Click for quality. Part 2 of the polygraph arc! (Read part 1 here) (Part 3!)
[AU Masterpost]
Everyone's still in shambles after the simulation. No exceptions.
So Miu's polygraph is kind of a black box (you know what goes in and comes out but the rest is a mystery) but there is at least a basis in reading electrical and chemical signals in the body to discern things like mood and, with enough pattern training, attempt to predict intent. Granted, something like that would be incredibly specific to the patterns (people) it's trained on, so why not have the most unpredictable, unflappable ultimate in the school play guinea pig?
He just happens to be incredibly flappable, today. It's a jacket day, after all, and even if Miu heard in passing what that means, actually seeing it in practice is something else. But the program is mostly to decipher him in particular anyway; two birds one stone, making it less likely the class will overlook genuine distress and helping K1-B0 curb a major source of frustration when he comes back.
(Well. When he comes back, of course. Kiiboy's current deal in this AU is kind of its own story.)
They did, in fact, discharge Kokichi with a cane and orders to do physical therapy, a fact he has told nobody that spread through the class like a lighter to a gas line since someone, Kaito, can't just not tell his sidekicks secrets. Being Kokichi, he has elected to completely ignore both as often as he can get away with (which makes the bad days worse, naturally. Consequences? For my in/actions?) to What Did You Expect, Dumbass results.
It's just about time for an overdue conversation.
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Haurchefant + character of your choosing and hypothermia?
(if you can't choose maybe Francel?)
"You fool," Francel says, tries not to sound too exasperated as he carefully drapes a thick blanket over Haurchefants shoulders. The knight grins broadly and fails to grasp Francel's hand when he tries; a sure sign that he is affected more than he should like to admit.
"More the fool if I were to forego my training!" Haurchefant slurs, shuddering as the warmth starts to return to him and Francel clucks his tongue, keeping up appearances despite the worry in his breast. His dear friend had been frozen through when the search party finally found Haurchefant out in the snow, muttering about endurance trials and duty.
Francel knew all too well how important his duty was to Haurchefant - he just wished that the man would show a little more self-care in pursuing his goals.
If he asked him to, though, he already knew what the man would respond. Bastards have no time for taking it slow, Haurchefant would say with a glint in his eyes, Francel one of few he'd speak that candidly with. A knight lives to serve and must always strive to better himself, especially so when faced with disadvantage right from the start.
"Pray, allow me to prepare you a hot cup of tea and feed the fire before you grow cold again," Francel says and rises to leave when Haurchefant finally manages to grab his hand, the older mans eyes softening.
"Francel, you're my oldest friend."
"And I'm honoured to be," Francel replies carefully, something heavy settling in his stomach. For a reason he cannot discern, he doesn't want to hear what Haurchefant is about to say - a terrible premonition coming over him.
"Do you ever feel like you're about to run out of time?" Haurchefant tilts his head and blinks slowly at Francel who finds himself swallowing heavily.
"Don't - that's the hypothermia speaking, Haurchefant, lets get you warmed up," Francel says and the knight ponders that for a while before nodding, smile still on his lips. As he makes his way over to the fire he thinks of the boy who plunged a knife into the chest of a bandit to save his life and the things he's heard of the Warrior of Light.
He fears this time it will not be a simple bandit Haurchefant needs to defend a friend from and while kneeling in front of the flames he prays to Halone - don't take him from us, oh Fury. Not yet.
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Invisible Thread- two.
This is the second and final part of Invisible Thread. Here is the link to part one.
pairing: minho x reader. pre-established relationship. reader has she/her pronouns.
genre: fluff and domesticity. angst. healing. characters trying to become better. humans being humans.
cw: parent death. grief. talk about death. allusion to sex but no smut. suggestive at one tiny part but it's for the plot.
summary: In which Minho rewrites your entire relationship with love.
word count: 17k
a.n: this is, i hope, a gentle reminder to always be kind to yourself, and to the people surrounding you. this one is pretty personal because i see myself a lot in yn, but it was also challenging since i wrote about things i have never experienced either. so i hope you'll enjoy reading, and that the second part will live up to your expectations. it took me a long time to write this but it's okay!! English isn't my first language and this was also a reminder to be patient with myself. thank you. i love you all. truly. feedback is highly appreciated, as always <3
(here is a Spotify playlist i made for this second part, you can listen to it while reading if you'd like :))
Love. How lucky yet cursed we are to ever experience it.
The fear attached to this singular emotion seems ridiculous. Because we aren't afraid of experiencing anger, sadness, or nervousness. They might overwhelm us, but we accept them, we recognize them as they are and then we cope with them. Whichever way we know best.
But when love comes knocking on our door, we stray away from it, we try to shape it into something else- much gentler on the soul, less devastating if it were ever not reciprocated.
So, we name it a crush, attachment, infatuation; anything but the cursed four-lettered word- anything but love. As though merely acknowledging it would morph it into a sharp-edged sword, eternally wedged within us, making our blood dribble away slowly and with it, our souls awash.
You are no exception. Love has terrified you for the better part of your life. There was a time when the word did slip easily from your mouth, back when you were a child and your view of the world was still naive, undisturbed by what you now know. You loved ice cream, you loved candy, you loved your teacher who braided your hair.
But then the once light word grew heavy on your tongue. Because love is what made you crave your mother's warmth, only to find coldness awaiting you. It is love that made you seek shelter elsewhere, in the fleeting opinions of the people surrounding you, hanging your entire worth on the words they uttered about you- ones they forgot within hours but you carried for years.
But this view of yours got dismantled, slowly, day by day. You’ve come to learn that it isn't love that had hurt you, it was rather the lack of it.
It cannot be love that wound when it is the emotion swimming in your eyes, whenever they rest on Minho. You didn't dare say it to him, to name the feeling out loud. You were petrified that if it was ever out in the open, then the love would materialize into something tangible, and the universe would snatch it away, as it has done before with everything you've ever wanted.
But although you didn't say it, you felt it, deep within each one of your atoms. It spilled from you like infinite ink, rewriting your entire relationship with love, dismissing every wrong notion you've once established about it.
Love cannot hurt because you love Minho, and you'd hurt yourself before ever hurting him.
But maybe none of you would have to hurt. Maybe for once, you'd both be okay. That's what you'd like to believe as Minho's shoulders brush against yours. You are sitting at your usual table at Limbo, a gray cat sprawled on top of your laps. Finals ended three weeks ago. Summer break is here, the one time you've been dreading since you came to college. Because everyone is going back to their homes, but you don't have one to head back to.
"What will you do this summer?" Minho suddenly asks, putting down his iced americano. You scratch the cat's ears beside you gently- Lilia you've decided to name her. "I don't really have plans."
"Would you like to go camping?"
"With you?"
"I mean, unless you have another secret boyfriend, then yes, with me."
"Shut up," you giggle, swatting his arm playfully. "I'd really like that," you smile softly at him, to which he nods. "Oh, and we still need to celebrate your win this term."
"Mm. Let's just call it a date this time," he grins, taking a spoonful of the salted caramel cheesecake and bringing it to your mouth. "I need to go visit my family for a few days, and then we can go," he adds.
Sudden guilt floods your being. He had a family he could go to. It was selfish for you to want him to stay, to strip him from this privilege you weren't granted with.
"I don't want you to cut your time short with them for me," you mumble, eyes fixated on Lilia soundly dozing off on his lap. It still astonished you how all animals seemed at ease in Minho's presence. As if they could sense his gentle soul, carefully hidden behind his sarcastic retorts, and cheeky smiles- one you were lucky enough to have been touched with.
"I'm not. I just really wanna go camping," he says nonchalantly, but his hand raises to squeeze your shoulder lightly.
"You should go with them."
"I have a two-person tent in mind, it won't fit the three of us. And I want to come back to you."
His words painted a sweet picture- of him returning home after a long journey, and you were that haven he sought to rest. The idea that he'd discover such solace in you when you struggled to find it within yourself, seemed unfathomable to you.
So, you bite your lower lip slightly, before squeezing his knee in gratitude. "Okay. I'll be waiting."
✹✹✹
Blue and orange flames surge higher under the wind. You watch, mesmerized as their light dances upon Minho's skin, painting him with glistening, golden hues. Every feature of his face is chiseled to perfection, as if a sculptor spent hours perfecting his face, down to the tiniest detail. He looked in his element here, setting up your tent and grilling the meat and now looking up at the sky, a chilled lemonade in his hand. You should go camping more often.
Minho places his empty can of cola on the ground, before tapping his lap. "Come here," he smiles and you oblige, rising from your chair and settling on his thighs. You tuck your knees to your chest, curling yourself entirely in his hold. His arms encircle your body, making sure you don't slip down. You close your eyes, as Minho gazes up at the night sky before you. You are comfortable and safe. It is that safety that you've craved for so long. To be held and not fear the threat of a knife behind your back.
It still surprised you, how you came to crave Minho's presence. But it went beyond just being near him; you felt as if you needed to touch him, as if verifying his existence, ensuring he wasn't an ephemeral specter slipping through your fingers like grains of sand in an hourglass. Yet, even more surprising was Minho's own yearning for you. His hands were always drawn to you, subtly grazing your face, resting on your palm, skimming your shoulders. Each tentative touch filled an echoing void within you, slowly diminishing it until all that remained were faint whispers of it.
Minho has cared for you, long before he understood you. He saw snippets and fragments of you, and he cared for the patched-up version he made up in his mind. And when you unlocked your heart for him, he only cherished it even more, silently molding his behavior so he wouldn't cross any of your boundaries.
He was hesitant at first, in holding your hands and kissing your lips. He still asks for permission, in that gentle voice of his, to touch you, in case you’re uncomfortable. Which you aren’t, because his hands on you are infused with care, fingertips dripping with unguarded attention and softness, for you.
You sigh contently, nuzzling your face in the crook of his neck as his arms tighten around you. Comfortable and safe.
"What's your favorite word?" he suddenly inquires and you giggle slightly. He often asks you these random questions, as though he wished to understand you in the most ordinary of ways and to care for you in each.
"I think it's the word soft. Whoever thought of the word really nailed it. Nothing else could have depicted softness like this one."
"The word does sound really pillowy, and gentle."
"See, I really love gentle too! Why is the word gentle so gentle? Does that make sense?" Laughter tings your question as he grins, his nose brushing lightly against yours.
"It does. They both remind me of you, actually."
"Really?"
"Mm. You're still so soft and gentle, despite it all... If they ever tell me there is one kind person left on this earth, I'd come looking for you."
Sudden tears flood your eyes as a shaky exhale leaves your lips. It felt rewarding, in a sense, to have someone acknowledge the strength it takes to be kind, in a world that had dealt you nothing but harshness.
"Can I tell you something?"
"Anything."
"Sometimes..." you pause, racking your brain for the best way to word this. "Sometimes it scares me how much I've come to care for you. How you make opening up not sound as daunting as before."
You grab his hand into yours, fidgeting with his fingers. The familiarity of their touch helps you calm down. "I'm not saying you'll hurt me. I just... I can't help this tiny voice in the back of my mind telling me to be cautious. It's gotten quieter, but it's still there."
"That's just your past selves trying to protect you," he smiles softly at you, brushing a strand of your hair behind your ear. "When I told you I'll be here, for as long as you'll have me, I meant it. Doubts and all."
"But I don't want to be closed off anymore," you admit. "It's very lonely that way."
"I know it is, love. But it's what you knew best back then, hm? You shouldn't feel bad about it, you did what you had to do to protect yourself. I'm just here to protect you too now."
"You think I can no longer do it myself?" you tease, your hand threading through his silky hair.
"Of course, you still can. But two shields are better than one. Also, this is exactly why I work out."
"Will your muscles protect me from my mind?" you giggle and he nods proudly. "Have you seen these?" he flexes his arms, before snorting, a bit shyly, eyes squinting closed. He's saying nonsense to make you laugh, and it's warming your heart beyond belief.
"I think these should just stay wrapped around me," you grin, guiding his arms around your back once again.
"No complaints," he smiles, as you settle against his chest. He places a soft kiss on the top of your head and you close your eyes. Safe and comfortable- Minho.
✹✹✹
Summer has been kind to you. Or maybe it was you who has been kind to summer, your laughter filling its air until it could do nothing but mirror your happiness.
Summer tasted like love with Minho by your side. In clementines he peeled for you, feeding you each slice with a soft smile on his face. In spontaneous bike rides at six am, to chase sunrises you've never witnessed before him. In numerous books he bought so you’d read them to him, his head on your lap, a tranquil expression coloring his face. And although the months have all been sweet, there are two days that you remember particularly.
You don't mark up the time with dates, but rather with the new feelings Minho bestowed upon you- the first time you wanted someone to stay, and they did.
"Baby?" Minho’s hand brushes against your shoulder and you startle, turning around to look at him. "Are you okay? You zoned out."
"I’m fine," the rehearsed lie slips from your mouth, long before you could think about it. A ping of guilt swarms your heart, you’ve promised yourself that you’d tell Minho about your true feelings, even if he couldn’t help you with them.
"Are you sure? You haven’t said a word since I came over..." He quickly glances at his watch, "Three hours ago."
"I’m sorry," you mumble, your thoughts swarming your head once again. You felt horrible for wasting his time. He had better things to do than sit with you in silence.
"I’m not asking you to apologize," he says cautiously as if he’s aware he’s threading along a dangerous line. You stay silent and he shuts his eyes closed, hand reaching up to pinch the bridge of his nose. "I just want you to be honest."
"I am."
"Are you, really?"
"What do you want from me?" you ask a bit breathlessly. You don’t know what you are saying, but you can sense your walls building up, higher than you could ever reach them.
"You’re clearly not fine and I-"
"I am trying, okay? I’m trying, please." You plead; you’re unsure for what exactly. For him to stop prodding, because you don’t have answers for him, not yet. Not when you haven’t understood it yourself.
"I'm going for a walk," he says, abruptly standing. You stay frozen in your place, as he quickly slips his shoes on, before leaving your apartment. You’re trying and it isn’t enough for him.
You don’t move from your place as time slowly trickles by. The seconds morph into minutes and suddenly it’s been an hour and a half since Minho left. There is a tantalizing fear making you stay put as if you ever dare to move a limb, then the stillness would be shattered and Minho wouldn’t come back.
It’s hard to reroute your brain entirely- old habits creep up on you swiftly, and suddenly you’re pulled back into the old you, woven into the web of horrible thoughts stitching all around you. Change feels sweet, with Minho, it feels like hope and the taste of a new beginning, but it is scary and different. And the familiarity of what you were before him calls your name from time to time. It was horrible and lonely, but there were no surprises in it. You knew what to expect at all times.
You could’ve told him that you weren’t feeling good, that you didn’t feel like talking and Minho would’ve understood. Because this isn’t the first time this happened, and it happens to him too sometimes. So, he understands, more than anyone you know. But instead, you lied and denied and Minho left. And you can’t blame it on anyone but yourself.
You grab your phone, its sudden light burning your eyes. You blink repeatedly, as you dial Minho’s number. It rings and it rings, then it goes to voicemail. You try again, through blurry vision. It doesn’t even ring this time- straight to voicemail.
Minho’s left. He’s had enough. You can’t blame him.
Three swift knocks resound loudly on your door. You don’t remember reaching the doorknob, your body’s moving on autopilot, but you pull it open. Minho. Your hold on the handle tightens until your knuckles turn white. You can’t look at him, you don’t want to see his face as he leaves you.
"Why are you crying?" he whispers, dainty fingers gently wiping away your tears.
"Don’t go. Not you too," you manage to utter, and you hear Minho suck in a deep breath, before pulling you tightly to his chest.
"What are you talking about?" he says, as he buries your head in the crook of his neck. The familiar scent of his cologne washes over you- you’ve memorized its earthy notes by heart now, easily recognizable between a thousand smells.
"You've been away for two hours and I called and you- you didn’t pick up. I thought you wouldn’t come back."
"My phone died while I was outside and I lost track of time, and- please don’t cry. I’m sorry, I’m so sorry." He leans away, cupping your cheek delicately. "Im here, you see? Let’s go on a walk, hm?"
"You were just out," you mumble and he smiles at you. "I wanna go with you."
Minho takes off his jacket, draping it over your shoulders. He leads you outside, still clad in the bunny slippers he randomly bought you a week ago. His hand is warm in yours. His hand wouldn’t be warm if he was leaving you.
You walk in silence to the park near your home, and Minho sits you down on an empty bench. Your tears are dried up by now, cheeks cold from the night breeze; and his hand is still in yours.
"Chan didn’t leave our dorm for three days." He starts, clearing his throat. "He’s overworking himself, doesn’t even eat the food I make him. And I tried to tell him to take a break today. But I couldn’t… I couldn’t convince him. He’s probably still working on his music right now," he chuckles, but there is no trace of humor in the sound. "And then I come to you and you’re not okay. And I want to help but suddenly I’m pressuring you. And you’re trying, so hard and you’re doing so well and I’m pressuring you instead of helping. And I failed at being there for you both. What good I am if I’m not there for the people I lo- care about?"
"Don’t say that, please. You are good enough. More than enough," you cup his cheek, pressing his forehead on yours. "You’re always here. Don’t ever doubt that. I’m sure Chan appreciates everything you do for him."
"And you?" he asks, tone coated in such raw vulnerability that it knocks the breath out of you. At that moment, Minho was a plain hill, devoid of hidden nooks and crannies- nowhere for him to guard his emotions from you.
"Do you remember that night, when I asked you how I can help you feel yellow?" you ask after a while, and he nods, repetitive blinks rythming his silence. "I used to think that happiness was yellow, that sudden joy that drowns out the world around you. And I wanted to always feel yellow, the highest of highs. But that could only lead to another low, another extreme. I’ve since learned that true happiness is feeling peace when you lay in bed at night… And for your heart to beat soundly from contentment."
"I remember feeling this way only once, a long time ago. I woke up to see the sunrise, but I was a bit late to it, so I missed the orange and the pink," you chuckle slightly, as the distant memory floods you. "But I saw the blue, this really soft blue, and as I looked at it a strange sense of serenity washed over me. As if, as long as I looked at that pastel blue, I’d be alright. And now…" You smile softly, your thumb delicately grazing his cheek, Now, I can just look at you. You are my blue."
Minho’s eyes glisten with unshed tears as he looks at you, mouth slightly hung agape. You giggle quietly, before patting his head gently. "Thank you for staying," you whisper, and a sudden smile breaks out on Minho’s face. It’s so radiant- as if every star in this galaxy was ground to fine dust and then sprinkled into it. You can’t admire it for long since Minho crashes his mouth on top of yours, drawing you in for a kiss that leaves you breathless afterward.
"You know I had a really nice dream yesterday," he finally whispers against your lips, a newfound lightness in his voice. "I think this is the first time where my reality is much sweeter."
✹✹✹
The first time you felt loved, truly.
It’s a couple of days into August when Chan tells you that he has signed up with a producing agency- it’s a huge step for him, one he’s been rambling about each time you met him for the past few months. So now you’re over at his and Minho’s dorm, attempting to bake a congratulatory cake for Chan. It was Minho’s idea, one he mumbled into your ear nonchalantly, as if he didn’t wake up really early to scout all the ingredients you might need.
"Why is baking so much harder than cooking?" Minho whines, burying his head dramatically in the crook of your neck. You giggle, patting his back in faux sympathy.
"So, you're admitting you're not good at everything?" you tease and he straightens up instantly, brows furrowed as he looks at you.
"I didn't say I'm not good at it. I said it's harder than cooking," he drawls out and you hum in reply, a teasing "sure, sure" escaping your mouth.
"Do you know how to crack an egg with one hand? That's the cue that you're a great baker."
"Why would I when I have two hands?" you chuckle and he smiles cheekily, raising his eyebrows at you. "Well, I can do it."
"Fine," you huff, grabbing an egg onto your hand. "Teach me?" you smile sweetly and he grins satisfied, "Of course."
"Here, you just need to crack the egg gently into the side of the bowl. And then lodge your finger inside, slowly pulling the shell apart. Like this," he demonstrates and you nod in understanding.
"Your turn," he smiles and you follow his instructions, tongue poking against your cheek in utmost concentration.
"Min look! I did it" You grin widely, turning around to show him the egg now dropped into the bowl.
"You did! I’m proud of you," he smiles, placing a tender kiss on your temple. You pause, the egg’s shell still tightly clutched in your hand. You didn’t drop it into the bowl, and someone’s proud of you for it.
It’s late into the night, and your stomach is aching from laughing for hours on end. Your plates of cake are on the ground, with only crumbs left on top of it. Minho invited two of Chan’s closest friends over- Felix and Han, so now you’re all playing rounds of Uno, and the poor freckled boy is losing each time.
"This isn’t fair," Felix whines, before stealing a bite of the leftover cake on the table. "This is really good by the way," he compliments and you giggle, turning around to point at Minho, only to find him already looking at you, a soft smile on his face.
"It’s all him," you say, and Chan gets his face impossibly close to your boyfriend’s, a teasing smile on his face. "You love me so much."
"I don’t. Get back," Minho pushes his face away, but you can tell he’s lying, from the fond smile threatening to spill over his mouth.
"Sure," Chan sing-songs, before turning to look at you. You wink at him and he ruffles your hair affectionately, as he always does when he wants to tease you. "Thank you for the cake, yn."
"You’re welcome," you grin as an unfamiliar warmth spread through your chest. Is this how it feels to have a family? People you care for and who care about you in return?
Minho notices the sudden bittersweet expression etched on your face, so he grabs your pinky in his hand, squeezing it slightly. You turn your palm around, before blindly intertwining your fingers with his- something you’ve gotten much better at lately.
"We’ll get going," Han announces when it’s nearly midnight, as he and Felix both get up from the floor. "Sure you don’t want to come to the party?" Chan asks, eyes trained on you and Minho.
"Yeah, we’ll stay the night."
You stand up as well, following Chan to the door and stopping him before he leaves. "You don’t mind me staying the night, right? It’s your dorm too, so I should ask."
"Of course not. You can come over whenever, even if Minho isn’t here. You don’t ever have to ask me, okay?"
"Okay, thank you, Chan," you beam at him, relief coursing through you at his words.
Soon enough, the dorm is silent, and it’s only you and Minho once again. You go to clean up but Minho pulls you by your hand, ushering you toward his bedroom. "Let's leave it to tomorrow," he says, and his voice sounds like warm candle wax dripping down on you. You can’t say no.
You find that he’s already prepared a pair of pajamas for you, spread out nicely on the bed- his grey shirt and a pair of shorts he has apparently overgrown.
"You'll find a box there, under the sink, it’s for you," he announces, as you walk into the bathroom to change. It’s filled with anything you might ever need, tissues and makeup removal and pads and medicine, and your cherry shampoo.
"When did you prepare this?" you ask as you open the door wide for him. He peeks his head inside, eyes softening when they take a glimpse at your figure - wearing his shirt, in his bathroom.
"A month ago, or so. Just in case you ever needed to stay the night." He's so thoughtful, you're starting to believe that the word was molded after him. "Is it enough? do you need something else?" he asks tentatively and you shake your head, squeezing his hand lightly. "It's perfect. Thank you."
"Of course. let's brush our teeth?" he smiles and you nod, grabbing the blue toothbrush he bought for you. He squeezes some toothpaste into it, and your eyes meet in the mirror. You can feel a blush creep up your face, to match the tip of his ears turning pink. It felt innocent to blush at the mere act of brushing your teeth together- at the domesticity of it, and the future hopes that lay within it.
Minho washes his face with his cleanser and you do the same. He suddenly hoists you up the bathroom counter, before standing between your legs. his arms cage your body, as his doe brown eyes look up at you. "Do my skincare for me," he pouts and you giggle, diligently taking the moisturizer and applying it to his face.
You take your time, massaging it into his skin, rubbing soothing circles on his cheeks and the tender skin under his eye. His eyes close at your touch, body leaning forward and pressing onto your legs. You grab his lip balm, applying it evenly to his puckered lips, and then you kiss him. Softly, tenderly, hands going up and down his arms. His own find your waist, encircling it, thumbs skimming your sides.
You lean away, a giddy smile on your face. "Thank you for the lip balm," you say, before kissing the tip of his nose.
Minho's room smells like clean laundry and vanilla, courtesy of the candle he lit up. You've been here before, but this is your first time sleeping on his bed. He goes in first, before beckoning you in. You lay down on his silky pillow, your hair fanning all around you. Some strands of it go into your mouth, and you giggle faintly as you pull them away.
"Here," he says, leaning over your body and opening the drawer next to you. He takes out a hair tie, and a faint memory dances around in your mind- you tying up his hair at the convenience store near Limbo.
"You kept it?" you question incredulously, voice coming out in a faint whisper.
"I did," he says simply as if it's ridiculous for you to expect otherwise. "Can I tie it up for you?" he asks and you nod.
His fingers gather your hair, making sure no strands of it are escaping. They're magical, relieving every tension you have in your body. You feel him twisting the tie around, securing your hair in a low ponytail.
"All done." his voice is quiet, and so is the kiss he presses onto your shoulder.
You both lay down, facing each other. It's silent but it no longer scares you. Not when your fingers are grazing Minho's palm, tentatively, the way one dips their toes into the water to test its temperature. Your hands are dancing around one another, not yet holding each other, as if engaged in a dance only your body understands. His eyes are locked on yours- a brown shade so mesmerizing you wish you could paint the entire universe with it.
His gaze is always soft when it comes to you, pupils slightly dilated, eyelashes fluttering with each blink. They're so quick you almost can't catch them, as if he unconsciously wants the time in which he looks at you to last longer.
Minho's hand reaches behind you, before pulling the slipping comforter over your body. He tucks it in your sides, and warmth surrounds you everywhere; from him mainly. He's been so attentive to you tonight- a silent care you only truly appreciate when you've experienced a lack of it. It's as if he's pouring years' worth of missed love back into your life, and in return all the love you've held within, never bestowed upon anyone else, has found its sole destination in the man by your side.
Your hand circles his once again, and you watch intently the way your fingers graze one another, delicately, as if skimming on the edge of holding one another. You give in first, intertwining your fingers with Minho’s and squeezing them gently. They fit his perfectly, this is where they're supposed to be.
"I don't know what you’re doing to me," he whispers, his eyes locking onto yours once more. There is a newfound emotion gleaming in his gaze- incredulity, at the depth of his feelings.
"What do you mean?" you question, nuzzling closer to him. Your head finds its rest on his arm and he responds instantly by patting your hair.
"I want to keep buying toothbrushes for you." His voice is hushed and yet it resounds loudly within your being, as if shouted from a sky-high rooftop.
You exhale softly, curling your hand around the back of his neck, and pulling him down gently to your face. You press your lips on top of his, and they move slowly, deliberately, like a painter's careful strokes. Each touch of his lips against yours is there to make you feel something- things that he can't bring himself to say, so he shows.
You finally break apart, dazed from the raw emotions barging into your heart. You then lift your head slightly, planting a tender kiss on his forehead. Minho closes his eyes, as your lips linger in there far longer than necessary. They remain closed even after you pull away, and it is the look on his face that pushes you over the edge. The serenity painted across his features, but particularly, the trust. As if you could mold him however you want and he'd be grateful you ever touched him to begin with.
"I love you," you confess so suddenly, and the words feel foreign yet familiar as they stumble out of your lips. You expect a shift in the universe, a disastrous change as you verbalize this sentiment that's long haunted you. And yet, all that happens is Minho's eyes shimmering as they look at you. And you realize that you aren’t scared he'd twist the words and stab you with them. You know he'd cherish them, even if he didn't feel the same.
"I love you," he says back, a radiant smile lighting up his face, coloring each of his features in unadulterated happiness. Hearing those three words from him made your heart leap in your chest. There is so much more of what you feel that you wish to express. You’ve told him, but you want to show, to press your body to his so the feeling would emit from your heart to his own.
Your hand trails across his chest, and you feel his muscles constrict under your touch. "Can I?" you ask, gazes flickering between his eyes and the hem of his shirt. It's always about permission to you both- permission to touch, to feel, to kiss and the answer is always yes. Yes, yes, yes.
"Please," he whispers, and you tug his shirt quickly over his head. You are a goner after that when his hands caress your skin like you're delicate porcelain. He’s hovering over you, the candle's shadow dancing across his body. Your fingers are tracing every inch of his skin graced by the flickering light, which meant your hands were everywhere, and every touch of yours was mirrored by him. Every kiss he returned ten times fold, every gasp he drank in hungrily, only eliciting a louder one in return.
"Tell me if you’d like to stop," he smiled tenderly down at you, his nose nuzzling against yours. You never felt the need to. And as the night marched forward, you gradually grasped what the poets meant by ‘making love’. You felt as if you were truly making love, as if your every move conjured love in its purest essence between the two of you. The ebb and flow of your bodies served as a spell, heightening your emotions into a raw fervor. It was love that orchestrated your moves, binding you both in a cacophony of sweet sounds, meant for you only to hear.
Minho's gaze remained fixed on yours, as he uncovered parts of you you've never dared to show anyone. It only cemented every feeling you harbored towards him. And the safety. The safety of being in his arms. To be as bare as one could possibly be, and yet to still feel blanketed by his soft eyes on you.
✹✹✹
Dainty snowflakes coat the outside world in a pristine white blanket. It’s a mesmerizing view, one you’ve grown to be grateful for these past few weeks since it signaled the return of winter, and with it, Minho’s birthday.
It's hard to resent snow when it welcomes the existence of the person you’ve fallen in love with.
The outside might be cold but you wouldn't know, not when you are nestled close to Minho, his legs thrown over your lap. You stare fondly at his figure, too engrossed in eating the birthday cake you’ve prepared for him- a vibrant green frosting and a picture of his three cats printed on top, just like he requested some time ago. You lean in a bit, wiping away a trace of whipped cream from the corner of his mouth. He smiles at you tenderly, angling his head to press a soft kiss on your thumb pad.
There is a growing lump in Minho's throat, but it doesn't suffocate him, since it's formed by your love for him- you remembered what he said about the birthday cake. He was joking, obviously. But the fact that you brought his ridiculous wish to reality warmed him beyond belief.
You rummage a bit in your place, hands tucked under the pillows, and then you take out a purple envelope. "Open it," you say as you place it on top of his lap. Minho puts his plate down, straightening out in his place before looking at you, a curious smile on his face.
"More surprises?" he asks, referring to the gift you’ve already given him- a pair of t-shirts, all with cats and silly scriptures imprinted on them.
"Mm," you hum, as Minho finally opens the envelope. He pauses, as his eyes rack furiously over the content of the letter. "What's this?" he asks dumbfounded, trying to fully grasp the meaning of what he's reading.
"Because of constellations, people often think that stars always live together in a cluster. But oftentimes, they are alone. Or... if they're lucky enough, they get to roam the universe with a partner. They call them a binary star. Like you and me." Emotion simmers beneath your words, and you continue, your voice a gentle undercurrent.
"It's comforting to know that other versions of us are going through this world side by side too. To know that long after we're gone, there would still be two stars discovering the universe together, orbiting around one another. A token of the love we lived." You lift your gaze to meet his, to find him staring in awe at you. You take a mental picture of this moment, adding it to the collection of the ones you already captured of him.
"Our love may not be revolutionary, we're only two humans out of billions that have adored before us. But our love is grand to me. I try..." you bite your lip, reaching out for his hand- it will guide you as you try to speak. "I always try to find the words to describe how much you mean to me, to tell you how much you do to me. I used to always hold my hand out, in the hopes that someone would grab it. But no one did, so I curled it into a tight fist. And I thought it'd stay this way, for the rest of my life. Until you came, and you unclenched my fingers gently, one at a time, and then you grabbed it into yours." Tears are trailing out of your eyes now, but you show no effort to wipe them. Happy tears shouldn't be swept away.
"Thank you for existing, my Minho," you smile softly at him, and he nods, tears brimming in his waterline, cheeks flushed pink at your words. "Thank you for kissing my finger pads and reminding me that there is still softness in this world, all embodied in you." You cradle his cheeks tenderly in your hands, trying your best to let your love seep through your fingertips into his soul.
"I think you've carved yourself into me, carved your name into my heart. Your roots intertwined with mine, and thanks to you, I managed to crack through the hard earth and bloom again. Thank you for making me feel the warm sun again. I was so so cold before you." You whisper the last part, like a sinner's confession, eager for it to be carried away, forgotten.
Minho brings your body to his, as he buries his face in your chest. You can feel slight tremors shaking his body, and you place soft kisses on his shoulder blade- soothing, calming. You are safe in my love for you, they spell out.
"I can't believe you’ve named stars after us," he mumbles against you, and your fingers thread through his hair gently, flattening out stubborn strands of it. "It's nothing," you smile and he shakes his head vehemently. "It's not- it's not nothing to be loved by you. It's everything to me."
He leans away, bringing your head down to press his lips into yours. It tastes sweet from the cake and salty from his tears. It tastes like healing. You both kiss for mere seconds and yet it feels like an eternity to you. As if your mind stretches out time with Minho, knowing how valuable it becomes with him. He presses his lips onto yours one last time, before exhaling softly, melting completely in your hold.
"As long as you're with me, I don't ever need to look at the sky," he whispers. "There are enough stars in your eyes for me."
✹✹✹
It’s late December and the fragrant aroma of hot chocolate fills your apartment. You’re preparing two cups of the cozy drink in your kitchen, while Minho watches you fondly, leaning casually on the doorway.
"Are you just gonna stare at me?" you giggle, turning around to toss him a sly smile.
"Do you need my help making hot chocolate?" he raises an eyebrow, a mischievous smirk tugging at the corners of his mouth.
"Yes, I wouldn't say no to a bit of emotional support."
"Ah, my bad," he playfully bows, walking over to you. Minho gently wraps his arms around your waist, leaning his chin on your shoulder. His bangs tickle the side of your face, akin to the brush of a butterfly’s wing, and a soothing sense of contentment washes over you as he holds you close.
Minho places a soft kiss on your shoulder blade, and the touch sends shivers along your spine. "This is for warming up the milk," he mumbles, adding another kiss to your neck, "and this for mixing in the hot chocolate powder," and a final one to your temple, "and this is for pouring it in cups."
"Why thank you," you giggle, turning around to hand him his cup. "Do you remember what episode we stopped at?"
"37," he replies instantly.
"I think you love this anime more than me," you pout jokingly. "I plead the fifth," he answers solemnly and you chuckle as you both make your way to the couch.
Merely one episode in and you can already tell that Minho is no longer focusing on the show. He’s absently swirling the drink in his hand, his gaze lost within his cup.
"What did the poor hot chocolate do to you?" you smile, a beacon of curiosity piercing through his daze. His head snaps up at the sound of your voice, turning around to look at you sheepishly. "Just zoned out."
"I noticed. What's on your mind?" you ask, lowering the volume of the TV to fully focus on him.
"There is an upcoming dance competition. It's at a regional scale and I'm just... wondering if I should participate."
"You should!" you fervently reply, "You're such a talented dancer. You deserve recognition for your hard work."
"I'll become very busy, though. It's already hard enough to manage this degree," he speaks softly as if he's not fully convinced of this excuse himself.
"I've never seen you as happy as you are when you're dancing. You'll handle it, and I'll be there for you too."
"I should do it, right?" he asks, a small smile tugging at the corners of his mouth.
"You really should," you echo, your hand rubbing reassuringly across his arm.
"Okay. I will," he nods, and you beam at him, before pulling him in for a comforting hug.
"On second thought... Everyone will now see how talented my boyfriend is and they will fall in love with you," you playfully muse as you hold him close.
"But everyone's already in love with me," he says in a matter-of-fact tone.
"Mm, the heartthrob of campus."
"People throw themselves right and left at me, it's exhausting," he sighs, the giddy smile easily heard in his voice.
"Okay, now you're overdoing it," you giggle and he further buries his head in your neck, inhaling the scent of your perfume. "Don't worry," he mumbles quietly, "I'm only ever yours."
As weeks meld into months, your days become a whirlwind of preparation for the dance competition; where each participant is required to create a choreography from scratch, for a song of their choosing. You witness firsthand the immense effort Minho pours into this, just as he does with everything he undertakes. He spent hours upon hours in the university's dance studio, and you were often there with him. While he practiced, you sat in a corner, working on your laptop. He only paused to kiss the top of your head before diving back into his practice.
He chose a song you've never heard before, called Taste. It was mesmerizing to witness him become a vessel for the melody, like an instrument attuned perfectly to the emotions the song tried to convey. His body moved sensually, flowing like fluid water, perfectly controlled by him. Every beat in Taste was matched with a move of his, powerful enough to capture you, gentle enough not to overwhelm you, like the ebb and flow of the waves brushing against the shore.
The first two months slipped through the hourglass of time in a breeze. And although Minho grew busier, you still both managed to carve out time for quick dates. Strolls by the ocean and spontaneous trips to the cinema- outings that helped you recharge fully once again. But the third month coincided with your midterm exams, casting a heavier cloud over both of your lives.
Minho became overwhelmed, quickly, bearing the weight of his two worlds. He was smart, immensely so, he could handle his classes with ease, retaining knowledge faster than anyone you knew. But the day only had twenty-four hours in it, and he couldn't possibly do it all- finding time to practice, study and take care of himself. So, you tried to handle the last part, as best as you could anyways. Exam seasons always took a heavy toll on you- both physically and emotionally. It also didn't help that you went down with a strong flu for two weeks, making your energy levels plummet to zero.
It was only three days before the start of your exams when a soft knock resounded on your door. You opened it to find an exhausted Minho. He’s fidgeting with the hem of his shirt, beads of sweat glistening on his upper brow.
"I'm tired," he whispers, eyes looking absolutely devoid of emotion as they align with yours. You smile softly, grabbing his hand and pulling him inside, "I know."
You lead him to the bathroom and he follows silently. He's so compliant in your hands as if all the energy in his body was sucked out of him. "Bad day?" you ask, as you peel away his blue hoodie.
"Very." He says, voice barely above a whisper.
"It's okay. You're here now," you try to keep your voice just as quiet as you take off the rest of his clothes. You undress quickly as well, before pulling you both to the shower.
Minho rests his forehead on your back, as you check the water temperature. When it's warm enough to feel soothing on his skin, you pull him underneath the jet, and you both stand in there for a while. His head hung low, now buried in the crook of your neck; his breaths growing slower, more even.
"You did well, my Minho," you say, voice threatening to get lost in the sound of the water hitting the tiles, but Minho catches it. He tightens his hold on you in response.
Minho can feel you reaching over and grabbing something from the rack behind him. He recognizes the smell of your shampoo as you pour it in your hands, before lathering it gently on his hair. He almost starts crying right there and then, as your fingers skillfully massage his scalp. You are everywhere, pressed to his body and your hands in his hair, and your cherry scent that’s washing all over him. And the outside world suddenly seems so far away.
You rinse off the shampoo, before grabbing your conditioner and threading it through his hair, making sure that every strand is evenly covered. He shuts his eyes closed, as your hands move to his neck and start massaging it. He's so sore from all the dancing, tired from the studying he has to catch up on. But you’re making him feel okay now, as you unravel his nerves without uttering a word. How do you do it? He wants to ask; how do you always paint his world blue?
Your hands are trailing over his body now, not sensually, just easing the knots in his muscles. You're spreading body wash all over him, and his eyes are still closed, as he feels you place tender kisses on his soapy skin. ‘I love you', your voice reaches him like a faraway lullaby, 'you've been working so hard', 'I'm proud of you'; and your comforting words morph into hot tears lodged into his waterline, begging for an escape.
You finally turn the water off, before pulling him outside and wrapping a towel around his waist. He sits idly on the edge of the bed, as you quickly put on your clothes, before walking over to him. You help him wear his pajamas, the ones he's left in your apartment since he often stays the night. He can't move a limb, but you're doing it in his place- as if the life in you was blown into him, and he's only breathing thanks to you.
Once you’re both fully clothed, you sit behind Minho on the bed, legs on either side of his body. You grab a towel you warmed in advance and begin to gently dry his hair with it, patting each strand with care. As soon as you're done, Minho turns around, nestling his head against your stomach. You let him, hands rubbing soothing circles on his back.
"I already told you, but I'm very proud of you," you say, head lowered so he'd be able to hear you. "I'm so amazed by your strength and hard work. You inspire me a lot, Min. Just keep on going, and if you need a break, you can rest by my side, okay?" You place a gentle kiss on the top of his head.
"I love you," you add softly, and Minho tightens his hold on you. And then he crumbles. Completely.
He falls apart in your arms, painful sobs racking through his body. You panic, as the unfamiliar sounds knock your breath away. You've seen Minho cry before, single tears that managed to escape from his eyes, trailing on his cheeks. But you've never seen him so shattered, so consumed by his pain that he could no longer contain it. You’re caught in his storm, as uncharted waves of his hurt crash against your shores. Has he been hurting all along? Were you this oblivious to the pain brewing inside him?
Your body’s shaking as you press your chest to his back, your arms cocooning his curled-up figure. You try your best to shield him; you don't know from what exactly, but you know it has to go through you first to get to him again.
"I'm so- sorry you have to see me this way," he hiccups, his words digging their claws deeper into your chest.
"Don't say that, baby, please. It's okay, you can cry as much as you want. I'm here."
"I'm sorry," he repeats, voice quivering, and you can feel your heart slowly cracking, hurting in depths you haven't thought existed before.
"Minho, I don't- I don't only love you when you're happy. I love you when you're angry and frustrated and when you're sad. You deserve kindness and you deserve to be kind to yourself because you are still Minho. My Minho. No matter what emotion you're feeling."
"Please stay with me," he pleads softly, and you bite your lower lip, as traitorous tears escape your eyes and land on his shirt. "Where would I go, love? You're my home. I'm here."
✹✹✹
Selfish. Selfish. Selfish.
The thought that's been reverberating within your mind, echoing since the moment Minho crumbled in your embrace.
Selfish.
Of course you are, since you remained oblivious to his own struggles as he slowly chipped away, until he shattered unexpectedly. Akin to a seemingly sturdy building, struck by a minor vibration and suddenly reduced to ruins.
Selfish.
Each time you sought solace in him, you failed to realize that he was stripping away his layers to shelter you. You took and took from him, each time you called, each time he came over to brush away your tears. Your endless bad days didn't leave room for his struggles, unperceived amidst your turmoil.
Selfish and horrible. You weren't made to be loved.
Minho is sleeping right next to you. He looks peaceful, endearing bunny-like teeth peeking through slightly parted lips. He's undisturbed, like a placid river, until someone selfishly decides to skip some stones in it- you.
His chest rises and falls, erasing all remnants of his previous breakdown, like a scripture on sand washed away by the waves. You could almost forget it ever happened if it wasn't for the persistent echoes of his sobs. Raw pain had seeped through him, yet it could have been different. If you had asked more, he might have unraveled slowly. He would have talked and he would've never had to explode.
Selfish and guilty. There's a bitter taste in your mouth. It doesn't go away when you hastily gulp down water.
You'll keep your problems to yourself. There is enough for him to bear already. By sharing your load, you aren't diminishing it, only adding more to his.
You can't let your mother be right. Not about this. Not when it comes to Minho. You can't ruin his life too.
✹✹✹
You are being distant.
Minho notices it straight away when you stop coming over to his dorm. When you find excuses to not come to Limbo anymore, accounting it for the exams you're both taking. But he knows it's just excuses. You are straying away from him. Your light that shone on him every day suddenly turned into a distant lighthouse beam.
And it's his fault.
He's embarrassed by his outburst. How he broke down right in front of you. How he clung to your arms, counting on your words and touch to stitch him back together. How he wasn't enough for himself, but you were.
Guilt floods his being, making you sadder when you're already dealing with so much. He recounts your tears dripping into his hair, as you hugged him tightly to your body. He made you cry; he shouldn't have broken down. That's why you're staying away. He can't blame you.
He misses you. He saw you this morning and yet he misses you. Because you weren't there with him, you were somewhere else, in a faraway place in your mind. What if he can't reach you anymore? He wasn't sure what to do with himself without you.
It's 11 pm, and he's knocking softly on your door. You open it and he smiles tightly. You smile back.
He hovers around the entrance of your apartment, hands tightly clasped behind his back. You unclasp them, interlocking your fingers with his and leading him to your couch. You are warm, he missed you. You are here and he misses you.
You both sit down, and you're looking at him curiously. His eyes fall to your lips, pillowy and rosy and he can't help pressing his mouth onto yours. It'll give him the courage to speak.
"I'm sorry," he whispers against your lips and you lean away, confusion clearly written across your features.
"For crying the other day," he clarifies. "I've made you uncomfortable and you feel like you have to be cautious around me, and I'm sorry, I won't do it again."
"What are you saying? You didn't- you never..." you suck in a deep breath, inching closer to him. "Minho, don't ever apologize for that. please. You should never apologize for being human."
"But you are being distant," he says in a small voice, avoiding your eyes.
"Minho, I..." you bring your hand to his cheek, locking your gaze with his. "It's not what you think. I promise."
"Then what is it?"
You bite your lip, sighing loudly before speaking again. "You sobbed. And I had no idea you were hurting that much inside. I am so reclined on myself that I didn't notice. And I tried to distance myself so I'd sort my thoughts out. So, I could be there for you, fully. You're always here for me, and I feel... As if I failed you."
It's now his turn to cup your cheek, his thumbs gently brushing against your skin.
"I felt so loved by you that day. That's why I cried. because I've never felt that way before," he's quick to explain. "Yes, I was stressed and overwhelmed but it's not your fault. You were there for me when I needed you most. You didn't fail me; how could you think that?"
"Because it should've never gotten that bad. If I had noticed before, then I would've helped you and it wouldn't have gotten that bad for you. You don't deserve to feel sad, not when you’re... You. Someone like you shouldn't feel sad."
"Didn't you say we're humans? Isn't that what humans do? They fall down and they get up, I can't always be fine. It's not your fault."
"Minho you don't understand... How much more of yourself can you give to me, without hurting yourself in return?" You're so sure of these words you're uttering, as if you've drilled them into your mind by now. You couldn't be more wrong.
Minho blinks repeatedly, trying to gather the words in his mind properly. You weren't distancing yourself from him, because he had hurt you. But rather, so you wouldn't hurt him anymore. So, you'd be there for him more. A sudden relief floods his being. He isn't losing you.
Minho can't help the chuckle that escapes his mouth. He shakes his head slightly as he brings you to his chest. You're so warm as you wrap your arms around his waist. He still misses you but you're here, you aren't going anywhere.
"You memorized my coffee order. And my favorite pudding. You always bring me one when you come over. When you find a new flavor, I haven't tried, you always buy it for me. You look at me so excitedly when I try it. As if me finding a new favorite pudding brings your personal joy," he's talking softly, slowly, in the hopes that you'd understand what he means.
"You love spicy food, but you always cook without it when I'm with you. Because I can't handle it as well as you. You put snacks and water in my bag when I have dance practice, and then you come to check on me, even when you're busy too. You bought me an umbrella, and you placed it near the entrance of my dorm, so I wouldn't forget it. You give me the opened chopsticks package first, and you blow on my food so it wouldn't burn my tongue. And you let me pick the movie, every time. You let me pick it," he places a soft kiss on your shoulder, tightening his hold on you.
"You brush my hair away from my eyes when you think I'm asleep. And you make sure the blanket covers my body entirely, even if it means it doesn't cover you. I've never had that. Never had someone care for me this gently. Even when I'm not awake and I can't give them anything in return."
He leans back, smiling softly at you. There is a new palpable emotion in the air- love, in its most unconditional form. It smells fragrant and sweet- like you and him.
"I notice everything you do for me, every way in which you love me. You're here for me in more ways than you can ever imagine. And I love you. Please don't stray away from me. Promise me," he pouts slightly, nudging his pinky toward your face. You giggle in defeat, before wrapping your pinky with his.
"Didn't you think pinky promises were silly?"
"Nothing you like is silly."
"Not even that cheesy drama I watch?"
"Okay. Maybe that one is. But it makes you laugh," he trails off. "If it makes you laugh then I like it too."
"You'll talk to me more, right? About whatever's bothering you? When you're not feeling black yet?"
"I will, I promise. You too, right?"
"Mm. I will too."
"Good," he smiles, pecking your cheek softly. "I've missed you. And I don't mind feeling all the colors of the rainbow, as long as you're near me."
✹✹✹
The voices of your friends singing you happy birthday reaches you like the distant chirping of birds, fading away in the back of your mind with each passing second. You know that Mina is smiling at you, her head resting on Jeongin’s shoulders. And that Chan, Han and Felix are all clapping excitedly, their voices blending together in a somewhat harmonious melody. But you can’t seem to focus on any of it. Your eyes are set on Minho, who’s walking over to you, a vibrant pink cake in his hand. The surface of it is covered in candy- marshmallows and macaroons, and a dozen of lit candles. Their light flickers on Minho’s face, casting an ethereal glow on him.
And as your widened eyes meet his, he knows that it all just clicked in place for you.
Four months ago.
"What did you like to do, when you were younger?"
You stay quiet for a few moments, mulling over Minho’s question. The waves crash softly at your feet, the sound of them and Minho’s arms around you serving as a perfect cover to thread through your childhood once again.
"I had a bunny plushie. My aunt gave it to me one day when her daughter didn't want it anymore. She was going to throw it out, but I took care of it. We took care of each other, in a way. I used to stay alone at home a lot, and Caramelo would keep me company."
"Caramelo?" he giggles and you pinch his arm playfully. "I was six when I named it, sue me."
"Mm, and where is Caramelo now?"
"I left it in the house. I packed in such a hurry and it didn't fit in my suitcase. But I really wanted to bring it," you smile sadly and Minho can sense a shift in your tone, so he trails his hands across your arms gently, pulling you even closer to his chest.
"What else did you like?" he asks, placing a kiss under the shell of your ear.
"Playing in the playground, there was one really near home. I'd sneak out and go play in the swing, but there was no one to push me higher there," you chuckle slightly, burying yourself further in Minho's embrace.
"Oh, but I met a girl there when I was eleven, Lydia, I think. She was our neighbor, and she invited me to my first ever birthday party. Her parents prepared this huge cake for her, it was all pink with so much candy on top. I kept dreaming about having a similar one for my birthday. We also painted each other's nails and put on facemasks, and then we watched a movie. It was really fun," you recall, a wave of nostalgia washing over you. You were really shy and didn't talk to the other girls present, staying away in a corner. But Lydia grabbed your hand and pulled you next to her. She didn't let go during the entire movie.
You hoped she was okay, wherever she might be now.
"And... my mom took me one day to a hill near our home. We sat on a bench there, overlooking the city's lights. We didn't talk but she braided my hair since it kept getting in my mouth. That's my favorite memory with her."
Your voice is carried away with the wind, drowned in the waves. You hoped that one day your childhood memories will come back to you, like the sea foam dissolving at your feet. Gentle, incapable of hurting you anymore.
"You know what I really want now? A big cake for my birthday too," Minho suddenly whines and you giggle, turning around to look at him.
"Want me to bake it for you?" you tease and he nods, cradling your face between his cold hands. They warm up once they rest on your cheeks.
"Yes. I want the cats’ pictures printed on it, and..." he trails off, looking up at the sky. "I want it to be green.”
"Green?" you chuckle. "Isn't that a bit weird for a cake?"
"Are you questioning my vision?" he wiggles his brows at you, his hands coming to your sides.
"I am," you laugh, as he starts to tickle you, unwaveringly. You fall to the sand, and he's on top of you, hands roaming your body as loud laughter erupts from you.
Minho’s eyes soften as he gazes at your laughing figure, but he doesn't stop, not until you tap his arm multiple times, happy tears trailing from your eyes.
"I'm sorry, I'm sorry. Green is perfect, you are a genius!"
"Why thank you," he smiles, before leaning down and kissing your tears away. You shiver slightly, from the cold and the feel of his soft lips on your skin. He notices.
"Come on," he outstretches his hand and you grab it, standing up and dusting your pants. Minho squats slightly in front of you, and you giggle before climbing on top of his back.
"Don't you ever wonder who was the person who invented tickling? They were just sitting down and then they touched someone and they started laughing,” he suddenly muses.
"Right! And then they decided this was something they should keep on doing, and it stuck around for centuries."
"I think it's really cute. It says I love the sound of your laugh so much that I will sit there and tickle you just to hear it."
"And you just tickled me," you trail out. "I know," he mumbles, the tips of his ears suddenly turning pink.
"I like your laugh too, Minho."
"Just like?" He teases, in a futile attempt to diffuse his shyness.
"I love it. I love it so much I could pay my entire life savings just to keep on hearing it again."
"Stop," he whines and you giggle, swinging your dangling feet in the air.
"Have you ever heard your laugh? No other melody can compare. At this point, musicians should just retire."
"You're insufferable," he finally laughs and you sigh, melting into his back.
"And you like me."
"And I love you."
Present time
The realization dawns on you like a floodgate- Minho is recreating your happiest childhood memories.
From the pink cake of your dreams. To the obnoxiously glittery nail polish he brought home three days ago, spontaneously, you foolishly assumed. He insisted on having a pampering night, where you both applied face masks to one another, bunny headbands tucking your hair out of your face. You giggled as he painted your nails with the utmost concentration, and then begged you to paint his in return. He didn't explain why he wanted pink nails suddenly, you should've known.
You should've known when he suddenly knocked on your door at midnight, taking your sleepy figure to the playground near your apartment. "Why are you here so late?" you questioned, rubbing your eyes tiredly.
"We are sneaking out," he whispered in your ear, and you didn't question his flawed logic- who were you sneaking out from exactly? But all was forgotten as he pushed you in the swing, fueled by your growing high-pitched giggles. "Higher?" he shouted and you laughed loudly, the sound of it echoing around the park. "Yes, higher!" Until you felt as if you were close enough to touching the stars.
You should've known.
Minho places the cake on the table, his warm hand finding your lower back. He rubs it soothingly, as you mouth a heartfelt "thank you" to him, hot tears prickling at the corner of your eyes. You couldn't speak, afraid of bursting into sobs in front of all your friends. He understands what you're referring to.
It's far later into the night when your friends finally leave Minho's dorm. You've all cleaned up the place, soft music emitting from the speakers. You didn't need songs to fill the silence, the conversations flowing easily between you all.
You gather all the gifts you've received and take them to Minho's room- a pair of shoes you've been raving about from Mina and Jeongin, and new headphones from Chan, Han, and Felix, since your old ones stopped working not too long ago.
"You're okay?" Minho asks, pressing a chaste kiss to the top of your head.
"Better than ever," you beam at him, cupping Minho's neck and meeting his lips in a tender kiss.
"I'm still not done," he smiles secretly, brushing his lips against yours once more, before pulling away. You watch, curious as he heads towards his closet and takes something out of it. Your eyes grow wide as they settle on the gift in his hands. You can feel your lip quivering as you walk hastily over to him.
"Is this...?" you ask incredulously and he nods, a happy smile on his face. "Your Caramelo."
"How... When?" you stammer, as happy tears blur your vision, "How did you do it?"
"I have my ways," he smiles assuredly at you. "Do you like it? I'm sorry if I overstepped by bringing it to you," he adds softly, a hint of vulnerability in his words.
"No, Minho, this is the sweetest, most thoughtful thing anyone has ever done for me. I can't believe it- I... I don't even know what to say."
"You don't have to say anything," he smiles, his hand rubbing your arm affectionately. "I figured this plushie should be in a loving home, with you. It helped you back then and now you're strong enough to help it in return."
There are overwhelming emotions that we can't quite express with words- like sorrow, sadness, or in your case, happiness. That's why touch was invented, you believe. As you pull Minho for a bone-crushing hug, Caramelo snug between your chests, you hope that he can feel everything you failed to express through words. That your soul will speak to him in a way your mouth couldn’t.
"When you told me there is a friend of yours, who lived in my town. There was no friend, right?" you mumble into his neck.
"No, I just wanted to know your address," he whispers, arms tightening around your waist.
"Did you meet my mom?"
"Yes. She's the one who gave it to me."
"Did she tell you anything... about me?" you ask cautiously.
Minho remembers snippets of his conversation with your mother- the indifference she showed towards you, as if it wasn't her daughter, her flesh and blood that she discarded away so easily.
"Nothing of importance. I promise you."
"Thank you," you whisper, voice caught up in your throat, bound by the ropes of your overflowing emotions. "Thank you for healing me."
Sleep didn’t come easily to you that night, and as Minho snored quietly next to you, you untangled your limbs from his, before heading to the kitchen to retrieve a glass of water.
You find that the lights are already on and that Chan is working on his laptop, eyebrows furrowed as he gazed at his screen.
"Hey," you greet softly, careful not to startle him.
"Our birthday girl," Chan grins and you chuckle quietly, before settling next to him on the couch.
"What are you working on?" you question, taking in the different settings displayed on his screen.
"Just a new song," he shrugs sheepishly, "I'm almost done with it."
"That's nice," you mumble, tucking your knees into your chest.
"I suppose Minho already gave you your gift," Chan speaks softly and you startle, turning around to look at him.
"He didn't tell me what it is, don't worry. But I assume he pretended as if it was no big deal, that he got it."
You nod silently, fearing that speaking would stop Chan from talking.
"I told him that he should just walk up to your house, present himself, and then ask your mom if he can take some of your stuff for you. But he said it’s too risky, and there is a chance she might say no. So, you know what he did?" Chan chuckles softly, and you feel the breath slowly escape your chest. "He spent weeks researching all the moving companies that work in your town. And then he bought us uniforms that looked like one of theirs. With the name tags and all. We rented a truck and we drove there, so we’d pretend as if we were moving the rest of your belongings. Your mom didn't question it thankfully, and I've never seen Minho as relieved as when he climbed back into the truck."
An overwhelming need to cry threatens to consume you, and you bite your lip harshly to stop it from taking over. Not in front of Chan.
"For him to go these lengths for you, means that he loves you a lot. But also, that he feels really loved by you. So, thank you, for loving Minho. I'm very happy you guys are together now." Chan smiles softly at you, before getting up and ruffling your hair slightly.
You quickly go back to Minho's room, before bringing his body tightly to yours. And as soon as you touch him, he mumbles your name in his sleep before throwing an arm over your waist.
"Thank you for loving me. I love you so much too," you whisper into his back, as your tears dampen his shirt. You wished that the words would reach him in his dreams, making them sweeter for him.
You didn't make a wish that day, as you blew the candles, foolishly believing that everything you've ever wanted was already around you. But you should've.
Maybe that would've stopped the anguish to come.
✹✹✹
There is a bad feeling nudged into the space between your ribs. You rub a soothing palm across your chest, in the hopes that it will calm your spiking anxiety. But you only feel your heart growing more erratic in your chest, and the sound of it only makes you panic ten times fold.
You’ve just woken up. You can hear the water running in the shower. Minho has stayed over since you both studied late into the night. You listen intently, a small breath of relief escaping your mouth when the water turns off. He’s okay.
You drag a hand tiredly across your face, before shaking your head left and right. You’ll have a good day, you’ll open the blinds and the golden sun will stream through your windows, and you’ll feel okay.
You don’t.
The dread lingers in your being throughout the day, making the simple act of walking weigh heavily on your bones. You try to distract yourself, by focusing on your classes and listening to Mina’s rants about her latest date with Jeongin. But to no prevail. So, you surrender to that feeling, today’s a bad day, but tomorrow doesn’t have to be. You’ll make sure of it.
It’s five pm when you finally walk up the stairs of your apartment. Minho went to grab you both something to eat since you’ll be studying again tonight. You wish he’d come home quickly, so you wouldn’t attach your anxiety to him. As long as you see him, then he’s okay.
You open the door, pausing by the front entrance. Something in you tells you to flee, to turn back, and never set foot inside. You don’t listen to it. If you paid attention to everything your mind tells you then you’d never truly live.
You quickly change out of your clothes, before turning on the TV. You mindlessly scroll through the show suggestions, and settle on one you haven’t seen before. You turn up the volume, making sure that the voices of the characters would drown the ones in your mind.
But then, your phone rings. It vibrates from the coffee table, the name of your aunt illuminating your screen. She calls you from time to time, but why is she doing it today? You don’t want to answer, not when there is a bulge in your throat suffocating you.
You watch numbly as the phone call seizes. You breathe out a shaky exhale. You’ll call her tomorrow.
The phone rings again.
You bite your lip harshly, hands shaking as you bring the device to your ear. You’re overreacting, you tell yourself. Nothing’s wrong. Minho will be home soon.
"What’s going on?" you ask immediately, the question slipping out of your mouth before you even thought about it.
Your aunt sighs softly, and then her voice floods your being. It sounds hoarse like she’s been crying. "Look, I…" another sigh, and you imagine her fidgeting with the hem of her dress. She always wore dresses. All seasons mingled. With pretty flowers sewed into them and sometimes even-
"Your mother died in a car accident."
Silence. You can't hear anything after those words are uttered. You know that your TV is still playing in the background and that your aunt is still talking on the phone. But it's completely silent. For five seconds. Where the world stills, as if to allow you a brief moment to process what you just heard.
Your mom. Gone.
But then, sounds crash upon you like a relentless wave. The shatter of the characters in the background, the ticking of your clock, the dull buzz of the refrigerator. And your aunt, she's still talking, telling you about the funeral and when it will be held and you can't believe what you are hearing.
It's all too overwhelming, everything surrounding you is too much to bear so you simply hang up.
You put your phone down on the table. And then you turn it off. That's one sound dealt with.
You turn the TV off and dismantle the clock from your wall so it wouldn't tick anymore. You then unplug your refrigerator. Has its buzzing always been this loud? You wonder. But it doesn’t matter anymore. Now it’s silent. It's what you crave.
Minho will come home soon. You should make him something to eat. You think to yourself. A fruit salad. It's warm outside and the fruits are refreshing.
So, you grab a knife from your drawer, and then you start peeling an orange. Then an apple. It's rugged, and half the fruit is wasted with the peel. You've never really known how to peel the skin properly. So, you put the knife down. The blade is slightly red, you notice. There is blood oozing from your finger. You cut yourself. But it doesn't hurt, so you leave it be.
Light floods your apartment, a stark contrast to the shadows within you. But you want it to be dark, and silent. You already took care of that last part. So, you pull down all the blinds and turn off the lights one by one. Now it's pitch black. Now it's quiet.
You sit on the floor, running your hand across the tiles. You count them, one, two, three. When is Minho coming home?
The floor is cold underneath you, the sensation heightened since your every other sense is muffled. You can't see, you can't hear, but you can still touch. You wished you couldn't anymore. The smallest sensation overstimulates you.
The front door unlocks, but you don't hear someone coming in. You imagine Minho standing by the door, looking around in the dark. It's okay, he'll find you. He always does.
"Honey?" he calls out and you reply from the living room, "I’m here."
You don't have to yell, it's quiet enough for your voice to be carried around your home with ease.
Minho has his flashlight on, you notice. He's looking for you and he finally spots you on the ground. You move a strand of your hair behind your ear, and you feel something warm smear across your cheek. You forgot about your cut- a reminder of the pain lurking beneath the surface, waiting patiently to consume you.
"Baby?" His tone is soft and careful, and you can see the worry brewing in his brown eyes. Why was he worried? You're okay. Nothing happened.
"I made you a fruit salad. It's in the kitchen. Can you please turn off the light?"
"Okay." His voice is calm, and you don't mind him talking. You could bear it. He was different after all, to you.
He’s pulled into the abyss with you, as he sits down next to your rigid figure. His hand rests on top of your pinkie, but you recoil from it. Not because you hate it, but his hand is warm and the floor beneath you is cold. That's a contrasting sensation. You don't want that. You just want a stillness, to feel like a straight line. Straight lines are always sure of themselves, of where they're going. You were tired of feeling like a bent one at the hands of the universe.
"What happened, baby?"
"Nothing."
"Okay. What did you do when I left, hm?"
"Nothing much. I was watching this new show, I think you’ll like it. And then my aunt called. She told me my mom died in a car accident. And then I went to the kitchen and I cut up some fruits. But I didn't know how to peel them. Can you believe it?" you giggle, your voice suddenly high-pitched. "I mean who- who doesn’t know how to peel the skin of an apple? Isn't that such a basic skill?" You're laughing now, you don't know what's funny, but you're laughing.
"And I cut my finger, but I didn't feel anything, Minho. I don't- I don't feel anything," you're still giggling, hot tears trailing down your cheeks rapidly. "My mother died and I don't feel anything. Why- why can't I feel anything? Minho, I can't- I can't-" You're hyperventilating, words straining to come out of your mouth. The breath is knocked out of you and white spots cloud your vision, like the stars that dance around Minho’s eyes. They seem kind enough so you don't fight them. You want to welcome them in the hopes that they'd take this unbearable weight off of you.
"Yn, yn, breathe for me, baby. Listen to my voice," Minho calls out and it's as if you're pulled in two opposing directions. He sounds scared, so you try to do as he says. You don’t want him to worry about you.
"You're doing so well, breathe with me, okay? Breathe in... Breathe out... Perfect, let's do it again," he instructs and you try your best to follow suit. You can feel yourself shaking, your hands moving as if they have a mind of their own. You are cold, too cold, and you can't help but wonder if it's how your mother is feeling right now too.
The thought seems to drive you over the edge and you let out a guttural sob. It racks from within you, reverberating from the depths of your splitting soul. It's a pain unlike any you've ever felt. You try to find something to compare it to, a sensation you imagine must hurt the same. But you can't find any. You can't find a metaphor to make the pain more bearable.
So instead, you let out a heart-wrenching scream, slicing through the silence you tried desperately to maintain. Your throat aches from the strain on your vocal cords but you pay it no mind, not when there is a pain bursting open every seam of yours, undoing every thread you so carefully stitched back into your soul.
Amidst your pitch-black apartment, you see yourself quivering in the corner, head buried in your hands. And then it’s thirteen years old you sitting there, the one who wished for something so horrible to happen on the birthday she spent alone, yet again. Your wish came true, you want to tell her. You tried to take it back, but it came true.
Minho gathers you in his arms, and you clung to him. You know he's trying to wrap you up the best he can, his arms around your back and his legs pressed on you. He's trying his best to stop you from falling apart. From breaking beyond the point of no return. And you think to yourself that you've passed it. You've passed it and he's clinging helplessly into your remains now.
✹✹✹
The funeral went by in a blur, its details elusive in your memory. At times it felt like a fever dream, a mirage conjured by your mind. And sometimes you tried to believe it, to lull yourself into a comfortable thought. Where you don't talk with your mom and she doesn't know how you are doing, but she's still alive. On the other side of the country. She's still breathing.
But this fleeting comfort is quickly shattered. The thought barely lingers, like a whisper in the wind, never staying long enough for you to finally draw in a full breath. Because the grief clings onto your skin, and you carry it with you everywhere, like a stench that won’t quite leave you. You wonder if other people can smell it on you too.
Minho hasn't left your side, once. He's always next to you. His hands are resting on your back or brushing your cheek tenderly. They are always near. And you hold them tightly. You practically memorized the lines etched on his palm. It's all you stared at during the funeral.
It felt wrong and unjust to be somewhere where everybody knew your mother, except for you. You felt as if you were left out, robbed of happy memories to mourn as well. So, you remained silent, gaze fixed intently on Minho's palm. And he didn't mind; he never does when it comes to you.
He's gentle with you, he's always been, but he's particularly gentle with you these weeks. The countless times he's cared for you blur together- his soapy hands skimming your body, massaging the shampoo into your hair when your limbs felt too heavy to move; the meals he cooked for you, making sure that each bite was cool enough before feeding it to you. How he always told you he was proud of you, at random times throughout your days. ‘What for?’ you wanted to scream, ‘I'm barely alive as it is’. "For breathing," he'd add as if he heard the thoughts swirling in your mind. "For being here. For waking up today."
He did your laundry and he folded your clothes. Sometimes he even picked your outfits and dressed you in the morning. Leaving pecks all over your face after each worn clothing. You wanted to smile, to tell him how much you loved him. How his love felt like a sun ray peeking through the cell hole of a prisoner. But you couldn't speak. So, you hoped he knew.
He unburdened you of all these mundane tasks, so you'd focus on other ones. Like attending classes and taking notes and writing essays. Because as much as you wished for it, the world did not pause for your sorrow. In the grand tapestry of existence, where did you stand exactly? You were nothing but a mere speck of light. Your emotions, as profound as they were to you, did not hold the power to halt the world's march, to compel universal mourning.
But Minho made your world stop, just like he promised, almost a year and a half ago. When you finally found your voice, he'd listen to you talk, your head on his lap, his fingers weaving through your hair gently.
"I feel like I’m mourning two people. The person I knew and the person she could have been," you told him one night and he hummed, listening intently to you.
"The what-ifs are killing me Minho. It feels like I’m suffocating each time I think of what could have been. She left so suddenly. But she should've stayed. Maybe our relationship would've gotten better."
"Maybe… or maybe not, you can never truly know. And it’s not your job to find the answers to the questions she left behind. Maybe she didn’t even have them herself."
You appreciated how his hand never left yours, as you journeyed through seas of uncharted emotions. The anger- that came with her leaving so abruptly, leaving you behind with a heavy baggage to dissect. The sadness- from losing the woman who will always be part of you. Because we don't kill our hopeful past selves, we simply bury them and they remain just under the surface of our souls, a testament to everything we've been through.
The nostalgia- that creeps in from time to time, conjuring rose-tinted memories in your head. Maybe her voice was softer here. She did ask about your day one time. Wasn't that her sitting on the benches in your musical play? But it wasn't, it was just your brain trying to soften the harshness of losing her.
It is how our minds cope with grief, your therapist says. Minho convinced you to go see one. Because love doesn't mend everything. And he needed you to be okay again, for yourself.
He's always waiting for you after your sessions end. With coffee and a fresh pastry. You didn't eat them at first, because they tasted bland and you'd rather not waste them. But one time you bit into the strawberry muffin and it tasted sweet and citrusy. And you smiled at Minho.
He stared at you in awe that day, and then he kissed you softly, pressing his pillowy lips against yours. His eyes mirrored galaxies, tears tracing constellations down his cheeks. "You look so pretty when you smile," he whispered tenderly and you felt emotion bubbling within you, stuck in your throat. But you didn’t want to cry. So, you only smiled more brightly at his words, and you kept his compliment stored safely within you, right beside every sweet gesture of his since that day.
Minho didn’t have the answers to all your questions. He didn’t always know what to say to make it feel right. But he stayed there, he tried his best, to heal parts of you that you never knew could be bruised.
You tried one day, to go through the day normally. You woke up, opened the blinds, and then you made Minho breakfast. You ate lunch with Mina, making some jokes here and there. And when you saw Chan in the line of the coffee shop, you went up to him to talk.
And then you got home and showered, put on makeup, and waited for Minho to come to you. As soon as he opened the door, you were on him, hands busy unbuttoning his shirt, your lips pressed wildly on top of his. You missed him, missed the way he made you forget as he touched you, everywhere. As he showed you how much he loved you.
"I want you, please," you whispered, your lips grazing the shell of his ear, your hands roaming across his chest. Your tone was begging and Minho could feel the urgency in it, so he nodded, he could never say no to you. He watched as you guided him to the couch, as you straddled his lap. You kissed his neck and he tilted it back to give you more of an opening. His hands were on your thighs, cautious. Your lips on him felt heavenly but he couldn’t allow himself to get lost in the pleasure, he had to keep an eye on you.
You were urgent, with the way you sucked the tender skin above his collarbones, how you grinded your hips into his. As if you were on borrowed time and you had to make him reach his high as fast as possible.
"Tell me you’re mine," you muttered, between the kisses you imprinted onto his chest. He could see the lipstick stains you left behind as if you needed to mark him up for everyone to see.
"I'm yours," he says, his hand smoothing the top of your hair. He could sense that something was wrong now, because your eyes were glazed over, and your kisses were getting sloppy, as if your mind was somewhere else. So, he grabs your hips to pause you. "I'm yours, angel. You hear me?"
"Tell me you won’t leave, tell me you’re staying," you take his hands away from your sides, clasping them in a tight hold. You capture his lips in a desperate kiss, and Minho can feel the tears streaming down your face. "Tell me you’ll stay, please, I can’t- can’t lose you too."
"Hey, hey, love. It’s okay, calm down," Minho easily frees his hand from your grasp, bringing you closer to his chest. It’s all it takes for you to start sobbing. "Who said anything about losing me? I’m still here, I won’t ever leave you," he shushes, his voice sounding like honey to your ears. It manages to muffle the sound of your erratic heartbeat.
"I'm so so tired Minho, so tired," you sob, burying your head in his chest. You felt as if there was pain igniting the end of each of your nerves. You couldn't run away from it because the pain became you. "I try to be strong, but I can't. It hurts to wake up and- and to try to go on as if nothing happened. The thoughts in my head don't ever stop and I can't- I can't do this anymore. Please make it stop. Make it stop hurting," you press your palm onto your chest, a useless attempt to soothe the burn within.
Why did it feel as if in your attempts to put out the fire raging within you, you only ended up fueling it even more?
"I would- I would if I could but I can't do that, I wish I could-" his tone is desperate, raw pain dripping from it.
"What if I'm not strong enough to do it myself?" you cut him off, finally asking the question that's been haunting you. "What if I can't fill this hole within me and it keeps on growing until it swallows me whole?"
Minho tightens his hold on you, rocking you gently in place, trying to lull your heart to sleep, so it'd stop hurting, even for a moment, even for a second. You know it's selfish to expect him to have all the answers, but he's all you have. He's the only voice you can bear listening to.
"I can't promise you that you'll ever fill the void left by her absence. It will keep on bleeding and throbbing, begging for a temporary patch-up. But one day it'll stop, it can't bleed forever. And around that hole flowers will bloom, like a sanctuary, watered by your overflowing love. Because it is your love that's hurting you, not your anger. Do not kill your heart to stop feeling, please. It will do that on its own, it won't hurt more than it can bear."
"It will take time. And if you run out of your time, I'll give you mine too. You aren't alone in this, we are a binary star, right?" he smiles softly and you nod slightly against his chest. "I read that to the invisible eye, they look like a singular star. I hope that to the universe we'd look like one person too, so they'd pass some of your pain to me."
✹✹✹
It’s been a few months since your mother died. You didn’t like the term passing away, because it entails that it was gentle, in passing, as if you were expecting it. But her death was sudden and it made your entire world flip upside down.
"Would you like to talk to her?" Minho suggested one night, his knuckles brushing against your cheek softly.
"Will you come with me?" you ask quietly.
"Of course. If you want me to, that is."
"I can try."
Minho drove you to the graveyard the following weekend. It felt weird to see her name etched on the grave, a reminder that this was all real and not a figment of your imagination.
"I'm not a daughter anymore." You speak after a while, tone coated in sadness, and acceptance. "But I think I’ve never truly been one, since you were never a mother to me."
"Is it weird, that I miss you? I don't even know what I miss exactly since you were never there. But I miss you. I miss having a mother. And I'm sorry, that you were so angry at the world you couldn't find it in you to love me." You pause, blindly reaching out to hold Minho's hand. He grabs it instantly. "But I won't carry your anger anymore. I don't want to be mad at you, for leaving so suddenly. I want to be happy. I deserve to be happy. And I hope that you are too, wherever you are now."
You turn around, a small smile gracing your lips, and Minho wastes no time in wrapping you in his arms, your cheek resting against his shoulder. He's proud of you, the emotion shines clear as day in his eyes.
"I wanna take you somewhere," he tells you and you nod, wrapping your arm securely around his waist.
The drive is short and you recognize the place fairly easily. It's the hill you told him about a long time ago, the one that held your happiest memory with your mother.
You both sit on the bench, your head finding solace on his shoulder. The view unfolding in front of you is still as breathtaking, and with each passing moment, the tightness in your chest seems to ease. Memories of your mother and this serene spot intertwine like delicate vines, bringing you a bittersweet sense of comfort. Because mourning someone isn't straightforward, not when humans are this complex, never strictly good or bad.
"Cold?" Minho asks and you shake your head no. "You're a human heater."
"Only near you," he smirks and you giggle slightly.
"I remember your hands used to be so cold."
"So, I could find an excuse to hold yours."
"Are you flirting with me?" you chuckle and he nods, a proud smile on his face. "Is it working?"
"I haven't run away yet, so I suppose it is." There is a newfound lightness in your voice, one you’ve been achingly missing for the past months.
"Come here," he taps his lap with his hands and you promptly lay your head on it.
"Look at the sky," he instructs and you do as he says, squinting your eyes. "What am I supposed to see?" you giggle, but then you feel it, the faintest snowflake falling on your nose tip.
"Go away, I don't want to watch the first snow with you," you tilt your head towards Minho, who's watching you, a soft smile on his face.
You giggle at the distant memory, when you both left Limbo, two years ago. The first time Minho rewrote your memories.
"As if I could ever love you, that'd just be signing a death warrant," you repeat your words from that night, a knowing smile on your face.
"How's that death warrant going?"
"Horrible, so so horrible," you say as you intertwine his hand with yours, squeezing it lightly.
"Mm. I suppose we can't be the exception to the superstition."
"How unfortunate," you smile as he leans down to press a kiss on your forehead, before looking back at the sky again.
He looks perfect from your view. You can clearly see the mole on his nose, the pucker of his rosy lips, and his long eyelashes framing his eyes. You are overcome by a feeling of love for the man beside you, and you stand up from your place to pull him in for a deep kiss.
"What was that for?" he smiles once you lean away, his fingers gently grazing your lips.
"Thank you, for today and for every day since I've met you."
"Of course, my love. You took a big step today, what color are you feeling right now?"
"Whatever color loving you is."
✹✹✹
Hills covered in verdant hues, rows of flowers bursting with vibrant colors, stretching before your eyes. The birds are chirping somewhere near, intermingling with the faint melody of the wind brushing against your skin.
"Here," Minho comes from behind, placing his knit jacket on top of your shoulders. Its warmth seeps through you, and you lean your back against his chest, melting into his embrace. His arms encircle your chest, resting comfortably on top of your heart as if guarding it from harm.
You feel your breathing slow down as you both look out the window. You are somewhere far from the city and its buzzing lights, a small white cottage surrounded by nature, where only you and Minho exist.
Minho nuzzles his chin on your shoulder, placing a chaste kiss under your ear. A light giggle escapes your mouth, as goosebumps rise upon your skin. Your body still reacts as sweetly to Minho, proofs of his love imprinted all over you. His touch is familiar to you but still as soothing, never losing its effect on you. You believe it never will, even when you're both withering down; his touch will still be the only thing making you bloom.
"This is nice," he whispers, sighing softly and you nod against him, raising your hand to settle on top of his. His fingers instinctively find your wedding ring, playing with it as they've done for the past two years.
"It's always nice with you," you say and he smiles softly, squeezing your hand lightly. You remember how it felt when he held it for the first time. How he hasn't let go since. It was only ever his to hold.
"We did well, don't you think? For our first time being alive."
His words make a gentle warmth stir within you. It is your first life, and you're lucky enough to spend it with him.
"We did," you turn around, to find him already looking down at your figure, a fond smile on his face. "To think we probably wouldn't be together if it wasn't for our law classes."
"No," he shakes his head, hands gently cupping your cheeks. "I would've found you. On a random evening when you'd stumble onto Limbo. In the supermarket where you'd buy your cherry shampoo. In the park you used to play in as a kid. I would've found you."
You've once read that when humans are about to pass away, a film of their happiest memories plays in front of their eyes. You know that many years down the road when you're on the brink of going away, you'll remember this moment clearly in your head. You'll remember the cicadas chirping far away, and the zesty smell of the lemon muffins you made earlier today. You'll remember the cold breeze ruffling your hair, and Minho’s warm hands on you. And you'll sigh contently, from having lived a life filled with love.
"My soul is dipped in yours. It will always find you too."
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Oh my god, they’re…
Monsters: Mikey Sano x Reader x Izana Kurokawa
“They ate me alive and left me for dead”
series summary: your grievous sin was Emma standing up for you to her brothers. And now you’re going to pay the heavy price for destroying their perfect family dynamic.
updates: wednesdays and fridays
Series masterlist
mood boards
series content warnings (read carefully): 18+, DARK CONTENT, Tokyo revengers AU, female reader, virgin reader, heavy smut, polyamory, Dark Impulse Mikey, Manipulative Izana, inaccurate/inconsistent university terminology, heavy angst with little comfort, betrayal, misogyny and sexism, emotional, physical and mental abuse, virginity loss, purity culture allusion, mental break, manipulation, gaslighting, sexual harrassment, dubious consent, noncon, drug, alcohol and substance misuse/abuse, extreme violence, use of weapons, torture, criminal activities, PTSD, paranoia, emotional incest, power imbalance, character death(s) (not reader), anal penetration, mention of self-harm, religious guilt and trauma, religious themes, vouyeurism, gangbang, masochism, sadism, hard kinks, strangulation (non sexual), psychological horror (more warnings to be added soon)
Chapter 1: Warning Signals
summary: being friends with emma sano is nice, until you get on the wrong side of the Sano brothers.
word count: 9k
cw: misogyny, alcohol mention, sex mention, rape mention, brief religious mention, reader is called a whore/slut, slutshaming, sexual assault, noncon to dubcon, public initimacy, fingering (fem recieving), dacriphilia, gaslighting, manipulation, mention of vomitting, victim blaming, destructive thoughts, mention of violence (towards reader)
Chapter 2: Shots Fired
summary: izana kurokawa decides he has to teach you a bitter lesson that you wouldn't forget any time soon
word count: 7.5k
cw: smoking, mention of drugs, brief description of child abuse, childhood trauma and sex work, violence (against both character and reader), emotional incest, night terrors, allusions to sex, mention and brief description of rape, asphyxiation (non sexual), manipulation, slut shaming, near death experience, sexual assault, noncon, oral (m.recieving), face and throat fucking, attempted murder
Chapter 3: The Lesser of Two Devils
summary: the two brothers realize that peace with emma is within their grasp, they just need your cooperation
word count: 12.3k
cw: character x character smut - cunnilingus, struggling with sexual attraction, angst, mention of assault, physical violence, slut shaming, misogyny, intrusive/dark impulsive thoughts of murder and rape, manipulation, gaslighting, objectification of reader, mental health struggles, masking, breaking and entering, smut -character x reader, reader is threatened with r*pe, dubious consent, making out, dry humping, cunnilingus (reader receiving), pussy job, terrible aftercare, religious themes and guilt, panty stealing.
Chapter 4: The Calm
summary: emma decided you needed a break from all the stress of life and takes you to her home for a vacation and for a moment, you forget that reality is often disappointing .
word count: 12.5k
cw: male masturbation, academic fatigue, misogyny, objectification, one mention of unwanted pregnacy, implied drugging, age gap relationship, fluff to heavy angst, minor character death, murder, mental break down, panic attack, gang related violence, gun violence, metions of drug related business (c*caine), dubious consent, slight manipulation, mutual masturbation, fingering (fem. receiving), jerking off, nipple sucking, praise kink, squirting, proper aftercare.
Chapter 5: Act on Dark Impulses
summary: you knew better than to trust mikey and izana. yet you fall for their plan hook, line and sinker and live through the worst night of your life.
word count:
cw: coming soon
Chapter 6: The Closest you’ll ever get to being in Love
summary: things get sicker and twisted with the two brothers and Emma is none the wiser.
word count:
cw: coming soon
Chapter 7: Trials and Tribulation
summary: You learn the hard way what happens when you refuse to be their stress relief because of your important exams.
word count:
cw: coming soon
Chapter 8: Divine Intervention
summary: You are called home to bury your mother and learn that nothing has changed since you left.
word count:
cw: coming soon
Chapter 9: Lead Me not into Temptation
summary: emma notices that something isn’t right with you when you come visit her in the sano residence.
word count:
cw: coming soon
Chapter 10: Deliver Me from All Evil
summary: you’ve finally broken the cycle, but at what cost?
word count:
cw: coming soon
notes from monica: I do not endorse any of these behaviors or any crime committed in this fic. This is purely for entertainment and introspection, please read the warnings for the series and each chapter and in case I missed anything, please dm me. If you are part of the taglist and you cannot read this fic because of your mental health, please, please and please alert me, I will take your name off. Your mental health first before my notes.
Thank you to my mutuals and all my followers who have supported me throughout and to those who will read this fic and support me. Since I began this account, I’ve made wonderful friends and I’ve been encouraged to write beyond my fears. Thank you, especially Zaya (@manjibunny) ! The mood boards turned out well because of you and all our discussions about the fic helped me a whole lot!
Anyways, enjoy. Asks, reblogs and comments are highly appreciated. PLEASE I LOVE TO HEAR YOUR THOUGHTS AND THEORIES. It goes a long way to know what people think about my fics.
This work belongs to monica. do not copy or steal my work, do not promote my work on tiktok or twitter and do not use my work in any AI or chatgpt program.
divider made by the lovely: @mikeykuns
banners, moodboards, gradient texts were all done by monica.
series taglist (special thanks to): @honeybleed @manjibunny @reiners-milkbiddies @izanaki707 @rukiaslvr @ilovetwodmen @bbykoo-7 @tenjikusstuff4 @cockonoi @koffeenoe2 @kodzukein @lostsomewhereinthegarden @cashout-princess @aliyxh-o @kay-bear200 @iluv-ace @vixensbrainrotts @missgab @urmomsksk @sweeytheart @charcoal-xl @uradveragewhore @wcayaw @blueberry3muffin @haikyuusboringassmanager @diana-005 @perilous-pasta @kokoscutie @kannaaa015 @abadonkori @datura-inoxia
General taglist: @anemptypuddingcup , @happygoluckyalexis , @mastermindenoshimaalicia , @haitaniwhor3 , @iheartamajiki , @pinksilk , @lostsomewhereinthegarden , @bontensbabygirl , @linn-a-a , @leilalago , @ranscutedoll, @lovelygeniegirl1012 , @crackheadwithtoes , @haziel13, @reiners-milkbiddies , @k3rrpii @jalepp , @dreamingofyourmoons, @aceredhairliberal, @ateezbabysitters, @eroscastle , @hvziers
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Through the window
James and his friends find themselves receiving a nasty surprise the night his best friend gets home.
major AU where Regulus isn’t muggle-phobic/a blood supremacist, Regulus isn’t a death-eater (just stuck at home because he doesn’t know how to leave), Regulus is going to magically be the same age as the marauders and the reader (18), takes place after 7th year (all of the characters are 18+), the wizarding war isn’t mentioned in the story, and the marauders don’t automatically join the OOTP as soon as they graduate (explanation for why they’re just chilling at home after graduation). Also, James’ feelings could definitely be interpreted as him being jealous and liking the reader, although that wasn’t necessarily my intent so feel free to imagine them as super close best friends and James just letting his inner teenage boy get the better of him.
cw: unintentional (on regulus and the reader's part) forbidden romance, small mentions of abuse (Black family household), an allusion to smut with some not-entirely-explicit-leading-up details, kind of lied on the last one (brief mentions of some smut lol), me accidentally forgetting about Peter so he’s just at home/on vacation or whatever, the other 3 marauders being little creepers and lowkey pervs to the reader, making out, underage drinking, neglectful parents, she/her pronouns
internally crying a little bc there are so many aspects to the AU and cw
yeah so this is pretty dumb but i kinda just thought of the idea and rolled with it...
to my anon: i saw that you enjoyed the forbidden romance trope so here's another. albeit, this work is lighter on the trope and not necessarily romance (if u didn't catch that based on the description) but i might do a part 2 where it evolves into a romance. ig we'll see!! <3
join my taglist!
minors DNI!!!
James had known you his whole life. You were next-door neighbors and, although you and your family were muggles, you had grown up as childhood best friends. As far as you were concerned, James went to some fancy private school in Scotland while your parents, who were rather rich, sent you off to boarding school in France. James wasn’t the biggest fan of your parents if he was being honest. They never really cared about what you did, only sending you off to an entirely different country and forgetting you existed until you arrived home for the holidays. Even then, you would mostly end up spending the majority of your free days at the Potter house.
The moment you arrived home from France for your summer vacation, you sprinted out of your parents’ car (not that they cared) and ran to the home of the Potter family. Before you could even knock, James sprung open the door and engulfed you in a hug.
“I missed you,” James muttered into your shoulder, still squeezing you.
“I missed you too, Jamie,” You responded with a smile, ruffling his curly hair. You looked over James’ shoulder and spied the tall frame of Remus and the (slightly shorter) frame of Sirius.
“Is that Remus and Sirius I see?” You teased jokingly, pulling away from James’ hug, albeit not without some resistance from the boy, to hug the other two boys and place kisses on each of their cheeks.
“The French are rubbing off on you a bit too much, mademoiselle,” Sirius said charmingly.
“You can only resist the charm of the French for so long, Sirius, it’s harder than you’d think when the boys over there look as lovely as they do,” You said with a cheeky grin as you turned to Remus, “almost as charming as Mr. Lupin here.”
You pulled Remus into another hug, whispering in his ear as you squeezed his shoulders.
“Although you still have yet to beat the lovely ladies over there.”
Remus only chuckled as you stepped away from the embrace and sent him a wink.
James sent a questioning look to Remus, who only shook his head, before scooping you up and tossing you over his shoulder.
“My mother has been dying to see you, she’s brought you up in just about every conversation we’ve had since I arrived home,” James said, carrying you into the kitchen where Euphemia was arranging daisies from the field out back behind their house.
“Oh, darling- James put her down before you drop her on her head! If it isn’t my favorite child,” Euphemia said with a wide smile as she pulled you into a warm hug, “It feels as though it's been forever- you look as beautiful as ever.”
“Thank you, Euphemia, it’s so lovely to see you, I’ve missed you more than Jamie,” You responded teasingly, throwing a smile at the already pouting boy.
The five of them, soon joined by Fleamont, sat around the table enjoying pastries, which Euphemia had baked and you had brought from France, and tea as you told them all about France and James, Sirius, and Remus told everyone (muggle-friendly) stories about all the mischief they had gotten into at school.
Hours passed and the sun began to set as you said your goodbyes, promising to come back in the morning to enjoy breakfast with them.
“Are you sure you don’t want to stay for dinner? You know there’s always an extra seat for you,” Euphemia asked, reminding you of the offer that has stood for years.
“Thank you, Euphemia, but I ought to head home, I still have to unpack and get settled back in. I’ll see you in the morning, thank you for having me over,” You called as James walked her to the door.
“Are you sure you don’t want to stay? I mean are your parents even making dinner?” James asked, concern etched across his face.
“Yeah, I’ll be fine, I promise. I’ll see you in the morning, Jamie,” You thanked, pressing a kiss on each side of James’ frowning face, “I swear, it’s okay. Now go do some stupid shit with Remus and Sirius.”
James smiled, “Goodnight, love.”
“Goodnight, Jamie.”
Later that night, James, Sirius, and Remus observed the dark window leading to your room, which was directly across from James’.
“Do you think she’s asleep?” James asked.
“Dunno, mate, it seems a bit early,” Sirius muttered.
“She just got back from France, she’s probably exhausted, Sirius,” Remus pointed out.
The three boys sat in silence for a while, continuing to watch the manor, void of any light within the house. The darkness was soon broken when a taxi pulled up to the house, shining its headlights onto the street in front of it. They watched as you, looking rather drunk, climbed out of the cab, along with a dark figure whose face they couldn’t see, and paid the driver. You waved the car off and it drove away, leaving the only source of illumination to be the glow of two lights on either side of the door to the house. The boys watched as you grabbed the hand of the figure, walked up to the front door, unlocked the door, and entered the house.
After waiting for a few minutes, all of which were spent whispering about the situation to each other, a dim lamp in your room flickered on and the attention of the marauders was turned back to the house. They watched as you and the figure walked in view of the window, which, in turn, made the two of you visible to the boys, who sat huddled together as you grasped the collar of the mystery person and pulled their head down to meet your lips in a sensual, drunken kiss, your hands entangling themselves in the curly hair of the still unknown person as their hands traveled up and down your body, grazing over your shoulders, back, hips, and ass. Your hands moved down to lift the shirt off of the person, the two breaking their kiss and light finally shining onto the face of your hookup.
“Holy shit.”
“Sirius is that-”
“Regulus? I think so.”
“Oh my Godric,” James muttered, gagging slightly at the image of one of his best friends swapping spit with Regulus Black, of all people. He glanced back at the window to see you now topless and Regulus groping at your breasts eagerly.
“This is so wrong,” Remus muttered, glancing over at his two friends.
“Which part? That my best friend, since I was two, is making out with Sirius’ brother- a Slytherin- or the fact that we’re watching it?!” James exclaimed.
“Both- dear Godric, we look like fucking pervs,” Remus muttered, shamefully glancing back at the window as both of your nude bodies moved back until you fell onto your bed, Regulus underneath you and you straddling his hips.
“Look at us, Rem- we’re camped at James’ window watching two people, that we know, getting it on! Shut the curtains,” Sirius exclaimed.
James stood up, reaching for the curtains before sparing one last glance at your window, eyeing your naked body rocking on Regulus’ with your head tossed back and his hands on your waist.
“I can’t believe it,” James muttered slumping onto his bed.
“It’s so fucking nasty- if I could, I would pay my entire lost inheritance to get rid of that image- don’t get me wrong, and sorry Prongs, she’s smokin’ hot, but with Regulus? Hell no,” Sirius complained.
“Padfoot-“ James whined, turning to face his friend, a disgruntled look on his face.
“Imagine what the rest of the Black family would say if they knew Regulus was…-” Sirius interrupted, pausing in disgust as the thought sunk into his mind.
“Having sex?” Remus continued for him.
“With a muggle. He’d be disowned faster than me,” Sirius muttered as his dark hair, which was very similar to Regulus’, hung over his face.
“Can we stop talking about my best friend fucking your brother, Sirius? It’s grossing me out more than I already am from seeing it,” James groaned from his bed, which was right next to the window.
“Yeah. Yeah, whatever. I need to go to bed before I vomit,” Sirius responded, climbing into one of the beds Mr. And Mrs. Potter had set up in advance of him and Remus staying for the summer.
The three boys muttered goodnights to each other, the rustling of sheets settling into a summer night's silence.
It didn’t take long for Remus and Sirius to be passed out on their respective beds, however, James was unable to sleep and remained lying on his bed. As he stared at the ceiling fan, he felt the itch to peek through the window and see if Regulus had left. Climbing out of bed, James glanced over at the sleeping bodies of his friends before pulling back the curtains just enough to see into your window, where he observed your nude form lying on Regulus Black’s chest, your sleeping face barely visible with the light of the moon shining through your window.
Regulus definitely hadn’t left.
Shamefully, James shut the curtains once more and returned to his bed, allowing the darkness of sleep to claim his confused, perverted mind.
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photometry, or the extinction of a star and that which it kills
Act Three: Photodisintegration
(11k. cws: alcohol, major character death, canon-typical violence, vomiting, allusions to antisemitism, casual attitudes about death (idk how else to phrase this. characters know they're about to die and accept it. not quite suicidal ideation but close enough that i think it deserves a warning.)
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Consequence of Action: Collared
This whole thing took on a bit of an outside perspective. Not sure why my brain did that but I hope you like! Continued bits from Consequence of Action series :)
CW: captured whumpee, mentions of beating, execution of side characters, collared, allusion to noncon, would be multiple whumpers, all the science inaccuracies in space
It had been hours since Thompson had caught him hacking into the ship's systems and unceremoniously bashed his head into the console. Still, Quinn remembered finishing and executing the program that would override the system and give Murphy's crew all the access they needed take down the Captain. He had managed to do his part at least, before being taken out of the fight and tossed into a cell. No one else had been brought into the brig with him so, at first, he held onto hope that it had been enough. That the plan was solid and Murphy had overthrown the Captain. But that felt like a long time ago now, and Murphy had yet to come for him.
Quinn's arms ached from being tied behind his back for so long and his head was throbbing. He'd managed to drag himself up the wall and onto his feet. He needed to move. They had been gearing up for this moment for months. Careful planning and precise timing had led them to this moment and Quinn refused to just sit on his ass while the others fought for all of their lives. He was useless in the cell, so he paced. All that unspent energy slowly morphed into a quiet, knowing panic that rooted itself deep in his gut.
It was one thing to know you were going to die, to accept that fact, but it was another to have to wait in dreaded anticipation for it to actually happen. Quinn pictured the many ways the Captain would do it. Execution by beheading? That was rather grand. Shot in the head? Maybe? A lot for the rest of the crew to clean up. Beaten to death? Possibly. In the end, the airlock was the most likely choice. He could do it. When the Captain's men come for him, he'd walk down the hall with his head held high. He'd let himself be led into the airlock and force himself to look straight into the Captain's cruel, evil fucking eyes.
He wouldn't cry. He wouldn't scream.
Quinn envisioned it a hundred times, preparing himself, before the door finally opened. He spun toward the sound of the door, his vision spinning along with him but he planted his feet firmly and stood his ground.
The tiny ember of hope that had remained died out in a quick burst of fury when it was the Captain that strolled into the brig instead of Murphy.
This was it. He was a dead man.
The Captain looked worse for wear. He had dried blood all down his neck and soaked into the hem of his shirt from a deep gash on his cheek. His hair was a mess and he looked like he'd been in the fight of his life. Quinn couldn't help the smirk that tugged up his lips.
“On your knees,” the Captain ordered.
Quinn huffed out a surprised breath, “Fuck you.”
–
They'd been sealed up in the airlock for hours. Still, every single one of Murphy's crew remained on their feet in defiance of these cowards that refused to just get it over with already and pull that damn lever that would send them to their deaths. They leaned heavily on one other, bloodied and broken, defeated, but by god, they would die on their feet.
Murphy was proud of each and every one of his crew. They had lost, spectacularly, but they'd fought hard.
He grunted as he tried to straighten up a bit and take some of his own weight off of Martinez's shoulder. She tightened her hold on the waistband of his pants, effectively holding him up on his feet. He squeezed her arm, hoping to convey something along the lines of, he didn't know really... thank you, I'm sorry, we're so royally fucked and it's my fault, it was worth it. He wasn't sure how to convey that much weight through a single death grip on her arm but he was pretty sure she got the message.
Murphy's leg pulsed, blood still trickling in rivulets from the wound Jackson had stabbed deep into the meat of his thigh. He figured he would die soon anyway by the heavy weight of blood soaking into his pants. He might as well go out with the few friends he had left in the feigned glory of an execution. They'll go out like sailors on this beloved, godforsaken ship of theirs and it will all be worth it. He wasn't sure how that could possibly be true, but he knew that trying and failing still mattered, somehow, in the end.
He glanced through the thick glass that separated his crew from the Captain's. The others stood in a lazy half circle around the glass of the airlock, waiting for the show with something akin to rabid glee. All except one. Murphy took his time taking in the measure of the man that would seal their fate. Sure, it was the Captain that would give the order, but it was Security Officer Collins that would heft that damn lever and suck all of the oxygen out of their lungs. And he would do it without blinking an eye.
Murphy had underestimated the man.
He knew that now.
He'd been afraid that Collins' time spent in the wars would have instilled in him a kind of honor that would be particularly offended by the overthrowing of his captain. Well, Murphy was right about that part, but he thought of Collins as a good man underneath all that blind duty and honor bullshit. Murphy will admit, he was hoping that Collins would, bare minimum, stand by and let it happen. He had to know that it was the right thing to do in the end. It turned out, Murphy had overestimated Collins' moral code and underestimated the man's effectiveness.
That was his first and second mistake.
Collins was a brutal and efficient soldier. He had almost single-handedly quelled the uprising in the battle that followed the first power outage on deck. Quinn had locked the Captain's crew out of all the consoles and sealed the doors to the armory. Murphy was certain the lack of weaponry and the element of surprise alone would turn the battle in their favor. His delusions were shattered when Murphy personally witnessed Collins taking out at least 5 of his crew in hand to hand combat and utilizing the close quarters of the ship's halls to his advantage. He'd made quick work of Murphy's best fighters and had them dead or on their knees in what couldn't have been more than a handful of minutes.
It was impressive.
God, if only he'd been on their side, they most certainly would have won. They had started with fifteen people willing to fight, and die, to overthrow the Captain and his ranks. Only six were left. Six good, decent members of Murphy's crew, forced into the airlock and shoved to their knees and there Collins stood, eyes front with his hand on the lever.
The ever dutiful soldier.
Murphy's gaze caught sight of the outer door to the chamber opening. He couldn't hear anything through the reinforced glass except for the exhausted breathing and barely contained hisses of pain from his own people. Everything outside those thick windows was silent. He drew in a sharp breath when the Captain stalked through the door dragging a bloodied man by his hair.
Seven. Seven of his crew had survived.
“Quinn.”
Murphy felt those around him tense as the man was dropped onto the floor and crumbled into a bloody heap. His hands were bound behind his back with what looked like wire and he'd taken a hell of a beating. Murphy held his breath, his heart swelling with pride, when Quinn slowly folded his knees under himself and tried to stand. The rebellion would never had made it off the ground if it wasn't for Quinn. The man was brilliant. He had a head for strategy that Murphy truly didn't expect and he knew all the ins and outs of the communication and security systems like the back of his hand. He had done his job expertly.
It was Murphy that had failed. It was Murphy that had gotten them all killed.
Quinn didn't make it far off the floor.
The Captain kneed Quinn in his ribs and the collective gasps of his crew in the chamber almost tricked Murphy's mind into thinking he could actually hear Quinn grunt in pain. The man folded in on himself. Murphy watched as Quinn grit his bloody teeth and quickly fought to straighten back up again. The Captain placed a single hand to his shoulder and it stopped his ascent this time. Quinn slumped, staying on his knees and silently gasping for breath.
The man was clearly struggling to stay conscious. Blood was oozing down his face from a gash up in his hairline but he managed to drag his head up and his eyes cleared the moment he saw Murphy through the glass. Quinn's eyes widened as understanding dawned on him that some of his people were still alive. Alive, and waiting for Quinn before they would be put to their death. His gaze darted over to Collins standing by the lever that would open the airlock and then back to Murphy again. Murphy saw the muscle in Collins' jaw jump but that was the only indication that he had any feelings at all about the impending executions.
Murphy took a small, careful step forward, his hand reaching out to Martinez for balance. He could see Quinn visibly trying to steel himself, preparing himself to be tossed in with the rest of them. Willing himself to be brave in the face of every sailors greatest fear.
“I'm sorry,” Murphy whispered, to Quinn, to his crew, to all those that the Captain would continue to hurt in their absence. He watched as Quinn actually had the audacity to smirk. He gave a half shrug as if he was saying, “hey, we did our best.”
Murphy smiled back.
Quinn grunted as the hand on his shoulder pressed him down, forcing his back to round and he hung his head, unable to keep it up any longer. Murphy could feel the eyes of the Captain on him and he finally relented, looking at the man that would order them to their collective deaths.
What he saw in that man's eyes, he didn't understand it, but it turned his blood cold.
A smirk of his own crossed the Captain's face as he revealed what looked like some sort of metal contraption out from behind his back.
“Captain? Lewis, what are you-” Murphy shook his head, limping himself another step forward as if he could actually reach the men not two feet in front of him. His words turned to ash in his throat as the Captain's hand that was pressing down on Quinn's shoulder dragged up the man's neck and grabbed under his chin.
“No,” Murphy swallowed bile.
–
Something in the room had changed.
Quinn dragged his face against his shoulder, trying to get the blood out of his eyes before forcing himself to lift his head and look at Murphy. A strange look had come over his friend's face and Quinn cocked his head. His expression had morphed from anger and brave defiance to what Quinn could only describe as repulsed horror? Quinn felt the firm grip on his shoulder loosen to almost gentle as it slid up the side of his neck and Quinn watched Murphy mouth the word “no” as a shiver crept through his own body.
Quinn startled back and slammed right into the Captain's legs when Murphy took two steps and kicked out at the thick glass separating them. Fingers tightened painfully around Quinn's chin but he couldn't tear his gaze away from Murphy. He was screaming without sound, fury turning his angry face red as he repeatedly kicked the glass. Quinn could see blood pumping from a wound on Murphy's thigh and he wanted to tell him to stop. He felt like it was all happening in some slow motion nightmare, the kind where you weren't entirely in control of your own body. He couldn't fight it when the hand gripping his chin forced his head up and he had to tear his eyes away from Murphy and look up at the Captain.
The volume in the room suddenly became far too loud. The Captain's men whooped and groaned out sounds that didn't make sense to Quinn.
He'd missed something.
“You hear me, boy?”
Quinn ground his teeth, hissing when the Captain tightened his grip on his chin.
“I'm not a fucking boy,” Quinn spit out, shifting his legs underneath him with every intention of standing. Then, the Captain's thumb brush through the blood that trickled down the side of Quinn's mouth and swiped over his bottom lip.
Quinn froze.
“Captain?” Someone said over Quinn's shoulder, but with one look from the Captain, he was silent again.
The Captain lifted his other hand and held something out in front of him. Quinn could hear the sound of the glass trembling slightly. He could practically feel Murphy throwing the full force of his body at the glass but he didn't dare look away. In the Captain's hand, was a collar. There was no other word for it. Two pieces of metal slid smoothly into one another, a lot like handcuffs, and there was even a slot for a key where the two pieces locked together.
“What-?” Quinn mumbled, confused. Why the fuck did he have a collar? Before another horrifying thought was able to pass through his mind, the Captain fisted his hair and dragged him onto his feet. He felt his body slam into the glass and an arm pressed against the back of his neck, and suddenly, he was face to face with Murphy.
A thread of fear unlike any Quinn had ever felt before unfurled itself throughout his body.
“Murphy?” Quinn stupidly said in a numb panic.
He didn't understand what this was. Why wasn't he being marched into the airlock with the rest of his crew? Why the fuck did the Captain have a fucking collar?
Murphy's face twisted in desperate, sobbing rage. Quinn felt the reverberation of the glass against his chest as Murphy kicked out at it uselessly before he finally gave up, his own chest heaving in frantic breaths.
He'd never seen Murphy look so defeated before. It didn't make any sense. Murphy was strong, idealistic. He was honorable. Murphy always held onto hope for a better world, if we could just stand up a little more for what was right. If we just fought back.
“Quinn,” he watching Murphy's mouth move, “Don't fight him, Quinn.”
Quinn swallowed the fear that boiled up into his throat. Even if he could hear Murphy's words he wouldn't have understood them.
Cool metal touched the back of Quinn's neck and that thread of fear ignited. Quinn jerked his head back, connecting solidly with something that felt very much like bone. Hands left his body just as more hands seized him and pressed him into the glass. He twisted and kicked out at anything he could find.
Quinn felt his body weakening as bodies pressed his own against the glass. Murphy just stood and watched. Quinn hated that he was the one to put that look on Murphy's face. He was supposed to be brave, to stand proudly and walk to his own death without fear.
This wasn't the plan.
He again felt the cool metal touch the back of his neck and he recoiled in the hands of the men. A hand pressed his face against the glass and they held him firm as the metal enclosed his throat.
Quinn screamed.
The sound of the lock clicked in some thick, distant part of his mind. This meant something he didn't yet understand. His body felt heavy and almost unreal, separate from his mind in a way he'd never felt before. Quinn realized he had closed his eyes and forced them open again.
Murphy had his forehead pressed to the glass, right over his own. The puffs of their breath fogged up the space between them. He didn't want Murphy to die. Not if he wasn't going to die too. They were supposed to go together. Brothers in arms. Quinn realized that Murphy was saying something again but a horrifyingly alert corner of his mind felt fingers brush up under his shirt and trail across his stomach. The men closed in around him and he felt someone press their lips against the underside of his jaw. He felt the man's stubble drag roughly against his cheek. Another hand was scratching to get their fingers underneath the waistband of his pants.
What was happening?
Quinn couldn't look away. He watched Murphy's face as the Captain muttered a single word...and then another, much louder this time. Quinn couldn't hear it past the thump of his own frantic heart pounding in his ears.
The lever that opened the airlock must have been hefted up because the big, metal doors slid silently open.
It didn't happen like in the movies, with a rush of air that sucked the crew out into the vastness of space. First, the airlock was depressurized. Air hissed out of the room and the crew's mouths opened and closed, gasping for oxygen that was no longer there. The door slid open and the gravity was turned off, their feet lifting slowly off the floor. Murphy was still mouthing words Quinn didn't understand, his mouth only stopping as he slowly passed through the doors with the rest of his crew and drifted off into nothing, leaving Quinn behind.
Quinn heard himself make a terrible, broken sound as the fingers under his shirt flattened against his stomach and he was dragged back away from the glass and into the hands of the crew.
Taglist: @peachy-panic, @ladygwennn, @whumplr-reader, @hold-him-down, @monochrome-episode, @dogface3000, @skyhawkwolf, @whump-for-all-and-all-for-whump, @whumpterful-beeeeee, @maddam-redder, @susiequaz12, @pigeonwhumps, @starlit-darkness
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Omg the mixtape requests!! I love the idea!!
The song: like a tattoo by Sade with Bucky Barnes! Specially from the min 1:35 to 2:03 I think you’ll love it x fem reader
The Scar of Age
This drabble is part of JJ’s Mixtape - a mini series based on my followers’ favourite songs and characters. You can read more of them here!
Song Prompt: Like a Tattoo
Pairing: Bucky Barnes x reader (romantic, no pronouns used)
Word Count: ~2350
CW: Talking about death and killing, reader has killed people on a mission, kissing, allusions to rough kissing/six (consensual), overwhelmed response that could be interpreted as a panic attack (but isn’t intended to be one)
Note: Thank you for your beautiful request, anon !! (I wrote this for a female reader and then realised no pronouns/gendered descriptions were used, so have tagged it accordingly) When I heard this song the image I instantly had was riding a motorbike through a snowy mountain road, and what was supposed to be a steamy little safe-house number turned into something a little more heavy. I was so inspired by the lyrics of this song, thank you for sharing 💜
The war is still raging inside of me // I still feel the chill // as I reveal my shame to you // I wear it like a tattoo
It’s been growing for months. This budding, rising magnetism alive between you and him. Still unspoken, still untouched, now unfettered.
It started not long after he returned from Wakanda. The attraction was instant, the pull soon became hard to resist but, by the gods, you resisted it with all you had. You kept a respectful and professional distance where possible. He’d been through a lot.
But the breathing room has seen it grow beyond control and now, for the first time in forever, you and Bucky are going to be truly alone.
The frostbitten air bites at your leathers as you snake up the icy switchbacks, giving and taking on the throttle, gently guiding the electric motorcycle through the snowy mountain roads towards somewhere out of the way. To the solitude you had been gifted.
He's sitting behind you, and though he’s an anchor of his own his hands are on your waist. It distracts you more than once and you're sure he knows it because he firms his touch when the bike slows from your wayward thoughts. If he dared to broach the subject, you'd blame the ice on the road. Or would you?
The night had been long and rough. Snowcapped mountains begin to glow as you ride to one of Stark's more isolated houses. The beauty of the new day only makes you feel worse after the events of the night; three enemy guards, dead by your hand.
They will never see another sunrise.
Sure, you had an important job to do to keep the public safe, and sure, they were trying to kill you, but damned you'd be if every life ended by your hand didn't eat away at you.
The dirt feeling that gnaws at your gut is your only place of solace because it still hurts. If it ever stopped hurting, you'd walk away for good. Steve promised to help you disappear if that day comes.
Steve. A wry smile threatens to burst under the helmet as you finally see the house in the distance. Steve is the one who rostered this assignment, knowing where it was, knowing the airspace would be tightly monitored the days after your mission, knowing whoever was assigned to it would need to be under the radar until extraction would be less risky. A few nights at least.
He had arranged all of this in front of a room full of highly-perceptive people. No jibing comments were thrown from the other seats, which was so unusual that awkwardness rushed into the void. The panic of perception started to sink in your bones but when you met Bucky’s eye, you stilled. You ceased to wish the ground would swallow you whole the moment his usually stony glare was soft, almost apologetic, as if he was afraid you’d think he’d done this to get you alone. You didn’t smile, hyperaware of the eyes all around, but the look you returned to him seemed to smooth his frayed edges.
Now, there are no prying eyes. Your quickening heartbeat becomes the score of your final stretch towards this unusual hollow of privacy. The house comes more into view. It’s at the end of a straight stretch of road. You tilt your wrist and roll the throttle. As the bike picks up speed, Bucky’s hands slide from your waist down to rest at your hips. It makes your toes curl inside your boots, and you have to hone your focus on the house you’re fast approaching.
The sharp and grey abode look harsh yet at home nestled into the snow-covered bedrock, and the unforgiving structure looks strange bathed in warm pink sunlight. It’s one of those boxy houses made of cool concrete and glass that looks as if it should always be shrouded in cloud cover, but the windows are alive with the rising sun and it pulls a sad smile to your lips.
You ease the bike to a stop when you reach the gate. Both yours and Bucky’s right feet meet the ground to hold the bike as you punch the code into the gate, which opens along with a hidden garage door beneath the house towards which you slip through the fenced doors and quickly guide the bike down a ramp.
The lights gradually flick on as you slow the bike to its final stop next to a few others. You dismount with haste and pull your helmet and gloves off, blowing hot air on your fingers as you rub your hands together. Bucky swings his leg off the bike and removes his own helmet. Strands of his chestnut hair come loose from the knot at the nape of his neck, striking something real and imperfect against his cold-flushed cheekbones. You steal only a quick glance at his rugged tired eyes before he nods his chin towards a staircase that goes up. “Go warm up. I’ll unload.” All you can do is nod, thankful that you can skip off to find a hot shower. The cold is turning painful and the house, though industrial and cavernous, is already pleasantly warm. It isn’t ridiculously large though, and it doesn’t take you long to find a bedroom.
Earlier on in your career, the preparedness of these houses used to haunt you. Somehow, they always had fresh clothes in your size ready and waiting in the wardrobes. Now, you’re desensitised to it all. It’s just another part of the job.
The hot spray is soon welcoming you to your place of rest, easing that chill that had set into your bones, reminding you that you are now safe. Alone. Your pulse drops to your stomach, you breathe through it, and hope you’re not emanating something less savoury than contentment at being here alone with Bucky.
You’re soon dressed and in an industrial-styled kitchen that overlooks a sprawling, picturesque landscape. The floor is warm beneath your socked feet, a feature of the house, and the fridge is stocked for you to begin preparing some food to tame snarling stomachs. Somewhere in your field of sound, the spray of another showed subsides. That pulse picks up again and you focus on cracking some eggs into a white ceramic bowl.
Bucky needs a lot of food, that much is obvious, with the super serum cranking his metabolism, and a lot of protein at that. You’d just finished off breaking the last of the dozen eggs into the bowl when your companion enters the kitchen without a word.
You look up at him, because it would be weird not to, and give a brief, tight smile before opening a drawer in search of a whisk. His brief and welcome hand meets the small of your back as he passes behind you, making his way to start cutting the vegetables you put on the bench. It sends a surge of abashment through your nerves. You curl your toes against the smooth, strangely warm floor.
“I don’t mind cooking.” Your fingers close around a whisk and you close the drawer with your hip.
His head turns in your peripherals so you meet his eye. His stare is soft, framed by the drag of a sleepless night, but not by a hopelessness they once held. He shrugs with one shoulder and almost smiles. “It’s nice to do something normal.” He turns back to the counter and picks up a mushroom, and your eyes roam over him.
The African sun had been kind to him, tinting his skin with pinprick freckles and a tan that had almost faded. His hair holds the summer too. He keeps it pulled back but the shorter pieces frame his face and are laced with tiny threads of gold and the beginnings of grey. You can see the hues even through the post-shower dampness clinging to his waves. The colours are beautiful, you think, because they're signs of life lived after the stolen decades. Of all the scars, age is the only one he deserves. Maybe if you were a different person in a different life, you would've said it out loud. Romanticism doesn't seem to befit you. It feels too soft and too good.
He speaks again as soon as you turn back to the bowl.
“I should’ve got to them first,” he sniffs back the cold. “The guards.”
Your twirl your wrist to beat the eggs and keep your tone level. “I handled it just fine.”
“Yeah, well… I can see-” He lets a breath out and collects his thoughts. “I know y’don’t like it.”
You release your own deep breath through your nose, whisk stilling in your hand. “No one likes it, but it’s part of the job.”
He puts the knife down and turns his head towards you again. “I’m just saying… I can-”
“I don’t want you to do that for me, Bucky.”
Your voice is measured and the whisk doesn’t stop. You smooth a hand against side of the bowl and stare into the milky yellow mixture as it spins and spins and spins. He spent too long taking lives because other people couldn’t do their own dirty work.
“It’s not fair to you.” You sighed once, quickly, almost in a huff, before slowing the whisk again and correcting yourself. “It’s not fair to either of us, but that’s the way the world works.” Indecisive, you put down the utensil and turn your head towards him, shifting your eyes to his chopping board. His body heat skims your left arm. “I don’t want you to protect me from what has to be done. I don’t want you to see me as-”
The words die at your lips and Bucky’s head tilts. “As what?” He prompts in a gentle nudge. His hands are against the counter.
You close your eyes and smile involuntarily, so you force out a dry laugh to cover it up with a shake of your head. Every bit of air in your lungs is screaming out for him to come closer, to rid you of this mounting feeling inside, to break through this barrier of professionalism and fear that you wouldn’t be good for him.
“As one of them,” you can’t meet his eye. “As someone you have to kill for.”
You refused to be the reason he took a life. You weren’t going to do that to him.
You’d be no better than HYDRA.
He responds with something pained, something just above a whisper. “You know how I see you.” It’s not a question, nor an answer. It’s pure honesty simmering just below the horizon.
A strand of his hair is the first thing you feel as he draws closer. It ghosts along your cheekbone and catches the breath in your throat, only for a second though. Your eyes flit upwards, your chin lifts and turns ever so slightly towards him. You soften, to say yes. To say please. And it's all he needs.
His kiss is the opposite of what you expected. It's warm, and gentle.
It's a passion like you've never known.
There's this expectation, with passion, that the intensity should feel like a bolt of lighting or a supernova. Tension builds and builds and it's supposed to break. And sure, it's breaks, but so does the day over the darkness.
If the sun can pour dawn over the horizon, giving a gentle wake to the earth with rosy hues and still remain as powerful, who's to say something as good and inevitable surging through you at the speed of light has to explode. Why couldn't it fill you to the brim and stay full, keeping you bathed in a vivid sunrise.
Everything about him has been severe and guarded, until now. For the first time, while feeling the tenderness of his kiss, you consider that he hadn't built his walls so high because he wanted to keep others out but to keep himself in. You take note that his open palms are still on the counter. His hands were used for so much destruction, perhaps he didn't feel right putting them on you.
Your younger self would have resented his restraint. You would've goaded, chastised, pushed him away until he could meet you with a power you deserved. Why shouldn't he? You can take it; the fingertips sinking into you skin, storm-coloured bruises levied from fun, the gentle ache that pulses through your back from being pinned rough against a wall.
But you’re tired. Exhausted, even. Drained from tensing and flexing and always having to show every ounce of strength. Always a solider, silent and stoic. Always with a job to do. But maybe here, you were just a person.
He pulls away after several moments, still close enough for his breath to graze your lips. You don't look for his eyes because you know he won't meet you there. His tongue peaks out for half a second and he releases a breath before he lifts his head. The gentle warmth of his kiss lingers and emanates.
There's something inside you clawing to get out. A confession, maybe, or a sigh of relief. Or a declaration that you don’t deserve anything as good as what just happened. Whatever it is, it cuts through the air in a haggard little breath.
Sleep deprivation hangs like a thick chain around your neck, your hands are still numb with the lives you ended, you’re filled with an overwhelming warmth that you don’t feel worthy of. It all hits. Every fibre of you aches with the impact.
Bucky turns to steady you before you slouch against the counter.
Maybe he didn’t have to kill for you to make you feel okay. Because more than you could ever know, he gets it. He’s felt it, lived and bled it. All the shame and fleeting doses of heroism that make it all seem justified.
He holds you close. You bury your face in his shoulder with breath heavy and conflicted. His fingers curl against the base of your neck and his arm tightens around your waist, his sure breath is hot above your ear, his heartbeat loud in his chest.
His body say it so his words don’t have to:
I know.
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Yandere chevalier and licht with reader who is a distant relatives please?
Light of Life
Summary:Platonic Yan Chevalier and platonic Yan Licht. Gn! Reader. You spent your early days in the Rhodolitian court, a playmate to your cousins, Chev and Licht. Nearly twenty years later, you live in Benitoite with a life of your own.
A/N: I went from having zero ideas for this, to three hundred ideas for this 😂 there is no in between.
CW: yandere, unhealthy relationships, major character death, allusions to death by drinking, kidnapping, blood mentions
Chevalier often wondered if Licht remembered. Remembered that there was a time they had spent together. That they had shared each other's company quite frequently. That they could have almost been considered friends.
Your father was the fallen beast's youngest brother, Chevalier and Licht's uncle. Your mother was one of his many mistresses, a noble merchant woman from Benitoite. Your father never got over his own beastly ways, and often tried to claim that you were not his, despite the clear resemblance. But considering you were his only child, and he had yet to wed, you remained at the court like any other noble child.
You were Licht's age. Chev would often see the two of you playing for hours. He couldn't remember when, but at some point, you had noticed that he would hang around the two of you.
"You should play with us!" You excitedly said, handing him a piece of paper and a couple coloring supplies.
Chevalier had scoffed, but it wasn't long before the three of you were all coloring together, you and Licht chattering endlessly, Chev silently listening.
It was a peaceful thing. And the three of you seemed happy with the arrangement. From them on, all of yours and Licht's playtimes included Chev. Usually he was just sitting quietly, but he would add something here and there. It was nice. You weren't scared of him, and neither was Licht, with you by his side. He could consider this one of his happiest moments.
Of course he could never have a good thing for long. After two years of this, when you were about 7 or 8, your father went a step too far, and even the fallen beast could no longer ignore his actions. He was disgraced and banned from the court. He took the opportunity to quickly marry your mother, and move the three of you to her estates in Benitoite.
No longer were Licht and Chevalier seen talking, let alone in proximity. He knew Licht was just as devastated as he was, but what was the point of discussing it? Your father was a menace to the throne, and the Rhodolite global position was shaky as it was. No point in them discussing something so pointless or juvenile.
….
You are cordially invited to the Coronation Ball of his Majesty, King Chevalier,
You had to reread the letter multiple times. You knew your father was a Rhodolitian royal, your mother had told you so, but you were pretty certain he was no longer welcome there. And, even though he had drunk himself to death three years ago, by extension, you were not welcome there.
You thanked your attendant, and stood to find your mother. This had to be some sick joke. Despite a childhood of play with him, you'd heard that Prince, or King now, Chevalier was a heartless bastard, and the only thing that could scare Obsidian. Maybe this was his idea of a joke. Or perhaps it was a reminder of what your father could have had. Not that you cared about what that monster could have had. Your mother had taught you everything she knew, and now you were both very successful, even without a gluttonous beast with delusions of grandeur.
You knocked on the door to your mother's office, knowing full well she was probably in a meeting. But a letter from a king of a nation was something worth interrupting for.
"Come in."
You entered the room, and froze immediately, bowing deeply before Prince Silvio.
"Your highness," you greeted.
"Y/N," he said with a grin, "just the one I wanted to see. I've just finished with your mother, and I was hoping to discuss a beneficial deal with you."
"Mutually beneficial, I hope," you grinned, stifling a giggle as you watched your mother grimace at your familiarity with the Prince.
He held a hand to his chest in mock shock.
"Naturally! I would never seek to cheat the great Y/N!"
"And yet, I can never play cards with you, for that very reason," you smirked.
With a jingle, he wrapped an arm around your shoulders, escorted you out of the office, and into your gardens.
When you were both certain you were alone, Silvio sat on a bench and patted the seat next to him. You sat next to him, and rested your head on his shoulder, not even really thinking about it. He threaded his fingers with yours, the rings cold and metallic, but his hand warm and gentle.
"So this deal I'm offering,"
"Mhmm…"
"Potentially, you could receive a kingdom."
Your cheeks began to warm, but you tried to keep your cool.
"I'm listening."
"Regardless of whether or not you get one, you would still receive countless riches, access to a myriad of wealthy trade connections, and the chance to see the world whenever you wished."
You tilted your head, and looked up at him with a thoughtful expression.
"This sounds like an excellent deal for me. But what could you possibly expect me to give you in exchange for this deal?"
"You," he said confidently, a huge grin on his face.
You pursed your lips, before saying, "I'd need to discuss this with my business partner before I agree to it."
"I understand, but I'm certain I can convince your mother that this is indeed an advantageous deal."
"And, a trade of this magnitude would need to be cosigned by His Royal Highness, Prince Silvio Ricci."
"I've already spoken to him," he snorted. "He has concerns about your cheek, and seemingly endless ability to get yourself into trouble, but aside from that, he'll willingly co sign any papers we draw up on the matter."
You grinned at him. "Then I suppose I accept your deal."
"As if I'd give you a choice," he said with a smirk, before cupping your face, and kissing you tenderly, like you were the most precious jewel he'd ever beheld.
That such a hard man could be so soft…it just made your fall for him all the harder.
When he separated from you, he nuzzled his nose against yours.
"I'm certain you got a letter concerning King Chevalier's coronation ball," he ceased nuzzling noses, and began kissing along your jawline.
"Mhmm," you said, tilting your head to give him more space, "I'm certain it was a mistake or a joke."
"Believe it or not, Y/N, the people of the court quite liked you and your mother, even if they thought your father was a gluttonous beast. My sources say many of them have been trying to bring you both back."
You groaned, and swatted at him when he snickered. He pulled his face away, only to wrap you in his arms.
"Now that we've made our deal, there's no way I'd let 'em take you back. Still," he nibbled your earlobe playfully before continuing, "I propose we use the event to announce our new deal to the public."
"Rhodolite would quite like the honor of being the first to hear," you groaned.
"Correct, and a cousin of the king, albeit a disgraced cousin," you pinched his side, and he pinched yours back, "Well, let's just say that the people of Benitoite would appreciate having a further tie with Rhodolite that would keep the bloody beast at bay."
"And here I thought I was special to you," you pouted.
"So needy," he muttered, but you could hear his grin. "Perhaps this will help."
He adjusted his position, and pulled out an ornate box. You opened it, revealing a gaudy locket with and S engraved on it, next to it was a matching, gaudy ring, with a huge green diamond on it.
"Did you seek to buy me, Prince Silvio?" You laughed, slipping the ring on your finger.
"You can be unpredictable at times, so if I had to," he trailed off, putting the locket around your neck, and pressing a kiss to the back of it.
He stood up, bowed deeply, before saying, "I will see you at the ball, my love."
You bowed your head in response, and he sauntered off. You laughed happily to yourself, clutching your new locket fondly.
….
Licht sat still as a statue as Yves brushed some powder into his face.
"There. You look perfect," Yves said happily, buzzing around in excitement.
As the Obsidianite crown prince would be in attendance, it meant the suspicious looks would be on him, and not Yves for once. And Yves was buzzing with excitement over being able to attend.
Licht was about to compliment his look, as Yves started to mess with his hair for the fifth time, when Nokto strolled into the room like he owned the place.
"My darling brother, have I got some news for you!"
He sat himself on Yves' bed, and crossed his leg with the confidence of one who knew he was winning.
"I don't care," Licht said plainly.
"Oh, you will, because it has to do with your childhood playmate."
Licht stiffened. He only vaguely remembered you, but what he did remember was that you brought happiness with you. He was devastated when you'd left the court, and had cried to both Nokto and Sariel about it for days, hoping they could bring you back.
"Luckily for you, my information is free. I'm not completely heartless," Nokto said with a sigh.
"Our darling cousin Y/N L/N has risen through the Benitoitian ranks, and will be in attendance at the coronation ball this evening," he gave Licht a pointed look. "If I were you, I'd find a way to get them to stay this time. Have a great night!"
Nokto finished with an upbeat laugh, and sauntered out of the room.
Now at the ball, Licht and Yves stood together, making small talk with a countess, as the announcer called various names.
At length, the announcer said, "Prince Silvio Ricci, Prince of Benitoite, and his fiance, Y/N L/N, Firstborn to Ginevra L/N."
The glass in Licht's hand shattered as he looked in the direction of the entrance, and saw you on Silvio's arm.
….
Chevalier watched coldly as you and Silvio made your way over to give him your congratulations. Even from here, he could see Silvio's stink all over you. The glittering suitcoat with a cinched waist and flared bottom, the gaudy golden locket, the huge ring on your finger, it was as though Silvio hoped to display his ownership over you. Not that he was smart enough to even realize that's what he was doing.
And you. You must be more of a fool than he remembered if you said yes to the merchant prince. But you could learn. It wouldn't be too hard to bring you back to Rhodolite where you belonged.
You and Silvio both bowed deeply before him.
"Thank you for your invitation, your highness. My mother also sends her well wishes, as she fell ill before we could make the trip," you said.
Chevalier simply nodded and turned his piercing gaze to Silvio, who was grinning like the fool he was.
"My congratulations, King Chevalier. May your reign be long, and prosperous for both our nations."
"Hm," Chevalier responded, before turning back to you. "I am greatly pleased that you could make the trip."
"Really?" You seemed startled. Had you truly forgotten?
He internally sighed. Just because his father had birthed multiple geniuses and prodigies, didn't mean it was all that common. You were, although brilliant and successful, normal.
"I told you, treasure, they're trying to steal you from me," Silvio snickered as he nibbled playfully on your neck.
Chevalier had to resist the urge to run him through right there. How dare he think he was worthy of you? Worthy of the light that, even now, he could see emanating off of you.
"Silvio," you hissed, but it didn't wipe the silly smile off your face.
Chevalier clicked his tongue in disapproval, and your attention returned to him.
"I hope it's not impertinent, your majesty, but it's quite amusing to hear rumors about how big cousin Chev became a cold hearted bloody beast. I mean," you giggled, "you never looked like a cold hearted bloody beast to me."
Maybe you remembered something after all. His face split into a grin, a rare thing for him, unless you were involved.
"Don't let that grin fool you," Silvio snickered in your ear, leading Chevalier's face to sour again. "He's a vicious predator."
"Well, you definitely have me fooled," you grinned, reaching out to squeeze Chevalier's hand.
Chevalier made eye contact with Licht over your shoulder, and he imperceptibly nodded. Licht returned the nod, and made his way through the crowd.
"I hope to see you tomorrow at the breakfast."
Silvio's jaw dropped at Chev's statement, but you grinned and squeezed his hand again, before moving to return to the ballroom floor. He watched Licht intercept the two of you, and you extricating yourself from Silvio, as you wrapped Licht in a hug.
….
"Licht!"
He felt so warm, so happy. Like your hug was a drug, or a drink. If this is what Jin and Nokto were chasing on their late drunken nights, he couldn't say he blamed them.
"Y/N, I'm so glad you could come," He whispered, closing his eyes so he could imprint the memory forever in his mind.
"I'm so happy too! Honestly, I was worried you and Chev would have forgotten all about me," you laughed as you pulled away.
"You're so special, my diamond. Between the two of them, I've never heard more than ten words out of their mouths, and yet with you, they won't shut up and let me dance with you."
God, you really had to attract Silvio? He grimaced, but it quickly turned to a snicker when you elbowed Silvio in the side.
"Just for that, I'm going to dance with Licht first, while you learn how to play nice," you smirked.
Silvio pouted, but he couldn't say anything while you and Licht were making your way onto the dance floor.
"So tell me what you've been up to," you said, leading him into a twirl.
"I don't do much," he said.
"Oh please, almost twenty years have passed and you haven't done anything? I have a hard time believing that," you laughed.
"Um, well, I like horses," he said, beginning to feel shy.
"That's great!"
"I don't like carrots…"
"Who does?"
"Yves is probably my favorite brother…"
"Huh. That's not what I would have guessed. But that's alright!" You added quickly.
"What about you?"
"Oh, well, I'm engaged to Prince Silvio…"
"I heard."
"And my mother and I have some extensive trade deals going with Jade, as well as two merchants in Obsidian."
"Amazing."
"And I'm still the world champion of duck duck goose."
"No-"
"Yes!"
"I'm the world champion of duck duck goose…"
"Impossible. You're remembering wrong," you grinned, and twirled him one more time, before bowing deeply.
It was only then he realized the song had come to an end. He reached out and grabbed your hand, instinctually. You smiled softly, and gave it a squeeze.
"Save a dance for me later, okay?" You asked, just as Silvio swooped in with a loud jingle, and an arm around your waist, stealing you away just as quickly as when you left the first time.
He looked back at Chevalier again, who tilted his head towards one of the doors. Both of them made a path that way.
….
"Y/N is my fiance. We can share a damn room," Silvio snarled. Sometimes it was easy to forget, with how lovesick he was for you, that if there was something he didn't like, he could get angry quickly. Though, you couldn't say you disagreed with him in this instance.
A blond attendant had escorted you to a room, and informed you both that this was only Silvio's room. After a tense showdown between the two, he had introduced the both of you to Sariel, who was in charge of everything.
Well, almost everything.
"Your highness, I am just following instructions. If this is a major offense, please take it up with the King," Sariel sighed tiredly.
"Damn right I will," he said, storming off to search for King Chevalier.
You looked over at Sariel, who was cleaning his glasses with a lined expression.
"Your fiance is…"
"A pain in the ass?"
"I was going to say high maintenance, but…"
"It's alright. He's a pain in the ass, but he's my pain in the ass," you smiled, and Sariel seemed a little relieved.
Until he looked over your shoulder and stiffened again. You looked around and saw Chev. You opened your mouth to greet him, but he cut you off.
"You. Come."
Then he turned around and walked away. You turned back to Sariel, and he sighed.
"You better follow him, or he'll send an escort."
You quickly ran after him. You caught up, and attempted to tell him Silvio was looking for him, but he couldn't hear you. Giving up, and letting the silence linger, you walked through hall after hall, until he reached a room, and walked inside.
You followed, and sat in the chair in front of his desk when he waved you in that direction.
He pulled out a form and started to fill it out.
"As of this moment, I am reinstating you into the Rhodolitian court. Until we can get you housing, you will be staying with Prince Licht-"
"I'm sorry," You raised your hand, "I'm confused. I didn't ask to be-"
"It will take some time to transfer your belongings over, so perhaps it would be easier to replace them, unless there is something of sentimental value-"
"Wait, but-"
"I'm sure it won't take long for the merchants of Rhodolite to accept you among them, and help you adjust, seeing as they already are well aware of your capabilities-"
"Your majesty!" You cried. "I'm not sure where you got the information, but I'm not interested in moving back to Rhodolite."
"I assure you, the reintegration process will not be difficult, but if you are concerned, I can give you a document with my full endorsement-"
"I don't need your endorsement, because I'm not moving to Rhodolite. No offense, but I don't belong here anymore. Besides. I like it in Benitoite. They don't discriminate by birth. I've earned everything I have there, and people acknowledge that."
You thought back to Prince Silvio, and your cheeks warmed, before you quickly shook him from your head.
"So, I guess what I'm trying to say is, I'm grateful that you think so highly of me, Your majesty, but I think I will be remaining in Benitoite."
King Chevalier said nothing, just stared at you with his cold pointed glare.
"I assure you, Rhodolite is far better for you than anything Benitoite has to offer."
"Your highness, my mother and her family are in Benitoite. I'm engaged to Prince Silvio! I've signed documents of loyalty to him-"
"If the issue is that you are desperate to marry, I can find you someone worthy-"
"It's not that I'm desperate to marry!" You threw your hands up, exasperated. "It's that I love the man I'm engaged to!"
"He is a fool."
"Well, so am I."
The two of you glared at each other, until the door opened behind you, and startled you. You turned to look, and saw a very sweaty, and blood drenched Licht, looking directly at Chev. Chev tossed him a towel, and crossed his arms expectantly.
Licht wiped his sword off on the towel, avoiding eye contact, as he said, "Late this evening, around three in the morning, Prince Silvio Ricci left for Benitoite earlier than anticipated to prepare a surprise gift for his fiance. His carriage was stopped by bandits in Jade, and his body was found in the river three days later."
You stiffened, your skin growing cold.
"What?"
"His fiance, overcome with grief, lost all will to continue going, so their royal cousin, Prince Licht Klein, offered to care for them in his estate. And the bloody beast, whether out of strategy, politics, or perhaps a spot of kindness in his frozen heart, agreed to reinstate Y/N L/N back into the Rhodolitian court."
Chevalier pulled out a sheet of paper, and spoke as he began to write.
You sat, still as the dead, jaw agape. Licht resheathed his sword and knelt before you, gently taking your hands in his.
"This is going to be better for you."
You slowly took your hands back, face contorting into a look of pure horror.
"Why?" You whispered. "Why!" You cried loudly before standing up and running out of the room…
…And straight into Sariel.
He grabbed your arm, and looked directly at Chev.
"Your majesty, I think Y/N is a little tired. I'm escorting them to their room." As he "escorted" you out, he whispered in your ear,
"Just go along with whatever he says. It'll be better for the people you love, and, I promise, one day you'll adjust."
You didn't get a chance to respond as you reached your room, were pushed inside, and left alone as you heard the lock click behind you. You dazedly walked over to the bed and sat down, staring at yourself in the mirror on the wall.
Your hand slowly came up to the locket resting on your collarbone. You gently fingered the S, and the events of the last hour finally caught up to you.
You curled up on your side, clutched the locket, and sobbed.
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Milgram and The Prince
(A Companion to my Rose Bride post you can read here, not necessary to read as I reestablish all the necessary points I made there here but it be nice to see another person read it)
(CWs: Unhealthy Power Dynamics, Sexism, Discussions of Ownership in the context of Marriage, allusions to sexual abuse)
(Spoilers for Utena!)
So, as I discussed in the post linked above. In Revolutionary Girl Utena, There is a dichotemy between a Prince and Princess, with Princesses being (in the shortest way I can explain it) an unrealistic and unhealthy expectation for women to fit into a role that Lacks Autonomy and Power, and if they don't they get demonized and branded as a Witch, and Princes is an unrealistic and unhealthy expectation for men to have Complete Power, Autonomy and Control over Princess.
When we get into the Rose Bride we delve into the ideas of ownership, abuse and demonization, as the Rose Bride should Obey Whatever Their Betrothed Tells Them To Do. This Prince is who we are focusing on for this post.
"She looks gallant in a guy's uniform, but she looks perfect in a dress, too!"
Let's start off with Mikoto and John, as they're the best jumping off point when talking about the dynamic of the Prince and the Rose Bride.
Now, while the Rose Bride (and princesses) as a Role is very traditionally feminine and rooted in gender and well, misogyny. Mikoto actually has been heavily Associated with traditionally feminine characteristics and stereotypes.
(Mikoto Interrogations)
T1Q4: Do you pay attention to fashion?
A: Of course.
No one would want to request something
from a designer with no fashion sense, right?
T1Q10: Have you ever gotten angry at other people?
A: I don't think I've gotten angry before.
Isn't it kind of disgraceful to get angry?
Me, the newborn other you
In Isolation, these characteristics don't hint at anything, however when them put together, plus idea that John was "born" from Mikoto and how he even gets tied into with the rest of the girls by how he repeats his T1 Title and is the Only Guy that does so creates a interesting association with Mikoto and Femininity.
Not only that but Mikoto is Heavily Sexualized In MeMe.
A detail that's strange when even Yuno, who Wears Lingerie in Teardrop. Doesn't get sexualized in the same way Mikoto does. When Mikoto is on screen in MeMe the camera is Gazing at him. Watching him take off his shirt and bathe.
(Utena Scripts)
Anthy: The one I'm engaged to can do as he pleases with me.
People haven noted that MeMe and Mikoto references a lot of classic horror and I'd like to mention that, not only is dying in a shower a common trope, especially in horror. It's a death that commonly happens to Women. To the point where, the TVTropes Page for Deadly Bath comments on it.
Whenever it's a killer or monster that's the cause of death, the victim is always a woman for some reason.
MeMe seems to be mainly referencing the 1960s Alfred Hitchcock film Psycho, and the most well known scene from the film is the murder of a woman in the shower.
Plus, said murderer, a character with a Very Demonized and Inaccurate Portrayal of DID, is also a transphobic stereotype who kills his mom and then dresses up as her to pretend that she's Still There.
Stepping aside the Many Issues with Psycho's Portrayal of DID and transphobia for a bit, these are More Examples of Mikoto being associated with Femininity.
But it doesn't even end there! Mikoto feels like a bystander in his own life, he's on a train going nowhere in Double. He's predicting his own fate in MeMe. He has no clue where his life is going and part of it is in the hand of someone he knows Nothing About. It's scary and terrifying and his agency is minimal and he doesn't even know who he really is at this point.
Why am I here? It must be a mistake?
Take a good look at me Until you find me
Why, hey why, I’m nowhere to be found
So I will NEVER forgive you if this is happening to me even though I’m right
Why, hey why, please let me out of here
Please tell me it’s a mistake, that’s it’s a lie
I'd like to mention before I continue that Rypirotes actually pointed out this Exact Thing before! That Mikoto is the Damsel in Distress and John is his Heroic Knight. Or in my case, Mikoto is the Rose Bride, and John is the Prince.
Miki: Her eyes are telling me...
Miki: that she wants to be set free.
Miki: I will protect you...
Miki: I will protect your beautiful sound, Himemiya-san!
Now the thing about the Princess/Prince dynamic in Utena is that it actually mirrors a dynamic present in Milgram, the Victim/Savior one. I mention this a bit in my Rose Bride post but I'm going to expand on it a bit more here.
We, the audience are very familiar with John positioning himself as Mikoto's savior, it's one of the first lines of Double we ever Heard.
Cling to me, hoist me up as your “savior”
Of course as we know Mikoto has been very Distressed about John and his presence. The loss of time and memory and control and the fear of not being the real "him" haunting him. Making him portray John in a more villainous and evil light.
John is pretty upset about this, but less because he's being portrayed as a villain (though that frustration of trying so hard and yet being feared is a part of it) and more because he feels like he Ruined Mikoto's Life in his attempts to save him.
If only I were never born, if only
Why, why
I’m so sorry.
Utena: Instead, I just kept on pretending to be the Prince who could save you.
Utena: I was just being conceited about protecting you.
As we know, John's statements in Neoplasma are Unreliable, as he seemingly tries to shift all the blame of the murders to him in an effort to protect Mikoto since he was Born to Do That.
(Neoplasma)
John: That’s right. I’ll have to disappear eventually, anyway… Disappear, and take all of it with me. I… was born to protect Boku, after all.
The problem is not John wanting to protect Mikoto. It's that John in the attempt to protect Mikoto, harms him. It's not out of malice or some inherent flaw in his birth or anything like that. It's because John treats Mikoto as powerless.
John: It’s true that I was the one who wanted to destroy everything… and the weakness of Boku, who couldn’t stand up for himself all alone, might have been the origin of that. But… that’s all there is to it. Is that a sin?
While John puts Mikoto on a pedestal he also believes Mikoto to be weaker and needing protection, and no matter how True that statement may be, the way he helps Mikoto makes him feel powerless, confused and like a bystander in his own life.
Anthy: Because I'm the Rose Bride...because I'm a doll with no heart...
Anthy: I thought that no matter what befell my body, my heart wouldn't feel the pain.
Welcome home, another day, another day with that hardly barely there of a smile
You’re overdoing it, you’re already broken
John doesn't want to hurt Mikoto, he really doesn't. He just doesn't know what else he could Possibly do, he was made to take all of this on. That's what a Prince does.
Saionji: So you want to be the prince who saves the helpless princess?
So he pushes people away, hides things from Mikoto, and so on. Because even though he doesn't really know what Mikoto wants from him, he believes this is the only way to help him. (Thank you Laniemae for drawing his paranoia in particular to my attention!)
Utena: When you were suffering so much...when I had said we should save each other...
Utena: I'M the one who's unfair. I'm the one who's dirty.
Utena: I'm the one who betrayed you.
Hey, I just wanted to save you
So why did it come to this?
Which just makes Mikoto's feelings of powerless worse and causes him confusion, worry and stress. And when that reaches a breaking point, John will need to clean up whatever mess gets left behind and the cycle starts again.
The dynamic of the Rose Bride and the Prince is one built on a Horrific Power Imbalance. You don't want to be The Rose Bride, and you don't want to be The Prince either.
"Instead of a princess to be protected, I want to become a dashing prince."
It might be strange to have Kotoko here when the Prince as an archetype both in and out of Utena is associated with men, however the thing about Kotoko is that she idealizes The Prince.
Voice: but because of the strength of her admiration for the prince,
Voice: the princess made up her mind to become a prince herself!
Voice: But is that really good for her?
Now let's get something out of the way before I start this section, Kotoko has gone On Record saying she isn't exactly attached to the concept of femininity.
(Kotoko Interrogations)
T1Q10: What do you think about the word 'feminimity'?
A: It's one of the means you can take.
It's something you can freely choose depending on the scene,
so it's not something to cling onto.
This is Perfectly Fine Actually, as is Utena wearing the boys uniform and having "masculine" interests. Every time we see Utena in girl's clothes in RGU it is when she's at her lowest point and being denied who she is.
The problem is not that they present outside of the gender binary/aren't attached to it, but that they idolize Unhealthy Ideals that Reinforce a hierarchy of power.
Anyways, as established with John, The Prince as a role is one built on having power over someone. By positioning yourself as someone's "savior" you hold power over them and, even if you don't want to, harm them as a result.
Kotoko has seen the world to be cruel and unfair and the systems in place to not be enough to keep law in order. She's frustrated by how powerless she is and acts to make the world "better."
Utena: You don't see Himemiya as anything but the Rose Bride either, do you?
Touga: Is that wrong?
Utena: It is wrong!
Utena: Cut it out with that "Rose Bride" or "possession" nonsense.
(Task)
Kotoko: Yes. I hate evil. Hurting innocent people with violence, taking away from others, killing people… I hate all this evil behaviour! The law being unable to judge some sins, there's too many of these cases in this world. Having clearly bullied and torturing the weak, but exploiting loopholes in laws, there's so many sinners who still live in such a carefree manner!
It seems like Kotoko might have some unresolved and buried trauma here, as while Kotoko herself says she wasn't bullied. She also stated that when she was already the person she was now back when she was around Amane's age.
T1Q18: Have you ever been bullied in the past?
A: No.
Are people who've had such pasts the only ones who're allowed to hate evil?
20/6/18
Amane: I see……
You look scary at first impression, but I quite like the way you treat everyone equally regardless of whether they’re older or younger than you.
You don’t just treat me like a child or anything like that.
Kotoko: Treat you like a child? Hah, you’ve got to be kidding.
Back when I was your age, I was already the person I am today.
1moremilgramfan's analysis on Kotoko's clothing in Harrow over here is a fantastic dissection of Kotoko's character design and this aspect of it in particular but my point is that Kotoko tries her best to look strong and powerful, even when she's in emotional distress. She must look strong and powerful and not Weak.
I wonder what that reminds me of.
Kotoko idealizes the idea of there being some quick and easy way to save the whole world. Even if it isn't her that does it in the end.
I've chosen the awaited hero
But for now, if the system in place can't do it then She Will. She will the dashing prince that saves the helpless princess. She'll be the savior of the weak.
Let’s end this! “HARROW” “HARROW”
I can’t forgive the evil hurting the weak
It’s unforgivable, I won’t allow it, I sweared
But as I said, by positioning yourself as someone's Prince you begin to hold power over them and it's easy to start dehumanizing them and putting your wants and ideals above what they want. Their safety is reliant on yours after all. They can't fight back if you do something that harms them.
Utena: That's right, I've got to protect Himemiya.
Utena: If anyone can return her to being a normal girl, it's me.
Utena: I can't let anyone else have her.
Utena: Not even my own prince.
Kotoko: From the begin I've never asked for your understanding! My actions, one by one, are bringing earth closer to peace. Useless Weaklings should just shut up and let me protect them!
And Kotoko seems to take a lot of joy and gratification in protecting people. She doesn't care as much about the victims as much as what she Gets Out of Saving them. Their wants are not as important as hers.
...Fufu... This feels so good.
Touga: While she was engaged to you, the Code required her to obey you.
Utena: You're lying...
Touga: The Rose Bride answered the wishes of her master.
Touga: To make her an ordinary girl was merely what you wished.
By doing so, she perpetuates the cycle of violence she hated so much in the first place. You can see this in T2, by persecuting the guilty voters and physically harming them because she believes she's justified. Exerting power from them in a physical way and wanting to vote more people not forgiven so she can continue handing out righteous judgement.
Kotoko: I handed out retribution to the prisoners you chose to not forgive. Following MILGRAM’s system, I didn’t finish them off right away. You still need time to think, after all. …What’s with that face…?
Aside from following your will, I’m deciding to leave the rest up to you. But… You’re too soft-hearted. I would have chosen to not forgive more prisoners. It’d be better if I were the prison guard… Well, just one thing is missing, I guess…
I’ll stay put for now. I’ll wait until your next judgement is over, and then I’ll take action. Don’t worry, I’m on your side. Let’s bring judgement to the unforgivable evildoers.
These actions are harmful and dehumanizing, the victims are not people but a means to an end. It doesn't matter what Happens to them or even to Herself, as long as righteous judgement is brought upon those who "deserve it" for whatever reason she can come up with.
Kotoko idealized the idea of being a savior, and in the process, turned herself into a tool to harm.
Akio: I've taken enough risks to buy the power to change the world.
Akio: That's how the world works-
"It's alright now. Please go on playing make-believe "Prince" in this comfortable little coffin forever."
Now, again you don't want to be the prince. as The Prince is an unachievable ideal that harms everyone and perpetuates cycles of violence.
However unlike the Rose Bride, the Prince Has More Power and Agency. Whoever is engaged to the Rose Bride has power over her. So, if your worldview can only perceive the roles of Prince and Princess, Savior and Victim, then of course you would want to be The Prince.
Let's talk Shidou Kirasaki.
Now, similar disclaimer to Amane's in the previous analysis. Since I've delving into the abuse the Prince perpetuates in a bit more detail. I am once again stating that while I Will Not discuss csa and sa in general here since we have no proof of Shidou doing that and for the sake of tact. However it will be Alluded to vaguely in the dialogue, especially since I'm focusing on the perpetrators of that abuse.
Once again, do what is good for your health and stay safe.
Now, unlike most of the princes in Utena, Shidou isn't doing this necessarily out of malice, he is not as bad as Akio Othori and I'm not going to pretend he is.
However even if his actions aren't necessarily done out of Malice it doesn't mean he doesn't benefit from it nor does it mean he doesn't harm anyone.
Now I talked a lot about Amane in my Rose Bride analysis but as I mentioned their, people are always constantly presenting themselves to Amane as "her prince," and are frustrated and upset when Amane shows that she can't be the victim they want her to be and Shidou is no exception to this.
22/10/24 (Shidou’s Birthday)
Amane: I warned you.
I can no longer turn a blind eye to this wickedness taking place right in front of us. You’re bringing ruin unto yourself.
Do you understand?
Shidou: No, I don’t understand.
It’s my job as an adult to teach you that throwing a temper tantrum isn’t going to make everything go your way.
In fact Shidou parallels her abusive parents a lot in his behavior by constantly ignoring and outright dismissing Amane's feelings and thoughts because he believes that Amane is "just a child."
20/06/13
Amane: ……*sigh*. Is that right.
I don’t think I’m going to get along with you, Shidou-san.
I don’t agree with the fact you refuse to acknowledge that I have my own free will, and that I should be held accountable for my actions, just because I’m a child. I may have only been alive for 12 years, but all the choices I’ve made, even if they weren’t the best ones, were entirely my own.
What point is there in you getting sad when I have no regrets myself?
……please give me back my test. It seems you don’t have the concentration levels required to be my teacher. I’m going to get Kotoko-san to teach me instead.
Shidou: Amane……
I don’t think that’s true. However smart you may be…… you’re still just a child.
Shidou doesn't see Amane as a person, he sees her as "child" and thus has less agency than Him. He's the one who should be making decisions for her because he's an adult. Whenever she reacts in a way he doesn't like he dismisses it, she's having one of the Worst Periods of Her Life right in front of him and he's dismissing it as just throwing a tantrum, something silly and childish.
Akio: A child like you can't appreciate my ideals.
This isn't the only person he does this to, as Es also experiences his belittling and patronizing way of treating children.
(Molech)
Shidou: Ah, well… I was just thinking about how despite being a child, you’ve really done your research on this.
Es: Hey. [footsteps] You trying to make fun of me, is that it?
Shidou: What? Oh, no. I wasn’t trying to do anything like that.
Es: You were. Something’s been on my mind ever since the very beginning… “Es, this. Es, that.” It’s the belittling way you refer to me… I’m the prison guard, you know that?
Shidou: Oh, I’m completely aware of that. But, you’re still a child in actuality. Coming from me, who’s almost twice the age as you are, I just…
Es: What is it?
Shidou: For a child like you to be entrusted with this sort of role… My heart goes out to you.
In a way he's exerting power over the both of them through this, he's an adult, more responsible and powerful than the both of them. It's, frankly, dehumanizing.
If the Rose Bride is an object to be projected on, the Prince is the one doing the projecting.
And as explained in the Rose Bride post, coffins in Utena represent cycles and eternity and to grow you need to break out of it. Shidou is stuck in his own coffin, keeps on trying to return to a life that Doesn't Exist Anymore and when he's faced with that knowledge and the way he's harmed the people around him because of that he continues to spiral.
He wants to die but he can't do it himself so he pushes the responsibility onto someone he doesn't consider as a person.
Shidou: I feel sorry that you had to be given this role. And, I truly apologise for being so insistent about sentencing me to death as well… But, you’re perfect. You’ll give me the ending I’m most suited for.
He wants to make up for his mistakes as a parent and pushes that onto someone he can project onto, even though that person has made it very clear how unwelcome and even painful it is for him to do that.
Shidou: Yeah. I’ll do what I can.
I can’t have a child making a face like that.
He wants to live but he can only live if someone else is in pain because that means he has a reason to continue existing.
But there are lives that need safeguarding
So hey, prolong my life, I’m indispensable
Shidou has fully admitted that he thinks his crime is a selfish one, he did it for himself. No matter How or Why he killed, we know he didn't value the people he killed that much.
“Throw down”, someone’s value
Cannot be the same as another
You're in my way, hurry up and die.
The value comes from what they give to him, and in the end, their death was much more valuable to him than their life.
"The One Who Will Revolutionize the World"
Frankly, it's kinda pathetic to be a Prince.
It's is a coffin that one can stay in forever if they don't do anything. Something that harms you and everyone else...mostly everyone else. It's a role that brings about stagnation and immaturity. You can never revolutionize the world by being a Prince, all your doing is just perpetuating a cycle of harm.
Maybe Kotoko and Shidou will stay in their coffins, who knows really with them. They don't seem particularly in a hurry to get out, they don't even seem to notice their trapped in the first place.
Mikoto though...well...John really does want to understand, and Mikoto really does want to know what's happening.
And maybe that's enough.
Anthy: But, you're a...
Utena: I came here to meet you.
Utena: So don't be afraid of this world where we'll meet.
Utena: ...Himemiya...Himemiya...Himemiya!
Utena: Himemiya!
Anthy: Utena...sama...?
Utena: Himemiya...we finally...meet.
END NOTES:
I don't usually put these but since I plan to make this two part series one post minus the utena I might as well talk a bit.
I end this and the Rose Bride one so sappily but that's mostly cause I always need to remind myself after writing these that it's a Breakable Cycle. You write 2k+ words about characters being trapped in coffins and it Gets To You.
I'm so sorry to Fuuta for leaving him out of this...Mikoto and Kotoko kinda took your place...I know your literally a hero in your MV but I could not find a way to put you here without bloating it too much.
Funnily enough while the Rose Bride post had a lot to talk about The Prince is weirdly easy to summarize, the longest part here is when I talk about the themes of the Rose Bride and how that intersects with Mikoto. Though maybe that's just me. Another reason to write the compilation I guess.
I Swear there was more quotes about children and adults in Utena- I suppose it's a lot of its themes on adulthood are communicated visually and/or involve sex so like...yknow. Plus I'd have to explain the cars and it would take me all my effort to not put the Shiori car quote.
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The Shapeshifting Detective - Part 7
cw: parental death, grief, referenced murder, allusions to sex work, slow burn, more tags will be added as the story continues
male shapeshifter x fem character
word count: 4k
Part 1 Part 2 Part 3 Part 4 Part 5 Part 6 Part 7 Part 8
Kate had been awake for what she was certain must have been hours, just lying there. Too afraid to break this sliver of peace she’d stumbled upon.
The steady rise and fall of her chest naturally mimicked that of Vincent's as she felt it against her side.
The quiet couldn’t last forever. He shifted away from her with a groan. She couldn’t help but wonder if he’d just awoken or if he’d been basking in the moment like she’d been.
“C’mon,” he said, his voice soft. “We gotta go, just follow me.”
She let him pull her to her feet without protest, following quietly behind, the lingering peace of sleep still blanketing her in a calm that she desperately needed.
As she followed behind him, one hand clasped Vincent’s while the other still carried Anne’s dress, cradling it close to her chest as he led her through the streets.
“Where are we going,” she finally asked, feeling disoriented by his route. She was used to main streets and grand entrances, not the back alleys that she was being pulled through now.
“Somewhere safe,” he said plainly, and as her drowsiness began to fade, the evasiveness of his answer struck her.
She was on alert once again and although the streets weren’t ones she was used to, it didn’t take long before some of them became eerily familiar.
As soon as she realized she stopped in her tracks, staying firmly planted in place as Vincent attempted to tug her onwards. “What do you mean somewhere safe? You said she was dangerous.”
“She won’t hurt you, don’t worry,” he tried to reassure her, but the fact that he’d attempted to hide it overrode the sincerity in his tone.
“I don’t even know what she is!”
“I know, I know. I’m sorry, but I need to find somewhere safe to bring you and Evelyn is one of my only options.”
A few days ago that wouldn’t have been nearly enough to convince her but a few days ago she had a lot more freedom. “Fine, but you have to tell me what she is. No more vagueness and secrets, I want to know.”
“Do you promise you won’t freak out?”
Kate nodded solemnly.
“Alright, well the closest thing you have in human lore is a vampire.”
Kate gasped, her eyes widening as her hands flew to cover her mouth. “She’s a vampire? Hold on, vampires are real?”
“You promised not to freak out, this looks like freaking out.”
Her mind was already darting through the implications. “Wait, so how many of the creatures in folklore are real?”
“I don’t know, most of them. Can we talk about this later?” he asked as he glanced around.
“That’s wild, that’s… you know, in hindsight, I think I should have seen that coming, she fits it perfectly. She isn’t doing much to hide it, is she?”
“No, she most certainly is not. Can we please go now?”
The new information hadn’t done much to soothe Kate but she let Vincent pull her along once more. She’d already decided to trust him, if he said she’d be safe here she knew that it was true.
Or at least that he believed it.
It was much easier to enter Evelyn’s home through a doorway. Not that she would have had the option. She noticed with a twinge of misplaced pride that all the windows that had previously been left open to air out the rooms were now firmly closed and locked.
Vincent walked in ahead of her and she let him take the lead. As eager as she’d been to run into situations head first, this seemed like one where it was wise to stay back.
She heard the clicking of heels and a familiar voice said, “I swear to god if you’re bringing me another unconscious human I am going to…”
Evelyn stopped in her tracks the second she laid eyes on Kate, her expression shifting from that of vague amusement to a distressed sort of fury.
Vincent gave her an apologetic smile. “Well, she’s not unconscious.”
Her eyes flitted back and forth between you, the moment of angry panic fading back to her practiced lazy confidence. “Vincent, I swear to god, you cannot keep doing this.”
“She needed help!”
“Odd, feels like you can’t seem to stop running into people who need help. I don’t know how I seem to keep missing them. Actually, maybe I prefer it this way. You’re getting too trigger-happy lately. At least this one seems like she’s been invited here, although why you’d do such a thing is beyond me.”
“For the record, I am not trigger-happy. The Daniel thing wasn’t even my idea! She’s the one who knocked him out!” he said, gesturing vaguely in Kate’s direction.
That seemed to pique Evelyn’s interest, her gaze shifting for the first real time, to Kate. No longer was she regarding her like a stray dog Vincent had brought, now she was looking as if she was a real person standing before her.
“Did you?” she prompted, looking Kate up and down, making her squirm a little under the unrelenting inspection.
“I needed to. I’ll do whatever it takes.”
That earned a wry chuckle from her. “Well, at least this one’s more interesting than the last one. She’s got more bite to her. Maybe we will get along.”
Kate winced at the word bite. “Is that supposed to be a joke?”
Kate hadn’t thought that Evelyn could get any more irritated with Vincent but in that moment she was genuinely concerned for his wellbeing.
“Now why would she think that’s a joke,” Evelyn asked through gritted teeth.
It was his turn to squirm as she glared at him. “We may have discussed some of your… proclivities.”
Her jaw tightened as she stared Vincent down. “And what else might have you discussed?”
“On the bright side, you don’t need to worry about calling them humans when she walked in. There’s no more game to give away, use all the weird language you’d like.”
Evelyn did not seem to view this as the positive Vincent was attempting to spin it as.
“I am counting the days until you either figure this shit out or give up and frame someone. I can’t even get gray hairs but I swear every time we talk I get closer.”
That perked him up. “About the figuring it out situation…”
Kate cut him off. It was her decision now anyways, he didn’t need to flounder in an attempt to explain. “It’s done, my mother confessed. She hasn’t been arrested yet but it’s only a matter of time.”
“You solved it?” Evelyn asked, giving Kate a once over as she did.
She nodded. “Should’ve done it sooner. It’s my fault it even took as long as it did. But this case will be closed soon, I will make certain of it, do whatever it takes.”
Evelyn raised an eyebrow at her statement. “Whatever it takes, huh?”
Kate nodded, her absolute determination refusing to waver.
Vincent cut in, adding, “Also, everyone might currently think Kate did it so that’s a minor roadblock we need to handle. In related news, I’m just gonna leave her here for a couple hours. Just like… 12 hours. Maybe 14.”
Her attention snapped back towards him, losing whatever interest she’d had in Kate. “Vincent! I have appointments tonight, what am I supposed to do?”
“Postpone them?”
If looks could kill, he would be long gone. “You aren’t doing this. I know you aren’t. What has gotten into you? You said you figured it out! That’s it. It’s done, case closed, just go arrest her. We can all celebrate no longer being murder suspects and you can take Kate along as you clear her name.”
“I have to figure some stuff out first.”
She rubbed her temples. “Vincent, I went along with your stupid little plan to unravel all of this instead of just pinning it on someone, please don’t make me regret it.”
“I won’t. Just give me a few hours, that’s it.”
“14 hours is not a few hours.”
“You’re the best, thanks!” he called back, already heading towards the door as Evelyn continued to scowl at him.
She spent what felt like an eternity just glaring at the door that was slowly swinging closed with a squeak that seemed deafening in the otherwise quiet room.
Finally, with a huff, she turned her attention back to Kate, saying, “I know this isn’t your fault but I think I might blame you anyways.”
Kate managed a weak smile. “Shame, I thought we could both blame Vincent.”
“I might take you up on that when he gets back. He’d rather listen to his human of the week than me anyways.”
Kate wanted to press that statement and learn more about Vincent but it seemed wise to leave that particular topic alone, at least until Evelyn calmed down.
“Who were you going to pin it on?” she asked instead. It took massive amounts of restraint to not tack a ‘was it me?’ onto the end of her question.
“I couldn’t have cared less. You were at the top of the list until Vincent started fawning over you. Your little fiance was a close second.”
“He’s not my fiance. And the motive isn’t there, it wouldn’t have made sense.”
She rolled her eyes. “Doesn’t matter if it makes sense, just matters that it’s not me.”
“Speaking of my non-fiance, where are they? Him and that detective?” Kate asked as she glanced around, looking for any signs of a makeshift prison.
“Blindfolded and handcuffed to a pipe in a closet. They’re very annoying to take care of, I wanted nothing to do with the matter but the alternative was Vincent taking care of them and I wasn’t about to let that happen.”
“Because they would have escaped under his watch or because he would’ve let them go?”
She waved the question off. “One or the other, impossible to know with him. Although those two don’t really seem like his type, especially not after he met you.”
“Oh.” She couldn’t help but wonder what would it have been like if he’d met one of them first. Maybe he would’ve been by Daniel’s side instead. The thought made her feel a little sick, though she couldn’t fully place why. Pushing it aside, she continued on with her neverending questions.
“What appointments are you missing?”
“I’m supposed to be drinking people’s blood, dear. Amongst other things. Why all the questions, are you interested?”
She smiled and Kate couldn’t tell if she was flirting or teasing her. If she had to bet, she’d put her money on both.
“Do you… kill them?” she asked hesitantly.
“God, you’re so dramatic. No, I don’t kill them. You’d be surprised how many people are ready and willing to participate.”
“You get men to willingly sign up to get their blood drunk?”
“Did I say men?”
“Just any old person then?”
She shrugged and gave Kate a knowing smile. Every smile from her felt almost antagonistic. Like it was meant to be a little frightening, an active attempt to make herself as offputting as possible. “I don’t discriminate. Bloods blood, after all, and a humans a human.”
One thing was missing from her menacing smile though. “You don’t have fangs. Don't vampires usually have fangs?”
The question seemed to catch her genuinely off-guard, reeling back a little before regaining her composure and putting on her imposing little performance once more. “I did. They got filed down, it’s standard practice nowadays. Hurts like hell but they say it's better than being so recognizable, that there are less suspicious ways to draw blood. It’s a shame, I wish I still had them. Fuck what the humans think, I can fend for myself.”
“Wouldn’t that just make everything harder? I imagine the clothes do,” she said, looking down at the intense black that even Kate couldn’t match in her funeral garb.
“It does. I don’t give a shit. We’ve hidden for long enough if you ask me.”
Kate couldn’t help but smile at the thought. She’d spent her whole life hiding and lying, not knowing there was any other option. And then these monsters, these creatures of honesty and bravery appeared and it somehow felt more foreign than anything else they ever could have shown her.
It was overwhelming, being faced with people with so much to lose being so much braver than anyone she’d ever seen, than anything she could ever do.
Now when she thought of returning home, back to normalcy, it wasn’t just dread of the inevitable that filled her. There was something else sneaking in, this sense that she would be choosing this, that she could escape the endless lies and the hiding. After all, they did.
Her breathing got shallower and her chest felt tight right under when she was holding Anne’s dress.
Looking down at it, she came to a decision and the tension dissipated. The dread and the grief couldn’t catch up with her if she just kept moving so that's what she’d do.
“I’ll get out of your hair,” she said with the politest smile she was still capable of. “Do you have somewhere I can change?”
“Where ever you’d like, I don’t mind.”
Kate got the distinct impression Evelyn wouldn’t have minded if she started stripping right there and then but still she wandered off until she found an empty room.
It had a bed in the center with some suspicious stains on it that she tried not to think too hard about and dozens of mirrors lining the perimeter of the room. It wasn’t exactly ideal but it would do for the short time she’d be here.
She had absolutely no intention of staying put, but she knew she couldn’t show up as she was. Even now she wasn’t that reckless. But Vincent had unintentionally given her a disguise and she’d be amiss not to use it.
It was a good bet, no one really noticed the servants, especially if she stuck to herself. The hardest part would be getting out without Evelyn stopping her.
Her attempt to get out of her mourning clothes was not going well. She hadn’t noticed how much she was shaking until she was face to face with the buttons and lacing of her dress.
A familiar, looming presence arrived in the doorway.
Kate could feel her gaze even before she turned to meet Evelyn’s eye.
“It’s polite to knock,” she said, not allowing the woman’s presence to stop her from attempting to free herself of the endless black clothing.
She watched, an amused look on her face as she watched Kate struggle to undo her clothes on her own.
“You need help with that?” Evelyn asked, not even attempting to hide her smile.
“I’m fine,” Kate replied with a huff.
“Seems like it.” She watched as shaky fingers struggled to untie a bow for a few moments more before pacing over and swatting Kate’s hands away.
She pushed Kate’s tensed shoulders down and added, “Relax a little, I don’t bite. Well, I do but that’s beside the point.”
Somehow that didn’t add to Kate’s trust in the woman.
She continued on, barely paying any mind to the rising tension of the girl below her fingertips.
“What do you think of him,” she asked as Kate felt the garment loosen.
“I don’t know. He’s one of the kindest people I’ve ever met, I guess. Haven’t had much time to think about anything at all lately.” That wasn’t quite true but she was sure Evelyn didn’t want to hear about the neverending flurry of thoughts that plagued her.
Evelyn guided the dress down her arms, the corset loosening around her a few moments later.
She kept talking as she worked. “That boy has a real bleeding heart. I try and get him to loosen up and have some fun and he brings home a handful of strays with sob stories.”
“Is that what I am?” she asked, trying to get a good look at the woman behind her through the mirrors. “One of his strays?”
“I don’t know. Usually, he moves them along pretty quickly, tries not to get too attached. With you, well, I think it might be too late for that. Good luck getting rid of him now, I certainly haven’t had any luck with it.”
The last remnants of her mourning garb fell to the ground and before Kate could protest that she could take it from here Evelyn was already helping her into Anne’s clothes.
“Are you trying to?”
“Not really. But don’t tell him that, I have to keep up pretenses. I would ruin my brand if people found out I wasn’t a heartless bitch.”
“Don’t worry, I don’t think there’s any danger of that.”
“Be careful. What is it they say about glass houses?”
As Evelyn finished, Kate looked at herself in Anne’s clothes in one of the many mirrors lining the walls, but Evelyn didn’t seem interested in leaving. She hovered just behind Kate, eyes roaming her without so much as a care about Kate’s feelings on being inspected.
Her head cocked to the side as if trying to get a new angle on Kate. “Your mind is elsewhere. What’s going on up there?”
“I need to go back.”
“I know. That’s why you’re getting dressed, isn’t it?”
“Vincent wouldn’t want me to go,” Kate blurted out.
Evelyn looked around the room. “Huh, I had no idea he’d snuck back in here. Making decisions for you before I could even lay eyes on him, how does he do it? Go. Do what you need to do. If he comes back early I’ll handle it.”
“Promise?”
“In regards to you sneaking out? Sure. I make no promises about anything else you might do. I have evidence of how easily you get carried away tied up in the other room, I’m not that foolish.”
“Thank you,” she said, and she wondered if Evelyn could hear her sincerity or if she’d gotten so used to faking it over the years that no one could tell any longer.
Getting home was easy. She lived in this city her whole life, lived there for so long, she could find her way home from anywhere.
It filled her with unease the second she laid eyes on it but the emotion didn’t feel out of place. It had always been there, bottled up with every other emotion.
She managed to make her way past people of various stations as she slipped inside, avoiding eye contact and keeping her head down as much as she could.
She was so set on keeping her head down and out of trouble that she didn’t even see her coming until she heard the faint gasp.
Her head rose to see Anne backing away from her, hands raised in a quiet surrender, like she was a wild animal who could pounce at any moment.
“Kate,” she said quietly. “You shouldn’t be here.”
She hadn’t been certain why she was coming back until this moment, with Anne in front of her. Before it was just the need to keep pushing forward propelling her, sending her back again. But now, staring down the person who’d been her only friend, she knew exactly why she was here. “I needed to come back.”
Anne kept backing slowly away, edging towards the door. “No, you didn’t. There’s nothing left here. Now I know we didn’t leave off on the best terms but you shouldn’t do anything rash.”
“I didn’t… you’re scared of me.” The observation felt like a punch in the gut, all of the air being sucked out of her.
“No, I’m not,” she said too quickly in a voice a little higher than it should’ve been.
“Please don’t do this. I’m still Kate, I’m still…”
But was she? She wasn’t even sure she could recognize the Kate that Anne knew anymore. For so long, that was the closest to honesty she’d gotten, and yet now that girl felt like just as much of a stranger as everyone else did with their own unique set of lies.
“Yeah, of course you are,” she said, in a desperate attempt to placate her.
There was nothing she could do to fix this. Not this version of her, not this person who Anne didn’t know. Kate had pushed her away at just the wrong time and now Anne was scared of her and there was nothing she could do to change that.
Anne finally seemed to decide she’d edged close enough to the door, turning heel and running through the doorway.
A few moments later, a familiar detective walked through the door, presumably retracing Anne’s panicked steps.
Worry creased his brow as he laid eyes on Kate. “What’re you doing here?” he asked, rushing to her side. He pulled her chin up, forcing her eyes to meet his in an attempt to ground her. “You shouldn’t be here. I’ve got this, you’re going to get yourself hurt.”
“No. I… I needed to be here.”
He glanced nervously behind him as he spoke. “Alright, we have bigger problems right now. Is she going to tell someone you’re here? Do we need to run or can you just hide?”
And she didn’t know. She has no idea if her best friend in the world was turning her in as they spoke.
The most she could manage was a shrug and then they were off, Vincent dragging her behind him.
This time there were no arguments as he took her back to Evelyn, shouting, “I told you to keep her here,” as soon as he entered.
Evelyn rolled her eyes. “She wanted to leave, what was I supposed to do, lock her up?’
He was wide-eyed and disheveled, looking more frustrated than Kate had ever seen him before. Evelyn stood as confident as ever.
Kate just let them bicker, Vincent furious and insisting she could’ve been hurt while Evelyn tried to remind him that it wasn’t his choice to make.
“What were you even doing there?” Kate finally asked, cutting off their fighting in an attempt to make sense of as much of this as she could.
“Talking to your mother, trying to get her to recant her statement. To give you an escape route, if you needed one. I think if you let me try for longer, I might be able to-”
“Please stop.”
He shook his head, “No, I really think it’s possible.”
He didn’t get it. She had to make him get it. “And who then? If not her, then who? What innocent soul are we sacrificing if it's not my mother? “
“I don’t know, we’ll figure it out.”
“No, let’s talk about it right now. Maybe Evelyn, what about that? She’s an easy target.”
He looked like a kicked puppy but she couldn’t stop. She needed him to understand. “You’re not being fair…”
“Okay, not her. Blame it on one of the staff then. They had easy access, I’m sure we could come up with a motive. I’ve got an easy one, just say it was Anne. Everyone knows we’re close, it would be an easy sell.”
“Stop it.”
“I can’t. I can’t stop until you understand.” She got more and more frantic the more she spoke. “ It has to be her. She did this. I know she’s my mother and I know you feel for her but I also know that we can’t just leave this be. He’s dead and she did it and that has to be it. I need that to be it.”
“Okay. Yeah, okay, that’s it then.”
“That’s it?” she asked, and she hated how small she sounded.
“That’s it. Your call.”
She expected to have to fight harder but he backed down. He’d been telling the truth, she supposed. It was up to her, her choice to make.
She opened her mouth to thank him but before anything could be said, a knock on the door echoed through the room.
Kate and Vincent turned to look but Evelyn sprung right into action. She manhandled Kate into the closest cupboard, shutting the door after hissing at her to stay absolutely quiet.
She held her breath as she stood in the wooden box that was barely big enough to fit her. The front door swung open and Evelyn alone greeted the people at the door, Vincent off somewhere. Maybe he was hiding in some other equally cramped space.
Her blood ran cold as she heard a few words through the door, muffled talk about warrants making its way to her.
The police were here. If they found her she would be arrested but worse than that, there were two kidnapped people in this house, kidnapped people who knew far too much.
If they found and freed them, that was it. Evelyn would be arrested and what would Vincent even be able to do? Harvey and Daniel would hear tales about all the things they managed to do despite having been kidnapped and they’d all know. Vincent would have to just go, leave the two of them at the mercy of the law, or worse, he’d try something stupid and all three of them would get hurt.
Kate did the only thing she could think of. She took one final, deep breath as she stepped out of the cupboard
“I’m in here,” Kate called, praying she could convince the police that Evelyn had no idea she was hiding here, that at the very least she could protect someone.
It certainly got their attention. Barely a moment had passed before she was being restrained and hauled towards the door.
On her way out she passed Evelyn, giving some sob story to the officer in front of her.
In one fleeting moment of eye contact, as Kate was pulled out, she saw a gleam of acknowledgment in her eyes, a quiet thank you that turned to fear once more before any of the officers even had time to notice.
It was in Evelyn’s hands now. Kate was shoved into the back of a police wagon as she sent a silent ‘good luck’ to the pair she was leaving behind. She had a feeling they’d all need it.
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darling silky
i hope i didn't overwhelm you with all the asks 😳
i'm just to excited by the prospect of getting more mills stories from you i can't stop spinning out !
💗love you💗
💗
Not at all, they are so fun and have me dreaming up so many different stories! <3 Thank you so much for all the lovely prompts :)
Since several people asked for a Ruined Wedding with Mills, I thought I would share a quick scene from one of the stories I'm considering with that plot. I hope you like it :)
CW: allusions to injuries, death, light choking and manhandling, under-the-wedding-dress shenanigans, and your daily serving of angst
WC: ~3.4k
Summary: Mills and RC are operatives for the Museum, a guild of assassins. Mills had been with her since day one, helping recruit her and show her the ropes. He was even the first mistake she made, when they gave in to their attraction and had a clandestine affair, even though the Museum frowned on such relationships. Things changed fundamentally between then and now. Henry, her fiancé, is a fellow Museum operative who would not be dissuaded from making their relationship known, demanding official permission to make their union formal. Now the first wedding at the Museum is set to take place, but things are not as they first appear. Mills realizes that two competing Curators, each vying for a seat on the Board of Directors of the Museum, are planning to use the momentous wedding as the stage for a bloody coup. He needs to convince the bride that she is in danger and that they can make it through the night If they work together. And along the way, Mills has every intention of rekindling their old flame.
WC: ~3.4k
*
The Poine Museum was a tall, majestic edifice, as grandiose on the outside as it was within its thick walls, sprawling wide and soaring high into the night sky.
As far as the rest of the world was concerned, it was a privately owned entity which attracted a global patronage of private collectors who all shared and exchanges priceless pieces of art and cultural heritage. The Museum regularly bid in auctions for prestigious pieces, occasionally taking them home and depositing them safely into the Vault.
Behind the stanchions and velvet curtains, the Poine Museum was a guild of assassins. With a long and storied history, a largely clandestine one, there were many rules in place that allowed the Museum to continue functioning. Possible targets and new operatives were meticulously researched and chosen only if the Board of Directors voted unanimously. Training for operatives was Spartan in nature and there were no guarantees issued – not of ultimately being admitted into the guild, nor even of surviving. What kept operatives firmly tethered to the Museum were the scrupulously chosen targets – undeniably rotten characters who evaded justice through more mainstream channels.
One of the essential pillars of the Museum was that its operatives seldom made lasting unions with outsiders, given the exigencies of the profession they had undertaken. Trysts between operatives were discouraged, but overlooked once done. There was really no helping such matters once the milk was spilled, so to speak. Bonds and marriages between them, however, were a different matter.
Experience had taught the Board of the Museum that operatives involved with one another in major ways grew less efficient, suffered a higher rate of injury and made poorer decisions during Exhibitions. In short, emotional bonds made them more irrational as individuals and worse as operatives.
That was all well enough and generally an easy rule to live by. No Museum operative wanted to bring work home. All Museum personnel were on a retainer and paid bonuses per Exhibition. Exhibitions could last for weeks and even months in extreme cases and if the target was illustrious enough, and they often came out of the blue. Once Provenance established a viable target, which was a complex process in itself, and the Board signed off on it, it was up to Acquisitions to get their hands on it by any means necessary. The last thing any operative wanted was to return home and either be separated from their partner, who was off setting up an Exhibition, or have their precious downtime, meant for decompressing, invaded by more Museum-related work.
So business carried on at the Museum for decades. Until now.
The first official wedding between two operatives was set to be held at the Museum building itself.
You clinked your flute of champagne to your maid of honor’s and shared a smile before tipping your head back, enjoying the citrusy notes over the tang as the drink slid smoothly down your throat. Alexandria was wearing a slate blue satin dress that suited her deep skin tone beautifully. It complemented both the champagne tone of your wedding dress and the slate blue shirt and cufflinks your groom was wearing too. The Museum thought of everything.
You were grateful that Alexandria was with you as you got dressed. The unthinkable had happened – one of your seams had split open as you shimmied into the skin-tight dress. Being an operative from Restorations, she was able to help you get into your dress and laced you up perfectly in the back before setting about fixing the split.
“Lucky for you, I stitched up way worse with way less,” she gritted out through her teeth as she bit off the thread and put it through the needle first go.
“I thought we couldn’t bring in anything through the metal detectors,” you frowned, pleasantly surprised she had her Restorations kit with her.
“Fish bone,” she looked up and smiled, closing the seam up swiftly, leaving it as good as new. You had proof on your own body that she made immaculate stitches, so you had no doubt the seam she fixed was now secure for the duration of event, no matter what acrobatics ensued.
The tall door to your suite opened noiselessly and one of Henry’s groomsmen poked his bald, shiny head in. “45 minutes, ladies,” he informed in a jovial tone and promptly retreated, leaving you to your bridal business.
Alexandria squeezed your hands excitedly and stomped in place like an excited child. “You ready?” At times it seemed like the guests attending the event felt more excited than the future Mrs. McHenry, you mused. This was a brief moment, to be your own, and you might get to be footnote in the Museum’s history as the two operatives to officially get married, but people were far more excited for this wedding meant in the grand scheme of things. The Museum was not as immutably set it stone as everyone had it beaten into them during their training. Things could change and drastically so. One only had to push decisively in the direction they wished to go.
“Ready or not, it’s showtime,” you shrugged and accepted her hug as she threw her arms around you. She gave one last wave and sent a kiss goodbye before disappearing behind the door, to descend the many levels down to the Gallery, where the ceremony would soon be taking place.
With her departure, you had a reprieve of a few seconds to enjoy the quiet and solitude of the cavernous suite, draining the rest of your drink.
With a visceral grunt, you heard Julian land on your balcony. Too adventurous for a simple entrance through a door, he opted to sneak into the adjoining suite and scale the length of wall separating you, climbing on the balcony and heaving his massive body over it. He was currently absorbed in jimmying your lock.
With a sigh, you walked over and threw the door open. His face fell in disappointment when the door gave way so easily, as though you’d snatched a candy bar from his hands.
“Coast clear?” he asked in his usual husky whisper, looking to your left and right as you retreated into the lavishly decorated room and he followed.
“What’s the matter, Mills? Provenance not giving you enough opportunities you chase thrills? You have to break into my wedding to get your rocks off?”
Not in the mood for teasing or much preamble of any kind, Julian’s expression darkened like a stormy sky. He grew terribly still, somehow managing to loom even larger as he stood quiet as the grave and unmoving. You barely had enough time to set your glass down before he grabbed you by the arms and pulled you into him. He folded you into his broad chest and locked his arms around you so that all you could do was part your lips and welcome his devouring kiss, slackening into his hold and fighting for breath under the bruising force of his affections.
“Easy,” you panted as you fought to catch your breath once he released you. Julian wasn’t listening, though, walking bodily into you and all but pushing you onto the bed.
He stopped just short of tossing you backwards, for a brief moment, snaking his hands down your arms and spreading them wide to take in the sight of you all dolled up for the wedding.
“God, you’re breathtaking,” he frowned, feeling what a momentous occasion this day represented. You saw a hundred hungry thoughts go through his mind, shining darkly in his eyes as they raked up and down your body. The possessive beast inside him roared to life, rancorous that you were dressed up like a vision to marry a different man, even if it was just for show. You saw the change come over him and knew he was seeing red. There was no reasoning with him then.
His hand tightened painfully around your wrist and he stepped into you, sending you both toppling into the queen sized bed. Julian groaned into his kiss and straddled over you, one hand coming up to coil around your neck. He squeezed experimentally, tighter and tighter until you squirmed under him and wrapped a warning hand around his wrist. You remembered then all the truncated fights you had, snatching moments to throw accusations back and forth as to whose fault it was that things shook out the way they did. His hand around your throat, huge and monstrously strong, reminded you how much he loved to have the last word. You grabbed a handful of his hair roughly in retaliation and bit on full lower lip until you started to taste blood. The kiss was all teeth and struggle, more punishing than pleasurable.
“You’re so fucking beautiful, sweetheart,” he rambled as he left sloppy, sucking kisses down your neck and chest, some primal part of him wanting you mark you up visibly as his.
“I know,” you huffed a laugh and smoothed his hair away from his face with a gentler hand, working to wind him down and remind him not to lose it so close to the moment of truth. He sat up, not shying away from burdening your hips with his full weight, which pushed the air out of you in a strained grunt. Julian watched you sprawled under him and took a deep breath, running his hand down his face. “I didn’t spend the whole day getting ready not to look spectacular by the end,” you arched a brow and he caged you in with his large hands on either side of your face, dipping his head lower. The tips of his long inky hair tickled your cheeks before you coiled a hand between your faces. “And I’d like to keep it that way,” you warned with your index finger blocking his hungry mouth from seeking out yours again.
Julian grumbled like a large, dissatisfied cat as he inched down your body, reluctantly relinquishing his favored position on top of you. He offered a gentlemanly hand and helped you stand up. Going down on one knee, he looked up from his submissive position, enjoying the sight of you still flustered from what he did to you.
You hiked up your dress, revealing the full length of your naked leg, save for the garter on your thigh, and placed your heel on his proffered knee. He smirked like a cat playing with a mouse and ran his eyes over the flesh of your leg. Hands followed where his eyes had roamed, mapping out every inch and every curve from your ankle, up your calf and the often forgotten erogenous zone right at the back of the knee, ghosting the tips of his calloused fingers over the soft spot until he saw your thigh flex deeply from his teasing touch. Then he ran his warm hand over your thigh, tracing his thumb over the white lace of the garter.
“You got something for me, big guy?” you bumped his shoulder with your knee as a reminder and he smirked, biting his lips to keep his comment in.
With a wicked glint in his eye, he reached into the inside pocket of his jacket and produced a short dagger, with a dramatic curve in its wide blade. The hilt was a smooth white bone with inlaid golden veins. It was a beautifully made scimitar dagger, and its design and sturdiness made it highly versatile. The blade was no more than eight inches, but it was a veritable butcher’s knife that could cut, skin and debone with ease. A marvelous choice for the evening’s festivities.
With an approving smile from you, Julian took the liberty of sliding the cool blade delicately against your skin, watching gooseflesh rise under the cold lick of steel. You hissed and felt the slice of cool metal shoot all the way through you. When the hilt hit the garter, he tested it, wiggling it back and forth and was pleasantly surprised to see it was not moving around. You had chosen well too, Julian realized. The garter you were wearing was essentially a lace-trimmed harness. He wondered if it could be repurposed as a kind of garrote in a pinch, but then he realized it was a silly question. You knew what you were doing.
Next, he fished out a straight razor with an ornate ivory handle. The blade was polished smooth, nearly as reflective as glass and it gleamed as it caught the light, spinning and snapping open and shut around Julian’s thick fingers, dancing like a butterfly knife around his thumb, jumping over to between his index and middle finger, looking like it would bite off the tips of his fingers at any moment, but never managing to. The message was clear; this was a weapon you could easily use and shove back somewhere against your skin safely – if you’re agile and fast enough – as opposed to other, clunkier weapons you would need to bury in someone’s body or discard as you ran or climbed. You took the razor and slid it between your breasts, letting it rest inconspicuously against the boning of your corset.
While you rearranged your bust, Julian placed a kiss on your knee, dragging his prickly beard and mustache up the soft flesh of your thigh. You buried your hands in his long hair and he nipped, smiling into your skin when he felt the jolt it sent through you.
“It’s been too long, hasn’t it?” he pondered out loud as he pressed his full lips into your thigh, pushing your voluminous dress out of the way with both hands wrangling its many layers.
Your head fell back against the wall with a thud and your eyes rolled shut when he burrowed his prominent nose against the lace of your underwear, leaving a smacking kiss against the fabric.
You felt teeth graze and catch the edge, sliding your underwear to the side and your eyes flew open when you realized he had no intention of stopping. Hands scrambling to grab a firm hold of his hair as it kept bobbing and getting lost in the tulle and satin, you finally managed to grab two fistfuls and yank him back. He emerged from the white waterfall cascading down your hips with a satisfied, drunken expression and you teetered, planting your feet to find your balance independent of his body. His hands stayed under your dress and held your thighs firmly at the sides. Your breasts nearly overflowed out of the dress as you heaved breaths and tried to glare, but Julian was still looking far too pleased with what he had done, beginning to move his teasing hands under your dress again.
“You need to go,” you warned, not looking forward to parting with him.
“What’s the rush?” he shrugged and got to his feet, stretching to his full height like an elegant black cat in his tailored suit. A black tie rested against a black shirt and his massive, chiseled form was held in by an immaculately tailored jacket, in his favorite midnight black shade. You were pleased to see he went the extra mile to look good for the event. “The wedding can’t go on without you. Make ‘em wait for it, sweat a little,” he winked and pressed up against you, crowding you against the wall. You shut your eyes in exasperation, as unwilling to make him go as he was to leave.
Accepting momentary defeat, you wrapped your arms around his neck and felt him position himself so his body fit perfectly against yours, chest pushed into yours, hips kissing up against yours and lapping like waves against you. You kissed him deliberately, making sure to taste his lips, his tongue, his skin as you burrowed into him, latching onto his sinewy neck and making him groan a symphony into your ear.
His hips pressed more insistently against you and you closed your eyes to savor the sensation of him. Then a laugh rocked through his body as he felt something under your dress. “Is that a scimitar in your pocket or are you happy to see me?” he grinned like a fool in love and you shook your head, drunk on the sharp, masculine scent of his perfume and the insistence of his body against yours.
“I think that should be my line,” you teased and wiggled your hips under him, feeling with your body for the thick rod of flesh growing stiffer by the moment. Even through all the ample cushioning of your dress, you felt what you were doing to him and gave him a satisfied peck, which he unsuccessfully tried to deepen.
His large hand disappeared behind your back and cupped your ass, pressing you closer to him and he nuzzled against your neck, right at the spot that always made you squirm and moan his name. When it didn’t come as expected, he pulled away and looked at your questioningly through the curtain of dark hair you mussed up together.
“What is it?” he asked, flipping it out of the way to take a better look at you. As if you needed any more reason than the obvious to be preoccupied. He had just stolen artifacts from the Museum to help you defend yourself once the two factions started raising hell at your wedding reception. Your intended wedding was to become a massacre and you could not let anyone know that you knew.
Regardless of the obvious concerns, he waited steadily, ready to listen if you wanted to share anything before all hell broke loose. His eyes almost black with blown out pupils, cheeks flushed as he panted from your embrace and lips sumptuously kiss-bitten, he made your heart ache.
“This could very well be the last time I’ll ever be pretty,” you shrugged, opting for a joke. All things considered, you were grateful Julian got to see you like this, dressed up like a doll, and hold you, even if it was just for a few moments. It gave you the chance to imagine how it might have been had it been you two getting married. After you were done climbing out from under a mountain of assassins, you could have a broken nose, a missing eye, a scar splitting your face in half. You’d seen operatives survive malfunctioning parachutes and headshots, with Restorations giving them top of the line reconstructive surgery. They were never quite the same afterwards, of course, but you figured you could get used to it. If you make it in the first place, that is.
Julian was silent for a moment too long, at a loss for how to comfort you without resorting to hollow platitudes. “I was never pretty and I did just fine,” he gave a crooked smile and ran his hand down your cheek. His face switched to business-like as he dug two thick fingers into the elaborate hairdo you spent a good hour and half sitting still for and tossed a hairpin to the floor. He retrieved one, in the shape of a butterfly, with sapphires embedded into its elegant body, glinting between intricate silver wiring that made up its wings. The delicate beauty of the decorative piece stood in stark contrast to the thick, sturdy blades, curved to lay harmlessly against your scalp, but sharp enough to punch through flesh and hack at it.
“Almost forgot – something blue,” his mouth curved into a satisfied half-smile as he carefully slid the hairpin into place, holding his breath in concentration lest he scratch you.
“You’re the most striking man I’ve ever seen in my life,” you admitted as you watched him, feeling your eyes involuntarily fill with tears.
Julian, instead of flattered, looked horror-stricken.”No,” his nostrils flared angrily and his face grew stern, ”don’t do that. Don’t say goodbye to me.”
“I’m not, I just—“
Whatever you were about to say died in the space where his lips met yours and your breath became his. It was for the best. There was nothing you could have expressed in words that you couldn’t express with the way you held onto him, like he was all you would ever have.
*
@thegrislady @safarigirlsp @queeniebee @lumberjack00fantasies @vedavan @mythrielofsolitude @house-of-cadwyn
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“Violent yes, more violent.”
Astarion, allusion to M!Tav
Words: 950
Summary: A quick night hunt shortly after Astarion’s vampirism has been revealed. Mostly just a quick character bit.
CW: Animal death, mild gore, brief mentioning of sexual servitude & torture.
And the sky was made of amethyst
And all the stars were just like little fish
You should learn when to go
You should learn how to say no
- Violet, Hole
Astarion is tracking prey in the dead of night. He has caught the scent of a cervid, robust and virile, a stag. No one will think twice if they hear its dying bleat echo from the woods. They know what he is and their steadfast leader had even granted him the privilege of a bite. He can still feel the warmth of his blood on his tongue, flavored sweet and savory like a caramelized meat with a garnish of magic. Unforgettable, a vampire spawn’s first kiss. Now Astarion has a taste for the blood of thinking creatures and no beast he catches tonight will compare.
The rules have been broken. Cazador’s rules are no more.
Fuck him.
But he must feed. Astarion stalks closer to his prey, footfalls like a ghost on the forest floor. He remembers stalking the darkest alleys like this, the night when he was abducted by the ship. He was trailing a young man, all swagger and rakish charm but Astarion knew better. He knew this man slept on cold cobblestone when no duke or dame had hired his services for the night. His kind were not in short supply in the city. Astarion felt for him. He imagined that young man on his knees made to lick and suck every lady and gentleman on the guest list. Would he have preferred they trade places? Either way he would not be missed when he didn’t return from Szarr Palace.
Fuck him.
The stag pauses in a small clearing with ears erect. It knows it’s not alone. It raises its head against the moonlight showing off antlers full of sharp bony points. It won’t go down without a fight, but fights only come when a predator has managed to close the distance. This predator will not have the chance to come near it.
The pale elf readies his blades. The creature’s detected him but that’s never stopped him before. He is fast, strong, his senses heightened because he’s no mortal man of a hunter. He too is a beast. Astarion emerges from the dark in a dash towards the stag but his attack is cut terribly short. A gray wolf equally shrouded by shadows lunges at him. Not at the stag. At him. Its teeth snap at his neck.
“Shit!”
Astarion swings both daggers out just in time. They slash at the wolf’s pelt causing shallow cuts. The wolf lands on its feet and growls, it did not expect the pale elf to fight back. In the moonlight Astarion can see how small and wretched the wolf is despite its daring ferocity. It didn’t stand a chance against a full grown stag though if wolves could speak common it would tell him he didn’t stand a chance either.
“You robbed me,” he hisses at the wolf, the stag long hoofed away. “It was mine.”
The wolf offers only a snarl in return.
The vampire spawn snarls back, fangs bared and eyes seeing red. He throws himself at the beast blades first.
You took it from me.
The wolf is not afraid. It has no mate. It has no pack. It lives in a solitude that’s not its fault but it is its responsibility and it must fight or starve. It meets its silver white haired combatant head on.
You took everything.
They fall to the ground in a flurry of teeth and claws. Biting. Slashing. He and Petras tumbled a few times just like this. Leon too, much to their master’s annoyance and Godey’s elation. Violent yes, more violent, their torturer would utter, near lustful. Once, when the fighting had become too disruptive, their master chose to punish them by chaining his dear sons together and making them watch each other take turns being sadistically degraded. Did they learn their lesson then? Barely. There were no winners.
Astarion will not lose today. He will not be punished and shamed. He parries the bite, he blocks the slash. He is stronger than this sad little wolf and he is free. The pale elf stained in red plunges his dagger deep into the beast’s heart then drags the blade down to tear open its chest. The wolf yelps sharply and backs away, still able to stand on all fours with a dagger embedded in it. Not for long. The beast looks at him, seething.
Go on then.
It gnashes its teeth and foams, daring Astarion to strike the killing blow even as its body bleeds out on the forest floor. It will not die as a wounded dog. It’s the master of its own fate.
The vampire regards the wolf with disdain. He raises his second dagger and drives it into the animal’s skull, through the eye socket and into the brain. It’s not a thinking creature and yet he could see the hatred in its gaze. For what? For doing what’s in his nature? He is starved too, starved of rich abundant blood, starved of flourishing life, starved of the stag’s vigor and freedom to walk tall, starved of the chance to take from it what he couldn’t have.
Fuck him.
Astarion pulls the dagger from its chest and stabs the wolf again. The now dead wolf that feels no pain. Nothing can feel Astarion’s pain. He clenches the hilt tightly and grits his teeth. He is in control now. He is free. If the stag could only see him now. He closes his eyes and cries out, just once, before falling to his knees to feed.
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