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rafesapologist · 1 year

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the set up — rafe cameron; part eight

𝘀𝘂𝗺𝗺𝗮𝗿𝘆: you've been one of the pogues since childhood, and your loyalty has always lied within your friend group, who is practically your family. when a threat by the name of rafe cameron begins to threaten the pogue's plans, they assign you to gain the trust of the dubious kook and keep an eye on what he's up to. however, now it's been six months since your friends set you up to spy on the kook prince himself, but what you didn't anticipate was to fall head over heels for the boy. your relationship had soon become inviolable shortly after your guys' first exchanges, much to your friends' dismay, and you two became practically inseperable. that was, until rafe discovers the truth.

warnings: swearing, mature themes, angst, sad-ish rafe, smut (minors DO NOT INTERACT, 18+)

author's note: this one is to (hopefully) make up for having to cut the last chapter short due to personal stuff. enjoy my loves

You were pissed at JJ.

Matter of fact, it was much more than that; you loathed him. He was supposed to be your best friend, your confidant, yet he was too caught up within his fit of jealousy to realize that your time with Rafe Cameron was merely an act for the sake of your friends' livelihood. Hell, if anyone knew that it should have been JJ considering he was half of the reason the whole scheme was conspired in the first place.

You wondered what his real problem was and where it came from, considering that he had never treated you like less than until you brought up going to Midsummers with Rafe. From internal dialogue, you demanded answers and to know what had him so affronted. Out of all people, you assumed that he would have your back through the entire plan, however he was doing quite the opposite.

"I can't fucking believe him. I mean - Who does he think he is?" You remonstrated, a scowl tainting your facial features ever so palpably.

"Relax princess," Rafe let out a soft partly suppressed laugh, "how does he have you this riled up in the first place?"

Despite your indignation, you froze at his question. You knew that you couldn't flat out tell him the real reason why you and JJ got into it, for obvious reasons, so what was the next best option? Lie.

"He told me I was spending too much time with Pope and got mad at me." You blurted out before you could actually think about what you were really saying. You avoided eye contact with Rafe in hopes that he wouldn't find any evidence of deception in your expression, opting to completely circumvent his observing gaze by shifting your body away from him while you blankly stared out the car window.

"Pope? I don't think I ever see you with him unless JJ is around too." His brows furrowed.

"I mean I am close with him kind of," you added, "I used to study with him all the time after school, cause he's like a genius or whatever. But it wasn't like that. Pope's too innocent." You shrugged, your words spewing from your lips with little to no thought as your only goal was to steer the boy away from any suspicion of you.

"Are you sure it's nothing more than that?

Your eyes widened in disbelief as your head snapped towards Rafe's direction while he continued to drive, "Are you serious?" You catechized in a state of dubiety.

"Just wondering." The sandy-haired boy stated as though he asked nothing wrong, which only seemed to set you off more on top of your prior situation at hand.

"For your information, no it's not more than that, and two, why do you care?" You folded your arms in your seat as you turned to face Rafe with intent to interrogate him on his unappreciated inquisitiveness.

"Don't ask questions you already know the answer to." He glanced over at you with a suggestive look written on his face and in his eyes that sent shivers down your spine and planted those same old butterflies in your stomach.

"Well, I did ask." You pestered in hopes it would provoke some sort of reaction out of him, which seemed to be easy for you to do.

"I just don't think you deserve to settle for some Pogue dude who can't come close to giving you a real future." Rafe kept his eyes pointed straight ahead onto the road in front of him as he spoke, making you wonder if he just havering or not.

"And what, you can?" You scoffed.

"I would." He declared in a way that implied to you that he was more than sure of himself and what exactly he was promising to you, although it seemed rather delusive and improbable to happen.

"Yeah. I'm sure you tell every girl that." You heaved a displeased sigh to yourself as you slouched back into your seat, refusing to believe that the Rafe Cameron, the Kook Prince himself, would genuinely be the type to go out of his way to make the effort for any woman, unless he was trying to sleep with her.

"You really have no faith in me, pretty girl." Rafe breathed out a half-hearted chuckle at your lack of credence in his word, however he must have taken some amusement in your incredulity judging by the way his continual smirk stayed present on his face.

"Shut up, Cameron. Just take me home."

"I have a better idea, first." He replied, his lips curling up into a suppressed thin-lip smile.

"Great. Now I'm being kidnapped too." You rolled your eyes once more, rubbing your forehead in distress.

"It's not kidnapping if you willingly got in my car, y/n."

"It's kidnapping if you're taking me places I didn't agree to go to!" You protested, flailing your hands in the air at him, which of course only earned you a chuckle on his part.

"Would you rather me take you back to JJ?" Rafe threatened flippantly as the car suddenly pulled into yet another empty parking lot. Typical.

"Would have rathered you take me home but whatever." You mumbled to yourself with your arms still folded over your chest as you peered up from your seat to observe your new surroundings, which deemed foreign to you.

"Rafe- Why are we at another parking lot? You know you're really not clever with your date ide-"

"Just trust me." Rafe shushed as he turned the car off and exited, only to meet you at the passenger side door to open it for you as he had done previously. Sure it was an almost banal thing of him to do, but you had to admit that part of you enjoyed his acts of courtesy.

You remained hesitant with him, however your curiosity was a much greater component in you decision making that had led you to following him anyways. You treaded closely behind him as he headed into the direction of a purportedly seclusive area of a place that appeared to lead to a beach, judging by the way that sand had come into your view. You fumbled through a small patch of dead trees as you made your way to a wide open shore with an absence of debris that beaches you had seen normally had.

"This is where I usually go to get away." Rafe suddenly confessed while he took in the scenic view ahead of him.

"So this is the spot you take all your hookups to. Nice." You nodded with your lips pressed together, confused as to why you were even there in the first place.

"You're so stubborn, you know that?" He rolled his eyes, sighing as he sat down on an individual log that rested in the sand.

"So I've been told."

"Just come sit with me." Rafe gingerly pleaded to you while he combed a hand through his straight locks that displayed blends of wheaty and brown undertones, combining to create a dimensional shade of dirty blond that was unique to his features, "Please?"

You wanted to resist his request initially and continue your usual back-and-forth banter that the two of you always kept up with, however you saw something different in Rafe's eyes when he asked you to sit with him. A new candor that had washed over him that had you obeying his call.

Both of you had sat besides each other for a few minutes, basking in each other's silence as the sounds of the distant waves crashed upon the shore harmoniously. You kept your gaze directly at the view of the ocean ahead, your fingers interlocked under your knees while you sat with your legs up to your chest as you took in the scenery around you. Although your vision was aimed at the oceanfront, you could feel the burning stare of those familiar azure eyes trained onto you, causing your body temperature to rise rapidly.

"I came here a lot when I was younger." Rafe broke the silence abruptly, causing you to snap your head in his direction with your brows furrowed in confusion. "To get away from my parents when they were fighting, and sometimes from Sarah." He continued on, a quiet dry laugh escaping his rosy-pink lips.

"Why did you need to get away from them?" You asked rather lowly, scared to say the wrong thing in such an earnest moment.

The blond sighed deeply in response as his eyes began to scan the area ahead of him intently before he spoke. "They fought a lot, my mom and dad. Sometimes to the point where I thought they were going to kill each other," his nose wrinkled as a display of discomfort, "but I was the oldest so everyone expected me to protect Sarah and Wheezie when things got bad like that, and I did. Every single time. But, what I think they failed to realize was that it was just as uneasy for me to witness as it was them. I didn't wanna see or hear them fight either, but I had no choice. I needed to get away from it at some point, so I started coming here."

Your lips formed into a significant frown as he spoke, taking in his shattering words and that cold look that casted over his face that you knew was only to cover up from the pain he felt reliving the events he was describing. You would have never guessed there was so much hiding beneath that posh demeanor of his, however you felt as though there was more that had yet to be said.

"Did they ever notice when you'd run away like that?" You asked sheepishly.

"Nobody noticed when I was gone. They were only concerned when they needed me for something again." Your heart began to break piece-by-piece as Rafe's revelations had began to unfold slowly. The tragedy in what he was telling you was beginning to make your throat swell as tears threatened your eyes, asking yourself how a family could be so cruel to one of their own, a scenario you were quite familiar with yourself.

"It only ended once they finally got divorced and my mother ran away back to her hometown," Rafe seemed to wince at the statement, scratching the back of his head to mask his reaction, "I never saw or heard from her again after that. Honestly I couldn't tell you if she was alive or dead right now, crazy as it sounds."

You pressed your lips together into a thin line once they began to quiver as you digested Rafe's story. You forced yourself to look away from him and focus your attention to your hands that fiddled in your lap, knowing that if you looked at him any longer you would surely lose your composure.

"Rafe.. I-I'm so sorry." You breathed out quietly, a weakness in your voice that made him turn his head to observe the state that you were in. It was safe to say that he was staring at you once again, considering the intensity of his glare could be felt from miles away, but you refused to look up and reveal to him how much distress the detailed account of his previous life had put you in.

"My experience isn't quite the same as yours, but I understand your pain, Rafe. In a sense, I do." You uttered with your eyes glued to the sand below your feet.

"What do you mean?" Rafe asked, watching you keenly as you spoke.

"My family is pretty fucked up, too. Not in the same exact way as yours may be, but still, fucked." You let out a dry laugh, kicking the sand between your toes away from you, "My mother is verbally abusive and neglectful, and my dad is just, barely ever home. Sometimes I wonder if it's because he's trying to get away from her, although I wouldn't blame him for that, but I needed him many times in my life and he was never there. Plenty of times she was saying these God awful things to me, tearing me down for most of my life, and the one person who was supposed to be there to protect me just... Wasn't." You shook your head as it hung low to the ground, fighting off the urge to cry that overcame you as you recalled the burning memory of your childhood.

"It's not my place to speak on what they went through, but JJ and John B came from homes similar to mine. Absent, hell even abusive if that's what you wanna call it, parents. We basically raised ourselves, I mean we still are essentially. At times I would think that I still don't know any better than that nine year old girl who wondered how she was going to make it in life given the circumstances she was put into. Part of me will always resent my parents for doing this to me." Your voice cracked as you spoke, a queasy feeling building up in your stomach as you basically bared your soul to some boy from Figure Eight.

"Hey," Rafe cooed as he placed his large hand ontop of your thigh, "just because you were dealt with a bad hand growing up doesn't mean you are subjected to a bad life, y/n. They can't determine how far you're going to go, and you'll sure as hell get a lot farther than them I'm sure."

"Rafe," you shooked your head at him as you quickly wiped a single tear that escaped your eye, "I live on the Cut. I'd have to work two jobs to even come close to being comfortable, and even then, it still wouldn't be enough to get by long term. I have to work ten times harder than anyone else on this island because of the situation I was born into, the family I was born into. It'll be a hassle for the rest of my life. I don't get to live in a mansion and own some fancy yacht because my dad has the money, I wasn't given that privilege in life."

Your words wounded Rafe a little bit, as much as he hated to admit, but he knew you had a point and for that he couldn't be mad at you for it. He knew you were at an unfair disadvantage simply because of who your parents were and what little effort they made into giving you a congenial life, and it hurt him knowing you were made to suffer because of other people's foolish mistakes and selfishness.

"You deserve a happy life just as much as anyone else, actually probably even more than most." The blue-eyed boy urged with ardent feelings present in his tone.

"You're just saying that." You rolled your eyes half-heartedly, nudging him softly in disagreement to his statement.

"I'm not, y/n. I mean it, genuinely. You've been through so much and here you are, still so lively and caring. Most people in your shoes would have let their past turn them heartless, but you.. You're infectious and kind despite having gone through hell. I don't think you give yourself enough credit for that." His words were sweet and genuine in a way that had your heart practically melting in his hands, a feeling you had yet to feel so authentically as you did in that moment as you sat there on a vacant beach, staring into the mesmerizing lazuline eyes of Rafe Cameron.

Your lips stayed slightly parted subconsciously as you found yourself getting lost in the current moment that was unfolding between you and the Kook Prince himself, a scene you never would have imagined yourself being in three weeks before. You watched as his pupils widened, his gaze flickering between your eyes and your swollen lips. His free hand ghosted your forearm as it made its way up to your cheek, wiping the reminisce of tears that trailed down your face. You peered up at him coyly, staring back at him through your eyelashes as you gently rested your head into his warm open hand while his thumb slowly caressed the soft skin.

"So beautiful." Rafe whispered under his breath as he looked at you with full admiration that made your legs feel weak. You weren't entirely sure why, perhaps it had been the vulnerability you were subjected to in that moment, but you felt like crying again. This time however, it wasn't from sadness or pain, but relief. A relief that for the first time in your entire life, someone had saw you for who you were and was willing to provide you a safety net for you to let down your walls and fall freely into them. Sure your friends came close to it, but with Rafe it was far different. The feeling was intense and invoked a child-like excitement, even joy, out of you. It made you feel giddy inside, as though you couldn't help but smile in his presence even when he wasn't saying a word.

The scent of a warm spice and musk fragrance invaded your space and filled the air around you, tangling you into an inebriated trance fueled by the essence of desire and impulse. You felt as though you were being taunted by Rafe's refusal to move from the position he was in, yet igniting a flame inside of you by his voluptuary touch. It was clear that he was waiting for your invite despite knowing you had craved his taste once before, but he needed your to confirm that the drive to do so was still lingering inside of you. He watched as you took matters into your own hands and climbed back onto his lap, a seat that had basically become yours after the moment the two of you had in his car.

Unlike the time before, you wanted this moment to be one of undescribable vehement, like you had never been touched properly in your lifetime. Rafe remained silent and kept his eyes glued to you and your figure, holding your hips steady against his waist.

"I know you're going to think I'm crazy for saying this right now, but Rafe," you swallowed hard as you struggled to form a coherent sentence under his stare, "I'm ready for this now."

He chuckled tauntingly, "Ready for what, pretty girl?"

"Don't make me say it." You whined, throwing your head back in aggravation.

"Dunno what you're talking about, angel." Rafe smirked as he shrugged, attempting to act as though he was blissfully unaware to the way that your hips your bucked up against him impatiently.

"I want you, idiot." You rolled your eyes at him, groaning as the tension grew unbearably painful between your thighs as the fabric of his khakis rubbed against you.

"Really? I couldn't tell." The devilish boy formed a smug look across his face as he took notice of your eagerness to get ahold of him. He scanned your frame, noticing the hazy look that had clouded over your normally doe-like eyes. Rafe was a man of great strength, but when it came to you, he was putty in your hands.

"Rafe, do something, please." You begged, unable to fully move your hips as he held onto them firmly, keeping you in place.

"Tell me what you want me to do and I will, princess." He murmured into your ear lowly as his lips ghosted your neck before landing onto the sweet spot he had found on you before, immediately earning a whimper to escape your lips quietly.

"Touch me, anything." You answered vaguely as your impatience consumed you more and more by the second, unable to contain the burning in your core.

"Hmm, where do you want me to touch you?" His voice remained low a husky, enough to make you want to collapse in his arms. You removed your hand from behind his neck and snaked it down to the side of your hip, grabbing one of his wrists and re-positioning it right along the center between your thighs.

Your mouth fell agape as Rafe obeyed your wishes and began moving his fingers up and down your blazing core, adding more pressure as your hips grinded against his long digits. Heat rushed to your cheeks at the realization of what exactly you were doing, except you were far too into it to care about the reality of it afterwards. You found that your desire only increased as he teased you through the fabric of your shorts, agonizingly. Without a second thought, you placed your hand onto of his and laced your fingers together, forcing him to speed up his movements and add even more pressure.

Rafe seemed to have taken note of your demands as he removed his hand and began unbuckling your denim shorts swiftly before sliding his fingers underneath your lace thong briskly. Your head fell back instinctively, soft moans escaping your lips that fueled Rafe's ego proudly. He found himself stuck in a daze as he watched you fall under the spell of his trained fingers as they massaged through your folds hastily, causing you to press your hips against him more as they bucked up against his hands.

Just when you found prodigious pleasure in the way Rafe's fingers felt against you, shock waves coursed through your body like electricity once you felt two of his lengthy digits curl up inside of you. Your eyes rolled back, taking in the bliss that was Rafe Cameron's two fingers thrusting into you at a pace that made your legs feel like jello. Your moans became erratic and uncontrollable as the sandy-haired boy pushed his fingers up further into you, gliding them in and out rapidly as he continuously pressed against your cervix with force.

"Does that feel good, princess?" Rafe mumbled against your collarbone as he kissed along the prominent bone passionately, trying to withhold himself from losing control of his own.

"Don't stop." You whined as you begged him to continue, grinding against his fingers keenly with hopes to feel as much of him as you possible could, a state of euphoria approaching you slowly.

"R-Rafe, I can't take it." You pleaded, wincing as his pace continued to fasten inside of you.

"C'mon angel, you can do it. You're almost there." He coaxed you softly as he sinisterly placed his thumb onto your clit and began unhesitatingly rubbing swift circles against it, sending your mind and body into a frenzy.

You placed your hands onto his shoulders and gripped onto them tightly as you began to reach your peak, your thighs shaking and your legs giving out as the muscles within them began to spasm uncontrollably. A throbbing feeling reached your core as you continued grinding against Rafe's fingers with speed as you chased your high, your moans becoming explicit and noisy.

"Cum on my fingers, baby, it's okay. Let it out." Rafe ushered as he kept up his movements while your body convulsed against him, feeling as rush go through your body as explosions set off within your core region. You felt an immense release as you came undone along his fingers, crying out as you felt an overwhelming amount of pleasure take over your body.

Rafe removed his hand out of you, buttoning your shorts back up and zipping them for you as he pecked your cheek gently.

"Are you okay?" He asked, scanning your features for any sign of pain or distress.

"Mm, yeah I'm good." You wearily hummed as you collapsed into him, burying your face into the crook of his neck while you closed your eyes, taking in the events that had just occured as well as the aftermath of the pleasure that obtained your body.

The hubristic boy chuckled at your state of defeat, "You did good, pretty girl." A small, thin lipped smile formed at the corners of his mouth as he caressed up your hips and thighs slowly, "C'mon I know you're tired, I'll take you home, or wherever. I've gotta head back to my place, anyways."

"Why?" You groaned, not wanting to removing yourself from the daydream you were currently in.

"My dad texted me, said he needs my help tonight." Rafe shrugged.

"Did he say with what?" You asked, reality now coming back to you at the mention of his infamous father.

"Yeah, sort of. He said he needed help moving some cargo onto this ship he owns. I guess it's heavy." Rafe's words came out rather bluntly and plain, as though he was talking about the weather or his weekly schedule. His statement replayed in your head a few times before you sat up and attempted to make sense of what he was talking about.

"Like just random stuff?" You questioned, pining for further answers as the topic sparked your interest and concern.

"Yes and no," he scratched the back of his head, scrunching up his nose as he lowered his voice, "but if I tell you, promise me you won't run back to your Pogue friends and tell them." Rafe asserted with seriousness, staring into your eyes as he held the sides of your arms firmly.

"Okay," you held your hands up in defense, causing his body to relax, "I promise I won't."

"See my dad and I took this trip to the bahamas a while ago, he said it was a business trip and that he wanted me to tag along for whatever reason. Come to find out, as soon as we get there, he tells me about this gold he has hidden and how he wants me to help him ship it to Switzerland so that nobody else can get ahold of it, since it's ours anyway."

Your body froze in place, staring back at Rafe was those horrifying words slipped out of his mouth without a second thought as he found sanctuary within you, despite the lack of longevity in your relationship thus far. You thought about your friends all of the sudden, and your mouth felt dry, knowing that this was exactly what they needed to know and stop before Rafe and his dad could put them in a position where the gold would be out of their reach for good.

You felt an immense pressure with the new information given to you, a burden weighing heavy on your shoulders. Your mind raced as you replayed his statement over and over again, wondering what you should do and who you should tell first, eager to relay the word back to your friends as soon as possible.

"Oh, okay that makes sense." You let out a small, half-hearted laugh, rubbing your upper arm slowly. "But, uh, Rafe?"

"Yeah?"

"Can you just drop me off at the chateau? I think I'm gonna sleep there tonight.

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agendabymooner · 1 year

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heaven ! fernando a. x ofc (mom!professional wrestler!canadian!ofc)

"i don't know how heaven could be better than this."

summary: everyone's talking about the hearth sisters, lester and their partners. but what about the original F1 it couple of the 2000s? OR beatrice anastasia 'trish' alonso is the only woman who can balance out fernando alonso's insanity with her calmness, and she happens to be the grid's crush of the season.

content warning: fluff, mentions of mclaren fernando, dad!fernando, family-centric (ish), possible use of explicit language, badly translated spanish, tim hortons references, 2023 canadian gp, f1 drivers are down bad, petty fernando at the very end, using 'trish stratus' (the actual ring name of the wrestler) as the ring name of oc

note: was writing third part of my max verstappen thing, worked on cmyc for a minute, thought about nando and that photo with the models, made these posts, had a breakdown. bon appetit xx

masterlist

2018 ROYAL RUMBLE - TRISH STRATUS TALKS ABOUT COMING BACK TO THE RING AS A WOMEN'S ROYAL RUMBLE ENTRANT

[1st image: i've definitely missed being in the ring. for the past few years i've been working back and forth in spain and canada- where my yoga studio is. i've been watching my husband, fernando, race throughout the years and we've been taking the kids along whenever we could.]

[2nd: i've told him (fernando) at some point that i've missed being out there and wrestling. months before, hunter (triple h) called me and wondered if i'd like to be a part of... this. i had never been so happy to hear that they want me to be a part of this very important event that will impact women's history at the professional wrestling industry. now here i am, participating in the first women's royal rumble.]

[3rd: it's been an eye opener for me, to be honest. i've met many women that are new here- some of them apparently grew up watching me alongside stephanie mcmahon and lita and the other ladies. i had never been this happy nefore because we never had the same platform as men - and back then, it wasn't as diverse in the women's division. so for me to be a part of this, so far, has been an absolute privilege. i will never ever waste any time spent here.]

[4th: my husband was more excited than i was *laughs*. throughout his break, he did everything a supportive spouse would have done. he took the kids to watch me train, we often did our workouts and yoga together, he was actually the one who suggested i wore these ring gears. he's highly excited to see me in the ring tonight - he even wore an old trish stratus merchandise that he bought years ago.]

[5th: he's supposed to be in uk for his sim racing practice, but he phoned me few days ago telling me that he was already flying in with our kids - one of which is a six month old - from spain. he said that "he didn't want to miss out on his wife making history again." so... here i am! making history with the most talented women in wwe, as my fernando wanted.]

2016 AUSTRALIAN GRAND PRIX - POST-RACE INTERVIEW WITH FERNANDO ALONSO

[1st image: i know that my mom and my wife are watching the tv, so i got out quite quickly.]

[2nd: trisha has been calling me every hour to see if i'm okay. i keep telling her that i'm okay but she doesn't believe me for one bit- i was like "what do you want me to do???" *laughs* but i am flying back to canada as soon as i can because i miss her and our son.]

[3rd: it's not the first time that has happened to me but now i know i have to make it out of such situation because i have a family. our son, frederico, is only 2. i still want to see him and his many siblings grow up, you know? this is the first time i've been scared (enough) because i promised to take him swimming when we go back to spain. so, yes. i would like to get out of australia as quickly as possible so i can rest with my wife and our son.]

tagged fernandoalo_oficial, lance_stroll, astonmartinf1

liked by tillywolff, estebanocon, carlossainzjr

user1 OMG !!! frederico was so little back then 😭

user2 what grade even is frederico in?

thetrishalonso fifth grade! he's turning 10 soon 🥰

astonmartinf1 when freddy and rey dressed for the occasion 💚 liked by thetrishalonso

thetrishalonso of course, green = lucky 🍀

user3 word on the street is that the drivers were drooling over you 😭 can you please confirm? landonorris pierregasly lance_stroll charles_leclerc

oscarpiastri "the source is i made it the fuck up" -user3

yukitsunoda0511 not true 👎

user3 oscarpiastri yukitsunoda0511 i literally didn't ask either of you 💀💀

user4 f1 drivers are obvious and down bad 🙅‍♀️

georgerussell63 thanks for visiting the mercedes garage! it's been a pleasure 😊

user5 oh no they're piling up...

carlossainzjr frederico y reyna estan bien grandes ahora! liked by thetrishalonso

thetrishalonso estoy tan preocupada de que lleguen a ser más altos que yo y su papá.

landonorris thank you for the selfie! i really liked spending time with you and the mini alonsos 😇

lance_stroll thank you so much for the iced capp this weekend! it definitely helped! liked by thetrishalonso

thetrishalonso of course, sweetheart 😘 anything for the aston martin crew!

mickschumacher the everything bagel was very good, thank you so much! teach us how to do the stratusfaction next time!

nyckdevries thank you for introducing tim hortons to us 🙃

estebanocon thank you so much for the timbits 😊 lance failed to be a canadian to us and never got us any the last canadian gp

schecoperez ¡encantado de verte, beatrice!

user6 she got the whole grid on a leash 😭 so girlboss of her

alo_oficial estoy tan feliz de que tú y los niños estuvieran aquí. te quiero mi reina 😍😍 liked by thetrishalonso

thetrishalonso love you too, mi hombre guapo 🥰

tagged thetrishalonso

liked charles_leclerc, pierregasly, landonorris

user1 LMAO YALL NEED TO APOLOGIZE TO FERNANDO 🤣

user2 fernando's bout to enter his dts villain era once more 😭

pierregasly very pretty! 😍

user3 not you having the audacity 🤠

landonorris so fine 🤪

user4 why are y'all asking for your death wish 😭😭

user5 fernando's on his way to wipe half of the grid, thanos style 🤌🥰 as he should

thetrishalonso you're going to have to work hard first then we'll talk babies 3,4 and 5 😘😜 liked by fernandoalo_oficial

fernandoalo_oficial challenge accepted, mi amor

user6 ugh parents 😫 if you need a dog hmu

translations !!! (what i wrote down in the translating app 💀)

frederico y reyna estan bien grandes ahora! = frederico and reyna are so big now!

estoy tan preocupada de que lleguen a ser más altos que yo y su papá = i'm so worried that they'll grow taller than me and their papa

¡encantado de verte, beatrice! = nice seeing you, beatrice!

estoy tan feliz de que tú y chicos estuvieran aquí. te quiero mi reina = i'm so happy you and the kids were here. i love you my queen

mi hombre guapo = my handsome man

solo mi esposa, frederico y reyna, y sus muchos más hermanos por venir = just my wife, frederico and reyna, and their many more siblings to come

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stormikins · 6 months

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Mass Effect: Failed Opportunities.

An informal rant/essay about my opinions and thoughts (and ideas/suggestions) about the choices made in Mass Effect Three. This is all because of this one post by mass-effect-anonymous, and my friend (@xoshepard) giving me a compliment about my Shepard came back wrong headcanons. So. I’m fueled by validation and rage. A summary of the mentioned post is anonymous regrets that BioWare didn't explore the implications of Shepard dying and coming back and the fact that Liara helped Cerberus in doing so.

Disclaimer: I am a hater in this. I am. No doubt about it. If you like the story and think it’s great and nothing is wrong with it— then I am so happy for you. Truly. I wish I was the same. So, this post might not be for you. Also, this is a rant, and I try to keep it sensible so apologies if it’s not.

Word Count: 3k

TLDR: BioWare flip flops between decisions and choices and never truly settles, disregards choices already made, and leaves players (AND THEIR MOTHERS!) wanting while eviscerating character personalities. Consistency is not in BioWare’s vocabulary. Or dictionary. Or thesaurus.

One of the things that I dislike the most about BioWare's choices regarding this matter is that Shepard starts having these crisis thoughts/questions about if their body is theirs or not, etc. not only in the third game, but at the end of it. The player is literally doing the mission that marks the point of no return in the end, the last of two until the game is finished, and now Shepard is voicing these thoughts. Roughly sixty-ish hours since the beginning of me2 if the player is a completionist. (that’s in game time, not to mention how much more time for real life but I digress). This isn’t a plot hole, it’s a speed bump the player trips over and then the game expects us to get back up and get going while asking why our nose is bleeding. Fuck you BioWare.

Now, one could construe this into being part of Shepard's character; squashing down all these conflicting and worrying thoughts to focus on their mission, bc they are a soldier. They literally don't have time for this. But now they're physically confronted with their reconstruction post-awakening haze and/or denial about it all bc Cerberus could be them lying to Shepard bc of manipulation. All right. If that is supposed to be the implication, Shepard putting their mental focus on their mission, why didn't Shepard have this crisis when they were in lock-up for six months, aka where they literally only have time to think?

James having a throwaway comment to Shepard, or another crew member (bc they talk to each other now between missions!), about how he's worried about them, about how Shepard had a freak out some point in lock down, the level of 'freak out' does not need to be expanded upon. Hell, James can just say maybe they passed the time asking each other philosophical questions, maybe about consent and choices (which would tie into James’ past!) and bodily autonomy. It could help lend more weight with Shepard posing these questions during the Cerberus HQ bc these thoughts are still plaguing Shepard. Shepard dies—again—without getting closure— again. This would fall into the cycle theme that the games have.

But, like always, Bioware fails to capitalize on opportunity.

Now. The Citadel DLC. sighs Shepard's repeated variations of "don't want to talk about it" it being the clone and everything else that's happening in the DLC, lends more to the theory of Shepard's supposed to be repressing this all. But the counter point about Shepard having their crisis in lock-up still stands.

What could have been interesting is if Shepard had these identity issues in 2 and potentially in three. Given that the Citadel DLC ends with the clone always dying canonically, it can be a pivotal moment for Shepard to realize that they are who they are, different than their me1 counterpart or not (it also would be cool if characters mentioned if the player was choosing choices that an imported me1 Shepard normally would not have) and to have a clarity moment that they are Shepard. The clone and these logs could have provided a clean tying of loose ends of Shepard having identity issues instead of the teammates saying two lines about how they know that Shepard is Shepard and Shepard simply... moving on because you do all this in the middle of a base attack. The player's mind is already set on defeating Cerberus (finally) and getting revenge, on being so close to the end of the game! It's also OPTIONAL. Yes, the player is automatically entered into the terminal, but the choice to leave without seeing what's on the logs is immediately available.

Another thing the previous post went into was Liara's involvement. Her part in Shepard's reconstruction is not explored in the game. The player never learns about how Liara helped, just that she did and that she lost Feron because of it all to the Shadow Broker. I will not go into the comics, because 1. I have not read them and 2. If developers must depend on supplemental media to explain key plot points, they are in fact doing it wrong (this is a conversation for another time).

I would not be as bitter about Liara's involvement if the game treated it better. The player has to complete two quests to unlock the dialogue of Liara telling Shepard that she gave their body to Cerberus. Which, I will give them, it’s normally to not want to tell the person who you gave their dead body over to terrorists. Shepard’s renegade dialogue to Liara apologizing about giving their body over is as follows, “all this time, it wasn’t your sources. You knowingly gave me over to Cerberus. You did this to me!” SHEPARD DOESN’T SAY ANYTHING ELSE. JUST SITS BACK DOWN AND THE RENEGADE RESPONSE TO HER SECOND APOLOGY IS TO SAY, “Let me know if you need any more help,” AND YOU LEAVE. WHY IS THIS THE ONLY TIME SHEPARD ACKNOWLEDGES THIS. wow. AND WHY IS IT LIKE THIS? ITS OPTIONAL. I— Again, this could tie into Shepard bottling up feelings and acknowledging them in Me3, could show Shepard as an actual person if the game lets us choose to be mean or turn her off but alas, the player cannot because the game likes ruining Shepard’s character (which I’ll save that for later) and doesn’t treat the games like RPGs.

One could say that Liara would go to any lengths for those she loves, whether the player romanced her or not, but in the first game, we have no indication that she is willing to go this far. I have a belief that nothing is 'out of character' if the circumstances are right. Now, these circumstances are right: two important figures in Liara's life die (Shepard and her mother), Liara's only connection to her theories on the extinction of the reapers dies as well, the threat of the Reapers, and all the traumatic experiences she had during me1 and then the destruction of the Normandy all collide together to make it realistic that Liara wouldn't be able to let Shepard go. There is one thing, though, is that this is all boiled down into “I couldn't let you go” and the game doesn't show it. Doesn’t show Liara's descent down into this rabbit hole, doesn't show the switch getting flipped of her turning much more ruthless compared to her me1 characterization.

She does show ruthlessness in some regards in me1, willing to kill her mother no matter their relationship. But out of all the SR1 cast, she is one of the most paragon characters. The game does not show the shift into Liara's characterization. No commentary from Me1 companions about how Liara suddenly shut them out, or from Feron talking about the things Liara was willing to do to get Shepard. No comments from Miranda and Jacob who I do know were part of the retrieval mission about how Liara acted. Liara is just immediately introduced with quoting her mother’s threats. WHICH IS SO INTERESTING! Again—AGAIN—the game goes nowhere with this. We get optional dialogue from Aethyta about the Matriarch’s being concerned about her but that is optional, and only if the player talked to her in Me2 does she show up in Me3 and deliver said dialogue. Liara herself never confronts this. Even when SHE TALKS ABOUT HER MOTHER. LISTEN— LIARA COULD HAVE TURNED INTO A SCIENTIST THAT WOULD DO ANYTHING FOR HER RESEARCH. TO PROVE HERSELF RIGHT BECAUSE SHE IS, SHE KNOWS IT AND SHE’LL DO ANYTHING LIKE BRINGING SOMEONE’S DEAD BODY TO A TERRORIST ORGANIZATION TO RESSURECT AND YET—

Garrus, on the other hand, gets his new characterization explained. In me1 he already tends to be reckless, ruthless, and selfish. It is no surprise that when Shepard died and the Council buried the truth, he went vigilante. The game shows his new bleak outlook on life bc we find him fighting for his life in a base full of dead bodies and then he explains he got betrayed. We deal with his character arc. We do not deal with Liara’s.

One could argue that could go and show how Shepard wakes up two years in the future and everything is different and confusing. Which I will agree with. If it was purposeful. And I don’t think it is, personally.

She doesn’t stay this new ruthless way. I am not saying she can’t be more than one-dimensional; I like that she can be soft with Shepard and the other companions. But all of a sudden, she, the character whose introduction in Me3 is her popping a singularity and gunning down two Cerberus goons with a cold look on her face, “can’t be that callous” about not focusing on the death numbers in the middle of a war zone because “that’s my home down there”. A home she rarely talks about, and she’s also been in numerous war zones just as bad as this. Liara, who spent more time in digs or collecting intel than with people, feels a sudden connection with Thessia.

I would like Liara a lot more if they didn’t eviscerate her character, thank you. Don’t take this the wrong way, I love her, I think she’s great. She just has the potential to be so much more.

Like—

Mass Effect for some reason, tries not to be an RPG. They don't give the players a proper choice/dialogue to allow Shepard to be mad at Liara about what she did. Or to stay mad. (I am not going to get into the debate of whether being mad at Liara should be a renegade option or paragon). It would make sense for someone to get pissed at the person who gave their dead body over to scientists to reanimate, but also terrorist scientists. The same terrorists that Shepard potentially fought in Me1 and also potentially discovered were behind the whole sale slaughter of their entire platoon and the torture of the only other survivor of the incident.

(I can’t remember if Shepard ever mentions Akuze to Cerberus. Funny, isn’t it. How the games like to take away Shepard’s agency but not in any compelling way.)

Besides, simply not choosing paragon options, it’s never mentioned again what Liara did to Shepard, which makes sense if Shepard accepted Liara’s apology. But what if Shepard, and the player, doesn’t? Liara’s forced on the player in Me3 as Shepard potential confidant, showing up repeatedly to Shepard’s cabin to move the plot forward, give Shepard missions/updates. Yes, the player can refuse to get personal with her which I do appreciate it. Like I said, Liara’s actions never get brought up in any meaningful way to help Shepard on a character journey. If they don’t want to let characters make decisions about who Shepard is, they should give them a personality. But they don’t.

Another failed opportunity about Shepard’s character is when the games don’t get into what Shepard is like post-resurrection. The game seems to be in the middle ground of making Shepard different but not still human, but in actuality, they can, in the words of Hannah Montana, have “the best of both worlds”.

Me2 shows how Shepard is different now. “I’ve noticed a few upgrades,” Shepard states when talking to the Illusive Man on Minute Man station. Shepard can have multiple hard-hitting drinks in a row along with Ryncol in Dark Star, Zakera Ward. A poison tailored for humans served by a batarian bartender in the lower segment of Afterlife only knocks Shepard out, not killing them like it does to every human before.

That is how far the game will go in showing how different Shepard is, not counting renegade scarring. Which is a waste.

Shepard is The Protagonist. The main character. They have done the actual impossible. They are the Sole Survivor, the Hero of Elysium, the Butcher of Torfan, Savior of the Citadel, repeller of Geth, Collector, and Reaper armies and a host of other incredible achievements. They are a prophet, the damned, a modern-day Cassandra. The tip of the Spear, the Diplomat, the Soldier. Coats in the FOB on Earth says that it means something to the soldiers to see Shepard with them. They are “a tool, an agent with a singular purpose,” TIM calls them. (And a Karen ‘accuse her of classism’).

And yet, when Shepard gets revived—the most impossible of all things (and yes, it’s not like they had anything to do with it, it was Miranda and her team, but the Lazarus project only had one subject)—they are not made further into something larger than life. Something Other. Something that sets them out from the others. Because they’re Commander Fucking Shepard.

They literally have a vision of a dying race in their head that propels them to stop the Reapers. Me1 does a great job of playing with it. The player sees it once in Me2 and Me3, a side mission (Blue Suns: Archaeological Site) and after retrieving Javik, respectively.

Mass effect is all about cycles. The Reaper’s, Saren/Tim parallels, etc. What could have been interesting was instead of the reoccurring dream we have about a child that gets his emotional impact tarnished because of said dream and the star-child, the game does a mesh of the vision, prothean civilization in ruin, and the ruins we see of current civilizations from the missions Shepard goes on. Keep the oily shadows that whisper quotes from our dead teammates, but also have their voices coming from long dead Protheans pleading with Shepard to stop the Reapers, to save them.

Shepard can’t get any escape from the war, from the Reapers in their sleeping nor waking hours.

The game not making Shepard Other and going in the opposite direction—that despite all these upgrades Shepard is still human—would be fine if it was done better. A good stereotype of “I’m only human” is when a character fails. Shepard fails in Me3 most prominently on Thessia. I’m all for having characters fail but only when it’s done not so obnoxiously.

It’s a terrible fight. It is. Kai Leng hides behind a gunship that Shepard took down at least three separate times in Me2. Two of these instances are non-optional: Garrus and Samara’s recruitment and Kasumi’s loyalty mission is optional. So, Shepard—Commander Shepard who literally destroyed a proto-Reaper—can’t destroy a gunship. It’s insulting how they ruin Shepard’s character in three.

In the end cutscene, Shepard clearly hears and registers that Kai Leng orders the gunship to fire on the supports of the structure and… runs further into the building. One could argue Shepard was trying to get the Prothean VI for the catalyst, but Liara is shown scanning it with her omni-tool. What did she do, if not copy it? Why would she not? Why wouldn’t Shepard? They’re in the middle of a war zone, with enemies that were just right outside the door. Why stop for a chat here and now? (I know why, the plot demands it and lore dumping— lore that contradicts the lore dump by Vigil in Me1 so I’m even more inclined to not like these proceedings).

Kai Leng is Shepard’s nemesis in Me3 (and I’m forever mad that he is) and he’s supposed to be badass and edgy and able to go toe-to-toe with Shepard. Yet the game shows he can’t. He can’t reach his target because a terminally ill drell stopped him, or he didn’t notice Bau being cloaked in front of the Salarian councilor. (I can also go into how stupid this scene is with BOTH Thane and Bau).

He gets one over Shepard with the C-Sec sky car chase but that doubles back to BioWare ruining Shepard’s character by making them an idiot. Why not hit the brakes? Why not do a couple barrel rolls? Why fire through what should be bullet proof glass because it’s a C-Sec sky car?

Kai Leng can’t go toe-to-toe with Shepard unless Shepard gets dumbed down into an idiot and isn’t someone who reached not only Commander rank but also became the first human Spectre. HELLO!?

So, Shepard failing and still being human and fallible doesn’t hit because they execute it poorly via Kai Leng and his stupid plot armor.

Who would be Shepard’s nemesis if not Kai Leng? HARBINGER. YOU KNOW THE REAPER THAT TAUNTED SHEPARD IN ME2? THE VERY FIRST REAPER MADE? THE REAPER THAT WE ONLY SEE—NOT TALK TO—SEE IN THE LAST HOUR OF THE GAME? THAT GUY. (matter of fact, throw in some of Harby’s arrogant lines about Shepard not being able to stop the Reapers in the alternative dream.) Harbinger should have possessed troops like he did in Me2 in the major Reaper battles. Earth. Menae. Thessia. He should have showed up somewhere, boasting about how they’re darkening the sky of every world. YES THAT’S A SOVEREIGN CALL BACK CYCLES! SHEPARD’S VISION IS COMING TRUE RIGHT BEFORE THEIR EYES AND HE’S NOT BRAGGING!? I THINK THE FUCK NOT! If you’re gonna make the Reapers so obsessed with Shepard as shown in Me2 with Harbinger’s comments and making a human looking Reaper, KEEP THE OBSESSION FOR THE LOVE OF GOD! I hate that the Reapers are obsessed with Shepard, Reapers who are above organics, have no weaknesses etc. and the entirety of Sovereign’s brilliant Virmire speech, because it’s not CARRIED OVER!

The enemies should have primarily been the Reapers from the start, and Cerberus the splinter group trying to sabotage the player. Make them smaller. Keep them kidnapping people for troops and biotic tests and lying about Sanctuary being a sanctuary and not run by Cerberus. Continuously have them send assassins—plural! Phantoms and nemesis—after Shepard with Kai Leng at the head of them. Even better if a strike group of baddies show up randomly during missions and watch out! Now Shepard has to deal with them as they fight the Reapers—in the same mission— because Cerberus wants to stop Shepard from killing the Reapers so they could control them and secure human dominance. Kai Leng is kept away from his target because they’re also fighting Shepard where Reapers are. Have them locked into stalemates until the environment getting destroyed literally forces them apart. Have them actually be equal adversaries.

Cerberus is introduced to be a mere group Shepard took out in Me1. They’re not all gone in Me2 surprise! Okay that’s fine and yet they not only sunk so many resources into Shepard and had so many cells gone rogue but they’re able to stage a coup on the Citadel! Pardon?? “But our resources are not unlimited, rebuilding you was a significant investment. And a significant risk,” Miranda tells Shepard in Me2. Cerberus kidnapping people on Benning would make sense if they’re scrambling for troops other than the relying on Sanctuary. (EVEN IN ME3 THERE ARE ‘ROGUE FACTIONS’— still a common occurrence for them. It’s never explained if Cerberus is lying about Benning or not). If they have these many rogue cells, again, how can they manage all they do in Me3? Especially if scientists are leaving Cerberus as well, aka the Ex-Cerberus Scientist mission Traynor gives you where you meet up with Jacob.

Yet, the player talks more to the Illusive Man than Harbinger in Me3, the leader of the Reapers, and we confront TIM at the end of the game, the most pivotal moment. The moment which people have sunk countless hours into, and we get a power hungry and indoctrinated TIM to… talk into shooting himself or firing a single bullet at him. There is no physical fight between the two. The conversation is similar to Saren’s and again, cycles are a theme, so why can’t we get a Reaper!TIM fight? The player, and Shepard, deserve the choice to fuck him up. This is a military game after all, they’re supposed to be encouraging our aggressive nature.

They ruin TIM but also Shepard.

Shepard never grows and changes like the characters around them, and their resurrection could have—should have—played a part in that. If they’re supposed to remain the same, be a tool for the narrative, make them it. Lean into that. The player chooses options. What would be an interesting mechanic is to make it a struggle for a certain background to get a certain morality. Have Shepard be stating doubts about who they are and if the player is contradicting a stereotypical background (Butcher trying to be paragon, a Hero trying to be renegade), they meet the camera—the players eyes—as they explain their inner turmoil. Make Shepard feel like the tool they are, like they’re not in control of their actions. A renegade overcoming it all and being a paragon hero, or a fall from grace paragon that brings the galaxy down with them. A renegade trapped in a cycle of violence (CYCLE) who can only see the world down the barrel of a gun, or a paragon who continuously chooses kindness. MAKE IT MEAN SOMETHING!

I think I’m done. So.

In conclusion, my love and passion for this game transitions into rage because of seeing possibilities squashed like a bug under a boot. To borrow Star War’s phrase: Mass Effect could be so good if it was good.

#mass effect #yes im putting this in the tag idc #anyways this was fun #im finally dictating my thoughts on ME3 cause it fucking sucks #ive played this game the most out of the entire trilogy and any other game i own

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tavina-writes · 7 months

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Plant Update

I'm slowly hoarding plants (and by that I mean I own six orchids one lucky bamboo plant, one aloe vera, three baby cacti, SOME NUMBER OF SUCCULENTS and like 30 assorted flower bulbs. (Stay tuned on the flower bulbs tbh something may come of them yet!!! LILIES MY BELOVED).

And tbqf this year alone I've gone from like, (1) orchid to (6) orchids so. Two of them are not phalaenopsis orchids (though tbh my largest and most successful one is a white phal. The yellow phal (david lim) has got, if i'm counting correctly THREE buds on it right now so I'm very excited.

The other two phals were rescued from the grocery store discount clearance bin so I have no idea what color they're supposed to be (probably white though, is my guess since I rescued them from the grocery store clearance bin) and their roots were a MESS because they were shoved in (1) tiny pot together, so you may imagine what distress they're in. But also they cost like 7.50 usd so who am I to complain. They've since been repotted but like, that's the state of things there.

I got my Cymbidium as a baby -- it was only planted in December 2022! -- so it's probably going to be a long time before it flowers alas.

My Lycaste is.... doing something. I don't know what. Most of the leaves have fallen off, but the roots are fine, so I think it's in winter dormancy right now but honestly I don't know! We'll find out if I killed it in a couple months I guess!

Anyway I feel like I'm well on my way to becoming an orchid whisperer so stay tuned. There's an orchid auction every year in August/September-ish so I will be keeping my eyes PEELED for new types....and other colors....

EDIT: I somehow forgot to add that I rescued a miniature rose from the same grocery store clearance bin as well. I have no rose growing experience but we'll see!

#plants with tav #plant update #personal

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hallasimss · 2 years

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— surprise 모두 기립 박수 (hala, hala) | ( 🎧 ) ( an introduction. click photos for better quality. )

it's patch day, everything has gone to sh*t for those who don't play vanilla (read: me, i refuse to update until my essential mods are back in working order) and somehow i figured this was well overdue since i've been mostly lurking in the community and spam liking (plus i uh. may be lacking in simblrs to follow). time to stop being creepy and make sure the rest of you know who i am sksksksk

* about me, or; an overview.

halla. non-binary, they/she/xe, they/them preferred. bi/pan. xviii. neurodivergent. afro-carribbean with south asian ancestry. islamic christian and religious pluralist. tired high school senior, video editor/translator volunteer and k-pop/indian cinema stan in their free time. (mostly) wcif friendly, stick to the inbox when inquiring. (if i see you in the comment section it's going to be very hard not to convince me to soft block you i'm sorry) currently tracking #hallasimss. follow from my main @theinfinitedivides.

* what to expect.

mostly cas and lookbook edits since i suck ass at sticking to legacy gameplay—will try to share shots here and there from my current playthrough, but do not be surprised if three months in there's another sim that is getting the main spotlight instead of the one before them. also trying my hand at converting a few illustrations into cas tattoos for personal use, so we'll see how it goes on the cc end

* where to find me.

i don't want to make it seem like i'm chronically online but i am chronically online in a way? if you can't catch me here or on my main you'll most likely find me on my pinterest or the deepest recesses of mydramalist if you're lucky and i'm back in my k-drama phase voluntarily (no, i'm not leaking my username. take a wild guess and tell me if you're right). discord invites are for mutuals only—otherwise, stalk me on spotify to get a glimpse into my mental health!!! you will however be asking yourself why i have a specific song on loop for six hours and i will not be able to answer that

* simblrs i recommend.

@softerhaze (sunblind is one of the only reasons i am able to make this post, ty) ∙ @cinamun ∙ @simelune ∙ @rhdweauni0 ∙ @tau1tvec ∙ @farfallasims ∙ @wildmelon ∙ @literalite ∙ @kadelyka ∙ @miilkymoonsims ∙ @kashisun ∙ @gunthermunch ∙ @bananasplit-sims ∙ @pralinesims (when i tell you that most of my mods folder is just their content i am not lying. absolute godsend) ∙ @puppycheesecake ∙ @glimersims

* fin.

and that's it, ig? i'm terrible at these sorts of things but hopefully all of this made some kind of sense—if you are an active simblr pls interact or say hi so i can follow you back, otherwise how tf am i supposed to find y'all if i'm now stuck in this community for the foreseeable future sfjsfdnkjsdnj (mobile navigation post coming soon-ish. if i can get more of my sh*t together. tbh that's highly unlikely but we're trying to be optimistic)

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mrworldwideshoulders · 2 years

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on thin ice || part 1 || reader x ksj

Kim Seokjin is the image of the perfect figure skater – and he knows it. He’s got the skills, the talent, the looks – the only thing he’s missing is the matching gold medal. There’s nothing he can’t do. But when singles skating turns out to be too much for him to handle after an embarrassing mistake and a knee injury at the World Championship, his coach decides that his best chance at taking gold will be skating with a partner. That's where you come in. There’s only one problem: he’s damn near impossible to work with.

❅ Pairing: skater!reader x skater!Seokjin (feat. coach!Hoseok); dual pov ❅ Part 1 wc: 5.3k ❅ Rating: M (18+) ❅ Genre: figure skating au, enemies to lovers, slow-ish burn, angst, fluff, eventual smut ❅ Chapter warnings: knee injuries, cringe ice-related wordplay, tsundere!jin, alcohol consumption, foul language, angry!hobi, far too many descriptions of jin’s shoulders, at least one (1) mention of jin’s ass in spandex ❅ T/N: seonbae = used to refer to one’s superior

a/n: welcome to my very first collab fic! on thin ice is presented as part of the catch of the century collab to celebrate the one and only worldwide handsome jin’s 30th birthday! definitely go check out the other authors and their stories on the masterlist! i am very very late to posting T_T but it’s here now, yay! also i’d like to apologize in advance if i’ve gotten anything wrong about figure skating; i tried to do my research but it’s almost hard to describe in writing since it’s so visual. i was originally going to post this fic all at once but i decided that breaking it into three chunks would be easier for some reason. parts two and three will be coming out soon, but for now, here is part one, beta’d and bannered by the amazing april (@onmypillow-onmytable)! i hope you enjoy reading as much as i enjoyed writing! thx! ly - robyn

PS. I do not own BTS or their likenesses; I just really love em a whole lot.

Present: “I like you,” Seokjin blurts.

His words come so suddenly you’re not sure if you’ve heard him right. Because if you did hear him right, that would mean that the Kim Seokjin, the same man who’s been making everything about your life difficult for the past six months, the man you thought, at one point, might even hate your guts – actually has feelings for you. And that’s only if he’s serious and not pulling your leg right now. “What did you just say?”

“I said I like you, all right?” He’s definitely being sincere. His cheeks are flushed and he can barely look you in the eye. “Really. I think I might even be in love with you. So…please don’t leave me, okay? I know you said we’d play it by ear, but I don’t want to anymore. Don’t make me look for another partner, because the only one I want to skate with is you. I’m asking you to stay. Forever, if you want.” Seokjin trains his eyes downward while he picks at the side of his thumbnail. “Are you going to say something or are we just going to stand here in awkward silence until one of us takes the hint and leaves?”

“Sorry,” you manage finally. “It’s just…I don't know what to say." He likes you. He might even love you. How exactly were you supposed to react? In your wildest dreams you couldn’t have expected those words to come out of Kim Seokjin’s mouth.

“I know I’ve been an asshole.” he mutters under his breath. “Guess I couldn’t blame you if you didn’t feel the same way.” He sighs. “All right. I get it. I don’t know what I was thinking. Of course you don’t feel the same way. You don’t like me anyway. It’s fine. I’ll go.”

"Wait," you say, catching one of his hands in yours as he turns to leave. You pull him back toward you, until the firm planes of his body are flush against you, your lips reaching up to meet his in a kiss, hoping to convey all of the words tumbling around inside your heart, everything you want to say but can’t seem to put into words. I forgive you. I won’t leave you. And I think I might love you too.

Seokjin seems startled, like he’s not the one who just told you he might be in love with you, but he doesn’t push you away; instead, he leans in further, deepening the kiss. God, he’s a great kisser. You’re the one who initiated, but he clearly knows how to seize the moment. You feel it all over, tingling down your back, in your fingers, in your ears, in your legs, until you tear yourself away, breathless. His face is inches away, shuddering breaths intermingling with yours. He exhales a chuckle. “Not that I’m complaining, but…what was that for?”

You cup his chin and turn his face toward you. "Actions speak louder than words, Ice Prince. Didn’t you know that?"

Six Months Ago: You didn’t have many regrets in your life. The ones you did have were boring, basic, like not being wilder in your teens and early twenties, or not confessing your feelings to the cute guy you used to train with before he quit skating and disappeared from your life. No. Those were nothing compared to the decisions that had brought Kim Seokjin, the biggest asshole in professional figure skating, into your life. Agreeing to skate with him – now that was regrettable. Maybe the most regrettable thing you’d done. The man was gorgeous, of course: tall, broad shouldered, a tiny, trim waist any woman would kill for, an ass that didn’t quit even in spandex, sparkling brown eyes, a head full of dark hair. His face looked like it belonged in a museum, for crying out loud, in a painting or gracing the head of some sculpture. By anyone’s standards, and especially his own, Kim Seokjin was perfect, if not a little wounded after his fall from grace – literally – at the World Championship in France almost half a year ago now, where he’d torn his ACL and blown his knee along with his chances at gold and the Olympics, the reason he supposedly needed a partner. To anyone with a passing interest in dramas this only made him more perfect: beautiful and slightly tormented, like their favorite male lead, or a fallen young demigod from a Greek epic. His horde of adoring (mostly female) fans even referred to him as “Worldwide Handsome Jin.” You had to wonder just how much of his public persona was real. You knew a thing or two about it; you used to be one of his fans, though more of a casual observer than anything. You’d seen firsthand how he interacted with them: all winks and smiles and air kisses and finger hearts. It had all seemed so believable then, that Kim Seokjin was not only a world-class figure skater, but a total sweetheart in addition to being the most attractive man in the sport. The complete package, as it were. It would be a dream come true – no, the chance of a lifetime – for someone like you to get to skate with the Kim Seokjin. But that was before you agreed to work with him.

They always say don’t meet your heroes, right?

Right from the start he’d been a pain in the ass, from the moment his coach, Jung Hoseok, had offered you the position as his partner. During your tryout you could hear him picking at you from the stands, but you’d come far enough to believe that you were something of a professional, and could work successfully with most people, even the difficult ones. Kim Seokjin was not most people. He took being difficult to an entirely new level. Within the first ten minutes of your practice together he’d knocked you over, then blamed it on you. Okay, fine – in his defense, not that he deserved it, it kind of had been your fault. You should have known better than to skate up behind him without saying anything. But did he have to be such an ass about it? You were willing to let it go for the first week or two, figuring he was just nursing his wounded pride from blowing his chance at Worlds gold, but it had been weeks, and he was still the same old jerk. You supposed it only made sense that he was a dick. No guy could be that attractive without also being a total jackass. The man hated you. You were convinced of it. Nothing came out of his mouth that wasn’t critical or dismissive. That same mouth always seemed to be etched in a permanent scowl. And you, who had been practicing for years, perfecting your signature moves, were suddenly an amateur again. In his eyes, anyway.

“First time on ice, huh, Twinkle Toes?” he mutters into your ear, hand on your waist as you both freeze in your ending positions. Twinkle Toes. Where did that nickname even come from?

“With all due respect,” you hiss, teeth gritted in a feigned smile, “kiss my ass.”

“Ooh. Feisty.” You can hear the smirk in his voice. “You kiss your mother with that mouth?”

“Who do you think I got it from? Shut up.”

"Cute," he says. "I'd love to see you try and make me."

You scoff irritably and yank your hand out of his grasp.

A short whistle blast brings you both to attention. “Well, that was fucking terrible.” Hoseok is glaring at the two of you with a withering expression and you wince internally. It only took a few weeks to find out that Hoseok never minces words when it comes to criticism. “Really. It’s ungodly how awful that was. You two need to get over yourselves, stat, because I’ve had enough of this shit. We've been running the same program for weeks and it hasn't gotten any better. In fact, I think it's gotten worse. You’re both barely making the lifts, you're sure as shit not sticking the landings, and your arms are all over the place, all because you can’t stop picking at each other long enough to focus, when neither of you are in any position to be complaining about the other. If you don’t put a lid on it and start acting like the professionals you’re supposed to be, then it’s suicides until the end of eternity for both of you. Is that clear?”

“Fine,” says Seokjin. He crosses his arms and gives you a sidelong glance. “I will if she does.”

The audacity of this guy. “I never wasn’t, Ice Prince. Check yourself, or I will do it for you.”

“Great idea, Hobi.” Seokjin looks pointedly at his coach. “I think it’s already working.”

“Don’t Hobi me!” Hoseok snaps. “I’ve had it up to here with your bullshit! Go get to know each other somewhere outside of this rink. Go get food or something. Talk about yourselves. Don’t you dare talk about skating. And try not to kill each other. Yeah? Awesome. Get out of here. If either one of you calls me to complain I’m blocking you.”

“How do you know that the second we get out of here we’re not both going to go our separate ways?” demands Seokjin.

“Because,” says Hoseok. “I’ll know. And I swear to God I will kill you. I will kill you, and no one will ever find your body. Don’t think I can’t make that happen.” The barely-concealed fury simmering in Hoseok’s eyes is enough to keep either of you from protesting any further.

That was how you’d wound up in a barbecue restaurant, with perhaps the most unlikely dinner guest you’d ever faced. Seokjin sat stoically across from you, scowling, saying nearly nothing, except to insist upon grilling the meat himself. “I’m sure your cooking is about as good as your skating, so I’d rather not take my chances,” he said, curling his upper lip. You sighed resignedly, and waved the waitstaff back over to order several bottles of soju. If you were going to get through dinner with him, you were going to need it, even though you weren’t supposed to since you were in training.

An awkward silence falls over your table like a blanket, almost heavy enough to fold. You watch him as he methodically turns the meat over on the grill. “Do you… like cooking?” you say, hesitantly, in an attempt to break the ice.

“Yeah,” he says, eyes laser-focused on the meat. “Hoseok keeps me on a pretty strict diet during training season, so I don’t get to do it very often, but it’s nice when I get the chance.” There’s a teasing grin on his face. “Let me guess. You’re a terrible cook?”

You scoff. “I get by just fine.”

“Uh-huh. I’m sure.” One eyebrow quirks. “Is ramyeon and convenience store tteokbokki still as good as it used to be?”

“Bite me.” You scowl. “If you must know, I don’t have to cook for myself because my mom brings me food. Every week. So I can focus on training. Balanced meals every night, and all I have to do is wash the dishes.”

“Congrats,” says Seokjin sardonically. “Eat up. Those are done.” He points to a still sizzling batch of pork belly with his chopsticks.

You glare at him as you reach for the meat. It’s perfect. Damn him, you think angrily. Is he just good at everything? You down your glass of soju and pour yourself another, under Seokjin’s disapproving gaze. “What?” you demand.

“Nothing.” He shrugs. “Just thinking you might want to pace yourself a little.”

“Why don’t you stop judging me and loosen up?” You pour a fresh glass and push it toward him. “Come on, we’re supposed to be getting to know each other. And having fun? We can’t exactly do that if you’re just going to sit there and be a stick in the mud.” You nudge the glass closer.

“Yah, stop it! I don’t know why I’m even listening to you.” He picks it up and downs the whole thing in one gulp. “There. Happy? I can keep going.”

“How about a game of Truth or Dare? Only, if you don’t want to answer you have to drink. What do you think?” You lean on the table, resting your hands in your palms and looking up at him.

“No.” He turns over a piece of meat. “I have no interest in getting to know you. I’m only here because I’m trying to not give Hoseok an actual reason to murder me.”

“Isn’t he younger than you? Why are you so afraid of him?”

“I’m not afraid of him,” he says dismissively, “it’s Hoseok. He may threaten to murder me like twice a week, but he knows what he’s doing, most of the time. We’re contemporaries, sort of. Which makes him a better coach than some retiree who hasn’t skated in years and has no idea what it's like anymore.”

“Do you think you’ll coach after you retire?” You’ve thought a lot about it yourself, and it’s probably what you’ll do once you decide it’s time. You like the idea of molding the next generation of future potential Olympians and World Cup champions. It feels honorable. Rewarding. A way of paying the universe back, somehow.

Apparently Seokjin doesn’t think so. His eyes narrow and his jawline goes taut, like he’s gritting his teeth. “Who says I’m retiring anytime soon, Twinkle Toes?”

“No one, Ice Prince. It was a simple question. Just forget it.” So he’s not the coaching type. Certainly not surprising, based on what you know so far.

“I can’t imagine anything worse, anyway,” he grumbles. “I mean, anyone would be lucky to get to learn from me, but who has the patience for that? Who’d want to spend all of their free time with a bunch of people who don’t know what they’re doing?”

“Well, someone has to, don’t they?

“Sure, I guess, if you’re a sadist or something.”

You toss back another shot. Maybe that’s what gives you the courage to ask your next question. “Ice Prince, with all due respect, weren’t you an amateur once? What’s with this burning hatred for beginners?”

“Me? An amateur? Ha!” he scoffs. “Not once in my entire life have I ever been an amateur at anything. Do you know how I got to where I am? Talent. Raw talent. Not everybody has that.”

“Well, maybe that’s your problem, then.” You shrug. “You’ve been coasting on your looks and your talent your whole career, so you don’t know how to handle it when things actually get hard. Is that why you’re so insufferable? I mean, I knew it was bad, but I didn’t know it was this bad.”

“What the hell is that supposed to mean?” Seokjin demands.

“Nothing,” you say innocently. “Whatever could I possibly mean by that?”

“As if you’ve never wanted to quit when it’s gotten hard,” he mutters, returning his attention to the grill in front of him. “No, because Twinkle Toes is perfect, isn’t she?”

Oh yeah, Hoseok, this was a great idea, you think, rolling your eyes. We might just kill each other first and save you the trouble.

The evening wears on, and you debate pretending to go to the bathroom so you can sneak out of the restaurant and go home, where you could be eating one of your mom’s premade meals prepared with love, with a TV show or a movie for company, instead of eating barbecue prepared with loathing and waging verbal warfare with a man who’s made it his life’s purpose to test your limits. You blow out a breath and order yourself another few bottles of soju, determined to make it through this as painlessly as possible, and attempt to refrain from hurling any more insults in Seokjin’s direction.

Time slows and speeds as neither one of you speaks, and you slip further and further into your stupor, losing track of how many drinks you’ve had. You slam your empty cup down next to your mostly empty bottle of soju – the third one. Or is it the fourth one? His face swims before you, his features blurring into a big round blob, then back into Kim Seokjin. “Haven’t you had enough yet?” he demands. His voice sounds distant. “You know if you drink too much you’ll get us both in trouble. Your coach already hates me, and Hoseok will look for any excuse to smack me across the head.”

“Shut up,” you burst, jabbing a finger in his general direction. “You shut your beautiful mouth, Kim Seokjin. I wouldn’t be drinking if it weren’t for you. This is your fault.”

“Oh, so it’s my fault.” If your brain is still working the way it’s supposed to, you’d swear he sounds amused. “Okay. How is it my fault?”

You open and close your mouth a few times. “It just is, okay?”

“Nope.” He crosses his arms. “You can’t prove it’s my fault if you don’t have any solid evidence.”

“You’re annoying. That’s why.” You prop your head on your fist. “God, you’re so annoying. Ugh. Why did I ever agree to this? You obviously hate me. Nobody’s doing me any favors. I’m just suffering at this point having to deal with you every day.”

“Then why did you agree to it?”

“I don’t even remember anymore.” The memory seems so distant now. You sigh. “My coach said it would be good for my career. And I admired you. I always have. I really thought I could learn something from you, you know? That skating with you would make me a better skater. I wanted to get along with you. But I guess it was naïve of me to think we could be friends. I mean, I get it. You’re Kim Seokjin.” You’re rambling. “Years of experience, a bajillion gold medals, hordes of screaming fans. And you hate me. I know. You don’t have to like me. But of course you hate me. So why do I even feel bad for you? You’ve got everything you ever wanted, don’t you? What do you care about some little nobody like me?” You sniffle, allowing a few tears to plop onto the table. It’s the most honest you’ve been with him since you met, even if it is because you’re drunk.

Seokjin doesn’t say anything, just releases a heavy sigh. “You’re not a nobody, y/n.” A napkin appears in your line of sight, extended between two long fingers. You look up, and he smiles wryly. “I’ll let you in on a secret, but only because you’re so far gone I know you’ll probably forget it by tomorrow.” His voice softens. “It might look like I have it all. But I don’t. Everything I’ve worked for, everything I’ve built in the past fifteen years, it’s all been for one thing. With one mistake, all of it could disappear in an instant, and I might never achieve what I set out to do. If I don’t have any of that…I have nothing. And that terrifies me.”

Kim Seokjin…is scared? You don’t know what to say. “What do you want?” you ask. “This thing you’ve been working for the whole time. What is it?”

“What everyone wants, obviously.” Seokjin avoids your eyes. “Greatness. Recognition.”

You prop your cheek on one hand and gaze at him. “There are things other than greatness, you know. Love. Contentment.” Your mind goes blank trying to think of something else. “Other stuff.”

“Yeah, I don’t think any of that’s in the cards for me.” He laughs, a goofy one that sounds sort of like a windshield wiper. It’s the first time you’ve heard a genuine laugh out of him. “Ah, why am I telling you this, anyway? It’s not like you care. Don’t you hate me? Didn’t you say I was insufferable or something like that?”

“Hmm.” You consider it. “No, I really don’t hate you. You’re a pain in the ass and I don’t particularly like you, but I don’t think I’d say I hate you.”

“So where does that leave us?"

"Wait." You hold up a hand. "You don't hate me?"

"Did I ever say I did?"

"How do you feel about me then?" You lean in, wobbling slightly. "You like me, don't you, Ice Prince?"

Seokjin scoffs and rolls his eyes. "I didn't say that either, Twinkle Toes.” He leans back and crosses his arms across that impossibly broad chest of his, gazing at you imperiously. “I tolerate you because I have to. There’s a difference.”

“Oh, come on. Humor me. We were having such a nice moment, y’know?”

"All right. Fine.” He huffs in mock seriousness. “You’re a little bit more than tolerable, and you’re actually decent when it comes down to it. There. Are you happy?”

“Hmm,” you hum, closing your eyes. “Kim Seokjin thinks I’m decent. That’s something, I guess.” A warm feeling washes over you. You rest your cheek against the surface of the table. It’s cool and flat. “Maybe I should call you seonbae now.”

“Whatever floats your boat, y/n.”

He doesn’t hate me. Kim Seokjin doesn’t hate me.

It’s your last thought before your mind goes blank.

Seokjin wasn’t betting on any of this. Blowing his knee in France, having to hit pause on singles skating to take on the entirely new challenge of skating with a partner: a partner he never wanted and had set his mind on hating – none of it. He’d returned from six months of rehab for the torn ACL, against both Hoseok and his physical therapist’s warnings that it was too soon, hoping against hope that he’d find that everything in his world was still as he’d left it. He’d been sorely disappointed to find that nothing was the same and would probably never be the same again. It was the most he could do to stay upright on the ice. Jumps were no man’s land. Spins weren’t much better. Fifteen years of training, conditioning, and careful practice, gold medals and world-class athleticism, all shot because he had to have his ten seconds of glory at Worlds, ten seconds that had turned into months of pain and embarrassment. It swelled when he used it too much, swelled when he didn’t use it at all, and went stiff overnight, making him limp like an old man in the mornings. Why did he bother, really, when he could barely swing any of the fundamentals anymore? Quitting and taking early retirement sounded more likely than taking home bronze at Worlds – or even placing at all.

Then Hoseok suggested he try skating with a partner. For some reason he seemed to think, since Seokjin couldn’t handle singles, at least for the time being, that somehow he’d be better off skating with someone else. It was a terrible idea, in his opinion – there was nobody even close enough to his level, especially before he’d fucked everything up, and not now, either. But Hoseok was his coach, even if he was two years younger than him, and the best course of action was usually for Seokjin to let these things play out until Hoseok realized for himself what a shitty plan it was and righted the course on his own.

He already knew you were going to be a problem, the second you arrived for practice that first day. Your coach, Coach Lim, also happened to be Hoseok’s old coach, hence how he’d managed to get a hold of you. Seokjin already knew she hated him. She was an old friend of Hoseok’s mother, who had medaled or at least gone to the Olympics for figure skating at some point years ago, had envisioned the same thing for Hoseok, and both had been particularly disappointed when Hoseok had decided to quit competing in favor of replacing Seokjin’s coach. But it wasn’t like he’d held a gun to his head; the timing was just right and Hoseok liked the idea of ordering someone older than him around, so that was Coach Lim’s problem, not Seokjin’s. He wasn’t sure how long you had been training with her, but she’d probably been shit-talking him for years. It would only make sense for you to hate him too. He couldn’t have asked for an easier way out of this if it had been handed to him. If you hated him, and your coach hated him, then there was no possible way that this could work out, right? It really was too bad. You weren’t the best by any means, but you had potential, just as he had all those years ago when someone had spotted him doing figure eights at the rink near his grandmother’s house and suggested he take lessons. With time, you could even be great. That, unfortunately, was exactly what he didn’t need: someone else who just needed time. That was all anyone had been telling him since he’d torn his ACL. One step at a time. Take it slow. These things take time. God, he couldn’t stand it any more. Clearly he was no longer the wunderkind he’d been fifteen years ago, when a fall like this would have set him back a month or two, not a whole damn season of competitions. He didn’t have time for that. He was a 24-year-old with a knee injury, for fuck’s sake, with 25 fast approaching in December. He didn’t exactly have time to waste on someone like you, someone who just needed time, when the average age of retirement for figure skaters was 26. He might as well have an expiration date stamped on his forehead. And he couldn’t shake the feeling that, once he reached that imaginary expiration date, someone, it didn’t matter who, would take one look at him and toss him out on his ass. He couldn't let that happen, not without something to show for it.

Unfortunately, you were going to be harder to get rid of than he thought. You hated him, he could tell. But you hadn’t quit yet. You were a formidable opponent, and he’d even come to enjoy picking at you. However, that was before. Before the two of you had been forced out to dinner together under the guise of getting to know each other. The dinner where you’d gotten three bottles deep in soju and practically started sobbing at the table, all because you were convinced he hated you, when the truth was that he didn’t. Seokjin didn’t even have to think about it that hard. He’d set out to hate you, and he did, at first. You were a representation of his failure at the one thing he was supposed to be the best at. It meant he no longer had what it took to make it on his own, meant that he should get comfortable waiting for nothing to happen. But he didn’t hate you anymore. Somewhere along the way, he’d done what he promised himself he wouldn’t: he’d come to like you. He liked having a partner – liked having you as a partner. Skating was already a solitary sport, especially for him, and the only person who’d ever wholly supported him in it had been his grandmother; his parents had been too busy complaining about him wasting time that he could be studying to come to any of his competitions. He hadn’t minded that at first. He preferred his own company to anyone else’s. But in working with you, he’d come to find that it was nice having someone else around – someone he didn’t necessarily have to consider competition – because he didn’t feel so alone anymore. Though he couldn’t have you knowing that. You would be even more insufferable than you already were. So he didn’t say so. He’d simply handed you a napkin to wipe your eyes.

You didn’t hate him either, though you didn’t particularly like him. He didn’t hate you, not anymore. So what did that mean? You hadn’t answered him when he asked, either too surprised by his response or too drunk to think of one. Seokjin ponders the question as he struggles down the dark, almost empty streets to the address he’d managed to squeeze out of you before you passed out for good, with you riding piggyback behind him, ignoring the shooting pains trying to creep back into his bum knee. At least he’d only really had to carry you to and from his car, he reminds himself. It could be worse. Which he’d found out was true when he realized he’d have to carry you up three flights of stairs. Seokjin sighs. You let out a groan and wrap your arms even tighter around his neck while he eyes the first set of stairs in front of him.

“Hey, knock it off,” he grumbles, jostling you roughly to see if it’ll loosen your grip. It doesn’t – but he starts up the stairs anyway, his knee throbbing painfully with each step. He’ll have to ice it later for sure. Why is he doing this, exactly? Really. He could have just left you sleeping on a bench somewhere near the restaurant. It’s cold, for one thing, so you probably would have gotten sick, then Hoseok and Coach Lim probably would have teamed up to kill him or something. There were certainly ways he could have gotten you up the stairs without further injuring himself. Simply dropping you on the ground, for one, and forcing you to walk on your own. That would definitely sober you up. As much as he would have liked to, he couldn’t bring himself to do it. Generally speaking, Seokjin tried not to concern himself too much with what other people thought of him; it never ended well when he paid too much attention to what people were saying about him. This time, for some reason…he rather enjoyed the thought that you didn’t completely hate him, although even if he’d left you outside to sleep on a bench it probably wouldn’t change your opinion of him much.

He sighs in relief when he finally reaches the third floor and manages to finally pry you off his back, setting you on unsteady feet to steer you down the hall towards your apartment. You flop against the wall next to your door, sliding down into a sitting position on the floor while he unlocks the door with the keys he confiscated from you back at the restaurant. Seokjin crouches down in front of you. “Aish, what is this? What are you doing on the floor?”

“Mm,” you grumble sleepily, waving him off with a sloppy hand gesture. “I’m tired. You can just leave me here.”

“Yah! You want to sleep in the hall like some drunk? Get up and go inside.” Slipping his hands under your arms, he pulls you back upright and nudges you into your apartment, ignoring your protests.

Once he’s gotten you inside, you seem to realize where you are, and you stumble off down the narrow hallway, bumping noisily into corners and the edges of things. Seokjin watches from the doorway of your room as you finally collapse face-first into your bed, a muffled snore escaping from your mouth. He can’t help but chuckle looking at you, snoring, completely dead to the world.

“Shameless,” Seokjin mutters. “How can she be so shameless?”

I thought I could learn something from you. I thought, maybe, skating with you might make me a better skater. He considers what you said earlier as he drags a blanket over your sleeping form and lets himself out of your apartment, wondering if you really meant it. You really weren’t so bad, he thought, and maybe there was something to be gained from skating with you, too. Maybe gold wasn’t as unattainable as it seemed.

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leofrith · 6 months

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[20 Question Fic Writer Tag]

Tagged by @aeide and @ainulindaelynn 💖 I did this one a few months ago but a few answers have changed since then so I'll update those. 😊

1. How many works do you have on AO3?

Six now! Four one-shots, a short-ish multi-chapter which was supposed to be a one-shot that got away from me, and my longfic which at this point I should have just waited to post but am definitely still chipping away at.

2. What’s your total AO3 word count?

33,030 which is almost double my count from a few months ago. Woaaaaaaaaahhhh

3. What fandoms do you write for?

Still Assassin's Creed, now dipping into Baldur's Gate 3 as well.

4. What are your top 5 fics by kudos?

Still the same five fics in the same order but with slightly different numbers:

Hideaway - 149

Bright Skies - 139

Press On, Move Along - 94

Out of the Cold - 43

Honor Bound - 29

5. Do you respond to comments?

Yes! Always.

6. What is the fic you wrote with the angstiest ending?

Still Press On, Move Along.

7. What’s the fic you wrote with the happiest ending?

Still Hideaway.

8. Do you get hate on fics?

Still hate-free, for now.

9. Do you write smut? If so, what kind?

Sure do 💀 and I've posted some of it since the last time I did this. I think the only way I can really describe it is emotionally-charged, because if I'm going to horny jail it will at the very least be in service of some kind of character development. 😭

10. Do you write crossovers? What’s the craziest one you’ve written?

Still occasionally poke away at the AC x Star Wars AU, but I'm not super invested in it right now. But I'm sure that will change as soon as a new Star Wars thing comes out. Since I last did this I also went digging through the depths of my writing folder and found a Walking Dead x MCU crossover that I must have started when I was like 14 years old. Absolute fucking horror show that I am so very thankful I never wrote enough to post. 🤡

11. Have you ever had a fic stolen?

Still no, as far as I'm aware.

12. Have you ever had a fic translated?

Nope!

13. Have you ever co-written a fic before?

No, except for yelling back and forth about ideas with friends. I would probably be open to it but also maybe not because I know I am extremely unreliable.

14. What’s your all time favorite ship?

Saying "all-time" favourite feels a bit much, but as far as mental real estate and also just sheer number of words written, Leovor far surpasses any other ship I've been into. 🧍🏻‍♀️

15. What’s a WIP you want to finish but doubt you ever will?

Since I did that ask game a few weeks ago, the Inquisitor Ahsoka/Rex starting a clone rebellion/post TCW AU has been on my mind. But I know that, realistically speaking, I'm unlikely to ever be invested enough to actually sit down and write it.

16. What are your writing strengths?

I'm trying to make a point to read more fiction and while it's possible that the few books I've read thus far lately just haven't been particularly good, it's certainly made me way more confident in my ability to write dialogue that feels like it would be spoken by real live humans and not aliens pretending to be humans. Similar deal with internal monologues. I'm convinced that none of these authors read their work aloud.

17. What are your writing weaknesses?

Still generally the same—overthinking comma usage, editing while I write and therefore being very slow, going back and forth between being stuck because I didn't plan enough and feeling stifled because I planned too much. Etc etc.

18. Thoughts on writing dialogue in another language in fic?

I try to avoid it as much as possible, with the exception being words or phrases that are used a lot in canon.

19. First fandom you wrote for?

Still Marvel :(

20. Favourite fic you’ve written?

Honor Bound is still my baby, but I didn't expect to actually like A Different Kind of Solace as much as I do, mostly because I didn't really go into writing it expecting to hit the emotional notes that it does. Also still Out of the Cold. There are some banger lines there.

Not tagging anyone because this one has gone around a few times recently but if you want to do it, you're welcome to pretend I tagged you. 😌

#ky posts text #tag games

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postcreditscene · 3 months

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Summer Post-Depression

It’s remarkably lonely coming out of such a crushing depression. Especially on the brink of change like this. Leaving the blanket of suicidal thoughts and the pillows of my prolonged girlhood is utterly terrifying. I, a girl who honestly did not plan to make it past the notable yet small age of thirteen, now have to pick universities, do my a-levels, wait patiently for exam results to know if my school will let me keep studying with them. My whole life is a painful and dreadful limbo now.

Summer holidays are always an end of an era in my life as my fall forsaken birthday comes closer yet again. This summer is decidedly my last as a girl and my first as a woman. Why? Because I finally don’t want to kill myself so badly that I need to make something of myself instead of just making sure the self survived. It clearly did as this is not a post mortem (although I may do one on my birthday, for the girl that will surely wither away for my more adult self). The past six months have been full of this, cramming the half of my classes I missed between gym sessions and fucking valorant matches has kept my mind occupied. Until now. Now I am sitting in the polish countryside, typing this on a sun warmed chair swing enjoying the last hours of silence before my aunt, her ape-ish husband and their rotund son come back. Nothing against my art of course, and every day I wonder what she did so wrong to be cursed with sons instead of daughters.

Either way, the peace will be over within the hour as my mother and her new boyfriend come back from their run. I’ve never met a man more loudly and confidently stupid. He is obtrusive. That is the only way I can describe him without being downright nasty and I’m really trying to stop doing that. Sadly after this holiday ad the following one in Paris with my father and his empty headed racist bimbo small-minded small-chested rotten in the soul wife I will be forced to live with my mother and her boyfriend in some sad new build house with his untrained poorly vaccinated dog and the fucking outdoor cat that I will be undoubtedly violently allergic to. Maybe I am a bit of a mean person. For context, my father’s wife forced me out of my own house (after having plunged me into living with her for a year, the attempts made during that year and the memories from that time are long forgotten) and my mother acts like a complete fucking retard as soon as her boyfriend is involved (for example, forgetting I exist, fucking off for two weeks at a time after my beloved childhood dog passed away, and most insultingly letting him call me ‘scary’). I had planned for this blog to be profound and not just a rant.

Circling back to the end of my girlhood and my subsequent rebirth as a woman (or just a teenage girl, god knows what kind of metamorphosis I will commit to). To simplify the goals of this transformation for myself, I’ve made a simply list.

• Get a boyfriend

• Go to school for at least 4/5 days of the week (I only did one full week of school last year about halfway through the spring)

• Fuck previously stated boyfriend (I might be scared of sex but I’ll totally get over that if he’s hot enough)

• Maybe get a girlfriend instead because dick is gross

• Go to the gym three times a week at least

• Plot some kind of cosmic level revenge on my sister who went fucking crazy and refused to do my hair before my school dance.

A very achievable list of goals for the summer and the following year of my life.

Back to the summer. I’m attending a wedding where there is apparently a very rich young man a year or two older than me that’s just finished studying at a boarding school in Switzerland who I’m supposed to be meeting. And he’s supposed to be handsome on top of that. What a catch (I’ll update you to weather he’s actually handsome or not). Perhaps a decent candidate to lose my ‘hold hands romantically’ virginity to. It is very hard being old and an ex-ugly still kind of strange neurodivergent woman. And now I sound like a social justice warrior.

Anyways, unbothered silence is over as is my writing session this fine morning. So I hope this serves as a half- decent introduction to my summer and my blog. Sorry that this is all over the place, I’m not good with introductions.

#girlblogging #girlhood #just girly things #this is a girlblog #girl blogger #femcel #female hysteria #female manipulator #digital diary

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disorganizedkitten · 2 years

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Marinette's Guide to Adopting The Local Vigilant!!

How old are Jay and Marinette when they first met in Paris? How old are they when Marinette becomes LB? What about when Jason shares his Red Hood design, and how long after before Marinette realizes that the design was a goal and not just a story? Is Marinette taking design classes at college/university level, or is she just a teen going to an independent long term workshop? Oh oh oh, and when did Jay decide, and follow through, to return to Gotham? Was the fact he had a sort-of family to return to in Paris a factor in his decision? Last question: When's the adoption? The D-C family is taking too long to get a son XD

Alright I haven't checked the text for this but iirc Jason is sixteen-ish? MAYBE seventeen but I think he's newly sixteen; Because he dies at 14, comes back six months(?) later, is in a Fugue state for a bit, and then gets Lazarused. WELL the au here is that he just noped outta there on his first or second Lazarus rage and hitchhiked from Nanda Parbat to France. Marinette, on the other hand, is somewhere between 4 and 9, and I know this because she's in the First Grade Equivalent during one of their conversations. Probably six?) because that's an even number.

Marinette becomes Ladybug at 13 a la canon, which means Jason is twenty-two-ish.

Marinette doesn't realize it's not a story until a while later; after she learns that her brother decided to become a mob boss. She just didn't make the connection until there was a news article about Red Hood vs Joker - Timetravel?

She's taking a high school class, actually! Some HS have introductory courses for things like that, but if you've done any level of independent study prior you run into the issue of being bored for the first bit.

I- am realizing this timeline doesn't quite work, since that has Mari being 13 and in HS classes all while Jason's 18/ish and doing crime lord things; I'm not sure what to do about it, so we're going to leave it and blame the fact that I was blackout sick when I wrote most of it. Maybe Mari's the 12 she's supposed to be and just auditing classes, or she did find a non-school sewing class. Libraries do that sometimes.

Um.

Moving on; I don't remember fully? I know that Jason's decision to go back to Gotham was heavily influenced! First the League tried to blackmail him (bc they gotta use Jay to get rid of Tim so Damian can come in), then... I don't remember how they got around the assassins, but there were a lot of conversations between Mari and Jay before he decided to go back for closure. And at the very beginning, Jason was waiting for Bruce to come get him because he didn't know how long it'd been. The plans Mari saw were originally for personal closure; sometimes you just gotta fantasize about murder until you feel better. And then he went back for real, after extensive planning to (safely) make the fantasies real. And yes! Having the Dupain-Chengs back in Paris means that not only is he more careful because he knows he has someone to get back to, but it absolutely affects his interactions with Tim because now he has the stupid older sibling instinct of useless panic. As an older sibling, I relate sigh.

And finally; bold of you to assume it hasn't already happened.

Is it legal? ehh, probably, but Tom and Sabine noticed Marinette's attachment to him and decided they might as well keep him, even if he's only comfortable with them so far. ^~^

#Marinette's Guide To Adopting The Local Vigilante #Silverwhiteraven #Jaymeow speaks #Jason Todd #marinette dupain cheng #Also Jason comes back after Mari becomes Ladybug because no way in heck is he leaving her to be a child hero on her own #That was the scene that started the fic

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dearamericaroyaldiaries · 2 years

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It’s a double feature and Choices were made at Scholastic.

The Winter of Red Snow, 1777-1778, Abigail Jane Stewart

and

Cannons at Dawn, 1779-1781, Abigail Jane Stewart

By: Kristiana Gregory

Protagonist Age: 11-15/16

Started- 10/17/2022 and 10/19/2022

Finished- 10/19/2022 and 10/24/2022

Summary:

The first installment in this duology starts with Abigail Jane Steward just living her life with her parents, older sister, younger sister, and brand new baby brother with the Continental Army rolls in to winter at Valley Forge.

She witnesses the tough conditions and harsh reality face while having access to major historical figures and events. Her and her older sister (15ish I think) sew coats for soldiers in the hopes of Catching a Man and the family takes in a pregnant teen widow who they (appear?) to essentially adopt (but she all but disappears in the sequel).

Hope is high and everyone is happy when Spring and Summer come, the army leaving as the temperatures rise. END BOOK ONE!

The only direct sequel in the series picks up almost six months after the last one with Papa having left to join the Continental Army. That night their house burns down so they go to Philly to live with cousins who aren’t there anymore so they stay with a random widow.

They decide to find Papa and follow the army but big sister decides to stay to be close to her soldier boy which results in a letter a couple of months later that she is pregnant and married now. Following the army is miserable and taxing. There are lots of time jumps but by the time our 13 year old protagonist is 15, she’s married and has a baby around her 16th birthday but the war is over. HUZZAH!

#ReadingThoughts

Timeout. I’m guessing that sunrise would have been about 7:30-8:00 ish and they have been up since 4:30? And it took Papa that long to get back with the midwife but Abigail can see the midwife’s house? So it must only be a few miles at most. I suppose weather and road conditions were a factors but this timeline seems suspect. This would not be a solid alibi in a court of law.

Was there a grade system based on age in the 1770s colonial school system or is this a contrivance to make connections with the intended readers?

IT IS A 28 MINUTE WALK FROM THE STEWART HOUSE TO MRS. HEWES? Why did it take a wagon HOURS to make the round trip?

I don't like what they’re doing with how Billy Lee (enslaved by the Washingtons) talks. He is directly reports to General Washington and we don’t need to make him sound like he’s in Gone With the Wind.I am suddenly worried for future books...

What “private underthings” do they have besides shirts and trousers? Breeches that look like trousers and cover about the same amount of skin? It’s not like they have 18th century briefs.

The concept of bounty shirts and coats amuses me. “Ah yes. I will sew something and embroider my name in it so then whoever gets it (who will of course be a handsome soldier boy) MUST fall madly in love with me.”

I don’t think knickers weren’t a thing yet. They were breeches.

I don’t think that Martha Washington spent this much time in the kitchen.

We're bonnets a thing in the 1770s? I know caps and hats were but I'm not sure about bonnets. And at this point I don't think caps tied under the chin like they might have in the past. The style doesn't really allow for it.

Sister Sally wants to pet the stray cat. I am Sally.

Oh sister Elizabeth. You may be barking up the wrong tree. I don't think any young man serving directly under von Steuben is going to want to settle down with you.

Were beards in style? Were they fashionable?

I love the image of Alexander Hamilton yelling swear words as he's translating because von Steuben is pissed off.

I feel bad for Elizabeth that the dog is wearing the coat that she made for Pierre but that's kinda funny. Wrong. Tree.

And for the sequel. Buckle up.

Why are they sharing a bed with Mama? Nevermind. It helps if I keep reading.

Where are teen mom 1 Helen and baby Olivia... Nevermind. Found 'em.

Campbell!? I believe that is Abigail's future married name if I remember my epilogue correctly. Is there a romance afoot!?

We have a love interest, folks! I repeat, we have a love interest. I feel he's too old but he hasn't shown any intent yet so he's on thin fucking ice.

Ah. We're explain away things from the first book in a hand wavey way. Got ha.

ELIZABETH! NO WEDDING? ONLY A QUICK PRONOUNCEMENT? BECAUSE YOU'RE PREGNANT!? Teen mom 2 alert!

Sir. I know where this is headed but I need you to stop flirting with a 13 year old immediately.

A hat's a hat. I don't think tricorn hats had political affiliations before slogans were being printed on then.

You're so worried about Willie not having a hat, Abigail, when you passed up a perfectly serviceable hat one entry ago.

I'm confused. On 114 Benedict Arnold is court-martialed but here he's been given command of West Point? Will verify.

I know why he (Benedict Arnold) won't give the okay for repairs.

#PapistPineBoughs

No one, including her mother, thought to check on why the pregnant teen felt like shit on the march? I mean, all that moving and walking must have been good for inducing labor but come on. Also, teen mom 3.

Okay. She just feels shitty. That doesn't automatically mean pregnant. Yeah, you ruled out other symptoms but that's a leap. At this point can they 100% confirm pregnancy before the baby moves? Teen mom 4

You'd best work to keep those feet dry or else you'll have trench foot.

Thoughts on the Afterward

Nothing groundbreaking. It was sweet that they noted that after Abigail dies her soldier boy got sick and dies (of a broken heart).

Overall Thoughts After Reading

It's fine. Nothing compelling. I was also singing Hamilton whenever a figure from the show appeared. It also really made me sad that von Steuben isn't in the play given that he was close with Hamilton.

I think Kristiana Gregory does a fine job but there's not much else to say.

This is one of the books I read as a wee thing so there's some fondness but I didn't remember a ton except the 40 egg cake and bleaching laundry with piss.

The epilogue is juicy enough but I'll be interested to see how the next book ends.

As for the sequel, I wouldn't say that the Revolution is painted in a glowing light but it was certainly Right and Just.

The think I'm stuck on is the 4 teen pregnancies. You can't really get into sex and pregnancy in a book for middle readers so why? It's unnecessary for 15, 16, 17 year olds (ages taken with a grain of salt) to be married and pregnant. 1 I'll allow but I don't thing that was the norm, even in the colonies. I would have ages everyone up 5 years, then you don't have an 18 year old flirting (albeit inadvertently and without sexual intent but still flirting) with a 13 year old or a barely 15 year old getting married and having a baby at 16. But aging Abigail up doesn't fit with the audience. This just makes me want an edgier show/series where it's the same premise, but it's aimed at adults so we can take on more serious issues

Rating Scale

Book 1: 7/10 Bounty Coats

Book 2: 4/10 pregnant teens (Which is the same number mentioned between the two books?

Other Possible Contenders: caps not bonnets, chamber pots to bleach laundry, unpleasant sounding marches

Photo Credit:

Cover: Still me!

#Read with Me #History Fun Times #Dear America #American Revolution #Historical Fiction

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lupine-princess · 2 years

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She Thinks- Part 3 (Final Part)

Fandom: Supernatural

Rating: M? (just to be safe, since there is discussion of sex. Also violence in later parts.)

Pairing: Female OC x ??? (it's a surprise/choose your own-ish? There is a reveal moment, but you could easily put in whoever you want I suppose)

Warnings: implied rough sex/choking/etc., torture/violence in later parts, Not Beta Read, description of Bad Sex, Brief Attempted SA, Brief Discussion of SA (more mentioning that its not happening and is not going to happen), ANGST, Character Death

Word Count: 8358 (Ummm...this one got away from me I guess...sorry again? Though the chapter length will probably be the least of the things y'all are going to want an apology...)

Cross posted on AO3 @- Lupine_Princess

Note: I am *so* sorry it took so long! The muse was playing coy and I haven't had the time to really sit down and finish this. But here is it. The conclusion to my first fic ever. I literally finished this maybe 30min before this posting, so there are probably typos, but I wanted to get this out and not agonize and nitpick for days and delay this further. Anyway, as mentioned before this is a songfic and the Song and Singer credit will be at the end before people tags. There's a bit of irony to this being sung by this particular (freaking awesome) artist, but I didn't think about that until just now. Considering this is my first fic, and I'm a nobody in the Fan Fic world, this is probably not needed, but PLEASE DON'T REPOST MY WORK ANYWHERE. Last thing, this is probably obvious at this point, but this doesn't have a happy ending. It didn't go exactly how it did in my head when I was planning it, but it was never going to be an HEA. So for anyone rooting for them to be together, I am *SO* sorry. I should have made it clear in the beginning, and I didn't think about it until tonight. I really am sorry. New tags are for this chapter only, and are things I didn't expect to be a thing in this story until I wrote it. Except for the last two. They were always going to be there for this part. Thank you for reading and giving feedback for those who have, I appreciate it greatly. No idea if I'm going to do this again, but never say never right? I'll probably at the very least leave fan fiction to the professionals for a while if nothing else. lol

Alright, here we go:

Part Three

The woman recalls the six months that had passed since That Night, and can’t help but notice things that she hadn’t seen at the time. In herself, she sees how she had changed. One encounter had not been enough, obviously. She had wanted more. Of course she had. How could a person experience something so visceral, so powerful, so intense, and not want, not crave, more? Even now it baffles her that anyone could or would not understand. Not that she had really spoken to anyone about it, but there had been questions, pointed ones, about Him and That Night. She had tried her best to explain the draw in terms that would not paint her in a bad or sordid light, but it was like trying to explain a sunrise to someone who has lived in a dark room their entire lives. She knew they didn’t, couldn’t, understand, and she felt sorrow for them. She had experienced something profound and felt changed by it to her core, but they had nothing to compare it to, and so couldn’t even begin to grasp it.

Even more concerning than that though, she realizes now, she had started to think of Him in terms of being her’s. She had planned in her mind what she would say to him when he inevitably called. What she would wear on their first date. The woman didn’t count either the party or the resulting inferno of lust as their first date, for obvious reasons, but she had planned out the evening that would count in detail in her mind. She had decided that she would have to return to her Mama’s lessons regarding sex though, which meant that there would be none of that for at least a few weeks. Despite this though, the woman looked forward to seeing him again. To just being around him. She longed for it. Craved him like a drug. So much so that her distraction was remarked upon by various people. She had always smiled and waved away their concerns, but it occurs to her now that they were right to be worried. Because, as with most drugs, the high she was on would not, could not, and did not last.

When He had not called a week after That Night, the woman had gone back to the motel. Sure that he would still be there, she had knocked on the door of the room he had stayed in, and had been shocked when a different man entirely had answered the door. The man and his wife were very confused at a woman they didn’t know, in a town they were merely passing through, knocking on their motel room door. The woman was supremely embarrassed of course and had given multiple apologies for bothering the couple before going to the front desk to ask about Him. The woman stops in her reflection for a moment and scoffs at her childishness as she realizes that she refuses to even think his name now, though she cannot bring herself to forget it. The problem with this realization, however, is that she also cannot force herself to use his name, even in thought. Even now. Perhaps especially now. Now it feels less like rejecting Him and more like protecting Him.

At any rate, the woman had gone to the front desk and asked the clerk about Him. Surely, she rationalized, he wouldn’t just leave without saying something to her. He had her phone number, she knew, and she couldn’t have missed his call, because he would have left a message or called back. But the attendant had told her that He had checked out the day after the party. Hours after she had left, so had he and she felt her heart crack. The clerk had given her a pitying smile, so the woman had straightened her spine, plastered her own smile on her face, thanked the young man, and left. He hadn’t even left a note for her.

The mind is an amazing thing, the woman muses now. In effort to stave off feelings of abandonment, rejection, and humiliation, her mind had attempted to come up with a different likely scenario. He checked out a few hours after she left, hadn’t left a message for her with the front desk, and hadn’t called her, so he must have had to leave quickly. In an act of what the woman still considers extraordinary mental gymnastics, the woman had decided that He must have gotten called to another case and had to leave without time to contact her. Which meant that he was probably too busy solving a case and bringing justice to the wronged that he had not had a moment of peace long enough to call. He would undoubtably call her when he finally had a moment and the two could plan for him to come back to town for their date. Perhaps she would even break her rule on carnality once more since he was working so hard. She had felt sympathy and understanding for him at the time, but a week after her ill-fated visit to the motel and still no phone call, the woman had begun to get angry.

Perhaps he lost her phone number? Inconsiderate, yes, but not unforgivable. An honest mistake. It could happen to anyone. This led her to seeking out the acquaintance who had introduced them to in order to either get His phone number or a message to him. Unfortunately, the acquaintance was once again out of town, so that would have to wait. In the meantime, the woman had decided to start her research into Him. She really should have started that earlier, but she had been distracted. Now that she had to wait on their mutual acquaintance’s return, she had time to do what she should have done from the beginning. As she settled in and got started, she had smiled to herself at the idea that she was going to learn everything there was to know about this man that had gotten past her defenses and Mama’s Rules. She was sure, using her usual resources, she would find a treasure trove of interesting information. Birth date, parents, siblings, schools, grades, college and/or military service. Since He was a federal agent, she knew she could also find out about cases he’d worked. Commendations. Current cases. Whereabouts, even, assuming the case was high profile enough. Which it must be, given they had needed him in such a hurry.

Nothing. The woman found…nothing. Not one bit of information. At all. She had wanted to scream in frustration then, and honestly, she still wants to, but didn’t dare. She had searched records all over the country. Every state. Nothing. Not even information that could lead her to information. She had called the FBI. The most local office to her and then the one in Washington D.C. They said they didn’t have an agent of that name with them and never had. Thinking she must have had the agency wrong, she had waded through the alphabet soup that was federal agencies. Nothing. The most hopeful answer she had gotten was that they could/would not talk about employees, past or present.

The woman was starting to get the feeling, a month after That Night, that something was wrong. He still hadn’t called and she couldn’t track down her acquaintance to ask about Him. Her frustration mounted when she realized another month later that the acquaintance had to be actively avoiding her. They were spending a lot more time than usual out of town and when they were, they were never with the group of people they and the woman had in common. Further, the woman had finally realized that the story she and the group was probably false and so nothing she had been told would or could have led to any information. When she had brought this up with mutual friends of her’s and the acquaintance’s, they were confused. They had said, maybe the information was wrong, that didn’t mean it was an intentional lie, and what did it matter anyway? He was clearly just passing through. The woman had not told them, of course, about how she had spent the night after the party. They may have judged her for her indiscretion. Or worse. Told other people.

Four months after the party, the woman had gotten tired of trying to organically meet up with her acquaintance and had gone to their house. Only to find that not only were they not there, they clearly hadn’t been for quite a while. It struck the woman as odd, so she asked the neighbors when they thought the acquaintance would be back as well as how long they had been gone. They neighbors said the acquaintance had left last over a month ago and while they didn’t know when the acquaintance would return, they were getting concerned since the acquaintance had never been gone this long at once before. They would be gone for a week, two at most, and then return home. Usually, they looked like they had some kind of ailment, a limp, a sore shoulder, scrapes, cuts, even bruises, but the neighbors said the acquaintance would take a week or so to recover and then leave out again and the cycle would repeat. But this time was different.

It wouldn’t be for another two weeks after that, that the woman got some information of any kind. Though decidedly not the kind she wanted. One of the neighbors called the woman to let her know that someone was at her acquaintance’s house, but it wasn’t the acquaintance. The woman’s heart had leapt as she decided that it must be Him. He had come back and would have answers and apologies. As the woman looks back over that time, she realizes she was nothing short of delusional. Mama had told the woman, you can’t always get what you want, love. You will be denied sometimes. Rejected sometimes. But how you handle the situation, and yourself afterward, determines your future successes. Those words had never quite rung true for the woman, because she had never been denied or rejected. She had always gotten what she wanted. Now, it seemed, her luck had run out.

The woman had rushed over to her acquaintance’s house once more, eager to see Him again. When she got there however, He was not there, but an older man in a baseball cap driving a car that looked like it belonged in a junk yard rather than on the road. She had had to school her face and hide her disappointment, and replace it with concern for her friend. The older man told her, gravely, that her acquaintance had been in a hunting accident while away and he was there to clean out their house and put it on the market. She had expressed the required sorrow, sympathy, and shock, and inquired at how the man and her acquaintance knew each other, only to be told they had been ‘hunting buddies’ years ago and had made a deal with one another that whichever one ‘went first,’ the other would clean out their belongings, ‘put them to good use,’ and ‘offload the house,’ since neither had any other family.

After a bit more small talk, the woman had gone back home feeling…off. The older man had the same…presence as He did and, she had just realized in that moment, so did her acquaintance. It was an air of leashed danger and made them seem larger than life. On Him it had been incredibly sexy and massively erotic, on the older man and her late acquaintance, it made her feel anxious. Nervous. Like she needed to run away as fast as she could and not look back. She assumes now that, had she not been so ridiculously attracted to Him, she would have felt the same way in his presence. As it was, she had been so clouded by hormones that it had only heightened her interest in Him and all sense of self-preservation had flown out of the window.

Only once she was back home did she realize that she could easily have asked the older man about Him. She quickly decided to call the acquaintance’s home to try and talk to the man, but there was no answer. She called the neighbor that had called her initially, to see if they could get the older man to come to the phone, only to be told that he had left shortly after she had. The woman thanked the neighbor, hung up the phone, and threw it down the hall as hard as she could. It had taken every ounce of restraint she had, but the woman had managed to hold in her scream of rage and frustration until she could make it to her bedroom. Once there, in the safety of her room, she had snatched up the nearest pillow, held it to her face, and screamed herself hoarse. Unfortunately for the pillow, it hadn’t helped. It and two of its fellows had met grisly demises at her clawed, enraged hands. That hadn’t helped either. Not only was she still livid at her lack of luck, she had also had a mess to clean up and three pillows to replace before bedtime. It just hadn’t been her day.

The woman had indulged in a bit of a temper tantrum, stomping through her home, slamming doors open and shut, in search of her broom and dustpan, a bag to put the pillow remnants in, and extra pillows from her linen closet and guest bedroom to sleep on later that night. The actual cleaning itself wasn’t done in the most calm manner either, which only served to make the task take longer, which subsequently made her more angry. Seemed like a vicious, never-ending cycle of frustration and feathers, until suddenly the dam broke. One moment the woman was swearing a blue streak, the likes of which would have had her mouth washed out with the strongest soap available if Mama had heard her, and stuffing feathers and cloth into a garbage bag with rage filled vigor. The next she found herself sitting on the floor, still surrounded by feathers, sobbing her eyes out.

As undignified as it was, and pointless to boot, she had been unable to do anything about it. She had cried until the tears ran out and her body was weak. Too weak to move. Too weak to drag herself to her bed. She had spent the rest of the night on the floor, the occasional stray tear leaking from her eyes. When she woke up the next morning her body was stiff and she had a headache that could have put all other headaches to shame. Still, she couldn’t find the will or strength to pull herself off the floor even then. Her throat burned, and her stomach clenched around nothing. She hadn’t eaten since breakfast the day before, and had lost quite a bit of water during her crying spree, so it made sense that she was hungry and thirsty like she had never been before. It only added to her despondency, however. Her overwhelming lack of desire to do anything at all should have concerned and motivated her to get up and take charge of her life once more, but she couldn’t even muster up enough energy to feel anything at all.

And so, she had laid there on her bedroom floor, surrounded by feather and destroyed pillows long into the afternoon and evening once again. When she had finally been able to pull herself up off the floor, she stumbled her way to her bathroom, thanking every God she had ever heard of that she had sprung for the extra-large tub, despite never having had anyone to share it with. The thought sent a pain rippling through her that she feels even now. As a matter of fact, digging through her memories of the past hurts more than anything she’s ever felt. Searching for answers she not sure she’ll ever find. She’s not even sure she wants them anymore, to be honest, but she still can’t stop herself from hunting them down like a bloodhound on a scent. Mama always said that if someone looked up ‘stubborn’ in an encyclopedia they would just see a picture of me, she remembers with a slight smile. That smile grows as she recalls that Mama actually had put her picture, not just in the encyclopedia, but also the dictionary under the aforementioned heading. It had been an inside joke between the two of them. Something that no one else would know or understand. Something that was just theirs and theirs alone. These thoughts on the back of remembered pain of that day allows for a single traitorous tear to escape her iron control.

Shaking off the feelings that have crept on her, she remembers the next days as though she is watching a movie. To totally honest, that’s how she had felt at the time. Like life was movie. Something she was only watching happen, and merely experiencing second-hand. She can now see how she missed some very important clues, but even now she can’t exactly make sense of them. She had enough knowledge and understanding to see that she had been depressed following her epic crying spree even then, but there were some things that weren’t quite…right.

Her friends, her former lover and their wives, had begun to look at her with…pity. Even now thinking about it, the woman can help but feel indignant. They pitied her?! How dare they! She is not one to be pitied. She is better than that, she knows, and a familiar iced coated acid feeling creeps through her. With a distinctly unladylike snarl, the woman pushes the feeling away violently. It feels too much like fear and sorrow for her to accept it right now. She has better things to think about and more important issues at hand to deal with.

Aside from the unacceptable pity being directed her way, the woman recalls that the friend that had escorted her to the party That Night had also been changing. She had set him up with a few women she knew that would have been more than acceptable matches for him, but every time something had happened. The women would call her the day after the date and tell her in confused tones that he had not been the warm, hospitable gentleman they all knew him to be. Instead, he was rude and curt, almost angry. And cold. They said it was like he looked right through them, as if he didn’t have the time to even truly acknowledge they were there, until they had tried to talk to him about literally any topic, at which point they would wind up talked over, talked down to, or dismissed entirely. They all had said they had asked why he was in such a mood, only to be told it was “nothing that can’t be taken care of,” and they had then asked the woman if she had spoken to him and what they had done to deserve such treatment. Especially when the end of the date came. It seemed that despite his wholly unappetizing behavior, the woman friend had still had…expectations and made his dates very aware of them when he took them home. The only thing that could be said to his credit in the entire situation was that when the women had obviously told him they could not be less interested in anything he had to offer that night, he had simply nodded, said good night, and left. It was as if he hadn’t cared what the answer he got was either way.

Only one woman, the last incidentally, had taken him up on the offer he had made after their date. The woman recalled how the young woman’s voice had trembled slightly when she had told the woman of that night. It wasn’t anything like what the woman would have expected of her friend. Granted, she hadn’t kept track of his sex life in the past, but the young woman’s description had shocked and appalled the woman. Apparently, the cold, impersonal, overbearing demeanor her friend displayed at dinner had carried into the young woman’s bedroom. There had been no tenderness of any kind whatsoever. There had been only orders given in a hard voice accompanied by hard hands, and harder thrusts. There was no consideration at all shown to his bed partner. He had been wholly selfish, caring only for his own satisfaction, which had come blessedly quickly, and nothing for hers. The young woman had admitted over the phone that once he was done, he had appeared to want to stay for another round, but she had asked him to leave, not being able to stand another disappointing romp like the first. He had shrugged and left without a fight, but not before throwing a crude, “Thanks for the ride,” over his shoulder before the door shut.

The woman couldn’t believe her friend’s behavior. She had resolved not to set anyone else up with him until she could deal with him herself, which she had intended to be a few days later. Unfortunately, the day after the phone call with the justifiably unhappy young woman was the day the woman had found out about her acquaintance’s death and things had spiraled from there. Finally, things with the woman and her friend had come to a head about a month after her pillow destruction and crying jag. He had come over the woman’s home, with the stated intention of checking on her and seeing how she was, what had happened, and how he could help.

At the time that woman had been grateful, but even then she had noticed that something in his demeanor, hadn’t matched his words. Maybe it was his eyes. Always before, they were warm and caring when they looked at her. On that day, she felt like she understood what they women she had sent on dates with him had meant by ‘cold,’ It was like staring into frozen stones. Beautiful stones, the woman is willing to admit even now, like diamonds, or some other gemstone, but hard and cold all the same. Remembering those eyes sends a shiver down the woman’s spine and her throat tightens with fear.

Pulling her focus from his eyes, the woman returns her thoughts to the conversation they had had. Conversation, ha! the woman scoffs, that wasn’t a ‘conversation.’ His visit had been going well at the very beginning, despite the unnerving feeling of wrongness that had been crawling across her skin, when things had hit the proverbial fan. He had asked why she was so “down” lately, and the woman had thought that finally she could talk about the situation with someone who could understand. That wasn’t what had happened. The moment she had mentioned Him her friend had suddenly sparked to life like a firework in a spectacular explosion.

She was honestly still confused to this day about the sudden change in him. Not just with her, but with the women she had set him up with and even other people around town. It seemed like over night he had gone from the kind, funny, helpful, and understanding man they all knew and loved, to a cold, unfeeling man who thought nothing of other people and had a hair trigger temper. At the time she hadn’t noticed the changes as they happened, but that day in her home, she saw what everyone had been talking about. It had been shocking to say the least.

The woman still shudders when she remembers the look in his eyes as he raged at her. He had ranted about her fixation on Him, calling her a “pathetic, delusional whore,” and while she was reeling from that verbal barrage, he had continued raving about how her manipulative ways would come back to haunt her and that she needed him to straighten her out by any means necessary. Those had been his exact words actually. “By any means necessary.” She had been confused, shock, and more scared than she had ever been before. Even more than that one pregnancy scare between high school and college. Nothing had come of it, obviously, but she had taken that lesson to heart every bit as much as she took Mama’s lessons to heart. Since then, there had been no scares, and so very little to fear. It isn’t that she doesn’t want children even now, it just hasn’t ever been the right time, not to mention that she wasn’t and still isn’t married. The scandal of an unmarried mother may have lessoned with the times, but that did not mean that it was entirely gone. That and this town is a bit behind the times in general, the woman admits, somewhat begrudgingly. It had never been a problem for her before, in fact she was more than capable of making that state of affairs work for her rather than against her. The antiquated way of thinking that surrounded her had paid off greatly for her, so it had never been in her interest to challenge it overtly.

Off topic again, dammit, the woman growls at herself. Forcing herself to focus on that day, she shudders once again. From cold or fear she isn’t sure. She remembers how she had listened to her friend rail against her while she stood frozen, right until the point he had grabbed her upper arms, slammed her into one of her living room walls, and kissed her. Kissed?! Please! she scoffs, if that was a kiss then the lion must love the gazelle! And not as food! She can almost still feel his lips on hers. Teeth digging in to her flesh. Tongue forcing its way into her mouth. It was violent and painful, and decidedly not in a way she enjoyed. Just as she gagged on his probing tongue, her shocked mind had finally caught on and reacted to what was happening. He was pulling at her blouse, her knee, of its own volition it seemed, jerked up and none too gently landed squarely on his testicles. At the same moment, she expressed her displeasure with the tongue in her mouth by biting down. Hard. She had never thought blood would taste any way other than vile, but in this instance, it tasted sweet. Like victory.

His howl of pain wasn’t too shabby either, she remembers with a smirk. The smirk fades quickly when she recalls the enraged look on his face and the slap that followed. Stunned once again, her ears ringing, she only vaguely heard the names he screamed at her before he slammed out of her house, leaving with a slight limp. The woman had breathed a shaky sigh of relief that it was over and briefly considered calling Jordan and filing a complaint against her friend and asking for an officer to give her an escort her to and from work and home for a few days, or at the very least just to have someone aware of what had happened and give some advice on what she should do. Then she realized for advice she might be better off calling Brian, even though he would probably tell her to press charges, which she didn’t want to do. Her thought was that if she called Jordan and made a complaint, an officer would go and talk to her friend and make him stay away from her. If her friend ignored the officer’s warning, there would already be a record of what happened so things would be taken care of more quickly.

In the end, she decided not to call either Jordan or Brian. She honestly felt that this was just a hiccup for her friend. He was obviously going through something and a police presence in his life wouldn’t be helpful for him to get out of it. While the woman would never again trust her now former friend, nor would she want him around her, she still wanted what was best for him and to see him do well. Even a whisper of impropriety in which the police were involved could, and likely would, destroy his business, his credibility, and really his life in their town. He also probably wouldn’t be able to start over in a new area either, unless it was quite far away, which would cost more money than he would wind up having. She couldn’t bring herself to risk that happening to him. Not for the man he had become, but for the boy and the friend he been.

Despite her resolve, she had felt a nagging in the back of her mind urging her to tell someone what happened. She had felt it for days. After a week of the feeling, she finally decided the when she got home that night, she would call Zachary. Practical and pragmatic, Zachary would know how to handle things while being discrete. Her now former friend might wind up a bit worse for wear, but as long as he didn’t bother her, or any other woman if she knew Zachary as well as she thought she did, his life would go on overall uninterrupted. If he didn’t…well…people left town all the time without telling anyone else, presumably moving on to bigger and better things while avoiding awkward questions, especially if they had the kind of money her ex-friend had. What was one more person, right?

She had considered calling for an escort home that night, but decided against it. While it wasn’t exactly an unusual occurrence, it would still bring up more questions than she was prepared to answer at that moment. Instead, she had finished out her day, long after her colleagues had gone home to their families, thinking not about the conversation she was going to be having when she got home, but rather about how much she longed to have what they had. A husband, someone who supported her and was her partner in every sense. Love. Babies. The perfect apple pie, white picket fence with a dog in the yard life. No, it wasn’t for everyone, but it was what she wanted. She had realized that she was lonely and tired of living her life the way she was. She wanted to settle down, and using Mama’s lessons and rules, the woman was sure she would find the perfect mate for herself the same way she had for others in her life. She understood it may take longer for her than it had for them, because she knew she was more…selective than they were, but she knew it would happen sooner rather than later. And so, with thoughts of white dresses, bassinets, and lullabies in her head, she walked to her car to go to her lonely, empty home with a resolved smile on her face.

She should have called for the escort.

The only thing she could remember was a soft rustling behind her, not unusual given the trees around the parking lot, then a sharp pain in her neck. Everything went black almost immediately. Almost. Just before the inky blackness descended, she caught a glimpse of a man. Her now ex-friend. And on his face was the most sickeningly sinister smirk on his face.

When she woke, she was on a bed. Her neck hurt, her head was screaming, and her vision was blurry. She had no idea where she was and her heart was racing in fear of the unknown. Naturally, she jumped to her feet to begin trying to figure out not only where she was, but also to find a way out of this place. Unfortunately, while she was able to get up without issue, she quickly realized that where didn’t matter nearly as much as what, and what was some kind of concrete room. No windows. One door. Metal. Undoubtedly heavy, and absolutely locked. She was trapped. The only way out was that one door, and she knew the only way it would open was if…when her ex-friend came into the room. He would be ready for anything she might throw at him, of course, so her chances of escape were very slim. She could only hope at that point that he would do what ever he was going to do, then let her go. She categorically refused to entertain any thoughts about what he might be planning beyond hoping that he would ultimately let her go.

She had no idea how long she had been unconscious, and so had no idea what time it might be. She only knew that she was incredibly hungry and thirsty. Almost as soon as the thought had entered her head, however, a flap she had missed on the bottom of the metal door opened and a something was pushed through. On inspection, she saw that it was two pieces of bread and a paper cup of water on a tray. In her hunger, she snatched up the bread and devoured it, before gulping down the water. It barely took the edge off, but at least it was something.

She jumped when the flap opened again and the tray was yanked through in the opposite direction as before. Upon realizing that someone (she could easily guess who) on the other side of the door had known the tray was empty and had taken it back, she started to talk. Well…less talk, more yell. Questions abounded. Answers were demanded. None were given. She refused to plead, so decided instead to bargain. Assurances that if he only let her go, she would never tell anyone about this occurrence. They would get him help with whatever was going on with him. She would help him. The bargaining ceased when she heard, barely, another door, further away, close. He clearly wasn’t interested in what she had to say and had left.

And so, things had gone for what she could only assume were the next 4-5 days. Three times a day the flap in the door would open, two pieces of bread beside water in a paper cup on a tray that was retrieved as soon as the three items where removed. She had continued to try and talk to him. She still wouldn��t plead and would die before she begged, but she asked for answers and bargained to the best of her considerable abilities. She even lied. Lied like it was her job. It is, or was, but it seems uncouth to say the quiet part out loud like that, the woman muses with semi-forced humor. Forced because there is nothing even remotely amusing or humorous about this situation. She had yet to get any answers, let alone any interaction whatsoever beyond the push of the tray and its retrieval.

Throughout it all, the woman imagined her life outside of this place. The things she would do once she got out of here. The places she would go. She knew now that there was nothing in this town any more. She knew everyone and none of them were to her standard for a husband, though that standard had somewhat lowered in her time in the large concrete box that was her current residence. She thought she might try to find Him, but she had no idea where to even start. Maybe she could find that older man that had been at her acquaintance’s house that day, but she was struggling with remembering him name. Usually she was good with names, but between the high emotions she had been feeling at the time and shortly after, coupled with the knowledge that he wasn’t staying, and her current fear, hunger, and dehydration…well, simply put her mind wasn’t exactly firing on all cylinders. Even now, she casts around in her mind for that name. Ronald? Richard? No. Not an R. Not an R…a…B? Yes! B…something! the woman recalls excitedly. A breakthrough finally! B. B. Brandon? No. Bartholomew? Absolutely not. Shorter…Bill? Billy? Billy! she decides. She’s still not entirely sure she’s right, but she can’t be bothered with that reality right now, because frankly, she desperately needs even that small win.

Because her circumstances had changed. And not for the better. She couldn’t be sure how long ago it was really, but it had to be a day or two there had only been two trays. The first had half of the rations she’d been getting which, while they hadn’t been nearly enough before, she really couldn’t afford to lose. She spent the day curled up on the bed, shaking with hunger pangs worse than ever before. Her throat burned and her head pounded. When it can to about the time that the second tray would be delivered, she had pulled herself up and over to the door to wait patiently. She had waited in vain. The tray never arrived. The disappointment had nearly crashed her and her resolve wavered. Wavered, but did not collapse, thankfully. Her disappointment coupled with the overall insufficient food, however, had left her unable to go back to the lone source of comfort in the room. For hours, she laid on the floor in front of the flap, willing it to open and provide her with a nourishing, filling meal. Eventually, her will prevailed and the flap indeed opened. The tray was passed through and upon it, while not the meal she wanted, were the standard two bread slices and paper cup with water. She had sighed in relief.

Naturally, she tore into the bread and gulped the water in a most unladylike manner, but she didn’t care. She was quite literally starving. It wasn’t until she noticed that the tray hadn’t been retrieved that the thought that something might be a bit suspicious about this particular meal. That’s when the first wave of dizziness had swept over her and she felt herself falling backward. She heard more than felt her head hit the cold concrete floor, and mused that it would probably hurt when she woke up. If she woke up. The last thing she was aware of was the heavy metal door opening and her now very much EX-friend walking into the room. The same sinister smirk smeared across his face. She was all but certain that this was her last moment.

But she was wrong. Although on further reflection she wasn’t exactly sure that was good thing. She had woken on the bed again. But this time was different. She was naked. And bound. Shackled actually. As soon as she realized the vulnerable state she was in, she immediately began shivering. Cold and fear. Fear and cold. The war between the two feelings was never fully won by either, so they traded off for the role of most prominent. Outweighing even the burning thirst and vicious hunger. Something she hadn’t thought was possible, but now she knew she was wrong about that, too.

And so, it is. Since the moment she had woken up chained to this bed, naked as the day she was born, she hasn’t moved, hasn’t been able to, other than the occasional shift or to bang her head back in frustration. She is more uncomfortable than she has ever been. Her arms and shoulders ache, but had largely stopped hurting other than a sharp twinge here and there, which honestly would have concerned her if it weren’t for the entire situation as a whole, but things being what they were, she can’t be bothered to care. Other than to be grateful that part of her discomfort has ended. The rest though is all but unbearable. Because she can’t get up and pace like she normally would when she got bored, she has to lay there with her mind spinning desperately searching for something, anything, to alleviate the boredom. She can’t warm herself or at least cover up with the blankets, so she is fully exposed, which is a different kind of discomfort, but still valid, and she is freezing. She is losing feeling in her feet and legs, though whether that is because of the tight bonds holding them to the bed immobile, or the frigid cold, she can’t tell. She also hasn’t had anything to eat or drink since ingesting the clearly drugged bread and water. The only silver lining, if it can be called that, to that particular issue is that she has stopped feeling the thirst and the hunger. Either because they have disappeared, or because she has gotten so used to them, she has no idea. And to add insult to injury, because she is chained down so securely, she can’t reach the single hole in the far corner of the room that had been serving as her toilet this whole time. She is filthy, having had not opportunity to bathe since she had been brought to this place, and now she was covered in her own waste. If there was anything at all beneficial about starving and being critically dehydrated, it was the fact that particular indignity had all but ceased as well. Again, something she would ordinarily be concerned about, but in her nearly delirious state, she can’t force herself to look passed the fact that she isn’t getting any dirtier.

Somewhere in her mind she knows, though. She knows that she is not long for the world and that her time now is likely being counted in hours and minutes, rather than days, weeks, and years. As that simultaneously depressing and comforting thought skips across her mind, she hears the metal of the door clang, creak, and open. Her heart leaps to her throat. Fear yes, but it’s also been so long since she’s seen anyone else face, she doesn’t care that it’s the face of the man she used to think was her closest friend. The relief is short lived. As he enters, he begins to talk. And the things he says…he tells her that while her absence has been noted, no one actually cares. The town gossips hiss to each other that it’s probably her own fault and that it’s likely for the best. Her friends don’t feel that way of course. They are saddened by her sudden disappearance, “What a pity,” they say, “what a loss.” But ultimately, they can’t be bothered to put forth any real effort into finding her. They are wrapped up in their own lives and won’t bestir themselves to much on her behalf. Even the police investigation into her disappearance was token at best.

Her outrage at the knowledge that she has been cast aside and forgotten by those she benefited and benefited from the most is tempered only by pain. Because while he talks, the man wearing her friend’s face, for that is how she thinks of him now, (they can’t be the same man. He can’t have changed this much. she tells herself trying desperately to soothe and distract), he cuts. He carves. Red lines racing over ever inch of flesh. During his monologue about how all of her insipid dreams are all for naught, he makes her bleed. Sometimes he lays down the blade for another implement, each is a new level and type of pain she had never thought to experience, but he always returns to the shiny, straight metal and continues his “artwork” as he calls it.

He tells her over and over that if she had just noticed him, given him the time, accepted him, loved him, he would have given her everything she ever wanted. A home, warm, welcoming, and safe. Love. Acceptance. A partner. Children. Beautiful babies to sing to and tell stories and teach and play with. He would and could have given her everything. On a never-ending loop he berates, belittles, and taunts her. Her friends don’t need or miss her. The town she thought she ran is still running and better in the one week she’d been gone than it ever had under her watch. Her home had already been emptied out, her belonging stored until an auction could be arranged, and the building itself already sold. No one had wasted any time completely erasing her from their lives and the town. She will never leave this room. All of her dreams and ambitions will end here with her. She will never have a husband in her arms or a child on her hip. Her memory, such as it is, will swiftly fade for everyone and when someone does think about her it will be with pity before they shrug off the thought and move on with their lives. And all because she had chosen some man, some stranger, she didn’t even know over him. If she had chosen him that night, instead of “whoring around” with Him, she wouldn’t be laying here right now. She would be safe in bed with him, her friend and new lover, dreaming of wedding bells and strollers, but instead she decided to make the wrong choice, once again, and he would make sure it was the last one.

The woman’s heart breaks over and over and over as a man she used to love as family tears her apart physically, mentally, and emotionally. The one thing, the one line he didn’t cross, was that he had not touched her. He hasn’t violated her in that way. It was one experience she was assured she wouldn’t have, but not because he wouldn’t cross that line, but because she “she didn’t deserve” him and she was “even too filthy for” him. She got the feeling he wasn’t talking about the layers of dirt and refuse she had accumulated, but she can’t find it in herself to care. It doesn’t even necessarily make sense really. She is going to die. She knows it. She has known it, but somehow, she takes solace in that one thing. And if her dalliance with Him had been what prevented that act from taking place, she can and will find it in herself to be grateful for that even though this whole thing is His fault.

The woman loses and regains consciousness several times over the course several hours. Every time returning to the waking world to hear her Not Friend ranting like a mad man, laughing at her pain, and layering more and more of it one top of the other. She has long since broken her vow against crying not to mention screaming, but can’t beg, not coherently at least, even if she wants to. Since she had woken chained up on the bed, she had been securely gagged. A gag that had now been soaked in blood and other bodily fluids generated during her ordeal. If she could, though, she would beg. She would beg him to have mercy and let her die. She knows that’s a fruitless wish though. He has no mercy. Not for her at the very least. He has made that perfectly clear time and again.

Finally though, finally, blessedly, she feels the end, the Reaper, Death himself, approach. She almost sighs in relief, but holds herself back just in case her Not Friend finds a way to bring her back from the brink. The thought of this agony, this hell, continuing cannot be borne and she prays one last time once again to every God she’s ever heard of that this really will be the end. She can still hear her Not Friend rant, though now it is muffled, like someone talking from far off. He is asking questions now. Demanding answers she hopes he doesn’t expect her to give. She couldn’t if she wanted to. Not that she does want to. Maybe if he gets angrier, this will end quicker. Either way, at this point anything that makes him unhappy pleases her. Probably twisted, but no less true. Slowly, she turns her head toward him, very purposefully. She can actually feel her heart slowing and see the final darkness at the edges of her vision. She has nothing to lose anymore. She doesn’t care anymore. It makes her brave in her last moments.

Again, her Not Friend demands an answer to his question. Her Not Friend wants His name. Apparently, he can’t remember it, and for some reason it’s important to him. He also wants to know what she knows about His whereabouts. She can’t imagine why. Still, one last push and it’s over. And it’ll do her slowing heart good to see him stymied one last time. She is dying and he is the one killing her. She is entitled to be a bit mean she feels. And so, strength fading quickly, the woman grins around her blood and spit-soaked gag showing bloody cracked teeth, and very intentionally, deliberately, slowly turned her head away from him. His rage was hysterical. If she could, she would have laughed, though one thing does confuse her. Just before he is out of her sight for the last time, she would swear she saw his eyes flash black. And there isn’t enough blood in her body for her brain to work properly, so she probably imagined it, she reasons quickly. It doesn’t matter anyway. The darkness the had been on the edges of her vision has almost completely covered it. Her Not Friend’s screams and yells mean nothing to her anymore. But one thing does. She can’t believe it, but she wants her last thought to be of the man who ruined everything. The man who made her feel alive and got her killed. Him. Slightly resigned to her own sentimentality, but resolute nonetheless, she calls up his image in her mind. How he looked went she first saw him That Night, but also when she last saw him, asleep, hair a mess, back covered in red lines, justifiably exhausted. She smiles to herself one last time, and with her last heartbeats, her last precious moments, she thinks

His name was John.

Song Credit- Reba McIntire "She Thinks His Name Was John" (side note: this song is about something very different and very real, and I have the utmost respect for that and Ms. McIntire for doing it in the first place. This fic came about because I binge watched Supernatural after listening to this song and my sleeping brain mashed them together. It turned into a massively rabid plot bunny that I had to write. But go listen to the song and prepare fore chills at the very least. I tried to do it justice, but I'm not sure how successful I was.)

Please comment and let me know what you think now that its complete. Good or bad, I don't care, but please be nice about it. Constructive criticism instead of flames. And I don't feed trolls. I block them.

@kittenofdoomage @holylulusworld @impala-dreamer @imanuglywombat

#Supernatural #She Thinks Part 3 #She Thinks #Dean Winchester?#Sam Winchester?#John WInchester?#Winchester at all?#OFC #Seriously I'm sorry guys #Runs off to hide from any angry ppl

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kerra-and-company · 2 years

Note

💖🍊⭐🍐💙🔮🎀 from the jumbo asks for Cal (@likemesomesalads)

Oh HELL yes, that's so many asks for them and I am absolutely down!! Tyty :D GW1 kiddo hours! Also, for everyone who doesn't know who the heck this is, have the picrew I made of Cal:

Answers under a cut because they all got Long!

💖 Has your OC ever been in love, be it romantic or platonic or otherwise? Who with and did they ever express their feelings or keep it private? How long did these feelings persist / do they still feel this way?

Yes, definitely! The (romantic) love of Cal's life is Daisy Llew, and I'll give you the picrew I made of her too 'cause why not:

Daisy's from Ascalon, and Cal meets her there about a year and a half or so before the Searing (and therefore a year or so before the start of the GW1 in-game storyline). Since you can dual-class in GW1, Daisy's specifically a necromancer/monk, and she chose that combo to spite people who insisted that you were only supposed to deal in life OR death magic. (And in part to spite her tutor at the time, Verata.) She's skilled enough in magic that she serves as an informal sort of protector for her village, which is a bit to the east of Rin. She shares a house with her mother, Grace, who she loves a whole lot; her father's been dead since she was five, but he was horrible, so she's not sad about it. (And there's more about her character I could definitely share, but since that's not the point of this post, I'll stop here for now xD)

The entire reason Cal's even in Ascalon at that point is because they were traveling--they really wanted to see the world, so they sailed to Lion's Arch, traveled through a great deal of Kryta and over the mountains, and ended up in Ascalon. They didn't plan on staying long, but they managed to make some friends (including Rurik), and then they met and started falling for Daisy, and...yeah, their plans of moving on quickly got fully halted for a While.

Cal did indeed express their feelings! :) They and Daisy were officially dating for about six-ish months before the Searing, and they stayed together until their deaths many years later. They had two children, and one of their descendants (Maya) participates in some of the major events in my GW2 story.

🍊 What is your OC’s favorite meal? Snack? Dessert? Drink? Any reasons behind this besides liking how it tastes?

Meal (though it could kinda be a snack too): drake kabobs, both for the taste and because they remind Cal of Kamadan; snack: fried banana chips, because that's something their dad made for them growing up; dessert: pumpkin bread, thanks to Daisy's mom; and, drink: spiced apple cider, literally just because they like it.

⭐ What is your OC afraid of? Any crippling phobias or some such? How do they act when scared and what helps them calm down? Does anyone ever find your OC scary? Why?

Ooh, interesting. I can't think of any specific phobias that Cal has, but the biggest fear they have comes later down the line. Once they're settled, sometime after the events of Eye of the North, in Istan with Daisy (and, later, their kids), they are terrified of a threat coming to uproot that. They've seen enough of that in their life, both in other places and in Istan--the Searing, the White Mantle, Khilbron, Shiro, Nightfall/Abbadon, Primordus on some levels, the Ministry of Purity (though they're less directly involved in that situation)--and, at this point, they're done moving around. They've seen enough of the world. They want it to be safe enough that their children can grow up in peace. They have to work through a lot of emotions around this over the years, especially when the kids are very little, but they manage to work through it. And then, about 10-ish years later, Joko starts raiding the Vabbian border, and there's a new (old?) threat coming back to haunt them again, and their kids might not be safe--it's a Lot. It's a lot.

Cal was definitely scared plenty of times during the main GW1 story, but they're good at compartmentalizing, so it mainly comes up after the fact. They'll hold onto someone (Daisy, one of their friends, etc.) to make sure they're still there; they'll take deep breaths and try to calm down; they'll craft new arrows or work on improvements to their staff (they're pretty decent at making magical weapons and made their staff themself!). They use those same kind of coping skills again after the main storyline when they're dealing with the fear of their home being destroyed, but the symptoms of this fear also are slightly more severe. They struggle with panic attacks for a while, and they have trouble sleeping--not nightmares, they just can't get to sleep very easily and don't sleep well when they do.

🍐 What is your OC’s mentality? Are they overall positive? Negative? A bit of both? Describe their thought patterns and reasoning behind their choice making!

A bit of both, I think--Cal's more realistic than anything, but they lean more positive as a child than they do as an adult, and even just as a younger adult than they do later on. They're extremely excited to see the world when they leave Istan at ~22, and they legitimately think it will, overall, go well. Sure, it'll be different than home, but that's the point! And if it's dangerous, they know how to fight.

After the Searing, they become a lot more cautious, and even if they don't expect the negative outcomes, they plan for them. Cal becomes the monarch of contingency plans, and, as they begin to take on more and more of a leadership role, they are very careful not to send someone into a situation they won't be able to get out of. Losing Rurik in the mountains does not really help this overplanning situation, and there's a few weeks where they're kinda spiraling in this regard before they manage to stop, take a breath, and remind themself that they can't control everything or predict everything. And that's the mentality they stick with for years and years afterwards--they'll have backup plans, but even those might not catch all the possible situations, and that's life. They can improvise if they have to.

💙 What did your OC want to be when they grew up and why? Did they have any lifelong dreams or ambitions they never got to work on or are they currently working to achieve this dream? Has their life taken a very unexpected turn and put all these plans on hold for a while or have they given up on any dreams?

Cal really wasn't sure. They thought maybe something to do with trading, like their mother, or helping the Zaishen take care of their animals, or maybe they'd just be a traveler and a kinda jack-of-all-trades. They didn't have anything set in their mind other than they wanted to see the world, do some good maybe (though they hadn't planned on it being on such a grand scale, and they hadn't planned to be a leader), and come back home--and I guess they did do that, so...dreams accomplished, I guess alsdjfasdf? They accomplished their main goal And Then Some.

Fun fact, they trained a little with the Sunspear recruits when they were a teenager. They were an accomplished fighter, but they refused to officially join--they weren't sure that that was what they wanted, and they wanted to travel so badly too; they didn't want to feel trapped in Istan or Elona as a whole. They didn't know Kormir well during this time period, but they did know her, and they told her their reasons for not wanting to join. She heard them and told them to let her know if they did ever come back to Elona, and if they changed their mind. Funnily enough, though, when they did meet again, Kormir was the one who came to Cal in Lion's Arch to request their assistance with the beginnings of Nightfall, rather than them going to her. (Also worth noting--during and after Nightfall, when they actually are working with the Sunspears, they always consider any Sunspear title they earn/hold to be honorary at best.)

🔮 Star gazing or cloud watching? Hand-holding or snuggles? Early mornings or late nights?

Star gazing, snuggles, late nights :)

🎀 Do they wear a specific accessory with a special meaning behind it? What is their usual fashion sense like? What do they wear when they want to be comfortable and what do they wear when they’re going to a fancy party? Or do they just not care?

For the first question--not really, honestly! The closest they get to that is the fact that they basically do the one-earring thing, but that's more because they like the style than because the actual earrings themselves mean anything specific to them. Their weapons do have special meaning to them, but they're not quite going to be wearing those.

Their usual fashion sense is mostly practical, but it's also going to incorporate some kind of personal flair, whether that's sewn-on patches or symbols or just using styles they enjoy from home, and it's probably going to involve burnt/sunset orange in some way, since that's their favorite color :)

When they want to be comfy? Depends if they're going out and about or not--if they are, what I said in the bit above this one, and if they're not, probably comfy pajamas, haha. When it's a fancy party, you're going to see them with a touch more jewelry, clothes that definitely look ironed, maybe a suit of some kind if they think it's appropriate, but nothing past that. And it's still going to be comfortable. They are never touching high heels with a ten-foot pole.

#gw2 #cal vereo #likemesomesalads #thanks a bunch for the ask! :D #you now know more info about cal and i am so happy to share literally all of it

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forhereyesonlyyy · 3 years

Text

(ii) just like magic. // iz*one, kcw. // one-shot.

word count: 8.8k

author's note: oh. my. god. it's finally here!! i am so sorry this took literally forever 😭 it's soooo crazy how it took me SIX WHOLE MONTHS to finally come up with this sequel omfg. anyway, i hope this two-part short was somehow enjoyable despite the awful-ish pacing. please let me know what you thought of it! ✨💝

tags (overall): fluff, slow burn, angst, not-so-secret mutual pining, colleagues(-ish?) to lovers, a whole lot of falling in love from afar.

warnings: none.

previous: (i) just like magic.

Seven days have passed after that whole fiasco with IZ*ONE's Kim Chaewon in the music show bathroom, and slowly but surely, you find yourself getting more and more numb about the event as time goes.

That doesn't mean you didn't cry about it after it happened. No, every system in your body threatened to break down as soon as Chaewon walked away from you. Perhaps you did shut down, because you really can't remember anything else happening that day other than that exact moment.

You cried for two nights straight, and on the third day, you just felt extremely sad, but you had to pick yourself up. Somehow, you got yourself focused on doing your job instead of moping about your unrequited crush. You took this opportunity because you wanted to pursue your passion, not love. That one moment was great while it happened, but the way Chaewon reacted immediately after was something you considered a wake-up call for yourself.

And finally, on the fourth day, you were able to do your tasks accordingly without your mind suddenly drifting off to wherever. For the next two days, you were almost back to that state where all you cared about was making it big in the director's team, otherwise the time when you haven't been introduced to that beautiful girl. Almost.

The day you had been dreading for a whole week straight has finally arrived; it was the day you get to see IZ*ONE again for their final performance at this particular program. The director was taking charge of everything for the whole time IZ*ONE would be on the stage, so you didn't have to worry about suddenly stepping in and taking over like before. That was just one weight off your shoulder, however.

The director, being fond of the group and all, wanted to make this goodbye stage perfect for the girls. The set on the stage was filled with the most intricate designs specifically made for IZ*ONE. It was the fanciest set you have seen so far.

"(Y/N), I have to answer this phone call. Could you take over for a bit? I promise I'll be back before the rehearsal starts." The director runs off before you could even say anything. While he was going over the whole concept for IZ*ONE's stage earlier in a crew meeting, you had been diligently listening and taking very detailed notes. You tried your hardest to not think about a certain Kim Chaewon as you came up with some ideas of your own for the set. (You barely succeeded.)

While the director was outside taking care of his business, you did as you were told. You helped every crew member with some things they might have been troubled with, you made a few tweaks with the set design with the approval of one of the director's close affiliates, and all this work made you forget everything else. You enjoyed it very much.

It's always nice to not feel like you're being hunted down by your own thoughts for once.

In a bright, empty waiting room with only the distant sounds of chatters to accompany her, Kim Chaewon sits in a lonely chair, blankly staring at her reflection. Her exhausted, droopy-eyed, and pitiful reflection. She looked like she has been through the wringer, and for once it wasn't because she practiced until three in the morning or because she missed a few meals.

No, Kim Chaewon was in this state all because of one (Y/N) (L/N). You, who has been in her mind for the past week although Chaewon has tried everything to erase you from every bit of her memory. You were supposed to be a measly crush, someone Chaewon should be able to forget just like that. But deep inside her heart, she knew you were something more.

Which is a little ridiculous considering we've known each other for a minute but that's what being 'down bad' does to you, as Yena always said.

For a whole week, Chaewon has been preparing herself to face you again because as much as she wanted to deny it, the two of you will probably be forced to make eye contact or something. Chaewon doesn't know if she can look at anyone; she has been nothing but distant to her members, especially poor Wonyoung who was just so confused about why one of her elder sisters just suddenly decided she was invisible. But Chaewon really, truly did not know how to talk to Wonyoung after she betrayed her.

Chaewon remembered the way Wonyoung looked at you; like you were the best thing that has ever happened to the world. Wonyoung would have the brightest of stars in her eyes whenever she talked to you, and Chaewon didn't want to take that away. Even imagining how Wonyoung will act towards her when she admits her fault makes her want to hide forever, it would be too much.

Gods, this must be the worst thing I've ever done.

"Chaewon-unnie," A small voice fills the empty room, and the girl in question slowly turns her head to the direction of the door. There stood one Jang Wonyoung, nervous and timid. "Rehearsal will be starting in ten minutes. Eunbi-unnie wants all of us out there." The youngest says.

Chaewon could only nod. She stands up, slowly making her way towards the door. She strides past Wonyoung without another word, much to the youngest's dismay. The two of them make their way to the stage silently, the members were already waiting, eager to do their best performance yet.

Chaewon couldn't miss the way Yujin and Minju looked at her with worry. She hoped that she didn't look like she could pass out any second. The last thing she wants right now is for everyone to be on her business. Eunbi pats her on the shoulder and raises her voice to tell the members to get ready to walk onto the stage.

Chaewon tried. She really, really tried, but her eyes just automatically latch onto yours before her mind was even aware that you were there. You maintain eye contact for a brief second before a few staff member crowd you to talk with you, but that was still a second too long for Chaewon. Guilt just washes over her, and suddenly she feels like running away.

She feels a hand gently squeeze her own, and she turns her head to find Yena. "Are you okay?" The older of the two asked.

"You look like you're going to faint, unnie. Are you sick?" Yuri presses the back of her hand against Chaewon's forehead, but all she felt was sweat. Chaewon backs away, shaking her head. She wished Yuri and Yena didn't voice out their obvious concerns. Chaewon loved them, she really did, and she appreciated them for taking care of her, but she didn't want to slow anyone down.

Plus, the reason I'm being like this is so stupid. Eunbi-unnie will be disappointed. Nobody wants that.

Yena pulls Chaewon towards the stage where the other members had already been waiting. Chaewon gets into her position quickly, and tries her hardest to not make it obvious that she was uncomfortable having Wonyoung so close to her. Everybody watched as you mounted the director's 'throne', as some of the crew joked, and leaned into the mic. Chaewon keeps her eyes on one of the cameras, praying for the music to just start.

"Seems like the director's busy... again," You shake your head as you laugh. Gods, Chaewon almost forgot how your voice was such a treat to her ears. Something about the way you spoke always made people feel at ease, Chaewon was one of those people. For a mere second, Chaewon forgets that she was supposed to focus on performing and lets her eyes wander to where you were standing. You had a vibrant glow in your face, it made Chaewon melt. But a stupid little voice in the idol's head was telling her that perhaps... it was only her that was truly bothered by the events of last week. "Since we're kind of running on a time limit today, let's not wait for— oh, you need me?"

You lean away from the mic to tend to a crew member, and the girls temporarily chat amongst themselves. Chaewon stands behind the members, quietly observing everything and constantly reminding herself to not mind your existence. But then she looks at Wonyoung, who was gazing at you with such lovestruck eyes, and the weight of that kiss settles upon Chaewon's shoulders again.

Kim Chaewon vividly remembers every second of that moment. Despite what she told herself, that it was a mistake and that it should have never happened, it was all she could think about for the whole week. Sometimes Chaewon even allowed herself to not mind how horrible the action was just to laugh at how you weren't sure where to put your hands, how you had a cute habit of making some kisses short and sweet, and how you made Chaewon feel so sure when she looked upon your eyes and saw nothing but pure adoration.

Shortly after all the sweet thoughts, Chaewon's mind would drift to how she stole that from Wonyoung, and then she would go back to regretting it and wishing that she had chosen to just wish Wonyoung good luck with her feelings and not look at you when she did.

Eunbi tells the members to go into their respective positions once again, and as she does so, Chaewon's eyes drift onto you again. And there you were indeed, chatting with one of the crew members about a small dilemma, and you looked like you have been in this job for years. None of the quiet, nervous subordinate from last week could be seen. Chaewon didn't even realize that people can change that quick in a matter of seven days.

Kim Chaewon couldn't keep her eyes off of you. She could feel that ticklish sensation behind her ear the longer she stared you. Oh, you were just so pretty.

No. I should stop letting myself think like this. I did something bad, and I must forget her. I must.

All that and yet Chaewon still stared at you.

(Once again, Wonyoung quietly observes and her eyes lit up with enlightenment. Oh.)

How can I even ignore her? She's...

...shining.

Kim Chaewon shined the brightest when she was on stage, as if it belonged to her, as if she was always meant to be there. It was one of the things, perhaps one of the biggest things, that made you so drawn into her. The entire group had solid all-rounders that stole the show whenever it was their part, but to you, it always felt like Chaewon was the main star. Or maybe that was just your feelings talking.

Either way, there was nothing in the world that made Kim Chaewon less than perfect to you. She was your idol, and you relished at the feeling of delight that would wash over your senses whenever you saw her on stage where she rightfully belonged. If you could, you would keep IZ*ONE on stage forever and make everybody see how great performers they were, but that was just your inner fanatic talking.

The girls leave the stage one by one after their successful live performance, and finally, you could breathe like normal. You watched as IZ*ONE make their way backstage with big smiles and loud cheers as they were done with work for the day, and you couldn't help but grin along with them. Wonyoung briefly turns around and waves at you, and you wave back before she completely disappears.

It has been a while since you've personally exchanged any words with IZ*ONE's favorite girl. Although things were awkward, to you anyway, a week ago because of your assumptions, Wonyoung was still your friend and like a normal human being, you wanted to spend some time with your friend. If things were different, maybe you would have approached her right there and asked her to hang out with you, but there was something stopping you.

Or rather, someone.

You knew that talking to Wonyoung would mean being around Chaewon, and there was just no way you would be able to hide to anyone that something happened. Other than that, it would be hard to breathe around Chaewon. More than when all you did was stare and gawk at her, back when that wasn't happening yet. You've come so far making sure the only reason you would be looking at her was for 'work purposes', there was no way the universe would force you to break that streak now, right?

Ridiculous. I'll probably do something stupid again, knowing me.

"Let's take five. The next group's going to take a while to get set up." The director steps off his 'throne' and plopped down on a chair beside a trusted crew member. Some of the staff started chatting amongst themselves, some pulled out their phones, and some just did whatever came to their mind. You, however, decided to get some fresh air and left the set. Looking at the blinding lights shooting across the stage puts strain in your eyes, so sometimes you liked to step outside and bask in the warmth of normal, less harmful to the eyes kind of lights.

It had just occurred to you that you didn't have a proper meal for breakfast. It was very unusual for you to not set your alarm for the next day during the night, but when it happens, your brain starts losing stability so quickly it actually shows in your actions. And of course, since you were rushing to ride the earliest bus to the earliest train to get to the studio, you could only have a cup of lukewarm coffee before literally sprinting out of your house and towards the nearest bus stop.

So, you walked towards the direction of the lovely vending machine tucked in a quaint little corner in one of the building's many lounges with a skip in your step, all whilst whistling your own rendition of IZ*ONE's Merry-Go-Round.

Your joyful stride was abruptly interrupted when a loud slam fills the empty atmosphere. "Fucking thing." A cute voice hisses. It was coming from where the vending machines rested. You poked your head out from the corner, and your heart dropped when your eyes landed on the familiar back profile of one Kim Chaewon.

Just the girl I wanted to see. Thanks, fate.

Immediately, you scrapped any idea you had of getting food from that certain vending machine, ignoring your stomach's desperate cries for a nice snack. It doesn't take no longer than three minutes to go to the other lounge, and so with a new plan in mind, you started walking. But it just so happens that the universe did not like you that day, because as soon as you took one step away from where Kim Chaewon was, a cheerful, warm (and obnoxiously loud) voice calls out to you.

"(Y/N)! My girl! I feel like I have not seen you in forever! How'd you like our performance?" Ahn Yujin yells from halfway across the corridor. You were going to pretend that you didn't hear her and walk off, but this was Yujin. She wasn't the kind of person one can just brush off. So, you turned back around and matched the younger girl's wide grin.

"Breathtaking, as usual. I thought you guys are supposed to go home?" You asked. You internally cringed when you heard the vending machine being softly hit repeatedly. Sheesh. She could at least pretend that she isn't hurrying to scurry off to avoid me. But you shook those thoughts out of your head. You respected Chaewon, and her reaction towards you was also something you could learn to understand, but of course it couldn't be helped that you felt a little hurt.

Yujin looked as if she was going to run to engulf you in a bone-crushing hug, but she stops halfway when her eyes land on her fellow group member, then she laughs hysterically. Curious, you forced yourself to take two steps forward and yes, Kim Chaewon was still there. More pissed off than ever, but her features soften for one quick second upon seeing you. Your heart gets caught up in your throat, but you swallow it back down. Goodness, she was so close.

"Unnie, just shake it a little! We'll get flamed by the managers if we do any property damage around here," Yujin gently pulls Chaewon away from the malfunctioning machine and takes matters into her own hands. Awkwardly, you and Chaewon stood side by side. It felt like your lungs were being squeezed so tight it hurt so much, but not enough to completely break. You shoved your hand inside your jacket pocket, not trusting it to be hanging by your side freely because Chaewon was right there, and if you were crazy enough you would have definitely, definitely acted on your feelings. We can't have that happening again, right, Chaewon? "Alright. Here you go, unnie."

Yujin hands the snack to Chaewon, and the older girl accepts it with a small 'thanks' before turning on her heel to leave. "Ah, wait for me, unnie! I'm getting something too." The second youngest of IZ*ONE says as she hurriedly shoved coins inside the machine. You shift your weight to your other leg, praying to the gods to just let this end. All I wanted was a cheap brownie.

The small bag of Doritos successfully falls through the bottom of the machine, but Yujin doesn't get a chance to pull it out as her phone blares loudly. From what you saw, someone was calling, and Yujin excused herself to answer the call, leaving you and Chaewon standing painfully awkwardly in front of the vending machine. This was really not how you wanted this short trip to go.

With a deep breath, you went ahead and pulled out the bag of Doritors from the machine and decided to hold on to it for Yujin (who was just outside the hallway talking to, surprise, Wonyoung from her phone). Your hands were cold, and it didn't help that Chaewon was just staring at you as she waits for the younger girl to come back. Come on, (Y/N). Just put the damn coins inside and get your brownie. You deserve that much after this.

You missed the coin slot, embarrassingly enough, and several coins fell from your shaky hands. You cursed under your breath and bent down to pick up the coins. Your ears had grown red, this was all too much for your weak heart. Right in front of... her, too! Shaking your head, you sped up, but you only ended up dropping more coins. Before you could mutter some nonsense to yourself again, Kim Chaewon herself kneels down and helps you. You have never been more flustered.

Of course despite what you've told yourself not to do, your eyes rake over what you could make out of Chaewon's facial features from where you were sitting. Her soft dark hair was covering most of her face, and you could really only see the barest bits of her cheek, the side of her nose, her right eye, and her lips. God, her lips.

Stop it. You're supposed to burn that moment to ashes, like it never happened. Because it was a mistake, as she said.

You and Chaewon stand up at the same time. Neither of you could look at the other in the eye, you were thankful for that. She stretches out her hand to give you your coins, "Here." Chaewon mumbles. You accepted the coins, and the idol's fingers brushing against your palm made you jolt, much to your chagrin. You were so easy. Too easy, maybe.

After acquiring your well-earned vending machine brownie, you had planned on turning around and walking back to the set where your crew was patiently waiting. Standing here acting like Kim Chaewon wants anything to do with you after all the things she said a week ago was a waste of time. So, why couldn't you take even at least a step forward away from her? There you stood merely a few meters in front of your crush, and there was something in the air.

You had no doubt that Chaewon wanted to leave this space as much as you did, but her eyes told you otherwise. She wanted to say something, wanted you to say something. But what could you say? There were a million phrases that bubbled up in your brain that it was simply impossible to choose. There was even a part of you that wanted to just grab her hands and drop your heart right into her palms.

But no. You must've been imagining things. It was Chaewon herself that said it. It was a mistake. It's time I accept it. For real.

And so, you say the only thing that came to mind at the time. The one thing that wouldn't hurt you as much as it did had the two of you were able to keep your relationship strictly professional.

You flashed Kim Chaewon a genuine, good-natured smile that you hoped was enough to cover every part of yourself that showed just how much you didn't want to go and leave things as they were, "Goodbye, Chaewon."

"Unnie, did you get my Doritos?"

Ahn Yujin hops beside Kim Chaewon with her signature dimpled smile that never failed to make even the coldest of hearts melt into a puddle. Something was amiss, however. Because Chaewon was not able to feel the warmth Yujin always radiated. All she was able to think about was you, and how distant you felt right before you left.

It was as if Chaewon was alone and forsaken in a snowstorm with nothing but the brutally freezing weather to keep her company. It was the worst thing she has felt for the longest time, and goodness, the things she would do to keep herself warm. To keep you from getting even more farther away from her. But it was too late.

And to be fair, this is all my fault.

"Unnie, why... why are you crying?"

Chaewon blinks, "Huh?" And it was only then that she realized she had shed tears without feeling it. She quickly wipes her damp cheeks and brushed it off with a dry chuckle. Then she hands the younger girl the small bag of chips, all while avoiding Yujin's observant stare. It was probably already too late to hide. Everybody thinks that since Yujin was so carefree and young, everything would just go over her head, but Chaewon is almost convinced that the kid was a real mind reader.

That's why it was so dangerous for someone like Chaewon, who looks as if she can contain her emotions well but actually cannot to save her life, to be around someone like Yujin.

"Chaewon-unnie, talk to me," The older girl looks away, as if that would help make everything less obvious. Yujin goes quiet and thinks to herself for a good minute, then she looks back and forth between the direction you went off to and back to Chaewon. The older of the two couldn't help but chuckle once again when Yujin visibly perks up at the realization. "Is it (Y/N)?"

Chaewon nods, and she starts laughing weakly as tears started pooling in her eyes again. Oh, how she felt ridiculous. Crying in front of a younger member in the vicinity of a dumb and slightly broken vending machine over a girl she kissed once and barely even knew. Eventually, Chaewon wasn't able to keep herself numb. She breaks down, and she looks upon Yujin's eyes with what the younger girl could consider the most broken a person has ever looked, "I really like her, Yujin-ah."

Yujin knew that no words would be able to comfort Chaewon at the moment, so instead of giving her a lame pep talk, Yujin pulls Chaewon into her arms and embraces her tightly. Yujin allows Chaewon to cry, really cry, even when people were passing by and even when Minju arrives to retrieve them under the manager's orders.

Minju doesn't say anything to Chaewon, which the latter was thankful for. When Chaewon finally collects what little bits of herself she had left, she pulls away from Yujin, muttering a sincere 'thank you' before allowing herself to be gently led to the exit by Minju. Yujin trails behind the older girls quietly, and she stares at Chaewon, wondering what in the world just happened between you and her that made her... like this.

But that would have to be an investigation from another day because when Yujin pulls out her phone to check the time, she almost passes out on the spot out of panic when she sees that Wonyoung had been waiting for her on the other line. Ahn Yujin curses out loud when Jang Wonyoung ends the call without a word because she knew what that meant.

Wonyoung heard everything.

Yes, Jang Wonyoung did hear everything, but she didn't need to have someone tell her in the face. There were rare instances wherein Kim Chaewon was like an open book and during those moments, everything she was feeling would show in her eyes, her lips, her hands, and every bit of herself. So it wasn't that Wonyoung had some keen eyes for detail like Ahn Yujin; the big secret was handed to her in a silver spoon, and it wasn't because of that call.

Wonyoung started noticing the little things exactly a week ago. How could she not? Chaewon suddenly starts paying attention to you, someone she couldn't even look at for five seconds before putting her attention somewhere else. It piqued Wonyoung's interests, although deep inside, she felt threatened. She hated that feeling though. She told herself that if Chaewon, or literally anyone else, were to start developing a crush on you, she would be fine because hell, she doesn't own you!

In fact, Wonyoung thought that it would be fun to talk and gush about you with another person. When Wonyoung noticed that Chaewon was slowly falling for you, she couldn't wait to tease her about it in the dorms. She imagined a girls night out with just her and Chaewon, and maybe Yujin and Yena if they were nosy enough, and the two of them would be laying in bed just thinking about you and how effortlessly charming you were.

But when they got home that day, Chaewon power-walked straight into her room and shut everybody out.

The other girls concluded that she was probably just having another 'one of those days', but Wonyoung knew better. Because Chaewon was especially cold to her, and that was the biggest clue she had.

Wonyoung didn't need to hear that call to know everything because she saw that way Chaewon looked at you while you tended to your crew. And the youngest made sure to pay special attention to Chaewon after that performance just in case she sees more, and she was right. When you weren't looking, Chaewon would spare a glance or two your way, then her jaw would clench and she would just look so, so guilty. Then she would raise her head and stare at Wonyoung, her guilt changes into pure regret. And finally, she would look the other way, or completely run off somewhere else.

It was infuriating to Wonyoung, how Chaewon continued to be passive about everything. She was afraid that this would determine their friendship for the rest of their career, their lives, and that was terrifying. As far as Wonyoung was convinced, she had eleven older sisters. Not ten older sisters and one co-worker. It just felt wrong for her and Chaewon to not talk; even some of the members started noticing.

Jang Wonyoung couldn't stand the idea of one of her older sisters cutting her out from the rest of her life, so perhaps it was time for her to become the brave one. To become the one who confronts instead of running and hiding because in the end, maintaining this special bond she has with her members is worth more than whether or not she can get you to look at her the same way she looks at you.

So yes, Jang Wonyoung did hear everything, and she was going to make everything right.

"So much for dramatic goodbyes, huh, (Y/N)?"

Dumbfounded, you stared at the familiar set of girls standing beyond the countless cameras pointed at them in your crew's own personal studio. It was another day at work, but this time it wasn't in a music show program. You were told by the director that the crew was going to be working with a very special group to make awesome content for their fans, but what you didn't know was that you would be working with IZ*ONE; the group you thought you would never see again until a few months later.

It has only been five days since you said goodbye, but then you see Jang Wonyoung, Ahn Yujin, and Kim Minju waving enthusiastically at you from the center of the room. You waved back awkwardly before sighing. As surprising as this was, you weren't complaining. Anybody would love to spend more time with their favorite group.

She was there too and as per usual, she stole your attention quickly. All the members were wearing casual clothing as the content they were filming required them to have genuine fun and be themselves rather than act professional and follow a dumb script. Kim Chaewon was gorgeous; you have never seen someone look so good in jeans before.

Focus, (Y/N). Yes, she would look cool in a pants commercial but you're all business today. No time for feelings or memories of the past. Just stop thinking.

"(Y/N)," Thankfully, a voice you've come familiar with forces you to take your eyes off of Chaewon. Standing behind you was a most-cherished crew member, Yui, and she was probably the closest to what you have for a 'work best friend'. "This is very exciting. I only ever see these girls in YouTube! Now they're right here, and oh my God, Nako-chan is even cuter in real life." Yui lightly hits your shoulder as she stares at the adorable Japanese girl from across the studio.

"Something tells me that you like her more than what meets the eye," You teased playfully. When you spot the slightest moment of Yui's eyes lighting up, you grinned victoriously. "Why don't you ask her out?" You joked.

Yui rolls her eyes, "No, not any time soon I'm afraid. They can't have two dating scandals blowing up at once." She says. Her eyes widened when she realized what she had just said and you could visibly see the instant regret in her eyes. You chuckled, waving it off. It wasn't like you were still hung up about it. You'll find a way to come to terms with the fact that that moment will just be another one of those ones that you'll laugh about in the future.

I really do hope that future is soon.

You didn't know much about Yui. In fact, she was a literal stranger to you until the director introduced you to her. That was two days after that mess with Chaewon. She had been on an vacation in her hometown in Japan for a while, that was why you didn't meet her sooner. The night the two of you met, Yui invited you for a few drinks in her favorite pub. A 'few' drinks turned into a dozen, and before you knew it, you were telling her your whole life story, including the reason why you winded up drinking on a school night.

Now here you were, joined by the hip just like that. Yui was a good distraction though. Instead of thinking about how good I would have been with Chaewon for twenty-four hours straight, Yui taught me how to do that for only twenty! I really am thankful.

"As an attempt to clear this painfully awkward atmosphere I have summoned with my careless mouth, would you like to get to work, (Y/N)?" Yui asked, smiling sheepishly. She stretches out her hand to take yours, and you immediately intertwine your fingers and smile at her.

"I'd love that."

"Are you trying to melt (Y/N) with your stare, Wonyoung-ah?"

As much as Chaewon tried to shut them out to focus on whatever she should do for one of the individual segments of the show, Yujin and Wonyoung were too much of an attention-catching pair. Chaewon turns her head to look at the youngest, and yes, Wonyoung really was staring with very intense eyes at, of course, you. And another pretty girl who was holding your hand very romantically.

Wait — why do I care if it's romantic? Whatever.

"What does that even mean, unnie?" Wonyoung pouts her lips at the slightly older girl.

"It's a Filipino saying," Yujin replied as if it would make even more sense to Wonyoung. As expected, the tallest kid tilts her head in confusion. "Like, when you stare at someone for a long time, they'd end up melting or something. I don't know." Yujin shrugs. Chaewon couldn't help herself, so she chuckles at the two youngest's antics. While Wonyoung busies herself with pretending that she wasn't feeling threatened by your friend Yui, Yujin throws a concerned look towards Chaewon. The older girl shakes her head, mouthing an 'it's okay' before turning around.

Minju suddenly hugs her, not even giving her a moment to process her next thoughts. "How are you holding up, unnie?" The younger girl asked as she pulls back slightly. This unexpected re-encounter was as surprising for Chaewon as it was for you, and after what happened five days ago, it was natural for Minju and Yujin to be so concerned. Strangely enough, however, Chaewon wasn't feeling that gut-crushing regret that always collects at the pit of her stomach. Not towards you, not towards Wonyoung. Yet.

It was going to be a long day, but Chaewon was thankful that she wasn't going to start it being sad about her situation. Mostly because Yujin and Minju have helped her think about other things, even the smallest things! I should thank them for that later.

"I'm alright so far." She really was! Even when the image of you looking at your friend so tenderly made her feel bothered.

"That's good! Eunbi-unnie said she'll treat everyone to dinner after we've finished all pur schedules. Will you be tagging along?" Minju loops her arm around Chaewon's and they started walking in circles together.

Chaewon grins, "I can never say no to free food." She replied. She decided that 'keeping her distance' was doing more harm than help. Not just to herself, but to you and to her members. It was especially unfair to Wonyoung, who does not— well, did not —even have any idea why Chaewon started ignoring her in the first place. Chaewon learned that she was more afraid of losing her bond with her members than letting you slip away.

That didn't mean that it doesn't hurt to think about you, though. It still does, but only a little less nowadays.

Chaewon wasn't sure if she would ever pursue you again, or if she will just let you go once and for all. That was a battle she thought she'd finish before she saw you again, but the universe had other plans it seems.

"Unnie, you're staring at (Y/N) again."

Chaewon blinks, giggles at herself, and turns to Minju, "Didn't you girls once say that I only see the most beautiful thing in the room?"

The younger girl processes Chaewon's word for a minute, and her expression quickly changes into a sour one, "You're so cheesy!"

"Oh, come on, that was romantic, Min!"

It doesn't take long for the director to gather everyone back on the middle of the set and tell them that recording was about to start. A giggling Chaewon pulls Minju towards the other girls. It felt good to smile. Perhaps she can thank Minju, as well as Yujin, with some gifts later, and Wonyoung an apology. Maybe an explanation as well?

Looking back on it now, Wonyoung has been observing her a lot ever since the day Chaewon cried to Yujin and Minju. Has she figured it out? Does she hate me now? Can I still save us?

As if on cue, the tall youngest turns around and locks eyes with Chaewon. The older girl freezes, and the two of them stare at each other for a good minute. Do something. Smile. Wave. Wink. Something.

Chaewon looks away. Fuck.

(Wonyoung fixes her gaze on one of the cameras, a smile gracing her lips. She allows Yujin to get away with calling her 'creepy'. Yujin doesn't know about her plan.)

Chaewon wonders how long she can keep this up before it explodes on her face.

"Oh, that's really funny." You averted your distant gaze to Yui, who was laughing at some antic Chaeyeon and Yena were trying to pull on Yuri while playing a game of musical chairs. So far, over half of the girls were eliminated. Chaewon almost falls out of her chair, laughing when Yuri failed to take a seat and got eliminated. You couldn't suppress a smile of your own, feeling grateful to see hers. And to think that you were planning on locking yourself in the staff room to do your assignments for the whole duration of the filming!

Yena ends up betraying Chaeyeon and steals her chair, now it was only Yujin and, the greatest surprise of all — Minju who were left standing.

"Hey, so, remember how the director asked you and I to stop by the nearby bakery to get some pastries for the crew to eat after filming?" Yui asks. You nodded in reply, eyes locked onto one Kim Chaewon who was focused on cheering on her dear friend Kim Minju.

"I have a date when we get off work so I really don't think going out in the rain is a good idea," Yui starts twirling the ends of her hair. You rolled your eyes, you knew where this conversation was going. "Could you—"

"Yeah, yeah. Don't look at me with your puppy eyes. I'll get the food myself." You said, sparing yourself from your friend's attempt at being cute. Yui does a little cheer and loops her arm around yours, grinning as she continued watching the girls with you.

(A certain Kim Chaewon squints. The camera doesn't catch it, but one Jang Wonyoung surely did.)

The girls were granted a break while the staff prepared the set for the next segment of the show. Some of the girls went into the changing rooms to get their makeup fixed, and the rest sat behind the crew chatting and laughing amongst themselves. Chaewon stands behind the chair Yuri was sitting on, giggling uncontrollably as the younger kept going on and on about how unfair it was for Yena and Chaeyeon to gang up on her during the musical chairs game.

Eventually, Chaewon found herself tearing her gaze away from her members. She scans the room, and once she doesn't find a certain (Y/N), her heart drops a little. She did a good job of not letting it show, however, and just continued chatting with the members as if nothing happened.

"(Y/N)'s friend has been staring at Nako-unnie for quite some time now." Wonyoung whispers. Chaewon's eyes shoot up, and the youngest was correct. Chaewon sees your friend, Yui, almost get a whiplash turning her head in an attempt to not get caught.

"She's kinda cute. I don't mind." Nako shrugs. The members coo and tease her about getting a crush to which Nako quickly denies with sputtered words and a reddened face. Chaewon was convinced that her group consisted of only the worst liars in the universe.

Suddenly, Chaewon feels someone fixing her bangs, which have become unruly after all the running and jumping she did throughout all the games they played. Chaewon's eyes flies over to one Jang Wonyoung. The youngest was cautious, perhaps a little too cautious. (She was shaking to the bone. Commencing with her plan was scarier than she initially thought. Wonyoung hopes that Chaewon won't push her away like she has been for the past few days.)

"Thanks, Wonyoung-ah." Chaewon muttered, shying away from the younger girl's touch. Wonyoung gives her an endearing smile and Chaewon doesn't know just how much longer she can let the guilt eat her up like this.

Chaewon can't do it. She can't hurt Wonyoung more than she already has. Chaewon moves further away, but Wonyoung doesn't let her.

The tall girl grabs onto Chaewon's arm, tight without any intentions of letting go, "Let's talk, unnie. Please." The youngest pleaded.

Chaewon shakes her arm, Wonyoung doesn't budge. "Wonyoung..."

"I know why you're being like this. I'll make it quick. Just listen to me," Wonyoung gently tugs Chaewon away into a quiet corner. The members don't even notice they've gone to some other place. Not even Minju, who made it a habit to look after Chaewon. Chaewon sighs, and Wonyoung's words clicked into her brain. She knows? "Unnie... all you had to do was tell me." Wonyoung starts. She wears a confident smile on her face but Chaewon, on the other hand, was horrified.

"I wasn't going to get mad, or start to hate you or avoid you for the rest of my life or anything stupid like that," Wonyoung crosses her arms, pouting. Chaewon grits her teeth, she had no idea where Wonyoung was taking this conversation. "Just to be clear... it's (Y/N), right? You like (Y/N)?"

Chaewon sighs deeply, "I'm not supposed to. You like her. It's not my place."

Wonyoung shakes her head, "What kind of logic is that, unnie?" She sounded irritated. "I know what you're thinking. You didn't want to tell me anything because I like (Y/N), and that was the ultimate betrayal. But... we're family here. I'd understand if you came to me."

Chaewon turns away from the youngest. This kid was making points. Now she just felt stupid for going through all those lengths to avoid this simple conversation. Chaewon could've spared herself all the pain and all the tears if she'd just... talk to Wonyoung, and maybe you too.

"I'm more hurt that you chose to not talk to me and avoid me than the fact that we like the same girl," Wonyoung scratches her head, then grins. "I'm not even mad about you crushing on (Y/N), unnie. I think you guys are a good match! You need someone to light up your pretty face, and (Y/N) can do that to just about anyone. She's... awesome like that." Chaewon notices the look of longing and admiration on Wonyoung's distant eyes.

Wonyoung brightens up just like that and she takes the older girl's hands with hers, "I'm totally okay with you and (Y/N), unnie." She said.

Chaewon squeezes the younger girl's hands. From the sincere look in her eyes, Wonyoung truly means what she said. She would never sugarcoat anything to her older sisters, anyway. Not when it came to this. Chaewon feels her chest get a little lighter, but there was still something tangled up there that was making it hard for her to be truly herself again.

Regret, but not the same regret she felt when she kissed you and convinced herself that she'd betrayed Wonyoung. No, it was a different kind of regret. One that needs to be fixed or else Chaewon's conscience will never let her live it down.

"If you're going to say sorry, don't," Wonyoung says. Chaewon is thoroughly surprised. She wouldn't doubt the younger girl's if she came out as a mind reader. She hangs out with Yujin too much. "I think she's more deserving of your apology." Wonyoung turns her head and sets her eyes on you, who has just arrived with bags of boxed pastries in your hands.

Chaewon stares at you from afar, and all of her systems were screaming at her to run to you and tell you everything. But God, you were making it so hard with the goodbye you'd given her all those days ago. Chaewon heard it in your tone that you wanted nothing to do with her anymore, and Chaewon chose to respect that because of the bullshit she pulled after your kiss.

But what if... I'm not too late?

"Ah! I forgot the other bag and my wallet in the store!" You screamed particularly loudly while you were arranging the boxed pastries in a wide table. You ran towards the exit in a hurry.

"Huh. How convenient," Wonyoung mutters. (She glances to the side at Chaewon, and she smiles at the conflicted look on the older girl's face. God, she's so infatuated... and confused. Maybe I should help her.) She nudges Chaewon on the arm with a smirk. "Go, unnie."

Chaewon points at herself, "M-Me? Go? To (Y/N)?" She asked. Wonyoung doesn't answer her and instead pushes her towards the same exit while giggling. Not one person pays them any mind.

Wonyoung hands Chaewon an umbrella, "It's pouring outside. Give this to (Y/N) and... tell her. Everything."

Before Chaewon follows after you, she pulls Wonyoung in a tight hug. One that lasts for a minute or two before she finally lets go. (Wonyoung was so proud of herself for fixing things, she might start crying right there.) "Wish me luck, then."

"You don't need luck, unnie! Just your heart."

You had a knack for being forgetful during moments where it mattered the most. Hence why you were seriously considering running out in the rain to get a bag of pastries and your wallet back to the studio. Did you like the feeling of wet socks? Hell no! But your life was practically in your wallet, and pastries were better served warm!

Bouncing on your feet, you prepared to run outside in the rain. While muttering words of encouragement to yourself, you failed to hear the soft footsteps that were getting closer. You leaned against the door to push it open, but a small voice stops you from stepping outside the wet concrete.

"(Y/N)," Kim Chaewon stands before you with an umbrella in her arms. She wasn't avoiding your eyes this time. "I think you need this."

Slowly, you accept the umbrella. You were confused. Did she come all the way from the set just to give you an umbrella? Did Yui send her? That had more a possibility of happening than Chaewon deciding to approach you by her own volition. Or at least that's what you believed.

"Thank you, Chaewon." You said. Should you say something more? No, I've already said enough all those days ago. You turn around again, ready to face the storm outside, but the idol holds onto your arm, freezing you on the spot.

"Wait, (Y/N). I need to... say some things."

"Oh, Chaewon. You don't have to." You quickly replied. You failed to guess what Chaewon would want to tell you after all you've been through. Her attitude towards you all those weeks ago told you that she didn't want anything to do with you anymore, so what changed?

Why was Chaewon making it hard again?

"Yes, I do. I hurt you, (Y/N), and it was wrong for me to not say anything about it and just let you suffer alone and in silence," Chaewon tugs onto your sleeve, pulling you away from the door and closer to her. You avoid her gaze. "I'm sorry."

You gently pry your arm off her grip and sighed, "If you knew I messed up when I kissed you, then why did you kiss me back? You're so... confusing. After that, you said it was a mistake and then you run away and ignore me for weeks. Now you're here, trying to make up for it all just when I've decided that I was done trying with you. What are you doing, Chaewon?" You asked, desperate for answers for the questions that have been stuck in your head since that kiss.

Any bit of courage Chaewon had earlier had nearly all disappeared. Now she looks small and insecure, and so far away. Chaewon keeps her eyes on yours, however, and you could see it all again; what she feels.

"Okay... I was scared of everything. I didn't want either of us to lose Wonyoung, and... I was scared for you. When you kissed me, I wanted nothing more but to take that risk with you... but knowing everything, I just— I couldn't do that to you," Chaewon shakes her head. "And Wonyoung, she adores you. You mean the world to her, as she does to me. I know she's important to you too, and it broke my heart to think that I would lose her."

"I still did everything wrong. I hurt Wonyoung, my members, and I hurt you the most. I'm really... so, so sorry, (Y/N). You didn't deserve to get walked out on like that." Chaewon looked as if she would cry if she were to continue talking, you felt the same. You would laugh about it, if didn't want to take Chaewon into your arms at the moment.

In one swift motion, you dropped the umbrella and reached out to her. You pulled Chaewon towards you and caught her lips with yours in a searing kiss. Your chest grows warm as it did when you first kissed her, and it was as if a million flowers bloomed inside you.

(There was something about the way you held her and kissed her that just made Chaewon want to lay her whole heart out just for you. You were so gentle with her, so careful. You always made sure that you weren't holding her too tightly, or that you were biting her by mistake. Chaewon feels like she was going to fall for you all over again, all because of your pure, golden heart.

The longer you kissed her, the more Chaewon feels those sparks in the air. She felt it too when you first kissed her in that bathroom. Chaewon couldn't quite explain what those sparks meant. All she knows if that you were the first person to ever make her feel like that, and she knows you're going to be the only person to ever do that to her.

It was warm, bright, and most of all, beautiful beyond normal circumstances.

Like magic.

Yeah, something like that.)

"Are you still scared?" You asked the moment you pulled away. Chaewon shakes her head. She cups your face with both hands, and wipes your tears with her thumbs. You didn't even realize you'd been crying throughout all of that.

"No, not anymore. Not as long as you're here." Chaewon smiles at you, and you have never seen a girl as beautiful as her. She kisses you again and you let her, content with just holding her.

However, you break the kiss briefly, "Chaewon, I'm sorry too. I never wanted to put you through that. I was impulsive. You were there and I liked you so much and I just felt like I had to do it before you slipped away again." You apologized.

The idol shakes her head, intertwining your fingers together. "All my life, I've been second-guessing everything. It turns out that the more I dwell on one thing, the more likely I'll mess that thing up. All I needed to do was... just take a chance. So I did with you, back then and now," Chaewon kisses your interlocked hands and looked up at you. You've never seen eyes shine so bright and radiate real light before. "I know you're worth it."

Never in your life did you imagine that a mere crush would spiral into something more. Something special, something unforgettable.

Kim Chaewon was a rising star, destined for nothing but greatness and fortune for the rest of her life. You were practically built to just watch her, adore her, and be in awe of how amazing she is on the stage. The moment Chaewon finally took notice of you was like magic; it was everything you asked for and yet you couldn't explain why it was happening to you.

But magic worked in mysterious ways. And from personal experience you can now say that one of its functions is to bring two people from completely different worlds together and make a love that's not perfect, but real.

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