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starlessea · 4 years ago

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Here Comes the Sun: XII. Highway To Hell (Daryl Dixon/Reader)

Series Masterlist: Here Comes the Sun

Summary: Daryl Dixon scares the hell out of you climbing out of that damn creek. It takes hauling his ass halfway across Georgia and taking a bullet for him to realise that you're not half bad. He slowly starts to come around, despite grumbling about how much he doesn't like your singing, or that you can't use a gun for shit - and don't get him started on that ugly yellow tent of yours. It takes him a while before he starts to see for himself that he's found a best friend for life, and that he doesn't actually mind the colour yellow that much, after all.

Words: 7169

Chapter Warnings: Language, Violence.

You held a hand up over your shoulder and crouched down near the door, signalling for Carol to do the same behind you. Your gun was pressed snug between your palms, and your knife hung from your belt in case you needed it. Though, from the looks of the place it seemed pretty secure - if the lock you'd just busted open was anything to go by. The two of you were scavenging and had spotted a small general store, deciding to check it out before heading back to the cabin. The group hadn't eaten anything substantial in days, save for the things Daryl had been hunting. Even then, the harsh winter months made it harder for him to pick up tracks when most animals had better shelter than you all did.

It had been a number of weeks since the farm was overrun, but it almost felt like yesterday. The temperature had dropped to freezing seemingly overnight, making your fortunes that much more cruel. Even now, your breath formed clouds of smoke before your eyes, and the cold felt like it had infiltrated your bones at some point and never left. The tips of your fingers stung as they glowed red, exposed through your fingerless gloves, and you were certain that your nose matched, too. Carol's did, that's for sure.

You gave her a quick nod before kicking in the door harshly with your boot, raising your gun as you entered. The inside was bigger than you were expecting, and it took you a few minutes to clear each aisle for walkers. As you did, you noticed how most supplies were missing from the shelves, having been taken before the place was locked up. Still, Glenn had always drilled into you the first rule of scavenging: 'there's nothing good left in this world that isn't hidden.'

Sending a nod to Carol, you put your gun away in your holster before reminding her to stay alert. The two of you split up as she made her way towards the canned goods sections, hoping to find something there. Ever since you'd been on the road, you and Carol had gotten quite a bit closer. At first, she seemed sceptical of Rick and the whole situation you were forced into, as you all did. Though, after time she seemed to realise that he was the group's best shot. Most days, the two of you made dinner with anything you could find, often supplementing the things you were missing with whatever Daryl had managed to bring home from his hunt. Other times, you went scavenging together, as you did today.

At first, Rick absolutely refused to let anyone split up, and you had to abide by his rule. One time he'd caught you mocking his 'this isn't a democracy' speech to Beth behind his back and you'd had to forfeit your portion of squirrel to the greater good that evening. Daryl sneaked you some of his afterwards, however. Though, Rick quickly began to realise that there was no other choice. Before long, you'd gotten good with a gun; taking down walkers each day had that effect. Soon, you were one of the frontrunners whenever you had a house to clear - often fighting alongside him, Glenn and Daryl.

Now, he was comfortable with you leading a few runs of your own and taking Carol along with you. Glenn and Maggie often went together, too, so that you covered more ground. It wasn't that Rick was comfortable with splitting up the group, you thought; he just didn't have a choice. Lori was nearing her due date and you were all practically living on fresh air, moving from place to place quicker than you had the chance to catch your breath.

You hadn't even had time to settle things with Daryl. You barely saw the man. He'd leave first thing in the morning to look for food, and be back late at night - when most of the group had already fallen asleep. Even then, he often took watch straight after he returned. You could tell how responsible he felt for everyone and you saw the worry in his eyes daily, if the bags under them were anything to go by.

After you had kissed Daryl, back at the farm, you only had one conversation about it. It was a couple of days after you all fled, when you were taking watch with him as the rest of the group were stuck camping under the stars. It was brief, and before that the two of you had already gone back to acting as good friends, like usual. He'd told you that he wasn't good with words, and didn't want to just give you some half-assed response in the midst of struggling to survive the Georgia winter. You agreed, and it was decided then that you'd talk about it later. Yet, later never came.

It had been an unspoken rule between the two of you that everyone's safety was the priority. Though, in truth, you hadn't had a single moment where you felt safe since you left the farm. It seemed almost cruel that immediately after you'd told the man that you wanted to live, rather than just survive, you had been thrust out into the vicious world where that's all you could struggle to do. So, the two of you just existed at the moment.

Some mornings you'd wake up to sound of him leaving, and some evenings he'd be back early enough to share a meal with you. Other than that, you lived for the brief occasions where you'd take watch together, when he'd smoke a cigarette next to you and you'd sit in content silence. Though, sometimes it felt like you were frightened to say anything at all, in case you accidentally blurted out all of your feelings at once. So, the both of you barely talked - waiting for the time when you could actually talk.

You shoved some supplies into your satchel as you scoured the aisles. There wasn't much you could see that hadn't been taken already, but you picked up a few bandaids in case you ever needed them. The only thing you were able to save from the farm was your satchel. Luckily, it already had your polaroids in it and a change of clothes, since you'd been packing to move into the Greenes' farmhouse at the time the horde arrived. Still, there was so much you missed from those days.

You missed the material things, like the comfort you got just from seeing Dale's RV parked by the main camp. You missed the flimsy deck chairs surrounding it, and the big apple trees that gave it shade, and the books you'd borrow from Hershel's library to read when you had lookout duty on top of it. You missed your white dress that smelt like the washing powder that Patricia used - even though you knew it wouldn't have survived long out in these dingy, cold places. You even missed the intangible things, and felt a deep longing of nostalgia for the sounds of the leaves rustling in the breeze or for the sweetness of the air. Those days felt so far away from you now, like the images of them were slipping out of your grasp - like grains of sand before you could catch them.

The things that remained fresh in your mind, however, were the people that you left behind. You missed Patricia and Jimmy and Andrea, and even Shane. As much as that man rubbed you the wrong way, you didn't want to see him die. You didn't want any of them to die. That night was a mess. These days, you often woke up in a cold sweat from the nightmares. Except, this time it was the faces of your family replacing the walkers that usually inhabited them. You missed the people you'd lost and you missed the place that you all thought was home. You also missed Daryl Dixon.

A loud clatter sounded from a few rows over from you, immediately making you thumb over your gun as you stilled in place.

"Carol?" You called over, unable to see her from behind the tall shelves. "Everything alright?"

She responded instantly, and you felt relief wash over you as she did.

"I'm fine. I just dropped a tin." She reassured you, her voice carrying as an echo in the empty store.

You let out a small sigh before continuing with your poor haul. It was times like these that you really felt your mind wander when it shouldn't. You knew that you should always be cautious, since you promised Rick that you'd look out for Carol. Though, quite frankly, you thought that he didn't give her enough credit. That woman was a force to be reckoned with, but not many people had realised it yet. Daryl had. The friendship the two of them shared was really admirable. He'd been the one to search for Sofia, and comfort Carol after the loss of her - and Carol was equally as good for him as he was for her. She'd been able to coax him out of his shell where even you struggled to, and you could see how he'd started to accept his new role within the group because of her.

You just wished, very selfishly, that you could be with him. You understood that he had a job to do now, and how not everyone was able to do the things he did. The group had women and children and older people and a pregnant Lori. You were all running on empty, barely hanging on as it was. Yet, those nights when he'd come back empty-handed, cursing himself under his breath when he thought you were all asleep, made you want to hold him close. You never did, knowing how much Daryl Dixon hated pity from anyone, but the longing was so strong that it made your eyes sting with tears.

Although things weren't awkward between the two of you, you didn't joke around nearly as much as you used to. The atmosphere always felt heavy, as nobody knew when the next meal would come, or how long this place would be safe before you had to move again. As the nights got bitterly cold, you huddled next to Beth for warmth, or Carol sometimes. You felt absolutely no shame in it. There were only a few tattered blankets to go around, but they barely did anything for your numb toes and stiff fingers. If you weren't all family before, then you definitely were now - given how close you'd all had to become.

Some nights, the ones which were your favourites, Daryl slept beside you. You didn't think it was intentional at first. Or, maybe it was. In the grand scheme of things, it was barely anything at all. Yet, the first time almost made you cry, as it felt like he was reminding you that he still cared for you. It wasn't like you ever embraced him, or did anything remotely intimate. You hadn't ever been anything more than the brief kiss you shared in his tent. Though, it still felt intimate to you.

He'd come in late, as usual, on a particularly cold night. You'd heard him slug off his boots and throw them aside as he stripped out of his heavy winter gear. The whole time, you'd pretended to be asleep, like you normally did. After a while, he finally laid down on the ground, clambering over the sleeping bodies of the rest of the group. You usually all huddled together in one room for warmth. You'd felt the floorboards creak and shift beneath you as he settled next to you, not that you were touching, but close enough to feel his presence and hear his breathing.

Once you were sure he'd fallen asleep, you scooted backwards slightly, so that your backs were touching. It was hardly anything, but the slight warmth you felt from him was more comfort than you'd had in weeks. You were touch starved and hungry and cold. You needed something. When you'd woken up the next morning, he was already gone. He never said anything about it, but since then you'd found yourself occasionally waking up in the middle of the night to your back pressed against his, or sometimes having a hand intertwined with your own.

As you finished down one aisle, you noticed another that had been left untouched. It was a toy section, quite small given the size of the store. Obviously, the necessities had been taken first, and you thought that whatever children had survived the apocalypse probably didn't have many things left to play with - since they were all still here. You trailed your finger over the dusty shelf, feeling the glossy plastic of the boxes and the soft fur of the stuffed animals piled there.

"Looking for something for the baby?" Carol asked, popping up behind you.

You immediately jumped, and flung a hand over your chest as you shot her a look. It had been your fault for not paying attention, but she didn't need to know that.

You shook your head. "Not intentionally." You admitted, eyes scanning over the selection. "But I suppose we could pick something up."

You chose one of the bears and shoved it into your satchel. Usually, you'd have looked for something for Carl, too, but he'd recently been acting a lot older than his years. He wanted to step up and protect everyone like his father, he confessed to you one day. You had to admit, he was a pretty good shot and certainly didn't seem like a child anymore. You didn't want to undermine his efforts by presenting him with an action figure in the midst of your current situation, telling him to take a break from killing walkers to play with it.

"Did you find anything?" You turned to look at Carol, who held up her bag that didn't seem anywhere near full.

She shrugged her shoulders at you and made a face. "Few expired cans, but nothing much." She frowned. "You?"

You shook your head softly and flipped open the flap of your satchel to show her your haul.

"Some bandaids and a Freddie Mercury bobblehead." You confessed, picking it out to show her.

You held up the small figure in front of her face, pulling back its comically large head with your thumb and letting it wobble.

"Cute, right?" You asked, raising an eyebrow.

Carol just gave a small chuckle in reply, folding her arms as though about to half-heartedly scold a child. You shrugged your shoulders before stuffing it back into the bag. Just because Carl didn't want to play with toys anymore didn't mean that you couldn't.

Carol glanced over at the entrance of the store, before giving the shelves a final scan. "We should get going soon." She noted, her bag clanking as she readjusted it over her shoulder. "Some walkers might have gathered outside by now."

You hummed in response, distracted by the array of multi-coloured boxes. "It's fine, I'll look after you." You said, shooting her a wink as she sighed.

The woman had become used to your teasing by now, and it was a welcomed change from how tense you all were most of the time. Even though you mostly used humor as a coping mechanism, especially when you felt nervous, it seemed to lighten the atmosphere when it got a bit too heavy.

"Though I don't think you even need me." You continued, eyeing the small pistol she had tucked into her jeans. "You're getting pretty good with a gun."

Carol snorted at that, reminding you of the time she almost shot a bullet through Rick's boot not so long ago. In her defence, Rick had been a lot more on edge that day, and you'd been quite tempted to do the same.

"Speak for yourself." She spoke, after you'd tried to convince her otherwise. "You started learning after me and your aim's already on parr with Rick's."

You remembered those first days, and how hard they were. Everyone had fallen into their roles and you'd felt almost stuck in place. You didn't know how best to contribute. It had taken the neighbourhood you were all staying in to get overrun before you had the chance to test your skills. You hadn't wanted to waste bullets before that, but you'd scarcely had a choice then.

"He's a good teacher." You smiled at Carol, giving Rick praise where it was due. "And there's no better practice than being terrified and having to learn on the job." You admitted with a strained laugh.

You continued walking down the aisle slowly, back in the direction of the entrance.

"But you're right, we should go." You agreed, gesturing to the door.

The two of you took a few steps together before you stopped abruptly as something caught your attention, right in the corner of your eye. You whipped your head around to look at one of the glossy toy boxes, reading its bold letter description.

"Oh my god." You mumbled to yourself, below your breath.

Carol looked over at you, confused. "What is it?" She asked, glancing in the direction where you were staring.

You couldn't hold back the grin that spread over your face as you grabbed the box and held it in your hand. You glanced over your shoulder, at Carol, before running your fingers back over the dusty plastic.

"No fucking way!" You yelled in disbelief. It seemed like your luck was finally changing.

Carol peered over your shoulder before letting out a chuckle at your expression.

"Now that would be perfect for the baby." She smiled, staring down at it in your hands.

You shook your head at her, looking up to meet her eyes. "I actually had someone else in mind." You admitted, still feeling the smile tug at the corners of your mouth as you said it. "It's a bit of an inside joke we have."

Carol hummed in reply, but didn't press for answers.

"But I agree." You went on, making room for the box to fit into your satchel. "It'll probably get handed down to baby Grimes at some point."

The walk back to the cabin was pretty uneventful. The two of you stayed in the cover of the forest, out of sight of the main road. You'd had to dispatch a couple of walkers on the way, but nothing that the two of you couldn't handle. At this point, you just wished for another set of clothes that weren't covered in muck and dried blood. You could hardly remember the last time you'd worn something clean - that hadn't just been dunked in a creek when you came across one.

As you walked, you must have strayed slightly off the path that you usually took, since you came across an unfamiliar, old Toyota truck that had veered off road and crashed into a tree. It was covered in dried leaves and all beat up, but you recognised the model as the same one belonging to Otis, back at the Greene farm. It was always parked outside there. It was a simple, two person pick up truck that was rusty red in colour, and it instantly made you think back on the night that you were forced into driving it.

After Rick had told you and Daryl that Randall had escaped, the whole farm went into an uproar. You stayed in the farmhouse whilst some of the group went to look for him, Daryl included. It wasn't long before you spotted the horde coming your way, and Hershel's barn had started to go up in flames in the distance. After that, you could barely remember what had happened.

You'd been with Daryl at first. He shot the walkers that got too close with his crossbow, before switching to guns. You did the same, trying to give the others an opportunity to pile into the vehicles and escape. At some point, however, you got completely cut off from the rest of the group and had been forced back to the opposite side of the farmhouse.

The chaos was indescribable. It was like you'd been drafted up for war in the span of half an hour. Soon, you had run out of bullets and only had your knife left to defend yourself. So, you ran. Not able to see any of the others anymore, you sprinted for the last vehicle left - Otis' old Toyota truck. You flung the door open and clambered inside, locking it just in time to avoid the hands that smacked up onto the glass windows. You remembered how your chest heaved as your hands fumbled around the dash frantically. You finally found the keys tucked into the sun visor above your head, and almost cried from relief.

When your hands stopped shaking long enough to put it in the ignition, you turned the key only for the engine to rumble once before falling flat. You tried it again, and it gave out a choked sputter and died.

"No, no, no." You whispered, turning the key over and over to try and start the truck. "This can't be happening."

The windows had almost been completely blacked out by the number of hands and faces pressed against them, the walkers snapping their jaws at you as you panicked inside. In the rearview mirror, you could even see some start to clamber into the truck bed, and knew that it was only a matter of time before they completely swarmed you. You slammed your hands onto the steering wheel in frustration and yelled, not caring whether you attracted more.

"I can't die now, I just kissed that stubborn asshole!" You screamed, accidentally hitting the windscreen wiper stick with your elbow. You watched as the blade caught one of the walkers' flesh and smeared it over the glass.

"Fucking great." You sighed, and turned the key again.

This time, you felt it catch slightly between your fingers, and thought that perhaps the starter motor was sticking. The truck hadn't been used since Otis' death, but it still seemed to have some life in it. You jiggled the key and turned it half way, praying to every deity you could think of. You twisted it fully, and the engine roared to life. You held your breath for a few seconds, not entirely trusting it, but as it continued to rumble you realised that it had started properly this time.

Not wanting to sit around any longer, you immediately set off, mowing down the stream of walkers in front of you all while hoping that the car wouldn't flip over. You watched your mirror as the ones clinging onto the truck bed were flung off as you picked up speed, and you almost wanted to yell out in triumph - but felt like you might be sick if you did so.

The truck was hell to drive. You couldn't figure out the stick for a while and your windscreen was covered in blood and smeared guts. You knew you had to head for the highway where the supplies for Sofia were left. You'd gone with Rick one time, when he went to wait for her there at noon. As you pulled out of Hershel's farm, you gave a final glance back in your mirror to see your home burn and become entirely inhabited by the undead - and noticed your little yellow submarine trampled to the ground as you did so.

As you neared the highway, after driving on the wrong side of the road for a while without realising it, you felt a knot start to form in your stomach. You hadn't seen the others get away - you didn't know if they were alive or dead, or even if they would have waited for you if they managed to escape. Your eyes blurred with tears as you drove, still not feeling any sense of relief despite having made it out of the farm. You just prayed that everyone was safe.

When you got closer to the meeting spot, you immediately noticed the familiar vehicles from the farm, and even Daryl's motorbike, all parked up. You stopped the truck once you couldn't go any further, being blocked by the abandoned cars. The group began to approach you quickly as you clambered out and hit the floor with shaky feet. Glenn reached you first, smiling widely when he saw that you were okay.

"Is that you?" He asked, clapping a hand over your trembling shoulders. "I've never seen anyone drive that badly before-"

You didn't let him finish, instead running over to Daryl on unsteady feet. You flung yourself into his arms, which pulled you in close and held you tight. You sobbed louder than you thought you ever had before, crying into his chest as you felt one of his hands stroke softly over your back. You didn't care what anyone thought at this moment. Nothing could describe the feeling of losing your home and thinking your family was dead. You realised how close you had been to being all alone, once again.

"Hey, c'mon look at me." He said softly, trying to pry himself out of your grip.

He lifted your chin up with his finger and you knew that you must've looked quite the state. Your eyes were completely blurred with tears, so much that you could barely make out the man in front of you, and your nose ran as you struggled to hold back your sobs.

"It's a'right." He reassured you, looking into your eyes as if realising that you needed further convincing. "Yer safe."

You looked around at the group, taking in their faces and feeling your hands tremble against Daryl's chest as they clutched the material of his shirt still. Everyone looked relieved, and offered you small smiles of comfort.

You stepped back from the man a little, giving him his space. You still couldn't stop the tears from falling. It was as if your body still hadn't caught up to your mind.

"I was so scared." You admitted quietly, voice quivering as you did so. "I thought you'd all left me."

You didn't drop your hands from his chest, letting yourself feel his heartbeat beneath your palms as a reminder that this was all real.

Daryl shook his head at you. "We'd never leave ya, Teach" He grumbled, as though he couldn't believe you'd even suggest it. "Went back to look for ya on the bike but I couldn't find ya."

Maggie stepped forward, pulling you into a hug as you finally released Daryl's shirt from your grip. She stroked your hair as she brought you into her chest, and you felt tears stream down your cheeks.

"You scared us all half to death." She told you, before gripping onto your shoulders tightly as you stood back from her.

Glenn nodded in agreement, before letting out a small chuckle. "Then we spotted Otis' truck barreling down the highway." He said, pointing over to the vehicle you'd abandoned. "Thought a walker was driving it the way you were swerving all over the place."

You tried to let out a laugh in return, but it came out all watery in between your sobs.

"The gearstick-" you choked out, hiccuping as you spoke. "Had to change gears with the wrong hand." You explained, lifting your arm to give a poor demonstration as you continued to cry.

"You-" you spluttered, letting out a wail mixed with a desperate laugh. "You stupid Americans."

It was a few days before you and Daryl crossed paths in the cabin again. It was late and you'd been trying to sleep for a few hours when the door creaked open. He'd shuffled around for a bit before you heard him take over watch duty from Glenn. At first, you'd wanted to go outside and scold him for never taking the time to rest, but after a few minutes you decided on a different plan. Prying yourself out from underneath the blanket you shared with Beth, you pulled on your boots - not bothering to do up the laces. The icy breeze hit your skin and caused it to prickle instantly, making you wish you had a spare comforter to take with you. You wouldn't be surprised if it snowed soon, given how dry and bitter the air had felt on your cheek earlier that day.

You retrieved your satchel and tip-toed around the sleeping bodies, doing your best not to step on any creaky floorboards and disturb them. You opened the cabin door slowly, and shut it behind you as you stepped out into the night. Daryl was sitting on the stone wall a few feet away, and you could tell that the smoke coming from his lips was from more than just the cold. He had a cigarette lit between his fingers, and you could make out the familiar lighter that he flicked open and closed in his other hand. You approached with purposefully loud footsteps, not wanting to startle him. He didn't turn around, waiting until you came closer.

"Mind if I join you?" You shot him a smile, pulling your arms to your chest to try and protect yourself against the chill.

He hummed in response, and you noticed how exhausted he looked in the glow of the lighter flame that flickered near his cheeks. His hands were covered in dirt, as were parts of his face, and his hair stuck to his forehead and the back of his neck despite how cold it was. Though, you were sure that you didn't look any better. Your once white vest was now a grubby brown colour and you'd pulled your long hair into a bun on top of your head about a week ago and hadn't looked back since.

Wordlessly, the man shrugged off the poncho he'd found recently, and handed it to you. He had another leather jacket on underneath, but you still felt guilty. You thanked him, pulling it over your head and instantly feeling grateful for the warmth that engulfed you. He then pulled a carton of cigarettes out of his pocket, offering it over to you where he sat. You shook your head and gave him a small smile as he shrugged and stuffed them back into his jacket.

The two of you sat in silence for a while, just watching and listening to the night. Nothing was uncomfortable between you. It's just that the two of you were almost like magnets, trying to intentionally stay away from each other. You feared that the two of you might never be able to seperate if you stuck together for good. It wasn't awkward, but there was definitely unspoken tension, like you were both waiting for something that you couldn't let happen yet.

"I miss my tent." You sighed, watching your breath appear as a small puff of air against the black night.

Daryl grumbled at that. "I sure as hell don't." He muttered, taking a final drag from his smoke before snuffing it out on the wall. "Thing was an eyesore."

You chuckled a bit at his response, not really sure what you were expecting. "You loved it, really." You teased, shooting him a wink that he dismissed.

"Whatever, Sunshine." He mumbled back, but his voice sounded a lot lighter than it had for a while.

After a few seconds, you remembered your satchel, now safely tucked away in the warmth of the poncho you wore. You fumbled around beneath it for a bit, which made Daryl give you a look, before pulling out the canvas bag and setting it onto your lap.

"I have something for you." You beamed, feeling the breeze sting your sore, chapped lips.

Daryl sighed at you, finally looking over to meet your eyes.

"Ya need to stop gettin' me shit." He drawled, with no bite behind his words.

You shook your head quickly at the accusation. "It isn't from me!" You almost yelled, before reminding yourself that there were people sleeping a few feet away, and lowering your voice.

You glanced back at the cabin and pointed to it. "This place has no chimney, so he told me to pass it onto you."

Daryl raised an eyebrow at you, which you ignored. Instead, you fished around in your satchel until you found what you were looking for. You could barely contain your excitement as you pulled out the box wrapped messily in old newspapers, and handed it to him expectantly.

He took it from you carefully, as though not entirely trusting it. Though, he still held it gently in his hand, in case he was afraid to break it. You watched intently as he flipped it over and squinted his eyes at the writing on it, confusion clear on his face. You'd scribbled on it earlier in the day, having found a sharpie tucked away in one of the drawers. You'd tried to do it secretively, but almost had a heart attack when Glenn asked you what you were doing - dropping the gift and kicking it under the couch until he promised to leave. Luckily, you hadn't found any dents on it afterwards. Yet, you now found it almost comical how carefully Daryl treated the box, considering what you had done to it only a few hours before.

Your eyes scanned over the letters with him as he read them, seeing the words written on top of the newspaper in black, bold print:

'To Young Daryl Dixon,

Merry Christmas!

From, Father Christmas.'

By the time he looked up to question you, you were already watching his eyes - waiting to see his expression. At the moment, his face was still scrunched up in confusion, which made you chuckle. The man looked at you like you'd just handed him a bomb he didn't know how to diffuse.

"Father Christmas?" He asked slowly, like the syllables were foreign on his tongue.

You cocked your head to the side, looking back down at the gift and wondering if you'd made a mistake. Your eyes widened.

"Shit." You muttered below your breath, before looking back up to meet his gaze. "It's Santa Clause to you people, isn't it?" You questioned.

Daryl looked at you in disbelief, as if wondering what the hell you were going on about. You were used to that look from him by now, and continued to ramble.

"I'm sure that's what he meant." You said, nodding. "He probably was in a rush when he wrote it." You looked away from the man, trying not to giggle as you remembered the whole incident between you and Glenn.

He continued to stare at you before shaking his head.

"Yer crazy, woman." He grumbled, picking the wrapped box back up to inspect it closer.

You felt your patience reach its limit, unable to contain your excitement anymore. You shoved his arm.

"Just open it!" You ordered, and he did.

For a man so rough around the edges, you'd never seen someone unwrap a gift so gently before. He didn't rip into the paper like you would have, but spent a few extra seconds pulling the parcel tape off and unfolding it with care. Once it was opened up on his lap, you watched his face as he finally saw the plastic box inside.

You knew it wasn't the exact same one he'd told you about, from all of those years ago, but it must've been close. It was a child's sheriff kit. It had the little hat that looked similar to Rick's, and the pointy metal badge in the shape of a star. When you'd seen it in the store, you just knew you had to get it for him. He might have forgotten telling you about it by now, but you had remembered.

"It didn't come with a gun, I'm afraid." You pointed to the plastic window of the box, explaining it to him. "But we have plenty of those."

You shot him a smile as you saw his expression. It was still confused, as he glanced between you and the box in his palms, but it was a lot more shy and uncertain now. You could almost see the thoughts working overtime in that head of his, as he processed it all, and decided to stop staring at him.

"It was either this or a Freddie Mercury bobblehead." You noted, feeling your cheeks hurt at how much you were beaming at the man. "And I wanted the bobblehead."

He sat in silence, just listening to your ramblings as he usually did. His eyes were still fixated on the gift, as if making up for all the years he'd wished for it as a child. You desperately wanted to slip your hand into his, or rest your head on his shoulder - but you refrained. You didn't want to take away from this moment; you just wanted to watch it. That, and you weren't sure if you'd be able to let him go if you did.

"You said how you never got any presents as a kid." You started carefully, trying to navigate your thoughts into words. "It made me sad." You admitted, in more of a whisper this time.

Daryl looked over at you, his expression soft. It was like he was uncertain of his own words, too.

"I know it's stupid." You confessed, voice trailing off as you lost your nerve.

"Nah it aint." He interrupted, shaking his head and trying to get you to look at him. "I love it."

You thought he was being sarcastic until your eyes met his and you saw the sincerity within them, and suddenly your breath caught in your throat. Daryl Dixon gave you a smile so warm that it almost made you forget it was winter. You didn't know he could even make these kinds of expressions, and you weren't able to entirely hide your reaction. Though, his smile went as quickly as it came. He looked away from you, as if noticing he'd let his stubborn, unapproachable wall crumble down. You snorted, wondering if he truly hadn't realised that you knew him better than that by now.

"I thought that baby Grimes could play with it eventually." You suggested, and he hummed in agreement.

"But in the meantime-" you continued, taking the box from his hands and opening it.

He watched you with curious eyes but didn't say anything, just letting you carry on like you had him wrapped around your little finger. You fumbled with the box, pulling out the star shaped badge, before handing the rest back. You turned so that you were facing opposite him, and pulled on his leather jacket so that it opened.

He grumbled at you as you did it, but made no effort to pull away or stop you. Instead, you flipped open one side of his jacket and pinned the badge on the material inside, closing it again before the cold set it.

"It belongs to Deputy Dixon, as promised." You finished with a smile, watching as he thumbed over the metal concealed in his jacket. The look on his face showed just how much he struggled to figure you out.

To your surprise, he didn't remove it straight away. He just bit his lip, as though trying to think of how to respond.

"Yer too much, Teach." He said lowly, after a few seconds.

"How so?" You asked.

He glanced back down into his lap, at the box that was still resting there. "Doin' all this." He mumbled, seeming like he was holding himself back. You stayed silent, waiting for him to go on.

"You bring back comics for Carl, an' stuff for the baby." He said, looking down as he spoke. "We're all here tryna do our best jus' to survive, an' you come in with that huge beamin' smile on yer face showin' us a bobblehead ya found."

He finally met your eyes, and you could see from his look that he just genuinely couldn't comprehend it. You seemed to completely allude Daryl Dixon, and the thought of him struggling to try to understand you better made you almost giddy.

"I know it's odd." You admitted, pulling the poncho closer to your body as the wind picked up. "But just because our priority is surviving doesn't mean that we should put off living."

You bit your lip. This was the most you had spoken to the man in weeks, and as the seconds went by you found it harder and harder to hold yourself back.

"I thought you could use a reminder of that." You said, offering him a small smile. "You work so hard to try and keep us all fed and safe, I wanted to give you something as a thank you."

The newspaper fluttered in the breeze, and Daryl barely caught hold of it as a gust picked it up. You caught a glimpse of your handwriting, where he held it between his fingers.

"Santa Clause did, I mean." You corrected.

You sat together in silence for a while, but the man didn't light any more cigarettes. You felt yourself growing tired and attempted to convince him to swap his shift with someone else, but he refused. You knew the sun would start to rise in a couple of hours, so you wanted to get some sleep before then. Begrudgingly, you shuffled out of the oversized poncho and offered it back to the man before you left, immediately being reminded of how icy the weather had gotten. He shook his head at your outstretched hand, which you had already expected.

"Nah, you keep it." He said, in a way that left you no room to argue.

You raised an eyebrow at him, feeling nostalgic at the familiar situation. This time, however, you didn't fight with him. Slipping the material back over your head, you huddled it to your chest and whispered a soft 'thanks' to him. The sky was still dark, and kept you wondering whether you would start to see sleet fall in the next couple of days. You looked back over to the dilapidated cabin, with its wooden weathered walls and its roof that looked close to caving in. It was a far cry from Hershel's idyllic farmhouse, but somehow you didn't seem to mind as much on this specific night.

You slipped off the stone wall you'd been sitting on and stood up on your tip-toes to reach the man still sat there. You brushed away the hair over his face with the palm of your hand, and gave him a brief kiss on the forehead before turning to leave.

"Merry Christmas, Daryl." You told him, and returned to the house to watch the first snowflakes fall from the window.

A/N Don't you love it when the plot points you set up 6 chapters ago come back around to be resolved. It's *delicious*. I think I would actually pay to see the Christmas scene play out. There's only so much imagination can do - I want to see Daryl's shy reaction in person, too!

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auty-ren · 4 years ago

Text

The Offer: Chapter 8

Distractions

Pairings: The Mandalorian x Reader, Din Djarin x Reader, ClanLeader!Din x Reader.

Rating: Explicit

Word count: 6k

Warnings: Smut (oral (m), exhibitionism, rough sex, penetrative sex, public (outdoor) sex, doggy style, breeding kink, dirty talk). Descriptions of canonical violence. Implied injury. Talk of children/pregnancy. Fluff. Talk of death/’meaning of life.’ Honeymoon shenanigans. Two big idiots being in love. A little surprise for all the Mira stans out there.

A/n: I hope y’all are ready for some more world-building! We get to see a bit into Din’s past in this chapter, and shed some light on some possible ulterior motives. Second a/n at the bottom! Hope y’all enjoy💗.

Summary: Din and you finally didn't the time to slow down for a bit and you find out quickly that you weren't the only ones who had something planned.

The Offer Masterlist | My Masterlist

The stone beneath your fingertips was rough, pewter-colored grains gathering at the edge of the brick you sat on until you flicked them off with your finger. You squinted and watched the few larger pieces you could see as they fell to the ground, collecting just a few inches from your feet. A chunkier, darker colored boot came into your line of sight and you followed the path up his legs until you were met with the matte blue of Paz’s visor. You squinted through a smile as he tilted his head, blocking the sun from your face and gesturing to your boot.

“Do you like them?”

The leather squeaked as you flexed your toes in your boot, your foot turning to the side as you lift your leg a little to show it off. You nodded, a sheepish grin plastering across your face knocked your heels together.

Paz didn't have to ask where you had gotten them; they were brand new, a practically perfect fit, and made specifically for you.

“....at your husband's request.”

You shouldn't have expected less from Din, especially from the way he had reacted when the sole of your original shoe finally gave out. He had made such a big deal out of it; even after you told him it was fine, tossing them to the side and continuing with a simple pair of slip-ons you had. Din wasn't so quick to dismiss it, he picked up the boot in question and watched as the split in the arch grew wider and puckered when he squeezed it in his hand.

It was a surprise to find the new pair sitting on the table this morning, along with a note handwritten by Din.

“These have been made for you at your husband's request. Please, take very good care of them. -Din.”

You could practically hear the playful attitude in his voice and picture the laugh he probably had as he wrote out the words.

The written ink was smeared, the corners of the spare paper fraying, and some of the letters were hard to make out; but you loved all of it, every flaw and every second of care that Din had poured into such a simple thing. You had smoothed out any creases that had been left in the paper, being careful to not spread any of the ink further, and placed the note inside one of the books in the chest that sat at the end of your shared bed, another one of Din's gifts. It felt silly sometimes to hold on to such trivial things; but when you read the note again, one last time before putting it in the chest for safe-keeping, it didn't feel silly at all. It felt warm and airy and it tickled your cheeks with a feeling you had only ever had around Din.

“You don’t have to wait with me you know?” you peered up at Paz and tilted your head to mirror his. “I’m perfectly capable of finding him without you.”

“I know that Vod’ika,” Paz crossed his arms and leaned against the same wall you sat on. “I figured you would like the company.”

“Always,” you bumped your shoulder against his playfully, looking to the entry of the great hall just a few feet from where you sat.

It was quiet around the great hall, most people being respectful of the council and leaving an empty and silent place for them to work in. You stood from your seat, walking just a few steps in front of you until you were met with the adjacent wall, leaning forward and craning your neck to look at the sky.

“Did he say why he sent for me?” you questioned, though it wasn't bothersome on your end, it did make you wonder what was so important for Din to send someone for you instead of just looking for you himself.

“He only asked me to bring you to him, once the council had finished,” Paz gestured to the door. “They should be done at any moment.”

It wasn't a few minutes later that you found yourself walking the halls just a few steps behind Paz, Mandalorians passed the two of you; your path seemingly going in the wrong direction from the way they flowed down the hall. You nodded to the people who noticed you, most of them giving a simple acknowledgment of your presence; the few without helmets offering a smile.

Some stray voices carried through the halls, echoing off the stone and mostly indistinguishable by the time they found you. You followed Paz turning a corner where the voices grew louder as you stepped through the threshold of a doorway.

There was a long table that stretched across nearly every inch of the room, a few groups of people still lingering as they slowly filed out of the room. Din stood at the head of the table, speaking to an older Mandalorian who carried his helmet under his arm, his hair was greyed and worry-lines set deep into his features. Their conversation hushed as you and Paz neared, Din's helmet turning to follow the direction his counterpart had looked. He said your name softly, turning to face you better.

“As requested,” Paz joked as he stepped towards the other two men. “Took me far too long to find her, you should keep a better track of her, Djarin.”

You rolled your eyes at the laugh they shared, grinning as you watched the two of them shake hands and joke with one another.

“Cyar'ika,” Din turned to you and held his hand out to you. You took it and went to stand at his side, leaning towards him as your fingers intertwined. He gestured to the unnamed Mandalorian, repeating your name to him and introducing the two of you.

“This is Medrit, a member of our council and my mentor from when I was a youngling.”

You had seen Medrit around in the village before, mostly when you had sat at dinner with Mira; but you had yet to speak with him. His demeanor told that he was someone of importance, and the decorations that sat on his chest were a testament to that as well.

You smiled at him, nodding as he repeated your name and offered you his hand to shake.

“Din Djarin has told me much about you,” Medirt spoke, smiling fondly as he patted Din on the shoulder. “I'm sorry I missed your presentation and have failed to meet you before this.”

“Medrit and I have been busy.” Din sounded almost shy, something that sounded so foreign to you. Medrit seemed to agree, exchanging a look with Din that did not go unnoticed.

“But I hope to know you better, very soon.”

He reminded you so much of Din, in the way he spoke and carried himself. You wondered if we're seeing a glimpse of Din's future, the thought of his hair greying at his temples bringing a smile to your face.

“I would like that very much.”

Medrit and Paz said their goodbyes not too long after, following the last few people who remained out of the room. Din and you were left alone, save for the guards who were paired at the doors. Before you could think of asking, Din dismissed them; the two of them shuffling out of the room at his command and pulling the heavy wooden doors closed with a thud.

“You never told me you had a throne.” You teased him, pointing to the chair that was behind him. It was noticeably larger than the others at the table; made of the same wood, deep, rich in color with designs and phrases etched into the arch that served as the backrest. The chair wasn't much different than the rest, but you noticed it nonetheless, grinning at him as he shook his head.

“It's not a throne, Cyar'ika.” You could hear the grin on his voice, his helmet pressing gently against your forehead as he squeezed your hand.

“You look beautiful.”

The leather of his gloves was warm against your face, following along your jaw until he pushed them into your hair.

“Your hair?” He questioned, his fingers pulling away once he noticed resistance.

“The children,” You smiled at the memories, shrugging a little when Din chuckled. “They wanted to practice.”

Some days it felt like there wasn't much you could do to contribute to the Clan. As much as you hated following Mira around as if you were lost, especially since you were married to their Alor; she never minded the company or the help for that matter.

You sat with her for lunch just outside the gated areas that served as the gardens, sitting on empty crates and sharing some of the food you had spent the morning picking. It’s where you met Korri, a sweet girl about your age with kind eyes and a quick tongue that kept even Mira’s smart mouth at bay. You noticed how Mira’s eyes focused on her when she spoke and the way their hands brushed against each other anytime they stood near each other. You didn’t mean to tease Mira badly but, you couldn’t resist seeing the meek expression that crossed her face when you questioned her about it. The two of you were alone and gossiping like schoolgirls over bushels of food; sorting the good from the bad once most of it had been harvested. Korri had joined you, fitting right into your conversation once the awkward tension had dissipated.

As you ate together, you watched as children ran around, playing games of their imagination, their laughter carrying through the gardens. You had learned a few of their names, becoming familiar with them as the times you helped Mira grew in number. Sometimes during your breaks they would come and sit with you, asking questions with an innocence that only seemed understandable because of their age. Most of them understand what your marriage to Din meant, and a few of the older ones had even made a habit of calling you their Alor; a title you knew they used with no real bearing but was a little joke between you and them.

And of course, when one of them came up to you and begged you to let them practice on your hair, you had no resolve to tell them no.

They were careful, as careful as someone so young could be; twisting sections of your hair into different patterns until they found one they liked. Eventually pulling most of it back from your face and securing it with a tie. They insisted on picking some of the small clusters of wildflowers that grew along the fences of the garden and putting them in the ties of your hair. You sat and let them work for as long as they liked, thanking them and making over their handy work as they giggled at your praise.

The children were all very sweet, and some days you looked forward to them following you while you worked, enjoying their company no matter how tedious it could be.

“You look beautiful.” He repeated the sentiment from earlier, his voice just barely above a whisper.

You pressed yourself up against him, your hands resting on his chest while his arms fell to hold onto your hips. You tilted your head, batting your eyes as you looked up at him with a pout.

“Kiss me.”

He groaned a little, squeezing his arms tighter around you.

“Not in here, Cyar'ika.” he sighed, his breath hitching a little when you leaned to press a kiss on the spot where his chest and neck met. “I can't.”

You nuzzled your nose in his skin, dragging your lips up and down and leaving a trail of kisses in their wake. His fingers dug into your flesh, his hands flexing sharply as your nails running gently down his chest, stopping at the signet that cast his belt.

“Sit down, then.”

You pushed his shoulders, watching as he followed your direction and sat in his seat; his thighs spreading naturally as you kneeled in-between them.

When you finally put your mouth on him, he had nearly shot straight out of his chair from how hard his hips bucked. He was wound tight, his cock hard and throbbing under your touch from you teasing him; running your nails over his skin, and mouthing kisses onto his tummy, just barely ghosting over his groin.

He moaned your name, the sound practically melodic even through the metallic filter of his helmet, as you locked eyes with him. You guessed about where they'd be under there, imagining the vivid, dark color of his irises as you had seen them just this morning.

“You look so beautiful, Cyar'ika.” He groaned when he hit the back of your throat, choking out a curse as you slowly pull your mouth back up the length of his cock. “Taking my cock like this.”

You pulled off him with a wet pop, giving a few sweet kisses to the tip before wrapping your lips around him again.

“I don't deserve you, sweet girl.”

“We'll make it on foot, but it'll take a little while to get there.”

“You still haven't told me where we are going.” You released the strap of your bag to grab Din's hand your finger intertwining and your paces synchronizing as if from memory.

You had been walking on this trail for a while, it was one you had never been on before, but Din seemed to know where he was going. So you followed him, watching over your shoulder as the village slowly disappeared into the treeline behind you.

“That is the point of a surprise, Cyar'ika.”

A surprise.

Although it had been almost three months since you had married him, Din still surprised you. Sometimes in the form of his words, his actions, and sometimes with gifts; all things you told him weren’t necessary but he insisted on giving to you, his way of making sure you were taken care of. Of all the things Din could be, he was protective and caring in ways you had never realized could be so intimate with another person.

You knew he would kill for you, and you were sure he had threatened that before.

You had never brought it up, but you knew Din had threatened Kron the night of your presentation. You could count on one hand the number of times you had seen him since, a stark contrast to how he seemed to loom over you in the months prior. While you knew Kron deserved every word that Din had spoken to him, part of you couldn’t help but wonder about it. You were happy to put the experience behind you but part of you worried that it was about something that laid below the surface. You had never even known why Kron had even shown interest in speaking with you in the first place.

“That man, Kron,” you spoke before you had even decided if it was best to bring this up. “Why do you think he hates me?”

He didn’t say anything at first, taking a moment as if he needed to collect his thoughts, the gears turning under the shin of his helmet as he figured out what to say.

“I don't think he hates you, Cyar'ika.”

You scoffed, earning your hand a squeeze as he turned his head to look at you.

“Well, I would've believed otherwise.”

He stopped fully, your hands still connecting the two of you when you stopped just a second after he did, turning to face him. He sighed, breath coming from deep within his chest and causing his shoulders to raise with the force of it.

“He's angry with me,” he paused, still gathering his thoughts as if he needed to decipher what exactly to tell you. “and he never should have taken that out on you.”

“Why would he be angry with you?”

Maybe it was better to drop the subject, but you couldn’t help the curiosity you felt; an itching feeling that got worse with every word Din said.

“Because I beat him.”

The Mandalorians had a particular way of running things, traditions, and governments that sometimes dated back farther than anyone could remember. It didn’t surprise you that it wasn't a matter of electing someone to become their leader, they had to prove themselves just like they did as a child.

“Our leader before me was a wise man named Goran.” Din paused for a moment, leaning his head back until his visor pointed to the sky and then dipped to look at you. “When the time came, he had no children, successors to carry on his line.”

Shortly after the Verd’goten, The elders had announced that the future chief would be chosen from younglings hand-picked by the council. There were days, weeks dedicated to the trials that had been prepared for them; tests of their skill as a leader, a warrior, a Mandalorian. Something like that didn’t happen every day, and nearly all of the village watched as each of the candidates were tested; it became a game of sorts.

Both Din and Kron had been chosen by the members of the council, both of them had succeeded at nearly every challenge and in the final weeks, they were the only two competitors left.

“He was a few years older than me,” He started walking again, pulling you along with him as you listened to him retell it. “Much bigger and more experienced than I was. I think everyone thought he would be chosen.”

The story Mira told you when you first asked about Din was true. As a final test of their strength, both were sent on a hunt; they needed to kill the Mudhorn that had been terrorizing part of the village. Taking down such a creature would be the ultimate approval of a warrior’s capability and skill, and their willingness to protect those who are innocent.

Din had won.

The night he had made his way back to the village, carrying the horn of the beast over his back as evidence of his victory, he was welcomed with open arms. The celebration has lasted for a week and at the end of it, he was crowned the new chief.

“You are the only living thing that has seen my face, since.”

The tenants of his creed had been solidified then, with status came the change and responsibility greater than most had.

“How old were you?”

He hesitated, almost as if he was ashamed to admit it.

“Fifteen.”

“You were just a child.”

“Maybe, so.” He looked at you, his free hand coming up to squeeze the fingers still tightly wrapped around his bicep.

“It must have been hard on you, having enormous responsibility so young.”

You could never imagine the burden Din had to carry and to have it from such a young age; sometimes you had no idea how Din had survived for so long on his own.

“This is the way.”

You placed a kiss on the pauldron of his shoulder, right over the Mudhorn signet that had been molded into the beskar, laying your head against the cold metal as you walked in silence again.

There may never come a time when you fully understand Din's creed, and even if you sometimes thought his life would be easier without it, you never wanted to disrespect his beliefs. You would be there for him, even when you disagreed with his reasoning. Making sure he didn't carry such a weight single-handedly anymore was the only thing you concerned yourself with; Din knowing he didn't have to do this alone anymore was all that mattered.

“One day my time will end, and there will be someone to take the helm just as I did from him.”

You had talked about things like this with Din before, most of the conversation happening in the late hours of the night as you tried to find sleep; you talked about a future, the life you wanted to lead with him, and what would become of that. And want the end would look like.

“I don't want to think about that.” You dismissed him, looping your arm around his tighter and pushing any sort of similar thought from your mind.

“All things must come to pass, Cyar'ika.” His tone was gentle, the words almost lost from how quietly he spoke them. “One of our children will be the next to lead us, and I will die at peace knowing they are prepared to take my place.”

“Our children will be lucky to have a father like you to teach them,” you smiled, shaking your head as you looked at him. “I don't think there's much I could do.”

Din slowed his steps, pulling his arm from your grip and he stood in front of you again. Something in him changed, his demeanor much sharper, determined than what it had been before.

“You have overcome so much in your life, Cyar'ika.” He was quiet again, his words carrying an emotion you could feel as he stepped closer to you, the space separating the two of you falling away to practically nothing.

“Just because you have never wielded a weapon in battle does not make your life less honorable.”

He guided your gaze back on him when it fell, his knuckles gently running along your jaw and tapping against your chin as a request for you to look at him.

“Never degrade yourself from anything less than deserving.”

Din had a way of saying just the right thing, it was as if he had time to carefully plan every single word before it fell from his lips. You smiled up at him as he held your face in his hands, the leather of his gloves contrasting the warmth that you felt in your cheeks.

“If our children are half as kind as you are, Cyar'ika….then I know we will have done something right for them.”

“Don't look.”

“I'm not.”

You couldn't help but giggle at how silly this felt; the kind of feeling that was light, and innocent and left butterflies that swirled inside your stomach when Din laughed at you.

“See,” you squeezed your hands dramatically over your face, trying to prove you had no intention of breaking your promise. “I can't see a thing.”

Even with a half-hearted attempt at reassurance, Din wasn't convinced you'd keep true to your word.

“Yeah?”

You felt the soft fabric of a blindfold cover your face, you slipped your hands out from under it as Din tied it in a knot at the back of your head.

“I think I know you better than that, Cyar'ika.”

His arms wrapped around your waist and hauled you off the rock you had taken a break on.

“A girl can try can't she?” He spun you around until you faced in the other direction, setting you down as you gripped his biceps to keep your balance.

“Maybe,” he turned around, and you heard the sound of him moving around a little bit, then his unfiltered voice hit your ear. “But then you'll ruin the surprise.”

He took the bag from your shoulders and you reached out for him blindly, your belongings hitting the forest floor with a dull thud. He held on to your wrists and gave you a quick kiss on the lips before he lifted you into his arms. One of his hands settled underneath your knees, while the other wrapped around your waist.

You couldn't tell why Din had brought you out here, you couldn't see much as the path disappeared under your feet, the worn cut that had been made on the forest floor blending back into its surroundings. Din had insisted you close your eyes as soon as you reached the end, and he guided you to sit and wait until he was ready. The trail had led to the start of a hill from what you could tell, the sun shining brightly on the other side and casting both of you in a shadow as you stood at its base. Din grunted as he started up the hill, and you dug your fingers tighter into his furs as you shifted in his arms.

He carried you to the top; even with you commenting on how capable you were at walking he just ignored you.

“This is about you, Cyar'ika.”

“About me?” You could feel the sunlight pass over your features from behind your blindfold, warm and kissing your skin as you grinned up at him.

He sat you down once he passed the top, helping you balance yourself against him with his hands still roaming your sides. He turned you around with a kiss to your lips, your back pressing against his chest.

“Are you ready?”

He pressed his lips into your shoulder, trailing sweet kisses up your neck until he reached your ear; his voice rumbling deep in his chest as he whispered the words into your skin.

“I hope.”

There was a nervousness that settled in your stomach, an excitement that flooded your veins but left you woozy as you leaned against him. You felt his hands reach for the blindfold, loosening the knot and letting the soft material fall away from your eyes.

It took a moment for you to adjust to the light, the sun was bright and hovering over the horizon, bathing everything in a beautiful golden glow and you shuddered out a breath when everything came into view.

It went on forever, large stretches of meadow littered with pinks and reds that swirled in gentle patterns; flowers of every kind dancing around your feet and tickling the skirt of your dress. You could see the colors vividly under the brightness of the setting sun; blooms that were full and in every shape imaginable stood at your fingertips.

“Do you like it?”

You felt him smiling against your skin, peppering small kisses along your jaw and cheek.

“It's wonderful.”

You turned in his arms, your faces just a hairbreadth away from one another as a question burned on the tip of your tongue.

“Din, how did you-”

“It's yours.” Din cut you off, his hand cupping your jaw while his thumb gently ran across the apple of your cheek.

“Mine?”

He held onto you tighter, and you felt like you were gonna burst; your chest swelling with the immeasurable feeling you got every time he looked at you.

“I’m giving it to you.”

You could see the warmth hidden behind a heavy-set brow, his irises a deep, rich color that sparkled with golden flecks of sun and left you breathless. His kiss was soft and left your mouth burning in the wake of his touch, your hands threading through his hair and pulling him deeper as your lips slotted together.

“Every year, that is the trail we use when we go on our hunts,” Din explained pulling away just enough for the words to slip past his lip, his palms still caressing the side of your face.

“And every year we pass by this meadow without so much as a second glance.”

Your hands wandered to hold Din’s arms, your fingers trailing along the length of his forearm until they came to rest at his wrists. He smiled as you squeezed them in your palms, your forefinger tracing tiny patterns on the underside of his arm.

“But this time, Cyar'ika, all I could think about was you.”

You felt tears brimming at his words, and when they finally rolled down your cheeks he brushed them away; catching them with his thumb as they fell from your eyes.

“So I'm giving it to you.”

He kissed you again, his mouth heavy against yours and his touch like molten that left a gentle burn underneath your skin. His taste was practically burned on your tongue by the time you pulled away from him, your threaded fingers the only thing that stayed connected as you led him deeper into the meadow. He was impatient, stopping you much sooner than you had planned, your chest colliding as he pulled you back to his arms. Warm, wet kisses trailed over your neck, his teeth sinking into the sensitive spot on your shoulder, making you groan in his ear. You gasped as your hands ran over his back, your nails scratching lightly and traveling to pull the curls at the base of his neck.

You don't remember how you got to the ground, it doesn't even register that you're moving until you feel the solid earth beneath you, pinned by Din's weight. His hands felt like they were everywhere at once, warm, and calloused against your skin once he removed his gloves. They pulled at pieces of your clothes, your own hands going to pull the latches that held Din's cape.

“You want to give me warriors, Cyar'ika?” He growled into your ears, your bodies rutting against each other as you desperately tried to strip yourself of enough layers to have each other. “Be my sweet Riddur and bare my children?”

Din chuckled at the completely sinful sound that left your lips, half-concocted strings of pleas spewing from your mouth; begging for him to touch you, to kiss you, to fill you to the brim with everything that was him.

“Let me breed you, sweet girl, as a proper husband should.”

He wasn't gentle when his hips finally rocked into yours, but it felt so blissful; like your body was tingling with excitement and about to burst with each cant of his hips.

Your knees dug into the dirt beneath you, the material of Din's cape doing nothing to cushion you from the weight of his thrusts; the sound of your love-making the only thing that could be heard over the moans you shared.

He clung to you as if his life depended on it, kissing every inch of you he could reach and gripping you hard enough to leave imprints of his hands on your skin.

He swallowed the screams that laid on the edge of your tongue in a kiss, his fingers circling your clit as you ride your high over and over again. You were so sensitive when he had finally finished, your nerves heightened and your cunt glistening with the mixture of your releases.

You shared ‘I love you’s between slow kisses, your lips swollen and sensitive as he nipped them between his teeth. You held him close, burying your nose in his hair as you lay beneath a painted sky, every color imaginable dancing above you as the world continued slowly from day into night.

There was hardly a shred of sunlight left in the sky as you made your way back to the village. Din all but led you, the darkness making the forest a little more difficult to move through; your fingers gripped any piece of his clothing you could reach, clinging to his side as if you were afraid he'd leave you behind.

He chuckled a little bit as one of your hands gripped his cape, the other landing on his bicep and walking directly behind him, your head resting on his shoulder blade. You let go of him as he tapped your hand, stopping in his tracks to brace himself and telling you to climb into his back. You hesitated for a moment, you have no idea how much longer it would be to get home; there was no way Din could be comfortable carrying you for that long.

“Come on, Cyar'ika.” He turned his helmet to look at you, what little moon that was out tonight glinting off the visor.

You wrapped your arms around his neck, jumping when he told you to and moving with him as his arms helped you settle on his back. He walked a little slower but he still seemed to navigate the trail better than you. You could feel the breaths he took from under his helmet, his chin peeking out from under his helmet from your angle. You laid your head against his shoulder and hummed as you squeezed his neck tighter, your finger sticking out to tickle him along his jawline. He flinched slightly, huffing out a laugh as he groaned out a meaningless warning. You settled your cheek against his pauldron, looking out as slopes of land started to form under the faint shine of the moon. The night was still around you, the only noise that registered being the thump of Din's boots on the ground and the faint sound of a broken breeze that wafted through the woods. You could see lights from the villager's home through the thinning treeline, the mountains that served as the backdrop of your home glowing with blue hue under the moonlight.

“We're almost there.” You commented, pointing a finger in the direction of the village.

Din slowed for a second and lifted his head to follow your hand, commenting on your ‘good eye.’ You huffed and held on tighter to his neck, trying to hold some of your body weight up to make it easier for him.

It didn't take much longer to reach the edge of the forest, the homes of the village much closer and more lively than they had looked from a distance.

There was something uneasy that washed over as you slipped from Din's grip, your feet landing flat on the ground that felt alive underneath you. The earth was rumbling, hardly noticeable but it tickled you through the soles of your boots as you stood still. You look over to find Din looking towards the village, his hand reaching out for you and pulling you to stand behind him. He held onto your hand with a bruising grip as if he were afraid you would slip through his fingertips.

It hit before you could ask him what was wrong, a blinding light that knocked you to your feet and left you scrambling against the dirt beneath you. There was a pounding inside of your head, a deafening sound that was shrill and left ringing in your ears. Your head was spinning as you tried to sit up, fighting against a heavy weight that kept you pinned to the ground. There were sounds of voices, muffled yelling that barely registered as you blinked up at the sky.

The canopy of the trees was glowing in shades of violent reds that swirled around bellows of smoke. Your body felt heavy, every breath that passed through your lungs burned as you pushed against the pressure that held you down. You tried to move again, your arms limp and scratching against the dirt as shadows passed over your face. Some limbs seemed to move with yours slowly, with heavy hands bumping yours in their search for purchase. And then the weight was lifted, your vision blurring at the sight of Din's silver helmet. His hands held your face, words falling from his lips that were suffocated by the chaos that roared around you. Your eyes felt heavy, every time you blinked it was like heaven to have them close for just a second longer.

You looked at him, watching the colors dance across the profile of his helmet with words stuck on your tongue; sentences lost in the confusion that had settled over your mind. He was still talking to you, his arms sliding under your body to haul you off the ground; the remnants of a promise hitting your ear as your eyes finally closed.

“.... you're gonna be okay.”

Translations:

Vod’ika- Little sister

Alor- Leader, chief

Verd’goten- Mandalorian rite of passage

Riddur- Spouse, Husband/Wife

A/N (pt2): Y’all remember when the reader talked about how much she liked flowers because its something she remembers from her childhood??? Well Din did.

Taglist

Permanent

@on-the-razor-crest @readsalot73 @roxypeanut @talesfromtheguild @vintage-silk @ben-is-a-hoe @dartheldur @b0n-chann @dindisneydjarin @tangledlove27 @blueplaidhood @lackofhonor @holamor @ajediherowitchrunner @mandhoelorian @random-fandom-lady @aeryntheofficial @stubbychaos @promiscuoussatan @lark-cale @lilkermit14 @leather-mommy @zombiexbody @absurdthirst @nerd-without-a-cause @xjaywritesx @sappy-stars @drownedbytears @mrsparknuts @gallowsjoker @animechan6616354 @paintballkid711 @pedroepascal @dadolorian @roxu-radio @lv7867 @theocatkov @xjaywritesx @nelba @persephonehemingway @justanotherblonde23 @emzd34 @stardust-galaxies @misofirebird

The Offer

@queenofheavenandhell @youmeanmybrain @theocatkov @dreamgirl-67 @duker42 @spxcedxdddy @vikingqueen28 @hdlynn @leo-moon @tiffdawg @newyorksins @roxypeanut @grapemama @skinny-macncheese @aeryntheofficial @corrupt-fvcker @archqtype @promiscuoussatan @starflyer-104 @jedi-dreea @jake-chillinhaal @imaginecrushes @roguereds @coonflix @mandoispunk @din-damn-djarin @eternallyvenus @starlite41 @emesispo @californiakoenig @mindless--ramblings @lovinglokiforever @gabile18 @chibi-liz05 @justanotherblonde23 @luminarahan @rogertaylorsfalsettogivesmehives

#the mandalorian x reader #din djarin x reader #the mandalorian x you #din djarin x you #the mandalorian fanfiction #pedro pascal #pedro pascal x reader #star wars fanfiction #clan leader au #clan leader mando #the offer #dyn jarren #mando x you #mando x reader #my writing #smut

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norarigby · 3 years ago

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フェア関西のルームメイト二名 (The Two Roommates from Fair Kansai)

Chapter 2: The Typo

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Description: In which while typing a roommate ad online, the famed Miya Atsumu, (23) MSBY Jackals Setter, makes a detrimental typo that leads to an influx of women applicants. Confused, but not completely opposed (the idiot), Miya Atsumu lands on a formidable candidate. Y/n L/n. A Biotechnology major at Kansai University, looking for a change after her last disastrous roommates and some space from a particular complication. It’s odd, but it’ll work. Maybe a little too well.

Pairings: Miya Atsumu x Reader

Warnings: None!

Word Count: ~1.4k

A/n: Cross posted from my AO3. I update there first, so if you want the chapters sooner, check it out!

To say Atsumu was overwhelmed would be an understatement. When one of the athletic directors approached him saying how his phone kept going off in the locker room, he was concerned something was seriously wrong. As a precaution, they assure him that if it was an emergency that he should feel free to take the day. But upon closer inspection, he quickly realized that wouldn’t be necessary. He scrolled through what seemed like pages of messages and missed calls about the ad. And not just any inquiries, but…

“ALL WOMEN!” Atsumu exclaimed loudly in the busy shop. A few annoyed heads turned to the source of the outburst.

Osamu rolled his eyes, “‘Tsumu, we talked about this. Having you come during busy hours is already enough of a nuisance, but could you keep it down? This is still a public place.”

“But ‘Samu! What am I going to do?” Atsumu whisper-shouted like it would help his outburst, but it still elicited a few head turns, “I already didn’t want to room with a stranger! And now all of the applicants are girls? This has to be some sort of joke.”

Osamu helped with the line and handed out a few orders to customers before focusing some energy on his dramatic brother. “Well, did you specify that you were only looking for male roommate?”

Atsumu picked at the stray rice grains on his plate as he tried to remember what he wrote. He couldn’t remember specifying anything about the roommate themselves; focusing mainly on the apartment itself. He voiced his thoughts to his brother.

“Hmm, well Atsumu can be a girl's name. Maybe that’s why?”

He tried not to be offended at his brother’s comment, mainly because he was partially right. It’s possible that they’re assuming he’s a girl. But that doesn’t make entire sense either. Is it possible his fan club found the posting? That seemed pretty possible. Atsumu knew fangirls could get crazy when they wanted to be.

Osamu finished some things behind the bar and went over to sit by Atsumu. The two contemplated his conundrum over a fresh plate of onigiri. After Osamu’s second, he spoke up, “Just for science, can I see your ad?”

Atsumu gave him an incredulous look, but pulled up the ad anyway, “I mean, sure, but I don’t think-”

At Atsumu’s sudden silence, Osamu’s curiosity was piqued, “”Tsumu? Everything okay?”

Wordlessly he handed the phone over and Osamu read through the ad. Immediately after reading, he burst into laughter.

“‘Samu! This isn’t funny!”

But Osamu was laughing so hard he couldn’t even speak. Some of his employees turned out of concern and curiosity at their boss’ sudden burst. Eventually, he calmed down enough to choke out a “you are in some trouble, ‘Tsumu”.

Roommate Wanted.

Master Bedroom available with a private bath in a 100 sq m apartment in Osaka. In-unit wash, AC, dishwasher, internet, etc. Fully furnished (besides bedroom available). Rent with utilities is 62784¥. Near public transportation. Feel free to contact with questions or offers.

06-XXXX-XXXX

Text/Call

Miya Atsumi

“Alright, that wraps it up for today. Finish the calculations on your own time and be sure to bring back your completed form by next class. See you Tuesday!”

The sound of chairs scraping against the floor harmonized with the zipping and unzipping of backpacks as the classroom got up to leave. Y/n pulled out her phone to finally check her messages.

From: Mom

Found a listing in Osaka that looks interesting. Good apartment with really good pricing. You should give them a call.

(link)

Y/n typed a quick thank you before clicking on the link. Her mom was right. It looked like a decent location and a not too bad price. Trying to look for any information on the roommate (roommates?), all she could see was a number and a name at the bottom of the ad. What a strange listing. It was probably the shortest listing she’d ever come across--and definitely the most to the point.

Y/n sat and stared at the listing for a little bit while weighing her options. She just got out of an interesting situation in Suita, but she was now living with her parents. Which wasn’t necessarily a bad thing, but both her and her parents weren’t exactly jumping at the idea of her moving back in, especially with her graduating college next year.

Making up her mind, she copied the number and sent a quick text to the number on the ad. A silent prayer was sent to whoever was listening. This wouldn’t fix all of her problems, but this would solve a big one and she swore she would be able to handle the rest.

“And you told me I was loud,” Now Atsumu was getting antsy about the amount of people staring at his hysteric brother. “”Samu, you need to calm down.”

This had been going on for at least ten minutes now. Osamu would read through the ad, get sent into a fit of laughter, finally calm down, but then would read it again and the cycle would start all over again. Not used to being the responsible twin, in addition to being extremely embarrassed by his brother’s reaction to his typo, Atsumu was at a loss for what to do. He tried sending reassuring smiles to patrons and mumbled some apologies, but that was the extent of his capabilities.

Finally, Osamu calmed down and pushed Atsumu’s phone back to him. Taking a deep breath to compose himself, Osamu tried to console his brother, “Hey, maybe this won’t be such a bad thing. Surely, there’s at least one of those girls that you could at least be civil with.”

Atsumu scrolled through his messages again, exacerbated, “Even if that’s true! There’s too many! I don’t really have the time to sit and go through all of these.”

There were at least 100 people who had responded to his ad and where the messages definitely weren’t flooding in as much as they had earlier that day, he would get a notification about once every 15-20 minutes. By the time he got through the original applicants, there would be another 100-200 to take their place. In between practice and conditioning, there was no way Atsumu was going to be able to get through these all by himself.

“Tell you what,” Osamu leaned back in the chair he was sitting in, “Since this was partially my idea, I’ll help you tonight after I close up. And if we can’t find anyone, I’ll help you write up a better listing and we can delete this one.”

Atsumu’s other issue with all of these applicants is that he really didn’t want to spend energy looking through dozens of descriptions and deciding if he would like them or not. He assumed it would be like the dating app he had for a couple weeks, but worse. Atsumu really didn’t like the idea of judging someone based on a single paragraph they wrote about themselves. He preferred a more personal approach. Like with the various spikers and teammates he’d played with over the years, he was really good at reading people in person. Within a short conversation, he could pretty accurately lay out a person’s personality (what things they might like, what might make them tick, what things they were indifferent to). Over the internet it was much more difficult.

He guessed he could always ask them to meet in person, right? That was something people did. They could meet at his brother’s restaurant so then Osamu could get a feel for the other person. Atsumu figured it would also get one glaring issue out of the way: he was a guy.

It was a fool proof plan. Osamu and him would sort through the applicants tonight and he would invite them to meet him in person. This way he can see if it’s going to work or not and if they aren’t comfortable with rooming with a guy they can just leave. Genius!

Atsumu recounted his plan to his brother and Osamu was in agreement. With that, the blonde brother left to go to afternoon conditioning, planning on returning just before close to sneak in a few more onigiri from his brother before the long haul.

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maatryoshkaa · 4 years ago

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young god | chapter 16

chapters: | 1 | 2 | 3 | 4 | 5 | 6 | 7 | 8 | 9 | 10 | 11| 12 | 13 | 14 | 15 | 16 | epilogue |

word count: 14.3k

warnings: graphic descriptions of violence, domestic & child abuse, sexual abuse of a minor, descriptions of mental illness, death, dark themes and foul language. once again, all information regarding psychiatric conditions or courtroom procedures are to be taken with a grain of salt.

description: Han Jisung wrestles with the demons of his past as Kim Seungmin faces his own dilemma in the present, with one last chilling threat from Prosecutor Kang forcing Seungmin to make a final, crucial decision. The clock is counting down as your last chance wears thin, and one unexpected declaration is all it takes for things to change—forever.

watch the trailer here!

16| the prisoner’s dilemma.

Jisung was still frozen in place long after the heavy doors had swung shut and erased your face from his sight. His own hand felt foreign as he held it against his stinging cheek, the dull throbbing drowned out by the words still ringing in his ears.

Your friends want you to stay alive. Your mother wanted you to stay alive.

I need you to stay alive.

Bang Chan was watching him from the side, the detective’s eyes filled with equal parts amusement and wariness. Finally, he spoke. “You deserved that, you know.”

Jisung was silent, but his mind was already replaying the scene over and over again. Your anxious eyes, your voice trembling with the effort to stay steady. The slap couldn’t compare to the pain that had etched itself into your features every time he had spoken harshly, trying again and again to push you away. I know I did.

Chan sighed. “How are you feeling?”

A soft laugh escaped from Jisung’s dry mouth. “Dizzy,” he deadpanned honestly. The adrenaline was beginning to die down, but instead of leaving him sick in the stomach and with a pounding headache like usual, Jisung felt almost...lightheaded with relief. “Like...like a kid that just got told off?”

The detective chuckled, letting out his low, signature whistle. “What’d I tell you? That’s love, mate.”

Jisung looked at him now, incredulous. “Getting slapped in the face?”

“No,” Chan smiled, but for once, his eyes were serious. “Someone who cares about you enough to call you out when you’re wrong.”

Not knowing what to say, Jisung turned away, letting the ticking of the clock on the wall fill the strained silence. He could still feel Chan’s gaze on him, but it was no longer the look of a detective trying to dissect a case file. Instead, it held the same strange softness it had when Chan had pulled Jisung aside at the Third Eye, and asked if he was okay.

“I told you once,” Chan began slowly, “that everyone deserves to be loved, and that you’re no different. Of course, things have...changed,” he continued, and Jisung looked down, throat tight as he waited for Chan to finish. “But I still stand by what I said.”

Before Jisung could reply, the intercom crackled overhead. “The court hearing for Han Jisung and the Miroh Heights Murder Cases will be resuming in five minutes. All attorneys, jurors, and participants in the trial, please report to the courtroom immediately—”

“Detective, you should get going,” a security guard spoke lowly to Chan, who sighed and nodded, pulling himself to his feet. As he passed where Jisung was standing, he stopped briefly.

“You’re a good kid, Han Jisung. Even if you don’t believe it yourself...you had better start to.”

“Chan—”

The detective had reached the door when he looked over his shoulder at Jisung. He had the same old mischievous smile on his face again, but his eyes were sad.

“I hope we can grab another coffee together some time, yeah?”

━━━━━━━━

Seungmin’s head was spinning as he pushed through rooms packed with spectators and reporters until he finally stumbled into an emptier hallway. His eyes gleaned the plaques on the doors, searching for the room number the court clerks had given him after Seungmin had overheard their frantic conversation.

“We can’t just end the case here — the media and people’ll riot.”

“But we’ve lost a witness and the lead prosecutor of the case in one day — how the hell is the trial supposed to continue?”

The clerk wringed his hands. “We need to find out if there were any other prosecutors working with Kang on the case — call them in ASAP—”

And so, here Seungmin was — heart threatening to leap out of his throat, charging headfirst into a case that had been ripped out of his hands months ago. He had stepped into their conversation impulsively, and now a thousand warning bells were going off in his mind.

Kim Seungmin was not impulsive. Kim Seungmin always calculated his plans perfectly, meticulously. It was one of the reasons why he had always been at the top of his class, graduating a year early with honours. Always praised for being levelheaded and thorough.

Still, he thought, there had been one person that had seen right through him.

“You’re stressed,” you blurted bluntly, and Seungmin’s coffee cup froze midway to his lips. You were in his office, one of the many meetings you two had arranged in order to keep each other updated with information regarding Jisung’s case.

“We’re all stressed,” Seungmin replied matter-of-factly, unsure where you were going with this, but you shook your head.

“But you try the hardest out of all of us to hide it. Tell me if I’m crossing a line here, but—” you looked at him, tilting your head. “You seem like the type who’s calm and collected on the outside to...hide the fact that you’re still wrestling with nerves, and insecurities, on the inside. Like a defense mechanism.”

Seungmin fell silent. Instinctively, he felt the urge to laugh it off, but in a fleeting moment, his mind wandered to his coworkers— their condescending gazes at who they thought was just a lucky amateur, a young imposter infringing upon a field with people twice his age. Since his first day at the law firm, Seungmin had felt an unbearable desire to prove himself worthy in their eyes, and the anxious feeling ate away at him every time he touched a case.

Sensing the sudden change in mood, you quickly stammered, “I-I’m sorry, that was so unnecessary—what I’m trying to say is— it’s okay to be nervous. Don’t psyche yourself out with your own expectations for yourself. U-um—”

You trailed off, mortified, but Seungmin let out a small laugh, shaking his head lightly when your eyes widened in confusion. “No, no, it’s just…” You were smart and capable — anyone could see that — but always seemed to second-guess your own abilities. He found it almost endearing. “You really are a psychology major, Miss l/n.”

Seungmin rounded a corner and nearly slammed into someone that had just walked out of the men’s washrooms. Before he could apologise, Seungmin looked up into the man’s face and his gut twisted unpleasantly.

Prosecutor Kang seized Seungmin by the collar before he could walk away, his face livid. The younger man’s eyes darted down either side of the empty hallway, then back at his former senior. He had heard Kang was to be kept at the courthouse until the end of the trial, in case they needed anything from him. There were guards flanking every entrance and exit, so Kang couldn’t exactly escape, but seeing him walk around unsupervised still made Seungmin uneasy.

“S-sir, you can’t—”

“Do you remember what you said? What you promised?” Kang seethed, eyes wild as they raked Seungmin up and down. “‘I can handle it. I’ll find the culprit, and I’ll convict him. Death penalty, no less.’”

Hearing his own words coming out of Kang’s mouth made Seungmin wince and shrink back. Kang caught his discomfort, grinning savagely before jerking his head in the direction of the holding cells, where Jisung was. “You’re taking over the case, aren’t you? Your culprit’s right there. Everything’s been laid out for you, it couldn’t be simpler.”

Seungmin let out a shaky breath, fists clenched by his sides. Before he could open his mouth, Kang pulled him in closer, voice dangerously low.

“I always thought it was fishy, you know — someone your age, already entering the field? So I did my research.” Kang paused, smirking. “You’re a little prodigy, aren’t you? I didn’t know your parents were renowned lawyers, too.”

At that, Seungmin froze, shocked eyes darting up to meet Kang’s. It was true — born into a family of influential law enforcement officials, Seungmin had practically grown up reading about legal matters and judicial affairs. Despite his efforts to keep his parentage discreet as he grew older — hating the way their reputations always preceded his own — the expectations to follow in their footsteps had always remained suffocating. He loved law with all his heart, but his own family had become yet another reason why Seungmin had so much to live up to, and even more to lose.

The older prosecutor chuckled — Seungmin must have looked like a deer in headlights. “You can’t disappoint them, yes? You need to do everything you can to uphold the big family name.” Kang’s voice had a dangerous edge to it, like a blade. “My career might be over, little prosecutor, but I have far more power than you think. I can make sure you never step foot into this profession ever again. You want to prove yourself? To me, to your fellow prosecutors, to your parents? Here’s your chance.”

There was a snakelike glint in Kang’s eyes when he finally let Seungmin go, his words seeping through Seungmin’s mind like poison.

Prove yourself. Prove yourself. A security guard had appeared at the end of the hallway, and without another word, Kang calmly turned on his heel, letting the guard escort him away. Seungmin watched his silhouette grow fainter, feeling sick to his stomach.

Just how many cases...no, how many prosecutors had Kang manipulated for his own benefit?

He took a shuddering breath. Time was running out. Forcing his feet to move, Seungmin finally found the room, barely listening when the clerk quickly explained that the rights to the case were being transferred to him last minute.

“Ten minutes, Prosecutor Kim. You have approximately ten minutes to prepare your case.”

The roomful of law officials were watching him with doubtful eyes — the same doubtful, scornful gazes that had followed him his entire life. Ten minutes. Picking up where Kang had left off would be the smoothest, most reasonable route. Preparing an entirely different argument, however, was suicide.

Seungmin glanced up at the clock, and his heart sank.

━━━━━━━━

The commotion in the courtroom sounded like the buzzing of an agitated beehive, the constant thrumming of hushed conversations and your own erratic heartbeat fueling the tense atmosphere.

Hyunjin, Felix, Woojin, and you had sprinted straight to the courtroom after a rapid search for Seungmin had turned up futile — the prosecutor was nowhere to be seen, but judging from the murmurs you overheard around you, the case had been transferred into his hands with mere minutes to spare. You bit your lip nervously. This should have been good news, but you all knew that the odds — and time — were still against you. Looking the weariest you’d ever seen him, Bang Chan collapsed into the seat next to you. He tried to give you a reassuring smile, but as he turned away, eyes glued to the scene about to unfold, you saw that his features were strained and pale.

With a creak that send a hush rippling through the courtroom, the doors swung open to reveal more familiar faces — the judge, the prosecution, the jury. Your eyes instinctively flickered to Jisung, whose expression was as guarded as ever, and instantly felt a pang of guilt in your chest. The rest of the room, however, had fallen silent before the judge had even spoken. All their gazes were trained on the new prosecutor that had entered the room.

Seungmin felt the stares on him before he even looked up, dozens of eyes weighing down on him as if he were a butterfly pinned to a specimen table. He should have gotten used to the stares by now — this was far from his first court hearing — but when he looked out into the faces of the audience, he still felt the same squeamish anxiety he had always tried so desperately to ignore. Their expressions were dubious, condescending, unconvinced — as if all to say, is this a joke? This kid is the new lead prosecutor?

The judge cleared her throat, pushing her half-moon spectacles back onto her nose. “Thank you for your patience. The court hearing for Han Jisung and the Miroh Heights Murder Cases is now back in session. You may be seated.” She turned to Seungmin, eyes narrowed. “What is the case the prosecution will be presenting?”

Seungmin’s mind was racing as he turned over the envelope in his hands — the envelope containing Kang’s case file — and slid out the papers with numb fingertips. As he did so, familiar words echoed in his mind — words he had been told since he had first chosen to study law, and words he had forced himself to live by ever since.

“You have a big heart, Kim Seungmin — too big. Learn to control your emotions if you want to make it in this field.”

“You have to be cold, quick, and rational. Kindness is a weakness.”

“There is no room for a wavering heart in prosecution.”

He had always taken the words like bitter medicine, beyond determined to prove to his older coworkers that he wasn’t just the incompetent young prosecutor they always made him out to be. Desperate to prove to his family that he was capable, that he wouldn’t tarnish their names. Every step he had taken had been careful, calculated, all so that Seungmin could win their approval, finally escape their suffocating scrutiny.

“Your Honour,” Seungmin began, “as a prosecutor, I was taught that my duty is to defend the rule of law to ensure justice is served, no matter how harsh it may be.”

You watched the young prosecutor speak carefully, his grave expression making your gut twist. Kim Seungmin, Chan had told you once in passing, came from a family of established lawyers — a child prodigy with big shoes to fill, and everything to lose. And now, you realised with dread, his words seemed to be an exact echo of Prosecutor Kang’s.

Seungmin’s stomach was fluttering as if it were his first trial again, heart palpitating with each passing moment as he was seized with the sudden urge to run. Taking a deep breath, his gaze flickered up to meet yours in the audience — your blazing eyes, charged with emotion, your heart always written so clearly across your adamant features. You, who stopped at nothing in order to protect what you believed was right.

Prove yourself. Prove to everyone you’re good enough, strong enough.

He closed his eyes, knowing that he would regret what he was about to say.

“But I was also taught that a good prosecutor is one that uses the law to protect the people.” Seungmin swallowed hard, sliding Kang’s papers back into the envelope and dropping it onto the desk behind him. “Thus, the case I am presenting today is not one that intends to prove Han Jisung guilty of first degree murder.”

The entire room erupted in frantic murmurs, the judge hurriedly banging the gavel to maintain order. Seungmin caught a glimpse of Jisung’s expression — the boy was still looking down, but his face had paled in surprise at the prosecutor’s sudden declaration. Just then, the doors burst open, a red-faced clerk with a handful of padded envelopes ducking in and hurrying to Seungmin’s side.

“What you requested, sir,” the clerk explained quietly, handing him the envelopes, and Seungmin recalled the conversation they had had in the conference rooms, just before the trial had recommenced.

“There are ten minutes remaining until we have to begin,” the clerk informed Seungmin worriedly, seeing the young prosecutor’s tense face. “Is there anything you need from the former prosecution? Since these are special circumstances, I can have them brought to you as soon as possible during the trial.”

Either ten minutes to gather the evidence he needed, Seungmin thought dismally, or ten minutes to build a strong argument from what he—no, Kang—already had.

“Listen carefully.” Screwing his eyes shut, Seungmin continued, “Please fetch me Han Jisung’s camcorder footage — the memory cards — and Yang Jeongin’s Walkman tapes from Prosecutor Kang’s archives. All of them, immediately.”

The knot of anxiety in Seungmin’s chest finally began to unclench, the envelopes’ contents anchoring him in place with a reassuring weight. He turned to the judge, surprised at the newfound authority in his own voice. “The prosecution maintains that Han Jisung is not guilty of first degree murder. We will be presenting all the evidence Prosecutor Kang excluded, and examining the case from all angles so that the jury may form an accurate judgement and verdict.”

“That’s—an entirely new argument,” Hyunjin whispered incredulously beside you. “How did he come up with a case in ten minutes?”

“He didn’t. He’s building his case on the spot,” Chan realised out loud, a small smile spreading on his lips. He leaned forward with a glint of pride in his eyes. “Now that’s the Kim Seungmin I know.”

You watched as Seungmin called up his first witness, who was none other than Kang’s psychiatric expert. “You introduced yourself as the psychiatrist involved with this case — responsible for analysing the defendant’s mental condition, correct?”

The red-nosed man coughed nervously. “Y-yes, uh, well — the defendant was unwilling to speak during the evaluation, so we were unable to gain much personal testimony—”

“That shouldn’t be a problem,” Seungmin picked up one the envelopes, handing it to the court clerk and motioning for him to project the contents. “The following is recovered footage from a camcorder the defendant was gifted when he was six years old, and developed a habit of carrying around.” He turned towards the psychiatrist. “It’s raw, untampered footage containing experiences from the defendant’s childhood. I want you to watch it and answer a few questions. There is, however, graphic content, and I advise the spectators to view it with caution.”

You saw Seungmin cast a worried look towards Jisung, and you knew how the prosecutor was feeling. After nearly thirteen years of Jisung hiding his past from even his closest friends, it was all suddenly being thrust under the harsh light — in front of a roomful of people who wanted to sentence him to death, no less — but you both knew that this was your last chance.

The projector whirred as the clerk inserted the first memory cards into the computer. The memory cards had been confiscated by Kang before you had gotten the chance to watch them yourself — what you did know about the footage came from the bits Chan had recounted for you after several insistent phone calls, and what Jisung himself had told you that fateful night. Uneasiness stirring in your chest, you watched as the screen came to life, blurry colours and pixelated outlines taking shape.

There was nothing out of the ordinary at first — short clips of chipped action figures on dusty windowsills, or toy cars rolling idly across wooden floors. The footage was shaky, as if the person holding the camcorder could barely support its weight. Jisung had barely been six years old, you remembered, feeling a strange feeling of sadness wash over you. It was as if you were watching a movie you already knew the ending to, and all that was left in your gut was a sinking dread at what was about to come.

As the clerk flipped through the footage, a faint sound pricked at your ears, and you jerked your head up, listening to make sure you had heard right — and sure enough, there it was. Muffled shouting, like it was coming from another room in the house, something heavy shattering on the floor — and judging from the murmurs and faces of the spectators around you, they heard it as well. The camcorder was still pointed at the action figurines, but had frozen stiffly — as if the child holding it was listening, too.

More scenes began to unfold, one after another. A birthday, six lopsided candles glowing on a small white cake. Jisung humming a familiar tune with a woman you assumed was his mother. And clip after clip where the camcorder was pointed at the ceiling of a dark room — Jisung’s childhood bedroom — as the sounds of arguing and yelling echoed through the walls. Slowly but surely, the scenes began to grow familiar.

“February 22nd, 2005.”

The day Jisung had stumbled across another woman in his parents’ bed, and his father had terrorized him until he promised not to tell anyone.

“June 3rd, 2006.”

His face-to-face encounter with his father’s mistress, one that left scars in the form of cigarette burns, red-lipped smiles, and tainted touches.

“December 31st, 2009.”

The day everything had gone wrong.

Stomach lurching, you watched as everything Jisung had told you — his rough voice shaking in your darkened apartment, dark eyes holding nightmares of years long past — took the form of grainy camera footage. His father crashing through the doorframe, hands choking the life from the woman beneath him. Even though the camera quality was poor, the woman’s pleading eyes, rolled up towards the tiny crack in the closet where Jisung had been hidden, seemed to pierce directly through you.

It all seemed to happen in a flash — in the blink of an eye, there were flames licking bloodstained floors clean, the camcorder out of focus as Jisung limped through thick white snow and finally collapsed on top of his mother’s cold body. The gritty screams of anguish and pain seemed to ring in your ears long after Seungmin stopped the footage, and you lifted a shaking gaze to Jisung’s face. His eyes had been cast downwards the entire time, but even from across the room, you could see his violently trembling jaw, the ragged heave of his chest. How many times had he lived through this footage himself — in his nightmares, through half-delirious flashbacks, every time he closed his eyes?

“Thirteen years ago, there was a massive fire on the outskirts of Miroh Heights. The Han house was burned to the ground and left a single boy alive, without any relatives to take custody. Unable to fathom what exactly happened, police filed it away as a gas explosion, and the boy was tossed around foster homes and orphanages until it was eventually forgotten,” Seungmin informed them. He thanked Woojin internally as he spoke — after mentioning several times that Jisung’s past sounded strangely familiar, the police captain had been the one to finally connect the dots between the two cold cases, thirteen years apart.

“There were initial speculations of domestic abuse, but they were never investigated thoroughly. The case was neglected, left cold, and when the statute of limitations expired, it was simply dismissed as another tragedy.” Seungmin nodded at the clerk again, who slid the next memory card in.

This card was filled with what sounded like endless psychological evaluations — disembodied voices introducing themselves as social workers, child psychiatrists, and the like, all mercilessly bombarding Jisung with personal questions. The first half was either entirely black or out of focus, as if Jisung had been holding the camcorder down and clutching it close to his body. They had all given up when the young boy could barely get his answers out, the lingering fear and untreated trauma having locked his voice in his throat.

“He’s a lost cause.”

“Problem kid.”

“Impossible to treat.”

You clenched your fists every time a social worker left the room, muttering under their breath in annoyance. Then, as the clips grew clearer, a child with round, catlike eyes and a pale expression beginning to appear in several of the frames.

Lee Minho.

“At the beginning of this decade, we all know that Miroh Heights went through an economic rift — workers were laid off, young children abandoned on the streets. During these times, child abuse and child trafficking cases also skyrocketed.” Seungmin spoke as the screen flashed, the scene now showing what looked like a filthy, unfinished basement floor.

“We witnessed a rise of ‘suicide killers’ — namely, perpetrators who would kidnap and murder their own family members or vulnerable strangers before ending their own lives. Many were acting on their anger and grief through violence; others saw it as a form of revenge.”

With a wince, you remembered what Minho had told you on the rooftop of the hospital that evening — when he and Jisung had been lured into a man’s home by their own hunger, and woke up to him trying to kill them. The sound of approaching footsteps filled the speakers, the camcorder pointed at an awkward angle and shaking uncontrollably before it clattered to the ground, and the footage cut out.

When the next clip began, it was pointed down at wide-eyed, twelve-year-old Jisung.

“Ah, now this is jus’ perfect. The cops’ll love this, yes they will.” You shivered at the man’s hoarse voice behind the camcorder, flinching as the barrel of a gun was pressed to Jisung’s forehead. “Now, boy — I want you to beg for your life — go on.”

Frozen in your seat, you watched as all hell broke loose — the man pressing the trigger just as Jisung managed to cut the cords free, the camcorder smashing into concrete as Jisung fought for his life. When the lens finally focused again, what you saw made your blood run cold. A twelve-year-old boy kneeling before the mangled corpse of a grown man, cherub-like face drenched with crimson. You heard Minho’s shallow, terrified breathing behind the camcorder as Jisung turned towards him, the look in his eyes sending an icy chill down your spine. It was the exact same look he had given you when you had found him at the diner, screaming out his name as if trying to wake him from a nightmare.

Emptiness.

Even through the grainy film, you could catch the moment Jisung’s consciousness returned to him, soft brown eyes shifting and focusing into a childlike, dazed expression once again.

“Minho, can we go home?”

The footage sputtered to a stop. The visceral scene had been exactly as the coroner had described to you on the hospital rooftop, and yet nothing could have prepared you for it. You only realised how badly you had been shaking when Felix gently nudged you, peering at your face worriedly. When you forced yourself to unclench your fists, you winced at the red half-moon weals your nails had left in your palms.

“Both the defendant and coroner Lee Minho were involved in a kidnapping case, and subjected to extreme violence at the ages of twelve and thirteen. The perpetrator died in the incident. There was no culprit to catch. Once again, the case was buried, under the economic turmoil Miroh Heights was experiencing, by neglectful law enforcement.”

Seungmin turned back to look at the psychiatrist. “Now, I’m no expert in analysing family matters, but I think we can confirm several cases of domestic abuse from this footage alone. Parental neglect. Repeated exposure to violence. Years of sexual harassment. How would you psychoanalyse a patient who has gone through these events?”

The red-faced man was evidently shaken, wiping the sweat from his brow as he stuttered out, “This — this is more than enough to cause severe cases of post-traumatic stress disorder.” His eyes darted around the courtroom nervously, as if the words were refusing to come out of his mouth.

“He looks like he’s scared,” you murmured. “Like he’s still unwilling to talk.”

“Kang must have made some sort of a deal with him,” Woojin replied under his breath, shaking his head. “But it’s all over now — he’s got nothing more to lose.”

“You swore an oath before the trial began,” Seungmin pressed sternly, not taking his gaze off the nervous man. “‘I do solemnly declare that the evidence I shall give shall be the truth, the whole truth, and nothing but the truth.’ Tell me the truth, sir.”

Cowering under Seungmin’s hard gaze, the psychiatrist finally caved. “The...the fact that these events took place during the defendant’s childhood is even more significant. Children’s minds are—are molded from a very young age. The majority of your adult behaviour is shaped by what you’ve experienced as a child, you see.”

“Earlier, you mentioned the possibility of sociopathy. You reached this conclusion because of the defendant’s criminal records, and reported behaviour such as —” Seungmin pulled out Kang’s papers, quickly flipping through. “Theft. Pyromanic, destructive, and self-destructive tendencies.” He raised an eyebrow at the boys from the diner attack. “Bordering on multiple personas.”

“U-uh, well — using the information given during the previous trial, those symptoms did correlate strongly with antisocial personality disorder. But with this newfound context —” the psychiatrist lowered his head meekly, “th-the symptoms are actually closer to those of an individual suffering from extreme, untreated, PTSD.”

Exhaling slowly, Seungmin nodded at the judge. “Post-traumatic stress disorder. Let’s re-examine the defendant’s behaviour under this lens, then. How would PTSD explain violent tendencies in a child?”

“They’re a form of an exaggerated startle response — a sudden reaction triggered by something that upsets the patient. It’s a common long-term aftereffect of childhood abuse or trauma. Some patients fall unconscious, some experience panic attacks or seizures. In the case of Han Jisung...it came in the form of repeated violent outbursts.”

You thought back to the man Jisung had attacked, seemingly out of nowhere at the Yellow Wood — the dead man whose girlfriend, Chan had told you, had actually come to the precinct a few days before Jisung’s trial.

“She was crying real bad. I thought she would want him—Jisung—dead, that she would tell us to convict him, no matter what,” Chan had told you, the detective’s face still twisted in confusion. “And she doesn’t want to testify — she’s still dealing with the trauma, and doesn’t want anything to do with the trial. But y/n — the girl was crying for him. For Jisung. Said that the kid stepped in right when her boyfriend was hitting her, and — told her to go home.”

An exaggerated startle response. You remembered it from your classes, a sudden reaction triggered by something that upset the patient. Like domestic abuse. Unsolicited sexual approaches. Or, you shivered, little things — like the colour red. His father, his mistress, his mother, his kidnapper — did Jisung constantly see their faces in the shadows, in strangers that were repeating the same mistakes?

“The witnesses who knew Han Jisung when he was younger,” Seungmin continued, turning to the two injured boys from the diner, “also testified that he often changed expressions ‘like a mask.’ Assuming this is true, why might the defendant exhibit this sort of behaviour?”

“Abused children — or people who have experienced severe trauma — can develop dissociative habits. Disconnecting from past memories, information, or even present experiences as a defense mechanism...which is why the defendant might appear to change moods often, or show drastically different sides of himself in different situations.”

“In other words,” Seungmin said slowly, brow furrowing in concentration, “the defendant experienced so many traumatic events during his childhood, that the untreated aftereffects impaired his emotional development into adulthood. Which would explain why his startle response slowly morphed, on a larger scale, into something extremely violent and dangerous.”

The psychiatrist looked weary and defeated. “Correct.”

Motioning for the man to take a seat — which he did gladly — Seungmin pulled out the next envelope — the coroner’s photos from the Yellow Wood attacks. Wordlessly, he projected them onto the screen, eliciting small gasps of horror and disgust around the room.

“Earlier, Prosecutor Kang argued that the violent mutilation of the victims was proof that the perpetrator performed these gruesome acts and mutilations out of personal enjoyment and depravity.” Seungmin turned to address the judge, voice firm.

“Your Honour, under this new context, I would argue that the photos only serve as further visual evidence depicting the defendant’s mental state at the time of the crime.” He flipped through the images. “Multiple wound sites, messy blood spattering, extreme blunt force trauma. And—if the coroner was telling the truth—a stone from the scene of the crime as the murder weapon. All these signs lead us to believe that the defendant’s actions, no, his judgement, was acutely impaired. This response, these attacks, were triggered due to a pre-existing mental condition.”

The room shifted uneasily as his words sunk in, and the judge fixed her stern gaze onto Seungmin. “Does the prosecution have any evidence that directly refutes the previous claim of first degree murder? To prove that the murders were not premeditated, or intentional, beyond a reasonable doubt?”

Think, Seungmin, think. He racked his mind furiously, trying to recall every piece of evidence that you, Chan, and Woojin had gone through with him. Photographs, diagrams, testimony transcripts — Seungmin’s eyes trailed off to the pile of envelopes the clerk had brought, and landed on the packet containing Yang Jeongin’s tapes.

That’s it.

“Yes, Your Honour.” He cleared his throat, mind racing to connect the dots. “As we all know, the living witness of the Yellow Wood attacks, Yang Jeongin, was attacked at around three o’clock in the morning. He worked several late shifts for delivery companies around the town.” Seungmin nodded towards Jeongin. “What we did not know until recently, however, is that the witness had a hobby of recording himself during these shifts on his own Walkman.”

An alarmed murmur rippled through the crowd as Seungmin shook the tapes out from the envelope, handing them to the clerk. After several tense moments, there was a faint crackling, and the recording began to play.

The first tape held a medley of acoustic songs the delivery boy had mixed himself — just as you had remembered it.

The second tape was empty — the one Minho had stolen from the scene of the crime, and you had eventually recovered from his office.

When the clerk popped in the third, the soft sound of breathing and crunching gravel filled the room, and you shivered. This was the tape you had listened to with Seo Changbin — the tape that had turned your entire life upside down.

“I.N. here! It is currently...2:04 A.M.!”

You glanced at the faces around the room — everyone was on edge, and you felt no different. You could still hear Jeongin’s cry of surprise and pain echoing in your ears, the horrible crash as he hit the forest floor. What was Seungmin thinking? How was a recording of the witness being attacked going to prove Jisung’s innocence? If anything, it was incriminating evidence.

Jeongin’s cheery, oblivious voice continued until you heard the woman’s scream in the distance, muffled under the delivery boy’s distracted humming. Then, a man crying out in guttural pain — the man, you knew now, that had been killed by Jisung in the Yellow Wood. The sounds of leaves crunching and branches snapping under the bicycle wheels grew louder, and you knew that this had been the moment Jeongin had entered the Wood — heading closer and closer towards what would later become the scene of the crime.

“Hello? Is everything okay over there?” There was a small gasp of horror as Jeongin caught sight of the body. “U-um. Is he—do you need help? I can call an ambulance. What hap—”

It happened before you could flinch to cover your ears. The horribly familiar crunch of stone meeting skull, a cry of pain cut off by a deafening whump as the Walkman had slammed against the ground. The entire courtroom seemed to hold its breath as it listened, and only then did it finally hit you why Seungmin was playing the tapes. As the sound of another boy’s jagged, uneven breathing filled the speakers, you suddenly remembered what came at the end of the recording. The first time you had heard it, it had made your heart plummet straight down into the pit of your stomach, sending your entire world crashing down around you.

This time, the fluttering in your chest felt almost like hope.

Han Jisung’s voice, choked with raw, horrified sobs, echoed through the room, and you saw everyone freeze.

“Who—why? Why is it you? Why are you here?”

The crying was muffled by the sound of hands fumbling over Jeongin’s clothing, as if frantically checking for a pulse. Seungmin stopped the tape, turning towards the bewildered jury. “Do those sound like the words of a cold-blooded psychopath?”

The judge waved a hand towards Jeongin. “Can the witness himself attest to this?”

“I...I blacked out pretty quickly,” Jeongin answered slowly, furrowing his brow as if it still hurt to remember. “But the last thing I remembered seeing was...a boy’s crying face over me, trying to make sure if I was okay.”

“Can you identify this boy?”

Nodding, Jeongin pointed to Jisung.

“Furthermore,” Seungmin continued, tapping the cracked silver Walkman, “these tapes were found in Yang Jeongin’s clothing after he was admitted to the hospital. If the defendant had truly attacked Mr. Yang out of cold blood, he wouldn’t have left such incriminating evidence in the boy’s hands. And if Han Jisung had no idea he was being recorded, that rules out the possibility of him faking the recordings as well.”

“Even so,” the judge replied, stern eyes narrowed, “we cannot be sure that Han Jisung did not intend to leave Yang Jeongin to die. There are many murder cases where the perpetrator shows remorse almost immediately, but still attempted to cover up the crime.”

“Of course. However, Your Honour, you may also remember that Yang Jeongin was not found in the Yellow Wood where the attacks had initially taken place...but rather, the doorstep of Glow Cafe.” At this, Hyunjin looked up, eyes narrowed, and Seungmin motioned for the clerk to continue playing the clip. After several moments, you heard the rough sound of cloth scraping against the ground, growing louder and louder — as if something was being lifted and dragged.

No. You could still hear Jisung’s broken breathing underneath the sound, and the realisation hit you.

Jisung was carrying Jeongin’s body.

You had thought the tape had already ended the first time you’d listened with Seo Changbin in his record shop — after Jisung’s voice had made you shove the Walkman away, not daring to believe what you had just heard. For days, it had sat, neglected in your apartment, until you had brought it into Seungmin’s office for him to look at. The next day, it had already fallen into the hands of Prosecutor Kang, but by some stroke of luck, Seungmin must have already managed to listen to it in its entirety beforehand.

“Yang Jeongin was found at around 4 in the morning, when Hwang Hyunjin, the owner of Glow Cafe, was awoken by the doorbell. The ringer of this doorbell was never identified, because any possible fingerprint evidence was already contaminated and rendered useless by the time Mr. Yang was safely transported to the ICU.”

The sound of dead leaves and dirt crunching under the soles of Jisung’s shoes gave way to hard concrete as he reached the main road. There was a soft thump as Jeongin was lowered onto the ground, Jisung’s laboured breathing filling the still night air.

Then the familiar chime of Glow Cafe’s doorbell pierced through the speakers, and you watched as Hyunjin jolted up, mouth falling open in disbelief.

“Yes. It’s exactly what you’re all thinking.” Seungmin turned to face the stunned spectators as the sound of Jisung’s footsteps grew fainter as he ran away, and the tape ended. “The defendant was the same person who saved him.”

The judge cleared her throat unsteadily, grim eyes flickering between Seungmin and Jisung. “Does the defense have anything to say to this?”

For the first time since the trial had started, Jisung lifted his head. He was met with a roomful of mixed stares — apprehension, curiosity, fear — and he felt his tongue immediately dissolve into dust, the words sticking to his throat like congealed poison.

When Jisung stayed silent, Seungmin spoke carefully, “A fair trial wouldn’t be complete without hearing from the defendant himself. In his own words.” His eyes were almost gentle, fixing a steady look on Jisung’s dark, wary face. “Would you like to testify?”

Your heart was hammering in your throat as the silence grew thicker and thicker. After what felt like an eternity, it was finally broken by the creak of the chair as Jisung pushed it back and stood up. To your utter surprise, he stepped up to the middle of the room, wordlessly turning to face Seungmin. Still, the look on his face held the same blank, guarded expression you had seen so many times when your sessions with him had taken a turn for the worse, and you gripped the edge of your seat uneasily, having no idea what to expect from this turn of events.

If Seungmin was as surprised as you were, he did a better job at hiding it. He muttered something to the clerk, who began to project familiar faces and photos onto the screen. The victims, you realised, and the crime scenes. A slim woman in her thirties, her thin lips a smudge of bright red, next to a photo of charred blood and bone. The prostitute.

“Do you recognise this woman?” Seungmin asked, pointing to her picture.

Jisung frowned, furrowing his brow at the picture. Something seemed to stir in the back of his mind, but there was a dull throbbing in his temples that made it difficult to focus. “I—I’m not sure.”

Someone in the crowd made an unconvinced sound, and Jisung shrunk back. The pictures went on and on — a corpse mangled with chemical burns, a man’s body swinging from the rooftop, a bashed-in skull on the forest floor. Each image made Jisung’s head pound, the floor beginning to spin as if threatening to split open beneath his feet and swallow him whole. Did he recognise them? Glimpses of their faces flashed in the back of his mind like jumbled jigsaw pieces, but the more he tried to grab onto them, the more they fell apart. His fingertips tingled with the faint, itching memory of a stranger’s blood — strangers who, in a fleeting moment, had taken the shape of a former tormentor. Father. Mistress. Hurt. Pain.

“I can’t — remember anything,” Jisung choked hoarsely. He remembered blacking out, and waking up. He remembered his nightmares, his flashbacks. But no matter how hard he tried, he couldn’t remember the faces staring back at him from the screen.

You sound insane, a voice in the back of his mind hissed. As he met the eyes of the jury, he could almost hear what they were thinking.

You really are a psychopath.

Sensing the doubtful whispering beginning around the room, Seungmin hurriedly moved onto the next question. “Let’s — let’s go back to the psychiatrist’s statements, then. Mr. Han, could you tell me what it was like growing up in your family?”

His question was met with silence again, Jisung screwing his eyes shut as the prosecutor’s voice echoed in his head. Family. It was a word that brought ugly memories bubbling to the surface every time, memories made of broken beer bottles and pale, bruised cheeks. His head was aching, a cold sweat forming in his palms as he clenched his fists, stomach churning. No. No. He couldn’t talk about it — wouldn’t talk about it —

“Can you...tell me about your mother’s eyes?”

The abrupt, familiar question, carried by the prosecutor’s softened voice, was what made Jisung open his eyes again, the trembling in his hands stilling. The room around them was shifting with confused murmurs at the strange question, but Seungmin didn’t break eye contact with the younger boy.

The prosecutor watched Jisung’s fists slowly unclench, brow furrowing slightly as he recognised the question, and Seungmin thought back to the conversation he had had with you over the phone after you had woken up in the hospital.

“What’s this?”

“A psychiatric analysis — on Jisung,” you explained, referring to the report files you had sent the prosecutor. “I know it’s not — not much, but...”

“For all we know, it might be the only existing verbal testimony that Jisung has,” Seungmin assured you. “From what I’ve heard, he’s never opened up to anyone before. What I meant was, why are you sending it to me?”

You bit your lip. “Chan isn’t allowed to stand trial, and I — I haven’t graduated yet, so my thesis won’t be taken seriously as evidence. I can’t testify as a psychiatric expert, either. But I thought that — I could at least tell you all the questions that lead me to his diagnosis. In case you get to question him at the trial — he’ll know they’re my questions. Maybe...he’ll finally change his mind.”

Seungmin sighed wearily. “I was removed from the case this morning, Miss l/n. I don’t even know if I’ll be able to step foot into the courtroom, let alone question him.”

And so the questions had been left, buried and forgotten in the back of Seungmin’s mind — until this exact moment, when he had remembered them just in time.

What comes to mind when you think about your mother’s eyes?

Jisung’s vision went black as his senses were flooded with memories, nearly sending him doubling over. His mother’s eyes. The last time he had looked into those eyes, they had already been glazing over, the life in them seeping away as her blood pooled over the broken floorboards of his childhood home. His mother’s eyes. Suddenly, it was as if he was ten years old all over again, shrouded in the shadows of a cramped closet as his father strangled the life out of his mother right in front of him.

Guilt, he wanted to say. Pain. The kind that never goes away. Blinking feverishly, Jisung’s gaze darted around the room — and when he finally found your face in the audience, he felt his heart stop.

You were looking at him with the exact same eyes his mother had, that day.

From your first date to this very moment, Jisung never knew why you had always reminded him so much of her — you two looked nothing alike, after all. Wherever he went, he had always been chased by fragments of the nightmares he wanted to forget, demons of his past that had taken the forms of the man at the Yellow Wood, the red-lipped hooker, Na Jangmin, Park Beomsoo. And yet every moment he spent with you, he caught familiar glimpses of her instead — pieces of the only warmth, and happiness, and home he had ever known before it had all been cruelly ripped away.

For years, the only thing he had been able to remember was that day. How his mother’s eyes had been wide and pleading as she bled out on the floor, desperately shaking her head at him before finally falling limp. The flames and endless smoke seemed to eat away at his happier memories until there was nothing left but ashes and tar.

But you made him remember a time before everything went wrong, when things had been peaceful, when he still had somewhere — someone — to go home to.

For thirteen years, he had been running from the memory, from the feeling, afraid that confronting it would make him relive the pain all over again. But now, for the first time, Han Jisung wondered if he had missed something else among those repressed memories all along.

His mother’s eyes as she shook her head one last time had been warm, not just because they had been filled with pain and tears — but because they had been blazing with one last, unspoken message. The same one he saw reflected in your own eyes now.

When you shook your own head gently, pleading eyes brimming with tears, the message finally rang clear in his mind.

Don’t blame yourself for what happened. Han Jisung, you have to keep on living.

Stunned, he tore his gaze away, only to see Bang Chan watching him with the same expression — then Woojin, Seungmin, Felix, Yang Jeongin. Even Hwang Hyunjin had worry written all over his face — worry for him — and it all suddenly hit Jisung like a punch in the gut.

Why did all these people fight for him?

Why had his mother died for him?

What comes to mind when you think about your mother’s eyes?

“Love,” Jisung breathed, his soft voice filling the empty silence. “Love.” The memories were coming back to him now — not in jagged, gut-wrenching flashes, but slowly. Steadily.

For the first time in his life, Han Jisung was in control.

“Can you tell me about your parents?” Seungmin pressed gently, seeing the tension slowly leave Jisung’s body.

“My parents,” Jisung repeated. His mouth felt like it was trying the words out. He remembered once, when you had asked him the same question, his head had felt like it was on the verge of splitting. Now, the memories felt strangely detached, as if he were telling someone else’s story. “They were happy once, or at least that’s what I’ve heard.” He paused. “My...father...never wanted to get married. They never planned to...have me, but my mother refused an abortion. They — it was a shotgun wedding,” Jisung finished quietly. “And then things got worse from there.”

“What was it like growing up in your family?” Seungmin tried the question again, watching Jisung carefully.

“My old man’s favourite thing to tell me growing up was how I was never wanted,” Jisung gave a weak smile. “I think you can imagine.”

You watched as Seungmin continued asking Jisung your questions, as if slowly coaxing the answers out from the darkness and painting the cold courtroom with the scenes of Jisung’s past.

“My mother was a waitress. The work was tough, but it didn’t pay much. My father convinced her to work more shifts, so that she was around as little as possible. During that time, he…” Jisung swallowed hard. “He had his affairs with other women when she wasn’t home, and beat her bloody when she was. She always tried to hide it from me, too — said the less I knew the better, but I was getting older, and my father’s anger was slowly shifting over to me. And when his...mistresses stayed over, they started noticing me, too.” Jisung fell silent then, and you suddenly thought back to the white burn scars on his arms and legs, the numerous unexplained markings on his stomach bringing tears to your eyes. How many more did he have hidden on his body, painful reminders binding him to a past he tried so hard to forget?

“Your Honour,” Seungmin finally broke the hushed silence, “with all the information taken into consideration, I think we can confirm beyond a reasonable doubt that the defendant has witnessed numerous traumatic events during his childhood — and that they more than likely worsened his mental condition as he grew older.” Seungmin turned to Jisung, remembering another question you had written in your report. “How...do you cope with the past?”

Jisung was silent for several moments before answering, his words echoing your last therapy session. “I...don’t….like to think about it, or remember it. Every time I do, I…” he trailed off unsteadily, and he tried again. “E-every time, I...I…”

His throat was closing up again, the words echoing in his mind as if mocking him. How was he supposed to explain the headaches that never truly went away, the dizziness that hit him like a punch in the gut? Or, worse, the gaps in his memories when he blacked out, making him feel as though he were slowly going insane?

Stay silent, whispered a voice in the back of his head. Who will understand you? Who will believe you? He looked back at the roomful of faces, their cold, wary stares piercing through him like knives. You were never meant to live. You should have died on that day, thirteen years ago—

“Han Jisung, you are such an idiot.”

The sudden memory of your voice cut through his thoughts and made him jolt in surprise— but it didn’t stop there, all the things you had once told him slowly growing louder and louder and jarring him awake from his own thoughts.

“You’re not the psychopath they’re making you out to be. I know you.”

He remembered the way you had relaxed and fallen asleep in his arms, even after you had found out they were stained with blood, because you trusted him completely.

“I don’t want you to show me. I want you to tell me. I want to hear it from you, in your own words, Jisung.”

He remembered your face every time he had tried to tell you about his past — your soft, patient eyes and gentle voice, the worry and genuine concern on your face that he had always mistaken for repulsion and fear. You had been shaken, definitely, terrified, even — but you had always been willing to listen to him speak, even when Jisung had been too afraid to try.

“I like you, Han Jisung. I. Like. You.”

He met your eyes across the room then, and felt a small, incredulous breath leave his lips. It was you — it was always you, who had the power to make the walls he had built around himself crumble to dust with a single touch; you, pulling him out of the darkness he had always succumbed helplessly to; you, who had finally woken him from the living nightmare he had been trapped in his entire life.

You reminded him what it was like to live again. You made him want to live again, without fears, without regrets.

“Mr. Han? Could you please describe how these memories make you feel? How you usually deal with them?”

“I don’t know how to,” Jisung breathed out at last. “Every time I try to remember, my...heart starts racing like my chest is about to burst. My head pounds until I can’t see anything, and — it’s like something in there...snaps. And then I...black out completely.”

Seungmin nodded, glancing back to the nervous, red-faced man. “Do you have...anything to add or deny regarding the psychiatrist’s diagnoses?”

“You were right,” Jisung replied simply, but he wasn’t talking to the psychiatrist. He was looking straight at you, and to his own surprise, a smile tugged at his dry lips. It felt like the simple sentence had somehow set him free. “I have trouble sleeping, because I always end up having the same nightmares. There’s missing blank spots in my memories when I wake up in a place I don’t recognise, with no idea how I got there.”

Jisung watched as your eyes widened, recognising his words — he was echoing the same symptoms you had confronted him about during your last therapy session, the ones he had coldly denied out of panic and fear. “I’ve always been afraid to let people get close to me. But sometimes, there are things that — that remind me of times that I’d rather forget, and before I know it, everything begins to spiral out of control.” He gave a small smile to Seungmin, who had stayed silent, surprised at Jisung’s sudden honesty. “That’s it, then. The whole truth, and nothing but the truth.”

You watched as Jisung’s eyes flickered around the room, face as open and tranquil as a child’s — and that was what nearly broke your heart. Knowing that somewhere, beneath the prison uniform that was too baggy for his lean, tired frame, was the shell of a child the world had failed, a child that had given up asking to be saved.

“No further questions,” Seungmin said quietly, and Jisung walked back to his seat as the young prosecutor turned to face the judge. “Your Honour,” he began slowly, as if momentarily unable to find the words. “I think we have reason to believe that the attacks were provoked — not exactly by the victims themselves, but from past traumas that were never dealt with properly, and triggered again and again until they spiralled out of control.”

Seungmin raised his voice then, for the entire courtroom to hear, forcing his voice to remain steady despite the fluttering nerves in his body. “The scattered killing patterns were never planned. The correlations between the victims and causes of death don’t show a serial killer’s M.O., they show triggers.” He took a shaky breath.

“Ladies and gentlemen, this isn’t a serial killer case. It isn’t the case of a psychopath on some nonsensical, murderous rampage. This is the aftereffect of a domestic violence case gone cold and swept under the rug over a decade ago — and we can’t afford to let it slip away again.”

The judge fixed Seungmin with a cold, steely look over her glasses. “Prosecutor Kim. Remember that you cannot — should not — let your emotions get in the way in a court of law. You are supposed to assess the case with cold reasoning and logic.”

Seungmin looked down, heart hammering in his throat. The Kim Seungmin he knew would have been ashamed, and apologised immediately. The Kim Seungmin he knew would have thought he was crazy for crossing the line.

He realised, in that moment, that he hated the old Kim Seungmin with a passion.

“Emotions don’t always get in the way,” he found himself saying, eyes flickering to you in the audience, “and they don’t always make you weak.” Seungmin thought of Prosecutor Kang then, and his voice grew stronger. “If anything, they keep you human.”

He looked back up at the judge now, whose face had frozen in surprise. “When did justice become so cold? We’re taught that the law is supposed to protect the vulnerable, not prosecute them.”

The judge looked visibly shaken, mouth opening and closing wordlessly as her eyes darted wildly between Seungmin and Jisung. Finally, with an unfathomable expression on her face, she turned towards the jury, clearing her throat unsteadily.

“Ladies and gentlemen of the jury, that concludes the evidence to be presented on this case. You are now to deliberate, and determine whether or not Han Jisung is guilty of nineteen counts of first-degree murder, assault, and arson.

“If you believe that this has been proved beyond a reasonable doubt, then you should find the defendant guilty, and eligible for capital punishment.”

Capital punishment, you thought, the words sweeping a breath of cold across the room. The death penalty.

“The court stands adjourned until the verdict of the jury.”

━━━━━━━━

Over an hour had passed since the jury had stepped into the deliberation suite, and each tick of the clock on the wall made you more and more nauseous. You put your head down, hands buried in your hair as if that could calm the anxiety thrumming through your veins. A few times, you had heard shouting and angry, raised voices coming from the room the jury was in. Each passing minute seemed to make the weight of the situation more obvious, the tension in the courtroom thick and suffocating.

Felix was rubbing your back as soothingly as he could. “y/n, hey, look at me — deep breaths, okay? You’re okay—”

He was cut off when you lifted your head to look at him, cursing the tears already welling in your eyes. You hated feeling this way — you felt so weak and powerless, and just imagining how much of a mess you must have looked made it even worse. You promised yourself you would stay calm, but every thought that crossed your mind kept leading to another until you were exhausted and overwhelmed.

“They could walk out any minute, ‘lix,” you told him, voice wavering as the weight of your own words sunk in. “They could walk out any minute, and end his life.”

You couldn’t even say Jisung’s name out loud, let alone look him in the eyes. Felix watched as you wiped furiously at your own tears, the sight of you so distressed rendering him speechless, and he did the only thing he could think of. Grimly, your best friend pulled you into a hug, and his reassuring warmth in the cold courtroom made you want to break down all over again. Around you, you could hear mixed opinions being exchanged.

“That poor boy.”

“Who could have guessed the case would take a turn like this? But do you believe him?”

“A murderer is still a murderer — he’s too dangerous to be left alive, don’t you think?”

You were beginning to wish you had taken Hyunjin and Woojin’s offer to step out of the room for fresh air when the heavy doors swung open, making a hush fall over the room. The jury filed in just as Hyunjin and the police captain returned and took their seats.

“Order in the court,” the clerk called, and the judge cleared her throat.

“Has the jury reached a unanimous verdict?”

The forewoman nodded grimly. “Yes, Your Honour.”

“Those in favour of sentencing the accused, Han Jisung, to capital punishment, please rise.”

The words sent an icy shock down your spine, the entire room seeming to hold its breath as they watched the jury. You didn’t dare move, as if by doing so, you could prevent the next moments from coming crashing down on you, as if somehow, you could stop the horrible verdict from coming true. It was as if everyone had frozen still, time stopping for what felt like the longest moment of your life.

The ticking of the clock pricked your ears, and you suddenly realised that time hadn’t stopped.

No one in the jury had moved to stand up.

“The jury returns a verdict of not guilty, despite believing that the accused committed the crimes he is charged with,” the forewoman standing at the front of the jury said, and the members behind her nodded. “This verdict was unanimous.”

“They all agree that Jisung killed those people,” you heard Hyunjin’s stunned voice behind you, “but they’re returning a verdict of not guilty? What does that mean?”

“Jury nullification,” both Chan and Seungmin spoke at the same time, and the room turned to look at the younger prosecutor as he spoke up.

“The jury has the right to overturn the law, if they believe the law was used incorrectly—”

A reporter behind you blurted out angrily, “Are you suggesting that the murders were delusional, Prosecutor Kim?”

“Or,” Seungmin continued, his voice growing stronger than ever before as he saw the eyes of the judge and his coworkers widen in disbelief. I must be insane, he thought, but he couldn’t stop the words coming from his mouth. “Or, the jury disagrees with the law the prosecution has chosen to charge the defendant under.” He picked up Prosecutor Kang’s case file from the desk, flipping over the papers. “First degree murder.”

The forewoman nodded. “The law Han Jisung is being tried with was immorally and wrongly applied to him in the first place. We believe he caused the killings, without a doubt, but with the circumstances presented, we cannot convict him of serial first degree murder.”

“The previous prosecutor claimed these charges without making any effort to consider Han Jisung’s past,” one man on the jury added, “All the evidence proves a history of abuse and trauma that lead to an unstable mental condition.”

Their words sounded strangely familiar, and your eyes immediately widened when you realised why. “Those — those are the words from my psych report,” you whispered breathlessly to Felix, “Quoted, word for word. They must have all read your articles — we did it, ‘lix, it really worked.”

“But murder is murder. He should be held accountable,” a spectator protested across the room. He was immediately silenced by the bailiff, but not before Seungmin turned to him with a steady stare.

“‘Murder is murder’,” Seungmin echoed, “‘The world of law is cold.’ ‘The law is harsh, but it is the law.’ Those are the phrases you always hear in court. And those are the same beliefs that cost vulnerable people their lives.”

Hyunjin looked at Jeongin, whose gaze were cast to the floor, eyes stormy.

Seungmin continued, “You lose your empathy, and mark complex cases like these under ‘mass murderer’, or ‘psychopath’ without bothering to truly investigate the gray areas, because you think doing so would be—” his mind flashed to Kang, “a waste of time.” He looked at Jisung now, a boy who had been confined by labels his entire life: problem child, delinquent, murderer, monster. “Han Jisung is worth more than that. There’s more to him than his past, than his abusers, than the mental torment he’s suffered through for years.

“He’s a boy who never got the chance at life he deserved. The system has failed him once, and we cannot — should not — hold his trial like this.” Seungmin turned to the judge one last time, eyes burning with sincerity. “Your Honour. Will you end this vicious cycle of use and abuse, once and for all? Or will you choose, once again, to sweep it back into the shadows?”

She was staring back at him with a look that should have petrified Seungmin on the spot, but he swallowed hard, forcing himself to stand his ground. There was a long, weighted silence. Finally, the judge shook her head slowly, and Seungmin swore he saw the smallest of smiles tug at her taut mouth as she turned to face the rest of the courtroom.

You felt your heart nearly leap out of your throat when the verdict finally fell from the judge’s lips.

“I hereby pronounce Han Jisung...not guilty.”

If you hadn’t been sitting down, you were sure you would have collapsed onto the floor.

The world was spinning around you, the sheer relief washing over you in overwhelming waves and turning your limbs to jelly. In your peripheral vision, you saw Hyunjin’s mouth drop open in astonishment, Felix turning to you with an incredulous smile on his face, Chan and Woojin completely frozen.

You barely registered the judge’s voice as she continued speaking, the rest of her words passing through you as if you were made of thin air. Pardoned on the death of his father and the arson of his childhood home by reason of self-defense. Regarding the Miroh Heights killings, the defendant was unable to understand the significance of his criminal actions due to a pre-existing mental condition. He is acquitted from the death penalty, and will serve no prison time.

However, he will be transferred to a psychiatric institution and closely monitored for the time being. The suitable amount of time he is to spend there will be prescribed on a later date after the case is properly re-examined...

People were talking around you, one of your friends was calling your name, and you swore you even heard a few people clapping, but you weren’t listening anymore. There was only one other person on your mind.

When your eyes found Jisung’s face, he was looking straight at you — with the same look in his eyes that had given you butterflies the first time you met him, and the same look in his eyes you had seen before you had fallen unconscious, bleeding out in his arms.

He was looking at you like you were the only thing that mattered in the world.

━━━━━━━━

“You had some nerve back there, Prosecutor Kim.”

The courtroom had been emptied out, and Seungmin had been collecting his files and notes when he heard a voice from behind him. At first, he thought he had misheard — people were buzzing outside in the lobby, the commotion so loud it seemed to be humming through the walls — but he turned around, and saw the judge walking up to him.

Bits and pieces of the trial came back to him, and Seungmin cringed inwardly as he met her hard gaze. Just how many lines had he crossed? Years of being careful, meticulous, completely down the drain—

“You had some nerve back there,” she repeated, and Seungmin lowered his eyes. He heard her sigh deeply. “But you’re a fine prosecutor, Kim.”

Stunned, Seungmin raised his head, and realised with a start that she was smiling at him. “I haven’t seen your kind in a while. It was refreshing, to say the least, and it puts me at ease to know that this field still has people like you.”

She tucked her glasses into her robes, turning to leave.

“Never change, Prosecutor Kim.”

━━━━━━━━

“Prosecutor Kang, look this way!”

Kang was blinded by flashing cameras the moment he stepped out from the holding cell. The older prosecutor’s eyes were dark as he was pushed through the mob of reporters and citizens, the guards flanking him making no effort to be gentle.

“Is it true you hid crucial evidence from your own prosecution?”

“Did you bribe your own witnesses?”

“How many other cases have you tampered with?”

“None!” Kang snarled at the reporter, desperation rising in his throat like bile. “Lies—I’ve never wrongfully convicted a single person. These are all—”

“You’re the liar.”

The crowd stopped, turning towards the voice that had shouted over them. Yang Jeongin was standing at the end of the hallway, his hands balled into fists at his sides. Just the sight of Kang was enough to make him tremble like a young child again, words stuck momentarily in his throat. This was the same man he had met in court all those years ago, the man who had mercilessly delivered his father’s life sentence with a snakelike smile on his pale lips. Taking a shaky breath, Jeongin mustered up his courage, and ran up to him.

“Please stop this already,” Jeongin pleaded, eyes searching Kang’s bewildered face for signs of guilt, remorse, anything. Kang didn’t seem to recognise him, and the young boy’s voice was breaking as he fought back tears. “Please tell the truth, just this once. I-I don’t know why you’re doing this, but—it doesn’t have to be this way—”

There was a gasp as a few reporters stumbled, and the crowd rippled forward. Kang was knocked off-balance, tumbling to the ground. He cursed, fumbling to get back on his feet — and saw a hand, outstretched towards him from a hoodie sleeve that was clearly too large for its owner. He looked up into the young boy’s face again, his fox-like eyes widened in concern, and finally realised with a jolt who he was talking to.

Nearly a decade ago, Kang thought — an old fool who had picked a fight with high-ranking company officials, no? And then the crackpot had pleaded with Kang, saying something about a son he had to take care of — a young boy—

Jeongin put his hand on Kang’s arm when the prosecutor didn’t move, and pulled him up. “Mr. Kang, my father—”

Feeling a sudden rage surge through his body, Kang drew his fist back and punched the boy across his jaw.

Jeongin crumpled to the ground, the side of his face already blooming with red. “You brat,” Kang seethed as cries of horror erupted from the crowd, guards seizing him and trying to pull him away. “What do you understand? Han Jisung, your old man — people like them don’t deserve to walk free.”

You had just stepped out of the courtroom when a commotion in the hallway had made you look over, the scene that had greeted your eyes making you freeze. Jeongin had been clutching Prosecutor Kang’s arm, looking up at the older man imploringly — and his expression had been genuinely kind, almost pitying, his mouth opening and closing frantically as though he were pleading with him. You had shaken your head in disbelief, trying to push through the throng of shocked citizens — only Yang Jeongin’s heart was big enough to look his parents’ tormentor in the eyes, and help him.

Then Kang had suddenly struck Jeongin, and now the delivery boy was curling up in pain on the ground as the prosecutor screamed at him.

“They were foolish enough — depraved enough — to violate those laws, and I charged them with what they deserved. It’s as simple as—”

The next thing you knew, you were in front of Kang, palm outstretched, and you had slapped him hard across the face.

The entire crowd fell dead silent, Jeongin looking up at you from the floor in dazed disbelief. Even Kang was speechless as he looked back at you, holding his jaw, eyes about to pop out of their sockets.

“It seems like you know everything about law, Prosecutor Kang,” you said, voice shaking with anger, “but you know nothing about being human.”

Kang opened his mouth, but for once, nothing came out. The hallway was erupting in chaos again as cameras clicked and flashed eagerly. The guards began to drag Kang away before it could get more hectic, your last glimpses of the corrupt prosecutor disappearing behind the reporters’ bobbing heads. As you helped Jeongin up, checking his head worriedly, you felt a hand pull at your own arm. You turned to see Hyunjin, and judging by the look on his face, he had seen everything.

“Is this just going to be a thing now?” The barista asked, side-eyeing you wearily as he held onto Jeongin protectively, “Are you just going to start slapping everyone who crosses you?”

“Maybe,” you muttered mutinously. “It’s faster, and less emotionally draining than negotiating.”

“You’re studying to be a therapist, y/n,” Hyunjin reminded you exasperatedly, and you let out a small laugh, pouting slightly. The barista smiled too, despite himself, and you both looked over at Jeongin. The boy’s eyes were staring over the crowd’s heads, through the lobby doors, and you realised he was watching the officers push Kang into the police cruiser — the man who had ruined his parents’ lives, finally handcuffed and headed where he was supposed to be.

You turned around, and caught sight of another familiar face further down the hallway, standing perfectly still despite the crowd of people rushing past around him.

Lee Minho’s face was turned away from you, his catlike eyes staring at something with the same, unfathomable expression you had come to grow so accustomed to. You remembered how you had once been afraid of the coroner and his strange, standoffish manner, but now, as you watched him from afar, you felt a small pang of sympathy. Minho always carried himself like a ghost, you realised — a shadow lingering in the corners of rooms and corridors, unsure if he was ever wanted.

You quickly excused yourself from Hyunjin and Jeongin and you began to push through the crowd towards the coroner. As you followed his gaze to the holding cell doors, they suddenly swung open, and Jisung stepped out into the hallway. Your steps slowed. The two stood facing each other for several long moments — two childhood friends, two lost children who had found their only sense of family — twisted though it had been — in each other. Minho’s face was hesitant, as if about to turn away, but Jisung had already begun walking up to him. You were too far away to hear what they were saying, Jisung’s back turned to you and Minho awkwardly shifting from one foot to the other.

Then Jisung suddenly closed the gap between the two of them, and pulled Minho into a hug.

You watched as the ex-coroner’s mask finally shattered, the older boy’s face scrunching up like a child’s as he buried his head in Jisung’s shoulder. His entire body shook with silent sobs, as if something in him had finally been let go, a burden he had carried his entire life lifted off his chest.

Eventually, the guards stepped forward, and Minho pulled away. He looked at Jisung with a small smile on his face — the first genuine smile you had ever seen from him — and you managed to catch the words forming on his lips.

“Goodbye, Han Jisung.”

“He’ll probably need to go through a trial of his own.” Chan’s voice made you jump in surprise. He had come up beside you while you had been distracted, Felix and Woojin close behind him. He nodded at you by way of greeting before turning back to where Jisung was standing. “The coroner, I mean. But he’ll likely get around five years in prison, more or less.”

You watched as Minho was ushered away into another corridor, Jisung staring at the empty spot where he had once stood. Before you could reply, he turned around, eyes landing on yours — and all of a sudden, you forgot about the security guards flanking every doorway, the law officials and reporters brushing briskly past you. For a moment, it was as if it were only you and Jisung in the hallway, the entire world standing still around the two of you.

Since the last time you had spoken to him had ended with you slapping him in the face, you decided that it was only right for you to take the first step towards him. Slowly, feeling as if you were in a dream, you made your way towards him, Jisung walking the rest of the way to meet you in the middle.

“Hey, you.” Jisung’s voice was soft, nearly inaudible, not taking his hazel eyes off yours.

You heard Chan chuckle behind you, shaking his head as he threw his arms around Felix and Woojin’s shoulders to steer them away and leave you two in private. The hallways had nearly cleared out, and for the first time in what felt like forever — if you ignored the guards watching a little ways off from the holding cells — you and Jisung were alone together.

There were a thousand things racing through your mind right now, but you couldn’t seem to find the right words to say.

“Five years,” Jisung tentatively broke the silence again, and when you looked back at him in confusion, he continued, “in the psychiatric institute. They told me five years minimum, on watch. But I heard...it’s a nice place.”

His lopsided, sheepish smile was as infectious as ever, making one tug at your own lips. When Jisung saw you smile, he relaxed just the tiniest amount.

“Y-you’re going to be okay?” You finally asked, feeling your voice waver.

Jisung’s gaze softened, nodding. “You saved me.”

“No.” You shook your head firmly. You knew he was talking about Seungmin’s arguments, Jeongin’s witness statements, the article you and Felix had published — but it all might have been for nothing, you thought, mind flashing back to the courtroom, if Jisung hadn’t finally stepped up from his chair and faced his lifelong traumas in the form of one last, truthful testimony. “Han Jisung, you saved yourself.”

He fell silent at that, and you saw his hand instinctively move towards yours for a split second before he quickly stopped himself. Jisung’s arms were floating by his sides, as if wanting to pull you close, but he was holding himself back. He was afraid, you finally realised — afraid that you would push him away, afraid to ever hurt you again. And for some, inexplicable reason, the idea of a rift between the two of you that could never be repaired seemed to hurt even more than a switchblade to the heart.

“For some reason, I’ve been thinking back to our first date,” Jisung cleared his throat, one hand reaching up to rub the back of his neck. He probably looked like a nervous schoolboy in front of his first love, Jisung thought, cringing at himself as he looked away from your curious gaze. Well, he added as an afterthought, that wouldn’t be too far off.

You were his first love, after all.

“I...I didn’t know how you felt that day,” Jisung continued, “or even the days after that, to be honest. I didn’t know if I was doing things right, or—”

“You took my breath away,” you cut him off, the honesty in your own words making your cheeks heat up. You thought back to the diner, to the blond boy who had rendered you speechless with a single heart-shaped smile. As an afterthought, you brought a hand to your rib cage, where a switchblade in that same boy’s hands had once punctured through your lungs, and you deadpanned, “literally.”

Eyebrows raising in disbelief, Jisung gave an incredulous laugh, but his gaze was fixed on the site of your wound. You could still see the deep guilt in his eyes, and, taking a deep breath, you reached for his hand, gingerly placing it where the knife had been. His skin was cool against your fingers, palm rough but familiar. “I’m okay, Jisung. It’s okay. But...why bring that up, all of a sudden?”

“I feel like that now,” he admitted softly, “the same feeling, but with a whole new set of butterflies. Always thinking about you, worrying about you. Wondering how you feel about…”

“Us,” you finished for him, and Jisung nodded slowly. Us. The word hung between the two of you for a long moment, and you took a shaky breath. A part of you wanted to reassure him, to pull him into your arms as if nothing had ever changed. But another part of you pushed that feeling away, knowing deep down that it was too late, that too much had already happened between the two of you to just ignore.

“I don’t know,” you answered truthfully, and you looked down, afraid to see the expression on his face. “I woke up that morning, and you were just...gone. I was so scared for you, I went looking for you...then one thing lead to another, and before we all knew it, the world had turned upside down. I-it might sound selfish, but after all...this, I think I’m going to need some...time.” You finally lifted your eyes up to his face, heart pounding. For a terrifying second, you thought you saw a flash of pain skip across Jisung’s pupils — but before you could be sure, his face broke into a relieved smile.

“You’ve always been like this, you know?” He sighed, one hand reaching up to gently tuck a strand of your hair behind your ear. Then, contrary to what you had expected, Jisung visibly relaxed. “Worrying about other people before taking care of yourself. You’re not being selfish, okay? Don’t...worry about hurting me anymore.”

You stared at him, the genuine warmth in his words suddenly making your throat close up with stunned tears. Jisung’s eyes, you remembered, had always seemed glazed over and unfocused — as if his mind was trapped somewhere else, far, far away. But as he looked back at you now, you were suddenly hit by how...clear they had become. He was here, perfectly focused on you, eyes filled with what you could only describe as pure adoration.

“I need time, too,” Jisung continued quickly, “I have...so many things I need to fix, to work on, and get better at—”

You shook your head furiously then, tears spilling onto your cheeks as you held onto his wrist. “W-want to love every part of you,” you whispered, forcing your voice to remain steady. “Don’t...don’t hide any parts of yourself, ever again. Okay?”

Jisung watched you for a long moment, brow furrowed as he gingerly wiped your tears, and finally gave a small nod. He cradled your face in his hands, eyes trying to memorise your features as though you were the most beautiful thing he would ever see. To someone else, you thought vaguely, you might have looked insane. A killer’s hands, they might have said, bloodstained hands. But as you gazed up at Jisung, all you saw was a boy who had gone through hell and came back smiling, a boy who loved you more than life itself.

You heard footsteps approaching, and looked up to see several security guards making their way towards Jisung. “Mr. Han,” one called gruffly, “it’s time to go.”

The sudden interruption made your mind go blank momentarily as any reasonable words — goodbye, take care — immediately dissolved on your tongue. The guards were getting closer and closer, and Jisung turned back to you, stammering.

“If you ever want to—to do this whole...love thing again, start over properly, I—I promise I’ll try not to screw it up. I mean, if you’re sure—and only if you’re sure,” he paused then, sounding suddenly flustered, and for a second, he was your tousled-hair, golden boy from the diner again, soft cheeks flushed like windblown peach roses, eyes unsure yet hopeful as a child’s. This was the boy you had fallen in love with, over blueberry pancakes and Chinese takeout, on seemingly endless nights and through the darkest thunderstorms. Ever since you had made that promise, in a children’s playground beneath the setting sun, you knew that somehow, no matter what fate had left in store, you would always find your way back to him.

Jisung was already being ushered away, the sudden absence of his touch on your skin leaving you feeling empty — but his last words brought a smile to your tearstained face.

“...I’ll be waiting.”

ryu says:

thank you, from the bottom of my heart, to everyone who made it to the end of this series; to everyone who came on this long journey with me, you made it possible and amazing every step of the way. at times, as my first ever series and long-term project, it was both daunting and terrifying, but i am beyond happy and honoured i could experience it with you.

i’ll see you in the epilogue.

953 notes · View notes

holly-fixation · 3 years ago

Text

Ink Clouds: Chapter 17

Summary so far: Cloud is sent back in time by the calamity, and is now half squid that constantly spews ink that carries Geostigma. Tifa broke into the lab to find the creature. But Sephiroth and Zack took her out, and showed her her Cloud: the trooper who never made it into SOLDIER. But her stunt has consequences, for them all.

Based on the prompt by @im-totally-not-an-alien

Please Enjoy!

Chapter 17: Inquiry

A knife could cut the tension in the office of the Director of SOLDIER. On their way there, Angeal explained to Cloud all that he knew about the situation: the creature speaking a few words, its affinity for Sephiroth, how its ink causes geostigma, how it corrected the name they called him to 'Cloud'.

The young troop listened and tried to understand the situation, and, once the explanation was over, he found himself taking in his surroundings: the office he would have stood in by now if he made SOLDIER.

Tifa stayed by his side, taking the explanations with a grain of salt. Of course, they don't know everything. But she refused to believe that this creature was a near perfect replica of her childhood friend by coincidence.

Zack, who despite throwing out some jokes and light hearted comments, was mostly silent, staring and watching his mentor carefully. He couldn't read Sephiroth's stone cold expression for the faintest hint of emotion that lay beneath.

Sephiroth hadn't spoken a word since they left the simulation room. He was shocked into silence when he saw This Cloud in person, terrified of what he may do if this child triggered a message, a feeling, a reaction. Despite the initial jolt of preventive destruction when first spotting him, he thankfully felt nothing. But he couldn't take chances, not daring to glance at or speak to the child since entry.

Finally (furiously) the Director of SOLDIER, the best martial artist on the planet, and the remaining First stormed into the room.

The First made a beeline to the girl, his supposed student for a week. "What the hell is wrong with you?" He questioned with venom.

"I told you," Zangan interrupted before Genesis could verbally assault his student, or his student could physically assault the First, "This was our plan."

"And what advantage does ruining the SOLDIER name bring you, Zangan?" Lazard inquired as he took his place behind his desk, not even bothering to sit.

"After that video went viral, we couldn't trust Shinra to tell the truth," Zangan explained. "And we couldn't send any warning that we were looking for 'Cloud Strife'. Shinra would shut down everything that has to do with the creature to hide the evidence, If our theory was correct."

Lazard busted out a loud, frustrated sigh. "So you used us as pawns?"

"If we didn't get caught, or at very least information doesn't get out, I'd stay longer and do more publicity stunts for you as compensation for the trouble."

"‘If’?" He spat.

"Well, not an 'if' anymore."

"Do you think there won't be consequences for this?" Genesis questioned.

"We're not surrounded by guards," the deepest voice explained, and all eyes turned to the general. "Then R&D hasn't reported anything. They need to keep a low profile; a sixteen year old girl breaking in is detrimental for their image."

"We don't know what R&D is going to do, so don't get confident," Lazard countered. "Now I know Zack tried to explain this on the phone, but I need a better explanation: why didn't you take her out of the lab immediately?"

"The creature responded to her," Sephiroth stated as if it was obvious, getting a look of disbelief in response, "Since it acts in unpredictable ways, any sudden change in our or its behavior was a threat and a risk."

"And they didn't have the announcement for intruders when the alarm went off either," Zack added. Right on cue, his phone rang.

"Don't you dare pick that up."

Zack glanced at the number but didn't recognize it and turned off the ringer.

Immediately, a long black haired Turk entered the room, holding his phone away from his ear. The rest of the room heard it begin Zack's voice-mail message. The Turk spoke over it, "SOLDIER, First Class: Sephiroth. SOLDIER, Second Class: Zack Fair. Trooper: Cloud Strife. Tifa Lockheart. Your presence is requested by R&D."

This wasn't a request. "Can you at least tell us why?" Tifa questioned, but regretted it instantly and took a small step back and lowered her eyes when he glared at her with deadly serious eyes.

"Doctor Hojo wants you to interact with the creature for some tests, in return for not writing an incident report of today's event."

Cloud and Tifa looked to Sephiroth for a response. Zack glanced at the children.

"We'll go," The general complied.

"Then I believe this meeting is over. My apologies, Director Lazard." He gave a short bow to the man before looking to the rest and flicking his head toward the exit.

* * *

"I am so, so sorry," The head assistant began, "but these are the direct instructions from Hojo."

None of the summoned four were happy about that name.

"We have a list of questions we must ask you. Some of them will change depending on your answers. You must answer in as much detail as possible," Ace explained. "You'll be heading to the side testing room individually. To waste the least amount of time, the order is Tifa, This Cloud, Zack, then Sephiroth. The rest of you will wait until everyone is done out here in front of the creature's tank. We want to know how it reacts to each of you as well as a group, and this should be an efficient way to do that. Accomplish this, and SOLDIER as well as R&D will ignore today's incidents."

They all looked to the creature, which seemed to be asleep on the farthest wall, its face and body turned away from them. They could see the tentacles move slightly and its blonde hair bob in the water.

"Why am I going first?" Tifa asked in a pout.

"Because you cause the most trouble so he wants you to have the least amount of time to prepare," They explained simply, before gesturing to the testing room. "Follow me."

The teenage girl complied and tailed the scientist into the room until they shut the door behind them. Most of the lab equipment was already moved to the side, leaving a table with one seat for her and two interrogators opposite of her. She hesitantly took the seat and clamped her hands together on her lap.

"We'll skip the small talk," the brown haired man spoke first.

"Unless you have anything you want to tell us before we begin?" The blonde woman verified.

Tifa shook her head.

"Then let's," He looked at her with a penetrating gaze. "How did you get into the lab?" Before she opened her mouth, he specified. "We have you on video, and your friend's goal is on the line."

Would they really prevent Cloud from joining SOLDIER because of her responses today?

"How did you get in?"

"I followed one of the scientists. They were running late and panicking. They didn't see me sneak behind them," she answered truthfully but tried to hide from their intense gazes regardless.

"When did you notice the Firsts following you?"

"Pretty quickly. I barely made it to the second room when I heard them."

"And where were you going?"

She hesitated and took a deep breath. "I was trying to find the stigma creature."

"What is the stigma creature to you?" The blonde asked calmly.

Tifa paused before shaking her head. "...A coincidence. Certainly not what I thought..."

"What did you think it was then?"

She realized her mistake immediately. She glanced up at them, before returning her haze back to the table. "A friend from my hometown."

"Where are you from?"

She won't be able to hide everything from them, she realized, if she keeps revealing things. "Nibelhiem."

They showed her absolutely no reaction, but she knew that location mattered to them.

"Who did you think the creature was?"

"Cloud Strife. The blonde troop outside."

"Why did you come to that conclusion?"

She sighed. "The video that leaked on Warker. Where Sephiroth calls the creature that looks almost exactly like him: 'Cloud'."

"Why would Cloud be at Shinra?"

"He left to join SOLDIER two years ago."

They paused. The brown haired one spoke, "Didn't make it very far, did he?"

Tifa glared but kept her mouth shut.

"What did you say to the creature to make it scream?"

"You have three video, why are you asking me this?" She bit back.

"We want all the information we can get," the brunette spat.

"And the alarm messed with the microphones," the blonde explained softly. "But remember there were witnesses, and any lie you say will be caught immediately."

"I told him…" she started carefully, precisely considering every word coming out of her mouth. "That I would protect him… but it doesn't even matter, because that thing isn't Cloud Strife."

"Why do you feel this strong need to protect him?"

She paused again. "...because we grew up together. I don't want to see him suffer like this. But again, that's not Cloud Strife." If she acted sorry, maybe they'd believe her. "I made a terrible mistake..."

"Lastly," he continued, "how did you manage to sneak away from the First Class and the Director of SOLDIER?"

Tifa looked up at them with her young eyes, this wasn't worth hiding anymore. "We were in the conference rooms for the tour. And I heard complaining about the smells from the bathroom. It didn't take me long to find a vent, and use it…"

"Into which room?"

"One of the side conference rooms."

They nodded. "Thank you. You're dismissed. Send Cloud Strife next. He has thirty seconds to enter. Keep all the information we talked about quiet while in HQ, understand?"

She nodded in confirmation. "Yes, I understand."

* * *

"Cloud Strife. You've worked here for nearly two years now, correct?"

Cloud nodded. "Yes sir."

"And in your time here, you never contacted your family or friends from your hometown?"

He sighed softly. "I swore to myself I would only contact home when I made SOLDIER. Hasn't happened yet."

"Did you know about the video of the stigma creature?"

"No," He answered honestly. "I don't use any social media, and I've been so buried in trying to get stronger that I... somehow missed it." He shook his head softly, disappointed in himself.

"When did you learn about the creature, then?"

"Today." His answer surprised them. "Maybe half an hour ago."

"And what was your response?"

"...Really, really confused…" He didn't say anything else as he crossed his arms in front page him, as if that would protect him from his own darkening thoughts.

"Do you have any idea why the creature looks like you?"

"None. I haven't donated blood or anything like that in my life."

"And the girl, Tifa," the brunette started. "What is she to you?

He paused and turned away, a slight red forming on his cheeks. "...She's an old friend."

"What did she do when she saw you?"

"She hugged me. She cried," He spoke too quickly, hindsight making him realize how close she was to him when it happened.

"Did she say anything weird?"

"She thought I was experimented on and turned into the creature. Then they told me about the creature."

"Who told you?"

"Angeal Hewley and Zack Fair."

They nodded. "Is there anything else you think we should know?"

Cloud shook his head. "Sorry. I don't know anything else..."

"Then, thank you for your time, Cloud. Send Zack in next."

* * *

"SOLDIER, Second Class: Zack Fair. You're on your way to becoming a First, correct?"

Zack nodded. "That's correct. I'm currently training under Sephiroth himself." He tried to sound excited, to hide the burden that came with it.

"That's very impressive. How did that come to be?" The blonde saw him force eye contact rather than shy away. "You were originally Angeal Hewley's student, correct?"

"Yes. I was Angeal's apprentice. But when we captured the stigma creature, Angeal got sprayed with the ink. We knew geostigma was coming, but he seemed fine until his lab results came back…"

"Did you ever take out the frustration of changing mentors on your new one?"

Now Zack glanced away. "Yes. The day I was switched."

"And how would you describe your relationship with Sephiroth?"

"...odd," He finally answered. "Sometimes we get along, but he's impossible to read."

"You've accompanied him through every incident with the creature since the beginning, correct?"

"That's correct."

"Has anything odd happened as a result of this?"

Crap. He froze, and he paused too long to go unnoticed.

They knew. "What happened the second time it broke out? The first time it showed you a carving."

"He…." Zack struggled to find an explanation that wouldn't make him insane or lead to more questions. "He grabbed the creature and questioned it. I tried to pull him off but it didn't work."

“Why would he do that?”

“...I don’t know, you have to ask him,” He lied.

“What’s your best guess, Fair?”

He turned away and thought quickly. “Shinra keeps a lot of secrets. It’s the only way the company to survive, we all know that. But the creature may know things Shinra doesn’t want the public knowing. Maybe Sephiroth realized this and tried to get an explanation out of a pawn?”

“Hm,” was their only response. “What about the third time? When it begged him for forgiveness?”

Zack felt alarms ring in his mind. “It could have been anything. Maybe a bad past experience?”

“What about the last one?”

He clenched his fists. “What about the last one?”

“Why did Sephiroth attack you and the creature? Why would the hero of the Wutai war do something like that?”

“You already knew the creature pulls some kind of weird reactions out of him, this was absolutely your fault for not being ready for this.”

“It pulls reactions out of you too.”

His eyes widened.

“What does the word ‘live’ mean to you?”

Zack shrugged and forced himself to be casual. “Survive. Push on. What else could it mean?”

“You understand the condition of lying in this inquiry, correct?”

He had to think, and came up with what he thought was a believable lie, “My mother always talked about me being her ‘living legacy’, and for some reason, when it said ‘live’ I thought of that memory.”

They didn’t nod this time. “You’re dismissed, SOLDIER Fair. Send Sephiroth in.”

* * *

The last SOLDIER took a deep breath before opening the door to the room. He was surprised to find no one was there as he stepped inside, the door sliding and locking behind him. His senses sharpened as he focused on all the differences of the area than the previous interrogations. There were only two chairs, each on very far ends of the table. A transparent field of octagons flowed down the center of the room, to protect the investigator. Where were they? And why was there only one chair on the other side?

Then the opposite door opened, and a man with greasy black hair in a ponytail, black circular glasses, and the most revolting face Sephiroth swore he would never see again entered the room with an intrigued, disgusting grin.

No.

Thanks for reading!

#final fantasy 7 #ffvii #ff7 #cloud strife #sephiroth #zack fair #final fantasy vii #jenova #thanks for reading!! hope you enjoy!!#I didn't want to give you all another recap chapter so I literally gave it a cliff hanger I'M invested in #and I know what's gonna happen!#stay tuned to find out!!#ink clouds

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gintokisimp · 3 years ago

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Funky Monkey Teachers

I started translating the 6th Gintama High Novel and I wanted to share the progress of the first chapter. I will continue soon. (I’m not a professional translator, please take all of this with a grain of salt.)

In the staff room of Gintama High, a staff meeting was being held. Principal Hata was in front of the teachers with a frown on his face. As usual, the vice principal was beside him.

"We can't go on like this. This is really bad gentlemen.”

On the wall behind Principal Hata was a sheet of paper with a bar graph drawn onto it.

It was a graph showing the number of applicants for admission to Gintama High School. According to the report, the number of contenders has been decreasing every year.

"If the number of applicants continues to decrease, Gintama High School will soon go bankrupt. Everyone, are you okay with that?"

However, even though Hata said it in a strong tone, the teachers' response was rather dull.

None of the teachers spoke up.

"What do you think, Sakata Sensei?”

Hata pointed to the lazy teacher with the natural perm, white hair and white lab coat, Sakata Ginpachi.

"It can't be helped, can it?” Ginpachi said.

"We live in a time of declining birth rates. The number of children is decreasing, so it's tough for everyone. In that respect, JUMP is doing well, because it has always been supported by children,” Ginpachi said while reading JUMP at his desk.

"...... I should have known better than to ask you.”

Hata shook his head and called out to the teacher next to Ginpachi.

"Hattori Sensei, what do you think?”

"I agree. I think JUMP SQ. is doing well these days,“ Hattori replied seriously.

“Yea, no, that’s not what I meant….”

“Ah, you're right, SQ is doing great. [Blue Ex (Blue Exorcist)] was also a hit,” Ginpachi said.

“[Good Luck Girl!] was also made into an anime," Hattori retorted.

“Oi, you guys, Let's get off the subject of JUMP for now.”

After Hata had said that, the vice principal continued.

"That's right, both of you. Please be serious during staff meetings,” said the vice principal while reading Saikyō Jump.

“No, you too man! I mean, what kind of old man reads a children's magazine like JUMP?”

"Then make a JUMP for old men, too!"

“What the hell is wrong with you?! I mean, come on, JUMP for old people!” Ginpachi said while Hata was grumbling.

"Maybe instead of "Weekly Shonen Jump," it could be "Coffin Ascension Jump.

"Holy shit! I'm going to die if I read this?"

Hata grumbled.

"Come on, guys.I'm told now that the number of applicants to our school is decreasing! Our school is now an incredibly unpopular high school! -”

“ -Matsudaira Sensei!”

At this point, Hata turns to Matsudaira Katakuriko, the Physical Education teacher.

"Do you have any ideas on how to increase the number of applicants?”

"How about a bottle of Dom Perignon for every new student?"

Matsudaira said, puffing on his cigar.

“You're dealing with minors!”

"Do you want me to send out some hypnotic waves from the sky to make them want to join our school?" laughs Science Teacher Gengai Hiraga.

"No, not in that dangerous way!"

That's when Hata was interrupted.

“Sorry, which way is the staff room?" asked Tatsuma Sakamoto, the math teacher who had arrived late.

"'No, we are here, here! Good for you, you stumbled upon us!" Hata screamed.

What a bunch of care-free teachers.

“Tsukuyo Sensei!”

At this point, Hata also called out to Tsukuyo, a teacher who has transferred from Yoshiwara Commercial this year. Incidentally, Tsukuyo was in charge of health and physical education. She was wearing a mini-skirt suit and a lab coat, a very sexy outfit.

"Do you have any good wisdom to share, Tsukuyo sensei?"

“How about we offer lotion to all new students?"

"I told you to make the service available to minors.“

"I'm sorry. It's my first appearance in a novel. I thought it would be better to start off with a joke."

[to be continued]

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jadoue1999 · 4 years ago

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The X-Men and the member they lost - Chapter 3

Summary: What do you get when you mix Hayward and the Xmen? A pissed off Erik that's seriously trying to not murder the man!

Previous parts: Chapter 1, Chapter 2, Chapter 3, Chapter 4, Chapter 5, Chapter 6, Chapter 7, Chapter 8,

Chapter 3: The Maximoff Anomaly

They had settled in fast. The older man that had intercepted them was called Hayward. He seemed very distraught at their arrival and made them go into an unused building. The director hadn’t listened to their protesting, he preferred having them out of the way. For what ever reason, Erik wasn’t sure. They soon realized that time worked differently in this universe. While they had already seen the episode and moved on, it had just ended as they arrived. Charles had told him with amusement that Hank would go crazy over the possibilities. Thankfully, the bunker contained televisions that monitored the town and the broadcast. Hayward had deemed necessary to make sure only people close to him knew of their arrival. They were all sitting around a table when he demanded their story. Charles spoke up. “We’re not from your Earth,” he started.

The director had looked at Kurt with a raised eyebrow, “I had that much figured.”

The professor continued, “two weeks back, one of our members went missing and the broadcast was all we could find. Our universe seems to be ahead of you with the episodes, but we are behind in years.”

“How so?” Questioned the woman sitting next to Erik.

“To us, it’s the eighties.” Charles waited a few moments, letting the people around some time to understand. “We come from a world where people are born with mutations, Kurt here can teleport.” The teenager looked at the professor, silently asking for permission to show his powers. Charles nodded and the blue mutant teleported from one side of the room to another. Hayward seemed shocked as the rest of the people gasped. Charles continued, “this is Raven, she can shapeshift.” Erik smirked as Mystique changed into a perfect copy of the director, making him jump out of his chair in surprise. She turned back into her human form and watched with amusement as Hayward slowly sat back down, eyeing her with caution. Probably seeing how unsettled the agents were, Charles decided to end this quickly. “I can personally read mind and Erik can control metal.”

Erik rolled his eyes as the military people looked at them with wide eyes. He wasn’t going to demonstrate his powers; he had done enough of that with Shaw. The team seemed to get the message that there would be no more demonstrations and moved on.

“So,” said the lady next to the director, “why are you here? Other than the broadcast.”

“Oh well, like I’ve mentioned before, we had a member of our team go missing.” The professor wheeled himself close to a screen and rewound the episode to when Peter appeared. “You see this young man? This is Peter, we had no clue where he went. We watched the broadcast in hopes for answers and we finally found him. Though in a tighter spot than we’d expected, but he does have a knack for trouble.”

Erik smirked at the joke; the speedster had always found himself in the strangest place at the wrong time. He was basically a magnet for trouble.

The director broke the silence. “So, this is not Pietro Maximoff?”

Erik shook his head, deciding to speak up at last, “no, he is not your Pietro, this is Peter Maximoff; my son.”

Hayward seemed surprised that someone other than Charles had spoken. “Is he like you all, enhanced?”

“Yes, he is a mutant,” answered Raven, clearly uncomfortable about the man’s tone. “He has superspeed.”

The director closed his eyes and sighed before turning to his colleague. “Bring the files concerning the Maximoff anomaly, they need to know.” The woman nodded and left the compound. He turned to the other members that hadn’t done much but gape at them and ordered them out. Apparently, he didn’t want people to witness what was about to happen. That left the man alone with the X-men. “Look, I get what you people can do, you barge in and act on an impulse; fix what you think is a threat and leave the rest of us to deal with the mess you leave behind. You might think you’re right, but this is my base.” Erik tensed up at the man’s words, this speech being all too familiar. “I don’t want you meddling in my stuff, Wanda Maximoff is a threat that needs to be dealt with no matter the price. You can go get your friend after.”

It was now official; he hated this man.

Though, before he could show him just how much he despised him, his colleague came back. She didn’t react to the lack of personnel, perhaps she had been expecting it. She was holding a significant number of files and what seemed to be a tv remote. Hayward thanked her and opened a file labeled ‘confidential’. It showed a picture of Wanda. Only she seemed younger, and her hair were a dark brown; there was also a man with bleached blonde hair at her side. They were in a crowd of people, their faces twisted in rage as they seemed to yell to something the picture didn’t show.

“This is Wanda Maximoff, back when she joined a Nazi base and accepted to be experimented on. This is how she got her powers.”

“Director, with all due respect, I believe your thoughts betray you,” interrupted Charles, to the man’s frustration. “I think it’s important to complete your statement and precise that she didn’t know what she was getting herself into.”

Erik secretly praised his friend and his telepathy; Hayward was obviously trying to antagonize the woman. It was obvious they now had to take his version of events with a grain of salt.

“Yes...” grunted the director, obviously upset about being caught in a lie. He pointed to the other man in the picture, “this is Pietro Maximoff, Wanda’s twin, the real one. He too had superspeed.”

He switched on a screen that was flatter than any television Erik had ever seen. It showed Wanda and Pietro in what appeared to be a lab. There was a sort of casket all plugged in with tubes. The pair seemed to be arguing with two older men. There was no audio, so their discussion didn’t make much sense. Suddenly, a blue blur raced through the lab, removing all the tubes in mere seconds. The blonde man stopped next to the casket looking thing and threw the last tube on the floor. It was strange, seeing another version of his son. Their powers were very similar yet very different. While Peter’s trail was silver, Pietro’s was blue, he also left some blue energy lingering in the air. It lasted a few seconds as he stopped before it disappeared. From the few dates in the documents and video, this Quicksilver seemed to have developed his powers only for a few months. It was probably why he seemed to be a little slower than his son. Hayward spoke again.

“The twins were working against the Avengers, those in charge of defending our planet. There was an army of robots threatening to destroy the world, they had sided with the robot in charge.” He glanced quickly at Charles. “They eventually changed sides, but Pietro didn’t survive.”

The footage changed to show a man and a child trying to take cover as a trail of bullets grew nearer. Suddenly, they were out of harm’s way and the speedster was in their place. His shirt was riddled with holes that quickly soaked with blood and he fell to the ground, dead. Fear seized Erik as he watched the man fall to the ground; momentarily seeing Peter in his place. Would a similar thing have happened had Mystique not disguised herself as one of the horsemen?

Hayward continued, showing footage of Wanda fighting in a group against other people, explaining how this event had led to the Sokovia accords, which was nothing more than a differently named mutant registration act. Except this one was actually approved. She had refused to sign and went into hiding, only to resurface when a titan had attacked the Earth. He apparently needed something called infinity stones, one of which was in Vision’s head. From the next chain of event Hayward told them, the titan had apparently succeeded in retrieving the stone. The real mystery was how the Vision was back to life; the director insisted that it was Wanda who resurrected him. She had been blipped, like half of the universe, and had came back grief stricken and ready to do anything to have a perfect family life. She had taken an entire town hostage and made them into her puppets. There was no telling what she might do to achieve her goal. Apparently kidnapping an alternate universe version of her brother wasn’t out of her reach. As Hayward continued telling them about Wanda’s life and what she had done, Erik had only one pressing thought: just how powerful was Wanda?

“How many people are in this town?” Wondered Charles.

“A little more than three thousand. They’re not all casted as roles, most are simply background characters.”

The wheelchair bound man nodded in comprehension. “Have you identified them all? Warned their families?”

He shook his head. “I believe it’s in everyone’s interest if we keep this low, we don’t want to alarm anyone. Especially when the world just came back.”

“You idiot,” raged Raven, “if they can’t reach their loved ones, they will ask questions. They will panic. Your logic is awfully flawed.”

“This is not your dimension, you don’t get to tell me what to do,” argued Hayward, clearly annoyed with them. “I will try to urge the identification process, but you people stay here. I don’t want more superpowered people and their associates getting in my way.”

With that, the man just left the place, followed by his colleague. Whether it was intentional or not, they left their documentation behind. Erik took one of the many files from the pile and opened it. This one described Vision’s origin and whereabouts until he had been destroyed in-

“Charles,” he said, not taking his eyes off the numbers. “This here says that the android died in 2018, five years ago.”

“We traveled 40 years in the future?” Said Kurt, understandably a little overwhelmed by the situation.

Raven put a comforting hand on the teleporter’s shoulder before looking at her friend. Her eyes showed how the situation affected her just as much as it did them. He didn’t blame her; Erik wasn’t sure if he truly grasped the gravity of the implications yet. For now, he preferred to focus on Wanda and her past; the more he knew about her, the better of a chance they’d have to retrieve his son safely and unharmed. The later wasn’t looking too hopeful. From his own experience with mind control and the co-worker’s reaction to being awoken, Peter would likely have a long and painful recovery once he would be back to himself. He just hoped that the differences between their timelines meant that he hadn’t been controlled since he had gone missing. Perhaps, by some luck, he would have arrived a little before he appeared on screen. He didn’t let himself think of what the speedster could have endured before being put under the woman’s spell. Especially if he had been her puppet for the entire two weeks he had disappeared.

“Erik,” interrupted Charles, “I can hear your concerns and I can assure you; your son is a fighter. His mutation is a natural telepath repellent, he’ll be just fine.”

The man smiled at his friend’s words, momentarily comforted. But then, a terrible thought creeped into his head. “Then tell me, old friend, if he is so immune; what horrible torture would he have to go under, so that his mental shield would be lowered enough for him to be vulnerable?”

The silence that followed his statement seemed to confirm that no one had even considered how Peter could be controlled in the first place. They had been too panicked at seeing the young man on the screen and then focused on getting to him to even think of the logic of his newly casted role.

“B-but he’ll be alright,” stammered Kurt, his tail anxiously twitching behind him, swinging, and curling unto itself. “He’s Peter, he always comes out alright.”

Charles smiles weakly at his student, “of course he will, Kurt,” he reassured him, “but we will have to give him time to heal and let him do the first steps when he’ll be ready.”

Erik shared a worried look with Raven, the professor seemed hopeful that the speedster would turn out fine, but he didn’t seem to realize how ahead he was thinking. They were on a military base that had studied for nine days this seemingly all powerful being that didn’t let you in without her consent and a rewrite of your life. And they hadn’t gotten far. From what they had learned, Peter would not be free of Wanda’s control unless she herself brought down the dome. But how could a grief-stricken mutant with powers never seen before just give up what she perceived as the perfect life she deserved?

...

They had stayed up late, learning about Wanda’s past and being horrified at what she had to go through. Erik wasn’t sure how he felt about the woman. She had gone through awful events, a struggle similar to his own. He did feel pity towards her, but he couldn’t look past the fact that she had his son playing her twisted game. The group had eventually settled down for the night, sleeping as good as they could without beds or blankets. They were suddenly awoken by some agitation on the base. Charles stared off into the distance before turning to his team, “Hayward has kicked off people from the base that were being disrespectful to him, now he’s coming our way.”

Indeed, barely fifteen seconds after he had spoken, the director opened the door. He seemed annoyed. “I’m just here to tell you that a new episode should air in the next twenty minutes.”

The blue teen looked at the man, “what happened outside just now?”

His question apparently wasn’t a welcome one since Hayward clenched his jaw in frustration. He answered nonetheless, “I got rid of nuisances. Nothing that concerns you or your team.”

That shut the boy up, but Raven stepped in front of him protectively. “You don’t get to talk to him like that, or to any of us.”

The director narrowed his eyes at her. “You should be thankful,” he snarked, “I could have you all arrested and locked up for the rest of your days, along with your little friend. Yet I haven’t even told anyone about your presence. I’ve been more than benevolent. So, I suggest you watch your mouth.”

Rage built up in Erik, he had heard these words so many times from government figures that disguised their hatred by saying what they could have done but didn’t. The metal bender was well aware that men like him wouldn’t hesitate to sell them out for a raise. What he didn’t appreciate was the way he threatened to imprison Peter as soon as they would get him free from Wanda’s control. Erik felt the metal in the man’s outfit and forced him closer, bringing him at his level. A sliver of fear was seen for a split second in Hayward’s eyes and a feeling of satisfaction crept into his chest. That man was a coward. “You listen to me,” he growled, “we can take out this base in seconds if we feel like it. I’ve seen your kind before, you crush others to rise in rank, but deep down you’re scared. You’re terrified because you’re aware that you are nothing. And if you drop your facade even for a second, they will see you for what you truly are. So, you take out the competition before it even has a chance to realize its potential. But guess what? You’ve met your match because I see you for what you truly are.” He paused as he stared into the man’s eyes. It was a competition of stares that lasted for a few seconds. Erik’s unwavering gaze pierced through the man’s pitiful attempt at intimidation without much effort. Finally, he let his grip go and kept his ground as Hayward took a few steps back. “Here’s a deal, little man, stay out of our way and we’ll stay out of yours.”

The director glared at him and then switched to the other people in the room, probably wondering if the threats he had said had a chance of becoming reality. Whatever he concluded, Erik didn’t know, but the man left the room fuming. The room was silent for a few seconds before Charles wheeled himself closer. He was about to speak but the metal bender beat him to it. “Don’t try to reason with me, old friend, that man had it coming. I only spoke the truth.”

The bald man shook his head. “Yes, you are right, and I don’t blame you for this, but perhaps threatening the director of the base we’re staying in wasn’t the greatest idea?”

Before he could argue, Raven intervened, “I think you did good. It’s been a while since I had seen one of your Magneto speeches; that Stryker knock off deserved it.”

He snorted at her comparison; Hayward was very similar to their own impersonation of the anti-mutant feeling back home. Kurt seemed a little unsettled by Erik’s speech. But he didn’t have time to make sure the teen was alright. Suddenly, the television in their little bunker flickered on; a new episode was starting. They all scrambled to sit down as the screen showed one of the twins running around with a camera in his hands. The upbeat intro song was echoing through the room.

‘Wanda!

WandaVision!

Don’t try to fight the chaos

Don’t question what you’ve done

The game can try to play us

Don’t let it stop the fun’

He opened the bathroom door, showing Wanda brushing her teeth; she also had rollers in her hair. She closed the door with her magic and Tommy ran downstairs to Vision who was reading the newspaper.

‘Some days, it’s all confusion

Easy come and easy go’

Erik watched the screen anxiously as the family members were shown, what would she make her son do?

‘But if it’s all illusion

Sit back, enjoy the show!’

The twin went in the kitchen, their neighbor was looking in the fridge. After a distasteful close up of the woman’s behind, Tommy was now headed for outside.

‘Let’s keep it going

Through each distorted day

Let’s keep it going

Though there may be no way of knowing

Who’s coming by to play’

A blur came out from the house and Erik’s stomach twisted as his son appeared on screen. He was wearing a grey and black shirt and jeans shorts. He briefly stopped in front of the camera and pulled his tongue out like some sort of rock star. He ran out of the shot and came back holding the long-haired twin under one arm. The screen froze to simulate a family picture being taken. The logo ‘WandaVision’ in red and yellow hues.

“Pietro Maximoff as himself?” remarked Raven unimpressed. “Really?”

Erik didn’t react to her voice; he was all too focused on his son. While he didn’t seem that different than usual, he couldn’t help but notice his hair. His usual silver mess of hair were now a bleached blonde. He stared at the screen in disbelief.

This woman had taken away one of Peter’s most unique traits, a part of his personality, to fit her narrative.

He continued looking at the screen with a mix of rage and anxiety. If she had changed him so easily to fulfill her illusion; there was no telling what else she could do if she found out he wasn’t truly her brother.

***

Notes: Next chapter: the halloween special! (and something else)

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doudecim · 4 years ago

Text

I want to say that 99% of the fics here are on FF.net for I have only recently discovered the wonders of AO3, and I still didn’t dig deep in there to find all the HitsuKarin goodies.

That being said, I will put the list under the cut because this will be one very long post. So, I hope you all enjoy it!

one-shots

A Constant Fascination, by back-in-a-bit. — 'Colour me blood red passionately.' Hitsugaya makes it his personal mission to get Karin to blush. Pity it's easier said than done. In fact, it might just take him a lifetime. [rated T]

A Fall in the Fall, by MeteorLeopard. — This was ridiculous! There she was, just looking at the fish, and the next thing she knows, she's up in a tree being held against her will! And it's all his fault! [rated T]

a little suffering is good for the soul, by the milliner’s rook. — Future fic. If there are stupider ways to get courted, Karin can't think of them. [rated K+]

A Woman Scorned, by Glowing Blue. — The twisted fairy tale of Karin finding her own invite to the ball, though she's hardly looking for a Prince Charming. [rated T]

but leave the soul alone, by the milliner’s rook. — AU. Death, it's catching. Or: the one where Toushirou and Karin share night shifts at the hospital. And coffee. Terrible, terrible coffee. [rated K+]

Collection, by ichilover3. — A drabble/oneshot dump. Shenanigans, silliness, and sexy-times abound. Also alliteration, apparently. [rated M]

crawl into your shadow, by the milliner’s rook. — AU. There's a witch in this sleepy little village now that goes by the name of Karin, but nothing has changed since she's arrived. Not really. [rated T]

Delirous, by carved in the sand. — Matsumoto finds her captain to be a lovestruck teenage boy. [rated T]

duckling theory, by the milliner’s rook. — The first thing Karin notices is watermelon. Looking back, maybe it should have been startling green eyes. [rated K]

For You, by Glowing Blue. — Death had never been the paradise everyone wished it to be. But then they found each other. [rated T, two-shot.]

frostbitten, by the milliner’s rook. — Set during the time skip. The winter they meet is unkind with snow. [rated K+]

Frozen Moments, by CrazyAce'n'PokerFace. — 101 drabbles/one-shots that give a glimpse into Toushirou and Karin's life together. A love story told in snapshots. [rated K+]

funny valentine, by SebonzaMitsuki27. — I'll be yours if you'll be mine. [rated K+]

humour me, by SebonzaMitsuki27. — True love's kiss. That ought to do it. [rated K+]

i’m high on believing, by the milliner's rook. — For the record, he prefers his plain black shoes to her fancy red sneakers. [rated K+]

ice breaker, by SebonzaMitsuki27. — AU. There are better ways to get found out than making out in a closet and tumbling onto the ground. [rated T]

if my heart was a compass you’d be north, by SebonzaMitsuki27. — Future fic. Give me a reason to believe. [rated K+]

In Every Season, by Adobo-chan. — A collection of HitsuKarin oneshots. [rated T]

In the Dark, by ichilover3. — It really wasn't anyone else's business. She should be allowed to fornicate with midgets if she wanted to. [rated T]

innocent guilt, by SebonzaMitsuki27. — AU. Oh, I know! You're a tramp with wings! [rated K+]

Juxtaposition, by Lady Azar de Tameran. — Something within Hitsugaya Toushirou thinks that he may have met his match. [rated T]

keep me in your pocket, by SebonzaMitsuki27. — Set during the timeskip. Don't stay out of touch, okay? [rated K+]

Kuchiki Rukia, the Glorified Courier, by MeteorLeopard. — Delivering super-top-secret messages between dimensions is tough work; believe me, I know. If it weren't such a rewarding experience I'd downright refuse to play the messenger. Honestly. [rated K+]

liliputians, by SebonzaMitsuki27. — Future fic. It's alright, kid. I'm short too. [rated K+]

Lovely Complex, by Unknown lazy ass. — She slyly grinned, “Wow, you really are head over heels for me, aren’t you Toushirou?” [rated K+]

Momo knows Best, by MeteorLeopard. — Sometimes having a meddling older sister... sucks. [rated T]

of halos and wings, by SebonzaMitsuki27. — Future fic. He had betrayed Hinamori with nothing but his heart. [rated T]

Old Haunts, by the milliner's rook. — Future fic. You were just gone, Toushirou, what was I to think? I thought—I thought you'd come back, and you did, twenty years too late. [rated T]

Peeping Tom, by Glowing Blue. — The love story of Hitsugaya and Karin, as seen from open windows and heard through thin walls. "Hisagi's eyes had a tendency to stray." AU. [rated T]

phantasmagoria, by SebonzaMitsuki27. — Flickering through black and white, they find their perfect shade of grey. [rated K+, two-shot.]

put down your sword and crown, by the milliner's rook. — AU. When her old man dies to save Ichi-nii's life, everything changes. Days after the funeral, the word Quincy is spoken for the first time, and at five years old, Karin becomes defined by it. [rated K+]

Red, The Colour of Despair, by the milliner's rook. — It was strange how much difference one colour could make. [rated K+]

Revenants, by carved in the sand. — Hitsugaya ponders the ghosts that haunt the girl he still loves. [rated T]

Sports and Sex are Universal (but never the twain should meet), by back-in-a-bit. — Toushirou gives Karin a flat look. "I'm not high-fiving you over sex," he says. [rated M]

Subtle, by nublados. — Toshiro comments on the subtlety that is Karin Kurosaki. [rated K+]

The Art of Asking, by Felix02. — He should have known that her father wouldn't be able to keep a secret, especially from one of his daughters. [rated T]

The Art Of Getting By, by the milliner's rook. — AU. There's some difficulty between juggling flirting, killing Hollows and getting to class on time with the hottest guy in high school, but Karin's certain she'll get the hang of it eventually. [rated T]

The Staircase not Taken, by MeteorLeopard. — Perhaps it was a good thing that the stairs were destroyed, her brother acting demented and a violent fight going on without her just upstairs. After all, the visitor who happened to drop by was worth the wait. [rated T]

the winter sun smiled for things to come in spring, by the milliner's rook. — What is it with you! You're either too young or too old! What the hell! [rated T, two-shots.]

Urahara's Lawn Mowing Service, by MeteorLeopard. — Incorrect phone numbers are a messy business. Even messier though is the business that happens after said incorrect phone call. "Fine, but I bet your girlfriend didn't call back because your lawn needs to be mowed." [rated T]

velocity, by SebonzaMitsuki27. — Aim for the goal, and don't look back, no matter what. [rated T]

where angels fear to tread, by SebonzaMitsuki27. — They belong in hell. [rated K]

You Taste Like Birthday, You Look Like New Year, by the milliner's rook. — Future fic. She likes his hands, Toushirou notices. Loves them, in fact. [rated M]

complete

lune, by SebonzaMitsuki27. — AU. Me and you and moonlight shivers. [[rated T] other main pairings are ByakuyaHisana, ShinjiHiyori and UlquiorraNel, so beware that HitsuKarin is not the only focus in this one.]

Waterlogged, Wind-chapped, and Sun-bleached. — They grow up together, and the slow progression of their relationship shapes their world. AU. [rated T]

Wendybird Chronicles, by the milliner's rook. — She wonders if they ever had a chance. If they might have missed it, somehow. [rated K+]

on going

Wrong Number, by Lunatasha. — Unknown (10:22): So! I just read all of the conversations I had last night while I was out drunk and thoroughly embarrassing myself and please let me apologise for bothering you (especially as I think you were working if you were in your office?) last night. I mean in hindsight I probably should have stopped messaging you as soon as it was clear you weren't who I was looking for, but drunk me apparently hates sober me so yeah, I'm sorry. That being said thank you again for helping me out even though I must have been bothering you, I appreciate it. [rated T]

Only in Dreams, by TullyBlue. — Brother, she had called him, but he spent the entire meal acting like she was a ghost. Eating with the twins, he can’t even imagine being that cold to his sisters. Yuzu’s laughter brightens his day and that admiring glint in Karin’s eye, that he only catches every once in a while, means the world to him. The so-called brother in his dreams makes Ichigo’s skin crawl. Everything else, though, he wants to see more of, to know more about, to understand. Old, wood floors, a spacious room, flowing black robes, and those swords... [[rated T] other main pairings are IchigoRukia, UryuuChad, GanjuHanatarou, so beware that HitsuKarin is not the only focus in this one.]

abandoned or on permanent hiatus, probably won’t ever post a new chapter again

Blizzard Blues, by the milliner's rook. — Future fic. I heard your brother had an eight pack, Captain Hitsugaya! That he was shredded! [rated T]

Catalyst, by Etiena. — With captain-level shinigami in her family, it is no surprise that Kurosaki Karin has potential. But it isn't family which triggers her change. Instead, a chance encounter with a young shinigami captain leads to startling revelations. [rated K+]

Go Against the Grain, by Adobo-chan. — Old law deems that only a son may become the Kurosaki House's next leader. Born from this ancient tradition, a tragic betrayal and her mother's sacrifice, Karin is brought up as Kurosaki Kazuto, the 29th head of the family. [rated T]

oh sinful rose, by the milliner's rook. — AU. Five years after the monarchy is overthrown, a noble finds a forgotten princess in chains. DISCONTINUED. [rated T]

Quandary, by Glowing Blue. — Funnily enough, meeting such a spirited single mother was actually part of his job description. AU. [rated T] (I love this one so much!)

Roommate For Sale, by SavageTrickster. — AU. There are many things in life that she didn't know, but the one thing Kurosaki Karin was certain of is that her overprotective brother is going to blow his top when he meets her new roommate.

#jesus fucking christ this is so long #hitsukarin #karin kurosaki #toshiro hitsugaya #bleach #fic rec #i have literal 0 self love

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girlboss-molina · 3 years ago

Text

Be Who You Are (No Conpromise)

A Julie and the Phantoms Modern Royalty AU

Chapter 9: Stand Tall

Ao3 Link

Words: 10158

Luke POV

…

Luke’s jaw clenched as he helped Alex fix his tie.

He wasn’t sure if he was angry, sad, scared, or some hellish combination of the three, but he wanted it to go away.

He felt hopeless. Guilty. Angry at the world, at the entire situation. He’d tried so many things, but nothing had worked. Alex and Julie were still being forced to get married. He didn’t get to be with her. Alex didn’t get to be with Willie. At least, not like they should’ve been able to.

Even his impulsive attempt to lessen the pain Julie would feel had failed. He was grateful, truly, but also angry because she was so damn stubborn. He knew he was being an idiot, but she didn’t deserve any of the pain, and she wouldn’t let him try to remove himself from the equation to hurt her less.

Luke wouldn’t pretend to understand how she felt. And part of him knew that leaving would’ve been an insanely stupid thing to do. But he just felt so hopeless.

“Luke,” Alex said, pulling him out of his head. “Breathe.”

“Sorry.”

“Don’t be.” Alex pulled him in for a hug. “I know what you’re feeling, and it isn't your fault.”

“But it is! If I’d-“

“Luke,” Alex said calmly, “if you start spiraling about how it’s all your fault because you agreed to be my guard or come to Dahlia with me, and how you falling for Julie was a horrible decision as if you had any control over it, or how you’re a horrible person, I’m going to smack you.”

Luke scowled and looked away. That wasn’t exactly what he was going to say, but it was annoyingly close.

“Look,” Alex sighed. “I’m not going to pretend this is a great situation. But it isn’t your fault in the slightest. You didn’t propose an arranged marriage, my parents did. You didn’t approve it, the Dahlian council did. You, Luke Patterson, stood by my side through the whole ordeal. You stood by Julie. You were here for us the entire time, and I can only hope we were there for you as much as we should’ve been.”

“Since when are you the rational one?” Luke grumbled.

“One of us had to do it. And, let’s face it, it wasn’t going to be you.”

“It’s true, but you didn’t have to say it.”

…

Luke had eventually made his way back to the guards’ quarters to make sure he was completely ready.

He wasn’t sure that would ever happen.

His classic black and white suit was identical to Reggie’s, Willie’s, and Erik’s. As the groomsmen, they all had to be matching. Each one part of a set.

Luke did his best to ignore the nausea as he walked back to the ballroom and took his spot next to Erik, Willie, and Reggie next to the altar. To their left were Flynn, Carrie, and Mira, each dressed in soft violet dresses.

After a few minutes, the huge double doors to the ballroom opened and the crowd hushed.

Alex looked absolutely regal in his suit. The white jacket had glittering gold embroidery that shone in the sunlight filtering through the crystal-cut glass windows.

As Alex made his way up to the altar, Luke caught his eye and gave him a small, reassuring nod. Alex gave his best attempt at a smile, before his eyes wandered away.

And then there was Julie.

As she opened the doors, walking with confidence, Luke’s heart soared and sank at the same time, falling into the pits of the sky.

Everything about her was perfect.

Her dress was perfectly tailored, golden accents shining with her eyes, hair done to perfection, and the way she carried herself was befitting of a queen.

Luke had to stop himself from stopping the officiant as he stepped up to the altar and recited the vows.

Alex’s forced, choked “I do” broke Luke’s heart. Ever bone inside him wanted to wrap him in a hug, but he restrained, even through the distracted, resigned “I do” of the girl he loved.

When everyone held their peace instead of speaking out, Luke felt like crawling into a hole and falling asleep for eternity.

“Then here, under the witness of citizens Dahlian and Tamborian alike, I now pronounce you husband and-

Then, Luke’s heart dropped. He wanted to be unsure, but there was no mistaking the clear voice.

“Wait.”

-----

Reggie POV

…

Reggie adjusted the cuffs of his suit jacket, looking up at his ceiling and willing himself not to cry. There was nothing else he could do but wait.

He sat down on his bed, elbows on his knees, staring at the floor. He wondered if he could count every line in the polished wood, every fluffy strand in his rug.

One.

Two.

Three.

The grain of the wood swirled, lines mixing and meeting and dividing, as was natural. Nothing was perfect and orderly. The lines were impossible to number; it would’ve been an easier task to find the line between love and hate, if it existed at all. Both rooted in passion, just taking different courses, he supposed they were branches of a tree. Nay, there was no line between them, because they were intertwined.

There seemed to be a lot of that.

He took his bass from its stand, fiddling with the strings and playing out notes as they came, letting his fingers work through how he felt. The major key and note combination felt much too cheery and hopeful for the current situation. That wasn’t to say that major keys were always upbeat and minor keys melancholy, but the persistent feel of the music shook something inside of him, something telling him not to give up, to stand tall.

Then again, maybe that was exactly what he needed.

…

The ballroom was packed with people from all over Dahlia and Tambor. As he worked his way through the crowd, searching for someone he knew, the voices of hundreds of people echoed through the room, laughter bouncing off pillars of polished marble.

He finally made his way next to the altar with Erik, soon followed by Luke and Willie. Reggie stuck his hand in his pocket, fiddling with a stim toy so he didn’t start fidgeting more visibly in such a formal setting. He also just needed to distract himself until the inevitable moment when it all came crashing down.

An eternity must have passed before Alex pushed open the ballroom doors, but it wasn’t nearly long enough. It might’ve been foolish to want to prolong the inevitable, but then Reggie supposed he was a fool. Any lasting moments of freedom had to be cherished.

His heart broke as he watched his friend stiffly walk to the altar, and those pieces were crushed as Julie entered the ballroom with Ray beside her, an elegant bouquet in her arms.

Jaw clenched through the forced vows, Reggie willed himself not to cry. He held himself together for his sister, however miserable she may be, he didn’t want to make it worse. All he could do was be there for her through all of this, try and make it easier-

Or so he thought.

Because just before it was made official, he heard a voice telling the officiant to wait.

-----

Willie POV

…

Willie hated his suit.

It was stunning, of course. But it was all wrong. The tucked shirt was too tight, and the cufflinks on his jacket were too stiff. The tie around his neck felt like it was suffocating him, even though he could breathe fine.

His shaking hands refused to obey when he tried to adjust his tie, and he finally sat back down.

He felt Alex’s arms wrap around him from behind, and he immediately calmed at the touch. Alex’s head found his shoulder. Willie smiled softly as he turned around.

“Hey, Lex,” he whispered. He leaned up to give him a kiss.

“Hey,” Alex replied with a smile. “You okay?”

“No, you?”

“No.” They both smiled again, but the sadness laced in was tangible.

“We’ll be okay,” Willie finally said. “Right?”

“Yeah, we will.” Willie melted at the certainty in Alex’s voice.

“The wedding is just for show,” he added. “Julie and I have talked about it a million times. It’ll be complicated, with all the publicity, but we’ll be okay.”

“Okay.”

…

Willie’s spot in the ballroom was to the right of the altar, between Luke and Reggie. Erik, stationed to Luke’s left, caught his eye and gave an indecipherable look; somewhere between hope and sorrow.

Willie was silent, as were the rest of their group, groomsmen and bridesmaids alike. Willie straightened his back and adjusted his cuff, hating the stiff fabric.

He felt trapped. Even with the huge room, the cool, crisp Dahlian Autumn air, and the hum of excitement echoing around him, Willie felt like he was suffocating. The tightness in his chest, the pain every time he inhaled, it felt like when he was sixteen and had been struck by an out-of-control driver. He still remembered the blunt impact of metal going thirty miles per hour, the blinding headlights, the aching in his ribs.

This wasn’t very different, he supposed. There was a tight feeling in his chest that he couldn’t locate or breathe away, and the glowing chandeliers were far too bright for this grim situation.

In a way, he missed being a normal baker. He missed the routine of mixing batter and buttercream, decorating cakes and laughing in the sweet-smelling room.

But, then again, if he were still some random baker, he never would have met Alex. He never would’ve had the privilege of falling for him, never would’ve known the risk of reciprocating feelings forbidden by force.

He just wanted it to all be okay again.

When Alex entered the ballroom, Willie’s breath caught in his throat.

He was stunning.

The white suit jacket was perfectly tailored, golden accents lining the sleeves, collar, and chest. His perfectly done hair was sleek but lively, and he carried himself with confidence, even if it was just a facade trying not to crack.

When their eyes met, the gaze was full of all the words left unsaid, apologies and promises and hopes and dreams, all left to rust in the frozen air.

And then there was Julie, walking with such poise that it was impossible to believe she wasn’t already the queen, dressed in a simple but elegant gown with matching gold embroidery, golden and violet tulle laced into the skirt.

As they lied through the vows, Willie clenched his jaw and blinked back a tear, only letting it fall when his eyes opened in surprise, unprepared to hear such a direct denial and order.

“Wait.”

-----

Alex POV

…

The room was dark. Not pitch black, but enough to trick the eye out of sight.

Blank.

Quiet.

Alex was never scared of the dark as a kid. He was scared of the things that used it to hide. But now, he knew the only things hiding in the dark were his own thoughts.

His thoughts, and the crushing weight of silence, broken only by his shaking breath.

He felt like he was floating. The silence around him was deafening, no longer cut by his breathing, He was detached from the world, in an endless abyss of uncertainty and love and containment, shackled to the nothingness by chains of obligation.

He pulled at the iron chains on his wrists, trying endlessly to break free, trying, trying, trying, until the skin on his wrists had been rubbed raw, pain pulsing as the chains grew hotter, like coals in a fire.

Alex tried to scream, but he couldn’t find his voice. Every shout and cry, begging to be let out, every bit of sound was swallowed by the void, sentenced to an eternity searching for someone to hear them.

A voice pulled him out of his head, but it took a moment to register.

“…x?”

“Alex, can you hear me?”

Alex blearily opened his eyes to find that the room was not, in fact, dark. He was sitting in one of the prep rooms at the west wing of the ballroom, staring at the table.

“Alex?” He looked up to find Erik with his hands on his shoulders.

“Hi, sorry. Zoned out.”

“It’s okay. I just wanted to make sure you were alright.”

“Thanks.”

“The others are still finishing up getting ready, but we’ll have to go to the ballroom soon. I probably have to go now,” he added, glancing at his watch. “Will you be okay?”

“Yeah. See you soon.” Erik walked to the door, hesitating at the last second.

“Alex?”

“Yeah?”

“I’m sorry. I wish there was something else I could do.”

Alex nodded, unsure what to day. He felt pathetic.

Erik left.

…

Alex could hear the chatter of the crowd from the prep room, and it was too much for him to handle alone. He figured he should pay julie a visit in the other prep room.

Technically, he wasn’t allowed to. It was tradition for the groom not to see the bride until they were at the altar, but he couldn’t bring himself to care. Besides, what were they going to do? Exile him?

He focused on the tapping of his shoes on the hard floor as he made his way to the other prep room, finally knocking.

“Come in,” Julie said. Her voice sounded authoritative; she was going to be a perfect queen.

Alex opened the door.

“Hey,” he said pathetically.

“Hey.” Julie stood up and wrapped him in a hug. He trembled, stiffening his shoulders to try and hide it.

“Here,” she said, and before Alex knew it, she’d sat him down in her chair and was wiping his tears away with a cold washcloth. He hadn’t even realized he’d been crying.

“Sorry.” He wasn’t sure what else to say.

“Don’t be. It’s okay to be upset.” Alex nodded, swallowing.

“You look beautiful,” he finally said. It was true; her white silky dress fit her perfectly, with elegant off-shoulder straps and a small v-neck as the dress hugged her and then flared at her waist. Golden embroidery matching his own decorated the bodice, and violet dahlias lined the bottom of the layered skirt.

“So do you,” she said with a smile. He grinned.

“I’m technically not supposed to be here,” he admitted, “but the guys had to go get ready, and I couldn’t just sit there alone.”

“I know the feeling,” Julie agreed. “And I know I’ve said it a million times, but I’m so sorry. You don’t deserve this.”

“Neither do you.”

“I know. I just… I wish I had a magic wand that could fix everything. I wish we could choose what we do with our lives, choose who we love for once. Or at least do it without committing treason.”

“Yeah, treason isn’t high on my to-do list.” Julie laughed, but Alex knew it was a facade.

“Do you want to talk about it?” she asked. Alex sighed.

“Not much else to talk about. You?”

“Not much else. How’s Willie doing?” Alex looked down.

“He’s trying to keep up the act. You know how he is. He tries to be lighthearted and upbeat, but he’s trying to stay afloat.” Alex felt so bad for him. Willie had been nothing but kind, loving, and supportive through an impossible situation. He didn’t deserve any of this.

“Luke is sulking and blaming himself,” he added, knowing Julie would be wondering about her idiot of a boyfriend.

“But it isn’t his fault!” Julie protested.

“Oh, I know,” Alex agreed. “I’ve told him as much. But he’s annoyingly stubborn. He feels like he screwed everything up.”

“He’s an idiot.” Alex laughed for real that time. He’d almost forgotten the feeling.

“Yeah, I’m beginning to question your taste in guys.”

“For real. How I fell in love with such a dumbass, I’ll never know.”

“I mean, he’s cute,” Alex reasoned. “He’s got that going for him. Doesn’t have two brain cells to rub together, but hey, at least he’s cute.” Julie burst out laughing, as did Alex.

“I’m pretty sure our entire group shares a brain cell, and Carrie is the only one who ever has it.”

“You’re probably right.” They sat for a moment before Alex sighed.

“I should probably go,” he groaned. They’ll want me in the ballroom soon.”

“Probably. Unless you feel like faking your death last-minute.”

“Tempting,” he admitted, “but I think now we just have to grit our teeth and wait for it to be over.”

“Yeah. I’ll see you soon.”

As he closed the door, Alex sighed and wiped his eyes.

There was nothing to do now but wait it out.

…

As he waited outside the ballroom, Alex listened to the muffled voices of the guests. He hated this whole situation, but something about hearing people calmed him, which he never would have expected in a million years.

And yet, as he heard the laugh of a child, playful arguments between friends and couples, it reminded him that everyone in that room had their own life, just as complex as his. Everyone was going through things.

The thought made him feel a little less alone.

“Mijo,” Ray said from behind him. Alex hadn’t even heard him enter. “They’re ready for you.” He took a shaky breath.

“Okay.”

As he stood and walked to the huge, wooden doors, he hesitated. Ray put a hand on his shoulder.

“I’m sorry, Alex. I did everything I could.”

“I know. Thanks.” He tried again to bring himself to open the door, but he just couldn’t.

Without thinking, he tackled Ray in a hug. He was worried he’d done something wrong; he’d just hugged the king without warning. But Ray wrapped his arms around him immediately, and Alex did his best not to cry.

He felt safe. Warm. Protected.

Was this what a dad’s hug felt like?

He didn’t have time to dwell on that.

When he pulled away from the hug and met Ray’s eyes, Ray nodded.

“It’ll be okay,” Alex decided.

Then, without hesitation, he pushed open the ballroom doors.

…

Alex could feel people’s eyes on him the moment he stepped into the ballroom. But he squared his shoulders and walked with authority, just like he’d been taught.

His heart broke when he met Willie’s eyes. His hair was pulled back into a bun, suit tailored to perfection, but it was all wrong, It wasn’t him. Alex wanted to cry, to run to him and hold him, but he couldn’t.

It’ll be okay, Willie mouthed. Alex gave a small smile and nod, finally stopping at the altar.

Now, he just had to wait for Julie.

Then the nightmare would be over.

He stood up straight and closed his eyes, waiting for the sound of the doors opening.

Then, far too soon, there they were.

As Julie pushed open the doors, standing tall and strong, she looked like the queen she was always meant to be.

Ray followed her in and took her arm, handing her a bouquet of dahlias, roses, and orchids, all wrapped in white silk.

She looked beautiful.

And yet, Alex could see how forced her smile was, how she inevitably let it fall as she walked up next to him.

Ray looked at him and nodded. Alex nodded back, and Ray walked back to the side.

Alex’s eyes flicked to his parents.

They were in the first row, both dressed to perfection, sat with poise. His father, Xavier, wore a pressed suit with two medals pinned to it, his golden Tamborian crown at its place on its head, where it had been for twenty years.

His mother, Claire, wore a pale gold dress with silver threads, like a combination of moonlight and a sun ray. Her crown matched his father’s.

Both of them looked so damn proud of themselves.

His father’s piercing blue stare met his, and there was no love in Xavier’s eyes. Alex could tell what he wanted to say.

Don’t screw up.

He wanted to yell. Didn’t he get a choice? Why did his parents, the people who were supposed to love him no matter what, see fit to marry him off?

Some parents they were.

But next to them was his sister. Ava.

She looked beautiful.

Her dirty blonde hair was cut in a jagged bob, gently styled with a bit of flair. Winged eyeliner accentuated her grey eyes, and her aqua gown wasn’t too fancy. The layered skirt was manageable, and she had a white denim jacket with gold buttons over her shoulders.

Alex bit back a grin when he saw the toes of her Doc Martens peeking out from underneath her dress, and was even more pleased with his father’s disproving glare.

As the officiant walked to the altar, Alex’s jaw clenched, but he relaxed his hands as he took Julie’s.

“We are gathered here today,” said the officiant, “to bear witness to a beautiful, historic union. A union of peace, of harmony, of love.”

Yeah, right.

“Today marks the union of two countries, two people. Her royal highness, Princess Julie Molina of Dahlia, has grown up into a strong young woman, one led by her father, King Ray. She will soon ascend to the throne, and there is no doubt in my mind that she will lead us into the future.

“His royal highness, Prince Alexander Mercer of Tambor, has been a close friend of hers for years, and their relationship will no doubt hold strong, as will our countries. Prince Alexander has stood alongside Tambor as his parents, King Xavier and Queen Claire, have held a righteous, unshakeable reign.

“And now, this wedding seals an unshakeable bond between our two countries. Shall we move onto the vows?”

Alex met Julie’s eyes with a sad smile.

“Alexander Mercer, son of Queen Claire and King Xavier, do you take Julie to be your lawfully wedded wife? Do you promise to stand by her in sickness and in health, and aid her as she ascends to the throne, no matter what happens? And do you swear to hold true to her, as she would for you, as a faithful ally, confidante, friend, and husband?”

Alex hoped the tear rolling down his cheek would be mistaken for one of joy as he swallowed, the pit in his stomach growing deeper and more hollow.

“I do.”

“And do you, Princess Julie Molina, daughter of King Ray and the late Queen Rose, heiress to the Dahlian throne, take Alexander to be your lawfully wedded husband? Do you promise to care for him in sickness and in health, to trust him with your life as he would do for you? As you ascend to the throne, do you swear to care not just for your people, as the compassionate queen, but also for your betrothed, as a loving friend and wife?”

Alex looked at Julie, her brown eyes filled with sorrow and grief and anger, but above all, filled with hope and compassion for her people.

“I do.”

The officiant smiled, and Alex wished he could do the same.

“Wonderful. If anyone here today can see just reason why these two should not be wed, speak now, or forever hold your peace.”

Five agonizing, silent seconds passed. Alex wished someone would speak, let go of their peace and intervene.

But nobody did.

“Then here, under the witness of citizens Dahlian and Tamborian alike, I now pronounce you husband and-“

“Wait.”

Alex’s heart dropped and soared at the same time.

Gasps echoed throughout the crowd, and Julie seemed confident as ever as she let go of Alex’s hands and turned to face the onlooking people.

“As the rising queen of Dahlia, I have spent my life advocating for peace, equality, and freedom among all our people,” she said. Alex’s grin widened.

“Neither Alex nor I wanted this marriage. We care about each other, yes. He's one of my best friends, and will be for the rest of my life. But he loves someone else,” she added, “as do I.

“Dahlia and Tambor have been allies since our foundation, and we have always valued the peace and freedom of our citizens above all else. So why, may I ask, was an arranged marriage necessary?

“King Xavier and Queen Claire of Tambor raised the idea of an arranged marriage to us and my father two years ago. We all protested. But when it was passed by the Dahlian council, there wasn’t much else we could do.

“I accept that, as a leader, I have duties and obligations to my people. But I will not let who I marry be one of them, and nor will Alex.”

Alex couldn’t stop smiling as he looked at Julie. He remembered when they first met years ago, the little girl with frizzy hair and missing front teeth. Even then, she’d been so strong, so passionate.

And now? Now, she was all that and more. She was a powerful, intelligent woman born to lead, to stand tall and make her voice heard.

“No,” he agreed. “I won’t.”

“This is nonsense,” interrupted Xavier furiously. “They don’t know what they’re talking about, they’re just teenagers. Continue with the vows,” he commanded.

“You are in my kingdom,” Julie reminded him tersely, “and while your title certainly demands respect, you are not in power here. And, if I may, if we are just teenagers who can’t even understand what we’re talking about, why should we be married off?”

Murmurs of agreement rang out through the crowd.

“Alex, sweetie,” Claire began. “We want only the best for you-“

“That’s a lie and you know it,” he snapped. He’d had enough. “Mom, you’ve always been a compassionate queen. But you never cared about what I wanted, you cared about what would help your reputation.”

More gasps rang out through the crowd. Alex knew he was being harsh, but it was true. And he was done letting his parents disrespect him.

“Look, mom, dad, Dahlia and Tambor are each other’s strongest allies. We always have been. You know that. The wedding was never about allyship, it was about control.”

“You are acting extremely ungrateful,” his dad snapped. Alex rolled his eyes. “What woman could you, an immature nineteen-year-old, be so gone for that you would refuse marriage to a princess?”

“Who I love is none of your business. I don’t owe you anything.”

That aside,” Julie added, “neither of us would reveal who they were without being sure that they were okay with it. I am speaking out against this wedding because I want no part of it,” Julie reminded him.

“Nor do I,” Alex interjected. It felt powerful to admit it, to tell the truth so openly.

“Exactly. Alex and I are both okay with saying this. We both love other people. But those other people have the right to privacy, if not under basic decency, under the Dahlian constitution. I would know,” she said before his dad could reply. “I was there when it was revised three years ago.”

“And would you be okay with them revealing themselves?” Xavier retorted. “I assume they’re in this room. Would you have them reveal their identities, or are you scared of public revolt?”

“You know what,” Alex said, “I would be okay with it. But even if I weren’t, wanting privacy doesn’t mean you’re scared, nor does it mean you have ill intent. It’s just choosing what of your personal life to share.”

“Couldn’t have put it better myself,” Julie agreed. “And, for the record, we aren’t scared. Not anymore. If we were, we wouldn’t be coming out at all. Us being okay with going public about our side of the story doesn’t mean the other people involved are obligated to.”

His mom was pale as a sheet, and his dad looked like he was going to explode. Alex almost felt bad. But then he remembered all the times they’d belittled him, tried to control every part of his life, and reminded himself that this was him taking control.

“King Ray,” Xavier said smoothly, like he was trying not to lose it, “surely you cannot be okay with this. Your daughter-“

“My daughter is a strong, independent, intelligent woman,” Ray interrupted, and Alex beamed. “She is a leader, and I’ll be damned if I’m going to stop her from doing just that: leading. She is the future queen of Dahlia. She has every right to decide who to marry, if at all. What I’m not okay with is the fact that you are so hellbent on controlling her, not to mention your own adult son.”

Xavier stammered furiously, one arm held by Claire, who seemed like she was trying not to pass out. Alex had to resist the urge to hug Ray for standing up for him.

“Do you really want to know who’s stopping your precious wedding,” chimed in Luke’s voice from behind him. Alex whipped around to see both him and Willie stepping forward, looking confident as ever.

“Do tell,” Xavier said with a hysterical laugh.

“We are,” Willie informed him.

Alex just about broke down crying. He was so happy, so proud, so enamored, everything inside of him was bursting with elation as Willie stepped forward and took his hand.

The crowd started clapping.

It was hesitant applause at first, led by a few, but soon the entire audience was on their feet.

“It’s our lives,” Alex shouted over the excited cheers, surprising himself with the words but knowing they were truer than they’d ever been. “We get to lead them!”

“Damn right we do!” Julie agreed. Luke and Willie laughed in amazement.

“I beg to differ,” Xavier screamed hoarsely. The entire crowd booed.

“Yes, you heard me! With royalty comes rules. I. Beg. To Differ .”

“Then beg,” Julie snapped back, and Alex gasped with laughter, wishing he’d been the one to say that, especially after seeing the look on his dad’s face.

Willie and Alex held up their clasped hands, and Alex ignored the horrified glares from his parents, instead focusing on Ava’s proud smile and applause.

“I, Princess Julie Molina,” Julie declared as the crowd quieted, “do not take Prince Alexander to be my husband.” Alex grinned; he never thought he’d be so happy to hear a denied wedding vow.

“Instead, I take my life into my hands and give him his. Instead, I swear on my very life to lead you into an era of prosperity, livelihood, and health, as my father has done.

“As he completes his reign, I choose to stand tall and step forward, whenever that time may be.”

“If I may,” Ray announced, stepping forward to the altar. “Julie has trained her entire life to be a leader, and she has done that and so much more. Since she was little, she has had a passion for life, for love, for hope. She has taught me and so many others to stand tall even in the face of adversity. And, given her display of bravery, intelligence, and pure nerve, as well as the prepared ballroom, I see no reason why that moment should be delayed.” Alex was practically vibrating with excitement. He knew where this was going.

After Julie and Ray had exchanged a few words of confirmation, she knelt down as he took off the crown.

As Ray placed the crown on her head, Alex clapped with the rest of the crowd, even his disgruntled parents.

“Your majesty,” Luke said with a cocky grin. He bowed, and Alex quickly followed suit. Soon enough, the entire ballroom was dipped in a bow, pulsing with respect and hope.

…

The dancing started soon afterwards. Alex was content to just hold Willie and sway to the music.

“We did it,” he said softly, gazing into Willie’s deep brown eyes.

“We did,” he agreed. “I’m so happy for you.”

“I’m happy for us,” Alex decided.

“You’re such a dork.”

“I know.”

‘It’s part of why I love you,” he whispered. Alex’s heart soared, dancing in the constellations.

“I love you too.”

…

“Julie?” Alex asked, grinning as she laughed at Carlos for some silly antics.

“Ye-“ before she could finish, Alex tackled her in a hug, holding her tight.

“Thank you.”

“No, thank you,” she said. “You’ve been an amazing friend throughout all of this.”

“So have you. I’m just…” he tried to find the words but just couldn’t. Nothing seemed to be enough, not to describe how he felt, nor how amazing she was, how selfless everything she had done had been.

“I know. I don’t have the words either.”

“Yeah,” he sighed with a smile.

“So… will you be going back to Tambor? Because if you want to, I completely understand, but I’d love for you to stay here in the palace.” Alex shook his head.

“Oh, I’m staying. Don’t worry,” he said, elbowing her in the side. “You can’t get rid of me that easily.”

-----

Julie POV

…

Julie sat on a soft, cushioned chair in a small room next to the renovated ballroom, staring at herself in the mirror. Flynn and Carrie sat next to her on a leather ottoman, holding her right hand with theirs. Mira stood behind her, fixing her hair until the braids were perfectly woven from her temples to the base of her head, the rest of her hair gently coiling in a poof at the base of her neck.

She thought she would’ve cried; this wedding was the opposite of what she and Alex wanted. But her eyes were stone dry, her makeup untouched by what she felt. Mira’s hands fell to her shoulders, gently tracing circles along her skin.

“Thank you,” she said. “Mira, this is amazing.” She tried to smile, really, she did, but her face fell.

“Of course,” Mira whispered. “Jules, it’ll be okay. I promise.”

“No it won’t,” she replied quietly. “But I’ll live. We’ll manage.” Mira nodded.

Flynn sighed and wrapped her arm around Julie. Julie put her head on her shoulder.

She could’ve stayed there forever. Even though Flynn’s shoulder wasn’t exactly comfortable (seriously, how was she so bony?), it was preferable to just about anything else at the moment. Here, she was safe. She wasn’t being forced into a wedding with one of her best friends. She wasn’t being pulled away from the person she loved. Here, resting on Flynn’s shoulder, she had Flynn, Mira, and Carrie by her side, holding her close and whispering reassurances in her ear. Here, she was safe.

A knock on the door pulled Julie out of her trance.

“Yes?” she asked.

“It’s me, sweetheart,” came the choked voice of her father. Mira looked at her and when she nodded, went to open the door.

“Hi, dad.” Ray scooped her up in a hug, burying his head in her shoulder. She held on as tight as she could.

“I’m so sorry, mija. I did everything I could.”

“I know,” she whispered. “Thank you for trying.” Ray inhaled like he was going to say something else, but just held her closer.

Julie wasn’t sure how long she stood there, but it certainly wasn’t long enough. She immediately felt colder when he let go.

“You look beautiful,” Ray told her. She gave the most convincing smile she could.

“Thanks,” she said as she twirled. She hadn’t been hopeful, but Mira was some sort of sorceress. In a matter of days, she’d turned a heap of white silk and satin from a mess of pins into one of the most gorgeous dresses Julie had ever laid eyes on.

The off-shoulder straps met under her collarbone, leaving a small v-neck for the top of the dress. The slim fit was comfortable and elegant, flaring at the waist into a beautiful layered skirt with transparent violet tulle woven in. Golden embroidery shone on her shoulders and chest, and the purple dahlias that had been subtly added to the end of the skirt added the perfect amount of flair.

She’d refused a veil, despite traditions; her wedding day wasn’t the day she stopped hiding. She’d never hidden herself, and didn’t intend to start now.

“It’ll be over soon,” he told her. She nodded.

“I’m sorry this has stressed you out so much.” Julie sat back down and fiddled with the hem of her skirt, ignoring Mira’s disapproving look.

“Mija, if anything, I’m sorry. You didn’t deserve any of this.” Ray put his hand on her shoulder.

“I know. But I’ve been told since I was a kid, being a princess comes with responsibilities. It’s amazing, being able to lead and help people the best I can, never having to worry about money, but there are always drawbacks. I feel bad complaining. So many people have it so much worse.”

“Dahlia is reaching zero homelessness sooner than projected,” he reminded her. “At this rate, we’ll be completely housed by Spring. And,” he added, “our wealth equality is some of the best in the world.”

“And that’s incredible! But I’m still incredibly lucky. I’m healthy, privileged, and one of the leaders of a wealthy, harmonized nation. That’s not to mention people in other places around the world, who have to worry about having food on the table or being killed for who they are. Just because we’re doing well doesn’t mean the whole world is.”

“Julie,” Ray interrupted before she could spiral. “You’ve always been so passionate about helping other people. It’s one of the things that will make you an amazing leader. But you can’t do everything at once. And even if you could, having a better situation than other people doesn’t mean you aren’t allowed to be in pain.”

“Yeah,” Carrie chimed in. “Think of it this way: if you have the flu, but someone else has the flu and a broken leg, that doesn’t mean you don’t have the flu. It still sucks, and just because someone else has a situation that objectively sucks more doesn’t mean your situation is awesome. You’re allowed to be upset.”

“Thanks,” she sighed. “I get it, and I really appreciate it. I just feel like I have so much going for me that this is trivial in comparison.”

“Do you think that Alex being upset is trivial, given his situation?”

“Of course not! He-“

“Has the right to be upset,” Carrie finished for her. “Exactly. He has privilege too. So why does he get to be upset but you don’t?” Julie didn’t have an answer.

“I don’t know,” she finally said.

“You hold yourself to such a high standard, Julie,” Flynn added. “You’re so much stronger than I ever could be, but you need to allow yourself to accept that this sucks. Sometimes, no matter how good your life may be, things suck. Just try to remember that, okay?”

“Okay,” she said. “I’ll try. Thank you.”

“Of course.”

She felt like there was something else she should say, but she couldn’t find the words. So she stared at the mirror, busying herself with the task of making sure everything looked good and ready for the wedding of hell.

…

After Ray had left to prepare everything else and greet guests, Flynn, Carrie, and Mira had to go and change. They were Julie’s bridesmaids. She and Alex had decided not to have a Maid of Honor or Best Man, because neither of them felt that they could choose. Everyone in their group had helped them so much, been there for them the entire time. It wouldn’t have been fair to honor any above the others.

Julie sat alone in the prep room, surrounded by tubes of makeup and baskets of accessories, none of which she touched.

Someone knocked on the door, and she sat up straight and put on her professional voice.

“Come in.”

Alex opened the door, and Julie could see that he’d been crying. It wasn’t glaringly obvious, but his eyes were a bit red and swollen.

“Hey,” he said.

“Hey.” Julie stood up and wrapped him in a hug. He trembled, stiffening his shoulders to try and hide it.

“Here,” she said, bringing him to her chair and sitting him down. She took a washcloth and ran it under cold water, squeezing it out and gently dabbing at his eyes, tear streaks but a distant memory, bloodshot eyes calmed.

“Sorry.”

“Don’t be. It’s okay to be upset.” Alex nodded, swallowing.

“You look beautiful,” he finally said.

“So do you,” she said with a smile. His perfectly tailored suit had the typical white shirt and black pants, but the jacket was white with matching golden embroidery on the cuffs. Alex smiled.

“I’m technically not supposed to be here,” he admitted, “but the guys had to go get ready, and I couldn’t just sit there alone.”

“I know the feeling,” Julie agreed. “And I know I’ve said it a million times, but I’m so sorry. You don’t deserve this.”

“Neither do you.”

“Yeah, treason isn’t high on my to-do list.” Julie gave a halfhearted laugh, but her smile fell.

“Do you want to talk about it?” Alex sighed.

“Not much else to talk about. You?”

“Not much else,” she agreed. “How’s Willie doing?” He looked down.

“He’s trying to keep up the act. You know how he is. He tries to be lighthearted and upbeat, but he’s trying to stay afloat. And Luke is sulking and blaming himself.”

“But it isn’t his fault!” Julie protested.

“Oh, I know,” Alex agreed. “I’ve told him as much. But he’s annoyingly stubborn. He feels like he screwed everything up.”

“He’s an idiot.” Alex laughed for real that time.

“Yeah, I’m beginning to question your taste in guys.”

“For real. How I fell in love with such a dumbass, I’ll never know.”

“I mean, he’s cute,” Alex reasoned. “He’s got that going for him. Doesn’t have two brain cells to rub together, but hey, at least he’s cute.” Julie burst out laughing.

“I’m pretty sure our entire group shares a brain cell, and Carrie is the only one who ever has it.”

“You’re probably right.” They sat for a moment before Alex sighed.

“I should probably go,” he groaned. They’ll want me in the ballroom soon.”

“Probably. Unless you feel like faking your death last-minute.”

“Tempting,” he admitted, “but I think now we just have to grit our teeth and wait for it to be over.”

“Yeah. I’ll see you soon.”

With that, Julie was alone.

…

The incessant chatter of the crowd was white noise behind Julie’s humming brain. It felt like a radio that, no matter which way you turned the antenna, only blared static.

Her dad’s voice snapped her out of it.

“Mija?”

She hadn’t registered that she’d been walking to the ballroom, but there she was, with a huge pair of gilded oak double doors protecting her from the choirs of hell.

“Mija?” Ray asked again.

“Hi. Sorry. Zoned out.”

“It’s okay. Julie, I…” he sighed and pinched the bridge of his nose. “I’m so sorry.” She looked up and saw his eyes shining with regret and sorrow and anger.

“I know,” Julie whispered. “Thanks for trying.”

Ray scooped her up in a big hug, and she let herself soak up the warmth and relish it while it lasted. Maybe she could just stay there forever instead.

“You look beautiful,” he remarked as he let her go. Julie smiled and twirled.

“Mira really is amazing,” she agreed. “I had my doubts, but she somehow turned a heap of lace and silk into a dress.”

“You could say she’s a Mira-cle worker,” Ray quipped with a grin and a wink. Julie groaned, but couldn’t suppress her smile.

“Now I know where Reggie gets it.”

“He learned from the best,” Ray agreed.

Julie’s face fell.

“I have to go in, don’t I?” She already knew the answer, but her father’s resigned nod crushed her.

“Do you want me to walk you up?” he asked.

“Yes please,” she whispered.

“Okay.”

“But,” she added, “I want to open the door. I need to show them that I’m a leader, not just a girl in a dress.”

“Done,” he agreed. “You are a leader. And if they can’t see that, they’re blind.” Julie smiled for real that time, squared her shoulders, and finally pushed open the doors.

I’m a leader, she reminded herself as she took the bouquet from her dad and took his arm. They can’t tell me who I am.

And without her even prompting it, the gears in her head started turning.

…

Alex’s hands were cold and clammy, and Julie could see that his jaw was clenched. She tightened her grip on his hands, gentle but firm, making sure to pull him to reality. It seemed to work, too, because his jaw softened and he took a breath.

Julie finally risked a glance to Luke, and he gave a weak smile, which she did her best to return. His hazel eyes were full of love, anger, and melancholy, all warring behind earthy windows.

Julie looked back to Alex, wishing the officiant would shut up as soon as he started speaking.

“We are gathered here today,” said the officiant, “to bear witness to a beautiful, historic union. A union of peace, of harmony, of love.”

Yeah, right.

“And now, this wedding seals an unshakeable bond between our two countries. Shall we move onto the vows?”

Julie looked back up to Alex, hating the resigned hopelessness in his eyes, even more so than the tear rolling down his cheek.

Julie closed her eyes as Alex tried to speak, finally managing an “I do.”

No, she wanted to say. I do not.

But when she heard the hushed whispers in the crowd, laced with excitement, when she remembered the bright eyes of civilians as the announcement of a union had been released, she bit back the truth.

“I do.”

The officiant smiled, and Julie wished she could do the same.

“Wonderful. If anyone here today can see just reason why these two should not be wed, speak now, or forever hold your peace.”

The gears in her head were turning into overdrive, grinding thoughts and memories and emotions into her head and heart like an overloaded system.

Flashes of hazel eyes, crinkled with laughter, shining with hope, puffy with tears in the rain.

Blips of hands interlocked, the quiet voices of a baker and a prince, glances between a princess and a guard.

Voices that she could hear like it was happening before her.

“Actually, I win.”

“Hey there, boss.”

“You’re a dork.”

“Not a fan of coffee?”

“Understandable, have a nice day.”

“Technically, you’re not a trainee.”

“I couldn’t live with myself if something happened to you.”

“You’ll never lose me.”

Everything played in Julie’s mind on repeat, unshakeable and incessant, like the rushing of a river in Spring.

And then she heard the officiant’s voice.

“Then here, under the witness of citizens Dahlian and Tamborian alike, I now pronounce you husband and-“

“Wait.”

She’d known that words had power, but never in a million years would Julie have guessed that one word could be so big.

“As the rising queen of Dahlia,” she began as she let go of Alex and looked out at the shocked crowd, “I have spent my life advocating for peace, equality, and freedom among all our people.” She took a deep breath, catching her father’s eye, heart soaring with the pride radiating off of him.

“Neither Alex nor I wanted this marriage,” she continued. “ We care about each other, yes. He's one of my best friends, and will be for the rest of my life. But he loves someone else,” she added, “as do I.

“Dahlia and Tambor have been allies since our foundation, and we have always valued the peace and freedom of our citizens above all else. So why, may I ask, was an arranged marriage necessary?

“I accept that, as a leader, I have duties and obligations to my people. But I will not let who I marry be one of them, and nor will Alex.”

“No,” Alex agreed. “I won’t.” She turned to him, a huge smile on her face, heart racing.

We’re doing this.

“This is nonsense,” interrupted Xavier furiously. “They don’t know what they’re talking about, they’re just teenagers. Continue with the vows,” he commanded.

“You are in my kingdom,” Julie reminded him tersely, shoulders squared and voice echoing with authority, “and while your title certainly demands respect, you are not in power here. And, if I may, if we are just teenagers who can’t even understand what we’re talking about, why should we be married off?”

Murmurs of agreement rang out through the crowd, and each one flew into her like lightning bolts of confidence.

“Alex, sweetie,” Queen Claire began. “We want only the best for you-“

“That’s a lie and you know it,” he snapped. Julie was surprised; she’d never heard Alex snap like that. But she let him speak.

“Mom, you’ve always been a compassionate queen.,” Alex said with a sigh. “ But you never cared about what I wanted, you cared about what would help your reputation.”

More gasps rang out through the crowd. Julie didn’t budge, holding her post beside him.

“Look, mom, dad, Dahlia and Tambor are each other’s strongest allies. We always have been. You know that. The wedding was never about allyship, it was about control.”

“You are acting extremely ungrateful,” his dad snapped. Julie raised her eyebrows and took a step forward, suddenly feeling protective of her friend. “What woman could you, an immature nineteen-year-old, be so gone for that you would refuse marriage to a princess?” Xavier interrogated.

“Who I love is none of your business. I don’t owe you anything.” Julie bit back a huge grin; even though she wanted nothing more than to snap back at Alex’s parents too, she had a feeling it wouldn’t be appropriate.

“That aside,” Julie added, “neither of us would reveal who they were without being sure that they were okay with it. I am speaking out against this wedding because I want no part of it,” Julie reminded him.

“Nor do I,” Alex interjected.

“Exactly. Alex and I are both okay with saying this. We both love other people. But those other people have the right to privacy, if not under basic decency, under the Dahlian constitution. I would know,” she said before Xavier could reply. “I was there when it was revised three years ago.”

“And would you be okay with them revealing themselves?” Xavier retorted. “I assume they’re in this room. Would you have them reveal their identities, or are you scared of public revolt?”

Claire was pale as a sheet, and Xavier looked like he was going to explode. Ray, however, was glowing with pride.

“King Ray,” Xavier said smoothly, like he was trying not to lose it, “surely you cannot be okay with this. Your daughter-“

“My daughter is a strong, independent, intelligent woman,” Ray interrupted. “She is a leader, and I’ll be damned if I’m going to stop her from doing just that: leading. She is the future queen of Dahlia. She has every right to decide who to marry, if at all. What I’m not okay with is the fact that you are so hellbent on controlling her, not to mention your own adult son.”

Xavier stammered furiously, one arm held by Claire, who seemed like she was trying not to pass out.

“Do you really want to know who’s stopping your precious wedding,” chimed in Luke’s voice from behind her. Julie whipped around to see both him and Willie stepping forward.

“Do tell,” Xavier said with a hysterical laugh.

“We are,” Willie informed him. And before Julie knew it, Luke was by her side, clasping her hand with his. Willie marched next to Alex and did the same.

And, to Julie’s shock, the crowd started clapping.

It was hesitant applause at first, led by a few, but soon the entire audience was on their feet.

“It’s our lives,” Alex shouted over the excited cheers. “We get to lead them!”

“Damn right we do!” Julie agreed. Luke and Willie laughed in amazement.

“I beg to differ,” Xavier screamed hoarsely. The entire crowd booed.

“Yes, you heard me! With royalty comes rules. I. Beg. To Differ .”

“Then beg,” Julie snapped back, and the shouting of the crowd was deafening as people “OOOH”- ed, laughed, and generally lost their shit.

Willie and Alex held up their clasped hands, and Julie quickly did the same, holding up Luke’s.

“I, Princess Julie Molina,” she declared as the crowd quieted, bubbles of elation radiating through the room, “do not take Prince Alexander to be my husband. Instead, I take my life into my hands and give him his. Instead, I swear on my very life to lead you into an era of prosperity, livelihood, and health, as my father has done.

“As he completes his reign, I choose to stand tall and step forward, whenever that time may be.”

“Papa, are you sure?” she asked him quietly.

“I am. Are you?” Julie took a breath and let go of Luke’s hand, turning toward the gleeful crowd as she knelt down on one knee, her father standing beside her as he took off his crown.

“The responsibilities will be challenging, but I have no doubt that they will be handled gracefully. Heavy lies the crown, yes, but strong is she who embraces it, not with hunger for power, but with compassion.

“Citizens of Dahlia, may I present to you, her Royal Majesty, Queen Julie Molina.”

As Ray placed the crown on her head, Julie’s heart set with determination. She rose, back straight, looking out to the crowd.

“Your majesty,” Luke said with a cocky grin from next to her. She turned to him and he dipped in a bow, eyes laced with love and respect.

Then, before she knew it, Alex was bowing too, soon followed by Willie, Flynn, Mira, Carrie, Erik, Reggie, and the rest of the crowd.

Her father.

Ray stood before her, smiling with the power and pride of all the stars. As he bowed, Julie smiled and knelt down, taking his hand and pulling him back up into a hug.

“I love you, papa,” she whispered.

“I love you too.”

…

The dancing started soon afterwards. Claire and Xavier kept to themselves, sitting at a table in the corner and ignoring glares from the crowd, and Julie danced with Luke without fear of being seen. Alex and Willie held each other, swaying to the music, not even talking. Just smiling.

As soon as she and Luke separated to dance with others, Reggie tackled her in a hug.

“Reggie!” she shrieked, stabilizing herself so she didn’t fall over.

“WE DID IT!” he exclaimed, and Julie couldn’t contain her laughter.

“We did!”

“I’m so proud of you,” Reggie told her. Julie wrapped him in a hug.

“Thanks. I wasn’t sure how it was going to go, to be honest.”

“That just makes what you did even more awesome, though! In the face of danger, the honorable Julie Molina made her move and took her life back into her own hands!” Julie cackled.

“I’m not a TV character, Reg.”

“Are you sure? Because you’d be a pretty damn awesome one.”

“Well, then you’d be my amazing brother,” she said, deciding to humor him. Reggie beamed.

“Oh, speaking of brothers-“

“JULIE!” came Carlos’s excited voice from behind her, and before she knew it, she was being tackled by a skinny fourteen-year-old prince.

“Carlos!”

“Dude. You’re the freaking Queen now!”

“I know! It’s kinda freaking me out, but in a good way.”

“Duh. Also, I expect lots of queenly presents. And a shoutout.”

“A shoutout?” she inquired. “Carlos, you already have millions of middle school girls simping over your Instagram page.”

“Just trying to get my name out there,” he reasoned. Julie picked him up despite his protests and nods to his left, where Julie spotted Annie Danforth-Evans laughing. She grinned.

“Man, Carlos is so adorable and little and smitten?” Julie said loudly. And in situational perfection, the only person who seemed to hear her was Annie.

“You’re the worst,” Carlos informed her as he wiggled out of her arms. Julie laughed and let him go.

“I’m not little,” he said to Annie once he reached her, puffing out his chest as if to prove his point.

“Julie?” Alex asked, interrupting her laughs at her brother. She turned and faced him, mirroring his smile.

“Ye-“ she couldn’t finish before being tackled in a crushing hug.

“Thank you.”

“No, thank you,” she said. “You’ve been an amazing friend throughout all of this.”

“So have you. I’m just…”

“I know. I don’t have the words either.”

“Yeah,” he sighed with a smile.

“So… will you be going back to Tambor? Because if you want to, I completely understand, but I’d love for you to stay here in the palace.”

“Oh, I’m staying. Don’t worry,” he said, elbowing her in the side. “You can’t get rid of me that easily.”

…

As the sun rose, the last of the guests went home, and Julie stood on her balcony, wrapped in a white dress of rebellion, graced by the warm light of a new day, a new era.

Luke’s hand on her shoulder anchored her to reality, followed by Alex’s on her other shoulder, Flynn’s arm around her waist, and Reggie ruffling her hair. Julie took a deep breath of the cool, crisp air, closing her eyes and letting her heart set.

This wasn’t the end, it was the beginning of something wonderful and new.

So as she stepped into the next part of her life, she reminded herself to stand tall, and remember that she wasn’t doing this alone.

#bwya tag #be who you are (no compromise)#jatp #julie and the phantoms

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