#SCREAMS INTO THE VOID BANGS FIST ON GLASS

[milksnake-tea]

so uh... that dan heng trailer huh

[spiderwell]

Wax Grapes

a pocketboy eats a bowl of wax grapes

~~~

an owner leaves his hungry pocketboy on a coffee table with a bowl of fake wax grapes, when he returns he is enraged to find the boy eating the grapes, the boy said they tasted bad, but he wanted to try all the colors, too stupid to realize he was eating the decor 

as punishment the owner tells the boy he needs to finish eating the remaining grapes, the boy takes the biggest bites he can, swallowing quickly, he cries as the wax builds up and sticks to teeth and throat, making it difficult to even breathe over the snot in his nose, the owner reprimands him for taking so long and begins to force feed his boy, stuffing a finger down his throat, pushing the wax down his throat, clamping a hand over his mouth and massaging his throat to make sure every last grape gets into stomach

the grapes balloon his belly into a dense dome obscenely protruding from his body, it gurgles as it expands and makes room for the grapes, the boy cries a multitude of apologies, but the owner knows he is only sorry he got caught, if he was so hungry, he can deal with the consequences of a full tummy, if he's in so much pain, he can push out the grapes himself

~

the pocketboy is left in the glass jar for a whole day, his belly visibly cramping, begging the man to help him, the wax has made his poor belly so hard, he cries and bangs his fists against the glass, the indigestible wax bloating his belly, he cries that his belly is bursting, everything hurts, he cries until he is wheezing, clenching his huge belly and sits in the center of the jar, sitting with his legs obscenely spread, dense belly resting on ground

when the pocketboy is pale and is deliriously moaning in pain, the man finally retrieves him from the jar, lifting him up is enough to shift the wax in his belly, allowing the wax to start passing through his guts, slowly making its way through his body, the boy weakly begs his owner to help him, the wax is so hard inside him

the owner pokes one finger into the pocketboy's belly, forcing the wax to travel further down his guts, waking the boy up out of his stupor with a scream, he digs his finger further into the boys guts, feeling the wax slowly start to move downwards, the boy chokes on the bile rising from his stomach, shaking as his guts are slowly filled with wax

eventually his fingers aren't enough and the owner puts his hand around the boy, squeezing his midsection, forcing the wax to flood through his body, the pressure builds within the boy and he jerks in his owner's hand, trying to get away from the feeling, the wax a solid tube, twisting and bending throughout his insides, his legs shake and he lifts them up, feeling the wax near his exit

the pressure released in an explosive force, pushing out everything that was in the boy's guts, along with the first of the wax grapes, the boy wails as the grapes shoot out of his little bottom, stretching him on exit, the wax never digested, the lumpy deformed chunks stretching him open as they leave, he cries that it hurts his poor tummy is so full and his guts are sore and cramping

at hearing the complaints, the owner released the boy, letting him fall to the table on his hands and knees, the owner tells the boy if he wants his help, he'll need to appreciate his help, the boy gasps and cries, thanking his owner for helping him, he can't do this by himself, it hurts, he can't tell the difference between real and fake grapes and he can't push out the wax without his help, please help him get all the wax out of him, 

pleased with the boy's apology, the owner relents and holds the boy with both hands, rolling his thumbs down the boy's belly, squeezing the wax out his poor hole like he was squeezing a tube of toothpaste, the boy twitches as his insides are voided, head thrown back in pain, limbs spread wide and shaking, the owner palpates the boy's belly, pinching his midsection between his fingers to make sure he's empty, the boy thanks his owner again, crying in relief to be through the ordeal, the owner pets his head, telling him next time he won't get off as easy, however if he leaves more wax objects around the house for his pocketboy to find, that's his business

~~~

Inspired by @boytumms post:

https://www.tumblr.com/boytumms/749332986528399360/you-know-that-wax-fruit-that-sits-in-bowls-on

[that-kenlee-guy]

Here he is, S4 Kenny post car-crash because S3 bullshit for killing him still fills me with spite several years later^^ (hair is tucked inside when outside of camps) Thank you to my friend Ditzy for helping me make him

It was all in an instant, a flash one could say. He laid there on the cold pavement, shards of glass lodged in his hand and cuts litering his face. Vision blurred and hearing muffled, yet Clementine cries were still heard clear as day. She rushed by his side and tried to help him, but he panicked. He couldn't feel his legs, his body wouldn't listen to him. She assumed it was a good thing, but in reality, it wasn't.

Clementine tried to summon her strength, begged her muscles to pull Kenny back to the car as walkers surrounded the duo like a pack of wolves. Death draws near, just a few yards away before being devoured by rotting monsters. To make matters worse, AJ's frighten cries attracted some to the car. The situation turned grim as time grew shorter each second that passes.

He pushes her out the way and took a shot at a walker that snuck up on her. He begged her to leave, to save AJ and leave him behind. That angered her, skin turning red and tears stinging Clementine’s eyes. She drew her weapon and fired some shots at the walkers banging on the car window. She screamed, shouted, tore Kenny apart when he told her to leave him behind.

He was certain that his tale ended here, but Clementine claimed he was wrong. She brought up the past. How Kenny escaped dying twice, stared down in the maws of death with frighten eyes, yet proceed to stick his head in the darkness to see the light at the end of the void. She said he wasn't Kenny. The Kenny she knew wouldn't give up. The Kenny she knew stepped over the line of morality and did whatever it took. Rather if it was good or bad, even if some viewed him as a monster, even if some viewed him as a savior. he do it all again if it meant to live the next day, for him and his loved ones. That's who Kenny was to Clementine, not this man groveling on the streets.

He was speechless as the world froze for a second. He saw everything in that short moment. The situation he's in, AJ in danger, Clementine trying to drag him, and his broken legs. He grit his teeth, he balled his fist, his blood boiled as flipped himself over and aimed. He took two more clean shots at walkers approaching the car. He watched them fall as he began to crawl to the vehicle. Clementine was right, this wasn't who he was. Kenny didn't care if he was just a head on a chair, he won't stop until he's locked behind the gates of hell. And even if he was, he'll bust right out. He isn't a quitter and definitely not now.

As Clementine provided cover, Kenny made his way to the car. However, the vehicle will not move, even if he does manages to repair it. Out of options, they locked themselves inside as walkers surrounded them. Windows on the verge of breaking with only a few rounds left. But just when all hope was lost, a roar of another car came. Someone swerved sharp, slamming into some walkers and smacking them away for the windows.

Their eyes couldn't believe what they were seeing. A friend they were sure died came to their rescue, Arthur. He gave them a clear opening to get inside and they wasted no time climbing in the backseat and make their escape. When they made distance, they made a discovery that Kenny was bitten on his leg. Not afraid of losing already paralyzed leg, they removed it before the infection spread. After sealing the wound, Arthur took them to a small camp. In a matter of hours, he returned with a wheelchair specialized for traveling and different terrain for Kenny. It fitted nicely for him as he sat AJ in his lap, promising him and Clementine that nothing will stop him from leaving their side, even himself.

[jackgoodfellow]

🎵 Get in the water. 🎵

An excerpt from an OC animatic I'm working on! Poor Kuruk!! He'll be fine! Probably.

Video description under cut:

A short video with no audio, showing 12 illustrations in a roughly animated sequence:

A muscular native man with short hair is shown in shades of purple, looking behind himself in a panic. (His name is Kuruk.) Behind him is a blank 3-way mirror. Behind that is a shifting black void.

Kuruk backs up and the mirror becomes larger until he is small and cast in its shadow, still looking over his shoulder. As he gets close to the mirror, 3 distinct reflections appear, one in each panel, all with their back towards him.

On the left panel, a young smiling man with a long braid is dressed in a wedding white military suit and holding the hand of a lace-clad figure who does not fit in the mirror panel. He has a lily in his hair and is shown is highly saturated bright colors.

In the middle panel, a knight in spotless shining white armor with a feathered red plume on his helmet is holding up two swords, crossed above his head in an X. The swords are dripping with blood.

On the right, a large figure in dark armor clenches his fist and looks away as though in shame.

In the next frame, the glass of the mirror begins to crack as all three figures turn around to face towards the camera.

In the left panel, the young man in his wedding outfit bangs on the glass, cracking it with his fist. He is screaming at Kuruk as though begging for help, desperate and crying. His long hair is down and messy. The lily in his hair is wilted. He is alone.

In the middle, the white knight appears to be emerging from the bounds of the mirror, menacingly reaching towards Kuruk from behind, the red plume of his helmet flowing up like fire. The white knight is covered in blood stains now, and the slit in his helmet for his eyes glows red. The metal grate over the mouth part of his helmet also glows red from a light source within.

On the right, the figure in dark armor is facing towards the camera, but his head is still turned down and to the side. He is wearing a mask under his open-faced helmet. He holds two blood stained swords crossed over each other in an X that rests up against his own neck.

In the next frame, the mirror panels swing open and distort as the White Knight bursts forth in a huge monstrous form to grab Kuruk in its massive claws. The grate of the helmet opens into jagged metal teeth with a hellish red light coming from the mouth. It appears to be smiling cruelly. Kuruk looks shocked as he grabs at his neck, trying to keep from choking. Glass all over the mirror is cracking more and more.

At the same time, the image of the young man on the left becomes distorted and corrupted, and the man in dark armor in the right panel holds the same pose except now the mask beneath his helmet is the face of a skull.

In the next frame, the side panels of the mirror open wide enough that they swing behind the middle panel, which distorts and inflates even more as the monster knight becomes bigger, sharper, and rougher looking. The plume of feathers now looks like a roaring flame. The monster opens its mouth and holds Kuruk up to it with a look of glee. The other reflections are too dark and distorted to be clear. From this angle, Kuruk's face is not visible.

In the next frame, the mouth of the creature opens into a massive gaping maw of jagged metal teeth surrounding a swirling red vortex inside its throat. The creature feeds Kuruk into its mouth as Kuruk's hand reaches out uselessly for help, his legs kicking at nothing.

In the next frame, the panels of the mirror begin to swing closed again, except now every panel shows a swirling red vortex behind metal bars, split along a jagged horizontal line, as though the monster has closed its teeth into a prison on all sides.

The mirror folds in on itself to become a single dark gray panel that distorts in shape until the final frame in which it becomes a cracked gravestone with "R.I.P." scrawled on it, poking out of an abstract patch of overgrown grass in the swirling void. On either side, a stem of lilies grow. In front of the tombstone, Kuruk's forearm sticks up out of the grass, open hand stiff with tension, as though reaching.

Fade to black. End video description.

[taggedmemes]

SENTENCE MEME THE WOMBATS / FIX YOURSELF, NOT THE WORLD

spare me the drone of your conversation.

spare me my lack of sophistication.

i don't wanna sit around and just get high.

i'm all dressed up.

you walk in the room and my tongue gets tied.

it's such a heavenly sight.

i just hope i don't ruin this.

i just hope i don't ruin this, getting too fucked up to remember this.

you flip me upside down.

you take me out of my head.

i'm kind of getting into it.

you pull me out of my lows.

let's see where this shit goes.

i can't recall all the things you said.

i'm feeling pretty good about the two of us.

i've got a couple secrets.

dwelling on the past just kills the vibe.

one last slide down the rabbit hole.

there's still no room in paradise.

the kids aren't wrong.

i'm looking for a spark in the heart.

you can drag the years behind you, or you can let them go.

i see a tunnel at the end of the light.

i'm always a mess come the end of the night.

i'm forever locking myself in the glass of your rearview.

if you ever leave, i'm coming with you.

you know i'll do whatever you want me to.

i'll get out of bed.

i'm your reluctant optimist.

i'm stuck to the gum that's stuck on your shoe.

am i losing you in the dark?

no more breaking stuff.

no more acting up.

you only ever catch me out.

if you ever leave me, i'm coming with you.

you can scream like a banshee and still nothing comes.

i am ready for the high.

nothing works worse than the weekend fix.

i'm ready for the high life.

a kiss without a fist fight.

a bang without the dynamite.

i always think in extremes.

i should be pulling you close to me.

maybe generation x are the chosen ones.

they've got everything they need beneath their aching thumbs.

underneath the low there's a lower part.

no hotel guaranteed.

a professional learns from all their rookie moves.

there must be some method to the madness.

just one more smile and then i'll go.

this could be a holiday or an intersection where two roads fuse.

stop. i don't need to know.

fuck my sadness.

fuck our options.

fuck the life plan.

no more worry, i've killed it with both hands.

just give me something to light the fuse.

she was dreaming of her big break.

she constructed the right attitude.

the universe has got plans.

competition can dry you up.

people don't change people, time does.

we're all trying to get better.

we've all had quite enough of this pleasant displeasure.

i'd love to help you out.

i'd love to get us off this swing, this roundabout.

today i had a big idea.

there's no room for mistakes out here.

everybody wants to be the man.

everything i love is going to die.

keep your big mouth shut.

stop wasting my time.

icarus was my best friend.

i'm going to make him proud in the end.

there's no experimenting here.

no threesomes like we talked about when we were blacking out.

what a crazy pranged out year.

we spent most of it kissing teeth.

the moment starts to pass.

i start reverting back.

sell my spine to save my neck.

i'm starting to forget.

howl into the void again.

why don't you chop my tongue out and put my insides inside a jar.

you shake me up, you shake me down.

work's easy, but life's getting hard.

you don't speak for me.

could use some peer pressure.

you're so well put together.

tell me, sugar.

is there something i need to know?

pull the trigger.

pull me back from the edge.

pull me out of my head.

she is wildfire.

i could live in here forever.

let's find a drug to fix me.

guess i'm always blinded by the emperor's new clothes.

there's always something lurking down the rabbit hole.

in the back of your mind there's a crosshair.

don't wanna cause any trouble.

don't wanna poke the bear in the zoo.

drama becomes elastic then snaps back into place.

i saw your temperament running out the gate.

don't wanna stand in your way.

i'm pretty much worried about everything.

i worry that i'm worrying so much.

i worry too much.

multiples of three keep me warm, keep me stable.

superstition's a wasp at your picnic.

i'll say it again but without feeling.

i'll get what i think if i keep on thinking.

it's not paranoia if it's really there.

i'm not sure how much milk is enough milk.

bang my head against a wall.

i let the smallest of things ruin my day.

i'm the voicemail that you coulda shoulda checked sooner.

i'm the only obstruction in the way.

i don't wanna lose myself in someone else's game.

[deedoop]

The Truth Is Out There

For Harringrove Week: X- Files

“Aliens aren’t real.” Steve Harrington laid there on the hood of the camaro, staring up at a black sky, one full of stars. His voice was certain, cocky even, it was an offhand comment, one made as the two stargazed. Beside him was Billy Hargrove, newbie to Hawkins though one really couldn’t call themselves a newbie after a year of living there. Billy didn’t quite look at the stars, his eyes more focused on the tops of the trees swaying in a windless night.

He was quiet. Quiet because he knew the truth, he knew a lot of things, things he wished he had never known, things like his father’s rage, his mother’s’ absence, his own hurt. Each of these were etched in his brain like a book engraved in stone, unable to be erased without considerable effort. He knew things, things Steve Harrington couldn’t even fathom, the outline of a father’s fist on ones face, the pang of hunger, and most of all, the fear of the unknown.

Not just of angry fathers, but of things he had seen, had experienced, memories etched into his brain, only partially, some chiseled out. The only remnant of the memories was the before and the deep scratches that were left in its wake, scratched into the stone. Billy Hargrove knew. He knew the truth. A truth he knew since he was ten years old.

It had been a cold night, unusually cold for California. Young Billy, ten at most, fresh wounds from his mother’s absence, fresher from his father’s fists, had closed the heavy oak window, careful to not slam it. He caught a glimpse of the sky that night, a blank black empty sky, devoid of stars. It was strange to say the least and the trees in the distance dared not move an inch, the wind dared not breath. The night was heavy with its strangeness, but Billy was cold and his small body filled with rage enough for two grown men.

He found his small twin bed and buried himself beneath the covers, a shiver running up his spine. The windless night had suddenly become loud, become terrifyingly loud with a hum that filled each crevice of his body, that made his brain ache in ways he could not explain to this day. The windows banged open, glass cracking onto the off white carpet of his room. Light seemed to explode, quite literally exploded. It was like a flash bang had gone off in his room. He screamed. Oh how he screamed, but he couldn’t hear himself over the humming that only got louder and louder until it felt as if his very cells would shake apart.

Than there nothing. There was light. Than nothing. Nothing for a long while, just darkness in its all consuming form. The only penetration to that nothingness was the strange high pitched chattering somewhere in the void. The young boy could not move, could not speak, could not move his eyes open. He was paralyzed and somewhere deep in his heart, Billy Hargrove knew he was not home any longer. On that day, Billy Hargrove learned more truths than he could bare, more truths than he ever wished to know. There was a sharp pain somewhere at the base of his skull, the sound of a dentistry drill filling his ears, the only sense besides the pain he had.

He could not scream, could not scream as the dentist drill pushed its way into the base of his skull, into his neck; the cold metal he felt beneath his flesh offered little comfort. Than there was nothing. True utter nothing. No pain, no feeling, no memory. It was like someone had taken a long nail and chiseled across the stone that held his memories, had etched out all the important details, had painfully scraped it clean.

His head screamed when he woke up, his brain felt like it was boiling, like it had been lit on fire. For a brief moment, he was sure he had been dreaming, that he had gotten a migraine and none of this had happened. He winced, nausea rocking across his stomach, threatening to spill whatever remained in the young boys guts. A bad dream caused by the worst headache of his life. He tried to tell himself that, tried to ignore the way it felt as if his insides had been rearranged, like someone had played inside his brains.

He stood up slow and cautiously so as to not fall or puke. The glass dug into the fleshy soles of his feet and no longer could the boy pretend that nothing had happened. No longer could he pretend that humans were the only intelligent creature around. He had witnessed something, something no man or boy should ever have to witness and part of it had been erased from his memory, trying to even think about it made his stomach hurt worse.

When Neil found him, retching out the broken window, feet bloody, room messed as if a hurricane had blown through, oh he had been angry, demanded an explanation and when he got it was only angrier. How could Billy fear Neil when the boogeyman was real? When there were all powerful creatures that had taken him away and done things he couldn’t remember?

Neil didn’t believe him. Neither did nobody else. Just the troublemaker Billy Hargrove trying to stir up trouble. But Billy knew. He knew the truth was out there, that something extraterrestrial existed and it had taken him and taken God knows how many others. He feared answers, feared delving deeper, but he always looked at the rags, reading about alien abductees, spent his time in libraries studying the existence of UFOs because Billy knew that one day they might come back. Knew they might take him again.

He rubbed the back of his neck, the night in Hawkins had gotten cold and Steve was still staring up at the stars. At the base of his skull was a scar and when Billy felt around, he could feel a lump, small and barely noticeable, but he knew. He knew the truth. He breathed out a long inhale of cigarette smoke finally spoke. “The truth is out there.”

[a-reader-and-a-writer-for-all]

The Only Way

Fandom: For All Mankind, Ed Baldwin

Summary: When your ship is damaged and the escape pod can only save one person, Ed makes the ultimate sacrifice.

Word Count: 625

TW: Love Confession, Goodbyes, Implied Character Death

There was no warning. Either someone at NASA had screwed up and missed it on the monitors or it was just a freak occurrence. But whatever the reason, one minute everything was fine and the next the world around you exploded. A meteorite had slammed into the Lunar Base, forming a large, irreparable gap right in the center of the station.

Ed grabbed at your hand and helped drag your smaller frame towards the escape pod even as everything around you was being sucked out of the newly formed hole. It was also getting more difficult to breathe as more and more of your oxygen was sucked into the void of space. Yet somehow, the two of you managed to reach the escape pod at the back of the base.

But just as you wrenched the door open and began to climb in, you heard Ed ominously mutter, “No….”

You glanced over to where he was looking, and your heart dropped as you noticed one of the oxygen tanks connected to the pod had been crushed. Meaning there would not be enough air for both of you to make it back to Earth.

The two of you exchanged a knowing look, and you whispered, “Ed…”

But before you could say more, he roughly grabbed your arm and pulled you into his chest. The next thing you knew, your face was engulfed by his hands and his lips crashed into yours. You had dreamed about kissing Ed Baldwin since the moment that you met him, but you never expected it to happen under these circumstances. His lips were warm, and comforting compared to the cold, empty expanse of space that was currently threatening to drag you out into it.

As he pulled away, Ed stared longingly into your eyes and whispered, “I’ve always wanted to do that.” Then before you could react, he shoved you backwards into the escape pod.

You stumbled and landed hard on your back. As you scrambled frantically to your feet, you heard the door to the pod close and lock into place. Looking up, you saw Ed still on the other side of the door, a sad smile spread across his lips as he fiddled with the controls.

Running over, you banged on the window desperately trying to stop him before it was too late. “Ed, stop! We can…we can figure something out. There has to be another way!”

He chuckled softly, but the sound lacked any traces of humor. “We don’t have time for that, sweetheart. This is the only way. And if only one of us is getting home, it’s going to be you.”

“Ed, think of your family. They need you!” you begged.

“And yours doesn’t? Go home to your kids. Live your life. Be happy.” He pressed his large hand up against the glass window of the pod. “But just…. don’t forget me.”

A single tear slowly rolled down your cheek as you pressed your hand against the glass to match his. “Never. I’ll think of you every time I look at the moon.”

He smiled and gave you a small nod, before jamming his fist into the launch button. Your screams of protest soon died away as the pod blasted off from the base and took to the sky. The last glimpse Ed had of you was your face a mess of tears as you screamed his name. He had never seen anyone so beautiful before.

And as the escape pod flew farther and farther from the Lunar Base, Ed couldn’t help but smile even as he could feel the oxygen levels dropping and his head starting to spin. The world was collapsing, and the only thing that mattered to him was that you were alive.

[jb2856]

I wrote a little something!!

Although this is an original piece and no beloved characters will make an appearance ( I imagined Fransisco morales as our mystery man in this.) I wanted to share this with someone :) and I decided throwing it out into the void was better than keeping it to myself. SO enjoy if you will!

Asks, helpful comments, suggestions, and tips are always welcomed! Inbox is open :))

Titled : The Invisible Kind

Rating: maybe Teen? It’s kinda depression heavy.

Tags/warnings: None

For as long as I can remember, I've always felt an overwhelming sense of loneliness.

I can be in a room surrounded by people, but I'm still alone.

When I was younger, I had people in my life who I was meant to trust, they would act as if I wasn't there.

They do not care to notice me,

I'm not exceptional.

Even in finding love,

that loneliness lingers,

a constant shadow consuming all that I am or once was.

That ache in the middle of my chest, that rears its ugly head.

I find solace in my dreams,

and in the literature I read,

escapism a mastered art.

———————————————————————————

A woman stands, her screams unheard, her fists silently banging against an invisible but solid barrier. No one can hear her, no one cares to see her. Her image is just out of sight.

Her world is painted in a sorrowful blue, stuck in a loop. Waiting for someone to come along and see her. Her life is reduced to an invisible pain, stuck in a box she cannot escape.

A man hurriedly walks alone, in the direction of distant screaming, bumping past people walking in the other direction. He turns his head about, concerned why no one else is listening to the insistent pleas of this woman. His yellow colored world echoes the hope he feels to help her.

Eventually her screams give out, like clockwork she sinks to her knees, quiet sobs still escaping her throat.

Meanwhile he is still searching for her tirelessly. An irrevocable need to find her, her screams he'll never forget. Afterall he was once like her.

She lived in this cycle for years, waiting for someone to notice her, to speak to her, to see her.

She did, until one man broke the cycle.

He sees her first.

He calls her name.

She doesn't hear him. After all, who would be speaking to her?

He knows it will be hard for her. But she has to listen, just like he did.

He puts his yellow palm against her blue one, shattering the invisible glass between them and all around her.

Shards rain down between them, in a twisted form of renewal.

At the feeling and contact, her wet eyes whip to his. Blinking in astonishment, she stares up at him.

“You can…see me?” Her blue subtly starts to fade, turning a pale shade.

The man smiles wide, “of course I can.”

The woman looks down to where their hands are touching, his radiant yellow leeching the sorrowful color from her fingertips.

“How…how is it possible?”

“Well it's simple isn't it?” She shakes her head, the confusion still clear in her expression.

“I just…saw you.” he says simply, shrugging.

She blinked once, then her lips started to wobble, sobs overtaking her once again. This time though, the tears were good natured, the sorrow slowly drained out of her.

She once again glances at their hands, she sees that her hand has started to fill with a radiant yellow, washing the blue away. She swallows hard once, working her throat, then slowly looks at the man and smiles.

She then takes in her surroundings, looking around, her world painted in a new light. ‘Thank you.” She mumbles.

She doesn't know how, but he has helped her see clearly.

He could see her.

And now she sees herself, through his eyes.

He smiles back at her, pulling her into a hug and whispers, “I knew you could do it.”

[angelofthemorgue]

PROJECT OVERBYE

Lilliana stretches out to her full height as she steps through the doors, rolling her shoulders. Her bones crack as she cranks her neck left and then right. What little shithead is messing with her equipment now? The bodies need to stay in the autopsy area for her hands only. No one else’s.

“You’re going to ruin it!” she shouts, compelled to as her throat burns for the noise, for the distraction from the buzzing in her head, and she marches through the hall. She’s stopped only by a figure on the other side of the glass door. She stares up at Lilliana, dark eyes wide and terrified. Her face is still red raw, glowing, from the goggle surgery. What puts her off the most is that she is nearly a double of her. But she’s used to seeing this figure. She’s used to having her daughter approach her in the dark. Not quite like this, though. And not dressed like that. “I’m not falling for it this time, Pusher!” Lilliana hollers out into the void, approaching the door.

The young woman puts her hand on the glass. “Mom?”

Lilliana hates the hesitation, because it hurts. She has to perform well, else she might get punished. She has to perform well, else she will lose everything. “It’s not real. You’re not real. It’s not real.” still, she can’t open the door. Her hands are glued to her sides as she gazes at what she thinks is a vision. “I can’t do this right now.”

“Mom!” the girl repeats and slams her palm onto the glass. The thud makes Lilliana jump. She can’t touch things. She has never been able to.

“Lacey?” the word feels cold on her breath, as if it’s iced the room. Lacey leans in further, but the door’s locked on Lilliana’s side. The woman finally raises her hand, and puts her palm to Lacey’s, feeling the warmth emanating from her. She’s real, she’s real, she’s real. “What’re you doing here.”

“I came to find you.” the whisper is enough to trigger something, and Lilliana steps back, trying to put space between her – more than the door. She digs the butt of her palm into her forehead, hissing as the buzzing and screeching in her head gets louder. Grittier. “Mom?”

“No, no, no...” Lilliana grips her head, scrunching her eyes shut to try and ease the headache, but nothing helps when what’s left of your brain feels like it will explode, “You. Cannot. Be. Here.”

It’s like something is dialling up the pain to a hundred. It’s like the switch in her skull is flicking on and off over and over. “I will, I will, I will!” Lilliana slams her hands against her head repeatedly, making Lacey bang her fists on the glass.

“What’s going on? Mom?”

“Back away from the door, Lacey.”

“What?”

“Back. Away.” is the last she can warn, hair hanging in her face as she finally embraces the pain, and straightens up. Lilliana takes careful steps towards the door, fingers twitching as she takes her mallet from her belt. She can’t give any more warnings. Not even Lacey’s scream as she’s thrown back by Lilliana kicking the door open is enough to stop her.

“Run.”

“There has been a development on the Mortician – Doctor Easterman.” the younger doctor knocks on the door before walking in. He knows he can; he knows Easterman has claimed before that his closed door still means an open door policy, but no one actually believes that. This time however, he takes advantage. He has to.

“How so?” Easterman looks over. He seems frail. Perhaps it’s the dimly lit office, or the clinician standing next to him with two different pill packs in her hands.

“Her interactions with a new reagent are... Concerning.” Alex presses one of the many buttons at the security desk, and The Hospital’s cameras start to appear on the feeds, “We have reason to believe they know each other. It could throw everything Lil- the Mortician has gone through off.”

“If you call her by her first name, then do so. It is not the first time I have seen doctors humanise the Prime Assets. It’s within their skillset.”

“Right...” Alex doesn’t like that. What stops one of them being overly charismatic and getting out in the Facility? “Well, the reagent applied under the name Lacey Hooligan. Which is the father’s name.”

“How is this possible? Perry found the girl’s body.”

“Perry found someone’s body.” the clinician points out, and Easterman bristles. He doesn’t like being made a fool of, “In the house of a mortician, who has access to bodies and equipment.”

“She had fingerprints,” Easterman looks over at the young doctor, “I assume you’ve checked.”

“They match the reagent’s fingerprints.”

Easterman nods. Lilliana had been so determined to shield her daughter from him that she faked her death. God knows where she shipped her off to and yet: here she is. Lacey Weston, giving herself freely to him, as if she is drawn to him. It will eat Lilliana up inside.

“Not the ideal candidate.” is all he admits out loud, staring at the screens. Lacey is running, and running, and running. Lilliana gives chase, only speeding up when she sees a grunt catch sight of Lacey and give real chase.

“Well, Doctor, her passport says twenty-six but if she is Lilliana’s daughter, then she is only nineteen. It goes against one of the few regulations anyone checks on-”

“She wants to be twenty-six, she’s twenty-six. Who am I to stand in the way of progress.” Easterman stares at the younger doctor, eyes narrowing, “What was your name?”

“Alexander O’Rourke, Sir.”

“Let’s put you in charge of Lacey. Do not let her know we know - but keep a note of how having family might affect her therapy. She’s supposed to know no one. The visage is supposed to be me, otherwise the therapy will not work. However...” he lights a cigarette, ignoring the loud tut of the clinician, “Let’s see what this can do to her psyche. It’s good to have foils.”

“Yes, sir.”

“I’ll get you a write-up. PROJECT OVERBYE is yours.”

[jamie-leah]

Traitor

Bucky x Reader

Oneshot

Summary: Everyone thinks you're a traitor but Bucky isn't convinced.

Word: 2592

Warnings: Swearing, action stuff, hints at abuse and violence at the end.

A/N: I had a half formed daydream that turned into this. Starts strong, ends weak, enjoy!

Oneshot Masterlist Series Masterlist

Steve throws your file on the desk in front of Bucky. Bucky just stares at your face on the front of the folder, pinned by a silver paper clip.

Silver was your favourite type of jewellery. Bucky remembered storing the information away for when he bought you a silver necklace for your birthday not long ago.

“I’m sorry, Buck, but we had an operative confirm everything I just told you. Y/N is a contract killer, an assassin and she was sent here to infiltrate and kill. Namely, all of us.”

Bucky hears the words coming from Steve’s mouth, but he can’t understand them. Images of you flash in his mind. You laughing at one of his lame jokes, you crying in his arms from a nightmare, you underneath him moaning his name as he kisses a trail down your neck.

Bucky shakes his head, “I don’t believe that Steve, I can’t. Who’s the source? How do you know they’re legit?”

Steve picks up a remote and points it at a screen in the room. It blinks to life on a still image of you in a restaurant, kissing the cheek of one of the most prominent mob bosses in the city and known Hydra agent.

Bucky stands so fast his chair cracks on the floor as he tears out of the office at full speed. He skips passed the elevator and takes the stairs, missing steps in his rush.

He keeps going and going until he hits the lowest level underneath the tower and storms passed all the guards. None of them challenge him, too afraid of the former Winter Soldier to get in his way.

As Bucky gets to the cells, he grabs an agent by the scruff and grinds out, “which cell?”

They all knew who he was talking about. Everyone would be talking about this for a while to come. The agent points into the open space of cells and stutters, “its, c-cell 203”.

Bucky drops the agent and stalks through the cells until he finally comes to 203. He steps into view with clenched fists and doesn’t pause before he asks, “why?”

You sit on the edge of the cot, elbows on knees, staring at the grey wall opposite. It takes you a moment to build up the courage to look at him. You never intended for this to happen. You never wanted to get feelings involved, but as you look at Bucky, you know it’s far too late for that now. Now you have a mess on your hands.

You debate how to play this. Do you keep up the contract killer façade or do you confess, tell him everything you’ve ever wanted to tell another human being before?

“Barnes, I should have known you would pay me a visit sooner rather than later.”

Bucky felt like you had struck him in the face with the way you addressed him, but he holds firm, “why?”

“Why what? I’m afraid you’ll have to be more specific”, you reply coolly as you stand to face him.

Bucky changes his question, “is it true? Are you a contract killer?”

It takes you a few moments to keep the mask in place, “yes”.

You watch the pain flash across his features for the briefest of moments before he locks it away to be felt in private. It breaks your heart, but you’re so used to the feeling it never shows on your face.

Bucky goes to turn from you, wanting to get away, the sight of you too much to bear. You throw a question out into the void between you before he can retreat, “are you really going to leave without asking me the question you’ve been dying to ask me?”

Bucky never turns back to look at you, but he whispers, “was any of it ever real?”

Despite knowing this was the question, despite hearing it from a few people across your lifetime, it was the first time it ever hit you in the gut with such force you had to take a silent gulp of air before choking out, “no”.

He leaves without another word.

You wait a few days. Working out the routine of the place before you wait for your next move.

You wait with your back to a small portion of the concrete wall next to the cell door. A blind spot. And when the guard brings your food and slides it under the metal bars, he looks up to find you missing.

Just as he steps closer to look, you strike. You shoot your arms between the bars and pull so hard his head bangs into the metal and he crumples, out cold.

You drag is body parallel to the door and you sweep his body for keys. You start to lose hope when your hand flits over cool metal and a little jingle rings out.

You wait fifteen minutes until lights out and the use the keys. You drag the guard into the cell, swapping your uniforms before closing the door and locking him in. You check all your hair is tucked until the cap before heading for the locked door between freedom and your prison.

You rap on the metal with your heart beating furiously against your ribcage. But the door opens without a problem and you have to stop yourself from sprinting down the hall and up the stairwell.

Once you make it up one flight of stairs with no alarms raised you start to sprint. Before you leave, you have to make it back to your room for your go bag. You can’t leave it when it has all the information you need for what started this all off.

You run and run and run. You run until your lungs burn with a fire that’s been flowing in your veins since you were born. You run until your legs scream at you to stop and just when you don’t think you can take any more flights of stairs, you make it to the top.

You stop. Your hand on the handle, taking a moment to get your breathing under control. You push the handle down slowly and open the door a crack to find the hallway in darkness.

You slip through and creep on the tiles without a sound as you make it to the first spare room in the hall.

You get into the room no problem and let out a breath when you realise no one knows you used this room to stash your information.

You waste no time in grabbing your go back from the closet, checking everything you need is in there before heading for the door again. Three steps from the exit and alarms scream out, waking everyone from their slumber. The alarm is followed by a female robotic voice, “alert, alert, prisoner escape. Alert, alert, prisoner escape.”

You swear under your breath as you rush out the door to see Bucky, Natasha and Sam at the end of the hall, near the stairway. Your only exit.

They spot you seconds after you spot them, and you take off running in the opposite direction. You can’t afford a hand to hand with all three of them. As confident as you are in your abilities they have just as much, and you don’t want to hurt them.

They shout in your direction, but you ignore them as you unzip your bag and rummage around for a miracle. You get to the living space when you finally feel it and a flimsy plan comes to mind.

You turn, gun in both hands as you drop the go bag. Bucky, Natasha and Sam all creep into the room, guns pointed in your direction as yours is in theirs.

“There’s nowhere else to go now, Y/N,” Sam says in his calm way.

You hold firm, the sofas keeping the four of you apart. You look in Bucky’s direction as you talk, “things are more complicated than they seem. And I’m sorry you were caught up in it. I’m not a good person and I’ll get what I deserve, but I have something I need to do first.”

“And what’s that? Kills us?”, Nat asks.

You shake your head, still looking at Bucky, “If I wanted to kill you, I could have done it three times over. You’re not my mission.”

“Then give yourself up and explain.” Sam tries to reason.

You lower your gun slowly, “it would take too long, and you may never believe me. I can’t afford that, and I’ll never get a chance like this again.”

Bucky remains silent throughout the whole exchange, but you study each other the entire time. You try to convey that you lied earlier before reaching up your arm with lightning speed.

Two shots and the chandelier that Stark insisted on installing for the living room crashes in front of the three as you turn and shoot the glass window. As the glass spiderwebs, you drop the gun and run at full speed. You have a moment to acknowledge that throwing yourself from the top of the tower is the dumbest move you’ve ever made as the air rushes to greet you.

You twist with a hand in your pocket and throw upwards, watching and praying for your miracle to work as the rope and hook catches and you plummet.

You fall down the building on the rope watching the ground and unclip at the last second, rolling with the momentum as the impact jars through your bones.

Bucky couldn’t believe you threw yourself out the window. He was the first to recover, leaping over the lights and the sofa to dive head first after you. He digs his metal hand into the concrete and slides down after you.

He sees you roll and run immediately like the pro that you are and wastes no time pursuing you.

You dart between traffic and glance behind to see him behind you. You growl in frustration at the stubborn solider, having to change your plans once again as you head for the roads.

You instinctively feel Bucky gaining on you with the serum pumping through his veins so when you spot a cargo truck coming on the road below. You don’t hesitate to jump off the road you’re on and slam into the truck underneath.

Your lungs scream for the third time that night as all the air leaves them, but you pay no attention as you look up to find Bucky staring after you.

You walk in the quiet of the night, looking down at the folded piece of paper. You check you have the right address when the empty warehouse finally comes into view. You slip in without any problems and head over to the machine where you stashed more stuff.

Just as you go to reach for the bag you hear the click of a gun. You freeze. You turn slowly, with your hands visible and find yourself staring into the face of Bucky and the barrel of his gun.

You resist the urge to roll your eyes and sigh, “how did you find me?”

“Please, do you really think I don’t know you after all this time? After our talk in the cells, I checked all the spare rooms. Found your go bag and the addresses. This was the closest one to the tower”, Bucky replies with an easy shrug.

You nod your head, “but if you found them, why did you leave them there? Why didn’t you tell anyone else?”.

“Tell me what’s going on, Y/N”, Bucky dodges the question.

You knew there was no other way out of this now. You had to tell him if you ever had a hope of getting this done tonight.

“Look, can you put the gun down-“

“Not until you tell me what’s going on. I can’t trust you.”

You pretend like his words don’t hurt, though they’re warranted, “okay, okay. Look, most of it is true. I am a contract killer. Long story short, I was born into a mob family. Mum died giving birth to me and left me and my older sister with my piece of shit father, the “use you as an ashtray type father”. At least he did with my sister. She took the brunt of his shit…anyway, when I turned 13 and had my first period, he sold me to a man. That man? Was the mob boss I know you saw me with, Joe Selene. I’ll skip passed all the torture and right to the part where he trained me as a contract killer for him and bided my time. My father had gone underground and with my limited access to resources I couldn’t find him.”

Bucky lowers the gun as you go through your story, his features softening at your tale of tragedy.

“I swore to my sister that I would come for her but I needed to gain the trust of Selene so I could get the resources to find my father. That was when he got involved with Hydra and they asked him to take you out. I agreed, knowing that you would have all the resources I needed to find my father and my sister.”

Bucky shakes his head, “why didn’t you tell me, us, any of this? We could have helped you.”

You look away from him, “because about a week after I got to the tower, I read my sisters name in the obituary. All the people I had killed to get to my sister was for nothing. She died alone, waiting for a rescue that never came and I knew…I knew that I was going to kill that bastard for everything that happened. I also knew that none of you would let me. You would reason about justice and doing things the right way. But I know what’s right and that’s that bastard six feet under and in hell.”

You look back up at Bucky to find him already watching you. You square your shoulders and jut your chin as you say, “so, you’re either with me or against me and so help me God, if you try to stop me from leaving this building and killing that piece of shit, I will not hesitate to put you down. I told you that you’re not my mission, but I will damn make sure nothing gets in the way.”

Bucky nods, “I’m in.”

You turn back to your bag and pull out the knives to strap around your body. You hand a few to Bucky and he takes them without a word.

As he turns to head back out of the warehouse you throw the question out again, “are you really going to leave without asking me the question you’ve been dying to ask me?”

Bucky turns to look at you this time. He captures your eyes with his as he stares into your soul and whispers, “was any of it real?”

You reply without hesitation, “yes. Every single word.”

Bucky takes a few long strides before grabbing your face with his hands and crashing his lips to yours in a bruising kiss. You return with the same ferocity, gripping his shirt in your fists to try and bring his body closer to yours.

When you can no longer breathe, you break the kiss. You both pant as Bucky brings his forehead down to meet yours. He whispers, “after we go drop a few bodies, what do you say we go take a trip. Just you and me?”

[a-reader-and-a-writer]

The Only Way

On the first of each month, each member of the GFS will write a drabble of 1k words or less based on a selected prompt and using a character played by Joel Kinnaman.

March 2022's prompt is: "The world was collapsing, and the only thing that mattered to me was that she was alive."

TW: Implied character death

Word Count: 625

GFS March 2022 Masterlist

There was no warning. Either someone at NASA had screwed up and missed it on the monitors or it was just a freak occurrence. But whatever the reason, one minute everything was fine and the next the world around you exploded. A meteorite had slammed into the Lunar Base, forming a large, irreparable gap right in the center of the station.

Ed grabbed at your hand and helped drag your smaller frame towards the escape pod even as everything around you was being sucked out of the newly formed hole. It was also getting more difficult to breathe as more and more of your oxygen was sucked into the void of space. Yet somehow, the two of you managed to reach the escape pod at the back of the base.

But just as you wrenched the door open and began to climb in, you heard Ed ominously mutter, “No….”

You glanced over to where he was looking, and your heart dropped as you noticed one of the oxygen tanks connected to the pod had been crushed. Meaning there would not be enough air for both of you to make it back to Earth.

The two of you exchanged a knowing look, and you whispered, “Ed…”

But before you could say more, he roughly grabbed your arm and pulled you into his chest. The next thing you knew, your face was engulfed by his hands and his lips crashed into yours. You had dreamed about kissing Ed Baldwin since the moment that you met him, but you never expected it to happen under these circumstances. His lips were warm, and comforting compared to the cold, empty expanse of space that was currently threatening to drag you out into it.

As he pulled away, Ed stared longingly into your eyes and whispered, “I’ve always wanted to do that.” Then before you could react, he shoved you backwards into the escape pod.

You stumbled and landed hard on your back. As you scrambled frantically to your feet, you heard the door to the pod close and lock into place. Looking up, you saw Ed still on the other side of the door, a sad smile spread across his lips as he fiddled with the controls.

Running over, you banged on the window desperately trying to stop him before it was too late. “Ed, stop! We can…we can figure something out. There has to be another way!”

He chuckled softly, but the sound lacked any traces of humor. “We don’t have time for that, sweetheart. This is the only way. And if only one of us is getting home, it’s going to be you.”

“Ed, think of your family. They need you!” you begged.

“And yours doesn’t? Go home to your kids. Live your life. Be happy.” He pressed his large hand up against the glass window of the pod. “But just…. don’t forget me.”

A single tear slowly rolled down your cheek as you pressed your hand against the glass to match his. “Never. I’ll think of you every time I look at the moon.”

He smiled and gave you a small nod, before jamming his fist into the launch button. Your screams of protest soon died away as the pod blasted off from the base and took to the sky. The last glimpse Ed had of you was your face a mess of tears as you screamed his name. He had never seen anyone so beautiful before.

And as the escape pod flew farther and farther from the Lunar Base, Ed couldn’t help but smile even as he could feel the oxygen levels dropping and his head starting to spin. The world was collapsing, and the only thing that mattered to him was that you were alive.

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

Tag list: @lacontroller1991, @fairchildflag, @heresathreebee, @11thstreetvigilante, @babblydrabbly, @yespolkadotkitty, @loverhymeswith, @skvatnavle

[greytoiletpaper]

it isn’t the same, but it is enough

He doesn’t know how many hours he’s spent in this place, far away from anywhere he can call home. Here, it is only him and the void, adrift in a conflictingly harsh emptiness.

Under the soft glow of medical lamps, Della holds the three bundles close to her chest, keeping what’s left of her family together.

Or, Scrooge does the second most reasonable thing. He builds the rocket and tells Donald about it.

AO3 

Chapter 1: Has the light gone out for you? ‘Cause the light’s gone out for me

Della slams her fists against the glass, desperately hoping that she can break through it and get her brother the fuck out of there. But the panes are too thick, and she's running out of time. Donald's desperately quacking at her, but she can't make out what he's saying over all the damn noise. The systems in the ship are all going nuts with angry red "system locked" signs all over the displays. Even if Donald somehow manages to pilot the rocket, something else might backfire. In any scenario, he'll still be gone.

She presses her forehead to the canopy, wet tears smudging the panes, and sees her twin mirror the action. Della, never one to quit, keeps trying to break the barrier. Still, she's also memorising every weary edge and angle of her brother's face. A flickering, insidious voice inside her says she can't do this, and her brother's death will be her fault.

The rocket's engines are done warming up now, and Della feels herself slipping. She's run out of time. She doesn't want to let go, but if she falls when it's taking off, she'll die, and then neither of them can see her boys when they hatch. Della's screams and pleas turn hoarse while she still bangs on the windows with all the force she can muster.

"Anything," She begs, shaky arms finally giving out. "Please, anything but my brother."

--

Donald doesn't take his eyes off his sister and curses like the Navy duck he once was. He curses his bad luck, his speech impediment and himself for being played like a damn fool. Should never have taken Bradford's offer to check the ship. He's a sailor, not a fucking spaceman. What was he even thinking? He tried to warn Della that the Buzzard isn't who he says he is. But his already gibberish voice is garbled by the thrusters and dulled by the thick glass.

He's not making it out of this one, and they both know it. Donald gestures to his twin to back down. To let back onto the platform and at least be safe. He knows Della gets it because she's shaking her head and can barely make out the terrified pleas she makes. Even when she finally gets off, she's wearing the same expression she dons when he beats her at her own game, but it's monumentally worse this time. Della Duck laughs in the face of fear, a sharp grin and snarky response always on the tip of her beak. It hits him that this might be the last time they ever see each other.

So, Donald does the only thing there's left to do. He meets his sister's hopeless face and gives his warmest smile. It's macabre and morbid, but it's the only way to convey that she isn't to blame. He wishes to turn this all around, but it's simply out of their hands now. That he can get those three words across.

--

Shaky and lopsided, Della does her best to match her brother's smile, hoping for all the world that her twin understands her as she can him.

--

The Spear of Selene takes off, never to be seen by another soul on Earth again.

--

There's light all around him, yet all Donald can see is the inky abyss, and it stares back at him. He doesn't know how many hours he's spent in this place, far away from anywhere he can call home. Here, only him and the void, adrift in a conflictingly harsh emptiness.

The only thing worth seeing out the window is his own face gazing back close enough to be his sister's. But he doesn't need to. Closing his eyes, he can still see her haunted, tear-soaked face. There's no use for anger here; he can't help but curse his luck on this one. Vainly hoping that it could turn around just this once.

Donald Duck is lost among the stars, even when the darkness shifts to a stark white pockmarked with craters and holes.

--

Della stares at the three bundles in her arms, contentment and joy thrumming under her skin for the first time in what feels like forever. Donald's voice says something to her left, and she turns, ready with a quip at the ready and-.

And there's no Donald. Only her, the monitors, and her boys. It all catches up to her that these could've been Donald's boys. He should be here, loving them with all he is, and they'll never know. Scrooge has already given up on his search, weighed down by his company and board. Now, it'll be just her in their two-duck team, and gods above he would be so much better at raising them she can already-.

A small chirp disrupts her, and she looks down to three pairs of dark ovals, fresh and new and then they're all chirping. Della's heart swells with pure adoration at the sight of her ducklings, her bill ready to give them their first preening as she holds them close.

Later, the nurses will ask their names, and Della will almost say the ones she was dead set on. But she holds that thought. It might be a little masochistic, but the names Donald suggested for them are some of the only things she can pass on of him. They were better than her choices anyway. She almost starts crying when she realises that she'll never see her twin's smug grin with an insufferable "I told you so".

Under the soft glow of medical lamps, Della holds the three bundles close to her chest, keeping what's left of her family together. No more Scrooge or Donald for her to fall back on when it gets rough.

Being a single mother in the twenty-first century is a daunting task. She's already moving out of the manor. Even with what lacklustre support payments she's eligible for, she still needs a job. But nothing has ever stopped Della Duck before, so she'll get this right. For now, Della sings her lullaby to her darling baby boys, piecing together how to face each new day.

--

One isn't raised by Scrooge McDuck without learning how to budget and be resourceful with all of one's finances. By the end of the week, she finds a decent apartment in downtown Duckburg, a good-sized crib and pram for her boys. If she manages to scrape by on the essentials, just enough left of her allowance to last 10 months. It's a cathartic thought, she might be bored, but she can at least get almost a full year of just her and the kids.

It passes by that way too. She washes and struggles and watches each of her boys grow. She spends most of her time taking naps, nursing her boys or taking them to the local park to experience the fresh air outside the apartment. These days are peaceful, the only monsters she slays are night terrors, and treasure comes in the form of an easy day where she can just watch her babies' chests rise and fall.

Without Donald, she can't walk without feeling like she's lost a limb, still catching herself talking to a ghost in the corner of her eye. Della wants to give her boys the adventures she promised in the lullaby she sings. But between bills and rent and three hungry mouths to feed, Della hasn't a lot of time to show them the corners of the world. Eventually, her allowance will run out, and a couple temp jobs to start saving would be a great idea to get behind right now.

--

What skills she picked up from her adventuring days aren't precisely transferrable skills for steady employment. Even still, Della lands a decent job as a waitress in the meantime. Scrounging for clues turns into hunting for the worst stains. Well-coordinated hands grown for daring plane tricks on a dime transfer to balancing dishes and bussing tables. Picking apart all the angles for a quick escape becomes tracking all the orders during rush hour. Eventually, Della, the 'ace pilot' adventurer, becomes Della, the 'serving your order with a smile' waitress. All she needs now is someone to watch over them during her shifts.

Fethry already offered to resign from his lab. But she's still too scared stubborn to accept help from the rest of the family. Not when she can't look them in the eye without being reminded of the other half she's lost. Even then, Fethry's still close enough to Scrooge, and she meant it when she said she didn't want anything to do with him again.

She's picking her brain for a solution while fussing over a hungry Louie when someone knocks on her door. Della can barely deal with anyone who isn't social services, but she doesn't have much else to do. She opens the door, fully expecting hawkers and salesmen to shoo off, and instead, Goofy stands in her doorway.

[finrelia]

Nothing, Nobody

Part 1

Request: Nope! I wanted to indulge myself for my first fic back!

Summary: B!D tries to find her girlfriend, Lena, but instead finds the last person she wanted to run into, Kara, infected with red Kryptonite.

Warnings: Violence, Cursing, Abuse, and a LOT of Angst.

Word Count: 1,432

A/N: Hey guys, long time no see! I wanted to start back up with something I really wanted to write. I’m incredibly rusty. It’s been well over a year since I last wrote, so please bare with me.

You let out a massive yawn, stretching your legs and rubbing your eyes slightly as the harsh blue light from your phone illuminates the entire room. You wince slightly as you squint, picking up your phone to see what all the commotion was about. Four missed calls from Alex, and six missed calls from Lena. You mumble obscenities under your breath as you get a rapid string of texts from Alex.

“Y/N It’s Kara. She got exposed to red kryptonite again, find Lena and get somewhere safe NOW.” You let out a soft gasp. You remember what happened the last time Kara had been exposed to red kryptonite… you still have nightmares. The first thing you do is call Lena. No answer.

“Come on, come on, come on.” You mutter as you try calling her another two times. “Dammit Luthor. Please be okay”

You throw on your clothes, grab your keys, and in a matter of minutes you were in your car flying down the road to LCorp. You were panicking, your mind racing at the thought of Lena being hurt by Kara. You trust your sister with your life, but when red kryptonite was involved, she just wasn't herself.

Your car peels into the parking garage, and you sprint to the elevator. You slam your finger onto the button marked “Labs” about a hundred times before the doors to the elevator even shut. You’re  bouncing on the balls of your feet, and shaking. It seems like ages pass as the elevator descends, eventually finally reaching your destination.

The sound of your boots against the cold polished cement floor resounds throughout the large open room, echoing across the steel and stone walls. “Lena??” You call out to what seems like an empty void. Before you could shout her name again, your phone vibrates in your pocket. It’s from Lena…

“Hey I’m almost to your apartment! Alex told me about Kara. Have a bag packed, we have to get to my safehouse. See you soon, okay?”

“Shit…” You said quietly to yourself.

You turn around, still looking at your messages, to start heading back to the elevator when you collide with someone, causing you to drop your phone as you start to type out your reply. It bounces slightly, landing near the elevator. You stare at the figure in front of you, and your heart sinks deep into your chest, forming a pit in your stomach. You see the unmistakable blue fibers of supergirl’s suit, and your eyes slowly move up, glancing over the ever famous insignia on her chest, finally resting at her face. You swallow hard when you see the red glow pulse through her neck and spread throughout her face.

“Hey… Kara!” You say, feigning a smile.

“Y/N you are the LAST person I wanted to see right now.” she says, her tone unfamiliar and cold. She places her hands on your shoulders, and shoves you to the ground, you let out a sharp intake of breath, realizing that you are truly alone, and unable to call for help.  I could say the same about you. You think to yourself, knowing its best not to provoke her when she’s in this state.

“Kara… I know this isn’t you. It's the red kryptonite…”

“Oh, please. Spare me.” Her words sting, laced with malice.

“I know you would never hurt me.” you say, slowly scooting away from her. “Come back to me, please.” You plead with her, trying desperately to get through to her, despite knowing that it’s a lost cause.

“God, you’re pathetic!” Kara scoffs, slowly descending to the floor, on one knee. She grabs your chin and yanks your face up, forcing you to lock eyes. Her face contorts into a look of disgust and pity. “You are nothing, nobody.” With every word, she gripped your chin harder. You tried to hide your pain, not wanting to antagonize her, but the words hurt just as much as her hold on your face. She stands up, and releases your chin, sauntering around you, still on the cold floor.

“You know what amazes me?” You swallow hard and hum in response.

“Hmm?”

“You and Lena…”

“Excuse me?” you say, your voice breaking slightly.

“Lena is… so unbelievably smart, and beautiful, and talented. She is actually worth something, unlike you.”

“K- Kara, please stop.”

“Now now, don’t beg.” She says in a cloyingly sweet voice, crawling with hate. “You aren’t even a real Danvers. Real Danvers have something going for them. You disgust me.” Her anger was almost tangible. You reached your limit, the last words broke you. You couldn’t hold back your tears any longer, you started to sob silently, looking to the ground.

“Crying, are you? This is pitiful.PITIFUL.” Her voice rose in volume, and she ran to you, rearing her leg back before kicking you almost full force in your ribcage, sending you flying along the floor and into a large metal cabinet, stacked high with glass displays of chemicals and samples. As your body collided with the metal, it created a large dent, and sent the displays above you crashing down, shattering as they landed on your body. The noise was immeasurably loud. You lay there briefly, a crumpled heap, entirely motionless as you began to bleed from numerous cuts from the glass all over the entire left side of your body. There was an especially large cut running from your neck to your collarbone, that was bleeding quite a bit more than the others, forming a small pool of blood on the floor as it dripped, from your semi-conscious body. You struggled with trying to breathe, letting out a small and slow groan. You can feel blood running down your eyebrow, and onto the floor. The pain is so intense, you feel like vomiting. You try to sit up, propping yourself up on your elbows, and you look up trying to see where Kara is.

“Kara… I forgive you.” you croak out, spitting out the blood that had pooled in your mouth. Right as you look up, Kara’s fist collides with the side of your face, knocking you unconscious.

“Y/N??” Lena asks to your empty apartment. “Darling? Did you pack your bag? It’s Kara we have to get somewhere safe…” “Y/N?” she asks again, as she opens the door to your room. “Oh no... “ she sees your keys, phone, and bag are all missing. A pit forms in her stomach as she realises what happened. She immediately pulls out her phone to call Alex.

“Did you get them?”

“No, Alex listen, Y/N went to my labs, they aren’t home. We need to get there, now.”

“On it. I’ll get a squad. Meet me outside.”

You get your hearing back first, you scowl at the ringing in your ears. When that clears up, you realize the pure chaos that had erupted around you.  There’s screaming coming from all directions, loud bangs, followed by even more screaming. You slip in and out of consciousness, slowly getting the rest of your senses back. Someone- Kara, is holding you up like a human shield. Before you can regain full consciousness, a bullet grazes your left arm, causing you to wince in pain. You can hear Kara laughing behind you, and a tear rolls down your cheek. You were shaking uncontrollably, feeling dizzy. Your eyes were unable to focus on anything. You could barely make out the lab around you, you could hear the shouts of your sister amongst the gunshots. She brought the DEO in. You are being rescued. Your eyes settle on the raven-haired woman hiding behind cover nearby. She was holding some sort of gun with a faint green glow emitting from the barrel. You gave her a confused look, unable to comprehend what was happening.

“Lena…?” you whisper, a slight smile appears at the corners of your mouth. Even now, she looked like an angel.

You feel yourself fall to the floor as Kara collapses behind you. You can barely make out a kryptonite laced dart protruding out from the side of Kara’s shoulder. Lena rushes over to you, putting her hands behind your neck, turning your head towards her. She’s crying, and it seems as if she's screaming your name. Lena cradles you in her arms. She’s panicking, not sure where to apply pressure. Blood flowed from so many different wounds all across your body, it was so much blood. Lena felt as if she was going to vomit. You lay motionless in her arms as the world goes dark around you.

[crystalirises]

Day 3 of Funtober: In the Void of Creation

So uh... I realized that my list is not correct in regards to day... but I will not change it anymore because I understand the list.

But anyway, today’s prompt is Coding and in my list the stuff that I’m supposed to write is: Memory!Fundy ---> Coding AU.

Character: Memory!Fundy comes from this headcanon that I genuinely do not know who made it but the credit belongs to them. So essentially, I remember reading a headcanon where there are multiple ghosts within the SMP and not just Ghostbur. These ghosts are like remnants of the people the characters used to be. So Memory!Fundy is the Fundy that loved L’Manburg and his dad, the Fundy before the elections, essentially. Nobody can see him, and he can’t see the other memory ghosts, though he usually stays near the L’Manburg flag.

Setting: Takes place in Coding AU, which is just a glass room floating in an empty white void. There’s a control panel on one side of the room and it’s filled with buttons.

Ao3 Link: https://archiveofourown.org/works/34203535/chapters/85292788

When he opened his eyes, the flag was gone.

He blinked, staring up into the glass ceiling that showed an empty white void.

For a moment, he thought he’d finally passed, condemned to an eternity in limbo.

Then, he saw a red light flash in the corner of his eye.

He turned his head. A panel of buttons stared back at him.

Fundy stood up, glancing at the empty glass cage he found himself in.

He looked down at his hands, happy to know that nothing about him had changed. He still had his uniform on, stained with blood, but it was still there. His feet stumbled towards the panel, his throat tight with worry and trepidation. After a moment, his hand was pressed against the cold stone, his fingertips shaking out of… fear? He wasn’t sure of what to do. Fundy looked over at the glass walls, trapped despite years of being condemned to invisibility. Alone despite a year of being buried underneath rubble and vines that tried to grab him each time he stepped on them.

But now… there was nothing to look at… He was truly alone.

Fundy shuddered, taking a hesitant step away from the control panel. There was nothing else in the glass room. He felt like a rat caught in a cage, his invisible captor mocking him behind a veil.

“Can anyone hear me?”

His voice was loud, clear against the silence of the void. Fundy’s ears flicked up, surprise marring his face before sadness settled. He wasn’t used to hearing his own voice, drowned out by the noise of the living. He walked around the room, banging against the glass in hopes of it cracking. He’d rather take his chances in the void than stay in that room forever. After minutes of smashing his fists against the glass, phantom blood forming on his knuckles, he finally gave up.

He stumbled back towards the panel, his back hitting its cool surface.

His claws scratched against the metal, but the paint didn’t chip away. Fundy slid down to the floor, holding his knees close to his chest. He closed his eyes, hiding his face in his hands.

He didn’t know where he was, but all he knew was that the flag was gone. He’d never gone too far from the flag, not even when… not even when his other self had burned it down. Not even when Doomsday took away the ground from beneath his feet. He never wandered from the flag.

He hoped his dad would forgive him for straying.

---

After days… hours… minutes… seconds… he couldn’t bear the silence anymore.

He’d turned his attention to the control panel, freezing for only one second before pressing down on one. At first, he thought it would do nothing. But the world shook, and the void melted away.

In this world he saw himself - another version of him - pacing within a room filled with chests. This Fundy held at least five buttons in each hand for some very odd reasonHe didn’t know what it meant, though he knew this version of himself in some way. He took in the crisp dark suit that his other self wore, reminiscent to that of Schlatt’s. It reminded him of his other self in his real world, the version that had strayed away from their father. He clicked another button.

In the second world, the void turned into a spacious and luxurious room that held a large bed at the center that was completely covered in pillows and silk blankets. Fundy had never seen a bed so heaven-like before. A pang of jealousy rose up in his chest, the itch to steal at least one pillow crossed his mind until he realized that the pile of pillows wasn’t quite as empty as he thought. He blinked as a hand jutted out from under the pile, his own face emerging from the soft avalanche. His other self looked like he’d just been buried. Fundy shook his head, pressing another button.

In the third world, he saw a calm and composed version of himself… and Eret. He moved on.

In the fourth world, his other self was dressed in wedding attire, a pastel orange suit that he was sure once looked regal… but it was now caked in mud and tears. This other version of himself held two rings in his hand, collapsed against the stairs of a wellkept cabin that was tucked in the far corner of the forest. Fundy watched expectantly, but his other self seemed frozen in time, his face slack and his eyes glazed over. He swallowed, wondering what had caused his other self such sadness. After a few seconds, his other self began to sob, holding his head in his hands before letting out a loud cry. The noise was too harsh against his ears, he moved on to the next.

The fifth world was very baffling. He saw himself standing in one corner of a room, screaming as a tall enderman hybrid caged him in. The enderman hybrid was whispering something that his ears couldn’t quite hear, but from the placating gestures, he knew that the enderman was trying to calm his other self down. He took a moment to look at the rest of the room, baffled by the strange inventions that he saw. There was a large wall of glass jutting out from the wall, displaying a variety of images. Maybe he could replicate that someday… He moved to the next.

In the sixth world… Fundy blinked, narrowing his eyes at the maid dress that his other self was proudly wearing. His other self was standing in front of a vault, a very smug grin on his face. Fundy shook his head, quickly reaching for another button. He didn’t know what that was about.

In the seventh world, he saw a familiar face. He blinked, feeling the tears collect in the bottom of his eyes at the sight of his mother, alive and clearly distraught. She was holding onto another version of himself, but his other self looked uncomfortable with the touch. His dad was standing nearby, eyes narrowed at his other self. Fundy whimpered despite knowing that the stare wasn’t meant for him. His dad was glaring at his other self like he was a stranger. Fundy took in the armor that his other version wore, the weary and nervous glare that he was throwing at Fundy’s dad and… mom. He shook his head. He couldn’t bear to see his mom any longer. He moved on.

In the eight world, he watched as he woke in a bed that looked so warm. He felt another pang in his chest. He missed his old bed, but he didn’t need to sleep anyway… From the open doorway - no door, only a curtain separating the room from the hall - his dad stepped into the room. Fundy shivered, taking in the brown trenchcoat and the muted madness in his dad’s gaze. The man moved closer to his other self, patting the top of his head. Fundy quickly pressed another button.

In the ninth world, he followed a version of himself that looked so peaceful, like he had been free from the horrors of the war. There was a small fox kit in his arms, the arctic fox hybrid nuzzling his face in his other version’s neck before letting out a yawn. The sun was setting in the distance, but his other self didn’t seem too worried, following the path that led to… Fundy’s gaze turned towards where L’Manburg once stood. There was a hole there now. For a moment, he could pretend he was back home, ready to climb back down again and go back to sleep underneath the forgotten remains of his beloved home. He shook his head. He was never going home again.

In the tenth world, his other self looked right at him—

Then the world faded to white, melting back into the same damning void that would now become his home for eternity. He shuddered, the tears in his eyes spilling out and cascading down his cheeks. The drops splattered against the buttons, but nothing changed. Nothing he could do would change where he was damned to stay. He wiped his tears on the back of his uniform’s sleeve. As he tried to sniffle his cries, he saw it. At the far side of the panel, there was a small button that matched the same color as the panel. He moved closer towards it, fingers itching to press. It wasn’t as colorful as the others. His finger hovered over it before moving down—

“Little champion?” He paused. He knew that voice.

He looked behind him, and smiled. “Dad! You came back!”

=============================================================

No. I will not give context.

[army-author]

jungkook scenario | the village idiots

❝ Only an idiot would lose their soulmate. Yet this is exactly what you’ve managed to do. In your small village rumours travel fast, and it’s soon whispered on all the street corners that Jungkook is destined to be with you. That only makes his visit home at Christmas all the more awkward for you… ❞

➸ prompt: I returned to my childhood town for the holidays. You’re my estranged childhood friend, and - wow! - you grew up to be hot!

➸ pairing: jungkook x female reader

➸ warnings: mild swearing

➸ requested by anon | 15k words | fluff, mild angst, childhood friends au, soulmate au

➸ author’s note: can you believe I actually got something written in time for christmas, because I can’t!? I hope you all enjoy it! I combined some of my favourite tropes, since I have no self control. I hope you enjoy fluff with a serious chance of diabetes! (and sorry for any spelling or grammar mistakes! I’m pretty tired!)

[Sixteen Years Ago]

The soulmate system is easy. Only an idiot could loose their soulmate.

Yet, this is exactly what you manage to do at the age of three. All when a boy, the same age as you, with black hair falling into his dark eyes, rams into you on his tricycle. And your soulmate watch falls off before you can even read what it says, or know when you were supposed to meet your soulmate.

Broken. That’s what you think it is. Not just your watch. But you, yourself - broken. You’re destined to never pair with anyone else. A complex thought for a three-year-old to grapple with.

This is how you get into that predicament:

It’s your first day of nursery school. You’re walking through the playground, clutching at your mother’s hand, and glancing around at the faces of all the new children, with a strange mixture of curiosity and nerves brewing inside you.

All you can focus on is the void of noise swallowing up your eardrums, as children scream around you. Their faces blend together in unfamiliarity as they run by. Yet, you know that you should be looking out for their faces, catching their eyes in the reflection of your own. That’s how you’re meant to meet your soulmate. You don’t know much about the world at the age of three – you don’t even know how to read properly yet – but you know how soulmates find one another. When your eyes meet, your watches, which have been counting down to this fateful moment, will fall off, and you’ll both realise that this is the person you’ve been waiting for.

Your mother has explained it all to you – telling you that soulmates are like best friends that stay with you forever. You don’t quite understand it, but you know that you want a best friend forever.

That’s why you can’t wait until you can read. More specifically, you can’t wait until you can read the time written on your watch, and find out how long your wait will be – how long your forever best friend will have you waiting for their appearance.

You keep asking your mother if she can read your watch for you, tell you when you should expect your soulmate, and every time she patiently explains that only the wearer of the watch can read the timer on it.

“You’ll just have to be patient, sweetie,” your mother says every time you bombard her with questions.

You’ve been trying to teach yourself numbers so you can read the watch as soon as possible, asking your parents any time you pass a sign with a number - “What’s that one? What does that mean?”

But at the age of three, reading a watch is just a little too complicated for you. Much to your frustration.

“Never mind, sweetie,” your mother says when she finds you staring gloomily at your watch  - a regular occurrence “You’ll figure it out soon enough.”

“But mum,” you always whine, “What if I’m meant to meet my soulmate before I can even read my watch?”

“Well,” your mum wraps an arm around your shoulder, “It’s very rare that soulmates meet each other at such a young age. But if it does happen to you – you’ll know because your watch will fall off, and someone else’s watch will fall off as well – that person will be your soulmate.”

You nod, burying your face in her sweater, smelling of baking bread and primroses, like she always does. It sounds so simple when she explains it like that.

But it’s not simple. Not for you at least.

You grip your mother’s hand, as she leads you across the playground, towards your nursery school. The children around you are all so noisy. As you search the faces around you, you feel at the watch on your wrist, still clasped on tightly. None of them are your soulmate then.

As you walk on, a young boy zooms past you on a tricycle, stopping you in your tracks, watching after him as he flies by, wheels skidding on the gravel of the playground.

“They should really watch where they’re going,” your mother eyes a group of boys, following after the first boy on their tricycles.

You turn your eyes to them, wary, as they rumble noisily towards you.

Your gaze fixes on one boy, laughing as he pedals faster and faster, his black hair pushed back off his forehead as he gains speed, his face cracking up with laughter, his friends skidding around him. He’s going faster and faster, pedals pushing the wheels harder, to the point that you think he might leave the ground.  The whirring of his wheels fills your ears, as he careens forward. All too late you realise he’s careening towards you.

It happens in slow motion.

His eyes turn to you, widening. You can see your scared face reflected in his dark pupils.

BANG!

You’re on the ground. You know that before you open your eyes. You can feel the scratch of gravel against your cheek.

You sit up slowly, looking up. The boy is standing over you, worry clouding his eyes. He’s saying something to you. He seems on the verge of tears.

Blinking past him, you see your mother bending over you. A group of curious children has formed around you. You frown, fixing your eyes on your mother’s lips as she speaks at you, your senses slowly trickling back, firing messages to your brain. “Are you alright, sweetie?”

You nod. You don’t feel hurt, just shocked. You lift your hand to clutch onto your mother’s for reassurance. Your wrist feels lighter than normal. You frown, blinking away the fog from your brain.

Your mother helps you to your feet, brushing the dirt off your shirt for you.

“I’m so sorry,” the boy who crashed into you is beside you, wringing his hands together, and biting his lips. “Are you okay?”

When you don’t answer, he turns to your mother. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to.”

Your mother nods her head. “Don’t worry. It’ll be okay.”

As your mother leads you by the hand, away from the crowd of children and towards the nursery school, murmuring about getting you cleaned up, the boy follows behind you, not seeming to believe your mother’s assertion that you’re okay.

But you don’t feel okay. Something is wrong. The light feeling at your wrist is letting you know.

You dig your heels into the ground, pulling your mother to a stop. “M-my watch.” Your breath catches in your throat.

“What’s that?” Your mother’s brow furrows, turning her gaze to your own worried expression.

“My watch. I lost it.” You pull up your sleeve to check what you already know. It’s gone.

“Oh, it must have fallen off when you fell over,” your mother says, as you drag her back the way you’ve come.

Your eyes scan the grey of the gravel, yawning back blankly at your searching eyes, as you trace the area, until a glimmer catches your gaze. The unmistakable silver of a watch, glinting by the base of a plant pot at the nursery school entrance, a few feet from the spot you fell.

You dart across to retrieve it, desperate to put it back on, where it can go back to doing its job of counting down the days until you meet your soulmate. You get the sense that if it isn’t on your wrist it will stop working. Turning the it over, your eyes fall on the watch face, where a crack perfectly separates the glass in half, splitting it across the centre. The numbers on the watch aren’t moving any more, no longer counting down, just large gaping circles staring back at you.

Your eyes start to sting, as you try to put the watch back on, fiddling with the clasp. Your fingers feel as slippery as butter. But despite your desperate attempts, the watch keeps sliding off, tumbling back to the ground with a sad clinking.

“I think it’s broken,” your voice shakes, as you stare up at your mother, hoping that she’ll have some grown-up solution. “It won’t go back on.”

Your mother frowns, leaning down to try and help you with the clasp, but her well practiced hands still can’t affix the watch to your wrist.

“What do the numbers say?” she asks you, a note of urgency in her voice.

“I – I’m not sure,” you stammer.

Behind you, the boy who knocked you down is still hanging around. “What’s the matter?” he asks.

“My soulmate watch…” you hold it up to show him the cracked face.

“Is it meant to look like that?” the boy asks, wrinkling his nose at the shattered glass.

“No,” tears begin to stream down your face as the reality of the situation hits you, “It’s broken. It’s broken because of you.” Before thinking, you step forward, and push the boy in the chest, so that he wobbles back on unsteady legs.

His face crumples. “I didn’t mean to break it.”

“It’s your fault,” you continue, voice raising as you move towards him, your fists flailing at him in frustration, “You broke it, you broke it!”

And so, your nursery school teacher comes out to find you and the young boy in a snivelling heap on the ground, both crying, as you throw punches at his chest, and he wards off your attacks with arms raised over himself in self-defence.

“Alright, break it up!” You feel a hand grabbing around your arm, pulling you away, and you stare up at the face of your new teacher. “What is the meaning of this?”

Faced with an angry grown-up, you only sob harder, overcome with anger.

Your mother steps forward. “I am so so sorry. She’s not normally like this.”

The teacher raises an eyebrow. “Is this your daughter?”

Your mother nods her head.

“Care to explain why she’s starting fights?”

“He hit me on his tricycle,” you shout out, before your mother can answer.

“It was an accident,” the boy sniffles.

“And he broke my soulmate watch,” you continue, kicking out, trying to reach the boy again.

The teacher’s grip around your arm gets tighter. “Alright. Be that as it may, that’s still no reason to get violent.”

It takes a lot of pulling to get you inside, and seated on a chair across from the boy, as your mother and the teacher watch you apologise to the boy. The teacher makes the two of you shake hands, which you do rather reluctantly.

“So, you say that your soulmate watch fell off,” the teacher says, bending down to look into your face after the performed rigmarole of apologising for fighting.

You nod, struggling to meet her gaze.

“And that it’s broken.”

Another nod.

“You’re sure that it didn’t just fall off because you’ve met your soulmate?”

In all the turbulence, that thought hadn’t occurred to you. You don’t answer.

“Did any other child happen to lose a watch around the same time?” your teacher presses.

You shrug, shoulders heaving up and down. You don’t know. In all the confusion you didn’t notice anything but the ringing in your ears and the erratic beating of your own heart.

There were so many new faces around you when your watch fell off. Any one of those children could have been the one. You don’t know. You didn’t get a sense in your heart, like you had expected you would, knowing instinctively who your soulmate was. All the children were strangers to you – no one stood out.

The teacher nods, as if she’s decided something. “I’ll check with the rest of the children. Don’t you worry. We’ll find your soulmate, no trouble.”

She heads out of the room, towards the playground, and your mother ushers you out after her. You’re aware of the boy following behind you. You’re already beginning to feel bad about your outburst, but despite all instincts, you refuse to turn around and acknowledge him.

Outside, your teacher is rounding up the children, herding them into a disorderly line, where she holds up your broken watch in front of them. You watch it glinting in her hand, heartstrings pulled taught.

“Listen up,” the teacher’s voice booms out, commanding the children’s attention, “I have an important question for everyone. One of the children here had their watch fall off. Which means they might have met their soulmate. Now, I need you to answer truthfully. Did anyone else’s soulmate watch fall off this morning?”

The children remain silent, some pulling at their jumper hems, some chewing on their fingers.

“No one?” The teacher’s eyes scan the group.

Some children check their wrists, but no one steps forward.

The teacher turns back to your mother, handing your watch back. “Sorry. It was worth a try.”

A cold settles in your stomach. No soulmate. What does that mean?

“I’m so sorry.” Behind you, you hear the voice of the boy who knocked you over. “I really didn’t mean to break your watch.”

You shrug. You’re too drained to be angry any more. “It was just an accident.”

The boy nods. “Do – do you still think we could be friends after that?”

This catches you off guard. You didn’t expect to go from fighting him with your fists, to getting an offering of friendship. Maybe violence really is the answer, despite what your mother always says.

“I guess,” you pretend to think over the boy’s question, “We can be friends if you really want.”

The boy’s face lights up, and you realise you aren’t angry any more. “My name’s Jeon Jungkook,” he says, smile scrunching up his face.

That’s how the two of you become friends.

- ✻ ✻ ✻ -

[Present Day]

Everyone says that Jeon Jungkook is your soulmate.

In a small village rumours travel quickly, and the story of the girl who lost her soulmate at nursery school has travelled well around the small streets in the many years since it happened.

You’re not so sure. Maybe there’s a chance Jungkook is your soulmate. After all, it’s a strange coincidence that he lost his soulmate as well. But he couldn’t have known that when he first ran into you. It’s been so long since you’ve last seen him. Surely, if you were meant to be together, you would be with him now. Soulmates will find a way to be with each other. That’s what your mother has taught you to believe. If Jungkook was your soulmate he would be here.

Yet he isn’t. He’s far way. On the other side of the country, living with his dad. And you’re stuck in your small village, serving beers to the locals at your nearest pub, making some money over the Christmas holidays. Despite being old enough to live independently, you still haven’t moved from the village, attending the local university, and living in a small house an old family friend rents out to you. When you imagined going to university, you didn’t expect to be living so close to your old childhood home. But life doesn’t always go the way you expect.

You sigh as another customer turns away from the bar, beer in hand, walking slowly back to their table – the classic, ‘I really don’t want to spill my drink’ walk. You can’t help but glance at your watch. It’s a simple one, the kind that tells the time, not a soulmate watch. It’s twenty minutes to midnight. You knew your shifts would be late when you started this part time job, but the sleepless nights still get to you. You stifle a yawn.

Despite everything wrong with this job, at least it’s a good distraction this time of year. Christmas is the worst holiday for you. Having no soulmate, you’re left to sit alone, while couples that have been busy working all year spend quality time together, snuggled up from the cold, leaving you frozen, with no one to thaw you out.

At least in this pub most of the people you serve are groups of young friends, rather than couples, so you don’t have your lack of soulmate rubbed in your face.

The door of the pub opens, dragging you from your moping. A smile spreads across your face as you recognise the face.

“Taehyung!”

He shakes rain water from his hair as he walks up the bar, unwinding his scarf. “Hello!” He leans on the counter, smiling, “Thought I’d pop in to see how you’re doing.”

You smile, grateful for the distraction – some stimulation to keep you awake. “i’m doing fine. Nothing to complain about.”

Taehyung’s brows furrow. “No complaining? That’s not like you.”

You make a swipe at him across the table, and he ducks your lunge, tutting:

“If you’re going to physically abuse me, you won’t be getting a tip.”

“You weren’t going to tip me anyway,” you call him out.

“You got me there.”

“So, what’s new with you?” You lean on the bar, taking some of the weight off your feet. Your worn trainers were a poor choice for tonight, with soles barely there to support you.

“Nothing much,” Taehyung says, “Although I have some news that might interest you.”

“Oh yeah?”

Taehyung slams his palms against the counter, in an impromptu drum roll. “I’ve been messaging Jungkook recently. Apparently he’s visiting here for the holidays. To see his mum again.”

That name has piqued your interest. You try not to sound too invested. “Jungkook?”

Taehyung raises his eyebrows, and you blush. You already know what he’s going to say.

“Don’t,” you warn.

Too late – he’s going down that rabbit hole. “Are you excited to see your estranged soulmate?”

You shake your head, “You don’t really believe he’s my soulmate?”

“Why not?” Taehyung pouts at you, “Both of you lost your soulmates. In a small village like this that can’t be coincidence.”

“Yes it can. We have no idea when Jungkook lost his soulmate,” you remind him, “So I’m not going to accept that he’s my soulmate, just because he happens to be lacking a soulmate too.”

“Well,” Taehyung pushes off from the counter, standing up straight, “Maybe you’ll figure out that you’re destined to be together when he shows up tomorrow.”

You open and shut your mouth, unsure how to respond. It’s been so long since you’ve seen Jungkook, and now he’s being thrust back into your life. For so long he’s just been a name whispered in conjunction with your own by old ladies gossiping on street corners - “She’s the one who lost her soulmate, you know?” “Is that so?” “I heard her soulmate is supposed to be that Jeon boy.”

“I’ll tell him to drop into the pub and say hello,” Taehyung says with a wink, moving towards the door.

“You… you don’t have to,” you call after him, but the door is already swinging shut behind him, and with your brain slamming back to reality, you realise that it’s gone past midnight, and you should be closing up the pub.

- ✻ ✻ ✻ -

[Sixteen Years Ago]

You sit with Jungkook on the swings in your local park. It’s been a few weeks since he clattered into you on his tricycle, and the ordeal is mostly forgotten – apart from your now bare wrist.

Jungkook is crunching on a chocolate biscuit, while you stare across enviously at his snacks. On the other side of the park, your neighbour Taehyung is spinning himself around on the roundabout. His laughter floats through to you on the still air.

Jungkook catches your eyes, glued to his biscuits. Wordlessly, he reaches across the gap between you, to offer you one. As he stretches across, you notice:

“You don’t have a watch, Jungkook.”

Jungkook looks down at his bare wrist, as Taehyung wobbles off the roundabout, and precariously makes his way towards you, unstable on his feet.

“Does that mean you’ve found your soulmate already?” you ask, curiosity fizzing inside you.

“What you taking about?” Taehyung asks, leaning himself against the metal frame holding the swings, steadying himself.

“Jungkook doesn’t have a soulmate watch,” you say.

“Oh yeah?” Taehyung stares across in mild curiosity at your new friend.

“I’m not allowed to wear my watch,” Jungkook explains, licking at his fingers to get the last of the biscuit crumbs.

“Not allowed?” You wrinkle your brow, confused. “Why?”

Jungkook huffs out his cheeks, and begins reciting, like his parents probably always tell him, “I’ll be given my soulmate watch when I’m old enough to understand the significance of having a soulmate. My parents say that children aren’t old enough to get soulmates.”

“But…” you chew on your lips, cogs turning in your brain, “What if you’re supposed to meet your soulmate before your parents let you wear your watch? What if you miss them because of that?” You’re thinking of your own soulmate, who you may have lost because of a faulty watch. You don’t want your new friend to be subject to the same fate.

Jungkook shrugs. “If that happens, my parents wouldn’t want me to be with my soulmate anyways. They say I’m too young for a relationship like that.”

You wrinkle your nose. “They seem strict.”

Jungkook nods glumly.

“When will you be old enough for a soulmate,” you ask.

“When I’m fifteen.”

Your jaw drops. That seems like an eternity away for your young brain. You can barely comprehend being five years old, let alone fifteen. “That’s so long!”

Jungkook shrugs. “Well, my parents didn’t meet each other until they were in their late twenties, and they say that’s the best age to meet your soulmate.”

Suddenly, Taehyung, who’s been silent for an uncharacteristically long time, lets out a loud gasp. “Hey!” He turns to you. “Didn’t you lose your watch recently?”

You nod your head, confused by his visible excitement.

“What if you two are soulmates?” Taehyung blurts, finger flicking back and forth between you and Jungkook, like he’s doing some complicated maths in his head – one plus one equals soulmates.

Jungkook glances at you, then wrinkles his nose, “Ew, no way. She’s not my soulmate. She’s my friend.”

“She can be both,” Taehyung says with the authority of a child that’s one year older than you.

“No way,” Jungkook sticks out his tongue, “You have to kiss soulmates, and give them hugs, and be in love with them, and all that stuff’s yucky.”

You nod, “Yeah, Taehyung. There’s no way Jungkook’s my soulmate. I punched him when I first met him. And if he was my real soulmate I wouldn’t have punched him, would I?” This logic makes sense to you. Soulmates never punch each other upon meeting. It should be love at first sight, right? With you, it was frustration at first sight.

Taehyung shrugs. “You could still be soulmates.”

“No way!” You and Jungkook both exclaim at the same time, and then both yell, “Jinx!” at each other and keep repeating, “Jinx! Jinx Jinx!” while Taehyung rolls his eyes at you.

- ✻ ✻ ✻ -

[Present Day]

You hold back a yawn, feeling it tugging at your jaw, tempting, as you wave off another set of customers. This evening of work has felt particularly long. It’s been quiet, with only a small group of friends laughing over card games in the corner, and occasionally coming up for another round of drinks. You’ve spent most of your time perched behind the bar, scrolling through your phone, and willing the hours to pass quicker. At the back of your mind, you remember Taehyung’s promise to send Jungkook your way. But as the clock counts closer to midnight, your hope of seeing him is fading.

Your head snaps up when you hear the door opening – a new customer. The orange glare of the streetlights shines into the pub, reflecting off the wet pavement beyond the door. Through the artificial light, steps a figure you can’t take your eyes from. You know his face, familiar, yet strangely different – like buying your favourite brand of chocolate, only to discover that the company’s changed the recipe.

“Jeon Jungkook,” you’re left an incompetent mess, unable to say anything but his name as he stands in front of you, loosening the buttons on his coat.

“Hey,” he smiles at you.

He’s changed so much from the last time you saw him, you’re almost surprised you recognised him. Yet there’s something still familiar in the twinkle of his dark diamond eyes, and the scrunch of his nose as his smile eases wider. His hair is longer, falling across his face, framing his cheeks in ebony.

Jungkook has grown up to be – you’ll be damned for thinking this – incredibly hot.

You swallow down this thought, embarrassed it entered your head. This is Jungkook – your childhood friend. You can still envision him when he was old enough to be picking worms out of the mud. You shouldn’t be thinking like this about him.

It occurs to you that you’ve been standing staring for far too long – more than is ever socially acceptable. But he hasn’t said anything to you. And you haven’t said anything to him either, and now it’s awkward.

You take a breath to speak, just as he opens his mouth, and you both stutter to silence again. You indicate with your hand – he should go first, but he shakes his head firmly, and nods your way – you should go first, and you both mime back and forth at each other that the other should speak, until at last you break, saying:

“Can I get you anything to drink?”

Jungkook presses his lips together, squinting at the drinks behind the bar, “Uh… just… water will be fine.”

You raise your brow. “Nothing more exciting for you?”

He laughs and shakes his head, “No. I don’t handle my drinks very well. And I don’t want to make a fool of myself in front of you after just meeting you again.”

You laugh, and grab him a glass from behind the bar, filling it with water. Over the counter, he continues:

“I hope you don’t think that I came into this pub just for the water.”

You slide his cup across the counter to him. “Didn’t you?”

“No,” he fumbles in his coat for his wallet, eyes still on you, “Taehyung told me you’d be here.”

“Tap water’s free by the way,” you say, as Jungkook rifles through his wallet.

“Oh, right.” He chokes on a laugh, “My brain’s like mush tonight.”

You smile sympathetically, “I know the feeling. Having to stay up for work most nights has left me with only two functioning brain cells.”

Jungkook chuckles at this, a genuine smile carving out his face.

Rather than taking his drink and going, Jungkook stays standing in front of you, a smile playing on his lips. “It’s really good to see you again.”

“You too.” You can’t fight off a smile. Seeing Jungkook is filling you with the warmth of your childhood spent with him, all flooding back in a rush of lazy days lounging on the grass, and running around the village park, swinging yourself off swings, and trying to make each other sick on the roundabout.

You’re excited to talk to Jungkook, until you hear the pub door opening. Normally you’d be glad of a new customer, but Jungkook’s a special customer – the only one you want to pay attention to.

“Listen,” you speak up as Jungkook takes hold of his glass, “I’ll be finished work in about fifteen minutes. If you’d like to stick around until then, we could… I don’t know… go for a walk or something. Get a chance to chat – catch up.”

Jungkook nods, and steps out of the way to let your new customers forward to order. “I’ll be here,” he promises, before turning away to find himself a seat.

As you serve your new customers, you can’t help but smile, excitement bubbling through your veins at the prospect of getting to spend some time with Jungkook.

As you keep working, cleaning up behind the bar, your eyes keep dancing back to Jungkook, where he sits in the corner, watching his old village out the window and sipping his water. Once or twice, his eyes find yours, watching him, and you quickly pull your gaze away, embarrassed to have been caught staring. The fleeting eye contact pulls your heart into a tight knot.

At last, the final customer leaves, and you can slip out from behind the bar to flip over the sing on the door to read ‘CLOSED”. With a final check that everything behind the bar is in order, you grab your coat, and head over to the table Jungkook’s sat at.

“Hey.”

He looks up at your voice, a smile spreading across his face. “You done now?”

You nod, and Jungkook chuckles:

“Stupid question. Sorry.”

He stands up quickly, bumping into the table as he does so, and laughing again, as he collects his coat and scarf from the back of his chair, and pulls them on.

As you open up the door, letting him out, a gust of cold air bursts in, stealing the breath from your throat. You pull your coat tight around you, hoping to block out the icy wind as you step into the street.

“Where to?” you ask, and Jungkook shrugs:

“You know this place better than I do.”

“You probably still know it pretty well. This place has barely changed since you left,” you say, picking a random direction, and leading him down the pavement.

“I suppose it hasn’t,” Jungkook observes, “I was expecting it to be different to how I remembered, but it’s almost the exact same… Well, except everyone’s gotten older, and some of the buildings look a bit worse for wear.”

“That’s just how it is here,” you say, “There’s never any change. In some ways it’s charming because of that. But it’s also….”

“Boring?” Jungkook suggests.

“Yeah,” you huff out a puff of misted air, “It’s boring.”

Jungkook nods, pressing his lips together. Silence falls between you, and the wind blows harder, roaring against your frozen ears.

“Listen,” Jungkook shoves his hands into the depths of his pockets as he speaks, “This should probably have been the first thing I said to you. But I guess I’m doing it now instead. I need to say I’m sorry.”

You pause on your path, steps faltering. “Why are you apologising to me?”

“I should have messaged you while we were apart,” Jungkook says, “I lost your number, and then, when it eventually turned up it felt like I had left it too long to pick up any kind of conversation with you, so I chickened out and never ended up calling at all.”

You shake your head. “Don’t worry about it. I could have always asked Taehyung for your number. I knew he had it. But I never did. I guess I worried he might think it was weird, me chasing after your number like that… It was stupid of me.”

Jungkook nods. “Yeah, pretty stupid. Not any worse than me. I should have just called you anyway.”

You laugh. “Yep – we’re both idiots. You especially.”

“Hey,” Jungkook brushes against you with his shoulder, gently bumping you, “That’s mean.”

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry,” you bump him back, “You know I only tease because I like you.”

Glancing over, you see him smiling at the pavement. “Yeah. I really missed you, you know?”

“Me too,” you say.

Around the corner, the old park that you used to play at as kids emerges.

“Oh, no way,” Jungkook stops in front of it, eyes gleaming, “This is just how I remember it.”

“It’s another thing that hasn’t changed here,” you stop beside him, hesitating in front of a panorama of childhood memories that rush back with the shape of the small slide and the squeak of the swings as they move in the wind.

Jungkook turns to you, nose scrunching up in childish glee. “Shall we? For old time’s sake?”

You grin back. “Yeah!”

The gate creaks as Jungkook opens it, just as it always did, swinging closed with a clang.

Jungkook runs over to the swings, and you chase after him, taking up the swing seat beside him. Kicking yourself off with a push of your heels, the world around you swings back and forth as the sky looms closer, then falls away again. If you reach up at the highest point of your swing, you feel you could catch the clouds in your hands, melt them on your fingers.

“This brings back memories,” Jungkook says, swinging back and forth beside you, in the opposite direction to you, so you only occasionally catch sight of his face, looking back at you.

You hum in agreement, but the wind snatches away the sound, so you reply, “Yes, it does.”

Your mind falls back to the many times you would come here after school, laughing at inside jokes that didn’t makes sense to anyone but you and Jungkook, the many experiences you had here with Jungkook – the time that you fell off the swing, and scraped your knee, and he helped you back to your house; the time that you spent all your pocket money on sweets, which you then ate, sitting on the climbing frame, until you were nearly sick from the sugar. You fingers feel strangely hot on the cold metal of the swing chains as you remember the last time you sat with Jungkook on these swings, right before he left your village. Your cheeks heat up.

The both of you are silent. You wonder if Jungkook is remembering the same moment you are – if you should bring it up.

At last, Jungkook cracks the silence. “You know… Taehyung keeps going on about the two of us being soulmates, telling me we’re both idiots for not getting together.”

A wry smile spreads across your face. “Yeah, he’s the same way with me.” You can’t help but laugh.

“Part of me wonders if he’s right,” Jungkook says.

You pause, fingers wrapping round the cold metal of the swing chain - an attempt to ground yourself in reality.

Jungkook continues, “The thought kept going through my head once he brought it up with me recently… And I was thinking… Well… Even if we’re not soulmates, there’s no harm in trying things out together.”

You remember Jungkook had suggested something similar just before he left you – a chance of love snatched away with his sudden move. The memory still stings.

“What do you mean?” You already know what he means. You heart clambers into your mouth.

“I mean, I would like to try… dating. If you’ll have me,” Jungkook stares across at you, catching you in a gaze you can’t look away from. “Even if we’re not soulmates… we’re both single,” he continues, “And we might never know who our soulmates are. There’s no harm in trying, right?”

You can barely find your tongue to respond. “But, you… you live so far away now.”

“We could make it work,” Jungkook says, “If you wanted to?”

You turn the thought over in your head. You know this will probably end like it did last time, with Jungkook snatched out of you life, only a distant memory. You glance across at him, drinking in his matured face. This isn’t the boy you grew up with. This is someone else. Someone, who’ll maybe, just maybe, fend off the loneliness chilling your heart. “I- I’d like that,” you reply.

“Yeah?” Jungkook’s face breaks into a wide smile, squishing his nose up in the way you always liked when he was a child.

“Yeah,” you nod, “I mean… why not?”

“Yeah.” Jungkook nods.

“Yeah…”

You both fall silent again. You suddenly realise you don’t know where to go from here. How are you supposed to continue with someone who might not – but then again might – be your soulmate?

Jungkook seems just as unsure as you, rubbing at the back of his neck, as he stares up at the expanse of stars above him.

“So… what exactly does dating involve?” you ask, feeling stupid as soon as the words leave your lips.

“Uh… dating?”

“Well obviously,” you chuckle, “But what does a date with Jeon Jungkook involve exactly?”

“Hmmm,” Jungkook considers this, “It probably involves getting coffee together. Tomorrow. At, shall we say… eleven thirty?”

“It’s a date.” You stick out your hand to him. “Let’s shake on it.”

- ✻ ✻ ✻ -

[Ten Years Ago]

The unthinkable had happened.

And Jungkook doesn’t want to think about it. He doesn’t want to think about anything as he stomps through the rain.

The drops pelting down on the hood of his coat sound like coins rattling. He sloshes through puddles, ignoring how the water soaks into his shoes. The streetlights shine down on the rain that glazes the pavement, leaving yellow rings rippling across the ground.

Jungkook blinks past the raindrops, seeing the village park ahead of him, swing sets shining under the sheen of rain.

Tramping forward, he sits down on one of the swings, ignoring the cold rain seeping into the seat of his jeans.

Pushing himself off the ground, his feet splash up water. He doesn’t want to think of it.

Doesn’t want to think of the divorce.

Now he’s thinking about it.

So rare. It’s so rare for two soulmates to get together, and then decide that they’re not compatible anymore. How did it happen to his parents of all people? The two people he thought were living happily, despite their arguments? Was he blind, should he have spotted the warning signs, helped his parents out more? What could he have done to stop this? Could he have done anything?

He’s thinking too much. He pushes himself off the ground, swinging forward further, falling back. He stares up at the sky, the raindrops streaking down to stain his cheeks. If he leans his head back far enough he can see the ground behind him, hanging upside down, falling towards him as he swings back. It makes him dizzy. A better feeling than the confusion clouding his brain.

“Thought I would find you here.”

Jungkook sits up straight on the swing, seeing his father standing in front of him, umbrella in hand.

“What are you doing here?” The question sounds more aggressive than Jungkook intended. “I thought I said I wanted to be left alone.”

“I know, Jungkook,” his father says, “But it’s cold and damp out here. I want you to come home.”

“Well I don’t want to go home,” Jungkook folds his arms across his chest, trying not to shiver, not wanting to show his father that he’s right – it’s bitterly cold outside.

“I know,” his father says, “But you’ll get sick out here.”

Jungkook remains quiet.

His dad sighs, and comes across to sit on the swing next to him.

“Listen,” he begins, hesitating, “I know this is tough for you. It’s strange to see two soulmates separate. But, I do know that at one point in my life, your mother was my soulmate. She was perfect for me. But we’ve both changed a lot. We’re very different people now. And we’re not making each other happy anymore.”

“You never really believed in the soulmate system, did you?” Jungkook accuses.

His dad makes a noise like he’s going to respond, but no words come out.

“That’s why you don’t want me to have my watch until I’m older. You don’t think it’ll do me any good, knowing who my soulmate is. Just because you were unhappy with your soulmate.”

“That’s not true,” his father says, but Jungkook butts in:

“It is true! You expect me to be just as unhappy with my soulmate, so you don’t want me to find them. Isn’t that it? All this time I thought you were keeping me from my watch because you thought it would do me good. But you have no real idea what’s good for me, do you?”

His father is silent.

Jungkook squeezes his eyes shut against the glare of the streetlights on the rain soaked ground. If he squeezes hard enough, the tears won’t come.

“I should have know.” Jungkook jumps up, and walks away from his father. He can hear him calling him back, but he ignores him, picking up the pace, speed kicking up, until he’s running, rain splashing up his legs.

Anger is thundering through him, warming him despite the cold. He’s going to find his watch. He knows his parents keep it in their room somewhere. He’s going to take it, and he won’t let his parents take it back.

He deserves to know who his soulmate is.

- ✻ ✻ ✻ -

[Present Day]

You’re overthinking this. It’s just a date. Nothing to get worked up over.

But it’s your first date. Ever. And you have no idea what to expect.

As you stare at the collection of clothes spread haphazardly across your bed, this decision seems harder than the choice of name for your first born child. What are you supposed to wear? Should you dress casually? Or will Jungkook think you aren’t taking this seriously enough if you don’t wear your best clothes?

Your phone goes off, vibrating violently on your bedside table, and you grab it to check who’s messaging you. Taehyung’s name flashes up on screen: Heard you have a date today! ;)

You smile to yourself. Of course Taehyung’s already found out about you and Jungkook. You text back: You head right.

You barely have the time to return your attention to you choice in clothing before your phone is buzzing again: Good luck. Not that you need it! :P

A smile spreads across your face, which immediately disappears when your eye catches the time on your phone screen. Shit! You’re going to be late.

With no time left to decide, you grab a pair of jeans and a knitted sweater, throwing them on, struggling to get your arms through the sleeves as you bump down the stairs, wildly grabbing for your shoes.

The walk to the cafe where you decided to meet Jungkook is a short one – but a sweaty one, as you power walk the entire way, holding back from running for fear of all eyes gluing to you, as you make a spectacle of yourself.

As you throw open the cafe door, with the tinkle of the bell above your head, Jungkook stands up from his table with a smile on his face.

“Hey,” you walk over to his table, trying to catch your breath, and hoping your face isn’t too red, “Sorry I’m late. You weren’t waiting long, were you?”

He shakes his head quickly, “No, no.”

You follow him over the the cafe counter with a relieved laugh. “Good. It took me way to long to decide what to wear, and I kind of lost track of time.”

“I know the feeling,” Jungkook flashes you a look with his melted chocolate eyes, “I was so nervous this morning!”

“Me too,” you laugh at yourself, “Guess there was no need to be.”

“No,” a soft smile settles across Jungkook’s face as he looks at you, until the barista draws his attention away, asking him what he wants to drink.

As you read over the cafe’s menu behind the counter, an odd shiver runs down your spine, like a drip of icy water has slid past the collar of your sweater. You turn back to the cafe, and catch the eyes of the other customers, all glued on you and Jungkook – there’s Margaret, the old lady who lives across the street from you, with her friend Alice; there’s your primary school teacher, a friend of your mother’s; there’s the father of your old babysitter - all people you know. And they’re all murmuring amongst themselves, eyes flickering between you and Jungkook. A warmth sweeps across your face, burning your nose.

“Can I help you?” You jump, realising that the barista has been talking to you.

“Oh, right,” you shake yourself, turning away from the curious eyes fixed on you, “Can I have a flat white please?”

Having ordered your coffees, you  and Jungkook return to your table. Seated opposite from you, Jungkook blows at the steam rising from his coffee, while you lean towards him to whisper, “I feel like everyone’s staring at us.”

Jungkook’s eyes are glued to his coffee as he swirls it round and round with a wooden stirrer, watching the cloudy patterns of milk mixing through the coffee. “Yeah, I couldn’t help noticing that myself.” His shoulders shake with a quiet laugh. “I kind of forgot what it’s like in a small village like this - that you can’t get away with doing anything in secret here.” His eyes bounce up to meet yours, catching you off guard with their brightness, “In the city no body knows who you are, and you can go anywhere without bumping into a familiar face. In some ways it’s nice. It gives you privacy.”

You nod, “Yeah… it’s kind of awkward here, isn’t it? We’re going to be the topic of gossip all over town now. People will be saying that we’re getting married next.”

“And that you’re pregnant with our third child.”

“And actually we’ve been married for three years, and you’re filing for a divorce.”

Jungkook’s head bobs down in a snort of laughter. “I forgot how ridiculous the rumours can get.” He scratches at the back of his neck, “Maybe I should have chosen somewhere more discrete for our first date.”

“It’s no problem.” A smirk plays across your face as a plan comes into your head. “Why don’t we give them something to really gossip about?”

A grin rises on Jungkook’s face to match your own. “What did you have in mind?”

With a burst of bravery, you lean across the table towards him, and Jungkook, taking your cue, leans closer, tilting his head forward.

Your lips connect with a rush of warmth through your body, and a rush of blood to the head, leaving every limb feeling tingly. You’re not sure how long you should kiss Jungkook, how much tongue should be involved, or if Margaret will be telling your mother about this, but all other thoughts begin to melt away as Jungkook’s mouth moves against your own, using you in strange new ways that you have never experienced before. He pulls away from you far too soon, leaving you hovering over the table, with your eyes fluttering open, like you’re waking up for the first time, a brand new person.

Jungkook grins across at you. “Am I that good a kisser?”

You blush, sitting back in your seat. “Don’t flatter yourself.” A smile lets him know he is that good.

All eyes are definitely on you now.

“I think it’s time we leave,” Jungkook says with a laugh, gaze sweeping the cafe.

You’re only too happy to comply, gathering your coat and scarf from the back of your chair.

With a barely contained giggle, you and Jungkook collapse out of the door into the cold December air, where you promptly descent into laughter.

“Did you see their faces?” Jungkook wheezes.

You lean against him, gasping in cold air, with your ribs feeling like they’re about to snap, “Those old ladies looked so happy to have a new story to spread around.”

“I’m pretty happy too,” Jungkook says, with a shy smile directed your way, “I got a kiss out of it.”

“You can certainly get more of those,” you promise. It surprises you how easy it is to be like this around Jungkook, like the two of you are meant to be by each other’s side, laughing at life together..

As you walk down the street, you manage to restore your composure, “It’s nice to be back with you, Jungkook.”

“You too,” he says, “I’m just sorry I haven’t been here in a while.”

“Do- do you mind me asking why that is?”

Jungkook breathes out a sigh, “Honestly, I’ve been putting off coming to visit my mum.”

“You don’t get on with her, huh?”

Jungkook pauses in his path. You stop a few steps ahead of him. “Not really,” he admits, “I know I should. I mean, she’s my mum. She’s family. But part of me blames her for losing my soulmate, I suppose. And she’s never really seen eye to eye with me when it comes to the topic of soulmates.”

You decide not to pry further, knowing Jungkook will open up more when he wants to.

The two of you continue walking, twisting your way down familiar streets, past old houses lounging behind neatly trimmed hedges. Without thinking, your hand slips comfortably into Jungkook’s. He pulls up the sleeve of his coat so your palm can press against his, without the fabric getting in the way.

Suddenly, a shout across the street grabs your attention. “Well, if it isn’t the two love-birds!”

You glance over, and a smile brightens your face when you see Taehyung, waving across at you. He glances up and down the street, then runs over to the two of you. “Hey!”

“Hi, Taehyung,” you smile.

“How’s the date going?” He wiggles his eyebrows at you.

“Pretty good, I’d say,”Jungkook grins, “We’ve already managed to make ourselves the talk of the village by showing up together at the cafe.”

Taehyung laughs. “Sounds about right for this village.” He’s silent for a second, then suddenly exclaims: “Hey, if you’re wanting to get out of the village for a bit, me and a few other friends are taking the bus into town his evening. We’re going to be visiting the new club that’s just opened there. It’s meant to be really good. And less people will know you there. That means less people gossiping about seeing you together.”

Jungkook looks to you, eyebrows raised, waiting for you to call the shots.

“It’s been a while since I’ve had a good night out,” you say, “And I am off work for the next few days. It would be a shame to waste that freedom.”

“That’s the spirit,” Taehyung slaps you on the back, while you and Jungkook share a smile.

Maybe getting out of the village is just what you and Jungkook need.

- ✻ ✻ ✻ -

The clubs is already throbbing with bodies when you arrive. You can’t hear anything over the blast of the bass, vibrating through your bones. But that doesn’t matter, as Jungkook offers you a beer. All you care about are his eyes on yours, drowning you in melted chocolate. Holding up his own glass to you, you see his mouth form around the words “To us!” and you shout back “To us!” hoping he can hear you over the music.

One beer turns into two, turns into three, leaving your head in a happy haze, as you push your way closer to the centre of the dance floor. Jungkook’s arms wrap around you, as you move in time to the beat, and you stop caring about the other people around you. None of them know you. You’ve managed to loose Taehyung and his friends already. It’s just you and Jungkook, and the music moving in waves through your bodies, like you’ve merged into one living, breathing being, joined by the beat. Jungkook’s body presses closer to you, and all the nerves in you spark at the sensation of him against you. Looking up, his face is bright in the spinning lights. You lean closer, breathing the same air as him, not minding the scent of beer. You’re hypnotised by his eyes, drawn in closer, closer. You can make out every small imperfection on his face, faint freckles, a loose eyelash on his cheek. His lips are so close, they’re almost brushing yours.

And then you’re kissing him. It’s not like the kiss in the cafe. This one isn’t for show, to get the neighbours talking. This is purely, unapologetically Jungkook, and all the feeling that comes from him. It’s the taste of his tongue, rough against your own. It’s the softness of his lips, pressing to the shape you cast for him. It’s the nip of his teeth on the tender skin of your bottom lip, sharp and sweet to you.

The rest of the night passes in a blur - all you’ll remember later is the pounding beat of the drums, and the beat of your own heart as Jungkook’s body moves against you in a slow dance all of your own, while the rest of the club pulses around you, cutting you into your own world, with your own atmosphere, revolving around your own bright sun.

When Jungkook speaks into your ear, breath hot on your skin - “Want to get out of here?” - you’re ready to comply.

The bus ride back to your village is spent giggling in the back seat, leaning against Jungkook, as he draws silly faces for you on the fogged up window, and whispers about the other bus passengers, making up reasons for them to be getting the bus at half one in the morning.

You barely know yourself as you lead Jungkook back to your house. If you had been told a week ago that you’d be going home with someone this evening, you would have laughed. You’ve been single for so long, so starved of touch, any scenario with this outcome seemed farcical. You refuse the urge to pinch yourself.

Bursting into your house, the empty rooms fill with your laughter, as you and Jungkook collapse onto your sofa, without even bothering to turn on the light. You end up underneath Jungkook, his weight holding you down, pressing comfortingly. In the darkness, Jungkook’s lips find yours, with a quiet desperation. These are the kisses of someone as starved for physical contact as you are. You respond back with the same intensity, lungs pulling air between kisses, head dizzy from alcohol and the strength of his affection.

You’d be a fool if you didn’t realise where this is going. Your stomach flips over, as the two of you sit up, bodies tangled together as you straddle Jungkook’s thighs. His hand slips under your shirt, hesitant at first, waiting for you to give him the go ahead. You can only press your lips to his all the more fervently in answer, and his fingers trail across your exposed skin, exploring, like he’s marking out a map of your body.

Suddenly he pulls away, leaving you breathless and cold. In the fog of alcohol your head tries to bend around the heat he ripped from you, wanting desperately to grab it back.

“What’s wrong?” You fumble blindly for the lamp by your sofa, wincing as you douse the room in light.

Jungkook is sitting across from you, his hair mussed up and his cheeks pink. “I’m just not sure about this,” he says, “Are we moving too fast?”

“What do you mean?” Your heart clenches.

“It’s just,” Jungkook puffs out his cheeks in a sigh, “We don’t even know if we’re soulmates. What if we’re not? What if our real soulmates are out there somewhere, just waiting for us to show up?”

“You think I haven’t worried about that myself?” Your eyes search his, just as mesmerising as ever. You refuse to let yourself get sucked in, blinking past the haze in your head, “Obviously I worry about that. But I’m so tired of being alone. I want what everyone else has. I just…” you hang your head, “I want to love somebody.”

“I know,” Jungkook nods, “Me too. That’s why I don’t want to rush into this. I don’t want to be doing this just because I’m desperate for a cure to my loneliness.”

The two of you fall silent. At last Jungkook speaks up. “I should probably get going. My mum will have a fit if I’m back late.”

“Alright,” you nod. You know Jungkook is right, you should slow things down, be sure that this – the two of you, together – is something you really want.

Still, as you wave him off at the front step, you can’t help but feel disappointed. You wish your love life could be as simple as everyone else’s seems to be – that you could have your soulmate watch fall off, and immediately know who you’re meant to be with. And that you would never doubt a kiss after it’s happened.

- ✻ ✻ ✻ -

[Ten Years Ago]

The numbers stare back at Jungkook, blank and lifeless, as he stands in his parents room, watch in hand.

The screen reads: 00:00.

His timer is up. That’s what this means. He’s met his soulmate somewhere already, without knowing it, without a watch to guide him to the person he was supposed to be with.

Anger burns in his stomach.

“Jungkook!” His mother runs into the room, switching on the lights. The brightness of the bulbs blinds him, leaving him blinking. “What are you doing with that?” his mother demands.

“Taking what belongs to me,” Jungkook holds up the watch, and his mother’s eyes widen.

“How did you find that?” she asks, taking a step forward and making a grab for it.

Jungkook swings out of the way, clutching the watch to his chest. “It didn’t take too long to look through your drawers.”

His mother’s face reddens. “You shouldn’t be going through my things, Jungkook.”

“Well then you shouldn’t have taken something that belongs to me,” Jungkook replies, not caring that he’s being rude. He’s too angry to care about anything, but the blank numbers on his watch.

“Did you read it already?” she demands, stepping back. Her face is lined with worry, cracks of age etched into her skin.

“Yes,” Jungkook clutches the watch tighter in his hand, feeling the cold metal cut into his skin. His jaw clenches, defiant against his mother, as she draws herself up to her full hight, not quite as tall as he is. It wasn’t long ago that she towered above him.

“After your father and I told you not to? Demanded that you didn’t?” Anger simmers in her voice, below a barely concealed disappointment.

“Yes,” Jungkook remains monotone with her, feeling his teeth grinding together, holding him back from snapping at her – the woman who stopped him from finding his soulmate, prevented him finding love.

“You give that back now,” his mother holds out her hand to him, bare palm demanding.

“No,” Jungkook shakes his head, stepping back.

“Jungkook,” his mother’s tone is strong, unaccepting of his answer, “That’s no way to talk to me.”

Jungkook pockets his watch, watching his mother carefully, letting her watch for herself as he disobeys her. He doesn’t need to say anything. Slinking past her, as she shouts after him, he heads out of the room, across the landing to his own room, where he slams the door, immune to the shouts of his name behind him.

Here, with no eyes on him, he pulls out the watch again, looking at the blank zeroes that stare back, heartless and cold. So his parents have spoiled his soulmate connection because their own soulmate connections have failed. In keeping him from it, they were keeping him from what every other person was going to easily walk into as they journeyed through life – companionship, friendship, a promise that they wouldn’t be lonely again. And for what? Because it hadn’t worked out for them?

With a sudden surge of rage, Jungkook lunges for his bed, and grabbing a pillow, pounds it with his fists, until the breath has gone from his chest, and the tears are gone from his eyes. Leaning down, he rests his head against the pillow he was just assaulting, feeling its comforting softness resting against him, and the thought crosses his mind of how much he wants a soulmate for moments like this, when he’s feeling weak and broken. He wants someone to stay by his side, to comfort him, run a hand through his hair, and promise him everything will be okay.

But it’s not okay. He’s stuck without a soulmate. And somewhere out there, his other half is living with no soulmate, wondering where he is, and why he never showed up in their life when their watch went off.

- ✻ ✻ ✻ -

[Present Day]

You wake to a knock on your door. A glance at your phone lets you know that it’s almost midday, on the twenty third of December. Later than you had meant to sleep in. You can still feel the alcohol in your system, not enough to give you a full-blown hangover, but enough to make you roll over with a groan, hoping for more sleep.

Another knock rattles on the door, and you sigh, pushing yourself out of bed. “Alright, alright, I’m coming,” you mutter, knowing the person at the door won’t hear you. You scramble for clothes, before padding down the stairs to open the door.

The bright sunlight greets you, with a brighter smile from-

“Jungkook?” You stare up at him, “What are you doing here?”

He steps into your house, without giving you an answer, leading you towards your living room. “I think I’ve figured out how to fix our soulmate problem.”

“Uh huh?” You flop down on your sofa, rubbing sleep from your eyes, and trying to get your brain in gear.

“So,” Jungkook sits down next to you, warmth radiating out from him, making you want to melt back into bed, maybe with him by your side this time, “I was wondering if it’s possible to find out when soulmate watches were set to go off, even after their timer has already gone off.”

“Yeah?”

“And it turns out that there are a few watchmakers than can wind back watches to figure out the dates they were set to come off. There aren’t many of them. But they do exist.”

“Yeah?” your brain is still half asleep, not quite processing what Jungkook is saying.

“Don’t you get it?” Jungkook stares you dead in the eyes, “If we take my watch to one of these watchmakers, we can see if it was set to go off on the day your watch fell off. We can figure out if you really are my soulmate.”

Your brain finally snaps awake. “This is really a thing we can do?”

“Yeah. I mean, our nearest watchmaker is quite far away. But sure it’s a thing we can do. If you don’t mind a long drive?”

You’re on your feet, before your brain can catch up with your body, leaving you wobbling. “What are you waiting for, let’s go!”

“Now?” Jungkook stares up at you.

“Sure, why not?”

“Well… it’s the twenty third of December,” Jungkook reminds you, “The roads are going to be a nightmare with everyone trying to get home to their families. Not to mention there’s heavy snow forecast for this evening.”

You feel yourself deflate. “Ah, right. So we should probably wait, right?”

“I guess,” Jungkook says, and then the two of you fall silent.

You turn the thought over in your head. The possibility of knowing once and for all if Jungkook is your soulmate – if the fluttering in your heart is the real deal, or just the jittery hope that love is even an option for you.

“Oh, what the hell,” you look down at Jungkook, “I need to know.”

Jungkook grins, “And here I was, hoping you would talk me out of this crazy idea.”

“No way,” you shake your head, “I’m just as crazy as you are.”

“So… road trip?” Jungkook raises his brows expectantly.

“Just wait. First breakfast. Then, road trip!”

Jungkook grins, “Can’t forget breakfast.”

- ✻ ✻ ✻ -

Jungkook wasn’t exaggerating when he said the roads would be a nightmare today. You stare out at the sea of cars on all sides of you, sitting at a standstill, with passengers and drivers looking just as hopeless as you feel. The sky above your is a dark grey, and around you, car lights are beginning to turn on as evening sets in.

“We’re never going to get moving,” you groan, leaning your head against the cold window.

“Sure we are,” Jungkook shifts into first gear, rolling the car forward, “Look at that. We gained some ground.”

“Yeah… an inch,” you say.

“An inch is better than nothing,” Jungkook says, and you bite back on any immature jokes you could make, turning your attention to the radio instead:

“How about we have some music?” You turn the volume up as the notes of ‘Let it Snow’ start swimming through the stuffy air of the car.

“I’d rather it didn’t snow,” Jungkook addresses the radio, “At least until we get home again.”

You glance up at the grey clouds that have been consistently gathering above you all day. The sky is dark now, and you can barely tell if that’s because it’s getting late in the day, or just because the heavens are threatening a storm. Maybe both.

Trying to remain positive despite the aching in your muscles from sitting for so long, you begin singing along, putting on a silly voice to coax a smile out of Jungkook as the car rolls forward a few more inches.

Shyly, Jungkook begins to sing along with you, and you trail off, listening intently to Jungkook, awed by his voice. He continues on, not noticing you’ve stopped singing with him, until the song comes to an end. “What?” he glances over at you, “You’re staring at me.”

“Sorry,” you flush, “I just- I never realised you could sing, Jungkook.”

“Huh?” It’s his turn to blush. “I’m not that good.”

“Sure you are! You sing like an angel.”

The tips of his ears are turning red. “Oh, stop flattering me.”

“I need you to know how talented you are, Jungkook, damnit.”

“Oh yeah, well if you’re going to be complimenting me, then you better expect some compliments in return.”

A smile tugs at you lips, “Yeah? You got compliments for me?”

“Sure I do.” Around you, the traffic begins moving again, slowly. “For starters, you’re beautiful!” Jungkook keeps his eyes on the road, rolling forward, but he can’t hide the smile on his face as he talks about you, “And you’re really funny. You’ve got the perfect sense of humour. Not to mention you’re kind. And you’re willing to put up with all my crazy ideas - liking driving miles to find a watchmaker on the off chance he might be able to tell us when I was supposed to meet my soulmate. And you’re also really beautiful. Did I already say that?” He laughs at himself, clearly embarrassed by his rambling. “I guess what I’m trying to say is that if you end up being my soulmate, then I’m a very lucky man.”

You can’t do anything but smile, cheeks hurting, unused to stretching so far. Jungkook has rendered you speechless. You want to tell him so much – that he’s beautiful too, that you love his jokes, his passion, his gentleness, that you think you’d be very lucky if he turned out to be your soulmate too, but the words stick in your throat.

Above you, the heavy clouds begin to release their first flakes of snow with a gentle sigh.

Somehow, you get the sense, Jungkook already knows all you want to tell him.

- ✻ ✻ ✻ -

The clock on the car dashboard reads 11:00pm. You can barely see the road in front of you, dimly lit by the car's headlights. You’ve made your way through all the traffic, and are somehow still making barely any progress on the road. The windscreen is obscured by a flurry of snowflakes, occasionally punctuated by the windscreen wipers, giving you a brief glimpse of the snow drowning the road in white.

“Jungkook,” you murmur across to him, “We really need to stop.”

“We’re nearly there,” Jungkook insists. You can hear the rough scratch of sleepiness in his voice.

But you know you need to stop driving soon. Jungkook’s tired, and despite turning up the volume of the radio until it’s blasting obnoxious Christmas tunes at full volume, you know Jungkook can’t fight the battle against sleep for much longer.

“We both need rest,” you insist, “We’ll get there tomorrow. But for now we need to stop.”

Jungkook is about to argue back, until a yawn catches him off guard. Blinking tired eyes at the dark road ahead, he relents: “Alright, I’ll turn in at the next service station.”

You watch carefully for the signs directing you to the service station. Through the snow, the sign pointing for a hotel almost feels like a mirage at first. Relief floods through your veins as you turn into the car park, safe, as the snow falls silently around you, covering you in a muffling blanket.

“You okay with sleeping in there?” Jungkook nods at the hotel sign, barely staying up above the entrance. Somebody’s scratched off the “T” and the “L” so it reads “HO E”.

“Anything’s better than sleeping in the car,” you tell him, and so the two of you jump out, and make a break for the hotel, scrambling to escape the bitter cold.

As Jungkook pulls the door open for you, you’re greeted with the smell of damp. You remind yourself of what you had said just a few seconds ago: Anything’s better than sleeping in the car. You’re beginning to doubt that.

Jungkook speaks to the tired looking receptionists, who hands you over a set of keys, telling him it’s the only room they have left.

“Thank you,” Jungkook smiles, before leading you towards the stairwell. The two of you make your way up the rickety old stairs, creaking under your weight.

“I’m regretting not packing a clean set of clothes,” Jungkook admits, as he locates your room down the corridor, “Or a toothbrush for that matter.”

“Don’t worry,” you say, “I didn’t bring those things either. We’ll just have to rough it together.”

Jungkook shrugs apologetically, “I really didn’t think the drive would take this long. Maps said it would only be a five hour drive.”

“That was without snow or Christmas traffic,” you remind him, as he fights with the door, trying to unlock it. With a couple of hard shoves, the door finally shudders open with a blood curdling creak, and you’re greeted with your room, if you could even call it a room. The whole space is taken up by a double bed, covered with grey sheets that might have been white once upon a time.

“Well,” Jungkook steps inside, “I’m beginning to think sleeping in the car might have been a better idea.”

“The car would certainly have had more space,” you laugh, closing the door behind you, with some force, so that it stays shut.

On closer inspection, the small door you had expected to be a cupboard turns out to be the en suit, almost the size of a cupboard itself.

“I guess it’s a good thing we didn’t bring any luggage,” you joke, “We’d have no room for it.”

“I suppose so,” Jungkook says, “If you want to look on the bright side.”

With no luggage with you, it doesn’t take the two of you long to get ready for bed. The two of you take the toothpaste the hotel left out for you, using your fingers to spread the paste around as best you can. It’s not the cleanest your teeth have ever been, but it’s better than nothing. That’s all you can say for this hotel in general. It’s better than nothing.

Defeated, the two of you crash into your bed, too tired to be embarrassed by the prospect of sharing a bed for the first time.

You roll away from Jungkook, snuggling the blankets up around you, and try to fall asleep. As soon as you close your eyes though, thoughts begin to bombard you, doubts springing up like daisies – what if Jungkook isn’t your soulmate, and this trip is all for nothing? Worse – what if the watchmaker reveals who Jungkook’s real soulmate is, and he goes off with them instead?

Rolling onto your back, you stare up at the ceiling, where, in the dim light from outside, you can see the shape of a damp patch on the ceiling. It looks like a map of the USA if you squint.

“You still awake?” Jungkook’s voice breaks the silence, raspy and deep.

“Yeah…”

“I can’t sleep,” Jungkook admits.

“Me neither.”

“What’s keeping you up?” Jungkook asks.

“Well,” you bite your lip, “I’m worried about what will happen once we find out when your watch was meant to come off… I’m worried I won’t be your soulmate.”

Jungkook considers this silently. You swallow, focussing on the strange USA-shaped damp patch on the ceiling.

“Well,” Jungkook finally speaks up, “I’ve been thinking… Even if it turns out that we’re not soulmates… I’d still like to be with you.”

You hadn’t been expecting that. You sit up, looking down at Jungkook. His eyes gleam up at you, reflecting the street lights from outside.

“What?” he asks, frowning up at your face.

“You mean that, Jungkook?”

His voice is soft, firm. “Of course I mean it. I like you. I like you a lot. And I get a sense I’m dangerously close to falling in love with you. Frankly, I don’t care if we’re soulmates. I want to be with you, regardless of what the watchmaker says. I want to see if we can make things work.” He pauses. “I’m sorry for last night. When we got back from clubbing. I guess I panicked because I thought we were moving too fast. And I was worried there was someone out there who was meant to be with you, when I wasn’t. But I can feel it now, even if I’m not your soulmate, I want to be yours – if you want me?”

The only answer you can give to that is to lean down over Jungkook, and press a gentle kiss to his warm lips. “I want that too,” you whisper the answer into his skin, lowering yourself back onto the bed. He wraps his arms around you, drawing you closer, and that’s the last thing you remember before sleep finally takes you captive.

- ✻ ✻ ✻ -

[Ten Years Ago]

You’re sitting on the swing in the village park, Jungkook on the swing beside you. The sky before you sparkles out with a kaleidoscope of stars, bright and clear with no clouds to hide them. Your breath comes out in clouds of fog as you push yourself back and forth.

“You said there was something you wanted to tell me?” you press Jungkook.

He asked you to come over and meet him, but you’ve spent the past few minutes talking over small, inconsequential things. You knew you would have to bring it up eventually, his reason for calling you out here.

“Yeah,” Jungkook huffs out a sigh, the mist of his breath rising in front of him, to melt into the air. “See, the thing is… I’m moving away.”

The whole world shifts then, like the earth, spinning on its orbit, has suddenly accelerated forward faster than you were prepared for. You’ve spent so much time with Jungkook, he’s one of your closest friends, one you’ve known for so long. A life without him in your small village seems like a different life entirely, lived in a new body – like you’re not yourself, like you’re losing a part of you.

“Oh,” is all you can say.

“It’s because of the divorce,” Jungkook explains, pushing himself back on the swing, and tipping his head back to stare up at the spilled contents of the milky-way. “My dad’s moving away, and taking me with him. Mum’s staying here.”

Of course, you already knew about the divorce. Nothing stayed a secret in the small village, and you had heard your neighbours whispering about Jungkook’s parents. Everyone had also managed to hear about Jungkook’s lack of a soulmate. He had told you about it soon after he found his watch himself, and you hadn’t had any way to respond, only being able to offer him a hug. You knew what it was like to have no soulmate – to face a future without the promise of a partner. But you couldn’t express that him. Not in any way that felt adequate for the weight of sadness you could feel around him.

“I see.” You know your replies are stiff, but you don’t know what else to say.

Silence ebbs in, feeling heavy in your ears. You stare up at the sky, where the stars wink back at you, offering no answer for the sudden empty feeling in your heart.

“I’ll miss you,” you say at last. It’s something you know you should say, and when you finally push it past your throat, you realise it’s easy to admit. You’ll miss Jungkook so much.

“I’ll miss you too,” he pushes himself around on his swing, so that he’s angled towards you, chains of the swing twisting. “I suppose I should confess this now before I leave…” he presses his lips together, “I thought that because the two of us are soulmate-less, the two of us might eventually end up together.”

“Like, soulmates… but not?” you ask.

“Yeah,” Jungkook nods.

You twist around in your swing as well, facing him. You’re grateful for the darkness of the park, which hides the blush on your face, as a swarm of emotions swim to the surface. You hadn’t considered it before, but it makes sense that the people who don’t have soulmates should be paired together. And Jungkook’s such a good friend. Isn’t that what a soulmate is anyway? A really good friend, who stays with you forever.

But Jungkook can’t stay with you forever.

“I would have liked that,” you admit, your heart jolting into your throat as you speak, and choking you up, so you can’t continue that thought any further.

“Me too,” Jungkook smiles sadly. Pushing himself up off the swing, he walks over to you, hands gripping onto the chains of the swing you’re sat on.

He’s so close that you can see the reflections of the orange streetlights in his dark brown eyes. The ghost of his breath waltzes across your cheeks.

You don’t quite realise what you’re doing, or what he’s doing, until his lips are upon yours, warm and soft.

The whole world seems to pause, as if it’s holding its breath, with the stars twinkling above your heads as the only indication that time is moving forward.

The kiss is short, barely a few seconds, but it’s now imprinted on your brain forever, repeating a thousand times over. A thought stabs painfully at you: If you never find your soulmate,  that could be both your first and your last kiss.

Your stomach fills with ice, as Jungkook pulls away, murmuring, “I’ll miss you so much.”

- ✻ ✻ ✻ -

[Present Day]

You awaken with Jungkook stirring beside you. Blinking, you look up to him with a smile as he sits up in bed, stretching his arms above his head. His hair is falling across his face, messy and tangled, but he looks better than he ever has as your heart fills with the hope that the two of you have a future together.

“You’ll never guess what,” Jungkook says, as he goes to open the curtains.

“What?”

Outside, the snow has calmed down, a snug blanket lying over the ground, leaving the world peaceful – a far contrast from the wild flurries of ice last night. Jungkook points out the window at the sign in the car park, “We’re only a mile away from the town the watchmaker lives in.”

And despite how awful the weather was last night, and how scared you were on the road with Jungkook, you can’t help but laugh. “I guess we better go find that damn watchmaker then, since we’ve come all this way.”

“Right!” Jungkook grins, “But remember, no matter what the outcome of all of this… we’ll stay together, so long as that’s what you want.”

“It’s what I want.” You’ve never been more sure.

- ✻ ✻ ✻ -

The centre of the town is bustling when you arrive. There are people milling around, some frantically buying last minute gifts, others out to enjoy the atmosphere and the bright Christmas light.

You feel like an oddity, scouring the streets for a watch shop while the rest of the town prepares for Christmas.

“This is it!” Jungkook’s voice directs you towards him, a few feet ahead of you, where he’s found the shop you were looking for. You run over to him, excited – until you see the ‘Closed for Christmas’ sign hanging on the door in cheery shades of red and green that don’t match your mood.

“No way,” you can’t hide the disappointment in your voice, “We drove all the way here...for this?”

Jungkook shrugs. “Maybe we’re just not meant to know if we’re soulmates or not.”

You’re ready to turn around, and try to make the most of the town that you’ve taken so long to drive to – when you hear a voice from behind.

“Excuse me?”

You turn around to see a small old lady in front of you.

“Hello,” you say, smiling at her.

“Are you looking for the watchmaker?” she asks.

Jungkook nods, “We were. We heard he can wind back soulmate watches that have stopped, to see when their timer was meant to go off. Do you know if that’s true?”

The old lady gives a smile, her wrinkles stretching as she does so. “Yes, that’s so. Why were you wondering?”

“Well,” Jungkook pulls his watch out from his pocket. It’s silver chain glints in the Christmas lights. “We wanted to find out when this watch was meant to go off. It’ll help us figure out if we’re soulmates.”

“You don’t know if you're soulmates?” the old lady frowns.

“My watch fell off when I was very young,” you explain, “I was never sure if it was a malfunction or not. And Jungkook never wore his watch as a child, so we have no way of knowing if it was supposed to fall off with mine.”

“I see,” the old woman’s eyes twinkled, “It’s just that when I saw you as I walked past, I was so sure you were soulmates. This might sound strange, but the two of you remind me of myself and my husband when we were younger.”

You smile, a warmth spreading through your chest, heating your body despite the cold.

“Do you know who my husband is?” the old lady continues, with a twinkle in her eye, and you shake your head. She leans forward, as if she’s about to divulge a great secret. “He’s the watchmaker you’re looking for.” She smiles at the surprise settling on your face. “If you want, you can visit our house, and I’ll have him take a look at that watch.”

“Oh, I couldn’t,” Jungkook says, “I wouldn’t want to make him work on Christmas Eve if he’s taken the day off.”

“Oh nonsense,” the woman flaps her hands at Jungkook, wafting off his concerns. “It’s no problem. Consider it an act of good Christmas cheer.”

Jungkook glances at you, and you give a reassuring smile. “That’s very kind,” you say, “We’d love to take you up on the offer if it’s not too much trouble.”

The lady’s wrinkled face breaks into a smile. “No trouble at all!”

You find yourself being led down twisting roads towards the old lady’s house as she tells you about how she and her husband met – in a situation similar to yours. Her husband had been wearing his watch. She hadn’t. She told you that when she was younger she used to believe that soulmates were a farce, and so refused to wear her watch. When she bumped into her future husband, she hadn’t realised that she was the reason his watch fell off – it wasn’t until he chased her down the street with such determination not to loose her, waving his watch in her face, that he managed to convince her that soulmates were worth believing in.

“That’s how my husband got into mending watches, you see,” the lady goes on, as you walk beside her, Jungkook on her other side, “He wants to help people who are unsure who their soulmates are.”

You smile at Jungkook, as the lady points up ahead, “That’s my house. We’re almost there.”

As she unlocks the door, she calls for her husband, before bustling towards the kitchen. “Let me make you a cup of tea.”

You’re ushered into a quaintly decorated living room, with a steaming cup of tea placed into hand, explaining your situation to the watchmaker, as he turns over Jungkook’s watch in his hands.

“I’ll see what I can do with this then,” the old man says, with a kind smile, taking the watch into his back room. You watch him through the open door, as he fixes his glasses on his face, and begins work.

By your side, Jungkook’s hand comes to rest on your knee – a gentle reminder that even if the watch tells that you aren’t soulmates, he’ll still be there for you.

The wait is long – or maybe it only seems that way, because you’re aware that you’re waiting. You try to listen carefully, as the old lady keeps you entertained, telling stories of other couples her husband has helped, but at the back of your mind, Jungkook’s soulmate watch keeps flashing up, in shades of silver.

At last, with the all of the tea drunk, the watchmaker emerges from his work room, handing the watch back to Jungkook.

“Well?” You can tell Jungkook is holding his breath.

“That watch was set to go off sixteen years ago,” the watchmaker says, “To be precise it was set to go off on the fourth of September, sixteen years ago, at quarter past nine.”

Your gaze falls on Jungkook. His eyes are a mirror of your own – shining, wide and bright. You don’t need to check. You’ve got the date memorised by heart – the day you lost your watch, the day that Jungkook careened into your life on his tricycle, destroying your watch, and making your life all the better by existing in it.

“Well, is that the date you were hoping for?” the watchmaker asks, but his wife quickly shushes him:

“Can’t you tell from their faces. That’s the right date alright!”

You can’t hold back as you barrel into Jungkook’s arms, not even caring that you’re being watched. He’s planting kisses across your face, spreading warmth along the paths his lips travel.

Of course, you knew that he would stay with you, even if you weren’t soulmates. And that these kisses would come, even if the date differed. But a part of you also knew that you were soulmates all along, that you didn’t need a watchmaker to tell you the truth. You didn’t need to check what you already knew – what the whole village knew. Maybe you really were an idiot for not believing all this time. The boy who broke your soulmate watch, was the boy who was your soulmate all along.

- ✻ ✻ ✻ -

It’s almost midnight by the time you make it back to your village, the Christmas lights still illuminating the small streets, warm and familiar, as Jungkook’s car pulls up in your drive.

“Is it alright if I stay the night?” Jungkook asks.

“You’re always welcome,” you tell him, getting out of the car, and leading him to the house.

The both of you are still too excited by the events of the day to go to sleep, so you end up on the couch, with mugs of instant hot chocolate steaming in your hands.

“So, where do we go from here?” you ask Jungkook. You’re not sure what you’re supposed to do once you get a soulmate. Especially if you’ve known this soulmate for most of your life.

“Well, for one thing,” Jungkook says, sipping on his hot chocolate, “I’m going to have to start taking more trips to see my mum.”

“You mean trips to see me,” you nudge him with your foot.

“Of course,” he bows his head graciously, “Obviously I’ll be coming over to see you. But we can at least pretend for my mum’s sake. Make her feel special.”

You laugh. “That’s odd for someone who doesn’t get on with his mum.”

Jungkook shrugs. “She might have been misguided, but in the end, her actions didn’t stop me from finding who I was meant to be with. And I suppose I never really needed the watch, even though I thought I did. So maybe she was onto something after all, even if she didn’t realise that herself.”

You nod, “I know what you mean. It’s like I’ve always known on a subconscious level that I was going to fall for you.”

Jungkook’s ears turn pink with pleasure. “So you’d say you’ve fallen for me?”

“Obviously. Completely. Head over heels.”

On the wall across from you, the clock ticks over from 11:59 to 00:00.

“Happy Christmas,” Jungkook smiles across at you.

“Happy Christmas, Jungkook.”

- END -

[srrrokka]

WIP Tag

I got tagged by @exultedshores to post a snipped of one of my wips! Thank you, Shores, you know that this is the only way they shall see light of the day :’)

The following bit is from the first chapter of To All That Is Lost, a Corvo/Daud fic. (Couldn’t find a good moment to crop this so it’s a bit over 3k, just saying.)

I shall tag @screwtheprinceimtakingthehorse, @puppyblueao3, @modlisznik, and @ptera-novaeangliae :3c

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Maybe it was that he became too cocky, too confident after a month-long streak of easy, uninterrupted burglaries and theft—or rather scavenging, considering the flats he entered had been mostly emptied by the plague already—or perhaps it was the gnawing hunger, twisting his stomach into painful knots that spurred him onward into actions bordering on straight up idiotic. Regardless of the cause, Corvo found himself south of the river, uncomfortably close to a Watch outpost swarming with officers and equipped with not one but two arc pylons. 

A string of colourful Serkonan curses fell from his lips between one heavy breath and another as he ran out onto a narrow makeshift bridge linking two opposing buildings, and prayed to the Outsider, and any other being listening, that he wouldn't get shot from the street below. He fisted his left hand, ignoring the throbbing headache it caused. Turquoise light flared from under the too long sleeve of his tattered sweater. The moment his fingers unclenched, he was on the other side, slamming the balcony door shut with his foot. He stumbled forward, looking for a way out, his worn leather coat flapped around his shins as he whirled around.

Stairs. Stairs leading to the ground floor. No breaking legs today.

Angry shouting from the footbridge pushed him forward as if he had wings and he nearly flew down the first flight of stairs, jumping three steps at a time. The few things in the canvas bag slung over his shoulder slammed their sharp edges into his thigh where it bounced with every step. But he barely registered the pain.

"Stop! Stay where you are!" Corvo froze at the words, his eyes wide behind the simple leather mask. He nearly ran into the Watchman climbing towards him.

Upstairs a loud bang and the sound of shattering glass announced other officers being right at his tail. He let out a strained breath. If there was no way up or down... there was always left and right.

He swallowed hard and, using the handrail like a springboard, jumped over it and into the drop between the steps. The fall wasn't massive, but it was enough to nearly make Corvo land on his knees, all of the muscles in his body strained with the impact. Probably only due to the adrenaline rushing in his veins and humming like a waterfall in his ears did he manage to not stumble and immediately broke into a run.

The way out was so close, so very close. He could make it. He could live another day.

A light blue shine on the right caught his eye. Whale oil tank powering one of the arc pylons. He forgot about the arc pylons!

"Don't move! There's no escape!" yelled one of the officers behind him and he shot a quick glance in his direction. There were five of them, already nearly at the ground floor.

With a metallic scrape, Corvo yanked the whale oil tank from its socket and blinked down at it as the contents swirled dangerously behind the glass. He had an idea. It was a bad idea. But it seemed to be just the day for those.

He tossed the tank towards the staircase and broke into a desperate sprint.

The heartbeat in his chest counted down to the explosion along with his frantic footfall. He caught one hand on the door frame to aid in taking a sharp turn. But instead it helped him not to tumble forward when he slammed into someone's solid form.

It felt as if time had slowed down for him. Against all logic there was enough time to look at the man in a red leather coat in front of him — his light grey piercing eyes wide in surprise, grab his lapels into a grip so tight Corvo's knuckles felt like they were about to dislocate, and yank him away from the entrance, spinning them around and slamming him against the wall right next to it. The man opened his mouth, a scowl growing on his features, but whatever he had to say was swallowed by an explosion that shook the marrow in Corvo's bones. They both instinctively curled in response, trying to shield themselves as much as possible, as a ball of fire shot out with an angry roar from the building. 

Through the ringing in his ears, Corvo heard what seemed like quite a large number of people yelling. He couldn't quite make out the words but when he lifted his head and his eyes met the red-coat's, he knew it was time to go.

They both lunged away from the swarm of Watchmen at the same time as if signalled by a starter pistol. They sped down along the street, kicking up clouds of dust and Void knows what else, as a thunder of several gunshots cracked behind them sharply like a whip. A bullet hit the cobble near Corvo's feet and ricocheted away with a high-pitched whistle. He grit his teeth, willing his legs to go faster.

Regardless of how bad the Watch was at aiming, they would eventually get shot if they continued on in a straight line like that.

As if knowing his thoughts precisely, the man at his side yanked him by the arm to the left, nearly throwing him over in the process. Corvo scrambled gracelessly with him towards a narrow, shaded alleyway. It was closed off by a tall brick wall, too tall even for him to Blink on top of, if he had any energy left for that in the first place.

But his companion didn't seem too perturbed by the fact that he was leading them into a corner. Either he had a plan or he was simply insane. Either way, one thing was clear — there was no going back now.

Corvo was about to open his mouth to voice the concern, when a strong, gloved arm pulled him closer to its owner, wrapping itself tightly around his middle.

In the space between a heartbeat and another, an endless sea of whispers like the last breath escaping a hundred souls surrounded him along with a swirl of ash. The sensation of misplacement that followed was familiar in the most unfamiliar way — weightlessness guided by the purpose of another, not his. Then, as the ash parted, the world caught up to him in a wrong angle, wrong space, wrong altitude.

And with a breathless exhale he fell.

The only thing that saved him from landing three stories down in a pile of broken bones and blood on the hard concrete, was the mindless instinct to grab. The old cast iron balcony railing rattled dangerously under his weight, as the gravity almost wrenched his shoulders out of their sockets and his solar plexus hit the outer edge of the stone floor, making him fruitlessly gasp for air with a painful wheeze.

Above him, heavy boots on either side of Corvo's palms, the red-clad man struggled to keep his balance on the balustrade — arms spread wide, attempting to counteract the wobble Corvo was causing. Quickly enough, he regained his footing, jumped back onto the landing, and, having thrown a glance to the mouth of the alley, grabbed the back of Corvo's coat and helped him clamber up and into the building.

With a ruckus equal only to a herd of blood oxen, the stampede of Watchmen turned the corner and ran into the dead-end below, to their surprise, finding it completely empty.

The wave of relief that came over Corvo, as he watched them scramble aimlessly through a dust-covered window, was like a splash of pleasantly cool water. His lungs were burning, all the muscles in his body were screaming with exhaustion, and his head was pounding, but he was alive and he would continue to be, even if the following morning he'd probably regret his continued existence.

A dry barking cough brought his attention back to the person in the room with him — tall and well built, with a narrow face on the side of which was a long scar that disappeared all the way under the collar of his thick white shirt, and armed to the teeth. But most importantly–

"You're Marked," Corvo found himself rasping out with disbelief between the slowing breaths, and cleared his throat. It wasn't a question, the man was just like him. It never even crossed his mind he could meet another blessed by the Outsider. "Who are you?"

"Depends who's asking..." he replied, voice low and husky. His eyes narrowed as he looked over Corvo with a gaze calculating enough to make him irrationally self conscious about his scruffy appearance.

Having lifted his left hand, Corvo slipped his thumb out of the hole in the side of his sweater sleeve, showing off the back of his hand. The Outsider's mark stood stark black like spilled ink on his skin. "A fellow heretic," he supplied with a self-satisfied note in his voice and bent his fingers, willing a flash of turquoise light to highlight the sharp lines.

It reflected in the man's steely eyes but, apart from the most subtle shift in posture that did not escape Corvo, it invoked no reaction whatsoever. Maybe it was best to let him mull the news over for a moment or two. If the gifts of the Leviathan were as rare as he was made to believe, the man was surely as shocked as he was.

With that through, Corvo peered outside again and found only two officers still standing in the alley. The irrelevance of that number let him relax further and he rolled his aching shoulders as he looked around the abandoned flat. It must have been grand once — high ceilings of white stone and wooden flooring with intricate patterns now filled with grime and dust like everything else. Several pieces of furniture were still there; maybe some other treasures could be found too.

"I'm Daud," the Marked finally said dryly, the arms crossed over his chest nearly audible in his words.

Corvo didn't turn to look and continued rifling through the drawers of a water damaged desk. "Just Daud?"

"You're not from around here, are you?"

He froze, fingers just above the splotchy brown surface of a tarnished brass knob. For the second time that day his heart jumped straight to his throat. Was that one innocent question really enough to give away his complete lack of knowledge about Gristol? "You that famous?"

"As much as getting dubbed the 'Knife of Dunwall' warrants," Daud said darkly and leaned his shoulder on the nearby wall, making some loose flakes of plaster and paint fall to the floor.

"Oh, right, I heard about you. Head of the Whalers." Corvo finally reached into the drawer and shuffled the yellowed papers around.

"And you are?" Daud put a bit more stress on that question, clearly getting irked by him avoiding any solid answers.

Nimble fingers pocketed a silver coin from under the papers and, not having found anything more of interest, he turned around to sit on the edge of the dresser. "Attano. Corvo Attano." With his thumb he pushed the leather mask up to rest on the top of his head and rubbed the sweat off his forehead with his sleeve. "Nice to make your acquaintance," he added with a cocky smile.

"Attano," Daud repeated slowly as if trying his name out. "A Serk, huh?"

"Problem?"

"Not at all. I'm from Serkonos myself."

"A little pale for that," Corvo grinned at him smugly from across the room.

Daud raised an eyebrow, the arc of it a sharp angle. "So are you."

"Touché."

In his most recent memory he wasn't — he used to be quite tan, skin sun-kissed with constant running around in the Serkonan heat — but it must have been decades ago, considering how he looked at the present and how the gap between then and now felt nearly endless. A black void of a sudden cliff's edge.

"So, Attano." Corvo's attention snapped back to the assassin as he spoke again. "How long have you been in Dunwall?"

The desk whined underneath him when he shifted, eyeing Daud with narrowed eyes. Something felt off about this. "No offence, but what's it to you?"

"Just curious," he shrugged.

"Aha, sure. Do you show this interest to every person you meet on the street?" Corvo gritted out and got properly back onto his feet, ready to move at any time. Did the man think he was stupid? "Listen, if you want something from me, say it and stop running circles. But, as far as I see it, I saved your skin and you saved mine so we are done here."

"Straight to the point, I can appreciate that." Daud pushed himself off of the wall and half-heartedly dusted off his shoulder. "I want to offer you employment. You've got some skill, and certain other advantages, which I would definitely use among my men."

That caught Corvo completely off guard. "What, you want me to be a Whaler?" he asked incredulously. "Sorry, Knife, but I am no assassin."

"No one said you have to be an assassin. Other positions are available."

It seemed too good to be true. As far as Corvo and many other people of his status were concerned, the looking a gift horse in the mouth saying was a steaming pile of oxen dung. Always question an overly generous gesture because it might turn out that under the surface it isn't one at all.

But despite that, Corvo couldn't stop a spark of hope igniting at the very back of his mind. Having a job, no matter how shady, would not only give him some means to live but also put a sense of structure into the confusing wreck of his life. The Outsider only knows how difficult and terrifying the last month was for him.

Daud graciously let him consider the offer for a good while but when he finally spoke again it was like putting a marble block on the scale. "I can also offer you a safe corner to sleep in and a reliable supply of food."

A ravenous twist of his empty stomach sent Corvo's thoughts to the two heavily bruised apples at the bottom of his bag — his only food. "You got me there..." He exhaled slowly. There shouldn't be any harm in chancing the truth, should there? "Listen, it's not that I'm not willing. I just doubt I would be useful to you."

Confusion clear in the tilt of his head and eyes scanning, Daud questioned on, "How so? You seem capable enough to me."

"What if I told you I can't remember the last fifteen, maybe twenty years of my life?" Corvo asked, throat tighter at the admission than he expected. It occurred to him then that he hadn't told anyone about this before. He hoped it didn't sound too much like a weird excuse. "I doubt I would be useful to you because I don't even know what I can do."

"That's... rough," Daud managed. His grey eyes darkened under a deep frown. He seemed horrified by that concept, in a faraway, concealed way. Or maybe Corvo just wanted him to be.

Corvo laughed mirthlessly, "Yeah, tell me about it... All I've got is the last month and then nothing until I was a kid." His eyes dropped, fingers fidgeting nervously with the edge of his tattered bag.

"We can always find out what you can do. Or put you through training," the assassin offered.

That wasn't a bad concept. He definitely had muscle memory of some skills, like the mark and various sword fighting techniques he doesn't recall knowing in his youth. But it was unexpected how easily the Knife came to accept his affliction. So with a frown of his own he looked the man dead in the eye, challenging. "Excuse my distrust, but you are very... intent on getting me on your side. Why?"

Daud considered his words for a short moment. "You're Marked," he finally said simply. "There are very few of us and those who are alive are very powerful. I would most definitely not want an enemy out of you."

"And that's why you want me under your heel. Makes sense," Corvo thought out loud and immediately winced inwardly. It sounded much more malicious than he intended. Fortunately, Daud didn't seem bothered by that remark.

"You would be under my command, yes, but it's not like I would be able to control you, Attano," he reasoned. "You can leave whenever you want to."

"So what are your conditions?" Corvo asked as if he hadn't decided already.

The corners of Daud's narrow lips curled up in a knowing smile. He was undeniably handsome, in a sharp and dangerous kind of way that either made one's blood freeze or run hot, no in between. With slight amusement Corvo found that he fell under the latter category. There was something exhilarating in being under the scrutiny of those icy, attentive eyes.

We learnt something new about ourselves there, huh?

"The Whalers are more of an organised force compared to other gangs — everyone has their own function and a strict hierarchy is in place. As such, I would expect you to follow my orders and those of the ones above you." When Daud began moving in his direction with leisurely steps, one arm behind his back and the other gesturing loosely as he talked, Corvo straightened his back instinctively. With eerie ease he felt himself slip into the alert stiffness he could expect from Watchmen during an official briefing. "To trust you with our secrets, I need your loyalty. But as I said, you can quit at your discretion. Preferably by telling me, otherwise it might so happen that you could be considered a traitor and hunted for sport." The last words were accompanied by a dark glint in the master assassin's eyes. That was not an empty threat.

None of what he was asking for was unreasonable, Corvo had to admit. And considering he wouldn't be forced into killing people, it seemed like a great deal all around. Then again, casting his mind back to the officers he blew up — probably gravely injured, if not dead due to his actions — didn't fill him with too much remorse, so maybe they could make an assassin out of him still.

Lightly, he tapped the heel of his boot on the wooden panelling several times, rolling all of it over in his head for the last time. Then on a long exhale he said, "Alright. I'm all yours."