#speaking of if anyone knows any good murder mysteries please suggest them

[secretly-insane]

I have a love hate relationship with foreshadowment. On one hand, it’s kinda fun to guess what’s going to happen based on the little clues. On the other hand, it’s super annoying when I correctly guess what’s going to happen based on the little clues!

[heejinnien]

bts | roses chapter two

word count: 1.8k words

pairing: bts x reader

synopsis: y/n is a member of the seoul behavioral analysis unit. usually, she’s the cat in the typical game of cat and mouse played with the criminals they catch, but when a mysterious string of murders has her on edge, she discovers she’s caught the attention of one of a dangerous criminal — and he’s determined to make her pay for it.

or, not all attention is the good kind.

genre: horror, angst

warnings: yandere themes, descriptions of gore, descriptions of violence, murder, the reader carries a gun because they need to defend themself against bad guys, guns, manipulation, victim blaming, this is overall just a very dark fic

author’s note: i’m sorry this isn’t as long as the other chapters but when i cut the fic into different parts i didn’t split it evenly sksks. like before, the “terms used throughout this fic” section of the masterlist was updated to include terms in this chapter. if you have any questions, please don’t hesitate to shoot me an ask or dm, or just let me know your thoughts! i would be happy to explain things to you, and i would also love to hear your feedback or who you think is suspicious. as always, adhere to the warnings and do not read if any of those things trigger you.

roses masterlist

“Are you sure you didn’t see anyone?”

Hoseok sits beside you as officers swarm the small hotel room and the hallway outside it, dusting for fingerprints, searching for any traces of the person who left the letter outside your room.

“No, I didn’t,” you reply, twisting your hands anxiously. “They knocked and I spilled some of my dinner, and by the time I cleaned it up and got to the door the hallway was empty.”

Hoseok nods, thoughtful. “We’ll get the hotel to pull up security footage.”

You both sit in silence, your thoughts swarming. You hope that Hoseok doesn’t ask why you spilled your food. Even though you know he won’t judge you, you still feel the need to present yourself as unphased by this case as the rest of your team. Admitting that you were startled because you had been so wrapped up in sentimentality would be a sign of weakness, and as a female NIS agent you know you can’t afford to show any of it.

“Where’s Namjoon?” You finally ask, voice cutting through the awkward silence that had settled around you.

“He’s back at the station already, adding this to the case notes.”

“You let him know what was happening?” You ask.

Hoseok had been the first to burst down your door, his room sharing a wall with yours and your voice having pierced through the thin wood. The rest of your team followed shortly after, local law enforcement arriving moments after that to process the scene.

“Jin did, he’s in the hallway now.” Hoseok jerks his head in the direction of the open door. Just around the corner of what you can see is where you assume Jin is. If you strain, you can hear his voice, speaking rapidly as he barks out orders to the officers around him.

You nod, bouncing your leg anxiously.

“Hey, it’ll be okay, Y/N,” Hoseok murmurs, giving you a gentle smile and leaning forward to hug you. He wraps his arms around you, enveloping you in his warmth and the soothing comfort he provides. “We’ll catch the criminal, just like we always do.”

You both remain like this for a moment before you pull away. “I’m okay, really,” you say, flashing Hoseok a smile that you hope is more reassuring than you sound. You force the fear and anxiety twisting inside you aside, refusing to let Hoseok see how shaken up you are.

As if sensing this, Hoseok searches your gaze. You force yourself to remain still, forcing the emotions that Hoseok will expect to see into your expression. Collectedness. Unbotheredness.

Hoseok hums as he drags his eyes away from yours, pushing himself to his feet.

“Well, I’m glad you’re okay, Y/N,” he says after another moment of pause.

He smiles again, but this time something dark flashes across his gaze. It passes so quickly you’re sure that with your paranoia you imagined it, and you ignore the way Hoseok’s words settle wrongly in your gut, the way that nothing feels right anymore.

“Detective Yeosang.”

You nod your head in greeting at the new detective, quickly shaking his hand and observing the empty lot around you. You cock your head to the side as you snap on a pair of blue gloves, raking your gaze over the Incheon detective.

“Where’s Detective Jaehyun?”

Yeosang gives you a tight smile, voice strained as he says, “Detective Jaehyun was removed from the case this morning for hindering an official investigation. SSA Namjoon was kind enough not to press federal charges against him, but he was still removed.”

You arch an eyebrow at the news, mildly surprised. You hadn’t been informed Jaehyun was taken off the case when your team had assembled that morning, Namjoon assigning everyone a task for the day. You wrack your brain, attempting to remember if you had seen the detective at all that morning, but you come up dry.

“What do you have on the vic?”

Your partner Jin’s voice pushes you out of your thoughts and you force yourself back to the present, returning to your mental crime scene analysis.

“The victim was found around eight this morning by a delivery truck who usually drops food off for one of the local bakeries.”

Yeosang motions for you and Jin to follow him and you do, trailing the detective as he leads you to a narrow brick alley at the edge of the lot. He steps to the side as you and Jin study the alley. The familiar scent of copper and rose makes your throat dry as your mind flashes back to your hotel room, but you close your eyes and exhale, forcing your pulse to slow down and pushing the memory into the recesses of your mind.

“There are more stab wounds than last time,” Jin points out, pointing to the victim’s chest and thighs. “The amount of blood signifies she was killed here.” Jin points to the victim’s head. “Their hair isn’t even black.”

“So the unsub is devolving,” you muse aloud. “Someone or something must have triggered him.”

Jin hums in agreement. “With how deep the stab wounds are, you would almost think that this was a different unsub than the other crimes.”

“What do you mean?” Yeosang asks, frowning. “We have two killers on our hands?”

“Doubtful,” you answer. “When an unsub devolves, they grow sloppier, leaving behind evidence they usually wouldn’t have or changing parts of their MO. In this case, the stabbing and rose are consistent, but the finer details such as the lamb’s blood are missing.”

“What would cause something like that?” Yeosang says, voice raising slightly.

“Maybe something in the unsub’s life went wrong,” Jin suggests, standing and crossing his arms. “A rejection, a loss, maybe. This means that they’ll be sloppier and keep leaving clues that hopefully we can trace back to them.”

“So we just have to wait for him to keep killing until he leads us to him?” Yeosang demands, disbelief and frustration evident in his tone.

“Of course not,” Jin says evenly, despite Yeosang’s rising hysteria. “If you detectives were so worried about the lives of your people, maybe you should have shared all of the evidence in the case with us from early on.”

“That was Detective Jaehyun’s call, not mine,” Yeosang grits out, hands clenched into fists. “I don’t appreciate what you’re implying, Agent Seokjin.”

“I’m not implying anything.”

Jin’s face is cold, tone apathetic as he addresses Yeosang. He arches an eyebrow coldly, continuing, “I’m just saying that maybe if the NIS had all of the facts for this case, we might have been able to find something by now.”

Yeosang sputters, and Jin turns away, already refocusing his attention back on the body. You give the steaming detective a sympathetic smile, bending to pick up the flower resting in the victim’s hands when your skin pricks as though it has been stabbed by the rose’s thorns. You immediately stand and whirl around, but aside from familiar police vehicles and officers, you are met with nothing. Yeosang gives you a questioning look, and you wave your hand dismissively. After another scan of the lot you turn back towards Jin, ignoring his concerned look.

Despite this, you can’t shake the feeling of being watched. 

“Y/N.”

“Namjoon.” You nod at your team’s leader as you pull out a plastic office chair, settling across from the aforementioned man.

“How are you feeling?”

“Okay,” you admit, rubbing your hands against your legs soothingly. “A little spooked, but this isn’t the first time one of us has received a note from one of our unsubs.”

“That’s true,” Namjoon muses. He spins in his chair slowly, twisting enough that you hear the creak of his chair but not enough that his body ever completely turns away from you. He steeples his hands on the mahogany desk in front of him, case files spread across the wooden surface haphazardly.

After a moment, you clear your throat. “I heard that you forced Detective Jaehyun off of this case.”

“I did,” Namjoon says slowly. “He was withholding information from this investigation.”

“I see,” you say, throat dry. Your body fills with nervous energy as you contemplate what to say. Namjoon speaks before you do.

“I was speaking with some of the other BAU members, and we’ve all agreed that the unsub seems to be targeting you.” Namjoon smiles, but it’s devoid of any friendliness. “I’m sure you’ve thought of it by now, right?”

You nod, unable to force yourself to speak, and Namjoon continues. “The NIS Director caught word of the note that was sent to you last night, and he wants you off the case. Conflict of personal interest, he said.”

“If this is about my ability to handle this case, I assure you that I can — ” You say quickly.

“I know.” Namjoon says, holding up his hand and effectively silencing your protests. “Which is why I’m not taking you off this case. But going forward we’re going to need to be honest with each other, okay?”

Somehow, you know that Namjoon is speaking on a level that transcends your current conversation. With a growing sense of dread, you are aware that Namjoon knows that Jaehyun had told you about the notes. You briefly wonder how he knows, if Jaehyun ratted you out. You clench your fists, waiting for a reprimand similar to the one Namjoon most likely gave Jaehyun for not telling your team leader earlier.

It never comes.

You stare at Namjoon silently, unsure of what to say. Seconds stretch on between you. Finally you find strength within you to nod, and Namjoon smiles sharply.

“Good. Now tell me what you and Jin found at the crime scene earlier.”

You stare at the case files, your eyes drooping.

The rest of your team left long ago, hushed whispers and a few worried glances thrown your way. You ignored them, choosing instead to concentrate on the pictures of victims in front of you until your eyes burned tiredly. No matter how much you tried, you couldn’t come up with anything linking the unsub to the victims. You feel so small, so unsure, and this makes everything you had been feeling towards the case worse.

Finally, you sigh, standing and gathering your things. You grab your phone, groaning as the time is reflected on the screen. It’s too late to hail a cab, the method of transportation you had assured the rest of your team you could use to get back to the hotel when they had left earlier.

You idly scroll through your phone’s app store, looking for a rideshare app that you can use to get back to your hotel and pushing open the precinct’s glass doors when your foot collides with something solid. You try to steady yourself, but it’s too late. 

Your hands find purchase with something warm and sticky, and it takes a moment for you to gain your bearings. When you do, your eyes land on a foot. Your eyes follow it to a leg, and then up, up, and when your eyes finally focus on the owner of the foot you scream.

It’s Taehyung.

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[anxiousstark]

S3 14 | Illuminated Silver-Riddled

BIG MASTERLIST | TW REWRITE | KO-FI

Stiles Stilinski x Reader! Half-sibling!Mccall

Word count: 6603

Warnings: Mentions of  injuries, blood, dementia, death, swearing (always), etc.

A/N: Three chapter together as the first two are fillers (however, necessary). KISS SCENE AT THE PARTY DIDN’T HAPPEN.

↪ PLEASE RESPECT MY WORK. DON’T COPY, TRANSLATE OR CLAIM THEM AS YOURS. NOT ON THIS WEBSITE OR ANOTHER. ALL RIGHTS ARE RESERVED.

I remained between Stiles and my brother while Kira and Lydia were sitting close to us. Rafe McCall was in front of us, not looking quite happy with us. "So when did you get there?"

Stiles sighed. "At the same time."

"At the same time as who?"

It was my brother's turn to speak. "At the same time as me."

"By coincidence?"

"What do you mean coincidence?" I intervened, simply because I wanted him to get mad. It was fun.

"That's what I'm asking you. The three of you arrived at the same time. Was that a coincidence?" I discerned how he was growing madder.

"Are you asking me?" Scott asked, resting his back against the couch.

"I think he's asking me." Stiles glanced at his best friend.

"He was looking at me when he asked." I interrupted again, receiving a glare for the older man.  

"Okay, let me answer the questions." He noticed that he had said it wrong. "Let me ask the questions." Stiles pointed at him, offering a wink, which made me chuckle. Noah Stilinski was behind Rafe, trying to hold his laugh. "Just, so I have this absolutely clear. Barrow was hiding in the chemistry closet at the school. Someone left him a coded message on the blackboard telling him to kill Kira. Then, Barrow took Kira to a power substation and tied her up with the intent of electrocuting her, which blacked out the entire town."

"Sounds about right." My boyfriend's raspy voice was the first one to sound.

"How did you know he'd take her to a power station?"

"Well, because he was an electrical engineer. So where else would he take her?" I nodded my head along.

Rafe made a gesture with his mouth. "That's one hell of a deduction there, Stiles."

"Yeah, what can I say? I take after my pops. He's in law enforcement." He peeped at his dad, pointing at him and winking. I snickered aloud, and Noah wanted to do the same but tried to hide it while coughing.

"Stiles, just, uh...Just answer the man."

He listened to his father. "We made a good guess."

Rafe McCall decided that receiving a concrete answer from Stiles would be complicated. Therefore, his gaze shifted towards Kira and Scott. "What were the two of you doing?"

"Eating pizza," Scott said while Kira said sushi. Then, they exchanged words until they agreed that they had eaten both.

"You believe this?" McCall sighed while glancing at Mr. Stilinski.

"To be honest, I haven't believed a word Stiles has said since he learned how to speak." The younger Stilinski nodded his head, agreeing. "But I think these kids found themselves in the right place at the right time, and that girl sitting there is very lucky for it."

Agent McCall turned around. "Kira, is that how you remember it?"

We all shifted in our seats, staring at the girl and expecting her to say yes. Thankfully, she did, and after the interrogation, Rafe halted Scott and me.

I bid goodbye to my boyfriend, kissing him softly on the lips before walking to my brother. "I don't know why you guys are lying. Or why Stilinski is content to listen to this crap. But try and remember something. If half this story about Barrow is true, then not only did someone help set him loose, but he was a pawn in their little game. A mass murderer is bad enough. A mass murderer being controlled, by someone? Far worse."

"We know."

"All right, go home. It's a school night." Acting as a father now, uh.

"Class starts in five minutes." I groaned as I leant against one of the lockers. "Just because there's no power don't expect there to be no school."

"That was a triple-negative. Very impressive, Coach." I sarcastically winked at him.

Coach wandered closer to where I was standing next to Stiles. "You are starting to sound like Stilinski right here!" He used his megaphone, making me whine as his voice was louder than usual.

Stiles pointed at me with a foolish smile decorating his features. "She's my girlfriend." Proudly opening his locker, a key fell to the ground. "Hello. Where did you come from?" He furrowed his eyebrows.

"Another mystery to discover," I added.

A couple of seconds later, my brother appeared next to us. His eyes were looking into the distance, meeting Kira's ones. He attempted to walk to her, but Stiles and I stopped him. "No. No. Stop. Stop."

"What?" He grumbled. "I need to talk to her."

"No, you need to remember someone left a coded message telling Barrow to kill her." I nodded my head, agreeing with my boyfriend.

"Which is why I need to talk to her."

"Scott, no way." I crossed my arms in front of my chest. "I love you, and until we figure out if she's just another psychotic monster that's going to start murdering everybody, I vote against any and all interaction," I whined. "I do love Kira for you. But not after what happened. I need to know you are safe."

"What if she's like me?"

"That girl walked through 1.21 jigawatts of electricity. She's not like you."

Of course, Scott McCall was someone who needed to experience everything for himself. You could tell him not to enter a cave as a bear awaits inside, and he would ignore you and go in to witness for himself. Hence, Stiles and I knew that he wasn't going to listen to us.

After a horrible day of classes, Stiles and I had decided to spend the rest of the day at his house. We wanted to have a date, even if it was inside the confines of his bedroom.

However, Scott had interrupted our time. He argued that Kira needed to get her phone back as she had some pictures she didn't want anyone to see.

We were meeting them in the parking lot of the police station.

I sighed as my boyfriend parked the jeep, seeing Kira and Scott getting off his bike.  "Okay, this one will get you into all of the perimeter doors, this one into the evidence room, and this one it is for my father's office." He started handing the key cards while I glared at my brother.

"You didn't steal these, did you?" His gaze shifted from his best friend as he saw my expression. "Why are you-."

"Date night, Scott." He offered me an apologizing look. I loved my brother. I truly do. But our date nights were always interrupted by the supernatural. We never had time for ourselves.

"No. I cloned them using the RFID emulator." I giggled.

"Is that worse than stealing?"

"It's smarter," I added, grasping Stiles's hand.

"Okay. So, now almost everybody's out dealing with the blackout. But there's always somebody at the front desk. There's Dispatch and usually a night shifter or two. You guys are gonna use the service door entrance by the dumpster. All right? Nobody uses it. Now, I'll text you if anyone comes out. But, Scott, if you get caught, I can't help you. My dad's under investigation for an impeachment because of your dad, so, if anything happens I will run and leave you both for dead." I tried to contain my chuckle as Kira breathed deeply. She seemed to think that it was just a joke.

"Got it. Thanks. Seriously, dude." He stared at me. "I'm sorry, baby sis." He pouted. I nodded my head, offering him a smile.

"I'd ask my dad, but you know..."

"No, I know. I get it."

"All right, just, uh, hurry up." As we saw both of them leaving, we sighed. "Should we make-out while they-." I slapped his arm playfully. "What? They are the ones in danger, not us."

A light blinded us. I attempted to push Stiles back as his lips were moving against mine, his tongue lapping my lower lip. "Swiles-." I shoved his chest, and he quickly departed from me, asking with his eyes if everything was okay. "Look."

We had been blinded, by Rafe McCall's car. "Fuck." We quickly opened the doors of the jeep. "Let's go, let's go!" Running as hard as we could, we were able to stop my sperm-donor from entering his office. "Hey, hey. Wow! Thank God you are here. Oh, boy! Thank the lord."

The man glanced at the two of us. "What do you want, Stiles?"

I gulped, squeezing Stiles's hand. "I was just...I was thinking on the case. I was thinking I should clue you in on my thinking. Here's my thinking." He swallowed. Both of us were hoping for Scott to notice that our father was here. "I was thinking this...I was thinking that Barrow, right? I was thinking that Barrow received the information about who to kill at the school, right, you know that? So I was thinking maybe the person who gave him that information, check this out, might actually be someone at the school. And that's, uh, my thinking." His free hand gently tapped Rafe's chest.

"You're right." He nodded his head.

"He is?" I asked, surprised.

"Yep. We, uh...We started looking for links between Barrow, faculty and students last night."

"So you already, then, know that stuff?" Stiles smiled nervously. "You already thought of that."

"Your dad did."

"Oh."

"His one useful suggestion." He spat as he used his car key to unlock the door of his office.

"You know," My boyfriend moved to stand in front of him, dragging me with him as our hands were intertwined. "This attitude that you have toward my dad? You can dress it up to all the professional disapproval that you want. But I know the real reason why you don't like him.

Rafe smirked. It was my time to calm my breathing, not wanting my eyes to flash. "Is that so?"

"Yeah. Because he knows something that you don't want him to know. And guess what." I was intrigued by Stiles's words. "I know it, too."

His face visibly paled. "Go home, Stiles. T-There's a curfew." He peered at me. "You and I need to a talk." His finger was too close to my face.

Before I could bite his finger off, my boyfriend had taken me away from there. Promptly, we were in a club, and everything was due to the key Stiles had found in his locker. But why here?

The four of us had gotten separated, and I ended up finding Lydia. "Hey," I screamed a little, hoping she would hear me. "What are you doing here?"

She made a gesture with her head, and I saw Aiden not too far from us, dancing with two other girls. "You?"

"Came with Stiles, Scott and Kira." I rested my hand on top of the bar. "But I lost them." I offered her a smile. "And to be honest, I don't feel good. I feel like I can't breathe." She furrowed her eyebrows. "You are going to think I'm crazy but," I glanced around. "I think someone is looking at me all the time. It's not a good sensation. It's bad, really bad." I saw a shadow, which disappeared as quickly as I noticed it. "Uhm, I need to get out of here." My hands were clutching the collar of my shirt, attempting to separate it from my throat as I felt my breath getting cut.

I was sweating, making my way through other sweaty bodies. The difference between us was that my sweating was out of fear.

I ignored Lydia's calls, exiting the party after finding a balcony. I slammed the doors behind me, taking a deep breath. My shaky legs brought me closer to the rail of the balcony, clutching it.

Hearing a strange noise, I twisted around. There was a black mist on the floor, and I gulped as I saw a hand coming out of it. Until the same shadow that I had seen back at the party, appeared again. It was completely black, except for its face. It seemed like it was wearing a mask.

I shifted, thinking of running to the other side. But I was only met by that adumbration again. Scream. They will hear you. But as soon as I did, the hand of the dark figure ended up in front of my mouth, shutting me up completely, muting me.

Its other hand rested on my cheek, and his yellow eyes seemed to turn green.

When I opened my eyes, Lydia was lying on the floor beside me, unconscious. Danny and Aiden were talking to us, asking what was going on. Lydia was grabbed by Aiden while Danny held me, getting both of us inside the club as we were freezing.

That's everything I remembered.

Stiles had been quite worried as soon as he knew I was attacked by something that Mr. Argent had described as absolute darkness. He spent the entire party in search of me, almost having a heart attack when he saw me being held by Danny.

"Okay, so this girl at the party starts talking about phosphors and the key having chemicals on it, right?" We followed Stiles to the classroom where we discovered about Kira being the target. "And so that made me think of the chemistry closet and the fact that someone had to let Barrow in..." He stopped in front of the blackboard. "It's gone. Okay, it doesn't matter though. It doesn't matter. I've still got the key." He glanced down at his keys, searching for the one he wanted. "What the hell? I had it. I had it here. I had it here this morning, I swear to God, I had it this morning."

"The key you were talking about last night?" My brother asked.

"Yeah, I showed it to you, right? Didn't I show it to you?"

"No, you just told me about it. I never actually saw it."

"But I did saw it," I added. "I was there when the key fell from your locker."

"I was here a couple of hours ago. And the message left to Barrow spelling Kira's name was right there on the board in my handwriting, and I had the key to the chemistry closet." His breathing was shaky.

"So you unlocked the chemistry closet, so Barrow could hide in it from the cops and then you wrote him a message to kill Kira?"

Stiles shook his head, attempting to calm his breath. "I know how it sounds. But look at this. This is the news report that came out about Barrow when they caught him, okay?" He showed us a piece of paper. "About the shrapnel bomb that he used. See this? See what he did? He put nuts, bolts and screws. And then he hid the bomb and the detonator in a box that he wrapped as a birthday present. What does that sound like to you?"

"Coach." We realized. "The joke we played on Coach."

"That was my idea. You remember?" My boyfriend glimpsed between both of us. "That was my idea. That's no coincidence. It can't be."

"I don't want to sound like I'm trying to tell you that you're wrong." My brother started to answer his friend, but I quickly interrupted him.

"I don't think you're trying to kill people." I knew Stiles. I knew everything that went through his mind.

"It was here." He squeezed the paper between his hands while his eyes were focused on the blackboard. "It was all here."

My brother and I glanced at each other. "Stiles baby, are you feeling okay? You're looking really tired."

"Yeah, I'm fine. I just haven't been sleeping really."

"Why don't we go home?" I pleaded. "Take a sick day or something."

The next day was a mess. Stiles was more anxious than the habitual, looking around all the time as if he was waiting for something or someone. Scott seemed to be hiding something from us. But as soon as I asked him, he argued that 'I shouldn't worry'.

I was biting my lower lip while one of my hands rubbed the palm of one of Stiles's hands. We were in the hospital, his entire body shaking violently. "Blackouts. But not for that long. And sleepwalking, which I used to do a lot as a kid." Melissa was taking notes of everything the boy was telling. "Um. Also having some really bad anxiety."

"Panic attacks?"

"Yeah, a couple. Oh, and I temporarily lost the ability to read. But that might have had more to do with this giant magic tree and a whole human sacrifice thing." Melissa smirked while shaking her head. The Stilinski boy squeezed my hand.

"I recall something vaguely about that, yes." I sat down next to the boy. My chin resting on his shoulder while my free hand rubbed his entire back in serene patterns. "How many hours of sleep are you getting?"

"Eight."

"A night?"

"In the last three days," I reckoned, knowing he was having trouble to sleep.

"Been feeling irritable?"

"Yeah. Possibly to the point of homicide." Stiles looked quite sick. His skin paler than ever, and the dark circles under his eyes were starting to become scary.

"Inability to focus?"

"No. The Adderall's not working."

"Impulsive behaviour?"

"More than my usual? Hard to tell."

"Vivid dreams during the day?"

"Okay, basically all of the above. Do you know what this is?"

"I think so." Melissa came closer, holding a needle. "Do you trust me?"

"When you're not holding a needle."

"It's Midazolam." She rolled up his t-shirt, rubbing some alcohol with a pad. Then, she injected him. "A sedative."

"Why'd you give me a sedative?"

"Because you, Stiles, are one profoundly sleep-deprived young man." I got up from the bed as Mama McCall made a gesture with her head. "You need rest, and you need it now. Lie down." Her hands softly pushed Stiles to lie down on the bed.

"Okay, how long does it take to-." His eyes became droopy. "Oh. Not long at all."

She placed the blanket over the sleep-deprived boy as his eyes seemed to fight to stay open. "Get some rest." She whispered while my hand caressed his hair.

Both of us got surprised when the hazel-eyed boy gripped Melissa's hand, squeezing it. "Thanks, Mom." We looked at each other, aching for the boy that was now lying on the bed with his eyes closed.

"He is alright?" I gulped, fingers gently caressing his hair and forehead.

"You can stay in the room, okay?" She kissed my cheek. "He just needs to rest. Nothing to worry about." I thanked her, hugging her and loving the feeling of her arms around me. "If you need anything, let me know."

I must have fallen asleep, sitting on the chair because when I woke up, Stiles wasn't on the hospital bed. I ran out of the room, looking everywhere until I found him in a dark empty room.

"Stiles?" His back was turned to me. But as soon as he heard my voice, he swung around. "Are you okay?"

"Yeah, fine." His eyes had seemed darker than before. However, it must have been the light of the room as they quickly went back to their usual colour. "Let's get out of here, sweetcheeks. I'm tired."

Sweetcheeks? What was that?

My sweet dreams were interrupted as my body was shaken forcefully. I shifted, changing positions in my bed, attempting to ignore whoever had dared to try and wake me up.

"Wake up." The voice was quite familiar. "Please, wake up." I groaned when I recognized the voice of my brother, trying to move away from me. "Baby sister, please."

"Scott, let me-."

"Stiles is missing." That was it. I immediately sat down on my bed, eyes wide open as I scrutinised my brother's features in the dark. "He called me. He was crying. He made me promise not to tell Noah or you, but I had to inform you." My eyes were moving around his face, feeling dizzy. "He doesn't know where he is, but he said it looks like a basement and-." His hands squeezed my arms. "There might be someone with him."

I got dressed while shaking. We had decided to go to Stiles's house, break into it.

"How did you know? Did he call you too?" Scott asked as we entered my boyfriend's bedroom, finding Lydia and Aiden.

She shook her head, explaining that she had heard it while Aiden added not to ask how, as we would get even more confused. "Not as confusing as this." The strawberry blonde girl made a gesture with her face.

"He uses red for unsolved cases." I gulped, seeing the red threat punctured in his bed. It looked like someone had made that on purpose. Maybe Stiles Stilinski wasn't just sleepwalking.

"Maybe he thinks he's part of an unsolved case?"

"Or is an unsolved case." Isaac added. Scott had asked him to come with us. He seemed as worried as us.

"Hold on." Lydia turned around to glance at us. "Is he still out there? You don't know where he is?"

My brother glanced at me, noticing the state I was in. "He said he was in an industrial basement somewhere. We came here to get a better scent." His fingers reached out for mine. "Something's wrong with his leg. It's bleeding. And he's freezing." I felt my eyes getting teary.

"Tonight's the coldest night of the year. It's going to drop into the 20s." Aiden replied, receiving a glare from me.

"What did his dad say?"

My brother shook his head. "He made me promise not to. We can find him by scent. If he was sleepwalking, he couldn't have gotten far, right?"

"H-His Jeep is gone," I mumbled, deciding to speak for the first time. "And he is hurt and freezing." My hands went to my hair, tugging on it. "And this is my fault because I was going to stay with him, but he said he didn't want to keep me awake and I just went home, and I should have stayed and-."

"Breathe." Lydia had grabbed my cheeks, wiping my tears. "He is Stiles. He is going to be alright. We are going to find him."

"You guys remember she gets these feelings when someone's about to die, right?"

I glared at Aiden. "Can I fucking kill him myself?" I asked while trying to get closer. Isaac was quick enough to stop me. "No, let me fucking kill him right now. Maybe Lydia felt me killing this ass-."

"Okay okay." My brother tried to calm everyone down. "Let's find Noah."

And we did.

Noah was trying to control his breathing, and I felt stupid as I couldn't control my feelings. Tears, running down my cheeks. "Come on. If his Jeep is gone, that's where we start." He glanced at another officer that was sitting behind his desk. "Parrish, let's get an APB out on a blue 1980 CJ-5 Jeep." Another officer. "Cordova, I want a list of any kind of industrial basement or sub-level of any building that he could've gotten into while sleepwalking. It's the coldest night of the year so far. So If he's out their barefoot in just a T-shirt, he could already be hypothermic. Let's move fast. Let's think fast. The three of you, come with me." We went inside the office as he closed the door behind himself. "Okay. Is there anything you need to tell me that I can't tell anyone out there?" He made a gesture with his arm, asking me to walk closer. As soon as I did, we hugged each other tightly. "We are going to find my son. We are going to find him." I nodded my head against his chest.

"Lydia knew he was missing."

"Can she help find him?" His hand rubbed my back. Noah Stilinski's son was missing, and here I was being comforted by him when we should be comforting him.

"Well, she's working on it."

"Anything else?"

"I called Derek and Allison for help."

Before Noah could speak again, the door of his office was opened by another officer. They had found Roscoe. They had found Stiles's jeep. However, there was no trace of Stiles at the hospital. Derek had offered to go to high school, in case he was there. Scott had gone with Isaac, Lydia, and Noah in search of Stiles as Lydia seemed to believe that she knew where he was.

However, they didn't let me go as my body wouldn't stop shaking fiercely. But they wouldn't keep me away from the case as I wandered with Melissa to the station.

"What are you two doing here?" Rafe McCall asked as he eyed the two of us. His arm was in a cast as he had been hurt.

"My shift was over. I just wanted to see if I could help."

"And you?" He pointed at me.

"The missing person is my boyfriend." I swallowed. It burned to say those words. But it hurt, even more, experiencing them.

"That's why you shouldn't be here." He shook his head. "You are weak right now," His gaze was fixed on me. "Like Noah is. You both shouldn't be involved in a case like this one." He coughed. "It can affect the procedure of the investigation."

"Yeah, nice ted-talk." I nodded my head. "When are we leaving to go find Stiles?"

"You are staying here." He replied.

"You don't order me." Melissa tried to calm us down, but the fierce stare between us was burning.

"Didn't your father teach you to respect elders?" He spat. "Oh, you said he left, right? Did you give him the same attitude you give everyone? That false confident of yours won't bring you far." His gaze was firm. "Life won't treat you right if you behave like that."

"I don't know about my father." I spat back. "He is a coward and an asshole." I stepped closer to him. "You both seem to have things in common."

"It's not my job to teach you what respect is." He glared. "Your father did a terrible job with you."

My eyes were teary, not because of pain or being hurt. They were teary because my boyfriend was out there, hurt and freezing. And I was crying out of rage and disgust for the man that was my father. "You are going to talk about being a father?" I scoffed. "Didn't you leave Scott? You fled from here as soon as you could."

"You don't know anything about me being a father."

"I do," I added, shaking violently. Melissa clutched my arm, trying to stop me from getting closer to the man in front of us. "I know you are an excuse of a father." I nodded my head. "Yes, you are. Leaving as soon as you have an opportunity. Not only did you leave ONE pregnant woman." I spat. "You decided to move to another city and leave another unstable woman pregnant. And what did you do with Scott?"

"Y/N, please." The sweet voice of Melissa almost snapped me back from my rage.

"No!" I shouted. "He wants to know. Let's tell him." I shifted my gaze towards the man all over again. "For how many years were you there for Scott? Did you teach him things about man? Were you there the first time he felt changes on his body? Or when he had to shave for the first time? Where you there?"

"Listen here, you little-."

"Where you there for Alice?" He glanced at me, confused. "Alice O'Sullivan." His eyes shone as her name rolled out of my mouth. "Yeah, you know her. Of course, you do. She was an unstable woman with trust issues. Drugs and alcohol were her only friends. Then, you came along, a married man with a pregnant wife and you decided to convince her that you would leave your wife for her." Tears ran down my cheeks. "And you would travel from family to family, destroying both of them. And your daughter, you completely left her. She was only three years old."

"What are you-."

"You had the little girl's custody. You asked for it, but you were never there for her. And you know what? Her mother wasn't either." Melissa was caressing my back. "At the age of 5, she said her first word because her development was slower due to the situation at home. There was glass all over the floors because she had this funny game of drinking lots of alcohol and throwing the bottles at a wall." I nodded my head. "Yeah, it was funny for Alice. Especially when she made the little girl clean it while disgusting men that she didn't know went to the bedroom with her mom. And she heard these noises, and she didn't know what they were until she grew up."

"Y/N."

"Did you know she would put out her cigarettes on her skin? She would burn her." I glanced at the floor, biting my lip. "Did you know she grew up without anyone? And there was no one to answer her curiosities. She had to learn how to shave with a youtube video, and she had to educate herself in every aspect of life." I gulped. "And when she grew up a little more and understood that her father was nowhere to be seen, she was informed that he had disappeared even though he had her custody." I finally stared at him. "And she had to move from house to house until she started living with a friend of her mom's. Thankfully, that woman was clean." I sniffed. "However, she had to go to Beacon Hills and live with his father's other family. She had to step into a family that wasn't her own. A family that had suffered because of the same man. Because Alice and her daughter were the second family."

"What are you talking about?"

"Yeah. Scott, at first, didn't want anything to do with her. And even though Melissa accepted taking care of the girl, she was hesitant, and when she looked at the girl, she saw her husband cheating and having a child with another woman." His eyes opened wide. "For if you are interested, that girl had to go live with Melissa because YOU had the custody and Miriam, her mother's friend was sick and couldn't take care of you daughter anymore." I never talked about the real reason that bought me to Beacon Hills. "And Miriam was desperate because you weren't answering your phone and she found Melissa and explained the situation." I smiled. "And she was sweet enough to take care of her ex-husband's other child."

"You..."

I nodded my head. "Yeah, I'm that little girl. Y/N McCall." I swallowed. "So yeah, I know how you are as a father and yes, my father," I pointed at him. "Didn't show me respect because he taught me nothing." I wiped my eyes. "Now, if you don't mind. My boyfriend is out there, and we need to fucking find him." I spat, walking towards the door. "Aren't you coming, dad?"

The ride car was filled, with a conversation between Melissa and Rafe, but I decided not to pay attention as my body was still shaking due to the worry I was handling.

.

STILES’S POV

An awful noise made me furrow my eyebrows as my eyes were set on the figure in front of me. "You don't understand, do you?" Its voice sounded distorted, and I wasn't sure if it was my mind playing tricks on me or if it was real. My body was shaking as I was freezing, and my eyes were teary. "It's a riddle. Do you know any riddles, Stiles?"

"A few." A mere whisper came out of my mouth, not having any strength.

"What gets bigger the more you take away?" It asked. Its back still facing me.

"A hole." I replied.

"What gets wetter the more it dries?"

"A towel." I wanted to cry. I wanted to get out of here and be at home. I wanted to be with my dad and my friends and Y/N.

"When is a door not a door?"

I couldn't hold back the tears anymore. "When it's ajar."

"Everyone has it, but no one can lose it." He whispered. "What is it?"

"I don't-."

The monster in front of me exhaled. And as he slowly turned around, I quivered even more. "Everyone has it, but no one can lose it." He shuffled closer. "What is it, Stiles?"

"I don't-. I don't know." I forced my eyes shut.

"Everyone has it, but no one can lose it." Its walk was strange, and I tried to avoid glancing at it. My eyes fixed on the floor, squeezed shut.

It started speaking in a language I couldn't understand at first until I noticed that it was Japanese. I continued shaking while crying, biting my knuckles not to cry loudly.

"I don't know." I met its face. It was full of bandages. The only feature I could observe was his mouth. It was dark with sharp teeth. Was this just a nightmare? This couldn't be a nightmare. This had to be real.

"No, no." He grabbed the chain that had my leg in a trap, dragging me from my injured leg while I scream as loud as I could. I was going to die. I would never thank my dad for everything he did to me and apologize for how troublesome I had always been. I will never be able to thank Scott for being my best friend, even if he had never watched Star Wars. I would never see my other friends. I would never thank Melissa for being a mother figure and talking to me as if she was the woman who birthed me. I would never be able to thank Y/N McCall for appearing in our lives.

Y/N McCall.

I would never be able to do all the things that I wanted to experience with her. I would never be able to kiss her again. I would never be able to hear her voice. In this instant, I was forgetting the sound of her voice.

.

Y/N’S POV

I was shaking, tears falling down my cheeks, not knowing what to do. I was just standing there, observing how Melissa hugged Stiles from the back, trying to calm him down as he screamed. Oh god, it sounded as if someone was torturing him.

After shouting for a couple of minutes, he noticed that Melissa was the one embracing him. It seemed like relief invaded his body as he acknowledged Melissa, falling unconscious in her arms.

She glanced at me. "He is okay, sweetheart. He is okay." Rafe glimpsed at me as he saw me trembling. "He is okay, Y/N." Next thing, I was in Rafe's arms as he had grabbed me from falling to the ground. Exhaustion and relieve invading me in welcoming darkness.

"Hey, hey." A voice whispered. I slowly opened my eyelids, seeing a white light on top of my face. I rapidly closed my eyes until they adjusted to the blinding light. "Hello there." Scott?

"Hi," I replied, rubbing my eyes and slowly sitting down on the bed. I was in a hospital room. "What am I doing h-." I interrupted my own words as I remembered everything that had happened. "Stiles?" I glanced around the room. "Is Stiles okay? Is he-."

"Ssh," My brother's fingers caressed my head. "He is okay. I'm here to bring you with me." The light entering the room made me guess that I had slept through the entire night and part of the early morning. "They are going to do some tests on him."

My heart stopped. "Why?"

"Just in case," He sighed. "His mother had some problems, you know." He nodded his head while licking his lower lip. "They just want to make sure everything is alright."

Following my brother through the corridors of the hospital, I ignored the looks I was receiving as I was wearing one of the pyjamas. Entering a room, I saw my boyfriend sitting down while ready to go on with the tests they wanted to perform on him.

When his gaze met mine, we quickly walked to each other. "You are okay," I affirmed, trying to hear the same thing coming out of his mouth. "Fuck, Stiles. Are you okay?"

His nose was on my neck, breathing me in and embracing me as tight as he could. " I am now." His voice was a little shaky.

"Stiles, just to warn you," The doctor turned around to glance at the boy. My boyfriend sat down while I offered Melissa and Noah a tiny smile. "You're going to hear a lot of noise during the MRI. It's due to pulses of electricity going through metal coils inside the machine. Uh, if you want we can get you earplugs or headphones."

"Oh, no, no," He shook his head. "I don't need anything."

"Hey, we're just on the other side of that window. Okay?"

"Okay." He hugged his dad as the three adults left the room. "You know what they're looking for, right?" He stared at my brother. Then, he moved his gaze to me, asking for me to get closer. I sat down on his lap. "It's called frontotemporal dementia." My brother and I were silent as tears invaded our eyes. "Areas of your brain start to shrink. It's what my mother had. It's the only form of dementia that can hit teenagers. And there's no cure."

My brother and I continued being silent until he wiped his tears. "Stiles, if you have it, we'll do something. I'll do something."

I saw both boys, deeply looking into each other's eyes, and I remembered what Noah told me the night at the school. Boys also needed time to talk and express their feelings. Therefore, I got up from Stiles's lap, kissing his lips softly. It was hard to depart from him, especially when he continued keeping closer and whispering that he was terrified.

When we were strong enough to depart, I let him know that I would be behind the window too. When I walked to the other room, both Noah and Melissa kept me between them. Mama McCall rubbing my back while my head rested on Noah's shoulder. "He will be alright," I whispered.

Our eyes filled with more tears as the two boys hugged each other. Stiles sobbed, and for the first time in my life, I prayed. I prayed for Stiles to be alright.

"I'm going to go to have something to drink." My brother informed, keeping his eyes on the window that separated us from Stiles. "Anyone wants something?" The three of us shook our heads. Scott walked closer to me, kissing my forehead. "Derek is outside," He whispered.

Seeing my brother leaving the room, I just sighed.

"See this? The tissue here and there." The doctor pointed to his computer screen. There was a part of Stiles's head that seemed a little more orange than the rest. "Both those spots are showing signs of atrophy."

No.

"Atrophy." Noah gulped.

No.

"I'm sorry."

No.

The lights went out. But as soon as they did, they also came back. "What was that?" Melissa asked as we all glanced at the ceiling.

"It sounded like a power surge."

"Where's my son?"

I wandered closer to the glass, my hands resting on it. Stiles was nowhere to be found again.

.

.

TAGLIST: @og-baby-ob14 - @savemypostcards - @cas-loves-pizza - @used-avocado - @mvrylee - @bilesxbilinskixlahey - @honeydoll-stark - @arieltheworldisamess - @softpeteparker - @kit-kat-katie99 - @thatsuperherosidekick - @bexbetterxthanxwords - @big-galaxy-chaos - @littlemiss-forgotten - @enchantedcruelsummer - @coldfreakeggsexpert - @merla123 - @sammypotato67 - @weirdowithnobeardo - @maggiesblogsblog - @itskindyl - @bobo-bush - @moongoddesskiana - @multifandxm353 - @irwxnhugsx - @xoprincessmel - @iclosetgeek - @andreagf956 - @niawoods - @anerroroccurrrrred - @perrytheplatypus11 - @trustfundparker - @nmriia - @steve-harringtonnn - @trustfundparker - @brithedemonspawn - @weirdowithnobeardo - @my-soul-is-the-moon - @azayamari - @poguestyle17 - @bibliophilewednesday - @10minutesofscreentime - @momentitodebruh - @drikawinchester - @perrytheplatypus11 - @my-soul-is-the-moon - @linkpk88 - @royalreadery - @sweetest-serpent01 - @teenwaywardasgardian - @sadcupofcoffee - @maliyamay - @seninjakitey​ - @tairisceana​ - @thegirlwhoimagined​ - @mackingjj​  -

People in bold means it doesn’t let me tag them.

[taeyongdoyoung]

summary: you are a mermaid and you save a handsome man from drowning but little do you know it’s not his first rodeo when dealing with mermaids. seonghwa, a former prince, is currently hongjoong’s first mate and boyfriend. hongjoong is the captain, the pirate king of the most savage crew across the seas. and you want nothing to do with them. not because they’re pirates, but because they’re humans…

ship: mermaid!reader x prince/pirate!seonghwa x pirate!hongjoong

genre: little mermaid!au, pirate!au, angst, romance, humour, fluff

author’s note: once again i apologize for not updating regularly, uni takes up so much of my free time, hope you guys enjoy this new short chapter!

warnings: some jealousy, the usual antics, joong not getting any sleep because of y/n and hwa not getting any sleep because of joong, affection ew, wooyoung being a brat

word count: 1.4k

chapter one ☠️ chapter two ☠️ chapter three ☠️ chapter four ☠️chapter five ☠️chapter six ☠️ chapter seven ☠️ chapter nine ☠️ chapter ten ☠️ chapter eleven ☠️ chapter twelve ☠️ chapter thirteen ☠️ spotify playlist

You waited until everyone went to sleep and it got dark enough. You knew Hongjoong had seen Seonghwa kissing you and you needed to talk to him. From what you gathered earlier when speaking to Yeosang, Seonghwa and Hongjoong were on something of a break. You knew that you were largely responsible for their arguing but you still hadn’t heard the whole story. 

Despite not meaning to hurt anyone, you still felt like you owed Hongjoong some sort of explanation. But you felt like it’d be wiser to approach him without Seonghwa around. Yeosang had informed you that he was currently residing in his room so that was good for you. As much as you cared for Seonghwa, you feared that he would get into another fight with Hongjoong and you wouldn’t be able to pull them apart. 

So you waited. When you were fairly certain that you had located the window of Hongjoong’s room, you set your plan into motion. You started catching random fish and throwing them at the window to capture the captain’s attention.

“Sorry, pals,” you apologized to your sea friends after they returned back into the sea with a loud splash, swimming away in a hurry, obviously shocked by being mistreated in such a way.

Soon enough, Hongjoong was woken up by the noisy attacks on his window and opened it. Noticing that it was you, he groaned in frustration.

“What do you want from me in the middle of the night?”

“Come out of your room and into the sea, we need to talk.”

“Seonghwa doesn’t sleep in my room anymore,” he didn’t want to give you the satisfaction of knowing that but did so anyway, even though you were aware of that already.

“Yeosang told me,” you shrugged. “Now come out. I promise I won’t lure you to the sea bottom.”

Hongjoong rolled his eyes and closed the window. A couple of minutes later, you were pleasantly surprised by the fact that he did as you asked.

“What is it, then?” he repeated.

“I wanted to thank you for saving me and my sister from Mingi. If you hadn’t arrived on time, we both would have died without water…”

Hongjoong sighed guiltily.

“It was my fault you were there to begin with,” he confessed.

“What do you mean?” you whispered in confusion.

“I mean…I lied to Mingi, told him that you mermaids had killed the sea witch. And we both know who’s actually responsible for that.”

“You did that to protect Seonghwa, didn’t you?” you nodded thoughtfully.

“Well, yeah, but mostly because of my jealousy. In any case, I shouldn’t have done that.”

“Regardless…I’m grateful you came for us. I can’t imagine how difficult it must have been for you. Considering how you feel about Seonghwa…and how he feels about me.”

“Are you here to rub salt into my wounds?” Hongjoong chuckled coldly.

“No, I’m here to let you know I’m going back home. I’ve caused enough trouble as it is.”

Hongjoong furrowed his brows.

“Why are you telling me this? Seonghwa is in Yeosang’s room…”

“I can’t bear to say goodbye to him,” you shook your head.

“You don’t have to,” Hongjoong insisted. “He’s happier with you around.”

“But you aren’t,” you pointed out. “And I hate to see anyone suffering because of me. Even you.”

“Why would you give a shit about me after the way I’ve treated you?” Hongjoong asked in utter disbelief.

“You still came for me, didn’t you? Despite your jealousy, you came for me. That’s gotta mean something, right?”

Hongjoong visibly disagreed.

“I came because of my crew. They voted to save you and Soojin. I was the only one against.”

“But you could have ordered them not to go,” you argued, still eager to give him the benefit of the doubt. “As their captain, they would have been forced to obey you.”

“I guess…” Hongjoong sounded unconvinced. “Look, I’m happy you’re alive and stuff, but if you leave without saying goodbye, Seonghwa will think I killed you.”

“Fair point,” you laughed. “So what now? Are you willing to tolerate my existence?”

“I can try. For both our sakes and Seonghwa’s.”

“Will you come closer?” you asked.

“Why? So you can drown me?” Hongjoong eyed you suspiciously.

“Come on,” you giggled.

And despite his reservations, he swam closer to you. Before he could register what was happening, you quickly kissed his cheek.

“Thank you,” you repeated.

Hongjoong was so flustered he simply stared at you. A couple of moments later his unexpected promise came.

“I can build a pool in the ship. So that you can stay there from time to time. If you wish.”

You nodded gratefully and kissed his cheek once again.

He was even more flustered.

“You gotta stop doing that,” Hongjoong chuckled.

“Three times for good luck,” you joked and kissed him once more. “Go back to sleep. And sorry for waking you.”

“It’s alright,” Hongjoong replied. “I didn’t mind.”

And to your amazement, he meant every word.

☠️☠️☠️

Seonghwa’s POV

No sooner had I seen the sunrise than I distinctly heard loud noises of…repairs? It was too early for this. Who had the audacity to disturb everyone’s peaceful sleep? We’d been through so much yesterday, what with confronting Mingi, as well as saving Y/N and Soojin. 

I could really use a break but someone had decided to make this despicable hubbub for whatever reason. I angrily got out of bed only to find that Yeosang was not sleeping soundly. Was he responsible for the noise? Despite his hospitality, I was going to murder whoever deemed it an appropriate time for fixing the ship or whatever that mysterious scoundrel was up to. 

Once I was out of the room and onto the deck, I saw Hongjoong squatted, working on something with a bunch of tools.

“What in Blackbeard’s name are you doing?” I yelled at him, not at all caring if I woke anyone else up. It seemed highly unlikely that Hongjoong’s loud antics had not brought everyone out of bed.

“I’m making a pool inside the ship.”

“What for? If you want to go for a swim, be my guest, we’re surrounded by the vast sea, you idiot!” I hissed sarcastically.

“It’s for Y/N and Soojin. So that they can stay here whenever they want and not have to go back to sleep at the bottom of the sea.”

My angry expression suddenly disappeared off my face.

“Oh,” I managed.

Hongjoong just gave me an awkward smile and continued working on the pool.

“Why are you suddenly being nice to them? I thought you hated mermaids,” I was being suspicious of his motives but I figured I had every right to be, after everything he had done.

He shrugged.

“I figured they’re not so bad.”

“Did anything happen in particular?” I pressed him further for information. “To make you have a change of heart?”

“Y/N kissed me,” Hongjoong whispered, a look of longing apparent in his eyes, as if he was still in disbelief.

“She did what?” I accidentally raised my voice.

“Oh, please, you don’t get to be jealous. I saw you kiss her, too, you know? And besides, it was just on the cheek.”

I rolled my eyes.

“I’m not jealous. Just surprised she would do that.”

“Why? Am I not handsome enough to deserve her attentions?” Hongjoong groaned.

“You’re handsome, alright,” I scoffed. “But not nearly nice enough to her.”

“I’m trying, okay?” Hongjoong sighed, pointing at the mess he’d made in the attempt to build a pool.

“You need help with that?” I suggested gallantly.

“I thought you didn’t want to stay in the same room with me?” Hongjoong reminded me of my own words.

“Well, technically, we’re not in a room right now,” I pointed out. “But let’s just say I’m willing to reconsider.”

“Does that mean you’re going back to our bedroom tonight?” Hongjoong blinked hopefully.

“Don’t push your luck,” I warned. “Let’s get to work.”

“Hey, we want to help, too!” Yeosang interjected out of nowhere. Wooyoung and San were peeking right behind him, curiously observing us.

“For how long have you been standing there?” I grumbled in annoyance.

“Long enough to know Mom and Dad are getting back together!” Wooyoung teased.

“We are not,” I tried to deny it. “Not yet,” I added, barely audible.

Hongjoong was the only one who heard me and gave me a grateful smile, only reserved for me. And honestly, that was all I needed.

To be continued…

[moony-marvuders]

monster [ professor!lupin x hufflepuff!reader]

1/?

intro

y/n l/n, a spectacularly odd, and scared witch, with gifted abilities, is now orphaned upon the murder of her Mother and Father, and has come to live with her Godfather, Rubeus Hagrid. Despite her lack of knowledge, and never being properly trained, Dumbledore feels as though she has a right to be taught, just the same as anyone else/

pairing : professor! lupin x hufflepuff!reader

warnings: age gap, trauma, Orphaned Reader, female pronouns,  insinuation of death and violence, student/teacher relationship.  

- Reader is written as 18 in the timeline, and isn’t underage, there for there’s no reason to get dramatic about the pairing. There is also no insinuation of s*xual relations (only romantic) as I myself am asexual, and that would be taking this type of pairing a bit too far. Secondly, timeline is a little confusing, the reader is infact taking year 3 classes, and you will find out why as you read forward. Anyway, if you don’t enjoy, the content, simply ignore it.

( And if you would like a second part, request. request. request.)

-

The sky begins to darken above as you and Hagrid walked back to the castle grounds from Hogsmeade Village. The air cooling around you, with a whisk of the autumn wind. Your Godfather, leading you through the castle grounds, and around the lake, to where your new home would be. It’s painfully quiet, as the students wouldn’t arrive until tomorrow, not something that neither of you particularly enjoy. The sound of silence. 

“ Yer new home is right around ere” He points as you approach to a painfully small hut. It’s made of old stone, it looks warned down, almost ancient, as if it was going to fall apart.  You’re surprised at the sight, it looking from the outside to be too small for a man of your Godfathers size. Though this was Hogwarts, anything was seemingly possible. “It’s lovely.” You halfly lie, only thankful to have a home to call your own, after everything that’s happened, you still had somewhere to go, only some dream to have just as much, if not less than that. 

It had been years since you had been on these grounds and seen your Godfather. Years since you were meant to go to Hogwarts, and fulfill your magical destiny, but everything had been ruined. Your family gone, your childhood taken away, along with most of your happiest memories. 

He opens the wooden door, revealing a cozy home within. You know you had been here before, long ago, but the memory was gone, any recollection of it belongs to the overwhelming sadness deep within you, the memories of what happened to your parents holding a tight grip  around your heart.  You stood still within the doorway as Hagrid, walked inside. He turned back around, halting the haunting thoughts. 

“ Are yeh comin’ in? Yer lettin’ in a draft!” And with that, your new life began. 

- 

“ So I’m going to be the first there?” You questioned, gathering all you needed, to stay at the dorms. Despite having Hagrid’s to live at, he and Dumbledore suggested it would be useful to stay within a dorm, to gather the real experience of Hogwarts. But you thought it to be a way around telling anybody you were in fact Hagrid’s God Daughter, perhaps they didn’t want anybody thinking oddly of you.

“ Yeh, but it won’t be long before there ere”  You sighed, walking among the front doors.  

Only time could tell when they would be here, and when you would have to be sorted. Flashbacks to your Father and Mother crossed your mind, the two of them being an odd pair of lovers at that, considering the houses they had been sorted into.

Your Mother was a cunning Slytherin, filled with power and a strive for greatness, though despite her temperament, she was the nicest woman some had ever met, she was unnaturally kind for such a reputation, but only to those whom she really could trust, one of the people being your Father. Your Father was just as filled with power as she, only he was more selfless, more brave. A Gryffindor in his truest right. Despite their differences, and the wedge between them of Pureblood and Muggleborn magic, they seemed to defy all odds when together. Truly a mystery. 

-

The great hall was huge, candles floating amongst the numerous house tables, all filled with empty cutlery and plates. Your Father had spoken of this moment numerous of times, what it would look like, how it would happen. But now that you were here, the spark of what once was hope and magic was washed out, dimming the more you thought of it. You couldn’t picture your Father’s smile anymore when thinking of him talking with so much joy, only flashes of horrendous memories, that of a wooded forest, and blood, lots of blood, pooling around your feet. 

You felt a firm hand on your back, causing you to jump to turn around, greeted with the familiar face of Dumbledore, whom had been the person to bring you here, from your parents home. You smiled, warmly at the wise and kind man in front of you, “Excited?” He asked, as the other Professors walked along the middle, going to grab their respective seats before the sorting ceremony and feast. “ Excited, but more nervous if anything Headmaster. “ You chew on the inside of your cheek. You would probably be the only Seventh year to be sorted, the only Seventh year to not be in any of the same classes as the rest of your year. It was all so humiliating, and yet you still had some hope, an ounce of faith and true gratitude that you were even aloud among the school.

“ Nothing to be scared of dear y/n. This is the right place for you.” You couldn’t help to hold your trust within his voice, as you watched him give you another warm smile, before heading to the front table, joining the rest of the staff. 

You stood at the back of the room, awaiting for the first years to arrive last. Not wanting to walk with them, too scared you’d be judged and ridiculed for being the oldest to be sorted. Your parents had bravery, so much of it to spare, and yet you didn’t feel an ounce of bravery, perhaps ever. You weren’t brave now, and you weren’t brave when they had been killed. Perhaps the sorting hat wouldn’t know what to do with you and they would have to throw you out, you thought. You weren’t brave or cunning like your Mother and Father, nor smart like a Ravenclaw. Perhaps a Hufflepuff, but you weren’t overjoyed with happiness, always smiling at everybody either. You felt like you were nothing. The girl who had to sit there, and watch the two people she loved the most die, and just let them, out of fear. Why had you been accepted into Hogwarts if you were simply; 

        nothing. 

-

As everybody settled in to The Great Hall, Dumbledore stood above everyone within the room. Describing how the Sorting Hat would work, and that when You had been sorted, to go to your assigned table. 

“ Now!” He spoke loudly, “ Before we begin with the first years. We have a certain Seventh Year who needs sorting! y/n y/l/n?!” He called out for you, eyes across the hall, looking for whom he must be talking to. He called again and before you could process it fully, you began walking up to the front, and through the crowd of new students.

You sat down with hesitation within the chair, eyes closed as you did so, too scared to look into the eyes of your peers. The hat was lowered upon your head gently. It began to speak to you, as if it had been a person, knowing every little detail within your head. 

“ Interesting, very interesting. You’re a bit confusing aye? Your Mother was a Slytherin, correct? Your Father though.,,.he was a Gryffindor? What an odd pairing.. hmmm... But you... you don’t have these qualities- you’re different. A bit odd, not quite academic, but knowledge lies within your heart. There’s something strong about you- You’re loyal, patient, un-judgemental- you seek no power, only a sense of justice, and of love.. Yes I see it now... HUFFLEPUFF!!!” 

In that moment you couldn’t help but wear a small smile, and open your eyes, watching as the Hufflepuff table greated you with graceful, happy cheers.

-

After the sorting, and after everyone had sat within their respective seats, Dumbledore rose once again to the front, before the feast was to begin.

“Welcome! Welcome to another year at Hogwarts. Now, I'd like to say a few words... before we all become too befuddled by our excellent feast. First, I'm pleased to welcome Professor R.J. Lupin....who's kindly consented to fill the post... of Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher. Good luck, Professor.”

A Professor stood to his feet humbly, barely standing straight, almost being overwhelmed with the clapping the was brought by the mentioning of him. You couldn’t help but to notice, the long scars amongst his face, some of them quite fresh, some scarred so deep, that they would never leave. You couldn’t help but think to yourself whom had hurt him, or specifically what. If he knew anything about The Dark Arts, he must have encountered dangerous things quite often.

He softly bowed, his hands clasped together, before sitting back down within his seat. Your eyes rarely left where he had sat, still pondering within thought.

-

( I hope you enjoyed this first part of this fic! If there’s anything specific you want to see, or perhaps any ideas for this, I’m always open to criticism and creative help! Also request anything you would like within my inbox, I adore requests.)

[antialiasis]

Morphic: the Musical

The Thousand Roads forums have a fanfic music thread. While I don't really do those kinds of threads usually because I don't really listen to a very wide variety of music and generally have a hard time associating music that already exists with unrelated fiction, one of the questions in it is this:

Talk about what would happen if some Broadway hit-maker scooped up your fic and turned it into a script. What songs would be in it? Describe a dance number/dance battle?

And immediately, the musical analysis glint lit up in my eyes. This question was presumably intended in a lighthearted jokey sort of way - imagining some fight staged as a dance battle, a hypothetical Broadway hit-maker doing the adaptation. But that's not enough for me, say I! Musicals are a good and interesting medium for serious fiction that I care about and I am going to serious this up.

See, to me, the musical format has two major strengths as a narrative medium. The first is that it can explore the inner worlds of characters in a pretty unique way. Characters get to monologue in a sort of heightened, non-literal manner, intensified by music: we can learn what they're about, what makes them tick, what's going on in their heads in a particular moment, in a way that wouldn't really make sense presented as actual inner monologue in another medium. The music aspect itself then adds a layer to it that's impossible to replicate in any other.

The second strength of the musical format is that it's really good at highlighting recurring themes, parallels and contrasts. Reprise the same melody, the same lyric, a parallel but opposite lyric, and you've instantly connected two things together. Is there a character arc? You can highlight what has changed. Are there two characters going through something similar? You can draw that out. Is there a recurring theme throughout? Use a recurring lyric, a recurring melodic phrase! Nudge the viewer into forming connections! Delicious! And you can do subtler things on the music level itself - particular instruments with particular connotations, recurring motifs...

So naturally I decided I should think up what a musical adaptation of Morphic would be like. It'd be a fun exercise in putting all my thoughts on musical adaptations into practice, but also an interesting way to help sort out some of my thoughts about characters arcs, etc. for the actual Morphic rewrite. And in the process, I may have gone slightly overboard. I regret nothing.

(I'm about to spoil most of the fic here, if this wasn't obvious)

Morphic: the Musical - tracklist

(Note: this musical is not sung-through; there are regular non-musical sections with regular dialogue in between. Morphic would almost definitely not make for a good sung-through musical.)

Act I

[Intro song] (Brian)

A monologue by Brian at the TV studio as he tries to work through what to say, how to explain or justify any of this (which conveniently serves to exposit to the audience as well as introduce his character). He makes nervous false starts and cuts himself off, starting the verse over each time, and through these false starts we learn what's going on, that the press has been calling them Pokémorphs, that this was all Dave's idea, that alcohol was involved, that it was meant as a basis for further research, that there were never supposed to be *children*, that he doesn't know what he'd even do with a kid, that Dave roped him into going on this show because he couldn't.

[Dave song] (Dave)

This musical properly introduces us to Dave via Jane walking out on him followed by this song, wherein he contemplates chucking baby Jean out the window. It's a dark rock song with big emotional contrasts and raw lyrics that is almost definitely my favorite song in this musical in the hypothetical reality where it is an actual musical and I didn't write it, because I am me. Probably starts with a couple slower lines of desperate disbelief before launching into wild anger about fuck that fucking whore, followed by what I will be referring to as the everything-is-shit verse (please bear with me), just a general cynicism rant about why the world is a shitty place not worth living in, followed by him wildly fantasizing about killing his infant child. What a delightful human being that I adore. The song ends abruptly, he's standing there staring at her in his arms for a moment, then he silently goes to feed her. On the soundtrack you probably might think he just did it.

Fatherhood (Brian)

A montage song covering the timeskip, which probably reprises [Intro song]. Brian initially has no idea what to do with his new squirming horrorblob child and is convinced he will screw it up the way he tends to screw up everything. Makes a couple of false starts again, but then gains confidence as time passes as he genuinely bonds with Gabriel and legitimately thinks he's a pretty amazing kid. There's a repeated line along the lines of that Gabriel's a weird, weird kid, but he's his, initially in a tone of "oh god I'm responsible for him what do" but towards the end is said with pride and fondness.

[Villain song] (Isaac and Jacob)

A duet between the two brothers, exploring what makes them tick. Isaac is all about this heavy pressure and sense of responsibility, originally imposed by his father, that he continues to impose on himself. He's been appointed to take over leading the family/cult and was raised with that constantly in the back of his mind as his future, and he believes that they're God's true righteous people and he cannot go wrong. He has dreams with some regularity that he interprets as visions from God, as he has been encouraged to since childhood by his father. When he has one about murder, it frightens him but he sees it as basically a divinely-appointed mission.

Jacob privately doesn't really believe any of that. He is trapped in this cult and goes through the motions but is not actually driven by any of the things that are driving Isaac. He's fairly quiet for most of the song - as Isaac is going on about his vision, Jacob has a line here and there obliquely challenging it, but Isaac has an answer for everything, and he doesn't press it, instead moving seamlessly on to suggestions for how he should do it. Jacob gets a quiet variant of part of the everything-is-shit verse from [Dave song], expressing the same kind of cynicism in a more reproachful, apathetic way - all in his own head, of course.

Just Like My Hero (Jean and Will)

Jean sings about how she is just like her hero, Sarah Hooter! Starts off describing how they look the same, moves on from there to how she will torch anyone who's mean, etc., just like her hero. Halfway through, Will joins in, and it becomes a counterpoint duet: Jean may be immature and ridiculous, but he deeply wishes he was confident and adored and nothing would get to him, and he admires and envies that about her. His just like my hero has a bit more of an ironic vibe, he'd hardly properly call her his hero, but he looks up to her more than he'd normally admit nonetheless.

Storming the Castle (Jack and Gabriel)

Jack and Gabriel are playing a D&D game with their friends, arguing about the best course of action. Jack is eager to waltz into the bad guys' fortress, storm the castle, while Gabriel urges lying low, says they're too weak. Jack wants to take the leap and try it; Gabriel insists no, we're not taking the leap, it's stupid. "It's brave!" Jack counters. (In the end, Gabriel gives in and they go ahead with it, and it goes fine.)

Unique (Mia and Lucy)

Mia and Lucy play one of their games. The song is about how Lucy needs someone like Mia to challenge her and let her actually indulge her powers, which are otherwise unsettling to people and she's ashamed and self-conscious about them, while Mia needs someone like Lucy to get a real outlet for her hunter's instinct. The word the lyrics are built around is unique; by being the precise way they are, they are each the only person who can provide this for the other.

Mia doesn't sing. She speaks her lyrics in her usual monotone, not even rhythmically. They also don't rhyme. It's technically a duet but really it's just Lucy singing and Mia talking.

[Peter/Katherine song] (Peter and Katherine)

A counterpoint duet between the siblings, contrasting their experience as Pokémorphs. Peter can pretty easily hide that he's different and be treated mostly as a normal kid, and feels free in his privilege, not confined quite the way the others are, able to be a bit reckless and incautious. Katherine, meanwhile, has a very different experience, being extremely noticeably different, getting stared at, and struggling with basic activities, and feels a huge sense of responsibility weighing her down, worrying about Peter and grounding him and reining him in. There's a lyrical contrast involving something something bird freedom plant rooted down something.

Brian's Death (Isaac and Dave)

This is one of those mostly-instrumental pieces that they include on the soundtrack anyway, but Isaac gets a couple of sung nondiegetic lines in here, a sort of frantic excitement, realizing in a brief panic that he shot the wrong guy before rationalizing that God must have planned it this way.

Dave is probably also in there screaming and attempting to call the police, because I am always in favor of screaming and panicking on musical soundtracks.

The Funeral (Gabriel and Jack)

Begins with Gabriel at the church during the funeral, singing about his vague discomfort being there, but slowly becomes increasingly frantic and anxious, working up to a breakdown where he exits and finally manages to cry for his dad. There's a verse about little things, how they ordered pizza the night before he died, etc., culminating in the bit about him having been in the middle of this mystery novel and never getting to learn who did it; the verse trails off quietly there, backing instruments gone, as Gabriel breaks down. Jack follows to comfort him.

Act II

[Montage song] (everyone)

A montage of the days after the attack, where everyone gets a couple lines about how they're coping, scared and grieving.

Dave's lines are like, spoken slightly too desperate annoyance at having to do some work that Brian didn't get to finish, or rebuking somebody who asks how he's doing by saying he barely even knew Brian. He is not singing along with this kind of grief-porn bullshit, fuck you.

[Villain song II] (Isaac and Jacob)

The brothers come up with a new plan. Isaac is agitated, reprising some of his bits from the original villain song in a quicker, more frantic tempo, while Jacob picks up the slack, walking him through a new idea. Isaac takes to it with conviction and goes back to the original melody/tempo, talking again about his God-given purpose. Jacob does not join in with any of that, only with the bits about the actual plan.

The Kidnapping (instrumental)

I'm just going to say this is on the soundtrack too and contains panicked Gabriel noises because I want it to be.

Storming the Castle Reprise (Jack)

Jack tries to rally the others for a rescue mission, echoing the D&D game from Act I. The lines about storming the castle and taking the leap make a reappearance.

Just Like My Hero Reprise (Jean)

Jean, on the bus, miserably contemplates how she is unlike her hero. Again, it begins with a verse talking about how she looks - not a thing like Sarah Hooter anymore - but then moves on to how she's scared and pathetic and running away, unlike anything a hero would do.

Church Sequence (Will, Jack, Mia)

A single track, largely instrumental/dialogue/sound effects, with a couple of brief song snippets:

- Will reprises "Just Like My Hero" as he wills himself to go on. He is cut off mid-line as he is shot.

- Mia slits that guy's throat and she actually sings a few words, for the first and only time, before she is also cut off mid-line by a gunshot. The line is something about, like, warm blood in her face or the guy's satisfying death throes, reprising part of the melody of "Unique".

Strong (Gabriel)

Gabriel discovers his powers. Starts slowly, calling back to the bits from "Storming the Castle" about lying low, being weak. But as the song continues and he makes his discovery, the tempo builds, and he starts reprising Jack's bits instead: he is strong, taking the leap, storming the castle.

Perish Song (Lucy)

Another brief reprise of "Unique", distorted and deafening and terrifying, mourning her sister.

[In the Hospital] (Jack and Gabriel)

The two of them work out their feelings about what happened. Includes Jack going "It was stupid" (i.e. the rescue mission) and Gabriel responding "It was brave", echoing the bit where they said the opposite in "Storming the Castle". Jack blames himself for how it all turned out, feels stupid and weak, while Gabriel actually felt kind of awesome. (This is also calling back to their opposite bits of "Storming the Castle".) They end with a shared duet verse as they realize they've both got that same innate desire to fight and win. Possibly calls back to the weird, weird kid line from "Fatherhood".

Eulogy (Dave)

Dave's eulogy for Mia (which also touches on Will, but this is Mia's funeral). It reprises "Unique". There will never again be anyone like the two of them, two of the only truly unique people on this Earth. (And, while he doesn't say it straight out because hahahaha, he needed Mia, too).

Taking the Leap (Jack and Gabriel)

Jack's suicide attempt and his swirling inner turmoil as he tries to talk himself into taking the leap once again. Gabriel, of course, comes in with don't take that leap. Am I overusing this one line by putting it in like half the songs in this thing? Well, who's going to stop me.

[Peter/Katherine song reprise] (Peter and Katherine)

The two of them contemplate indefinite house arrest (in contrast to the freedom Peter's enjoyed most of his life) and Katherine's failure to stop all this (despite her sense of responsibility). In the end, they both find their own ways to accept the new state of things and support each other through this.

Finale (Dave and Jean)

After Dave breaks down on his couch and Jean comes in to ask what's wrong, Dave sings a reprise of the everything-is-shit verse, going over the many things he's angry about, because that is the only emotion involved here clearly. At the exact point where Dave's song originally went from there to fantasizing about throwing her off the balcony, Jean throws her arms around him and sniffles "It'll be okay, Dad," and after a stunned "What? Jean, I'm--", he continues with a slow, hesitant *inverted* reprise of the everything-is-shit verse, "Everything'll be fine", constructing a little fantasy reality for her (and himself) where everything turns out all right in the end. It's backed by, like, a simple, quiet, slower piano rendition of the original melody, and trails off at the end, never quite coming to a satisfying conclusion before he tells Jean she should go back to bed.

[rheawritessometimes]

hey I really liked the photographer au!! would it be possible to make a part 2 with the liyue men (zhongli, xiao, childe)? only if you're really feeling up to it of course!

{ Model!Childe/Xiao/Zhongli x Photographer!GN!Reader }

{ Summary } Taking pictures of the Liyue gang. Model AU Part 1

{ Warnings } Flash Photography, Zero Research Done, Suggestive

{ Notes } I felt up to it. Is there favoritism? No, only who I felt most inspired by. Some of these people would just make terrible models. Masterlist

{ Word Count } 1,464

Childe

Unfortunately, Childe is aware of the fact that he is handsome. A lot of his natural attractiveness is cancelled out by how insufferable he can be.

If he catches you looking at him, or even if he’s just in your field of view, Childe will strike a dramatic pose. About half the time he will insist that you take a photo of him and will not move until you do so.

Childe also likes to suggest ideas for the shoots. You’re not sure if he’s serious about them or not, but they’re all awful.

“I think it would be better if I did this shoot shirtless,” the redhead says before cleverly adding, “You’d like it better that way too, right?”

It’s hard to tell if he’s being serious between the grin and wink he shows you and the fact he immediately goes to take off the jacket and shirt he’s wearing. Sometimes you wondered why he even accepted modelling contracts, he acted like he just wanted to be photographed according to his own ideas.

“Childe, keep that on. This is a fashion shoot, you’re supposed to be modelling these clothes,” you say, sounding like a tired, scolding parent. "If you want to just have pictures taken of you then you can hire me some other time."

"Oh. Would you be open to a nude shoot, then?"

At least he always brings you treats when you’re photographing him. Something to eat or drink, and sometimes even trinkets that reminded him of you. Very occasionally even expensive jewelry.

Actually, Childe is very obviously rich and it’s not from modelling. You have no idea where he gets the money and question why he’s even a model, the man is loaded enough to do nothing for the rest of his life.

“I’m a model because it would be a crime not to show the world this beauty.”

It’s a struggle to keep your eyes from rolling at his words, but somehow you manage. You were getting used to the Snezhnayan’s theatrics, though you were beginning to notice a good deal of it was used to dodge any questions you had about him. It wasn’t really any of your business, but the man had a lot of mystery surrounding him.

Speaking of mystery, sometimes Childe comes in with random cuts and bruises. He gives no explanation for them. “Oh, are you that concerned for me?”

Once he even came in with a black eye. The makeup artists were good, but there’s no working around that kind of swelling.

“Childe! What happened to you?” you ask, unable to contain your surprise. The man had come in with a black eye as though it was nothing. The eye was even swollen shut, certainly not something that could be covered up with a bit of makeup.

“Oh, is it that bad?” he responded, laughing it off like it was nothing.

“There’s no way we can do the shoot with you looking like this. Come on, let’s get some ice on that.”

“What, you don’t think I’m still handsome?” he asked, but the teasing died off when you grabbed his hand. The action shocked him into silence, allowing you to easily drag him off to ice his eye.

Xiao

Honestly, you’re not sure why Xiao is a model. He’s gorgeous, yeah, but he seems to hate the job. This man does not like sitting still and seems to hate being perceived at all.

It’s hard not to feel bad for the makeup artists when Xiao comes in. It’s no secret that he hates sitting in that chair and having his face pokes at. You’re pretty sure you’ve heard him growl at the makeup artists on more than one occasion.

He’s never growled at you, but Xiao can't even look you in the eye when you get close. He turns his head away from you whenever you need to adjust his clothing or position.

Xiao isn't the greatest at controlling his facial expressions. Oftentimes he just looks angry.

“Xiao, can you please not scowl so hard?” you ask, though it sounds more like a plea at this point. He didn’t need to smile for this shoot, but he was supposed to look neutral. Not like he was plotting a murder.

Xiao grumbled at your request, something about how he’s ‘not scowling’, but did try to adjust. Unfortunately, his expression only shifted from murderous to constipated. At least it was progress in the right direction. Sort of.

Xiao takes naps during breaks but refuses to admit to it. You don’t know why, but he always denies having been asleep. He was just ‘resting his eyes’. You have a few pictures that say otherwise, but you won’t tell him that.

Skateboards to shoots sometimes. The first time he walked in with a skateboard in hand you were so surprised you asked who’s it was. “... It’s mine.”

“Will you teach me how to skateboard, please?” you ask, flashing Xiao you best puppy dog eyes. His expression as he looks at you tells him they’re effective in weakening his resolve.

“Fine, but only the basics,” he agrees after a long moment of consideration.

On the next break you find yourself outside the studio, balancing on a skateboard with Xiao holding your hand. He refused to let go of you, too worried for your safety. With the grip he had, you didn’t think you were at risk of falling.

“Relax a little, you can’t balance if you’re too stiff,” he says, brows furrowed as he concentrates on keeping you steady and correcting your posture. But, as soon as you shift to relax, you wobble a bit on the skateboard. With strength you didn’t know he had, Xiao is lifting you up off the skateboard and onto the ground.

“That’s enough, this is too dangerous.”

Zhongli

There’s no way Zhongli can be human, out of all the people you’ve photographed he is by far the most beautiful. The man even moves with a certain grace you’re certain no human could replicate. But, he laughs it off every time you mention something about it.

To put it bluntly, Zhongli is a pleasure to have on set. He’s polite and a good conversationalist, not to mention very photogenic.

Of course, nobody's perfect. There’s a few downsides to working with Zhongli, primarily his long monologues that make shoots run late and the strange way you always find yourself spending Mora on Zhongli.

Somehow, you frequently find yourself going out to lunch with Zhongli and footing the bill. Sometimes you stop inside a bookstore on your way back and find yourself purchasing a novel for him. You’re not entirely sure how it works out that way, but a day spent with Zhongli always ends with your wallet feeling lighter.

“Thank you again for lunch,” Zhongli says as you two are walking down the street from the cafe.

“No problem, it’s my pleasure,” you tell him with an earnest smile on your face. It’s a few more steps before you realize you have once again paid for this outing. You wouldn’t have minded so much if it weren’t for the fact that last time you went out, you swore it was the last time you were paying for Zhongli.

It always turned out like this, though. You’d never seen Zhongli pay for anything, and from the way Childe spoke of his time with Zhongli, he had noticed the same trend. It wasn’t like the man was hurting for money, he had a very successful job as a model. Just how did this keep happening?

It’s strange, you ended up meeting Zhongli on a shoot that was made last minute due to scheduling errors, but now you’re the only photographer he works with. For a long time you didn’t know this, but Zhongli really only does high end modelling, and you’re definitely not the best of the best, but he only does shoots with you. He refuses to be photographed by anyone else. (You don’t know this, but he made it one of the terms of his contract.)

Zhongli may talk a lot, but most of what he has to say is interesting. He has extensive historical knowledge and often offers unique insights. Sometimes you even find yourself going to him for advice.

Has a dog named Azhdaha.

The screen of your phone illuminates and the ding of a notification resonates through your room just as you’re about to settle into bed. You’re surprised to see the message is from Zhongli, even more so when it contains only an image with no accompanying text.

The image is of a large brown dog splayed out on a tan carpet. You’re about to reply when another message comes through.

Apologies, that was meant for Childe. It is my dog, Azhdaha.

[ampleappleamble]

—

It was a simple platitude, and one he'd heard quite often growing up: "Be ever honest, forthright, and true, and ne'er shall Woedica frown upon you." The rhyme was reductive and childish, but the sentiment was understandable enough– Honesty is a virtue, and one that should serve any good, upright citizen of Aedyr well.

Of course, Aloth knew better.

He'd known better since he was fifteen years old, clutching his face in his hands and choking on his own tears while his mother tried to soothe him, brushing back his smooth, black hair and holding him close, careful to avoid the bruises, all the while imploring him you must never tell a soul of this, Aloth, never, for even I could not help you then. He'd known better after running to the proctor about the incident with the spellwrights gilde and their damned machine, trying to bring it all to light, and instead of finding himself languishing in a dungeon for the atrocity he'd taken part in, he was instructed to continue to meet with them, to keep his mouth shut and his eyes and ears open. No matter the rewards honesty promised, the people in his life always seemed to reinforce the lesson that deception and secrecy were the true keys to success.

Until now. Until her.

Since their very first meeting outside the Black Hound Inn, as far as he could tell– and he considered himself a decent judge of character, most of the time– Axa had not uttered a single lie to anyone she'd spoken with, had not suppressed nor sugarcoated a single truth, no matter how painful. The closest she'd gotten to lying was her reluctance to discuss the chain of events that had lead her to relocate to the Dyrwood, and even that had come out eventually, and entirely of her own volition. In fact, she seemed to not only practice honesty in her words and her deeds, but to relentlessly pursue the truth, to champion it, to draw it out of others like venom from a wound and leave both parties happier for it. Hel, she'd even managed to get him to open up.

How did she make it look so easy?

Practice, I reck'n. Isnae easy fer ye, tellin' sooth, coz yer nae accustomed to it, are ye, lad? Iselmyr's unwanted commentary was almost constant, now, and Aloth could not tell whether it was due to his control over himself deteriorating further, or if she had simply been emboldened by their secret finally being out after all these years. Either way, it was wearing on his nerves, and he worried that it was starting to show. It certainly didn't help that the others were as curious about Iselmyr as he was eager to be rid of her, and only about half of them seemed to possess the decorum to recognize his discomfort and drop it. Even Axa had asked if it were possible for her to speak directly to the horrid little pest, although to her credit she'd only had to be told "no" once, unlike Edér and Kana who seemingly only deigned to speak with him in order to badger him about his "friend," trying to trade jokes with her or learn Hylspeak from her or– Berath take him– flirt with her.

"Jealous," she'd smirked, and Aloth had gone bright red when Edér had laughed in response, only then realizing that she'd made him say it out loud.

Am only out 'n' jawin' wie kith cozza yer wee burd, laddie. If ye've aught t' complain about, tell it t' her. As much as he hated to agree with Iselmyr, he had to admit that she had a point– if he'd been left to his own devices, he might never have told anyone about his Awakening and simply lived his whole life suffering in silence. But since he'd started following Axa, talking with her, fighting alongside her, earning her trust and starting to trust her in return, he'd found that opening up about himself– and Iselmyr– was far easier than he'd ever expected it would be. The clever little woman had had him halfway figured out by the time he finally told her anyway, which had certainly helped speed things along. She had even suggested a method by which he might finally learn more about his condition, although the thought of letting some jackleg animancer strap him to a table (don't think about the spellwrights the experiment don't think about Targun his eyes empty and lifeless and dull don't think about it don't) and peer into his soul made his skin crawl.

But it didn't seem quite so dismaying when he reminded himself that she'd be there with him.

The events of the day thus far had only served to reinforce this notion. She'd broached the topic over breakfast, suggesting that after they finish their business with the Knights, they make the sanitarium their very next stop of the day– "May as well get it over with, right?"– but he had deflected and redirected, stating that he'd hoped to read up on animancy a bit more before making the plunge– "After all, I've waited fifty years, I can wait a few more hours"– while reminding her that she had expressed a desire to parley with the Eyeless Face sometime soon. A little nudge in the right direction was all it had taken for Kana to commandeer the conversation, excitedly gushing about banned books and Waelite secrets, and Aloth had sighed with relief even as he'd winced at the knowing look Sagani had given him. But Axa had not seen fit to press the matter, and so they'd agreed on their plans and headed for Crucible Keep, turning over the research for their new Forge Knights without any issues.

And upon arriving at the Hall of Revealed Mysteries, the distractions had quickly accumulated, as they tended to do. The forgemaster at the Keep had done little to assuage his worries about animancy in general, and every book about animancy he'd half-heartedly attempted to peruse only ended up making him more anxious, so instead he'd spent most of his time leafing through old favorites, comforting himself with the certainties of the classics, repetitively tracing his slender fingers over ancient runes in arcane treatises he'd practically memorized years ago during his training. It was a surefire method of calming himself down, helping him to collect his thoughts– or it would have been if he hadn't been continually interrupted by Iselmyr's whining, Edér's yawning, Kana's incessant attempts to "help" him with his research.

Aloth had just suffered yet another of these intrusions (Kana had jokingly shoved a primer on orlan physiology and anatomy under his nose, opened to a page with some... detailed illustrations) when the messenger from the palace had arrived, summoning Axa to court. He'd have been pleased for such a convenient excuse to continue the deferral of their visit to the sanitarium, but the scene at the Hall of Records had been far from a pleasant one.

"This is she?" Arledr Gathbin had glared down at the little woman, naked contempt on his sneering face. "This little varlet, she's the one who murdered my kin and now clings like a leech to my ancestral land? I'd thought she was just some servant, a wench from the scullery."

"This wench," Axa had snapped back, "claimed that land– a keep abandoned by your noble line for well over a hundred years, I'll remind you– by strength of arms, and with the assistance of the few good men and women standing alongside me."  Sagani and Pallegina had blinked in surprise at her words, but raised no objection. "And in any case, I didn't see your name on the door."

Gathbin had reared back as though she'd spat at him. "Never speak to me so brazenly again, cur," he'd hissed, "or you won't have time enough left in your miserable life to regret it."

Chancellor Warrin had been quick to bring the meeting back to order, but the calm had not lasted long. Upon learning that Caed Nua would only be his upon the condition that he pay reparations to Axa for services rendered in recovering it, Gathbin had flown into an even greater rage, going so far as to raise his hand to the Chancellor. And although he had effectively just declared Axa homeless, she had still leapt between the two men to defend the Chancellor, her eyes blazing as she'd roared at Gathbin to stay his hand.

"You dare to issue orders to me, you hairy little wretch!?" He'd whirled on her, his face beet red, and the captain of his personal guard, a sharp-featured elf in gleaming black plate, had grinned eagerly as her hand flew to her pistol. Aloth had been surprised to suddenly feel the spine of his grimoire under his fingertips, his heart racing. And he hadn't been alone: all of Axa's allies had prepared to draw arms as well, Pallegina's blade already halfway out of its scabbard by the time Marshall Forwyn had stepped forward, hand on the hilt of his weapon, calmly but firmly suggesting that Gathbin contain himself.

After Gathbin had stormed off, after the dust had settled and Axa was officially declared thaynu and roadwarden of Caed Nua, she'd still had enough composure to ask the Chancellor to invite his lordship to settle their differences over dinner sometime– in her halls at Caed Nua, of course– before immediately turning to the record keeper who'd seen it all and asking him if she was now "established" enough to access the records from the Saint's War she'd inquired after previously. Edér's eyes had gone wide, his jaw rigid with apprehension as he'd accepted his prize at last, and as he'd flipped anxiously through the casualty listings, Aloth had mused on the little woman's fortitude, her quick wit, the loyalty she inspired in those who followed her.

And that loyalty was not misplaced. Even now as he struggled to gather the resolve to say what he needed to say, he couldn't stop thinking of the lost, haunted expression on Edér's face as he'd found his brother's name, looked up into Axa's eyes, asked her as though she'd known all along: "Why'd he fight for Readceras?" She hadn't hesitated for even a second when he'd beseeched her to go with him to the battlefield where Woden had died, laying her small, fuzzy hand on the blond man's shoulder and assuring him she'd do whatever it took to give him peace of mind.

Be ever forthright, honest, and true–

Maybe it was bearing witness to all that– her ironclad resolve in the face of a daunting foe, her powerful devotion to those who placed their trust in her– that made Aloth face Axa now, standing outside the Ducal Palace, and tell her he was ready to head for the sanitarium. "If you're still amenable, of course," he added quickly. If you'll help me stay strong enough to see it through, he thought.

If ye'll held me haund, kiss me wee arse–

She blinked in surprise, recovered, smiled warmly at him. "Of course," she replied. "We can go there now. As long as you're comfortable with the idea."

"Oh," he sighed, smiling pleasantly, "I'm not, no. But to be frank, I'll almost certainly never be more comfortable with the idea than I am right now, so honestly, it's now or never. I'm... simply choosing now."

"I can get behind that," she nodded, turning to the road before them. "Shall we, then?"

She lead, and he followed, desperately hoping he wasn't making a mistake.

—

[storyofmychoices]

Original Murder Mystery Story

So I’ve been very uninspired as of late and I keep thinking about this novel I started almost six years ago now. I think I might take some time to work on it. I don’t know. But I thought I’d post the first chapter here incase anyone is interested in reading it. I’m not tagging anyone so this post will probably get lost in tumblr abyss and I’m okay with that. But if it doesn’t and you enjoy it, please, please let me know (like, comment, message me, reblog?!) I’ve never shared original work before so I’m quite nervous. (also, I guess, if it’s not good, please tell me (nicely of course) constructive criticism is good too.)

We are pleased to inform you that you have been selected to participate in an all-new reality television series. We have found that given your particular professional and personal experiences, you are an ideal fit for the cast. Official auditions will not be held for the premiere season, as the creators wish to film the entirety of the first round without the ever-watching eye of the public. In this day and age, we cannot be too careful.

Should you choose to accept our humble invitation, simply call the number below and enter your unique pin number when requested. If you choose to decline the offer, we ask that you return this letter in the enclosed self-addressed stamped envelope.

We look forward to hearing from you soon.

Our most sincere congratulations,

Truest Noon Productions

Phone: 1-800-687-3378

Pin: 58834633668

I

Mr. Danforth chuckled. He was far too old and out of shape to have been chosen. There must have been a mistake. No, certainly he would not be qualified for any of those reality television shows. “It’s the young folks they want,” he thought to himself. “They all want their fifteen minutes of fame. No, no. I am far too old to be getting involved in anything like that. Me on the television?” He couldn’t fathom it. 

Tossing the letter onto the pile of junk mail on his desk, he put his feet up in his recliner and rested from his long day at the security office. 

☆   ☆   ☆ 

Ding, dong. Ding, dong. Diiiiing, Dooooong. Knock, knock, knock. Knock, knock, knock. 

Ms. Drake pressed her nose against her dining room window, watching the mysterious deliveryman across the street. Her hair tightly wound in curlers, it was a wonder she could move at all without her scalp pulling off. She leaned back and took a long drag of her almost finished cigarette. She crushed the butt on a dish to her left without looking, turning her focus again to Mrs. Mulberry’s house across the street. The deliveryman continued to press the doorbell fervently. 

“I wonder what that could be about,” Ms. Drake said to herself. “Who delivers mail at ten to six in the morning?”

“What was taking Mrs. Mulberry so long to answer the door?” Ms. Drake thought, changing window positions. Certainly, she would be readying for work by this time? How could she leave that poor man standing there like an idiot? Not on her watch.

Ms. Drake tightened her silk floral housecoat around herself and moved toward the door. Her slippers were ready for her morning walk to the mailbox for the paper. She typically waited until Mr. Barnes was leaving for work so they could exchange their daily salutations, but today she would deviate from her routine. After all, she couldn’t leave that poor, helpless deliveryman standing in the damp morning air. That would not be neighborly at all. 

Waddling out of her house, Ms. Drake raised a hand to attract the man’s attention. “Yoo hoo. Oh, yoo hoooo.”

He turned toward the sound of Ms. Drake’s howling call. “Yes, ma’am.”

“I see you’re looking for Mrs. Mulberry. Perhaps she’s left for work already,” Ms. Drake suggested, knowing fully well that Mrs. Mulberry did not leave for work until 7:00 a.m. 

“Yes, ma’am. I have been instructed to hand-deliver this letter to her,” the man held out a large blue envelope with silver calligraphy; Ms. Drake’s gaze was immediately taken by it. “I don’t suppose you know when she might return? It is of the utmost importance that she gets this letter quickly.”

“Oh, my dear,” Ms. Drake said, fluttering her eyes at the man easily thirty years her junior. “I know Mrs. Mulberry quite well; we have been neighbors for the better part of two decades. I could deliver the letter to her.”

“That’s very kind ma’am, but my directions are to place the letter in Mrs. Mulberry’s hands directly. I’m not even to leave it at her door for her. She must receive it straight away.”

“Well then, it’s a pity that you’ll not succeed in your task. I only wanted to help you on your way!” Ms. Drake turned up her pug nose at him, an attribute certainly the result of pressing it against her window far too many times over the years. “I bid you a good day then.”

Ms. Drake sulked back to her house, failing to retrieve her newspaper. What was in that envelope and why was it so important? She had to know. 

“Wait,” the man called. 

Ms. Drake’s curlers almost burst off her head; she could hardly contain herself. “Yes, my dear?” She slowly turned around giving the man a determined look. 

“It’s urgently important Mrs. Mulberry receives this letter today; can you assure me you will get it to her?” The man asked skeptically.

“Of course, yes. Mrs. Mullberry’s letter is in safe hands with me.” She held out her thick hands in his direction, her fingers wagging invitingly.

Apprehensively, he turned the envelope over to her. “You’re a lifesaver. I really wouldn’t have had time to return this evening. I must be getting on with my other deliveries.”

“Of course, of course. What are neighbors for if not to help out those around them?” 

“That’s very kind of you ma’am. Well, I better be off. Thank you, Mrs....” 

“Ms. Drake,” she replied. “Ms. Cordelia Drake.”

“Well then, thank you, Ms. Drake. It has been a pleasure.” He smiled and was off.

Ms. Drake anxiously looked back at Mrs. Mulberry’s house. “Good,” she thought. “She doesn’t know yet.” Ms. Drake waddled her way back into the house, tucking the envelope under her robe. 

☆   ☆   ☆ 

Ms. Banks swiftly pressed the numbers on her phone with her long, manicured nails. “Shoot, a voice recording.” She said quietly to herself in her soft southern accent. Ms. Isabella Banks had no trouble seeing why she would be chosen for a new television series. The blonde bombshell had won Homecoming and Prom Queen at her high school, as well as placed as runner up for Ms. Georgia. Of course, they’d want her. 

Isabella practiced her award-winning smile. Yes, it would be good to be in the spotlight again. She must get through to the number. She dialed more slowly this time, speaking each number aloud as she tapped the keypad. The recording again–didn’t anyone want to talk with her directly, she wondered.

☆   ☆   ☆ 

Liam Flynn, a rock musician, found himself in possession of a letter welcoming him to join a reality TV pilot. “To accept is defeat,” he grumbled, tossing the letter in his overflowing trashcan. “Only washed-up artists do reality TV. I’m not that desperate.” 

His greasy dark bangs fell in front of his eyes as he opened his fridge. He carelessly pushed them aside and grabbed a beer. It was the closest thing to food that he had in his apartment. “Well, maybe, I’ll just hear them out. I could plan a comeback and use this as a launching point. Yes, that’s it!” Liam retrieved the paper, dialed the number, punched in his pin number, and listened to the recorded instructions. His hopes dashed a little as he too had wished to speak with a live person. 

☆   ☆   ☆ 

“Congratulations Mr. Martin,” read Adam. “What is it with all these scam contests? Why can’t one of these for once be legit? That would change everything.” Adam had been a star football player in high school and got a scholarship to play for the University of Michigan, but a shoulder injury took him out freshmen year. He needed some good news.

“I should give them a piece of my mind. Sending these letters, getting people’s hopes up, just to scam them. Who do they think they are?”

He furiously pounded his phone as he dialed the number. He would tell them. The second a voice spoke, he started ranting until he realized it was just a recording. “What a waste,” he thought. Well, he was this far, why not? He punched in his pin number and listened. He would receive a call in a day with further instructions. “Oh, I’m sure,” he began talking to the automated voice. “Yes, Mr. Martin, thank you for calling and verifying your award. Yes, all we need now is your bank account information, social security number, and credit cards,” he mocked. 

“No, thank you.” He slammed his phone on the counter. 

☆   ☆   ☆ 

Doctor Caitlyn Grey sat behind the large mahogany desk in her private office in Jacksonville, Florida. Her long legs crossed under her desk as she kicked her heels on and off. What a terribly boring day, she thought. Her calendar book was filled, yet Dr. Grey found her patients’ problems to be trivial. “The things people see a psychiatrist for these days.” She laughed to herself. Hadn’t she chosen this path to help people with real disorders? Why then is her day filled with people like Joan Hall who spends every minute of her bi-weekly hour-long sessions talking about her eleven cats and making cat noises? So, maybe there was an underlying cause for this behavior. When Joan had first come in, hadn’t she tried to ask questions and engage Joan? It was Joan who would not talk about herself and chose to focus only on her cats. There were fifteen of them then. “I guess that’s progress,” Dr. Grey reminisced.

“Your mail is here, Dr. Grey,” said Miranda, the good doctor’s secretary. She placed the mail on Dr. Grey’s desk.

“Thank you, and Miranda, call Antonio’s and make me a dinner reservation for tomorrow night.” 

“Of course, Dr. Grey, How many?”

“Just one, but make sure you tell them to reserve my special table.”

Miranda gave a curt nod and left Dr. Grey alone with her thoughts and only the sound of her pumps popping on and off to fill the room. Dr. Grey shuffled through the mail tossing each unopened envelope back on the desk until she came across a unique blue one with silver lettering. 

No return address, she noted. As she opened it, a sly smile broke across her face. A reality show really wanted a psychiatrist in its cast? Well, it would be to her advantage. She would, of course, see through their thinly veiled plots and uncover the truth. “Oh, yes,” she thought. “This could be enjoyable.”

Dr. Grey called the number and followed the instructions. She hung up the receiver and paged Miranda on the intercom. “Miranda?”

“Yes, Dr. Grey?”

“Be a dear and clear my schedule for next Tuesday. I’ve just received a call about an urgent meeting I must attend.”

“Of course, Dr. Grey. Is everything alright?”

“Oh, yes. I believe everything will be just splendid.”

☆   ☆   ☆ 

“Truest Noon Productions. How lame,” Emma Riley decided. And yet, something about the name intrigued her. She had never heard of them before. She sat pondering the content of the letter. The twenty-one-year-old college student attended New York University with an undeclared major. She had entered the school when she was seventeen and had jumped from program to program. Why would anyone want her on television? She was a loner, who cared less about reality television than the over-hyped pop artists with whom radio stations are determined to melt listeners’ brains. And yet, this one intrigued her. 

Emma pulled up a search engine on her computer and entered “Truest Noon Productions.” A dozen websites popped up in the results, but none an exact match. She couldn’t find any digital record of the company at all. She searched the phone number in hopes of pulling up a business listing. Nothing. She tried the address on the return envelope. Nothing. According to the map app on her phone, the address didn’t even exist. How could it not exist?

“I guess they really are keeping this show under wraps,” she contemplated. Emma stared at the letter and read it over and over again. There was just something about it, something peculiar. What was it?

She held the paper up to the light, but only found a logo imprinted in the threads of the paper. Unable to discover what was puzzling her, about the letter, she pulled out her phone and dialed the number. She pressed ‘0’ hoping to be transferred to a live person. It was no use; there was only the recording. 

☆   ☆   ☆ 

Ms. Drake sat in the kitchen, her curious hands clutching the envelope. It was too thick and dark to see through. She had tried holding it up to the sun and a lamp. Neither came close to illuminating the contents. The envelope was sealed tightly, so there was no chance of accidentally opening it. Steam, she thought. She quickly boiled a large pot of water holding the envelope carefully over it. It was taking too long. 

“He did say it was urgent,” she remarked. “Maybe I should open it, just in case it’s time-sensitive. Yes, yes, I think that will do.”

She took her letter opener and carefully broke the seal. “A reality television series? Mrs. Mulberry? No, it couldn’t be. They must have the wrong person,” Ms. Drake shook her head in protest. Then, she got an idea. The letter wasn’t actually addressed to Mrs. Mulberry at all. The envelope certainly was, but the letter was nameless. “I shouldn’t,” she muttered while grabbing the phone and dialing the number. “Well, who could it really hurt?” She admitted to herself. She couldn’t imagine Mrs. Mulberry accepting, and why should the opportunity go to waste?

(if you are interested in more and want to be tagged, please let me know)

((also if you made it this far OMGOSH HI AND THANK YOU 🥺😭))

[redrobinfection]

(16) Graveyard

SociallyAwkwardFox’s Spooktober (2018) - Day 16 “Graveyard”

Tim & Damian | Implied JayTim | Implied DickDami | College AU | No Capes | Crack | actual discussion of literature | Dick Grayson was adopted by the Drakes instead of the Waynes | Want to write/create with me? Find the prompt list here!

~*~

"How about four out of seven?" Tim asked with a shrug, winding up the toilet paper roll again.

Damian, his fellow barista, threw his roll at Tim's head, missing wildly. He glared. "You cheated, Drake!"

Tim rolled his eyes as he retrieved Damian's roll and began winding it up too. "How could I cheat at coffee cup bowling, ‘Wayne’?"

"You wind your roll too tightly. It doesn't unravel as much when you pitch it and thus has more mass by the time it hits the cups."

Tim raised his eyebrows. "What are you now, a physics major? That just sounds like strategy, dude. You are free to roll your roll as tightly as you'd like. That isn't against the rules."

Damian fumed. "The rules you made up! This is why I said we should use the rice crispy ba--customer."

Tim whirled on the spot, seeing that, indeed, a paying customer had entered their little, semi-enclosed coffee shop. Outside, a few students sat or sprawled over the sectional couches that filled the large basement of the university student union in which the shop was located.

Tim turned and vaulted over the counter. He heard a quiet "-tch-" from Damian as he walked to the hinged raise-able section of the counter and let himself in.

Tim straightened his apron and stepped up the register with a smile. The customer stood about five feet from the register, head tilted back, studying the menu board over Tim's head with bleary eyes. The guy was like a zombie, he was that exhausted. Tim cut his eyes over to the clock on the wall. 3:45 am. Hell of a time for coffee.

Tim glanced over his shoulder at Damian, who was reawakening the cranky espresso machine with deft fingers. Seven hours and forty-five minutes with Damian "the Demon " Wayne down, only four hours and fifteen minutes to go. Tim turned back to their customer and sighed. This was going to be a loooooooong morning.

At second glance, there was something familiar about the guy, but Tim couldn't put his finger on where he knew him. The guy had pretty teal eyes, but they were reddened and dull, like he hadn't closed them except to blink in way too long. He was also pretty well cut, Tim noticed, with clearly muscled arms and pecs so defined that Tim could clearly see them through the man's sweater. Maybe that's how Tim knew him? Maybe he'd seen him in the UREC weight room?

The guy's most eye-catching feature by far was the white forelock that curled down over his forehead. He was the third person Tim had met to have a whitened forelock like that; the other two were fraternal twins who had had small patches of albinism right at their widows peaks which affected both the skin and hair. Tim idly wondered if this guy's white lock was natural too. In any case, it looked frickin' cool, a lot cooler than his own; the best thing he could say about his own hair was that he could pull off the 90's curtain cut plus semi-mullet well enough that he could go an entire semester on a single haircut.

Tim was drawn out of his thoughts when dude finally stepped up to the counter and began to speak.

"Uh, hi, could I get a large, double-shot caramel latte?"

"Absolutely. How many pumps of caramel do you want?" Tim asked cheerily.

The guy looked up from digging through his overly stuffed messenger bag. "Uhh…the normal four should be fine."

"Okay, that will be $6.47. Can I get a name for the order?"

The guy didn't look up this time. "Uh, Jason. Gimme a sec', I know my wallet is at the bottom of this thing somewhere."

"No problem, take your time. It's not like we have a line, anyway," Tim joked.

This guy looked so dead right now--inside and out--that if he didn't find his wallet, then Tim would probably just buy the coffee for the guy himself. He understood better than anyone the sudden need for caffeine at odd hours of the day. He's not sure how he would have finished half his computer science projects this term without a much-needed double-espresso every couple of hours, to be honest.

The guy--'Jason' apparently--finally fished out a small money clip then handed over a student ID card. "Put it on my Dining Dollars, please."

"Yeah, no probl- wait a minute!" Tim cut off, staring. Suddenly, it had hit Tim where he knew this guy. "Aren't you that kid who always sits at the front of Professor Hyatt's nine-fifteen, Tuesday-Thursday, Modern European Literature and answers all the questions?"

The dude raised an eyebrow. "Uh, yeah. Why…? Wait…" He squinted and leaned in. "Aren't you the kid who once tried to sit all the way back in the AV booth, since, and I quote, 'the back wasn't far enough back'?"

Tim grinned as he swiped the ID card through the register. "Haha, yeah."

Damian moved as if to step up to the counter, the guy's drink in hand, but stopped dead about a foot away. He stared.

"Wait. Aren't you the guy who always comes in, gets tea, and sits in the window over there and reads romance novels?" Damian asked, eying him appraisingly.

The dude huffed. "Yes. My name is Jason--by the way--and they're not romance novels, it's classic lit. Now can I get my coffee?"

Damian handed the coffee over the counter, but raised an eyebrow skeptically. "You mean to tell me Rebecca is not a romance novel?"

"Wait, what!? Do you mean Daphne du Maurier's Rebecca?" Tim asked as he handed Jason's ID card back over the counter.

Damian nodded wordlessly. Tim snorted, then said, "That's not a romance! That's a totally a murder mystery! You must be confusing it with Jane Eyre. I get those mixed up too."

Jason nodded in agreement, tucking his ID away before taking his first sip of coffee. He moaned, his eyes fluttering for a moment as he savored in the sweet bliss of piping hot caffeine at 3:49 in the morning, then he looked at Damian and said, "Well, actually, I'll give you that one, uh…" --he paused to squint at Damian's name tag-- "...'Damian'; Rebecca is a modern romance novel by classification, but it's also a crime thriller just like--whazzatsay?--'Tim' said."

He turned to Tim. "I'm not surprised you'd confuse it with Jane Eyre, considering that a lot of scholars believe du Maurier adapted it from Jane Eyre."

"Wait, really?" Tim said with a laugh. "I'm glad I'm not the only one thinking that! Rebecca is like the less boring version of Jane Eyre."

Jason froze halfway into sitting down in one of the arm chairs that lined the wall closest to the door and looked up at Tim as if he had just suggested burning down the library or something similarly unthinkable. "Whaaaaaat?! I can't believe you just implied that any of the Brontë sisters' works is boring!"

Tim laughed again. "I mean, don't get me wrong, I was only twelve when I read Jane Eyre, so maybe I'd enjoy it more if I read it again now--with a mature perspective--but I remember Rebecca being a blast for thirteen-year-old me so…" He smiled, then shrugged.

Jason stared. "Twelve? Thirteen? Jeez. What else were you trying to read that young?"

"I mean, I read Moby Dick the year before that, in sixth grade," Tim admitted, shrugging until his shoulders hit his ears.

Jason gave him a flat stare. "Moby Dick? Moby fucking Dick? You've gotta be kidding me. And lemme guess, you also thought Herman Melville's masterpiece was a load of crock?"

Tim laughed, but shook his head and waved his hands placatingly. "No, no, no. I only understood, like, every fifth word--so.many.whaling.terms!--and it took me four months to get halfway in only to realize there was no way I was going to finish it by the end of the school year--I ended up skipping to the end and guessing for a lot of the AR test questions--but I definitely got the sense that it was a seminal work and that I was just too young to appreciate it. I've always meant to go back and try it again, but I still haven't gotten around to it."

"Why the hell were you trying to read Moby Dick at the age of twelve?" Jason asked incredulously, leaning back in the chair and taking a long sip of his coffee.

"Eleven, but, ah, well, my mom was convinced I had to be The BestTM in everything, so she pushed me to max out my Accelerated Reader level by the end of sixth grade and demanded that I always get the most AR points of anyone in my class, so I read a lot of the 20 point-and-up books." Tim tapped his chin thoughtfully. "I think Moby Dick was 47 points...Rebecca was 25...Jane Eyre was 33..."

Jason stared, shaking his head slowly. "So…what? You're fine with Moby Dick, a romance of the American Renaissance, but a gothic romance of the British Victorian era like Jane Eyre isn't good enough for you? Next you'll try to tell me you think Wuthering Heights is a snooze fest!"

"Well, I mean, I never could get into it, so…"

Jason slammed both hands down on the arms of his chair, incensed. "Okay, Mister, get your butt over here and sit down, we need to have a talk about Victorian Gothic and why, hands down, it is some of the best literature ever written."

Tim laughed again, then bit his lip, considering the offer. He glanced around the nearly empty coffee shop. Then he leaned over the counter and looked out into the lounge--there were exactly four people there and only one of them wasn't completely asleep in their books. Yeah, he could probably afford to humor the man.

He turned to Damian. "Hey, Dames, I'm going to make myself a coffee and take my break. You good to hold down the fort?"

"I told you not to call me that," Damian snapped, but there was no real heat to it; he liked to pretend that he hated the guts of all his coworkers, but Tim knew that he was Damian's favorite. "However, yes, I think I can manage. Go take your damned break, but when you come back I fully expect a rematch in bowling…and don't you dare cheat this time!"

Tim rolled his eyes and groaned, then turned toward trying to coax Ol' 'Spressolino--their affectionate name for the cantankerous espresso machine--into spitting out a double-shot for him. "It's not cheating, but fine, we'll do it your way," Tim replied. "But I'm telling you, you have to buy those rice crispy balls. I definitely don't want to have to explain to Barbara why some of the food on sale looks like it went through the spin cycle in a dorm washer."

Damian grinned smugly. "My pleasure. It will be a small price to pay in order to ensure your swift defeat."

Tim shook his head, grabbed his espresso in one hand and two biscotti off the front counter in the other, ducked under the counter drawbridge, then slid into the armchair across from Jason. He offered one of the biscotti to the other man and Jason accepted the free food with an appreciative smile. He already looked ten times less zombie-like, thanks to the caffiene, and he was honestly pretty damn attractive.

"Okay," Tim said, peeling the wrapper off his own biscotti and dunking it into his bitter cup of joy, "Educate me."

Between sips of coffee and bites of biscotti, Jason began explaining his thoughts on the romantic period of literature, but barely a minute into his lecture, a plastic-wrapped, ball-shaped rice crispy treat about the size of a cantelope whizzed by their feet and crashed into the ten extra-large paper coffee cups arranged in a bowling triangle at one end of the coffee shop, scattering them in a definitive strike.

Jason jumped in his seat and looked around wildly. "What the fuck?"

Tim sighed. "Daaaaaaamiaaaaaaan…"

"Shut up, Drake! I'm practicing. I need to hone my skills and adjust my form so I can thoroughly crush you in our next round," Damian called back. He marched from the counter to the end of the shop to retrieved his plastic-wrapped projectile.

Jason blinked in confusion. "I repeat: what the ever-loving fuck?"

Tim sighed again, then explained, saying, "It gets pretty boring in here during the graveyard shift, so we invented a game, coffee cup bowling. Normally, we'd sleep or study, but Damian finished his exams two days ago and I don't really study for exams, per se-"

"And sleep is for the weak," Damian finished, nodding as he walked past them carrying his sweet, gooey ammunition.

Tim nodded sagely, in agreement. "Sleep is for the weak."

Jason glanced over Tim's shoulder at the coffee cup bowling 'pins' and then over his shoulder at Damian as he lined up another throw. "You guys are insane," he declared.

Tim made a dismissive gesture. "I mean this is my third graveyard shift in a row and Damian here is almost 20 hours into a 24-hour stint. After that much sleep deprivation, you'd lose your sanity too."

Jason tilted his head in acknowledgement. "Fair enough."

"If you want, you're welcome to join us after we finish our coffee and literature talk," Tim offered amiably.

Jason watched as Damian threw another strike, sending one cup so far it landed in the pot of the ficus in the corner, and raised his eyebrows. "You know what…why not." He turned back to Tim with a grin. "I could use a bit of fun before I go back to work on my Native American Lit paper."

"Are you a lit major?" Tim asked curiously.

"I am."

Tim nodded. "That makes sense."

"And you?"

"I'm a CS major--computer science."

"That makes sense," Jason echoed, grinning.

Tim grinned back at him and waved a hand. "Okay, so as you were saying…?"

"Yes, as I was saying…"

Jason continued his little lecture while they continued sipping their coffee and nibbling on the biscotti. When they had finished--the coffee, not the discussion, because Tim was pretty sure Jason would go on for hours about literature once you got him started--they joined Damian in a game of "ten-cup."

It was in the middle of this heated battle of cups and marshmallow-bonded puffed-rice cereal balls that their next customer found them fifteen minutes later. The man, dressed in flower printed leggings and a black hoodie with "Gotham University Aerial Arts" printed across the chest in blue, took one look at them and grinned.

"Oh, hey! Coffee-cup bowling! I love that game! Do you think I could interrupt you guys for just a sec to get some hot chocolate?"

All three of them--the two baristas plus their customer--turned and stared.

"Hot… wait, what?" Jason said, laughing a little. "Man, it's like 4:30 in the morning. Why are you getting a hot chocolate at 4:30 in the morning?"

The man laughed, too, shrugging before he explained, saying, "I don't like tea or coffee all that much, but I just finished a 20 page paper on ethics in police enforcement and I need a pick me up. I need to get my warm fuzzies going again."

Tim rolled his eyes and sighed, moving back toward the counter to get the man his drink. "You're going to end up being the cuddliest cop on the street, Dick."

"You know it, Timmy!" the man--'Dick' apparently--exclaimed, pulling Tim into a bear hug when he made the mistake of passing too close to Dick on his way to the counter. The hug escalated into a full on octopus hug as he lifted his legs to wrap around Tim's hips. Tim, for his part, ignored the grapple, opening the leaf in the counter and hobbling over to the drink bar with the human cephalopod still attached.

Damian and Jason stared. Damian cleared his throat and eyed Dick with poorly disguised interest. "Wait, do you know this man, Drake?"

Tim blinked dully as he turned around, a cup in one hand and a packet of instant hot chocolate in the other. "Yes. He's my brother." Dick made a squeeing noise and nuzzled his head into Tim's neck. Tim sighed. "My adopted brother," he amended testily.

Dick laughed, dropped his feet back onto the floor and stood up. He nearly wrung Tim's neck as he tried to hug him around the shoulders. "Awww, don't be like that, Tim. We haven't seen each other in two whole weeks and I needed my Tim-hugs! Gotta meet my cuddle-quota."

Tim shook his head and handed the hot chocolate back over his shoulder. "You're insufferably, insatiably clingy when you're this tired, Dick. Go home and sleep."

Dick finally released him to take the drink. He took a sip of the hot chocolate, sighing in appreciation. "Thanks, Tim, and yeah, but, only if you do the same. You're just as bad as me when you haven't slept, if not worse."

"Can't. Working," Tim answered curtly, vaulting the counter to escape before Dick's grabby hands could reach for him again. His brother wasn't wrong; Tim was always up for a good cuddle after a long stint without proper sleep, but he didn't like public displays of affection.

Dick took one look at the nearly empty coffee shop, the three of them, their game, and then laughed out loud. "Ahhh, the days of getting paid to drink coffee and make up games at 4:30 in the morning. I kind of miss it."

"Would you care to join us," Damian asked abruptly. Dick brightened.

"Absolutely!"

And so that was how the four of them ended up bowling for empty coffee cups with rice crispy treats the size of spaghetti squash while blasting ABBA’s greatest hits--Dick's terrible, wonderful idea--until the sun rose and their shift ended, at eight AM.

By the time the four of them walked out the door, Dick was trying to convince Damian to join him in the aerials gym before breakfast, and Damian, clearly eager to do anything with the handsome college senior, accepted readily. Jason and Tim, on the other hand, were back to discussing literature over coffee--now focused on the merits and downfalls of contemporary science fiction and fantasy as an art form--and making their way to the East Campus Dining Hall, so they could continue their discussion over breakfast.

Tim snorted softly as he listened to Jason list all the ways Dune defined an era of sci-fi/fantasy, then smiled at the way Jason took his hand--without seeming to realize it--to pull him forward after the crosswalk light changed out of Tim's line of sight. Oh, yeah, this one was totally gay/bi/pan and he was definitely asking him out the minute he saw the opportunity, Tim decided.

He smiled. Who would of thought he'd come out of last night's graveyard shift not only having seen his demon coworker and his older brother hit it off--of all things!--but having met someone for himself too! He laughed, thinking, you never know what crazy things you might see, or the people you might meet, at the campus coffee shop at 4 o' clock in the morning!

[ombreblossom]

Whatever you do don’t open your eyes” for the prompt!

So, I’m not entirely sure what one says before posting fanfiction on Tumblr, but here we go! This is decidedly not horror at all, but uh. Maybe more fitting for something posted on the eve of Act 3, which will inevitably destroy us all.

I’ve never posted fanfiction before, and this is the single longest creative work I’ve ever written, fanfiction or not. Not to mention I haven’t written anything creative, really, in almost a decade. All this said, I hope you enjoy!

The Ins and Outs of Surprises

Content warnings for panic attacks, dissociation, and tooth-rotting fluff.

Summary: In which Jon has a little bit of a rough time with knocking and then goes on to have an unquestionably fluffy evening. Featuring: kitties, the author projecting mightily onto Jonathan “Jon” Sims | The Archivist (as is tradition), good-natured teasing of everyone involved, and loads (and I mean loads) of affection.

(An AO3 link will be added to a reblog.)

Jon whipped his head up from his laptop screen at the loud knocking on their front door. This was a situation in which The Beholding would have unhelpfully supplied information about acute tachycardia and panic attack onset signs—if he and Martin hadn’t averted the apocalypse and banished the fears, at any rate. They could scarcely believe their luck some days, could scarcely believe that they’d both managed to live to see an after, to see time march on once more unperturbed by cosmic terrors.

These days, Jon had to recognize the symptoms of an imminent panic attack and allay them himself. Well, Martin helped, kind and loving soul that he was. That Martin had stuck around after they’d ceased being two of a handful of fully conscious people left in the entire world was another thing Jon couldn’t believe sometimes, but he couldn’t be happier that he did.

The knocking continued to barge in on his thoughts every several seconds as he sat stock still at his desk, flanked on both sides by bookshelves filled to the brim of his and Martin’s books and various knick-knacks: Polaroids of the two of them with their friends leaned up against the spines of their books, souvenirs purchased from museums around London, and a collection of small ceramic cats of different breeds and colors. A brief vision of everything on those shelves coming tumbling down in what is solidifying as an inevitable scuffle ratcheted up Jon’s anxiety even more. 

He was tempted to get up and look about their flat for anything that could serve as a weapon, but there wasn’t much other than perhaps a chef’s knife, dull with constant, loving use, that Jon was likely to find, and he was just as likely to harm himself with it as the intruder. Jon’s hands found their clumsy way to his upper arms, gripping them tightly enough that surely there’d be half-moon divots left where his nails bit into his skin. His chest was starting to feel tight, as if someone were sitting on it in spite of Jon’s verticality.

On one hand, he wished desperately that Martin were here because surely they’d be much more capable of taking on an impending intruder together now that Jon was “powered down,” so to speak. On another hand, he was so grateful that Martin wasn’t here to possibly get murdered. Better him than Martin, who’d been through so much (and largely on Jon’s account).

All this, and someone was still loudly rapping on the front door. The regularity with which the knocks came didn’t suggest an urgency or an immediate threat, so why hadn’t the knocker announced themselves? Maybe this mystery person was just trying to get his attention? But who could possibly know The (former) Archivist lived here? Was this even related to his status as Doom-Bringer? Jon remained in his seat where he’d been sending correspondence to the copyright holders of the next drama he was arranging for his theatre club to perform, paralyzed by indecision and a million swirling questions.

The person demanding his attention pounded their door once more, but this time a voice rang out, clear as a bell in crisp winter morning air.

“—you please open the door? I had to leave my keys in the car!”

His heart stammered and shuttered in his chest—much like Jon himself when he was excited, talking in stops and starts about the latest subject that he’d found interesting, but there was everything wrong with this kind of excitement. Martin had always found it endearing, or so he claimed, but he was sure he wouldn’t find this endearing, seeing Jon wavering on the precipice of panic. Jon, mouth gone bone-dry, croaked a response: “M-Martin?”

A little louder, Martin shouted, “Are you there, Jon? I don’t remember you saying you were going out today.” He audibly jerked the door handle, clearly checking to see if the door was locked. Even knowing who was on the other side of the door didn’t stop Jon from panicking. All sorts of gruesome scenarios danced through his mind. What if someone was using Martin to get at Jon, making it seem safe to leave their home only to ambush him once he was exposed?

Suddenly, all noise outside stopped, and this sent Jon spiraling further. He hadn’t really been taking note of his breathing this whole time, but he felt the encroaching fuzziness that he knew came with dropping oxygen levels. 

“Mar...tin?” Nothing still. Martin hadn’t returned yet. Gripping his cheap particle wood desk that carried none of the same gravitas his elaborate oak desk had at the institute, Jon stood up. It was a precarious thing, his legs shaking and threatening to send him to the floor if he moved too quickly, but he needed to know what happened to Martin.

Just as he had been about to take his first wobbly step toward the door, Jon heard the faint sound of a key sliding into a locking mechanism. In no time at all, his dear heart was in front of him, saying something Jon couldn’t parse.

“—okay to touch—Jon?” He sounded worried for some reason, his voice pitching up just that little extra bit, something Jon knew happened when Martin felt powerless in the face of someone in danger.

Where was the danger? Who was in danger?

Something light brushed against his shoulders and stayed there. In the back of his mind, he was sure Martin had meant it as a comfort to focus on instead of the menacing fuzziness. “Why don’t you sit down, Jon. Everything will be all right. Hey—hey. It’s okay. Just sit down, love, and breathe.” So Jon did.

For a while, he drifted, sightless and senseless save for the tightness in his chest.

When he came back to awareness, Martin was there; he’d pulled another chair up close to Jon and pulled him into a loose embrace, loose enough that Jon could escape with very little effort if he needed to. Soft shushing noises filled the room.

Jon lifted his head from its position buried in Martin’s chest and immediately lost himself again in Martin’s eyes. Dark and speckled as soil and just as full of life. Jon had read enough comparisons to celestial bodies in his lifetime (and made similar comparisons himself once upon a time when their relationship was new and Jon had no idea how to close the distance between them, so up on a pedestal Martin went) to think them useful now. Martin’s beauty didn’t come from being a lonely, unreachable, incomprehensible light in the night sky. Martin was beautiful for far more mundane reasons. He celebrated life and the ups and downs of it all. He sowed seeds of happiness whenever he could and hardly anyone left his presence the poorer. Certainly, Jon recognized, he was somewhat biased, and, no, Martin wasn’t a perfect human being and had his bad days when being around people was too much to bear, when he’d snap and sneer and hide, but those bad days were fewer and further between as time went on.

Martin was talking to him, as it turned out. Maybe he should pay attention to that? Push through the words upon words criss-crossing and overlapping in every direction and orientation. Like microcurrents in the ocean just off the coast of Bournemouth. He’d been warned off from swimming too far from the coast by his grandmother when he was younger. Not that he would have regardless (too many tourists, too many people looking to see only what they wanted to see of his shore-side city), but Jon’s wanderings only made her more fearful of what lurked beyond their small bubble.

Focus, Jon. Focus.

“Are you with me? I’m starting to get more worried here.” Ah, there’s the helpless sarcasm. 

Not able to speak just yet, he leaned back, loosening Martin’s hold on him. Without really comprehending the in-between, Jon’s arms wrapped around Martin’s middle. There was a rather inviting spot on his chest that perfectly pillowed Jon’s head when the opportunity arose, but now wasn’t the time. He’d be lost for hours in the comfort of it all. Instead, Jon looked at him.

“I’m with you,” he said, the gravel that rumbled around in his throat more pronounced than usual.

A full sigh blew out of Martin as he glanced away from Jon. “I’m so sorry, Jon. I totally forgot about the knocking….” This was when the guilt set in. A momentary indulgence, Martin told him once when the world was still Wrong. Time to put a stop to that.

One of Jon’s hands pulled Martin’s face back into view and stayed flush against his cold cheek. “Martin, it’s all right. Most days it wouldn’t bother me, but today…. Something about today has me a little on edge. It feels like something’s about to happen, but I don’t know what.”

Martin still looked worried. “Something is happening today, but it wasn’t supposed to happen like this.” Mirroring his gesture, Martin raised his own hand up, thumb following the path of Jon’s cheekbones, gently passing over the scars left by Jane Prentiss’ worms.

“What do you mean?”

“You’ll find out soon enough. I promise it’s a good thing, though. No traps, no ulterior motives, no earthy manifestations of eldritch fear entities. It’s completely terror-free!”

“You promise, huh?” Jon said with a teasing lilt.

“I mean, as long as you discount the constant low-grade terror of living in a city with several million people and where anything can happen to you at any time.”

“I must say, Martin, you’re exceptionally reassuring today.”

“Thanks! I try.”

Jon just hmmed. 

With a hand still stroking Jon’s cheek and the worried look on his face softening by degrees, Martin said, “How are you feeling?”

Jon took a moment to honestly assess himself. He’d been trying to do that more often since distancing himself from the institute and everything it had represented to him. No more unreasonably late nights of work when he could just as easily spread his work out over the next day or several, and even when he couldn’t, Martin helped him make sure he stopped working no later than seven o’clock each evening. And while his pushing aside his bodily needs was a complicated matter with multiple causes, he’d been working on communicating when he needed to rest, when he was on the verge of pushing past his limits. (He’d been slowly coaxing Martin to do the same, though he’d just as often brush it off when Jon brought it up to him.)

After some examination, Jon replied, “I’m a bit tired, I suppose, but I’ll be all right once I get moving again.” He half-smiled at Martin, hoping to convey a sense of earnestness. Martin trusted him, he knew, and would take Jon’s words at face-value, but it didn’t hurt to lay it on thick sometimes.

The hand on his face was so soft. So pleasant a feeling it was, Jon nuzzled his face into that hand, eliciting a light-hearted giggle from Martin.

“Well, then,” he started, “Up we get! I’ve got something to show you. It’s a little chilly outside, so let’s grab your coat.”

Jon looked puzzled. “Outside? What’s outside?”

Martin gasped loudly. “It’s a surprise, Jon! How could you possibly ask me to spoil a surprise? The sheer audacity—I can’t believe it,” he exclaimed, clutching his chest and a look of profound offense on his face, completing the ensemble of mock outrage.

A warmth settled in Jon’s chest. This silly man was the person he wanted to spend the rest of his life with, no matter how long that ended up being. He let himself be overcome with affection and took the hand Martin had been using to stroke his cheek and brought it to his lips, placing a sweet kiss onto his palm.

“Oh, Mr. Blackwood, whatever can I do to repay you for this betrayal?” Jon crooned, that sloppy half-smile morphing into something a bit more mischievous. He would take any opportunity he could get to coax Martin’s infamous blush into existence, a handsome spreading of color across warm tawny skin, reaching as far as the tips of his ears.

With the expected flush rising on his features, Martin eyed Jon with a mixture of equal parts amusement, affection, and disdain. He gently removed his hand from Jon’s hold and walked over to their coat closet. “What you can do for me, Jon, is come over here and let me help you into your coat!” There was no heat in his words—no, Jon would tease that there was none left to imbue Martin’s words because it was stuck preciously under his skin—and Jon chuckled as he rose from his chair and followed Martin over walked over to where Martin was waving Jon’s pea coat in front of him expectantly.

“All right, all right,” he said, turning around to face the direction he came from, back to Martin, allowing him to guide one woolen sleeve then another over Jon’s arms. (Their bookshelves were intact, if disorganized, to his mild surprise.) Martin tugged on the collar, a signal for Jon to face him.

Though he managed to retain most function in his right hand, despite Jude Perry’s desolate flame ravaging it, it was sometimes painful to flex his fingers. Thus, it became customary for Martin to help him into his outer layers. Buttons were especially difficult some days, but Martin would grab Jon’s lapels and bring him in close enough that only several centimeters separated them and he’d fasten Jon’s buttons for him. Today was no different, though today it was more about the casual intimacy that underlaid the gesture than it was about the practicality of it.

Almost ready to face the damp cold outside, Jon asked, “What’s the rush about, Martin?”

A royal purple scarf suddenly in hand, Martin said, “Well, it’s getting late, and Georgie is still waiting outside with—well, waiting outside, and she and Melanie have a date soon, so we can’t keep her waiting.” Martin curled the scarf around Jon’s neck just so. “Not to mention how miserable it is outside. And I had to turn the car off to take the keys when you wouldn’t answer the door, so it’s probably cold by now, and….” He trailed off, looking at the ceiling with a far-away expression as if contemplating what else to tell Jon in this moment. “In any case, we are in a bit of a hurry, so get your boots on and let’s go!”

Aforementioned boots on and otherwise bundled up, Jon cocked his head to the side. “But, why is Georgie—” He stopped. He didn’t need to know right then. He knew Martin would answer his questions when he felt he could. This was knowledge that could wait. “Lead the way, then, dear.”

They turned toward the door hand-in-hand. Before opening the door, Martin looked back at Jon and said, “I meant it when I said this was a surprise, Jon. I want you to close your eyes and not open them until I say to, okay?”

The proposition of keeping his eyes closed for an indeterminate amount of time didn’t exactly appeal to him, but he trusted Martin. Before he could provide his assent, however, Martin pressed on.

“I know you don’t feel safe when you can’t see anything, but it’s only for a short walk to the car, and I’ll be there every step of the way to make sure nothing happens to you,” he assured. 

Jon could let himself be caught in Martin’s gaze forever, sunny and bright as it was. Now wasn’t the time, he realized. Later on, Jon would lead him to their overstuffed couch by hand and drape himself over Martin and press kisses underneath the line of his jaw and down the line of his throat, as he knew Martin loved.

“I trust you, Martin.” Jon closed his eyes and used his unoccupied hand to gesture to them with a flourish. “Lead on.”

A blast of cold, saturated air assaulted them as Martin opened the door. Taking their first steps outside, Jon tried to place the temperature, figuring it was no warmer than five or six degrees. It was still kind of novel, not having the exact knowledge he was looking for beamed into his head without his consent.

“Hold on, Jon. Stay right here for a moment. I have to close the door. Don’t want our heating bill to go through the roof.” Jon did as he was told, resisting the urge to open his eyes in spite of Martin’s insistence and already missing the solid presence of his hand. As if he were the one with omniscience, Martin yelled back, “Whatever you do, don’t open your eyes!”

Thoroughly thwarted, Jon waited for Martin to take his hand again before moving.

They parted the slow-moving air around them as they walked. Not forceful enough to be considered wind in his book but enough to siphon some of the scant amount of warmth his body produced away from him. People breezed by them, heeled shoes clacking against the sidewalk and snatches of conversations not meant for them drifting in and out of focus. “You said Georgie was here, right? Where is she? I don’t hear her at all.” 

“Georgie has been sworn to silence. Come on; we’re almost there.”

Martin pulled him forward, careful indeed to guide Jon around deposits of snow, soon to be gone, and depressions in the uneven sidewalk filled with slush. London and the surrounding area often got like this in the dead of winter; it didn’t snow overmuch, but when it did, rain soon followed, the temperature never remaining cool enough to sustain large amounts of snow for very long.

“Okay, Jon. We’re here. Keep your eyes closed for a little while longer.” Jon heard the tell-tale sound of a car door opening. The anticipation was roiling in him now; it was hardly bearable. He alternated between centering his weight on the balls of feet and then his heels—and back and forth—trying to dissipate some of the unease.

Just as Jon’s anxieties were building in intensity to a roaring crescendo, Martin spoke again: “You can open your eyes now, love.”

In front of Jon was a cat carrier—no mistaking it. He knew their shape intimately from all the hurried trips to the vet after The Admiral had gotten into food he shouldn’t have. The time The Admiral had eaten a sizable chunk of cold margherita pizza Georgie and he had left out on the table came to mind easily. Several frenzied Internet searches later, words like pancreatitis and anemia rolling around in their minds, they rushed The Admiral to an emergency vet. (It turned out that he hadn’t really eaten enough of the pizza to really worry about it, and the vet had a laugh at their expense, but the experience stuck with both of them.)

Someone had thrown a blanket over the carrier, making it difficult to make out what (who?) was inside, so Jon crouched down to get a better look. He could only imagine the look on his face right then.

A Maine Coon cat stared back at him, its amber eyes searching his and its head displaying a rich coat of golden yellows and deep browns. Jon was nigh speechless. “Who is this, Martin?” he whispered reverently.

Martin crouched down with him. “Well, as far as I know, she doesn’t have a name, not an official one anyway. I started feeding her a while ago on my way back from Tesco, and eventually she started following me back home. I wasn’t sure if she was actually someone’s cat or if she was a stray, so I always shooed her away before we got close to home.”

“That doesn’t answer why she’s here.” He wanted desperately to open the door of the carrier and run his hand through her fur, but Jon settled for poking his finger through the grate. The yet-to-be-named cat sniffed his finger from a couple angles and proceeded to rub her nose and face all over it. Jon nearly wept. 

“I can answer that one,” Georgie interjected, having been nearly forgotten by the other two. She came over and kneeled down with them, eyeing them both with mild concern. “Remember those couple times Melanie, Martin, and I all took off while you were working? Well, this guy was waffling on what to do with Goldie here”—Jon mouthed “Goldie? Really?” at Martin, who could only shrug helplessly—“and came to Melanie and me, your resident cat parents, for advice.

“We discovered pretty quickly that Goldie was a stray, or at least not microchipped. That made the decision that much easier. I walked him through all the different tests he’d want to get done to to make sure she was healthy and spayed and all that. The vet figured she’d been a house cat at some point, seeing as she was fairly clean and decently-well fed, even taking Martin feeding her into account. But no microchip, no tags, and no other indicator of who she belonged to, and the several weeks this guy had been asking around the area to try to find her owners with nothing to show for it?” 

Martin shot her a look. Georgie laughed, saying, “Oh, there was no way I wasn’t going to mention that. You talk a good game of resisting her charms, but you knew you were going to try to bring her home. You exhausted all your options trying to find her owners before we even showed up! The point is, we figured Goldie would find herself in good company with you two. Plus, I know how much you’ve missed The Admiral, Jon.”

This was too much to take in. He hadn’t been aware of any of this happening. In one sense, it was relieving: another piece of evidence to add the mounting pile that The Beholding had truly lost its grip on him. But how could Jon have missed all of this? Surely he joined Martin often enough in his London travels to have noticed him asking around about this cat.

“Hey.” Martin bumped their shoulders together. “I know what you’re thinking. I tried very hard to keep this from you in case it didn’t work out. I didn’t want to tell you about Goldie and get your hopes up only to find out that she had a loving family looking for her. And you’ve been so preoccupied with your theatre club’s new show; I wanted this to be a pleasant surprise.” Jon remembered the playbills scattered around his desk, a cursor left blinking, hovering over a supplicating email.

“You doing all right there, Jon?” Georgie leaned in closer to him, eyebrows furrowed. “We should get Goldie inside soon. It’s awfully cold.”

He’d heard enough. Standing up without warning, Jon waited for the other two to follow suit.

There was a moment when nobody moved. 

In a (in hindsight) hilarious attempt to force both Georgie and Martin up to their feet, Jon grabbed a hold of their collars and pulled, not too hard as to choke but enough to make his intentions known.

Jon advanced on Georgie first and threw his arms around her shoulders in a tight hug. This was familiar; this was safe. It took them a long time to return to a place where they would love each other like this after everything. He’d thought once that it would be impossible, too many misunderstandings and too much unintentional harm a seemingly unending flood under the bridge of their relationship, but here they were.

Pulling away slightly, Jon pressed a brief kiss to Georgie’s dry cheek, a pleasant contrast to their overwhelmingly wet surroundings. He stared deep into her eyes and said, "Thank you for your part in this, Georgie. For helping bring—heh—Goldie to us."

Eyebrows shockingly close to the edge of her hairline and eyes wide, she stuttered out, "Oh! Yeah, sure."

He turned on Martin next, who stood stock still close by, watching the scene with rapt attention. 

“Martin.”

Jon didn’t give Martin a chance to respond, stealing his words with a kiss. Several kisses, really, all short and soft and sweet, with little regard for location. Nowhere was safe: Martin’s nose, cheek, temple, jaw, hair. All had kisses laid upon them in pretty short order. 

As if just realizing he had an armful (and lipful) of Jon, Martin pulled him in closer. “What was that for?”

Jon let his smile take over his face. “For all the kindnesses you do me—big and small, extravagant and simple, whether you believe them to be or not.” And he pressed one more kiss on Martin’s forehead. “Thank you.”

“Oh,” he said. Wobbly, he continued, “Of course, Jon.”

Passersby walked around them. How Jon managed to forget this was a London street where people other than him, Martin, and Georgie existed was beyond him. He only noticed them at all because the chill of the languid London wind was starting to make a home in his bones. Better to work on getting everyone inside before the cold became too much.

“Where’s Melanie? I know she’d hate it, but I want to thank her as well.”

“Oh, Melanie would have loved to be here, if only to laugh at the hilarious conclusion of this rom-com movie plot we’ve all found ourselves in. But a meeting with one of the families she’s been working with ran late.” Melanie couldn’t talk too much about her work for fear of violating the confidentiality of the people she worked with, but from what Jon understood, she had essentially created a career adjacent to social work, in which she helped people living with the aftereffects of the fears’ full emergence reintegrate into society at large. She reasoned she was in a good position to help others shed the influence of the fears, given that she’d spent the last almost year before the Change doing the same. 

Georgie clasped Jon’s shoulder. “Don’t worry, though! I’m going to be telling her a~all about this.”

“Are you trying to give me a coronary? Melanie can’t know I have feelings.”

Georgie threw her head back and laughed. “Consider it our payment for the invaluable advice we provided throughout this harrowing process that Melanie will get to tease you about how disgustingly cute you two are later.”

The two bickered for a little bit like this as the sun sank further further beneath the horizon, Martin occasionally chiming in with support for whomever would create the most chaos. He may have been the love of Jon’s life, but Martin could still be a little shit when the mood took him.

Georgie was right earlier. It was cold and starting to get colder, and, frankly, all Jon wanted to do right now was pet this cat that he was legally obligated to rename to something more dignified. Something like The Duchess or Empress Dowager Cat or something else of equal stature would do. He’ considered having Martin help him decide, but if “Goldie'' was anything to go by, then perhaps it’d be better to leave him out of the proceedings.

Starting to move the blanket away from Goldie’s carrier, Jon said, “It’s about time we brought her inside, don’t you think, Martin? I’d like to get her settled in before dinner.”

Georgie stayed a couple extra minutes to help get Goldie, some food she and Martin had picked up for her on the way back, and a few toys into the flat. Jon offered to walk her to the tube station, and Martin offered to drive her back to the flat she shared with Melanie, but Georgie refused both and sent the two of them on their way to go bond with their new furchild.

As Georgie rounded the corner of their block and left their sight, waving to them all the while, Jon and Martin returned to the warmth of their flat. And there she was, lying against the grate of the carrier, not a care in the world. He and Goldie would become fast friends, Jon was sure.

-------------

Outerwear hung up to dry and boots neatly sequestered on their drying mat, it was finally safe to allow Goldie to explore their flat, which she accomplished in approximately 5 seconds, zooming around from room to room in a series of excited dashes. She stopped in the middle of the living room floor and made several pointed sniffs into the air.

Martin looked over to where Jon stood; he looked positively gleeful with a loose fist poorly hiding a still obvious smile. Frizzy fly-away hairs haloed around his head with some plastered to his face and the rest of his black, silver mottled hair in a hastily-done up-do. It was well known that Jon's hair expanded a good thirty percent in moist air, and today was no exception. It was so charming, seeing this man so unguarded, so unmade compared to his historically meticulous appearance. 

Choosing this moment of loving staring to make herself known once again, Goldie wound herself in around their legs in figure eights, rubbing her scent onto their closes and purring loudly. Jon couldn’t stop the high keening noise that escaped from his mouth.

"Are you all right over there, love?" Martin snickered.

"Quiet, you."

Jon turned to face him. It didn't happen too often, but every once in a while, Jon would gain an extra depth of color in a delicate line across his nose and cheekbones, a warmer brown than what otherwise lived there. Martin was wholly pleased to see the color now, and that it arose from something he helped make happen made his heart soar. 

"This is your fault, you know," Jon said mildly.

"What's my fault?"

He huffed. "These entirely embarrassing reactions I'm having."

"Oh, is that all? Sorry that I can't find it myself to feel guilty, then. I happen to love all these embarrassing reactions you're having." Placing a kiss on Jon's temple, he continued, "You're adorable when you're like this, you know."

"I know you think that, you incorrigible man."

“You are!” 

Jon laughed fondly at this. “There’s no sense in arguing with you about this, is there?”

“Not really!”

Seemingly sensing the end of their dispute, Goldie plopped herself down on Jon’s foot. It didn’t seem possible that she could purr any louder than she was a couple minutes ago, but Martin’s life had always taken one look at his expectations and summarily ignored them.

“Are you seeing this, Martin?” Jon whispered, the awe in his voice unmistakable. “Her Most Esteemed Empress Dowager Cat has deemed me worthy of her attention. I am honored to be in her presence.”

It took everything Martin had in him to not bark a laugh at that. “I’m sorry, dear. I didn’t quite hear you. What are we calling our cat?”

Their cat. Their cat that they’d be taking care of and cuddling together. Somehow the thought hadn’t occurred to him before, and it threatened to make him speechless now.

Jon muttered indignantly, “Like your name was any better.”

Martin gathered Jon into his arms easily, despite Jon’s defensive posture.

“Why don’t we come up with a proper name for her tomorrow. We’ll call her Goldie for now”—Jon started to protest, but Martin pushed on—“because that’s what she’s been answering to, but let’s just make dinner and enjoy her company tonight, hmm?”

A short moment later, Jon replied, “Yes, that sounds wonderful.”

They debated the relative merits of whipping up a quick curry versus spending a bit more time on a soup with a homemade broth and eventually decided on the former. The sounds of chopping potatoes and the clinking of glass jars containing garam masala, turmeric, red chili powder, cloves, star anise, and everything else necessary for aloo kurma spread throughout the flat. And if Goldie leapt onto the kitchen counter once or twice, knocking over bowls of ingredients and leaving inordinate amounts of fur in her wake, well. That was just fine with them.

[karihighman]

Witness – Upstead AU

PART ONE: MEETING YOU WAS FATE

Hailey couldn’t believe it. Well, she could believe it, since she saw it happen right in front of her eyes. But she really could not believe that she would be the one to witness such a thing.

She was walking to her car from her family’s Greektown cafe and bakery, where she worked, and she heard a rustling in the alleyway across the street. She turned, but couldn’t see anything. She had just put her key into her car door to unlock it when she almost jumped out of her skin.

A gun shot.

That she knew she heard.

Before she could even blink, the gunman was fleeing the alley. He was panicking, but not only from the crime he had committed. No, Hailey had a feeling he wasn’t from around the area, because if he were, he would’ve ran the opposite way, as the back of the alleyway would dump you onto a service road, which would make the perfect getaway.

No, this guy ran to his right, forward, and even crazier, in the direction of Hailey. She had tried to avert her eyes, but she felt frozen with fear as she heard strangled sounds coming from said crime scene.

Oh god, was someone dying? Shit. She couldn’t just leave them there. She had to help.

She blamed it on her masters in psychology, which she was just two more months away from completing. She was splitting her time between school, and work. It was actually how she met her now-roommate, Vanessa. They studied at CCU together.

Hailey whipped out her cell phone and dialed 911. She was talking with the dispatcher when she cursed herself for not shining her flashlight in the dark alley. She flipped it on, and in front of her was a man, couldn’t be more than 5-10 years older than she, lying on the ground.

His words were mangled, but it took Hailey a moment to realize it was because blood was spilling from his mouth. She held her breath, as if that was going to help something. She was trying to find where the actual wound was, but she was having a difficult time.

The man’s fancy suit jacket was covering his arm that put pressure on his abdomen. Shit, that’s not good, Hailey thought to herself as she tried to assist. “Yes, at 501 S Racine. Yes, he’s been shot in the stomach, he’s bleeding really bad, please hurry.”

“Ma’am, paramedics and police are in route.”

Hailey heard the dispatcher as she dropped her phone, not caring where it landed, and turned her attention to the dying man in front of her.

“Sir? Hey, the ambulance is on its way,” she tried, but he wasn’t responsive. “Hey,” she said with a bit more authority. “Do you know who did this to you?”

He barely moved his head up and down, but that was enough for Hailey. “Who? Who did this?”

“My,” he croaked, his speech cut off by the gurgling of blood. Hailey idled helplessly as the man’s eyes shifted closed.

“No, no, no. Hey, hey!” She exclaimed, ears perking up when she heard the sound of the sirens. “Sir, please hold on. They’re almost here.”

She saw a myriad of flashing lights, red, blue, and white. She had the most idiotic thought when she looked at it. It reminds me of the flag. As fast as it entered her mind, it was gone as she screamed for the first responders to get over here. She wasn’t sure if they could see them from the street.

She saw shadows along the brick wall, rushing to meet her own. She didn’t expect to be pushed and prodded, but she supposed it was what needed to be done. She was plucked up by a paramedic, while 2 tended to the man. He was up on a gurney and into the first waiting truck before the one that stood by Hailey spoke.

“Ma’am? Are you hurt?”

Hailey hadn’t spoken yet, but when she brought her hands up to her face to brush her hair out of her eyes, she found them to be covered in blood. His blood. She felt her breath come in spurts, and she felt like she couldn’t move, let alone say anything. So much blood.

“Okay, we’re gonna get you to Chicago Med just to be safe,” the medic told her, leading her zombie-like frame over to the second ambulance. “Did you see what happened?”

Hailey parted her lips only a tad, still unable to form the simplest of words: yes. So, in a disturbing twist of events, she took her bloodied pointer finger, and etched a “Y” onto the back of her hand, which was clear of blood. She felt like she was watching herself do these things: showing her hand to the medic, hearing calls for a cop to follow them to Med, and a distinct two taps on the back of their truck before it propelled forward.

What the hell just happened?

——————-

Jay wasn’t the hugest fan of the late night calls that Intelligence seemed to always pick up. Well, at least not lately. Seemed like he barely clocked in two hours of sleep a night because he was always on the clock at work.

He wiped the sleep from his eyes as he surveyed the remnants of the crime scene. They couldn’t call it a murder yet, because as it stood, their victim was on his way to the hospital. Blood littered the brick wall, some trickling down to the unevenly paved cement ground.

He rubbed the back of his neck as he took it all in. Why the hell would someone be shot here? It was just outside the dinkiest shopping lot, with a bakery across the street, a gas station on the corner, and a couple of random stores in between.

“Halstead,” Voight’s voice echoed over his own thoughts. “Get to Med. You’re interviewing the witness.”

Jay opened his mouth, wanting to at least get someone else to come with him. Ever since his ex-partner and subsequent ex-girlfriend Erin left a few years back, he’d been rotated through all the rest of the Intelligence Unit. He’d felt most comfortable with Adam, as the two were able to dick around in their free time to take the edge off the homicides and robberies they dealt with every day.

But, because Adam was a bit – according to his fiancée Kim, a lot – dismal, he’d managed to get stuck with a needle while chasing after a suspect a few days back. He was holed up at the apartment he shared with Kim until the end of this week, when his tests would come back. Just to make sure he didn’t catch anything. Adam had called it a “free vacation”; Kim called it “the dumbest decision he’s made in a while.”

So, he was left without his usual buddy, and everyone else had already been assigned a job. Kevin and Kim were out canvassing, meanwhile his sergeant and sergeant Platt were knee deep in the middle of a discussion. It made sense that the only other missing piece was the witness statement. The medics had whisked them away before anyone could speak to them. Jay didn’t even know if he would be speaking with a burly guy or a timid girl.

Only one way to find out, he figured as he climbed back into his truck. Off to Chicago Med, he went.

When he arrived a short time later, he saw a flash of red hair, which meant his brother was making his rounds. “Will!”

The redheaded older Halstead turned at the sound of his name. His face softened for a split second when he saw it was his younger police brother, but fell serious once again when he realized why Jay was there. He’d not been in the operating room while Dr. Marcel was working on their gunshot victim, but, he knew by hearing the experienced surgeon call “time of death” that they couldn’t save him.

Him turned out to be interim Superintendent Jason Crawford. And Will, being the nice guy that he is, would break the news to his brother.

“Jay,” he said carefully as he walked over to his brother. “He didn’t make it. I’m sorry.”

“Dammit!” Jay said, slamming his fist against the nurses station. Maggie gave him one of her looks, and Jay mouthed a “sorry.”

“Shit. Will, who was it?”

“Ex-superintendent Jason Crawford.”

Jay just stood there for a second, mouth slightly agape. Well, fuck. This couldn’t get any worse.

He slapped a hand over his mouth as he began to pace. Will’s hands steadied his shoulders, making him focus again. “Jay. Go make yourself useful and interview the witness. I think April’s finishing her vitals now,” he nodded his head across the way. Jay’s head swiveled, following until he saw April’s coiled hair and nurses uniform.

Got it.

“Yeah,” he said, giving Will’s shoulder a quick pat of gratitude. “Thanks.”

He made his way over towards April, and when he asked her how they were doing, he was surprised when she said that “she’s good to go. No injuries, just shock. Blood was not hers, it was your victim’s. All yours, detective.”

He played off his surprise with a cough. “Thanks, April.”

He finally turned to face this mysterious woman, and was met with the brightest blue eyes he’d ever seen. Her blonde waves were mussed, but he assumed that was from the hospital staff poking at her all night. Her lips were pursed, and she sat calmly on the hospital table.

“Hi,” was the first thing that tumbled out of his mouth, and if it was remotely possible to stick his foot in his mouth whilst standing up, you’d better believe he would’ve done so. Really, that’s all you got? He tried to pull it together so he wasn’t just gawking at her. “I’m Detective Halstead, with the Intelligence Unit. Can you tell me what happened?”

She blinked, running a hand through her hair. “Yeah, sure. I was walking to my car, and I heard a noise. I wasn’t thinking much of it until I heard a gunshot. Once I remembered how to use my legs again, I ran over to where the guy sat, er, lied. I asked him if he knew who did this to him, and he nodded – well, as best he could. He only said “my” before he passed out, or went into shock, I don’t know. I’m not a doctor. But, if I had to guess, it was someone close to him, because a close range shot like that suggests they were within arms lengths of each other.”

Jay was in the midst of scribbling down her answers when his ears perked up at her suggestion. He felt a small smirk play on his lips, and he miserably failed to tamper it down. “Not a doctor, huh?”

“Nope,” she responded, popping the “p.” Sensing he’d want an explanation, she tacked on: “Future psychologist.” She nodded, the smallest of smiles gracing her lips. She held out her hand, and Jay had forgotten what the custom meant. Damn her prettiness.

He regrouped, placing his hand against hers to shake. Their fingers connected, and even though it was a simple handshake, he’d not felt anything during all the other hands he’d shook in his lifetime. Not a one.

“Hailey Upton.” Even her name was pretty.

He locked his eyes on hers. “Detective Halstead, but you can call me Jay.”

[softyoongiionly]

La Grande Maison: A Mystery in Three Acts 🎠

The rooftop is your safe haven. It’s your escape from the woes of the world below and, you and your best friends take every opportunity you can to visit this special place. It’s here that time slows down, that all your problems seem to fade away...

But when one of you goes missing, not even the rooftop can save you from the nightmare that has yet to unfold. 

Pairing: Jimin x Reader (but also this one is mainly about good ol fashion friendship)

Genre: Mystery/Thriller

Word Count: 25k 

Warnings (please read me!!!): angst (like seriously chief this one is ROUGH), alcohol use (not excessive), drug use (not excessive), violence, mentions of murder/crime/kidnapping, swearing (excessive), mentions of death, character death (not major), SMUT (18+ only please). 

A/N: hello yes. It is me. This one is ALOT my friends. Like holy freaking heck. I am honestly so incredibly excited for you to read this and, I can’t wait to see what you think of it. It’s my actual baby and, I’m kind of nervous cause, I’ve never written a fic like this before so, I really really really hope you like it. If you do, please let me know, feedback means everything to me. 

Please Note: Bolded text indicates when characters are speaking Korean

Regarding Taehyung’s French scenes (yes our boy is fluent in french in this fic), I did my best. My french isn’t perfect so, if there are mistakes I am super sorry. 

Please please please let me know if you liked it!

I love you all so much, please enjoy.

Act I- Sur La Grande Maison

The rooftop is a place you often end up.  

It’s a little cliché, you think: a bunch of misfits corralled onto a dodgy high-rise building in the middle of the city, cigarette smoke wafting in the air.  

But you and your friends aren’t delinquents.  

The worst any of you has ever done is get a speeding ticket and that only happened because, one of you had dared Hoseok to go over 100 miles an hour on the highway: Hoseok never turns down a dare.  

But no, the rooftop is a quiet place despite the shady motel it rests upon and, it’s a place you and your group of friends cherish for different reasons  

Jin likes it because; he can spot new street food vendors from the massive height of the building. He’s made all of you try some interesting shit but, most of the time, it’s delicious.  

Namjoon has perfect view of the river and, sometimes he separates from the seven of you to write poetry while gazing down at it.  

Yoongi doesn’t always join you but, he finds himself dragging himself out of the house to listen to the underground rappers that perform in the club next door.  

He thinks he can do better.  

He’s probably right.  

The rooftop gives Hoseok the space to dance; he doesn’t have it downstairs in the room he rents and, he can’t afford a practice room. So, he brings out his old speakers and amuses the rest of you while he moves fluidly around the concrete.  

Taehyung loves to paint the skyline and, the roof allows him a view that he can’t get anywhere else. He’s painted it a hundred times but, he hasn’t used every color; not yet at least.  

Jungkook brings his dads old polaroid up every time you guys meet. He takes unflattering pictures of all of you and, you know it’s just for fun but, what you don’t know is that he’s made a collage on his wall of all of them and, he smiles at them each morning as he heads to work.  

And Jimin well…  

Jimin has a lot of reasons why he loves the rooftop:  

His friends of course; he can’t imagine his life without all of the late nights/early mornings he’s spent huddled up with his best friends, laughing so hard he can’t see straight.    

The view is amazing, it makes Jimin feel like he lives in a penthouse despite him working three minimum wage jobs just to keep a shitty roof over his head.  

But all of those things pale in comparison to his favorite thing about the rooftop: you.  

You’ve been friends since high school but eight months ago, he started realizing that the little crush he had is actually full-blown LOVE and, that he should probably tell you soon before he loses his shit.  

Luckily for him, you reciprocated.  

It wasn’t easy at first, Jimin’s a jealous man and, he let his trust issues get in the way but, after a few stupid fights, he decided he needed to grow up and knock it off.  

The rooftop saw it all, the fights, the making up, the making out and, one night when everyone fell asleep, Jimin made you cum three times underneath the blanket the two of you were sharing.  

It’s a little filthy he knows but, he gets kind of primal around you, he wants everyone to know you’re his.  

But he knows when it’s appropriate to do so and, he’d never try to control you.  

Unless you two were in bed together then, there are times when you give him that control.  

He always brings you down nicely though, he always kisses your forehead...  

You think you might fall in love with him a little more each time.  

“Y/N?”  

A voice brings you out of your thoughts and, you look up across the makeshift bonfire to see Hoseok smirking knowingly at you.  

“There’s an old mattress over by the chimney if you and Jimin need to relieve yourselves...”  

There is a small echo of laughter that moves through the group and, you cock your head in confusion, “What are you talking about?  

Jimin throws a cigarette butt at him, wrapping an arm around you, “Fuck off. She doesn’t realize she does it...” You feel him tuck a bit of hair behind your ear, smiling fondly at you, “Don’t worry about him, he’s just mad he doesn’t have a girl looking at him like that.”  

You turn towards the rest of your friends, “Wait what do you mean? What did I do?”  

With chaos in his eyes, Jin takes the cigarette Namjoon passes to him before nodding to you, “You were eye fucking your boyfriend.”  

“Shut uuuup.” You answer immediately, burying your face in Jimin’s neck which prompts a pleased round of laughter to move past his lips.  

You didn’t realize you were doing it but, you don’t protest his observation.  

It’s been nearly a month since you’ve had a night off, meaning you’ve gone without your boyfriend’s touch for way too long.  

He tugs you closer to him and presses a kiss to your head whilst everyone else laughs at your expense.  

As the night breeze rushes in to move between the eight of you, Jimin holds you even tighter, tugging the old knitted blanket around your body.  

“Give her a break, she’s been without dick for a long time...it’s been like a month since we met up.” Taehyung interjects, taking a drag of the cigarette before passing it to Jungkook.  

Cigarettes are nearly $10 a pack, so they share one at a time and, pitch in when the supply runs low.  

You don’t smoke but five of them do and, you’re kind of thankful your boyfriend isn’t one of them.  

“So? Do you guys not meet up in between? Y/N has a studio, plenty of privacy...” Jin waves his hand between the two of you, judgement in his eyes.  

Jimin tenses up beside you, not really enjoying the way the conversation has shifted, “We both work 3 jobs hyung, you know that.”  

“You’re right. Sex is probably quite straining for you...” Jin smirks, enjoying the annoyance in Jimin’s eyes.  

“What’s that supposed to mean?” Jimin’s eyes are narrowed and, you are quickly coming up with a plan to distract your boyfriend from Jin’s teasing.  

His not exactly a good candidate for roasting; he’s far too sensitive for that.  

“You know cause it’s...” Jin positions his fingers in such a way that suggests that Jimin has a small dick  

“Jin-” Namjoon groans in warning but, Jungkook and Hoseok have already started snickering.  

You expect your boyfriend to pop off, guns a blazing, eyes alight with offence but, instead he just smirks.  

Letting his hand curve around the ball of your knee, he says something that nullifies Jin’s insult,  

“You don’t have to have a big dick to be good in bed hyung...”  

Jin isn’t phased and he raises his eyebrows as he holds the cigarette to his lips, “That’s something people with small dicks say.”  

Hoseok and Jungkook snicker again, enjoying the drama and Taehyung grins from behind his phone, shaking his head.  

Jimin’s smirk widens as his hand continues to trail up your thigh, “Do you think I’m bad in bed?”  

His question is spoken into your ear and, his breath against your skin causes a shiver to run through you.  

“No.” You giggle, leaning into him and, he’s quick to tighten his grip on you, his lips quickly finding the side of your head.  

“Now, Y/N...every good relationship is built on trust. You two will never last if you continue to lie.” Jin’s laughter escalates to a full-blown windshield wiper volume and, surprisingly enough, it’s Yoongi who shuts him down  

“Your fiancé made you sleep on the couch with me the other night because, you were too drunk to get it up so,” Yoongi tilts his head as if he’s wagering two options, “you're not really in the position to be talking shit.”  

Everyone’s face turns up in surprise as Yoongi, or Mouse, as they like to call him, puts Jin on blast without even looking up from his phone.  

“Mouse just ended your whole life bro.” Hoseok cackles, throwing back a bit of vodka as Jungkook leans into him with the weight of his laughter.  

Jin waves him off like the unbothered king he is and, gestures to the vodka bottle in Hoseok’s hands, “Mouse’s have tiny dicks too so, he’s just jealous.”  

Namjoon literally cringes in his seat, looking at Jin with incredulity, “Mice not mouse’s...”  

Taehyung laughs at that, leaning forward a bit to warm his hands around the fire. He looks exhausted but, then again, so do the rest of you.  

But it speaks volumes doesn’t it?  

That you’re all hear together, on your only days off, soaking up every bit of time you have.  

Roasting aside, anyone can see that there is nothing but love between the eight of you.  

If you had it your way, you’d spend every night up here.  

Jimin reminds you with his lips, just how long it’s been as he places a few kisses against your cheek, “Come play with me.”  

You giggle, turning in his grip to meet his grinning face, “You sound like the twins from The Shining...”  

Jimin’s eyes wrinkle with his laughter but, he’s quick to place a searing kiss to your lips along with another sinful phrase, “Please? I haven’t seen you naked in a month.”  

You shake your head, tucking hand behind his neck to pull him closer to you, “I’ve sent you nudes...”  

Jimin’s quick to kiss you again but, his lips pout further and, you notice the scent of after shave lingering around his face.  

That shouldn’t turn you on but, for whatever reason, it does.  

“Yes you did and, trust me when I say, I put them to good use-” He kisses you again, nudging your nose as he does, “but I want the real thing.”  

“Let’s go then.” You whisper against his lips  

He kisses you once more before, getting Hoseok’s attention, “Yah, I need your key.”  

Hoseok lives on the 8th floor of the motel you’re currently loitering on and, his room is a place you and Jimin often end up during nights like these.  

Most people would be weirded out by it but, for you guys, it’s normal.  

You don’t bat your eyes at the seedier sides of life, you’ve all lived through it in some way.  

Hoseok just smirks, reaching into the pocket of his jeans, “Stay off my bed unless you plan on inviting me this time.”  

Jimin just flips him off, grinning fondly at him before taking your hand and, tugging you towards the door.  

“Don’t be too long, we wanna play poker!” Jungkook calls after the two of you and, although Jimin has a mission in mind, he responds anyway.  

“With what money?”  

“We’re playing for bragging rights obviously, that shit means more to you heathens than actual money.” Namjoon smirks, taking a swig of the vodka before passing it to Yoongi.  

“That doesn’t apply to me; I would sell all of you for an even $500.” Yoongi remarks, taking a big gulp and, bearing his teeth as it burns his throat.  

The rest of you just laugh but, before you can add your two sense, Jimin is tugging you behind the door.  

He has you pressed up against it immediately, his hands finding your waist whilst his plush lips kiss you with everything he’s got.  

You’re quick to reciprocate as your hands slide around the curve of his neck. Delicately, your fingers tangle into the hair at the nape of his neck and, it spurs Jimin on even more as he groans into your mouth.  

“Christ, what are you doing to me?” He laments against your mouth, causing laughter to bubble past your lips, “It’s not funny...” He laments but, he’s grinning as he does, walking you backwards towards the elevator, “I’ve only been kissing you for ten seconds and, I’m already so hard.”  

You tug him through the elevator doors the collar of his t-shirt all while trying to keep your lips connected, “Should I only expect you to last for ten seconds too?”  

Jimin grunts in protest, his brows furrowing cutely as he shakes his head, “Don’t make fun of me, I missed you...” He whines playfully, smirking when you hitch a leg around his waist.  

“I missed you too.” You breath and, you always marvel at young Jimin can make you feel.  

You’re fully grown, sexually active adults and, yet here you grinding into one another like a bunch of hormonal rookies. The denim of his jeans pressing against the soft cotton of your panties hits you right in the pit of your stomach and, you’re honestly a little shocked by how wet you are.  

Jimin slides the key card through Hoseok’s door several times before it finally works.  

This motel is not a featured business on Yelp.  

“Fucking door- ugh Jesus I don’t know how he gets this open when he’s hammered.” Jimin laughs, pulling you close to him as soon as he shoves Hoseok’s door shut.  

“I have found him sleeping in the hallway before.” You point out but, the importance of your reply dies on your tongue when Jimin steps back to pull his shirt off.  

You don’t hide your reaction either, letting your eyes wander over the masterpiece that is Jimin’s body.  

He’s slightly tan from his days working at the pool, his sinewy muscles protruding tastefully against his smooth skin; it’s enough to make you drool.  

But to center yourself, you comment on something tangible before you literally start begging for him,  

“Your tattoo is healing nicely.” You nod your head to the black ink scrawled across Jimin’s ribs  

The word ‘nevermind’ has never looked so good on someone's skin before.  

He just smirks, “Yeah, it’s still a little sore though.”  

“Oh?” With a tilt of your head, you let your eyes scan over it again, “Should I kiss it better?”  

Your question doesn’t get answered because the next thing you know, Jimin has you on the couch, sat astride on his lap with your shirt half way up your torso.  

“I want you naked- I don’t give a fuck if they’re waiting on us...”  

All you can manage is a nod and, Jimin quickly tugs your shirt over your head.  

He connects his lips to the crook of your neck, sighing into your skin as if the taste alone soothes him.  

“You missed me too right?” He mumbles causing you to gently tug on the black tendrils of his hair so he’ll face you.  

“Of course.” You peck his lips once before pushing him back against the arm of the couch, “See?”  

Jimin nearly busts right there when you lean back to pull your skirt up, exposing the dampened material of your panties.  

Your boyfriend has a panty fetish that nearly warrants concern. For months, he would beg you to leave your panties with him after the two of you had sex until finally; you were down to your last 8 pair.  

He bought you more of course but, that didn’t stop him from begging all over again.  

“Fuck these are my favorite...” He winces at the sight, letting out a shaky breath before his darkening irises find yours again, “Leave them on.”  

You smirk, letting your skirt down and, pecking at his lips once again, “I thought you wanted me naked.”  

He bites down on your bottom lip, pulling it for a moment and, letting it snap back in place,  

“I changed my mind. I wanna cum all over these pretty little panties you’re wearing instead...”  

Jimin makes good on his promise.  

Sex with Jimin is something else.  

The pleasure he brings you is so intense it’s almost painful.  

It’s almost painful because, you hardly see each other and, if you had it your way, you’d be in his lap all the time.  

But, life doesn’t work that way.  

So, you take what you can get.  

He makes you cum twice on his dick, with his thumb pressed firmly against your clit.  

He whispers dirty secrets in your ear and, somehow manages to make you feel both filthy and beautiful all at once.  

Prodding another weakness of his, hickies, you help him reach his own release and, within 10 minutes he’s attaining the orgasm he’s been craving so desperately.  

“Fuck, I missed you so much...” He croons into your neck, nuzzling his nose there for a moment as you run your fingers through his hair.  

“I missed you too.” You smile, kissing the shell of his ear  

The two of you stay like that for a moment, kissing on one another, relishing in your reunion.  

When the time is right, the two of you will share a place one day but, for now, you have to continue working hard and saving money for the things your future.  

And speaking of making money...  

Your phone buzzes in the pocket of your skirt and, you sadly drag your attention away from your boyfriend to see a text from your boss at the nursing home  

Xander: Christian called out tonight :/  

Xander: you want to work a double?

Night shifts pay time and a half and, it would be another 8 hours on this next paycheck...  

It’s like a punch to the chest really.  

Because, you have to leave.  

One your one night off in nearly a month.  

You feel like crying but, you know that’s ridiculous.  

Jimin’s face falls as he sees the text on your phone but, he knows that his disappointment will only make you feel guilty and, he really doesn’t want that.  

So instead, he curls a finger underneath your chin and, kisses you with a tenderness that he doesn’t often display.  

Not that he isn’t sweet with you, it’s just that his lips are sinful and, normally they are working you into a frenzy.  

The time you two have together is so limited that everything always feels so rushed but, in this moment, he takes the time to kiss you slowly.  

And as he brushes a thumb across your cheek, he makes a promise to you, “I promise, we’ll get our break someday and, when that day comes, I’ll be kissing this pretty mouth of yours every chance I get...”  

You smile, leaning into his hand, “I’ll make you breakfast every morning…and we can decorate together our place together and-“

Jimin interrupts your fantasy with a kiss, grinning fondly into your lips, “Anything you want.”

You wrap your arms around him once more, tucking your face into his neck, wishing desperately that you can stay here with him all night…

“I love you.” You whisper into his skin  

“I love you too.” He replies, kissing the side of your head

Jimin walks you downstairs to the exit of the motel and, he tries his best to swallow his disappointment.

Your car is in the shop so; you’ll catch the bus right up the street and, try to remind yourself why you’re working so hard.

With a tight and lingering embrace, Jimin says his goodbyes to you, pecking your lips a dozen more times.

“Text me when you get home tonight…” He requests with a soft voice and, you nod, kissing him once more before stepping outside.  

Jimin leans against the stained glass, watching you with love in his eyes as you turn to wave frantically at him.

It brings a giggle to his lips as he waves back, feeling an ache in his heart as you disappear into the crowd of people.

Jimin knows he’s never loved another person the way he loves you.

He knows he wants to spend the rest of his life with you.

But what Jimin didn’t know is that the agony of watching you leave after only a short time with him is nothing compared to the pain he has yet to endure.

Because tonight is no ordinary night.

Tonight, is the night you go missing.

Kosei Police Station, Thursday 6:24am

It’s been 54 hours since your friends heard from you.

Xander called Jimin, your emergency contact, when you didn’t show up for your shift Monday night.

The group promptly blew up your cell phone, trying any means necessary to reach you.

When there was no reply, they showed up to your apartment and much to their horror, the property manager has no recollection of you returning home.  

“How long has she been missing?”

Jimin wants to scream at the uninterested clerk behind the desk.

He wants to scream in general.

The police station should be in full chaos at the news of your absence.

They should be on the phone with every available resource, repeating your name and details over and over.

But it’s not.

It’s eerily calm and, he doesn’t understand why.

“The last time I saw her was on Monday. She was supposed to work that night but, her manager said she never showed up.”  

Jimin doesn’t recognize his own voice.

He feels like he’s outside of his body.

“Mhm…” The man drone behind the glass, casually typing a few things into the computer, “And what was her name again?”

Jimin’s blood boils over and, thank god for Namjoon because, he immediately intervenes.

“Y/N Y/L/N. She’s __ years old, she has __ hair, __ eyes and, she was last seen at the Paybrook Motel, Monday night. This isn’t like her to disappear. What is your protocol for these kinds of things?”  

The man enters the information before shrugging at Namjoon’s question, “Uh we’ll send a squad car out to do some ground work but, uh honestly most cases like these are resolved pretty quickly, I wouldn’t worry too much about it.”

Taehyung arches a brow, leaning in towards the bulletproof glass, “You wouldn’t- you wouldn’t worry too much about it? Our best friend is missing…”

The man nods immediately, as if he’s amending his mistake, “Of course, I just mean- she’ll probably turn up you know, most people do.”

Jimin’s eyes are stinging, he’s trying his best to keep it together but, the fluorescent lights are blinding him, the stale scent of old coffee makes him want to vomit, he feels like he’s losing his mind.

“Y/N isn’t most people…” Jimin spits, his eyes honing in on the man, “She wouldn’t just vanish like this, something must have happened to her, this is an emergency. Why aren’t you sending someone out right now?”  

“Sir, this is the inner city, no offense but, people like her disappear all the time…”

Jimin’s eyes narrow, “People like her? What the fuck does that mean?”

“Jimin.” Yoongi murmurs, wrapping an arm around him and urges him away from the desk before things get out of hand.

Surprisingly, Jimin follows but, not without sending a warning glare towards the clerk.

Long story short; the police are no help.

They don’t understand the gravity of the situation.

They don’t seem to grasp the pain the seven of your friends are feeling.

Even if they did, it doesn’t appear that they would care either way.

But the thing is, your friends are used to this.

They are used to being let down by the people who they’re supposed to trust.

Their hardships cultivated a unique ability within them each of them.

And that ability was to fend for themselves.

So a plan is made to spread out and search for you on their own.  

With heavy hearts and fire running through their veins, Jin, Yoongi, Namjoon, Hoseok, Jimin, Taehyung and, Jungkook leave their responsibilities behind to search for their best friend.

Act II- Sous La Grande Maison

Jimin- Chillzzz Ice Cream Parlor, Black Swan Brewery and Pub, Cozy Acres Retirement Home  

Thursday 7:38pm-10:01pm

Jimin spent most of the day retracing your steps like a mad man. He went back to the motel and, walked along the path you would have taken to the bus stop, he showed your photo to every person who would give him the time of day. He spoke with subway drivers, businessmen in suits, homeless people but, no one spoke up, most of them wouldn’t even look at him…

He cried beneath the awning of the motel, not even noticing the judgmental looks that were thrown his way.

For good measure, he calls you and texts you another 50 times as he tries to swallow the acidic taste of fear crawling up his throat.

Where the fuck were you?

He visits your boss at the ice cream store but, she says she hasn’t seen you since your shift Monday morning.

He makes his way to the dive bar you wait tables at but, they have the same story except they haven’t seen you since Sunday night.

Everyone at both locations says the same thing though…

“It’s so unlike her you know? To just disappear.”

“I really hope nothing happened to her.”

“Whatever you need, just let us know.”

Jimin feels like he wants to pass out.

He feels like he’s been dropped in the dead center of a nightmare.

But, he knows he has to act quickly

The city has a habit of swallowing people whole and, he’ll be damned if his girlfriend falls victim to its clutches.

He makes a final stop at the retirement home you work in to speak with Xander.

Xander shows his concern for you in a big way; it makes Jimin slightly uneasy.

“Oh my god what are we gonna do? The police aren’t on it? How are they not taking this seriously?

“Jimin, we have to find her man, I would be devastated if something happened to her.”

“She’s my best employee, she’s absolutely precious…”

Jimin has half a mind to tell him to ‘shut the fuck up’

This is his girlfriend.

His everything.

Not Xander’s.

But Jimin knows he’s sensitive right now and, Xander’s behavior is a nice change of pace.

At least he gives a shit.

With all of his leads coming up dry, he decides to visit the one person who just might be able to help.

Someone who always assured him that they would be there should he need absolutely anything.

Someone who just might have the means to operate above the incompetence of the police department.

“Come here.” Lady’s voice is tender and, reassuring as she quickly pulls Jimin into her chest.

He collapses into her arms, an abrupt sob leaving his lips as he clutches the satin of her blouse.

Lady is a special person.

Jimin started working as her pool boy just over a year ago and, she quickly welcomed him into her life.  

She was becoming the mother Jimin never had and, in this moment, in the wake of his misery, he needs her more than ever.

“I don’t understand-“ He cries into her neck, her perfume is far too strong for his liking but, he remains close to her anyway, “Where is she? She never does this, she always gets back to us I- fuck…what if something happened to her? What if someone ki- ki…oh my god.” He wants to throw up, he can’t even get the word to pass his lips because, the thought of you being harmed literally sickens him.

“Shhh shhh shh, honey it’s ok, just breathe for me alright? Just breathe…” She coos, rubbing his back gently, her face tight with sadness, “I already have my guys working on it. They got started this morning once the news broke. I’ll put flyers up at the country club as well; everyone I have at my disposal is out there looking for her alright?”

Jimin just nods, he isn’t able to say much through his tears but, her words do calm him slightly.

Lady has resources that Jimin doesn’t have and, for the first time, he is going to accept her help.

She’s offered to assist him many times in a myriad of different ways:

Rent money, tuition assistance, money for textbooks, a new car…

But Jimin’s turned them down all the same; he never wants to feel like he owes someone for something.

He accepts the free food and, the occasional fancy clothes she gifts from her deceased husbands closet and, if anyone thinks of judging him for strutting around in dead guy clothes, Jimin would promptly remind them that he is wearing Gucci and, they are not.

This time though, Jimin doesn’t protest; he will take all the help he can get from anywhere he can get it…

“Let's get you a cup of tea or something, c’mon...”  

Lady ushers Jimin to the rich color of her lignum vitae dining table and, she even ensures she pulls out a chair for him to rest easy on.  

Jimin practically slumps into it, his body helpless.

Lady already had a pot ready for him and, although Jimin tries to act like he doesn’t enjoy it, she knows Lavender is his favorite...

“The police have her vehicle information in their news report, I’ll have my guys searching for her civic in no time.” She murmurs, pouring his tea and, eyeing him carefully.

Jimin winces, watching the steam rise from his cup, trying to hold onto reality, “Her car is still in the shop.”  

“That’s right my goodness,” Lady puts a hand to her chest, shaking her head,  “Do you think the person who cut her cables had something to do with this?”  

His heart sinks but, he hesitates a moment before responding, dread filling his chest once again, “I- I don’t know maybe? It’s not impossible. It’s been in the shop for the last two months though, it wouldn’t make sense for them to wait so long. Oh god, unless they have been watching her? Do you really thinks that’s possible?”  

She brings him into her arms again, the pads of her fingers rubbing gently against his lower back, “There are sick people in this world Jimin. But I promise you honey, we are going to do everything we can to bring her home.”  

Jimin leaves Lady’s house with a slightly better outlook.

Slightly

You are still missing of course but, at least he has someone powerful on his side.

Lady is an incredible person and, without her, Jimin thinks he might lose his mind.

Jin- The Night Market, Friday 8:22pm  

You all like the rooftop for different reasons, Jin likes it for the landscape of the night market: The neon lights illuminating the different food carts, the bustling movement of all of the patrons eager to try the next deep fried delicacy. As he walks along the wet cement, he smiles to himself, remembering all the times he used to drag the seven of you down here. He always saved his tips from the restaurant, and once a month, he would splurge, buying everything in sight. The complaints would soon cease as he shoved fried cheese in your faces, the desire to eat like royalty overcoming the group. And you would, you’d eat until you couldn’t walk anymore and, Jin would feel warmth blooming in his chest as he watched all of his friends, whom were more like family, eating well. He’s the oldest, he would think, it was his job to watch over the people he loves. It’s in this moment, as he’s reminiscing that he feels despair tear through his heart.  

He had failed.  

Because, one of you were gone.  

One of you weren’t safely tucked under his mother-goose gaze.  

Your smile comes through his subconscious then and, it feels like a thousand tiny needles scurrying up his cheeks to prick at his eyes.  

You always laughed at his puns, no matter how stupid they were

You always tried whatever food he put in front of you, no matter how strange or spicy it was, you’d humor him.  

With a heavy hand, he wipes the tears from his eyes before they can spill over.  

He doesn’t have time for pain right now.  

Because, tonight he’s at the market for different reasons.  

Tonight, he was here to investigate.  

The Night Market vendors are an interesting crowd, most of them were older, just trying to make ends meet by selling their creations but, there were a few newcomers that Jin’s noticed over the years.  

They were lured in by the neon, the paper lanterns, the money…  

They didn’t understand the culture of this place and, Jin resented them for it.  

“Yah! You’re the money man yeah? Are you buying me out tonight? Where are your friends?”  

Jin is forced out of his inner thoughts and, he meets the eyes of an older gentleman who owns the Mandu stand; one of his favorites.  

“I’m not here for much tonight, my friends are busy but,” He selfishly scans the selection of dumplings, plump and ripe for the taking. He points to a pork and vegetable one to the right of the case, “I’ll take one of the pork ones for the road. Is it ok if I ask you a few questions?”  

The man wrinkles his brow in confusion, “Me? I guess so, what can I do for you?”  

With a deep sigh, Jin pulls out his phone, with a photo of you as his home screen. He swallows back the bit of misery in his throat as he sees your face, before showing it to the vendor, “This is my friend. She went missing three days ago and, she was last seen up on that rooftop over there, “ He gestures to the motel, “She left alone and, she would have walked right past here on her way home. Did you see her at all?”  

As he pushes his glasses up his nose, the man squints at the photo, trying to make sense of it. After a moment, he shakes his head.  

“Sorry. I haven’t seen her.” His eyes flit over the image again, a bit of darkness lingering in his eyes, “Pretty little thing though…”  

Jin immediately rips his phone from the man’s view, disgusted at his comment but, he doesn’t want to make a scene and risk his line of information being cut off.  

“Thanks. If you remember anything let me know. I’ll be around for a bit.”  

He grunts in response, his interest waning as another customer walks up to his stand.  

Jin feels an immense amount of frustration; why the fuck does this man think its ok to gawk at you despite what he’s just told him?  

Does he have no heart?  

Raking his hand through his hair, Jin takes a deep breath. He doesn’t have time for his emotions right now, he needs to push forward.  

He moves throughout the stands, showing your picture to every familiar face that will give him the time of day.  

The chorus of no’s that echo back at him, slowing chip away at his resolve and, he feels himself growing desperate as he nears the end of the market.  

He hates how suspicious he feels.  

He hates that this place, which is home to so many happy memories, is now shrouded with a kind of darkness that he’s only ever read about in books.  

He feels sick with the thought of coming back without you; he doesn’t think he ever would.  

There is a few stands left, which Jin moves through without success before he finally reaches the Tteokbokki stand.  

It’s his favorite and, normally he’d be shoveling an entire tray of it into his mouth.  

But tonight, the smell of the sauce makes his stomach turn.  

“Excuse me, have you-“ Jin begins wearily but, he’s quickly cut off by the man beneath the umbrella.  

“You’re here about the missing girl right?”  

The man’s brow rises but, it does nothing to smooth out the valleys of wrinkles between his eyes.  

“I am…” Jin crosses his arms, reluctant to continue the conversation as the man smirks salaciously in his direction, “How did you know?”  

His smirk grows when he holds up a yellow walkie-talkie, “Word travels fast. I’m guessing you’re here to ask me if I’ve seen her and, I would tell you that I have but, unless you have something to offer me. I’m afraid that’s all I plan on telling you.”  

Jin’s face immediately flushes red. Anger floats up beneath the surface of his surprise but, he knows that if he reacts in the way he that wants to, the man will shut down.  

“What do you want?” He mutters through the tension in his jaw.  

The man’s gaze travels over Jin’s figure before settling on the pocket of his jeans, “Buy me out for the night and, I’ll tell you what I saw...”  

A quick scan of his cart shows Jin roughly 3 dozen trays of Tteokbokki. Even if he had an appetite, he doesn’t have the stomach or the means to consume that much food, nor does he have a way to get it back to his apartment.  

“How much is your cart worth?”  

The man tilts his head, squinting his eyes in thought, “Well, its 3 for a tray and there’s 47 on the cart…you do the math.”  

Jin finally does send a glare towards the man; enraged that he’s capitalizing off of his grief but, he types in the calculations none the less.  

“$141…” He concludes, showing him the number on his cell phone, “I don’t have that much.”  

With a shrug, the man gives Jin a look of faux disappointment, “That’s a shame, I guess my memory is a little hazy then. Maybe I saw her, maybe I didn’t-  have a good night.”  

“Wait- please I…” Jin takes a deep breath, pulling out a wad of cash from his pocket, “I only have $100 right now but, I can get more. I work at the sushi restaurant up the street, I’ll bring you all of my tips for the next week.”  

The man eyes him suspiciously, mulling over his offer, “The next two weeks…”  

Jin’s never been so angry in his life and, part of him wants to flip over his cart and, leave him to clean up the mess but, he knows he has to bargain with him.  

He has no other choice.  

“Fine.” He throws the money onto the counter with a stern look, “Keep the food, just tell me what you know.”  

The man takes his time, counting the money greedily, smirking with satisfaction as he tucks it into his shirt pocket.  

“I saw your friend leaving that motel you always hang out at. The one across the street-“ He nods to the ratty building, “She left and walked along the road for some time before a man approached her.”  

Jin’s heart picks up, “A man? What man? What did he look like?”  

“I didn’t get a close look. He was tall and dressed in some fancy ass suit. They walked together all the way up the road until I couldn’t see them anymore. She didn’t look uncomfortable; in fact…it kind of looked like she knew him.”  

As the man tells his story, Jin writes all of the details down in his phone but, the last bit confuses him.  

He didn’t know you knew anyone that owned a suit.  

Suits are a luxury that neither he nor any of the other guys can afford.  

So who were you with then?  

“That’s all? Anything else you remember?”  

The man shakes his head, “That’s all I got for you. Thanks for the cash, I look forward to seeing you again with the rest of it.”  

A chorus of snickering comes with his last comment and, Jin finally decides he’s had enough of him.  

With a roll of his eyes, he walks away, leaving the hustle and bustle of the night market to slowly fade behind him as he makes his way up the street.  

He begins typing a message to the group chat, informing everyone of what he found.  

He sees your icon at the top of his screen whilst he does and, it triggers the tears collecting in his eyes to finally spill over.  

Namjoon- The Marquee River, Friday 9:54pm  

Namjoon loves the rooftop for the view of the river. He loves the way the sun and moon expertly change the color of its surface from a crystal blue in the daytime to an inky black in the evening. He loves the way people congregate around it. It’s such a stark contradiction to the city. Everyone always looks so happy and so patient with one another. Families are sprawled out on picnic blankets, friends are laughing and sharing homemade dishes, lovers walk along the river holding hands…  

It’s a magical place.  

Well, at least Namjoon thinks so.  

The boys tease him for it, they call him Namstradamus and, say he concerns himself with hypothetical situations far too often.  

But you get it though.  

You’ve sat with Namjoon on many nights while he smokes a cigarette, watching the interactions with the same fondness he does.  

You laughed as he did little voices for the people he saw and, listened eagerly as he created stories for each of them.  

You told him he should be a writer and Namjoon felt a satisfaction that his imagination could entertain you.  

Deep down, being a writer is something he’s always dreamed of.  

He wishes he was on the rooftop with you now, laughing and bullshitting.  

He wishes he could see your smile when Jimin shouts a raunchy compliment your way and, makes a comment about how Namjoon is trying to steal you from him.  

Its all for fun though.  

Namjoon doesn’t love you like that but, the way he loves you makes tonight’s task so much harder.  

He loves you like a sister and, his sister is gone.  

Vanished.  

And he has to figure out why.  

Namjoon is wearing his father’s coat; it’s the only thing warm enough for this weather he tells himself but, really he wears it because it’s the nicest thing in his home.  

It makes him feel capable, even though he’s never felt more inadequate in his life.  

There isn’t many people left at the river tonight, the cold weather is keeping everyone inside along with the news of your disappearance.  

Namjoon has someone in mind though.  

Someone who is always here: the groundskeeper.  

Namjoon notices him emerge as people begin packing up their things but, he doesn’t approach him just yet.  

He stands back and observes his behavior, carefully planning what he needs to say.  

But, Namjoon doesn’t get much time as the groundskeeper has noticed him too.  

“What is it you seek madam? I can do anything…anything you wish.”  

The voice of the groundskeeper is ominous; it makes the hair on the back of his neck stand at attention but, his words confuse him even more.  

“Uh excuse me, I’m really sorry to bother you but, I was wondering if you’ve seen my friend. She went missing a few nights ago, I have her picture here…” Namjoon goes to pull out his phone but, the man stops him with a laugh.  

It’s not a pleasant sound, it’s crazed and dismissive, it doesn’t mirror the laughter he normally hears from the river.  

It makes his stomach turn.  

“I know what the princess looks like madam, I’ve seen her looking down at me many times.” The moonlight shines upon his face then and, it’s enough for Namjoon to make out his features.  

He looks filthy, skin alight with grease, hair matted with the same substance, his eyes are blue and unfocused. A giant scar interrupts his features and, Namjoon does his best to remain composed despite his appearance.  

“So have you seen her? She would have walked right passed here on her way home.” He flashes the picture towards him anyway but, it only prompts another ridiculous laugh from him and, Namjoon feels himself growing irritated.  

“Yep! That’s the one! The princess marked for slaughter, oh but she runs from her fate doesn’t she? She runs and runs and runs runs…..she runs a lot. It’s no use madam, you’ll always catch her in the end.”  

As he hears the word slaughter, Namjoon feel his blood boil over and, he quickly grabs the snickering man by his shirt, “What the fuck are you talking about?”  

The man falters with a gasp but, his laughter continues, his breath fowl and unkempt, “She is gone forever. Left to destiny…left to rot…”  

Namjoon feels his heart jump in his chest and he tugs at the man’s shirt again, harder this time, “What do you mean gone? Did you do something to her? If you touched her, I swear I’ll fucking kill you, my friends and I will tear you apart!”  

Tears don’t aid in Namjoon’s attempt to look tough but, he can’t help himself.  

His grief is unbearable and, all this man can do is laugh…  

“I have nothing for you madam…what’s done is done.” He seethes, bearing his grimy teeth as he smiles  

“Why do you keep calling me madam? You know who I am, you’ve seen my friends before. What the fuck is wrong with you?”  

The man responds by placing a dirty hand against Namjoon’s cheek, leaning in towards his ear, “You are…a work of art madam, it was a pleasure to serve you…”  

With this, the man shoves away from Namjoon’s hold and rushes back to the trashcan, muttering to himself all the while.  

Namjoon feels unsafe around him, especially as he notices how empty the river has become so, he decides to get out of there.  

He wipes his tears as he moves through the trees back towards the noise of the street.  

There is nothing but utter anguish inside of him now.  

One of his best friends is missing and, his only lead is a raging lunatic.  

He sends his findings to the group chat anyway, praying that someone has more information than he does, praying that this nightmare will come to an end. 

 Yoongi- Ginseng Night Club, Saturday 12:04am,  

Yoongi hates clubs. There’s too many people, they’re too loud, everyone is drunk and stupid. He doesn’t really see the point in them. However, Ginseng has a vibe he can appreciate. It’s a little more laid back, a little less expensive and, it’s major upside is its showcase of underground rappers. Yoongi’s never had the courage to get up on stage but, he likes to listen from the rooftop. He judges the contestants from a far because, let’s face it, most of them are trash but, he enjoys their enthusiasm. Some of them are actually pretty good though and, a lot of times Yoongi has to swallow the avarice he feels when he hears them. He can rap too but, the only people who know about it are his friends.  

They tell him he’s good enough to make it big but, Yoongi never believes them.  

He misses freestyling on the rooftop though and, tonight he’s missing your reactions in particular.  

You were always pushing him to perform and one day, drunkenly, you had managed to convince him to promise you that he’d perform at Ginseng on his 26th birthday.  

That date is steadily approaching and, although he was terrified of keeping that promise, he desperately wishes that were the reason he was pushing through the crowd at Ginseng right now.  

But it isn’t…  

Tonight, he’s here to deal with bleaker matter: your disappearance.  

Ginseng is cheaper for a reason and, that reason happens to be the crowd.  

It’s known for its cast of shady characters: drug dealers, con artists, underground fighters, etc.  

He thinks it’s a little pointless, walking into a room full of potential criminals, hoping one of them has the heart to spill any information regarding his missing friend but, he had to try.  

Yoongi decided on all black for the evening; it makes him feel bigger and, prepares him for the onslaught of human interaction he’s dreading.  

Immediately, his chest is met with the hammering base from the speakers, whilst his nose is met with the stench of cheap liquor and, all eyes are on him.  

He’s an unfamiliar face in a club that profits off of regular attendees but, he swallows his anxiety and, soldiers on, heading straight for the bar at the back of the club.  

“What can I get for you?” A short haired woman barks over the music,  sending a mild glare Yoongi’s way.  

He notices the tattoos adorning her neck and arms and, he feels intimidated by her presence but, he responds none the less.  

“Whiskey neat.” He mutters, sliding a ten her way and, she eagerly strips it from the counter, shoving it into the register.  

“You’ve never been here before.” She notes dryly, grabbing a bottle of Jack from the shelf.  

Yoongi nods, shifting on the barstool, “Yeah, I’m here to see if anyone’s seen my friend. She disappeared on this street the other night…”  

The woman smirks, nodding her head towards the crowd of people, “Do these people look like they’d be up for snitching?”  

He glances back momentarily, “No but, I thought I’d try anyway. I have a picture of her…” He pulls out his phone, flashing the image of you towards the bartender.  

She gives it a once over before shaking her head, “Haven’t seen her. I’d remember her if I had. Girlfriend?”  

“No…” He clicks the side of his phone, shutting the screen off, “Do you know if I could talk to someone who comes here a lot? Like a regular or something? I’m not trying to cause trouble but-“  

“These people aren’t gonna tell you shit unless you speak to Jaebeom first and, I don’t know if he’d be willing to talk to scrawny little thing like you.”  

Yoongi has to swallow back the feelings he gets from her insult, feeling smaller and smaller under her gaze.  

“Who’s Jaebeom?”  

“The owner.” She pushes the drink Yoongi’s way, spilling some of it onto the dirty countertop, “He only does business in Korean…”  

“Call him up then,” Yoongi retorts sternly, growing annoyed with her attitude and the carelessness with his liquor, “, that’s my native language. Or tell me where he is…”  

“He’s a busy man… I don’t know if he’ll have time for you…”                  

“Ask him anyways.”  

There’s a bit of a stare off lingering between the two of them but, Yoongi doesn’t falter, his confidence waxing.  

He’ll be a dick if he has to, he doesn’t care; he has to figure out where you are.  

She rolls her eyes, grabbing the receiver from underneath the bar before muttering something into it. Something causes her to raise her brows in surprise and, she looks a little disappointed as she passes the receiver to Yoongi.  

He takes it, holding it up to his ear,  

“What do you want?”  

Moving the receiver to his lips, he responds clearly, trying to mask his nerves, “My friend is missing and, I want to know if you’ve seen her. Or if you know anything about her disappearance.”  

The man chuckles deeply on the other end of the line, “Am I a suspect?”  

“Everyone is. But I’m not a cop; I’m just here to see if anyone has seen anything.”  

“And the police? Do they know about your little friend?”  

Yoongi grasps the receiver firmer, attempting to amp up his toughness as he responds, “The police are fucking useless. Look, just let me show you here picture, if you haven’t seen her, I’ll leave.”  

There’s only a bit of silence but, it’s enough to get his heart racing before he finally gets a reply, “Second floor, room 632. Don’t make me wait for you.”  

Yoongi obliges, pounding his drink and rushing off to meet the man behind the voice.  

Jaebeom seems to tower over Yoongi despite the mere inches he has on him and, he looks more intimidating than Yoongi ever could.  

Three facial piercings, arms wrapped completely in tattoos, loose tank top adorning his muscular figure; if Yoongi were in a different world, he’d be wishing he was meeting this stranger in his room for different reasons.  

“Let’s see it then…”  

Yoongi shows him the photo of you and much to his surprise, Jaebeom nods, pointing a finger towards it, “I’ve seen her before, not recently though. She came in a few months ago and bought a bottle of Midori from me. She’s your girlfriend?”  

Yoongi shakes his head, “No, she’s with my other friend but, you’ve seen her? Did she come in alone?”  

The room smells of marijuana and as Jaebeom lifts a joint to his lips, Yoongi can see why.  

He nods, blowing out a billow of smoke, careless to where it ends up, “She was alone yes, I didn’t speak to her much. She was polite, left me a tip, batted her eyes a bit and left. She’s cute, it’s a shame she’s taken.” He smirks, lifting the joint to his mouth again, “Both literally and figuratively….”  

Yoongi takes a deep breath through his nose, attempting to calm down, “You haven’t seen her since?”  

“No. Honestly, why are you here? Do you really think my guys are into kidnapping? There are plenty of hot woman downstairs. No one is looking to steal. You’re on the wrong side of town for this shit. “  

“What do you mean?”  

“I mean,” Jaebeom flicks the ash onto the floor, nodding to the window beside him, “You should be asking questions in the Upside. They hunt poor bitches like that for sport.”  

Yoongi’s anger floods his brain before he can process everything he’s said, “Watch your mouth. She has a name and, I suggest you learn it before I-“  

With a puffed out chest, Jaebeom steps toward Yoongi, “Before what huh?”  

Yoongi moves back, shaking his head, “Nothing I-“ He sighs, holding his hands up, “I’m sorry. I’m angry, its been a long week. My friends and I just want her home.”  

Jaebeom deflates a bit, scanning over the smaller man in front of him, “My sister disappeared two years ago. Same street. Like I said,” Jaebum plops down in his arm chair, sadness flashes through his eyes, “You’re in the wrong part of town…”  

He nods, biting his lip at Jaebeom’s admission, “Did they ever find her?”  

“They might have…” He takes a hit of the joint, blowing it out with a scoff, “if they fucking looked.”  

Yoongi’s blood runs cold then, seeing the similarities between the two situations.  

No one cares about the people who disappear from this part of town.  

He leaves Jaebeom’s room, feeling worse than when he had arrived but, he reports his findings to the group chat anyway.  

Maybe Jaebeom was right, maybe him and his friends were looking on the wrong side of town…  

Jungkook and Hoseok- The Paybrook Motel, Saturday 7:07am  

Jungkook and Hoseok are newer to the harshness of the city. They come from sweet families, with good intentions. The lack of financial resources is compensated with a lot of love and encouragement. Their lives were similar: simple and sweet. They didn’t have too many run ins with childhood trauma or absent parental figures; they loved their home life, probably to a fault.  But given their lack of money and their love of their friends, they also found reasons to love the rooftop. Hoseok uses the concrete as an affordable practice space and Jungkook uses the view as the main muse for his photography.  

You’re running through their head as they approach the motel.  

Hoseok feels a pang of sadness in his chest as he remembers all the times you would cheer him on from your lawn chair, calling him the b-boy of the year, smiling from ear to ear even when he fucks up his choreography.  

Jungkook remembers showing you an album he made of the summer the eight of you had. He remembers you growing teary eyed as he neared the end and, telling him what an amazing photographer he was. He swallows back his tears, gripping Hoseok’s hand as they approach the entrance to the motel, taking a deep breath.  

“Maybe we shouldn’t-” Hoseok looks uneasily toward their connected hands, his teeth tugging on his bottom lip. “I just don’t want them to say anything to you.”  

Jungkook looks down, his chestnut irises narrowed in confusion, “But, we’re just friends hyung...”  

Hoseok nods, sending a sweet smile towards his pure friend, “I know Kook but, they don’t know that. I promise I’ll hold it as soon we leave ok?”  

And Jungkook really has to act like this doesn’t further his misery, sniffling once as he finally nods, pulling away from his best friend, naïve to his reasons for ending their platonic affection.  

Hoseok pats his arm before swinging open the stained-glass door to the motel, allowing Jungkook to step in front of him.  

There is a woman sitting behind the counter, staring intently at her computer screen, not even bothering to look up at the two men that have just entered.  

“Good morning.” Hoseok sends a watery smile her way, which she doesn’t reciprocate.  

In fact, she doesn’t even look his way but, instead she shoves a piece of paper across the wooden countertop, “Fill this out, there’s only two rooms available- “ At this point, she does eye the two of them with a judging glance, “single beds only.”  

“We don’t need a room mam we-” Hoseok begins, feeling rather annoyed but, Jungkook cuts him off and, practically shoves his phone over the counter.  

“This is our friend, her name is Y/N and, she went missing four days ago and, the last place we saw her is here. Have you seen her? Do you remember if anything suspicious happened?”  

Jungkook’s voice is reedy, full of desperation to the point that he grows a little out of breath.  

Hoseok had a plan with a little more finesse but, he knows how desperate Jungkook is to find you.  

He feels the same way...  

The woman looks affronted by his sudden outburst but, she glances at his phone anyway. It’s only for a moment before she brings her attention Hoseok’s way, not bothering to address Jungkook.  

“Nope. I’ve never seen her, sorry.”  

The dismissiveness in her tone surprises Hoseok. He was expecting her to keep her responses to a minimum but, her lie takes him back.  

“Wait are you serious? I live on the 8th floor, my friends come in here all the time. There’s no way you’ve never seen her before.”  

He steps closer to the counter and, the way the woman looks up stirs something inside of him.  

It’s unsettling and insidious.  

It’s as if she’s deceiving them and, she wants them to know she’s deceiving them.  

“I’ve seen you here before,” She shrugs, conceding with part of his point, “but I’ve never seen her. Although, I’m surprised she doesn’t rent a room here too, she looks like the type.”  

“What the fuck is that supposed to mean?” Hoseok feels the venom in his tone and, although it’s unlike him to lose his temper, something about this woman enrages him.  

“Hyung please...” Jungkook’s soft plea paired with a hand to his lower back is enough for Hoseok to back down for the moment but, his nerves are still alight with suspicion. “Mam, we’re really sorry, we’re just worried about our friend. She’s been missing for a while and the police aren’t really doing anything. Are you sure that you’ve never seen her?”  

The woman seems to soften a bit momentarily but, as something on her computer seems to move suddenly into her view, she toughens up again, shaking her head.  

“Never. Is there anything else we- I can do for you?”  

Hoseok grits his teeth, restraining his urges to throw her glass of iced tea into her face.  

“No, I guess not.”  

She offers a thin smile, that doesn’t reach her eyes, “Have a nice day then. Thank you for visiting The Paybrook Motel.”  

Before Hoseok can throw an insult her way, Jungkook offers a pleasant goodbye before practically dragging his hyung out of the lobby.  

“Yah! Why were you so easy on her? She’s obviously lying! Did you see the look on her face? She knows something Jungkook, I’m telling you she does...” Hoseok is ablaze with frustration, moving quickly to the end of the awning that decorates the front of the motel.  

He’s waiting for Jungkook to join him but, instead he sees his friend moving aimlessly towards him, tears in his eyes.  

The sight makes Hoseok’s heart ache.  

“Hyung...don’t you get it? No one wants to help us.” His voice is wavering through his sadness, doing it’s best to keep afloat, “Even if she knows something, she doesn’t want to tell us. The police won’t help, the signs we put up are all in the sewer by now- no one gives a shit that she’s gone.”  

At this moment, Jungkook breaks down, his tears finally streaming down his face. He stops in the middle of the walkway, disregarding the confused looks from the patrons heading into the building.  

“Shit Kookie, don’t cry ok?”  

Hoseok rushes over to him in the midst of his hypocrisy, because he’s crying too.  

He hasn’t cried since you disappeared but, seeing his best friend break down and, knowing that life would never again be the same crushes him in a way he can’t handle.  

“Come here...come here. Hyung is here ok? Ok? We gotta pull it together.” He sniffles, pulling Jungkook into his arms, placing a kiss on top of his head.  

Jungkook doesn’t let up and, continues to cry silently into Hoseok’s t-shirt.  

“I just want her to come home hyung...”  

Hoseok nods immediately, tilting his head back to slow his tears. It’s a useless endeavor but, he tries anyway until a man’s voice interrupts their moment.  

“I saw her.”  

Hoseok and Jungkook are quick to pull away, turning their attention towards the voice in question.  

It’s obvious the man is a security guard of some kind but, Hoseok has never seen him before.  

“Excuse me?”  

The man nods to the rooftop, “I saw your friend the night she left here.”  

Hoseok approaches the man, noticing the way he seems to shrink away from his presence, “What did you see? Did you see anyone with her?”  

He nods, “Yeah, that small dude you hang out with, the messy hair...he was wearing a yellow shirt?”  

Jungkook moves to stand behind Hoseok, “That’s her boyfriend. He’s one of our friends too, he walked her out that night. He came right back up though, did you see anyone else?”  

The security guard smirks, “Hm that’s interesting.”  

Hoseok narrows his eyes, “Why?”  

The guard nods to the street parallel to the conversation, “Because she met up with someone else...”  

Jungkook and Hoseok make eye contact then, a bit of shock running through them.  

“Who was it?”  

The guard chuckles, shrugging his shoulders, his indifference insulting the two of them, “Listen, I’m new around here alright?  I don’t know names or shit like that, I just know that after your friend was kissing on one guy, she met up with some dude in a suit, you can do with that what you will but, that’s all I got for you.”  

“Jin hyung said something about a suit too.” Jungkook mutters beside Hoseok prompting a nod from him.  

“Thank you. We appreciate it and, uh listen if you hear or see anything else. I’m on the 8th floor. Room 26.”  

The guard nods, tipping his hat toward the both of them, “Will do. Be safe out there, this city is uh, an interesting place.”  

As the man moves back towards the motel Jungkook turns to Hoseok, bewildered by the information they’ve received.  

“Hyung do you-” Jungkook hesitates, the words not wanting to leave his tongue, “-do you think she left on her own? She wouldn’t do that right?”  

Hoseok keeps an eye on the guard as he disappears behind the stained glass, a sick feeling looming in his stomach.  

“No Jungkook, she wouldn’t.”  

Taehyung- La Petite Galerie, Saturday 12:46pm  

Taehyung's been painting since he was a child. Adopted into a French family, he learned his two favorite crafts from an early age: painting and charisma. He was the star of his elementary school, wooing his classmates with the use of his second language and, wooing his teachers with his painting abilities. Consistently, he placed first in his school’s art fair. He was labeled as a prodigy and, selected for all of the finest performing arts schools in the city. However, prestigious art schools come at a price his family couldn’t afford. So, he had to stay behind with the rest of his classmates, whilst his parents begin saving money. He’s so thankful that he did though because, high school is where he met his second family. The family who he’s met on the rooftop since he was 15 years old, the family who’s helped him through his darkest days, the family who’s recently been torn apart...  

He’s missing you as he walks into the gallery.  

It’s one of his favorite parts about the rooftop along with the view of the city skyline.  

You and Taehyung have sat together many times, admiring the well-dressed people walking into the gallery.  

You would always say that they were simply apart of a different world and, that you never hated them for their riches.  

Taehyung admired that about you because, he wishes he could say the same.  

But, he knows he’d be lying.  

One day, Taehyung had been brave enough to come into the gallery and, he actually made friends with the owner.  

Taehyung makes friends with everyone.  

But this woman, Clementine, had a particular soft spot for his French abilities and, gave Taehyung discounted admission for all of his friends.  

Eventually, Taehyung brought the eight of you in with him and, much to his surprise, you all enjoyed yourselves.  

He remembers that day as he steps under the warm glow of the gallery lights...  

Jin made puns about the paintings  

Namjoon endlessly dissected the potential meanings behind them  

Yoongi had admired them quietly, murmuring observations that no one could hear  

Hoseok laughed way too loud at the statue bestowing a marble penis  

Jungkook kept to Taehyung’s side as he expertly explained the stories behind the artwork  

But the image that hurts Taehyung the most is the way you looked at Jimin as he stared in awe up at the paintings.  

Taehyung had never seen someone so enamored with another person before and, he realized why so many artists use love as their muse.  

He felt happiness in his heart that you and Jimin were so happy, so much so, that he didn’t even bother thinking of his own romantic future.  

He was content.  

His family was here, admiring art in their own way, just as it was intended.  

A bit of panic rushes through him at the thought of never having you all together again.  

But determination comes along with it, reminding him why he’s visiting the gallery today.  

“Excusez-moi, j'ai rendez-vous avec Clémentine aujourd'hui (Excuse me, I have an appointment with Clementine today).”  

The woman behind the ivory desk smiles pleasantly at him, “Ah oui Monsieur Kim, asseyez-vous et je sais qu'elle est arrivée.” (Ah yes, Mr. Kim, have a seat and I’ll let her know you’ve arrived)  

He bows his head slightly, sending a tight-lipped smile her way, “Merci.” (Thank you)  

Taehyung takes a seat on the upholstered chairs near the entrance, thankful that the crowd level is mild today. It’s unexpected for a Saturday but, he doesn’t complain, he doesn’t think he can handle excessive human interaction.  

He waits for roughly 10 minutes before a nimble woman with auburn hair comes bustling out of the back room, arms opening wide as soon as she sees him.  

“Taehyung, ma chérie viens ici, viens à Clémentine...” (Taehyung, my darling come here, come to Clementine)  

Her pink lipstick accentuates the pout in her lips as she ushers Taehyung into a tight hug, her fake breasts providing very little comfort but, he accepts her affection anyway.  

He needs it.  

“Bonjour Clementine, (Hello Clementine)” He pats her hips respectively, smiling warmly as he pulls away, “Merci de me rencontrer... (Thanks for meeting me).”  

She scoffs, waving him off as she eagerly pulls him into her office, “Non-sens, je n'accepterai pas de gratitude de votre part pendant cette période.” (Nonsense, I will not except gratitude from you during this time)  

Taehyung offers her a half smile, adjusting his coat and stepping through the archway.  

Clementine’s office is tasteful, covered in various shades of pink and her most favorite pieces she’s hand-picked from the gallery.  

It’s a little loud for Taehyung but, he agrees that it’s uniquely Clementine and, he feels content enough in her presence to deal with it.  

She rushes around her desk, plopping down on her pearl encrusted office chair, “Asseyez-vous ici mon doux garçon...” (Sit here my sweet boy)  

Her face stays firm with pity as she places her manicured fingers on the marble, “Dis-moi, ont-ils entendu quelque chose?” (Tell me, have they heard anything?)  

Taehyung left posters at the gallery the day after you went missing and, Clementine was all too eager to post them all over the building’s exterior.  

He shakes his head, settling into the crushed velvet beneath him, “Non. La police n'a rien. J'ai peur qu'ils ne la recherchent même pas.” (No. The police have nothing. I’m afraid they aren’t even looking for her.)  

With a tsk of her lips, Clementine shakes her head, “Inutile.” (Useless) She spits the word, leaning back into her chair, “Avez-vous trouvé quelque chose? Je sais que tu as dit que tes amis regardaient.” (Have you found anything? I know you said your friends were looking)  

“Nous avons entendu quelques choses, mais nous n'avons pas encore beaucoup de pistes. On se retrouve demain soir pour faire un plan.” (We’ve heard a few things but, we don’t have many leads. We meet tomorrow evening to make a plan.) He feels the disappointment in his heart, wishing he was giving her a different answer, his predicament leaving him helpless.  

“Desole.” (Sorry) She replies, pouting her lips and tucking her auburn hair behind her ear, “C'est dégoûtant de voir comment cette ville est dirigée.” (It’s disgusting how this city is run.)  

A humorless laugh leaves Taehyung’s lip as he nods, “Oui. Oui ça l’est. C'est pourquoi je suis venu vers toi clémentine.” (Yes. Yes it is. That’s why I came to you Clementine.)  

She looks a little flustered by his comment, scooting closer to the edge of her seat, placing a hand to her chest, “Moi? Qu'est-ce que tu as besoin de moi?” (Me? What do you need from me?)  

Taehyung feels a little dirty at his next move but, he does it without a second thought.  

Smiling, he extends a hand towards Clementine, catching her gaze with his, “Nous venons de mondes différents oui?” (We come from different worlds, yes?)  

Against her better judgement, Clementine places her hand timidly atop Taehyungs, nearly shuddering at his warmth, “Oui, mais ça n'a pas d'importance.” (Yes but, that doesn’t matter)  

Taehyung pretends to be surprised by her answer, “Non? Pouvez-vous voir au-delà de cela?” (No? Can you see beyond that?)  

She leans towards his voice, allured by the way it caramelizes in the air around her, “Je ne vois pas ces choses. L'argent, la couleur, l'âge, ce n'est pas important.” (I don’t see these things. Money, color, age, they aren’t important)  

If he were in a different situation, he would notice the ignorance in her statement. But instead, he begins rubbing his thumb over the back of her knuckles, smiling prettily all the while.  

Clementine is melting beneath his touch, her body subconsciously slouching in her chair.  

“Vous vous souciez de moi malgré ces choses, n'est-ce pas?” (You care for me despite those things, don’t you?)  

Eagerly, she nods, licking her lips before tucking her bottom lip between her teeth, “Oui mon amour.” (Yes my love.)  

Taehyung  leans closer to her, mustering up the best smolder he can manage, “J'ai besoin de savoir ce que vous entendez dans votre monde chéri.” (I need to know what you hear in that world of yours darling.)  

Bless her, Clementine really is doomed.  

“Mon monde? Que voulez-vous dire?” (My world? What do you mean?)  

Taehyung delights in her confusion, taking a moment to seal the deal as he raises her knuckles to his lips, “Vous êtes au country club de Chamomile oui?” (You are in the Chamomile Country Club yes?)  

As he asks his question, he presses a few kisses to her skin, keeping eye contact with her all the while.  

Clementine lets out a shaky breath, placing her free hand to her chest, “Mon dieu...” (My god...) She mutters under her breath, fanning herself before responding to his original question, “Oui, Je suis.” (Yes, I am)  

He grins, still kissing over the expanse of her knuckles, “Dites-moi, entendez-vous quelque chose d'étrange lorsque vous assistez?” (Tell me, do you hear anything strange when you attend?)  

“Étrange?” (Strange?)  

“Oui, etrange. Quelque chose que vous n'êtes pas censé entendre.” (Yes, strange. Something you are not supposed to hear.)  

Clementine’s eyes shoot back and forth across the room, looking unsure of her response, “Mon amour, tu sais que je veux t'aider mais je déteste les potins. C'est désagréable.” (My love, I really want to help you but, I hate to gossip. It’s distasteful)

Taehyung pretends to smile fondly at her, stopping at her middle finger, dragging his lips up the length of it, “Il n'y a rien de désagréable chez toi bébé.” (There is nothing distasteful about baby) As he gets to the base of her hand, he parts both her middle and ring finger before licking right between the two digits suggestively, “En fait, je parie que vous avez un goût incroyable.” (In fact, I bet you taste incredible)

Clementine’s pink lipstick is smudging with the amount of times she’s licked her lips but, she does it again anyway for good measure.

“Vous avez une langue en argent Taehyung, prévoyez-vous de l'utiliser sur moi?” (You have a silver tongue Taehyung, do you plan to use it on me?)

The deep timbre of his chuckle sends goosebumps up Clementine’s spine and, her body is stretched across her marble desk in a rather uncomfortable way but, she doesn’t care.

All she wants is Taehyung.

“Voici ma proposition: vous utilisez votre langue pour parler et quand vous aurez terminé, j'utiliserai la mienne pour goûter.  Comment cette sonne?” (Here is my proposal: you will use your tongue to speak and, when you are done. I will use mine to taste, how does that sound?)

Clementine’s legs part subconsciously beneath her desk, the pink satin of her underwear stained with her arousal.

With her hand still in Taehyung’s grip she clears her throat, tilting her head innocently, “Le Country Club, que tu dis?” (The country club, you say?)

Taehyung smirks, sending a nod her way, “Oui.” (Yes)

“Je me souviens avoir entendu quelque chose de mal le mois dernier.” (I do remember hearing something wrong last month)

He kisses the back of her hand sweetly before returning it to the desk and, allowing her the proper head space to recall information.

Because, who in their right mind would be able to tell a story whilst Taehyung was kissing on them like that?

Clementine seems to deflate a bit, attempting to compose herself as Taehyung gestures for her to continue.

“Quand j'étais dans le salon de thé, je pouvais entendre les costumes parler de quelque chose qui me faisait un peu peur.” (When I was in the tea room, I could hear the suits talking about something that scared me a little)

Taehyung’s brows furrow, “Les costumes?” (The suits?)

She nods, biting her lip in hesitation, “Oui, c'est ce que les membres appellent les propriétaires du country club.” (Yes, this is what the members call the owners of the country club)

He’s watching her intently, nodding as she explains, “Qu'est-ce que tu as entendu?” (What did you hear?)

She seems to crumble under his gaze like a paper swan; torn between her desire to please him and her desire to remain proper.

“Mon amour, c'est vraiment une chose terrible…” (My love, it’s really a terrible thing…)

Taehyung’s quick on his feet, taking her hand yet again, throwing a yearning look in her direction, “Clémentine, s'il vous plaît ... mon cher ami est absent. Vous pourriez être le seul espoir que mes frères et moi ayons pour la ramener à la maison en toute sécurité. Quand elle reviendra, je te couvrirai de mille baisers pour te remercier de ce que tu as fait.” (Clementine, please…my dear friend is absent. You could be the only hope that my brothers and I have for bringing her home safely. When she returns, I’ll cover you with a thousand kisses to thank you for what you have done)

Clementine sighs dreamily, her hand limp in his grip, her legs parting further at the baritone in his voice,

“Un millier?” (A thousand?)

Taehyung gives her a thin smile, “Un millier. Maintenant s'il te plait, ma rose, dis moi ce que tu as entendu.” (A thousand. Now please, my rose, tell me what you heard)

Clementine shrinks again, looking warily around the room before she finally answers, “Je les ai entendus parler de meurtre.” (I heard them talking about murder)

It’s then Taehyung feels the hot fiery sting of fear stabbing its way into his gut, “Meurtre?” (Murder?)

She senses his uneasiness so; she tightens her grip on his hand as she continues, “Ils ont dit qu'ils prenaient le travail d'un homme important qui allait au-delà de ce qu'ils avaient fait auparavant. Ils étaient inquiets de se faire prendre.” (They said they were taking a job from an important man that went above and beyond anything they’ve done before. They were worried about getting caught)

Taehyung shakes his head in disgust, hoping desperately that you aren’t connected to the conversation she heard.

“Quoi d'autre?” (What else?)

Clementine shakes her head, “C'est tout ce que j'ai pu entendre, mon thé est arrivé pendant leur conversation.” (That’s all I could hear, my tea arrived during their conversation)

Taehyung holds back his anger as he’s reminded of the kind of person Clementine really is.

She’s sweet sure but, she’s tragically selfish.

She’s well off and, only cares for matters that concern her; otherwise she is uninterested.

All he can muster is a tight lipped smile as he suddenly stands from the crushed velvet, “Je vois. Merci de votre temps, appelez-moi si vous vous souvenez d'autre chose.” (I see. Thank you for your time, please call me if you remember anything else)

Clementine rises with him, rushing around her desk, “Tu es en train de partir? Je pensais que tu resterais un moment, tu ne devrais pas être seule en ce moment chérie.” (You’re leaving? I thought you would stay a while, you shouldn’t be alone now honey)

Taehyung gives her the fakest smile he can muster, brushing his thumb across her rubbery cheek, “Je reviendrai te voir. Merci pour votre aide, vous êtes un saint.” (I’ll come back and see you. Thank you for your help, you’re a saint)

She rubs her face against his hand like a cat in heat and, whines for him in a similar fashion, “Mon dieu, nous sommes comme Romeo et Juliette…” (My god, we are like Romeo and Juliet…)

He’s disgusted by her lack of awareness but, he plays the part anyway, tucking a finger underneath her chin, “La séparation est une si douce douleur.” (Parting is such sweet sorrow)

With a brush of his lips against hers, he quickly departs, leaving Clementine alone with her desire.

Taehyung rushes through the afternoon crowd of the gallery, feeling grateful for the crisp air that greets him when he pushes the doors open.

His mind is racing; this is the third mention of the suits and, although it isn’t much, it’s the only solid lead the seven of them have.

They need to re-group as soon as possible because, the likelihood that they fill find you alive wanes with each hour that passes.

Taehyung feels horrified at the thought that passes through his brain:

What if they are already too late?

Act III- Tuer La Grande Maison

“Jungkook, pass me a cigarette…”  

Jimin mumbles from across the fire, the light drained from his eyes.  

Jungkook’s first instinct is to question him; Jimin quit smoking two years ago.  

But, he stops himself just as the words crawl up his tongue and, instead he nods silently.  

“Here you go.” He practically whispers, passing the cigarette to Hoseok who then moves it around the circle.  

“Thanks.”  

There is a stale bit of silence that rushes through the group and, everyone seems to look at Jimin to start things off.  

But Jimin doesn’t look up, he just uses his shaky hands to light his cigarette. He takes the first inhale, his eyelids flutter as the nicotine infiltrates his senses.  

Through the smoke, Jimin shoots a dead gaze across the circle, “I have nothing else to report. Lady says she has her best guys on it but, I don’t think it matters…”  

Yoongi interjects, “Aren’t you wondering about the suits? I mean they have to have something to do with this. It’s not a coincidence that three of our sources mentioned them…”  

Jimin lets a humorless laugh leave his lips, “The suits,” He shakes his head, “They sound like a bunch of fucking DC villains.”  

Namjoon and Jin exchange something wordless between them before Jin decides to speak up,  

“Jimin, I know this is hard for you. It’s hard for all of us but, we need to keep at it. We have good information; we just need to keep digging.”  

Jimin feels his eyes burn with the promise of tears but, he just doesn’t have it in him to cry right now.  

He’s too exhausted.  

With another drag of his cigarette, he meets his hyung’s eyes with a hopelessness that shakes Jin to his core, “We don’t any money hyung, that’s all this town cares about. Maybe that’s all she cared about too…”  

Yoongi is known for his tepid disposition.  

He’s known for being the careful one, the collected one; so much so, that in high school Jin and Namjoon used to call him Mouse and, sometimes they still do.  

But right now, Yoongi is angry and, he’s not angry for the same reasons he was yesterday…  

“What are you insinuating?” Yoongi’s tone is clipped and, the intensity of his stare is enough to garner Jimin’s attention.  

He flicks the ash onto the ground, “I’m just saying…maybe I should consider the possibility that she left town on purpose.”  

“You should consider?” Yoongi bites back and, the tension between the two men immediately disperses throughout the group.  

Jimin glances to the side before looking back at Yoongi, “Yes. It’s been almost a week. The police aren’t interested in finding her, no one seems to want to speak more than they have to and, the only lead we have is that she met up with some man in a suit. According to all of your reports, she looked comfortable with him. So, what if she was? What if she was tired of being in this filthy fucking town?” He scoffs, bitterness in his tone, “I wouldn’t blame her honestly, I just wish she would have disappeared before making me fall in love with her. That would have been nice…”  

“What the fuck is wrong with you?”  

Yoongi stands up, another rare occurrence, and glares at Jimin over the fire, “Do you realize how selfish you sound? You aren’t the only one who lost someone Jimin, she’s like a sister to us. She’s not the type of person to just run away from her problems and, you should be ashamed of yourself for suggesting that she’s that much of a coward.”  

Jimin is a respectful man, he honors the age hierarchy amongst his friends but, he disregards formalities in this moment and fights back.  

“She isn’t a coward. It’s a brave move to leave your family behind to pursue a better life, I just wish she would have left a note or something.”  

“Jimin,” Namjoon interjects, trying to keep the peace as he places a hand on his thigh, “Y/N didn’t run away. She wouldn’t do something like that. C’mon you know her right? She loves you, she loves all of us.”  

Jimin crosses his arms defensively, “Did she? I mean…from what I’ve gathered Namjoon, you don’t abandon the people you love. But she left me anyway…”  

Yoongi moves closer to him, throwing is own cigarette into the fire, his brow furrowed with his growing frustration, “Why do you think your relationship with her is more important?”  

Before Jimin has a chance to respond, Yoongi interrupts him.  

“Because you two fuck? Is that why?” He glares at his best friend, with a level of fury that stifles Jimin’s martyrdom, “She taught Jungkook how to drive, she stayed up with Jin and Namjoon for six weeks straight when they were studying for their exit exams, she took Hoseok to work for months while he was saving up for his car. She gave up her studio for Taehyung’s family and, slept in her car while their house was recovering from last year’s flood. She- “ Yoongi starts out with a strong voice but, it slowly begins to falter as he gets to his addition to the list. His black hair moves fluidly with the breeze and, he looks away from Jimin. “She was there the night I- when I was…”  

The sentence is loaded and, thankfully for Yoongi, he doesn’t need to complete it.  

They all know what he’s talking about.  

Jimin feels an enormous amount of guilt wash over him as he sees his calm and collected hyung, fight the tears in his eyes.  

“Just because she’s your girlfriend doesn’t mean you get a bigger stake in grieving over her, she’s important to all of us, not just you.”  

The heaviness is enough to crush the seven men sitting around the fire.  

Yoongi is frozen in his spot, staring down at Jimin with the authority of the second eldest but also, with the desperation of a friend in need.  

Jimin finally lets the sting win and, the tears fall unceremoniously down his cheeks as he tries to meet Yoongi’s gaze.  

“I’m so sorry hyung.” He’s ashamed of his behavior and, he expects Yoongi to scold him further but, instead he kneels down beside him, placing a firm hand on his leg.  

“We are going to find her.”  

It’s all he says but, it prompts to Jimin to pull him into a hug and, the two of them share a moment before Jungkook says something that shifts the course of the evening.  

“Hyung…” He begins, looking up from his phone, “How does your friend know what kind of car Y/N drives?”  

“My friend?” Jimin sniffles, wiping his tears with the back of his hand, “What friend?”  

Hoseok looks uneasy beside Jungkook as well, staring intently at Jimin as he awaits for an answer.  

“Lady. The one you work for, how does she know what kind of car Y/N drives.”  

Jimin just shrugs and, with a nod he requests another cigarette as Yoongi returns to his seat,  

“She said it was in the news report the police published. I thought it was weird too especially since her car’s been in the shop but, the police have access to that kind of information so it makes sense.” He replies with a narrowed gaze, jerking his chin in his direction, “Why?”  

“There’s nothing about her car in the papers.”  

With Jungkook’s response, time almost freezes as a few members of the group seems to realize something dreadful.  

“Wha- How do you know that?” Jimin hasn’t caught on yet but, he knows his friends well and, there is a change in their posture that he notices, “Why does that matter?”  

Jungkook turns his phone in Jimin’s direction as a demonstration and, his voice begins to shake with his realization, “I searched everywhere hyung, it hasn’t appeared in a single article. How would she know something like that? Her car has been in the shop for two months…”  

Jimin’s reaction is immediate denial but, something crawls up his throat; something he doesn’t want to acknowledge.  

“Are you really thinking Lady had something to do with this?” He guffaws, taking another hit from his cigarette, “You know she’s like 70 right?”  

“Have you ever mentioned that she drives a civic before?” Hoseok chimes in, a look of concern on his face.  

Jimin shrugs, annoyed by their inflated reactions, “I don’t know? I wouldn’t remember telling her something like that but, I wouldn’t doubt if it came up especially when her cables were- “ His mouth parts then, cutting off his own sentence, “When her cables were cut…”  

“What are you talking about?” Yoongi pipes up and, everyone seems to lean towards the center of the circle subconsciously, growing closer without even realizing it.  

“When I was…” Jimin’s eyes are lit up with a thousand emotions as he tries to gather his thoughts, “When I was talking to her about Y/N she asked me if I thought it was the same person who cut the cables on her car. But-  I don’t remember telling her why Y/N’s car was in the shop.”  

“Why didn’t you tell us this?” Hoseok rushes out, nearly tripping over his words.  

“I- I didn’t make the connection, I just thought she was trying to help… oh my god.” Jimin brings his watery gaze around the circle, “Oh fuck. Do you think she knows? Do you think she knows what happened to her?”  

“Jimin…” Taehyung finally breaks his silence, “I think she is what happened to her.”  

And he wants to protest, because Lady is like a mother to him. She’s always there, helping him through his difficulties; she even gave him advice on how to confess to Y/N properly…none of this makes sense.  

“Think about it,” Taehyung continues, “She’s the wealthiest person in town, she knows everyone, she’s always checking up on you…don’t you think it’s a little odd that she’s so involved?”  

“I don’t know, I just thought she had connections, that’s why I went to her in the first place.”  

Jimin feels weak at this development and, Jungkook quickly takes his hand to soothe him.  

“What are we waiting for then? Lets go.” Yoongi stands with a firm look of determination but, Namjoon stops him.  

“Wait, we can’t just go busting into an old woman’s house and accuse her of kidnapping our friend. We have to have enough evidence…”  

“We have enough evidence.” Hoseok inserts, wearing a similar expression to Yoongi, “And old woman or not, if that bitch has our friend-“  

Jin comes through, intervening as things get intense, “Namjoon is right. We can’t do that. Look at us, she’d get one look and, call the police and, then we’d be the ones in handcuffs.”  

“Hyung, we literally just established a solid reason to be suspicious of someone.” Jungkook asserts, confusion evident on his features.  

Jin rolls his eyes, “All we’ve established is that Jimin may or may not have told her Y/N’s cables were cut. Lady owns half of the city, she’s more than capable of finding out what happened to Y/N’s car. This isn’t a lead, it’s odd yeah but, it’s not enough to accuse her with. She probably looked into Y/N’s vehicle information as soon as she went missing...”  

With Jin’s reasoning in place, the group seems to deflate a bit and, Jimin feels slightly relieved that he doesn’t have to suspect yet another person he’s supposed to trust.  

“I don’t know.” Jungkook’s small voice asserts, “I still think it’s weird.”  

With pursed lips, Hoseok nods along with his statement, looking longingly at the now empty back of cigarettes, “I agree.”  

“We don’t have to drop it completely, if anyone has any ideas on how to figure out more information, we should do that. Every lead is worth pursuing.” Namjoon murmurs  

“What do you think we should do?” Jungkook’s Bambi disposition is privy to Namjoon’s opinion and, he often turns to him in times of stress.  

“I have an idea.” Yoongi speaks instead, running his hand over the back of his neck, “I think I need to go back to the club. Jaebeom said the police might have found his sister if they had bothered to look for her, it kind of made me think that he had an idea of where she ended up...”  

“I’ll go with you.”  Jimin replies, throwing his cigarette into the fire  

Yoongi shakes his head, “I should go alone. He was kind of an asshole when I went the first time, I don’t even know if he’ll talk to me again.”  

Jimin chews on the inside of his cheek, wanting to protest but, he trusts Yoongi’s judgement.  

Besides, he can’t handle anyone’s attitude right now.  

“Anyone else think they need to revisit their leads?” Yoongi surveys the circle with cat-like precision, already crafting his future conversation with Jaebeom in his mind.  

Namjoon has glanced towards the direction of the Marquee River several times now and Jin, who is so tuned in to his mannerisms, notices.  

“What is it?”  

Namjoon purses his lips, “I think I need to speak with the groundskeeper again…”  

Hoseok wrinkles his nose in disgust, “The crazy guy with the bad breath?”  

He sighs, finally pulling his attention from the direction of the river, “What if his rambling actually meant something? He kept calling me madam…”  

“Namjoon,” Jin begins, placing a hand on his thigh, “he’s obviously sick, he didn’t even know who you were. How are you supposed to get anything meaningful from this guy?”  

“I don’t know. But, I think I should try…”  

“I’ll go with you hyung.” Jungkook vows, his eyes wide with his faith, “If that guys tries anything on you, I’ll kick his ass.”  

Jungkook’s very serious statement elicits something that the rooftop hasn’t heard in a while: laughter.  

They all laugh for a moment, basking in the tiny bit of innocence still left in their complicated world.  

And as the laughter dies down, Taehyung offers a sentiment that they can all agree on,  

“Let’s go find our friend.”  

After a few more cigarettes and a swig from Hoseok’s bottle of vodka, they all part ways.  

Namjoon and Jungkook head to the Marquee River whilst Yoongi prepares himself for a second visit to Ginseng. Jin and Taehyung head back to the night market to see if any of them have more information and, Hoseok finally convinces Jimin to get some rest.  

He’s been up for three days straight but, he hasn’t slept a full night since Tuesday.  

It’s hard but, after a bit more vodka, he finally passes out on Hoseok’s sofa.  

His torn between wanting to dream of you and, praying that he won’t.  

He wants to see your face but, fuck, it hurts so bad to do so.  

Namjoon and Jungkook- The Marquee River, Sunday 5:49pm  

Thankfully, the sun is just on the brink of setting when Namjoon and Jungkook arrive at the river. On Namjoon’s last visit, the moon was out and, very little people were left which left him more vulnerable. Now, not only does he have daylight on his side but, he also has a very vigilant and very protective dongsaeng to keep him company.  

“I’m just gonna stand back and, let you do your thing hyung but, if things get a little heated…I got your back ok? You just say the word and I’ll lay him out.” Jungkook vows, puffing his chest out as they approach the area Namjoon last saw the groundskeeper.  

He chuckles, patting Jungkook on the shoulder, “Thank you. I appreciate you coming with me. We shouldn’t be too long, especially if he starts rambling again.”  

Jungkook just nods, keeping close to his hyung, resisting the urge to hold his hand.  

He really wishes platonic hand-holding was more acceptable.  

Namjoon tenses up as he spots the groundskeeper near one of the trash cans but, he takes a deep breath and jerks his head in his direction, “There he is…”  

Jungkook nods, his expression tightening a bit as he prepares for the worst.  

“Hello?” Namjoon calls out tentatively  

The groundskeeper is dressed in slightly cleaner coat but, Namjoon still tenses up regardless.  

“Good evening gentleman.” The man turns around, smiling brightly, a rake grasped firmly in his hand, “What can I do for you?”  

Namjoon is confused.  

Is this the same man?  

He looks the same but, cleaner?  

And he isn’t laughing...  

What the hell is going on?  

“Uh good evening um...” Namjoon’s eyes flit to Jungkook, “Do you uh- do you remember me?”  

The man cocks his head, narrowing his eyes for a moment before shaking his head,  

“No, I’m so sorry I don’t. Have we met before?”  

Namjoon nods immediately but, for a moment he wonders if the experience he had the other night was some sort of stress induced hallucination.  

“Yeah, I came here the other night. I asked you if you had seen my friend?”  

For good measure, Namjoon holds up his phone, showing your photo and, the man pushes his glasses up his nose and leans in.  

He still has the scar but, his face isn’t greasy.  

His hair is combed to the side and, he doesn’t smell like slow death.  

Namjoon’s heart picks up at the thought of his own sanity slipping from him until the man finally seems to remember something.  

“Oh my-” He pulls back and shoots a wary look Namjoon’s way, “I do remember you. My goodness, I am so incredibly sorry, I probably scared the daylights out of you.”  

Namjoon’s polite nature causes him to chuckle uneasily but, he keeps his distance, not fully trusting this guy’s demeanor.  

“Yeah you uh, you definitely did. So uh...”  

The man cuts him off, placing a hand on his shoulder, “I suffered a head injury two years ago. The damage to my brain causes brief bouts of psychosis and, unfortunately I didn’t have enough money to refill my prescription.” The man extends his hand towards Namjoon and Jungkook, “My name is Nestor, please forgive my behavior. I can imagine it was quite shocking...”  

Namjoon and Jungkook were raised to be polite men so, despite their hesitation; they shake his hand, bowing their heads as they do.  

“I see. I’m sorry to hear about your accident.”  

Nestor chuckles and, something flashes in his eyes that Namjoon can’t quite decipher, “Oh it was no accident son, I was attacked.”  

Jungkook narrows his eyes and, although he claimed he wouldn’t speak, his curiosity gets the best of him, “By who?”  

Nestor looks to the side for a moment before glancing back at them,  

“I can’t remember.”  

“That’s awfully convenient.” Jungkook can’t help but observe with a pouted mouth and, Namjoon lightly smacks his chest.  

“Sorry but, you don’t remember?”  

Namjoon’s intricate brain is searching for ways to connect the dots but, the man is offering him very little information.  

“No, the doctors said I was attacked and, left for dead. I suffered damage to my hippocampus and, this caused a pretty bad episode of amnesia. I couldn’t remember who I was or how old I was, the only thing I could remember is my cat’s name...” He chuckles and, the clouded film over his eyes adds to the pain that flashes through them, “Which is quite funny you see because, my cat’s name is Cognac so, when I kept asking for Cognac, the nurses would try and explain to me over and over that I couldn’t have alcohol in my state.”  

Jungkook and Namjoon offer their condolences in the form of breathless laughter but, their level of empathy quickly absorb Nestor’s sadness.  

“Anyway...” Nestor gestures to Namjoon’s cellphone as a means to change the subject, “I have seen your friend before but, I don’t remember the last time I saw her. I’m terribly sorry...”  

Jungkook pipes up, “It’s ok sir, we understand, your hippo is damaged, that’s not your fault.”  

Namjoon’s mouth opens in disbelief and, he wants to correct Jungkook’s mistake but, he has more important matters to attend to.  

“I hope this isn’t too much for you but, the last time I was here- “ He hesitates, glancing over at Nestor, “-last time I was here, you kept calling me madam. Is there any significance to that?”  

“Oh...” Nestor chuckles, tucking a bit of his gray hair behind his ear, “I’m sure I was talking about my wife. It’s common for me in those episodes to ask for her. She passed away two years ago.”  

This is something Namjoon has been waiting for.  

Two years ago, this man was attacked.  

Two years ago, his wife passed away.  

Two years ago, Jaebeom’s sister went missing.  

There must be some correlation.  

“It was lovely meeting you gentleman. Unfortunately, I have to get back to my duties,” He gestures to the multi-colored leaves littered on the ground, “, these leaves aren’t going to rake themselves.”  

Namjoon understands of course and, they quickly shake hands again but, just before the two men turn to leave, Jungkook’s randomized curiosity strikes again.  

“What happened to your cat?”  

Nestor seems to search his brain and, his features almost crumple with a bit of desperation,  

“I don’t- I don’t remember.”  

Jungkook just nods, offering him a small smile before him and Namjoon move through the trees towards the street.  

Yoongi- Ginseng Night Club, Sunday 8:37pm  

As Yoongi enters the club for the second time, he carries himself much differently. He ignores the looks from the patrons littered on the couches, he ignores the bass vibrating in his bones, he ignores the jabs from the bartender as he asks to speak with Jaebeom.  

His anxiety is replaced with determination.  

When Jaebeom swings open the door a second time, he’s toned body is only covered by a pair of jeans.  

With another joint between his fingers, Jaebeom smirks down at Yoongi, “Are you here for business or pleasure?”  

Yoongi shamelessly allows his eyes to move over Jaebeom’s figure, admiring it but, also noting that his skin is littered with more than just tattoos.  

Nail marks run down the length of his abdomen, purple bruises congregate on the left side of his neck and, his lips are swollen with evidence of kissing.  

“Looks like you’ve had enough pleasure for the evening.” Yoongi notes in Korean, forcing his gaze away from Jaebeom’s body, “I need to ask you a few more questions.”  

Jaebeom’s smirk never falters as he pulls the joint to his lips. With a jerk of his head, he ushers Yoongi inside, shutting the door behind him, “Make it quick, I have company coming…”  

Yoongi wants to make a comment but, he knows it’s not important enough so, he starts with his first question, “I know this might be hard to talk about but when I was here last night, you said something about your sister going missing.”  

A noticeable change runs through Jaebeom’s body as he takes his seat, “Yeah, what about it?”  

“I thought it was odd that they-  my friend and your sister,” He elaborates, “went missing on the same street and the way you spoke about it, it was like you knew something about where she went…”  

Jaebeom tenses up with the subject change but, he sees something in Yoongi that he likes, there is an honesty to him that Jaebeom fucks with, “I have a feeling, yes, but I could never prove it.”  

Yoongi offers silence as a way to encourage him to continue and, Jaebeom obliges despite his hesitation.  

“Her and her boyfriend used to come in to the club every Thursday night for Happy Hour. They had been dating for a while and, things seemed to be going all right. But one night, she came in alone and I asked her where he was and, she told me they were taking a break.” Jaebeom’s expression shifts again and Yoongi, being the empath that he is, senses the onslaught of negative emotion. “She wouldn’t tell me what happened. She just kept begging me to stay out of it and, she made me promise her I wouldn’t confront him. He came in to the club later that night and, some of my guys told me they got into a huge fight-“  

Yoongi interjects, “Did you see anything?”  

He shakes his head and, before he elaborates, he takes another hit of his blunt, “No, I was up here doing a deal but, the next thing I know, my friends are coming up here and, telling me that my sister ran out of the club, crying and shit. I tried to call her, I even went out on the street and, asked everyone if they saw her but…” His voice tightens before he blows smoke from his lips, “…nothing. I blew up her phone for the rest of the night but, she never responded. I went to the police the next day and, surprise surprise, they were fucking useless. They kept saying that ‘girls like her runaway all the time’ and ‘she’ll be back before you know it.’ I was so angry. I couldn’t believe they didn’t care. I did the same thing you and your boys are doing, I started my own investigation and, I didn’t get very far until, I found her cell phone in the club’s dumpster.”  

Yoongi surprise is evident on his face and, it prompts Jaebeom to comment on it,  

“Yeah I know right? You’d think that would have helped but, it only made everything more complicated. I looked through her messages to try to figure out what happened and-“ He blows a heavy breath between is lips, shaking his head, “Her boyfriend was cheating on her but, it was with some old chick, like his boss or some shit…I don’t know.”  

“His boss?”  

He nods, “Yeah, he worked the Upside as a pool boy.”  

Yoongi’s heart drops then, down to the pit of his stomach and, he literally feels the sweat collecting in the wells of his palms.  

“A pool boy?” He has to clarify, just so he’s sure he heard him right  

Jaebeom nods and licks his lips, “Yeah, my sister found out he was fucking her; at least that’s what I got from her texts.”  

“My friend works as a pool boy too. It’s his girlfriend that missing.”  

Jaebeom’s brows rise before shaking his head, “Shit…” He takes another hit, “That’s a hell of a coincidence.”  

“I don’t think it’s a coincidence.”  

Yoongi and Jaebeom regard each other for a moment before Jaebeom’s mouth turns up in a smirk, “I guess you have an old lady to visit then. If you see my sister’s boyfriend, slap him around a little bit for me heh…”  

Jaebeom seems to gulp the pain he feels down his throat before finishing off the blunt and throwing it in the ashtray.  

“Wait, did he disappear too?”  

He nods, “Haven’t seen him since that night. I just assumed he was living the high life, I mean, I don’t blame him…I’d suck on some old lady titties too for that kind of money…” Jaebeom quickly replaces the blunt in his hand with a the bottle of beer he had sitting on his side table. He takes a swig before holding out to Yoongi, “You want some?”  

Yoongi doesn’t understand his attitude towards his sister’s disappearance. If he knew where her boyfriend was, why wouldn’t he go talk to him?  

But he takes the offer, throwing back a bit of stale beer, letting the slight warmth from the alcohol soothe the rawness in his chest.  

“Why didn’t you go up there? If that’s where he is?”  

“I don’t have contacts up there. There was no way they’d let me in, look at me…” He chuckles, gesturing to his rough appearance, “Besides, I don’t know where that bitch lives and, honestly, it’s probably for the best. I don’t know what I’d do to that guy if I found him…”  

A few more words are exchanged before Yoongi decides he needs to leave; he has a lot to report and, he feels as though time is running out.  

As he’s moving to the threshold of the door, Jaebeom get his attention.  

“Hey-“  

As Yoongi turns around, Jaebeom leans forward in his seated position, placing his elbows on his knees, “What’s your name?”  

Yoongi’s lips twitch, “Yoongi.”  

Jaebeom grins, nodding his head in consideration, “Yoongi. Alright then, well if you ever want to take a night off from your detective work and, uh you know,” He nods to the bed, “have some fun, you know where to find me.”  

Desire stirs in Yoongi’s stomach and, he’s flattered honestly, that such a handsome man could take interest in him but, he knows he couldn’t take a night off if he tried.  

He’s got a friend to find.  

“I’ll keep that in mind.” He sends a smile towards Jaebeom, bowing his head slightly, “See you around.”  

“I hope so.”  

The information they have accrued is once again exchanged amongst the group and, there is only one conclusion that everyone continues to arrive at:  

They have to get inside Lady’s house.  

So, putting their heads together they concoct a plan that just might work.  

The plan is simple.  

Jimin, Jungkook and Taehyung will take Lady up on her offer of a home cooked meal.  

Thankfully, Taehyung’s closet is full of clothes that look far more expensive than they actually are; working at a thrift store has its perks.  

Jimin is dressed in a gray and black suit, covered in a gaudy brocade pattern.  

Jungkook choses a floral blazer and black slacks, complete with a simple white button up he borrows from Taehyung’s father.  

Taehyung donns something slightly less subtle; a black and silver blazer with a similar brocade pattern to Jimin’s suit jacket.  

They take time on their hair, doing it up as if it were each of their wedding days.  

When it’s all said and done, the three men walk out of Taehyung’s room looking like they came straight out of Interview with Vampire.  

Yoongi, Hoseok, Namjoon and Jin are dressed in all black.  

They will serve as a distraction during dinner to enable the younger men to explore the property undisturbed by Lady’s security guards.  

It’s not an easy task but, they are more than ready to attempt it.  

An invitation to dinner is of course incomplete without a gift for it’s lovely host.  

Tonight, a bottle of champagne is clutched in Taehyung’s grasp as he strolls up the cobblestone walkway.  

However, this champagne is slightly modified to fit this evening’s itinerary.  

“Doxepin, it's what I take for insomnia. This shit is strong, I only have to take one and, I’m out like a light in 30 minutes...” Yoongi had explained, pushing his prescription bottle towards Taehyung, “Slip that bitch 3 or 4 and, she’ll hit the floor. When she wakes up, just tell her she passed out for a few minutes…”  

And so it was.  

Lady's home is massive.  

It’s the biggest house the men have ever seen.  

Jimin has stood in its immensity before but, Jungkook and Taehyung are almost disgusted by its grandeur.  

The white paint seems to stretch upwards for miles, the greenery of the vines decorating it in such a way that it almost looks serene.  

Nothing could be farther from the truth.  

The lawn is immaculate.  

Carefully trimmed hedges sculpted to perfection line the walkway that leads to the dark oak that encompasses the front door.  

They aren’t here for a lovely dinner inside this massive house.  

The true nature of their visit is simply to gather more information.  

They aren’t sure how but, Lady is connected to your disappearance.  

Tonight, they will gather enough evidence to warrant an investigation.  

Maybe then, the city below them will finally pay attention to their cries for help.  

Lady doesn’t greet them at the door but, another intriguing person does.  

“Noah...” Jimin greets the suited man with a smile that is far too sweet.  

But he delights in the man’s surprise and, Jimin connects another piece of the puzzle.  

Noah is a classmate of theirs.  

He was fortunate enough to land a job in the Upside after graduation.  

He was fortunate in that his family had money and connections that pushed Noah ahead of his fellow alumni.  

Noah knew you well.  

Noah is dressed in a suit.  

Noah works for Lady.  

It seems there is a connection but, instead of pummeling Noah like he wants to, Jimin simply bows his head as he steps through the threshold of Lady’s home.  

“Wh-What are you guys doing here?” Noah stutters, trying desperately to compose himself.  

Taehyung offers the same smile adorning Jimin’s mouth, “We’re here for dinner. What are you doing here?”  

It’s a loaded question and Noah knows it but, he’s helpless to act on this knowledge because, he is required to treat Lady’s guests with respect.  

“I work here.” He mutters, gesturing towards the dining room, “She’s uh...she’s right in there.”  

“Aren’t you going to offer to take our coats?” Jimin feigns innocence, nodding to the coat rack beside the door.  

Noah nods and with shaky hands and, he accepts each of the coats before hanging them up.  

“Enjoy your evening gentleman.”  

The three of them walk away with a sense of satisfaction but, they are also sick with the knowledge of where one of their former friends ended up.  

Money can create the most dastardly of monsters.  

“Oh my goodness you’re here! Come in, come in.”  

Lady appears at the archway, dressed in a red satin gown, her grey hair piled elegantly atop her head.  

Time has been kind to her, Jungkook thinks, she doesn’t look 70.  

But then again, age seems to be less of an issue when you have millions of dollars at your disposal.  

“Lady these are my friends, Jungkook...” He gestures to the man on his right, who bows respectfully offering a boyish smile.  

“Thank you so much for having me Lady Noona, you have an incredible home.”  

Lady is already flustered; she can’t believe Jimin has friends as handsome as he is.  

“And Taehyung...” Jimin continues, smirking at Jungkook’s acting skills.  

Taehyung, takes her hand, keeping eye contact with her and lowering his lips to her knuckles, “Enchanté, votre maison est belle oui mais pas aussi belle que vous.” (Enchanted. Your house is beautiful yes but, not nearly as beautiful as you.)  

Lady’s face rushes red and, she giggles like a demented schoolgirl, fanning herself as Taehyung releases her hand.  

“Oh mon dieu tu l'es aussi. N'hésitez pas à continuer...” (Oh my goodness, you are too much. Please don’t hesitate to continue.)  

“My lord Jimin, you didn’t tell me your friends were so handsome and, that one of them speaks French- “ She eyes Taehyung teasingly and he responds by winking.  

“He was adopted when he was younger by a French family, he actually doesn’t speak English very well.” Jimin lies, strolling into the dining room and, beginning his search for something incriminating.  

She nods, her eyes alight with intrigue, “I see well,” She leans into Taehyung’s frame, lowering her voice slightly, “Ne t'inquiète pas je n'aurai aucun mal à communiquer avec toi.” (Not to worry, I’ll have no trouble communicating with you)  

Taehyung chuckles at that, bringing his lips to her ear, “Bien sûr, vous en avez déjà dit beaucoup.” (Of course, you have already said so much)  

Lady is floored and, enlightened with desire.  

So much so, that she arranges for Taehyung to sit right beside her.  

The dining table, Jimin remembers, is smaller to create a more intimate setting.  

Jimin takes a seat across from Lady who sits at the head of the table whilst Jungkook and Taehyung settle into the two middle chairs between them.  

The first course is a salad topped with fancy ingredients the men barely recognize but, they dive into it anyway as Lady begins the conversation.  

“Any word about Y/N?” She ventures solemnly, giving her best look of concern.  

Jimin smiles, saccharine as ever, “Nothing so far but, I’m sure your men will give me an update soon.”  

Lady nods mid-chew, pouting her lips slightly, “Of course sweetheart, they send me updates whenever they have something.”  

Taehyung interjects, “Ne parlez pas encore d'elle, ça ruine mon humeur. Je t'ai apporté quelque chose. L'homme du magasin a dit que c'était sucré, peut-être que nous pourrions l'avoir avec un dessert?” (Don’t talk about her yet, it ruins my mood. I brought you something. The man at the store said it was sweet, maybe we can have it with dessert?)  

This surprises Lady of course but, as Taehyung hands her the bottle of champagne adorned appropriately with a twist off cap; She smirks salaciously and nods.  

“Tout ce que vous voulez...” (Whatever you want...)  

Taehyung arches a brow, leaning in towards her once more, “Tout ce que je veux?” (Whatever I want?)  

This is part of the plan of course, to disarm her and, Taehyung is doing an incredible job.  

“Oui.”  (Yes.) She practically coos in response, shameless to the presence of the other men.

He chuckles darkly and, beneath the table he places a hand on her thigh, “Et si je te veux pour le dessert?” (What if I want you for dessert?)  

Jimin wants to hurl a little bit because, although he can’t understand what they are saying, he knows something inappropriate is going down.  

“Jimin, your friend is going to make me misbehave.” Lady giggles, licking her lips as she eyes Taehyung hungrily.  

He plays it off though, this is part of the plan.  

“I’m sorry about him. He’s a shameless flirt.” Jimin chuckles lazily, eyeing Jungkook from over his water glass.  

“No apology needed.” She smirks, flushing a further shade of red as Taehyung sends a wink in her direction, “Now, tell me Jungkook, what is that you do?”  

Jungkook smiles brilliantly, looking eagerly at her, “I work as a paralegal for a law firm a few cities over but, on the weekends I work as a personal trainer.”  

The lie is so well executed, Jimin and Taehyung want to cackle but, they hold it together, sticking to their script.  

“Oh that is so impressive. I hear Law careers are increasing by 18% over the next 5 years, it’s an incredible industry to get into.” She compliments, stabbing more of the lettuce onto her fork.  

“I’m glad you think so Noona, I can imagine someone as successful as you has a lot of wisdom for someone like me.” Jungkook’s Bambi eyes are on full display as he stares longingly in Lady’s direction, licking his lips.  

His words have a double meaning and, Lady knows it, she wonders how she got so lucky to have two handsome men flirting with her.  

“I know my way around sure,” She remarks with a smile, “I can introduce you to some of my colleagues, many of them work in your prospective field.”  

“Really?” Jungkook beams, “That would be an honor Noona, thank you so much.”  

Lady nods and places a well-manicured hand over his, “Of course, any friend of Jimin’s is a friend of mine.”  

She turns to Taehyung, who hasn’t taken his eyes off of her, “Et vous, quel est votre métier?” (And you? What is your job?)

Taehyung pouts slightly, eyeing her in a way that suggests embarrassment, “Je suis un artiste. Je vends mes tableaux. C'est un travail très difficile mais, je l'aime tellement, je ne peux pas imaginer faire autre chose.” (I am an artist. I sell my paintings. It’s a very difficult job but, I love it so much, I can’t imagine doing anything else.)

Lady melts at his words, a longing sigh leaving her lips, “Bien sûr. C'est tellement admirable que vous poursuivez ce qui vous passionne.” (Of course. That is so admirable that you pursue what you’re passionate in.)

Taehyung smirks, eyeing her as he takes a sip of his water, “Merci. Je suis curieux maintenant, de quoi êtes-vous passionné?” (Thank you. I’m curious now, what are you passionate about?)

Before she can answer, the second course is served: roasted beef with a béarnaise sauce on a bed of microgreens.

Rich people shit, Jimin thinks but, he smiles graciously none the less.

He isn’t hungry, he hasn’t been hungry for the past week so, he pushes the meat around the plate as he continues to survey her dining area.

There is nothing out of place but, then again, he isn’t sure what he’s looking for.

The only thing he can do is wait for dessert…

Once Lady is out, they will be able to search for what they need.  

“Lady, do you live here all alone?” Jungkook feigns concern, tilting his head.

She smiles sadly and nods, dabbing her lips with a silk napkin, “Yes I do. My husband, Nestor, died two years ago of an aneurysm.  I’ve been alone here ever since, well minus my guards of course. I’m sure you saw them outside but, they don’t live here full time.”

Jungkook has to stifle his shock.

The name Nestor, isn’t a common one.

In fact, he’s only ever heard it once before...

Jungkook kisses his teeth, pouting his lips slightly, “Oh noona, that’s terrible. I’m so sorry.”

She pouts too, mirroring his expression, soaking up all of his sympathy, “That’s alright dear. I manage just fine, I have to admit though, it’s so wonderful having company. It gets lonely up here.”

The youngest smirks, “Oh of course Noona, I can only imagine…” He places a hand on her thigh beneath the table, rubbing gently over her dress, “A woman like you should never be lonely.”

Jimin and Taehyung have to physically repress their reactions to Jungkook’s acting abilities; it’s a side of him they have never seen.

Anger is something Jungkook doesn’t encounter very often.

But as he looks into Lady’s face, he feels rage coursing through him.

Because, he knows she isn’t genuine.  

He knows there is something off about her.  

Jungkook would normally never dream of harming another person but, when his friends are getting hurt, his morals begin to loosen.

“Oh my, you boys make me feel young again.” Lady chuckles before taking a bit of her beef, “You know…I have the resources to assist you, I tell Jimin this all the time but, he’s just so modest.” She winks at him and, Jimin pretends to shy away from her compliment, “I could really help you with your chosen career paths. Taehyungie,” She turns to him, flashing the pearl white of her dentures, “Ma sœur Clemtenine possède une galerie au centre-ville, je suis sûr que je peux lui faire acheter une partie de votre art. Je sais que j'aurais certainement adoré en acheter ...” (My sister Clementine owns a gallery downtown, I’m sure I can get her to purchase some of your art. I know I’d certainly loved to buy some)

Taehyung’s stomach drops at her statement but, he remains composed and arches his brow, “Clementine? C'est un nom tellement intéressant…” (Clementine? That is such an interesting name…)  

Lady giggles once again, “Oui, nos parents étaient des gens excentriques.” (Yes, our parents were eccentric people.)

“Ils étaient probablement beaux aussi…” (They were probably beautiful too…)

Taehyung winks again and, he must admit, he’s getting off on how easy she is to trick.

She fans herself through her uneasy giggle, nudging his knee with her own, “Oh arrête de me flatter, je suis sérieux, je pourrais vraiment t'aider” (Oh stop flattering me, I’m serious, I could really help you.)

Taehyung pretends to be touched as he places a hand to his chest but before he can reply, a loud voice rings in through the intercom above the dining table.

“Mam this is Noah. There is a disturbance down at the main gate, we have to leave to go check it out, are you alright in there?”

Lady rolls her eyes, unbothered, “Of course Noah, I’m with my friends. Go take care of it, update me when you’re done.”

Anxiety swims into the stomachs of the three men; phase one is complete.

The guards are due to be distracted and, all they can hope is that Yoongi, Hoseok, Namjoon and, Jin stay safe in the process.

“Is everything alright?” Jimin tilts his head, glancing towards the speaker.

She smile reassuringly, waving him off, “Of course, this happens all the time. It’s probably just the homeless, poor things, they beg at my gate sometimes. I don’t engage with them though, as much as I want to help, I don’t believe in handouts you know? It teaches them nothing.”  

This both confuses and enrages Jimin all at once.

She has no problem offering her resources to the three of them because, lets face it, it’s obvious she is partial to their good looks.

But he’s disgusted with her way of thinking.

Everyone deserves a fair shot.

He can’t understand how people, especially fortunate people like Lady, could have this outlook.

But then again, without the abuse of the working class, how would people like her make all of their money?  

“I’ll drink to that.” Jimin smiles, raising his glass and, the rest of the table follows suit, sipping from their crystal goblets.

Then, something peculiar happens…

Beneath their feet, against the expensive lacquer on the wood varnish, there is a banging sound.  

Lady tenses up but, deflects immediately, her surprise quickly smoothing out of her features, “Forgive me, I’m having a wine cellar built beneath the dining room, they’ve been measuring all morning so, it looks like they are getting started on the construction.”

Jimin’s expression shifts and, he stares across the table like a snake honing in on his pray, “Oh? That’s so weird, I didn’t notice any construction trucks outside.”

Lady smiles gracefully, “They have been working for quite awhile, part of their team left to gather more supplies. I’m so indecisive, I changed my mind about the interior several times…” She turns to Taehyung, feeling uneasy under Jimin’s gaze, “Que pensez-vous du marbre noir?” (What do you think of black marble?)

Taehyung’s eyes light up, “Ah, marbre noir? Excellent choix, si séduisant.” (Ah, black marble? Excellent choice, so seductive.)

She entangles her fingers with his beneath the table cloth, shooting him a suggestive look that makes Taehyung sick to his stomach, “Oui, vous l'êtes…” (Yes, you are.)

All Taehyung can manage is a smirk and, a thumb over the back of her knuckles.

His patience is running out.

“L'heure du dessert?” (Dessert time?)

He nods to the kitchen and, Lady immediately blooms with excitement.

“Oui, oui…” She smiles, craning her neck towards the kitchen, “We’re ready for dessert now, what’s taking so long?”

Crème Brule is served alongside a scoop of vanilla bean ice cream and, Taehyung whispers something in her ear about her being similar to the French dessert.

With flushed cheeks, Lady giggles (for the millionth time) and, begins eating.

“Chérie, es-tu prêt pour le champagne que j'ai apporté? Il ira bien avec ce dessert…” (Darling, are ready for the champagne I brought? It will go well with this dessert…)

With her approval, Taehyung pours the bubbly liquid into each of the flutes, smirking devilishly at his friends as he does.

Taehyung watches her like a hawk and, picks up her glass, getting dangerously close to her as he lifts it to her lips, “Boisson. Dis-moi ce que tu penses.” (Drink. Tell me what you think.)

Like saucers her eyes widen and, she’s so enthralled with Taehyung, she doesn’t notice another round of banging beneath the floorboards.

But the rest of them do.

Her eyes flutter as she sips some of the bubbly liquid but, Taehyung isn’t satisfied.

“Ah ah…Avale tout pour moi.” ( Ah ah…Swallow it all for me)

She obliges, practically spluttering at his double entendre.

“Bonne fille.” (Good Girl) He chuckles darkly, his heart thumping in his chest, he likes this.  

He has to admit.

There is something so satisfying about fooling an opponent.

He’s turned on by it.

She gulps as she continues to stare at him, completely captivated.

“C’est delicieux.” (It’s delicious) She finally manages, dabbing her lips with the silk once again.

“Tu fais un bon show…” (You put on a good show) He remarks, smirking before pretending to sip some of his own champagne.

There is a bit of silence that moves throughout the table before Jimin takes the reigns once again,

“Lady, I really appreciate you having us tonight. We needed a night off; things have been so difficult lately.”

Lady immediately smiles, forcing her eyes away from Taehyung, “Of course sweetheart. You know I’m always here for you.”

Another sound is forced against the wood below and, for whatever reason, this startles Lady.  

“Goodness, they are loud…” A nervous laugh leaves her lips and she attempts to stand up before faltering a bit, eyeing Taehyung immediately as she seems to stumble.

Taehyung reacts, standing with her and, holding onto her waist, “Qu'est-ce qui ne va pas chérie?” (What’s wrong darling?)

She mumbles something incoherent which prompts a sadistic grin to appear on Taehyung’s mouth, “Vous sentez-vous un peu endormi?” (Do you feel a little sleepy?)

She nods, clinging to him helplessly as he guides her to the settee beneath the window,

“C'est bon chéri, dors pour moi. Je promets que je serai là quand tu te réveilleras.” (It’s ok darling, sleep for me. I promise I’ll be there when you wake up.)

Lady’s eyes are growing heavier when Taehyung lays her down and, as he does, he places a kiss atop her forehead, “Si jamais tu le fais…” (If you ever do…)

Her eyes widen at his threatening tone but, before she can process it fully, she passes out in his arms.  

Taehyung, Jungkook and, Jimin all look at each other for a moment before, they spring into action.

They shove the dining table aside, disregarding the sound of the expensive china as it crashes to the floor.

There is a Persian rug that covers the sound and, that is quickly shoved aside to reveal something that makes their stomach turn.

Because, beneath the dining table, there is a cellar door.

Jimin swallows his fear and with shaky hands, he leans down, “Hello?”

Silence.

He tries again, his chest numb from the force of his beating heart, “Is there- is anyone down there?”

Nothing.

Jimin frantically looks for a way in but, the hatch is sealed with a padlock.

“It’s locked, we need a way to-“ He begins but, a voice interrupts him.

A voice he is longed to hear for what seems like eternity.  

“Jimin?”

The men look at each other with such heightened emotion that it could power the entire city.

Because, that voice belongs to you.

“Y/N? Baby? Oh my god…” He clutches the wood, banging on it without a reason why, “Baby? Is that you?”

Down in the cellar, beneath the big house you were taken to, you begin to cry at the sound of your boyfriends voice.

You must be dreaming you think.

He can’t be real.  

Is it possible?  

Is the nightmare finally over?

“Jimin!” You cry weakly, using all the strength you have.

The woman who forced you down here hasn’t fed you since your arrival.

She’s just left you down there, along with the rest of her secrets.

The room you’re in isn’t very big.

It’s constructed crudely and made of stone.

There are only two things to keep you company:

A pile of bones and, a pile of money.

When the woman laid you beneath her home, she said only one thing to you,  

“You will die down here. You will die beside the life you will never have and, while you do, I’ll make sure he gets everything he could ever want.”

Jimin chokes back a sob as he pounds against door yet again and, he doesn’t notice that Jungkook is already scanning the room for solution.

“I’m right here baby, I’m right here, I’m going to get you out ok? Just hang on…”

You cover your chapped lips with the palm of your hand, sobbing into it.

You couldn’t believe it.

He found you.

He actually found you.

You didn’t know how and, it didn’t matter.

You just want to go home.

“Jungkook and Taehyung are here with me, we’re going to get you out!” He calls and, as if on cue, Jungkook appears beside him with hammer, “Watch out.” He grunts, determination in his eyes, “Y/N! I’m gonna break the door in ok? I need you to move aside so you don’t get hurt!”

You laugh in disbelief at the sound of your friend’s voice, “Use that brute strength of yours Kookie! Show that door who’s boss!”  

He chuckles at that, tears collecting in his eyes, “I got you Noona, just make sure you’re not in the way!”

Taehyung is smiling too, trying not to lose it at the sound of your voice.

He keeps a careful eye on Lady, who is still passed out on the settee.

If he hated her before, he wants to kill her now.

Taehyung knew she was involved yes but, he never suspected she had you locked in her fucking cellar.

Jimin is itching to get you in his arms, he wants to claw through the wood himself but, instead he stands back and, lets Jungkook hack away at the cellar door.  

You can see it.

The expensive wood slowly splintering above, light pouring in through the jagged cracks.

The only light you’ve had down here is a single bulb hanging from the ceiling.

It’s been torture.

But, none of that matters to you right now.

The only thing you can focus on is the sight of your boyfriend’s face as he tears the remaining wood away from the frame.

“Jimin…” You whimper, ignoring the weakness in your body before crawling your way up the stairs, wanting nothing more than to be in his arms.

Jimin breaks down, reaching out for you…

You’re still in the same outfit he last saw you in.

“Baby, come here…come here…” He pulls you into his arms, his body shaking with his cries as he holds you so tight, it’s almost painful, “I got you, I got you. You’re safe now, you’re safe…”

You’re face in his neck, sobbing whilst your fists clutch his blazer.

You don’t fully understand what’s going on, or why they are here dressed like little princes.

But, you’re not in the headspace to ask.

You just want to stay in Jimin’s arms and, never let go.

“We’re so sorry…” Jungkook sniffles, wrapping his arms around you and Jimin.

Taehyung follows suit, letting his tears fall, “We’re going to make sure they pay for what they did to you.”

Time seems to stand still as you relish in the affection of the people closest to you.

“Don’t ever be sorry. Look what you guys did…you found me. You saved me.” You whisper weakly, your face remaining in Jimin’s neck.

“Jimin? Taehyung? What on earth is going on?”

The sound of her voice makes your blood run cold…

Lady is sitting up, disorientated but before she has a chance to process what’s going on, Taehyung grabs the carving knife from the dining room table and holds it up to her neck.

“Funny, we were going to ask you the same question.”

Lady’s mouth parts in shock, her eyes widening in fear, “I- I-“ She glances around the room before she spots you and, her heart stalls, “I can explain…”

Jimin wants to freak out on her, he really does but, he doesn’t want to let go of you.

“Lady…” He spits from the floor, setting his piercing gaze on her, “Why the fuck is my girlfriend in your cellar?”

She hesitates and, Taehyung can tell she’s looking for a way out so, he presses the knife into her skin, “Answer him.” He hisses through his teeth

Jungkook stands as well, prepared to back him up should he need it.

“Jimin please, you must know. I was only looking out for you…women like her, they ruin men like you. I was trying to protect you.”  

“Protect me?!” He barks, shaking his head in disbelief, “By murdering the only woman I’ve ever loved? By putting my friends and I through the worst week of our life?!”

Taehyung holds the knife steady as he jerks his head towards her, “Stand up…”

She obliges, mouth parted in disbelief, her hands up in front of her submissively, “You’re working three jobs to support yourself, I’ve been trying to help you but, I knew you wouldn’t accept it unless you had no other choice. I knew she…” She sends a glare your way, “…would always be in your ear. She was all you ever spoke about, I needed to get her out of the way so, you could start focusing on you.”

“She has a name you crazy bitch…” Jimin lets out a humorless laugh, helping you to your feet, “She has a name and, a life and, people who love her and, you…” He points a finger in her face, “…you tried to take that from her. How many people have ended up in your basement huh?! How many lives have you ruined?!”

Her expression shifts to one of pure malice, a devilish smirk appearing on her lips, “Why don’t you ask your little girlfriend?” She turns her gaze towards you, “Tell him, tell him how many skeletons you found beneath my house.”

This angers you.

Initially, you didn’t understand.

You didn’t understand the significance of running into Noah that night.

You didn’t understand why he offered to call you a Taxi.

You didn’t understand why the driver intentionally missed your turn.

And after you were knocked out, you didn’t understand why you were brought to this place.

The big house.

But now, it makes sense.

This pathetic excuse of a woman, gets off on kidnapping the less fortunate.

She breeds new monsters in the process, taking their loved ones and capitalizing off of their grief.

She takes them in and, turns them to stone.  

“You wanted them to think I was dead…so you could convince them to leave their lives behind.” Your voice isn’t a hundred percent but, your gaze is steady as it pierces into her.

She chuckles despite the knife being pressed to her throat, “Hmm so it does have a brain. I knew I couldn’t convince Jimin to work for me unless I broke his heart first. Men are much easier to manipulate when they feel like they have nothing left.”

Taehyung practically snarls, “Let’s waste this bitch, we can tell the police that-“

Lady’s cackle is abrupt, her eyes crinkling with delight, “The police! Ha! The police work for me, why do you think they never looked for your little friend hm? They knew where she was, I pay them a pretty penny to keep their mouth shut.”

Another almost cartoonish voice interrupts the conversation as it crackles over the intercom, “Mam is everything alright in there? We heard a commotion.”

Shit.

It’s one of the guards.

Jungkook is prepared to fight, he looks around for a weapon and, grabs the hammer from the floor.

“Noah! No everything is not ok! It seems as though my guests have overstayed their welcome…” She seethes before another smile appears on her lips, “Kill them…”

Jimin grabs you immediately, pushing you behind him and, Taehyung’s grip tightens on Lady’s waist, keeping her in place.

“Uhhh yeah I don’t know who the fuck Noah is but, uh-  oh wait! Yah, Hoseok! Isn’t Noah the one you hit with the Range Rover?”  

The voice morphs again and, you actually laugh at the sound of Yoongi’s voice echoing through the speaker.

“Holy shit…” Jungkook chuckles in disbelief

“That scrawny little blonde dude??” Hoseok’s voice literally warms your heart as it reaches your ears, “Yeah he’s out like a light sorry, anyone else you’d like to speak to?”

“Who the fuck are you?” Lady hisses, panic settling into her senses, “I’ll have the police here in minutes, you’ll be thrown in prison for the rest of your lives!”

“Ouch, we were afraid you’d say that. See, but the thing is, we destroyed all of your fancy ass cameras but, we left the audio running so…” Jin’s voice chimes in next, explaining her demise, “the only thing the police will hear is a taped confession, you wrinkly ass bitch. And let me just say my dear, you look like your pussy is covered in dust and, that’s why you’re going down, all because you thought you might get some dick...pity.

Jin’s insult causes laughter to move through the four of you and, you can’t help but, feel moved at how dedicated your friends are.

“You filthy bastards, you better get your grimy hands off of my cars before, I add grand theft auto to your long list of charges.”

They laugh hysterically on the other end of the line before; Namjoon speaks up, “Ok boomer.”

In the next moment, Lady takes advantage of the distraction and, quickly lunges at you, her hands going for your neck but, before she can reach you, she’s knocked out of the way by Jungkook.

It’s an instinctual reaction but, it does the job

Because instead of landing on you, Lady falls down the hole in the floor to the cellar.

The four of you rush over to the entrance to see her body laying still at the bottom of stairs.

There is a bit of silence before you speak up, staying close to Jimin, “What do we do?”

He smirks, wrapping an arm around you, “Leave her. Let her die alone with her all nice shit.”

Yoongi, Hoseok, Namjoon and, Jin rush in finally and as soon as they spot you, they sigh out in relief.

“Oh my god.”

“You’re ok.”

“We knew we’d find you. Fuck, we missed you so much.”

“If you ever get kidnapped again, I will beat your ass.”

You just smile, giggling at their comments, holding them close.

“Thank you for looking for me. I love you guys so much.”

Yoongi nods to the cellar door and, him and Jimin exchange glances, “Here.” Yoongi tosses him a small black hard drive which Jimin catches seamlessly, “Throw that down there too. It’s the audio from tonight…”

The rest of you aren’t sure how they managed to do it.  

But, those questions are reserved for later.

Right now, you just want to get out of there.

Jimin smirks, standing over the edge of the hole in the floor before dropping it in, relishing in the sound it makes as it clatters down the steps.

“Should we call the police?” Hoseok asks, slightly breathless from all the excitement.

“Why would we?” Yoongi grins, shrugging his shoulders, “Girls like her disappear all the time…”

“Good point.” Jin nods returning his grin, and everyone’s eyes are still trained on the hole in the floor.

You aren’t sure if she’s dead but, you’re hoping she isn’t.

She deserves to spend the rest of her life suffering for what she did to you, for what she did to so many others…

“What happened to the guards?” You ask, lacing your fingers with Jimin and, he responds by tightening his grip on your hand.

“We knocked em out. They’re tied up in the garage.” Namjoon remarks coolly

“Let’s get out of here. We need to leave town for few days until the police figure everything out.” Taehyung says, finally dropping the knife to the floor.

“Good thing we have a ride then…” Hoseok holds up the keys to the Range Rover and, the eight of you are giddy with the promise of freedom.

Jungkook stays close to Namjoon and, as rest of you exit the house; he spots movement in the corner of his eyes.

Near the coat rack, sits a long-haired white Persian cat.

Jungkook can’t help himself.

If he isn’t going to kill this terrible woman, he’s at least going to take her cat.

Hit her where it hurts you know?

“Hyung…” He stops Namjoon and, he looks confused for a moment until he spots what Jungkook is pointing out.

Jungkook doesn’t wait to reach out to the furry creature, “ Here kitty kitty.”  

The cat rubs against his hand, tiny purs erupting from it’s mouth and, Jungkook smiles as he takes it into his arms.

Namjoon smirks fondly at the two of them before his eyes light up when he sees the name engraved on the cat’s golden collar.

“Cognac.” He breathes and, he and Jungkook share a moment as they exit the house.

The eight of you pile into the Range Rover, with Jin in the driver’s seat and, immediately, you find yourself beside Jimin.

“I thought I lost you…” He whispers desperately, placing a few kisses to your lips.

“I’m not going anywhere.” You whisper back, smiling into his lips before leaning forward to make an announcement to the rest of the car, “Hey guys uh…I think I have a way we can leave town for a bit.”

“How?” Hoseok furrows his brow, leaning around Jimin to see you.

“With this…” You grin and, from the middle of your bra, you pull out several bundles of money, each of them labeled $20,000.

You left the bones in the cellar for the police to find.

But the money?

The money, you took with you.

The police wouldn’t need it for their investigation right?

The seven of them look at you in shock before Yoongi lets out a sound you’ve never heard him make before; it’s pure unfiltered joy.

“Oh fuck yeah…”

Plage de Maeva, Tahiti- Two Months Later

Justice came in pieces.

It started with Cognac and, the massive fortune Lady left behind; both of which were returned to their rightful owner, the man at the river.

Then came Jaebeom; the eight of you dropped off a few thousand for him at the club, along with your findings.

A different precinct responded to the distress call from Lady’s home.  

She survived the figurative fall yes but, the fall from grace that would soon follow completely destroyed her.

She was brought in on 9 counts of first degree murder, 7 counts of kidnapping, stalking, conspiracy to commit fraud and, a myriad of other charges.  

The suits were brought in as well and, suffered similar fates.

Between them, 293 years of prison was to be served.

The staff at the motel, the patrons of the Chamomile Country Club and, even Clementine herself were all publically humiliated when the news broke of Lady’s true nature.

She had been paying them all for their silence.

No charges were brought against them but, their statuses as pariahs seemed fitting enough.

The news came to all of you quite late because, you were far too busy enjoying your own personal victories…on an island called Tahiti.

520,000 was certainly enough to get you out of town and, by the looks of it, you may never return…

“Every second, every minute, man I swear that she can get it Say if you a bad bitch put your hands up high, hands up high, hands up high Tell 'em dim the lights down right now, put me in the mood I'm talking 'bout dark room, perfume Go, go!”  

Yoongi’s voice echoes loudly with the help of his microphone as he raps the lyrics to a rather befitting song by Kendrick Lamar.

It was karaoke night on the rooftop of your resort and the eight of you, along with your loved ones are enjoying every second of it.

Hoseok rushes on stage with Yoongi, laughing as he does, “I recognize your fragrance (hol' up!) You ain't never gotta say shit (woo!) And I know your taste is A little bit (mmm) high maintenance (ooh) Everybody else basic You live life on an everyday basis with-“ He holds the mic out and, the rest of you scream the lyrics with beaming smiles.

“POETIC JUSTICE, POETIC JUSTICE- IF I TOLD YOU A FLOWER BLOOMED IN A DARK ROOM WOULD YOU TRUST IT?”

Jimin is behind you, with his arms secured around your waist, giggling through the words.

He’s euphoric at the moment, he’s never been so happy in his entire life.  

Namjoon hits the stage next, and the song continues with the help of your friends and the crowd,

“I mean I write poems in these songs dedicated to you When you're in the mood for empathy, there's blood in my pen Better yet where your friends and them? I really wanna know you all I really wanna show you off Fuck that, pour up plenty of champagne Cold nights when you curse this name….”

Jungkook and Taehyung are at the front of the crowd hyping them up whilst Jin sings loudly with his fiancée.  

The next part Jimin croons into your ear, tightening his grip on you as the words have so much meaning:

“And anytime…” He sings, kissing into your neck, “You can get it, you can get it, you can get it, you can get it- And I know just know just know just know just what you want…poetic justice, put it in a song, alright.”  

You turn in his arms then, kissing him deeply, pouring everything you have into it.

“You kept your promise.” You whisper, grinning against his lips.

“My promise?” He giggles, kissing you back, his eyes deep with emotion.

You cup his cheek, biting your lip as you hold back your tears, “The night I disappeared, you promised me, we’d get our break…”

His smile widens and, rather than use his words, he just kisses you again.

Because, he can.

Because, you’re safe.

Because, you’re his.

The rooftop is a place you often end up.  

It’s a little cliché, you think: a bunch of rich kids corralled onto a fancy ass resort building on a tropical island, the waves crashing in the background.  

But you and your friends aren’t ordinary rich kids.  

The worst any of you has ever done is rob an old lady’s house, push her down the stairs, leave her for dead and, then ruin her life but…

To be fair…

That bitch deserved it.

[rpmemesbyarat]

RP meme from Scream Queens Ep 4 "Haunted House" (Note: Offensive content, use at own discretion)

A girl died in this tub.

There's no record of any of these names except for one.

Oh, my god, there's two of them!

I own Halloween. It's my jam.

Halloween is the most important day of the year. It's the one day on the Gregorian calendar where you're allowed to go around terrifying children and not be branded a psychopath.

I am a future network news anchor who's super classy and has almost no fat on her body.

A lot of my fans are, like, friendless dumpy coeds at this or that nursing school in one of this country's various national armpits.

They put down their hot pockets and bask in the warm glow of what it feels like to love me.

I went shopping with my comatose grandmother's credit card and bought presents.

Oh, my god, it says my name!

I hope the severed leg brightens up your trailer park.

You're a bright light in my life, and I wanted you to know how much you impress me with your frumpy spirit.

You are so devastatingly mediocre and adorable!

I can't wait to see you in person, but before that, I'd like to see you post this all over social media, to exploit it for my own gain.

Aah! It's a rotting jack-o'-lantern!

Aah! This box is just filled with blood!

She got me a razor apple!

I stole this cadaver head from an ophthalmology student just for you.

You're the most important person in the world.

So you didn't see anyone in a red devil costume entering or leaving the house?

Are you coming to the precinct pig roast this year?

Come on, she's obviously the killer!

Do you mean to suggest I changed out of my nightgown, strapped myself into a skintight pleather red devil costume, climbed out a second-story dormer, and shimmied to the ground with a chain saw before entering a window I had left open, tried to kill you, then leapt out the window, climbed back up the wall, changed back into my nightgown,

and raced downstairs, all in the course of about 90 seconds?

Clearly that's got you a little freaked out.

I'm not gonna hold any of this against you, and I'm gonna let you be my date for the faculty Halloween party.

Attempted murder!

A guy was almost killed tonight, okay?

Now, no, I'm not a detective, hell, I ain't even a cop, but what I am is somebody who watched every one of those Cosby mysteries, okay?

See? Dismemberment!

I am so sorry that I pushed you out of my car and drove off real scared.

I just can't believe that How To Lose A Guy In 10 days is your favorite movie, too.

In precisely two and half minutes when we go in there, you let me do all the talking.

What are you dressed as?

Oh, you have a squirrel. Don't see that much anymore.

Breakfast is almost ready, we got meat today.

What can you tell us about that night?

Now, we will keep your name out of it, of course.

'm a vault,

And to get in this vault you need a key. Now, you may ask, a key to what? It's a key to meaning. Once you've found the meaning, you don't need the words. You know what I'm saying?

Please, continue with your story.

Have any of you ever heard of "negligent homicide"?

We need to dispose of this body on our own. Now, I've got everything we need in the kitchen to make sausages out of her.

I'm gonna go downstairs, shut this party down, and then we'll get the body out of here.

Somebody has to watch after the baby.

Can you at least turn on the radio?

Just leave the details to me.

We can't just act like this never happened.

She's the devil, that one.

I looked at that baby up close. I know my peas and carrots. That baby was a girl.

Your support doesn't matter.

My campaign needs a theme?

My pumpkin's drunk.

I'm hosting a haunted house to raise money for sickle cell anemia.

Why are you holding a fund-raiser, though?

I don't think you understand the magnitude of the miscalculation you just made.

I can assure you you will not be winning an election anytime soon. And when you lose, I am gonna make it my lifelong passion to destroy your reputation.

You're a stuck-up little sociopath, and everybody in this room knows it.

It might behoove you to recall that everyone here witnessed you actually murder someone

Just sharpening knives.

Put the knives down.

I don't know what came over me.

How very adolescent of you to think of this.

It vaguely smacks of something my six-year-old sister would be excited about.

It's the most disgusting disease in the history of mankind.

You get it when you don't even understand the most basic tenets of oral hygiene.

Just give the dang thing its pot of gold already!

I ain't got no candy!

Bet you're a sexy dirt-covered girl. That's what I bet you are.

Sometimes I come out here and I just rub my hands on the gravestones.

I get you more than anyone.

I also find the thought of dead bodies extremely arousing.

I just don't understand why I have all these dark feelings.

You know, I just think our generation's had it too easy, you know? We haven't seen enough horrible stuff. There's no awesome diseases randomly killing people. There's not really any awesome wars to go off to and witness horrific things you can't unsee. We, like, pulled out of all of 'em.

Sometimes I just don't even feel like I'm living, you know?

The only time I feel anything is when I'm thinking about chopping up a body.

And here you are, saddled up with an uptight girlfriend who freaked out for no other reason than the fact that you just wanted to fantasize about having sex with her lifeless corpse.

Oh, my god, I got a total chub right now.

Not scary enough.

She'll let you in the back door.

What could be scarier for an adult than a child coming to murder them?

Isn't that all of our greatest fear? That the pain, the regrets, the mistakes of our youth will destroy us in our adulthood? That we can't escape our inner child. One we would rather forget, but who, at the end of the day has all the power.

Why are you lying to me?

Something does not make sense.

You got to give me more here, okay?

I don't understand what you're getting at.

Are you on bath salts?

Why are we even here?

This house is haunted.

There's a legend in this neighborhood about a woman who wailed about her dead children. And this was the house she lived in.

These dumb ol' kids are smoking crack.

I think it's incredible what you can find out with just a quick trip down to your local library.

This can be one of the rooms for the haunted house.

What exactly do you plan on doing at this haunted house?

I was thinking we could blindfold folks and make 'em put their hands in a bowl full of grapes we peeled, so it'll feel like eyeballs.

I think the reason you want to have a haunted house party is 'cause a haunted party is like a buffet for murderers.

Yeah, yeah, you can just go around killing anybody you want and ain't nobody even gonna even notice.

Just like you chopped the arms off that dumb-ass golf guy.

Why do you have it out for me?

So now you look at me and see everything you could've been.

I hope you have a good time at you haunted party and get to murder lots of folks.

You have this way too thought out.

Isn't this kind of nice?

My sense of personal identity is completely external.

I really don't have much to offer.

I've found that my particular style of speaking and gesticulation is extremely off-putting to most boys. And girls. And anyone.

I need to eat. My blood sugar is crashing.

I'm tired of depriving myself of joy and sustenance.

I may die at the end of a serial killer's blade, but I refuse to die hungry.

Which one of you ladies would like to be my costume for Halloween? I'm going as "dude having awesome sex with you."

I mean, what in the hell's wrong with the world where a guy can't even whistle at a chick just to tell her she looks hot?

I recently took a women's studies class. Yes, because it was a requirement, but I learned a lot anyways. Like the culture that says it's okay for a man to objectify a woman for her appearance is the same culture that pressures girls as young as ten to have eating disorders.

So you're basically saying I'm the one responsible for making you look hot?

When you treat us like meat, you're no better than him!

I'm not really sure how you got my number, but I like how you took the initiative and texted me where you wanted us to meet.

Do you think you're man enough to take me inside that house and attack my crack?

I'll sure this house has an amazingly romantic basement.

Hey, so, uh, a little awkward since we're about to bone down and everything, but, um, what's your name?

Smells like roadkill.

I've never been so scared in my whole life.

All right, if we go to the police, they're gonna see I'm still rocking a mad sidepipe, and they're gonna think I had something to do with it.

We have to warn people.

All right, everybody listen up! All of your lives are in danger!

There are dead bodies! Dead bodies. Real-life dead bodies.

Did you say dead bodies?

Those are like the most lifelike dead bodies I've ever seen.

Is that a real dead body?

There are five dead bodies in that house. Laid out in horrible and deliberate macabre poses.

You are not leaving this house tonight.

You make it harder and harder to believe that you're not the killer.

I found out something really interesting, and now I have a theory.

Everything is weird about that story.

I mean, it's too big a coincidence.

We have to figure out who that woman was.

[lailyn]

Gone Before Light

(A big thank you to my beta @arabesqueangel 😘)

Sanctum Sanctorum

 

Doctor Stephen Strange cleared his throat. It was not loud but the sound carried all the same, and the quorum of Guardians in attendance quieted down. 

"Let's call this meeting to order. I'm sure we all have somewhere else to be?"

"Sorcerer Supreme." A thin, elderly Master wasted no time cutting to the chase. "Loki has been sighted in several villages in rural Bavaria."

Master Kuroda, one of the Guardians of the Hong Kong Sanctum, reared her head in alarm. "Did you not say he was in Austria? Some of my people are still there looking for him."

"That was last week. You would know had you attended every meeting without fail, Master Kuroda," Wong said dryly.

"You promised us there would be free sandwiches, Master Wong. Bagels would have been fine too, seeing how we are in the Big Apple," Kuroda said teasingly. 

With an apologetic nod, she turned to address the Sorcerer Supreme who was sitting at the head of the table. 

"I apologise for my recent absence, Master Strange. A strange phenomenon was reported in the glaciers in the Qilian Mountains, and while Master Sjogren went out to investigate, I stayed behind. I could not leave the Hong Kong Sanctum unguarded, not with Loki of Asgard still at large.”

"Fair enough." Stephen nodded. At the curious look on Wong's face, he added helpfully. "It was bleeding."

"The Sanctum?"

"The mountain. The melting glacier was bleeding blood into the Yangtze River, causing massive panic."

"Blood?" Wong's mouth parted slightly. He braved a guess, "Loki?"

Master Kuroda made a strangled noise, her face pained. "You would think so given all his gasconade, but no, it was not the God of Mischief's doing. Having said that, the real explanation behind the phenomenon was just as alarming, only a lot less threatening.”

Stephen seemed to be hiding a smile, visible only in the twinkling of his eyes. “I’m sure it was.”

Kuroda whispered to Wong. “Turned out to be an algae problem.”

“That’s a bit of an oversimplification, but if it puts people’s minds to rest, I am happy to move on to our next agenda,” Stephen said, his countenance sombre once more. He turned his attention to the Guardian who had spoken first. “Could you elaborate on the situation in the Bavarian Alps, Master Forsyth?”

"Yet another child has succumbed to grievous injuries. Whoever did this, they have claimed seven lives. And there are five more nights to go till the Twelfth Night.”

"We do not know for certain that Loki is responsible for the murders," Stephen said.

"He has eluded capture time after time. If that is not an admission of guilt, I don't know what is," Master Forsyth argued.

"A confession," Stephen said simply. "Which we do not have."

"We could wring one out of him," Forsyth insisted stubbornly.

"Clearly you have not met the man, Master Forsyth," Stephen remarked dryly. "I will be sure to introduce you to him the next time he pops up on our radar."

"Speaking of which, you need to be careful, Sorcerer Supreme," Master Kuroda said gravely. "I sense him close."

Wong frowned. "How close?"

"Very. In fact - "

"A residual signature," Stephen interrupted. "There is no need to panic."

"Wait. Loki of Asgard was here?" Master Forsyth demanded. "Why was the London Sanctum not notified? We could have helped."

"We had it under control," Stephen answered coolly.

Wong gave his friend a sharp side-glance. We did? It silently asked.

"I...engaged him in conversation."

"Some conversation," Wong grumbled under his breath. "I have never seen you in such a state."

A collective clamor of alarm erupted from around the table.

"A mediatory conversation," Stephen amended. “Almost all conflict could be avoided with diplomacy and good old common sense. We cannot afford an all-out war with both the God of Mischief and the God of Thunder, who will definitely take his brother’s side.”

“Not unless we are in the right,” Kuroda argued heatedly. 

“It is a false accusation,” Stephen said through clenched teeth. “It will not hold.”

"Was he attempting to steal the Time Stone then?” Another Master gasped. “Master Strange, we must act quickly and subdue him. Loki of Asgard is a threat, no matter what the treaty says."

"Be that as it may, we will not turn this into a diplomatic incident," Stephen said calmly. "King Thor truly believes his brother has fully reformed. If Loki has indeed strayed, he has Thor to answer to." 

“Do you know something we don’t?” Never let it be said that Kuroda was not the sharpest tool in the shed. 

Stephen’s only answer was a benevolent smile, but Wong, being the closest person to him, knew just how close his friend was to losing his composure. 

Looking at the unhappy faces all around, Wong could only guess at what the others were thinking, but his loyalty, as always, lay with Stephen. “What do you suggest we do, Sorcerer Supreme?” 

“Resume active surveillance but do not engage,” Stephen ordered. “Retaliate only if necessary to protect yourself and civilians but do not provoke him. Loki must not be - “ he hesitated, “I do not wish to see any of you harmed.” 

Before anyone could speak further, Stephen swept to his feet.

“We are adjourned.”

God, he hated meetings. 

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

“You do know it’s just rusty water, don’t you? The bleeding glacier?”

“I saw a feature on National Geographics once, so yes, I suspected it was something similar.”

“And you did not care to share the knowledge with your servants?”

Stephen rolled his eyes. “They are not my servants, Odinson. God, you sound so medieval sometimes.”

“I was on that expedition,” Loki reminisced. “Caused a bloody uproar when they saw it.”

“What expedition?” Stephen asked, not particularly interested but wanting to make conversation all the same, much too nervous to start anything else. The night was still young and he did not want it to end too quickly, not that he would admit it out loud.

“The geologist who discovered the Blood Falls in Antarctica was a friend,” Loki said. “They named it after him, the Taylor Glacier. From the plateau of Victoria Land, it flows south of the Asgard Range and into the western end of Taylor Valley. It was truly a marvelous sight.”

Stephen glanced at his companion out the corner of one eye. He could usually tell if Loki was pulling his leg, but the smile on Loki’s face looked so wistful and sad that he could very well be second-guessing himself. 

“That’s...an eerie coincidence, to have named it after your home.”

“They named it wrong,” Loki muttered. “But you’re right. It felt like home. Just the wrong one.”

“What do you mean?”

Loki ignored his question, heaving a pensive sigh instead. “It has been more than a hundred years, can you believe it? How time flies.”

“Must have been a special friend,” Stephen said. 

Loki shrugged. “I have a special friend for every century.”

Stephen swallowed the sudden lump in his throat. "Good for you."

If Loki was discomfited by Stephen's obvious discomfort, he did not show it. "Have your underlings finally left us alone?"

"They are not my underlings."

Loki's mouth curled into a cruel twist. "You give orders. They do as you bid." 

Stephen stared at Loki's lips. By the time the night was over, they would not be as rosy. 

"You tell me to kiss you all the time and I oblige. Does that make me yours?"

Loki's coquettish little smirk deepened into a mysterious smile. "Not all the time."

Stephen did not press him further; asking Loki to specify which question he was replying to would be pushing him into a corner, metaphorically speaking.

And the only corner Stephen was interested in trapping Loki in…

He bodily pressed Loki against the wall. "Are you timing this?"

"Why? Have you got somewhere else to be?" Loki whispered teasingly.

Stephen shook his head. "Not tonight, no. I have you to thank for it, I suppose."

"Yes, we Pagan Gods do as we please. When the mood strikes there is no telling what we can do."

Stephen studied Loki surreptitiously, sensing the darkness lurking beneath a facade of false joviality. 

"Why won't you let me tell them?" He asked quietly.

"Tell what to whom?"

"We have been tracking the Spinnstubenfrau for months," Stephen said. "The Order thinks you are responsible for the spate of mysterious child deaths across Europe."

"I would never hurt a child," Loki snarled. 

Stephen's growl was equally indignant, "I know."

Loki shoved Stephen away from him and began to pace. "Is it so important to you? That I should clear my name?"

"Why isn't it important to you?" Stephen demanded.

"It does not matter, Strange. What matters is that Frau Perchta has once again been banished to the depth of Hell." Loki cocked his head. "Your Hell, I hope. I have a feeling she's Hela's type, what with her affinity for slitting children's bellies and stuffing their corpses with hay."

Stephen went quiet when a new question popped inside his head. "How did you catch her by the way?" 

"Same as how you would catch any other being of superior powers. You don't go chasing them, you make them come to you."

"You plied her with magic? Blood?" Stephen raised an eyebrow. "Candy?"

Loki returned the sardonic smile with a haughty one of his own. "I shifted form into that of a child, of course."

A chill suddenly down the back of Stephen's spine.

The Sorcerer Supreme marched across the room with such speed that Loki found himself taking a step back for every one Stephen took, and soon they were right back where they started with Loki's back pressed against the wall; only this time, Stephen was roughly tugging Loki's tunic free off the waistband and pulling it up.

"My, my, Doctor…" Loki made a half-hearted attempt at coyness, but Stephen nipped it in the bud. 

"Shut up." Stephen ran his hand down the length of the clean, snow-white torso, just to be sure. Loki was the Master of Deception after all.

Loki pried Stephen's roaming fingers off his belly gently. "I am unharmed."

Stephen looked set to shower Loki's face with kisses but then restricted himself to a surly mutter. "Just checking. Thought I smelled blood."

"Well, whatever you're smelling, it isn't mine," Loki reassured him. "Here."

Stephen studied the vial Loki slipped into his palm. It contained a shrivelled husk of something he could not identify straight away. 

"The old crone's heart. Feel free to do with it as you wish." Loki pinched Stephen's cheek. "You are adorable when you fret."

Stephen turned his face away and rubbed at his wounded cheek. "I don't fret."

"Aww. Here I thought you were worried about me."

"And what if I were?" Stephen challenged.

"You should not be," Loki said swiftly. After a careful pause, "You will only ruin my reputation."

Stephen snorted. "Right. Coz it’s been so stellar lately."

"Exactly," Loki chirped. 

A wave of melancholy descended over them, and Stephen was not entirely sure whom it belonged to. 

"Strange, is something the matter?" 

Stephen looked away, refusing to meet Loki's probing gaze. 

"Precious?" Out of all the juvenile things Loki could have picked, he had chosen for Stephen the one nickname so ridiculous it stuck. 

What was one more deviation from normal, one more reality-defying anomaly after everything Stephen had allowed to happen?

"Can't say," Stephen muttered.

Loki was nothing if not tenacious. "Show me, then."

"Kiss me," Stephen mumbled numbly. "Kiss me and you'll know."

Loki's head dipped low and caught Stephen's lower lip with a nip of his teeth. 

Loki's kisses tonight were raucous, hungrier than usual, the pulse of his heartbeat a kaleidoscope of butterflies under Stephen's fingertips as his hands roamed the expanse of Loki's chest and belly once more, travelling southward with every kiss...and Loki tasted fantastic.

After a kill, Loki had never looked more glorious, from the flush of his cheeks to the iridescent fire in his eyes…

He was the most beautiful thing Stephen had ever seen. 

As much as Stephen coveted this ideal of having something so perfect be his alone, he wished he could share Loki with the world, so the world could see the notorious Trickster God through his eyes, all the good Loki could do and already had done, all the good he could be.  

Against his will, Stephen's arms tightened around Loki's waist, but as always, holding Loki was like holding water; he could never hold Loki tight enough. 

"I appreciate the gesture, Doctor…" Loki murmured against his lips, now swollen and bruised and raw, "but your concern is misplaced."

Feeling his knees go weak all of a sudden, Stephen conjured an armchair and dropped down heavily, only realising that he was pulling Loki's hand with him when Loki would not budge.

"Can't you stay?"

"Say it like you mean it," Loki said softly, "then maybe I will reconsider." 

Stephen chose to call Loki's bluff. "Stay." 

Loki sighed. "As much as I enjoy our little tryst, Strange...you enjoy the power more."

"What power?"

"Your title. The Sorcerer Supreme." Loki's eyes strayed to the Cloak of Levitation hovering over the mantelpiece, ever at Stephen's every beck and call. "You can't be with me without giving it up."

Stephen's chest constricted. "I can't." 

"And that…" Loki sat in Stephen's lap and wrapped his arms around the back of his human lover's neck, "is the only reason why I am still here."

Stephen basked in the radiance of Loki's aura, the intoxicating scent of old magic and power, the crushing weight of Loki's body pressed against his -

"It's about the only thing you have going for you. Aside from your hair." 

Loki may sound teasing but his eyes hid a sadness Stephen would not have gleaned had he not spent hours studying those mesmerising green eyes, in sleep and in wake.

"You like my hair?" Stephen asked. 

Loki teased the strands of white at his temple. Against the light of the roaring fire, they glistened like silver.

"It's pretty," Loki said simply.

"I'm sorry. I wish I could give you what you want."

Stephen's forlorn apology only stoked the fire in the pit of Loki's stomach.

"You can't know the true extent of my heart's desires, Sorcerer," Loki scoffed. "You don't even know yours."

"One night," Stephen whispered before could stop himself. "That is all I want."

Loki's hard stare softened. "We can't afford it."

Stephen did not draw attention to Loki's display of vulnerability, and Loki did not fixate on the irony behind Stephen's singular plea. 

You ask for the same thing every time I see you, Loki had teased him once. 

Stephen had only smiled that infuriating all-knowing smile of his and said, Only because I know you will never say yes.

"Another time then." Stephen imagined running a thumb up the sleek slope of Loki's cheekbone. "Another place."

Loki opened his eyes slowly. He saw the longing in Stephen's gaze, and his heart throbbed at the sight of it. 

It was the most cruel thing he had ever seen in his life. His heart twinged again with a deep, pulsating ache that almost had him reaching up to soothe it. 

He reached out to touch Stephen's face instead. 

"In another life," Loki murmured. 

Another life where they were free to be whoever, and with whoever they wanted to be. 

"Do you promise?" Stephen asked quietly.

"I promise," Loki acquiesced. "If you can find me."

I am yours. 

"Live a long, long life…" Loki brushed his lips against Stephen's softly, tenderly, "Even without me." 

"Loki - "

"Goodbye."

"Loki, wait!"

But the weight had lifted off, leaving Stephen's thighs empty and tingling with want, his hands grabbing at empty air.

The taste of Loki's lips lingered long after he left. Such was the fate of the chosen, and as Stephen sat in the dark of the night, cold and alone and cursed, he wept.

[parismemes]

SENTENCE STARTERS FROM RED VS. BLUE SEASON 15

“you touch my baked beans, i put dog shit in your pillowcase.” “every other person in this miserable place is literal garbage.” “books on tape? what's the appeal of that? don't the pages get stuck together?” “when in doubt use a confusing acronym. military types love acronyms.” “FML. that stands for fu--” “i’ll bend down and kiss your boots, how’s that?” “i wanna know every step you take and how much shit gets stuck on your shoes and in-between your teeth.” “you know, i think i'll probably move to LA, but that's like what everyone does. i mean, what do you think?” “i’m gonna skin your cat for this.” “i’m actually thinking of adopting a stage name.” “i’m gonna smash cut your empty skull against that rock if you don’t shut the fuck up!” “i wanted to call it desert titties, but that shit was taken.” “ah, there goes the bechdel test.” “you should interview the illuminati!” “real talk here: i'll be your genie in a bottle, i'll do whatever you want, but after i grant you your three wishes, you gotta do something for me, whaddaya say?” “my ceaseless existence is an eternal torment!” “next time he calls you please, just, let it go to voicemail. don't transfer to me. okay?” “i can’t even hear myself think in this blizzard of idiocy!” “did you attempt to witness any other particular individuals in the general vicinity of the area in which the crime scene was alleged?” “i just wanna be included!” “funny, the vultures usually show up after the slaughter.” “you’re a little bit crazy, aren’t you? i like that.” “consequences... don't always take the shape we expect them to, do they? they're funny like that.” “...are we still married?” “people are quick to jump to conclusions. they see something, or hear something, and fit it into a preconceived emotional box.” “please don’t make me regret what i’m about to tell you.” “whoa, hold up--i just realized how much i don’t care.” “SUCK IT, NEWTON!” “we said we wouldn’t talk about that!” “help me be the best at being lazy.” “it was a simple mishap with my vanilla-satin scented candles!” “why is he naked?” “HOW DO YOU BURN DOWN A WATER PARK, ___?!” “we’re definitely not just saying that because she could kill us.” “for far too long our people have been oppressed, crushed, under the weight of ourselves! if we don't start standing up to our mortal foe gravity, by god, who will?” “we’ve never needed intelligence before!” “why doesn’t anybody die and stay dead?” “oh, cool! foreshadowing.” “who wants a poisoned pumpkin frappuccino?” “i quit. i’m not going. i’m staying here.” “you’ve always been selfish, but this is bullshit!” “you know, i liked them better when they were funny.” “it’s a bop-it.” “sleep. means. death!” “i know ___ said we should split up, but i was thinking maybe we split up together, you know, because it's scary!” “you talk about ___ a lot.” “this is a big city. so many places for snakes to hide. they could be everywhere all around us. watching us... licking their snake lips...” “jesus, doesn’t anybody speak esperanto?” “err is not a word.” “why do you look alone?” “why don't you tell us what's going on, and we can decide whether to kill you or not?” “looks like we've got quite the sticky mess on our hands!” “oh, i know all about sausage parties! uh, wait, that came out wrong.” “when I least expect it: whambo! you pry open my mind prison and suck out my brain beans!” “i realize now that i’ve just spilled all my brain beans.” “we're just a bunch of dumb rejects hurling ourselves against impossible odds.” “i’m only saying something because i’ve been used enough times in my life already.” “nice! super awesome of you guys! that was sarcastic.” “don’t care. just help me with my dramatic exit.” “that's a great idea! i was just about to suggest it.” “i always say a marine without a code is like a car without a road.” “i always say the best defense is a really tall fence.” “i always say a good soldier is like a rollin’ boulder.” “i always say a mantra a day keeps death at bay.” “i've grown soft around these uncultured philistines.” “goddamn, i can’t believe i have to hear this shit in stereo now.” “you two look cozy.” “i didn’t realize you two were close.” “you’re being too hard on yourself. you’ve changed over the years, i’ve seen it myself.” “i've grown from being a dishonorable killing machine to an honorable killing machine. that's quite the journey.” “i changed my mind. you are evil.” “you don’t have to destroy the past to have a future.” “strategizing can wait until breakfast, at least.” “i killed them. i MURDERED them. i set my vengeance free upon them and it felt so good!” “are we gonna do some snooping around?” “have you ever considered a life in showbusiness?” “try harder, fuckface!” “can we please just bury the hatchet and focus on what's important?” “your mother’s lasagna is mediocre!” “if you guys had to get shot somewhere in your body, where would you do it?” “i can't hear you because some idiot shot my ear off!” “this whole situation is garbage enough to begin with, but... at least we're in it together.” “no plan survives first contact with the enemy.” “the only thing that would make this better is some music.” “we were pawns in their game. but the thing that I love about chess is that sometimes pawns kill kings.” “no, actually, i was raised by wolves. in the forest.” “sometimes i feel like people barely acknowledge my presence.” “something weird might be going on around here.” “anyone who's acting that squeaky clean must have some deep dark secrets.” “ha! gotcha! that's exactly the kind of things bad guys say!” “they used us, they destroyed our lives, and they haven't been made to pay for what they've done.” “you obviously love the sound of your own voice, so why don't you use it to tell its where the fuck our friends are?” “i’m going to kill you so hard, you’ll wish you were dead.” “we fought alongside each other for fucking years. how can you just turn your backs on us like this?” “you don't get to give orders if you're on the bad guys' side!” “now I have gonorrhea and a dead friend.” “stop. touching. my face.” “buckets! oodles! oodles of noodles and toaster strudels! tiempo de mucho. mucho de tiempo!" “yeah, well, i don't remember you being anything but a huge dick, but here you are being cool, so people change.” “yippee-ki-yay, motherfuckers!” “but.. i never got to say goodbye. or thank you for being my friend.” “i'm gonna need a week at the chiropractor when we get out of here.” “is it possible to hallucinate with your ears?” “i’m not here to kill you.” “uh-oh spaghetti-o’s.” “fuck me! fuck all of this!” “you should totally kill me if it strikes your fancy! no pressure!” “the world's best swordsman doesn't fear the second best. He fears the worst, because he can't predict what the idiot will do.” “i can't imagine us doing anything but making this all worse.” “shit, dude! you’re the best we’ve got!” “i like pushing small children down wells.” “can we please settle on a consistent denomination? are we using cardinal directions or are we using clock positions?” “i'm so sneaky. they don't even know what's happening. you can't even see me right now, ___. you're so confused.” “shut up and help me punch this fucking tank!” “as far as days to die go, it's a little overcast. so let's check our corners and make these bastards pay!” “let's light the fires and kick the tires!” “let’s dance with these monkeys and give ‘em what for!” “let's put the pedal to the metal and the rubber to the road!” “let’s get jiggy with it!” “let’s shoot this monkey full of heroin and put it on youtube! actually, let's not do that, it sounds completely horrible.” “let’s teach these midgets how to tango!” “honor, schmonor.” “scout's honor! except I was never a scout because I'm afraid of badges.” “why are we here?” “we don't know why we're here. it's still one of life's great mysteries, isn't it?” “i’m sorry i tried to kill you, it wasn’t personal!” “you'll be stuck between a rock and the frying pan.” “if i said that i would weep for them, would it make you feel any better?” “best friends should be able to say goodbye.” “i think you are cool. like, super awesome, amazing, cool and... i, i always felt like really awesome too, when we were hanging out together.” “i know with my other friends--who, even if you add them all up together aren't really cool as you--i know we're all gonna be okay.” “if you kill me, you'll just perpetuate this never-ending cycle of revenge and retaliation!” “he asked us to deliver an important message to you all. but then he just sang the ducktales theme song and fell back to sleep.” “you know i’ll never forget this, right? i mean, PTSD is forever, isn’t it?” “it’s not the sum of your parts that makes you who you are.” “these people have shown me that real heroes are not born, they're forged. a friend told me once that there's no fate but what you make. and i think he's right.” “alright, well, i'm just gonna try to forget that ever happened and never bring it up again.”