#the most overlooked and pitied and bullied

[seagreenstardust]

Ugh I’m sorry I have to say it again but I love Izuku so fricken much

[gaywarcriminals]

Remember that time Xiao Jiu wanted to beat a kid with a brick?

The scene where Shen Jiu threatens Shi Wu is possibly my favorite scene in the whole novel because it tells us so much about qijiu's dynamic, both past and future, and namely, that they're both little freaks (affectionate) who show love in weird ways. I think it particularly exemplifies several of Yue Qingyuan's traits that often go overlooked!

I am just going in order. All excerpts are from the Seven Seas official translation, Volume 4, Chapter 24: Yue Qingyuan and Shen Qingqiu.

Shen Jiu fights for resources

“Shen Jiu, don’t think you can just throw your weight around. You don’t own this street. What gives you the right to tell us we can’t stay?!” This main street was wide and even, and many people came and went upon it. If one wanted to beg, it was the best and prime location. Some of the passersby watched this group of children fight, but even more hurried on their way. And this new brat had the gall to challenge him. Shen Jiu looked down and around, preparing to find a brick with which to teach him a lesson, when a tall youth happened to walk over. He saw Shen Jiu rolling up his sleeves, head lowered, and hastily went to stop him. “Xiao-Jiu, let’s go somewhere else.” [...] With Yue Qi standing in front of him, Shiwu grew bold. He leaned forward and yelled, “Every time we go to a new place,you always hog the best spot!

From this we know that Shen Jiu, without fail, tries to claim or fight for the best begging spots in every city. This isn't fully textually supported, but add to that the later section that mentions how Shen Jiu was far better at begging than Yue Qi and I think that, on some level, SJ feels responsible for both his and Yue Qi's wellbeing. Chasing off the other children is not just a selfish act, but also a protective one.

According to the orders given to them, Yue Qi should have wailed and wept, but no matter what, he never could manage to cry. Therefore, this task had instead fallen to Shen Jiu, even though he was faking an illness that supposedly left him too feeble to weep. But he was small and his face wasn’t too unsightly to look at, so whenever he sobbed and bawled, the passersby found him pitiful and generously opened their wallets. It would have been no exaggeration to call him a money tree.

Xiao Jiu fancies himself the breadwinner lol.

How Yue Qi reacts to accusations against Shen Jiu

That first youth took the opportunity to tattle. “Qi-ge, he’s bullying me.” “That wasn’t bullying, Shiwu,” said Yue Qi. “Xiao-Jiu was just joking around.” “Who’s joking?” said Shen Jiu. “I’m telling him to get lost. This is my territory. I’ll kill anyone who tries to steal it.”

I've anyways found this passage so telling of their eventual adult relationship! First of all, Yue Qi implicitly takes Shen Jiu's side, and immediately defends him. This seems to be taken for granted by all characters, so we can assume this is their standard dyanmic. Yue Qi, notably, does not deny that Shen Jiu was threatening Shiwu. In this situation where SJ is actively gearing up for a fight, it would be a very poor defense, and that's probably true of most messes Xiao Jiu got himself into! 

Most of Yue Qi's actions in the scene are attempts to de-escalate. This is just my theory, but I think in Yue Qi's mind, who's at fault is much less important than making sure no one gets in trouble with a higher authority. Even if he knows SJ could win the fight, it would only gain SJ more animosity, and possibly the attention of someone who would be a real danger.

I think it's evident how Yue Qi's ethos of keeping their heads down and not causing trouble or drawing too much attention would feed into how he handled Shen Qingqiu's less commendable behavior as an adult and complaints against Shen Qingqiu.

In the brothel scene later in the extras, we can see that he's conscious of their image. 

Yue Qingyuan yanked Shen Qingqiu off the bed. He was in a rare fit of anger. “Why are you like this?” “Why am I like what?” asked Shen Qingqiu. “Two of Cang Qiong Mountain’s head disciples getting into a huge brawl inside a brothel—does that sound good to you?”

Imo, now entrenched in the politics of the cultivation world, YQY sees protecting SQQ's image/reputation as an important part of protecting SQQ. Yue Qi spent his childhood managing Xiao Jiu, and as an adult, he's not able to so easily break the habit, not matter how SQQ scorns him

Shen Jiu does not get upset by attacks on his character, only from Shiwu calling Yue Qi "Qi-ge"

With Yue Qi standing in front of him, Shiwu grew bold. He leaned forward and yelled, “Every time we go to a new place,you always hog the best spot! Everyone’s been sick of you for ages! You think you’re all that? That everyone’s afraid of you?” “Shiwu,” Yue Qi scolded. Amidst the struggle, Shen Jiu kicked Yue Qi in the shin. “If you want a fight, I’ll give you one. Only losers would blame their spot for their incompetence. You bastard—who’s your Qi-ge? I dare you to say that again!”

Now granted these aren't the most cutting insults, but it's SO interesting to me that Shen Jiu doesn't react to the insults directly. To me, this is a little bit of evidence that, even at this age, Shen Jiu had already decided he was a bad guy, and stopped caring about what others thought of him. The glaring exception to that was, ofc, Yue Qi. I think part of the reason that SJ reactions to the "Qi-ge" specifically, is that Shiwu just said that no one likes Shen Jiu, and then tried to align himself with Yue Qi. I think to SJ, he sees a real threat in the idea of someone else stealing Yue Qi, the one person who likes SJ. SJ is so possessive of Yue Qi not just because he's Qi-ge, but also because, without him, Shen Jiu would have nothing and no one.

Yue Qi tries to deescalate by coaxing/appeasing Shen Jiu

“You’re the bastard! I bet you’ll get sold off soon and end up a pimp!” Yue Qi didn’t know whether to laugh or to cry. “Where did you learn that kind of nonsense language?!” Then he dragged Shen Jiu off to the side of the road while coaxing him. “All right, you’re the most competent one here. Even if you didn’t pick and choose your spot, you’d be the best. So let’s change streets.” Shen Jiu stepped on his foot. “Get off me! Like I’m scared! Come on, fight me! Wanna gang up on me? Go ahead!” Of course Yue Qi knew he wasn’t scared. If he really let Shen Jiu brawl with the other kids, he would fight dirty. He’d gouge at their eyes and kick them in the belly or crotch or shin. He was terribly vicious, and the other party would be the one to end up suffering and bawling in terror. Yue Qi forced down a smile. “Are you done stepping on my foot yet? If you are, stop it. Qi-ge will take you somewhere fun.” “What shitty ‘fun’?” Shen Jiu asked savagely. “The most fun I’ll have is if they’re all dead.” Yue Qi looked at him helplessly and shook his head.

Yue Qi only barely scolds Shen Jiu, even when Shen Jiu in the wrong (tried to steal Shiwu's spot and then almost beat up Shiwu). Instead, his reaction is to distract, coax, bribe, and praise him until SJ looses interest in whatever trouble he was going to cause. Yue Qi is so biased, and he spoils him 😂. Even when Yue Qi has so little he can give, he managed to spoil Shen Jiu by giving him so much favor, attention, and affection. 

I think this is something that comes naturally to Yue Qi to the point that he can't help himself from doing the same thing as an adult, even when SJ scorns him. It's just the correct response to seeing a Xiao Jiu! He's the "why do we have hands" meme fr 

Yue Qi smiles imagining Shen Jiu beating up the other kids

Of course Yue Qi knew he wasn’t scared. If he really let Shen Jiu brawl with the other kids, he would fight dirty. He’d gouge at their eyes and kick them in the belly or crotch or shin. He was terribly vicious, and the other party would be the one to end up suffering and bawling in terror. Yue Qi forced down a smile. “Are you done stepping on my foot yet? If you are, stop it. Qi-ge will take you somewhere fun.”

I don't have much to say about this, I just want to remind everyone Yue Qi finds SJ's violent, feral tendencies adorable. This man has no desire to train his cat, and he will insist it's friendly even as it gnaws on his arm.

In Conclusion?

This single scene shows us the trajectory of qijiu's relationship going forward, the strengths of their relationships that became pitfalls. It allows to imagine what they could have become if not torn apart by a world set to doom them.

[broskiblurbs]

Our Envious Forthcomings (A Peter Parker FanFiction)

Word Count: 4,370

Summary: You grew up in your father's spotlight, while Peter grew up in poverty. You had loads of friends, while Peter was a nobody. Seems as if things were handed to you, while he had to beg for them. These differences made Peter bitter towards you, but maybe you aren't so different after all.

Disclaimer: Mild cussing. In this universe, the Blip never happened.

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There wasn't many things Peter Parker disliked, only three things that he could come up with. Overall, he is an easy-going person, and someone who loves the simplicity of life. He is a nerd who loves Star Wars and LEGOs. He is a nobody in the background with only two friends: Ned and Michelle Jones. He is a clamming boy who didn’t have much luck when it came to dating and girls. On top of all of that, he is a friendly-neighborhood hero who helps old Dominican women cross the street. He is a spider that stopped alien-tech trades and saved Stark Industries. He is an Avenger that helped save the universe from Thanos. He is Spider-Man, a guy who is constantly overlooked, yet praised at the same time. Even though Peter was not as popular as his alter-ego, he was perfectly happy with his life.

One thing Peter didn’t like was parties. They were always way too loud and overcrowded. It messed with his heightened senses, which ensured a pounding headache once he got home. The only reason he is even at this party is because Ned dragged him and MJ here after they got invited by Betty Brant, who was one of the most popular girls in school. How a nobody like Ned Leeds got a pretty girl like Betty Brant was beyond  Peter’s mind, but he was happy for his love-sick friend. As soon as the trio walked through the giant doors of the party, Ned abandoned them to find his girl, leaving Peter and MJ to fend for themselves, which eventually leads to Flash bumping into Peter.

Another thing Peter disliked was Eugene “Flash” Thompson. He hated how he walked around like the world owed him something. He hated how he bullied others to make himself feel better. Peter was one of Flash’s relentless victims. He was the reason why he got the nickname “Penis Parker” in their sophomore year of high school. He has thought about using Spider-Man to finally shut-up, but he dismissed the idea for he had promised to never use his alter-ego in such a way. Besides, he didn’t want to stoop to Flash’s level, no matter how tempting it was. It was enough of a victory to know Peter could punch him in the face and stop it all. It’s all about the small victories, right?

“Watch where you are going, Penis Parker,” the ignorant bully called out while spilling his drink, which was probably spiked, all over Peter’s favorite blue sweater. The boy was about to shoot a spiteful response to Flash until you interrupted.

“Stop, Flash. It isn’t worth it.” You give Peter a pitiful smile and drag your friend along.

The third and final thing he disliked was you. You were always at Flash’s side, watching him bully others. You were known to the school as Flash’s hot and “chill” friend, though Peter wouldn’t use those words to describe you. However, that was not the worst thing. He felt that life has handed you everything just because your dad was rich and famous. He envied how he had to work for his good grades, money, and the small amount of friends he did have, while you shared DNA with a man and got filthy rich, got to ease through school, and friends practically flocked to you. You had it easy, and you took it for granted. He watched you dance so freely on the dance floor as if no one was watching, but if he did it, he would be made fun of, right? The world had its favorites and you were one of them, and he hated you for it. Nothing could change how he felt.

Peter was having a good day, a great one even. He had almost made it through his first week of senior year, which meant he was that much closer to graduating. They had pizza for lunch and it didn’t taste like garbage for once. Aunt May was able to get the red stain out of his favorite blue sweater that Flash had so nicely placed on it. Some girl complimented his Vans, and later on tonight, he was going to Ned’s to try to rebuild the LEGO Death Star for the third time. So yeah, Peter having a great day. He was practically skipping to Ned’s locker to go to American History.

“I’m pretty sure today she’s going to assign us partners for that stupid project today,” Ned announced as he slammed the locker shut and the boys made their way to the class.

“Ugh, don’t remind me. Isn’t semester long?” Peter asked.

“I think so. All I know is that I hope I get paired with you or Betty.” Peter sends a glare at his friend. “No, you! Bros before hoes. Guy in the chair,” Ned saved. Peter laughed as they headed into the classroom. The friends took their seats in the corner of the room as the teacher began her lesson about the Founding Fathers.

Peter was forcing his eyes to stay open. Sure, he was one of the smartest in his grade, but history absolutely bored him. The fact the lesson was on the Founding Fathers didn’t make things any better. He didn’t understand why we praised men who were just a bunch of hypocrites. The teacher never kept Peter’s attention during the lecture, not until she announced she will start pairing students up for the project. The project was super broad, which made him happy. He could do whatever he wanted as long as it showed how it improved the U.S. as a whole. Ideas were rushing to his head. Cars? The improvement of technology? The Avengers even? The possibilities were endless.

“Mr. Leeds and Mr. Thompson,” she paired. Peter looked over Ned, who looked horrified. Flash looked disgusted. Since he was obviously not going to be paired with his best friend, he was scared to hear who his partner was going to be. The teacher flew through some more names. 

“Mr. Parker.” Peter’s eyes widen at the recognition of his own name. His fingers were trembling, anticipating hearing the name he would be spending the rest of the semester with. “You’ll be with Miss. Y/L/N”

Of fucking course. 

Peter buries his face into his hands. Out of everyone he could paired with, he had to be paired with you. He could hear murmurs of his peers saying stuff like, “Lucky,” “Not fair,” “That dork with her?” It’s not like he wanted to be paired with your ungrateful ass. He snuck a look your way. You looked uncomfortable? Of course you wouldn’t want to be paired with him. In your eyes, he’s probably just a slimy little nerd who should kneel before you. He vowed at that moment to never give you that satisfaction. He was probably going to have to do the majority of the project anyway. A selfish brat like yourself will think you’re above some silly school assignment. When the bell rang, Peter bolted out of the classroom as fast as he could with his friend.

“Dude,” the friends say in unison once they reach Peter’s locker.

“This is bad,” Peter says, opening up his locker.

“You’re telling me? I have to work with Flash. Time to plan my funeral,” Ned agrees.

“I have to work with Y/N. Out of everyone,” Peter groaned.

“That’s not even bad. I honestly do not get why you do not like her. She has always been nice to me. She’s very supportive of me and Betty.” Peter rolled his eyes as if his best friend betrayed him. In a way he did. He was fraternizing with the enemy. Of course he didn’t understand. “Anyway, dude, I gotta go. See you at my house tonight.” Ned begins to leave, but not without doing the handshake.

As Peter replaces the books from American History with the ones for his next class, he hears you and Flash talking.

“Why don’t you ask the teacher to switch? She would probably listen to you. Your dad is literally famous,” the annoying bully stated.

“No, Flash. Drop it,” you reply. Honestly, Peter wishes you would. That would solve both of his and Ned’s problems.

“You really want to work with that dork instead of me?” Flash pushed.

“I am not going to use my social status to my advantage,” you responded.

“But come on, it’s Penis Parker,”

“Peter Parker,” you almost yelled. “His name is Peter Parker and I’m leaving this conversation.” You walked away, practically whipping your hair in Flash’s face. Peter shoved his head back into his locker. He was surprised you actually corrected your friend. No one had ever done that, but that doesn’t matter. It didn’t make him dislike you any less and nothing would. He hears a knock outside the locker. He closes his locker, deeming he was done with it anyway. He was shocked to meet your eyes so close to his.

“What do you want?’ He asked a lot more bitterly than he planned. You take a step back.

“Well, hello to you too, Parker,” you greeted.

“I have to get to class,”  He avoids your gaze and goes around you to go to his class. You catch up with him.

“Fantastic that we have the same class next, huh?” God, he just wanted you to leave him alone. 

“Yay,” he says sarcastically. 

“Anyway, I think we should get a head start on this project-” you start but Peter interrupts you.

“I’ll just do it.”

“What?’ He hated the dumbfounded look on your face.

“That’s what you were going to say, right?”

“No, not at all. I would never. I was just going to say, we should get a head start on the project, since we are both busy people. With me and my, well you know, my parents and you with your Stark Internship-” Peter interrupts you again.

“Ah, I get it now.” Peter stops right outside of the classroom. “Y/N, I was having a really good day today and now it kind of sucks. I really don’t want to spend half of my senior year with you, so we will split up the work in class and work on our part in our spare time. Great talk.” He goes into the classroom and takes a seat before you could even respond.

He shouldn’t be surprised at the fact you were only being nice to him for your own gain. As soon as you mentioned the Stark Internship, he knew. All you wanted was to meet Tony Stark and the rest of the Avengers and woo them over. He wasn’t having it. The Avengers was his thing, not yours.

“Why were you talking to Y/N? I thought you hated her,” MJ said as Peter sat down next to her.

“We got paired up for an American History project,” he responded. His eyes follow you as you walk through the classroom and take the available seat next to him. Peter rolled his eyes. Why couldn’t you take the hint? MJ looked over at her friend confused. “Why are you sitting next to me? Don’t you have your little clique over there?” He points to the group of people staring at you dumbfounded. 

“Because we need to get this project done, and I’m not going to let your stupid opinion about me prevent me from getting an A, so I’m not going to leave you alone until we come up with an actual game plan,” you reply with determination. 

“Stupid opinion,” Peter chuckled. The only stupid thing about this is that he had to work with someone as ignorant as you. Then, the English teacher interrupted their conversation and began class. 

The entire class period you tried getting Peter’s attention which only annoyed him more. It took everything in him to not yell at you. You had to know you were bothering him. He was starting to think you were enjoying this. His jaw clenched anytime you said his name. Even when you weren’t trying to get his attention, you agitated him. You occasionally clicked your pen one too many times and bounced your leg. By the end of class he was over it. Luckily this was his last class of the day, so he tried to run out of there as quickly as he could. Unfortunately, you’re fast too and caught up to him. This was his breaking point.

“Can you just leave me alone? You’re driving me crazy,” Peter hissed.

“Good! All I want to do is get this project done, but you’re the one being stubborn!” you argued.

“Why are you so worried about it? We were just assigned today.” Peter is at his locker now, getting his backpack together.

“I don’t know if you noticed, but I barely have time for school as it is and my schedule is super unpredictable, so the sooner the better,” you answer.

“Believe or not, I haven’t noticed anything because not everything is about you. I don’t give a shit your dad is this big thing in Hollywood or whatever,” he said, slamming his locker door shut. You take a deep breath as you compose yourself.

“Can we please just get this project done and then, I will be out of your life,” you beg. Peter dreaded the idea of seeing you more than he had to, but for once, you had a point. The sooner the project was over with, the sooner you would leave him alone. You took his silence as an answer. “Are you doing anything now? We can head to the library, or if your place makes you more comfortable?” Before Peter could answer, Ned showed up.

“Hey, man! I was wondering what time you were coming over? Lola wanted to know what time she should start dinner.” Then, he notices you standing next to Peter. “Sup, Y/N?” You shoot him a huge grin.

“Just trying to get Peter to work on this project with me. How are things with Betty? She cannot stop gushing over you,” you ask Ned, still smiling brightly at him.

“Great! We are going to the movies here soon,” he responded.

Peter chimes in before you can steal his best friend away from him, “Anyway, I’m not sure. Something tells me my evening is about to be planned for me. I’ll text you.” Once Ned walks away to find his girlfriend, you and Peter continue your reluctant conversation.

“Do we really have to start tonight?” asked Peter. He believed he had enough of you for today.

“Yes,” you say, no longer giving him the choice. He groaned in defeat. It’s just one night.

“My aunt is out of town, so I’m staying at the tower. This is only a one time thing.” He could not believe he was actually going to be spending time with you. Why couldn’t you just ask the teacher to switch partners? The both of you would have been so much happier if you would have asked to be partners with Flash. Speaking of the devil himself, Flash comes to pull you away from Peter.

“Are you ready to leave?” Flash asked, ignoring Peter’s presence.

“Actually, I’m going with Peter so we can start on that project,” you reply, which receives a scoff from your companion.

“Really, you’re going with that loser? Come on, dude. We have an entire semester to finish that project,” he says. 

Finally, someone that gets it, he thought. He didn’t realize he was thinking out loud until you glared at him. 

“Goodbye, Flash.” You seemed as annoyed with him as you were with Peter. The bully got in Peter’s face to say, “You better not try anything, Penis Parker.” As if. Peter wishes you would just leave with Flash. 

This morning, Peter would have never guessed his school day would have ended with him and you walking to the Avenger’s tower. How could a day that was going so great end so terribly? You had to put on a ball cap and sunglasses before you could step outside of the school. You insisted if you didn't, the paparazzi would be all over. You really thought highly of yourself, didn’t you? He wondered how you could fit all that ego in one body. The entire walk to the tower was filled with awkward silence and you trying to hide from the public.

As soon as you reached the building and went inside, you took off your “disguise.” Did you really think that worked?

“Wow, this is amazing. I’ve never had the chance to be inside the Avengers Tower,” you said in the most annoying voice ever which made Peter roll his eyes. He scanned his badge as he reached the elevator. 

“Welcome, Peter. Mr. Stark is awaiting your arrival on the fourteenth floor in the community area,”  the AI, FRIDAY, informed. He hit the button for the floor where Mr. Stark was waiting. You stared in awe of the AI.

“Thanks, FRIDAY. Can you let him know I have, uh, someone with me?”

“He was already made aware,” she answered. 

“Woah,” you whispered. “This is…wow.”

“Can you not do that? It’s annoying,” Peter scoffed.

“Sorry,” you respond, anxiously.

The elevator’s doors open to reveal the billionaire fidgeting with his fingers and a pen over a counter.

“What’s up, chico,” he greets Peter, and then, he notices you. “And chica.”  Tony raises his eyebrows in shock. “Wow, Peter. I was beginning to wonder if you had any skills when it came to girls.” He could slap his mentor.

“It-it’s definitely not like that. We just have a project,” he corrected.

Tony just ignores what he said and says, “Hi, I’m Tony Stark, but you probably know that. I’m sure Peter talks about me all the time.” He walks up to you and aggressively shakes your hand which makes your cheeks turn red. “Wait, aren’t you Y/N L/N? How in the hell did Peter get your attention?” he questioned, jokily. 

“Mr. Stark,” Peter groans.

“Uh, yes, and Peter and I are just partners for a project. He made it clear he has no interest in spending more than a minute with me than he needs to,” you grit in between your teeth. For the first time since the two of you got assigned to the assignment, he could feel your hate for him. Tony turns to look at the young teen boy.

“Yesh, this is why you don’t have a girlfriend. You kids have fun,” the billionaire walks away.

About five minutes later, Peter finds himself in the lab with you beginning the project. He decided he wanted to work where he felt most at ease, and that was here. He has so many fond memories working on his suit in the lab with Tony, so of course this was his ideal place. You had already set up shop at an empty table.

“Alright, what do you want this project to be about?” you ask him as you pull up a document on your laptop.

“I was thinking about the advancement of technology,” he answered, making you chuckle. He glares at you.

“You realize that will be everyone’s project, right? We should do something unique,” you exclaim.

“Alright, what were you thinking, then,” he said in a mockery tone.

“I think music could be fun! Who doesn’t like music?” A smile forms on your face at the thought of music.

“Of course you would say that,” Peter groans. Your smile fell and you wrapped your arms around yourself as if you were comforting yourself. Peter is pulling out his own laptop when you speak up.

“What is your problem?” Your voice is no louder than a whisper. “I’ve done nothing, but been nice to you. Did I do something?”

“Nice? You’ve been nice to me? You have let Flash walk all over me and Ned. You act like all anyone cares about is you just because your dad is some all-time celebrity. Guess what, princess? No one gives a crap,” he argues. Your face scrunchies up in anger.

“You-you don’t know anything about me, Parker! I have stood up for you on countless occasions-” Tears are forming in your eyes, since you don’t know how to express your emotions properly, but before you can continue Peter cuts you off.

“Giving me a pity smile doesn’t count as standing up for me,” he snarls.

“Fuck you! Fuck you, Parker,” you yell. “You are a hypocrite. To think that Betty told me you were the nicest and most understanding person she knew. You are no better than Flash, hell, maybe even worse.”

Sure, Peter strongly disliked you, but something about you comparing him to Flash made his heart sink. He had always thought of himself better than a bully, but here he was bullying you. Perhaps, he was judging you too quickly. He knew his aunt raised him better than that. Peter readjusted his position and started to apologize when he tripped into something, causing a bright blue light to flood the room. A loud buzzing sound echoed in the lab. 

“What the hell is that?” you hollered over the noise. Then, the light had absorbed you, and you were gone.

“Fuck,” Peter mumbled to himself. Even though he did not like you, he knew he would not be able to live with himself if he abandoned you. He went into the light, and just like you, he was gone.

A buzzing noise rang through Peter’s ears as he opened his eyes to a brightly lit room. He was in the lab, of course. Where else would he be? It’s not like he went wandering off. 

“Y/N?” He calls out as he frantically looks around the room, noticing some minor changes.

“Yeah, I’m here,” you answer as you rub the back of your head. You must’ve hit it. “What happened? Where is all of our stuff?” The tables that previously sat all of your and Peter’s belongings were now empty and now replaced with small gadgets. “What did you do?” You glare at Peter.

“What did I do? I didn’t do anything!” He almost yelled.

“Ugh, if you would’ve just shut up and helped me with the project, this would have never happened,” you match his tone.

“Of course you blame me because daddy’s little princess doesn’t do anything wrong.” This changes your expression. Tears start falling out of your eyes. Peter knew he went too far. 

He looks over to the monitor. Turns out when Peter tripped, he accidentally set off the Teleporter Machine. It was just a prototype, so it only took the two of you to the next lab over. “I found out what happened. Our stuff is in the other room. Let’s just try to find Mr. Stark,” he tries, but you don’t move.

“I thought out of everyone, you would understand, but I was wrong,” you whisper.

“What?” You ignore him.

“You know, I always envied you.”

“What?” He repeats.

“You get a mask. You get to hide from the spotlight. Pretend you’re a nobody. I don’t get that, Peter!” You exclaim. Peter can feel heat rising in his chest, his hands are getting clammy, and his armpits are starting to sweat as anxiety overcomes him. Do you know?

“I know who you are, Parker. You don’t do a job hiding it. I’m surprised the Daily Bugle hasn’t caught on.”

“You know?” Peter’s heart skips a beat.

“I’ve been observing you since freshman year. Even then, I wished I was you. A nobody. Someone who didn’t care when they were made fun of. So, naturally I was intrigued. I watched you doodle in class and somehow get every question right. I wanted to talk to you, but then you wouldn’t be a nobody anymore. I didn’t want you to get swallowed up by the spotlight. I didn’t want to take that away from you. When sophomore year rolled around, sightings of a mysterious hero called Spider-Man started popping up. That’s when you started acting strange. The whole thing in D.C just confirmed my wildest thoughts,” you finish. You wipe away the last of the tears. “But, you know what they say. Never meet your heroes. I’m going to ask to switch partners. Sorry.” You begin to leave, but Peter stops you.

“Y/N, I don’t even know what to say,” Peter tries. He feels so guilty. It shouldn’t have taken you pouring out your gut for him to realize how much of an ass he was being.

“You don’t have to say anything.” You awkwardly stand there, waiting for him to let you by.

“No, I do. You were right. I’m being a hypocrite. You have been nothing but nice to me and I immediately thought you were the worst human being ever. It wasn’t even because of Flash. I guess, I also was jealous of you,” he admitted. Your eyes were now on him. “I mean, I always wanted to know what it was like to be popular or what it was like to have endless amounts of money. You are everything I wish I was. I wish I still had my dad around to explain complicated formulas or buy me LEGO sets. I wish I wasn’t a nobody who constantly gets made fun of. If it wasn’t for Spider-Man, I would have nothing. I would have never mattered to anyone.” It was Peter’s turn to cry. He was expecting you to laugh at him or just leave him there, but you didn’t. You did something unexpected.

You hugged him.

You gently caress his back as his tears soaked your shirt. “You matter. So much. You have Ned and MJ, who would never hurt you. Not to mention, you’re a freaking genius. You’ll probably be the one who cures cancer.” Peter manages a light chuckle. “I’m sorry, I’m terrible at cheering people up.”

Peter lifts his head from your shoulder. “I don’t know, I think you did a heck of a job.” You beam a smile at him. “I’m sorry for judging you so quickly. Do you think we could still be partners?”

“I think we could make something work.”

part 2 here

[hahahahawk]

The Wretch

(Way of Kings re-read)

((Between re-reads I forget how slow Shallan’s story is in this book. Why isn’t she poisoned yet?))

Storms, how on the nose is it that Kaladin is climbing down into a dark chasm rn? 🤣

As soon as Teft says “journey before destination” I tear up. This is re-read behavior, but it’s the same corny rush of feeling as when someone in a movie or TV show says the name of whatever you’re watching. “AH! We’ve reached the thesis!”

Sigzil brings the whole litany, but it’s Teft that kicks it off. The subtlety is incredible. I’m over here getting swept up in the emotion of knowing everything this unlocks, and Bridge Four is swept up discussing the legends of the lost Radiants, and Teft is playing innocent (“I didn’t bring them up, I just heard this saying once”).

In the moment you completely overlook TEFT FUCKING KNEW WHAT HE WAS DOING. Fucking firemoss addict leaving BREADCRUMBS for his dense-as-mud bridge leader.

Teft’s patience is legendary. Motherfucking ice king. He’s using trickle-truth for good‽‽

I’m sure some of his caution is uncertainty, but I think most of it is knowing that Kaladin has to find Radiance in himself, rather than having Radiance thrust upon him.

Syl, on the other hand, I believe that when she says “I like that [journey before destination] saying” doesn’t quite remember that it’s part of her.

Kal stumbles into the darkness with only a sliver of sky visible overhead. It’s nice that it’s described as a ribbon, calling up a connection to one of the forms Syl takes.

One more important bit, then some random reactions under the cut.

In her talk with Kaladin in the dark, Syl counters one of his despairing thoughts with “maybe you’re right. so what?”

That technique is something I’ve found very important with my own mental health struggles over the years. Even before discovering the Cosmere, I adopted a similar form of self-talk to help me with the burden of my own existence. It has helped to reframe thoughts such as “nobody cares about me” from having the subtext of “so why should I do anything?” to the more positive subtext of “so I can do what I want without worrying what others think of me”

I’ve adopted “so what?” into a form of mental judo that lifts the burden of my thought patterns from being negative to being neutral. I stop trying to contradict my internal bully—not to internalize what it’s saying—just stop arguing, save my energy. It lets me spend more time and attention on the things I can accomplish. Moving forward, step by step. Or just giving myself the grace to rest.

Other notes from this chapter—

+ it’s interesting to me that Kal still hyped his spear skills up so much. In my experience, a self-pity loop of despair usually comes with devaluing one’s own abilities. This reader doth project too much?

+ Syl “choosing” the moment of climbing the ladder down into the chasm to have such clear memories of both her past and Kaladin’s. I know it’s her bond with him that brings back her self-ness, but there’s something about his (metaphorical) dark place that seems to urge her to focus, get more concentrated and *real* as she chases him.

+ Teft is the first to light his torch when Bridge Four reaches the chasm floor, and Kaladin lights his torch from Teft’s. 🥹 I’m sure this is another case of “it’s not foreshadowing, it’s just practical”, but Teft having what Kal needs twice in this chapter is hard to overlook.

+ I lol’d when in a chapter called “the wretch”, someone throws up, and Sando says “wretched”. As if that was the turning point.

+ Lopen’s absence is conspicuous, but understandable. Rock is plenty of comic relief for this chapter. Or do they not make a one armed Herdazian climb up and down a ladder?

+ Scar: Should we just let the voidbringers steal our hearts? Maybe they’re just misunderstood

Me: (💖Rlain 💖)

+ I really like that Kaladin finds a rock, then “tangentially” thinks about Tien, leaving it up to the reader to remember Tien’s love for rocks. It also allows Kal to drop the rock (realistic) instead of clinging to it and trying to make it a symbol (melodramatic)

[prowerprojects]

Bullying's a complex issue and hit people more deeply than one realizes. In many different ways

(And that's a choice only you can decide. No one owes a bully anything. Even if you've moved on, you're allowed to keep your contempt for what they caused you.)

Heh, if we go by what Sega had a huge hand in or closely looked over, I think it's fair to say Tails has endured more than one type of bullying, wasn't always based on his looks, and experienced pretty bad loneliness and low self-esteem because of it. (And it doesn't have to get any deeper than that; it just explains his personality and how he interacts. I don't see them really come back to it unless it's to show how far he comes or unlocked some hidden layer we don't [fully] know about.)

I think Sonic has a fair idea of why Tails was very timid and withdrawn initially, but is blind to the extent of it. (Although besides the tail yanking, one has to wonder if Sonic bared witness to anything else on Westside if wasn't just that one area.) And some ways, Tails was probably blind to it too early on. Until he started being more aware of his emotions. (Like, he knew he felt something other than depression, but couldn't quite place it.) And oh yeah, as appreciative as he is of his friends' concern, Tails would NOT want to be pitied. Would react negatively and isolate until he cools.

Yeah, more or less similar thoughts. Again, I think it depends on how deep-rooted these emotions go for him and what he went through. But is more willing to make amends than most. (And that doesn't necessarily mean being friends.) [[This actually reminds me of a similar situation in ATLA: A main character wanting revenge for their mom, but couldn't go through with it. A verbal lashing from years of anger and grief was given, but no forgiveness. With your interpretation with Tails' family, I think it'd be cathartic if something in a similar vein happened, complete with Sonic and the others being the family who accepted him.]]

Yep, it's complicated. And thank you, anon. I think for me, personal experience with this makes it a little harder when making headcanons like that since I'm always worried about overimposing my experiences onto Tails, instead of thinking about the situation more clearly.

Yeah, I don't really want them to go deeper on that. It's like with his family, I enjoy making my own headcanons and overanalyzing crumbs, but I really wouldn't get anything substantial from getting canon information on that. (Though I do want to note that I really enjoy how Tails's backstory impacts his personality even to this day! It's just cool to see. Too bad it often gets overlooked because not a lot of people in the general fandom know about it (I mean, if people don't know his full name, I doubt they would know about his past), and it's not something you can really find out by just playing the games)

I think Sonic might think Tails has already gotten over the majority of it, I mean, he goes by Tails and uses them as his logo, clearly it's fine now? Ahaha (Oof, Tails knowing that he had it bad but not just how bad and how it keeps affecting him is so believable)

Yeee! (I've never seen ATLA but I know which storyline you're talking about) Man, now I kinda want to write that story.

[gunsli-01]

Okay now that I've slept more. Let's talk about the English captions on "It's Not My Fault". It seems these are the lyrics that the translators struggled with the most so far. They're riddled with errors that make it difficult to understand or just flow weird. However, it's not completely impossible to grasp the underlying intent.

I can't speak for direct translations of the lyrics, but I can discuss the creative liberties they attempted to take with the song through the English lyrics provided. That and how I feel those lyrics are best interpreted.

So, here's the translation in the captions and description.

Lines that could make it difficult for some English speakers to wrap their heads around, they would do a double take at, or just lessen the impact of the song have been highlighted. However, since English relies a lot on context when everything is considered together it's not that daunting of a task to discern the meaning.

Here's my interpretation of what was provided superficial or nitpicky changes are highlighted in blue.

I feel the most important thing in the translation even if it's a bit rough is this part

"Sorry for hurting you, but I didn’t mean it. I am doing this is just because of being bored. We are just the same." which I interpreted to mean this, "Sorry for hurting you, but I didn’t mean it. I was just doing it because I was bored. We’re just the same."

This could be interpreted to mean that Mu finds her and Es/us the viewers to be the same just bullying others because we're bored. Just for entertainment and she's not entirely wrong. A lot of people have found Milgram entertaining.

However, this comes off as her admitting there's no deeper meaning behind her behavior, she just felt like it. Which tracks with the emphasis she continues to put on Es doing what they want to do. How they never chose to be the prison guard. So, there's really no point in taking it this seriously. She views them as the same because to an extent they're both just having fun judging others and their actions have led to many getting hurt. So, why not just have fun being the bullies together.

If Es tries to rebel out of jealousy well, we've already seen what'll happen right?

The choice to interpret pitiful into Drama Queen really works in English especially with Mu's character. She spent most of her first interrogation crying even though she was comfortable enough within Milgram to order personalized sweets.

Having it be translated to Drama Queen completely changes the feel of the song. To English speakers she's basically stating over and over that she was worried for nothing, she blew things out of proportion, and that this is something she's always done.

The English connotation around the term Drama Queen is someone who turns even the most mundane situations into a dramatic spectacle. Though I feel like after the part where she says we're just the same it'd be better to say, "Don't you think it's wonderful to control them with your gentle sting?" Further driving the comparison between herself and Es.

It would also aptly compare our guilty verdicts to her bullying. Showing that to an extent she's conflating what she did as her very own form of punishment on the same level as the judgements Es makes for their 'job'.

Honestly, they really chose to translate these lyrics in a way that would cause most Americans at least to snipe this woman from the rafters- Like it's very taunting in nature. Though that's just how I interpreted it when I saw it, and this is just the way it makes the most sense to me.

Other English speakers could have interpreted it a lot differently. Though I hope this gives some insight into why some people in English speaking countries may have changed their opinion on Mu. Maybe a more direct translation would've helped her with that, but I don't believe it would have from what I heard. Plus, the song itself is such a mean girl ballad that any hiccups in translation were easy to overlook.

It really does create an entirely different feel.

[marcmarcmomarc]

Miraculous Chapter 9/27: Traitors

(In Marriott’s Grande Vista, Adrien’s group lays asleep. Adrien wakes up.)

ADRIEN: (YAWNS) Morning, guys.

(The group gives scattered “Good morning” greetings.)

ADRIEN: Let’s start putting Operation Bring Marinette Back to Paris underway. Markov?

(Markov scans all of Orlando.)

MARKOV: I have found her. She is now leaving a Panera Bread in Waterford Lakes Town Center with a new group of friends. They plan to visit ICON Park tonight.

ADRIEN: ICON Park. That’s right on this road. Heck, we passed that on the way here. That’s where we go tonight.

(Now, during the last rays of sundown, Marinette and her new friends enter ICON Park. Marinette gawks at the Orlando Eye glowing colorfully against the night sky. Around the park, guests notice Marinette and point her out. The group approaches the entrance to the wheel.)

LUNA-TK: Alright. You head on in and enjoy yourself. We’ll be on lookout for anyone crossing you.

MARINETTE: Okay. Thank you.

(She goes inside. Meanwhile, with Adrien’s group in their room…)

MARKOV: She has arrived at the park.

ADRIEN: Let’s go, people.

(Meanwhile, Marinette arrives at one of the wheel’s cars.)

MARINETTE: Thank you.

(She boards the wheel. Meanwhile, Adrien’s group arrives.)

ADRIEN: Okay. Everyone search high and low.

ADRIEN (O.S.): She could be anywhere in this busy park.

(In the wheel, Marinette arrives at the top and overlooks the area around her.)

MARINETTE: Wow.

TIKKI: I mean, Paris had great views during your time as Ladybug, but this is amazing.

MARINETTE: Right? My choice to stay here gets better with every hour.

(Below, Markov sees her.)

MARKOV: She is now preparing to get off of that wheel.

MAX: Affirmative.

(Meanwhile, Marinette gets out of her car and onto the platform.)

MARINETTE: That was so good.

TIKKI: So now what?

MARINETTE: We’re gonna meet back with the group and work it out.

(Now, Adrien and the group find her outside the Museum of Illusions.)

ADRIEN: There they are!

MARINETTE: Huh?

(As the group approaches, all of Marinette’s new friends block them.)

LUNA-TK: Back up! Back away!

@calxiyn (simultaneously): Get out of here!

ADRIEN: What?

@luminara713: Get back!

ADRIEN: What’s going on? Marinette! We’re here to apologize!

MARINETTE: You think I want to hear what you have to say?

(Marinette moves through her friends and approaches Adrien.)

ADRIEN: You need to know how scared and devastated we were when we knew you were gone. We spent the rest of the day looking for you.

MARINETTE: So? Just the fact that it took me running away for you to come to the realization that you mistreated me speaks volumes. How did any of you ever come to the conclusion that a girl who tells the most unbelievable stories that can be fact-checked by a simple internet search is so spectacular? How did, “Marinette, someone we know always puts other people’s needs before her own, is bullying a disabled girl because of pity jealousy, even though she insists that she’s okay with Kagami dating Adrien,” cross your minds at all? Tell me, Adrien.

MARINETTE (CONT’D, O.S.): Why did I have to tell you to vouch for me? I don’t blame Mr. Damocles for shutting you up!

MARINETTE (CONT’D): You looked like you were only doing it because I asked you to and not because you actually believed me! You all did nothing when I got expelled,…

MARINETTE (CONT’D, O.S.): …not even Alya’s “detective work” turned out useful,…

MARINETTE (CONT’D): …and Lila was the one to get me back in with another lie, and I’m just supposed to forgive you?!

ADRIEN: Marinette, please…

MARINETTE: No! You know, if I can’t ever get it through your heads that I want you to leave me alone, my new friends will make you understand! Let’s get these traitors!

(As Marinette and her new friends charge, Adrien and the others turn around and flee past several onlookers.)

MAN 1: This we’ve got to see!

MAN 2: This is gonna be good.

(The group turns onto the street as the typical harsh rain you’d expect to see in Florida starts to fall. Marinette and her new friends follow. Ahead, Adrien and his group frantically pant as they hustle ahead of their pursuers.)

(Looking back, Adrien finds fans coming from the streets they pass joining the chase. They run under the bridge connecting the Orange County Convention Center and the Hotel Convention Center.)

ADRIEN: Let’s go this way!

(They turn onto Hawaiian Ct and bump into Terence, who glowers down at them.)

WOMAN: This way! Get them!

(They change direction, toward the bushes behind Walgreens, which they hop over. Manon falls off of her mother’s shoulders, and Alix catches her and passes her back to Nadja.)

MANON: Thank you!

ALIX: Don’t mention it.

(Back on the street, the group hustles toward the overpass. Kagami’s foot slips on a sewer drain and she falls, clutching her ankle in pain.)

ADRIEN: Kagami!

KAGAMI: My ankle!

(Looking beyond her, Adrien sees their pursuers approaching fast.)

ADRIEN: Anansi, you carry Kagami!

NORA: Don’t need to tell me twice, Cellphone Boy!

(Nora runs back and carries Kagami on her back. Ahead, the group rounds the corner at the three-way intersection leading to Marriott’s Grande Vista. Their pursuers start to close in. The group races into the lobby, their hair and clothes sopping wet, and their equally wet shoes squeaking on the floor. They scramble inside the open elevator.)

TRAVEL GROUP: Get in, get in!…Go, go, go!…Hurry up, get in, come on!…They’re coming, let’s go!

ADRIEN: Come on, come on, come on, come on!

MYLÈNE: Get in! Get in!

(Their equally wet pursuers arrive. Adrien frantically presses the button to close the elevator.)

ADRIEN: Close, close, close, come on!

(The doors slide closed just before Marinette and her new friends can reach them.)

MARINETTE: Ah! Come on!

LUNA-TK: Darn! (SIGHS) Well, hey, hope you enjoyed the day with us before they showed up. See you tomorrow?

MARINETTE: Sure.

(Her new friends leave.)

LORI: They better not come near her again, or I will literally turn them into human pretzels.

(On the fourth floor, the group gets off the elevator.)

ALIX: I can’t believe this! We came all this way for nothing!

NATHANIEL: And Marinette has hardcore protectors now!

IVAN: Traitors! She called us traitors!

MYLÈNE: (SOBBING) How could she?

ADRIEN: This doesn’t make any sense.

ALYA: We’re so stupid! We should have seen this coming!

SABINE (O.S.): We really should have been keeping a more watchful eye!

CHLOÉ (O.S.): Yeah, and Lila deserves a pounding once we get back!

ADRIEN: Wait a minute, wait, hold on! Now is not the time to be hysterical!

NATHANIEL: Now is the perfect time to be hysterical!

ROSE: Should we be hysterical?

ALIX: No!

CHLOÉ: Yes!

ADRIEN: Maybe! But not right now! (SIGHS) Let’s call it a day now and figure it out in the morning.

(Later, the group lays asleep throughout the room. Plagg goes up to Adrien.)

PLAGG: (WHISPERING) You are concocting something right now, are you?

ADRIEN: No one concocts plans while they sleep, Plagg. Quiet before someone hears you.

(Fade to black.)

[drkinhome]

Hello! Can I get a tarot reading on my Mikan Tsumiki timeline? Thank you bunches!

Sure thing! I’ll use my go-to spread and Kawaii Tarot deck!

———————————–

You (top card): Something about the kintype, more broad, sometimes obvious but it may still be overlooked

I got the reversed Hierophant card, which symbolizes confusion, restriction, and challenge. Your classmates struggled to understand you and your struggles, and you even struggled to understand yourself sometimes. You ended up needing to go back and process your trauma to help yourself and the others. You were bullied like in canon, but you needed to learn how to cooperate rather than fight back (I know, horrible advice, but that was your best course of action).

———————————–

Home (left card): Something about your canon, can be general or specific

I got the reversed Queen of Cups, which symbolizes emotional manipulation, denial, and sadness. Due to your trauma and bullying, you ended up repressing your emotions, something that Junko most likely enabled and took advantage of. She was a strong force in your life and took control of you.

———————————–

Heart (right card): Something fundamental about the kintype, something that makes you you

I got the reversed Three of Cups, which symbolizes emptiness, conflict, and self-pity. You struggled with your self-worth and the ability to truly appreciate yourself, feeling as if you were the only one trying to make a change when everyone else was arguing. You also may have struggled in your relationships, each one ending in conflict and lack of communication.

———————————–

I know this one is a tad more negative, but I hope it helps you nonetheless!

[et-sic-itur-ad-astra]

"How do you lose Qiqi??"

"You forget to cherish her"

[randombush3]

Make me a Sunday roast.

florence pugh x reader (sisters)

summary: Florence isn’t as informed as she’d like, and you’re not having a particularly great time.

words: 3099

warnings: eating disorders, self-harm, suicide, mentall illness, mentions of drugs

notes: netball is a sport similar to basketball widely played in the U.K. and Australia (and most places other than the USA). Netball academies are really elite, and the most elite is obviously the England Academy which is called the Roses Academy. Also this one shot was like therapy but cheaper.

When you were born, two minutes before your twin, Raffie, your mother looked at your face, perfect in her eyes, and realised you’d be fine on your own. It was proven again and again, through test scores and awards and letters of acceptance for academies, for schools. She was reminded by the straight nines marking your GCSEs, and it was reiterated when the Roses academy asked you to go on tour in New Zealand. Deb could not believe one of her children would captain England for a sport your younger sister only managed to get on B team as a sub for.

Raffie grew up with the attention of a baby and the praise of a fast cheetah, mostly overlooked when achieving something, never forgotten when she failed. The shadow cast over her followed through school as you became the girl who’d boys would beg to snap and she became Y/n’s twin sister. While you were out with your friends, she’d be with your other siblings, becoming closer to the family that only seemed to love you when you’d come first place.

Of course that was not the case, but how were you supposed to know that?

You started sixth form and netball became more of a career option and less of a fun little hobby. Raffie made new friends, yours got upset you didn’t have time for them. Instead of you coming home drunk, it was Raffie. Your parents assumed you wanted to prioritise netball, and then, when netball practices began to be skipped, school.

Days would go by where you’d lie in your bed, the same clothes from a week ago, the same dirty plates as decor among the medals and certificates and trophies. Raffie’s slight resentment for you morphed into pity; she’d ask if you wanted to go out with her. Maybe you wanted to see your own friends. “Mine will love you,” and she’d smile to coax your pathetic state out of its lair. They wouldn’t love you. You’re the kind of girl who’d they remember as their childhood bully. Twins can go one of two ways, obviously. You and Raffie had very separate lives.

One day, you’d walked down the stairs, cuts covered with stained sleeves, tears not even bothering to form. Your mum and dad had looked at you, the same expression of concern that had become the norm for the past six months. You had turned eighteen with this expression clouding the photos, you had grown even further apart from them. Dad had said Floss had tried to come, but couldn’t. It was Raffie that cried, not you.

Dad had never cried in front of you before then as you told them about how you weren’t sure you could live anymore, how they shouldn’t blame themselves. “This isn’t me,” you’d reminded them carefully, half smile at the ready to combat your mother’s soft sobs. It was then she had understood that maybe you wouldn’t be fine on your own. Maybe you needed help.

The doctor diagnosed you with anorexia and bipolar disorder. Unspecified. She’d nodded at you, checking if you had thought the same. It reminded you of Flossie’s movie; Midsommar. It probably was what made you ask your parents to keep it quiet.

Out of all of your siblings, you’d never really connected with Florence. Her and Raffie got on like they were destined to talk about acting together, and Toby and Bella weren’t exactly silent during those talks. She’d become a movie star, lived with her boyfriend in LA. You weren’t really sure if you had the right number for her anymore. Raffie would FaceTime her periodically, “Y/n, it’s Flo,” and you’d mumble a hello and shut your door because nothing was shittier than seeing Florence, who made everything better for the family but had taken every achievement from your cabinet and replaced them with her fame. You wondered if you hated her.

With a family dinner and meeting afterwards, everyone but Flo was informed of the situation, notified that you’d be going away for treatment. Six weeks, and then you’d come back. No one was to let Florence know, even if she asked about you. You weren’t sure she’d remember you existed if Raff didn’t bring you up.

- - -

Florence just so happens to get to Oxford on a random Tuesday in February. She hasn’t been present in her family and she feels bad about it. They will always be there for her, rich or poor, famous or not. Missing the twins’ birthday brought tears to her eyes. She’d taken many breaks on set that day.

Her parents are elated at her appearance, saying Raffie will be back from school soon. Weird, Florence thinks, Y/n’s not here. She’s always been so extroverted. “Is Y/n out with her friends?” Raffie’s face doesn’t miss Florence’s gaze. Pain. Grief.

Florence Pugh’s stomach drops to the Earth’s core.

Y/n pushed her away, so she’d stopped trying. She hadn’t been mentioned for a while, achievements cropping up in conversations no longer. Mum was never as proud, Dad was never making taxi jokes. She’d sensed, from that mansion in LA, that something was off, that she wasn’t clued in on information that everyone else had. It was like her sister had disappeared and no one had noticed.

The Uber drives off, and you take a deep breath. Six weeks ago you did the same thing outside of the treatment centre. You can do this. It won’t define you.

Your hands shake ever so slightly and you pick apart your disused keys, fingers tracing the stupid school picture key chain from year three. You and Raffie, smiles bright. You’ve learnt to appreciate her a bit more when she wasn’t there.

“Why won’t you tell me?” An exasperated voice is abruptly cut off by your entry. Sounds like Florence. Is she famous enough to have tribute actors now?

There’s a silence as your parents take the sight of you in. The doctors thought not seeing them might be more beneficial. Having a break from life itself proved a good cure to the now-longer list of mental illnesses they’d explain you had. Mum and Dad are holding hands behind the counter, where no one can see.

Then, Raffie is hugging you, holding you tight. She’s crying. She feels guilty about overlooking the signs, not reporting your frequent lies about school and netball, never really asking if you wanted to talk. “I’m okay, Raff,” you whispered into dark hair, arms wrapped around her body even so. “You don’t have to worry about me.”

Florence is standing awkwardly behind Raff. Watching.

“I thought… Weren’t you coming back tomorrow?” Dad asks, voice hushed, as if Florence will manage to be kept in the dark now. “Did they clear you to leave? We would’ve picked you up, Y/n. How’d you—”

“They said I could four hours ago. I got an Uber.” He frowns. “Dad, I’m an adult.”

Your mum brings you to her, cradling your head, kissing your forehead. She tells you she loves you and that she’s sorry, you tell her she doesn’t need to be sorry, but that you’d love to have a nap before having to face the world again. It’s not as fun when nurses don’t tell you what type of therapy you have each day. She says she’s sorry again, and you’ve gone upstairs before Florence can grasp what’s going on.

Without knowing why, Florence has followed you upstairs, reaching your room just as you close the door. There’s no lock. Your parents had thought the best way to keep you safe was to ignore a lock and learn to knock. Privacy had become something dangerous in those sixth months.

Her hand reaches out, palm flat against the wood of the door, ears listening out for a sign you’re aware of her being there. You know she’s there, naturally, and aren’t sure what to do. What can you do?

She knocks and you sigh, “come in, Florence.”

“Whole name?” The joke isn’t as funny as she thought it’d be.

Your room has been tidied over your absence, dishes removed, pillows plumped. Raffie’s left notes in it, words from when she wished she could talk to you but couldn’t. You’ll read them later.

With the clear space now on your bed, your sister plonks herself down, hands awkwardly sitting in her lap. Neither of you have made an effort to speak to each other since the equally arduous back-and-forth texts from your birthday. Well, Flo’s thought about it. She’s not sure how to approach you.

Under the covers, your fingers tap away anxiously, waiting for her to say something or leave. Or burst into tears. She feels the exact same, asking herself how she let your relationship deteriorate into such a state, wondering why you’ve only just reappeared in everyone's lives.

“What happened?”

A general question. There’s too much substance to that answer.

“Did you get kicked out? Are you pregnant, were you on holiday?” Florence tries to find reasons. Explanations. “Was there a netball tour? I follow England Netball, Y/n. I swear there wasn’t— I would have put it on my story if you’d told me.” It’s making her upset that she’s not able to land on the right reason. “Are you cross with me?”

“The academy dropped me,” you inform her bluntly. They asked you to leave. Your parents sat down with your coaches soon after the fateful doctor’s appointment. Suddenly you were back on the team. “Just recover, Y/n,” was your command.

“Did they?” It’s given her a reason to comfort you, to pull you into a hug and show more affection than she’s most likely ever shown you. “What did you do?”

Midsommar. Flo doesn’t need to know. Flo doesn’t need to start caring about you just because your medical records have a series of disorders listed.

“Nothing much,” you mumble into her hair, missing the length because it always smelt so lovely. Like coconuts.

She catches sight of the letter on your bedside table. You’ve not read it yet, but it’s been laid out by your mum.

We are pleased to inform you that when you return from treatment…

Florence pulls away. “What treatment?”

“What?”

Manicured nails direct your attention to the letter, signed off by your head coach. Heidi cried with your parents. “Treatment.” There’s a pause. “Were you pregnant?”

To Florence, who’s only ever seen you come home drunk and high, with girls, boys, strangers, it’s plausible. To Florence, who’s picked you up from parties, held your hair back, fought for your voice to be heard without you knowing it was her who filed the sexual assault claim on your behalf, the possibility is entirely there. You fight off the tears that come with the thought of being infertile because your perfectionism really was an eating disorder.

“Y/n, I’m your sister. You can tell me anything.”

“For you to post some shitty infographic about it on your story for your millions of followers?” Venomous words taste better than vodka. “Do I add to your tragic backstory? Am I good material for interviews?”

Florence stumbles on her words, surprised. She wasn’t expecting this.

“Even if I were pregnant, I’ve starved myself too much for the fucking foetus to fucking live!”

Oh. You’ve said it now.

“Treatment,” Flo repeats, saying it again just to solidify what it now means. “How am I supposed to know that?”

“You weren’t,” you agree. “Didn’t want to make you sad during awards season.”

“Stop it.”

“No, Florence. There’s something about not fitting into a family that really fucks you up, you know. Being ’Y/n’s twin’ must have been shit for Raffie, but where was that hug when my friends left me? When I was told I was too nice for that group, but too mean for everyone else?” Because Flo never really asked why you were crying. Most assumed the rare bad grade. “You act as if I’m indebted to you, like I haven’t been pretending to be happy for the longest time. Like you didn’t go on day trips when I had matches and tournaments and never caring if I couldn’t make it because I was forced to have my own fucking life.” Mum joked that most matches were the same anyway. “And now you’re friends with Scarlett bloody Johansson and Meryl Streep and you’ve been to the stupid Oscars, and you want your sister — who can’t even get herself to swallow Nutella — to tell you what’s wrong.”

Your voice is already becoming hoarse from its volume.

“Stop it, Y/n.”

“I’m not going to burden your precious time with my own problems, Flossie. Why don’t you—”

“Stop it, stop it, stop it!” Tears run straight through the perfectly done lashes, ruining the makeup that shields the paparazzi from seeing the realistic side of Flossie Rose; the darling rising star from Oxford, England.

“Why should I? Are you going to tell Harry Styles that your baby sister spoke the fucking truth to you for fucking once?!” you’re screaming it at her, because she’s made you so angry and she deserves it. She deserves it.

“What did you fucking do to yourself, Y/n?” Florence stands up, pulling the covers off you, blinded by worry and rage and a whole host of emotions that need to be worked through.

The sight of you, the way your legs, bare in the open, have neat rows of deep, healing cuts. Your arms look similar, and there’s no point in hiding that.

“Oh my god,” she says, so blankly, so quietly, that you’re a little bit scared. “You could have… You could have texted me, DMed me. Tweeted me. Why didn’t—”

“I didn’t know how.” Quora doesn’t have an answer to ‘how to tell your famous sister you really want to kill yourself in her Instagram DMs’.

“Did you at least try?”

Not really, no.

“Do you not understand that I love you?” You shake your head. She hasn’t accused you. She’s genuinely curious. “You just came back from what kind of treatment?”

“Mainly eating disorder,” you answer. You’ve calmed down now. “They’ve got me on mood stabilisers, Floss. Apparently I’m bipolar.”

“Bipolar?”

“I promise not to recreate the opening of Midsommar.” Florence feels very sick when you say that. Like she knows what you were thinking.

“It doesn’t define you,” she whispers. “You’re not going to be locked away from me, I’m not going to stop posting shitty pictures of you on my story.” Sweaty netball pictures where people flood her DMs with questions for how you got there.

“I know we’re not that close—”

“Don’t say that—”

“But I really was upset you missed my birthday.” You both say sorry in sync, by accident. “I overreacted. None of my friends had been free that day either.”

“Y/n…”

“I’ve tried to kill myself three times.” Florence and you don’t make a rushed attempt to reconcile.

Knowing you want to die is a twisted form of acceptance that has very little positive outcomes. Misery and depression, intense sadness, fear, trauma, all cease for the offending party, but not for the ones that linger on in life. Three times you’ve accepted your defeat, each time being found by someone different.

Raffie found you choking on your own vomit, abandoned by whomever you’d been using with, somehow hauling you up into an ambulance. Instead of Mum and Dad, she called Arabella, begging for help, distraught. They were terrified. A week later you were back in school, your parents only understanding that Bella had thought living with her would be good. The changing of scenery was a firm belief in your household.

Then, about a month later, you’d yet again realised your life should probably end, so you sat in the bathtub letting yourself bleed out. Toby hurried in, haste critical, and scooped you up (knowing this was intentional because who bathes in clothes?). He’d shouted for Raffie to call 999, and then Bella, but ignore Mum and Dad for they didn’t need to know again. Those three have covered you dutifully.

“Bella still cries a lot when I try to talk about it.” Whispered, it hangs over your heads, sinking in. Bella cries because she had cradled you in her arms when she’d found you the third time and it was like her timeline had split into two and she was transported back into the hospital room. Bella had held you before your mother had.

“And I’ve been in Los Angeles.”

“I can try again if you want to be included.”

- - -

You start school on Friday, returning to sixth form with Raffie. Spending frees with Raffie. Her friends are sweet.

Most of privately educated Oxford find out about ‘that one girl’s eating disorder’ through Instagram and Snapchat and TikTok; news travels fast. Flo’s Oxford fans start to post about it, sharing their experiences, hoping you’re okay. Your sister asks you what to do. You tell her you couldn’t care less.

You’re telling Raffie and her friends about the amount of team members you’ve either hooked up with or dated, enjoying the laughs and attention, letting Raffie input when she remembers a disastrous date. “I don’t know how they ended up in a shooting match,” Raffie tells the group that is slowly becoming both of yours. “You should def add them to your priv.” It’s all pictures of your dad cooking.

Dad doesn’t know how to show you he cares. Dad cooks you dinner, letting you sit and observe his clean movements and silly dancing. You’ve started to dance with him: not getting up, but making sure he knows you’re enjoying the quiet fun.

When you guys get home, Flossie is there, talking to Toby and Bella. They all greet you, Raffie too busy opening the small gift sitting on the coffee table. “I’m her twin, so it’s basically for me,” she says, undoing the ribbon.

“It’s from me,” Flo says to you, hand in yours, giving it a squeeze. A black, leather-bound notebook falls from Raffie’s hands. Flo chuckles, picking it up and handing it to you. “You can look inside a bit later,” she whispers, smirking. Inside she has written every recipe you’ve ever said you’ve liked of hers.

“Y/n, what’s dinner?” Dad’s popped his head out of the kitchen. “Come help me.”

You take the book from the coffee table, opening it to the first cream page. Written in black ink pen are the words ‘a perfect Sunday roast’. That’s what you tell them is for dinner.

@pewpughpew @ridlz

[frickfracksnatchisback]

Alright, I have a feeling that some people aren’t gonna like this Hot Take™ of mine, but you know what? I’m not active enough on this blog to really care about my “reputation” at this point, sooo...

(In case you don’t care and/or don’t want to see it, fandom discourse under the cut. Keep in mind that everyone’s entitled to their own opinions.)

I haven’t found the courage to speak up about it in the past because I was afraid of how people would see me. But honestly? If anyone full-on hates me for what I’m about to say, then maybe this is for the best. I’m...really getting sick of all the discourse surrounding Vanessa as a character, not going to lie. I get if you want to use her for angst purposes in your AUs and stories; I get if you don’t particularly like her as a character; I even get it if you like to sympathize with Snatcher as far a toxic relationships go. But this whole discourse that “anybody who likes Vanessa as a character is an awful person”? I’m sorry, but I just can’t agree with this type of mindset anymore. Want to know why? Because it sounds exactly like the Snatcher discourse that’s also been going around. “Snatcher can’t be a dad/friend to Hat Kid! He tried to kill her!” sounds just like “You can’t redeem Vanessa! She killed the Prince!” to me. Not to mention that half of the characters in AHiT are problematic in one way or another. Mafia Boss, Conductor, DJ Grooves, Snatcher, Empress, even Mustache Girl! They’ve all done one or more questionable things within canon and have actively tried to kill Hat Kid. Why do these characters get overlooked while Vanessa is “completely irredeemable”? The “canon” we have surrounding Vanessa is already very loose to begin with. The most you can find is the Time Rift storybook and a few letters hidden within the manor level, and even then, not everybody knows about those or even finds them in-game. Also, Shane Frost, one of people who helped create AHiT, doesn’t explicitly depict Vanessa as a completely evil character. If anything, from what I’ve seen, she only acts the way she does because of the way her mother treated her. And while that isn’t canon in the actual game anymore, let’s be honest here. Nobody really goes one hundred percent by canon, and what little “lore” you can dig up from the storybooks is open to interpretation. There could be many reasons as to why Vanessa is the way that she is! But we don’t know for certain, because the lore and canon within AHiT is barely fleshed out. Maybe Vanessa could’ve had abusive parents; maybe her ice magic corrupted her based on her emotions; maybe she had some type of mental disorder. Does that make what she does “in canon” necessarily good? No, but if you’re going to portray her as a villian character, you have to have an actual reason as for why she’s motivated to do these things other than “she’s just evil”. I’d like to clarify, Vanessa’s not one of my favorite characters. The ships “Snatchnessa”, “Moonessa”, and “Princenessa” aren’t even any of my main ships. But coming from someone who’s been bullied, even if indirectly, for the characters and ships they like? This is not okay. It’s gotten to the point where fanon has overlapped with canon so much, that people are starting all this unnecessary discourse just so we’ll fight with one another. And it’s become tiring. It is not the end of the world if people like Vanessa or see her as a comfort character. You do not have the right to bully someone for having a “Vanessa turned good AU” when stuff like “Dadtcher” and “AHiT found family” are completely acceptable in your eyes. That’s hypocritical and, not to mention, it’s a cutesy 3D platformer game for pity’s sake. It’s not that fricking deep. Unless someone is outright justifying abusive behavior and using Vanessa to do so, there’s no need to attack anyone just for merely mentioning or making content of Vanessa. I know not many people will agree with me, or even care for that matter. But if you’ve managed to read this far, please take at least some of what I’ve said into consideration, or at least with the smallest grain of salt. I don’t expect to change your opinion, and you can’t change mine; I just hope that some of you can see where I’m coming from with all of this. And if you can’t? I’m not here to argue. The block button is right there, so feel free to use it. Thank you for your time.

[ahtsumu]

Hm. Take your favorite boys, what do you think they're insecure about?

i wrote for oikawa, atsumu, ushijima, kuroo, and tendou! sorry for the length i just love them so much lol

OIKAWA TOORU: 

not being good enough. this one’s clear as day and everyone knows it but i think there’s another layer to this. i think it’s two-fold. so first of all, he’s insecure about the limits to his skill compared to the monster generation, which is his own problem. but then he’s also insecure about people surpassing him in skill. so not only is the insecurity about something internal, but it’s also affected by external factors. and then you see how his self-hatred (self-hatred may be strong but that’s what the essence of insecurity is, right?) spills over to the way he treats/views others, turning him into this bitter, calculating guy who would work himself dead just prove that he is good enough.

his volatility. listen, for someone as smart as oikawa, he definitely knows it’s not normal to be utterly consumed by the need to even be just a sliver of a bit better than his opponents. and it makes him act in questionable, erratic ways. underneath that calm, put-together facade is a tsunami of ugly emotions that oikawa is highly aware of. i think he’s afraid this side to him will hurt others and makes him a burden, hence his overdone, saccharine, charmer persona. it keeps people at a distance–– emotionally. i think he’s definitely a sweet guy on the inside and genuinely kind to people he doesn’t view as competition (and he actually really appreciates his fans), but because of how he’s scared of exposing his scary side, he overdoes the flamboyant airheadedness. by doing so, he weeds out the people he doesn’t think would stay with him through thick-and-thin anyway.

i like to think that post-timeskip oikawa has dealt with these demons and found a way to just be satisfied. maybe he just needed to expand his horizons. maybe he found a team that was already really good and he, with his setting style, made them great–– better than seijoh could ever have been. olympic gold-medal worthy. he deserves it.

MIYA ATSUMU: 

firstly, i don’t think atsumu’s insecurities are as crippling as oikawa’s. if we factor in his personality based on his volleyball playing style, he’s not the type to overthink or scheme or calculate like oikawa, so i also headcanon him to be less “in his head” and more “in the moment”. this means his insecurities play a smaller role in shaping his personality and are less visible in the manga/anime.

he’s rough around the edges. his speech is coarse (the accent, the slang, the insults) and he fights with osamu in public and he definitely doesn’t shy away from provoking people he barely knows. i bet atsumu sometimes wonders if other people look down upon him because of that. like they might feel like he’s too wild. but i don’t think he dwells on this because he’s also a very confident guy and proud of where he comes from. it’s just a passing thought that sometimes puts a damper on his mood for a bit, and then he’s back to normal.

he’s unlikeable. atsumu has a strong personality–– goofball, airhead, loud, brutally honest, cocky... and he was abandoned by his middle school teammates and classmates for being “an arrogant jerk”. and judging by his behaviour in high school, his middle school years shaped him into a “so what if they hate me?” kinda guy–– meaning, he doesn’t care what random people think of him. what he does care about, though, is if these traits of his impact the way his friends view him or feel because of him. he didn’t grow up with many friends and he probably knows what loneliness feels like. i think he’d hate to feel it again, so he’s a lot more careful about his negative traits around friends. the people who matter.

vulnerability. atsumu’s been shown denying the fact that he was crying even though he was touched by kita’s kindness. that, and how he’s got this huge (and i think purposely overdone) overconfident/brash persona kind of builds a wall of strength around him. in reality, he’s a softie. atsumu’s definitely afraid of people coming into his life and then just leaving because, again, his personality’s an acquired taste and he’s been abandoned before. in his eyes, his softer side is his weaker side because he’s more susceptible to getting hurt.

USHIJIMA WAKATOSHI:

letting people down. ushijima lives to be reliable. he wants to be, like his dad described, the ace that makes everyone think “if i toss to him, he’ll definitely score”. he shoulders on so much responsibility and it’s because he needs prove that he is the guy people can depend on. and a lot of it has to do with making his dad–– whom he rarely ever sees–– proud, but a lot of it also has to do with the genuine desire to be strong for others. so to be the exact opposite, to show or maybe even suggest that he isn’t as sturdy as he is (which he definitely has done before, probably with all the team’s losses), i think that’s the one thing that gets him most insecure. or i guess you could say this is his greatest fear: to no longer be reliable.

honestly, i think ushijima is one of the least bothered people in haikyuu, which is why i can only confidently headcanon one insecurity. he’s got amazing tunnel vision and he doesn’t let himself get carried away by emotion. that being said, he has emotions. he’s just able to compartmentalise and focus on what’s important: getting better. if he loses, he doesn’t wallow in self-pity–– he does 100 serves. ushijima turns his insecurities/flaws into strength.

i’d suggest maybe his family situation as a possible soft spot, but by the way he openly answered tendou’s questions it’s clear that he’s not exactly torn up over his parents’ divorce. i think he’d be insecure about getting into a relationship, though. it involves a lot of vulnerability and dedication/time, the latter of which he’s not sure he can take from volleyball. i genuinely believe he never dated in high school because he was way too focused on going to nationals for that. so that lack of experience would also make him just a little uncomfortable about dating as an adult, i think. but he’s also not the type to dwell on these things. he’d probably just go for it. he’s a straight-forward, logical, clear-minded guy.

KUROO TETSUROU: 

his baggage. based on the canon information about his parents being divorced and him not seeing his sister, and then the fanon stuff about him growing up listening to them fight endlessly… there’s a lot of trauma that comes with a dysfunctional family that undoubtedly made him into the self-preserving and cunning captain he is today. he has to be able to figure people out and protect himself in order to survive, but that also means he’s a lot more guarded than most. he’s that guy who gets along with everyone but he wouldn’t call most of them his friends. kuroo likes to keep people at arm’s length to protect them and himself from getting hurt. there’s just too much trauma for another person to deal with, unless they really show him that they won’t just leave him high and dry. even after he’s let them in, i don’t think kuroo would talk much about it.

not knowing what romantic love is supposed to be like. and by love, i mean the act of loving–– not the emotion. i find that with kids who’ve grown up in dysfunctional families or are children of divorce, they’re either extremely hesitant to enter relationships or they impulsively dive into them. i think kuroo’s the former. he’s very intelligent and patient, so i can definitely see him being scared to get involved with other people for their sake. after all, he knows that what he’s experienced in reality about love is not correct–– but at the same time, that’s all he knows. he just doesn’t know what a relationship is supposed to look like. is it a lot of independence? or are you supposed to be attached at the hip? how do you get that comfortable around someone? i think this lack of knowledge makes him insecure about getting into relationships.

TENDOU SATORI:

his appearance. we also all know tendou has had the most trauma being bullied and “overcame” the bullying by embracing the demon persona (just on the court!!), but i highly doubt he’d want to be loved for that off the court. the way he treats his friends shows that he’s a very loving, soft, and playful guy. and he’s more resignedly accepted the fact that everyone’s first impression of him will always be the sadistic, scary-looking demon, but i’m sure it affects the way he interacts with people he believes to be conventionally attractive. like maybe he feels just a little undeserving/unsuitable to be around them.

going over the line. tendou is a really sensitive guy with high emotional intelligence–– partially because of how he’s been forced to learn to read people to figure out their intentions, and partially because he never wants to hurt the people he loves. for example, tendou apologised when he kept badgering ushijima about his father and realised it could be a sensitive subject. but i also feel like because he’s such a rowdy, high-energy guy, sometimes his teasing and mischief can go a little far. maybe it’s a text that reads too rudely, followed by a lag on the receiver’s side. and maybe that’s when the overthinking kicks in. like, “that was really mean, satori. that was too far. you should apologise. what if they were really hurt by that? what if they don’t like you anymore?”

being overlooked. tendou pretty much only exists in relation to ushijima and even though he loves ushijima to death i’m sure sometimes he just feels a little down about the fact that he lives in his shadow. he’s always “ushijima’s friend” or “the middle blocker on ushijima’s team” and he’s rarely recognised for his own existence. i think he’s also accepted this, as shown by when he told ushijima to tell all the future reporters that they were friends. tendou had already accepted how ushijima was destined for attention, no matter how in-your-face he himself was. what i love is how furudate kinda inverts this trope by making tendou the famous guest of a show and talking about ushijima instead. it doesn’t change how much he loves ushijima or how much he’ll continue singing his best friend’s praises, but i think some part of him will always wonder if a new person is only taking interest in him because of his connection to ushijima.

[thatfanficstuff]

Asshole - Elijah Mikaelson

Pairing: Elijah x Reader

Warnings: Bullying, Assholes, Flangst

A/N: I’m gonna let y’all in on a little secret. When I can’t/don’t write for a long time, I find it incredibly hard to start writing regularly again. Part of me feels like I am incapable and the rest fears I am. Anyway, this took much longer than it should have. I hope you enjoy!

***

You sat at a table at the back of the Grill enjoying your own company and a well-aged Scotch. Well, as aged as it got at the Mystic Grill. You were supposed to have been spending your evening with Klaus and Kol but they’d opted out to take care of some business. Kol had sounded so sincere in his disappointment you couldn’t be mad at them.

After some indecision, you came to the Grill on your own. It had been a long week and you’d been looking forward to getting out of the house. You’d already eaten dinner and decided to have a couple of drinks before you walked home. Or maybe more than a couple since you were already on number three.

Your gaze jerked up from the glass in your hand when someone slid into the chair across from you. Seeing Damon, you started to smile before remembering he was no longer your friend. And as much as you didn’t want to let that bother you, it stung. The two of you had been near inseparable until you saved Kol from the mechanizations of the Scooby gang.

You’d chosen your side. It didn’t matter that killing Kol would have ended the lives of who knows how many vampires. Apparently slaughtering innocent people was only bad when the Mikaelsons did it. None of your friends would even attempt to see it your way. They’d cast you out and the Originals had taken you in. You tried not to be bitter about it. You even succeeded most of the time. Until moments like this anyway.

You clenched your teeth together and willed the tears that threatened to fill your eyes to fuck off. “Is there something you needed, Damon?”

Damon clicked his tongue before giving you a little smirk. “So testy. Can’t I just say hi to an old friend?”

“You can do whatever you want, but let’s not pretend that these aren’t the first words you’ve said to me in months. Whatever we are, we’re not friends. Not anymore.” And god you wished that didn’t hurt as much as it did.

He made a show of looking around the room. “I just noticed that you were alone. Not a Mikaelson in sight. Thought I’d check to see if you’ve finally come to your senses?”

You swallowed what was left of your drink in answer. Anything else you said would only lead to a repeat of the same argument you’d had a hundred times.

He tapped his fingers on the table. “I’ll take that as a no.” After a moment of silence, he pursed his lips and leaned forward. “Or perhaps they’ve learned that your loyalty is a fickle thing and they’ve kicked you out of their little family.”

“Fuck you, Damon.” You wished you hadn’t finished your drink so you could throw it in his face. “I wasn’t the disloyal one. All of you turned your back on me because I saved someone’s life.”

“Not just someone. Kol fucking Mikaelson. You knew it was a betrayal before you even did it. How were we supposed to overlook that? To ever trust you again?”

“Honestly, I thought you’d all lost your ever-loving minds. Why would any of you think it was okay to not only kill Kol but everyone that would go with him?”

“It was to save Elena.” Damon all but hissed the words.

“No. It was to make her human again. Big difference.” You leaned back with a frown and signaled for another drink. “You know, for someone that claims to love a vampire, she certainly has a deep-seated hatred for them.”

Damon’s gaze moved over you as though he were looking for something. It wasn’t until your drink was delivered that he spoke again. “They don’t care about you, you know. They never did. Getting you on their side just another way to get under our skin.”

You sipped at your drink as you looked him over. If he only knew the number of times you had convinced Klaus not to kill one of them. The number of times you’d redirected the hybrid’s rage or Kol’s anger. Then again, maybe he wouldn’t care at all. “I’m not a tool, Damon. I’d know if they were using me.”

His ever-present smirk faded as his eyes turned cold. “Would you? You believed everything I told you readily enough. Of course, you were so lonely you would have believed most anything, wouldn’t you? Anything to have a friend. Somewhere to go where you weren’t alone.”

You clenched your teeth tightly and refused to meet his gaze as he threw confessions made over late night glasses of Scotch back at you. “Were you never my friend then?” You hated yourself for asking the question. Even more for the way your voice broke as you did.

He tilted his head. “Oh sweetheart, why would I have been?”

And with that, he was gone. So nice of him to stop by. You downed what was left of your drink and signaled for another.

By the time you determined no amount of alcohol was going to erase Damon’s words from your brain, you were well and truly drunk. When the waitress came by to check on you, you ordered a glass of water and pulled out your phone.

You tapped your finger against the back of it as you thought. Going home to your empty house meant wallowing in self-pity until you passed out and then probably doing the same thing when you woke. Kol or Klaus were always your first call at moments like this, but you had no idea what kind of business they had to do and didn’t want to interrupt if it was something important. The last thing you needed was for them to be angry with you as well. Rebekah was out of town.

That left Elijah. You weren’t as close to him as the others through no fault of his. No, he’d gone out of his way to make you feel welcome, to extend the hand of friendship. But you were painfully shy when he was around. If there was one thing in life that could be counted on, it was the fact that you would be incredibly awkward around anyone you felt the slightest interest in. Poor Elijah probably thought you hated him. Klaus however thought the way you clammed up in his brother’s presence was hilarious.

Maybe that was the only reason they kept you around. Because you entertained them. At this point, did it really matter? Even if they didn’t need you, you needed them. Without the Mikaelsons you would be completely, utterly alone. Maybe you should start thinking about moving on. You could just start over somewhere else. Preferably somewhere with no supernatural drama. That would be fantastic.

After giving it another moment’s thought, you pressed the screen and called Elijah.

He answered on the second ring. “Y/N. Lovely to hear from you. To what do I owe the pleasure?”

Tears flooded your eyes at the warmth in his voice and a lump formed in your throat. “I’m sorry to bother you, Elijah. I just…” You trailed off and sucked in a deep breath to keep from crying.

“Is everything all right?”

You cleared your throat. “Not really, no. Could you come pick me up at the Grill?”

“Of course.”

You hung up and slid your phone back into your pocket. After pushing yourself to your feet, you stood still for a moment to get your bearings. When you glanced toward the bar to signal for your check, your gaze met Damon’s. He smirked as he ran his eyes over you and saluted you with his glass, clearly knowing he was the reason for your current state. Deciding to wait for Elijah outside, you tossed enough money on the table to take care of your ticket and a generous tip.

The cool air bit at your skin as you stepped outside. You moved to the end of the building and leaned against the wall. You tilted your head back to lean against the brick. Closing your eyes, you took a deep breath of the crisp air to sober yourself up a bit and drive back the tears.

“It’s not safe for you to be out here by yourself, Y/N. You never know who might wander by.” Damon’s voice cut through you but you maintained your position.

“Why are you doing this?” Relief flooded you when your voice didn’t break. You didn’t want to give him the satisfaction. “Just leave me alone.”

“Where’s the fun in that?”

The only response that came to mind was telling him to fuck off so you kept your mouth shut and ignored him. Or you tried to at any rate.

A firm hand grabbed your chin and tilted your head down. The pressure he applied was enough to send a jolt of pain through your jaw. Your eyes shot open at the violation. “Don’t ignore me.”

You jerked your head to the side and he released you. “Don’t touch me.” At least the anger chased away the tears.

He placed his hands on either side of your head and leaned in until barely a breath separated you. You pushed against him though it did no good. You knew it wouldn’t but you couldn’t just stand there and let him do whatever he wanted. “Get away from me, Damon.”

“Why should I? You like vampires, don’t you, Y/N?”

Your eyes darted up to meet his and you realized that your comments about Elena had bothered him just as much as his words hurt you. Good. Asshole. “I like some vampires. I’m not particularly fond of you at the moment.”

He snarled and shoved himself off the wall putting some much needed space between the two of you. “You think you’re better than me? You’re nothing. Less than nothing. The only attention you received from me was pity.” Every word he threw at you struck like a physical blow. And the smile that crossed his face told you he was very much aware of it. But he wasn’t finished yet. “I pitied you, took you in and you repaid me by siding with the Mikaelsons. God only knows what they’re still keeping you around for but when they finish with you—after they’ve taken whatever it is they want from you—don’t come crying to us. Frankly, I’m glad to be rid of you. We all are.”

Hot tears began to leak down your cheeks and you wanted nothing more than to escape. Before you could run away or even think of another response, Damon was slammed face first into the wall beside you. You jumped away in response, relaxing when you saw it was Elijah holding him there. He had Damon’s arm twisted behind his back and kept him pressed to the wall with a hand between his shoulder blades.

“Get off me,” Damon demanded as he struggled to free himself.

Elijah ignored him, placing all of his attention on you. “Are you all right?”

You swallowed past the lump in your throat. “I’m not injured if that’s what you mean. He was just being an asshole.”

He hummed as he arched a brow. “Yes, well, it is Damon.”

The corner of your mouth kicked up and you wiped the tears from your cheeks. Elijah stepped back, pulling Damon away from the wall in the process though he still didn’t release him. “In the future, it would be wise for you to leave Y/N alone. The next time we have this conversation won’t end as pleasantly for you.” Only then did he let him go and Damon was gone in the blink of an eye.

Elijah placed his hand on your back to direct you to his car parked a short distance away. It wasn’t until he’d started to drive that either of you said anything.

“Would you mind just driving around for a while? If it’s not too much of a bother I mean.”

The silence stretched but you resisted the urge to look at him. Fresh tears were running down your cheeks and you preferred to keep that to yourself for the time being.

“Of course, it’s not a bother,” he finally responded, his voice quiet, concerned. “Whatever you need.”

Some time later you wiped the tears from your cheeks and turned to watch Elijah drive. His face was drawn and he had a firm grip on the steering wheel. He glanced your direction and smiled when he met your gaze. “Do you want to talk about it?”

You shrugged a shoulder. “Can I ask you a question?”

“Certainly.”

“Why do you keep me around?”

“What?” He couldn’t have sounded more surprised if he tried.

You turned your attention back to the view from your window. “Not you specifically. All of you. I mean, you don’t owe me anything if that’s what you think. Or maybe you just feel bad for me because everyone else is mad at me. You don’t have to. I’d do okay on my own.”

Elijah didn’t respond right away and you figured he was trying to think of a way to gently break the truth. Just as you were about to tell him it wasn’t necessary, the car slid to a smooth stop. You glanced around to see nothing but trees and you hadn’t been paying attention to the direction Elijah drove from town. You had no idea where you were.

“Look at me, Y/N.”

You turned in your seat so you faced him as much as possible. His dark gaze ran over you and if you didn’t know better, you’d swear you saw sorrow in his eyes. After a moment, he cleared his throat. “What exactly happened tonight?”

You glanced away as your hands twisted together in your lap. “Nothing. I told you he was just being an asshole.”

“Why don’t you try expanding on that a bit, sweetheart. I’m afraid I’m not buying it at the moment.”

You stayed silent as you figured out how to phrase everything so it would make sense.

“Y/N—” Elijah started and you held up a hand to cut him off.

“The thing about your best friend deciding they hate you is that they take everything they know about you and use it to hurt you. And god, Damon’s a pro at it. He hits the mark every time.”

“What do you mean every time? Has this happened before?” The irritation in Elijah’s voice made you smile.

“Not for a while. Right after the whole Kol thing, it happened almost daily. I figured he was done being an ass to me. Guess I was wrong.”

“Why did you not say anything?”

You shrugged again. “It didn’t seem important at the time. I just quit going anywhere I might run into him or the others unless one of you was with me. I figured it had been long enough I’d be safe to have dinner and a couple of drinks without a bodyguard.”

His hand reached out to cover yours where they still twisted together in your lap. Your face heated immediately but you didn’t pull away. “Y/N, if it was bad enough to keep you from living your life the way you wished, it was very important. I can’t believe none of us were aware of this.”

You shook your head, not wanting to argue the point. “It was just pokes. Snide comments, dirty looks. Tonight though…He said he was never my friend. That he pitied me and took me in and I betrayed them. He said there was no reason for anyone to ever be my friend.” Your voice trailed off at the end until it was barely audible. And once again you found yourself unable to look the vampire in the eyes.

He hummed in acknowledgement and released his hold on your hands. Seconds later he was out of the car and opening your door. He offered you a hand to help you out and you took it with no hesitation. He led you toward the front of the car before lifting you and placing you on the hood. You looked up at him with wide eyes as he stepped forward, placing himself between your knees.

One hand settled on your waist while the other hooked around the side of your neck, his thumb tracing the line of your jaw. You swallowed past the lump in your throat as he stared down at you with a serious expression. “Listen to me, Y/N. The Mikaelsons pity no one. We are a thousand years old. We have long ceased wasting our time on those that we deem unworthy. Damon is simply pissed that he never wormed his way into your bed before you proved yourself to be monumentally out of his league.”

The corner of your mouth kicked up a bit at that though you weren’t sure you believed him. There was one part of what Damon said that still bothered you. “He said once you all get what you want from me, you’ll toss me away and I’ll be alone again.”

His hold tightened enough to let you know he was upset but not enough to hurt. His jaw set and he took several breaths before responding. “The only thing my siblings desire from you is your companionship, Y/N.”

There was a brief flash of hurt that he hadn’t included himself in the statement. The look in his eyes had you pressing for more. “And you? What do you desire from me, Elijah?”

The press of his lips against yours was an answer you could never have anticipated. His hands pulled you forward and you slid off the hood to erase the space between your bodies. The hand on your neck shifted to bury his fingers in your hair while his other arm wrapped around your waist. Your hands gripped the lapels on his jacket as you tried to pull him closer.

Finally, the two of you separated and your chest heaved as you sucked in much needed air. “That was…unexpected,” you breathed.

“Unexpected but not unwelcome I hope.” A smile flirted with his lips as his dark gaze studied you.

You shook your head and he kissed you again before resting his forehead against yours. “I’m sorry Damon hurt you, Y/N. I won’t allow it to happen again.”

“How can he possibly hurt me when I have you to protect me?”

His low chuckle rolled through you as you leaned up to kiss him again. As his hands gripped your waist you couldn’t help but be a little bit grateful that Damon was such an asshole.

[missinghan]

aria of an assassin ⤖ lee minho

❖ genre : assassin au; fluff; angst

❖ word count : 6,2k.

❖ warning : mentions of blood & violence, explicit language 

❖ summary : minho hasn’t been fazed for decades throughout his bloodied career until the next target happens to be a black cat and he’s suddenly incapable of pulling the trigger.

❖ note : okay, so it’s been a year? this tiny, stupid blog is turning one year old today? yea I couldn’t believe it either. this is to all of my mutuals and readers out there, I don’t say it enough but I truly appreciate each and every one of you 🖤 I wish I could have written something longer but due to school, this random piece will have to do for now.

❖ the sequel : with felix is out!

one.

“Shit.”

Minho grits in a hushed tone although all that has been accompanying him is the pitiful moonlight and icy breeze dissolving into every fiber of his skin. Every minuscule movement suddenly becomes too irritating to his eardrums. The hustle and bustle life of the city at night. Terrible traffic. Even the sound of his own inhales and exhales. 

What is that thing?

He thinks to himself, proceeding to expand his eyesight with the pair of scopes; confusion soon flares into curiosity, then faint anger and dead silence. He swears his heartbeat just paused awkwardly like a broken record for a split second there. Such strange, or odd targets are no stranger to him; nor do they stir something inside the coldness of his rib cage. 

Not an easy kill, they say. And not easy it is. 

Because whatever he’s watching with his very eyes is a cat. A goddamn cat with a coat as sleek pitch as the dark canvas upon his head and piercing golden eyes. The peculiar animal walks with its head held high like it’s lording over everyone else—such self-reassurance, such radiance some humans cease to possess. 

It’s dangerous, they say. But it’s a fucking cat! Irritation bubbles up at the back of his throat, makes his skin crawl, and causes a bark of profanity to leave his lips once more. Has it not occurred to his client that he doesn’t kill children and animals? When it’s clearly been written on the contract? In bold, underlined, and everything?

They could have at least given him more details on what he’s getting himself to this time. 

An exhale. He packs up his things, pulls his black cap down a little, and leaves the top of the building without looking back. If he did, he would have seen those starry eyes boring holes onto his back. 

two.

The road Minho is walking through is more than familiar. For one, he takes the same path every day to grab a drink at his go-to place—a vending machine near an old, plain high school. 

It’s fair to say he knows every corner of the neighborhood like the back of his hand—from the dark alley where bullies beat up their classmates to the small stall of lemonade of a middle school girl who waves at him every morning. He never reciprocates though; it doesn’t feel right. The amount of apathy in his heart isn’t enough for him to act normally when taking lives is what he does for a living.  

For two, he used to have a part-time job at that particular high school for an old request. Due to his conscience, he did go out of his way to take the kill outside of the school—causing a catastrophe in such an environment makes him uncomfortable.

Just then, he stops. His brow raises. Isn’t that…

The black cat slinks through the crowd of nosy students in the direction of where he too is heading. It raises its nose and gives the air a rough sniff, making a face as though the general stagnant with exhaust fumes stench of the city disgusts the entirety of its existence. 

Watching it take a slight dip to avoid being hit with someone’s bag, Minho holds back every urge to come running at the creature and wrap his arms around its small figure. He wonders how long it’d take for the cat to reach its final destination because it’s definitely taking some sweet ass time to stride through the front of the main gate like a supermodel. Meanwhile, he’s stressed to the core as if the harmless high school filled with teenagers is nothing less than a battlefield. 

Is it testing him?

Something is oddly unsettling about an animal staring straight into his eyes. Paranoia fuels the forgotten irritation inside his chest, sets out to make him actually think those golden eyes are memorizing every inch of his feature. Then, they soften with what seems to be exhaustion, its tiny head turning and its tiny feet take it skipping gently away from the scene. 

Minho finally acknowledges the knot inside his stomach and the breath he’s been holding. With a harsh gulp, he no longer takes notice of the fact if his cap is hung low enough or if he’s walking too quickly. For the first time in long, a rush of adrenaline hits him hard enough to make him speed walk through the herd of chatty teenagers. 

Questions naturally pop up as his shoes kiss the ground, his shadow sprinting into a dark, though familiar alleyway. Was he hallucinating? But he’s been getting enough sleep and eating well. What makes him so certain that it was the same cat? Instincts or some sixth sense bullshit perhaps. If it was the cat that’s assigned to be killed off in a week, what’s so dangerous about it? And how long has he been running for? Seconds? Minutes? Hours? And to where? 

“You.”

Half-way through trying to keep his thoughts off of his face, Minho stops himself when a rather feminine voice echoes through the narrow space. Unsure of whether the voice was reaching out to him, his legs stop moving while his eyes are peering through the dark. Much to his heart’s dismay, shivers run up his spine when something comes in contact with the warm flesh of his neck. 

“What’s your name?” 

Slowly, with his hands on the back of his head, he turns on his heels. “Excuse you?”

You retract your gun-shaped fingers into the pocket of your jacket, phlegmatic eyes gazing at him through the thickness of the night. “I want to know your name,” you try to make your point clear, utterly unfazed. 

Minho stares you down for a good five seconds. Neatly dressed in the school uniform, an oversized jacket thrown over your body but no backpacks. There’s a name tag being embroidered onto the fabric in red “Shin Yuna - 1A”. Whoever you are, he’s certain that isn’t your name. That name doesn’t even suit you. That isn’t your uniform. 

“What’s the point?” he questions, hands dropped to the sides in slight relief. 

You tilt your head, expression neutral. “I have a habit of collecting names of people who tried or are trying to kill me. It’s quite relaxing to write it down on a list actually. You know, easier to keep track.”

He’s trying hard to not let any impulsive urges overthrow the rational side of his brain. Everything suddenly twitches in slow motion. His silence seems to bore you. Your eyes are more dead than angry, more done than irritated. Like you’ve been through this shit one too many times already to care. 

“At least say why you’re sent to kill me.”

That, Minho can answer within a blink of an eye. “They sent me because I don’t exist.”

Your gaze glistens with a glaze of boredom. “Everyone said so.”

“Yeah, no shit Sherlock. Where’s your house, kid? I’ll walk you back. It’d be a pain in the ass if your parents found out how you’re wandering alone after school,” he brushes it off like you’re a slight nuisance (which you are). His heartbeat spikes up once at the mention of family, one that you’ve acknowledged with ease. 

Your arms are folded over your chest now, to cover up the sudden stab of sympathy inside your chest. “There’s no need. I don’t have a place to go back to nor do I have parents who will nag me for staying out late.” 

His mind automatically blackouts along with his senses, blurred with such peculiar feelings swirling at the pit of his stomach. You make it sound like it’s not that big of a deal like you’ve utterly been numb for so long. It’s tragic but understandable. This isn’t the first time he has witnessed a story like yours—your parents, dead or alive, he does not know; by the sound of it, you’re an orphan. Another unfortunate being to graze this planet like himself. This means you can’t afford school, so that uniform really doesn’t belong to you. 

“You still haven’t told me your name.”

“It’s Lee Know. Call me Lee Know.”

“Don’t bother trying, Lee Know. No one has ever made it. They never did.” 

You didn’t mean to expose anything about your life to a total stranger, or specifically an assassin. However, nothing matters when you most likely won’t meet him again nor will he succeed in taking your life. Even the fact that he chose not to give you his real name amplifies how much shit he does not give about you. You don’t expect anything more honestly. 

“Alright, we’re done here,” you feign enthusiasm before clasping your hands together. “Go home. The sun is already going down.”

Strangely enough, Minho can only watch as your shadow shifts to the outline of a black cat before dipping into the depths of the starless night. 

three.

To Minho it’s always just another day in the office. Except his office is a windy rooftop overlooking the mark’s exact location. His tools—rather than a computer—is a state-of-the-art rifle with a telescopic lens. A silencer isn’t very important since traffic and people are more than enough to drown out any suspicious noises. Most will mistake it for a back-firing van. He takes aim with no more qualms than one would gossip about a colleague, then pulls the trigger while thinking about what to order other than Chinese for lunch. When the work is done, he carefully packs everything up into an inconspicuous rucksack. And leaves the scene, like a phantom. 

It’s always been the same boring, bloodied cycle. 

Yet something’s changed since Minho met you. 

He used to maintain a cool detachment to his targets. His conscience prefers not to think of them; whenever he does, it’s as if they’re already dead, mobile meat bags waiting to be laid on a cutting board. He doesn’t like to think merrily of his job, he doesn’t see it as helping them meet their destiny. None of that bullshit. To put it more nonchalantly, everyone will die one day. Minho considers it as a good way to go. Oblivious and in pain for one moment before completely gone the next. 

Simple. Convenient. Much less agonizing than this brutal world. 

Although that doesn’t mean he isn’t traumatized by the amount of blood that has stained his hands. On good days, he might get three to four hours of sleep. Bad days, few minutes to none at all. Terrifying nightmares gnaws at his soul every night, the ugly scar like a reminder of every single one of his sins. He can’t force himself to lose his sanity like any fools out there going down the same path. 

“Shit…” Minho mutters, running a rough hand through his hair. He didn’t sleep well last night—like every other night; hence the bad temper and bitter taste at the back of his throat. 

After a deep breath, he stares at his Hecate II with mischievous eyes—those of a hunter framed in the expressionless face of an executioner. His blunt hands are steady as they lift the shiny weapon over the concrete of a rooftop, drawing out a dry shot in his mind. 

Through his scope, he watches as you’re crossing the road in your human form before stopping abruptly in front of a random tree. You then proceed to squint your eyes and look up in the opposite direction. Minho unknowingly holds his breath, waits for you to release your iron gaze, and move on with your life. But his expectations don’t prevail. 

“What the fuck?” 

Without much patience, he curses before shifting his scope to the same direction only to find another shadow creeping around on the balcony of a nearby building. No time to think of a rational solution—killing them is an ideal one—Minho feels his palms growing sweaty when a small, peculiar object comes flying toward his way. His head quickly moves away before the bullet pierces through his scope, shattering the glass completely. 

“Son of a bitch,” he lets out a shaky breath. Crimson starts to drip down on the side of his cheekbone, but he can care less. 

Because that’s the least of his problem right now. 

Another subtle ‘bang’ can be heard in the distance, like a broken record scratching against his eardrums. Kid…! Minho’s heart collapses in realization. 

four. 

It’s not hard for Minho to do research on quite an amount of vital information about you. When he saw your body dropped to the ground lifelessly and an ambulance immediately drove by to pick up your body, he knew things weren’t going to end just like that. 

“Don’t bother trying, Lee Know. No one has ever made it. They never did.”

He isn’t a believer, has never been one. Yet when he managed to take out your kidnappers in that ambulance, your weak breaths startled his heart and shook his mind into awareness of how serious the situation is. After that, he tracked down the hitman who delivered the hard blow, put a bullet through his brain, and found an USB full of detailed information about your existence. Which just makes things a whole lot more complicated to understand. 

Apparently, you’ve been ‘killed’ one too many times before—there are photographs of your supposedly dead body in a bag, thrown into the deep, dark woods, other times into a nameless river. The thing about you is that you were once an experimental subject to your own biological parents who are sickeningly vile scientists. At the age of nine, you fell down the stairs and had a big gash on your head. They never knew because your wounds were quick to heal themselves. However, your whole life was flipped upside down when they saw you shapeshifting into a black cat while running around at the playground. 

From then, your life became a living hell behind cold metal bars with needles stuck in your arms and strange pills being forced down your throat almost every day. Their sudden change only nourished resentment through time until you managed to cut down the laboratory’s power supply and fled from your own home. 

You have no one to lean on. No place to go back to. No nothing. And you’re just a teenager. 

Minho feels awful. 

Usually, he isn’t the type to be empathetic nor does he have the energy to. It’s very out of character for him to let his emotions linger on a homeless kid with some supernatural abilities that will make his life that much more dangerous. Because to him, more often than not, people tend to give their condolences only to forget after brief moments of grieving. At the end of the day, it isn’t their own problem, it isn’t their own life. But now when it comes to you, Minho feels a strong sense of responsibility that if you end up dying, it’s on him. 

It’s stupidly conflicted, it really is. His job—blowing people’s brains out—is the sole reason why he makes a six-digit amount of money for every job. Therefore, he isn’t sure what picking a random kid up from a fake ambulance and bringing her back to his shabby apartment is going to do him any good. 

“Ah, you’re awake.” 

You hate the fact that you can recognize that voice. 

Just then, you wake as if it’s an emergency, as if sleeping has become a dangerous task. Your heart is pounding loudly inside your ears, the sound echoing listlessly to the pit of your rib cage. It’s always like this. It takes you some time to calm your nerves before gathering what exactly happened the moment you blacked out. 

Right, you think to yourself, groaning slightly while pushing yourself up. You were shot right in the chest, and your body was probably discarded somewhere. After that, you’d grab a hitchhiker so they’ll drive you back into town. Like always. The only difference, this time though, is Minho placing your limp body on his bed with a blanket to warm you up. 

His face appears within your eyesight when you’re done adjusting your vision to the bright room—you’re not used to this much light around. “You look calmer than I expected,” he mentions. 

Minho grabs your face and scans it over. “Let me see. Did your wounds close up properly?” 

The tender action, which has become weirdly natural to him although this is his first time, accidentally triggers something inside you. Your hand automatically slaps his away. It is an upfront refusal, but it doesn’t surprise him. He only offers you a comfortable moment of silence before placing a tray on the wooden nightstand. 

“Eat up. I’m not going to feed you,” he cocks his head toward the bowl of porridge with his arms crossed in front of his chest. 

“Why are you doing this?”

“Doing what?”

You glare at him in suspicion. “Bringing me home. Giving me a bed to sleep on. And even food to eat. What are you trying to get at?”

“Nothing. I didn’t kill you only because you’re too young for my moral code,” he pretends to roll his eyes, voicing monotonously. 

A frown adorns your tired features. “So you’re going to kill me when I get older then?” 

“Probably,” Minho smirks faintly with a cock of his eyebrow. “That depends if you still remember my name, Y/N.” 

One thing after another, this assassin only continues to baffle you. He was just going to shoot you the other day and now he’s giving you food? Preposterous! To put it simply, you’re unprepared for such kind actions, such gentleness from someone who takes lives for a living. You’re unprepared for dealing with people in general because they detest anyone who’s different from them—your kind, the kind with supernatural abilities and all. Hence, you’re left unwilling to befriend anyone and would rather be alone for the rest of your life. 

Until such twisted moira pushes you to—what was his name again? Not his real name, the made-up one that he uses in the underworld. 

You speak up softly after feeling safe enough to let your guards down, “Lee Know, was it?” 

“It’s Lee Minho.” 

“Pardon?”

He only smiles, “My real name. It’s Lee Minho.”

five. 

“Y/N! A little help over here?”

“Coming.”

“Y/N, go check the fog machine!”

“Got you.”

“Y/N, can you put these boxes over there?”

“Alright.”

That’s all you’ve been doing for the entirety of your boring day. Getting yelled out at, having people ask for help nonstop, and responding with a two-word answer at max. You’re not complaining—they pay you well enough, the job is more on the down-low side because you’re nothing but a mere stage crew for an above-average theatre studio. So you simply hoist the three final plastic boxes into your arms with a jerk of your knees and place it where they asked you to. Thanks to your parents, their experiments along with skeptical-looking substances have efficiently enhanced your general strength and agility. 

Another crew member perks up when you plop the heavy stack of cardboard boxes down with a loud thud. “Oh, can you carry those lights to stage left too?”

“Sure.” You could have pretended to pick up one box at a time and to drag your feet across the stage with difficulties to avoid being used. But you’re too lazy to repeat the same cycle two more times, so you really don’t have any other choice here. 

Nevertheless, you suppose it’s not entirely bad to do all of this heavy handiwork. Because it keeps your mind off of unwanted things, such as Lee Minho for example. Lee Minho, the assassin, not the actor—you’d gladly fangirl over that certain celebrity rather than admit that you actually enjoy the hitman’s abrupt presence in your life. 

The fact that you know he will find you even if it means traveling to the ends of the Earth and back doesn’t help to ease your insomnia. So for the past few days, you’ve been working extra hours along with picking up a job at a florist in hopes of not bumping into him. Stupid. You know it is. But how can you deal with a self-esteem crisis because the idea of being a burden just irks you so much? 

It’s like you’re hopelessly proving that you don’t need anyone when you, in fact, want that kind of unconditional love that every other human yearns for. 

After helping your colleagues out with the lighting, you simply sit behind those thick curtains until the show is over. Then, you head out, find a place to sleep, and head to an old lady’s place to pick up new clothes to change into for the next day. Since she’s been treating you with nothing but kindness, you’ve tried to pass by and helped her out at her son’s antique store too. 

Your routine is supposed to go that way and stay that way. You won’t die because you don’t like overworking yourself. You’re doing just great. 

“Hey, Y/N! Your brother is here to pick you up!”

Throwing your crewmate a blunt wave, you find your way out of the school’s theatre through a back door without shifting the expression on your face. You don’t have any siblings. And your colleagues don’t know anything about your family background either. So it, unfortunately, boils your guesses down to one. 

Despite knowing who it is and why they show up, you open your mouth to speak, “How did you find me again?”

Minho shows up with a more casual version of his working attire—instead of the fully black, monochromatic outfit, he’s changing it up with a leather jacket, white t-shirt and jeans. He leans on his shiny motorcycle smugly like he knows something that you don’t, in which you very much dislike. 

“Young lady, I’ll have you know that being an assassin helps me appear at places to do things I’m not supposed to do,” he ignores the fact that your question was purely rhetorical and chimes. 

You attempt to throw him a glare which isn’t intimidating enough. “Call me ‘young lady’ one more time and I’ll put my foot where it’s not supposed to be.” Who are you kidding? He’s a hitman when you’re just a kid. Pigs would be flying by the time you managed to physically shoo him away. 

“Am I supposed to guess where that is?”

“Enough. Go to work. Get out of here. Leave me alone.”

“I’m sorry, are you encouraging me to kill people?” Minho gasps, acting shocked and appalled. Clearly, he’s not good at it despite sharing a name with a well-known actor. 

You can only retort harshly, “Don’t put words in my mouth, you ass.”

“Come on, kid. Let’s go get something to eat.”

“Why?”

His hand automatically reaches for your forearm. “Don’t people eat for pleasure? What’s wrong with you?”

Your heart leaps in, anger perhaps, pupils shaking when he closes in on you. Upon your reaction, Minho retracts his arm immediately. He should have thought better of it; you’re probably too traumatized to be dealing with him right now. 

At that, your eyes round at the remorse on his face and you could have glared him off right then and there. But somehow, your basic human manners overcome your usual snappy self, letting you think that maybe he means no harm. Maybe he’s checking up on you one last time before going on about his life. You shouldn’t be too riled up about it just because he tried to kill you once.

Minho catches the familiar anxious gaze and sighs, “Okay, we don’t have to get something to eat. I’ll give you a ride back. Do you have somewhere to stay the night?”

It’s rotten work, whatever he’s trying to do. So you shake the harmless tingle inside your chest away before pushing past him. “No,” you answer dryly and leave. 

six.

You go to work sick the day after because you couldn’t find a place to sleep in and had to make do with napping in front of a tattoo place. Yes, napping; because when you finally shifted into your cat form and allowed your eyes to rest, the sky started pouring waterfalls. The rain had soaked into your shiny black coat, making it frizzy and luring the sickness up your spine the moment you tried finding a different haven.

No one notices. No one.

Not even the mask, the extra layer of sweatshirt nor your hushed coughs every now and then. Despite downing the cold pills early in the morning, you’re only burning up harder by the second. Oh, you know! Maybe they just don’t care, that’s it. Because calling in off for work due to a minor cold isn’t a valid reason. However, you’re still shivering on the inside and burning on the outside. Enhanced genes or any of that bullshit isn’t enough to prevent you from getting sick like any other student. Perhaps something wasn’t complete, or they’d messed up somewhere. Perhaps that’s why they’re trying to get you back.

How foolish of you to think somewhere deep down, they still want you back. With a reason as blunt as you being their child. 

Drowning in deep thoughts, you almost crash into a pile of boxes filled with equipment when your foot gets tangled to a random cable. Your eyes automatically screw shut as you wait for the impact but it never comes. Only a gentle pair of hands on your shoulders did. From that point on, you can’t hear or see properly. You don’t even have enough stamina to register who’s holding onto you so reassuringly. Whatever is happening gets hazier by the tick of a clock. It’s either you’re hallucinating or Minho is giving you that mirthful scowl of his. 

Yep, you’re definitely hallucinating.

“Why didn’t you call in sick for work?”

“That’s a stupid fucking question.”

A frown adorns his perplexed features as his glassy eyes skim your face. He has a really pretty smile, he should smile more, you think. His hand latches onto your burning forehead, slides down on the side of your cheek with such grace as though he’s caressing you. A grumble leaves his lips at your dreadful state. This is why he should have never let you go in the first place. 

“Come on, kid. Let me help you,” Minho says before giving your arm a light tug.

You don’t like what you just heard. “I don’t need your help.”

“You can barely walk.”

“Who said so-” As if on cue, he lets go of your arm bluntly. Caught off guard, your legs go weak without any remaining strength. You stumble and would have most likely fallen on your face if it weren’t for his grip on your arm. A gasp comes out inaudible when he hoists you upright, not planning to let go any time soon.

Minho scratches the tip of his nose with his ring finger, sniffing lightly. It seems like he’s arguing with a younger version of himself. He now knows how it felt like for those caretakers back then. 

“You did,” he says with the same smirk when you woke up in his apartment for the first time.

seven.

That’s the only time you’ve ever allowed someone to help you with something. But Minho had to constantly check on you every two seconds, not wanting you to fall asleep on his bike while it’s speeding down the highway like a gust of wind. For a moment there, he really thought you would slip away into the night as he tried to find his keys because that’s just how you are. 

Minho is no doctor, but he doesn’t go to one for a cold or a really bad fever. He can manage, he tries to convince himself. 

After testing your temperature and giving you something new to change into, he slaps a cool gel patch onto your forehead before heading off to the kitchen to cook up something. You need to be full to be able to take your medicine anyway.

In the act of resting on his bed, you decide you can’t take staying in the same spot anymore so your body perks up in a sluggish manner. The aroma of home-cooked food wakes your senses almost immediately, causing you to look over at his busy figure by the marble counter. You think it’s endearing how he hasn’t bothered to change into something more comfortable. But he instead threw an apron over his working attire and dived right into the cooking process. 

You have always felt like you were missing out on something whenever you looked at Minho. Perhaps it was how his striking eyes stared at you, whether mischievous or else. Perhaps it was how his lips were turning down most of the time with less than affectionate words. 

Or it’s plainly how he has been trying to hide that he actually cares. 

“Hungry?” He tilts his head to the side playfully once his sixth sense starts kicking in. 

You can only nod. “Yeah.” 

It takes Minho a lot of convincing yet you won’t let him feed you. Like hell, you would. Therefore, with helpless eyes, he watches you from across the table. He doesn’t laugh or get annoyed when your shaky hand drops the spoon and splatters the soup all over the table. His hand simply reaches for a piece of paper towel to clean up the mess, tossing it into the trash bin later. The same cycle repeats in comforting silence until you finish the entire bowl. The soup definitely wasn’t five-star worthy. But it’s enough to warm you up inside and out. Of course, Minho chooses to let the dishwasher do the job—his hatred for doing dishes is always at its finest. 

Then, like the other night, he has already passed out on the table with a blanket draped over his body when you step out of the shower. Instead of plopping the weight of your exhaustion onto his bed this time, your legs stay frozen like cement on the floor while your eyes take in his reclined figure under the thin fabric. Minho is sleeping with his head buried in his arms, his glasses and messy files abandoned to the side. He’s definitely not a heavy sleeper because he doesn’t snore; only feather-like breaths can be heard through this endless beat of silence. The faintly blinking light from his laptop makes you feel exposed so you push yourself toward the balcony. 

A hiss comes out hushed and quiet when your feet come into contact with the cold tile floor, bringing you across the studio apartment with small tiptoes. You peer over your shoulder, gazing at the only available source of light. Unconsciously, you ball your fists. 

With a soft sigh, you slide open the glass door and step out to bathe yourself in the comfort of the moonlight. Despite the chilling air of the night, something warm fills up your lungs like an overflowed cup of wine. It suffocates you a little until the knots in your muscles and mind loosen; a sense of relief washes over you—you haven’t felt that in years. 

Nothing makes sense. 

A hitman hired by your parents shouldn’t be putting a roof over your head, tucking you into bed nor feeding you. Minho barely knows you; and your knowledge about him as a genuine person isn’t enough to convince you that this is reality. Because after years of wandering the streets, being tossed around like trash with plenty of a series of unfortunate events, you’ve made it a habit to sink into yourself. 

So the longer you stay here, the more you’ll get attached to him. And the more you get attached, the more he takes away your default instincts to turn your back on everything.

Guilt wells up inside your chest as though it’s an old habit, a setting by default. If you ever try to go over the moderate line, you will break. 

Holding back a croaked sob, you know that once you let it go, tears will only start flooding. With a push of your muscles, you effortlessly hoist yourself up the metal railings in one go. The wind combs through your hair like an empathetic hand but you ignore it, Minho’s sweater closing in on your skin. 

You should leave, you try to urge yourself. You should jump off and dive into the depths of the night, let the allure cradle you in its emotionless arms. 

Because after all, despite all those eyes on you out there, you’re ultimately alone within. 

A foot dips out into thin air once the slump in your shoulders goes weightless. Immediately after, an incredible force pulls you by the ankle, and to the ground with a loud thud. Minho falls onto his back harshly, groaning slightly with you on top of him.

He knew what you were trying to do, he saw it the other night with his own eyes. Even under the knowledge of your capabilities, Minho still feels a rush of panic rising inside his chest. It’s only until his arms fully have a hold of you does his racing heartbeats slow down. Supernatural abilities or none, you’re still sick. And he’d be losing his mind if he woke up to an empty bed tomorrow morning. 

“Don’t ever do that again,” he speaks with trembling vocal cords, in a tone you’ve never heard before. Strict but mellow. As though there’s a race inside his mind but he’s desperately trying to keep his cool. It’s fear. The moment he’s introduced to the idea of losing you—it’s genuine fear. 

“Minho, I can’t die. Didn’t I tell you—“

His grip squeezes you in a breath tighter, cutting you off completely. “The fuck were you thinking? You can’t just jump off the balcony like that!”

“I already told you. I can’t die. Minho, I’ve done that plenty of times before,” you furrow your brows in a troubled manner, unsure of how to react. 

Minho widens his eyes at you in sheer disbelief. Shock riddles his senses and gets the best of him. So now he’s fussing with his hands, incoherent profanity leaving his lips non-stop within the next thirty seconds or so. He’s usually very calm, collected, calculating, and cold. This is very unlike him. It makes you wonder why he’s acting this way. He knows that you can’t die from jumping off a building. So what’s there to worry about? 

“You’re such an idiot! Try doing that again and I’ll kill you with my own-“

You truly don’t know how important you are to him. Frankly, he hasn’t even realized that yet. 

“I’m sorry,” you say, pulling him closer. Since you’re bad at resolving any kind of conflict, you opt for the most rational solution—going with his flow until he’s calmed down. “I won’t do that again, promise.” 

His lips fall agape at your words. He wasn’t expecting that. And even when you see how he’s reacting to your sudden change, you decide it’s no time to back down. This might be the only time you could show him that you’re at least grateful for everything he’s done. 

He’s quieted down now. And when he manages to speak again without tripping over his own words, his voice comes out as a whisper. “Hey kid,” he looks down at you, wanting to stroke your hair but drops his hand in sheer defeat. “You didn’t answer my question earlier. Why didn’t you call in sick for work?”

“Who would do my job when I’m gone? Isn’t that irresponsible?” You exhale deeply before fluttering your eyes close, finding odd peace within the rhythm of his heart. 

Minho says pointedly, “Well, you could have asked someone to help you with it.”

“No one would help me.”

“How’d you know? Have you tried asking them before?” 

Your eyes shoot open and flicker around your surroundings, you’re at a loss for words for a split second there. Heat rushes to the apples of your cheeks in shame, your head hung terribly low. “I’m not used to asking for help. I’d hate to be a burden,” you confess. 

Innocence glimmers in your eyes when you look up at him, waterlines threatening to break any second now. Your lashes are slightly damped and how lost you’re looking right now can physically draw crimson on his heart. At the end of the day, you’re just a kid. You had to grow up the hard way, with no one by your side telling you what’s right and what’s wrong, even simple things like how to react to non-verbal affection. 

Don’t let her go, Minho. Not now. Not ever.

“Then fix it now.”

“What?” You pause. 

“If you need help, ask for it. If things are hard, say it. I’ll be there to give you a hand.”

Tears well up in your eyes, croaked sobs shake your body, only prompting him to pull your closer. It’s warm. Damnit, why is it so warm? “I-I can’t sleep. Sing me something?”

“Anything?”

“Anything.”

Minho just knows that he would bleed with you even when the rain pours and the sky falls one day.

[motherjoel]

last cup of coffee (spencer reid x reader)

summary: you and spencer are the famous frenemies of the BAU, but one day he goes too far in a fight and the team decides to force you both into the same car to make up. little did you know, the check engine light isn’t just a suggestion.

a/n: this is on my ao3 but i wanted to post it on here too! let me know what you think :)

wc: 2.6k

tw: brief mention of suicide

-

“Triple A says it’ll be a few hours before they’ll get here,” Spencer sighed, shutting off his phone and shoving it in his pocket. The car engine had stopped working about 10 minutes ago and you cursed yourself for your terrible navigation skills. It may have been your fault that you had no idea where you were, but you'd never admit to it- like many other things you’d never admit to. Your extreme sense of pride led you to blame Spencer for not doing anything about the check engine light. It was this same sense of pride that hid your real feelings for this man- feelings you would never admit to even yourself. Instead, you shielded yourself from these emotions in the form of daily bickering matches with Mr. Genius.

The two of you had ended up in the same car on the way back to the hotel, which was insisted on by the team. You could feel the tension in the air- the tension that had been there since you stormed out of the break room earlier. You both normally never went for blood in these arguments- nothing behind either of your words were to be taken seriously, even the team knew this. Everyone knew that you and Spencer had a bit of a love hate relationship- today, however, was focused on hate. Ever since he went a little too far during one of your bickering matches, you had been icy with him. The team couldn’t take the tension, so they figured a long car ride would solve the issue, except, what was meant to be only an hour of awkward silence was now an indefinite amount of time.

“Well that's just great,” you huffed, going to check your phone to see that it was dead. You dropped it into your lap with a sigh and leaned your head on the window to gaze outside. The cold glass felt nice on your forehead- a contrast to the flushed hotness you had been feeling whenever your mind drifted to your fight with Spencer. The pent up anxiety from this case had really weighed on you- the unsub was killing teen girls and was framing the deaths to look like a suicides. This struck a chord with you, but you tried your hardest to not let it show. You thought back to your argument earlier, where your icy exterior had faltered slightly.

Most of the team was in the break room of the police station you were working the case at, fueling up on the coffee you all so desperately needed. You were the last one to fill your cup, or so you assumed, so you decided to fill your mug to the top with what was left in the coffee pot. Spencer was the last to walk in, and when he saw you holding the empty pot he immediately started in on you.

“Wow, I'm not surprised Y/N took the last of the coffee. Predictable,” he said with a huff, slamming his travel mug on the counter. You winced at the noise, your stress headache was back and you didn’t feel like dealing with his temper.

“You know what Reid? Maybe if you weren’t shitting around with that pretty receptionist over there, you would’ve gotten here on time. Not my fault men think with their dicks,” you said the last sentence under your breath, but he definitely heard it from his flustered reaction.

“I was asking her to bring me some files!” he yelled, seemingly defending himself to the room of your teammates who had stopped in their tracks to watch their daily entertainment. “You know what, Y/N, you’re just insufferable,” he said, turning to the coffee machine to fill it up. Your eyes widened, but you tried your best to mask your expression or to come with a response- when both failed, you stormed out of the room and went to the bathroom to ground yourself, not hearing Morgan whack him on the back of the head once you were out of sight.

-

You had both been silent for about 20 minutes when you decided to look back at him for the first time. He was shifting in his seat, trying to get comfortable for a nap. You couldn’t stand to sit here in silence for what could possibly be hours, so you tried to break the ice.

“Tired?” you asked him. Simple, but enough to get the two of you talking. Or so you thought.

“Yeah, someone took the last cup of coffee,” he said sarcastically, not daring eye contact.

Groaning, you opened the car door, stepped out and slammed it, deciding to walk down the street you had stopped on until you reached the dead end. It had begun to snow as you walked, and you cursed yourself for forgetting your jacket. At this point, it didn’t matter- the icy coldness of the outdoors was better than the coldness coming from Spencer's attitude.

 After walking for a few minutes, you had come across a cliff with a view overlooking the city below. The sight was enough to make you forget about your dead phone and the genius, who had, unbeknownst to you, quietly followed you to this spot. You spotted a green wooden bench overlooking the city and took a seat. It wasn’t long before your tears began to flow. They were wet hot tears of embarrassment, of anger, and of sadness. For years working in the BAU, you had tried to keep up your barrier, being the badass in the black boots (Garica’s loving nickname for you). Your past weighed on you, however, and you kept everyone at an arm's length. All of these people you so desperately wanted to be closer to, and one person in particular who uncharacteristically gave you butterflies. Letting these people in, however, meant vulnerability. Getting close to someone just meant that losing them would inflict great pain on you, and you didn’t think you could survive any more loss in your life.

After crying for a few minutes and wiping your tears on your sleeves, you felt a sweater being draped around your shoulders. The sweater smelled like him. He made his way around the bench and sat next to you. You hastily wiped the last of your tears and scooted to the edge of the bench to stay as far away from Spencer as possible.

“So, why'd you follow me? I thought I was ‘insufferable’” you quoted him from earlier, the sentiment that struck a chord. You hugged the sweater tighter to your body, ignoring that it belonged to him because the chill of the night catching up with you.

“Listen, Y/N, I'm sorry about that. You know how I get when I'm having difficulty with a case, and it's not like we have a great track record with each other,” he defended himself, and he was right. Neither of you really expressed outward kindness for each other, but you never knew why. “But… I didn’t think today was any different,” he finally looked up at you. 

“You’re right, Reid. Today isn’t any different,” you sighed, avoiding actually telling him what was wrong- although your splotchy red post-cry face was telling enough. He flinched at your use of Reid- although you two were “frenemies,” you always called him Spencer, sometimes even Spence. The team teased you for it but you shrugged it off- “Spence” was just easier to say, or so you told yourself.

“Then… why did you storm off?” he asked softly, looking back down at his hands on his lap, fidgeting with them slightly. You avoided his gaze, knowing that you were about to tell him something that only Garcia knows- she did a bit of research on you because she wanted to know why you were so cold, and when she found out that your parents had died at a young age, she was nothing but kind to you. She also kept everything to herself, which you were grateful for.

“When I was in high school, I was in a really bad place,” you started, fighting back the tears. Spencer scooted closer to you, urging you to continue. “I wasn't very well liked. When I was 15, my parents both died in a car crash and I transferred schools to live with my aunt,” you confessed. Spencer's expression saddened greatly, and he rested his hand on your arm as a form of comfort. You gave him a look that said “oh, and that's not even the half of my trauma” before you continued.

“At this new school, I was bullied a lot. Like, a lot a lot. People told me I was a waste of space, I was… insufferable,” you said, ignoring his pitying expression. “I started to believe these things. Spence… I tried to take my own life,” you said, finally breaking down in tears. Before you could continue, he wrapped his arms around you and you buried your face in his chest, letting your messy tears stain his shirt without thinking twice. His hands stroked your back, soothing you. You had melted into him, finally feeling vulnerable for the first time in years. For some reason, you were no longer embarrassed of your vulnerable side. You bore your heart and soul to this man and were greeted with nothing but kindness. Pulling away for a moment, you continued telling your story.

“I’m doing a lot better now,” you said, wiping your tears with your sleeve as he maintained eye contact, showing his full support. “I don’t have those thoughts anymore, and if I do I know to get help. It’s just difficult to get close to people because I'm afraid… that if I lose them, I’ll be right back where I was when I was 18,” you finished, realizing his hands were grabbing yours.

“Y/N, I am so sorry. This case probably affected you differently and I was such an ass earlier, god I'm terrible,” he criticized himself, putting his head in his hands. You reached over and took his hands in yours again, resting your entwined fingers between you. This was the most physical contact you had ever had with him, but for some reason it felt more right than anything- you never knew what you were missing until now.

“Spence, there's no way that you would have known,” you soothed, looking into his eyes and rubbing his hand with your thumb. He looked down at your hands and sighed, before returning his gaze to you, but there was something different about his expression. Rather than his usual contempt, or even the pity from a few minutes ago, he now looked almost amazed. Like you were some celebrity or a superhero who had just saved the world. Before you even knew what you were doing, you started to lean in, Spencer mirroring you. Soon enough, you were inches away from his fluttering lashes, you could feel his breath on your lips. You pulled away suddenly, apologizing profusely for your out of character actions.

“Oh my god Spence, I'm so sorry, I think I'm just emotional right now, and you're being so nice to me, I didn’t mean to make things weird,” you avoided eye contact, face flushed with embarrassment.

“Y/N, it's okay! I leaned in too…” he blushed. You looked back up at him to see his eyes were already on you. Simultaneously, you both leaned in and crushed your lips together, his arms snaking around your waist and yours resting on the sides of his face. Your lips moved in perfect harmony with passion as you leaned your back against the bench armrest, him leaning forward to keep your lips connected. There was a hunger between you two- like these years of bickering and sexual tension (that apparently everyone but you two had noticed) had built up so much, it finally spilled and manifested itself as a makeout session with your once enemy.

You didn’t know how long you stayed like this, entwined with each other, before you both came up for air. He pulled away from you, still leaning over you but his face was now a couple inches away, and smiled. You both sat up and started to laugh uncontrollably. It was ridiculous, really- the two of you having an intense makeout sesh only seconds after you bore your soul to him. But he was Spencer, and you were you. 

“That was…” you started.

“Amazing,” Spencer finished for you. You both sat in silence for a minute, his hand touching his lips, before you scooted closer to him and rested your head on his shoulder, curling your legs under you. He wrapped his arm around you and your hands met, resting between the two of your warm bodies.

 “What are you thinking about?” he asks you. You sigh in contentment, the cold air biting your nose in the right way.

“I'm thinking that this is one of those moments that are so... perfect. It’s just so wonderful, you almost feel sad because... nothing will ever be this good again,” you confessed. He took his arm back from around your shoulder and faced you, looking in your eyes.

“If you’ll be my girlfriend, I can promise you that we can have endless moments like this,” he told you, taking you by surprise. You looked at him, smiling widely as his face broke into insecurity.

“Your… girlfriend?” you asked, still in shock. He started to fidget a bit in his seat.

“Obviously, you don't have to do anything you don't want to do, I know this is really sudden but I don't know… I'm sorry, I know we're supposed to hate each other or whatever, but I’ve just… I’ve liked you for a while now,” he blurted. You laughed at his shyness, it was really adorable to see him flustered like this around you.

 “Spencer, I really like you. I’ve liked you ever since you spilled your coffee on me on my first day,” you recalled fondly, he smiled. “I even liked you when you tried to clean it up but accidentally felt up my boob,” you laughed at that memory, he blushed profusely. “I think these little arguments that we get into were just fueled by my ‘keep everyone at arm's length’ rule- it was you that I was afraid to get close to, because Spencer Reid, you are dangerous. You have the capability of shattering my heart into pieces because I just like you so damn much,” you confessed to him, his face was in awe. You studied his expression, lips parted slightly, eyebrows raised. His eyes held pools of adoration, and rather than be scared and shy away from it, you finally wanted to dive in and soak in it. His expression softened as he leaned in, tilting your head up by putting his hand on your chin.

“Y/N,” he whispered. “I swear to never shatter your heart into pieces if it's the last thing I do,” he said softly before closing his eyes and pressing his lips to yours. This kiss held less intensity, but more soft passion and caring. You felt safe in his embrace, safe for the first time in years, and you knew this is where you were meant to be.

[sugar-petals]

Hey Caro ☺️ I just took your super m quiz - thanks for making such a fun quiz, I feel like it helped me get into super m! I know nothing about them yet but I thought it fit soo well that I got Kai bc I’m a full time dancer - now you have me super curious about him 👀👀

KAI :: INTRODUCTION MASTERPOST (dance focus)

so you wanna know about the god of k-pop choreo? oh yeah, i’ll talk to you about fucking kai! if you dance, this guy is the #1 must-know. once you see him move, there’s no going back. i don’t exaggerate: kai is the gold standard. brace yourselves, i’ll show you why.

kim kai aka kim jongin (27) is a solo artist and super m’s plus exo’s main dancer — est 2019 and 2012 respectively — heading either group with a passionate, hyper-physical style that roots in his early practice of of jazz dance and ballet. the influence definitely shows. 

learning choreography, he’s become the gorgeous fusion of emotional grace and explosive power that unites both tension and extreme accuracy. while at the same time: never sacrificing his interpretation. and HOW MUCH HE BLEEDS FOR HIS CRAFT. he enjoys it so much. 

and he’s communicating it 100%, jongin’s dance is so interactive and raw, luring. i swear to god, put the seatbelts on for this one. it’s never just him, it’s you as well. you’ve never seen this before. he’s like “yes, i meant you, i’m looking at you”:

he’s even gonna modify the choreography to point right at you to underline that very thought. he’s so good, he can learn it, ace it, epitomize it, and do his own thing anyway. even the person in the last row will get whatever point kai wants to make. this is dance that belongs on the biggest stages.

even when he films without a crowd, it’s like you’re literally standing opposite to him. he focuses on two people: his moves, and the viewer. he has it look like you made him smile and self-aware, or you made him determined. INCREDIBLE. he shows his charisma, BUT he also shows your own (!) impact on him. it’s a duet. he wants you to join him on the dancefloor. this is from exo’s call me baby mv where kai does his famous come-hither:

he flirts and he encourages. he values the audience and wants them to be confident as well. i think it’s the reason why he’s so outstanding and addictive, kai thinks beyond himself. it’s a tango he involves you in with his eyes and how he opens his body, interprets a lyric.

it’s not about imposing himself going one way. instead: he plays the back and forth ALL. THE. TIME. in any context. whether it be frivolous, or fun, or gloomy, or sweet. even with a simple little smiley wink it’s happening. and he acts like you had a reaction to it. there’s literally just a camera.

this guy’s physique, strength, elegance, feeling for the beat, character portrayal (!), and control is unbelievable. he’s destroyed it in every fancam out there. he can’t switch it off even if he tried. your eyes would go toward him in the largest group formation still. put him in the center, that’s his spot, he showcases it.

because he doesn’t just show learned moves, he makes it radiate something dynamic and animalistic (he embodies superm’s ‘tiger inside’ all the way). 

jongin’s dance says: i love this, you love this, let’s do this, the feeling is right. he makes bodies and unrestrained touch the opposite of wrong, he pronounces it a source of having fun and being instinctual. and he never breaks the tie with you throughout, and uses his shoulders and lips to put the oomph into it. 

he uses innuendo and a ‘we both know’ sentiment perfectly as an invitation rather than just going through his routine. that’s how he can make each move fascinating. you can tell kai knows exactly how to make everyone scream their lungs out. i bet somebody held their breath just reading this post already.

exo’s most famous choreo is ‘monster’ (kai focus linked) with good reason: jongin can turn himself into nothing short of a roaring beast. it’s one sharp, complex move after the other. kai can bend any gravitational law he wants to show any feeling and pose he wants. a glimpse:

now, how to spot him in general if you’re new to him? here are some pointers. kai’s execution is clean, fast, and powerful. those are two decades (!) of experience showing. kai is an all or nothing dancer, he plays no games. he treats every group and solo stage like his best and last. his work ethic is beyond words. yeah, he’s a capricorn. his style is direct as can be, working every axis.

as you can see, jongin is hard to overlook anyway: he’s a 182cm giant made of steel. he strives to acutely visualize impact in his style and it is always successful. in fact, it’s his signature. it’s like he creates invisible objects and pushes through them. boom, he just burst another bubble.

when the song gets to his part, i guarantee you won’t miss him and all the boldness and expression he brings to enrich the performance. hell... he carries it. jongin can handle the center, i’m telling you. (look how fast he rotates here)

talking features — this is what to look for when he dances in a group setting: you can recognize kai’s face by how wide, bluntly structured and sensual it is. jongin is a sight. he has such an aura, serious, sultry, and smiling alike.

with a very recognizable silhouette (like... holy hell!):

he’s very cute as well ♡ the fandom and kai himself have an adorable analogy going on. jongin calls himself a teddy/nini bear and we joined in on it. (i made a thread about it here, it talks more about his offstage life) — hence kai’s fans are called eri-gom, eris as in exo’s fanbase and gom meaning bear. 

and i mean. look at him. what an attractive guy. he’s that handsome. strong brows, teddy eyes, square jaw, swept hair, glorious lips, tan skin. 

now yes, something important concerning his appearance and a serious topic: i don’t want to list you the endless instances of colorism that kai has to endure but it has to be mentioned. jongin has been called every name in the book and people agonize him over his skin incessantly. it goes on and on and on. every day a new terrible comment about him emerges because some pitiful person thought it was funny and would elevate them. 

he’s had to deflect, ignore, reframe, defend, remotivate, assert, harden, prove, denounce, and push himself, protect his confidence, decline skin bleaching constantly, laugh along, dance and practice thrice as hard to get the respect, and still see his dignity torn to pieces all day. i’ll just give it to you straight, that’s all fucked up. kai’s skin is perfect, he’s amazing and wonderful. 

in his own words:

— exactly right. say it even louder.

having him at the bottom of every joke is weird and messed up. this man is an utter beauty and nothing has to be fixed. it is up to him to define himself rather than get called ugly for his skin’s appearance by default, and get whitewashed at every opportunity. it’s been going on for 27 years, he scrunitizes himself all the time and doesn’t look at himself fondly because he hears these beatdowns daily.

it’s heartbreaking that this happens literally with no end in sight (’kai is just a stripper!’... ‘he has bad vibes’... ‘darkest guy jongin!’). for his skin, and how he decides to show it, too. jesus christ his skin looks fantastic, end of debate. they just can’t handle him, kai couldn’t be any more immaculate.

♡

jongin has vigorously protected fans from discrimination, bullies, and shaming himself whenever it came up. in a very straightforward and deadpan manner because he knows exactly how it damages you. (”J” in the subtitles = jongin, he’s wearing the plain white top at the very back)

we need to protect and praise him that way right back. it’s important.

so, needless to say. all in for jongin getting the center stage he deserves. because he has the wow factor in every regard. kai usually opens an MV because there’s no better way to get people’s attention with that level of presence. with kai, you can’t go wrong. if you get the center in a an all star group like superm, you are the king.

being part of that presence, kai’s stage alter ego has reached levels of infamity you can’t even imagine. it’s great to see him being sovereign without apology.

and it doesn’t stop there. he shows time and again that acting, props, and commanding the audience has to be mastered to be an exceptional dancer. kai owns his sex appeal. sometimes, he even dances a portion of choreo with his eyes closed because he’s feeling it so much.

he is a pro in using his surroundings as well, superm’s stages are a glorious opportunity for kai to show how he comfortably ‘lives in’ the 3D space around him.

which makes the viewer do the same: watching kai makes you feel amazing, energized, but also serene and enjoying the moment. 

there’s always balance. it’s the magic of it. e.g. he comes along with so much impetus and decisiveness but eventually, he halts to offer himself. here i am — take me. i’m yours. closed arms, open arms. walking, kneeling. looking down, looking up.

kai goes every extra mile there ever was and makes each eye contact count. involving the audience, one grin at a time. it works. it’s about establishing contact. he connects to the onlooker with so much nuance. 

kai’s smirk is notorious and you can see why it’s so raw and real: he makes it linger. it’s such a duality since his dancing says i’ll come over, while his message is come and get me, i know what’s on your mind.

with a hilarious twist – kai expertly uses humor. you don’t get that in many dancer repertoires. i love it. all those quick expression changes. his smile! 😊 what a man.

so — what makes him so good and known: yes, his style doesn’t deny that dancing and eroticism are one in his business. that takes courage. kai has it. iconic performances have been his reward. point dance/killing part: exo’s love shot choreo. 

that suit has swept the nation. what’s more: kai shows you it’s more than just good hip movement that a good dancer needs. he does everything at once, he puts the pleasure on his face, all his limbs are following the template he chooses.

the thing is. kai couldn’t be any shyer, but when the music starts he becomes a oscar-winning madman. he emotes constantly (!) and stays in character. this is gold.

jongin always plays it up. he knows how to use that face and does a lot of power posing. this is how visceral looks like. he’s interpreted exo’s aggressive concepts to a T.

and he has so. much. fun. it propels him. on every beat.

past every hurt, heartbreak and injury, man. if you know about his genre you knew this was coming, kai does all of that with 4 herniated discs. since debut days, never recovered. every gif in this thread, he dances with a battered spine. wheelchairs, stage collapses, relapse-recovery-schedule tales, the dilemma of injuries being inevitable, limping, kai falling into depression during breaks, constant pain killers, countless tears on stage, we’ve seen it all, the extreme end of it. 

kai works out like hell to literally keep his body from falling apart. but it doesn’t help the nerves in his back that are impacted. doing choreo you can sometimes literally see the pain kicking in and he pulls himself through with force for the last minute. once you know how strained his back is, you can see it.

at the end his expression goes fuck now it’s coming when the adrenaline fades. he takes every second-pause he gets to rest but still finishes each move. even when he holds back, he keeps it together and executes each turn. sometimes, he has to restrict himself and soften his movements to protect his health (especially in hard choreographies such as lucky one which is universally disliked by exo — still jongin makes the very best of it smiling bright and dancing so hard his sleeves come off).

he frequently states he ‘dances in any case unless his legs are affected by something’. all torso injuries are fair game, this guy is hardcore. and people claim he’s just pretending. chen (a fellow exo member) says not a single part of jongin’s body is intact. he has paid every price to get this far to follow his love. he’ll step on stage with crutches. he works SO HARD.

that being said: exo being called the official nation’s group, i say kai is the nation’s dancer. period. he has had his great moment at the korean olympics flawlessly dancing in a hanbok with traditional instruments and fulfilling his dream. 

i love the tension and drama he can bring. he can also thrill with slow, vulnerable movements alike.

kai’s is called a legend, he’s all that and even more. the facial expressions alone are feared by any kai stan because they hit home. 

this guy is a sex icon and goes off like a gun, messing around was never kai’s incentive. 

while at the same time being incredibly nuanced and so, so descriptive with his movements.

point dance: baby don’t cry. yep, kai has danced in water. must-watch.

this man loves what he is doing. he said he wouldn’t regret to die on stage because dancing is his destiny. boy, it shows. this guy has found his purpose. he can tell any story he wants. he’s a complete artist.

he’s perfectly portraying his incentive and he couldn’t look any more like a god on earth.

long story short, kai is dance and motivation goals. if you dance professionally, you can easily look toward him for the right words.

if you want to further your study and knowledge: he released a self-titled solo album recently. highly recommended. he worked forever on it, and he’s really dishing it on there. you get to hear his soft voice plus sizzling footwork. and he isn’t even getting started yet. you’ll hear from kai, i promise. he constantly achieves new levels of artistic perfection.

a last remark. jongin is amazing for a myriad of reasons that go beyond what i show you here given the post focuses on his work on stage. but the point stands, while other people have tried to break him, he broke through every barricade instead and stood up for himself. we can be extremely happy to have him and witnessing his unreal dance is an exceptional pleasure. here’s to jongin continuing his passion and confidence, healing, and getting the sweeping respect and acknowledgement that is his.