his expression bit by bit, “It took me a while to figure out that this was what I wanted to do, but I think I would have regretted doing it sooner.” There’s a small smile on Jin’s lips when he slides into a chair across from Jungkook, “It’s harder to figure out when you’re at a younger age.”

Jungkook’s eyes widen a bit and Jin sends him a knowing smile, “Did seeing your friend bring up this question?”

“Yeah…” Jungkook lets out a heavy exhale, reaching into his pocket to grab his phone. He unlocks it, staring at the picture of a familiar young man smiling alongside other familiar faces, before slipping the phone over to Jin across the table.

“He’s kept in touch with every one of them since college…” Jungkook says quietly, causing Jin to raise an eyebrow as he keeps swiping across the pictures. “One of them even left to work abroad a while ago, so he isn’t in the picture but Yugyeom still talks to him…”

Jin pauses at one picture, frowning, “Who’s this?”

“Oh that’s Mingyu– “ Jungkook stares at the picture, wondering how even though his friend retained his signature cheeky smile, he looked so much older in the picture as he poses next to a girl, “He got married a couple of months ago…”

“Ah.” Jin simply says, putting the phone down slowly as he watches Jungkook sinks farther into his chair with worried eyes. There’s an uncomfortable silence residing in the room and it becomes far too apparent to the older doctor that its something he needs to break.

“They’ve gotten too far ahead.” Jin says, “But you’re still here. In this hospital.”

Jungkook nods, not really wanting to confirm anything with spoken words.

“You’ve fallen really behind in comparison.”

The thought stings Jungkook, but it sounds even worse when Jin directly states it. “We’re the exact same age, but they were able to keep in contact with each other, they’ve been up to other things, they’ve even found someone–“ Jungkook weakly laughs, “While I was just worried about becoming a doctor as soon as possible.”

“Do you regret it?” Jin questions, tossing the same notion right back at Jungkook.

“No–“ He cuts himself off, wincing, “Maybe? I…I just don’t know anymore.”

“You still have time JK.“ Jin reaches over to pat Jungkook’s back, nodding understandably, “And you’ve basically knocked it out the park with becoming a doctor. That too, at the same time as me.”

A small smile surfaces on Jungkook’s lips and Jin takes the opportunity right away, “You told me you were going to become a doctor in one year and now look at you, sitting here wearing the same coat as me!”

Jungkook falters, “But I just hope this coat isn’t the only thing I’ll ever have at the end of the day.”

“It’ll all work out, trust me. You just need to give it time.” Jin says in a comforting tone before he lets out a loud sigh, “You young people are always rushing into things too soon.”

Jungkook scoffs, getting up from his chair, “At least we didn’t take a century to become doctors.”

“Yah medical school is hard okay!” Jin points an accusing finger at him.

“I know, I went to one to become a doctor.” Jungkook beams, smiling fully for the first time in Jin’s office, “Right at the same time as you.”

Jin playfully frowns at that, pushing at Jungkook’s shoulders, “Yeah, yeah, now get out of my office you show-off. I have work to do.”

Jungkook abruptly stops in his tracks, watching Jin struggle for a minute trying to push his heavy form until he grows frustrated, “Yah JK!”

Jungkook laughs loudly, walking out of the office with a huge grin.

***

It’s cold and dreary, causing Jungkook to tug his hood closer when an icy breeze passes by. The sky is completely dark, a handful of stars scattered across the horizon and a few fluctuating lamp posts being his only source of light when he threads through the gap between two of them.

Talking to Jin actually helped him more than he had expected, not realizing how much seeing his old friend affected him until he was forced to confront the feelings and put them into words. In a way he was grateful, for he was now better able to pinpoint why he felt absolutely torn since he encountered Yugyeom, but unfortunately understanding what was wrong was only the first step in completely figuring things out.

Which is why he’s here, out in the bleary inky sky and sparkling stars, dressed in a comfortable black hoodie and jeans as he walks down the empty sidewalk. It’s a little unnerving to be wearing something other than his white doctor coat, something that Jungkook thinks has completely become apart of him at this point and to be simply walking outside, eyes not latched onto impending reports or arms not quickly fluctuating around to attend to all his patients.

It’s borderline strange, Jungkook has to be admit, but its oddly similar to what he was like before he had even taken his first step within the hospital walls. He laughs, breath coming out as mist, wondering how long it had been since he had even left those walls since his first steps.

He looks up when he hears footsteps coming from near him and instantly he sidelines to the left side, letting the two individuals glued to each other pass by without him being in their way. The shared glowing smiles and sparks of warmth emitting from them despite the chilling cold makes Jungkook wince, leaving him thoughts filled with encountering his former doctor and his girlfriend.

He recalls the situation again, but then his thoughts go even more astray when he remembers a pair of doctors that used to be at the hospital when he was initially hired as an intern. Although he does certainly miss them, there was a fine layer of shock imbedded into him when they had declared the status of their relationship and Jungkook had no clue as to how two polar opposites – two people that had always been known to argue with one another, managed to end up changing that feeling into something else entirely.

He doesn’t want to call it envy, because he’s admired these two people for so long and the last thing he could ever feel was that word. But it was like his admiration along with expectations had only spiked up, continuing to increase rapidly when he had even encountered another certain blonde and orange duo that had his hopes hitting the ceiling at that point.

He lets out a loud sigh, hands burying themselves further into his pockets when he keeps walking through the icy chill.

Yugyeom was right. Jin was right.

He was too busy pursuing something no one at his age would even dare, that he’s completely forgotten everything else.

Shaking his head, his dry eyes blink against the cold when a brightly lit store greets Jungkook’s vision and his eyes perk up.

The cold is beginning to get to him, he notices, so he makes a turn, heading into the store and pleasantly meeting relief when the warmth is already beginning to thaw out his freezing hands and face.

It’s not too bad. Jungkook thinks, looking around to see shelves of food and fridges filled. He eyes down a certain aisle, one stocked with some of his favourite snacks and he grins, knowing exactly what he needed in that moment.

Pacing around, he starts inspecting the ones he likes, tossing them carelessly into his arms before he heads over to the fridge, doe eyes eagerly searching around for small cases of his favourite milk.

In an instant he finds it, a giant bunny smile emerging on his lips when he teeter-tooters on his heels, taking it out excitedly.

Even though his entire day practically sucked, he’s glad that he can at least end it off nicely as he stares down at the cartons.

“Jungkook?”

His arm freezes in place, the breezy chill still emitting out from the fridge and submerging his torso when he hears soft footsteps closing in on him. He doesn’t turn around right away though, only slightly flinching when he feels a hand lightly tap his arm.

That’s when he slowly turns, blown up eyes immediately locking onto yours, “Jungkook, right?”

He can only seem to nod in that one moment and you smile, causing Jungkook to stagger and drop all his snacks onto the ground. It snaps him back in, the door to the fridge shutting close when he kneels down, putting his banana milk to the side and attempting to hastily pick up the spilled snacks.

Two other hands assist him and it’s when they accidentally knock into his own when he looks up, the hue on his cheeks dipping into a threatening red.

You place the snacks into his arms, not quite noticing the arising colour when you point, “Do you need a basket for those?”

Again, he just nods, letting out a breath that was caught deep in his throat when you walk away. Before he even has a moment to collect himself though, you’re soon returning back, reaching out with the basket and gesturing for him to drop his snacks into.

He places the basket against his arm, occasionally glancing up at you from the ground, “Its really been a while, hasn’t it?”

He tries to formulate some words in his mind, but there’s a very brief pang of dejection dwelling in your eyes when you say the words, something that almost reminds him of the time he had spoken to Yugyeom, “I-It has…I wasn’t expecting to see you here.”

The words are spoken softly and Jungkook knows it must have worked when there’s a smile tugging on your lips, “I actually started working nearby here.” Your eyes instantly light up, “I also ran into Yugyeom just the other day.”

Jungkook lightly laughs, “I did too, but probably not in the same way you did.”

You frown at that, but then a thought immediately occurs to you, “D-Did you become one…? A doctor, I mean.”

Jungkook nods, “I did.”

“That’s nice…” You smile, although it doesn’t quite meet your eyes, Jungkook notices. “Well, I leave you to your shopping then.”

You gesture to his basket and offer him a kind smile before turning to get back to your own cart. Jungkook continues to stand there, a basket overflowing with snacks and hands now cold from grasping onto cooled milk when your back completely disappears. He blinks, attempting to process what exactly happened just moments ago and why he felt so bad seeing you here, in front of him when he should have been the opposite, filled from head to toe in pure joy instead.

It was almost like…he didn’t want to see you…

The thought alone makes Jungkook grimace, because none of that has anything to do with you. You were just being yourself around him, like how you always were back in college, tender and kind, being so close to the rest of the guys and him, wanting to be closer to him even though he barely tried to talk to you, let alone get to know you more. It was something he had regretted, but it was easily tossed away to the side of his mind when he got accepted into medical school, leaving you and the rest behind so quickly that seeing you again…like this.

It’s making him remember everything all over again.

And it’s re-opened a link he had thought had been long closed off.

So why was he still standing there, staring into space when he can hear the cashier checking your items out one by one?

What was he even waiting for anymore?

A large hand slams against the glass door and you jolt back with wide, confused eyes, shifting between the sight of the shining door and Jungkook standing quite awkwardly in front of you. At the view of your terrified expression, he quickly clears his throat, knowing the last thing he wanted to accomplish was to scare you off somehow.

And that too, again.

“H-Hey…” He says, voice raising up into an unflattering tone when he’s already cursing at himself on the inside.

Real smooth there Jungkook, realll smooth.

“Uh…Hi?” You chuckle, now noticing the pink dust beginning to creep on his cheeks when he clears his throat again.

“Y-You-…” Calm down Jungkook, he warns to himself, “Y-You said you worked nearby.”

You nod, expectant eyes latching onto him and for a moment, he considers if perhaps he wasn’t the only one that actually wanted to stay in contact, “I-I was just thinking, that if y-you’d like, we could meet up some time, you know just like friends hanging out, o-or like….”

He can’t manage to even finish off that sentence, cheeks now completely red when he just bites his lip and stares down at the ground like it’s the most interesting thing he’s ever seen. Before he can even mumble out a string of apologies, there’s a piece of paper being flashed between the ground and his eyes, causing his head to snap up immediately.

A warm smile lines your lips and when you gesture for him to take the paper, he automatically refreshes and grasps it, realizing there was a collection of numbers scribbled down on it.

“I have to get going but…” Your eyes trace over the paper and he instinctively blushes, but you send him another smile before turning to leave.

When the door comes to a close, Jungkook remains standing there. He stares down at the piece of paper, looking at it like he had just discovered a piece of gold.

After one long heavy silence, he suddenly sparks up, a giant grin on his features as his eyes crinkle when he fists the paper in his hands.

He’s ecstatic – so incredibly happy and bursting with joy when he rushes out of the store, not even realizing that he needs to go back in to pay for his things when the cashier shoots him a dirty glare, but all he can see in that single moment is something he‘s managed to do with his own effort, actually trying for once.

He can’t wait to tell Yugyeom that he can talk to girls properly.

***

He’s legitimately freaking out.

It’s as if someone took a bucket of water and splashed it all over his fiery determination, dousing it within seconds when he comes to realize what exactly you had told him.

A date.

You had asked him – Jeon Jungkook – out on a date.

Not to hang out as friends, not to catch up on the old reminiscent days of college, but a date.

The thing two people do if they’re interested in each other romantically.

The very thing Jungkook has avoided being asked of constantly, whether it was disappearing away from impending eyes within the hospitals walls or ducking away from any advances towards him.

He’s freaking out.

And he has no clue on how he was supposed to handle something of this sort.

But he does know someone who can.

The door rattles when his fist comes into contact with it, nervous feet walking back and forth before the apartment as he tries to steady down his breathing. When there’s no response from the other side of the door, he knocks again, this time with more force as the door swings wide open, leaving Jungkook speechless as he stares at the man before him.

“Jungkook?”

“Dr.–“

He pauses, wondering if he had gotten the correct address.

“Dr. Park?”

The use of his professional name causes the doctor’s eyes to widen, hurriedly crossing his arms over the short white bathrobe he adorns. It barely covers his chest and legs, a slimy green mixture smeared all over his face.

“What? I just showered and my skin has been super dehydrated lately, okay?” Jimin exasperatedly sighs, “But what are you doing here Jungkook?”

“I needed to talk to you but you didn’t come into work today so I thought you would be home and I–“ Jimin opens the door fully, pushing Jungkook inside.

“My mask is supposed to come off in two minutes and you’re out here babbling!” Jimin protests, closing the door with a huff. “Chaeyoung, we have company!”

A familiar head pops out when Jungkook enters the living room, his eyes widening when he sees a movie on the tv paused as the intern perks up seeing him, “Jungkook! What brings you over?”

“Well I–“

“You two chat, I have one-minute left and I am definitely not spending date night with dry skin!” Jimin quickly rambles, rushing into the bathroom as Chaeyoung laughs.

She moves to the side of the couch and pats down on it, “Have a seat Jungkook.”

He nods, shifting to sit down next to her, but his shoulders are hiked up as he interlaces his hands, gaze staring at the paused tv. In comparison, Chaeyoung is spread out on the couch, lazily leaning against the edge.

“Is everything okay?”

Snapping out of his daze, he turns to see her staring at him with concerned eyes.

“Well…I actually have a date.”

Her eyes immediately beam, “A date?”

He timidly nods, not realizing there was a speck of pink spreading across his skin. Chaeyoung notices right away, smiling until a loud voice breaks through the comfortable atmosphere, a clean Park Jimin still dressed in a bathrobe emerging.

“My skin looks beautiful and my intern has a date?! What an amazing day it is today~” He immediately pounces onto Jungkook with a huge grin.

“Wait, wait!” Jungkook hurriedly protests, trying to wrench the man off of him, “That’s why I came over today! I need help!”

Jimin freezes, looking at Jungkook as if he had just sprouted some holy words to him, “You…you need my help?”

Jungkook sighs, the doctor now clinging onto him like a child with wide, cooing eyes but Chaeyoung leans over, placing a hand on Jimin’s shoulder, “I think this is his first date Jimin.”

Jimin instantly stops with a frown, “First date?” When Jungkook exhales deeply again, Jimin latches off of him completely, eyes now filling up with concern, “Jungkookie?”

Jungkook goes silent for a moment and Chaeyoung shifts her eyes over to Jimin, who takes a couple of steps back at seeing his precious intern suddenly look so distraught.

He eventually speaks up, “I…I need help, I’ve never gone on a date before and she’s someone I do like, but I–“ Jungkook stops and Chaeyoung pats his shoulder, giving him time to speak to which he greatly appreciates, “This isn’t something I find the answer in books, or get experience through working. This is so real and I-I just don’t know how to prepare…”

Jungkook buries his head within his hands and its silent again, causing Jimin to gesture something to Chaeyoung, who quietly leaves as he steps up.

“Jungkook.” He looks up and the doctor smiles at him, “We’re going to figure this out, okay? You’ve come to the right person and I am here to educate you…my precious intern.”

Jungkook actually smiles at that and Jimin instantly beams, Chaeyoung returning back with a giant whiteboard and marker in hand.

“Alright then!” Jimin grabs the marker, perching up one bare leg onto the couch, “What do you know about dates?”

“Uh…” Jungkook looks like he’s just been asked a question on an exam he didn’t study for, “They’re romantic and stuff? Like you spend time together and do cute things?” He quickly glances at Chaeyoung who gives him an encouraging nod and a thumbs up, to which Jimin grins.

“Correct!” Jimin scribbles it down onto the board, “See Jungkook! You do know about dates!”

“Not enough though.” Jungkook whines but Jimin raises a hand.

“Fear not! We have you covered!” He gestures to Chaeyoung again who leaves onto to rush in with an assortment of suits. Jungkook helplessly watches as Jimin dashes away too, returning with a bunch of his own collection of hair supplies and accessories.

“What’s all this for?”

Jimin chuckles when he notices Jungkook’s eyes widening, colour draining completely from his skin at the new material. There’s a mysterious glint residing deep within the doctor’s eyes, a look that Jungkook truthfully is terrified of. 

Jimin wraps an arm around him, “Oh Jungkookie, there is so much you have yet to learn~”

***

The room is brightly lit, a hue of warm orange splashed across the walls and a layer of vibrant pink flowers streamed along the front counter, right next to a bowl filled with round cherry candies. From a distance, there’s a violin playing, elegant music surrounding the folks that chatter behind the walls as greetings and pleasantries are exchanged.

One of the cherry candies is plucked from the bowl, a gold shine wrapped around the delicacy before its entirely ripped away and tossed carelessly to the side. The wrapper barely meets the trash can when the candy is furiously being spit out, Jungkook hurriedly wiping his sleeve when he’s left with a bitter sour taste in his mouth.

He immediately adjusts his sleeve, not wanting any sticky cherry residue clinging onto the expensive suit that he’s somehow managed to fit in. With a sigh, he rests his hand against his cheek as he leans against the counter, trying his best not to ruin his gelled hair that took hours to put together.

“Hold still!” Jimin hisses, hands covered with a musky gel that had Jungkook squirming away.

“It smells bad!” The younger man protests, but Jimin frowns when there’s barely any ounce of gel in Jungkook’s hair despite the two of them being at it for two hours.

“Jungkookie, you said you would trust me! Who is the mentor here?!”

Jungkook slumps down into the chair, pouting at Jimin, “You are…”

“Exactly!” Jimin snaps his fingers, causing some of the gel to flick onto Jungkook’s cheek as he winces, “Oh! Sorry!”

Jimin continues to coat his hair with the gel until its covered majority of Jungkook’s hair and with one rough push, his hair is slicked back to reveal his forehead. “There! Have a look for yourself Jungkook!”

He gets up and walks over to the bathroom mirror as Jimin washes his hands. To his own astonishment and disbelief, the gel serves to not only keep his hair styled, but drastically ages him into a better, more mature image.

“Wow…” He can only stand there and gape at his reflection as Jimin grins, taking the suit Chaeyoung brings him from her hands and turning to face his young intern.

“Now, try this on!”

Jungkook warily takes the suit away from Jimin’s hands, eyeing it oddly.

“Aren’t you shorter than me though?”

Jimin scoffs, “I’m not that short! Besides I usually buy suits with longer pants because its easier to tailor them afterwards!”

“Suree.” Jungkook teases, causing Jimin to pout as he chuckles, “Alright I’m putting it on!”

The suit – just as Jimin said – miraculously fits Jungkook better than he had expected. It doesn’t hang off his form nor does it render him the ability to not breathe, but fits well enough that Jimin dare say it looks better on Jungkook then it does on himself.

After a couple moments of turning and rotating, Jungkook seems satisfied but can’t help the one thought that occurs to him.

“Isn’t this a little fancy?”

Jimin smirks, “Not for where you’re going tonight.” He flips out a brochure, one that has Jungkook widening his eyes.

“A restaurant? But why?”

“It’ll be romantic! Candle lights, music, dinner!” Jimin claps his hands together, “You’ll both love it!”

“I don’t know…” Jungkook whispers, still staring at the brochure. “I don’t really go to restaurants, I don’t know how to speak or what to do, I-I…” Jimin holds up a hand, reassuring the young intern right away.

“That’s why we’re here!” Chaeyoung brings out the giant whiteboard again and Jimin smirks.

“By the time you get there, you’ll be ace gentlemen quality~”

Jungkook sighs again, eyes latching onto the image he reflects against the glass doors in the front. Although it was truly a hassle getting ready this time around, Jungkook can find it in himself to understand that Jimin was right – his gelled hair, paired with the sleek black suit and a set of silver hoops in his ears (which Jimin thankfully gave him) actually does to a lot of service to him, his features not appearing to be so boyish anymore.

He wonders if this is how he should dress for work instead.

The thought is shaken away, because today wasn’t so much about how he looked or where he was as much as it was about the two of you. Jungkook begins to contemplate if he should give you a call, but before he even has a chance to pull his cellphone out, he spots someone in a bright blue dress dashing into the restaurant.

You don’t even seem to recognize him when you get into the restaurant, too occupied with holding onto your knees as you gasp for air. When you finally do look up, Jungkook can see it in your eyes far too quickly and he silently thanks Jimin for all his troubles. 

“Woah.” You blink, narrowing your eyes until you’re squinting, “J-Jungkook?”

With a timid smile, he nods, reaching out for you to hold his hand as he gestures into the hall. “Shall we?”

Your cheeks brighten up when you take his hand and Jungkook doesn’t know if the colour appearing on you is because of the fact that you had been running just so you can make it on time, or perhaps because…of him.

Both thoughts either way bring a small quip to his smile, guiding you inside when he can feel small butterflies dancing around in the pit of his stomach.

Your mouth drops wide open when you enter the hall, string of decorative pink and purple flowers in between white lights hanging from the ceiling. You don’t realize you’ve reached your table until Jungkook lets go of you, causing you immediately to be flustered when you been gaping at the place with wide eyes.

Jungkook seems to be unaffected by this however, pulling your chair out with a sweet smile, “Thank you.”

You sit down as he nods, settling down into the seat in front of you. Picking up the menu’s, your eyes begin to scan through all the dishes when Jungkook watches you from the corner of his, a relieved smile on his lips when everything seems to be falling into place and dare he even say, Jimin’s help actually did do more wonders then he would have imagined.

Part of it has to do with you as well too, Jungkook notes. He was extremely reluctant on asking to even come to a place like this, wondering to himself continuously if he was crossing the line too much, or even worse, practically jumping over that line in a rush. After listening to Jimin plead with him over and over again, he finally gave in, asking you to come to the specific restaurant and to dress formally for the occasion.

You don’t seem to have barely missed a beat just like him, adorned in a sleeveless soft blue dress that frills out at your knees, paired with your hair in an updo, light curls dropping down to the side of your cheeks. In a way, it makes Jungkook smile, being seated next to each other in such a luxurious place and dressed so lavishly, yet you still look so faintly similar to how you did in college.

“You look very nice.” Jungkook blurts it out without even realizing and his eyes immediately widen – but then you give him a kind smile in return and he recalls Jimin telling him that complimenting what you were wearing was a must for an date.

You tuck a stand of hair away, his eyes following along with the gesture, “Thanks, so do you.”

He sends you a similar smile, the atmosphere morphing into a warm and comfortable one. Truthfully, Jungkook is completely shocked at the moment. He had conjured up much more atrocious scenario’s in his mind prior to the date, things that could have gone wrong, things that could have messed things up for the far worse. It caused him to constantly pester Jimin and Chaeyoung with worries, questioning everything they did and everything he should do on the day of.

It was extremely exhaustive, but sitting with you here, seeing how you look at him, it makes him feel as if things will be alright, like there wasn’t anything he should be worried about.

You frown for a moment, enlarging your eyes as you concentrate on the menu and the act makes Jungkook smile amusedly, noticing that your expression come off as rather cute when you’re serious.

“Everything alright?”

Looking up, you nod, “I think so? Just having trouble with some of the food names.”

He slides his eyes back to the menu, suddenly realizing he had been so preoccupied with his thoughts that he hadn’t taken a proper moment to look at it. “Let me see if I can help.”

As Jungkook begins to point out things Jimin had explained to him on the menu, you tentatively listen along and follow his direction. Both of you are greatly busy with the process though, failing to realize the other people present at the restaurant, namely one table that seems to be a tad bit crowded and louder in comparison.

“Look, look he’s talking to her!”

There’s a loud wail suddenly, sobbing sounds coming from the table when a collective reign of voices interject immediately. One of the waiters raises a brow at the commotion, simply thinking that the guests were getting agitated from not being served.

“Are you ready to order?” He questions, notepad in hand.

“Of course, can I have one of everything on the menu?” A man with parted pink hair speaks, eyes attentively on the waiter who seems to only blink on the request. The man picks up the menu again, pointing to it, “The price doesn’t matter, even better if it can come with a bottle of win-“

A hand knocks the menu out of his hands, long curly blonde hair tied back into a ponytail as he bursts out dramatically laughing, “You’re so funny!! HAHAHAHA~���

The blue-haired girl sitting next to him smiles to the waiter, “We’ll just take water for now.”

He nods, eyebrow still raising at the particular table, but shrugging off as he walks. The blonde man instantly leans over, glaring at the pink haired individual with a hiss.

“Are you trying to make me go broke?!” 

“What?? You said you were paying tonight!”

“Yeah so order something that’s not going to make my wallet cry!”

The pink haired man frowns, staring at the menu with a sigh, “You’re no fun Park.”

“He really isn’t.”

Before Jimin can even protest, a group of three people sits down next to them, all three of them having the same long black hair. Jimin tries to stifle back a laugh when they sit down, but it comes bursting out after he restrains himself for too long.

“You can keep laughing, at least I don’t look like someone dunked a bowl of ramen on my head.” Yoongi mumbles, eyes latching onto two very specific people as he turns to Chaeyoung, “Everything going alright?”

She nods, “They seem to be comfortable with each other.”

“Good.” Yoongi sighs, smiling gratefully when Hoseok hands him a napkin. “Out of all of Jimin’s bright ideas, I’d have to say this is possibly the worst one.”

 “It’s brilliant!” Jimin exclaims, protesting right away, “And he’s our baby! We have to protect him!”

“He’s an adult.” Yoongi retorts, causing Jimin to pout but Chaeyoung leans forward.

“I know it seems a little invasive but Jimin’s just been worried, that’s all.” Jimin smiles at her yet Namjoon sighs.

“I don’t know, I’m with Yoongi on this one.” Namjoon gestures over to you two, “They seem to be doing fine without us as well.”

“Then we can all just hang out today! Plus I’m paying~” Jimin giggles, although the words bring a sparkle to Jin’s eyes that he really doesn’t want to see, “But no making me broke!”

Jin mumbles something underneath his breath that sounds like “invites us all over here but doesn’t even give us the full treatment” but Jimin lets it slide, eyes constantly darting over to you and Jungkook.

You two on the other hand, have already ordered and talk as you wait, seemingly answering a list of questions Jungkook had been given prior to meeting you.

“Did you write all of this down or something?” You lightly laugh, not expecting him to compliment you so many times nor to be so curious about your job, which truthfully you find to be incredibly boring. “I just do taxes and bookkeeping, it’s really not that great.”

From the opposite side, Jungkook seems to be flustered, losing bits of his confidence when he lowers his long-sleeved wrist underneath the table, “I’m sure it’s great and that you work hard! Did I mention your hair looks great tonight?”

“Yes, many times.” You chuckle, not quite understanding what was going on but shrugging it off as simple nervousness. After all you felt the same way, being in front of him like this, after so many years had soared away at the speed of light.

You wonder if Jungkook sees the fall in your expression, because his eyes are instantly tracing all over your features before you speak, “You bumped into Yugyeom, right? At your hospital?”

Jungkook nods, “He had fainted from a concussion.”

“Oh.”

He shakes his head, “It wasn’t too serious, but I don’t think Bambam’s going to survive to tell the tale.”

Your eyes light up, “You met Bambam?”

“Ah no– Yugyeom told me about him and the others.”

“I see…” You grow silent and Jungkook shifts in his seat, his hands starting to become clammy by the minute.

He doesn’t understand; he was prepared, listening to every word that Jimin’s slipped out prior to meeting you and so far everything that doctor had told him has seemed to work, until now, especially when he notices your gaze fixated on the table.

“I-I heard Mingyu got married.” He quickly blurts out, watching your eyes sparkle for a split second, “And that Jaehyun’s moved recently for work.”

You smile, although it doesn’t quite meet your eyes, “The last time I saw Jaehyun, he stopped by my apartment to stay goodbye. I was also at Mingyu’s wedding.”

“You went?”

“Of course.” Your smile falters, “He got married to my sister.”

“O-Oh.” Now Jungkook turns quiet, mind suddenly wracking around for the memory of you telling him you had a sister. “I…I didn’t know.”

“We sent you an invitation.” Your gaze is not even on him anymore, staring at your fidgeting hands instead, “I wanted to introduce her to everyone…including you.”

Jungkook is at a loss of words, staring at you hopelessly with wide eyes. In the spur of the moment, he tries to fathom up an answer, not even taking a single glance at his sleeve when he does so, “Y/N I-“

“Your meal is here~” A voice immediately injects him and before he knows it, plates and plates of food are soon flourishing onto the table. Jungkook raises an eyebrow, being fully aware that the two of you did not order this much food, but when he turns to the waiter with questions tumbling on his lips, he go silent completely.

The waiter has long curly blonde hair, pulled back into a ponytail as he smirks at Jungkook. He tugs himself closer to Jungkook, wrapping an arm around the younger individual.

“My oh my! What a dashing young man!” Jimin stares at your surprised eyes and loudly cries out, “They don’t make such men anymore, do they?!”

He begins to sob onto Jungkook’s shirt, leaving him in an uncomfortable situation when the man’s weight is beginning to crease his suit, as well as spur more confusion in your eyes. Luckily for Jungkook though, a set of four arms are plucking the pouty doctor off of him, giving the former a dirty glare before one of them taps his arm.

“I hope you are alright Sir.” Jungkook nods and Namjoon smiles at him, long black hair swishing when he turns to you. “I hope you can excuse my colleague’s outburst, he seems to be having a hard time at work today.”

You politely smile, “No, no, it’s okay. I hope he’s alright though.”

“He’ll be fine. If he isn’t, I’ll make sure he’ll pay for all the damages he’s causing by working overtime for two people’s shifts instead of one.” The second man eyes Jungkook with a smug grin, before Namjoon turns and seeks his arm.

“We’ll be leaving now, please enjoy the rest of your night.” You nod and when you look away, Namjoon and Yoongi shoot him a thumbs up, hurriedly walking away with a protesting Jimin.

Jungkook smiles, but then his thoughts re-focus and he realizes that prior to the intrusion, you had been discussing something that had his stomach churning, his heart suddenly feeling heavy. Though the thoughts die out once again when he notices you fully concentrating on the food, barely meeting his gaze with only occasional polite glances.

He loses all of his appetite suddenly, plucking at the food with his fork and sighing when the clock’s handles seem to have silenced down. In comparison to the commotion just occurring moments ago, its dead silent and he doesn’t know how much of it he can take.

You raise your head, a cluster of coughs leaving you as Jungkook’s eyes widen.

“Are you okay?”

You nod, circling around your throat for a moment, “This is really spicy.”

“Let me get you some water.” He instantly stands up, walking over to one of the waiters when you’re just about to tell him it was okay. Your hand drops, deeply exhaling as you shrink back into your seat.

From a distance away, there’s a pair of giant binoculars glued to your every move, a voice already beginning to whine, “She doesn’t like the food!” He passes them to the blue-haired girl sitting next to him, “He needs help, I’m going to go back and–“

An arm keeps him firmly in place, “You are going to sit here and do nothing. If there’s a problem, then Jungkook can take of it.”

“That’s so unfair though!!”

“Listen to Yoongi, Jimin. You’ve caused enough trouble already.” The man with the pink hair remarks, cheek stuffed with an abundance of food he’s thankfully not paying for.

Namjoon hums, crossing his arms as he sits down, “I agree, for now let’s just trust that Jungkook can handle this one on his own.”

“Um guys….” A voice peeks out from the heated conversation, all heads turning towards her, “We might have another situation here.”

“What is it?” Hoseok hurriedly asks, putting on Jimin’s giant binoculars, “Oh no…”

“What?” Jimin’s head whips back and forth, “What is it? What is it?”

 “Jungkook just tripped and split a jug of water on her.”

A unison of multiple voices break out, “WHAT?!?”

“This is bad.” Jin repeats, forgetting the plate of food in front of him entirely, “This is really really bad.”

Jimin slips away before anyone even notices, dashing over to the pair swiftly. He notices a piece of cloth tucked away on your lap as your eyes dart around frantically, but to his own dismay, his young intern is no where to be found.

“The kind gentleman that was here, where is he now?” Jimin questions, quickly acting like a waiter. When you point to the men’s room, Jimin frowns, but he simply nods and sprints over, leg kicking the door open as he barges in.

“JUNGKOOK!” He doesn’t even need to look around much when his eyes land on the man’s features, currently staring down at the sink. Jimin wonders why he was even there, having split all that water on you and now making you wait by doing nothing in the bathroom.

“Jungkook, what–“ The words are immediately swallowed away when Jimin notices Jungkook’s tightened grip on the counter. He brings a hand to the man’s tense back, patting down on it, “What happened Jungkookie?”

Jimin’s voice is quiet and soft, drastically different to what he sounded like just moments ago, but Jungkook shakes his head, appearing as if he was ready to hurl at any second. “I-I can’t do this…”

“Jungkook she’s still out there waiting for you, it’s okay.”

He shakes his head harshly, “Nothing’s okay anymore and to top it all off, I had to spill water on her!”

“Go back Jungkook.” Jimin urges, Jungkook turning to him like he was merely sprouting out nonsense at this point, “I don’t know what exactly happened, but the intern I so know doesn’t give up no matter what the challenge. He’s a fighter and I’ll even admit he looks a lot better in my own suit that I ever did.”

Jungkook quips a small smile at that and Jimin grins, “Now get out there, will you?”

He takes a deep exhale and Jimin reaches out to adjust his intern’s tousled collar.

“Alright.” He takes a step back and Jimin nods satisfied.

But when Jungkook eventually does come out, he immediately turns to Jimin with frightened eyes.

“She’s gone.”

“What?!” Jimin scans around, seeing indeed you were – the table the two of you once occupied left empty and now being vacated for new customers.

Jungkook groans, fisting his hair that he doesn’t care about ruining anymore, “I’ve ruined everything!” He sinks down onto his knees, burying his head into his hands, “Tonight was supposed to be perfect, but I’ve ruined it!”

Jimin is at a loss of words, looking down at his intern with sympathetic eyes when he doesn’t know what to say anymore. He was incredibly hopeful – Jungkook appeared dashing within his suit and the evening had been going so well whenever he checked in.

He had enough faith about you too, having a good feeling of you staying despite the chaotic waterfall that had ensured, but it seems like he was unfortunately wrong this time.

Not left with many options when he sees his intern so distraught, he signals the crowd of concerned and confused eyes latching onto him to call a cab. Placing a hand on Jungkook’s shoulder, they leave the restaurant immediately and Jimin sighs when he wishes that things could have gotten better than this.

***

The day is filled with taxing amounts of papers that need to be filed, Jungkook marking each one with patient details as he swipes his signature on other documents. Aside from the lengthy procedure he does, the doctor hasn’t stepped out of his office for a split second through the day – something the three doctors huddled quietly outside notice.

“I’ve never seen him like this.” Jimin whispers and Jin hums, sharing the same look as him.

“Should I ask him to help me with my wards? It’ll get him out of there for a while.”

Chaeyoung shakes her head at the thought, “I don’t think what he needs right now is more work.”

“Then what does he need?” Jimin says, racking a hand through his hair roughly as he darts his eyes between the two.

“Still glued to your old intern, Dr. Park?”

Jimin pauses, a new voice suddenly entering the confines of the hospital, paired with a familiar set of footsteps he swears he hasn’t heard in an eternity. The last thing he expects when he turns, is to see you standing next to Yoongi dressed in a white coat and holding a clipboard, smirking with crossed arms.

It’s only when Yoongi chuckles at his surprised expression that everything hits like a slap, and suddenly there’s three doctors flinging themselves onto you.

“Y/N!!”

The clipboard is completely knocked out of your hands by the tsunami of people, but simply retort with a light laugh.

“You guys missed me that much?”

No one responds, clinging onto you as you dart a look to Yoongi, who just smiles amusedly at your expression.

“They really did miss you,” He pats your shoulder, voice lowering, “and so did I. Welcome back Dr. L/N.”

Once everyone separates, you hand Chaeyoung a tissue when tears begin to stream down her eyes and she gratefully accepts. Jin meanwhile is in awe, having not encountered his former doctor counterpart in far too long.

You smile fondly, “So it’s the new Dr. Kim now?”

Jin, despite the sheer amount of confidence he usually radiates, nods shyly, “Nothing like the past Dr. Kim though.”

You snort at that and turn to the last doctor, who’s looking at you with such puppy like eyes that has you quirking an eyebrow. With a sigh, you open up your arms again and he’s tackling you into another hug once more.

“What took you so long?!” Jimin wails and Yoongi mumbles for him to be quiet for nearby patients.

“I was on vacation with my fiancée, it wasn’t going to just take me a day.” You mumble, but the words cause everyone’s attention to spike up.

“Fiancée?!”

“Is it true Dr. L/N?” Chaeyoung hurriedly questions, eyes bright with excitement, “You and Dr. Kim…?”

You flash her the diamond ring sitting on your third finger and she immediately squeals, clapping her hands. Jimin’s interest is peaked as well when he lets you go and examines the jewelry sitting delicately on your hand.

“Does that mean you and Taehyung made it to fourth bas-“

You glare at him, “Park Jimin, I swear if you even finish that sentence.”

Jimin pouts and you heavily sigh, eyes darting around, “Where’s Jungkook?”

Everyone goes immediately silent, causing you to raise an eyebrow.

“W-Well you see…” Chaeyoung begins, recognizing the guilty expression Jimin holds right away, “Things haven’t going so great for him lately a-and…”

You raise your hand instantly for her to stop, “I know, I came early because someone informed me about what was going on.”

Jimin’s eyes widen and that’s when Namjoon steps forward, softly smiling.

“Everything is a lot more balanced when you have extra hands helping out.” He says and you share a look with him, causing Jimin to look back and forth abruptly.

“But about J-Jungkook, Y/N I-“

“Don’t worry about it,” You smile knowingly, “I’ve already sent someone over to check on him.”

***

There’s a small knock against the door of Jungkook’s office and he exhales, letting his pen roll onto his papers when he glances around.

It looks bad – mugs of banana milk scattered all over the place, something Jungkook doesn’t even drink at work if he doesn’t really need it. There are papers lying around astray and there’s barely any light seeping in, all his windows firmly shut.

He supposes it could be worse and then glances back at the door, thinking that perhaps his fellow doctors were getting concerned about him and that he should reassure them.

“Come in.” He says with a heavy sigh, eyes blinking against the strain of using such poor lighting conditions.

However his eyes blow up completely when the door quietly closes, a familiar man wearing a pair of glasses and a doctor’s coat, taking long strides into the room before he sits down on the chair in the corner, facing Jungkook. He grins, eyes taking in the man’s features after not seeing him when he acquired his new title.

“Nice to see you could make some time for me, Dr. Jeon.”

“D-Dr. Kim?” Jungkook immediately stutters, papers long forgotten when he can’t believe the sight before him, “How…?”

“Namjoon.” Taehyung states, leaning back in his chair as he crosses his legs, “Y/N and I were called back when he felt things were getting too hectic around here. Luckily the two of us were planning on coming back soon anyways.”

“Oh…I see…”

“Enough about me though.” Taehyung cuts to the chase right away, “What’s been going on with you lately?”

Jungkook’s skin instantly flushes, not realizing that the doctor had to come to his office with a whole other intent instead, “I-It’s just personal stuff, I saw one of my old college friends which lead to me running into another college friend and then I was asked out on a date…”

Jungkook doesn’t realize he’s rambling until Taehyung hums, a finger pressed to his lips as he attentively listens. It only occurs to Jungkook at the point too, that so much had happened within the time the two doctors had been gone and he really doesn’t want to rewind so far back when he knows what the accumulation of events had lead up to.

“So this girl…” Taehyung starts off, “Why do you suddenly want to reconnect with her?”

“Because I’ve been out of touch from a lot things since college…” Jungkook sighs, “Since I became this…”

“It isn’t easy. I hope you know that.”

“I do but…before I didn’t want to do anything, I just wanted to focus on becoming a doctor, but now,” Jungkook shakes his head.

“It’s all I have left…”

“You pushed yourself too hard to get here and now you regret doing it.”

Jungkook hums, “And this girl? Is there something you regret with her too?”

“A-Ah yeah…” Jungkook becomes flustered again, scratching his neck, “I regret not getting to know her more, even when I knew she wanted to get to know me.”

He sighs, like he was recalling a handful of bad memories, “I just don’t know if she’s willing to give me another chance after everything…”

“Explain it all to her.” Taehyung says, causing Jungkook to look up in surprise, “If there’s something that’s gone wrong or you regret something you’ve done in the past, then the best way to just explain to the person what happened.”

“B-But I can’t, after what happened at the d-date, I-“

“Jungkook.” Taehyung stops him, “Didn’t you just explain to me what you think went wrong? So why is it so hard to explain the same thing to her, who I can assume would really appreciate hearing the answer more compared to someone like me.”

Jungkook frowns at the words, but it seems to make sense of the catastrophic scramble of thoughts he was having. When he makes eye contact, Taehyung smiles at him, saying something Jungkook would had never expected the stern Dr. Kim to ever say to anyone.

“The past is a hard indicator to get over, but it’s something you need to confront before you can even think of a brighter future.”

Jungkook nods, appreciating that the doctor was able to help make sense of what was ensuring inside his head so calmly, something Jungkook had barely managed to do in the past at all.

“Thank you, Dr. Kim.”

Taehyung approvingly nods, straightening up his glasses as he gets up from the chair, “Anytime.”

But the simple action causes Jungkook’s brow to furrow, a particular sparkle flashing by when the doctor touches his frame.

“Is that a ring on your finger?” He blurts it out and widens his eyes, wondering if that came off as being rude or invasive, but suddenly the doctor’s gaze is glued to the ground, a tint of red beginning to emerge on his skin.

Jungkook smiles, wondering to himself if he’d ever thought he would see the day he’d catch the Dr. Kim flustered by the mere mention of a ring.

***

Just explain everything to her, just like you did with Dr. Kim.

Jungkook quickly locks up his office door, play backing the words in his mind so they don’t escape him in the moment. As he leaves, he notices the faint pitter patter of rain outside and he sighs when he doesn’t have anything but his doctor’s coat to cover himself.

The white cloth covers his head when he slips out of the hospital, rain beginning to fall down at the speed of bullets against the ground. He frowns when his coat is instantly drenched, rain making its way down to his hair before he even knows.

Bright yellow clouds his vision immediately, away from the hazardous rain now pouring down. He whips his head around in confusion, only to see you standing underneath the umbrella with him.

“Hi.” You say softly, but Jungkook can even hear even against the splintering rain. He notices you’re only wearing a thin rose cardigan, the top of it thoroughly soaked.

Following his line of sight, you quickly mumble, “I-I didn’t know when you finished work…”

As if on instinct, Jungkook reaches out and faintly touches your cheek with the back of his hand, an alarming icy temperature greeting him back. He drops his hand right away when he notices the surprise on your expression, realizing that the innate doctor reflexes kicked in too soon for him.

“S-Sorry…”

“No, no, it’s fine.” You shake your head, staring at the ground as you bite down on your lip. It’s still pouring around you at a rapid speed, but it’s the only thing being acknowledged when the two of you stay quiet.

Before you know it, the umbrella loosens from your grip, being raised up higher, “Do you want to come inside? It’s getting even colder out here.”

“Oh I–….“ You trail off immediately, words dying down.

But Jungkook wasn’t going to let you stay quiet, “What is it?”

“I was j-just thinking…we could go somewhere else? Away from the hospital?”

Jungkook’s eyes widen, noticing that you hadn’t entered not only because you didn’t want to intrude, but you felt like it wasn’t even your place to do so.

“Of course.” He starts walking, hand against your back and words gentle, “Away from the hospital.”

You end up walking for quite a while and after Jungkook constantly insisting, you eventually give in and let him drape his now semi-dry coat over your shoulders. It’s incredibly warm in comparison to your skin and you’re grateful after he gives it to you, knowing that the coat held much more significance to him than it does to you.

When Jungkook finds a nearby shop to take refugee under, you quickly follow after him. Although the shop itself is closed due to the late hours, there’s heat coming out from nearby vents that you definitely indulge in.

“At the restaurant–“ Jungkook stops, pausing to correct himself, “On our date, why…why did you leave?”

He wanted to ask you directly but there’s a slip of sadness by him that he couldn’t hold back and he knows you can hear it when you look at him startled.

“I left to dry myself off.” You quickly say, “But then you didn’t come back for so long and the waiters asked me if they could clear the table so I let them. I–…”

A low sigh escapes out from you.

“I-I actually wasn’t expecting you to come back.”

You stare down at the ground as all Jungkook can do is just stare at you, wondering how it had gotten so bad to the point that you didn’t even think he would come back.

Just explain it to her.

“I shouldn’t have left like that.” He turns to you fully, staring at you with the same serious eyes he takes with his work. “And I’m not just talking about the date.”

You look up and blink, eyes widening but Jungkook continues, “I’d like to say that I didn’t know, but I did and I was just…scared.”

“Of what?” You instinctively ask and for a moment, everything disappears. You’re not in the middle of nowhere outside as it pours down like crazy, talking to a doctor after his shift at the hospital. Instead, you’re back in the large expanse of a field, a younger Jungkook staring out at one of the college buildings as you fidget around with the palms of your hands.

Jungkook sighs and you wonder if he’s thought about this before coming here with you today. It leaves you with a spark of hope, something that blossoms in you after far too long.

“I knew what my job was going to be like and what I had ended up choosing wasn’t going to leave me with any time to see you guys again. In a way, I knew I had to leave all of you…”

Jungkook leans forward, eyes more sincere than ever, “So I packed my bags and headed off to Seoul…without saying goodbye…”

Despite being covered by the shop, drops of water fall on ground in the space between the two of you. “I should have been there, at Mingyu’s wedding, when Jaehyun was leaving, when–“

He’s nearly breathless at this point, chest heaving, “When you said you liked me.”

Your breath hitches at the mere mention and for a moment you could have sworn that your heart rate dropped. Suddenly you’re being enveloped by two warm arms and the gesture only causes more water to spill out from your eyes.

 “Don’t cry…”

 “You can’t expect me to not cry after you say all that.” You chuckle, sniffling a bit as you swipe away some of the tears with your fingertips, “I just wasn’t expecting you to be so upfront with me.”

Jungkook smiles, relieved on the inside that he was able to tell you exactly what he wanted to, “Well you could say a wise man told me that if you’ve felt like you’ve done something wrong and regret it, then it’s best to just be upfront with the person and let them know too.”

You separate from him, “Sounds like a really wise man.”

“He is.”

You share a smile and from a distance away, the rain has finally slowly down, no longer hitting the ground viciously but instead, calmly pooling down. The bright yellow umbrella is held over your head as you walk away from the shop, but it isn’t the only thing that keeps you next to each other’s side.

His fingers are looped within your own the entire way.

***

There are faint sounds in the background, orders being taken swiftly to decrease the growing line that heads outside of the building. A delectable frozen treat sits in front of you, paired off with drizzling chocolate and sprinkles that only has your mouth watering. When you take your spoon and have a mouthful, you can only smile at how it instantly melts and isn’t too sweet or overbearing, but just the right taste.

However, as you take small bites of your treat, the man sitting across from you seems to be having his own struggles.

“Do you need some help with that?”

“Huh?” Jungkook blinks, dressed in a black shirt that’s now splattered with specks of white as he leans over the table, attempting to saw the giant sundae he ordered in half with the back of a spoon.

You laugh, small giggles continuing erupting from you as you walk over with your own spoon, “Here.”

With one huff, both of you plunge your spoons in and there’s a burst of ice cream everywhere, now coating your similar coloured shirt in the process as well.

“Why is this so hard?” Jungkook asks, repeating stabbing the ice cream that refuses to be broken down with barely a splash of liquid reappearing. He slumps down into the booth, crossing his arms as he pouts.

You smile when he looks so similar to a child, but then you slide over the half-eaten ice cream you were just having seconds ago. “Take some of mine.”

His eyes immediately widen and you realize you’ve just implied for the two of you to share ice cream together, so you quickly retract, “I-If you don’t want to, it’s okay!”

He shakes his head, taking his spoon and scooping some out right away. You laugh when you see him eagerly eat it, knowing he’s been watching you eat your own ice cream for an hour as he tossed around with his.

Glancing around, you take in the bright decorations of the shop, multiple people enjoying their ice cream as you and Jungkook sit across from each other. There’s no fancy violin playing in the background, there’s no extravagance to the food or the waiters and most importantly, there seems to be no concrete wall settled in between you.

“This was a good place to pick.” You remark, smiling when you turn to a Jungkook staring at you with a load of ice cream in his mouth, “For a ‘do over’ date.”

He quickly swallows, humming, “I wanted to go somewhere that I picked and without all the interruptions.”

“What do you mean?” You ask, taking a scoop of ice cream yourself.

“Uhh so…” Jungkook bites down on his lip, “I was so nervous for our date that I asked my mentor at my hospital for help, so he dressed me up and picked the restaurant and later in the evening disguised himself and the rest of our staff with horrible looking wigs. He also gave me a script to work around with that I wrote down on my wrist.”

You pound a hand against your chest when a chain of coughs leaves you and Jungkook instantly hands you a napkin. Blinking abruptly, Jungkook doesn’t know if he’s ever seen you look so surprised, “You– wait what?!”

You shake your head, confusion still apparent on your features until you frown, “It makes sense.”

“Really?”

Coming more to terms, you nod, “You seemed off that day, almost like you weren’t yourself. I thought it was because I didn’t see you in so long, so it does make sense.” 

Jungkook looks surprised, “I didn’t think it was that obvious.”

“It was.” You hum, “You’re definitely a lot more than what you were showing off to be, but I’m just glad you’re willing to try now.”

“O-Oh…”

You glance up from the ice cream to see him completely taken off guard by your words and suddenly there’s a scatter of red on his cheeks which causes you to giggle.

“You still get shy too?” You tease, laughing when he tries to hide himself underneath the table, not wanting you to see him be so flustered.

Your laughter echoes when Jungkook attempts to steal the ice cream away from you, covering his face so you don’t look at him. The camera begins to pan out and outside the shop, unknown to the two individuals sitting comfortably with each other, there’s a young man caught up in hysteria and blowing his nose.

“H-He’s all grown up!” He cries out, “My Jungkookie is all grown up!”

“He was grown up since day one.” Another low voice mumbles, sighing when the man starts to create a mess of his tears.

“Maybe it’s time his mentor grew up too.”

You stifle a laugh against the bush when the man looks completely offended, placing a hand on his chest as if he’s just been betrayed.

“Tae Tae how could say such a thing?!”

The man with the framed glasses snorts, occupying himself with blowing a dandelion instead when you smirk at him.

“Tae Tae?” You playfully whisper and he groans.

“Don’t even ask.” He gets up, stretching his legs out as he reaches for your hand and pulls you up.

“What? Not going to even help me up?” The blonde man scoffs and you roll your eyes, reaching out so that he can hold onto your hand. “Now that’s all settled, anyone want to grab lunch?”

You hum, but notice that there’s a certain someone still glued to the floor, watching eagerly with his giant binoculars.

“Jimin, come on.” You tug him up with Yoongi’s help, “Let’s give them some privacy.”

“B-But…”

“If you come with us, drinks will be on me.” Taehyung says, catching you all with surprise when the younger man instantly lights up, racing forward.

“What are we waiting for then?!”

You chuckle, glancing at Taehyung, “Nice one.”

He smiles knowingly at you and before leaving, spares a gaze at the once young intern. Before you can follow after Jimin and Yoongi, who are bantering as Jimin clings onto the blonde doctor, a hand stops you.

Taehyung tilts his head, eyes serious, “Those two, what do you think?”

“What do I think?” He nods and you watch them with him, seeing you letting out giggles as Jungkook keeps trying to hide his face, “I think they’ll be alright, they’ve put the past behind them and are starting to walk towards a brighter future.”

You smile and Taehyung reaches out for your hand, the sun’s rays causing a similar sparkle on your both of your hands. Resting your head on his shoulder, you slowly walk behind the excited black-haired doctor and his content blonde-haired friend.

[barrybluejeansandbestjeanist]

Notes on the Artemis Fowl movie by yours truly.

Bear in mind I wrote these while watching the movie. There’s a lot of them.

1. If you think the police and/or reporters would ever be anywhere near fowl manor you’re wrong.

2. Mulch isn’t bad so far but he’d never be caught by police. 

3. Is our first introduction to Artemis him running? I think not thank you very much. 

4. Plus it looks like he’s going to do some water sport. Also wrong.

5. Surfing!!??!!?

6. Artemis doesn’t have even close to the coordination to do that.

7. I don’t even think he knows how to swim. 

8. He doesn’t love Ireland.

9. Of course he doesn’t love school! Have you seen his teachers’ remarks on him? They aren’t nice.

10. It was a boys-only school but that’s definitely one of the smaller offenses.

11. He did do the chess thing if I recall correctly.

12. Same for the opera house.

13. He didn’t clone a goat or name anything Bruce.

14. Unusual is an understatement. 

15. Dr. Po?!

16. Fake chair! Yeah!

17. That exchange from the Arctic incident wasn’t a bad choice to include. Too early though I think. We’ll see how the rest of the movie goes. 

18. He’s got blue eyes. At least there’s that.

19. He doesn’t have a biography!

20. His mom isn’t dead! Disney is just scared of showing mental illness.

21. If you think Angelina Fowl can’t control Artemis you’re wrong. She calls him Arty for god’s sake. He loves his mom.

22. Mysterious absences my ass. He’s the one that should be presumed dead.

23. “This is a sensitive area doctor” sure.

24. Fake chair ftw. 

25. The burden of his father’s name?! He’s proud of that name.

26. This scene wasn’t so bad. We’ll see how the rest of the movie fairs.

27. Who does he think he is? He Artemis freaking Fowl!

28. Skateboarding! I’m about to have an aneurysm.

29. Also, why is he wearing jeans? Get this man a suit!

30. He did not like being at home with his dad. Not in the first book anyway. His parent being out of the way allowed him to do what he did.

31. His dad’s actor looks good for the part.

32. His father is a criminal. World-famous. He did not just deal with antiques and rarities.

33. His dad also didn’t care for fairytales.

34. Music’s nice I guess. 

35. Why is arty wearing a hoodie?! He would never!

36. Artemis was not taught about fairies. He discovered them himself with basically no help.

37. So much physical contact between Artemis sr. and jr. No.

38. His dad did not believe in any such legends.

39. They shared only a passion for crime and that didn’t even last.

40. He wasn’t determined about any such thing. See point 36.

41. He wasn’t preparing Artemis for anything like that.

42. Fairy stones? What are those?

43. There was no peace made between humans and fairies.

44. Tuatha De Danaan? What is that?

45. Artemis would want to get to the point I guess.

46. His work was not coming to an end. What is going on? Can we meet Holly soon?

47. I’m ten minutes in and suffering.

48. Artemis wasn’t really one to smile unless things were going his way.

49. You are a child! You are still a kid! You’re like a literal baby still!

50. The whole point of him being 12 in the books was that he could still believe in magic as well as science. Wtf is going on?

51. I do know the Hill of Tara.

52. I take issue with “all I really want is to believe in you” but I don’t have time to get into it here.

53. He’s still wearing a hoodie. >:(

54. Hugging his dad. No.

55. I will accept the helicopter on the front lawn if only because it seems one thing that could’ve happened in the books. 

56. Where are the Butlers? Why are neither of the fowls being guarded? I need more Juliet and Butler in this movie NOW.

57. And Holly.

58. Pretty sure they don’t have a lighthouse. Also, pretty sure fowl manor wasn’t next to the ocean.

59. Might’ve been near a Forrest. I don’t quite remember.

60. Legos?! LEGOS?!??!!

61. Also, star wars? I don’t think Artemis has ever seen a sci-fi movie. He’s too busy making them a reality.

62. Artemis would also not sleep with a book.

63. Why did Butler’s name in the subtitles appear as Domovoi? You know there’s a whole thing about his name and why Arty doesn’t know it right?

64. So his dad disappeared. Not bad. A little late but okay.

65. Everyone has already aired their grievances about Butlers actor so I shall refrain from doing so as well. I’ll just say one word and leave it at that. Eurasian.

66. Also, fowl manor doesn’t look bad. I can accept this house.

67. No no no. No one should be calling him Domovoi. Only Butler.

68. Also, that isn’t the training he had.

69. He is the butler though? I mean. Only sort of but like. ???

70. No. You could not call him Dom or Domovoi. 

71. Very large man in a suit is slightly acceptable.

72. He could totally snap you in half but not without good reason. Come on, guys. He’s a nice guy. Scary, but nice.

73. Like, the dude cooks and gardens and whatnot. How is that not nice?

74. Also, I’m still hung up on the goat thing. Like I don’t deny that he could clone a goat but why on earth would he name it Bruce. Is it a Batman reference or something? I don’t understand this movie.

75. World wide manhunt? Pardon my doubt.

76. Superyacht? Owl star?

77. I get it. It’s a stupid pun.

78. I guess the South China Sea is close enough to Russia.

79. Again. Not an antiquities dealer.

80. Robberies? He ran a criminal empire!

81. Not sure how one would go about stealing the Rosetta Stone or why but sure.

82. I’ve never even heard of Boru’s Harp.

83. Nor the book of kells.

84. Why are you calling Butler Dom???

85. Yes! He is a criminal mastermind! Thank you for slightly acknowledging that!

86. Also, Artemis is not that rash.

87. He’s your dad and a criminal.

88. Why must Disney do this to my boy? He was an incredible character, smart, cunning, and a criminal and now he’s just a sort of smart kid. Lame.

89. I swear if this “raspy voice” is opal I will be so disappointed.

90. What is this? Artemis is supposed to be kidnapping fairies, not the other way around!

91. What is this Aculos and why should I care about it?

92. Also, why isn’t it Christmas? You could at least set it in winter. For crying out loud.

93. That isn’t word for word Artemis. I know you can remember it exactly.

94. I’m starting to think Orion is better than this fool.

95. Why is he wearing a hoodie?!??!???!

96. Just going to have a secret basement full of whatever secret stuff shoved in there because of course.

97. Also. As if butler would know about any of this.

98. Bunch of bottles of water. Okay.

99. ‘Cause Artemis Sr. totally knew about the fairies. 

100. This is a stupid basement.

101. I’m so done with this.

102. Ah yes! An important journal! Predictable.

103. Stupid poem. Stupid way of finding the journal.

104. That was opal I see. I’m dying.

105. Beechwood. Isn’t that guy related to Holly or something? Also, not from the books.

106. Yes, Arty fairies exist. Surprising no one.

107. I like how they made the city look I suppose. And they kept the name the same. Of course, it must be noted that not all fairies live in haven. There are other cities.

108. Why is holly a baby? She shouldn’t look like a child. Also, tons of people have already spoken on holly’s appearance as well so I won’t say anymore.

109. Koboi mentioned. It was totally opal.

110. The fairies don’t look bad either. Though I don’t know if the little things are supposed to be goblins or what?

111. I guess not. These goblins also seem way too smart.

112. “You and I would make a great team” foreshadowing.

113. I do think mulch being taller is kinda funny.

114. Briar Cudgeon looks about how I expected. Do you think he’ll get his face melted?

115. Opal and Cudgeon working together. Unsurprising if a bit early.

116. You spy or you die. The CIA’s motto.

117. L.E.P. Recon. Nice.

118. I’m also not going to address the changing of roots gender and the fact that Holly is supposed to be the first female officer because again, many people have spoken at length about that. Still upset though.

119. Kelp and Verbil are around I see.

120. What is the Aculos? Like I get that it’s a weapon by why should I care?

121. Also, I think Root should be smoking.

122. Holly’s father? Why should he matter or even be a part of this?

123. They kept Holly 84. Good.

124. Reinforcements? Juliet?!!!!

125. She’s 12? She’s supposed to be sixteen! No!

126. Niece!!!! She’s supposed to be his sister.

127. Also, screw Disney for changing the fairy alphabet so we can’t read it.

128. Artemis should be able to decode it though. He’s not much of a genius, is he?

129. Foals needs a tinfoil hat and should look way way nerdier.

130. Troll! Time! Yeah!

131. Yeah! Lava chutes!

132. Foaly’s CGI is a little wonky but whatever.

133. So that’s why Holly’s father is important. Stupid.

134. The executors. You mean the council.

135. Don’t just fly over the surface unshielded, you dolt!

136. Butler your camouflage sucks ass.

137. Butler wouldn’t complain.

138. Butler’s eyes are freaking me out. No one’s eyes look like that.

139. The LEP helmets are stupid looking.

140. That isn’t what a troll looks like. Stop it, Disney.

141. Time Stop. Not a time freeze.

142. The magic looks cool.

143. That’s not how a time stop works. But at least it looks cool.

144. I suppose I can accept that’s how they do mind wipes.

145. “This is a strange wedding” is the best joke so far.

146. Why are none of the fairies shielded?

147. Holly has such boring motivation.

148. You shouldn’t just read your dad’s journal Arty. It’s rude.

149. I’m so over arty’s dad already knowing about the fairies as well as this beechwood fellow.

150. Why does this Aculos exist? If it’s so dangerous, why not get rid of it?

151. Opal Koboi. Finally. 

152. Like Arty would ever dress like that. He’d still be wearing a suit and be spotless.

153. “They’re real.” No kidding!

154. Fox!

155. I’m surprised they included trying and succeeding to shoot holly.

156. Kinda wish they’d kept the bury an acorn to get magic thing but small fish and all.

157. Now it’s starting to remind me of the real Artemis Fowl story.

158. Cudgeon is slimy and annoying and I’m here for it.

159. That’s a shitty looking cage.

160. “Not happy” I wonder why?

161. Reflective glasses! Yes! Give me the fowl crew in cringey reflective sunglasses.

162. The Mesmer is done nicely. Love Juliet’s glasses.

163. A flannel and reflective sunglasses. That classic Artemis fowl look.

164. So he did decode their language.

165. The acting isn’t terrible. 

166. Most humans are afraid of gluten how do you think they’d handle goblins is a good line.

167. Again. Not how time stops work but okay.

168. So let me get this right. Instead of the fairy bible which Artemis poisoned a fairy to get they just replaced it with his dad‘s journal. great.

169. Don’t give Artemis a weapon! He’s gonna cut his own arm off!

170. The time freeze does look cool though.

171. I can appreciate them gathering on the beach. That’s kinda cool.

172. Finally a suit! Get this kid properly clothed!

173. Though that tie is a little sus. Why’s it so skinny?

174. That fight scene wasn’t too bad. Again Arty is definitely not supposed to be good at anything physical but it’s whatever.

175. Flair for the dramatic? This is hardly as dramatic as the book.

176. I hate opal’s voice.

177. Waged war on your people? That was 10,000 years ago!

178. Opal’s motives are also super boring.

179. I’m sad we don’t get to see arty practicing his evil smile in the mirror.

180. In one of those pots. From under the rainbow. Fun.

181. Glad they kept the whole while I’m alive stipulation. 

182. Glad to see the goblins still have fire powers.

183. These goblins really shouldn’t be so smart.

184. I hope we get to see mulch unhinge his jaw soon.

185. I do like mulch.

186. This heart to heart is stupid. Artemis wouldn’t trust holly just like that me thinks.

187. I like that mulch is up on all the human pop culture. I do wish he’d make a Gordon Ramsey reference though since he likes him.

188. Mulch not wanting to be tall is excellent character motivation though.

189. Now this is the heart to heart I needed.

190. Is he gonna unhinge his jaw?! I’ve been waiting for this the whole time!

191. Yeah!!!!!!

192. Eat that dirt!

193. Mulch!

194. “What would your parents be?”

195. A really really big dwarf.

196. Sick safe. Nothing mulch can’t handle.

197. That definitely isn’t what I expected from mulch’s hair but that’s okay.

198. Yeah! Holly punched Artemis! Now there just needs to be a lollipop remark.

199. Is that the Aculos? It looks stupid.

200. Also, I do appreciate the inclusion of the iris cam.

201. Opal, you’re so boring.

202. Cudgeon is taking over. Kinda wish it was of his own will because that’s more interesting but whatever.

203. Troll time part two. I doubt butler is going to almost die fighting it. Maybe he’ll wear a suit of armor though. That’d be cool.

204. How is it we’re an hour in and only just now get a d’arvit? Surely many other scenes warranted that.

205. I do like that mulch pickpocketed butler.

206. Don’t just stand in front of the door when A Troll is about to be sent in!

207. The wings do look really cool though.

208. Also, Juliet really shouldn’t be trying to fight a troll.

209. I mean. None of them should but you know.

210. Mulch eating the Aculos is very in character. I’m glad Artemis’s bedroom is being destroyed. It was terrible.

211. While I don’t care for the way the troll looks (Far too human, not enough claws and venom) the amount of destruction it’s causing is appropriate I feel.

212. I guess that’s how the fight can go. 

213. Also, Juliet is so smart and strong yet she can’t pull herself over a ledge? Pathetic.

214. Don’t move butler to a completely different room! He’s got a back injury! You probably just made it worse!

215. Butler isn’t going to die. This is stupid. 

216. Trouble doing the lords work. 

217. I told you butler would be fine.

218. One of the times Butler would nearly die. If we’re following the books then more should follow.

219. Also what is this room they’re in?

220. Butler would not be ashamed to cry.

221. I’m living for everyone’s reactions to where mulch stored the Aculos.

222. I like the way it looks when they get grabbed by the time stop. 

223. She’s gonna save Artemis. Obviously.

224. I like the way it looked when the time stop broke.

225. “Breaking every rule in the book” we haven’t even seen your book! Just his dad’s stupid journal.

226. He and holly should not be friends yet. He kidnapped her!

227. Ooh, forever friends how sweet! Get fucked. Both of you.

228. Now are we in Russia?

229. Opal annoys me so much.

230. So are you trying to tell me that this Aculos is the movie’s version of the book? Holly’s saying that poem.

231. This isn’t how magic is supposed to work.

232. >:(

233. I will admit it looked cool. Begrudgingly.

234. Your dad isn’t dead.

235. He’s in the secret basement that still exists for some reason.

236. Also, I didn’t note this before, but I doubt Arty ever called his dad, dad.

237. Opal is thwarted. 

238. Why she so ugly looking? Pretty sure she was supposed to be pretty.

239. This is so stupid.

240. Opals accomplices, you mean those two dunderheads she had helping her?

241. How are there still fifteen minutes of this torture left?!

242. Again. Butler would not be ashamed to cry.

243. Just wait until Artemis gets magic of his own.

244. I’m so tired. It’s 12:14 at night and I just want this torture to end. Please god just let the credits roll already!

245. And now they’re famous. Whoop de do. Just tell us how mulch gets captured and escapes and end the movie. That’s all I ask.

246. You know he hasn’t been referred to as Artemis Fowl the Second throughout this whole disaster. What a slight to him.

247. Ray bans.

248. Oh yeah. Brag to opal. Great idea. 

249. Criminal mastermind. Juvenile Genius. Same difference.

250. Why is his tie so skinny? 

251. Is he gonna fly the helicopter?! Finally something in character!

252. Now just let mulch escape and finish this godforsaken nightmare!

253. Fowls? Protecting us? Pardon me while I laugh.

254. They do the unhinging of mulch’s jaw nicely.

255. And now they mission impossible him out of there. Perfect.

256. I’m dying. Let it be over. Please.

257. No more!

258. Fly off into the sunset. Of course.

259. Thank god! Credits! I’m free!

260. And another thing! They didn’t have the follow-up scene with Dr. Po! That would’ve been a way better ending! And you can’t just have one scene without the other!

[thanksjro]

Eugenesis, an Overview: Let Me Get Weirdly Serious About This Book For A Sec

HOLY SHIT WHAT A RIDE.

So, let’s recap what we’ve learned over the last 282 pages.

In 2001, James Roberts published nearly 300 pages of fictional prose, based in the established franchise of Transformers, specifically the Marvel UK comic continuity. This novel tells the story of the Transformers, in their dwindling numbers, being attacked, not by their opposing factions, but by an outside force hellbent on revenge. Those who are captured by this force- the Quintessons- are stripped of their very individuality, forced into servitude until the moment they die of exhaustion. Everyone is pushed to- and in some cases beyond- their limits, the horrors of a literal genocide beating down on them like a tidal wave. Only by casting aside their differences and banding together can they hope to survive the nightmare that is the Eugenesis Wars.

But people don’t really talk about all that, even though it’s a majority of what the book’s about. No, people only talk about what happens after the Quintessons are defeated. People only talk about the robots getting pregnant, because honestly it is the most bizarre thing.

Not because the idea itself is terribly odd- I mean, at least it’s in line with the lore the comics set up. It’s bizarre in how we get to that point. All the torture, all the suicide and death and depression and destruction of entire belief systems, leads up to these robots getting pregnant. Almost like that was the whole point. And considering that this story is presenting to us a bridge for the gap between the classic Transformers and the Beast-Era ones, it could have very well been.

I won’t say fetish, because that doesn’t feel quite right, but our dear author seems to have a sort of… obscene fascination with the concept of mechpreg. A fascination that will carry on well into his career as a professional comic scriptwriter, setting readers on edge for the duration of his run with IDW.

Comparing Eugenesis to More Than Meets The Eye and Lost Light, you get an interesting view of Roberts’ growth, as both a writer and a human being. Eugenesis is the work of what Billy Joel might call an "angry young man”, focusing on the despair of wartime and the futility of one’s struggle against the flow of time and mortality. The theme of time only being perceived as linear, and being in actuality an unending plane where all moments are equal and eternal might seem oddly specific, but it’s reflected upon by multiple characters within the story of Eugenesis. Perhaps this is why he has Brainstorm and Perceptor collectively and completely jack up time itself in the Elegant Chaos storyline.

Character moments sprinkled throughout the narrative give us a glimpse of the relationships that would be written later on- some of the most compelling scene writing happens between Quark and Rev-Tone, two original characters who have such a delightful dynamic between them, they very quickly became some of my favorites. You truly believe that they care so strongly for one another, they would do just about anything to keep the other safe. And they do, in a couple cases.

Then there’s all the death. There’s a lot of death in Eugenesis, and none of it is by way of natural causes- you’ve either got suicide, murder, or suicide-by-way-of-murder. You really see Roberts shine in these death scenes, both then and now, as he captures the utter, raw tranquility as one stares down their own demise, and on the other side of the coin, the complete annihilation of one’s very heart as someone they love is destroyed. It’s downright poetic how he handles these scenes.

Still, there is a difference in how the aftermath is handled. When someone dies in the MTMTE/LL run, there’s always meaning and purpose to it- nobody dies just to die, and those who are left behind are left at least something to comfort them.

A message of love.

The return of a friend.

A chance to keep living.

A chance to be a better person.

You don’t get that in Eugenesis. In most cases, there’s no salve for the wound, only more hurting. There’s no time to even mourn, as the fight rages on and on and on. Any happiness pulled from the narrative for the characters is laced with a bittersweet understanding that these folks probably aren’t going to make it, and they’re just as aware of that fact as the reader is.

And yet there’s something kind of beautiful about that, in a twisted sort of way.

Eugenesis is a sort of love letter to those dark thoughts hiding in our heads, those deeply scary intrusive visions of everything we care about being ripped away from us. It’s a book make up of catharsis, of hurting that begs for some sort of outlet. The characters in this story are lost, and scared, and hollowed out before the mass extinction even arrives, and are put through wringer after wringer, like some sort of distanced facsimile of self-harm.

Perhaps I’m reading a bit too into this, but with how intense things get, with self-insert characters no less, I can’t help but wonder if the James Roberts who was writing Eugenesis truly needed this outlet in more than just a creative sense.

Which isn’t to say that there aren’t issues with this novel just because it was a vessel for catharsis. Pacing can end up going so rapidly it feels as if you’re being pushed towards the edge of a cliff, then stutter to a halt to the point where continuing on feels like an absolute slog. But it always seems just as you’re about to put the thing down and give up, something completely thrilling, completely insane and powerful and profoundly attention-grabbing happens, pulling you right back in. If nothing else, this book demands one’s attention.

There are also some other, more interesting issues with Eugenesis. Issues I wasn’t really expecting to run into. To highlight one such issue, we’re going to play a game.

The game is called Guess That Character Design!

Hey Transformers fandom, got a new quandary for y’all to fight over. Forget the Frenzy/Rumble color debate, forget the Bombshell/Skywarp is Cyclonus debate, it’s time for the What The Actual Everloving Fuck Is Quark Supposed To Look Like debate! Do we follow the comic and its script, which show him as being either about on par with Rev-Tone and Mirage or taller, but fails to note any sort of color because it’s in black-and-white? Or do we follow the novel, which states he’s short exactly once, and crimson? And if he’s red, where did the blue paint chips come from in Part Five? They sure didn’t come from Rev-Tone, who I know is mostly red- not because the novel told me, but because I’ve seen art of him outside of this. Honestly, other than him having big honkin’ shoulders and a bust to match, nothing about Quark’s visual aesthetic is concrete.

Now, I could tell you all about his quirks and mannerisms, how he holds himself, how he talks, how he interacts with others, all sorts of stuff. Nothing wrong with the writing there, characterization’s great! I just couldn’t tell you for the life of me how his body is supposed to look. Rev-Tone’s in the same boat, except it’d be even worse without the helpful input of some friends. Did you know he has a visor? Because I sure as shit didn’t until someone showed me. It’s never mentioned in the book. You can barely see it in the prequel comic art if you’re looking for it, and the script is less than helpful to me because I’m not Matt friggin’ Dallas, nor have I had the pleasure of reading Transtrip. All the information presented in the novel about his looks involves his mouth.

Hell, some of the writing in Eugenesis seems to imply that he actually just has normal eyeballs.

What I’m getting at here is that Roberts leans a bit too much on the reader knowing exactly as much as he does about the characters, the plot points, the lore. And he knows A LOT about Transformers.

This book essentially requires the reader to have the wiki open with multiple tabs at all times. Roberts put his heart and soul into the prose, but the world-building had his nerdy little brains smeared all over it, because there are some obscure references in here, not to mention the sci-fi jargon. You basically NEED an internet connection to get through this- I’ve never read a novel that pretty much forbid an acoustic reading, but here it is, in all its glory.

Eugenesis is a dark, morbid, conflicted story with the oddest little bright spots in it. Within five pages, you’ll go from some of the most horridly bleak death scenes to someone accidentally burning a hole in their hand like a cartoon character. But never once, in nearly 300 pages, does it ever stop trying. It may not succeed in what it’s attempting 100% of the time, but goddamn does it go as hard as it can. This isn’t something that was done for money, or fame, or anything like that. Eugenesis is a passion project in the purest sense, and you can really feel it in the way it’s been crafted. For all the frustration it put me through, never once did I think “man, this guy just doesn’t care.” The ambition Roberts shows in the prose, in the world-building, in all the funny little moments that show just so much personality within the story, truly were harbingers for what was to come just a decade later.

Ambitious. Bleak. Brutal. Weird. Ultimately unforgettable. That’s James Roberts’ Eugenesis.

But let’s get to the heart of the matter, shall we? The one question that truly matters for any novel: is it worth reading?

Well, that depends.

If you had a hard time with the darker parts of MTMTE/LL, I really couldn’t recommend that you read Eugenesis. You will have an awful time, because most of it is Grindcore x100 levels of depressing and brutal. There were a couple points where I had to take a break because things got so intense- and I’m not exactly squeamish. Maybe stick to a breakdown- like this one!- or try a group read-along. Friends make everything better, after all.

If you like Roberts work and want to see where he came from, like I did, I highly recommend you find a copy- digital of course, there are only a few hundred physical copies in existence. I recommend you find the 2nd edition, which includes Telefunken and fixes some of the more glaring continuity mistakes and typos.

It’s a good read. Just... it’s a lot at times.

Like, a lot.

Up next-

Oh, what? You didn’t think that was it, did you? This url is way too sweet to just be done with so soon.

Next, I’ll be taking a gander at Children of a Lesser Matrix, which is something that was never finished by Roberts, but is still floating around the internet because hey! It’s the internet.

If anyone has any other somewhat obscure writings from JRo, feel free to send them my way. Especially if you have any of the TMUK zines from back in the day. I wish to consume all the works.

[prince-toffee]

Fallin’ For A Fallin’ Angel II

His eyes slowly opened, struggling to keep apart as they adjusted to the bright light. A pained grunt escaped his throat as the clone began to regain his consciousness. HTK 218-666 did not know where he was. His mind was sluggish, trying to process whatever had transpired. The first thing he truly noticed was his comfort - not often did he awaken to softness, never infact. 218′s pod was hard, metallic, cold and jagged. With malfunctioning cables - they didn’t serve much real purpose now as the ex-general had used up all his Life Force rations. The cables that binded to his neck, back and arms were more of an ornament than a necessity - to make the the crashed wreck feel more... homely. It was a familiar feeling - not a pleasant one, but a one he knew.

But then it hit him, he wasn’t in his pod, was he. He opened his eyes to see something above him. Some sort of rectangular canopy of fabric, held up by four pillars which descended all around him. And a light pinkish red veil surrounded all the sides between the pillars. A force field perhaps. Was this a prison?! Was he captured?! The defective clone shot up, looking around his new unfamiliar surroundings. There was a sheet of thin fabric covering him, it was smooth and cool to the touch. 218 flanged the cover off. Only then realised that most of his uniform was gone.

Which wasn’t a novelty to him, back on The Velvet Glove uniforms weren’t gifted until after the cloning process and then taken away again when put into storage. Being bare wasn’t new. What 218 was worried about was perhaps they had searched him, maybe taken samples - his wounds seemed healed.

Who? Who was it? Who captured him? The memories slowly returned back to him, bit by bit as he strained his mind. There were attackers, creatures of the desert. He remembered he was near victorious, but his will power was not enough, he was knocked out. He was weak. Brother was right. ‘Near’ wasn’t enough. He failed, again. 218′s fist tightened and he grew infuriated at his own shortcomings, he had to make this right. He looked over himself, his wounds were tended to, strange. He had to make sure if all the injuries were sealed up right. But first, the forcefield.

He looked at the pink veil, it was see-through, probably taunting him with freedom on the other side, no doubt. He had to be careful, it could incinerate him on contact for all he knew. One of the plush stuffed bags that was placed under his head was thrown at the forcefield, but it did not react - it simply flew through it. Curious. Did someone accidently deactivated it? Was the plushie bag some sort of unlocking key? That could be his chance. He gently and slowly pocked it with his finger and pulled it back as quick as possible. His brain module took a moment to read what the nerve receptors had came back with - nothing. No pain. No resistance. No forcefield.

Now braver with the confidence of a survivor, he pocked his whole hand through, and even waved it around. Success! Next he poked his head through looking from side to side. No guards. A pitiful prison. He noticed the tattered remains of his uniform, no good, it was already worn out - past its time. 218 already had the lower half of the uniform already on him, he didn’t know why it was left on. He placed a foot on the floor then the next. His muscles screamed at him, but he managed to stand. It seemed his defection was getting worse. It seemed like his feet were the next to fail.

He did not like his defective form on display, so he reached for the covering that was laid onto of him and draped it around himself.

He pushed on, literally, and doors to the room weren’t even locked. Perhaps this was no prison. As the clone opened the doors he was hit by waves of incredibly bright light and loud noise. 218 was in some corridor or porch, because he looked apon a busy hustle and bustle of a town square at work. Few steps forward and he was holding onto an ornate wooden railing, he looked down at the society at work. The town was constructed at the foot of the mount on which the castle stood in which 218 was in. Marketeers selling, customers buying, children running through the streets. 218 did not know how long he had been unconscious, but it looked like a busy morning with the rising... moon... and suddenly he remembered why he hated this planet.

218 also noticed a strange statue at the centre of the town. Chiselled out of stone, a tribute, he was familiar with such things - countless worlds under the control of the Horde had erected tributes in the image of their holy lord and master. But what creature held dominion over this world?

The being was in the position of natural wings a part of her physique, it reminded him of the Horde insignia - the wings of the vampire. This was terrible. These people were living under a false idol, praising a pretender. This was unacceptable. He had to save these people - bring them into the light. Perhaps... this was it! The redemption he was waiting for! He could save them, direct them to their true saviour. He could save them!

He began to walk off, he was still in his capturer’s base of operations. He had to get out. The thought of rallying the people below briefly crossed his mind, but he shook it off - he clearly needed to get back to the crash site, return to the repairs. Fixing the warship and leaving that miserable backwater planet was imperative! But all the bots were destroyed, defences weakened, and his assailants knew where he would be - there was no more hiding. He wouldn’t be safe back there. So where now? He couldn’t exactly blend in with the local populace.

Just then his thought process was cut off as another person walking in the opposite direction bumped into him. 218 didn’t have much weight to him so he got pushed out of the way quite easily. The individual in question who was storming off was not of the same race as the invaders at the wreck. Their skin darker, shorter, no scarlet exo-skeleton over their body. The creature had short violet hair and what looked like oil and grease on her clothing. “Hey buddy, watch it!”

“...Watch what?” 218 asked to himself quietly under his breath. The passer by clearly didn’t hear him, nor did they care to. 218 reached large stairs, leading down to the town square. It looked like the guards occupying the top of the stairs were both distracted by some raving salesman. This was his chance. However, he was startled by a voice behind him.

“Ah, so I see you have woken up.”

The clone spun around to see a tall figure cloaked in shadow. The intimidating character set 218 slightly on edge. The figure wore a black cape and black uniform, body biologically the same as all the other native beings around this complex.

218 could have sworn that the mystery man’s eyes lit up with a spark of red. It was probably nothing - a trick of the light. The Horde trooper remained silent, so the figure decided to take the lead on the interaction. He stepped forward, into the light. 218 unbenounced to himself clutched closer the blanket sheet.

“Heh, welcome back to the land of the living, my friend. You slept like a log.” 218 simply listened and stayed quiet, partially because he didn’t know what to say, this wasn’t the way he thought the situation would play out. He did not know he was going to be greeted, not after what happened in the wreck.

He saw the creature look him up and down examining his form, as his chest lay bare. But there wasn’t much to look at, due to the defection he couldn’t keep on weight - all fats and necessary nutrients degraded quicker than normal, as did his body cells. He was a walking corpse. A shameful form in the eyes of his Brother. The individual stopped mere few small centimetres away from 218, their chests almost touching. The caped being was a head taller than him. “I’m glad to see you fit enough to attempt an escape.”

218 swallowed down on his heart attempting to jump out of his throat. His voice was not as deep as 218′s but held just as much authority. “Ah, I see had the splendid pleasure of meeting Princess Minerva, her winning charm never seems to fade with time, hmm.”

Her?... The clone guessed the creature he was referring to was the being that had stormed off, pushing 218′s shoulder. Her?... He did not know what that was.

The towering scorpion looked back at 218 looking as if he was expecting something. 218 didn’t get it. “Not one for jokes are we? Well, not every one is a zinger. I’ll work on it. Don’t let that discourage you. Come on. I can’t exactly let you go right now, but I’d rather we speak as civilised people rather than have those prickly gents over there force you to follow me.” The scorpion pointed with his claw at the two spear wielding guards whom had positioned themselves behind the clone. Ready to strike. That made 218 comply with the peaceful option, of course.

218 followed close behind as the individual led him through the corridors and hallways and down a stair well. The soldier memorised the whole journey backwards just in case he had to run out and escape. “Oh, Ra-dammit, haven’t even introduced myself. I just presumed you knew who I am, but well, you don’t look like you’re from around... anywhere. Do you know who I am?” He asked softly, and curiously. 218 just stared back without words.

“Yeah, course you don’t. Nobody does, nobody cares. I’m the King of this kingdom and what do I have to show for it? What do I truly have, huh?” He looked back at 218 with annoyance in his expression, the clone simply starred back. “Well, my name is Niro, King Niro if you want to be formal, I guess. But like I said, nobody cares.” Niro? Noted - 218 thought to himself. And a ‘king’ was ruler of some sorts, 218 was pretty sure, his troops had encountered all sorts of societies and civilizations on their voyages across galaxies. This was a figure of power standing infront of 218. He didn’t know how Niro compared to other worlds’ authorities - opposition to his Brother never lasted long. You never really got to know them before heads started rolling. 218 was not apart of guest accommodations, he was a general - a soldier. On the frontlines until the end. He didn’t ‘get to know’ people, he ended them.

“And what’s your name?”

“HTK 218-666. Top-General of the 218th Legion. Brother amongst the ranks of the Galactic Horde.”

“...Cool... So you’re not from around here, figured.” They approached a dark rusted door with two guards at it’s sides. They both bow at the sight of their king, and each pulled down a lever on the wall behind them. The ‘klank’ was heavy and loud. 218 then beard many gears and cogs turn and the rusted door began to raise upward. This so called Niro strolled inside, he of course followed. He briefly turned back to see the four guards remained outside as the door shut back down.

The clone quickly turned back, narrowing his eyes at the table that stood infront of them. The room’s walls and floor were all metallic, dark, from what 218 could tell, they were scorch marks. All around the room. “What is this?” Niro slowly made his way around and sat opposite the clone on the far side of the table. He gesture to 218 to do the same.

“So you do talk. Great. We’ll be doing a lot of talking. Please, my friend, sit.” He extended his claw towards the empty seat. But there were no guards in this room, he had no power over 218, 218 was weak, he admitted that to himself, but one on one, surely he could take him. But then what? Four armed guards still waiting outside, possibly hundreds more patrolling the complex. He was trapped.

“And please don’t try to escape, I know you’re thinking about it. You see this glass sheet behind me?” Niro knocked on the glass as he leaned back on his chair. “It’s one way glass, my ever so trusty Force-Captain is on he other side. One word and she pulls a switch and electrocutes this entire room. And don’t worry about me, I won’t feel a thi-”

“Because your hide is electrically resistant.” 218 recalled to himself the confrontation at the power core back at the ship - the scorpion soldiers were unaffected by a direct current of electricity from a dislodged cable. He needed to think of alternate offensive techniques.

“You’ve got quite the keen eye. So you know what’s at steak - you, getting fried.”

Fried?

“I just need to ask you a few questions.”

“You threaten me first, and then you want me to comply? Negative. I will tell you nothing. An assault on the form of Prime is a crime throughout the known universe. Unhand me and bring me back to my Brother and you will be forgiven.”

“Forgiven? Who- wait, universe? You mean that which is beyond the barrier?”

This conversation was puzzling 218 more and more he did not understand what this creature was talking about. Did- did he really not know what the ‘universe’ was? From the looks of this planet it was incredibly primitive, but THIS primitive? It could be that these naïve natives haven’t yet discovered interstellar travel. This idea led to more bad news, if so, then this world could not yet offer resources needed to fix the warship.

“You’re an alien, from outside. Please, tell us more.” The king leaned over more, clearly eager to listen, encouraging 218 with his captivation with the topic.

218 realised this was unsafe, he had already told those people too much, much more than they ever anticipated to hear. He couldn’t let the secrets of the Horde be taken from him by a backwater people. He could not fail his Brother again. “I will say no more.”

Niro looked displeased. “Opal.”

In that moment the room went red, the sound of... some thing veering up, a machine of sorts maybe. But 218 did not have time to think too much about it, because the shock came soon after. The air did not change, there was no heat, it was cold rather. The pain was quick to spread, started at the bottom of his feet and shot up to his brain. It felt like having nails hammered through his organs. He was weak. He only lasted a few seconds in silence, after three he let out a scream. The pain disappeared as soon as the first tear formed at the edge of his eye. The room lost its red glow and reverted its colour palette back to the dead still greys and silvers.

“Sit.”

He complied.

“I must admit that was a bit too much than I would’ve approved, Opal.”

“You cannot break me, for I am already broken. I will not fail my Brother again. I will have nothing out of me.”

In that moment of defiance 218 and Niro looked into each other’s eyes. The scorpion king saw the devotion and pride in the clone’s eyes, the willingness of self-sacrifice. Niro knew the man opposite him was going to die for whatever cause he believed in. That spark of determination. The same look he saw in the mirror every morning in his own eyes. Both of the men spotted the room once again turning into a dark shade of red. Niro watched the enigmatic man shut his eyes and took in a shaky breath. Niro knew very little about the man infront of him, but he knew in that moment he accepted his fate. A conviction and dedication few have.

“STOP!”

The Hillian king exclaimed at the sheet of glass behind him at his Force-Captain. The colour faded away, yet it didn’t completely disappear. The voice of the Force-Captain came through the window. “Sir, he took out an entire detachment, this is an interrogation room - he’s being interrogated.”

“Force-Captain, are you disobeying a direct order from your king?”

The Force-Captain did not respond, but the shade of red did veer and disappeared. The captain remained silent in that Niro hoped was shame. The king turned back to the frightened prisoner. 218 chose to reopen his eyes, he looked at Niro in confusion - weighing out his options. Was trust earned in this moment or was it a ruse?

“Why not just kill me?” 218 asked.

“Like I said: we’re here just to ask you some questions. I would only kill you if you were a threat to Scorpion Hill, you’re not.”

218 knew he shouldn’t have, but he kind of took offensive from that, he was dangerous.

“But trust me, she wanted to. You killed her husband, on that scouting party. Through those eight hours of unconsciousness I had to make sure she wouldn’t kill you. Best sleep you’ve had in a while I’m willing to bet, by the looks of that train wreck to live in. Do, you... live in there?”

“A ship wreck, and yes I have taken residence in it for shelter a- have you said eight cycles?!”

“Hours, but- sure.”

“This is unexpectable! I have already wasted six more cycles than usual! So much possible productivity gone! I must return to the repairs immediately!” 218 rocketed up onto his feet ready to walk out.”

“How- what? Hold on, what repairs?”

“I will tell you no more.”

“If you won’t tell us, we can’t help you, friend. Its simple as that. You appeared from nowhere - your a mystery. And so you are seen as a threat. People hate what they don’t understand. Help me understand.”

“Niro, was it?”

“Yes.”

“All you need to understand is - if you return me to my spacecraft, if you aid me, you will be rewarded and welcomed by my Brother. He can show you all the light. He can offer you a perfect world.”

“Who is your brother?”

“Horde Prime.

The Emperor of the Known Universe. The most powerful being in existence, his empire is endless - far superior to whatever your world holds. But give into him and he will take you in and make sure faction a jewel in his empire.”

“I’ll have to decline on that offer. I find that the more power people have, the more they see themselves as saviours. You’re not going anywhere.”

“But the Horde can gift you, reward you, the empire has collected and melded technologies from across numerous galaxies - he can give you interstellar travel, advanced communications, synthetic nutrition, biological enhancements, limitless knowledge of the cosmos, language, salvation, weapons-”

“Weapons?... What kind of weapons?”

Of course, should’ve known. 218 knew this might be his only way out of this predicament, he needed to tell this Niro what he wanted to hear, “The Horde has taken dominance over countless systems, many by force. To do this the engineers and scientists of the Horde had to develop instruments of destruction which could topple armies. I can give them to you. I was a general - I hold the accumulated knowledge of dozens of battalions I have commanded. Horde Prime needs me, I am crucial to the cause. Help me and the knowledge to conquer worlds, can be yours.”

218 saw Niro deliberating, thinking over everything said. He had a lot to consider, but 218 needed the answer now, he needed to rush him, make him slip up - act rash. 218 needed to return to his Brother’s side, his Brother needed him! He was one of his top generals. And bringing a world with him for the Horde to assimilate, an offering to show he wasn’t a waste, a failure. Brother would see that 218 was worth something - a useful tool, a loyal soldier. THIS was his redemption.

“This ‘Horde Prime’ is he really that influential? Would he have the might to liberate Scorpion Hill from the mercy of other kingdoms?”

“There has never been a mightier lord in the universe’s history.”

“And if I decline?” Niro decided to test the waters.

“Then my Brother’s wrath will rain down on you, and a different party would be blessed with the fruits of my Brother’s labour.”

“I wouldn’t bet on it. Other kingdoms of Etheria are not so welcoming to outsiders from beyond their walls, not to mention from beyond this dimension. Scorpion Hill is your best bet. The others will simply label you - mad.”

“Than you accept?” 218 raised the brow at the talking king.

“I suppose I do.”

Niro agreed to aid the alien man, if he was a man, he was no fool of course, he knew that spark of devotion in those eyes meant he was telling the truth, but that spark had the possibilities to burn forests. Niro needed to watch his own back. But he also needed to see more - how good were these weapons - was this prisoner worth keeping around. Niro extended his claw to 218 in acceptance, however 218 did not quite understand the motion, he stared at it discombobulated.

“Am- am I supposed to do... something with that?”

“Oh boy.”

---

After a far too long explanation of what a hand shake was, the two did. 218 was lead off by the guards back to what was then labelled his quarters and Niro returned to Opal’s side behind the one way glass in the observation room. He could tell she was displeased, no, more like infuriated. Understandable.

“Your highness, may I speak freely?”

Here it comes. “[sigh] Opal if you want to berate me then just get on with it.”

“Are you insane!??!”

“Aren’t we all?” Niro replied calmly juxtapose to the loud bark of his Force-Captain.

“He killed a full detachment of our troops! I cannot even explain how untrustworthy he is! You don’t even know his name!-”

“Yeah, I do. It’s 321-123 or something to that effect.”

“You’re joking around? Why are you joking around?” Opal placed her hands on her hips eyeing the king waiting a twist.

“Cause the talk’s not over yet. First of all, you saw his physique, that man’s made out of match sticks, with all the guards clogging the corridors there’s no chance he’s escaping. Especially now that he doesn’t have the home advantage. He’s trapped and he knows it.”

“What if he wants to be there? The whole alien story, it’s- it’s out there. He could be a spy for BrightMoon, or the Salineas, the princess of Dryl wasn’t happy with the deal. Dozens of other smaller kingdoms too.”

“Second of all, Scorpion Hill is home to a multitude of races, from all around Etheria, I’ve seen them all. I know my people. I don’t know him. And those eyes? Eyes of a believer. He’s not lying, and if he is, you get to say ‘I told you so’. And we know how much you love that.”

“We’re taking a huge risk with this. The Council of High Priests will be hounding at the door the moment they find out. I’ve managed to hold back the paperwork’s circulation, but they will find out. And that man you just let out, interrogated in secret - is a walking omen of bad mojo to them. We could be- no, we are in serious trouble!”

“Third of all, he can be the answer. If what he says is true, and I believe that he is. Then this man, if he is a man, can be the way by which I can free Scorpion Hill from the parasites that drained it of its life. With those weapons hierarchy won’t mean much, and what do those crooked old fools have? A wooden stick, some holy water?”

“You- are you serious!? You’re planning an overthrow. Don’t get me wrong Niro, I hate the council, just as much as you and I’d stand by your side until the moons crash down, but it’s a spider web, the council is tied to dozen other kingdoms and unknown benefactors - you pull that string and heaven’s gonna fall on your head.”

“And last of all, we match out - war - kingdom after kingdom, until we’re truly free.”

Opal looked at Niro, his eyes narrow and his claw bending steel in its grips, the desk gave in under his claws strength. Niro grew more and more irritated with each day in his position of powerlessness. He knew she was worried, maybe even scared, but she knew why he was willing to risk it all. Niro would fight armies single-handedly, if he had to, his blood boiled for a fight - for his people. This individual, whoever he was, was in deed an omen of the council’s worst fear, but if Niro played it right it could be an omen of a brighter future.

Opal placed a hand on the king’s shoulder, she felt the need to persuade her old friend out of whatever crazy act he was about to write, she began, “Niro-” and ended, as a guard entered the room with an announcement and a pant in his voice from the urgent sprint.

“My lord, Force-Captain.” They bowed, “The scout survivor from the last mission has woken up.”

“Like I said the talk’s not over yet. Led to the infirmary soldier.” The three marched off with haste. It did not take long for them to reach the infirmary, all the medical staff bowed as their king entered. He ignored the gesture as he often did, he said countless times to treat him like anyone else, or at least no bowing. Niro hated the feeling of superiority, of being worshipped to. In his eyes he was just someone who wanted to make a difference. He got to the resting bed of the survivor, bruises all over his body, many blood stained changed bandages. The Hillian soldier attempted to salute to the royal, but pulled their arm back the moment they felt something crack.

“Easy soldier, rest. Can you talk?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Fantastic.” Niro pulled up a chair next to the injured scout and sat down, “Mission report.” For the next half an hour Niro questioned about the mission and about the enemy they had met there. New details came to light: robots, traps, some sort of power core, a savage yet resourceful opponent. And their name.

“And then he proclaimed himself as - Hordak, my lord.”

“Hordak.” Niro repeated, the name lingering on his tongue. Curious.