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nayutai · 6 years ago

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Royally Fucked

↝ Summary Kim Seokjin is a royal asshole. Literally. As the only heir to the throne of Cirenth he’s used to getting what he wants when he wants it. The only obstacle in his way is you, his rigidly moral assistant. He outranks you on both the social and hybrid hierarchies yet a shiver of fear runs down his spine whenever your claws come out. One rude interruption too many is the straw that breaks the camel’s back and he decides he must rid himself of you once and for all.

↝ Warnings Jin is a dumbass, oral sex, semi-public nudity, unprotected sex (use condoms kids), dry humping, crude/foul language

↝ Word Count 14.809

One day at a time.

Your daily mantra bounces around in your brain just like it does every other morning as you give yourself one final once over in the mirror before exiting your suite. Your shoulders are squared, head held high, and your trusty iPad is in hand as you move purposefully through the service wing of the palace. It’s just after seven in the morning and as personal assistant to the crowned prince of Cirenth Kim Seokjin, it’s time to get the royal jackass started on his day.

A deep breath in and released through your mouth to steel your nerves in preparation to deal with the nuisance that is Seokjin is the last thing you do before flinging open the heavy oak door. You’re so used to him being a comatose lump in bed at this hour that the light choking noises don’t even register in your brain until you’re face with the sight of Seokjin vigorously face fucking one of the palace maids. A headache springs up behind your left eye. This is why you’re the highest paid service person in the whole palace after the head chef. Dealing with Prince Seokjin is an absolute nightmare. You wish that you could say this is the first time you’ve walked in on him performing some lewd act with one of his numerous partners but sadly it is not. However, this is the first time you’ve caught him with another member of the palace staff.

“Can you hurry it up, your highness?” You sigh with a quick glance at the apple watch strapped to your wrist. “We have a busy schedule today and we need to get going.”

Seokjin and his flavor of the morning are so shameless that they don’t even stop what they’re doing. If anything, he speeds up his thrusts into the willing mouth his erection is stuffed in. You make it a point to focus on the wall above his head to keep your eyes from wandering lower. It’s easier said than done. Seokjin might be an irritating bastard but even you must admit that he’s sinfully attractive. That primal attraction is shattered when he opens his mouth.

“Why don’t you get down here and join her? I bet I’d be coming in seconds.” He suggests much to your chagrin.

“I’d rather claw out my own intestines and eat them.” You reply quickly. Your nose wrinkling in distaste. He might be the hottest piece of ass you’ve laid eyes on but you have standards.

“Oh, come on, Kitty. A threesome might actually loosen you up some.” You can feel your claws lengthening with the urge to tear him apart at his little nickname for you but Kim Seokjin outranks you in more than just social hierarchy. As a black panther hybrid, you are far outmatched when it comes to the dragon still shallowly face fucking his human conquest.

“Camille would love some help. Wouldn’t you, pet?” He coos out. The petite maid at his feet nods as best she can in her current position. Your nose wrinkles at the way the smell of her arousal kicks up a notch.

“The only thing I’m helping Camille do is file an unemployment claim as her services will no longer be needed in the palace.” Your face is carefully devoid of emotion as that sentence makes Camille tear herself away from Seokjin.

The spot above Seokjin’s head you’ve been staring take a backseat to his saliva-covered erection bobbing in the air. Camille swats at his hands as she grovels at your feet for her job. There is not an ounce of sympathy in your heart for the young maid. Every palace employee is told upon hiring that sexual relations with members of the royal family are strictly forbidden. Few rules in this palace result in immediate termination and this one is right at the top of the list. As a recent hire, Camille shouldn’t have had time to forget that particular fact.

With a resigned sigh, you turn to open the ornate door of Seokjin’s room. Camille knows what that means. She finally drags herself off her knees to run out of the door. The heavy wood door slams shut behind her.

Most hybrids have a keen sense of smell no matter what form they’re in but dragons are a strange exception to that trend and right now you’ve never been more thankful for it. The more primal side of you is practically salivating at the sight of the sizeable appendage jutting from Seokjin’s body. You grimace internally at the gush of wetness that soaks your panties.

“Goddammit you couldn’t wait five more minutes?” Seokjin questions indignantly. He’s always been a physically expressive speaker for as long as you’ve known him. You hate it, especially now that all of his gesturing is making his softening erection wave around wildly. “Now I have to walk around with blue balls all day.”

You huff in response as you herd him towards his bathroom. “Don’t care. Now go take a shower. You’re meeting with a lot of important people today and I can’t have you smelling freshly fucked in front of foreign dignitaries.”

He mumbles something under his breath about not smelling freshly fucked if he didn’t actually get to fuck but for once you choose to not respond to him. While he’s showering, you raid his closet to find him a suit to wear for the day. You fan yourself with the sleeve of a heather gray suit that probably costs more than your healthy monthly salary. Your body temperature is already a few degrees higher than a human’s but now your body feels like a walking furnace.

The sound of the shower turning off spurs you in action. You quickly grab the gray suit you’ve been using as a makeshift fan along with a pale blue shirt and a tie to match. The clothing is carefully laid out on the bed before you disappear back into the closet for accessories. Seokjin emerges from the bathroom in a very revealing pair of black boxer briefs furiously towel drying his hair. You tell him to make it quick before disappearing out in the hallway to wait for him.

“Was firing Camille really necessary?” Seokjin asks, interrupting the peaceful quiet in the SUV. You don’t even glance up from your iPad as you continue to answer one email after another.

“Yes, sexual relations with a member of the royal family are a direct violation of the palace employment contract and results in immediate dismissal.” Had you been looking at him you would have seen the way his lips pouted. A sign that the young prince is deep in thought.

Seokjin is a vengeful man. It’s a fact of his life that he knows has gotten him into trouble more often than not. Despite how much he likes to push your buttons, he’s always made sure to never go too far or risk the harsh bite of your wrath. He might be the bigger, badder hybrid between the two of you but truth be told you scare him quite a bit. He can’t let his fear get in the way of his revenge though. You have singlehandedly cut off his access to the best pussy he’s ever encountered in the palace and that will never do. There’s a week-long summit coming up in a few days in one of the neighboring kingdoms. He decides then that he will commence his plan for revenge.

Operation: Bye Bye Kitty will soon be underway.

“Good morning, Kitty. Did you sleep well?” Jin chirps. Your icy glare doesn’t dim his megawatt smile in the slightest. The way your eyes flash that familiar gold does give him pause though as you seem to struggle to hold your tongue.

Seokjin takes a small step back when you close your eyes for a few seconds. The iPad that never seems to leave your hands is currently clutched to your chest in a death grip. Maybe kicking off his plan at five in the morning as the two of you are preparing to leave for eight o’clock flight wasn’t his best decision. In the three or so years he’s known you, you’ve never been a morning person.

“Don’t speak to me again until we land in Aurlena.” You mutter when you seem to have better control of yourself.

“But that’ll be like eight hours from now.” He protests loudly. The flight to the distant kingdom is already going to be hell as it is but not having anyone to talk to is only going to make it worse. You shut him up with one single glare that promises an untold amount of pain if he doesn’t zip it immediately.

The more animalistic side of him cringes at the way he backs down without another word but the human side of him knows he made the right decision. You’d rip him to shreds faster than he could blink if given the smallest bit of provocation and he knows it. It’s with a shudder that he notices your fingers have actually sharpened into claws. He knows you’re not usually a morning person but you’re extra irritable today. That doesn’t bode well for his plan at all.

The second the doors of the private jet open, you and Seokjin are whisked to the palace of the fairy queen who rules over the kingdom of Aurlena. A spritely host leads the two of you to the main dining hall where an extravagant brunch is being served. Summit participants are spread around at various tables talking amongst themselves over various brunch dishes.

Seokjin purposefully selects an empty table away from the crowd next to a window when the host asks if he has a preference. The view of the royal garden stretching out before them in various hues is breathtaking in its beauty. Rays of light stream through the glass and hit your profile at an angle that leaves the problematic prince speechless for a second as second thoughts run through his head. Maybe he shouldn’t do this. One snappy command to stop slouching from your pursed lips crushes that doubt to dust.

“So, what brought you to the palace?” Seokjin questions as he carefully covers his lap in one of the pristine linen napkins. You snort in response to him just as he’d expected.

“That’s a stupid question. I’m here for the same reason you are, idiot.” He has to stop himself from insulting you in turn. He can’t afford to let a single negative word pass his lips if he wants this plan to work.

“I know that but how did you end up working at the palace? Your file says you were an art student but you dropped out.” You narrow your eyes at him suspiciously. He’s up to something. You’re sure of it.

“Why were you reading my file?”

“Well you said I wasn’t allowed to speak on the plane so I did some reading.”

“Most people read novels not personnel files, Seokjin so cut the bullshit.” The grip you have on your fork that’s hovering above the plate of food you’ve just been served looks punishing but he powers through. He opens his mouth to point out the fact that as a crowned prince he’s most definitely not most people but he thinks better of it.

“Is it really so bad that I want to get to know you? You pick out my underwear for Christ’s sake.” He points out. You’re a woman who can appreciate an honest pursuit of knowledge and facts. Seokjin may not be all that honest about why he wants said knowledge but you don’t need to know that. You arch a brow at him as you consider his statement and for a second he’s sure that you’re going to tell him to piss off.

“My dad had a series of small strokes my senior year of college. My mom had been a housewife since I was born and they couldn’t afford to keep paying for art school so I dropped out. I knew someone who knew someone else and managed to get this job.” Seokjin is a bit taken aback. He was expecting something a bit more frivolous and a lot less traumatic. Then again, you didn’t strike him as a person that did anything frivolous.

“You’ve worked with me for what three years now? Why didn’t you ever mention this? How’s your father doing now?” He questions with rapid fire.

“I didn’t tell you because my personal life is none of your business but my dad is doing much better now. He’ll probably never be 100% but he’s still here.” A small smile graces your features as you duck your head shyly. It’s clear how much you love your father.

A strange flutter takes root in his gut at such an unfamiliar action from you. Looks like family is a soft spot for you. Maybe something happened and that’s the reason for your increased irritability this morning. Seokjin ponders that possibility for the rest of the day as he mindlessly moves through the different speakers and panel discussions for that day.

Seokjin lays in bed later that night mindlessly watching an episode of Bob’s Burgers when his mind drifts back over the events of the day. You’d been incredibly on edge this morning. So much so, that he’d toyed with the idea of postponing his evil scheme to keep from being slaughtered. He praises his own genius when he recalls a certain fact from the exhaustive personnel file he’d read on the plane. Seriously, why are they so in-depth? Why would anyone need to know your precise measurements and what color you prefer the most? He quickly reigns himself back in and grabs the phone from its cradle on the nightstand.

It rings once before someone picks up. The hotel staff member is initially hesitant to fulfill his request until Seokjin gives his room number. All hesitancy goes out the window once that tidbit of information is on the table. Whoever is on the other line must have seen exactly who’s occupying the room. He hangs up after assuring that his wishes will be granted expeditiously. Now all he has to do is wait.

You’re making last minute preparations for day two of the summit when a knock sounds through your suite. No one should be knocking on your door at this time of night unless it’s an emergency. You’re immediately thrown into crisis mode, crossing the room in four large steps. When you see the person standing on the other side of the door you wish you’d thought to grab your robe. You feel incredibly exposed in your worn, oversized t-shirt that bares the symbol of your former university and a tiny pair of shorts.

“I must say I rather like this look on you.” Seokjin says with a smirk as he squeezes by you to step into your room. He looks around observantly though there’s really no point to it. Your hotel rooms are mirror images of each other so there’s nothing he hasn’t seen before.

“It’s almost one in the morning. What do you want?”

“Oh, I brought you this.” Your senses finally seem to get over the initial shock of being disturbed at this hour as he holds out a white box that you hadn’t even noticed before. The enticing smell of chocolate and hazelnut caresses your nose. As if it’ll disappear, you slowly take the proffered container before taking a seat on the edge of your bed while Seokjin cautiously does the same.

“You seemed like you were having a rough morning so I called the kitchen to have them make this for you. I know it’s your favorite.” He speaks up at your startled gasp when you open the lid to reveal a chocolate hazelnut cheesecake. Your favorite dessert.

Seokjin actually looks shy for the first time in all the years you’ve known him. One large hand rubs nervously at the back of his neck as he awaits your reaction. The tips of his ears could be confused for tomatoes with how red they are.

“I know that wasn’t in my HR file so how did you know it’s my favorite?” You question curiously around a bite of the decadent dessert. You hadn’t even bothered to cut a proper slice, opting to just dig in instead. If it weren’t for your impeccable self-control you would’ve moaned at loud and made a fool of yourself. Seokjin grabs an extra fork at your insistence and digs in right alongside you.

“You’re right it’s not, but it did say that your favorite candy is chocolate plus I noticed that the chef makes you one of these for your birthday every year.”

“How did you know that?”

“People sometimes forget that the palace is still just a really big house. I know everything that goes on in my home.”

You nod in concession to his point as you set your fork aside. It is well within your abilities to eat the whole cheesecake in one sitting. A perk of your ramped-up hybrid metabolism. However, you know that doing so will mean a sleepless night and a day of chugging coffee so as not to fall asleep.

“So,” Seokjin starts sheepishly, “Do you wanna talk about it?”

You glance at him in your peripheral vision. Even fix your mouth to deny his invitation to vent. Your eyes wander to the half a cheesecake that you’d set on the nightstand and decide, what the hell? He did go to the trouble of securing your favorite dessert just because he’d realized you were upset this morning. With a heavy sigh, you scoot back so you’re leaned against the headboard.

Your bare legs are stretched out in front of you while Seokjin chooses to stretch his lanky frame across the foot of the bed, propping his head up on his hand. To an outsider, the two of you probably look like half of the Golden Girls cast spilling tea and discussing feelings over cheesecake.

“This stays between us, right?” You ask apprehensively.

“Of course, it does. Boy scout’s honor.” Seokjin beams as he holds up three fingers in salute.

“First of all, that’s the girl scout’s hand sign. Second of all, you were never a boy scout, Seokjin, so what type of honor do you even have?” You hold your hand over your mouth in an attempt to stifle the laughter doing its best to escape.

He waves you off with a playful scoff. It feels weird. You’re about to spill your guts to the man that’s been nothing but a whiny pain in your ass for the better part of three years. This is definitely crossing a line, right? And yet you find yourself pushing that strange feeling to the side. He listens intently as you tell him about the phone call you received from your mother the night before the two of you left for Aurlena.

Simply put, your parents are on the verge of eviction. Well, they were until you’d emptied out your healthy savings account to get them current on their mortgage and keep them off the streets. That was only a temporary fix though. They still owe nearly $10,000 on their mortgage. A mortgage that they can no longer afford to keep up with though they’d never divulged that minor detail to you. Your parents are proud people. They hadn’t wanted you to drop out of school to help them, even promised to do whatever necessary to find the money to fund your last year but you couldn’t do that. Not when creditors were calling them so often that they pulled the plug for the phone out of the wall completely.

You’d taken over the medical bills when you got the job at the palace. It took over a year but you finally got them all caught up but with your dad still needing extensive medical care there would always be more. You’d tried to help your parents with their various other expenses but they assured you that everything was fine now that you’d taken away the burden that was the mountain of medical bills that had piled up at their feet. Apparently, that hadn’t been the truth. Despite your mother getting a part-time job to make some money while also taking care of your father on the days his nurse wasn’t there and his sizeable pension, it wasn’t enough to cover everything.

Seokjin’s face displays a myriad of emotions as you continue your tale. You hadn’t intended to talk this much but it’s not like you really have anyone to talk to. All of your friends from college have moved on with their lives doing god knows what so once you got started you can’t stop. The words just keep flowing and Seokjin just keeps listening.

Surprisingly, the conversation keeps flowing. The more you talk to him, the more you realize that maybe he’s not quite as much of a dickhead as you always thought. Who are you kidding? He’s definitely still a dickhead, but in a more endearing way. In other words, he’s an enigma. A glance at the digital clock nearly makes your eyes bulge out of your head. There’s no way the two of you have stayed up till nearly two in the morning just talking. You hustle him towards the door with strict instructions to go straight to bed with no pit stops and no mindless social media scrolling.

Seokjin goes willingly, giggling at your urgency the whole way. He promises not to make any “pit stops” as you so eloquently put it but both of you know he’s not going to listen.

The second he’s back in his room, he’s digging his laptop out of his suitcase. He opens a fresh word document and brands it with the title of his brilliant plan. His fingers dance across the keyboard as he documents the events of the day. He types a few notes. Makes a few observations. The key to a successful outcome will be keeping track of what works and what doesn’t. A lingering sense of guilt creeps up on him but he shakes it off, typing a final note to pen a glowing recommendation letter for your future employment endeavors. He might be about to get you fired but he’s not so much of an asshole to leave you at the mercy of the world with no job, especially after everything you’d told him tonight.

* * *

The next morning finds you wide awake and fidgety. You’d chased sleep for hours but your brain refused to power down. Your conversation with Seokjin kept replaying over and over in your head. What would be the consequences of telling him such intimate details of your life like that? You weren’t foolish enough to believe that there wouldn’t be any. Seokjin did nothing that didn’t benefit him in some way so he has to have some ulterior motive for suddenly being so nice and attentive.

Your fists are clenched tightly in the expensive sheets of your bed. Last night was a mistake. You’ve always prided yourself on being a logical person and yet, there was nothing logical about telling your boss all about your present hardships. The thought of what this could mean for your future made you queasy. After giving up on sleep, you’d spent the last few hours before your alarm goes off making sure that your resume is absolutely flawless. If you’re going to be unemployed, you need to make sure that you far outshine your competition in the job market. You can’t afford to go without a job considering that your savings account currently has nothing but the mandatory $20 that the bank requires for the account to remain open. Your checking account is nearly just as empty. You’d had to hit it up too and pay day is still a little over a week away.

It nearly takes an act of God for you to raise your fist to knock on Seokjin’s room door. He answers with a blinding smile that calms you for some strange reason. He’s dressed in the sleek navy blue you’d selected for the day. You can’t help but admire the way the tailor-made jacket highlights his broad shoulders with perfection.

“You ready?” Seokjin asks interrupting a bout of silence that you hadn’t even realized had stretched between the two of you.

“Oh…yes after you.” You step aside and dutifully follow him towards the elevator. A yawn slips out despite your best efforts to hold it in. If you make it through this day, it’ll be a miracle.

Your phone rings with a call from your mother as the elevator descends smoothly to the first floor. You ignore it the first time but the second? The second one you answer. She never calls twice in a row like this unless a crisis is underway.

“Mom? What’s wrong?” You ask, concern heavily laced through your words. Your worry only intensifies as you pick up on small sniffs and hiccups coming from the other end of the line.

She tearfully retells the reason for her emotional phone call. A phone call from the bank holding your parents’ mortgage. According to the bank representative, their mortgage is now all paid up and they should be expecting a certified packaged with the deed to the house in a few business days.

The elevator is cruising past the fifteenth floor while your jaw has already reach the lobby. This can’t be real life. The bank must have made some cruel accounting error. Your mind is already whirling with the different phone calls you’re going to have to make to get to the bottom of this as your mom continues to sob her thanks. It takes several attempts but you finally get her off the phone. Now the real work of solving this dilemma while also fulfilling your work obligations can begin.

“You’re welcome.” You jump as Seokjin speaks out of nowhere. Oftentimes you forget that while his senses aren’t as strong in human form as yours are, he can still hear better than the average human. But that would mean…

“You didn’t.” You accuse with narrowed eyes. The fool next to you apparently has more money than sense if he truly did what he’s claiming.

“Oh, but I did.”

“Well undo it. I don’t have that kind of money. I can’t pay you back.” The elevator dings as the door slide open in the opulent hotel lobby. Seokjin faces straight ahead, striding confidently towards the SUV waiting to deliver the two of you to the palace for another day of panel discussions and seminars.

He faces you for the first time as he waits for the driver to open the car door. “I don’t recall asking to be repaid, Kitty.” The look in his eyes nearly takes your breath away. No one has ever looked at you with this much…sincerity? You can’t really put your finger on exactly what it is you see in his eyes but it makes your gut twist up in knots.

“I can’t-” Your words are cut off by a yawn that refuses to be suppressed. You soon realize that it doesn’t matter anyway because Seokjin has absolutely no plans to listen to your protests.

The man next to you hums in approval when one of the security guards up front lowers the security screen and passes two cups of coffee to Seokjin. Your eyes widen for the hundredth time since you walked out of your hotel room when he hands one of the piping hot cups to you. He winks at you annoyingly before taking a sip of the scalding liquid. It always irks you when he flexes on you like that. Stupid dragons and their stupid immunity to extreme heat. You, on the other hand, have to wait for the coffee to cool off before you can drink it.

“Thank you.” You whisper into your coffee.

“Anything for you, Kitty.”

Surprisingly, the rest of the seminar passes in much of the same fashion. Seokjin continues to do little things here and there to get on your good side. He even shows up for more late night conversations a few times. Each time feels like an episode of The Golden Girls as the two of you laugh and talk about life over hulking slices of cheesecake. You’re still not entirely sure of his motive but it’s not like you’re in the position to turn down his olive branch of friendship. Being his assistant hasn’t left you much time for a social life. You’re so far removed from your old friend groups that you’re not even sure they still consider you their friend at this point.

You’d thought that things would go back to normal when your plane touched down in Verus but Seokjin is only too happy to prove you wrong. He greets you like an old friend during his routine wakeup call the next morning. Warm embrace and all. You stand stiff-armed and in shock until he physically places your arms around his neck. Your mind is frantic as you try to figure out how to respond. Part of you wants to melt into his arms but that’s dangerous territory. That type of thinking could lead to feelings that you can’t afford to feel. A protest is on the tip of your tongue but Seokjin releases you before you can voice it. A genuine smile lights up his face as he takes a step back from you.

“A hug a day keeps the wrinkles away,” He announces as he smooths out your furrowed brow. You weren’t even aware that you were frowning. “and you’re much too pretty for wrinkles so I expect a hug every morning. It’s my royal degree.”

In true Seokjin fashion, he doesn’t give you a chance to argue with him. He simply disappears into the bathroom and hops in the shower. Still in a daze, you set about picking out his suit for the day. You’re going through his accessories looking for a particular set of cufflinks when Seokjin’s voice suddenly sounds from behind you. He’s entirely too close to you if the closeness of his voice is anything to go by. You hadn’t even registered the sound of the shower turning off nor the bathroom door opening. When you turn around to chastise him for scaring you, you fervently wish for a sink hole to open up beneath your feet and send you plummeting towards the Earth’s core.

Seokjin stands before you in all of his freshly showered glory. Hair dripping, skin flushed and damp, and a towel slung dangerously low around his waist. Saliva pools in your mouth at the devastating sight of him. You nearly say fuck the consequences and launch yourself at him but your last ounce of resolve keeps your muscles locked in place.

“Sorry. Forgot my underwear.” The cocky devil in front you reaches for a shelf down by your hip to grab a pair of the overpriced Balenciaga boxer briefs that he’s partial to. He normally keeps a stock of underwear in his bathroom so that he can just get dressed when he comes out but it would appear that isn’t the case for today.

“I’m going to kill him.” You announce to the row of suit jackets by your head. Fists clenched at your sides as you fight for control. Your more primitive side is fighting to get out and answer the sexual challenge that Seokjin has laid before you but the human in you would rather die than give into your animalistic urges and risk everything you’ve worked for. Rational thought must take precedent here.

Jin’s flirtatious demeanor continues throughout the day in the form of random compliments and acts of kindness. A large part of the day is taken up by a mandatory appearance at an outdoor festival with his parents. The sun is shining brightly and Seokjin takes every chance he gets to tell you how you look like a “sun-kissed goddess”. You have an overwhelming urge to smack him every time he opens his mouth to say it. A waitress accidentally spills a drink down your back and he doesn’t hesitate a single second before he’s taking off his blazer to wrap it around your shoulders. A blazer that you know for a fact costs more than your entire monthly salary.

You’re not sure why he’s being so different but you can’t find it within yourself to complain either. Jin, as he now insists that you call him, is a lot more receptive to your instructions which in turn makes your job less of a headache. The constant compliments don’t hurt either. However, it’s when you start to look forward to them every day that you realize that maybe you’re not as immune to him as you’d once thought. Jin picks up on the subtle shift in your attitude as well. You smile more now and it makes his heart do jumping jacks every time. These days his plan of action has taken a back seat and every word out of his mouth is now a genuine effort to get you to bless him with even the smallest of grins.

You can feel Jin’s eyes on you as your fingers fly across the screen of your tablet. He’s inches away from you in the back seat of the SUV currently returning both of you to the palace after a long day of public appearances. Part of you yearns to know what’s going on in that head of his but you don’t want to push him. This…thing between the two of you is strange to say the least. You’ve long accepted that you have less than platonic feelings for him but that pesky employment clause in a mountain in your path. Besides, there’s no way that Jin feels the same way about you. He’s always had a thing for those traditionally beautiful girls that seem to draw people into them with their mere presence. You wish you could say that was you but you know it’s not

“I like you.” Jin interrupts your self-deprecating thoughts as if you had spoken them out loud. Your eyes fly to his, wide open. The shocked expression is identical to the one you’re sure that paints your own face as if that little sentence wasn’t meant to be said aloud.

“What did you just say?” You ask strictly for clarification purposes because there’s no way in hell he just said that.

He takes a deep breath, scooting closer to you. “I like you.”

Your heart leaps into your throat as he repeats himself in a soft voice that is just so unlike the loud, animated man you’re used to. He’s practically folded in on himself as if he’s preparing himself for rejection. You realize then that you weren’t the only one harboring feelings that you thought could never be reciprocated.

His words embolden you to finally act on your own repressed feelings. You completely close the little remaining distance between the two of you, leaning in to whisper in his ear. “I like you too.”

His lanky frame tenses up as he searches your face for any hint of a lie. He’s visibly relieved when he doesn’t find it. Smoke billows out of his nostrils and a shiver of fear runs the length of your spine. You’ve never personally seen a dragon hybrid shift but in all of the movies they always blow smoke out of their noses like this right before they transform into their more powerful form. You’d like to not be intimately pressed against Jin in the back of an SUV if he’s about to turn into a twenty-foot beast.

“Don’t worry, I’m not going to shift.” Jin assures you and at this point you’re convinced that he’s reading your mind. “Dragon hybrids do this whenever we feel extreme emotion.”

You nod in understanding but you move over a few inches just in case while he cracks his window to air the car out. A small squeal totally unbefitting the unflappable persona that you’ve carefully crafted escapes you when Jin suddenly unhooks your seatbelt and lifts you into his lap. He tugs your iPad away from you with a sudden show of strength, carelessly tossing it to the floorboards on what was your side of the car.

When he runs his nose along the column of your neck, your breath seizes up in your chest. You want this. God, you really, really want this but you know that it’s against the rules. Losing this cushy position would be devastating in more ways than one. It’s with a heavy heart that you not so effortlessly extricate yourself from Jin’s grasp to slide off his lap.

Your apparent rejection stings if his hurt facial expression is anything to go by. As you reach down for your iPad, you purposefully avoid his prying gaze. You know that if you look into his eyes you’ll break. Jin has other plans as he gently cups your jaw, turning you to face him. The warm chocolate of his eyes somehow calms you while also kicking your pulse into overdrive. You’ve never met a man who had such a dizzying effect on you before.

“Let me in, Kitty.” You’re not sure when his face had gotten so close to yours but his full lips just barely graze yours with every word. A frustrated growl rumbles in your chest as you lurch forward before jerking yourself back. You shouldn’t be doing this.

“Please, I can’t go on without knowing what kissing you is like. Even if it’s only once.” His voice is gruff. Hands gripping your waist as if you’re the one thing keeping him grounded.

Fuck it.

Smoke clouds around the two of you once more as your lips dance the timeless waltz of lovers. His tongue slips into your mouth with ease. His lips are gentle yet insistent as they move against yours. In that moment, you know that this is what it’s like to fly.

Seokjin curses as he powers through one last set of bicep curls. The heavy barbell in his hand drops to the floor with a loud bang that seems to echo around the room. His eyes burn from the sweat that’s pouring off of him but he doesn’t even bother to wipe his face. Instead, he opts to just push his hair away from his forehead and keep it moving.

He would normally take this cool off period to admire his progress in the mirrors that line one wall but he can’t even bring himself to look at his own reflection right now. He turns one of the treadmills so that it’s facing a non-reflective surface and hops on, cranking it up as fast as he can handle. His chest feels tight thought it’s not from a lack of air but rather it’s the heavy weight of guilt constricting his lungs.

Kissing you hadn’t been on his list of things to do today. Neither was spilling his guts in your lap about his feelings either. The words had burst forth before he could even think about stopping them. Seokjin couldn’t help the small smile that curved the corners of his lips at the memory of you confessing that you felt the same way.

His smile becomes a frown when that gnawing sense of guilt eats at him again. He’d documented the kiss in his log out of habit. It had just become routine for him to write down every little interaction that could be deemed less than appropriate. He pushes himself faster on the treadmill. His heart yearns for you to be his without the cloud of his false pretenses looming over him. Seokjin had originally thought that kissing you would be torture because he’d never be able to get enough and he was right. What he didn’t anticipate is that he’d feel this bad about it.

His mind wanders back to that incriminating document on his laptop. He doesn’t really know why he still has it or why he still updates it. Seokjin gave up on his plan to get Kitty fired a while ago but this weird relationship that’s not quite a relationship could end tomorrow if you wanted it to and he’d rather not rely on his own memories to remember you. The mere thought of you finding out his secret makes him physically ill. He lurches from the treadmill, collapsing into a heap on the floor. He’s fucked and royally so. Pun intended.

The days seem to blur together as time goes by. As he’d expected, Seokjin finds it damn near impossible to keep his hands and lips to himself. You’ve given up on wearing lipstick at this point. It’s practically become routine for him to lift you into his lap and attach his lips to yours the second the door of the SUV is shut behind him.

Today is no different. The driver hasn’t even made it back into his seat yet and Jin’s hands are already on you. Normally, you’re just sat across both of his legs but apparently, that’s not doing it for him anymore. He positions your knees on either side of his body as he does his absolute best to ruin you. Your pencil skirt is bunched up around the tops of your thighs just barely covering your lower half.

The shock wears off in the time it takes for the driver to put the car in drive. Your fingers are buried in his hair, tugging at the soft strands when he forces your hips to rock against his own. The bulge in his slacks brushes perfectly against your clit on every roll of your hips against his lap. He swallows your moans greedily, refusing to detach your lips from his. The car hits a bump in the road that causes the two of you to bounce a bit and results in your hips coming down with enough force to have you biting down on his lip hard enough to draw blood. Jin is unfazed. Instead, he thrusts his upwards in time with the continuous rocking motion of your hips. The rising pressure in your nether regions indicating that you’re teetering on the edge of an orgasm snaps you out of the sexual haze he’s dragged you into.

“Stop.”

Though it’s the last thing he wants to do, Seokjin ceases all movement at your whispered command. You escape from his lap and put as much distance as you possibly can between you and the virile man next to you. Your fingers shakily redo the buttons on your blouse. You don’t even know when they’d come undone in the first place. The iPad that’s normally glued to your hand is nowhere to be found. After a few minutes of desperate searching, you find it has slid under your seat and into the trunk area of the SUV. Jin lets out a pained groan at the sight of your perky ass in the air when you lean over the back of the seat to reach your device.

You’re all business when you return to a seated position. If it weren’t for the fact that there’s a few strands of hair that’s been tugged out of your bun there’d be no way to tell you’d just been engaged in a heated make out session in the backseat of a car. A few coughs to clear your throat has you back to normal so you launch into a breakdown of an upcoming conference that the two of you will be attending in a few short days. Jin had forgotten all about the small healthcare summit. He hates that he has to attend these things but if it means getting uninterrupted he’ll gladly suffer through whatever hell is in store for them.

Seokjin has his ear pressed against the door connecting your room to his listening to you move around as you get ready for bed. He’d been ecstatic when you’d arrived at the hotel to find that the hotel had messed up the room reservation in such a manner. It felt like the universe was rewarding him for some good deed. He feels like such a creep right now though as he practically strains his ears to pick up on every little sound you make. His normal confident demeanor has deserted him just as it has the two previous nights. This is his last chance to finally buck up and make his move. With one final mental shove, he raises his fist to gently knock on the door.

His lungs practically collapse when you open the door. There’s no sight that he loves more than you in your after hours state clad in the baggy sweatshirts and tiny shorts combo he’s learned that you favor. Your hair released from the strict bun you wear daily per palace guidelines. Face free of makeup and exposing the small beauty mark on your top lip. Nothing could make it better except for maybe the smile currently stretching across your face.

“I was wondering how long it would take you to finally knock. I guess third time really is the charm, huh?” Shit how did you know that he’s been wussing out like some kind of coward every night? Must be a panther thing. At least he hopes it’s a panther thing because it would be really creepy otherwise.

“I-uh” Jin finds himself suddenly at a loss for words. He’d planned out exactly how he’d wanted this to go but now that you’re in front of him he’s at a loss.

“Relax, babe. I only bite on request.” Jin feels himself melt at the way your tongue teasingly pokes out between your teeth. He doesn’t protest being dragged into your room, shutting the door behind him.

“So, what’s up? It’s getting late and we have to be up early tomorrow.” You continue moving around the room laying out your clothes for tomorrow and going over tomorrow’s itinerary one final time.

“That’s actually what I wanted to ask you about.” Jin trails off as he tries to carefully choose his words in his head before saying them. You arch an eyebrow in question when you face him, taking in the way he’s nervously rubbing at the back of his neck. Your heart softens at the sight.

Jin’s eyes are trained on his feet with embarrassment because of his inability to collect his thoughts around you. He hears rather than sees you approach him; therefore, missing the loving smile on your face. Your arms snake around his slender waist, cheek resting against his firm chest. His own arms find their way around your shoulders as he breathed in the scent of your shampoo. Holding you like this will never get old for him and he’s reluctant to let go so he doesn’t.

“Can I sleep here tonight? With you.” He mumbles into the top of your head.

“Only if you give me a kiss first.” Jin can’t help but to laugh at the cute way you tilt your head back, full lips puckered up and demanding to be kissed. He’s quick to oblige your request.

Neither of you are really sure how, but what was a playful kiss mean to calm his nerves escalates into something much more. Your clothes and his fall soon litter the floor as you hastily undress each other. Jin’s lips only detach themselves from yours long enough to remove your sweatshirt. His own shirt doesn’t receive the same standard of care as he opts to rip the plain white tee down the middle instead.

His erection presses against your abdomen as he walks you backwards to the bed. Your hands wander the broad planes of shoulder blades as he blesses you with his weight. He encourages your legs to wrap around his waist, hips grinding against your own. The engorged head of his erection sends shockwaves of pleasure shooting through you until you're sure that you're teetering on the edge of insanity.

Euphoria spreads through your bloodstream when Jin finally begins inching his way inside you. He bottoms out with a grunt, sucking on your collarbone. His fingers slide up your arms, interlocking with yours as he pins your hands next to your head. Pressure is rapidly building in your gut with each purposeful grind of his hips. It's not long before you're tumbling over the edge with Jin following closely behind you.

You brush Jin's sweaty fringe away from his forehead. You can feel his lips curve into a smile against his chest when you sweetly kiss his forehead. He tightens his arms around you before rolling off to the side. The loss of his body heat makes sure shiver. You immediately turn to cuddle into his side, whining when he detaches your arms from his torso.

“Go pee.” Seokjin instructs with finality as he rolls you towards the edge of the bed. “Vaginal health is important.”

“Well you’re gonna have to carry me because I can’t exactly feel my legs right now.”

“With pleasure, my dear.” He rounds the bed and lifts you into his arms. He rambles the whole time about how this is totally contradictory to every fairytale ever.

You shut him up with a kiss when you’re both settled under the covers. He kisses your nose once, twice, three times before you finally shove him away from you and turn your back to him. Jin pulls you flush against him, leaving a lingering kiss on your shoulder. Sleep draws his eyes closed faster than he would like. He’d intended to truly savor the moment before travelling to dream land.

A pleasant soreness flares in your limbs as you stretch in the warm rays of the morning sun shining through the curtains. Jin grumbles out a protest at all your movement. His arms flail around lazily as he tries to restrict any further movement. You melt against him and allow yourself a few more minutes of solace wrapped in Jin’s strong arms. It’s when your third and final alarm goes off that you force yourself out of his grip and push him towards his own room.

He goes grudgingly and even puts up a fight at the door. The scaly bastard refuses to even touch the door knob until you give him a kiss. You attempt to scold him for being difficult but the amused grin that you try so hard to hide makes an appearance anyway, effectively negating your words. Of course, he takes advantage of the situation and turns what was meant to be a quick peck to get his ass in gear into a full make-out session. It takes all of your will power to separate yourself from him so that the two of you can finally get dressed but you manage somehow.

As per usual, you are showered and dressed faster than his royal slowness next door. You’ve committed the day’s itinerary to memory but you decide to check it again just to be sure you’re aware of every closing event Jin needs to attend. After inputting your passcode, you expect for your home screen to appear on your tablet but nothing happens. Your heart seizes in your chest and you immediately feel bereft. Trying to function without your tablet would be like asking you to fly and unlike Jin you are unable to sprout wings and take to the skies.

“No, no, no don’t do this to me now.” You exclaim as your beloved iPad doesn’t respond at all to your frantic stabs at the screen. No matter what you do it won’t unfreeze. You panic as your brain runs through your options. Diddly squat is what your brain conjures up as a solution. You can’t function without the summit itinerary and your tablet is holding it hostage.

Just then, you remember that you emailed a copy of it to Jin right after you’d received it from the Council after confirming Jin’s attendance. Thanks to your feline reflexes you’re across the room and flinging open the connecting door in a flash. You breathe a sigh of relief when you spot his laptop charging on his bedside table. However, that relief is short-lived when you realize that you have no idea what his password is. The sound of roaring water tells you he’s in the shower so you’re on your own. If Jin is anything he is vain and predictable so it shouldn’t be too hard to guess his password. When the sleek machine accepts PrinceJin1 on your second attempt you can’t help the small smile that lifts the corners of your lips.

The screen opens up to the word document he’d last been working on. With any hope, it’s his speech for the royal banquet next week but knowing him he’ll blow it off and pull something out of his ass on the spot. You’re about to minimize it to open the browser when a sentence in the middle of the page catches your eye.

3/20 – Kissed Kitty in the SUV on the way back to the palace

Your lungs seize up as you scroll through the extensive document. Every kiss. Every touch. Every whispered word is documented up until a few weeks ago. When you reach the top only to see the words Operation: RIP Kitty, it’s all you can do to hold back the tears threatening to burst forth. Your thoughts are a frantic, jumbled mess as they buzz around your brain like a hoard of frenzied bees. The sound of the shower turning off doesn’t even register until Jin is stepping out of the bathroom in a towel. The sight of his bare torso glistening with drops of water would normally melt you into a pool of whimpering desire but now all you feel is pure rage. His heart sinks when he sees you seated on the edge of his hotel bed holding his laptop in a death grip.

“I can explain.” He feels physically sick when you level your gaze at him. Looking into your eyes is one of his favorite things to do in the world but right now he wishes that you would look anywhere but at him.

He’s always said that you’re scariest when you’re angry but now he realizes that’s not true. Anger is an emotion. One he’s learned to deal with from you over the time he’s known you. You’re an open book and have never been shy about expressing your emotions so the fact that you’re now purposefully reigning that in to show this blank mask that’s on your face now shakes him to his core.

“I’ve always thought your brain was underdeveloped and this just confirms it.” You state calmly as you set the laptop back on the table where you’d found it.

“Babe,” You cringe outwardly at his use of such an endearing term. “I know this looks bad but-”

“Save it, Seokjin. I don’t need an explanation from you nor do I particularly want one.” He flinches at your harsh tone as you rise from your spot on his bed. Panthers are warm-blooded animals but your words are frosty. He hasn’t heard his full name come you’re your mouth in weeks and hearing it just now made him ache in a strange way.

Jin closes his eyes as you make your way back to your room. The sight of you walking away from him is more than he can take. He flinches at the sound of the door slamming shut. The finality of it sends a sharp pain shooting through his chest that nearly brings him to his knees.

He tries throughout the day to explain himself, but you are having none of it. You barely cast even a glance in his direction unless it’s absolutely necessary to do so. Sure, you make nice for appearances but your smile never reaches your eyes. Your irises that normally capture and mold rays of light into shooting stars look flat and lifeless. It kills him to know that he did that.

The next morning, Seokjin is already awake when you come to wake him up. Not that he ever actually went to sleep in the first place. Your jaw is set as your eyes look him up and down contemptuously. He’s on his feet in an instant, reaching out for you. The hiss you let out as you snatch away from him feels like a stab to the heart. Your eyes are glowing that tell-tale golden hue of your inner panther.

“Touch me again and I’ll rip your throat out. Crown be damned.” Your words are clipped and slurred as your teeth lengthen to their feline length. He’s never seen you lack this much control over yourself but it’s not like he can blame you. He broke your heart and he’s come to realize that he’s broken his own in the process.

Seokjin drags himself to the shower. The sound of the rushing water almost completely masks the sounds of his sobbing but you hear him anyway as you lay out his suit for today. You shove your fist in your mouth to keep from falling down the same rabbit hole. You’re absolutely miserable but the person you would normally go to for comfort is the cause of your anguish.

If Seokjin had thought you were frigid before, he’s sure that modern scientists haven’t even discovered temperatures as cold as the vibes you’re giving off now. When the two of you returned to Verus he had halfway expected for you to resign. That would’ve been so easy. At least then he wouldn’t have to look at you every day and be reminded of how stupid he’d been. He wouldn’t have to be reminded of the fact that he’d lost the best thing that ever happened to him through his own idiocy. But no one pays better than the palace so you need this job and he knows it.

Losing you has affected Seokjin in every aspect of his life. He can’t eat. He barely sleeps. It’s a struggle to face the world every day. A week and a half into your freeze out and Seokjin is ready to launch himself off a cliff. He normally looks forward to Sundays as they are his only free days but now? Now he rejects the laziness of the day. At least when he’s got a schedule packed full of appearances and other princely duties he has something other than his own misery to focus on.

“So, when are you and that assistant of your going to kiss and make up?” Seokjin freezes with his glass of apple juice resting against his bottom lip at his father’s question. Guessing that he’s been in a funk is one thing but there’s no way that his parents could possibly know what’s been going on between the two of you. He carefully sets his glass down, contemplating the best response.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about, father.” Seokjin answers coyly. His eyes get impossibly wider when his mother snorts in response.

They know. He’s not sure how or when they found out but they know. It had to have been recently because they would’ve definitely fired you already if they’d known before now. His heart skips a few beats as he considers what this means for you. The King and Queen have always been sticklers for the rules. They hardly ever make exceptions for anyone, including their only son. Yet, he still readies himself for battle. He couldn’t save your heart but the least he can do is save your job.

“You think we don’t know what goes on around here? The palace is still just a house.” His mother remarks after a spoonful of yogurt. Seokjin hangs his head.

“How long have you known?” He asks woefully.

“Hmm, how long would you say it’s been, sweetheart?” His father asks of his mother. Had he been in a more positive state of mind, Seokjin may have picked up on the lighthearted tone in the King’s voice.

“At least a month, darling.” His head snaps up incredulously. His parents have known for an entire month that he’s been sneaking around with you and yet they said nothing? Not a single word?

“Why didn’t you say anything? I thought this was against some stupid rule?”

“It is, dear.” His mother chimes in. “We wanted her gone the second we found out but then we saw just how much you seemed to blossom. You were happy and it showed.” She reaches across the table to take her son’s hand in hers, stroking her thumb across his knuckles.

“We’re your parents before we’re monarchs and we just couldn’t take that kind of joy away from you.” Seokjin feels like he’s about to choke on the knot in his throat. Unfortunately, their words of acceptance are too little too late. You want absolutely nothing to do with him and now and he can’t even blame you.

“Plus, she’s the only assistant that could keep your chaotic ass in line. We would’ve been fools to fire her.” The king lets out a rumbling belly laugh at his own “joke”. Seokjin almost cracks a smile along with him. Almost.

“That’s because she’s terrifying but I liked it. Loved it even.” This is the first time that Seokjin has admitted the true depth of his feelings out loud. His already shattered heart cracks just a little more at the thought of his first love despising him.

“Go to her son.” His mother’s urging prompts a small huff of laughter from Seokjin but there’s not a shred of humor in it whatsoever. He tilts his head up towards the ornate ceiling of the dining room, doing his best to keep the tears at bay.

“I can’t do that.” He whispers thickly as he slowly pulls his hand from his mother’s warm embrace. “Going through that type of rejection twice might actually kill me.”

Seokjin excuses himself from the table politely. He wanders around aimlessly until he finds himself in one of the many palace gardens. A swear falls from his lips as he realizes that he’s ended up in the millennium garden. Gardenias of all kinds had been carefully curated and arranged into this breathtaking display to commemorate the millennium mark of his family’s rule. You’d mentioned once that out of all the palace gardens this one was your favorite. According to you, the air smelled sweeter here.

Smoke pours from his nostrils and he suddenly feels like he’s suffocating. His jeans and sweatshirt are a thing of the past as twenty feet of scales and fire take the place of the man that had stood at the edge of this garden. Seokjin can’t even remember the last time he’d been able to shift. It always seemed like he never had the time to revel in this form. He heaves a mental sigh of relief as he stretches out his wings and takes to the sky. The citizens far beneath him are probably taking to the streets to witness the rare sight of his midnight black form slicing through the sky.

He’s not sure where he’s going, just letting the wind beneath his wings steer him through the clouds. The Traiya mountain range looms closer and closer and for a second he contemplates letting himself crash into the rocky mountain face. That thought is squashed as quickly as it pops up. In its place, his parents’ words play on repeat. Go to her. If only he could. He doesn’t miss the way you look physically distressed every time you’re in the same room with him as if his mere presence makes you sick.

Seokjin lands in a clearing at the base of the mountain range. He shifts back to his biped form so as not to scare the wildlife and ventures into the forest in front of him. His eyes drift closed after he drops to the ground beneath a large oak tree. A small creek cuts its way through the earth. The sounds of the forest around him soothe the ache in chest even if only a little bit.

When he opens his eyes again, he notices a squirrel scouring the branches of a tree off to his right for nuts. Most of the wildlife has vacated this part of the forest after sensing Seokjin’s presence but this squirrel is on a mission that no dragon will prevent him from carrying out. The small animal seems to be inspecting each one he happens across until he finds the perfect one. Seokjin is intrigued by the picky, little rodent. So many suitable acorns and yet the squirrel passes them by after quick sniff. He walks along several branches before he finally finds one that makes him pause. Seokjin calls upon his enhanced vision and he’s shocked to see that the acorn the squirrel has set his picky sights on really isn’t all that special. He’s passed up bigger, surely more satisfying, acorns on his quest to find this one. Plus, his nut of choice looks to be slightly out of reach. That doesn’t deter the tiny rodent in the least.

Seokjin watches with rapt attention as the determined squirrel tries its hardest to grab the acorn it has its sights set on. The small animal keeps trying and trying to the point that Seokjin is contemplating getting up to get the damn acorn for it just to save the poor animal the trouble. No sooner has he shifted to stand something damn near miraculous happens. The squirrel’s outstretched class finally grip the acorn in their clutches. It tucks the nut in its cheeks before darting off to God only knows where not realizing that it has just shifted Seokjin’s entire world view.

“Well I’ll be damned.” He says out loud to the quiet forest around him.

Your heart is racing like a speeding bullet train as your feet carry you towards Seokjin’s door. You have always prided yourself on being an unwavering, unflappable force but that girl is nowhere to be found. Today, you’re a girl with everything to lose. Your heart is on the line now and you doubt that the tape you’d put on the deep fissures snaking through your will hold if this conversation doesn’t go well.

As you knock on the door, you still don’t really know what you’re doing here. When Jin had texted you quite literally begging for a few minutes of your time, you’d turned him down without a second thought. You were convinced that you didn’t want to hear anything he had to say and yet here you are.

Seokjin flings open the door before your arm has even had time to return to your side. After years of being his right hand you can tell when he’s trying to hide the fact that he’s nervous. You easily pick out each of his tells with ease as you observe him quietly, starting with the tips of ears that have turned an astonishing shade of red.

“You came.” He breathes out almost in disbelief. Seokjin looks disheveled to put it lightly and in some twisted way it makes you happy that you’re not the only one that’s been suffering since what happened.

“I told you I would.” You answer lowly. He nods, stepping aside to let you into his room.

The normally immaculate space is a mess with pieces of paper covering seemingly every available surface. You take a glance at a few of them to see various versions of what looks like a letter. A letter of apology at that. You take a deep, ragged breath as you turn back to face him. Seokjin almost looks small as he wrings his hands together.

“I was-…I tried to put my thoughts on paper but everything was just…” He trails off once more as his thumb nail becomes trapped between his teeth. You yearn to gently smooth out the wrinkles in his forehead. But you’re not about to let him sense that the soft spot you’d developed for him is still intact. If he wants your forgiveness – forgiveness that you’re still not sure you’re interested in giving – then he’s going to have to work for it. Hard.

He clears off a chair for you to sit on so you carefully perch yourself on the edge of it. Your confusion shoots through the roof when Seokjin kneels at your feet. You’ve never seen him kneel for anyone ever. Part of you wants to make him get up just to make this awkward feeling go away but he starts speaking before you can say anything.

“I’m a gigantic dumbass.” Prince Seokjin? Admitting he’s wrong? Those two phrases have never been uttered in such close proximity before because Seokjin is never wrong. It’s always someone else’s fault. To hear him taking accountability for his disastrous choices is actually terrifying. He must be feverish or something.

Before you can stop yourself, you touch the back of your hand to his forehead. His face is flushed but he’s not running a fever. You check his cheeks just to be sure. He leans into your touch, eyes drifting shut. Your breath catches in your throat at how vulnerable he looks like this. The urge to softly stroke his cheek is too strong for you to resist. His hand is warm around your wrist when he detaches your hand from his face.

“I have a hard enough time thinking around you as it.” He offers as an explanation. Your face must have been a picture of confusion. “I don’t want to mess this up again.”

As promised, you hear him out. He keeps expecting you to interrupt him as he lays everything out on the table but you don’t say a word. You sit primly on the edge of the chair with your hands neatly folded. He’s not even really sure you’re listening from the way your eyes are unfocused and seemingly staring at nothing but your facial expressions give you away. Your features move through a myriad of different emotions as Seokjin exposes his sins. You remain silent even after he finishes. Fear seizes in his heart as your face is wiped clean just as it was on the day you first learned of his transgressions.

“Please say something.” He begs. He reaches out a hand to touch your own but stops midair when your hone in on his hand as if it’s a direct threat to your physical safety. Seokjin quickly retracts his would be olive branch. It’s quiet a few moments more before you finally speak up.

“Was any of it real?” You question accusingly. He opens his mouth to say every single second with you was real but that’s a lie and he’s in deep shit as it. Better to tell the truth than to dig himself into an even deeper whole.

“At first, no but when we went to that summit in Aurlena I was so focused on finding your soft spots that I didn’t realize I was falling for all of your little intricacies until it was too late.” Jin pauses to gauge your response but you say nothing. Your eyes are actually focused on his face now though so he takes that as a positive sign and soldier on.

“It wasn’t even extravagant gestures that I fell for. It was the small smile you do every time you talk about something your passionate about. It was the way your nose scrunches up when you’re thinking. It was the way you go out of your way to help others even if they don’t notice or even appreciate what you’re doing.”

Your mouth opens as if you have something you want to say but Seokjin is on a roll that cannot be stopped. He raises a single finger as he continues his spiel.

“I don’t know much but what I do know is that somewhere in the process of all this bullshit I fell in love with you. And I understand if you don’t want anything to do with me after everything I’ve done but I just needed to tell you this.”

“Even after everything you did, I think I love you too and I can’t fucking stand that.” You rise from the chair, arms wrapped around yourself as if you’re trying to hold your emotions together. Seokjin follows behind you like a lost puppy to the large bay windows that take up most of one wall.

“Doesn’t matter how I feel anyway though. I need this job more than I need a relationship and, unfortunate as it may be, I can’t have both. We’ve been pushing our luck with getting caught and I can’t keep putting my work at risk like this.”

“I could take care of you. I’m sure that you’re well aware that I’m rich.”

“I’m not some trophy wife that you can just throw money at to keep happy. I’m glad that we had this talk but I’m leaving now.” Seokjin nearly combusts into flames then and there. You infuriate him to no end. Here he is laying his heart and his money at your feet and you’d still rather throw yourself on a dagger out of some goddamn sense of pride. It makes his head spin.

“If I could work out a way for you to have both, would you do it.” Seokjin asks just as you reach the door. The short hesitation before you answer gives him hope for something good.

“Maybe.” With that final parting word, you slip out into the hallway.

A week crawls by and Seokjin doesn’t breathe a word about whatever plan he’s concocting this time. The thought of what he could possibly come up with in that wild brain of his is almost scary. You still perform your duties as his assistant flawlessly but he does his best to trip you up. A whispered compliment here. A hand that lingers just a fraction to long there. If his plan is to drive you insane so that he can have you relieved of your position due to mental incapacitation, then he’s pretty damn close to succeeding.

It’s on the twelfth day, a balmy Sunday, that it all comes to a head. You always get Sundays off so you usually take the day to head to your hometown of Alladin, a small township just short of an hour outside of the capital city. You’re in the kitchen helping your mother make lunch when your phone vibrates in your back pocket. A quick peek at the screen shows a message from Seokjin asking you to stop by his room when you return to the palace. You’re instantly suspicious of what it is he could possibly want on a Sunday evening but he’s still your boss so you tap out a quick reply confirming that you’ll pop in later.

It’s nearly ten o’clock when your fist knocks softly on Seokjin’s door. He calls out to you from somewhere inside to come in. You poke your head in the door to see him lounging in bed, scrolling through Netflix, hand shoved down the front of his pants for no real reason. He says something smart about letting all his “good air conditioning out” so you step all the way into the room and close the door.

“I had your employment contract redrawn. HR said you’ll have to switch positions but I was able to get you a four dollar raise as a consolation prize for not being able to work for me anymore. It’s on the table if you want to look at it.” You roll your eyes at his foolishness, venturing further into his inner sanctum. Thankfully, it’s a lot cleaner than it was the last time you were here. You really hope he recycled all of that paper though. You find the stack of papers you’re assuming is your new contract on the small end table next to his armchair.

“Jin,” You whisper almost unintelligibly. The papers in your hand drift back down to the table you’d picked them up from. “This is an application for a marriage license not an employment contract.”

You flip around only to get the shock of your life. For the second time, Seokjin is knelt before you. The sparkling diamond nestled in the tiny velvet box makes this time so much more significant. You hadn’t really believed him when he’d told you that you were it for him. It just couldn’t be true. You’re just a college dropout trying to be a good daughter by taking care of her parents. There’s nothing special that could’ve enraptured a man like Seokjin and yet he somehow found something in you that you’d never been able to see yourself.

“I’m a jerk. I’m impulsive. I leave my dirty underwear on the bathroom floor. I’m selfish. But I’m also hopelessly in love with you and everything you are. I don’t deserve you. I probably never will but I’m willing to spend the rest of my life trying to be worthy of being yours.”

Tears stream freely down your face. This insufferable pain in the ass has really wormed his way into your heart instead and, as much as he infuriates you, you wouldn’t have it any other way. You love this man. As much as you tried to deny it, you are head over heels for the fire-breathing menace in front of you.

“Give me my ring, loser.” Jin chokes on a huff of laughter before carefully sliding the ring onto your finger.

The second it’s sitting securely on your finger, you pounce on him with all the ferocity befitting your hybrid species. It’s like crashing into a brick wall when your body collides with Seokjin’s but you don’t care. You need to be close to him and you refuse to wait a single second longer. He lifts you off of your feet as he stands from his kneeling position and carries you to his bed.

Your lips cover his for the first time in weeks. Both of you simultaneously groan in satisfaction at the feeling. You’d almost forgotten just how much you loved kissing him. Your back meets the coolness of his sheets when he carefully lays you out on his mattress. His plush lips move along your jaw, finding that sensitive spot just below your ear. He sucks and bites at the skin there as you cling to his shoulders.

Seokjin nestles himself between your legs. The zipper on his jeans looks like it could give way at any second as his erection strains to be set free. He grinds against our soaked center repeatedly. You rake your nails down the front of his button-down shirt until it hangs loose around his frame. He quickly sheds the now useless garment before treating your clothes to the same fate. Soon all that remains between the two of you are the tiny pair of red lace panties you’d put on as a confidence booster this morning. They match the bra that Seokjin has already shredded so you’re surprised when instead of ripping your panties as well he chooses to leave them on you.

His lips leave no inch of skin untouched as he kisses his way down your torso. He pauses to swirl his tongue in your navel before blowing a puff of air on your skin. The shiver that courses down your spine brings a cocky grin to your face. That grin only grows when his eyes take in the way that your back arches after he flattens his tongue against your covered heat. The lace of your panties is so thin that you can barely tell it’s there when he flicks his tongue against your engorged clit. The fabric adds just that extra little bit of friction that has you seeing stars early.

Your fingers bury themselves in the thick, black strands atop his head and he welcomes the way you tug at his roots. He continues to slowly flick his tongue along your outer lips but it’s soon becoming not enough. After a few desperate pleas, Seokjin finally rids you of your panties to eat you out like he means it. He brings you to the brink of insanity with his tongue and shoves you over the edge with a final expert flick of his tongue. You’ve never been able to come from oral that didn’t involve fingering of some sort but as usual Seokjin shows you that there’s more than one way to make a cat purr.

He finds himself being dragged back up to your mouth as your greedy lips cover his once more. You can taste yourself on his tongue and it’s a heady mixture that has a fresh wave of arousal washing over you. Your inner muscles clench around nothing and you’re aching to be filled but there’s something that you’ve been wanting to do since that fated day when you’d walked in on him with Camille.

Seokjin is aware of the fact that as a hybrid you’re a lot stronger than the average woman but he still finds himself full of surprise when you flip him on his back as if he weighed nothing. He growls low in his throat when you grab his thick erection in your fist, squeezing him tight just how he likes it.

“I want you to fuck my face.” His eyes nearly bulge out of their sockets at your bold request. Far be it for him to deny you anything you ask of him though.

He obediently gathers your hair into a ponytail and guides your head towards his waiting erection. He thrusts are shallow at first but he slowly starts picking up speed. The gagging sounds bubbling up from your throat every time he bottoms out are threatening to do him in. Your arms snake up his torso, fingers flicking at his nipples as you hold yourself down on his cock. Seokjin is surprised by his own orgasm when you swallow around him. He cums long and hard down your throat and you swallow every drop. You keep working him with your mouth until he’s squirming beneath you from oversensitivity.

You soon find yourself trapped under Seokjin’s larger frame with your thighs pressed so tightly to your chest that your ass is no longer touching the mattress. It’s in this position that he decides to bury his face between your legs. You can do nothing but feel as he explores your drenched folds with his tongue. The warm wet muscles flickers rapidly against your clit and all you can do is take it. You can’t jerk your hips away from his face like you want to. Can’t grind your hips against his face like you want to. Can’t arch your back in pleasure like you want to. You’re totally and completely at the mercy of Seokjin’s talented mouth. Black spots dance before your vision as the pressure in your abdomen reaches its boiling point.

Jin rubs soothing circles in your thighs after he releases your legs. You pull him down to you for a kiss. An odd sense of pride spreads through your chest at the feeling of something warm and hard resting against your pelvic bone. Apparently, you weren’t the only one enjoying the way he just feasted on you like a starving man. You shift your hips so that he’s pressed against your center, relishing in the deep groan he lets out as he licks and sucks at your skin at random.

He rocks against you, coating himself in your wetness. His hardened cock is covered in an unholy mixture of his precum and your juices. You’re on the verge of begging him to put it in already – totally over his teasing – when he buries himself inside you on the next rock of his agile hips. The feeling of finally being one with him again feels much more overwhelming this time around. You suspect it may have something to do with the rock weighing down your left hand. Regardless of the reason, you feel dangerously close to another orgasm just one stroke in and, judging from the way Jin has frozen inside of you, you’re not the only one. Curses fall freely from his lips as he waxes poetic about how wet and tight you are around him.

You lift your hips to meet his every thrust when he finally starts to move until he’s moving too fast for you to keep up. He pauses his movements to sit up and lift your legs so that your ankles are resting on his shoulders. The change in position allows him to slam into your g spot with every forward movement. He can tell you’re close by the way your inner muscles spasm around him with increasing frequency. The soft look in Jin’s eyes is a striking contrast to the pounding of his hips against yours. Everything you feel for him is mirrored in his irises and it only serves to push you closer to your climax. You grit your teeth and try to hold your orgasm off because you don’t want this moment to end. Jin doesn’t exactly give you a choice in the matter as he makes you come undone with a flick of his thumb against your clit. He follows you into ecstasy moments later with a growl that you really wish you had been able to record as, head thrown back.

Jin lets your legs down for the second time today and moves as if he’s about to pull out. You hastily wrap your legs around his waist, locking your ankles at the small of his back to keep him inside you for as long as possible. He flashes you a tired grin that makes your heart flip flop in your chest as he gathers you in his arms to turn you both on your sides. The sound of his laughter fills the air when you swat at him for blowing rings of smoke in your face.

“So where do we go from here?” You ask, breaking the pleasant silence that had settled over the two of you.

“I’m thinking the shower.” He starts as he drags a hand through his sweaty locks. He even has the audacity to look taken aback when you flick him on the nose like a disobedient hound.

“That’s not what I meant you overgrown snake with wings.” Seokjin pouts. Still rubbing at his nose but you don’t relent. You like having a solid plan for everything you do in life and you’re not about to make an exception for him.

“Well for one, you’re fired. I wasn’t actually able to get your employment contract redrawn which is bullshit because I’m the goddamn prince but my mother is on the board of an ass load of charities and all that other good philanthropy stuff and is only too happy to have you join her.”

The implications of what Jin just said smacks you in the face like a ton of bricks. Sure, it solves your initial problem of not wanting to be some trophy wife but not having your job anymore revives the issue that forced you to get this job in the first place. No job means no paycheck. No paycheck means you can’t afford to pay your dad’s medical bills.

Jin can see the hamster wheel in your head spinning at an astonishing speed. He doesn’t have to be able to read your thoughts to know exactly what they pertain to. Despite your rough exterior, you have a massive heart and will sacrifice yourself for the well-being of others. A noble trait but he can foresee it being annoying in the future.

“Before you go too far down the rabbit hole, I would also like to say that both of your parents have been enrolled in the royal healthcare plan so you won’t have to worry about your father nor your mother in that regard anymore.”

There are really no words to how much you love this man right now. None whatsoever.

“You’re still in charge of picking out my suits thought. You have vision and I don’t trust anyone else to dress me.”

“I wouldn’t have it any other way.” The kiss that you’d intended to be soft and sweet takes an intense turn. Getting a bit more dirty before you shower can’t hurt.

#btssmutclub #hyunglinenetwork #btswritersguild #bts smut #kim seokjin #seokjin x reader #bts hybrid #dragon seokjin #panther reader #bts scenario #bts fanfiction

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babybluebanshee · 5 years ago

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Seared With Scars - Chapter 8 (Mystery Nerds AU)

“A company of believers is like a prison full of criminals; their intimacy and solidarity is based on what they can least justify about themselves.” John Updike

--- The ropes biting into Stan’s wrists brought back a slew of unwanted and unpleasant memories - the stifling heat of the trunk of a car left in the desert. The tight handcuffs slapped on him as he was ushered into a tiny, dirty prison cell with two guys who were bigger and much tougher-looking than him. The vice-like grip of an angry, uncaring nurse who warned him what happened to patients that stepped out of line.

All these memories flashed in his mind, churned up like chunks of a shipwreck in a frothing sea, each one a new exercise in fear.

But he couldn’t let that fear overcome him. He had to think. Every time he brought his gaze back to his brother’s prone figure, gasping on the ground under Matthews’ foot, he reminded himself what was at stake.

Those broken ribs could puncture lungs.

Those blows to the head meant traumatic brain injuries that needed attention.

The leg that was now a disgustingly twisted mess could, at best, not heal right, and, at worst, cause a whole host of infections that could-

No, he wasn’t going to think about that. He’d just gotten his brother back after ten years. He sure as hell wasn’t going to lose him again, especially not to the snot that stood before him and his friends, trying his damnedest to look tall and imposing, and called himself Blind Ivan.

Stan would have laughed at this young man, barely even an adult, trying to convince the world he was not to be trifled with if it hadn’t been for the way he looked at them.

His eyes passed over each of them lazily, like their presence before him was the most mundane thing in the world, something he dealt with every day, a simple chore that needed tending to. And yet, there was...something wrong in his face. Stan couldn’t quite put his finger on what. Maybe it was how, no matter which direction he turned, his eyes never seemed to catch the light. Maybe it was his skin, so ashen and pallid it made him look like a creature of the undead. Maybe it was his bony hand clutching Fiddleford’s knapsack, knowing exactly what was in it and why it was so dangerous that Ivan had it now.

It stirred a primal repulsion in Stan’s gut, that set all his instincts into overdrive to find a way out of this.

A quick glance at his immediate left showed him Fiddleford looked exactly the same as Stan felt. Guilt mixed ever so subtly with the apprehension as Stan recalled how he’d slung the little nerd around earlier, throwing all kinds of insults and threats at him. Now Fiddleford’s face looked like his entire world had just been shattered, and in a way, Stan supposed that it had.

Ivan, this person Fiddleford obviously thought that he could trust, was staring down at him like he was a fly to be swatted. Stan didn’t blame him for looking afraid.

“Get your hands off me, you bathrobe-wearing freaks!”

Helen, however, did not seem in the least bit intimidated by Ivan or any of the other cultists currently trying to restrain her. If anything, it all made her struggle harder, and most of that struggle was focused on her desire to break free and throttle Matthews.

“You absolute bastard,” Helen shrieked at him, lunging forward so hard that the cultist trying to tighten the rope around her wrists was nearly jerked off balance. Stan had never seen her so angry, not even after she’d gotten her first glimpse at the portal a few hours before. That had at least been brought on by the culmination of all the crazy shit she’d been forced to endure up to that point. Now, there was nothing in her eyes but cold, hard fury. “I believed you!” she yelled. “I gave you a second goddamn chance!”

“What can I say, Helen,” Matthews replied, flatly. “Thanks.”

Helen let out a low growl, reminiscent of a rabid dog. One of the robed figures tried to grip her by her arm, in an attempt to wrangle her back to a more prone position, but she merely shot her elbow back and up, managing to clock them square in the jaw.

The figure stumbled backwards, their hood falling back, but before Helen could take advantage of it, another cultist grabbed a clump of her hair and pulled hard. With a pained shouted, she was forced back into a kneeling position on the floor. The figure she’d struck slowly straightened up, the doughy face of Sheriff Leory Muggins glaring icily back down at her.

“Sure wish you hadn’t done that, Mrs. Stillwell,” Muggins said, massage his jaw where he’d been struck.

Helen stopped moving and her eyes went wide. “Muggins?” she breathed.

“That’s right,” the figure clutching Helen’s hair said, voice snide and mocking. Reaching up their free hand, they pulled back their own hood, revealing the grandmotherly face of the secretary from the hospital, her lips pulled back in a sneer through a jagged cross-hatching of scars.

She had seen them with Fiddleford when they first entered the hospital. That’s why she thought he’d be in Helen’s house. That’s why she’d been there, waiting to attack them.

She’d played them.

“Louise? Y-you…” Helen began. Stan could almost see the fight dripping out of her. “You were the one...the one in my house?”

“Sure was,” Louise replied, her tone sickeningly sweet. “And speaking of what happened at your house…”

In a blur of motion, Louise shot out her fist and punched Helen directly in her eye. Helen’s head snapped to the side as she let out a surprised cry of pain. Stan heard her glasses crunch under the force of the blow, then watched as they went flying from her face, shattering completely as they made contact with the floor.

Helen lowered her head, panting heavily. Stan watched blood drip from her nose and spatter on her pant leg. She didn’t look back up.

Any fear that Stan felt dried up in that instant, and he growled, “You’re gonna regret that, you hag!”

Finally, Ivan spoke up. “There you go, Stanley, making threats you couldn’t possibly hope to carry out,” he said, his deep, smooth voice cutting through the mayhem unfolding before him like a surgeon’s scalpel. “It would seem you and your brother share the idiotic tendency of trying to get out of problems you created by playing the brave hero.” Ivan’s smug grin widened. Stan wanted to claw it off his face.

“A pity,” Ivan continued, “that you’re not the only ones its gotten into trouble.”

Stan growled again, and barked, “I’ll show you trouble when I get out of this, you bald son of a bitch.” He then turned his attention to Matthews, and spat, “And once I’m done with him, I’ll be sure and fuck you up, nice and slow, you fucking traitor.”

Matthews didn’t respond. He just stared almost sleepily at Stan, right before digging his heel directly in his brother’s back. Ford practically spasmed beneath him, and let out a weak whimper of pain.

Stan forced himself to be still, even though the boiling heat of his rage still simmered inside him.

He needed to think.

Ford’s struggles were lessening. They were running out of time.

“You need not waste so much of your energy being angry with Dr. Matthews, Stanley,” Ivan said, taking a step closer to him. “He was only acting on my orders to finally bring our leader back to us. And then, of course, it dawned on me that this would be the perfect opportunity to reel in and dispose of not just one problematic interloper, but three, all in one fell swoop. All we needed was the proper lure.” He nodded his head in Ford’s direction. “And your brother more than proved effective for that.”

Ivan turned his attention over to Darryl, who’d been so quiet that Stan had almost forgotten he was there, and said, “But the person I really owe the most thanks to is you, Private Little.”

Darryl didn’t say a word in response. His expression didn’t even change. Despite the ugly bloody lip he’d received from the other cultists, payment for throwing his lot in with their enemies, his spine remained rigid, his eyes focused intently on the air in front of him. He gave no indication to Ivan that he’d even heard what he’d said.

“Had it not been for your bleeding heart and wavering faith, I would never have had the idea to...extend the olive branch, as it were,” Ivan continued, stooping low into Darryl’s field of vision, seemingly intent on getting some kind of reaction from him. He came within inches of Darryl’s face. “So, thank you, Private Little, for making all this possible.”

Darryl remained stonily silent, but Stan didn’t miss the flicker of shame in his eyes.

Ivan’s smile melted away, so quickly and so fluidly that it seemed almost inhuman, like the removal of a mask. “It does sadden me though, Private Little, that I simply must punish you for your transgressions against us.” There was not a hint of sadness at all in Ivan’s voice as he reached out a hand, his fingers ghosting dangerously close to Darryl’s neck.

“Leave him alone, Ivan!” Fiddleford called out.

Ivan’s hand froze in the air. Everyone in the room turned to look at Fiddleford.

It was like looking at a completely different man. Gone was the quivering, jumpy beanpole from before, trying to make himself small, avoid confrontation, appease rather than fight.

The man before them now had fire in his eyes; not an angry fire, but a righteous one, intent on stopping the cruel sideshow of horrors unfolding before him. His jaw was set in a determined line. He was straining to pull his arms free from the two cultists attempting to hold him down. Stan wondered where this side of this man had come from, so suddenly.

Then again, as he thought of the skinny nerd’s convictions at their kitchen table, the way he’d thrown back as good as Stan had given him when they argued, the finality of his proclamation that he was willing to stop Ivan by any means necessary...maybe it was safe to say this had always been a part of who Fiddleford McGucket was. And now he had reason to unleash it.

Ivan seemed to regard Fiddleford’s outburst more with annoyance than anything else, straightening up and turning that eerie gaze directly to this angry man on the floor. Fiddleford didn’t seem at all bothered by that look, and instead said, his voice as stern as if he were talking to an unruly child, “You got what you wanted, Ivan. You won. Your plan is over.”

Stan noticed that the room had gone completely still and silent. All heads - even Helen’s, despite her missing glasses and swollen eye - were turned towards Fiddleford, watching, waiting for whatever was going to happen.

Ivan blinked at him, then straightened himself back up to his full height. Although that meant that his hand was no longer anywhere near Darryl’s throat, he now began taking slow, deliberate steps towards Fiddleford. Stan’s stomach gave a lurch as he watched Ivan reach down into the knapsack and pull out the memory gun from inside it.

Fiddleford saw it too, but rather than showing any sign of fear, he kept talking. “Ya see?” he said. “You’ve got me, you’ve got the gun. You have everything you set out to get. No one else needs to get hurt tonight.”

Ivan closed the distance between them in a few steps, never once taking his piercing gaze off Fiddleford. It was the predatory gaze of a wolf that had just found an injured fawn in the forest, lean and hungry and ready to give itself up to whatever feral impulse came first.

Still, Fiddleford did not back down. “Stanford needs help, Ivan. If he doesn’t get to a hospital, he could die. I promise - I’ll stay here, things can go back to the way they were. I won’t fight you. I’ll do whatever you want. But you have to let Stanford and the others go.”

Ivan raised the gun until it was level with Fiddleford’s forehead.

Fiddleford kept his hard gaze trained on Ivan, but Stan saw the faint flash of his throat as he gulped, betraying his terror.

“I don’t want things to be the way they were,” Ivan said in a harsh, low whisper. “And I don’t want your pathetic, malfunctioning toy.”

With that, Ivan hurled the memory gun to the ground. It slammed into the stone, the sound of breaking glass and buzzing wires filling the space for the briefest of moments, before settling into a smoking pile of debris.

Ivan reached out and grabbed Fiddleford’s face, digging his fingers hard into the other man’s flesh, pulling him close. “You don’t understand anything,” he hissed. “You with your arbitrary rules, your moral pontificating about trauma and endurance and how resilient humans could be.” Ivan’s tone dipped into a high-pitched parody of Fiddleford’s voice, complete with exaggerated accent. “‘Humans were meant to deal with the trauma of the every day, and overcoming it makes you stronger.’”

He barked out a harsh, humorless laugh and said, “Trauma doesn’t make people stronger. It just breaks them, a little more every day. It never gets easier and it never gets better. You were content to let these good people suffer because of your self-righteous nonsense. I offered them real help. The only reason I wanted you to be returned to us is so you could fix the flaw of the gun and we could be done with you. We are better off without you.”

Ivan flung Fiddleford’s face away, and flounced to the center of the room. A pedestal holding an ornate wooden box stood next to a chair with straps on the arms. It wasn’t hard for Stan to put together that this must be where the Society conducted their freaky little rituals.

He was quickly proven right when Ivan reached inside the box and pulled out another memory gun. It was bigger than the one he’d destroyed, almost ridiculously oversized, but he realized this must be the original. He remembered Fiddleford explaining how this gun could hold any amount of memory, no matter how long or how long ago they happened.

They were fucked.

“What I want is to help the Society reach its full potential,” Ivan said, studying the gun in his hand as if it were a beautiful and rare flower. “We will help heal this town, make every scar it’s ever been seared with seem like nothing more than a bad dream. You and these interfering fools you call your friends are the one thing standing in our way. But I intent to change that.”

Ivan began to twist the dial. “None of you will be telling anyone else about what you’ve learned here,” he said as he reached Matthews’ side. He knelt down and, almost tenderly, reach out and lifted Ford’s head in his hand, by his chin. For the first time since the cultists had jumped them, Stan managed to get a good look at his twin’s eyes. They were glassy and distant, eyelids drooping down heavily, creeping ever closer towards unconsciousness. Without Ivan supporting him, Stan was sure Ford’s head would flop right back against the concrete.

“I believe we will begin with you, Dr. Pines,” he said. His mood seemed to have shifted again, and he almost sounded kind, compassionate, even as that evil grin split his features once more. “Perhaps, once I’ve wiped your friends’ memories, they won’t even remember why you need to go to the hospital.” Ivan chuckled darkly. “I can think of a few people here tonight who would love to watch you slowly die.”

Rage burned in Stan’s gut. He strained his wrists pathetically against his ropes. They wouldn’t give.

He was going to be forced to watch his brother die, and he wouldn’t even remember why.

Ivan pressed the bulb of the gun against Ford’s forehead, and began to ease the trigger.

“Do me first!”

Helen’s voice rang out like a church bell in the deathly silent chamber.

What the fuck?

Stan snapped his head in Helen’s direction, and saw her looking wildly at Ivan, tears streaming down her face. “Please,” she said, her voice now tiny and broken. “I want to join you.”

What the actual fuck?

Fiddleford looked about as stunned as Stan felt, staring incredulously at Helen, his mouth hanging open, probably burning to question what the hell she thought she was doing.

Then Stan remembered their conversation on the porch.

Every morning I wake up and it’s still there.

Oh god...she wouldn’t…

Would she?

Ivan certainly seemed very interested in the possibility. He turned his head every so slightly to look in Helen’s direction, carrion eyes narrowed and inquisitive. After a moment, he lowered the gun from Ford’s head, and once again stood to his full height. In a few long strides, he’d come face to face with Helen.

“This is a trick,” he said simply.

“No,” Helen said, sounding so very, very small. “No tricks, I promise. I just...I can’t do this anymore. It’s too much. You’re right. It doesn’t get easier or better. It never will.” Helen exhaled shakily, and bowed her head. Two fresh streams of tears fell from her eyes.

“Helen, what are you doing?!” Fiddleford cried. He looked like his world was crashing down around him.

“Trying to get some goddamn peace,” Helen yelled back, turning her burning, tear-filled gaze to him. “Ivan is right. You don’t care about how much people have suffered. How much I suffered. You’re nothing but a cowardly idiot who won’t do what’s necessary! I just...I want my mind to be clear…”

Dear god, he was so sorry he’d ever dragged Helen into this. What had he done?

Suddenly, Stan felt something poke him in the arm.

Tearing his eyes from Helen, he looked down, and saw a folded pocket knife. Darryl was jabbing it into his arm. Stan looked back up at the other man, and saw his eyes frantically jump from the knife to Stan’s face.

Stan stole a glance at Darryl’s wrists. The ropes had been cut.

He wanted Stan to do the same to his own restraints.

Stan looked back over to where Ivan was still scrutinizing Helen. It almost seemed like Ivan was specifically focusing his red, filmy eye over her, as if it held some power to see into her soul, strip her bare, and expose any falsehoods. Helen sniffed heavily, trembling under his gaze, anguish plainly written on her bruised face.

His heart ached at the sight of it. If it was the last thing he ever did, he’d get them out of here and make it up to her.

Darryl slid the knife into Stan’s waiting palm. He flicked it open, and with a flick of his wrist, turned up the blade and started sawing through the ropes.

Never once removing that piercing gaze from Helen’s face, Ivan said, “What is it that you have seen? Speak honestly, or you will live to regret it.”

Helen gulped heavily, and then replied, voice trembling, “My baby...I...I lost my baby.”

“When?”

“Two years ago.”

“How?”

A beat of silence as Helen drew a deep breath, and let it out shakily. Then she said, voice thick, “I miscarried. Seven months in. They couldn’t tell me why. It just happened. My little boy...my Richie…” Stan stopped sawing as Helen’s words were swallowed up by a sob.

Little boy? Helen told him she was going to have a girl. Christina...

Realization hit him like a rock to the face, and he frantically began sawing again.

“You have to help me,” Helen said, her voice raw. “You’ve helped all these people. You understand. I can’t live this way.” She lifted her head, and Stan saw those dark green eyes of her, usually so full of warmth and maternal love, now desperate and full of pain. “These...these horrible men...all they’ve done is make it worse. Dragged me into their deranged world. I realize now that nothing good can come from them. I can’t trust them. But I trust you.”

Ivan’s face softened, ever so slightly, and he turned to Louise, who stood dumbfounded behind Helen. “Untie her,” he said. “She is no threat to us.”

Louise didn’t move for a moment, a symphony of conflicting emotions playing out at rapid speed on her face. She managed to open her mouth a bit, as if to protest, but Ivan snapped, “Have you gone deaf? I said untie her. She has clearly seen the light. She will make an excellent addition to the Society.”

Louise quickly moved to obey, and undid Helen’s restraints. Helen didn’t move as her ropes coiled to the ground limply. Ivan reached out, offering his hand to help her up.

After a moment, Helen, her hand shaking like a leaf in an unforgiving winter wind, accepted it.

“There, there,” Ivan said, the way one might soothe a frightened child. “Soon this will all be over.”

Stan could feel the ropes under the knife start to give. Just a little more...

Helen’s face fell in pure relief. She reached up her other hand, and breathed, “Thank you. Oh god, thank you so much. I knew I could count on you.”

Then, with a furious shriek that echoed off the walls, Helen slammed her forehead into the center of Ivan’s face.

Ivan roared in pained anger and stumbled back, shooting out the arm that held the memory gun, obviously hoping to strike Helen with it. Instead, she caught his arm and began to wrench tightly, gritting her teeth as she applied more force. Stan got a good look at her eyes, and saw the furious hellcat from before, heard it in the angry yell she unleashed as she gave a final tug, and Ivan’s hand opened involuntarily.

The memory gun fell from his hand, and Helen caught it before it hit the floor. Before Ivan could recover from her attack, she’d thrust the gun in his face, finger itching on the trigger. Her hands no longer shook. Her tears had quickly dried. The desperate pain in her eyes was gone, replaced now with white hot fury.

“I would never want to forget my baby, you arrogant piece of shit,” she growled.

Stan felt another of the ropes snap as the knife sliced through it. Come on, he was almost there…

“This is how it’s gonna go, Ivan,” Helen snarled. “You’re going to untie my friends. You’re going to tell Ed to back the fuck off and let us take Ford out of here. And before we go, we’re going to make sure none of you ever threaten or hurt anyone ever again. Understand?”

Gurgling was the only answer she received. Stan turned his attention toward the sound, and felt his heart stop for a moment. Matthews, his eyes still far away and glassy, had moved his foot from Ford’s back to his neck. Then he started to press.

“Put the gun down, Helen,” he said firmly.

“Ed, if you don’t get the hell away from him right now, I swear to god I’ll make it so this bastard forgets how to fucking breathe!”

“Stanford will be dead before you can pull the trigger!” Matthews shouted back. “Now put. It. Down.”

Stan could see the indecision play across Helen’s face. The gun shook minutely in her hand.

“Face it, Helen,” Ivan said, his tone superior even as he was held at gunpoint and his nose gushed blood. “You can’t possibly hope to defeat us all.”

The last rope finally gave.

“Maybe not,” Stan said. “But I sure as shit can.” In one fluid motion, he reached into his back pocket and pulled out his knuckle dusters, slipping them on like a worn, comfortable pair of gloves.

He launched himself at Matthews. In the blink of an eye it took to close the distance between them, he got a good look at Ford, still under Matthews’ heel. This close, he could see the evidence of the brutal assaults his brother had been subjected to - his face was a mess of black and blue, mixed with blood and tears. His glasses were cracked. The leg Matthews had smashed was twisted in a horrifying way, a way that made Stan want to vomit and weep all at the same time. And then there was that goddamn shoe, pressing into his twin’s throat.

There was no two ways about it. He was going to kill Matthews for this.

With a furious roar, he slammed himself bodily into the old bastard, then raised his fist. The brass knuckle made a deliciously satisfying crunch as it made contact with Matthews’ face, and sent him stumbling backwards, into a stone pillar. He wheezed as air was forced from his lungs when his back made sudden and forceful contact with it.

Beneath him, Ford coughed a few times, no doubt sucking in as much air as he could now that his airway was free.

Stan forced himself to look away from his battered brother and focus on the cultists now moving in to surround him.

He threw out his arms, welcoming them to give it their best fucking shot.

“Anyone else want a piece?!”

The chamber exploded in noise.

Muggins was the first one to move toward him, his face drawn tight in animalistic rage. Stan shot out a left hook, catching him in the temple. It disoriented the pig, making him sway dangerously. Stan finished him off with a good one-two to the side, then an uppercut under his chin. Muggins fell like a sack of potatoes.

Another cultist tried to come in on his right and blindside him. Stan whipped around to face them, and shot out his left arm in a cross, catching the hooded freak in the cheek. When they bent down, a natural response to nursing an injured face, Stan gave a small jump that morphed into an overhand, landing squarely on the back of the cultist’s head, and they crumpled.

The next idiot who came wide at him received a right hook directly to the teeth.

It was all coming back to him now.

A heavy weight was suddenly thrown on his back, and Stan was thrown off balance. Someone was shrieking angrily in his ear, attempting to get sharp fingernails close to his eyes. He tried to shake them off, but they held on as tightly as they could, and suddenly a fist was flying in his face, sloppily, but doing enough to distract him and throw off his rhythm. One of the fingernails caught, and he grunted in discomfort as they dug into his skin, dangerously close to the stitches on the side of his head.

Then there was a loud crack, like the snapping of a twig, and the weight slipped from his shoulders. Whipping around, he saw Louise laying there, her fingernails stained slightly with the blood she’d drawn from his head.

Standing over her was Fiddleford McGucket, brandishing a baseball bat. He looked quite proud of himself.

The disbelief Stan felt must have been evident on his face, because Fiddleford shrugged and said, “Fight like a hillbilly.”

Behind Fiddleford, Stan saw Darryl, grabbing a cultist behind the neck and jamming a knee right into their midsection. The cultist fell to their knees, and Darryl quickly slammed his elbow into the back of their neck, splaying them out on the cold stone.

Helen, Stan saw, had abandoned Ivan and rushed to Ford’s side, saying something to him Stan couldn’t hear. All the while, she frantically twisted the dial on the memory gun.

One of the hooded figures started sprinting towards her, clearly seeing her and Ford as easy targets. Helen saw them, then simply leveled the gun at them and fired.

A brilliant column of blue light shot from the bulb, the force of it actually succeeding in knocking Helen back a bit. It smashed directly into the cultist’s face, and they gave a cry of surprised pain. Then they stopped, as still and lifeless as a statue. Even after the blue light faded, the cultist didn’t move, simply standing there, swaying slightly.

Helen had wiped their memory.

Made perfect sense. If these guys wanted to forget so bad, Stan had no problem helping them.

Fiddleford came up behind the mind-wiped cultist and brought the bat down hard on their head, bringing them down like a felled oak.

“We need to start wiping as many of their memories as we can,” Fiddleford cried. “Helen, as soon as we bring them down, hit them with the gun, got it?”

Helen gave him a stiff nod, then turned the gun to Matthews’ limp body behind her. She barely had a moment to put a flicker of pressure on the trigger before a shot of red slammed into her side, knocking her away from Ford and Matthews.

As the tangled ball of limbs rolled to a stop, Stan made out Ivan as he pinned Helen to the floor, teeth bared and eyes wide in animalistic fury. He snatched at the memory gun she still clung to and held just barely out of his reach.

“Give it back!” he roared.

Helen didn’t reply, simply reared back her foot and slammed it into Ivan’s midsection. He fell back with a pained grunt, and Helen rolled away from him until she was on her side.

She lifted her head, and saw Fiddleford, currently bashing the bat into the side of a cultist whose hands were dangerously close to his throat. She called out, “Fidds! Catch!” Fiddleford turned just as she tossed the gun.

The world seemed to suddenly descend into slow motion as the gun arched through the air towards him. Fiddleford turned sharply and reached up.

Then Stan saw Ivan getting to his feet, and spring across the room. Stan could only yell out Fiddleford’s name before Ivan’s fist suddenly connected with the other man’s face.

As Fiddleford stumbled back, the gun sailed directly into Ivan’s hand, and he began sprinting. Within moments, he’d vanished behind the curtain that lead to the stairs back up to the museum. Stan didn’t even stop to think about it. He ran after him. He couldn’t let him escape with that gun. They could take down every one of these loons, but if Ivan got out of here and still had that memory gun, then all of this would be for nothing.

He threw open the curtain and bounded up the stairs, two at a time. His heart pounded away, like it was about to burst out of his chest. He never let his sights waver from Ivan, keeping them trained on that red robe swirling around that bony, colorless frame.

As they reached the upper level, into the room with the secret passage, Stan found himself wondering what Ivan had to gain from all this. It was an odd thing to wonder now, after everything that had just happened, but it still wiggled its way to the front of his thoughts.

Ivan claimed that all this - the violence, the threats, the attempts on their lives, even the Society as a whole - was all in the name of protecting Gravity Falls. But as he’d pointed out to Fiddleford, this town wasn’t as fragile and unsuspecting as Ivan seemed to believe. The town wouldn’t even be there if the people weren’t tough enough to deal with whatever was here and endure it. Gravity Falls didn’t need anyone to protect it. It’d done a pretty good job of that all on his own.

So what did Ivan have to gain? Power? Control? Pure sadism? They were indeed pretty powerful motivators, as Stan had learned from years of dealing with criminals. But Ivan had proven himself so different from the run of the mill criminal scum that Stan had dealings with in the past.

Ivan didn’t seem to take any pleasure from having the control the Society afforded him. If anything, he seemed to view it as a burden, a hard, thankless task that only he could perform, now that he’d deemed Fiddleford inadequate. And while he did seem to relish in swiftly dealing out retaliation to any and all who opposed him, he clearly had managed to get away with the secret of the Society for some time without ever having to resort to it. He didn’t need to, as what he was offering seemed to be enough to keep members coming.

So the question still remained: at the end of the day, when everything was said and done, what did Ivan get out of all this?

Stan didn’t have time to ponder it any further, as Ivan neared an emergency exit. He must have been running on pure adrenaline, as there was a sign next to it that plainly stated that an alarm would sound if the door was opened, which Stan knew would also immediately alert the police to their location. As little love as he had gained for law enforcement over the course of his life, Stan knew that right now, authority figures were exactly what was needed, because they generally had ambulances in tow. But the only reason he could find for Ivan to do something so monumentally risky to himself was sheer desperation.

And Ivan being desperate just made Stan’s job a whole lot easier.

He slammed himself through the emergency exit and followed Ivan out into the darkness. ---

As Fiddleford brought the bat down on the head of the last charging cultist, Helen heard the distant clanging of an alarm bell, so faint and far away that for a moment she thought her ears were ringing. It wouldn’t have been the first time, as she gingerly touched the cheek where Louise had socked her. Who would have thought that this roly-poly grandmother had such a powerful punch?

It gave Helen a bit of sick satisfaction as Fiddleford went over to help drag Louise’s limp body over to the ever-growing pile of unconscious cultists they’d started in the center of the room. She was, quite frankly, tired of the gut-punch feeling that came with every one of these crazed yahoos dramatically flinging back their hood to reveal themselves as someone Helen worked with and even considered to be her friends. It made one feel rather indignant.

She ached all over and her face felt like one big bruise. The world was a blurry mess, thanks to the fact her glasses now lay twisted on the floor, shattered beyond all hope of repair. Somehow, the fact that meant she’d have to schedule an eye exam and get a new pair just rankled her all the more, to the point where she had to fight the urge to go over and plant her foot directly into Louise’s gut.

Her exhaustion was overruling her desire for retribution, however. They still had to drag all these idiots back upstairs, after all. It was going to be difficult enough to explain this all to the cops. They didn’t need to throw in a hidden chamber hidden under the history museum, at least not right now.

She’d honestly rather just curl up next to Ford and go to sleep for the next ten years or so.

As if on cue, she heard Ford groan quietly from his current position in her lap. She absentmindedly ran her hand through his blood-crusted hair, trying hard not to catch any tangles and hurt him any further than he was. He’d already been unsettlingly still since Ed had brought him down with a swift, merciless kick to the leg, which was now most likely broken. Even after spending nine years practicing medicine, seeing people mangled by car crashes and attacked by wildlife, looking at her poor young friend in obvious, exhausted agony made her stomach turn violently.

“Shhh, Ford,” she found herself muttering. “It’s okay. Everything's gonna be okay now.”

A dark chuckle echoed through the chamber. Helen turned her head and saw Ed, cheek swelling where Stan had struck him, but very much awake, as he lazily swung his head up like a rickety theme park animatronic to meet her gaze. His eyes were still glassy and vacant. That same distance from before, that stare that made him seem so very far away, was there again, but was now saturated with sadness. There was something broken in those eyes.

Ed’s eyes were the eyes of a man ready for death.

It sent a shiver up dread down Helen’s spine.

“They’re pretty words, Helen,” he said. “But we both know that, without that gun, all this struggle has been for nothing.” The truth of those words taunted her, but there was nothing taunting in how Ed spoke. His voice sounded like it was being carried away by the wind, raspy and soft. He sounded as tired as Helen felt.

“Shut up, Ed,” was all she could muster. She wanted to look away, away from that horrible look in his eyes that filled her with an apprehension she didn’t fully understand. But she couldn’t. It was like a car crash; the morbidity of it was almost fascinating.

Fortunately, Darryl spoke up, breaking whatever hold the gaze had on her. “That’s about enough out of you,” he muttered. He entered Helen’s field of vision, a coil of rope in his bloodied hands, moving behind Ed to lash his wrists together. Helen briefly wondered why he or Fiddleford didn’t just knock Ed out the way they had all the others, but then Fiddleford came to her side, at just the right angle to see his face, drawn and serious and above all tired, probably more tired than any of them. His entire world had pretty much imploded on him in a less than twenty-four hours.

“You can do whatever you like,” Ed muttered. “But you know I’m right. I guarantee you that Ivan won’t give up that gun without a fight. And I also guarantee that oafish friend of yours won’t be coming back with it, if he comes back at all. Not when he goes up against Ivan.”

“Stan can take him,” Helen replied, ignoring another jolt of dread that tripped down her back.

“He’s nothing but a dumber, sweatier version of that freak down there,” Ed shot back, nodding in Ford’s direction. “And he won’t stand a chance against Ivan when he’s angry.”

Ford let out another groan from Helen’s lap, and when she looked down to console him, she realized that he’d shakily brought up his head just enough so he could look Ed in the eye. Helen could feel him trembling against her, and put a gentle hand on his shoulder, trying to get him to relax and save his energy. He ignored her, and ground out, “Y-you...don’t know shit about my brother.”

Helen couldn’t help but smile.

Ed simply sighed and fell back against the pillar as Darryl finished binding his wrists.

“At least we can trust Stan,” Fiddleford said, every word heavy and accusatory. He sounded like a father whose child had just committed a terrible crime, and had left him wondering where he’d gone wrong. “Which is certainly more than I can say for you. All that pretty talk about wanting to help us, about wanting to help Helen...and the entire time you were just lying to our faces.” He turned his steely gaze to Ed. “And you had the gall to tell me that I was lowering myself to Ivan’s level. If anyone here is no better than him, it’s you.”

Ed’s eyes flicked up to meet Fiddleford, and once again, Helen was unnerved by the utterly inhuman way it made him look. Like a rusted robot, going through the motions of its ancient programming, just waiting to break down completely.

“McGucket, believe me,” Matthews finally said, sounding exhausted. “I never wanted Helen to get mixed up in all this. I meant it when I said all I wanted was to help her. I understand the kind of pain losing the baby caused her-”

“You don’t understand dick, Ed,” Helen spat, fury bubbling in her belly. “You’re the one who joined this freakshow because of some lake monster.”

Ed let out a harsh bark of a laugh, and said, “If you really bought that I’d go through all this just because I saw some monster in the lake, then maybe you’re the one who doesn’t understand anything.”

“What are you talking about?” Darryl asked, looking up from tying Ed’s wrists, a quizzical look on his face.

“I didn’t erase memories of a lake monster. I erased Andrea.”

“Andrea?” Helen felt her heart sink. “You erased your memories of Andrea?”

He shook his head, and said, “No. Not of her. Of her death.”

Oh dear god…

“Everyone believed me when I said that she was already dead when I came back from my rounds,” he continued. His voice quivered ever so slightly, the broken robot mask slipping further and further the longer he spoke. “But she was still hanging on. Not for more than five minutes, not long enough for me to actually be able to do anything. She was struggling to breath and I could tell she was scared and trying to claw her way back to life.” He gulped heavily. “And then, she looked at me. Those beautiful brown eyes locked on me and they were begging me to help and I couldn’t do anything but stand there and watch her die!”

Ed’s shrill cry echoed through the chamber. Helen saw tears pricking at his eyes as she stared at him in disbelief.

He took a few shaky breaths, and then said, “It kept me awake for weeks before I found out about the Society. This group is the only reason I didn’t just fall apart after Andrea died. That gun was what kept me sane. She was my whole world, Helen, and in the end, I couldn’t save her. I thought you, of all people, know what it’s like to be able to do nothing as someone you love painfully slips away from you. I thought you’d understand.”

For a moment, no one said anything, and the only sound was Ed’s raw, pained gulps of air, desperately trying to hold himself together.

Helen pitied him, much as she was loathe to admit it.

She thought back to the details of that horrible night.

Richard was at a late dinner meeting, so it was just her and the kids. They were at the dining room table, struggling through algebra, notes on the Industrial Revolution, the next chapter of The Great Gilly Hopkins, and she was filling the dishwasher. Her back had been hurting a lot that evening, but she also had been forced to sleep on it for the last week or so, since Christina really didn’t like it when Mom tried to lay on her side. Maybe she’d just leave the rest of the dishes for Richard and lay down for a while.

She’d just started to turn when the pain blossomed through her, like someone driving a hot knife into her kidneys, and a pained yell was ripped from her. She felt something hot and sticky trail down her leg through the haze of pain. She heard chairs frantically scraping at the hardwood floors and then Daisy was standing in the archway to the kitchen, staring down at her mother in abject terror, making her look about ten years younger than she was. Helen wanted to comfort her, say anything to ease her daughter’s fear. But nothing came out expect another pained gasp.

It was only when Scott and Amanda started trying to get past Daisy to see what was going on that she moved. Daisy began ushering them out, telling them in an authoritative voice Helen didn’t recognize coming from her that they were not to look, to go wait in the living room.

Daisy dashed to the kitchen phone, nearly pulling it off the wall as she frantically punched three numbers. Helen heard her speak four words that, to this day, made her insides clench and her brain send her into a mess of panic - “My mom needs help.”

She gave her head a hard shake, and looked back over at Ed. He looked much more human now than when this conversation had started. But Helen knew what he needed to hear.

“You’re right, Ed,” she said quietly. “I do know what that’s like.” Flicking her gaze down, she found that her hand had found its way to her abdomen. She didn’t remember putting it there.

Ed’s face flashed briefly in a look of relief. No, she wasn’t going to let him think he’d gotten to her.

“But you know what else I know?” she asked, her voice firmer, clearer. “I know that my pain doesn’t give me an excuse to hurt anyone else. Look at what this society has gotten you to do, Ed.” Helen gave Ford’s shoulder a gentle squeeze. “Look at what you’ve done to a man who never did anything to you. You never even met Ford until this morning. And you’ve broken every oath you had to take as a doctor, all because the man who made it so you didn’t have to face reality told you to.”

Ed said nothing. He merely looked away.

“That gun, this group,” Helen continued, “they’re not helping anyone. All it does is make it hurt worse. Every time the memories come flooding back to you, it’s like living through it again. No one can live that way, let alone heal. Even if you had offered me a chance to forget Ed, I wouldn’t have taken it. It wouldn’t have fixed anything.” She sighed. “These things can’t just go away, Ed. But they do get easier. Get some real help.”

The silence that followed was deafening, and for a moment, no one moved. It was as if time had stopped, just to focus in on this moment of pure human misery, simmering between this group of people with scars invisible to the naked eye.

Finally, Darryl cleared his throat and stood up, brushing the dust from the floor off his pants. Then, he pulled his robe up and over his head, revealing a white t-shirt and black jeans underneath, the average street clothes he’d been wearing at Helen’s house hours ago. A pair of dog tags clinked together, on a chain around his neck. He tossed his robe off to the side, in the dark surrounding them. He didn’t watch to see where it landed. He merely reached down and grabbed Ed’s bound wrists, and pulled him to his feet.

“We need to head back upstairs,” he said. “That ringing sounded like the fire alarm. Gotta get all these guys back up before the cavalry arrives.”

“Can’t wait to see how you explain an unconscious group of bystanders,” Ed muttered. “With injuries made by an illegal set of brass knuckles, no less.”

Helen shot him a scathing glance, but he had a point. There was no way they’d ever be able to explain this to the authorities without coming off like a bunch of deranged psychopaths. Three of these people were practically pensioners. There was no way the police would believe that they were the ones who’d caused any of their injuries.

“I think I have a solution to that,” Fiddleford said, wandering over to the wall. He felt along the surface for a bit, before his hand hit a stone that gave under his fingertips. The wall pulled back with a rumbling groan, and revealed half a dozen more memory guns, all the same size as the one Ivan had destroyed.

Ed scoffed and said, “Those things? They can barely hold an hour’s worth of memory. How are they supposed to help you?”

Fiddleford ignored him. “Darryl, would you check and see if Muggins has his police radio on under his robe?” He pulled open the panel on the side of the small gun and began fishing about in the wires. Darryl bent over Muggins, and pulled up his robe until it was around his midsection. Sure enough, attached to his belt loop, was his radio.

“Well, what do you know,” Darryl muttered. “Muggins may be an idiot, but at least he’s a reliable idiot.”

“Give it here,” Fiddleford said, pulling a long red wire out from the gun, curling it about in his fist. When Darryl placed the radio in his hand, Fiddleford pried off the battery compartment, and dug his thumb into the guts of receiver, pulling out another, shorter wire from within it. As quickly as one might tie their shoe, he connected them, and the receiver crackled to life. He twisted the dial a few times, then set the device on the ground, in the middle of the small group.

The screen attached to the gun said “SOCIETY OF THE BLIND EYE”.

It began to whine.

Then he reached down and grabbed the hem of Ed’s robe. Ed only had time to give off a small, indignant sound as Fiddleford began tearing off a long strip, then tore that into two smaller strips. “Helen,” he said, handing the bits of cloth to her, “use these to plug up Ford’s ears. Then you and Darryl need to cover yours.”

She did as he said, but that didn’t stop her from asking, “What did you do?”

“I amplified its frequency,” he replied matter-of-factly. “It’s still not as powerful as the original, but it should have a wider range now. Enough to store bigger memories from at least everyone in this room.” He punctuated that last sentence with a mischievous smirk at Ed.

Ed’s eyes went wide as the implications hit him.

The gerry-rigged memory gun whined louder.

“Say good night, Sally,” Fiddleford said, putting his hands over his ears.

Helen and Darryl did the same, right before a brilliant blue light flooded the chamber. ---

Twigs snapped under his feet as Stan sprinted through the forest, keeping his eyes trained on the billowing red cloak roughly a hundred feet in front of him. He beat branches away from his face as he moved deeper and deeper into the dense trees, ignoring them when he didn’t push them hard enough and they came back to slap him in the face. He tried to block out the feeling of the frigid night air constricting around him, leaching through his jacket and clothes like he’d been submerged in a cold bath.

He wasn’t going to let this bastard get away from him, not with that gun. He’d chase him to the ends of the earth if that’s what it took, but he was not going to let all the pain they’d gone through - Helen’s heartache, Fiddleford’s mental anguish, Ford’s torture - go to waste because of Blind Ivan.

The branches suddenly parted as he stampeded into a clearing, hazy moonlight peaking through the clouds to illuminate patches of mud and dead grass beneath his feet. He whipped around, looking for that shock of red. It was nowhere to be seen.

No, no, he couldn’t have lost him.

“Come out here and face me like a man!” Stan shouted, his voice echoing in the inky darkness. “You can’t hide from me forever, you bony coward!”

A mirthless laugh answered him, though from what direction it came from, he could scarcely begin to guess.

Ivan was toying with him. Despite the fact he could have used this opportunity to escape, he still stuck around to taunt Stan, lord over him how much smarter he was than him for escaping him so deftly. And arrogance like that could be exploited.

“What the fuck is so funny?” Stan shouted into the night.

“The fact that you think you’re somehow in control of this situation,” Ivan answered. Stan still couldn’t pinpoint exactly where his voice was coming from, but that hardly mattered. All he had to do was keep him talking, and Ivan would do the rest himself.

“Your kind always think that they can solve their problems with their might,” Ivan continued. “Yes, I know your kind quite well.”

“You don’t know shit about me!”

Another chuckle. “Perhaps not as much as the others, but you present yourself so plainly, it’s easy to draw my own conclusions. And what I find is this - you’re young, but you bear the scars of an old man. Scars that only come through unimaginable hardship. They’re not from any singular source, but every one is as painful as the last. And the worst part is that no one seems to care. After all, your suffering has made you who you are. Toughened you up. Made you a man. Isn’t that right?”

Stan flinched at the familiar words of his father being flung at him, but he couldn’t let that or the thought of how Ivan knew about them distract him. He simply had to make Ivan think he was getting to him. “Shut up!” he screeched at the trees.

“You keep trying to reach out to someone, to help you deal with these scars, but they brush you off. They sympathize, but they never try to change anything, and you’re left all alone to deal with it.”

Stan shouted back, “At least I’ve got people in my life because they want to be there. All you’ve got is a gaggle of robed weirdos who stick around because they’re afraid of you. If I had to make a bet, I’d say you’ve never had anyone around you that you actually gave a damn about. You wouldn’t know caring for another human being if it bit you in the ass.”

Silence was his only answer. He feared that perhaps Ivan had finally grown tired of his game and retreated.

Then something heavy slammed into his back.

His face struck the dirt hard and bounced, and for a moment, stars danced in front of his eyes. But then he felt the cold bulb of the memory gun press into the back of his head, and he rallied all his strength to push himself upward, flinging Ivan up and away from him, close to another cluster of trees.

As Ivan scrambled back to his feet, Stan saw his eyes flash in the moonlight, the first time he’d ever seen them catch any sort of light. And what he saw there was nothing but fury. This wasn’t just anger or gloating or frustration.

Ivan’s eyes burned with murderous hate.

Stan didn’t let him get any further than a low crouch before he sprang at Ivan and slammed him into the underbrush. They rolled over each other, both clawing and grasping, Ivan trying to shove the gun into Stan’s face and fire, and Stan trying to wrench it out of his grasp.

Then something solid and sharp slammed into Stan’s temple, right where he’d been stitched up, and his vision was flooded with white. He felt himself being slammed onto his back, and Ivan’s weight being pressed into his chest. As his vision cleared, he saw that Ivan wasn’t holding just the memory gun anymore. High above Stan’s head was a large, blood-stained rock. It must have been what Stan hit. And now Ivan was going to use it to smash his head in.

Acting on pure instinct, Stan shot out a fist, managing a hook right into Ivan’s right eye. The brass-aided punched forced Ivan from his position on Stan’s chest, and caused him to lose his grip on both the rock and the gun, and he fell to the ground with a thud.

Stan rolled just as the rock came down. The sound of rending metal and shattering glass caught his attention, and he looked up. The memory gun had landed directly on the rock, and lay broken in pieces. Ivan seemed to forget all about the pain from his injured eye. He simply gaped at the destroyed memory gun laying before him, occasionally sparking uselessly. “No,” he said quietly. “No...nononononoNO.” Suddenly his bellows filled the entire forest, and that burning gaze was back on Stan. “What have you done?!”

Stan took a moment to take in a few deep breaths and get his bearings. They’d managed to roll into another clearing. He faintly heard water rushing, and realized that behind Ivan was a cliff. Below it must have been the river that fed into the falls.

“It’s over, Ivan,” Stan said. “You’ve got nowhere left to run. You lost.”

The gaping devastation on Ivan’s face melted away like wax from a spent candle. From his throat bubbled up laughter, deep and unhinged. Stan felt the hairs go up on the back of his arms and neck, and he raised his fists in case this was the prelude to another attack.

But Ivan didn’t move, outside of his shoulders bobbing with his insane laughter. He raised his head to look at Stan, almost like he expected him to be in on whatever joke had played out in his head, like this was all some rollicking fun they’d partaken in together.

“You really think you’ve beaten me?” Ivan asked, his laughter now dying down into chortling hiccups.

“Look around, Ivan,” Stan replied. “You’ve got nothing left to throw at us.”

“Oh, but that’s where you’re wrong, Stanley,” Ivan said. Swaying slightly, he got back to his feet, not seeming to notice Stan readying himself to start throwing his fists again. “If you think that one night of your interference can stop what I have planned, you’re an even bigger fool than I imagined.”

Ivan stumbled back slightly, steadying himself a bit as he added, “I have plans, you see. Plans that I have worked too hard for too long to see stopped by the likes of you. You can’t possibly grasp the magnitude of what’s coming, Stanley Pines. Not like I can…”

Ivan took another step back. He was less than two feet away from the edge of the cliff. A gust of wind whipped around him dangerously, making him teeter closer to the edge. If he wasn’t careful, he was going to fall. Stan actually found himself taking a step forward, ready to lunge for him if started going over, not out of any sense of wanting to help. He just didn’t want an accidental fall to keep this twerp from getting the punishment he deserved.

But then Ivan turned his gaze back up towards Stan, and he stopped dead.

Ivan’s eyes were sharp and clear.

Ivan wasn’t in danger of accidentally falling.

He was backing towards the edge of the cliff on purpose.

“What the hell are you doing?” Stan called out, not even trying to hide how panicked his voice was.

“What I’ve always done,” Ivan said simply. “What is necessary.”

He took one more step backwards. Then he was over the cliff.

Stan rushed forward, though he wasn’t sure what he thought he’d be able to do. By the time he closed the distance between them, Ivan had vanished from sight.

He heard the splash as Ivan’s body hit the raging river below. Stan finally reached the cliff’s edge, and looked over. All he could see was swirling foam as the water settled back into its current. Ivan was nowhere to be seen.

“Shit,” he muttered under his breath. He couldn’t think of anything else to say or do.

He heard the wail of sirens drifting over the trees. He needed to get back, make sure that Ford was okay. Be there for him, the way he’d wanted to be there for him throughout this entire thing. He gave himself a shake it get out of the stupor that shrouded him.

He took a step forward, and stepped on something smooth and hard. He raised his foot and saw a tube, laying in the grass. It was white, with two brass nodes at each end. Ivan must have dropped it when they’d rolled into the clearing.

He bent down and picked it up. The moon offered just enough light to see words, scribbled shakily in dark ink on the side of the tube.

Preston Northwest’s Memories.

Who the hell was Preston Northwest?

Why did Ivan have his memories?

And why were they so important that Ivan would carry them with him, even as he jumped to his doom?

He glanced over his shoulder, to the cliff’s edge.

The raging current below offered him no answers. ---

Ford knew he was safe as soon as he opened his eyes.

Not just because his surroundings were a clean, bleached white, clearly not that awful, dank chamber under the history museum. Not just because the pain that had permeated his existence for the last several hours had faded to barely a dull throb.

It was because as soon as he opened his eyes, he was greeted by Stan’s tired smile. Blurred though it may have been because of his missing glasses, he’d recognize it anywhere.

Still, he wanted to hear it, out loud.

“Stan?” he said, his voice a pathetic, dried-out whisper. The single word seared his throat, but he didn’t care. He needed to hear it.

“I’m here, Ford,” was the reply. That wonderful, caring, supportive voice that sounded like a fork in a garbage disposal. It was music to Ford’s ears. He felt his hand being squeezed warmly, and it made him want to cry out of sheer relief.

“Here,” Stan said, reaching over to grab something from the night table. He leaned close, and slid Ford’s glasses back on his face. The world became clear again, despite the glaring crack in the left lens, and he could finally make out his surroundings. He was in a hospital bed, and a glance down revealed that his leg, the same leg Matthews had kicked in, was now entombed in a huge plaster cast, a foam wedge tucked underneath it to keep it elevated. An IV was at his bedside, no doubt responsible for the fact he wasn’t moaning in agony right now. The lights had been dimmed and the dark curtains drawn, although Ford could still see the pale gray of dawn peeking through.

But that wasn’t what Ford eventually focused on. No, what he focused on was the angry red gash at his twin’s temple. A line of neat stitches ran down the length of it, but it had clearly been a bad wound when it was received. Despite all his limbs feeling heavier than lead, Ford reached up and put his hand on the scar, and lightly traced his thumb down the length of it.

“Hey, don’t you start apologizing for that,” Stan said, reaching up to move Ford’s hand away, giving it another reassuring squeeze. “This had nothing to do with you.”

“I know,” Ford replied. “I still don’t like seeing you hurt.”

“How do you think I feel?” Stan asked, a smile creeping into his voice. “I’ve only been staring at your busted-up mug for two hours. Believe me, you’re no oil painting.”

Ford chuckled a little, forever grateful for whatever painkiller was being pumped into him by the IV by the side of his hospital bed.

“So, how are you feeling?” Stan asked.

“Like I got beat up by cultists,” Ford replied. “But the drugs help. And speaking of cultists...”

“Taken care of,” Stan replied quickly. “By the time the ambulance got there, none of them could even remember why they were in the museum to begin with.”

“Should we examine the moral implications of us stopping a group of violent memory-wiping fanatics by forcing them to violently have their memories wiped?”

“Who are we, the Justice League?” Stan scoffed. “Those nuts were gonna do a lot worse to us than just wipe our memories. You’re, ironically enough, living testimony to that.”

“Irony hurts like a bitch.”

“You’re telling me.”

A beat of silence passed between them, the question Ford wanted to ask and simultaneously never hear the answer to hanging between them. Finally, he took a deep breath, and asked, “What about Ivan?”

Stan bit his lip, obviously struggling with how he was going to answer. Ford’s stomach roiled a bit. Ivan had to have escaped. That’s all there was to it. Stan wouldn’t have been this hesitant if that wasn’t the case. If those words left Stan’s mouth, he wasn’t sure whether he’d be able to not vomit, out of sheer panic more than anything else.

“He jumped off a cliff.”

Ford blinked. That certainly was not what he expected Stan to say.

“What the hell does that mean?”

“Exactly what it sounds like,” Stan replied with a halfhearted shrug. “I chased him to a cliff near the river. He tried to fight me. He lost. The gun got smashed up, so I guess he panicked. Took the coward’s way out.”

“Then it’s really over,” Ford said. He wasn’t even embarrassed by how meek his voice sounded to his own ears.

“Yeah, it is.” Stan gave his hands another squeeze. Ford hadn’t realized until then that they were shaking.

Another beat of silence passed between them, this one less oppressive than the last. For that moment, Ford just let the relief that his tormentor was gone wash over him. It was better than the drugs.

Then, he asked, “Is everyone else okay?”

Stan nodded off to the other side of the room, and with a bit of effort, Ford turned his head enough to see Helen and Fiddleford, set up in a couple chairs against the wall, passed out on each other. Both of them were covered in bruises and cuts, evidence of their struggle against the Society.

“They pretty much passed out as soon as we got the word from the paramedics you were gonna be okay,” Stan said. “Can’t say I blame them. We really put them through the ringer for this. Helen, especially...”

Stan trailed off, for a brief moment, as if he were thinking hard about something. Then he quickly added, “Ford, she knows about the portal.”

Ford felt his stomach fall to his feet. He gulped a bit, even though it made his throat stick, and asked, “How did she take that?”

“‘Bout as well as expected.”

“She freaked out?”

“Big time.”

“Oh boy.”

“To be fair to her, she found out about it directly after the whole thing with the crazy old lady attacking us in her house, so...maybe she’ll be a little more open-minded about it when she wakes up?”

“I know intense physical abuse always helps me process any bombshell secrets my friends drop on me.”

“You’re lucky your face is already one giant bruise, smart-ass, or I’d knock that sarcasm right out of you.”

Ford gave a weak chuckle, but he couldn’t fight the shame that bubbled up in his chest. He’d hoped no one else would ever find out about that damnable portable, that gargantuan testament to his shame, let alone someone he trusted and respected like Helen.

“We never should have dragged her into this,” he muttered.

His inner turmoil must have shown on his face, because Stan reached out an put a reassuring hand on Ford’s cheek, tilting his head so that his twin was looking him in the eye. Stan’s gaze was alight with compassion and love. It made the shame twisting in a Ford’s stomach seem like nothing.

“Hey,” Stan said gently, “Knowing her, she would have found a way to get involved. She’ll come around to this. And I’m sure she’s going to be much happier about the fact you’re alive to help her understand it.”

As if on cue, Helen let out a sleepy sigh. Ford turned to look at her just as her eyes fluttered open. She shifted slightly in her seat, which roused Fiddleford. Both of them looked around the room blearily before realizing what was happening in the bed in front of them.

“Oh, Ford,” Helen breathed, on her feet and at the bed in the time it took Ford to blink. She sat on the edge of his bed and wrapped an arm around his shoulder, pulling him close, and planted a soft kiss directly on his forehead. He leaned into it greedily.

“Don’t get too cozy, you little shit,” Helen mumbled into his hair. He could hear her voice getting thick. “I’m still mad at you for stealing my car.”

“Sorry,” he mumbled back. “I’ll get you some cash for the gas.”

She only responded by holding him tighter.

Ford turned his head slightly, and saw Fiddleford looking back at him, near the end of the bed. His face was a strange mix of exhaustion, confusion, and relief. Ford couldn’t help but think back to that morning - or rather, yesterday, he supposed - when he’d seen Fiddleford’s face for the first time in four months. The haggard, gaunt, lost little man in the alley seemed to have vanished over the course of a day. Every time Ford looked at Fiddleford, he saw a bit more of his dear friend creeping back to the surface, out from under the smothering electricity of that horrible device he’d created.

Ford wanted to say so much to him. He wanted to apologize, but Fiddleford had told him not to, that he didn’t blame him, not anymore.

He wanted to promise to be better, but the smile Fiddleford wore, that smile that always made him feel like he somewhere safe and warm, seemed to advertise plainly that Fiddleford always believed in Ford’s ability to improve, that there’d never been a doubt in his mind.

He just wanted to talk, and listen to that soft, kind voice - the one that knew and could sing every John Denver song ever written and talked endlessly about James Baldwin and theoretical physics - answer him for the rest of his life.

Instead, all he said was, “I’m glad you’re okay, Fiddleford.”

“You too, Ford,” Fiddleford replied.

Before Ford could think of anything else to say, Fiddleford had come up to his side. Helen, almost intuitively, had moved to the side to let him through. And then Fiddleford’s arms were around his neck again, his head buried in his shoulder. His hair brushed against Ford’s cheek like thistledown. Ford could feel that smile stretch wider against his neck, and he knew that Fiddleford was exactly where he wanted to be. Ford brought an arm up and draped it over Fiddleford’s back, holding his friend as close as his worn out muscles would let him. He wished he had the strength to hug him forever.

Too soon, Fiddleford pulled away, looked up into Ford’s face. Ford saw tears welling in his eyes as he said, “I said some terrible things to you, and I’m so sorry.” He sighed shakily, and added, “I’m responsible for how I reacted to what happened to me. And now I’m responsible for fixing the damage I caused.”

Ford reached up and put a hand on Fiddleford’s. “Maybe we could try fixing things together,” he replied.

Fiddleford nodded, smile as bright as a hundred watt bulb, and said, “Sounds perfect.”

“I’ve got a portal of doom in my basement that needs dismantling,” Ford said. “If you’re up for that, I mean. I’m a little...indisposed at the moment.” To illustrate his point, he gave his plastered-up leg a small wiggle.

Fiddleford chuckled, and said, “I think I can handle that. I imagine it’ll feel pretty good reducing that thing to scrap.”

“Well, you might wanna put the kibosh on portal talk for a while,” Stan interjected, “and start thinking about how you’re gonna be getting around the house with a pair of crutches. I’ve walked around on crutches enough to know that going up and down stairs constantly with them eventually makes your armpits go numb.”

“I’m not even going to bother asking why you’ve been on crutches so many times,” Helen said, voice flat.

“That’s for the best,” Stan replied.

“Well, I suppose I could move down to the couch for a few weeks,” Ford said. “Especially since we are gonna have a house guest for a while.”

Fiddleford looked at Ford like he’d just said he’d give him his kidney as opposed to his bedroom. “Oh no,” he said, a bit of color flushing to his cheeks. “I can’t ask a man with broken ribs to sleep on a lumpy couch.”

“You’re not asking,” Ford said playfully. “I’m telling you that’s what I’m doing.”

“And I’m siding with Fidds on this one,” Stan said. “I’ll take the couch. Since I’m on the bottom floor, you can take my bed, and Fidds can have yours.”

“That’s an excellent idea, Stan,” Fiddleford said, giving him a cheery smile.

Ford looked between them in confusion. Where had this chummy camaraderie come from? A few hours ago, Stan was regarding Fiddleford like a forest creature that had wandered into their house and wouldn’t leave. Now, he was returning the smile, with a kind of conspiratorial smugness, like he and Fiddleford were in on some kind of joke together.

“Who are you two, and what have you done with Stan and Fiddleford?” Ford asked, only partly joking.

“Hey, someone’s got to keep you from falling apart completely,” Helen chuckled. “And between the three of us, I think we can manage it.”

Ford laughed a bit himself, just as the door opened slowly. He saw Darryl peek in, and, seeing everyone was awake and talking and even looking rather upbeat, open the door to come in. “Glad to see you guys looking better,” he said with a toothy smile, a blue jacket slung over his shoulders. “How’re you feeling, Dr. Pi-I mean, Ford?”

“They tell me I’ll live,” Ford replied. He found it so odd how the light tone rolled so naturally off his tongue. Here before him stood a man who’d risked his own safety, just to help this group of people he barely knew, and had really no reason to trust. “Listen, Darryl,” he said, “I wanted to thank you. For everything. I can’t even begin to tell you how grateful I am for everything you did for me.” “None of us can,” Stan added. “You were amazing back there.”

Darryl reached up to rub his hand down his neck bashfully, obviously trying to hide the faint glow that had suddenly risen to his cheeks. “There’s no need for that,” Darryl said. “I was just doing what was right.”

“So how’s everything going out there?” Helen asked.

“‘Bout as chaotic as you’d expect,” Darryl replied. “I don’t think anyone was ready for a bunch of injured amnesiacs to turn up in the history museum in the wee hours of the morning, let alone small-town cops.”

“Not even factoring in that the sheriff was one of those amnesiacs,” Helen muttered darkly.

“You got it,” Darryl replied. He reached into the pocket of his jacket and pulled out a small sucker. As he pulled the wrapper off and popped it in his mouth, he said, “Damn, my wife picked a bad time to convince me to give up smoking.”

Ford saw Helen and Stan exchange a glance over the bed. “You got two more of those?” Stan asked as he turned his attention back to Darryl.

Darryl didn’t reply, just pulled two more suckers out of the jacket pocket and tossed them to Stan.

Stan caught them, took one, and offered the other to Helen. She accepted it without a word.

It seemed to Ford that everyone had these little secrets together tonight.

Stan pulled the wrapper off his and asked, “So, what are we telling the cops, exactly? We need to make sure we keep our stories straight.”

“Officially, Ivan’s the main mastermind behind everything,” Darryl replied. “As far as everyone else from the Society is concerned, they were victims of a terrorist with a weird gun.”

“Not far from the truth, if we’re being honest,” Stan said.

Darryl smiled wryly and continued, “I even managed to convince them that you all were brave heroes who couldn’t stand by and let innocent people be tortured by some madman, so you gallantly stormed the place and beat the shit out of him.”

“And those were your exact words?” Fiddleford asked, clearly biting back a laugh.

“Well, the rookie cops may have started embellishing things a bit,” Darryl said with a shrug of his shoulders. “You know how things travel in a small town. Also, Ford, if someone asks you how you managed to wrestle Ivan’s trained attack deer with your bare hands, just know that I did not come up with that part.”

That finally drew a laugh out of the whole group. It was a marvelous sound, after all they’d endured. Honestly, it was all rather difficult for Ford to believe. All the secrets that had been spilled, all the conspiracies that had been blown wide open, all the wounds they’d been dealt, physical or otherwise - that had all happened over the course of one day. It felt like they’d been at it for years. Ford felt Helen lean up against him a little more, and he got a look at her face. Even once you got past the deep blue bruising, she looked utterly exhausted, absently swirling her sucker around in her mouth. Ford saw that she’d draped an arm over her abdomen. As much as he didn’t want to, he thought back to that dark chamber, heard Helen’s broken plea ringing in his ears.

Before he had a chance to stop himself, he said, “Helen?”

“Hmm?” She flicked her eyes down at him, sucker stilled for a moment.

He almost took it back. For a moment, he couldn’t bring himself to ask what he wanted to know. If it was true, he didn’t want to be the one responsible for upsetting her again. It wasn’t his place to ask that question.

But his mouth had other plans, and he said, “That...thing. About the baby? You don’t have to tell me if you don’t want to, but...was what you told Ivan true?”

Helen didn’t respond right away.

He’d fucked up. Oh man, he’d fucked up.

He averted his eyes from her and quickly added, “I’m sorry! Like I said, you don’t have to tell me. If you think it’s none of my business, just say so. I don’t -”

Suddenly a finger was pressed to his lips. He looked back up at Helen. She was giving him a lopsided smile. “Yes, Ford, it’s true,” she said. She gave the other three men a quick glance. “It’s not like everyone else in this room doesn’t already know.”

Ford wanted to say something, but then he looked again into Helen’s eyes. They were sad, as anyone’s would be when they had just admitted to something so heartbreaking, but there was something else too. To Ford, it looked remarkably like peace.

Stan sighed, and muttered, “We’re all just a bunch of sad idiots, aren’t we?”

Ford and the others gave grunts of agreement, but he saw that Fiddleford’s eyebrows were scrunched up in thought.

After a moment, he said, “I suppose it could always be worse.”

“Ugh, booo,” Stan groaned, rolling his eyes so far back in his head they might have been in danger of popping out.

“Man, you did not just say that,” Darryl said with a wry laugh.

Fiddleford gave them bother a withering glance, and said, “If you two would let me finish, I was gonna say it could be worse, because we could all be alone.”

No one interrupted him this time.

“I mean, we’ve all been through some kind of hell that no one else can really understand,” Fiddleford continued. “We don’t even understand each other’s trauma all that well. But we can at least be there for each other, when things get tough. We’re lucky in ways a lot of other people aren’t.”

Ford felt Stan’s hand tighten around his. Helen’s arm was back around his shoulder. Even Darryl had closed the distance between himself and the bed, and leaned against the edge.

Each of them had a pain unique to them.

They could drown out that pain together.

In that moment, Ford did indeed feel like one of the luckiest men on the planet.

---

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#gravity falls #mystery nerds au #seared with scars #stanley pines #stan pines #stanford pines #ford pines #fiddleford mcgucket #helen bergstrum #blind ivan #the society of the blind eye #tw violence #tw suicide #tw miscarrige #tw ptsd

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victorian-creepshow · 8 years ago

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Finished Andromeda today.

Pros:

Like I already said, the combat’s fun. Still not sure that the profile system was necessary, but I can understand some people enjoying it.

The main story was pretty good. I like how the Ryder twins worked together at the end, that was pretty cool. I just kinda wish we would have gotten a little more interaction with our twin.

The worlds/scenery are v pretty. Voeld and Kadara are my favorite. Elaaden made me think of Borderlands. Part of me was expecting to find a Handsome Jack billboard somewhere rofl

I really like how they included more of those special friendly bonding moments with squadmates, whether you’re romancing them or not. V nice touch pls give us more of this in the future

Peebee and Drack ended up being my favs and I’ve never been a Krogan or Asari lover lmao. I mean, there wasn’t anyone on the squad I outright hated, but them two... definitely my homies.

Loved the little pathfinder cool kids gang that happened. I want to see more of them all. I’d love for them to all go on a mission together, pathfinders only no squares allowed

Kesh. Kesh is a positive all on her own. Love her. Vorn too. I like that they showed more variety in personalities within all the species. Krogan scientist 4tw

Kudos for ethnic diversity this time. They actually look like what they’re supposed to be! And it doesn’t look weird!

I never felt that overwhelming feeling of Hinterlands 2.0 on any of the maps. I’m not really interested in exploration, and I didn’t find any of the worlds too ridiculously huge like I thought they might be. Though they were all huge compared to Inquisition’s. It makes sense though, since they were clearly made to be used with the Nomad. If not for that, I think I would have been gritting my teeth trying to get from one side of the map to the other

More than two nice looking hairstyles for men, even if they were all a little bland.

Liked the color wheel on clothes, although I would have given it up in a heartbeat in favor of better physical feature customizations

Cons:

At certain times the writing felt a little rushed to me.

There were still too many pointless quests, Bioware. chiiiiiiiiiill

Should I even bother to say it? I can hear the boos already. No imma say it anyway. DEAL. Some of the facial animations were nightmare fuel aight. Even for Bioware. Be real. I’m still clutching my rosary. But then some expressions felt much more natural than in previous games, too. I feel like they could easily build on that and refine it without too much hassle if given more time. Some walking and running animations felt a little less stiff than before, at least to me.

I’m still irritated at the CC. It’s pathetic, and using Alec as the reason it ‘has to be that way’ is ridiculous and cheap. That feeling of playing a pre-established character never went away and I was never able to fully connect with Ryder because of it. It took away from my enjoyment of the story. That, combined with the fact that it seemed like there were less dialog options this time around. And sometimes those dialog options seemed... bizarrely inappropriate to the situation. That’s nothing new, and sometimes it is just a matter of opinion, but ehh.

I fucking hate that fucking Sudoku wannabe decryption bullshit minigame oh my godddd. They can DIE. FOREVER. Ok this isn’t a legitimate complaint since technically you could skip most if you had a key thing, and I’m sure plenty of people out there enjoyed that hell. I’ve never had the patience for complex puzzles. Why couldn’t we just stick to matching lines of code like in ME2? cries

The Kett story was a little predictable imo. And the Archon, I expected more out of him. As in, I was kinda hoping he’d be the sort of antagonist that you could empathize with. That maybe his motivations were less black and white than a certain other I AM A GOOOODDDDDD MWAHAHA bioware villain.

Bugs. Buuuuugs everywhere. I couldn’t settle Elaaden because of a bug that prevented me from completing the mission. I had to replay several parts including a portion of the final mission. One time I lost about five hours of play. It was bad. Though, recalling what Inquisition was like on it’s initial release... it wasn’t completely unexpected.

Still doing that thing with Asari I see. Lmao. Like, I love Peebee, but I pulled a muscle rolling my eyes at the fact that I can’t be friendly to her without her trying to grab my junk. A whole new galaxy and we still hypersexualizing all the blue not-lady ladies. Nice. Can you imagine the meltdown hets would have if Gil had a cutscene that involved him rubbing up on Scott unprovoked? And the only reject option is along the lines of “Eheh.... well... I’m sorry, but I just... c-can’t... please don’t be mad your undeniable sex appeal isn’t working today...”

There was a very minor trans character, a side lesbian character, one gay/bi alien who’s love is dead, one bisexual human male and one possibly??? gay?? human male. The bisexual male is better written than the ONE other m/m romance, and one can only assume it was only given decent treatment because it’s also a potential fem!Ryder romance. Gil’s endgame if not romanced is to have a child with a woman? Lol. Also never explicitly states he’s only interested in men even when rejecting fem!Ryder. I could just sum all this up by saying “do better” but from where I’m sitting, this specific group of writers and developers aren’t interested in hearing it. So I’ll just say, fail. Fucking fail. No gold star for effort. If you want credit for being so ~*~progressive~*~, do the work. And for god’s sake, don’t treat it like someone twisted your arm to include it.

All in all, it was a fun game. I may play the DLCs if/when they come out. The main game doesn’t have a whole lot of replay value imo though, at least not for me.

The problematic writing everyone foresaw going in turned out to be well-founded, and no, there is nothing here that would even begin to make up for it. They could do better if they wanted to. They’re aware of the issues. This was their chance to fix that and all they proved was that they really don’t care. Simple as that. So yep, I’m still extremely disappointed in that respect.

On that note, let’s not dwell on it. At least we all know what to expect now. On to what really matters... DA4~ And if they fuck that up, there will be hell to pay.

#mass effect andromeda #mea spoilers #bioware critical

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nh935 · 5 years ago

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Creepy America 2- The Things We Leave Behind

Creepy America

Episode 2

“The Things We Leave Behind”

Three Rivers, Michigan

When Creepy America was enjoying one of its peaks in popularity, we were interviewed by a magazine reporter. After talking about our daily routine of drive, research, edit, plan, film, edit again, publish, update our platforms, sleep, and repeat, he gave a long whistle. “Wow, that must be stressful, huh?”

“I don’t know about that” Zoey had said. “Creepy America’s never really been stressful. Exhausting? Yes. Dangerous? Often. Scary? All the time. But the whole thing’s such a wonderful adventure that’s it’s never really taken a toll on us.”

I like the way she said it, and I’m repeating it now, because without that context, you won’t understand why we put up with the living hell that was our lives until we finished our second episode.

***

Two days after I told Zoey I was coming with, I came over to her house to go over her itinerary.

There wasn’t one.

Zoey, in typical Zoey fashion, had spent more time wish-listing cameras and buying forks than she did planning where she was going to go and what she was going to do. I think part of her thought she was just going to get on the road and pull over at whatever stop looked interesting.

That was guaranteed to end in disaster, so I put it on myself to schedule stops, plan rests, and list possible episode topics. Considering that our goal was to hit every single state in the continental U.S., it was a daunting task.

Then, of course, there was the issue of money. We managed to get the now infamous 1989 Winnebago Chieftain at quite a deal; part of it was because Zoey’s uncle sold it to us, and part of it was because it was a 1989 Winnebago Chieftain. Reliable, but not exactly sexy.

We learned pretty quickly that you can’t just buy an R.V. and drive it to lands unknown. There’s a million and one things you need to get just to make the thing functional: propane tanks to heat water and the interior kitchen, surge protectors to make sure the park’s electrical system doesn’t fry everything inside, sewage hoses and connectors for… well, I’m sure you can figure that out. And that doesn’t include all the other little things to make life livable: generators and water filters and wifi boosters.

Add in my ever-increasing budget for food, lodging, and emergencies, and it wasn’t long before it became obvious that the fifty thousand wasn’t going to be enough.

We both did everything we could to save up money. Zoey worked a job at one of the local museums as a guided tour and event coordinator and spent her evenings and weekends doing freelance photo work for weddings and reunions. I got a job as a data entry assistant; it was the only place that was willing to hire me on for only a few months. The pay was good but the work was mind-numbing and the shifts were ten hours at a time. Often times I came home, fell asleep, woke up and went right back to my job.

My parents were less than thrilled to learn that I was putting my degree on hold for an indefinite amount of time while I went galavanting across America, and they especially didn’t like that I was going to be staying at home while I saved up for said trip; not hard to figure out why. We had some pretty bad fights about it, but in the end they backed off. I don’t think they ever understood, but watching me come home day after day tired and spent to make the journey possible at least let them know that I was serious about it, and that this wasn’t just some passing fancy.

Things were also a little rocky between Zoey and I during this time. It was my job to balance the money and time, allocating those numbers of dollars and days into concrete blocks of finite things. Two weeks in Michigan. Three weeks in West Virginia. 275$ for kitchen appliances, and not a penny more.

That didn’t jive well with Zoey’s limitless free spirit. She kept coming back to me with ads for cameras and microphones. “We need this one” she’d always say. “It’s full frame. It can handle a much higher SPL. This ISO range is necessary if we do any filming at night.” At the time, that was all greek to me, so my only response was a head shake and a firm “no.”

In her defense, she did stop me from making some bad calls. At one point, she stuck the budget in my face and demand I raise the food portion higher than 200 a month. “It’s a road trip, Liam” she pointed out. “Not fucking Auschwitz.”

And that was our life for a while. Weekdays were spent at our jobs. Weekends were spent at one of our houses, planning and prepping. Every waking hour was spent working on something, and we did that for five whole months.

Exhausting? Yes. Stressful? Never.

***

After we had saved up enough for all our planned expenses and had finished our two weeks notice at both our jobs, we both agreed that we were long-overdue for a night off. We headed off to our local bar and spent the night getting plastered and generally having a good time. I had the worst hangover of my life that morning and we didn’t end up getting ready to leave until late in the afternoon that day.

As I was getting ready to back the R.V. up, Zoey stopped me. “One selfie.”

I rolled my eyes but complied.

As I write this, I’m looking at that picture now, and the memory feels like a lifetime ago. Zoey’s got her arm around me, forcing me closer into the frame. Her check is smushed up against the side of my head, making my hair even more of a mess than usual. I’m doing my best to push her away, but the same smile and twinkle in her eyes is present in mine. We’re ready to begin, to go adventuring, to take on the world if need be.

I wish it had stayed that way.

***

We both had believed that once we were on the open road, everything was going to work out from there.

It didn’t. What it did was start to get stressful.

It takes a bit of an adjustment period to get used to living with anyone, and that period is doubly problematic if the living space is a cramped R.V. It wasn’t long before the little offences started to add up. Every dish piled in the kitchen sink, every square inch of table space taken over by video cameras, and every bathroom sink mess of neon-colored hair dye grated on my nerves. Zoey favored offences were my instance that the plates needed to stay in specifically organized piles and the trash needed to be sorted in three different bags.

“And you snore!” she yelled at me when I left to take a walk and clear my head.

“So do you” I grumbled.

Also not helping was the fact that the first state on our itinerary was Michigan, which is a real baptism by fire for a first road trip. The weather was unpredictable, the pavement was held together by prayers, and the mass of round-abouts, forested back-ways, and brief stretches of road that force you to either merge onto the highway or get right back off at the same exit you were just at was panic inducing for someone who wasn’t too comfortable driving that whale of a vehicle.

Coupled with that was the juggling act we were doing to get everything done; we still had to do “Faces of America”, after all. That took up the majority of our time, and if we weren’t out filming for “Faces”, we were visiting locations for “Creepy America”.

We visited all the places we had on our itinerary: the singing sands of Bete Grise, Paulding and its ghost light, the woods of the lower peninsula where the “Dogman” lurked. In every case, though, something refused to happen. We were left with hours of footage of just nothing. Of course, we had scenes of Zoey narrating at each location, dramatically retelling each legend to the audience. But there was no proof of anything actually happening. After the whole “Worlds of Wonder” incident, it was a huge letdown.

We has several arguments about it. There was enough footage to edit into a whole episode and I wanted to bundle it up and post it, get the ball rolling on the show already. Zoey kept insisting otherwise; it was missing something she couldn’t explain. “It was flat” was the explanation I was often given.

Eventually, we reached a compromise: we would wait two more weeks for something episode-worthy to happen. If nothing did, we would head out and use the footage we had. Zoey didn’t like it, but she agreed we couldn’t wait forever.

***

I was staring into space, so it took me a second to realize that we were pulling off the highway.

I looked around at the signs as Zoey slowed the vehicle onto the off ramp. “Three Rivers? This isn’t on our itinerary.”

“We need to go to Walmart” she stated.

I frowned. “Why? We’re over budget as it is.”

“We’re out of coffee filters and duct tape, and I need a power strip so that you stop unplugging all my cameras just to charge your phone.” The words were civil enough, but there was a harsh undercurrent to her tone, waiting to pounce on me if I tried to argue with her.

I went back to staring out the window. The silence filled the vehicle as Zoey turned into the parking lot and carefully backed it up into two large spaces.

“Is there anything you need?” she asked as she turned the engine off.

I shrugged. “Oh I’m sure I could think of something. But I’ll wait until our bank account stops hemorrhaging money.”

She narrowed her eyes at me. “What the hell is that supposed to mean?”

“It means we’re over budget and you’re still spending.”

“Do you want our lives to be a living hell? Because that’s what this R.V. will turn into if we can’t get coffee, I promise you.”

“I have no problem with that. I have a problem with you spending almost twenty five bucks on hair dye when you were supposed to be buying food.”

“I was out.”

“Yes, and the Got2B Color Unlimited Aqua Collection plays such a vital role in our lives.”

Zoey shoved one of the cameras into my arms. “Tell you what, why don’t you go film those creepy woods behind the Walmart while I go shopping? We could use them for atmosphere or something.” Her words had that fake sweetness people use when they’re about two seconds away from murder.

I looked over to the collection of dead trees. She was lying, of course. Six days spent looking for the Dogman had given us all the spooky forest shots we would ever need for Creepy America filler. All she really wanted was an excuse to get rid of me for an hour. But I’d also be lying if I said that I wasn’t craving the alone time as well.

I took the camera and opened the R.V. door. “Sounds like a great idea.”

As we walked across the parking lot to our destinations, Zoey and I shot each other some death glares until we were too far away to continue. Once I was alone, traversing around the building, I started muttering to myself.

“Yeah, this was a great idea, Liam. Road trip across America, what could be better? Five months of work for frustration and footage of trees.”

My rant was interrupted by noticing that my footsteps were no longer making the hard sound of shoe on pavement. Realizing I was now in the woods, I booted up the camera and started to record.

The woods were sick and dying, no doubt because of the Walmart nearby. The trees were little more than tall, dark sticks with bare branches stretching out at sharp angles. Under my feet, the yellow grass gave soft crunches with every step. Here and there were a few bushes and shrubs, but they too were husks, piles of brittle twigs that snapped into dry pieces if you did so much as brush up against them. Everything was unnaturally quiet. There were no animals here to give the wood its normal cheery soundtrack, not even birds. All that was here was dead plants and silence.

My previous anger dried up. I walked along, pointing the camera this way and that, less to get any good shots and more to preserve the farce of the whole excursion. Even so, I couldn’t help feeling… uncomfortable.

Like something was watching me.

There was a snapping sound behind me, and I whirled around to face it. There, for just a split second, was a black shape, right in my peripherals. I moved to track it but once I did, it was gone. Nothing but the dead trees and I in the forest.

I walked around a bit more, sweeping the camera this way and that, until I heard another snapping sound. The black shape again, moving further into the forest, visible for two seconds before disappearing again. I ran after it. “Hey! Wait…”

I broke through a line of trees and arrived at a clearing. My eyes widen looking at what it contained.

I needed to show this to Zoey.

***

She was back at the R.V., plugging the cameras into a power strip.

“Well, that was fast” she said.

I gestured over to the woods. “I found something.”

Her expression changed from disappointed to intrigued. Without any more questions, she grabbed a camera and followed me.

***

“Man, this place is creepy.”

We were at the forest now. Both of us had the cameras out and recording, and I was taking it a lot more seriously this time around, holding it still to my shoulder as we walked through.

“Glad to know that wasn’t just me” I told her.

She nodded. “This place feels… I don’t know, sour? That’s the only way I can think to describe it.”

I thought it over. “No, that’s actually pretty good. ‘Sour’ sums it up perfectly.”

We pushed past the group of trees that preceded the clearing. There, in the center of the woods, was a huge pit filled with garbage. All kinds, ranging from filled trash bags to loose papers, broken plastic toys to candy wrappers. It was clear that this dump had been here for a while; looking closer at some of the items, you could see that age had drained the color from them, giving the pit the palette of a bleached rainbow. From end to end, the thing had to be at least thirty feet long.

Zoey stared at it for a second. “You took me out here to show me an illegal dump?”

“See, I thought that at first too, but look closer” I picked up a stick and poked it into the pit. “You see that?”

She knelt towards the edge. “Ramiro Hermandez, Michigan… is that a driver’s license?”

“That’s not all.” I poked a bit of shiny red and it gave a hollow metallic thump. “I think that’s the back end of a car.”

Zoey looked around for a bit, then picked up a stick for herself. We started to fish around in the pit, turning things over and examining them.

I saw a group of what looked like loops. Curious, I walked around the edge to get closer and saw that they were bags: a purse and two backpacks. I carefully hooked the stick under the handle and pulled them out. They felt heavier than they should be.

“Zoey,” I called out. “These ones have things in them. We should take them back, go through the stuff inside.” I didn’t hear her respond, so I kept talking. “I mean, I don’t know about you, but I’m curious. Most of this stuff looks fine. Why would people throw this out?”

I looked over to her. She was holding up a long green cloth, a dress of some kind, at the end of her stick. There was a dark reddish-brown stain in its center.

“Perhaps because its evidence” she whispered.

***

The person who answered the phone was very annoyed. She informed me in very blunt words that this sort of call was not what 911 was for; any calls that were not emergencies should have been placed to the local police number. Nevertheless, she told me that she was going to report it. After being on hold for a minute or so, she said that there would be an officer at the scene in about five minutes, and to stay where we were until he came.

“And the next time you’re just reporting something, don’t dial emergency numbers” she told me right before she hung up.

I felt a little embarrassed, so I wanted to make sure that I had evidence of this being suspicious trash, instead of just normal trash. We took out the dress, the driver’s license (which was hard to get; we had to take two sticks and use them like improvised tongs), and a jacket that had some long tears across the arms, and laid them in front of the pit. Then we waited for the police.

It took them almost fifteen minutes, so we spent the time talking, theorizing, and pointing out more strange objects inside. We didn’t mind; we hadn’t gotten along this well in weeks.

Finally, two officers in blue uniforms appeared deeper in the trees and we called over to them to get their attention. At first, they were less than impressed with what they were seeing, but after showing them the collection of torn up clothing we had fished out, as well as pointing out some of the other more suspect looking pieces of garbage, they seemed to straighten up and start conducting themselves more professionally.

The first officer walked away, mumbling some stuff into his radio, while the second questioned us and wrote down notes with our answers. While we were talking, more and more people began to show up. Guys in white vans and full-body coverings, plain clothes detectives, even more street officers. By the time we were finished with our story, the whole place was transformed with yellow police tape and flood lights.

As soon as the officer was finished asking questions, one of the white suited CSI guys came up to the two of us, holding the green dress and torn jacket in two plastic baggies.

“You two touched these?” he asked.

“Yeah, but only with sticks” I said. He nodded and started to write something on the bags with black sharpie, walking away as he did so.

“Hey, do you need these?” I called out, gesturing to the three bags I had fished out and were now laying by my feet. He gave a wave of some kind that I couldn’t translate and dissolved back into the crowd.

“Guess we’re not needed here anymore” Zoey noted.

“Yeah.” I turned to the bags at my feet. “You wanna take these back to the R.V. and go through them?”

She nodded. “I guess you’re thinking the same thing I’m thinking.”

“Which is?”

“This looks like the beginning of an episode.”

Zoey picked up the purse and started to head back. I took the two backpacks and held them away from me, trying to keep my grip on them with as little contact as possible.

“We should buy some gloves from the Walmart. And Lysol wipes” I said.

Zoey smirked. “Guess the budget’s not so sacred after all, huh?”

I bit my tongue and kept quiet.

After stopping in the store, buying the gloves and wipes, and getting back, Zoey started setting up cameras. One pointed at me, one pointed at her, and one placed far enough away to record both of us seated at the little booth in the R.V. I sat on one side and put on the gloves.

“Do you want to open them up and talk about them or do you want me to?” Zoey asked.

“You, definitely. You are a lot better at the whole narration thing.”

“Alright then.” Zoey sat down on the other end. She turned to face her camera. “Creepy America footage… possibly. Found stuff in pit, part one.”

She put on a set of gloves, took a few seconds to compose herself, and then turned to face her camera again. “Alright… everybody. Welcome back to Creepy America. We’re here in Michigan, at a Walmart, and we’ve found something strange. It’s a pit, filled with all kinds of trash, but some of it’s… suspicious, to say the least. We found a driver’s license, what we think could be a car, and a dress with potentially some blood on it. We called police and they’re investigating the scene, but we took back some of the unimportant stuff to go through with you guys. With their permission, of course.” She turned to me. “That was permission… right?”

I shrugged.

The silence turned awkward.

“Well,” she said, “if we’re not allowed to show this, we just won’t post it. So if you’re seeing this, it must be okay.”

She grabbed the first backpack, a nice black leather messenger bag crusted with light brown dirt, and flipped the front flap open. There was a soft “crack” as the material shifted in a way it hadn’t been shifted for a long time. “So first off, there was this. I can definitely feel something inside. And see. Hold on…”

She reached inside and pulled out a large, black rectangle.

“Is that a laptop?” I asked.

“Yeah.” She flipped it open and hit the power button. Nothing happened. “It’s either dead or broken.”

I stared at it. “We should give that to the police.”

The awkward silence returned.

Zoey carefully placed the computer on the floor and returned to the bag. “There’s something else in here too.” She withdrew a large bundle of papers, flipping through them. “It’s a printed manuscript of some kind. ‘Intellectual Property: the creations of Apex Software will be the intellectual property of Irls…Iriz...’ can’t read that part… ‘while under the designated contracted time.’ There’s a note here, too, in red pencil. ‘Remove, both parties agree’”

“Guess it must have belonged to a lawyer” I noted.

“Well, he was either an OCD nutcase or someone else had his bag after he did.” Zoey took her hand out of the bag again, holding bunches of cheap ballpoint pens, in all different styles, colors, and degrees of brokeness. After holding them out to her camera for a second, she put them and the legal contract away.

Next she picked up the purse. It was a large pleather object colored in a light pastel blue, also crusted over with dirt and mud. She turned it on its side and removed a large bundle of plastic bags, then reached into a side pocket and took out a handful of metal coins, dumping them on the table. I looked over them. Most of them were American, nickels and pennies and whatnot, but I saw a few Canadian coins and one or two things I could only assume to be Pesos.

Zoey was staring into the open bag. “Alright, so I’m not going to take this out, because it’s super gross, but at the bottom of this is a whole lot of cigarette butts and ashes.” She turned to me. “Did this belong to a homeless lady or something?”

I shook my head. “I don’t think so. The lawyer bag had all those broken pens. Seems like someone took these bags and used them to collect trash.”

“Yuck.” She put the purse off to the side and picked up the last bag: a small child’s backpack colored in red and black. After a few moments of struggling, she managed to unzip it and peered inside. “So it looks like there’s the normal stuff in here…” she reached in and pulled out a handful of broken pencils and crayons, showing it the the camera, “...but there’s also another bundle of papers.”

The sound of rustling filled the air as one by one the papers were placed on the table. “Math homework, math homework, english homework…” she held one up to the light. “...this looks like a crayon drawing of a dinosaur in a tiara and a tutu. Very nice, I approve.” She withdrew one last piece, and stopped.

Unlike every other paper, which was wrinkled, dirty, and torn in a few places, this bundle was clean and crisp. Neatly preserved. They were colored yellow and smaller; the jagged edges seemed to suggest they were ripped out a notebook.

“There’s a long message on here.” Zoey stopped for a moment, cleared her throat, and began reading.

“Long ago, when man had not yet fallen to the seductions of civilizations, they knew things that they have since forgotten about. They knew that the spirits were everywhere, in the rocks and the trees and the streams and in the dirt itself. How arrogant the modern mind has grown, to think that humanity is alone in its possession of the soul, that these bundles of flesh and physics were somehow set apart from every other atom in the universe. Is it not more likely that man, rather than being a one-in-a-million oddity, are simply kindred spirits with all they survey? That the soul is universal, and not unique?

Ah, but they had to forget it, didn’t they? For when they became cruel, and began to shape the world to their whim, it was much easier to lie to themselves, to say that they weren’t torturing metal, imprisoning trees, and killing the very earth itself. Easier a lie than live with the guilt of their tyranny. And as their actions became worse, when sand was burned to create glass and the very blood of the earth was used to fuel their abominations, they believed it more and more.

I write this to you, the thing in the pit, not as an excuse for my kind, but as an explanation. I have seen you, wandering when you think no one else is there, collecting the casualties. I have seen your confusion at their chaos, trying to understand the reason for such suffering. Here is why they do so: they have grown arrogant and blind and no longer see the pain they cause. This is why you see so much disfigurement. This is why you see so many orphans. This is why they throw things away like refuse; they believe it is.

So go forth, thing in the pit. Know that, in a world full of torment, you provide comfort for the downtrodden. Your mission is holy. Your cause is just. Do not fear them: the bullets of the wicked will never harm you. And should you feel remorse, or doubt, or begin to falter, remember their sins. They torture because they believe they are special. Do not reaffirm that belief.”

A deep quiet filled the vehicle. Neither of us spoke.

“Well…” Zoey said, breaking the spell, “that was disturbing. Good call on bringing this stuff back to go through. Better than that stupid Dogman, that’s for sure.”

***

Zoey and I put everything back and cleaned the table. The bags with their contents were placed by the R.V. door; we weren’t sure if the police would want the other items we found, but we figured we should at least give them the chance to say so.

By the time we had finished doing all that, it was almost ten at night. We both decided it was too late to get back on the road, so that meant that we were going to crash in the parking lot for the night. Perks of having an R.V.

Unfortunately, we were parked right under a light, and I was having trouble ignoring the glare when combined with the stiffness of the couch. The R.V. only came with one mattress, which was wide but not quite wide enough (something I was really wishing we had realized when we bought the thing), and we both decided it would be too weird sleeping that close to each other. That meant trading off the couch every other week. It was uncomfortable, but bearable. Usually. But apparently the couch and the streetlight were too much strain for my body to deal with at once and I was unable to drift off to sleep.

I tossed and turned, then sighed. Zoey was in the bedroom, snoring away happily. I got up, carefully stepped around in order not to make too much noise, located the keys on the table, slipped into the driver’s seat and turned the engine on. Then I waited to see if Zoey would wake up.

Uninterrupted snoring. Success.

I slowly drove the vehicle a few spaces further up, parking it out of the immediate glare of lights.

I shut the engine off and sat back, pleased with myself.

There was movement over by the woods.

I jolted up and stared, trying to find the shape that startled me.

Nothing.

I shook my head and chalked it up to my lack of sleep. Then I flopped back on the couch and passed out.

***

“Wake up Liam!”

I slowly opened my eyes, struggling with every centimeter. Above my head was Zoey, fully dressed and pissed off.

“Wha…”

“Did you move the R.V. last night?”

“Umm…” I thought for a second. “Yeah, why?”

“Did you leave the headlights on?”

I sat up and looked at her. “No.”

That answer only seemed to make her angrier. “Then did you leave something on? The inside lights, maybe?”

“No, I didn’t. Why are you asking?” I got up and started rummaging through my bag to replace the pajamas I was currently in.

She crossed her arms. “Because our battery is dead, that’s why.”

“What?” I grabbed the keys and sat in the driver’s seat, inserting them and turning. The R.V. refused to do anything, no choking, no failing to catch. Just turned key and no response.

Zoey looked at me expectantly.

“Well…” I said. “Definitely looks like a dead battery.”

“What did you do?” she demanded.

“Me? I didn’t do anything! Why do you think it was me?”

“Because you were the one who moved the car last night!”

“Yeah, but I didn’t leave anything on. What about you? Was it something you did?”

“Don’t try to pin this on me!” she stormed to the back of the vehicle. I followed, but stopped when I noticed one of the cameras had its little red LED lit up.

“Are you… recording this?” I asked.

“Huh?” She turned around, saw the camera, and her demeanor softened just a tiny bit. “No! At least, not on purpose. I saw what happened to the Walmart, and I wanted to film it. I tried moving the R.V. closer to get a better shot, and that’s when I had to wake you up.”

I picked up the camera and brought it to the front. Through the windshield I could see a small crowd gathered around the outside of the building, with a few cop cars parked nearby. There was some kind of black mass on the bricks. I pointed the camera at the mass and zoomed in to get a better view of it.

It was a message written in big, bold letters: GIVE THEM BACK.

“Is there any sooner you could get out here?” I heard Zoey ask behind me, “No, I understand. Alright, fine. Thank you.” She put her phone away and glared at me. “Got a mechanic to come out, but he’s not going to be here until almost eight. Looks like we’re stuck here for another night. So thanks a lot.”

“I didn’t do it!” I protested.

She ignored me and went over to the small coffee machine and pressed a few buttons. She waited for a few seconds and then emitted a loud groan. “Of course, no power. This is going to be one long fucking day.”

***

Zoey was right. It was one long fucking day.

We spent much of it as far away from each other as possible. When Zoey was there, I left. When I came back, Zoey left. We seemed to have come to some unspoken truce to stay away from each other, lest more fighting erupt.

I spent a good deal of time walking around the store, but when that got boring, I took to hanging around the police officers. After explaining that I had found the pit in the woods, they tolerated my presence as best they could.

At one point, I brought them the bags we had. “There’s a laptop in the messenger bag, and there’s some papers in the kid’s bag.” The cop nodded and took them both.

“What about the purse?” the other one asked.

“Umm… plastic bags, coins, and cigarette butts.”

“Yech. We don’t want that one.”

I dropped it back to my side. “So what should I do with it?”

“Throw it away, obviously.”

I looked around for a bit, then started to head over to the garbage bin by the front of the store.

“Uh-uh” he said. I looked over to the cop. “We’re not letting this place collect any trash until we’ve investigated this illegal dumping complaint. In fact…” he turned to his partner, “wans’t that supposed to be removed? Or at least taped off?” The other one nodded and made his way into the store.

“So, what do I do with this then?” I asked, holding the purse up.

“Throw it away somewhere else. Shit kid, do I have to do all your thinking?”

I decided that was as good a time to leave as any. The purse ended up back in the R.V.

The mechanic came by around 8:30, which did little to lighten Zoey’s mood. When he got to the hood and popped it open, there was an instant look of recognition on his face.

“Well there’s your problem.” he said, pointing at the battery and chuckling a bit. “The cable’s aren’t even connected to it!” He messed around with the inside, then called out “Okay, try it now!”

Zoey turned the key and it started right back up.

“What? How did that happen?” I asked.

He raised an eyebrow at me. “You didn’t open this thing up and mess around in there?”

“No.”

“Well, maybe they got shaken loose or something.” He didn’t sound too confident in his theory, though.

He was a nice enough guy and told us he wasn’t going to charge us since he didn’t actually fix anything, which was something I thanked him for over and over. But once again, it was too late to depart to our next destination, so another Walmart crash it was.

I crawled into my couch and covered myself with a blanket. I could feel myself drifting off when

I heard a noise outside.

I sat up and listened. It was a strange, soft thumping, a kind of “shump, shump, shump” sound. It reminded me of someone whacking a beanbag chair against a wall. We were in a Walmart parking lot, so who knows? Maybe that’s exactly what it was.

I laid back down and tried to fall asleep.

“Shump, shump, shump”

There was the sound again, but this time it sounded much closer. My eyes shot open and I held my breath, straining my ears to hear it again.

Silence.

I was about ready to dismiss it again when the R.V. gave a moaning creak. I felt the entire front half of the vehicle lift in the air, making things slide off of surfaces and fall. Suddenly, the whole thing dropped with a resounding “CRASH!” Things flew everywhere, the suspension screamed in pain. I fell off the couch and rolled backwards, feeling bruises form in the process.

Zoey came staggering out of the bedroom, dressed in pajamas and eyes wide with shock. “What the hell is…?” Before she could finish, the R.V. lifted again, this time dropping much faster with a heavier “CRASH”. The R.V. bounced a couple of times, bobbing up and down. I could hear things breaking in the cabinets. Zoey fell backwards.

I scrambled over to her. “Are you hurt?”

She shook her head. “No, I’m fine.”

“Call 911.”

She nodded, fear plastered on her face. I moved to the front of the R.V., jammed the keys into the ignition, and flipped the headlights on, hoping to illuminate our attacker. Instead, the lights just revealed a message written in an oozing, tar-like black substance smeared onto our windshield:

GIVE THEM BACK

***

The police showed up much faster this time around: less than two minutes. I’m sure part of that had to do with somebody using the emergency line to report an actual emergency, but I also think that they were some cops nearby waiting. Hard to imagine them not, given all the weirdness that kept happening over there.

Despite the faster response, though, it felt like an eternity. The seconds were agonizing, spent cowering inside the vehicle, waiting for the assault to continue.

But it didn’t.

The only thing that came was a knock at the door announcing the arrival of the officers. We screamed at it regardless.

After calming us down, they took a look at the scene. Once they had concluded that whoever had done this was gone, they offered to stay in the parking lot with us until morning to make sure he didn’t come back. We happily agreed.

With the cop car right outside the window, we drifted apart and tried to get back to our nighttime routine. I laid back down on the couch, staring up at the ceiling. My eyes weren’t even trying to close.

I stayed like this for about fifteen minutes until I heard the door to Zoey’s bedroom open.

“Liam?” she asked.

“Yeah?” I replied.

“I don’t think I can fall asleep.”

“Same here.” I sat up.

A few seconds passed of us just staring at each other in silence.

“Coffee?” I asked.

She smiled. “Sounds good.”

I started up the little machine while Zoey picked up the various odds and ends that had been knocked over in the attack. Once we had a few moments of sitting in the little booth and sipping the hot liquid, we booted up one of the cameras and described what had happened, showing the message in black on our windshield and the cop car outside. We sat back down and, camera still rolling, discussed the events with each other.

“Those notes, that weird rant about humans destroying the earth or something, that’s what this is all about, right?” Zoey said, holding the white mug in her hands.

I nodded. “It certainly seems like.”

She shuddered. “What the hell was that thing talking about, anyway?”

“Animism, I think.”

“Ani-what?”

“Animism” I took another long sip before continuing. “It’s how ancient people viewed the world. Like, caveman ancient. They thought that everything was alive, that all the mountains and trees and clouds had minds of their own, and that they had to be respected or else they’d be wrathful.”

“I certainly hope that’s not the case” Zoey said, looking around the R.V. “Can you imagine how pissed they’d all be today?”

We both fell silent.

“Zoey,” I stopped for a moment, trying to make sure the words came out right, “I’m sorry for getting angry with you earlier. I know I can get… anal, about a lot of stuff, and I want to appologize that it came out that way.”

She sighed. “It’s alright. I know you’re just worried about the money and everything, and I’m sure I’m not always the easiest person to live with. Besides, you did kind of have a point.”

“So we’re cool?”

She rolled her eyes. “Of course we’re cool. It’s going to take a lot more than you acting dumb once in a while to screw things up between us. Otherwise we’d have stopped being friends a long time ago.”

I smiled, then looked at my empty coffee cup. “I need to pee.” I got up and moved over to our small bathroom, then cursed when I saw the glimmer of water still inside the toilet bowl.

“What is it?” Zoey called after me.

“The water tank is full.”

She groaned. “How? We just emptied that thing.”

“Guess that’s what happens when you camp out at a parking lot too long.” I looked outside, towards the lights of the 24-hour Walmart. “I guess…” I swallowed. “I guess I’ll have to use the store bathroom.”

Zoey’s eyes went wide. “You’re not going out there by yourself, are you?”

“No, I’ll ask one of the officers to walk me over there.”

“And leave me alone?”

I shrugged. “I guess you can come along if you want.”

She stared at me for a second, then said, “Alright, just let me get my jacket.”

As she left to go to her room, I stood up and opened the door to the R.V., not yet stepping outside. I got my phone out and tapped the flashlight on it, letting the white light cut into the darkness of the night,

What I saw stopped me cold.

The police car outside the R.V. was empty, door hanging wide open and abandoned. Neither officer was anywhere in sight. And written on the ground, in more of that cursed tar, was another message:

THEN I’LL JUST TAKE THEM BACK BY FORCE

I turned the light to illuminate in front of the R.V., and there was a… thing. I can’t call it a man, or a robot, the only word that fits it is ‘thing’. It was tall, almost six feet, and large, built like a football player or a bodybuilder. But instead of flesh and blood, it was made out of garbage. Shiny black trash bags covered its surface like skin, the limbs looking as thick and solid as tree trunks. Bungee cables and tattered ropes criss-crossed the entirety of its body, further giving the arms and legs their bulging definition. Over its head was a white shopping bag, draped like some kind of hood, and where the face should be there was only a thick, oozing black sludge, slowly dripping down onto its chest.

It stood about ten feet away, not moving. Even with the lack of body language, I could feel the murderous rage roll off of it like a tidal wave.

Panic began to set in. Whatever this thing was, it was here, and there were no police, no anything to stop it. It wanted something from us, and it was pretty obvious what it was.

I crouched down a bit and curled my hands around the handle of the blue purse.

It’s face followed my movements, like a hawk watching a mouse.

But why the hostility? It was just trash. But according to the paper…

“Orphans” I whispered to the thing. “That’s what the notes called it. That’s how you see them, isn’t it?”

It didn’t move.

Footsteps sounded behind me. Zoey stepped out, in pajamas and a hoodie, camera in hand. When she saw me staring, she pointed the camera over to where my flashlight was pointed and gasped.

“Liam…” she said.

“Yeah.” I could only croak back.

The thing took a few slow steps towards us. I recognized the sound, the “schump, shump, shump” of the filled bags hitting the pavement.

“We’re going to run for the forest.” I told her. “We need to make it back to that pit of trash. So when I say run, we run as fast as we can, okay? No looking back.”

She nodded, her face pale.

The thing continued to get closer. It couldn’t be more than ten feet away now.

“Run” I whispered.

We took off. I heard the thing accelerate to match our speed, the schumps now turning into loud PLOKs as the strange creature’s legs slapped the ground. The pavement was flat and there were no cars, so we managed to gain ground on it, hearing the footsteps getting softer. But once we hit the forest, fatigue set in. My lungs burned, my feet got harder and harder to lift off the ground, making me trip over all kinds of roots and branches. The uneven surface forced me to slow my pace as I weaved past the trees. Zoey was slowing down, too; she was just right behind me, and behind both of us, getting louder and louder with each second were the creature’s footsteps, literally shaking the ground as he ran.

I pushed through the pain and managed to get back into the clearing. I swung my phone around to shine light into the pit. Sure enough, there were the items previously removed. The green dress. The jacket. The backpacks. But now they were encased in plastic bags with red labels reading ‘EVIDENCE’. And to confirm my worst suspicions, there in the light I saw the blue cap of a police officer, now stained dark with still fresh blood.

It took them back. With force. I could only assume that it took its time with us to make us suffer, as payback for leading everyone else to this pit.

I heard Zoey cry out and I turned around. From the dim light of the surrounding buildings, I could see her, sprawled onto the ground, arms raised in front of her face in a panicked attempt to defend herself. Above her was the thing, grabbing onto her shirt with one arm and other reeled back, ready to deliver what had to be a fatal blow from such a massive creature. I could read the viciousness in that pose as clearly as I could see the fear on Zoey’s face.

“HEY!” I yelled at it.

It paused, then turned its head to face me.

I held up the blue purse in front of my face. Underneath, I dangeled a cheap plastic lighter. The flame was lit and flickering. “Let. Her. Go.” I growled “or I swear, I will light this thing on fire in front of all the others. Those orphans can watch one of their own burn.”

The creature stared at me, then at Zoey, then back to me. Finally, I saw him turn to look at the pit behind me, and a strange weariness fell into his shoulders. He dropped Zoey, causing her to fall onto the ground with a small “thud”. Then he walked up to me, no more than three feet away.

“Good.” I let the lighter flame go out, but I still hovered it near the bag, wary of movements. “I assume that since you did that, you can understand me.”

It gave a long, slow nod.

“Then let me make a deal with you. Let us go, let us leave here and never come back, and I’ll give you the bag.”

The creature looked at me, then at the bag, then back to me.

“Oh no,” I said, “you have to promise me first. Promise me that you’ll leave us alone, in front of the others.”

It looked over to the pit again, then turned back to me and gave me another nod.

“Alright.” I held the bag out in front of me, shaking as I did so. It snatched it away and opened it up, staring into it for a long time. Satisfied, it crouched down and gingerly placed it back into the pit, doing with such a careful steadiness it almost looked like it was placing a child back in a crib. Then, standing up, it lowered itself inside. It moved towards the center, and, as it did so, the thing slowly came apart. Keeping my flashlight over it, I saw it leave pieces of itself behind, resting on the surface, but it did so an inch with each step, giving it less the appearance of coming undone and more like a man wading into the ocean, the water rising further and further upwards as he went deeper. Once it reached the center, only it’s head was still upright, and then the bag deflated, slowly floating back down as if it was only ever just a simple shopping bag.

As it did so, Zoey walked up to me, holding the camera to record the strange scene. Once it was over, she turned to me and nodded.

Without a word, we walked back to the parking lot.

***

Exhausted, we both passed out when we got back to the R.V. When we woke up, it was close to noon. The empty police car was gone, and the parking lot was full of its usual clientele. Life continued as it always had at the Walmart.

We bought some cleaning supplies from the store and spent a couple of hours trying to remove the sticky tar from the windshield. It was stubborn, but eventually it was all gone. We both expected something to happen, for an officer or a detective or even a federal agent of some kind to stop by, question us and maybe even arrest us. But none did.

I tuned our radio to the local news, and even spent some time surfing the web trying to find someone talking about what had happened. Frustrated, I even dialed the local police number.

“Hello, Three Rivers Police?” a familiar voice answered.

“Um, hi.” I said.

“Oh, glad to see someone finally figured out which numbers to use when.”

“Yeah, well…” I stumbled over my words for a second. “I’m just trying to find out what happened to that pit we reported earlier.”

“Don’t worry sir, we’ve charged the owners with illegal dumping. They’ll be paying the bill when we clean it up.”

“But what about the suspicious items?”

“Suspicious items?”

“Yeah, you had them tested.”

“Oh, those. Came back clean. Look, sir, if you don’t have anything to report…”

“And.. the officers, last night? Did they come back? Where are they right now? Hello?

The phone gave me a dial tone. I sighed and put it away.

Well, I thought to myself, I guess that’s that. To the rest of the outside world, nothing happened last night.

That, more than anything else, made me uneasy.

***

We killed a few more hours by recording an outro to the events that happened. Zoey sat in front of the camera, dramatically recounting all the little pieces of trash and trinkets we encounter in our day-to-day lives.

“So the next time you throw away a broken pen, or toss a candy wrapper out your car window, just remember what you saw here, and be careful. After all, who knows what happens to the things we leave behind?”

I still internally cringe whenever I think about that line. Our scripted writing came a long way since the beginning of the show, no doubt about that.

Once that was finished, we were ready to finally start the R.V. up and head out. But we spent a few moments just sitting in the seats, not saying anything.

“We need to ignore the research topics” Zoey declared, breaking the silence.

I stared at her, confused.

“Well…” she continued, “think about it. We spent all that time, tracking down all those urban legends, and we don’t get anything. But here, behind the Walmart, of all places, we find something. Something it looks like no one else saw. And correct me if I’m wrong, but the ‘Worlds of Wonder’ painting was the exact same way.”

I shook my head. “No, you’re right. I couldn’t find anything on those paintings.”

She nodded. “And if that’s true, we’re not going to find the spooky stuff by following where everyone else has gone. We need to beat our own path. That’s where the real things are.”

There were a few more moments of silence. “How much do you think we can find?” I asked.

“We found those by accident. If we look for them, I’m sure we’ll find more than we know what to do with” she said with an excited grin.

How prophetic she could be sometimes.

#short_story #creepy_america #series #weird fiction #horror

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