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mercy-burning · 3 years ago

Text

Fake Fiancée - Part 3

Pairing: Spencer Reid x fem!Reader Summary: Reader and Spencer write letters back and forth, both of them slowly starting to fall in deeper. Category: Smut (18+) Content Warnings: Strong language, sexual themes, masturbation (male and female), sexting, face sitting Word Count: 6.3k

PART 1 | PART 2 | PART 3 | PART 4

MASTERLIST

NOTE: Hello!! Sorry this has been so long in the making, but for a while my inspiration for this story absolutely disappeared, and then I tried to think of how to bridge the previous chapters to the final one with absolutely no luck. And then I re-read Part 2 and got stuck on the letter, thus this chapter was born! I didn’t want to drag this miniseries out any longer than 4 parts, and the letter format combined with other inner monologuing and description really allowed me to do that in an interesting way that hopefully doesn’t feel rushed!

It was so much fun and very refreshing to write. I hope you like how it turned out!

Thank you all for being so patient while I get my shit together 😅 Love you guys! Enjoy 🥰

***

We've been sending letters back and forth for about a month now.

If I'm being honest, it took me about two weeks to decide whether or not I actually wanted to send one back, but could you blame me?

Here was this guy I couldn't stop thinking about after a one-night stand, only for him to catch me—months later at the same exact bar we'd met in—flirting with his friend. And then after our sexual encounter that night, all the things we said, the connection I thought we had, all of it...

He left it all behind the next morning, only to send me a letter in the mail.

I was pissed.

Sure, it was a nice letter, but the fact that he'd reduced what we had down to a piece of paper and scribbled ink had made me angrier than I cared to admit.

In retrospect, I may have overreacted.

Over time I started re-reading his words, and the more I thought about it all, the more I started to regret my anger. And more than anything, I just wanted to see him again. I couldn't stay mad at him, not when all I could picture was his pouty face and nervous hands. His sunbeam of a smile peeked through the clouds of my anger here and there, and the longer it settled, the more it bathed me in a warm light that should have made me happy. But all it did was make me long for him.

Once I'd actually started writing that first letter back, I wondered why I hadn't jumped on the opportunity in the first place. I mean, after all the cliché shit we'd experienced in our short relationship thus far, adding love letters to the mix was just as perfect as you could get, right?

Spencer,

I'm sorry it's taken me this long to finally write you back. Truthfully I wasn't sure I wanted to write you at all, but your letter kept drawing me back in. I couldn't stop re-reading it, imagining you sitting down somewhere and contemplating every word as you wrote them down. I wondered if you'd thrown out hundreds of pieces of paper after messing up when you could have just as well typed out a letter without wasting them.

And then by that point, all I could think about was just you.

I always pictured what your living room looks like, or your kitchen table, or your office, or wherever you sit down to write. I wondered if you looked like one of those hopeless writers in the movies that have a scruffy face, coffee stains on their white tee shirts, and messy hair that hasn't been washed in days due to lack of inspiration.

But in the end, the image that won out over all the others was just you as I remember.

I'm not going to lie, that image most of the time was your body above mine while I held my hand to your throat, but for the sake of romance I guess I should probably tell you what it was every other time— the outfit you were wearing the first time we met.

When I think of you, I think of your hand nervously clutching that beer bottle for dear life and the other one occasionally pushing your glasses up your nose. I think of your eyes every time they'd look away from me, probably to keep yourself from staring too long.

But the thing that always gets me the most is your smile— even when it comes in little flashes, after you've said something you probably thought was lame. You covered it up with that perfect smile.

I've dreamt of that smile nearly every night since I met you, and I wouldn't be opposed to seeing it in person again.

I'd love to meet you for dinner some time.

But since you did manage to "more or less abandon me twice now", I think it's only fair that you make it up to me first.

Make the next letter a good one, and we'll see what happens.

Yours, Y/N

P.S. I hope my handwriting is as pretty as you hoped. I'd hate to disappoint.

***

Y/N,

I'm incredibly grateful that you've given me a chance to redeem myself. Every night since I last saw you has also been spent wondering what your house looks like on the inside... What you looked like reading my letter (perhaps at your kitchen table?)

And this might sound silly, but I've also wondered what your bedroom looks like. You may be laughing at me, because I've been in your bedroom, but in my defense I was a bit preoccupied to really take notice of my surroundings— I was simply surrounded by you.

But since I've been to your home, I figured it was only fair that I invite you to mine, possibly for dinner. I don't know how to cook much— in fact I'm pretty awful at making anything that's not a can of Spaghetti-Os... But one of my co-workers is an excellent chef, and with a recipe from him and some practice under my belt, I'm sure I can pull it off.

But by "some" practice, I mean probably weeks or months of practice. So hopefully that gives you ample time to mull it over.

Perhaps in the meantime we can get to know each other through our letters. And who's to say, it might spare us the awkward "getting to know each other" stage of a first date. Though, pretty much every stage of every date is awkward for me, so it might not help at all.

Regardless, I'm very much looking forward to hearing from you again.

I do get called away for work quite often, however. So I apologize in advance if I can't get back to you as soon as I'd like.

But in any instance, you're still welcome to text message or call me. I know it isn't as romantic or personal as handwritten letters, but it's certainly practical.

Yours, Spencer.

P.S. Your handwriting is just as beautiful as I'd imagined it would be. And you could never disappoint me.

That being said, if you somehow decide that this letter wasn't up to your standards and reject my offer, I may just find myself in the deepest despair imaginable.

***

I was definitely way too in my head about this.

It was just a text. Sure, it was a risky text to send, but I had no doubt in my mind that it would be fine in the end.

So why was my stomach churning just thinking about sending it?

Some might have chalked it up to my fat ol' crush on Spencer, but I knew it ran deeper. It had to do at least a little with my history with Patrick... The man stood me up and sent divorce papers to my place of work rather than to my face... And as much as I liked to think I was completely over it, we'd been together for years, and it really did a number on me.

I didn't want to ruin this new thing with Spencer so badly that I was overthinking everything.

So even though I could see his face opening the text, my heart doing jumps at the mere thought of it, a bigger part of me worried that it would be a step too far in the wrong direction. I didn't want him to think I was only in this for... sexual reasons. Which, don't get me wrong, have been pretty damn great so far, but I really did want to get to know him and see where this went.

In the end I decided to hold off. I settled for something a little lighter.

Spencer,

Don't feel too bad about your cooking skills. I've been through my fair share of burnt frozen pizzas to know how you're feeling. So the fact that you've given yourself the opportunity to practice and learn a recipe just for me is extremely romantic, and I appreciate the thought.

I won't stop you from following through, though I'm telling you now that no amount of slaving away in the kitchen will make me change my mind about you. We could probably eat stale crackers on the floor and I'd still find you utterly fascinating.

Maybe that's a bit too extreme, but I hope you get my point.

Anyway, I'd love to come over for dinner some time. Whenever you think you're ready to show me those improved cooking skills, you just let me know and I'll happily make my way over.

In the meantime, I'm thinking of sending more with my letters. I don't want to give away too much, but I will say that I'm very crafty. And don't feel like you need to send anything in return, though I'll let you know if I ever change my mind.

Yours,

Y/N

***

In the bottom right corner of the letter, right next to her signature, was a red lipstick stain in the shape of... well, her lips. It was common sense to know that they were hers and no one else's, not just a stamp or a drawing, and rather her actual lip stain... But even without it, I would have been able to tell by their shape.

Was that pathetic?

I could hear her, picture her in front of me, hovering above me with red-painted lips in the shape of a smirk, visibly cooing as she called me names... I could feel the ghost of her fingertips trailing up my throat and tilting my chin up to look at her as she rocked her hips teasingly into mine...

The whine I let out truly was pathetic.

You pathetic, needy little thing, I could hear her say...

My hands clutched the paper so tightly I thought I'd tear it, but it didn't matter when all I could see while staring at it was her luscious, red lips... Her voice was right there in my ear, like she was really beside me, watching me...

Oh, God, what would she do if she saw me right now? Staring at her lipstick stained paper and subconsciously grinding down into my chair...

You pathetic, needy little thing...

My hips jolted with a small, broken shout of her name, and in no time the front of my pants were flooded with warmth. I felt her eyes burning into me from the void, sparking to life with amusement as her voice crept into the deep corners of my brain and whispered praises to me.

Ohh, what a good little whore... Getting off to the thought of me... That's it, sweet boy... Come for me...

By now my eyes had squeezed shut and the letter was crumpled in my hand, the other reaching down to add much-appreciated burning friction to my crotch as I rode out my orgasm. My whole body tensed and shuddered at every sensation, from Y/N's image behind my eyes to the sweet warmth that pooled in my underwear and soaked through onto my hand.

Holy mother of—

The next time I saw her, I was screwed. I wouldn't be able to keep a straight face. I'd surely go red the second I laid eyes on her, and she'd know right away what I was thinking and feeling.

Simply put, it scared and excited me at the same time.

She'd utterly and thoroughly wrecked me, and if she didn't already know it, she certainly would soon.

Y/N,

I'm not sure what you intend to send in addition to your letters, but if it's anything near the sentiment of your lip stain, then you might have to refrain in favor of my poor, fragile heart.

See, it aches for you. It's bad enough I think of you always, but the moment I saw the shape of your lips on that letter, my heart almost shot straight out of my chest. Maybe it was the familiar shape of your lips or the implications of its place next to your name, signed after the word 'yours', that sent me into a tailspin, but whatever the case...

I'm pretty sure I've completely fallen under your spell.

I suppose I should also tell you that my heart wasn't the only part of my body that came to life at your added signature. I assure you, it took no time at all for me to come undone at the thought of your lips pressing gently against the paper, imagining that they were instead pressing to my skin... I didn't even have to touch myself, really. It just happened. Because of you and you alone.

I hope that wasn't too forward, but I felt it necessary that you know just how much of an effect you have on me.

If I could see you again in a millisecond, it wouldn't be soon enough.

That being said, I am determined to spend as much time as possible to perfect this dish for our dinner. Because you deserve nothing but the best, even if you insist that you could settle for less.

It's the least I can do.

Yours, Spencer.

And a week and a half later, when I didn't get a letter back on time, I was sure I'd messed up for good.

My mind was racing a mile a minute, yelling at myself for even thinking for a second of being that detailed in a letter without any consent. Sure, she'd taken it a step up by signing off her letter with a kiss, but I'd been absolutely idiotic in telling her that I got off to it.

I was honestly well and truly prepared to show up at her house with a big bouquet of flowers and an apology so wordy and probably too long for anyone's liking, in hopes that she'd forgive me for making this huge mistake.

Thankfully, though, it wasn't needed.

My phone chimed as I was pacing, my lip near bloody with how hard I'd been chewing at it, and I saw an unknown number attached to a text message and photo attachment.

The photo wouldn't load (I would have to plug it into my laptop and transfer the image there to see it— a fact which always irked Penelope to the core), but with the sentences I saw above the file, I almost knew exactly what I'd find when I had the means to see it.

There. Now we're even... Who says text messages can't be romantic and personal? XXX, Y/N

I felt like Bambi as I scrambled to my laptop three rooms over, stumbling over weak legs with my phone clutched tightly in my hand. My heart raced faster than it ever had as I started everything up and retrieved the right cord for my phone. With a few shakes and stumbles here and there, I briefly entertained the idea of upgrading my phone.

I probably would have left the apartment to do it immediately after seeing her photo attachment, but the moment it loaded up on my screen, my brain and body lost all ability to function properly.

A familiar burn coursed through the lower half of my body and tightened my chest at the sight of her, open and exposed and... wet.

My laptop screen was completely taken over by the image of Y/N's pussy, visibly glistening and aroused. A manicured hand—her hand— was in frame as well, middle finger resting snugly between the supple skin of her wet lips.

The fact that I only tasted her once felt downright cruel.

I tried to imagine it again— my face buried between the softness of her thighs. As much as I wanted to lay her down and indulge myself as long as possible, taking all the time in the world to slowly devour her and truly explore her for myself, what ran through my mind then was something more in the vein of our dynamic thus far.

My mind wandered, specifically to a place where I was the one laying down as she sat down directly onto my face and gave me what she thought I deserved. My hands were tied to the bed, maybe handcuffed. All I knew was that I couldn't touch her, and it bothered me. So I whined, and every time the sound left my mouth, she would let up, lifting further out of reach and causing me to instinctively reach my head up to chase her.

You greedy little slut... Take what I give you...

Desperately seeking her approval, I told her I'd be good and rejoiced when she lowered herself down to me again, allowing me to me completely wrapped up in her once more. My tongue lapped and lapped, gathering as much of her as I could before she'd inevitably leave again.

But she never did.

Somehow I kept my quiet, even though it was extremely difficult, and ate her out like my life depended on it. She glided smoothly over my face, coating more than just my lips in her arousal, and it thrilled me to my very core.

Every time I breathed in I could smell her, every time she groaned out my name my stomach fluttered, and it wasn't long before she was clutching my hair, shaking above me while I drank her in and repressed my whines.

My hips were uncontrollable though, bucking up into nothing and begging for any type of stimulation.

But then suddenly it was there— Her hand, firmly wrapping around my dick and gliding over it beautifully with a slickness that she must have transferred from her pussy. I could still taste her as I cried out her name, her movements quickening with every second until—

I didn't even realize I was actually alone until my eyes opened, cum coating my hand, my heartbeat heavy and loud, and the laptop screen in front of me a shade darker signaling a long period of inactivity.

I'd done it again...

And now we most certainly were not even.

I glanced over at my phone—plugged into the laptop—and then down at my lap, and my stomach knotted as my next move rang clear as day.

***

I woke up the next morning to texts from Spencer, and my heart picked up speed, a gentle warmth blooming through my chest at the sight.

I thought maybe he'd thank me for the photo I'd sent. Maybe he'd return it with an influx of messages along the lines of Oh my god, Holy fuck I miss you, and the like.

But what I wasn't expecting was to see a photo in return, of his hand that I'd dreamt of nearly nightly, wrapped firmly around his cock and all of it completely covered in cum.

Below the photo were three messages in a row, and each one gave me more butterflies than the last.

Sorry for low quality. No smartphone.

Also sorry we're not even anymore.

But I'm not sorry I did it- you're too perfect to resist.

***

Dearest Y/N,

I'm sorry you haven't gotten a letter from me in a while. And I know we've kept in touch through texting and calling while I was swamped at work, though now that I have some time off, I'd love to write you again. As much as I enjoy our virtual conversations, I still find sending letters to be my preferred method of communication (only second to speaking with you in person, that is).

Which brings me to the main point I'm trying to make.

I want to see you again. In person. I'm not completely confident in my cooking ability yet, but if you wouldn't mind the potential of it tasting awful, I'd love to have you over. I promise you nothing but the best, and I know that's a high promise, especially considering I probably haven't sold you on the meal, but it's true.

I'd do anything to please you.

And I really do mean 'anything', I hope you understand that.

Yours, Spencer.

***

The thought of seeing him in person again after so long made my hands way shakier than I would have liked. It made no sense the longer I thought about it, because it was obvious that we liked each other, and seeing each other in person wouldn't be a problem. Because it'd never been a problem before.

It irked me.

Still, I knocked on his door and physically shook out my hands, praying I could keep my cool when he finally opened the door.

But I should have known better.

One second I was staring at a large plank of wood, and the next I was staring into frantic eyes, golden and sparkling just as I remembered, but with an added glimmer of fear that matched the shakiness of my hands.

I don't know how long we stood there, just staring at each other, but the longer we did, the more we relaxed. His fear was gone, and the shaking in my hands turned into a dull hum that longed to reach out for him.

Still, I refrained, settling on a simple, "Hey, pen pal..."

By the way he looked at me, silent as ever, I started to wonder if that was a stupid thing to lead with. So I opened my mouth to apologize, to say anything else, but he beat me to it.

"Y/N... I... H—Hi, you look... incredible."

"O—Oh, thanks... Thank you, yeah, I um... figured I should... dress up a little. I know we're not going out anywhere, but I thought it might be nice."

He doesn't need to know that, Y/N, stop talking!

I gave him a small smile and a nervous laugh in an attempt to stop myself, hating how I was so nervous around him.

Spencer didn't seem to mind, though. He let me in and closed the door behind me as I quickly glanced around his apartment. It was littered with greens and browns, books everywhere, and I'd never felt more at home.

"Is it, uh... What you expected?"

"Hmm?" I turned to meet him, his soft voice pulling me from my wandering eyes.

"My apartment."

"Oh! Yeah, it's very you... I love it."

The compliment had his cheeks turning pink, and there was nothing I wanted to do more than kiss them over and over again.

And just like that, once again we were caught just staring at each other. I didn't know what he was thinking, and honestly, I didn't know what I was thinking either. All I knew in that moment was that Spencer Reid was standing right in front of me, close enough to touch, and I wanted to give in.

I was so wrapped up in the idea of feeling him that I almost didn't hear him speak. I wouldn't have heard him at all had it not been for his lips moving.

"I'm sorry, I haven't started dinner yet..."

"That's okay," I reassured. Or, at least I tried to. Really, though, I think it sounded more like I was uninterested in what he was saying, my voice flat and lifeless as I continued to stare at him.

Suddenly we were closer, and I had to look up higher to see his face, butterflies swarming in my stomach at the way he looked down at me.

"You're sure?"

"Mhm."

"I can start it now if you're getting hungry."

Food isn't what I'm hungry for, is what I thought. I almost said it, too, because he was even closer now, his hands coming out to touch mine. If they were humming before, they were certainly blaring with life now, growing hot under his light touch. And it took everything I had not to look down, because it had been too damn long since I'd seen his hands in person, and I wanted them on me immediately.

He could tell, too. He could sense my urgency, feel the longing radiating off my presence, and I knew this because I could feel his, too. His eyes practically dared me to say what I was thinking, and so I did.

"Don't you dare."

It was hard to tell who moved in first, but it really didn't matter.

I was here, in his apartment, feeling his lips glide over mine with reckless abandon, and that's all that mattered.

His hands gripped my waist so tightly I would have thought he was trying to hold me in place, to make sure I wasn't ever going to leave his sight again. And if that was the case, I would have let him hold me there forever.

My hands, meanwhile, clutched at his hair, forcing myself closer and closer to him with every sharp tug. I reveled in the way he whined into my mouth with every little thing I did, whether it was a tug of the hair or a roll forward of the hips, or even a swipe of my tongue over his.

He was putty in my hands yet again, and just like every time before, it turned me into a fucking goner.

Being with Spencer wasn't like anything I'd ever known. And the only other thing I'd known was Patrick. He didn't want me, not really, and even though he was good to me in the beginning, it was never like this.

I didn't come over to his apartment with shaking hands. I didn't send him fucking love letters almost weekly, and I certainly didn't get kissed like this...

Spencer was drunk on me, and I wasn't any sober myself.

"That picture you sent me..." I mumbled over his lips, still keeping myself as close as I could while I got out what I needed to say. "Where did you take that?"

We kissed for a few more seconds, unable to stay apart, before he answered, his voice just as breathy and brimming with desperation as mine. "My office. Just down the hall."

I kissed him again, hard, and then pulled back to look him in the eyes. They widened when I said, "Show me."

He dragged me through the apartment on rushed legs, and I almost laughed at the urgency, only stopped by the realization that I was just as urgent. It occurred to me that perhaps my laughing at his urgency might just be a slight turn on for him, given our history with my playful degradation, but still I pulled back— Tonight felt... different.

It didn't feel like we were headed in the direction of me calling him my dirty little whore throughout the night, and it was something I was more than okay with. In fact, I welcomed it, excited to see where this new night would take us.

We ended up in his office, which remained more or less the same aesthetic as the rest of his place. In the middle sat a small desk with a laptop and some papers scattered about on it, accompanied by a tall floor lamp and a rolling desk chair.

"Where were you exactly?" I mused, gripping his hand tightly and buzzing at the way his fingers flexed against my own.

"In the chair... I pulled the photo up on my laptop."

"Right. No smartphone."

Spencer hummed in confirmation before dragging me along to the chair, and I fucking giggled as he plopped down and practically pulled me right on top of him, the chair rolling back a foot or two. I went down for a bright, messy kiss that ended with his hands clutching my ass over my skirt and my own cradling his face.

His growing bulge nudged right up into my inner thigh, and I groaned lightly in his mouth, my fingers dragging softly down his jaw and neck until I reached his shoulders.

"What were you thinking about?"

He raised his eyebrow, and I rocked my hips forward with a sly grin, hoping to get my point across. "When you were looking at my picture, in this very chair, what were you thinking about?"

Seeing his eyelids stutter and his tongue dart out at my movements sent a rush through me, and I moved my hips once more to emphasize my urgency.

"I... I thought about you... riding my face. You tied my hands..."

"Oh?" I sighed, rocking forward again and humming into his neck. "Well, that can definitely be arranged if you want it bad enough..."

"Please, Y/N, yes... Please..."

The need dripping from every syllable made it near impossible to breathe, and I was suddenly very inclined to give him everything he wanted. With or without the begging.

So I reluctantly peeled away from him and stood up on weak legs. Staring at Spencer as he sat there, leaning back in the chair with disheveled hair and obvious desire in his eyes, made it all the better when I took my panties off from under my skirt and motioned for him to come forward. "On your knees?"

I would have demanded it in any other situation, but I was feeling a bit more sweet this time around.

And he seemed grateful for it, sliding the chair back further and getting down in front of me. I reached out and played with his hair, trying my hardest to commit his beautiful face to memory. I wanted it burned there for the rest of time.

"Hands?"

Spencer offered his hands to me, and I hummed happily, doing my best to tie his hands together with a makeshift knot from my panties. It wasn't really tight or secure, but it was enough for him to whine as he set them in his lap.

He watched intently as I dropped my skirt—a bit redundant now, but I thought it'd be a nice way to get him more excited. Plus I wanted to see his face (or at lease what I could see of it while it was buried between my legs).

I stepped forward then, looking down at him with a smile while my hands reached out to comb through his hair. "You ready?"

"Uh huh."

The look in his eyes right before I came forward and hovered over his face almost made my come on the spot.

But as fun as that would have been, I was glad for the way my body held off and settled for a beautiful, burning increase of pleasure that dragged out the longer he swiped his tongue through my folds. Actually, I forgot for a moment that I was supposed to be moving, riding his face like he'd thought about.

I willed my eyes open and clutched Spencer's soft locks of hair beneath me, gently rolling my hips and grinding down further on his face. The groan he let out not only felt good against my skin, but it sounded like pure bliss, eliciting a small whimper of my own as I tightened my grip in his hair and rocked faster.

"God, I missed having your mouth on me, baby... You're... so good..."

The longer I spoke the more breathless I became, not because the words didn't come easily, but because I truly believed them to be true.

Spencer really was so fucking good, his tongue the most delicate, divine object of the universe as it drew out every ounce of delight from my body. I may have been the one above him, calling the shots and directing him where and how to please me, but he was the one who clung to my soul like static and politely guided me towards damnation.

I wasn't even sure of my surroundings to tell you the truth. As my body tensed and took me through one of the most blinding pleasures I'd experienced in weeks, My eyes were squeezed so tightly it's like I saw the universe. All I knew was Spencer's lips sucking my clit and my hands deeply rooted in his hair as I shouted incoherently, stars swirling around behind my eyelids.

Truly, for all I knew, we could have been in space. It wouldn't have made any difference.

But eventually it came to be too much. I was reaching a limit I didn't want to get to so quickly, and so I flashed my eyes open and tried to adjust to this brand new atmosphere, unweaving my fingers through pretty brown waves of hair and stepping back to assess the situation.

What I found was the most beautiful man I'd ever known, panting like he'd just ran a marathon and yet harboring the most intense joy and desire a person could hold. He was on his knees, bound hands writhing in his lap as he awaited further instruction and licked up as much of myself on his face as he could before I stopped him.

Under normal circumstances, I would have wanted to absolutely ruin him. That adoring, desperate look in his eye would have spurred me to more devious endeavors, but all I wanted in this moment was to make sure he was satisfied. I wanted to take care of him, to let him know that I longed to make him feel as worshipped and adored as he'd made me feel.

I got down to Spencer's level, quickly removing the fabric from his wrists and hauling him to his feet, where he now towered over me, still waiting for words to address and instruct him.

Instead, I leaned up with soft hands upon his cheeks and pulled him down to meet my lips in a kiss that changed the tone entirely. It was erotic still, of course, what with my arousal infiltrating my taste buds and eliciting a soft sigh from the both of us, but our urgency manifested in sweeter ways... Softer lips, gentle touches of the face, and an exchanging of breath that was so smooth and seamless it felt like we were floating on air.

I was finding it hard to breathe again, but it wasn't an issue in the slightest. In fact, there was nowhere else I'd rather have been than right there, kissing Spencer Reid like we had all the time in the world.

When the breathlessness was a little too much to bear, we pulled away, though only leaving just enough space to breathe. Our lips stayed briefly connected while we caught up, and his hands found their way to the sides of my face. The way they practically engulfed my whole head brought a brief smile to my lips as I finally gave him the words he was looking for.

"I'm so glad I met you," I whispered.

"Funny, I was just thinking the same thing."

We kissed each other again, naturally and with so much ease that I wondered how I had ever lived without him.

And then, as my hands slid gently down his chest, I felt it.

Something that felt very much like a ring attached to a necklace sat right where his heartbeat resided, and I knew exactly which ring it was.

"W—" I pulled back and circled the shape of it with my finger through the shirt, then looked up at him. "Is that what I think it is?"

Spencer looked briefly panicked, pulling away a little and fishing down the front of his shirt for the chain. "Oh... Um, yeah. I, um... I forgot to take it off, I'm sorry. I..."

"You... kept it?"

I observed the diamond as it laid flat on my palm, still attached to the chain and around his neck. Honestly, after all this time I figured he'd never found it or gotten rid of it, seeing as he never brought it up. And yet there it was, glittering in the palm of my hand as my other one presses firmly against Spencer's rapidly beating heart.

"Y—Yeah... It um... It was really the only physical thing I had to remember you—Well, at least until we started sending letters... And I guess I just... W—Wearing it has become such a habit that I forgot to take it off."

"You never take it off?"

I could tell he was nervous, and rightfully so given I wasn't really letting on how I was feeling about the whole thing.

Still, he answered my short question in such a small whisper I'd have thought he was trying not to get in trouble.

"No."

"Why?"

My words certainly weren't helping ease his anxieties, so I remained close, dropping the ring and focusing rather on his eyes. I softened the look in my own and glided my hands down to hold his. His fingers flexed against mine, squeezing them for dear life as he sighed out in relief and flashed me a soft smile.

"Because... I wanted you close to my heart."

With a smile that mirrored his eyes, full of enchantment and pure adoration for the person in front of me, I didn't use my brain and instead focused on what my heart was telling me, consequences be damned.

"I think I might love you..."

Spencer squeezed my hands tighter, that relief spreading out to all his features and brightening that beautiful smile.

"Funny... I was just thinking the same thing."

Our lips met once more, and I swear it was like nothing bad was ever going to happen for the rest of time.

I'd never felt that way. Not once with Patrick did my heart feel settled into place, even during the great parts of our relationship.

And now here I was, with a man who sent me love letters and kept every physical reminder of my existence, who kissed me like I was the most precious thing in the world and slowly mended my wounded heart.

He held me close the whole way to his bedroom and never let me go until the morning. Though, even then his arms outstretched towards me and his fingers flexed, needing to grab onto any part of me that he could find.

And as I was sure I always would, I welcomed him with open arms.

***

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#spencer reid x reader #spencer reid #spencer reid smut #spencer reid x reader smut #criminal minds #criminal minds smut #criminal minds fanfiction #spencer reid fanfiction

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anxious-allie-ren · 3 years ago

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Hey everyone! I’d like to introduce the new story I am writing! You can find it on both my AO3 and Wattpad. Both of which are linked in my bio. But I’ll also be posting the chapters here for you all. Be easy on me as I haven’t quite figured out how to post chapters on here and create a master list. That is something I will be working on. Alright, now in to the good stuff.

Erota

As the only daughter from a high society family, the pressure is on you to impress the ton and find a suitable match. You hope to find love, but your fate is decided for you. Your marriage is arranged to King Kylo of Chandrila. Pain and tough decisions are soon to follow.

This story is inspired by Bridgerton and regency era.

Hello everyone! I have been dreaming of writing this fic for a bit now and finally gathered the courage to do it! Like I said in the description, this story is heavily influenced by the regency era and the Netflix show Bridgerton. I've done my best to keep it accurate to both the era and the Star Wars world. I hope you enjoy!

The Ton.

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The season has finally arrived. You have officially joined the ton and are coming out into society. The debutantes of higher society are to be presented in court. This now includes you and your family.

You were the only child of the Duke of Selonia. A small territory southeast of Drall within the kingdom of Corellia. It's a quaint little area, nothing to brag about. It was cozy and calm. Many of the families had lived in the area for generations. Neighbors all knew each other. But despite its comfort and kindness it was lacking funds.

Since you had been able to remember, life was very simple. You helped in the gardens, the kitchens, and even with the laundry work. Your family took trips to town often, visiting with the people. Your mother loved to stop at the bakery and buy pastries to bring back to the estate. She told you stories from her childhood as bedtime stories. Coming from a common family and marrying into high society. Your parents married for love and not statues. Many scolded your father for marrying "below his station" but he let their words roll off his shoulders. He was attracted to your mother for her beauty, kindness, and capabilities. Your mother was no stranger to hard work, and she assured you weren't as well.

As you matured, you watched as your home aged as well. Bricks began to weather with time and vegetation started to take over. Farmers had less success each year and businesses were closing. The help your father was once so quick to provide had now dwindled into nothing. There was no help to give. The funding was nearly gone. After your mother's death, the strong and reliable man you had once called your father was gone. What replaced him was a shell of a man. He gave up on his duties as a duke and instead threw his time and money into bad habits. Gambling and drinking had become his crutch.

You lost your mother in your adolescence. Still a young girl so in need of a mother and her guidance. Her death left you confused and in desperate need of comfort. You tried to lean on your father. But in his own grief, he seemed to forget about you. Instead, you turned to your community. The maids and butlers became your family. They ensured your schooling would continue. The men even went as far as to teach you math and science. When you entered your teens, you attempted to take on the dukedom in secret. You went over all the documents and finances, trying to find a way to help your people and restore your estate. It was to no avail. Nothing could be done without your fathers signature. So you were left with no choice but to let it go. You focused on your studies and lessons with the maids. They helped bring you to maturity. Now, it was time to join society as an eligible woman.

Marriage has been heavy on your mind for many years now. The idea of meeting a man and marrying just for statues or titles didn't interest you. Neither of those things mattered to you. A marriage had become something with such a negative connotation. But love, now that was very different. You yearned for a true love match. You craved a deep connection unlike any you'd ever experienced. As a child, you'd developed small crushes on some of the neighborhood children. The butterflies and blushed looks were something you understood. But you'd never felt love before. You loved your family of course. You even loved your townspeople. But that was so different from what you hoped to find.

Becoming a debutante was not something you were looking forward to. Joining the ladies of high society was only asking for drama. But as the daughter of a Duke, it was your duty to join the ton and find a suitable husband. This had become increasingly important as your territory lost more and more money to your father's lifestyle. These thoughts scrambled around your mind as you got ready. You would be heading to the first ball of the season, your entrance into society, in moments. You were dressed in your nicest items. A deep red ball gown embroidered with golden florals along the bottom of the skirt and corset. Your hair was pinned back, allowing your face to stand out. Your maid, Jillian, was helping you put on your shoes as you looked at yourself in the mirror. Jillian had been with your family before your mother passed. She had watched you grow from a pained child to a strong young woman. She was with you every step of the way. Jillian became a motherly figure and your most trusted confidant.

Jillian pats your calf as she begins to stand, finished with clasping your heels. Her touch pulls you from your thoughts. You give her a polite smile and thank her, turning back to the mirror. Your anxiety is growing with each tick of the clock and in typical Jillian fashion, she can sense your discomfort. She comes to stand behind you, adjusting the pins in your hair.

"You know you're prepared for this. There's no need to sit and worry."

You meet her gaze in the mirror, her gentle blue eyes giving you a wave of comfort. You let out a sigh and play with your fingers.

"I felt prepared, but now that it's upon me, I'm not so sure. So much is at stake here, Jillian. The people of Selonia are relying on me to find someone who can help. What if I'm not up to standards?"

Jillian only chuckles at your words and places her hands on either of your shoulders.

"Standards? Now you're just being silly. You are a kind, intelligent, and strong young lady. Any suitor would be lucky to have you as his wife."

You turn to look at her, face scrunched in concentration.

"That's exactly the issue! It can't just be any suitor. They need to be able to fix dukedom and be the love I've been waiting for. What if that's unrealistic? How can I ever find someone to do both?"

Jillian places a comforting hand on your cheek, her thumb slowly stroking your cheekbone. She gives you a small smile before she speaks.

"Is that what you're so worried about? Dear, you're placing too much stress on yourself. Don't worry about the dukedom or Selonia. Go and find your love, everything else will fall in place."

You lean into her hand and smile, her words bringing you peace and a newfound sense of confidence. She pulls her hand away and turns towards your bedroom door. She calls back to you, "Now let's get you going! It's time."

————————————————

The carriage stopped in front of the King's summer estate. Many of the guests were already walking up the grand entrance and making their way inside. Your father hurried around and opened the door for you, holding his hand out and helping you down. Tonight he was doing his best to look and act presentable. You place your hand in his bent arm and let him lead you into the ball. Neither of you had spoken more than a few words to each other in years. You were surprised he even accompanied you tonight. His presence only made you nervous again. You weren't sure what his intent was by coming. Was he finally stepping back into his positions as father and Duke? Or was there some ulterior motive?

You found out quickly as he leaned in to speak to you, just as you were arriving at the entrance of the ballroom.

"I am expecting you to perform well tonight. I want to see gentlemen callers of high status calling on you tomorrow."

You look up at him and furrow your brows in confusion. So this is what he came for? To ensure you schmoozed with the highest titles with the most money? If so, he's going to be very disappointed.

"I'm here to find a reasonable suitor for myself, father. Not a suitor for you and Selonia."

He stops walking at your words, his head turning to look down at you. You can see his clenched jaw and anger in his eyes. His distaste for your words is written all over his face.

"Stop with your foolish girly fantasy of a love match. You're here to do as I say, and I'll be damned if you disobey me."

His words sting your heart. Your father had never spoken to you this way. When you were young, he was always so gentle and loving towards you. Now it seems you're just another pawn to be thrown around his chessboard as he pleased. You swallow the lump in your throat and move your gaze back down. Now was not the time to worry about this. You had more pressing matters.

You allowed your father to lead you to the entrance, stopping to allow the announcer to get your names. You took a deep breath as you prepared to face the ton. First impressions were everything, and you did not want to screw this up. The announcer clears his throat and stands at attention. Everyone in the room stops what they're doing to await the next debutante.

"Presented by her father, the Duke of Selonia, Miss Y/F/N."

You stare forward as your father leads you into the ballroom and towards the King and Queen of Corellia. You both stopped before them, your father unlinking your arms and bowing. You fall into a curtsy, bowing your head in respect. Your father stands back up and looks to the king. You stay still, awaiting the command to move. The king of Corellia rises from his throne and moves to stand in front of you. Everyone holds their breath, watching closely to see what unfolds. He places a gentle finger under your chin, raising your head to meet his gaze.

"Stand up for me, dear. You can relax."

You do as he says and stand quickly, giving him a polite smile as you return his intense eye contact. His finger never leaves your chin. He smiles back at you and begins to speak again.

"You are a true beauty, my dear. You know, they say the eyes are a window to the soul. I can see the love and strength living within yours. Hold onto that, they will be your biggest asset."

Your eyes widen at his words. You can't help the smile that spreads across your face.

"Thank you, your majesty."

With that, he removes his finger from your chin and climbs back to his throne. He turns his attention back to the room and declares, "Let the festivities continue."

Your father grabs ahold of your arm again and leads you away from the thrones. You can feel the crowd staring at you, but you can't find it in you to care. King Luke of Corellia spoke to you! Not only that, but he complimented you. This was a great honor bestowed on very few. You would take his advice to heart.

It seems your father had a different perspective. He leads you to a table with dance cards placed neatly in rows. You begin to search for your name as he smirks and begins talking.

"Compliments from the king will help greatly in gaining potential suitors. You'll be the most desired lady in the ton. Seems finding you a husband of high title will be easier than I thought."

You finish tying the card to your wrist and turn to look at the room. Your father continues to talk as you observe your surroundings. You look up at the elegant chandelier. It shines beautifully in the light, casting sparkles all over the room. You watch as they dance across the guests, creating an angelic and light atmosphere. A waiter comes by and offers you and your father glasses of champagne. You take a small sip and return your attention to the crowd. Many of the ladies are giving you glares or speaking with the eligible men in attendance. You take notice of their attire. Many have much more elegant gowns and jewels on. Their appearance shows how much they have to offer. Your feelings of inadequacy begin to creep back in. You don't even notice a man approaching.

Your gaze stops on a young man across the room. His dark brown curls and bright smile grabbed your attention. He was speaking to another man, seeming to be in deep conversation. His face was so expressive as he spoke, hands moving about to help prove whatever point he was trying to make. You couldn't help but be captivated by him. If there was anyone you were hoping to get a moment with this evening, it was him.

You snap from your thoughts as your father greets him and motions towards you. This man must have been reaching his thirties. Much older than any of the debutantes here. His bright ginger hair stands out like a sore thumb. He makes eye contact with you as your father talks. An uneasy feeling sweeps over you. For some reason, something about this man doesn't sit right with you.

"Y/N, I'd like you to meet the Earl of Drall, Lord Armitage Hux" your father says as he motions towards the man. Lord Hux takes your hand and raises it to his lips, kissing your knuckles. The contact makes you cringe internally. Your father looks at you expectantly and you quickly pull yourself together.

"Hello Lord Hux, it is so nice to meet you."

Your father smiles at both of you and claps a hand on Lord Hux's shoulder.

"Lord Hux here is a good friend of mine. I was hoping to introduce you both tonight."

The uneasy feeling now makes sense. Any friend of your fathers is likely a crook. Not at all the type of man you want to be speaking to. You nod politely, biting your tongue from speaking your mind freely. The men then turn away from you and begin a discussion of their own, leaving you out. You lift your glass of champagne back to your lips and turn your gaze back to the direction of the man you had spotted before.

Instead of finding the curly haired man again, you met eyes with someone else. Standing with his hands clasped behind his back was a raven haired man. He stood tall and broad, much larger than any other man in the room. His gaze pierced through you, making the hairs on the back of your neck stand. You wanted to approach him, but to do so would make you look indecent.

Your eye contact is cut off by Lord Hux coming in front of you. He holds out his arm to you in invitation.

"Would you do me the honor of a dance, Lady Y/N?"

You wanted nothing more than to say no and go speak to the mystery man. Or even go find the curly haired man from before. But you know you had no choice in the matter. To deny him would make you look bad to the ton. Plus, your father would never stand for it. So you placed your hand in his arm and nod.

"Of course, Lord Hux."

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

I really hope you enjoyed this! Let me know what you think!

Love,

Allie

#star wars #kyloren #kylo #kylorenthings #fanfic #fanfiction #king Kylo #reader x character #readerxkyloren #reader x Kylo #reader x Kylo ren #poe dameron #armitage hux #Hux #Poe #historical #regency #regency era #bridgerton

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spockandawe · 3 years ago

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Well, this is interesting! So, in that post yesterday, there was one line that really baffled me, a thing about people brushing off a character as an asshole “because he shows literally zero growth.” I kind of set that aside because it was such a weird non-sequitur, and guessed that it was just someone’s sentences not quite keeping up with their train of thought, which has happened to me many times. Apparently I was wrong! I already spent long enough on that one post, I’m tired of talking about that, but this is new and interesting.

Okay. I kind of wanted to see if I could talk about this purely in terms of abstracts and not characters, but I don’t think it’ll work. It would be frustrating to write and confusing to read. It’s about Jiang Cheng. Right up front: This isn’t about whether or not he’s an abuser. Frankly, I don’t think it’s relevant. This also isn’t about telling people they should like him. I don't care whether anyone else likes him or not. But I do like him, and I am always fascinated by dissecting the reasons that people disagree with me. And the process of Telling Stories is my oldest hyperfixation I remember, which will become relevant in a minute.

I thought I had a good grasp on this one, you know? Jiang Cheng makes it pretty obvious why people would dislike Jiang Cheng. But then the posts I keep stumbling over were making weird points, culminating in that “literally zero growth” line.

So! What happened is that someone wrote up a post about how Jiang Cheng’s character arc isn’t an arc, it’s stagnation. It’s a pretty interesting read, and I broadly agree with the larger point! The points where I would quibble are like... the idea that it’s absolute stagnation, as opposed to very subtle shifts that still make a material difference. But still, cool! The post was also offered up as a reason why OP was uninterested in writing any more Jiang Cheng meta, which I totally get. I’m not tired of him yet, but I definitely understand why someone who isn’t a fan of his would get tired about writing about a character with a very static arc. Okay!

Now, internet forensics are hard. I desperately wish I had more information about this evolution, because I find this stuff fascinating, but I have no good way to find things said in untagged posts, reblogs, or private/external venues. But as far as I can tell, that “literally zero growth” wasn’t just a slip of the tongue, it’s become fashionable for people to say that Jiang Cheng is an abusive asshole (that it’s fucked up to like) because he doesn’t have a character arc.

Asshole? Yes. Abusive? This post still isn’t about that. This is about it being fucked up to like this character because he did bad things and had a static character arc.

At first, that point of view was still deeply confusing to me. But I think I figured out the idea at the core of it, and now I’m only baffled. I’m not super interested in confirming this directly, because the people making the most noise about this have not inspired confidence in their ability to hold a civil conversation and I’m a socially anxious binch, but I think the idea is: ‘This character did Bad Things, and then did not improve himself.’

Which is alarmingly adjacent to that old favorite standard of ‘This piece of fiction is glorifying Bad Thing.’ I haven’t seen anyone accusing mxtx of something something jiang cheng, only the people who read/watched/heard the story and became invested in the Jiang Cheng character, but things kind of add up, you know?

Like I said, I don’t want to arbitrate anyone’s right to like/dislike Jiang Cheng. That’s such a fucking waste of time. But this is fascinating to me, because it’s like..... so obviously new and sudden, with such a clear originating point. I can’t speak to the Chinese fans, obviously, but exiledrebels started translating in... what, 2017? And only now, in 2021, do people start putting forth Jiang Cheng’s flat character arc as a “reason” that he’s bad? I’m not going to argue if he pings you in the abuse place, I’m not a dick. I’m not going to argue if you just dislike his vibes. I’m just over here on my blog and in the tag enjoying myself, feel free to detour around me. But oh my god, it’s so silly to try to tell other people that they shouldn’t like him because he has a static character arc.

I want to talk about stories. I don’t know how much I’ll be able to say, because it’s impossible to make broad, sweeping statements, because there are stories about change, there are stories about lack of change, there are all kinds of media that can be used to tell stories, and standards for how stories are told and what they emphasize vary across cultures and over time. But I think that what I can say is that telling a story requires... compromise. It requires streamlining. Trying to capture all the detail of life would slow down most stories to an unbearable degree. Consider organically telling someone ‘I made a peanut butter and jelly sandwich’ versus the computer science exercise of having students describe, step by step, how to make one (spread peanut butter? but you never said you opened the lid)

Hell, I’ve got an example in mdzs itself. The largely-faceless masses of the common people. If someone asks you to think about it critically like, yes, obviously these are people, living their own lives, with their own desires, sometimes suffering and dying in the wake of the novel plot. But does the story give weight to those deaths? Or does it just gloss by? Yes, it references their suffering occasionally, but it is not the focus, and it would slow the story unbearably to give equal weight to each dead person mentioned.

Does Wei Wuxian’s massacre get given the same slow, careful consideration as Su She’s, or Jin Guangyao’s? No, because taking the time to weigh our protagonist with ‘well, this one was a mother, and her youngest son had just started walking, but now he’s going to grow up without remembering her face. that one only became an adult a few months ago, he still hasn’t been on many night-hunts yet, but he finds it so rewarding to protect the common people. oh, and this one had just gotten engaged, but don’t worry, his fiancee won’t mourn him, because she died here as well.’ And continuing on that way to some large number under 3000? No! Unless your goal is to make the reader feel bad for cheering for a morally grey hero, that would be a bad authorial decision! The book doesn’t ignore the issue, it comes up, Wei Wuxian gets called out about all the deaths he’s responsible for, but that’s not the same as them being given equal emotional weight to one (1) secondary character, and I don’t love this new thing where people are pretending that’s equivalent.

When Wei Wuxian brutally kills every person at the Wen supervisory office, are you like ‘holy shit... so many grieving families D:’ or are you somewhere between vindicated satisfaction and an ‘ooh, yikes’ wince? Odds are good you’re somewhere in the satisfaction/wince camp, because that’s what the story sets you up to feel, because the story has to emphasize its priorities (priorities vary, but ‘plot’ and ‘protagonist’ are common ones, especially for a casual novel read like this)

Now, characters. If you want to write a story with a sweeping, epic scale, or if you want to tightly constrain the number of people your story is about, I guess it’s possible to give everyone involved a meaningful character arc. Now.... is it always necessary? Is it always possible? Does it always make sense? No, of course not. If you want to do that, you have to devote real estate to it, and depending on the story you want to tell, it could very possibly be a distraction from your main point, like the idea of mxtx tenderly eulogizing every single character who dies even incidentally. Lan Qiren doesn’t get a loving examination of his feelings re: his nephews and wei wuxian and political turnover in the cultivation world because it’s not relevant, and also, because his position is pretty static until right near the end of the story. Lan Xichen is arguably one of the most static characters within the book, he seems like the same nice young between Gusu and the present, right up until... just before the end of the story.

You may see where I’m heading with this.

Like, just imagine trying to demand that every important character needs to go through a major life change before the end of your book or else it didn’t count. This just in, Granny Weatherwax and Nanny Ogg go through multiple novels without experiencing radical shifts in who they are, stop liking them immediately. I do get that the idea is that Jiang Cheng was a ~bad person~ who didn’t change, but asdgfsd I thought we were over the handwringing over people being allowed to like ““bad”” fictional characters. The man isn’t even a canonical serial killer, he’s not my most problematic fave even within this novel.

And here is where it’s a little more relevant that I would quibble with that original post about Jiang Cheng’s arc. He’s consistently a mean girl, but he goes from stressed, sharp-edged teenager, to grief-stricken, almost-destroyed teen, to grim, cold young adult (and then detours into grim, cold, and grief-stricken until grief dulls with time). He does become an attentive uncle tho. He..... doesn’t experience a radical change in his sense of self, which... it’s...... not all that strange for an adult. And bam, then he DOES experience a radical change, but the needs of the plot dictate that it’s right near the end. And he’s not the focus of the story, baby, wangxian is. He has the last few lines of the story, which nicely communicate his changes to me, but also asdfafas we’re out of story. He was never the main character, it’s not surprising we don’t linger! The extras aren’t beholden to the needs of plot, but they’re also about whatever mxtx wanted to write, and I guess she didn’t feel like writing about Jiang Cheng ¯\_(ツ)_/¯

But also. Taking a step backward. Stable characters can fill a perfectly logical place in a story. Like, look at Leia Organa. I’m not saying she has no arc, but I am saying that she’s a solid point of reference as Luke is becoming a jedi and Han is adjusting his perspective. I wouldn’t call her stagnant, the vibes are wrong, but she also isn’t miserable in her sadness swamp, the way Jiang Cheng is.

Or, hell, look at tgcf. The stagnant, frozen nature of the big bad is a central feature of the story. The bwx of now is the bwx of 800 years ago is the bwx of 1500+ years ago. This is not the place for a meta on how that was bad for those around him and for him himself, but I have Thoughts about how being defeated at the end is both a thing that hurts him and relieves him. Mei Nianqing is a sympathetic character who’s also pretty darn static. Does Ling Wen have a character arc, or do we just learn more about who she already is and what her priorities always were? I’m going to cut myself off here, but a character’s delta between the beginning of a story and the end of a story is a reasonable way to judge how interesting writing character meta is, and is a very silly metric to judge their worth, and even if I guessed at what the basic logic is, for this character, I am still baffled that it’s being put forth as a real talking point.

(also, has it jumped ship to any other characters yet? have people started applying it in other fandoms as well? please let me know if this is the case, I am wildly curious)

(no, but really, if anyone is arguing that bwx is gross specifically because he had centuries to self-reflect and didn’t fix himself, i am desperate to know)

And finally. The thing I thought was most self-evident. Did I post about this sometime recently? If a non-central character experiences a life-altering paradigm shift right near the end of the story (without it being lingered over, because non-central character), oh my god. As a fic writer? IT’S FREE REAL ESTATE. This is the most fertile possible ground. If I want to write post-canon canon-compliant material, adsgasfasd that’s where I’m going to be looking. Okay, yeah, the main couple is happy, that’s good. Who isn’t happy, and what can I do about that? Happy families are all alike, while every unhappy family is unhappy in its own way, etc.

It’s not everyone’s favorite playground, but come on, these are not uncommon feelings. And frankly, it’s starting to feel a little disingenuous when people act like fan authors pick out the most blameless angel from the cast and lavish good things upon them. I’m not the only one who goes looking for a good dumpster fire and says I Live Here Now. If I write post-canon tgcf fic, it’s very likely to focus on beef and/or leaf. I have written more than one au focusing on tianlang-jun.

And, hilariously. If the problem with Jiang Cheng. Is that he is a toxic man fictional character who failed to grow on his own, and is either unsafe or unhealthy to be around. If the problem is that he did not experience a character arc. If these people would be totally fine with other people liking him, if he improved himself as a person. And then, if authors want to put in the (free! time-consuming!) work of writing that character development themselves. You would think that they would be lauded for putting the character through healthier sorts of personal growth than he experienced in canon. Instead, I am still here writing this because first, I was bothered by these authors being named as “freaks” who are obsessed with their ‘uwu precious tsundere baby’ with a “love language of violence,” and then I was graciously informed that people hate Jiang Cheng because he experiences no character growth.

#jiang cheng #mdzs #the untamed #disk horse #long post/#abuse/#only tangentially #but better safe than sorry i hope

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lokigayforhela · 4 years ago

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Headcanons for Hela having a son that’s the opposite of her: sensitive, no interest in war, child of the arts and literature. Somewhat reserved. Soft spoken. A little premature and somewhat delicate in structure.

I’ve thought about this a lot lol!

WC: 1543

TW: mention of premature birth, but nothing sad whatsoever

A/N: I absolutely LOVE the idea of Hela having a kid, which I’m sure comes as no shock to anyone who has spent more than five minutes on my blog, and so it’s something I also like to think about as well! For the purpose of fulfilling this ask, which makes the most sense in an on-Asgard context, I’m going to say that Asgardians have the magic figured out for women to have biological children together. Also, this goes without saying, but please send me ALL the prompts involving Hela and babies, I LOVE writing Hela with babies. I hope you enjoy!

You had known from the moment that your son was born that he and Hela were going to be as different as night and day.

He had come early, and so tangled in his own birth cord that the healers had feared that he would not survive, and his lack of crying did little to placate anyone in the room, but as everyone had watched anxiously, he had opened his eyes and blinked calmly around the room, as though he were simply taking in his new living arrangements and getting familiar with everyone.

The action alone was so reserved that, once the healers assured you both that everything was okay and he was perfectly healthy and had left the two of you to get to know your new son, you’d laughed with Hela about it.

“Oh, that can’t be your son. He came into this world with a silence I’ve never known you to have,” you’d teased, laughing softly when Hela rolled her eyes and scowled playfully, if a little tiredly.

“I didn’t spend twelve hours laboring to bring him into this world for him to not be my son,” she’d murmured, with no bite to her tone at all as she’d gently adjusted the blanket around his tiny little sleeping form.

“…we’ll have to watch him, as he grows. He was so early, he might have trouble later.”

“He might. But I’ll love him no matter what, as I do you.”

You’d smiled then, and kissed her forehead softly before moving back to help her get comfortable. “Sleep… I’ll watch over the both of you. I promise.”

Before you’d known it, your son was babbling and crawling, and then he was walking and talking, and for all your concern that his rough and abrupt entry into the world would have long-term effects on him, he was only slightly smaller than average, and seemed to be determined not to let that get in his way.

And now you were in the present, with your four year old son still just as much Hela’s opposite as he’d been when he was born, and despite all of her best efforts, he didn’t seem to hold much interest for anything that his birthmother did.

Where she was all cool remarks and thick skin, he was soft-spoken and sensitive, and it took very little to upset him to the point of tears. Where Hela had been raised on the battlefield from the ripe age of four, Frey simply held no interest of anything of the sort, much preferring to sit with you and listen to you read him stories or walk him through the halls of the palace and tell him the histories of the various paintings and murals on the walls.

For as much as you loved how absolutely gentle he was, though, you could tell it was something that was weighing much more heavily on Hela.

As you tucked him in for the night with a kiss to the forehead and a soft lullaby, you noticed Hela hanging back in the doorway, staying there as you made sure he was asleep before standing and crossing over to her so that you could both exit the room as you closed the door.

When she still said nothing as you reached for her hand to hold as you walked down the hall, you nodded to yourself, strengthening your resolve as you closed the door behind you once you’d reached your bedchambers.

“Hela, it isn’t the end of the world because he doesn’t wish to partake in war, you know.” You said it as carefully as you could, knowing that the subject would be touchy for Hela, and by the way you noticed her tense just the slightest bit, you knew you’d hit a sore spot.

For a long while, neither of you said anything, as you went to the bed to start turning down the blankets, and Hela started to undo the laces of her corset on the opposite side of the room. Just when you’d decided to apologize for speaking out of turn, though, Hela heaved a quiet sigh, and you turned so that you could give her your full attention.

“I just wish we had more in common. I feel like I’m not being the best mother that I could be for him.”

You felt a little part of your heart break at the defeated tone of her voice, and you stopped what you were doing, instead moving to circle to the other side of the bed where Hela stood, and taking over where she’d left off with her half-undone laces.

“Hela, that’s silly talk. You’re a perfect mother. You teach him things, and you spend time with him, with us. You’re present and loving, and so what if he doesn’t have exactly the same interests as you do? Do you think that stops him from loving you?”

Hela said nothing for a long moment, and then shook her head, almost as though she were embarrassed, and you just smiled softly, pressing a kiss to her shoulder as you finished with the laces, letting her corset drop to the floor as you turned her to face you, cupping her cheek and smiling when she took the opportunity to press a kiss to your palm.

“Then why would you think that it matters to him?” You brushed your fingers over the curve of her cheek, looking up at her with all the love in the world. “You’re a wonderful mother. And yes, he’s quiet and reserved, and he prefers paintbrushes and books over swords and shields, but Hela… He’s just a boy. Surely you don’t want him to follow in the same footsteps your father made you take. We both know how heavily that’s weighed on you, even now.”

Hela bowed her head ashamedly, but you only brought your other hand up, so that you were cupping her face with both hands as you leaned up to kiss her gently, pressing your foreheads together before speaking again.

“Let him be a child, while he can be a child. And if somewhere along the line, he shows interest in war and roughness and the like, then… we’ll figure it out, when it happens. But I don’t want you to think that you’re less of a mother because you aren’t like him, or that he’s less of your son because he isn’t like you.”

Hela shook her head immediately, and opened her eyes to look at you. “I don’t. I could… never think that. He’s the most perfect, sweet, angelic little thing, and I’m so happy to have him.”

You smiled, and kissed her cheek softly before wrapping your arms around her. “…then you don’t have anything else to worry about. Yes?”

“…I suppose maybe I was just overthinking it all.”

You hummed softly, and drew back so you could help her finish undressing. “And just for that, I’m ordering you take a nice, long, relaxing bath before bed.”

Hela grinned a bit, and you could tell she was starting to feel a little better just by the gleam in her eyes.

“Oh, and not because you maybe wanted to see me naked or anything, hm?”

Despite being married for years now, the tease still brought a blush to your cheeks, and you wrinkled your nose as you looked up at her.

“Maybe just a little bit.”

“Mm, that’s what I thought.”

By the time the two of you made it out of the bath and got dressed in your nightgowns, you made it back into your bedroom just in time to see little Frey hesitate at the doorway, rubbing at his eyes with one hand, and the other tucked halfway into his mouth.

“What’s the matter, darling, couldn’t sleep?” Hela had already crossed the room as she spoke, and when he nodded and reached for her with a hand, she was quick to scoop him, pressing a kiss to the top of his head as he snuggled up. “Well, you know what, mama and I would just love it if you slept in here with us tonight.”

“That’s true, we were just saying how we missed you so much we weren’t sure how we were going to make it until morning.”

That got Frey to give a tearful little laugh, and you patted the bed and pulled the covers back so that Hela and Frey could get in next to you, and Hela cuddled right up, so that the three of you could be as close as comfortably possible.

“Is that better, my little love?” you whispered softly, kissing the top of his head as he stayed snuggled up to Hela, and you smiled softly when you saw him give the faintest little nod, already clearly on his way back to sleep. “I love you…” You looked up to Hela then, heart melting when you saw just how lovingly she was watching Frey. “And I love you. Always.”

Hela murmured the same back to you, settling down comfortably as you blew out the candle on the bedside table, and as you cuddled back up with your little family, you couldn’t help but to notice how complete and perfect it felt.

You hoped nothing would ever change that.

#Hela x reader #Hela Odinsdottir x reader #Hela #Hela Odinsdottir #reader #yetanotherlurker2 #submission #thank you for the prompt!#fluff #domestic fluff #babies

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cybernaght · 4 years ago

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Lost Tomb Reboot aka Reunion: The Sound of Providence Season 2

I swear I wasn’t actually planning to write this thing, instead just opting for random picture spams of the season, starting with every time this show got Zhu Yilong’s Wu Xie wet, because that was a trend I had not expected and kind of lived for.

All that will still happen eventually, but here’s also my five cents on the season, because it is very very important for you to know just how worthy of love it is.

You see, Season 1 was silly and fun, and definitely, undeniably, enjoyable.

Then Season 2 swooped in, and completely won my heart. I cannot even express how much I adored it. Everything about this show is extremely extra in the best possible way; it is likely to have been the most charmingly over the top thing I have ever seen.

(Vague spoilers for : specific monsters, narratively significant moments, fate of the certain characters, including the protagonist.)

Some of it comes from the pace, which speeds up dramatically early in the season, and only slows down marginally to allow characters some breathing room. It’s not just gripping because it makes you want to hit play on the next episode, it also keeps you engaged because you can’t wait to see how the next wild set of events may be resolved and then topped. At about episode ten I was questioning how they could possibly produce a sense of further escalation. At episode twenty, I was wondering if anything can top dramatic impact of whatever was occurring only two thirds of the way through the season.

I need not have worried: every single incredible character moment, every mind-boggling turn of the plot, every single bizarre threat would be blown out of water by the next one.

Partly, this seemingly has to do with the writers attempts to ground the material. I am not sure what the novel contained, but I can discern that it was something along the lines of ghosts, ghouls and various supernatural circumstance. But when you are told “this is a curse”, your reaction is naturally to go, “ah okay, so curses are a thing, and this is one of them, gotcha”. When you are told, “this is a heavy metal poisoning combined with a neurotoxin affecting the victim’s central nervous system and making them violently hallucinate”, your reaction is to question whether this is how metals, toxins, poisons, or, indeed, central nervous systems work in any version of reality.

The show does this a lot. From human shaped swarms of killer moths, to flying brain-penetrating eels, to probably my favourite monster of the moment: the murder clams.

Seriously, I cannot stress enough that this show has murder clams. They move with their clam mussels. They jump with their clam shells. They will murder you in cold blood.

There are ancient “laser corridor” style set-ups, there are shapes made out of fog recording its memory, there are group hallucinations generated by the sound of thunder, there are Mission Impossible style full face masks. There is a character who walked off a gun wound and sarin gas poisoning in order to die in the arms of his lover who looks like his dead sister. And by “looks like” I mean, “played by the same actress”.

There is a whole character of Doctor Churros, who saves our hero from imminent death by washing his lungs with oil.

This, I suppose, ultimately, is how The Lost Tomb Reboot (Season 2 in particular) lures you in. It turns what I saw as the show’s fault in season 1 into its biggest strength by establishing the world in which nothing is too outlandish and everything is possible. It so thoroughly breaks your expectations barometer, you grow to willingly accept whatever is thrown at you.

The most beautiful thing about all of it, is that the fun and games and moments of barely controlled hysteria do not lower the stakes whatsoever. Moreover, somehow this show makes me believe that it could just about do something as irrevocable as, perhaps, killing off the protagonist

You know how you can watch, say, a super hero film, and then the “all is lost” moment happens, and you kind of have to struggle to care because you know that they will pull through. It’s curious to see how that happens, but you don’t doubt for even second that it will. Well, when that moment arrived here, I found myself between ugly sobbing, and going into speculation overdrive to try and figure out how the Reboot would deal with that. By then I have seen that show be an high octave action movie, a supernatural mystery, a horror thriller, a buddy comedy and a spy flick: it was not a massive stretch to imagine it turning into a revenge tragedy.

Wu Xie dying had been building up since episode one, so you had hours and hours and oh-so-many hours to brace for it, and when the tragedy does not strike, the relief is visceral.

Despite all the moments of hilarity (whether intended or otherwise), despite the chaotic turns of the plot, despite how utterly off the charts this show is tonally, when it matters, the narrative is pulled together in a way which not only makes complete sense within the world of the series, but is meticulously set-up, satisfying resolved, and delivers lovely emotional impact. Considering that the moral of the story is a very common “live in the moment”, paired up with “greed is bad”, it was surprising how much resonance its delivery actually created.

Ultimately, however, this show is about found family, and, more specifically, about Wu Xie’s ability to create this family for himself and for every single member of it. He starts as one of the trio, and ends as one of a large group of old allies, new friends, and people he has graced with so much kindness that they follow him until the bitter end.

Lost Tomb Reboot ensures that you get to know them all, and it’s pretty damn hard to not love this misfit group of adventurers in its entirety.

(The only thing I could say is that I wish the series spent more time making sure the viewer knows and likes Zhang Qiling, but it seemingly had little purpose for him apart form sweeping in as an avenging angel every now and then. I get that he is a well established character in the series, and that his whole thing is being deadly and enigmatic, but considering that you got to know the other two legs of the famous Triangle so well, it’s a shame that this one was reserved to mostly being Xiao Ge Ex Machina. It would have been nice to know what he was about apart from “really damn cool”.)

Bai Haotian remained my favourite character. She is cute, sweet, romantic, and, for the lack of a better word, “girly”. She is not shy about her crush on Wu Xie, and is prepared to do a lot of reckless, dangerous things for him. None of the above undermine her intelligence, cunningness and authority. Xiao Bai is a young woman in a position of power, and she absolutely knows how to handle herself; for every time she is a damsel in distress, she gets to be the rescuer. For every time she puts herself in needless danger, she learns to collect herself and plan ahead. For every time she is bossed around, she turns and takes charge. Her journey is not the centred around getting the guy, but around discovering her self-assertion; she finds her place within his team not by being a romantic interest, but through her personal strengths.

My absolutely favourite moment for her came when an antagonist used her affection for Wu Xie to get an upper hand on her, and she gets restrained, knife to her throat. Xiao Bai swivels away, knocks the attacker out and goes to town kicking him, to a great astonishment of this team, as she states that liking someone does not make her weak.

And it doesn’t. Being in love has nothing to do with weakness or strength. Being a young, and excitable, and a woman does not equate to weakness either.

I’m not saying that this show is a feminist manifesto, because it is definitely not that. Every other prominent female character suffers a pitiful fate in service of creating motivation for the men of the story. But it does spend a lot of time making sure you, the viewer, know its heroes well enough to mentally befriend them. And if this means giving the female lead complexity, I cannot possibly be mad at that.

So, this was it. This was the Lost Tomb Reboot. It brought me a ridiculous amount of joy and I will miss it a lot.

And yes, the picture spams will be 100% an excuse to rewatch at least some of it.

PS. Said spams miiiiight be gif based if I figure out a way to colour correct the damn things.

#lost tomb reboot #reunion: the sound of the providence #review of sorts #now with gifs #the gifs are bad though

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princeanxious · 5 years ago

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The Royal Librarian- Chapter 1

Chapter 1- “The Road to Perfection is Destructive.”

Fandom: Sanders Sides

Ships: Future analogical, future sidelines royality, sidelines established dukeceit, background remile

Word Count: a little over 3k

Warnings For This Chapter: Virgil’s got anxiety and is a bit self depricating, brief mentions of panic attacks, Virgil stays up and works himself for so much longer and harder than is healthy for a normal person in one session, boi highkey overthinks a ton when he’s not occupied. Don’t work yourself for 24 hours straight like Virge does, it’s not good for you.

Minor notes on Virgil’s mental state in this fic: Virgil has ADHD(as reflected by my own life experience) that shows up in different ways here and there, and he suffers from RSD(Rejection Sensitive Dysphoria) which drives Virgil’s need to be perfect or fail till he damn near collapses from exhaustion, which also just feeds into his chronic anxiety. Thats all for now!

Chapter one(you are here!)|Chapter two(coming soon!)

Bonus stuff:

-the Rough Library Layout

[[MORE]]

Quiet. Such a word was practically synonymous with Virgil’s existence. The young adult practically grew up in silence, sought quiet spaces out like a moth drawn to a flame. And like a deer spooked by a snapping branch, he often fled from loud groups larger than three. He had been a quiet child, content to lose himself in any book he could get his hands on, reading for hours in any quiet atmosphere he could find. Alone, and content because of it.

So it was really no surprise he picked up a local library apprenticeship when he’d turned fifteen, and was a well-versed and well-read librarian by age nineteen. He had his lifelong friend Patton to thank for making him apply alongside hundreds of others to the opening position of the Royal Astra Family’s castle Librarian position, a year later. And, to be fair? He’d only applied because he’d been sure his resume would never have been seen, let alone selected, if only to simply placate his best friend’s excited begging.

He didn’t account for Patton’s connections as the Royal Head Cook to shift that margine of possibility to reach at least being seen. Though Patton chalked it up to the fact that he’d always talked about Virgil around the royal family anyway, long before the position had needed a replacement. It seemed to be just Virgil’s luck that ‘Virgil’ just happened to be a very uncommon name.

The panic attack that followed after he received a letter that his resume had been selected alongside a select few others for further evaluation had been a rough one. Still, he held out hope that his perceived inexperienced youth would save him, the stress and responsibility of such a serious job couldn’t be trusted with some ambitious kid like him, could it?

And, besides, it’s not like Patton’s constant praises carried that much weight, right? That's just how Patton was, a personified ball of sunshine! It was why Virgil was never surprised to hear Patton mention the royal family and staff by name on accident, or mention a silly story involving them in private, he’d clearly become close to them as the Head Cook. Though, the more he thought about it, he realized that.. Well, it’s not like the royal family had known Patton as long as Virgil had. Patton could be too trusting, and tried to see good in everyone, and well, perhaps the royal family trusted his judge of character over just simple skills. And wasn’t it just peachy that Virgil was lifelong best friends with said ball of personified sunshine? (Not that he’d ever trade their friendship for the world, never. It was just Virgil’s problem that he could never seem to tell Patton no, huh?)

Eventually, a nerve wracking week passed before Virgil finally had his answer in the form of an acceptance letter hand-delivered and an accompanying uniform and granted permissions to traverse and move into the castle grounds, all ordered and signed by King Thomas himself.

Apparently, his suspicions over Patton’s influence had indeed won out.

Three days later, Virgil finds himself silently saying goodbye to the home he’d made on his own, not as terribly forlorn over the loss as he thought he’d be. The small cottage he’d been renting didn’t feel much like home to him, anyway, not like a library did. Still, there was a longing to hide from the large change crashing into his life, and thrice he’d hid under his covers and cursed his weak will against Patton’s puppy eye’d pout. Eventually though, he’d talked himself out of his panicked haze, just in time for his first shift the following day.

“I can’t believe I let Pat talk me into this.” The ravenette grumbled as he leaned to the side. Using his weight and momentum to shift the sliding ladder he was perched on, he slid closer to the next book he’d been reaching for.

“Become the castle’s new Librarian! It’ll be fun, he said! It’ll help sooth my anxiety to work with even more books and even less people, he said, the head cook who works with at least 20 other staff each hour to maintain a steady meal plan for the entire castle staff daily!” The little librarian huffed to himself, resignation seeping out with each controlled breath.

His first day hadn’t been an easy one, and though he hadn’t expected it to go smoothly, he certainly hadn’t expected it to become such a mess. It wasn’t his first time working as a librarian, but leave it to good ol’ Virgil to let life make his days as eventful as possible!

From the moment he woke to the time he had his lunch break, not that he would actually willingly take a break nor need one yet, the day had been.. busy, to put it lightly.

It’d been storming when he woke, and though he was on time to get ready and leave, he’d only realized that his umbrella had broken the month prior. It had left him to make a twenty minute dash in the pouring rain when he found no other options.

He was plenty grateful for a bathroom stationed just inside of the library building entrance, where he hurriedly rushed inside to change out of his soaked attire. He’d been smart enough to pack away his official Royal Librarian uniform into a water resistant bag with a few additional dry essentials, and let his common clothes get soaked instead.

In a short six and a half minutes, Virgil was changed and mostly dry, though there was little he could do about his damp hair aside from comb his fingers through it. With his wet clothes packed away, he made it into the library on time to begin his first very long shift.

He’d already been sworn into secrecy when it came to occasionally dealing with the royal family’s history and artifacts in the future, and with his first and hopefully one of very few ever meetings with King Thomas out of the way, he was officially the new Royal Librarian. And now, also the only. As he was told in no certain terms that the last had retired and fucked off into obscurity before anyone had realized that the library had been left in disorganized chaos.

The old coot had apparently made his own system for everything, and hadn't bothered to write any of it down. From sorting sections to assigning books to genres, none if it clear and often very, very unorganized.

Virgil’s first big task was to comb through the entire damn building and use a new system, one that made sense. He was to reorganize every book and every section, using the appropriate genres and sorting. This way the royal family could actually functionally use the library and not waste time sorting through chaos.

This was where Virgil found himself three hours later, on the verge of a minor mental breakdown as he’d just barely sorted an eighth of the books on the main library floor into the Dewey Decimal system.

He’d had plenty of empty tables at the beginning of his journey, and right now every single one had some few stacks of books on each, labeled accordingly. Aside from his muffled ranting and the pattering of rain, the library was relatively silent.

It was odd, being alone in such a gigantic library. It almost reminded him of home.

He paused for a brief moment, having set down the final few books taken from the bookshelf he’d been working on. He’d gone through just one row of 6 bookshelves, and had 7 rows left to go, and that was just barely counting putting books back in the previous shelves as he went. A whine left him as he realized just how long this project was going to take.

“Fucking fuck.”

Somewhere between the second row and the third, Patton had stopped by to check in on Virgil. He found him hard at work sorting the fiction section on the left side of the building, tables half forgotten as Virgil attached unobtrusive non-damaging number labels to each and every book. Stacks of books lay carefully placed on the floor against each shelf, seperated by label and lack of label.

“You already look so at home, Virge!” The head cook whisper-shouted, though the sentiment was not necessary as the only other being in the library was the librarian himself.

“Yeah yeah, hush you. I’m a bit too swamped for ‘I told you so’s at the moment. So, what's up?” Glancing up at the taller man, Virgil briefly noted a small package wrapped in cloth was held in his hands.

“Can you spare a minute to eat?” Patton giggled, but Virgil knew better. He’d known Patton since they were kids, it wasn’t a question. Or a decision to be made. With a sigh, he placed the book he was holding in its place before turning to the cheery cook. “Yeah, I can.”

“How’s the kitchen today?” He asked lightly, having eaten the light meal quickly in order to get back to sorting. Patton hadn’t commented, nor had he been shooed away when Virgil began sorting again. He contently sat out of the way to finish his own lunch, his original goal having been accomplished.

“Oh! It’s going great today, honestly. Not too many mishaps from the newbies today either, so that's a bonus! And well, you know, making mistakes is in human nature but, they’re learning so quickly, I’m so proud of them! They’ll be taking my place by fall, just you wait and see! And, well, Roman stopped by earlier to swipe some snacks for Prince Logan, his brother, and himself. You know, the usual.” Patton chuckled, and if Virgil had looked, he’d seen the besotted look Patton always had when he talked about the head knight of the prince, he’d seen it a hundred times and was bound to see it a hundred or so more.

“Oh, speaking of,” Virgil butted in playfully, “I’ll finally get a chance to meet this knight and shining armor you’ve been swooning over for over a year now, huh?”

He watched Patton’s freckled face flush bright red, sputtering and then coughing on his mouthful of food. Virgil just cackled delightedly, stepping over to give Patton a few hard pats on the back to be sure his friend didn’t choke.

He laughed again when Patton gave him a pout and a soft “You’re so mean to me, Virge!” Eventually Virgil was able to placate Patton with a gentle hug, and the cook was sunshine and smiles again.

A finished lunch break later had Virgil finally sending Patton off, back to the warm bustling kitchens in the main castle building while he moved on to the next portion of his task.

He quickly found the steady back and forth rythme soothing. Pick a few books up, put them away. Pull a few books out, sort it by number as per their section of genre, set it in the right place. It was a blessing to find that there was just enough of a consistency to the previous plan that he could find up to five to six books in the same category in a row, and each set of books could be similar in subject, usually ending up just one section away. Often was the wayward book that found itself out of place, though he had assumed that these were often books just placed back haphazardly considering their subject patterns.

Often the most scattered and random books had ended up being of a few select categories. Without fail, he found that it would end up being a book on Space and Astronomy and/or Mathematics, in-depth Anatomy of Plants and Animals, young adult Fantasy Adventure novels, or Horror novels. It was.. Sort of odd, how there had been no section for each and all of these books, and yet there were so many evenly scattered. Perhaps that had been on purpose then, not haphazardly placed. But why?

Too busy to think deeply about it, he designated spots fitting each book type, and decided he’d figure out what he’d do with the puzzle later.

It was 6 pm by the time he’d finished the fourth row, and Patton had stopped by briefly to check on his best friend. He watched Patton’s merry expression drop some, concern seeping in as he took in his best friend’s progress.

“It’s almost 6:30, Virgil. Have you had another break yet?” He asked, watching his best friend continue moving back and forth. “Aren’t you tired? It’s been a little under 12 hours at this point, kiddo.. dontcha think it’s time to call it for the day? I mean, you’re already halfway there!”

“Library hours, at least Librarian work hours, don’t end till 9. And yeah, I guess I’m a little tired? But I’m in the zone, Pat. You know how I get when I’m in The Zone. If I stop now, who knows how long it’ll take me to finish sorting the other half?” Virgil rambled, half distracted and still trying to keep a vice grip on his concentration. “And besides, King Thomas said he’d be checking in on me tomorrow.”

“But Virge, you know he doesn’t expect you to have it done in one day. Thomas isn’t like that! That’s why he gave you a whole week to settle in, so you could move into the Library’s living quarters-which you haven’t done yet, might I add!- and get the library situated.” Patton stood stiffly, knowing he was fighting a losing battle. Virgil was as stubborn as he himself was when his mind was made up.

“Look, Pat.. just, I’m sorry. You know I hate to worry you. I’ll try to stop at 10, go home and get some rest, and tomorrow i’ll move my stuff into my new home here. And, i’ll take a break from sorting for a few hours. Okay?” Virgil reached out, taking Patton’s hand and giving it a reassuring squeeze. He let Patton pull him into a tight hug, and didn’t resist when Patton briefly rubbed at his tense shoulders.

“Okay. Just, take care of yourself, Virge, okay? If I find out you stayed out an hour later than 11 pm, you’re gonna be in big trouble mister!” Patton giggled, lightening the mood the way he knew how.

“Yeah, yeah, hear ya loud and clear, Dad.” He watched Patton beam at the nickname, and moments later he watched Patton disappear behind the library’s main entrance door as his friend left him be, reassured. Virgil gave a heavy sigh, looking down guiltily at the stray book clutched in his hands.

“Let’s just hope ‘trouble’ just means a week of disappointed reprimands like last time…”

Hours later, Virgil’s head jerked up from his sorting as a father clock somewhere in the library dinged, signalling 10 o'clock. Biting his lip, he walked to the front doors and examined his options. He found he could lock the library from the inside, and pulled down the shutters. Briskly, he moved to cover each large window with their thick drapery, finding the adorning cloth thick enough to keep the low artificial light from seeping out. He dimmed the inner library lights so the library looked closed, but otherwise the building was still functioning from within.

Unless someone else had keys to the doors of the library, no one would know that the librarian was still stationed and working within. No one could see out, and more importantly, no one could see in. Which meant that Virgil was safe from Patton’s wrath if the Cook came to check on him, temporarily at least.

“Fuck, Patton’s gonna be so mad..” He muttered to himself, leaning against the librarian’s desk with a deep sigh. He’d briefly admired the beautiful desk earlier in the day, from the intricate carving to the beautiful dark mahogany. It would serve him well in the future, he hoped, after the thorough ‘grounding’ he knew he was going to get from Patton.

He shook his head to free his thoughts. There was no sense in getting in trouble and feeling guilty about it if he didn’t do anything to learn from in the first place. It was time to get back to work, and if he was lucky, he’d finish the main body of the library by the time his next shift started. Then, he could try and play it off, like nothing had ever happened, he’d just keep Patton out of the library till tomorrow to hide his finished work.

11 pm came and passed as he worked, and when he looked next at the clock, he found it was nearly 4 am. Tired but determined with only one row left, Virgil trekked on with a new vigor. All-nighters weren’t anything new to Virgil, not in the slightest. He was a creature of the night who rarely got a full night's rest to begin with. And sure, it was rare he worked his body so hard and for so long, but fixations were hard to break once in The Zone, it’s not like he could feel it past the hyperfixation haze.

Patton had often told him off for it when they were young, but as time passed they’d come to realize that’s just how Virgil was. Laying down did nothing to lure his mind to sleep on even the tiredest of nights if his insomnia had something to say about it. Better that he used the extra time to be productive, rather than spend 6 hours tossing and turning in bed, numbers and thoughts crowding in his head, and only getting up more restless than before. Patton often just tried to ease the aftermath if he could help it.

Sliding the last book into place was like sliding a final puzzle piece into a massive puzzle. The triumph of accomplishment had never felt so good, not like this.

Though, he quickly found himself aimless not 10 minutes later, seeking errors to fix and lost books to give a home. His brain wasn’t ready to let go of it’s fixation just yet, but as each second crawled by, he found himself recentering into the real world.

His body ached, and he was exhausted. His stomach gnawed at him weakly in hunger and his eyes watered from staring unblinkingly for so long. He eyed the chair behind the librarian’s desk, his desk now, he reminded himself.

“Screw it.. The Library’s sorted enough, I've got the rest of the week to make it perfect. A ten minute nap won’t hurt, right..?” He huffed to himself as he pulled the window curtains open one by one. Shuffling over to the main library doors, he unlocked them and raised the shutters. Soft morning sun rays fluttered into the connected windowed hallway just beyond the doors. He smiled at the tiny beauty of life, spotting the main library windows letting in the same comforting, dappled light.

Pulling his cloak tighter around himself, he plopped into the chair at his desk, finding it soft and comforting. Leaning forward, he rested his head on his arms, and under the fluttering morning light, succumbed to sleep’s gentle embrace.

Unknowing of the rude awakening that was soon to come.

Chapter two

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scriptaed · 5 years ago

Text

blue side next door (m);

genre: angst/fluff/implied smut; friends to lover!au; neighbors!au;

pairing: reader x hoseok;

length: 24.1k;

synopsis: between the windows of two souls, one with a perpetually lone heart and another with the scar of an unfaithful partner, the blue side overlooking the roof of their neighborhood best friend is a solace that has stood against the test of time. they were there to lend the other a shoulder to cry on, to spend the entirety of dawn whispering the night away, and to treat them in a way they deserved, a way no one else was capable of; because for the two childhood friends blinded by the thin line between friends and lovers, the soulmate they’ve both been searching for far and wide has always been right next door all along.

As with any college student, Winter and Summer breaks are your favorite times of the year. Your reasons for taking a particular liking to these seemingly long-waiting, fast-passing breaks from the constant hustle of studies, however, most certainly strayed from those of your classmates; because when the constant chatter of your house settles into the background crickets and your digital alarm rings at the stroke of midnight, your hand smacks the clock off a tad harder than necessary and your legs kick against the wooden floor to send you and your chair swiveling toward the window by your desk—because, there, you would lock eyes with an equally ecstatic boy through the windows of a bedroom across from yours.

The bite of the winter chill blasts through the slightly cracked windows and sends shivers down your back as you work to clear the obstacle between your muffled voice and his—

“—Merry Christmas!”

The endless streams of white puffs are enough to fill the gap between his windows and yours.

“It’s not even Christmas yet, dumby,” your neighbor’s laughs are like a familiar tune to confirm your arrival home. Unbeknownst to you, the smile on the dreamy haze of your state remains even as he continues his tease, “I see you’re as on time as always.”

With your favorite golden yellow, oversized tee of his draped over his broad stature, you let out a breath of relief over the spark in the air that has remained resilient yet ever the more bold throughout the years. Enraptured by the luminescence of his honey-like skin that glows under the beam of the moonlight and the way the apples of his cheeks raises at the sight of his best friend, you begin to play connect the dots between the stars of the galaxy and those of his eyes, pearly whites, and golden tee. The penmanship of his breath evaporates into the beautifully painted sapphire night sky bedazzled by the stars before you—and that’s when you know, finally, you are home.

“I could say the same for you,” you muse, although you’ll never confess having set up an alarm the second you had returned home a week before his break had even started. “See, I’ve been telling you all this time! I can always tell whenever you’re near. It has to be a sixth sense that only best friends have for each other.”

The boy raises a brow and prims a crooked grin as he leans into his hand with an elbow perched to the sill, “you really think I can’t hear your alarm every night from just several feet across?”

“You—” your lips fall agape and your cheeks turn beet red in the wake of the winter winds “—you knew about it all this time?!”

“Of course,” he cackles and shrugs as if it’s an elementary principle of common sense, “for someone who always forgot to turn in her homework in middle school and high school? To remember to talk to a boy? Not to mention me? As if.”

“Hey… I remember to turn in my stuff now… occasionally,” you frown, “but who are you to talk? Last time I recalled, I had to wake you up from oversleeping on finals week!”

“Oh, touché,” his lips form a wide, goofy grin and his gaze leaves yours for the sky, as if trying to scavenge through the remnants of his memories. A brief silence filters the air before the both of you cover your mouths in a fruitless attempt to muffle your cackles. Perhaps there’s something about the winter chills, cold to the bone and homage to the holiday spirit, but there’s something about this very spot—next to your window sill unbeknownst to the daze of both households and your childhood friend laughing along with you from right across, concealed by the secrecy of night—that always has your blood has spiked with vigor and the irrational belief that you and him could conquer any and every fear. “So, how’s life without your neighborhood best friend?”

“Psh, ‘best friend.’ To be honest, not too bad,” you snort at the pressed grin he forces onto his face before sighing and shooting him a wink, “could be a lot better, though.”

The to-be-receiver of your affectionate symbol raises his hand to flick the signal away and off into the abyss that is the concrete floor two stories beneath. “I would like to feign surprise but I’d like to think you’d be able to see through it by now. Do you at least have any suitors this time around?”

“Why? Are you trying to subtly flex winning our bet for the third time in a row now?” you take a deep breath and heaved a heavy sigh, plopping onto your arms on the sill. This must have been the third year since starting college that you’ve failed to find a plus-one for Christmas. “Or are you trying to make me feel even lonelier on ‘tis cuffing season?”

Hoseok gapes in response to your accusations, raising his hands to the air. “Hey, I only proposed that bet because I didn’t want to leave you alone on Christmas. In fact, you should be grateful for having such a great best friend!”

“Yeah, yeah,” you smile to yourself because he’s right, “well, I guess you’re gonna have to treat me to dinner again.”

“Actually,” whatever he’s about to say brings a sweet smile to his lips and you can practically hear the honey of his voice, “I cleared up my schedule for this break and was planning to take you out for movie regard—”

—buzz.

A brief silence befalls the both of your lips as your eyes dart between Hoseok’s curious ones from across and your phone that vibrates one time, two times on the white tabletop beside you. From your peripheral view, you vaguely catch a series of text messages popping onto your screen before narrowing your eyes at your best friend.

“Why are you texting me when we’re literally talking right here?”

“What?” he frowns with a smile of disbelief. “When have I ever taken my eyes off you this entire time?”

“Well,” you pause to affirm his argument, “who else would be texting me at midnight?”

Your best friend takes a long second to ponder before sincerely answering with the straightest face possible, “...spam?”

“Thanks,” you snort, rolling your eyes as you reach for the phone, “I’m not sure if I should be offended or not—”

—a gust of escaping air collapses your lungs.

“What? Who is it?” you can hear your best friend peeking his head out through the window, almost as if he could squint his way through the walls between you and him. “Who texted you? Is it spam? I was right, wasn’t I? Y/NNNN—”

“—Jin texted me.”

The confession stuns those befallen to the abrupt news, including you; and the next thing you know, Hoseok’s widened eyes are shooting darts at you for more information.

“Jin?” he articulates. “You mean Kim Seokjin from high school?”

Your eyes blink blankly, still staring at the screen, “yeah.”

“The one you’ve been crushing on since forever?”

Throwing a glare at your best friend’s lack of hesitation over tossing your deepest and darkest secrets out into the night air for everyone to hear, you mumble, “...yeah. That Seokjin.”

“Oh, well,” Hoseok plops back into his armchair, recollecting himself, “what did he say?”

Heart racing, blood pumping, and stomach fluttering, you fail to notice your grin that stretches from ear to ear. With each passing second, the surreality of the sight before you becomes all the harder to believe, because who would have thought your second ever crush in your life and your first crush in high school would be texting you out of the blue?

Jin😍 [12:45 A.M.] hey! it’s been a while!

Jin😍 [12:45 A.M.] how have you been?

Jin😍 [12:46 A.M.] if you’ve started break already, i hope it’s been going well. and if not, good luck on finals. i’m actually home for the break and wanted to grab dinner with you some time and catch up? we could watch a movie, too.

“He…” you manage to stammer as Hoseok quirks a brow, “he…”

A lightbulb flashes when your best friend grabs something on his desk to fiddle with for the next ten seconds—a motion you’ve grown to recognize all too well—and the next thing you know, a paper airplane comes flying your way.

Clasping the plane in both hands, you unfold the paper only to cackle at the bold red B- slathered across one side opposite of the blank. Another pair of eyes, on the other hand, shoots daggers at the snickering you’ve invested little to no effort in concealing. For better or for worse, nothing seems to have changed between you and Hoseok, and that fact becomes all the more evident as you held the paper airplane in your hands; because even now, you can still reminisce over the fateful night when the nine year old boy had suggested to the sheepish nine year old girl to write whatever thoughts she struggled to voice onto a paper airplane she could send flying over to his newly moved-into-bedroom. Unbeknownst to the boy, the bashful demeanor only stemmed from the silly adolescent crush you held for the boy since his first introduction to your family and it’s a secret you’ll keep stubbornly buried for years, even as you’ve outgrown both the mien and crush of your childhood days. One thing that you two have never outgrown, however, is the use of paper airplanes. Whether it’s for old time’s sake or for its actual purpose, you’ve never paid mind to.

For you, it’s been a relief to have a stable, constant friendship you could rely on, regardless of the circumstances. Hoseok has been your pillar, your sole source of solace even in your darkest times and there was nothing you could have traded this relationship for.

The next minute flows as if it were all second nature to you: grabbing a pen, you shut your eyes and hurriedly, albeit abashedly, scribble the words you had struggled to voice before and sent the airplane flying into the blue side.

Receiving your message, your best friend seems taken aback for a moment, both brows raising for the briefest of moments before settling into a thick coating of unsurprise, almost as if he had seen this coming from miles away. His expression paints a million words and, as always, you excitedly await for the vocalization of the myriad of reactions that had just plastered on his face; but today, he simply manages to utter a simple, “oh.”

“‘Oh?’ Are you kidding me, Hoseok?” you gape before falling into a fit of giggles. “This crush that I’ve been gushing over to you about for the. entirety. of. high. school. has finally acknowledged my existence? And not to mention, asked me out on a date? This is the moment we’ve both been waiting for!”

“I know, I’m happy for you,” Hoseok nods, the corner of his lips lifting into the gentlest of smiles. Cocking his head and kicking his feet onto the desk hidden behind the wall beside him, he rests his head onto the window sill, “so, what are you going to do?”

“What am I going to do? I’m finally going to be cuffed for the holiday season!” you don’t realize you’ve been twirling around your bedroom until you catch yourself taking a deep breath after a shortage of air. Finally, you plop into your chair, swivel toward the window in one swift motion, and breathe out a puff of white into the blue with a smile still stuck in a reverie. “I guess I’ll be the one treating you to dinner this year, buddy.” Hoseok prims his lips even tighter than before, hesitating to nod his head in agreement when you frown at his reaction. With a knitted expression, your voice settles into one of concerns, “do you have plans for Christmas…?”

“...no,” his answer comes with a stagnant silence of pondrance and his eyes fall to the sill before him. “Probably not. Actually, no. I won’t be.”

“Hold up, no, that doesn’t seem like a no to me,” you shake your head, leaning forward as he reclines into his seat and inches away into his room. “Do you have a date? It’s not with… her, is it?” Something drops in your already knotted stomach when he merely turns his head to the side and away from you. “After all the times she’s—” you hesitate to proceed but how else are you supposed to wake him up? “—cheated on you, why do you keep going back to her? I know you’re the sweetest, most understanding person, but why do you forgive her after all the pain she’s put you under? You deserve better, Hoseok. I know you do.”

Darkness befalls his face inch by inch akin to the inked clouds that shrouds the stars of the sky above you, for the once welcoming windows of his soul shun you from the outside-in. It’s been a while since you’ve observed such anguish overtake the cheery sun that was your best friend. The only moments of relapse were in the times of Hoseok’s on-and-off relationship with his ex—a fact that sends your chest throbbing and your guts twisting, for the hidden tears of your best friend shed at midnight in the comforts of the window sill beside yours pains you so.

This time, however, the boy shies away from his usual spilling of the heart. What had incurred such change, you were left to wonder alone; because regardless of if you were to peer through the familiar panes of the window or if you were to grab the handles and force your way in, your neighborhood childhood best friend had left you living and breathing in the cold cold in anticipation for someone who would never return.

“It’s different this time,” he lowly states and you can barely hear him over the wind that tousles his locks and yours. His words fail you, for the boy proceeds to stand to his feet and reach for the handles of his windows sitting in the night’s wrath all while you stare at him aghast. “Alright, it’s getting late now—” liar, you two have always talked late into the night, sometimes even ‘til daylight “—I’m heading off to bed. You should, too.”

“Hoseok,” you begin your last plea in desperation, peering up at the boy who meets your gaze with soulless orbs, “promise me you’ll take care of yourself. Please, at least for me.”

The boy presses his lips into a soft upturn of affirmation, if only to please his best friend. “I will. I promise. And you,” he points a stern finger at you with a chuckle, “be careful around that boy. I swear I’ll rip him to shreds if he ever even thinks about hurting you.”

“You wouldn’t,” you snort, despite the fact that his threats has your insides melting.

“I sure would,” he firmly retorts.

“You might punch him but I don’t think you have the heart to ‘rip them to shreds.’”

“I would if it were for you,” Hoseok finally cracks a smile when he watches the snicker creep onto your lips as you rolled your eyes because you knew very well in your heart that Hoseok would indeed be the last one standing beside your side, even if the whole world were to doubt you. As a final farewell of the dawn, the boy kicks the chair to the side and shoots you one last, firm look. “And make sure you tell him that.”

“Okay, okay,” you laugh, shifting to lean your left cheek into your arms on the sill. The golden warmth of the crescent moonlight strikes the apples of his honey tan cheeks so as to illuminate every perfect imperfection you’ve come to adore through the years. Still stuck in a daydream, you smile, “goodnight, Hoseok.”

Your best friend returns the gesture with a pressed upturn of the lips. “Goodnight,” he utters, before shutting his windows and blinds.

One, two, three—you giggle to yourself when he peeks through curtains just to give you one last wave, as if on cue to your whispers—and finally, he’s gone.

Normally, you would return to your bed to scroll through your phone and occasionally send one last text to your best friend with whatever mischief you could muster; but tonight, something about the electricity of the cold-cutting air, the spirit of the holidays, and flutters of having been asked out by your crush of many years has you staring out your window for many more hours to come.

Because tonight, the blue side soaring over the silhouette of your neighborhood best friend’s bedroom ceiling shines to a deep, melancholic fanfare no one has ever quite seen before.

“Hey, have you been waiting for long?”

A voice that you have to scavenge through your memories to identify calls out to you through the breeze that reddens your already beet-red cheeks and frozen tip of the nose. Jittering in place to keep yourself warm, you begin to regret having dressed so poorly for the weather. Black stockings, boots, and a wool jacket were, in fact, not enough to compensate for an above-the-knee skirt. If beauty is pain, then you were the manifestations of the downsides to dating. Still, you’ve always wanted to dress to impress, regardless of who you were meeting; because, in moments like this, you realize just how much you’ve taken Hoseok’s offering of his jacket and scarves for granted.

Tonight, however, you politely shake your head and force a smile, despite your chattering teeth and frosting breath. “No, I just got here—” maybe only five minutes ago, but still, Hoseok would have made sure to have been five minutes earlier “—the theater is just down the street from where I live.”

“Oh, is that so?” Jin gasps. “I could have picked you up, then. Next time for sure, yeah?”

“Yeah,” your attempt to hide your smile is in vain, for you can’t help but internally scream at the confirmation of a next date, “next time for sure.”

The jitters that send your bloodstream on a high skyrockets when Jin skillfully swipes an arm around and over your shoulder, the heat of his firm arms sending chills down your otherwise freezing back as he guides you toward the theater and quirks his head to the side to peer down at you with a lopsided smile, “so, how have you been, Y/N?”

If it weren’t for the knot in your throat, you would have been squealing at the top of your lungs, for the sole connection between your gaze and his own sultry ones sent an amass of butterflies fluttering in your stomach; and it’s at this moment that you wonder to yourself: so this must be how it feels to date during Christmas… and even if it twists your chest and sinks your spirits, you have to wonder: is this also how Hoseok feels when he meets with his ex?

The endless stream of foolish questions persists to interfere throughout the date, because by the end of the movie, you don’t even realize the missing extra large size of popcorn and drinks that Hoseok would have most definitely prepared for the both of you. It must have been your fault, though, because you can’t even recall having denied an offer for snacks prior to the movie. Did Jin even offer? Did you offer? Or were you two busy catching up that you had forgotten? Maybe Jin wasn’t much of a snacker. Regardless, your first date at the movies tonight seems to be much more revealing of your incompetence and Hoseok’s compensating competence than you would have liked to acknowledge.

“Are you…” Jin chortles in disbelief as the two of you weave through the bustling crowd next to the theater’s exit. “...are you really crying?”

“What do you mean am I actually crying?” you sniffle, forgetting to wipe the waterworks that stain your cheeks. “The movie was so freaking sad. I’m not usually a crier, but don’t you think it was at least a little sad?”

“No, not really,” he furrows his brows and awkwardly laughs at your mess. “You need some tissues to… wipe… your tears?”

Oh shit, your eyes shoot wide open when you realize just how much of a mess you must have appeared. This had never been a concern of yours before, but you were on a date right now, for God’s sake! In front of the Kim Seokjin, not to mention. How could you ruin your first date with the boy you’ve been wanting to kiss since forever? Would he even want to kiss you with snot running down your nose? Would there even be a second date at this point?!

Quickly accepting his offering of a tissue, you sheepishly turn away to blow your nose and collect yourself. You can hear Jin laughing briefly to himself from behind but your cheeks continue to burn bright red as you become all the more self conscious by the second. A state of panic settles in your frenzied heart when, out of the blue, you hear a familiar name escape Jin’s lips.

“Oh, if it isn’t Jung Hoseok!”

“Hoseok…?” you mumble to yourself, whirling around with a frown only to find yourself gutted at the sight of your best friend.

“Y/N,” Hoseok’s nod of the head comes to an abrupt stop and his eyes are struck with a mix of both terror and fury when he notices your own bloodshot eyes. His death glare flickers to the boy beside you. Through gritted teeth, he mutters, “I’ll give you two choices. Either you fucking run and never see her again or I beat your fucking—”

“—whoa, whoa,” Jin raises his hands in mercy, “she’s crying because of the movie, bro. Calm down, are you her boyfriend or am I?”

It’s odd that an unsettling premonition sends you churning, despite the fact that he had just proclaimed himself as your boyfriend. What exactly is it about this moment that startles you so? Hoseok’s presence? His mistake? Or is there something about Jin’s reaction that fails to satisfy?

But the more you ponder, the more you come to realize the question that had your chest gnawing and your heart pounding anxiously at the edge of its seat all this time.

“Wait, Hoseok, why are you here…?” you barely murmur as the two of them pause their stare-down to turn toward you. “Are you here for her—”

“—you two know each other?” Jin interrupts, quirking a brow when you simply nod. “From where?”

“We’re neighbors,” Hoseok replies before you can utter a word. You could tell Jin was about to raise a question of concern in regards to your relationship by the moment of hesitation and Hoseok’s abrupt response. Your best friend points his thumb back over his shoulder where a girl’s restroom sign hovers behind. “My date’s in the restroom right now, so I’m just waiting for her.”

“Oh,” you can nearly hear Jin sigh a breath of relief, “okay, well, we gotta get going, right, Y/N?”

“Huh?” you glance between Jin, who smiles gently at you with those perfectly perk lips of his, and Hoseok, who has you agonizing for your best friend’s well-being despite his current beckoning for you to continue on your little date without a trace of worry. “Wait, but Hoseok—”

“—yeah, don’t worry about me,” Hoseok chortles, shining a bright grin at the two of you and taking a step backward toward the direction of whom you assumed to be his repulsive ex. “I’ll catch up with you later, Jin! See you at home, Y/N.”

“...right,” Jin can only mutter under his breath, for the boy had already jogged off into the distance. Squeezing your hand, Jin’s sudden touch against your bare skin has your heart skipping a beat above your previously unsettling state of mind. “Let’s go and have some fun, Y/N. I’ll walk you home, too.”

The thought of skipping through town and whisking the night away with the apple of your eye has your grin stretching from ear to ear and your extremities buzzing with electricity; but even so, as Jin holds your hand firmly in his like a prized treasure you had always wished to be, you can’t help but glance over your back at the boy who had left your heart heavy and crestfallen for many impending sleepless nights all in the surging waves of his wake.

Tonight’s sky radiates sapphire, too, albeit more sober and less star-studded, a stark contrast to the one next door. Nonetheless, as you stroll through the neighborhood hand-in-hand with the boy of your dreams and rest your head against his sturdy arms to gaze up into midnight, you’re transcended into the soft wraps of your blanket where your cheeks would ache and your heart would warm as you peered out of your bedroom windows throughout the ephemeral dreamy exchange.

“Do you have a thing for astronomy?” Jin implores, the break of the silence and the squeeze of his hands snap you back into reality. The lock between his hands and yours allows you to feel every callus and rough inch of his skin and you begin to wonder if he could feel your heart pacing with each passing second that he held you so intimately like this.

Clearing the knot in your throat with a gulp, you manage to meekly utter, “not in particular,” before returning your sights to peer up at the boy with a grin. When his eyes meet yours, however, the sudden contact has you jolting from a spike of joyous thrill—because, for heaven’s sake, the crush you’ve been gushing over for years was looking into your eyes!

“Whoa, is my face really that frightening?” Jin chuckles with another squeeze to your hand. “Hey, I don’t know if it was just me, but I really thought there was a connection between us tonight. You can be comfortable, you know. I’m not going anywhere.”

To this day, there was really only one place of solace of whom you could spill your heart to and that was by the side of your window; so when your frenzied mind finally manages to register his last words of affirmation, your heart holds onto the hope of a newfound home. Bobbing your head with elation, your sights lower to the floor bashfully in a fruitless attempt to hide your cheeky smile, for the laugh of his that follows is enough to confirm the similar wavelength of giddiness between you both.

After a minute of walking with interlocked hands and basking in utter bliss, this time it’s your turn to break the silence, “....and we have arrived!”

“What?” Jin groans, grabbing both your hands when you turn to face him in preparation for your parting. “Why do you have to live so close?”

You giggle at his perspective, “well, think about it this way: the closer I live, the more often you can visit me.”

“Can I visit you now, then?” his lips upturn into a suggestive quirk of the grin—his eyes, however, were focused elsewhere, for when you follow his line of sight and find yourself staring at the flamboyant red strap of your bra peeking out from under your black blouse, your cheeks turn an equally beet red.

Did you just flash your boyfriend on the very first date?

“Absolutely not!” you gawk, pulling on your sleeves and crossing your hands protectively over your chest. “We are not that comfortable yet!”

“Yet, I’m glad to hear that,” he emphasizes, turning away to glance at your house. The two of you exchange a brief moment of laughter when you sheepishly slap his arm for his antics when silence overcomes the conversation and his inscrutable eyes darken with their sights pinned on the two houses before him. “Does he come over often?”

“Who?” you arch a brow just as a lightbulb goes off in your mind. Eyes wandering away from your boyfriend and settling on the bedroom windows of your best friend’s, your heart stirs and your gut contorts by the wrath of today’s flashbacks. If your heart hurts you so, to the point that you’re doubting time’s capabilities as remedy, your spirits sink even lower when you consider: how must Hoseok be feeling? “Oh, Hoseok?”

Jin only nods, keeping his eyes on the two windows facing one another within an arm’s distance across. Glancing between your window and Hoseok’s, you notice the oddity of your heart’s skips at the sight of golden warmth radiating from his drawn curtains. He must be awake. Is he waiting for you? What is he doing? How is he feeling?

Even from this distance away, you could practically see the warmth of his room and feel the heat thaw those ice cold hands of yours. Your chest throbs at the thought of another night’s exchange with Hoseok but your thoughts are abruptly interrupted by the barely audible breaths of the actual boy beside you.

What has your heart racing and your blood flooding with this euphoric thrill? Perhaps it’s the excitement to babble to Hoseok about how perfectly well the date and the anticipation that had built up over the entirety of the day, you figured; but was it right to feel this way? Is it normal to feel this way over the mere lights of his room?

“No,” you finally answer cautiously, wary of Jin’s sudden change in demeanor. “We’re family friends but he doesn’t come over often.”

For some reason, you decide to keep the nightly conversations a secret, even if it meant nothing more than a nostalgic exchange between two best friends. Jin’s unwavering stare between your window and Hoseok’s, however, has you plagued with a guilt that would startle your sleep for many nights to come.

“Does he ever see you like that?” he lowly speaks with a tinge of growl in his voice.

“Like what…?” your voice trails as your mind scrambles to find his reference—oh, your cheeks redden once again at the thought of your undergarments. Has Hoseok ever seen your undergarments? The thought had never occurred to you until now, and as much as you thought you wouldn’t care if he indeed has, the frenzy that settles in your heart tells you otherwise. He’s your best friend though, a childhood friend, so does it really matter if he did? “No, I don’t think so… That would only be possible if I had forgotten to close my curtains while changing, but… I don’t think Hoseok would be the type to… look. He probably would scold me afterwards, too—”

“—but would he? Would he really not look?” Jin cuts, turning toward you to reveal the stern look of his knitted expression. “I don’t know how close you two are, but guys are all the same, Y/N. You should be careful.”

Something about his orders, the deadpan of his voice and the demand of his eyes, send an unfamiliar series of chills down your spine. The boy that stands before you is a stark contrast from the ex baseball player, high school graduate you had just spent the entirety of the night gushing over with your every being wrapped around his finger.

The stagnant, stiff silence that ensues catches the both of you off guard, for neither of you were prepared for the vexed look on your face over the antagonization of your best friend. To reconcile, Jin lets out a sigh intermixed with a soft laugh and pats the side of your arm. The edges of his eyes soften as his thumb rubs circles into your skin and his lips prim into a slight smile. The gentle, more familiar intonation of his voice return when he speaks, “just be a bit more careful, okay? For me?”

He must have been concerned for your safety. Perhaps jealous of your friendly relations with Hoseok, you figured, as many friends have questioned your true relationship with your best friend that happens to be a male. Plus, you and Jin were dating now. As your boyfriend, he had all the more reasons to be concerned.

As much as it irks you to witness anyone villainizing Hoseok, you couldn’t exactly blame Jin, could you...?

“Jin, I��ll be fine. Hoseok wouldn’t do anything to hurt me, but thank you for worrying,” you quickly stand on the tip of your toes to plant a firm kiss to his cheeks, stunning him with those wide eyes of his before he could persist. “I’ll be careful just for you, though, okay?”

Your boyfriend nods, his cheeks just barely a tint of pink—whether from the cold or your touch, you would like to think the latter—and the two of you part after a lengthy exchange of beckoning for the other two leave first and a drawn out bidding of repetitive farewells. As cold as Jin had made the last few minutes of the date, he had compensated much more than enough with the swarm of butterflies that filled your insides at the moment as you skipped your way up the stairs and into your room.

The golden hues of light that floods your room only augments to the warmth of your state as you hum to yourself and proceed to discard your clothes in exchange for far more comfortable pajamas. There goes the stockings, the skirt, the sweater, you toss them onto your bed as you search for the bunny pajamas you had worn for the past week or two when, out of the blue, a sliding of the curtains interrupt your tunes and the golden warmth of your room disappears to leave you in the dark. Your heart nearly stops when you come to realize what had just occurred.

Slowly turning, you peer over the side of your bed half naked only to find his curtains closed and the lights of his bedroom replaced by the beam of moonlight which streams into your own opened curtains. Shit, did you just break your promise to Jin within minutes of making it? Heart racing and blood flowing to heat every inch of your body, you start to squirm uncontrollably at the thoughts that plague you for the next hour to come.

Did Hoseok see you in just your bras and panties? Did he see everything? How much did he see? When did he see? How long did he watch?

Throwing on your pajamas, you hastily close your curtains and bury yourself into your bed only to scream into your pillows at the top of your lungs. Well, at the very least, Hoseok was as much of a gentleman as you had predicted to Jin. There was no way he would have peaked for a second longer than he should have when he realized your curtains were mistakenly drawn open, or at least that’s what you would like to think in order to sleep at night.

Regardless, the most pressing concern you have to face at the moment has you in shambles as the clock nearly strikes midnight: how were you going to face him after that?

The answer would have been simple—you wouldn’t—but when you peek over at your curtains from under the blankets and you run over the events of today, you’re gutted by the reminder of Hoseok’s feigned smile last night and the forced assurance he had given you before you left him for Jin at the theater tonight.

As much as you’re reluctant to count, you’ve been through this scene more than enough times before. Hoseok’s on-and-off relationship with his ex were never without its complications. Ghosting, cheating, stood up, the inflictions his ex had afflicted on Hoseok were endless. It pained you every time you return home, hoping Hoseok had not just undergone another heartbreak. Hoseok has always been too patient, too forgiving. He never really learned and you despise him for it so. Judging by the red flags of last night, if your daunting predictions were correct, your problems were much less of one than what he must be going through.

You weren’t given much time to contemplate over your choices, though, for your best friend seems to have beaten you to it when a series of knocks at your window allures you back into reality where your duties lie ahead and across from your bedroom window.

Firmly planting your feet to the ground, you stride toward your window sill, drawing open the curtains and pushing apart the panes—whoosh. A paper airplane comes flying toward your face just as you welcome the blue side guest of the winter night sky into your room, just barely dodging it as it whirls to the floor.

how was the date?

Bending over, you grab the surprisingly blank piece of paper off the floor. Rolling your eyes at his antics, you twirl around to face your window with a mass of emotions scrambled in the mess that is your state of mind only to be stunned into silence by the sight before you; because just as reliably he had stayed by your side through all your ups and downs in every milestone, days, months, and years, he sits there by his window, leaning his cheeks into his hands with an elbow propped against the sill, waiting for you to spill your heart over another day’s work of hassles, delights, or disappointments—silently, resiliently, perpetually.

It’s ironic that in moments like this, when you’re staring at the very person whom has incessantly proven their faith time and time again, that you come to acknowledge your greatest fear.

What were you to do if the day were to arrive when you peer out of your windows and meet an empty room of closed curtains and lackluster midnight skies?

“So?” Hoseok quirks his head to the side with a smile that raises the apples of his cheeks; and while the sight of the cheery boy before you would have usually lifted you from the lowest of lows, this side of him hits you different tonight—for tonight he is blue, feigning to be golden, neither sapphire like the bejeweled galaxy nor ocean like the tenacious waves that were to rise from its inevitable crashes.

Tonight, he dutifully plays the role of the usual jolly best friend. Tonight, Hoseok pretends to be okay when he’s not for the sake of you, and as much as you knew he was well aware of the fact that you could see right through him, his helpless attempt to convince the both of you otherwise tugs at your strings. You could always tell the weather of his side, sometimes even better than he was even aware of. You are his best friend, his childhood friend, his one constant source of consolidation. Hoseok knew you could unmask that forced upturn of his lips—you always could—so to see him there, sitting across from you with that bittersweet, crooked lips of his, it’s almost as if he had no choice but to lie.

“Why…” your lips quiver and your voice cracks when his smile disappears along with every trace of lies on his face. He watches you, muted and numb, neither apologetic nor confused, for he knew this would happen all along. “Why are you acting as if you’re okay when you’re not?”

“What do you mean? I’m fine—”

“—you’re clearly not!” you blurt to hide your series of deep, shaky breaths. “I hate it when you act like everything is fine, as if anything that happens to you is trivial and no one should care but the truth is I care more than anything else in the world.”

When Hoseok remains silent, peering up at you, unmoved and inscrutable, the gnawing of your chest comes to the forefront.

“I always spill my heart to you. I’ve bawled my eyes out at midnight and I’ve screamed my lungs out over the dumbest things. Why can’t you do that for me?” your voice hitches but you persist. “You don’t have to tell me what happened, but why can’t you understand that you’re worthy, that I want you to at least cry and scream when your heart wants to instead of bottling it up as if no one cared enough to listen?”

Seeing as the boy remains silent, perhaps, knowing him, even a bit amused by your babbling, your fiery emotions manifest in the form of fury as you hastily grab a piece of paper, scribble holes and words into the blank space, and fold the message into a delicate, flawed paper plane before tossing it straight into the opposing side.

The boy receives it with utmost ease, eyes remaining fixated on you and posture retaining in its casual lean as he raises a hand where the paper plane lands perfectly into its fate between his two fingers. Unfolding the paper slowly, the slightest of smiles makes an appearance on Hoseok’s otherwise unmoved mien.

“‘I want to cry with my best friend,’” he reads with a chuckle.

Gulping, your eyes follow his every action as if your life depended on it. Your best friend, on the other hand, ignores your dartlike focus as he grabs a pen, twirls it between his fingers, eyes darkened and affixed to the paper, and finally tosses the plane to the side of his desk. Alas, the boy lifts his sunken line of sight to connect with your own lost ones for the first time of the night; and when he gazes at you, he does so with conviction, but when he speaks, he does so apathetically, for when he deadpans his next confession, your heart becomes equally numb.

“She stood me up for another guy.”

His words echo in the cold, his confession a stark contrast to the holiday lights that brings sparkles throughout nightfall and the smiles that surround your family and his and everyone else in the neighborhood with the only exceptions being you and him. They refuse to depart even in the wrath of the winter wind and, instead, begrudgingly lingering in the space between you and him as if to incessantly pour salt on his wound.

The holiday spirits were not all to blame, however, for your silence is just as much of a mockery to him as the neighborhood that reminded him this time of the year was for joy and his pain was invalid. You had encouraged him to speak his mind, to cry his heart out to you, yet when it really came down to it, your mind runs blank. It isn’t that you don’t want to speak—it’s that you can’t. Something in your chest sinks, something in you shrivels and contorts and there really aren’t any words that could adequately convey the pitted, gutted weight that dawns upon you when he shares his burdens with you; even so—with all the pain of your being and the numbness of your mind that only shrills at you with questions like how were you to survive and bear this state for a duration that seems so vigorous at this point in time—if it were to lighten his burden even the slightest, you would do it all again in the beat of a heart.

The more you mulled in your endless cycle of thoughts, regretting your lack of interference in Hoseok’s evidently toxic relationship, the more your internal mess of emotions manifested itself externally; because before you know it, your nose is sniffling and your cheeks are staining under the warm waterworks that flow from your vision blurred by ripples, as if you were gazing at the surface from underwater.

“What are you doing,” Hoseok chuckles, a breath of disbelief escaping his upturned lips, “you silly girl, why are you crying over someone else’s pain?”

“I-I’m not crying,” you retort, reclining in defeat when Hoseok arches a brow and you sniffle as if on cue. It’s okay to cry, to sniffle, to sob and look like a total mess with disheveled, uncombed hair and unmatching pair of pajamas, because you’ve done it all around him. To you, there’s no one else but him whom could make you feel as comfortable even in your most vulnerable state as him. “But it’s not just ‘someone,’ I’m crying over your pain, Hoseok. I-it’s not like I would cry for just anyone… i-it’s just that,” you babble through your hiccups because the both of you are well aware that once your jar of insults regarding his ex has been opened, there’s no going back. “I-I hate how she could hurt you like this. I hate the thought of anyone hurting you. You don’t deserve to be hurt, you don’t deserve this. She treats you like shit, and I hate the fact that you still forgive her after all that she’s done, but what I hate most is how she never fucking cherishes you when she has my best friend, my whole world, in her hands—” Hoseok never budges, sitting and watching you as still as he could, as if even the slightest of movements would interrupt this moment “—you’re not really that smart but you damn could be if you wanted to, maybe. You’re good looking, you’re damn charming, you’re the most loving, patient, understanding, and gentle guy and any girl would be lucky to have you. I just don’t fucking understand why she can’t see that.”

Hoseok doesn’t answer in response to your confession. He simply gazes at you in silence, cautious to conceal every movement that would give him away—but his eyes were beautifully expressive, enough to paint you a thousand words. He watches you, carefully and intently, as if the apple of his eye was a delicate flower threatened by the spoilt of his touch. He doesn’t speak, but his utter attention for you and only you are enough for even you, with the lowest of self-esteem, feel treasured like a pearl hidden away from the intrusive peers of the world.

And now, out of the blue, you begin to shy away with a heart thumping in sought for stability and a shift in your wavering eyes.

Has his stare always had this impact on you?

Finally, Hoseok lets out a breath of a chuckle, shifty eyes peering down at the side and away from your gaze but the stretch of his lopsided grin that were enough to raise the apples of his cheeks were enough for anyone to ravish at. A long minute of comfortable silence stills the air, your confession lying out in the open between your window and his. The blue of the midnight sky looms over his side tonight, crickets chirp on the side and sprinklers dutifully water the gardens in the neighborhood, while he turns to reconnect his gaze with yours and you wouldn’t dare to break the serenity, for you knew these were the reveries you would long for at school where you were miles away from him.

Your best friend sighs, lying his head and left cheek into his arms that were perched on his window sill. The boy prims a gentle half-smile, locks of his chestnut hair grazing his sun-kissed skin just over his eyes. As much as your blown steam had amped you into a state of disorder, something about the ocean depths of his eyes restored the tranquility in the night air. He observes you, silently, as if marveling the sight before him. It takes you a dozen more seconds of exchanged glances between you and him before you realize he’s been patiently watching your endless stream of tears and you hastily rub them away with the palms of your hands.

“Thank you,” Hoseok finally utters.

You frown at his one statement throughout your entire trainwreck of a rant, “for what?”

“For crying for me,” Hoseok adorns a bittersweet grin at you, heaving a puff of white into the air. “Man, I don’t think I could even cry even if I wanted to.”

“What do you mean…?” you mumble with knitted brows.

“I mean, my best friend would cry even more if she were to see me cry… wouldn’t you?” Hoseok chortles at the way you pout at the thought of his tears. Lifting his head to lean against his hand now with an elbow perched to the sill, he sighs. “Plus, it's kind of odd for me to say it out loud, but… it doesn’t hurt anymore. Her going out of her way to break me… this time, I don’t want to cry or yell or rant like I used to with you. I just don’t feel the pain anymore.”

“Why…?” your breath shakes as your lips quiver, because the thought of Hoseok being so beaten down and repeatedly stomped on to the point of becoming numb to a very humane emotion of distrust has you clearly on the brink of another breakdown.

“At first I didn’t understand why either,” Hoseok’s eyes avert to you, “but I think I do now.”

“What—”

“—it’s a secret,” he shoots you a wink and you can’t seem to find the right words to speak, it’s almost as if you’ve been stunned silent. After a long few seconds of silence, one that amuses Hoseok and confuses you, Hoseok continues with an utter under his breath as he begins playing with whatever dust has collected on his sill, “would you… cry for him?”

“Who?” you could barely manage to crack a sound having bawled your eyes out just minutes prior.

“Your boyfriend,” he snorts, peering up from his sill to shoot an unamused glance, “Seokjin.”

“Oh,” you turn your head to glimpse at the spot on the sidewalk where you and Jin had stood earlier today. Who knew you would have been in this disheveled state when you could have sworn you were on cloud nine just an hour before. Mulling over your thoughts, you could barely notice Hoseok’s stare through it all, “I don’t know… we just started talking. I don’t think I would be able to cry. Hell, I didn’t even know I was capable of crying for others until I met you.”

“Uuuhuh, is that so?” he drawls. “So how was the date tonight? What do you think of him?”

“Jin? Well, I guess , he’s… he’s still as hot as ever. Remember how I always marveled over his lips? Yeah, his lips are just as divine as I remember. He’s super tall and his arms are so sturdy,” you catch yourself before persisting on a tangent.

“So basically you think he’s the one,” he rolls his eyes.

“Well, it’s still a bit awkward between us. I don’t really blame him for reacting that way though, who the hell cries on their first date?” you shake your head, trying to rid yourself of the embarrassment. “Do you think he hates criers? Oh God, do you think he would still date me if he finds out I’m a crier?”

“Tsk,” Hoseok snorts, eyes lifting from the ground to peer into yours. Grinning, he speaks, “I don’t know because, frankly, who else would be willing to lend you a shoulder to cry on as often as I do?”

“There are some people willing to hear me cry!”

“Who?”

“Um… my friends,” you insist.

“More than me?”

“No…” you reply meekly and Hoseok shrugs smugly in response. “But Jin… Jin’s different. He might change once we get to know each other. I like how he knows what he wants and I can tell because he’s never been afraid to tell me…”

Your voice trails into silence as your mind wanders elsewhere, staring at the past where you and Jin had stood. You could still remember the darkening of his eyes. You could still feel the chills down your back. The longer you stared at the remnants of the past as you peered out the window with Hoseok across from you, the more aware you become of the way Jin’s piercing gaze bores a hole into your conscience.

“...Y/N?” Hoseok quirks his head.

“I don’t think Jin likes it when I talk to you,” you utter. “He says I should be careful around boys, including you.”

“Oh?” the boy muses, eyes flickering and brows quirking. “Well, he’s not exactly wrong.”

You frown, “what do you mean by that?”

“I am a guy, am I not?”

“Well, yes, but you’re different. We—”

“—have you already forgotten what just happened? Did you wear red expecting something to happen between you and him tonight?” he chuckles at the way your cheeks turn beet red and your arms subconsciously cross over your chest—and when his eyes blink once again, they flicker between the calm blue mien of the boy next door and the dark abyss of the enigmatic boy you’ve always struggled to put a finger on. “He’s not wrong, Y/N. You should be careful of me.”

The rapid thumping of your heart against your chest edges you onto a thrill of venturing into the unknown, yet the cause of such a rise in adrenaline comes to you unidentified. The thought of fearing Hoseok, the only person you’ve ever fully allowed yourself to expose your vulnerable side to, comes across as silly to you; yet why does his warning excite you so?

After a moment of silence, Hoseok finally persists, “so, what are you going to do?”

“What do you mean what am I going to do?” you repeat, baffled. “Of course I won’t do anything. I get that you’re a guy and he could be jealous and all, but you’re my best friend—”

“—and he’s your boyfriend,” Hoseok emphasizes, raising his hands in defense when you raise a brow at him. “Not that he should have any control over your life, but maybe you should consider his feelings? Maybe a bit of a break between,” he points at the two of you, “us, would help us both.” After watching you stubbornly cross your arms in refusal to oblige, Hoseok sighs. “‘Jessi never really liked it when I mentioned you either.”

Jessi—for some reason, the sound of her name, her nickname not to mention, leaving his lips is like a cut to your heart. You hate it. You hate how he’s still considerate of his ex. You hate how he mentions her so casually.

And a break? Between you and Hoseok? The daunting thought weighs heavily on your shoulders and suddenly you feel like the whole world has come crashing down. What were you to do if you needed a shoulder to cry on? A person to chat with through the insomniac nights? This would be the first Christmas you’ve spent without Hoseok in countless years. You can’t even bear that possibility, so what were you to do if it were to become reality?

“I’m… I’m scared,” you meekly mutter under your breath. “I’m scared we’ll lose contact. I’m scared we’ll change so much that we won’t be able to reconnect. I’m scared I won’t be able to cry comfortably with you. I’m scared things just won’t be the same if we were to stop and it’s a dumb thought because our friendship is so much more than that and maybe I’m worrying too much but I’m scared anyways.”

“You think you’re the only one scared?” Hoseok utters, barely audible as a short zephyr passes by to graze against your locks and his. “The day we stop talking, the day I can’t call you my best friend anymore… I didn’t think anything could hurt me more than she did, but that thought alone… I can’t think of anything that would hurt more,” he turns to gazes at you, delicate yet unfazed with that gentle smile of his, “I don’t think I could ever bear the pain if that day were to ever come. “

“Hoseok, I—” your voice cracks and tingles in the back of your throat reaching the back of your eyes signal for you to stop before you’re sent on another sobbing mess. Fully understanding the situation, Hoseok only chortles at your abrupt silence before gesturing for you to write your thoughts on paper instead.

The words come easily to you, for the pen slides effortlessly across the paper and the purest forms of your expression manifests in the works of ink.

I would never hurt you like her.

That would be pushing it, perhaps a bit too insensitive, you thought as you hastily push the paper aside; but just as your hands clutch for another paper that now prints “you deserve better,” Hoseok calls out to you from the other side.

The boy shakes his head and points his finger at your other hand where the other accursed paper remains crumpled.“I thought there were no secrets between us,” he then sing-songs, “honesty is the best policy!”

Groaning, you grumble to yourself in disatisfaction as you quickly scribble down “you deserve better” to the original paper and reluctantly send the paper plane his way. Mentally bracing yourself for the embarrassment that was to come, your efforts are fruitless when the boy receives your secrets with grace and smiles at the paper before quickly scribbling down his own heart and sends it your way.

and what exactly is that?

Letting out a breathy chortle, you store the paper plane in the corner of your desk before returning your attention to the peering eyes of his, “I’ll tell you someday when the time is right... but not now.”

“Aww,” Hoseok drawls, scrunching his nose with a playful scowl. “And when would that be?”

“Hmmm,” you mull over it for the briefest of moments, because you weren’t even sure of the answer yourself but something about the way your eyes can’t help averting to the corner of your desk where the paper plane lies enchanted by the touch of your whole world across the views of your window pane tells you it would serve a purpose in a time more pivotal than now. “I’ve complimented you too many times today. I’ll tell you when you need something to pick you up. Gotta keep that ego in check, y’know?”

“Uhuh, and who do you think I hang out around enough to get that from?” he snorts, lips downturning and head nodding in disbelief; but when you simply shrug off his retort, the boy finally gives in with a loud huff and a plop against the window sill. He mumbles, lips partially muffled by his arms, “can I at least keep the plane, then?”

“Why?” you laugh at his genuine dejection. “It’s just a piece of paper. I can read it to you everyday, if you want.”

“Really?” Hoseok quirks a brow. The air catches your last breath and your gaze widens, taken aback by the overly eager jump in his velvety voice. Cocking to his head to the side, he flashes a tilted grin, “can I hold you to that promise?”

“Yeah,” the words slip past your lips just as easily as your consciousness, “I would never break our promises. You know that. I’m not her.”

“Really?” he speaks low but sure.

Still yet sure, your gaze never dares to disconnect from that of his own dark yet shaky, for the fear of losing sight of your best friend, as if he would dissipate into sand and drift off into the winter wind and out of your life the second you turn your head, as if he had never existed in the first place, were enough to keep your every being teetering on the edge of a cliff.

“I promise.”

“Okay,” he smiles through his murmurs. The gentle grin that adorns his pressed lips were subtle, hidden from everyone but his world across the window panes of his bedroom, but you could tell this moment would be one etched into the memories he would relish perpetually for years to come. His eyes shift to the side and off into the distance, the way they do on the rare occasion Hoseok feigns composure in moments he could do anything but, but you swear you could catch him twinkling akin to the stars that soar above you both.

You don’t realize how far you’ve ventured off into the blue side until the boy of your sights lies his head comfortably into his arms and flutters his eyes shut—and now you wonder: has he ever caught himself ravishing in the sights of the girl next door?

“‘I think we should get to bed now,” you blurt to stop your thoughts in the midst of its tracks. “It’s getting late.”

“Why not break a few rules here and there, Y/N?” Hoseok grins, keeping his eyes shut throughout his rest. “We’re on break. Is there really a curfew? Plus, we’ve talked much later than this before.”

“Yeah, but I don’t know… what if we fall asleep and our parents caught us sitting here like this?”

“Then let them,” he deadpans, peeping open an eye at you when baffled silence is all that he receives from you. “It’s our last time talking like this for a while, remember? C’mon, stay with me for just a while longer. Please?”

Right—the thought dawns upon you like gray clouds looming over an otherwise starry night—you had made a deal with Hoseok for the sake of his relationship and yours. Giving in, you plop into your own arms on the window sill and make yourself comfortable for the inevitable hours that you knew were to come of moments like these.

And you were right; because just a couple of minutes later, after a couple of times you were so sure Hoseok had drifted off into sleep and you tried to sneak off into your bedroom just to grab a snack or two only to hear him calling out for you with the utter of your name, you peep open your eyes to a sound asleep boy across from you, deep in slumber. The creases of his forehead, the knit between his brows, and the years of wear and tear and broken trust painted by the dark circles under his eyes are now merely scars of the past under your guise—but scars are scars, and you know the moment you were to look away and he was no longer under your watch, this ephemeral moment of tranquility would drift into the wind like the diel duration of daylight.

But for now, you relish in the fact that you could resume vigilance over the boy next door. Smiling to yourself, utterly content in a moment you wish you could keep frozen in time, you watch him from afar. Heart swelling and strings tugging, you wonder to yourself aloud.

“Dumby,” you sigh with a smile on your face that mirrors those hinted by the slight upcurve of his lips, “why don’t you ever look this peaceful around her?”

Winter blues consume you for the following week, for the phantom of his presence are all that you’re made aware of. Because every morning, when the sun rises and its beams blind you, you’re reminded of his dazzling demeanor and that damn grin of his that has you seeing the light at the end of the darkest tunnels. Because every night, when the moon rises and a lavish sapphire hue shimmers across his skies that you couldn’t help but peak at, you can practically hear his honey-like voice rambling on about anything and everything and soothing you to a sleep that you were to awaken from with a nostalgic yearning that tugs at you for many days to come.

For every hour, you would scan your surroundings, wondering whether your name had been called by Hoseok or Jin.

For every minute, you would pause in the midst of your tracks, wondering if you should bring an additional one back home for Hoseok only to be snapped back into reality when Jin calls for your name.

And for every second that you step foot into your bedroom, you would be haunted by that hauntingly beautiful night that still seems like an unattainable dream of last night, for the remnants of his greetings, grin, and wave from the comforts of his room whenever he spotted you returning home and the curtains that remained shut even when your alarm went off made you painfully aware of the gape in your heart. Snuggling in bed and gazing at the golden warmth that floods your room by those familial lights of his, you always find yourself staring off into the distance where your curtains and his dutifully shrouded the longing gaze that would have been exchanged between the two. Painfully aware of his late nights, you can’t help but wonder if he felt the same ghosts of your presence in his daily routine or if you were the only one holding onto a past he had outgrown.

The guilt that plagues you the most, however, evidently remains in the cracks of your relationship with Jin. Every date brought you closer to the high school daydream, close enough to leave the both of you wanting more but far enough to become aware of the fork in the road. Although you can’t exactly put a finger on it, the both of you are shrewd enough to recognize the nagging feeling of an inevitable distance… it’s just that neither of you are willing to address it, particularly Jin.

But the two of you are getting along just fine—flirtatious texts, vivacious winks, and intimate moments of hand-holding and lip-locking—so how cruel would it be of you to yearn for the nights that were long gone?

“Where do you want to go next, babe?” Jin squeezes your hand before pecking a quick kiss to your cheeks that adorns a wide grin. “Last Sunday we went to an arcade… yesterday we went to the theaters… how about hitting the rink today?”

“Ice skating?” your eyes widen at the thought, especially after experiencing flashbacks to the time you held onto the side for your dear life while watching Hoseok skating and laughing away as he had the time of his life with Jessica—and it’s almost as if the gnawing pain of your chest from that particular time transcends into present time. “I don’t know…”

“Why not? You don’t know how to skate? C’mon, I’ll teach you,” Jin chuckles at your reluctance, tugging at your hand and squeezing them firmly before a swift wink. “If you really want, I’ll even hold your hand the entire time.”

“Hey!” you gawk and slap his chest. “I just don’t have fond memories at that particular rink. It’s not like I’m trying to get you to hold my hand, you already hold them enough anyways because someone’s always so needy.”

Jin doubles over from laughing and you can’t help but follow along. He gently bumps his shoulder against yours only to close the remaining gap between the two of you and leans in to murmur, “but you know you love it.”

“...yeah,” you roll your eyes, despite the grin on your face, “whatever.”

“So what do you say? Hm?” he nudges you persistently. “I promise I’ll replace whatever bad experience you had and make it your favorite date for as long as you can remember, okay?”

You’ve been avoiding the skating rink for well over five years now ever since that time you had reluctantly agreed to third-wheeling with Hoseok and Jessica. It didn’t seem like such a bad idea when Hoseok had refused to leave you alone on Christmas and proceeded to paint an all-too perfect picture of his girlfriend at that time, before the two of you were aware of Jessica’s affairs, but the dirty glares she had shot you throughout the entirety of the night proved otherwise.

Your eyes brighten at the sound of his promising proposal and you could tell Jin had recognized that from the way his eyes light up as well. Smiling to yourself, you nod and reciprocate the pinky Jin had lifted as a symbol of his promise, “I’ll hold you to that, Kim Seokjin.”

“Leave it to me,” the boy grins and you swear the high-school-you would have swooned, “you can trust me.”

...and to be fair, your trust is proven not to be misplaced, for the rest of the night is nearly, if not exceedingly, the ideal date you’ve always dreamt of having with the Seokjin of your grade. The euphoric flutters of your heart, the holiday spirits in the air, and his protective hands and charming half-giggle half-cackles are straight from your high school diary that was Hoseok and his lending ears.

“What?!” you have to hush Jin when he nearly shrills. “You’ve liked me since high school and you’ve dreamed of going on this date for all these years?”

“Yeah,” you bashfully mutter under your breath, squeezing both his hands when you nearly fall backwards onto your bottom, “but scream it out any louder and I’m taking it all back.”

“Damn,” he curses at himself, brows knitting deep in thought even as he skates backwards and guides you through the bustling crowd of couples with ease. “How did I not know? I would have asked you out if I knew—”

“—wait, you actually remembered me in high school?” your eyes widen and he lifts his gaze to meet yours with an arched brow. “And you liked me?”

“Well,” Jin mumbles through barely parted lips, “why else would I keep your number all these years?”

“True… ah!” you yelp when you nearly slip but Jin holds firmly onto the sides of your arms. “So why did you text me after all these years?”

“I guess,” Jin’s gaze locks with yours, a surge of confidence glistening in those dark orbs of his, “I just didn’t want to wait forever until fate finally gives me an excuse to talk to you.”

“Oh, well I’m glad you did,” you reciprocate Jin’s smile, glimpsing at the ground when something catches you off guard in the corner of your eyes, “wait, is that—”

“—what?” Jin turns around to follow your line of sight over his shoulders and at a particular girl across the rink.

Those luscious brown locks you had once compared your own to, the small of her back where you had eyed Hoseok’s hands gliding over, and the curves of her hips where Hoseok had once drawn circles into with his thumb, you could recognize that back anywhere. The worst part of it all that has your heart sinking and your every being set ablaze: you could also recognize the street attire and broad stature of the boy next to her.

“Is that Jessica and Joon?” you could barely maintain your composure as your strangled words escapes through gritted teeth, chest heaving uncontrollably, eyes burning and fiery, and hands curling into a fist with utter fury. Jin fruitlessly attempts to shake you awake, hands trying to catch yours once again after you had tossed his aside and began marching past him and toward the subject of your rage with all kinds of vicious thoughts in your mind. “I’m going to fucking kill you, Jessica!”

“Y/N! Y/N, what the hell are you doing?” Jin calls out to you but his voice rides the waves off somewhere in the distance, as if you were underwater; because all you can see ahead of you is a tunnel vision of her and her new love affair that happened to be another one of your worst enemies. Everything else, the curious eyes of the public and the whispers of their gossip, dissipate as you pass by them with your wrath being the sole fuel to your fire.

The subject to your hollers whirls around with a whimsical smirk on her face and the boy beside her only furrows his brows at the sight of you. When you miraculously reach them across the rink, it takes everything in you not to land a punch square at her cocked jaw. Jessica feigns delight as she squeals, “well, if it isn't Y/N! I haven’t seen you in years!”

“Cut your bullshit,” you deadpan, pointing a threatening finger at her and Namjoon, “Hoseok isn’t here so you can throw all the dirty glares you want, but don’t think for even a second I’ll let you get away with this.”

“With what?” she snickers, pretending to gasp when she catches you averting your darting eyes between her and Namjoon. “Oh—” she hooks her hand over Namjoon’s arm and rests her head on his shoulders “—you mean us? Didn’t Hoseok tell you? Or are you two not good ol’ best friends anymore?”

“So… you knew,” you could barely stutter from the outpouring rage that overwhelms you; because even as your nails dig into your whitening palms, teeth grit until your jaws shrill of pain from a sharp jolt, and lungs heave deep breaths in a vain attempt to slow the hammer of your chest, your heart aches from the thought of Hoseok. Your next words arrive slowly but every second of delay displays just a fraction of the indignation pent up inside you. “You knew Hoseok saw you with another guy the same night you stood him up and you never thought to even apologize to him? You’re not even… the slightest bit… sorry?”

“Sometimes better things come up and plans don’t always go through,” Jessica simply shrugs, gesturing to the boy beside her who doesn’t peep a single word.

“Better things? You mean this guy over here?” you articulate, narrowing your eyes at his silence. “Namjoon? You know how much pain Hoseok went through because of him. You’re going to cheat on Hoseok for this guy, who blackmailed him to drop out of the dance team or else he would drop out the night before the showcase and run off and rat to you all about me and Hoseok, which he fucking did anyways? I know he told you. Hoseok told you everything and you’re taking advantage of it—”

“—why do you even care?” the boy finally intercepts and he doesn’t even budge when you shoot him a death glare. “You might be his best friend, but this isn’t really your business. Does he even listen to your advice?”

“No, he doesn’t because he’s an idiot, but as his best friend, it’s my job to stick with him through it all,” you jab a finger at his chest, but his resistance and that unfazed look on his face only irks you further, “but you… you used to be one of his best friends too until you mishandled his trust for the sake of receiving credit for something you took little to no part in managing and adding one more fucking bulletpoint to your college resume? And now what? You’re trying to steal his girlfriend? When are you going to stop this stupid jealousy you have for Hoseok? Honestly? Fuck you, too!”

The apathetic demeanor of the boy’s finally cracks when he flinches at the reminder of his wrongdoings, but even that isn’t enough to quell the fury in you, for all you could tell yourself is that he deserves it.

“Actually, Namjoon, baby, she has a point,” Jessica places a hand on his chest before he could speak. “You are his best friend and he’s made me obviously aware of that fact for a stupid number of times as well, so… doesn’t it beg the question: why aren’t you two together?”

You snort exasperatedly, “what?”

“Think about it. Hoseok is my backup, my second option after Joon; and as you’ve said, Hoseok knows of that fact, and yet, he comes running after me every time—” she nudges an elbow into Namjoon’s side when he arches a brow at her suggestion before throwing you a smug smile having noticed the flinch in your eyes “—so why… doesn’t he just run to you? Are you not even worthy of being his second choice? And why oh why do you look so sad now after realizing the truth?”

She has a point. Why does Hoseok keep running back to her if he knew all along? Why is he willing enough to cry his heart out to you but never enough to lend his heart in the name of love? If he had done so just a year ago when you had officially given up on him, having witnessed his begrudgingly on-and-off relationship with Jessica, you would have accepted long ago—but you moved on. You’re with Jin now.

Yet why does it hurt you so to hear your deepest fears that had been buried in the back of your mind finally put into words?

“She doesn’t look sad because she isn’t anyone’s second choice,” a familiar voice lures you back into reality but you can’t help but notice the unsettling drop in your stomach when you peer up to find Jin. “She’s my first choice and that’s all that matters, right, Y/N?”

“R-right,” your heart nearly stops when he peers down to catch your shifty eyes.

Jin smiles smugly before returning a scowl at the opponent, “so shut the fuck up, Jessica.”

“Ugh,” Jessica gags, rolling her eyes, “I have to say I’m surprised to see you with her, Seokjin.”

“Yeah? Does it sting to see your high school crush happily with your arch enemy?” Jin cocks his head while you and Namjoon exchange wide-eyed glances between the two of them and the exposed secret lies floating in the open air.

“That’s so old, Seokjin. How long are you going to hold onto that? Whatever, let’s go, Joon,” Jessicia rolls her eyes, tapping on Namjoon’s arm and skating toward the rink’s exit on the side. Before you could finally let out your bated breath you had subconsciously held throughout the entire ordeal, Jessica whirls around to call out to you once more. “I was his first, Y/N. I loved him first and I was the first one he loved. Don’t forget that.”

The rate of your heart can finally settle but it’s impossible to ignore its throbbing presence, for each of its pounds reverberate an unexplainable desperation like roots branching out from its origins and its pumps send further fury instigated by the acknowledgement of defeat across to your extremities. The last two people you ever wanted to see both individually and together have now faded off into the distance, yet the harm they had inflicted on your state of mind remain like blood-stains on white cloth. Hands shaking uncontrollably and eyes staring intensely enough to bore a hole into the exit, you find yourself underwater once again until Jin finally grips both sides of your arms.

“Y/N! Y/N! Y/N,” Jin repeatedly calls out to you, brows furrowing when you finally return his gaze, “are you okay? What the hell was that all about—”

“—she isn’t his first,” you mutter under your breath.

“What?” Jin scoffs, eyes never budging from yours. “What do you mean?”

“I just—” your voice hitches when you realize the words that had slipped from your lips “—I just hate how much control she has over him and I hate watching him just let her do it! She cheats on him all the time and he knows it, and… and—”

“—and how is any of that your fault?” Jin states sternly. “You’ve told him and whether or not he listens it out of your control. You’ve done your best, Y/N… so you need to stop thinking about him all the time or at least try not to around me.”

“I know—” you sniffle, hastily wiping the tears that just won’t seem to stop regardless of how damn hard you try, for the sake of him “—I know, I-I really do try not to, Jin. I was just mad when I saw her.”

“You made a ruckus, Y/N. You lost your composure for him, and I know he’s your best friend and I’m trying to understand, but,” he hesitates when he pauses, watching the tears stain your cheeks, “but I can’t help but wonder if you would do that for me.”

“I would, Jin!” your head shoots up when you hear the disappointment in his voice and your desperation shows through the glimmer of tears in your eyes. Your voice wavers in the midst of a sob, “I promise I won’t lose control anymore. I won’t… I won’t think about him anymore. I promise I don’t like him.”

“You promise?” Jin lifts a finger to a teardrop on your cheeks, eyeing the droplet that transfers to his skin. When you nod, he frowns. “Then why are you crying over another guy?”

“I…” you desperately forage through your scrambled mind but fail to in the mess of a state you’re in. Uncomfortable, stiff silence ensues and your heart races in suspense, staring at the floor and anything but his intent gaze that watches your every move. How could you have been so stupid? How could you not realize how much you were hurting Jin? Finally, mustering the courage to break the silence, you stammer once again, “I promise he’s just my—”

“—kiss me.”

“...what?”

“Kiss me, Y/N,” Jin demands and you can sense an equal level of desperation when your eyes meet his. “Kiss me so that I know you don’t like Hoseok—”

—his words are interrupted by your hands that cup each side of his cheeks firmly. You have to do this to gain his trust back, you try to convince yourself. Sure, it may your first kiss and you’ve always imagined it to be shared with Hoseok, but that dream lost steam when he came home only to relish in the fact that he had shared it with Jessica. Now, to fully give up and devote yourself to your current significant other, you just have to move on. Slowly with a quivering breath, you close the distance between the two of you, lips just inches away from his when, out of the blue, you stop.

His name, his smile, his potential reaction—you just can’t stop thinking of him.

“Jin, I’m sorry—” but your apology is cut short when Jin presses his lips firmly to yours.

At first you’re taken aback, too frozen to move even as his hands move to rest on your waist; but as a split second passes, your mind begins to wander. Why aren’t you happy? Why doesn’t this send your heart fluttering and your mind screaming of joy? This has always been your dream: Jin’s plush lips grazing against yours with you in his embrace. So why does his actions have your chest twisted in some sort of contortion you never knew could be done before? Didn’t you promise Jin you loved him and him only?

Closing your eyes, you wrap your arms over his neck and anticipate for more when Jin pulls back for a second only to be left hanging in silence. The boy clutches your wrists, gently albeit undeniably a tinge of frustration in his squeeze, and removes your hands off him. Eyes opening carefully, you find him staring at something on your face when you lift a finger to touch the drips of water flowing down your cheeks.

Horror strikes down upon you.

“I’m sorry, Jin, it’s not what you think—”

“—no, I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have forced myself on you,” he mutters, taking a step back and holding onto your hand to guide you toward the exit of the rink.

“Jin…” you meekly call out to him while trying to stifle your sniffles. Your heart drops when he decides not to respond, even as he helps you untie your skates on the bench. “Jin, I promise I’ll figure everything out soon. I’m still angry over Jessica a-and—”

“—Y/N,” Jin utters lowly, head lowered to focus on your skates even as he speaks, “I think it’s best if we just leave it at that and head home for the night. I’ll walk you home.”

“No,” his eyes peered up at you when you blurt, “I don’t think it would be right for me to let you do that after all I’ve done to you tonight. I can handle it on my own.”

Or so you say; otherwise, why does your heart wrench at his lack of a rebuttal and the turning of his back as he walks off into the opposite direction when the time comes to your momentary and potentially perpetual farewell? Why does your mind linger on the sight of an empty sidewalk where he would once hold your hand on the way home, even as you’re standing before the door of your house? Why did what was supposed to be a perfect night leave you here, standing in the middle of the jet black night with winds howling and crickets chirping, feeling alone, abandoned, and forgotten?

Hearing something shuffle from the other side of the door, you quickly hold your breath and release large, white puffs until your breathing became somewhat rhythmic to your regular composure. You then rub your cheeks of any remaining tears and fan some wind into your eyes in an attempt to soothe the probably bloodshot look of yours before opening the door and greeting the very person you were expecting to see yet so despairingly hoped otherwise.

“Wow, Y/N, you’re finally home? It’s already almost midnight,” your mother scolds, frowning at you as you remove your shoes at the front entrance. “So, who were you with?”

Your silence evidently concerns your mother, for the crease between her brows deepens. It isn’t that you choose not to answer, it’s that you don’t think you could even say his name without bursting into a sobbing mess.

Frowning, your mother sighs, “please don’t tell me you were with Hoseok.”

“W-What,” you stammer before you could retract the blurted words, eyes darting to your mom, “why? What’s wrong with Hoseok?”

“That boy is a good boy, really, but…”

“But… what? You’ve always loved Hoseok.”

“Yes, and I still do,” she affirms while taking a large bite out of a cookie by the kitchen island. “I always liked him, ever since you two became close friends. Funnily, actually, his parents and I always wondered if you two had a thing for each other.”

You flinch at her confession, brows knitting, “but…?”

“But… when I heard about his on and off relationship with his ex? What was her name, Veronica? Yoona? It had something to do with an ‘a’ at the end…”

“Jessica.”

Her name still leaves a bad taste in your mouth.

“Ah, yeah! Jessica!” she snaps her fingers. “I was surprised, somewhat disappointed, really, when I heard he started dating someone else. Truthfully, I would’ve approved if you were to tell me you two were dating, but when I heard about it and how the poor boy keeps forgiving her even after how she treated him… and I’m sorry but you won’t be happy to hear this…”

“What, mom?”

“Well,” she pauses and shrugs, taking another bite out of her cookie, “I was glad you two weren’t dating. The boy is too gullible. Yes, he’s kind, polite, and oh is he handsome, but he’s weak.”

“He’s—” you blurt, mouth agape and at a loss for words as a familiar flame of frustration builds within you “—he’s not weak, mom. He’s understanding and he’s forgiving. He knows how to make people feel better when they’re upset and he’s always willing to listen, even when he has nothing to gain and the person has wronged them before—”

“—so, gullible—”

“—no, gentle—”

“—so, delicate.”

You can’t believe the situation you’re in. Standing in the kitchen, you with one shoe on and another off and her with a half-chomped cookie in her mouth, you’re at a standstill with your mother, arguing over the quality of your best friend slash neighbor slash family friend right next door… but for some reason, even after you had promised Jin not to, something innate within you compels you to protect Hoseok at all costs. It’s not as if you could change your mother’s mind. She just wants the best for you and you understand that; but if you were to just walk away in silence, you adamantly knew that would be an injustice to all the times Hoseok must have defended you in times when Jessica or even his parents spoke ill of you. You know he would have. You just do. And that’s what you’ve always loved about him.

“Yeah, he’s delicate,” you finally utter, removing your remaining shoe and looking directly in your mother’s eye. Climbing up the stair one by one, you speak and your words flow with ease for the first time since you had last spoken that one hazy night, “he’s delicate, he’s gentle, he’s stupid, he’s gullible, he’s understanding, and he’s too forgiving, but those are the exact reasons why he’s my best friend.”

“Hm, fair enough,” you can tell your mother has given up when she simply hums in response. “So who were you with? Are you finally dating around? Is he anything like Hoseok?”

“...I was with a friend… and no, he’s not anything like Hoseok,” you answer truthfully.

“So he’s not soft… do you like him…?” she tries to tiptoe in her own roundabout, cunning ways and you can’t help but sigh in defeat.

“No, he’s not soft,” you press a smile in an attempt to evade recalling anything from tonight’s incident along with the knot in your throat before bidding her goodnight and heading up to your room.

No, Jin isn’t soft. You wouldn’t describe him as a softie in the least bit. Is that a bad thing? Not exactly, but you did know for sure, at the very least, being a softie isn’t a bad thing… which reminds you, you had left your mother’s last question unanswered.

Still stubborn over her slight jabs at Hoseok and guilty over your evasion of questions, you hastily jog down the first step at the top of the staircase and call out, “I like his soft side, mom,” before running back into your bedroom and closing your door behind you.

Finally, left alone in the comforts of your room, you heave out an unsteady sigh. The tremble in your breath makes it all too apparent to you of your emotional wellbeing. Clearly, the incidents of tonight has shaken you both mentally and physically. Were you wrong for approaching Jessica? Why was Namjoon still knowingly hurting Hoseok? The image of the two snuggled up against one another pales in comparison to an image where Hoseok stood in place of Namjoon as you took their photo, a time when you had so craved to be the one in Hoseok’s arms. Still, the reminder of Jessica’s betrayal has your hands clutching in a fist.

Should you have allowed Jin to kiss you? Were you wrong for defending your best friend? Did you go overboard? Was he rightfully jealous? And how could you hurt Jin like this without even being aware of it? Worst of all… were you becoming another Jessica?

You don’t realize how long you’ve been standing in the dark, enveloped by the midnight blue of the night sky and the reminiscent golden warmth from across that tint your room, until your eyes have fully adjusted to the absence of light. The mundane daily routine overtakes you as you absentmindedly shuffle your feet to the side of your bed and toss your purse to the side, except tonight, you don’t have enough energy to bring yourself to change into pjs; ultimately, that might have proven to be a bad decision, for when you plop into bed with a heavy huff of a sigh, both physically and mentally exhausted, your mind begins to wade into deep water.

His golden light floods your room per usual tonight. It isn’t much of a surprise when your eyes wander to the sheer curtains that drape over your window. At first you tried your best to avoid any reminders of your best friend, for you truly desired to invest your all into a relationship with Jin; but even the simplest thing like his favorite snack at a candy store or a pair of sneakers that you knew he would have loved to add to his collection were enough to lure you back to that tranquil night where you could watch him drift to sleep underneath the bedazzled sky. Your heart tugs and your chest aches each and every time you’re reminded of what you used to have and what you could no longer have—and the warmth of his lights that completes the last jigsaw of home is the most haunting gape of them all.

His lights stream through your curtains and just barely illuminate your mini-skirt and black tights. Your gaze alternates between the window and your outfit. Once, twice, then you’re caught in a tortuous cycle between the conundrum of wanting to sleep your burdens away and giving up because the flashbacks of tonight’s incident seems to play akin to a looped tape with no end. Slowly then anxiously, your breathing becomes uneven and the phantom of an earlier cold sweat dawns upon you as you’re faced with another daunting decision.

Should you tell Hoseok about Jessica tonight?

No, you probably shouldn’t. You two haven’t spoken in well over a week now, so it would have been odd to spring this on him, right? Well, he is your best friend and nothing should have changed in this short time span—at least you two promised nothing would change—so maybe it would be a breach of trust if you were to omit him from a critical piece regarding someone he loves… but would it really do him anything? From what you’ve seen in the past, his ex brought him nothing but pain. Maybe, just maybe, this time the right role for you is to shield him from the inevitable agony and champion ignorance in exchange for bliss.

The remnants of your tears creep upon you as your sniffles steadily mark its return in your unsteady breaths. The bed creaks from under you as you force yourself onto your feet and toward your desk for some tissues—maybe that, too, was a bad decision, because as you’re busy blowing your nose and fruitlessly fixing your composure, something compels you to peer at the window. Even with the boundary of walls, curtains, and unspoken words between you and him, you can still envision everything just as they are. Him, in his olive green sweater that you wore oversized after he had so insisted you to borrow on a cold winter walk home from school, sitting by his mahogany desk and composing whatever beat he was onto tonight, sometimes even getting up to dance until his mother would yell at him to stop the ruckus—and perhaps, occasionally, you hope he would secretly peer up to gaze at your side with a longing smile, as well.

Something about your best friend next door just draws you in. It’s always been like that since you first met him as a child. You were enraptured by his ravishing mien, too dazzling to look away, and it remains irrevocably so. That’s right. With the remnants of Jin’s touch on your lips and this nostalgic downcast of your chest, you’re taken back to a time when you had loved him so; because as you’re allured by his golden light, you’re reminded of the time when you once peered out the window and burned with jealousy and longing, wishing that if he had already shared his first love, his first kiss, with her, then at least you could share yours with him.

But after tonight, those childhood dreams are officially a thing of the past… and you’re too numb to know how to feel—

—knock, knock.

You yelp in the midst of a hitch in your sniffles when a series of knocks bumps against your window pane and you catch the sight of a broom’s handle outside. Eyes widening, your mind scrambles but your body remains frozen. That could only be one person and he isn’t exactly the person you’ve been expecting nor wanting to see at the moment. Caught in the moment, you hastily rub any signs of tonight from your cheeks and waft some air into your bloodshot eyes.

One deep breath in, one deep breath out.

Drawing open the curtains and opening your windows, you muster all the courage you can to feign a smile eager to greet her best friend. “I thought you said we should take a break, Hoseok. Did you miss me alr—” but your sentence falls short, for when your gaze lift to meet his, you can read nothing but concern and a hint of fleeting surprise intermixed with a firm confirmation of his suspicions.

Eyes unwavering and affixed to the lock with yours, he murmurs, “what happened?”

“I-I, what—” you stumble because how… just how did he know “—what do you mean?”

Hoseok doesn’t speak because he doesn’t have to. Instead, he waits patiently. Eyes attentive and all-ears, his every being remains securely affixed to you. A chilly breeze brushes by, tousling his hair and brushing his bangs just slightly over his vision, as does yours, shrouding the invisible boundary between his side and yours, if only momentarily. He has a way with things, a way with you; because it’s almost as if the cap to your jar has just been eased open, just as the comfort of his presence, of him, always manages to do.

That look of his tells you he wouldn’t want you to hide anything from him… and you know that, you just know.

“It’s… it’s not a big deal,” you mumble, pausing for a second as your eyes avert to the side and back at him again. “I saw Jessica today. With Joon.” You wait for a reaction, for an indication that it’s okay for you to continue, and you receive your answer in the lack of an expression. Blank and unfazed, Hoseok simply blinks, waiting for you continue to the important details as to why you were crying and not why he should be. So you continue, but not before a sigh, “I was mad. I was so infuriated with her and I hated her for hurting you, so I argued with her in front of Jin. Jin, he… he didn’t like it. I was so upset that I started crying before I even knew it, and he didn’t like it.”

“He didn’t like seeing you cry…?” Hoseok speaks low and slowly, a growing fury manifesting in the crease between his brows.

The sight of his anger is all too mirroring of Jin’s.

“He didn’t like seeing me cry over you,” you correct. “He… he wanted me to kiss him, to prove that I liked him and not you. So I did. Well, maybe he did.”

Hoseok’s eyes widen, knowing fully well how long you had waited and fantasized to him for the perfect moment for your first kiss, but you’re tired. You’ve replayed the moment enough times in your mind. You don’t really want to explain anymore.

Hoseok’s jaw protrudes as he grits his teeth and he curls his hands into a fist until you could see the veins in his neck that branches out from underneath that green sweater of his. His mind must have been rummaging over a thousand ways to murder Jin at this moment.

But you just want some comfort.

“I don’t really blame him, though. It’s not entirely his fault. I’m not even sure why I cried. I guess I was really upset with Jess—” Hoseok’s phone rings and you clamp your mouth shut like you always have when his ex texted him “—it’s okay, you can answer them first.”

Glancing down at his phone, Hoseok seemingly stares at the screen. As hard as you tried, it’s impossible to read the expressions that flashes through his eyes in a split second. Finally, he punches a few buttons before tossing his phone to the side and looking up at you with conviction.

“I’ll be right back, Y/N,” he utters firmly, getting up from his seat as your eyes follow him every inch. “Wait for me.”

“Sure,” you don’t even get to say to him, for he was up and gone in the blink of an eye.

There he goes, running back to her as he always does, except this time it hurt you more than ever before. He had never interrupted you in the midst of a conversation. You’ve always wondered who he would have prioritized first between you and Jessica, and while you always knew it would be his girlfriend over his best friend, a part of you helplessly held onto the hope that maybe the many years of friendship meant more than a relationship founded upon crumbling loyalty.

Maybe this would be the last straw. Maybe your mother was right. Something tells you that if he weren’t to return within the next minute, you could no longer forgive him for putting you and him through all this pain that he just never seems to learn from.

You just want a hug.

“Hoseok?” you hear your mother gasp from the kitchen downstairs. Whirling around, you stare at your door with a confused frown on your face. “What’re you doing here so late, boy?”

“Sorry, Ms. Y/L/N, I’ll be leaving really soon,” he says firmly, his footsteps creaking up on the staircase. “I have something important to do.”

You can’t believe what’s happening. Is this all a dream? Are you hallucinating? Are you really that desperate to have him by your side?

What does that say about how you truly felt for Hoseok?

“Y/N?” Hoseok knocks gently on your door. “I’m coming in, okay?”

You don’t even get to answer nor move, as if you could, before the boy opens the door and shuts it behind him, enclosing the two of you in the same room for the first time in over half a year. Silence surrounds the air for a long minute and you still can’t surmise the physical, tangible presence of him standing here before you in your room. Perhaps he felt the same as well, for he finally found an excuse to meet the girl next door but the midnight rendezvous was all too surreal for him to believe.

Finally, he shifts.

Step by step, each seemingly slower and its distance from your affixed spot seemingly prolonged by the second, he approaches you; but when he finally stands within an arm’s length from you, his eyes never budging from yours, his arms reaches for you to pull you securely into his embrace.

The side of your head thumps against his chest and your chest and hands fall perfectly against his abdomen. You don’t realize your position until your eyes widen by an enveloped scent of him, one nostalgic enough for you reminisce over the nights you had spent in his clean laundry scented room mixed with a tint of him. Here you are, standing in your room with his arms wrapped over you protectively and a hand placed over the back of your head to keep you within his vicinity where he is sure to keep you safe and away from the world’s greatest danger; and when your hands hesitantly part, wrapping around his waist and meeting once again behind his back, you accept his offer.

At long last, comfort belonged in the arms of Jung Hoseok—and if you could, and as selfish as it would be, you wouldn’t be disinclined to stay like this in perpetuity.

“See?” Hoseok murmurs before he pulls away to tuck a lock of your hair behind an ear. “Didn’t I tell you only I could handle a crybaby like you? Silly girl.”

“Don’t you have something important to attend to?” you frown, even as he cups your cheeks in his hands and swipes a thumb under your eyes where the ghosts of your tears stain your skin.

“What’s more important than my crying best friend?” he chuckles, peering down at you and your helpless state.

This is how you envisioned it to be. Your first kiss. In your bedroom. With your first love. This is how your first kiss should’ve been—sparks flying, blood electrified, and heart jolting. Seconds, perhaps even minutes, pass by as the two of you watch the other through the windows to your soul, drowning in the depths of each other’s oceans and so desperately trying to retain the distance between you two over the fear of the unknown and a commitment that tethered the both of your hearts to others; but as you hold his lower half tightly to yours and as he cups your cheeks in his hold, leaning in ever so slightly, the two pairs of lips that seemed destined to touch could never come to be.

You made a promise to Jin.

Your lips touched Jins just hours before.

Flinching from the thoughts that flash through your mind, you break apart from the hold but never failing to notice the sudden switch in his eyes right before you had come to your senses. Maybe he, too, realized the gravity of the atmosphere. Maybe he no longer finds you worthwhile, knowing your lips had touched others on the same night of this rendezvous. Maybe he, too, remains tethered by the chains leading to his own first love.

It would have made perfect sense, really, but it still pains you so.

“You should go,” your voice cracks as you turn your back on him and gesture toward the door. “I don’t think my mom likes having you here in my room.”

“Why not?” you hear Hoseok utter, watching his unmoving moonlit shadow on your floor.

“Because…” your mind scrambles to find another reason that would hurt him less yet justified enough to convince him to leave, but alas, you find none. “Because she knows about you and Jessica. She thinks you wouldn’t be a good fit for me… not that it really matters... she doesn’t understand that we’re just friends—”

—a soft gasp of air leaves your lips when you feel his chest pressed against your back and he brings you in even closer with the wrap of his arm over your chest, just seconds before you caught wind of his two, wide confident strides from behind.

“Can’t we just stay like this? For a little while longer,” he asks, his lips and velvety voice just barely grazing over your right ear, “even if just as friends.”

Just as friends. The words echo in your mind just as Jessica’s last remarks had. Were you really okay with being his second resort? Hesitantly, you nod. At some point in time, you find yourself whirled around to rest in his arms face-to-face and place your ear comfortably against his chest where you could hear his heart beating in syncopation to yours.

“I’m sorry, Hoseok,” your voice is muffled by his sweater, “I tried to convince her that she just didn’t understand you. I tried to defend you.”

“No, no,” he shakes his head before resting it on top of yours once again. “She’s right. I need to do better.”

Slow, calm, serene—akin to a meandering river settling into stillness, its riffles steadying and its ripples settling, the withdrawing distortion of the moon’s reflection and the clearing of the hazy, gray clouds looming above the night sky draw the curtains open to reveal the dazzling radiance of a full moon…

“I promise I’ll do better.”

...and your heart reaches an epiphany, for it now knows exactly who to call home.

Alas, Christmas has finally arrived on one of the coldest evenings of the month. Standing in front of your mirror, you glance over your outfit just one last time. Something about dressing well for Jin tonight leaves a bittersweet taste in your mouth. Jin had apologized to you both through text and in person, seeking you out from home and even managing to convince your mother of his worthiness, and the two of you reconciled in the past week, despite your intentions for tonight; because even if you and Hoseok had not spoken at all since last week and your heart aches at the thought of what you were to do tonight, your resolution remains firm.

“Hey, Y/N, catch this.”

You gaze darts to the window and you frown in utmost concern over your mental state, having just hallucinated Hoseok’s voice.

“3…”

“2…”

“1…”

Maybe your physical state needs to be checked up on, too, because your body follows along to your mind’s hallucinations and makes a leap for the window as the countdown approaches its end. Just as you spring open the windows only to meet a closed window and drawn curtains from across, you hear something scratch against your window and feel its bump against the pane before disappearing into the distance somewhere far below.

Something really has been messing with you this break, you let out a distressed sigh, maybe this truly is for the better.

The rest of the night goes by just as you had planned—perfectly. Jin laughs the night away and you do, too, because if it weren’t for what you were about to do, the date truly would have been perfect. You two had your differences, but he’s evidently willing enough to persevere and you would have been, too… if everything had fallen in line a year earlier when you could have really given him your all.

Peering up, Jin catches your stare and flashes the widest grin he has in a long while. It hurt you to know you would soon be the cause of its demise, but if tonight has given him a smile this radiant, then you know it would be the best for him in the long run—maybe not for you, but for him.

“Hey, you cold?”

“No, no, I’m fine, it’s okay!” you blurt a series of no’s before reluctantly letting him drape his black leather jacket over your shoulders and failing to stifle the sigh that escapes your lips from the newfound warmth.

Jin muses, “see, you’re secretly glad I gave you my jacket, huh?”

“...yeah,” you meekly answer, the guilt plaguing your mind, “I’ll hand it back to you at the end of the night.”

“No, you can keep it,” he eagerly insists, the smile of his aching your heart all the more. “It’ll give me another excuse to see you next time.”

He doesn’t know it now, but would there even be a next time?

Buzz.

“Are you gonna check your phone or are you gonna keep staring?” Jin cackles at the way you literally jump back into reality.

“Oh, that’s my phone?” you mumble to yourself as you grab your phone out from your back pocket. “I don’t know who would be texting me—”

cheating hoe [10:33 P.M.] Y/N what the fuck did you say to hobi? he isn’t answering any of my texts or calls and he never does that.

“—ugh.”

“Who is it?” Jin quirks a quizzical brow.

“Some rat,” you spit as you angrily text away, but something in you finds the news unsettling. Did Hoseok really finally cut her off?

You [10:34 P.M.] serves you right

“Oh,” Jin frowns, “why is Jessica texting you?”

You would have answered if it weren’t for the following text glaring from your blinding phone screen, wiping the smug grin of yours off your face.

cheating hoe [10:35 P.M.] i’m asking because he invited me over to his house tonight, btw.

“God, she really knows how to get on my nerves,” you hiss under your breath, but the worry plastered across your face is evident enough for Jin to frown in concern. Did Hoseok really invite her over? After what happened that night between you and him? Did it mean anything to him or are you truly the only one looking into something that doesn’t exist? The most pressing worry for you, however, is the thought of Hoseok setting out to get his heart broken again.

Jin trudges forward, “what is it, Y/N?”

“Jessica,” you cross your arms with a puff of white leaving your lips, “she said Hoseok invited her over to his house but hasn’t been answering her texts lately.”

“How does that make any sense…?” Jin furrows his brows just as you do. “Are you sure Jessica isn’t just trying to piss you off? Maybe Hoseok has been texting her but she just needs something to start a fight over.”

“Or maybe,” you frown at Jin, “Hoseok didn’t invite her to his house?”

“It’s more likely to be the former. Didn’t you say Hoseok has an on-and-off relationship with her?” Jin retorts defensively. The flicker of hurt and betrayal that flashes through his eyes tug at your strings, even as he knowingly pursues to push your buttons right where it hurt the most. “It’s been weeks, Y/N! I thought you said you would figure yourself out. Why do I feel like all we do is argue over Hoseok?”

“I don’t know,” you grumble, looking off to the side. “Maybe you’re just insecure.”

That was too far and even you know it.

“What?” Jin nearly growls.

“I’m sorry,” you quickly mumble before peering up to meet the burning fury in his gaze. “I’m sorry, Jin. I didn’t mean to say that.”

Nonetheless, he persists, “no, let’s play with that thought. If I’m insecure, then what the hell is Hoseok? At least I have enough respect for myself. At least I don’t go running like a dog after a woman who sleeps around with other guys just to fuck with my heart—”

“—don’t fucking compare Hoseok to a dog,” you snap, raising a threatening finger at Jin to silence him. “And don’t you dare utter another word about Hoseok again.”

“Or what?” Jin scoffs.

“...or I don’t think we can work,” you hesitate to say as a knot ties in your throat, especially when you notice the softening of his eyes and the crestfallen transition between rage into a broken heart. “Actually, maybe it’s best if… if we just end this here.”

“W-what?” you hear him stammer for the first time. He steps forward, contemplating whether to take your hand in his. He does not. “Is it because of what I just said about Hoseok? I’m sorry, Y/N. I was just mad. You have to understand where I’m coming from, though.”

“I know, Jin,” you can’t stand looking at those begging eyes of his. “I shouldn’t have called you out like that, either. It doesn’t matter if I was right or wrong.”

“Then can’t we just apologize and move on Like we did before?”

“No, Jin. You deserve better. You’re right, I haven’t given you my all and I don’t think I can at this point—”

“—I’ll wait for you,” he pleas.

“Jin, stop, please,” you beg, finally lifting your gaze only to wince at the defeated look he’s giving you. “I don’t want to do this either.”

A momentary silence follows, the tension has you both on the edge of your seats.

“Can I at least walk you home…?”

That would only hurt even more—so you shake your head.

“...okay,” Jin finally says, hands clutching into a fist. “Fine.”

And that’s all you can recall from your last conversation with your boyfriend, or rather your ex, as you take the long way back home. Sighing to yourself, you cross your arms over your chest and tilt your head back to stare longingly at the blue sky bejeweled by countless balls of sparkling fire. It seems like not even the skies pity you. Your heavy breaths paint the air in clouds of white, your whispers counting each step you take forward.

One hundred sixty six...

You’ve been dreaming of this relationship with Jin for so long, so how foolish is it of you to give it up so easily? Over a dumb childhood crush who obviously sees you as nothing more?

One hundred sixty seven... one hundred sixty eight…

Not to mention, if Jessica really was telling the truth, then maybe you really are nothing more than a second choice, a last resort. The near kiss that one night must have been driven by his primitive instincts. Maybe Hoseok was right when he warned you, for he, too, must have been controlled by lust.

Drowned in your thoughts, you finally arrive at the spot where you and Jin had once stood. The paper in your pocket remains folded, nearly crumpled by the subconscious fiddling you subjected it to on the way home. Taking a deep breath and swallowing all the possible magical stardust you could muster, you stride towards the front door and knock with your last bit of courage.

It’s about time for you to wake from this dreadfully long interlude between a daydream and a nightmare.

“Y/N?” Hoseok’s father answers the door, surprised. “What’re you doing here?”

“Hi, Mr. Jung,” you do your best to smile. “Is Hoseok home?”

“He just left a minute ago,” he replies, blinking blankly in confusion. “He should be back in five minutes or so. Did you need him for something? Why don’t you come in and wait—”

“—oh, no!” you blurt a little louder than expected. Clutching the paper in your pocket, you continue, “um, I actually just wanted to return something he lent me. I need to get going right after that.”

“Oh,” he nods, probably still grasping absolutely nothing from the conversation even as he welcomes you into his house, “okay, feel free to drop by his room.”

It’s a bit cruel how our eyes play tricks on us; because even as you step foot into his room, expecting a complete shift in the world of your eyes in the territory of a world you always yearned to be a part of, you’re simply invited to a mirror of your own. Right across his windows, you could see a fragment of your room. Funny, he left his curtains drawn open tonight, as did you. The absent glow of his room accentuates the blue hues that flood his room through the windows tonight. Piled boxes clutters one side of his room next to his closet and you foolishly worry if he’s packing to move or if he has finally decided to organize his room a bit. It’s almost as if you’re in your own room, with the exception that you’re enveloped by the comforting scent of him.

Reaching into your pockets where the paper airplane lies patiently, you place your heart onto his desk, where a beam of moonlight strikes perfectly onto his desk and illuminates the three bashful words you had written and had you beet red. Quickly turning around before you could take it all back, you wander farther into his room, clearly allured by his scent which leads you to his bedside.

Oh, there’s your favorite olive green sweater of his from that one night.

You don’t realize it until you’re reaching for the sweater and a leather sleeve drapes over your hand that you notice Jin had left his jacket with you, just as he had left an imprint on you. Smiling fondly to the jacket, you remove it from over your shoulders and carefully fold it onto the bed before exchanging it for the sweater.

How would the sweater fit on you now, you wonder.

Normally, your sane mind would have convinced you to shake your head and drop the sweater right then and there; but tonight, having prepared your heart and secrets out on the floor for him to see, you figure this would be your last chance to feel his embrace again. You can barely see your reflection in his mirror, but the barely moonlit silhouette is enough for you to see the beaming smile that adorns your lips as you twirl around in his sweater that you wear oversized. His scent, his embrace, it all brings you in the comforts of home—when, out of the blue, you hear from downstairs creak open.

“Hoseok, baby,” you’re struck frozen at the shrills of her voice, “you haven’t invited me over in so long.”

So Hoseok really did invite her over, after all.

The horrified thought dawns upon you and you can see the pure look of terror in your eyes through the mirror. Here you are, prancing around in a sweater of a boy whose heart remains tied to another girl other than you. Foolish, ashamed, dejected—they all crash into one as you curse yourself for being so dumb.

How embarrassing could you be?

The gnawing of your chest remains equally prevalent even as panic settles over the thought of the two catching you red handed. Hastily, you discard yourself of the sweater, toss it over his bed, and scan the room for an escape. Closet? No, knowing Jessica, she would look through all his belongings. Hide in the boxes? No, they’re too full and there’s no way you could fit in them. Under his desk? Well, that’s just plain dumb. Window…? It really is your only option.

Opening his window as quietly as you could, you peak through to barely catch sight of Hoseok standing by his door and Jessica crossing her arms as the two conversed. You can’t exactly hear their conversation through the hammering sounds of your heart against your chest that’s just about ready to burst. Setting your sights straight, you sigh in relief at the window you had conveniently left open earlier tonight.

The distance between his window and yours has never been that far—perhaps two arms length apart at most. The two of you had always pondered the possibility of sneaking over to the other side when you were children, but neither of you were brave enough to really solidify the theory. Now, several feet taller and many years dumber, you shut your eyes and brace yourself for what could very well be the end of you. It’s either you die by sheer embarrassment or by the endless hours of lecture your parents would put you under at the hospital… you choose the latter.

Shutting your eyes, you take a deep breath in and out. The crisp, fresh night air freezes your filled lungs. Your head snaps back when you hear some footsteps approaching the stairs and your heart pumps fear intermixed with adrenaline into your bloodstream. You pace back and forth on the balls of your feet, eyeing your window sill that seems to grow in distance with each passing second.

It’s now or never.

Taking a literal leap of faith, you launch yourself into the air as your body free-falls for a split second before your hands collapse onto a cold, hard cement—and you hold on, damn it, you hold on for dear life. Miraculously, you discover you’ve survived the jump when you glimpse around your surroundings to find you half-suspended in the air. You have to hurry, you repeat to yourself throughout your heavy pants for air. Your feet quickly get to work, pedaling against the walls to finally propel you into the opening of your windows and collapsing face-first into your room.

Your body aches and every inch of you throbs in a screaming pain, but you’ve also never felt so alive. Scrambling to your chair and patting down any dirt on your clothes and disheveled hair, you feign a composure akin to any other night where he would possibly find you seated by your desk and scrolling through the interwebs. The several attempts to stifle your panting and slow your heart rate only proves to be in vain, for your eyes continue to peek over your window as they observe Hoseok carrying the brown boxes in and out of his room. Luckily for you, he must have been too preoccupied by whatever he’s doing to his dwindling number of boxes to notice your peering gaze.

Finally, the number of boxes reach a grand total of zero and you find yourself seated by your desk and window across the boy who also sits affixed to his desk right next door. His lights are on, as are yours, and you can feel the warmth that radiates in the winter night. He’s humming away and you’re scrolling away, albeit stealing a few glances here and there.

It’s almost as if time has rewound to the start of break and absolutely nothing has changed between the two of you… almost.

“Oh? I don’t remember leaving my window open,” your heart freezes when you hear Hoseok shuffling to his windowside and announcing loudly into the night. He catches your fleeting glimpse and smiles widely with a slight cock of his head, “oh? Yours is too?”

“Whaaat…?” you drawl, faking a nervous laugh as you swivel your chair to the window. Standing to your feet, you reach for your windows, “I don’t remember leaving them open, hahah. I must be getting old, y’know.”

“I must be best friends with a granny, then,” Hoseok chuckles and you freeze further in place when he beckons for you to keep your windows open. “So, how was your first Christmas date with Jin, Grandma Y/N? If your memory still serves you, that is.”

“Hey, if I’m granny,” you retort, “then you’re a grandpa, because there’s no way in hell I’m not dragging you along with me.”

“Hey,” Hoseok raises his hands, “that’s been the plan all along.”

“...you’re weird as hell,” you finally grumble after a brief second of being at a loss for words. Sighing, you lean into your hands with an elbow propped against the sill. “It was fine, I guess.”

“You guess?”

A stagnant silence follows just as an ephemeral breeze passes by.

“Well… we broke up. And before you go storming off on a hunt, I was the one who broke it off. ”

“Oh,” he utters, blinking blankly before brows creasing, “wait, what? Why? You’ve been gushing over him for all these years—”

“—yes, but,” you contemplate whether to go for it now, “it… just didn’t work out. We weren’t a great match.”

“Oh... sorry to hear that,” he prims and you just shrug. Now, it’s his turn to sigh as he leans his head against the side of his window. “Welp, I guess that makes the two of us.”

“Huh?”

“Yep,” he nods his head, intently watching your eyes pop at the news. “I called her over tonight and handed her everything she left in my room.”

Oh, so that’s what the boxes were for. Technically, Jessica wasn’t lying. She was just omitting a part of the truth.

“You know she texted me.”

“What?” he narrows his eyes at you. “Why? And I thought you would have blocked her number by now?”

“No,” you purse your lips. “I wanted to keep a record of all her blackmailing in case it ever came in handy. Guess I don’t have to anymore.”

“That’s…” he laughs to himself, “that’s definitely something you would do.”

You shrug, “she told me you called her over but ignored all of her other texts.”

“Tsk, if I knew she was bothering you, I would have scolded her one last time,” he frowns, but the downturn of his lips is overridden by the grin incited by that of your own. How could you not smile at the sound of that? “It’s been long overdue that I finally took your advice and respected myself a bit more. I guess I didn’t want to give her the time of day and wanted to get this all over with. Not gonna lie, it was pretty damn hard for me to finally let go, but when I considered how much I had to lose, it really wasn’t all that hard.”

“What do you mean ‘nothing to lose?’” you snort. “You literally had nothing to lose, Hoseok. She was shit to you.”

“No, I meant I had someone else to lose,” his cackles are like melodies to your ears.

“Someone…? Like who?”

“Mm,” he hums, gaze averting to the sky before returning to you, “just some silly friend.”

So you’re not even his second choice. You’re his third. Maybe even last.

“Wow,” you gawk, “I thought we had no secrets between us.”

“Hey, I gave you a chance today but you decided to go out on your little date with the Kim Seokjin,” Hoseok shrugs, chortling at the scowl on your face.

“Well,” you don’t manage to conceal your smile any longer, “at least you look happier than you’ve ever been in a long time. I’m sorry that you lost her, actually I’m just sorry you wasted so much time on her, but honestly, I know you’ll be a lot better from here on out.”

“Yeah? You think so?” he quirks a brow and strokes his chin, eyes blank and staring off elsewhere. As much as it pains you to admit, you know those years must have meant something to Hoseok. Jin had left his own marks on you, both bad and good, but when you really think about it, sometimes the good overshadows the bad. In Hoseok’s case, his several years long relationship must hold monumentally more weight than your brief time with Jin. “Thanks, Y/N.”

“Hm?” you have to shake your head back into reality. “Thanks for what? For dissing your ex?”

“Thanks for always being there for me,” he presses a lopsided grin, “for keeping your promise.”

Did your heart just flutter? It must have—and dangerously so. He must not have read your paper plane yet. He must not know of his impact on you. His every smile, his every word, and his every movement, you drink it all up like the helpless child you’ve always been.

“Yeah, sure,” you mutter under your breath, avoiding his watchful gaze. He smiles at you endearingly, even as your shifty eyes bashfully flicker between the stars of the galaxy and the crescent-shaped eyes of your own star. A brief, comfortable silence blows with the wind and a surge in your confidence departs just as quickly as it arrives. “About that kiss, Hoseok…”

The boy raises his brows, eyes widening at the reference—it’s the most fazed reaction you’ve ever witnessed from him. With fluttered blinks and a gaping mouth, he stiffens, “I-I actually have a—” cough “—cold. I probably shouldn’t talk much.” Cough.

“O-Oh,” the tone of your voice reflects the sudden downcast of your mood. You really are too insensitive. He had just broken up with his girlfriend and now you’re reminding him of that time he almost cheated on her for you? At this point, you’re ruining any chances you ever had with him, if it even existed. “I’m sorry. Yeah... you should rest. Talk to you later.”

Nodding, the boy quickly dips his head before disappearing behind the wall by the window sill. Well, as if the night could not get any worse, now there really is no way for him not to notice the paper plane on his desk. How is he going to respond to your message? Especially after that insensitive comment from you?

Hours seem to drag by. The silence nearly deafens you, for all you could hear is the sound of his keyboard and the crickets chirping outside along with an annoying ring in your ear. The two of you sit, walls apart but side by side, resuming your daily routines together but not exactly. Did he read your message yet? Even worse, is he choosing not to for the sake of preserving your already shattered state of mind? It isn’t until you take notice of the ticks of your manual clock that you’re reminded of the daily alarm you set up on your digital one.

11:59 P.M.

Oh, shit.

12:00 A.M.

Ring—your hand slams the clock much harder than necessary, possibly even smashing it to the point of no return. You had managed to stop it just a split second after it had rung, Hoseok couldn’t have possibly caught on with those headphones of his, could he? Hands covering your ducking head, you shut your eyes as you wait for your impending doom—possibly one of the worst decisions you’ve made, for every bit of your attention now shifts to every sound coming from across his room.

A series of paper crinkling.

A soft chuckle.

A nervous breath in and out.

A pen scribbling onto a piece of paper.

More crinkling, somewhat like paper folding.

Ouch—something sharp jabs the side of your head.

Lifting your head, you stare at the familiar paper plane that should have been lying on his desk. Your heart races, each and every one of its pump thumping against your chest, and you can’t bring yourself to move.

and what exactly is that?

Slowly, inch by inch, you unfold the rest of the paper plane under his familiar handwriting. Sheer embarrassment overtakes you when your eyes skim over your own handwriting.

you deserve me.

What reads under your words, however, has your eyes turning to meet the gaze belonging to the boy next door.

i’ve missed you

Another plane comes flying into your room.

i want to hold you

...and another

i want to hug you

...and another

i could do better than jin anyone

Biting your bottom lip, you try to suppress the incoming wave of… relief? Resolution? Euphoria? It doesn’t really matter because the second you lift your gaze to meet his, you find yourself struggling to decipher the less readable expression of his.

Sincere, soft, delicate, as if holding the whole world in his eyes, he murmurs, “is that okay?”

“Psh,” you let out a breath of disbelief, because are you sure you’re not dreaming? “I won’t believe it until you say it to my face.”

Hoseok gapes at your reply, a crooked grin spreading across his lips as he quirks a challenging brow, “oh, don’t make me come over there.”

“And how exactly are you going to do that—” your words are cut short and you gasp when you see him replicating the exact reckless antics you had pulled off just moments before “—wait, wait, Hoseok, careful—”

“—catch me if you can!” Hoseok exclaims before climbing to your window sill and jumping down into your bedroom and into your open arms. A loud thump reverberates across the bedroom, the floor vibrating underneath your feet and his. His momentum has you pacing several steps back but his arms wrapped securely around your waist just in time to whirl you around and have his back face the soft impact against the wall beside your bedroom door instead. “There,” he huffs, “just like how you did it.”

Panting and heaving for air, you breathing in him and him breathing in you, you two exchange bewildered glances all the while burning more alive than ever. A high of thrill runs through your veins as does his own that protrudes from his neck and runs along his arms from under his yellow tee. You feel yourself practically melt in his hold and intent gaze. His utter attention devoted to his girl and your every ounce of love exuding from your own eyes. Smiles stretch from ear to ear and the two of you share a fit of muffled giggles; and when he leans down in pursuit for your lips—you put a finger between his lips and yours.

“I thought you said you were sick,” you quip.

Scoffing at your remark, he retorts smugly, “I lied,” before squeezing your hips and pulling you in closer to finally latch his lips to yours.

It all perfectly makes sense. Like the last jigsaw to your puzzle, his lips fit you like a lock and a key designed and fated for one another. You pull away and he leans in, he pulls away and you lean in. He kisses you gently, softly, but with enough want and eagerness for exploration that you know he wants this—that he wants you. Maybe this isn’t the perfect first kiss that you had imagined, but that doesn’t mean it isn’t perfect because it’s undeniably perfect.

And when the two of you finally pull away from your latch onto each other, his chest heaving for air as does yours, he hastily picks you up and sets you onto your drawer with utmost ease, almost as if he’s done it a thousand times. You giggle at his hurry, as if he had no time in the world and all the time to lose, aiding him in removing the remaining articles between you and him. Raising your arms over your head, he slips his hands under your shirt and pulls it off, the grazing tips of his fingers sending tingles from both sides of your hips up to the wires of your bra.

Wrapping your legs around his hips and pulling him in closer until his crotch hit yours, you laugh along with Hoseok’s chuckles. Your hands slip under his shirt, palms against his rock-hard abdomen and sliding up to his chest and around over his neck as he discards his shirt. To your surprise, you nearly yelp when he tosses his shirt at your face and you catch a whiff of his scent.

“What’re you doing?”

“You can have this shirt if you want,” he smirks at the way your cheeks burn red, “just don’t ever wear another guy’s jacket again and don’t ever leave it in my room.”

Rolling your eyes and placing a hand on his shoulder while hooking another around his neck, you roughly pull him back into you for another kiss and he groans in approval.

“Y/N!”

The both of you freeze, eyes shooting open in panic when your mother’s calls echoes from afar.

“Are you okay?”

Her footsteps shuffle across the hallway and you slap Hoseok’s chest, beckoning for him to figure something out. He chuckles at your panic—and you slap him again—before lifting you off the drawer and making his way toward your bed.

“What’re you doing?” you hiss when he plops you onto the bed and he climbs over you on all four. In a desperate attempt to stop your mom’s approach, you call out, “yeah, I’m fine!”

“You wanted me to figure something out, right?” he chortles in the midst of panting. Without warning, he latches his lips to your throat and you have to cover your mouth to stifle the lewd mewl that escapes you. Hoseok then lifts his lips to your left ear, muttering, voice raspy and dripping of desire, “I’ve been waiting for this all week. I’m not letting your parents ruin it.”

“Hoseok!” you gasp, laughing in disbelief at the crooked grin of his. “I can’t believe you right now!”

“Really?” she stops, probably right before her bedroom across the hall. “Are you sure?”

“As much as I respect her, she’s your mom,” he chortles, leaning in to finish the painting on your neck. “Figure something out.”

“Yeah, mom!” you attempt to lift yourself up to call out to her only to be pushed back down into your bed by Hoseok, inciting an amused laugh from him. Cupping his cheeks in one hand until his lips pursed and he had no choice but to pause, you give one last bidding, all while staring him down. “Don’t worry, I just slipped in the shower! Go back to sleep!”

The two of you remain utterly still—although Hoseok not really so, for you have to squeeze his cheeks several times to stop him from diving right back in—until your mother finally closes her bedroom door. You let out a breath of relief, scowling at Hoseok as he only chuckles at you; but the scowl is only temporary, because as you lie on your bed, held in between his arms and peering up at the devilish grin of his, you can’t help but relish in the surrealism of it all. Even as your hand lifts to brush a strand of his chestnut locks out from the view between his eyes and yours, you can’t believe he’s really here.

Sapphire blue shines through your windows to illuminate the left hand you had cupped over his cheeks. This smile, eager as a child and golden like your beloved best friend, it belongs to you and you only. It’s absurd, really, because you can’t help but titter at him as he drapes a blanket over his back, essentially shrouding the universe from the love he’s about to make to his girl and conceal you from the blue side, selfishly hoarding you to him.

Because tonight, this moment and this feeling, belongs to your eyes only.

The magical afterglow of having known you’ve made the right choice prospers throughout the entirety of the following year. No one really knew for sure you two were dating, not Jin nor your parents, but it isn’t much of a surprise when you finally give into Hoseok’s persistent urges for you to announce to the rest of the world of your newfound relationship.

“I was waiting for you to return my jacket,” Jin laughs from across the table.

“I was surprised you didn’t just ask me to,” you muse, “considering you were never one to leave things to fate.”

“Yeah,” he shrugs. “But something in me knew you would figure things out with Hoseok. Didn’t want to intrude, y’know?”

“Ah,” you smile, watching him fold his jacket in his lap. “Thanks, Jin.”

Neither of you find the right words to follow through until, finally, he speaks, “what does he have that I don’t?”

“Huh?” you raise a brow at the sudden question. “It’s… it’s not really what you’re missing per se. It’s more like what Hoseok has. I just… I love his smile, I love how considerate he is, I love how attentive he is—” you pause to stop yourself from smiling as Jin merely nods “—it really isn’t your fault, Jin, please understand that. It was unfair of me to hold you tethered to me when I obviously liked someone else.”

“No,” he shakes his head. “I should have taken better care of you. I didn’t comfort you when you cried. I didn’t walk you home when I should’ve, even when you refused my offer. I should’ve… I should’ve asked you out earlier.”

You can only press a small grin, “yeah, perhaps a year earlier.”

He hesitates to ask, “...do you think it would’ve worked out if I did?”

“...probably.”

“I see,” he laughs to himself, eyes glancing to the coffee table before they land back on you. “You know you’re losing out on a great guy, right?”

“Yeah,” you laugh at his proclamation, gathering your purse and standing to your feet. Jin raises a brow at your sudden movements, turning around to follow your line of sight only to find Hoseok pacing around outside the cafe through the glass door. Jin only chortles when you make your own proclamation. “But you just aren’t the great guy for me.”

Your mother, on the other hand, faces a much more shocking revelation when she comes home to find you snuggled in his chest with his arm draped over your shoulders as the two of you hold your annual Christmas movie night in the comforts of your living room.

“Hoseok?” her eyes widen between you and him. “I-I, but, w-what about Jessica? And Y/N, what about Jin?”

“Oh,” you yelp at the nudge and baffled look Hoseok gives you, “I thought I told you last year, mom. I broke up with him already!”

Buzz. Buzz.

“You can pick that up, y’know,” you whisper after his phone rings several times.

Sighing to himself, Hoseok retracts his arms from your shoulder to check the caller phone ID before groaning in frustration. “Ugh, she just won’t leave me alone.”

“What? Who?” your mom pries.

“Hello? Hey, Jessica, I felt like I should be decent enough to at least let you know to stop calling me before blocking you,” he adds in one more remark before hanging up. “I’m happily with Y/N now.”

A snide cackle escapes your lips; whereas your mother, well, she neither collapses from shock.

But it really doesn’t matter what they do, how they react, what they say. Dozens of people have tried to keep you two apart. Jessica, Namjoon, your parents, it’s almost as if everything but the arms-length distance between your windows and his and the blue skies that loom over his side that tries to sabotage your friend, your lover; for every night when he returns home from break and every night when you return home from school, even after all the passing months, the hues remain ever the more dazzling.

Passing by your desk, you smile at the paper plane you had found lying on your desk last year after your first night with Hoseok. The dirt stains across the words scribbled onto paper still brings you back to a time when your strings tug and your heart aches.

I just want to cry with my best friend

I just want to love my best friend

“Hey, Hoseok,” you chide, opening the windows wide and returning his beaming smile with one of your own, “can I come over?”

This time, even if the whole universe were to attempt to convince you otherwise, you were sure to head on over to the blue side next door.

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oumaheroes · 3 years ago

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Ship Headcanons

Responding to @honey-spice-plaid’s response here.

FrUK

-What made you ship it?

I feel exactly the same as Honey, I really love the dynamic that they have. It can be so many things, hostile, friends, lovers, more, and yet so identifiable as them all at once. It means that I can read so many works from so many authors and I’m nearly always pleased with whatever new interpretation I find.

Initially what made me take note of it was the concept of two people having such a long and turbulent history and the sheer amount of potential that gives them for stories, whether it’s nationverse or human AU. Any genre, any trope, and these two silly idiots fit it for me.

(There are also some very good fics out there that just blew me away and destroyed my heart and soul but that’s a fic rec list for another day.)

- What are your favourite things about the ship?

For my own personal idea of them, their relationship can be something bitter and warm all at once. There is a depth of knowing to their relationship that I just adore, that feeling of knowing someone so completely, ugly parts and all, and for so long that it is a solid, sturdy thing, despite all they go through. No matter what happens during their lives the other one is always there and there’s something so fulfilling in each of them feeling that their relationship is an inevitable constant, despite the ups and downs. It’s a relationship that doesn’t quite have a word (friend/soulmate/lover/partner/enemy) because it’s all of them at once.

You cannot lie to someone who has known you for that long and has seen so many shades of yourself, you can’t tuck yourself away under a shiny veneer that you want the world to see because the other person sees right through it. I think that for England, who I consider as someone who goes to great lengths, at times, to hide how deeply/ truthfully he feels, this is a welcome break. He can be bitter, crass, uncouth, wild, around France without worry or care. I feel the same for France too, England sees him so plainly for who he is that he needs that, even if he isn’t willing to admit it.

In my mind France hides how he truly feels by over exaggerating emotion or playing up emotion, or feigning a feeling to hide away what he actually thinks. England is the opposite in that he projects a lack of feeling to mask his actual feelings, but the core fear for them both is the same.

-Is there an unpopular opinion you have on your ship?

I really do dislike the ‘saviour’ dynamic, that one cannot be functionally without the other or that the other one fixes something in them that is broken (in the shallowest sense of this trope- I do think they complement each other very well), and I also equally dislike the concept that one is ‘bad’ and the other wholly good.

I think they’re both equally complicated people who can manage perfectly well on their own, but fulfil each other deeply too. They can be toxic, they can be kind and tender, but it’s an equal seesawing that changes and grows as they do. There isn’t one ‘weaker’ or ‘stronger’, for me they’re both very capable, stubborn people who come together very well.

ScotEng

-What made you ship it?

I mostly see them as familial rather than romantic (though I do often have violent swings to the romantic side), but regardless I think it is a wonderfully complicated, spiky web of things that covers up a genuine affection and respect towards the other.

Their personalities are what caught me, I see them both as very similar stubborn, proud people and that makes it all the more meaningful when they do share moments that are more tender and kind- small acts of affection go a lot further and mean a lot more, especially in harder times between them.

-What are your favourite things about the ship?

Again, as with France and England, it’s the potential of possibility in regards to storytelling that comes from two people knowing each other for a ridiculously long amount of time. There is so much shared experience there but from very different perspectives at times, if you’re to do nationverse, that from a historical viewpoint I enjoy very much. It’s a wonderful area I wish was explored more, it’s so complicated and complex, something so old and muddled and yet so easy and natural- they know how to be and act around each other at their best and at their worst because they’ve been there in person to see them all.

It’s that aspect there that I love about it, it feels rugged and awkward and bumbling at times but also fiercely loyal at the core, regardless of what low point their relationship takes. And as Honey has also said, the additional family dynamic of the rest of the British Isles adds that great layer of complexity and familiarity to everything.

Writing-wise (which admittedly I have done little of for the UK family) they are wonderful to play and bounce off each other, and reading-wise there is just something so wonderful about smooth, working family relationships, especially after (or even during) periods of hardship between them.

My favourite fics between them are always ones where one comforts the other, when one of them finally drops the stoic façade and distance and allows themselves to be looked after. (Speaking of hidden gems, one of my old favourites from long ago is ‘The Rope’ by 0313)

-Is there an unpopular opinion you have on your ship?

At times it has felt like most common works and representations of their relationship swing from two very different extremes- overprotective and sickly loving to the point of ridiculousness, or abusive and angry for seemingly no reason at all.

To be honest many works, more in the past than now, didn’t treat the two as real people, just caricatures, and that was always very sad to see.

#honey-spice-plaid #aph fruk #APH France #APH England #aph scotland #aph headcanons #aph scoteng #hws france #hws england #this took me too long #heroes headcanons

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everythingisgayandnothinghurts · 5 years ago

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Unless It’s With You

Carlos overhears a conversation and realizes just how much he wants to marry that Tyler Kennedy Strand.

This is kinda crap, but it’s also fluffy and any Tarlos content is pretty great, am I right? It’s my first Tarlos fic and I love them even if I can’t write them well. Carlos may be a little OOC but this means a lot to him. Hope you enjoy this.

I’m in over my head, feeling confused

I’m losing my mind, don’t know what to do

Cause I don’t wanna get married

Unless it’s with you

It was another night at the bar for the 126 and Carlos was running late due to having to finish reports from his busy day. He walked into the crowded space, side stepping a couple making out just inside the door, and immediately looked for his boyfriend or his best friend. He spotted TK first with the firehouse group around him sharing stories and drinking. They looked relaxed and that meant it had been a good day without death nipping at their heels.

“Cap, how do you make those ribs we had last Saturday? I have a taste for them and Grace might like those for our anniversary dinner this week.” Judd asked over the buzz of the patrons.

“Ribs Ryder? How have you managed to be married for… how long exactly?” Owen teased the cowboy with a roll of his eyes.

“Longer than you’ve ever been,” Judd jibed lightly, the multiple failed marriages of the captain being common knowledge by now. “Here in the south ribs are perfectly acceptable for a dinner expressing your love and devotion.”

“Better be sure she isn’t p[lanning to wear white,” Mateo nudged Judd with a laugh. Carlos was about to announce his presence to the team when probie asked a question he really wanted an answer to as well. “You see yourself having ribs on your anniversary TK? It’s only a matter of time before Carlos asks you.”

“Married?” TK’s voice was far more surprised than it should have been. The two of them had been together a year and Carlos has found himself gazing at rings more than once lately. He would love to put a ring on his boyfriend’s finger and call him his for the rest of their lives. He could see them buying a new house together and maybe even adopting a kid one day together. He saw the whole package with the younger firefighter and up until this moment he never thought TK felt any differently. “I’ve seen more than my share of marriages fall apart. I don’t see the point in getting married. There’s no such thing as forever.”

A stone fell into the pit of his stomach at his boyfriend’s words. Marriage might have only been a passing thought as of late, but it clearly meant more than he thought if the way his chest tightened was any indication. TK was the love of his life, and there had been nobody Carlos had ever seen forever so clearly with up until now.

“Hey babe,” Carlos acted as if he hadn’t heard their conversation and had just walked up to the group. “Sorry I’m late.”

“Dance with me,” TK’s eyes lit up upon seeing him and with a kiss on the cheek Carlos was dragged onto the dance floor just like their first time dancing here. A year had gone by and suddenly Carlos felt like the two of them might not have come as far as he’d thought.

A week had gone by since he had eavesdropped on that comment TK made, but his mind wouldn’t let him forget the way his boyfriend had tossed the idea of marriage off the table so easily. Did that mean the firefighter still didn’t see a future for them? Was this something to simply pass time for him? Did he not see the two of them growing old together the way Carlos did? Was this thing between them not going to stay?

The worst way for this desire to play out was in his dreams. It was on a day when their alarms weren’t going off and they could sleep in so his mind felt free to dream and of course he would dream of their wedding. He would dream of TK wearing his ring and looking at him like he could be in this moment forever. He would dream of holding TK close under twinkling fairy lights in his mother’s backyard while their guests watched them share a first dance.

A dream is a wish the heart makes after all.

Carlos snapped awake from the dream where he was married to the man beside him and while they had never talked about it before the desire made something inside of him ache fiercely. He didn’t want it right now, but he wanted it to be a possibility. The happy bubble of his dream faded and his eyes started to sting fiercely when his brain caught up to the fact that TK didn’t want that with him. He didn’t want to get married or he might not even want a family together. Could it be that they could have dreams for their futures that were so drastically different? Carlos was so in love with TK that it baffled him. He didn’t think this kind of love existed outside of movies and it was the most wonderful part of his life. Loving TK was as easy as breathing and the thought of never having the promise of marriage made a panic rise in him he was unfamiliar with. He was the one in their relationship that stayed calm, but a simple lack of a ring had him panicked. He had never been so scared of losing TK outside of some catastrophic call that is, as he was right now. He knew TK had asked Alex to marry him back in New York. Was that why he didn’t want to venture down that road again? Was one failed proposal enough to have him turn away from the idea forever?

“Carlos,” TK murmured as he rolled over to face him, a sleepy smile stretched over his face. “It’s too early to be thinking so much.” A hand lazily came up to cup his cheek, but then suddenly the firefighter was sitting up in bed wide awake. “Baby, what’s wrong?”

It seemed the stinging behind his eyes had given way to actual tears and how the hell was he about to explain this? How could he explain being upset by a comment he was never meant to hear at all? He didn’t know marriage was so important to him until it appeared to be off the table for good. It sounded stupid as hell to be upset about a ring and a piece of paper which is all the ceremony really boiled down to, but it was the promise he wanted. The promise of forever meant more than he bargained for. “Just a dream,” He choked out.

“Nightmare?” TK guessed with sympathy in his eyes. Carlos’s dream probably would be a nightmare to the younger man if their roles had been reversed. He shrugged in reply, hating the lump in his throat and wishing he could grow up and get past this. TK loved him, and he knew that. They had been through hell and made it out of the other side stronger and more in love than ever. He was stupid to be questioning it all over a question he had never even asked. “Shh, let me hold you.”

“TK,” Carlos choked out as he felt strong arms wrap around him and his head was tucked into the space between TK’s neck and shoulder. His boyfriend was comforting him over something he needed to be man enough to just talk about. “I love you.”

“I love you too, baby,” TK told him softly and Carlos felt a kiss pressed to his temple. “It’s okay now, you’re with me. We’re going to have the whole day together and I’ll even let you pick the movie.”

The tears were getting stronger and Carlos was pretty sure he had never cried over anything more ridiculous than this. They could easily spend forever together and never have a ring exchanged. Plenty of people were together for ages without some piece of paper. TK had been through his father getting divorced twice and then a disastrous proposal attempt. It made sense why he had no interest in getting married. What didn’t make sense was the way his heart was breaking.

“Hey, hey deep breath alright?” TK rubbed his back gently and it was ironic their roles were reversed. Carlos was much more comfortable doing the comforting rather than being the one comforted.

“I heard you,” Carlos had to say it. He knew this wasn’t something he could just hold inside of him. It was bothering him far too much for that. He sniffed a few times and wiped some tears off his cheeks. “I heard you talking with your team. A-about us.”

“What did I say?” TK seemed confused as he pulled back so they could look at each other fully.

“You said forever didn’t exist,” Carlos repeated softly, swallowing a few more times to get his tears under control. “I… I was kind of hoping it did for us.”

“What?” TK had obviously already long forgotten about his comment at the bar and Carlos felt even more silly for hanging onto it this long. “When did I… That wasn’t meant to mean anything.”

“I want to marry you,” Carlos confessed and even saying it felt right. He was meant to marry this man and his heart knew it without a doubt. “I want forever for us, Tyler.”

“I…” The younger man seemed lost on how to reply. TK took his hand gently and squeezed it. “ ‘Los, of course I want forever with you.”

“You said you didn’t,” Carlos had to point out in a small voice.

“I’ve seen my share of ruined marriages,” TK said softly. “Marriage doesn’t mean anything by itself. That promise is no guarantee anyone is together for the rest of their lives.” He brought Carlos close to kiss him gently. “With you I know it would be different. You would never make that kind of promise without keeping it. You want to marry me?”

“Without a doubt,” Carlos replied, feeling that stone begin to break up he’d been carrying around. “I see a whole life with you Tyler, a full ,wonderful life.”

“With you I can start to believe it’s possible,” TK kissed him again before resting their foreheads together. “Only with you.”

#tarlos #tk strand #carlos reyes #911 lonestar #the ending is crap I know #mywriting #i tried #practice makes perfect I guess #have some fluff

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rinharu-purple · 4 years ago

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MakoHaru vs. RinHaru is like Apples vs. Pears

Ooohhh, how nice that we have a horrific pandemic hugging our from us fellow humans cruelly treated earth, so that we could stay at our homes, bake our own bread, have hundreds of zoom talks and try to learn how to knit a sweater for our dog. Everybody chooses another recreational activity to spend their time at their homes...Me? Well. I can finally write my thoughts on Makoharu vs Rinharu ship war because that's my business and knitting has never been my forte...oooor writing gramatically perfect essays and yet here - we - are.

I think Makoharu and Rinharu are veeeery different and I will try to tell you in this post why is it that I think so...(nope, not because I'm a Rinharu shipper, why would you think that, and no there will be no Makoto shaming, he's a precious baby boy and I love him)

Lets start with the context, in which these two kinds of relationships can be found in.

Makoharu is the “We have been best friends since we were in our diapers and now we are like siamese twins, like salt and pepper, like Ernie and Birt, like avocado and lime juice” type.

Mako and Haru got to know each other while they were 6 years old when Makoto tripped on a sand castle on the playground and Haru helped himto stand up. Ever since then, it's almost always has been Makoto's mission to help Haru stand up, get up or get out of any situation, pool or bath. They are neighbour kids so they've spent their entire life together. Day by day, year by year. They've started swimming in a SC together, went to the same school and then attended to the same university. Even when they were on school trips outside the city, they would share the same room. So unsparable they've always been. Considering the fact that they are currently in their early twenties, they must have spent almost 15 years together. In that point they no longer need to use words to communicate or Haru has to tell Makoto about his problems. Makoto can always be spot on about Haru's concerns whereas Haru can sense when something's up with Makoto, even though he's not so spot on as Makoto. Haru is not the best when it comes to seeing through the souls of people. He has a quite accurate sense of detecting suffering souls though.

Makoto is always observing and following Haru in a not creepy way. Makoto is loyal to Haru and givies Haru a safe space, where he could always go to, when in distress. Makoto is the translator to Haru's thoughts and feelings, when it's far too uncomfortable for him to express his thoughts himself or the replier to his unasked questions, when its too embarrasing for him to pose them. He gives him handkerchiefs, when he sneezes, tells him to get out of the pool because its still too early to swim outdoors. He also guides other people in their handling of Haru, so that he wouldn' be put into unsettling situations. Makoto is taking over the role of a protector for Haru. Some also see Makoto in a maternal archetype. Even though I find this a little bit far fetched, Makoto is definitiely the mother figure in the team, that's for sure. Just not in this duo.

What is then Haru's role in this relationship? What does Haru think of Makoto canonically? I really had to skip this part and give it some thought before writing anything about this, because I didn't have any straight answer at the first time. Haru cares a lot for Makoto. I mean, we all saw how he freaked out when he's nearly drown in the ocean. He also reacts frantically, when Makoto tells him about his plans to go to Tokyo.Haru is also very sensitive about Makoto's fear of the ocean and always tries to stay between Makoto and the ocean while taking walks at the beach. But Haru usually goes his own way, doing his own things, regardles of Makoto. Sometimes it's almost like he would take Makoto for granted, especially when he's lost way too much in his own problems. He doesn't see Makoto as a basic part of his swimming career and also doesn't confide in him in topics regarding Rin. For example he never told him why he'd quit swimming and he also didn't mention him about the “fence tension”. Makoto is transparent with Haru, but can we say it other way around as well? We saw Makoto struggle with his feelings towards swimming in High Speed and Haru could only catch up to this after quite some time. The same goes for Makoto's dilemma about his future plans in Eternal Summer, because Haru was dwelled way too deep on his own dilemma. What about their team relay in the first season? When he's shattered to pieces because Rin won the 100 m freestyle race, he just disappeared and discarded anyone else. This might be te only unbalanced element in the MakoHaru relationship.

Whatever the roles in that ship might be, due to their closeness and co-dependence Makoto and Haru are extremely comfortable around each other and trust each other completely. It is an established relationship which has very strong roots. It is an unbreakable bond. This is the main context of this ship. What about RinHaru?

Rinharu is the “Ever since I've met you my life hasn't been the same and I can't stand you yet you complete me trope... like yin and yang, like Mr. Darcy and Elisabeth, like two polars of a compass, same same but different” type.

Rin and Haru have always been rivals but also friends. They would compete in every single silly challenge out there, but then set the prize in rather questionable things like “the winner carries the loser bridal style”. They are responsible for the most of the emotional meltdowns of each other but then again they are also the ones to gather the broken pieces of each other and “save” one another. On the other hand, they contuniously keep taps on each other, observe one other from behind the scenes. They also are not using words to communicate like in MakoHaru, the only difference from MakoHaru ist that not only they fail to understand each without words but they also misinterpret each other and therefore have many quarrels along the way. Then again we have many intimate scenes between them, mostly at night, in a car, on a bench, in Haru's room or in the same bed abroad, in which they express their thoughts and feelings very straightforward with clear sentences. No innuendos, no sugary coats, no ego-masks. As honest as they can be. More interestingly, those feelings and thoughts usually turn out to be mutual. They think and feel the same way, they just don't confess them often. It is a relationship of two opposing ends all the time and yet they crave to be next to one another, swim together, see the world together, be like one another, cherish their moments and memories together. They appear to be the “opposites attract” stereotype, but they keep growing, expanding and evolving. Neither them nor us viewers know what the next scene in their relationship will be like. It's a relationship that's still in the making, they dont' have an established pattern.

As much as MakoHaru will stay being best friends RinHaru will also stay being friendly rivals, regardless- of any other direction their ship may take. Imo those are the foundations of these two ships, so how are they played out in the series? What is the tone of these relationships?

Makoharu is green and blue, you mix them and you have either a darker or a lighter shade of green

I've just described MakoHaru as an established, safe relationship. It's not only that, but its also a harmonious one. Makoto and Haru are harmoniously compatible with each other. They don't argue much, or have completely opposite opinions, wishes, desires. Even when they differ in their ways, they still manage to find a common ground and keep theit relationship on track. So that's why the producers always give MakoHaru scenes a stabile tone. They don't have drama, but they also don't have emotions on the extreme end of the spectrum. The comforting atmosphere is the basic of their interactions. When they have an argument, they work this through swiftly, and close the deal. They don't carry the burden along the way, they just leave it there.

In illustrations Makoto and Haru are mostly portrayed facing the same direction, wearing the same uniform (obviously), in the same setting, in cooperation. Their Drama CD stories are also that of two characters getting along well. Makoto pampers Haru to his good health as a firefighter and protects him from the police or they cook a meal together and Haru plays to role of a trainer to Makoto. But hey are also portrayed like a somewhat married couple in a domestic seeting. Even Nagisa mentions in the first season that hey look like a newlywed couple. Btw I really think that Nagisa is a hardcore MakoHaru shipper.

RinHaru is red and blue, you mix them than you have motherf#cking purple!

“.. like yin and yang, like Mr. Darcy and Elisabeth, like two polars of a compass, same same but different” of course they are red and blue! Red and blue are two of the three main colors so they are not harmonious. When mixed they try first to dominate each other but when they finally blend, they make the sophisticated yet charming purple. Something that is neigther blue nor red, something brand new and that's RinHaru. When they are together they clash, they compete, they try to dominate each other but once they finally give in, it's a sight we've never seen before. The ever unforseeable atmosphere sets the tone of RinHaru, which is why both Rin and Haru are still insecure about each other and because their reactions are unpredictable to each other. They appear to be indifferent or comfortable when together and yet there is a certain lack of confidence in their interactions. They break their heads while contemplating about each others actions and carry the burdens of the unanswered questions in their own heads for quite some time.

In the official artworks they are mostly looking at each other, provoking each other or“mirroring” each other. They are moving forward on their own paths, but in the same direction. Their Drama CD stories show Rin as a policeman, who try to arrest the trespassing merman Haru but then end up showing him his favorite sights and Haru offering him his blood to save his life. In the second one, Haru and Rin, on their way back from the high school regional tournament, at night, using the only time to spend some time together, reminiscing about their eternal summer together and making promises about the future. In another one, Rin is spending the night at Haru's and they once again reminiscence about their childhood and then it takes a misleading turn which includes teenage boys keeping books under their beds. There are always some intimate sparkles in those stories and Haru and Rin always have a romantic moment, in which either one does something romantic to the other or they share theit romantic thoughts about their relationship. RinHaru in my opinion is handled like a "beginning of the relationship" couple. They are exploring their feelings and their relationship progresses with time.

And that is an important point. MakoHaru might be portrayed like a married couple but they are not one. On the other hand, RinHaru really is an everevolving relationship. MakoHaru's setting hasn't changed ever since the first season but RinHaru is taking a different turn in every single one.

Here is a brief comparison of the first and last highlighting interactions of the both ships in each season.

First Season:

In the first season MakuHaru starts as it always does. Makoto pulls Haru out of his bathtub so that he could go to school in time, much like in the past. And there are important scenes in which they express their appreciation for them sticking to each other. RinHaru on the contrary, starts on a bitter note due to their dispute from the middle school and keep a cold face until they both speak or in this case shout/cry out their true feelings and make up.

Second season:

Second season also starts with Makoto pulling up Haru out of his baththub and ends in the same manner, even though they also have a fight because Makoto also tries to bring Haru to his senses about giving more serious thoughts to his future plans. RinHaru starts the second season with a new set of feelings. They set a new tournament record and reach the finish line at the same time, giving each other high five and experiencing this new “fired up face” sensation. At the end of the season we see them again at the starting block on neighboring lanes, but this time they give each other a confident, challenging and yet playful smile before diving in.

Third season:

In the final season up to date Haru and Makoto are attending university in Tokyo and to my surprise aren’t living together. Their first scene is as usual Makoto helping Haru out of water but Haru, this time, pulls Makoto right into the pool, pointing to the fact that Haru, indeed, has become more assertive and confident in his actions. At the end of the season, we see them both still meeting as best friends and studying together. Rin and Haru set off for the final lap of the series miles apart, nonetheless we find them thinking about each other, while they’re in water. Being far awy no longer bringst fear to their relationship, since they know that they are working towards the same goal and that their paths will cross again. And exactly this is what we see in the very final scene. Haru and Rin, standing side by side, at the international stage. Wondering what the future holds for them, but one thing is for sure...They’re diving into the future as a duo.

So when we leave every other scene out of the discussion and solely focus on what are the starting and ending status of these two ships are, we can see that MakoHaru stays stable over the years and don’t show much change, whereas RinHaru evolves and progresses over time and these guys are feeling closer to each other despite spending most of their times apart.

So how do the other characters react to these ships?

Well as mentioned earlier Nagisa is definitely a MakoHaru shipper. He makes suggestive comments about their relationships amd is also very attentive to Mako’s worries about Haru which brings me to Makoto’s reactions to RinHaru. Why was Makoto jealous of Rin and wanted to race him in freestyle? I think Makoto was jealous of Rin because he’ realized that there is someone, who occupies a certain area in Haru’s life, which he cannot be involved in. This would make any best friend uncomfortable and he also confides in Rin after his fight with Haru. Rin on the other hand accepts MakoHaru as best friends and supports it and tries to cheer up Haru about his fight with Makoto by saying that Sousuke und him fight all the time. Sousuke also seems to be aware of the dynamic of RinHaru and is quite cold towards Haru while messing with Rin about his fixation on Haru. He is also quite aware about Rin’s expressions changing while tlaking about Haru, so he senses something out of the ordinary there. Rin’s homestay parents also give Haru a wink while telling him that Rin used to mention from someone whom he looks up to. Ikuya as a newly introduced character, also shows some jelaousy like behaviour towards Rin, although this behaviour is pretty mutual. but I could see Ikuya having more concerns than Rin here. Let’s also not forget about how even Kisumi’s realized that Haru appeared to be lonesome, when Rin was in Australia during middle school (which Haru silently confirms during Ikuya’s heartfelt burst out in Starting Days). People know, that there is something more then what meets the eye for RinHaru.

In total, MakoHaru has always been a relationship, which owed its strength to its stability and therefore is a very rooted and powerful relationship. Makoto is without a doubt Haru’s best friend and he will remain being that. However I don’t think there has been more than that and also don’t see it turning into something romantic. I mean, like 19 year old college students in Tokyo, don’t you think that they would at least get into a flatting situation if they were more intimacy there? (or maybe this isn’t something common for Japan, I dunno). Since Makoto’s journey takes a different orientation than Haru’s I wouldn’t be surprised if Makoto would soon have a girlfriend. I see Makoto more of a heterosexual guy tbh.

RinHaru on the other side, is still a story in the making and their strong feelings and obsession for each other and most importantly, their paths finally meet and they will be able to finally spent more time together and get to know each other even more. Considering the passion, intimate moments and their desire to be together could turn into something in romantic. I think the romantic feelings between Rin and Haru have been there right from the beginning, but they had to live through all kinds of experiences and form their personas as professional swimmers and find their true identities, while establishing their relationship first before giving thought to what other feelings might be there. So its just a matter of time, that they become aware and act upon these feelings, so we could just hope that we got more Free! productions.

Thank you everyone, who’s made it this far. I know it’s been a long post, but there was no way for me to cover it any shorter than that. Please excuse any typo or grammatical mistakes. I checked the whole text twice, but I’m pretty sure, that I’ve oversaw many mistakes. Did you like it though? Would you add/change something in it? Let me know. I would love to hear your opinions!

#rinharu #rin matsuoka #haruka nanase #free! iwatobi swim club #analysis #sharkbait #makoharu #makoto tachinaba

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quentinblack · 4 years ago

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The Squib

Featuring: Gawain Robards & Walden Macnair (with Harry Potter, Rhea Savage and Femi Wakanda)

Warnings: Swearing, Mature content

Link to full story on FF.net

Walden Macnair looked absolutely terrible. He was about as broken a man as a man could be. The Death Eater sat, if you could call what his broken back was allowing him to do sitting, in a hastily erected bean bag on the marble floor of the interrogation room.

The bean bag had been the only thing that Macnair had been able to sit in or on without screaming in agony for the best part of a week - and judging by the look on his face he was now about as broken mentally as he was physically.

An eager looking Gawain Robards sat opposite him in a fairly comfortable looking oak and leather chair. The Head of the Department of Magical Law Enforcement aimlessly fiddled with his quill as he studied the notes in the pieces of parchment on the table in-front of him.

Robards was the only one who was on the interrogation side of the chamber with Macnair. Harry, along with Rhea Savage and Femi Wakanda, the pair of whom had spent the most amount of time interrogating the Death Eater in the last fortnight, were behind the charm-field section on the other side of the room.

The charm-field, which Harry had discovered was a quintessential feature of almost all interrogation chambers, allowed for other Ministry agents to watch an interrogation without the suspect being able to see or hear their presence.

They were actually very reminiscent of the sort of glass-mirrored screens that Harry had once seen on old repeats of ‘The Bill’, a police-detective program which regularly aired on the muggle television. He had often watched that and another similar detective show called ��A Touch of Frost’ on the few occasions that the Dursley’s had gone out for the day and left him to his own devices.

A common theme of those sorts of programmes was the “good cop, bad cop” routine, where one detective would aggressively interrogate the suspect, whilst the other would be somewhat kinder. Harry was not quite sure on the exact phycology of this method, but it seemed to work for the fictional police officers.

It was fairly safe to say that Gawain Robards liked to take an altogether different approach to his questioning.

His approach was less “good cop, bad cop” and more just plain old “bad cop, bad cop”.

“I always thought you did lack a spine, Walden,” Robards said sarcastically. “Life imitating art I suppose,” he added with a smile, enjoying his own witty remark considerably more than anybody else watching on had seemed to.

Macnair said nothing. He merely glared at Robards with an intense look of fury and pain on his scarred and slightly wrinkled face.

“I’m sure that Savage and Wakanda have already informed you of the considerable case The Ministry has against you, Walden. The charges that landed you into Azkaban several years ago in the first place were not too pretty, but since then you broke out of prison, continuously colluded with The Dark Lord, played a crucial role in the illegal international transportation of many murderous giants and of course, most notably, are the prime suspect in the murder of Broderick Bode. Do you have anything to say in your defence?”

“No comment,” Macnair spat.

Robards grinned nonchalantly.

“As I have said, the charges levelled against you, much like the state of your back, are not pretty. However, any cooperation on your part that may lead to the arrest of one of your comrades will of course be heavily considered when you are sentenced.”

Macnair rolled his eyes in disgust.

“You want me to betray my friends like some kind of traitor…and for what? A couple of years shaved off of a life sentence?! I’m not fucking stupid, Gawain. I know that I don’t know enough to receive a get out of jail free card like some of the others might. Sure, I could sell out Selwyn to you, but you won’t drop all of the charges against me even if you did manage to make an arrest. I’d sooner take my chances on him and the others that got away doing some damage and breaking us all out of here.”

Robards sighed heavily.

“You really think that a handful of stragglers are gonna manage to do some damage to us and break you all out?!” he asked in an incredulous manner.

“I don’t see why not! You would be incredibly naïve to write them off,” Macnair snapped back defiantly. “Judging by how emotional your little bitch has been in the last few days… I expect they already have done some damage!”

Savage swore under her breath next to Harry, as Wakanda, who towered over the both of them in her leather heeled boots groaned.

“I warned you, Savage. I told you that you were emotionally compromised. You should have listened to me when I-

Savage loudly shushed Wakanda as Robards began to speak once more.

“You know, Macnair. I think you’re the one who is being incredibly naïve,” Robards said. “You talk about bargaining to get a couple of years off of your life sentence… I don’t recall saying anything about a life sentence. The act of murdering an unspeakable is a crime that has historically carried only one possible sentence… and it is not life, but death.”

Macnair eyed Robards with a slight sense of caution, but Harry observed that he did not truly yet seem to believe what Gawain was suggesting.

“You won’t execute any of us,” Macnair attested in an arrogant tone. “The Ministry hasn’t executed anyone in decades. Barty Crouch liked to make out that he was tough on crime at the end of the last war, but even that silly old shit never sentenced Dolohov, Black or the Lestranges to death… and they committed the worst crimes of all.”

Savage stole a glance at Harry when Macnair mentioned Sirius.

It had been just three days prior, on the same day that Hagrid had received a pardon of his own that Kingsley had also posthumously cleared Sirius of all charges against him.

Harry was very glad indeed that Barty Crouch had never sentenced Sirius to death, for if he had then Harry would’ve never even met his Godfather for the fleeting few years that he did.

Robards glared at Macnair with something between contempt and pity in his eyes.

“Do you know why Dolohov, Black and the Lestrange trio were never sentenced to death for their despicable crimes?” Robards asked in an irritated tone.

“Everyone knows why,” Macnair replied confidently. “Barty Crouch believed that a life-time of the Dementors was a much harsher sentence than a killing curse, although I guess he never banked on The Dark Lord returning to power and setting everyone free.”

Robards chuckled to himself and violently shook his head at Macnair.

“The only thing he never banked on was his son falling in with The Dark Lord. Allow me to let you in on an age-old Ministry secret, Macnair. Barty Crouch was full of shit. He never believed any of that bollocks about life sentences being the harshest sentence once could suffer, although I’m sure he said it enough times that even he might have believed it in the end.”

Robards rose to his feet and wandered over towards a fearful looking Macnair, who could do nothing but look up at the head of the Department for Magical Law Enforcement as he towered over him.

“Dolohov and Black were never meant to have life sentences. They were both in line for the death penalty – and they would’ve gotten it too, if Barty’s own bloody son hadn’t have winded up getting caught torturing the Longbottoms with the Lestranges. That left old Barty with quite the predicament. He couldn’t execute Dolohov, Black and the Lestranges but spare his son – the cries of bias would’ve finished his career. But he couldn’t execute his son either, as that would’ve finished his marriage. So we got the compromise option. It all worked out very well for The Dark Lord and his cronies, probably the only reason why you recruited the useless little fucker in the first place!”

Macnair said nothing. He re-positioned himself slightly, trying not to make eye contact with Robards and swearing under his breath in pain as he did so.

Harry trembled slightly at his new-found knowledge that Sirius may been sentenced to death if not for Barty Crouch Jr’s turn to the dark side. It was hardly a glowing endorsement of capital punishment.

“The mood of the public is one of finality, Macnair. They want some closure. They want some justice – and unlike Barty Crouch, as you well know, I do not have a child in the docks awaiting sentencing-

“You don’t have a child full-stop,” Macnair spat.

“Oh, Merlin,” Wakanda sighed under her breath, as Savage swore violently.

An enraged Gawain Robards instantly pelted the defenceless Macnair square in the head. The connection of his shoe to the Death Eater’s nose saw it break on impact, making a loud crunch and crack in the process.

Blood began to trickle down Macnair’s face and onto the cream coloured bean-bag, as he cried out in pain at the abrasive movement this had caused his injured neck and back.

Harry looked on in utter bewilderment at what had just happened, as Wakanda exhaled loudly.

Savage turned to him with a saddened look awash her pale face.

“Gawain’s daughter,” she whispered. “She… she died when she was only seven years old… dragon pox.”

Harry suddenly understood Robards’ extreme reaction and wondered if Macnair had known, judging by the look on Savage’s face he assumed that he probably had.

Robards began to pace frantically in-front of Macnair, as Wakanda eyed her boss with great caution and concern, perhaps fearing any further retaliation, although he seemed to have calmed down a little.

“You know actually Walden, I’m glad that you want to talk about family,” Robards said with an evil looking grin. “Savage and Wakanda took the liberty of informing me last week that you didn’t actually want to speak to or see any of your family at all. I must confess, given your reputation years ago at the Ministry as a devoted family man, I considered this development to be, well, strange.”

“Go fuck yourself,” Macnair replied, to which Robards grinned with glee.

“I’m sure you remember your wife used to be quite close to mine once upon a time, so naturally I felt given the circumstances it would be my duty of care to reach out to Cara and make sure-

“You shut your filthy mouth, Gawain! Don’t you dare talk to my fuckin-

Robards motioned to punt Macnair in the head once more, but he had only pretended, which nonetheless still caused Macnair significant pain as he had flinched when reacting to the expectant kick.

Macnair tried to spit at Robards, but due to his hunched posture he succeeded only in spitting on himself.

“Oh, but I did dare to talk to her, Walden!” Robards jibed. “And I’m very glad that I did. Cara was most forthcoming about the issues in your broken marriage… and it all seemed to stem back to one thing…

“Don’t you fucking-

“The Squib daughter of a Death Eater,” Gawain mocked triumphantly, as Macnair looked shattered at Robards having discovered this revelation.

Harry noticed that there was a different kind of pain on the Death Eater’s face at this divulgence though. It was not one of discomfort or anger, but rather, for the first time Harry saw vulnerability in Walden Macnair’s eyes.

“The way Cara tells it, most of the blame falls at your feet, Walden. She thinks that little Niamh was so embarrassed when her Father got sent to Azkaban for being a Death Eater that she started repressing her magical abilities, so much so that she never actually has shown any magical abilities.”

Macnair, defeated, said nothing at this point. Harry watched the blood trickle down the pathetic looking man’s nose. He was no longer even bothering to wipe it on the dirty sleeve of his jumper like he had been previously.

“What was your plan if You Know Who wasn’t defeated, Walden? Wouldn’t it look a bit suspicious when your daughter didn’t get a Hogwarts letter this year?” he asked, more rhetorically than literally.

Harry felt his boss was perhaps pushing too far now, but either Robards didn’t sense Macnair’s agony or did and was merely trying to use it to his advantage.

Gawain now retrieved a piece of parchment from his desk and unravelled it.

“Do you know what this is, Walden?” Robards grilled, as he flashed the piece of parchment in-front of the captive.

Macnair remained silent.

“I’ll tell you what this is… written by Dolores Umbridge no less… this… this is what The Ministry’s official policy on Squibs was under your exalted leader’s control… and I quote…” he began, taking an exaggerated deep breath, which seemed more for show than any sort of respiratory benefit.

“The Ministry of Magic defines a Squib as a person whom is born with the assumption of possessing magical blood, yet possesses either extremely limited magical abilities, or indeed, is entirely devoid of any magical ability whatsoever. The primary cause of the birthing of Squibs is believed to be caused by the Mother fornicating, whether wilfully or against her will, with either muggles or mud-bloods - it is also a possibility that the Father may have falsified their own family history, thereby concealing their un-pure blood from the pure-blood witch who birthed the defected child. Either of these crimes, whereby a deformity such as a Squib is created, are punishable to the guilty party only by the Dementor’s Kiss.”

Macnair did not look up at Robards, instead much preferring to look at the floor, perhaps in the desperate hope that it would open up and swallow him whole.

“Alternatively, in cases where Squibs have previously shown some kind of magical ability at a younger age, but have since lost the ability, it is believed that their magic was stolen from them. There are many mud-bloods that defy the conventions of logic and biology by possessing magical abilities without magical blood – and this fairly modern phenomenon is believed to be caused by the mud-blood stealing magic from magic-users, i.e – Squibs. It is thought that the most common method of magical theft is achieved through fornicating, but research has also shown that a muggle may achieve the theft of magic by stealing the blood of a witch or wizard. The crime of allowing a muggle to steal one’s magical blood, even if the muggle somehow achieved this by force, is a crime that is once again punishable only by the Dementor’s Kiss.”

Robards finished reading and discarded the parchment onto the floor in-front of Macnair.

“You’re clinging onto an ideology that would’ve seen your only child suffer a fate worse than death, Walden!” he shouted incredulously.

Macnair looked considerably defeated at this point, but did not seem to be rising to Robards’ bait.

“You refuse to sell-out Selwyn and Travers and Co, but would they have stood in your corner when The Dark Lord came to take Niamh away and give her to the Dementors?” Robards asked in a disgusted sounding tone.

Macnair tried his best to hide it, but he had become increasingly uncomfortable and significantly more distressed since Robards began talking about his estranged daughter. He had flinched momentarily at the mere mention of her name again. Harry was not sure if Robards, Savage or Wakanda had spotted it, but he certainly had.

Robards continued probing and taunting Macnair for a further fifteen minutes, but no matter what was said to him he failed to take the bait and showed absolutely no intention of co-operating.

The only time his eyes ever truly showed signs of fight or life where when Robards mentioned his daughter, but Harry supposed that there was nothing they had to tempt Macnair to sell-out Selwyn or any of the others.

Robards was offering Macnair the chance to avoid being sentenced to death and merely see out a life sentence instead, but the Death Eater had previously assumed he was seeing out a life sentence anyway, so this must have barely seemed like an upgrade to him – perhaps the prospect of a quick exit even somewhat appealed to him in his broken state.

What they really needed to get Macnair to talk was something to truly tempt him.

“He’s a lost cause,” Wakanda commented to Savage and Harry after Robards had been at him for another quarter of an hour after that.

“If he was going to talk then he would have by now. I thought the reminder of his daughter might push him to it, but it looks like the prospect of dying and never seeing her grow up isn’t even enough for the sicko.”

“He does care about her,” Savage quipped back in a knowing fashion. It seemed Harry had not been alone in noticing Macnair’s body language when his daughter was mentioned.

“But she’ll grow up to be a Squib,” the Head Auror continued. “She’ll be an outcast and he knows both his daughter and his wife will always blame him for it… maybe he’d rather die than live with himself knowing he caused that.”

“Perhaps,” Wakanda conceded in an irritated tone, as the three of them watched on as a slightly exasperated looking Robards continued to interrogate him. “But all the same… if he won’t talk, he won’t talk.”

“What if we gave him a reason to talk,” Harry said, as an incredibly bold idea suddenly popped into his head.

“I’m all ears, Potter,” Savage replied. “What would you suggest?” she asked, as Wakanda eyed Harry with a slight look of bewilderment.

“Well the thing that is upsetting him the most is that his daughter will grow up to be an outcast and hate him, right?”

“Right,” Wakanda and Savage replied almost in unison, surprising themselves in doing so.

“What if she didn’t have to be an outcast?”

“But she’s a Squib… how could she not be an outcast?” Wakanda replied, not cottoning on to what Harry had been suggesting at all.

Savage eyed him very carefully, perhaps pondering what she thought he may be implying.

“But don’t you see?” Harry began. “That legislation that Robards read out earlier about Squibs. They weren’t treated that badly before Voldemort was in power…”

Harry paused briefly as Savage and especially Wakanda reacted wildly to Harry so openly and boldly using Voldemort’s name. He forgot that people reacted that way to it and he thought it seemed especially silly since he was now long dead.

“… but even in civilised wizarding society they seem to be largely outcasts,” Harry continued. “I think the one thing that would make Macnair talk and lead us to Selwyn and the others is if he knew by talking he could stop his daughter from becoming an outcast.”

“But again, Potter, what exactly are you proposing we do? Send an owl to Minerva McGonagall and ask her to send an acceptance letter to Macnair’s Squib daughter if he talks?!” Wakanda asked in a condescending manner.

Harry did not reply instantly, but Savage again eyed him up cautiously.

“I think that’s exactly what he’s proposing,” Rhea said carefully, as she appeared to begin to contemplate the idea.

Wakanda looked mortified.

“But - but you can’t be serious,” the mature witch began. “The implications – the mere idea of a Squib attend-

“Robards said that her Mother believes she repressed her magical abilities,” Harry interrupted. “If she was put in an environment with other children and felt confident and accepted for who she was then she might even develop some magical abilities.”

“And if she didn’t?!” Wakanda interrogated.

Harry’s mind darted into action as he tried to think on his feet and justify his reasoning to the older witch.

“Well, you don’t use magic in every subject at Hogwarts,” he mustered. “Potions… Herbology, erm…

“Divination,” Savage added. “Astronomy and History of Magic too, I guess even Care of Magical Creatures and…

“Arithmancy and Ancient Runes… oh and Muggle Studies too,” Harry quickly interspersed.

“You can’t seriously be entertaining this idea, Rhea,” Wakanda mocked.

“Do you have any better ideas?!” she snapped back. “This is all hypothetical regardless. There’s no guarantee that Macnair would talk even if we offered this to him, but yes, I think it’s certainly an avenue worth exploring.”

Wakanda tutted and then sighed dismissively.

“Good luck selling this idea to Gawain,” she snickered.

“Gawain won’t be a problem,” Savage replied confidently. “It’s Minerva McGonagall that I’m worried about.”

Savage smiled and then suddenly slapped Harry on the back affectionately.

“It’s a good thing we’ve got Potter here for that one,” she grinned, as she stared thoughtfully at Macnair through the charm-field.

#harry potter fandom #fanfic #fanfiction #Harry Potter #HarryPotter #HP #hp fanfic #HP Fandom #HPF #hpff #harry potter fanfiction #hpfanfiction #gawain robards #walden macnair #Death Eaters #Ministry of Magic #harry potter fan #savage #wakanda

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wistcrias-arch2 · 5 years ago

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WISTCRIA’S GUIDE TO PLOTTING.

I was joking when I made a post asking if anyone needed a guide to plotting, but the response was surprisingly positive, so here I go! I’ve never really written a writing guide before, so bare with me as I do my best! QUICK DISCLAIMER: this is just my advice from experience and personal opinion!

Plotting is a pretty universal thing, regardless of whether you’re a 1x1 rper, a group roleplayer, or writing on indie. However, this guide will be more geared towards indie and group roleplayers, as 1x1 roleplayers automatically get a lot of plotting done when coming up with their plot.

Without further ado, here’s my guide to plotting!

01. JUMPING INTO IT: I wish there was a better way to describe and explain this but there’s no better way to plot than simply approaching someone and doing one of two things: a) offering up some base ideas you had or b) asking if there’s ever been any plot for their muse(s) they’ve always wanted to do that your own character(s) can fulfill. This is easiest when you find either a commonality between muses, or a key difference. Plots and threads move best when there is action or tension in a thread. This can be literal, as in an argument based on this difference, or prompted by a shared interest. For example, were I writing Ariel and trying to plot with an Aladdin, I might mention that they both are outcasts in a sense and perhaps that can be something we develop together. Alternatively, I might mention that because Ariel is a mermaid and Aladdin lives on land, maybe their cultural differences inspire misunderstandings!

( A quick note on reciprocation: I’m going to touch on this later but roleplay is a two way street. I’ve seen many people complain about not having plots when I know for a fact they don’t reach out to others. Always try to reflect on the last time you approached someone for a plot: if you’re noticing that your friends are always approaching you, then there’s something to consider there. )

02. BACK AND FORTH HCS. This is the quickest and easiest way to get into the groove with a new writing partner. In a lot of ways, plotting is a form of improv, and nothing helps it more than the yes, and rule. When your partner proposes something, try to always build on it! If it’s out of character, always make note of that and let them know, but provide an alternative course of action so that the conversation is always generating something you can build on in your threads. Your goal here is to develop rich character dynamics, interpersonal development and learn more about your muse! Back and forth headcanoning can look something like this:

RPER 1: omg imagine them just comparing stories together? RPER 2: YES! Talking about both feeling outcasted? RPER 1: yess and like, ariel would just feel so seen and I could see her also just being so shook over all that sand everywhere like if they went into the dessert or flied on the carpet? RPER 2: ngl I don’t think aladdin would fly the carpet with someone other than jasmine, but they can definitely go riding in the dessert! RPER 1: nice!! i can’t wait to write this :D

And there you’ve developed a neat idea for a first thread without having to deal with all the awkward first meeting niceties.

03. GATHERING INSPO. One of the things that helps most is finding external inspiration and using it as a source for a plot, for character motivations or behavior. For example, if I was writing Ariel against Aladdin, I might send them gifsets to spur conversation, which often leads into effortless back and forth headcanoning. If you’re lacking inspiration think of your favorite shows, songs, movies, books... think of all the worlds you wish you lived in and apply them to your character. If you’re really stuck, try a random plot generator / scene generator. Pick a random word from the dictionary and try to build a scenario around it!

04. A FEW TIPS ON WHAT TO AVOID. Nothing kills the mood faster than an unresponsive partner. Having been there myself, it feels terrible when you’re the only one who seems to be putting in the effort. Don’t expect your partner to be the only one with ideas. Even if it’s something silly, don’t be shy! A silly idea can grow into something really cool and unique if you give it a shot, and even if it’s silly, those are often the most fun threads! Also, try not to respond with “filler responses” such as “oh bet” and “it be like that” and Good God please not, “haha yes”. Like, I know we say these words a lot, but they don’t contribute anything to the conversation, and from experience I can say they’re very disheartening and can often make your partner feel like they’re pulling all the work.

05. AN ADDITIONAL NOTE. Sometimes there will come a day where the people you plot with won’t be all that responsive. It happens! If you come across the dreaded deadpan responses, don’t take it to heart. There can be a number of reasons why. And sometimes people are bad responders: try to be patient and in the mean time, focus your energy on plotting with other people who are more readily available!

FINALLY, all I can say is treat plotting a little like making a new friend. Approach the situation wanting to learn more about your partner’s characters. Roleplay is a two way street, and what you give out will usually be returned back at you. Every person is different and will have a different plotting style, but hopefully with these few things in mind, plotting with others will be just a teenier bit easier.

Good luck!

#my guide #rph help #rp help #rp guide #writing guide #bdbddb idk idk

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flutteringphalanges · 4 years ago

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Summary: It is public knowledge that Zoe Van Helsing is the last of her blood line. Not to mention that, in a sense, Count Dracula is too. However, after an unexpected night of passion, both their lives dramatically change when Zoe becomes pregnant. Two unconventional parents, one extraordinary pregnancy. What could go wrong?

Rating: M

Pairings: Zoe Van Helsing/Dracula implied Agatha/Dracula

Read on FFN and AO3

A/N: Thank you to all who have left kudos/comments/reviews and even have taken the time to read this story thus far! I'm having loads of fun writing this one and I'm hoping you are enjoying it too! Okay, enough of my blabber, here's the next chapter! Feedback is greatly loved and appreciated! -Jen

Chapter Four

Twelve weeks. Two plums. At a development standpoint, that was the current size of each of the babies. It was a weird thought, comparing unborn fetuses to food. And yet, there was something slightly entertaining about it. The imagery. Zoe found herself in the market one day, the fruit section no less, picking up one and studying it carefully. She snorted to herself and placed a few in a basket. Plums. How peculiar.

"Well, are you going to grant me passage?"

Dracula stared intently at the scientist, an eyebrow cocked as he waited for a response. Zoe merely met his gaze dumbfounded until the realization of his unanticipated arrival set in. She frowned, one hand already gripping the door knob. Who the hell did he think he was? Had he honestly thought she'd willingly grant him passage as if they were friends?

"Why are you here?"

"I told you," he replied simply. "I came here to discuss an important matter with you. Well," once more his eyes flashed down to her stomach. A smile crept across his features that didn't settle right with Zoe. "A few things, to be frank."

"I think we've chatted more than enough," the scientist stated, moving to close the door. Dracula inserted the toe of his shoe just before she could, leaving a visible crack between them. "As much as you'd like me to, I assure you, I am not letting you come in."

The vampire seemed unfazed by her insistence, standing stoic in her line of vision. It wasn't until she got a good proper look at him that she noticed a folded piece of paper clutched in his right hand. Dracula caught on to her attention and, eyes flickering from her to his object, causally lifted the parchment up for a better view.

"What's that?" Zoe asked hesitantly, uncertain if she really wanted to know.

"A letter," the man replied. "I thought it would be appropriate to bring."

"A letter," the scientist repeated, frowning softly. "Since I've blocked you from texting me, you've resorted to physically mailing your harassment? Or hand-delivering it I should say?"

"Of course not, that would be dreadfully predictable," Dracula snorted, rolling his eyes. "No, this is something more than that. Far more important than a silly text or a friendly postcard." He paused, one of his sharp nails tracing the edge of the document. "It's a little something I had written up with Frank-you remember him, yes? Frank Renfield? My lawyer?"

As if someone hit the thermostat, the air suddenly felt colder. Uneasy settled in the pit of Zoe's stomach, and from the expression on Dracula's face, she knew he could tell he was getting to her. She remained silent, fingers still gripping the knob.

"Though I cannot be certain, I have a feeling that those who do know of your pregnancy, do not know who the father is." The count began to unfold the paper, mindlessly smoothing out the creases. "This is just a copy, don't worry," he assured her as if she cared. "Anyway, who knows and who doesn't, it's important...for now, at least. What is important is that I, just as you do, have every right to have access to my children." He held out the paper towards Zoe before adding, "...go on, take it, it won't bite you."

Reluctantly, the woman took the slip from the vampire. Her eyes scanned every word, every detail typed out before her. Arrangements. Custody. Child support. Zoe's heart began to pound against her rib cage to the point where it nearly hurt. Fury began to fester deep within her as she immediately snapped her head up to glare at Dracula.

"You're threatening me with a custody battle?!" She nearly hissed, clenching the document in her fist. "Is this some kind of morbid joke?"

"On the contrary," he assured her, tone serious. "I am very adamant about this, Zoe. I will have access to my children, even if I do have to go through legal measures." Dracula straightened up, clearly not taken by the woman's rage. "I thought that perhaps we could go about this with a civil prospective, you and I. Before it has to come to a point like that."

"You aren't taking them," Zoe said firmly, her free hand touching her stomach protectively. "They're mine."

"And I don't want to," Dracula rolled his eyes, shaking his head. "That's why I wish to talk. Only talk. Get everything out in the open so we can figure things out," his lips curled into a smirk. "As a family."

Family. He sure as hell was NOT her family. If looks could kill, there would be a million stakes embedded in the centuries old vampire's chest. The nerve. Christ, she had never despised someone more in her life. But as she stood there watching him, knowing deep down she had no other choice-hate it as she may-it had to be done. For the sake of her twins.

"You may…" she struggled, chewing on her bottom lip as she forced the next words. "You may enter."

Her grasp on the door handle loosened as Dracula offered a genuine smile before striding past her and into the main room. Out of the corner of her eye, Zoe could see Agatha's spirit giving her a disapproving look. Fantastic. Not only was she stuck dealing with the vampire, but now her great, great aunt's spirit had made its presence known too.

"Go away," she muttered under her breath, Agatha's stare reproachful. "I don't need your judgement right now."

"I'm sorry?" Dracula inquired, turning on his heels. "Did you say something?"

"No," Zoe exhaled tiredly, shooting a quick glare at her dead relative. "You can go sit at the table. I'd offer you some wine but…"

"But neither of us drink," he finished pleasantly. "At least wine, and in your condition, I believe the consumption of alcohol is frowned upon?"

"You've been reading up on pregnancy."

"A lot," he remarked. "It's lovely how much information the internet offers. Plus books on the subject are plentiful," his eyes flickered around the room. "If you'd like to borrow one, I suppose I can lend a few."

"That won't be necessary," Zoe exclaimed, somewhat irritated by the fact that he acted as if he cared, or implied she lacked the knowledge. "I can research on my own, thank you."

She eased herself down onto a chair, one that was as far away from the vampire as possible. So much for the quiet, uneventful night she had planned for. She could sense that Agatha was watching them, but apparition remained quiet.

"So," Dracula began, breaking the silence. "I suppose I should first say that I'm glad you're willing to meet on your own terms." Zoe opened her mouth, but he continued before she could get a word in. "Honestly, Zoe, for a scientist, I'm surprised how quickly you've jumped to conclusion-particularly about me. I am, after all, a myth. Legend. But facts are muddled. How are you to trust who someone truly is without getting to know them personally?"

"Your charismatic attitude only goes so far after I've literally witnessed you biting off one of my colleague's thumbs and murdering an innocent man," the scientist frowned, folding her arms over her chest. "Not to mention validated testimonies of your actions. I think it's very clear what kind of person-monster, you are."

"And yet, here we are, sitting about to discuss two offspring that share our same genetic makeup," Dracula smiled. "Fascinating, isn't it?"

"Your point?"

"Well, one might say we have more in common than you think," he paused, eyes narrowing just the slightest. "How are you feeling, by the way? I read by the end of your first trimester your biggest symptoms are fatigue and possibly morning sickness."

"You being here alone is exhausting," Zoe mumbled, pushing a lock of hair behind her ear. "So what exactly do I need to do to get you off my back?"

"As I said before, all I want from you, at the moment, is to become better acquainted with me," the vampire said simply. "Perhaps with the hope you'll see that the intentions involving our children are not sinister. Say...I dunno, how does a date sound?"

If Zoe had been drinking water, she would've spit it out at his words. Had he really just suggested what she thought he did? A date? The scientist stared at the man blankly, unsure of how to respond to such a preposterous invitation. First he threatened to take custody of her children and now he wanted to go on a romantic getaway? Surely she was sleeping. This had to be a cruel nightmare.

"Well?"

"Jumping into a swimming pool of broken glass sounds more inviting," she answered, looking appalled. "All of that sea water must've gotten into your head for you to even fathom that I have an inkling of a romantic feeling towards you."

"No one said it couldn't be platonic."

"We aren't friends," Zoe emphasized. "And we won't ever be."

"You've surely inherited more from Agatha than just your looks," the vampire chuckled. "You even speak like her."

His words might've sparked some hilarity if the nun hadn't currently been hovering over the other woman's shoulder. At least the ghost hadn't attempted to possess her. Agatha had some dignity in that. Zoe massaged her temples, all of this just inflicted her ever growing exhaustion. She could rescind his invitation, but Dracula wasn't one to give up easily. Especially if he'd gone to such lengths to threaten getting legally involved in the twins' lives.

"What are you suggesting?" The scientist muttered, clearly worn down to the last stray. "What will make you leave me alone?"

"Friday night, say...around nine? You come over to my humble abode and I cook you something and we have a nice chit-chat," Dracula answered. "I'm a rather good cook, all things considered."

"I have a doctor's appointment at eight…" she saw the flicker of recognition in his eyes. Of course he knew.

"I'll retrieve you at half past seven so we'll make it to the clinic on time and afterwards, we can get you something to eat," he smiled. "Anything certain you've been craving recently?"

"Your head on a platter," Zoe muttered.

"So something meat based," Dracula nodded, completely unfazed by her sarcasm. "I'll do some searching on the internet and find something to fit your palate."

"Wonderful," she rolled her eyes. "I'll be looking forward to it with bated breath."

The vampire grinned, rising from his spot at the table. The scientist did the same, a feeling of relief overcoming her when she noted he was making his way to the front door. At least now maybe she could get some peace.

"It was lovely to finally speak with you," the vampire stated. "Oh, and since I believe we'll be in contact more, I'd much appreciate you unblocking my number. It will make things easier," a glint of mischief sparkled in his eyes. "For the both of us."

Zoe merely glowered at him as she pushed the door open suddenly wishing the sun was out and the heat was past boiling point. Dracula stepped past the threshold, still sporting that ridiculous smirk as his eyes met hers.

"I'll be seeing you, Zoe," he smiled. "And I look forward…"

She slammed the door in his face before he could finish. Running a hand through her hair, the scientist sighed heavily. Her eyes fell to the crumpled piece of paper that lay abandoned on the floor. She was screwed. Royally. And something needed to be done about it. Hell would freeze over before she'd let him have access to her children. But until she figured something out, she'd have to play along. Whatever it took, she wouldn't let him win. Exhaling, she touched the apex of her stomach. She'd have the last laugh.

#Dracula #Dracula 2020 #zoe van helsing #Agatha Van Helsing #Dracula on Netflix #Gemini

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elyvorg · 4 years ago

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Still a Hero - author’s commentary (part 2)

I spent almost all my time for two months planning and writing this fic of mine centred around Kaito’s issues, and that amount of thinking-about-something doesn’t just go away once the thing is finished. This is the second of two posts (the first being here) giving a kind of author’s commentary on the fic. For this one, I’ll be (mostly) taking off my Kaito-analyst hat and putting on my author hat, talking about the writing process and how I came up with the ideas for each chapter given how I knew Kaito’s character arc needed to go.

I say I spent two months “planning and writing” this fic, because the first month of that really was all planning. At first this was figuring out the broad strokes of how Kaito’s character arc should work, while also entirely separately imagining him going through various different kinds of torture that seemed like fun. Then I began to slot these torture methods that I’d already decided I liked the idea of into whichever points in his character arc they fit best for, resulting in me beginning to get a coherent set of scenes together.

As my ideas for the story solidified more in my head and grew more elaborate, I began to get them down on paper (well, virtual paper) to help me keep it all straight. I could remember the broad strokes of each scene well enough, but smaller details of ideas I had for the little things Kaito would be doing to indicate his mental state at any point were nice to get down. That way, I didn’t have to try and keep all of that in my head at once and inevitably forget a whole bunch of it when I started actually writing and was using most of my headspace on coming up with good prose. I could craft the progression of Kaito’s mental deterioration more carefully like this, rather than just winging it as I went along, which I think helped a lot considering that said progression was so vital to get right.

Plus, it was nice to be able to have a phase to the writing process where I didn’t let myself worry about wording and just got down all my raw ideas for the… okay, look, I’d call them “beats” of the story, and also possibly use the term “blow-by-blow” to describe how detailed this plan was, but in this particular context those words can be taken very literally. It wasn’t quite that literal. You know what I mean. And that way, when I actually was doing proper prose writing, it was easier to get started in each writing session (something I often have problems with), since the idea for what needs to happen next is already there and all I need to do is think of a good way to word it. Splitting the writing process into separate idea-splurging and prose-writing periods is a really productive way of doing it, at least for how my mind works, and I’ll probably do it again whenever I next write a fic.

While the plan was so detailed that I probably could have done the actual writing in a haphazard order, jumping all over the place just like I did while doing the plan, I wrote everything linearly from the beginning (with one exception that I’ll mention later). It still helped me be able to keep myself in the right headspace for Kaito’s mental deterioration to have gone through that progression with him, at least while actually writing it. Especially since Kaito’s mindset did still do a few unexpected things that I hadn’t quite anticipated in the plan.

Also, geez, did you notice how I called the chapters “scenes” up there? Yeah, once upon a time I thought this’d just be a longish one-shot fic, so in my head, they were scenes and not chapters for a good while. I did not realise quite how long things would turn out. Which is perhaps a good thing, since if I’d known that this would end up 64 freaking pages long, maybe that’d have made me think twice about actually writing it. And I’m really glad I actually wrote this.

The realisation that this was being so ridiculously long that it really needed to be chaptered happened some way into chapter 6, which at least meant that I got to come up with all the chapter titles all at once. I had fun making them all work together; I knew chapter 6 shouldn’t be titled anything but “Hero”, so I made the rest all fit around that to describe the hero. Kaito is a Vulnerable posturing helpless unimportant losing deluded HERO With Friends; the capitalisation or lack thereof is very deliberately meaningful. The non-capitalised titles are meant to give a sense that Kaito is sort of subconsciously beginning to feel these things are true about him by the end of each respective chapter while not wanting to admit it, and then the all-caps “HERO” is him shouting down those self-deprecating intrusive thoughts once he realises he really is a hero after all. The “Vulnerable” is capitalised not because it’s the beginning of a sentence, since “With Friends” is, too, but rather because those two are the only descriptors being applied to the “hero” that are actually true about Kaito. Really, he’s just a vulnerable hero with friends, which is something I think we can all agree on.

Now to go chapter-by-chapter for some more specific thoughts about my ideas behind each one.

Chapter 0

This chapter isn’t strictly necessary since it’s not part of Kaito’s character arc, but I felt it’d be useful to include to help establish the stakes, in terms of why it makes sense that Kaito needs to hold on for quite a while to protect his sidekicks from being killed, and yet his sidekicks can also be the ones to come and save him without being killed once enough time has passed. (I really love how my cult-takedown AU just naturally lent itself to me getting the best of both worlds here. I didn’t think of the torture scenario until after solidifying this AU in my head, so this was just a lucky coincidence.)

It was also nice to get Shuichi and Maki’s perspective on things to help establish the basic principles of the fic that it’s going to take Kaito six chapters of torture to figure out himself. Is Kaito invincible? Of course not. If he’s not, does that mean he can’t protect his sidekicks? Of course not. I figured it might help readers who aren’t familiar with all of my analysis about Kaito’s hero issues to be given a sense that that’s the angle I’m taking here.

Plus it was neat to show Shuichi and Maki both having their own much faster shift in perspective on this. Shuichi would have answered yes to that first question and Maki to the second question before this scene happened. But they each had one piece of the puzzle from the beginning, which is more than can be said for Kaito.

Not that they knew how much of an idiot Kaito was about this, mind you. They assumed he was perfectly healthily aware of these concepts himself, because they had no reason to believe he wouldn’t be. They knew he’d be suffering, but it didn’t even cross their minds that the worst part of it for him would be the near-destruction of his self-esteem. In chapter 7, when Shuichi hears Kaito say “I didn’t let you down,” and “I’m still a hero,” he’s bewildered and concerned by the implication that Kaito had ever thought those things might not be true. (It’s okay, though; Kaito will be willing to actually talk about it to them at some point during his recovery, so they’ll come to understand.)

This is chapter 0 and not chapter 1 because it felt right to have the real “start” of the fic be with Kaito himself. This fic is after all entirely about his character arc, and the Shuichi and Maki bit is more just a bonus. Unfortunately, AO3 apparently cannot comprehend the concept of prologues (I don’t understand why they’ve never accounted for this; prologues are a perfectly common thing in fic-writing as far as I’m aware), so this makes the chapter numbering kind of awkward on there. I could have just thrown up my hands and accepted the numbers AO3 wanted to give my chapters, but no, screw that, I spent two months thinking of the chapters by my numbers and I refuse to stop doing that just because some silly website hasn’t heard of the number zero.

(If anyone knows how to get this to work properly on AO3, please tell me. I did try manually messing with the “chapter number” field in the chapter-submission page, but that ended up screwing up the order in which the chapters were displayed, which, nope, that’s even worse.)

Chapter 1

I chose a relatively straightforward torture method to start things off with, because this scene was less about pushing Kaito’s mental deterioration and more about just establishing the baseline of his stubborn posturing and insistence that he’s an invincible hero in its purest form before there begin to be many cracks in it. That said, there’s still some psychological stuff getting to Kaito a bit here, aside from the generally terrifying (nope, not terrifying at all, what are you talking about, Kaito is a hero) realisation that he’s about to be tortured.

It may seem like an odd choice that I let Kaito wake up unrestrained, and I must admit that the idea of him waking up and panicking as he finds himself already tied up did seem fun in some ways. But it was very on purpose that I left him free to start out with, because that gave Kaito the sense that he should have been able to escape and not let any of this happen at all. If only he’d been stronger and more of an action hero, he totally could have taken out all five cultists and made a break for it, couldn’t he? Not managing to do that is Kaito’s first small sign in here that he’s not that good of a hero, actually. Sure, he knows that he’s massively outnumbered and the chances were really slim, so he’s not really that consciously upset with himself about it, but the subconscious sense of failure is still there. If he’d been tied up from the start, there’d have been none of that, and it’d have been much more obvious that it’s not his fault and he simply couldn’t do anything.

The kickings were also very much a part of this. Those aren’t a proper structured part of the torture, the kind of thing Kaito can basically expect from this situation; they’re just casual cruelty from his captors, hurting him not even because they need to but simply because they can. The first one wasn’t quite so bad because at the time Kaito felt like it was a retaliation to his attempt to escape, as if he was just paying the natural price for his recklessness not succeeding. But the second one, which came out of nowhere just to make a point, really drove home the horrible sense that they can do anything they want to him in here and there is nothing he can do to stop it. It’s not like these kickings physically hurt any more than the upcoming beating was going to, but they got under Kaito’s skin a lot more than the beating did, and far more than he’d ever admit this early on. (Though he does finally briefly allude to it in the depths of chapter 6.)

Like I said in part 1 of this, I was on a mission to make Kaito feel helpless in every way I could think of. He’s not really consciously thinking about it or tearing himself down that much yet, but this is already beginning to wear at him beneath the surface.

Chapter 2

Somewhat inspired by some articles I’d read about the phenomenon of learned helplessness (hence me referencing that in this chapter), I had the basic idea of some kind of restraints that inflict more pain on the captive the harder they struggle to escape from them, with the intent of eventually making them give up trying. Put Kaito in something like that and he would absolutely stubbornly torture himself with it for hours without his captors even having to lift a finger. I just had to; it was too perfect for the kind of person he is, and so good for creating the first big dent in his confidence when he fails to escape it and inevitably starts to feel more and more hesitant to even try.

I was originally envisaging it taking two or three “rest” chapters of Kaito fully throwing himself at this contraption and getting noticeably more tired and hesitant to do so each time until he gives up. But as I streamlined the plan (in an attempt to not make this any more ridiculously drawn-out or repetitive than it needed to be), this got cut down to basically just this chapter, with him barely even trying at all in chapter 4.

Good thing, then, that Kaito is so counterproductively overly-stubborn that it really only did take one spectacularly self-destructive session for him to be traumatised enough to never want to do that to himself again. (And, again, that’s less from just the pain alone – this probably didn’t hurt any significantly more than the beatings before or after it – and more from the horrible sense of helplessness it gave him along with that.) If he’d been more accepting of the idea that this is obviously going to take him a while and he needed to pace himself, maybe this would have needed multiple sessions to wear him down into giving up.

But nope, no way Kaito’s going to accept any kind of compromise like that. It’s never going to occur to him that stopping before he reaches his limit rather than pushing himself way too far past it, or, god forbid, not even taking the bait at all, is by far the better option. A more sensible person would be able to see that that’s strategically saving his strength for when he knows he’s going to need it, and it’s not even giving up when he knows his sidekicks are coming for him in the end. But Kaito’s definition of a hero can’t afford to do any of those things. Heroes have unlimited strength, and they certainly don’t need anyone else to save them.

Kaito feeling this way about this is just putting himself in a horrendous lose-lose situation: even if he somehow happened to choose not to torture himself pointlessly (or rather, when he does that in chapter 4), he’ll instead be taking the psychological hit of feeling like he’s lost. There is no winning here, not if you’re Kaito. Which, again, is why a contraption like this was perfect and I just had to do this to him.

Shout-outs to a scene in the Breaking Bad movie El Camino for inspiring this contraption, by the way – I edited it significantly to better suit my purposes, but that gave me a foundation to start from. I liked this idea more than just some sort of basic electroshock-triggered-by-pulling-against-chains mechanism that I’d been vaguely envisaging at first, because being physically dragged across the floor gives far more of that visceral sense of helplessness that I needed to inflict so much of on Kaito.

…And, uh, thankfully, it also made sense that the child-slave assassin cult might already have a contraption like this for other reasons, because it would have been a bit much to buy that they built something that elaborate just for Kaito. My original plan for this scene mentioned the device being used on the kids but otherwise didn’t have that big of a focus on Kaito initially trying to escape it on their behalf – he was mostly supposed to throw himself into it on his own behalf. I guess I just hadn’t properly thought about that enough during planning, since the kids weren’t the reason I created the contraption. Thankfully, when I was actually writing the scene, my mental simulation of Kaito became exactly as horrified and furious about what’d been done to those kids as Kaito should, and I let him run with that, because that was far more fun and far more Kaito than him only really thinking about himself.

(This never happened to Maki in particular, though. The fact that she “willingly” volunteered herself meant she was never desperate enough to escape that they needed to do this to her.)

Chapter 3

At one point while brainstorming possible ideas, I was hit with the thought of Kaito finding out that his lead torturer was the same person who trained and tortured Maki. I had some fun imagining Kaito’s reaction to that and a hypothetical back-and-forth exchange between him and the torturer about the awful things he’d put Maki through. Except then I realised that having this conversation, fiercely standing up for Maki and calling out her abuser’s awfulness, was giving Kaito way too much emotional strength – and as fun as that was, I couldn’t let him have that, not when I was trying to erode that emotional strength of his as fast as possible.

So then it occurred to me: maybe his torturer could also realise that having this hero-versus-villain confrontation would give Kaito strength, and so he deliberately completely blanks Kaito’s attempts at this, entirely refusing to engage with him and give him what he wants. That’d deflate the strength Kaito was trying to get from it and result in him feeling even more powerless and useless, excellent!

This incidentally meant that Kaito needed to realise that his torturer was Maki’s trainer by chance, without the torturer actually being the one to bring it up and tell him. This was when I realised that I’d need to give this guy a name, even if it was just an alias. It needed to be a Japanese name, and I’m not familiar enough with Japanese names to be comfortable just picking a random surname in case it had a meaning or connotation that didn’t fit at all. Therefore, I figured (especially since it’s an alias and not his real name), screw it, why not deliberately make it meaningful – and the best way I could think to do that was through the kabuki theme.

I’d already looked into the significance of the kabuki pattern on Kaito’s shirt and the meaning of red (hero) versus blue (villain) a while back, upon realising thanks to this post that that was why that pattern was there. I could not believe that I’d been fixating on Kaito for like a year and a half at the time while being completely unaware of such a delightful detail about his character design – so I guess I wanted to make up for lost time or something by making such a point of it in this fic. That’s why I went and had Kaito’s torturers be thematically-conveniently wearing kabuki-villain-makeup masks to contrast his shirt, giving Kaito an extra excuse to think of this as an overly-simplistic Hero Versus Villain thing that he is therefore totally going to win because heroes always do.

So in order to come up with a name for the “villain” here, I looked into that a bit more. I spent a while looking up famous kabuki plays on Wikipedia, and after a false start in which I was looking at totally the wrong style of kabuki theatre – turns out it’s only a certain style that even uses that makeup – I found a famous play in the overexaggerated-makeup-style called “Shibaraku!”, which turned out to be hilariously appropriate. The hero of the play is apparently the “stereotypical bombastic hero” of kabuki theatre, who shows up in the nick of time to stop a prince and a princess from being wrongfully executed (cough cough, he’s saving two people, a guy and a girl, from an undeserved certain death, how very fitting). He monologues lengthily about his supernatural powers that he just randomly has because of course he’s that cool, proves that the villain has unlawfully usurped the throne and gets him to back down just by using words, and then there’s a gratuitous fight scene at the end in which he effortlessly takes out all the villain’s henchmen anyway, solely to show off his awesome superpowers. I absolutely could not with how perfect a match this was to the kind of over-the-top invincible hero Kaito thinks he needs to be, and so I just had to name Takehira after the villain from that play.

And ultimately, the fact that I’d given him a name that Kaito could think of him by for the rest of the fic meant that this was kind of the point at which Takehira started to take shape in my head as an actual character, rather than just an empty placeholder inflicting this torture on Kaito because someone had to do it. I think that was definitely a good thing for the fic… though I can’t believe that as a result I now technically have a Danganronpa OC who is a manipulative child-torturing asshole. How. How did it come to this.

The actual torture method for this chapter wasn’t inspired by anything in particular; I just used my imagination to add some variations to the regular beating that’d give Kaito more of that all-important visceral sense of helplessness. Again, this was conveniently something the cult might be used to doing, since it happened to fit Maki’s description of what’d been done to her quite well. I guess I also now have a very weirdly specific headcanon of exactly what Maki is talking about in her third FTE.

Chapters 1 and 3 both fade to black in the middle of the torture sessions, and then the next chapters cut back in once it’s over and Kaito’s resting. This was mostly just a decision I made early on out of what was essentially writerly laziness. I knew things were going to go on for long enough that it wasn’t remotely reasonable to cover all of it directly, but my writing style focuses so much on just writing things directly as they happen that I find it difficult to get less direct and more summary-ish in order to imply things happening while a large amount of time passes. I managed it in chapters 2 and 5 and kind of 6 here, so apparently I can do it when I need to, but in the planning stages, the thought of doing that was daunting enough that I just tried to avoid it whenever possible by taking the lazy way out and using a scene break.

I lamented later, after I’d started writing and my scene plans were too finalised to change, that it could have been fun to write Kaito’s physical and emotional reactions to the end of these beatings: after the pain had built up so much and become more and more overwhelmingly hard to bear, his desperate relief at realising that it’s finally over (for now) and he’s going to be able to just rest. There’d have been a lot of weakness and vulnerability from him in those moments that he’d have had a difficult time hiding.

But then again, while this was completely unintentional of me and just born from my hang-ups as a writer, maybe there’s also something fun about the fact that I never showed that vulnerability. As soon as he could once he was resting, Kaito would have mentally pulled himself back together and convinced himself that he never really felt that weak and vulnerable towards the end of the beatings, nope, that just didn’t happen at all. So not showing that vulnerability and only jumping back into Kaito’s inner monologue after he’s managed to paper over it is perhaps an appropriate way to go about this, given the way I’d been pointedly having the narration only directly mention things that Kaito was letting himself think about in general. It really didn’t ever happen, see!? Kaito is still basically fine!

Chapter 4

My idea for this chapter was for it to appear to be setting itself up to be another chapter in which Kaito tortures himself trying to escape the contraption – and then he just… doesn’t, because he’s too hurt and exhausted, not to mention legitimately traumatised from how awful an ordeal it ended up being the last time he tried. And because he’s telling himself that he should be trying to escape, expecting himself to go at it again, he ends up feeling like he’s failing, even though all he’s really doing is making the sensible decision to take the chance to rest and not torture himself unnecessarily. He knows his sidekicks are coming for him, so he’s not really giving up at all, but he feels like he is.

I therefore originally thought of this as actually being just a rest chapter that pushes Kaito’s mental deterioration along a bit more, but in which he isn’t actually being tortured for once (aside from the one time he triggers the contraption). However, as I was writing it, I realised how awful it is to not be able to sleep properly when you’re exhausted and desperately need to (which is precisely why the cable was left higher this time so he couldn’t even sit down), and that that’s definitely a type of torture too. So, whoops, guess this is still a chapter in which Kaito is being tortured after all. He gets absolutely no real chances to rest here. (He would have done if he hadn’t taken the bait in chapter 2, but.)

This was also supposed to be the halfway point of the fic, and it still kind of is in a narrative sense, but in terms of length? Ahaha, not quite.

Chapter 5

My general brainstorming had already given me the idea of Kaito stubbornly declaring that his sidekicks are on a lengthy series of different planets upon being repeatedly asked where they are, as both a coping mechanism and a fuck-you to his torturers. This idea also included the notion of him eventually running out of planets not because he didn’t know any more, but just because the pain got too overwhelmingly much for him to think straight, leading him to be unable to deny that this was getting to him and beat himself up about that, spurring his transition into phase 2 of his character arc. At first I was just vaguely imagining this happening without a specific torture method to go with it, but I decided on the water torture for it in the end. This particular method gives convenient regular intervals in which Kaito can give his series of planets and long periods in between in which he can be stubbornly distracting himself with space facts. But most importantly, it’s a torture method which is less about pain and more about fear, aka the exact thing I needed to force Kaito into finally acknowledging he was feeling.

Another shout-out goes to a scene from the How to Train Your Dragon book series (a series I highly recommend in general) for making me realise the potential inherent in water torture. I knew “water torture” was a thing but had never quite understood how you could torture someone with water or why it was awful and terrifying until reading that scene. If it wasn’t for that, this chapter would have been something entirely different and probably less fun.

Also, can you believe that the mirror wasn’t even a part of this scene until quite late into the planning? I’d pictured Kaito being able to look straight at Takehira while above water in order to stubbornly yell at him about space, except I realised that wouldn’t work when, whoops, sinks are generally against walls. Then I realised that sinks often come with mirrors on said wall and that would work. Then I realised that Kaito would also be able to see far more interesting and relevant things in a mirror than just Takehira’s mask, and that this would also be perfect for pushing Kaito into admitting how weak he (supposedly) is. So that part happened kind of completely by accident.

Because of the fact that I’d been picturing Takehira as standing opposite Kaito until I realised the sink would be against the wall, he also wasn’t originally the one holding Kaito underwater. It was only after I’d written the scene without it that I realised, wait a minute, of course Takehira should be the one doing that to Kaito personally; it’s way better that way (he’s the one Kaito is specifically thinking about trying to win against, after all) than if it’s just one of the random mooks. The one stepping on Kaito’s face at the beginning of the chapter also wasn’t originally Takehira until I realised that that obviously made the most sense and had the most impact. Can’t believe I missed both of those obvious choices in the planning. I guess I was still figuring out Takehira’s character as I went along.

Since Kaito ended up so viscerally traumatised in particular by Takehira grabbing his hair, and since that’d have been a lot less possible if Kaito had still had the hairstyle, can we talk about how I completely accidentally foreshadowed this in my original cult takedown AU post? Maki told Kaito to ditch the hairstyle, so he… stuck his head under some water for a couple of minutes. That time it was a shower and he could breathe just fine, but still. (I edited in the interjection about how there must be a downside to it later, after having written enough of the fic to have decided it was canon that he ironically said that in mock-indignation while never genuinely believing there would be one. But everything else about that bullet point was written before I’d even remotely started wanting to write this fic and conceiving this chapter’s events.)

Obviously I had to do some research about SPACE for this chapter, because Kaito would definitely be reciting accurate Space Facts. Originally he was only going to be listing planets, starting with the solar system and then moving onto exoplanets. Except, just like Kaito awkwardly remembered once he got to Proxima Centauri b, I learned during my research that actually there aren’t really any other exoplanets with unique names, so that option was kind of a bust. Then I remembered that there’s a ton of moons in the solar system with unique names, so I figured Kaito would go for those too and started looking those up. (Takehira wasn’t surprised when Kaito moved onto Phobos and Deimos because he’d read Kaito’s public Hope’s Peak file and knew he was the Ultimate Astronaut, so he was expecting Kaito to do something like that. But the henchmen hadn’t been told that fact, hence why they were surprised. Still, this was probably not the weirdest impromptu coping mechanism they’d seen from one of their torture victims.)

Then I saw during my research that Saturn’s moons included Atlas and Prometheus, and I just couldn’t resist the gratuitous-self-referencing potential. See an ask reply from earlier for more of my thought process with this bit. This was also the moment I realised that Pandora was such a great fit for Maki – I basically just looked at all the feminine-named moons of Saturn in the hope that one of them would fit her because I really wanted to do this shameless-symbolism thing and didn’t want to leave Maki out of it, and luckily I found one. (The reason I brought this up kind of out of nowhere when a slightly less recent ask related to my P4 AU gave me an excuse to do so was very much because it was going to be in the fic and I wanted people to potentially be able to get the reference if they cared.)

Knowing the well-known moons for each planet makes it possible to count just how many times Kaito would have been forced to the brink of drowning here. It was three times before he started the space thing, then he did space, the moon, Mercury to Pluto (minus Earth), Phobos, Deimos, Europa, Io, Callisto, Ganymede, Titan, Enceladus, Titania, Oberon, Triton, Charon, Proxima Centauri b, the Andromeda Galaxy, like four other galaxies, Kerberos, Styx, Nix, Hydra, Pandora, Prometheus, Atlas, then five or so more times before Takehira realises he still isn’t breaking and gives up. That all adds up to something a little over forty times Kaito had to endure that. He is so strong, and his space-facts coping mechanism genuinely helped so much in that it meant he was only consciously terrified for a small fraction of it all.

I also did a little bit of rather more hands-on research for this chapter, namely holding my breath for as long as I could to get an idea of how to describe what it feels like when it seems as if you can’t possibly hold it any more, since I had to describe that quite a lot. And I may have also filled a sink with water and stuck my face in it a few times to get a sense of the physical sensations one would be most immediately conscious of when that happens. (Don’t worry; this was emphatically not done at the same time as holding my breath for as long as I absolutely could. In fact, I found my brain automatically making me surface much sooner than I’d expected to need to, leading to the conclusion that, damn, water torture must be even more horrendously awful than I’d imagined and Kaito is amazing for being able to endure it for so long.)

So if I ever get asked, as an author, “what’s the weirdest research you’ve ever done for a story?” – well, now I have a very good answer.

Chapter 6

There was also some hands-on research done for this one, involving lying on the floor, folding my arms behind my back, trying to keep my ankles together and then seeing how easy it was to move around in that position. Answer: it’s really difficult and awkward even when you’re not horribly injured and in a lot of pain, so Kaito must have had a great time.

And my final shout-out for torture method inspiration goes to Danganronpa V3 itself, of course. There’s canonically a poison that inflicts horrible pain and is explicitly used to torture people for information? Excellent. All I needed was a quick handwave as to why it won’t kill Kaito here despite being explicitly lethal in canon – which really is just a bonus because that means that the pain can get even worse and last even longer than it would normally – and I was good to go. You may have noticed that I had Kaito be injected with Strike-9 in his left arm, aka exactly where Maki’s poisoned arrow hit him in another universe. …Honestly it’s kind of impractical for them to have injected him in the arm when the ropes would have made the poison’s circulation from there way slower (though I guess we could pretend that was meant to be the point). I might have otherwise gone for Kaito being injected in the neck – easier to access and much more viscerally unpleasant – but screw it, I wanted the parallel to how he was poisoned by Strike-9 in canon, sue me.

For this chapter, I needed a torture method that’d really push Kaito into being convinced that he absolutely couldn’t take it, and that’d let him see just how amazing he was being when he realised that he still could. So it seemed appropriate to use this one, in which the only real limit to how painful it could get was my imagination – and I like to think I’ve got a pretty good one of those. (And, for that matter, Kaito’s imagination let him become incredibly scared of it before it’d even remotely reached its full effects on him. Because he’s so scared already, he’s imagining the absolute worst, which he’d never have done until he was in phase 2. That helped, too.)

Although, I say I could just use my imagination here, but I actually based this quite a bit on some more research I did. (This fic required more research than probably every other fic I’ve ever written combined; I guess I just don’t usually write about stuff that requires particularly specialist knowledge.) I looked into the effects of strychnine, the real-life horribly painful poison that Strike-9 is named after and loosely based on. …Well, technically it’s only named after it in the game’s localisation – in Japanese it’s just called “lethal torture poison”, a fact I also referenced in-fic – but it does still seem to be based on strychnine either way based on a comment Kokichi makes about finding it harder to breathe, which is indeed the usual way that strychnine kills somebody.

Since fictional Strike-9 is not exactly the same anyway (real strychnine does not have an antidote), I knew I could take some liberties, such as with the non-lethality handwave drug, but I still got inspiration for quite a few of its effects on Kaito from things I’d read about strychnine. One of the biggest effects of strychnine appears to be painful muscle spasms, which admittedly doesn’t seem to fit with canon Strike-9 based on the fact that neither Kaito nor Kokichi are ever shown spasming while under its effects. I dealt with that minor detail by deciding it was possible to consciously hold down the spasms up to a certain point – but also that doing so still hurts anyway, of course, because what would be the point if it didn’t.

It was also appropriate, given that this was when Kaito’s self-loathing was at its absolute peak, that this was a kind of torture that essentially felt to Kaito like it wasn’t even being inflicted on him by the torturers (even though he knew it was) and was just coming from inside him. So it was almost as if everything making Kaito suffer here was all from himself. Having him not be distracted by what the torturers were doing to him from the outside here also made it easy for him to get as introspective as I wanted him to. These aspects were actually unplanned; it was just a happy coincidence that the torture method I’d already chosen for this happened to work so well in these ways, too.

My friend antialiasis deserves credit for the part later in the chapter where Kaito’s realisation that he’s still a hero sends him into a weird triumphant euphoria that actually makes the pain go away for a bit. She proposed that while we were throwing ideas around in the conversation that sparked off me realising this’d be a really fun fic to write. Or, well, most of the conversation was me throwing ideas at her and her going “yes good” – but this one was hers, and I liked it a lot so I included it. It seemed so right that, upon Kaito finally realising how proud he deserved to be of himself, that feeling should have a real tangible impact on him despite all the pain.

Chapter 7

At first, my ideas of how Kaito would eventually be rescued were rather vague and… sort of unsatisfying? Not that Kaito didn’t absolutely need to be reunited with his friends, of course, both for the cathartic relief of everything finally being over, and to explore how he was now comfortable showing vulnerability in front of them. But it seemed kind of narratively awkward that he’d gone through so much hell to finally learn how being a hero really worked, only for his friends to then come along and end things in a way that was completely unrelated to the psychological conflict and character arc that he’d been having.

My original vague scenario for the rescue was something like Maki bursting into the room where Kaito’s being held and taking out his torturers to free him. Then I considered that if Maki and Shuichi were coming as part of a big government raid, the torturers might have already rushed out to try and deal with that as soon as it got there, leaving Kaito tied up and alone and hoping for someone to find him (especially if he’s still in need of an antidote, which I’m pretty sure was one of my ideas at that point). But then it occurred to me that, wait, if they were going to deal with the raid, then wouldn’t it make the most sense for the cultists to want to use Kaito as a hostage, knowing he’s important to Shuichi and Maki?

Which at first was a big problem, because I couldn’t quite see a way for Kaito to get out of that situation alive, and yet I refused to imagine an end to this story in which he didn’t. I came up with the way he got out of it purely in a desperate attempt to let him survive somehow (having concluded that the hostage situation really was the most likely way for events to unfold and it’d be kinda contrived for it to not happen at all). And it just so happened, purely by accident, that this escape method I’d come up with involved Kaito feigning weakness, something he’d never have dreamed of doing at the beginning before his character development – which suddenly made the rescue finally feel narratively satisfying. Kaito was saved not just by unrelated outside factors that would have happened anyway, but because of something he did thanks to what he’d learned from his character arc (while still not having been able to do it without his friends’ help, which he’d also learned to be okay with!).

And it was around this point that I started to seriously decide I was going to write this fic. It was finally starting to come together and feel like more than just some fun hypotheticals that were interesting to self-indulgently think about, but also an actual satisfying story that really deserved to be written.

Since I had a detailed outline and could start the actual writing from pretty much any point, the first part I fully wrote was in fact the hug in chapter 7. This was, after all, the Most Important Part that deserved the most passive editing time to give it as much polish as possible. By that, I mean that I’ll often reread bits I wrote just for fun and make small tweaks without consciously thinking of it as an Editing Session – which would usually mean, if I wrote in order, that the end of a thing naturally winds up a bit less polished than the beginning. I didn’t want that for the Very Important Hug, so I wrote it first on purpose to avoid that.

And while I was never not having immense fun writing this, sometimes it would also get a bit emotionally exhausting to write the more brutal torture parts while so deep in Kaito’s head. So it was nice to be able to wind down from a writing session like that by reading over the hug scene and having the catharsis of knowing that Kaito was going to be okay in the end.

Fun with Ctrl+F

The types of words Kaito was willing to use in his inner monologue to describe what he was going through underwent some pretty big shifts as things deteriorated, some of them deliberate on my part and some just unconscious. And, thanks to AO3’s feature of loading all chapters of the fic on one page, and my browser’s word-search feature putting a marker on the scroll bar at each instance of the searched word, I can get some data that actually visualises the distribution of certain key words throughout the fic.

So what the hey, let’s take a look at some of this. You want graphs? I have graphs. Sort of.

The grey bars are a screenshot of my scroll bar, with the yellow markers on them being instances of that word. Also with indicators to separate the chapters, and to mark where I consider each of the three key phases in Kaito’s character arc (discussed in the previous post) to shift into the next. (Daaaaamn though how did chapters 5 and 6 end up so long. Also I told you phase 1 was the longest one; it’s about as long as phases 2 and 3 combined.)

Pain: 110 words Hurt: 54 words

As you can see, Kaito spends the first chapter and a half – more like chapter and two-thirds, really – definitely not being in any pain at all (or at least, if he is, it’s totally irrelevant and not worthy of mention). But when the pain finally does show up, it’s suddenly all pain all the time with no gradual build-up. Funny, that – almost like it was really all pain all the time from the beginning, too.

It was very freeing once I got past that point in chapter 2 and could finally just have Kaito’s inner monologue say that it hurt whenever I wanted to communicate that fact. Getting that across without directly acknowledging it had been kind of fun, but it’d have driven me mad if it’d gone on for much longer than this.

Chapter 5 is a somewhat less pain-filled chapter than the rest, for obvious reasons. There’s also this interesting patch in the depths of chapter 6 where “hurt” became more common than “pain” for a little while. This wasn’t at all conscious of me, but it might be because “pain” is a slightly more detached way to think about it than an immediate, reactionary “it hurts” – and in the desperate, near-broken state that Kaito was in at that point, he was more likely to be doing the latter.

Agony: 26 words

It was very deliberate of me that the first use of this word was during the hellish near-drowning ordeal that caused Kaito to completely forget Atlas and “lose” his Very Important Space Competition. And then after that point I just let myself use it whenever it felt appropriate, so naturally there’s a lot of it in chapter 6. There were definitely some points earlier than this in which the average person would have described what Kaito was feeling as “agony” – heck, that probably happened as early as chapter 2 – but Kaito was not willing to admit so early on that he was hurting that much. It was only once his mental state had grown weaker that he began to actually describe it that way to himself.

Scream: 33 words

Kaito was a little more willing to admit this one earlier on (though not quite as early as this makes it look – that first one was a scream of rage, which is way more acceptable than a scream of pain, and the second is just his shoulders “screaming” at him in protest and not a sound Kaito made). Actual noises that he physically makes do, after all, have a lot less plausible deniability to them. That said, he had some “piercing yell”s in chapter 2 that most people would have called screams, but nope, they definitely weren’t that, not when he’s totally not even in any remotely significant amount of pain yet.

Scared: 33 words Weak: 32 words

“Scared” isn’t the only fear-related word, but it’s the most common one. And yep, of course this one doesn’t show up until phase 2. (That one in chapter 3 is an outlier; he’s talking about how the cult is scared of Shuichi taking them down.)

It was also deliberate of me to not have Kaito use the word “weak” until phase 2 (the chapter 1 instance is another outlier, talking about the kids and not himself). In fact, I consider the moment he calls himself weak for the first time to be the moment phase 2 begins. Up until then, he’d been doing a lot of questioning how strong he is and worrying he might not be strong enough, but once he starts to outright think of himself as possibly being weak, that’s something that’s him actively failing at being a hero and is a lot harder for him to take back and deny.

But though these two words both show up at around the same time, look at how “scared” is then still used a lot in phase 3 (some of those are about the cultists being scared of him, but plenty are still Kaito’s own fear), whereas “weak” is used a lot less from then on, and never to describe Kaito as actually being weak. While him being scared was always true, him being weak never was, at least not in the sense of weakness that really matters.

Pathetic: 28 words

There are various ways in which Kaito expresses his self-loathing, but this is probably the most common single word that’s always used in that way, so it’s the best way to get us a measure of this. It first appears near the end of chapter 2 but is more scattered earlier on, disappears in chapter 5 while he is in SPACE and obviously Totally Handling It, and then reappears with vicious abandon as he tumbles into phase 2 of his arc. I remember thinking to myself at one point while writing around then, “Kaito, you did not need to call yourself pathetic three times in the same page, calm down.” Turns out it was definitely more than one particular page he was being like that for.

Interestingly, this kind of lessens itself out around when he’s finished his uncontrollable sobbing fit over getting his friends killed. I guess at that point he just couldn’t possibly drag himself any deeper than he already was, and so there was no need for him to be quite so vicious to himself? I’m not sure; this part wasn’t on purpose.

Helpless: 30 words

This one’s honestly kind of less about Kaito’s mental deterioration and opinion of himself. A lot of the time it’s more about the fact that he’s just being externally rendered helpless whether he likes it and would want to agree with it or not. But I was curious as to how many times I used that word: quite a few, it turns out. Still in a somewhat higher concentration during chapter 6, too, as you’d expect.

Tortur: 26 words

(Without the “e” so that the search also catches “torturing”.)

You might expect this one to be used a lot more, since the entire fic is almost nothing but Kaito being tortured. But… most of the time, he doesn’t really like to think about that fact. He’s not precisely lying to himself about it and trying to tell himself he’s not being tortured or anything because that’d be a bit too obviously untrue, so it’ll come up occasionally whenever it’s necessary for him to think that word. But still, he’s trying not to dwell on it.

(Also, fun fact, “waterboarding” is, as antialiasis informed me when she read the fic, a term for a very specific kind of water torture that is not actually what was done to Kaito in chapter 5. However, since it seems that’s a fairly common misconception, I let Kaito have that misconception too and left his line about that as-is, mostly because I didn’t want to change it to “water torture” and have him use the word “torture” again when he didn’t have to.)

The exception here is chapter 6, where that word’s a little bit more frequent than in the other chapters, now that Kaito is openly terrified and can no longer stop himself from freaking out about the fact that he’s being tortured and it’s awful and he doesn’t want any of this. As phase 2 set in, I deliberately had Kaito quietly switch his mental terms for the cultists from “henchmen” or “captors”, to “torturers”. They were his torturers the entire time, obviously, but he only began to actively think of them that way when he could no longer hide from how nightmarish this whole thing was.

Hero: 85 words

Man, Kaito uses that word a lot in this fic. Honestly, this is way more than he’d usually use it – normally it’s a lot more frequent to hear “sidekick” from him than “hero” – but in this instance he is fervently clinging to that concept as the thing that he needs to be, or else. Which is really incredibly unhealthy of him, considering what his standards for living up to that are, up until he figures out what it really means.

There’s considerably less “hero”ing in chapter 5 despite him being very stubbornly Totally Fine for most of that chapter. I mentioned that and the reason for it in part 1 of this author’s commentary, and it’s only because of these Ctrl+F-ing shenanigans of mine that I’d even noticed that.

Sidekick: 34 words

The use of this one has less to do with Kaito’s mental state – except when it vanishes for most of chapter 6 – and is more just because this really is how Kaito will naturally refer to Shuichi and Maki together when not using their names. It still shows up at a lot of the same points that “hero” does, for obvious reasons. And then also in chapter 5 when his sidekicks are in SPACE, even though his mental jury is out at that point on whether or not he’s really a hero.

Friend: 29 words

This word only shows up once Kaito breaks down upon thinking he’s getting his friends killed. Impressively, he then manages to use it almost as many times as he used “sidekick” throughout the entire thing. Which is good. They are his friends and that is Important.

Having him not use the word for most of the fic was deliberate. I’ve talked in one of my commentary posts about the kind-of-heartbreaking fact that Kaito almost never refers to his sidekicks as “friends” and might not even quite realise that’s what they are. So at some point during this fic, along with getting Kaito to realise it’s okay for heroes to be vulnerable, I also wanted him to figure this one out, too. I wasn’t sure exactly when that’d happen, mind you, and just kind of winged it when I saw the best opportunity during the actual writing process. Being broken into believing that he doesn’t even deserve to call them his sidekicks any more and that he’s going to get them killed is, uh, not exactly the happiest way for Kaito to finally realise and fully accept that they’ve always been his best friends, but, well, it got him there.

And most importantly, he kept thinking of them that way even after regaining the ability to think of them as his sidekicks, too. They can be his heroes, sidekicks and best friends all in one.

#danganronpa v3 #kaito momota #kaito whump #ramble #kaito's hero issues #writing #torture #and now to finally move on to something that isn't about this fic! probably #that said i still have plenty more Thoughts about this fic #so still totally open for asks regarding it

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