#the stupid meat flower was so hard to draw though

[ibuybooksandnowimbroke]

Well I guess we now know what Helen has been up to...

[cienie-isengardu]

The Development of Law and Zoro relationship: Wano, ...and Law Is Not Happy About That

<Part I: Before Meeting>> <<Part II: Sabaody Archipelago, The First Meeting>> <<Part III: Punk Hazard: The Alliance (A)__(B)>>  <<Part IV: Dressrosa, The Breaking Point (The Plan Failed)__ (Saving Law)__(Protecting Law)__ (Birdcage, Pica and Doflamingo)__ (Aftermath)>> <<Part V: Zou, The Kindred Spirits (Traveling Together)__(Searching for Nakama)__ (Reunion)__ (Ninja-Pirate-Mink-Samurai Alliance)__(The Last Moments before War)>>  Part VI: Wano, Against Emperors (The Untold Journey)__(Luffy & Zoro Means Troubles…)__(…and Law Is Not Happy About That)

The fight between Law and Hawkins was stopped; Law didn’t manage to eliminate the enemy nor prevent information leakage about alliance presence in Wano. He almost was run over by a speeding cart with stolen food (another “crime” against Orochi & Kaido, which Straw Hats committed in his absence). No wonder why Law was so pissed of at Zoro (chapter 918):

➽ Up to this point, Law never have been so openly angry at Roronoa, nor aggressive toward the other man. Now, Law vented all frustration and anger while Zoro kept silent… and maybe felt some embarrassment(?) about Trafalgar’s unusual outburst, considering bubble speech with three dots and “sweat drop” expressing Zoro’s reaction in a more visible way.

➽ Another interesting detail is how calmly Zoro endured Law’s angry rant. He simply let the other man scream at him, and even tolerated grabbing his kimono and invading his personal space. When it comes to scolding, Zoro reacts differently, depending on the seriousness of the situation and who is scolding him. He either fights back in such situations or doesn’t respond to angry rants and taunts. For example, if Sanji started screaming and pointing his faults, Zoro most likely wouldn’t be so tolerable because those two like to antagonize each other. Seems like Roronoa opted for the calm approach with Law. Maybe Zoro knew that Law was right and his anger was justified. Maybe he simply figured it will be better if Law got all the anger and stress out of him. Or maybe he was just taken by surprise by the sudden outburst? 

↪ In all fairness, I think he perfectly knew what Law’s reaction will be, especially considering this ambiguous frame:

At first it seems like Zoro talked about Kinemon, what honestly would make perfect sense. He already mentioned Kinemon when repeated samurai’s warning to Luffy but couldn’t really say his name in front of just met Kiku. At the same time, he could also talk about Law, because at this point he was familiar enough with the man to predict his angry reaction. Law seems to be prone to stress and he likes planning everything ahead and Zoro not sticking to plan (letting Luffy smash enemy) would definitely earn Law’s ire. Righteous so. Then what was the point of arguing with Trafalgar? Even more, when the man, despite stress and rage, doesn't hold on such emotions for too long. Which really seems like the best way to deal with a pissed off Heart Captain was just let him scream until he cooled down and adapted to the new situation.

➽ Because Zoro did not stop Luffy as he should - as Law hoped he would - Trafalgar was blaming Zoro for the whole situation, even though Luffy was as much guilty, charging into unknown without care for consequences. Zoro not once tried to excuse himself or Luffy, did nothing to stop Law’s outburst nor remind Law he wasn’t his captain (superior) thus he wasn’t obligated to listen. He simply let Law scream and blame him for the mess.

Anime expended this moment by actually giving Zoro a chance to explain to Law why he screwed so badly. Which literally was “I met Luffy” what immediately refocused Trafalgar’s anger from Zoro to solely Luffy:

This extended scene fits well with already existing Law’s personal experience from Dressrosa - the usually stoic and reliable Zoro will throw away rational thinking in the favor of Luffy’s whim and craziness. Monkey D. Luffy has that kind of effect on Roronoa.

Also, another funny thing anime did with that scene is when Law was scolding his fellow Supernova, Zoro was maintaining eye contact.

But when he was saying “sorry”, he was clearly looking to his left, instead at Law. Which makes the apology feeling insincere. Zoro wasn’t really that sorry about the mess but he said it, most likely to placate angry (stressed??) Law. Seems like Roronoa is bad at lying; not on Luffy’s level of bad, but still not really into telling lies.

Law most likely could tell Pirate Hunter wasn’t sorry at all, which explains grabbing Zoro’s kimono and screaming more at the other man’s face.

➽ Zoro’s patience and lack of response makes an interesting contrast to Law’s unusual aggressiveness. We may only wonder if Roronoa already had some experiences with such an outburst from the other Supernova. Once again, there is little to no information how their relationship was affected by the journey and situation in Wano, nor why Zoro was so indifferent while Law’s level of stress so high.

➽ Manga and anime versions of the scene give us valuable informations. One: Law was aware that Zoro promised to not cause trouble, like not fighting with samurais and Kaido’s men. That of course was a rational thing to ask of Zoro, because the man is too bloodthirsty for his own good and is always up for a good fight. The manga translation makes it look like Law personally witnessed Pirate Hunter swearing to not cause any trouble. Yet Law’s screaming sounds a bit confusing. On one hand, he knew Zoro A) became a wanted man and B) was supposed to be in Flower Capital. So it seems Law was informed about Zoro’s mission of pretending to be ronin. Whatever Kinemon initiated him from the start or after the wanted poster was made public, Law understood the danger of drawing the enemy's attention to the alliance. Which may be the reason why he was so mad at Zoro and referred to him by surname or called in his mind an idiot. On another, asking Zoro - a wanted man - why didn’t he stay in capital sounds, well, kinda stupid (and interestingly, the additional symbol of irritation was added to this specific question / bubble). Roronoa killed in broad daylight an important person (magistrate), and either killed or injured the magistrate's samurais, so it is not like Zoro could wander through the capital or any city without causing more problems. Of course, wandering directless did not help the alliance at all but it was still the best outcome. As a wanted man, Zoro could either stay in capitol and draw enemy’s attention to himself - and in result, endanger Franky, Robin and Usopp’s missions and even alliance’s presence in the Wano or wander through the wasteland in which was easier avoid unnecessary troubles and, in case of fight, hide dead bodies without increasing the vigilance of Beast Pirates or Orochi’s samurais. As a wanted man, Roronoa wasn’t really in position to come back to Kinemon because of possible pursuit - though he managed to wander into Kuri region, but that is more lack of direction sense than anything intentional, I guess. Unless this is why Law was the most angry? That Zoro came too close to their main secret base of operation? Anyway, Trafalgar for sure did not hold back and vented all his anger and frustration at still passive Zoro.

Soon, the group made it into Okobore Town and gave the stolen food to starving locals while Luffy brought the fresh water with himself. Straw Hat told the happy people “I’m Luffytaro! If anyone asks, you tell ‘em my name!” (chapter 918). For the first time Luffy also noticed Law - now much calmer than a moment ago. Law made clear, that what Luffy and Zoro did was ultimately an act of rebellion against Wano (Orochi and Kaido) to which Luffy responded he was “repaying the favor” to Tama, who fed him, once again getting into additional trouble just because someone gave him free food. The serious note disappeared right away, when Luffy started screaming at the starving people to not eat all meat without him:

➽ The meeting between Luffy and Law is drastically different from meeting of Law and Zoro. Like was mentioned, Trafalgar didn’t show any anger or frustration, so either screaming at Zoro calmed him down or he already gave up trying to reason with Monkey D. Luffy. Taking into account all previous adventures from Punk Hazard to Zou, what in universe happened through what? One or two months at best? Law’s resignation makes sense. Luffy wouldn’t care nor bother to apologize for the pulled stunt, while Zoro, well, didn’t care much either, but at least didn’t try to argue back.

➽ Once the serious talk was done and Luffy literally jumped after the meat, Zoro and Law shared the same reaction (visualed by bubble speech with three dots, though the “sweat drop” symbolising embarrassment(?) is only on Zoro’s part). Despite the previous intense moment, both men were again on good terms and even in agreement toward Luffy’s idiotic/childish behaviour.

The next time we see Zoro, Law and Luffy, Trafalgar kept his distance from everyone else. He stood the closest to Luffy yet with back turned to him. Was that sort of ostentatious expression of dissatisfaction or did he keep watch in case of an enemy's attack, hard to tell.

Luffy loudly declared his intention about Wano to Tama (“By the time we leave this country, it’ll be a place where you can eat as much as you want, every single day!!!”). With a sigh, Zoro noted how because of Luffy’s action, the enemy will come after them for real. Law did not take such a comment from Zoro kindly, because the man ignored(?) his own part in the mess.

➽ Surprisingly, Law still was angry more at Zoro than Luffy, who was the main culprit. But it may be just Zoro’s uncaring attitude that provokes Law so much.

➽ Despite the still fresh feeling of irritation, Law decided to focus at the best course of action - moving on to safest place. In this case, to the ruins of Oden’s Castle, in which Kinemon and the rest of the alliance stayed in hiding. 

The group said goodbye to Tama who was taken to home by Horselina (a former enemy-turned-into-her-loyal-servant thanks to Tama’s devil fruit powers). Like always, Law kept his distance from others (in manga on one frame, he kept close to Zoro, on another, to Luffy). In anime, between sharing food and saying goodbye to Tama, Trafalgar was shown usually close to Zoro, similar like he did on Zou:

At this point, there is something to ponder a bit about Law and his (lack of) interaction with people. Like in the scene above, does Law keep close to Zoro (or Luffy) because of their bond (trust?) alone or is that partially due to his minimal social skills? As in, he keeps close to people he at least knows and doesn’t make contact with strangers unless it’s necessary. Zoro and Law both have some asocial traits (seen especially in their tendency to isolating themselves from too large group), but in contrast, Zoro and Luffy were shown through the Wano arc to interact and even befriend the local people while Trafalgar was interacting only with his crew, Straw Hats, samurai group (extended of Shinobu person) - the people he already knew for some time. Law isn’t going out his way to meet new people (like Luffy) nor bonds with accidentally met people (like Zoro with Tonoyasu). It seems in Law’s nature to avoid interaction with strangers as much as possible. Which makes me wonder if that comes simply from his introverted nature, general distrust for people or maybe even some social awkwardness created by childhood trauma and growing up in criminal organisation (Donquixote Pirates)? Because Law’s way to interact with people he just met is either ignore them (seen above) or act in cool manners around them, like in Punk Hazard with Straw Hats…  but frankly, Straw Hats freaked him there on so many levels it really makes Law looks like social interaction is not his thing. 

This reflection actually comes close to another detail. Namely, Law’s general feeling about Straw Hats helping starved people. Because the locals were truly happy and expresses that just before the departure of Three Supernovas (chapter 919):

Law has strong opinions about pirates, it seems. And it comes from a man that admitted he doesn't like to kill but yeah, doing nice things for (poor) people makes him sick. Was he so annoyed by the cheering people, or did he simply didn’t know how to react to such situation so he went with a grumpy approach?

Law expressed a lot emotions; the outbursts of anger departs from the image of stoic captain but at the same it makes me think that Law must feel okay around Zoro to be so open about his frustration (and lack of control over situation?). At the same time, Zoro let him take out all anger on him without a word. But the most important thing, no matter how much Zoro’s screwed up, no matter how much Law’s screamed and accused and was unhappy about, it didn’t change their already estabilished relationship. Once the situation calmed down, Law again kept close to Zoro and shared the same opinion about Luffy’s antics and in general they were okay in each company. 

Next part: Separated Again

[xxgoblin-dumplingxx]

Mission of Mercy: One

“Where’s she headed?” Bucky asked watching the woman loading the back of her small SUV with a duffle bag and assorted odds and ends.

She was a friend of Sam’s, one from his days at the VA, Bucky knew, but he couldn’t remember her name. Sam had got her the gig with SHEILD. I guess he figured they all needed counseling. Or a team mom. Or whatever it was she did. Outreach, Bucky figured. Generating good PR. 

“Looks like a mission of Mercy,” Sam said with a small, slightly sad smile. Bucky looked at him for explanation and Sam sighed, instantly looking sadder and a few years older. 

“She’s a third generation Army Brat,” Sam explained. “Dad never came home from Desert Storm and Brother didn’t come back from… whatever the fuck he was doing. Mom was a VA nurse before she retired… So Y/N knows a lot of grumpy old fucks that don’t like to leave their houses. She makes rounds a few times a week still, for the people she’s known since she was just a kid. Friends of her dad’s, some cousins twice removed.”

Bucky exhaled slowly and nodded. That he hadn’t known. He’d never really paid that much attention to you. But now he looked again. You were packing down styrofoam coolers with what looked like milk, eggs, cheese, and assorted lunch meat. And you had a few labeled boxes of cans. A couple cases of beer… That made Bucky smile a little. And he could respect what you were doing. 

“Y/N!” Sam called across the motor pool, “Who’s on your list?”

“Joe, Rocky, and Cooksy, at least for today,” you answer, “Mac and Wild man are still in the nursing home for rehab.”

“Joe, huh?” Sam said walking over, Bucky trailing after him looking confused.

“You wanting to go along?” you ask, smiling, tightening the ratchet straps that held the styrofoam coolers in place.

“That old man still owes me a rematch,” Sam said grinning. 

“Rematch in what?” Bucky asked, catching a case of beer that had started to slide of it’s perch and slotting it carefully into an open space for you. 

“Dice,” you snort, “Sam swears he cheats.” You give Bucky a smile of thanks and slot a small gift bag in next to the case and Bucky has to look away from you. His face feels hot and he feels like you’re looking through him. So he looks at your hands. Work roughened. Nails bitten to the quick. Useful hands. Not just ornaments at the ends of your wrists. Efficient. 

“He Does!” Sam’s voice breaks through Bucky’s distraction and jolts him back to the world. Back out of his head. And for that, Bucky is momentarily grateful. And a scolding gasp from you immediately makes him too aware. 

“Get off my bread you fucking heathen,” you grouse, only half playing as you give Sam a shove away from a bag.

“My bad,” Sam said, quickly, holding his hands up in surrender, “You got a minute though?”

“Yeah,” you sigh, “Go get your stuff. I don’t want to wake Joe up before he’s ready.”

Sam gives you a grin and trots off and Bucky sighs, mentally trying to figure out what to do with the rest of his day. He didn’t want to assume he was going. 

“Joe did intelligence work during WWII,” you tell him, “You guys can always swap some bullshit stories… If you want to come.”

Bucky looked at you. You aren’t looking at him, instead you’re leaning on the bumper of your car and looking somewhere not quite the middle distance, but at something, anything else. And he can’t decide if you’re nervous or just awkward. And he can’t decide how he feels about making you nervous. He was nervous. His palms felt clammy and the rolling in his stomach couldn’t decide if it wanted to be butterflies or hornets. 

“Joe won’t mind?” Bucky asked. 

“A friend of mine is a friend of his,” you say, and Bucky can see that the corner of your mouth is upturned in a smile. “He’s a cousin… kind of.”

“Kind of?”

“He’s a cousin of a friend of my mom’s… He used to look after me sometimes when mom had to run a night shift.”

Bucky nodded, “That-” he couldn’t decide if that was “nice,” or “Cool,” or “weird.” 

“He taught me how to draw in three point perspective, gamble, and make a decent martini,” you say, and Bucky can hear the fondness in your voice. “Most importantly I guess, he never let me be a weirdo by myself.”

Bucky let himself chuckle. And when you chanced looking up at him, the rolling in his stomach decided it was butterflies. 

You were smiling. The kind of smile that would be seductive outlines in red. But right now? With no make up on and your hair falling out of a haphazard ponytail? You looked like a kid about to cause trouble. And he wanted to see what trouble that was going to be. 

Sam retuned before Bucky could formulate something flirty to say. Something that wouldn’t sound too dirty or too corny. Something that might make you swoon a little... though. As you swore at Sam across the motorpool telling him to hurry the fuck up, Bucky doubted very much that you had ever swooned in your life. But he could absolutely see that having a grumpy old man baby sit you had had some other amusing outcomes. 

Swear words didn’t look like they fit you. Your mouth was too sweet looking and the words were too blunt and ugly. It looked like they would fit wrong and come out worse. But. The way you said them was so casual. As if you had never not said them. And that… For some reason, tickled Bucky. He likes smart girls. He liked girls with a temper. And listening to you bicker with Sam just… It definitely burst some more butterflies out of their cocoons. It was nice, Sam having to put up with a smart mouth instead of being the one to dish it out. 

__________

The drive was fine. 

Sam didn’t even complain about the music you played. A blend that gave Bucky whiplash and something of a headache behind his eyes. But. That wasn’t your fault. A lot of the music past his own time did that. 

The Audio bombast of discordant sounds and coded meanings of the ever evolving slang was… a lot. So he mostly focused on the scenery. The cars. The people. The sky. The architecture. That helped. Some things about New York would probably never really change. There were more people now. Fewer dresses and more people in pants… And fewer roving packs of kids. But. It felt the same.

It wasn’t until he was standing on the doorstep. He and Sam looming over you like bodyguards that he noticed differences. The lack of washing hung out to dry. The consistent low hum of multiple air conditioners. The lack of kid noises. The lack of… community. The way everyone was together, and apart simultaneously. 

But when the door swung open slowly, and Bucky was greeted by a little old man. One with thick glasses, a bald head, and stooped shoulders. A neck that made him look like a turtle… A sudden warmth washed over him. 

“There’s my favorite ray of Sunshine,” he said, pulling you into an unembarrassed hug. The kind men in his time reserved for their mothers and beloved children. “And my second favorite pain in the ass!” he said, rasping a laugh as he clasped Sam’s hand in his. 

“I moved up a spot,” Sam chuckled.

 “Eh, the neighbor’s dog died last week,” Joe said, giving Bucky a steady, appraising look.

“Aww, Bear died?” you say sadly, “poor old man… How’s Irene doing with it?”

Joe turned back towards you and chucked you under the chin gently with a small smile. Bucky didn’t miss the tears that had welled up, and evidently, neither had the old man. “She’s heart broke,” he said, “But, she told me to tell you he loved the blanket and it made his last couple weeks more cozy.”

Joe stepped back and ushered you into the house, letting you pass him to go and quietly pull yourself back together, Bucky figured. The butterflies in his stomach catching a sudden chill. 

“Who’s he?” Joe asked, arms folding across his scrawny chest as he straightened himself to his full height… or as close to it as he could manage.

“Winter Soldier,” Sam said grinning, clapping him on the shoulder before going to get the stuff you had for him out of your trunk.

“No shit?” Joe said, adjusting his glasses.

“No shit,” Sam answered, calling over his shoulder. 

“Well Son,” he said to Bucky, “Come on in. I gotta add a bottle of Jack to my grocery list… it looks like I lost a bet.”

And Bucky can’t help it. He laughs.

In the Hall, just inside the door, Bucky  can hear you rattling around. It sounds like dishes being done. And maybe a broom being used and Joe shakes his head. “She’ll make someone a nice wife some day, but fuck if I know what kind of man could handle her.”

Bucky wasn’t sure if that was for him to hear or just Joe Musing to himself out loud, but he smiled anyway and followed him inside. On the walls, there were pictures. Covered bridges, flower gardens, portraits… Presumably of people that the old man knew. Or had known. And the smell of dust and old paper. Decades of smoke from meals cooked and packs of cigarettes. It smelled like age. A sepia tone that mellowed and dulled all the colors around him. But somehow there was nothing harsh. Or forbidding. 

“Will you sit down?” The old man groused, “I have a broad that comes in and does all that shit.”

“Then you’re paying her too much because she ain’t been doin’ it right, old man,” you tell him over your shoulder as you rinse a plate. 

“Bah,” Joe said, flapping his hands at you. Clearly realizing that this wasn’t a fight he could win as he lowered himself into his spot at the kitchen table. “Siddown, son,” he said to Bucky, “Take a load off and let these stupid kids do the grunt work.”

“Kids,” Sam scoffed, putting boxes on the counter with an eye roll as he nudged you.

“I hear him,” you snort. “Careful old man,” you tease, “You’re cruisin’ for a bruisin and at your age, replacement parts are hard to come by.”

“Listen Heifer,” Joe said, eyes dancing behind his thick glasses, “If you wanna kick my old ass, you better pack a lunch.”

You shake your head, and pull the top off a styrofoam cooler, “I got your lunch meat and some eggs. That was it right?”

“Yup,” Joe said, “How much do I owe you?”

“A Dr. Pepper,” you answer over your shoulder, making Joe give you a stern look. 

“Young Lady-”

“You’re not giving me money, ya old coot,” you say, more fond than scolding as you kiss the top of his bald head.

“The hell I’m not-”

“I’ll tell momma and she’ll have both our asses. Me for taking the money and you for payin’ me.”

“She’s got you there Joe,” Sam said, grinning. 

“You shaddup,” Joe said grumpily, eyeing your back. And Bucky could see he was trying to gauge how likely it was that he could slip you some money without you knowing you’d been given any. Bucky grinned and Caught Sam’s eye before bumping the table with his knee to get the old man’s attention.

Once the Old man’s sharp eyes had fixed on him, Bucky glanced meaningfully towards the coat rack. Where your jacket hung so conveniently.And Joe followed his gaze, he grinned and touched his nose in acknowledgement. 

“Don’t you fuckin’ do it,” you say not turning around. 

And Joe made a silent “rats” gesture, before sticking his tongue out at your back

[threeletterslife]

The Exam

→ [1/7] of the Society Series

→ summary: Three societies. Two dead lovers. One test. In a world that prioritizes intelligence and the ability to regurgitate textbook information, will you choose love and poverty or splendor and solitude? 

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

→ genre: 99.9% angst, 0.1% fluff (if you squint) | dystopian!au & utopian!au

→ warnings: profanity, death, mentions of tuberculosis and leptospirosis, blood, extreme poverty, extremely brief mention of cannibalism and overdosing, undiagnosed depression and mild anxiety, brief mentions of the afterlife and physical violence, this shit ain’t happy pple

→ wordcount: 21.4k

There's a strange stench that permeates the air in the city of Dystopia.

It is the odor of death. The dark, muddy soil reeks of decaying bodies, of rotting rats and excretions. Deteriorating child flesh even has its own distinct smell, but you've become so used to it, you don't really mind it as much anymore.

Every day is a festival for the unusually large rats that inhabit the city. With their matted-fur and worm-tails, the rodents feast on decomposing human bodies, ripping apart the dark, putrid meat and leaving dried blood splattered on the barely-paved streets.

Bodies are everywhere.

Sometimes it's hard to tell if a fallen child is dead or asleep in the towering masses of waste. There are too many orphans wandering lost on the streets with no bed or home to conceal them in warmth. There are too many people who never know when their next meal will be, or if there will be clean water to drink for the day. Hell, most of the huts in the dystopian city are on the very verge of crumbling down.

You're lucky.

Your home has semi-working electricity and plumbing. But every now and then, the lights will refuse to turn on and the pipes will leak—or even burst if it was a bad day.

Most citizens of Dystopia, however, roam the streets, homeless, until death finally whisks them away. Nobody knows what happens after death. But everybody knows it is better than Dystopia.

This place, this Dystopia, was home for your childhood memories. Shamefully enough, it was also your birthplace. But you don't live there anymore, thank goodness. You live in Purgatory now, a smaller city with slightly more opportunities and fewer rats.

But Purgatory isn't that much different from Dystopia either. Death still hangs over the heads of the weak, ready to take their hands and lead them away when the time comes. Purgatory is a wild place full of children and teenagers from ages ten to eighteen. They're there for one sole purpose: education. Rigorous education that may come with the price of death.

It's how the whole damn system works.

Every Dystopian-born must suffer ten years of life in that hellhole; if they are still alive by then, they are relocated to Purgatory where "equal opportunities" are given to all with mercy. At least, that's what the authority claims. Really, you see it more as a ruthless competition. It's not "equal opportunities" or whatever bullcrap the government was trying to sell to the people. You see it as a game of sharks and minnows—a game of exceptionally robust predators and abnormally frail prey.

Annually, every student who is eighteen in Purgatory is required to take an exam. An exam that determines their entire future.

Every year, the highest-scoring students—or student—are whisked away by the government with silk draped around their hunched shoulders, layers of soft mink coats keeping their frayed bodies warm and their dirty tresses bathed with the richest, fragrance oils. Then they are granted access to Utopia.

Utopia, the city of the rich. They breathe expensive air there, bathe in priceless tea and wear extortionate silks and furs. They deserve it. Because they're the most intelligent people in all three cities of Atna. At least, that's what the government says.

It is merciless when they throw every other eighteen-year-old who 'failed' the Exam in the city of Dystopia. You'd think they'd spare their precious Utopian-borns—the children of the men and women who proved their intelligence by reigning over every other student in Purgatory. But they don't. The Utopian-borns are dumped into Dystopia as well. Into a foreign place where the air is dead, baths are infrequent and clothing is for the greatly fortunate.

Yet that's rare. Most often, Utopian students always tie for the highest-score and are taken back to their luxurious birthplace. It's too advantageous for them. It's unfair. Unreasonable. They train from their birth until the last second before they leave the warmth of their Utopian homes for the Exam. Of course, they would score the highest.

One year, out of the hundreds of eighteen-year-olds who took the Exam, twenty-three of them made it back to Utopia. All Utopian-borns.

Still, a handful of Utopians are tossed into the slums—they are a disgrace to all of Atna for they had the advantage and didn't take it.

You've seen those sad individuals your whole childhood. They were the ones who weren't used to horrifying conditions. Consequently, they were always the last to eat and first to die.

When you were the adventurous age of nine, you and your best friend Jimin would sit outside the shabby, repulsive place that you called home and would watch the Utopian-borns straggling across the streets.

They wailed and begged as their eyes reflected one sole emotion: fear.

"I bet she's Utopian-born," Jimin huffs as he points at a girl frantically cramming her mouth full of scraggly weeds that had somehow sprouted from the fetid grounds. Both of you silently watch as her bloody fingernails pierce madly through the mud, uprooting the plants with surprising success. "Doesn't she know those are poisonous?"

You shrug, staring blankly at the girl. "No, she's not Utopian-born. Doesn't look over eighteen. Maybe she doesn't want to take the Exam." Taking Jimin's hand into yours, you sigh, "I bet he's Utopian-born, though." Your small finger points at a young man huddled up against a pile of rubbish, completely naked and rocking back and forth, as if that action would save him from the wraths of Dystopia. He had stripped off his tattered clothes and had unskillfully attempted to wrap them around himself to combat the harsh weather. A simple but deadly mistake.

A Dystopian-born would know better.

"He's going to die," Jimin says, cocking his head. "Let's go help him." He starts to tug you towards the unclothed man but you forcefully pull your friend back, eyebrows twisting downwards into a deep frown.

"Leave him." Your cold eyes stare right past the Utopian-born, gazing at the bright neon poster behind him. It reads Utopia, a wondrous place for deserving people.

And below is an image of a gorgeous, healthily plump woman in a spotless, white bikini, skin sparkling and well-tanned and her hands immaculately manicured. Her hair is loose, glossy and looks like it smells of flowering spring roses. She's holding a gleaming bottle of fizzing golden liquid in one hand and a handsome man's hand in the other. The man smiles brightly, revealing a row of pearlescent teeth as he boasts shiny, black sunglasses and wears a watch made of dazzling rubies and diamonds.

Behind the couple is a house—actually, a mansion made of polished glass with luscious trees decorating the purlieu and the pool filled with glimmering water tinted a light shade of azure. The sky is cerulean blue, and the clouds resemble cotton candy.

Everything speaks perfection.

These identical posters are littered everywhere across Dystopia. It is a painful reminder for the Atnatians who have failed the Exam—even more so agonizing for the Utopians who had been banished from their previous home.

The propaganda posters are the only clean, resplendent objects in the slums. But personally, you think they're revolting.

Your unsympathetic eyes trail back to the naked man. You take another glance at the stupid government propaganda poster behind him before you squeeze Jimin's hand. "Yeah, let's leave him," you repeat.

The pick-the-Utopian-born-from-the-crowd game abruptly halts soon after when Jimin comes over to your small hut one day, crying profusely, his tears leaving clean streaks on his dirt-covered face.

"He's dead!" he cries, fat droplets of tears dribbling down to his chin.

You frown in confusion, eyebrows knitting into a small frown. With the mortality rate of Dystopia, your best friend could either be talking about your neighbor from the next hut over or the other fifty bodies left dead and abandoned on the streets. "Who's dead, Jiminie?"

"T-That Utopian-born," Jimin whimpers, dirty hand reaching up to wipe away the tears obscuring his vision. Although there were many Utopian-borns roaming around Dystopia, you had a clear idea of who he was talking about. "The rats... they—"

You grab his filthy hand before it reaches his eyes. "Don't rub your eyes, remember?"

Jimin nods dejectedly, his head dropping low as his tears dripped to the floor, leaving wet puddles of brown dirt. "Sorry, Y/N, I forgot..." He sniffles, which didn't help the snot that was leaking out of his soot-covered nose. "But the rats..." he trails off, hand reaching up again to wipe away his tears. But he pauses, thinks better of it and tries to blink them away instead.

You nod, knowingly. "And it's not the first time you've seen that happen, Jiminie. Don't cry..."

Your friend whimpers, kicking the wet dirt beneath his feet. "But if we had helped him... The rats wouldn't have eaten right through his guts! They wouldn't have bitten him to pieces or drunk his blood!" he wails. You are silent, never great at solacing. "If we had helped him..."

Time is running out for both of you. You'd soon be relocated to Purgatory and you know Jimin is starting to get anxious for the both of you. He would cry in fear and grief for every dead corpse on the street, bite his nails hard enough to draw blood even though you would tell him not to, and try to help all the suffering Utopian-borns, despite your avid protests.

Jimin had always been too soft-minded, too kind. Death frightened him.

But you weren't afraid of death. Never have been. Never will be.

You are fucking terrified of death. It is the only occurrence that will keep you from scoring the highest, and as a seventeen-year-old, the Exam was looming closer than ever. You couldn't die now. Not after all the years of rigorous studying. You'd skipped nights of sleep, countless meals to get to this position.

To you, Purgatory would always be a second Utopia; for one, the conditions are immensely better than that of Dystopia, maggots no longer crawling in your food and clothes not as battered and ravaged by irritable rats or insects. This city is your one chance where you can prove yourself deserving to live in Utopia—to confirm that you can outlast, out-study and outsmart everyone in your year.

You eat, sleep and breathe your studies, something only a few students can manage to do. One of the only things that keep you motivated to wake up at the crack of dawn and open up a dusty book is the fact that no one's ever secured a perfect score on the Exam.

But you know you'll be the first.

You'll be the first and only person to obtain a perfect score. And thus you will be the only eighteen-year-old going to Utopia in your year.

It is a fantasy. A dream. A goal. But you thirst to achieve it.

In fact, you haven't left the library in weeks. You've practically been glued onto the same hard, wooden chair for what seemed like days now. You have also never ceased to flip the pages of your colossal textbooks. You're quite happy to say that the other students aren't studying as hard as you—most of them have given up by now.

Logically, it makes sense to surrender to the Exam.

Although you're given eight whole years to study in Purgatory, most students use that time to stuff themselves full of savory victuals, sleep in cots instead of in fetid mud and live without the shadow of death appended to their feet. Obviously, the conditions aren't as astounding as Utopia, but anything's better than the slums of Atna. It isn't worth it, they say. It isn't worth the eight years of miserable studying, only to be beaten by someone better (there's always someone better) and thrown into Dystopia without ever being able to live. But 'surrender' isn't in your vast vocabulary.

As much as you hate cheesy platitudes, you're in it (ahem, forcibly) to win it. Besides, your competition is dropping like flies on a scorching hot day. You suspect it's from that nasty tuberculosis that's been going around for a while.

There's only a year left before the Exam now. It's such little time for you to finish reading everything in that library, and such little time alike for the other students to live their last year to the very fullest in Purgatory, the downgrade of Utopia but the upgrade of Dystopia.

But especially for you, a year definitely isn't enough. You're just a tad bit off schedule—you were supposed to finish reading and memorizing everything in the library last year so you'd have two good years to review. Now you only have one.

It adds on to the multitudes of problems that no one truly knows what's on the Exam. They say anything in the grand library is fair game, but besides that, you don't know much. And because of that, you and what's left of your competitors have been reading everything in the library from novels to textbooks to published theses.

As a matter of fact, you're just one book and a page shy from reading everything in the damned library. Your eyes bore into the paper overlaid with equations and one too many graphs, forcing your brain to memorize every detail, every print and word. You know you shouldn't frown when you study. Someone you'd once loved had told you an unpretty, permanent crease would be etched on your forehead—but now you can't help it—frowning helps you concentrate.

Especially now. The library is usually dead silent except for the soft crinkles of paper as students flip the pages of their reading materials, yet you swear at least half of the students in the room have tuberculosis. There's heavy coughing every ten seconds, the infected splattering crimson blood on the thin, worn-out pages of the textbooks. And that's how the disease has been spreading.

They're going to die before the Exam. You swear they are—how pathetic of them to spend the last days of their lives cramming study material in their heads.

You don't care much for the infected, as long as they keep their distance from you. You don't know what you'll do if you catch the disease as well. But in your mind, nothing is worse than the mortality rates of Dystopia. At least no one in Purgatory dies from famine.

Still, there are never adequate treatments or vaccines and you can recall at least ten people who you haven't seen since tuberculosis first broke out. Not that you care, though. In the end, you're just glad you're not one of the diseased. You've always had a strong immune system, anyway.

You let out a soft sigh, feeling the urge to rub your dry, tiresome eyes but thinking better of it. Shutting the heavy textbook with a gentle thud, you place both hands on the wooden table, steadying yourself. You slowly close your eyes, relishing in the comfort of the darkness—you haven't slept in nearly three days, haven't left your seat to eat either. Your empty water canteen stares back at you, begging for it to be refilled. You swallow, your throat feeling unbearably scratchy, but you don't succumb to its desperate demand.

Now you only have one more book to read. Just one more and you'll be done. You'll treat yourself to an actual meal and a few hours of sleep (not too much because you still need time for review). With the Exam inching closer every minute, every second, you really don't have time to waste.

Water will have to wait for later.

Besides, you know for a fact that the last book you have to read isn't too long—just a hundred pages or so. You slowly open your eyes, vision slightly blurry as you force yourself to stand. Immediately, your legs threaten to give out and you have to stagger forward to use the dated bookshelves to steady yourself.

Step by step, you carry your barely responsive body to the special corner in the library that you haven't touched in the seven years you've lived in Purgatory. The unfamiliar, gray, tattered book catches your eye and you continue to wobble closer and closer to it. Family Studies, it should say.

Quite the ironic book to read about in a world where families are ripped apart by the government and their indecent tactics. But it's not like you have a choice. You need to get to Utopia—you've made promises...

You may be broken on the inside and out, but you won't let yourself break a promise.

Wearily, you force yourself to lift up your shaking arm to touch the book's spine. But you gasp, nearly jumping back with the little energy you have as your cold hand comes in contact with something warm.

Flesh, you finally register in your head. I've touched flesh.

Your head jerks up rather painfully, leaving your eyes struggling to adjust to the sight in front of you. A boy. A tall boy. His figure towers over you, and he frowns deeply, eyes bloodshot as he looks you up and down. In one hand he clutches a frayed brown blanket draped comfortably over his shoulders and the other stubbornly grasps the book—your book.

But you don't acquiesce, glaring at him as you tug the book closer to you. The boy glances your way tiredly, no emotion displayed on his malnourished, sculpted face. "Excuse me," he croaks, tugging the book closer to himself.

"Excuse you." Your voice comes out much raspier than you had expected, making you instantly regret opening your mouth to speak. But the desire to have the last book in your hands is far greater: "I need that." You pull the book back.

The boy scoffs—even that comes out as a dry cough that makes you flinch back just a bit. "I need it too."

You hate the parched feeling tickling the back of your throat, and you let out a little scream of frustration before instinct gets the better of you. You quickly slap the boy's hand, taking advantage of his surprise as an opportunity to snatch the book from the shelf. Once the book is safely cradled in your arms, you turn to the boy and give him the side-eye. "Well, I need it more."

With that, you attempt to hobble away with the best of your ability, but you fail when the boy grabs the back of your threadbare shirt, stopping you from moving any further. "Please."

He sounds so desperate, voice dripping with misery—something you were once so familiar with. His hands shake, grasping the fabric... You hate yourself for turning around to see his forlorn face. His eyes are full of suffering, of so much pain—that too is so familiar to you."Please..." he whispers again as his grip loosens on your shirt.

You're silent. It hurts. It physically pains you that the only human interaction you've had in months, maybe years, reminds you so much of him.

"Pleaseeee!!" Jimin drags out, a burst of giggles leaving his throat as he tugs excitedly at your arm. "Please! Let's go, let's go!"

You grumble, begrudgingly dragging your feet as Jimin pulls you towards unfamiliar territory. "I'm not hungry," you whine. "Can we just stay in the dorms?"

"We've got eight years to stay in the dorms, Y/N. Eight! Please? Just a few minutes in the cafeteria? I heard they serve actual food! Maybe if we're lucky, we'll get to snag some snacks!" Jimin exclaims, his cheeks tinged pink with elation.

"Where did you hear that from?" you mumble in protest before giving in to Jimin's persistence.

"The ones who failed," he answers lightheartedly. "I've been asking around."

"Oh."

You can't really say much more. There's nothing more to say.

The cafeteria is larger than at least ten Dystopian huts combined; there are rows and rows of rusty lunch tables and a long, metal countertop with a few baskets of bread on top. You and Jimin manage to salvage some before the rats get to it. You force yourself to ignore the angry squeaking and chattering around your bare feet.

The slices of white bread are only slightly moldy, which already makes it better than anything one can forage from your birthplace. You take each bite slowly, chewing steadily to keep the flavor on your tongue just a little while longer. But all too soon, it's gone. Though you'd denied it earlier, you are definitely hungry. Maybe even starving.

You look up to see Jimin swinging his feet back and forth, his hands grasping the side of the old bench, keeping his body balanced. He notices your eyes on him and looks at you, giving you a small smile. You smile back.

"This is already better than Dystopia, isn't it?" he says, small hand tentatively moving towards yours to encompass it. You nod your head in agreement. "We have eight years..." You nod again. "Then we'll be able to go back home."

You don't hesitate, a faint smile appearing on your lips. "Of course."

"Not dead, yet, huh?" you sigh, facing the boy next to you, scrutinizing his every movement. When he doesn't answer right away, you slam the textbook down in the middle of the table to get his attention—and to spite him, of course.

The boy scoffs as he glares at you through the tired slits of his eyes. Any sense of the weakness he had shown from practically begging you to share the book with him yesterday is gone. The feebleness might've been just an act—a sly trick to get you to help him. "Sorry but I plan on going to Utopia as well. That, we have in common," the boy bites right back. "Our only difference is that I'll actually make it there."

You blow air through your nose, prying open the previous book titled Family Studies and muttering death threats under your breath. You clear your throat before you speak again. "Yeah, right. Please shut up before I regret sharing my textbook with you."

"For your information, that's not exactly yours," the boy snorts. "It's the government's. And you've seen the shit that happens when you mess with them."

There's a sadder undertone to his voice that you pick up immediately. He sounds cocky but ruined at the same time—you would know because that's the façade that you had put up for yourself for years now. You can't stop yourself from asking the question that falls from your lips quite easily: "Why? Someone you know messed with them?"

The boy averts his eyes from you, looking down at his feet covered up in tattered shoes. "More like someone I knew." He shrugs, turning his head up so that his dark eyes pierce through yours. "But it doesn't really matter anymore."

Something stings inside. You wish you could say the same.

"It's only been a week," you giggle, watching Jimin stuff his face full of soup made of mystery miscellaneous ingredients. "Shouldn't you have gotten used to having enough food by now?"

Jimin pauses his vehement eating to give you a 'duh' look. "Silly, I'm going to store all the food now when I can. You know, before we have to go back. When's the last time Dystopia had meal times, anyway?"

"Never, of course," you laugh. The rats or some other pesky rodents chatter right along with you. But they only sound as if they are wryly laughing with you and Jimin. A bit embittered, you kick your feet in an attempt to shoo the rats away—or at least shut them up. "Too bad this place still has rats."

Jimin nods. "I've seen some of them around our food too." He makes a disgusted face. "Think about it. What if this mystery soup is made of rat droppings and piss?"

"Oh shut up. Don't be like that," you sniffle, turning up your nose in complete distaste. "That's disgusting."

"I'm only joking," Jimin chuckles, taking another spoonful of his soup, exaggerating the action and making you mock-gag in repugnance.

As annoying as he sometimes is, having Jimin around is something you always have been thankful for. It was everything to have a friend be by your side. You've seen what happens when people are left alone for too long. They go bat-shit crazy. Completely bonkers.

Being tossed back to Dystopia is inevitable; neither of you was going to stop it. Yet even just your best friend's presence is your very own incentive to wake up the next day with a hopeful smile on your lips. He matters so much to you.

"Let's have the time of our lives in Purgatory," he'd told you over and over again. So much so that you can still hear his voice today, tainted with hope and faith. "Then we can go back to Dystopia together."

You grit your teeth, catching your lip between them and biting so hard you taste blood. The strong taste of iron drives you to focus. You furrow your brows, staring at the pages of the textbook and reading thoroughly, mulling over every word in your head with careful precision. When your eyes reach the end of the page, you're just about to look up and ask the boy if he's done reading, but he's one step ahead of you.

The boy flips the page over and smiles at you smugly. You frown at him disdainfully, but without another word, you concentrate on the content once more. Until—

"Taehyung."

You sigh, reluctantly looking up at the boy. "What?"

"Taehyung. My name's Taehyung," he says. "Just thought you ought to know. There are 98 pages left in this book, so I just thought it'd be better to introduce ourselves. We'll be sitting together for a while."

You squint your eyes at him, pondering over his words. But he does make quite a good point. You suppose you and the boy—Taehyung—had gotten off on the wrong foot. Although he was kind of a cocky asshole, you guess it wouldn't hurt to at least tell him your name.

"Fine," you say, upturning your nose. "I'm Y/N."

"Cool." Taehyung grins. For a guy who's been living in unkempt conditions for several years, his teeth look pretty near to goddamn perfection. It's a little irritating if you do say so for yourself.

You're about to pick up where you last left off in the textbook when Taehyung scoots closer to you. You lean away, frowning at him as you shoot him a 'what the fuck are you doing' look.

He seems oblivious to your stone-cold glare. "Sooo, Y/N," he says. "What's making you study this hard?" he asks. "I thought I was the only crazy one here." He laughs wryly. When he sees that you're ignoring him and still reading from the damned book, he huffs and slams it shut.

"What the fuck, Taehyung," you spit out, jerking your head towards him. "Can't I study in peace?"

"Didn't anyone tell you it's rude to ignore?" he counters.

"Give me the book back."

"No." He grins, pushing the book away from you as he crosses his legs confidently, leaning back in his chair. "Answer the question. Please," he adds hastily. "C'mon. If we stay cooped up reading all day, we'll die before even getting to live in Utopia."

You let out a frustrated groan, but he's right in a way. You should take study breaks now and then—possibly to keep your sanity. "What's making me study so hard? Fine," you huff. "We all have our mad-person reasons. Happy?" But upon Taehyung's disappointed look at your vague answer, you let out a deep sigh. "And I made promises I don't want to break," you elaborate reluctantly.

"Promises?" Taehyung says. "Interesting... You look like you've been through some rough shit."

You scoff. "Me? Says you. You're Dystopian-born too, right?"

"I'm that obvious, am I?" He grins. "It's true though. I've seen bad shit in Dystopia."

"Yeah, well, I've seen the worst shit right here in Purgatory," you mutter. "So I think I win."

"Oh?"

You ignore him. "Give me back my book," you demand.

"First of all, it's not your book," Taehyung laughs. "And secondly, worst shit in Purgatory? Must be an interesting story behind that. Do tell."

"No."

Taehyung huffs as he leans back even further in his chair. "So you've lost someone you love, then."

You freeze. How did he—

Biting your lip again, you contemplate whether to answer. Finally, you let out a small, "Yeah. Two, actually."

"Damn, two?" Taehyung gawks. "Wow. Um, I'm sorry. You weren't kidding about the bad shit you've seen here."

"I really wasn't." Now you're definitely not in the mood to study. Not when Taehyung, single-handedly, in just a few minutes, reminded you of them. "It's dumb, but I use them and the promises we made together as an incentive to study. That's my mad-person reason," you confess.

Why does it feel better to tell someone else about yourself?

"That's not dumb," Taehyung offers, his eyes mirroring your own sadness in them. "It's good to have someone you love to be your incentive." He pushes the textbook back towards you. "Sorry for pestering you. You can study now if you want."

You nod curtly as you quickly open the book to the page you had left off. It seems that Taehyung does have the smallest bit of sympathy in him. You suppose he's not a completely horrible person (as you had thought before).

Sighing, you try to read through the sentences on the page, but you find yourself reading the same phrase over and over again. Damn. Your stomach flips and you begin to feel a little queasy as melancholy washes over your head. Shit. Now you really can't concentrate.

"You're, okay, right, Jiminie?" you beg, frown lines appearing on your forehead as you take both of the sick boy's hands in yours, watching his tense face relax ever-so-slightly from your soft touch.

"It's probably just something I ate. I'll be fine!" he manages to answer enthusiastically. "I'll throw it all up by tomorrow and you'll see me stronger than ever!"

He was wrong.

As the long days rolled by, he got sicker and sicker. Most of your week was spent in Jimin's room. It became a daily routine to watch him throw up whatever you suggested he eat. It became a reoccurring attempt for you to try to calm his sweltering fever. Every day you were more exhausted than the last. And so was he.

You were losing hope, but you tried not to show it. You knew he was dying, but neither of you mentioned it. You were losing your best friend and you couldn't do anything about it.

No one cared either. Everybody turned a blind eye to the ten-year-old boy suffering in overwhelming pain. They either had been preoccupied with studying or didn't want to catch whatever Jimin had. To them, Jimin, your light and life source was nothing but another body to be tossed in the graveyard at the end of the day.

And just like that, he passed away.

You can still recall the misery reflecting in his eyes, his quiet whimpers, his delusional words. You can still remember him. Quite clearly, too. He didn't know who you were the last few minutes before he blinked half-way and never woke up again. The moment you knew he was dead, you'd cried, clinging to his body and letting out the sorrow, the weakness, that you had hidden from him when he was alive.

To the ten-year-old you, his death was a mystery.

But it was leptospirosis. You know that now, after years of flipping the pages of those medical textbooks. It was a rare disease from animals, but mostly rats. Those damn rats. You wish you can kill them all.

"Those fucking rats!" Taehyung slams his fist hard on the wooden table, immediately stopping the persistent chattering of the damned rodents. "I swear to god, they're one of the worst things about Purgatory, other than the goddamn Exam itself!"

You nod in silent agreement, sighing as you play with the leftover crumbs of your breakfast. "I'd even argue that they're the worst things to ever exist. Besides the Exam."

No matter how annoyingly vocal Taehyung is about his pure hatred for rats, it feels good to have someone to talk to while eating your breakfast. You haven't had company in years.

Taehyung lets a smile loose, a boxy grin that has some sort of weird way of making you feel calm. It's impossible to believe that he's supposed to be your competition when both of you have developed a friendship over the past several days. It wasn't easy for Taehyung to befriend you—especially since you've shut out every other person in your life since... since Yoongi. But he was persistent, and you admired that about him. So slowly, very slowly, you began to open up to the boy.

You told him about Jimin, and you have to admit, it felt fucking fantastic to have someone else mourn for Jimin—to have someone else besides you who didn't ignore his death. And now you're just beginning to tell him about Yoongi upon his stubborn urging.

"You should continue," Taehyung says. "You were telling me about your preteen boyfriend?" he asks with his mouth full of bread—his words are just barely discernible and you crinkle your nose in disgust.

"Gross. Haven't you read those etiquette books? Thought they would've taught you a thing or two about not talking with your mouth full," you huff. "And don't call him my preteen boyfriend. That sounds wrong. Not to mention... it takes away so much of the meaning of my relationship with him."

"Okay, okay, sorry," Taehyung says, but chewed up bread crumbs escape his mouth and land on the metal lunch table. You make a face. "But," Taehyung continues, paying no mind to your disgust, "at the end of the day, I just wanna know if all Utopian-borns are bastards or not."

You roll your eyes. "Oh, c'mon. Do you really think I'd love a bastard?"

"Well, you're quite unpredictable, dear," Taehyung swallows his food (thankfully) before he laughs. "You thought you were going to study alone for the rest of your time here. But look at you, with me, sharing a textbook."

"You better not tell me shit like 'you didn't know love when you were ten,' Taehyung," you say as menacingly as you can. "I'm not gonna tolerate shit talk. And besides, Yoongi was definitely not a bastard. He—" you pause abruptly. "Ah, shit," you say, trying to blink away the tears that had suddenly sprung upon your eyes. Your fingers grip the hem of your shirt and you clear your throat before you continue. "He died so he didn't have to deal with bastards."

"Oh, shit," Taehyung breathes when he realizes you're close to crying. "I'm sorry... You don't have to tell me about him if it's gonna make you feel bad. I was joking about the whole Utopian-born-bastard thing anyway."

"No, I want to tell you," you say. "I need to tell someone. I can't just pent these things up inside of me, Taehyung. Don't you know? I'm using you as my personal rant-listener." You grin at him, though your tears roll down your cheeks.

Taehyung looks confused at your juxtaposition of tears and happy grin. "Okay then," he says. "If you're really sure." He frowns, tilting his head. "I just don't get the part when you said he died so he didn't have to deal with bastards. He can't choose when he dies or not—"

"Oh, yes he can," you cut him off. "Think about it," you say as more tears trip down your face. Taehyung gives you a perplexed look, his confused eyes meeting your sad ones. You sigh. "You can choose when you want to die sometimes," you whisper in a shaky voice. "Intentional death."

You've lost your appetite ever since Jimin passed away. But you come to the cafeteria every day to pay tribute to your best friend, who had announced one too many times when he was alive that the cafeteria was his favorite place in the whole world. So you sit down by yourself on the lunch tables, staring at the bread but never reaching out to take it.

Without Jimin, your world is drained of color. Life loses its meaning. There is no point. You were supposed to go back to Dystopia as adults—together. That had been your one wish. Your only wish. And now it couldn't happen. Not when Jimin's not with you anymore.

Large men in spotless white suits had dragged his limp body off of the small cot as you were begging, wailing on the side. You asked them to bury him, to give him a proper memorial. But they ignored you, pushed you away to the side. They didn't even have the decency to respect him, to cover him up with a blanket or sheet. You had to watch his clothes collect dirt and his face drag in the mud as they pulled him by the legs.

Even after they'd yelled at you, you'd watched, followed them as they flung his body into a deep pit reeking of death.

They burn the bodies in the pit every Sunday; then the week starts fresh with an empty abyss for the dead.

You want to jump in the pit after Jimin. Maybe you can conveniently dump your body in the hole a few minutes before they set fire to it—maybe you can be with Jimin that way.

It feels like a knife in your heart when you think about his last few delusional words. He'd told you fitfully, in a full sweat, that he was in so much pain, but he'd rather be in pain than die. He was afraid of death.

You aren't. You are in so much pain, you want to die, unlike him. Ten years of life is enough, you decide. Whatever is waiting for you after death has to be better than what you are living in right now.

So you plan it out. You wait until Sunday, until five minutes before they're supposed to come to burn the pit of bodies. You're going to jump in. Find Jimin. Burn to death with him. Simple.

Not so simple.

You stand exactly three feet from the pit (you measured it yourself, with your own feet), thinking it would be better to have a running start of some sort. But your feet are frozen as well as your mind is. You just can't seem to get yourself to move. You've pictured yourself jumping into the pit at least a hundred times before, so you can't help to wonder why you can't seem to do it now.

It frustrates you. Your mind tells you to run, to jump, but your legs are glued to the ground.

"Gonna jump?"

You nearly lose your balance at the sudden voice that comes from behind you. You quickly whirl around to see a lanky boy with tousled black hair. He's leaning against the exterior of the common building, staring at you with cold, judgmental eyes. He's taller, bigger than you, so you discern that he must be one of those older kids. You scowl at him. "And what if I did jump?" you retort.

"Wouldn't recommend it, kid," the boy says. He laughs coldly. "First of all, they're not going to burn that shit for several hours. Do you really want to lay around rotting bodies before you die?"

"What if I don't care?" you answer defiantly, crossing your arms.

"What are you? Dumb?" The boy scoffs, leaving his place against the wall and starting to walk towards you as he casually stuffs his hands into his pants pockets. "Get out of here," he says menacingly, eyes narrowing and mouth set stern. "And don't come back."

You admit you're slightly scared, but you don't back down. "No." You glare. "I don't want to."

The boy laughs, shrugging. "It's always the dumb Dystopian-borns. You can't be more than ten-years-old. What's got you so suicidal, huh?"

You narrow your eyes. "I'm not dumb!"

"Hm... Prove it... idiot."

You fume, face turning bright red as you stomp your feet. "Shut up! Leave me alone!"

The boy laughs. "I will if you get out of my sight."

Angry tears slip from your eyes as you grip your fists tight. "I don't want to! I-I want to die! My best friend's down there. And I'm going to be with him!" you yell as snot runs down your nose and your cheeks are wet with hot tears. You feel pathetic. But you need to get your point across to this mean, older boy who isn't leaving you alone. "You can't make me leave!"

There's an uncomfortable silence that follows, yet you stand your ground and glare at him. But to your surprise, the boy lets out a small sigh and begins to walk up to you. He crouches down to your level and he wipes your tears (and embarrassingly a bit of your snot) with the sleeve of his frayed (but obviously high-end) sweater. "It's okay kid," he says. Before you know it, he's pulling you into a tight hug. "Stop crying, hm? It'll be all right, kid."

Nobody's ever hugged you like that before. Not even Jimin—because he knows how much you don't like physical affection. But you needed his hug; it was long overdue.

You hiccup, crying out the rest of your tears as the boy holds you into his arms. It takes you a few minutes to calm down, and when you finally pull away from the boy, you notice that your shirt is slightly wet as well. And not from your tears, but from his. You look up to see the boy's back turned on you, hiding his face from your view.

"Let's go get something to eat, kid," he says, and you can hear just the hint of tears behind his voice. And when he sniffles, it confirms everything.

Cocking your head in curiosity, you begin to follow him—

"Wait, wait!" Taehyung interrupts. "Before you go on any further, you need to address the elephant in the room, Y/N. Why the fuck is he crying?"

"Yeah, well, I didn't know then either," you say. "It's complicated. I mean, I only found out the reason way later. If you'd just let me continue—"

"Oh, sorry. Continue, then."

"Yes, thank you—"

"Wait, lemme interrupt just one more time," Taehyung interjects again. "Just one last question." You groan, but you nod, telling him you're all ears. "Exactly how much older is he than you?"

You sigh. "He was three years older."

Taehyung sucks in a deep breath. "Right... He's, uh, dead. But damn. You were into a Utopian-born that was older? You really broke all the boundaries."

You shrug. "I guess I always didn't really give a fuck about societal norms or whatever the shit people call it."

"And yet you're conforming to the largest societal norm in Atna by studying for the Exam," Taehyung points out. "Times have changed."

You smile sadly, shaking your head. "I'm only doing this for Yoongi. He made me promise... So, here I am, trying to fulfill his wishes. Will you let me continue now?"

"Yeah, yeah."

"Anyways..."

Yoongi watches you devour the bread, but you're too hungry to care about his incessant staring.

"You should slow down," he says. "We don't want you to choke to death or anything—" he pauses, eyes turning wide before he mutters a "Shit, I gave her a fucking idea."

"I heard that," you say.

Yoongi visibly pales.

"It's okay," you assure him, setting down a loaf of bread to stare right back at the boy. "I feel better now. I don't think I've eaten for days."

"Damn," Yoongi mutters under his breath. "What kind of best friend was he for you to be this distraught over his death?"

"Distraught?" you say, blinking blankly at him.

He sighs, "Right, right, you're only ten. Distraught means sad. Upset. Depressed. All those fun words."

"Oh," you murmur. "Jimin was everything to me," you say shyly. "He promised me that we were going to go back to Dystopia! Then we could share a house and live together as adults..." you trail off, losing yourself in the figments of your wildest imaginations. "We were supposed to have so much fun in Purgatory..."

Yoongi cocks his head. "Kid, I think you liked him."

You frown at this strange comment, crinkling your nose. "Of course I liked him, he was my best friend."

"No, kid. You like liked him. Maybe you loved him. I don't know," Yoongi says, shrugging. "Think about it. Wait no, don't. Forget about him. Don't make yourself sad. Talk to me. What do you wanna do? Wanna go to my room? I have some stuff back from home there. You can play with them if you want."

You squint your eyes at the boy, staring at him suspiciously. "Why are you trying to be nice...?"

"Nice?" Yoongi scoffs. "I'm just, uh, I'm just trying to get rid of stuff that I don't need anymore. I'm definitely not being nice. So you better follow me 'cause I don't want a lot of things."

You don't buy his lie, but maybe that's a good thing. In your eyes, this boy is, indeed, nice and he's trying to help you take your mind off of Jimin. He even prevented you from leaping off the ledge and falling to your own death. You hope he sticks around.

And stick around he did.

Yoongi is bossy, straight-forward and frankly rude sometimes, things that Jimin totally wasn't. But he is also generous, thoughtful and emotional (on a good day), and that's all you needed to stick by his side.

He is so generous that in the first week that you met him, he gave you nearly a closet-worth's supply of thick sweaters and jackets for the upcoming winter. In that same way, he is thoughtful. You took the clothes gratefully, never once having held such expensive material before in your life.

On late nights when you slept over in his room, he always asked if you could tell him stories of your childhood. And you'd gladly oblige. That's when he got emotional. Though you never see him cry, you always hear it when you tell your stories. Yoongi tries to hide his emotions to the best of his ability, but frankly, he's a loud crier, so you hear him every time. But you let him think he's good at hiding his tears for the sake that he's your friend.

One day, though, you come down with some sort of throat sickness, and Yoongi practically orders you not to speak for the next 24 hours. He had his own medicine cabinet in which his rich parents gifted him before their only son was shipped off to Purgatory from their grand mansion. So you were getting the best treatment anyone in Purgatory could get.

Yoongi even offered to tell you stories that night. To repay you for being an amazing storyteller.

"I've always wanted to hear about Utopia," you croak despite having a painful burn in your throat. "I hate that place. But I want to know more about it."

"Stop talking so much," Yoongi sighs. "Do you want to get better or not?" When you're silent, (having passed his rhetorical question test in which the correct answer was to stay quiet) he smiles to himself and continues. "I hate Utopia too. It's not as great as it seems. You know that every Utopian-born is a slave to education? I think the moment I was born, I got tossed in tutoring. From six in the morning to eleven at night I was tutored. Seven days a week, no breaks. It's probably illegal, but my parents had a lot of copies of the books in the library in Purgatory. They made me get a head start on everything. After a while, you start to think about what the whole point of education is...

"My parents always told me that I was only suffering in my younger years—that I'd only have to suffer until I'm eighteen and if I scored well on the Exam, I'd be able to come back home safely and have the time of my life in Utopia. But I just didn't want to become a slave to education," Yoongi says. "I was sick of it. Sure, I'm privileged. Sure, I had everything I wanted growing up, but I didn't have one thing you Dystopians have—freedom.

"When you're studying all day every day, you don't get a lot of chances to make friends," Yoongi says. "I grew up with adults breathing down my neck and telling me to memorize useless facts. That was the closest thing to friends I ever got. I'm not sure if every Utopian-born is forced to live like this, but I can damn well infer it. Anyways, my parents aren't here now, so I can do whatever the fuck I want."

You laugh. "You don't want to go back home?" you say in your sick, gravelly voice

"I'm just tired, Y/N. I'm tired of everything," Yoongi exhales. "You'll understand when you're older."

"You're only three years older than me, though," you pout. "Do three years change that much?"

"Yes," Yoongi replies as a matter-of-fact-way. "I don't even want to take this stupid fucking test. But I also don't want to rot in Dystopia—no offense. I know I won't last there."

"Yeah, you won't last," you tell him with a giggle.

He huffs. "That's real comforting, Y/N."

"I know," you rasp. "Please tell me about Utopia, now. Are the skies really that blue? And does everyone have a pool? What do you eat there? Do you get your own room??" The last question throws you in a coughing fit, and Yoongi looks at you worriedly. He waits until you stop before he continues.

"It was always blue outside, yeah," he says, slowly, carefully as if he was taking his time to form his words to match his visualizations. "Sometimes we had scheduled rainy days for the private gardens and stuff," he says nostalgically. "I think I had about three pools in my home in Utopia, but I’m not sure if other families had them too. You know, I didn't get around much. Always stuck inside and studying." He sighs. "At least the food there was good. Way better than the crap we're forced to eat here. Barbecue ribs with generous amounts of sauce, slow-cooked potatoes in a bonfire, roasted lamb chops, fresh fruits and vegetables picked up from the nearby food-growing facilities... Caviar, licorice, cotton candy, chocolate, cakes, pudding... And if I ever ate bread, it was with fresh strawberry jam and smooth almond butter."

You don't understand half of the stuff he's saying, but whatever it is, it sounds delicious.

"I could talk about the great food there forever," Yoongi says. "The only thing I miss about Utopia is the food... It's really lonely there. I had my sleeping chamber, my pool room and my study room, but I was always in there alone. Whatever. Do you want to hear more?"

You nod. "Yoongi?"

"Yeah?"

"You cried when I first met you. Why?"

Yoongi visibly stiffens. Knowing him you expect Yoongi to wave off your question or ignore you altogether, but to your surprise, he doesn't.

"You made me feel bad," he confesses bluntly.

"Me??"

"It was just so strange for me to see someone else get upset over a friend..." he trails off. "You were going to die for him. You were going to leap into a pit because you loved your friend that much. You couldn't bear to think of a life without him. So you were going to die with him. And that just..."

"It was stupid, I know," you pout. "You don't have to say it again."

"It was stupid, yeah," Yoongi agrees. "And I'm saying it again because I can. But at the same time, it hurt me. You know, I made up my mind to jump that day too."

"You did??"

"Yeah and imagine my surprise and annoyance when I see some ten-year-old Dystopian-born in my way," Yoongi sniffles. "Pissed me off."

You huff. "Well—"

"And I was still pissed off at you until you told me you were going to do it to be with your friend," Yoongi says. "Do you know why I was going to do it?" You shake your head no. "Because I'm selfish and I didn't like my life and I didn't want to continue living in this hellhole by myself. Because I wanted to give up. And also because I didn't have a purpose to wake up to another day, but that's just one part of a plethora of other reasons. They were all selfish. It made me just... feel something when I saw you. And you were just willing to die for someone who wasn't yourself. Even though that's fucking stupid, it made me realize how I've never really lived before. And maybe you were the key to my first friendship? I don't know."

"Wow," you mutter.

"Is that all you have to say?"

"Yes, well, no? My throat's hurting again, Yoongi," you whine. "You told me to stop talking minutes ago."

"Oh, well, in that case, just go to sleep," he says. "You'll feel better in the morning."

"Thanks," you whisper against your cotton pillow. You snuggle in your cot below Yoongi's bed and let out a small sigh. "You're not that selfish, Yoongi," you say.

And you mean it. Yoongi's shown you nothing but generosity. He's shown you that he's caring when he tries to be. Even though he's unbelievably bossy sometimes, he does it for your own good. His quiet demeanor is a façade to the overwhelming emotions inside, and you can see right through it.

Yoongi doesn't answer for the longest time, so you wrap your arms arm yourself to preserve warmth and fall asleep. You wake up the next morning with an extra layer of blanket on top of you.

Taehyung begins to tap his feet on the ground restlessly, consequently making your chair shake underneath you. You try to ignore it for minutes, but the constant shaking is making it hard for you to concentrate on the textbook sitting between the two of you.

"Taehyung," you say.

"Hm?" he asks, his eyes boring into the pages of the book. "What?"

"Can you stop?"

"Stop what?"

"You're shaking my chair."

"Oh," Taehyung says. He finally looks up from his reading and makes eye contact with you. "Sorry," he apologizes hastily. "I didn't mean to do it... I just got nervous. This book is just... It's weird. I mean, when was the last time we put emphasis on family?"

"Never, of course," you say. "I barely even remember what my parents look like."

"Really?" Taehyung's eyes are large as he stares you down with curiosity mixed with just the slightest bit of pity. "Do you miss them?"

"No."

"What? Really?" Taehyung gasps. "You really don't care at all?"

"They're not prominent figures in my life," you say. "It was always Jimin. And then when Jimin died, it was Yoongi..." you trail off. "I do regret not being close to my family. I don't think I said goodbye when I had to leave to Purgatory."

"God, well, that's harsh."

"I know. What about you? Were you close with your family?"

"Oh, very," Taehyung replies. "I had three older brothers and one younger sister. My sister and two brothers didn't make it out in the world. So in theory I only had one older sibling."

"I'm sorry," you say.

"It's fine. It was in Dystopia. Too many people die so the deaths start to become irrelevant," Taehyung shrugs. "I miss them, though. My brother's dead now, but I miss my parents."

"Dead?"

"He tried to start a revolt in Purgatory eleven years ago," Taehyung says. He frowns, shaking his head in disbelief. "I didn't think he was that dumb to actually go through with the rebellion. It was a man-slaughter, by the way. Everyone in his year was killed."

"Everyone?" you say. "Even to me, that sounds severe."

"Yeah, well, it was easier for them. Assumed that everyone in that year was a rebel. And rebels deserve to die, apparently," Taehyung says. He grits his teeth, fisting his hands in slow-coming anger. "You do know why they have the fucking Exam, right?"

"To choose which people are worthy of being in Utopia?"

"That's part of the reason," Taehyung says. He leans into you so suddenly that you gasp quietly. "The government does it to weed out the feeble-minded ones. Haven't you heard rumors? In a few years, they might just exterminate Dystopia and Purgatory altogether. There aren't enough resources to keep everyone alive," he whispers with urgency, and you can feel his hot breath on your cheeks. "So they're trying to grow a stable society with highly intelligent individuals. They want to get rid of the excess. The unworthy. They do it by hosting the Exam."

He looks satisfied at your rather shocked face and decides to give you some space, leaning away and taking away the warmth on your face.

"They're going to get rid of Dystopia?" you whisper. "And Purgatory? That's not fair to the people living there. They're gonna close off Utopia forever? That's bullshit."

"It's rumored." Taehyung shrugs.

"Is that why you're studying so hard to go?" you say, cocking a curious brow at him. "To avenge your brother?"

"Maybe," Taehyung grins. "I mean, I'll see what I can do."

"You shouldn't," you tell him with a frown. "They're gonna kill our whole year because of you."

Taehyung raises an eyebrow at you. "You know what they're doing is wrong," he says. "Don't you want to right the wrong?"

"No," you say. "I don't. I'm not going to risk my life or any other lives to fix this stupid system. The only fool-proof way to beat them is to beat the Exam—by that, I mean get a perfect score. Think about it. It's a huge middle finger to the government. Imagine if only one person out of hundreds gets to go to Utopia for scoring the highest, and, you know, assuming that only one person gets a perfect score because it's that unheard of. If that keeps up year after year, Utopia will die. They'll be underpopulated. The government will realize the system is flawed with time."

"That would take years and years. And a lot of assumptions to make," Taehyung scoffs. "You're talking about one person from every fucking year having the will and intelligence to score perfectly. Statistically impossible."

"So what?" you say. "You think a bloody revolution will solve everything?"

"A bloody revolution would obviously take less time than what you're thinking of," Taehyung says. "There are people fucking dying out there. There are people eating dead bodies. One bloody revolt can do a lot for the future."

"It won't do a lot for the present, though," you argue.

Taehyung sighs. "You know what? I'm sorry we even fucking got into this damned conversation. Whatever. Let's just finish up the book."

You clench your teeth but you don't say anything, merely nodding to show your agreement.

For the next thirteen hours, it is completely silent. After the small argument, neither you nor Taehyung feels the need to speak to the other. There is obvious tension and awkwardness between the two of you—like it had been in the beginning. You try to ignore it, immersing yourself into the contents of family studies, no matter how tedious you found it. Night rolls around and both of you end up skipping dinner.

Breakfast the next day is skipped as well.

By the time lunch comes, you and Taehyung have finished reading and reviewing the last book in the whole library. He slams the textbook shut and slides it across the table. The sound isn't as jarring as you expect it to be. So you just blink your dry eyes and try to steady yourself to prepare to stand up from your seat. Maybe you should leave Taehyung alone for a while... Maybe he doesn't want to talk to you anymore. And maybe you shouldn't hang around him... He could get you killed. He could rope you around in his master plan that his older brother had left with loose ends. You don't want to die; you don't even want to think of the possibility of death.

The only way you can beat the goddamn Exam is to be the only person to score 100 percent. And you're going to accomplish that. For years you've set your mind on this one single goal. Sacrificed food, water and sleep for it. You're not going to let it slip from your hands this easily—not when you're this close to it.

You wobble away from the chair, never looking back at Taehyung as you try to walk away from the table.

"Wait."

His tired voice echoes in the nearly empty library and it rings in your ears. You stop walking but you don't turn around.

"What, Taehyung?" you say through gritted teeth. Though you try to hide the slight waver in your voice that would indicate your exhaustiveness, it shows quite obviously.

"Let's grab lunch together. Please," he says—no, pleads.

God, he must know how much that word affects me. He knows about Jimin, so it probably wasn't so hard to use that knowledge to his own advantage.

After contemplating for what seemed like minutes, you finally turn around to face Taehyung. It surprises you when you meet his eyes almost immediately.

"You didn't finish telling me about Yoongi," he says. "I hate cliffhangers."

It occurs to you that both of you are too proud to apologize over an argument; in fact, this was Taehyung's way of apologizing to you without uttering the words, 'I'm sorry.' Your apology would be something similar.

You nod. "C'mon," you say. "Let's go to the cafeteria."

For two whole years, you were the happiest you've ever been with Yoongi. He made you almost forget about Jimin, but you made sure you honored your dead best friend by visiting the pit every now and then. It had been the last place you'd seen him.

Yoongi likes to come with you when you go to the pit. He's been getting anxious these days when you're not by his side.

Actually, you notice that he's been acting a bit strange. In the past few months, he began lecturing you about famous inventors and world leaders. He taught you the locations and capitals of countries you didn't know existed. He's been telling you the events of history as if he'd lived through them himself. The most annoying part was when he tried to make a damn math problem out of everything.

You only assumed that the pent-up knowledge inside his head was finally getting to him and he had to let it out to someone before he exploded. So you went along with it. And you suppose that sometimes, the lessons Yoongi taught you were enjoyable.

Until it got to the point that he began to quiz you on the material you learned from him.

You groan, eyes fluttering open to greet the morning sunlight that floods through the faded curtains in Yoongi's room. You had a rough night with a bad dream. You've never been this glad to finally wake up from your sleep.

Aside from the sunlight, you're also greeted by Yoongi's loud voice the moment he catches you awake. "Capital of Senegal?" he demands, pointing at you as if you had just committed a crime.

You squint your eyes at him, frowning as you stifle a yawn. You're still cranky from having a bad dream (that you can't remember now that you've woken up), so without so much of the slightest blink of an eye, you tell him to "Please, stop."

Yoongi snorts. "No, seriously," he says. "What's the capital of Senegal?"

"I dunno," you lie even though there's no way in hell that you don't know at this point in time because Yoongi's been making you memorize the world capitals for weeks now. But frustration starts to bubble up inside of you. You thought Yoongi would know a thing or two about maintaining personal space. Making you answer stupid geography questions the moment you wake up for six days in a row was downright mean and he deserves to hear a mouthful from you. "Yoongi what the hell is up with you?" you huff. "What does the capital of Senegal have to do with anything??"

"It's Dakar!" Yoongi yells, throwing up his hands. "Fucking Dakar, Y/N! Is that so hard to remember?"

"Why does it even matter?!" you yell back at him.

"I'm trying to help you!" Yoongi shouts. "I'm helping you learn, goddammit!"

"Why would I have to learn??" you say absolutely confused out of your mind. "You know how much you hated being stuck in tutoring. Well, I hate it too!"

"Oh, shit," Yoongi curses, collapsing on his bed with his hands buried in his face. He realizes that you'd just made an extremely valid point, and it puts him to shame. "I was just trying to help..."

"What? Help me pass the Exam?" you snort half-jokingly. "Yoongi, I want to go back to my home, Dystopia, with you."

"No, Y/N," Yoongi says. "I'm not going to Dystopia."

"Then wha—"

"I've been thinking, Y/N," Yoongi cuts you off, patting the spot next to him for you to sit. You do, rubbing your eyes and trying to tame your bed hair as you wait for him to continue. "I've been thinking a lot..." Yoongi says, "about the future. I've thought about every scenario in my head, and I don't think I'll ever be content."

"Aren't you happy with me, here?" you say. "I thought we were having fun..."

"Sooner or later, Y/N, I'll have to take the Exam," Yoongi says. "I'll fail, as expected. I'll be tossed into Dystopia and I'll have to wait until you come back home. But I'll most likely die in less than a year so you'll never actually get to see me again."

"Don't say that!" you shriek. "Don't even—"

"I'm obviously not going to make it in Dystopia. I was born with a silver spoon in my mouth and waking up in this dingy room in Purgatory every day disgusts me. Think about how horrible it'd be for me in Dystopia when I can't even stand it here. Then the only solution left is for me to go back to Utopia," Yoongi explains. "And that's not going to happen because I don't intend on learning new material anymore. I'm not a scholar. Was forced to be, but never wanted to be. I give up."

"You're giving up??"

"I'm giving up."

"But Yoongi..." you breathe but no further words come out of your mouth. You don't want to put words in his mouth, but you're scared of what he's thinking of doing to himself in the future. Yet you don't have the guts to ask him about his plan out loud.

"I know, Y/N," Yoongi sighs. "But I'm not bringing you down with me."

"What??"

"You're going to Utopia, Y/N," Yoongi says. He's so nonchalant with an atrocious statement that you wonder if he has a concussion. But when he's staring at you so intently, you realize with a heavy heart that he's dead serious.

"It's too late, Yoongi," you protest. "I would never beat the Utopian-borns... I'm already two years behind the game, and if you factor in the time the Utopian-borns have studied, I'm twelve years behind!"

"It's not too late," he argues. "Think about it. Utopian-borns like me—unless they're batshit crazy—aren't trying as hard anymore. Their parents aren't there to supervise them, and they're probably insanely cocky about how much they already know."

"What's your point?"

"You can easily beat them with willpower," Yoongi says. "And I already tried teaching you some stuff that I remembered too—whether you were paying attention is solely on you, though."

You huff. "I was paying attention," you say. "And that's impossible. I'm not a genius, Yoongi. Intelligence is genetic. You told me so yourself."

"I did," Yoongi admits, "but it doesn't matter how innately intelligent you are. What really matters is willpower. And I have none. But you have a lot. I'm just saying, Y/N. Utopia... it's not really a life for me. I don't really give a shit about education and being intelligent. I don't really give a shit about anything. But I think Utopia is a life for you. It's a life you deserve."

"I can't just accept what you're telling me, Yoongi," you say.

"Yes you can," he says. "I want to leave soon, you know. I don't want to distract you from your studies... And besides, Purgatory's food fucking sucks. I bet they have better food in the afterlife."

The afterlife. It's then when it truly dawns on you of the atrocity that your friend would commit to himself.

"You can't just kill yourself," you scoff, twisting your body towards Yoongi in complete bewilderment. "What about me? I never agreed to any of this!"

"You've wanted to go to Utopia the moment I started to tell you about it," Yoongi says. "You think I wouldn't know? I'm helping you get there."

"But I don't want to be alone!" You sniffle, chin pointing to the ceiling so the tears that are starting to well in your eyes dry away. But it's no use. The more you think about being abandoned again, another person you genuinely cared for leaving you into the afterlife... it makes you feel broken.

"Well, I don't really want to live," Yoongi says. "We're all selfish. It's human nature."

"I thought you cared about me!" Your voice rises two octaves. "We were supposed to spend the rest of your time in Purgatory together! You can't just leave early because you feel like it! What am I going to do without you??" You're sobbing now, the tears running down your face in fat droplets that blur your vision.

"Hey..." Yoongi murmurs. "Y/N..." He gives you some space to cry, to let out the worst of your emotions. Then he encompasses you in a warm hug in which your face is up against the soft material of his sweater and he pats your back comfortably. "You'll get over me."

"I won't," you whimper. "That's a promise."

"C'mon don't waste a precious promise on that," he whispers.

"I will so waste a stupid precious promise on that," you whisper back. You hate him for doing this to you. For telling you that he was going to leave you so you knew what was coming—now you were dreading the moment he was going to abandon you instead of relishing in his presence, his embrace, his warmth.

For hours, the two of you bask in complete silence. You've calmed yourself down to the point that the tears roll down your face sporadically, but not in steady streams anymore. Yoongi runs his fingers through your hair, an act that he only does to ensure you that everything will be all right. It's rare that the two of you are ever this close in proximity, and you want to cherish this moment before he's gone. But curiosity pulls at the strings inside you and you just have to ask—

"W-When are you going to do it?"

"Hm?"

"When are you going to commit suicide?"

"I'm not going to tell you."

You pull away from Yoongi, scowling at him. "Why not?"

"You'll try to put a stop to it," he says. "I need to get through with this, Y/N. You can't change my mind."

"I want to say I hate you, but now I feel like I need to be nice to you," you confess, running a hand through your hair in confusion.

Yoongi smiles, shaking his head. "Act normally." He hesitantly reaches out for your hand, and when you give it to him, he holds it perfectly—not too tightly nor not too loosely. "Just promise me one thing." When you don't answer, he turns to you, squeezing your intertwined hands for emphasis. "Get to the top for me, will you?"

"I can't promise tha—"

"And please don't frown when you study. You're gonna get a permanent crease on your forehead."

"Fuck, Y/N," Taehyung chokes, blinking away a tear that was starting to become too heavy for his eyes. "That's it? You let him just... leave you like that?"

"I feel like I should've put up a bigger fight too," you admit, playing with what's left of the bread crumbs on the lunch table. "I should've helped him. Nursed him back into a healthy mental state. But what did I know? I was fucking twelve then. I didn't know shit about mental health or psychology."

"You know now at least," Taehyung offers.

"I'd rather not know," you say. "Now that I know that I could've helped him... it just feels worse." You let out a deep sigh that takes the heavy weight off of your chest. "He overdosed about four days later. They found him before I did... And since then, I've been alone, studying my ass off."

"I can't help but admire your determination," Taehyung says. "You honestly can't beat human willpower. Yoongi's right."

You smile, shrugging nonchalantly. "I just want to keep my promise with him... And maybe I want to live in glory for the rest of my life, but who am I to blame? Everybody wants that life."

"Everybody deserves that life," Taehyung says. "No one should have to go through near-death experiences to get to it."

"Life's never fair," you say. "Deal with it."

Taehyung snorts. "I know. I'm trying." He pauses, placing a pensive hand on his chin and looking off into the distance as if he were thinking hard about something. "Hey, you know, the best way to retain information is to repeat it out loud or teach it to others."

"That's exactly what Yoongi made me do," you say. "All those random quiz questions throughout the day... I didn't appreciate it then, but I'd sure appreciate it now."

"Then we can be study buddies," Taehyung declares. "We'll quiz each other. We have about a year left before the Exam. We'll review every concept in the whole damn library together. Two heads work better than one!"

"Aren't we supposed to be competitors?" you say. "I'm looking to get a perfect score, Taehyung," you grin. "If you can't keep up with my rigorous schedule, you shouldn't even be proposing this plan to me."

"Oh yeah?" Taehyung cocks an eyebrow as he grins right back at you, revealing his perfect teeth and boxy smile. "Bring it on, Y/N."

Bring it on? Oh, you'll bring it on, all right. Taehyung won't even know what hit him.

Having someone else to study with you doubles your competitiveness, which is a feat in it of itself because you are definitely more competitive than at least one hundred of your peers combined.

Every day, you've been trying to wake up earlier than Taehyung to get to the library first. The only problem is, he's been doing the same as well. You thought you had him beat when you sauntered into the library at 4 a.m. feeling quite refreshed after an hour night's sleep, but it turned out that Taehyung never even left the library. He'd grinned at you, practically staring into your soul with bloodshot eyes and croaking, "I win!" so victoriously that you really had to accept his triumph over you.

But when the two of you start to play a little game of who-can-stay-awake-for-longer, Taehyung has to put a stop to the madness when you start to mumble jumbled sentences in Latin after he asks if you need some water.

You and Taehyung look out for each other almost by habit at this point. It's become a routine for you to wake the other up if you were the first to awake. Now morning trips to the library are done together, and you have to admit it feels much better to be able to walk side by side next to someone who is willing to babble his head off to wake you up a bit more.

Dinner is skipped Mondays through Fridays to make extra time for review. On Saturdays, you and Taehyung indulge in the full three meals that Purgatory has to offer while also finishing up your studies. But Sunday, Sunday is the holy grail of the week. No studying, no library, just you and Taehyung taking some time off (for once).

Surprisingly, you'd come up with Special Sundays, after Taehyung had a huge mental breakdown over plumb-forgetting how to graph polar curves on one typical Saturday night. And the special day has stayed since. Neither of you wants to get rid of something that is the only non-study related activity of the week.

Most Special Sundays are spent in either Taehyung's room or your room. Taehyung prefers your room because you have extra blankets that Yoongi left for you, and as winter comes by, any additional coverage is very much appreciated.

This Sunday, however, you managed to convince Taehyung to hang out in his room—only because his mattress is softer than yours and you've been getting bad back and neck pains these days.

"By the time I'm twenty, I'll be suffering from a fucking herniated disc," you tell Taehyung as you groan, shifting your position on his bed for what seems like the hundredth time. "I feel so fucking stuffy. Like I need to crack my back but I can't. Don't even get me started on my fucking neck."

"By the time you're twenty, you'll be in Utopia and the special doctors will be all over you to treat Atna's very own princess," Taehyung snorts. "They'd do anything to keep the perfect scoring girl alive and well."

"Princess my ass," you laugh. "I'd like to wish. How's the cot, by the way? Kinda feel bad about making you sleep there while I take your bed."

Taehyung shrugs. "I don't mind. I honestly don't even feel a difference," he says without skipping a beat. "And we don't want your back messing up your chances. On the day of the Exam, it'd be worse to have your body betray you than your mind."

"I'd literally fucking cry if my stupid back is still like this before the Exam, Taehyung," you say. "All these years I spent with my nose buried in a book... Only to fail because my body couldn't handle it."

"That's the worst," Taehyung sighs. "But if you stretch every day, it might get better. Honestly, we need to start taking care of ourselves better. We need to reserve time to rest... to take our minds off of studying. Even if it's only one day per week."

"Yeah," you agree. "You know what's fucking sad though? We're still talking about the stupid Exam even now. It never escapes our heads."

"We're slaves to the system," Taehyung bitterly murmurs. "What do you expect?"

"That's true," you say, wincing as you try to shift your position on the bed again. "I don't expect much at this point. Not from the people who've turned the library into a battlefield and the students into soldiers."

"The Exam is the war," Taehyung says. "Losing the war means death, mostly. I see no difference."

"We are so depressing," you sigh. "But it's all true."

"I know," Taehyung says. He turns over on his side to look up at you on his bed. "You ever think about the worst-case scenario?"

"You mean like... we don't make it to Utopia?"

"We?" Taehyung smiles. "So you think we'd get perfect scores together? What happened to being competitors?"

"Oh, shut up," you snort. "We're a team. I thought it was obvious. And I am not talking about not making it to Utopia. We are not going to self-sabotage months before the fucking Exam."

"You're just going to ignore the chances? You're going to ignore the chance of failure?"

"Yes!" you say, turning on your side to face Taehyung. "Of course I am. Do you really want to lie here talking about failure? We shouldn't even plant the thought of that in our heads right now. It's all about victory. We're the smartest, most capable people in our year, so if we don't get to Utopia, no one will. Understand?"

Taehyung belts out a laugh that has you frowning. "Your confidence deserves a gold medal sometimes," he says. "I do understand you..." he continues, "but only to a certain extent."

You scoff, "Oh, come on, Taehyung. What happened to the cocky bastard I met months ago??"

"That was such a mask behind the real me, Y/N," Taehyung laughs. "I thought you knew that by now. I'm fucking terrified of failure and even the slightest thought about failing makes me want to crawl in a hole and just... vanish."

"I swear to god, Tae, if you talk about vanishing like that again, I'll seriously make you want to vanish," you threaten him with the most menacing voice you can muster up. "We're already victors to this stupid game, winners of the war. Don't you dare think otherwise."

Taehyung smiles, eyes twinkling when he realizes you'd called him by his special nickname (that he kept trying to get you to call him) for the first time. "I'll try not to," he says. "But I'm not making any promises."

"Well, that's still good enough for me."

Four months until the Exam.

You're both physically (your back pains are gone) and mentally (you've always been) ready. But your friend is another story. As more days pass, the more anxious Taehyung begins to feel. He's never able to sleep, so he steals a couple of library books back to his room every night to read while everyone else is salvaging every hour of shut-eye they can get.

His insecurities are catching up to him. And you've always been quite loud-mouthed and confident, so you don't understand him very well. Yet, you're a team, and you do not leave team members stranded.

Motivational pep talks are not really your thing, but they have become your thing these past few days. You walk Taehyung to his room from the library every night, telling him that he had nothing to worry about—that he was going to do superbly well on the Exam. Sometimes, you feel like you're repeating the same phrase over and over again to him, but Taehyung reassures you that whatever you say helps him calm down.

But the mental breakdowns are becoming more and more frequent. Taehyung can't seem to sit still for ten minutes without starting to shake his leg and vibrate the whole table. He has to stop reviewing the Exam material to catch his breath, wipe away his tears and relax the tensed muscles on his face.

You let him take his time. You're always there for him to lean on, to help him catch up on the study time that he missed. And he's forever grateful to you.

"I don't think anyone's been this understanding of me," Taehyung sniffles as you pat his back comfortingly as he blows his nose on a scratchy napkin you handed him before. "Back home, my brother used to tell me to man up when I started to have my panic attacks. He was always the mentally stronger one of us."

"That wasn't very nice of him to say that," you remark. "It's normal to feel uneasy, especially at a time like this. The Exam is four months away... Not too close but not too far either..."

"God. I wish I wasn't so anxious all the time," Taehyung sighs, crumpling up his tissue and pocketing it. "I wish I was like you. Not afraid of losing... Not afraid of failing... Just so confident all the time."

"You can be like me," you say. "Just stop worrying so much."

"Easier said than done," Taehyung scoffs. "You're going to Utopia for sure. There's literally no doubt, Y/N."

"You're coming with me," you argue. "Not to avenge your brother's death or whatever. But just to enjoy the wealthy living since we both deserve it at this point."

"I'm not a charismatic leader," Taehyung shrugs. "I would've never been able to help start a revolt like him. I'd really like to go with you to Utopia... If we both got in, do you think we'd keep in touch?"

"Of course!" you exclaim. "We kept each other company in the loneliest of times. Have you seen anyone else in our year who's serious about taking the Exam making friends now? Everyone's too busy thinking about competition."

"What did I say?" Taehyung grins. "Teamwork works, and two heads are definitely better than one."

"Very true," you smile. "Remember when we fought for that book? The very first time we met?"

"How could I forget?" Taehyung laughs. "I thought you were going to murder me with that look of yours, honestly."

"Oh, wow. I'm not that scary, am I?"

"Oh, yes you are," Taehyung argues. "Do you know how hard it was for me to literally act tough in front of you in the beginning? So you wouldn't take me as some kind of wimp?"

"You acted tough for me?" you giggle, resting your hand on your cheek as your elbow sits on the table. You stare at Taehyung with an amused look on your face. "So you're just actually a big ol' softie?"

"W-Well, I wouldn't call myself a softie per se," Taehyung blushes. "I'm just uh..." he trails off. "Damn, Y/N. You put me under the spotlight."

You shrug, grinning as you watch Taehyung squirm under your intense gaze. Maybe you're a little mean, but making him blush is pretty funny. Teasing him is even funnier.

"It wouldn't be the first time. And definitely not the last," you say with a mischievous grin playing on your lips. Taehyung huffs, but his face looks much more relaxed than it had been several minutes ago—even the redness of his eyes are slowly fading away. He looks much better. He looks ready. "Hey, wanna go back to where we left off now?" you say. "If you're feeling better?"

"Yeah, sure," Taehyung smiles. "Thanks."

Goddamn. His smile is insanely contagious. It must be those perfect teeth and that boxy smile.

"No problem," you manage to murmur, feeling yourself start to blush thinking of Taehyung's immaculate smile. "Um," you hesitate, "yeah, so as I was saying before about Einstein's theory of relativity..."

Three months.

Something fishy is going on here. The closer the Exam looms over your head, the more you expected yourself to become miserable—stressed about the last-minute study material you could've forgotten over the years. Yet you find yourself rather relaxed.

It occurs to you, however, that you're only this relaxed because you have to be—for Taehyung. One of the two of you has to show strength to help the other. Pretending to be so strong-headed and confident (even when you fell into the familiar pit of self-doubt), helped you actually become confident in your knowledge and predestined success. There's really nothing to worry about, you tell yourself and Taehyung. If it's not the two of us, then it can't be anyone else.

The more you comfort Taehyung, the more he opens up to you, and the more you open up to him. Your friendships in the past have always been a little lopsided—with Jimin, you constantly comforted him, cared for him, and with Yoongi, he had been the one to take care of you. For once in your life, you had a relationship in which you both gave and took; Taehyung is your balance. The in-between of Jimin and Yoongi.

The platonic relationship with Jimin is mirrored in your relationship with Taehyung, but sometimes blush creeps up your cheeks when Taehyung teases you back or when your hands graze each other. So maybe you're not completely platonic with him.

And maybe you're just missing someone to love.

"Do you think we'd be happier if we just... never studied for the Exam?" Taehyung whispers to you as you lie side by side on your bed. The midnight moon is bright enough to illuminate just a sliver of Taehyung's face as he stares at the ceiling of your room pensively. "We would be hanging out... never going to the library... Making friends..."

You hum thoughtfully. "I don't know," you say. "I guess maybe we would be happier—just for the eight years we're in Purgatory, anyway."

"That's right," Taehyung says. "That's a good point, actually. I feel like what we're doing right now is right. We're suffering now to make gains later. And..." he trails off. "And... um, if we don't make it, at least we'll know that we tried."

You nod. "Yeah, I guess. It would be better than being tossed back into Dystopia and wondering for the rest of our lives what would've happened if we did study for the Exam."

"Exactly," Taehyung says. "I think it's crazy that we only have three months left," Taehyung says. "But weirdly... I feel less stressed than before. Maybe your optimistic preachings are getting to my head," he laughs quietly, nudging your shoulder playfully.

"Me? Optimistic?" you snort. "That's the first."

"It's true," Taehyung muses. "My anxiety isn't as bad as before, and I'm pretty sure you had a part to play in that."

"In three months, you won't have any anxiety ever again," you reassure him. "You won't even need to hear me babble on about optimism and self-confidence."

"And we'll be having the time of our lives in Utopia," Taehyung breathes.

You smile to yourself, nodding silently. The two of you let the silence consume you, letting Taehyung's last words echo in your head; it's a good way to end the conversation—on a positive note. A lasting note of hope and faith.

It's then when you feel something warm on your hand. It takes you a moment to realize it's flesh. It takes another moment for you to realize it's Taehyung's hand. When you don't flinch away, he quietly almost hesitantly encompasses your hand in his. Delicately, your fingers intertwine and lock perfectly together.

Immediately, your cheeks heat up but you refuse to speak about it. Reassurance floods through you as the two of you lay side by side in the comforting darkness of your room with your hands held tightly together.

And neither of you speak until the sun peeks out from the horizon to paint the skies with another morning, another day. You don't need to talk to Taehyung to know he's thinking the same thing as you.

We'll have the time of our lives in Utopia.

Two months.

The last-minute crammers crowd the library so much that there is a line to enter it. You and Taehyung found a very effective way to battle the sudden influx of students, though. Every day, the two of you enter the library as early as three in the morning (to ensure that little to nobody was there) and take six to seven books with you, hiding them under your jackets and sweaters.

Studying in your rooms is much better.

There are less judgmental eyes, fewer chances of catching a stupid cold that's been making its way through the younger kids in Purgatory and you and Taehyung can lounge on the beds when you get tired of sitting straight.

Two months to the Exam is shockingly close, so close that your back pains have been plaguing you once more. Taehyung tells you to stop slouching when you sit, but you find it hard to sit straight and read the tiny text of the textbooks. So you end up ignoring him.

But on some days, it hurts for you to turn your body, your back aching to the extremity that you started believing one uncalculated movement could leave you paralyzed for the rest of your life. It's on those days that you wish you listened to Taehyung earlier. You push on though, too stubborn to admit to Taehyung that he's right and too impatient to try to fix your pain at such an urgent time.

Except you're not too good at hiding your discomfort and Taehyung catches onto you.

"We should take a break," he says, closing an astrophysics textbook and practically tossing it over his head.

When you hear the loud thump of it hitting against the wall, you gasp. "Tae! You can't just throw the fucking book. We're not even supposed to have these in our rooms!"

"Maybe that was a bad idea," Taehyung says, fidgeting his hands. "A little too late now, though, isn't it?" He shrugs. "We need a break."

"I'm fine! I swear!" you say. "We'll study for a few more hours."

"Your back's killing you, isn't it?"

You scoff. "N-No!"

"You stuttered."

You groan, wincing quietly as you try to sit up straight. "I'm not gonna die because of this. I think I can keep going."

"If you don't fix that now, you probably won't be able to sit down for four hours to take the Exam," Taehyung tells you. He takes your book and throws it over his head, making you grimace when it thuds against the wall. "I'm gonna loosen your back muscles!" he declares.

"What are you gonna do? Step on my back and make it crack?" you snort. When you see that Taehyung actually looks like he's contemplating it, you quickly say, "Please don't."

"Don't worry. I'll try not to make it hurt," Taehyung grins. You look at him so threateningly that he has to raise both of his hands defensively. "Oh, c'mon! I'm trying to help."

You give him a nervous look. "So what? You're gonna give me a massage?"

"It'll help!" Taehyung says. "Just get all comfy and lay flat on the bed. Stomach on the covers, please."

The mere thought of his hands roaming on your back makes your face heat up. God, this is going to be intimate. Maybe that's why Taehyung suggested it... and maybe that's why you're actually complying with him.

Hesitantly, you situate yourself on the bed, laying your face on your arms. "Just my back," you tell him.

"Yeah, of course," he says. "I have credentials, technically."

"Oh?"

"I found a magazine about it," Taehyung says. "So I'm very much qualified."

"Oh god."

You hear Taehyung rustle behind you and you try to twist your body to see what he's doing but your back prevents you from moving. In frustration, you ask, "What are you doing?"

"Rolling up my sleeves and staring at your back. Why?"

"Why the fuck are you staring at my back?"

"I was trying to figure out where it hurts," he answers, "but I guess I could've just asked you instead."

You snort. "God, Tae. It honestly hurts everywhere. But especially around the shoulder blade area."

You can just imagine Taehyung nodding professionally, with his sleeves rolled up and his hair slicked back to prevent stray strands from poking at his eyes.

"Okay, I'm gonna put pressure there," he says. "Deep breath out..."

You obey him, closing your eyes and blowing air out of your lips, simultaneously relaxing your body. The moment you feel his hands on your back, goosebumps checker your arms. No one's ever been this close to you; no one's bothered to be this intimate with you.

"Feel good?" Taehyung asks.

He sounds closer to you than you expected him to be, and your breath hitches quietly. "Y-Yeah," you stutter. "A little lower."

Taehyung listens, rubbing your sore back with such care and calculated pressure that you have to bite your lip from letting rather embarrassing sounds from escaping your mouth. You don't realize how tense your body was until Taehyung calls you out. "You're so tense, Y/N," he remarks, his hands dealing with the clumped muscles on your back. "Try to relax."

You're red-faced, unable to admit to him that if you do as he says, you might just let out a moan and it'll really be game over then. You are not going to embarrass yourself in front of him because Taehyung would never let you live that down. And if you're really going to spend your days in Utopia with him, you'd rather not let him have any memories he can use to tease you.

"I am relaxing," you lie through your teeth. But when Taehyung gets to a particularly sensitive part on your back, you hiss through your teeth. "Ow..."

Taehyung immediately stops his ministrations. "Do you want me to stop for a second?" he asks with so much worry laced into his voice that you almost feel guilty for making him question himself.

"No!" you exclaim. "I mean, no. I'm fine. I guess my back was much worse than I thought..."

Taehyung laughs. "Well, if I do this for you occasionally and you stretch every day, you'll be in good condition again."

"Thanks," you mutter. "Really, Tae, I mean it."

You can just imagine the boy grinning ear to ear behind you. Though you expected him to say something cocky or silly, you received silence in response. "Tae?" Gritting your teeth, you try turning over on your back, which was easier than expected—Taehyung's massage had already done wonders.

With a little oof, you flip over to finally get a good look at Taehyung. "Cat got your tongue??" you tease him, raising an eyebrow and gazing at his rather blank face.

"No... no," he answers right away. "For a second I thought..." he trails off. His handsome face morphs into a look of worry, of nervousness.

"You thought...?"

"I thought I..." he trails off again, much to your impatience.

"Oh, come on, Tae," you sigh. "Spit it out!"

The boy grins, shaking his head. "For a second, I thought I heard you moan, Y/N. Enjoying yourself a little too much, aren't we?"

Okay, you had not expected that. The color quickly drains from your face and your mouth drops open rather unflatteringly. You sputter to think of an excuse, any excuse that would whisk you away from the embarrassment consuming you at this moment.

"I'm just kidding," Taehyung says as he nearly falls over in a fit of laughter. "You should see your face!"

"That's not funny!" you yell, sitting up on your elbows and glaring at the laughing boy.

"No, it was definitely funny," he says, grabbing your hand and helping you sit up. The action brings heat to your cheeks and you have to look away. "Oh, c'mon," Taehyung whines, "learn some humor, Y/N."

He must mistake your embarrassment as anger. You'll play along.

"You can literally shut up," you huff.

"Damn, you're not very scary when you pretend you're mad," Taehyung says, grinning mischievously at you.

"I am not pretending!"

"You're still holding my hand, Y/N," he teases.

Oh shit. He's right. That's the second time that's happened in one month. Is it strange to seek physical comfort? Or is it strange to feel so comfortable with Taehyung? "I-I," you stutter embarrassingly, unsure if you can even finish your own sentence when Taehyung interrupts you.

"It's okay, Y/N," he says. "I don't mind holding your hand."

You gape at him in shock—so much so that you're sure you don't look too attractive at the moment with your mouth hanging open and your eyes bulging.

Taehyung tightens his grip on your hand as he tugs you closer to him. His eyes sparkle with something you recognize as mirth, which is funny to see in a student's eyes just two months before the Exam.

Hm. You like the way his warm hand encompasses yours, and you adore the way he stares into your eyes as if he knows you and cares for you.

Before you know it, you're breathing out a rapid, "I don't mind holding your hand either."

You didn't know it was possible for Taehyung to grin even wider but sometimes even you're wrong.

One month.

This is the official crunch time. The time when existing contenders of the Exam become vicious and violent to ward off competition. The time when those who never cared for the Exam begin to host parties to live their best and lasting moments in glee. The time when some cocky Utopians begin to study—they think they're so above everyone else that they only need one month to prepare.

But you and Taehyung relish together in the time left in Purgatory together. You'll see him again in Utopia, but Purgatory is the place where you met him and got to know him. It's special, no matter how much you hate the dingy library and cramped dorms. It's special because, without the given situations, you would've never even met Taehyung. You would've spent the last year in Purgatory alone, haunted by the thoughts of Jimin and Yoongi. You couldn't have survived. Or maybe you could've. But Taehyung's helping you survive with a huge smile on your face. And happiness has never been so close to your fingertips.

Your hands are intertwined with his larger ones as the two of you stand against the wall of the building, staring into the empty pit of the dark abyss.

At this point, you're not quite sure where you stand with Taehyung, but you don't care as long as he's here to comfort you every day and you're there to hold his hand.

The cozy wool of Yoongi's sweater keeps you warm in the brisk night air as does Taehyung's presence right next to you. You look out at the pit, and for once, your stomach does not sink with misery. Paying your respects to the dead loved ones has never been this peaceful before.

"Do you think they're watching over you?" Taehyung whispers, judging you softly as he gazes up at the sky dotted with nighttime stars. "Maybe they're wishing you the best on the Exam."

"I actually have no idea..." you say, looking up at the sky with Taehyung and squeezing his hands. "But I miss them."

"You'll reunite with them one day," Taehyung tells you.

"Yeah," you say, "I definitely will."

"In the meantime, I bet Jimin's having the best time eating good meals and getting good sleep on a comfy bed..." Taehyung trails off as he looks at you. "And I hope Yoongi found his happiness by now."

You nod to yourself. "Me too, Tae."

"Only a month left, Y/N," he answers. "And strangely, this is the most peaceful I've been in my whole life."

When you look up, you find that Taehyung's already staring right back at you. A small smile stretches across your cracked lips. "Trust me, it'll be even more peaceful on the day that we're finally admitted into Utopia. We're in this together, right?"

"Definitely," Taehyung says. "I'm not nervous anymore. Not since you convinced me that I don't have to be afraid."

"Still gonna start a violent revolution?" you whisper. "Follow in your brother's footsteps?"

"Not now, not ever," he answers. "The system works. Why would I bother changing it when the people who truly deserve it are going to Utopia? I'm not brave enough to revolt... And I'm not putting you at risk for my dead brother."

"Thank you... Tae, that means a lot," you say. "Do you ever think there will be another revolution, though?"

"There are always revolutions," he replies. "There will always be more revolutions. Not everyone can always be completely satisfied with the authority's actions. It is what it is. Even if I have to take the brunt of it."

"You won't," you tell him. "We'll be long gone in Utopia before that happens."

"Y/N..." Taehyung mutters. He turns you around to face him, studying your features before pulling you in for an embrace. "I know you don't like it when I talk about this... but," he pauses, unsure. Yet he takes your silence as the cue to continue on. "In the case that we are separated after the Exam... In the case that something goes wrong... we... we should just continue on with our lives."

"And ignore whatever separated us?" you murmur against his shoulder. "We won't have to worry about that though. I told you not to worry. We're going to Utopia."

"I'm saying, just in case," Taehyung whispers. His hands run through your hair as he rests his chin on your shoulder. "But I'm sure you're right. We'll be in Utopia in no time."

You hum, basking in the warmth of Taehyung's arms. "Of course."

One week.

The library is swarming with teenagers in your year, desperately fighting over books and arguing over facts. It's funny only because you and Taehyung had once been in that state of animosity. It seems such a long time ago, though.

You and Taehyung lounge about in your room, reiterating textbook information out loud to each other over and over again so the material is ingrained in your memories. After a while, it occurs to both of you that you know too well about every book in the whole library. It's no use regurgitating the same information repeatedly when you already know it. So the two of you spend more and more time talking about your futures.

"Do you think they'll let me work as a family counselor when we get to Utopia?" Taehyung asks as he tosses another textbook against the door to your room.

You laugh when he hits the target on the door and shrug. "I don't know, honestly. Do you think they even have family counseling there?"

"You're right," Taehyung scoffs, shaking his head. "We know so little about the place we want to be in so badly."

"Maybe the more we know of it, the less we'll want to be in it," you say. "It's like that thing... that saying..."

"Ignorance is bliss?"

"Yeah, that," you say. "I'm sure we'll have good things to do in Utopia, though. Whether there is a family counselor position or not."

"But I guess we'll have to find out in a week."

One day.

You feel sudden unrest in the air. People are biting their fingernails so hard, they bleed. Others are pulling out their hairs. Some are picking at their scabs.

You and Taehyung hold each other the whole day, whispering little facts here and there to ensure complete memorization. You would be lying if you said you weren't the slightest bit nervous. Yes, you're intelligent, yes, you deserve to be in Utopia and yes, you've been diligent for years... but Taehyung's right. There are some scenarios that might just happen.

Maybe you and Taehyung earn perfect scores along with six others. Or maybe you and Taehyung earn the same scores as fifteen others. Or maybe you and Taehyung don't earn the same scores at all, leaving you separated forever.

You try not to dwell on the negativities too much. After all, it's no use to think of such thoughts anyways, they'll only distract you while taking the most important test of all time. Positive thoughts, only.

Tomorrow will be the very last day in Purgatory. For four hours, you and the hundreds of other students in your year will take a life-changing test. The Exam results will be kept confidential for a painstaking two hours after the final student finishes the Exam. Then men in white suits will whisk away the highest-scoring ones without another word. You will know when you didn't score the highest. Because the men in white will not give you a second look. They will walk past you like you are the scum of the earth. You've seen it happen; you've seen how much that can break someone.

You swear that you will not be broken. You will be the victor who is escorted out with the men in white. You will be accepted into a wealthy society. You promised Yoongi. And Jimin would've wanted to see you like this.

Most of all, you and Taehyung are in this together.

You visit the pit with him in the dead of the night one last time. There are already a few dead bodies piled up in the dark abyss and the stench of death protrudes up your nose quite uncomfortably, but you manage to ignore it. This will be the last time that you will see the last place you saw Jimin and Yoongi. If it weren't for them, you wouldn't be here, so confident about acing the Exam with another man you see your future with.

When you close your eyes, you can imagine your ten-year-old self standing at the edge of the pit, contemplating jumping to be with Jimin. You can see Yoongi scoffing at your stupidity before taking you into his arms and reassuring you. You can see your ten-year-old self crying. You can see a younger version of Yoongi crying. And every year after Yoongi's death, you've visited the pit by yourself. Until this year. Until you met Taehyung. And now you're not so alone anymore.

"Are you tired?" Taehyung asks, placing a warm hand on your cheek.

Your eyes flutter open immediately and you shake your head. "No, I was just thinking. I don't think I'm going to miss this place, but I'm going to miss the memories I made here." You fist the fabric of your sweater—Yoongi's old sweater, which is surprisingly still pretty large around your frail, petite frame. "It's too bad I don't really have a token of remembrance with Jimin..."

"He was all of your childhood," Taehyung soothes you. "I'm pretty sure you don't forget your childhood best friends."

"That's true..." you sigh. "God, I really don't want to forget anything that happened in my life. I need to remember all of this," you gesture towards you and Taehyung. "So we can recall it in the future."

"You'll remember us for sure," he says. "How can you forget? When you'll see me every day, pestering you for the rest of your life?" Taehyung teases, poking at your cheek playfully.

You roll your eyes. "Fun."

"Damn right," he coos, tucking a strand of hair behind your ear. "We deserve the fun."

"I know," you say, smiling at his unfiltered flirtiness. "C'mon," you tell him, grabbing his hand and dragging him into the building, "we should sleep early today."

"Good idea," Taehyung giggles. "To getting perfect scores tomorrow!" he yells to the sky, his eyes squeezed shut as he dwells in the last few euphoric moments of being in the fresh, night air before being tugged into the dorms by you.

Your heart flutters when he grins widely at you, revealing his row of pearly whites. Damn. You used to hate those too-perfect teeth, but now you love them as much as you... god, as much as you might love him.

To getting perfect scores tomorrow indeed.

One hour.

One hour before the Exam, everyone is lined up to enter their own private room, which is barely a room at all from what you've heard. The space is hardly enough to fit a desk, but it's decorated with bright fluorescent lights and spotlessly white walls. Apparently, it looks more like a mental asylum than an Exam room.

Some may be sensitive to such a small, suffocating place, but you don't really mind. As long as the information is in your head and you don't come down with amnesia in the middle of the Exam, you're fine. You're more than fine. You're going to win this thing—with Taehyung of course.

You and Taehyung hold each other's hands, strangely not as nervous as the jittery teens around you. It's strange for the two of you to be in silence for so long, but it seems fitting in such a loud environment. You probably couldn't hear each other even if you did speak.

There are peers who are already crying. Those who are missing because they jumped into the pit the night before. Those who are physically unwell and have failed to take care of their bodies. Those who look confident on the outside but their eyes brim with fear and uncertainty. And then there is you and Taehyung—radiating confidence.

Taehyung squeezes your hand when the men in white come into the halls, starting to drag the students away by random to shove them into the private Exam rooms. The process takes forever, according to the others, given that there are hundreds of students and hundreds of small rooms.

"It's hilarious how they haven't come up with a more efficient system," you whisper to Taehyung, shaking your head in disdain. "You'd think after taking away the smartest people in Atna that they'd somehow make this process less time-consuming. But they didn't."

"What?" Taehyung whispers back, looking confused as he sees you talking but he can't hear a single word.

"It's hilarious how—" you stop yourself, "NEVER MIND," you say, raising your voice. He wouldn't be able to hear you even if you did yell. And you weren't going to risk a sore throat before the Exam.

Taehyung nods at you, squeezing your hand. The two of you are reduced back into a state of silence as you watch your peers being taken away before you. The men in white are getting closer and closer, and for the first time, you're nervous. You've waited six years for this moment. Four hours are going to decide your future.

Taehyung must sense the tenseness building up in your shoulders because he places his hands on them, wordlessly telling you to relax. You thought in the last moments, you'd be comforting him, but you suppose it's the other way around.

The tables have turned.

The two of you are closer to the men in white than ever. Both of you are going to be whisked away any second now. Taehyung turns you to face him and hands you a tiny ball of paper, grinning.

He mouths something that you do not hear over the incessant roar of students, but you can make out exactly what he says. 'I'll see you in Utopia.'

The small amount of pressure on your shoulders is immediately lifted. 'I'll see you in Utopia,' you mouth back, tightly clenching your fist around the tiny ball of paper he had given you. He gives you a bright, reassuring smile before a man in white takes him away. You watch him leave, mirroring his smile and letting out a deep breath.

When a man in white finally whisks you away into your cramped Exam room, you can't help but feel reinvigorated. Even if your desk is shaky and your chair squeaks when you shift in it, you're absolutely hung up on the fact that you need to finish the Exam as quickly and carefully as possible to read whatever Taehyung had written on the small piece of paper.

The countdown commences, the camera in the room zooms in and out to check if you were keeping your integrity... the Exam booklet sits in front of you.

God, you're so ready.

Confidence surges through your body. You're going to make it out alive. You're sure of it.

Well, that wasn't so bad at all.

You don't want to brag, but the Exam was a piece of cake. The questions were never about understanding the material—instead, they focused on the specifics. The stuff you couldn't common-sense your way out of. The stuff that you either knew or didn't know. But you're a strong memorizer so the questions—even the oddly specific ones—were easy.

The men in white already took your Exam booklet away to score it. Now you're forbidden to leave the testing room for two hours while they grade it. But it's boring in here.

Your neck is a bit sore from looking down at the paper and your fingers ache from gripping your pencil. Maybe once you get to Utopia, Taehyung can give you one of his insanely therapeutic massages?

There's nothing really to do in the room except stare at the camera that's still watching you or counting the number of cracks on your desk. You contemplate for a short while whether to open the note Taehyung had handed you, but you don't want to risk an accusation of dishonesty.

If you're accused, you're likely to never be seen again.

So you make use of your time and doze off. After taking the Exam, you realize that there's no doubt you scored extremely well (you might've even gotten a perfect score!) and all the nervousness you had over the past several years (which wasn't that much) have vanished into thin air. You're confident enough to sleep.

In your dreams, you see Jimin, Yoongi and Taehyung. The four of you are best friends in a world that looks like Utopia but isn't. There is no Exam that determines your whole future. There is no Purgatory, no Dystopia... No horrible education system. No rats... No pit... It's a utopian world that's better than the Utopia that you know today.

And you're only woken from your heavenly dream when there's a knock on your door. It opens before you can stay anything and a man in white gestures for you to walk out of the room. Rubbing your eyes and shaking away your drowsiness, you obey him. The man closes the door once you are out of the room.

Left and right of you, there are hundreds of students standing outside of their rooms. The tension, the nervousness in the long hallway could be sliced with a knife. But you don't contribute to the sea of worries. You lean against the door, waiting for you to be whisked away, waiting to meet Taehyung at the end of the hallway. Waiting to be driven away in some grandeur vehicle.

You wait for only two people to be taken away. Or maybe there are others who scored a perfect score? No matter. At this point, you only care if you and Taehyung made it.

Everyone holds their breaths as the men in white start to walk through the halls. You see Taehyung ahead of you, already giving you a silly look and smiling confidently at you. You breathe a huge sigh of relief before turning your head to watch the men in white.

So far, they haven't taken anyone from their stance in front of their Exam rooms. Your heart beats loudly in your chest when they come closer and closer to you. God, they must've passed at least two hundred people to get to me. And still no high-scorer.

You and Taehyung have an enormous chance now.

You hold your breath as the men in white come closer and closer.

Any minute now...

You grit your teeth, tensing your shoulders when they're so nearby, if you reached out to them, you could touch their white suits. Your ears ring, drowning out the cries of the students who were standing behind you and were left stranded by the men in white.

Closer and closer and closer...

Your nails dig into your skin.

Closer...

You nearly scream in victory when a man in white stops straight in front of you. He nods in your direction and then places a hand on the small of your back to escort you away.

You can feel the burning eyes of jealousy digging daggers on your back as you begin to walk. But you can't help feeling like royalty. This is the moment you've been waiting for. You've been selected. You've scored the highest. You're going to be Utopian.

Taehyung catches your eye and gives you a huge thumbs up from afar. You're grinning from ear to ear as you begin to approach him. As soon as a man in white officially deems that he is coming with you, you're going to proudly hold his hand and walk through the hallway like you owned all of Purgatory. You're going to spend the proudest moment of your life with him by your side. Knowing that you made it through with him. And then you're going to read his note in the vehicle, on the way to Utopia. You have it all planned out in your head. It's going to be wonderf—

Wait.

The man in white who is escorting you is not slowing down, and the other men around you aren't looking to stop either. Wait.

You're going to pass Taehyung at this rate. Wait a fucking minute.

You suddenly break out in cold sweat as you and the men come closer and closer to Taehyung.

There's no way.

He had to have done extremely well. He has to come with me.

Taehyung looks a bit taken aback as well. His eyes reflect fear and the worry lines pressed on his forehead indicate no less than that.

You don't lose eye contact with him as the men continue to escort you down the hallway.

"Taehyung," you murmur when you're directly next to him. "Taehyung!" you yell. Your voice echoes eerily across the corridor.

"Y/N!" Taehyung yells back.

He's behind you now. The men won't let you stop walking.

"Taehyung!" you scream again, trying to turn around to look at him. "Tae!"

"Don't turn around, miss," the man escorting you speaks gruffly.

"There's been a mistake!" you cry. "Tae-Taehyung is supposed to be with me! Taehyung!"

"Don't make this difficult," the man answered. The hand on your back suddenly seems threatening.

"Y/N!!" Taehyung shouts again. His eyes brim with tears and he sinks to his knees.

"Get up!" someone yells at him. "Stand up, boy!"

"Y/N!" He ignores the command, sobbing with his hands reaching out for you and eyes pleading for safety, for your comfort.

You twist your body around, shaking off the grasps of your escort as you yell his name so loudly that your voice echoes across the vast expanse of the hallway.

"Behave," your escort grunts with gritted teeth as he tugs you away, gesturing the other men in white to block your view from Taehyung.

Tears stream down your face as you beg the men in white to let you see Taehyung one last time. They don't budge. It's not until you hear the beatings and Taehyung's agonizing screams that you try to kick the men's shins and escape. But they catch you, hoist you up and carry you away.

You thrash, scream, "Please don't hurt him!" but the screams, grunts and kicks never stop. You always thought your walk down this hallway would be glorious—the glory only lasted for a few minutes. You were supposed to walk down here hand in hand with Taehyung. Now Taehyung might be dead for disobeying orders.

You were supposed to be draped in silk and mink coats. You were supposed to be spritzed with sweet fragrances and treated like a princess. But everyone—even your peers—look at you with what you recognize as pity. Or maybe even disgust.

They must think you're crazy for not being thankful for being a high-scorer on the Exam. Some would kill to be in your place right now.

You hadn't expected—after your eight years in Purgatory—for your journey here to end like this. You're embarrassingly carried across the shoulder of the man in white, forced to dangle over him like a dead animal. You can feel the scrutinizing gazes of your peers. The ones who didn't get chosen.

It strikes you that you're alone now.

No more Jimin. No more Yoongi... And no more Taehyung.

You squeeze your eyes shut, praying for another person who scored the same as you. Maybe you'll find a new friend? Maybe you won't be alone again.

But the hallway ends and opens up to a door and you're still the only person the men in white have escorted. Your heart sinks. You're alone.

They shove you in a shiny black vehicle where the inside is air-conditioned and smells of roses. There are unfamiliar snacks in elaborate wrappings and ice-cold fizzy drinks around you—all for you—but you aren't hungry. The tears won't stop.

Were the riches and wealth worth the loneliness that will consume you for years to come?

You are a legend. A model figure. A genius.

The first to ever score 100% on the Exam. You're dragged from here to there, paid by the richest of Utopians to tutor their young children before they're sent off to Purgatory.

Frankly, you're upset at the lavishness of Utopia. There is always more to eat—so much so that one-fourths of every meal goes into the trash. The people here put ice cubes in their water to cool it. In Dystopia, there was never enough to eat and water was scarce. Purgatory never had a diverse array of food, and water was always lukewarm.

You're not sure if you belong here.

You miss Taehyung more than ever these days. Your new home is far too large for one person. You feel empty, cold inside. Even basking in the sunlight shining through your gold-rimmed window isn't enough to warm you. You tug the sleeves of Yoongi's sweater over your hands. Even after all these years in Utopia, you can't get accustomed to the fancy, frilly clothes here. You like Yoongi's old, frayed sweaters much better. And it's your only token of remembrance of him. You feel like you did him well because after all, you kept your promise. But Yoongi was wrong about one thing: the life of a Utopian did not suit you.

You can't help but think back to the days of Dystopia—of you and Jimin. Taehyung's right, you never really forget your childhood best friend. You've written down all of your memories about Jimin in a black leather-bound journal, which you keep out in the open by the window sill. On harder days, you like to read through the entries to refresh your memories and recall the stories that make you laugh or tear up with nostalgia.

The magnificent garden outside your home looks empty despite the plethora of flowers and colorful vines that sprout and bloom across the expanse of the healthy, verdant grass. Sighing, you clutch the silver locket resting between your collarbones. You've been wearing the necklace ever since the day you were first admitted into Utopia.

Inside the locket is a neatly folded up note. The piece of paper is old and crinkled and it has obviously been ripped out from a textbook called Family Studies. Taehyung's writing is etched onto it in black ink. You've read over the note so many times that you know exactly what it says by heart.

Y/N,

I was saving this to tell you in Utopia, but I can't wait for that day, even if it's tomorrow. I need to tell you now that I love you. Thank you for being by my side. Thank you for dealing with me. Thank you for calming me down.

You're welcome for those back massages. You're welcome for listening to your stories about Jimin and Yoongi. You're welcome for being by your side. I do it so much because I hate seeing you lonely.

Utopia will be great, Y/N. I think we'll live a great life there, don't you think?

I just want to say that if anything happens, we need to continue on with our lives. Because whatever the Exam decides, we deserve the results.

Nevertheless, I'll see you in Utopia, Y/N~

You tear up every time you open up your locket and study Taehyung's handwriting and his last words to you. Of course, you love him too. And it kills you that you don’t even know whether he's alive.

How cruel it is to live in such a wealthy place but feel worse than you had been in Dystopia and Purgatory.

The Exam is a curse. There is no way you could've beaten it, but you'd very much rather be hauled back into Dystopia with someone you care about than being stuck in this fast-paced, artificial world with no one but yourself.

It dawns on you horrifyingly. You did not beat the Exam. You did not win. You survived it.

And for the rest of your life, you must suffer the casualties.

—masterpost

—masterlist

[xxbyimm]

A king’s crown - Thorin x reader

Link to my Masterlist.

THIS AWESOME PICTURE IS BY @nerdeeart​! I PASTED IT BECAUSE IT’S PERFECT FOR THIS FIC BUT HERE’S THE LINK. BE SURE TO CHECK THIS GREAT ARTIST OUT!  

A lovely anon requested this fic ages ago, and I feel ashamed for only doing this now, so forgive me sweetheart! <3 I hope you’re still around to enjoy this fic. I did not edit it endlessly like I use to, so please bear with me. xoxo!

A king’s crown – Thorin x reader

Summary:  The reader is just fucking adorable and makes Thorin a flowercrown every night, but our oaf doesn’t… get it.

Warnings: Fluff. Fluff. Fluff.

Taglist: @jeemalou​ @dabisburntnut​  @soradragon​ @pistachiozombie​ @legolaslovely​ @tomisbaeholland​ @swoopswishsward​ @fizzyxcustard​ @deepestfirefun​ @ruthoakenshield​ @mariannetora​ @thequeenoferebor​  If you don’t wish to be tagged anymore, please let me know! Or if you’re not on the list and want to be tagged: check out my lists and I’d like to hear which list you want in on!

Now this happened. Again!

Thorin had just opened his eyes after a long needed sleep, only to be greeted by a bright bunch of colors appearing right in front of him. He wouldn’t say that he knew everything there was to know about life, but he was sure that this object hadn’t been there when he finally had closed his eyes to rest. This was the third time in a row and he was starting to feel ridiculous.

Thorin sat upright and carefully held the flower crown that had been placed on his bedroll. He had to admit that the blossoms did smell nice and it was a pretty thing, but somehow he couldn’t shake off this feeling that someone was mocking him. And the only sensible conclusion in the valley of the Imladris, was that the pointy ears were behind it.

The king in exile huffed. If they thought that Thorin, son of Thraín, son of Thrór would play their games, they were mistaking! He’d never wear something they regarded as pretty. If one wasn’t careful enough, one might end up looking exactly like those self-righteous immortal bastards.

He quickly glanced around (no one seemed to be there, excellent!) and cast the crown into the thick bushes a few meters away from his bedroll, a place where hopefully their hosts didn’t even care to look. Then he got up and strolled in the direction of the group (or that is, the direction he guessed he had to go). Luckily Bofur’s laughter and Kíli’s excited chatters were quite distinctive, so it proved to be not a task too difficult this time.

Thorin rubbed his hands together. He really hoped that Bombur would offer something else for breakfast than the green food he had to endure yesterday during dinner, and the night before that. He wasn’t sure he could stomach more leaves.

The cooking smells were surely promising. The king followed his nose and it led him to a small clearing, where the others were enjoying a splendid breakfast. Thorin smiled faintly as his comrades greeted their leader with joyful cheers and friendly banter. Bombur grinned while handing his king a bowl filled with a variety of delicious meats.

‘Here you go, my king. I’d say this meal is a lot tastier than the elves have arranged us in days!’

‘I know it will be.’ Thorin agreed. ‘Thank you, Bombur.’

He moved throughout the group, holding his bowl carefully against him like it was some precious gem. Fíli saw him coming and shoved his brother aside to clear a spot on the bench for their favorite uncle. Kíli, who was just about to reveal the punch line of some grand joke, did not expect his brother’s move and it caused the youngest brother to fall flat on his face. The comical effect was huge and everyone was roaring with laughter, though this was hardly what the youngest Durin had aimed for in the first place.

‘Oi!’ Kíli snapped, while scrambling himself together. ‘Did you have to do that?!’

Fíli chuckled. ‘You had to make room for uncle, brother.’

The youngest Durin muttered something under his breath and disappeared in the forest.

‘Don’t be so hard on him.’ Thorin told his eldest nephew, though with a grin. ‘He still hasn’t recovered from the fact he did fancy an elven lad.’

Fíli smirked. ‘Nor have we.’

The king shook his head and turned his attention towards his meal again. His stomach churned and the smell of meat was mouthwatering. Before anyone could disturb him, Thorin quickly took a bite.

 ‘Good morning to you all!’ You announced yourself to the group with your usual excited chirp.

If Thorin had been paying attention, he would have noticed that your bright smile was especially directed to him, but as the king was too engrossed in his breakfast he didn’t even notice you were there anyway. He did nod vaguely in your direction, indicating that he didn’t give a rats’ arse who was there, not even if lord Elrond himself was standing before him.

Others did see your smile though- first beaming, then slowly dying away as the dwarf you cared for ignored your presence. A few in the group exchanged looks and wondered in silence how long this could go on. Thorin usually was quite perceptive, but figuring out that a lady was madly in love with him proved to be a challenge. They glanced over at their leader who was enjoying his mealtime, blissfully unaware of the things around him.

He would figure it out some day, wouldn’t he?

After breakfast, members of the company disappeared slowly, going about their business in the valley and enjoying the last of their spare time before they would leave for the road tomorrow. Before the king knew it, it was just you and him who were left.

Thorin suppressed a sigh as he watched you rummage through your bag. You, the latest addition to his company, were the cutest thing he’d ever laid his eyes on. You had all the curves in the right places, knew your way around swords and your sweet, though sassy temperament made everyone smile. Even Dwalin was delighted to have you as part of the group, and that said something.  

It had begun so slowly that Thorin didn’t even notice it was there. With every day that passed, he admired you more, to the point where he had become quite attached to you as well. Though your lovely smile and your distracting backside should get some credit, it was all of you that melted his bones. You were simply the whole package, the partner he had longed for most of his life. Sometimes he even wondered what would happen if he’d ask you to be his.

But for now, you were unaware of his affections and thus the king watched you curiously as you opened your sketch book and started to work. Thorin got out his pipe and searched for tobacco in his pocket.

‘It’s in your left pocket.’ You said quietly without looking up and Thorin reached his hand in there. Huh. He furrowed his brows together when you proved to be right. How did you know that?

‘Thank you.’ He replied. ‘How did you-’

‘It’s where you last left it.’

‘You have an excellent memory.’ The king said. ‘I don’t remember putting it there.’

You merely shrugged.

‘How did you know?’ he pressed, but he was met with silence. You were hunched over your work as if you were trying to shut him out. Thorin busied himself with cleaning and filling his pipe, all while keeping an eye on you. You on the other hand made no inclination that you were aware of presence.

The king cleared his throat. This was nothing compared to the usual, joyous interactions the two of you shared and this silence didn’t sit well with him. Had he done something wrong?

‘Is something bothering you?’ he inquired while he lit his pipe.

‘Nothing special.’ Your reply was soft, but he heard you. ‘Can’t wait to be on the road again.’

‘Me too.’ He agreed. ‘I’ve had enough of elves for a few years.’

You shrugged again and continued working on your sketch. Your hands were smudged from the charcoal you liked to use. Absentmindedly, you brushed a lock of hair from your face. It left a black smear on your forehead.

 Thorin stood up and with his pipe in one hand, he reached the other forward to gently brush the stain away. You did look up this time and your E/C locked with his sapphire ones. He always had known that you possessed the most beautiful eyes in the entire universe and it was easy to get lost in them, but nothing could have prepared him for the pain displayed in there. It shot straight to his heart, leaving a dull ache which surely was nothing compared to your agony. He could see you were holding back tears as best as you could.

It was not enough, but all too much. Thorin couldn’t bear to lose his composure in front of you, nor did he want to embarrass you. He broke away and shifted his attention on your sketch book instead. You were drawing flowers that were almost as breathtaking as you.

‘Love.’

The phrase gushed from his mouth before he could control himself and he clenched his hands into fists. The last thing you needed was a love confession right now. ‘I mean- Would you mind telling me what’s going on?’

You shook your head.

‘You don’t have to.’ He carefully took a seat next to you and gestured at your drawing. ‘This looks amazing.’ He breathed slowly, but his voice was still too shook for his liking. ‘It looks like a real bouquet.’

‘Thank you.’ You murmured. ‘But it’s more a-’ You hesitated and stared at your sketch instead.

‘More like a what?’ The king encouraged.

‘A crown.’ You whispered.

 Silence.

 ‘Will you excuse me, my king?’ you said abruptly, jumping from your seat and causing the book to fall from your lap. Before Thorin could stop you, you had disappeared in the forest. The king blinked a few times before picking up the book. When he eyed the drawing a second time, it daunted on him.

Oh mahal.

He had been an idiot. A total idiot. How could he be so stupid, so oblivious to the fact that you were the one who had left him these flower crowns each morning? If he hadn’t been so obsessed with the elves’ presence, he could have seen that- Thorin groaned. No matter now. The damage had been done and there was no taking it back. A better question was: how was he going to make this up to you?

‘Good morning.’ He grunted and glanced around the group. He saved his special glare for his nephews, to warn them for the hell they would have to pay if they dared to make fun of their uncle. So far, it worked. Fíli shifted uncomfortably in his seat and looked away. Though Kíli’s face was distorted in an awful grin, the lad was smart enough to keep his mouth shut.

‘New attire?’ Dwalin smirked and Thorin roughly pushed him aside so he could be seated.

‘Make way for your king.’ He rebuked.

His eldest friend laughed. ‘Ye’re suddenly the king of foliage now, huh?’

‘What can I say…’ Thorin grinned. ‘A mountain isn’t enough.’

Dwalin shook his head. ‘Those pointy idiots are rubbing off on ye,  I tell ye.’

 ‘Hello everyone!’

They both looked up and Thorin’s heart missed a beat. You were standing before the group. Your hair was still a bit frizzy from bathing, the untamed locks roaming freely over your shoulders. You were wearing his favorite breeches, the ones that supported your excellent ass. You clasped your hand over your mouth when you noticed the king’s new crown.

‘You made this?’ you said breathlessly as you made your way towards him.

‘I did my best.’ Thorin acknowledged ruefully. ‘But I can’t get it quite right like you do.’

A giggle escaped you and you reached out to inspect his work. ‘There’s leaves in it, Thorin. And… branches.’

The king heaved a sigh. ‘Guess I need your help, my lady.’

You bit your lip and held out your hand. ‘Fine, let me help you fix this mess…’

The cheers of the company followed you and the king into the forest. There, you showed him how a proper flower crown is made. Amongst other things…

Thank you so much for reading my humble story. Feedback is always welcome.  Did you like my work? Spread the love and reblog! :) And here’s my Masterlist.

[kyberphilosopher]

Chapter Fifteen

.✫*ﾟ･ﾟ｡.★.*｡･ﾟ✫*.

"What possessed you to just burst in there?!” Adamus shoves me enough to push my back into the gray, metal walls of the ship. Stunned, I blink once before regaining my focus and shoving him back.

“If you had such a problem with it, you should’ve said so when we were in there. I needed to talk to you, so I did, General.”

Angrily, Adamus grinds his teeth in such a way that reveals his sharp canines. His eyes flicker between my own quickly, like a birds flitting wings in flight. “You would be dead if not for me.”

“No. You would be dead if this ship hadn’t shot at me. I think you know that, Adamus.” I grip the sleeves of his robes tightly, nails near digging into the skin underneath. My voice has lowered dangerously, so our words are hushed and kept between us and only us.

I can tell he’s about to roar back at me, but an interruption stops him.

“Ah…General Adamus. We have that update on the blasters you wanted.”

Not daring to break eye contact, I push his hands off my shoulders and stalk away. I can feel his eyes boring into my back, but I don’t care. I make my way back to the main room- with the holo-table, I assume it to be the command center. Aheka sees me from across the way and excuses herself from her conversation before coming up to me. “Hey there. I found the supplies I needed for your-”

“Save it.”

I stomp all the way across the room and back to the room I woke up in. I lock the door behind me too, even though I have absolutely no right too. At this point, I’m being a jerk just to be one. I still don’t care.

It’s Adamus’s fault for snapping at me. Back in the meeting, he’d almost convinced me he could be cool. Instead I feel more like a hostage than ever.

In the left corner of the room from where I stand, there’s a mini area sectioned off. Inside, I find a bathroom and a shower at my disposal. Somehow, the sight of seeing the rebels have such a luxury irks me to my core. 

Gritting my teeth, I instead punch out the lights and climb back onto the padded surface I slept on a while ago. I’m not even sure I need to sleep or anything. I’m just so angry I can’t think of anything else to do with myself.

After lying still in the darkness for long enough, my eyes don’t fail to get heavy. I’m lulled into a warm sleep that eventually probes nightmares. It’s the same old level of terrifying.

One moment, I’m a younger version of myself, gliding through Coruscant, the next, I’m drawing my Sith touched blade on clone troopers. A voice tells me I’ve done a good job and calls me a good girl. Then a hand stabs me through my stomach and pokes out the other side, and I crumple to the ground wondering why.  

I know I didn’t sleep long by the time I’ve woken up. I turn the lights back on and rebraid my hair, but I don’t bother to touch the shower or bathroom. I vow that if I do, I’m not flushing. I’ll just drop and sprint, and laugh when the next person who comes in gives an audible ‘ugh’. I can’t wait.

As I exit the room, I see that all the lights are off. Someone is asleep on a chair in the corner, obviously meant to keep guard. The entire ship is dead silent, with only the blue glow from hyperspace letting in any light. My boots scuff against the floor with every step, though they are dry and soft in terms of noise.

Despite the stillness in the air, I can sense another presence wide awake. It is not me. Something tells me it’s not Adamus either. I squint my eyes in the direction of one of the hallways, just managing to make out the outline of a figure in the darkness.

The blue light betrays. It sweeps across the mans face, giving me a split second for me to lose my mind. Although I only saw a sliver for an instant, I saw enough to recognize him. Sharp cheekbones, amber eyes, square jaw, and tanned skin. A Clone.

Immediately, I whirl around and dive back into the room. The door slides closed behind me and I hurry to lock it- double lock it. Triple lock it. Then I stand in the center of the medical bay, eyes wide as butterflies shrivel up and die inside my stomach. My heart pounds against my Adam’s apple. My head screams with terror. My lungs, already sore from my injuries, wince with stress.

How did he get here? Is he the one with the yellow stripe? Does he recognize me? Is he going to kill me? I don’t know. All I do know is that I’m not safe. I let my guard down, and of course this is what I get for it. I should’ve expected one of them to be here. It’s my fault for being so stupid.

Yeah, yeah it’s my fault. I’m stupid. I’m an idiot. I can’t do anything right. And I’m guilty of serial murder.

I jump into bed, twitching. Then I grip the covers and pull them over my head, like I imagine small children do in fear. My eyes remain wide open and glance around quickly. My one good ear is ready to pick up on anything even remotely suspicious sounding.

I didn’t get any sleep the rest of that night. I never dared to leave my room so late again.

I must’ve closed my eyes at some point, though it was after several hours and closer to the middle of morning at that point. I wasn’t tired when I woke up. I was still alarmed and buzzing with paranoia from the night before. When I wrestle myself out from the covers, I slam them down to the bed. Then I stomp over to the door, biting my lip to keep my left handing from twitching.

The moment I unlock the door, I am face to face with Aheka. “Oh, hello,” she chirps, obviously not expecting such a sudden door opening. In her arms is a light gray tray with several colorful bumps on a plate. She sees me eyeing and immediately offers up an explanation. “I uh, thought you’d be hungry. I brought you breakfast… or lunch.”

After a silent debate in my head and a small eyeroll on my part, I slowly position my body to the side, offering her a way in the room. She looks at me quizzically for a second, sending me rushing to point out the obvious. “You can come in,” I explain, sarcasm dripping from my tone.

“Oh, oh yes of course.” She ducks her horned head and hurries to place the food on a counter. Aheka’s hands move around wildly while she whispers to herself, setting up my course as if I were royalty.

“You don’t have to do that, I can handle it.”

“That’s okay,” she says, though she stops at once, nervousness still present on her aura.

“I…” don’t say it, Keres. Don’t you dare say it.

"Don’t worry about it,” she finishes for me. “I get it. About yesterday.”

Oh. She thought I was going to apologize. I wasn’t, but I watch the tension alleviate from her shoulders, and I decide it’s better this way. Looking back to the tray of fruit she brought for me, a smile plays on her lips. “I bet your name is something really pretty,” she says aloud. “Like a flower.”

I narrow my eyes as she speaks. My hands ball into fists at my side. “Yeah. I bet it’s beautiful,” Aheka continues.

It’s hard to be angry with her. Even towards the end of our time together, it was hard to even imagine being angry with her. Aheka Shyn is not someone who just lets people be upset if she doesn’t think it’ll help. She’s the healer. The caregiver. The nurturer. She always would be.

"Keres,” I blurt out suddenly. My bottom lip sucks between my teeth as soon as the statement falls from behind them.

“What?”

I inhale sharply. “Keres. Vagor. My name is Keres Vagor.”

Aheka is still for moment. Her smile graces her lips again, and her eyes crinkle upwards. “Well, Keres, I was right. Your name is beautiful.”

I don’t know how to respond to this. My throat feels dry. I know I’m looking at her with a ridiculous blank expression on my face,  but I don’t know how to take compliments. I don’t get a lot of them that don’t directly translate to toxicity in my mind. Instead, I briskly walk over to the desk she set the tray on, keeping my head down in an attempt to cover my heated cheeks. Then I sit quickly, not daring move my eyes from the plate.

“So, Adamus. He’s pretty cute right?”

Blinking to make sure my left ear isn’t playing tricks on me, I furrow my brows. “What are you implying?”

“Aheka,” a male voice interrupts another one of my conversations. Just as it was getting important, too. “One of the men sustained a burn in the engine room and requires your attention.”

“Right away, Paux.” The lovely Togruta turns her head back to me. “Duty calls,” she nods. I watch her horned form leave and hear the door whistle shut behind her.

I was right. Your name is beautiful.

Aheka seems… kind. So far, at least. Kind people don’t really exist to me. They’re just unkind people looking for an entrance to my heart, and more often than not they get it out of sheer guilt. This is ironically what prompts me to accept the food. I tell myself it didn’t come from the Rebellion, it came from Aheka. For her sake, I’ll eat.

I wolf the colorful lumps down, savoring each more than the last. All of them are sweet, juicy- unlike any meal I’ve had up to this point. The berries are richer than the fish I speared on Endor. The seeds mixed in are crunchier than any meat I’ve ever cooked. If someone were to walk in at this very moment, I would have looked like a madwoman. Whatever, let them see. I feel like royalty with these foods.

I still don’t accept the shower or toilet. They can go screw themselves on that front.

When I leave the room, the command center is just as busy as it was when I first saw it. Everyone is bustling about, chatting, watching the holomap. There’s no Clone in sight. However, I can see Adamus nod his head at one of the men in uniform I saw yesterday while holding some papers. I make myself invisible in the crowd before he can look up and notice me- an art I’ve perfected from years on the run. The crowd carries me next to a large, circular arch showing off the fancy console and chairs for two pilots. In the window in front of it, the familiar blue and white blurs of hyperspace whiz pass. I sidestep into the nook and take a breath. I’d forgotten how much I dislike being so close to strangers.

“Oh, hello to you too,” a grumpy voice greets me. In the pilots chair, a man spins it around to face me. Just by his appearance, I instantly catch my breath in my throat. It’s not that he’s breathtakingly handsome or anything. He’s not like Adamus- not that Adamus is handsome by any means. It’s just that the pilot reminds me of someone I had tried to put behind me less than a rotation ago.

I internally scream at myself to stop myself from yelling out “Mur!” Because, it’s not Mur. No matter how much I may want it to be, it’s not. It’s just some other shmuck in Mandolorian-esque armor. He looks about the same age as Mur was- anywhere from early thirties to mid-forties, with dark hair buzzed down like a soldier. His eyes aren’t the same though. They’re amber and rung with tired circles. But something about the way this one clicks his jaw, the angle of his cheeks… it makes me think of him.

“You’re the one they caught on Endor, aren’t you? Heh, you look like it. Name’s Circe,” the pilot says, gruffly. He extends an armored hand out to me. I clasp it and give it a firm shake- just as I would to Mur.

"Keres.” He nods and releases my hand. 

“The mysterious Jedi,” he prods with a smirk, poking his tongue between his lips as he leans back and kicks his feet over the console. In this way, he is not like Mur at all. Mur would never let a stain anywhere near the control room, nor would he appear so vulnerable for even a moment.

I move my hand out in a slicing motion and step forward to interject. “Is that what they’re calling me? I’m not a Jedi.”

Circe’s expression changes smoothly as he leans forward and removes his feet from the console. His eyes bore into mine curiously, the ghost of a smile still evident on his lips. “You might want to tell that to about seventy percent of the population of this ship. I take it the Jedi screwed you over too, eh?”

I only raise my eyebrow at him questioningly in response.

“Heh, yeah. Me too.” Circe presses a button on the right side of the console and addresses me without taking his eyes off the space in front. “We’re only a click away from Ilum. Might wanna get saddled up.”

I nod and saunter out. He watches me go over his shoulder, thinking I don’t notice, but I do. The control room surrounding the holotable has cleared out significantly as the ship rocks and shakes. Overhead, Circe’s voice rasps out a piece of advice. “Passengers of The Harbinger, we’re approaching Ilum. I suggest you take a seat and secure yourself.”

From the ceiling, a handle drops to my height. I wrap my fist around it just in time as the ship lurches roughly. There is a slow drop, then a boom, another rock, and stillness. “Passengers of The Harbinger, we have landed.”

“That was the worst landing you’ve done yet!” someone calls out.

Static passes over the comms, and then Circe speaks again. “Calvin, I will end your life.”

A few people spill out from the many doorways of the ship, Aheka among them. Adamus pushes his way to the front, eyebrows furrowing when he meets my gaze. From the cockpit nook, Circe emerges, polishing his armored fist. He raises his eyes to see the entire crew looking at me.

“Keres,” Adamus addresses, dragging out the name like he knows my dirty little secret now. I would’ve been mad at Aheka for telling him if it wasn’t so busy thinking of all the different ways to skin him alive.

“Adamus.”

His eyes flick between mine, searching for something. “Back to your positions, all of you,” he commands. The crew bustles to life at once, Aheka giving me a small, reassuring smile before evaporating into the crowd, even with the horns on her head. “Circe, open up the door please.”

Circe shrugs and presses a button on the console. Behind me, a door slides open, followed by the ramp that springs to life. A rush of cold air swarms my senses, drawing me into a state of blissful nostalgia. I can see the purity of the bright, white snow through the door. I can see the wind racking against the ships metal. I can see… home.  

I take a step onto the ramp, hair immediately whipping around behind me. My eyes flutter in adjustment to the wind. In the distance, the more steps I take, I can see more of what I didn’t know I’d needed until now.

I can see the mountains in the North. I can see the sea of snow in the west, the lake (previously unfrozen) in front of me. It’s my home. 

I could… I could leave them here. I could find my cabin! Oh, my cabin! I’m certain it’s still there! I could pretend that… that Order Sixty-Six never happened. That the Purge was a dream. I could let everything go. No light side, no dark side. No nothing. Just me.

I turn back to face Adamus, whose eyes linger on me. “Nights on Ilum last as long as nineteen rotations. If it’s still light right now, I probably won’t be back before the darkness sets in.”

“Sounds like a long night,” he quips.

"It will be.”

Please let this be the last time we speak to each other.

“As a gentleman, I’m obligated to say that I’ll wait for you, of course.” Adamus’s eyes shift to the mountains behind me. “I take it you’re just here to… look around?”

“This and that,” I evade with a shrug. He already knows what I’ll be doing. He’s been here before, we both know that, too. He knows I won’t be coming back, but he dares me to do it anyway. He’s a smug bastard.

Adamus looks me up and down for what may be the millionth time. “You cold?”

“No, I’m okay. I’m perfectly okay,” I say. I am okay. That’s not a lie. The air is chilly, but I welcome it. Tatooine was a hot planet. Endor was much better. Neither were Ilum. Regardless, Adamus pulls off a thick aviator jacket that reminds me of Garreth’s and tosses it to me. I eye it suspiciously.

It’s soft, and after Adamus gently says “It doesn’t bite, I promise,” I tug it on. Admittedly, it does make me feel warmer- even though I didn’t need or want it in the first place.

“Thanks,” I say, slowly.

“I’m a gentleman, remember?”

Adamus catches my eyes and holds his gaze. It doesn’t take long for me to ease into it, slowly giving him a soft smile. This is the only time I’m not cringing at an interaction between the two of us. He returns it silently.

“When you get back…” he clears his throat, dropping his stare nervously. “When you get back, we’ll talk.”

“Right. When I get back.”

Never.

We hold each other’s eyes for a moment more. I’m the one to break it when I turn away from him to observe the path ahead of me. Then I set forth on my journey.

I missed the struggle of walking through snow. I missed the sharp winds and the flakes and the ice. I missed being here- being home.

[cyborgsquirrel]

Sanctuary: Chapter 11

Pairing: Wolfstar

Summary: The epic tale of Remus Lupin and Sirius Black, from their first meeting until their happily ever after.

Link to Prologue

Link to All Chapters

Tuesday, 7th September 1971

Sirius woke the next morning with a heavy head and scratchy, tender eyes after lying awake much of the night hating himself for his total fucking lack of impulse control. Why did he find thinking before speaking so difficult? Everyone else managed it without a problem. Remus had been talking to him, friendly, and he had to blurt out a stupid, fucking offensive question and piss him off. He was an idiot!

Granted, as fuck-ups went, it didn’t quite reach the heady heights of snubbing the very person he was waiting for because he didn’t recognise him, but it came a close second. His last thought before falling asleep had been a memory, the expression of sheer delight on Remus’ face when presented with chocolate cake. If anything could win him back, Sirius thought, it was chocolate.

In the Great Hall an hour and a half later, Sirius encountered a problem with his plan. Hogwarts didn’t provide much in the way of chocolate delicacies for breakfast. He eyed the table. Plenty of meat, cereals and fruit, but not a whole lot of cocoa-based delights. The chocolate croissants might be good enough, though. They were freshly baked, and when he reached over with a napkin-covered hand to take a couple, he discovered they were still warm.

‘I’ll see you in Charms,’ he told James and Peter as he got to his feet and pulled his bag onto his shoulder. ‘I want to speak to Remus before class.’

Sirius made his way to the Charms corridor, planning to wait around in the hope of catching Remus before he went to class, and luck was on his side. A few minutes after Sirius arrived, Remus rounded the corner.

‘Remus. Hi,’ he called to attract his attention. Remus stopped and gazed at him expectantly. ‘Look, I’m sorry about last night. Sometimes I say things without thinking. Well, a lot of the time. Okay, I basically never think.’ Sirius ran his hand through his hair. This wasn’t going well at all. What now? Right, chocolate. ‘I brought you some breakfast. Another peace offering? I’m afraid they don’t serve cake at breakfast, but these have chocolate.’ He held out the two croissants wrapped in napkins. Remus looked at them for a moment before his eyes flicked back up to Sirius’.

‘Thanks, but I’m not hungry.’

Sirius didn’t know what to say to that. How could he not be hungry? Where was he getting food if he never went to the hall? Looking at him closely in the bright sunlight shining in through the many windows, Sirius saw that he looked gaunt and tired, with pale skin and clearly defined bags under his eyes. His robes hung loosely on his body, and his hands had a slight tremor.

‘Did you already eat?’ he asked.

Remus nodded. ‘Yeah.’

Sirius stared at him for a moment. ‘How? I never see you in the Great Hall.’

Remus adjusted his bag on his shoulder and fiddled with the strap. ‘The headmaster lets me eat in the kitchen because of my phobia. He thought it was unfair to make me eat in the hall.’

‘Oh. We thought you had an eating disorder or something because you never seemed to eat anything.’

Remus’ eyes widened. ‘You talked about me?’

‘Erm. Yes? Just because we were worried about you. We weren’t being mean or anything.’ Sirius was nervous now. Had he put his foot in it again?

Remus sighed. ‘Look, I don’t mean to be rude, but I don’t appreciate being studied and discussed like some interesting new creature that’s recently been discovered.’

Sirius was aghast. ‘Merlin, no! It wasn’t like that at all.’

‘I don’t really care, Sirius. Just leave me alone, okay? And stop watching me all the time.’

With that, Remus spun on his heels and hurried away towards the Charms classroom, leaving Sirius standing at the end of the corridor with his mouth hanging open, lost for words.

-o-o-o-o-

Utterly defeated. Remus could think of no better way to describe the complex mixture of emotions he was feeling as he took his seat in Charms. He must have been delirious the day before, thinking having friends would be safe. It would never be safe. Getting close to people was too risky. One person learning his secret would be all it took for him to be kicked out of school. And the opportunity Dumbledore had given him was a gift. He could not, would not, waste it.

Lily pulled out the chair next to him and sat down, drawing him from his thoughts. Remus smiled at her in greeting. He felt safe with her. She didn’t nose into his business or ask difficult questions that he couldn’t answer, and she respected his boundaries.

‘Hi, Remus, I noticed you weren’t in class yesterday, so I made copies of all my notes for you. Here.’ She slid a pile of parchment across the table to him. ‘I hope you’re okay?’

‘I’m fine, thank you,’ Remus said. He waited, wondering if further questions about his absence would come next and prove his thoughts wrong. Would he have to end this potential friendship too?

‘Good. You didn’t miss much in Herbology. We were planting dittany, but everything you need to know is in there.’ She pointed at the notes.

Remus picked up the pile of parchment and flicked through the pages as Lily continued to talk about the lessons he had missed.

‘I don’t know how you feel about spiders, but you might be glad you missed Defence yesterday. Emhio turned into an acromantula; it was awful,’ she said with a delicate shudder. Remus didn’t mind spiders and thought it sounded fascinating, but he stayed silent. ‘We learned reparifarge in Transfiguration, the spell to revert something to its original state?’

Remus nodded that he understood.

‘You might want to speak to Professor McGonagall and get an item to practise on. It seemed important that we can do it. Oh, and it’s a shame you missed Charms. We learned the wand lighting spell and then had to complete a maze to practise it. It was really fun, but I’m sure you’ll be able to manage that one with just the notes. It’s not hard,’ she said all in one breath before offering him a bright smile and tucking her hair behind her ear.

Remus felt a surge of pure joy. She had glossed right over the reason for his hospital stay and focused instead on helping him catch up on what he missed. It was exactly what he needed from a friend. ‘Thanks, Lily. This is amazing. I really appreciate it,’

‘It’s no problem, I hope you’d do the same for me if I had to miss class,’ she said, smirking at him.

‘Absolutely,’ he said, chuckling at the blatant hint.

‘Good morning, class,’ Professor Flitwick said over the noise of the chattering students. He paused while they all settled down and turned their attention to him. ‘Today’s lesson is the Flagrate charm. It’s a wonderful spell for perfecting one’s aim and wand control, and I think you’ll find it a lot of fun. It allows you to draw on surfaces with a non-damaging flame, like so.’

Professor Flitwick demonstrated the charm by drawing an impressively accurate picture of a dragon on the blackboard. The flames gave the image an ethereal quality that Remus thought beautiful.

The students enjoyed themselves drawing words and pictures all over the classroom. Professor Flitwick was quick to vanish anything rude but didn’t bother to punish the casters, instead complimenting them on their spell work. Lily was drawing flowers on everything with a cheerful smile on her face and Remus practised writing words after realising the spell would be a fantastic way of leaving a message to go with his little bit of mischief. By the end of the lesson, everyone was fairly competent at the charm, and Professor Flitwick gave the entire class five house points for their hard work.

-o-o-o-o-

Lounging on his bed, full and lethargic after lunch, Sirius’ mind returned to the problem of Remus. He had discussed their conversation that morning with James and Peter. They were both as surprised as him and agreed it was unfair to accuse Sirius of treating him like a fascinating new creature when they were just worried about him. But Peter pointed out that if that’s how Remus felt, then they should back off.

Sirius didn’t want to back off, he wanted Remus’ friendship. It had been hard watching him get along so well with that Evans girl in Charms. Then she and Remus worked together planting shrivelfigs in Herbology and sat together again in Defence while they studied Ashwinders. It was unbearable. What did she have that Sirius didn’t? He had to find out.

‘Sirius, will you stop sulking about Remus and get over here? We need your help,’ James called from where he and Peter were crouched on the floor with a box of soap and a bucket of frogspawn. James had written to his father to acquire the items, and his father had sent them immediately, along with a note telling him not to, under any circumstances, tell his mother. Sirius was not jealous of James because of his father, not at all.

‘I’m not sulking, I’m thinking, you git,’ Sirius said, launching himself off the bed to tackle James to the floor and tickle him mercilessly.

‘Get off,’ James cried in between bouts of uncontrollable laughter. ‘We don’t have time. Remus could come back at any moment.’

Sirius stopped and sat up, but remained on top of James, straddling his thighs and pinning him to the ground.  ‘Don’t you see? That’s why we need him to be our friend. Then we wouldn’t have to worry about him walking in when we’re planning stuff.’

‘I don’t know, mate. He doesn’t really seem like the mischief-making type to me,’ James said, straightening his glasses.

‘Maybe he wouldn’t join in, but at least he wouldn’t tell.’

‘He told you to leave him alone though. We can’t force him to be our friend,’ Peter said.

Sirius frowned. ‘No. We can’t. But we can make him want to be.’

James sighed. ‘You already tried that, it didn’t work.’

‘No, I just ruined it by not keeping my mouth shut. I just need to stop talking too much.’

‘Well, good luck with that,’ James said, rolling his eyes. ‘Now are you going to help or not?’

‘Sure. Show me what to do,’ Sirius said.

‘You’ll have to let me up first,’ James said, waving his hand to indicate his legs still trapped beneath Sirius’ ass.

-o-o-o-o-

Wednesday, 8th September 1971, 1:30pm

Standing outside in the middle of the training grounds next to a broom, Remus shivered. Not from the temperature—it was a fairly warm afternoon, and the sky was a brilliant clear blue—but from nerves.

‘Okay, everyone. Stand next to your brooms, hold your hand over them and say, “Up,”’ said Madam Hooch.

Remus did as instructed, and his broom twitched a little but otherwise didn’t move. Opposite him, Sirius and James’ brooms both shot into their hands on their first attempt, and they stood holding them and smirking round at the other students. Peter, however, didn’t seem to be having any more luck than Remus. Lily was to his left, and her broom bounced twice before changing its mind and staying put.

Trying again, Remus held his hand out and, using a firm voice, said, ‘Up!’ To his amazement, the broom leapt into his hand with so much force that he staggered backwards a little and Lily giggled.

Madam Hooch showed them how to mount their brooms and marched down the lines of students, correcting their holds and making sure they were seated properly, before telling them to push off gently, rise a few feet and then lean forward to land.

Remus’ heart rate sped up at the instruction. The one trait he and the wolf shared was a dislike for heights. Well, not heights exactly. More a dislike for the potential of falling and splattering on the ground. He considered this to be a sensible fear and couldn’t understand why more people didn’t share it.

Remus hesitated and glanced around at the other students. Lily had already risen into the air beside him, and the sound of her mad giggling floated down from above. Sirius and James were in the air and zooming around as if born to fly. Show-offs. Madam Hooch yelled at them to come down and blew her whistle. The high-pitched sound hurt Remus’ ears, and he winced.

After taking a deep-breath to steady his nerves, he gathered his courage and pushed off. Remus rose into the air slowly, hovered a few feet above the ground and leant forward to descend. Much to his relief, the broom brought him to a gentle stop at ground level, and he dismounted with a grateful sigh. It was to be short-lived, though, for the next task was to reach a height of ten feet, fly in a straight line to the other end of the training ring and then land. Remus gulped.

Lining up with everyone else, Remus manoeuvred himself to stand behind James and in front of Lily. Both knew of his “phobia,” and he trusted them to keep their distance. He watched as each student, in turn, took to the air and completed the run. Some were more competent than others. Unlike the other classes, in this one, it was easy to tell the muggle-born from the pure-blood. The pure-bloods acted confident and comfortable on the back of a broom, most likely having flown before. The muggle-borns behaved more cautiously, taking their time to get accustomed to the strangeness of riding a broom instead of sweeping the floor with it.

Remus gaped in awe as first Sirius shot across the sky, followed closely by James, who attempted to over-take him and almost managed it. And then it was his turn. He took a deep, steadying breath, mounted his broom and pushed off. As he rose into the sky, he kept his eyes focused on the horizon, chanting to himself not to look down.

The problem started when he reached the specified height and needed to accelerate. In the process of leaning forward, he caught sight of the ground and realised just how far away it was. His head spun and black specks appeared at the corner of his eyes. He leant further forward in an attempt to stay on the broom. It was most unfortunate that the broom took this as a signal to speed up. The ground rushing past at such a great speed finished the job and Remus fell.

He hit the ground with a loud thump and a sickening crack. Familiar pain shot through his wrist, and he knew it was broken. He wasn’t too concerned about it; it would be fine in half an hour. That was the problem. Everyone saw him fall. They would expect injuries. To make matters worse, the watching students were running towards him to see if he was okay.

‘Hey back off! Don’t touch him!’

The voice belonged to Sirius. Thank Merlin, he was keeping the others away.

Sirius crouched down next to him, positioning himself in Remus’ line of sight but at a comfortable distance.

‘Hey. Are you alright, mate?’ he asked, his face creased with concern.

‘Yeah, I think so.’

‘Can you stand? I think you should go to the hospital wing. You fell a long way.’

‘Alright, everyone. Give him some room,’ Madam Hooch said, huffing for breath after hurrying across the grass. ‘Are you injured, Mister Lupin?’

‘Just my wrist, I think, Professor.’

‘Well, that’s not so bad. Madam Pomfrey will have you fixed up in no time. Mister Black, help him to the hospital wing. The rest of you, back to flying.’

Sirius nodded at Madam Hooch but made no move towards Remus, who was trying to haul himself to his feet.

‘Well, help him up then, boy.’

‘No, Ma’am,’ Sirius said, turning his head to the professor with a serious expression on his face. ‘Remus doesn’t like to be touched. He’ll say if he wants me to help.’

Remus nodded. ‘He’s right, professor. I’d rather do it myself.’

Sirius beamed at the confirmation.

When he was finally upright, they started towards the school.

‘You don’t have to come, you know? I can manage,’ Remus said, thinking it would be easier to hide the healing if Sirius left now.

‘I better had. You might have a head injury and pass out on the way there or something.’

Remus thought that unlikely, given his lycanthropy, but didn’t argue.

They walked in silence for a few minutes before Sirius cleared his throat and said, ‘Just in case. If you did pass out, would you want me to catch you or just let you fall?’

Remus turned his head sharply, thinking Sirius was taking the piss, but his face was sincere.

‘Just let me fall,’ Remus said.

‘Right,’ Sirius said, and he nodded. ‘While I’ve got you here, captive so to speak.’ Sirius smirked at him before turning his head down to gaze at his feet while they walked. ‘I wanted to say, I’m really sorry for making you feel like an interesting creature being studied. I feel like a complete dick, and I promise to back off and leave you alone.’

The words came out in a garbled rush, but Remus understood.

‘Thank you, Sirius. I appreciate that.’

Sirius looked up. Remus smiled at him and Sirius grinned like a buffoon. They were almost at the hospital wing, which was good because Remus could already feel his wrist healing and Sirius was now staring at it with a confused expression. When Remus glanced down, he could see that it was visibly less bent than it had been. Shit.

‘We’re almost there. You can get back to flying class now if you want. It looked like you were enjoying yourself, and we only get the one this year.’

Sirius looked torn. ‘Are you sure you’ll be okay? I don’t mind,’ he said, but he clearly did, it was written all over his face.

‘Yeah, go on. I feel fine. I don’t want to keep you from the air.’

‘Alright then, see you later,’ he said. And he was gone. Remus breathed a sigh of relief, crisis averted, and entered the hospital wing.

‘Hello, Remus. Everything alright?’ Madam Pomfrey asked when she saw the identity of her patient.

‘Fell off my broom and broke my wrist. It’ll be fine in a few minutes, though.’

‘Well, let me have a look, anyway.’

Remus held out the damaged arm, and Madam Pomfrey waved her wand over it before checking the results.

‘It’s a clean break. I can fix it for you now if you don’t want to wait through the healing process.’

‘Might as well,’ Remus said, nodding.

Madam Pomfrey cast Episkey, and Remus yelped as his bones knit back together much quicker than he was used to.

‘Good as new,’ she said.

Remus rubbed his newly healed wrist. ‘Thank you.’

‘You can go back to your dorm if you like. I believe you have astronomy tonight? A nap might be a good idea.’

Remus nodded, thanked her again and left. A nap sounded delightful.

-o-o-o-o-

Astronomy class turned out to be boring as hell. They spent the majority of the lesson learning how to use a telescope. Sirius already knew how to use a telescope. He’d been forced into observing the stars from the age of three, and to be brutally honest, he was sick to bloody death of the things. Zoning out of the lecture on how to correctly focus the lens, Sirius glanced over towards Remus and was pleased to note that he had a fully functioning hand again. Watching him fall out of the sky like a stone had been terrifying. It was remarkable that he came out of it with nothing but a broken wrist.

After noting that Remus was fine, Sirius remembered his promise and turned away. Giving his attention to James and Peter, who were fooling around with the telescope while the teacher’s back was turned helping someone else.

Once everyone understood how to manipulate the telescope’s various settings, Professor Sinastra made them practise by finding the moon and noting its position and phase on a chart. Sirius gazed at the moon for a few minutes, remembering how he used to look at it and think about the boy who stood up for him that one time. It was close to full tonight, just beginning to wane. It would have been at its most beautiful just a few nights ago. Sirius silently promised himself to make a point of looking at the moon the next time it was full. He missed doing that.The stars might be boring but the moon was fascinating.

After class, the three friends lagged at the back of the crowd as the two houses headed back to their respective towers. When the students parted ways, they attempted to join the back of the Ravenclaw group, planning to slip away into a concealed passage they knew of on the way to Ravenclaw tower. They were thwarted in their efforts by the bloody Evans girl that Remus liked so much.

‘Where are you three going exactly?’ she said, her high, clear voice ringing out above the quiet chatter of the students. ‘Off to lose us even more points? Haven’t you lost enough yet? Or maybe you have some innocent victim lined up to attack somewhere?’

‘What the hell are you on about?’ Sirius barked. ‘What innocent victim have we attacked exactly?’

Everyone stopped to watch the exchange, forming a rough circle around Evans and the three boys. Sirius spotted Remus watching from a distance through a gap between two Gryffindors.

‘You know very well who. Severus spent hours in the hospital wing after you blew up his cauldron. Those scratches on his arms could have left permanent scarring.’

‘Ha! I had good reason for doing that,’ Sirius said, tossing his hair and puffing out his chest.

Evans crossed her arms. ‘Really? Please do explain.’

Sirius hesitated. He couldn’t announce in front of all these people what Snape had done to Remus. Even if he wasn’t already on thin ice with him, he knew someone like Remus would be mortified by that kind of attention. ‘Well, he’s a greasy git, isn’t he? Bloody deserved it,’ he said instead, knowing full well it made him sound like a dick.

‘Ugh. You’re horrid, Black. Absolutely horrid,’ Lily said, spinning around and causing her long, red hair to swing in a perfect arc before marching away up the corridor.

The rest of the students dispersed, many shooting Sirius dirty looks as they left, Sirius didn’t care though. For once in his life, he didn’t act impulsively. He’d thought before he spoke, and made the right choice. This was a total win for self-control.

‘She is so beautiful,’ James mumbled from beside him.

‘What?’ Sirius said, turning to find James staring after the Evans girl with a dream-like expression on his face.

‘Did you see the way her hair caught the light when she spun around and stormed away?’ James sighed. ‘And her eyes. They’re so green.’

‘Green is Slytherin’s colour. We don’t like green,’ Sirius said, trying very hard to be patient. What the hell had gotten into him? Whatever it was, Sirius didn’t like it at all.

James looked stricken for a moment, then his expression cleared. ‘Her hair’s red though, and that’s Gryffindor’s colour. And there’s more hair than eyes, so it’s fine.’ He nodded, as if reassuring himself. ‘Don’t you think she’s beautiful?’

‘Not really, mate. Can’t see the appeal.’

‘Girls are icky,’ Peter said.

Sirius pointed at him, ‘Yes, exactly. What’s wrong with you, mate?’

‘You just wait. She’ll be Lily Potter one day,’ James said, nodding emphatically before marching off up the corridor towards Gryffindor tower.

Sirius and Peter glanced at each other with confusion. Somehow, Sirius didn’t think James meant his declaration of impending marriage in quite the same way he had when talking about McGonagall. And he was going the wrong way.

‘James! What about the frog-spawn soap?’ Sirius hissed after him.

‘We’ll do it another time. If we do it now, they’ll know it was us,’ James called back over his shoulder.

‘So?’ Sirius said to Peter. ‘Since when did James care about being caught?’

Peter just shrugged.

They chased after James down the corridor and caught up with him just outside of the portrait hole where the bottle-neck had caused a pile-up. Remus sidled over to them and leaned close enough to Sirius to speak quietly.

‘Can I ask you something?’

Sirius nodded and walked a few meters away from the crowd waiting to enter the common room.

When they stopped, Remus turned to face him. He glanced into his eyes before looking down and fiddling with the end of his tie. ‘Why did you really attack Snape?’ he asked.

Fuck, Sirius thought, how was he supposed to answer that? The truth would mean admitting to even more of the very behaviour Remus had complained about. But he didn’t want to lie to him. He shuffled his feet. Truth or lie, truth or lie? His thoughts were frantic.

Finally, staring at the top of Remus’ head, he spoke in a whisper. ‘I did it for you.’

Remus jerked his head up and looked Sirius in the eyes. ‘What do you mean?’

‘He did something to you in the owlery, right? You came back to the dorm covered in shit and feathers, and he’s got injuries from an owl he didn’t get treatment for. Doesn’t take a genius to work it out.’

Remus’ eyes glistened. ‘Thank you,’ he said.

Chapter 12

[devnny]

CHAPTER SIX.

JTRM — THE “R” STANDS FOR RECOVERING!

PREVIOUSLY.

is it really chapter six already. good lord. this one is PRETTY ZESTY. devi is big mad.... or is she??? [dramatic music]

Dear Diary,

WHAT JOY!

I met with Devi again tonight, and she still wants to mentor me! Forget all my previous musings about drinking rat poison or slamming an iron maiden door on myself.

I can hardly wait for the rest of this night and tomorrow’s day to pass so it will be night again and I can go over!! I will be a better student now, with no stabbing to be had, I swear it.

--

Johnny’s hand shook as he wrote, his bones rattling with excitement that what he scrawled on his diary’s pages was really true and not some lovely illusion his brain thought up to deal with immense emotional pain. He was almost salivating in manic joy – Devi was so un-enraged! Her screaming and threats of violence the last time he was in her apartment were so scary, and he had expected the same treatment tonight, BUT NO! She was angry but she was forgiving! Well, to an extent. SO EXCITING!

“You see, Johnny?” Meat kept his voice as kind as he could. “Giving in to your feelings isn’t so bad.”

Johnny paid him an annoyed pout before returning to his gleeful wandering about the house. He had nothing to do with his energy besides move – or maybe he should draw? Devi would be pleased with that!

“You must agree with me this time.”

“HUSH! You will not ruin this for me.” Johnny spoke as he gathered up the pens and pencils he had splayed across the floor several nights ago. He plucked them up like flowers into his hand, shuffling along the floor with his knees bent.

“I’m not trying to ruin anything for you, Johnny boy!” The ceramic grinned. “I told you, I’m trying to help you! And look, expressing your feelings made that Devi girl happy, didn’t it?”

Johnny stood, his bushel of art supplies tucked to his chest, and thought over Meat’s statement.

“Hmm.” He looked off. Meat’s smile didn’t waver.

“It was that heartfelt-ness that moved her. She’s happy with you.”

Johnny scoffed, though his heart quickened at the concept of Devi being ‘happy’ with him.

“Don’t get ahead of yourself, meaty-guy. Devi isn’t happy-happy, she’s just not on the verge of bludgeoning me! I will have to do much more than apologize if I want to make her… happy.”

“You’re right! Why not go out and buy her some candies. Write her a poem, perhaps?” Meat suggested. Johnny brushed him off again.

“NO, no, none of your stupid interjecting.” He brought up his double palmful of pens and pencils. “Drawing will make her more pleased than food and words.”

Meat sucked in a sigh, irritated, but made no attempt to argue.

-

THE FOLLOWING DAY:

“No, it went… surprisingly well, actually.” Devi spoke into her headset as she whisked the bristles of her brush inside a jar.

“OH?” Tenna’s voice pitched from the headphones.

“Yeah, he blabbered on about how he’s stupid and completely reliant on instinct, as far as his attacks go, anyway. He reacts without thought when he feels victimized, and regrets it, wants to control it, blah blah blah…” Devi tapered off, deciding to not bring up whatever his deal was with her eyes and how he loves them, or, whatever that was. Tenna hummed a high note.

“That’s good, but also kinda, a problem, isn’t it?” She asked.

“Not a problem I’m not willing to handle.” Devi replied, tabbing her paintbrush across her canvas. Tenna tsss’d at her.

“You’re okay to deal with… potentially life-threatening attacks?”

“I had to be when I started this stupid venture; knowing the cause of it is at least something to work with. Besides,” Her mouth pulled up into a smile. “I have an idea of how to work it out of him.”

“That sounds rather ominous.” Tenna said, and Devi cackled back.

“He needs exposure.” She spoke confidently. “If he learns how to process little bits of cruelty properly, he can learn to bite his metaphorical tongue until controlling his outbursts is easy.”

Tenna made a face over the phone.

“You’re just going to be mean to him until he gets used to it??”

“Exactly. And then maybe I’ll be nice after.”

“DOESN’T THAT SEEM… KINDA DANGEROUS?” Tenna tried to reason with her. “That’s like poking at a rabid dog with a big stick!! That’s like waving a red flag in front of an angry bull!”

“He doesn’t scare me.” Devi punctuated the sentence with a harsh dot on her canvas. “And he better know better than to piss me off at this point.”

“He doesn’t know SHIT.”

Devi laughed at that.

“I’m just going to be critiquing him harder instead of being so gentle about it. Why am I coddling his low self-esteem, anyway? He needs to hear it, and he needs to get used to it.” She assured her friend. “It’s not like I’m just going to be rude to him from the minute he gets here and bully him until he leaves.”

“Oh…” Tenna frowned. “Well, I guess that’s a little better, but still… you should be careful with him.”

“He’s had his chance for me being careful and nice.” She bit out. “Anyway, I need to work on this before Johnny shows up, so I’ll talk to you later I guess.”

“HEE-HEE. You know, one thing I like about this Nny guy is that you talk to me more now that he’s around to bug you.” Tenna grinned cheekily at the phone, as if Devi could see.

“You called me.”

“But you answered!” Tenna chimed, and Devi shook her head.

“Bye, Ten.”

-

6:00PM (SHARP!):

Johnny knocked on the door, proud of the promptness of his arrival. He had a large rolled paper and his pencil bag tucked under his other arm, and he bounced on his heels impatiently as he waited for Devi to answer. His shoulders cocked back when he heard the locks undoing, and the smile he wore pushed out wide.

“Hi!” He greeted her excitedly as the door opened, and Devi stared at him with a confused, open-mouth half-smile.

“Hey, Nny.” She knew he was glad to be closer to her good graces than not, but he seemed like he might burst with excitement just standing there.

“I drew while I was away!” Johnny declared eagerly, jutting the paper tube toward her with his free hand. Devi looked down to it in surprise before taking it from him gingerly.

“Oh,” She hesitated. “—good, good.”

She waited a beat, wondering why he was just standing there expectantly, before realizing that she was blocking the doorway and turned to the side to allow him in. Johnny quickly entered, immediately making his way to his ‘spot’ at the coffee table. He sat on the floor and hurriedly emptied the contents of his bag onto the table, sorting the materials of his workspace across its surface without hesitation. Devi watched him with some surprise – she had never seen him so eager to start one of their little sessions. She chalked it up to his misguided idea that she had ‘forgiven’ him, and closed the door.

As she plopped down onto the couch, Johnny perked up, hopeful that she would be pleased with the drawings he offered. Devi unfurled the paper, and raised her eyebrows at the unexpected attempts at realism. This reaction only served to kindle Johnny’s excitement further.

“I only had some garbage things to use as models, but the shadows were very difficult.” He commented as he watched her eyes wander over the page.

Devi couldn’t say she wasn’t impressed with his efforts. It was more like something out of a preteen’s art class, but it was a big jump from stick figures, that was for sure. And his subjects certainly were garbage; a crushed can, a tissue wad, empty cups, bent silverware – but you could tell that’s what they were supposed to be, at least! Some of the light sources were wrong, but his hard, erratic lines had an amount of personality to them that she liked.

A breath sucked in between her teeth. This was such an improvement, she would feel awful to hit him with some rough criticism right off the bat. Ugh, damn her bleeding heart.

“These are…” The lump in her throat fell, unable to squash his enthusiasm. “—great, Nny. Really great.”

Johnny’s eyes glimmered back at her, his smile barely able to keep hold on his face while he absorbed her praise, his jaw instead wanting to hang open. He hinged it shut again after a moment, bringing a grin back up with him as he swallowed. He wanted to scream his elation at the top of his lungs and barrage Devi with insistent ‘thank you’s, but managed to keep the words trapped wafting around in his chest like a bubble.

“Thank you.” He exhaled, eyes on the table.

Devi inched back further on the couch, second-guessing her decision to praise him. She knew that’s what he wanted to hear, and maybe it was a bad idea to give him what he wanted so soon. Or maybe she was spiteful, and it rubbed her wrong to reward him regardless. Could be either. She had no time to dwell on it, and tapped the table with her knuckle to garner his attention.

“I’ll be expecting even more from you now, Nny.” She told him, somewhere between approval and a warning. The nervous smile he held made Devi feel a little better about her small act of kindness.

-

SOME TIME LATER:

Part of her felt badly every time Johnny’s eyes fell as she critiqued his work, but the other part of her felt absolute, pure, vindictive satisfaction every time she got the chance to. She felt like an evil middle school art teacher, holding the poor self-esteem of the nasty little student that continuously misbehaved in class, tight in her unforgiving claws. He looked so disappointed – whether it was in his efforts, or that she didn’t readily applaud him, she didn’t know – but Devi would remind herself, and him, that you don’t improve by being lied to with sweet words.

But then she would throw him a compliment about the lining on something, or the perspective on this, or the dialogue here, and that was enough to keep his engine chugging along.

In her now very limited free time, she would brag to Tenna that her plan was working rather well. At a point, as the weeks wore on, Johnny had come to expect the harsh comments from her and would brace himself accordingly. Devi felt some pride each time she saw his jaw tighten; a subtle physical indication that he was holding something back, holding something in. The evidence that he could, in fact, control himself in any small increment, was promising.

So she tried harsher words – words that would warm her own face as they passed from her brain out of her mouth. “Ugly” or “stupid”; words that should never go hand-in-hand with mentorship. Aloof interest in his completed projects, asking him cruel questions, like if he truly felt this was “completed”, or if he bothered to try at all.

It was very dangerous. Johnny argued the first few times, aggressive in his own defense, but would shortly quiet himself – very good, Devi thought. That anger being there was the point in all of this. If he made no show of it, there was no indication he was making any improvement in his emotional discipline, and she didn’t want him to be taking her verbal lashings without a fight simply because he respected her. As though his brain digested the vile things she spewed at him without any alarm bells or security measures, because it was her, and she got a free pass.

Tonight was the night she planned to go completely overboard. A ridiculous amount of bitchiness for a multipage comic that certainly didn’t deserve the cruelty she was going to bestow upon it, but would be the necessary martyr, the ever-important climax to this reckless ploy of hers. She informed Tenna that there would indeed be yelling, on her part, this evening, and to please not involve the police. Tenna was free to intervene with the cops, or a big can of mace, if she heard any screams of terror afterward, though.

Johnny had brought the finished comic pages with him, and was none too enthused about handing them over to her. Devi’s heart pounded as she prepared herself for the overly-aggressive response she had been rehearsing in her head for days, and she had prayed to the unmerciful theater-goth gods that she had the salt to maintain her malicious act without even a shake or crack in her voice. And, to like, any other deities, that might want to provide her with a little divine protection from Johnny should he want to lash out physically. That would be nice.

And it was quite a performance; false insult at what he presented her with, biting words about his lack of effort in just about everything, despite knowing well that the pages she just shoved back into his arms where some of his best to date. It pained Devi, a little, to do this to him – to any artist, for that matter. Johnny looked so confused and upset as she yelled at him that he wasn’t taking this seriously, but she forced herself to shut down his counterarguments with even louder shouting. With one more heinous act against him, she slapped the papers out of his hands and onto the floor. Johnny stared at her, pupils narrow as slits, in disbelief.

But still no murder came.

Devi let herself catch her breath with slow, quiet huffs, and feigned a cool head.

“Well?” She asked once she felt like she wouldn’t pant the words out. “Pick them up.”

It was so belittling, so degrading. She could tell from his trembling eyes that the blatant disrespect of it hit its mark, and jumped far down his gullet, twisting and burning up his innards unforgivingly. Devi herself might have stabbed someone for giving her or her art the same treatment. Her body tensed a moment, waiting, listening to Johnny’s heavy breathing, and watching his slender frame twitch and shiver under the weight of his desire for egocentric vengeance.

Devi’s lips parted in surprise when his legs buckled, and he bent slowly onto his knees to pick up the pages scattered between them.

Nothing could have stopped the giant grin that cracked across her face.

As Johnny plucked the last paper from its resting spot, Devi squatted down so she was eyelevel with him, her elbows balanced on her knees. His fingers flinched from her sudden proximity, and the page fell from his grasp, leaving it to be snatched up by Devi. She took a moment to appreciate the panels that had been so neatly inked onto its surface, before lifting her gaze above the paper and to its creator. Johnny’s wide eyes stared at the ground, franticly concentrating on the carpet instead of the woman in front of him. Devi’s smile persisted.

“I bet you’ve killed me a hundred times in your head tonight.” Her voice had a smirk in it. The comment made Johnny flinch again, and he flickered his eyes up to her for only a moment before looking away again, willing himself not to acknowledge such a thing.

“There’s no way you haven’t.” Devi said confidently. “It’s too easy for you.”

Johnny’s mouth bent into a miserable scowl, and he lowered his head further so she wouldn’t see. He was sure that she was mocking him again, this time for how pitiful the restraint on his murderous tendencies was. It wasn’t like he wanted to have those kinds of thoughts about her!

“You could have… I don’t know.” She fanned the page while she thought. “Grabbed me, twisted my arm, broke something… stabbed me, obviously.”

Devi heard the stack of papers in Johnny’s hands crinkle under his tightening grasp, and reminded herself that he could still attack her right now, if he wanted to. She waited a moment, glancing at the rattling movement of bunched stationary from her view above his head, and let her smile perk up again when the shaking stopped. Unbelievable. She’d end this quickly, to be compassionate for once.

“But you know what Johnny?” Her tone was very smug, and Johnny’s lips quivered a bit, knowing she was asking him to respond, to be a part of this conversation. She was so foolish! He was purposefully keeping out of this altercation for her own safety – could she not see that?

Still, he couldn’t deny Devi anything she asked of him at this point. With an unsettling sigh, he urged himself to raise his head to meet her stare. She looked so carelessly arrogant, it was unlike her. He would have carved a face like that right off of anyone else.

“What?” He snapped. Best to keep it short. Devi smiled fully again.

“You didn’t.”

The tension in Johnny’s face fell slack suddenly, and he searched her expression for any kind of hint at what a statement like that from her could mean. It couldn’t be so simple when it was from an angry Devi, but his mind was unable to get ahold of any deeper insult, or allusion to an action previous. He thought for a few seconds, debating what kind of cruel comment that could be – he didn’t? Yes, obviously he didn’t, but what did that have to do with anything, he wondered.

A soft blink brought with it a cool blanket of clarity. He… didn’t. What a strangely obvious, but vastly important note to make. Despite all of her viciousness, all her degrading criticisms, and even some level of physical aggression, he had made no move to strike back. Johnny was dumbfounded a moment longer, and Devi took the opportunity to reach forward and take the remaining pages of his comic from his hands. She stood, taking Johnny’s attention upward with her for a moment, before his eyes dropped to the ground again and scoured the floor while he thought.

She had been testing him! It was so clear to him now! It had been so easy to believe that Devi was just spiteful and unsatisfied with him, he didn’t even stop to consider any other motivations behind her sudden hostile behavior at all. But most importantly; he had passed. Unwittingly, he had passed the intensive test of his will – which he assumed was likely the point, not knowing what she was attempting to do and all.

With the rug pulled out from under him, Johnny had only felt confused at first, but now had a blossoming feeling of accomplishment spreading throughout his chest cavity. An unsure smile sprung up onto his mouth. He moved to join Devi in standing, and felt comfortable, for the first time in weeks, meeting her eyes so casually. She was skimming over his drawings, but looked up to him as he stood.

“If I’m being honest, you’re doing really good, Nny.” She huffed a laugh. “Like, really, really good. I’m all proud and shit.”

That accomplished feeling Johnny had felt a moment ago erupted fully, worming through every nook and cranny of his torso and out to his extremities. Devi was proud of his efforts! She was happy with him, really genuinely happy this time! His uneven smile widened into a clean crescent shape, and Devi laughed at his exhilaration from her comment.

“Screw drawing tonight.” She spoke again, and tossed the pages onto her living room table. “I think I owe you dinner.”

Johnny’s brows rose in surprise.

“What?” He gasped.

“I feel… kinda bad for being so harsh on you.” Devi looked around, not wanting to dwell on it. “And you’ve been diligent and whatnot in your projects so, fuck it, let’s go get noodles. My treat.”

Johnny only stared at her unblinkingly as he attempted to digest his good fortune; praise, smiles, laughter, “proud”, “treat”? All such unfamiliar actions and words – but not unwelcome!

“Uh—sure!” He gleamed. “Yes!”

Devi laughed again, feeling light and airy after bogging herself down with rigorous, exaggerated anger. She threw her coat on as she headed out the door, with Johnny following enthusiastically behind.

--

NEXT.

[tacitwhisky]

Sansa of Greensight

Sansa is huddling under the weirwood, knees drawn to her chest, cold and sniffling and bark scratching her back, when Jon finds her.

She looks up at the crunch of boots on leaves, then buries her face back into her knees when she sees it’s Jon. “Go away, Jon,” she sniffles into her knees, not wanting him to see how red and splotchy and horrible her face has become. “I don’t want to talk to you.”

More leaves crunch, and through the gap peeking between her knees Sansa sees Jon’s boots stop a few paces away. “Arya said you were here,” he says, shuffling his feet awkwardly. “She said you were crying.”

“So?” Sansa sniffs. “What does she care? She makes me cry all the time.” Arya’s always been Jon’s favorite even though Sansa doesn’t know why when she’s so stupid and wild and willful, and of course that’s the only reason why he’s here now. Sansa hiccups a bitter laugh. “Tell her she doesn’t have to worry. I’m not crying about how she scuffed my skirt this morning, and I won’t tell septa Mordane about it either.”

Tears prick Sansa’s eyes, and she buries her face deeper in her knees. “She wouldn’t believe me anyway,” she adds miserably. “She doesn’t believe anything I say.”

Though she can’t see his face, Sansa hears Jon’s frown in his voice, can picture the way his brow knits. “What do you mean?”

Sansa sniffles to keep her nose from running, wishing she had something to wipe it with other than her hand or dress. That was the kind of thing Arya would do, and even crying alone in the godswood Sansa refuses to do something so gross. Especially in front of Jon. Jon who’s not even her trueborn brother. Jon she’s always sighed pityingly about to Jeyne and Beth Cassel and made a show of feeling sorry for. Jon who Sansa knows has always thought her foolish and empty headed just because she’s good at singing and sewing and dancing and didn’t like to roll in the mud like Arya.

Sansa draws her legs tighter to her, wishing she could just sink into the ground. “Nothing,” she mutters. “Just go away, Jon.”

Jon shifts his weight from one foot to the other in a way that she’s sure is him looking back to the rest of Winterfell and wishing he was there instead of here with the weepy half sister he’s never liked. “What did you mean?”

“You don’t care.”

“Yes I do.”

Sansa sniffles but doesn’t answer. After a long moment Jon’s weight shifts again, but instead of walking away he takes a cross legged seat on the floor of moss and fallen leaves a few paces away. “Is it the dreams?” He asks.

Sansa’s head shoots up, face momentarily forgotten. “How do you know about them?”

Jon shrugs. He has their father’s face: long and solemn, eyes grey and serious, but not mocking like Theon’s always are. “Jeyne told Robb you think you can make things happen with your dream.”

Of course Jeyne had. For as long as Sansa has known her, Jeyne has giggled and blushed whenever she saw Robb and, before she’d understood how low born Jeyne was, Sansa had even hoped the two would marry so Jeyne could be her true sister instead of just Arya. But that had been before the dreams, before Jeyne had started looking at her sidelong and edging away when she tried to tell her about them.

Sansa buries her face in her knees again, tears welling in her eyes. “It’s not true,” she sniffs. “The things in my dreams just happen. Septa Mordane thinks I’m making them up, like I want to dream these things, but I’m not and I don’t. I just told her what I saw.”

“What did you see?”

Sansa shrugs, refusing to look up. It’s not my fault, she thinks miserably. She hates the dreams, wishes she would dream of nice things instead: tourneys or knights or ladies like in the songs. But those are never her dreams. Her dreams are always strange, horrible thing that sear behind her eyes for days after: a maiden with snakes weeping purple venom from her hair, an old wrinkled man with matted silver hair and long nails cackling on a throne as the smell of roasting meat filled the air with its sweetness, gaunt men with eyes blue and cold as chips of flint who spoke with voices high and harsh as the cracking of ice, ragged dead men spilling over the black charred walls of Winterfell in a wave of rotting limbs.

Sansa shivers and shrinks into herself as if by doing so she can shrink away from the dreams too. No matter how hard she tries they cling to her, a distant and desperate panic clawing at her throat painful as an unvoiced sob. It makes her distracted for days after each dream: makes her stumble over her feet with Winterfell’s master of dance as if she were clumsy as Hodor. Makes her give stupid, stupid answers when maester Luwin tutors her and Arya. Turns her stitching as wretched and uneven as Arya’s. That last is always the worst, will always have Septa Mordane come over to check her embroidery and cluck disapprovingly as though she’s bad as Arya. You sew so beautifully when you want to, Sansa, she sighs, why are you being so willful today?”

Sansa’s heart jumps into her throat each time to defend herself, but she knows better than to tell Septa Mordane the truth, tell her it’s the dreams. The Septa had snapped at her the last time she’d tried to explain, told her to stop making up fantasies and telling excuses or she’d go to lady Stark next time. More than anything in the world Sansa doesn’t want to disappoint her lady mother, and so now each time it happens Sansa looks down miserably, a painful throb in her throat, and shrugs until Septa Mordane gives a disappointed sigh and moves on to Jeyne.

Jon has drawn one knee to his chin. He looks thoughtfully over it at her. “Are you making them up?” He asks. “The dreams?”

Sansa shakes her head into her knees. She’s never told him, but she’s seen Jon in her dreams too. Always the same dream: a high stone tower piercing the blazing sun like a blood flecked spear, a pale faced and dark haired woman on a bed red with blood and blue with roses, and Jon a wailing babe held in her father’s arms as he kneels beside the woman and whispers soft and sad as silk a promise she cannot hear and does not understand.

Jon perches his chin on his knee. “Maybe you’re a greenseer.”

Sansa peeks up at him over the top of her knees, trying to see if Jon’s making fun of her. She doesn’t think she can bear it if he is, but his eyes when she looks are dark and serious. She’d never liked that about him: how serious he always was, the way he never seemed to laugh or joke or tease like Robb or even Theon, but in this moment Sansa finds herself absurdly grateful for his solemn seriousness. “Those are only in old Nan’s stories,” she says uncertainly.

“So? The stories must come from somewhere.”

Sansa had never thought of that. She looks down and fiddles with the hem of her skirt, flipping it back and forth and running her thumb over the pale yellow flowers she embroidered it with. She hasn’t thought of old Nan’s stories in a long time, not since she’d decided she was too old for bedtime stories, but she still remembers them: stories of a winter without end and of pale men with voices harsh as the cracking of ice just like in her dreams.

Sansa sniffles and pulls the end of her sleeves over her hands, hugs her legs to her, and sneaks Jon another glance. “You really don’t think I’m making my dreams up?”

Jon shakes his head. He crosses to her and sits with his back to the weirwood tree, shoulder against hers in the way Robb or an older brother might. “What do you see?” He asks.

---

Snippet of a fic I may write one day (or turn into it’s own original story, it has the bones for it) where Sansa is born with greensight and takes Bran’s role in the story. If you like this snippet follow me and check out more of my fic and fic recs @tacitwhisky.

[angelspigeon]

HAPPY HALLOWEEN!!!

Words: 4 323

/ ! \ The fic uses slasher themes, horror and blood

Also, it’s a kindish canon divergent where Isa and Lea never become Ansem’s apprentice and they are around 18 years old here

Link to AO3 : |  °|

If you listened to anyone, especially Ansem the Wise, Radiant Garden was the most beautiful World in the whole sea of Worlds. And this World got the chance to know there was others Worlds to explore, got the chance to know they really could compete against others. How many Worlds could brag about such fantastic fountains, about flowers shining around and sparkling as a rainbow? Their petals swirling in the soft breeze to land on people and warn them from the inside?

No others Worlds.

Especially because well… Worlds couldn’t brag.

But Ansem the Wise could.

And he was saying it: no others Worlds could pretend against his. To the joy of the citizens, of the drawings made in the pavements, in the fields of flowers in different shapes and colors.

Everything was beautiful. Everybody agreed on how fantastic, beautiful and joyful this World was.

So why…Isa was just lying in his bed, having a hard time to fall asleep, like every night, because… there were those sounds coming from the ground…

Not in his cellar, never his family would allow pest to live in their house or boiler being noisy!

No, this sound was coming deeper.

Every night, creeping through the pipe, there were those sounds… as if something was crawling there and waiting to eat him alive.

Or maybe worst?

When he was just a child, it was really hard to fall asleep and he would curl in his bed and cry in silence. But now.

Now, he just didn’t know.

He was just lying.

His family was really wealthy and his parents got the very big honor to live at only a few paces from Ansem the Wise’s castle, on the other side of the moats, and… every night, there were screams. Lamentations. Sound no Humans could possibly make. The kind of shout, if they really came from Humans, just gave you so envy to actually end their lives…

Lamentations from the side of the house, grating noise from the depth of the World…

How could you sleep?

Not that his parents seemed to struggle with that.

A lamentation was worse than others, making him jump in his bed. He sat and approached the window, his hands twitching.

His parents were really strict and always told him not to play outside, not to play at all, not to act bad, show impoliteness and so many others things. From there, it comes that, whatever they were saying, he would listen to it.  At some point he even was listening to the most stupid commands from him. And one of them was to never ever looking outside at Night and certainly not go outside.

One of the worst thing for him because, one day, Lea showed him what Moon was and he became obsessed with it. He loved the form, the message it could hold. He loved the colors and the fact it was remaining when the Sun did though everybody said it was the Sun who made it shine. The Moon was so powerful and tender at once for him. More than trying to know why there was so many weird sounds every night, Isa craved to see this Moon for real.

He just wanted to see it for real.

And he wanted to know why Radiant Garden was so beautiful in appearance but so awful as sound as the joy and the beauty of the flowers were forced to disappear.

Why this night was more horrible than others?

So many questions.

He needed to know.

Isa knew it was forbidden but his parents forbidden him to do everything. They wanted a perfect doll puppet and if they could have, they would have asked him to stop breathing. If he could have done that, he would have…

Just once, he didn’t want to listen to them.

And this command seemed to be a non-sense anyway…

Isa opened the curtains and looked outside, his eyes sought for the Moon he wanted to see more than anything and…

He let out a scream.

A scream that stretched the night and lost in the cold breeze…

  The veil of Night was laid on the World since a few hours when Lea slid in his sister’s room. She was asleep, having a day off today. Or more likely a night off tonight. Though it would be see as dangerous and reckless, she was sleeping without even twitching as he moved around her. That kind of sleep was bad for them.

Interesting for him, though.

He came outside of her room, closing the door. As he put on the fishnets of his sister, he knew his mother would have been upset seeing him doing that. Not at all because it belonged to his sister, though. He hesitated but, gathering his courage, he moved to the ‘living’ room. Where they had no sofa but just fluffy covers where they could sit on, and a big chimney surrounded by logs. He wasn’t totally reckless and looked the whole installation meaning to save them from cold days. The three rooms stopped to be used as soon as the winter came because they all preferred to come here, next to the fire and be together to keep each other warm…

Lea grabbed wood and then moved outside of the room ad right toward the door to leave home. And hoped coming back. He pushed his feet in the tiny boots with high heels as soon as he was outside of the house. Here, the sound reverberating in the street was less annoying.

It wasn’t like you weren’t already surrounded by moan and complaints.

Lea walked up to the street, not paying attention to the little covers in mass all along the destroyed sidewalks… He knew what it was.

Because of them, he didn’t want to step outside of the path formed by the road.

It was better to walk on it, and already difficult enough to avoid the hole there. Especially because the Moon was hidden under the clouds. He didn’t thank it at all.

Grunts and moans came around Lea, surrounding him as a creepy chorale.

You could even heard owls and other creatures loving to be outside the night. Even cats were using this time to slid in and search what food remains in front of the houses. Not talking about rats and mice who wouldn’t hesitate to feed themselves on the tiny mass if they hadn’t other choice.

Lea kept walking up the street and then, he moved on the other side.

He walked that path so often in the daytime, his feet were just reproducing what they did so often.

More he moved up, more he saw little mass of covers. All in the depths of that World, they were the people too poor to have a roof on their head, hence why their houses was always exposed to the rain and the wind, and more you were going up, more they have money. Not enough to pretend having a pleasant live but at least the garbage they put outside was a little bit more appealing. When those little stack of covers didn’t try to just steal what they could never have by their own.

Lea tried to chase those thoughts and kept pursuing his quest. More he came upper, more he had to avoid the little balls of covers. Now, they weren’t even on the sidewalks but also on the road and he had to move between them. His heart was racing.

In the day, they weren’t there and leaving his Hell wasn’t a problem but here… Here, he felt shivers along his spine.

If this continued that way, he would have to pass above them and he was mortified at this mere idea…

He was on his very tip toe, not wanting his heels to awake them.

Something grabbed his ankle.

He let out a scream of fear.

“Come here!” one of the little mass of cover said.

As said covers were pushed out, a face with beautiful blue eyes hit Lea. The fingers with long nails were digging in his ankle. And he saw the man taking a little knife.

“It won’t hurt you,” he whispered with a smile.

His tiny blade approached Lea’s leg as much as the teeth, the man showing impatience to be feed. At last.

Blood splattered.

A scream echoed in the street, making move all the little amount of covers. Not only the scream had reverberated against the slum but a powerful smell of blood soaked the air now. And it was as if a shoal of piranha suddenly awakened.

“You… You want to eat?”

Lea’s hands were closed along the long stick of an axe shining with blood. In the floor, the man, still his fingers around Lea’s ankle, was bleeding, the skull opened in half.

“You can eat now!” he let out, fear and anger lying in his shaking voice.

It didn’t fall on a deaf ears and all the covers started to move, revealing so many pale and thin bodies. They were all moving toward that fresh corpse.

But if there wasn’t enough for them all.

With just one corpse?

Lea shivered even more and receded, his hands shaking on the axe’s handle. He moved around the body and ran to flee from this horror, from the sound of the teeth entering in the flesh, of the blood streaming along the skin.

He ran.

He ran as fast as he could.

He ran until he stumble on his heels and fell on the floor with a big sound. Crying, yelling, he turned and moved his axe up.

To protect himself.

To save his life!

He gasped when he realized he was alone.

His Heart was racing like never and, sat on the floor, his thin black short grabbing the humidity around, he allowed himself to cry more. He had been so afraid!

He knew those kind of things could happen. They all needed to live and he had already tasted Human’s flesh when he hadn’t other way to survive. He wanted to believe none of his family had actually killed for having this meat but what if? He had killed. There were blood on his face and on his hands. There were blood on his legs and on his belly because he was wearing a tiny top. He wanted to whip it but knew he would only spread more and he didn’t dare to touch his skin.

Instead of that, he grabbed the long cape he was wearing and let the blood of that murder meet the red of the fabric…

He closed his eyes a few seconds, trying to order his thoughts.

Lea was still shivering when he got up. It was hard to walk but he still did it, moving toward the upper side of Radiant Garden. As he moved, still holding the axe to push back anyone who would like to taste his flesh, he thought again at his plan to cross the barrier.

During the day, he just used the different canals but here, the viaduct was discharging there and the dam were open.

Ansem the Wise knew what he was doing.

He knew the pest of his World would try to cross the place at the moment where it was the easier, with less guards in the streets. He wouldn’t allow that!

It was also the best moment to fill back his moat.

But this sound of streaming water couldn’t prevent the sound of the fear and the moans from the very inner part of Radiant Garden, the poor side where eat or be ate was a real law. It couldn’t prevent the sound of the flesh being eaten, of the bones being crushed, swirling and came to the World above.

They had the chance to live in Heaven but Hell would catch them back every night…

Lea kept walking until he arrived to the big gates where Guards always stand in front of it. He slid the axe in his back and grabbed the side of his hood to push it over his face. He took care as he was coming to them.

The sound of his heels on the floor made turn the guards’ head.

Lea looked down, making slide the hood over his head a bit more, though it was a bit difficult because of the spikes of his mane but though.

“Hi,” he said with a voice seeming softer than usually.

“Hello,” one replied. “What are you doing here?”

“I’m coming to work, Lea muttered.

“I never saw you?” the other guard said.

He walked toward Lea who couldn’t help but shiver. He was afraid he would turn up his face. If his tall and his forms could make him pass for a lady without any breast, at least if you looked quickly and get more interested by his outfit than his physic, it wasn’t the same for his face who would betray him faster.

“You know how this work?” the man asked.

“I give you half of my profit?” Lea replied in a low voice. He felt looks over him. “My sis’ told me so. I replace her.”

“I see,” the guard let out. “If you know, pass. And don’t try to fool us.”

Lea nodded slightly and bypassed the one in the left to go to the grid. One of them came to open him. His face still hidden, just his lips appearing, he threw them a smile. He passed through the invisible line separating the Poor Side from the Rich Side and heard the barrier close on him.

Too bad.

He couldn’t grab anymore his axe and see if killing was that horrible. He was still in shock from earlier but he had to save his life. And here… here, it was just out of hate because he knew his sister was losing most of what she earned here. She always said she would have preferred having the entire money and can do something for all of them but in the end, they kept struggling and they only seemed to have a decent life…

Without them.

If only there weren’t this grid between them…

If only…

He looked down to his hand, still stained with blood…

Maybe he should try.

“What are you waiting?” the guard asked.

“Uh… I… I walk up the stairs?”

“Yes,” the man replied.

He seemed annoyed. That didn’t disturb Lea. He was just disappointed against himself because he wasn’t able to do something. To protect his family.

But he just walked toward the stairs. They were in a tight spiral and as he looked up, he couldn’t see the end.

Lea knew about those stairs, obviously. But he didn’t know they were like that…

Now, he understood why his sister hated those stairs and always came back more exhausted. Hs way was less punishing at less.

He had no choice and started to walk the step one after one, keeping the rhythm.

Here, the smell of the death was hugging him and accompanying him in his journey. The Guards probably didn’t bother to take the stairs, or they weren’t even from the Rich Side as such, because it still had the horror. Most of the citizen of this sad Poor Side were weak and searched something else in the Rich Side. They fought every day to hope reach something else one day. They had no hope but maybe be able to be allowed up there. When they finally received the right to climb the stairs, they were already malnourished, tired, old sometimes and the steps were showing that.

Every now and then, he could see corpse more or less fresh.

The smell passed from ‘awful’ to ‘absolutely unbearable’. Lea had to force himself to look away and he almost had puck seeing a fresh corpse with strange colored part and maggots. He had to do his best to pursue which was so hard because breathing here was an horror. He kept coughing.

And he could hear the sound coming from the Poor Side itself, people moaning, fighting, begging Ansem as if he was a God who could save them from that.

He knew Ansem wasn’t a God. He knew what he held in the depth of his Castle. He knew why the Poor Side had screamed and moans reverberating. He knew why Isa always talked to him about those same things, coming from the Castle itself. The same reason that pushed him and Isa to go on the Castle so many time.

Ansem was a Monster.

Radiant Garden was so beautiful and everybody was happy to live in this World holding so many colorful and pretty flowers.

But this was just a lovely paint to hide the horror lurking in this World.

Lea glanced at the corpse on the last step. He closed his eyes and moved away. It was so sad…

He walked out of the tower, literal out of the bowels of Radiant Garden and the soft light of the Moon welcomed him, the clouds having moved away. As if the Moon itself was welcoming him.

He could only smile.

Isa was his Moon and so, being welcomed in such a way was important for him. As if Isa himself begged him to come.

Or maybe it was just him who thought about that because he wanted to see him more than anything?

He had to fight against the envy to go to see him.

The idea was him to go search after their friend in the Castle of Ansem the Wise, because Isa couldn’t… It was already hard to have him coming outside of the Castle in the daytime…

He had to focus. He had to go in the castle.

Though he doubted he would be allowed inside. However, he had to keep his sister’s clothes because they were his guardian for now.

Lea allowed himself again a few minutes to rest then he moved right toward the Castle.

Well… right toward the Castle but Isa didn’t live that far away from there. He could allow himself to give a quick check, isn’t it?

The idea in mind, Lea felt his mind slightly lighter. He didn’t know how he would have to explain the blood on his hands, the axe in his back and this outfit but he could use a hug from Isa, honestly.

And maybe they could just… run away?

They always said they wanted to.

Their friend had disappeared overnight and while they wanted to believe she was somewhere, Xehanort or Ansem should have the reply, they couldn’t find a way to find her back. All he saw today let him believe she was just dead and they have to pass on something else.

They could run away…

Radiant Garden was big enough anyway.

He would give anything he had to Isa. Well… it wasn’t much but as long as he’d be with Isa he was ready to have nothing. He was used to have anything. He could continue like that. He was more afraid for Isa…

The cold breeze was swirling around him, trying to wash him from the smell of the poverty and the horror, of the corpse, and the blood. But it couldn’t. It was a part of him and every time his heels hit the floor, he couldn’t help but think about his sister doing that so often, sometimes not coming back for days…

He shook his head, trying to push away the thoughts as he approached the house of Isa.

He knew he shouldn’t but he walked toward the garden gates and pushed it before looking up at his best friend’s window.

And he froze.

The windows were opened and the curtains flied in the soft breeze. The Moon beamed directly there to show him the real horror. The curtains didn’t just fly away… they were ripped off. And you could see pieces of glass everywhere in the flowers field just under the window.

Lea approached in horror and saw the earth turned over.

“Wh… what happened?” he muttered. “N… No. Isa? Isa you’re here?” he called.

No replies. But he hadn’t shouted. And maybe… he was just asleep.

It was that! Of course! Isa was just asleep.

With his window open that big.

And the curtains destroyed.

“ISAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA?!” he shouted.

He heard sound in the bushes.

His heart jumped in his chest. He wanted to dash to it, sure it was Isa but… but he had grown in a place where you have to take care. Obviously, he was taking care. He removed the axe from where he had put it in his back and approached the bush.

“Isa? Is that you?”

A groan replied him.

Nothing human.

An animal?

Maybe Isa was in his room and the one who had attacked him had brought an animal with him?

“I’m warning you, I’ve an axe!” he said as loud as possible.

To be heard by the guy, or the girl, wherever they were.

He was afraid.

He didn’t know what to do.

He couldn’t turn his back to… whatever was hidden there…

Another groan came from the bush and he saw piercing eyes through the leaves of the moving bush.

A beast.

“I’m not afraid!”

He jumped straight for the creatures. The axe should have touched the thing, the monster, whatever it was, but it has jumped on the side and just fur flew away in the breeze. Light blue fur. A big paw snatched him and threw him against the stone barrier around the garden of Isa’s family. The hood fell and the Moon beamed over his face.

Lea searched the axe on the floor, afraid.

In front of him, a big wolf. Bigger than any tales would tell. Bigger than he never met. It has big turquoise eyes.

“I… Isa?” he said.

The beast walked toward him, a growl still rolling in the bottom of his throat.

Lea sat, sure it was Isa. Every fear had vanished. He didn’t fear Isa. Even if he was growling at him. Even if he looked like a huge blue wolf. Because he wasn’t dead… and it was him.

He got up and approached him.

“What a deep voice you have,” he said with a joking tone.

Isa groaned, moving backward.

“Goodness, what big eyes you have,” Lea whispered. “And what a big mouth you have,” he added before kissing the long nose.

The big head rubbed against his and Lea smiled, hugging him back tenderly.

“It’s okay, Isa… I’m here.”

He pressed his head against his.

It was weird for him. But he knew it was him. He knew he was hugging Isa and this was the only thing he could think about…

  It was so cold.

The Night threatened to freeze the bones of the idiots who wouldn’t cover themselves correctly. Though Lea’s body was always warmer than others, he would have been one of those idiots if he hadn’t the fur of Isa on him. He had hugged him the whole night, still holding the axe if ever it was needed.

Not against Isa.

Against any people who would want to hurt Isa because they wouldn’t see more than a wolf.

He didn’t want Isa to be hurt.

He didn’t want Isa to have to hurt anyone and have to bear what he was bearing in his moment. He could make it disappear… He didn’t know how yet but he could. While for Isa… he didn’t want to take the risk. While his friend had truly lived sad things and was suffering from his life, probably as much as him, he was living in a cocoon and Lea wanted to keep it closed as much as possible.

He knew this would only be a splendid butterfly who would come outside of it but he preferred to wait as much as possible before seeing it. If that meant his best friend, the one he tenderly loved, would be protected.

Slowly, night gave place to the day. As the soft light of the Sun started to brush Isa, the fur disappeared, letting just appear a young man.

Lea blushed and quickly took out his hood to give it to Isa.

“You feel okay?” he asked.

“I feel… strange.” Isa frowned as he looked Lea. “Why are you like that?”

“Don’t question my outfit! You have none so you accept mine!”

Isa blushed even more than Lea and tugged the side of the hood to protect himself from his view. It was so embarrassing… How could he look him in face now?

He felt a kiss on his cheek.

“Not gonna lie, I was a bit afraid when I saw you but when I knew it was you… You are the cutest wolf I never saw! ‘Kay… that’s weird. You’re always cute though! You were so nice! What are you exactly?”

“I asked myself the same thing,” Isa sighed.

He bit his lower lips.

“Maybe a kind of werewolf?”

“Maybe? My parents never wanted me to look outside or to see the Moon. Remember?”

Lea nodded. “Say! What about using that at our advantage… I’ve an axe and you are a big scary wolf. Next Full Moon, you and I… we go in the castle and we deliver our friends!”

Isa looked down. The next time they saw her, it was a few months ago, just before she disappeared. They had thought about becoming apprentice of Ansem the Wise but they never tried because, two years before when they had tried, they have been pushed back…

He didn’t think it as a good idea.

“What about you and I, we just leave?” he asked to Lea. “I don’t think she I still there, the only way is to just run away. Find her Everywhere. Anywhere.”

“You’re right,” Lea replied. “Now?”

“When?” he muttered.

“Now!” Lea smiled. “Well… after we change our outfit maybe!” he added with a laugh.

[ofdishonesty-blog]

  ꧁   𝐝𝐚𝐧𝐜𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐰𝐢𝐭𝐡 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐝𝐞𝐯𝐢𝐥   ꧂  

when: late. past ten-year-old bright-eyed lucía’s bedtime-late. the air’s been colored sweet by the scent of deserts, and the laughter of the oblivious sprinkles the comfortable silence. it’s quiet, far too quiet.

where: primordial auto shop. an old home, an old friend / hospital

𝐭𝐫𝐢𝐠𝐠𝐞𝐫 𝐰𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬: gun violence, injury, blood, food/drinking mention, hospital(s)

The common saying "the more, the merrier" remained true and very much alive the more people seemed to pour in through the doors. The scent of cinnamon and grilled meat colored the air heavy, and to Lucia, the song playing in the back had interwoven so seamlessly into the nonchalant conversations and breathy chuckles that it now sounded more like a hymn of the south itself.

Lucía herself did not know what to make of these gatherings - the current one, especially. It wasn't every day that a get-together of this magnitude was held, but then again, the dates as special as this one were few and far between. Even then, she could not feel as though Cronus Thane's ghost were looking over the event. It was impossible not to, given that this was the act of commemorating his creation, to celebrate his legacy. Once a portal was opened, ghosts were bound to come through whether they wanted it or not.

She's hopped from conversation to conversation - none of them involving the person she'd rather be talking to. If anything, today felt somewhat more unique solely due to all the tension in the background. But now, Lucía was impatient. She'd avoided the food table as if she were still waiting for the host, or the special guest, to come in before they could feast.

In a way, she was.

Parties were fun until they weren't. She must've lost track of time. Somewhere between the toast and the desert, everything had muffled, moments easing and overflowing like the mixed pigments in a painter's palette. She looked at her phone, the last call to one of the Trojan members. The conversation played in her head again.

"They're having a party at the auto shop."

"Are you sure?"

"I'm sure. Come now, and come prepared. It could use some entertainment."

The only thing she was able to distinguish was the screeching of tires, the subsequent smell of burnt rubber. For a moment, Lucía allowed herself to think that the event had altogether become more entertaining. The more the merrier, right? And who else was there to invite than the old family? Lucía playfully thought that the invitations had gotten lost. But Cronus was six feet under, so cold he surely would not care. The remaining Primordials, however...

The shots marked the time like the ticking of a clock, the falling empty caskets mirroring calm wind chimes. The weight of her own weapon weighed against her skin, swaying inside the pocket of her leather cut like a pendulum. But she hadn't drawn her weapon, and she doubted she would. Where would her aim fall? Who would her targets be? Whoever she aimed for would make her look bad. Aim for Knox, send the Trojans after her. Aim for Andy or Anthony, give herself away. If anything, she did what she so often did: she watched. In the chaos and confusion, it was hard. Leather did not darken or damp due to the crimson. It was messy, and she loathed messy. But if she knew something, Lucía knew news would be waiting for them the morning after.

She visualized herself moving toward the closest exit, ending up unmaimed and successfully avoiding getting caught in the cross-fire. And she tried. The cupboards, stools and auto were her aegides throughout the way. She had gotten far quickly when she felt hot. It hit her like a wave somewhere in the back, close to her shoulder, flowering and spreading like ripples in water. Then a second one in the leg. Boom. Gotcha, she thought. Instinctively, she felt to the ground, uttering some curses as the denim surface dampened with hemoglobin. It was suddenly so cold, so cold she shivered. Her shaky hands clutched onto the leather, although her fingers proved to be too weak to hold on for long. Fucking bullshit. She wasn't supposed to become a casualty (not that she would, no. She'd drag whatever motherfuckers she could along with her if it came to that, but she was nowhere near done with her time yet). But suddenly she felt so sleepy, and her kids were getting heavier and heavier and everything felt so smooth and cozy and warm... She felt like a child in every sense, refusing to fall asleep. Growing up, she watched movies on their old cracked screen where the hero would get injured, and his friends would carry him an hold his hand. He'd be rushed through the ER, and someone in the back shouted that they were losing him. It felt so miserable not to be allowed that. Didn't she deserve something better? Something larger and kinder? No, none around here did, not when they were so willing to draw their arms and aim for their old brothers and sisters. She felt stupid for even feeling worthy of any kindness. But kindness was not the same as greatness, and it stung her how utterly shitty and stupid it would be for her to die in an auto shop while some shitty off-key country song remained stuck in her head. But maybe that's as big as she would get. When she had extended the invitation to Rhea's secret gathering over to the Trojans she wasn't expecting to get screwed over in any way. 

Maybe it wouldn't hurt to take a nap now. Something to top this whole shitshow, like a cherry on top or something along that saying. Everything around her felt blurry and devoid of color. She closed her eyes, lights flashing on the back of her eyelids. And she slept, thankful to a strange, vulnerable extent that she was finally allowed to rest. It felt like a hug, like the welcome of an unseen yet familiar acquaintance. She of colors, like mauve and puce, then electric blue and poppy red. Her head went quiet before she felt as though she were being jolted awake, hoisted and shoved by an invisible tide. She found it unsettling to wake up in a different room, walls the same blinding shade of white as lilies, or the surface of the moon. Her eyes moved about the room while a distant beep increased in speed. The chemical smell made her want to throw up right then. Her limbs felt heavy and rigid, like she had been pulled apart and put back together carelessly and in the dark. Her ribcage burned, aching for air that wasn’t tinted with that fucking odor, or like it’d been stuffed with cotton. She didn’t feel light, or free, or changed; she felt fucked, and screwed, and stepped on.

God, if this ‘hangover’ wasn't turning out to be shittier than she'd expected. She'd never had anything against gatherings, or parties, but now the odd mixture of numbness and sharp, intense pain on her back and leg insisted on making her change her mind. She wondered if hospital food were to be as bad as it was made to be, and loathed thinking about the eventual bill in the mail. Maybe it was true: all snitches got were stitches. The only thing she desperately hoped was to be met with some good news from the Trojans in exchange for this inconvenience. She would be pissed had the fucking shots not been worth it in the end.

[littlebitoffanfic]

Baking

Fandom: Texas Chainsaw Massacre Character: Leatherface, luda, Hoyt, monty Relationship: Leatherface/reader Request: Leatherface x reader where reader Chan is a baker and chef so constantly insists on helping with cooking. Just simple. A.N: apparently I cant do simple. But if you’d like a part two that’s a little more simple (since I’d have an established story). You placed the freshly bakes cupcakes on the windowsill of your home, the aroma filling the house. They looked delicious and smell as divine, which you were glad of, because they hoped they would draw your visitor once again. You had seen him about numerous times. He liked to walk in the woods quite often but always hid his face behind masks. When you first moved into the house, you had been frightened of him. He was a big guy, tall and very muscular, but even in fear you couldn’t help but feel the smallest ping of attraction for him even then. It had all started when you put some mini pies on the windowsill to cool, and you came back to notice one was gone. Slowly, all the things you baked seemed to go missing. Only the ones that there were a quantity of, so big pies, cakes and such stayed intact, putting the idea it was an animal to sleep in your mind. But you soon met you visitor. You had been hiding at the side of the window, waiting for whoever to make an appearance when you saw him. You had planned to confront whoever had been stealing your baked goods, but when you saw it was him, you couldn’t. You had heard rumours about him, that he was a retard and stupid and that he was an animal. The man standing at your kitchen window was an outcast, much like you had been before. He didn’t need someone shouting at him. So you had spoke to him. He had jumped and started to leave when you called him back, telling him it was fine, that you had made them for him and he could take them all, if he wanted. Which he didn’t. he only took one then quickly retreated back to the forest. Slowly, but surely, you developed a kind of friendship with him. He started being you things to ‘trade’ for your baking after you had declined to take money. Jewellery, pictures, books, utensils, you name it. You had also learned his name. Thomas. It had happened because you wanted to know his name, but he never spoke. Whether mute or just the silent type, you still wanted his name. So you wrote down a few names you though he might suite. When he came again, you presented your list to him and ask if any were right. He seemed to pause and you saw his eyes light up, meaning he was smiling under the mask. Grabbing a pen, he circled the name “Tom” which you had written down and scribbled “Thomas” next to it. You still had that piece of paper. You were brought out of your thoughts when you heard a small knock on wood. Turning around, you saw Thomas standing at the window. “hello.” You greeted with a smile, running up to the window to speak to him. You loved having a constant visitor. “This is a new recipe, so I don’t know how they will taste. Will you give me feedback?” You asked, nodding to the cupcakes. Thomas nodded, ever helpful. He placed a book beside the plate which you quickly picked up and recognised the cover. “Oh Ive heard of this one. Its meant to be very good. I cant wait to read it.” You smiled, holding the book to your chest and smiling gratefully. He seemed a little nervous today and you could couldn’t quite put your finger on what it was until he placed a box on the windowsill as well. Frowning slightly, you placed the book down and took the box, opening it up to see meat inside. A red meet that was cut into chunks. “Do you want me to cook this?” You asked, and he seemed relieved that you understood, nodding quickly. “Okay, well, what about in a pie? Or a stew? Do you have any preference?” Thomas thought for a moment, before holding up one finger, meaning the first open. “Pie it is. When do you want if for?” You asked as you went and put it in the fridge, well awake that it was a warm day. he looked at the clock, which read 12pm, then held up 6 fingers. “6pm tonight?” You confirmed which he nodded to. “Are you having a family dinner?” He nodded, then pointed at the floor. It took you a moment to understand what he was meaning. “You want your family to come here to eat?” You asked, a little confused but he nodded, offering you a apologetic look. “Oh okay. How many are there?” He pointed to himself, then to you, then held up 3 fingers. “Okay, 5 is manageable.” You nod. “is pie with mash potatoes enough?” He nods, his eyes smiling at how quickly you had understood him. Even his own family weren’t always able to understand what he was trying to say. He took the cupcakes and left. --------------time skip------------ Glancing at the time, you brushed a stray hair out of your face. It was 5.50pm, only ten minutes before Thomas and his family arrived. You weren’t sure why you were meeting his family. Maybe they had asked about you, did they know of all the baked good Thomas got from you? Going back to the stove, you turned the heat down but continues to stir the mash, giving it a quick taste test before adding a little more salt. You heard the door bell ring and you quickly wiped your hands on a towel and ran for the door. When you opened it, Thomas was standing at the front, to his right was a man in a sheriffs uniforms, his face showing that of a man who had lived a hard life. There was a woman beside him, her hair whitish grey and she was a healthy pump woman with an obvious sense of self pride shown by the ironed flowered dress with pearls around her neck. To Thomas’ left was a man very similar to the one in the sheriffs uniform in age but not in style. He wore dungarees that hung loosely over his slim shoulders. He seemed to have a permanent slouch. So this was them. The Hewitts. “Please, come in.” You smiled, stepping back and gesturing into your hallway while holding the door open. “Thank you dear.” The woman said as she stepped in first before all the men. She ran the house, you knew it. But she spoke with such warmth to you without even knowing you. The men muttered thanks as they past you and Thomas smiled. He seemed to have got dressed up, with a clean red shirt and pressed trousers. you showed them into the dining room which had a table with placements already set up for 5v guests. You decided it was best to introduce yourself to the woman first. “My names [y/n] [l/n].” you smiled as you spoke to her, which she returned. “Luda mae, sweetie. And this is my brother, Hoyt, this is uncle Monty and I believe you have met my son already.” She pointed to each member as she spoke. “Thomas? Yes, I know him.” You smiled, nodding as you tried to remember the two mens names. “How do you know his name?” She asked, perplexed. So he must be permanently mute. “Oh, I wanted to know it so I wrote down some names I thought matched him on a piece of paper. I wasn’t far wrong.” You smiled as you moved to a small desk in the corner and pulled out the paper, offering it to her. She smiled as she looked at the writing on it. “Well dear, aint that sweet. Look.” She showed Hoyt, who frowned and eyed you up and down. He was obviously a man who didn’t trust easily. “If you’d like to take a seat. Dinner wont be a moment. Theres no seating arrangements so just wherever you feel comfortable. And theres wine, soft drinks and water on that table.” You pointed to a small side table you normally kept photos on but was now a drinks bar. “Got any beers, doll?” Monty asked, earning a elbow to the ribs from Luda. But you answered before she could chastise him. “Oh yes! Sorry, I forgot. Let me just grab them. Is Budweiser okay?” You scolded yourself for forgetting beers. “My favourite.” He smiled at you and you knew you had him on your side. Escaping into the kitchen, you let out a sigh of relief. They seemed like a lovely family, but tonight was going to be a long night. Pulling out the pie, you smiled at how perfect it looked. It was like a pie from a commercial. The top was a beautiful colour and it was crispy. Plating up, you tried to give everyone an even amount of pie and mash. You also poured some of the gravy into a container to place on the table for anyone who wants gravy on their mash or extra. Taking a deep breath, you picked up one plate in your right hand and placed another on your forearm like waitresses do, Lifting up a third plate, you made your way into the dining room. The family sat at either side of the table, leaving you with the head of the table. You were surprised, since you expected either hoyt or luda to take the top but you didn’t say anything. Luda would be on your right and Thomas on your left, with Monty sitting beside Luda and Hoyt beside Thomas. “Smells delicious, dear.” Luda smiled as you placed a plate in front of her. You got similar comments from Hoyt and Monty before you went to get yours and Thomas’ food. Once again, you took two plates on one arm and used your free hand to the gravy. “Will you say grace?” You asked Luda as you placed your plate and his down. She smiled widely before ducking her head. You mirrored the rest of the family as she spoke, keeping your head down until she finished. The first few moments were torturous as you waited for their verdict, but soon the hum of satisfied taste buds filled the room, making you let out a sign of relief. The rest of the meal was spend with idle chit chat. Luda asked you about your life, your hobbies, what you had done before moving to the little cottage. You asked her about her dress, about how long she had been here and about the family. Hoyt and Monty only offered some conversations, but spent the whole time stuffing their faces. Thomas might have done the same, except for the mask her still wore, which meant the mouth hole was a little more difficult to shovel food into. You wondered if he ate with his mask on all the time or if it was just since you were here. “Well, I don’t think ive ever tasted the meat that tender.” Hoyt smiled as he leaned back, his stomach full and his plate empty. “Yes, human meat is a little tough but I find if you marinate it for a couple of hours in the gravy, it really makes the dish.” You spoke nonclonally, not looking up from your plate as you cut up some meat and ate it. You felt four sets of eyes on you as you looked up. You couldn’t help but smirk at their horrified faces. Not because it was human. But because you knew. “How?!” Hoyt demanded, his anger not taking you by surprise. “Ive worked in many places, with many people. I have some… strange friends who make and sell the best chili you’ve ever tasted.” You shrugged, placing down your cutlery. “I honestly don’t mind. I know how hard it is to make a living out here and I know how dangerous a lot of travellers are.” If they hadn’t been surprised, they were now. “You aint real.” Monty piped up. “No way Thommy found a girl who cooks well and is fine with all this.” you saw Thomas’ head snap to his uncle, giving him a dirty look but you shrug, unable to hold back the smile. “Hey, I keep myself to myself mostly. But its good to have people you can trust.” You look at Monty, seeing a smile pull at his lips. “hot damn.” Hoyt laughed loudly, making everyone jump slightly. “Is everyone finished?” You asked, steering the conversation momentarily away from the topic. You didn’t really need to ask. All the plates were empty and Luda had placed her cutlery down last. Gathering up the plates, you went into the kitchen to give them some privacy. But you crept closer to the door to eavesdrop. “Shes good. We could use someone out this way. You know how they all run for the meat factory. Well, shes smack dap in the middle of us and the factory.” Monty said in a hushed voice. “But its another mouth to feed.” Hoyt hissed. There was a moment of silence. “Thomas is right. Shes stocked up here. She obviously get some stuff in from outside the town. I don’t think she would be any bother. Plus it would be nice to have someone around that’s Tommys age. He obviously likes her.” Luda was a little louder than Monty, but she seemed to smile at the end. You couldn’t help your own smile at the thought of the gentle giant having feelings for you, even if only as a friend. You decided now was the best time to go back, so you scooped up the pudding and plates before entering. “I hope you left room for dessert. Its a Victoria sponge cake with cream.” You smiled as you placed the large cake in the centre of the table. “Would you like to cut?” You offered Hoyt the knife. A tactical move. Even though Luda seemed to have the last word, he was the face. He was the one who would appear to be in charge and liked that. Smirking, he got to his feet and cut the cake directly down the middle then attempted to cut it from there, only to be scolded by Luda. “God sake, don’t cut it like that!” She got to her feet, elbowing him out of the way and taking the knife right out of his hand. “Damn woman.” Hoyt hissed as he dropped back into his chair. You had to cover your mouth to stop you from laughing. You could really tell they were brother and sister. Some things just never changed. Glancing to the side, you saw Thomas was looking at you. You could tell he was smiling under his mask and you lowered your hand to show your smile. Soon, there was cake being passed around, everyone drizzled theirs with some cream and you smiled at how the family didn’t treat you any difference once they knew you knew. As before, no one really spoke during dessert although moans of delight filled the room on the first bite. “I must bring Henrietta and Katy to you.” Luda suddenly said. “They are very fond of high tea and these cakes are to die for.” “Are they relatives?” You asked, purely out of curiosity. “Yes, cousins actually. Oh and Henriettas about your age. Might be nice for you to have people your own age about.” Luda nodded as she took another bite. She wasn’t wrong. You adored Thomas and his company, but being able to have a conversation with someone both ways was something you missed. Once everyone was done, you raised from your chair to clear the plates away and saw Thomas mirror you. You couldn’t help but smile softly as you collected the plates and he took the cutlery and left over cake and followed you into the kitchen. “I cut off some for you and your family to take home.” You called to him over your shoulder as you set everything down. Your kitchen looked like a bomb had hit it but you didn’t mind. You would happily clean it later. Letting out a yawn, you couldn’t help but stretch. You heard Thomas move closer to you and placing a hand on your back, silent asking if you were okay. “Yeah, just a busy night. I think im going to watch a movie later so I kinda want to stay up.” You tell him, smiling at the contact. He tilts his head ot the side and you understood what he meant. “I was going to watch Saw.” You tell him but he shakes his head out of confusion. “You haven’t seen it? it’s a body horror movie. Theres 6 in total. I was going to marathon them for the next few day. Do you want to join me?” Thomas nodded his head vigorously, seeming excited by the invitation. You couldn’t help but smirk a little. The problem was that you were too good at reading Thomas. You knew he hadn’t just wanted his family to taste your cooking, he wanted them to meet you. By the way they spoke, they knew about you and Thomas seemed to have communicated a desire to keep you around. A man in his late twenties doesn’t just look for female company for friendship only, nor do they introduce them to their family for friendship. Thomas was a big man, he towered over any person and especially you, but he never intimidated you. If he really wanted, he could had forced you to do anything he wanted a long time ago. But he hadn’t. He had gotten to know you, he had listened to you and brought you things. Maybe he had got the ideas from old movie. Like a courtship. Not that you minded at all. He was a very attractive man, even with his skin issues. And you didn’t care about that at all. He was sweet, a gentle giant. You could easily fall completely in love with him. And maybe you already had. the two of you made your way back to the family. You gave them two large tins stacked on top of each other, one with the left over pie and the other with half the left over cake. “Thanks, dearie.” Luda smiled. You could tell she wanted to stay longer but Monty and Hoyt were anxious to get home to bed. It was dark out and nearly 10pm by the time they made their way to the door. Each told you it was nice to meet you and you returned the compliment. They didn’t question when Thomas didn’t follow them out, although you saw Hoyt send Monty a smirk and wink. Closing the door, you let out a sign of relief. “That went well.” You commented, seeing Thomas nod made you relax more because it meant it really did go well. Taking him by the hand, you guided him into the living room and pulled him down onto the sofa. Thomas followed you like puppy and once he was sitting, you cuddled into him as you switched the tv on. Thomas didn’t start to relax until a little into the movie when he wrapped his arms around your shoulder then tensed. Until you cuddled into him a little more, resting your head on his chest. You also told him that the couch had a reline function so he was able to put his feet up which you lay on the rest of the couch. Towards the end of the movie, you thought you would try something. Closing your eyes, you pretend to be asleep as the movie came to an end. You felt Thomas lean forward firs to sit up and then, once you didn’t move, to look at your face. He hesitated for a moment, before leaning back and reaching for something. You felt something drape over you and you knew it was the soft throw that had been lying over the top of the sofa. He covered you up then leaned backwards, seeming to settle down for the night. With his arms around you, he seemed so comfortable and at peace. Looking up at him, you felt him jump a little at realising you had woke up. But you pushed yourself up to press a chase kiss to his lips before ducking back down, hoping he would allow you to sleep here for the night. Which he did, in exchange for a few kisses in the morning.

[othercat2]

Fic: Build a Life from Scratch 1/?

In which Bro has an existential crisis, the Grand Highblood is in the middle of having a Crisis of Faith and the Demoness is going to cut the next bitch who calls her “Handmaid.”

Clan of the Cave Hobbits

So, the first thing is, you wake up. Starting a story with someone waking up is a cliché. It’s not a thing you’re supposed to do. But this is you. Waking up and blinking at the sunlight between the trees. You are lying on the ground, which feels soft and damp. At ground level are ferns, various shrubberies, mosses and flowers. You don’t know the names of anything you’re looking at. The trees are not easy trees; maple, or oak. They are definitely deciduous though, and the climate is temperate (as far as you can tell from ironically watched nature programs).

You are as naked as some short asshole in a fantasy novel where citizenship means you can wear clothes.

Your head is empty.

You have to think about the latter for a moment. And maybe the former, because well, naked in the middle of a mysterious forest. This is generally a thing that happens in certain fantasy novels you may have read when you were a kid in your favorite foster home. (Not that you’d ever admit it out loud since that foster home also involved getting dragged to church every Sunday. Also, Pam kept trying to get you to give up Cal.) You will go to great lengths for talking unicorns, horses, and bizarre sexual interactions. The games may have also piqued your interest in the series.

You’re wandering in your head, and nothing is pulling you back to the subject, which is naked, in the middle of nowhere.

You sit up slowly, taking stock. You are entirely in one piece, no scars, and your hands free of calluses. (You remember being run through with a sword, the knowledge everything had fallen apart, the thing in your head snarling.) And your head is completely empty. And Cal is nowhere in sight.

Your chest tightens and you fold up, you feel hot and sick, sweat sheening your arms, sliding down your back. Cal is gone and your head is empty. You think you’re maybe going to throw up, but there’s nothing to throw up so you just gag on acid and try to breathe while it feels like your gut has turned into a nest of snakes. Your face is wet with sweat or tears and you rock back and forth for a while.

The moment passes, the feeling of sickness fades. Vague thoughts surface: the kid, where was the kid? There was a kid, right? The kid and the weird floating bird kid who tried to help you against the chessman-bird-dog-thing. You think of Texas summer heat and the roof. And you think about the kid.

(You think about Pam frowning over the lack of food, the lack of safety and security. Pam is long dead and wouldn’t understand what you were trying to accomplish. Wouldn’t understand the game that would render everything she believed in irrelevant. You don’t know why you’re thinking of her. You haven’t thought about her in years, but now you can almost see her; a short, round woman with thinning hair going gray at the temples. She’d had brown eyes.)

Where was Cal? Why does your head feel empty?

Your stomach also feels empty, and you aren’t sure what’s safe to eat around here. You rise up on legs that feel shakier than they should. The ground is uneven, but you try to walk. The undergrowth prickles against your skin, and you hope you aren’t brushing through the equivalent of poison ivy or sumac. There’s insects and birds, and the occasional fast, bounding shape heading away from your presence.

(You are more than a little worried about predators, and about lacking any kind of protection from same.)

Downhill leads you to the sound of water and the thirst that had been burning away at you for the past however many miles makes you hurry toward the sound. When you reach the bank of the stream you drop down to your knees. You’re about to scoop up a double handful of water when someone throws a fucking rock at you. It hits you in the back and you yelp, whirling around.

There’s a girl. Something like a girl standing a few yards away. She’s tall, has gray skin, huge curling horns that look too big for her to be standing under their weight. She has short black curly hair that looks like it had been mostly hacked off with a knife and dark eyes--you’re too far away to make out their color as anything other than dark. She’s wearing a leather skirt and tunic that has a feeling that’s more functional than sexy. There’s a bundle of some kind at her feet.

“What the fuck?” is the only thing that comes to mind to say.

“I should say that,” the girl says. Sort of says. Under the words you’re hearing in English are words in some other language you don’t know. “You want to be sick, go ahead and drink, foul yourself from both ends.” She smiles like a razor.

“Water’s clear?”

“Upstream a big prey beast fell in the water, too big for hunter beasts or carrion beasts to carry off easily. It rotted and sent foulness downstream. You drank and then gut pains started. You took fever and saw shit and broke your head falling down.” She says it not like it’s something she’s predicting, but like she’s telling you that this is something that already happened.

The realization is somehow more disturbing than anything else at the moment. “Well aren’t you a Good Samaritan,” you say slowly. “Think you coulda told me instead of throwing a rock?”

“No,” the girl says, smiling like she thinks she’s said something that’s fucking hilarious. You would definitely beg to differ on that. She picks up the bundle at her feet and tosses it gently toward you. It lands about a foot away. It’s a bundle of leather. You stoop to pick it up and find it’s a leather skirt and tunic like the one the girl’s wearing, and an honest to god flint knife. The blade’s about six inches long, and the hilt is wrapped in a leather cord. “Use ties,” she says, showing you a place in the waistband of her skirt that has a “ties” and a flint knife similar to yours held in place by them.  

“Okay.” So the skirt ties off with a leather cord draw string. There are ties in the waist band for apparently knives and you think maybe also pouches or something. The tunic sleeves end at about the elbow, and it laces up the front with more leather cord. No shoes are included in the ensemble, and you can see that the girl isn’t wearing any.

“Come with me,” she says.

“Sure why don’t I follow the mysterious gray demon lady off into the unknown,” you say, even though you don’t have a lot of--any--options right now.

“You have somewhere else to go?” She asks, and heads off into the woods.

At a loss for anything else to do, you follow her. Up close her eyes are a warm garnet red and her sclera area gold yellow. It turns out she has a waterskin. The water is warm and tastes like ass, but is hopefully free of anything that sounds like dysentery from hell. You try to hand it back to her, but she lets you--makes you--keep it.

You walk, and the sunlight above the trees shifts considerably. Your feet hurt, your legs hurt, and you go uphill and then downhill at least three times, and then turn something like a bend that opens up into a clearing. The ground dips down and then back up again, and where it comes back up there’s something like a roof sticking out of a hill. Near the house is a garden, and what’s either a well or a cistern. “You’re kind of tall to be a fucking hobbit,” you tell the girl.

“Sleep under trees, if you don’t like,” she says, and heads down to her house.

You follow, because you might as well, having gone this far. The door is pretty big, so is the actual house. As you get closer, you realize food is being cooked, and you are even hungrier than you were when you first woke up.

The girl opens the door to her house and ducks inside, saying something loud that’s just a buzz in your ears. When you follow after her you have a moment of disorientation because there are two girls, absolutely identical standing by a fire pit in the center of the room. Then there’s just one girl. “Of course leave me to explain to the stupid clown,” the girl says glaring that the space formerly occupied by the other girl.

“Hard crowd tonight,” you say.

“Not you,” the girl says. She tilts her head deeper into the house. “Stupid high blood clown.”

This doesn’t explain a lot. The room’s lit by the fire in the pit, and the room is ventilated by the smoke hole and what look like a wicker grille covering holes in the roof. Meat is cooking on skewers over the fire, and something’s bubbling away in something like a leather pot. “Hot rocks from the fire,” she says, though you’d already figured out it was something like that. She shows you where to find what passes for dinnerware in the Neolithic: horn spoons and leather bowls, flat wood planks. (“I’ll figure out clay eventually,” she grumbles.)

She has you wash your hands twice before you touch the dinnerware or eat. (Cleanliness level: several hundred points above Clan of the Cave Bear.) The soap is soft and horrible and it feels like it’s trying to eat the skin off your hands. She only gives you a little of whatever had been cooking in the pot, a nutty smelling mush. “Wait, see if it makes you sick.” The meat is apparently safe for you to eat. You sample the food and wait a while to see if it makes you sick. When it doesn’t make you sick, you eat all of it.    

You both eat in silence at a table that’s basically a section of tree trunk polished smooth and set up on smooth river rocks. She doesn’t ask questions any more than her twin sister had. It’s some variation of either she’d not curious or she doesn’t care. You don’t ask any questions either. It’s quiet, except for the crackling of the fire, and the sounds of whatever kind of crickets and frogs live out in the forest. You jump a little and then pretend you didn’t at the sound of something howling off in the distance. (The girl doesn’t react.)

The interior walls of the house are flat slabs of stone fit closely together without mortar. The floor is loose, coarse grained sand. It looks like someone took a piece of charcoal and sketched wild, abstract images on the walls. “Sooner or later he stop bitching about pigments,” she says. “Then my house look like fucking clown temple.” She rolls her eyes.    

“Shit hole could use some color,” grumbles a voice like a bass drum for the dark of the next room. (Rooms.) “You bitching about my art again, Handmaid?”

“You call me that again and see how I serve, Highblood,” the girl snarls.

The voice laughs, and a skittering feeling runs over your skin and down your spine. “Who fuck’s out there?” the voice asks. “That ain’t you Demoness. That ain’t a fucking troll. This mudball have sentient life after all?”  

“Has sentient life, just not here,” the girl--Demoness apparently--says. “Not yet.”

“Then who the fuck you breaking loaves with, geographically inclined rustblood?”

“Stupid fucker who breaks his head open three weeks from now,” Demoness says with an indifferent glacier coldness you can’t help but admire. “Just woke up, so takes too long to make him right.”

“Woke up. You mean like you and me woke up?”

“Come out and see, or are you sticking to your pile all spring like you did all winter?”

“Like you were traipsing out and about in the dark season ice,” the voice grumbles.

“Come out,” Demoness says. “I would threaten to give him your pile, but the rot from your maggot filled corpse would kill him, and my work all gone to waste.”

“You are the nastiest little bitch,” the voice says.

“Weak, hiding in your miasma all winter made you weak,” Demoness says.

“Motherfucking pale for you too,” the voice replies. There’s movement coming from the next room, followed by grumbling and cursing.

“Demoness” is pretty tall. Six foot eight, and not thin. She’s big and curvy with a lot of muscle mass under a pad of fat. Her skin has a kind of armored look to it, and had a smooth gleam that made you half expect to see your reflection in it. What comes out of the back room is maybe ten, eleven feet tall, and that’s not including the towering horns and wild, long hair like unto an eighties hair band. This guy is also broad as a house and his eyes are an indigo-purple that almost seems to glow. He’s wearing the same kind of skirt the girl is, along with something that’s more like a vest than a tunic. The armored look Demoness has is even more evident with him. He looks hard, almost segmented, though he doesn’t have the same gleam Demoness has.

“Highblood,” Demoness says.

“It’s a soft little thing, isn’t it?” Highblood asks, looming over you. He reaches out a hand and--

--you try not to be there--

--but he’s faster than you--

--And you freeze while he manhandles you. You’re frozen stiff and anything you might say is frozen behind a stone in your throat. Your heart however is going like a jackhammer. He moves your arms and legs, studies your joints, he touches your skin. He is so, so much colder than you. It’s weird and clinical, and it is way too much, he is way too close and he is manipulating your limbs like he wants to figure out the best way to tear you apart.

He lets you go finally, and you just kind of drop in a folded up heap on the floor. Highblood starts to rumble something to Demoness, but you don’t understand what he’s saying. Everything is a white washed blur and there’s a knife in your hand and you don’t understand anything. You uncoil at Highblood and lunge knife first--

And he isn’t there. You whirl, knowing, and this time you connect. It’s just a scratch, barely a scratch for this giant, blood thick and weird purple-blue. Then you are flying in the air and land on the far side of the firepit and Demoness holding back the giant with two slim white wands that are flickering a deep and furious red. “Yes poke at a damn sting tail and you’re surprised it stings! Stupid highblood fucker!” She screams up at the giant.

The big guy backs up, hands up and palm outward. “Not touching him, not touching you,” he says. “See, this is me backing right the fuck up. No need for the ashen conciliations”

You would very much like to abscond, but you’re knocked breathless and your mind is still crawling and shuddering from the giant touching you, from attacking the giant. You don’t think anything’s broken; it was just one hell of a belly flop. Anything you might say at this point is stuck behind the stone in your throat. You fold up and shake, your brain a tangled mess, listening to the shouting that is only occasionally comprehensible.

Demoness is snarling at Highblood. Highblood is talking fast and low, and under it is this deep humming sound that you are feeling more than hearing. You have no idea of what is going on or why he’s gone from fighting with you to trying to calm Demoness down.

You realize that’s exactly what he’s doing. It hadn’t been the giant who’d knocked you across the room, it had been the Demoness. The giant, Highblood, treating him (you) like a curiosity, like something to be studied, taken apart, broken. She’s angry because she hadn’t brought Highblood a toy, she’d taken in someone who was like them. (You don’t see how. You really don’t see how.) She’s angry because Highblood had been fucking around and underestimated someone because they weren’t another troll. Weren’t another highblood. Highblood was a fucking moron who could have been killed and he was just fucking around like he thought it was a game.

Demoness was right, Highblood is saying. He’d acted like the creature was tribute instead of a person. It had been so fascinatingly trolllike. He hadn’t planned on scaring it. He wasn’t going to hurt it. He had definitely underestimated it. Breathe girl, put down the fangs. Go check on the human, he’ll get his penitent ass out to the well for an ice cold scrub up.

“Go drown,” Demoness growls, and Highblood absconds. Then she comes over and pokes you with one of the white wands. “You alive?”

The stone is still pretty firmly lodged, so you grunt in more or less an affirmative, and bat at the wand. She steps back, and walks into the back of the house and emerges with a huge pile of bones, furs, rocks and who the fuck knows what else hovering behind her. This is not any more weird than anything else that’s happened since you woke up this morning. She opens the door and tosses all of it outside. “Clean your stinking pile!” She screams out the door, and shuts it. She glares at the door, and then turns back to you. “You tired?”

“Yeah,” you manage to croak.

She helps you to your feet, and takes you into the back, which is deeper into the hill, and a little lower than the main room. It’s a short tunnel that turns branches left and right. She goes right and the tunnel widens out into a room. Same stone walls and sand floor. Against one wall is a pile of dry grass covered by furs. There’s also a couple of shelves set in the wall with baskets full of clothes, bone, stone and wood tools. A few feet away from it is an area that looks like it was previously occupied by a similar pile with similar shelves and baskets. The light in the room is from little round candles set in niches in the wall.

Demoness grabs some furs from the shelf, measures out a space about three steps away from her pile, and dumps the furs on the sand. “Sleep here,” she says.  

You collapse down into the furs and drop right over the edge into sleep.

Next

[luninosity]

The fic I am attempting to write for @viperbranium as a birthday-present is going to be WAY TOO LONG to finish on time, so, I shall write something else, but here, in the meantime, is the first part. <3

##

When they are half-grown children, only boys at play, Steve Rogers convinces Bucky Barnes to visit the witch.

 Bucky sighs, smiles at him, and says with the long-suffering tones of nearly six years of friendship, “Someone’s gotta keep an eye on you, I guess, Stevie…” Steven Rogers, Crown Prince and heir to the small but wealthy city-state of Lynsbrook, beams at his best friend. Bucky sighs again.

 They duck out of the palace, two cheerful heads—one light, one dark—and energetic running; the Queen watches from above, and smiles, because they are only heading for the marketplace, because James Buchanan Barnes will never let her boy come to any harm.

 The market swirls and eddies around them. Baskets of plums and berries bob past. Women and men call out, tempting, beckoning; the scents of fresh-baked bread and flowers and meat, the bright hues of dyed and woven fabrics, dazzle the senses. Steve gets dust in his hair and up his nose. He loves it; he loves his people, all of them. He’s a king, or he will be. He’s here to protect them.

 He sneezes. And then he coughs. Bucky Barnes tugs him into an alleyway, brushes ineffectively at a smudge of grime on Steve’s cheek, mutters, “I should really toss you back into bed…”

 “I’ve been in bed. And you’re my knight, anyway. You’re keeping me safe.”

 This gets Bucky to laugh. The first year he’d arrived—the year his whole family’d arrived, journeying across the wild grasslands from Ind—he’d run into a small sickly boy sitting in a palace hallway, because Steve’d tried to go on an expedition to the kitchens and had needed to sit down and breathe. Steve remembers that first meeting the way he recalls almost nothing else: bright and clear and sharply etched in his mind.

 James Barnes hadn’t known who he was, because the Heir had been ill when the Barnes family arrived at Court. Bucky had promptly sat down on the floor with him and said, “We’re on a quest, right? Where’re we going? The kitchen? Good thinking, waiting for a fellow knight to show up to help, it’s kinda treacherous, all those lava stairs, it’ll take two of us.”

 James Buchanan Barnes has been at his side ever since. And when Steve thinks about Bucky, that’s what he thinks about: the sort of boy who’d be a knight for someone else, not knowing the other person might be his king.

 Bucky, in the present, grumbles, “I could be working on that model flying-machine…building a copy of Alexander the Great’s glass submersible…reading a book…” Sunshine sneaks through market-stalls and lands on his hair like a happy crown.

 “Come on, Buck.”

 They wend their way toward the end of the market, the hushed side, the ebbing.

 The witch always sets up her stall there. She’s mostly a fortune-teller, and some people laugh, and some people speak of her skill in hushed voices. She’s the last, they say, or at least there aren’t really any more witches. Fading out in this technology-laden new century. Designs for airships and Bucky’s model submersible, a full-scale version of which is being contemplated by the engineers housed in Lord Stark’s tower. No need for magic.

 The witch is younger than Steve expects, and pretty, with dark hair and unlined skin. She wears her wealth in jewelry: rings, necklaces, bracelets that clang and shimmer. She does not have a crystal ball or a broomstick, though she does have a tabby kitten, who yawns at them indolently and goes back to sleep. The tent’s quieter than Steve expects, almost reverent, and he wishes for a second he’d let Bucky finish getting the dirt off his face.

 He’s Steve Rogers, though, and so he squares up shoulders and says, “I want to know my future.”

 “That,” the witch says calmly, “is a large and complex question.”

 “Steve,” Bucky says, “I’m not sure we want to do this…”

 Steve turns to look. “You dared me to get on the rolling coaster at the traveling fair.”

 “Yeah, and that was a bad idea, you kept throwing up after…”

 “I want to know,” Steve insists to the witch, “if I’m going to die.”

 Bucky’s face goes pale. “Steve—”

 “Everyone dies.” She spreads hands in a jingle of silver. “Why should you be any different, Steven Grant Rogers?”

 “How do you know who I am?”

 Bucky hisses, “How many stupid skinny blond idiots with an addiction to trouble are there around here, Steve?”

 Steve looks at him, really looks. Something about Bucky’s expression… “Are you scared?”

 “No! I just don’t see the point. I just—you’re not going to die, okay?”

 The witch’s gaze slides past Steve to Bucky. She draws a breath, lets it go. “Ah. I’m sorry.”

 “Sorry for what?” Steve asks.

 “Don’t,” Bucky says. “Just—fine, if you want to do this, fine. Let her answer your question. I’ll be outside.”

 That’s usual, one questioner at a time, but Steve’s heart does a funny thing. It does a lot of funny things, that’s partly why his question, but somehow the idea of being separated from Bucky’s not a nice one. Uncomfortable. And Bucky still looks spooked, off-balance, maybe. Steve says, “Stay, it’s fine, I don’t care if you hear the answers, I tell you everything anyway.”

 Bucky shuts his eyes, opens them, and his jaw’s tense but he nods. He stays next to Steve.

 The witch takes Steve’s hand. Her fingers are cool and slim and light as water. She hesitates, tracing lines. Steve’s not going to interrupt, and waits. Bucky’s visibly trying not to twitch, beside him.

 “You’ll have everything you’ve ever wanted,” she says at last, looking up. Her fingers lift away, leaving only silvery memory on Steve’s skin. “But before that…you’ll lose what you love most. You’ll find it again, but it won't be the same. And neither will you.”

 “But he’s not going to die,” someone says, and that’s Bucky; Steve glances over, puzzled.

 “No.” She gathers skirts, shakes them out. “Not the way you’re asking about, in any case. There are always possibilities. As you know.”

 “Okay,” Steve says. The afternoon’s gotten strange. Drawn tight and let down simultaneously, a paradox of mystery and deflation. He’s had an answer. He should feel better about that. Confusion and concern about Bucky’s reaction snarl in his chest. “Buck, do you want—you want to know anything?”

 “Maybe,” Bucky says, looking at the witch, and now Steve’s even more confused. “Stevie, wait outside.”

 “What?”

 “Wait outside,” says the witch.

 “Bucky,” Steve says, ready to fight a witch if Bucky asks him to stay, but Bucky tells him to go.

 Steve goes. Steve stands in sunlight and tips his face up to drown in it. Steve kicks a small grey pebble.

 Steve Rogers, standing in a dusty alley at the back of the market, loves Bucky Barnes.

 This realization lands like a thunderclap, except with no clouds and no noise. Steve gulps for air nonetheless in astonishment.

 Bucky doesn’t leave him. Bucky doesn’t send him away. Bucky doesn’t have secrets from him. Bucky’s all kind eyes and weary wry patience and scientific enthusiasm; Bucky saves people, always has, always will, but right now Bucky asked from space away from Steve—

 His head spins. His heart hurts, a dull physical throb. Bucky Barnes is the other half of his life, but what if Bucky doesn’t feel the same, what if this love is Steve’s alone, what if—

 The second thunderclap hits with more force than the first. What he loves the most. He’s going to lose it. He’s going to find it again, but not the same. Bucky.

 Shaking, lungs collapsing even worse than usual, Steve Rogers stares at a witch’s tent and wants to fight his own future with both bare hands. His future, and Bucky’s. Bucky, who—

 Who ducks out of the stall, runs a hand through his hair, straightens up. He’s taller than Steve, broader-shouldered already, growing up. He’s a little pale, and hiding it behind a cocky grin. Steve might’ve not noticed, a minute before.

 “Hey,” Bucky offers easily, throwing an arm around Steve’s shoulders. “At least you didn’t find a local shopkeeper to argue with while I was gone, this time…”

 “He was overcharging that widow! And what did she tell you?” He stops walking, shrugs Bucky’s arm off. Bucky blinks in surprise; well, Steve’s annoyed. “You told me to go!”

 “I didn’t think you’d listen.” Bucky’s avoiding the question. “You never have before…”

 “Buck,” Steve demands.

 “Nothing,” Bucky says, walking again. “She said—”

 “Fuck you,” Steve says, too sharp because his heart’s bleeding out, but Bucky just tops that with, “I’m answering you, okay?”

 “Okay…sorry…”

 “I know you got a mouth on you, Stevie. She said I’m too hard to look at, anyway.”

 “Well, you are, who wants to look at you.” Steve pokes him in the arm. “Seriously, come on.”

 “Seriously…” Bucky makes a face, somewhere between abruptly too young and vulnerable and older than Steve’s ever seen, more grown up in the span of a few minutes. “Okay, but you can’t laugh. It’s ’cause I’m a witch. She said.”

 “You,” Steve says. His Bucky? His bright-eyed scientific-philosopher best friend? “Magic’s dying out, Buck, you thought I’d believe that? It’s a joke, right?”

 “The potential, anyway,” Bucky says, and Steve figures out that this is serious after all, at least for Bucky, and gets quiet. “Not really…not unlocked. Yet. But I could be. There’s a future…”

 “So you’re going to go off and, what, be a witch?” That question comes out too sharp, too. Bucky leaving him. Again.

 “No.” Bucky puts the arm over his shoulders again; Steve lets him. “I’m not…if I don’t ever…those paths don’t look…I don’t want to go down that road, okay, punk? Leave it alone.”

 “Jerk,” Steve says, and means: you’re not leaving me, you’re here, I love you. “I won’t tell anyone you’re a witch if you don’t tell anyone about the fairground rolling coaster, deal?”

 “Yeah,” Bucky says, “deal, hey, should we pick up some apricots, you know your mom loves them?” And they pick out the best apricots, surrounded by sunshine and market-chatter, backs turned to the shadow and silver of the witch’s tent.

[rana-capito]

blue, navy blue, i'm as blue as i can be, cause my steady boy said "all of them", one hundred something questiiiions

1: How tall or short do you wish you were?I’d take a couple more inches but like this is fine2: What’s your dream pet? (Real or not)It would be so cool to have a snake…but a dog is also really good…3: Do you have a favorite clothing style?cool jackets are cool…for myself I like target man tshirts4: What was your favorite video game growing up?I had these Magic School Bus computer games that were truly excellent. there was one about whales and dolphins and one about rainforest animals5: What three things/people do you think of most each day:idk…the Majority of my thoughts are either very self-centered or just the song that it’s time to have in my head6: If you had a warning label, what would yours say?fuck idk. warning: occasional stupid bitch 7: What is your opinion on [insert person/thing here]?hmm! vague8: What is your Greek personality type? [Sanguine, Phlegmatic, Choleric, or Melancholic]I got sanguine on a quiz I took once and I like that because I like blood9: Are you ticklish?yeah, not Extremely tho10: Are you allergic to anything?guinea pigs, cats, pollen11: What’s your sexuality?i’m Gay12: Do you prefer tea, coffee, or cocoa?Tea13: Are you a cat or dog person?they are both good and i really like both…i’ll say dogs because i’ve been seeing a lot of very good ones lately + the cat allergy14: Would you rather be a vampire, elf, or merperson?VAMPIRE15: Do you have a favorite Youtuber?I watch beckiejbrown a lot and I think she’s cool16: How tall are you?5'7"17: If you had to change your name, what would you change it to?Benjamin..perhaps…but there’s too many bens so I guess I’ll just have to be Larl18: How much do you weigh? [Only ask this if you know the user doesn’t mind!]between 144 and 150 pounds19: Do you believe in ghosts/spirits?eh…nah20: Do you like space or the ocean more?The ocean..has more animals in it21: Are you religious?non22: Pet peeves?when people call frogs venomous or spiders poisonous23: Would you rather be nocturnal or diurnal [opposite of nocturnal]?diurnal…i like Sunshine24: Favorite constellation?i like cassiopeia she’s spiky25: Favorite star?uhhhh I don’t have one26: Do you like ball-jointed dolls?i think they are..flexible?27: Any phobias or fears?MIRRORS IN THE DARK MIRRORS IN THE DARK scary. 28: Do you think global warming is real?yeah lol29: Do you believe in reincarnation?not really30: Favorite movie?hmmm. i liked inglorious basterds a lot but i’m mostly saying that because i can’t think of any movies that have made an especially big impression on me at the moment31: Do you get scared easily?..yes i’m sensitive32: How many pets have you own in your lifetime?1 frog 2 tortoises 4 guinea pigs & a lot of fish33: Blog rate? [You’ll rate the blog of the one who’s asking.]8/10 content is great but posting frequency is too spread out34: What is a color that calms you?green like my room at home35: Where would you like to travel and/or live?I want to go to like..australia. or some other place with cool and weird animals!36: Where were you born?atlanta :P37: What is your eye color?brown38: Introvert or extrovert?IntroVert39: Do you believe in horoscopes and zodiacs?not really but i like to read things about them anyway40: Hugs or kisses?WHY not both41: Who is someone you would like to see/visit right now?clarissa…so far away…an entire TIMEZONE42: Who is someone you love deeply?Antonie Hvan Leeuwenhoek43: Any piercings you want?maybe something extra on my ear?44: Do you like tattoos and piercings?they’re cool45: Do you smoke or have you eiver done so?i neiver have done so46: Talk about your crush, if you have one!sexy. very shapely calves. extremely good at calculus and physics and programming. 47: What is a sound you really hate?when my shoe scrapes on the sidewalk48: A sound you really love?the echoes from the main staircase in the mlc49: Can you do a backflip?no :(50: Can you do the splits?no51: Favorite actor and/or actress?i like..karla souza52: Favorite movie?this has been asked previously and i still don’t have a good answer. 53: How are you feeling right now?cool! kind of tired54: What color would you like your hair to be right now?uhh this color’s good55: When did you feel happiest?jeez idk that’s pretty hard to answer56: Something that calms you down?my green chair in my room at home57: Have any mental disorders? [Only ask this if you know the user doesn’t mind!]i do not58: What does your URL mean?it’s vaguely homestucky59: What three words describe you the most?cool. sexy. innovative.60: Do you believe in evolution?hell yeah61: What makes you unfollow a blog?content that i don’t like or no content for a long time62: What makes you follow a blog?content that i like63: Favorite kind of person:cool person64: Favorite animal(s):guinea pigs. orcas. cane toads. naked mole rats.65: Name three of your favorite blogs.teensplop.blogspot.com is my ultimate favorite blog ever. my favorite tumblrs are of like random people who i follow and i would feel weird @ing them66: Favorite emoticon:girl with carrots67: Favorite meme:bode was pretty good68: What is your MBTI personality type?i think i got infp when i took it69: What is your star sign?capricorn70: Can your dog roll over on command, if you have a dog?i don’t have a dog :(71: What outfit out of all your clothes do you like to wear the most?dark gray vneck from target and my Excellent jeans72: Post a selfie or two?i’ll do that..later73: Do you have platform shoes?no i’m tall74: What is one random but interesting fact about yourself?my blood type is A positive75: Can you do a front flip?into a pool or on a trampoline76: Do you like birds?hell yeah! i wanted to be an ornithologist in 6th grade and if that ended up being my life i would be satisfied and happy77: Do you like to swim?Yeah Put Me In The Water78: Is swimming or ice skating more fun to you?hmm. i guess swimming? ice skating is very fun though. and it has to be the correct context of swimming like the water is clean and i can swoop around in it79: Something you wish didn’t exist:*****es80: Some thing you wish did exist:my huge future muscles81: Piercings you have?one in each earlobe82: Something you really enjoy doing:dancing in a loud bar83: Favorite person to talk to:different people have different good talking qualities but there is a special kind of conversation i can only hold with my sister84: What was your first impression of Tumblr?this sure is The Place For Fanart85: How many followers do you have?15086: Can you run a mile within ten minutes?hmm…i feel like yes but i would be very tired after87: Do your socks always match?almost always yes88: Can you touch your toes and keep your legs straight completely?i used to be able to but no longer89: What are your birthstones?i think turquoise?90: If you were an animal, which one would you be?something sneaky and timid and nocturnal91: If a flower could aesthetically represent you, what kind would it be?it has 5 smooth white petals and a smooth green stem and i was so into it for like some time in second grade92: A store you hate?urban outfitters93: How many cups of coffee can you drink in one day?ideally zero94: Would you rather be able to fly or read minds?fly95: Do you like to wear camo?not particularly96: Winter or summer?summer for sure..i like Sunlight97: How long can you hold your breath for?i don’t feel like testing this rn98: Least favorite person?let’s say johnny rives99: Someone you look up to:my veterinarian cousin is cool100: A store you love?binders is pretty cool101: Favorite type of shoespumas 102: Where do you live?in a College Town103: Are you a vegetarian or vegan? If so, why?no i love MEAT104: What is your favorite mineral or gem?star sapphires are pretty cool?105: Do you drink milk?on occasion106: Do you like bugs?yeah :)107: Do you like spiders?yeah :)108: Something you get paranoid about?people thinking i shouldn’t be in a place109: Can you draw:yeah i think so110: Nosiest question you have ever been asked?nothing comes to mind111: A question you hate being asked?what kind of music do you like?112: Ever been bitten by a spider?maybe…i had this huge itchy leg bump the past few days that i think might have been from that113: Do you like the sound of waves at the beach?yah it’s nice114: Do you prefer cloudy or sunny days?mmm sunny115: Someone you’d like to kiss or cuddle right now:Antonie Hvan Leeuwenhoek116: Favorite cloud type:Ummm ones that are interestingly shaped! not just stratus. everything else is cool117: What color do you wish the sky was?blue is good118: Do you have freckles?yah119: Favorite thing about a person:do people like actually have an answer to this in mind120: Fruits or vegetables?VEGETABLES121: Something you want to do right now:eat dessert122: Is the ocean or sky prettier?mmm sky!123: Sweet or sour foods?sweet…124: Bright or dim lights?uhh depends on the mood125: Do you believe in a certain magical creature?…no?126: Something you hate about Tumblr:some of the discussions on here happen in really weird and negative ways but i’m pretty much never involved so whatever127: Something you love about Tumblr:lots of nice content128: What do you think about the least?i don’t fucking know since i’m not thinking about it129: What would you want written on your tombstone?something about science contributions maybe130: Who would you like to punch in the face right now?i’m not in a really violent mood rn131: What is something you love but also hate about yourself?nothing comes to mind132: Do you smile with your teeth showing for pictures?yeah133: Computer or TV?computer IS tv134: Do you like roller coasters?yeah :D135: Do you get motion sickness or seasickness?sometimes…not recently136: Are your ears lobed or attached?lobed137: Do you believe in karma?eh138: On a scale of 1-10, how attractive would you say you are?this really varies but like in the middle somewhere. not a 1 and not a 10 for sure139: What nicknames do you have/have had?sarah calls me em…that’s it140: Did you have any pretend or imaginary friends?hmm sarah and i had an imaginary little sister named lucille and an imaginary dog named ruby141: Have you ever seen a therapist/shrink?non142: Would you say you are a good or bad influence to others?i try to be a good influence?143: Do you prefer giving or receiving gifts/help?i like…giving ;)144: What makes you angryjohnny rives145: How many languages do you speak fluently?One146: Do you prefer boys, girls, and/or non-binaries?i’m a lesbian147: Are you androgynous?hmm i think i’ve reached that somewhat148: Favorite physical thing about yourself:i like..my feet149: Favorite thing about your personality:i try to…be nice150: Name three people you would like to talk to right now in person.julia clarissa sarah151: If you could go back into time and live in one era, which would you choose?i’m good staying here thank u152: Do you like BuzzFeed?it can be entertaining but i don’t think it’s good153: How did you meet your spouse/girlfriend/boyfriend/partner? [If you have one.]introduced by a mutual friend is the most basic explanation154: Do you like to kiss others’ foreheads or hands for platonic reasons?yeah!155: Do you like to play with others’ hair?yah156: What embarrasses you?being in the gym157: Something that makes you nervous/anxious:the gym158: Biggest lie you have ever told:i can’t say it here…it’s illegal159: How many people are you following?130160: How many posts do you have on your blog(s)?4,507161: How many drafts do you have on your blog(s)?2162: How many likes do you have on your blog(s)?27,596 wow163: Last time you cried and why:thursday night and i have no Fucking clue164: Do you have long or short hair?short165: Longest your hair has ever been:i think it got past my boobs in the first semester of 9th grade166: Why do you like, dislike, or have neutral feelings about religon?i don’t really have any religious affiliations at all so. neutral167: Do you really care how the universe and world was created?..yes? like i think it’s cool and stuff168: Do you like to wear makeup?Not like, regularly, but I like doing my 3am editorial looks169: Can you stand on your hands or head for more than thirty seconds?No170: Did you answer the questions you were asked truthfully?mostly. i didn’t think Too Deeply

@shovelthefries

[aristarshower]

Star Catcher

Masterpost

Adventure Three-The Big Lesbian Wedding

Ugh, my jell still stinks from that stupid tank. Dig was back in their usual bio suit that translated their luminescence for others. It also let them move to their liking without being restricted by the lack of liquid around them. They were also enjoying all the attention the crew was giving them.

“Sorry you had to go through that, Dig. How about I cook for today and you take the day off?” Nisha offered. Dex knew she felt bad even though no one was hurt. It had been a close call and neither the ship nor the crew were truly capable of withstanding close calls.

It’s alright. Cooking relaxes me. Dig removed something from the forge in front of them and blew into tiny shapes.

“Is that glass?” Dex whispered to Nisha.

“Have you never seen Harpie eat?” Dex felt it again, that gap that separated him from the others. He hadn’t really had the chance to know any alien species when he was on Earth and the few weeks he was aboard Star Catcher were a whirlwind of wedding preparation. He had a bad feeling that at the end of this he would have to leave. The only reason SC needed a new navigator was because Nisha was busy with the planning. Dex wasn’t even truly qualified. He had lied his way through and soon it would all come crashing down.

There was a little noise on the comms and the captain’s voice came through. “Hey guys! We’re back!”

The rest of the crew had gone away for a little recreation. They had shot forward thanks to the reserve star dust from the escape pod and got to a intergalactic wormhole. But the wormhole didn’t lead to the right galaxy. It led to Galaxy-G-YKOQA which had a wormhole to G-ETA or as Dex knew it, the Milky Way.

Galaxy-G-YKOQA was a strange system with two galaxies devouring each other. It was considered unstable for dust collection and made an excellent place for some quick down time while staying innocuous.

“Which planet are we on again?” Nisha made a noise that Dex assumed was the answer. The only sure thing was that it began with a Y. “So each galaxy is named after the live supporting planets in it right?”

“Yes.”

“Which one are you from?”

“Same as you. I am from the A though.” Araite. The first alien world humans found long long ago.

“What’s it like there?”

“Oh it’s nice.” She was busy clicking away on the hand-held before her..

“Weather good? Sunny?”

“I guess you wouldn’t call it sunny considering the temperatures on Earth but it is hot enough for humans to survive.”

“Pleasant winds?”

“Most of the time.”

“Then why aren’t you getting married there?”

“Uhhhh Dex we are getting married there. Why do you think we are heading to ETA?” Dex couldn’t answer. He had assumed Alina and Nisha would get married at Alina’s father’s place but that would be too absurd to say out loud. Of course they wouldn’t want everyone at a criminal headquarters. V saved him by entering quite explosively. He bounced off a few chairs and threw his arms around Dex.

“He...Hey...V…”

“Dex!!!” V shouted right in his ear.

“Alright, you idiot, get off him!” Alina dragged V away. “Sorry he gets a bit too ...drunk sometimes.”

“What did he drink?”

“Something Retmarians call the Qoedy.”

“Cody?”

“Eh close enough. V is a fucking lightweight but it wears off fast. He should be bearable by dinner. Speaking of dinner, Dig what are you cooking up for us?”

Burgers.

“With meat?” Dig made a vague motion Dex decided not to interpret.

“Oh Dex, I wanted to ask you what will you be wearing for the wedding?”

“Uhhh...I am invited?”

“Of course! You’re part of us now!” The words were warm but Dex didn’t feel it.

“I don’t know.” He left before Nisha could ask more questions. He hadn’t left the ship with the others because he had felt safest there. Somehow without him noticing the ship had become home. And it might all go away too soon.

“Dex!” V was hanging out of his door, dripping wet.

“Hey V.” Dex kept walking. Not even an almost naked V could cheer him up.

“Heeeeeeeeeeey buddy….”

“V stop patting my face.”

“Sorry but why is it all sad?”

“My face?”

“Yeah it looks bad.”

“Thanks.”

“No. Just tell me what’s wrong?” Dex couldn’t resist V’s pout.

“I like this ship.”

“Me too!...wait should I be sad about this too?”

“No! I just mean I am temporary. As soon as this wedding is done, it’s back to the boss for me and whatever the hell that means. And I like y …...this ship.”

V was grabbing the wall really hard making choked noises. Then he turned away from Dex and threw up all over the floor. Dex left as the cleaning bots hurried off to the mess beeping furiously.

***

The call for dinner went up on the comms. The crew usually did not eat together owing to the different dietary needs but once in awhile one of them decided they needed a meal together. Dex hadn’t been to one yet and was standing in front of a mirror nervously adjusting his hair. He didn’t know what the protocol would be. He understood that the crew unanimously deciding for a joint dinner is probably because of what happened with the Wadmians. He understood the need to stay close but at the same time facing all of them together would mean facing how much of an outsider he was.

Dex, done with your hair? Dig was at the door. They had modified the speakers on their suit to make the voice sound really deep making Dex jump.

“Yeah.”

You don’t have to be nervous Dex. We are not going to eat you. Just a heads up, don’t stare. With that ominous statement Dig threw open the door to the dining area which was just the cooking area with a few more chairs crammed around the table.

“Hey!”

“There he is!”

“Dex!!!” V was still a little loud but the others shouting with him made Dex laugh.

There was a lot of variety among the food on the table. Dex did not understand some of it but he knew burgers well enough. He grabbed a couple and sat down between Dig and Amani who was feeding Mel not so secretly under the table. Mel was opening up different sets of jaws snapping away the food passed to her.

There was a hiss from the door and Harpie entered dazzling everyone. Dig elbowed Dex to stop him from staring. Harpie had had their exo skeleton painted in a dazzling array of colours and then coated it all with some kind of glitter. They picked up the bowl with shaped glass shards and hissed in delight.

There’s no need to thank me Harps! I love shaping glass! Harpie hissed again in obvious delight and the conversation went on. Dex felt a pang when he realized he was the only one who could not follow it. Harpie’s language was still a mystery to him and Dig’s luminescence was too alien for him to piece together. He only understood them because of the suit. He bit morosely at the burger and made an involuntary delighted noise.

“This is amazing Dig!”

Thanks.

Nisha and Amani had a plate of burgers to but Alina had a bowl of something blue. Dex nudged Nisha.

“Why isn’t Alina eating?”

“She is. Are your eyes ok?”

“But…” Dex made a vague motion towards the blue something.

“Oh that’s Desr, a delicacy where she comes from. Don’t try it though. It’s poisonous for humans.”

“Alright.” Her words caught up with Dex. “Isn’t Alina human?” He hadn’t meant to shout but the rest of the crew fell silent. It was true that Alina was a couple of feet taller than the tallest human Dex knew but other than that she looked completely human, brown skin, golden brown hair, two dark eyes, two small ears, one two lipped mouth, one small nose and two pairs of limbs with five fingers each. The others burst out laughing.

“Who owes me money?” Amani demanded. V and Nisha raised their hands looking disppointed.

“Come on Dex. I really thought you knew humans.” V’s words made Dex flush. He didn’t dare ask what Alina was. Nisha changed the topic to flowers soon and Dex finished his meal in silence.

***

Dex turned again on his bed unable to sleep. Every time he tried sleeping he felt like the world was falling from beneath him and then he woke up and realized there was no world beneath him and he was hurling through space. He had felt like this the first time he was aboard a spaceship but he had gotten used to it easily.

There was a soft knock on his door and V slipped in. The room was dark and Dex could clearly see the lines of luminescence on V’s limbs. They weren’t used for communication like Dig’s as far as Dex knew. He didn’t know if it would be rude to ask so he made a note of studying Retmarian anatomy when he had the time.

“Hey! Sorry about earlier.” Dex shrugged.

“It’s not a big deal.” He really didn’t know what was a big deal.

“Not just about the uhhh…” V mimed throwing up and Dex smiled. The tension in V’s shoulders dropped a little. “I wanted to talk to you properly about what you were saying before that.” It was Dex’s turn to tense up.

“It’s alright, V. I was just being a little paranoid.”

“No, it’s not. You’re upset and that’s not nothing. Look I can’t pretend to know the captain’s mind but I assure you she won’t just leave you behind. Not after everything we have all been through.”

“You really think so?” Dex hated himself for the little hope in his voice.

“Yeah. And hey if she wants to kick you out, I’ll go with you!” Dex laughed. V’s bio luminiscence glowed a little brighter. “No I am serious. We’ll leave together and make ourselves a new life among the stars.”

“Thank you, V.”

“You are a part of us now, Dex. It will all be okay.” V patted Dex’s hand again and walked out.

***

Araite was a beautiful planet. Dex fell in love the second they landed. The whole wedding area was covered in light flakes of snow. The venue itself was decorated with little dust lights and balloons. Dex had dressed in his best clothes which was an old jacket and a clean shirt. Dig looked amazing in their new bio suit and Harpie’s glittery exoskeleton was drawing all the eyes. Amani had gone simple like Dex did and wore a soft jacket with a silk shirt. All of Dex’s thoughts scattered when V walked in. He was dressed in some kind of scaly armor that left most of his chest uncovered. The armor ended at his knees and he wore soft warm pants underneath. V’s luminescence showed prominently through the clothes. Dex realized that was the design. The beautiful golden scales reflected the light back onto V’s dark skin making him glow.

“Close your jaw, kiddo.” Amani snickered and Dex looked away hurriedly. He wasn’t the only one staring. Half the conversation had stopped the second V walked in. V noticed all the attention and bowed to everyone. There were a few giggles and everyone went back to what they were doing before.

V winked at Dex and walked away to talk to other people. Amani and Dex were having drinks when V appeared at their side. The glow was completely gone from his skin.

“We have a problem.”

***

“How the fuck did this even happen?” Nisha hissed. They were all bundled away from the wedding venue while the emergency team neutralized the threat.

“I don’t know. I assumed anyone making balloons would know not to fill it with flammable gas?” V had put on a few more layers. While the inside of the venue was dusted with snow for the aesthetic, outside the planet was a nightmare covered in snow with cold winds ripping them apart.

They had just managed to avert disaster. V had smelled something off when one of the balloons popped.

“At least no one was injured.” Alina was wrapped in the huge rainbow coloured thing Amani was knitting earlier. Dex realized it was a huge gown. Alina could wrap the train around her twice. She didn’t even need a coat. Nisha on the other hand was wearing the delicate wonderful Wadmian dress. Dex could see why it was special. The cloth itself was the softest Dex had ever touched and there were no threads like usual fabric. It was continuous and etched on it with utmost care and precision were designs like Dex had never seen before. And to top it all off there were crystals embedded at regular intervals making the dress glow more than V which was saying a lot.

“Yeah but what the hell are we going to do?” Nisha sounded close to tears. Alina drew her closer enveloping her in the rainbow fabric.

“Our ship is right there. Lets just get on for now. V find out how long it’s gonna take.”

V came back to the ship dejected. “Sorry guys it might take too long.”

“Why don’t you get married in the ship?” Dex wished he could take his words back the second he said them. The whole ship was crammed with wedding guests. There weren’t more than thirty but Star Catcher wasn’t built to hold that many people.

Dex was desperately trying to avoid being seen by Alina’s father. At the venue, the man was already seated at the front so Dex could just slip in the back but on the ship there was no escaping his presence. Alina’s mother was with Nisha’s parents but her father was with her. And now his whole attention was fixed on Dex.

“I...I..m...mea...mean...everyone is here.” Alina nodded encouragingly. “We can bring in some of the lights.”

“Or we could go into orbit.” Nisha’s eyes widened at Alina’s suggestion.

Harpie hissed something. “We can enough boost for the extra weight from the leftover star dust and we won’t need it later anyway.”

“We can totally make it happen! You can get married in front of the control panel with all the stars behind you!” The guests were warming up to the idea.

V patted Dex on the back. “Thank you.”

***

The wedding was beautiful. Mel had jumped up to Alina’s side and handed her the locket. Alina slipped it around Nisha’s neck while V cried silently behind her. Dex even saw a little tear in Amani’s eye but he knew he would die the second he mentioned it. Dig made little snuffling noises and punched Dex when he laughed. 

Nisha brought Alina a bracelet to go around her elbow. She pulled Alina forward and slipped it on. The entire ship erupted into applause when they kissed. Alina laughed when Nisha lifted her and almost toppled back.

A few people spoke in languages Dex did not understand. Alina’s father gave a short but sweet speech and wished them luck. V’s speech was filled with so many innuendos that Amani dragged him away before he could finish. Dex was worried someone would ask him to talk but the talking part was done soon.

“Lets dance!” Alina shouted and was met with more cheers.

There wasn’t enough food on the ship. None of them had thought of loading up the food from the venue. But there was plenty of booze so it was all okay in the end.

Harpie sang a slow song in their own language. Dex did not understand it but felt the sentiment flow throw him. Alina’s mother was dancing an old dance from Earth with Nisha. The woman was taller than Alina but Dex could see the resemblance in their eyes.

“Care to dance?” V was holding out his hand for Dex. There weren’t many people dancing and Dex had never danced before.

“I don’t know how to.”

“I could teach you.”

“I don’t really want to?” Dex said softly. He didn’t want to hurt V but he really didn’t want to dance either. V withdrew his hand and sat down beside Dex.

“Hey, you still worried about Alina kicking you out? I talked to her.”

“Why would you do that?” Dex didn’t care that he was whining.

“Shhh...I talked to her and she told me she would talk to us about this after the wedding.”

“Wait. So she didn’t tell you she was keeping me?”

“Well no…”

“Oh good. That’s reassuring.” Even V didn’t have an answer for that.

“Wanna get drunk?”

“Yes please.”

***

Dex and V were wasted by the time Alina took to the stage again. Stage was in this case was the slightly raised place before the control panel. Alina patted Mel and Mel screamed her kettle whistle until everyone went silent.

“We have an important announcement to make.” Alina took Nisha’s hand. Nisha’s mother gasped.

“Are you pregnant?”

“What? Ma! No!”

“Our announcement is that we are finally settling down!”

“Yes! We got a house. An actual house with walls and everything here!” Nisha hiccuped.

“So this is might as well be our final journey into space. And I love that we are finishing up on my first ship!”

There was a shocked silence. Everyone seemed to be waiting for one of them to laugh to call it a joke. Nisha’s parents broke the silence with tearful congratulations. Alina’s parents looked as shocked as the rest of the crew felt.

Dig’s voice was low but Dex felt the words in his bones. What the fuck.

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