kangaracha

[kangaracha]

Queen maker might be my new obsession did not fly from ao3 to here so I could binge ahead like a feral gremlin.

and yet it isn't finished yet over here either 😭

[kangaracha]

TAGLIST; PART 4

@uhnanix @wilmalovegood @koko1sm @batpandanasia @optimus-fake-cake

@luuxus @candyquokka @i-bitch-you-bitch

QUEENMAKER | CHAPTER 38

---

pairing chan x reader

genre ninth member au, angst, fluff, coming of age, social media, cancel culture, anxiety, depression, forbidden love,

summary To JYPE, the solution is simple; take the sole trainee that will not debut with your brand new girl group, and use her to replace the missing vocalist in your male group that insisted on starting as nine.

Unfortunately, to the fans and the members themselves, it isn't that simple.

status ongoing

taglist OPEN

a/n qm and daybreak are both on ao3 now, if you'd like to spread the love to another platform. also i'm working on five things at once right now so uhhhhhhhh. yknow. just so you know xD

previous | masterlist | next

---

"Are you coming to dinner, noona?" 

It's starting to become automatic now, the turn when someone says noona, the ascribation of the title to yourself in your mind. Older, wiser, responsible for the younger members. Even in public sometimes, you will go to turn, even if none of them are with you, even if your mind knows that it isn't for you that someone calls.

"Not yet," you answer automatically, your body turning towards Changbin. "I have a couple more hours left. And Kim Seungmin said he was going to throw kimbap at me."

"She thinks my voice cracked," Seungmin says on his way past, before Changbin can ask. An accusatory finger points at you, its aim unnerving.

"It did," you insist, pointing a finger right back.

"I'll pin him down," Changbin says as soon as Seungmin is out of earshot, maybe a little too eager to offer.

The idea of them scrambling on the floor of a restaurant is tempting...but you shake your head no. "Take him to dinner where he can't hurt me," you say and you take him by the shoulders, steering him towards the door.

"Who's hurting you?" Chan asks in the space that Changbin leaves, wandering over from the knot of staff by the door.

"Seungmin," you answer again, and you don't catch the little imp's eye as he walks out of the room. "He wants to start a food fight in the middle of a restaurant."

"I can leave him home if you want to come," Chan offers. You think, again, it's a little too easy. Gleeful, even, at the thought of getting one over Kim Seungmin.

You shake your head again. "I'm staying here for a couple more hours," you tell him. "Then I'll have it for tomorrow."

You see, for a moment, the argument that comes automatically to his tongue, and the way he swallows it back down. "Want us to bring anything back for you?" he asks instead, because he knows deep down that he can't argue; you desperately need time to embed all the changes you've made today in your mind. 

"I'd love that," you reply honestly. "I'll come by your place afterwards?"

He nods over the call of his name from the door, pats you on the shoulder and departs. His touch lingers on your skin, even through your shirt; you turn to the mirror to distract yourself, hands on your hips and breath blowing out of your chest as you force your mind back towards choreography again. Only week two looms over your head; God's Menu and Side Effects in equal parts, half a performance you've spent a year perfecting, but you'd just started to put together the one that comes after it before this too, and with Hyunjin gone, there are far more parts to fill, new formations to play with, an adjustment to concept that requires a new kind of acting between bouts of intense choreography...

As you fix your hair in the mirror, you see him in the corner of your eye; Hyunjin, hanging back when the others leave.

Your eyes meet in the reflection. You're not sure how to feel when you look at him like that, eye to eye across an empty room. Sympathy first, because you'd peeked over I.N's shoulder earlier at some comments and felt your skin crawl at what you'd see. And then confusion, a wariness against being hurt, because you'd seen screenshots and accusations thrown around too and even through thorough discussion with the other boys, you hadn't been able to figure out what was real or false, or why exactly he would cleanly own up to it the moment it reached the company's ears. 

He'd come in halfway through practice and those discussions, cutting them short before anyone could come to a decision without him. His head had been down and his feet dragging with a weight they hadn't carried when you'd seen him the day before, and he'd sat down on the bench and watched mutely as you continued the work you'd started without him earlier in the morning; cutting him out of the next performance, down to every small detail.

"Changbin said maybe you could use some help," he says as way of explanation for his presence, his voice as subdued as his presence in the room.

"If you want," you offer freely, because he looks distinctly like he's worried he doesn't belong - and that was your position, not his. It's kind of weird actually, seeing it in another person. "I'll be okay if you want to go to dinner though."

"Not really," he says, and takes the opportunity to wander closer. "I kind of feel like dancing for a while. It's weird to do nothing all day."

You blink at the way he has so succinctly brought you to the question that has been on your mind all day, even though you have a sinking suspicion you know what the answer will be. "Are you on hiatus?" you ask anyway, just to be sure. 

"Yeah," he answers grimly, eyeing himself in the mirror. "Suspended from all group activities until the company's investigation is over."

"That sucks," you say, sorting through possible answers from that's what happens to why'd you tell them it was true? None of them seem to say quite what you want them to express, the knot of opinions in your stomach twisting and turning.

"It means we don't have to pull out of Kingdom," he says, and then shakes a hand through his hair, setting the loose strands at ends. "I'm sorry that it means you have to do more work."

You wave him away. "Skill issue, not you," you advise him lightly - and think again on how strange it is to be on the other side of this, the one comforting rather than worrying for once. It's kind of awkward, when you think too far into it. You're not very good at comforting.

"You've gotten so much better though," he says, like it's obvious and he can't possibly understand what you're talking about. 

You smile, testing the waters. "So you admit I was terrible?" you ask, and watch how his face changes. "No one else will admit it."

"You were maybe just a little bit terrible before Back Door," he says slowly, like you might storm away in anger at any single word. "I used to be terrible too though."

"Not anymore though," you tell him firmly, just in case he doesn't know. "I don't know what we're going to do without you in this competition. Seriously."

"Yeah," he sighs. "I'm not even supposed to be here to help either, until this whole thing is over. You'll be fine without me though."

"What did you even do?" you ask, and watch as his expression changes and his eyes slide away in shame. "We couldn't even find the real post that blew up about it, and there's so much random stuff on twitter..."

You feel a stab of guilt at the way that he flinches; but you aren't asking to damn him. Just to understand, because you can't reconcile the boy that you've known for nearly twelve months now with the one that they're describing online, hateful and cruel. It leaves you balanced in a quandry of image and relationship - to defend publicly the boy that you know to be kind, or to acknowledge that maybe your friend isn't the person you thought you knew.

"I don't even remember," he says. "This girl broke up with my friend in middle school, and then someone said she was cheating on him because she had another boyfriend like, the next day. And I remember, there was another girl who said we should all fill her facebook up with mean comments. She says I hit her too, or threatened her or something, but I thought that was someone else. I don't remember."

"I feel like you'd remember if you hit someone," you say, mulling it over in your mind. "Unless you've hit a lot of people."

"No!" he hurries to say, before you can walk that assumption any further. "I mean...I threw my wallet at Han once, but he was being really annoying, and I didn't even hit him. And I apologised for it."

You nod along, your thoughts adjusting as they take in each piece of new information. "Middle school is so long ago," you muse out loud, because you're trying to think back to incidents of being bullied like that back in your own schooling. The memories come up murky and incomplete, compared to the more immediate days of your trainee years, starting so far back and ended only recently.

"I totally forgot about all of it," he agrees. "It's so stupid too. I don't know why I was like that."

"We live and learn," you say wryly; and you're not really being serious, but the way that he nods seems to take something important out of it. "At least we can be internet scapegoats together now?"

Inexplicably, you draw a smile out of him, and a coughed laugh. "I don't know how you've been dealing with it for nine months," he admits freely, kicking at the floor with the toe of his shoe. "I've had so many messages telling me to kill myself and stuff."

"I've been dancing, mostly," you say, and you turn away from the mirror before you can see what your own face does in response to his admission. "Trying not to think about it. Which is probably what we should be doing now, since I told Bang Chan I'd be eating dinner in like, two hours."

He accepts the switch of topic in stride, stepping backwards. "Do you want to keep working on what we were doing today?" he asks. "Or something else for a while?"

You consider it for a moment, weighing the merits of each; you'd meant to work on the performances upcoming, of course, but with him here now, relegated to the sidelines while the rest of your were in long practices like these, the sort of work he most enjoyed... "I wouldn't mind doing something else," you say, resigning yourself to the loss of practice time for tonight. It doesn't matter anyway; you can just catch it up during the week, when he wasn't here trying to reach out to you. For a friend, you could lose a few hours. 

"Got anything you can teach me?" you ask him, and for the first time all day, you see the glow of a smile beginning behind his eyes. And it makes you smile too; that you can give someone this, even in the dark times. That he chose you, out of all the members, to stay here with and talk to. You don't think he knows how much it means to you that you could do that.

You don't think you can guess how much it means to him either.

---

TAGLIST

@kokinu09 @rainfallingfromthesky @lixie-phoria @mysweethannie @chlodavids

@hanniemylovelyquokka @tfshouldidohere @lauraliisa @puppysmileseungmin @kalopsian-thoughts

@puppy-minnie @readerofallthingss @dvbkie099 @kthstrawberryshortcake-main @acker-night

@d-chagi @lynlyndoll @borahae-reads @ihrtlix @yienmarkk

@minhwa @i2innie @jinnie-ret @conwunder @amesification

@starssongs98 @weirdhumanbeinglol @morinuu @the-weird-mold-in-the-sink @bokkiesplace

@amyyscorner @jiisungllvr @skzstaykatsy @blackhairandbangs @jungkookies1002

@hyuuukais @imsiriuslyreal @thatonedemigodfromseoul @gini143 @mercurywritesstuff

@splat00z @filmbypsh @palindrome969 @crabrangoongirl25 @enzos-shit

@jabmastersupriseee @kayleefriedchicken @hynjinswrld @duhgurl @cheshireshiya

@keepswingin

[kangaracha]

TAGLIST - PART 3

@missedyoualittletoomuch @possum-playground @hiisay @d3kstar @lveegsoi

@wickedbutlovely @tricky-ritz @yergirllovesskz @ramadiiiisme @elizalabs3

@nougatjade @youthsquaredd @mirophobic @bee-thee-writer @txtsoobean

@no1likeneo @forgetfulstik @seungmins-strawberry @4ng3l-ch1ld @stellasays45

@lorialia @atinyniki @robinnotgood24 @lovgfrd @donut-crazs

@seolarch @rossy1080 @alondra6011 @casperlynn23 @strayk1ds143

@ravenclawunknown @chaosandcandies @turnthepage143 @maxinehufflepuffprincess @iwuberic

@sammhisphere @hyunjinsruinedpainting @shestargazesinthedaylight @ncynator @stay32517

@butterfly-lover @nemtodd-barnes1923 @dlizzzy @jordan16 @mydearlybeloathed

@lies-loki-and-mischief @river121798 @piercedathena @stayp1eceposts @whatisagoodtumblertag

QUEENMAKER | CHAPTER 38

---

pairing chan x reader

genre ninth member au, angst, fluff, coming of age, social media, cancel culture, anxiety, depression, forbidden love,

summary To JYPE, the solution is simple; take the sole trainee that will not debut with your brand new girl group, and use her to replace the missing vocalist in your male group that insisted on starting as nine.

Unfortunately, to the fans and the members themselves, it isn't that simple.

status ongoing

taglist OPEN

a/n qm and daybreak are both on ao3 now, if you'd like to spread the love to another platform. also i'm working on five things at once right now so uhhhhhhhh. yknow. just so you know xD

previous | masterlist | next

---

"Are you coming to dinner, noona?" 

It's starting to become automatic now, the turn when someone says noona, the ascribation of the title to yourself in your mind. Older, wiser, responsible for the younger members. Even in public sometimes, you will go to turn, even if none of them are with you, even if your mind knows that it isn't for you that someone calls.

"Not yet," you answer automatically, your body turning towards Changbin. "I have a couple more hours left. And Kim Seungmin said he was going to throw kimbap at me."

"She thinks my voice cracked," Seungmin says on his way past, before Changbin can ask. An accusatory finger points at you, its aim unnerving.

"It did," you insist, pointing a finger right back.

"I'll pin him down," Changbin says as soon as Seungmin is out of earshot, maybe a little too eager to offer.

The idea of them scrambling on the floor of a restaurant is tempting...but you shake your head no. "Take him to dinner where he can't hurt me," you say and you take him by the shoulders, steering him towards the door.

"Who's hurting you?" Chan asks in the space that Changbin leaves, wandering over from the knot of staff by the door.

"Seungmin," you answer again, and you don't catch the little imp's eye as he walks out of the room. "He wants to start a food fight in the middle of a restaurant."

"I can leave him home if you want to come," Chan offers. You think, again, it's a little too easy. Gleeful, even, at the thought of getting one over Kim Seungmin.

You shake your head again. "I'm staying here for a couple more hours," you tell him. "Then I'll have it for tomorrow."

You see, for a moment, the argument that comes automatically to his tongue, and the way he swallows it back down. "Want us to bring anything back for you?" he asks instead, because he knows deep down that he can't argue; you desperately need time to embed all the changes you've made today in your mind. 

"I'd love that," you reply honestly. "I'll come by your place afterwards?"

He nods over the call of his name from the door, pats you on the shoulder and departs. His touch lingers on your skin, even through your shirt; you turn to the mirror to distract yourself, hands on your hips and breath blowing out of your chest as you force your mind back towards choreography again. Only week two looms over your head; God's Menu and Side Effects in equal parts, half a performance you've spent a year perfecting, but you'd just started to put together the one that comes after it before this too, and with Hyunjin gone, there are far more parts to fill, new formations to play with, an adjustment to concept that requires a new kind of acting between bouts of intense choreography...

As you fix your hair in the mirror, you see him in the corner of your eye; Hyunjin, hanging back when the others leave.

Your eyes meet in the reflection. You're not sure how to feel when you look at him like that, eye to eye across an empty room. Sympathy first, because you'd peeked over I.N's shoulder earlier at some comments and felt your skin crawl at what you'd see. And then confusion, a wariness against being hurt, because you'd seen screenshots and accusations thrown around too and even through thorough discussion with the other boys, you hadn't been able to figure out what was real or false, or why exactly he would cleanly own up to it the moment it reached the company's ears. 

He'd come in halfway through practice and those discussions, cutting them short before anyone could come to a decision without him. His head had been down and his feet dragging with a weight they hadn't carried when you'd seen him the day before, and he'd sat down on the bench and watched mutely as you continued the work you'd started without him earlier in the morning; cutting him out of the next performance, down to every small detail.

"Changbin said maybe you could use some help," he says as way of explanation for his presence, his voice as subdued as his presence in the room.

"If you want," you offer freely, because he looks distinctly like he's worried he doesn't belong - and that was your position, not his. It's kind of weird actually, seeing it in another person. "I'll be okay if you want to go to dinner though."

"Not really," he says, and takes the opportunity to wander closer. "I kind of feel like dancing for a while. It's weird to do nothing all day."

You blink at the way he has so succinctly brought you to the question that has been on your mind all day, even though you have a sinking suspicion you know what the answer will be. "Are you on hiatus?" you ask anyway, just to be sure. 

"Yeah," he answers grimly, eyeing himself in the mirror. "Suspended from all group activities until the company's investigation is over."

"That sucks," you say, sorting through possible answers from that's what happens to why'd you tell them it was true? None of them seem to say quite what you want them to express, the knot of opinions in your stomach twisting and turning.

"It means we don't have to pull out of Kingdom," he says, and then shakes a hand through his hair, setting the loose strands at ends. "I'm sorry that it means you have to do more work."

You wave him away. "Skill issue, not you," you advise him lightly - and think again on how strange it is to be on the other side of this, the one comforting rather than worrying for once. It's kind of awkward, when you think too far into it. You're not very good at comforting.

"You've gotten so much better though," he says, like it's obvious and he can't possibly understand what you're talking about. 

You smile, testing the waters. "So you admit I was terrible?" you ask, and watch how his face changes. "No one else will admit it."

"You were maybe just a little bit terrible before Back Door," he says slowly, like you might storm away in anger at any single word. "I used to be terrible too though."

"Not anymore though," you tell him firmly, just in case he doesn't know. "I don't know what we're going to do without you in this competition. Seriously."

"Yeah," he sighs. "I'm not even supposed to be here to help either, until this whole thing is over. You'll be fine without me though."

"What did you even do?" you ask, and watch as his expression changes and his eyes slide away in shame. "We couldn't even find the real post that blew up about it, and there's so much random stuff on twitter..."

You feel a stab of guilt at the way that he flinches; but you aren't asking to damn him. Just to understand, because you can't reconcile the boy that you've known for nearly twelve months now with the one that they're describing online, hateful and cruel. It leaves you balanced in a quandry of image and relationship - to defend publicly the boy that you know to be kind, or to acknowledge that maybe your friend isn't the person you thought you knew.

"I don't even remember," he says. "This girl broke up with my friend in middle school, and then someone said she was cheating on him because she had another boyfriend like, the next day. And I remember, there was another girl who said we should all fill her facebook up with mean comments. She says I hit her too, or threatened her or something, but I thought that was someone else. I don't remember."

"I feel like you'd remember if you hit someone," you say, mulling it over in your mind. "Unless you've hit a lot of people."

"No!" he hurries to say, before you can walk that assumption any further. "I mean...I threw my wallet at Han once, but he was being really annoying, and I didn't even hit him. And I apologised for it."

You nod along, your thoughts adjusting as they take in each piece of new information. "Middle school is so long ago," you muse out loud, because you're trying to think back to incidents of being bullied like that back in your own schooling. The memories come up murky and incomplete, compared to the more immediate days of your trainee years, starting so far back and ended only recently.

"I totally forgot about all of it," he agrees. "It's so stupid too. I don't know why I was like that."

"We live and learn," you say wryly; and you're not really being serious, but the way that he nods seems to take something important out of it. "At least we can be internet scapegoats together now?"

Inexplicably, you draw a smile out of him, and a coughed laugh. "I don't know how you've been dealing with it for nine months," he admits freely, kicking at the floor with the toe of his shoe. "I've had so many messages telling me to kill myself and stuff."

"I've been dancing, mostly," you say, and you turn away from the mirror before you can see what your own face does in response to his admission. "Trying not to think about it. Which is probably what we should be doing now, since I told Bang Chan I'd be eating dinner in like, two hours."

He accepts the switch of topic in stride, stepping backwards. "Do you want to keep working on what we were doing today?" he asks. "Or something else for a while?"

You consider it for a moment, weighing the merits of each; you'd meant to work on the performances upcoming, of course, but with him here now, relegated to the sidelines while the rest of your were in long practices like these, the sort of work he most enjoyed... "I wouldn't mind doing something else," you say, resigning yourself to the loss of practice time for tonight. It doesn't matter anyway; you can just catch it up during the week, when he wasn't here trying to reach out to you. For a friend, you could lose a few hours. 

"Got anything you can teach me?" you ask him, and for the first time all day, you see the glow of a smile beginning behind his eyes. And it makes you smile too; that you can give someone this, even in the dark times. That he chose you, out of all the members, to stay here with and talk to. You don't think he knows how much it means to you that you could do that.

You don't think you can guess how much it means to him either.

---

TAGLIST

@kokinu09 @rainfallingfromthesky @lixie-phoria @mysweethannie @chlodavids

@hanniemylovelyquokka @tfshouldidohere @lauraliisa @puppysmileseungmin @kalopsian-thoughts

@puppy-minnie @readerofallthingss @dvbkie099 @kthstrawberryshortcake-main @acker-night

@d-chagi @lynlyndoll @borahae-reads @ihrtlix @yienmarkk

@minhwa @i2innie @jinnie-ret @conwunder @amesification

@starssongs98 @weirdhumanbeinglol @morinuu @the-weird-mold-in-the-sink @bokkiesplace

@amyyscorner @jiisungllvr @skzstaykatsy @blackhairandbangs @jungkookies1002

@hyuuukais @imsiriuslyreal @thatonedemigodfromseoul @gini143 @mercurywritesstuff

@splat00z @filmbypsh @palindrome969 @crabrangoongirl25 @enzos-shit

@jabmastersupriseee @kayleefriedchicken @hynjinswrld @duhgurl @cheshireshiya

@keepswingin

[kangaracha]

TAGLIST - part 2

@worcesheshestershiresauce @rensahazard @greyyeti @enhaslxt @boldy-49

@briar-rose23 @got-me-seein-stars @kittykat-25 @defnotfertilizedtoesw @blondechannie

@dearly-somber @lixxpix @strawberry-dreamland @justaspoonofjam @missvanjii

@the-second-sage @dreamerwasfound @mossboio @ovulatingrn @dollce-exe

@leezanetheofficial @liv1104 @squishybinnieee @losraire @teenyfinds

@luvvvash @lailac13 @azazelstays @realrintaro @missmisuk

@cr0quis @bowsnbang @binniesbabe @velvetmoonlght @domicaru

@motheraiya55 @xxlovesongsxx @yougottobekittenme @hinanitiram @gnabangchan

@skzstannie @stargirl-library @nebugalaxy @estella-novella @private-vampire

@staybabblingbaby @channieismylove @mylittleponeypinkrosieposie @hyeon-ri @bluebellsringinghereandthere

QUEENMAKER | CHAPTER 38

---

pairing chan x reader

genre ninth member au, angst, fluff, coming of age, social media, cancel culture, anxiety, depression, forbidden love,

summary To JYPE, the solution is simple; take the sole trainee that will not debut with your brand new girl group, and use her to replace the missing vocalist in your male group that insisted on starting as nine.

Unfortunately, to the fans and the members themselves, it isn't that simple.

status ongoing

taglist OPEN

a/n qm and daybreak are both on ao3 now, if you'd like to spread the love to another platform. also i'm working on five things at once right now so uhhhhhhhh. yknow. just so you know xD

previous | masterlist | next

---

"Are you coming to dinner, noona?" 

It's starting to become automatic now, the turn when someone says noona, the ascribation of the title to yourself in your mind. Older, wiser, responsible for the younger members. Even in public sometimes, you will go to turn, even if none of them are with you, even if your mind knows that it isn't for you that someone calls.

"Not yet," you answer automatically, your body turning towards Changbin. "I have a couple more hours left. And Kim Seungmin said he was going to throw kimbap at me."

"She thinks my voice cracked," Seungmin says on his way past, before Changbin can ask. An accusatory finger points at you, its aim unnerving.

"It did," you insist, pointing a finger right back.

"I'll pin him down," Changbin says as soon as Seungmin is out of earshot, maybe a little too eager to offer.

The idea of them scrambling on the floor of a restaurant is tempting...but you shake your head no. "Take him to dinner where he can't hurt me," you say and you take him by the shoulders, steering him towards the door.

"Who's hurting you?" Chan asks in the space that Changbin leaves, wandering over from the knot of staff by the door.

"Seungmin," you answer again, and you don't catch the little imp's eye as he walks out of the room. "He wants to start a food fight in the middle of a restaurant."

"I can leave him home if you want to come," Chan offers. You think, again, it's a little too easy. Gleeful, even, at the thought of getting one over Kim Seungmin.

You shake your head again. "I'm staying here for a couple more hours," you tell him. "Then I'll have it for tomorrow."

You see, for a moment, the argument that comes automatically to his tongue, and the way he swallows it back down. "Want us to bring anything back for you?" he asks instead, because he knows deep down that he can't argue; you desperately need time to embed all the changes you've made today in your mind. 

"I'd love that," you reply honestly. "I'll come by your place afterwards?"

He nods over the call of his name from the door, pats you on the shoulder and departs. His touch lingers on your skin, even through your shirt; you turn to the mirror to distract yourself, hands on your hips and breath blowing out of your chest as you force your mind back towards choreography again. Only week two looms over your head; God's Menu and Side Effects in equal parts, half a performance you've spent a year perfecting, but you'd just started to put together the one that comes after it before this too, and with Hyunjin gone, there are far more parts to fill, new formations to play with, an adjustment to concept that requires a new kind of acting between bouts of intense choreography...

As you fix your hair in the mirror, you see him in the corner of your eye; Hyunjin, hanging back when the others leave.

Your eyes meet in the reflection. You're not sure how to feel when you look at him like that, eye to eye across an empty room. Sympathy first, because you'd peeked over I.N's shoulder earlier at some comments and felt your skin crawl at what you'd see. And then confusion, a wariness against being hurt, because you'd seen screenshots and accusations thrown around too and even through thorough discussion with the other boys, you hadn't been able to figure out what was real or false, or why exactly he would cleanly own up to it the moment it reached the company's ears. 

He'd come in halfway through practice and those discussions, cutting them short before anyone could come to a decision without him. His head had been down and his feet dragging with a weight they hadn't carried when you'd seen him the day before, and he'd sat down on the bench and watched mutely as you continued the work you'd started without him earlier in the morning; cutting him out of the next performance, down to every small detail.

"Changbin said maybe you could use some help," he says as way of explanation for his presence, his voice as subdued as his presence in the room.

"If you want," you offer freely, because he looks distinctly like he's worried he doesn't belong - and that was your position, not his. It's kind of weird actually, seeing it in another person. "I'll be okay if you want to go to dinner though."

"Not really," he says, and takes the opportunity to wander closer. "I kind of feel like dancing for a while. It's weird to do nothing all day."

You blink at the way he has so succinctly brought you to the question that has been on your mind all day, even though you have a sinking suspicion you know what the answer will be. "Are you on hiatus?" you ask anyway, just to be sure. 

"Yeah," he answers grimly, eyeing himself in the mirror. "Suspended from all group activities until the company's investigation is over."

"That sucks," you say, sorting through possible answers from that's what happens to why'd you tell them it was true? None of them seem to say quite what you want them to express, the knot of opinions in your stomach twisting and turning.

"It means we don't have to pull out of Kingdom," he says, and then shakes a hand through his hair, setting the loose strands at ends. "I'm sorry that it means you have to do more work."

You wave him away. "Skill issue, not you," you advise him lightly - and think again on how strange it is to be on the other side of this, the one comforting rather than worrying for once. It's kind of awkward, when you think too far into it. You're not very good at comforting.

"You've gotten so much better though," he says, like it's obvious and he can't possibly understand what you're talking about. 

You smile, testing the waters. "So you admit I was terrible?" you ask, and watch how his face changes. "No one else will admit it."

"You were maybe just a little bit terrible before Back Door," he says slowly, like you might storm away in anger at any single word. "I used to be terrible too though."

"Not anymore though," you tell him firmly, just in case he doesn't know. "I don't know what we're going to do without you in this competition. Seriously."

"Yeah," he sighs. "I'm not even supposed to be here to help either, until this whole thing is over. You'll be fine without me though."

"What did you even do?" you ask, and watch as his expression changes and his eyes slide away in shame. "We couldn't even find the real post that blew up about it, and there's so much random stuff on twitter..."

You feel a stab of guilt at the way that he flinches; but you aren't asking to damn him. Just to understand, because you can't reconcile the boy that you've known for nearly twelve months now with the one that they're describing online, hateful and cruel. It leaves you balanced in a quandry of image and relationship - to defend publicly the boy that you know to be kind, or to acknowledge that maybe your friend isn't the person you thought you knew.

"I don't even remember," he says. "This girl broke up with my friend in middle school, and then someone said she was cheating on him because she had another boyfriend like, the next day. And I remember, there was another girl who said we should all fill her facebook up with mean comments. She says I hit her too, or threatened her or something, but I thought that was someone else. I don't remember."

"I feel like you'd remember if you hit someone," you say, mulling it over in your mind. "Unless you've hit a lot of people."

"No!" he hurries to say, before you can walk that assumption any further. "I mean...I threw my wallet at Han once, but he was being really annoying, and I didn't even hit him. And I apologised for it."

You nod along, your thoughts adjusting as they take in each piece of new information. "Middle school is so long ago," you muse out loud, because you're trying to think back to incidents of being bullied like that back in your own schooling. The memories come up murky and incomplete, compared to the more immediate days of your trainee years, starting so far back and ended only recently.

"I totally forgot about all of it," he agrees. "It's so stupid too. I don't know why I was like that."

"We live and learn," you say wryly; and you're not really being serious, but the way that he nods seems to take something important out of it. "At least we can be internet scapegoats together now?"

Inexplicably, you draw a smile out of him, and a coughed laugh. "I don't know how you've been dealing with it for nine months," he admits freely, kicking at the floor with the toe of his shoe. "I've had so many messages telling me to kill myself and stuff."

"I've been dancing, mostly," you say, and you turn away from the mirror before you can see what your own face does in response to his admission. "Trying not to think about it. Which is probably what we should be doing now, since I told Bang Chan I'd be eating dinner in like, two hours."

He accepts the switch of topic in stride, stepping backwards. "Do you want to keep working on what we were doing today?" he asks. "Or something else for a while?"

You consider it for a moment, weighing the merits of each; you'd meant to work on the performances upcoming, of course, but with him here now, relegated to the sidelines while the rest of your were in long practices like these, the sort of work he most enjoyed... "I wouldn't mind doing something else," you say, resigning yourself to the loss of practice time for tonight. It doesn't matter anyway; you can just catch it up during the week, when he wasn't here trying to reach out to you. For a friend, you could lose a few hours. 

"Got anything you can teach me?" you ask him, and for the first time all day, you see the glow of a smile beginning behind his eyes. And it makes you smile too; that you can give someone this, even in the dark times. That he chose you, out of all the members, to stay here with and talk to. You don't think he knows how much it means to you that you could do that.

You don't think you can guess how much it means to him either.

---

TAGLIST

@kokinu09 @rainfallingfromthesky @lixie-phoria @mysweethannie @chlodavids

@hanniemylovelyquokka @tfshouldidohere @lauraliisa @puppysmileseungmin @kalopsian-thoughts

@puppy-minnie @readerofallthingss @dvbkie099 @kthstrawberryshortcake-main @acker-night

@d-chagi @lynlyndoll @borahae-reads @ihrtlix @yienmarkk

@minhwa @i2innie @jinnie-ret @conwunder @amesification

@starssongs98 @weirdhumanbeinglol @morinuu @the-weird-mold-in-the-sink @bokkiesplace

@amyyscorner @jiisungllvr @skzstaykatsy @blackhairandbangs @jungkookies1002

@hyuuukais @imsiriuslyreal @thatonedemigodfromseoul @gini143 @mercurywritesstuff

@splat00z @filmbypsh @palindrome969 @crabrangoongirl25 @enzos-shit

@jabmastersupriseee @kayleefriedchicken @hynjinswrld @duhgurl @cheshireshiya

@keepswingin

[kangaracha]

QUEENMAKER | CHAPTER 38

---

pairing chan x reader

genre ninth member au, angst, fluff, coming of age, social media, cancel culture, anxiety, depression, forbidden love,

summary To JYPE, the solution is simple; take the sole trainee that will not debut with your brand new girl group, and use her to replace the missing vocalist in your male group that insisted on starting as nine.

Unfortunately, to the fans and the members themselves, it isn't that simple.

status ongoing

taglist OPEN

a/n qm and daybreak are both on ao3 now, if you'd like to spread the love to another platform. also i'm working on five things at once right now so uhhhhhhhh. yknow. just so you know xD

previous | masterlist | next

---

"Are you coming to dinner, noona?" 

It's starting to become automatic now, the turn when someone says noona, the ascribation of the title to yourself in your mind. Older, wiser, responsible for the younger members. Even in public sometimes, you will go to turn, even if none of them are with you, even if your mind knows that it isn't for you that someone calls.

"Not yet," you answer automatically, your body turning towards Changbin. "I have a couple more hours left. And Kim Seungmin said he was going to throw kimbap at me."

"She thinks my voice cracked," Seungmin says on his way past, before Changbin can ask. An accusatory finger points at you, its aim unnerving.

"It did," you insist, pointing a finger right back.

"I'll pin him down," Changbin says as soon as Seungmin is out of earshot, maybe a little too eager to offer.

The idea of them scrambling on the floor of a restaurant is tempting...but you shake your head no. "Take him to dinner where he can't hurt me," you say and you take him by the shoulders, steering him towards the door.

"Who's hurting you?" Chan asks in the space that Changbin leaves, wandering over from the knot of staff by the door.

"Seungmin," you answer again, and you don't catch the little imp's eye as he walks out of the room. "He wants to start a food fight in the middle of a restaurant."

"I can leave him home if you want to come," Chan offers. You think, again, it's a little too easy. Gleeful, even, at the thought of getting one over Kim Seungmin.

You shake your head again. "I'm staying here for a couple more hours," you tell him. "Then I'll have it for tomorrow."

You see, for a moment, the argument that comes automatically to his tongue, and the way he swallows it back down. "Want us to bring anything back for you?" he asks instead, because he knows deep down that he can't argue; you desperately need time to embed all the changes you've made today in your mind. 

"I'd love that," you reply honestly. "I'll come by your place afterwards?"

He nods over the call of his name from the door, pats you on the shoulder and departs. His touch lingers on your skin, even through your shirt; you turn to the mirror to distract yourself, hands on your hips and breath blowing out of your chest as you force your mind back towards choreography again. Only week two looms over your head; God's Menu and Side Effects in equal parts, half a performance you've spent a year perfecting, but you'd just started to put together the one that comes after it before this too, and with Hyunjin gone, there are far more parts to fill, new formations to play with, an adjustment to concept that requires a new kind of acting between bouts of intense choreography...

As you fix your hair in the mirror, you see him in the corner of your eye; Hyunjin, hanging back when the others leave.

Your eyes meet in the reflection. You're not sure how to feel when you look at him like that, eye to eye across an empty room. Sympathy first, because you'd peeked over I.N's shoulder earlier at some comments and felt your skin crawl at what you'd see. And then confusion, a wariness against being hurt, because you'd seen screenshots and accusations thrown around too and even through thorough discussion with the other boys, you hadn't been able to figure out what was real or false, or why exactly he would cleanly own up to it the moment it reached the company's ears. 

He'd come in halfway through practice and those discussions, cutting them short before anyone could come to a decision without him. His head had been down and his feet dragging with a weight they hadn't carried when you'd seen him the day before, and he'd sat down on the bench and watched mutely as you continued the work you'd started without him earlier in the morning; cutting him out of the next performance, down to every small detail.

"Changbin said maybe you could use some help," he says as way of explanation for his presence, his voice as subdued as his presence in the room.

"If you want," you offer freely, because he looks distinctly like he's worried he doesn't belong - and that was your position, not his. It's kind of weird actually, seeing it in another person. "I'll be okay if you want to go to dinner though."

"Not really," he says, and takes the opportunity to wander closer. "I kind of feel like dancing for a while. It's weird to do nothing all day."

You blink at the way he has so succinctly brought you to the question that has been on your mind all day, even though you have a sinking suspicion you know what the answer will be. "Are you on hiatus?" you ask anyway, just to be sure. 

"Yeah," he answers grimly, eyeing himself in the mirror. "Suspended from all group activities until the company's investigation is over."

"That sucks," you say, sorting through possible answers from that's what happens to why'd you tell them it was true? None of them seem to say quite what you want them to express, the knot of opinions in your stomach twisting and turning.

"It means we don't have to pull out of Kingdom," he says, and then shakes a hand through his hair, setting the loose strands at ends. "I'm sorry that it means you have to do more work."

You wave him away. "Skill issue, not you," you advise him lightly - and think again on how strange it is to be on the other side of this, the one comforting rather than worrying for once. It's kind of awkward, when you think too far into it. You're not very good at comforting.

"You've gotten so much better though," he says, like it's obvious and he can't possibly understand what you're talking about. 

You smile, testing the waters. "So you admit I was terrible?" you ask, and watch how his face changes. "No one else will admit it."

"You were maybe just a little bit terrible before Back Door," he says slowly, like you might storm away in anger at any single word. "I used to be terrible too though."

"Not anymore though," you tell him firmly, just in case he doesn't know. "I don't know what we're going to do without you in this competition. Seriously."

"Yeah," he sighs. "I'm not even supposed to be here to help either, until this whole thing is over. You'll be fine without me though."

"What did you even do?" you ask, and watch as his expression changes and his eyes slide away in shame. "We couldn't even find the real post that blew up about it, and there's so much random stuff on twitter..."

You feel a stab of guilt at the way that he flinches; but you aren't asking to damn him. Just to understand, because you can't reconcile the boy that you've known for nearly twelve months now with the one that they're describing online, hateful and cruel. It leaves you balanced in a quandry of image and relationship - to defend publicly the boy that you know to be kind, or to acknowledge that maybe your friend isn't the person you thought you knew.

"I don't even remember," he says. "This girl broke up with my friend in middle school, and then someone said she was cheating on him because she had another boyfriend like, the next day. And I remember, there was another girl who said we should all fill her facebook up with mean comments. She says I hit her too, or threatened her or something, but I thought that was someone else. I don't remember."

"I feel like you'd remember if you hit someone," you say, mulling it over in your mind. "Unless you've hit a lot of people."

"No!" he hurries to say, before you can walk that assumption any further. "I mean...I threw my wallet at Han once, but he was being really annoying, and I didn't even hit him. And I apologised for it."

You nod along, your thoughts adjusting as they take in each piece of new information. "Middle school is so long ago," you muse out loud, because you're trying to think back to incidents of being bullied like that back in your own schooling. The memories come up murky and incomplete, compared to the more immediate days of your trainee years, starting so far back and ended only recently.

"I totally forgot about all of it," he agrees. "It's so stupid too. I don't know why I was like that."

"We live and learn," you say wryly; and you're not really being serious, but the way that he nods seems to take something important out of it. "At least we can be internet scapegoats together now?"

Inexplicably, you draw a smile out of him, and a coughed laugh. "I don't know how you've been dealing with it for nine months," he admits freely, kicking at the floor with the toe of his shoe. "I've had so many messages telling me to kill myself and stuff."

"I've been dancing, mostly," you say, and you turn away from the mirror before you can see what your own face does in response to his admission. "Trying not to think about it. Which is probably what we should be doing now, since I told Bang Chan I'd be eating dinner in like, two hours."

He accepts the switch of topic in stride, stepping backwards. "Do you want to keep working on what we were doing today?" he asks. "Or something else for a while?"

You consider it for a moment, weighing the merits of each; you'd meant to work on the performances upcoming, of course, but with him here now, relegated to the sidelines while the rest of your were in long practices like these, the sort of work he most enjoyed... "I wouldn't mind doing something else," you say, resigning yourself to the loss of practice time for tonight. It doesn't matter anyway; you can just catch it up during the week, when he wasn't here trying to reach out to you. For a friend, you could lose a few hours. 

"Got anything you can teach me?" you ask him, and for the first time all day, you see the glow of a smile beginning behind his eyes. And it makes you smile too; that you can give someone this, even in the dark times. That he chose you, out of all the members, to stay here with and talk to. You don't think he knows how much it means to you that you could do that.

You don't think you can guess how much it means to him either.

---

TAGLIST

@kokinu09 @rainfallingfromthesky @lixie-phoria @mysweethannie @chlodavids

@hanniemylovelyquokka @tfshouldidohere @lauraliisa @puppysmileseungmin @kalopsian-thoughts

@puppy-minnie @readerofallthingss @dvbkie099 @kthstrawberryshortcake-main @acker-night

@d-chagi @lynlyndoll @borahae-reads @ihrtlix @yienmarkk

@minhwa @i2innie @jinnie-ret @conwunder @amesification

@starssongs98 @weirdhumanbeinglol @morinuu @the-weird-mold-in-the-sink @bokkiesplace

@amyyscorner @jiisungllvr @skzstaykatsy @blackhairandbangs @jungkookies1002

@hyuuukais @imsiriuslyreal @thatonedemigodfromseoul @gini143 @mercurywritesstuff

@splat00z @filmbypsh @palindrome969 @crabrangoongirl25 @enzos-shit

@jabmastersupriseee @kayleefriedchicken @hynjinswrld @duhgurl @cheshireshiya

@keepswingin

[kangaracha]

BANG CHAN ☯︎ KARMA 'CEREMONY' TEASER IMAGES

[kangaracha]

gnabnahc | 😆

[kangaracha]

technically i finished three chapters today but realistically they like, need editing and stuff. which just seems like a scam but whatever.

[kangaracha]

Not writing a fanfic nobody asked for but writing fanfic for yourself and that one other person who is equally insane about the idea

[kangaracha]

dragonfish; chapter six

summary; rumi never goes to namsung tower. jinu must find another way to atone.

fandom; kpop demon hunters

tags; romance, angst with a happy ending, enemies to lovers, alternate ending, slow burn, demon!rumi

read on AO3

---

← previous chapter

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The days that follow blur with Jinu's so often that she loses where her soul ends and his begins. 

She's not sure, sometimes, if she's awake or dreaming still, lying in her bed or venturing through the underworld on the back of the wind. She's never played a bipa before but now she doesn't even blink at the feeling of it settling into her hands; the faces of saja loom in her view and she assigns names and legacies to them automatically, as if she has known them all her life. 

They follow her back to the white walls of the house, sometimes dark with the twilight of the underworld and other times lit with flickering candles. Zoey peers at her from around corners and Mira glares across the courtyard as she passes by, her hatred unblinking. Rumi can't remember later if they don't speak because she is so hated, or because in those moment she is Jinu.

It might not matter anyway, who she is. A demon is a demon, same as any tiger wears stripes. The face underneath the stripes doesn't mean much difference, after all. 

Days pass, and bones heal, and she escapes into the foreign details of Jinu's life to escape the broken shards of her own until she can wear the jagged edges down enough that they won't cut her when she picks them up.

"Rumi."

The whisper cuts right through her dream of the wide river outside, jolting her back to her own senses with a sudden clarity that sets her head to pounding.

She sits up too fast for her ribcage, but only has the time to grit her teeth against the familiar pain that follows. She's always forgetting that after these dreams, the same way she forgets to favour her arm sometimes when she wakes. 

Through the wince, she sees Zoey, crouched by her bedside, her eyes wide. "W-what-" she stutters, and forgets what she was going to ask before she can even begin to say it. "Zoey?"

"Rumi," the girl gasps again, and reaches with pale hands out towards her skin - her patterned, cursed skin, rough and calloused beneath her soft fingers. She clings to Rumi's arm like a lifeline, her nails digging into her flesh. 

"What's wrong?" Rumi asks, because she knows what it looks like when Zoey is about to panic; the tears in her eyes and the waver in her voice. It's been a long time since Zoey was so upset, but she still remembers. She will always remember.

"I'm sorry," Zoey blabbers, and leans down as if to bow, her forehead pressed to the edge of the mattress. "I - I can't - and he's in my head and he's telling me - and I can't-"

"Shh, shh." It's second nature to try to coax her up, to bury a hand in her loose hair when she can't. To try to comfort her, even when none of it makes any sense. "Who's in your head? Gwi-Ma?"

"Gwi-Ma," Zoey says to her blanket, like a prayer. Like a curse, ancient and lasting and powerful. It sends a shiver down Rumi's spine even though she already knew the answer - sets her eyes looking for Mira and her fury that burns just like the accursed king. Surely, if he has driven Zoey here to her, Mira will not be far behind.

"What did he say?" she dares to ask, her teeth gritted against the poison her friend could be about to spit at her. 

"That you're going to die," Zoey whispers hoarsely, "and we're going to be demons forever."

It's unnerving, those words coming out of her mouth. She doesn't see the way Rumi recoils, her eyes wide and her mouth open and for that Rumi is grateful; she doesn't think she could control it even if the other girl was looking. "He's really angry, Rumi," she whispers. "He's - he says he's getting bored. He wants me to tell you that. He's bored and he's hungry and he'll kill you if he-"

"He can be as angry and bored as he wants," Rumi tells her, carding her fingers through her hair. "He won't touch me. And he won't touch you either."

Her words are strong but the voice that says them is weak. Even if Zoey doesn't notice, she does, and she curses herself for it. Even now, when they come to her, she cannot comfort them - evn now, she lies and the words ring hollow. Years of practice and she still can't even do that right.

"He says you're lying," Zoey mumbles as if reading her mind. "He says - Rumi, I don't want to be a demon - Rumi, please, it hurts, please-"

Across the room, the door bursts open, slamming against the frame. Mira is a blur of movement as she rushes past it, every step she takes rattling the dust from the rafters of the house. "Get your hands off her!" she cries, and she dives for Zoey, dragging her away. "What did you do to her? What's wrong with her?"

"I-" Rumi recoils, shocked. Her hands still hovers in the air where Zoey's head had been. "I didn't do anything! It was Gwi-Ma!!

"Then why is she begging you to stop?"

"I don't know!"

It almost feels like normal, the way they stare at each other. They've always been like two stones bouncing off each other, chipping away parts of themselves just to prove a point. Mira seethes with anger, her chest rising and falling like she'd run the length of the garden to get here; Rumi is breathless, her hands fisting in her blankets as old frustration takes hold. 

"Why would I hurt her?" she asks, though she already knows the answer will hurt. "I was trying to help her - I-"

"You tell me," Mira spits over the top of her stuttering. "You're the demon here."

"I'm not a demon," Rumi pleads.

"Yes you are." She feels the prickle of Mira's eyes, sliding over every inch of exposed skin. "Apparently, you always were."

Rumi gapes at her, feeling the turn of her shoulders as they curl inwards, the sandpaper in her throat where her voice used to be. Ugly, evil, lying, terrible, her own voice screams at her, the same one that had once screamed those words at Jinu; and she knew this would hurt, but she sees now there is no way to brace for it. No secret to weathering it other than pain.

"I can explain," she tries, even though she knows that the explanations are lodged in her throat like a stone, years too late and phrased too softly for Mira's deaf ears to hear.

"Explain?" Mira asks. "Or blame someone else for the things you've done?"

"I haven't-" The argument pops out of her mouth unbidden, an old reflex from all the times Mira has gotten too close to her secrets. She stops it short; her mind races ahead of her mouth, feeding back to her all the ways that she would be lying and the things that Mira could cut her down with in response. 

"I'm sorry," she says instead, as if that will be any better. "I was trying to - I didn't mean to - I just wanted-"

"To fix it," Mira finishes for her, cutting her off short. "You said that." Rumi stares down at her hands rather than look into the steel of her gaze. "Don't you think that's kind of unbelievable when you didn't even tell us something was wrong? For ten years?"

"I thought I could do it on my own." Her voice is hoarse now, the patterns around her throat tightening.

Mira is unimpressed. "Some team-mate you are," she sniffs. "You've been doing this longer than any of us, but you don't remember the first thing Celine taught us?"

"Our faults and fears-"

"Trust each other," Mira spits over the top of her. "And work together too."

Rumi doesn't remember that, not as the first thing. Maybe it just hadn't made much of a difference to her, when she'd already been taught to lie. "Celine told me..." she starts but trails off, silenced by the complexity of what she needs to say.

"Celine would be ashamed of you," Mira says before she can find the words. "If she knew that you - that you made some kind of deal - with the enemy-"

Jinu's face flashes through Rumi's mind, her fear reaching out for his soul at the same time. It only occurs to her after she has heard the steady beat of his heart that Mira is not talking about him, the demon she had made a deal with, but Gwi-Ma; because she doesn't know that she was born like this, horrific and cursed. She doesn't know that Celine has held her in her arms and seen these patterns and known just how badly it could all turn in one moment-

And cursed at her when the Honmoon chose her anyway, the beginning of the end of everything Celine had ever built.

"Nothing," Mira sighs when the silence stretches to breaking, and nudges Zoey from her shoulder, her thumb wiping the tears from the other girl's face. Zoey looks at Rumi, her eyes wide, but when her mouth opens, nothing comes out.

"I don't know what to say," Rumi rasps, like she is the one who has been crying. 

"There isn't anything else to say," Mira replies. "You're a demon, you betrayed us, and now, because you regret what you did, we get to be demons too, so we can all live in Hell as one big, happy family."

"If I remember correctly, you're the one that walked into the fire."

Mira whips around, glaring at Jinu as he steps through the door. "Anyone could tell you he doesn't like the taste of hunters," he adds as he comes to a stop, subtly angled between her and Rumi.

"I was tricked into going to your stupid concert," Mira corrects, spitting each word like they are poison in her mouth.

He lifts a finger, the smile on his face infuriating. Rumi is the only one that can see beyond it - there is something off-kilter with him, a wildness to his eyes and a hurry to the lift and fall of his chest, like he's struggling to keep something inside him at bay. "You're the one that let his voice into your head," he says though, as smooth and as easy as he ever could be. "Or will you blame Rumi for your own thoughts as well?"

"Did she choose to be with you, or is this one of your tricks as well?"

"Do you really think it's that simple?"

For several seconds, they stare at each other in silence; and Rumi had always expected this to be messy, even if she could seal the Honmoon and save him, but she hadn't expected the sheer hatred from Mira. The unwillingness to sit down and take a breath and listen to her work through the fear and the pain to what she needed to say. She's known Mira to be harsh and unyielding, but never so immoveable that it hurts to throw yourself against her sharp edges. It's a pain she wishes she never had to learn. She liked Mira.

It's a pain you deserve, she is reminded as Mira takes Zoey by the shoulders and sweeps her from the room, her chin held high against the embarrassment of retreat. She'll never admit defeat, not to Jinu. Not to a demon. 

The moment she is out of sight, Jinu slumps his spine bending and his fingers digging at the shape of his breastbone as he gasps for breath. "What's-" she begins to ask, and then shies away from the wave of his hand that tells her to be silent a moment longer. She pulls at the knot of her blankets instead, bunching the soft material in her fist and twisting until it wraps tight around her fingers - one thing she can control, in the midst of her bloodline, and the future, and the look in Mira's eyes as she threw one last, murderous glance across the room.

"I'm sorry," Jinu says between breaths as they ease. He sinks to his knees with just enough control to land softly on the floorboards, not quite close enough for her to touch. "I didn't realise they were-"

"It's fine," Rumi says before he can make a myriad of excuses for not being here, as if he must stay within earshot of her at all times. "I wanted to talk to them."

"To them," he repeats, his face darkening. "Not to Gwi-Ma, or whatever he's put in their heads-"

He runs out of breath before he finishes speaking, his voice petering out into nothing as he gasps again. He looks terrible, panting like he's just run the length of the earth to get here; even when his breathing starts to ease and the colour returns to his face, that wild look in the back of his eyes remains, wide with the fright of a startled animal, the kind that cannot be controlled.

"Are you okay?" she asks, even though she knows he doesn't want her to. 

He breathes out the edge of a laugh, a hitch of his breath that speaks amusement to the open air. "I was out by the river when I felt you - your call. I couldn't reply fast enough. That's all. I'll be fine in a minute."

She looks at him again, her vision changing; and yes, she'd reached for him through his soul, that thing he has lodged inside her chest that his body won't give all the way up, and she'd done it with fear. And he'd...felt it? Out there on the banks of his slow, dark river? Been compelled to react, or the panic would steal the breath from his chest until he choked?

Darkness grips at her; disgust at what she has become, and abject terror at the things she might do if she is scared or angry again. "I did this?" she whispers, like if she asks and asks, the answer will change, even though she knows in her heart that it is the truth.

"It's okay," he says, and then again when he sees that she doesn't believe him. "You needed help. It's my fault anyway; I'm the one that kissed you in the river, when they were right there watching-"

"No," she says right across the top of his excuses, wrapping her arms around the pain of memory that twists in her chest. It waits in the back of her mind for the moment to leap forward - the memory of his hands on her skin and the heat of his gaze. His soul saying to her I shouldn't, and her will reaching down to whisper do it anyway.

How many times has she done this to him? How many more before she learns to stop herself, or sinks so far into that control that she forgets why it is so wrong?

"Rumi?" he says carefully when she does not speak any more than that one word, his hands reaching tentatively for her. She shies away from his touch even as she longs for it, ignoring the twinge of pain that ripples through her beaten ribs in punishment. She can't trust herself with him, not even for a small touch. Not even to hold his hand.

His arm drops again, sitting quietly in his lap instead. He doesn't make any move to try to shake her from the tight ball she curls herself in, or to demand she tells him just what it is that's wrong - she supposes that if she is not reaching for a knife or running towards a cliff, it must seem safe to leave her with her thoughts for a moment. Not that she can throw herself off the cliff anymore anyway. She's not quite ready to ensure Mira hates her for the rest of eternity yet.

"Your friends are...nice," Jinu says when the silence gets loud enough for them to hear Mira's footsteps crossing the courtyard, and the low murmur of her voice in the distance. "I like the little one."

"Zoey," Rumi fills in for him, her voice faint. "I saw you talking to her once."

Surprise flicks past his face, there and then gone again, covered up with an impassive mask. "She was worried about you," he explains. "Not like the other one."

"I've never seen Mira so angry before."

"She scares me." There's a little smile on Jinu's face, testing the waters. Rumi can't scrap together enough pieces of herself to return the attempt before it fades. "You remember it's not her saying that though, right? It's just Gwi-Ma, in her head."

"It sounds just like her," Rumi says mournfully, and focuses on the feeling of her fingers pressing into her skin instead of the sickening guilt each of Mira's words has burnt into her head. 

"It's still her talking," Jinu explains, slow enough for her to absorb every word as it comes and consider them, individual and whole. "It's still her fears and her anger. He can't control the souls he steals - but he can hear all of those things that you say to yourself, and he whispers them back to you, over and over until you can't see what's really true-"

He stops abruptly, his face turning away so that she can't see the deep furrow of his brow or how his eyes suddenly start searching. In his soul, she can feel the sudden jump to realisation of something, the door inside himself that he opens and stares through for several seconds before softly closing it again. 

She pulls away before she can dig deeper, down to the river of his thoughts where she can see what it is that comes to him. Where she'd found comfort from the dark of her dreams in him, now she can only think of the horror of him standing there, gasping for breath, because of the fear she felt in a single moment-

"I feel like I can hear him too sometimes," she says, mostly to herself, and finds her own middle distance to stare at, a long way from the beckoning of his soul.

She can still see him looking at her from the corner of her eye, his gaze spectulative as his thoughts tumble from one quandry to another. "Except you can't hear him," he says after a moment - and it's not the first time he's told her this, but it is the first time he adds, "You're the only person in the world who can't."

"That can't be right," she tells him, picking at a thread in her blanket. 

"It is," he insists. "Gwi-Ma told me himself. He's been trying to reach you for years."

"I can't be the only one though."

Jinu shrugs. "The only one I've ever heard of. The only one that's ever tried to fight him, too."

"Because that went so well," Rumi scoffs, and then cringes at the pain that ripples through her ribs in response. "I got the message, don't worry. There's no fighting Gwi-Ma."

"So you're going to bring him his souls?" Jinu questions, and doesn't even blink when she looks up at him, her gaze sharp. "Those are still kind of the only options."

"I'm not gathering souls for him," she says, just like she has every other day since she crouched in the dirt and listened to the king read her this fate. 

"So you do still want to fight."

There's a funny edge to Jinu's voice that raises her hackles, an implication he is trying to get at without saying it out loud. "Do you want me to fight?" she asks, following the thread of her suspicion. 

He takes in a breath before he answers. "I think you could fight," he says, ever so slowly. Ever so quiet, even though they can hear Mira and Zoey and Gwi-Ma's listening ears far across the other side of the house. "I think you might be the only one who can."

"How?" she questions. "The only thing I ever had was my voice, but I can't sing anymore."

"Why not?" he throws back. "Gwi-Ma doesn't control you. The only one stopping you from singing is yourself."

"It's not me," she insists, her hand crawling up towards her neck as the tightness in her chest returns like a warning. "I just can't."

"Yes, you can."

"No, I can't."

The word is a whisper, but the ground shakes at its sound, trembling just the way she had seen the Honmoon shiver and flash the few times she'd lost her temper with it. A memory comes to her from the black of forgotten days - Jinu's voice, whispering, he roared, and the world shook. 

"What was that?" she whispers; and this time, when he leans forward to grab at the wrist that wraps around her throat, she is too caught up in the shock of it to flinch away from him.

"That was your voice," he answers, dragging her fingers from her skin. Encasing them in his own, where they can't hurt anyone. "Still there, like I said."

She looks down at their entwined hands, hair falling in front of her face as her head tilts down. His other hand reaches out to catch it, tucking it back where it belongs. "I can't control it," she says as it sweeps past her face, like she can hide behind the fold of his sleeve.

"That's okay," he promises with a shrug, like it's nothing; like all her worth doesn't hinge on the voice the Honmoon gave her. "Use mine, if you can't use yours. You know how to reach my soul."

She searches his eyes for a trick, a lie, the laugh that will burst out of him any moment now as he tells her he's joking, she can't use his voice, she can go out and find her own and stay the hell away from his soul and that string of it she'd nearly used to choke him or damn her to hell and good riddance - but it never comes. He just sits there, as earnest and trusting as he was the day he brought her down here, and waits for her to try it, as if the danger never crossed his mind.

"What if I hurt you?" she asks.

He smiles, knives in the flash of his teeth like a lunatic. Like an idiot with no sense of self-worth or preservation. "You won't kill me," he answers, and he's trying not to be bitter but still it bleeds through, just in the edge of his voice. "Not unless you want to." He pauses, and then adds, "Even if you want to, I don't mind that either."

She's supposed to tell him she hates him, but she can't find the hatred inside of her anymore, so she looks for his soul instead, reaching to the part of its light that hums along in harmony with hers. Takes it with her, back to the dark corners of her own body, and cradles it in her hands, a warmth in the cold.

And then she opens her mouth, and she sings.

We could be free.

The sound of her own voice brings tears to her eyes; the relief of feeling the strain and lift of it echoing from her throat, the clear breath that enters and exits her lungs. It resounds in just the same way, lilting up effortlessly into the high notes and back down again. Far above her, through the roof and the clouds and the liminal space of dimensions crossing over, the last few threads of the Honmoon shift in response to the sound, stringing themselves just an inch closer to each other before drifting away again, her song too weak to weave it all on her own.

"See?" Jinu says, smiling, his hand dropping from where it had pressed lightly against his throat. "Just as annoying as ever."

"What-" she starts to ask him, her face scrunched up in offence, before a knock at the door disrupts her.

She turns, expecting - hoping to see Mira, perhaps with a smile on her face, or with her soul and her song intact, ready to take her into her arms and say I'm sorry and you can save me. Black jeogori greets her instead, pinned neatly down the front with buttons of blood-red. The face above it is shaded by the traditional gat - but even that cannot disguise the grey-ish pallour of his skin, the fangs that are just starting to protrude from the corners of his mouth. The patterns on his hands as they unfold from his clothing, reaching out in a sign of peace as he bows.

Her breath catches in her throat, the song and Jinu's voice falling away forgotten into the depths of herself as her sword itches at her fingers instead. "Taewon," Jinu says, his knees scuffing against the grain of the floorboards as he turns, sheltering her behind him. "I told you, you aren't welcome here anymore."

"I know," Taewon says, his voice rough as any of those demons that crow and cavort around in the demon king's court - and then he falls, onto his hands and knees, his forehead pressed to the ground, the deepest honour he could give them.

"I heard the huntress sing," he rasps past a throat that has almost forgotten how to be human. "I heard her say, we could be free. I felt her give me my soul back."

Rumi blinks.

---

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Taglist

@amyyscorner @kokinu09 @keepswingin @rainfallingfromthesky

@rylea08 @puppysmileseungmin @thatonedemigodfromseoul @atinyniki @nougatjade

[kangaracha]

you take all the fun outta life zm. can't ship them, can't hate them ugh. boooooring.

no i'm joking i SCREECHED when i realised this was liv pov and the conclusion they came to is so good. so logical. and ykw liv, you DO deserve better. go find yourself a real man.

i keep saying it but the balance and difference of characters is so good, liv is such a small addition but has added a whole other layer to the story - and she's just such a loveable character anyway.

what happens next zm. are we moving to korea. have we researched flight costs for storm. can livbin resist each other.

Let Go of the Reins || CHAPTER 18

~*~

pairing seungmin x fem!reader

genre strangers to lovers, romance, fluff, slight angst later, happy ending, social media, not meant to be, someday

summary Australia is considered home for two of the eight members. When two tour dates are scheduled for the land down under, the boys can't help but want to spend a bit more time there to visit family and do a little sightseeing. So how do they convince the company that they need to stay a couple weeks? Filming some SKZ Code episodes.

A local riding school just outside the city with amazing reviews for their skilled instructors and beautiful horses is hosting a very popular kpop group to film their experiences. Y/N knows the group well and she just so happens to be their star working student.

status ongoing

taglist OPEN

previous | masterlist | next

~*~

You couldn’t have asked for a nicer day. The sun is shining, the humidity is low, but a few puffy white clouds occasionally block the sun, allowing a light breeze to cool the air.

When you had left your house in the wee hours of the morning, Seungmin went back to the hotel. It was a little hard to leave him when he looked so sleepy with his messy hair and pouted lips. But Liv was expecting you. She had joined you early this morning to prep the horses for the ride.

So now, it was just time to wait for the boys. Luckily, you aren’t left waiting for long. The texts from Seungmin had been a good warning for time's sake. You and Liv bring out the last couple of horses just as they meet you two at the barn doors.

“Daisy! My beautiful bestie!” Hyunjin dramatically shouts when he spots the mare.

As you turn, the looks on all of the boys’ faces warm your heart. All of them have wide smiles as they approach their horses you assigned them from day one.

And the horses are just as excited when they see their riders; head nodding, hooves tapping, happy noise, and even some going as far as to show their teeth from curling their lips. It’s so cute to see all of them so happy to be back together.

The scene is almost enough to cover up the tension that you can tell is radiating off of your best friend. Your eyes trail to see her hanging back close to Nova with a brave smile that doesn’t quite reach her eyes. You can tell she’s trying to make herself look busy by adjusting and readjusting the buckles of her saddle.

As discreetly as you can, you make a point to sneak over to check on her. When you are close enough to rub Nova’s snout, you ask, “Hey, you sure you’re okay with this?”

Liv rolls her eyes at you with a teasing smile. “You worry too much. Seriously.”

“I think I worry just enough, thank you!”

“You’ve been hanging around Chan too much then. That man creates problems in his head just so he knows how to fix them if they come true,” she jokes. And that’s all it takes to send both of you into a fit of giggles. The little inside joke is just what you needed to ease your worries about your friend.

What you hadn’t accounted for was that the gleeful sounds would carry and draw the attention of the members. Felix being the first to make his way over, throws his arm across your shoulders.

“Secrets don’t make friends,” he teases with a wide smile.

“But friends make secrets,” you joke back, putting your finger over your lips and winking at Liv. It earns a loud cackle from the blonde boy as he pulls his arm away.

And that’s when more of them have made their way closer as well. “What’s so funny?” Han asks, an excited smile lighting up his features.

“Felix is being a nosy nelly,” Liv responds easily.

“It’s not my fault Liv and Y/N were whispering! You know I have a bad case of FOMO!” Felix whines.

“It’s true,” Han nods solemnly. “He’ll break out in hives if you don’t include him.”

That has both of you hunched over in genuine laughter. So good that it leaves your stomach muscles aching and tears settling in the corner of your eye.

“Alright alright! Quit goofing off,” Chan scolds with no bite, a smile plastered on his face. “What am I paying you girls for anyway? To be comedians?”

The two of you quickly look at each other in false shock. “We’re getting paid?!” You exclaim with dramatic flair.

“Well why didn’t you say so!” Liv adds with the same energy.

“Saddle up boys! We’re going riding!” You hoot, waving an arm over your head as if to round them up.

All the boys chuckle and return to their horse companions’ sides.

Except Seungmin. He appears beside you instead, wrapping an arm around your waist for a quick half hug. You gladly lean into him, his lips pressing a kiss to your temple when your head tilts his way.

It’s the final thing you need to breathe a sigh of relief. You’d been so stressed about everyone getting along that you were basically walking around like a board was on your back. Your muscles are so stiff that you feel the urge to stretch and crack your joints.

But you settle for the content moment where your friends are all together, calm and peaceful. The tension in the air at a minimum.

“Come on, let’s get in our saddles,” Seungmin suggests, planting one last kiss to your forehead before jogging a few feet over to Pearl.

You smile as you watch him mount without much difficulty. All of them actually. You’re surprised how quickly they’ve picked up on the little tricks you’ve taught them in just a few lessons. Pride swells in your chest for them. They really are shaping up to be some stray horse boys.

“Y/N! Stop daydreaming and let’s go~!” Liv shouts, snapping you out of that train of thought. You still allow yourself to laugh at it though, hurrying over to Storm and hoisting yourself up.

Your eyes catch Seungmin’s, sparkling with awe after watching your seemingly effortless execution. He pulls Pearl’s reins to come to a stop next to you.

“No wonder I felt like I met an angel the first day I saw you. Riding is literally like second nature to you,” he says with an airy tone, features still reflecting how mesmerized he is with you.

A blush creeps up your neck until it stains your cheeks, an embarrassing shade of red that rivals the ripest tomato. You try your best to brush his compliment off, laughing nervously.

“Oh please! The only angel you were seeing was your guardian one! Otherwise, you’d have been flat as a pancake!” You’re quick to say, waving a hand in dismissal. Seungmin laughs along with you, but the look he gives you is no less admiring.

Attempting to play it cool, you give Storm a little kick to trot to the lead of the group. “We’re going to take today’s trip nice and easy so it’s not too strenuous on the horses,” you announce.

“No way!” Liv gasps excitedly. “We’re taking them up to Hollow Point Falls?” You smile but don’t give her the satisfaction of confirmation.

“What’s ’Hollow Point Falls’?” Felix voices his curiosity. “I’ve never heard of it.”

“I’d be more surprised if you had heard of it,” you chuckle. “It’s a spot on the mountain that not many people make the hike up there. But it’s easier on horseback so it’s kinda our own little hidden waterfall.”

“We get to see a waterfall?! Count me in!” Han cheers, giving Freckles a little nudge to trot to the front of the line. A chorus of laughs ring in the air.

You smile, eyes finding Seungmin’s almost out of instinct. No matter when you turn to look at him, it’s always like he was already watching you, fond of every move you make.

The red in your cheeks rises for the thousandth time already, but you give him another smile before leading the group up to the trail.

~*~

The ride up was fun. Everyone had a blast joking around and teasing one another while enjoying the peaceful scenic trail they rode on. A decent trek through a portion of the mountain, but not enough to tire out the horses too much.

Now that you’ve all made it to the falls, the sights are even more breathtaking. A ledge that jets out from the side of the mountain overhead with an almost perfectly punched-out hole in the center, water free-falling before I can even reach the end of the ledge. Creating the serene pond that you all lounge around now before overflow continues the stream down the other side of the mountain.

An unexplained natural phenomenon. Marvelous nonetheless.

It is decided that the horses earned a well-deserved break, Y/N and Liv being the first to dismount. Y/N, the good samaritan she is, helps a few of the boys get off their horses that were more afraid, while Liv took that time to whisper soft praises to Nova for her hard work.

Then she hears one of the horses approach behind her. She looks up and sees Changbin clumsily swinging his leg over and landing on the ground before turning around to face her.

For a moment, she’s frozen. It’s been almost a week since they’ve seen each other. In-person, up close and personal, that is. If she’s watched his fancams the past few nights because she misses him, then that’s between her and her pillow.

But she’s not about to just forgive him for what he did. She can’t.

His face stays downturned, eyes rarely meeting hers, like he’s just checking to make sure she hasn’t walked away. It’s impossible for her heart not to squeeze when she sees how pitiful he obviously feels.

“Hey, Liv. Can we talk for a second?” He asks in a hushed voice, trying not to draw too much attention their way.

Liv instinctively glances around to see if anyone is looking at them. Her eyes meet with Y/N’s, watching her with concern etched into her features and a deep frown on her lips. She can’t help but laugh that her friend is being so overprotective when Y/N knows damn well she can take care of herself.

“Sure, but don’t get any funny ideas,” Liv warns. He looks up with a smile and raises his hands in surrender.

“Wouldn’t dream of it,” he swears playfully.

It’s enough to make her shoulders relax but, at the same time, cause a sting of pain in her chest as they step to the side, away from listening ears. Why does he have to be so cute and nice? She much prefers if he were mean and made her want to hate him. It’d make her life so much easier.

“Thank you for giving me a chance to get my thoughts out,” he says appreciatively. “I felt like I didn’t express myself well enough when everything went down.”

“Oh, you mean how you broke up with me over text? Yeah, I don’t think that would have gone well in any universe,” she responds flatly. Changbin physically cringes at the harshness of her words.

“You’re right. I deserve that. I was a coward for not being able to face you. It scared me that if I saw you cry, my resolve would break and I’d change my mind..but I can’t do that. I have to protect you. No matter how much it hurts,” he confesses, voice soft but sounding more firm by the end.

Liv fights the tears that threaten to spring forward, choking them back with her pride to keep her composure.

“What we had was special and the last thing I want to do is downplay how much it meant to me. How much you mean to me. I am so sorry for hurting you, Liv. I hope you know that it was never my intention and you someday can forgive me for how it ended,” his words are sincere as they leave his mouth. She knows it. She can see it written all over his face.

It might not make it hurt less, but it does make her feel a little better knowing he means it. Not hiding behind a screen. He’s still the same guy she’d fallen for, heart on his sleeve and genuinely thinking he knows what’s best.

Maybe she can forgive him…but only a little bit.

As she opens her mouth to respond, her phone buzzes insistently on her hip. Vibrating over and over again with messages like someone needs her to answer immediately. She’s quick to pull out her phone and sees Y/N’s name popping up with each text, one right after the other.

Liv smiles at her phone before locking it again.

“Is everything ok?” Changbin asks curiously when she pockets the device.

“Yeah, sorry. Y/N is a little protective,” she says as if that explains everything. And it did, in a way. Changbin scratches the back of his neck.

“I deserve that too,” he chuckles, glancing over at Seungmin trying to distract Y/N from glaring daggers into him.

“I don’t hate you, ya know,” Liv blurts out, causing Changbin to snap his head back in her direction so fast she half wonders if he hurt himself. “I can’t hate you. Not when you truly believe you’re protecting me.”

It’s like the sigh that leaves his lungs had been held there since the day he decided to end their relationship. Relief and gratitude washing over his features.

“You’re wrong though. Just so you know,” she adds, freezing his heart for another beat as she continues. “I knew the risks when I decided to pursue you. You don’t get to make decisions for me. So it’s good I found out early.” Her words are sharp, condemning. Then her face softens again. “But I’m not gonna hold it against you. You’re a good guy and your heart was in the right place.”

He nods, a slight frown still tugging at his lips from the pain in his chest but he can still look her in the eye and hear her words, dedicating them to his heart where he will learn from them. Take the kindness she is showing him and grow from it.

It doesn’t lessen the hurt but he can heal with this closure.

He forces a smile that almost looks genuine. “Friends then?” He offers, extending his hand in a playful handshake gesture. She giggles and shakes hands with him.

“Friends.”

Her heart can’t take more than that, at least for now.

~*~

taglist

@kangaracha @rainfallingfromthesky @puppysmileseungmin @defnotfertilizedtoesw @teenyfinds

@bbokari711 @lakoya @chlodavids @rylea08 @chanshugsaretherapy

@palindrome969 @here-to-read-and-read-fics @imagine-all-the-imagines @txnwvc @ravenclawunknown

@4ng3l-ch1ld @sillyhal @lveegsoi @keepswingin

[kangaracha]

setting up a tiny detail in one chapter to pay it off in the next few chapters feels sooo devious like oooh i can't wait to write the small little reference here that 70% of readers will miss but 30% of readers will cheer for

[kangaracha]

Sometimes, a fic doesn't have to get published, it can just be a series of messages on a Discord channel, between a dedicated group of friends going "oooh, you know what else would be cool?" continuously over a period of weeks and months :)

[kangaracha]

people watching the merry go round of fic updates will notice that queenmaker is legally owed the next one 🤔

[kangaracha]

heart of gold (hands are cold) - part 2 zombies 4

masterlist | read on ao3

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<- previous part

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There's a girl in his class that seems to think she's in charge of everything and everyone. 

He doesn't like her. It's convenient, because she doesn't like him either.

Vera, she introduces herself to anyone that will listen, a pretty name to go along with the bone-crushing handshake she offers everyone, as if to prove some kind of point. He knows who she is before she comes around to him, of course, just like she knows him. They'd probably played together when they were too small to understand the concept of personality or why hers was the work of some devil; her father is Vergil, the most honourable defender of the orchard during the last invasion. His father is Vergil's dead comrade, brave in battle but susceptible to starvation.

He can't tell, honestly, why she doesn't like him. She oscillates between treating him like a threat and taking personal affront to his lack of interest in living up to this legacy that she holds tight in both her fists. At first, he thinks it is better if he simply lets her have the illusion of power that she so desperately wants, bending under her weight when she throws it around. He learns fast that this only makes the other kids avoid him, lest they get caught up in her rivalry; not that he's any stranger to be alone, or had come expecting to make friends or anything.

It becomes impossible to play small when he starts to best her in training though. Impossible to avoid her icy glare either, staring at him in every room and over every meal, like she will crack him open if she just studies him for long enough. 

It's unfair, he whispers to the girl in his dreams, when she stands at the window of his little room in the barracks and stares out at the red moon. It's not like I asked for this. I just want to leave.

She doesn't reply. A figment of his imagination could at least do him the courtesy of listening to his problems, but she never does; she just appears to torment him, always just out of his reach. Always seemingly unaware of his presence in his own life. She probably wouldn't understand anyway, the crackle of power in your veins when they tie a darkstone around your neck for the first time, the fear in the eyes of a crowd when the darkstone itself stops the whole city just to turn and say to you, finally, you have come and this power is yours.

It's a moment in his life that should register as life-changing and important. It's groundshaking, when the darkstone chooses someone like that; worldchanging, a prophecy handed down from leader to hero to destined for greatness. 

It's easily forgotten compared to the morning that two soldiers burst into his room and turn it upside down until they find the small bag of glittering stones under his mattress and get to drag him away again before he can even protest that he doesn't know what that is, or where to get it, or why it would be here inside his room and not even hidden very well, and it's actually kind of insulting that anyone thinks he wouldn't know how to stash something he stole a little better than just shoving it under his bed.

In the hall, Vera smiles sweetly and waves at him as he stumbles past. It's not hard to figure out what happened from there.

It's only been a couple months since he last visited the dungeons, and his life doesn't seem so altered by the darkstone around his neck that his old ways are alien and apart to the person he is now, but when they drag him in and Vasko waves them on without even looking up from his book-

They turn right, not left, and throw him into a cell that is not his designated home.

"Hey," he says as they lock the door behind him, fingers curling around the cold bars. "This isn't mine - hey, I go over the other side-"

"What's better about this side?" a voice asks, and arms reach through the bars to hang their weight on the groaning hinges of the door opposite, a face looming from out the darkness.

Victor knows this kid - and he is a kid, as much as Victor still is, long-limbed and gangly from recent growth. His name is Vargas and he is at the bottom of the class above; Victor has seen him often, on training fields and in classrooms of war, but never spoken to him. Vera laughs at him sometimes too, when he's out getting a dressing-down in the hope that another public humiliation will turn him from bumbling nuisance to devoted soldier.

Clearly it's working, Victor thinks as they lock eyes across the hallway. He's never seen Vargas in here before. Maybe the commander had finally pushed him too far. Or maybe he'd been set up too - though that seems more unlikely than the other options. People laughed at Vargas, but they didn't outright dislike him.

"That's my cell," Victor says, and doesn't think until it's too late about how that sounds. 

Vargas turns, looking around the little cave-like space like he might find Victor's name written on it somewhere. "They give these things out all personal?" he asks. "I can't even get my own bedroom."

"They-" He hesitates, thinking twice this time before speaking. "That's just - where I normally go. That's all."

"Oh." Vargas looks around the cell again anyway, probably confused by the fuss he's putting up over such a plain stone box. "Sorry then. I'm a first-timer. I just go where they put me."

"It's all good." Victor waves it away, craning his neck to see down the hall to where Vasko sits with his lamp; technically there isn't supposed to be talking in here, but on a good day, the guard is too lazy to get up just to stop a little small talk. "I've never been on this side. Maybe the view is nicer from here.

He's pretty sure that Vargas twitches because he wants to look around for windows that don't exist. "What are you here for, anyway?" he asks instead, covering over the movement smoothly. "I thought you were like, the chosen one or something."

"Chosen by bad luck, sure," Victor snorts. "I was set up. Someone hid dark stones under my bunk."

"Damn," Victor says, long and drawling. "Could've just been like, a knife or something. That's serious."

"Right?" In a moment, Victor decides that he can like this kid - he's not so stuck up as the other ones, not so taken with the story of daywalkers and bloody wars and the honour of protecting the orchards to be distracted from things that are more important. "What would I even do with them? I never wanted to join the army anyway, let alone steal some jewellery I already have."

"You could make a big old necklace like the Eldress," Vargas suggests, and then tilts his head, eyeing him up and down. "I don't think it would suit you though. You're too skinny."

"I have no interest in shiny rocks," Victor assures him before he can change his mind. 

"You don't really look like a rock guy," Vargas agrees. Victor's not really sure what he means by that, but he nods along anyway. "You're too cool for rocks. You have your own dungeon cell and everything."

"I am too cool for rocks," Victor says, reaching up to finger the necklace of stones set around his neck. "I didn't even want this thing anyway."

"Hell yeah, brother." Vargas grins. "Hey, when we get out of here, we should totally figure out who put you in here and return to sender, if you know what I mean." His arm reaches out, imitation lobbing something high over their heads.

"I already know who it was," Victor tells him, waving him away. "It's not really worth going after her."

There's a gleam in Vargas' eye that says he knows exactly who they're talking about, but he doesn't speak it aloud. "Maybe we'll just go out for drinks or something," he says instead, as natural as breathing. "Do you play fireball?"

"I don't," Victor replies, "but I could learn how to. Can't be any less boring than army training, can it?"

"Hey," Vasko calls from the end of the hall, his head popping out into view from his alcove. "No talking. Sit down and shut up." 

Victor looks over at Vargas again, watching as he rescinds just far enough into his cell that Vasko can't see him and shrugs, grinning; and he's not sure why the old guard draws the line at disparaging the army and not framing someone for a crime, but it's easy enough to smile back and retreat to his bunk, silently plotting all the things he could achieve with an ally by his side. A friend even, maybe, if all this stays just the same when they are back on the outside. 

It almost keeps him busy enough that he doesn't notice the girl standing in the dark of the next cell down, staring at him through the bars. Almost. But he knows by now she is a ghost, and he knows that she won't tell him what she wants him to see over there any more than she will step through the walls and unlock his own cage, and so he turns his back and closes his eyes and thinks of the wildest revenge plans he can, and pretends that he won't dream of her when he finally drifts off to sleep.

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zombies taglist

@keepswingin @rainfallingfromthesky @kokinu09

[kangaracha]

dragonfish; chapter five

summary; rumi never goes to namsung tower. jinu must find another way to atone.

fandom; kpop demon hunters

tags; romance, angst with a happy ending, enemies to lovers, alternate ending, slow burn, demon!rumi

read on AO3

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In her head, Rumi screams and shouts and runs after them, grabs them by the hand and forces them to look at her, to listen just once to what she has to say. 

In reality, she sobs at the pain of being lifted from the water, cold and shivering and choking on her own breath like some bastard rebirth to a world that doesn't care about her. She cradles her arm to her broken ribs and forgets that she hates Jinu when he takes her weight, leading each of her stumbling steps up the winding path in the wake of her sisters. She lingers on the memory of his mouth - and the will with which she'd told him to do it, whether he really wanted to or not.

A garden of moss and stone engulfs them as they walk away from the river, a muted palette of grey and green painting the world around them. The twisted boughs of dead trees erupt sporadically from the ground, looming in the mist like malformed figures with their hands reaching for the sky. Up in the world above they might be creepy, but down here they are a welcome break from the monotony of stone and fire that seems to stretch out into forever.

Between them, a hanok stands looking out at the river, picturesque in the way the path gently curves up to its door. It's a grand old building straight from some folk village maintained since long ago, built of clay and wooden beams that stand ageless. The light of Seoul far above them filters down to limn the edges of its curved roof as a soul sails by, falling in shafts across the dark threshold of the door where Zoey stops to glance back at her before disappearing inside.

Rumi takes a step too fast at the sudden sight of her standing there, immortalised in the doorway for just a minute. Her feet don't hesitate to fail her, her balance wavering and her ribs tightening in protest as she struggles to compensate. Jinu catches her a moment later, his hand tight on her hip as he hauls her upright again. She's lost count of how many times he's caught her in the past three days. She wonders how many times more he will do it before he lets her fall.

"Slow down," he advises when his grip on her is sure, settling back into their old pace - inch by agonising inch, as if the walk from river to house takes an eternity to traverse.

"They're here," she says by way of explanation, her eyes fixed on the doorway they'd disappeared through. "I have to explain before - before-"

Before they hate me again. As if she doesn't know that it was too late for explanations days ago, when she stood on that stage and looked into the eyes of two demons wearing their faces. She'd already tried, down under the stage, and she'd been met with weapons she should have run herself against before all of this could come to pass.

"Rumi."

The gentle tug of his grip as his pace slows pulls her from her thoughts. "They're not really-" he starts and then stops, thinking better of it. "He's using them to hurt you," he says instead, measuring the worth of every word before he speaks it. "And he's watching you through their eyes."

Chastised, she falls into step with him, only her eyes hungering for the threshold and the daydream that lies beyond. "He's controlling them?" her much more sensible mouth asks.

"In the way you could say he was controlling me," Jinu tells her. "All they can hear is him whispering their fears back to them."

"They're stronger than that," she insists.

"Apparently not," he answers, and turns away before she can see the sorrow in his eyes. 

"So I can't talk to them?" she asks. "Or they'll feed me to Gwi-Ma?"

"They'll do that anyway," Jinu responds, and then helps her up the stairs, one step at a time. There's only three of them in total, but she could be climbing a mountain for all her body knows. "Just...remember when they talk, it's not them. Not really."

"And this is really you and me talking?" she questions.

His fingers squeeze her hip, his thumb pressing into the soft skin above her waistband. "You should know," he says. "You're the one with all the souls."

"How do you know I have mine?"

He gives her a look, like he can't tell if she is joking or not. "No one can touch your soul, Rumi," he tells her. "Not even Gwi-Ma."

On the railing behind him, a bird chirps - she cranes her neck to see his magpie perched there, blinking at her with all six eyes. "We know, Sussie," he tells it and it rolls its eyes, hopping several steps along the rail. 

"What does he want?" Rumi asks, though she's not sure that she's convinced Jinu can actually understand the bird anyway. 

"He thinks you should be lying down," he answers, true to form, and she can taste the lie in the air even before she sees the exasperation in the bird's face. She lets him take her inside though; stands, dripping, on the polished floor and stares out at a brown courtyard until he folds a rough blanket around her. Mira and Zoey are nowhere to be seen. She wonders if this is how it will be now, then appearing adn disappearing each time she finds something to hold on to until she gathers his souls.

The room he takes her to is small, the mattress of some ancient design that falls a long way from her bed at home. Not that she'll notice, beneath the thrum of pain that runs through her whole body. She could go back to the sand she'd come from and sleep another week before she started to dream of a bed; anything more is a luxury.

At its foot, a pile of clothes waits for her too, soft and warm offerings to replace the stiff lycra of her stage clothes, now long past their intended use. She fingers the pants set on top, simple black material that falls long and loose. "I couldn't find anything with pictures on it," he says apologetically. It takes her a moment to remember that she'd come out to meet him in her pyjamas the first time they'd spoken, those stupid patterned pants that Zoey kept buying her. Teddy bears and choo-choo trains. It feels like an eternity since he teased her like that.

It's not so easy to hate him anymore. "They're fine," she says, and then, "Thank you," because she doesn't know how else to respond.

It's enough to turn his face red anyway, his toe kicking at the floorboards and then turning for the door. "If you need help with anything-"

"I'll be fine," she says before he can start stuttering, and he ducks out the door, leaving her-

Alone.

At least it isn't dark. And she can hear him out there occasionally, moving about the house. Even if her heart leaps in her throat and her thoughts tug her immediately towards darker paths, it's better than a lonely mountainside, or a crowded stadium.

From the window, a warble. She knows the magpie's voice before she sees the tiger's yellow eyes looming from the floorboards, unblinking in their assessment of her. She's too hollow to smile at their curious faces, or even to ask why they are here when Jinu is down the hall waiting for them, and she cannot possibly be better company then him when she can't even sing for them anymore.

With another chirp, the bird pecks at the clothes and then flutters over to perch on the tiger's head. Cold and wet, yes. She has to change. He's not given her any choice, dumping her in the river. Undoing her braid so that it hangs heavy and loose over her shoulder. She's not even sure if she feels cleaner or not, without soap or the will to scrub herself; the grit is gone from her wounds, and from between her teeth, but she still feels dirty, and the patterns are still stark on her skin.

It's not her first time, at least, peeling off clothes with an injured arm. Trying to dress herself one-handed and not make a sound, lest someone come running in to check on her. The patterns have taught her well over the years, how to bite her lip through the pain and drag a shirt, inch by inch, over her head. 

It's a long and slow process, not aided by the chirping of the bird and the unblinking gaze of the tiger, but there is no one to call for help - Celine would never help her anyway and Zoey and Mira are...well, she's not really sure what they are. Lost, maybe. As likely to hurt her as they are to lift a shirt over her head? Probably, if anything Jinu said was true. 

Eventually, she does it, blowing out a shallow breath as the hoodie finally eases over her head and falls down to cover the bolt of patterns that scissor across her stomach. Exhaustion hits her like a brick when it is done, dizzying in its intensity. She wants to get up again, longs to go looking for Mira again, but she is so tired, in such deep pain that no way of carrying herself will relieve, that she just sinks back into the mattress instead, promising herself that in just a moment, she will push herself back to her feet and go find them. 

When her eyes close, Jinu's are waiting in their place, drawing her into his perception of the world around them. He notices more than her; the soft rushing of the river and the silent mountain that towers behind the hanok, the delicate fronds of plants that press up around the stilts of the building in the courtyard, alien to the rocky landscape outside. There's a small bell that hangs from one rafter, chiming in the passing of an unseen breeze. The little music soothes the ragged edges of her chest, a promise that such sounds aren't completely lost to her yet.

Jinu ghosts through the hanok, following the path of rooms and sheltered walks like they are intimately familiar to him. The sound of voices comes into earshot and then falls away as he turns around the courtyard, and then-

And then Mira steps out of an open doorway, looking him up and down in that way that Rumi has seen her inspect someone a thousand times before. The way her lip curls says that she is not impressed with what she finds; instinctively, Rumi shies away, as if it is her that Mira is looking at and not Jinu, the demon she had taught her to hate.

The light of his soul surrounds her, the steady pace of his breath settling into her own chest before her heart can start to race independant of his. "What do you want, demon?" Mira asks, staring at him like he is the scum of the earth.

Jinu stuffs his hands in his pockets and smiles. "This is my house," he answers. "You're the one that invited yourself in here."

"And you're the one that caused the end of the world." Behind Mira, Zoey leans out to look at him, one hand hanging onto the doorframe. Mira doesn't try to push her back inside, or to protect her. 

"It's not the end of the world," Jinu says. "Just the one that you tried to build."

Mira glares daggers. Jinu doesn't miss the flex of her hand, aborting a movement to summon her gokdo. "A better one? Without demons eating innocent souls?"

"Better for you, maybe. Not so much for the demons."

"Do I look like I care about any demons?" Mira mocks him, her voice scathing. "You should all be rotting down here in hell. Would be, if you didn't interfere."

"Personally, I prefer not rotting." Jinu leans up against a post, the same cold confidence he'd presented during those weeks on earth. Only Rumi can see the pain that hides beneath it now, all the raw truths he will say to her but not to Mira. Gwi-Ma. Whoever it is that speaks with her mouth now.

"So do I," Mira spits at him, as vengeful as she could ever be, and disappears back into the room, pushing the door shut behind her.

Zoey catches it before it can hit her, unseen by the other girl. Steps all the way out over the threshold and closes it softly behind her. It's unnerving, the way Mira doesn't come back to the door - just leaves Zoey there, alone with a demon.

"Is Rumi okay?" their third asks when she is sure they are alone, soft enough that Mira won't hear her.

Jinu straightens suddenly - whether by his own choice or the jolt of Rumi's being stretching out towards her sister's empty chest, she doesn't know. "She's...alive," he answers, deliberately maeuvring around the word fine. "She wanted to see you."

"Did she?" Zoey asks, a flicker of hope lighting up her face - and then dying as she frowns over some second thought. "I wanted to talk to her, but...not now."

Her eyes waver towards the door, just a small flicker of movement - but telling. There is something wrong with Rumi, but there is something wrong with Mira too. And Zoey is small, her bubbly persona packed down into a tight little box and locked away while she cowers in the presence of demons.

"You were friends with her, weren't you?" she asks, surprising Jinu. He blinks, struggling to keep the mask over his face. "Or...more. I saw you - in the river-"

Rumi's fear grips at him, trying to reach him by raking its claws right through her. "That was nothing," he claims before Zoey can offer him another example. "That was my mistake. We're - we were friends. Sort of. Not anymore."

"Yeah," Zoey sighs. "Me too."

"You're still friends," he tells her, over the wave of grief that rolls through Rumi. 

"I don't think so," Zoey replies. "Not after what we did."

Rumi can feel the question hovering on the edge of Jinu's tongue, the curiousity that burns at him - and the hope that reasons that if he pries into her past, maybe he will better understand how to fix her. Fix, like a thing he pities after he has broken it, a shell of an object no longer useful.

"Maybe none of us deserve forgiveness," he says, in just the same way he had once told Rumi that everything was hopeless.

They fall silent for several seconds, her two friends from opposite worlds. She wishes she could hear Zoey's thoughts the way she is aware of Jinu's circling if she tries hard enough to listen. Several emotions pass over the girl's face as she thinks, mulling her way slowly through the quandry of Rumi's loyalty.

"I liked your song," hse says eventually, filing away her conclusion somewhere where Rumi can't get to it. "Both your songs. You deserved to win the Idol Awards."

Jinu ducks his head. "Thanks," he mumbles, awkward, and then, "Thanks for coming to our concert too. I guess."

"It was fun," Zoey offers. "Except for the part where I got eaten."

Inexplicably, Jinu starts to laugh, the impulse bubbling up in his chest before he realises. Only the rattle of the door handle behind Zoey stops him short; both of them jump at the suden noise, spinning towards it like they expect Mira to come storming out and demand to know what is taking them so long. 

"I have to go," Zoey says before it can happen; and by the time Jinu lifts his hand in farewell she is gone, back into that dark room Mira has chosen to take for herself. 

There's an odd sense of loneliness that follows Jinu as he walks away, back to his senseless haunting of the house. It sits like an infection in his gut, low and heavy, and it spreads to her too; and even though they are right there together, as close as two souls ever could be, Rumi drifts off with a deep sense of desolation that lingers even in her less vivid dreams.

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[kangaracha]

I love when fanfic authors are freakishly unhinged. "Yes, hello, I am here to write a heart wrenching story about relationships and mortality. My medium is Ducktales (2017)"