#me 300+ hours into void stranger
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Hi Pia!! I love your work and have consistently been reading it for over a couple of years, currently every TIP update u post makes my days a bit brighter 🥰
It is also thanks to you that I started posting fics last year after more than three years not doing so. While some of my fics have been wildly popular in a fandom some others don't seem to have landed as well within the same one, so I wanted to ask, what do you do about those stories that excite you but that don't seem to have found an audience yet, or that they never will?? How do you work through the fear of them not being worth your writing time?
Have a lovely day 💚🍀
Hi anon,
This is a hugely complicated question.
For a start, for writing that is for income, if I think it won't do well, I don't write it (although only to a point, I wrote The Gentle Wolf because asexual representation mattered more to me than sales, but it still hit hard when that turned out to be true). I don't like to mess with things that pay the bills. I hate that I have to look at metrics in that sense, but I do. But thankfully we're not talking about original fiction:
For fanfiction, things are different, and there might be a lot of different things going on.
For a start, almost always, when people ask me this question they are still getting some interaction on their fics, just not as much as they wanted or imagined. It can really help to like, remember to be grateful for every person who interacts, and not just the 'quantity' of interactions.
I think like... I am a big fan of 'write for yourself' but it's also true that I write for interaction on AO3. Just... only you can decide how much of the former will compensate for not much of the latter. There are people out there who are like 'if I was only writing for myself I'd keep it in my computer.' I'm not like that, and I don't vibe that way. I write for myself but enjoy sharing it, in case something that worked well for me, works well for a stranger. Everyone is different and that's eventually going to be what the crux of this post is, lol.
Popularity is influenced by the fact that some fandoms are more dead than others and lack interaction across the board in general (Persona 5, for example, is notorious for this). Some fandoms like certain tropes more than others. Some fandoms are massively popular for three weeks and then die almost immediately. And so on and so on.
Ultimately fandom is fickle, it's loyal to the stories they like more than the authors they like, and you can't predict what will be a flash in the pan and what won't be, and it doesn't always have anything to do with the quality of the fic itself or the tags you used. (This is sort of like how sketches will sometimes get tens of thousands of notes and a 300 hour single piece of quality art will get 400 notes, while a professional artist tears their hair out in pieces).
Sometimes, a fic will be more interesting to me than the reality of fandom interaction and I'll write it. Touching and Melting for Houseki no Kuni is a good example of that. A tiny fic for honestly an extremely quiet and tiny western fandom in terms of fic, which looks like it had a lot of interaction 3 years on, but had almost nothing in the first few months. And sometimes the fic idea won't be more interesting to me than the reality of the fandom interaction, and I won't write it. I go story idea by story idea.
But I've also taught myself to really think about a) the way I talk about interaction and b) to really value every individual that leaves a kudos, or comments, or public bookmarks. When I sort of started out with Shadows and Light, I remember being so bummed when a story didn't do as well, and thinking that meant it was doing 'badly.' Let's be real, Game Theory when it started out had less than a tenth of the interaction of SALverse, and I thought I had failed. If I'd given up at that point, well... all of this wouldn't exist.
And then just looking at fanfiction, it's like.. well, sometimes fics do a lot worse than other fics, there's usually at least one person who will read it and leave a kudos. I remind myself that to that person, the story mattered or meant something, which meant I didn't just write it for myself anymore, there is interaction.
This is much harder on stories that have zero comments, and zero kudos, obviously, no one likes to feel as though they are shouting into the void. But it's also my experience that writers who've had popular fics, don't often have 'zero kudos fics' when they say a fic is doing really badly. They just..maybe need to value the individual interactions alongside how good a 'mass' of interaction can feel, or alongside how good 'quantity' can feel. I do really think that's a skill that a lot of like...enthusiastic fanfiction writers have mastered or at least are learning.
Sometimes it really helps to have somewhere in private to vent to when you feel emotionally overloaded or insecure, and honestly sometimes it can help to re-evaluate.
For some people, writing fic when a certain threshold of interaction isn't reached, just isn't worth it. I can't convince people like that to keep writing. If there's a deep seated 'this isn't worth it' then stop doing it.
If there's 'this is insecurity and I'm not good at valuing everyone and I feel down right now but it'll pass' then...work quietly and patiently and compassionately on strengthening your resilience and your trust in your own writing, and your ability to value individuals who interact and engage on your fics. If you don't do this, you may end up bitter and resentful, and that can influence your entire relationship with fandom, and worse, the people who interact with your fics.
Also, finally:
How do you work through the fear of them not being worth your writing time?
In fanfiction, I do not base whether something is worth my writing time on the quantity of people who will interact with it. It is worth my writing time because I'm really excited to write it, and I want to share it, even if people don't respond immediately, or even if only one person ever comments.
I don't...have this fear that you have based on the things you're basing it on - my fears are different to yours. It's fanfiction. It's worth my writing time because I'm eager to write or fix or alter something in canon or I want to make the two boys fuck because no one else was going to, and because I can generally trust that one person out there will probably read it, even if I go back over 10 years ago and my Livejournal fics were only getting like one comment per chapter. If that.
If your metric for 'worthiness' is 'quantity of interaction' then - I'm the wrong person to talk to, I'm literally motivated to write fanfiction by completely different factors to you. I didn't start SAL knowing it would get popular, I thought people would hate me because I killed Jamie in the first chapter, and up until that point none of my fics had been popular.
I can't convince you on the things that convince me, when our foundational motivations are different. If you want quantity and that's what 'worth' means to you, I don't know what to tell you, I would never have written SAL in the first place if I hadn't been the kind of person to just write fanfic for almost no / or no interactions, and still enjoy that single person who said 'I really enjoyed this thank you for writing.' I didn't spring into being as someone who was writing fics that got a lot of interaction, that came...years later, y'know?
So what is worthy to me sounds like it's also just different to what is worthy to you. Ultimately, there are people only writing fanfiction on the basis of how many people interact with them, and...I don't know how those people keep choosing to write honestly, and I think a lot eventually abandon it, because there's no algorithm to crack in order to be successful every time. Maybe...remind yourself that you've had popular fics in the past and therefore you will again? And that you can't get to that point without less popular fics on the step ladder in the meantime? Therefore, even a fic that doesn't feel 'worth your time' will be a stepping stone to the one that is?
Imho, I think my fics are worth my time because I enjoy reading them once they're finished. And then I think they're worth my time because other people enjoy them. Having a popular fic is fun and nice, but honestly, often a fluke, and doesn't always say anything about the quality of the writing (some of the most popular Yuri! on Ice stories with 10,000+ kudos were like...not always...the most well-written stories, but people were desperate for Content, and it was certainly that).
But yeah, how I think about fanfiction is very different to how I think about 'fiction that has to earn an income.' Ultimately I don't want to apply the latter philosophies to the former, other people do. If you're applying 'this needs to hit a certain threshold of interaction to be worthy' as your basis for writing fanfiction, then...we have very very different motivations for creating content in fandom! And I'm the wrong person to ask.
As I said, it's complicated, lol.
#asks and answers#pia on writing#pia on fanfiction#people have different values they bring to writing fanfiction#i've seen folks just say 'it's not worth it' if they're not getting like a certain amount of kudos or comments#and idk#i don't relate to that#which i know is hard to believe now but like#i *literally started out*#posting fics on livejournal and on livejournal communities#thinking it was a small miracle if like#*a single person commented*#and that's what sustained me for years#if that would've made you quit#we're here for different reasons anon
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The voyage of the smuggler [Emeriel]
Part 2
Summary: Rhysand has been killed by his enemies from Hewn City, and Feyre has died with him because of a secret pact between them no one knew about. Keir, Rhysan’s only male relative, has inherited the crown of the Night Court and the High Lord’s magic, and he is taking revenge on each and every member of Rhysand’s Inner Circle one by one. Azriel’s been taken, and Emerie has only one chance to save him before he is executed in two days.
A/N: To the people who thought the last chapter had a lot of angst... sorry in advance. This is a long one.
*If you want to be added to the taglist let me know!
Azriel
Azriel’s cell under Hewn City hadn’t existed a year ago, when he was still the Spymaster of the Night Court. The space had been built in record time just for him, and the spymaster couldn’t help but wonder if Keir had given an order to create a personal nightmare for each member or Rhysand’s Inner Circle, or if it was just for him. The light was blinding and came from the ceiling. Not even his body could cast a shadow on the marble floor because of how intense it was. It felt like an endless noon, with the sun right above and not a shadow to be seen. The cell’s walls were not average either. They were not made of raw stone or bricks, it was a flat rock surface without any breaks or divisions where a tiny shadow could grow. He was absolutely powerless there.
“Maybe this is life’s way to punish me for my crimes” he thought. The white floor was so smooth he could get a glimpse of his own reflection. It was not neat, but he could still tell that his black hair was long enough to almost cover his eyes.
That’s what gave him the idea.
Azriel knew for sure it had been less than a day since they shove him inside of the cubicle. His whole body was tense, eager to get out before he had the chance of discovering the variety of tortures Keir and his subjects had planned for him. To take revenge on him. Azriel had known a day might come in which he had to answer for all the pain he inflicted on others, and he had been ready to endure it. But now that his destiny was so close, he felt scared. He hadn’t thought he would feel that way when death lastly approached him, but he did. Because he had dreamed of his own life ending many nights, but in his reveries, Rhysand and Feyre were alive, Amren was alive, Mor and Cassian were safe, and Emerie was still a stranger who had recently befriended Nesta Archeron.
He realized with horror that he hadn’t dreamed about his final day coming since they met. Not once had the urge of punishing himself with self-inflicted nightmares come to him since Emerie forced herself into his life with her loud arrogance and big presence. He could only look forward, to what the next day by her side might bring.
The bright light of his cell didn’t allow him to sleep, so he didn’t even get the chance of trying to imagine her in the scenario. That was probably for the best. Azriel didn’t want her to see him when his life was taken from him, even if her face was the one thing he wished to see before his eyes were closed forever.
Azriel had always understood balance. He thived from it. His power was not darkness, like many people assumed, but the mastering of shadows; those that came from both obscurity and light. He was sure darkness would come into his cell sooner or later. They had built new spaces to torture them, sure, but the protocol of Hewn City’s prison was sill the same. He only had to wait and it would come to him.
“For how long?” he asked himself. They kept Amren there for a month, but Keir’s people would probably hold him for a longer time just to enjoy torturing him with no hurry.
Vengeance upon him, what Keir had wanted from the moment Rhysand sittted on the Night Court throne’s for the first time and declared him his enemy instead of making him his mentor. Azriel, a bastard born and a lesser faerie having a bigger role in the Court’s politics than he did. He was above Keir, who was of royal blood, and that couldn’t be forgiven. Nor all the humiliations that came next.
Azriel stood up and walked around his cell. There was nowhere to sit or lay, so he had to “go for a walk” pretty often to avoid his muscles becoming sore. It was tiring, and he thought it could help him get some sleep. His wings were tied, but no one touched them further. They didn’t dare. His name still had power in the Night Court, battle-hardened soldiers flinched at the sound of it. He had a reputation, and even the people who found an imprisoned him were wise enough to be scared of the tied up and unarmed Illyrian shadowsinger.
Besides, if he stayed on the floor, he would eventually get bored, and when that happened, his thoughts went straight back to Emerie. Every moment he didn’t spend scheming a way out of the prison was invested into regretting their last encounter.
After a lifetime of chasing the wrong love, he found her, and barely a year after, they were forced to part. He could have proposed to her, but instead, he was the one who suggested never binding themselves together.
“For your safety” he had said. And she had agreed.
At least, he knew it had been worth it, because she was safe and out of this big mess Rhysand and Feyre’s death had led them into.
The loud steps of a prison guard on the corridor took him out of his trance. Azriel noted he was having too much trouble unlocking the three latches. He pushed the thick door open only enough to come inside. The male was armed to the teeth and held a bucket in one hand.
“For you” he threw it on the ground before Azriel’s feet, but the Illyrian had his stare fixed somewhere else, on the guard’s eyes, covered in shadows cast by his hood.
Azriel didn’t even had to think about it, his own instinct commanded the power in his veins to come out, the darkness that was supposed to protect the male’s eyes from the bright light of the cell, becoming his death sentence. His shadows weren’t just the union of light and obscurity, but the absence of both. They were voids shaped like black snakes with a life of their own, and they were now corrupting the male’s yes, covering them, getting inside, feeding themselves with his flesh and absorbing his life into the nothingness they were.
He died before he had a chance to scream, and the shadowsinger was there to hold his body so he didn’t make any noise when falling down. Still, he was not gentle when he dropped him on the marble floor and run out of his cell.
As soon as he stepped out into the corridor, he realized why it had taken the guard so long to open the door. The absence of light after so many hours trapped in a cube of white shine made him go completely blind. His eyes simply couldn’t see anything, not even perceive the walls around him. Azriel had to use his hands to grope for the stone partitions that formed the passageway.
“Where am I?” he didn’t know. He thought he had an idea of where his confinement might be taking place, but he didn’t recognize the texture of the walls around him. He didn’t know what way to go, and he hadn’t expected that at all. He was the Spymaster, he had been for almost 300 years now, and he used to know the space under Hewn City they used as a prison as the palm of his hand. “Where am I?”
He had to think quickly, because his options were narrower than he anticipated. And he hadn’t thought he had that many to start with. Keir had put a lot of effort into making sure he was confined in the appropiate space, because he had been in a room too well illuminated to let him find his shadows in it, and now he found himself in a corridor too dark to get a glimpse of light. If he remained near to the door, he could still gather a few shadows and send them to explore the labyrinth, but they would only go so far before the darkness was too vast for them to thrive.
But he couldn’t stay there for long either, or some other guard might go check on him and find him sitting next to the dead body on the floor. He couldn’t just go now, or he would get lost too soon to be worth it.
He needed to find the way out.
Azriel recoiled a few steps and sent his shadows to explore the way ahead. He could sense what they saw... endless walls, cold floors, and if he took three turns right, he would find... Mor? No, not her, but a familiar warmth that reminded him of his friend.
“Could it be Keir?”, he wondered; they were family, after all. No, he never reminded him of her. Their auras were almost opposites. This wasn’t Mor, but it was a feeling of safety that guided him in the darkness. Azriel was disoriented, and maybe that’s why he decided to follow what would stink like a trap if he hadn’t been so desperate.
His shadows couldn’t go far enough to tell him what was it three turns to the right that called him so badly, but he put his hands to that side of the wall, and started walking, trusting it blindly.
Only when he finally saw the orb on the floor, its silver light illuminating the space enough for him to distinguish its round shape against the rest of the tunnel, he recognized the Veritas. Mor’s family treasure had once belonged to her father. Azriel himself stole it from him and gave it to Rhysand. The last time he had seen it, it had been used to negotiate with the Mortal Queens, before the war.
The shadowsinger knew it was a trap, a piece put there by Mor’s father to play mind games with him. If he had learned anything from his missions during the centuries, it was that one should never, under any circumstances, take Keir for granted. Rhysand had thought he would be able to keep him in line if he opened up Velaris, and Caldroun knew how that had worked out for him.
Yet, the magical object had an aura so strong he couldhear it calling his name.
“Azriel, Azriel, Azriel”. It was a familiar voice. Azriel touched the orb, and a vision of the past projected into his mind without giving him the chance of resisting.
They were in Emerie’s bedroom, the snowstorm outside so dangerous she had offered him to stay for the night. They had been seeing each other for half a year, but they had never spent the night in the same house before. That night they had sex, and she made dinner for both of them. At first he thought they had been lucky Nesta was with Cassian, or elsewhere it would be the three of them having dinner in silence. Then, he remembered they only met in there when Nesta wasn’t around, so it was not a coincidence at all.
Emerie didn’t like silence, but she also hated small talk, and getting into deep conversations made her uncomfortable -At least with him. At least for now-, so when they didn’t know what to say, she would start talking about her childhood and all the good memories she treasured of the time. He had been afraid it triggered him, or it made her uncomfortable if he told her about his own past, but it didn’t, and she found the right way to mix his experience into the conversation with that dark humour of hers he enjoyed so much.
“You whiny bitch” she had called him that night. He knew a fire-related joke was coming, and a smile was already forming on his lips. “Oh, my dad set me on fire” she mocked “That’s nothing, Az. My dad...” she made a pause and pinched the bridge of her nose in a dramatic gesture, like she was trying to overcome a wave of emotion. All faked. “... My dad gave me the worst haircut I have ever seen when I was 17 years old”.
Azriel held his smile and put a comforting hand on her shoulder “Em, I...” he pretended he had no words to ease her pain. She pushed him away.
“You what?” she fake-cried. There were no tears on her face, but if she could cry on command, it would have been the perfect charade “You feel me? No you don’t! I was 17, and I looked so bad not a single boy asked me out for a year. At 17, Az! That’s like the most important age for dating”.
He thought she was funny. He thought her effort to make it easy for him to talk about his childhood without throwing a pity party for him was endearing. And she always made sure she wasn’t overstepping and hurting his feelings. She had finally mastered the fire jokes, after getting bored of the not-knowing-how-to-fly ones. Those had been the first ones she came up with, because, ironically, she couldn’t fly either.
“Em, I don’t even know what to say. I can’t even start to imagine what you went through. I mean, I can’t even remember what I was doing at 17″ He made a dramatic pause too, but his weren’t as good “Oh, wait, I was getting laid every night. Yeah, that’s why I can’t really feel your pain, sorry". He held her hand in his. He wasn’t wearing his gloves, she said she liked his scarred hands better. He didn’t believe it, but took them off every time anyway. “Maybe you should try sharing this story with someone who is ugly. Maybe they’ll know what to say”
“I’m never cutting my kid’s hair” she said. She was smiling, and he was too.
“Yeah, I’m okay with that. And if they want to cut it, I can probably do it better than you, anyway” he answered.
The room went silent. They looked at each other, suddenly serious. Azriel panicked, realizing the implications of his words. When he didn’t know what to say, the shadowsinger stayed quiet, in fear he would add the wrong thing and make things worse. So it was Emerie who said:
“Well, if you want your kids and my kids to be the same kids, you’ll have to do something about your friends who hate me”. Her voice was firm, not nearly as loud as it had been moments ago. He nodded and silence reigned in the room again. “I’m serious, Azriel. I would like to have a life with you, but... I’m not doing it unless I know I’m going to be a priority”
It was fair. She had complained about his friend’s co-dependency before, and he knew sooner or later she would bring it up again and he would have to either break up with her, or grow some balls and talk to them.
Azriel had done a good amount of unforgivable things in his lifetime. He knew that, and he had never tried to make excuses for it. After all he had been through as a child, he genuinely had trouble sometimes telling where the line was. And knowing he had already crossed it once, he thought his soul would be cursed forever, no matter if he never did it again or if he did it a hundred times over. At least he was useful, and his family loved him regardless.
He thought no other female but Mor would be able to see his darkness and embrace it, and that was why he had been pining for her for so many years. He had thought Morrigan was the only chance of love he would ever have. It was either her or solitude. But Emerie saw him, everything he had done to others, and still loved him somehow. The only thing she asked of hin in return, was the certainty that she would never be harmed or neglected even if Rhysand asked him to hunt her down, which was fair. She had wanted to know that he would always put her first, and no matter what the High Lord from the Night Court commanded, she would never suffer by his hand.
“He would never ask that from me”
“Still”
So he went to Mor and talked things out. He told her about Emerie and how deeply rooted his love for her was after less than a year of knowing her. He told her about the bond he had felt between them that night in her house, and how every fiber in his body had known he simply wasn’t capable of staying away from her, no matter what.
He then talked to Rhysand, who was his friend, but also his High Lord, and who could, technically, use his power over him to force him. Azriel was convinced Rhysand would never cross that line, but Emerie had asked for certainty, and he was going to give it to her. Rhysand had been happy to grant him his wish, and had been eager to celebrate his bond with Emerie. It had snapped for him, not for her. Azriel was not sure if it had actually fallen into place and she was being cautious, or if her fear for his job and duties in Court was so big it was the one thing preventing it from snapping for her.
Emerie and Nest had their onw party the night they all met to have dinner together in Velaris, and he didn’t mind her not attending, it was just onther one of Feyre’s endless fancy meetings. He thought there would be many more to come. The Inner Circle reunited and they drank too much while celebrating life, and happiness, and how lucky they all had been founding each other.
When the sun came out, Azriel was the one who found Rhysand’s body in the gardens.
Stabbed in the heart, his High Lord had been killed in a city that used to be safe. Inside his house. Cassian’s hungover had disappeared in less than a second when he saw Azriel carrying their friend inside the house and had run for Feyre. Their High Lady didn’t have a dagger forged in Hewn City coming out of her chest, like Rhysand did, but somehow she was dead too. Cassian was out of his mind, desperately wanting to get out of the city and go to his own house to make sure Nesta was okay, the bond pulling, but knowing his High Lord had been murdered, and he had a duty to attend. Watching him like that, so desperate, so lost and overwhelmed by feelings, made Azriel realize he couldn’t marry Emerie now. She still had a chance of having a normal life, and he wasn’t cruel enough to ask her to leave with him into exile, not knowing when they would be caught by the enemy. By his enemy, not hers. Not if they didn’t bind themselves together.
He took care of the bodies while the rest decided what their next move was going to be, because he already knew: to escape.
The the vision changed, and he was now seeing a letter. He knew the handwriting, it was Emerie’s. It was addressed to Keir. The piece of paper was folded on a familiar wooden desk, so he could only see Keir’s name and address on it.This wasn’t a memory of his own making, but if the Veritas was showing it to him, it must have been true.
Emerie sat on the desk and with a perfect trace, she flipped the paper and signed it at the end of the page. Then she put it inside an envelope, and sealed it with a wax seal Nesta had gifted her for her birthday.
The spymaster knew this game. He understood what Keir was trying to make by showing him the letter: creating doubt. He had used the technique on countless prisoners to get information from them, to drive them crazy. That’s how he knew it was working. Because he knew Emerie would never contact Keir, he would bet his life on it, on her innocence, even after seeing her hadwriting on it, her signature. But if the Veritas was showing it to him, it must have somehow happened.
How? Why would Emerie do such thing? There must have been an answer, a trick hidden inthe text he wasn’t allowed to read, even if he couldn’t come up with anything at the moment. He hoplessly wanted to believe in her.
He woke up numb, his wings still tied together, and alone back in his cell. The bucket the prison guard he killed had brought him was right where he had dropped it, but there was no trace of the body.
Azriel knew he was not making it out alive. What he didn’t know, was that Emerie was on her way.
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tagging: @illyrianwitchling @arin1030 @bookstantrash @mireillemystique @silvernesta @thatoddgirl777 @angrypotatofairy @azrielsgirl @thalia-2-rose
#emeriel#emeriel fanfic#emeriel fanfiction#emerie#emerie acotar#azriel#azriel acotar#emerie x azriel#azriel x emerie
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The Bounty | [Fem!Twi’lek!Reader x Din Djarin] | The Mandalorian
Notes: This will get a 3rd part which will probably be the last one. It took a little longer since I had so many fanfics in my drafts and I just added stuff when I was in the mood but I still hope you enjoy it :) Also If you don’t play Star Wars: The Old Republic you might not have realized it in the first part, but Eli is a Miraluka. What this species can do will be revealed here or you just google it I guess xD
Fandom: Star Wars, The Mandalorian
Warnings: Swearing, Violence, Some Angst, Original Characters, Longing, Slight OOC
Summary: Din Djarin and Y/N, the smuggler meet again, but their circumstances do not benefit the relationship Din wishes they could have.
Word Count: 5534
Once again, the Reader is a Twi’Lek!
Part I
________
Months went by and their journey continued on. His and the child's. They traveled across the galaxy, landing on desert planets, hiding on moons, hunting a bounty here and there even though he wanted to stop, and more often than not they had to flee in a hurry.
It was the same old routine. The only thing that changed was that Din couldn't go to sleep right away. The occurrence wasn't rare at all but now he didn't stay up because of his insomnia, or bad memories which would haunt his dreams.
He laid awake in his cot, the child on his chest and all he could think about were those mesmerizing eyes. It felt like a joke. He had met her only once and the time they spent together had been less than 3 hours but he still got swept off his feet. He wouldn't admit it, he couldn't. If he told Cara that a random smuggler was able to catch his heart she would probably laugh out loud and say something like: "I knew you were a big softie."
But he couldn't stop thinking about Y/N. The way her eyes had lit up when she laughed, how she swayed slightly with her hips when she walked. The way her clothes complimented her figure. There was a burning in his heart, a longing, and Din felt shame for thinking about a woman he barely knew in such an intimate manner. He tried to tell himself that he only felt that way because he was starving for affection and body contact, and anybody would do but his heart told him otherwise.
He tried to busy himself, tried to forget her or that she ever existed and it seemed to work, at least a little until fate appeared like it wanted to torment him.
They met again. But as things seemed to always go wrong for him, she was his bounty. And he was supposed to bring her in cold.
-
“The fuck do you think you’re doing, Kecha?”
Y/N stabbed his hand with her knife. The Delphidian cried out in pain and tried to grab her wrist but she warned him with a glare. His bodyguards pointed their blasters at her, even so, the Twi’Lek didn’t react.
“I told you I won’t give you shit if you can’t pay the full price!”
She twisted the knife in his wound and he groaned. His pitiful state satisfied her anger a little and she jerked her knife out of his hand. Kecha pulled his hand back and used his robe to stop the bleeding. Slowly, she sat down again and leaned back in her seat, her eyes not leaving his hunched figure. Since their boss didn’t say anything his gang members lowered their weapons.
“We had a bad month, Y/N, I can only pay the amount I have here...”, he stopped and pointed to the credits laying on the table, "but I can pay you in another currency."
The smuggler wiped her blade clean with a cold expression.
"I'm not interested in slaves, you should know that."
The pirate boss nodded, of course, he knew. She had almost split his skull once for offering her a male Twi'Lek slave.
He hesitated and then waved one of his boys over. He whispered a few words in his ear while Y/N watched him with a wary look. The pirate left to get something and returned some seconds later with a bounty puck and a tracking fob. She narrowed her eyebrows. Somehow she had a bad feeling.
"This puck was in the possession of a Duros we encountered a week ago."
He didn't need to explain how their encounter ended, the green blood on the device told enough. He activated the puck and Y/N's expression darkened instantly when she recognized her own face with Wanted written in Basic underneath. Her right hand traveled to her hips where her blasters were located.
“So what now? You wanna kill me?”
The Delphidian shook his head and she relaxed slightly. Nonetheless, her hand rested on her gun.
“Of course not, you’re a valuable business partner.”
Y/N snorted but her eyes looked unamused. She grabbed the tracking fob and activated it. The beeping was obnoxiously loud and fast. Well, its quarry was holding it after all. The thought of someone putting up a bounty for her worried her more than Kecha probably imagined. Her demeanor was unfazed but unease claimed her heart.
“Anything else you found out?”
The pirate boss nodded and rubbed the sweat from his forehead, pain was clearly visible in his eyes. The fact that he didn’t lash out at her for injuring him showed their unusual bond. After all, they had been partners for years. She started to feel a little guilty for hurting him but she would never admit it.
“They want you dead. 300′000 credits for your cold body.”
His voice had a worried undertone and the Twi’Lek paused. So many credits for her? The amount was intimidating and she wondered who the rich stranger was, who wanted to pay so much for her death.
“Wait, why would they - whoever wants me dead - hire the bounty hunter’s guild for this? This sounds more like a job for an assassin.”
Kecha shrugged his shoulders.
*I don’t know but if I were you I would lay low for a while.”
Y/N let out a small laugh.
“You know I can’t do that. Business is everything and I can’t lose any customers.”
The Delphidian frowned but she couldn’t tell if it was because of his wound. He used his uninjured hand to push the credits on the table towards her then he leaned back and let one of his henchmen give him a cloth to wrap around his hurt hand.
She took the credits and put them in a bag attached to her hip. She also grabbed the puck and deactivated the tracking fob. The smuggler stood up and walked over to the spice containers she brought him. With quick fingers, she unlocked all of them and deactivated the lock feature. When she turned around to see if he was satisfied, she noticed Kecha’s troubled expression. Her eyes softened.
“Don’t worry, I won’t get killed that easily. I can defend myself just well.”
He sighed and replied with an annoyed undertone:
“I know, you don’t have to remind me.”
Y/N turned her lips into a grin and she grabbed something in her bag and then threw it to him when she turned around to leave. Kecha caught the bacta patch and smiled.
“Thanks, Cap.”
She waved dismissively and left the room. No one followed her and she walked back to the Icarus. The moment the door closed behind her, the corner of her lips dropped. How would she get out of this mess? A bounty for her head? That was something new and Y/N she didn’t like it.
-
If Din had known who exactly he had to find he wouldn’t have taken the tracking fob. But that was the problem; he didn’t know. He didn’t receive the bounty from the guild, obviously not, after all, he left them behind. He got the job from a fellow on Taris while staying there. They needed supplies but he realized that they were short on money.
So he left the child on the Razor Crest - his heart clenched in worry but they needed food desperately and when he watched how the ramp of his ship closed, his child looked at him as if he understood.
It hadn’t really been his plan to do a bounty, he wanted to leave the profession behind because he needed to care for a baby but it was the quickest way to get good money.
Only once more, was his thought when he received the tracking fob. Neither did he know who put the bounty up nor who he had to hunt, but it was more than a guild traitor could ask for so he didn’t complain. He would get the money from his informant, he would make sure of that.
The beeping was slow and all he knew was the last location of his bounty and the fact that he should bring it in could but he didn’t let himself get discouraged. It had been the same with the baby and he found the little womp rat so he didn’t worry too much. Since he had one crucial information, the person he was about to hunt, was a notorious smuggler. Which meant he needed to be careful with his approach.
The first thing that went through his head when he heard that was, of course, Y/N. Stars, that woman stole his heart and he let her. Why was he so careless? With the cock of his blaster, he chased the beautiful Twi’Lek out of his mind and left the cantina.
He bought a rusty but still functioning speeder with the last of his credits and set off. He had no destination in mind, he just drove around to see where the tracking fob would start to beep louder.
He saw the remains of a city void of any intelligent life, fragments of former wars and battles. Nature took back what once was hers and the beauty of how she did it, made him pause. Would he be able to settle down in a quiet place like this?
It made him wonder why this was the first thing that crossed his mind but after seeing so much violence and death in his life, dying like a warrior seemed less desirable for him.
Peace and quiet, a goddamn second for him to take a breather and an evening where the child could eat and sleep without any disturbance was a wish that resonated deep within his soul. Maybe he got old. But he wasn’t old enough yet to not hear how the fob’s beep turned louder.
He stopped the speeder and jumped off. In a radius of 10 meters, he walked around it and listened to any change in the rhythm of the device. He needed to head north. The beep was not fast enough yet so he mounted the speeder again and continued to drive towards his bounty. What he didn’t realize, he wasn’t the only person who listened to his tracking fob.
-
“You sure it’s going to work out fine? You have a bounty on your head now...”
Eli voiced his concerns and she sighed. Of course, she knew, but as she had already told Kecha, her customers weren’t waiting and business was important. She couldn’t stop now, not when she almost got enough money to save her.
“It’ll be alright. This will be the last deal for a few months, okay? We can lay low for a while after this.”
His expression showed how he wasn’t exactly pleased with her answer but she ignored it and once again checked her datapad. It was almost time for her customer to show up.
She could understand his worry. Not only did the deal happen in a location where they would be presented on a silver tablet to any enemy, but they also didn’t have back-up like usual. But she had had no choice. The customer wanted it like that. And she wouldn’t dare anger a Hutt. Especially not him.
Y/N licked her lips and realized how dry her throat was. She decided to grab something to drink from her backpack, which laid in the shade next to the containers with the spice and their speeders. She had just drunk a few sips when a speeder approached.
“That must be the announcer”, remarked Eli and his head turned to the direction from which the approaching person came. She laughed.
“Well, Taro always had a flair for the dramatics. Announcing your arrival, does he believe he’s royalty?”
Her mocking tone caused the Miraluka to smile and she raised her voice when the roar of the speeder engine came to a stop a few meters away. Eli shifted and gasped. Was the announcer so ugly? She grinned.
“What a nice day isn’t it?”, she turned on her heel, “For a deal with spi-”
Their eyes met. Actually no, her eyes and his T-shaped visor met. Her breath hitched. She recognized the armor immediately. It had some more scratches and traces of blaster shots but she had dreamed about it so many times that she just knew. “It’s time for us to leave. Thank you for your hospitality.” The flutter in her chest from that day returned. What... What is he doing here?
Her eyes traveled to the thing in his hand that beeped obnoxiously. Oh.
Y/N raised her head and stared at his visor again. A bitter grimace crossed her face. Both of them exhaled slowly, almost painfully.
“Shit.”
-
Din’s mind was a mess. How was it possible that the person who stole his heart suddenly appeared before him like this? Oh, Mand’alor, how could fate be so cruel? His bounty was her companion?! How could he kill him, what was his name - Eli, who traveled with her and obviously meant much to Y/N?
He felt slightly dizzy from the storm inside his head and all he could do was curse. When she said the same thing as him, his heart clenched and he almost let out a breathy laugh. This situation was the worst.
“So we meet again.”
Y/N started talking first and her voice was as melodious he remembered. Her e/c eyes were filled with something that caused his heartbeat to quicken and he was once more thankful that she wasn’t able to see his face. This way she couldn’t see what she did to him. His cheeks and ears were burning and he prayed that his voice regulators weren’t sensitive enough to pick up his quick breathing.
While he seemed to have completely forgotten what the tracking fob in his hand meant for both him and the other two, the Twi’lek continued to speak with an ugly grimace on her beautiful face.
“This isn’t exactly how I imagined we’d meet again, Mando.”
He realized how her hand landed on the blaster on her right hip. The gesture was like a bullet to his heart. Did she seriously believe he would do something to her friend? The thought didn’t cross him when the storm in his mind continued raging. Of course he was worrying about the child and the money but still. No way.
“I- It’s good to see you again, Y/N”, he replied lamely.
He wanted to tell her so many things but it looked like his brain had a short circuit. The woman’s grip tightened around her weapon but she didn’t point it at him. Her smile was still bitter and his heart seriously ached from seeing the frown.
“I don’t know if it’s really good. I see you’re here for the bounty. So what now?”
Her hostility was clearly audible in her voice and Eli stepped beside her as if he wanted to protect the smuggler. The way his hand touched her shoulder so casually made jealousy flare up in him. Were they together? This possibility struck him like lightning. He never even thought about it that the stunning woman could already have someone in her heart.
Actually, he didn’t even know what he thought. All he ever daydreamed about was holding her close. Seeing her laugh, watching how her charming eyes light up because of something that he said.
Okay, truthfully he had also had some rather... impure thoughts about her but that was when his mind wandered late at night when he wasn’t able to sleep at all and the snores of his child couldn’t help him to doze off.
But that wasn’t the point. The point was that he never actually imagined meeting her again much less, what he would say to her. He groaned because of his own stupidity. On what cloud had he been floating?
“Y/N, this doesn’t seem to be a good time to discuss this...”
The brown-haired man tilted his head and the veil in front of his eyes swayed slightly. Din disagreed with him.
“I’m not here to hurt you”, he tried to show his sincerity in holding up his hands with the tracking fob still in his grip.
“You sure about that, big guy?”
Seeing her antagonizing him with a fierce look in her eyes and a dark expression on her face, made Din think: Fuck, she’s hot. His brain clearly turned to mush after meeting her again. There was no other way to explain the lack of his reasoning and rationality. He could only nod, his stance was extremely stiff.
Y/N pursed her lips, and his heart skipped a beat - Mand’alor, in what kind of lovesick fool have I turned? She relaxed her hand slightly but her expression was still as cold.
Unknown to Din, the Twi’lek’s mind had turned into a mess too. Delight, Anxiety, and Helplessness coursed through her veins all at the same time and she had troubles trying to figure out what she was supposed to do now.
The man she had fed and protected and who had infatuated her a few months ago, suddenly showed up in front of her, right before she was about to wind up the last deal for her goal. She was filled with joy but at the same time with dread, since he was obviously here to kill her. Definitely not the reunion she had expected.
But the way he stood there, no intention for attacking visible from his body language gave her hope. Maybe they could talk this one out.
“You know...”, his voice sounded emotionless through the regulators of his helmet but the way he hesitated showed his uncertainty, “I wanted to tell you something. After the child and I left your ship I...”
She didn’t see his eyes but she knew they were focused on her. She could feel the burning of his stare.
“Y/N, I wanted to tell you that I-”
A single gunshot ringed through the air and the smuggler staggered. A round burning hole appeared in her chest, her armor didn’t protect her at all.
At that moment Din realized that he had it all wrong. Eli wasn’t the bounty. It was Y/N. And somebody just fucking shot her.
A shout reached his ears and when he leaped forward to catch her, Din didn’t realize he was the one yelling.
-
Eli caught her first. How the apparent blind man managed to do that, he didn’t know but at that moment he didn’t care. A noise in his ears was all he could hear when he pushed the other man and Y/N to the containers to take cover.
He turned around, his rifle already in his hand, the tracking fob had been dropped to the floor mindlessly when he tried to catch her.
His eyes found the shooter immediately. It was a human man with a sniper rifle. He wore a blue jacket with a red symbol Din had seen before. The man wasn’t far away, in fact in shocked him how close he was able to get. Had his senses become dull? Or was it because he was talking to the person he liked? Burning fury exploded in the Mandalorian’s chest.
While Eli cradled the Twi’Lek in his arms and spoke to her in a panicked manner, all he could see was red. His hands moved automatically and efficiently when he cocked his gun and he seemed deadly calm when he slowly raised his rifle. His outside appearance was completely the opposite of his inner turmoils but maybe his rage was able to get him to focus.
Kill. Kill. Kill. Kill. Kill. Kill. Kill. Kill. Kill. Kill. Kill. KILL. KILL THAT BASTARD!!!
He shot once, then twice and he continued to shoot until he had to reload. His finger still pulled the trigger when his plasma gun didn’t have any ammunition left. But Din hadn’t shot the man fatally. His aim was slightly off because his hands had suddenly started shaking when Y/N’s friend called her name in a desperate attempt to stop her from fainting. Nevertheless, he had wounded the foolish bastard who dared to attack the person he loved.
He was about to stomp over to the soon-to-be-dead fucker, who had tumbled to the mossy ground behind some trees when a painful grunt cut him short in his tracks.
“Sith, that hurt like a b... bitch...”
Y/N’s breath was haggard and her grip on Eli’s arm was weak but she didn’t lose consciousness. At least not yet. The way her eyes had turned misty was a warning which made both men’s blood run cold. The Mandalorian’s wrath extinguished as fast as it ignited. All that was left was cold dread and the feeling of helplessness. He ignored the man who shot her thinking: That bastard will die of his wounds anyway.
Din walked to the fallen smuggler and her companion and fell to his knees. His distress was clearly audible through the regulators of his helmet.
“I don’t have a b-bacta patch”, was all he could say through his gritted teeth.
“Neither do we...”
Her tone was light but she couldn’t hide her pain. The Twi’Lek grabbed her companion who seemed to be in a daze. Her face showed a grave expression.
“Fuck... Eli, promise me you’ll free her... okay?”
Din had no idea what she was talking about but she was obviously talking as if she was about to die. Which could be because she was only lightly injured right? There was no way that the woman, who melted his already frozen heart, would just die here when they just met again. Right?!
The blind man choked and his arms who held her trembled. The scars on his face wrinkled when he frowned and Din felt how ice-cold terror washed over him. No, no no, this can’t happen!!
He grabbed her hand without thinking and the fact that she wasn’t cold yet stopped his spiraling momentarily. Her e/c eyes found his visor and she tightened her grip as if to tell him that everything was going to be fine. Y/N smiled weakly and it was a wonder that he didn’t keel over right then and there.
“Don’t say that. I won’t do it. I’m not promising you shit, Cap!”
The brown-haired man exhaled slowly.
“I’ll make sure you hear what that stupid Mandalorian wanted to say to you before you got shot like an idiot. I told you it was a dumb idea!”
He swallowed. What was Eli even talking about? They had no way to help her without a bacta patch! He held the Twi’lek’s hand like it was a lifeline. He felt like he was the one who was dying. And maybe he was. If Y/N left him here and now, he was sure he would never recover from the loss. The loss of never having something he wanted. The loss of never being able to tell her what he wished they were. The loss of a lover who never was one.
“It... not... my fault...”, murmured Y/N, her face definitely paler than before.
He wanted to say something to her, at least tell her how he felt when they had first met but no words escaped his lips. It was as if he lost his voice. He could only watch with burning eyes how Eli put his hand on the deadly wound. The man breathed out slowly and Din could see how his jaws clenched.
“After this, you’ll need to pay me back with a kyber crystal”, growled Eli, his expression totally different from the harsh tone of his words. Once again he had no clue what the blind man meant.
It was as if the galaxy took a second to breathe and slowed time while doing so. Din could see how the eyes of Y/N widened slowly, her mouth turned into the shape of an ‘o’, wind ruffled the brown hair of the man and the blue veil lifted only for the Mandalorian to see that Eli had, in fact, no eyes at all.
This revelation shocked Din more than it should. But what shocked him the most: Y/N sucked in a breath and when the man whose species he couldn’t name right now took his hand away, the wound was gone. He blinked. A memory crossed his mind.
His child did the same thing. A few months ago. He lifted his head to watch Eli closely and the man exhaled and started to smile. This person had just saved her from dying in his arms.
“Still got it”, he whispered and Y/N whose expression had turned from pained to baffled laughed disbelievingly. Her chest heaved and even though her body was healed she still looked like she just survived a deadly injury.
Her fingers gripped Din’s tighter and she turned her head slightly to face him. Maybe it was because the sun had already set but her eyes looked so beautiful right now it took his breath. The way she stared at him, stars. The relief that washed over him turned his whole body into jelly. He weakly fell on his ass and leaned back, his hand never leaving hers.
His tone was stunned when he whispered: “Mand’alor, I thought that was the end of the beginning.”
He said it in a low voice but both of the others heard him.
“The beginning of what?”
Y/N’s eyes were full of innocence and Din was too shaken up to get embarrassed when Eli responded jokingly instead of him:
“Your relationship.”
But the reaction of the smuggler made his heart flutter. Her cheeks flushed and she stuttered wide-eyed:
“Wa-What? What are you saying, Eli?!”
She looked between the two men but both of them looked away. Din out of shock because of her strong reaction and the other because he felt a slight headache.
Y/N realized immediately that something was wrong.
“You okay? I thought you said you wouldn’t use the force anymore?”
The Mandalorian perked up, while Eli waved his hand.
“I just saved your ass, might as well be grateful, don’t you think?”
His teasing undertone couldn’t hide his exhaustion but the Twi’lek didn’t seem like she wanted to point it out. She wanted to say something else but a voice interrupted her.
“My, what do we have here? Captain L/N what happened?”
It was spoken in Huttese and Din turned around alarmed. On the hill behind the shooter stood a male Weequay. The newcomer looked surprised seeing the smuggler lying on the floor, two men hovering over her and holding her close to them.
“We had run into some problem, but”, responded Eli and shot a glance to the trees where a stiff body laid, “we got rid of it.”
“Do you need medical attention?”
Din guessed that this was a customer and the reason why Y/N and Eli were even here. The fact that the man seemed rather friendly surprised him quite a bit.
“Thank you, but there is no need. When will Taro arrive?”
How the woman could just go into business-mode after almost getting killed, was a wonder to him, but it also raised her even higher in his eyes. Stars, what just happened?
-
After that, they had somehow wrapped up the deal with Taro and her eyes almost filled with tears of happiness when she received the credits who would buy the freedom of her little girl.
The Mandalorian watched over her like a hawk during the talk and even though they really didn’t know each other at all, she didn’t mind at all. In fact, it felt natural. When she remembered his presence next to her, she smiled.
Taro had left and they decided to ride back on their speeders. Eli insisted on her riding with Mando and even though she had glared at him, she silently praised him when she held onto the sturdy frame of the man. She had leaned her head on his back and she could sense how his heartbeat sped up, which caused her to crack a smile.
Their meeting had started shitty but it turned out well if you forget the fact that she had almost died. But who cared about that. If she pondered over every little thing or accident that happened in her life she would have already died from sadness.
She remembered how it had all begun. How her thoughts were invaded by the Mandalorian.
When they first met, she had looked at him longingly. The way he was able to hold his child while she couldn’t hold hers. It made her jealous. A reaction that was unreasonable but natural for her. Every parent she had met caused this feeling. But with him it was different. There was something else.
An appeal she hadn’t been able to name. But when he had held her hand during her “time of dying” she realized what she felt.
“You know... The thing you said before. It kinda sounded like a love confession wouldn’t you say?”, she told him when they dismounted the speeders at a landing bay where the Icarus stood and both men had turned around to face her.
He had stiffened and she noticed that she might really like to tease him. Eli rolled his eyes and walked past behind her to get to the ship.
It was then that an invisible force caused her to lose her balance and she tumbled into Mando’s arms. She knew immediately who made this accident happen but she got distracted by the strong arms that caught her and held her close to the man’s chest. Damn, he really was hot. Her cheeks began to burn and she averted her eyes.
“S-Sorry...”
He only grunted and put her back on her feet. Her hands lingered on his chest a little longer than intended but he didn’t comment on it.
“It’s fine.” Fine. Great. Absolutely perfect.
Din’s chest was feeling light and he felt a sudden urge to talk to his Ad’ika and tell him about what he encountered today.
“Oh.”
He remembered the child he had left on the Razor Crest and when he looked to the Horizon he saw the setting sun. Fuck.
“My boy”, was all he could say while he stood there frozen.
“You forgot your child?”
Y/N didn’t hide her teasing undertone at all but her face showed a slightly worried expression.
“He’s still on the ship, I didn’t want him to come with me on the bounty hun...”, he trailed off and his head turned to watch her. She tilted hers.
“So you really were chasing after me, huh?”
He ignored the ambiguous words and lowered his eyes. Guilt burned in his heart and he seriously worried that she would hold this against him.
“I didn’t know it was you. I apologize. I would’ve never accepted it if I had known it was you.”
The way he said you made her chest tingle and she raised an eyebrow and the corner of her lips. She stepped closer to him, sudden confidence coursing through her veins.
“Are you saying you wouldn’t chase me?”
She twisted his words in his mouth and he knew but damn, it attracted him even more to her. He also liked the way she smirked, it made her look alluring.
“No, I’m saying that I would never chase you if it meant you have to die at the end of it.”
The seriousness in his voice caused her e/c eyes to soften. They turned into crescents and in a swift motion, she grabbed his hand, stood on her tiptoes and planted a kiss on his helmet.
“Well, then you better be happy that my best friend can use the force!”
He couldn’t even react, she already scurried inside the Icarus laughing.
Din stood there dumbfounded for a moment. Heat crept up his neck and his cheeks flushed.
“Shit... What is that woman doing to me?”
He didn’t know if he was happier about the kiss or about the fact that Eli apparently was only a friend and she seemed to welcome his advances but one thing was clear: Today was a good day.
The comlink inside his palm was proof. He clenched his fist in victory and stood there for a second before turning around to return to his child and tell him about that one woman.
What he didn’t know...
“So you gave him our channel?”
Y/N nodded, her whole face still hot but she grinned from ear to ear.
“And you kissed him?”
“Not a real Mandalorian kiss, of course, but who knows what’s next.”
The smuggler winked at him and passed the Miraluka. Eli laughed and pressed the button to close the ship. With the force, he was able to see the dust that the Mandalorian’s speeder kicked up.
“Who knows what’s next...”, he mumbled and when he turned around he reached out to the force connection and told the little boy that everything was fine with his father. He was on his way home and had many things to tell.
--------
End Note: Wohooo, second part finished yaaay :D Actually I feel like this one is a little rushed. For me it’s like the reader is suddenly shot, Din is like D: and then Eli swoops in to save the day but I was rewriting that part 3 times and in the end just left it like that xD Also, was it a plot twist that Y/N also has a child? I wanted for her to have a reason why she became a smuggler but this will be adressed in the last part. Also, also, there wasn’t that much “action” as in romantic stuff at all but I wanted to leave that for the last part, since these idiots seriously only met twice... But yeahhh, hope you enjoyed it anyway :)
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Part I, Part III [Coming soon]
#star wars#the mandalorian#din djarin x reader#din djarin x fem reader#the mandalorian x reader#fanficsforheartandsoul#fem reader#twi'lek#x fem!reader#fanfic#baby yoda#din djarin#miraluka#jedi#mandalorian#bounty hunter#smuggler
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Hi there! Spoilers up front: this is a gratuitously long-winded “thank you,” not an Ask (also I’m 31 and don’t know how to Social Media so apologies if this is the wrong page/tab/link/widget).
--(oh actually it’s a blog post now because of course I can’t send an “Ask” this stupidly long see? wasn’t kidding about that Social Media thing...)--
I started writing my first book in the Fall of 2016. Before that I’d only written songs. One day I got an idea which didn’t fit within the usual rhymes or rhythms. I tried and tried, but kept on hitting a wall. In addition, I was fed up with the whole “business” of music—the fragile egos, the politics of being in a band, all that. One morning I sat down at my HP desktop computer (again...31) and opened up a blank Word document. I stared at it with murderous intent for a long time, but nothing happened. So I grabbed the nearest book off the shelf (Crash by J.G. Ballard), opened it, and began to type out the first paragraph, copying the sentences line by line. I wanted to see what it felt like — my clumsy fingers pecking at the keyboard, observing how the words fell into place with a musical cadence and tempo almost prophetic, as though the ink were destined to dry in this exact form upon the page, the machinery of its tumultuous birth and impeccable design skillfully concealed. I paused and looked out the window. There was a squirrel on the deck, I remember. And then I saw it. Not outside but inside my own head, behind my eyelids. The song, the one I’d been struggling to write, I saw that it could be a story. I saw it had a clear beginning, middle, and end. I saw a world of characters opening doors to other worlds, other stories, other characters. This was life-changing shit. Suddenly I was a little boy at my first baseball game, drinking my first ice-cold Coke, surrounded by old men chain-smoking Marlboro Reds and muttering dirty words I’d never heard before about the [EXPLETIVES DELETED] on the opposing team. I’d discovered a fire fueled by the psychic anarchy of its own discovery, a Moebius-strip of dramatic invention, a repository for all the pop-cultural turds floating around inside the cracked porcelain toilet bowl of my skull.
I wrote prose every night after work. I never thought about what I was doing. I never once stopped to check word counts or page counts. I never thought about sticking to an outline, making sure my story adhered to a specific plot structure, none of that. I wrote like a man in love. Delirious, overheated teenage love. Wear-my-ill-fitting-letterman’s-jacket love (is this also A Thing™️ in Canada?). Stupid stupid stupid love, naive and hormonal and precious and retrospectively mortifying. I’d turn off the world, turn on the music, sit back and watch the words sashay straight into my lap.
It took 2-3 months before the ruthless scourge known as Self Doubt farted in my private elevator. Am I doing this right? How many words are in a book, anyway? How many pages? How long is this going to take? Is this an effective way to impress women and/or get laid? Am I writing a novel or a novella? The fuck is “flash fiction”? Are you allowed to write actual books in Microsoft Word? Does it matter that my free trial version of Microsoft Word expires in 30 days? They’re bluffing, right? And so on. I compared my own writing with that of authors I admired; subsequently, I couldn’t get out of bed for a week. I watched 40+ hours of “Kitchen Nightmares” reruns (it’s. the. same. fucking. formula. every. single. episode.) and nursed my shame with bowl after bowl of strawberry ice cream. To think — I’d TOLD people about this fool’s errand, and sooner or later I’d have to show them precisely how awful a writer I was...
I turned to the Internet for advice. At first, it seemed like a godsend. There was such a litany of knowledge, so many pro-tips and life hacks and proven formulas for success. This was how I stumbled across your channel. I found other channels which offered more straightforward “DO IT LIKE THIS YOU FUCKING IDIOT” instructions, but I still enjoyed yours the most. I lol-ed at your jokes. I remember a few videos where you spoke highly about All The Light We Cannot See by Anthony Doerr, which remains among the most achingly beautiful books I’ve ever read. Also you’re Canadian, and you guys just generally Human better than we (Americans) Human.
...and here my troubles began. See, the more I tried to adhere to word count goals, the more I tried to properly organize the scenes on my Scrivener™️ virtual cork board, the less I enjoyed the actual process of writing. So I tried other things, based upon other writers’ suggestions: cut the adverbs, write in the morning, write at night, write during your lunch break, write an outline, stick to the outline, write x amount of pages per day, write x number of hours per day, spend x amount of hours drafting and x amount of hours editing, etc. But nothing I tried made me feel confident in my writing. I started actively hating it, to be honest. I dreaded the cursor and the infinite white void. Then I would watch more writing videos and feel guilty about my lack of ambition, my inability to accomplish simple tasks. It’s only a few thousand words, dude — just get in there and do it. Eventually I would. I’d grumble and feel miserable and stay locked in my little writing dungeon all night, ignoring my friends’ texts and phone calls, and the next day I’d hate everything I wrote, trash it, and start over. Then, when I had no more writing left to hate, I started hating myself. The words in my head turned malignant, putrefied into spongy, black tumors. I’d spend all day at work consumed by thoughts and ideas and goals! goals! goals! for my book, then I’d come home and stare at a blinking cursor and wonder why I was such a worthless failure. I couldn’t write the way these other writers did, no matter what I tried. But I still wanted to write. Needed to, in that yearning, terrible way I suspect you understand.
I don’t know why The Internet subconsciously invites us to flay ourselves before total strangers, but it does. So I will. Shit got Dark™️, Shaelin. I gained 50 pounds, started living like a hoarder, stopped hanging out with my friends, stopped leaving the house altogether. I kept the curtains closed so my neighbors wouldn’t see the piles of empty take-out boxes stacked up on the kitchen table. I traded the pleasures and contradictions and beguiling enigmas of women for the 24-hour neon distraction of cheap porno. My cat Maggie, basically the only friend I had during this time, got cancer. I watched her suffer and waste away because I couldn’t bear the thought of putting her to sleep and coming home alone to an empty, filthy house. Eventually she died and I hated myself even more for not being able to save her. I wore the same pair of pants for six months. I’d go to work and sit at my desk all day and do absolutely nothing (I was the accounting manager at a small company, technically my own “boss,” so I got away with this for a shocking, frankly heroic amount of time). Then I simply stopped going to work. And I kept torturing myself with those stupid goals and word counts, never happy with the end result, resigned to feel like a failure every day.
I remember watching your “Spill the Tea” video back when it was initially posted. Watching it now is eerie, because you describe exactly what I was going through, what I was feeling. Like, to the “T” (see what I did there? #WordPlay #LitPuns101). I’d never experienced anxiety/depression before, so I didn’t really understand what was happening to me. Not that it mattered, because by that point the damage was done. I couldn’t recognize and isolate the real problem. I’d given up. Even though you said a lot of things in that video I desperately, desperately needed to hear, I didn’t listen. I didn’t want to listen to you, because you were one of Them™️. Your eyes were bright and your voice sounded friendly and encouraging, but your name wasn’t McCarthy or Pynchon or DeLillo or Nabokov. You were just a kid. What could you possibly know that I didn’t?
In January of this year I called a local psychiatric hospital and told them I was planning to kill myself. I never harbored any true intentions of doing that, but I figured they’d offer me a nice three-week vacation in a padded cell. Considering the circumstances, it honestly seemed like a relief.
I ended up quitting my job, selling my house, and moving back in with my parents 300 miles away. I started seeing a therapist once a week (still do, for the record). So far I’ve lost 30 pounds of the 50 pound surplus I acquired. I kept watching your videos, even though I was no longer in the market for writing advice (#JustHereForTheSnark). You kept me lol-ing through some bad days and weeks and months. I’d listen to you talk about problems with the writing community and nod my head like an old woman in church (#ShaelinSermons™️ #SheTeachesANDShePreaches), but I still hadn’t made the connection with my own issues. I swore off writing completely, went back to playing music. Cover songs in coffee shops and family restaurants. It was fun for awhile. I genuinely felt happier. But my story was still an old pebble poking around in my shoe...calling out, issuing playground taunts, drawing hairy cartoon dicks on my forehead while I slept.
About a month ago I stared down another blank page, my first since experiencing that fun-sized nervous breakdown earlier this year. I closed my eyes and heard your voice in my head. “You can do whatever you want.” I had no goals, no arbitrary quotas to meet. I wrote a few lines, stopped, fixed a couple things I wasn’t satisfied with, and then went on with my day. I thought about what I’d written, sure, but I didn’t worry or spend the whole day stressing out. The next morning I read over what I’d done, and I didn’t hate it. I thought it was actually pretty good, funny and off-kilter and a little/lotta fucked up. So I sat down and wrote some more. Took some things out, re-worded stuff, dressed up the bones in silver and pearls. Addition and subtraction. Before I knew it, I’d finished a whole page. Then another. And then the hair on the back of my neck stood up, because I remembered: This is how it felt at the beginning. Back when I was young and love-struck and writing only to catch those moments of pure levitation, that devilish tickle, that rush of blood propelled by my own wild heart.
It’s been a rough road, but I finally found what I’d lost. I figured out how to write again and enjoy it. And ultimately, the best writing advice I received didn’t come from McCarthy or Pynchon or DeLillo or Nabokov. It came from a young woman in another country with a camera and a nose ring and a big tapestry and bigger dreams which run parallel to my own. So thank you. Thank you for taking time out of your busy life and braving the Steaming Pile™️ that is The Internet to offer words of empathy and encouragement to complete strangers. Thank you for the wisdom you share. Thank you for being who you are. Know that tonight the stars shine brighter as a result. They do for me, at least.
(Also I’m sincerely sorry about the absurd length of this “Ask” wherein no actual questions were posed and nothing substantial was communicated beyond a simple yet torturously delayed “thank you” kthxbye #longlivethenewtapestry
—Justin)
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Title: The Shade (AO3)
Summary: Will is assigned to guide the new student from Pluto-I around school, which would be no trouble, if Nico di Angelo didn’t seem to be so reclusive.
Notes: I swear I had a normal idea for this Secret Santa . . . . And then NaNoWriMo happened, and my brain was completely absorbed. Instead, I chose three random things (aliens, school, and future)from a prompt list, and this is where we ended up. Anyway, this is my fic for @rosyredlipstick in the PJO Secret Santa Exchange @pjosecretsanta2k17. It’s vaguely holiday-themed . . . . It takes place during the holidays . . . 300 years from now. Also, this grew much longer than I intended, and I apologize if it seems to drag. It was just a lot of fun to write. Happy holidays! :)
The new student arrived in October.
It was a cold October. Will was from Texas, and he didn’t handle anything below 10 degrees. This October stayed right on the borderline, and so Will found himself riding the metro with a coat over his school uniform, which always drew looks in this city. To the native residents, 10 was chilly for October, but nowhere near chilly enough for a coat. Will didn’t care that much. So what if they stared? He was just going to school. Stars forbid he freeze standing by the doors when all he had to do was put on a coat. The other occupants of the metro could think what they liked.
In any case, a cold October seemed the perfect time for a student from Pluto-I to arrive.
Will had heard about this student for some time beforehand. Pluto-I, named so because the closest human pronunciation of their planet was that of a dwarf planet, was the newest planet in the Alliance, a strange planet with even stranger inhabitants. Noncorporeal, they were described, figures of wispy shadows that maintained no specific form--Shades. If they forced themselves into a body-like shape, their eyes were black as void--any other specific features seemed to vary. Most Shades preferred to maintain their natural form, but Will could only assume this Shade would look mostly human, if he intended to attend Montauk Youths’ Academy. That was the extent of thought Will gave to this student until the day he arrived.
Will was hanging his coat in the locker room when Lou Ellen approached him. One of her mothers was from an alien race of travelers, so her other mother said. Lou Ellen had never met her, but her skin was a dark violet, two antennae sprouting from the crown of her head, so at the very least, her other mother was some sort of alien. Unlike many part-alien students, Lou made no efforts to hide any aspects of her heritage. She kept her hair short so her antennae popped out easily. Will admired that. It was far too easy to hide from a parent’s legacy. Even in a school like Montauk, not everyone accepted alien students.
“Morning, Will,” Lou Ellen said as she placed her bag on the floor of her locker. She dug through and pulled out her tablet before shutting the locker door. She always seemed to have trouble finding her tablet in her bag, which struck Will as odd. It wasn’t like there was much to carry or even much that could fit in a school-issued bag.
“Morning,” Will replied, pulling his own tablet out and setting it on the floor. He folded his coat and placed it neatly in the bottom on the locker, his bag on top. He turned to head to his classroom only to be stopped by Lou Ellen’s body. She was much smaller, but Will thought it was her alien nature that made her so solid. With the slightest impact, he was sent stumbling back. “Um, morning,” he repeated.
Lou laughed and smoothed a strand of hair by her ear. “I was wondering what you thought,” she said.
“Vague statement,” Will replied. “I think a lot of things. What about?”
Lou Ellen rolled her eyes, smacking his arm. She rocked back on her heels, and Will stared down at her shoes. She chose to wear the skirt, even in the coldest months, and her plain black leggings had the beginnings of a few runs. “About showing the new student around.”
“The new student,” Will repeated.
“From Pluto-I,” she said. “He’s arriving today.”
“Oh,” Will said.
Lou’s lips pressed together in a circle, brows raising. “Did you not hear?”
“Hear what?” Will tried to push past her, the first hour reminder on his watch beeping.
She turned and headed in the direction of their classroom. Will followed alongside. “You’re the one who’s supposed to be his guide. An ambassador of sorts,” she teased.
Will made a squeak in his throat. “Oh? Me?” he asked, though he knew it was true. Of course it would be him. He should have figured. Why would anyone inform him of his responsibilities? He should just know.
“Yeah,” Lou Ellen said. “So I’m guessing you’ve paid absolutely no attention to anything anyone’s said about him in the past few weeks.”
Will made an indignant look. “Uh, I know he’s from Pluto-I,” he said.
Lou rolled her eyes. “Right. Okay. His name is Nico di Angelo,” she said. “He’s a year younger than us, but Shades start school a year earlier. He’s fluent in English, so lessons should be no issue. And apparently Shades are of age a year earlier as well, so he’s living on his own.”
“Nico di Angelo. Oddly human name,” Will said.
Lou Ellen shrugged, placing her hand on the glass door to their classroom. Will leaned over her and placed his hand above. The door beeped and slid apart, allowing them inside.
“Will! Perfect!” Their teacher, Ms. Hestia, beamed when he walked into the door. Will looked to Lou, who smiled and moved to take her seat next to Cecil. Ms. Hestia beckoned Will forward to her desk. On the other side stood a young man, raven black hair, skin pale and papery, with dark veins just visible even from Will’s distance. He was staring off into the air, though he didn’t focus on anything in particular. Maybe he was, actually. Will couldn’t tell, with his blank eyes--black as void.
“Will, this is Nico di Angelo, our new student from Pluto-I. Nico, this is Will Solace. He’s the son of Ambassador Apollo. If you need anything, you can ask Will,” she said. Looking back to Will, she added, “We’ll only be doing a study hour in homeroom. If you have nothing before the first lesson, you can take Nico on a tour of the school.”
“Oh. Yeah. I suppose I can give a tour,” Will said.
Nico lifted his head at that. Staring in his eyes directly, Will’s stomach twisted. His eyes really were black as void. It was as if no light reflected in them. As if he could tell what Will was thinking, Nico’s lips pressed together. “A . . . tour,” he repeated. His voice had an unfamiliar accent, light and chime-like.
“Shall we go?” Will asked, pinning on a smile.
“I suppose,” Nico said.
Will led him out of the classroom down the hallway.
“So you, um, Earth, huh?” Will asked, making a forced laugh, too steady.
Nico looked at him blankly.
“I mean, what made you decide to come to Earth?” he asked.
“My father chose Earth,” Nico replied.
Will stuck his hands in the pocket of his uniform jacket. “Oh,” he said. “Why?”
Nico didn’t answer. His eyes seemed less solid, then his whole figure--dark clouds swarmed around him like smoke, a mirage fading in the light. After a moment, he solidified.
Will cleared his throat. “Well, um. The other senior classrooms are in this hall. So if you make any friends in our grade, you’ll find them here. If you meet anyone a year younger--well, below, since you’re a year younger, aren’t you, um--”
Nico ignored Will and turned the corner. “Junior classrooms, then?” he said, gesturing down the next hall. The entire school was roughly a square. By the time they reached the freshman classrooms and returned to the corner where their classroom laid, Will felt as if Nico had been the one leading the tour. He cleared his throat again.
“So, um, out front is the lot, if you ride a bike or hover. There’s a separate lot for cars. You just scan your watch on the door, and it should route the car there. If you drive one, that is,” Will said.
“I have a driver,” Nico said.
Will waited to see if there was a punchline to that. There wasn’t. “Oh. Um, well, this door leads to the locker room. Most people don’t use it yet, but you can keep your bag or coat in there. I think it’s pretty chilly, so--”
“Chilly?” Nico repeated. His accent stretched the vowels up, like bubbles of sound. His lips almost curled up in a smile. “I think it’s nice. Like summer on my planet.”
“Pluto-I,” Will said. He mentally slapped himself. Why did he say that? Nico knew what planet he was from. He probably thought Will was an idiot. He definitely did. He made a face and turned away.
“Beyond the locker room?” Nico asked.
Will paused, then looked. “Right. Yes. Those are specialty classrooms. If you take classes like family and consumer sciences, or music, or physical education, they need specific rooms. So they’re, ah, down there.”
Nico nodded. “I’m ready to return to the classroom,” he said.
Will tried not to let out a sigh of relief. He didn’t know how much more of Nico the Shade he could take.
-
October passed quickly, as Octobers tend to do. Nico the Shade stayed in the background, literally. He sat in the corner and was silent that most of the time, Will could forget he’d ever transferred. With Cecil directly in front of him and Lou Ellen on his left, Will couldn’t really pay attention to anything else in class, and as soon as the bell rang, Nico left. Will didn’t even know where he ate lunch, if he did at all. As November rolled around and the first semester began to wind to a halt, Will almost forgot that he was supposed to be Nico’s guide to Earth in the first place.
Almost, until the day he returned home to see his father.
Apollo Papadopoulos, the ambassador of Earth, the face of the planet--warm, friendly, talented in all the traditional human ways of healing, music, the arts, etc. He looked quintessentially human, with his golden hair, eyes blue as the sky, warm brown skin. Will looked much like him, though his skin was just a bit darker, like his mother’s. In many ways, Apollo seemed to think Will ought to take after him. Will wasn’t the eldest child, but he was old enough to take some of the tasks of an ambassador’s son, even though he lived with his mother in Montauk instead of with his father in Delos, as a few of his siblings did, which left to bear the question why Apollo was in Montauk in the first place.
“Father,” Will said.
“William,” Apollo said. “Sit. Please, tell me about how you’ve been. How’s school?”
Apollo was seated at the kitchen table, a cup of coffee in front of him. At the counter, Naomi Solace stood scrubbing the dishes. Will had noticed his mom made the excuse preferring to do dishes by hand whenever they had a guest she wished to avoid. She turned her head, dark curls bouncing over her shoulders. “Be nice,” she mouthed, though her jaw was tight. Sometimes Will wondered how his parents ever met, much less did anything to make a child.
The thought grossed him out, and he quickly took a seat opposite his father. “School? Um, I go. Every day. Except for weekends.”
Apollo laughed, like Will had made a really funny joke. Will didn’t think what he’d said was that funny. “I’m glad, William. So tell me, how is the Shade?”
Will froze. “The Shade?”
“Niko Serapis,” Apollo said. Under his tongue, it sounded oddly guttural. He paused. “Oh, I suppose he said he was going to go by Nico di Angelo.”
“Oh,” Will said. “Yeah, he goes to school too.”
Apollo stared. “I’m sure. He’s a very dedicated student. He’s already been guaranteed admission into New Rome University. They asked for a year of secondary studies on Earth, so he can adjust to the culture. He has big plans. We couldn’t refuse.”
Funny. Nico had said his father chose Earth for him. Will held his tongue on that.
“Are you friends?” Apollo asked.
Will shrugged. “Nico doesn’t seem to have friends.”
Apollo didn’t look entirely unpleased with that. “I see,” he said. “So I assume he has nowhere to spend Native American Honor Day. Naomi, would you mind hosting him?”
Naomi slammed a dish down into the sink. “Oh. I . . . suppose we could hold another guest,” she said.
“Perfect!” Apollo said. He grinned at Will. “You just need to invite him then. Make sure he feels welcome. Try to include some of his home traditions.” He pressed his hands on the table to push himself up, leaving the half-empty coffee cup and heading to the door.
“Home traditions? They don’t celebrate Native American Honor Day on Pluto-I, do they?” Will asked. He craned his head to look at his dad.
“I’ll see you soon, my son. Have a good day!” Apollo shut the door without answering. As soon as he was gone, Naomi let out a loud groan, clutching the edge of the counter and leaning forward.
“Stars, Will. I know he’s your father, but--”
“Hey, Mom, you’re the one who had sex with him,” Will countered. She rolled her eyes and threw a dish towel at him.
“So we’re having an alien over for dinner,” Naomi said as she stepped aside to let the robots clean the mess she’d left around the sink.
Will shrugged. “I think Father intends for us to host him all day.”
Naomi scrunched her nose and shook her head, pulling her hair into a bun at the base of her neck. As she snapped her hair band into place, she said, “He’s a Shade, is he? This, uh, Nico--”
“Nico di Angelo,” Will said. “I suppose. He’s from Pluto-I, but he never talks about it. He never, uh, talks.”
“Lovely,” Naomi said. She took a seat where Apollo had been and rested her head on her hands, leaning against the table. “I don’t know why he thinks he can just strut in here and order us about.”
“He’s the ambassador, Mom,” Will said.
Naomi shook her head. “That doesn’t matter. He’s always been this way,” she said. She sighed, then looked up at her son. “Well, I suppose you need to work on homework. I’ll be in the music room. Let me know if you need anything.” She rose from the seat and pressed a kiss to Will’s forehead before heading out the kitchen door.
Will sighed, watching as a bot picked up his dad’s coffee cup. “Thanks,” he said. The bot made a beep of acknowledgment. At least bots listened to him.
-
“So, Nico.”
Nico looked up from his honest-to-goodness hard copy book. In the month since he’d arrived, Will had forgotten how vacant his eyes were. He tried to look elsewhere, but the dark veins trailing through his face were too distracting. Will coughed, then cleared his throat. Nico raised a brow.
“You do that a lot,” he said.
Will glanced to the side, confused. “Do what?”
“Clear your throat,” Nico said.
Will paused and thought about it. “I . . . suppose I do.”
Nico nodded and looked back to his book. Will looked down. He only caught a glimpse of the cover--Harry Potter. So he liked the classics. Nico seemed to notice Will peering, and he drew his book closer to his body, wrapping his arms around as if to cover.
“I was wondering if you were celebrating anywhere for Native American Honor Day,” Will said.
Nico’s eyes lifted slowly. From a certain angle, they looked almost human, his long lashes, the fold of his eyelids. The deep nothingness of his eyes gave him away. “Native American Honor Day,” he said.
Will gave a toothy grin and shrugged. “Well, yes, um, it’s an American holiday, to honor the Native Americans who lost their lives and land after the invasion of the Europeans--”
“I’m aware,” Nico replied. His eyes narrowed, almost as if he were annoyed, and his jaw imperceptibly tightened. “I’m not American. I don’t celebrate.”
“Right. Well, you’re in America,” Will said. “Anyway, if you want, you can come over, it’s the 23rd. Here. This should take you to my house. It’s usually just me and my mom, so--” He shrugged as he knocked his watch against Nico’s. Nico stared at it blankly.
“We are off-school that week,” Nico said.
Will nodded. “Yeah. Fall break. Kind of late, but it’s easier to coincide with Native American Honor Day.”
“I’ll be there,” Nico said, turning back to his book.
Will forced a smile. “Great. So, um, it’s kind of traditional to hold a feast. Is there anything you’d like us to make?”
Will wondered if he should have asked if there were any dishes Nico would like from home. Then again, he didn’t know if they could even make Shade dishes. They probably didn’t have the ingredients, and who knew how substitutions would work. And Will still didn’t know if Shades even ate!
“Acquacotta,” Nico said.
Will paused. “Acquacotta?” he repeated.
Nico nodded. “Acquacotta. I also like arancini.”
“Acquacotta and arancini,” Will repeated once more.
“If you need recipes, I have my mother’s,” Nico said, flipping to the next page in his book.
Will pressed his lips together. “Or, um, if you want, you can come in the morning and help cook. I’d hate to screw it up, and Mom and I kind of think cooking together is part of the tradition.”
“Alright. I’ll bring the ingredients,” Nico said.
Will stood by Nico’s desk for a moment longer, waiting for a goodbye, a dismissal of some sort. Nico said nothing. Finally, Will turned away to sit at his own desk.
-
When Nico arrived on Native American Honor Day, Will didn’t know what to expect. There was a reason that Naomi Solace didn’t marry Apollo, beyond Naomi’s apparent distaste for the man she’d once been infatuated with. Naomi Solace did not have a clue on how to host an alien.
“Does he use a chair? Should I set a spot for him at the table?”
“Yes, Mom,” Will said as he chopped potatoes, the knife rocking back and forth on the cutting board. He watched as the blade lifted once more, sliding the next potato underneath. A bot hung nearby, watching in case Will grew too close to his fingers. Will smiled up at it. “You’re a good bot,” he said. The bot beeped.
“You said he wants to make acquacotta and arancini?” Naomi asked from her spot at the table, attempting to peel a squash. After a moment longer with the futile task, she handed it over to a bot, who easily peeled and sliced. “I don’t know how to make that.”
Will shrugged. “He said he’ll bring the ingredients. I can only assume he knows how.”
“Acquacotta. Arancini. Sounds Italian,” Naomi said, standing up and moved to the cabinet to get started on the next dish. “Why would he want to make Italian dishes?”
“I don’t know,” Will said, tone dragging. “Maybe he’s fascinated with Italy or something. He does go by Nico di Angelo. Pretty Italian name.”
Naomi shook her head. “I just don’t--”
At that moment, the bell rang. A bot zoomed to answer the door, and from his spot in the kitchen, Will watched Nico step inside. He was dressed in loose clothes, dark jeans and a sweater, but nothing else that suggested he was at all cold in the November air. Two large grocery bags balanced in his arms, and as the bot offered to take them, Nico gave a small nod of his head. “Thank you,” he said. He turned to look at the Solaces, looking distinctly awkward in hallway just before their kitchen. “Will. Um, you must be his mother. I am Nico di Angelo.”
Naomi merely smiled. “Pleasure to meet you. You can call me Naomi. Come on in. Will’s working on the mashed potatoes, and I’m making cranberry salad. As soon as Will’s done, I’m sure he can help you with your dishes.”
Half of Will wanted to complain that he couldn’t help Nico with dishes he didn’t know, but he reminded himself that he was the one who invited him over. Even if it was at his father’s wishes. Will had to play the part of a good host.
Nico nodded to acknowledge Naomi, then moved to Will’s side, looking into the bowl. “Mashed potatoes,” he said.
“Uh, yes,” Will said. He continued to beat the potatoes, watching until it grew together. “So you brought the things for your dishes?”
Nico nodded. “Yeah,” he said, staring vacantly. “How do you tell when it’s done?”
Will paused. “Huh?”
“The mashed potatoes. How do you tell when they’re done?” Nico asked. His hair flopped over his forehead, a few strands brushing over the bridge of his nose.
Will looked down into the bowl. “Well, I just… wait until it feels right,” he said.
Nico’s eyes flickered up. “Feels right?”
“Here.” Will shifted the beaters until Nico’s hand. “Do you feel how the potatoes are growing softer?”
Nico nodded. “Yeah. So this feels right?”
“I think so,” Will said. He took the beaters back from Nico and turned it off. “Alright. So what do we do with your stuff? I’m afraid I’ve never made anything like it before.”
Nico looked over to the table where his grocery bags laid. Sliding away from the counter, he reached into one of the bags, pulling out a half-eaten loaf of bread. “Hold this,” Nico said, passing the loaf into Will’s hand. His fingers curled around the loaf, and he furrowed his brow. There was no give.
“This is stale,” Will said.
“Yes,” said Nico. “Has to be for acquacotta.”
“You use stale bread?” Will asked.
“It’s the whole point of acquacotta,” Nico said. He looked around. “Where are your pots?”
Sliding past his mother on one end of the counter, Will knelt down and opened a cabinet door, pulling out a pot. He passed to Nico, who reached for the sink to fill it. Setting the pot on the stove, he turned back to Will. “A saucepan.”
Will grabbed a saucepan and handed it over. This time, Nico reached into his grocery bags, and tossing a variety of vegetables in the saucepan, he turned on the stove and turned around, leaning back against the counter and staring off. Great. If he intended to be silent this whole day, this would be the worst Native American Honor Day ever.
“You’ve made this before?” Will asked, rising to his feet again. He hoped Nico wouldn’t need any more pans.
Nico nodded. “My mother used to make it,” he said.
“I didn’t know Shades ate,” Will said before he could stop himself.
Nico snapped out of his daze, dark eyes staring over at Will. Without a warning, he let out a loud, sharp laugh. His lashes fluttered down, and he shook his head. “Shades don’t normally eat human food,” he said after a moment. “We process more, um . . . somewhat like your plants. Photosynthesis, though we use the shadows instead of light. Take our nutrients from the atmosphere.”
“Oh,” Will said. He suddenly wished he’d looked Shades up on Google. Maybe he could have found out more about them and not looked like a complete idiot. “So you could do that right now?”
Nico shook his head. “Earth’s atmosphere isn’t suited for Shades. It’s why most Shades don’t stay here for long.”
“Do you not like to eat human food then?” Will asked. He leaned on his side, the sink jutting into his hip. Peering over Nico’s shoulder, he looked into the pot of vegetables, simmering.
“My mother was human. I can eat human food just as well as I can synthesize like a Shade,” Nico said.
Will paused. “You’re half-human?”
Nico nodded, turning his head. The small waves in his hair flopped to the other side, one dark brow raising. “Yes?”
“So I suppose having a human name is . . . normal then. I thought it was just a weird quirk. Choosing a new name.” Will’s freckled cheeks flushed red.
“Nico di Angelo. That was my mother’s choice of name,” Nico said. “Well, Niccolò, actually, but my father wanted me to have a Shade name. So they compromised, two names that sound mostly similar.”
“Niko,” Will tried to pronounce, remembering what he said.
Nico’s lips quirked, and he shook his head. “Nico is the best approximation by human tongues,” he said. “What you’re saying--there’s an accent that you can’t recreate, and you make it sound bad.”
“Thanks,” Will said.
Nico stared at Will for a moment before he turned around and looked at the saucepan. He turned the vegetables into the now boiling water. “While this cooks, we can start on the arancini.”
“Sure,” Will said. “What do you need me to do?”
It was kind of fascinating how Nico knew these recipes by heart. Neither Will nor Naomi were great cooks; Native American Honor Day took about all of their knowledge. But Nico made cooking fun, with the way he moved through the kitchen easily. He absorbed all of Will’s attention. When he wasn’t being perfectly silent and still, he was funny, almost charming. He had a beautiful smile. Will acted as goofy as his father in attempts to make Nico smile. At the end of the counter, Naomi watched the two, a small smile on her lips.
“Well, at least I have you for company,” she told the bots. They beeped happily, and she patted their heads.
-
By the beginning of December, Will had become focused on drawing Nico out of his shell. He invited him to eat lunch with his friends. He tried to stop and talk to him after school. He even let Lou and Cecil be partners for an assignment and grabbed Nico instead. None of it seemed effective. That small bit of humanity--literally and figuratively--Nico had shown on Native American Honor Day seemed to be gone. He didn’t smile. He didn’t laugh. He didn’t seem to care one way or the other about anything.
“Have you ever gone bowling?” Will asked during their study hour. He’d convinced Nico to dedicate it working on their history project, though Will had intended to spend at least a little time socializing. Nico was focused entirely on their project. Will had the feeling that if he didn’t insist on doing parts, Nico would do the whole thing without complaint.
“What’s bowling?” Nico asked, not looking up from his tablet. His hair fell loosely over his forehead, and Will watched as the waves in his hair bobbed with each shift of his head. The more Will looked at him, the more human he appeared. The dark veins through his skin seemed less unearthly, more just a quirk of Nico’s. Actually, he was rather handsome, something like an old movie star with sharp angles and silky hair.
Will cleared his throat and mind. He glanced over to Cecil and Lou Ellen, who were occupied by their intense discussion on the Election of 2360. “It’s kind of a game. Sport-type thing,” he said. “My friend Cecil, his family owns a bowling alley.”
“Oh,” Nico said. He tapped a few more letters on his tablet, then looked up, interested.
“We’re going this weekend. If you want to join, you can. Cecil and Lou are usually partners, so you could be mine. You know, team up and take them down,” Will babbled. He tugged his bottom lip underneath his teeth, his left hand moved to the back of his neck.
“I don’t know how to do bowling,” Nico said.
Will shook his head, leaning forward eagerly. “Alright, so it’s pretty easy. It’s just . . . spinning a ball down a lane. Into pins. Knocking them over.” He paused. “Okay, that’s the worst description of bowling ever.”
Nico cracked a smile. “You’ll have to teach me,” he said.
Will stopped. “You’ll come?”
“I will,” Nico agreed. “When is it?”
“Saturday. 15:00. We usually bowl a round, then get food from the snack bar, then play another round. I’m sure we can use the first round as practice,” Will said. He knocked his watch against Nico’s. “There’s the directions. I’ll see you there!”
Nico nodded and slid his tablet over. “I found this article from 2380. I think we could use it.”
Of course. There was Nico, focused as ever on school. Will leaned his elbow on Nico’s desk, resting his head on his hand. He’d find a way to crack him. He wanted to know more about this Nico di Angelo, Niko Serapis. He wanted to know more about Pluto-I. He wanted Nico to talk to him.
He wanted to see Nico smile again.
-
Cecil and Lou Ellen were already at the bowling alley when Will arrived. He was surprised to find that Nico as well had arrived, taking a seat in the lane next to them. He was wearing just a sweatshirt and jeans, and Will had to press lips together at the sight. It was early December, but it was about 3 degrees, far too cold for any normal person to go outside without a coat. Even Cecil and Lou Ellen had theirs out by now.
Cecil looked up when Will approached, looking greatly relieved.
“Will! Hey. Your . . . friend’s here,” Cecil said, glancing to Nico curiously.
“Friend,” Nico repeated. “Are we friends?” He looked to Will.
Will shifted uncomfortably on his feet. “Oh. Yeah, sure,” he said, moving to the seat opposite Nico. He pulled his scarf off of his neck, coughing softly from the cold air in his lungs. His cheeks pink, he slid his coat off and hung it around the chair.
Across from them, Cecil and Lou Ellen exchanged looks.
“Nico’s never bowled before,” Will said, looking at his friends in hopes to change the subject. “I thought we could use the first round to teach him to play.”
“Sure,” Lou said, her antennae bobbing up and down. “If he’s any good, I’m stealing him. The only one worse than Cecil is you, Will.”
Cecil snorted indignantly, and Lou Ellen ruffled his brown curls, sticking out her lavender tongue.
“Nope. I invited Nico, and he’s mine,” Will protested automatically, slinging an arm over Nico’s shoulders. It was the first time he’d ever actually touched Nico, and he was surprised to find that Nico’s skin wasn’t unnaturally cold. In fact, he was almost warm. Realizing he’d had his arm around Nico unnecessarily long, Will started to draw back, just as Nico leaned a little closer, his head knocking against Will’s shoulder.
“I’m Will’s partner,” Nico agreed, eventually pulling back on his own. Will’s face felt abnormally hot, and not from windburn. He looked to Cecil and Lou, who seemed to be trying not to laugh. Will turned away and looked at the screen.
“Cecil, did you have your brothers set us up?” he asked.
Cecil shook his head. “Nope! Hey, Travis, Connor!”
The twins raised their hands from the counter, and the screens popped to life.
“It’s a bit old school here,” Will told Nico, “but I think it’s fun.” He knocked his watch against the screen, then brought Nico’s wrist over as well. “Just two.”
The screen flashed, and the bowling pins set up.
“Oh, yeah. So we also need to choose the weight for the bowling balls,” Will said. “I usually go for a 16. You can try that, and if you need, we can get a different ball.”
Nico nodded. “You’re going first,” he said, voice flat.
Will smiled. “Yeah, sure.” To their left, Cecil and Lou Ellen had already started their game. Will rose from his seat and grabbed the ball as it appeared, stepping up to the line.
“So the first thing you do is put your fingers in the holes like this,” Will explained. “Then you just step like this, swing your arm, and--” He let go of the ball, watching as it rolled awkwardly, wobbling across the lane. It knocked down one of the end pins, and he turned to Nico with a sheepish smile.
“Will is, like, the worst person to learn to bowl from,” Lou called from the other side. She took her turn, moving gracefully across the floor. The ball flew from her fingertips, landing on the lane and swiftly knocking all the pins. “Strike! Hell yeah, I’m the queen!”
“Show ‘em how it’s done, Lou!” Cecil cheered.
“You don’t get to say anything,” Lou Ellen said, spinning on her heels and pointing a finger at him. “Your family owns a bowling alley, and you only got 3 pins.”
Cecil shrugged and leaned back in his seat.
“Your turn,” Will said brightly, turning to Nico and offering the ball. Nico rose and took the ball from Will, turning it over curiously in his hands. He slid it on his fingers, then moved to the line.
“Like this?” he said, looking at Will. Will nodded. Nico took a breath, chest lifting. His arm swung back, and before Will could even process it, he tossed the ball, knocking 9 pins.
Will’s brows rose. “Wow. Not bad,” he said. “Maybe after this practice round, you can beat Lou.”
“Hey!” Lou Ellen called from her lane, crossing her arms over her chest.
“We can beat her this round,” Nico said, turning back to Will. He had a sharp glint in his eyes, something Will had never seen before. He reached for the ball as it reappeared and knocked down the last pin.
Will felt a grin tug at his lips. “Yeah. You’re on, Lou! I’ve got Nico!”
-
“Well, this sucks. You let me down, Lou.”
Lou swatted Cecil’s arm, and he hip-checked her in response. “I tried my best. Hey, Nico, are Shades super strong or something?”
After the games had finished, the competitive spark in Nico died down, and he looked as blank and empty as ever. Tossing their empty plates with the remnants of greasy bowling alley food in the trash, Will and Lou Ellen had started to put on their coats. Cecil, who was staying to take over the food counter, had packed his things onto his arms. Nico, who had arrived with nothing, stood to the side. “No,” he said.
“Oh,” Lou replied. “Any reason you’re so good at this game then?”
Nico paused. “I used to, ah--” He paused, then made an indistinct noise, breathy, like mist. “It’s a sport on Pluto-I. Somewhat like your fencing. So I suppose I have dexterous arms.”
“Jealous,” Cecil said, rolling his eyes. He checked his watch. “Well, I really have to head over before Priya decides I’m late and makes me pay.”
Will shivered. Cecil’s younger sister was disturbingly creative. “Good luck!” he called.
“I’ve got to run too. Mom wants to have a family dinner. See you,” Lou Ellen said, her antennae bobbing happily as she turned to the door.
“Have fun with your boyfriend!” Cecil called.
Will’s face grew bright red. “He’s not my boyfriend!” he called back. The desire to keep his eyes glued to ugly old fractal pattern on the table was strong, but he knew it would be rude to leave without a real goodbye. He lifted his head only to find Nico staring over at him. “Ha. Well, um, I should head home. Got to catch the metro, so--”
“I can give you a ride,” Nico offered.
“Oh. You don’t have to,” Will said, taking a step towards the door.
Nico shook his head and followed him. “My driver will be here soon. Just wait.”
“Oh. Well, uh, thanks,” Will said, pausing just in front of the glass. He turned to look outside, where the sleeping trees spread their limbs through the gray sky. He supposed it would have been rude to refuse again. “So bowling. You like? Bowling. You like bowling?”
“It was fun,” Nico said.
Will nodded, giving a terse smile. “Right. Great.” He shifted on his feet again. Cool air slid in behind incoming customers, and he shivered. “It’s, um, cold out.”
Weather talk. Fantastic, Will Solace.
Nico turned to look at him. “It’s not too bad. Pluto-I is colder,” he said.
“Oh. I guess you like the cold then,” Will said.
Nico was quiet. “Not so much.”
Will faltered. “You don’t?”
“Mamma was from Italy. The few times I’ve been on Earth before now, we were there,” Nico said, and for a moment, Will thought he heard a bit of an Italian accent to his speech, but, no, he was probably projecting. As Nico had said, he was raised on Pluto-I. “She always liked the heat. She rarely left our home if she could help it. Pluto-I was too cold for her.” His words carried some sort of weight that Will couldn’t seem to place. After a moment, Nico turned to look at him, his dark eyes somber. “That’s what I think it was. Humans can’t survive for extended periods on Pluto-I. Mamma and my sister, Bianca . . . they both died from unexplained circumstances. Bianca, I think, was more human than me.”
Will stared at Nico’s face, even as he turned his gaze back to the outdoors. “Nico,” he said.
“My father believes I will be safer on Earth,” Nico continued, “but since Shades aren’t suited to this environment--”
Will reached for Nico’s arm, his fingers wrapping around his bicep.
“Jules-Albert is here,” Nico said abruptly, pushing his way through the door. Will followed him out, fairly sure that they wouldn’t be speaking on the ride to Will’s.
Part of Will wondered why Nico had told him that. It was difficult to think of him as the strange Shade classmate for their senior year when Will knew that Nico di Angelo, Niko Serapis, was half-human, with a dead mother and sister, unsure if the environment of the native worlds of either of his parents’ would be suitable for his body.
When Will returned home that evening, he pulled out his tablet and began to scan through Google, Shades, Pluto-I, Niko Serapis.
Shades turned up dozens articles on the species, but most of the words were too scientific for Will to understand. He set those aside and briefly skimmed Wikipedia, which was about as helpful. Will already knew they were shadowy shapeshifters. The pictures looked significantly different than Nico, but Nico was presenting in a human form, so Will ignored those as well. Pluto-I provided little more information.
Niko Serapis was something else. The son of Hades Serapis, the ambassador of Pluto-I, and Maria di Angelo, daughter of a former ambassador of Earth. After Maria’s death, Hades had remarried to another Shade, a Mari L’Vesk, with whom he had a daughter, Hazel. It was all but publicly acknowledged that Hazel had been born out of wedlock, long before Maria di Angelo passed. Nico’s sister, Bianca, had died only a year and a half ago. Niko--Nico--was the only one left in his family with any human blood. He must have been lonely.
He must have still been lonely, even on Earth. Will tapped on another article, showing Nico beside his father, greeting a delegation from Earth. He zoomed in on Nico’s face, as cold and detached as ever. His fingertips resting on Nico’s pale cheek, Will stared at the screen until he fell asleep.
-
Will considered Cecil and Lou Ellen his good friends. He could, mostly, trust them not to spread gossip. Cecil’s siblings, on the other hand, were gossipmongers, so long as it benefited them, and by the next school day, word of Will’s association with Nico had spread.
“So you’re dating a Shade?” Drew Tanaka asked, plopping herself down on the edge of Will’s desk in one swift motion. Her hair was neatly braided into a crown, and she wore the pants version of the uniform with all the grace and style of her model mothers. Will simultaneously envied, adored, and despised her.
“I’m--”
“He’s kind of odd-looking,” Drew said, turning her head in Nico’s direction. She didn’t care if Nico saw her looking, which Will supposed was respectable in its own right. “Not because he’s an alien, I mean. Like . . . he just seems so not there. Not exactly the type I thought you’d go for.”
“I’m not dating Nico,” Will said.
Though Nico must have heard Drew as well, he didn’t look up until Will spoke. Something about the look Nico was giving made Will’s chest tighten, and his ears grew red. Nico’s brow furrowed, and he abruptly looked back down to his tablet. Will finally looked away only to find Drew’s face staring down at him.
“Are you going to get off my desk?” Will asked.
“Oh, sure, I’ve gotten plenty,” Drew said. She pressed a kiss to Will’s cheek, leaving a bright red mark, and Will groaned. “You’re a darling, Will, as always.”
“I’m not taking you to my father’s ball this year, Drew,” Will said. “I’m not going.”
“I know, you’ve told me,” groaned Drew, cocking her hip and staring down at him, her eyeliner as sharp as knives. “But, thankfully, you’ve made up for it in other ways. I’ll forgive you.”
Will couldn’t tear his eyes away from her as she walked away. Not because she was gorgeous (though she was), but because she terrified him when she spoke about things he didn’t know. Whatever he’d given her, it couldn’t have been good.
He was right. As soon as Ms. Hestia dismissed class, Will reached for his tablet, only for Nico to brush by so abruptly that he knocked it out of Will’s hand. His head snapped up to look at Nico, but Nico was already at the door, his tablet in his hand. His knuckles looked both pale and dark and smoky where they curled around the screen. Will glanced back down at his own, lying on the floor, thankfully not cracked. He scooped it up and headed out the door.
The hallway was full of students, wall to wall, but Nico wasn’t one of them. Will could only see a few feet in front of him as he slid between his classmates. If he was lucky he’d catch him at the locker room-- but Nico didn’t carry a bag, if Will remembered. The cold didn’t bother him. He wouldn’t have a coat. He wouldn’t stop by the locker room.
Will pressed his lips together and swallowed before he turned to head out the door. Rather than chasing Nico down the walkway, Will found Nico sitting on the bottom step. In his rush, he stumbled and tumbled down onto him. Nico made a noise with that wispy tone again, and he reeled back, hands planted on Will’s shoulders, fingers tightening as he pushed him away.
“Nico,” Will said.
“What’s your problem?” That was not the wispy tone. That was a tone Will had never heard from Nico, cold, dark, a viscous sort of sound as bitter as tar. Will’s eyes moved up Will’s body, from his perfectly tied tie, neatly buttoned jacket, to his face, brows drawn together, mouth turned down into a sneer.
He’s angry, Will realized belatedly.
“I’m-- You looked-- Um, class,” Will stammered.
Nico scoffed and pushed Will away a little more firmly, until Will landed on his butt the next step down. “What?”
“Are you mad at me?” Will asked, knowing that was the worst question to ask someone who was mad at you.
“No! Why would I be mad?” Nico asked. His voice traveled the tones naturally, less impassive than Will had ever heard him be.
“You know, honestly, I don’t know,” Will retorted, crossing his arms over his chest, partially out of a desire to seem more put together, mostly because it was freezing outside. “I don’t know why you’re mad at me, Nico. How could I? You’ve never been mad before, and I’ve been nothing but nice since you got here, so if you want to tell my dad--”
“What’s so bad about dating me?” Nico asked abruptly. As if he’d realized what he’d said a moment too late, the whites of his eyes grew large, and shades of smoky gray spread across his cheeks and ears.
Will stopped. “Uh, wha--?”
“You . . . .” Nico stammered, Adam’s apple bobbing in his throat. “You keep telling people we’re not dating, and you act like-- Would it be so bad to date me?”
Will stared blankly. Nico seemed to wait for something for half a second before the dark blush on his cheeks spread, and he turned away.
“Hold on. Are you saying you like me?” Will asked.
“Shut up,” Nico said, letting out a breath.
“You like me,” Will repeated as it sunk in.
“Shut up!” Nico repeated as his face grew darker.
“Nico--”
“Shut your damn mouth, and don’t touch me!” Nico shook the hand reaching for his arm off and stood up, looking so jittery Will thought he was ready to dissolve into whatever Shades normally looked like. “Just-- don’t say anything. Leave me alone.”
“You like me.”
“Would you stop saying that?”
Will finally stopped, his own cheeks growing red, not just from the cold. He lifted a hand to the back of his neck, the only part of his body that was still warm. Nico liked him. A Shade liked him. What was he supposed to do with that?
“It’s . . . Don’t make that face,” Nico said, his voice softer, though not to that same, dreamy quality he’d had before. He seemed more present, more real, than ever before, solid and harsh. “It’s not weird. I’m half-human. I can . . . I’m allowed to like people. And you’re actually nice to me--”
“I didn’t say anything,” Will said.
Nico rolled his eyes, still looking irritated. “You were thinking it. I get it, you don’t-- Whatever.”
Will sighed and pushed himself to his feet. A step below Nico, they were about the same height. “How am I even supposed to know how I feel about you? You’re always so--”
“So what?” Nico asked, his hands suddenly flashing in front of Will’s face.
“So nothing! It’s like nothing matters to you! I know people always talk about how humans are so wild and emotional, and then you show up and you’re just-- nothing ,” Will said. “Why did you even come to Earth?”
“Because my father told me to!”
Will stopped, lips parting. He stared at Nico, who withdrew, half-looking like who he’d been before, cold, distant, a Shade locked in a human body. But Will could see now. He could see the tightness of Nico’s jaw, the twitch of his lips, his tense fingers. Regardless of what he tried to present, Nico was human too.
“Your father’s an ambassador,” Will said.
Nico paused, glancing over to Will. “Yeah,” he said, leaning against the column on the front steps.
“I know how you feel,” Will said after a moment. “I mean, my dad is the one who told me to--” He stopped, realizing how Nico might take that.
Nico seemed to know what he was going to say anyway. He scoffed. “Yeah. Of course.”
Will sighed. “It’s not that I dislike you or anything,” he said.
“I know, whatever, you just don’t like me, I’m just that weird human kid, yeah, I get it.” Nico’s hands flew around as he spoke before returning to his chest as he crossed his arms.
“Shade kid,” Will corrected. Nico looked up at him. “You said human kid. But here you’re the Shade kid.”
Nico didn’t answer. He turned his head, black eyes focused on column.
“I guess people on Pluto-I weren’t the kindest,” Will said.
“It’s not--” Nico exhaled slowly. “You can’t really understand it. It’s another culture, another species. I don’t know if Shades and humans are really the best for hybrid kids.”
“What do you mean?” Will asked. He took a step up the steps, sliding closer to Nico, who spared him a quick glance.
“You don’t have your coat on. You’re going to freeze,” Nico said.
Will suddenly felt the chill of the wind rubbing his skin raw. “Oh.”
“You don’t have to take pity on me anymore. You can tell your dad you’ve done the job. I’m fine.” Nico’s arms tightened around his chest.
“You are such a pain in the ass,” Will said.
Nico looked up.
“If you acted like this, less people would think you’re creepy,” Will said. “We’re human . You don’t have to hide your feelings all the time. It’s normalto care about things.”
“I don’t know what you’ve been told about Shades, but we’re not heartless. We care about things. I was just . . . told to stay quiet. My father didn’t want me to offend anyone,” Nico said. “Apparently I’m abrasive.”
Will snorted. “Really?”
Nico cracked a smile in spite of himself.
Will took another step closer. “I don’t want to pretend I know everything you’re going through, okay? But I think things would be easier if you actually tried to hang out with people. People beside me,” he added.
Nico seemed to deflate slightly. “Right.”
“But we can, um . . . .” Will cleared his throat. “We can still hang out.”
“As friends,” Nico said.
“Not necessarily.” Will gave a lopsided grin. “I mean, it’s not every day someone tells me--”
“Shut up,” Nico said, that faint gray spreading through his face again.
“You should come over for the holidays. We do all sorts of thing on Earth,” Will said. “Mom won’t mind. The whole family comes up from Texas, ‘cause we have snow up here.”
Nico looked out ahead at the lawn, the grass they never let students even touch, like grass was some prized possession instead of a part of nature that was meant to be walked on. “We don’t have snow on Pluto-I,” he said.
“You ever seen it?” Will asked.
“No,” said Nico.
“It’s nice. I hope we have a white Christmas this year,” Will said. He smiled, leaning over the railing.
“You’re shivering,” Nico said. He lifted his hand to Will’s cheek. “You really should go inside.”
“Yeah,” Will said, the soft thump of his heart against his chest growing louder. Nico’s hand was unreasonably warm in this weather. He took a step back, shaking off the touch. “Yeah. Um, I’m going to go inside. See you, Nico.”
“See you.”
Will turned towards the door, not quite sparing a glance towards Nico as he made his way to the locker room. He grabbed his coat without much of a look at any of the remaining students, though Drew, leaning on her locker, gave him a look.
By the time Will made it outside, Nico was gone. Will kind of felt disappointed.
-
It was December 18th, two days before the last day of school before the holiday break, when homeroom was interrupted by a knock on the door. Ms. Hestia looked up, looking through the small window in the door, thean to Will, which gave Will a distinct feeling that this was not going to be something good.
When Apollo walked into the room, Will was sure. This was not good.
“Students of Montauk Youths’ Academy, we have been blessed with a special opportunity today,” Apollo began without any sort of introduction. Will’s cheeks began to burn, and he lowered his head. Ms. Hestia didn’t even seem to know what was going on. How could he show up at Will’s school and not even tell the teachers? “Your classmate, Niko S-- Nico di Angelo, as you all know, is from Pluto-I--”
Oh no. Will’s head snapped up, looking over his shoulder to Nico. Nico’s jaw was tight, his fingers about to break the stylus in his hand.
“His family has decided to make a visit, and you have the fantastic opportunity of meeting Ambassador Hades Serapis, his wife Mari L’Vesk, and their daughter Hazel,” Apollo said. Behind him, a tall, thin man stepped in, his features twisted into something almost annoyed.
The stylus snapped. A few snickers from somewhere in the classroom echoed, but none of the adults acknowledged them. Of course they wouldn’t.
“There’s no need for this,” he said, words diplomatic, but tone decidedly not. If Nico was abrasive, Will had an idea of where he got it from. “I can visit my son after class.”
Apollo beamed, his own diplomacy skills not quite polished enough to pick up on the signals Hades was sending. Will always thought his father had been appointed to this position because any errors he made would have been excused by his lack of awareness rather than an intentional slight. “Nonsense. There’s no need to wait. Ms. Hestia doesn’t mind,” he said.
Ms. Hestia pursed her lips. Hades Serapis looked at her apologetically. Behind him, a woman and a girl a few years younger than the students--obviously Mari and Hazel--followed. They were all dark, nearly pitch black, their skin not quite solid, hair loose and curly. They looked little like Nico, except for their eyes, and now Will wasn’t the only one who knew.
Will glanced over his shoulder again. Nico’s face was growing gray. At the front of the classroom, the girl--Hazel, gave a beaming smile and slid through the aisles.
“Niko!” she said brightly, tugging her brother out of his chair. “How do you like Earth? I’ve never seen a school like this before. Are you settling in well?”
Nico seemed to force a smile. “It’s fine, Hazel,” he said, his voice softer, as if to lessen the amount of attention on them, though with this situation, it didn’t do a thing.
“Oh, your tablet!” Hazel turned to look at Nico’s desk, reaching to scoop the tablet into her hands. “How fascinating.”
“Yes, um . . . .” Nico glanced helplessly at his parents at the front of the room. “Father, perhaps we should take this out of the school.”
Apollo looked perplexed at the suggestion, but Hades nodded, his wife looking relieved.
“Niko, Hazel,” Hades said, though those were the only words Will caught until his voice grew softer, wispier, the language of the Shades. At Nico’s desk, Hazel nodded, grabbing her brother’s hand and leading him up to the front. As they passed Will’s desk, Hazel turned to look at him, giving a wide smile, then looking to Nico. She said something that made Nico’s ears darken as well.
“Hazel,” Nico said, pushing her forward until they reached the front of the classroom. Hades and Mari quickly ushered their children out of the door, until Apollo was left flummoxed, Ms. Hestia feathers ruffled, and the class utterly stunned at the deviation from routine.
“Well . . . Let’s hope they have a good visit. Please be kind to your classmate!” said Apollo as brightly and stupidly as ever. Will tried not to cry when Apollo waved at him and walked out.
As Ms. Hestia tried to resume her lesson, Will felt the tip of a stylus dig into his neck. His shoulder lifted up to knock it off, and he looked behind him.
Lou Ellen smiled sympathetically. “I always forget your dad is . . . like that . . . .”
“I just feel bad for Nico,” whispered Will.
“He’ll be fine,” Lou said. “I mean, embarrassing as that was, he’s got a day with his family, and nothing seems to bother him anyway.”
Not true. Nico was surprisingly sensitive. Will didn’t know if that specifically would humiliate him, but he hated the thought of his dad making things difficult for Nico. If only Will could contact him. But he hadn’t synced their watches, and-- He bit the tip of his tongue, only snapping out of it when he realized Lou was smiling at him.
“What?”
Lou Ellen shook her head, antennae bobbing. “Pay attention, Will,” she said, poking his neck again until he turned around, leaving him with no answer once again.
-
At the end of the day, Will’s worries hadn’t quite subsided, and he hardly remembered getting his coat and walking outside. He was halfway to the metro station before he noticed the car beside him, and when the window rolled down and a voice called, “William Solace!” he nearly had a heart attack.
In the car, Hazel L’Vesk and her brother sat, Hazel’s head poking out of the window. Hazel’s hair was loose and bounced around her in the wind. She looked nothing like her brother, but she was very pretty as well; she was easier to call pretty, rather, as the darkness in her features looked much more natural.
“William Solace,” she repeated. “My brother Niko said something of a sport called ‘bowling’. You know this sport?”
“Um,” Will said, not sure how to respond.
“Will isn’t very good at it,” Nico said, sliding up beside her. For a moment, Will thought he would smile, but as soon as he caught Will’s eye, Nico bristled, turning his head away. “Let’s go, Hazel.”
“Oh, but--” Hazel looked at her brother, then back to Will. “Oh! Well, since you’ve shown Niko your sport, perhaps Niko could show you ours. He was the champion of our school at home--in his age level at least.”
“Yeah, you’re pretty good too,” Nico replied, sparing a smile for his sister.
“Of course!” Hazel grinned before turning back to Will. “Please, join us. We’ll be heading to the embassy hotel.”
Nico pressed his lips together, looking as if he didn’t want Will to come. Will was ready to make his excuses until he looked at Hazel’s face.
“I--” he said.
��Great!” she said, opening the door and sliding over her brother to the other seat. “Come in!”
Will hesitated before he climbed into the car, sitting next to Nico. Nico shifted, sliding a bit closer to Hazel, who shoved him back, his thigh brushing Will’s. Immediately, Nico stiffened. Then, almost defiantly, he crossed his arms and spread his legs a little wider, pressing Will into the side of the car.
Real mature, Will thought. They weren’t even really fighting.
“It’s a pleasure to meet you, William,” Hazel said, leaning forward to look at him. “Niko’s told me about you.”
“He has?” Will asked.
Nico blushed again, the cool gray of his face stronger than ever.
“Of course! It’s nice that he has a friend here,” Hazel said. “I was . . . upset when Father decided to send him to Earth, but I can see it’s good for him. But now this is the only chance I have to beat Niko at--” She made that sound that Will vaguely remembered as the sport Nico played on Pluto-I.
“You’re not going to beat me,” Nico said, that competitive glint returning to his eyes.
Hazel grinned. “Oh, but I am, dear brother. I’ve been practicing. What have you been doing?”
“Bowling,” Nico replied, and Will had to cover his mouth so he didn’t laugh. In spite of himself, Nico let a small smile slip, and Will’s heart twisted in his chest. Oh. Right. Nico’s smile.
“Bowling? Perhaps I shall bowl the next time we are on Earth,” said Hazel. She looked to Will. “My brother has told me of your sport. It sounds very odd. If we return soon, you must show me.”
Nico’s lips quirked a little more at his sister’s antics. “Please ignore her. She’s only 14.”
“And I’m still going to beat you at --.” She stuck out her tongue, as dark as the rest of her, and Nico stuck out his, a darker shade of pink than most humans, as if it were imbued with shadow.
The driver dropped them off at the front of the hotel, and Hazel grabbed Will’s hand to pull him out. Her fingers weren’t cold, though maybe a little cool, like grasping at the air in the fridge, and Will had a distinct feeling if he squeezed too hard, her hand would disappear. Nico’s body was more solid, from what Will remembered. Nico followed beside them, waiting for Hazel to open up the door to the hotel, where she led them to a recreational room, already supplied with the tools of the trade, or sport as case were.
“Ready?” Hazel asked before she seemed to disappear--then out of nothing but a shadow in the corner of the room, she was a wisp, not even vaguely humanoid, her voice no longer making any sort of sounds similar to English. She was a real Shade, Will realized. Not shapeshifting, just existing.
Nico remained in his human form, glancing over to Will hesitantly. “I--” he started before running a hand through his hair. He responded to Hazel in the same language, then looked back to Will. “This may be a little weird for you, okay? I mean . . . I’ll have to leave my human body. But I’m not dead, so don’t freak out.”
What?
Nico stepped to the side of the room and opened his mouth, a rush of shadow flowing from his lips. His dark veins seemed to empty, and his body seemed paler, lesser, his eyes falling shut as he fell to the ground, and then there was another Shade, looking just like Hazel, attacking before Will’s eyes could adjust. Will looked to the body beside him.
Nico was right. He did look dead, slumped over like that. Part of Will wanted to scream or cry or something, staring at a body devoid of any signs of life. Did Nico use that body like a shell? Was it even a part of him? Will reached to touch it. The skin was still warm, and on the wrist, he could feel a heartbeat.
Too creepy. He turned his attention to the match before him.
There was no handbook to explain what they were doing. They moved so quickly Will couldn’t catch it, and though he had the sabers or whatever when they’d entered the room, he hadn’t registered when they’d picked them up. It was like fencing, Nico had said, but Will couldn’t see any resemblance beyond the use of swords. He’d almost convinced himself he was catching on when they reformed into humanoid-figures. Like this, Nico had the same dark skin as his family.
“You’re getting so good, Hazel,” he said in English, probably for Will’s benefit. “You’re going to be far better than me by the time you’re my age.”
Hazel beamed. “I learned from the best,” she said, wrapping her arms around her brother’s waist. She was sweet. Far sweeter than any of Will’s half-siblings, he thought, almost jealous. But considering the family Nico had, he probably needed Hazel. Anyone who could make Nico smile like that must have been good.
“Shall my driver take you home, Will?” Nico asked, sliding over to his body and flowing back in, his eyes opening with just a second to adjust.
“Um,” Will said.
“I’ll take him home,” said Nico. “Are you leaving tonight, Hazel?”
Hazel nodded sadly. “You know Shades can’t stay on Earth long,” she said.
“I know,” Nico said, his voice taut. He sighed and reached to hug her, murmuring a few words in his language.
Hazel smiled and replied before looking to Will. “It was a pleasure to meet you, William Solace. Please make sure my brother is safe on Earth.”
Will smiled. “Oh, he’s, um--”
“Father will be looking for me. This was my time with my brother, and I’m afraid I’ve overspent,” she said. “Perhaps I shall see you again. Goodbye.”
Shades must have moved faster in wisp-form, as the girl was gone in a blink of an eye, and Will was left alone with just Nico.
“Can I ask you something before I go crazy?”
Nico turned his head at Will’s question.
“What the hell was that? With your body?” Will asked.
Nico shrugged.
“I just,” Will stammered, “the rest of your family looks like they just-- Well, Hazel just shapeshifted into a human, but you like-- it’s like you came out of your body, and--” He stared, blue eyes wide as he tried to figure out how to explain what he saw.
“Oh. That. It’s-- part of being half-human,” Nico said, voice growing progressively softer. His ears grew an inky gray. “Most Shades can freely shapeshift, but, um, my human body doesn’t . . . . It’s just always there. I can take a Shade form, but I can’t stay out for very long.”
Will furrowed his brow, and Nico lifted a hand to fuss with his hair.
“Look, I know it sounds weird, but there’s an explanation from the doctors on Pluto-I, and I can’t remember all the details. My existence is weird, so,” Nico said, blowing out of his lips as he shrugged.
“Hey, you don’t have to justify it. You should know. I just . . . .” Will tried to think of something to say that didn’t boil down to, “That was incredibly disturbing, and I never want to see it again.” Because that wasn’t what he meant. Not totally. It was cool to see Shades as they naturally were, and seeing that other side of Nico was neat, but Will couldn’t get the image of Nico’s body slumped on the floor out of his mind.
“I told you I wasn’t dead,” Nico said, voice softer, hand lifting to Will’s cheek again. Before his fingers brushed Will’s skin, he dropped his hand sharply. “My mother never liked to see it either. So don’t feel bad. To her, I was this body. Seeing me outside of it, it was like seeing her child dead.”
“Oh,” Will said. He wasn’t sure there was anything else he could say.
Nico pressed his lips together. “The doctors didn’t make it any better. They told her Bianca and I would die if we left these bodies too long. We can only be out for about half an hour before systems fail.”
“Systems fail? You’re not a bot.” Will snorted, covering his mouth.
Nico’s dark eyes grew soft. Standing so close, Will thought he could almost trace irises in the blackness, maybe even see some gold flecks. “Error: Systems down. Contact manufacturer,” he said, face flat before letting his head slump over. Will let out a loud laugh, and a proud smile grew on Nico’s face.
Will shoved Nico’s shoulder. “Part-Shade, part-human, part-robot. What aren’t you?”
“Patient. Come on. Jules-Albert is waiting.” Nico stepped towards the door, and Will followed behind him. As soon as the door shut, it was like their camaraderie had evaporated. Nico was as cool and distant as ever, and Will had no clue what to say.
“Your sister is nice,” was what he finally came up with, using his few inches on Nico to catch up.
Nico shrugged. “Yeah. She didn’t want me to go,” he said.
“But your father made you,” Will remembered.
Nico’s lips parted slightly. “It’s not so bad,” he said. “Humans tend to breed with other species more often than most. I plan to study hybrid species and their health, so this is probably the best place to do it.”
Will scrunched his nose. “Breed is the worst word to use for that.”
“Why? Does it bother you?” Nico’s eyes lit up with that knowledge. Will already regretted telling him. “It’s just a fact, you know. Humans breed --”
“Dickhead,” Will said, jutting his elbow into Nico’s side.
Nico laughed and lit up the room, hair flopping loosely to one side, smile wide, lashes framing his eyes. Will hardly noticed he was holding his breath until he was forced to turn away so he could force his lungs to work again.
“You know,” Will said, “I’ve always wanted to study health as well. Medicine, really.”
“Oh?” Nico asked. At least, Will thought it was a question.
“Yeah. My oldest brother is a doctor. He used to visit and help my mom out after I was born, because Dad was already onto his next romance,” he said, raising his brows in derision. “I used to idolize him. He’s kind of busy now, but I like when he gets to visit. And I’m dyslexic. Like, really dyslexic. So school was always hard for me. For a long time, I thought that if I studied three hours and my friends studied one and still did better than me, what was the point of it all? But he told me that if I wanted to be a doctor, I was already on the right track because doctors need to know how to work at studying.”
“He sounds cool,” Nico said. Will looked up, expecting to see that polite expression he normally got when he explained his motivations, but Nico looked interested. “It’s not the same thing, but on Pluto-I, our schools are kind of . . . weird. Shades don’t really . . . sleep. But I have to, since I’m part-human. And we progress based on what we show, so my father always thought I’d fall behind my classmates. And that pissed me off. When I wasn’t sleeping, I was studying, unless Mamma pulled me away.”
“Spite is the best motivator,” Will said.
Nico smiled. “Maybe. Doesn’t leave a lot of time for anything else though,” he said.
“Is it easier here?” Will wondered. “I mean, we all sleep, so you don’t have to worry about falling behind.”
“It is,” Nico said. “I have a lot of free time. It’s . . . weird. It’s like I can actually do things. Have friends. Go out. Maybe--” His cheeks grew gray, which told Will exactly what he was thinking of, and that made Will’s cheeks go pink. It wasn’t as if he’d forgotten that Nico liked him, but that was a reminder that, yes, Nico actually wanted to date him, maybe even be his boyfriend.
“Are you going to spend more time with your family? I don’t want to pull you away from them. I can walk home,” said Will, eager to change the subject.
“Oh. No. Father will leave after his meetings, and they end shortly,” Nico said. “I’d rather return to my apartment.”
“Are you sure?” Will asked.
Nico nodded. “It’s fine,” he said. “I’m . . . still welcome at your house for the holidays, right?”
Will nodded quickly. “Of course. I invited you, didn’t I?”
“Yes, but--” Nico swallowed, cheeks gray again.
“Yes,” Will replied firmly.
Nico looked as if he wanted to say something, but he turned away. “What should I bring this time?” he asked.
“Gifts are traditional,” Will said. “But you don’t have to worry about that for my extended family. They do most of the exchanging before they get up here, so it’ll just be Mom’s and my gifts to them. Not that you have to get anything for me or Mom either; you can come over after we do gifts. Mostly, it’ll be food again. So you can come and cook, if you want? But I’m not volunteering you. You don’t have to.”
“I want to,” Nico said. “I want to do the holidays.”
Will paused. “Then you ought to wear an ugly Christmas sweater,” he said.
“A what?” Nico asked.
“Look it up!” Will said, just as Nico’s watch beeped, telling them Jules-Albert had arrived.
-
Montauk Youths’ Academy provided the particular benefit of casting students into hell with a Finals Day rather than a Finals Week, as m ost civilized schools did. Like all students belatedly realizing it was time to study, Will had no time to observe Nico again until December 25th, the first day of the holiday season. He told his mom Nico was coming again, and she gave a smile, nodding in a way that told him he did not want to ask what she was thinking about.
Most of the family had arrived on Christmas Eve, but they were late sleepers. Will and Naomi always got up early to do their Christmas exchange, which never took long. Like most years, Will got a new scarf and hat, and Naomi got a new supply of guitar strings and a coat.
“Why did we ever move up here, Will?” she asked, wrinkling her nose as she hung her coat in the closet.
“So you could be closer to your record label,” Will said.
“Ah, of course!” she said. “They wanted to torture me. Thanks, honey.” She reeled around and kissed his head, wrapping her arms around him and squeezing tight.
“ Mom ,” Will groaned, though he couldn’t help but laugh.
“What time is your friend getting here?” Naomi asked, rising to her feet and stretching her arms over her head.
Will paused. “Uh,” he said.
Naomi raised a brow and shook her head, curls bouncing around her neck. “Oh, honey, you didn’t tell him a time?”
“It was kind of, um,” Will stammered, remembering when he’d invited Nico. His ears burned, and he looked down at the floor. Wow, had their carpet always been so beige?
Naomi snorted and ruffled her son’s hair. “Is there anything you want to tell me?” she asked, fluttering her lashes.
Will grew redder and shook his head, glancing to where Nico’s gift laid under the tree. “Mom, it’s not--”
“Okay, Will,” she said. “I’m going to start cooking. I’ll be in the kitchen if you need me. You can have the living room to yourself when he gets here--at least, until your cousins wake up and start rampaging.”
Oh. Yeah. LeShaun and Daneka had come this year. That . . . would not be good. Did Nico like kids? What if they said something about his eyes? Shit, maybe he’d be offended, and--
The doorbell rang.
Will clenched his teeth and let out a breath. “Mom?”
“Yes, honey?”
“Why did you let me invite him?”
“You’re eighteen-years-old, Will. I have no control over your actions. If you want to invite a boy, I’m more than happy to welcome him.”
“ Mom .”
Will hopped up and moved to the door. He puffed up his cheeks and exhaled before he turned the knob.
Nico stood on the doorstep, clutching two presents wrapped in white and mint green paper with bright red bows, in a gaudy green sweater strung with rainbow lights, his hair a little wavier than usual, as if he’d only just woken up. Oh, no. He was cute. Will wasn’t ready for this.
“Hi,” Nico said, his dark eyes staring at Will.
“Uh,” Will said.
Nico raised a brow. “You say that a lot.”
“It’s my favorite word,” said Will. Since when was he such an idiot? Favorite word. Nico must have thought he was stupid.
He cracked a smile and stepped inside. “Are these wrapped correctly?” he asked. “Jules-Albert helped me.”
“Oh, yeah,” Will said, giving a goofy smile. “They’re nice.”
“Cool,” Nico said. “Should I give this to you now?”
“Oh, um--”
Before Will could answer, a rumble echoed down the stairs, and LeShaun and Daneka came tumbling down.
“Will! Willy!” they called as they scrambled over to him. “Will, it’s Christmas!”
“Uh, yes. I know,” Will said. He looked to Nico. “Oh, these are my cousins. LeShaun, Daneka. This is Nico; he’s my friend.”
Daneka stared. Nico stared back.
“My sister used to do her hair like that,” Nico said, gesturing to the twin buns on her head.
“Your sister has good taste,” Daneka pronounced.
Nico nodded. “She’s great.”
“Is he your boyfriend?” Daneka asked, her little brother shyly stepping behind her.
Will shook his head. “Oh, no, Nico’s just--”
“An alien,” LeShaun whispered, eyes wide.
Nico smiled. “Yeah. I’m from Pluto-I.”
Will stared curiously. They were getting along. That was good.
“Willy, you don’t have to play with us this year,” Daneka said. She grabbed Nico’s hand, and LeShaun ran to his other side to take the other one. “We want to play with the alien.”
“Daneka, I don’t think--”
“Do you like VR?” she asked, looking up at Nico.
“Oh, yeah! Mamma used to play with us on Pluto-I,” Nico said eagerly. “Have you ever heard of Mythomagic?”
LeShaun scrunched his nose. “That’s so old .”
Nico’s face fell slightly. “Well . . . Mamma’s system was from when she was a kid.”
“Then we have a lot to catch you up on,” Daneka said seriously, her dark eyes wide. She moved back towards the stairs. “Will, can you turn on the VR system?”
Will stood frozen before he nodded slowly. Naomi peeked her head out of the kitchen.
“Stole your date?” she teased.
“ Mom .”
“Merry Christmas, Will.”
-
Will may not have called Nico his date, but his cousins definitely stole him. It was the first year they didn’t ambush Will at every corner. Instead, they dragged Nico into their collection of VR games. Nico joined eagerly, clearly fascinated by how far the system had come since his mother’s age. Will managed to wiggle his way into watching, though Daneka had declared he wouldn’t get a turn.
“You can have mine,” Nico offered once, but Will shook his head. It was clear Nico loved VR, and Will was content seeing the smile he had while playing.
Will was screwed.
By the time everyone started opening presents, Will had kind of forgotten he was the one who invited Nico. At least, until his uncles started in.
“This is the first time you’ve brought someone to the holidays,” Uncle Jun said as he tried to wrangle his kids into the living room for presents. “Naomi didn’t even tell us you were dating anyone.”
“I’m not-- Nico’s not--”
Jun smiled kindly. “I remember when I said that about Dante. Don’t waste your time, Will. He’s here, isn’t he?”
“I--”
Dante slid in from the kitchen, his curls pulled into a small ponytail. “Jun’s right. No need to wait. Sometimes boys can be stupid. If you don’t tell him, he may not realize.”
“You never would have realized,” Jun said.
“I knew you were something special,” protested Dante.
“I don’t need to hear your story again,” Will interrupted. “I get it, I do. But Nico’s--”
“A nice boy. Daneka might scoop him up if you don’t,” Jun noted, watching as his daughter tried to teach Nico to dance. Will turned to look at him, watching as he awkwardly mimicked her steps.
“See? That’s the smile. That’s a gay smile,” Dante said.
“Stop pestering my son.” Naomi stepped into the living room, drying her hands with a towel before tossing it back into the kitchen. “He’ll figure it out in his own time.”
“There’s nothing to figure out,” Will protested.
“Sure,” Jun said. “Kids, shut up and sit down.”
“Yes, Dad,” Daneka and LeShaun echoed, scrambling over to the couch and sitting down. Nico was left standing alone, and he awkwardly stepped closer to Will.
Naomi took pity on him. “This is your first Christmas, Nico? Come here,” she beckoned, leading him to one of the chairs. “Take a seat. We’re just giving the kids gifts. They’ll leave you alone after this.”
“Oh. Okay,” Nico said, taking a seat. He looked at Will curiously. Will stepped closer to him and plopped down on the arm of the recliner.
“I’ll give you yours after this,” he said softly. “Uncle Jun and Uncle Dante will be trying to keep them in line, so we’ll be free.”
“You got me a gift?” Nico asked, eyes bright.
Will furrowed his brow and glanced at the gifts Nico had brought. “Um, yes. Didn’t you--?”
“What I read online said gifts are typically exchanged between family members and romantic partners, though in some cultures, friends exchange gifts as well,” Nico said. He fiddled with the red hem on the sleeve of his sweater. “I didn’t know about this one. So I bought you and your mom gifts, but . . . .”
“I totally invited you for Christmas and planned to make you suffer through it without any gifts,” Will said, rolling his eyes. He nudged Nico’s shoulder, then paused, waiting to see if he heard any giggles from his family. No, they were busy with Daneka and LeShaun. Perfect. No teasing.
Nico huffed, his ears graying. “You would.”
Will made an exaggerated scowl. “Hey! I’m the nicest guy on the planet.”
Nico mumbled something, and he glanced up to Will with wide eyes, something heavy between them.
Will swallowed thickly and peered over Nico’s shoulder to the window, the dark winter evening lying ahead where there were--
“Flurries,” he said. “Mom! Mom, can I take Nico outside? It’s snowing. He’s never seen snow.”
“You’re eighteen, Will. You don’t have to ask for permission,” Naomi said, shaking her head.
Nico snickered. Will blushed and grabbed his hand, scrambling to the coat closet before he tugged Nico onto the porch. The porchlight was small, just enough to light up the chipping paint on the wooden panels. The snow was fine and thin, just covering the grass, but it was snow.
“A white Christmas,” Will said. “I was hoping you’d get to see this. As much as I hate the cold, I’d miss this in Texas.”
Nico moved down the steps and kneeled down, hand stretched out to the powdery snow. “It’s cold,” he marveled.
“Yeah, frozen water,” said Will. “Kind of how it works. I know we didn’t have weather in science or anything, but--”
“I know what snow is,” snapped Nico. “I just . . . didn’t know how it would feel.”
Will laughed as Nico turned it over in his hands until the handful melted and ran down his fingers. “What do you think?”
“It’s pointless,” Nico said, rising quickly and moved back to Will’s side.
“I think it’s pretty.” he protested. “And just wait until tomorrow. I’ll take you sledding. You’ll love that.”
“Is it a sport?” Nico asked.
Will hesitated. “Well, kind of. It’s just for fun. But we can race.”
“I’ll beat you,” Nico said.
“You’re on, di Angelo.” Will grinned and waved his fists at Nico. “. . . So how’s your first Christmas?”
Nico shrugged. “Interesting,” he said. “I’m glad I got to see you.”
Will’s face flushed, not just from the winter air. “I . . . .”
“Stop making that face. I can’t help how I feel,” Nico said shortly, turning his head away.
“I’m not making fun of you.”
Nico crossed his arms. “No, but you’re--” He let out a breath, white fog at his lips. “You’re thinking it. It’s weird. Can’t like Shades, can’t like humans,” he grumbled.
Will furrowed his brow. “Nico, that’s not what I’m saying.”
Nico huffed, his lip almost a pout. Cute.
“I just didn’t expect it, you know? When you told me, I-- Well, you were always so quiet,” Will said.
Nico didn’t say anything.
“But you’re kind of . . . . Well, you’re not bad-looking, and you, um, make me laugh,” Will stammered, face red.
“Not bad-looking?” Nico repeated, looking as if that were actually a compliment.
“You’re cute,” Will said.
Nico’s face grew gray, and he pressed his lips together into a rather unattractive face. “No one’s ever said that before.”
“Not even your mom?”
“Mamma and Bianca don’t count,” he said. “I don’t exactly look normal by Shade or human standards.”
Will shrugged. “You’re still cute,” he insisted, reaching for Nico’s hand.
“So are you,” Nico muttered. “. . . Does this mean we’re dating?”
“Oh. Sure. Yes. Um, boyfriends and all that. We can make sledding our first date!” Will said eagerly. “Is that okay?”
Nico shrugged. “As long as I still get to beat you,” he said.
Will rolled his eyes. “Whatever you want, darlin’.”
Nico’s cheeks grew gray once more. “Are you going to call me that now?” he asked softly.
“Do you like it, darlin’?” Will asked, a grin spreading across his face.
Nico scrunched his nose. “No. It’s disgusting.”
“You sure?” Will asked, now convinced Nico liked it. “Darlin’.”
“Shut up!”
“What are you going to do?”
Nico leaned closer and pressed his lips to Will’s. Will froze. Nico’s lips were warm, and the blood rushing through Will’s face was as well, fighting the cold outside. Will let his eyes close, and he squeezed Nico’s hand.
A white Christmas with his new Shade boyfriend. A nice ending to the year. Will smiled into the kiss and held Nico’s hand a little tighter.
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Kristie vs. ADD and binge eating
Along with my depression cocktail of venlafaxine and abilfy, I’m also prescribed Vyvanse for my ADD. Some days it helps, and some days it doesn’t. According to my doctor, I should be taking a break from Vyvanse on the weekend so I can reset my tolerance. This is next to impossible. If I admit I am addicted, many of you will think I’m one of the weakest links, so I’ll just go ahead and say my body is physically dependent on the medication. It’s terrible without it. I’m exhausted, my cognitive functioning doesn’t even work, and I get very depressed and borderline suicidal. All I can do is sleep all day. It would take an extreme mental and physical effort to get things done if I did not take it. Does anyone else go through this? Can you support me in staying off of it every weekend? My brother wrestles with the same issue on his Ritalin, except he is now the master of taking vacations from it. He amazes me. Although younger than me, I admire him very much. The feeling of being invincible and getting a million things done off of stimulants is over. I am well over 300 pounds at this point, and you might as well be feeding me and m&m. It can’t even reach my entire body. It is January 3rd, and I can say with full certainty that I have failed on my weight loss progress so far. Food fills a void. Actually, let me take the time to break it down for you.
Why I binge eat
1) Comfort
2) Boredom
3) To remove a bad taste from my mouth
4) Depression
5) Stress
6) Dopamine
Why I need to lose weight
1) I am well over 300 pounds, (this should be enough in itself)
2) I’m at risk for diabetes
3) I have less energy
4) My ADD is worse
5) I look disgusting
6) I can’t sing as well
7) I am out of breath simply walking
8) I need to raise my self esteem and confidence
9) I get foot pain if I stand longer than an hour
10) I am clausterphobic as ever in places like airplane seats; because I am so big I am constantly touching a stranger
11) I can’t ride 99% of the rides at an amusement park
12) I can’t jump in a trampoline park
13) I’m pretty sure I can’t go skydiving
14) It makes dating very difficult and I am a hypocrite because I too am shallow
15) I want to rid of my sleep apnea or make it more manageable.
16) It could actually be making my eye sight worse.
I shall look back on this list when I am tempted again.
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Alibi (M)
Detective Jungkook keeps getting himself into trouble… But he can’t stop. Not until he’s caught.
Member/Pairings: Jungkook x Reader, Jungkook x Jimin, Jungkook x Yoongi, Jungkook x @jeonjiah, Jungkook x OC
Genre: Detective!Jungkook, SerialKiller!Jungkook, drama, mystery, horror, smut.
Word Count: 20.1k
Content/Warnings: Very graphic depictions of death/mutilation/gore, LOTS OF SMUT, necrophilia, strong language, BTS member deaths
A/N: This is my first time writing mxm smut so forgive me if it’s not... idk accurate? and I know all the medical stuff isnt 300% accurate please forgive me.
Also special thanks to jeonjiah for letting me use her as a character, @hipsterminseok and @pasteljeonggukk for helping me brainstorm ideas, @taendencies for encouraging me to keep going even when I really did not want to, and @4oclockvmin for being my beta 💕
Where the fuck am I?
Jungkook pried his eyelids open to find himself lying on a bed, the room completely silent aside from the soft whirring of the ceiling fan above him.
I don't have a fan in my room.
It was dark, but the room was just faintly illuminated by the street lamp shining through the window.
He reached a hand out and swept it across the sheets next to him, only to be met by a warm, sedentary lump.
Jungkook sat up, a bit too abruptly, and was met with an intense pounding in his head. He pressed a palm to his forehead, trying to still the room that was spinning around him.
Oh god, how much did I drink?
He always drank too much. It was a habit he picked up during his college days and he could never seem to shake it. However recently, he'd been blacking out more than usual, and it was starting to affect his work.
Jungkook looked over at the naked woman passed out next to him.
Please be alive.
He reached out two fingers and pressed them against her neck, searching for a pulse. To his relief, she stirred when his fingers made contact with her skin. He breathed out a sigh and silently put on his clothes, tiptoeing around the stranger and walking out of the room, careful not to wake her.
He exited the house to find his car in the driveway. Well, kind of in the driveway. It was half in the driveway and half on the neighbor’s lawn, having torn hideous tire marks through the grass.
Now where the fuck are my keys?
He patted down his jeans and jacket until he felt them in one of his pants pockets. He pushed the button, unlocking his car with a chirp chirp! and climbed inside.
His head was killing him, but at least he wasn't drunk anymore. It was stupid of him to drive drunk the night before. Who knows who he could have accidentally killed because of his stupid mistake. Even more stupid considering what he was. But what's done is done, and he can't undo it.
He pulled his phone out of the glove compartment and unlocked it.
12% battery. Shit.
Jungkook opened up the GPS application and searched for directions to his house.
Sunrise District. What the fuck am I doing in this neighborhood?
It was clear on the other side of the City from where he lived. He had no reason to be here, especially not at this hour. But whatever, he'd gone home with a lot of strange people before, so he decided not to question it further.
God, I really can't remember anything. Jungkook, you really need to stop with all this drinking.
But he's told himself this many times before, almost every weekend as a matter of fact. And it was to no avail. Every weekend he still drank until his liver screamed and he went home with questionable men and women, forgetting nearly all of it the next day.
One day you're going to do something really stupid and you won't be able to fix it.
He started the engine and tore down the quiet suburban street, making his way toward his house on the other side of the City.
Jungkook walked into the precinct the next day, fully caffeinated and with his dark circles prominent beneath his eyes.
“Good morning, Detective Jeon.” You approached him, handing him one of the cups of coffee in your hands.
He greeted you and accepted the beverage.
I guess another cup wouldn't hurt.
It was his fourth cup that morning. It took two just to stop him from feeling like a zombie after the night he had, and another to give him enough energy to sit through rush hour traffic to the police station.
“Hey, Jeon, you look like shit.” Detective Kim Seokjin came over and clapped him on the back.
“Thanks, Jin.”
“Rough night?” You asked him.
“Yeah. A bit. But nothing I can't handle.” He tried to laugh it off, but he knew it sounded forced.
You gave him a smirk, an expression that made him immensely uneasy.
“I hate to get right into it,” Jin said, directing Jungkook’s attention away from you, “but there's been another murder this weekend.”
Shit.
“Again?” Jungkook tried to sound surprised. In a way, he was surprised, since the person he woke up next to was still alive when he left. “Where this time?”
“Sunrise,” Jin informed him.
Fuck.
“Where in Sunrise?”
“Over on Smeraldo and Bloom Street.”
That was just a few blocks away from where he woke up. But it couldn't have been him. How would he have killed someone and then gone home with someone else? Without any blood on his hands?
Usually when he woke up he was still at the scene of the crime, more often than not lying in a pool of blood. Not his blood.
Other times he would wake up in bed with a random person he met at the bar, but those times, there was no murder.
Never had he done both.
Maybe it was just a coincidence? Maybe this had nothing to do with him?
Maybe… Hopefully…
Jungkook pulled up at the house, with you in the passenger seat and Jin in the back. It was a small, unassuming, split-level home, painted a faded retro pink. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw one of the neighbors peeping through their curtains, trying to catch a glimpse of what was going on next door.
When the detectives set foot into the home, the sharp tang of blood filled their nostrils. There was a trail of it, leading down the cream carpeted staircase, through the living room, and disappearing at the door.
“So the blood just stops…?” Jungkook asked, to no one in particular.
One of the medical examiners walked over to where the three detectives stood, confused by the odd and abrupt end to the blood.
“Yeah,” the medical examiner answered. “There’s no trace of it past the threshold of the building. But…” He hesitated. “That’s not even the most bizarre part.”
“What do you mean, Hoseok?” You asked.
Hoseok let out an exasperated sigh. “Just… It’d be best if you just came to see for yourselves.” He led the detectives up the blood soaked stairs,ensuring they put on shoe covers beforehand so that they wouldn’t get any precious evidence on themselves.
There was a lot of blood. Seemingly more than a human body could possibly contain, appearing to be an endless trail that led down the hall toward the master bedroom.
“I hope you had a light breakfast,” he told them, voice devoid of any humor, before pushing the door open, letting out an even stronger whiff of metallic iron. “Men, prepare yourselves. I’m sure this will be far worse for you than for Y/N.”
The three detectives nodded and entered.
“Oh god!” Jin gagged the moment he saw what was in that room.
“Holy fuck!” As gruesome as it was, you couldn’t take your eyes off of it.
Yet Jungkook just stood there, dumbstruck.
Shit.
However, it was not the horrors before him that had him so aghast, but rather the fact that this was definitely his work.
The man lay on the bed, surrounded by his own blood. Much of it was dried, however some pools were so deep and thick that they remained wet and sticky, even hours later. It appeared that his eyes had been removed, with X’s carved into his eyelids. There was a long, deep gash down the middle of his chest, sliced with the utmost precision.
But that wasn’t the worst part.
“Oh god. Is that his dick?!” Jin exclaimed.
“Detective Jin,” you scolded, “we are in a professional environment. Please, watch your language.”
“Sorry. Is that his penis?” He revised.
Everyone in the room looked over to the window. Laying on it’s sill was indeed the man’s penis, surrounded by even more blood, soft and flaccid, with testicles still attached.
You and Jungkook approached the window while Jin stayed behind, trying his hardest not to vomit and taint the crime scene. Upon closer inspection, the two of you saw that the shaft was cut down the middle lengthwise, held together only by its base.
“What do you think, Jungkook?” You asked.
“I– uh– God, who knows. I’m at a loss for this one.”
You nodded and turned toward Hoseok. “Do you think it was a woman? I mean, who else could hate a man this much?”
Hoseok shook his head. “I don’t know. The M.O. seems to be consistent with a couple other murders that have been happening lately.”
“So you think this was a serial killer?” You pursed your lips.
Hoseok crossed his arms and nodded.
Jungkook’s mouth went dry. If they noticed a pattern between all of his victims, that just meant they were one step, even if it were a miniscule step, closer to catching him.
“But the thing is,” Hoseok continued, “most serial killers leave a signature, like some carve messages into their victims, or decorate them with flowers, so that the cops know that it’s them. However, this one…” He walked over the the victim, using his hand to gesture toward the slash down his chest. “The only way I could tell they were the same person is the way they made the cuts, quick and precise, with a sharp… I would like to say knife but really it could be any sort of sharp object, but they were done with the same weapon.” He stood back and looked at the man, particularly at the bright red void in between his legs. “They also like to mutilate their victims, in this case sex organs, which is actually quite common among serial killers, often because they feel like they’re ‘ridding the world of sin’ by doing so, so I couldn’t use that reasoning in drawing my conclusion that this, the Ambrosia murder, and the Skyline murder were all committed by the same person.”
“But they are committed by the same person, right?” You asked.
Hoseok nodded. “I believe so, yes.”
Jungkook fixed his gaze on the body and clenched his fists at his sides. “And do we know anything about this person?”
Hoseok sighed. “No, nothing. We don’t know gender, height, weight, age. Nothing. Although since all his victims are in their twenties and all the murders seemed to have occurred during sexual intercourse, I would assume the murderer is also around that age. Each victim seems to have experienced some sort of penetration before being murdered, but that could have been with a penis, strap on, or anything else long and rod shaped. Again, these are just guesses. We don’t know anything.”
Good.
Jungkook continued to stare pensively at the victim.
The thing was, whenever he killed someone, he never remembered it afterward. Not until he saw the bodies again, and then his memories came rushing back.
He was at a new nightclub in the Seaside district. It was one of those trendy ones, with a light up dance floor, white leather chairs and booths, and touch screen table tops so you could order drinks without having to leave the comfort of your seat. Whenever Jungkook went to places like these, he avoided the VIP area, and he avoided anyone who went up to dance on the shiny gold stripper poles. Not because he had anything against those people, but because those are the ones that people will recognize. If one of them went missing, or had their face shown on the news as a murder victim, there was a higher probability that someone recognized them from the club or bar or even remembered that they left with Jungkook.
He hovered by the bar, downing enough shots to get himself in the mood, and scanning the premises, searching for his next victim. It had been a while since his last kill, and he was feeling anxious to get some blood on his hands. Jungkook could feel the alcohol starting to seep into his veins. His mind grew fuzzy as he ran his thumb over the small knife in his jacket pocket.
That’s when he spotted him. He sat at a table alone, watching as the people around him swayed their hips sensually to the music, and drinking away his sorrows.
He had a sad look in his eyes, something that told Jungkook he wouldn’t mind hooking up with a random stranger to take his mind off things.
Jungkook downed another shot and strode over to the man.
“Hey,” Jungkook greeted him. “Mind if I join you?” He asked, yelling over the loud thumping of the fast paced song that just came on, flashing the man a flirty smile.
The man, with his mouth slightly open and seemingly taken aback at the fact that someone was approaching him, paused before replying with, “Sure, go for it.”
Jungkook sat down in the seat next to him. "You doing okay? I noticed you earlier and you look kinda down."
The man took a sip from his cocktail and shrugged. "I've been better."
"Care to elaborate?"
The man raised an eyebrow and scoffed. "I just met you."
"Good point. Why don't we introduce ourselves. You are...?"
The man stared back out into the crowd. "Jimin," he answered curtly.
Jungkook extended his hand out. "Nice to meet you, Jimin. I'm James."
He gave Jungkook a questioning look, ignoring his extended hand. "James..." Jimin repeated slowly. The name was foreign on his tongue, in a language he wasn't used to speaking.
Jungkook reached over and placed his hand on top of Jimin's, which held onto his cocktail glass that rested on the table. "Say, Jimin... You up for some fun tonight?" He raised an eyebrow and smirked.
"What kind of fun?"
"Oh, I think you know what kind."
Jimin chuckled. "So my place or yours?"
"Yours."
Jimin nodded and finished his drink before standing up. Jungkook followed him out the door, pushing through the crowd and into a cab.
By the time the two of them stumbled into Jimin’s house, groping and covering each other with sloppy wet kisses, the alcohol had plenty of time to set into Jungkook’s veins. He felt bold and energized. So much so that, when Jimin was tripping over his own feet trying to get up the stairs, Jungkook brazenly picked him up and carried him. He didn’t want to waste any time. He needed this and he needed it now.
Jungkook threw Jimin on the bed and began undressing.
“I take it you’re a top,” Jimin said, propping himself up on his elbows to watch Jungkook, who stood at the foot of the bed. “What if I am too?”
Jungkook ignored his question and continued vigorously yanking his clothes off his body.
“I guess I don’t really have a say in this, do I?” Jimin raised an eyebrow and chuckled.
“Why are you still dressed?” Jungkook was now fully naked and pulling a condom out of his pocket.
“Do you really have to use a condom? I swear I don’t have anything,” Jimin said as he pulled his shirt over his head and tossed it on the floor.
“I don’t fuck anyone without a condom. Especially not a stranger.”
“Tsk tsk. Is that all I am to you?” Jimin smiled playfully.
“Precisely.” Jungkook rolled the condom over his hard length and gave it a couple of strokes to make sure it was secure. He then, deciding that Jimin was not getting undressed nearly as fast as he liked, leaned over the bed and helped Jimin yank off his jeans.
Jungkook saw how hard Jimin was through his underwear. His cock strained against the fabric, trying to break free. Jungkook’s mouth watered at the dark stain of precum pooling at its tip.
This is going to be a fun one.
Jungkook lowered himself onto Jimin, grinding his thigh against Jimin’s dick, watching the precum spill out of it.
Jimin gasped as Jungkook rubbed against him. He grabbed onto Jungkook’s ass and pulled him closer, Jungkook’s latex clad cock grazing his hip.
“James, I–” Jimin gasped as Jungkook pressed his thigh harder onto Jimin’s length. “How long are you going to make me wait?”
Jungkook pushed himself off of him. “You got any lube?”
Instead of answering, Jimin reached over to his nightstand, pulling out a bottle of clear gel and tossing it to him.
Jungkook squeezed a glob onto his hand and ran it over his shaft, making sure the condom was nice a slick before leaning over and lining himself up at Jimin’s entrance. He pushed himself in slowly, watching Jimin’s eyes roll back as he took in every inch with ease. Jungkook placed a hand on either side of Jimin’s shoulders, trapping him with his body.
“Fuck,” Jimin breathed as Jungkook began moving his hips, guiding his cock in and out of him.
Jungkook bent down and latched his mouth onto Jimin’s neck, sucking hard, enough to get him to moan, but not hard enough to leave marks. He quickened his pace, thrusting vigorous enough and fast enough to cause the bedframe to creak beneath them.
Jungkook took one of his hands and placed his thumb on Jimin’s nipple, massaging it, pressing hard circles into it as Jimin squeezed his eyes shut, breathing erratically and getting lost in the pleasure. Soon, Jungkook looked down to see Jimin’s abs twitch as milky white streaks of cum shot out of the tip of his cock, onto his stomach, his abs, some making its way even to his chest. Jimin cried out as he came, and Jungkook was grateful that they were in a house and not an apartment, otherwise the neighbors would have definitely heard him.
Watching Jimin cum made Jungkook’s cock throb, but it wasn’t enough to push him over the edge. He needed more. So, as Jimin was coming down from his high, Jungkook pulled out, and pumped his dick in his hand. Jimin was so far gone, that he didn’t even notice Jungkook rummaging around in his clothing, cock in one hand, digging in his pockets with the other, and finally pulling out a small knife from his jacket pocket. Jungkook grabbed it by the hilt and placed the blade between his teeth, ripping it out of its sheath with his mouth.
Jungkook returned to kissing Jimin’s neck, the knife hidden behind his back. “Did you enjoy that, Jimin?” Jungkook asked with his lips pressed against Jimin’s skin.
“Couldn’t you tell?” His eyes were still closed, and his softening cock still twitched from his orgasm. He opened one eye and looked at Jungkook. “What about you, though? Aren’t you going to cum?”
Jungkook hummed and placed a kiss on Jimin’s collarbone. “Oh yes. Very soon.”
With that, he pulled back and plunged the knife into Jimin’s chest, dragging a clean slice down his torso.
Jimin’s scream was cut short as Jungkook punctured his trachea and severed one of his lungs. Blood oozed out of his chest, along with the last remnant of his life, which only served to turn Jungkook on even more.
But Jungkook didn’t want to stop there. He placed a hand over Jimin’s now soft member, picking it up and squeezing it, playing with it in his hands. He brought the knife to its base, carefully slicing it off.
Beautiful.
That was what he thought when he brought the severed penis up to his face to get a closer look at it. Blood dripped down his wrist and forearm as he held it. He licked a stripe up the shaft and swirled his tongue around the head, letting the remainder of the cum drip into his mouth. He used his hand to stroke himself while he did this, feeling the muscles in his abdomen tensing and the heat rising in his core.
“Mmmm,” Jungkook moaned at the salty taste that coated his tongue.
He continued to stroke himself as he walked over to the window, placing the cock on its sill.
I wonder if there’s any cum left inside.
To get his answer, Jungkook ran the knife swiftly from the testicles up to the head, slicing it clean in half, held together only by the base in a V shape. To his disappointment – or maybe his enjoyment – there was only blood. More blood than he expected.
“Fuck,” Jungkook couldn’t help but say out loud. Jimin was so healthy, his blood so red, its scent so metallic, it made Jungkook’s head spin in the best way possible. Although, that might have also been due to all the shots he took at the bar.
Taking one last glance at the mutilated penis, Jungkook turned back to Jimin’s body, Jimin’s glorious, sexless body. He pushed Jimin’s legs together – which only forced more blood out of his gaping wound – and straddled him. He leaned over and rubbed his cock on the oozing slit that tore through Jimin’s torso. A slew of grunts and moans escaped his lips as he thrusted himself closer and closer toward his orgasm.
But there was something missing. He felt like there was something else he had to do. Then, he looked up at Jimin’s face. He saw that Jimin’s eyes were still open, frozen in the split second horror and realization that he was being murdered.
Jungkook tilted his head to the side, studying, contemplating. That’s when he decided.
He grabbed the knife that had since been resting beside Jimin’s thigh and brought up to Jimin’s face. Without hesitation, he jabbed the weapon into one of Jimin’s eyes, swirling it around and nearly pulverizing the eyeball. He did the same with the other eye, until both eyeballs were pools of blood and jelly. When he pulled the knife out, he closed the lids over their empty sockets, carving X’s on top of them.
Jungkook pulled back to get a better view. He chuckled at how comical it looked, like how cartoon characters were marked as dead with X’s for eyes.
He pushed himself off of Jimin and sat back on the bed, admiring his work. One hand held onto the knife while the other gripped around his cock, moving up and down until Jungkook was releasing into the condom, chest heaving and raspy breaths leaving his throat.
God. That was one of the best ones yet.
Jungkook continued to run his hand up and down his cock until his sensitivity became unbearable and he began to soften.
He lay back on the bed next to Jimin, waiting for himself to calm down. Intending to rest only briefly, he closed his eyes, but accidentally fell asleep.
He couldn’t seem to recall how he woke up in that woman’s bed, or who the woman was for that matter. All he knew was that he fell asleep at Jimin’s place and woke up somewhere else, with both him and his clothes completely clean of Jimin’s blood. And it obviously wasn’t a dream since he was standing here now, staring at his creation.
“Jungkook, are you still there?”
The sound of your voice pulled Jungkook out of his memory.
“Huh? Yeah.” He shook his head, trying to bring himself back to the present.
Noticing the uneasy look on his face, you placed a hand on his arm. “You don't look too great. Are you okay?”
“Yeah. I just. I don't know what to think," he lied. "This and the previous unsolved murders. I'm stumped.” He let out an exasperated sigh, which he hoped didn't sound too fake.
“Don't blame yourself. We’re all stumped," you reassured him, giving his arm a light squeeze.
“There's no DNA evidence at any of the crime scenes?” Jin called from where he was hunched over in the doorway, trying not to look at the body and still attempting to keep his morning coffee in his stomach.
“No,” Hoseok replied. “This person was very careful. No hair, no semen or vaginal fluid. Not from anyone but the victims. And there's not enough saliva to pull a viable sample.”
"Well if that's the case, can we pack up the body and get out of here already? Before I projectile vomit all over the place?"
Hoseok nodded and motioned for this assistants to pack up the body into a big black bag.
"What about the...?" You nodded toward the window sill.
"Ah, yes. Boys," Hoseok called to the men who packed up the body, "don't forget that too."
The men nodded and followed their orders.
Back at the precinct, Jungkook sipped on his fifth cup of coffee of the day as he looked over the case files for the Ambrosia and Skyline murders on his computer. He looked for any evidence that could point toward him. To his relief, there was none.
All three case files said the same thing.
Each victim suffered from some form of mutilation and it was most likely that the mutilation occurred during sexual intercourse, after the victim was deceased. However, there was never any DNA left at the scene, or any readable fingerprints. The weapon could be a number of things: a small knife, a switchblade, anything small and sharp, and most likely untraceable. Each one used the same kind of weapon. There was nothing that they could use to determine the height, weight, or gender of the killer.
"Whatcha doin?"
Jungkook jumped at the sound of your voice and turned to find you leaning over, your face right next to his, reading over his shoulder.
"I– I'm looking over the case files of the previous unsolved murders to see if there's anything I missed."
You raised an eyebrow. "Mhm."
"What?"
"Nothing. Don't overwork yourself." You smiled and patted his shoulder before returning to your desk.
That was fucking weird.
Jungkook looked back at his monitor, opening the Ambrosia murder file.
I remember this one.
June 13th, 2020.
That date marked the one year anniversary of Jungkook working at the precinct. In such a short time, he had already become well loved by his boss and fellow coworkers. He was considered one of the best detectives in the precinct, something that gave him a tremendous amount of pride.
To celebrate this anniversary, you, Jin, Hoseok, and the rest of the precinct took him out to a fancy bar downtown. Hoseok, quite the party animal outside of work hours, ordered an excessive amount of shots on Jin's credit card. Which meant Jungkook got utterly fucking drunk.
By around midnight, more than half his coworkers were passed out, leaving you, Jungkook, and a few other guys from forensics still standing. The lot of you helped haul your inebriated friends out of the bar and into cabs so that they got home safely. Soon, the forensics guys had also had enough, and went home, grumbling about the killer hangover they would have the next day.
"I should get going, too," you said to Jungkook once they've left.
"What? So soon?"
"Yes, I've had more alcohol tonight than in my entire time in college."
Jungkook pouted. “Fine, but I'm gonna stay. Maybe find a friend." He wiggled his eyebrows.
"Alrighty, well I'm gonna call myself a cab." You threw on your jacket and patted Jungkook on the arm. "Don't stay up too late, Kookie."
He chuckled. "I'm not making any promises."
You smiled at him before walking out of the bar.
Now that his coworkers were gone, the real fun could begin.
Jungkook scanned the bar, looking to see if there was anyone worth flirting with. Not finding anyone to his liking, he stumbled out to a bar a couple of blocks down. The second he walked in, his eyes fell on a man, talking with a small group of friends and sipping on a beer. He had shiny blonde hair, golden like a halo around his head. Jungkook tilted his head to the side and watched him. He was intrigued by this man, and the glittering aura he gave off.
Jungkook decided to study him a bit longer, not quite ready to approach him.
Have I ever seen someone so beautiful?
He went up the the bar and ordered a few drinks, keeping his eyes on the man and his group of friends. He leaned back against the bar and took a couple swigs of the beer the bartender had set in front of him.
One of the man's friends said something funny, causing him to laugh, his smile taking up his entire face.
Wow.
Jungkook toyed with the small knife in his pocket. It was a gift from his grandfather, something he considered a good luck charm. He always took it to work with him, and now, he hoped it would give him the confidence he needed to talk to this man.
Luckily for Jungkook, soon the man's friends left him, probably to go home. Jungkook set his beer down and took a shot of liquid courage before making his way over to where he stood.
The man raised an eyebrow as Jungkook approached him.
"Hi," Jungkook greeted him with a confident smile.
"May I help you?"
"I just noticed you earlier and thought you were very attractive."
"Thought? Past tense?"
Jungkook laughed. "No. I still think you're very attractive."
"Mmmm," the man hummed. "Interesting..." He narrowed his eyes.
"You alone tonight?" Jungkook asked.
"I am now."
"You single...?"
"Maybe..." The man looked at him, wanting to know where he was going with this.
"You up for a little something tonight?"
"Hmmm." The man looked Jungkook up and down, taking in his loosely fitted white t-shirt, tight black jeans, and scuffed up sneakers. "You're a bit younger than I usually go for."
Jungkook raised an eyebrow. "Is that so?"
"But I think I'll make an exception. Because I think you're very attractive, too." The man flashed him a flirty grin.
"Then can I get your name?"
He smiled. "Yoongi."
Yoongi. That's why he seems to be glowing.
"I'm Joshua." He never gave his real name when it was just a one time hookup, in case they tried looking for him afterward. Too many times in the past have previous hookups added him on social media or searched for his contact information, wanting to hook up again, but to Jungkook, they were a one time, and one time only, type of fling.
"Nice to meet you, Joshua. So I guess that leaves the question of my place or yours?"
"Yours."
"You're the one approached me, and now you're imposing on me?" Yoongi teased.
"Believe me, you would not want to see my place." At this time Jungkook's roommate hadn't moved out yet, so he still shared a tiny studio apartment with one of his college buddies.
"Why? You're not a serial killer with some freaky dungeon or something, right?" Yoongi joked.
Jungkook let out an airy laugh. "No, I just have a roommate."
"Ahhh, Of course, it's a bit early for an audience. Maybe, one day, if you're up to try a little exhibitionism."
Jungkook chuckled. "Not in this lifetime, I don't think."
"Very, well." Yoongi finished his drink and led Jungkook out of the bar.
Turns out Yoongi's place was quite swanky. He lived in what appeared to be one of those old hotels that had been converted into apartments. It was the kind that was decorated in gold and velvet and looked more like an opera house or theatre than those modern condos that have been popping up everywhere.
"Whoa," Jungkook breathed as he entered the lobby.
"Nice, right?"
"Yeah, man. How old is this place?"
"It's a replica. It was actually built in the last ten years or so."
"Really? It looks so authentic."
"And how would you know what authentic looks like?"
"Movies."
Yoongi chuckled. "Of course." He and Jungkook entered the elevator and Yoongi pressed the button for the 8th floor. "Coolest part is, that, like the old hotels, each room has its own name and theme."
"Really? What's yours called?"
"Ambrosia."
The way that word rolled off Yoongi's tongue, the way it danced on his lips, the way it tickled Jungkook's eardrums, sent shivers up Jungkook's spine.
And sure enough, when they arrived at Yoongi's gold painted door, Jungkook saw on it a little placard that read "Ambrosia."
"I like that word," Jungkook told him.
"Hm? Ambrosia?"
There it was again. That beautiful sound, rolling exquisitely off Yoongi's tongue. Jungkook licked his bottom lip and then caught it with his teeth as Yoongi opened the door and let the two of them in.
Through the golden door was a one bedroom apartment. Everything was decorated in white and gold. It was somehow fitting, not at all excessive or gaudy or cheap looking, but rather pristine, like it belonged to the gods. It suited this glowing man and his golden aura.
"Wow," Jungkook gasped, taking in his new surroundings. "You really live here?" He walked around the moderately sized living room and adjoined kitchen. It was beautiful yet dizzying, and he wondered if it was because of the alcohol that was still ever so present in his bloodstream.
"Yeah, man." Yoongi replied as he shrugged off his coat and threw it on the white leather love seat. "The great part about this place is that it all come fully furnished and decorated. You only have to pay for the furniture if you damage it. Bad part is, the availability of these apartments is low, so if you're first on the waiting list and a room opens up, but you don't like the theme, you either have to live with it or give up the room and rejoin the waiting list. Thankfully I got a nice one."
"Shit. Yeah. I haven't seen the other rooms but I'm pretty sure you have the nicest one in the entire complex."
Yoongi chuckled. "I don't know about that. I heard there’s one decorated like a sex dungeon."
"Oh? I take that back. You have the second nicest one."
Yoongi laughed and stepped over to Jungkook, grabbing onto his waist. "Now, are we gonna do what we came here to do?"
Suddenly remembering, Jungkook leaned in, pressing his body against Yoongi's. "Oh, yes. Definitely."
Yoongi closed the distance between them, crashing his lips with Jungkook's, and placing his hands on the back of Jungkook's neck to pull him closer. Jungkook returned the kiss eagerly, feeling the excitement and electricity coursing through his veins. Yoongi's tongue snaked it's way into Jungkook's mouth and played with his. They stood there kissing for a few minutes before Yoongi pulled back.
Jungkook's eyes grew wide. "Shit, that's some tongue you got there."
"You wanna find out what else it can do?"
"Fuck yes."
With that, Yoongi pushed Jungkook into his bedroom and onto the bed.
Jungkook lay flat atop the puffy white comforter, his erection protruding prominently through his jeans. Yoongi crawled on top of him and began kissing him, stroking Jungkook's hard cock with his hand.
Jungkook groaned into the kiss, feeling Yoongi's erect member rubbing against his thigh.
"Fuck," Jungkook moaned. "Get undressed."
"You too, handsome."
The two of them discarded their clothes onto the floor and returned to their original positions.
"God, you're so fucking hot, Yoongi."
Yoongi chuckled and started kissing down Jungkook's jawline, neck, chest, abs, belly, until his face hovered over Jungkook's crotch.
"Are you ready to experience Min Yoongi's tongue technology?"
Jungkook nodded, unable to form any words. His breathing ceased in anticipation. He could feel Yoongi's warm breath against his cock, which quivered at the sensation.
"But first." Yoongi got up to grab a condom from his drawer.
"Do we really need one of those?" Jungkook asked impatiently.
"Hey, I don't know who you are or where you've been and I don't wanna catch anything you might have."
"I'm clean, but I get it if you don't trust me. Just hurry up."
Yoongi rolled the condom over Jungkook's length, giving it a couple pumps of his hand to make sure it was secure. Before he knew it, Yoongi's mouth was around him. Jungkook gasped at the sudden warmth that enveloped him, and couldn't contain his moans as Yoongi proceeded to give him the greatest blow job he'd ever experienced in his entire life.
In mere minutes he was already coming into the condom, filling it with his milky white goo. But Yoongi didn't stop there. He kept going, using his hands, fingers, his lips, his throat, and most importantly, his tongue, until Jungkook came yet again, overflowing the condom with his sticky cum.
He had never experienced pleasure as intense as that second orgasm. Yoongi was the first person to have ever left him completely speechless. His mind was completely blank, only thinking about how good it felt and how he couldn't move.
Yoongi still continued even after Jungkook came, until he was squirming and whining at the sensitivity.
"Yoongi!" He moaned. "Agh. Stop. That's enough."
Yoongi pulled back with a loud smack as Jungkook's cock left his mouth and flopped down into Jungkook's stomach.
"Did you like that?"
"Oh, fuck yeah," Jungkook answered, still trying to catch his breath. "I'm pretty sure that was the best blowjob I've ever gotten."
"Great, because that was the most fun one I've given." Yoongi smirked. "You came twice."
"I know. Shit. I didn't even know I could do that."
"That's the magic of the tongue technology."
"Oh my god, is that really what you call it?"
"Yep. Coined the term myself. I'm quite proud of it. 'Whether man or woman, I'll make you cum with my tongue technology'."
"Oh that's good. I like the sound of that."
Yoongi chortled. "Thanks."
Jungkook lay back and sighed while Yoongi reclined next to him.
"Let me know when you're ready again," Yoongi said. "I want you to fuck me hard in return for what I did for you."
"Oh, god. Give me a few minutes. I need to recover," Jungkook jested.
The two of them lay there for a while, staring at the white marble ceiling. All Jungkook could think about was how good Yoongi's tongue made him feel. Yoongi knew just how to use it, and it was no doubt he was experienced. He had a right to brag about his "tongue technology" because it was truly incredible.
Jungkook recalled the way Yoongi's tongue licked up and down his shaft, the way it expertly swirled around his tip. It was no surprise that soon he was hard again. He leaned over and ran his hand down Yoongi's chest until he reached his crotch. He grabbed Yoongi's still hard cock and stroked it, spreading the precum all over.
"I think I'm ready," Jungkook muttered.
Yoongi looked down at Jungkook's crotch. "Oh I definitely think you are."
Jungkook smirked and moved to straddle Yoongi. He ran his hand over the cum filled condom that hugged his cock. "I think I need a new one."
Yoongi pointed toward the nightstand. "That drawer over there. The lube is in there too."
Jungkook reached over, opening the drawer and pulling out a fresh new condom and a bottle of lube. He removed the old one, tied it, and tossed it aside to deal with later.
This cannot wait.
Jungkook put on the condom and slathered his length in lube, giving his cock a couple of pumps before lining himself up at Yoongi’s entrance.
“Ready?”
Yoongi nodded and Jungkook pushed himself in. Both of them moaned as Jungkook slowly slid in.
Jungkook fucked him fast and hard until Yoongi’s chest was coated with his glistening cum. Jungkook kept fucking him, trying to get himself off for the third time that night. He thrusted into Yoongi over and over, but it wasn’t enough. Jungkook leaned down and kissed Yoongi’s neck, sucking hard until purple patched began to form.
Maybe I could try…
Jungkook jutted his teeth out, biting into Yoongi’s skin softly, testing the waters. Yoongi moaned at the feeling, causing Jungkook to become more bold. He bit down harder this time, drawing the slightest bit of blood. He ran his tongue over the wound, and his mouth was coated with a salty, metallic taste, and Yoongi groaned loudly.
Jungkook pulled back. “Am I hurting you?”
“No, that feels good.”
Jungkook stopped thrusting and pulled out. “Wait here, I have an idea.” He leapt off the bed and over to the pile of his clothes on the floor, pulling out the knife from his pocket.
“Does this scare you?” Jungkook asked, holding out the knife and peering at Yoongi through his lashes.
“Not at all,” Yoongi smirked. “Josh, you seem to be into some kinky shit.”
Jungkook unsheathed the knife and returned to the bed. He re-entered Yoongi but stilled his hips. Yoongi gasped as Jungkook pressed the knife to his throat, feeling the cold metal against the delicate skin that housed all his most precious arteries.
“I won’t hurt you,” Jungkook reassured him. “Just tell me if you wanna stop, and I’ll stop.”
Yoongi nodded. “Go for it.”
The first slice was not very deep. Jungkook just barely breached the dermal layer, inciting the tiniest bit of blood to arise from Yoongi’s veins. He took two fingers and brushed them against the beads of crimson oozing from the cut. His lips curled as he inspected the blood smeared on his fingertips. Their eyes locked as Jungkook slowly brought the fingers up to his mouth, and sucked them clean.
His blood tasted pure and rich, like nectar of the gods. Like ambrosia.
That’s when something in him snapped. Jungkook stared at Yoongi, cocking his head to the side. Something about his expression darkened, and for a split second, Yoongi was scared. It was only for a split second because – he doesn’t know what came over him, but – Jungkook slashed the knife across Yoongi’s throat, cutting off his air supply, and allowing more of the divine nectar that Jungkook loved so much to spill from his veins.
Yoongi lay still as Jungkook began thrusting again, getting himself off to the sight of Yoongi’s blood spilling down his pale neck, onto the clean, white bedding.
Mmmmm.
Jungkook leaned over Yoongi’s lifeless body. He hovered right above his face, somewhat expecting to feel Yoongi’s breath against his nose, but there was nothing. Jungkook’s fingers parted Yoongi’s lips, and he leaned in for a kiss.
Still warm.
His tongue roamed Yoongi’s mouth, swirling the soft muscle around Yoongi’s, relishing his sweet taste. But there was something, some weird feeling, gnawing at the back of his brain. It was like a weird persistent buzzing that he couldn’t quite decipher. He thought that maybe it was just the alcohol messing with him.
Jungkook pulled back and focused on Yoongi’s open mouth.
Do it.
Without thinking, Jungkook brought the knife up to Yoongi’s lips. Jungkook’s fingers pried his jaw open wider, allowing him better access. Jungkook slowly placed the blade of the knife into his mouth and in one swift motion, sliced off Yoongi’s tongue.
The muscle fell to the back of Yoongi’s throat, and Jungkook fished it out with his long fingers. He held it up to his face, juggling it in his fingers.
Exquisite.
Jungkook played with Yoongi for a little while longer before finishing, completely overwhelmed with pleasure, coming so hard that it drained him of all his energy. He fell asleep next to Yoongi’s dead body and awoke the next morning covered in blood. He showered in Yoongi’s bathroom and put on his clothes. When he left, he took his used condoms with him. Of course he wasn’t stupid enough to leave them behind, he was a detective for god’s sake. He knew exactly how to avoid getting caught.
Jungkook placed his elbows on his desk, clasping his hands together in front of him, and sighed at the memory. His brows were furrowed and his lips pursed as he stared at the screen.
“What did I say, Jeon?” You called to him from your desk.
“Hm?” Jungkook peeked his head over the monitor so that he could see you.
“‘Don’t overwork yourself’,” you told him, quoting what you had said earlier.
Right then, Jin entered the precinct after trying to subdue his nausea in the bathroom. “Any updates from Hoseok and his crew?” He asked as he strode over to your desk. His skin had lost its usual color and glow, taking on a sick, slightly green tinge to it.
“Nope, nothing,” you answered him. “I don’t think there’s anything to report. There were no fingerprints, no DNA, nothing. He’s just as confused as we are.”
“Should we pay him a visit?”
“Would you be okay with that, Jin? You still look a bit pale.”
Jin straightened his posture and puffed out his chest. “I’m perfect! Totally fine! Let’s go!”
You and Jungkook stood from your desks. Before joining Jin, you waited for Jungkook to catch up to you so you could whisper, “Can you believe this guy is our boss?” You scoffed. “How is he head detective if he can’t even handle a crime scene.”
“You shouldn’t speak that way about our boss, Y/N. Especially at work,” Jungkook deadpanned.
Your eyes widened slightly. The coldness in his voice surprised you. His steely expression didn’t change as the two of you followed Jin to the morgue. You brushed it off as just being his stress talking, but something had been off about him all day.
Hoseok was running lint samples in the precinct’s materials database when the three detectives entered the morgue. On the cold metal table lay Jimin, completely exposed, causing a sour taste to creep up Jin’s throat.
You leaned over to him. “You alright there, detective?” You asked him.
He gave you a quick nod and nothing else.
“What do you got?” Jungkook asked Hoseok.
“I got nothing, man. The only fibers I found were cotton fibers from a white t-shirt, but that doesn’t help, because do you know how many white cotton t-shirts there are out there?!”
“Yeah, I have like 30 of them in my closet.”
“Exactly! And it could even be the victim’s for all we know! We took some samples from his clothes and he has at least three shirts that match this damn lint. ”
You raised an eyebrow. “So you can determine that this, the Ambrosia murder, and the Skyline murder were all done by the same person just from the way they made the cuts, but you can’t find any other evidence that could point us to an actual person?” You asked incredulously.
“I– uh, well. Yes,” Hoseok stammered nervously.
“Well, do we have a name? Anything to identify him?” Jin joined in.
“Mhm. That we do. His DNA matches that of a man named Park Jimin.”
You nodded. “Send us his identification number and we’ll do some digging.”
Jungkook stared at the body that lay before him, the sick, mutilated mess he’d created. Sober, he could barely stand the sight of it. It was revolting, horrifying, and utterly wrong. He found the psychology behind it quite intriguing, because the human brain just knows that that body part shouldn’t be missing, the flesh there shouldn’t be exposed, or there shouldn’t be so much blood outside of the body, and has the most extreme reaction to it. Some experience dizziness, nausea, or even fainting, because something in their brain is telling them this is not right.
But drunk, the pleasure he derives from this kind of mutilation outweighs it all. It outweighs the anxiety, uncertainty, disgust, and most importantly, the fear of getting caught. He can’t describe it. He’s never quite been able to replicate the intensity of this pleasure, this thrill, through anything else, especially not sober.
And that is precisely why Jeon Jungkook cannot stop. Not until he’s caught.
You and Jungkook were sitting at your desk, working on paperwork for a drug bust the three of you did last week, when Jin came around and plopped a manila folder stuffed with various papers in front of Jungkook.
“Park Jimin, born October 13th, 1995. Recently laid off from his job at an accounting firm,” Jin announced.
So that’s why he looked so down that night.
“A couple of months ago he broke up with his boyfriend, Kim Taehyung, but friends and family say it was a mutual decision and they split off amicably.”
“Did you check his alibi?” You asked him.
“No, I just took their word for it.” Jin rolled his eyes. “Of course I checked his alibi! What do you take me for?”
You gave Jungkook a knowing look and he snickered.
“Hey! What was that look, Y/N?” Jin waved his arm at you. “Are you forgetting I can fire you?”
“Sorry, sir,” you replied with a smile, not at all meaning it. You knew he was bluffing and would never actually do it.
“Anyway, as I was saying, Taehyung was at the vet with his dog last night after his dog got a bout of food poisoning. There’s no one else in his life that could be a potential enemy.”
“And you got all of that information in,” Jungkook looked at his watch, “just two hours?”
“There’s a reason I’m lead detective here, kids. Although some of you seem to forget sometimes.” He gave you a pointed look, to which you responded with a sarcastic smile.
“Okay,” you said, “but what do we do with this information? This doesn’t bring us any closer to catching the killer.”
Jin sighed. “That, Y/N, I don’t know. No one knows where he went last night. Taehyung said he asked but Jimin just told him he was going out.”
“What do we do?” Jungkook asked. “We can’t have three unsolved cases.”
I pray to God we have three unsolved cases. Please let these go cold.
The head detective frowned. “I don’t know, but we’re in deep shit if we don’t solve this soon. The public are going to think we’re incompetent if we can’t get any evidence that points to a culprit. Or even worse, they’re going to start panicking because there’s a serial killer on the loose.”
You spun your chair around to face Jin. “How can it be possible that we know absolutely nothing about this person?”
“I don’t know. They seem to be targeting random people in their early twenties. There’s no discrimination in gender it appears, so we can’t make inferences about the gender of the killer.”
You looked back at Jungkook. “It’s like they know exactly how not to get caught.”
The shift of your gaze and the tone of your remark made Jungkook squirm in his seat. He hoped it wasn’t noticeable, but lately it seemed that you were always able to see right through him. The longer you stared at him the more uneasy he felt.
Jin picked the folder back up and tucked it beneath his arm. “I’m gonna do some more digging and I’ll let you know what I find.”
“Sure, yeah,” you replied.
“Mhm,” Jungkook answered.
The rest of the week passed and there was little news from Hoseok. Jin was becoming frustrated because three unsolved murders made the precinct look bad. They were the only detective team in the City, and if they couldn’t solve crimes, then who could? You remained enigmatic as usual, but the uneasiness Jungkook felt around you came in waves, rarely even there, only sometimes flooding him when you looked at him a certain way or said something that made him think you suspected him. However, you never voiced your suspicions outright, which made him anxious. He felt it was only a matter of time before you connected the dots and accused him.
But there were no dots to connect. Hoseok said it himself. There’s no evidence to point toward a killer. Jungkook was safe. So why did he feel so restless?
Jungkook decided to give the drinking a break this weekend and instead spent Saturday night wandering around the shopping district in search of another way to satiate himself. He roamed the streets illuminated by the yellow tinge of the street lamps and neon signs that hung at the entrance of each of the shops. It was nearly midnight, but the streets were still bustling with students from the nearby university, out for a fun night on the town.
Dozens of carts lined the sidewalks, selling various street foods and pretty much every fried thing you could imagine. Jungkook made his way from cart to cart, ordering the most appealing item from each one, and eating it as he made his way to the next one.
After a while, he noticed someone following him. It was a woman, going from cart to cart just like he was, always a few steps behind. At first he thought it could have been you, making sure he didn’t get into any trouble, or making sure you caught him if he did. But once he got a better look at her face, he saw no familiarity in it. She was simply a stranger.
Feeling full of all this greasy and sugary food, Jungkook was feeling a little bold. When he finished his business at the fried shrimp cart, he stayed back, and waited for the stranger to catch up.
“Hi,” he greeted once she approached the cart.
“Hi,” she replied with a smile. “Whatcha got there?”
Jungkook held up his fried shrimp skewer. “Curry. They have a bunch of different seasoning choices, but I think I like curry the best.”
“You’ve tried all of them?���
“Mhm.”
She raised an eyebrow. “Just now?”
“What?” Jungkook shook his head. “No. No. I couldn’t possibly eat that much in one night.”
“I don’t know. I’ve seen you buy something from like seven other carts tonight, so what’s another load of fried shrimp to you?”
Jungkook chuckled. “I’m sure if I ate that much shrimp I’d explode.”
The woman let out a silvery laugh before turning to the cart owner to order. “I’ll have the curry one please.”
The two of them waited in silence until her order was ready. The woman took a bite, making a noise of approval and nodding her head. “You’re right, this is pretty good.”
Jungkook nodded and a silence followed. Wanting to break it, he asked, “So you’ve been following me, huh?”
The woman’s confidence suddenly disappeared as she shifted her gaze away from Jungkook and toward the crowd behind him. “Maybe... “ she replied meekly.
“Why?” He pressed further.
“I just thought you were attractive. And I wanted to look at you a little longer.”
Jungkook let out a sigh of relief, which he disguised with another laugh. “That’s it?”
“Yeah. What did you think? That I was stalking you to murder you or something?” she joked.
“That’s always a possibility.”
The woman giggled. “I’m Jiah, by the way,” she said, extending her hand for Jungkook to shake.
Jungkook took her hand into his firm grasp.
So small. So soft. So… Nice.
“I’m–” he paused, trying to come up with a name on the spot, “Jin.”
“You sure?” She asked, noticing his hesitation. “Just Jin?”
“Yeah. My full name is Seokjin, but I usually just go by Jin.” He grinned nervously.
“Well, Jin. What do you say we go to my place for some coffee to wash all this fried food down,” Jiah suggested.
Jungkook nodded. “Sure.”
Just regular sex, Jungkook. No drinking, no murder.
Jiah led him down the street and hailed a cab.
They skipped the coffee, and it turns out that Jungkook couldn’t keep his promise. About half an hour into a very heated makeout session in Jiah’s kitchen, Jungkook still couldn’t get into it.
“Are you nervous?” Jiah asked him. “This isn’t your first hookup is it?”
“No. To both of those questions,” Jungkook replied.
What’s wrong with me?
Jiah hopped off the counter and pulled a bottle of whiskey and two glasses from the cupboard. “Here,” she offered him a glass filled with a golden brown liquid. “Why don’t you have a drink to relax yourself.”
“No,” Jungkook shook his head and pushed it away. “I really shouldn’t.”
“Come on, Jin, one little drink won’t hurt.”
But somehow that one little drink turned into a whole bottle finished between the two of them, and Jungkook was, without a doubt, drunk. Their kisses became sloppy, way too much tongue and completely driven by drunken lust. Jungkook’s hips were grinding into Jiah’s as she sat on the counter. He could feel himself getting hard as he rubbed himself against her. The alcohol incited his sexual urges, among others.
Quickly, the two of them shed their clothes, discarding them onto the floor. Jungkook pulled a condom out of his wallet – one that he kept there for emergencies, although it was quite old. He fumbled to put it on, with his vision distorted from all the alcohol.
After quite a bit of floundering, he finally got it on and was ready to go. He wrapped an arm around Jiah’s waist to pull himself closer and used his other hand to reach down and play with her folds. She moaned as Jungkook used his fingers to spread her arousal all over her labia and clit while he kissed her neck.
Jungkook slowly pushed a finger in and curled it, causing her to gasp. “Fuck, Jin.”
“You like that?”
Jiah nodded. “Yes! Fuck!”
He added another and began to pump his fingers slowly in and out, eliciting soft moans from Jiah’s lips. When he felt her tightening around him, he pulled them out, inspecting her juices that coated his fingers. He brought his fingers up to his face, about to put them in his mouth, before he stopped himself.
Instead, he held them up to Jiah. “Suck.”
She was surprised by his order and cautiously leaned forward to wrap her mouth around his glistening digits, using her tongue to lap up every last bit of herself on him.
“Taste good?”
Jiah nodded hesitantly.
“It’s too bad I won’t get to taste it for myself.”
“What do you–”
Her words were forcefully cut off by Jungkook plunging his cock into her entrance, sliding in easily, and causing her to cry out. He began thrusting quickly, in and out, chasing his own pleasure and not paying any mind to hers. He could feel the alcohol pumping through his veins, heating him up from the inside out. The kitchen was filled with the sounds of Jungkook’s slick cock moving in and out of Jiah’s dripping sex and the uncontrollable moans arising from both their throats. She held on to his shoulders as he roughly pushed his hips into her.
“Jin…” Jiah gasped. “Slow down. I’m gonna c–c–”
“Come?”
She let out another moan as she answered, “Yes.”
“Good.” Jungkook’s lips curled as he kissed her. “Come,” he whispered against her lips.
Soon he felt her walls convulsing around his length as she came.
He could hear her heart beating through her chest, and loud thumping that had only grown more intense as time progressed. It was like a siren call, enticing him, provoking him. He couldn’t control himself. Without realizing, pulled away from her, reaching over to the knife block and pulling out a knife.
“Jin, what are you–?”
He watched as his strong hands plunged it into her chest, piercing through her breastplate and puncturing her heart. Her face contorted in horror and she let out a strangled gasp before collapsing into Jungkook, his own chest becoming smothered in her blood.
He pushed he back and lay her against the counter, getting himself off as he leaned over her and twisted the knife around in her chest, carving into it the shape of a heart and then setting the knife down on the counter. He made a rather large hole, just big enough to pull her real heart out. He held the organ in his hand, no longer beating but still warm.
He juggled it in his fingers, squeezing it and watching the blood drip down his arms and onto the kitchen floor.
It’s soft… Nice… Just like her hand.
He set it down next to her on the counter and returned his focus to getting off, thrusting into her, using some of the blood to ease the friction. The sight of all her blood led to an orgasm so intense that he couldn't hold in his scream.
Shit. They just keep getting better and better.
After he came, he pulled out, his cock still slick with her juices and blood. A sticky string of her cum connected his tip to her entrance. Jungkook knelt down before her, his face mere inches away from her glistening slit. He pushed a finger in and then pulled it out, coated with her cum and blood. He put it in his mouth and sucked.
I guess I was wrong.
He stuck his tongue out and dragged it up her folds, savoring the taste of her on his tongue. Jungkook picked the knife back up, and gently used the tip to separate her lips. He could see her juices still leaking out. The tip of it became coated as it just barely grazed her entrance. Without hesitation, he shoved the knife into her, wiping his prints off of the handle and anywhere he touched on the counter. He washed the blood off of his hands, arms, and chest in the sink, put on his clothes, and then left.
The second Jungkook got outside, a sudden rush of cold air blew past him, sobering him up, and he was met with a pounding headache and the sudden realization of what he had done.
What the fuck, Jungkook? I said no drinking, no murder tonight.
He stumbled down the driveway and onto the sidewalk.
How the fuck do I get home from here?
He wasn’t even sure where he was. He had never been in the Parkside district before, and he didn’t notice any bus lines or train stops on the way here. It was much too far from his house to walk, and there most likely weren’t any cabs around at this hour. He looked around the street, studying the unfamiliar surroundings, suddenly feeling trapped.
That’s when he saw something across the street, lurking. It was barely visible, yet its presence was unmistakably there.
Is someone watching me? Do they know what I just did?
That figure approached him. It wore all black, attempting to blend in with the night. But even in the pitch black darkness, he recognized what, or more specifically, who it was.
Jungkook took a step forward. “Y/N, what are you doing here?”
“What do you mean what am I doing here?” You whispered back, stepping toward him. “I followed you and I’m here to help you.”
“What? But why?”
“Shhh. Would you keep it down?” You gave him a confused look before realizing. “You don’t remember do you?”
“Remember what?”
You paused and studied his face to see if he was bluffing. “Who do you think drove you home after you killed Jimin?”
“I– uh what? I didn’t kill Jimin.” Jungkook shifted his gaze away, not wanting to make eye contact.
“Don’t lie, Jungkook. I know you did,” you stated sternly. “Now answer my question.”
“I–I drove myself home. I woke up in some woman’s bed in the middle of the night and drove myself home.”
You let out an exasperated sigh. “Jungkook, who do you think that woman was?”
No. What? It couldn’t have been.
“You?!”
“Ding ding ding, genius.”
How had I not recognized her?
“How…?”
“You know that Jimin’s house is just a few blocks from my house, right? On my way home, I saw you stumbling out piss drunk and completely covered in blood. I drove you back to your house and helped you clean up. And then for some reason, you wanted to go back to my place and you insisted on driving. I tried to talk you out of it but you refused so I had to sit in the passenger seat, holding on to the little handle thing for dear life, as you barreled down the streets at 2am and skidded into my lawn. It was stupid as hell of me to let you do that but thankfully there aren’t that many cars on the streets at that hour.”
Jungkook’s brows knitted in confusion. “That… makes no sense.”
“What the hell do you mean it makes no sense?”
“If we drove my car back to your place, wouldn’t your car be at my house? I didn’t see it when I got back there.”
“That’s because there’s never any parking on your street, you dumbass. So I had to park down the block and walk you to your house, trying to conceal the bloody freakshow from the neighbors. Then I took the bus to your place and picked my car up in the morning.”
Jungkook gaped at you, having trouble comprehending what he was hearing. “Why did you help me? Why didn’t you just turn me in?”
“Because you’re my friend. And you’re a decent detective; I can’t have them locking you up. You expect me and Jin to do all the crime solving when you’re gone? Have you met Jin?” You paused and then added. “Also no one ever suspects the detective, so what do I have to lose?”
He scoffed. “You’re fucking crazy.”
Your lips curled into a smile. “Maybe so.”
Jungkook let out a defeated sigh. “So, did you drive here? Where’s your car? How do you plan on rescuing me this time?”
Your face twisted in annoyance. Here you were, doing him a favor and he was getting crabby with you. “It’s over there.” You turned around and silently led him across the street to you car.
Once in the car, you started the engine and drove. It wasn’t until you entered the freeway that cut across the City that you broke the silence.
“So why do you do it?”
“Huh?” Jungkook was caught off guard by your question. “I don’t know. It just feels… nice. Seeing all that blood, feeling it against my skin, it just… I don’t know. Sex just doesn’t feel as good when there isn’t blood involved.”
“Ouch, that hurts,” you reply flatly.
“What…?” Jungkook’s eyes widened. “Did– Did we…?!”
“You don’t remember? Double ouch.”
“Fuck, I guess I should have known. Considering when I woke up, neither of us had clothes on.”
“You know, for someone so smart, you can be really dumb sometimes.”
Jungkook stared out the window as you drove. “So I didn’t try to murder you?”
“Nope. I’m here, aren’t I?”
“But why?”
“How the fuck am I supposed to know what goes on in that brain of yours.” You grimaced.
“Shit, I wish I knew, too…” He trailed off and paused before speaking again. “I used to be able to do it, you know. I used to be able to sleep with someone, even drunk, without wanting to kill them. But lately it had become increasingly difficult to refrain from murder.” He sighed and contemplated it. “Maybe it was because you felt just as good.”
“Jeon,” you warned.
“What?”
“Don’t.” His sentiment was so cliched it made your skin crawl.
You rode in silence the rest of the way. Soon you were pulling up in front of Jungkook’s house. All the lights on the block were off, which meant his neighbors were asleep. Jungkook got out and turned toward you.
“Thank you,” he said softly.
“Yeah whatever,” you replied, anxious to get rid of him.
“We need to talk about this sometime, though.”
“Sure we do.” He swore he could detect a hint of sarcasm in your voice.
Jungkook’s frowned at your stubbornness. “Anyway, goodnight.”
“Goodnight, murderer,” you called after him as he closed the car door and walked up his driveway.
You didn't bother waiting for him to open his front door before driving away.
Jungkook was awakened a mere four hours later by his phone ringing.
“Hello?” He answered.
“Wake up, Jeon.” It was Jin.
“Why?” Jungkook groaned.
“There's been another murder. Why else would I be calling you?”
Jungkook rolled over and sat up. “What time is it?”
“A little bit before 5am.”
Jungkook groaned again. “Text me the address. I'll be there soon.”
A few seconds after hanging up, Jungkook received a text message from Jin. He opened it, revealing an address in the Parkside district.
God damn it.
Not long after, he received another ping! It was a message from you.
Y/N: It's yours.
Jungkook flopped back onto his pillows and sighed, using his hands to rub the sleep from his eyes.
“Fuck!” He exclaimed out loud, punching the air.
What the hell were you expecting, Jungkook? They going to find the body eventually.
“Shut up,” he said to himself.
Jungkook then got up and got dressed before leaving for the crime scene.
When he got to the scene, Jiah was just how he had left her. Her heart on the counter, blood spilling out of her chest and from in between her legs. Some of it had dripped onto the floor, in a now-dried puddle.
You walked in with your hand over your mouth, trying to stifle a yawn.
“Good morning, sunshine,” Jungkook greeted you with a sarcastic grin. “Late night?”
You shot him a warning look.
A couple of seconds later Jin walked in with three large cups of coffee. “Morning,” he greeted and held the tray forward. Each of you took one, chugging the hot liquid energy down your throats.
You and Jungkook looked at Jin, expecting him to explain.
“Well?” You said, after Jin remained silent.
“There’s been another murder,” he said.
“I can see that,” you replied.
“Her name is Jeon Jiah. Twenty four years of age, worked at the bank on Union street. Hoseok said cause of death was, well,” Jin pointed to the space between Jiah legs, “someone driving that kitchen knife into her chest.”
You grimaced at the sight, letting Jungkook know just how disgusted you were.
“Has he found anything else?” Jungkook asked.
“The knife appears to be her own, since there’s one missing from the knife block that looks about the same size as the one the killer used on her. Other than that, there’s not much else. But let’s look around, see if we can find prints or anything,” Jin suggested.
You and Jungkook nodded, although Jungkook knew that you wouldn’t find anything. He wiped the place clean before he left. He was thorough, and never left anything behind.
After an hour of searching the house and coming up empty, Hoseok had the body packed up and delivered to the lab. You snapped some photos of the crime scene, and Jungkook pretended like he was helping.
“I’ll meet you two back at the station,” Jin said. “I called Park Jimin’s ex-boyfriend in for questioning, and he’ll be there at nine.”
You and Jungkook nodded. After Jin, Hoseok, and the rest of the crew left, you pulled something out of your pocket and handed it to Jungkook.
“What’s this?” he asked.
“I found it by the sink. I think it’s yours. I thought you might want it.”
Jungkook took the small strand of hair between his fingers. His eyes grew wide as he studied it, because it did, indeed, look a lot like his.
“I swear I cleaned up after myself,” Jungkook whispered.
“Then what is that?”
Jungkook frowned. “Thanks,” was all he said to you before walking back to his car.
Taehyung fidgeted in the plastic chair in the interrogation room. He tried to calm himself down, knowing that his nerves would make him look guilty. He had no reason to be nervous. He didn’t do anything. But just this whole situation was incredibly nerve wracking. He had never been in a police station before and honestly never thought he would be, especially not as a murder suspect.
Whenever he shook his leg, the cheap plastic chair – seemingly salvaged from an old high school – creaked incessantly, so he stopped himself. Instead, he scratched at the patch of hair behind his ear, another nervous habit of his. It was all he could do to prevent him from actually ripping his hair out.
Sometimes he would still wake up in the middle of the night, expecting Jimin to be next to him. It had been more than a week, but Taehyung still couldn’t process the fact that he was gone. He read the report that Jin had shown him. It made him sick that someone would want to do that to Jimin. He regretted breaking up with Jimin, and it was a stupid decision on both their parts. Taehyung couldn’t help but think that maybe he would still be alive if they were still together.
Taehyung’s thoughts were interrupted as you, Jin, and Jungkook walked into the interrogation room.
“Good morning, Taehyung,” Jin greeted.
Taehyung simply nodded and avoided eye contact.
“We called you in here to ask you some questions about Jimin.”
Again, Taehyung nodded and stared at the empty table in front of him. “Ask away.”
Jin glanced at Jungkook briefly and turned back to Taehyung.. “Did Jimin have any enemies? Anyone who would want to hurt him?”
“No. Everyone loved Jimin.” Taehyung looked up at the detectives. “I thought this was the work of a serial killer. Why are you asking me about that?”
“We’re just trying to think of every possible scenario,” you assured him.
“Well, then no. He didn’t have any enemies. Like I said, everyone loved him.”
“Was he seeing anybody knew?” Jungkook asked.
“Not that I know of, and I’m pretty sure he would have told me if he was.”
“So you two remained close even after your breakup?”
“Yeah, we were still friends. I like to think that he still loved me, since I still loved him.”
Jungkook frowned. “If you still loved each other, why did you break up?”
And why did he sleep with me?
“We didn’t really have time to see each other. Jimin was always working, and I’m still in grad school, so our schedules never really worked out.”
“Jimin had been laid off from his job recently, right? Wouldn’t that allow you more time together?” You asked.
“I guess we were both too scared to ask the other if he wanted to get back together. So, we just kind of left it and remained friends.”
“Was there anywhere that Jimin frequented? Anywhere he liked to hang out, either with friends or alone?”
Taehyung furrowed his brows, thinking. “Uhhh. We used to go to that new club over in the Seaside district. What was it called…?” Taehyung looked up at the ceiling, trying to recall. “Ah! LightRoom. We used to go there for some drinks and dancing, even after we broke up. But I don’t think he’s ever gone alone.”
Was that the place I met Jimin?
Jungkook couldn’t remember the name of it, but it seemed right.
“LightRoom. Okay, we’ll look into it. I think that’s enough info for now,” Jin declared. “Thank you, Taehyung. Oh, and one last thing. May we take a DNA sample from you just in case we find something and need to rule you out?”
Taehyung opened his mouth to respond, but then closed it, choosing to nod instead.
Jin went out to get a DNA kit and swabbed the inside of Taehyung’s cheek.
When he was done, he said, “Taehyung, we’ll call you if we have further questions.”
Taehyung nodded and let himself out.
“Jungkook, Y/N, I want you to head over to LightRoom and ask the staff if they remember seeing Jimin that night, and if they remember if he was with anyone.���
“Yes, Jin,” you replied.
“We’ll take my car,” Jungkook stated.
“Sure, whatever.” You then followed him out of the room with a frown.
Once in the car, Jungkook started driving in the direction opposite of the Seaside district.
“So where are we really going?” You asked him.
“Back to my place for a fucking nap. We only got like what? Three or four hours of sleep last night?”
“I actually didn’t sleep,” you admitted.
He turned his head toward you. “What? Why?”
You shrugged. “Wasn’t feeling it. Eyes on the road,” you told him.
He returned his attention to the road. “What do you mean by it?”
“Sleepy. Wasn’t feeling sleepy.”
Jungkook rolled his eyes. “Whatever, I’m gonna nap. You can do whatever you want. Just don’t fuck up my house.”
“No promises.”
Back at his house, Jungkook went straight to his room, closing the door behind him and flopping down on his bed. You wandered around his home, studying, observing. You had never been in his home before. As a matter of fact, you knew very little about his private life. But then again, it didn’t seem like he had much of a private life. His house was quite small and free of decoration, aside from a couple of books, tv, gaming system, and a framed picture of what you assumed was a teenage Jungkook posing with his mother. Other than those few possessions, the place seemed quite impersonal. The walls were white, the shelves were white. His couch was a basic gray tweed sofa, with enough space for three people. He had a glass coffee table which looked like every other glass coffee table in existence.
You made your way into the kitchen rifling through his cupboards and cabinets, not finding much. A couple of bowls, some instant ramen, ground coffee. His fridge was empty aside from a half empty carton of eggs and some expired orange juice. He had a microwave, toaster, blender, and coffee maker, but the coffee maker seemed to be the only one he regularly used among the appliances.
You decided to make yourself a cup of coffee. You searched the kitchen for a mug, opening and closing the cupboard doors, only to find a few still in the dishwasher, unwashed. You sighed and loaded the dishwasher with detergent and turned it on.
All your commotion was making it difficult for Jungkook to fall asleep. After about 10 minutes of you banging around in his kitchen, he grew frustrated and got up, ready to march over to you and tell you to pipe the fuck down.
“Do you mi– What are you doing?” He asked, seeing you climbing on the counter to reach a bag of ground coffee on the top shelf of one of his cabinets. Darn you for being this short.
“I’m trying to make coffee. It’s the only thing that’s keeping me going right now.”
“Why don’t you just take a nap like I’m trying to.”
“Can’t. Too wired. You know that feeling where you’re too tired to fall asleep? Yeah, that’s me right now.” You finally got a hold of the bag and climbed off the counter.
“That’s bullshit,” Jungkook scoffed and crossed his arms over his chest. Then his demeanor softened. “Come on. Come nap, relax. You can take my bed. I’ll take the couch.”
“I don’t think I could possibly relax right now,” you told him, fiddling with the coffee maker.
“Maybe I can help.” Jungkook smirked.
You turned around to face him and raised an eyebrow. “Oh?”
“What took you two so long?” Jin asked when you and Jungkook returned to the precinct.
You glanced at each other.
“We came up with nothing at the club,” you lied. “None of the workers recognized the photo we had of Jimin. There were some regulars there, so we asked them a few questions, see if they knew anything.”
“So did they?”
“No,” Jungkook answered. “But one of them wouldn’t stop talking. She wouldn’t shut up about how it’s so unsafe to go out these days and that people are getting murdered left and right and it doesn’t seem like the police are – ow!” you elbowed Jungkook to get him to stop talking “– really doing anything,” he finished quickly.
Jin raised an eyebrow. “Damn. Okay… Well, Hoseok wants to see us in the lab now, so we should head on down there.”
“Okay.” Jungkook nodded, relieved at the change in subject.
You and Jungkook then followed Jin downstairs to the lab.
“Hey, Hoseok,” you greeted him when the three of you entered the lab.
“Hey, Y/N, and Jungkook and Jin.” He was standing next to Jiah’s body, which lay on the metal work table covered by a white sheet.
“So what do you got for us?” Jin asked.
“Well, as you may know, this victim was killed with her own knife. As for the other three murders, the weapon was not found at the scene. However, the cuts are the same. Careful and precise. And this case in particular shows quite a resemblance to the Skyline murder. The heart shape that the killer carved into Jiah’s chest was done in the same way the wings were carved into Hyojin’s back. I think our little serial killer has struck again.”
“Okay, but is there anything useful?” Jungkook asked rather rudely.
Hoseok frowned at his tone. “There’s something I found that I still need to double check, but I just thought I’d update you before the day was through.”
“Thank you, Hoseok. Keep up the good work.” You smiled at him, which he returned.
The three of you turned to leave before Hoseok called out, “Jin? There’s something I need to talk to you about. If you could stay for just a moment longer?”
Jin looked at Hoseok questioningly and nodded. “You two can go back upstairs,” he said to you and Jungkook.
The two of you left, leaving Jin and Hoseok alone in the lab.
“So where’s your crew?” Jin asked him, noticing that the lab, usually bustling with all of his assistants running around, was now quiet and empty.
“I sent them on a break. A few of them were getting frustrated because we weren’t finding anything.”
“Ah.”
Hoseok stepped around the table to stand in front of Jin. “You’re probably wondering why I asked you to stay behind.”
“That did cross my mind, yes,” Jin chuckled.
Hoseok frowned. “We found traces of semen in the victim.”
Jin’s eyebrow quirked up. “Semen?”
“Yes.” Hoseok let out a sigh.
“Why do you look disappointed? Isn’t that a good thing? It means we have a suspect.”
“Yes, but…” Hoseok looked down at the his shoes, not knowing how to break the bad news to Jin.
Jin’s brows furrowed. “But what?”
“We ran the sample against the DNA in our system…”
“And…?”
“We might have to run it again just to be sure, because this system is old…”
Jin was getting fed up with Hoseok’s beating around the bush. “Hoseok, just say it.”
Hoseok looked up and made eye contact with Jin. “You’re not gonna like this.”
Jin strode down the hallway that led from the the elevators to the main room of the precinct.
“Jeon Jungkook!” he called out. “Jeon Jungkook, where the fuck are you?!”
Jungkook was over by the kitchenette, making himself his third cup of coffee of the day, when he saw Jin barreling towards him.
Shit.
Before Jungkook could brace himself for impact, Jin had a hand against his throat and pushed him against the wall.
“Jeon Jungkook,” he said in what Jungkook could only describe as a growl. “I swear to god…”
Jungkook gulped. Some of the officers in the precinct turned to see what the commotion was. All of their eyes on Jungkook made him immensely uncomfortable.
Fuck. He knows it was me. How could he know it was me?
“Hoseok is going to double check the semen sample he found inside of Jiah, but if it turns out it does belong to you I will fuck you up far worse than you did any of those poor victims.”
Shit. Semen? But I used a condom. I was so careful…
“I–I–uhh.” Jungkook didn’t know what to say. Should he confess right here? It was hard to breathe let alone speak with Jin’s hand still wrapped around his throat, pinning him against the wall. The room began to spin and he felt light headed as his brain tried to come up with a suitable reaction.
Seeing the fear in Jungkook’s eyes and noticing his inability to breathe, Jin huffed and lifted his hand off Jungkook’s windpipe. Jungkook took in a sharp gasp of air.
After regaining his composure, Jin spoke again. “Until we have definitive results from Hoseok, I think you should take a leave of absence.”
“Jin,” Jungkook started, but he didn’t know how to follow up. He wasn’t sure what he wanted to say to him. Should he deny? Confess? Accept? What?
Jin sighed. “Just go. Sorry for causing a scene. I’ll call you if there’s anything new. But until further notice, I’m taking you off this case.”
You stood back, watching all of this unfold. It infuriated you, seeing Jungkook just stand there, not saying anything. “Jin,” you asserted, stepping forward. “You said it yourself that Hoseok still has to double check that it actually was Jungkook. You didn’t even let him defend himself. And now you’re sending him home? Like he actually did commit all those murders? What happened to innocent until proven guilty?”
“Y/N, Hoseok said–”
“Look, I don’t know what Hoseok said, but I know what the law says and you can’t send him home over something that has not been proven.”
Jin gaped at you. He knew you were right. This was just the first piece of evidence they had found on any of the victims that pointed toward a culprit and he didn’t care just how absurd and improbable it sounded, because it was something. He finally had someone to blame, even if it seemed improbable.
“Fine, Jeon,” Jin resigned. “You can stay. But if Hoseok is right about the sample and about you, I will show no mercy.”
“I understand, sir,” Jungkook replied weakly.
Once Jin walked away and the other officers returned to their work, you stepped toward Jungkook and pulled him into an interrogation room so no one would hear you. “I’ll cover for you,” you told him. “I’ll be your alibi for that night, and all the other nights if you need it.”
“What?!” Jungkook exclaimed, stepping out of your grasp.
“I can go downstairs and distract Hoseok while you sneak into the lab and alter the data.”
“Y/N…”
“What?”
“Are you fucking crazy?” He blurted out.
You crossed your arms. “Well, how else do you expect to get out of this?”
He shrugged. “I don’t know. Prison?”
“Hell no. I won’t let you.”
“But if you lie for me, and they find out, it’s not just me going to jail. You will too for aiding and abetting.”
“Maybe so, but we go together or we don’t go down at all”
“Why would you help me? Y/N, do you like me or something?”
“Don’t be ridiculous. What is this? High school? ‘Do you like me or something?’” You mocked. “You think because I’m trying to do something for you, there are feelings behind it? I’m doing this for me, for my benefit, and for the benefit of the City, because we both know this precinct will go to shit if you were found guilty. I would be out of a job and the whole city will be left defenseless.”
Jungkook frowned. “Now you're just being dramatic.”
“Really? Let’s play it out in your head, Jungkook. Let’s say one day you fuck up. You leave behind something that points toward you. Oh look! That day is today! You’re questioned, you get sent to trial, you’re found guilty, you go to prison for the rest of your life. What happens to us? Well first, the media will attack us, asking us how we could let one of our own get away with four whole murders before he was caught. Then they’d speculate. Were we in on it? Were we working with you? We’d have to go on trial, too. Even if we’re not found guilty, there will always be those people who think we are. People who think we lied and used our status to get out of indictment.”
Jungkook was about to say something but you didn’t let him.
“Jungkook, there’s a reason why there are only three detectives in the City. No one wants to see the shit that we see. And no one’s gonna want to step up to fill your place. And we both know that Jin is incompetent.”
Jungkook opened his mouth to protest, but again you stopped him.
“The guy nearly vomits at a crime scene! Like what kind of detective does that? It doesn’t matter how gruesome it is, we have to be able to handle it. And then that just leaves me. You think I can do everything on my own? Actually, honestly maybe I can. But do I want to? Hell no.” You take in a deep breath to calm yourself, which Jungkook feels is the first breath you’ve taken since you started ranting. “Anyway,” you continue, “now do you see? Now do you understand why I’m doing this?” You sighed. “How could you even let this happen?” You asked. “First the hair and now this?”
Jungkook was getting frustrated at all your attacks. “I–I don’t know!” He stuttered. “I wasn’t expecting it to happen last night. I didn’t even know I was going to be having sex so all I had was the emergency condom I keep in my wallet.”
“Are you stupid? You know condoms expire! And keeping them in your wallet can cause them to tear!”
“It wasn’t that old! Plus I told myself that it was just going to be a regular hookup! No drinking, no murder!”
You crossed your arms over your chest. “And how well did that plan go, hm?”
“I–I–”
You groaned. “Maybe you deserve to be locked up.”
“Hey! I made it this far without getting caught. Don’t you think that’s something?” Jungkook pulled a tissue out of his pocket and unfolded it. Inside lay a strand of hair. “I did manage to get this for a little insurance,” he said, picking it up off the tissue and showing it to you.
You raised an eyebrow.
“Taehyung left it behind,” he explained.
You nodded your head in understanding. “So are we going to do this, or what?”
After your whole speech, Jungkook felt like he really didn’t have a choice. He sighed in resignation and led you out of the interrogation room.
You stepped out of the elevator and into the lab having unbuttoned the top three buttons of your work shirt. You took your hair out of its ponytail and gave it a zhoosh before walking over to Hoseok.
“Hey, Hobi,” you smiled at him flirtatiously. “Can I ask you a favor?” You looked around to see if his assistants were around, but it appeared that they were still out.
“Hey, Y/N. Sure, what’s up?” He asked with a warm smile, stepping away from his computer toward you.
“May I see Jimin’s body? There are some things I need for the report.”
“I already emailed you all my data on Jimin.”
“I know but, I just want to double check.”
“Oh, okay, sure.”
Hoseok led you away from the lab and into the morgue. He grasped the metal handle to one of the metal drawers on the wall and pulled, revealing Jimin inside. He removed the sheet that covered Jimin’s body and stepped aside, allowing you to look at whatever you needed. He started to turn around to go back to the lab, and in the second that he faced away, you dropped the strand of Taehyung’s hair into Jimin’s gaping wound. As Hoseok stepped toward the door, you stopped him.
“Wait, what’s this?” You leaned closer, pretending to get a better look.
Hoseok approached the body. “What?”
“Can you hand me the tweezers over there?” You pointed toward the tray on the far side of the morgue away from the door.
Hoseok went to fetch it and brought it to you. You used them to pluck the hair off of the body.
“It’s a hair,” you stated.
“Wh– How did I miss that?” Hoseok stared at it incredulously.
You shrugged. “I don’t know.”
“Give it to me and I’ll run it in the system,” Hoseok told you.
As you were handing Hoseok the strand of hair, you fumbled, dropping it and the tweezers onto the floor to buy you some time.
“Oh my god! Clumsy me!” You exclaimed.
“Y/N, are you okay? You seem a bit... off right now.”
“Yeah! Totally fine! Haven’t slept in over 48 hours but I’m totally fine!” You laughed.
“Oh. Oh my, Y/N. Hopefully, with the evidence that I’m still waiting on, we can wrap up this case soon and you can get some rest.”
“Please. I want nothing more.”
Hoseok smiled and nodded at you before turning toward the door.
“Wait!” You called out to him again. “Maybe… when this case is done…” You draw out your sentence, hoping to stall him for longer. “Maybe you and I could go out for a drink? Just the two of us?” You smiled at him hopefully.
“I would love to, Y/N, but I’m married,” Hoseok replied.
“Oh.” You frowned. “I never see you wear a ring,” you pointed out.
“I never wear it to work,” he explained. “I can’t be accidentally losing it inside a body or something like that.”
You chuckled. “Oh, that’s true. Never mind, then. Forget I asked.”
“I mean we could still go as friends. But from the way you asked me, I felt you wanted it to be more.”
“You’re right. But that’s fine. Anyway, I should head back to work.” You gave him a smile before leaving, hoping you gave Jungkook enough time to do whatever he needed to do.
Jungkook waited about five minutes after you left to head down to the lab. Relief washed over him when he stepped out of the elevator to find that the lab was empty of all personnel. He headed straight for Hoseok’s computer, searching to see if the results from his semen sample came back yet. Thankfully Hoseok was so distracted by your presence that he left his computer unlocked. The program was at 92% completion at that time, and Jungkook hoped it finished before you and Hoseok returned from the morgue. He waited, watching the loading bar inch closer to 100% at an agonizing pace. He stared at it intently, willing it to hurry up.
He was broken from his focus by a loud clang, which caused him to jump. “Oh my god! Clumsy me!” He heard you exclaim from the other room. He tongued his cheek and cocked his head to the side.
Y/N, you need to chill. You’re overdoing it just a bit.
He stared back at the monitor. 96%.
Come on, come on.
97%...
98%...
99%...
100%!
Fuck, finally.
MATCH FOUND: JEON JUNGKOOK, 1997/09/01, CITY POLICE DEPARTMENT
Jungkook quickly deleted the data and entered his own.
ERROR: NO MATCH FOUND
When he was done, Jungkook bolted out of there, not wanting to risk getting caught when Hoseok returned.
Taehyung sat again in that same plastic chair in the same interrogation room, feeling every bit as anxious as yesterday. He had no idea why he was called in again. He hoped it was because they found new information on Jimin’s killer, but the way Jin spoke to him on the phone, it sounded like he was in trouble.
He couldn’t stop his leg from shaking, which resulted in the chair’s incessant creaking that drove him crazy, only adding onto his nerves. The minutes seemed like days as he waited for someone to come in and tell him what was going on.
However, he was completely caught off guard when Jin entered the room, startling him and causing him to nearly fly out of his seat.
“Good morning, Taehyung,” Jin said, although the deadpan in his voice suggested that it most certainly was not a good morning.
“Hi, why am I here?” Taehyung blurted out, wanting to cut to the chase.
“We are here because we found some evidence that could lead to a suspect,” Jin explained.
Taehyung let out a sigh, relieved that the police were one step closer to finding Jimin’s killer.
“Well, do you have a suspect? Who is it?” Taehyung inquired. He stared at his hands which lay in front of him on the table.
“It’s you.”
His heart stopped. “Me?!?” His eyes shot up, looking at Jin for the first time after refusing to make eye contact up until now.
“Yes, you. After a closer examination of Jimin’s body, we found a hair on it that belongs to you.” Jin pulled out the chair and sat down across the table from Taehyung, facing him. “Can you explain to me how your hair got on the victim?”
The victim. Jin said it like he wasn’t even a real person, like Jimin was a thing, an object.
“Please don’t talk about him like that,” Taehyung mumbled.
“Huh?”
“His name was– is– Jimin. Please call him that.”
“Alright. Can you explain to me how your hair got onto Jimin,” Jin corrected.
“I can’t.” Taehyung grimaced. “I already told you, I was at the vet taking care of my dog that night. At that point I hadn’t seen Jimin in a few days, since I thought he would need some space to cope with getting laid off. I don’t know how my hair would have gotten onto him.”
“I see,” Jin said, contemplating.
“Honestly, I find it offensive that you think I would do such a thing to Jimin. What kind of sick person would want to hurt him like that? I just don’t understand what would drive someone to do something like that.”
“I understand, Taehyung. That’s what we’re trying to figure out ourselves. Your alibi checks out, but we just don’t see how your hair could have ended up on the victi– I mean– Jimin. It makes no sense unless someone planted it, but that would mean it had to be someone… within… the precinct.” Taehyung noticed Jin’s faraway expression as Jin remembered what Hoseok told him yesterday about the semen sample possibly being Jungkook’s.
“What is it?” Taehyung asked.
Jin shook his head dismissively. “Nothing.” He then pushed back his chair and stood up. “Thank you for coming down here on such short notice. I apologize for you having to come all the way down here for such a brief meeting.”
“It’s okay. Anything to help find out what happened to Jimin.”
Jin nodded. “We’ll be in touch if anything new arises. Again, I apologize.”
He then walked out without another word, and Taehyung was left confused by his sudden departure. What did he say? Something about someone within the precinct?
“Hoseok!” Jin called out as he exited the elevator. “Hoseok, are you here?” He surveyed the lab to find Hoseok behind a shelf of case files.
Hoseok made his way over to Jin. “Good morning,” he greeted with his usual warm smile.
“The results. Of the semen sample. Have you gotten them back yet?”
Hoseok sighed. “Yes.”
“And?”
“Unfortunately, there was no match found.”
“What?!”
“The DNA didn’t match anyone in our system,” Hoseok explained. “And we have nearly all of the City’s data in there, so it must be someone who isn’t from here.”
“So are you saying that Jiah was not a victim of the serial killer?”
“I didn’t say that. I still think she is. What I’m saying is that the serial killer most likely does not live in the City.”
Jin clenched his fist. “That makes no sense! Why would someone travel all the way here to kill people? Why can’t they go plague their own city? Why do they have to tarnish my beloved town?”
“I don’t know, Jin,” Hoseok replied, disappointed that he couldn’t give Jin an answer.
“So for sure it doesn’t match Jungkook?”
“The DNA does not match Jungkook’s,” he reiterated.
“Are there security cameras down here?” Jin asked, seemingly changing the subject abruptly.
“No, it wasn’t in the City’s budget, so there aren’t any cameras below the main floor. Why do you ask?”
“Do you think someone could have tampered with the evidence?”
“What, you think Jungkook…?”
“Yes.”
“No. I’ve been here all day, everyday since the Ambrosia murder, and I lock everything securely at night. Only I have the key to this place, so it’s not possible for anyone to get down here without my knowledge.”
“But this doesn’t make sense!” Jin exclaimed, throwing his arms up in the air. “You’ve always been very thorough with your autopsies. There’s no way you could have missed Taehyung’s hair. Someone must have planted it!”
“Well, Y/N was the one who found it. Do you think it was her?”
“Hoseok, do you think she is capable of producing semen.”
“Good point.”
Just then, a rookie police officer stepped out of the elevator. “Jin, we need you upstairs immediately.”
“What is it?”
“Someone confessed to the serial killings.”
Jin and Hoseok’s eyes widened.
“What?!”
“He’s in the interrogation room right now.”
Jin stared at the man in front of him, still shocked that, after months of dead ends and zero leads, someone was actually confessing.
“So… You killed Min Yoongi, Kang Hyojin, Park Jimin, and Jeon Jiah?”
The man leaned back in his chair. “Yup,” he answered with irritating nonchalance. “It was me. The one, the only, Kim Namjoon.”
“Okay, but why?” Jin asked, still confused. He was so sure it was Jungkook, yet here this man was, confessing to every single one of the murders, even with no evidence pointing toward him.
“It’s fun. I enjoy it. Seeing all the blood gush from their veins as the life leaves their bodies. It’s beautiful, almost romantic.”
The way he said it made Jin’s skin crawl.
You scoffed, seeing right through Namjoon’s lie. “So that’s it? Are we really going to just accept that?” You asked.
“Y/N, it’s a confession. There’s not much we can do about it, especially when there’s no evidence that points toward a real suspect.”
When Jin said that last part, his eyes flicked over to where Jungkook silently stood in the corner, seemingly staring into his soul.
Jungkook squirmed under the weight of his gaze.
I know he knows it was me. But he can’t prove it was me.
You roll your eyes. “Fine then, let’s get out of here and fill out all the paperwork we need for his arrest.”
Jin nodded and followed you out of the interrogation room. Jungkook remained behind.
He walked over the the table and circled it, studying Namjoon. “Why did you do it?” Jungkook asked him.
“I already explained why. I enjoy it.”
“No, I mean, why did you lie? You and I both know you didn’t kill them. So why say you did?”
“Why, for the fame of course. This serial killer is the talk of the country if you haven’t noticed. And I crave attention.”
“That’s disgusting.”
“So what if it is?” Namjoon narrowed his eyes. “How are you so sure I didn’t do it?”
Jungkook shot him a warning look.
“Nooo,” Namjoon breathed. “You? The detective? The City’s most praised detective is this country’s most notorious serial killer? Well I’ll be damned.”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“Oh, but you do. I can see it in your eyes, Detective Jeon. I can see the hunger, the bloodlust behind those dark irises. You’re not fooling me, Jeon. Hell, I’m surprised you’re fooling anyone. Seriously, no one else knows?”
Jungkook glanced out the glass paneled door to where you stood, talking about something with Jin.
“No, her? She knows?” A sinister grin spread across his lips. “You’re not fucking her are you?”
Jungkook shifted on his feet, which Namjoon noticed.
“You are! And you haven’t tried to kill her yet? That’s a dangerous game you’re playing, Kookie. It’s only a matter of time before you lose control. Such a sad, twisted love story.”
“It’s not a love story. We don’t love each other,” Jungkook corrected.
“Why would she lie for you, then? If not for love.”
“For ourselves.”
“Ah yes, yourselves. Humans are selfish creatures. That would only make sense.” Namjoon sneered.
Just then, through the glass in the door, Jungkook and Namjoon saw six police officers enter the precinct in uniform, here to haul Namjoon away.
“It looks like my time with you is up.” Namjoon feigned disappointment in his voice. “Maybe I’ll see you again soon. Have fun with your game, Jungkook.”
At that moment, the six officers stormed into the interrogation room, placing Namjoon in handcuffs and whisking him away.
Weeks passed and Namjoon underwent trial and indictment. The judge sentenced him to life in prison, which Namjoon seemed happy about. He held his head high and smiled proudly for the news reporters as he exited the courthouse, being escorted in handcuffs to an armored vehicle which would take him to his new permanent home.
Jungkook felt like he could finally breathe. With someone else behind bars, he felt like the suspicion was no longer on him, aside from the occasional sidelong glances from Jin that suggested he still thought Jungkook was guilty.
However, even with Namjoon behind bars, and even when Jungkook decided that he would take a break from the murders for a while, Jin still couldn’t let it go. Something in the back of his mind was still telling him that Jungkook was guilty. Sure, there hasn’t been a murder since Namjoon was locked up, but something still didn’t seem right. Why was that hair found on Jimin after Hoseok did the autopsy? Why did the semen sample not have a match after previously matching to Jungkook? Why were there so many things that just didn’t make sense?
On a slow day, he decided to pull Jungkook aside for some questioning. Not a formal investigation, but more of a boss-to-employee kind of talk.
“Hey,” Jin started, walking up next to you and Jungkook as you sipped your coffees in the kitchen. “What are you two up to?”
Jungkook shrugged. “Just waiting for a case to come in. Things have been slow ever since we put that serial killer behind bars.”
“Yeah,” you added. “Not much to do aside from the occasional missing child cases that just turn out to be some kid who decided to skip school for a day.” You pursed your lips and stared at your coffee.
“Jungkook, may I ask you some things in private?”
“All due respect, sir, but whatever you ask me you can ask in front of Y/N.”
Jin sighed. “Fine, but do you remember a few weeks ago when Hoseok found semen inside of one of the victims, and when he ran it, it matched you?”
“I thought that he ran it again and came up with nothing,” Jungkook pointed out.
“Right… It was a fluke.” Jin didn’t sound convinced. “But I just have to ask…” He hesitated, to which Jungkook raised an eyebrow. “Where were you on the night of Jiah’s murder?”
Jungkook slowly turned his head and locked eyes with you. After holding your gaze for a brief moment, he looked back at Jin and cleared his throat. “I was with Y/N.”
“Wow, way to expose me like that,” you grumbled and swatted his arm.
Jungkook winced and rubbed the spot you hit.
“Is that true?” Jin asked you.
You sighed. “Yes, I was with him that night,” you answered.
“So are you two, like… dating?”
“That’s really none of your business, Jin,” you quipped.
Jin grimaced. “I know, I was just curious.”
“I was with her for the rest of the murders, too, if you were curious.” He saw Jin squirm. “And if you’re still not satisfied, I have a camera installed in my driveway. If you go to the night that Jiah was murdered, you’ll see Y/N dropping me off at home.”
“Alright, alright. You don’t have to get so defensive. I’m a detective for god’s sake! It’s my job to ask questions!”
“That’s understandable,” Jungkook replied. “But considering I’ve been wrongly accused before, I felt like I needed to defend myself. Also, I think Y/N’s constant bad mood is starting to rub off on me.”
“Hey! I’m not in a bad mood! I’m just annoyed to be constantly surrounded by men every hour of everyday.”
Jungkook looked at Jin and shook his head, a gesture that said, “Don’t listen to her, she’s just being dramatic.”
Jin let out a nervous laugh. “Well, I best be going. Lots of case files to input into the system.” He nodded curtly before leaving, not wanting to get tangled in a quarrel between you and Jungkook.
Once he was gone, Jungkook turned toward you with an annoyed expression. “What was that all about?”
“What?” You asked, furrowing your brows in genuine confusion.
“You said you would be my alibi and then got all snappy when I said you were,” Jungkook answered.
You shrugged. “Just trying to make it more believable. You think I would just let you rat me out to our boss like that?”
“No, I guess not.”
Almost getting caught really put Jungkook on edge. Even months later, he still refrained from killing. He was okay with it for the most part. But, he missed going out and searching for victims. He missed the thrill of the chase and finally getting to fulfill his desires.
He didn’t particularly miss the sex though. Now, he had you to satiate him.
But the blood… The murder… Watching as the life left people’s bodies. That was a lust that couldn’t be sated by you.
“Everything alright, Jungkook?” You asked, noticing the vacant look in his eyes as you straddled him on your bed.
“Hm? Yeah, I’m fine.” He leaned forward to plant kisses on your neck.
You craned your neck back, giving him a better angle. “You want to be on top?”
Without answering he grabbed onto your waist and threw you onto the mattress, knocking the wind out of you.
As you tried to catch your breath, he continued kissing your neck. He started at your jaw, then moved down to your throat, pressing his lips softly against your skin until he reached the large vein that carried your pulse. He paused, able to feel it beating erratically beneath your skin.
That’s a dangerous game you’re playing, Kookie. It’s only a matter of time before you lose control.
He could hear Namjoon’s voice so clearly in his head, saying the words Jungkook had been trying so hard to block out over the last few months. He had been successful for a while, but now, all he could think about was that vein in your neck, all the blood rushing through it, circulating throughout the rest of your body, and how satisfying it would be to just slice it open, letting all of that rich, red blood spill free.
You noticed that you’d lost him again. “Jungkook, what’s wrong?” You searched his face for an answer.
“I’m sorry, I can't do this,” Jungkook said, pulling away from you abruptly.
“What do you mean?” You tilted your head to the side.
“I think I need to turn myself in.”
“What? Why?” You sat up and watched him as he threw on his jacket and shoes. “Where are you going?”
“To the police station.”
“Right now? After all I did to save your ass, you’re going to turn yourself in?”
“Y/N, I have to. Do you have any idea how hard it is for me not to kill you right now?”
“What? But you’re not even drunk!”
“I know… But lately… Ever since I stopped with the drunk murders…” He had trouble wording his thoughts. “I’ve been wanting them sober as well. It’s been too long. I need something.”
“Something…” You repeat, not satisfied with his vague answer.
“I can’t explain it! All I know is that right now, all I can focus on is the vein in your neck, and how much I want to cut it open and watch you bleed. I don’t have to be drunk to want to kill you anymore. And I’m scared that one day I will.”
“I don’t know, maybe murdering me wouldn’t be so bad.”
“This isn’t a time for jokes, Y/N.”
You sighed. “If you do turn yourself in, what happens to me? You used me as your alibi. If you go to jail, so do I.”
“I’ll think of something. Do you trust me?”
“No.”
“Well, you’re gonna have to.”
Without another word he turned around and walked out. Soon, he was gone.
Jungkook stormed into the precinct around midnight. Some police officers were still there, waiting for emergency calls, others were patrolling the streets for crime. Jin was nowhere in sight, probably gone home at this hour.
“Where’s Jin?” He yelled when he barged in.
“Jin went home a couple of hours ago,” one of the senior officers answered. “Is there anything I can help you with?”
“Yes, Officer Bang. Please call Jin and tell him to get his ass down here.”
Jin arrived at the station confused. Officer Bang had called him to tell him to come to the station without any further explanation other than the fact that it was urgent.
“What the hell is going on that you had to call me at midnight and tell me to come down here with no explana–” He stopped when he saw Jungkook. “Jungkook, what are you doing here?”
“Jin, may I speak to you privately?”
Jin opened his mouth to reply, but instead closed it and nodded. He then led Jungkook out of the main room and into one of the interrogation rooms.
“What’s up, Jungkook?” Jin asked as Jungkook closed the door behind him.
He knew that if he pondered on it longer, he might change his mind. So without hesitation he blurted out, “I did it.”
Jin leaned against the table, crossing his arms and raising an eyebrow. “Did what?”
“I killed Min Yoongi, Kang Hyojin, Park Jimin, and Jeon Jiah. It was me, not Namjoon.”
Jin gaped at Jungkook, not knowing how to respond. He always had a feeling it was Jungkook, and awaited the day he confessed, but now that he had, he couldn’t quite process it.
“You…?”
Jungkook took a deep breath. “Yes, me.”
“Why now?” Jin stood up straight and scrutinized with the detective.
“What?” He squirmed under the intensity of his boss’ stare.
Jin narrowed his eyes. “Why are you confessing now? After months? After an innocent man went to prison?”
“You make it sound like he was falsely accused. He turned himself in, he wanted to be arrested.”
Jin tongued his cheek, trying to decide what to do next. “So you really did it? You’re really confessing?”
“Yes.”
“Okay, that brings me back to my previous question: Why now?”
“For a long time, I wanted to stop with the killing, but I just couldn’t bring myself to. Not until a few months ago when I was almost caught. Then I was able to hold myself back, but lately I’ve been… I’m worried I’ll do it again.”
Jin nodded solemnly. “You know, I have no choice but to arrest you.”
“I know,” Jungkook casted his gaze down toward the ground.
“And, we’re going to have to hold you in the station’s cell until we can get a court date.”
“I’m a detective, Jin. I know how things work around here.”
Again, Jin nodded, his lips pressed into a straight line. “Just making sure you know what you’re getting yourself into.”
“Do I really have a choice at this point?”
“No, I suppose not.”
For the first time in his life, Jin was not happy that he was right.
Jungkook sat in the hard wooden chair in the courtroom, listening to the prosecutor drone on and on about his case. It was immensely uncomfortable, both on his ass and his back, and no matter which way he shifted, he experienced no relief. The fact that his hands were chained together didn’t help with his discomfort either. He spent most of the time zoning out and the rest of the time answering questions.
“Regarding the murder of Jeon Jiah, semen was found inside the victim, but no matches were found in the system. Are you saying that it was yours?” The prosecutor asked him.
“Yes,” Jungkook answered. “The reason there was no match was because I snuck into the lab and altered the results.”
“And what about your alibi? You said you were with Y/N for the night of that murder, as well as the others. Did she know about this and cover for you?”
He looked over to where you sat in the audience. “No, Y/N didn’t lie. She didn’t know about the murders. I always met up with her afterward, within the possible time of death timeframe, but I didn’t tell her where I was or what I did before. I used her as my alibi, but she didn��t know.”
“Mhm. And with Park Jimin, did you tamper with the evidence and plant Kim Taehyung’s hair on the body.”
Jungkook nodded. “Yes.”
The prosecutor nodded. “That will be all, your honor.” He bowed to the judge and took his seat.
“Do you, Jeon Jungkook, plead guilty to the murder of Min Yoongi on June 13th, 2020, Kang Hyojin on March 2nd, 2021, Park Jimin on July 8th, 2021, and Jeon Jiah on July 15th, 2021?” The judge asked.
“Yes, I, Jeon Jungkook, plead guilty to all of those murders,” Jungkook announced.
“I hereby sentence you to 85 years to life in prison, without bail and no opportunity for parole.”
Jungkook looked down at his chained wrists and nodded.
It’s what’s right. It’s what I deserve.
“Kim Namjoon shall be released in the next 24 hours, and I request that he undergoes a psychiatric evaluation. That will be all for today. Case closed.” The judge banged his gavel onto the sound block, signalling the end of the trial.
You followed close behind as the police officers escorted Jungkook out of the courtroom, aggressively pushing past the sea of news reporters shoving their camera in Jungkook’s downcasted face. You watched them shoving and yelling, trying to push their way to the front of the crowd to get the best photo of the City’s notorious serial killer. The real one this time. You lingered at the scene, a few feet away, as Jungkook was led into an armored van that belonged to the local penitentiary. He turned back before entering the vehicle, and gave you a reassuring smile, which was undoubtedly forced. You didn’t smile back, and when he saw that, you were met with a frown. You continued to watch as the van drove away, disappearing down the street, taking Jungkook away forever.
You never visited him, and he never called you. To this day you don’t even know if he’s still alive, or if he was killed in a prison fight or poisoned by some corrupt guard. Although, as famous as he became, you would assume it would be on the news if he passed.
Kim Namjoon was released within 24 hours of the trial, per the judge’s orders, and underwent a psychiatric evaluation. You don’t know what became of him after that, and honestly, you don’t care.
Thankfully, the commotion you had so feared, the very thing that drove you to lie for Jungkook’s sake, did not happen. There were no accusations of conspiracy within the precinct. The media and the citizens left you and Jin alone, without so much as a single whisper of corruption. But still, you left the precinct, unable to tolerate working with Kim Seokjin by yourself, and opened your own private detective agency. You were finally at peace, and hoped that all of your lies wouldn’t catch up to you one day.
Read about the Skyline Case here.
#jeon jungkook#jungkook smut#kkreationsnet#kreativenetwork#cmbnetwork#sonyeondannet#busanboysnet#kooknetwork#networkbangtan#bts#bangtan#mine#my writing#kookoo#armiesnet#bts writing squad#AFTER MORE THAN A MONTH SHES FINALLY FINISHED#also#did y'all catch that All Time Low reference lmao#shows I'm still emo trash
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A translated excerpt from a French Ojamajo Doremi fanfic.
As she prepares to cross the street, a gust of cold wind passes through the neighborhood. Suddenly, having been misplaced in her satchel, Dorémi's exercise file takes off from the bag and takes off in the air!
- MY EXOS !!! She yells.
And Dorémi begins to run after her file, which flies higher and higher in the sky. She jostles several people, jumps over several objects, and even crosses a street when the light is green, almost getting caught in a car. Dorémi runs, runs, runs, ... until the file falls into the garden of a house that looks sad and dark. Fortunately Dorémi has not lost sight of him. She decides to resume the file. Except that there is a small problem: the garden where the file is located is fenced, and closed by a gigantic iron gate. Dorémi has no choice, she will have to climb the portal if she wants to recover her file, even if it is prohibited by law. She climbs from one side to the other of the gate, and walks discreetly on tiptoe in the garden, to avoid being spotted. Dorémi is still a little scared. Her heart rate accelerates, and her stomach compresses her stomach by exerting overwhelming pressure. She still manages to retrieve her file and puts it back in her satchel. Then, she goes slowly towards the portal, and starts to climb it again, to pass on the other side. But while she is standing on the sidewalk, Dorémi stumbles, slides, and falls to the ground, tearing her jacket.
- Who is here ? Shouts an aged voice from the garden.
Dorémi alerted the owner of the house. She takes her legs to his neck, and leaves. But Dorémi does not know the neighborhood where she is at all. When she makes sure she is far enough from the house she has visited, she stops, then looks from left to right. She decides to go left.
After walking long enough, she arrives next to a highway exit, located in the far west of the city. Dorémi understands that she is lost, and tries to ask for help from motorists parked at a red light, to go to 98 Rosebud Street, where her house is located. Unfortunately, the first does not know where it is, the second speaks English, and the third takes Dorémi for a homeless man who asks for money and repackages it. Dorémi is on the verge of crying again, when a shady-looking old man approaches her.
- Well, my pretty one? Asked the old man. What are you doing by yourself? Do you want me to take you back to your house?
- But ... My mother told me not to get in the car of a stranger ...
Dorémi begins to back away, but the man follows her and gets closer and closer to her.
- But I know your mother. Trust me, come with me ...
But Dorémi still refuses to listen to the old man, who insists. Suddenly, as he prepares to remove it, the old man receives a powerful ray of energy in the back. Then, a bright flash forms on him, then, in an explosion of magic, he turns into a little rat. Dorémi is amazed. She had never seen such a thing!
- Can I know what you're doing here? A lady who stands before her answers him.
It was she who launched the spell that transformed the old pervert into a rat. She removes her hood, and shows her face. It is the witch Majorika, a very old lady of small size, with very pale skin, dressed entirely in black.
- It's not the kind of neighborhood where you should hang out, she continues. There are only men like this, over there.
- But, I ... I got lost! Responds Doremi. I've been asking for help for at least half an hour.
- Well let's see ... Where do you live?
- At 98 Rosebud Street.
- Well ... I'll look on my card! Then you get out of here before something horrible happens to you!
Majorika rummages in her satchel, but realizes that she doesn't have her card. She swears silently, then turns to Dorémi.
- Well ... I don't have my card. If you want to go home, you will have to follow me ...
- But ... I don't know you.
At this moment, Majorika approaches Dorémi and looks her straight in the eyes. Dorémi is afraid.
- Do I look dangerous? Majorika asked in a very dry tone. Dorémi does not answer.
- That's what I thought.
Dorémi, finally convinced by Majorika, decides to follow her. The witch puts on her hood, to avoid being noticed. Indeed, she knows very well what would happen to her if a human unmasked her. Dorémi was a little worried. Majorika scares him a little, both in appearance and in attitude. Besides, she wonders if she really is a witch. Her concern is confirmed when Majorika takes out a cigarette, puts it in her mouth, then snaps her fingers. As if by magic, the end of the cigarette ignites on its own.
- How did you do that? Ask Dorémi.
- What are you talking about ? Majorika responds by smoking her cigarette.
- Cigarette ! You lit it with your fingers! In fact, you would not be a ---
Just when Dorémi was about to finish her sentence, Majorika suddenly turns on her and shouts at him:
- Do not say it !!
Dorémi jumps immediately. Majorika glares at her for a few seconds, then she resumes walking. Dorémi continues to follow her, until she arrives at the house where she had picked up her file. In fact, this is where Majorika lives.
- Hey ! But I come from there! Exclaims Dorémi.
- Yeah. As long as we talk about it, I saw you climb my gate earlier, Majorika replies, pushing the gate. If you want to avoid trouble, never do it again.
Dorémi begins seriously to wonder if Majorika had not followed her for all this time. She swallows her saliva, then stops in front of the front door. Majorika takes out her keys, then finds the one that will allow her to unlock her door. Then she turns the key in the lock, and enters the building, followed by Dorémi.
- Here ! Welcome to my shop!
- You ... what are you selling?
- Lucky objects ... It serves me as a livelihood ...
While Majorika starts rummaging through a chest of drawers to find her card, Dorémi inspects the various items sold in the shop. For a moment, she finds a display case in which several lucky necklaces are presented.
- How much do you sell them for, your necklaces?
- My necklaces? It is 300 yen piece.
Majorika continues to look for her card in the dresser. Suddenly, she accidentally drops a stick on the ground. Dorémi has barely had time to notice it, before Majorika quickly takes back this object to hide it. It looked like ... a witch wand. Dorémi has fewer and fewer doubts, which makes her more and more panicked. First there is a big void in her chest, followed by more and more beating, and she starts to have a stomach ache. Majorika turns around and sees Dorémi frightened and frozen on the spot.
- What do you have ? She asks. You're pale!
- Your way of looking at me is weird, ma'am, replies Dorémi, stuttering. You look like you're scared of me ...
- Afraid of you ? What are you talking about ?
- When I came to pick up my file ... Did you feel me coming?
- No why ?
One of my books on witches said that they hated children, and felt them coming from far away ...
Majorika in turn turned pale, amazed at the idea that a simple human being so young could be aware of the existence of witches.
- But ... Who told you such nonsense?
- Your outfit ... You are completely dressed in black. The hooded dress, the gloves, the high-heeled shoes!
In front of Dorémi who seems to be completely sure of herself, Majorika becomes more and more nervous.
- Do you want the name of your street, or are you wasting my time?
- Your face...
- What's wrong with my face?
-He is very pale and wrinkled! You have a pointed nose and ears! You have bright red eyes!
- You too have red eyes, I would have you say!
- But then, you're ...
This time, Dorémi understood. The lady she's been following for a while IS a witch. But how is it possible? Dorémi knows, however, that witches do not exist. At least, that's what she believes. Majorika, she knows what awaits her.
- No ... Don't say it, implores Majorika very panicked. I forbid you to say it!
- Yes, I'm sure! You are ... You are ...
The poor witch leaps in terror.
- NO !!! Don't say it!
And comes what Majorika feared so much. Dorémi points at her, and yells aloud:
- You are a witch !!
Immediately after this sentence, Majorika begins to twist in pain, and suddenly, she starts to shine harder and harder. Indeed, the poor witch started a slow transformation. Her face is distorted, and Majorika desperately tries to hide it. No matter how much she tries to speak, nothing helps, her transformation is far too advanced for her speech to be understandable. Soon, Majorika is nothing more than a blinding source of light. Dorémi doesn't understand what's going on. She is terrorized, and sticks against a wall, and utters a huge cry of terror. And all of a sudden, the flash that had taken Majorika's place suddenly shrinks, and a deposit of slimy green slime crashes on the ground. Dorémi had not yet had enough time to realize what she had done. Frightened, she approaches very slowly the sticky mud. For a few seconds, Dorémi felt like she had accidentally killed someone, and died of worry. Sure, she'll probably be spotted, then thrown in prison ... But right when she's about to touch her, lumps start to form on the sticky mass, and then a ball begins to grow In the center. Finally, the slimy mass takes the form of a small talking frog. This frog has a head that is disproportionate to the rest of its body, a very large mouth, four small stumps in place of its arms and legs, and a fluorescent green skin. It's Majorika. Because of Dorémi, the curse of the frogs fell on her. It also takes a while for her to understand.
- But ... What ... What happened to me? I became a frog ??
Majorika then turns to Dorémi, and looks at her with a disappointed look. Nothing happens for a few seconds. And suddenly, Majorika gets upset and throws herself on Dorémi.
- You little idiot !! She cries. Did you see what you did?
- But ... I couldn't know, answers Dorémi.
- You could not have known ? Well, now you know it! When you point the finger at a witch and say it out loud: "You are a witch !!”, She turns into a frog! And how do I do now, knowing that there is no way to regain my normal appearance? TELL ME !
Dorémi no longer dares to respond to Majorika's spectacular fit of rage. She swallows again. Majorika then hops to her counter.
- Pfff ... Well done, huh! Good game ! groan Majorika.
The witch transformed into a frog grabs a glass and a bottle of Jack Daniel's. She tries as best she can to get herself a full glass, but with the little sausages that serve her as arms, all she can do is spill her whiskey next to it. In an excess of anger, she throws her bottle against a wall. On impact, the bottle of Jack Daniel's bursts. And it is only then that Majorika realizes that she is getting upset for nothing. She breathes heavily to try to calm down. Dorémi is still glued to the back of the store.
- Are you sure there is no way? She asks.
- Actually, yes. There is a way. Since you are the only one who can return me to my normal shape, I have no other choice than to make you my apprentice witch.
- Does that mean I'm going to become ... a witch?
- Yes.
To Majorika's surprise, Dorémi sketches a big smile and is very happy.
- But it's my dream come true! I love the world of witches! I only have books on it! I begin when ! Please, please, please?
- Wait, wait! Calm your joy ... You must first know one thing: being a witch is much more complicated than you think. Already, there is a regulation to be respected, like the law in humans. Here, read this.
Majorika takes out a huge book from one of her cupboards, then hands it to Dorémi. But the latter does not want to waste hours reading a brick of a thousand pages, she much prefers to get straight to the point, that is to say to cast spells. But in order not to upset Majorika further, Dorémi still pretends to read it for a few seconds, then swings the book on the ground.
- Here, I read!
- Are you kidding me ? You didn't even take five seconds!
- And ... would I have my own outfit and my own wand, too?
- Yes ... But for that, you have to follow me in the garden. You come ?
- Yes I'm coming !
Dorémi follows her new mentor in the garden. She is so happy because even if it was her dream, she did not hope to be offered to become a witch. In a few minutes, something that will change his life forever will happen ...
- Uhh ... Can I give someone a call first?
#ojamajo doremi#The fanfic is only available to AOT3 members#which is why I joined#It's also pretty dark#Majorika swears a lot here
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300 Followers Celebration!!
You guys, I finally made it to 300 followers!!! Granted it was last night and is now 304, but I decided to wait to post since it was so late that way people would have a better chance to see it. I can’t believe it honestly! This is just so amazing and I am just so thankful and appreciative of all of you lovelies!!! Seriously, thank you so so much, all of you. This really means a lot to me that all of you guys, in some form or another actually want to witness my nonsense.
So to celebrate this milestone, I’m doing another challenge. The catch is, that instead of like before where you got prompts for yourselves, you all get to choose prompts that you want me to write. I love writing, and I don’t post my works nearly enough, so this seems like a win-win for everybody! :)
Instructions/Rules below:
1. Choose a ship (I’ll list some ships, feel free to suggest a new one if you don’t like the options. Ask box is always open and working so there shouldn’t be any issues with that if so let me know.)
2. Choose a phrase or an item that must be included (I’ll list some phrases, feel free to suggest a different one if you don’t like the options. Also if you’d prefer an item instead of a phrase then go ahead and just choose what you want to be included, I’m not sure what kind of items to list so that’s why I’m leaving it up to you.)
3. Start and end dates (Obviously, the challenge starts today- 10/2/17 and will continue anywhere from 2 days - 2 weeks, depending on how many fic requests I get, so for a listed official end date lets say- 10/16/17)
4. Fandom (Yes, it’s set in the Supernatural fandom again. Apologies to all of my fellow Harry Potter peeps, I promise you, next time you will get your own challenge.)
5. Asks (For each request you can only choose 1 ship and 1 phrase/item. However, if you’d like to, you are allowed to send in more than one request.)
6. Timezones (Don’t worry about sending it in too late/early in the day, I will write and respond as soon as I see it and will post as soon as I can.)
You don’t necessarily have to be following me, but since it is a Follower Celebration after all, it would be much appreciated if you were!
Ships
Dean/Castiel
Sam/Gabriel
Meg/Castiel
Sam/Lucifer (I’d be using Nick for the vessel of course)
Sam/Castiel
Dean/Jo
Dean/Lisa
(Any character with the reader)
(Any other ships you’d prefer)
Phrases
Half the names on the list had already been crossed off.
There was a strange wailing sound coming from the next room.
He/she suddenly realized he/she might be alone for the rest of his/her life.
The old house, with its wildly overgrown garden, was silent, secretive...
He/she had an hour to get home, if he/she didn’t make it...
He/she looked at his/her phone, turned red, then quickly left the room. He/she watched him, smiling.
He/she was stunned- the stranger in front of him/her looked exactly like the guy/girl that he/she had been dreaming about...
Was it a knock that had woken him/her? The house didn’t feel the same anymore.
They couldn’t be allowed to fight. He/she had to think of a way to stop it...
As soon as he/she walked in, he/she felt the tension.
The entrance to the tunnel was his/her only way out...
He/she had no intention of choosing sides until he/she was sure who was going to win.
He/she hadn’t meant to scare the child.
He/she couldn’t believe it. Could it really be him/her?
He/she decided to go to his/her fathers grave, to ask his advice.
Thank you in advance to everyone who decides to participate. I think this will be really fun. Also, I forgot to specify, these will more or less be oneshots.
P.s. Sorry about not posting this until after 3pm, so much for trying to get it out earlier lol.
Tags: @gcdcflies @lady-winchester-666 @hiykyt @adam-isstillinhell @generouslyimportanttrash @thatsherlockianfangirl @the-julienne-ihnat @tatachot @cumbercookie-221b @madsmeetsmisha @yerahizardwarry @yaya-345 @drakkie-blog @bunny123cat @sicksicker @gaia4life @dreamsofacosmicstargazer @teenagefashion-posts @writerspassion18 @szechuansaucee @therealfrancy002 @youngeditor1999 @wayward--dragon @jokerspuddincup @celestialangelcastiel @superwholockinibbal @sariel-thearchangel @your-lee-stuff @destiel-sabriel-shit @thelifeofabugheadfangirl @bunnysneverdie @madeformyself @i-m-p-a-l-a-6-7 @flaming-celestial-comet @werewolf202 @it-happened-one-starry-night @takeawalkoffmyknife @nerdsteadfaststark @dreamyeyedwitch @darling-im-not-okay-i-promise @shipqueen-of-the-otps @ambersbabydoll @alex-has-no-friends @redlipstickandthewinchesters @a-high-functioning-boggart @bewaremyducky @gerardwaysglabella @theklynnsmith @casdean91 @let-the-music-litf-you-up @notthelosechesterskaz @well-itsbeenfun @kevindaysghostbutt @nxstxlgxa @bestieswithmydarkthoughts @callionimi @morbid-apricots @394-fandoms-and-bandoms @midnightsilver16830 @ask-realrosetyler @novaursa @deanwinchesterdemonhunter1 @omgballenitablr @reaperlove77 @ravenclaw-poem @anotherwaywardsister @nah-she-did-not @free-bouquet-wasteland @bombaluv96 @thegreatbobbinski @huski-and-mitch @karaphernelia- @andromeda-galaxy35 @zooeyguitarsandicecream @samuleter @fandom-bandom-shite @alloftheimagines @lucifersdaugther @billionsofpeoplebutyoupickedme @rridgley @stoicalmelancholy @books-and-hunters-for-life @vangsam @helladeviousangelofthelord @magicalmess93 @i-cant-stop-shipping @jazminek3 @percussiongirl2017 @maadiissun @feeonnathehuman @castiel-savvy18 @bitch-and-jerk-winchester @sociopathicsockeye @rebelangel67 @undead-obsessive-shipper @seriouslyobsessedwithspn @dorchaeagla @bonniebird @sadwriterdude @whalesloveyou @maddybeck01 @nostarhighway @asksiriuslyfuzzywuzzy @sherrybaby14 @thwinchestrs @shadyladyperfection @top-cas-bottom-dean @winchestergabriella @frownyfacecas @overcastmisfitkid @family-business-forever @gabe-and-moose @mega-jensen-ackles-blog @macaroni-and-bitch @supernatural-idjit-95 @hellacuteangelofthelord @atlascorgi @tiazx @sapphictaurus @quicksilver123456 @vesseltryingtosurvive @fandoms-can-kill @hellaprophetofthetablets @impartialsparkle @waywardswain @i-am-eurus-holmes @waywardimpalawriter @nightmareangeluniverse @ravenangel33 @superwholockpotterhead104 @factory-giirl @fan-fangirl-world @trisharenee4 @thecolonelslady @pythondom @boldbiscuit @justawinchestersoul @dem-gabriel-tho @louellaanthony @miguelthebat @calmandsenseparent @jeffreyfuckingdeanmorgan @calisthenicsfit @an-soa-type @asknimesh @peblezq @winchesterprincessbride @astaine @abbygalev @olivethefantabulous @freddywashere @tesw0505 @zealous-riverdale @blogismylife @solongandhowaboutno @furstinnajoelle @ladylorelitany @mayflame15 @rabbitclaw @ryleeroseb4 @kat-of-letters @wolfman6837 @candid-creativity @profoundlydeepconsciousness @babygirl-drey @angelus-grace @dingusreedus @justcallmecinammon @thatonehuffledor @naughtyneganjdm @safehaven1097 @grungegrrrlxo @thewomaninblack20 @abnormal-angel @hoqwaarts @pwheezy420 @sammy-moo @gryffindork-thunderbitch @fandomnationwhore @sferat-e-dragoit @niktav @megan-hufflepuff @travellerdean @theequestrianidiot @heck-is-a-swear-word @bohowitch @skaistrange @empresspenguin78 @attorneyl @goldenolaf25 @theslytherinhighlady @hugcastiel @thecrazycatfish @likesiriusly @takemetoneverlandandteachmetofly @spnfeelstrain @lessons-of-red @ruprecht0420 @deanandsamsbitch @brandyleewhatever @sgarrett49 @wonderange @devilsnevercry1388 @illyria666 @soafanficluvr1 @corazongoldberg @thewalkingdeadrises @muddin-till-the-end @doro7winchester @grand-optimistt @linosaur @chelsea072498 @onceuponadestiel @puddin-i-cant-swim @supernaturalfaanzz @chloeinzinga @pastel-nihilist @therealdeanwinchester13 @tacos-and-trenchcoats @im-super-potter-locked @oldmattjostensbutt @ashzombie13 @goldenangelbloodcastiel @quixoticcat @nogoodending @small-town-wayward-daughter @keikoraventeller @fallenhuntersx @knowles-morgan @wetherebelskies @dean-holmes-of-gallifrey @ask-reggie-black @quxxnofhxll @sinuhmyn-apple @stitchattacks @tardis-23 @lostmyothershoe-itsoksammy @idonthavehusbandsihavelovers @gabrieltrash @the-rob-and-rich-fan @alice-bennette @loveihavenoideawhatisthislove @rainygalaxynerd @the-walking-deadimagines @newt-scamander-niffler @princess-of-erebor1992 @mishacollinsmyunicorn @the-tumbl-down @dragon-dorito @s-txph @cheescake0306 @always-perplexed @beckawinchester @harleyquinndolll @mylittlewingedangel @live-for-me-puddin @negansrighthandgirl @traceyaudette @meg-wayward-af @marcilinemadness2020 @byrd-of-the-stars @mrsfangs @blackwitchsaturn @adommylover722 @ladyslice @pokemon-sorceress @livelovelike555 @my-name-is-alice-ayers @dont-hate-relate-pls @stylefashion87 @monarchmish @magicalxme @mamaredd123 @void-froy @travelout @worldofcosmeticsblog @authorgiankumar @fruitloopinthebowlofcheerios And anybody else that I may have forgotten since tumblr was being dumb.
#300 Followers!!#Milestone#Celebration#Woo!!#Send in some requests!#Let's do this#300#Wow#Go me!#Bring it on#Followers Celebration#<33
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In tears, 80-year-old Mama Abiri undressed. Before strangers, family, and friends alike, Mama clasped her frail breasts, and cried inconsolably, naked. With emotions only a mother could express, Mama cried in the native Ijaw language of the Niger Delta creeks. Mama was calling on Nigeria’s President, Muhammadu Buhari, to feel her pain and hear her plea.
“Please, I am begging. Please, pity me. Anyone that is holding my son, please release him for me,” Mama cried. “I gave birth to him. I breastfed him. I know my son. He is not a militant. He is not a criminal. He is a journalist.”
For almost two years, Jones Abiri has not been seen nor heard from. Married with a wife and five children, Jones would have celebrated his 50th birthday on June 4 this year. Jones was a 300-Level student aspiring for his first degree in Law from the National Open University of Nigeria. All that is in the past.
Now, Mr Abiri remains in a state of forced disappearance as the State Security Service (SSS), Nigeria’s secret police, has detained him for over 700 days without trial, and without access to his family, lawyers, and doctors. Under international human rights law, a person is a victim of (en)forced disappearance if detained by state authorities or a third party with the authorisation of the state, followed by a refusal to acknowledge the person’s whereabouts and condition in a bid to deny the victim the protection of the law.
The Arrest
On July 21, 2016, a dozen heavily-armed agents of the self-styled Department of State Services arrested Mr Abiri, the publisher of Weekly Source newspaper, outside his office at 288 Chief Melford Okilo Expressway, Yenagoa, Bayelsa State. Eyewitnesses said the SSS agents, who came in three cars, did not read him his rights and did not produce a warrant before handcuffing him, raiding his office, and taking him into custody.
“Some men wearing black came to where we were and asked if he was Jones,” Garba Suleiman, a local provision store vendor who witnessed the arrest said in pidgin English.
“He said yes, and they grabbed him, handcuffed him, and took him. Nobody knew why.”
John Angese, the chairman of the Nigeria Union of Journalists in Bayelsa State, in an interview in March recalled how at gunpoint the SSS threatened everyone, including journalists, not to cross a parameter line. The SSS spent hours searching Mr Abiri’s office before carting away his computer and documents, sealing his office, and taking him handcuffed into custody.
“I was personally there when he was taken away. I tried to ask what was the problem but I was rebuffed with their guns. I was threatened to be shot if I went any closer. Everybody was scared,” Mr Angese recalled.
Two days after his arrest, the SSS on July 23, 2016 released a statement alleging Mr Abiri is a militant named General Akotebe Darikoro, operating under the nom-de-guerre, General Kill and Bury, the leader of the Joint Niger Delta Liberation Force, “which has been furthering separatist tendencies in connivance with other criminal gangs in the Niger Delta region”.
Ziboimo Abiri Jones
Abiri’s wife
The SSS said the detainee “confessed and owned up” to vandalising and bombing oil pipelines belonging to international oil companies Agip and Shell in early July 2016, sending threat messages to management of both oil companies demanding a total of N750 million payment, threatening to launch missile attacks against the Presidential Villa and selected targets in Abuja, and masterminding the rumour in 2016 that the military was planning a coup against President Muhammadu Buhari.
Weekly Source, a local tabloid which operated by mostly sourcing and publishing critical stories of the government culled from online and national newspapers, had in its last edition dated July 10, 2016 published as its lead a story originally published by the online pointblanknews.com titled “Rumble In The Military: Inside The Coup Plot Story… Militants’ Warning Alters Plot.”
The story elaborated an alleged conspiracy that top military officers working with politicians had approached the Joint Niger Delta Liberation Force (JNDLF) militant group to intensify bombing pipelines as a justification to overthrow President Buhari. The military denied the allegations.
Weekly Source in the same edition published another story sourced from pointblanknews.com on how President Buhari’s loyalists, including the Director-General of the SSS, were blocking investigations into an oil and gas company implicated by the anti-graft Economic and Financial Crimes Commission (EFCC) in siphoning billions of dollars in fraudulent oil deals. The story claimed that the company donated heavily towards President Buhari’s 2015 presidential campaign through the loyalists.
Jackson Ude, the publisher of pointblanknews.com based in the U.S., in an interview in 2016 said he had received threats, from proxies of the SSS, asking him to pull down stories from his website which local based journalists like Mr Abiri were re-publishing in their newspapers and tabloids. He said he had been warned of possible arrest whenever he came to Nigeria.
The ‘Confession’
In August 2016, Mr Abiri’s family filed a fundamental rights enforcement lawsuit against the SSS, asking the Bayelsa State High Court to declare his arrest and continued detention without trial unconstitutional, unlawful, illegal, null and void, and order the SSS to release him on bail, and direct the SSS to open Weekly Source newspaper’s office.
The SSS in response tendered as its only evidence in court a confessional statement allegedly written and signed by Mr Abiri on the same day of his arrest, admitting to “being the founder, co-ordinator and spokesperson” of the militant group and “directing his foot soldiers (still at large) to carry out bombings of oil pipelines” and blackmailing oil companies for money with threats of further bombings.
Mother o Abiri Jones
On September 7, 2016, a Bayelsa State high court judge, Nayai Aganaba, ordered the SSS to reopen Weekly Source newspaper’s office but ruled that the SSS arrest and continued detention of Mr Abiri, then almost two months, was lawful. The ruling effectively gave legal backing for the SSS to continue detaining him without charge for almost two years and without access to his family, lawyers and doctors.
“The offence of terrorism and related offences for which [Mr Abiri] was arrested and detained is a capital offence by virtue of Section 1 (2) under paragraph (h) of the Terrorism Prevention Amendment Act 2013 and by virtue of Section 35 (7) of the 1999 Constitution, the arrest and detention of [Mr Abiri] by the [SSS] is therefore not unlawful,” Mr Aganaba ruled.
The SSS also swore on oath that the “seeming delay in charging [him] to court” was due to “ongoing efforts to arrest other members of the militant group” as well as results of “scientific analysis of evidence” still been awaited. The SSS promised “to ensure an expedited conclusion of investigation on the case and to charge [him] and his accomplices to court without undue delay”.
It is almost two years and Mr Abiri, a husband, father of five children, and breadwinner for his family including an 80-year-old mother and several siblings, has not been charged to court.
In the past two years, the SSS has rebuffed all efforts by Mr Abiri’s family, lawyers, journalists and civil society actors to get any information on him.
In June, during the International Press Institute World Congress held in Abuja, Garba Shehu, spokesperson to President Buhari, sold to the world that Mr Abiri is not a journalist but a militant who remains a “guest of [the SSS] because of his alleged criminal activities.” The Information minister, Lai Mohammed, also echoed a similar claim.
John Angese NUJ Chairman Bayelsa State
Nigerian authorities also declined to allow Mr Abiri’s wife and son who travelled from Bayelsa State to Abuja access to see him in SSS captivity.
In the past two years, the family relocated from Yenagoa, Bayelsa State capital, to the village in the Southern Ijaw local government creeks where they barely survive on petty farming and handouts. In the past two years, his children also dropped out and have not gone back to school due to the family’s inability to pay school fees.
In the past two years, his younger brother, Ebikesayi Abiri, died from fire burns he sustained in 2017 after he involved himself for the first time in illegal oil bunkering which his family said was in a bid to raise money to pay among other things legal costs and other bills associated with getting Mr Abiri released. Ebikesayi left behind a widow and two children, one of whom was born the same day he died.
Curiously, in the past two years, the SSS and Nigerian authorities have also kept hidden from the public and refused to act on vital information relating to members and financiers of the Joint Niger Delta Liberation Force militant group, according to Mr Abiri’s alleged confessional statement dated July 21, 2016 in court records.
“The only person that has funded the group to the best of my knowledge is the former commissioner of Ijaw National Affairs, Dr Felix Tuodolo, who gave us the sum of N500, 000 through Sele Dise sometime between 1st and 15th June 2016,” Mr Abiri allegedly wrote in his confessional statement. “Sele told me that the commissioner called him on phone and gave him the money to support the group.”
Mr Tuodolo is at present the Special Adviser on Ijaw national affairs to Seriake Dickson, the governor of the oil-rich Bayelsa State. The former state commissioner is well known as a human rights activist and the founding president of the influential Ijaw Youth Council which was set up at the twilight of Nigerian military dictatorship to coordinate the Ijaw people’s struggle for self-determination and greater control of vast oil and gas resources in the Niger Delta region.
Mr Tuodolo was influential in stemming the tide of militancy in the 2000s by advocating for the government to grant amnesty to known militant warlords and their camps in a Disarmament, Demobilisation and Reintegration programme in exchange for assurances of a stop to the destruction of oil installations. The militants who ostensibly repented and surrendered their arms were given huge government contracts, placed on regular stipend running into billions of naira yearly, and sponsored around the world for training in diverse skills acquisition and education programmes.
Mr Abiri in his alleged confessional statement mentioned Sele Dise, Ebi John, Justice Tare and Ebi-Ladei as other members of the JNDLF militant group. Independent findings during this investigation, including obtaining communication exchanges between Mr Abiri and an individual believed to be Sele Dise, revealed both had been friends prior to Mr Abiri’s arrest in July 2016.
“Sometime February this year 2016, Mr Sele Dise came to my office with the idea that let us form the organisation. I don’t know what they [other members] do for a living but I know Sele is a 200-Level student of Public Administration in Niger Delta University [Bayelsa State],” the statement read.
When contacted, Mr Tuodolo said he was only aware from media reports that Mr Abiri is a journalist but that he does not know him personally nor the details of his arrest. He said as a prominent Ijaw leader, he often renders financial assistance to his kinsmen who regularly solicit his help to pay school fees, house rent, and other financial support, but not to fund militant activities.
Mr Tuodolo expressed shock over Mr Abiri’s alleged confessional statement linking him as a financier of the Joint Niger Delta Liberation Force militant group.
“I don’t even know Jones Abiri. This is the first time I am hearing about this that Jones Abiri made a statement involving my name. That sounds strange to me,” he said in a telephone call in June this year. “And if indeed he made such statement, why hasn’t the SSS come to question me about it? I have never been invited.”
Mr Tuodolo’s claim has not been independently verified as efforts to get the SSS to react to Mr Abiri’s case and other instances of human rights violations, including indefinite detentions, torture, and extra-judicial killings, have repeatedly been ignored over the years.
Since 2015, the agency has been operating without a physically identifiable spokesperson or official contact to interface and respond to information requests from the public and the media. Press statements distributed by the SSS cite as its spokesperson one Tony Opuiyo, a fictitious character whom no one has met, several journalists who cover the defence and security beat have said. The journalists complained that during parades of crime suspects, the SSS does not permit them to ask questions and many times hinder their reporting factually through intimidation and threat of arrests.
“The way the SSS operates now is we can’t ask for information and get it. There is no spokesperson, no one to make enquiries on behalf of the public who we are reporting for. No one to hold accountable. It is serious. Even in court, many of the cases, they disturb us from covering,” said one journalist during an informal chat during this investigation.
Ayebaitari Easterday, the chairman of newspaper publishers in the state, in March said Mr Abiri whom he had known for over 20 years as a law-abiding citizen was on medication for an undisclosed ailment at the time of his arrest. He said the liability of responsibility lies on the SSS to disprove rumours of his death.
“I don’t want to believe Jones is dead because you can only believe what you’ve seen and what you know is true,” said Mr Easterday. “The SSS should declare the condition of Jones Abiri, where he is right now, what is the state of his health, and why they have refused to prosecute him over the years. Something should be told to the public. We are curious. We want to know. And we have a right to know.”
Ex-SSS Detainee Narrates Experience
Comrade (name withheld), a Niger Delta Ijaw activist whose identity is being protected for his safety, said he met Mr Abiri in SSS custody while detained for nearly two years on allegations of being a militant. Comrade said that before his release in 2017, he was detained with over 50 Ijaw and Niger Delta youth, numerous Boko Haram suspects and members of the Independent People of Biafra (IPOB) secessionist group, who were all routinely tortured at the SSS Headquarters in Nigeria’s capital, Abuja.
“We were all together for over one year so we knew ourselves. I was in New Depot detention facility while Jones was in Old Depot. I remember one particular day Jones was shouting: “They wan go beat me again. They wan go beat me again.” It pained me so much I cried,” Comrade said.
Early 2016, the government declared an influential ex-Niger Delta militant commander, Government Ekpemupolo, popularly called Tompolo, wanted. The anti-graft agency, EFCC, froze his bank accounts, and began an unsuccessful manhunt for the former warlord after he refused to appear before a court to answer corruption charges over contracts obtained from the previous government of President Goodluck Jonathan.
His supporters alleged a ploy by the government to arrest and indefinitely detain the former warlord seen by many as a very influential folk hero in the Niger Delta. They cited with examples several ongoing cases where the SSS continues to refuse to obey Nigerian and international court orders granting the release on bail to several high-profile suspects in SSS custody.
Militant groups responded to the government’s clamp down with renewed bombings of oil installations. Security agencies, in an unsuccessful bid to flush him out, arrested scores of Niger Delta activists and youth perceived as sympathetic to the former militant leader.
Comrade said Mr Abiri told him he was set up by powerful people who capitalised on the government’s clampdown in the Niger Delta to punish him for publishing a story that exposed how their company, which was a local contractor to Agip [international oil company], failed to fulfil its corporate social responsibility to oil-producing host communities.
“His article led Agip to find out that their company was shortchanging the communities and this caused problems for them. They were angry and then petitioned the security agencies that Jones is the media handler to militant groups and that was how he was picked up,” Comrade said Mr Abiri told him.
SSS ‘Above The Law’
Comrade said suspects in SSS custody were habitually tortured. In tears, he narrated how the SSS at different times used beating, electrocution, and exposure of radiation to his testicles to force him to confess being a militant. Comrade quoted his case officer as once telling him “the DSS is above the laws of the land. DSS only listens to the instruction of Mr President. Anything short of that, including court orders, you are just wasting your time.”
Femi Falana, a foremost human rights lawyer, wrote an open letter to President Buhari in December 2017 asking him to end the illegal arrest and detention without legal justification of Nigerians and foreigners by security agencies, especially the SSS, which he described an embarrassment to the country by its continued violation of the Nigerian constitution, the African Charter on Human and Peoples Rights Act, and the Nigerian Administration of Criminal Justice Act.
“From the information at our disposal, the DSS has detained several Nigerians and foreigners to settle personal scores,” Mr Falana said to President Buhari. “Others have been arrested and detained by the DSS on the suspicion that they have committed criminal offences, a matter that is within the purview of the Police and the anti-graft agencies. To compound the illegality of such arrest and detention, the orders made by competent courts of law directing the DSS to either release or produce detainees in court have been treated with contempt.”
In the past three years since President Buhari appointed Lawal Daura, his kinsman from Katsina State, as SSS director general, the agency’s mode of operations has been reminiscent of past Nigerian military dictatorships, which created the organisation and deployed it with impunity to intimidate, indefinitely detain without charge, and habitually torture individuals, including journalists, activists, and political figures, deemed critical of the military government.
Under Mr Buhari’s rule as military Head of State in the 80s, the SSS, then known as the National Security Organisation, became an agency of repression and a crack violator of human rights. Mr Buhari promulgated and implemented several laws, including Decree 2 which granted the SSS arbitrary powers to indefinitely detain any person without charges, and Decree 4 which provided imprisonment to any person who published any information deemed false or ridiculed his government.
Leading to the 2015 general elections, the SSS under former President Jonathan had become politically partisan, targeting journalists, activists and political opponents, including Mr Buhari and his political party. Mr Buhari while campaigning said he had become a reformed democrat and, if elected, promised to uphold the rule of law, respect fundamental rights, and ensure access to justice for all Nigerians.
Yet, in the past three years, the SSS has been heavily criticised for operating with utmost secrecy, crass impunity, and total disregard for the rule of law, including serially disobeying court orders and violating federal laws in lopsided recruitment to favour people from President Buhari’s part of Nigeria.
Mr Abiri’s ordeal as a persecuted journalist represents possibly hundreds of people detained and tortured across all the offices of the SSS in Nigeria’s 36 States and the federal capital Abuja. Mr Falana, in an interview in June 2018, said Nigeria’s terrorism law is being abused by the SSS to violate Mr Abiri’s and other citizens’ rights to personal liberty and fair hearing in a competent court within a reasonable time.
“Subject to obtaining a court order, section 27 of the Terrorism Act permits a detention for 90 days which, subject to review, can be renewed once for another period of 90 days. Afterwards you have to release the suspect. Either conditionally or unconditionally, you grant the suspect bail,” Mr Falana said.
A global advocacy effort from the media, Nigerian and international human rights defenders, civil society, and social impact groups calling for Mr Abiri’s release is mounting. The Ondewari Health, Education and Environmental Project, a civil society group working in the Niger Delta creeks, took the lead in March by gathering signatures from several Ijaw communities which was sent to local and international human rights organisations as an appeal calling on the international community to intervene on the detainee’s plight.
On a visit into Bayelsa State’s creeks, several youth and elders from different Ijaw communities refuted the government’s allegation that the detainee is a militant. In a show of solidarity with the Abiri family, community members gathered to sign OHEEP’s petition as a single voice echoing their growing frustration and anger with the government. Resonating loudest among the pleas directed at President Buhari were those of Mr Abiri’s children calling for the release of their father.
“My father is a journalist. All the allegations against my father that he is a militant are lies,” said 16-year-old Abadeifa Abiri Jones, with eyes red and swollen from flowing tears. “He did not do anything and he does not know anything. The government should release my father unconditionally.”
SPECIAL REPORT: How Buhari’s govt detained Nigerian journalist for two years without trial In tears, 80-year-old Mama Abiri undressed. Before strangers, family, and friends alike, Mama clasped her frail breasts, and cried inconsolably, naked.
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Movies to watch
-virtigo
-green room
-gangs of new york
-drive
-the master
-interstellar
-django unchained
-cannibal holocaust
-audition
-apocalypse now
-natural born killers
-gummo
-300
-gladiator
-phantom of liberty
-enter the void
-tree of life
-8 and a half
-the mirror
-resevoiur dogs
-mishima
-slaugter house 5
-the sweet here after
-inside luan davis
-dead of night
-before the ring
-basic
-last year at mariumba
-go
-mr nobody
-hero
-j f k
-rashmon
-5 by 2
-eternal sunshine
-irreversible
-memento
-peppermint candy
-casino
-melancholia
-eve
-good fellas
-citizen kane
-amande chord
-nashville
-short cuts
-babble
-21 grams
- paris jai taime
-AJAMI
-the godfather
-the fountain
-the atlas
-dias de gracias
-intolerence
-woyoming for men
-before sunset
-Broke
-1993
-high noon
-jaws
-neighbors
-young and beautiful
-the raid
-ginger snaps
-the nice guys
-the shallows
-ginger and rosa
-frank
-sinister
-predestination
-another earth
-chappie
-enemy
-the girl king
-the danish girl
-hush
-chicago
-sucker punch
-spy
-the boy
-carrie
-lights out
-wolf of wall street
-Apocalypse Now
-Childhood of a Leader
-the fugitive
-under seige
-coal miners daughter
-the client
-no country for old men
-hope springs
-cobb
-miami connection
-upstream colour
-tickled
-kingdom of heaven
-hoffa
-the producers
-blazing saddles
-young frankenstein
-minority report
-shaun of the dead
-the kingdom of dreams and madness
-the story of jt leroy
-hunger
-alien
-boogie nights
-primer
-children of men
-127 hours
-zombie man
-lights out
-jason bourne
-dances with wolves
-memoires of a geisha
-ex machina
-the witch /the vvitch
-battle royal
-star wars series
-the departed
-moneyball
-oceans eleven
-pretty woman
-edge of tomorrow
-hercules
-muppets movie series
-the fugitive
-disco pigs
-peaky blinders
-breakfast on pluto
-girl with the pearl earring
-the wind that shakes the barley
-following
-momento
-mr man
-anthropoid
-when the wind blows
-friends of H
-west world
-cloverfield
-chronicles of riddick
-pitch black
-the blair witch (2)
-30 days of night
-event horizon
-pandorum
-Blade
-amityville horror
-children of the corn
-hell raiser
-night of the living dead
-dawn of the dead
-survival of the dead
-day of the dead
-psycho sequels
-final destination
-army of darkness
-texas chainsaw massacre
-resident evil
-paranormal activity sequals 4 and 5
-the omen
-28 weeks later
-hostel
-fright night
-sinister
-sausage party
-moana
-pk
-ran de basanti
-about elly
-the chaser
-godzilla
-dredd
-oceans 11
-true grit
-10 to yuma
-footloose
-the departed
-thing
-the fly
-cape fear
-brave heart
-what a way to go
-25th hour
-annie
-good fellas
-weird science
-wallstreet
-point break
-all that jazz
-the apartment
-resevoir dogs
-royal tanonbombs
-river runs through it
-true romance
-colour of night
-rocky
-first blood
-back to school
-raging bull
-full metal jacket
-vanilla sky
-dogville
-big fish
-virgin suicides
-planes trains automobiles
-shattered glass
-the last seduction
-12 angry men
-network
-before the devil knows ur dead
-the killing
-paths of glory
-ace in the hole
-the rules of attraction
-sulivans travels
-oh brother where art tho
-that thing you do
-dog tooth
-lobster
-make this town go round and round
-payback
-the 5th eye
-after the storm
-all these sleepless nights
-another country
-apple pie
-aquarius
-as i open my eyes
-author the jt leroy story
-bacon and gods wrath
-being 17
-beware the slenderman
-bleak street
-burden
-captain fantastic
-certain women
-chevalier
-dont call me son
-the butterfly effect
-the eagle huntress
-endless poetry
-figure
-the first monday in may
-the first the last
-green room
-happy hour
-the heart of the matter
-high rise
-julieta
-les demons
-long way north
-lost and beautiful
-love song
-the lure
-michael smither the portrait
-neruda
-the pissy tits street gang/
-personal shopper
-the qeen of ireland
-the red turtle
-sixty six
-suburra
-tanna
-ten years
-a touch of zen
-under the shadow
-variety
-when two worlds collide
-the wounded angel
-zero dark thirty
-the killing joke
-sicario
-napoleon dynamite
-north by north west
-aqua marine
- nu pogodi
-MARIE ANTOINETTE
-SPICE GIRLS
-13 GOING ON 30
-BREAKFAST AT TIFFANYS
-CLUELESS
-THE CLIQUE
-LIZZIE MCGUIRE
-southbound
-once
-kubo
-the lobster
-neighbors
-nice guys
-ex machina
-morgan
-cash only
-creative control
-low and behold
-embers
-kicks
-dont think twice
-sleep walk w me
-the strangers
-joy
-american hustle
-imagine you and me
-life partner
-the abyss
-dr strangelove
-bronson
-cool hand luke
-the good the bad the ugly
-once upon a time in the west
-lolita
-gilda
-goodfellas
-dirty harry
-sexy beast
-M
-laurence of arabia
-young frankenstein
-the producers
-bonnie and clyde
-suffragette
-the danish girl
-nathan barley
-the lobster
-cloud atlas
-im not there
-bright star
-brideshead revisited
-paddington
-lilting
-holiday
-ginger snaps
-blaire witch 2
-we are what we are
-southbound
-green inferno
-knock knock
-they look like people
-hush
-the hallow
-the darkness
-the other side of the door
-the boy
-the forest
-the nightmare
-the houses october built
-the visit
-sinister
-eden lake
-honeymoon
-the lazarus effect
-starry eyes
-the village
-the sacrement
-american mary
-the woman in black 2
-haunt
-all the boys love mandy lane
-tale of two sisters
-uninvited
-true lies
-the revenant
-operation avalanche
-fear
-boogienights
-rumble fish
-something wild
-manhatten
-mad max originals
-great gatsby original
-the champ
-midnight express
-the deer hunter
-eyes of laura mars
-lenny
-lifeforce
-the black cauldren
-desperately seeking susan
-purple rose of cairo
-arrival
-hocus pocus
-what lies beneath
-a dangerous method
-like crazy
-jeff who lives at home
-young adult
-stand by me
-gone with the wind
-the third man
-lost in translation
-la dolce vita
-me and you and everyone we know
-harold and maude
-departures
- The Librarians
-Warehouse 13
-The River
-Paranormal Witness
-american horror story
- Specter
-Splinter
-The Autopsy of Jane Doe
-american horror story
-star wars
- Session 9
- The Call of Cthulhu
- Martin
- Cemetery Man
- At Midnight I’ll Take Your Soul
- Let’s Scare Jessica to Death
-Ouija
-Silent Night, Deadly Night
-Only God Forgives
-Amelie
-The Royal Tenenbaums
-The Tempest
-Upstream Color
-Event Horizon
-From Dusk Till Dawn
-The Devil Inside
-Below
-Hush
-return of the living dead
-the town the feared sundown
-30 days of night
-the invitation
-the woman
-my bloody valentines
-grabbers
-invasion of the body snatchers
-the gift
-12 angry men
-anomalisa
-young frankenstein
-ex machina
-das boot
-under the shadow
-blackfish
-the bicycle thieves
-city of god
-old boy
-downfall
-holy motors
-blue is the warmest color
-i am love
-beyond the hills
-a hijacking
-lore
-the great beauty/
-the hunt
-amour
-Transsiberian
-Robot & Frank
-the bay
-celeste and jesse forever
-like crazy
-perfect gateway
-europa report
-hard boiled
-el mariachi
-the hunt for red october
-apocalypto
-super 8
-close encounters of the third kind
-melancholia
-upstream colour
-primer
-buried
-primal fear
-sicario
-the gift
-bound
-millers crossing
-the firm
-jackie brown
-almost famous
-american psycho
-high fidelity
-AI
-memento
-city of god
-million dollar baby
-children of men
-the departed
-this is england
-zodiac
-boys in the hood
-men of children
-shawshank redemption
-the departed
-on the waterfront
-snatch
-my cousin vinny
-true grit
-big lebowski
-hunger
-the naughty nineties
-lucky number sleven
-guildernstern are dead
-grand budapest hotel
-inglorious bastards
-the third man
-double indemnity
-true romance
-resevoiur dogs
-hateful 8
-the master
-the lion in winter
-doubt
-glengarry glen ross
-steve jobs
-the big chill
-magnolia
-end of tour
-coffee and cigerettes
-my dinner with andre
-before sunrise
-primer
-before
-end of watch
-you can count on me
-house of games
-manhatten
-the nice guys
-heist
-get shorty
-lethal wepaon
-kiss kiss bang bang
-lock stock and two smoking barrels
-withnail and i
-in bruges
-seven psychopaths
-casablanca
-the apartment
-the girl on friday
-the big sleep
-horse feathers
-duck soup
-animal crackers
-kind hearts and corronets
-monty python
-day of the triffids
-assault on precinct 13
-chinatown
-the invaders
-nightmares
-fear and loathing in las vegas
-dr katz professional therapist
-the big sleep
-leviathan
-earth vs the flying saucers
-american graffitti
-things to come
-terror vision
-the dain curse
-brazil
-the towering inferno
-the third man
-dead ringers
-dark star
-midnight cowboy
-spies like us
-get crazy
-the dirty douzen
-little shop of horrors
-the man who wasnt there
-rumble fish
-gleaming the cube
-fruitvale station
-dancer in the dark
-cries and whispers
-in the mood for love
-oceans eleven
-the gold rush
-spartacus
-gladiator
-platoon
-do the right thing
-saving private ryan
-swingers
-marathon man
-nightcrawler
-happiness
-10 cloverfield lane
-anomalisa
-do lavon
-room
-waltz with bashire
-blower
-inside lou and davis
-blow up
-a serious man
-mirror
-synochechy new york
-stalker
-spring summer fall winter spirng
-gataga
-the fountain
-devils rejects
-half baked
-jupiter ascending
-devils advocate
-the abyss
-the accountant
-american honey
-iron fist
-ipman
-dragon
-green hornet
-chocolate
-kungfu hustle
-the man from nowhere
-awake
-creep
-the girl in the photographs
-beneath
-honeymoon
-let us prey
-the houses october built
-starry eyes
- Lawrence of Arabia (1962)
-Amelie (2001)
-Withnail and I (1987)
-Do the Right Thing (1989)
-Hairspray (1988)
-The Virgin Suicides (1999)
-Morvern Callar (2002)
-American Psycho (2000)
-Life is Sweet (1990)
-Barry Lyndon (1975)
-The Riot Club (2014)
-Samsara (2011)
-BBC Panorama: Inside North Korea (2013)
-The First Movie (2009)
-Lessons of Darkness (1992)
-Wadjda (2012)
-From Russia with Love (1963)
-Meek’s Cutoff (2010)
-Selma (2014)
-Moana (2016)
-Tale of Tales (2015)
-A Matter of Life and Death (1946)
-Two Days One Night (2014)
-Leviathan (2014)
-The Passion of Joan of Arc (1928)
-A Clockwork Orange (1971)
-Ed Wood (1994)
-Final Segment: The First Movie (2009)
-man on the moon
-magnolia
-beginners
-wet hot american summer
-hot rod
-airplane 1 and ii
-blazing saddles
-dr strangelove
-steamboat bill jr
-when harry met sally
-my cousin vinny
-the jerk
-the discreat charm of the bougousie
-pineable express
-theres something about mary
-monty python football
-young frankenstein
-inglorious bastards
-rat race
-weekend
-in bruges
-animal cracker
-naked gun
-the naughty nineties
-spaceballs
-harold and kumar
-planes trains and automobiles
-super troopers
-his girl friday
-ace ventura
-doubtfire
-high fidelity
-anchorman
-caddyshack
-best in show
-some like it hot
-top secret
-hot rod
-this is spinal tap
-the producers
-22 jump street
-bruce almighty
-office space
-city lights
-project a
-kung fu hustle
-duck soup
-pork pie
-lego batman
-fences
-hidden figures
-moonlight
-it comes at night
-cure for wellness
-kedi
-i dont feel at home in this world anymore
-the lure
-okja
-john wick
-trainspotting 1 and 2
-baby driver
-it
-hell or high water
-the bad batch
-split
-the belko experiment
-the accountant
-lion
-embers
-under the skin
-stalker
-adaptation
-the taking of deborah logan
-noroi
-invisible 2: chasing the ghost sound
-the good neighbor
-they look like people
-monkey bones
-the searchers
-shane
-forty guns
-high country
-high plains drifter
-the ox bow incident
-rancho notorious
-winchester 73
-unforgiven
-the assissination of jesse james
-one eyed jacks
-outlaw josey wales
-pat garret and billy the kid
-butch cassidy and the sun dance kid
-high noon
-tombstone
-my darling clementine
-true grit
-rio bravo
-the man who shot liberty valance
-the shootist
-the wild bunch
-el topo
-hell or high water
-lonesome dove
-paris texas
-mccabe and mrs miller
-a bullet for the general
-the great silence
-fistful of dollars
-once upon a time in the west
-sholay
-tears of the black tiger
-good the bad and the weird
-sons of great bear
-the proposition
-sukiyaki western django
-black god white devil
-whity
-yojimbo
-shanghai noon
-red sun
-serenity
-big trouble in little china
-serenity
-from dusk till dawn
-cow boys and aliens
-my left foot
-spotlight
-hush
-magic
-dead of night
-may
-hannibal rising
-red dragon
-youree next
-the step father
-halloween
-night of the living dead
-john wick
-counte of monte christo
-the sacrement
-the wicker man
-the craft
-are you afraid of the dark
-wayward pines
-texas chainsaw mascare
-invasion of the body snatchers
-alien
-jacobs ladder
-return of the living dead
-the thing
-audition
-the mist
-martyrs
-let the right one in
-monty pythons meaning of life
-cemetary man
-the frighteners
-bill and teds bogus journey
-the adventures of barron ma
-skyfall
-a few good men
-training day
-the last of the mohecans
-the omen
-
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Pilot.
Remember that movie You’ve Got Mail, with Meg Ryan and Tom Hanks? Yeah well if you haven’t seen it and you enjoy ‘90s romcoms, you’re fucking up. It’s really good. Anyway, there’s a quote that I feel applies to this type of thing. What type of thing, you ask? Well, it is highly, highly unlikely that anyone but me and maybe my mom will ever read this blog. More than likely, it will sit here, in the void that is the internet, existing and not-existing at the same time. Yet, for some reason, I’ve chosen to write as though I’m speaking to an audience that is interested enough to ask me questions as they read. So this “type of thing” is a blog written to an audience that doesn’t exist; a blog written to the void.
In this part of You’ve Got Mail, Meg Ryan’s character is writing an e-mail to a man she’s never met, never even seen a picture. She’s having a rough time so she’s confiding in this man, but because she’s never met him, sometimes it doesn’t feel like he exists. It feels like she’s just confiding in the void...
“Sometimes I wonder about my life. I lead a small life - well, valuable, but small - and sometimes I wonder, do I do it because I like it, or because I haven't been brave? So much of what I see reminds me of something I read in a book, when shouldn't it be the other way around? I don't really want an answer. I just want to send this cosmic question out into the void. So good night, dear void.“
I relate to this in a kind of retrospective way. See, I just moved to Los Angeles from Colorado, where I grew up. I made the decision to move and then did it a month later. I moved because I, too, was wondering about my valuable, but small life. I always thought of myself as a brave person and I definitely am brave in some ways, but not in the ways I thought.
For example, once upon a time, my roommate’s yorkie got into the coup and attacked Elfie, one of my chickens. The dog ripped open the back of Elfie’s neck but didn’t do serious damage to any of the tendons and tissue. This meant that while Elfie might have eventually died from shock, she wasn’t going to bleed out or die quickly. It was a Saturday night and there were no vets open that took birds, so I had to make a choice. We could either do nothing and let Elfie suffer for hours until she died, kill Elfie to end her suffering sooner, or I could try to stitch up her neck and nurse her back to health. I decided to try to save her. I got out my sewing kit, made some saline, and set up shop in the backyard. She was alive but in shock, so she didn’t move or struggle. I sewed up her neck and kept her in a crate in my room for 2 weeks. For the first week I had to hold her feathers and move her head for her so that she could eat and drink, but eventually she got her strength back. She made a full recovery. I took her to the vet to make sure everything was okay and she said I did a great job, “You’re going to be a great nurse!” ....(Oh, yeah, I was doing my prerequisites for nursing school at the time. More on that later.)
That was a pretty brave thing for me to do, right? Not everyone can stay calm with a bloody chicken in their arms, let alone successfully save its life. Fuck yeah, I’m proud of that.
On the other hand, I’ve never been brave enough to demand what I deserve, take what I need, or even to just ask for what I want.
So, tell me, which is more useful? Being brave enough to perform minor surgery on a dying chicken, or being brave enough to get what you truly want out of life? or to at least try?
Everyone thought I was going to be some kind of famous singer when I grew up. I started singing to strangers who walked beneath the apple tree in my parents’ front yard when I was 5. My mom put me in choir a year later, then I don’t think I ever really stopped singing until I was 22. I went to a performing arts high school, one of the fancy ones where you have to audition to get in. Out of the 200 girls who auditioned that year, only three (including me) were admitted to the program. There, I was classically trained to sing opera and jazz-- I fell madly in love with Jazz. Ella, Peggy, Sara, Louis, Billie, the timbre of their voices resonated in my bones like nothing had before. Can I tell you a secret, dear void? I wanted, more than anything, to be a jazz musician, or even “some kind of famous singer”. Dear void, Can I tell you an even secreter-secret? I could have been, but I never even really tried.
Want to know why?
That is a very, very long story- a story for another post, I think. The jist of that story is that I went through a lot in high school, like a LOT. Because of everything that happened, I graduated with terrible grades and terrible test scores. I tried going to a local college (like a step up from community college, but still basically a community college), but what happened in high school took a very real, seemingly indelible toll on my mental health. I just couldn’t do it. After a few years of fucking around and fucking up, I got sick of letting my family down. I wanted to succeed. I wanted them to be proud of me and I wanted to be proud of myself. I didn’t want to live in my parents’ basement while I worked a part-time job and tried to “make it big” and be some kind of famous singer. I pushed that dream deep, deep down, so far down that 90% of the time, I actually believed I didn’t want it anymore. I got my CNA certificate when I was 22 and started working in a nursing home. That kind of work made me realize that when I take care of people in structured ways that ACTUALLY help them, I feel like the best version of myself. The only other time I felt that was when I was performing. So I decided to be a nurse and began chipping away at the prerequisites to get into nursing school.
Four and a half years later, nursing school isn’t really working out. Nothing is really working out. You know why? Because I am fucking afraid of letting myself and my family down and I’ve let that fear influence every single choice I’ve made for the last five years. All I wanted was to get a degree and a career so that nobody would think I was too broken to succeed, no matter how long it took or how miserable I was. I told myself to suck it up, cause it would be worth it in the end. So they would say “Look at her! She decided to do it, she didn’t give up, and now she’s achieved some degree of normalcy! For a while she couldn’t stop fucking up, now she’s literally perfect! Phew! We don’t have to worry about her look how well she’s doing lalalaaaa..”
Lololololol whoops.
I get that this is kind of cliché. I’m not the first person to realize that they’ve been letting fear control their life. I am not the first person to feel this way, of course, duh, obviously... but I’m not writing about my experience because I think it’s incredibly unique- I’m writing about it because it’s mine.
After my most recent, horrendous semester, I decided it was finally time to GTFO of CO. I had no savings and no job in LA, just a place to stay and a whole lot of generous people rooting for me. Let me tell ya, besides the actual ACT of moving here, nothing has gone how I thought it would.
It’s been almost 2 months and I still can’t find a job. In Colorado, I got any job that I interviewed for. I was in control of my environment, if I wanted a job, all I had to do was be myself. After attending 8 interviews that have resulted in 0 jobs, I’m finding that tactic isn’t going to work for me out here. Lol... surprise, stupid! Also, my resume is shit. Since I’ve wasted the last 4 years mostly just in school, my work experience is WONDERFULLY, if not horrifically, unremarkable. The only reason I’m still here is because I have amazing friends and family who want me to succeed and believe that I will, given enough time. My friend Mila is letting me share her studio for free, pretty much. I gave her $300 for rent this month, it’s not much but it was all I had. I also buy groceries and I’m HELLLAAAA tidy, so it’s been working out so far.
In the mean time, I’m focusing on being grateful and staying motivated. This basically amounts to going to the gym 4x/week and counting my blessings instead of counting my faults. I’m really hard on myself. I hate that I can’t get a job, and yeah, I’m still afraid of letting everyone down. But I’m trying to move past the fear. I’m trying, so, so hard, to stop being so, so afraid.
We can talk more about that later.
Until next time, void,
Sidda
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