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poisonlove · 8 months

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Blood and Love | t.c

Tara was aware of the secret that haunted her sister: being related to Billie Loomis.

But she could have never expected to receive a late-night call that would change the course of her life.

I enter the hospital room with my heart racing wildly in my chest. My breath is ragged as I search for Tara's gaze. When her eyes lift and meet mine, I see fear and relief mingling in them.

—T/n—she whispers, her voice like a fragile thread of silver holding together tumultuous emotions.

I approach her bed with determined steps, though my insides are a storm of emotions. I sit beside her, my gaze fixed on her as if I want to shield her from any harm. I gently take her hand, trying to convey a sense of security through the touch.

—Tara, how are you?—I ask with a soft voice laced with concern. Her lips curve into a muted smile, but I still see the shadow of fear in her eyes.

Tara gazes at the hospital ceiling as if seeking comfort in its simple whiteness. —T/n— she begins, her voice trembling, —it was such a strange and terrifying call.— She takes a deep breath before continuing. —The phone rang, and I answered without thinking too much. There was this distorted, almost mechanical voice asking me unsettling things.—

I look at her, my eyes fixed on her, trying to imagine what she must have faced. —What did it ask you?— I inquire cautiously, dreading the answers that might come.

Tara nervously wets her lips. —It asked me how I was... and then it asked about my mother.— Her voice cracks slightly, and I sense her fear through her words. —It said it was watching me and my mother. It was so unsettling, T/n. It made me feel like I was being observed.—

I squeeze her hand with a bit more strength, trying to convey my silent support. —You must have been so scared—I say empathetically, feeling anger course through my veins. I wish I could confront the responsible person with my own hands, but now my role is to be there for Tara.

Tara nods with teary eyes, tears pooling in them. —And then... then the questions got creepier. It asked me what I thought about Steb.— She sighs, and I know it's a delicate topic. —Steb is the movie that... well, it's about everything that happened with my mother. It was a terrible part of my life.—

Her words shake me, but I keep holding her hand to offer my silent support. —Did you answer those questions?— I ask with curiosity and concern. I know it can't have been easy for her to confront these painful memories.

Tara nods, her voice trembling. —Yes, I answered. Then... then it happened. I heard a noise from the front door, and when I turned, he was there... Ghostface.— A tear rolls down her cheek and falls onto the hospital sheet. —He started shouting, saying terrible things. He was so menacing, T/n. He had a knife, and... and he hurt me.—

Anger and disgust well up inside me as I listen. I wish I could erase the horror she went through, make her fear vanish. I squeeze her hand even more, trying to transmit all the affection and support I feel. —We'll get you out of here, Tara. And together, we'll find a way to cope with all of this.—

Tara's tears stream down her face as she looks into my eyes, seeking comfort and security. I hold her hand affectionately, knowing I can't erase the past, but I can be here for her now, in this moment of fear and vulnerability.

The images before my eyes are a mix of pain and helplessness. I look at the oxygen tubes in Tara's nostrils, the bandages on her hand, and the wounds on her legs. Seeing her so vulnerable, so far from the strong girl I knew, tightens my heart.

I can't help but feel a lump in my throat as I watch her. My mind goes to the times we laughed together, the long and deep conversations we shared, and every moment I tried to hide what I felt for her. And now, here, seeing her like this, I feel even worse for never having found the courage to confess my feelings.

I pull the chair as close to her bed as possible, trying to offer some comfort with my proximity. I gently take her non-bandaged hand and give it a light stroke with my thumb. —Tara— I say softly, —I'm so sorry you're going through all of this.—

Her eyes shift to me, and even though they're teary, I still see strength in them. —Thank you, T/n— she murmurs gratefully. —You're here for me... and that means more than you can imagine.—

A sad smile forms on my lips as I try to find the right words. —I'm here because you matter to me, Tara. I wouldn't want to be anywhere else right now.— My heart beats hard in my chest, but I know now is not the time to confess everything.

I take a deep breath and try to push away the sadness that threatens to overwhelm me. —We're strong together, Tara. We'll face all of this together—My words are a commitment, a way to tell her that she'll never be alone in this fight.

I glance at her wounds again, and anger towards anyone who hurt her burns within me. But now, in this moment, my priority is to be there for her, supporting her and trying to bring some comfort to that pale face marked by fear.

Amber's entrance shatters the bubble of intimacy I tried to create around me and Tara. My gaze shifts towards her as she enters the room, but I can't help but notice the disdainful look she directs at me.

Her cutting words, laced with sarcasm, pierce the air. —Oh, look who's here. The shining knight in armor coming to rescue the damsel in distress— Her voice is a mixture of sarcasm and mockery, and I can feel the irritation she's trying to convey.

I deliberately ignore her, continuing to keep my gaze fixed on Tara. Amber can think whatever she wants, but now isn't the time for her jealousy games or taunts. I have an important person to support and protect.

Amber sits next to Tara and looks at her gently, trying to offer comfort with her gaze. I can see genuine concern in her eyes as she tries to be there for Tara. I nod slightly towards her, appreciating her effort to support my friend in such a difficult moment.

However, the sense of tension doesn't ease with Sam's arrival and the boy by her side. As soon as the boy enters the room, I immediately sense that something is off. His expressions, the way he looks around with a certain detachment... everything seems out of place.

Amber might not have noticed right away, but I can't stop watching this boy. Something about him makes me uneasy, and my attention is divided between him and Tara. I keep lightly holding Tara's hand, a silent sign of support, as I try to better understand who this boy is and what he's doing here.

Emotions swirl within me: concern for Tara, suspicion towards this boy, and a growing determination to protect my friend at all costs. I know this moment could be crucial, and I need to stay vigilant for any signs of threat that might come from him.

Sam approaches Tara with concern. —Tara, how are you? I'm so glad to see you.—

Tara smiles weakly. —I'm trying to be okay, Sam. Thank you for being here.—

Sam gestures towards the boy at her side. —This is Richie, my boyfriend. Richie, this is Tara.—

Richie smiles gently. —Hello, Tara. I'm glad to finally meet you.—

Tara returns the smile. —Hi, Richie. Thank you for coming.—

I take a step back, ready to leave them alone.

Tara urgently grabs my hand, looking at me with teary yet bright eyes. Her grip on my hand makes me pause. I look at Tara, noticing her determined expression. Words aren't needed; I can feel her need for me to stay here with her. With a reassuring smile, I nod slightly, indicating that I'll stay by her side.

—Maybe we should let her rest for a bit— Richie suggests, addressing Sam.

Sam agrees with a nod. —You're right. We'll see you outside, Tara. I'll go talk to Hicks.—

As Sam, Richie and Amber leave the room, I stay by Tara's side.

Tara timidly yawns. —Sorry, I suddenly feel so tired.—

I smile gently. —Don't worry, Tara. Maybe you should close your eyes and rest.—

Tara looks at me with sweet, indecipherable eyes. —T/n, could you... could you get in bed with me? I'd just... like to have someone close while I sleep.—

—Of course, Tara. It'll be my pleasure.—

With gentleness, I shift from the chair to the bed, careful not to disturb the bandages and tubes. I lie down beside Tara, keeping one arm under the pillow to prop myself up slightly. —Is this okay?—I ask, looking at her with concern.

Tara nods with a shy smile. —Yes, perfect. Thank you, T/n.—

Carefully, I wrap my arm around Tara, pulling her gently closer to me. We embrace tenderly, and the warmth of her body is reassuring. —Rest, Tara. I'll be here as long as you want.—

Tara closes her eyes slowly, relaxing into the embrace. —Thank you, T/n. You're truly amazing.—

—And you're an extraordinary person, Tara. Goodnight— I whisper.

As the embrace grows more intimate, tranquility fills the room. Tara can finally close her eyes and find some rest, knowing that T/n is there with her. Her breath grows calmer, and sleep gently envelops her as T/n remains by her side, protective and loving.

(...)

From the initial attack to the current situation, many weeks have passed, and things have changed drastically. The sense of normalcy has been disrupted, and trust among us has been shaken. It's hard to believe that the people I've known for so long could harbor such dark secrets.

Relationships have shifted, and every look, every word seems to be under a magnifying glass. Mindy, with her keen horror enthusiast spirit, has only fueled the existing suspicions. Whenever someone seems to step out of line, her playful voice becomes an eerie reminder of the truth lurking beneath the surface.

And then there was that conversation where she excluded Liv from suspicion. Her playful tone only heightened the tension. But in the end, every laugh was accompanied by a shade of doubt. All of us are trying to decipher the puzzle, but the pieces seem to keep changing shape.

I find myself in a situation where I need to keep an eye out for anyone who might be hiding something. The friendship we had shared has become fragile, and there's a sense of isolation I can't ignore. I wish things could go back to how they were before, but I know that reality is much more complex now.

I find myself wandering amidst doubts and uncertainties, trying to balance my fear with the need to uncover the truth. Trust has been compromised, but I hope we can find a way to overcome this situation together. Amidst suspicions and tensions, there's still a part of me clinging to the idea of restoring normalcy among us, even though the future seems dark and unpredictable.

The tension seemed to increase with each passing day, and the sense of paranoia was taking over everything. Sam, in particular, seemed more paranoid than I had ever seen her. I was deeply concerned for her, but I understood that the environment we were involved in could make even the closest people doubt.

The arrival of the old survivors of Steb in the town of Woodsboro had triggered a series of even more bewildering events. The shadow of the past seemed to envelop everything, and there was an unsettling feeling in the air. Fear was growing as we tried to figure out if this was just a coincidence or if there was a deeper connection to what we were facing.

Wed, who had feelings for Tara, was one of the initial suspects. However, fate seemed to have other plans for him. The arrival of Ghostface had led to a tragic ending for Wed and his mother, Sheriff Judy Hicks. The news of their deaths had hit all of us, and the sense of threat was reaching new levels.

My mind was a mix of worry, anger, and confusion. As I tried to navigate through suspicions, new clues, and old ghosts, I knew we had to find a way to cope with all of this together. The truth was still buried beneath a layer of secrets and lies, but we had to stay united and determined to uncover what was really happening in Woodsboro.

As I stood at the crime scene with Sam, something in the context seemed off. Observing the evidence, the atmosphere was growing even more eerie, as if there was something escaping our notice. A sense of concern grew within me, and thoughts of Tara only intensified it.

That's when I felt a shiver down my spine, like an alarm indicating that something was wrong with Tara. My eyes landed on Riley, the cop, who was approaching. Without a second thought, panic gripped me, and I ran towards him, my eyes wide with fear.

—Riley!— I called, my voice filled with anxiety. —You have to help us, you have to come to the hospital with us. Tara is in danger, I feel that something's wrong.—

Sam joined me shortly after, and together we appealed to Riley. We asked for his help sincerely, begging him to come to the hospital with us. His decision seemed to come without hesitation, agreeing to accompany us without asking questions.

Without wasting time, we headed to the hospital with Riley by our side. The run seemed endless as anxiety grew within me. Tara needed us, and I knew I couldn't allow anything to happen to her. As the tension in the air grew denser, I knew we were doing everything we could to face this challenge together, hoping to protect Tara from whatever threat surrounded her.

As we were on our way in the police car, my phone suddenly rang. My anxiety reached its peak as I checked the caller ID, and my heart filled with relief when I saw Tara's name on the screen. With a trembling breath, I quickly answered.

—Tara?— I called out, trying to keep calm despite my heart still racing. Then I heard her voice, fragmented by sobs and tears. —T/n... help— she said, and her fragile voice broke my heart.

—Tara, I'm here— I responded with a gentle and concerned voice. —We're on our way to the hospital. Stay strong.— As I continued to talk to her, my mind was filled with anguish and determination. I needed to get to her, I needed to protect her from whatever was threatening her.

And then, as Tara's words continued to flow between tears and sobs, she revealed something that left me speechless.

—I don't want to die—she whispered, and the intensity of her emotions hit me like a punch in the gut. —And especially not without ever telling you how... how much I've been in love with you for so long.—

Her words resonated within me, and the world seemed to pause for a moment. I couldn't believe what I was hearing, but the sound of her broken voice was real and sincere. My heart was filled with conflicting emotions: concern for Tara, anger towards whoever hurt her, and surprise in the face of her revelations.

I apologize for the confusion. In this situation, with Ghostface present next to Tara, the idea of diverting Ghostface's attention was even more critical.

—Tara— I said firmly, —try to keep Ghostface engaged. Ask him questions, make him lose time.—

The anxiety I felt was growing even more, but I knew this was the only possible option. Tara had to do her best to keep Ghostface focused on her and out of suspecting that we were coming to save her. Our priority was to protect her, and every second counted in this critical situation. As the car headed towards the hospital, I knew we were facing a challenge that required calmness, courage, and collaboration.

—I'm coming to you, Tara— I reassured her, trying to convey all my determination and affection through my words.

—I won't let anything happen to you. And as for what you said... we can talk about it when I'm there. For now, hang in there.—

The car continued to rush towards the hospital, and Tara's words stayed with me, a fragile thread of connection between us growing amidst all this confusion and fear. We had to face this situation together, protect the truth, and above all, protect each other.

As we stepped into the elevator, the tension in the air was palpable. Sam received a call from Tara, and our hearts skipped a beat as we heard Ghostface's distorted voice on the other end of the line. His words, "Tara or her boyfriend," echoed in our ears like a dark threat. Anxiety mingled with anger as we listened to those sinister words.

I saw Sam frantically press the button for Tara's floor, her face expressing determination and a sort of challenge towards Ghostface. When I heard his taunting grin and her bold response, I couldn't help but feel a sense of admiration for her strength. It was clear she was trying to buy time, to keep Ghostface at bay as much as possible.

—Maybe I'm wasting your time, asshole— Sam said firmly, openly defying Ghostface.

The elevator doors opened in a moment of palpable tension. The cop, Riley, had managed to intervene, firing towards Ghostface. The echo of the gunshot filled the air, as fear and adrenaline seemed to mix in a whirlwind of emotions. The bullet missed the target, but its effect was tangible: Ghostface moved away from Tara, momentarily distracted by the sudden threat.

Without hesitation, Sam and I rushed towards Tara. The adrenaline coursing through our veins fueled every step we took. In an instinctive move, I lifted Tara in my arms as if she were a bride, holding her gently yet firmly. The sensation of her fragile body in my arms made me feel a mix of protectiveness and urgency. We needed to get to the elevator, away from Ghostface and any danger threatening us.

Richie, who had been assisted by Riley, joined us as we headed towards the elevator. The cop ensured that the situation was under control, allowing us to focus on Tara. The path to the elevator seemed endless, but each step took us further away from the threat.

Tara clung to me in the embrace, and I felt her ragged breath against me. The warmth of her body against mine reassured me that she was safe, that we were finally moving towards a place where she could receive proper care.

The sensation of her embrace strengthened my commitment to keeping her safe, to doing everything in my power to make her feel protected.

Finally, we reached the elevator, and the doors opened for us. As the elevator closed, I noticed that Riley wasn't entering with us. I barely heard his words— "the head"—a warning that seemed to escape his lips in a breath. His next move was clear: he loaded his weapon and headed towards Ghostface, ready to confront the threat directly.

The emotions that swept through my body at that moment were a mix of apprehension and admiration. Riley was risking his life to face the danger and protect us. His determination struck me deeply, and I felt a knot of gratitude tighten in my throat. We were all united in this challenge, each with our role to play in ensuring our safety.

As the elevator continued to descend, I knew that Tara's fate, all of our fates, hung by a thread. But we were determined to do everything in our power to come out of it, to defeat Ghostface and shed light on all this darkness. Holding Tara even tighter, I closed my eyes for a moment, trying to gather courage and hope as we headed into the unknown.

Sitting in Tara's hospital room, Sam and I found ourselves in a quiet corner. I looked at Tara with concern and said firmly—Tara, I know you want to get out of here as soon as possible, but you have to consider your safety. Running away might be the best solution right now.—

Tara looked at Sam and then at me, anxiety evident in her eyes. —I know I just want to forget all this— she said with a trembling voice, —but it seems so risky to stay here. What if Ghostface finds us again?—

—I understand— Sam responded—but maybe we should consider the possibility of leaving the town for a while. We could go somewhere where Ghostface won't easily find us.—

Just as we were about to leave the facility, we encountered Sidney Prescott and Gale, two survivors of experiences similar to ours.

Sidney followed Sam with concern.

—Running away might not be the solution. I've learned that Ghostface will always come back unless we confront him once and for all.—

—Are you asking us to help you kill him? Are you crazy?— Sam asked, confused.

—Hey, be careful how you talk, young lady. She's the original, you know? The first survivor of Ghostface...— Gale said, joining her friend.

The car with Richie at the wheel arrives. —Um... hi, I'm Richie... we've met before...— he closes his eyes and sighs. —Sam, T/n, get in... we're leaving.–

I looked at Tara with shining eyes and sighed as I opened the car door, sitting down beside her. —I'm sorry, but we have to leave town... it's for Tara's safety—Sam said, and then got into the car.

During the journey, I felt Tara's proximity. Every brush of her fingers against mine sent a shiver along my skin, and when I glanced at her, I noticed her shy and uncertain expression. Her gaze seemed to hold a world of unspoken thoughts.

My heart beat faster, knowing there was something she wanted to share with me. I accepted her touch, trying to convey reassurance through that contact. —Tara—I said gently, —if there's something you want to say, you can. We're here together.—

Her shyness was palpable, but she finally found the courage to speak. —I told you on the phone that I didn't want to die without telling you... without telling you that I've had feelings for you for a long time.— Her voice was barely a whisper, but her words resonated in my heart like a sweet and intense melody.

I kept my gaze on her, trying to communicate that I was listening carefully and that her words mattered to me. I felt a delicate smile form on my lips. —Tara—I replied, —you don't know how grateful I am to hear these words from you. I too... have had feelings for you for a long time.—

Our gazes met in a moment of deep connection. It was a secret we had kept hidden for too long, and now that we were facing this threat together, it seemed like the right time to confront our feelings as well. I felt that our bond was further strengthening in that moment, and I knew that no matter what the future held, we would face it all together.

I felt the gentle touch of Tara's bandaged hand on my cheek. It was such a sweet and intimate gesture that seemed to envelop us in a protective bubble, isolating us from the outside world. Despite her wounds, Tara still found the strength to seek my touch, to share that moment of intimacy.

I felt overwhelmed by emotions, by thoughts that I had kept hidden for so long. It was incredible how everything was coming together in that moment: the danger we were facing, the feelings we were revealing, and the sense of unity that was binding us even more.

Despite our intense private moment, I knew that Richie and Sam were there, curious eyes watching through the rearview mirror. I decided to ignore those glances and focus solely on Tara. Our connection was what mattered, and nothing could tarnish that shared intimacy.

I felt my heart beat with a certain urgency as I continued driving along the road. Every now and then, a small smile appeared on my lips, a reflection of the happiness and gratitude I was feeling in that moment. I couldn't predict what lay ahead in the future, but I knew that regardless of everything, we would face every challenge together, our bond growing stronger and our hearts open to whatever the future would bring.

Tara's smile was like a sweet melody, a prelude to what was about to happen. As she leaned in closer to me, I felt my heart beat with a mixture of excitement and tenderness. Her lips met mine in a sweet and deep kiss, and it seemed like the world around us dissolved, leaving just the two of us.

It was a kiss filled with emotions and meaning, a way to express everything we were experiencing in that moment. It was as if our feelings were being transmitted through that intimate contact, saying things that words alone couldn't convey. Her lips were warm and soft against mine, and I surrendered to that moment of sweetness.

During the kiss, I felt Tara shifting, as if she was trying to find a more comfortable position. It was then that I realized she was freeing herself from the seatbelt. I saw her straddle my lap, and I smiled against her lips. It was a bold and intimate gesture, but I felt that our bond made it perfectly natural.

We continued to kiss, our contact growing more intense and the world around us fading even more. We were united in that moment, connected by deep feelings and a bond that seemed to transcend time and space. Nothing else mattered except the two of us and the kiss we shared, a kiss that seemed to encapsulate everything we felt for each other. Richie's sudden cough interrupted our kiss, causing us to break apart with a mixture of embarrassment and smiles. Tara's cheeks were flushed, and her lips slightly swollen from the passionate kiss. We locked eyes, her gaze bright and full of emotion, and I felt my heart beat with uncontainable joy.

—Sorry— Richie said with a small embarrassed smile —but it seemed like you were so focused that I could have driven for miles without you noticing anything.—

Tara and I exchanged a knowing look and then burst into laughter together. It was true, we had become so lost in our own world that everything else seemed to fade away. Now, with our cheeks warm from embarrassment and our hearts still racing, we realized the absurdity of the situation.

—That was a bit embarrassing, wasn't it?— I said with a playful smile, turning to Tara.

Her lips curved into a shy smile as she nodded. —Yes, but it was also... nice.—

I felt a wave of affection for her as I knew that we had shared such an intimate moment together.

—Where's my inhaler?— Tara's worried voice filled the car as she began frantically searching her bag. I could feel the tension growing in the air as she looked anxiously inside her bag, hoping to find her precious inhaler. It was clear that she was realizing that her inhaler wasn't with her, and her agitation was palpable.

Sam turned slightly in her seat, looking at Tara with empathy. —Maybe you left it at the hospital by accident?— she suggested, trying to find a rational explanation.

Tara shook her head, continuing to search. —No, I'm sure I put it in my bag before leaving the hospital— she said with an anxious voice.

I turned to her, trying to convey a sense of calm. —Maybe it slipped between the seats?— I suggested, thinking of every possibility.

Tara leaned down to look under her seat, but she didn't seem to find anything. Her expression was a mix of frustration and concern. —I can't believe I forgot my inhaler— she said with a sigh.

—Take a deep breath— I said, trying to reassure her.

Tara suddenly brightened as she remembered something. —Wait, I have a spare inhaler at Amber's house!— she exclaimed with a hopeful expression.

The news shed light on the situation, and a sigh of relief spread through the car. Sam and I exchanged a reassuring look, reassured by the fact that there was a solution available. —Seriously?— I asked, seeking confirmation.

Tara nodded with a smile. —Yes, I remember leaving it there a while ago— she said. —It's been a bit chaotic, and I didn't think I'd need it out here.—

—That's good news then— Sam commented, visibly relieved.

—Absolutely— I agreed, gently taking Tara's hand and giving them both a reassuring smile. —Let's go to Amber's and get your spare inhaler. We don't want you to have any issues because of this situation.—

Tara nodded, visibly grateful for our support. The road ahead of us seemed less complicated now that we had a solution. Tara's safety and comfort were our priority, and we knew we would do everything in our power to ensure she was safe and well. With a lighter heart, we continued our journey to Amber's house, ready to face whatever challenges awaited us.

***

As soon as we entered Amber's house, we were greeted by a whirlwind of sounds and movements. Music blared loudly, while people laughed and danced. It was clear that a party was in full swing in honor of Wes, which seemed to add another layer of complexity to the already tense situation. As we moved through the crowd, I kept an eye on Tara, making sure she was okay amidst all the chaos.

All around us, people seemed oblivious to the tensions and worries that were happening in our lives. It was strange to see the normalcy of a party amidst all this, but somehow, it also helped to take our minds off the difficulties we were facing.

Richie spoke up, grabbing the attention of Sam and Tara. His voice cut through the music and the party noise. —A bit of attention, please— he said seriously. —Sam and Tara have been attacked twice by the killer. I think it's best that everyone goes home for your safety.—

There were various murmurs of disapproval, but they obeyed the request and started leaving the house, leaving only Tara's friends and Richie behind.

Tara looked at me with a small smile before turning to Amber. —I'm going to get my spare inhaler—she said. Amber nodded. —I'll come with you— she offered, walking alongside her toward the stairs.

I found myself walking down a corridor, seeking some space and tranquility. As I walked, I noticed Mindy in a rather interesting situation: she was kissing a girl on a couch.

Their intimacy seemed to contrast with the overall situation, but I knew that everyone was seeking a small escape from reality in different ways. The situation took a turn when Richie intervened, asking the girl to leave. It was clear that Richie was concerned about everyone's safety, and his reaction was understandable given the circumstances.

—Um, can someone accompany me to the basement?— Richie timidly asked, gripping the doorknob.

I shook my head, and Mindy smiled nervously. —You tried, handsome, but I'm not going down there—Mindy smiled, and Richie chuckled weakly. —You're right... you know, with the Ghostface situation...— he murmured before opening the door and descending the stairs.

I sat down next to Mindy, trying to create a small moment of calm and tranquility amidst all the tension. Our gaze landed on the screen, where "Steb," the movie he was playing, was showing. Mindy seemed to be enjoying making fun of the characters' choices and naivety, perhaps seeking a temporary escape from the troubled reality surrounding us.

Watching the movie together, I could almost forget for a moment the worries we were facing. It was as if we had entered a different world, far from the horrors we had experienced and the complex interpersonal dynamics emerging. The sound of laughter and the flicker of the screen seemed like an anchor of normalcy in a time when everything seemed topsy-turvy.

Mindy seemed to enjoy the playful aspect of the film, laughing heartily at some situations and character choices. Her laughter was a small glimmer of lightness in an otherwise tense situation. Observing Mindy, I realized how important it was to find ways to lighten the weight of the emotions we were dealing with.

The scene suddenly turned into overwhelming chaos when Mindy turned and found herself face-to-face with Ghostface, poised to strike. Without thinking twice, I instinctively moved between Mindy and the killer, taking a stab to the shoulder that made me emit a groan of pain. Confusion and fear gripped the room.

Mindy and Sam rushed toward me with concern, trying to calm me down and assess the severity of the wound. Blood was flowing from my shoulder, and the sensation of pain spread throughout my body.

Tara and Amber joined the scene, with Tara struggling on crutches due to her injuries. Her eyes expressed concern as she approached me, trying to understand how badly hurt I was.

Amber, on the other hand, observed the scene with curiosity and suspicion. —I don't know what you were all doing, but I was with Tara— she said agitatedly.

Amidst all this, Richie made his sudden entrance. —Where the hell were you?— Sam asked him agitatedly, looking at him with panic. —I was getting a beer! But no one wanted to come with me— he muttered agitatedly.

The situation became even more tumultuous when Liv entered the room again, this time crying out of stress and fear. Her hands were stained with blood, an image that struck all of us with a sense of terror and unease. It was evident that the situation was spiraling out of control, and danger seemed to be surrounding us from all sides.

—Stay back!—Amber whispered, and Liv continued to cry. —I found Chad— she said amidst tears.

—Chad?—Sam asked timidly.

—You're a damn liar!—Amber said with disgust.

—No!—Liv denied, shaking her head.

—You're the killer!— Richie said.

—No, it's not me...— Liv mumbled in panic.

—Liv, stop— Amber said, extending her hands toward Liv.

—Liv, stop!— Amber repeated impatiently.

—Fuck you, Amber. I'm not the damn killer—Liv muttered, emphasizing each word.

My eyes landed on Amber's hand, disappearing behind her, retrieving something. —I know— Amber replied, and my eyes widened when I saw Tara's best friend place a bullet in the middle of Liv's forehead.

—Welcome to Act Three— Amber said, pointing the gun at me.

Mindy, who was close by, struck Amber's arm, deflecting the shot.

The shoulder wound was painful, but the adrenaline pumping through my veins gave me the strength to scoop Tara up and seek shelter. Out of the corner of my eye, I noticed Sam and Richie heading toward the basement, while Mindy seemed to be busy distracting Amber. It was an atmosphere of chaos and panic, but I had to focus on keeping Tara safe and addressing the situation.

With quick and silent steps, I climbed the stairs to the upper floor, carrying Tara with me. We found refuge in a room, and without hesitation, we squeezed ourselves into a relatively small closet. As my heart raced, I placed a hand over Tara's mouth to quiet her and urged her to slow her breath. The silence in that cramped space was stifling, but I knew it was necessary to avoid attracting the killer's attention.

I felt Tara's rapid heartbeat against my hand, and her eyes were filled with fear.

—Tara, I know you want me to stay here with you, but I need to go down and try to resolve the situation outside.—

Tara shook her head. —No, T/n, I can't let you go. I'm afraid you'll get hurt, that you might end up like Wes.—

I gently held her face in my hands. —Tara, I promise I'll be careful. I don't want to put myself in danger, but I also have a duty to help others. We need to find a solution to this situation.—

Tara squinted her eyes slightly. —I don't care about the others right now, I only care about you. I don't want to lose you.—

I held her hand and looked into her eyes. —Tara, I understand how worried you are, but I can't let anyone get hurt. I'll try to come back to you as soon as I can. You have to promise me that you'll stay safe here.—

—I can't promise that if I don't know what will happen. T/n, I don't know what I would do if something happened to you—Tara said with a trembling voice.

—Listen, I know it's difficult, but I have faith in you. If something goes wrong, try to find a safe place to hide. And when I come back, we'll be together again. Don't let fear make you take irrational decisions.—

Our gaze locked, and in the silence filled with emotions, Tara leaned closer to me. Our breaths mingled, and I felt her gentle touch on my cheek as she drew closer. Her kiss was intense, as if she wanted to convey everything she was feeling at that moment.

I felt every part of me respond to that needy and meaningful kiss. It was as if we wanted to share everything we felt for each other, in case we didn't have another chance. Our lips moved with passion and tenderness, and as we parted, I could read everything in her glistening eyes.

—Come back to me— she whispered, and I could hear the concern and longing in her voice.

—I promise I'll be back— I replied, trying to convey all the determination and affection I felt.

We exchanged an intense and meaningful gaze before I slowly pulled away to descend the stairs. I had a mission to complete, but the thought of Tara and her warm embrace would accompany me in every step I took.

I hurriedly descended the stairs.

The scene in front of me was unfolding incredibly fast and violent. Confusion mixed with horror as Sam pointed the gun at Amber, Sydney urged her to shoot, and Richie approached with determined steps.

My heart was racing as I tried to comprehend what was happening.

—Thank God you're okay— Richie's words resonated in the room, and I felt myself freeze. With wide eyes, I helplessly witnessed the horrifying scene: the knife lodged in Sam's side, Richie embracing her, making the situation even more dreadful. —Because I wanted it to be me to kill you—Sam whispered almost breathlessly.

Richie's gaze shifted to me.

—Don't move, T/A— I remained frozen in place as I saw him aiming the gun at me.

Sydney stared at me in panic.

Richie handed the gun to Amber, causing her to point it at Sydney's temple. —Come here if you don't want me to kill Tara— Amber whispered seriously.

Reluctantly, I approached.

Amber struck me in the face with the gun's butt, causing a cut on my eyebrow.

—I can't believe it worked...— Richie said, smiling, revealing the inhaler that Tara had lost. —I know... it's a pity it's me— Richie said with gleaming eyes, tossing the inhaler to the ground. —But it was the best thing for the movie— he added, using a voice distorter.

—This isn't a damn movie— Sam muttered through clenched teeth. —I know... but it will be— Richie said, smiling.

—Right, Amber?— Sam's ex-boyfriend asked playfully.

—Absolutely, darling. Third-act bloodbath. Done—Amber said, smiling, pressing the gun against Sydney's temple. —Killers revealed. Done— Amber murmured next, looking at me with gleaming eyes.

Pouting, the girl aimed the gun at my legs and shot me.

The pain hit me suddenly, like a lightning bolt tearing through my body. My legs gave way beneath me, and I fell to the ground, feeling the sharp, throbbing burn radiating through me. The entire world seemed to slow down, and my breath became labored as I tried to grapple with that excruciating sensation.

My hands clenched around my legs, searching for any point of support. Tears welled up in my eyes from the pain and surprise. I couldn't believe what was happening. I looked at Amber, trying to fathom the reason behind that violent and senseless act.

—Why?— I managed to whisper, my voice cracking from pain and confusion. My mind was a whirlwind of conflicting emotions: anger, fear, betrayal. I couldn't fathom how anyone could inflict such pain on another human being.

I hoped someone would intervene, put an end to this madness. As the agony consumed me, my gaze met Sydney's. I pleaded for help with my eyes, imploring someone to halt everything before irreparable harm was done.

—Let's take them to the kitchen— Amber murmured, ignoring my question. I struggled to stand and followed them, blinded by pain.

—Someone needs to save the franchise— Richie exclaimed with enthusiasm. —No one's made a Steb film after the first— Richie pushed Sam. —No one at all— he affirmed, giving me a kick.

I gritted my teeth and tried to hold back tears.

Amber jumped up and down excitedly. —Darling, could you fetch Gale?—Richie asked kindly, pointing the gun at Sam. —I'm going!— the psychopath muttered enthusiastically.

Sam tried to escape, but Richie stopped her.

—Sydney Prescott...— Richie murmured with a smile on his lips. —You know... I'm a big admirer of yours— he timidly exclaimed.

—Screw you, psycho— Sydney retorted venomously.

—Did you watch the latest Steb?— Richie asked, tilting his head. —I don't like horror movies— Sydney replied.

—Well, anyway, it was awful... Is it possible they don't take us seriously because we're enthusiasts? Is it possible they won't listen to us?— Richie said angrily. —So we decided to lend a hand... you know... a real Steb is based on real events— he added, pointing the gun at Sam.

Amber arrived with Gale and had her sit on a chair.

—Did you do all this to make me the hero of your stupid movie?— Sam asked disgustedly.

—Darling... you're not the hero... you're the villain— Richie said playfully.

—The daughter of Billy Loomis, haunted by eerie visions of her killer father— Richie murmurs, placing the tip of the gun against Sam's throat. —Sydney Prescott killed your father... you... did all of this to bring her back to Woodsboro—Richie smiles at Sam.

—Do you know what the main problem with Steb films is?— Amber says innocently, playing with the gun.

—That there's no Michael Myers or Jason Voorhees— Amber moves the gun along Sydney's face. —No recurring villain in all the movies— she states with a smile.

—But the illegitimate daughter of the original villain? Now that's one damn good villain—she whispers with a chuckle.

—How do you know?—Sam asked.

—Darling... this is a small town, and your mother is a drunk— Amber said, amused.

—I met Richie on Steb forums... I immediately realized we think alike... I had this obsession when my parents bought this house— Amber said.

—Wasn't it difficult to find you in Modesto— Richie sneered. —Sleeping with you wasn't hard either— he muttered weakly.

—Fuck you!— Sam exclaimed angrily. —So you're just quoting the original— Richie said with amusement.

—We didn't only need you, Sam... but we had to bring back the main Steb characters— Amber said.

My eyes shifted to the knife on the table.

—You can't have Halloween without a Jamie Lee!—Amber said excitedly.

—That's why we had to kill Riley— Richie said, —for once we enthusiasts will win.— Richie approaches Sydney. —And I'm sorry, Sid. But you'll have to die... we can't let you survive anymore... it would be ridiculous— Richie muttered.

— Amber, go get Tara from the closet. We need to set up the bodies— Richie said with a smile.

Amber hesitated in place.

—Did you put her in the closet?— she timidly asked, and Richie gave her a furious look. —No, you were supposed to! Damn it! Go find her!—the guy said, clearly angry.

The phone began to ring.

—It's for you— I said with a half-smile on my lips. —Yes... as if Tara's limp was the problem— Richie said, amused.

—Amber, look for her everywhere! She couldn't have gone far!— Richie yelled, pointing the gun at Sam.

—I can't find her!— Amber's screams echoed in the distance.

Sounds of struggle in the distance distracted Richie. After Sam tackled him to the ground and attempted to disarm him, she finally managed to take the gun from him and escape to another room, taking one of the two Ghostfaces with her.

Meanwhile, Gale and Sydney confronted Amber, given my inability to walk. Despite their hostile and dangerous opponent, Gale and Sydney embarked on confronting Amber and trying to control the situation. With a seemingly inexplicable force of will, I managed to lift myself off the ground despite the searing pain. I grabbed a bottle of hand sanitizer and, without wasting time, hurled it at Amber with all the remaining energy I had. The liquid hit her body, and I heard her scream in pain as she recoiled, temporarily defeated. Gale and Sydney seized the opportunity, stepping in with determination to fight her. At that moment, I realized that my determination was becoming a crucial factor in this battle against Amber.

—I didn't do anything! It was his idea!—Amber exclaimed in panic after being cornered.

—You killed Riley, my friend—Gale said, aiming the gun at Amber.

—And he cried like a child— Amber said with a smile, provoking Gale's anger.

The fight continued, and after being cornered once again, Gale decided not to fall for it and shot at Amber. The girl fell against the kitchen and caught fire.

Sydney put an arm around my waist and led me out, seeing that Sam had killed Richie in the meantime.

Still in shock from the unexpected turn of events, a piercing scream echoed from the kitchen. I turned around in panic and saw Amber, half-burned, advancing towards me with a knife in hand. Everything seemed to be heading for the worst, but a sudden gunshot rang through the air, and Amber fell to the ground, motionless.

—Don't touch my girlfriend, you bitch— Tara said breathlessly, gripping the gun tightly.

Comments please

#jenna ortega x y/n #jenna ortega x you #jenna ortega #jenna ortega x reader #jenna ortega x fem!reader #wednesday addams x reader #tara carpenter x reader #tara carpenter #scream #love #guns n roses #gunshot #sydney prescott

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probablyhuntersmom · 1 year

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Since my brain won't shut up about Hunter and also opposite colours on the colour wheel..

Allow me to ramble a bit about three pairs of complementary colours, used as lighting in Hunter's character arc to reflect the significance of what's going on and to reflect his internal state:

Orange and blue: I noticed that orange - a really warm colour - is when he is the safest and happiest. Blue seems to imply great danger, since it's also Belos's monster glow colour. Orange is alluded to at the end of Hunting Palismen but starts to come into the picture for him in Clouds On The Horizon, and is contrasted with the medium blue in Eclipse Lake, vivid blue in Labyrinth Runners and dark blue in King's Tide:

The most vivid orange shade was when Luz told him "You're family now", versus the vivid bright blue right after he got possessed and had the absolute worst night in his life:

The Noceda house basement where he and Gus stayed was mostly orange. The Halloween Festival scene showed both colours, showing the transition from safety to danger:

Red and green: Flapjack was a vivid red colour, and the artificial magic used by Hunter and Belos was the same shade. Belos's goop colour is a sickly dark green shade. Something tells me that red points to Belos's portrayal of strength on the outside and his agenda as Emperor, since the most striking red lighting we see in the show is related to the Day of Unity. (Whereas blue might point to his chaotic internal state that unravels especially in King's Tide and the final act of Thanks to Them).

It's interesting that Hunter has red lighting behind him, holding Flapjack in staff form as support, during the first time he stands up to Belos:

Hunter witnesses Belos's 'death' in the frame with the most striking red, contrasted with his dread that Belos was in fact alive in the following episode:

But what stood out to me when he was so caring towards Willow in the most recent For the Future, was that the lighting was also dark green:

Maybe I'm reading too much into it but it's a really interesting colour choice for an overlap between Willow (whose theme colour is obviously green) at her lowest point and Hunter being in such a painful vulnerable place himself, to be able to connect with her from the emotional place of releasing some of his own immense traumatic grief.

Compare this point in his development where he has beautiful moments of vulnerability, to way back in Hollow Mind when we are faced with the big reveal and he's surrounded by red artificial magic as his world truly started to fall apart:

Finally there's the combination I have saved for last, yellow and purple, comparing Hunting Palismen and For the Future:

If you notice, a prominent portion of Hunting Palismen had yellow backgrounds and lighting (the location being Latissa), and clearly he was the character who stood out the most in that episode, being unmasked and all that.

Whereas For the Future showed a good deal of purple in the Boiling Isles - including what I think is a muted purple in the photo classroom of Hexside - since it is Luz's theme colour and was building up towards Luz gaining her staff and Stringbean hatching.

It's also interesting that 1) in Hunting Palismen, Luz had the major struggle of not pairing up with any palisman but goes through the challenge of rescuing the palismen that are taken by Hunter, and she ends up getting to know him. But 2) in For The Future, Hunter suffers from major grief after losing his palisman, and faces the challenge of accepting the loss while Luz gains her palisman:

In For the Future, there is this short scene where the lighting harks back to Flapjack fading away:

Some scenes with very low saturation of colour, but very light or very dark value, also marked significant turning points in his arc:

For obvious reasons, the lighting is neutral and not striking in more light-hearted scenes (though the first half of Labyrinth Runners is a bit of an exception here), such as the flyer derby scene in Any Sport In A Storm, or the thrift store scene in Thanks to Them.

How I wish I could've sat in the pre-production and production team meetings where these lighting-related decisions were made. Let's see what will happen in Watching and Dreaming!

#toh hunter #the owl house #toh analysis #hunting palismen #eclipse lake #hollow mind #labyrinth runners #clouds on the horizon #king's tide #thanks to them #for the future #loz writes a meta

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tokiro07 · 1 year

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Undead Unluck as an allegory for disability

I can’t say for sure if it was intentional on Tozuka’s part, but much like Jenny from My Life as a Teenage Robot coincidentally being readable as a trans character, the lives of the various Negators have a lot of opportunities for parallels with disability

Of course we have the obvious ones where the characters are literally disabled; Billy is blind, Juiz loses a hand and uses a prosthetic, Rip has prosthetic legs, an arm, and a false eye, and as we recently learned, Phil has an entirely prosthetic body save for his brain. Phil’s case is definitely exaggerated as that’s not medically possible yet, but having an illness at age 3 that causes the body to cease functioning properly is definitely something that can unfortunately feasibly happen

Then there are the characters whose disabilities come from their Negator abilities: again, Phil’s Unfeel makes him unable to feel emotions or physical sensations; Tella’s Untell makes him mute; Tatiana literally lives in a bubble, preventing her from having contact with others as if she were immunocompromised; Ichico’s Unsleep is an exaggerated form of insomnia; Nico’s Unforgettable at first seems to be eidetic memory, but when you consider that it degrades his memories from prior to gaining Unforgettable, it starts to resemble Alzheimer’s; deactivating Unstoppable requires Top break a bone, resulting in him wearing a cast at all times, which indirectly makes him an allegory for osteogenesis imperfecta (brittle bone disease)

Fuuko herself refers to her Unluck as a disease in the beginning of the story; sure, she was lying to make the concept easier for normal people to understand, but the fact that she can’t make physical contact with others without killing them, necessitating that she isolate herself for however many years, certainly does bring to mind several diseases

Andy’s sense of pain is described as radio static, which is similar to how it’s described by people with chronic pain. Even Andy’s inability to die can be viewed as a disability in and of itself; his ability to die was literally disabled by God. In fact, Negator abilities, being powers defined by a lack or erasure of a target concept, are all semantically disabilities

Appropriate, then, that the Negator power system is not about overcoming or simply getting rid of the Negator abilities, but working with and navigating through them to improve one’s quality of life. Through their own mental fortitude and personal perspectives, every Negator found the will to live and the ability to turn their disabilities into strengths

It reminds me of the early responses to Yuki Yuna is a Hero, where fans were excited that the girl in the wheelchair wasn’t suddenly able to walk when she was in magical girl form, but instead her magical girl uniform had supports that allowed her to stay upright and moved for her. I’m not going to discuss the greater implications of disability in Yuki Yuna here, only that its power system heavily focuses on providing support for the cast’s disabilities. In a similar vain, Undead Unluck’s story does not in any way imply that the disabilities of the cast make them any lesser or incapable of living well, but instead demonstrates that there’s no shame in relying on others or using assistive devices

Of course the metaphor breaks down a little when you remember that the goal is to defeat the God that disabled the cast so that they will regain their able bodies, which I think reinforces the idea that this was likely unintentional, but I do think that a disabled reader could identify with and take inspiration from Undead Unluck in the same way that they could from something like FMA where a high proportion of the cast have prosthetics

In fact, aside from FMA, I can’t think of another manga that has such a high count of disabled characters. I’m sure there are plenty, but I really can’t think of any off the top of my head. Either way, I’m glad to see a Jump title that can potentially serve as representation for the disabled community, and this is just another reason that UU is absolutely worth checking out

#undead unluck #fouryearsandananime #uu spoilers

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cookieblobber · 8 months

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The Defense of Steven Universe’s (OG Show) Ending

(This is basically a post where I put everything I said in a large Twitter thread so it’s more easily readable, with maybe a few changes and additions.

Spoilers BTW)

So I’ve been drawing a lot of stuff lately and in doing so, I’ve been rewatching a lot of old shows I used to watch and finishing whatever I missed out on. Steven Universe was an interesting one, as I recall having some form of obsession with it as a kid on Google+, however I barely remembered watching a lot of it or if I even watched it on TV or on websites like Kisscartoon. And after doing so,

I barely see the hate for it that it’s gotten for years.

It has its flaws, and issues that have plagued the show outside of what’s within it, but it’s no doubt memorable with a great cast of characters and very unique and fascinating lore and story telling. Now, I don’t wanna really get into a whole deep dive review on the whole show, as even though I’ve made a couple of essays lately (mainly on Sonic the Hedgehog), I don’t think I’m that experienced to go over an entire 5 seasons explaining each and every episode’s strengths and weaknesses and allat (though maybe I might discuss the amazing character development of each crystal gem in the future, who knows?), rather I want to discuss something that is partially why I started watching this show again: The Ending - Change Your Mind (S5E29).

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Now, the ending is understandably mixed, I understand the critiques of it being weird and anticlimactic and all and how it doesn’t feel like the diamonds’ actions on gem history was fully acknowledged and been punished for it. I completely get the criticism here and I don’t want to drive away people from making actual critiques on the show and where it could’ve improved upon.

What I mainly want to focus on is the notion that the ending can be summed up to, “Steven forgave Gem Hitler”

That is very incorrect.

See, the whole reason why White Diamond (the “Gem Hitler”) was involved with the story was because after Steven was able to prove to Blue and Yellow Diamond that he’s Pink Diamond, he takes the opportunity to use their stronger powers to restore one of the corrupted gems (Centipede). This works…for a moment, as they’re only restored once all 3 put their healing powers to use, but upon letting go of the gem, they reform back into their corrupted version. With Steven technically being part of the Diamond Authroity, he thinks maybe he can take advantage of his position to be able to speak to White Diamond, the highest gem in the patriarchy, and convince her to come to Earth to help the corrupted gems.

Throughout these last episodes, it’s clear this is all for a demand to help gems that were stuck on Earth. While Steven wanted to just try and talk to White, and convinced Blue and Yellow to express how they feel about how White has handled their civilization, there’s never a point where he’s all like “look inside your heart, please you have so much good in you I can feel it” or whatever. Considering how he had to fuse with the Crystal Gems and team up with others who showed up to be able to fight her mech and barely reach to the top of it to meet her, this whole plan wasn’t really as pacifist as many have made it out to be.

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Sorry to stray off a little but, funny thing is, as much as people make fun of Steven Universe for being a show where characters just talk their feelings out and suddenly everything is good, they acknowledge in one of the episodes that not every gem has this deep trauma or pain they try to hold in.

In the episode, “Stuck Together” he and Lars get caught by Aquamarine and Topaz, they both open up to each other about how no matter what happens, they got each other. This leads Topaz who throughout her introduction has been mute and serious and who has them held hostage, to start crying and vent about how much emotional pain she’s been holding in so much because it’s her job. When Aquamarine finds out she’s trying to help them escape, they desperately start trying to convince her that she’s allowed to open up about whatever she feels, that they’re here to listen and talk.

This is was her reaction.

And I have yet to watch Future right now, but from what I’m reading, even after a lot has changed since the original show and tons of gems live peacefully with Beach City, she shows up again to get her revenge.

At no point is she ever redeemed in any way.

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Anyways, the only reason why Steven was able to convince White to do something to corrupted gems on Earth was because he bested her and she couldn’t do anything about it.

Her whole ordeal was how she wants to have this flawless world where nothing goes out of line, even if it means having to mind control them so they act just like her. She views herself as being the perfect gem of all time who knows what’s best for everyone. However, due to how she’s acted with Steven, being an adult gem constantly picking on a literal child because she refuses to accept he’s not Pink Diamond or is part human; how it’s all just a disguise and Pink Diamond is just lying to herself, she’s embarrassed and realizes she indeed does have a flaw. She’s shaken up with guilt over how petty and childish she’s been acting, being exactly what she’s been criticizing Pink Diamond, to the point where she questions who she is. If she’s not this flawless perfect gem who knows what’s best, then what is she? What should she be since throughout her whole life she’s been obsessed with perfection? She can’t be leader of a whole gem civilization trying to make everyone flawless if she herself is flawed. What further solidified it was how she was unable to control Pink Steven no matter how much she tried, and once she started blushing and feeling embarrassed, she lost control on the other gems she had brainwashed. Blue and Yellow even react in disgust/fear seeing her become “off-color” due to her blush, basically for a moment them losing respect for her.

Steven goes up to her and tries to tell her to just, let people be who they are, without trying to “fix” them, and maybe she can be whoever she wants to be. White is still in distraught, wanting to be someone who knows better, be better, and wanting to make everything better, which Steven offers her a way to do so (which is coming to Earth to help the corrupted gems), but first needing to leave your own head - literally and figuratively.

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At no point throughout the ending is White crying about trauma or begging for forgiveness to Steven and having him go “it’s ok we all make mistakes 🥰🥰🥰🥰🥰”, all that happens is Steven sees her essentially having an identity crisis now that she cracked and realized she isn’t as perfect as she thought she was, and being the good natured kid he is, offers to show her how she can be a better person, taking the opportunity to make her do what he set out to demand from her. To say they should’ve shattered her would’ve defeated the whole point as to why Steven even went back to Homeworld to begin with, cuz he needed White’s help. Plus, still haven’t watched Future but,

There is a scene where Steven actually attempts to SHATTER White Diamond upon taking control of her body for everything she has done to him, he CLEARLY doesn’t find her to be in the clear of everything she’s done.

TL;DR They can’t just shatter her cuz she’s the big bad villain, the whole point of the final episodes was Steven needing her in order to restore all the corrupted gems they’ve saved throughout the show. No matter what it took, he was going to find a way to do it. While I do agree that there could’ve been better acknowledgment on everything that she’s done to Homeworld and all, same goes for Blue and Yellow, as they’re immediately relegated to out of touch aunts, to make the massive stretch that this is supposed to be Steven forgiving Hitler or proof that Rebecca Sugar (a Jewish person) is a Nazi apologist…come on bro.

EDIT: I really recommend btw watching this video I recently just viewed discussing the show’s ending and really diving in about the topic of Steven’s identity and White’s identity. It’s informative summarizing a lot of what’s been hinted at and led up to the final episode and goes over stuff I could never even attempt to bring to light with how amateurish I am at this sorta junk 💀

youtube

And even if with everything being said, you still believe in the notion that “Steven forgave Gen Hitler” or whatever, I’m about to bring up an argument so earth shattering that it will make you re-evaluate everything you know about the show. So, here it goes:

IT’S A FUCKING PG CARTOON SHOW

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Listen, I know it’s very cliche to use the, “it’s a kids show it’s not that deep!!” argument or whatever idiots say to avoid people from discussing further about their favorite things, especially in an era where many are pushing the “Animation is Cinema” phrase and proving its not just kiddie shit only babies like, but what I mean is

At what point is it crossing the line when making comparisons from a thing in fiction to something in real life?

What makes a great story is how it’s able to draw connections to realistic issues or problems many face with unique metaphors and analogies and all of that, Steven Universe is no different. However, at what point are the metaphors or references to real life supposed to stop? At what point does it become stretching really hard? I can understand how people have had ideas that “fusion is a metaphor for sex” or whatever to some degree.

But going as far as to compare this obviously over the top dictator to the world’s worst man to have ever lived on planet earth who is responsible for the death of millions just because he so happens to also be a dictator, doesn’t that seem so…psychotic to even try to relate when it’s obvious that was never the intention? I mean look at this whole world of the show, it’s a futuristic jewelry space civilization filled with advanced technology and bright colors, how do you look at all of this and first thing that comes to mind is Nazi Germany? How do you look at a giant voluptuous white woman who’s existed for millenniums and think “yea that’s Hitler right there”, all because she’s simply a textbook definition of a dictator?

Trying to make her whole country this flawless world where no one goes out of line and disallows any form of diversity? Like any typical villain? Is that really all it takes to be considered as “animated Hitler”?

Does that mean the abandoned flawed gems in the abandoned Kindergarten that Steven and Lars met at the very bottom of Homeworld are supposed to be a reference to Anne Frank’s family hiding from nazis? One would say that’s a massive stretch to make and they’d be right, cuz it is…just like what people say about White Diamond.

These kinds of massive stretches and comparisons have been made in the past constantly, and for what? To gang up on a show that just wanted to teach kids the values of showing love and positivity, being there for your friends and families and trying to accept people’s flaws or differences in how they live? To make excuses to be blatantly anti-semetic towards the Jewish person who created this show? All because over shit like the fanbase was infamous at one point for how they treated each other and the show producers or because the ending wasn’t how many wanted it to be or how it debatably pushes the idea of positivity way too much in places where it shouldn’t try to?

At what point do people who criticize this show for it’s apparent farfetched ideologies of being kind to everyone, start sounding farfetched themselves for making these insane leaps in logic to make a blatantly slanderous argument and label on the show? If something like “White Diamond is supposed to be Gem Hitler” is something many easily gave into believing, what kind of fucked up comparisons would people make next about the entirety of Homeworld or gems as a species till these start to sound like psychotic conspiracy theories?

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Steven Universe is no doubt a flawed show, I won’t deny that, will never deny that. As much as I defend the ending and go against how people have slandered the show, I can admit stuff could’ve been done better. However, like I’ve said at the beginning, I fail to see how all the hate the show’s gotten for years has ever been deserved or warrented. It’s clear that even with its flaws in storytelling, pacing, (sometimes animation), there is still so much to love about this show. It’s characters, it’s music, it’s themes, it’s lore, etc. There’s good reason as to why people love and still fondly remember it and consider it to be just as important as the other shows that brought in this renaissance era for Cartoon Network (Gumball, Regular Show, and Adventure Time).

After all, just like what the ending taught people, things aren’t always going to be perfect, and that’s ok. Flaws make things what they are, and unless said flaws actively have negative effects on things, there’s no reason to fight against them so excruciatingly. We may strive hard for perfection and flawlessness, to be considered perfect or for a thing we like to be considered perfect, but at some point, trying to do so much just to achieve said perfection will down the road start to become an issue and affect ourselves and the ones around us, the ones we love.

When you think about it, a lot of what has happened within the fanbase and the critics of the show mimic similar attitude to White Diamond. This want for perfection, for nothing to be going out of line, but all it’s done is damage the show’s reputation to many.

Fans on here long ago harassing an artist for the way they drew one of the characters of the show as she wasn’t in this “perfect” body shape they wanted her in. Or harassing producers of the show for how they’d handle things like (iirc) Lapis and Peridot’s “relationship” because it didn’t match their “perfect” connection between the two, and more.

On the other side, critics like the infamous Lily Orchard blasting the show for not being this “perfectly” told story and going out of her way to make these insane comparisons to have some leverage in this giant attack on the show and what it stands for.

These wild and out of pocket attempts to make everything perfect for the show, and what has it done? It heavily soured how people view the show, making people want to stay away from getting into it as from the POV of the outside looking in, it’s a whole rabbit hole they probably shouldn’t get into…for their sake of their mental health. This mindset to be caught up in selfish outlandish views of what’s deemed as being perfect has only made things worse for everyone on every side of discussion on this show. And while as of lately things seem to be recovering, as more people are giving the show a second chance and realizing how messed up people like Lily Orchard were, still the effects of what happened back in the mid-late 2010s are noticeable in some areas.

——————————

If it gets to a point where we’re fighting a flaw that barely affects anyone, is it really a flaw that is that important or even a flaw at all to begin with? We can strive to be better people and learn from mistakes, but a perfect person who can do no wrong is just impossible.

Flaws are what help make everything feel unique in it’s own right. That’s not to say some flaws can’t be acknowledged and called out, but as for flaws that sum up to “someone/something is different from what I expected”, it seems over the top to go so hard to fight against it, as we’d be fighting against having diversity among each and every one of us.

If every pork-chop were perfect, we wouldn’t have hot dogs.

#steven universe #white diamond #change your mind #Cartoon Network #god I’m really tired rn 😭#I want Blue Diamond to sit on me #Youtube

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shuxiii · 11 months

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Everyday pt.7

Hanni Pham x reader pt1, pt2, pt3, pt4, pt5, pt6, pt7, pt8, pt9, pt10, pt11, pt12, pt13

a/n chapter might be sensitive to other individuals so please if you don't feel comfortable reading this chapter you can skip it. credits all to ''every day'' by David Levithan. Once again please if you are sensitive to the trigger warnings don't read it.

TW: mental illness, thoughts of suicide

Day 6005

Some people think mental illness is a matter of mood, a matter of personality. They think depression is simply a form of being sad, that OCD is a form of being uptight. They think the soul is sick, not the body. It is, they believe, something that you have some choice over.

I know how wrong this is.

When I was a child, I didn’t understand. I would wake up in a new body and wouldn’t comprehend why things felt muted, dimmer. Or the opposite—I’d be supercharged, unfocused, like a radio at top volume flipping quickly from station to station. Since I didn’t have access to the body’s emotions, I assumed the ones I was feeling were my own. Eventually, though, I realized these inclinations, these compulsions, were as much a part of the body as its eye color or its voice. Yes, the feelings themselves were intangible, amorphous, but the cause of the feelings was a matter of chemistry, biology.

It is a hard cycle to conquer. The body is working against you. And because of this, you feel even more despair. Which only amplifies the imbalance. It takes uncommon strength to live with these things. But I have seen that strength over and over again. When I fall into the life of someone grappling, I have to mirror their strength, and sometimes surpass it, because I am less prepared.

I know the signs now. I know when to look for the pill bottles, when to let the body take its course. I have to keep reminding myself—this is not me. It is chemistry. It is biology. It is not who I am. It is not who any of them are.

Kim Ji Won's mind is a dark place. Even before I open my eyes, I know this. Her mind is an unquiet one, words and thoughts and impulses constantly crashing into each other. My own thoughts try to assert themselves within this noise. The body responds by breaking into a sweat. I try to remain calm, but the body conspires against that, tries to drown me in distortion.

It is not usually this bad, first thing in the morning. If it’s this bad now, it must be pretty bad at all times.

Underneath the distortion is a desire for pain. I open my eyes and see the scars. Not just on the body, although those are there—the hairline fractures across the skin, the web you create to catch your own death. The scars are in the room as well, across the walls, along the floor. The person who lives here no longer cares about anything. Posters hang half-ripped. The mirror is cracked. Clothes lay abandoned. The shades are drawn. The books sit crooked on shelves, like rows of neglected teeth. At one point she must have broken open a pen and spun it around, because if you look closely, you can see small, dried drops of ink all over the walls and ceiling.

I access her history and am shocked to realize that she’s gotten this far without any notice, without any diagnosis. She has been left to her own devices, and those devices are broken.

It is five in the morning. I have woken up without any alarm. I have woken up because the thoughts are so loud, and none of them mean me well.

I struggle to get back to sleep, but the body won’t let me.

Two hours later, I get out of bed.

Depression has been likened to both a black cloud and a black dog. For someone like Jiwon, the black cloud is the right metaphor. She is surrounded by it, immersed within it, and there is no obvious way out. What she needs to do is try to contain it, get it into the form of the black dog. It will still follow her around wherever she goes; it will always be there. But at least it will be separate, and will follow her lead.

I stumble into the bathroom and start the shower.

“What are you doing?” a male voice calls. “Didn’t you shower last night?”

I don’t care. I need the sensation of water hitting my body. I need this prompt to start my day.

When I leave the bathroom, Jiwon’s father is in the hallway, glaring at me.

“Get dressed,” he says with a scowl. I hold my towel tighter around me.

Once I’ve got my clothes on, I gather my books for school. There’s a journal in Jiwon’s backpack, but I don’t have time to read it. I also don’t have time to check my email. Even though he’s in the other room, I can sense Jiwon’s father waiting.

It’s just the two of them. I access and find Jiwon’s lied to him in order to be driven to school—she said that the route had been redrawn, but really she doesn’t want to be trapped in the bus with other kids. It’s not that she’s bullied—she’s too busy bullying herself to notice. The problem is the confinement, the inability to leave.

Her father’s car isn’t much better, but at least there’s only one other person she has to deal with. Even when we’re moving, he doesn’t stop exuding impatience. I am always amazed by people who know something is wrong but still insist on ignoring it, as if that will somehow make it go away. They spare themselves the confrontation, but end up boiling in resentment anyway.

She needs your help, I want to say. But it’s not my place to say it, especially because I’m not sure he’ll react in the right way.

So Jiwon remains silent the whole drive. From her father’s response to this silence, I can imagine this is how their mornings always go.

Jiwon has email access on her phone, but I’m still worried about anything being traced, especially after my slip-up with Haruto.

So I walk the halls and go to classes, waiting for my chance. I have to push harder to get Jiwon through the day. Any time I let it, the weight of living creeps in and starts to drag her down. It would be too easy to say that I feel invisible. Instead, I feel painfully visible, and entirely ignored. People talk to her, but it feels like they are outside a house, talking through the walls. There are friends, but they are people to spend time with, not people to share time with. There’s a false beast that takes the form of instinct and harps on the pointlessness of everything that happens.

The only person who tries to engage me is Jiwon’s lab partner, Rei. We’re in physics class, and the assignment is to set up a pulley system. I’ve done this before, so it doesn’t strike me as hard. Rei, however, is surprised by Jiwon’s involvement. I realize I’ve overstepped—this is not the kind of thing Jiwon would get excited about. But Rei doesn’t let me back down. When I try to mumble apologies and step away, she insists I keep going.

“You’re good at this,” she says. “Much better than I am.”

While I arrange things, adjusting inclines and accounting for various forms of friction, Rei talks to me about a dance that’s coming up, asks me if I have any weekend plans, and tells me she might be going to DC with her parents. She seems hypersensitive to my reaction, and I’m guessing the conversation usually gets shut down long before this point. But I let her talk, let her voice counter the unspoken, insistent ones that emanate from my broken mind.

Then the period is over, and we go our separate ways. I don’t see her again for the rest of the day.

I spend lunchtime in the library at the computer. I don’t imagine anyone at lunch will miss me—but maybe that’s just what Jiwon would think. Part of growing up is making sure your sense of reality isn’t entirely grounded in your own mind; I feel Jiwon’s mind isn’t letting her get anywhere near that point, and I wonder how much of my own thoughts are getting stuck there as well.

Logging into my own email is a nice jolt to remind me that I am in fact me, not Jiwon. Even better, there is word from Hanni—the sight of which cheers me up, until I read what the email says.

Yn,

So, who are you today?

What a strange question to ask. But I guess it makes sense. If any of this makes sense.

Yesterday was a hard day. Minji’s grandmother is sick, but instead of admitting she’s upset about it, she just lashes out at the world more. I’m trying to help her, but it’s hard.

I don’t know if you want to hear this or not. I know how you feel about Minji. If you want me to keep that part of my life hidden from you, I can. But I don’t think that’s what you want.

Tell me how your day is going.

Hanni

I reply and tell her a little about what Jiwon is up against. Then I end with this:

I want you to be honest with me. Even if it hurts. Although I would prefer for it not to hurt.

Love,

Next, I switch accounts and find a reply from Haruto.

I know I haven’t made a mistake. I know what you are. And I will find out who you are. The reverend says he is working on that.

You want me to doubt myself. But I am not the only one. You will see.

Confess now, before we find you.

I stare at the screen for a minute, trying to reconcile the tone of this email with the Haruto I knew for a day. It feels like two very different people. I wonder if it’s possible that someone else has taken over Haruto’s account. I wonder who “the reverend” is.

The bell rings, marking the end of the lunch period. I return to class and the black cloud takes hold. I find it hard to concentrate on what’s being said. I find it hard to see how any of this is important. Nothing I’m being taught here will make life less painful. None of the people in this room will make life less painful. I attack my cuticles with merciless precision. It is the only sensation that feels genuine.

Jiwon’s father is not going to pick her up after school; he’s still at work. Instead, she walks home, in order to avoid the bus. I am tempted to break this pattern, but it’s been so long since she’s ridden the bus that she has no memory of which bus is hers. So I start to walk.

Again, I find myself wishing for the mundane possibility of calling Hanni on the phone, for filling the next empty hour with the sound of her voice.

But instead, all I am left with is Jiwon and her damaged perceptions. The walk home is a steep one, and I wonder if it’s yet another way she punishes herself. After about a half hour, with another half hour in front of me, I decide to stop at a playground I’m about to pass. The parents there give me wary looks because I am not a parent or a little kid, so I steer clear of the jungle gym, the swings, and the sandbox, and end up on the outer ring, on a seesaw that looks like it’s been banished from everything else for bad behavior.

There’s homework I could do, but Jiwon’s journal calls out to me instead. I’m a little afraid of what I’ll find inside, but mostly I’m curious. If I can’t access the things she’s felt, I will at least be able to read a partial transcript.

It’s not a journal in the traditional sense. That becomes apparent after a page or two. There are no musings about boys or girls. There are no revisited scenes of discord with her father or her teachers. There are no secrets shared or injustices vented.

Instead, there are ways to kill yourself, listed with extraordinary detail.

Knives to the heart. Knives to the arm. Belts around the neck. Plastic bags. Hard falls. Death by burning. All of them methodically researched. Examples given. Illustrations provided—rough illustrations where the test case is clearly Jiwon. Self-portraits of her own demise.

I flip to the end, past pages of dosages and special instructions. There are still blank pages at the back, but before them is a page that reads DEADLINE, followed by a date that’s only six days away.

I look through the rest of the notebook, trying to find other, failed deadlines.

But there’s only the one.

I get off the seesaw, back away from the park. Because now I feel like I am the thing the parents are afraid of, I am the reality they want to avoid. No, not just avoid—prevent

. They don’t want me anywhere near their children, and I don’t blame them. It feels as if everything I touch will turn to harm.

I don’t know what to do. There’s no threat in the present—I am in control of the body, and as long as I am in control of the body, I will not allow it to hurt itself. But I will not be in control six days from now.

I know I am not supposed to interfere. It is Jiwon’s life, not mine. It is unfair of me to do something that limits her choices, that makes up her mind for her.

My childish impulse is to wish I hadn’t opened the journal.

But I have.

I try to access any memory of Jiwon giving a cry for help. But the thing about a cry for help is that someone else needs to be around to hear it. And I am not finding a moment of that in Jiwon’s life. Her father sees what he wants to see, and she doesn’t want to dispel this fiction with fact. Her mother left years ago. Other relatives are distant. Friends all exist far outside the black cloud. Just because Rei was nice in physics class doesn’t mean she should be freighted with this, or would know what to do.

I make it back to Jiwon’s empty house, sweaty and exhausted. I turn on her computer and everything I need to know is there in her history—the sites where these plans come from, where this information can be gleaned. Right there, one click away for everyone to see. Only no one is looking.

We both need to talk to someone.

I email Hanni.

I really need to speak to you right now. The girl whose body I’m in wants to kill herself. This is not a joke.

I give her Jiwon’s home phone number, figuring there will be no obvious record of it, and that it can always be discounted as a wrong number.

Ten minutes later, she calls.

“Hello?” I answer.

“Is that you?” she asks.

“Yeah.” I’ve forgotten that she doesn’t know the sound of my voice. “It’s me.”

“I got your email. Wow.”

“Yeah, wow.”

“How do you know?”

I tell her briefly about Jiwon’s journal.

“That poor girl,” Hanni says. “What are you going to do?”

“I have no idea.”

“Don’t you have to tell someone?”

“There was no training for this, Hanni. I really don’t know.”

All I know is that I need her. But I’m afraid to say it. Because saying it might scare her away.

“Where are you?” she asks.

I tell her the town.

“That’s not far. I can be there in a little while. Are you alone?”

“Yeah. Her father doesn’t get home until around seven.”

“Give me the address.”

I do.

“I’ll be right there,” she says.

I don’t even need to ask. It means more that she knows.

I wonder what would happen if I straightened up Jiwon’s room. I wonder what would happen if she woke up tomorrow morning and found everything in its right place. Would it give her some unexpected calm? Would it make her understand that her life does not have to be chaos? Or would she just take one look and destroy it again? Because that’s what her chemistry, her biology would tell her to do.

The doorbell rings. I have spent the past ten minutes staring at the ink stains on the walls, hoping they will rearrange themselves into an answer, and knowing they never will.

The black cloud is so thick at this point that not even Hanni's presence can send it away. I am happy to see her in the doorway, but that happiness feels more like resigned gratitude than pleasure.

She blinks, takes me in. I have forgotten that she is not used to this, that she is not expecting a new person every day. It’s one thing to acknowledge it theoretically, and quite another thing to have a thin, shaky girl standing on the other side of the precipice.

“Thank you for coming,” I say.

It’s a little after five, so we don’t have much time before Jiwon’s father comes home.

We head to Jiwon’s room. Hanni sees the journal sitting on Jiwon’s bed and picks it up. I watch and wait until she’s done reading.

“This is serious,” she says. “I’ve had … thoughts. But nothing like this.”

She sits down on the bed. I sit down next to her.

“You have to stop her,” she says.

“But how can I? And is that really my right? Shouldn’t she decide that for herself?”

“So, what? You just let her die? Because you didn’t want to get involved?”

I take her hand.

“We don’t know for sure that the deadline’s real. This could just be her way of getting rid of the thoughts. Putting them on paper so she doesn’t do them.”

She looks at me. “But you don’t believe that, do you? You wouldn’t have called me if you believed that.”

She looks down at our hands.

“This is weird,” she says.

“What?”

She squeezes once, then pulls her hand away. “This.”

“What do you mean?”

“It’s not like the other day. I mean, it’s a different hand. You’re different.”

“But I’m not.”

“You can’t say that. Yes, you’re the same person inside. But the outside matters, too.”

“You look the same, no matter what eyes I’m seeing you through. I feel the same.”

It’s true, but it doesn’t really address what she’s saying.

“You never get involved in the people’s lives? The ones you’re inhabiting.”

I shake my head.

“You try to leave the lives the way you found them.”

“Yeah.”

“But what about Minji? What made that so different?”

“You,” I say.

Just one word, and she finally understands. Just one word, and the door to the enormity is finally unlocked.

“That makes no sense,” she says.

And the only way to show her how it makes sense, the only way to make the enormity real, is for me to lean over and kiss her. Like last time, but not at all like last time. Not our first kiss, but also our first kiss. My lips feel different against hers, our bodies fit differently. And there is also something else that surrounds us, the black cloud as well as the enormity. I am not kissing her because I want to, and I am not kissing her because I need to—I am kissing her for a reason that transcends want and need, that feels elemental to our existence, a molecular component on which our universe will be built. It is not our first kiss, but it’s the first kiss where she knows me, and that makes it more of a first kiss than the first kiss ever was.

I find myself wishing that Jiwon could feel this, too. Maybe she does. It’s not enough. It’s not a solution. But it does lessen the weight for a moment.

Hanni is not smiling when we pull away from each other. There is none of the giddiness of the earlier kiss.

“This is definitely weird,” she says.

“Why?”

“Because I still have a girlfriend? Because we’re talking about someone else’s suicide?”

“In your heart, does any of that matter?” In my heart, it doesn’t.

“Yes. It does.”

“Which part?”

“All of it. When I kiss you, I’m not actually kissing you, you know. You’re inside there somewhere. But I’m kissing the outside part. And right now, although I can feel you underneath, all I’m getting is the sadness. I’m kissing her, and I want to cry.”

“That’s not what I want,” I tell her.

“I know. But that’s what there is.”

She stands up and looks around the room, searching for clues to a murder that has yet to happen.

“If she were bleeding in the street, what would you do?” she asks.

“That’s not the same situation.”

“If she were going to kill someone else?”

“I would turn her in.”

''So how is this different?”

“It’s her own life. Not anyone else’s.”

“But it’s still killing.”

“If she really wants to do it, there’s nothing I can do to stop it.”

Even as I say this, it feels wrong.

“Okay,” I continue, before Hanni can correct me. “Putting up obstacles can help. Getting other people involved can help. Getting her to the proper doctors can help.”

“Just like if she had cancer, or was bleeding in the street.”

This is what I need. It’s not enough to hear these things in my own voice. I need to hear them told to me by somebody I trust.

“So who do I tell?”

“A guidance counselor, maybe?”

I look at the clock. “School’s closed. And we only have until midnight, remember.”

“Who’s her best friend?”

I shake my head.

“Boyfriend? Girlfriend?”

“No.”

“A suicide hotline?”

“If we call one, they’d only be giving me advice, not her. We have no way of knowing if she’ll remember it tomorrow, or if it will have any effect. Believe me, I’ve thought about these options.”

“So it has to be her father. Right?”

“I think he checked out a while ago.”

“Well, you need to get him to check back in.”

She makes it sound so easy. But both of us know it’s not easy.

“What do I say?”

“You say, ‘Dad, I want to kill myself.’ Just come right out and say it.”

“And if he asks me why?”

“You tell him you don’t know why. Don’t commit to anything. She’ll have to work that out starting tomorrow.”

“You’ve thought this through, haven’t you?”

“It was a busy drive over.”

“What if he doesn’t care? What if he doesn’t believe her?”

“Then you grab his keys and drive to the nearest hospital. Bring the journal with you.”

Hearing her say it, it all makes sense.

She sits back down on the bed.

“Come here,” she says. But this time we don’t kiss. Instead, she hugs my frail body.

“I don’t know if I can do this,” I whisper.

“You can,” she tells me. “Of course you can.”

I am alone in Jiwon’s room when her father comes home. I hear him throw down his keys, take something out of the refrigerator. I hear him walk to his bedroom, then come back out. He doesn’t call out a hello. I don’t even know if he realizes I’m here.

Five minutes pass. Ten minutes. Finally, he calls out, “Dinner!”

I haven’t heard any activity in the kitchen, so I’m not surprised to find a KFC bucket on the table. He’s already started on a drumstick.

I can guess how this usually works. He takes his dinner into the den, in front of the TV. She takes hers back to her room. And that marks the rest of the night for them.

But tonight is different. Tonight she says, “I want to kill myself.”

At first I don’t think he’s heard me.

“I know you don’t want to hear this,” I say. “But it’s the truth.”

He drops his hand to his side, still holding the drumstick.

“What are you saying?” he asks.

“I want to die,” I tell him.

“C’mon now,” he says. “Really?”

If I were Jiwon, I’d probably leave the room in disgust. I’d give up.

“You need to get me help,” I say. “This is something I’ve been thinking about for a long time.” I put the journal on the table, shove it over to him. This might ultimately be my biggest betrayal of Jiwon. I feel awful, but then I conjure Hanni’s voice in my ear, telling me I am doing the right thing.

Jiwon’s father puts down the drumstick, picks up the journal. Starts reading it. I try to decode his expression. He doesn’t want to be seeing this. Resents that it’s happening. Hates it, even. But not her. He keeps reading because even if he hates the situation, he doesn’t hate her.

“Jiwon …,” he chokes out.

I wish she could see how it hits him. The look on his face, his life caving in. Because then maybe she’d realize, if only for a split second, that even though the world doesn’t matter to her, she matters to the world.

“This isn’t just some … thing?” he asks.

I shake my head. It’s a stupid question, but I’m not going to call him on it.

“So what do we do?”

There. I have him.

“We need to get help,” I tell him. “Tomorrow morning we need to find a counselor who’s open on Saturday, and we need to see what we have to do. I probably need medication. I definitely need to talk to a doctor. I have been living this for so long.”

“But why didn’t you tell me?”

Why didn’t you see? I want to ask back. But now’s not the time for that. He’ll get there on his own.

“That doesn’t matter. We need to focus on now. I am asking for help. You need to get me help.”

“Are you sure it can wait until morning?”

“I’m not going to do anything tonight. But tomorrow you have to watch me. You have to force me if I change my mind. I might change my mind. I might pretend that this whole conversation didn’t happen. Keep that notebook. It’s the truth. If I fight you, fight me back. Call an ambulance.”

“An ambulance?”

“That’s how serious this is, Dad.”

It’s the last word that really brings it home to him. I don’t think Jiwon uses it that often.

He’s crying now. We just stay there, looking at each other.

Finally, he says, “Have some dinner.”

I take some chicken from the bucket, then bring it back to my room. I’ve said everything I’ve needed to say.

Jiwon will have to tell him the rest.

I hear him pacing throughout the house. I hear him on the phone to someone, and I hope it’s someone who can help him the way Hanni helped me. I hear him stop outside the door, afraid to open it but still listening in. I make small stirring noises, so he knows I’m awake, alive.

I fall asleep to the sound of his concern.

#Hanni Pham x reader #newjeans #newjeans fanfic #hanni pham #new jeans #nwjns #NewJeans Imagines #Newjeans imagine #Newjean Fanfic #NewJeans Fanfic #newjeans fic #newjeans imagine #Newjeans x reader

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master-sass-blast · 1 year

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Down the River -The Hands that Heal, Part Fifteen.

Part One, Part Two, Part Three, Part Four, Part Five: Chapter One, Part Five: Chapter Two, Part Five: Chapter Three, Part Six: Chapter One, Part Six: Chapter Two, Part Seven, Part Eight, Part Nine, Part Ten, Part Eleven, Part Twelve, Part Thirteen, Part Fourteen

Summary:

“Did your aversion to public displays of affection and planning dates end those relationships?” When you nod, Chinatsu kicks back in her seat. She stares at the city skyline for a moment, then folds her hands over her stomach. “What’s your strongest, earliest memory as it relates to your sexuality?”

“See, that’s what I don’t understand.” You lean forward and brace your elbows against the table. “I’ve done trauma recovery work and spoken with patients; I know that the stronger the memory is, and the earlier in life it is, the more formative it is for how you feel and respond to things. But what keeps coming to mind doesn’t have anything to do with my relationships or sexuality!”

“Let’s investigate it anyway,” Chinatsu says. “What comes to mind?”

You can practically feel your body try to shut down. Everything goes numb; the early fall breeze doesn’t feel like it’s catching on your skin anymore. It’s almost like something inside you separates from the outer shell of your body. You swallow hard, then force yourself to speak. “It’s when I came out to my parents.”

aka talking about feelings and trauma is hard, part two.

Pairing(s): Lin Beifong x Reader.

Rating: T for emotional trauma and trauma processing, specifically focused on queer identity.

Word count: 9.2k.

“You don’t need to make a big deal out of this!”

…

You can hear birds chirping outside. The residents in the apartment next door are awake; it sounds like they’re making breakfast. You can hear the clatter of dishes and muted chatter through the adjoining wall.

There’s a crack on the ceiling of your bedroom. It’s been painted over, but the break still shows through. It looks like a river cutting through a ravine. You know every inch of that crack. You’ve stared at it on countless groggy mornings and sleepless nights.

Your alarm clock went off ten minutes ago. It’s another day at the physical therapy clinic. You need to get up so you can shower before heading off to work.

You blink when the sound of something hitting the floor –followed by light swearing–emanates through the wall. Sounds messy.

Your alarm clock went off ten minutes ago. You need to get up.

Your eyes trace over the crack in the ceiling. If you let your mind wander far enough, you can envision yourself floating down the imaginary river. You can almost feel the coolness of the water against your skin. The strength of the current beneath your body.

You need to get up.

Your body feels like lead. Despite sleeping adequately, your mind feels like it’s full of fog.

You stare up at the crack on the ceiling. You inhale deeply, then breathe out slowly.

You can feel the water dragging you under its surface.

Get up.

You force yourself to sit up. You stare at the floor for several minutes without really seeing it. Then –finally–you get up from your bed and walk to your phone. “I need to place a call to Northern Moon Physical Therapy Center.” You sag against the wall, gazing off into space while the operator places the call. Your mind drifts to nowhere, filling with the crackle of quiet static. Your body almost goes numb; it’s like you’ve been disconnected from your body, and now part of you is drifting away on some invisible current–

“Northern Moon Physical Therapy Center, how can I help you?”

You flinch, blinking rapidly, then clear your throat and identify yourself to the receptionist. “I need to call in sick today. I think I might’ve caught a bug.”

The receptionist –a sweet young woman named Li-Na–hums sympathetically. “I’ll let management know. Feel better soon.”

You thank her in a mumble of words, then hang up. Alright, at least that’s taken care of.

You’ve got a day to rest. A day to recuperate inside your apartment. A day to stay inside, by yourself, just staring off into space…

You pick up the phone and ask the operator to place another call. When the line picks up, you ask, “Hey, can I take you to lunch today?”

…

The world feels like it’s on lowered volume. Nothing sounds as clear or looks as bright. The chatter from midday shoppers is just a muddy mess. The gently swaying multicolored flags that hang up in Yangchen Plaza are distant blurs.

And I didn’t even get hungover for this, you think absently. Your fingers fidget with the hem of your blouse. What a damn shame.

“Hey. Sorry I’m late.”

You flinch, caught off guard, then look up as Chinatsu sits down across from you. “Oh. Hi. It’s alright.”

She pauses halfway into her seat. She studies you for a long moment, then slowly finishes sitting. “Are you okay?”

“Yeah.” You swallow hard, then force yourself to nod. “I’m alright.”

Her mouth twists into a disbelieving frown –but then a waiter materializes next to your table, distracting both of you. Once your orders have been taken, she returns the full brunt of her laser-focused attention to you. “What’s wrong?”

“I…” Your voice trails off as you try –and fail–to find the words to explain the mess of muck in your mind. You smile, sardonic, and laugh softly. “I mean, nothing, I guess.”

“Right,” she drawls, expression flatly unconvinced. She adjusts the collar of her tweed blazer, then arches one eyebrow at you. “So, you wanted to have lunch and talk about the weather?”

You blanch. “I –I don’t want you to think that I’m… that I’m just using you for your expertise–”

“What are friends for?” She waves one hand dismissively. “You’re buying me lunch. It’s fine. Why do you look like someone killed your dog?”

You grimace and stare down at the table. “Uh… relationship troubles, I guess.”

Chinatsu nods. “Same lady?” When you nod, she nods again. “What’s the scope of things this time?”

“I… We’re together.” You smile, but it quickly slips away. “The problem’s on my end this time. She pointed out that I’m not very affectionate in public. And that I don’t really initiate a lot of dates. It’s making her feel like I don’t want to be seen with her.”

Chinatsu drums her fingers against the tabletop. She considers, then shrugs. “Not everyone’s comfortable with PDA. And not everyone is a planner.”

“But she’s right,” you insist. Your eyes start watering, and you have to take a deep breath before you can continue. “This isn’t exactly… new to me. It’s come up in past relationships.”

“Did your aversion to public displays of affection and planning dates end those relationships?” When you nod, Chinatsu kicks back in her seat. She stares at the city skyline for a moment, then folds her hands over her stomach. “Not to be nosy, but did you ever experience an instance of sexual abuse or assault?” When you shake your head, she nods. “What’s your strongest, earliest memory as it relates to your sexuality?”

“Let’s investigate it anyway,” Chinatsu says. “What comes to mind?”

Chinatsu blinks, then cocks her head to one side and stares flatly at you. She paraphrases you, “‘Doesn’t have anything to do with your sexuality.’”

“Not –not like this!” you sputter. “It doesn’t have anything to do with romantic relationships or dating!”

“It’s fine.” She waves one hand dismissively. “How did they react to you coming out?”

“My mom was supportive.”

Chinatsu nods slowly. “Was your father in the picture?”

“Yes.”

“How did he react?”

Your throat constricts. You shrug and look away from her. “He was himself.”

“Did he disown you?” When you shake your head, she presses further. “Did he assault you –verbally or physically?”

“Tui and La, no!” you reply with a vehement frown and shake of your head. “No –no, he would never. He’d cut off his own hands before he raised one to me –or my mother!”

“Okay, good.” Chinatsu drums her fingers against the wrought metal table top. “I’m assuming he rejected you –or, at least, made you feel rejected.”

The addendum catches you flat-footed –because, no, he didn’t reject you. Not in so many words, at least, you reflect as your chest goes tight with pain. You look down, avoiding your friend’s intense, all-seeing gaze. But we can’t always help what we feel, regardless of what actually happened.

“I heard you the first time.”

Chinatsu watches you while you struggle in silence. When it’s apparent you’re not going to offer any new information, she leans forward in her chair. “Okay. If you don’t want to talk about it, that’s fine. But, I do have a question, if that’s alright?” When you nod, she continues. “So, I’m gathering that you agree that you have an issue with being distant in relationships, especially in public settings. What do you see as the source of that anxiety?”

You frown, perplexed, and look up to meet her gaze. “Anxiety?”

“Admittedly, it’s a supposition on my part,” she concedes with a shrug. “But, from what I can gather, you aren’t coming across like you don’t enjoy physical affection at all, or that you don’t see the point of dates.” She pauses, but when you don’t answer, she adjusts her glasses and keeps going. “To me, it reads like you have an aversion to public displays of affection. Generally, aversion is driven by discomfort, distaste, or anxiety,” she explains, ticking off each item on her fingers. “Everything you’ve been telling me –in my opinion–points towards anxiety.” She lowers her hand, then studies your face before asking, “So, in your view of yourself, where do you see that anxiety coming from?”

Your face scrunches up in confusion. “What, like…” Your gaze flits across the plaza, as though you’ll find an answer written on a storefront sign. “Like trauma?”

“Could be,” Chinatsu agrees with a nod. “Or it could be a negative belief system –something that tells you whatever you’re doing is bad, or dangerous, or wrong.”

Something heavy tugs at your gut. You fold your arms over your torso to try and abate it, but it only grows heavier. More uncomfortable. You swallow hard, then shift in your seat.

“Are you okay?”

You nod without thinking about it. “Yeah. Just…” Your teeth fuss at the inside of your bottom lip. “I mean, the Water tribes aren’t necessarily the most open-minded. Queerness isn’t a bad thing, but you’re not supposed to be open about it. I guess…” You roll your shoulders to try to relax your neck (not that it works). “I guess I’m always worried about making everyone else uncomfortable… with… all of it.” You look back up at Chinatsu. “Is that enough?”

“Of course, it is.” She waves one hand dismissively. “This is about your perceptions of yourself and the world around you. Anything can be enough.”

“But –it’s not like I got attacked. Or sexually assaulted.”

“Devastation according to legal or social code really isn’t the point,” Chinatsu explains while shaking her head. She pauses when a waiter brings you both your meals, smiles and says thank you, then waits for the waiter to move out of earshot before resuming. “Trauma isn’t just about things society deems as obviously traumatic. I mean –how many patients have seen you because they hurt themselves doing mundane chores?”

“I’ll do you one better,” you fire back, grinning for the first time since you sat down. “A majority of people throw their back out by sneezing.”

“Spirits, that’s terrifying.” Chinatsu picks up her chopsticks and mixes together her noodles, steamed vegetables, and Komodo chicken. “But, the point stands: injuries aren’t only caused by catastrophic events or abuse. It’s the same with psychological trauma.”

You nod to yourself slowly. You pick up your spoon –but freeze before you stir up your Southern-style Sea Prune stew. “How do I get over this?”

Chinatsu snorts. “Not that easy. You’ve seen how long physical trauma lasts. It depends on the person, the inciting incidents, what treatments are used–”

You let out a dejected sigh. “Figures it wouldn’t be that easy.”

She pauses, then reaches across the table and places one hand on yours. “Hey.” When you look up, she offers you a reassuring smile. “It can get better, okay? I’d recommend therapy –obviously–but in lieu of that, try journaling or talking with someone you trust.” She retracts her hand, then gestures to you. “It’s evident to me that whatever’s causing all this distress is pretty deeply rooted, so doing things to filter it out should help make things clearer.”

You manage a small smile. “I’ll keep that in mind, thanks.”

…

You have five days until Lin’s supposed to stop by for dinner. Five days to process through whatever bullshit has you all clogged up about romantic relationships so that you can present it to your girlfriend in a coherent enough fashion, in hopes that she doesn’t just dump your emotionally constipated ass and find someone better.

You swallow hard, press down the churning in your stomach, then open up the journal you’d purchased after your lunch with Chinatsu. Alright. Stream of consciousness. Let’s do this. You uncap your pen and stare down at the faintly lined page.

Nothing comes.

You inhale deeply, then put the date in the top right corner of the page. Maybe that’ll help.

It doesn’t.

You spend at least five minutes staring at the empty page, trying to think of something –anything–to write. Your brain feels like it’s turned to lead. When was the last time you even thought of a full, coherent sentence? Were you ever truly capable? Well, it doesn’t matter now, seeing how your damn brain has decided to be a useless glob of shit.

You flop back against your sofa and let out a frustrated groan. How can this be hard? It’s just writing about my feelings!

Maybe it’s your memory that’s at issue here. After all, you still can’t see the connection between your father and your problems in your romantic life. To you, it just doesn’t add up.

Granted, it’s not a pleasant memory. It’s one of those recollections that you keep deeply buried, beneath countless layers of repression and denial.

God, I was so terrified, you reflect with a grim smile. I thought I was going to throw up.

Your mother was wonderfully supportive when you came out to your parents. She’d smiled warmly, blue eyes crinkling at the corners, and taken your face in her hands. She’d wiped the tears off your cheeks and assured you that, of course, she’d always love you no matter what.

And your father…

It’s strange, how emotion warps memories. The scene playing out in your mind’s eye switches between being in suffocating black and white, or being painfully bright, like staring directly into the sun.

The kitchen in your parents’ home feels too small. You feel like a giant crammed into a closet –like in a book you read as a child where a girl, upon being transported to a magical realm, grew twenty times her size after eating enchanted cookies.

The instinct to hunch over under the weight of your father’s indifference still holds strong today. You have to forcibly straighten up and relax your shoulders and neck.

It’s disorienting to the point of nausea –you still feel too big to fit in the room (too big to properly breathe), but under your father’s state you feel no more than an inch high. He towers over you, somehow miles away despite sitting at the table next to you.

You think that maybe he didn’t hear you. Or maybe he didn’t understand. Either way, he still hasn’t said anything, and you’re going to throw up or pass out –or both–if he keeps silent. You swallow hard, knees shaking, and tell him the news again–

You jerk out of your reverie with a grief-stricken sob. You clamp one hand over your mouth, body trembling as panic washes over you. You draw down a breath as deep as you can, then lunge for your journal and scrawl out a single sentence.

Why do I always have to make myself small?

You cap your pen, all but fling it onto your coffee table, then drop your face into your hands before bursting into tears.

…

“Are you okay?”

You inhale sharply, blink, then return your attention to Amaruq. “Yeah. Sorry. Spaced out for a minute.”

She seems none too convinced. She leans against the table in the breakroom and tucks a client folder under her arm. “Are you sure? You went ashen for a minute.” When you purse your lips, she pulls out a chair and sits down. “What’s wrong?”

“Just…” You quirk your mouth to one side and shrug. “Dealing with some stuff.”

“I’m so sorry. Do you need to talk about it?”

You nearly say “no” –it’s reflexive–but stop just before you can shake your head. Maybe… maybe it would help. Amaruq grew up in the Northern Water tribe, too. She’d understand the culture.

Besides, Chinatsu told you to talk to someone about it; if you talk to Amaruq, you can actually say you’ve done that much.

“Uh…” You swallow hard, then nod. “Yeah, actually. If you’re okay with that.”

“Of course.” She sets the closed folder on the table, then sits back in her chair and folds her hands over her lap. “What’s going on?” She cocks her head to one side for a moment and studies you for a moment. Then, her eyes widen; she glances around the breakroom, then leans towards you once she’s certain there’s no one nearby. “Is it –is it the incident?”

You shake your head. “No. No, it’s not that. It’s–” You have to swallow again when nausea suddenly overtakes you; your stomach churns, and you can feel a cold sweat break out across your back and the nape of your neck. You breathe deeply through your nose, then let it out through your mouth. You flick a glance around the room to make sure no one’s within earshot –aside from Amaruq, of course–then murmur, “It’s queer stuff.”

“Oh.” Amaruq blinks a few times. Then, her brows furrow together. “Is it Lin?”

“I mean… not really?” You shrug when she motions for you to continue. “It’s… it’s more me than her.”

Amaruq nods, expression heavy with contemplation. “Okay.”

“You–” You grit your teeth when another wave of nausea crests over you. “You grew up in the tribe. You –you know how things are.”

Understanding settles over Amaruq’s features. She nods slowly, emphatically, and sighs. “Yeah. Yeah, I do.”

Your knee bounces up and down beneath the table. You lean forward, arms braced against your stomach to try and ease the nervous tension coiled there. “I mean–” You let out a hollow, breathless laugh. “We’re lucky. We could’ve grown up in the Earth Kingdom. Or Ba Sing Se, specifically.”

“There are places where it’s worse,” Amaruq agrees with a sage nod. She purses her lips, expression strained. “But I don’t think many people really consider…” She swallows hard, tucks her tongue against the inside of her lower lip, then sighs. “They don’t think about what it’s like if you’re just expected to stay in the closet your whole life.”

It’s like someone cut the strings holding you up. You slump forward, managing to brace your chin against your palm. “Yeah.” You manage a wan smile and arch one eyebrow at her. “We won’t go to jail for it. Or be killed for it. And it seems like once those bars are cleared, the world stops caring.”

“They do,” Amaruq agrees. She stares down at the table, gaze distant, then smiles faintly. “I had the hardest adjustment when I moved here. I was so used to being… overly discreet, I guess. I was so shocked at how open everyone is here about their sexuality.”

“As a rule, yeah.” You laugh. “It’s almost like they’re being rude, right?”

“Exactly!” Amaruq’s eyes widen. “It seems so… so socially unaware!”

“It’s like you’re forcing everyone else to watch!”

“That’s how I felt!” She leans back in her seat again and smiles, equal parts nostalgic and pained. “I learned how to get past it –how to be more comfortable with being ‘out’... but, Tui and La, it was painful for a bit.”

You clench your teeth and grimace. “Yeah.” You close your eyes and breathe deep when another wave of nausea mixed with dizziness sweeps over you, then open your eyes and look at your friend once more. “How did your parents react when you came out?”

Her nostrils flare, and her lips tuck into a tight frown. “They were dismissive. I mean –they were fine with it, but they really didn’t want to talk about it. They didn’t want me to be open about it.” Her jaw tightens, and her brows draw together. “My mom said that she didn’t want to have to think about it.”

Your gut clenches sympathetically. “I’m so sorry.”

“After coming here, I tried to explain…” She pauses, then shakes her head. “Well, I tried. They weren’t very receptive.” Her hands curl into tight balls in her lap. “We don’t talk anymore.”

You frown, saddened, and reach out to touch her forearm. “Oh, Amaruq, I’m so sorry.”

“Thank you.” She forces herself to untense and offers you a small smile. “It is what it is. My partner and friends here have been very supportive, and I couldn’t be more grateful.” She watches you for a moment, then asks, “Have you told your parents?”

You nod.

“How did they react?”

“My mother was supportive,” you answer, smiling softly –though it slips away seconds later. “My father… he was a lot like your parents.”

Amaruq grimaces. “I’m so sorry.”

“You know–” You let out a sardonic laugh. “I never really thought about how it impacted me? But… I haven’t been back to the Northern Water tribe in years. I just… can’t.”

“I know what you mean.”

You lean back in your chair, somewhat floored by the revelation. You stare down at the tabletop for a moment, then shake your head. “Wow. I can’t…” Your voice trails off, and you swallow hard before whispering, “Wow.”

“It’s understandable,” Amaruq assures you after studying you for a moment. “I don’t think I could go back, either.” She shakes her head, lips pursed as she mulls it over, then turns her attention back to you. “I’m guessing the ‘culture shock’” –she makes air quotes with her fingers– “is causing strain between you and Lin?”

You nod. “It’s… it’s been a problem for all my romantic relationships, really. I can’t think of one that didn’t end –or at least have problems–because of it.”

“I’m sorry.” Amaruq winces sympathetically. Then, she leans over and places her hand on your upper arm. “But, if I can give some encouragement?” When you nod, she smiles. “It’s worth working through, I promise. It won’t be easy, but it’ll be worth it in the end.”

You smile back and place your hand over hers. “Thank you.”

…

Saturday arrives without warning. It’s like you blink, and then it’s the end of the week.

Despite everything, you start panicking. You oscillate between frantically cleaning, wondering if you’re cleaning too much, and following each tick of the minute hand on the clock you keep in your kitchen until you nearly lose your fucking mind.

Three minutes until noon, and you finally stop. You force yourself to get off your couch, take a deep breath through your nose, then let it out through your mouth until the room doesn’t feel like it’s spinning anymore. Okay. You’re making dinner tonight. Go get ingredients.

The walk down to the outdoor market in your neighborhood does you good. The fresh air and sunshine clears your head and finishes clearing out any remaining panic.

You… might go a little overboard. You were already planning on making Northern-style Sea Prune stew, so you purchase the handful of ingredients you don’t have on hand. There’s also a good deal on whole red snapper, so you get one to share with Lin –which means getting ingredients for a marinade. You get some fresh vegetables and mushrooms for sides, too. If Lin hadn’t already told you she’d bring dessert, you’d have gotten something for that, too.

Halfway on your walk back to your apartment, and you regret not taking a cab back. Fucking hindsight, you grumble in your head as you adjust your hold on your many paper bags.

It turns out to work for the best, though (making so many dishes, not walking back, though nothing detrimental happens). Getting the stew going, prepping and marinating the fish, and preparing the vegetables and mushrooms keeps you busy for the rest of the day. Between cooking and cleaning as you go, you don’t have time to spiral into overthinking for the rest of the day.

A knock on your apartment door jolts you out of your efficient flow of work.

Your stomach drops. You catch yourself against the lip of the counter when you stagger. You close your eyes, inhale deeply through your nose, then let it out through your mouth. Relax. Everything’s going to be fine… hopefully.

Lin offers you a small smile when you open the door. She waits until you’ve closed and locked the door, then holds out a small, white paper box to you. “I stopped by The Juniper Cafe.”

“Always a good choice.” You accept the box from her, then lift the lid to peek inside –only to let out a soft, pleased gasp when you see four custard tartlets sitting inside. “You got the mango flavor!”

“You said it was your favorite.”

You grin at Lin; you feel warm all over. “That was very sweet of you.” You tuck the box in the icebox for later, then turn and hold your arms out to her. “It’s good to see you.”

Lin steps forward and accepts the offer for a hug. “It’s good to see you, too.”

Something shifts in your brain as soon as she wraps her arms around your shoulders. It’s like the final, teeny piece of the dam holding your emotions back crumbles. It ripples through your whole body; relief and grief cascade through you, warring against each other, you go nearly boneless at the same time your eyes well up with tears and your throat constricts. You draw in a shaky breath, then bury your face against her shoulder and let out a shuddering sigh.

Lin picks up on the shift immediately. She tenses, then cups the back of your neck with one hand. “Are you okay?”

You nod, then turn your head a little so she’ll hear you easier. “It’s just been a long week,” you explain, voice wavering.

Lin stays still for a moment. Then, she slides her free arm lower, around your waist, and hugs you closer. And she just… holds you.

You feel tears threaten to slip free when she kisses the top of your head. You sniff, then let yourself melt and break –just a little–in her grasp.

…

It’s a fight to keep Lin from assisting you in finishing dinner.

She balks, first, at how much you’re making. Her eyes go wide when she sees how many pans and pots are atop your stove –and again when you check the oven, revealing the baking snapper. “If I’d known you were going to this much effort–”

“Yeah, why do you think I didn’t tell you?”

“How much did you spend–”

“You’re not paying me back.” You close the oven door –the snapper’s not quite done yet–then shake your head when she crosses her arms over her chest. “You’re my girlfriend, Lin. It’s fine if I want to spoil you a bit. Besides–” you stir the pot of bubbling stew with your waterbending “–these’ll be leftovers for me in the coming week.”

She sighs, but doesn’t argue. Instead, she steps into your kitchen. “How can I help?”

“I’ve got it –you’re a guest!” you insist when Lin rolls her eyes.

“I’m your girlfriend,” she fires back, giving you a flat stare (though the corners of her mouth twitch upwards). “It’s fine if I want to help you.” When you don’t acquiesce, she simply starts doing dishes you haven’t gotten to yet.

So, clearly, your only recourse is using your waterbending to bend the water away from the dish in her hands. You giggle when she slowly turns her head and stares at you, then let the water revert to its natural course. “Sorry.”

“I doubt it.”

…

Dinner goes smoothly. The two of you set up on your sofa, kick back, and enjoy the mountain of food you made while catching each other up on your respective weeks.

You nearly choke on a mouthful of rice and vegetables when Lin tells you about a bust on a Spirit Vine dealing ring. Your eyes bug out, and you quickly swallow before clearing your throat. “Sorry, I didn’t–” You raise your eyebrows at her. “You said ‘pounds,’ right?”

“Pounds,” Lin confirms, looking simultaneously amused and exhausted.

“Two hundred pounds,” you repeat; you can’t even wrap your head around the amount. When Lin nods, you gape. “I –what would they even use that much for?”

“There’s groups purporting various medicinal and spiritual uses for Spirit Vines,” Lin says with a sigh. “So there are corporations and private individuals trying to cash in on a new industry opportunity without having to go through proper licensing, affiliating with local unions, or paying taxes. Aside from that, there’s research that suggests that the vines could be used as a new energy source.”

“So it’s the same deal,” you surmise. “Capitalize on the resource, avoid fees or legal limitations, create a monopoly…”

Lin nods and wipes her fingers on a napkin. “And, unfortunately, there’s testing that proves the vines can be used to create weapons.”

Right. Kuvira’s giant mech used spirit vines to power the cannon. It was practically in every paper at the time. You purse your lips. “Shit.”

Lin grimaces and nods. “Yeah.” She leans back against your couch and offers you a small smile. “What happened with your work this week?”

“Nothing as exciting as what you did,” you state with a laugh.

Lin laughs along with you. “Some days, I think I’d take that.”

But dinner passes all too quickly. And because Lin insists on helping you with the clean up and putting the food away, you’re suddenly out of stall time and back in your head.

You swallow hard when your stomach churns. Maybe dinner wasn’t such a good idea, after all. You grit your teeth, then force the nausea creeping up your throat back down. I am not wasting that snapper.

Lin notices the shift in your mood –probably because she’s spent years as a detective and was trained to pick up on such changes, but also probably because you feel like you’re going to shit out your heart, and that’s bound to show on your face. She latches onto your shoulders like you’re about to keel over. “Hey, are you okay?”

“Yeah,” you lie. You take a deep breath, then try to squish yourself back into your body before looking up at her. You smile and look up at her without really seeing her face. “I’m fine.” You blink when she takes your wrist in one hand, then laugh when she starts counting under her breath. “I’m not going to pass out, Lin.”

“You look like it. You need to sit down.”

You let her walk you over to your couch and sit without protest. You clasp your hands tightly in your lap, then offer her a thin smile when she sits next to you. “We should…” You clear your throat, then force yourself to keep going. “We should probably talk about ‘it,’ yeah?”

It doesn’t take Lin long to catch your meaning. Her brows draw together, but then her look of confusion fades a few moments later. She purses her lips, but lets out a long breath and nods. “Only if you feel up to it.”

“I want to,” you assure her. “And –I mean, we need to. We should.” You can feel your hands getting sweaty, and you wipe them off on the legs of your pants.

After you go silent for a few moments, Lin gestures for you to continue. “You’re the one who said you wanted time to sort stuff out.”

“Yeah.” You tuck your hair behind your ears, then cover your face with your hands. “Look, just–” You draw in a shaky breath, then lift your head slightly so she can hear you clearly. “This –this is going to sound really stupid, and it’ll probably sound like I’m whining, so I’m sorry in advance, okay?”

Lin frowns and sits back against the sofa. She crosses her arms loosely over her chest, then crosses one leg over her knee. “Alright.”

You’re sweating. You can feel the clamminess on your hands, along your back, at the nape of your neck, in the pits of your knees. Your chin trembles, and you stare down at the floor as you try to think of where to even start with all of this shit. You let out a shaky breath –then jolt when Lin puts a hand on your back. You gasp, then clear your throat and look at her.

“Whatever you have to say,” she assures you, voice quiet but clear, “it’s alright.”

You swallow hard, then nod and go back to staring at the floor. “I… I don’t know. I guess –I guess it’s never really one of those things I thought about, you know?”

“Thought about what?”

“About… about how different things are here, compared to the Northern Water tribe.” You let out a shaky breath, and some of the tension in your chest chips away. You sigh –then let out a bitter laugh. “You know, any time any of us talk about it –or anyone raised in the Southern tribe–we always hear about how it’s worse in the Earth Kingdom, worse in Ba Sing Se. And it is. The laws and social attitudes towards queerness there are worse than they’ll ever be in the Water tribes.” You pause, purse your lips, then smack one loose fist against your thigh. “But… no one understands!”

“Understands what?” Lin asks after you’ve been quiet for a few moments.

You deflate a bit, shoulders slumping, and drop your head into your hands. You groan, then rub your face to try and focus your mind. “It was so weird when I first moved here, you know.” You lower your hands from your face and offer her a hollow smile. “I mean, I knew that Republic City followed the Fire Nation’s reforms and Air Nomad philosophies towards sexuality. I knew that it was an open safe space for queer communities.” You sit back against the sofa and stare down at your lap. “I still remember the first week I was here. I’d just gotten settled in university, and I’d gone to a local market to get a few supplies –and there were two men, just walking together and holding hands! And they stopped to look at some produce, and one of the men kissed his partner on the cheek, and I couldn’t help but stare because it just… felt rude? To make such a public scene?” You sniff, then wipe away a tear that’s trailing down your cheek. “And I looked around, and literally no one but me noticed. But back home, it would’ve been such a big deal!”

“Is PDA frowned on in the Water tribes?” Lin asks with a frown.

You grimace and sigh. “For visibly queer couples, yes.”

She grimaces as well. “But not for straight-passing couples.”

“But not for straight-passing couples,” you surmise. You go quiet again, then let out a quiet, watery laugh. “You know, I never really processed… any of it. The whole rule against appearing ‘gay’ in public, against talking about it, or being open about it outside of home, or in select company just seemed so normal. And it still feels normal.”

Lin says nothing –but when you start crying harder, she reaches over and takes your hand in hers.

You sniff, then let out a choked, body-shaking sob. You rub your cheeks dry with the back of your free hand –not that it does much good, because your skin’s soaked again seconds later. “I feel so big,” you confess with a shaking gasp, “all the time. I feel like I’m always breaking out of my body. Like I’m taking up too much space. Everywhere I go –whenever someone might be able to tell I’m gay, I feel like there are thousands of eyes on me, that everyone’s just waiting for some sort of proof–” You inhale sharply, when Lin puts one arm around your shoulders, then weep a bit when she tugs you into her arms. You bury your face into her neck and cry. “I –I just d-don’t want to piss anyone off, o-or get ye-yelled at, or–”

“Easy.” Lin shushes you, then hugs you tight. She kisses your forehead, then cups the back of your neck when you whimper. “Just breathe.”

Easier said than done, but eventually, you manage. Your shoulders and chest jump as you gasp unsteadily, but slowly, surely, your body winds down. Eventually, you’re limp in her hold, hiccuping softly as tension and panic winds out of you, leaving melancholy and fatigue in its wake. Well, that was dramatic. You sniff, then grimace. And it probably didn’t explain shit. You swallow hard, then let out a tremulous sigh. “I’m sorry.”

“You don’t need to be.”

“Well, I am. I don’t think I explained myself well.”

“You did fine,” Lin says, voice soft but firm in a way that tells you that while she cares about you and is sensitive to your mood at present, she’s not going to tolerate arguing. (Good thing for her, your sob session tired you out.) She smoothes one hand over your hair, then kisses the top of your head when you draw in a shaky breath. “I have one question, if that’s okay?”

You nod, then sniff. “Yeah, go for it.”

“Can you look at me?” She waits, then brushes a few stray locks of hair off your forehead once you lift your head. “You mentioned that you didn’t want to be yelled at.”

You frown, confused. “Yeah…”

“Has anyone ever yelled at you over this?” Lin asks, gesturing vaguely with one hand. When you drop her gaze, and your expression shifts to one of pain, the arm wrapped around your back tenses. “Who yelled at you?” she asks, voice lower, more gravelly.

You shrug, trying to seem nonchalant, but your eyes start stinging again. “My dad did.” Your lower trembles, and you can feel your throat tensing with grief once more. “When I came out.”

Lin sucks in a breath, then pulls you against her. She hugs you tight, tucking your head beneath her chin. “I’m so sorry. He was wrong for rejecting–”

“He didn’t!” you snap –more out of anger towards yourself than her. You pull away, then lurch into a standing position and start pacing around your apartment. “That’s –that’s the thing I don’t fucking understand! He didn’t reject me! He didn’t tell me that I was wrong for being gay, or that he didn’t want me to be gay, or that he was ashamed to have a gay daughter, or any of it!” You spread your arms wide in a harsh, jerky movement. “None of that happened!”

Lin watches you, lips pulled into a worried frown. “But he yelled at you?”

“I mean…” You stall, deflating slightly. You swallow hard, fighting against a fresh wave of nausea, then shrug. “Yeah. He did.”

“Why?” When you shrug again, she purses her lips and changes tracks. “What did he say?”

You clench your jaw as anguish threatens to overtake you again. You look away and spread your arms in a short, tight movement. “He got mad when I tried to push the issue.”

Lin’s brows draw together. “I thought you said he didn’t reject you.”

“He didn’t.” You sniff, shoulders shaking as you start crying again. “He– I–” You stop, swallow hard, then take a deep breath and let it out slowly. Just start from the beginning. Get the whole thing out there. “I came out to both of my parents at the same time. My mom was supportive. She hugged me, told me she loved me–” You stop when your voice breaks, then duck your head and push forward. “And my dad –I mean, it’s not like he really reacted. He–” You gasp. Your chest feels tight. “I thought –I thought he didn’t hear me, or maybe he didn’t understand, so I told him again–”

Lin stands and steps around your coffee table.

“He told me that he heard me the first time,” you eke out between sobs as she draws you into her arms. You choke on a gasp, then cling onto the front of her shirt. “And –and that I shouldn’t shove it into anyone’s face. He told me that he heard me, and that was that, and to be done with it, and that I shouldn’t be so dramatic–”

Lin hooks her arm under your shoulder when your knees give out. She wraps one arm around your back, then squats and hooks her other arm under your knees. She carries you back to the couch, sits, then tucks a blue throw blanket you keep over the back of your sofa around you.

You’re incoherent for a while. You bury your face into her shoulder and sob; you let it all out –all your nonsensical grief, and anguish, and fear.

Lin stays quiet, but her hold on you never falters. She doesn’t complain, or fidget, or try to hurry you along in any way.

You cry until your face feels raw from your tears. Until your voice is hoarse and you’ve given yourself a headache. Until you’re on the verge of collapsing from dehydration (okay, maybe not that severe, but you feel like a dishrag that’s been wrung out until it's bone dry).

“I don’t know why it hurts so much,” you croak once you’ve caught your breath, some long while later. “It wasn’t that bad. It shouldn’t hurt so much.”

Lin’s silent for a couple beats. Then, she shifts so your head is tucked in the crook of her neck. She squeezes you against her for a moment, then brushes her lips against your forehead. “I think it’s enough.”

You sniff. Your throat goes tight. And then, you start crying again.

…

She stays the night.

“It’s your choice,” Lin says once you’ve gotten up to get some water (because even though you’re not on the verge of death, you did dehydrate yourself), “but I’d feel better knowing you’re not alone tonight.”

“I mean… you can stay if you want.” You gulp down some water, then frown. “I won’t have coffee for you in the morning.”

“I’ll live.”

You grimace into your water cup. “I don’t have any spare toiletries for you to use, or anything. I don’t know if I’d have pajamas that fit you, either.”

“It’s not the end of the world,” she says with a shrug.

“Dental hygiene is important,” you mumble into your mug.

Lin merely arches one eyebrow at you, unimpressed. “If it’s that important to you, I’ll just borrow your toothbrush.”

You scrunch up your nose. “Isn’t that gross?”

“...I’ve had my entire tongue inside your cunt.” She smirks when you spit your water back into your cup out of sheer shock. “I find it surprising that this is where you draw the line at ‘gross.’”

You laugh a little, but it fades. You go back to staring down at your half-empty glass of water. “I don’t want to be a bad hostess.”

“You made me dinner–”

“And then I cried on you for an hour and ruined your shirt.”

“It’s not. Ruined.” Lin stands, walks over to your kitchen, and places her hands on your shoulders. “Look, if it’s that important to you, I can duck back to my place and pack an overnight bag.”

“But it’s late,” you sigh with a glance at the clock. “And cold. I don’t want to make you deal with that.”

“You wouldn’t be –but fine. I’m fine with staying without an overnight bag.” She stares down at you for a moment, then softens when your exhausted, bleak expression doesn’t lift. She cups your cheek with one hand, then murmurs your name. “If you want to be alone, it’s okay. I won’t take it personally.”

You sniff, then lean into her hand. “I want you to stay.”

“Then I’ll stay,” Lin murmurs as she sweeps her thumb over the swell of your cheek.

She winds up not returning to her apartment for an overnight bag. She borrows your toothbrush. “I worked homicide as a detective,” she says when you keep fussing over her. “Arguably, this is the least gross thing I’ve seen or done in my life.” She borrows an oversized shirt of yours and a pair of shorts that she deems comfortable.

You climb into bed next to Lin after turning out the light. You let out a shaky, relieved breath when she wraps one arm around you, then lay your head against her shoulder.

You feel bad. You feel guilty. You’ve spent the better part of the evening as an emotional, spewing wreck, and now you’ve got her here overnight without basic amenities for her.

You bite the tip of your tongue before you can apologize; it seems wrong to make her console you –again–after all she’s done for you tonight. You sniff, then adjust where your hand rests on her chest so you can feel the gentle thud of her heart. “Thank you.”

Lin hugs you closer and kisses the top of your head. “Of course.”

It’s a short course to falling asleep (though you spend your remaining consciousness making a list of what you need to have on hand should your girlfriend spend the night in the future).

…

Lin wakes up before you.

You wake up face down in a pillow, starfished across the open space in your bed, tangled up in blankets like a penguinseal in a fisherman’s net. You grunt when something presses against your shoulder, then lift your head and shove your hair against your face. “Huh?”

Lin smirks. “Good morning.” She holds a steaming mug out to you. “I made tea.”

“Oh.” You struggle into a sitting position, then accept the cup with a grateful nod. “Thank you.”

The two of you sit in silence for a bit as you drag yourself out of the dregs of slumber. Once you’ve downed half the cup, you finish extricating yourself from your snarl of blankets and make your way to your living room.

The two of you have some of the mango custard tarts for breakfast. Lin uses a plate and utensils to eat hers, while you pick one up out of the box and bite straight into it.

“It’s about the authentic experience,” you argue when Lin teases you.

“What’s so authentic about eating like a heathen?” Lin quips.

You swallow, then gesture with your tartlet. “Because I feel the urge to eat them like this everytime I go to Juniper’s.”

Lin smirks and shakes her head.

It’s soft and companionable, eating custard tarts and drinking tea on your sofa in the early, autumnal morning light.

You finish off the last of your tea, then lay your head against Lin’s shoulder. “I–” You purse your lips as the urge to apologize rears its head, then swallow it. “Thank you. For last night. And everything.”

“Of course.”

You lift your head when she leans forward to set her plate, utensils, and cup on your coffee table, then settle back against her once she sits back once more. You nestle against her side, then let out a little sigh when she takes your hands in hers. “I feel like we should talk about last night.”

“Do you want to?”

You press your lips together, but nod. “I think we should. I mean –we haven’t even talked about your side of it, really. It’s… it’s important to me.”

“Okay.” Lin squeezes your hand gently, then shifts so she’s angled towards you. “Is it okay if I go first?”

“Yeah.” You nod, then look up at her. “Of course.”

She offers you a small, soft smile, then looks down at your joined hands. “I don’t think I’ve ever considered how growing up in the Northern Water Tribe would impact your perspective of public affection –or your own sexuality, for that matter.” She squeezes your hand gently, then lets out a soft huff. “I suppose I was more fortunate. I grew up in an accepting family and environment. There wasn’t ever an issue of public affection being ‘inappropriate’ because of my partner’s gender –or a notion that I was supposed to keep my sexuality completely to myself, or only in select circles. It was always my choice.”

“I’m glad,” you interject. You offer her a smile when she looks at you. “I’m glad you had that support.”

Lin gives you a small smile in return, then drops your gaze as she returns to contemplation. She stares down at your joined hands. Her thumb rubs circles against the back of your hand. “If I can ask… why did you keep saying that how your father responded ‘wasn’t that big of a deal?’”

“I…” You blink a few times, then swallow hard. I don’t know. You shrug. “It… it just isn’t, I guess.”

“But he yelled at you when you came out to him. How is that not a problem?” Lin frowns when you don’t respond. “Did he yell at you a lot?”

“I don’t know,” you answer with a shrug. “It didn’t seem like a lot. He wasn’t the most emotionally open person, so when he got mad, it was kind of hard to tell until it hit the breaking point.” When Lin nods, but her frown doesn’t lift, you frown up at her, concerned. “What?”

She sighs. “Look, I’ll concede that I’m not the best at this shit, but –in my opinion–he shouldn’t have yelled at you. Whatever was going on in his head, you’re his kid. You needed him.” Her voice cracks at the end, but she swallows hard and moves on quickly. “There wasn’t anything you did that warranted him yelling, as far as I can tell.”

A lump rises up in your throat. You press your lips together to try and keep the tidal wave of feelings –anguish, anger, grief–at bay. You give a tight, one shouldered shrug and let out a hollow laugh. “I appreciate that, but it’s not like you were there.”

“I wasn’t,” she agrees, nodding. “Doesn’t mean I can’t tell if something’s fucked up when I see it.”

You grimace, then shift your position on the couch. You cross your free arm over your stomach and bring your knees up against your chest. “I thought we were talking about you,” you deflect, careful to keep your voice teasing instead of accusatory.

Lin considers, then shakes her. “Not much to talk about.”

“Okay, no–” You level her with a hard stare when she opens her mouth to argue. “Relationships are a two-way street, Lin. The whole reason we wound up here is because I made you feel like I don’t care about you or our relationship. Your feelings are important, regardless of my childhood bullshit.”

“Stop. That.” Lin’s upper lip curls slightly as she meets your stare. “Quit trivializing your experiences. If we’re talking about my feelings, how am I supposed to feel when you’re degrading yourself in the process? Because now I feel like I need to comfort you –and I want to–when you’ve made it clear that we’re talking about my hurt in the situation. How is that fair?”

You duck your head and purse your lips. “You’re right. I’m sorry.”

“I’m not mad.” She squeezes your hand tenderly. “It’s just not fair.”

“I know. I’m sorry.” You sniff, then let out a ragged sigh as your vision clouds over from tears. “I just… I hate that this all splashed out on you. You shouldn’t have to deal with it.”

“Everyone brings baggage to a relationship.”

“Yeah, but I didn’t want you getting hurt!” Your voice breaks at the end, and you gasp as tears start dripping down your cheeks. “I –I didn’t ever want to hurt you!”

Lin lets go of your hand and winds her arms around your shoulders. “It’s okay.”

“It isn’t.”

“Yes, it is. People fuck up. We’re working through it. It’s okay.”

You can’t help but snort. “I think you may have missed your calling as a therapist.”

“I’d fling myself off a bridge first,” Lin replies, utterly serious, without missing a beat.

You sniff, then lay your head against her shoulder. “Thank you for being so understanding.”

“Of course.” She kisses the top of your head. “Thank you for being honest with me.”

You sigh, then nestle against her. You take a moment to collect yourself –catch your breath, dry your face, let the wave of emotions pass–then tap her arm. “We still need to talk about you.”

“I already said–”

“You’re not getting out of this!” you interject. You wag your index finger at her. “If I’m suffering, so are you. Start talking about your feelings, Beifong.”

“You do realize who you’re talking to –hey!” Lin grabs your hand when you start poking her in the ribs. “That’s enough, brat. Behave.”

“Not a damn day in my life.”

“Isn’t that the truth.” She chuckles when you laugh, but her body goes tense against yours soon after. “Okay, hear me out. I’ve already told you I don’t have anything to say for my part –no.” She claps one hand over your mouth when you start to protest. “You can be patient.”

You’re half tempted to lick her hand, but it’s lost in the wake of unexpected arousal. Note to self: bring this up later.

She lowers her hand once you nod. “I’m being honest,” Lin continues. “What I needed was context and clarity. Especially since I know that what you’re dealing with is trauma-based–”

“It’s not–”

“Whatever you want to fucking call it,” she sighs, slightly exasperated. “My point is that it’s not just a lack of care or effort. You’re processing through shit, and I’m okay to meet you where you’re at. Okay?”

I’m gonna fucking cry again. You mash your lips into a thin line. You can feel your eyes burning again. You smile, then nod. “Okay. Thank you.”

Lin’s expression softens. She tucks a lock of hair behind your ear. “Of course.”

You curl up against her for a bit, and she folds her arms around you. The two of you bask in the late morning silence –the glow of the sunlight filtering through the window, the rattle of Satomobiles outside, the soft sounds of the tenants around and above you starting their day. There’s a deep sense of peace that comes with it; it’s almost meditative.

“I want to get better,” you say after a bit. At Lin’s questioning hum, you look up at her. “I want to work on being more comfortable with relationship stuff in public. Not just for you –though you’re very important to me–but for me, too.” As much as I count, anyway. You swallow, then press on. “I just… need time.”

Lin nods, then tucks your head beneath her chin. “I have time.”

#sass writes #lin beifong x reader #happy new year! i have returned!#and i bring trauma processing sdlfjdslfkjdslfkjdsf #nice and auspicious for the new year sljfdslkfjsldfj #hurt/comfort #highkey processing my own trauma through this so it goes hard imo #just be forewarned #legend of korra #hands that heal

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tearingskies · 11 months

Text

some things you just can’t speak about

Read on AO3 or below the cut.

Ginny in the aftermath of the War.

TW: mentions of death & implied torture

Note: This is my first (finished) fic! It was written over the course of one year and sat in my drafts for ages before I finally got the sudden urge to just post it and be done with it. Hope you enjoy!

Ginny sits in the crowded Great Hall and feels utterly alone.

There’s a dull hum that hangs in the air, a combination of melancholic murmurs and quiet, tear-streaked condolences. Ginny’s numb, sitting on a bench with a half-empty tea mug going cold in her hands. Her clothes are covered in blood, ash and Merlin knows what else and she thinks her arm might be bleeding. But none of that matters, because she’s still sitting there.

Her mind is struggling to make sense of her surroundings. Of the pale hand peeping from beneath a sheet nearby, the red splashes that dot the dated stones, and the muted cries echoing in the vast empty spaces left by those who have moved beyond this world. Everything feels hollow and out of place.

There are some things in life that can’t be comprehended before they have happened. And even when they do, they are senseless and wrong.

Death is one of those things.

Someone speaks up near Ginny in a hushed tone. She grips the cold mug in her hand and keeps staring at the pale brown hand that can’t touch anything anymore. It’s stained pink by dried blood.

Ginny wonders who it is – if she’s passed them by in the hallways, what kind of a life they lived. The hand looks too delicate, too young to be so still. They were once someone’s child, someone’s everything. Now there’s just cold flesh and a still heart.

A gentle pressure on her shoulder breaks Ginny’s thoughts right as someone pulls the sheet down to cover the lifeless arm. Her eyes stray towards the grieving face of her mother, who clutches her shoulder tightly, as if to make sure she’s still there, breathing.

“Let’s go get some sleep, Ginny, dear.”

Ginny blinks up at her.

Her name sounds strange, like a foreign word spoken for the first time. She feels like an outsider in her own body.

“I’m not tired.” Even though she is. She’s so tired she doesn’t know how she managed to say those three words. But the thought of closing her eyes makes her feel sick. She doesn’t want to face the imagery her cruel mind will create from heartache and fear. Being awake in this reality is already a nightmare.

Her mother’s lips purse and tears start glistening in her red-rimmed eyes. “We’re all going to go together—“

“I’d like to stay for a bit,” Ginny says because she doesn’t know if she’d even be able to move. She doesn’t want anyone to know how broken she feels, doesn’t want them to see the constellations of scars stitched on her skin. Doesn’t have the strength for the questions and tears they’ll inflict. There's already enough pain without hers added to it.

“No, we have to—“

This time it’s not her that interrupts the sharpening tone. “I’ll stay with her.”

Ginny doesn’t have the energy to look at him, which is a small mercy since she thinks she might truly break if she did.

He sounds as exhausted as she feels. Ginny wonders when was the last time he felt safe enough to sleep through the night. It’s been ten months since she did.

Distantly she can hear her mother attending to him, hugging him tight in sobs of relief. She feels so far away.

“-and you’ll come with us, of course! Minerva has arranged a chamber for the family,” Molly goes on. Ginny can feel the emotion radiating from him at the inclusion, and she wonders if he’ll ever feel like he’s a member of the Weasley clan. He’s been her parents' seventh son since the moment he stepped foot in the Burrow that very first time. He’s been her…something for a long time now.

“Thank you, Mrs. Weasley, really, but I’ll stay with Ginny for a while.” His voice is firmer, more insistent this time and she thinks he might fight her mother for it. But there’s no need because he’s Harry. She envies him for that sometimes.

Molly is quiet for a breath, and there’s a low murmur that might’ve been Ron. He’d understand, Ginny thinks. Out of everyone in her family, Ron might get it – her pure exhaustion and the importance of this moment between her and him.

“Alright, then,” her mother says, and that’s that. Her brothers file out, Percy walking an ash-drawn and glass-eyed George towards the doors of the Great Hall. He’s clutching a watch in his hands, knuckles white and face empty, like he’s withdrawn from this world that couldn’t possibly keep on going without his other half.

Bill’s hand squeezes Ginny’s arm as he and Fleur pass her, their hands entangled tightly together. Her father leads her mother out after them, calming down her protests with whispered words and a gentle arm around her.

Ginny watches them go, wondering if they’ll ever be the same again. She knows the answer, but it hurts to even think of it. They’re all broken, and they’ll all heal differently. But they will never be the same as before, nothing will. And that’s how it’s supposed to be.

Through her peripheral vision, she sees Ron pat Harry’s shoulder and throw a concerned look toward her as he and Hermione follow the family out, fingers interlocked in quiet comfort.

Then it’s just them in a hall full of people mourning. Ginny feels his gaze on her. It’s raw, the way he looks at her like there’s nothing he expects from her but herself. She wants to look at him more than anything in the world.

He walks forward, evading the white sheets that cover patches of the floor. She keeps looking at nothing. He sits down next to her, an arm’s width away but closer than ever.

Harry moves his hand and envelopes her free one with it, lodging their fingers together. Ginny stops breathing because his skin feels warm and real, and maybe this isn’t just a fever dream after all. Her heart cracks, the pieces correcting themselves to fit together again, like breaking a bone that’s healed incorrectly. She releases a shaky breath and clenches her hand, getting a press of his thumb against her skin in return.

They sit like that, side to side with their hands interlocked. Ginny doesn’t know if it’s minutes or hours or days that go by in the comfort of his presence, the utter lack of expectations that hangs between them. He doesn’t try to talk, neither does she, and perhaps he’s just as exhausted as she is. But they’re just there, quietly existing in each other’s space. They don’t need words in this moment. The silence is enough.

Ginny thinks of the things she wants to say, can’t say, and needs to say. I’m not okay. I’m broken and I don’t know how to stitch myself back together. I love you. She squeezes her eyes shut.

They have days, months, years to talk.

Or maybe they never will. Maybe there will never be a time for them. She doesn’t know, but she hopes they’ll get there. Someday, somehow, when everything doesn’t hurt as much as it does in this moment.

For now, Harry’s thumb smooths over the jagged scar on the back of her hand that wasn’t there all those months ago. Ginny leans against his shoulder and listens to the beat of his heart.

Harry's alive, and Tom is not.

And she’s breathing, too, even if it takes everything to do so.

There are just some things she can’t say yet, if ever. War rattles people, and even if she’ll never be fine, she will still live for the ones who can’t, no matter what it takes.

I’m glad you’re here, she thinks because his presence speaks multitudes.

#hinny #hinny fanfic #ginny weasley #harry potter #tea writes #missing moment #first finished fic #i hope it's not bad lol #also still don't know how to work tags

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itsbopp · 2 years

Note

Can I request a twdg violet x reader where she and reader go onto the bell tower and look at the stars like in the game and confess to each othrr

Underneath the Stars - The Walking Dead | One Shot

A/N: Of course! I got a few similar requests, so I'll just do one singular one shot so I'm not reposting the same exact thing multiple times.

SUMMARY: She wanted to get away from the constant stress that getting ready to face the raider's brought on, and she wanted you to come with her.

WARNINGS: Swearing, kissing, the Delta, Violet giving herself a hard time, (probably) a drawn-out confession, slight angst (?), fluff.

WORD COUNT: 1763

“Do you think we even stand a chance?”

“Hm?”

“With the Delta,” Violet clarified, as she sat beside you on the edge of the bridge that was somehow still standing, connecting the bell tower and its twin tower together. She considered the place as her own personal safe space, and you understood the appeal. Though, currently, she seemed extremely uncomfortable in her own personal element while her fingers gripped the ledge tightly, the whites of her knuckles showing. “I have this sinking feeling that they’re gonna…”

When the blonde trailed off, you took your eyes away from the black abyss above and lowered your attention to fully focus on her instead. All you could see of her was her side profile, which was sharp and defined, but you also noticed the clear tension she had circling her features. The muscles of her face were taught and full of clear discontent, but she tried so hard to hide it. Having been around her for so long, though, you could always see through her, like a pane of glass that had been uncovered by its curtains. “You know, they always say there’s strength in numbers, but… even then, I think we stand a chance.”

Violet let out a humorous scoff the moment she heard your attempt at trying to be as optimistic as possible, as she glanced at you out of the corner of her eye. You awkwardly chuckled to yourself shortly after, acknowledging your unhelpful way of trying to lessen the weight of worry the both of you felt, but your amusement was quick in dying down. So did the girls’ beside you. Her expression was swift to fall within a millisecond, as she lowered her chin and looked between her knees, watching how her legs dangled off the edge of the bridge. It reminded her that she was so high up. Like she was on top of the world. “Who knows, maybe there’s strength in the relationships you have with the people around you.”

Her voice was quiet, contemplative… almost mute to your ears, like the whistle of wind as it passed by your head. Though, there was still that little, tiny distinct sound you could hear in the process. Just loud enough so only you were the one who’d be able to acknowledge it. And you did. You leaned forward slightly and turned your head to try and peer at her face. The same one that refused to meet your eyes. “What’s on your mind, Vi?” you inquired, your tone soft as your eyebrows furrowed in worry for the young woman beside you.

The blonde took in a large, quiet breath, before letting it out as her shoulders slumped. “A lot of stuff, honestly,” she admitted, while lifting her chin up to stare forward and into the darkness of the night. “Those child-snatching assholes, just waiting to bust down our gates when we least expect it,” she listed off, as she shook her head in distaste. “And on top of that, I’m just… worried, I guess.”

“About…?” You leaned closer to Violet, trying to get a better look at her face, but she continued to keep her eyes away from your own when she raised her head to stare up at the night sky. An annoyed huff came from her lips shortly after her movement, but you knew she wasn’t angry with you. You’d be able to tell if she was. She was frustrated about the situation she, you, and the rest of the kids down below were suddenly forced to face. And you didn’t blame the emotion at all. Though, you did want her to feel better, even if only a little. “You can talk to me, V.”

“I know I can,” Violet replied, her tone slightly raising in defense, though not a considerable amount. “It’s just…” She trailed off again and fell into silence, as her chin lowered to stare onward once more. “It’s hard to talk about a… problem… when the problem is the person I’m talking to.” Your features scrunched up in offense the moment she said that, and she quickly glanced at you and widened her eyes when she saw the way you reacted. “I mean, I’m not saying that you’re, like, a problem, or anything. It’s just… you’re not a problem.” She let out a hushed groan and flickered her irises down slightly, refusing to keep her focus with yours. “I just… wanted your company. You know, before we die.”

“We’re not gonna die,” you disagreed, shaking your head. “You know Clem isn’t gonna let that happen.” Your statement was quiet as you voiced it, but you were sure you got your point across when you heard an almost silent hum come from the blonde next to you. It was a sound that made you let out a sigh and lean back to rest your palms against the cement below you. “I won’t let that happen. Because I can’t lose you, and I don’t want to,” you said, your throat becoming scratchy as you thought out your next words. “You mean too much to me to let that happen, Violet.”

“Can I tell you something?” Violet’s voice suddenly filled the temporarily silent air. She sounded nervous, which caused you to furrow your eyebrows in slight concern and turn your head to gaze over at her. Of course, she was still staring forward, but that didn’t last long the moment she breathed in and shifted her attention to focus on you instead. She eyed you for a few, long seconds, before eventually speaking. “I’ve watched people leave before. Family, friends. They never come back,” she admitted, moving a leg up to rest her arm against her knee. “There were so many times where I pushed you away, made it seem as if I don’t care about you… but you’d always stay, even after I’d hurt you. You’d always linger around and wait for me to get my head screwed on straight. And I didn’t deserve that type of care, at all.”

You frowned faintly at her words. You remembered all those times, but you never faulted her for it. You knew she was healing in her own way, and although you gave her advice on healthier ways to do that – when she was willing to listen, you knew that you needed to be as patient as possible, and not hate her for making a mistake. Like every human does. But the human before you was someone you would have done anything for, even if she thought you were crazy in turn. “Of course you do, V. You make mistakes, just like me and every other person in this school and on this earth. What matters is that you self-reflect and fix what you’ve fucked up on, and that’s admirable, because not a lot of people are able to do that.”

Violet sent you a small, but warm smile in response to your words. She gazed at you for a few moments, before glancing down at the space between the two of you and letting out a sigh. “You’ve given me so many chances, Y/n. More than what people usually give,” she told you quietly. “And, now… I can’t imagine what my life would be like if you weren’t here. You’re just… that important to me, and I–”

Your heart overpowered any other aspect of logic in that moment, as you suddenly scooted closer to the blonde and raised your hand up to gently grab her chin. Your index and thumb lifted her head up, and when her eyes met yours, you waited to check for any sort of discontent from her. And as you saw her glance down at your lips, showing the mutual feelings you had, you leaned in and softly pressed your mouth against her own. Immediately, your eyes fluttered shut at the feeling, and you swore you felt sparks fly when she pressed her palm against the side of your neck, a quiet exhale coming from her.

Only a few seconds passed before you and Violet equally pulled away from one another, faces flushed and eyes opening, only to convey complete surprise. Her hand was still cold against the side of your neck as she leaned back slightly, but with how warm you felt, it soothed you more than anything. Your own fingers fell away from her chin shortly after, but the proximity between you and her was still undeniably close, as you let out a breathless chuckle to yourself, before smiling at her.

You were completely at a loss for words.

Though, Violet wasn’t, as she shook her head in utter disbelief and let out a scoff of bafflement. “Holy shit.” She looked at you as though you just did something she never would have expected, and in a way, you did. At her reaction, you laughed once more, and she quickly did the same, as she giggled out an: “I mean, holy shit.”

You lightly shrugged your shoulders at the response and uttered: “I care about you too much to let you say things like that about yourself.” You reached a hand out and rested it on her upper arm, “There’s nothing you can do that’ll make me stop caring about you. I want you to know that.” Your fingers curled in to give her limb a soft squeeze.

Violet’s expression was quick to fall and contort into awe instead. Her pale green eyes quickly became glassy, but you didn’t notice it when she looked down and grabbed your hand that sat against the ground. She picked it up and rubbed her cold thumb over the back of your palm, cradling it, which caused goosebumps to rise on your skin. “Thank you, N/n. It means a lot.” You knew she wasn’t open about her feelings often, but even the simple statement went a long way. Your heart fluttered the moment you heard it, content with the fact that you made her a little less worried about what was to come.

…

The last few moments up in that bell tower were spent with you and the blonde sitting in a comfortable silence. And it was a silence that the both of you cherished, as you and her waited for those raiders to come knocking down the gates of Ericson. You were once terrified of what could soon happen, but now that you knew you had the person you loved aware of your devotion, and vice versa, you felt practically unstoppable.

Even if that might have just been delusion coursing through your veins.

Still, you had more hope than ever before.

Feel like this could be better, but my brain is mush at the moment.

Hope you enjoyed and have a good day!

#twdg violet #violet x reader #twdg #twdg x reader

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cubedmango · 1 year

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NAINA. it’s the delusional cm anon here and ohmygod. It took me so long to come back because I had no strength in me to try and organise my thoughts into words that actually make sense I. Even now I can’t actually express my feelings about all of it to you without talking for years but can we please. Talk about the beach scene can we.please the way kurosawa so easily said that when adachi said he loved him his heart almost stopped and the fact that in the scene w his parents you could literally See his eyes change like something changed within him he almost passed out and then the way he just pulled out the ring and then. The most Fucking. Extra most Romantic proposal scene I have ever seen in my LIFE NAINA LIKE WHAT THE HELL? THE WAY THEY HELD EACH OTHER’S HANDS LIKE THEY WERE HOLDING THE MOST VALUABLE FRAGILE MATERIAL… THE WAY THEY THEY TURNED EACH OTHER’S HANDS OVER WITH THE LIGHT GLINTING OFF THE RINGS… THE WAY. THE KUROSAWA. THE WAY HE RUBBED HIS THUMB OVER ADACHI’S HAND I FEEL@SO UNBELIEVABLY SICK

CM ANON WELCOME BACK !! ALSO BIG MOOD i am just . i dont know how to express my emotions abt this movie in words its not possible . all i can do is scream. Literally. send help please

THE BEACH SCENE. LETS TALK ABT THE BEACH SCENE. BC I HAVE THOUGHTS . SO MANY OF THEM.

1. the magic

THE GROWTH . ADACHI HAD. him going from relying on his magic and being assertive thanks to it, to going from being glad he doesnt have it anymore and being assertive despite it is. . it is. Hello. how he went from knowing what to say bc he knew what ppl were thinking to how he spoke what he truly thought himself no matter what the person expects him to say is so. . . Hello!!!!! and its that determination in his own words and his own conviction that he could prove her wrong abt regretting it that got through to kurosawa's mom that i dont think wouldve worked had he read her mind and told her what she want to hear. Augh. augh........

2. the proposal

kurosawa was so happy to hear adachi loves him that his heart almost stopped ...... also what u said abt his eyes changing in the scene w his parents like Yeah.

ITS HITTING HIM. i dont know the like . terminology for it but those Tiny Changes In His Expression That Mean Everything To Me . mr machida sir can i send u a care package and flowers just for this scene. please

another thing about the proposal is that. there was nothing asked. no question of 'will u marry me' or anything like they just . They Know. but also because it didnt have to be asked? theyre already engaged?? the silent acknowledgement that the pengagement really Was the actual proposal, and this is just then making it official to the world once and for all without having to hide it anymore. im gonna chew glass

3. the rings

kurosawa had the box on him the entire time. rings for good luck, which maybe Did work ... but i think he intended on proposing no matter how their talk w his parents went?? just thinking about That. Ough. but how he presents them just like that ..... no grand speech. no big huge romantic gesture. just the deserted beach and two of them like...... he doesnt try so hard anymore to be perfect or cool and plan a whole proposal, he just thinks about how much adachi loves him enough to declare it to his parents and Goes For It, almost on impulse i feel like ? but like in a good way like he Knows this is the moment™️ for it. anyways that left me pretty unwell also so that was fun

4. the hands

every single word u said anon......... i have no words left to say abt the hands its just. the. the. Theyre. the. i thought the manga's whole hand kissing deal after the proposal had killed me but this. the tenderness. the lighting. the Rings. the fucking gentle thumb rubs.......... I Am Never Going To Recover On God

5. the 'i love you'

listen they muted it . And That Was Extremely Evil Of Them. but i know kurosawa said i love you. i know this. and that too he said so quietly adachi couldnt hear it at first, and then whispering it to him bc he wants only adachi to be able to hear it ........ rlly felt like we as the audience are like. Intruding upon smth incredibly sacred that we're not supposed to see or something . 10/10 scene though like adachi nodding and then kurosawas SMILE and HUG and him taking the fall (AND HIS FEET WHEN HE DOES . idk why but im obsessed w the way his shoe shows up on frame for a bit its just . its so silly. theyre so silly i love them)

6. the hands, part 2

GOD. THAT PARALLEL TO THE DRAMAS INTRO IM TOO WEAK FOR THIS ??????????? why would they Do that to me. the way all their hand movements are in sync..... the way theyre smiling as they look at the rings......... I am normal about this (not)

7. the sillies

please look at my new favorite shot of kurosawa of all time

HES SO GIDDY. HES SO HAPPY. HE IS SO SILLY!!!!!!!! mans measured adachi's ring size while he was Sleeping !!!!!!!!! where is the deleted scene of him sitting there at like 2 am with a thread in his hand and quietly trying to measure it !!!!! I Demand This !!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

ADACHI TOO ????? HES SO HAPPY ....... and how he knows what to expect from kurosawa by now like . this is the same guy who got so freaked out over kurosawa thinking abt his mole that he had to run away to the bathroom about it . but now just the plain and simple acceptance that Yeah. Kurosawa Is A Little Weird About His Love. And That Is Okay And Endearing And I Love That About Him that adachi shows here. ............. i am fine :)

ok thats it for beach scene thoughts. for now. but ill probably think of more stuff later as i slowly start to process this movie so like ......... look forward to it perhaps??? also anon pls if u have more thoughts abt the movie i would love to hear them too 👀 i need to talk abt it as much as possible its the only way i can cope

#cherry magic #cherry magic spoilers #my answer #sorry this is a Mess i hope im making sense in what im trying to say #beach scene my beloved..... u went above and beyond my expectations im so glad they made this...........

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custompetart · 1 year

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How a modern pet portraits Can Comfort A Grieving Heart?

One of my absolute favorite things I do at prince&princess is watching the emotions that come out of the hand-painted modern pet portraits you present to your beloved family members.

I muted the video so that I can hear it.

Look me up! I’m right there with you. Are you able to feel me?

I get up from my chair and stroll over to the pet photo I placed on my desk. My sister’s smile is in my direction, waiting for me to surrender.

Vibrant, that’s what it is.

She appears radiant.

It is not a sign of unhappiness. Grief is a way of remembering.

Reminiscing about that my sibling is the strength of life, the recognition of her and the acknowledgment of mine. Speaking about her is honoring her and seeing her each day with the joy she was blessed by an artist’s soft touch is the joyful grief of a loss that is known to many.

Distracted from my thoughts of wandering I’m still looking at the painting thinking about my ever-growing desire to grab my hand and stroke her face as you did. Do my fingers touch the canvas with a sigh of displeasure? Do the oils bend at my fingertips and draw her back to me?

A dusty layer has built up over the frames. I wipe it away as I let my fingertips rub her hands painted. It’s a simple In my mind, I am transported back to the moment that this dog photo was taken. I recall everything through ways far too complicated for me to fully grasp, yet they come to me with clarity that could only be my modern pet portraits.It’s almost similar to oil paint on but a layer under the surface is visible for a brief moment. It’s enough to curl my lips and ease my eyes while I lie in my chair and be captivated by as the Paint Your Life stories flit across my screen.

I get it. You’re not trying revive them. you are reliving how to cherish the memories they left behind by taking inspiration from the images you observe, and making it real.

This is a portrait but it was driven by love and guided by memories, which means it’s so much more.

#pets #cute pets #pet pictures #pet posting #pet portrait

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kpopfanfictrash · 3 years

Text

Raise the Barre (Ch. 8)

Author: kpopfanfictrash

Pairing: Jimin / Reader

Rating: 18+ (Eventual Smut)

Genre: Enemies to Lovers / Dance Academy!AU

Warnings: underage drinking, angst, hoseok’s bare abs

Word Count: 10,705

Summary: You and Park Jimin have been rivals for as long as you’ve known one another; ever since he tripped you in the front row of your first dance convention. When you graduate from high school and enter Russet Ballet Academy, you tell yourself you’re leaving all past quarrels behind. The main problem with this though, is that your past seems determined not to leave you alone.

Worse still, the obstacles you face while out in the real world might prove more challenging than anything your enemy has to offer.

“Okay, even you have to admit this is too soon.” Finn stared, appalled at the chalkboard. “It’s not even Halloween!”

Laughing a little, you looped your arm around his to drag him towards the back. Plopping down in a chair, you placed your order number in the center of the table. Seating himself across the table from you, Finn began to undo his coat.

“Come on.” He grinned, brown hair flopping when he leaned forward. “Admit it – this is too early for holiday drinks.”

“Okay, maybe it’s a little early,” you acquiesced. “But Halloween is tomorrow! They probably just put up the holiday drinks so they don’t have to do it on Sunday.”

“Laziness!” he cried, jabbing a finger in the air.

Shaking your head, you smiled when Namjoon, the barista, placed a pumpkin soy latte before you.

“Thanks!” you said, pulling this towards you.

“No problem,” he said, flashing his dimples before he turned to leave.

Taking a long, slow sip of your drink, you groaned. “Oh my god. This is it. This is heaven.”

Finn laughed. “Is that seriously your first pumpkin drink of the season?” Sadly, he shook his head. “I remember our senior year, you dragged me out of bed at 7:00 AM on a Saturday just to get the first pumpkin drink of the year.”

“I know,” you sighed. “But I’ve needed the extra caffeine jolt each morning. Sweet drinks just don’t cut it anymore.”

“Ah, the first step in addiction.” Finn nodded sagely.

Smiling, you settled back in your seat as he took the first sip of his black coffee. It had been two weeks since your fight at the club and since then, Finn had been on his best behavior. For about a week, things between you had been awkward but slowly, your relationship was returning to normal.

Seated in the corner of your favorite coffee shop, you drank from your cup and glanced around the room. This was what you’d pictured when you imagined you and Finn living in the city together. Coffee dates, going on new adventures and continuing your relationship where it had left off.

Of course, this morning was only possible because Miss Britt’s ballet class had been cancelled. A contemporary master class had been scheduled for the afternoon, but your day before then was free – something you’d immediately taken advantage of by calling Finn. It was becoming easier to fit each other into your schedules, more like second nature, but things were still tense whenever things didn’t line up.

None of this was eased by the burgeoning whatever-it-was you’d shoved to the back of your mind regarding Jimin. Since the day of Mr. Vlad’s ballet class, you’d managed to keep your emotions in check, but were constantly on the lookout for dangerous situations. You and Jimin were professionals, obviously, but you were also only human. It was reasonable to have subconscious wants and desires, but these weren’t important unless you chose to act upon them.

You didn’t tell Finn about it because honestly, there was nothing to tell. Okay, so you’d felt an errant spark one day during a lift. Big deal. Finn had been your boyfriend for over two years – it would take more than that to threaten your relationship. A relationship which, frankly, had been getting stronger as of late. Telling him something as inconsequential as a spark you had with Jimin would only take you further down the wrong path.

“Are you sure you’re okay with us doing separate things tomorrow?” Finn interrupted your thoughts. His brow furrowed. “It is Halloween, after all.”

“Ah, yes.” You nodded. “Halloween, the internationally known couple’s holiday.”

He laughed. “Okay, point made – but still.”

“It’s fine,” you assured him. This was something you’d already been over. “It just makes sense like this! Your friends are going to that off-campus party and I promised Noelle I’d go to this club thing with her.”

“Right, of course.” Finn grinned. “I’m bummed I’ll miss seeing you as the Powerpuff girls, though. Who’s going to be the third one, again?”

“Well, I’m Blossom – obviously.”

“Of course.” He nodded. “Miss Responsibility.”

A twinge of annoyance went through you, but you pushed it aside. You didn’t think you were always the responsible one but admittedly, you’d been more on edge than usual lately.

“Anyways,” you continued with a roll of your eyes. “I’m Blossom, Noelle is Buttercup and Irene is going as Bubbles. It’ll be fun! Aside from the whole club part, of course.”

“It does sound fun,” Finn admitted, a tad mournful. “Meanwhile, I’ve been roped into the classic college bro costume of Ghostbusters.”

“Oh, come on! That is classic! You’ll be super cute in your… suit? Cargo pants? What do Ghostbusters wear again?”

“Knowing Ben, something tragic from Party City. Pray for me.”

“I’ll light candles.”

Finn grinned, sipping his coffee again and your conversation slipped naturally to other topics.

Halloween fell on a Saturday this year, which meant every college campus was gearing up for some epic parties. Noelle had managed to snag tickets to a club fancy enough to require an RSVP. Apparently, said brother she missed was a DJ and could get tickets to a lot of things if Noelle bothered to ask.

A bunch of people from Russet were going, which made you excited. There hadn’t been many parties with your classmates so far this semester. Despite technically being in college, your classmates were all under the same intense pressure, only made worse by constant early morning ballet.

This week though, even your teachers seemed to have decided you needed a break. Aside from the master class you had this afternoon, there were zero Russet classes until Monday morning. The break in schedule meant you could actually go out – and drink – if you so decided. You and Noelle were planning on attending a ballet class tomorrow, but your entire day after would be free.

You’d originally planned on seeing Finn during the day, but then he’d been invited to a Halloween darty (day party) starting at noon. Despite not seeing Finn on Halloween, you weren’t feeling stressed. It was only one holiday and not even a couple’s one, as you’d said.

After coffee, you kissed Finn goodbye and headed to class at Danley Hall. The atmosphere was different as soon as you entered the classroom – all of the students were buzzing, excited by the prospect of the weekend ahead. The excitement only grew when coupled with the fact that today’s class was contemporary.

For nearly two months, your training had been mostly ballet. This was the foundation of all western dance, and where most dance students were expected to start. Finally though, you were being given a chance to show off. Today’s teacher, Luna Jordan, was a well-known contemporary choreographer across the globe.

You’d done a master class with her once back in high school and honestly couldn’t wait to learn from her again. She wasn’t alone, though, you noticed as you walked in – an unfamiliar, dark-haired guy stood beside her, stretching lithely before the room’s mirror.

“Holy shit,” Noelle whispered as she came to a stop. “That’s Jeon Jungkook.”

Startled, you looked twice and saw she was right. You hadn’t recognized him without his bevy of followers, but Jeon Jungkook was known in the dance world. A child prodigy, he’d been on America’s Got Talent at age eleven and finished in second place. Following this, his family had moved to LA and he’d been in high demand for movies, music videos and performances ever since.

You remembered hearing he worked with Luna Jordan, but the thought hadn’t crossed your mind before now that he might be here.

Noelle cocked her head to one side. “He’s hot.”

“Noelle,” you hissed, trying to shush her.

“What!” A devious grin spread across her face. “Am I supposed to be blind, as well as mute?”

“Well, no, but –”

“Alright, everyone!” Miss Luna clapped her hands together. “I know everyone is excited for the weekend, but we unfortunately have an hour and a half together before then. Everyone spread out for warm-ups!”

A few people laughed, spreading out on the floor as class began. Noelle wriggled her eyebrows, pulling you towards the front in order to get the best spot. Hiding a smile, you ducked your head and settled beside her into a stretch.

Noelle was nearly as excited as you were for the opportunity to dance contemporary. Most of your classmates knew this to be your forte – you caught glances from the corner of your eye while you warmed up, trying not to let their attention get to your head.

Jimin was also near the front, although on the opposite side. You suspected your class was equally excited to see him perform – as talented as Jimin was at ballet, there was a reason you hadn’t thought he’d be at Russet this fall. Jimin’s strength in jazz and contemporary was unparalleled. You would’ve thought he’d gone to LA to become a dancer like Jungkook.

Speaking of whom – Jungkook really was attractive; that much couldn’t be denied. He had dark, wavy hair pulled into a bun and cheekbones sharp enough to cut glass. When he glanced up from his stretch, his gaze somehow found yours and he smiled.

Eyes widening, you stared until you caught sight of Jimin behind him. Glancing between the two of you, Jimin’s expression soured before he looked away. Lips parting, you felt the sudden urge to say something, but there was too much distance between you.

“You ready?” Miss Luna called, an upbeat pop song blasting from the stereo. “Let’s go!”

She launched into isolations, leaving the rest of the class to follow. Warm-ups passed quickly and before you knew it, you were gathered at center to learn the combination. Miss Luna’s style was right up your alley. The steps came easily and, once you’d learned the whole chorus, she left you alone to practice.

You were helping Ari with a difficult move when you caught sight of Sabrina as you turned. She’d positioned herself near the back, which had to be a first. Usually, Sabrina was front and center to allow for maximum receipt of teacher praise.

The decision to stand near the back could’ve been strategy – sometimes, dancers did that at conventions. Conventions were giant weekends of competition with teachers from all over the globe who taught master classes to hundreds of dancers in hotel ballrooms and convention centers. Space at the front tended to be limited, so some stayed at the back, where there was more room to dance and be seen. You had a greater likelihood to capture the teacher’s attention when you had the room to do incredible leaps.

Sabrina’s decision didn’t seem strategic, though. While you watched, Sabrina stumbled transitioning from one move to the next. A brief twinge of pity went through you.

It was easy enough to spot ballerinas dancing anything but ballet. Although ballet was the root of modern westernized dance, it could be hard to translate into other styles. Ballet was more rigid than contemporary, jazz or hip-hop. In ballet, each position was defined, individual style was limited, and dancers were expected to all look the same. Standing out in the corps de ballet was equally frowned upon as missing an entrance.

Not that ballet wasn’t important to all dance styles, mind you. Even hip-hop dancers took ballet to improve their balance, core strength and general understanding of the body. There was an element of individuality in other dance styles, though, which lacked in ballet. Contemporary and hip-hop dancers were expected to have relentless technique all while creating their own, unique flair.

Just looking at Sabrina you could clearly see the holes. She was trying so hard to emulate the moves of Miss Luna, she was kind of missing the point. When Miss Luna did a certain flick of the wrist, it wasn’t a defined part of the choreography, but rather an individual choice.

Without thinking, you took a step forward – only to stop. Sabrina wouldn’t want your help; she’d already made that abundantly clear. Besides, you knew her friend Katie to be a contemporary dancer. She could help Sabrina and yet, when you looked, you saw Katie practicing near the front with Jungkook.

Jungkook obviously knew the steps, since this was probably the tenth time he’d learned the combination. Dance teachers often did that – selected a dancer to attend classes with them, traveling to different cities to demonstrate the combination and help when they weren’t free.

Before you could decide whether to help Sabrina, Miss Luna clapped her hands again.

“Let’s do groups!” she declared. “I’ll count you off into groups of four, and each group will showcase. Sound good?”

It wasn’t really a question so much as an announcement. The rest of the class nodded, waiting while Miss Luna counted you off. You ended up in the same group as Irene, Paulo and a few others. Jimin and Noelle were in the group two, while Sabrina was in the group after theirs.

Jogging off to the side, you waited while the first group took center. You were part of group four, which meant you’d be amongst the last to dance on the floor. When the music began, you closed your eyes and began to mark the combination. You tried not to focus on what anyone else was doing, but this became difficult once Noelle’s group stepped up.

Noelle had trained in jazz and contemporary, although she’d stopped in high school to focus mainly on ballet. Still, her artistry shone in her movement. She could definitely stand to loosen up a bit but was still one of the best in the bunch. You found yourself smiling when she landed a turn, silently cheering her on from the side.

While you were watching, Jimin cut across your vision.

Dropping to the ground, he rolled and arched as his forehead brushed wood. His quality of movement was breathtaking and for a moment, you felt like you were back in high school.

Suddenly returned to those dimmed auditoriums, you watched Jimin take the stage like an otherworldly being. His body seemed to move before your mind could comprehend. Barely did he finish one move before he was starting another, the steps flowing endlessly together like unhindered water. Although you knew the combination and knew how you would dance it, watching Jimin perform was a different experience entirely.

Ballet required dancers to stay on the beat but in contemporary, they were expected to lag. Extensions were all the more breathtaking when they clung to the last second, seeming as though the dancer might not make it before they caught up. Jimin was an expert in this, knowing exactly when to hang precariously over the edge and when to pull back.

Watching him dance, that pesky, strange something bloomed in your chest again.

Squashing this quickly, you looked away and resumed marking the combo. The end of the song was improvisation though and, unable to stop yourself, you found your attention drifting to Jimin again. He was ridiculously beautiful – you nearly didn’t hear when Miss Luna called for them to stop. As she turned off the music, she applauded the group while they walked from the floor.

Breathing heavily, Noelle came to a stop alongside you and – somewhat guiltily, since you hadn’t been watching – you gave her a high-five.

“That was awesome!” you said with a grin. “You definitely stood out in the group.”

Noelle snort-laughed. “Not with Jimin up there, but that’s okay. This is his specialty – and yours,” she added with a wink. “I’m psyched for group four.”

“Ah,” you groaned, rubbing your neck. “Too much pressure.”

Noelle laughed, shaking her head as group three took the floor. Both of you fell silent to watch, your curious gaze finding Sabrina in the back. Sabrina looked almost nervous; an emotion which seemed out of place on her features. It made her look almost human.

As soon as the music began, you stifled a wince. Sabrina stood out from the group, and not in a good way. She had the combination down but moved with a woodenness you would’ve expected from someone half her age. It was enough for you to glance at Miss Luna, wondering if she had noticed.

“Wow,” Noelle whispered, looking almost gleeful. “Sabrina is terrible.”

“Noelle!” you whisper-laughed.

“What? After everything she’s done? After everything she’s said?” Noelle’s gaze narrowed. “Sabrina deserves this.”

Despite privately agreeing, you couldn’t help but feel bad as Sabrina continued. Not wanting to watch any longer, you turned towards the front and resumed marking the combo. As soon as Miss Luna cut the music and polite clapping ensued, you turned back around.

It was time for group four. A shaky, sick feeling entered your stomach as you walked to center. So many eyes were on you, but it had been so long since you danced contemporary. You couldn’t help but wonder if you were as good as people seemed to imagine. Surrounded by so many dancers at Russet, surely your own talent would pale in comparison.

As soon as the music began though, everything faded. Insecurities slipping away, a lightness entered your chest as, eyes falling shut, you slowly inhaled.

Taking a step forward, you opened your eyes and began.

To you, dance had several phases. The first was learning, where you memorized each step and put them in order. The second was understanding, where your muscle memory began to take over and the combination felt smoother. The final phase, performance, was when you thought not of the steps, and were free to just dance.

This was your favorite phrase. In this phase, your mind separated from your body, leaving you only with sweat and emotion. Dance was the only art form composed solely of the body. An odd combination of physical strength and artistic beauty, it was both a testament to human capability and human emotion.

Losing yourself in the music, you ebbed and flowed through the combination until the choreography ended and improvisation began. Finally, you let go and held nothing back. Raw, unbridled passion poured out as you lost sight of yourself, so consumed by the movement.

When the song finally finished and you came to a stop, you were panting for breath. Glancing up, the first person you saw was Jimin.

He stood off to one side, leaning casually against the rungs of the barre, but his expression was anything but. Focused on you, his gaze had turned dark in a way which made you catch your breath.

Miss Luna clapped both hands once again, returning your attention to her. Blinking, Jimin shook his head and in your peripheral, you saw him straighten.

“Very good!” Miss Luna scanned the group. “I know our time is nearly at and end, but why don’t we have a few students come out and demonstrate?”

Again, this was fairly common in master classes. After learning the combination, teachers would often single out students to perform as examples. It wasn’t always the students with the best technique who got chosen. Oftentimes, it was as much for passion and performance quality.

Taking a step forward, Miss Luna began to call out names. You were one of the first – setting your water down, you jogged back to center. Jimin was the next person called, then Noelle, much to your excitement. Jungkook was also instructed to join on the floor.

Turning the lights halfway down, Miss Luna pressed play and let you improvise until the combination began. Jungkook started dancing and honestly, he was beautiful, but you couldn’t linger on him for long.

Catching sight of Jimin again, you were once more transported to earlier times. This wasn’t the first time you’d been called out together. Oftentimes, this had happened at conventions but back then, your mind had been too clouded to see him for who he was.

You’d always wanted to beat him in high school, but now, you were consumed by the oddest desire to see him do well.

Glancing up, Jimin caught your gaze and he smiled – but then, the combination began.

By the time you were finished, you could hardly catch your breath but somehow, you felt the most alive you’d been in ages. Back in your own element, surrounded by some of the most amazing dancers in the world – this was what you’d imagined when you came to Russet.

People around the room clapped, some of them begrudgingly. You got the impression many of your classmates weren’t used to not being chosen. As you walked from the floor, you saw surprisingly, Sabrina wasn’t amongst them.

Instead, Sabrina simply looked tired – as though she’d tried her best and it hadn’t been enough. You knew that look. You sympathized with that look.

The look lingered in the back of your mind while you packed up your things and listened to Noelle discuss Halloween tomorrow. When she mentioned Ari had decided to visit her family this weekend, an idea began to form in your mind.

“Wait,” you interrupted, looking up. “Ari can’t come tomorrow?”

Noelle shook her head. “Her brother just turned eighteen, so her whole family is having a party or something.”

“So… her ticket is free, then?”

“Yes…” Noelle paused. “Why? Y/N, what are you planning?”

“Okay. Hear me out,” you said as you shrugged on your coat. It was cold enough now for the coat to be necessary.

Noelle sighed, slinging her bag over her shoulder. “Alright, I’m listening.”

Glancing away, you saw Sabrina packing her things on the other side of the room. Before you could talk yourself out of it, you returned to Noelle.

“What if we invited Sabrina?”

Noelle snorted. “Pass.”

“Noelle,” you laughed, reaching out for her arm. “Come on! Do you really think she’s doing anything for Halloween?”

“Probably not. And that’s her own fault.”

“Maybe,” you said, glancing at Sabrina once more. “But how could it hurt? We have an extra ticket, there’ll be tons of people tomorrow night. She’ll probably say no – at least this way, you can claim a write-off on your way into heaven!”

Noelle upper lip twitched. “Oh, is that how write-offs work?”

“Well, I can only assume.”

Finally, she laughed. “Ugh, fine. You can invite her – but only because it’s Halloween, and Halloween is a time for peace. And slutty costumes.”

“Thanks, babe,” you said, squeezing her waist in a one-armed hug.

Sighing exaggeratedly, Noelle waved aside your thanks. Hiking your bag higher, you began to make your way across the room. As you closed in on Sabrina, you began to rethink your choice. It had been nearly a month since anything bad had happened between you but still, you found yourself feeling wary. As tough as you pretended to be, rejection hurt you just as much as the next person.

Still, dancing with Jimin had been a reminder of just how bitter your relationship used to be. If that relationship could change, you had to imagine things with Sabrina could, too.

Coming to a stop at her bag, you waited for her to look up. When she finally did, her brow wrinkled in confusion.

“What?” Sabrina asked, sounding defensive. “What do you want, Y/N?”

You couldn’t really blame her for her suspicion. Had your situations been reversed, you would’ve been equally distrustful. It was likely Sabrina thought you were coming over to gloat, or say something to do with class today. Another twinge of pity went through you as Sabrina zipped her bag shut to stand.

“I just wanted to know what you were doing tomorrow,” you said, trying to smile. “Noelle has an extra ticket to a Halloween party, and we thought you might like to come.”

Sabrina stared. “What?”

“Tomorrow is Halloween,” you said, a bit slower. “You know – when we were kids, it was all about costumes and candy. Now, it’s about costumes and booze?”

Sabrina failed to crack a smile. “And you want… me to come to this party?”

Something about the way she said this made you sad, as though she genuinely thought this might be a joke. As though at any moment, someone might jump out and yell SIKE.

“Yeah,” you said, softening a little. “Look – it’s not a big deal if you can’t make it. A bunch of our class is going though, so we thought of you.”

Sabrina hesitated, then glanced at the door. “Okay,” she said, looking back. “Okay, yeah. I’ll come.”

Stifling your surprise, you nodded. “Great. I’ll text you where to meet us tomorrow before the club. Wear a costume,” you added before walking away. “Noelle said it’s required.”

“Alright,” Sabrina said, so quiet you almost missed it.

Walking away, you were nearly at the door when Jungkook popped up before you. Flashing a smile, he fixed a loose strand of hair away from his face. Feet fumbling to a stop, you could only stare.

“Y/N, right?” he said, sounding shy.

Unable to find the words, you blinked in response. The way Jungkook danced had been so confident, you’d only assumed this to be his off-floor persona, as well. Hearing him sound shy was unexpected.

Also – you hadn’t expected him to know your name.

“I… yeah, that’s me.” Shaking your head, you smiled. “Jungkook, right?”

“Yeah.” He nodded. “I just wanted to say I’m such a big fan of your dancing. It was great to take class with you today.”

Without meaning to, a laugh escaped your lips. Jungkook stared at you, baffled until you quickly waved him off.

“Oh, no – no! Sorry,” you said. “I’m not laughing at you! I’m just laughing at the ridiculousness of you saying you’re a fan of me.”

Some of Jungkook’s wariness disappeared, and a small smile played across his lips.

“Well, I am.” His grin widened. “I used to assist on the convention circuit, too and I remember you being called out all the time. You and Jimin,” he added, glancing across the room.

You looked, too and saw Jimin still packing his things. His back was stiff, pointedly not looking in your direction. Lingering on him a moment, you returned to Jungkook.

“Still,” you said with a laugh. “It’s a bit of a stretch to say we took class together when you’re the teacher’s assistant.”

“True.” Jungkook paused. “Well, next time you’re in LA, let’s fix that. Let me know if you’re ever in town and we can take a class together.”

Despite yourself, your brows raised. It was harmless, but Jungkook was definitely flirting with you. He was attractive, sure and seemed nice, but he lived in LA and you had a boyfriend. You should probably leave before things had the chance to go any further. The last thing you needed was another complication. Adjusting your bag, you gave Jungkook a small smile.

“Sounds like a plan,” you said before turning away.

Jungkook chuckled from behind. “Bye, Y/N.”

As you joined Noelle at the door, she stared over your shoulder.

“What?” you said, coming to a stop.

Noelle’s gaze moved to yours in disbelief. “How?” she demanded as you exited class. “How do you have all these men just… tripping over themselves for you?”

Heat rising to your face, you shook your head. “That’s – I,” you sputtered. “You’re being ridiculous!”

“Am I?” Noelle grinned. “First Jimin, now Jungkook… and all this while having a boyfriend.”

“I… you... Jimin is not tripping over himself for me!”

Both her brows shot way, way up. “Is that the only part of the sentence you took objection to?”

“Shut up,” you groaned and shoved her in the side.

Noelle laughed but nodded. “Alright, fine! I’ll stop. Did Sabrina say she’ll come?”

“She did.”

“Great. I still don’t like her,” Noelle said, pushing open the door. “But I guess you’re right, I have an extra ticket. It’s nice to be nice.”

You laughed, pulling your coat tighter as you walked outside. “You’re a saint.”

While you walked, your phone dinged and pulling this from your pocket, you saw a notification on Instagram. Jeon_Jungkook97 has followed you.

Shaking your head, you returned this to your jacket as you continued. While it was nice of Jungkook to compliment your dancing, his approval didn’t mean as much as certain other peoples had. This realization stuck in your mind, making you wonder about Noelle’s teasing jibe.

She had said Jimin flirted with you, but that wasn’t true – was it? You would have known if Jimin were flirting. It was hard to pick out though, since Jimin was friendly with everyone. That was just who he was; as he’d said earlier, he liked to be liked. A note of uncertainty entered your thoughts though, recalling the ballet class with your chest pressed to his. Shoving this away, you forced yourself to focus on the upcoming weekend.

Halloween was a night for fun, for letting loose and enjoying yourself with your friends. You refused to let the night be spoiled by any lingering feelings – either from you, or towards you.

The next night was perfect Halloween weather.

Chilly, but not cold enough to risk snow falling. There were several Halloweens from childhood you could recall trick-or-treating with a winter coat flung over your costume because the temperature had dropped below freezing.

You, Noelle and Irene showed up to Paulo’s house around 8:00 PM, shivering a little while you stood on his doorstep. Paulo was one of the few freshmen who lived off-campus, having known several upperclassmen before he came to Russet. The brownstone he lived in was cute, with window boxes you imagined hosted flowers in the summer.

Tugging your pink and black minidress down, you adjusted your bow as Paulo opened the door.

Blinking, he took in your costumes. “The Powerpuff girls!” He cheered, raising an arm overhead. “Try not to take down any of the villains upstairs, yeah?”

“No promises,” said Irene, flicking hair over her shoulder.

Entering the house, you heard thumping bass from an apartment upstairs. Paulo lived on the third floor and as you climbed the steps, the music grew louder. It took Paulo two tries to shove open the door – “warped wood,” he explained – but once you were inside, you saw familiar faces.

“The Powerpuff girls!” Jasmine cried, jumping up from the couch. “Finally! Thank god – can you take down Eamon? He came here dressed as a potato, or something.”

“It’s an avocado!” Eamon shouted from the kitchen. He was dressed in a round, green costume with a halo overhead. “I’m ‘holy guacamole’ – get it?” he said, pointing at the halo.

Jasmine stared at him a moment. “That’s terrible. Worse than mine,” she said with a wave down her body. “I’ve been Princess Jasmine for the past five Halloweens. It’s easy to remember and I already have the outfit.”

Laughing, you shrugged off your coat and added this to a pile on the couch. “It’s a classic,” you agreed as you turned.

Noelle had managed to procure at least twenty tickets to the party tonight, so a lot of your freshman Russet class was in attendance. Including Sabrina, who stood in the corner, talking to Louis over cups of red punch. She looked up when you entered, pausing before she gave a small wave. Surprised by the gesture, you did the same.

“No.” Noelle groaned, coming to a stop alongside you. When you looked, you saw she’d already removed her coat. “Tell me Sabrina didn’t come to this party dressed as a ballerina.”

“We did invite her at the last minute,” you laughed. “Hard to find a good Halloween costume in a day.”

“Hey,” Noelle argued. “There’s no we here. You were the one who invited her, and you’ll be the one to accept the consequences should your social experiment fail.”

“Done,” you agreed. “Speaking of social experiments though, I’m ready to get drunk tonight. Where’s the alcohol?”

“Kitchen!” Irene called, brushing past. “Or – that’s where Brian disappeared to when we entered, so I can only assume.”

Telling Noelle you’d be back with drinks, you wound through the room towards where Irene had pointed. The kitchen was tiny, on par with most city apartments. There was only room enough for one or two people, so you were lucky it was deserted when you entered.

Surveying the counter, you found the usual party staples. A bowl of red punch, a bunch of beer and various liquor bottles with chasers. Skipping over the communal punch bowl, you reached for a bottle of diet coke and coconut rum.

“Oh,” a voice said as they entered the kitchen. “Sorry – I didn’t know you were in here.”

Glancing up, you saw Jimin and froze.

He’d dyed his hair black – that was the first thing you noticed. Jimin’s hair was no longer blonde, but completely dark. His outfit confused you at first – a frilly, white blouse with slicked-back hair and dark trousers – until you saw his bright red contacts and the dribble of blood at his mouth.

“A vampire,” you said, finally recovering your voice. Scanning his body, you frowned. “Where are the teeth, though?”

Jimin blinked, his gaze jerking up from your waist.

“Huh?” he said, sounding a bit strangled.

Cheeks heating a little – your dress was pretty short – you repeated yourself. “The teeth,” you said, pointing at your own lips. “Don’t vampires have fangs?”

“Oh, right.” Jimin dug around in his pocket – fuck, were his trousers tight – to produce twin fangs. “I took them off when I got here. They’re really hard to talk in.”

“Go on then, Park,” you said with a grin. “Put them in.”

“One second.” Twisting to face the wall, Jimin popped them in his mouth. Turning around, he bared his teeth. “Sexy?”

With the teeth in though, the word came out more like shex-shie and you burst into laughter. “So sexy,” you agreed, reaching past him for a cup.

Jimin stiffened when your arm brushed his front. Unbidden, you thought about what Noelle had said – Jimin had been flirting with you. Pulling away, you resumed making your drinks and tried not to look in his direction.

Even so, you remained aware of his presence. Jimin inched his way behind you, reaching for the whiskey on the other side. His arm brushed your elbow as he went, right knee nudging yours in an intimate gesture.

Glancing up from the counter, you accidentally caught his gaze. Despite your earlier joking, he did look sexy. Devastatingly so. Even the blood-red contacts weren’t enough to deter the shiver which ran down your spine.

Shaking yourself free from your trance, you grabbed both cups and pulled back.

“So, what’re you drinking?” you asked.

You decided it was best to steer the conversation away from how sexy Park Jimin was or was not.

Seemingly oblivious to your inner turmoil, Jimin poured whiskey into his cup. “Whiskey and coke. Can you pass me that bottle?”

“Sure,” you said, leaping at the chance to prevent him from walking past you again. “Here you go.”

Pushing this forward, you watched Jimin pour both drinks all the way to the brim. He paused near the end, staring into the depths before he looked up. He seemed to be warring with something, debating whether or not to speak whatever was on his mind.

“So…” He paused. “Do you know Jungkook, or something?”

You blinked. “Jungkook…?”

“You know, Miss Luna’s assistant. Jeon Jungkook.”

“Oh! Jungkook. No, I don’t really know him.”

“You were talking to him at the end of class, though?”

Hearing the curiosity in his voice, both your brows raised. “And?”

“And nothing,” Jimin said, sounding uncomfortable. “I just… I didn’t know you knew him, that’s all.”

“I mean, I don’t.” You paused. “But even if I did, what does it matter?”

“It doesn’t.” His cheeks began to redden. “It’s just – ah, never mind. We don’t have that great a history, that’s all. He’s kind of the reason I’m at Russet this year.”

You stared at Jimin a moment. “Wow, what a tragedy,” you said, stifling a laugh. “To have been forced to attend one of the most prestigious dance institutions in the world.”

His upper lip twitched. “It’s not that. I was deciding between attending Russet and accepting a job offer out west. I was asked to join this pop star on tour… anyways, Jungkook’s never liked me much. It’s a long story.” Jimin’s brow furrowed. “My offer was rescinded at the last minute. The artist never said why, but I always got the feeling he had something to do with it.”

You stared at Jimin a moment, unsure how to respond. Jungkook hadn’t seemed like that kind of person, but you supposed you’d only talked to him for a few minutes. If that was true, what happened to Jimin sucked and yet, the next words from your mouth nearly had you face-palming.

“And here I thought I was your biggest rival, Park,” you said.

Jimin’s eyes widened. “Are you… jealous, Y/N?”

He sounded almost pleased by the notion, which sent a different kind of shiver down your spine.

“Not at all,” you said quickly, turning back to your drinks.

Jimin made a soft tsk-ing sound, as though he didn’t believe you.

“That sucks,” you continued, determined to change the subject. “I’m sorry that happened to you.”

“Yeah. Maybe it was all for the best, though. Things happen for a reason, right?”

Looking up, you caught Jimin’s stare. He didn’t look immediately away and you got the oddest sensation he meant more than what he said. Hastily, you pushed this feeling aside, clutching your drinks as you entered the main room. Jimin followed close behind, two cups in his hands.

“When did you get here?” you asked. “Been here long?”

Jimin shook his head. “Nah. Hoseok and I got here like, ten minutes ago. He should be around here somewhere, he –”

“Y/N!”

You looked up just in time to see Hoseok, Jimin’s roommate, barreling towards you.

“It’s been so long!” Crushing you to his chest, Hoseok wrapped you in a hug. “Hope Jimin isn’t boring you to death,” he stage-whispered before he pulled away.

“Just for that.” Jimin arched a brow. “Both these drinks are for me.”

“No – wait, wait. I’m sorry!” Hoseok pouted. “Hand over the drink, Park. It’s been the longest fucking week.”

Jimin grinned and relented, handing Hoseok his cup as you laughed. Hoseok was a newer friend, but he was close to Jimin, so he’d gradually bled into your latest gatherings. Despite not being on the ballet track, most of the dancers at Russet knew of him. Hoseok had that way about him.

Glancing down at your outfit, Hoseok held up a finger. “Let me guess – Blossom,” he said, turning to scan the room. “Which means… aha! Irene is Bubbles and Noelle is Buttercup. Makes sense.”

“And you are…” Pausing, you squinted at his outfit. “Someone at the spa?”

“Sure.” Hoseok shrugged. “Honestly, I just wanted to wear a bathrobe.”

Said bathrobe was paired with only boxers, the front of the robe open to display his toned abs. The costume didn’t surprise you, based on past interactions with Hoseok.

Casually, he twirled the robe tie in a circle. “Impressive, no?” Hoseok glanced away. “Whoa, wait – they have beer pong? See you all later!”

Hurrying off, he left you alone with Jimin. Shaking your head, you glanced in his direction and saw Jimin down his whole drink. Arching a brow, you were about to ask why when Irene called your names from across the room.

“Y/N!” She waved her hands. “Jimin! Get over here, you two – we need more for flip cup!”

You found yourself pulled in this direction despite your insistence you didn’t do well under pressure. Jimin ended up at the other end of the table and you lost sight of him when you started to play, paired with Jasmine for a partner.

By the end of the first round, you discovered you weren’t as horrible a player as you’d imagined. Then someone suggested mixed drinks for the second round, and things became fuzzier. There were more people present than just current students of Russet. One of Paulo’s roommates knew Seokjin, so you saw him in the room, along with Sana.

You chatted with both over the course of the evening, in addition to a guy who’d recently debuted on Broadway, Kim Taehyung. Apparently, there was already buzz around him for a Tony. Taehyung was nice, but it was sometime during this conversation you realized how tipsy you were. Apparently, not drinking for several months and then going ham made for very low tolerance.

Collapsing onto the couch, you joined Irene and Brian’s conversation. In the corner of your eye, you caught sight of Noelle – a terrible flip cup player, she’d roped Hoseok into giving her private lessons, but these seemed to be going terribly. Or perhaps very well, given how much the two of them were laughing.

You completely forgot about Jimin until you spotted him across the room talking to Sabrina. Seeing them together, you straightened. Both seemed fairly comfortable, which struck you as odd. Since that morning in Jimin’s dorm, you hadn’t really seen them hang out together.

Despite this, Jimin was laughing at something Sabrina had said. Tearing your gaze away, you forced yourself to focus on the conversation at hand. It didn’t matter who Jimin spoke to, or even who he decided to go home with tonight. He was your dance partner and friend, nothing more and besides – you had a boyfriend.

Blinking, you reached into your clutch and pulled out your phone. To your disappointment, you’d gotten no texts from Finn since this morning. You assumed he was still at his party but didn’t know for sure. Shooting him a text, hey, you waited for a response and when you got none, returned your phone to your purse.

Across the room, you heard Noelle yell your name. “Y/N!” She cupped her mouth with both hands. “We need another person for flip cup!”

Laughing, you pushed yourself from the couch and were immediately roped into your fourth game of the night. The night blurred again after that, turning into a pleasant hum of conversation and booze. At some point, Ubers were called to bring you to the club. As you rushed downstairs, you realized you forgot your coat as soon as you stepped outside.

Shivering violently, you rubbed your arms and cursed yourself for poor foresight.

“Y/N?” Jimin came to a stop alongside you. “Hey, where’s your coat?”

“Inside,” you said through chattering teeth. “I-it’s fine, though. I’m fine!”

Jimin gave you a look. “Where’s Paulo?” he said, glancing around. “I’ll grab him, we can get your coat before we go –”

“The Uber’s already here, though,” you argued, grabbing his sleeve to drag him towards the curb. “I’ll be fine from here to the club!”

Jimin sighed but gave in, following when you rushed to the grey SUV. Irene had claimed the front seat, so you and Jimin pulled open the middle door – Noelle and Hoseok were crowding behind you, so you and Jimin ended up together in the backseat.

Collapsed in a heap, you giggled as Jimin tried to squish himself in a corner. “Sorry,” he said, trying – and failing – to keep his knees separate.

“Jimin.” You snorted. “Are we going to go through this again? Your hands have been in way more inappropriate places than that this semester.”

Jimin’s lips parted, shocked, but you were already hoisting yourself over the middle seat. Draping your arms next to Noelle, you begged her to play your favorite song on the radio. Had you been more sober, you might’ve recognized your position to be precarious – perched on the edge of your seat, your ass hovered inches away from Jimin’s face.

Plopping back down, you glanced sideways at Jimin and found him frozen. Suddenly, you realized the visual he’d had.

“Um, so what happened to the teeth?” you blurted, determined to change the subject.

Jimin blinked and managed to meet your gaze. “Casualty of flip cup,” he said. “One of them fell out during the game and I couldn’t find where it rolled.”

“Well, that’s okay. You can just be one of those vampires who blend in with normal humans. You know, the kind whose fangs only come out when they want to bite someone.”

“That’s true.” Jimin arched a brow. “Lucky for you, I’m not hungry.”

“Lucky for me? Lucky for you,” you retorted. “My blood is about half alcohol right now. If you drank my blood, you’d be a very silly vampire.”

The idea of a silly vampire made you laugh – even more so when you pictured said vampire as Jimin. He seemed much too coherent for your liking right now.

“A silly vampire, huh?” Jimin looked on, amused. “Damn, Y/N – when was the last time you went out? Your tolerance is shit.”

“I know,” you sighed. “I haven’t drunk much this semester. Too much dance, too little time. I think the last time I went out was –”

“We’re here!” squealed Noelle, throwing open the door.

A blast of cold air hit you and you shivered, wishing you’d worn your coat. Jimin’s gaze remained steady on yours.

“Are you sure you’re okay?” he said lowly. “I can give you, uh…”

“Your shirt?” you said dryly, lifting a brow as you brushed past. “Then you’d be shirtless, Park. Let’s think this through.”

Jimin chuckled before he followed suit, although you cursed as soon as you left the car. He was correct. It was freezing, even with your alcohol-induced blanket.

“Come on!” you yelped, following Noelle towards the entrance.

Bypassing the line, Noelle walked straight towards the bouncer and showed him her phone. He nodded and waved her past, counting your friend group who followed. Not everyone from Paulo’s place had gone to the club, but enough for you to make quite the entrance.

“Y/N!” Noelle doubled back to link arms with you. “Come on – this way! That guy’s going to show us to our table.”

“Table?” you asked her, wide-eyed.

Tables in a club on Halloween night were ridiculously expensive, but it seemed Noelle had downplayed her brother’s connections. Your group was led right to the front of the upper balcony, getting a coveted spot overlooking the dance floor below.

This was undeniably the coolest club you’d been in. Not that you’d been in many, mind you, but this one had to take the cake. A half-circle of tables took up the top floor, with twin staircases descending to the main room below. Most of the lower floor was for dancing, although you saw additional tables pushed to the sides. Fluorescent bars and dance platforms were dotted throughout and above all was the DJ booth, blasting the latest songs.

“Whoa,” you breathed.

Noelle grinned, squeezing your arm to pull you into the booth. As soon as you settled in, Jasmine leapt up and clapped her hands.

“I want to be in one of those!” she said, pointing to a glowing cage at the center of the dance floor.

“Oo, me too!” Irene leapt up to join her.

“Me, three!” said Paulo, clambering out of the booth.

“Awesome.” Irene beamed and glanced your way. “What about you, Y/N? You in?”

The idea was tempting for a moment, but then Finn flashed through your mind. You highly doubted he’d be on board with you gyrating for a room full of strangers without him. Somewhat dejectedly, you plopped back on the bench.

“That’s okay,” you sighed. “I think I’m going to stay here for a while. I’ll join you later!”

Irene frowned but nodded, following the rest when they left for the stairs. About half the group went, clearing out the table while you stared at the dance floor.

Jimin slid into the bench alongside you. “You don’t want to dance?”

Startled, you glanced in his direction. While you watched, Jimin began to undo his cuffs, casually rolling the sleeves of his shirt. His hair, which had been slicked back at the start of the night, was starting to fall. Several dark strands hung over his forehead, although this only seemed to make the look more appealing.

“No,” you said, crossing your legs. “I just… don’t really feel like it.”

“Is this the whole hating clubs thing again?”

“Kind of.” You laughed. “I don’t know. Club dancing isn’t like normal dancing, you know?”

“It is when you’re at the club with all dancers,” Jimin pointed out, nodding towards the floor.

Following his gaze, you saw Jasmine dancing full-out in a lit-up cage. She wasn’t so much gyrating as she was creating choreography on the fly. The mere mortals around her looked on in awe. Fighting a smile, you returned to Jimin.

“Okay, that does look like fun,” you admitted. “The last time I was at a club was with Finn.”

Jimin blinked. “Sorry – what?”

“In the cab,” you said, leaning closer in order to be heard. “You asked me when I last went out. It was that night… um, the night you came and picked me up.”

Jimin stared at you a moment, as though contemplating something important. Abruptly, he stood and held out a hand. You blinked at this like he’d offered a football.

“What are you doing?” you said, glancing up.

“Taking you down to the dance floor.” Jimin retracted said hand. “Come on, Y/N! You don’t have to give out dry lap dances, or whatever.”

“Hey!” In disbelief, your mouth fell open. “You said you’d forget all about that!”

His smile turned impish. “Seriously, we can just do the sprinkler, or something. It’ll be fun!”

“The sprinkler?” Starting to laugh, you stood. “Was that really the first move you thought of?”

“Nah. My go-to move is the criss-cross, but I figured this was more your speed.”

Snorting, you shoved him in the arm before following Jimin to the dance floor. It didn’t take you long to spot your other friends, clustered near the front and around the DJ booth.

“Y/N!” Noelle cheered, breaking off from the pack. “You made it!”

She nearly spilled her drink while she danced, catching herself just in time as she spun around. You grinned, entering the circle with Jimin by your side. He did, in fact, pull out the criss-cross – Hoseok joined in and soon, there was a Fortnite dance battle between them. You truly haven’t lived until you’ve seen a TikTok dance-off between two semi-professional dancers.

This ended with both declaring mutual defeat, and Hoseok disappearing to buy the next round. Noelle shimmied her way over to Jasmine, accepting the hand given to stand on the platform.

You laughed at their ridiculous dance moves, choosing instead to stay on the ground. The crowd around you had thinned since you’d joined. Eamon disappeared a few minutes later, saying something about needing a drink upstairs. Before long, Irene had joined Jasmine and Noelle on the platform, leaving you alone with Jimin on the floor.

Under other circumstances, you might have felt uncomfortable, but Jimin was so good at putting you at ease. Determined to keep you in the present, he came up with more and more complicated dance moves which had you snorting with laughter.

On a particularly flamboyant spin, Jimin accidentally smacked the drink from someone’s grasp. Blue vodka splattered everywhere, drenching its owner – a burly man in leather who snarled in frustration.

Looking up, he met your gaze and his eyes narrowed.

“Shit. Run!” you blurted out.

Grabbing Jimin by the arm, you dragged him into the crowd.

“No, wait – let me apologize!” Jimin tried to twist around. “I can pay for his drink! I can –”

Once there was suitable distance between you and the guy, you came to a stop. Laughing so hard you nearly fell over, you turned sideways to face him.

Bodies pressed against you from every side but rather than feel claustrophobic, all you could think about was Jimin before you. His hair had become thoroughly mussed during the night and you fought the sudden desire to smooth it down.

Although your breath came hard, the club around you seemed to slow. The music somehow had narrowed to pinpricks, a heady thump of bass while everything dulled.

What you should’ve done was taken a step back – but you didn’t.

Instead, your gaze drifted across his face. Jimin stared back, something intense to his gaze you couldn’t quite name. Breath caught in your throat, his eyes dropped to your lips.

Before you could react, someone bumped into you from behind, sending you careening forward. Jimin caught you easily, one arm around your waist and your chest pressed to his. You could feel every hard line of his body, his thigh wedged between your legs while you grasped at his arms. Heart thudding traitorously against your ribcage, you tried to ignore the emotions which followed.

It was impossible.

The song playing was slower, sexier than the one which had inspired the dance-off. Without meaning to, your weight subtly shifted. This caused your hips to move against his as Jimin quietly sucked in a breath. The effect this had on him was instantaneous. His grip on you tightened, gaze heady with desire and something more. Before you could second-guess what you were doing, you moved your hips again – this time, on purpose.

Jimin’s eyes darkened. Without looking away, his grip on you tightened as he slowly dragged you up his thigh. Suddenly breathless, your hands gripped him tighter while your eyes fluttered shut. The heat of his body on yours, the faint smell of cologne and sweat, the tension in his limbs and the knowledge of what he could do to you – it all left your head spinning.

“Y/N,” Jimin murmured, low in your ear.

You weren’t used to him saying your name like that.

You were used to him saying your name in every other way, but not that. Sharp with dancer’s critique, brusque with instruction, light with teasing – but not like something heavy was lodged in his throat. Maybe his heart.

Panicked, your eyes flew open.

What were you doing? This wasn’t some random stranger and this sure as hell wasn’t your boyfriend. This was Jimin. Stumbling backwards, you broke from his hold. Jimin seemed equally stunned, staring at you on the dance floor.

“I have to go,” you blurted and whirled around.

Shoving into the crowd, you heard Jimin emit a soft groan. Despite this, he didn’t immediately pursue, for which you were grateful. Stumbling through strangers, strobe lights flashed brightly overhead. You squeezed between someone dressed as a go-go and another person dressed as a werewolf. Skidding to a stop on the edge of the floor, you scanned the room and saw no one from Russet.

When you glanced over your shoulder, you saw Jimin now followed. Panicking again, you began to move. Beside one of the bars, you spotted a hallway labeled restrooms. Heading in this direction, you quickly disappeared inside the door marked women.

Once inside, you locked yourself in a stall, lowered the lid and sat down. Head in hands, you slowly exhaled. You were a coward; that much was clear. Jimin was probably out there looking for you right now, but you’d rather hide in a bathroom than face him.

The fluorescent lighting overhead was too bright – it made you feel overexposed. After a long moment, you fished around in your purse and pulled out your phone. Flipping to your thread with Finn, you saw he’d sent no response since your text. Complete and utter silence.

Heart cracking a little, you slid this in your bag and stared at the door. This wasn’t how things were supposed to go. When you imagined you and Finn at college, you’d always pictured you together, attending the same parties and sharing the same adventures. Tonight though, had proven to be anything but that. Finn hadn’t once glanced at his phone judging by the unread mark next to your text.

Dimly, you wondered why you weren’t more upset about this. It should bother you that Finn hadn’t called or even texted throughout the day. Sure, he was out with friends, but so were you and you’d reached out – as soon as you thought this, your heart sank.

You weren’t sure you could call Jimin a friend after what had just happened.

Sure, you’d only danced, and it had only been for a second but still, guilt bloomed behind your ribcage. The idea of Finn doing the same thing with anyone else made your heart twist. You wouldn’t feel that way if what you’d done wasn’t wrong.

Groaning out loud, you lowered your head to your hands. After several minutes, you felt calm enough to stand and pretend-flush the toilet. As you exited the stall, you walked to the sink and began washing your hands. Staring at yourself in the mirror, a million things ran through your mind.

Clearly, the situation with Jimin was worse than you’d thought. The spark you’d felt kept returning, no matter how much you tried to ignore it. Maybe the only solution was to find a new partner. The very idea made your heart sink, but you couldn’t deny things had gotten out of hand.

Before you could seriously consider the option, the door to the bathroom flung open and banged against the wall. Sabrina stormed in, wiping both eyes with the heel of her hand. You froze, staring at her in the mirror but she didn’t seem to notice your presence.

When she finally lowered her hands and took a deep breath, she saw you and froze.

For a moment, you both only stared at each other and then – you coughed. Awkwardly, you began to dry your hands.

“Are you okay?” you asked, tentative.

Sabrina stiffened. “I’m fine,” she muttered, walking to the sink.

You watched her wash her hands, struggling and failing to control her expression. Sabrina’s hair was a mess and you stared, wondering where she’d been. You hadn’t seen her since you’d entered the club, but had assumed she’d stayed on the second floor.

“Are you sure?” you pressed, remembering your night at the other club. “You know, you can –”

“Will you… just stop.” Sabrina closed her eyes. “Will you … stop pretending like we’re friends, or something?”

Struck with disbelief, you could only stare. “I… are you serious?”

“Yes.”

“Wow.” You shook your head. “Just wow.”

Her lips tightened and finally, she whirled around. “What?” Sabrina demanded. “What is it?”

The look in her eyes was familiar. Her frustrated, angry look was mirrored in your expression, but you found you didn’t care. Sabrina was clearly going through something, but her rudeness to you was the final straw. Tired from Finn, Jimin and the constant pressure you were both under, something about Sabrina’s words made you break.

“Why are you always such a… such a bitch,” you blurted, hurling the word like a knife. “What did I ever do to you? Why do you always act like you hate me so much?”

Sabrina’s upper lip curled. “Why do you always think this is about you, Y/N? Maybe I just wanted one second of peace and instead, here you are. Like always.”

“Here I am, in the public restroom of a club we’re all at?”

“No. Here you are in my life,” she snapped, pushing herself from the sink. “People won’t talk to me? It’s because you’ve run your mouth about things you think I’ve done. I’m falling in the class ranks? It’s because you’re after my spot. Jimin doesn’t want to be my partner? It’s because of his feelings for you. I’m sick of turning around and always seeing you there!”

“Okay, but none of those things – I, Jimin doesn’t have feelings for me,” you sputtered.

Sabrina gave you a look. “Oh, please, Y/N.” Her laughter was harsh. “Why else would he turn me down?”

“Um, maybe because he’s a decent human being? Unlike yourself.”

“Great, yeah.” Sabrina glared. “Make me the bad guy again.”

“I’m not the one doing that,” you huffed. “You are. You want to blame me because no one wants to be your friend? Maybe try reaching out first. Maybe don’t talk shit about people behind their backs. And I’m improving because I’m taking extra lessons. No thanks to you, of course.”

“Don’t try and make me feel bad because I didn’t have time to give you lessons.”

“I’m not trying to make you feel bad. I’m trying to explain why I’m improving and you’re not.”

Sabrina bristled. “Are you saying I don’t work hard, too?”

“No.” Mirthless, you laughed. “I know you work hard – maybe even as hard as I do. But you know what the big difference is between you and me?” you said, drawing yourself to your full height.

Sabrina’s eyes glimmered while she stared you down. Still, she retained her aloofness when she said, “What? What’s the big secret?”

“You think everyone’s out to get you,” you said, stepping closer. “You think not asking for help makes you stronger, but it’s the exact opposite. At least I’ve improved since the start of the year. What have you done?”

Not waiting for an answer, you pushed past Sabrina and walked out the door.

Shoving it wide, you entered the hallway. Dance music flooded your senses and you winced, remembering where you were and what you’d been doing. Luckily, Jimin was nowhere in sight. He must not have seen where you’d disappeared to.

Shoulders slumping, you pulled out your phone and dialed a number. Walking to the front, you concentrated on breathing while you waited for them to pick up. Coming to a stop beside coat check, you didn’t leave the club – a lesson you’d learned the hard way.

Noelle answered on the third ring. “Babe?” she yelled, barely audible over the din. “What’s going on? Where are you?”

“Are you…” Closing your eyes, you paused. “Can we leave?”

Noelle paused, then muffled her phone with one hand. “Irene!” you heard her yell. “You good to get a ride home for these people? Okay, cool. Bye!” Her phone became un-muffled. “Where are you, babe?”

After explaining your location, you hung up and hugged yourself with both arms. Noelle burst into view a few moments later, scanning the crowd like a mom on a mission. When she saw you, she rushed over – and you promptly burst into tears.

“Oh, no!” Pulling you into a hug, Noelle began to rub your back. “No, no, babe! Don’t cry! What’s going on? Do I need to kick someone’s ass?”

Hearing Jimin’s words said by Noelle only made you cry harder. Wisely sensing this to be a problem not easily solved, Noelle continued rubbing your back while walking towards the exit.

The two of you went outside and, as luck would have it, saw a group of people arriving at the club. Noelle snagged their taxi, helping you in the backseat and giving the driver your address. As you settled against her, your head on her shoulder, Noelle kept rubbing your arm and waited for the tears to stop.

You weren’t really sure why you were crying.

Of course, Sabrina was terrible, as was the situation with Jimin, but it was more than that. Dancing with Jimin hadn’t caused problems in your relationship with Finn. There had been problems in your relationship Finn and so, feelings had crept in which led you to dance with Jimin.

More than that though, you couldn’t help but notice Noelle had come to your aid much faster than Finn ever had. Even Jimin had dropped everything when you asked, and he was someone you’d once called your enemy. Noelle had been having fun, but she’d cut her night short because you were upset. This knowledge crushed you and for the very first time, you realized your relationship with Finn might be unfixable.

Curled up on the backseat, you let yourself cry a bit more. You could be calm and rational in the morning, you decided but for now, you just felt defeated.

When you finally climbed into bed at your dorm at night, you looked at your phone and saw Finn still hadn’t texted.

Author’s Note: Thank you for reading! 😊 New chapters of Raise the Barre are posted weekly; dates are listed on the series Master List. Requests for updates will be deleted.

RAISE THE BARRE MASTERLIST

#bangtanarmynet #btsbookclub #jimin fanfic #bts fanfic #jimin au #bts au #jimin writing #bts writing #jimin series #jimin e2l #bts series #bts e2l #jimin dance au #bts dance au

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neoculturetravesty · 3 years

Text

We met in online class - Part 9

Image adapted from here.

Pairing: Renjun x Reader Genre: College AU, romance, angst, fluff Warnings: Strong language, fist fight, a character has Covid-19 Word Count: 5.2k

A/N: So proud of the boys for breaking records with Hot Sauce 🥺💛 Also, Eid Mubarak to all who celebrate!

Renjun is ashamed to be surprised, but his friends remain true to their word.

That night, Renjun slept for what he’s sure was a good fourteen hours. Because by the time he woke, it was way in the afternoon. Jaemin was already back from his shift and Jeno was almost halfway through his. Jisung had insisted that Renjun get some more rest before he had to take over. It was a tiny bit disconcerting to have Jisung hovering over him the entire day to make sure he was eating and feeling okay, but Renjun had to admit--this was exactly what he needed. He didn’t like who he was when he was alone.

The boys had apparently even created a dedicated group chat where they would post updates and a list of things that were required at the hospital. Not that there was much required, anyway. But the boys would make sure that at the very least, Renjun’s mom had fresh clothes and home cooked food everyday while she couldn’t get out herself. Jaemin had even taken Renjun’s phone and gotten it fixed so he at least had a proper screen instead of a cracked one.

Even when Renjun was sure that he could take over on his own, the boys wouldn’t allow it. On many occasions, he had just stayed by them during their turns, thankful for their company and their friendship. Because who else in this world would spend their semester break in this fashion? He’s pretty sure they had plans; but they had forsaken them all to be there for him.

Renjun has no idea how it happens, but slowly and surely, things start to get better. He’s pretty certain it has to be some sort of a miracle. Like a little break of sunshine had finally decided to shine on him through the dark clouds. Like somehow, his guardian angel had decided that it had slacked off for long enough and now it should give Renjun a break. Because one day, the doctors tell them that Renjun’s grandmother will be a lot weaker for the next few days to come… but with a lot of care and attention, she should be ready to go home. They echo Renjun’s thoughts and tell them that it is nothing short of a miracle, but also that he should be thankful that his grandmother is still young and has a fighting spirit.

The day she is taken off of life support and brought into another room with a window through which he can see her, Renjun can’t hold himself back. He hugs onto Jaemin so tight and cries happy tears, and Jaemin holds him back just as strong, though he’s sure that he’s so overwhelmed by relief that he’s putting all of his weight onto the boy. But Jaemin doesn’t relent and holds onto him and lets him cry tears of joy into his shoulder.

The boys head home that night and laugh till they cry and celebrate Renjun’s grandma’s life and health. They eat like they had been hungry for days and slump their shoulders in ease like they had been keeping them tense for too long. They laugh and they sit together and keep letting out long sighs of relief, as if each breath was undoing a knot in their chest. It’s a sweet, victorious sort of a happy moment, and it is Jeno who has to remind them they need to focus now more than ever so that Renjun’s grandma can get her strength back and finally test negative. And it is an important reminder because the new semester is about to begin soon and given classes, they will have to redo their hospital visit schedules.

At the very least, they learn that the new semester would begin online, because the sudden surge in Covid cases had led them to another lockdown. Renjun’s not sure whether he should be happy or upset about it. On the one hand, he thinks this lockdown should’ve happened earlier so his grandma would’ve never gotten sick in the first place. On the other hand, he is happy that his grandma would now be safe and recover comfortably.

When classes begin and Renjun finds all his housemates at home, his heart drops a little and he wonders if he should just skip today. But an amused Jeno mutes himself during his online class and stops him.

“You have other friends, too, you know?” Jeno cocks an eyebrow at him.

“Yeah, but I’m sure they have classes, too. Plus, the four of us have been doing this from the beginning, so… I don’t know…” Renjun says, rubbing the back of his neck, feeling a bit nervous about leaving his mother and grandma on their own without help. But Jeno looks at him like he’s talking gibberish.

“Dude. Not the four of us. All seven of us have been doing this from the very beginning.” Jeno says, eyebrow still cocked, looking at Renjun like he’s sure he’s lost his mind.

Renjun looks up and for a moment, he is sure his face looks dumb. Because if the buffering wheel was a human expression, Renjun’s certain he’s wearing it now. “All… seven?”

“Do you even check the group chat? Chenle and Mark and Donghyuck. They’ve all been doing their duty from Day 1, you idiot. How else would the rest of us come home so early?” Jeno scoffs and laughs a bit, knotting his eyebrows at his clueless friend.

For a moment, Renjun is silenced. Because he doesn’t know how to process this information. He feels a swell in his chest. A sort of happiness that only true friendship brings. But at the same time, he feels an incredible pang of guilt, because for one, he is an asshole that keeps underestimating the said friendship. And for the other, he had done absolutely nothing to be deserving of such love.

“Dong… Donghyuck, too?” Renjun asks and he feels his heart breaking, though even in this surreal moment of realization, he recognizes how strange it is to feel heartbreak over something like this.

“Of course, you idiot. Donghyuck was the one that stayed at the hospital the entire first night when you were asleep.” Jeno tells him and smacks him lightly on the head.

And for the first time in his life, Renjun actually feels what it is like to have his head physically hang in shame. “I don’t deserve it.” he sighs.

“I really don’t understand you sometimes, Huang Renjun.” Jeno says and turns his attention back to his class.

“What do you mean?” Renjun retorts.

“Just because friends have a dumb fight, doesn’t mean they abandon each other in times of need.” Jeno states like it is the most obvious thing in the world.

It should be simple and obvious, everything Jeno has said. But to Renjun, it is groundbreaking. Because Renjun wasn’t used to being loved and cared for without condition. In his dark and convoluted view of the world, everything was give and take. You scratch my back, I scratch yours. But here they were--his friends that were shattering all of those dumbass beliefs. Telling him that although he had been a grade A asshole and punched them in the face, they understood that he was going through some shit, and that taking care of his sick grandmother trumped all other childish grudges. Renjun realizes that perhaps, he was the most childish out of all his friends. Somewhere in his turbulent childhood, he might have skipped a lot of emotional development. Because why else would the kindness and love of his friends shock him so?

Jeno peeks over the top of his laptop and watches Renjun deep in thought, paying no attention to his own class. “He’s at the hospital right now.” Jeno says knowingly.

And that’s all Renjun needs to hear before he slams his laptop shut and makes his way out.

The fact that Renjun is probably a few steps behind in his emotional development is solidified when he sits next to Donghyuck on a park bench and suddenly finds himself at a loss for what to say.

The rush of blood and adrenaline he had felt in his veins leaving his house for his apology tour seemed to have faded when he saw his friend’s face. Donghyuck had been sitting next to Renjun’s father, but that hadn’t been the bothersome part. It was the fact that his friend was sitting there for him, but with a black eye that Renjun had given him.

In the grand scheme of healing black eyes, Donghyuck definitely looked less hurt than the last time Renjun had seen him. The purples were mostly gone, leaving behind hues of yellow and a speck of blue here and there. Though he may have been healing, there were more colors on him than before and that’s what made him look worse. That’s also the part that makes Renjun feel most ashamed. His friend was here for him even though he looked like shit thanks to him.

Renjun is sure that on the list of top ten assholes of the world, he would find his own name on top.

But sitting next to Donghyuck outside in the fresh air, he has no idea what to say. He thinks real hard and decides to start in the safe zone.

“Did the guys tell you? About my grandma?” he asks.

“Um, no. It was Jimin.” Donghyuck replies awkwardly.

Renjun nods. “I, uh… I told the guys like a day later, though. Did you tell them before I did?”

“No, um… I was at a party with the 127s… I didn’t see her text till like the next day either, so…” Donghyuck trails off.

Renjun nods again, then swallows. It’s so strange, how awkward this all is. It is unsettling because Donghyuck is the least awkward person he knows, and he hates that this weird zone is where their relationship seems to be heading.

Not if he can help it.

In another rush of dumbass adrenaline, Renjun gets up abruptly and stands before Donghyuck.

“Go on. Do it.” Renjun says and takes a deep breath.

“Huh?” Donghyuck looks at his friend quizzically.

“Do it. Just make it quick.” Renjun nods with determination and points at his face.

“You’re crazy.” Donghyuck states and slides further away on the bench, eyebrows raised, and a grimace on his mouth.

“Just do it, man. Do it so we can move on.” Renjun says, placing both hands on his waist and squeezing his eyes shut.

“I’m not going to punch you so you can move on, you psycho.” Donghyuck’s face is contorted, like he’s scandalized and perhaps even slightly scared of his friend.

“Come on, Donghyuckie. Just punch me and get it over with.” Renjun waves his hand impatiently, not relenting.

“Are you not hearing me, you crazy? I’m not punching you just to make you feel better!” Donghyuck almost yells.

And because Renjun is pretty sure this would work, he grabs at Donghyuck’s collar just to provoke him.

“What the fuck?!” Donghyuck tries to push Renjun off of him.

“Hit me!” Renjun shouts.

“No, are you fucking crazy! Get off me!” Donghyuck grabs at the sleeves of Renjun’s jacket and tries to pry him off.

“Not till you hit me!” Renjun insists, clinging onto the boy, grabbing and pulling at him to annoy him best he can to get a reaction.

“I’m not going to hit you!” Donghyuck yells. The two boys spin in inelegant, rough circles on the grass, trying to push and pull at one another.

“Punch me or you got no balls!” Renjun yowls and then finally feels the blow to his face that sends him flying to the ground.

He pauses for a bit because his head spins for a solid ten seconds. He shakes it vigorously to get it to focus and it helps because then he looks up to find a very startled and distressed Donghyuck looking down at him, fist still raised in the air.

“That had more throw than power.” Renjun comments, massaging his jaw.

“Yeah, that’s what I was going for.” Donghyuck agrees.

For a moment both boys nod and look at each other, acknowledging the technique and form of the punch. And then, they burst into laughter because fuck, all of this was so stupid. Renjun rolls on the grass and Donghyuck doubles over as he stands. Then he offers Renjun his hand to help him get up, which he takes eagerly, using it to lift up and fling himself into his friend’s arms. They hold each other strongly, thumping one another on the back. And just like that, the awkwardness is gone. All that was meant to be said has been said and now Renjun is no longer struggling to find his words. They come easily, because all of this is so natural. He was with his best friend, after all.

“You are a crazy motherfucker, you know that, right?” Donghyuck comments, shaking his head as they sit back down on the bench.

Renjun chuckles, then looks at the grass, because his head hangs in shame again. “I’m a sorry motherfucker.”

Donghyuck puts an arm around Renjun and thumps his back again. “You should be sorry, you dumb fuck. But also, you’ve got a pretty toxic coping mechanism, you know that, right?”

Renjun sighs long “I know. The longer I think about it, the dumber I feel.”

He expects his friend to make a joke in return but he feels his hesitation. So he looks up and finds Donghyuck trying to think of what to say. “Have you ever thought about… like sorting that out, maybe?” he finally asks.

“Sorting it out?” Renjun asks, confused.

“Like... you know this isn’t normal, right?” Donghyuck asks, and he doesn’t sound like he’s mocking. His tone doesn’t have the slightest hint of a joke and that’s what makes Renjun realize what he’s talking about.

“No… no, I haven’t…” Renjun admits. He doesn’t know why he’s never thought about ‘sorting it out’. Perhaps because he’s always thought he was smarter than anyone who could offer him help.

“You could give it a try. Talking to someone really helps sometimes, you know? Getting help can help.” Donghyuck says carefully.

Renjun bites his lip. He knows his friend is right, but he’s never really, truly given it a thought. Donghyuck senses his discomfort and changes the subject.

“Your grandma is finally getting tested again tomorrow.” he says as he stretches.

Renjun smiles “Yeah. I honestly can’t believe it…” he looks at his best friend “... but I also don’t know if I’ll ever be able to thank you…”

Donghyuck frowns and shakes Renjun by the shoulder “Stop it before I throw up.”

“I mean it.”

“I’ll throw up even if you mean it.”

“Donghyuck…”

“Okay, really, stop. Also, I’m not even the one you should be thanking. Or apologizing to.” Donghyuck sits back after he’s had his fill of shaking Renjun.

“Of course, you’re the one I should be thanking and apologizing to, you stupid. You did all of this for me even when I was an absolute asshole to you.” Renjun presses.

“You are an asshole, but you’re also a dumb asshole.” Donghyuck declares.

“Hey, I’m trying to apologize nicely, here.” Renjun pouts and his friend lets out a long, exasperated sigh.

“I thought you were just being obtuse but you seriously don’t know…” Donghyuck shakes his head.

“Know what?” Renjun asks and Donghyuck shrugs and acts like a little shit which annoys Renjun, but at the same time fills him with relief. Because Donghyuck being a little shit to him means their friendship has been restored to its original state. But he asks again “Know what?!”

“Dude, no offense or anything, but did you really think your parents can put your grandma in a private room all on their own?” Donghyuck asks.

Renjun stops a bit. He’d been so worried about the fact that his grandma’s life was hanging by a thread that he hadn’t even thought about the expenses part. He knows his grandma had a little bit in savings, but his parents for sure didn’t earn that much. Come to think of it, he hadn’t even realized that this was one of the nicer hospitals around.

“Fuck it, I’m really going to have to spell it out for you. Since your brain doesn’t seem to be working.” Donghyuck sighs dramatically.

“What?”

“Dude. This is Y/N’s parents’ hospital. Your mother couldn’t possibly keep taking care of your grandma all on her own, now could she? When Y/N found out, she went crazy. She made her parents direct all their best resources into taking care of your grandma.”

For a while, the information hangs in the air.

Renjun had thought that he would never get to feel things that were new and unexplainable ever again. He thought he had experienced every single feeling his body had to offer. The past month alone had put him through more emotions than he had experienced in his whole life. He had seen it all, felt it all.

But what he’s experiencing right now doesn’t feel like gratitude or shame or longing or anything one should expect to feel in a situation like this. It just feels like a soft light has filled his chest and is lifting him in the air. He feels like he’s floating, like he’s having an out of body experience.

“Oh,” is the only thing he can manage to say.

And then he remembers your face. He hadn’t realized it then, but he sees now how badly he had wanted to see you that night. He had wanted no one but you to hold him and kiss him and tell him that he wasn’t alone. And he remembers how he couldn’t tell you any of that. He remembers how you had walked away with another man.

And that makes him come back to earth. He feels a resigned sort of sadness.

“Y/N is… she would do that for anybody, wouldn’t she?” Renjun smiles sadly.

“She probably would. But you should’ve seen how worried she was. Even now, she is on the phone everyday with her parents, making sure they’re doing everything they can. She didn’t want what happened to her grandmother to happen to yours.” Donghyuck tells him.

Renjun looks up “What happened to her grandmother?”

Donghyuck raises his eyebrows. “She passed away from Covid last year?” His eyebrows go higher still “She says she’s told you about this?”

Renjun thinks, and then it’s as if a veil on his memory is slowly but poorly being lifted. He remembers laying his head on your shoulder. He remembers feeling your shirt dampen from his tears. He remembers your fingers drawing relaxing patterns in his hair. He remembers your soothing voice, speaking to him with such tenderness that Renjun had barely heard your words and had focused instead on it’s sweet tones. But now, when Renjun is forcing himself to think, he very foggily recalls what you had been saying. You had been telling him about your own grandmother. Why hadn’t Renjun listened? Why did Renjun never listen when you spoke? He was such a selfish, arrogant fool. He wishes he could go back and change it all.

Donghyuck shakes his head. “Are you really….” he sighs again, “Nevermind. But yeah, she basically went nuts because she couldn’t be here with you.”

Renjun’s heart is aching and he’s pretty sure his face reflects it. “I wish I could take it all back. Everything I did to her.”

“You can take it back.” Donghyuck says.

“How?”

“Apologize to her, you dummy.” Donghyuck smacks the back of his head.

“How? I tried calling her once but she didn’t pick up.” Renjun admits.

“Then you should call her again and again and again till it sticks.” Donghyuck says plainly and it makes so much fucking sense that Renjun is embarrassed that he hadn’t thought it.

“Yeah, but…” Renjun swallows, “... it doesn’t really matter now, does it?”

“What do you mean?” Donghyuck asks.

“She’s with Wong Hendery now. So…” Renjun can’t even complete the thought.

“What do you mean she’s with Wong Hendery?” Donghyuck scrunches his brows deep in his forehead in confusion.

“She left with him for the semester break. I went to see her… but she left with him…” Renjun presses his lips together.

“Wait…” Donghyuck says and Renjun looks up and nods at him as if to confirm the fact. But he sees something entirely different on his friend’s face. It’s an expression of deep dumbfoundedness. “... are you some sort of an idiot?” He asks like Renjun is the dimmest person he has ever come across.

And Renjun doesn’t help his cause because he only blinks in return.

“Dude! She’s not ‘with Wong Hendery,’” Donghyuck gets up and smacks Renjun across the head once again. “They’re partners on the SMK Trainee Drive. She’s literally been preparing for this for months? Shouldn’t you know this?”

Renjun blinks some more. SMK Trainee Drive? Renjun had heard and personally seen you preparing for interviews and these drives. But somehow a lot of it hadn’t registered in his brain. Once again, probably because he never listened to you well. Fuck. Fuck, fuck, fuck, he was an idiot. He was the biggest idiot on the planet.

Yet right now, he was a smiling idiot whose heart was suddenly filling with hope. “She’s not… with… she’s not with Hendery?” Renjun is embarrassed. He feels so fucking stupid asking this, but he absolutely can’t help the smile spreading across his face.

“She’s literally at the tower right now. She’s been stuck because we went into lockdown whilst she was there. It’s why she couldn’t come and see you. But the highway doesn’t open for another week, so she’ll be stuck till then.” Donghyuck explains, and Renjun feels his heart exploding with joy at every word. He’s pretty sure he’s grinning shamelessly.

“Why do I know more about your girlfriend than you do? Oh wait. It's because 'she's not your girlfriend.’” Donghyuck does a perfectly exaggerated mimicry of Renjun that reminds him of that one SpongeBob meme. On a normal day, he would’ve wanted to smack his friend for doing this. But in this moment, he is all too happy to be the one being smacked and mocked.

Renjun laughs with relief, then finds his laugh fading a bit. “Do you think she’ll forgive me? For everything I did?”

“I don’t know, man. But you wouldn’t know unless you try.” Donghyuck once again states something that should be obvious.

“How do I try if she’s not picking up my calls? And when she won’t even be here for another week?” Renjun sulks a bit but gets smacked in the head again.

“Dude! She literally did everything in the world to help your grandma, and she was in a wholeass different city! She did that all for you! I’m sure you can figure out a simple apology.” Donghyuck has his arms crossed and is now seriously looking agitated with him and it makes Renjun smile.

“She really did that for me?” Renjun asks and he doesn’t even care if he sounds like a cheesy motherfucker. He doesn’t even care he’s being this way in front of Lee Donghyuck who probably won’t let him live it down for the rest of his life.

“Of course she did that for you, you idiot.” Renjun earns another smack at the end of that.

“Does she like me?” Renjun asks like a stupid, hopeful teenage boy.

Donghyuck pretends to gag and moves away in disgust. But then he sees Renjun’s expression and lets out a long, irritated exhale. “Of course she likes you, you dumb fuck.” Renjun gets hit in the head, “Why would she do all of this if she didn’t like you?” Renjun gets another smack, “Oh Lord, please give me the strength to not commit murder. I am not your strongest soldier…” Donghyuck looks up at the sky and Renjun laughs openly, freely and lightly. He feels as if all the knots in his chest are slowly being undone one by one. So he jumps up and tries to tackle and cuddle Donghyuck but he keeps moving away. The two boys run around in the ground, Renjun chasing Donghyuck, trying to attack him with his love while he complains that his hair smells.

And Renjun accepts all his insults with a newly healed heart. You liked him. Despite everything that he’d done to you, you liked him. You had worried about him and done everything in your power to help his grandma. You had kept tabs on her and made sure she was healing even though you were miles away. You liked him, and you weren’t with a new guy and you liked him.

As he walks back towards the hospital with his arm around his best friend’s shoulders, he decides that if it came to it that he had to beg and grovel for your forgiveness, he would happily spend the rest of his life on his knees. Because you liked him and Renjun was never going to let you go ever again.

True to his word (for maybe the first time in your relationship), Renjun spends the rest of the week trying to reach you. Because his apology tour wouldn’t be complete without his most important stop--you.

He calls you so many times; but each time, he only gets to hear the dial tone and the mechanical voice telling him that the user is unreachable at the moment. You never pick up.

But his mind and his spirit is fueled by Donghyuck’s advice, and this time, the advice is a lot more sound and a lot less exploitative. So, Renjun doesn’t give up because he has to make it stick. You had never given up on him. He wasn’t going to give up on you. When he’s sure you won’t pick up his calls, he leaves you a string of messages.

‘Hey, Y/N. I’m trying to call you. Please pick up?’

‘I know you have every right to be mad at me, but I just need a chance to apologize.’

‘I’m seriously the biggest idiot in the world, but I need to tell you that in person.’

‘Okay, I’m coming to you.’

‘Turns out I can’t just negotiate with the police to let me cross the city lines to get to the girl I like.’

‘Y/N, please…’

‘I’m the world’s sorriest and the most embarrassed motherfucker and I need to hear your voice to tell you that.’

‘I am Berry-Berry sorry, and I’m just asking for one chance to get to talk to you.

‘I’m not going to stop, you know?’

He has to admit that his patience is wearing thin. Because he’s trying every method and none of it is working; and also because his pride had never allowed him to beg and grovel to anyone before. It’s a humbling experience, but at the same time, he doesn’t feel burdened by it. This was for you. The girl who had done everything in her power to make him fall. The girl who had given him more love and kindness than anyone else in the world had. The girl who had taken his troubles and worries as her own. So, of course, he had to do everything in his power to earn your forgiveness.

But as he’s sitting in his room, trying to call you for what he’s sure is the twentieth time that day, he hears that your phone has been powered off. For a moment, Renjun feels immensely dispirited. Maybe he had lost you for good. Maybe you never wanted to hear from him ever again. Maybe this is what he deserved.

But in the next moment, Renjun stops himself. No. He wasn’t going to let his mind spiral that way again. He had to think with a good, clear mind. He couldn’t sit around and sulk without knowing he had explored all possible options. He needed to get creative and for that, he needed to think.

He could certainly wait it out till the week was over and when you’d be back. But he wanted to spend each passing minute letting you know that he was trying. So, that wasn’t an option.

Maybe he could look at the map and find some loopholes and secret passageways across the city. Surely, some of them had to be unmanned so he could break the lockdown law and get to you? That would certainly be impactful, being locked up in jail as a grand gesture of an apology. But Renjun was no action hero.

Renjun sits and thinks and thinks and thinks till a light bulb finally goes off. Of course. A grand gesture. He yells into his pillow out of excitement and frustration that he hadn’t thought of this before. If one thing had been established during this time, it was the fact that Renjun was a dumb fuck with a penchant for being blind to the obvious.

He gets up bright and early the next morning and rushes to see your friend at her apartment. He sits beside her as her online class starts, away from the camera view and finds his heart filling with the utmost warmth as he sees your window finally appear on the screen. Even in the tiny box, you looked so freaking beautiful that for a minute, Renjun stops and stares as butterflies take over his belly. But he taps his cheek to get himself to focus. He was here on a mission.

He waits for the class to begin before he slides himself into view next to your friend and types out a message on the chat that had taken him all night to prepare. He hits ‘Send to Everyone’ and waits.

And thankfully, the professor--miraculously the same professor who had done this the very first time all that time ago--stops to read it out,

“This might be a long shot, but Y/N L/N, do you think you can find it in your heart to give me another chance?” he begins, squinting his eyes slightly in confusion as he reads on, then smiling as realization hits. “Well, that’s certainly not a question from Ms. Kim Minjeong, I can tell you that.” he jokes and waits because as it had before, this has piqued the students’ interest.

Renjun watches as your pretty eyes widen. He watches them skirt across your screen, seemingly looking for the cause of the commotion. He watches the moment of realization hitting your pretty face. And he waits.

“Well, Ms. Y/N L/N, are you going to put the young man out of his misery?” the professor jokes kindly and Renjun thinks he might die from the anticipation.

And then, he watches as you move to unmute yourself.

“Yeah, I guess I could give him another chance,” you say nonchalantly which earns you a round of applause and hoots from all other windows. Because college students will always love dramatic antics.

The professor calls the class back to attention and Renjun sits back in his chair, grinning like an idiot because the girl he had fallen for had given him another chance.

#renjun fic #renjun angst #renjun fluff #kpopscape #ficscafe #neowritingsnet #dreamwritersnet #huang renjun #renjun #nct dream #nct fic #nct dream fic #nct fluff #nct angst #nct college au #renjun x reader #we met in online class

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orange-plum · 3 years

Text

So I was commissioned by @andrastesassets to write about the scene in “Satan and Me” where Satan gives his wings away for Natalie, but from his POV. This was kinda a big turning point as a wake-up call in the series for him, as you’re probably aware if you’ve read past that point and seen him be more open with his feelings and such. Anyway, it was a fun little thing to explore (yes, this is canon thoughts of his). I never expected to be commissioned to explore deeper into a canon of my stories that hasn’t been put into words before with the images alone of the updates, but I’m def open to that in the future!

Without further ado, here you go.

The looming presence behind him paled in comparison to the disorienting lurch his stomach gave as he kneeled on the unwelcoming cement floor. Keeping his gaze down, concentrating on the little tremors of his arms holding him upright, Satan struggled to properly see through the fog of stress clouding his mind. Clouding his judgement.

Fuck, this wasn’t the right thing to do, was it? Was he being too hasty? Should he spring up and sprint out the door before he followed through with something he couldn’t come back from? This was definitely one of his more impulsive and reckless decisions he’d ever committed to. Nothing could truly be worth this kind of –

Satan’s hand twitched, starting to rise as nerves got the best of him, when a blur of orange and maroon hovered on the edge of his peripheral. For a brief moment, he found himself vaguely wondering what the smudge of color was in the expanse of drab brown walls and muted trim.

Reality came crashing against him like an unforgiving tide for what seemed like the tenth time this morning. Sweat gathered at the base of his neck and he swallowed.

Satan returned his palm flat against the cement, locking his joints and muscles into place so that he would not stand up. His stomach did another discombobulated lurch.

Right. This was for Natalie. Natalie, who had no right looking so gray, Father, she was like a corpse.

She is a corpse! His mind howled the confirmation at him, leaving his breaths shallow in his welling panic.

Yes, that was true. It had been true for hours now, yet, somehow, the complete depth of what that really entailed eluded him in his denial. How could she be dead when she had talked to him only moments ago? Human’s lives had always felt fleeting, but had any ever felt quite this temporary before?

Less than a year they had been together . . . How had she burrowed this deeply under his skin? When? Satan tried to conjure a memory to pinpoint the exact moment Natalie had become a constant in his life as he bore his back to Death and Pestilence. In the end, it was fruitless. Between his ears remained endless static.

The tension in the air was suffocating. His arms trembled, but he kept his jaw clenched.

He would give them no further satisfaction when taking the last bit of value he still possessed of his former self. They would not see him fall apart at their feet. That could come later, when left in the privacy of this cold, dreary room, where he could lick his wounds and recover in peace.

He was still Lucifer, the Morning Star and omen of destruction to all who opposed him, wings or not.

But, fuck . . . Father, he would prefer to keep his wings.

Somehow, boneless and lightheaded from the trauma of the morning, Satan noticed, with a small sense of intrigue, that his back actually felt heavier now that it was empty. How was that possible?

The long gashes where the trunks had been swiftly carved open spewed boiling trails of lava down his skin, soaking into the hem of his robe and pooling Great Lakes onto the floor. Energy had left in his limbs the moment the numbing kiss of Death’s blade breached his muscles.

On wobbling legs, Satan rose in his shock and joined Natalie at her side. He carefully reached toward her, gliding the tips of his fingers against her ashen cheek, almost afraid to touch, because she looked exactly the same. What the hell? She looked no different than when she had been splayed out like a weathered ragdoll amongst her bedsheets at sunrise, goddamnit.

Before he could garner enough strength to turn on his company and spew venom and vitriol from his lips, Satan froze. Warmth wafted over his fingers under her nose as he lowered his hand. Closer inspection revealed the gentle rise and fall of her chest. The nauseating cramping in his stomach abated so suddenly, he almost keeled over right then and there.

“Give it a few minutes,” Death commented over his shoulder, as if reading his mind. There was no longer a smile in his voice, his face a neutral mask as Satan glanced at him with gritted teeth, the sight of his former pride being folded up and collected like loose laundry too much to bear. “It takes a little while for a soul to acclimate into their body after death. I assure you, her color and liveliness will rekindle when she wakes up.”

Through the haze, Satan vaguely realized he must’ve been making some type of suspicious face when Death suddenly snorted and shook his head, his eyes gleaming. “For all we’ve been acquainted, Lucifer, you should know I’m not one to break my word. Give my regards to little Natalie when she rejoins the land of the living, won’t you. As always, it’s been a pleasure. I look forward to seeing you and your brother again when the time comes for your big day.”

With the room empty, peppered only with the soft sounds of Natalie’s breaths and the distant echoes of Death’s laughter down the desolate hallway, the elephant in the room was no longer avoidable. Satan slumped against a wall, transfixed by the rise and fall of the chest beside him. Even more so as the rosiness began to fill Natalie’s cheeks the longer she breathed life into her form.

His previous adrenaline had left him a hollow puppet, now that there was no longer the turbulent cocktail of anxiety and doubt weighing on his shoulders. Satan allowed himself to drift to the floor, lying beside the only person he had ever met who had compelled him to do something so utterly foolish. Jesus, her daredevil stunts to ground him at his lowest points seemed to have rubbed off on him, and likely not for the better.

Satan’s wounds throbbed at the edges, a constant reminder of the magnitude of what he had just done.

Don’t think about it, his mind lethargically reminded. What’s done is done, so don’t start regretting it now.

“Prophecy child, huh . . . ” Satan muttered, his arm leveraged under his head like a makeshift pillow. The light cascading through the windows almost seemed to light up Natalie’s hair in its luminescence. Amongst the carnage splattered around them from his sacrifice, she was ethereal and without blemish.

He had found out about the Child of Prophecy by chance, becoming enraged at the notion of being kept in the dark so late in the game. Natalie’s existence had changed from an everyday annoyance to one of unbearable burden.

She had the power to sway him? To sway his empire and everything he worked for? A being like that, who would steal his autonomy or cast him spellbound, was too dangerous to fraternize with. There was just too much on the line to risk throwing away for some goofy, loud-mouthed human without an ounce of self-preservation.

And so Satan had done the only logical thing he could think of at the time: He ran away, leaving her with that pitiful, crumpled face as he rejected her in that inconsequential Oregon town. The less time he spent with her, the better off he’d be.

Only . . . That had not played out as he’d hoped. Watching Natalie disappear over the side of a bridge had been like a bolt of electricity coursing through his body. That she would see him as the monster that he was, a grotesque monstrosity that even Michael had recoiled from, and attempt to help him, regardless? Well . . . Perhaps there was more to Natalie McAllister than he had originally considered. He’d cradled her close and winced while he repaid her kindness by accidentally boiling her alive.

Oregon was a wake-up call.

Natalie had piqued his curiosity, her smiling reassurance that she didn’t befriend monsters jumpstarting the heart in his chest that he had presumed stopped functioning centuries ago. Not only that, but he had no way of knowing he would soon find out that running toward the very man attacking her and her cowardly little friend, despite the blatant terror in her eyes, was only the tip of the iceberg.

“Oh,” Satan muttered, something foreign flooding into his chest, emotion catching in his throat as he stared at Natalie’s slumbering form.

Silencing Hell for him at the cost of her soul . . .

Calling him her guardian angel. Crying, not for fear of Hell, but for fear of being separated from his company . . .

As much as he wanted to deny it, the fondness in Natalie’s eyes as she smiled at him was undoubtedly genuine. She really did seem to look at him like he hung the stars above her head.

“I love you, Lucifer. I’m glad I got to meet someone like you.”

Satan trembled, unable to properly sort through the sensations overflowing from his chest as Natalie’s eyelashes began to flutter. Champagne bubbles tickled his stomach, and though not required to breathe to live, he felt so remarkably breathless at once.

So that’s what this is, Satan distantly thought, watching pale eyelashes finally parting to reveal a cognizant gaze, blinking against the trickle of sunlight warming her cheeks. When meeting Natalie’s eyes, he couldn’t keep the smile of relief from his face.

Satan understood that he had never experienced this before, but he somehow knew what to latch onto in his jumbled mind with unquestionable conviction.

I love her.

#satan and me #writing #its not technically but im going to tag it #fanfiction #writing commission #commission #andrastesassets

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chocoladieimagines · 3 years

Note

Mind if I request a Muichiro Tokito x black reader?- I would appreciate it tehehe

I don’t mind at all! Muichiro is interesting to me because I always thought he didn’t seem to care about things or just not observant but I learned much more about him~ Enjoy!

Muichiro Tokito x Black!Reader

- Muichiro Tokito and his identical older twin brother, Yuichiro Tokito, were born to a woodcutter and his wife.

- At ten years old, their mother caught bronchitis, an inflammation of the bronchi or the large airways in the lungs that causes coughing. It can either be acute or chronic, chronic being a respiratory disease marked by overproduction of mucus and mucins. After catching a cold it worsened into the illness, while their father had gone to fetch medicinal herbs for their mother during a storm. Their mother died from the condition and their father fell off a cliff during the storm to his death.

- The Tokito brothers became orphaned, surviving together as Muichiro developed an emotional and kind nature after his father and Yuichiro held a cold and impassive outlook on life—possibly telling the twins apart.

- That Spring, Kagaya Ubuyashiki’s wife, Amane Ubuyashiki, recruited the twin boys for the Demon Slayer corps. Yuichiro was distasteful of his brother’s excitement, blaming the death of their parents on their hardworking and selfless natures which froze his outward behavior into a cold demeanor. This way, he thought his tough love for his brother would keep them alive.

- At eleven years old, that Summer, a demon arrived at their cabin during the night and attacked them, resulting in Yuichiro losing an arm within the process—trying to protect Muichiro. Muichiro lost himself in a rage and destroyed the demon with all the tools at their disposal and wooden logs. While the fight lead outside, at dawn, the demon withered to ash and it was that morning that he found Yuichiro near death, motionless. Muichiro prayed if he could survive but only laid next to his brother, grasping his hand as he breathed in abnormal respirations; progressively deeper but some inhales became faster. Then he passed away.

- Amane and her daughters later arrived to heal a severely wounded Muichiro but while he recovered, she remarked to her husband that Muichiro may have suffered memory loss of what happened. “Some may think that it is a blessing for such traumatic events or episodes to be forgotten, especially when it is weighing on the shoulders of a child such as him—so young. But, our scars may also heal and make who we are as a person stronger. It may be through an eye opener or trauma that awakens this omnipresent power source underlying the ignition to your abilities.” Kagaya said. “He has been training fairly well; showing massive strength and highly extensive training. I’m afraid sometimes if he’ll overwork himself.” Amane said.

- “Yes, I do have faith that my children will become stronger if not more powerful than demons. But, they should have proper treatment and the caretaking for all they’re going through. They deserve it.” Kagaya stated. “Can you send him to the Mental Health subdivision where the L/Ns are? I believe if he were to fit treatment into his training, he will fully prosper in blossoming into a true demon slayer.”

- Over the years, The Demon Slayer Corps grew into a large organization, large enough to branch off into smaller subdivisions that were clinics. They were meant to treat demon slayers after they may have gone through trauma or be traumatized by an experience of losing loved ones and those who they care about. Twisted memories within others could lead to mental disorders; depression, anxiety, post traumatic stress disorder (PTSD) otherwise insanity.

- Amane echoed the words of Kagaya to Muichiro, wondering if he was even listening to her. Thus, she gave him a piece of paper with a four digit address to your subdivision. “A mental health clinic? For what?” Yeah just as she thought. She deeply sighed but smiled, “It’s to help with your memory loss. We believe you developed Amnesia and would like proper evaluation of your condition so we know that you’ll be in the right hands and guidance.” “I don’t need to be babied by some doctor. It won’t help me with my training.” Muichiro refuted. “It will. This is not a negotiation matter. It is an order from Oyakata Sama.” With that, she bowed and left the boy to himself.

- On his way, he had the piece of paper in his hand but was more attentive to the clouds than he was of himself. He unknowingly let go of the paper as he went in a sense of direction. The subdivisions were connected to the organization by Guzei bridges adjoining to different properties. Each property looked like a huge lush ornate garden. There was varieties of trees; flowering cherry blossoms, azaleas, magnolias, camellias, Japanese maples, pines, cedars and cypresses. Ponds of Koi fish, algae and sheer waterfalls were featured with a peaceful auditory atmosphere of moving water. There was teahouses that also suited as an amenity along each property of the subdivisions. Demon slayers were welcomed into the establishments to chat and socialize while they were served tea and could look into the open view of their tranquil environment.

- Muichiro became so lost into the nature enshrining the place that the assigned task went in the back of his head. Luckily, Amane informed you that you would be having a patient that day by the name of Muichiro Tokito. A young man with long black hair about his back, fading into soft turquoise tips that approach his waist. He wore a gakuran jacket with loose, free hanging sleeves and baggy hakama pants over dark blue tabi socks in a pair of dark blue strapped zōri sandals. You giggled when you saw him staring off into the distance, as she also described to you that he always had a dreamy look on his face. You knew that memory loss could sometimes link with daily functioning since his mind was so easy to trail off from where he was supposed to go.

- “Come! Over here!” You spoke, beckoning to him when you caught the gaze of his minty green eyes. Seeing your kind persona, he slowly walked over to you. “Muichiro Tokito is it? Mist Hashira? It is an honor,” you bowed with the same smile graced on your face. “You were sent here so I could accompany you to hopefully regain your memories.” You thought that he looked fairly young to uphold a rank as high as one of the most elite warriors out of the Demon Slayer corps. But you were also young and was assigned to help other youngsters around your age or even younger. Your family believed that it could establish more of a empathetic bond if it was looked at from a perspective of a person that could easily put themselves in a kid’s shoes. As incredulous as it could be to others, you were a psychologist; identifying psychological, emotional, behavioral or organizational issues and diagnose disorders.

- “You’re a what?” Muichiro trailed off again. “A child’s psychologist. It means to study psychology, ya know—well you wouldn’t know—but studying the human mind and the behaviors that come along with it.” You explained. Muichiro wouldn’t hesitate to say that you were pretty to look at. He’s often fixated on the natural beauty of the world; whether it was the lacy white edged clouds rolling in over the blue sky, a formation of a flock of birds flying or observing the simplicity of a person’s natural looks. You had your hair in two afro puffs; the protuberant strands of your hair accessorized with Craspedia flowers as they were captured in place. There was a type of aura you generated, he couldn’t name it but it positively pervaded the air between you two. He liked the way you addressed him and treated him, as if he deserved the upmost respect since Hashiras have a pivotal role in the Demon Slayer corps.

- They exceeded the limits of an average being, reaching the peak of the human‘s athleticism and condition as they’ve exerted themselves through rigorous training. They were practically the construction of the organization; constantly putting themselves on the front lines and physically capable of going against the Twelve Kizuki or else Muzan Kibutsuji himself. That was the thought process of Muichiro as he sat in a room partitioned with shoji paper walls and lattice screens transmitting light through their translucent sheets. Then the room would be well lit by the rays that pour through the screen soft and muted, bright enough to illuminate the room yet dim enough for comfort. As you sat on cushions upon the tatami mats lining the floor—surrounding a coffee table, the yukimi shoji allowed a panoramic scene of the greenery outside. Bonsai trees were also inculcated as a way of bringing the natural world into your home.

- Yet, what he liked the most was the sound of your voice. While you peacefully presented yourself by the style of your hair and clad of a bright orange kimono with golden flower decals and a tightly bound obi, you gently spoke to him to exhibit your patience. As much as he thought it was babying him, it was a matter of speaking in friendly, congenial, and playful tones. It helped people respond better and learn better when in a hospitable environment. While you took notes of his behavior, you pointed out tips; encouraging him to continue his daily activities of training which would increase blood flow through the whole body including the brain. At least 150 minutes of moderate aerobic activity should be spread throughout the week.

- You gave him mental exercises which could stimulate his brain and keep his memories going. You introduced him to the game shogi: a two player strategy board game that is the Japanese variant of chess. Sudoku, which is a logic based, combinatorial, number-placement game. As well as crossword puzzles and Contract Bridge, a trick-taking card game using a standard of a 52-card deck. The game consists of a number of deals, cards are dealt to the players and the player “calls” or “bids” in an auction are sought to take the contract, specifying how many tricks the partnership receiving the contract (the declaring side) needs to take to receive points for the deal. You noticed that although he was impassive, and at times, obtuse the first time around, he began to show a willingness to learn.

- The way he looked when he was focused; his eyes centered on the shogi pieces on either side of the board, frowning in concentration each time he moved his ranging pieces: The Lance, bishop or rook. You were capable of analyzing his movements like there was an invisible string being pulled by the contraction of his muscles. You could tell every signal his brain sent by his body language; the silent gasps of air he took when he saw a move, the way he eagerly moved in the number of squares as if they were derived of a plan he had up his sleeve. You also amused the intensity in his gaze as he concentrated; propping his chin between his fingers to properly have a view of the pieces; currently seeing you moved a friendly piece adjacent to your king which meant he couldn’t move in that direction at all.

- He was gaining up on you though. Within the pattern of moving your pieces and capturing them by removing it from the board, you had fewer pieces left and had to think more strategically. When another moment of silence occurred, you took a glance at Muichiro’s features but this time he was looking up at you. With the sound effect of a piece snapping against the board, he said, “Checkmate.” At the same time, the sound caught your attention and he was right. Your king was in check, you could no longer make any legal moves to protect it.

- “Impressive. Fair play, Tokito.” You praised him. He was making more progress; there was something that had been added to him. Perhaps it could be his emotions or if he was friendlier. “You know, you should come watch me train some day,” He calmly proposed. “It’s like you’re cooped up in this place. But I can’t blame you, I purposely would be too if it meant getting away from the troubles of this world.” He was much more talkative too although it was a surprise to others. The Hashira were used to his usual laid back nature and obliviously wandering off in his thoughts as if he didn’t care about the situation or someone. Kagaya described that it was like you made him remember his emotions by feeling the introduction of love.

- You were surprised by his words and only shook your head. You were certain to sustain a professional relationship with a client in order for you to make an accurate diagnosis of their condition. He reasoned that “Without waging war, there was the nexus of love. The history of humanity is a bloody tale of genocide. The only survivors are our collective ancestors. The drive toward conformity is a preparation for war and is amped in power by comparison. Thus, in times of fear the proper leaders must have an upper brain capable of dominating their primitive drive and converting that amped power into solution finding over war strategy. Therefore, after our conflicted minds have been revealed to such a feeling such as passion—ardor, their reality has been expanded. Their outlook on the world is being changed to realize there are two of the complementary.”

- After listening, you looked to your shoulder to see Muichiro beautifully move with his katana. As he trained against another one of the Hashira, it was like watching a scene from a movie. Both of them moved with such speed that your eyes processed their movements in a delay, seeing them perform through accuracy as every turn they made resulted in their weapons clashing. It almost made blood roast under the constitute of your espresso cheeks by being able to watch two slayers train. Knowing these people were your protection, it felt promised by the combat proficiently owned by Muichiro. Afterwards, he was able to put their battle to an end after disarming his comrade. They both bowed in respect before the boy looked in your direction with his dolly green eyes.

- “That was great Tokito Muichiro. It is a privilege to know and see that we have our Hashira’s protection.” You inclined your body once again in his presence but he only raised you by your chin. “Y/N, just call me Muichiro.” He said softly. “It’s not like you have to treat me like I’m royalty or like I’m superior above everyone else.” “I-I mean, but you’re a Hashira. You’re...You’re practically the back bone of the Demon Slayer Corps.” You sheepishly said after he tipped your chin to look at him. “Still, it doesn’t give me the right to not have respect for others as well. It should be me kneeling for you. You’ve been by my side for a while now and it feels like I’ve changed. During every moment I’ve spent with you so far, I keep falling deeper and deeper.”

- Your family teased of how there was puppy love between you two. They’ve been seeing the way Muichiro looked at you at times; giving you big eyes while you talked to him—his famous dreamy look but the absence of paying attention to your words was subconsciously made by staring at your features. You would have to pull him back to his consciousness which he would wave off saying that he just liked to listen to you talk. But there were times opposite of the vacant look you were used to, which was when he actually expressed his emotions. His eyes were windows; allowing the transparency of his emotions to come together to form the art of his soul. It formed a picture you saw in an instant and comprehended with full depth. A reflection of his old self; a caring individual with a higher level of kindness and understanding than his demeanor as a demon slayer. Believing he should aim to do good for others if he wanted good to be done for him.

- “What do you mean Muichiro?” You questioned to be clear, although the heat bubbling under your skin had a feeling of what he meant. “I mean that I like you. I think you’re really smart, sweet and pretty. When I go to meet you every week, I wanted to change it to everyday. The place seems so peaceful, especially with caring people like you. Ive come to love the feeling of being cared for. Now I want to care for you.” He confessed with a soft smile, still holding your chin so he could see you process his words. “You...really mean that?” You questioned again. “Yes.” He nodded. “Would you like to have a kiss? Could that prove my feelings for you?”

- The way he innocently inquired it made you shift in place and your heart to sing a song out of melodic and rhythmic sounds. You weren’t sure what to think or what to say, only you went off of the instincts of your gut who spoke to your heart to spell out how you felt. So you slowly nodded, mentally bracing yourself as he raised one hand to cup your cheek and angularly tilted his face. Then, when he leaned in you closed your eyes and felt his lips land on yours. They were smooth to the touch as he gently connoted with his lips. The warmth was cut off when he brought his head back to test the waters, opening his eyes to see your pleasured face. But you wrapped your hand in his hair and pulled him back into you, feeling much more confidence from him when his hand felt on the curve of your hip. His progress has truly improved since he wasn’t necessarily your client anymore but something more.

Thank you for reading! Hope you all enjoyed! 🤎🍫

#demon slayer x poc!reader #kny x reader #muichiro tokito #muichiro fluff #muichiro x reader #muichiro tokito x reader #anime x black!reader #hashira x reader #demon slayer x black reader #demon slayer x reader

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heliads · 3 years

Text

I Need a Savior

Based on this request: "A songfic for My Demons by Starset? Stiles and the reader are twins. She’s a witch and part of Scott’s pack. The reader helps Scott and the others get rid of the nogitsune and save Stiles."

masterlist

There’s a video playing on your computer. You’re sitting before it, knees tucked up to your chest like you’re a child right now instead of watching yourself as one on the screen in front of you. Your eyes are glued to the two playing figures as if they’ll find some way to save you from the mess you’ve found yourself in, as if by watching what you used to have you’ll be able to have it all back once more.

You’re not alone in the video. The four-year-old Y/N rarely was, and in this particular video her laugh is joined by someone else- your twin brother, Stiles. He’s racing after you in a grassy backyard, in the midst of some no doubt momentous game of tag. He’s shouting something at the top of his tiny lungs as he goes, something about how he’ll always get back to you in the end. If only you could make that same promise now.

The video ends, but you still sit there, unable to move. It’s barely been a few days that your brother was fully possessed by the Nogitsune, but the loss still cuts at you like a knife. Stiles is your twin brother, older only by ten minutes or so. You’ve never had to go without him for longer than a few hours- he’s always there, at home or at school or at your father’s station. This, knowing that he’s somewhere within Beacon Hills but utterly gone to you, is an entirely different kind of pain.

A knock sounds at the door, and you look up to see your father hovering in the doorframe. His attempt at a reassuring smile drops as he sees the video still up on your screen. “I thought I heard voices.” You sigh. “I miss him, Dad. I miss Stiles.” Sheriff Stilinski sighs, walking inside the room at last. “So do I. We’re going to get him back, though. Don’t worry about that.”

You throw your hands in the air, frustrated. “We don’t know that! We don’t know that at all. This is so out of our range that it’s almost crazy. I mean, you barely even started to believe us about the supernatural. You didn’t trust us that werewolves existed, and now my brother has been possessed by a spirit that’s thousands of years old. None of us have any proof that we’re going to get him back.”

Your father winces for a second, then his expression smooths over again. “I’ve heard what you said about all your other exploits with Scott. He never gave up on anything or anyone, and I know you won’t either. None of us are giving up on Stiles, and even if it means that we have to play the long game to get him back, we will. Sure, I may not completely get why Scott McCall went from a kid with terrible asthma to a werewolf, but I know we won’t leave my son behind.”

His voice twists slightly as he says ‘my son’, and you’re hit with the distinct memory that you’re not the only one grieving someone you might have already lost. Yes, you lost your twin brother, but the sheriff lost his son. You can’t snap on him completely. So, you close your laptop screen, forcing the image of you and Stiles away into the darkness, and stand up. “What do you say we get some dinner? It’s late and I’m hungry.” Sheriff Stilinski nods, accepting this best attempt at an apology, and heads back downstairs. You’re left in the dark again, alone.

You can’t help but think through the whole thing over again. Your dad’s right- there’s no way Scott or you or anyone else is remotely considering letting Stiles go. You’ve seen Scott before, and you’ve known him for almost as long as he’s known your brother, so you know for a fact that he won’t give up until your twin is back and as he should be.

Besides, you’ve got another tool in your kit that will help you rescue Stiles- namely, your magic. You are a witch, just like the women in your family before you. Well, just like most of them. Your mother, Claudia, should have inherited the power of the family coven, but the magic seemed to skip over a generation and it went to you instead. Your grandmother kept the power of the witches a secret until it manifested in you a few years ago. You’ve learned spells from her, and you’re hoping that you’ll be able to use at least one of them to save Stiles.

This, actually, is what you find yourself doing the next day. Scott calls you up early, saying something in a rushed tone about how he found an old story about a healing spell in some dusty text in Deaton’s storage. You head over there immediately, and are surprised to find that Scott’s spell just might work. It’s fairly simple, as spells go, but it’ll take a lot out of you. In the spell, you’ll be able to peel back the Nogitsune’s control over Stiles, but you’re not sure that you’ll be able to completely eradicate the spirit’s presence from your brother’s mind, you don’t have enough power for that. Then again, even a brief reprieve for Stiles may help you save him.

So, you, Scott, Lydia, Allison, Isaac, Kira, and the rest head down to where Stiles was last spotted. Derek’s waiting for you there, and he points wordlessly into the Beacon Hills preserve. “I think the Nogitsune is trying to find the Nemeton. He just went in there a few minutes ago.” You nod your gratitude, already slipping between the trees. You used to play in these very woods with your brother when you were small, doing your best to escape your father’s watch long enough to have some fun before the rules came crashing back down around you.

When you see Stiles at once, you almost wonder if you’ve stepped back into your memories. It makes no sense- surely, you should be able to tell that this is an ancient spirit and not your brother. You should know your twin by soul and heart and word, shouldn’t you? Yet, for that one moment, you want to run over to him, sure that Stiles has managed to shake the spirit possessing him and come back to you.

Then Stiles turns around, and you’re hit by a wave of utter wrongness. There’s no other way to describe it- this being is your brother in flesh, sure, but in nothing else. There is no soul in the eyes looking at you, no love or even familiarity in the gruesome smile twisting this thing’s lips. The body is your twin brother, but the mind, oh the mind is so far from being him that it’s almost repulsive.

The Not-Stiles leers at you from where he stands amongst the trees, taking a few steps towards you as if relishing your horror. “Ah. I see my sister has come to visit me.” You shake your head. “I’m not your sister. You’re not him.” The Nogitsune shrugs. “Well, I see I can’t fool you like the others. Unfortunate.” Scott and the others have reached you by now, and your old friend hands you a scanned copy of the spells. You take it wordlessly, although you notice that the Nogitsune’s eyes widen almost imperceptibly at the transferral of the document.

Seconds later, its voice rings out across the forest again, and you swear you can detect an almost nonexistentant strand of nervousness in the spirit’s voice. It’s as if it’s woven trepidation in with the usual array of emotions as it toys with Stiles’ vocal chords. “What’s that about?” You ignore it, beginning to read the spell. You can only hope that it will work, that it will clear the Nogitsune from Stiles’ mind long enough to speak with him.

You finish reading out the spell and stand there for a moment, unsure of what to do next. At first, it looks as if the spell hasn’t done anything at all, and then the boy in front of you that was previously not your brother spasms slightly, bending over at the waist. When he straightens, you know at once that Stiles is back. You run to him, unable to keep a slight sob from tearing its way out of your throat. “Stiles!”

He catches you in his arms. Stiles feels the same way he always has- your brother is well and truly back. He stammers at first, hand rising to his temples as if he can’t believe that he’s back in control once more. “Y/N- it’s me. I’m me.” You muffle another sob. “How are you? Are you okay?” A dark look crosses Stiles’ face now, so mute in its agony that you almost think the Nogitsune has come back to possess him once more.

“It’s bad, Y/N. It’s really bad. I keep trying to fight, but it’s like I’m going insane. Even now, I can feel it circling around me like a vulture.” He grabs at your hands now. “I need you to save me, Y/N. I’m becoming it.” You try to speak, but you can’t find the strength. Already, the power necessary to cast the spell is wearing at you; you’ll only be able to keep it up for so long.

Stiles seems able to sense this, and his voice takes on an additional note of urgency. “I need you to make everything okay again, Y/N. I can’t fight this forever.” You shake your head slightly, afraid to let him down yet knowing that you can’t do much more. “I’m not all-powerful, Stiles. I wish I was.” Something like a broken half-smile flits onto his face. “You’ve always been able to take my pain away, Y/N. Not like Scott, but because of you. We are one and the same, are we not? We’re twins. I know you can do this.”

The spell is clawing at you now, practically tearing you into pieces. You manage to fight it back. You can’t let him go yet- you just got Stiles back. “What can we do? How do I get you back?” Stiles looks panicked, as if he can physically feel the Nogitsune forcing its way back into his head once more. “I don’t know. I don’t know anything. I just need you, Y/N. Save me if I become this demon.”

Then you’re stumbling, lost in an intense thicket of pain. The spell is overwhelming you now, and through tears you release it, letting your thin veneer of control go once more. Scott and the others catch you before you fall, but you’re not paying attention to yourself anymore. No, you’re looking back at your brother, or the body of a boy that was once your brother. The Nogitsune is back, and all traces of Stiles can only be seen in his physical form once more. You feel like sobbing, like breaking down entirely, but you remember what Stiles asked you to do. You have to save him, and that is exactly what you intend on doing.

In the end, you do save him, along with Scott and the others. You barely have time to mourn Allison’s death before you’re plunged into yet another peril, this time to take the Nogitsune down for good. You end up separating from the pack as they go into battle, choosing instead to maintain protective spells around the area that will keep the Oni and other aspects of the Nogitsune from killing your friends. The cost of maintaining all of that magic is wearing on you, but you stand firm. When Scott calls out to you, asking you to give him one last ounce of strength or courage or anything, you do it. Anything to save your brother.

They come out of the school in the end. Walking with them is a dark-haired boy who’s been your friend since birth, someone who was there to take his first steps with you and make you laugh when no one else could. For a second, you draw back, terrified that after all of this the Nogitsune might still be lurking under some crevice of Stiles’ mind, ready to draw him back under again, but when your brother looks at you, you breathe a deep sigh of relief. It’s him. It really and truly is.

Before you can run to him, though, Scott is offering you a small container. “We trapped the Nogitsune inside it, but it could escape at any moment. Can you secure it?” You nod, the spell to contain the evil spirit already running through your head. A second earlier, you would swear that you didn’t have enough energy to levitate a feather, let alone trap a thousand-year-old spirit, but you’re not about to let any chance of harm come to your twin again.

When you finish the spell, you see Stiles straighten up beside you, as if one last chain binding him to the earth has been released, one final shackle broken. You carefully hand the now-bound contained to Scott, and wrap your arms around Stiles. He holds you tight for a second, then steps away, holding you at arm’s length as if he’s almost forgotten what you look like. “Thank you for helping me. Scott told me that you’ve been using your magic to save us.”

Scott nods fervently. “I don’t know that we could have done it without her. Her spells saved our asses several times over.” You can’t help but grin shakily at that. “I needed to get you back. Anything else didn’t really matter.” Stiles hugs you one last time. “Thank you, anyway.” You smile back at him. “Of course, we’re family. You’re my twin, I would do anything for you. Besides, you asked me to save you and so I did. We don’t have to be our demons anymore.”

teen wolf tag list: my savior @underc0vercryptid

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