#Is failing a student because of art dumb? Yeah. Will she do it? She’ll try

[kairithemang0]

I do a mix of posting my sillies on discord and tumblr and then feel bad when I post them in both places

Why do I do that? No clue.

TAKE A TINY TATI

I did this during Spanish because fuck Spanish SILLY LITTLE BEANS ARE COOLER

I dunno, I’m tired. Also this was like my first time drawing her and idk I feel like for doing something from memory I did alright???

[carnistirs]

retrouvailles

↳ @taangweek 2020 Day 4: Future

This one could go for past as well, but I’m dropping this today because the setting’s technically in the future. Here’s 7k+ words of Aang and Toph being soulmates.  

Read it on ao3 or under the cut

retrouvailles {French} the happiness you feel upon reuniting with someone after you've been apart for a long time

‘

“Are you alright, miss?” a voice asks, soft in the clamor of the snack aisle—

It’s violent, the way Toph’s ripped away from her little daydream, and her body’s still flinching as her eyes and ears slowly readjust to the people around her. There are no flying bisons and wingled lemurs here because they don’t exist, because she’s in a goddamn grocery store.

She tiredly lifts her gaze up – all the way up – to an angelic figure leaning over her, what with the lovely features and the bright light brimming around his shaved head. He’s all broad shoulders and lithe muscles and effulgent tattoos, and even though he looks like an incredibly kind person, something about him sets her teeth on edge. Like she should know him by now even if she’s never met this man in her life.

“Was I blocking you,” she replies, unable to help the flatness of her voice. “Sorry. I didn’t mean to.”

Toph moves to walk around him, oddly reluctant.

“No, wait—” the guy blurts out, panicked, his nimble fingers reaching out to curl lightly around her shoulder blade—

And they say it’s like nothing else matters, that touching your soulmate for the first time is like sating a hunger you never knew you had.

She’s always thought that was a fat load of bullshit – what, you meet the stranger that’s supposed to be your other half and it’s happily ever after just like that? – but here she is, a hypocrite to her own thoughts.

Toph hones in on the warmth that’s molded around the curve of her shoulder, feeling a far too pleasant burn smear its way down her spine. She leans away from the stranger by a few inches, just to test it their limits, but fuck, it hurts. She’s met him for a total of three minutes and the sensation of not touching him already leaves her with an ache she can’t even begin to understand.

He makes a hurt noise in his throat when she leans away, jarred by the abruptness of their separation. His hands follow after her, touching the points of her elbows this time, and Toph feels the tremor in his hands, hears the quickness in his breath.

“I’m sorry,” he murmurs, tightening his fingers around her skin. “I know we don’t know each other, but—”

“This is so stupid,” Toph groans, but she’s slipping a palm over his wrist thoughtlessly, touching the thrum of his pulse. “Why a fucking Walmart of all places?”

Her soulmate’s mouth twitches into a smile. “Why not a Walmart?”

Because it’s the lamest place ever, she wants to say, but then she catches his smile and she stutters to a stop. She gazes at his pretty grey eyes and knows them, has seen them in multiple lifetimes.

(It’s you reverbrates in the space of her chest that used to be hollow, that used to be a void tundra.)

There’s a soulmark on her forearm now – long, golden vines with leaves that twist into the complimentary ones wrapped around his own skin, and the longer they touch, the more intertwined their vines become. It’s both thrilling and unsettling since, so far, Toph’s lived through twenty years of her life with a bare forearm.  

“So,” Toph ends up mumbling, because she knows where this is going to lead and because someone has to eventually, “your place or mine?”

‘

“Do you really think friendships can last more than one lifetime?”

“I don’t see why not.”

‘

Her soulmate’s name is Aang, a vegan pacifist whose happiness seems endless, and the while he’s chirping to her about his life like an excited hummingbird, she finds it harder to fathom why the fates specifically chose him for her.

“I’m talking way too much about myself,” he chuckles in embarrassment, pink dusting over his cheeks.

Shrugs. “I asked.”

Aang’s curled up with her on his couch – his apartment had been closer -  idly playing with one of her hands. Their tea sits on the coffee table, cold and forgotten, but she’s too stupidly inebriated with the feeling of his hands on her own to care. Toph doesn’t mind the constant touching, surprisingly. It feels so much better than anything else, and there’s this still moment where they watch his vines crawl from his fingers over to hers.

“What about you?” He’s close enough for his cheek to brush her shoulder. “Tell me about yourself? Pretty please?”

“I’m an art student,” she grins back, unwittingly, at his enthusiasm. “I go to BSSU.”

He positively beams at this. “I go there too! Why is it that I’ve never seen you around campus before?

“Different curriculum maybe?

Toph feels the heat of his gaze wandering everywhere, stiffening slightly only when it drops to the puckered skin on her right leg. “Is there a story behind this?” she hears him ask quietly, his fingers hovering over the scar, but not quite touching it.

“You’re going to think I’m fucking crazy.”

“Try me.” Aang’s isn’t sporting that bright smile anymore, but his face has softened completely. “If you want, that is. You don’t have to tell me.”

It’s strange and new and terrifying, but he’s a gentle breeze in their bond, surrounding her without suffocating her, smoothing over the points of her body that are maybe a little too rough, a little too jagged.

“Well, there’s this forest near the house I grew up in,” Toph starts, drumming her fingers along his soulmark. “I walked through it so many times that I practically memorized it. I really thought I could navigate myself through the forest blind, so I put on a blindfold—”

(The darkness doesn’t welcome her, not the way she wants it to.

Her bare feet press into the earth and she doesn’t feel the vibrations of the earth moving around her, doesn’t hear the songs of squirrels skittering up the old trees, of worms writhing in the dirt. She feels disconnected from everything, small and insignificant.

She carefully glides along the flat surface of the boulders, but misses her next step, falls down and keeps falling—)

“Anyway, now I have a permanent reminder of how much of a dumbass I was,” she says, half bemused, half self-depreciating.

But Aang opens his arms, his face silently pleading, and she hesitates a little. Her soulmate is a stranger wrapped in odd, familiar skin and when they’re pressed together, it’s like they’re speaking an old, sacred language only their bones know.

They should be in bed right now like most soulmate couples their age – or at least kissing, maybe - but she supposes she’ll fail at that too amongst other things.

So, Toph leans in, biting back a satisified hum when his arms coil around her shoulders. He smells like clean laundry and a hint of cinnamon, and when he sighs in content, she feels her muscles relax.

“I like to stand on the edges of high places,” Aang noses against her hair, probably unaware that’s he’s doing it too. “My friends can’t stand it when I do it, but I can’t help it. I never have the urge to actually jump,” he adds in a small laugh, “but I like to imagine that there would be a way for me to somehow catch myself if I do. Then I remember that it’s not possible and I feel this...incredible loss.”

An unexplainable loss you never had in the first place. Yeah, she gets it.

“Thanks.”

“Of course.” His eyes languidly trail after the uplifted bend of her mouth. “Would you like to stay for dinner?”

There’s an anxious spike of hope blooming in the pit of Toph’s stomach and it’s not coming from her. She doesn't exactly know how she knows this either, but it's all Aang she's feeling.

It’s coming from him.  

Which is ridiculous because Toph shouldn’t be able to feel him like that. Soulmates don’t work like that. There’s soulmarks and the constant need to be close, but not this invasion of other people’s emotions—

“Yeah, sure,” she says.

Everything is okay. Everything is fine.

Get a fucking grip.

‘

“Some bonds only need an hour of touching and they’re okay for the whole week,” she says at the threshold of his front door, lingering. “Maybe we’re like that? I mean, it doesn’t hurt to try, right?”

“O-Okay,” Aang stutters, brows furrowed, looking like he really wants to follow after her like an imprinted duckling.

Toph lets go of his hand then and the sharp sting she feels should have been taken as a warning. She takes a step back though, forcing herself to play dumb to his white fingers clenched around the door frame and the sudden pallor of his face.

Her fingers tingle in a particularly awful way as she waves goodbye to him and the discomfort is rudimentary, really. It’s nothing she can’t handle, considering she’s had worse done to her skin.

She makes it as far as the turn of the hallway, right when Aang’s out of her view.

Pain grips at her right arm and the numbness flares outward, careening her into the wall. She can’t fucking breathe because it feels like her lungs are being scraped out by a rusty spoon, like her ribs are being branded by hot iron—

Aang barrels into her at a frightening speed and they go teetering to the floor, but he curls his body around hers protectively, possessively, breaking her fall. He’s mouthing something frantic against the hollow of her throat, but she can’t hear it because she’s too overwhelmed by the sensation of his pain pressing down on top of hers.

Whatever she’d felt earlier is vaulting back tenfold and it’s so strange to feel her own emotions looped back to her through a feedback that’s experienced through him. She feels him desperately wanting to take away the unseen hurt throbbing in her while trying to compress his own down and, gods, this isn’t normal.

“Um,” Toph whispers, her voice trembling with her body as she clings to him. “Okay, that was a dumb idea. I’m sorry—”

“Maybe you should stay with me for a couple of days—”

She doesn’t know whether to laugh or cry. “We have school. How are we going to do—”

“There’s an exemption form we could fill out online. It’s for soulmates who have recently bonded. It’ll get us out of classes, just – please, please don’t leave.”

“I don’t have extra clothes on me or a toothb—”

“You can borrow my clothes. You’ll drown in them because you’re so tiny,” Aang laughs, hoarse, sliding shaking fingers into her unbound hair. “And I have an extra toothbrush you can use. We’ll figure it out, Toph, please.”

What the fuck, what the fuck—

“Alright.” She closes her eyes, surrendering herself to raw instinct by sticking her nose to the skin underneath his jaw. “I’ll stay.”

‘

“Choose well. A sky bison is a companion for life.”

He’s holding an apple in his hands and his legs are jittery – like it’s impossible for him to stay still. The baby bisons are circling their mother in the air and his breath catches because he’s never wanted anything more in his life.

There’s a small bison just a few feet away, looking like it’s waiting for him. It appears to be the runt of the litter, but that’s okay because he’s the smallest in his class too. If it accepts him, then perhaps they can grow together.

Biting his lip, he carefully approaches the small bison and offers the apple to it.

It – no, the bison is a he – sniffs the fruit along with his extended hand before opening his mouth expectantly.

He tosses the apple in and allows himself to pet the bison on the nose while the latter chews. He doesn’t expect the bison to nuzzle into his touch with a pleased rumble, but the creature does anyway, leaning too far in until he loses his balance and falls on his rear end. The bison licks at the whole of his face, pulling happy giggles from his mouth and he knows, then and there, that he’s found the one.

“I guess this means we’ll always be together,” he smiles wide, hands rubbing on either side of the creature’s muzzle—

‘

Toph blinks awake to find herself plastered to Aang’s back with both of her arms snaked around his chest. One of his hands is clasped in hers, their fingers twined, and she has a leg thrown over his hip as if she’s slept with him like this their whole lives.

His bedroom is small and simple, but there’s a slight airiness to it that reminds her of the temple in her dreams – or not dreams, apparently. She sees this temple in the sky in quick flashes while she’s awake too, and if they don’t show her in the company of monks, then it’s always with that six-legged bison.

“I can hear you thinking,” Aang mumbles sleepily.

She presses her face to his shoulder. “Shit, did I wake you up?”

“Yeah, you waking up actually yanked me out of sleep too.” Gently tightens his fingers around hers, reassures her that he’s not upset. “It’s not a big deal. What’s bothering you?”  

I think I’m seeing your memories from a past life never quite leaves Toph’s mouth.

“Nah, it’s nothing.”

And maybe that’s the wrong thing to say because Aang just turns in her hold and exhales into her neck, slipping his arms around her waist. His fingers tease the hem of a shirt that’s too big on her and he asks in a hushed tone if it’s okay. Toph nods, her skin shivering in loose delight once his palm slides underneath the shirt to splay itself flat against the small of her back.

The moonlight peeking through the curtains shows her one side of his face – the argent in his eyes, the fan of his inky lashes, the indent of his cheekbone. Objectively, he’s stunning, so she could have done a whole lot worse.  

“You know I can tell you’re lying, right?” The corner of Aang’s mouth lifts, amused. “I can feelthat something’s wrong.”

“Can we just—” Opens her mouth and shuts it, frustrated inside. He rubs his thumb in calming circles against Toph’s skin and she still doesn’t know if she likes how one touch can clear her muddled thoughts just like that. “Can we just pretend that we don’t have some weird telepathic-empathic thing between us? Just for tonight at least? Fuck, it’s a lot to unpack on the first day.”

His hurt is muffled, but it’s there and she feels it her chest, taking root. “You think it’s weird?” he whispers, sounding like an open wound.

“Doesn’t this freak you out?”

“Yes, of course it does.”

But underneath the blanket of her own emotions, she senses fear for this bond. Fear at the thought of Toph rejecting him so quickly. She tightens her leg over his hip instinctively, telling him no, she’s not rejecting him. She doesn’t think that’s even possible at this point.  

He presses a smile into her clavicle, relieved. “Do you remember dinner? When you were groaning after taking the first few bites of the pasta?”

Toph blushes. “Don’t make fun of me! I didn’t know artichoke sauce was even thing!” Or so delicious. “I was caught off guard, okay?”

“You were happy eating what I made for you and I felt that happiness,” Aang says, so soft. “It felt beautiful. You felt beautiful, Toph.”

(And I’d give you the whole world to keep you happy forever, he sings into her veins even if he doesn’t realize it yet, even if he’s just as scared and lost as she is.)

What an optimstic fool he is. “I might drive you nuts,” Toph throws back instead.

“Oh, I know you will.”

She pinches Aang’s side, cackling at his high-pitched shriek even when the sharpness of her index finger and thumb on his skin echoes against her own.

‘

“Where the hell have you been!”

“Chill, Sparky,” is Toph’s lazy response as she waltzes into her apartment, leading Aang in by their tangled fingers. “I texted you.”

“‘Be back in a week, dude’ doesn’t give me much to go by. A fucking week? You could have been dead for all I knew!”

“Stop projecting your sibling issues onto me. I’m here, aren’t I? Besides, when you found Sokka and Suki, the three of you didn’t leave your room for more than a week, you dirty hyprocrite!”

“At least you knew where I was the whole—” Zuko abruptly closes his mouth, his gaze darting to the towering man at Toph’s heels. “Aang? Wait, how do you two know each other?”

Toph lifts both their arms, showing him the fresh knitted vines gleaming on their skin. “He’s my soulmate. How do you two know each other?”

“I know Sokka and Sukki,” Aang chimes in cheerfully. “Wow, what a small world, huh?”

“How’d you two—”

“Anyway,” she interrupts brashly, not in the mood to retell their romantic, fateful meeting at Walmart, “Aang’s gonna be staying here for a week and then I’ll go back to his place for another week, and so on and blah blah. At least until the bond settles. You get it. Let us know when dinner’s ready,” she adds, practically yanking at Aang until they’re both confined in her bedroom.

Aang taps the end of her nose. “That was mean.”

“Please,” Toph makes a point of rolling her eyes. “Zuko barely said a word to me after touching the other two. They burst into the apartment like a fucking hurricane, almost doing it right there in our living room. So fucking rude.”  

‘

She’s in the shower when she suddenly feels absolute terror choking at her, nearly making her slip on the tiles.

Toph barely wraps herself up in a towel before she’s barging out of the bathroom, extremely thankful that her room’s close by. Aang’s on the floor, back leaning against the frame of her bedroom door, quivering fingers curled around one of her older sketchbooks. Aang blindly reaches for her when she approaches, pulling her down onto his lap and burying half of his face into her shoulder blade.

“Is my art that terrifying?” Toph tries to joke, but he doesn’t even smile.

The drawing had been done in charcoal, dark and blurry around the edges, and she almost doesn’t remember drawing it. There’s an enormous centipede thing crawling out of a cave, its legs reaching out to take, to steal. The only colors on the sketch are the red lips and the grey eye markings of the Noh mask it’s wearing on its face, but she’s not sure if that makes it better or worse.  

Aang’s voice is a quiet, little thing when he asks, “Where did you see this creature?”

(“My old friend, the Avatar,” the monster utters in a serpentine hiss. “It’s been a long time.”

“You know me?”

“How could I forget you? One of your previous incarnations tried to slay me,” it accuses, the white mask flickering into the face of an older man with a mustache and a long beard, “maybe eight or nine hundred years ago.”

“I didn’t know that.” It’s difficult, keeping his emotions out of both his face and voice. “Why did he – or I – try to kill you?”

The thing changes again – a beautiful woman this time, with long brown hair and familiar, sad eyes.  

“Oh, it was something about stealing the face of someone you loved.”)

“A nightmare, I think,” Toph answers carefully. “Actually, you know what—”

She rips the page out of the sketchbook and crumples it tightly in her first. It feels like an ugly omen against her palm, riddled with malice and sadism, and she chucks it into her trash can.  

“You didn’t have to do that. That was your work,” Aang murmurs, his guilt gnawing at her.

“It was a creepy-ass drawing. I don’t know what I was thinking when I drew that.” Pause. “I have better stuff on my desktop if you want to look.”

He kisses her shoulder, smiling sweetly. “I hope the creatures on there are less frightening.”

“Don’t be such a wuss. Wanna see what a badgermole looks like?”

‘

After their soulbond settles, they’ve learned that they can get through the day by themselves relatively alright as long as there was skin-to-skin contact for at least an hour beforehand. It no longer hurts to be away from Aang, but it is uncomfortable as fuck, like an itch burning inside that’s screaming at her to scratch it until it’s bloody and raw.

Which is fine.

So ridiculously fine.

The lecture is a drone in the back of Toph’s mind as she doodles along the corner of her notebook page to take her mind off the itch. The mintiness of the gum she’s snacking on ebbs away suddenly, turning into something vastly different.

She chews again, tasting raspberries, fruit juice, bananas, and...almond milk?

Aang is waiting for her outside the door when her class ends and as soon as he sees her, his entire face lights up like the sun. His content rolls over Toph in a soothing whisper and she subconsciously mimics his smile, her body humming with want.

In spite of the protesting noise she makes, Aang scoops her up in his arms until her feet are dangling above the ground. He nuzzles his cheek to hers, his breath warm against the ridge of her ear, and he twirls them once because he can’t help himself. She hisses at him to put her down, but it doesn’t really bother her as it normally would with literally anyone else.  

“Did you have a smoothie?” Toph asks.

“Yeah.” He keeps his hands pasted to her hips, his eyes bright with excitement. “I tasted the gum you were chewing earlier.”

“I want to say that I’m surprised, but am I really at this point?”

A deep chuckle as he cups her face in his palms. “Don’t be so glum. Think of all the possibilities! What if you’re really hungry, but you don’t have time to get food because you’re taking a test or something? I could eat something and you’d be able to taste it.”

“Oh, yeah, super cool. What if you’re hungry and I decide to get a hamburger?”

He blinks, his grin faltering. “I’m vegan, Toph. You know that—”

“You’re not actually eating it – you’re only getting a taste. Like you said, all the possibilities. You ever want to try a steak? Or a milkshake with actual milk?”

Toph bites back a smile, doing a poor job of concealing how much she really enjoys it when he gets all flustered.

‘

“Do you believe in reincarnation?”

“You drunk already?” Sokka passes a bemused glance at her. “I don’t remember you being that much of a lightweight.”

It’s warm in the bar – she can tell by the slight flush on Sokka’s cheeks that has nothing to do with being intoxicated – but Toph still burrows her nose deeper into the wool scarf coiled around her neck, still tightens her coat around her. Aang may be on the other side of the city, but he’s somewhere outdoors, somewhere cold, and the alcohol isn’t making her any warmer.

Aang doesn’t do well in colder weather, but he’s having fun with his friends even if he’s getting the both of them sick. She can feel him missing her, missing the press of her fingers on his skin even though they’d seen each other hours ago.  

“You have two soulmates,” Toph grumbles. “The idea of past lives shouldn’t be that fucking implausible.”

His shoulder gently bumps against hers. “I didn’t mean to make you upset.”

“I’m not upset—”

“Okay, okay, let’s start over,” Sokka smiles at her, completely genuine and not at all mocking. “Why do you suddenly believe in reincarnation?”

“I have these dreams,” she says, her brows knitting together as she curls her hands tighter around her glass. “Well, I used to think they were dreams, but then I’d see something while I’m awake. They’re always about Aang in this completely different life and it’s like I’m a passenger in his body, just going through the motions.”  

“And you think these things are actually his memories from a past life.”  

Toph exhales quietly, the lines of her body losing their tautness. She feels mildly less insane now that someone’s acknowledged it for her.

“They feel too real to just be my imagination. It’s always him in the same timeline.”

Sokka hums, thoughtful. “Maybe they are his memories, Toph. Who knows? Soulbonds can’t be explained, but people accept them anyway. For what it’s worth, I believe you.”

“If this is you making fun of me, I swear to—”

“No, I really mean it! Like, if I didn’t end up with Suki and Zuko – or either of them – in a previous life and reincarnation’s just a thing that’s giving me a second chance to actually be with them, then that’s pretty cool. Fate’s doing me a solid.”

“Second chances,” Toph muses, more to herself than anything.

“Yeah, why not?” He downs the rest of his glass. “On a side note, what else are you feeling from Aang since the bond started? Something tells me you guys are...not normal.”

Toph starts to respond, but then she hunches over the counter, shoulders shaking. It slams into her out of nowhere and she has to clamp both her hands over her mouth to muffle the uncontrollable laughter. She’s yanked further and further into Aang’s joy, feeling it so keenly that the corners of her eyes begin to prickle with tears.

“What is happening,” Sokka blurts, alarmed and concerned. “Are you having a stroke—”

“One of Aang’s friends did something stupid and funny,” she hiccups out in short breaths, still guffawing. “It might – it might have been Bumi.”

Sokka gawks at her, frozen in place. He then orders another round of drinks for the both of them.

‘

Monk Gyatso lies against the wall, just bones and dust, and the omniscient rage of a thousand lives sinks down on him—

‘

The weight of his grief completely buries Toph, so much that she collapses in a public restroom. Her fingers scrabble at the tiles beneath her, desperate to clutch onto something, anything, as the memory consumes her. Something vibrates in her pocket for a long, long time, but she’s too busy screaming soundlessly into her palm to notice.

Panic slips into Toph, making her blood run cold, and the longer she ignores her phone, the more frenetic her soulmate feels—

“Toph?” is his voice on the other line, wildly frantic, when she finally answers the call. “Did someone hurt you? What’s wrong, where are—”

“I—” Her breath comes out in harsh pants. “It’s o-okay. You don’t need to come.”

Rustling, like Aang’s already preparing to step out. “No, no, that’s not what it feels like,” he argues softly, and now there’s pain in his voice because she won’t let him come to her, won’t let him take care of her—

Her chest squeezes tighter, aching. “I slipped. I’m, uh, good now.”

“Toph, please.” His voice breaks and she screws her eyes shut, tasting saltwater in her mouth. “Please let me come to you. Tell me where you are.”

So she whispers back that she’s at the tea shop near their school, the one owned by Zuko’s uncle.

Aang rushes into the women’s restroom ten minutes later – a feat in itself, considering the usual commute is twice that amount – and she’s never wanted him to see her like this, hunched under one of the sinks and sobbing over a memory that isn’t even hers.

He sucks in a sharp breath like Toph’s pain cleaves him. His eyes are red-rimmed and she can’t even look at him because she’s so sorry. She’s sorry that he’s lost his people, sorry that he’s lost his home, sorry that he’s lost his entire culture.

The way he stalks over to her is noiseless, ghostlike even, and then he’s plucking up all the bird bones of Toph’s body, folding himself around her and concealing her from the rest of the world. It makes her cry harder, if anything, to the point where she’s dry-heaving against his chest, but it helps when she pushes her hands under his shirt to touch the tight skin around his hips.

She tells him everything. That he was raised by Air Nomads in another life. That he was something called the Avatar. That they lived in a world where people could manipulate the elements as they pleased.

That they lived during a long, long war.

“You controlled the element of air first,” Toph rasps out later, when it finally doesn’t feel like her lungs are going to give out on every inhale. “You and Appa got caught in this storm, and then you did something that left you frozen at the bottom of an ocean. Katara and Sokka found you, but when you came back to the Southern Air Temple, everyone was dead and it had only felt like you left days ago, but a fucking century passed—”

To his credit, Aang doesn’t once ask who Appa is or what the Southern Air Temple is supposed to be. His heart beats faster and his skin jolts at the familiarity of her words, but he holds her still.

“Breathe, T,” he says, rocking her, sweeping her dark hair away from her neck so that he can kiss the small space behind her ear.

She does. Inhales for four seconds, exhales for six—

It’s a breathing technique that Monk Gyatso had taught Aang. Had taught her.

Their soulmarks cling to each other distressingly, her aurelian leaves and vines overlapping his.

“Do you ever dream of me?” Toph asks, calmer.

“I have many daydreams about you.” And that’s mischief slanted against her nape, rounded out by his mouth. He’s soft and playful now, making her sink further into his embrace. “When your memories come to me, I don’t actually see anything.”

Tries not to be too disappointed. “Oh.”

“No,” Aang smudges a smile against the corner of her mouth, gently thumbing a tear-stained cheek. “You were blind in your last life, but that didn’t mean you couldn’t see. You didn’t need to. You felt these vibrations in the earth and it allowed you to see and hear things no one else could. You were the greatest earthbender that ever lived.”

“She sounds way cooler than me.”

He tips her face up. “You’re just as cool as she is,” Aang breathes, and there’s a brush of lips against hers, slow and sweet. “Just as beautiful.”

(I found you again, her soul thrums out, the loudest it’s ever been inside her.)

Toph twists in his arms, chasing after his mouth. It’s almost too much and not enough at the same time, tasting his honeyed delight and feeling it mingle with her own. His hands shove themselves up her sweater to frame the space of her back as he parts his mouth, allowing her to—

“Gee, it looks like you guys are fine in here,” comes a monotonous drawl that has them breaking apart, sputtering. “And here I was, worried for no apparent reason.”

“Mai!” Aang practically yells, his ears turning beet red. “When did you – why are—”

The other girl waves a dismissive hand. “Toph and I were going over work. What was supposed to be a five-minute restroom break turned into a forty-minute one,” she adds pointedly, raising a brow.  

“Sorry,” Toph says sheepishly. “I had a thing. Like a panic attack or whatever. It’s gone now, so no biggie.”

Aang, severely disagreeing with her on that last statement, wraps her up tighter in his arms.

“We’ll continue tomorrow,” Mai says then, and it may just be Toph’s imagination, but she thinks she sees the former’s face soften a bit. “Get some rest.”  

After Mai leaves, Aang plays with her loose hair. “We should probably leave too.”  

“Yeah.”

But Toph’s leaning in, pausing only a few inches away from his lips and grinning when he automatically closes the distance. She feels that buzzing of happiness again and whether it’s his or hers, it doesn’t matter.

‘

Aang’s shoulders are still quivering as he drops shaky, open-mouthed kisses along the crease of her hip. He’s been pulled apart to pieces, beautifully and painstakingly, and the remnants of bliss still drumming within him makes it slow to put those pieces back together.

She only knows because she feels the exact same way. She feels everything.

“You’ve ruined me for anyone else.” His voice is wrecked and his lips are so kiss-swollen, but he’s still this hopelessly exotic thing sprawled between her legs. There’s an indelible glaze to his to expression that makes him look so thoroughly fucked, and when he rests his chin on her stomach and looks up at her with soft, needy eyes, something inside her chest just melts.

“Why didn’t we do this sooner?” Toph husks out with a laugh.

“Yeah, why didn’t we,” he murmurs back, still loopy, nosing the skin around her navel.  

Toph strokes her fingers along the arrow inked on his head, pulling a quiet mewl from him. The arrow tattoos on his body are the same design, the same placement – just the wrong shade of blue. These lines are darker than the ones she sees in his memories.

Maybe the effervesent, illuminating blue that once marked Aang as an airbendering master doesn’t exist in this world.

“Can you skip your classes tomorrow?” he asks.

“Why?”

His answer is a trail of wet kisses up the flat stretch of her belly. “Because I want to keep doing this.”

“Really.” Toph plays off as nonchalant, even when her heart skips a beat. “You want to render us incapable of walking by the time we’re done?”

“Toph, I don’t think I’m able to walk now,” Aang chuckles, before looking up at her from beneath his lashes, coy. “But I still want you in my bed whether we’re having sex or not. I just want you.”

His want reverbrates in the apex of Toph’s thighs and she wishes she can be as open as he is. She wants him in her bed forever, but the words become stifled in her throat, never leaving her mouth. He smiles at her though, tender and adoring, like he knows what she’s trying to say.  

She rolls them over, straddling his hips. Gratification seeps into her at the way his pupils dilate, at the way he takes her in breathlessly.

‘

He’s upset – so very, very upset – and she doesn’t know why.

Toph feels it two blocks away from his apartment and it spurs her to walk faster, to the point where she’s running.

After letting herself in, she finds Aang leaning over the kitchen counter, the stiff lines of his back obvious through his thin shirt. She leans her back against the counter and presses her elbow to the nimble fingers constricted around dark granite.

“What’s up, grumpy?”

Her soulmate breathes out noisily, his shoulders bunching forward like he’s trying to make himself much smaller than he is. He doesn’t turn to face her, doesn’t immediately trap her in his arms like he usually would after a long day apart. He leans against her though, heavy, part of him trying to disappear into the pale abyss of her skin.

“We weren’t married to each other,” Aang whispers, horrified. “I was married to someone else. A non-bender, I think. I don’t recognize her voice.”

And there’s really no point in getting angry with Aang or this mystery woman because the past is the past, but jealousy festers anyway, scratching at her bones. She tries to taper down it to keep him from feeling it, but he flinches, looking even more miserable than before.

She tries for apathy then: “So? It was in the past – a past we’re only barely starting to get details from.”

“But I was still seeing you. I had kids with this woman, but I was still sneaking around with you—”

“Okay, so I was a side chick. Whatever, that’s fine—”

“It’s not fine,” a muscle in his jaw jumps, “none of this was fine. I’m seeing this from your persepective, remember? You weren’t okay with this.”

“Why does it fucking matter?” Toph spits, a small part of her regretting it when Aang’s mouth pinches into a thin line. “Maybe we never got together. Maybe sex on the the side was our only option. Whatever the fuck we did in that lifetime, it’s got nothing to do with what we have in this one!”

(“She’s beautiful,” he murmurs, gazing down at the newborn. “Did you decide on a name?”  

“Suyin’s kind of pretty. Has a nice ring to it.”

Tightly swallows. “Toph, is she – is she mine?”

“Don’t worry about it,” the woman in bed mumbles. “It’s not your problem.”

“But—”

“I’m not repeating myself, Twinkletoes. And she doesn’t belong to anyone but me.”)

Then Aang grazes her side with feather-light hands, silently asking for permission. She’s still bristling in her skin, but he makes the frustration and shame go away with just a brush of his palms on her body.

She wants to stay mad at him, wants to stew in silence all by herself, but she physically can’t, not when he’s already made a home for himself in the space of her ribs.

Toph pulls him in with an incoherent grumble, binding her arms around his torso to anchor him back to earth because he feels like he’s going to float away. He shivers against her, mouthing soft apologies against the column of neck as he clings onto her. Even on her tiptoes, her head barely reaches his chin, but she leans on them anyway because she doesn’t want him breaking his neck trying to bury himself in hers.

“Maybe I leave my wife when our kids are older,” he says, his teeth scraping over her shoulder. “I leave her for you.”

“You really think that happened?”

“Yes,” comes Aang’s response, but even that sounds a little unsure. Like he desperately wants it to be true. The uncertainity makes him press into her until there’s no visible space left between them. “Why wouldn’t I do that for you? We’re soulmates. I don’t believe in any lifetime where you’re not always by my side.”

Toph rolls her eyes. “You’re such an embarassing idiot sometimes.”

Aang smiles, his tongue flicking against her jawline. Heat simmers at the pit of Toph’s stomach, rising languidly, and his hands are at the back of her thighs. “I need you,” he sighs, catching her mouth with his.

“I know, you dumb airhead.”  

She quickly finds herself hoisted onto the counter before she’s tipping her head back, letting him unbutton her flannel and kiss his way down—

‘

“Don’t worry,” Katara says. “We’ll find you a teacher. There are plenty of amazing earthbenders out there.”

There’s a deep wrongness in him as he stares back at Gaoling. Like he’s making a mistake by just giving up and leaving—

“Not like her.”

After he climbs onto Appa with reluctance, he doesn’t immediately lift the reins. Sometimes, there are rewards to being patient, to sitting still and letting the winds carry their answers to you. When he listens to the currents around him, he catches a flurry of hurried footsteps headed in their direction.

Delicate hope grows in his chest.

“Toph!” Happiness etches itself onto his face, wide and open, when the small girl runs out of the forest. “What are you doing here?”

“My dad changed his mind. He said I was free to travel the world.”

It’s a bold-faced lie.

But when Toph smiles, something inside his own stomach flutters wildly—

‘

“Are you alright, miss?” a voice asks, waking her, his mouth lightly tracing the curve of her ear.

“Fuck off,” Toph mumbles, still face down on the table, in spite of her fingers reaching out to rest along the nape of his neck. The taste of coffee – the strong kind – lingers on her tongue. “M’ tired. Why’d you drink coffee? And a goddamn red eye at that.”  

Aang tugs at her hair teasingly. “Because I almost fell asleep while driving over here to get you.”

“Ugh, you’re going to keep me up all night.”

“I can think of a few things we could do to pass the time,” Aang smirks, nuzzling his nose along her cheekbone. “Or, well, one specific thing actually—”

Toph snorts. “Dork.”

He snatches her up, fingers digging into her side as he drags her onto his lap. Peals of laughter escape her while he tickles her relentlessly, so much that the harder she laughs, the more she feels him eventually shaking with laughter too, amplifying the sensation. One of the campus librarians shushes them sharply and she feels Aang hiding his face into her throat to escape the blame.

“What’s that?” he inquiries out of nowhere then, reaching for something on the table—

“No snooping!” Toph hisses without any real heat, swatting his hand out of the way to shove the tiny book into her backpack.

It’s a flipbook that she’s still working on, showing Aang peacefully bending all four elements. She had originally wanted to illustrate him kicking Ozai’s ass, but she doubts he would like the violence of it, so she’d gone with this instead.

Aang perks up in excitement. “Is it for me? My birthday’s in a couple of weeks, you know.”

Rolls her eyes. “Just wait and find out, Twinkletoes.”

She stands up in an attempt to gather her things, but as soon as she does, the feeling of a thousand pins pricking at her legs washes over.

“Your legs are numb,” Aang glances over with both bemusement and sympathy, on the verge of discomfort himself. “Here, I’ll carry you.”

“Nah, let’s just wait—”

But Aang pulls her arms over his shoulders, picking Toph up until she’s literally hanging onto his back, before he grabs her backpack. She hates being picked up in any manner, but it’s a losing battle with a cheerfully persistant soulmate like him. She yanks on the lobes of his ears, but he just grins, hitching her body higher.

“Yip-yip,” Toph says.

“Do I look like a flying bison to you?”

“You’re right, that was a terrible comparison,” she replies. “Appa is obviously a hundred times better than you.”

Aang makes an affronted noise, but Toph rests her head on his shoulder blade and kisses the elegant line of his neck, placating him. The brisk air hits her face once he walks out of the library and Toph tucks her face harder into his skin.  

“I had a dream that you were looking for someone to teach you earthbending,” she whispers, wistful and smug. “You wouldn’t settle for anyone but me. Said I was the best out of all of them.”

“There’s no one else like you,” Aang replies easily, thumbing nonsensical patterns under her thighs.

He’d said that in his past life as well.

“Hey, Aang?”

“Hmm?”

“I don’t think we ended up together.” Because the snippets of his memories where he’s an adult are a lot sadder, filled with such hurt and longing. “I think we might have crashed and burned.”

Aang breath falters in her ear and he grips her harder, refusing to lose her to their past failures, to whatever broke them.

“We’ll do better this time, T.”

‘

(And they do.)

‘ [end notes: 

BSSU = Ba Sing Se University

To clarify, what's normal for soulmates in this universe - (1) soulmarks appear as soon as soulmates touch each other (2) the need to be touching - the limits of this can vary with every soulmate bond, it all just depends.

As you can see with Aang and Toph, they obviously have a lot more going on with the XD

I hope this wasn't too confusing with the way Toph was receiving Aang's memories. Anything in italics was her seeing a memory. If anything was in parenthesis, that meant that Toph experienced the memory before the present time. Let me know if the italicized text isn’t showing like it does on the ao3 link. Tumblr’s being shitty for some reason. 

If this was all confusing anyway, go ahead and yell at me]

[writethehousedown]

Lesson In Love (Gigi x Jackie) - Mina

A/N: So excited to participate in one of these challenges again, you treated me so well last time so I’m so excited to release this! Ty so so much to @dollalpaca for being an angel and betaing

Summary: Gigi may or may not be failing her music studies class. She also may or may not have caught feelings for the pretty Persian woman that offered to tutor her. Maybe. She’ll never tell.

“Janet,” Gigi groaned, narrowly avoiding falling off the couch as she rolled over and wrapped her blanket tighter around herself. It was leopard-printed, a gift from Jan to themselves from when they moved into the apartment. “Do you think ‘Intro to Floral Arrangement’ sounds like an easy class? Or do you know anyone who’s taken it?”

“Isn’t it an evening class? I feel like we went over that one like… twenty minutes ago.” The blonde hummed from the floor, not bothering to look up. She was probably right, too. She had her own laptop in front of her, in the process of color-coding her online calendar. Blue for lectures, green for labs and purple for choir practices. Gigi had seen her do this enough times - every semester since they met on move-in day their first year - to be able to recognize the blocks in her schedule at a glance. Sometimes it motivated her knowing that Jan could be so on top of things while also being the most chaotic person Gigi knew, other times it made her want to die and be reborn into someone who could organise her sock draw by diameter.

“Yeah, you’re right.” She frowned, letting out a deep sigh and closing the tab. Goodbye, department of nature studies. So long, her potential florist career.

The thing was, Gigi knew she couldn’t really afford to be particularly picky with only five days before the registration period ended, but still. At least, she thought, she’d long been enrolled in all her textile-related classes for the semester. She was looking forward to most of them too, especially the design ones. Really, it was just that one additional stupid arts gen ed course she needed to get out of the way, and then she’d be free for good.

“How about ‘Art of Listening’?” Gigi asked a few minutes later, reading over the course information. She heard the sound of Jan typing on her keyboard come to a halt. “That kinda sounds like a class for people that want to become therapists or something. Or marriage counsellors?”

“Maybe people that are gonna need marriage counselling, sure,” Jan replied, her typing picking up again.

Gigi laughed, running a hand through her hair and looking back at her screen. “It doesn’t seem too bad, y’know. Just two papers and a final.” She hummed, scrolling through last year’s syllabus. “And it’s actually about music, I could totally do that.”

“Wait, who’s the prof for it?”

“Uh… something-Nguyen I think?“ Gigi paused as she scrolled back up. “Yeah, Andrew Nguyen, why?”

“Oh, that’s the one!” Jan nodded happily. “Rock took it last semester, I think. I remember her talking about it when we first met, she was always complaining about the prof who—”

“Great, you should have just lead with that.” Gigi rolled her eyes as she closed the tab. Rock was one of the more easy going people she’d ever met when it came to that stuff, so she couldn’t imagine what a prof that annoyed her would be like. Probably awful, or at least had a bad taste in anime. A soft but slightly damp piece of fabric hit her in the nose before falling down in front of her, disheartened. She scrunched up her nose in distaste when she realised what Jan just threw at her.

“Why are you throwing your dirty socks at me?” Gigi screeched, picking it up and throwing it back in the blonde’s general direction. “And why is it wet?”

“If you’d just let me finish!” She rolled her eyes pointedly, leaning to grab the sock again. It was a little too far for her to reach, and Gigi watched her stubbornly wiggle to the side until she could close her fingers around it. She smiled victoriously, huffing a little as she leaned back against the couch and made herself stand up straight. “As I was saying,” she started again, enunciating carefully.

“Before I rudely interrupted you.” Gigi grinned down, picking at her nails.

“Yes, before you did indeed do that,” Jan huffed, “Rock took it last semester. And she was always annoyed because the prof didn’t always let them use their laptops in class, but she also said that it was really easy. Most of the time they just had to listen to some music and write about how it made them feel, that sort of stuff.”

“That sounds pretty easy.”

“Right?” Jan nodded excitedly, “And I think she mentioned one of her friends is taking it this semester too. A senior, so she’s probably in the same boat as you.”

Gigi didn’t think that’d make much of a difference, but she didn’t bother telling Jan that. It wasn’t like the class had group projects anyway, so she could hopefully get by with just showing to most lectures and turning in the assignments.

“I really should have done this over the summer, you were right about that,” she exhaled, shutting her laptop and falling back into the couch. She could have gotten those mandatory art electives outside of her major done as a freshmen, or even last year, like most other students in her program did.

“I’m sure it won’t be that bad,“ Jan chuckled, moving closer until she could rest her head comfortably on Gigi’s shoulder, blonde hair falling all over her face. “You’ll do great, because you always do; you’re talented, but you also work hard. So you’re gonna ace all your actual photography classes, pass this one, and be done with all your dumb degree requirements. And then next year you can take all the textiles classes you want, I’ll take all the music production classes I want, we’ll go to each other’s senior showcases, and barely even remember all the time we wasted on the ugly classes we didn’t care about.”

When Jan put it that way, it sounded pretty easy. *** After three weeks of classes, Gigi felt like she could safely conclude that the class was… Not that bad. If she had to give the class a grade it’d be a solid C-, bordering on a straight-up C. It was mostly filled with freshmen from the arts faculty trying to get an easy A, a solid half of whom had already stopped showing up to lectures. And yes, it was weird being back in a two hundred-person room when most of her other classes were forty at most. She had to turn in weekly written assignments, which was also not fun, but writing five hundred words once a week wasn’t a time commitment she couldn’t handle. The problem, though, was that as far as she could tell from those three first weeks, that supposedly-easy class would also n’ot rate the level of effort Gigi had put in as anything more than a C either. Which was definitely not what she wanted out of it. Far from it.

The class did have one major saving grace, a light in the dark and a minor help in stopping Gigi from quitting the class on day one, in the form of a fellow student.

Gigi didn’t know her name, or her major, or anything tangible about her, which was a little unfortunate. She did, however, know that the girl had legs. Long and strong, with toned thighs that suggested at least some form of semi-regular exercise, and looked equally good in the kind of wide-legged, loose cotton pants Gigi herself favoured as they did in denim cutoffs. She had really nice hands too, which the brunette found out about when they accidentally reached for the same assignment sheet. They looked soft, strong and capable and careful. They’d be nice to hold, or to have holding her down tightly, or tangled in her hair while she sucked bruises into her equally-beautiful thighs.

So yeah, you could say Gigi was kind of enjoying the course, sure.

The girl usually sat at the front of the room, in the very first row from where you kind of had to strain your neck upwards to see what was on the board. Gigi knew, because that was also where she sat during the first two weeks, until she realised this wasn’t going to be the kind of lecture where she could talk all the way through the lesson without the professor caring, not if she wanted to do more than just pass, anyway. The girl usually brought her laptop to class too - covered in political stickers and pictures of cartoons Gigi didn’t know. One time the brunette walked past her, only to see a video of a crab walking up a pile of sand playing in the corner of her screen.

Gigi could remember that she made a point about the role of music in religious movements when prompted, and how that connected to society’s idea of liveliness within places of worship. Gigi didn’t really remember the details, mostly because some of it had just flown way over her head, but their professor had been very impressed. When he had said so, instead of the self-satisfied smile that the brunette had been expecting, the girl had looked down at her notes, one arm twitching like she was resisting the urge to scratch at the back of her neck in embarrassment.

Gigi thought she’d even blushed a little, and really, no one should have had the right to be both this attractive and adorable at the same time. She wasn’t quite sure how she felt about the crab video, which was definitely weird, even by art faculty standards. But for her, she thought she might be willing to overlook it.

geege ok this girl at the front of listening class? so hot she’s like 90 percent leg and 40 percent sexy aunt energy

janjanjan sounds Hot

geege i’d let her walk all over me and say ty she’d just be like :] and tell me about the periodic table or smth

janjanjan okay maybe let’s stop there like keep the rest for when you’re alone at home

geege or in the shower

janjanjan thanks not like i use that shower too The thing was, Gigi wasn’t new to having crushes. At all. So perhaps it shouldn’t have come as a surprise to herself that she ended up developing crushes on more than a few of the people she met. Most of them were great, a lot of them were cute, and a few left her heart beating that much faster as she found herself wishing for their conversations to never end.

What was new (or disconcerting, if she were to listen to the Jan voice in her head), was Gigi feeling that way about someone she’d never talked to. Gigi still didn’t know anything about her, other than what she looked like and the sound of her voice - but god did she want to know.

And it felt like it’d been years, so many years, since Gigi had felt too shy to just go up to someone she wanted to know better and introduce herself. She’d felt anxious before, maybe a little self-conscious, but not the kind of shyness that turned into complete inaction. She found herself looking forward to the class, though not the actual work. *** She, Gigi thought, was currently winning at life.

She was done with classes for the week, had no plans that required her to get out of her sweatpants for the next twenty four hours, and was currently sitting back on the couch surrounded by food and two of her favourite people.

So yeah, life was pretty fucking great right now.

She leaned back against one arm of the sofa, a forgotten ball of yarn and half knitted almost-scarf in one hand and the other casually playing with Jan’s hair. The blonde was laying down on the couch, the only one out of the three of them that could kind of do so without most of her legs hanging off one end. Her head was resting on Gigi’s lap while her feet were in Rock’s.

Friday evening was their unofficially -designated group hang out time, a tradition that developed the last few months without any of them being aware of it, but now it was something that she wouldn’t miss for the world. It usually just meant Thai food, bitching about their classes, and whatever booze one of the other two decided to pick up. When Rock made grabby hands at her, Gigi grabbed an unopened can of sparkling water she brought for today and passed it on.

“Thank you,” Rock chuckled as she cracked it open, leaning forward to catch some of the foam that came out before it had a chance to further stain the couch. “Y’know,” she started, as she watched Gigi reach over for the mostly-empty bag of popcorn on the table. “I could just ask Jackie to help you out with the class.”

The brunette’s fingers closed on thin air, the bag of popcorn she was aiming for remaining just out of reach. “Who’s Jackie?” she asked absently, shuffling forward gently and trying not to dislodge Jan’s head from her lap.

Jan flicked her on the thigh regardless. “Rock’s friend, the one I told you about when you signed up! And, y’know, the one that’s also taking the class right now.”

“Oh,” Gigi realised. She totally remembered that, right. Her fingers grazed the bag of popcorn again, but in her haste she just ended up pushing it a few inches further away, balancing precariously on one edge of the table. “That Jackie.”

“I think she tutored, like, half her contemporary fiction class last year. So you know she’s gotta be good at actually teaching things, and not just smart,” Jan continued, as though Gigi’s attention was mostly captured by the pursuit of academics. One more inch, she leaned in a little further, balancing her weight on one arm. She just needed to get one inch closer and the bag would be hers. She could already taste the powdery, buttery, amazingness on her tongue.

“And Rockie’s always talking about how her old professor still basically cries about not being able to convince her to stay in the department. I’m pretty sure she’d totally still take him on as a grad student if Jackie just asked, nevermind that she transferred out more than two years ago.”

“So what do you think?” The blonde finished, a little more loudly, like she realised Gigi had tuned her out a bit. And Gigi had, yes, but she could finally feel her fingers closing in on the bag, triumphantly reaching in and stuffing a handful of popcorn - fat free - into her mouth. “Do you want Rock to ask Jackie when she has some time to meet up with you? Or maybe just give her your number, if that’s easier?”

“What? No, don’t do that. I’m not doing that bad.” Gigi laughed slightly, rolling her eyes. “No, I’m all good.”

“It’s too late anyway,” Rock laughed, all faux-casual. “I already messaged her.” She shoved her phone in front of Gigi’s face, and yeah, right there, that was a message saying just that, complete with her own number at the end.

“Why would you do that?” She complained loudly, tapping at the screen furiously to try and make it delete. It wasn’t that she was against the idea of getting help with the class, but mostly she was reluctant to have it taking up more of her time than it already did. Especially when she didn’t even know the girl.

“You need help!” Rock said with a yelp, avoiding the kick Gigi aimed at her. “She can help! It’s a perfect solution, why are you trying to hit me!” The last one landed just under her armpit, drawing out a higher-pitched squeal. “Besides, Jan agreed with me that it’s a good idea,” she added, turning expectantly towards her. “Tell her how you were the first one to even suggest it.”

Next to them, Jan had indeed been suspiciously quiet. “Why aren’t you saying anything?” Gigi asked, poking the older woman in the chest.

“Don’t you want to see what your soon-to-be tutor looks like, Geege?” Jan giggled, ignoring her question.

“Oh, you’re right, let me show you her insta,” Rock butted in, her thumbs moving on her phone screen for a moment before handing it to Gigi with an evil smile.

Jacqueline Coxx, the profile read, next to a very familiar, grinning face. The same very familiar, grinning face that Gigi had spent many a lesson fawning over. This had to be a mistake, there was no way. “You should really be better at Instagram-stalking people,” Jan laughed as Gigi felt her mind going blank. “I think it’s the only skill that’s going to save our generation from lifelong unemployment. Or underemployment, for that matter.”

The brunette didn’t give it a second thought before she pushed her off the couch and onto the floor, screams of unacceptable betrayal and terrified excitement echoing loud in the room.

*** geege hiiiii is this jackie cox? this is gigi, roxanne’s friend from the listening class she said she’d told you i would message you geege but in case she didn’t i wanted to ask you about some tutoring if you could tutor me i mean geege but if you can’t that’s all good !! don’t feel like you have to say yes just bc of rocks stupid puppy eyes oh and sorry about the triple-text ***

“I more than triple-texted her, but three separate times,” Gigi groaned, burying her face in between the couch cushions.

“I’m sure it wasn’t that bad,” Jan comforted, running a hand through her hair. Gigi would maybe feel a little bad about how much complaining she’d been doing over this, but everytime she thought of stopping, she reminded herself that Jan was at least forty-five percent to blame for this in the first place.

“It’s been more than two days. When’s the last time you went forty-eight hours without checking your phone? And be honest.”

Jan’s silence was enough of an answer. *** Jackie Hey Gigi! Rock did tell me about you, it’s all good Do you want to meet up after class on monday to figure out the details? Oh and sorry for such a late reply My phone was broken after i dropped it in a lake while i was hiking *** In an ideal world, Gigi would have planned things so she could get to class nice and early on the day she was supposed to properly meet Jackie. She’d have maybe put a little more thought than usual into her outfit, and made sure her hair looked good. Worn that red headband she knew did great things for her forehead and her eyebrows, maybe. Not that Gigi ever looked like a slob, but she definitely had clothes she liked more than others, and that she thought served her better for seduction purposes. Or even for just ‘making a decent first impression’, which she’d really settle for right now, as she ran up the final flight of stairs. Nothing said ‘I’m serious about needing help with this class’ like showing up late, especially for a course where attendance was actually recorded.

She spotted the door to the classroom still cracked open at the end of the hallway and slowed down a little, trying to catch her breath. She ran a hand through her hair, hoping that’d tame the mess a little and her cheeks wouldn’t be too red from the unexpected burst of athleticism. At the front of the room, their professor has already started talking, and Gigi quietly slipped into the first free seat she spotted, grateful to have avoided drawing everyone’s attention to herself.

It was only minutes before the class ended that Gigi thought to look around for Jackie, peering across the middle rows of students before she accepted that she wouldn’t dare sit anywhere but the very front row. She tried to lean forward to glance at the first row once or twice, eventually accepting that there was no way she could be subtle and standing the slightest bit up from her chair. The first row was mostly empty, as it usually tended to be. Gigi recognized a girl from the Image Composition class she took last semester, and thought about saying hi to her after class when she remembered she had a goal here. As she let her gaze move through the other students in the front, it eventually landed on Jackie, although Gigi had to do a double-take to make sure it was definitely her.

The thing was, she’d gotten to see - unknowingly, at the time - Jackie often enough since the semester started to get a sense of her style. And from Gigi’s weeks of casual observation, she tended to favour loose, comfortable clothes, and mostly neutral colours. She liked floral patterns too, especially on shirts, which the brunette could appreciate.

However, the first thing she noticed today was Jackie’s hair. And really, Gigi thought that if it wasn’t for the bright smile and the longest legs known to humankind, she wouldn’t have even recognized her.

The messy dark brown hair that Gigi had gotten used to, and maybe dreamt about running her hands through once or twice, was now four inches shorter and numbingly straight, effortlessly falling over her forehead and almost into her eyes when she looked down. Something about the flawlessness of her hair combined with the white hoodie she was wearing seemed to make her face glow, skin tanned and radiant with pearly teeth glinting through a bemused grin as she laughed at something her friend was saying.

Damn.

She was brought out of her daydreaming by the sound of students around her packing up their things, and Gigi realised that she most likely missed the professor dismissing their class. As she struggled with the zipper of her bag, the same one she’d been meaning to get fixed for the last three months but still hadn’t, she felt a hand hesitantly tap on her shoulder, warm against the thin material of her shirt.

“Hey, Georgia right?” A voice asked right behind her, and when Gigi turned around Jackie looked just as good as she did the first time she saw her at the beginning of the semester.

“Gigi. I’m— my name— Yep, hi, that’s me. What’s shaking?” The brunette chuckled awkwardly, “Thank you so much for agreeing to help me out, I really appreciate it! Or at least agreeing to consider it I mean, I know we really just said we’d talk about the details today, so you technically haven’t agreed to anything yet. And you don’t have to, obviously.”

Jackie didn’t seem thrown off by the sudden explosion of words and gratefulness, which Gigi took to be a good sign. If anything, her smile only grew less hesitant, the tiniest dimple appearing on her left cheek.

“We could, like, go to that library around the block? It’s a nice place to study, so.” Gigi nodded, following Jackie and making awkward small talk until they made it inside. She learned in those quick minutes that Jackie liked crabs, and geography, and obscure movie references no one else understood.

“It’s been a while since I was here to be honest.” Jackie grinned, swiping at her phone casually. “I missed it.”

"Right, Rock mentioned you’d transferred out of the faculty.”

The brunette hummed in agreement, looking a little surprised at Gigi’s knowing about this. “Yeah, I swapped my major and minor back halfway through my second year. Geo major with a minor in stage production now.” She made little jazz hand motions as she said it, and the brunette really wished she didn’t find it half as endearing as she did.

“Okay, so, tell me more about what you’ve been struggling with so far,” Jackie asked with a tilt of her head, and they got down to business. *** Maybe it was a little self-sabotaging (or self-serving, she could never quite decide), but part of what Gigi quickly found out she liked best about their bi-weekly tutoring sessions, was how much time she got to just stare at Jackie. She’d finish writing up the draft of her weekly listening assignment and pass it on for the older woman to read over, and get a solid five-to-ten minutes of ogling out of it.

Not that she was ogling her per se, that sounded bad. She was just… appreciating. Appreciating Jackie’s arms, and her neck, and her cheekbones, and her brain as she read through Gigi’s outline. Every now and then, Gigi would catch her frowning slightly, bringing her pen to the paper and tapping over the words as she read a section a few times over before making a quick note and moving on. It was kind of embarrassing how devastatingly cute Gigi found the whole thing, honestly. Like how the way she was resting her head on one hand, her fingers accidentally creating a gap that just perfectly framed the dimple on her left cheek.

“Hey, Geege,” Jackie suddenly smiled as she turned towards her. Fuck. Gigi really hoped her face wasn’t making what she was just doing incredibly obvious. “What did you have in mind for this part here?” She asked, shuffling her chair to bridge the space between the two of them.

“Which part?” Gigi shakily replied, leaning in a little. The paper she wrote her outline on was on the table, technically close enough for both of them to read, but just barely. Gigi told herself that was her excuse for moving in a few inches more, until their hands were almost meeting on the sheet of paper. Almost.

Jackie was making it hard for Gigi to focus, leaving her stumbling through the start of an explanation of the admittedly somewhat unclear point she’d made in her outline about the sudden change in rhythm. As she got into the meat of her point, she could feel herself getting more confidence, gesturing with her hands as the words started coming out more easily, and Jackie nodded in wordless understanding. It only took a few sessions to realize that if there was one thing Jackie was good at, it’s listening. It never felt like she was trying to put answers into Gigi’s mouth - letting her explain her perception of the music instead, and asking questions when needed. She made Gigi feel like even if writing about how she experienced music as an art form would never come all that naturally to her, not in the way sewing or even most visual arts did, it was something that was still within her reach. Something she could understand and relate to.

“So, are you saying it felt expected to you?” Jackie asked eventually, after Gigi paused. “Like it was building up to this in the previous parts? Or that it caught your attention specifically because it was sudden? Or out-of-place, maybe.”

The brunette took a moment to think, replaying the lead-up to that section in her head.

They weren’t even touching, but she could feel the heat radiating off the older woman’s skin. She could feel the warmth, could see it in Jackie’s gaze as she looked softly back at her, she could smell it even. And Gigi knows that didn’t actually make sense, that all she was probably smelling was laundry detergent and sweat and maybe coffee. Gigi didn’t even like the smell of coffee. But right now, sitting side-by-side in the library and alternating between emphatically talking and listening to each other, Gigi felt like all of those things.

It was only when they both moved on from that particular point, a few messy notes from Jackie hastily written to Gigi’s own words, that she realized just how close they’d gotten. She was well into Jackie’s personal space, their shoulders no longer content just brushing against each other occasionally but rather aligned against one another. No wonder she could smell the coffee.

She started to move back slowly, not wanting to draw attention to how close she’d gotten, but a sharp sting on her ear stopped her mid-motion. She let out a small cry of pain, Jackie immediately turning to face her. The older girl felt impossibly closer than a moment ago.

“I think my earring got caught in your shirt,” Gigi said quietly, a pained and nervous giggle leaping from the back of her throat. She remembered putting them on this morning, long and dangly strips of silver shaped like eyes, and thinking about how they might get stuck in her hair. If the lack of distance between the two of them went unnoticed earlier, it was definitely no longer the case. Gigi felt incredibly conscious of every exhale of her breath, of Jackie’s face only inches away from hers. The guy in the seat in front of them threw them a dirty look, like he was annoyed at how wrong Gigi’s flirting attempts had turned out. She couldn’t really blame him because, what the fuck, they had turned out pretty bad, huh.

“Hold on,” Jackie breathed, “let me untangle it for you.” Gigi knew she was speaking quietly because they were in a library, and so close to each other anything above a whisper was unnecessary, but she was struck hard by the intimacy of it nonetheless. She couldn’t decipher whether choosing to wear those earrings today was the best or worst decision she’d ever made.

Jackie reached for the end that got caught, carefully lifting it away from the threads of her sweater. It was the kind of tangle no one could probably ever manage to achieve if they tried, and yet happened without either of them realizing it. When she moved to grasp at the fabric a little more firmly, her fingers brushed against Gigi’s neck, unexpected. And maybe it’s stupid to feel so thoroughly destabilized by the mere touch of a fleeting hand, but Gigi found herself forgetting to breathe for a few seconds.

“There,” Jackie chuckled as the earring finally came free, looking in Gigi’s direction without directly meeting her gaze. “I think you’re all good now.”

Gigi thanked her politely, but she’d be the first to admit she found it hard to focus during the rest of their session, every brush of air or clothing against her neck making her shiver at the memory of Jackie’s fingers. ***

“Wait, Jackie Coxx?” Crystal asked the next time Gigi met up with her to catch up over some drinks in their favorite dive bar. Crystal had technically been Jan’s friend first, but she and Gigi had gotten a lot closer over the years, bonding over a love of what their friends would lovingly call ‘loud’ and ‘confident’ clothing choices. “‘Trips on her own feet’ Jackie Coxx?” Crystal continued, the grin on her face widening as Gigi felt her cheeks heating up. “Follows at least three Twitter accounts dedicated to Star Trek? Rockie’s junior year baby crush? The same—”

“Rock is still a junior, Crys,” Gigi interrupted, laughing, because— what. What. “And wait, she has a crush on Jackie? My Jackie?”

“So not the point,” Crystal answered, still smiling like this was the best news she’d heard all week. “My Jackie huh? God, you’re such a simp—”

“No.” Gigi groaned, dragging out the ‘o’. “Back to Rock. My best friend, Janet fucking Sport, is head over heels, stupidly in love with Rock. And I don’t care how adorable she is, if what you’re telling me is true, she’s just been… been using her! And that really this whole time she’s just been waiting and pining for Jackie! As if Jan didn’t—”

It was Crystal’s turn to interrupt this time, the smile having faded away from her face to leave way for a confused expression. “Gigi, Gigi, stop for a second,” she repeated, a little more forceful than the brunette was used to hearing her speak. “Come on, think of all the time you’ve spent with Rock, with both of them. Have you ever gotten the impression that she was anything that a hundred and ten percent in?”

The brunette closed her eyes for a moment. She thought of Jan ditching her and Nicky to go hang out with Rock every Friday. Of Jan dragging her to go shopping on the weekend before Valentine’s day, an itemized and color-coded list of stores and potential gifts saved on her phone. Crystal definitely has a point, Gigi let herself recognize, deflating as the potential anger left her body as quickly as it had arrived.

“Rock did a tour of the university, back when she was still in high school and she wasn’t completely sure what program to apply for. Jackie was the one doing it apparently.” The red head paused to take a sip of her drink, grimacing a little at the taste. Why she kept ordering those novelty IPAs everywhere they went despite knowing full well she didn’t like how hoppy they were, Gigi had no idea. “I think she just made Rock feel comfortable, you know? Like, it was fine that she didn’t have everything figured out already, and made sure she knew she wasn’t making a decision at seventeen that she could never walk back. So Jackie gave her her number in case she had any questions, and then they actually started hanging out together once Rock started this year.”

“Oh,” Gigi realised, “that does really sound like her, yeah.” She could imagine it in her head, Rock a little younger and more unsure, not all that dissimilar from how she behaved when Jan first introduced the two of them to each other.

It was strange, remembering that a few months ago she would avoid directly meeting her gaze or spending any one-on-one time with her, when she could also recall the ‘u up’ and ‘netflix? :)’ texts she received from the shorter woman last night. It also really sounded like Jackie, although she didn’t tell Crystal so. It was just as easy to imagine her taking the time to reassure a worried high-school student without making her feel like she was being talked down to.

Crystal was still looking at her expectantly, and Gigi couldn’t help but feel a little embarrassed at how strongly she reacted. “So, not an actual crush then?”

“Nope, she just thinks Jackie is really cool. God knows why, because based on what I’ve heard, she’s kind of a giant dork.”

“Hot giant dork.” Gigi rolled her eyes. “Maybe I should have asked you that first.”

“Uh-huh,” Crystal replied, giving Gigi’s shoulder a squeeze. “You should ask her for the full story, actually. I’m surprised you haven’t heard it before, but she tells it much better than I do. And maybe you want to spend some time thinking about why you reacted that quickly, because we both know Jan is a pretty flimsy excuse.”

The brunette sighed loudly. “It’s just a crush, it’s nothing.” It didn’t sound convincing even to herself. Back when Jackie was just the hot girl in her class, that would have probably been true, but it felt like a long time ago now.

Crystal rolled her eyes with a cheeky smile. “That was a lot more believable five minutes ago, but sure.”

Gigi made sure to hit her in the leg for that, laughing easily and sputtering mindlessly about how she had it all wrong.

“Wait, what did Rock used to want to study, back when she was in high school?”

There was a long pause, before Crystal finally cackled., “Video game design.” *** geege do you think it’s weird

rockstar YES

geege … to ask someone if you can platonically caress their cheeks kiss them on the forehead at least wait till i finish to be mean

rockstar u know what this is both not as weird AND weirder than i expected ¯\_(ツ)_/¯

geege what do I do roxanne she’s not gonna tutor me forever. the final is less than a month away how do i tell her i wanna date her without seeming like i wanna date her

rockstar go up to her and be like ‘if we played pokemon together, we’d be a pokematch’ ;)))

geege what

rockstar will you be the nidoking to my nidoqueen

geege tf those sound like the names of drugs

rockstar yk it was one thing when you were just thirsting after the hot girl in ur class but now it’s actual feelings how embarrassing

geege u have given me a solid amount of advice. none.

rockstar k fair how about i pick up noodles on my way back? and we can eat that for dinner while you tell me all about ur gay crush without my consent

geege i like the chicken stir fry ones

*** “Do you want to listen to it again, maybe?” Jackie asked, reaching for her headphones. “Then you can tell me the exact part you’re thinking of.”

It was another Wednesday afternoon, but this time they’d ditched the library in favor of a small coffee shop that was closer to where Jackie lived. It was artsy in a way that Gigi was used to, a little hipster, but not actually fancy enough to properly lay claim on the word. The tables were a little worn in and wobbly, the lattes a little too cheap, and the art prints on the wall either too well-known or not enough.

“Sure, just give me a second.” Gigi took the earbud the Persian woman offered her, making an aborted motion towards the computer, before following through as Jackie nodded at her with a soft smile. The older woman’s phone vibrated on the table between them, and she took a quick glance at the screen before putting it back down with a little more force than necessary.

It took Gigi a few tries to find the part she had in mind when mentioning texture, replaying the same part a few times over until she was fairly certain she found what she was looking for. “That part here, until the tempo slows down again—”

The brunette was cut off by the sound of Jackie’s phone vibrating on the table again, lighting up with a missed call notification and some texts.

“Shit, I’m sorry,” the Persian woman cursed sheepishly. “This is so rude. I’m sorry, Geege, I should have just turned it off earlier.” She sounded a little annoyed, but mostly flustered, taking a quick look at the screen before flipping it back over facing down.

She flashed the younger woman an apologetic smile, her cheeks coloring a little as she pointedly pushed the phone away from her.

“Are you sure everything is okay? We can take a break if you need to deal with some stuff? Or even just cancel for today, I think I have basically everything I need to finish writing this up, so.”

“No, no, âsemun be zamin nemiyâd,” Jackie protested, mind clearly elsewhere. “It’s nothing, really. Or, well, it is something I guess, but it’s kind of stupid and I shouldn’t let it distract me, you know?”

Gigi hummed noncommittally, not wanting to force her to talk about whatever this was if she didn’t want to, but finding herself unwilling to acknowledge it as something stupid either. She offered Jackie what she hoped was a quick and comforting smile instead.

“I just…” She sighed, rubbing at her eyes with the heel of her palm. “I’ve been waiting to hear back from this prof about a recommendation letter for grad school? And she’d said yes before, but some more students asked her, and she has this thing about not writing more than five letters per year, I don’t know. So she said she’d get back to me today or tomorrow to confirm, and I’ve just been really stressed.”

“Oh no, I’m sorry. That sounds really stressful.” Gigi brought a hand to Jackie’s shoulders, squeezing the back of her neck lightly. She tried to avoid doing too much extensive thinking about what she might do after college, but she doubted it was a train of thought that’d ever made anyone feel good.

“It’s okay, I should be used to it.” Jackie shrugged with resignation. “It’s just that every time I remember I’m waiting to hear back from her it makes me think of next year, and what’ll happen if I don’t get in? Or if I do, because it’s like I really know that grad school is what I want to do, you know?” She ran a frustrated hand through her hair, and Gigi really wished they were close enough friends for her to offer Jackie a hug or something.

“Just call your prof back now. You should have said something earlier, and we could have rescheduled.”

“Oh,” Jackie breathed out, sounding inexplicably surprised as she turned towards her. “No, no, no, no, that’s not necessary. That wasn’t her. I’m sorry I’m a bit of a mess today, let’s just get back to this thing, yeah?”

Gigi nodded, reaching for the headphones and passing one on to her. In a lot of ways, this had grown to be her favorite part of their sessions. Not that she didn’t enjoy listening to Jackie talk about music, which she did; mostly because she was practically tone deaf and found it magical that Jackie was so good at it, or trading ideas back and forth on the pieces they listened to, both of which were rewarding in their own ways. But there was something about sitting next to each other, silent save for the shared music, that just got to her.

They were standing outside the coffeeshop, Jackie struggling to undo the lock on her bike, when Gigi thought back to their earlier conversation. “I know it’s not the same because I’m not graduating yet, but you know I’m here if you ever need to talk to someone, right? Like, no pressure or anything, but I just— just wanted to put it out there, I guess.”

Jackie stopped mid-motion and looked up at her, half of her U-lock in hand. “Thanks, Gigi.” She grinned, all bright and pearly and warm. “I think sometimes I just get too in my own head, you know? Especially about things I can’t do anything about. And yes, I know how stupid it is to stress out over these things so much, I really do.”

“I don’t think that’s stupid, though,” Gigi mentioned, as they started walking towards her bus stop. It was really nice of Jackie to walk there with her, rather than just take off on her bike straight away. It maybe made sense now that they knew each other well enough, but her heart still kind of fluttered whenever she offered it. “I mean, maybe it’s not productive because you’re worrying about things you can’t control, sure, but it also means you care, right? And I don’t think that’s something stupid, even if you wish you could just… not care less, but care better, you know. Still care, but in a way that’s better for yourself. To yourself.”

She thought of her parents, and of the guilt she used to feel every time she overheard someone asking them if they really thought it was wise to let her go to college for fashion, how she overworked herself to the point of passing out alone in the studio her freshman year in a misguided attempt to redeem herself from having failed a class. Like she thought she could atone for her perceived academic failures by working her body into the ground. She thought of the conversations that had started to happen in her periphery, whispers of ‘What are you thinking of doing after next year?’, ‘Have you also applied for the internship at this gallery?’, ‘Have you considered doing a minor in business?’, and how she sometimes struggled with not letting these thoughts invade her brain late at night.

“I just think it’s hard sometimes, but it’s even harder if we don’t let ourselves accept it. Or talk about it. So I guess all I’m saying is that if you need someone to listen, you know where to find me,” she finished with a deep breath.

When she looked up, there was a quiet smile on Jackie’s face, and Gigi felt warm at the thought of maybe having been the one to put it there. ***

geege you know i suddenly understand why you do the shoulder thing like i use to never really get it but that was before

janjanjan the shoulder thing??

geege wait more important how did ur audition go did they love you when are you gonna hear back

janjanjan it went pretty okay i think they’re def looking more for someone that does modern

geege so that’s good! very good!!!

janjanjan and one of the choreographers sort of smiled and nodded at me at the end i think he was on the dance team my first semester but that was before he graduated ig anyway idk maybe it was just in my head

geege no but that all sounds really good!!! look at u go diva!

janjanjan gigi just finished twenty minutes ago she was wearing this stupid ass shirt a really loose tank bc it’s been hot af and one of the straps kept falling of her shoulder

janjanjan oooooooooh oh no that shoulder thing

geege i saw collarbone and so much shoulder and upper arm

janjanjan how tragic tell me, did she lift it back up

geege yeah but it kept falling back down

janjanjan that’s rly good though!!!

geege no it was torture did you know she has a mole on her shoulder? right at the top and all i kept thinking of was that i wanted to kiss it

janjanjan cute also i don’t know how to tell you this but that shit doesn’t happen by itself

geege well it’s not like it was her fault

janjanjan listen a shirt can be a too big sure but you still kind of have to make it happen it doesn’t magically keep falling off

geege hm

janjanjan believe me i would know *** No matter how much she tried to forget about it, Gigi’s last session with Jackie was a thing that was very much happening right now.

It was strange, thinking back to the beginning of the semester, how she almost didn’t sign up for the class. How she maybe would have never met Jackie if she hadn’t, or maybe would have just pined from afar without ever learning her name were it not for her meddling friends. She found herself spending the last half of their session wondering more about how to casually ask Jackie if they’d still hang out once finals are over. Or if their semester-long friendship was, well, just that.

In the end, she just blurted it out as they packed up their things, subtlety thrown out the window.

“I mean, you’re friends with Rock, so I’m sure I’ll at least see you around, yeah?”

Jackie only hummed noncommittally in reply. She was busy packing her things back into her khaki tote bag, checking each pocket like she was looking for something. It reminded Gigi of what she used to do in middle school, every time she hadn’t done the homework or just really, really, really didn’t want to be the one called on to explain her work in front of the whole class. She’d just lean down, and start searching through her bag very obviously, making a show of opening every zipper, her head almost disappearing inside it if she could manage.

“Do you, like, need help finding something in there?” She asked, her voice coming out more harsh than she’d intended, just as Jackie seemed to decide she’d found what she was looking for and decisively slung her bag back over her shoulder.

“Sorry, I— it was—” she stopped and started, letting out a resigned sigh and shaking her head at herself. It made Gigi want to cringe. “Yeah, I’m good now, and yeah, I’ll still see you around. At least for the summer, but after that too I hope! I mean, I’ll still be around and you’ll be around too, so, y’know…” she trailed off. Her cheeks were tinged pink, just barely. Her ears, too, or maybe it was just the white of her sweater making everything appear brighter in contrast. “Besides, you still haven’t shown me any of your work, and you promised you would.” She was right about that, Gigi knew. She usually wasn’t shy about showing her designs to other people, but somehow she’d found himself unsure of what to show Jackie first.

She settled her bag on one shoulder, and they started making their way out in companionable silence until Jackie spoke again. “Hey, actually, do you maybe want to grab coffee before heading back? I have a bit of time before my next class and I could use a pick-me-up.”

They ended up just stopping by Starbucks, because it was on their way and surprisingly empty for a Thursday afternoon on campus. Gigi got a mocha frappuccino (almond milk, extra whip) and managed to sneak in Jackie’s usual cold brew order before she had the chance to protest.

“Gigi…” She sighed fondly, kind of like a grandma would when her grandchildren were doing something they’d regret. She was shaking her head in resignation, which Gigi took as a sign that she’d decided to leave it at that.

“No, I’ve been stealing almost three hours of your time every week since almost the start of the semester and—”

“How can that even be true when Rock only introduced us in what, February?” Jackie laughed in protest, reaching out to grab her drink from the brunette’s hand.

“No, not the point!” Gigi replied, moving her arm back until the cup was just out of Jackie’s reach. “You’ve given up a lot of your free time for me, is what I’m saying. And you didn’t even really know me, I could’ve been a total freak.”

Jackie opened her mouth and looked like she was about to say something, but Gigi continued before she had the chance.

“And you were so nice about it. Not ‘nice’ like when you have nothing actually all that good or specific to say. But nice in that you never made me feel like I was being stupid, you know? And you actually took the time to explain things to me so I’d understand them, not just the bare minimum so I could pass. You did all that when you didn’t really have to, so that meant a lot. Means a lot. I enjoyed spending that time with you, and not because it means I’m going to pass the class.”

Gigi forced herself to stop there, even though she knew for a fact that she could’ve easily kept going. She could feel her words coming out a little rambly, probably sounding more confusing than appreciative. At least she hoped that was what they sounded like, because the only other alternative was frightening. The idea that Jackie was in fact hearing everything Gigi was saying, her poor attempt at expressing the warmth she had felt growing inside her all semester long every time she was beside her, was infinitely more terrifying.

“Geege.” Jackie looked away, smiling after a moment, looking a little embarrassed. “I don’t even know where to start.”

Gigi could feel her cheeks getting hot, but when she looked up she could see that Jackie’s cheeks were tinged pink, too. It was almost funny, feeling what she felt and seeing the physical reflection of it not on herself, but on the person causing it. She wanted to reach out and let the tip of her fingers brush against Jackie’s cheeks, to see if they felt as warm as her own face did.

“You don’t have to say anything, I wasn’t trying to, like, I don’t know, get anything. I just wanted you to know what I meant, and that I really did mean it, when I was saying thank you.”

Gigi was laid bare, like her body was nothing but a lens, and behind it were all of her feelings jumbled together in a tangled mess, conclusion still very plain to the eye.

It was a surprise, when Jackie stepped forward and kissed her.

Gigi closed her eyes reflexively, but she could feel herself inhaling sharply, her body failing to catch up with what her brain was also struggling to process. When she eventually kissed back, it was only because she could feel Jackie’s body starting to move away, the fear finally pushing her into action. She brought one hand up, resting it on the side of the older woman’s neck, fingers gently brushing against her hair as she kissed back a little more confident. She could feel Jackie’s hand on her waist, warm and solid. Her grip tightened slightly as they separated, not strong enough to keep Gigi anywhere but a reassurance of where she was wanted.

Neither one of them really stepped back when the kiss ended, just stayed standing right in front of each other, breathing the same air. She heard Jackie swallow, loud in the silence of their shared space. She licked her lips, a reflex she didn’t even think about, and it was like the realization that, oh my god, they just kissed, hit her all over again when she found them wet. She suppressed a small shudder, although she wasn’t sure how successfully.

It was Jackie that finally broke the silence and stepped away from her, letting her hand fall away from Gigi’s side, brushing against her wrist and then gone before she had a chance to realize it.

“I,” Jackie breathed, “I’ve wanted to do this for a really long time, Gigi.” She laughed a little, maybe a bit self-conscious, and that was what brought the younger woman out of it.

“I spent hours talking to Jan about this gorgeous girl in my listening class,” she started, words leaving her mouth almost of their own volition. “How I didn’t even know her name but god, I really wish I did. Then I did know, even if I didn’t realize that you were, you know, you, when Rock said he knew someone who could tutor me. And then you were there and still the same person, but also so nice and understanding and just… good? Like, being around you just felt good.”

She paused, forcing herself to meet Jackie’s eyes again. “And I still mean everything I said earlier too, you know. Even if you weren’t interested in me, that’s not why I was saying it, but I still mean it just as much now.”

“Oh.” Jackie’s mouth was gaping so wide Gigi was worried it might actually fall to the floor. Maybe if Gigi were a different person, or if her brain wasn’t currently busy processing and reprocessing their kiss on an endless loop, she would have felt a little self-conscious at her outburst, but that just wasn’t who she was.

Especially not right now. Not when Jackie’s lips were right in front of her, still a little wet, still a little too red.

“That’s, that’s pretty good, then,” she finished quietly. They looked at each other in silence for a moment, only interrupted when Gigi let out a small snort.She couldn’t help but realise they were kind of ridiculous. Her face was taken over by an unashamedly stupidly large grin. Jackie properly stepped back then, far enough that Gigi could no longer feel the warmth of her body. She missed it immediately.

“I really need to get to my next class.” Jackie rolled her eyes. “So I can talk to the prof about her feedback on my draft first, but text me, yeah? I know it’s really shitty timing because we both have finals to take and papers to write, but I’ll make it work. Or I’ll call you, if that’s better? But I’m not running away, I promise.”

Gigi flashed her a bright smile and nodded in understanding. “I have your number too, y’know, so maybe I’ll just be the one to text you.”

“Okay, great, nice.” Jackie replied. She had her bag and coffee in hand, but made no clear motion to leave, kind of like she was worried if she did Gigi might disappear forever. It was so, incredibly, frustratingly cute and Gigi couldn’t help but wonder if Jackie would mind being kissed on the forehead.

“Jacks, it’s fine.” Gigi grinned. “I need to go too, anyway. Just maybe don’t drop your phone in any lake before you text me back this time, yeah?”

She turned away with a laugh of her own this time, and Gigi sipped through the plastic straw like it did anything to hide the smile on her face as she watched Jackie walk away.

“Wait!”

The Persian woman startled, turning back to her with an unsure smile. “What, did you forget something, Geege?”

“My first final is tomorrow,” Gigi said, looking up at Jackie with glinting eyes. “And it’s my first actual written exam this year, because I didn’t have any midterms, so how about another kiss for good luck, huh?”

Gigi’s cheeks ached from the force of her smile as she watched the uncertainty leave Jackie’s face, only to be replaced by a raised eyebrow and deep smile. Her shoulder’s rose slightly, like her instincts were telling her to hide her face in embarrassment at the cheesiness, but her eyes didn’t leave Gigi’s anyway. They didn’t leave Gigi’s, until they closed and their lips met again, and the younger woman thought it felt like more luck than she thought she had the right to ask for.

[jihyosforehead]

can i get some seulrene angst please

delicious yes i got u (fair warning this is pre long!!!)  …

seulrene meet in their university library

irene is sitting alone at her regular table, trying and failing to study for her advanced statistics test

in the middle of daydreaming about dropping out, seulgi turns up asking if she can sit at irenes table bc everywhere else is full

irene blinks and stares dumbly bc seulgi is lowkey the most adorable human being she has ever seen (the sweater paws are doing something to her heart)

and irene is distracted because seulgi is watching her lecture, knees pulled to her chest, elbows propping her head up, the tips of her fingers peaking out from her sleeves. irene feels her stomach flip uncomfortably

seulgi comes to her table again the next day and the day after that and at the end of the fourth time they sit together, seulgi starts leaving irene little snacks and finally introduces herself after realising she doesnt actually know irenes name

eventually they hang out outside of the library and realise they have mutual friends (seulgi with wendy and irene with yeri; and yeri and wendy with each other)

one day their whole group was meant to hang out but literally everyone bailed citing “personal emergencies” but seulrene didn’t realise this until theyre sitting in a cafe just the two of them

and it’s awkward at first but irene makes a joke about their friends being dumb and they go into this whole tangent of stories about their lives and they look at the time and they might as well get dinner since it’s late and they still wanna continue their conversation

irenes never met a person who could make her scream laugh so loud that people start staring

irenes regular table at the library becomes irene and seulgi’s regular table at the library and somewhere between that day in the cafe and right now, thursday afternoon approximately 3:43pm, does irene realise she has the biggest fattest crush on seulgi

and so she remembers seulgi’s fav snacks, remembers when seulgi’s tests are and helps her study for them, remembers her favourite movies and exhibitions she wants to see, remembers where she always loses her keys and has a sixth sense for when seulgi’s about to trip over her feet

and seulgi for all her clumsiness has a knack for understanding irene’s cold front and chips away at it, and it’s too late for irene to realise that seulgi has crawled her way into her heart and taken up permanent residence there

(she thinks she doesnt mind it)

seulgi runs off to the bathroom for a second and the open notebook catches her eye and irene finds herself picking it up to look at it more closely and it’s a drawing of her, looking otherworldly, almost unreal and irene is shookt. the book slips out of her hands and it lands on another page and it’s irene sipping some coffee, she flips the page and it’s of irene taking a nap, flips the page and it’s irene laughing - the notebook is snatched out of her hands unexpectedly and irene looks up to seulgi is standing there red-faced, stammering, apologetic and horrified but at the same time shes trying to be stern like “you cant just look at peoples things without permission! !!!1!” but irene is just like “this is how you see me?” and it’s a soft™ moment and seulgi has developed foot in mouth syndrome and is like “well yeah! u kind of mean everything 2 me u absolute dumbass !!!”

they start dating - to absolutely no ones surprise

their first kiss is in the middle of a lowkey night, theyre watching movies on irenes laptop in her dorm and sharing a blanket - tbh irene stopped watching the movie about 20 mins ago in place of studying seulgi’s side profile in wonder, her fingers twitching trying not to brush the strand of hair away from seulgi’s forehead. she settles for arranging the blanket more securely around seulgi’s shoulders just in case shes cold, you know? seulgi’s watching her the whole time and when irene looks up, seulgi’s eyes are just sparkly with fond affection and maybe love? but that thought is quickly cut off when seulgi presses her lips to irenes, so softly and gently and carefully that irene feels tears prick the corners of her eyes, she feels like shes going to break

but after that theres so many kisses. kisses in the library, forehead kisses, kisses before class, after class, any time in between; did well on a test? a kiss! did really badly on a test? a kiss!! maybe even an extra one! courtyard kisses, kisses in irenes dorm, in seulgi’s dorm, kisses at breakfast, lunch and dinner, just so many kisses!!

it’s a quiet sunday and seulgi and irene are redoing irenes dorm because seulgi scuffed the wall so badly it needs repainting and why not make a day of it? so here irene is, painting the wall, where it meets the floor bc her gf is clumsy but she is adorable and irene is in love, she thinks she’ll remember this day when theyre old and wrinkly and married

irene notices seulgi pulling away, distancing herself, acting weirdly guilty about something? irene thinks maybe shes done something wrong? is seulgi getting tired of her? tired of the relationship? it goes on for awhile and theres a heavy tension between them so thick, it’s almost tangible. and then one day when seulgi’s bailed on another date, irene shuts down. doesn’t know what to think. maybe seulgi doesnt love her anymore? maybe shes bored? irene knows that sometimes she can be really heavy handed with her affection but ever since seulgi’s pulled away, irene figured that maybe she wants space

seulgi turns up at irenes dorm, uninvited. irene swings the door open to find her gf looking equal parts sheepish and guilty. but shes holding a bag of food from irenes favourite restaurant, irene lets her in.

seulgi explains, hand rubbing the back of her neck, that when she gets into a funk, she just needs to go off and think on her own and is apologising for shutting irene out. irene is quick to forgive her. but as the night goes on, it’s clear that seulgi is feeling guilty for some other reason and when asked, seulgi just. she looks so sad

“a few weeks before we met, i applied for this arts school and i got a letter about 2 weeks ago saying that i got in. it’s really competitive and they only have a few spots available for international students and I didn’t think I’d even get in and I forgot but i got in. I got in,” seulgi whispers. almost as if, any louder and the words would be real.

“did u think i was going to beg you to stay here or something?” irene asks, softly. seulgi frowns deeply.

“no. i knew you were gonna tell me to go. but i don’t want to go. i want to be here with you,” seulgi tells her, desperately, voice cracking.

“u huge idiot, do u think that i wouldnt wait for u??? i would wait forever u huge dumbass!!!!”

the evening takes an obvious downturn. but they try not to notice. the next few weeks are seulrene trying to spend as much time together as possible. irene is trying her best to memorise what seulgi feels like in her arms; how she breathes when she’s asleep; the noises she makes when irene is pinning her to the sheets, marking her neck purple with bruises; how seulgi looks like shes close to tears when irenes made her laugh so hard that she snorts; the little fond sighs seulgi sends irenes way when she catches her staring over their morning coffee; how small she looks in an oversized sweater with the sleeves engulfing her hands completely; the way seulgi’s hands feel, fingers threaded through hers; how she likes to kiss irenes shoulder when theyre in bed; how for some reason when seulgi eats chewing with her mouth open it’s adorable instead of disgusting; and how irene is constantly brushing crumbs off seulgi’s clothes. irene tries her best to remember the slip of seulgi’s spine; the way she looks fully sated and satisfied; how seulgi’s eyes, dark and wide, always regard her with warm, open affection; how they can lay side by side in bed saying nothing for hours but irene doesnt need to hear words to know what seulgi’s feeling

but irene knows it isnt enough

because 2 weeks later, seulgi’s on a plane to paris with irenes heart in her hands and the kiss they share in the airport feels bitterly like a final goodbye

seulgi lands and sends irene photos of her food and the buildings and the friends she’s already made. and irene smiles wistfully

they facetime, and send each other texts every few hours, and schedule “dates” but the distance is so palpable that irene feels her heart ache something new whenever she sees seulgi’s red-rimmed eyes, yawning while sipping on a huge mug of coffee

“we should break up,” irene says. she can feel her heart crack at her own words, the tears visible on seulgi’s lashes even through the shitty facetime quality

“w-why?” seulgi sniffs

“because this isn’t working for us, this distance is going to ruin us completely,” irene finds herself saying, voice wooden and stiff. and she knows shes right because she knows seulgi’s grades arent as good as they could be and irene has failed a test and an assignment already

“wait for me,” seulgi is begging and irene is nodding her head frantically, promising tearfully over and over again that she would wait forever if she had to

so they break up that tuesday night, seulgi in paris and irene in korea. this has to be the worst facetime she’s ever had in her whole life.  

it hurts like nothing shes ever imagined, irene thinks shes never cried this much in her life. and she thinks shes doing well but she catches a whiff of seulgi’s perfume on her hoodie one day and it starts a fresh wave of gut-wrenching tears and her heart cracks into tiny, little pieces all over again

they don’t speak for literal years

but irene knows seulgi’s doing pretty well; she’s already held a few exhibitions, according to wendy. irenes graduated and doing okay for herself at a nice cushy job

wendy didn’t tell her that seulgi was back in korea though, but irene is pretty sure seulgi is back because she would recognise that laugh and perfume anywhere

seulgi turns around and her eyes finds irenes and seulgi is making a beeline towards her. irenes pulse is jumping erratically

“hey irene, it’s been awhile,” seulgi says, giving her a warm look. she looks older. more mature. holds herself like she knows shes grown up. but, irene thinks, fondly, painfully, her voice is exactly the same. wraps irenes name in her mouth exactly the same as she did 6 years ago

“hey,” irene replies, with a smile of her own.

“i want to introduce you to someone,”seulgi says, a grin turning up her face, and beckons a tall, intimidatingly beautiful woman over, “this is sooyoung,” seulgi’s smile grows even brighter and irene feels her heart plummet, connecting the dots, “my fiancee.”

“o-oh, it’s very nice to meet you,” irene is saying, trying her best to sound sincere but she sounds so monotone and robotic and wooden, her throat is closing up and her heart has almost stopped completely, and she has to leave before she starts crying all over seulgi again

so maybe seulgi moved on without telling irene

and maybe irene never moved on. and maybe irene had always waited around for seulgi

maybe waiting forever wasn’t a good idea after all, irene thinks wryly, sitting in her apartment alone, uselessly wiping hot tears from her face that don’t seem to stop no matter how much she tries

irenes not sure how, but it hurts more than that night 6 years ago and shes never felt a pain so profound that it goes all the way to her bones; shes sitting on the floor crying and she feels so ridiculous for thinking this but shes looking at the spot where the wall meets the floor and she realises she didn’t paint it very well

[carlisle980]

Just Dance

It’s still Bangtan Day here in the US, and I did something I never imagined I’d do. I wrote Bangtan fic. I haven’t posted it anywhere, because ff.net is where the bulk of my work is but there’s no Bangtan archive there, and while I do all my reading on AO3, I haven’t posted there in years. I can, if the consensus is that it’s a good idea.

Anyway ... here it is. Apologies to the usual crowd. Well, more like, sorry ... not sorry. I love all my old faves. And BTS too.

+++++++

Hey, dance with me dance with me Any kind of bounce is fine, dance with me Where are you from, why are you dancing A natural conversation, say something —J-Hope, “Trivia: Just Dance”

She stands in the center of the cold grey floor feeling small and overwhelmed and old. The studio looks the same as it did twenty years ago, when she spent eight hours a week here. In this very space. Learning. Her horizons expanding. Experiencing a world that made her heart pound with expectation. The sky seemed the limit then. 

It smells the same. That combination of sweat and disinfectant with a hint of central air conditioning that she’ll forever associate with this room, with this craft. She couldn’t believe her luck when the question of using the space was as easily answered as it had been half her life ago. Now, as then, all she had to do was ask the director. Is there a chance I might use the studio sometime, when there are no classes and the company doesn’t need it?

It was easy to come by, but that doesn’t mean she can have the space indeterminately, she reminds herself. There’s no grand objective to her being here; she just wants to see if there’s still the same pull. The fascination, the exhilaration. Why, precisely, is a question she cannot answer. 

She’s thinking too much, and that won’t do. She plugs her phone into the studio’s sound system and turns on a playlist she works out to at home. It’s high-energy, if eclectic. Avicii is on there. OneRepublic, Maroon 5. “Rhythm Nation” by Janet Jackson and a bunch of vintage Art of Noise. Those are there because they were part of her teacher’s playlist back in the day. Her German-born teacher, a former student of Gus Giordano; a geologist-turned-dancer whom she idolized to the extreme. Sigh. Those were the days. 

Knowing it isn’t wise to just start dancing cold, she tries to remember how they used to warm up in class. What a dumb thing not to recall, given that she was advanced by the time she stopped. School loans and weddings don’t pay for themselves, after all, and once she had her degree she could no longer justify the indulgence. Putting off adulthood to linger at the college and take dance classes, to no particular end. So she’d got herself a big girl job out in the real world. One with a salary and health insurance and, in time, a corner office with windows and a door they let her shut so she could concentrate. Pretty sweet gig for a twenty-year-old. Sweet enough that she and her husband had bought their first home —in the overpriced Baltimore-Washington metropolitan area of the early 2000’s, no less— when she was 24. Sweet enough that by the time she left to have their first child, she was making enough that she could’ve bought a Mercedes. If, you know, that had been her priority over becoming a mother. 

In the absence of any grand recollection, she sidles up to the barre and starts with the basics. Plié, relevé, plié with a push through to relevé. Relevé down into plié. Coupé, frappé, dégagé, rond de jambe. She puts a leg up on the barre and leans sideways towards it: first one, then the other. Wiggles her shoulders a little, rolls out her lats on the foam roller. Back flexibility is a tough thing but she’s working hard. It’s better than it’s ever been, and compared to other people that’s not saying much, but for her it’s the hallmark of progress. 

That’s warm enough, right? You’re really not supposed to stretch before dancing. Cold muscle is shorter and more likely to tear, and all that. The music continues to play and she progresses to chaîné turns. This is where she begins to get frustrated. It’s the same story as it was all those years ago: she can turn to her left well enough (though spotting still doesn’t work the way it should, as evidenced by the room spinning when she stops), but turning to the right is an exercise in futility. She under-rotates and falls out of the turn and no matter how slow she goes, it doesn’t improve. It’s the same with fouettés. Pirouettes in the center go a little better, but she only lands a double once or twice out of several dozen attempts. She practices those turns from modern class that her teacher never had a name for and always referred to by sound effects, like the sound you’d make if you were suddenly punched in the stomach because that’s the mechanism: a core contraction into a spin, propelled by gravity. There was a lot of that, dancing under Lena. Sounds and gestures filling in where words failed. Those turns are still her favorite; they look pretty without the dancer having to do much besides knowing when to work with gravity and when to resist it. That’s why modern was always her preferred style: it doesn’t take a perfect body to finesse the principles of contract and release, of fall and recover. 

Little by little she begins to pull things from memory: a crazy penché-drop-spin from advanced modern class that was easy when she was nineteen and is significantly less so now; bits of the Ailey-inspired choreography they learned one semester. She is struck out of the blue by the same desire that characterized her girlhood. Whenever she would encounter a large swath of open floor, her first instinct was always to leap across it. But she knows that one doesn’t simply grand jeté indiscriminately when one has not done so for the better part of two decades. Despite Kathryn Morgan’s advice to just sling the front leg out there and go for it, she holds back. She’s already come back from a groin tear once; never again, thank you very much!

The music decides for her what will happen next when it begins playing “Black Swan.” She hauls herself to the center of the floor in what she imagines is a comedic fashion and gets herself into position. 

From there it just flows. She feels it, the struggle of which Martha Graham spoke; the one that inspired the song. It’s all too real for her. 

A dancer dies twice; once when they stop dancing, and this first death is the more painful. 

She’s danced this piece a thousand times in the privacy of her bedroom, and she nails every count, trying to make it expansive, to fill the vastness of the studio. 

Killing me now, killing me now. She has felt that. The despair, the slow death of a precious part of her soul when she’d given up her dream in favor of security. She doesn’t speak Korean —not yet, anyhow— but she’s taken every syllable to heart, knows what each one means. 

Sinking slowly like in a trance nah, nah, nah Struggle but it's all ocean floor nah, nah Every moment becomes eternity yeah, yeah, yeah Film it now, film it now Do you hear me, yeah

She’s breathing hard by the end. Tears are streaming down her face and she hadn’t even been aware she was crying. Oh, my God, what was that? That was … like a religious experience. Why did I ever give this up? Why did I let go of me?

It’s as she’s wiping the tears away with the back of her hand, taking gulps from her water bottle like she’s spent the last year in the desert, that she becomes aware she is not alone. 

Her head snaps around sharply when someone clears their throat and she gasps. There, seated on the bench above the cubbies where students stash their bags, is none other than the Jung Hoseok. He is barefoot, sitting with his legs criss crossed, in an orange t-shirt and blue shorts, pushing a hand through his dark hair like she’s seen him do countless times on YouTube. 

Surely, she’s dreaming. Because she has dreamt of situations like this, both literally and metaphorically. Many times. But in dreams, be they the daytime variety or at night, she never sees him blink, or hears him breathing. But nothing about this makes sense. What is Jung Hoseok of BTS, arguably the world’s busiest man, who cannot walk to get coffee in Seoul without being mobbed by stampeding multitudes, doing here? In the States, on the campus of a community college, and, by all appearances, alone?

Even if he is real, it isn’t as if she can ask him. She knows his English is getting better and better as time goes by and BTS’ influence in the West continues to balloon. But where he can speak a bit of her language, she only knows random words in his. 

Still. They’re staring at one another now, and she feels incredibly rude. He can’t be a dream, because he’s infinitely more beautiful in real life than even the best photographs have made him out to be. All angular, with impossibly long lashes, and yes, there’s that adorable mole just above his top lip. 

“You’re very good,” he says suddenly, breaking the silence, and isn’t that just characteristic of him? “Dance was … wow.” His accent is heavy but his meaning is clear. And oh, that smile. He really is the sunshine incarnate. 

She wants to brush off the compliment, to explain to him that maybe she was good, once upon a time, but now she’s just somebody’s mom. But she doubts it would be easy for him to understand. She wrinkles her nose, shakes her head almost imperceptibly. “I …” she stammers. She’s talking to Jung Freaking Hoseok —WHAT?! “First time really dancing in many years.”

He smiles again. “Really good,” he repeats, nodding his head for emphasis. “Serious.”

She’s not sure whether he’s saying that she looked serious while dancing, or that he’s serious about her doing well, but either way. If anyone knows the inner workings of the “Black Swan” choreography, the sentiment behind it, it is this man. 

“Thank you,” she says softly, her cheeks hot. “I love Black Swan.”

There’s so much she wants to ask him. Why are you here? Are you traveling alone? Are there security guards outside the door ready to handcuff me to a lamppost? Because I asked the program director if I could use the studio and she said yes! But the language barrier would make it impossible, and anyway, isn’t there some saying about not looking a gift horse in the mouth? She hasn’t taught that one to her kids, but she’s pretty sure her grandmother said it to her at some point. 

He smiles once again in response to what she said about “Black Swan” and makes a short humming sound in the back of his throat. “I’m Hoseok,” he says in perfect English. “Hobi.”

She almost laughs aloud. As if there was any possibility she wouldn’t know who he was. But then, hasn’t that been one of the things she’s loved best about him from the start: his humility. 

So she introduces herself, and he bows from his seat and tries out her name. It’s adorable. And now she knows the answer to one of those questions she just figured she’d ponder for eternity: her name falling from his lips sounds like angels singing. 

“Dance with me?” he asks as he rises from his seat and holds out his hand to her. 

If this is a dream, please don’t wake me up. 

‘You don’t understand,’ she almost says. ‘You’re … you, and I’m old. I don’t pop and lock, unless you wanna talk about my hip joints when I try grand battement. I don’t b-boy. Modern’s all I’ve got.’ But how many times has she said it: My dream is to dance with Hobi for a day. What kind of absolute idiot would she be to pass up an opportunity like this?

So she says, “I would love to.” And means it more than she’s meant anything since she said ‘I do,’ as a twenty-year-old kid. Nineteen years, two houses, three children, countless ups and downs later, and look how that turned out. Sometimes good things just happen. 

She was already warm, but since he isn’t, she stretches when he does, and now it’s safe to stretch hip flexors and hamstrings and they definitely need it. He watches her a little. She watches him a lot. Sometimes he copies what she’s doing, as if there’s anything she could possibly know that he doesn’t. He does these crazy boneless things, dropping to his knees and seemingly floating back up to stand, and she just shakes her head. It looks even more effortless —and even more impossible— in person. 

She whips out the chaîné turns again. Her good side, of course. She can fake spotting well enough to make it from one corner to the opposite pretty quickly. 

“Oh!” he exclaims. “Like Jimin!”

She giggles. “I wish!” she says, and watches as his expression turns to a question mark. 

“Wish?” he asks. 

How to explain? “My style?” It comes out as a question because she wants to be sure he can follow. 

He nods, so she continues. 

“My style, like Jimin’s style. But Jimin … WOW. Me? Just okay.” She makes the hand gesture that means ‘so-so,’ because some things are universal, right?

He laughs, shaking his head. “Aish! No, no, no. Not ‘just okay.’ Very strong. Very …” He thinks for a moment, and there’s another question answered. Pensive Hobi is breathtaking. “Very … grace?”

She is floored. “Graceful?” she asks. He nods emphatically. “Me?”

“Yes, yes, yes! Arms.” He gesticulates wildly with his own. Which, she knows, he would do even in the absence of a language barrier. “Pretty.”

How can she tell him she’s not built like a dancer, that that knowledge has always made her feel heavy and ungainly? That she’s always wanted to be tall and delicate, like him. “My back.” She gestures behind herself. “My spine?” BTS have a song called “Spine Breaker,” even if they call it something else, so maybe it’s a word he knows. 

He nods again, echoing, “Spine.”

She reaches into her bag for a pen and paper and draws a likeness of her spine, double curves and all. “Not straight,” she explains, handing the sketch to him. “Makes dancing hard.” It affects everything. I can’t turn properly; I have no extension. My hips are a mess. Every time I lift my leg it clicks. 

“Hurts?” His eyes are soft, his expression sympathetic. 

“Yeah,” she answers. “Yeah, sometimes. But dance makes it better.” Ironic, right?

“Keep going,” he says with finality. Insistent. Like he’s solved every mystery of her life. 

Perhaps he has. He’s only been witness to a half hour out of her entire existence, but in that short time he’s seen a side of her that few others have. He’s watched her dancing, smiling, throwing herself full-force into something she loves. Maybe she never got to perform. Maybe she gave up on training to become a dance teacher. But if dancing makes her feel this level of satisfaction, how can she afford not to give it a prominent place in her life?

She studies him for a long moment. Does she dare ask anything of him? She answers that question with another: will she ever have an opportunity like this one again?

“Hobi?” she ventures timidly. He nods. “Teach me?”

“Yeah!” He says it like it’s a forgone conclusion. 

“DNA?” She’s never been able to work that one out on her own. 

He grins in answer. 

They spend the next hour speaking the universal language of dancer and choreographer. “Pah! Pah! Pah!” “Five, six, seven, eight!” She gets on the wrong foot a time or two, turns and collides with him once, all of it to gales of laughter from the pair of them. He corrects her body position and he’s hands-on but ever the consummate gentleman, and by the time they stop she knows the entire choreography well enough that she can perfect the rest at home. 

All too soon it’s over. “I have to go,” she explains sadly, pointing to the schedule on the director’s office door. It’s printed in English, but he gets the gist. There’s a class coming in soon; her time is up.

They sling their dance bags over their shoulders at the same time and it results in another shared laugh. 

“Hobi,” she says at the door, “thank you.” There’s so much more she wants to tell him. As long as I live, I’ll never forget this. You’re my favorite dancer. You’re a legend. 

“Don’t stop,” he tells her in a tone of voice that brooks no argument, squeezing her hands in both of his own. “Always dance, friend.”

When she performs “DNA” with the company the following semester, she dedicates it to him. 

[greenishbucket]

for @lardo-week day 1: canon/canon divergence

“Hand me a hair tie,” says Lardo, voice muffled where her cheek is stuck against Shitty’s chest.

For all his family is rich white money, their AC doesn’t work for shit, is what Lardo has found this summer. She’s been at Shitty’s for two weeks -- despite her parents (and Shitty’s dad’s far stronger and uglier) misgivings about her hanging out with a dude from college without any parents around -- and it’s been two weeks of continual sweating. Lardo wants to shower constantly.

Shitty wriggles around to reach the hair tie pile Lardo has next to the bed without dislodging her. There’s no way they’re going to cut down on their cuddle and chill time, hot as balls and sweaty as it may be; Lardo hasn’t seen Shits all summer before this, and in a few days she’ll be back home and then off to Kenya til the spring.

Shitty finally hands her a hair tie and says, tying back his own flow with another tie, “At least you’re gonna be prepared as shit for the heat after this.”

“Don’t even,” says Lardo. “I’m gonna transfer my study to, like, Antarctica. I’m done with sweating.” She revels in the temporary relative coolness now her hair is off her neck, then mashes her face back into Shitty’s chest. It’s dumb, and she’s lowkey actually excited beyond words for Kenya, but she’s gonna miss him so much.

“That would be pretty swaesome, not gonna lie. Get in on those fucking penguin huddles.” 

“Wouldn’t that defeat the point? I wanna be cold, not cosy.”

“Dude, I’ve said it before and I’ll say it again: we’ll buy one of those cooler bags, empty out the fridge and take all the draws out and shit, then you get up on a chair and climb right in,” says Shitty, Lardo listening with awful fondness as he attempts to persuade her for the tenth time in two days, “I’ll give you a flashlight and play Netflix with audio description for you.”

“Thanks, Shits. You’ve always got my back.”

Shitty shrugs and strokes her hair a bit, playing with the ponytail. “Hey, it’s what I’m here for. You come up for sicker burns for my dad’s CD collection than I ever could, I empty out my fridge and shut you inside. Mutually fucking beneficial, bro.”

They listen to the AC’s wheezy attempts for a minute or two.

“Would you cut my hair?” asks Lardo.

Shitty is quiet. “Uh. Well.” He pauses. “Lards, I am honored to the depths of my soul that you would, uh, trust me with that but I also feel it’s my moral-bound duty to warn you it would be the ugliest shit ever. Like, a mullet or some shit. Or worse.”

Lardo makes her voice small and sad and says, “Oh. Sure. Like, if you don’t wanna then no problem, it doesn’t matter.” She can feel Shitty growing uncomfy under and makes sure he can’t see the smile starting to spread across her face. She loves fucking with him.

“Lardo, no!” he protests unhappily. “I would cut your hair all day every day, bro, if I had a single fucking modicum of skill in these hands.”

“It’s fine, Shits.”

“No, no, no, wait,” says Shitty, and then with grim determination, “I will do my utmost to give you the sickest flow known to man. I’ll read one of those wikihows and watch a fuck load of youtube clips and we’ll be outta here, chopping and clipping and all that good shit.” 

He reaches for his cell to start researching and Lardo admires the dedication but knows it’s time to cut this off before Shitty is two hours and twenty videos deep.

“Shitty, I’m kidding. I wouldn’t let you in twenty feet of my hair with a pair of scissors, fully no shade.”

“No shit?” and then when Lardo gives him a come on, bro look, Shitty breathes out a sigh of relief. “Oh, thank fuck. Holy shit, Lards. My God. I thought you were suffering some hardcore heatstroke there.”

“Don’t front, you were gonna do it.”

“Some intensive dehydration seriously fucking impeding your decision making capabilities, man.”

Lardo let’s him have it. “Yeah, yeah, whatever. I’m thinking I’m gonna do it when I’m back in the US of A, gonna get that Samwell chop.”

“Yeah?” says Shits, and Lardo knows he’s not just asking about a change in hairstyle. Everyone knows who it is that gets the Samwell chop.

Lardo shrugs. “Yeah. I’m not gonna tell my parents anything yet, but I’m gonna start building on those art student vibes.”

“Gonna finally get Camilla Collins to swoon at your feet?”

Lardo kicks him, medium-strength. “Fuck off, Shits, you were schwasted but I know you remember us making out at the tennis club kegster. You literally high-fived me about it when you saw her selfies on your FB feed, like, a week ago.”

“Just proud of you, dude. My hottest two BFFs getting with the one and only Camilla Collins in one academic year is a lot for one man to handle. Some stunning taste all round.”

Lardo can’t disagree with him. “Well, anyway. Your boner aside, bro, I’m just saying this all because if I cut all my hair off in Kenya with no plan and it’s fuck-ugly instead of reaching a peak bi aesthetic, it’s gonna be because all my heat-coping abilities were worn into oblivion by your shitty fucking AC.”

“Hey!” says Shitty, all put-on offense, “she’s old and she’s a beauty that’s just trying her best. Also, the fridge is right fucking there, Lards, I have told you the exact course of action.”

Lardo tries to sound snappy but fails, swallowing a laugh halfway through at the image as she says, “For fuck’s sake, Shitty, you get in the fridge if you love it so much!”

[ask-the-phan-site]

Phan Cam: Horizon Heist: Flint Marco/Sandman

>Horizon High. We were in class when Mr. Slott was taking attendance.

That’s that. I see Mr. Parker is absent again. I know he’s a superhero, but he should show up for class once in a while.

I’m sure he’s fine. He’ll be back.

Same here. Do don’t worry.

Akechi: Right. Thanks.

Can I ask a question?

Mr. Slott: What is, Mr. Morales?

Miles: ... Why is Ryuji back? Don’t get me wrong, I’m glad his back here at Horizon. But why?

Ryuji: Well, with Oz Academy gone, I needed a place to go. Lucky Max let me back in.

That’s good. That means you can be with your friends again.

Ryuji: Yeah. I was an idiot for going to Oz. If only I knew what was going to happen, I should have stayed here. Though I am going to miss Dr. Connors. All he wanted was to have both arms.

Mr. Slott: Well don’t worry, he’s getting all the help he needs.

I’m sure. I believe in him.

>Then, the door of the classroom opened and Sand Girl came in.

... I’m...

Mr. Slott: You’re late, Ms. Alvarado... Then again, you’re not a real student, you just sort of threatened us to let you in, so it’s fine.

Sand Girl: I’m... Calling an assembly. Please come.

>With that, she leaves.

I wonder what she’s planning.

I guess we’ll find out soon.

>Later at the assembly hall, we all saw Sand Girl on stage at a podium.

Sand Girl: I have something to confess... I escaped from S.H.I.E.L.D. custody and blackmailed family. I tried to extort money from them... Which is unforgivable for someone my age. I even threatened you. As a peer, this only served to make you miserable... I apologize for my behavior and will gladly turn myself over to S.H.I.E.L.D. I don’t expect you to forgive me... (begins looking down) But please, remember my like this and never be troubled again.

>I look up at the entrance to see Flint watching. Later, S.H.I.E.L.D. agents came and took Sand Girl away. They wanted to take Flint as well, but Max convinced them to let him stay.

But just in case, you have our number.

I’ll think about it. For now, let us take care of him.

>With that, S.H.I.E.L.D. leaves. I go over to Flint.

Looks like you’re safe.

That’s only because you helped.

Ren: Now what would make you think I had anything to do with this?

>Before I knew it, Flint was motioning me to the janitor’s closet. Max gave Flint a job here as a janitor. Partly because he needed a place to stay in order to hide from Hammerhead and partly to study Flint and his powers to find out how they work... and possibly find a cure for him.

Ren: What is it?

Flint: You can quit pretending now... Mr. Phantom Thief.

Umm! Well, that is a very interesting accusation.

Flint: Save it, even I figured it out. The information gathering, you knowing to well how the criminal underworld works, plus you showed your face on that calling card. Not to mention that right after you experienced Keemia and asked for her information. Guess I’m not as dumb as you think.

Ren: ... I guess not.

Flint: You know, if I were to reveal to Hammerhead who the Phantom Thieves are, he would most likely decide to let me live and maybe even forgive me for failing him... But then what? Keemia is pretty much gone and my life won’t be any different than it was before I got these powers.

Ren: So you’ll keep it to yourself?

Flint: Is there no honor among thieves?

Ren: From what I’m told... Nope. But from what I’ve seen with Black Cat... Maybe. But I trust you.

Flint: (laughs a bit) That’s good to hear. You’ve done so much already. I at least owe you that much.

Ren: I know. But you shouldn’t give up on your daughter so quickly. Just give it time, she’ll come around. Just as I do so much for you, I know you did so much for her.

>I show him the mirror.

Flint: (surprised) Th- That’s...

Ren: This is just a copy. She still has the one you gave her. But it still holds meaning. You loved her and would do anything for her. Just be there for her and I know things will work out.

Flint: And if she doesn’t.

Ren: Then maybe it just wasn’t meant to be between you two. All I can tell you to do then is try to move on.

Flint: (smiling) ... Thank you. Here, I got this for you from my first pay here.

>Flint gives me a Coney Island Poster.

Ren: You sure like Coney Island.

Flint: It was the only place in New York I ever felt truly at home.

Ren: I see. Maybe next summer, we can go back. This time, let’s make it a social affair.

Flint: (smiling again) I’m sure. I’m looking forward to it. It’s just that... Whenever you’re around... I truly feel like a good father and you as a son. Of course, I know you already have a real father.

Ren: ...

Thank you.

>I can feel Flint’s parental caring for me.

I am thou, thou art I… Thou hast turned a vow into a blood oath.

Thy bond shall become the wings of rebellion and break the yoke of thy heart.

Thou has awakened to the ultimate secret of the other Hanged Man, granting thee infinite power…

Rank Up!

Confidant: Sandman

Arcana: Hanged Man

Rank: 10 (MAX)

Ability: Sandstorm

Flint can gather information for you from S.H.I.E.L.D.

Ren: I wonder if by the time we come back to visit, you’ll be cured.

Flint: ... I don’t know. Besides, it looks like Modell already has his hands full with someone else in the same situation.

Ren: Yeah, I heard... We’re all hoping Aleksei will get better soon.

>The bell rings and I return to class... Aleksei... Keemia... Get better soon.