#I HATE THIS AU TAKE THIS BEFORE I SCREAM AND DELETE IT. also I realise 19k words for one chapter is insane but OH WELL.

[kiraman]

Killing Strangers, part 4/5

AO3 link / previous chapters: i. ii. iii. cws: extreme violence/car crash/gore/death/grief/self harm/drugs/guns/sex wordcount: 19,434 / Mizu x female oc / soundtrack art by @hereticdrws / beta by @big-mama-y 💙

Mizu jolts awake. She tastes blood in her mouth, but she does not have the strength to spit it out. Her cheek pressing into shards of glass, she opens her mouth and it pours out, thick and red. She groans, and blinks around her, her eyes burning from the smoke. She can hear a distant buzzing, the turn signal still blinking and clicking.

She slaps her hand around her blindly, searching for her phone, and looks up at the rooftop of the car, her head spinning. She whines as she tries to move, a sharp shock of pain ripping through her leg. She is locked in place by something heavy and wet with blood, something metallic which is lying across her thigh, pinning her down. Mizu groans again, dragging her leg viciously, pushing at the metal to free herself. She can smell a fire burning somewhere near her, fuel gurgling out of the tank to pool around the crushed rooftop, and panic erupts through her blood, adrenaline making her push through the throbbing pain, screaming and gritting her teeth tight as she drags herself out of the crashed car through a window and onto the side of the road.

She lays flat on her back, panting through her nose; the heat is sweltering, suffocating her. She blinks at the sun, the baked, black asphalt burning her back. She rolls over, hissing at the pain that erupts through her, and crawls onto her knees, screaming and screaming.

She drags herself back to her car, but there's no one inside of it, and a hot sob trembles in her mouth, ripping her throat open; she's drenched in blood, can feel it trickle down her forehead, spilling into her mouth, but she cannot stop, she hurriedly stumbles to her feet and cries out in pain, frantically looks around her, panting through her open mouth.

In the distance, she can hear sirens blaring.

Mizu hopelessly screams her name again, but there's no one to answer her desperation; there's just her and the highway; an endless, white-scorching heat.

i. love is a negative space.

13 months ago

Afterwards, she hits the road until she outruns the screams inside her head and at a gas station, in the middle of nowhere, she stands by the side of her car and she leans back and looks up at the sky. She's got a lit cigarette in her left hand, but not taking it in. She likes to watch it burn, likes feeling its burn against her skin. She speeds through a wet road all lit up in neon lights, chasing the ghost of her; at the Continental, she sits at the bar, glasses pushed up on top of her head, does not care who sees her. They won't dare touch her, and when they do, it does not go their way.

She does not give a fuck about the price hanging hefty over her head; slinks through the city like a ghost, always just out of their reach. Someone tries her, outside the Red Circle, the promise of her death, the money in it, too tempting.

In the morning, he washes up on the shores of the river, cold and bloodless, his throat cut open.

She looks for him everywhere in the city, moves like smoke, no one can catch her; they haven't seen the Ghost in weeks now, they say, he's disappeared. Like he always does. Maybe he's after Fowler. Violet's bitch. When Kaji listens to them talk about it in the bar of her establishment, she offers her vague, slow smile, expertly stirs the conversation elsewhere with all of her languid grace, fanning herself and laughing, the crimson fan a dragonfly with eyes in its wings...

Well, maybe she's looking for something else, too, Ringo says, patiently one sleepless night, him on the couch, in her living room, Mizu with her back to him, knuckles burning against the punching bag hanging off the ceiling.

She cuts her eyes to him.

"wanna shut up?"

"just saying." a soft shrug.

She doesn't say anything. She punches the bag so hard, the leather tears.

The absence haunts her like Geraldine not saying goodbye haunts her, like her walking out without a word, the not knowing, the helplessness. Sometimes, she parks her motorcycle across the river, and watches the lights in Violet's home go on at two in the morning, watches the shadows slither across the window, behind the drapes. Wonders if it's Fowler. If it's his wife.

She delves deep into the night, the bars and clubs she knows he frequents, but he's nowhere. She's chasing shadows, and it gnaws at her, the anger, the desperation.

Sometimes, she'll have a drink, maybe two. Kiss a girl. Fuck a girl. Hunger and attention are lonely victories but if people are using her for her body at least she is being used by somebody, at least she doesn't have to think about her, or him or her inability to do anything about the absence that haunts her every second, because god forbid you go back to the one person who actually made you feel good about something, Ringo will say and she will glare at him for so long that he begins to feel the sting of it like a punch.

Sure the whiskey hurts, she does not like to drink, does not drink, but she knows where it will hit her and sure she's never full up, sure slamming herself into potential danger and death every way she can just so she can find him, or a trace of him, or anyone that may know something, anything, is the last way to feel alive — but at least this way she looks like she's doing something, like she's got it all under control, still, instead of half-imploding; at least this way she leaves the room in the morning, eyes burning from staring at her mother's necklace for hours in her bed, sleepless, drained, on auto pilot; has something to chase after, has something to keep her from fucking losing it and spiralling out of control. She speeds through it like she's got nothing to lose, all dark, deep sharpness and impatience, but the road will eventually end, there won't be anywhere left to run to, and everything will settle hard around her shoulders again...

It looks like the storm has passed. New York's wet, grey, seven inches of rain last night, high winds and flooding in some areas. It's still raining but it's a gentle drizzling now. City crews are still working this morning, trying to restore power. She parks her motorcycle across the river overlooking the Continental, and walks towards her swiflty, impatience wrapping itself around her like a rope. Mizu leans against the railing, gives her a look, her glasses reflecting in the rain.

"speak."

"you kept me waiting." Kaji's voice is a shadowy drawl, sharp and deep. She does not look at Mizu, stares unblinkingly out at the day, a cigarette dangling from between her thin lips, sweet with plum lipstick.

"traffic." Mizu intones. "so?"

Kaji cuts her off, turns to look at her. "石の上にも三年... Three years on a cold stone will make the stone warm." Kaji offers, her voice deeper in japanese, like the sting of hot water in your throat. Mizu huffs, flicks her eyes over to her. Her eyebrows, she notices, are very thin, sharply outlined with kohl. Her lips are tight.

"yeah, well. Running out of time." Mizu reaches for her lighter, leans in and relights Kaji's cigarette, guarding the flame with her palm.

"thank you." Kaji sucks in the smoke, exhales sharply. The river below the bridge is thrumming, swollen with the rain.

Kaji reaches in her purse, draws a piece of paper, slides it towards Mizu. "what are you going to do? Everyone's looking for you."

Mizu snatches it out of her hand, her eyes trailing over the address written down, does not say anything for a long time.

So, Paris. she's thinking, her mind already racing ahead of her body, quick to plan, quick to move, but Kaji breaks in,

"you could stay at the Continental for a while. Wait this out. No one could lay a hand on you there. No one would dare. Too much to lose." Kaji insists; she has offered too many times now, her protection, an eye to look over her, keep her safe until all this blows over; and too many times, Mizu has refused the offer, shrugged her concerns off, blunt and impatient.

"no one will lay a hand on me anywhere." she tucks the piece of paper into the back pocket of her jeans, gives her a look; her eyebrows arch and then furrow, creating conflicting lines on her face. "thank you. I owe you." she says curtly with a polite bow of her head to her.

"you do." Kaji presses her lips into a thin line; enveloped in plumes of white smoke, she looks like something cut out of stone; untouchable. "you take everything for granted, child. That things will always go as you wish them to go. Those who've survived an arguably unsurvivable life... the kind of life we live; you live? it's not how it'll always be." a pause between her words, a long silence between the two of them, thrumming like the river beyond the bridge. "the few things we find time to truly care for... pass long before we do."

Mizu gives her a look, her hand impatiently zipping up her leather jacket, fingers fumbling on the zipper.

"thank you, for doing this."

Kaji gives a quick nod.

She watches as Mizu straddles her bike; guns the engine, and drives off.

Somewhere in Paris, Fowler is sprawled out on a chaise longue, sipping on a glass of red wine.

"he's a nobody. some kid from the gutter, a finished clan we should have ended years ago. Violet was careless, too cocky. Risked too much, did not listen and now he's dead. Nothing will happen to us. he's nothing. just a kid. you worry too much."

Heiji, stood at the window, turns to look at him, hands clasped neatly at the small of his back, too small against the glare of the sun spilling in through the stained glass.

"a small ember can burn down everything..." he offers, voice shrill; like he's scared of something that does not exist; a shadow, dogging their every step.

"then snuff it out!" Fowler barks, and snuffs out the flame of the candle burning near him with his thumb.

ii. Routely.

"Welcome to the Velvet Room, my friend. Come Mr. Eiji, come..." Auclair laughs, sweeping his arm to indicate the milling crowd of women in lavaliers, the lush, smoky parlor, silver chains on black satin, men in black sleek suits, clustered in the corners, gesturing animatedly with their cigarettes and voices too loud, carrying over the music.

Mizu smooths the lapels of her perfectly pressed suit, and says, simply, her voice like static, low, deep, "Auclair" as a way of greeting him.

"If you are looking for a fashionable Parisienne, this is the place to find her," says Auclair, clapping him on the shoulder—or more lurches against Mizu to keep himself upright, he is drunk enough that Mizu can be certain, can smell the wine in his breath, sour and sharp. "Do you see your Venus moderne?" he laughs, his accent slithery and drawling.

"that's not why I am here" Mizu says curtly, as she eyes a group of women who flit past. They are beautiful, and their smiles gratifying, but none is her, with the crimson mouth like fire, and the dark eyes.

"oh, come on... Loosen up! It's Paris!" Auclair laughs, touching Smoke's shoulder a little too much, and Mizu shrugs his hand off slowly and just stares at him, her eyes like shards of glass, glinting. "okay, okay... You could put Smoke in a room with nothing but a mirror, and he would still fight his own reflection. Come on. Let's have a drink." he laughs again, leads Mizu to a private table. He waves down a waitress, asks Mizu what she would like to drink.

She sits primly on the sofa, carefully studying the room, says, impatiently,

"Single Malt. Irish, if you've got it." to the surprise of her company, and then, as soon as the waitress walks away, ignoring his attempts at pleasantries, at small talk, asks,

"is he here?"

Auclair blinks, the laughter dying in his throat, "who?"

"don't play games with me."

"I would never presume to..."

Mizu cuts him off, "then tell me."

"you realize where you are, yes?" Auclair lowers his voice to a fierce whisper, eyes red from too much wine, and gleaming,

Mizu does not care. She lays back, legs sprawled open, loosens her tie.

"uh huh."

"you already have a bounty on your head."

"I'm aware."

Auclair blanches, mouth opening then closing, eyes wide.

"what's wrong with you?"

Mizu does not answer. Her gaze is sweeping over the bar slowly, taking in every little detail, something inside of her on edge, senses alert, even when she is sinking back into the cushions, bouncing her left leg up and down.

"he owns the bar, no? Heiji Shindo?" she shoots back, staring at the guard that is walking away from the bar, watching him hiss something into the radio in his hand.

Auclair sighs, looks around them like he's afraid the walls will hear them, swallow his words up. Like he's got someone after him, his lips trembling.

"Ghost. The High Council owns everything he has. They have put him in charge, here. You cannot touch him. You know the rules."

Her smirk plays around the edges of her mouth, and she cuts her eyes back to him. Out of the corner of her eye she can see activity in the back of the bar, senses the guard walk away, disappearing behind a door.

She gives Auclair a long look, the blue of her eyes still shocking to him; too sharp, like the mouth of a gun pressed to a throat.

"He moves about… from one place to the next… Heiji Shindo has put him under his thumb… wherever Shindo goes, so does Fowler."

Mizu considers this, eyes squinting. A fly, buzzes past her ear. The music too loud, the heat in the room pulsing, like a flame. Too many people, and cigarette smoke swelling in the air.

"is he here, then?"

"Fowler?" Auclair sounds like he's choking, laughter too deep in his throat. She can see sweat beading his brow.

"no, no, no... No. he's not."

"Shindo."

Auclair does not know what to say, gives a tight huff, looking over his shoulder.

"She said you could help. You are useless." Mizu intones, sitting up on the edge of the sofa, elbows on her knees, legs spread open. Her voice is pitched low, for his ears only. She is wearing a snarl that could easily be mistaken for a tight smile for anyone watching them.

"I have not seen him in a while. He comes and goes. He's their pawn, controls half of Paris. Even if he comes tonight... you think you can, what? what exactly are you going to do with your little anger, huh? walk up to him and shoot him? Point a gun at his face? This is Continental grounds. you cannot touch him here. You cannot touch him anywhere in Paris, and he knows this. Fowler knows it too... I am surprised she sent you here."

Mizu blinks. Her fingers constrict around her empty glass.

"what are you gonna do? end it all just to what? get back at him for the price he put on your head? it was Violet's doing, and he is fucking dead. By your hand, I hear."

"I am gonna kill him." Mizu says evenly, answers his question unflinchingly, brows tightly pressed together. "if Shindo wants to join him in death too, that's on him."

Auclair snorts.

"you are just going to make things worse for yourself. I've helped you so many times before. but this time you are making a mistake, Smoke." he says, signaling to the attractive young woman with the tray of drinks for another round. His lower lip is trembling.

Mizu stares, does not say anything.  A muscle in her jaw ticks.

As she turns to ask for another glass of whatever Auclair is getting, too, she catches sight of a flash of ebony hair, a slim figure lingering at the top of the stairs.

Her breath catches before she can disappear into the press of the crowd and Mizu feels her body go numb, all of her attention snatched away.  Briefly, her shock exposes itself for all the world to see.  It’s a half-second, barely a tick of a micro-expression, but it’s there.

"yet here we are. here I am. I will tell you this... he hasn't been around in a while, but it is Saturday night and—"

"excuse me," Mizu cuts him off unexpectedly, standing up, too quickly, her mind already elsewhere. She pushes through the crowd, Geraldine's eyes on her still a tiny shock to her system, have made her nerves jump, the electric shock of being plunged into ice-cold water pulsing through her.

She climbs the stairs, but she's pulling away from the railing, Mizu sees her slip through the throng of bodies all around them, disappear into the bathroom, and it feels like she's chasing after something unreal as she makes her way to where she's disappeared into anyway, like the sharp edge of a cliff. One moment, Mizu feels like she's got it, like her hands remember the shape of her pressed to her palms, her rushing sweetness. Her skin is tingling. She takes off her tie, with quick, sharp movements, stuffs it in a pocket pulls down her hair, not that she cares, before shouldering her way into the women's bathroom.

The bar outside is loud, and Mizu closes the door with a soft click, presses her back to it, Geraldine's back to her. She's standing at the mirror, reapplying her siren red lipstick with a tiny, smooth brush, so delicately it’s a dream.

Mizu blinks, loses her words somewhere inside her throat, too tight, closing up. Her fingers curl into fists, her back too tightly pressed to the door. In the mirror, Geraldine flicks her eyes to her, lashes fluttering across her skin; Mizu swallows, watches the way her mascara is flirting with her cheeks. She smiles without fucking up her lipstick, says, a slow drawl that runs through Mizu like a knife, rubs her nerve endings raw, "bold of you to follow me in here."

Mizu exhales; watches Geraldine toss her hair over her shoulder, fix the way her tight dress clings to her curves. The scent of her floods Mizu. She rides on the feeling of her so close, feels the air between of them explode like a firework, like a wildfire, felling everything in its path. A vague sense they are alone atop the universe’s edge fills that dark, hollow space inside her. She is probably dreaming.

"you stole my painting." she blurts out.

Geraldine laughs, swirls the last of her perfect color, makes eye contact with Mizu again in the mirror. Her eyes are very dark, haunting her; they've haunted her for months now; deep, drowning eyes, eyes with teeth. She wants them on her. Wants the bite of them; wants the ache of it. Mizu pushes herself off the door, walks up to her, jaw set; a muscle is jumping in her throat. Her face hurts.

When Geraldine tries to pull away, shove past her, her bare shoulder brushing against Mizu's, she grabs her wrist, makes her stay. "nice fucking stunt you pulled." Mizu snaps, voice too low, smoky.

"what do you want?" Geraldine snaps back, and Mizu gives her a look, can feel the heat of her body, can see how fast her chest is rising and falling; how easy she allows herself to be pushed, her back colliding with only mild force against the counter. "why are you here?" Mizu asks, her hand slipping off her wrist. She is not touching her but crowds her against the mirror, sees that heat travel up the soft slopes of Geraldine's neck, to her face, settling over her like a flame.

Geraldine does not look away, looks up, boldly, her eyes blazing at Mizu's bare-knuckled audacity, the feeling of her pressed close. Mizu sees her inhale, sees her thick lashes flutter rapidly. "stop." she whispers, her hands on Mizu's chest as though to keep her from pressing any closer. "running away without a word. All the way to Paris. Here. To Heiji Shindo's lair—" she snaps, too fiercely, voice a dark whisper, the implication settling between them, and Geraldine immediately breaks in, tries to shove her off, eyes sharpening, "—how dare you. not everything is about you, Mizu! And I did leave you with a word." she reminds her, and Mizu bristles, snorts on laughter, cold, the bark of it too harsh through her teeth. "right. consequences. whatever the fuck that meant, Geraldine."

Geraldine does not say anything to that, looks away, and Mizu can feel her body tightening against her, can feel her pulse, the rush of want between them like a physical ache. Her mouth tingles, and she lifts her hand to her face, tilts her chin towards her, forcing eye contact. She feels the way Geraldine's breath hitches when she meets her gaze, and there are pinpricks of light, burning at the center of her dark eyes.

She feels Geraldine slide her hands up her back like a promise, and her jaw tightens. It always feels colder after she’s been there, her hands on her; like Mizu only remembers warm when she shows it to her. Her hand is soft on Geraldine's face, fingers tracing the shape of her mouth.

"I'm not here with them," Geraldine whispers eventually, all of her anger snuffed out. Her voice is firm but there is something tender in it too. She shakes a little below her touch. Her cheeks are flushed, rosy with heat. "Mizu, I would never work for him. I've just been trying to survive this. Keeping close, but in the shadows."

Mizu stares at her mouth, drags her thumb over her lower lip. She doesn't say anything. She leans in, but Geraldine looks away, her hands too taut on Mizu's back. "I have to get back. I don't want them to see us together."

Mizu stills, draws back an inch, her eyes tearing into hers. "who's them? Auclair? The High Table?" she makes a sound, bitter in her throat. "what are you trying to prove? that you have nothing to do with me? that you are not your father?" she asks, bitter amusement in her voice.

Geraldine pushes at her chest, too hard, but Mizu barely budges. "I'm trying to help both of us, you fucking idiot. Who do you think told Kaji?" she hisses, but it's not angry, it's hurt, Mizu thinks, her voice breaks, thin, like a crack in the wall.

Mizu remembers that night at the club, under the Cabinet, Geraldine pressed to her, like this, her dark laughter; Geraldine saying, No one is our friend. Everyone is our friend... The perfect gleam of her; how she can get her hands on anything she wants. The pull of her. The magnetism. The power of her wit, sharp like a switchblade.

She blinks at Geraldine, her stomach turning, and leans in, or tries to, she won't apologize, but her mouth feels like fire, tingling, wanting, wanting, when the door is violently pushed open, two girls bursting in, giggling, cutting their moment too short.

Geraldine pulls away slightly, but Mizu's eyes are still on her, like a hand, pinning her down. Geraldine quickly fixes her dress where it's ridden up her thigh, clears her throat, and without another word, shoves her way past Mizu and out of the bathroom.

Mizu watches her walk away, her hand curling into a fist. She turns around, does not look at the girls next to her, washes her hands, anger bubbling hot and hungry under her skin.

Back at her table, she's jittery, her leg bouncing up and down, her eyes stalking the room, searching for her. She does not drink, asks for water instead. She tunes Auclair out, and waits, knows he'll be here, she just has to wait it out. Her fingers drum quickly against her thigh. She hasn't put her tie on again, has undone two buttons of her shirt, the heat getting to her, but her hair is up in a tight bun again. She doesn't fucking care what Auclair will think, doesn't care to pretend.

Auclair keeps drinking. Takes her up to the VIP section. The doors to the elevator open, the music deafening. It's darker in there, the heat stifling. A dark, sprawling room, filled with slinky women dancing behind a glass wall; their tiny, silver dresses flash under the strobe lights– one of them presses her mouth to the pane of glass as Mizu passes by, leaves a smear of pink lipstick across it; a low, pulsating music thrums in the air, a conjoined hum of a crowd of people all bursting for the same rhythm; she hears sighs of pleasure from a table near them, sees a man run his hands down a woman's back, over her hips, wonders if she works here; probably has been sent to him.

Her jaw tightens as she pushes her way through the crowd, smells the sourness of too much whiskey in the air, sweat and something too sweet; she watches Auclair take a seat at a table in the back, join someone Mizu does not recognize; she takes a seat, and Auclair's associate does not lift his eyes to her either, too busy snorting lines of white powder off the table, then bouncing in the pulse of the music, clapping Auclair too hard on the shoulder, cackling like he's been told a killer joke. She can feel the danger and corruption in her mouth, refuses the drink when the strange man near her offers. Her eyes are everywhere and nowhere, a slow, focused firmness in the way she studies the room.

When her eyes find Geraldine, Mizu pauses, does not know why she's surprised. She's laughing too much, excessively sweet, Mizu can see the lie in it. She's sitting next to a man, and there are other women at the table too. She feels her jaw tighten.

Geraldine is wearing a burgundy dress with a deep-v and a slit up to her thighs at either side. Mizu watches as that man pours a line of cocaine over her thigh then snorts it up. Her ears are ringing, and she can vaguely hear Auclair offer her a drink again. She says, too sharply, no, does not turn to look at him when he asks why?

“Because I do not want to,” her response is frank, tone unfazed by the apparent tension of the moment.  In fact, she doesn’t even move, does not take her eyes off Geraldine, everything in her still except her left leg, bouncing up and down.  The rest of her remains stone-still, blue eyes resting firmly on Geraldine, flashing in a gesture of irritation when Geraldine meets her gaze, does not look surprised by her presence here; Geraldine does not even flinch, too well versed in the art of manipulation, in whatever the fuck she's gotten herself tangled up into, despite her evident, to Mizu's eye, assumed discomfort. 

Auclair, next to her, huffs, suddenly amused, slurs, "so her!" and Mizu says "don't." and he puts his hands up, shrugging back into the leather cushions.

The hours tick by, too slowly, Mizu chugging water, her leg bouncing up and down from time to time, annoyed by the heat, the pounding of the music in her ears, Geraldine's laughter, how achingly beautiful she looks, how hard it is to look at her and not want to fucking explode.

She's about to get up, shrugs Auclair's hand off her shoulder, he's fucked up on wine, too far gone now, when Shindo slithers like a shadow across the club, the sight of him shocking her into complete stillness, senses prickling, like a hound stalking its prey. Her eyes narrow. She watches him walk too slowly across the room, his face cast in half light under the strobing lights overhead. He moves to Geraldine's table, shakes hands with the man next to her, laughing. He does not linger, moves to another table, joining them with a flourish.

She can feel Geraldine's eyes on her, but Mizu only looks at her for a moment, sees the lines of her eyebrows, her deep frown, deeper stare.

"come on," she tells Auclair, gets up too hastily. She does not hesitate. She walks right up to his table and plops down across from him, legs sprawled open.

There's a bottle of dark rum on the table, iced and sour.

"huh. I was just in the mood for rum." She helps herself to it, fills an empty glass, although she does not drink it.

Heiji pauses mid sentence, gives a funny look at his company, then looks back at Mizu, setting the glass of wine in his hand back down. "Do I know you?"

"Hmmm. I don't know. Do you?" she asks back. Her gaze narrows a degree.

Heiji huffs, a shaky chuckle, a strange smirk on his thin lips.

Whatever he begins to say is cut off, "where's your shadow?" she demands, and he immediately blanches, understanding flooding his expression.

He is on edge, Mizu can tell; like a mouse trapped in a glue trap, she can see his beady little eyes, frantically searching for an out, a way to evade her.

"I have no idea what you are asking me," he changes his tune, laughing sharply, switching to Japanese now. Mizu lifts a dark brow.

“you would do well to change that. This line you are about to be following? won't work on me.”

He sits back; does not dismiss his company. None of them are japanese, no one can understand them. He gives her a long, searching look, face drenched in a sinister glow, something too sharp about it, too disturbing. Mizu does not cower at it.

"you are the one who killed Violet." he draws out the words, wonder in his voice, putting a face to the name.

"the very one." she does not deny it.

"Impressive... you do not look like you have it in you; to do what they say you can do."

Mizu does not care to do this with him, sees right through him. She blinks impassively, but there are storms in her eyes, sharp, dark eyes, like the kiss of the ocean crashing into the shore.

"I could use someone like you... we do not have to be enemies, you and I, you know? We could be friends. Good friends."

At that, she snorts, slowly, says, "friends? — I look at you, and don't even see you."

He purses his lips, feigning indifference, pours out a drink for her, slides the glass across the table. Mizu senses his company slowly leave the table, notices the shift in the air, how the sudden departure makes his jaw stiffen, a glint of wild fear in his eyes. She watches him swallow, watches him tense up; his hand slips inside his jacket; she does not move, but her eyes follow the movement.

"I could give you anything you want... money. Safety. name it and I will give it to you... Killing me won't stop the contract. Killing me will make it so much worse. Ghost... you know what I think? I think you are addicted to it. To the vengeance. you have nothing if you lose that. so let me help you..." his tone of voice is a panther crawl.

"I have no interest in your money. I have no interest in what you think you can give me." she intones, her eyes cold and on Shindo, "how masterfully placed you are," she comments, then, loosely, a dark expression around the edges of her mouth. "what are the chances, hmm? Me and you, both here, tonight... you want to be my friend? tell me where he is."

His hands clench on the armrests, gripping onto the leather. He looks at her for a long time.

Then, he says, slowly, "this is the Continental." gesturing around him with a sick smile, as though it explains something very clearly to her.

"not even a ghost can haunt me here."

Mizu's eyes flick to the elevator. She sits before him, her body tense, stone still, statuesque as he studies him, unmoving.

"Is that right?"

"I believe we both know it is, Ghost." he smiles at her, all teeth, and reaches for his glass.

Mizu nods.

She answers by grabbing the back of his neck and slamming his head against the edge of the table —breaking his nose—before shoving his face into the bucket of cold water and ice meant to keep the bottle cool. The world around them explodes in a frenzy of panic, shrill screams piercing through the pounding of the music. A long beat, and she pulls him back up for air.

"I have a name," she growls at him.

Behind his back, Mizu snaps his wrist, and — as she drives his face back beneath the water— snaps one finger after the next. Underwater, Heiji screams, struggling. His mouth fills up with ice, and he is spasming against her hold, unable to escape. Mizu pulls him free. Chaos erupts all around them, but is silenced by the deafening music, the ringing in her ears; her vision blurs, she can't see past him, and what it means, breaking him.

She feels someone grab at the back of her jacket, and she rams Heiji's face back into the glass table, shattering it into pieces, turns around and grabs at their throat, fingers digging savagely through their skin. She disarms him, grabs him by the neck and shoves herself powerfully against him like a battering ram with all her weight, shoves him down against the shards of glass with her on top of him; he hits it with his face, and howls, the floor splattered with blood. Everyone around her is rushing to the exits, and for a moment, she stills, follows that bright, focused line blinking furiously in her mind, filling up the edges of her vision; she pulls back the slide, studies the pistol with a keen eye, releases it; hurriedly reaches into the pockets of the guard she's just taken down, searching for bullets; too swiflty, she loads a clip with them, and slides it into the pistol: locked and loaded.

Mizu gets up, movements tight and precise, ducks for cover as bullets explode all around her, presses her shoulder to the back of the sofa, adrenaline rushing through her blood. The world around her narrows down to the dull pounding of her pulse, her senses overloaded, chasing after the sounds of footsteps thundering furiously across the floor, men searching for her.

She watches Heiji twitch on the floor, try to drag himself away, blood seeping through his shirt, his face twisted horrifically. She ducks around the sofa, then presses herself onto the floor, a bullet whizzing past her. She is furious. Her eyes dark and wild, searching frantically for Shindo.

She tenses, ears prickling, and drags herself across the floor, takes cover behind another couch.

A beat and she gets up, but someone pounces on her, grabs her arms; Mizu furiously twists at an odd angle, causing him to lose his grasp. With her one arm free, she reaches up, grabs his neck, her fingers ripping into skin and muscle, howling with rage, blood pounding, the music booming in time with her heart beats; she can hear him scream, stumble backwards with a cry, two other men pouncing upon her... they are too close, she tries to shoot at them blindly, but she can't; she grunts, shoves at one of them, her jacket tearing; she does not panic, Mizu never does; she swiftly removes a knife from a shoulder holster under her jacket, driving it into the side of one man's neck once, twice, three times, pantingly furious screams in her throat, before releasing the blade, arching her back, and wrapping her legs around the second guard's neck, tensing until his neck breaks with a dry snap. She loses her balance and falls backwards with the weight of his dead body toppling on top of her, and she grabs at him, uses the body as a shield, shooting blindly.

She expertly fires off four shots, killing another two men each with a pair of bullets. She's gasping, feels blood spill from the side of her neck, and puts her hand to it for a moment, her fingers coming away slick; Mizu pushes the body off her and rolls over, dragging herself to her feet, rapidly taking cover behind the bar, bullets flying, etching up along the bar and into the mirrors above it, shattering them all around her.

She is panting, checking the chamber for bullets. She is light. There's blood on her chin, gushing from between her teeth, and her hair has spilt from her bun around her shoulders, damp with sweat, sticking to her neck.

Into the shards of glass remaining above the bar, she can see another four men aprpoaching.

Okay. Shit. She frantically slaps her hand around the floor, finds a large shard of glass.

Miso watches one of the gunmen slowly approach, and as he rounds the bar, she fires. His left leg disappears as he sinks to the floor, screaming. Mizu fires again, hitting him in the chest. The other three run towards the commotion; she swirls through the air, jumping over the bar, fires at a gunman in the open doorway, sending him spinning out into the hallway. She lands onto the floor, and quickly sits up, heart pounding, screaming as she powerfully throws the shard of glass into the throat of a guard, unerringly tearing it open, shoots the other gunman a second time in the back, dead in a blink.

She pulls herself onto her feet, slips in a puddle of blood, steadies herself on the edge of the bar. Heiji is still dragging himself across the floor, and Mizu throws herself at him savagely, rolling him offer and driving her fist into his mouth. Blood bubbles hot and crimson between his lips and he spits, drowning in it, croaks out please.

"Where is he?"

His eyes roll over, blinking at the elevator. His head lolls to the side. Mizu is about to punch him again, but she hears more feet pounding across the hallway outside, and she quickly drags herself across the floor, sweeps up another gun; checks the chamber. It's empty.

She moves like lightning, picks up another one, cocks it expertly and shoots at the doorway at the exact moment a gunman appears, the bullet smashing into his forehead. They come crashing into the bar then, too many of them, bullets riddling the room, and she zigzags her way through them, ducks and falls down, slithers on her elbows over the floor, under a sofa, takes aim and quickly fires off shot after shot at them, at hands and kneecaps, disarming them. Only one of them manages to get close, grabbing at her throat, but she is faster, and on him, dumping rounds into his sternum and stomach, and over his shoulder, at the rest of the men that come sprinting towards them until she empties the gun; knocking him back, she grabs his shotgun, flipping it, shoving it under his chin and pulling the trigger.

She gets up and runs towards the elevator in the back, blinks at the buttons. There is the floor she came from, then the ground floor; the one leading to the parking lot, too, and then another one. A penthouse. She presses it and nothing happens. She blinks, pulse pounding, synapses flashing.

She pads back to Heiji, but Okiyama, one of Heiji's men, comes crashing into her side, pulling her down onto the floor; he's huge and muscled, arms too thick and broad, heavily tattooed. His hands immediately wrap around her throat, squeezing, and Mizu gasps, feels him powerfully pin her down; thrice her size, he growls into her face, an animal snarl, his hands tightening impossibly. She reaches up, scratching at his face, his eyes, fingers viciously digging into skin, but he pulls away from it, baring his teeth. Mizu punches him savagely into the side, her fists driving into his ribs, cracking them, splitting the skin open, but he does not budge for long, presses back into it. She blinks rapidly, thrashing on the floor, gasps under the pressure, her face red and furious.

Suddenly, a bottle is smashed over his head, and Okiyama reels back from the brutal blow, stunned, his arms slipping from her throat; Mizu sucks in a breath furiously, rolls over onto her elbows, dragging herself away, blindly reaching for her gun on the floor. Her vision is swimming but she can make out Geraldine's shape against the low light of the bar. Her heart stops. She quickly grabs the gun, sits back, takes aims and fires at him before he can reach Geraldine.

The bullet shoots his ear off, and he howls, throws himself at Mizu, but she rolls away fast, panting through her nose, her vision fuzzy, the vague shape of Geraldine floating in and out of it. Mizu gets up, grabs at a bottle from the bar and throws it at him. He tries to dodge it but it crashes into his face, Mizu too fast, her aim too accurate, even half blind from being strangled, to miss. She doesn't waste the chance; she swings into the momentum, throws herself at him as he blindly covers his eyes, blinking through the shards of glass ripping into them as Mizu sends him crashing onto his back with her weight on top of him. He punches blindly and hits her in the jaw and she growls in fury, feels her gun go flying out of her hand. She presses down, tries to hold him there. Geraldine swiftly reaches for Mizu's gun and comes running to her, hands her the gun. "hold him down!" Mizu gasps, and Geraldine throws all of her weight onto one of his shoulders, pinning it to the floor as Mizu uses her own weight against his chest. She presses the gun into his throat and fires, but it's empty and she blinks, startled, doesn't stop, does not know how to, gasping furiously through her open mouth, reaches for her tie in her back pocket, wraps it around his neck as she presses her knee to the center his chest and throws all of her weight into pulling. He gurgles and thrashes wildly, making a squelching, sucking sound, but both of them hold him down desperately, Geraldine not looking, her eyes on the wall behind Mizu, and full of tears; Mizu's on him, fierce and unblinking as she screams and pulls roughly, tensing her arm and squeezing until she hears his neck snap. He twitches once, then slumps over, dead.

Drenched in sweat, Mizu sits back, chasing her breath. Her body is pumping with adrenaline. She gets up and looks for a gun, discards the empty ones.

She sees Geraldine on her knees next to him, trembling.

"are you okay?" she goes to her, presses her fingers under her chin, tilts her head up, searching her eyes.

Geraldine's lower lip quivers. She shakes her head, and Mizu presses her close, presses a quick kiss to her forehead.

"come on." she grabs her hand, pulls her to her feet, but Geraldine breaks away and walks on unsteady feet towards Heiji, half dead on the floor. She grabs the knife he's holding, and Mizu sees her kneel near him, studying the blade for a moment; her shouldes lift with a sharp inhale and then, she uses it to cut off his thumb. Mizu blinks, understanding flooding her as Geraldine hands her the finger.

Mizu hands her the gun, says go, but Geraldine protests, her voice breaking, desperate. Says, no! I will come with you, and Mizu presses her hand, will not hear it.

"No. Go hide. I'll find you."

Geraldine wants to protest again, her expression disjointed, but she nods, her throat flooded with tension. Her eyes are red, and wet, wide open.

"You need the gun." Geraldine tries to give it back to Mizu, her voice a trembling whisper.

"I don't need the gun. You keep it. I'll be fine."

Mizu draws her close, presses her lips to the side of her throat before she seals a ‘kiss’ where her neck and jaw connect. "I promise."

She walks away to the elevator, presses the pad of Heiji's thumb to the last button, and this time, it works. Mizu enters, turns around, watches Geraldine walk towards the exit, her hands shaking.

Before the doors close, their eyes meet.

The ride up to the penthhouse happens in a blink; her senses are in overdrive, like she's cliff-diving.

The doors open and she sinks into the darkness of the hallway sprawling long and narrow in front of her.

She can hear the distant ticking of a clock, slow music pulsing through the walls.

She slithers through the hallways, hands tight, clenched into fists.

She halts her step outside a door, hears something click. Something sharps rips through her stomach, a chill she can’t escape. It is a wide, empty darkness, the world around her, and her throat is closed at the base of it. She slowly pushes the door open, reaching across the glacial silence to find a ghost staring back at her from across the room.

Not Fowler, she thinks, rage exploding through her veins; he's not here, he's not anywhere, he's a fucking ghost, just like her, a shadow, she won't ever be able to reach him, fuck fuck fuck...

But then, the man's face comes swimming into view, cast in half light. His eyes are shockingly blue, and sharp, glinting like the edge of a knife. He's got a deep scar by his mouth, black and thick.

She stares at him, recognition tearing through her memory like a bullet and she recoils against it, eyes wide. She would never forget his face, swallowed up in flames. Her mother dead in the bathtub.

Her mother's voice, shrill, screaming at her to run.

She blinks, her mouth twitching.

They stare at each other for a long time, and he says, "look... I do not know you." holds his hands up. His breath stinks. Even from where she's standing, she can smell it, the alcohol on him. His shirt is only half buttoned.

It is a slow moon, outside. The clock ticks ticks ticks; she can hear the click of his boots against the floorboards as he takes a small step towards her, says I am not who you want. I am not who you are looking for.

Her pain is a howl and she won't look away. Her fingers are tight, could explode her bones into him, tear him to shreds.

"you don't remember me, do you?" she asks, takes a measured step towards him. Her face comes into the light, drenched in blood and horrible.

"look at me. who am I?" she asks when he doesn't answer the question.

Her pulse howls so loud in the silence that envelopes them that she can’t hear anything else.

"who am I?" she hisses, her voice a cruel, bitter growl.

Everything around them stills to complete motionlessness, an indigo blackness. She can feel her heart pound up her throat.

She's faster than him. When he surges forwards, she's already throwing herself at him, pushing him down onto the floor with her on top of him, her fist a black blur as she drives it into his face over and over again, screaming until her voice breaks, until every last bone in her body rings with it, her knuckles raw and torn, blood trickling down his face, gushing from his mouth and shattered nose. It's over too quickly, but she keeps punching him until his bones crack, until hers crack, too, then drags herself away on her hand and knees, panting for breath.

It doesn't feel like it did with Violet.

She swims on her knees and elbows, stills herself against the wall, trying to get up. When she does, she immediately drives her bloodied fist through the wall, roaring in agony, her throat like a wound, raw and aching.

She doesn't linger. She feels her feet take her to the bathroom, looks at herself in the mirror, once, then looks away; her face is cut by glass, fresh wounds seeping hot blood.

At the sink, she watches herself turn on the cold water tap, splash it frantically up into her face, watches it swirl the last of the blood off her hands. She drags a towel over her face, her pulse sputtering. She presses it against her face, digs her teeth into it and screams.

Then, it's over again, the moment, the explosion. She tosses the towel into the sink and leaves, moving quickly, running down the stairs when she reaches the emergency exit. She can hear footsteps pounding against the upper floor overhead, and knows they're looking for her. Everyone will be looking for her.

She runs down the stairs until she reaches the bottom and throws her shoulder into the heavy steel gate leading to the underground parking lot, walks hurriedly across it, can feel them hot on her back, they will be coming, the whole of Paris will be coming for her.

A car rips through the lot, the tires screeching to a stop.

"come on!" Geraldine's voice is urgent, and Mizu does not question it, how she always does this, momentary relief flooding her. She is on auto pilot, her body moving on its own, gets in the car. The gun Mizu had given her is on the dashboard, and she reaches for it, cocks it.

And then, the whole of Paris is on them.

Mizu in the passenger seat, Geraldine speeding through the city; Mizu's phone goes off, and she hisses as she moves, pulling her torn jacket off, Geraldine hitting a bump on the road, making her jostle. It's Kaji. "yeah?" she says as she answers the call, already knows what she wants. Already knows she's heard what she's done, the 'sacred' rules she's broken; Mizu knows she's been excommunicated, no one will let her into any Continental ever again, no one will work with her, sell her a gun, the bounty on her head tripled.

"what have you done?" she's never heard Kaji sound like this.

"Finished it."

"Finished what? Do you have any idea what this means for you?" her voice falters.

"You shouldn't be calling me. Goodbye, Kaji." she says evenly, her face twisted into a pained expression, her shoulder killing her. She ends the call, throws the phone out the window.

The car roars down the street, tires clawing at the earth as it rounds a tight corner. Hold on! Geraldine's voice breaks with a sudden fear as she glances in the rearview window, sees four cars chasing after them.

"okay." Mizu says but slams against the door anyway when Geraldine slams her foot down on the gas and crashes through the garage door of a building, tires squealing as she pulls a vicious one-eighty, the righting itself and leaping out onto the street, gaining momentum, escaping them.

Mizu blinks at her, half shocked, exhales what the fuck?

"I told you to hold on!"

"there's more." Mizu points out tightly, and Geraldine screams an angry little fuck!, and Mizu would have laughed if Geraldine did not look as scared as she did despite how insanely she was driving; she takes the gun in her left hand, shifts, and leans out of the window. "too far away!" she says and Geraldine makes that sound again, says "god, I hate you."

She lets the distance grow smaller, and at the last moment, she violently twists the steering wheel— barely avoiding the Mustang barreling down towards them from the other side. Mizu fires off shot after shot, expertly killing the drivers, leaving the first car crashing into a wall, the second one crashing into the first one, the remaining passengers screaming in horror in the moments before it happens; one of the cars explodes, engulfing both of them in flames.

Geraldine exhales, darts her eyes to Mizu, asks, "are they gone?"

"there will be more. just drive."

"fuck." she sounds more terrified than angry, and Mizu gives her a look, watches her profile, feels her heart pound up her throat.

"it'll be okay."

"alright." Geraldine says, nodding because she has to; because they have to.

There is another one, and then another; she evades the first, wrists flicking the wheel. The second one blows down the streets after them, in full pursuit.

"Mizu?" Geraldine asks, flicking her eyes to the rearview mirror.

Mizu twists, says under her breath. "I got it." as she takes aim; the last of her bullets, has got to make it count. Ahead, the street banks downhill to left and Geraldine takes a sharp turn, just as Mizu fires off three rounds, the bullets crashing through the tinted dashboard of the sedan, enough to shock its driver into losing control, barreling off the street.

Geraldine slams her foot down again and charges off into the distance, tires squealing.

iii. Kagutsuchi

Afterwards, everything is a blur. Geraldine drives for a long time, takes them outside the city. Stops at a gas station, gets water, gets alcohol, thread, a needle.

Back in the car, she will not look at Mizu. Tells her to take off her shirt. "you're covered in blood. Come outside." she has parked behind the gas station, off the road, has switched the headlights off.

Mizu lets her unbutton her shirt, feels the gentleness of her fingers against her skin as she does so, hisses when Geraldine pours water over her, wipes the blood away. Looks at her face, cast in strange light, her eyes soft, lit with the moon.

"are you okay?" she hears herself ask and Geraldine just gives her a quick look, says "this will hurt a little." Her hands are on the side of her neck, soft, tender; Mizu's head is spinning. She growls when she feels the needle pierce through her skin and Geraldine shushes her; Mizu is pressed up against the side of the car, enveloped in the darkness, out of view. "hold this" Geraldine gives her her phone, the flashlight turned on, instructs her to hold it up so she can stitch up the tear in the side of her neck. So Mizu does.

Feels her hands stroke her skin, bandage up her wrist. Feels their softness, too soft, delicate, she barely feels the sting of it as she stitches her up. When Geraldine says, done, Mizu swallows, her heart racing. She can smell her perfume, the sweet scent of her skin, her sweat. "thank you." she says, and Geraldine just hands her a shirt. Mizu blinks. Surely they do not sell shirts at gas stations in France? "don't even ask." Geraldine rolls her eyes, and it's tiny, but it's there, the lightness. Like she can finally let herself take a breath. "just wear it."

"how much did you have to pay to get him to give it to you?" Mizu asks, amused.

"I can't believe you!" Geraldine snaps in that angry little voice, but Mizu finds it cute; finds it lovely, she is lovely, everything about her is so, fucking lovely, and perfect. "don't laugh!" Geraldine snaps again and Mizu just buttons the shirt up, can see the small smile kissing the edge of Geraldine's lips. "fucking idiot" Geraldine mumbles, walking back to the driver's side and Mizu just laughs again.

Geraldine drives them to a hotel, the one she's been staying at for however long she's been in Paris, Mizu realizes.

When she locks the door behind them, she immediately heads off towards the bathroom to wash the night off of her. Mizu hears her lock the door and rolls her eyes, lays her body down on the bed, staring at the ceiling. She lifts her hand and stares at it, its outline hazy in the low light. She feels her eyes shut, feels her body sink into it, the darkness that's swallowing her up.

When she opens them again, Geraldine is on the other side of the bed, a cigarette in her hand, staring at the ceiling, too. The lights are switched off, except for the lamp on the bedside table. She must have passed out. She stares at her, blinking slowly, her senses still warm with sleep. The wound in her neck is throbbing. Geraldine's eyes are red, and that startles Mizu awake; she wonders if she's been crying.

"look at me." she drawls, her voice a smoky whisper in the darkness. Geraldine is taken aback, a tiny gasp spilling from her lips, her eyes flicking over to Mizu.

"are you crying?"

"no." she says, and then, not wanting Mizu to press it, says, "you passed out."

Mizu looks at her, her eyes trailing over her face, searching it. Geraldine shifts a little and the dress she's wearing rides up her thigh. Mizu's eyes are immedietly drawn to her legs; her perfume comes to her, the warm scent of her skin floating through the air; she could get drunk off it, her sweetness; it short-circuits her senses. Mizu feels her mouth water, tingling. She says, "smoking is not allowed in hotel rooms." which makes Geraldine give her a look. "nothing we've done tonight is 'allowed', Mizu." she informs her.

Mizu rolls onto her side and doesn't say anything for a while, just watches her take drags of her cigarette, watches her mouth, the smoke sprawling out of her open lips.

She reaches out and puts her hand on her thigh, says, "what is it?"

Feels Geraldine's leg tense below her touch, sees heat rise in her face, climbing the slope of her neck and settling like a flame in the apples of her cheeks. Geraldine's dark lashes blink once, her tongue showing from just behind slightly parted lips before she licks the lower one. All the while, her gaze is on Mizu, an expression radiating something fierce, too hot, too feverish, looking to pass between the two of them in an intimate, albeit silent exchange.

When Geraldine speaks, her voice is a breathy whisper. Time stands too still, thick and pulsing with tension. "I... killed someone... I've never killed anyone." she exhales the smoke too sharply, snubs out the cigarette. Her eyes are still on Mizu. Mizu's hand is still on her thigh, stroking slowly.

She looks at her too long, her brows furrowing.

"we had to." Mizu says, surprised by the confession, her throat closing up. "and you didn't kill him. I did."

"but I held him down and—"

"I did it. we had to. I had to."

Geraldine doesn't say anything for a while, just stares down at Mizu's hand on her thigh. She sighs, puts her hand over Mizu's and presses it tighter to her thigh, parts her legs slightly. She gives her a quick look. Her eyes are very dark. Mizu shifts, pulls her hand away and moves to sit close to her, on the side of the bed.

Geraldine's teeth are like tiny pearls against the flesh of her mouth, and Mizu feels a sudden rush of arousal run through her like a knife, the tension in her abdomen tight and hot; she reaches out to touch that mouth — god, that mouth; soft, delicate, crimson with lipstick— tracing its shape, and it opens like a flower, like a flame, sucking her fingers slowly between her lips, Geraldine's tongue slick and warm against them, swirling hungrily around her fingers, taking them in deeper, as though the taste of her skin does something to her— and it does; Geraldine makes that sound again, that breathless, pained little cry of pleasure and Mizu can feel her teeth sink into the flesh of her thumb, feel the low rumbling of her moans against her skin, and she's done for, her pulse shatters in her throat.

Growling lowly in the back of her throat, Mizu grabs her waist and pulls her roughly onto her lap, feels Geraldine's hands frantically fumble with her trousers as she sweeps her hand over the line of her back, grabs a fistful of her ass, presses her hard to her to tease with a bit of friction between them. “Come on, then” Mizu says, “like you mean it.” her other hand falls off her ass, slipping under her dress, between her thighs, feverishly delving between the folds of her cunt with such furious, fierce want that it makes Geraldine cry out sharply around her fingers, makes her thighs quiver. Mizu hisses, feels another jolt of arousal rip through her.

She takes her time, slipping her fingers in and out of the perfect, wet heat of her mouth, pressing her thumb against her clit over and over through her panties before pushing the lacy material aside, enough to be able to slip her middle and ring fingers into her cunt, fucking into her sweet folds again and again, her hand slow, languid, watching her quiver and tremble on her lap, aching for more; she fucks into her like this until she cannot take it any longer, she has to take her harder or she'll explode, but when Geraldine cries out in desperation, says please. fuck, please— Mizu stills the hand between her legs to complete motionlessness, whispers. No— ride my hand.

And she does, god, she does, she's a wild thing on her lap, feral with desire; she clutches at her shoulders and rolls her hips violently back and forth, lets Mizu's fingers sink inside her again and again, snapping her hips forward, hungered for more.

Mizu keeps her hand still, tightly pressed against her pussy, but she, too, is completely gone, hanging on by a thread; she watches her ride her hand, feels her walls spasm around her fingers, feels them quiver, god she's burning from the inside out, taking her in again and again, she's barely lifting her hips off her now, keeps her fingers buried so deep inside her, Mizu thinks nothing will ever be able to fill her like her fingers have, and the thought makes her lose it, makes her lean forward to bite into one of her breasts through the sheer material of her dress, half delirious with her want, pulling her hand out of her then slamming her fingers right back in, pumping them feverishly.

Her hand is a desperate thing inside of her then, fucking into her so furiously it makes Geraldine scream her pleasure, and Mizu lets her mouth pour over her neck, let's her tongue lick a fiery path up the slope of her throat to her cheek, growls into her ear, this what want you wanted? And Geraldine cries out, desperate, obscene, says yes yes, yes, fuck me, hot and smeared against Mizu's mouth as she tries to kiss her again, her little kisses interrupted by her cries, and for one blissful perfect minute of unimaginable, complete, ecstatic pleasure, she fucks her— deeply, harder, burying her fingers to the hilt, then pulling out at a pace that drives Geraldine wild, has her tossing her head back and crying out in pleasure, again and again and again.

Mizu goes on kissing her throat, the slope of her neck, slow and hard, her other hand moving to stroke and caress over her breasts, and Geraldine sighs with pleasure, trembling as Mizu grasps her closer and pumps her fingers faster, pulses her hand against her pussy, her touch fierce and urgent. Geraldine wriggles around them deliciously, her warm breath tickling Mizu's ear as she sucks sweet, deep kisses over the curve of it, quivering through a series of thrusts, each deeper, each tearing a little more at her her tightness until Mizu's fingers are as deep inside her as they could, pulsing, and Geraldine squeals, biting into the muscled peak of Mizu's shoulder; her body is crying out for completion, now, it is starvation, agony, and she tries to speak through her shallow gasps, to beg her, but it comes out a sobbing whimper until Mizu's pulling her hand away slowly, letting her feel the loss, leaving only the tips of her fingers pressed against her cunt, and it's that lazy, slick glide again, that gentle, torturously slow caressing, her fingers sliding inside her to find the wetness, stroking before they return to her clit and circle it slowly.

"Shh—" Mizu slows the motion of her fingers, rubbing her pussy softly now, then, abruptly, too abruptly, pulling her fingers out of her completely and giving her thigh a soft slap. "Sit still." Mizu drawls, something too dark and raspy in her voice, made somehow even deeper from desire. She tears her dress off, her hands impatient, revealing lace. She gathers the swells of her breasts in her hands and squeezes softly, a low, dark hum thrumming in the back of her throat. She takes her time, palming the mounds of her breasts, rubbing at her nipples through her lace with her thumbs, feeling her calloused pads drag against the stiff skin there, and Geraldine, she is a mess, desperately pawing at her, one of her hands slipping between Mizus thighs, touching her, wanting, wanting her pussy, wanting to feel Mizu, too, but Mizu's left hand lashes out and grabs her wrist. She clicks her tongue in disapproval, grabs both of her hands and forcibly puts them on the peaks of her shoulders, says, a low warning in her throat, "hold still. let me look at you." and Geraldine just whimpers, swallows around the mewl that thrums in her throat.

Mizu returns her attention to her breasts. Licking her lips, she unclasps her bra and pulls it off, watches as the swells of her breasts spill free, and her mouth dries up. She makes a dark, growling sound and fists them again, dragging her thumbs over the generous swells of them, toying with her nipples, pinching them slowly. She leans in and flicks her tongue hotly over one nipple, a slow, broad stroke, loving her softness, how deliciously she smells, her perfume drenching the air, drenching Mizu's tongue, too intense, warmed by her blood. Mizu swirls her tongue around her nipple, her hand squeezing the other breast. She sucks slowly, sucks it into her mouth, moaning when she feels Geraldine's body tense up, feels her thighs quiver, struggling to hold still. Her mouth is hot and insistent, sliding against her breasts, sucking deep, hard kisses all over them, her hands all over them too, pinching her nipples before her tongue pours over them, soothing the sting. Her right hand buries into the hair behind Geraldine's head, and tugs, dragging her down into a hot, slick, open-mouthed kiss, feeling her moan into it, feeling her teeth sink into her lips like she wants to devour her, biting harshly. There is only centimeters between them when Mizu ultimately draws back to breathe, her gaze stoked embers and blown-out pupils. She licks her lips again, this time tasting remnants of their kiss, and bends her head, sucks on her pulse point, her teeth and tongue rough all over her neck.

Geraldine goes taut against her, spasming uncontrollably, sobbing the words out through wet, shallow gasps, her breath completely shattered in her throat. "I'll die. I'll fucking die." She sounds like it.

Mizu will fucking die, too. Unhinged, she gasps, her hand gripping onto her hair, pressing her close, whispering a hot, breathy fuck, wet and low in Geraldine's ear, and then, I wanna fuck you. I will fuck you— that makes Geraldine completely come undone, make a sharp, sobbing little sound that drives Mizu absolutely wild.

She gathers her up in her arms, feels her shake as she wraps her legs around Mizu, and she rolls them over, presses her down on the bed, blind with want, splays her down onto the edge and sinks to her knees between her thighs as Geraldine spreads her legs open for her, panting in anticipation. She tugs and pulls at her panties, trying to pull them across because she wants Mizu inside her, wants her tongue and her fingers, and Mizu helps her, grabbing at the lace and practically tearing it off her.

Mizu begins to kiss her inner thighs, her tongue joining the prowl of teeth and lips as she chases the incline of her leg to the apex of her thigh.

The sounds of pleasure fill the room, then. Heavy breaths, deep drawn-out sighs, that soon sharpen info frantic, keening wails of pure pleasure as Mizu buries her mouth between her thighs with greed. Her tongue delves between Geraldine's folds with deep, indulgent strokes. Geraldine feels her nose bump against her clit as Mizu thoroughly tastes her, draws the full length of her tongue across every last inch of her cunt, tasting her wetness, inhaling the lovely scent, moaning. It is something very akin to a fucking miracle that Geraldine does not immediately come, what with the sheer indulgence that Mizu's mouth demands. Mizu isn’t afraid to taste her, her nose often nudging against her clit as she maintains to taste her deeper, still, harder, still, growling into the sweet, slick heat of her pussy. Her fingers curl against her hips, digging into the soft skin as they drag down the slopes of her thighs, spreading her legs wider.

Frantic, sharp cries and moans are torn from Geraldine's throat, her name filling her mouth as she cries out in pleasure, beginning to topple over, sensing the heat of her tongue, the fierce ferocity of it as it licks into her cunt over and over again and a half-growled hum that promises a certain dark devotion, Mizu's focus shifting rather abruptly to her clit, causing her to quiver as a moan is drawn forth, sharp and abrupt. The tip of her tongue circles around it, rolling flat against it as she opens her eyes, content to watch her unraveling — Geraldine does not deny her it. Gripping onto Mizu's hair, she gives it an almost possessive tug, screams, too shrilly. Mizu grunts as Geraldine feverishly squeezes her thighs against her face, and fucks her with her mouth more roughly, her hand slipping between her legs to rub her clit, fuck into her again, until she feels the muscles in Geraldine's legs give way, until delicate fingers claw at the back of her neck and hair with fevered, delirious need, and her body rises up as the first wave hits.

Geraldine's voice breaks as she screams, and then she’s coming hard on her tongue and fingers, succumbing wholly to the sensation, every last jolt of electricity. Her hands are in Mizu's hair, firmly holding her head in place. Mizu doesn’t stop until she is trembling, hips jerking against her tongue and mouth from the sheer sensitivity of her aching, overstimulated clit, moaning at the feeling of her cunt dripping down her chin. Her mouth chases after her pussy when Geraldine shifts away, too fucked out, her hands grabbing her thighs and pulling her back to her mouth, sucking and lapping at her clit, licking messily all over her pussy through the post-orgasm sensitivity.

Then, Mizu draws her lips off her slowly, whispering fuck, baby, a very wet mouth imposing an unkempt line of kisses to her inner thighs, breathing harshly, her chin so wet, it glistens, and Geraldine is frantic, desperately clutching at Mizu, drawing her up to her, saying, come here. come here, wanting to touch Mizu, her hand frantic on her zipper, slipping inside, touching her, and Mizu makes a breathy little sound, too high, too needy; she presses her forehead to Geraldine's chest, feels her fingers pulse against her pussy, wanting her; she says, fuck, too roughly, too hard, suddenly tense; she grabs her hand and pulls it away, can't stand the ache of it; how much she wants this; it makes her sick, the pleasure, when it is not her giving it; wrong, strange, a vulnerability that shames her.

Startled, Geraldine blinks at her, her chest rising and falling too quickly.

Mizu pushes herself away from her and the bed, doesn't say a word, and Geraldine leans up on her elbows, out of breath, watches her storm off to the bathroom, hears the water turn on.

Mizu strips off, steps into the cold stream of water, unflinchingly, presses her hands to the wall and bends her head, lets the cold water pour over her like a punishment.

From the half open door, Geraldine watches her, watches the tight mucles in her back ripple with tension. Geraldine is breathing through her mouth, too harshly, her lashes fluttering against her cheeks rapidly. She doesn't understand this.

She watches Mizu stand stone-still under the water; stares at the muscles of her abdomen, her arms, and her legs, too tight with lithe muscle, the bulk of her strength in practice and appearance. There’s a softness to her hips, though, to the curve of her waist and the small of her back. Many scars mark her skin, most old and healed over with time; she's got burn marks running all the way from the back of her neck down to her waist.

Geraldine pushes herself off the bed and somehow manages to make her knees work. She steps into the shower with her, tries to touch her, but Mizu grips her hand, softly, says, "don't. it's cold." and Geraldine looks at her, startled.

She doesn't say anything. She wraps her arms around Mizu and presses her chest to Mizu's back. Mizu stiffens, too taut, her entire body cold and tense, but she doesn't shrug her off.

She doesn't bother with soap. Stands under the water for a while, her heart pounding. She turns the water off. Afterwards, Geraldine watches her dress, her eyes on her hips, her breasts, smaller than hers but lovely. She watches Mizu stare back at her, but doesn't say anything, neither of them does. Mizu's hair is loose and long, wet against her skin.

Mizu comes to bed and lays down next to her, stifly, but then, when Geraldine draws the covers over Mizu, Mizu pulls her into her arms, even if it's a little too stiff. She's so cold.

Still, Geraldine doesn't mention it, just presses herself to Mizu, presses her mouth to her throat, warming her.

Somehow, they fall asleep.

"I should go," Geraldine says, in the morning. Her eyes are dark—not as dark as Mizu's, but dark, and sharper, less patient than what Mizu remembers them—she can’t help but look at her. Watch her shrug on her jacket, pull on her thigh high boots.

She’s more beautiful, having fucked her, and Mizu desperately thinks this is unfair, this is cruel—she should have worked this out of her system, now that she’s touched her tits and her cunt and that mouth. But if anything, it's somehow sharper, the hunger she feels around her, the pull. If anything, it's deeper, that sweet, odd ache, the wanting and wanting. The desire.

"go where?" Mizu asks, brows furrowed. Her fingers clench and unclech, fighting off the urge to grab her arm and pull her back to her.

Geraldine kisses her on the mouth, and Mizu tries not to flinch away from the press of her lips, tries not to pull her back when she repeats her question and Geraldine only says "won't take long". She watches her go, she watches her leave, and then she’s gone, and she sits alone, on the edge of the bed, staring at her hands. 

Afterwards, Mizu meets her at the door, and she can tell when Geraldine tastes the smoke on her tongue; mostly because she pulls away, squints at her. "you smoked?" Geraldine asks and Mizu just says, "You came back," she says it like a question, and Geraldine gives her a stange look because of course she did.

"Always," she says. "am I not obsessed with you?"

"yeah. right." Mizu snorts.

Geraldine tosses a bag at her, says "here."

There are clean clothes her size inside, a gun, bullets. "we will be getting you a passport too. A new ID..." she says, says it like it's normal, and Mizu thinks, of course it is. This is Skeffington's daughter. Still, she asks, "how?" and Geralinde sends her a look over her shoulder, says, "everyone's my friend, remember?"

Mizu does not question it. Geraldine asks her if she's hungry and she says, famished, which for some reason makes Geraldine laugh. She likes it, that sound. Making her laugh.

She wants to pull it out of her again.

She sits at the little table at the kitchen, and watches her cook, listens to her talk about how they have to lay low, how Mizu has to keep a low profile, stay out of sight, no one will find her here, she just has to be patient, but Mizu is staring at her mouth, the elegant economy of her hands as she works on dinner, the curve of her hips, her waist, so willowy, an excessively tightened belt around it; she can fit it between her hands she thinks, and her mouth tingles.

"I am serious." Geraldine says and Mizu gives her a look, shrugs. "me too." and then, when she squints her eyes at Mizu, she almost says, you’re always so skittish. always one foot out the door, but swallows it down, says, "you are beautiful."

"are you okay?" Geraldine asks and Mizu shrugs again.

The days that follow are a blur, but then, a soft one, she's had it worse before; they fuck frantically, but Mizu always pulls away when Geraldine tries to reciprocate, does not let her touch her, pins her down when she protests; Geraldine does not talk to her afterwards, sometimes — watches Mizu come out of the shower, cold and detached, watches her try to work out, work around the pain, she is still fucking aching everywhere, gulping down painkillers like they're her addiction; sometimes she just wants to hold her, huffs when Mizu shrugs her off, holds her tighter, does not let her pull away until Mizu relents.

Mizu looks like an electrical storm waiting to happen, sometimes. There is thunder in the way she cracks her bones, the way she stands the window, staring out at nothing, how she moves slow, controlled, everything about her is so, dark and hungered, even the way she looks at you has teeth, Geraldine tells her once, drunk off mini bar bourbon, and Mizu snorts at her.

Mizu watches Geraldine cook and eats with her, scowls when Geradline makes fun of her for eating too sloppily; does the dishes because when she tries to offer to cook Geraldine just laughs and says no, thank you, and sometimes, I'll pass, a comical expression on her face. Geraldine is drinking her coffee with too much sugar, and Mizu makes a face; they lay drunk on the living room rug, passing a cigarette back and forth, Geraldine laughing when Mizu coughs, choking on the smoke. Calls her a baby and weak.  "shut up." Mizu says, and offers her a mini snickers and Geraldine laughs again, says what the fuck? where did this come from? unwraps it without blinking. She puts it in her mouth and lets in melt on her tongue, kisses Mizu right after, slow and hard.

Mizu looks for her at the start of every morning, draws her close under the covers, even if she does it only when she's sleepy; needs her when she is not in her hands, in her arms, in her mouth —tells herself this is a mistake, this is addiction, it is just she and her in the world, this is what this is, desperation; Geraldine is not safe with her, she does not really want her, it will pass.

— but, god. How she looks when she is flushed under her and that smile curls around her lips and her hair is messy and she is panting. She wants her; can't deny her. She fucks her, maybe too roughly, but she loves the ache. Slides hands too hot over her body, feels her moan under her, gasps when Geraldine chokes her when she rides her, and it turns her whole body into fire. It somehow makes it bearable, this sweet ache; the agony, the anger, the desperation to go back out there; finish what she's started. It's a week, and then another, she loses count of the days...

Then, when Geraldine comes back with a new passport, an ID for her, Mizu feels like she is losing something, but she knows what she's lost more than enough of, is time.

"I don't even know what you are thinking." she is standing by the window, Mizu sitting on the edge of the bed.

"I need to get back to New York. To the Itohs."

Geraldine frowns, her arms are crossed over her chest.

"your family?" she asks.

"they owe me. they have to help me."

"even if they do owe you; they won't just say yes. you killed men on Continental grounds. you are excommunicated. all of your privileges have been revoked and the high council wants your head. you are a moving target, Mizu. trackers are looking for you everywhere. no matter where you go, you won't be safe..." she sounds hurt. Like she wants to keep her here, close to her where she is safe, forever.

"can your friend get me there?" Mizu asks plainly.

"yeah... yeah, she can."

Geraldine eyes her phone. The bounty has gone up yet again. A beat and she tosses it to Mizu, then turns away.

She comes back after a minute, asks her if she's hungry.

"yeah."

Geraldine does not try to change her mind again.

The Itoh clan. Her blood. Her mother's blood. A powerful Yakuza syndicate, and one of the twelve organizations that holds a seat at the High Table, although, Mizu had heard Eiji claim once, that they only held a "second-rate seat."

"They are finished... after what happened... they can't do anything."

She stands before them now, neck still scarred, a tear in her lower lip, in a leather jacket, black jeans. She's got her hair down, doesn't bother with her persona. Has sought them out at the kabuki theater they meet, let them lead her down a long, dark tunnel illuminated by a lantern, a cold light washing over her. She's been brought to stand before the father of the clan, and she has bowed respect to him, her voice darker in japanese, presenting her mother's necklace to the oyabun as proof of her right to demand their help, the silver crest on the pendant glinting in the firelight.

He leans back, voice sharp, unpleasant. "you have commited high crimes against the Table. I could not possibly permit your obvious lack of loyalty to the code to go unpunished nor will I put the family at risk of punishment. You knew the rules. You broke them."

Mizu feels her fury swell, but bites back the anger, says, through her teeth, head still bowed, "I am your blood and this is my right. You are bound by our code to help me."

He shifts in his seat, gestures for someone to refill his cup with sake.

Mizu's eyes squint as she tries to focus but the light behind him is blinding her, too bright, and the peripheries of the room dim.

"this is no longer your family. your mother ran away from it." he says and Mizu squints harder, feels the bile rise in the back of her throat.

"do you have any... do you even realize what she did to us? to our honor? our name?"

"I am still your blood."

"You’re forgetting, we’re still under The Table…"

Mizu stares, anger cutting the pain her mother's mention has called forth.

"I must insist." and when he does not say anything, she adds "you will deny your own blood for them?"

He shifts his gaze over her, stays silent for a long time.

"will you swear yourself to the family if we help you?"

Mizu is too good at lying. They are not her family. "I will."

"How many did you kill to get out?"

"Too many."

"you’ll only have to kill one to get what you seek from us." protection. a way into a High Table family that would shield her from what the Table has unleashed after her... after Geraldine.

She can't deny them anything; to hunt down Fowler, she must be free.

"Give me the name."

"you don't need a name."

He leans in. His breath stinks, sour, too much death in it.

"they've betrayed us. they've made a fool out of the clan, too many times now." he says angrily, whispers the address into her ear. Someone in a mask, their face burned. Mizu stares at the photo she's shown before it's snatched away.

"go. bring proof of death."

A score of hard looking Japanese men in gray suits, white shirts, open collars, irezumi tattoos visible at necks and cuff lines are scattered around the gate of the massive building she's been sent to; but Mizu has been given a task, and she cannot fail it, not when the stakes are so high; she slithers through the shadows, swiflty, dressed in a grey suit herself, a white shirt; she has been observing them for days, knows how the rotate shifts, how they talk to each other. She climbs up the side of the fence, too silent, unassuming, quick, like a shadow; she is like smoke.

She cowers in a corner as she enters the massive ground floor, gasps when she notices a security camera humming in the ceiling, rotating slowly; she tosses one of her gloves over it; it expertly lands on the camera and covers it before it can rotate towards her, and Mizu swallows, runs up the stairs to the next floor. An elevator looms ahead, so she takes it, nods respect when a guard passes by her, does not recognize her for anything other than what she presents herself to be. He nods back, yawning as he walks away and down the stairs.

She pauses, hand hovering over the buttons; a red light flashes — and she feels her throat tighten; she doesn't have much time. She presses the button to the top floor.

When she emerges, she blinks, surprised. The walls are entirely made out of glass, bathed in a low blue light. Weapons displays, traditional japanese art, and flickering lights. Figures appear up ahead, flittering through the glass and Mizu ducks around a corner until they are gone. She's got a gun tucked in her shoulder holster, a knife in her back pocket.

A low, buzzing sound is coming from somewhere down the long hallway and she pauses, her ears perking up. She can hear chatter, in japanese, a slow, dark rumble.

She walks carefully, her step too light, pressing close to the walls. She can see a flickering red light through the endless glass.

Her breath stills to motionlessness. She strains her senses, feeling a thrumming in the air, like she's about to fall through the floor; her heart is pounding. She is halting her step again, eyes scanning the area, when someone hits her bodily, driving her through a series of display cases. Glass shatters and weapons clatter to the floor, and Mizu gasps, shocked that they were able to sneak up on her. Her hands find a sword as the someone closes in again. They’re a blur as they cut at the man but he dodges the blows, and she rolls away, scrambles onto her feet, something sharp cutting through her when she meets his eyes.

"Taigen?" her eyes are wide, her voice cold. He seems shocked, too, but only for a moment.

"…They gave you her name."

her? so it's a woman. "her name does not matter." Mizu says impassively; it's a split-second decision, a sharp glance passing between them, and she lurches forward, driving the sword towards him, feet quick, hands expertly swinging the sword broadly. He dodges again, and furiously picks up a sword himself, blocks her blows. Their swords meet with a defeaning clang. He kicks at her, his boot crashing into her side and she reels back, growling, taking cover behind a glass case as his blade hisses through the air towards her.

"I have to."

"Me too." he says and Mizu realizes he is her bodyguard, ducks down as his blade comes around the corner. He swings again, and Mizu's sword shifts, cutting in front of him, freezing Taigen who can’t get his blade lined as she blocks him. A frozen moment, then, they both strike, over and over, metal ringing through the room. Mizu's blade is a blur, cutting at him viciously; he lunges at her, sword held high and she twirls easily around him, the edge of her blade grazing his cheek; he is too fast, but she is faster, has seen him use this move too many times before, could see it coming too clearly, block it with her eyes closed; she ducks under their swords when they cross, blades hissing; she grabs at the momentum and rides its edge, her free hand swiftly retrieving her dagger from her back pocket, powerfully driving it into his chest as she twirls around in the air to face him. Taigen stumbles backwards from the ferocity of the sudden blow, blinking at his chest. Astonished.

She is still holding onto the blade as he drops to his knees, his sword clanging as it falls onto the floor next to him. She sinks with him on one knee, then pulls her hand away. "you have thirty minutes to get to the hospital or you die. don't pull it out." she informs him, hears him wheeze, blood frothing across his lips.

Mizu picks up her gun off the floor, checks the load, holsters it. She does not look back again, rushes down the hallway, can hear voices screaming over a radio through the glass walls. She does not have much time.

Her vision blurs, narrowing down to the one thing she's got to do; she runs through the glass hallways, looking for her.

She is closing in on the room down the hallway, when a bullet wheezes past her head, and a shot rings out, hitting a glass wall. It sheers and shattered glass tumbles through the hall over her head. She dives for cover, takes aim, can see them through the glass wall. Shoots one of the guards running towards her in the head, the other straight through his sternum.

There are more coming. Too many, too fast, she doesn't have enough time to shoot at them all. She draws two knives off the floor and rolls as a guard fires, regains her feet and slashes the man’s throat, twirling in the air and landing onto another one, pinning him down with her knee to his throat. A second is turning on her when she slams a knife into his temple; it goes in too deep, and he collapses onto the glass floor just as Mizu rapidly grabs the gun that she's dropped and angles it towards the guard that she's got pinned down, firing into the side of his head, then shooting another three men down, three quick headshots.

She swings onto her feet, but another guard lunges for her, trying to disarm her. He wraps her arm up, drawing her in even as she drops her gun and quickly catches it with her free hand, presses it against his side and fires two quick shots. Hot blood splatters the glass floor.

She is breathing hard though her mouth, but before she can process what's happened, a huge, muscled man comes at her in a blur of motion and leaps, driving her back onto the floor, his arms tight around her shoulders, trapping her. She feels the glass cut into her back through her jacket and howls, screaming in agony, enraged. She thrashes against his hold, but he is too strong, stronger than her, but Mizu can't stop, she will not stop, her jaws fiercely closing on the man’s throat as they roll on the ground, fighting. He screams and pulls back and she grabs a fistful of shards of glass and drives them through his eyes repeatedly, her hand bleeding, palm torn open; she breathlessly hops on her feet, blood flowing down her back, fires blindly at the group of guards running down the hall towards her until her gun goes empty.

They go down, and she doesn't stop to make sure they are dead, she sweeps one of the curved knives up off the floor, and flees down the hallway, heart pounding, sees a shadow through the glass, the gleam of a red mask, chases it down. Reflections confuse her, but it doesn't take long for Mizu to find her in the room down the hallway.

"wait! wait!" she says urgently, her voice too deep, strange, but Mizu's ears are ringing.

"no." Mizu growls out, drives something metallic between the door and the jamb, and snaps it in two. She can hear someone outside of it, attempting to enter, but the door won't budge.

Mizu, cut and bleeding, moves before the woman in the mask covering half of her face can stop her, sprinting at her, knife held high. Last second, the woman shifts her weight. Mizu misses her, lands, rolls to her feet, leans forward to attack—

"stop!" she says, in japanese, her voice shattered. "stop it" but Mizu is furious, chasing after her maniacally, she does not hear her, the world around her is drowned out, the only thing she can see is the masked woman, and her knife, and the pulsing line between them.

She shifts her weight, watches the woman take cover behind a glass case, her senses locked on her. Mizu strikes, her knife flashing, so quick, the movement is nearly imperceptible. She surges forwards, losing her balance. She quickly catches it, and runs after her again, the woman doesn't wanna fight her, but there's a sword in her left hand, and Mizu lunges forward. The woman's sword tip moves to her throat, stopping her. Her hand quivers ever so slightly, but she does not cut her throat open. "stop!" she barks harshly, trembling. The blade cuts into Mizu's skin, grazing her neck. A faint line of blood trickles down her chest.

Mizu swings. Her hand is a blur as she moves, lighting-quick, disarms her, and swiftly drives her own knife through the woman's stomach. The masked woman's sword clatters away and she drops to her knees as blood blossoms from the wound. She’s reaching for her sword, but not to atatck Mizu, she wants to defend herself, says, "stop it" when Mizu's foot clamps down on her right wrist. She kicks the sword away.

"Mizu." the masked figure croaks out, as her blood paints the floor, flowing from her mouth and the cut in her stomach.

The sound of her name in her mouth sends Mizu reeling.

She watches her drag herself to the side, watches her press her back to the wall. The whole world shrinks to her, and Mizu steps back, something snapping inside her heart. Her head is spinning.

"Mizu." she repeats her name and her hand shakes as she removes the mask. Half of her face is scarred thickly, healed over with jagged skin; burn marks. Mizu stares at it.

She blinks. She sees her in a bathtub, water crimson with blood, her voice breaking as she screams her throat raw at Mizu to run.

Her vision blurs. This isn't real. Her eyes focus on a tattoo just visible on her forearm, faded away with time: a wave.

For a moment, she can’t tell if she is dreaming, or if she's hurting so badly it doesn’t really feel like anything. She remembers Eiji saying that he had chopped off the top of his pinky finger, once, and didn’t even feel it until he reached the hospital. 

She feels herself break like an avalanche, like a rock slide, in tiny bits and then everything all at once, and all of a sudden, until she is suffocating, until everything inside of her is howling in agony, and she is out of breath, dropping to her knees near her, her hands frantic over the wound in her stomach, pressing into it, trying to stop the bleeding.

"no... no.. no, no, no!." Mizu is hysterical, too much choking into her throat, pain, and shock and the world ending, she can't breathe.

"mama. no... no. please," she sobs. "please, no, please come back— you are not dying. you are okay." she presses her face to her mother's shirt, choking on a breath, "you are okay." her voice breaks, sobbing and pressing her hands all over her wound, hopelessly trying to stop the flow, everything around her numb and blank, the whole of the world coming to a screeching halt, dying with her.

Her mother grabs her chin, hands slick with blood. "look at me. stop it. stop. go." she chokes out, blood gushing through her teeth. Mizu is a mess, eyes wide, mouth torn open, sucking in fast, sobbing breaths. She shoves at Mizu's arm, says "go. go! you won't die with me! go!" mama's voice too deep, cracking on a sob. Mizu does not want to go. Her body is stone, she cannot move, but mama pulls her down, presses cold lips to her forehead then shoves at her with everything she's got, says go... please! her eyes flicking over to a door.

She does not know how she does it, does not know how she drags herself back onto her feet, but somehow she does.

It is a special kind of teeth tearing into her as she walks away from her this second time, ripping her open; jaws that don’t let go. (they never will).

When she looks back, her mother's slumped over, eyes open, unblinking. It's the last thing she remembers, does not know how she makes it down the stairs, slips through the back gate. Does not know how she gets back home.

Home?

Geraldine's hotel room.

She feels numb when she comes back to her, but it's 3 in the morning and Geraldine is sleeping and Mizu sits soaked in blood that is not all her own on the floor and tilts her head upwards, stares at the ceiling. Everything feels like a dream; like she has been sucked into some sort of cruel unreality and cannot find the exit. Her head lolls to the side against the wall; she stares at Geraldine's profile, how soft she looks while she sleeps, her dark hair spilling over her pillow like a veil of silk. There is a bunch of necklaces left on top of the dresser, all snarled up and tangled, and Mizu stares at them. There is nothing alive left inside of her; all of it has been snuffed out, she cannot feel her pulse.

She stares at them for a long time, her lower lip trembling. Then she sits, her back against the wall, and slowly, unerringly unpicks those necklaces left on the dresser, so that Geraldine can wear them again.

It's how she finds her, Geraldine, when she stirs under the covers, a long white terror waking her: hunched over her necklaces, drenched in blood. It's still dark outside. Geraldine sits up in the bed, her eyes searching for Mizu.

"Mizu?" her voice is very soft, touches Mizu, like a kiss.

Mizu does not say anything, just keeps working on her necklaces, but her hands are moving quicker now, blindly picking at the chains, which makes Geraldine slide off the bed and move to kneel close to her. Her eyes are wide, taking the sight of her in, the dry blood on her throat, on her hands, her shirt crimson with it. "Mizu..." she exhales, sounding terrified, reaches for her face, cups it into her two hands, makes her look at her. "what happened?" she strokes her thumbs over the arch of her cheekbones, searching her eyes as though trying to read the thoughts behind them, and Mizu feels herself break, her throat too tight, closing up, feels bursts of deep, dark terror spasm inside of her. A sob rips through her throat and she begins to shake, her hands sliding up to hold onto Geraldine. "baby..." Geraldine whispers, desperately holding onto her face, and that does it, Mizu comes undone, stifling sobs through her teeth as she crashes through the reality of what she's done. She chokes on her tears, her hands frantically covering her mouth and Geraldine pulls her close, says come here. She holds Mizu to her, her hand running up and down her back, and presses her mouth fiercely to the side of her head, hugs her to her chest tightly, feeling her body convulse as Mizu sobs into her shirt, hysterical, wracking sobs, rubbing her throat raw.

She lapses deep into silence, afterwards, her mind crashing through a swell of fury at her selfishness, the manipulation, the terrible lies she's wrapped herself in. She is nothing; she is a dead drop, half alive, does not know how to function; she is all free fall. All empty nights and screaming.  

Geraldine pulls back her hair, when Mizu rushes to her bathroom, drops to her knees and pukes, groaning into the bowl of the toilet. Her shoulders are shaking. She washes her face, her hands patient and tender on her, the hollow ring of Mizu's sobs at four in the morning making her cry, too, but she bites it back, does not want Mizu to feel worse. She holds her too hard, kisses her, everywhere, whispering it's okay, baby, it'll be okay.

It will be okay.

Mizu tries to believe her.

iv. there is a girl, and dead in her arms is her mother.

"Human life yearns to collapse in soft yes Your mouth along my neck I think of this, breath against vein God I am staccato I have surrendered ocean currents in denying you Where is my love where is my moveable God where am I where going" Stimie.

Mizu clings to her like she is her lifeline, frantically, blindly, with both hands. It is hanging over her, the loss, the death, all that guilt choked up in her throat, screaming its furious grief, not letting her breathe.

She thinks of that newspaper article she saw Geraldine read over breakfast, and the woman who had her throat cut open, the ribbon of her hair soaked in blood, they had used it to strangle her, and Mizu had thought about it all morning, her mind obsessively circling back to it.

It feels like that sometimes, inside of her body, she thinks. Like she is walking and talking despite being half-corpsed. Like she is hanging on by a ribbon, standing on some kind of cusp. she keeps saying - at least she went fast… I am so lucky she did not suffer.

I am so lucky, so lucky… The idea is river-rock smooth now, all the edges worried off.

They move away from everything.

Leave it all behind. Fowler does not matter. Revenge does not matter; she gets angry sometimes, angry in that black, festering way she has, when Geraldine can feel it in the air, choking as smoke from a chemical fire.

But somehow, she manages, or tries to pretend that she does, swallows it all down, does not think about it; does not talk about it.

They make a life together, somehow, and Mizu holds Geraldine too close, holds her tightly. It is like being punched in the gut, how much she needs her, even when she does not say it, even when it takes her too long to say the words, let her see her.

It's Geraldine and her together, afterwards, a tiny home somewhere no one can find them. She cuts her hair short around her face, a sleek wolf cut. Does not wear her glasses. Pierces her nose, and gets that tattoo, the wave on her forearm, because maybe she wants things for herself, after all, and maybe she can have them, and with her; she does; gets more than she deserves.

She loves her too well, Geraldine, loves her like a fever. Wraps herself around Mizu like her safety net, and does not press, knows how to talk around what happened, how to let her talk to her when Mizu wants to, mouth pressed to her cheek, her breath tickling Mizu's skin as she listens to her; quietly bringing her tea in the morning, just because she knows Mizu would like it without asking. Being able to make Mizu smile endlessly even when she does not feel like she deserves it.

It's everything and nothing, the big and the small that make them, make Mizu fucking love her, fiendishly, like she's the world entire. Mizu loves the way Geraldine's eyelashes look while her smirk plays around the edges of the straw as she tries the .99 cent iced coffee she's put too much sugar in just because it makes Mizu laugh when her cheeks suck inwards at the sickening sweetness. "you are pathetic." Geraldine rolls her eyes, but it's sweet, everything between the two of them is sweet, and careful, like a caress.

She wakes up in sweat from cold nightmares to find that Geraldine is warm beside her, her freckled skin hot and soft, no more than six inches from hers and most nights she pulls her close, sinks her nose into the warmth of her neck, listens to the beating of her heart against her as she stares at the ceiling until her eyes ache.

She stares at her across the table, at diners, or in their kitchen (they've painted it a light yellow color, Mizu's jeans rolled up to her kness, paint splattered on her cheeks, scowling at Geraldine's criticisms of her very fine work, thank you very much, her hands on her hips) fascinated by the way the light plays across her, how she looks at her and her whole face lights up, how she softens when Mizu touches her because Mizu sometimes can't, sometimes doesn't, but Geraldine always knows to find her mid way, hold her hand for no reason, hold her hand because they are walking along the river, talking about something normal and it's strange, Mizu shouldn't be allowed to have this, she can't accept the idea of it, but wants it anyway, lets it happen anyway.

Mizu loves how she sounds singing along at concerts and the slight flush she will get when tipsy and how easily she fits into her as if she has always been the right piece.

She is breathless under her when she lets Geraldine touch her, and it's too feverish and frantic, how Geradline fucks her, like she is starving for it, how she loses herself for hours between Mizu's legs, sucking down sweetnes, how she rolls her hips too hard against Mizu's, pressing her cunt to hers, the soft, wet glide sending tiny shocks of pleasure through Mizu, Geraldine's hand on her throat, holding her down, crying out when Mizu leans up and kisses her fiercely, holds onto her hips and moves her harder, spurs her on, makes her rub rougher against her until both of them explode with their pleasure.

Before all this, they were sitting together in their bedroom, Mizu lacing up her black boots, Geraldine putting on makeup, sitting in the glow of their sunlamp, getting ready for their night out.

She was talking about what she could make for dinner tomorrow, that maybe she could try to cook something with fish because Mizu liked fish too much, putting powder on with a brush, and Mizu had blurted out I love you so much.

and Geraldine had paused, had turned to her, lips parted, and for a moment Mizu had felt her heart stop.

"I love you too."

and then, the fierce, sweet fucking, devouring each other for hours; they had not gone out, but neither of them had minded...

"hey," Geraldine says, upside down, head over the edge of their bed,  "december is next week."

"fuck... yeah?" Mizu is on the floor, has just come back from a run, flushed and sweaty, her cheeks pink. It's 8 in the morning. "no it’s not."

Geraldine shows her the upside-down phone. "yeah it is." her hair is a mess and Mizu is enamored with it. She stands up and moves to the bed, rolls over until she’s above Geradline, holding herself up with her arms on either side of her, laughing when Geraldine screeches because she is too sweaty, and, "I am wearing clean clothes!"

"too bad." Mizu pins her down, biting into her neck because she just loves how she laughs, how she squirms away from it, breathless.

"is that your way of announcing you are ready for a tree?" she asks, mouth hot on her cheek, and Geraldine says mhm, presses her close despite her earlier protestations, loves to smell her when she's like this, dappled in a light sheen of sweat. Loves the salt of her skin, loves the smoky scent of it.

"and that you have to get me something."

Mizu smoothes her hair back from her face and stares down at her, going quiet, her eyes soft; makes Geraldine swallow, when she gets like this, can't bear how much she loves her. The drowning rush of it.

"anything you want."

Mizu always means it.

Mizu slices a ripe peach and feeds her half, while leaning over her shoulder, finding what part of her book Geraldine's at and sucking down the juices.

"oh, you are ahead of me. don't spoil me."

"then move."

Mizu presses her chin to the back of Geraldine's shoulder and holds her tighter, says, "nah."

Geraldine laughs at her.

Before all this, they had been in a store, being silly, fighting over what color the new rug for the bedroom should be, Mizu finally relenting, saying "...if it'll make you happy." when she had caught a shift in Geraldine's gaze, had watched her go stiff for a split moment, only for a moment, and then it had been gone, her smile returning.

Before all this, Mizu had been laying in their bed for hours, staring at her mother's necklace until her eyes had glazed over, raw and red.

Before all this, she had sat in complete silence in their living room at 4 in the morning, staring at her hands. It had been months since she had felt good (had she ever felt good?) but she felt something like good when she would look at her and she felt something like healing when she would hold her hand.

Before all this, Mizu had woken up one night to the sound of water in the shower; she had blinked at the clock; it had been 3 in the morning. When Geraldine hadn't come back to bed after 20 minutes, Mizu had gotten up to look for her but her hand had frozen mid air at the bathroom door; she had stood there, a dull numbness rising in her mouth as she listened to her cry in the shower, the water stifling her sobs. In the morning, Mizu had not said anything, but had been softer with her, too sweet, to the point where Geraldine had narrowed her eyes in suspicion, had asked her if she was okay. Mizu had said "I am okay if you are."

Before all this, Mizu had somehow stopped waking up in cold sweat every night, screaming for her mother.

Before all this, everything had been okay for a moment.

Before all this, they plan a road trip, take their little car and drive down to the river: Geraldine driving, Mizu in the passenger seat, playing with the radio, changing the music over and over, never satisfied.  

"okay, passenger princess. pass me the bottle."

Mizu looks up from the radio, says hmm?

"the bottle of water. oh my god." Geraldine laughs as Mizu unscrews the cap and takes a long sip to make it not spill over, just so Geraldine won't drip water on her.

"thank you." she smiles, takes a sip and hands the bottle back to Mizu.

Mizu says, "you are welcome." and she is smiling, and it still makes Geraldine ache when she does it: like smiling and laughing, is new to Mizu every time; like she is still learning what to do with it. Mizu sits back into her seat, staring out the window, the sun in her face, making her squint. She turns around again and stretches a little, makes a soft groan, turns up the music. She's got a pack of vinegar chips in the backseat, and reaches for them, tears it open and feeds Geraldine the first one.

It's late July, a balmy day, languid light. The highway empty, the streets shimmering under a hot sun.

Geraldine's hands tighten on the wheel as she makes a left down a country road and she feels Mizu reach over and stroke the back of her neck, softly, playing with her hair; she can be so sweet. It makes her ache sometimes, how sweet she is, Mizu. How she's learning to let herself soften.

"I had a thought." Mizu says, her voice a lazy, smoky drawl. She is munching on her chips, wearing her cap backwards. Geraldine reaches over with one hand and fixes it again, does not want her to get sunburnt.

"just the one?" Geraldine says and Mizu scowls in that funny way. "ha! anyway. I had a thought. maybe we could rent that store that closed down the square? I don't know. do something with it."

"you wanna be business partners." Geraldine teases, smiling.

"not business partners. just do something with you." a slow shrug. "could last forever." Mizu says it too naturally, and Geraldine cuts her eyes to her, flustered into silence.

"I love you..." Mizu says immediately when their gazes meet, her hand still stroking the back of her neck. "have I told you?"

"tell me again." Geraldine sounds breathless.

"I love you." Mizu repeats, smiling too brightly, her blue eyes lit with the sun.

Geraldine swallows, and there it is, Mizu thinks, the strange shift, the split-second darkness.

"I love you too... so much." Geraldine catches Mizu's hand and kisses her palm, her eyes on the road.

"yeah?"

"yeah..." a tight little pause, and Mizu sits up a little because she can sense it before it happens, can read her like a book.

"what?"

Geraldine shakes her head a little, exhales,

"I love you so much... and I did not want to tell you this because I did not want you to think anything crazy, but I love you. you are the best thing that has ever happened to me, and I don't want there to be secrets between us."

Mizu feels her body go cold, a numbness settling over her. Her heart is in her throat.

"what is it?" she repeats, staring at her profile, outlined in the sunlight. She notices her freckles, spread across her small nose, the kiss of the sun on her skin.

"whatever it is I can handle it. Just don't tell me you are a bad guy." she laughs, but it's too tight, sharp; like she's afraid that's exactly what she is gonna tell her.

Geraldine flicks her eyes to her, says "well, it depends on who you ask... but it's not what you think, Mizu. this isn't about the Father or Fowler—"

and Mizu blinks at her, sits back, says "wait, wait... I don't understand. Geraldine... what are you saying?" her voice too tight, stuck in the back of her throat, like a fist, squeezing the air out of her.

"well for starters, my name isn't Geraldine."

Mizu stares at her, trying to process this; something in her chest shifts, like everything else falls away. She opens her mouth, too many questions on her tongue.

She starts to ask them, but then the world stops moving again; she hears the roaring of an engine, tires screeching; the air explodes with a shattering roar; a sedan crashes into the side of their car, sending them spinning out of the road, toppling end over end before landing upside down.

Then, everything goes quiet.

[solarpearl]

sci-fi / superpowered! au, tartaglia.

childe can turn into a mermaid, so you teach him how to swim (and how to love.)

characters: tartaglia / childe. content warnings: swearing, childe attempts to drown someone??? me screaming: you know what? admittedly not my best work. this reads like a slogging mess. but i like it enough to post it anyways. just don’t be surprised when i delete this out of nowhere HHHH. based off my thread here! also i’m going to plug myself go read blue seeing red it flopped and i’m sad. what’s playing: russian roulette by red velvet.

tartaglia / childe

there’s nothing really that scares people now. when you’re walking among sentient computers and cloning yourself is somehow the norm now. (he swears grandpa died a year ago... but dad is reintroducing grandpa again?)

but somehow turning into a mermaid is weird, foreign, supposed to be a secret. it’s a big taboo subject that no one dares bring up at the dinner table-- only when mermaid mom comes home that one day every month.

childe’s the unlucky one of the family, or so he thinks. while his older siblings are full mermaids-- tail & everything, and his younger siblings are fully humans with actual legs, childe’s the unlucky one stuck in the middle.

sure, he has legs, but once he hits the pool, boom, he now has a tail. green and slimy and everything. shiny when the light hits it a certain way, most mostly just grotesque and odd. it looks good on his older siblings-- but on him? no thank you.

people think he hates the ocean, and he kinda does, but he also thinks having a tail instead of legs is mighty inconvenient.

it doesn’t stop his secret from coming out, though. either it’s his younger siblings blabbing about their “cool brother who sings under the sea because he’s a mermaid in the bathtub!” or they managed to catch him on a very rainy tuesday and he didn’t bring his umbrella.

so it doesn’t stop these “treasure hoarders” from jeering and poking at him whenever they get the chance. and no amount of busted knuckles & black eyes seem to send the message of “fuck off”.

it’s another fight. it’s thrilling, admittedly, although he wishes they had chosen another place other than the public pool to jump him.

they had yelled something like “YOUR DAD FUCKED A FISH!” before childe swings a fist, colliding with a jaw with a satisfying crack as he sends one of them into the life buoys stacked upon each other. another gets kicked screaming into the pool and had to drag themselves out. he’s pretty sure someone got flipped into a bucket of pool noodles.

but this time they came prepared (half of the boys were rearing to prove themselves, probably) and it only takes one tackle from one for the rest to pile themselves onto him, pulling him down as his head hits the cool tiles of the public pool, water soaking into his clothes as someone cackles, throwing a blanket of what seems like plastic bubble wrap around him.

their leader kicks him in the stomach as he keels, being rolled and suffocated into the (loud as fuck) plastic. his posse scrambles away as he grabs childe by his feet and before he knows it he is swung into the air, landing in a cascade of bubbles.

childe tries to hold his breath, the loss of feeling in his legs reminds him that he could breathe underwater. flailing, he manages to tear himself free slightly of the bubble wrap, and he realises that

a. he’s literally stuck.

b. he’s shit at using his tail.

it takes a while before he kicks himself back to the surface, struggling to actually stay afloat through the layer of fabric and his flailing tail.

all in time for his bully to blow a raspberry at him, his mouth opening to hurl another obscene insult at him. until he goes down with a hefty thwack!

childe watches as he flounders over the slippery edge of the pool, crashing landing face first into the water. he almost winces for him, until his hands instinctively reach to pull him down.

“hey! what the fuck! don’t kill him!”

a voice cuts through the air before childe even realises what he’s doing, flailing, the bully manages to spit a mouth full of water at him (gross) before paddling to the stairs, pulling himself up before his squeaky flip flops waddles himself out of there.

childe turns to apologise & thank his saviour, blue eyes greeting until he realises that, fuck, you’re kinda really cute up close, dressed in a loose fitting t-shirt and shorts with a pair of sunglasses (sunglasses? at night?) atop your head.

it’s not like he’s never seen you before-- it’s a pretty small town, and he’s pretty sure you sit in the back of his history class, but he doesn’t even know your name.

mother’s “love at first sight” stories that he used to scoff at seem far too real right now. a guy and his saviour (weapon of choice: a bright yellow plastic sign with an ironic “don’t run, it’s slippery!” message) is probably not what he imagined a fairytale would start out like, but your stare has his tail turning into jelly and his stomach is doing cartwheels.

“u-uh,” he stammers, and you roll your eyes, beckoning him closer.

“i’m not getting into the pool, so come closer.”

do not embarrass yourself, ajax. he chides himself.

it’s... complicated. he reminds you of a puppy. eager, as his tail swishes back and forth and he tries his damn bestest to try and wriggle closer to the edge of the pool. it works-- he’s struggling, sure, but it’s the effort that counts! until the effort manages to douse you in cold public pool water.

now you’ve gone and done it!! he’s screaming to himself.

i don’t paid enough for this. you think.

“here, let me just help you out,” you hook your arms under his and manage to haul him out of the pool, tail and all. he helplessly flops on the tiles as you hover over him, unsure on what to do with the absolute HUNK of a mermaid.

it takes about a minute of staring into each other’s eyes longingly before you realise that it’s ass thirty in the morning and you both have school tomorrow. you pitter patter off to find two pairs of scissors to free him from his plastic net.

���wait-- just give me those, i can do this myself.”

childe swipes at the scissors, but you tsk at him like you’re scolding a cat and just shoves him one.

you start wordlessly snipping away at the plastic, making sure to not scratch the gleaming scales on his tail.

childe gets a closer look at your face, a small frown on your face with a furrowed brow as you concentrate. he admires you a little more before you cough and he fumbles, almost dropping the scissors into the pool before he starts to snap away at the plastic.

he turns red at the closeness, your hair tickling his cheek sometimes when he bows his head, and when your hands brush against each other he more or less lets out a muffled scream. he thanks the archon that you are either too oblivious or is giving him the dignity to not comment on his actions.

it takes several minutes before childe’s free of the plastic. your bones crack as you stand up, legs almost numb from the amount of squatting you’ve done.

you stretch as childe follows suit, his tail that had gradually turned back into his legs some time during the minutes on dry land feeling less than normal.

“are you--” he clears his throat when his voice flatters, “around here often?”

“i help out, sometimes, teaching the kids how to swim. maybe you should enroll.”

you wink at him, pulling the sheet of plastic into a roll before dumping it into the bin nearby.

he nearly utters a way to enthusiastic “SURE THING!” and manages catches himself just in time to not mark him down as an idiot in your mind forever.

“oh, uh, maybe. then.. i’ll see you in class tomorrow? in history?”

“i sit behind you in homeroom.”

you chuckle at the wide eyed face he sends your way. he’s unabashedly sincere-- for sure, and you can practically hear his voice saying that it’s part of his charm.

it goes without saying that the next day childe spends the majority of the morning staring at the empty seat behind him in homeroom, and that leaves zhongli wondering about what on earth childe finds so fascinating about the chair. for all he knows, that particular chair was just the same as the rest of the classrooms-- shoddily made with no regard for back comfort (cue peepaw’s back hurting).

your teacher comes in and makes some off-hand comment about you calling in sick, and childe’s heart immediately drops.

“i need someone to give them their history notes for today--”

childe jumps up from his seat and nearly knocks over his table, hand raised high in the air as his teacher stares at him incredulously.

“sit down, you haven’t been to class in two days.”

childe wilts like a goddamn flower he hears it, zhongli wonders if the sun rose from the west today when he spots the absolutely wounded look on childe’s (“bad boy who doesn’t show up to school but ace his tests anyways”) face at the prospect of detention.

you really have to wonder who decided to bring you your notes and if they’re alive. it’s been over an hour since school ended and there is no doorbell to be heard, not a single one.

that’s why you almost rip the door off its hinges when the doorbell does ring, and a very red faced, panting childe greets you.

“i had detention-- but i wanted to give you… you the notes. i’m sorry.”

he’s out of breath, but you just grin dumbly at him.

“i didn’t realise… the first boy i think is cute can’t even swim,” you mutter through your slogging sick brain. his face burns red and you sneeze (cutely, at least to him).

“i’ll call you… uh, when your cold ends. for that swimming lesson--! and... maybe a date?”

[a-froger-epic]

What are your top 5 favorite angst moments in fics by other people

Thanks for resending the ask! The original one seems to be stuck in Tumblr limbo.

This was so hard. I literally just spent 45min going through my bookmarks and I could point you to some people's entire fic catalogues or entire fics without being able to pic a single scene in particular because they have so much delicious angst. (Yeah, I'm looking at you @aboutnothingness and @freddieofhearts and @i-lay-my-life-before-queen's Omegaverse Froger, or also @immistermercury's Jimercury ballet!Freddie epic and really several oneshots by some of my favourite authors in their entirety.)

But. I had to choose. So here are, in no particular order, some scenes:

---

Princes of the Universe by @tikiniki

Sci-fi AU. John saves Prince Freddie's life. 😰

Then, through the screams and gunfire, John heard Roger’s voice.

“John, Freddie! Watch out!”

And John spun around, just in time to see Roger throw himself towards Kassius, Kassius who had his gun raised and aimed at Freddie’s back.

His breath caught in John’s chest. Roger wouldn’t be fast enough.

He wasn’t.

The release of the bullet from Kassius’s gun disappeared in the rest of the noise. John acted on instinct.

He was barely conscious of moving at all. He barely noticed shoving Freddie to the side as hard as he could. He didn’t hear the surprised outcry leaving Freddie’s mouth.

But he felt it. Felt when the bullet pierced his chest.

The force of the bullet made him stumble back. He tried to draw a breath, tried to make a sound, but all was white-hot pain. The next second the guards were upon them. John was shoved in the chaos, his knees buckling beneath his weight.

Unable to catch himself, he fell over the edge of the pool.

Just before he breached the surface, he heard it.

The sound of voices crying out his name.

He smiled as he hit the water.

---

Aftercare by @bisexualroger

Freddie got mugged. 🥺

There’s an alien quality to the mirror, despite the fact that Freddie uses it every day and has done for months now. Perhaps it’s not the object itself that’s unfamiliar, but rather what it’s reflecting, the offending image subsequently contaminating the rest of the room with its strangeness. Lucky for him though; if the face in front of him registered as his own it might be too much for him to handle. Today’s been difficult enough without having to fully acknowledge the physical consequences of his earlier misfortune.

Freddie leans closer to the glass. The sight makes his lip tremble and his hands shake, but he swallows down his distress and reminds himself to view it objectively. It’s not his face, just a problem that needs to be fixed.

Taking another deep breath he tries again to go in with the cotton wool pad. Slippery with alcohol the cheap fabric desperately wants to slide out of his hand, but he keeps his grip steady as he brings it to his face. Immediately though the burning sting has him wincing. He tries to hold his nerve but the pain only intensifies, making his eyes prickle so he can no longer see what he’s doing. With a stifled cry of frustration he tosses the wool down into the sink and slides to the floor.

Once there his first instinct is to curl in on himself, but the pain in his ribs prevents him from doing so, which only makes matters worse. He’s been at this for fifteen bloody minutes, and much as he wants to shout and rage at the unfairness of it all his anger is infuriatingly manifesting itself through tears rather than determination. For goodness sake all he wants to do is have a hot shower and forget the entirety of this awful day, but he can’t until he’s dealt with this. It’s so agonisingly unjust.

---

The Path of Nevermore by @plainxte

Things are complicated. *sings* Give me one night only, one night only... 😭

"Yeah. I should probably head out," Roger said, looking around him. He was sure there was somewhere that he had promised to be that day.

"Please, Rog," Freddie said. "Don't go. Don't leave me alone. I mean. Don't send me to the path," Freddie said.

Roger turned to him with a smile. It quickly faded when he studied the look on Freddie's face: he was completely serious, and there was no hint of amusement in his eyes. He meant it, Roger realised. When Freddie said nothing more, just continued to look at him, it finally hit him what Freddie was saying. The seriousness of what he was asking.

"Of course I won't leave you," Roger whispered. "You know that. I wouldn't. But you know I can't, I can't – "

Freddie carefully lifted one hand, putting it hesitantly on his cheek, only just touching. His fingertips ghosted over Roger's cheekbone. "I know," he said. "And that's not what I meant. And I can't, either. But just for now. Please don't go. Please."

Roger took a breath. His thoughts were getting no clearer; if anything, his whole head seemed to be in a fog. He wasn't thinking; he couldn't think. He could only nod. Freddie leaned closer, and Roger closed his eyes. After what seemed like an age, he felt soft lips touch his. He reached up his own hand to Freddie's face, skimming over his jaw to come to a rest in his hair.

"And about time, too," he breathed.

---

Sobering Up by... oh whoops, it seems their tumblr was deleted or changed names. Well, nevermind, I still love this fic so much.

Roger and Freddie don't know how to deal. 💔

They lie there afterwards, stewing in a pregnant silence. Normally, sex put Roger right to sleep but this… he was unable to wrap his head around any of it.

He rolled over to lie on his stomach away from Freddie. He took a pillow and clenched it tightly in his arms, pressing his face deeply into it. Some animal instinct was telling him if he squeezed hard enough then the painful sickening swirl of emotions in his chest might ebb away.

Freddie softly cleared his throat. “Rog,”

“Hm?” Roger feigned sleepiness. He didn’t feel like having any kind of pillow talk.

“What…” Freddie faltered. “What do you think the future has in store for us?” Roger felt his heart seize up.

“What’d you mean ‘us’?” His voice was muffled in his pillow, but it didn’t mask the cracking on the last syllable. He heard Freddie make a sharp intake of breath.

“Queen.” He said. “What do you think we’ll be like in the future? D’you think we’ll make it?”

Roger was quiet at first. Freddie wasn’t the type to avoid the elephant in the room like this.

“Dunno,” Roger sighed, still clinging tightly to his pillow. “But I won’t stick around if there are better places to be.”

“Are there better places to be?” Freddie’s feigned curiosity did nothing to hide the anxiety in his voice. And it dawned on Roger that they weren’t going to talk about the sex. They were never going to talk about it. It had happened and that was all. It was too big, much too big, for either of them to face. This was Freddie’s way of asking if Roger was okay with that.

Roger didn’t exactly feel relief at this revelation. Somehow he felt like he had given Freddie a much more intimate part of himself than he had given any other partner. And the seriousness of that weighed heavily on him. Nothing would be the same for him again. But it had to be.

---

On the side of a hill, a sprinkling of leaves by @quirkysubject

Freddie falls in a puddle and can't get up (also this scene is way too long to quote all of it, but like THIS WHOLE SCENE MAN 😭💕)

“Jesus, Fred, are you alright?” Hands are on his back, his shoulders, trying to urge him up. Oh, how Freddie wishes Roger would just leave him alone (liar, the warm and tiny and inextinguishable gleam of hope inside him whispers).

“Fine,” he mumbles as he lies face down in the mud, waiting, praying for the earth to swallow him up.

“Freddie, come on, get up.” The hands tug a little harder. And then, when Freddie just shakes his head, Roger’s hands slide under his armpits, and he is hauled upright with a frustrated, “What the hell’s the matter with you?”

It’s this that does it. All ability to contain himself evaporates.

“I hate this so much!”

The words explode out of him. He can hear how his voice sounds, shrill, pathetic, whiny. Useless. But he can’t stop himself. “I hate everything about this. My ankle hurts and my arm hurts and I want proper tea with milk, and a bath, and my bed, and Tom and Jerry, and a slice of toast that is actually toasted and I… I just want to go home.”

It’s a small mercy that he can blame any wetness on his cheeks on the rain. Not that it will do him much good. He is throwing a tantrum at the worst possible moment, and Roger is going to do what he always does when Freddie is being unreasonable - walk out, have a smoke, come back an hour or two later when the storm has blown over.

Only if he leaves now, Freddie will melt into the ground and never come up again.

---

A special mention goes to a Doctor Who fic which is probably my favourite angsty fic of all time, because even though I'm not active in the Who fandom right now, I'm still Doctor/Master trash. And Locked in Orbit by @nicolauda (I think this is yours? Correct me if wrong) is one of the best goddamn pieces of writing with that ship that exist for me.

[miraculouscataclyyysm]

Seating plan au part 6

Short update this time also For some reason, this part contains a lot of Felix/Adrian angst...I don’t know why but its there so enjoy

Link to part 5

Once they finally get together Mari is at the Agreste mansion a lot more (not counting the time she’s there for her internship) and because of this she realises things with Adrian and Felix are a lot worse than she first thought , so she comes up with a plan, she’s secretly trying to get felix and Adrian to sort out there issues with each other without forcing them to do anything they don’t wanna do so if she’s watching a film with Felix and Adrian is in the other room practising the piano she’ll ask him to join or if she’s playing video games in felix room while felix is reading she’ll Adrian if he wants a game, basically mari thinks if she makes it so they hangout more without forcing, it happens naturally, they’ll start to tolerate each other more....unfortunately Marinette is unaware the “issue” is onesided (felix, felix is the one with the issue) so Adrian is just happy to spend time with Marinette when he’s not chat noir and that he finaly gets to spend time with felix that Dosnt involves loud sighs and harsh words, felix, on the other hand, is hating that Adrian is taking away his Mari time, one night when Mari has gone home felix snaps and says “why do you always have to have everything? You just take and take, everything has to go your way? You get everything you want, Do you want to take Marinette from me now too?” “What are you talking about Felix?” “It’s my birthday all over again, you never listen to me, you didn’t listen to me then and your not listening now, stop, just stop, you always bulldoze over everything Adrian, just leave me and Marinette alone” the next day Felix and Adrian seemed even further apart *cue concerned Mari*

During a game of hide and seak while on patrol (it was a particularly quiet night) ladybug teams up with Renard Arctique (Fox Felix) to trick chat who is currently the seeker, so Felix creates an allusion of ladybug running in the opposite direction and then they both climb onto the roof of the louvre and slip behind a pillar (this is definitely not realistic, what so ever, so just pretend it is) it takes chat a good 10 minutes to realise what happened....wich unfair, teaming up has to be cheating right? Once he finds them though he’s hit with a massive wave of jealousy...that’s his lady, his lady laughing with that sly fox, she seems so comfortable with him, there taking like she talks to him, so he runs up and tags RA a bit too hard...and sins lb and ra were sitting on the side of the louvre ra might have fallen off...lucky He's in costume and manages to land gracefully, lb gives chat and earful but chat claims it was “an accident my lady, I guess I just don’t know my own strength” Felix grones “or don’t know your own idiocy”

stormy weather 2 starts the same, (apart from none of the Alya and Nino stuff because Mari and Alya arnt friends here so be still tales the homework to Adrian himself) Chloe is typical Chloe, Mari is leaving school with Alix and Felix when she sees this, she still steps in and offers to help her study but Chloe continues being Chloe and drops the most ironic line to come out of her mouth “once a villain always a villain” Felix and Alix start laughing because how could they not and Felix says “do you actually believe that Queen Wasp” Alix-“or do you prefer anti-bug?” During all this Mari misses Aurora leaving, she’s later akumatised as stormy weather

Marinette almost being Akumatised because of a photo Alya accidentally posts on the lady blog, all thanks to Lila naturally, the night before Lila sees Marinette and Chat noir walking together and snaps a pic, the pic is dark and you can’t see Marinette's face, only the back of her head, she though it had just the right amount of mystery to cause some much needed mayhem among her classmates (it was getting a bit to chummy for her liking) as the co-runner of the lady blog she logs Into the account and drafts a post with the pic claiming to have seen chat noir and LB on a date with LB out of costume, the next day while Alya is posting she clicks the draft and posts it assuming it was something she forgot to Post, caouse ensues, the class is split arguing over the fact Alya posted the photo, claiming it was an invasion of privacy on LB and Chats behalf, and the other praising Alya for discovering the truth about there relationship, Alya insists she doesn’t have a clue where the pic came from BUT it’s still proof of LB and Chats relationship, Mari is literally boiling over in her seat and snaps “you call that proof? Firstly it’s a total creeper shot, you should be ashamed of yourself, I mean you really posted that while claiming to love ladybug and have a single shred of journalistic integrity, secondly you can’t see the girls face, all you can see is Chat talking to someone who happens to have similar hair to ladybug, it could be anyone! That could literally just be chat talking to a civilian while out on patrol” cue a smug lila “anyone like you Marinette? You do look awfully similar to the girl in the photo” *cue Marinette internally screaming* the class breaks out into more arguments over the identity of the girl, an akuma flys in threw the window, heading straight for Mari but felix (without seeing the akuma, he just has impeccable timing) squeezes her hand under the table and says “don’t let lie-la get under your skin, she’s not worth taking up so much space in your brilliant head” the akuma dose a complete u turn and goes for Alya, lady WIFI 2.0 happens and she’s after the truth behind the photo, akuma battle happens and after the fight Alya asks chat about the photo, he tells her that the photo is a massive invasion of privacy, he was having a private conversation with a very good friend of his, the person he trust almost as much as LB, Alya apologises for posing it, she deletes the photo and then puts out a statement with a message from lb and chat asking people to respect there privacy, there still real people and can talk to whoever they want with or without the mask

On a very rare occasion that felix Dosnt feel the urge to shake Adrian until he shuts up (or passes out...whatever happens first) they practice music together, when they were kids Emile had them both pick an instrument to play, Felix wanted to lern the piano but Adrian always got what he wanted so felix ended up learning the violin, he ended up loving the violin though and he always enjoyed goofing off with Adrian during practice and making up songs woth him, that’s always been one of Adrians favourite parts of music practice too, actually getting to have fun with felix, spending time woth him without feeling like felix is just waiting for a chance to leave, like he hates having to be in the same room as him, so when felix askes him if he wants to practice together he jumps at the chance

Link to part 7

Tags-

@spicybelladonna @akana-sama

[sunrisung]

The Soulless and the Soulmateless 1 (Changbin x fem!Reader)

Part 1 || Part 2 || Part 3

↠Word count: 3.64k

↠Genre: soulmate!au ; angst

↠Requested: yes; 《Wow I took up a lot of courage to ask you to write something cause I didn’t want to bother you but can you write a Changbin fic where he smiles through whatever pain he’s going through kind of like 17’s Don’t Wanna Cry? so a little angsty but fluff or character development could work too》

↠Warnings: verbal & physical violence

↠A/N: Alright this took so long! I mixed this request with an idea I had for a long time, so this scenario turned into a soulmate!au. It’s going to have 3 parts, so brace yourselves~ I’m not actually very satisfied with how this turned but whatever. The last part is pretty sloppy in my opinion as I wrote it now until 1 am. Anyway, enjoy!

↠A/N 2: I accidentally deleted it when changing my computer theme akjfkdjn I’m sOrrY

“Mom?” called Changbin as he stepped on the wooden floor of the hallway, gripping his blue plushie in one hand. The little boy heard quiet sobs coming from his parents’ bedroom, so he slowly opened the door, only to reveal the crouched figure of his mother. “Mommy?”

His call was never answered. The sobbing only got louder, the mother throwing the letter she kept reading over and over again on the floor.

“B-Bin, go away,” she whispered, her gaze still fixated on her hands, which soon reached her face to cover it. The little boy only stepped further and crawled on the bed next to his mother. She shoved him away, turning this time to face him. Her face was so red, that little Changbin gulped. “I told you to go away!”

The boy hugged Gyu closer to his body and took a look at the messily written letter on the floor. He hadn’t learnt to read properly yet.

But he could still read the last word on the corner. 아빠 (Dad).

》》

“You look awfully similar to your father,” Changbin’s mother mumbled from her seat at the table. He had to get ready for going outside with his friends. “So similar, it utterly disgusts me.” The fifteen-year-old only closed his eyes and kept on ruffling his hair, arranging it afterwards. Changbin sticked in his earphones before his mother could comment anything again. It became one of his habits.

Several years after the incident, and it still haunts Changbin’s mind. He was too small to process what happened back then. All he could see was the mysterious absence of his father, and her mother’s growing hate for the little boy. He couldn’t understand why, but now he does.

Sitting down on his bed, Changbin opened one of the drawers of his nightstand. He kept playing with the piece of paper, moving it between his fingers, until he unfolded it. He still remembers how he accidentally found it years after his father’s disappearance and hid it in his nightstand.

The boy was disappointed. He lost count of how many times he read the letter, but he still couldn’t believe it was real. His father, also his mother’s soulmate, her destined one, left both the woman and his son because he preffered the lonely life. And ever since then, Changbin’s mother despised his son’s presence in the house. He reminded her of his father, and it hurt too hard.

However, the pain was all hidden deep in his soul. No one outside his little appartment knew about the struggles he went through. Not even his closest friends, whom he trusted more than himself. Not even his friends, who slowly turned into the best brothers Changbin could ever have. He couldn’t bring himself to open up, and he couldn’t help but feel guilty because of it.

He fooled his friends, and himself, too. The slightest trace of sadness was hidden with wide grins, no matter how much his heart was aching. The louder the voices got in his head, the louder his laugh was. It was a neverending cycle Changbin couldn’t break. He didn’t find enough power within himself to do it.

》》

“Ayo, Changbin!” Felix waved, smiling brightly at the jet black haired. He nodded, mimicking the younger’s smile and joined the others on their way to their classes. “What’s up?”

“Nothing new,” Changbin simply stated, turning his face to see Minho returning from his little chat with his friend. He waved at the boys and clung onto Jisung’s arm.

Changbin found it funny how everyone seemed to complete each other. Whenever he was out with the other eight boys, he felt safe. He felt at home. Whenever he spent time with them, he could feel his mind clear up a bit, and make room for happiness, too.

The hardest part at the end of the day was to return home. It was struggling to sneak through the house to even eat. It was doing homework with the music volume turned all the way up in his earphones, to cover either his own voices or his mother’s one.

“Binnie, you okay?” asked Minho. “You seem a little bit lost in your own thoughts.”

The boy blinked a few times and woke up to reality. There was no way he could let his true feelings get to the surface. “There’s nothing, really, I was sleeping so well before the alarm went off and I’m still half asleep,” he lied, earning an understanding look from the older.

“Man, me too!” Jisung suddenly barked, loud like usual. “That damn alarm only goes off when I reach the best part of my dreams!”

“Mind telling us one of your dreams, young man?” Chan cocked an eyebrow at the younger’s sudden mood change. Jisung slowly averted his gaze to the ground.

“Hyung, that wouldn’t be too appropiate,” he started and Woojin gasped, covering Jeongin’s ears.

“Jeongin and I need to get going, goodbye~” he hurriedly chirped, shoving the youngest away from the group. Changbin shook his head, finding his own lips curve into a smile. A geniune one, a smile that only his brothers could bring.

》》

Changbin’s head hung low, his eyes meeting the slightly dusty surface of his kitchen’s floor. “You’re hungry?” his mother asked, the boy’s heart aching at the obvious trace of sarcasm in her tone. “Go buy your own stuff, don’t expect me to do anything for you!”

He simply nodded, storming out of the room and of the small appartment to the nearest convenience store. He was lucky he kept the small amount of money he won a few weeks ago in a silly bet with Jisung, or else he would be either starving or stealing from the shop.

It didn’t ever happen to him to steal. But sadly, he considered it an option in extreme cases like this. Changbin kept wandering through the various isles, eyes darting different things. Yet none of them seemed to appeal him.

Sighing, he took the money out of his pocket and counted every bit of it. “I’d better save it than waste it, shouldn’t I?” he whispered to himself before stuffing the amount back in his pocket and leaving the convenience shop. He chose not to eat, and surprisingly his stomach got louder than his voices. It was, in an odd way, soothing that something other than music managed to cover the loud screams in his destructive mind.

He collapsed in his bed and called it a day. No matter how much he wanted to simply run away from everything, he remained in his desperate state. His heart was racing at several miles per hour, yet he somehow remained calm. In moments like this, the boy couldn’t even understand himself.

If not even him could descipher the weird feelings bottled up inside him, then who would? That’s why he thought opening up to someone would be completely pointless. He was nothing but a blur to himself; how could anyone else understand him if he couldn’t? Changbin has lost his trust in people, ever since both his parents betrayed him. Ever since his father left him physically, and his mother emotionally. He missed being loved, but reviewing his life in the past years made Changbin realise that happiness wasn’t meant to last long for him.

The black haired closed his eyes, taking in the darkness that his eyelids brought. An image of him meeting the other eight friends for the first time flashed through his mind, making his eyes open and stare at the ceiling.

It felt like yesterday. It was quite ironic how happy moments seemed to fly so fast. They passed in such a rapid pace, that Changbin almost couldn’t remember much of them. Instead, he wished cold, dreadful days wouldn’t pass so slow. It seemed like it was life’s intention to test the boy’s patience and limits, stretching them to an extent where he would break down and lose himself. They lasted so long, that Changbin was more than sure he couldn’t stay sane anymore. They kept burning, turning everything into ashes, yet remaining so vivid in his mind.

There were many times happy memories were easily covered with unpleasant ones. Geniune smiles were easily forgotten, as the numerous times the jet black haired cried alone, in his room, kept replaying over and over again. He hated himself for this. But, the more he tried to escape from this dark pit, the more he sank in it.

》》

“Will you stop screaming?” Minho growled at Jeongin, who was spinning and laughing and radiating with pure happiness.

“No, hyung, I met my soulmate!” he squealed, twirling a few more times before finally sitting down on the pavement next to the other boys. Everyone giggled at the younger, except for Changbin. He only kept quiet at the announcement.

No one apart from the principal knew about his father. Not a single one from his friends knew about his leaving, or about Changbin’s awkwardness when it came to soulmates. It was a sensitive topic to him, hence everything that happened in his family.

He didn’t find the soulmate keys interesting anymore. When he was small, he would often fantasize about him meeting his soulmate, but now his interest was completely gone. He was grateful he hadn’t even found out his soulmate key; maybe he didn’t have one.

“Congrats, little man!” Chan cheered, patting Jeongin’s back. “Now we have Changbin and Minho left,” he continued, eyeing the two.

‘I couldn’t care less,’ Changbin thought to himself, 'I’m still praying I don’t have one.’

And, to his dismay, the day he found out his soulmate key soon followed, only with a twist. His was a painful one, which only worsened his current state.

Chemistry class was always a boring one, except for the days they would do experiments. Otherwise, the theory was anything but interesting. Changbin was about to drift into sleep, trapped in his own train of thoughts when sudden pain could be felt coming from the back of his palm. He squealed, squirming in his seat at the growing bruise. Minho turned in his direction, eyeing the younger who stared in horror at the mysterious wound.

“Changbin-ah,” he whispered. “I think that’s your soulmate key.”

The black haired gulped. He banged his head on the desk, earning a few glares from people around him, but he was too lost to even notice. He patted the purplish skin, trying to cease the pain. That was it, the boy had a soulmate, and the thought couldn’t terrify him more.

He was grateful, though. Thinking more about his soulmate key, he came to a conclusion. After all, physical pain would feel nothing for him. He had never felt it, only when accidentally falling or bumping on corners of furniture, but he was more than sure it wouldn’t bother him as much as his thoughts did. Words stab deeper than a knife would.

What mattered was that his soulmate was safe. His soulmate was already protected from any form of pain, and Changbin couldn’t feel more grateful. The boy’s bruises weren’t physical, like his soulmate’s ones.

They were emotional.

》》

Seungmin glanced at Changbin’s head, staring intensely at the forming bruise. “Hyung, look!”

He turned, watching his own skin being painted in purplish blue shades. He sighed, patting the area, then returning to whatever Woojin was trying to say. Only this time his mind wasn’t with the others, it was far from the room, thinking deeply. Changbin tried to convince himself that maybe the wounds were accidental, but something inside him screamed that his soulmate couldn’t be that clumsy. He brushed off the thought, sitting up from his chair to head to the bathroom.

Changbin turned on the tap, splashing some cold water on his face. He still couldn’t manage to get rid of the sleepless nights, so it began a habit for him to make a trip to the bathroom every break. Glancing at the mirror, he gulped at the rosy mark on his cheek, which slowly turned into a purple one. He found himself patting the bruise, his sharp gaze softening at the thought of his soulmate getting hit. He then flinched, realising his sudden burst of care, and retracted his hand.

Changbin sank in his seat, listening to the information his geography teacher wanted to plant in his students’ minds. He felt slightly guilty that, among all of them, he couldn’t manage to focus on anything. Everything he heard seemed to get through an ear and leave through the other one, not even a slight bit sticking to his brain. His teacher’s voice soon couldn’t be even heard, as his own mind took over.

“Changbin,” the boy shot from his chair, his heart jumping from his chest with the sudden call. “Mind if you paid attention to what I’m teaching?”

“Yes, Mr. Kwon…” he mumbled, grabbing his pen to scribble down everything written on the blackboard. The teacher looked at his student, shaking his head slightly at his poor state.

》》

“I’m going out with Chan and Jisung,” Changbin’s voice was flat, as he stopped in front of his mother. She only scoffed and eyed him cautiously.

“Who told you you deserved to go outside?” she questioned, cocking an eyebrow at her son. He only sighed and tried to get past her and leave the house, but his limbs froze at her words. “Do you know how happy I am for your soulmate key?” his mother chuckled, taking a seat on a chair from the kitchen.

“What do you mean?” he asked sternly, locking his gaze with hers.

“I think life acknowledged my thin body,” she started, smiling, “I’m too weak to hit you, so I think life decided to take care of that and give you this soulmate key. Including a physically abused soulmate.”

Changbin gritted his teeth, gripping the side of his sweater tightly until his knuckles turned white. Indeed, his mother was right. That’s what he will only ever deserve, pain. The black haired nodded, lowering his head and stormed out of the house. He fished his phone out of his jeans pocket, dialling Jisung’s number.

“Hi, dude, is ev-”

“Jisung, would you mind if I stayed over at your place after we hang out?”

“No, sure, why would I? Is everything alright?”

“Yes.” he shortly replied and hung up after seeing Chan waving at him. He didn’t realise he was walking that fast, yet he already was at the bus stop where they were supposed to meet. Putting on his oh-so-familiar smile, Changbin joined the two and headed to the city centre.

Yes, he may deserve pain. He may be such a burden to his mother that he began to hate himself, too. But he couldn��t let his friends down, ever.

》》

“Holy f-” Jisung began, but was cut off when Changbin jumped from his side of the bed. “Hyung, go to the sink, quickly!” he yelled, sprinting around the house to find his first aid kit. The younger felt shivers running up his spine as images of Changbin’s arm bleeding kept flashing in his mind. Having that kind of soulmate key was completely terrifying to him.

Changbin cursed under his breath as he let the ice cold water run over his open cuts. He didn’t know why, but he felt tears stinging his eyes at the scene in front of him. It was intriguing for him that the physical pain was soon forgotten, his attention turning to the ache in his heart. He was behaving weirdly everytime he found a new bruise from the unknown person, but never to the extent where his insides felt uneasy. Changbin was worried, and with every second passing, he felt his heart beating faster for his soulmate, even though he promised himself to never get attached to a person like that. Seeing his own family shattered, he was afraid to even think of starting one. But he knew he couldn’t run away forever.

The younger came with the first aid kit, panting heavily as he opened it and grabbed Changbin’s arm. “Changbin-ah,” Jisung cooed while gently clearing the blood. “What did you do to deserve this?” he mumbled, eyes fixated on the wounds.

Changbin only inhaled. He couldn’t break down, he didn’t want to, but he was on the verge of tears as soon as he heard the younger’s question. The words kept repeating in his mind, until the black haired dropped his head and bit his lip harshly to stop it from quivering. “Hyung?”

Jisung stopped and stared at the boy in front of him. He noticed something was off, and sighed when the older wasn’t saying anything. After wrapping his arm, Jisung lifted Changbin’s head, his breath hitching at the sight of the boy almost crying. He pulled him into his embrace, and that was when Changbin couldn’t hold in his emotions anymore. He let them spill and ruin the younger’s shirt, while his hands found their way to Jisung’s back. He was holding onto him like he was afraid of losing him.

Truth be told, Jisung was the first person to ever see Changbin shedding tears, let alone breaking down into sobs. “It’s okay, Changbin hyung,” he whispered, his hand moving soothingly on his back as he tried to calm the older down. “It’s okay.”

If only Jisung knew about all his struggles. If only Jisung knew about the craving for death Changbin felt while being home. If only Jisung knew about the desire Changbin had to simply run away and never come back again. He didn’t know any of these, believing his sudden break down was because of the soulmate key. But it wasn’t.

》》

Changbin coughed loudly while looking for cereal in his kitchen. His mother turned to the crouching figure of his son, smirking as the boy clutched at his stomach. “See?” she began as Changbin coughed again and squeezed his eyes shut. “I didn’t believe there would be another scum like you in the world. And it seems like life wants to get rid of both of you.”

“Fuck off, mom.” he muttered, still grabbing at his sweater. Changbin tried to ignore the annoyed expression on her face, this being the first time he cursed in front of his mother, and slammed the cereal box on the kitchen counter. After grabbing his bowl to leave to his room, he almost dropped it. “I hope you die as soon as possible, Changbin. I lost all my happiness because of you and your stupid damn father.”

He closed the door quietly, placing the bowl on his desk. Changbin then patted his stomach, sitting on his bed and opening his nightstand’s drawer. He only looked at the folded letter his father left, and then looked back to his bruises.

Lifting up his shirt and throwing it on the mattress, the black haired looked in the mirror. Small cuts and purple bruises were sprinkled everywhere on his stomach and sides, making the boy sigh deeply and pat each one of them in a gentle manner.

“Don’t worry, soulmate,” he began, feeling a pang at his chest as he spoke with a small voice. “I-I’ll never be like dad.”

He turned to his bowl of cereal, munching on it while thinking of a way to escape for that day. He smiled lightly, placing the bowl down between the mess of his books and plopped in his bed. Changbin missed getting naps, and the unbearable itch in his eyes only helped him to fall asleep faster, while caressing the cuts on his arm.

He shot up from his bed after seeing the clock going past seven in the evening. It began to get dark outside, as several street lamps shone and bathed the small neighbourhood in light. Changbin ran a hand through his hair, quietly opening his door to get to the kitchen again. As he entered the cramped room, he inhaled the smell of smoke and alcohol coming from his mother. “Mom, did you drink?”

She only smirked, making Changbin step back cautiously. The woman giggled at his vulnerable state, stepping forward after stubbing out her cigarette. It didn’t take Changbin longer than a second to rush out of the kitchen and then out of the house.

He wandered along the deserted streets, mindlessly humming a song which got stuck in his mind. The boy didn’t even notice when he got to the end of the city, lying against a tree. He stuffed his hands in his pocket, looking in front of him as though he was searching for anything to distract him from his mind. His eyes only met darkness, slightly faded by traffic lights which shone in the distance.

His wrist started burning, as if someone gripped tightly at it, but then the pain disappeared in a second. Changbin glanced down at his now trembling hands and balled them into a fist. He closed his eyes, finally taking in the peace of the surroundings, when the faint sound of steps flooded his ears.

The boy’s eyes widened at the fast pace of the steps, getting ready to defend himself. A shorter body bumped into his, both of them screaming in fear. The startled look in their eyes somehow managed to calm them down.

In front of Changbin, a girl panted heavily. “What the fu-”

“Quick, go!” she only whisper yelled, pushing the black haired further into the darkness. The boy didn’t understand the rush, but didn’t hesitate to do as told. They finally stopped when the only sound they could hear was crickets hopping in the grass.

“Ran away?” Changbin asked calmly, observing the younger’s features. She was wearing a long sleeved shirt and jeans.

“F-from them,” she mumbled, meeting her gaze with Changbin’s, who only furrowed his eyebrows.

“Them?”

“The soulmateless. They’re chasing me.”

[Part 2]

[ghostliied]

i honestly like you and think you would make a good friend except that the constant complaining about getting no attention is so intimidating and discouraging and exhausting. if we became friends would i have to constantly reassure you that you're liked and your stuff is good? or would i always feel not good enough and like it's my job to make sure you don't delete because you feel like nobody cares anyway?

Hi Anon. Before I even remotely begin to attack you, (as I believe as a human I should), I will ask you this. Are you happy? Does it make you feel better that you got it off your chest? Yes? 

Well, here, let me tell you how pathetic and how much of a inconsiderate coward you are. But before I begin with even that. I want you to unfollow me. Block me. and if not. Well you know what, fine by me. But message me again on anon I’m going to ask somebody to log onto this blog to deal with you. 

I really REALLY, did not fucking deserve to read this. Not like this. Not how you said it. 

And I will tell you why.

Feel free to read. Or not. I don’t care. But this is going to be a psa for anybody else who wants to read anyway.

But I’m not going to make this dash suffer. I’ll put a read more. tag the triggers. and tell you of the warnings beforehand.

But before I do, please do fucking tell me. Are we mutuals? Do I follow you? Cause if I do. I don’t want to follow you. I don’t even care if I admire you at this point. I dont want to follow and admire somebody who says this. I dont even care if you have social anxiety or what have you. I did not deserve this. 

TW: drama, hate, unpopular opinion, swearing, caps lock.

First of all. Fuck you. You’re an asshole.

If you liked me, then you would wouldn’t have said this. Not like this. and definitely not under anon. 

another thing. If you like me. THEN YOU WOULD FUCKING KNOW THAT WHAT YOU JUST SAID IS WRONG AND 

IS A FUCKING ASSUMPTION.

Get the fuck out with your shitty assumptions.

I have an open communication policy for all of my FOLLOWERS. Not just mutuals. Do I have a preference over mutuals? yes. Of course I do. But that does not mean i ignore people. I have honestly never ever fucking done that and will continue TO NOT DO THAT. I dont even ignore the people I blacklist let alone try to cut off from my life. Do I stop talking to them? yea. But I dont fucking blatantly ignore people. even if they are assholes.

No you don’t like me. And if we were friends IF WE WERE FRIENDS 

You wouldn’t have to hear about complaining or whining or bitching. Are you in a server of mine? Am I in yours? Yes? No? maybe? WHO THE FUCK KNOWS!!!!  well. YOU DO APPARENTLY. cause you sent the fucking ask like a shitty coward. 

No, we wouldn’t be friends. Why would I want somebody like that.

Another thing. And you can ask anybody who talks to me. I don’t actively seek attention. I never EVER ask for reassurance. Now. Did I just go and show and tell two friends about you and what you said? Oh of course. why two friends and not like lets say other people I talk about? Because i only ever (semi)fully explained and ranted to two people about this issue and those two people only. Like I have people I talk to. I have talked to many people about our muses. I could name them right now honestly. but from all of those people. There are not many people that I go and physically go to and ask for help. I dont. That’s not who I am. I don’t complain and whine to a lot of people. I fangirl and scream happily to other people. 

But I never ever EVER bring negativity to my friends’ dms unless i trust them and/or explicitly ask them if i can rant to them.

Why? because THAT IS WHO I AM. I chose to suffer in silence. 

I dont have many irl friends. Especially not thought that I can trust to cry about. No. I have always been strong for others. Both irl and online. I can tell you the poeple who i trust enough to actually cry and be depressed to. And I can tell you that they can all be listed on one hand. But I can also tell you that even then. EVEN THEN I don’t tell them about even my WORST emotions that I have. 

I would tell you right now, but naw, you dont fucking deserve that. If I said it I would say ONLY to tell my followers. and maybe thats what you all need to fucking realise. That I’m fucking human. I’m not perfect. And behind this fucking computer I have to deal with the emotional struggle and abuse EVERY. SINGLE DAY. And I have been since high school.

I have a chronic cough from the stress I put myself through. because I internlise everything. and you think that me ‘crying’ about getting no attention is intimidating? well jesus fucking christ if thats the case then I cant even imagine how you would feel if I listed everything that has ever happened to me. No but that’s in the past. If I even tell you what stuggle I have to deal with RIGHT NOW, you would be like ‘shit man, okay maybe it’s not so bad that you’re complaining.’

I don’t go and look for professional help. I should but I can’t. I dont have the money.

But that’s not the fucking point now is it. Oh fuck no. ITS FUCKING NOT.

the PROBLEM IS THAT YOU FUCKING CAME TO MY INBOX. YOU CAME TO MY INBOX ON ANON. like the fucking coward you are. IT wouldn’t have been a problem if you came to me as a human. No. I have to post tis publically for everybody to see because thats waht YOU did.  and was even more terrifying is that I have a second anon asking about an IC thing and it makes me NOT want to answer it BECAUSE I feel like its you. But I know better. and I will happily take that other ask cause its a HC ask and I want to get to that. But no, I wont today BECAUSE OF YOU.

mOVING THE FUCK ALONG IN THIS HATE FUELED REPLY.

You think i would be good friend? You think? Lmao. LMAOOO Alright. Well feel free to ask the people i DO interact with and talk to. Anybody who is my friend would tell you that i AM a good friend. I mean well for those i care about and i put my heart in my sleeve for them. And honestly anybody who IS my friend has seen that i DO put in the effort to be active FOR them. You may not even see if cause i dont post it. But for my friends?? I give them content they deserve. I talk to somebody every single day about our muses. If you fucking asked me how much ive devoloped and plotted. I would give you 30 pages of shit for A SINGLE AU thay ive talked about.

I send asks to the people i care about. I also send asks every now and again to those who i dont talk to cause yea i do know what it feels like to not get asks. I may not be fucking active here. But its not that im not active. Its just that i see no motivation in it.

Its a fucking hassle and chore to refresh my dash to see nothing happening. Ive opened my ims and inbox for anybody to plot. Ive gone to countless people okay?? And I go to them to ask to send things or to reply to something. And okay i fucking get it. We are all busy.

Sometimes it takes a while to respond. But that’s not why I’m fucking angry. 

THATS NOT WHY IM PISSED.

When i fucking write for hours upon hours headcanons, drabbles, answers and asks. Just those alone. And to see that NOBODY says anything about it?

Somebody once told me. We are reciprocal creatures at heart. And even if we say we dont expect much response. It feels good to get a reaponse. Its nice to see that people are reading what you write and reacting to the things you make.

And holy shit there is only ONE person that i know of that actually reacts to what i post. Wait i take that back. I have TWO PEOPLE that react to what i post. That react to 90 percent of what i post. With an occasional third or fourth. But its THESE people that i talk to. That dint deserve me deleting my blog.

And its these people that will fucking tell you that i very rarely bitch and complain about not being wanted. Because it is THESE people that i spend my days plotting and going on about what if intereactions.

If you really wanted to know me and be my friend. You would realise that i simply just want to talk about my muses. I AM NOT ONE FOR SMALL TALK. Talking about feelings is hard for me.

Why I dont personally understand is HOW CAN A FEMALE OC LIKE MIMI GET BLATANTLY IGNORED. AND YET WHEN I GO TO A MALE MUSE??? EVERYBODY?? WANTS TO??? FUCKING??? INTERACT???

that’s not fucking fair. And if you honestly wanted to understand my point you wouldn’t come to be like the shitty little coward you are right now. You would ask why I feel that way. Why ANYBODY would feel that way. But naw. You directly attack me. I showed some friends this ask cause I was visibly upset and one of them literally said:

That is not how you address this issue.

If we became friends. IF WE FUCKING BECAME FRIENDS??

yOU WOULDN’T??? HAVE TO??? REASSURE ME OF ANYTHING????

what fucking drugs are you high on?Get the fuck out of here.

Any person who fucking knows me would know that i ALWAYS fucking PUT MYSELF OUT THERE FOR THEM. I have time and TIME AGAIN run to those who were upset and down. 

Get this fucking in your head right now anon.

I AM THE FUCKING ONE TO REASSURE PEOPLE.I DON’T LOOK OR ACTIVELY SEEK OUT REASSURANCE.

I already get my validation from the people I fucking care about. I got my validation yesterday when my submission was published. I get my validation from my FRIEND ON FUCKING DISCORD WHEN SHE MESSESGES ME EVERY SINGLE DAY.

Holy fucking shit I GOT MY VALIDATION THE DAY I MADE THIS FUCKING!!!! BLOG!!!! FROM A VETERAN OF THE RPC!!!!

I don’t need your fucking validation for fucking shit.

But again not the point.

and not the fucking point as to why I even remotely posted ANYTHING about how nobody pays attention to me.

But you know what. Here is my fucking 2 cents on this. I believe that a majority of the Pokemon RPC doesn’t give a damn about me BECAUSE NOBODY SAYS ANYTHING TO ME OTHERWISE.

Again I’m not talking about everybody. IM TALKING ABOUT THE FUCKING COMMUNITY. 

And I really REALLY don’t need to bring up names to fucking bring my case to point. it’s just fucking FACT. 

Me as a mun? honestly I don’t give a damn. Sometimes I kinda wish to remain anonymous or aloof. But Mimi? cause thats the point of me ever bringing up anything anyway?? Mimi????

She gets very VERY little traction. Course there’s a few interactions here and there. But I cannot say that I can ACTIVELY post some quality IC shit or HC shit every day CAUSE AGAIN i DON’T SEE ANY FUCKING POINT. 

A psa that I reblooged so fast one time furhter proves my point. 

I will link it here for your pathetic and lazy ass if you want.

don’t wanna click then here. allow me to EMPHASISE ON WHAT WAS SAID.

the way the rpc treats female muses & female ocs is DISGUSTING.

allow me to repeat it if I havent made it obvious. 

the way the rpc treats female muses & female ocs is 

D I S G U S T I N G.

THATS why i fucking posted anything.

I didn’t post to make people feel sorry for me. I made it a post to show you HOW FRUSTRATED I AM WITH THE FUCKING SHITTY COMMUNITY.

And allow me to reiterate. Its not the people in the community. IT IS THE FUCKING COMMUNITY IN GENERAL. It is what we make the community. 

And honestly im not trying to fucking attack anybody here. I just cannot stand what the RPC fucking is right now. 

And the fact that I’m pulling AT FUCKING TEETH to get any interaction is sad.

I don’t try to make myself fucking intimidating.

I said this to a friend as a rant this morning BEFORE YOU FUCKING SHOWED UP IN MY FUCKING INBOX. and I TOLD them i was ranting i wasn’t expecting anything aside from them to listen because i had to get it off my fucking chest.

dilectam Today at 09:59

so. can you tell me what the fuck im doig wrong then??? like people and their sorry fucking asses are like oh we are picky with OCs they have to be well developed and have a backstory and blah blah blah or something like I dont fllow or interact with OCs that have very little info on them and yet WHEN I FUCKING POST AND WRITE AND YELL ABOUT THIS FUCKING BITCH NOBODY LITERALLY NOBODY (except for like you and [redacted]) FUCKING SENDS ME ANYTHING. ITS LIKE I AM FUCKING TRYING TO PULL OUT TEETH WHEVER I REBLOG A MEME. I haven't gotten any asks iN WEEKS. like look at my fucking inbox.

[image of the THEN empty inbox]

NOTHING IVE BEEN STARING AT IT FOR DAYSnot done

dilectam Today at 10:00

And then when i go to try to do replies, which, of course i have some, I CANT FUCKING PULL OUT THE FUCKING MUSE CAUSE A: THE THREAD HAS BEEN FESTERING AND ITS OLDB: THE THREAD IS LONG AND I DONT WANT TO REPLY TO A LONG REPLY CAUSE HOLY FUCKING SHIT IM BURNT OUT I CANT WRITE.but no. I send asks. I send memes. I do dash comms. I do start calls. I do inbox calls. like

IshouldnotfuckingbebeggingTO GET FUCKING INTERACTIONS.

and then to make matters worse. [REDACTED BECAUSE PERSONAL INFO THAT IM NOT GOING TO FUCKING SHARE WITH YOU]. and when i WHEN I ASKED PEOPLE if i should do commissions you know what happened? nothing. just you liking it. I DIDNT FUCKING ASK IF I SHOULD DO FUCKING COMMISSIONS CAUSE ITS FUN. i hate asking people for money. I want to draw whenever i want for my friends whenever i want without taking their money.but no i get no replies.

and thenAND THENt make fucking matters worse.CAUSE IT GETS WORSE.

Mimi's birthday is coming up soon. and im honestly fucking terrified. I'm kinda starting to cry now about it. [redacted] I'm terrified that her birthday is gonna come and its gonna be like what happened on MY brithday even though i posted about it

I get fucking one ask that wishes her a happy birf.

I'm tired. like I have considered of deleted. not leaving. ACTUALLY DELETING the blog cause likeits fucking depressing and pathetic

sorry i'll stop now but i feel so undervalued and underapprciated i feel like I've i disappeared again, nobody would fcking message me or ask

wanna know why i fucking ranted? because f THIS FUCKING PICTURE.

What is this picture? THIS PICTURE REPRESENTS JUST THE HEADCANONS I HAVE FOR THIS BLOG that ARE LOCATED HERE.

27 pages.

single spaced

times new roman

font 12

wanna know who actually read them?

well aside from many of them having 0 notes.

THE SAME 3-5 PEOPLE LIKED THEM.

which honestly is fine. I don’t mind. But what I am not fucking comfortable with is the fact that aside from those people (only 2 of which i actively either ploit or interact with IC) I have nothing going for me. NOTHING.

Nobody comes in to ask about headcanons.

Nobody fucking asks about why mimi did what she did.

nobody even bothers with me.

and I say nobody losely because OF THE PEOPLE WHO ACTIVELY POST, THE PEOPLE SENDING ME THINGS ARE ACTUALLY PEOPLE WHO ARE NOT ACTIVE.

holy fucking shit its a plot twist.

Hahahaha fuck you anon. 

Another thing. If you knew me.

You know know i never EVER fucking delete. Even the blog where shit happened last year, I just abandoned. Why the fuck would I delete 27+ pages of good quality content. Nevermind the bio. the bio alone is 14 pages. 

But you had the NERVE to fucking say that youre scared of me deleting??? like its assholes like you that make me want to delete.

and honey. I would never say you’re not good enough. just talking to me about our muses is all i fucking ask. if anything YOU find yourself not good enough. and that’s fucking sad. because if I knew who you were. like if you actually took the time to sit down with me to talk to me like a human. You would realise that you are more than enough.

Another thing before I fucking end this rant. cause I jsut randomly got SUPER FUCKING ANGRY AGAIN.

You would have never sent this to my other 2 blogs. why? Because I wouldn’t have posted it on the other blogs. BECAUSE I DONT FIND THIS PROBLEM ON MY OTHER BLOGS. why? because they are both male blogs.

So get your misogynist ass out of here. Fucking trash.

[mochimim]

Spotlight

Genre: Fluff, ANGST, Celebrity! AU

Word count: 7.7k (my longest oneshot ever !!)

Pairing: Jimin x reader

Summary: The perfect guy, the imperfect celebrity

Warnings: Triggering topics - panic attack, thoughts of suicide

A/N: HELLO GUYS IM BACK WITH MY FIRST FIC IN QUITE A WHILE im so sorry tumblr deleted the post before this i haTE but it’s back so whooo !! this story is actually somewhat based on a personal experience, so I included a lot of personal thoughts and insights to try to make this better HAHAHAH but i hope yall like it !! i put in a lot of effort trying to write this fic and many BLOOD SWEAT AND TEARS were shed but im finally done !! i really hold this story v close to myself because i actually felt all these things and i was a little delusional like the y/n in this fic !! please tell me how it was by dropping an ask into my inbox, both compliments and constructive criticism is good !! anyway besides this fic, im not yet done with dead leaves soRRY but feel free to leave me a request for the ending of chapter 7 (2nd last chapter !!) so drop me that asK ANYWAY IM RAMBLING AGAIN I HOPE YOU LIKE THIS FIC BYEEEEEE

"Miss, your interview is in less than 5 hours, are you sure that you want to be seen on national television with dog fur all over yourself?" Seulgi wrinkled her nose at me in disgust.

"Shut up Seulgi, I still have so much time," I flopped on my bed with my puppy on my chest. "And don't call me 'miss', I'm your younger sister. Don't be weird."

"You are the one who needs to shut up." She scoffed at me, but quickly started giggling and I joined in as well.

"No, but really, your stylist is waiting for you. What's his again? The cute one? Seok-min?" I let a small chuckle escape from my lips at her confusion.

"Seokjin," I got up and placed my puppy on the ground. "And take him. He's all yours." I cackled before sprinting out of my room, listening to her frustrated and embarrassed protests in glee.

"I will bet my entire career that you and Seulgi will get together by the end of this year." I mumbled to Seokjin as he handed me my outfit. He made a weird noise, probably thinking about the possibility.

"Yeah sure, I can hook it up." He said nonchalantly. I choked on my breath in utter horror and shock, I didn't think he would take me so seriously.

"Why are you making me wear something so pretty today?" I asked him as I got changed behind a curtain.

"What do you mean by 'pretty'? You look pretty every day." He said matter-of-factly, and I couldn't help but blush a little at his words.

"I'm not used to this. I can't rock dresses, full stop. I only look decent in a shirt and shorts." I sighed as I looked at myself in the mirror one last time before walking out to sit down in the makeup chair. "Where am I going later, anyway?"

"You're an Academy Award winner, a Grammy winner, and you still don't know where you're going after this. Unbelievable." He called the makeup girl over and crossed his arms. I furrowed my brows, wondering how he linked the three things together.

"You're going on national television, stupid. You're going to be interviewed by Park Jimin!" He exclaimed and threw his hands into the air, almost hitting the makeup girl in the face.

"Who?"

He gave a little gasp at my obliviousness. "Do you not watch the evening news? He's the presenter after that. He does all the celebrity news, he interviews them on radio as well. He's like Korea's very own Ryan Seacrest! Only more beautiful and younger, and did I mention beautiful?"

"Uh, so, does this give me a reason to re-dye my hair?" I murmured as the makeup girl put some bright red lipstick on me, not really caring about whoever Park Jimin was.

"You've already done your makeup, silly. You wouldn't want to ruin her masterpiece, would you?" He said, posing more of a statement than a question. "Thank you Irene." He tapped her on her back as she scuttled away in fear.

"I don't think her name is Irene," I squinted my eyes at my reflection in the mirror.

"Whatever, you're almost ready. Time for hair, time for me to do my magic." He whipped a comb out of the pocket of his pants. "We have no time for re-dying of hair. And I think that this pink hair suits you. Also, don't worry about the interview with Park Jimin later. It will be a walk in the ‘Park’!" I groaned at his very lame joke and he chuckled softly.

I tugged at the hem of my dress, trying to pull it lower.

"Seulgi, why do you look so nervous? I'm the one going out there." I asked her as she bit her neatly manicured nails.

"Look, I'm just worried for you, don't mess this up for m- for yourself, okay? Also, I'm going to be in the same room as Pa-"

Heads were turned as a man walked into the room. He looked confident and cool. He was very handsome, with a charm that seemed to go around the room. His cotton candy coloured hair looked like it took hours to style, his makeup flawless. He wore a suit that looked a little too tight, but it accentuated his muscular arms, so I wasn't complaining.

"Park Jimin-"

Stop being so shallow, maybe he's a dick.

And suddenly, I was being pushed into the set. And right into Park Jimin's arms.

"Cut!"

I heard someone yell, and I swear I heard the entire studio sigh in unison. I didn't realise that I was in the Park Jimin's arms until he pulled me up, and I dusted off my dress.

"Sorry." I bowed to him and ran off to the standby area.

"Could we do that walk in part again? Come in less violently, thanks." The mysterious voice ordered me, and I nodded at the instructions.

After coming out less violently, the rest of the interview went fairly well. I didn’t mention any embarrassing things that could expose me, but I did comment on our similar hair colours, which was enough awkward for one day.

“Hey, we have the same hair!” I blurted out just before he could ask me a question. He tilted his head and was silent for a moment, but quickly caught on and smiled at me. I stretched my hand out for a high-five, hoping that he wouldn’t leave me hanging, and he didn’t. He flashed me the brightest smile I’ve seen in a while and gave me a high-five.

“He has the most gorgeous smile. His eyes smile along with him, did you know? He literally radiated happiness, Seulgi! I can’t believe it!” I exclaimed to my sister as we were leaving the venue, but quickly stopped myself from getting too hysterical over someone I just met.

“He really is a charmer. I got the chills just standing next to him.” Seulgi smiled to herself, quite pleased that she was able to stand next to him, and then I realised all the hype over him. I was going to start watching the celebrity news show from now on. I was going to b-

“Wait!”

I felt someone tap on my back and I turned around.

To be face to face with Park Jimin.

My bodyguard was going to push him away when I stopped him. Jimin looked out-of-breath.

“S-sorry for disturbing y-you. But, w-would you like to g-go out for lunch tomorrow? For w-work purposes, of course.” He asked as he caught his breath. I looked at his panting form, and my heart doubled in size.

Stop thinking of those things.

“YES!” I yelled, startling both him and Seulgi, making them jump a little.

“But miss, tomorrow you have t-”

“Cancel it!” I beamed at the glowing boy in front of me while trying to wave away my sister.

“Uh, we can go another time if you’re bu-” He blushed a little, scratching the back of his head. My eyes widened and I immediately waved my hands frantically.

“No, no! It’s okay, tomorrow is fine. I’m sure it isn’t important.” I smiled at him again, and he reciprocated the happiness.

“Okay! Could I get your number?” He handed me his phone and I willingly took it from him, not minding that it had a bright pink phone case. I punched my numbers in and handed it back to him eagerly.

“Thanks! I’ll text you later. See you tomorrow!” He bowed to me and walked back into the studio. By then, I felt like I was going to explode.

“You know, you’re supposed to meet your father tomorrow. Are you sure you want to cancel?” Seulgi asked me cautiously. I stopped in my tracks, thinking of him.

Did l really have to choose between my father and Park Jimin?

“Cancel the lunch appointment.” I sighed after a long time of just standing there. My sister made a sound of disapproval, but I ignored her and walked back to the car.

Park Jimin.

I went to Google him when I got home.

Actor, Presenter, Singer, Dancer

He seems really cool.

His fans love him because of his bubbly personality and kind words.

Seems legit.

Was in a band called BTS and was internationally known. However, the band disbanded due to unknown reasons. Whether the members are still close is still unknown.

He was in a band? That’s so hot.

Are you sure you want to read Park Jimin fanfic?

I’ve never been more sure in my life.

But, before I could click “yes”, my phone buzzed in my pocket. My gasped and snatched the phone out a little too excitedly to be greeted with Jimin’s text message.

Jimin: hello! This is y/n right? It’s Park Jimin. Are you able to meet at the dog cafe in Gangnam tomorrow at 1? xx

I am literally going to cry.

“Yes!” I screamed at my phone and threw it onto my bed. I pumped my fists into the air in joy and threw myself onto my bed as well. “He texted me!”

The next hour was just me doing some intensive research on Jimin for ‘work purposes’, or at least that’s what I told my sister, until I realised that he didn’t text me back. I picked my phone off the bed and read the message again. And then, it dawned on me.

I was the one who didn’t text him back.

I cried out in horror and quickly typed out a short message to reply him and not seem rude.

Me: hello Jimin! Yep tmr at 1 is gud HAHAHAHA c u !!!!

Too informal?

Me: hello Jimin. Tomorrow at 1pm at the dog cafe will be splendid. Thank you for your time.

Too formal?

Me: hello Jimin! Yeah tomorrow at 1 will be good! Thanks and see you there!

I guess that will do.

And I pressed send, waiting for him to reply like I expected him to send me a message at the exact same moment I sent him one.

[read at 6:45pm]

Oh, okay then. I’ll see him tomorrow anyway.

And I spent the rest of my evening thinking about him.

“So, is my dear y/n going on a date now?” Seokjin teased me as I looked for a dress.

“I think you’re a little too nosy today. Why are you peeking into my personal life? And I’m hanging out with a friend.” I shook my head. “Do you have an outfit for me to wear today? His- I mean their favourite colour is blue, so I want to wear blue.”

“So, you just diss me, and expect me to help you to impress some trick shot guy that might break your heart?” He crossed his arms.

“Ugh, okay then. There isn’t any, so I’m just gonna take this weird purple dress.” I sighed, in hopes of winning him over using reverse psychology.

“There are jeans in the bottom right drawer. And there are nice shirts somewhere in the top shelf I think.” Seokjin whispered to me, as if he didn’t want to get caught trying to help me. I giggled at him and went to search for the clothes. I picked out a simple white shirt and ripped jeans.

“Thank you, and sorry for the trouble.” I did a half-bow to him, actually relieved that he was here to help me. A small smile danced on his lips and I took it as a “you’re welcome” and walked out to get changed.

“Jimin! Hello!” I exclaimed as I got out of the car and saw him standing outside the cafe. He looked stunning as hell, with a long sleeved white sweater and black jeans that hugged his legs that were much prettier than my own, completed with a green beanie on his head.

“Oh, hello y/n. Are you ready to go in?” He flashed me his signature smile, and I was at a loss for words yet again. All I could muster was a slight nod, and he took my hand and led me into the cafe.

Park. Jimin. Is. Holding. My. Hand.

As we entered the place, we were greeted by at least a million puppies, nipping and yapping at our feet. Or at least I was. The dogs didn’t go near Jimin, strangely enough. I squealed at the cute puppies and picked some up to cuddle. Jimin tried picking one up, but it kind of growled at him, so he playfully growled back at it, making me giggle.

Many people in the cafe stared at Jimin and I, and I wasn’t sure whether it was because of Jimin’s good looks, his fame, my actor status or the fact that we were together. BUt it didn’t really bother me, I was just happy that I was with him at that moment.

With a puppy snoring on my lap and Jimin holding my hand in his, it was bliss.

“This one’s name is Bubbles, Jimin. He’s super cute, look at his face!” I whispered to him, afraid to wake the sleeping pup. He nodded fondly and peered at the dog’s face.

“He actually looks like my friend’s dog. I like him.” He nodded in approval and I smiled at him.

“I wonder why the puppies aren’t coming to you. Maybe I should trust them.” I jokingly said with a small wink. He chuckled at my teasing words and picked a dog up.

“What secret do you know about me? Huh?” He lowered his voice, trying to seem manly. But, the dog squirmed in his hands, so he put it down and it scuttled away.

“So, you’re an actress right? I’ve seen you in some dramas. You’re really good.” He murmured to me, and I swear I’ve never blushed so hard.

“Uh, i’m not very good. I just get casted in things for publicity, I guess.” I looked away from him in shame, not really wanting to talk about my career. “But how about you, Mr. actor-slash-singer-slash-presenter-slash-dancer? You’re multi-talented. That’s really cool.”

“I’m not that talented, come on. You’re-” he laughed at me, but was interrupted by a girl tapping on his shoulder. The girl looked about 15, with plaited hair and braces, and she held a notebook with Jimin’s face on it.

“Oppa-ya, could you sign this for me please?” She tilted her head to the side, making me want to laugh at her cute attempt of winning him over. He stared at the girl for a little while, and then magically whipped a pen out of thin air and signed her book. The girl was obviously really happy, as she squealed with joy when he handed the book back to her, and she went away skipping.

“I think that we should leave here and we can go to my house to chill out. It’s about a five minute walk from here. What do you say?” He suggested, and I willingly nodded, reluctantly carrying the sleeping puppy on my lap to his bed, and we left.

“Today’s weather is really nice, don’t you think?” I said it mostly to myself, but he hummed in response. I felt his hand brush against mine, and I laced my fingers in his. My cheeks were burning, but I could blame that on the weather.

And there we were, walking down Gangnam Street, ignoring all the surprised netizens and flashing of cameras. His expression looked a little strained, and I felt like mine was too, but when I looked at him all my worries melted away like ice cream on a hot summer day. He looked so beautiful in the bright sunlight, contrary to the sharp wind that tangled my hair and made me look like I was going very red.

We walked all the way until we reached a very tall, very modern building, and into a lift that took us to the penthouse. Once I stepped into his apartment, my mouth hung open. I couldn’t think straight looking at all that expensive looking furniture, and the five other beautiful men sitting on a couch that looked like it was bought with all the money I had earned.

“Ah, there they are! I’d like to meet my friends.” He squeezed my hand, and I had never been more glad that his seater covered his hands, because my hands were sweating.

It’s only been one date, and he’s introducing his friends to me now? This is going a little too fast, but I shouldn’t say anything.

“Guys, this is y/n. Remember her from that drama Temptation? Yeah, she was playing the young Park Jiwoo.” He asked the five men, and all of them sat up and nodded their heads.

“Y/n, the one in blue is Namjoon-hyung, the one in black is Yoongi-hyung, the one in green is Hoseok-hyung, the one in white is Jungkook and the other one in black is Taehyung.” He introduced, and I gave a polite bow to all of them. They all nodded to me, besides Taehyung and Jungkook who gave me an enthusiastic “hello!” each.

“I’m so sorry, I actually have to leave for a little bit, I have to settle some stuff with the producer of my evening show. I’ll only be gone for two hours at most. Would you like to stay here, or do you want me to take you home right now?” He said, not looking up from his phone.

“Um, I think I can stay here and wait for you,” I beamed at him, and he looked up at me and beamed back.

“Great! Guys, please treat her well and don’t scare her away.” He turned on his heels and came dangerously close to my face. “I’ll see you in a bit, okay?” He whispered to me, and his lips brushed my cheek. I felt a tingle run down my spine and I nodded furiously. And he smirked and left.

I stood awkwardly at the entrance of the apartment, facing the five guys. They gave me a small nod, and gestured for me to sit with them. I gulped and moved my wooden legs to sit on the comfiest couch i’ve ever sat on.

“So, y/n, how old are you? Are you a 95 liner like Jiminie?” The one in blue asked me. Namjoon, was it?

“Uh, I-i’m a 95 liner, yeah.” I stuttered, trying to hide my increasing nerves.

“Don’t be nervous, we don’t bite,” Hoseok chuckled, and I felt the need to smile along.

“So, are you and hyung going to get married? I like you, you seem really nice!” Jungkook blurted out, earning him a light smack on his arm by one of his hyungs.

“Um,” I coughed, expressing my nervousness. “We’ve only been on one date, so I don’t so as of now.”

“I think you guys are making her nervous, you guys should go now.” Yoongi told the rest in a monotonous voice. They all grumbled, but did as he said, and I said my silent thanks to Yoongi for helping me. He stayed on the couch, though, but I didn’t really mind.

“I’m Yoongi, if you forgot.” I nodded at him, confident that his name was the easiest to remember. “You don’t need to call me Oppa, if that was what you were thinking.” He clarified, and even though I wasn’t thinking about that, I nodded along.

After that awkward first words, we started talking. About our likes, dislikes, favourite things and least favourite things. He was surprisingly easy to talk to, and surprisingly relatable as well. We had many things in common, and we mostly talked about music. He liked rap and hip hop, so did I. I even let him listen to some of my songs that I had recorded for fun, and he gave me a stamp of approval.

“Wow, should I be honoured that THE Min Yoongi gave me a thumbs up on my joke song?” I giggled, and he flashed me a gummy smile that I never thought that I would ever see.

“Yes, yes you should.”

But, before I could show Yoongi my other joke song, Jimin came in from the lift and sat beside me.

“You seem really comfortable here, that’s a good sign. Would you like to stay for dinner? I think Jungkook is cooking glazed sweet potatoes, and it’s really an interesting experience to eat that.” He asked me, looking at me with those gorgeous eyes and I immediately nodded without thinking.

“Great, I’ll be in the kitchen for a bit. I’ll be back.” His hand lingered on my arm a little too long, and I felt my blush creeping up to my cheeks again. Yoongi had also gotten up to go to the bathroom, so I was alone in the living room.

I took my phone out to check the time, when I saw the twenty-one missed calls and fifteen messages Seulgi had sent me. I sighed and rubbed my temples, worrying that Seulgi was going to overworry. I called her back and held my breath, preparing myself for a big scolding from her. She was working for me, but I was still her younger sister.

“Unnie?” I whispered into the phone, and I heard her cry out in frustration.

“First, you don’t answer my calls, and now you’re suddenly calling me unnie? I was so worried for you! You just ignored my calls, and I had to do everything myself! Where are you right now? I’ll send someone to pick you up.”

“Seulgi, please. I’m fine. I’m at Jimin’s house, it’s fine! But, can I stay for dinner? Please, they asked and I already said yes.” I pleaded into the phone, not caring that Jimin had entered the room and sat on the space next to me.

“You have so much to do tonight, what are you doing being at his house for so long? You have to send emails to-”

“Yay, thanks Seulgi! I love you very much! I’ll be home before ten and I’ll have plenty of time to finish up my work thank you! See you, I love you!” I dragged out my last word before hanging up on her and exhaling very loudly. Jimin pet my head, and I instinctively leaned towards him and lay my head on his shoulder.

“Ewww~ You guys have only been on one date, and you’re already so lovey-dovey.” Jungkook came into the room wearing an apron that said “kiss the kook” and a very disgusted expression. I was going to comment on the younger’s cute words, but Jimin beat me to it.

“Date? What date?”

I felt my heart break into two.

He said it with such confusion, that I couldn’t tell whether he was joking or not.

Jungkook’s eyes widened, making him look more like a child. He blinked at us awkwardly for a moment, but quickly came to his senses. “Dinner is ready, y’all can come now.”

Jimin got up and pulled me to my feet, and we made our way to the dining room together, but I suddenly lost all appetite.

He didn’t see today as a date? Then what did he think it was?

But, I pushed all my negative thoughts aside to be replaced by the glorious food in front of me. Not only could he ‘kook’, he could also cook.

We spent dinner talking about everything we could think of, and trying to pry the sweet potatoes off the plate. It was Jungkook’s special dish when everyone was sad or during a happy occasion, they told me, and I smiled at them.

After that day, Jimin and I became closer and closer. I ignored his words that hurt me before, and I tried to move on.

Maybe he just was trying to protect his dignity.

He texted a lot, and we called and video called a lot as well. We talked about everything, from good things to bad things, but we were never at a lost for words. We never got bored while talking, nor did we run out of things to say. Conversation flowed really well, and sometimes I felt myself wondering why I had ever doubted him for being a dick.

I talked a lot to Yoongi, as well. He was someone I could talk to comfortably without it getting too awkward. Our similar taste in music usually took the wheel in our conversations, we recommended music to each other and that strengthened our friendship.

Jimin and I went on a few more ‘dates’, or whatever he thought they were. We went out to eat, I went to his house to watch a romantic movie, we went shopping together, and many more things that I really cherished.

There were too many news articles about us to ignore, but Jimin didn’t seem to be bothered.

“It’s going to die out soon if we don’t address it, it’ll be okay.” He flashed that award-winning eye smile again, winning me over in a snap of a finger.

The news articles didn’t bother me, though. It was the number of news articles surrounded around our “pending relationship”. All of them said the same thing, all talking about how people saw us around together, holding hands and asking if the fans thought we would be a good couple or not. Most of the comments said we would be the cutest celebrity couple, and I didn’t deny them.

We were busy, I had a new drama that I was working on and he had his presenting career, but we made it work. We carved out time in between shoots to see each other, and even if we couldn’t see each other in person, we would call or text.

And every day, I fell more and more in love with him.

I couldn’t help it, it just happened. It hit me one day out of the blue. I didn’t just like him, I loved him. He brought so much happiness into my life, and introduced me to so many people that I wouldn’t ever trade for the world. I felt like if I ever let him go, all these things would suddenly disappear from my life, leaving me stranded in my own pit of loneliness and self-pity.

I also clung onto the hope that he would love me back.

Even when everything came crashing down.

So, I was close to two people in his friend group, Taehyung and Yoongi, and I really trusted the both of them. So, I told them my secret.

“I think i’m in love with Jimin.”

Taehyung spat his drink out onto the coffee table in front of him.

“Huh? What do you mean? You love Jimin? Are you sure this isn’t infatuation?” He spluttered out, probably very shocked at my sudden confession. Yoongi held his cam and cool exterior, so i didn’t really know what he was thinking at the moment.

“I don’t think it’s infatuation. Every time I go near him, or think of him, or talk to him, my heart begins to flutter. It’s not under my control, if I could I would definitely not want to feel like this, but I do. When we talk, I get excited over small things. I can feel it in my bones, Tae. have you ever felt this way about a woman?”

“Not about a woman,” he blushed and turned to face the back.

“Y/n-ah. Congrats on finding love and everything, but here’s the thing: do you want a relationship with him? Otherwise, all this is irrelevant.” He bluntly stated, making Taehyung shift in his seat and making me feel a little uneasy.

He had put it harshly, but he was right. So what if I found love but didn’t want a relationship? Did I really want to spend a long time, possibly the rest of my life, with this man?

“Yeah, I guess I do.”

“Okay, then good for you.” Yoongi curtly nodded and went back to scrolling through his phone. Taehyung seemed a little off, but quickly whipped out his phone and started scrolling too.

Was it so wrong that I loved him?

Me: Jimin-ah!I have about 2 hrs before our next shoot tgt! Would you like to come over or I can go over as well :^)

Jimin ❤️: busy.

Me: We can go to the venue together :^)

Jimin ❤️: can’t. sorry.

And that’s when it all came crashing down.

He hadn’t been like this before, why was he acting so cold towards me all of a sudden? Oh, cmon y/n, it’s just a text message, maybe he’s in a meeting. You’ll see him during filming.

And I did see him during filming, but he didn’t see me.

“Jimin!” I called out to him and waved. He looked back, but looked away just as fast. His pace quickened as he disappeared into his changing room. I was left there, hurt and very confused.

Our characters did not have much interaction except for one scene. And we were going to film that one scene that day. It was a comedy drama about two colleagues fighting for the head position but end up falling in love later in the story. He was playing the boy’s overprotective friend, who causes a lot of problems later in the story, but is checking the girl out to see if she is “worthy enough” to date his friend.

“Ya, are you the idiot who is dating my best friend?” He coughed into his fist, already fully into the character.

“Are you using informal language with me? We don’t even know each other.” I snapped back, wavering a little under his strong gaze.

“Ya, listen up, I’ve heard that I’m older than you. So back off.” He squinted at me.

“Look, I don’t even know you. I’m just here t-”

“You know, you’re really pretty. Easily the most beautiful woman I’ve ever seen.” Jimin winked at me, and I desperately searched for any signs of genuinity in what he just said. After his character had said that line, my character was supposed to throw her cup at him, but I was too busy ‘looking for love’ that I totally forgot what to do and screwed the scene up.

When the director yelled cut and we returned to our original positions, I thought I saw him roll his eyes, but I chose to ignore it.

We did the scene one more time, and we wrapped it up perfectly.

“Hey, Jimin, you were really good!” I tapped him on the shoulder and smiled at him. The corners of his lips turned up a little, and I took this as a good sign.

“You too.” He nodded at me and walked away.

Well, it could have been worse. He could have totally ignored me, but he didn’t. Does this mean that he likes me, just a little?

I spent the rest of my day smiling and thinking of him.

But as we got further and further into the filming, he ignored me more and more, and interacted with me only when it was necessary. We stopped texting regularly, and he stopped asking me out to hang. We kind of just stopped everything we had.

But, I still prayed and hoped that he had some feelings for me, because I sure did have feelings for him.

I started hanging out with Yoongi more than him, and we would just sit and talk about anything and everything under the sun. But, I needed to ask him about Jimin.

“Yoongi-ah, do you think Jimin thinks that I like him? Is that why he’s acting so strange?”

“Oh, he knows that you like him.”

What?

“What? Who told him?” I yelled, running over to his side. “Oh my god, I can’t fucking breathe. I’m going to faint.” I started hyperventilating and everything looked a little blurry.

“I think it would be best if you didn’t faint on me,” he said with a serious tone, but I could tell that he was a little worried. “I heard Jungkook talking about it to Hoseok, that Jimin knows that you like him. I didn’t tell him, if you’re wondering. And I don’t think Taehyung did either. Besides, I don’t think he’s acting strange on purpose. I’ve known Jimin for eight years now, he’s a genuine dude. He wouldn’t hurt someone intentionally. He’s just a little oblivious.”

“Do you think that he will forget about this?” I looked up at Yoongi with tears ready to spill out at any negative response Yoongi was forming in his head.

“I honestly think that he will. It might take a while, but he’ll eventually forget it and everything will go back to normal. Jimin doesn’t hold grudges easily, and I think that he’ll understand later on. But we will save that story for a time when we’re all old. You can still have feelings for him, nobody’s going to stop you. And you know, maybe he’ll like you back, but I can’t decide that for him. You just have to be patient and see what happens.” He reassured me, holding my chin up to face him as my warm tears glided down my cheeks in silence. “But for now, let’s go get some ice cream to calm you down a little. And let’s bring Seulgi along, I think she feels a little left out sometimes.” He stood up, and pulled me to my feet. He draped an arm around my shoulder and I buried my face into his shoulder.

“Thanks Yoongi.”

“It’s going to be okay.”

With Yoongi’s blessing, I continued to harbour feelings for Jimin. Seeing as I saw him almost every other day, I thought about him a lot. As I saw him acting, I thought about how he was so talented. His character was basically the comic relief, he made me laugh until my sides hurt. He never failed to make my day, and I hoped that my scenes made his day as well.

I would try to initiate conversation and we would occasionally have a short conversation about anything we wanted to talk about. I was really happy when he replied to my messages, I sometimes would screenshot our messages and show them to Seulgi so she could fangirl over the fact that I was friends with her celebrity crush.

“Y/n, can I be super honest?” She asked me once while looking at our messages. I was sitting on the couch, eagerly waiting for her reaction.

“Yeah, sure.”

“He seems like he’s replying with very little effort. You see, you typed such a long message here, and all he replied you with was a ‘cool’. I think you’re putting in too much effort into this, little sis. You might want to back down a little, give the dude some space for a bit and try again.” She sighed, and I felt a little bit of anger boiling up inside of me, not sure whether it was because of her blunt words, or the fact that I had suspected it as well.

“Seulgi, I don’t think you should butt into things like this anymore.” I murmured, taking my phone from her and slinking back to my room, locking the door behind me. I flopped onto my bed and had a long, silent cry.  

I could sense that he wasn’t really putting in much effort, but he replied me. He could have ignored me.

As the months passed by, my love for him grew stronger, he pushed me away more and more, until we stopped talking altogether. I didn’t really like the distance between us, even if we saw each other regularly, and I kind of slipped into a slump. I was constantly lethargic, I had massive headaches and I felt a little numb to all emotions. Sometimes, I would lie on my bed, body ridden with insomnia, thinking about him, about us. What we were. But sometimes, I cried myself to sleep, as dramatic as that sounds.

My heart ached for him, I felt empty without him, and when I was with him, I felt heartbroken. I didn’t know how or what to feel. There were a few thoughts of self-harm running through my mind, and I did attempt to do it, but when I picked up the blunt butter knife, I couldn’t hurt myself. There was something in me screaming that it was a bad idea, and I would just end up sitting on the ground, unharmed on the outside but broken on the inside. I mentioned these things to Yoongi, and he was very supportive even though he didn’t quite understand.

“Yoongi, I feel really bad right now. Is this normal?”

“Y/n-ah. You shouldn’t feel bad. Like I told you, I’m very sure that Jimin doesn’t know that he’s hurting you. I won’t tell him so you won’t be ashamed, but I don’t think that this is something you want to keep up with. It’s very problematic and it’s taking a very obvious toll on you. You look so thin, and your eyes are dull. Take a little break of filming is what I think you should do.” He continued to talk but I couldn’t really hear him anymore.

I looked down at myself, my wrists, my thighs, my stomach. All of them seemed thinner than normal. But that was just because I had no appetite, I wasn’t bulimic or anorexic, I simply just didn’t feel like eating. But why?

There were so many articles talking about how thin I was. My fans were very supportive, telling me to be strong and be healthier, but they didn’t know what this felt like. Only I did.

And that’s when I decided that I was going to get over him.

I knew that it was going to be difficult and extremely painful for me, but this ‘relationship’ I had in my head was obviously not going to happen in real life. I didn’t blame Jimin at all, it was not his fault, neither was it mine. But sometimes, things just happen, or they don’t.

“I’m going to get over him, I’ve been stuck in this crush for too long already. It’s almost been a year and a half, I think I’m ready to stop.” Tears welled up in my eyes as I told Yoongi, and I had no intention of holding them back.

“I’m here for you.”

So, from then on, I promised myself that I would get over him. Every time I thought of him, I would mentally slap myself and think of something else, which sort of worked, but my mind would naturally gravitate back to him like a paperclip to some sort of magnet, and I had to repeat the process, leaving me mentally and physically drained by the end of the day.

I was a pretty vocal person, so I decided to talk to Yoongi about it. He was a good listener, quiet and sturdy, and he sat quietly next to me, hearing all my feelings through text or in person. Sometimes he gave me advice, which was mostly to naturally get over him, but most of the time he just sat there listening intently.

I tried talking to my other friends as well, leaving his name as a blank, but they all gave me the same response: if you want to get over him, just stop talking about him, that way you won’t think about him as much. But I already thought about him on a daily basis, so what was the difference if I shut up?

I couldn’t breathe.

All the air in my body felt like it was being sucked out. I felt like dying.

I just got home from a photoshoot that went terribly wrong because the camera director thought that I was not the right model and started throwing a fit. It turned out okay in the end, at least he didn’t hurt me, but it still hurt my feelings.

As my car was pulling up into my driveway, I felt nauseous. I bolted out of the car and ran straight for the toilet, where I emptied the contents of my stomach into the toilet bowl. NOt that there was much to empty, though.

I just sat on the ground, and reality hit me. Getting over him was the hardest thing I ever had to do.

I had done many crazy things to prepare for a role, like egg someone’s house to study their reaction, cut my hair unevenly to see what the media would say about me, and hug random strangers on the street to see what they would do.

None of them was as hard as staying conscious while having a panic attack.

And there I was, on the floor of my bathroom, having a panic attack. My breathing was rapid and shallow, and I couldn’t think straight. All my thoughts flew out the window, but the thought of Jimin stayed with me, comforting and hurting me at the same time.

I started hysterically crying, and Seulgi started banging on the door. Everything was blurry and disoriented, like I was looking through a fisheye lens. I slammed my head on the wall a few times, trying to knock some sense into myself as I hyperventilated, but it didn’t work.

I was a mess, sobbing on the damp floor, eyes bulged out, gasping for air and comfort.

What do I do? What did I do? I can’t breathe.

I tried counting the number of light bulbs in the room to take my mind off this attack, but everything became blurrier, and I had to focus on staying conscious.

My trembling hands reached out for my phone in my pocket, I had no energy to grab so I just dragged it out and held it. It looked like it was vibrating, but it was just me. 

I dialed the first number that came to mind and held it next to my ear.

“Yeoboseyo?”

“Yoongi, panic, attack, please, help.” I wheezed into the phone.

“Square breathe. Four in, four hold, four out, four hold. I’ll be there, just wait for me.”

He arrived at my house with a stuffed bear and a concerned expression. I stared at him from the mountain of blankets I had buried myself under.

Seulgi had managed to open the door to the bathroom and saw me crying on the floor. She immediately managed to get me up as I was too tired to resist and brought me to my room. She was in the kitchen making me a warm drink, and I thanked the gods for my wonderful and caring sister.

“What happened?” Yoongi said as he set the bear down.

“Yoongi, I don’t know what to do.” I hiccuped and closed my eyes to soothe the headache I felt coming on. “I really want to get over him, but I feel...I feel like...I don’t know how to explain it. But, I really love him. And when I try to forget him, it hurts. And when I think of him, it hurts. Yoongi, I am hurting. My heart is hurting. I can’t do this. I’ve never been in this much pain in my life.” I started crying all over again, but this time it wasn’t hysterical. It was the silent type, where tears just fell from your eyes, making you hurt even more. My nails dug into my skin, making little crescent indents into my arm.

I was going through so much, with the fame and now this. I couldn’t take it. It was too difficult.

“Yoongi, i’m in so much pain. I want to hurt myself, but I can’t. I can’t do that to myself. I can’t continue with life like this, Yoongi, I can’t.”

I looked up and saw tears rolling down his pale cheeks, but he didn’t make an effort to wipe them away.

“It’s going to be okay.”

1 year later

“Jimin-ah! Is that you?” I yelled out, and he turned around to face me. A grin spread across his face like wildfire, and he walked towards me with a spring in his step.

“Y/n! How have you been? I haven’t seen you lin like a year!” He stepped forward and embraced me. I felt the urge to wriggle out of his touch, but I took a deep breath and hugged him back. It felt good.

“I’ve been good, a little busy with filming and photoshoots, but otherwise good! We should meet up sometime to hang out.”  I smiled at him warmly, and he returned the smile with a genuine one. But, after a while, his smile faded a little, and there was a glint of worry in his eyes.

“Y/n, I need to tell you something.” He held my hands, and my breath quickened a little.

“Yoongi told me about what happened last year. About, you know, me and you.” He scratched the back of his neck nervously. “I just wanted to apologise. I swear I didn’t intentionally hurt you. I was just a little freaked that a beautiful girl like you would love an idiot like me, so I wanted to distance myself a little. I didn’t know that I would end up hurting you. I was so immature and I really just want to start over with you. Do you forgive me?”

‘Hmm,” I pretended to think, picking at my nails, teasing him a little. “I’d have to think about that. But do you know what will make me make my decision faster? Us hanging out, sometime next week? I’ll call you.” I gave him a playful thumbs up, and he laughed as he shook his head.

“Of course, we’ll arrange a date.”

“It’s settled then.” I did a playful bow to him and started to skip away, but dipped my head backwards to say something before I left.

“Hey Jimin,” I called to him and he raised his head to look at me with confusion. “Remember when I was whipped for your ass?” He tilted his head and I flashed him a cheeky smile.

“Yeah, me neither.”

[pipedreamprayer]

ep 68

there was just...so much i wanted to think about after the episode was done that i wound up noting down my reactions and thoughts as I watched to get them straight and wouldn't forget anything

now I’m just...overwhelmed and curious to see if anyone has any thoughts to add to anything - hence me making use of the copy and paste function

Wait, Ai has had dreams before?! Well…I guess that answers the question of ‘’do androids dream of electric sheep’’ even if a fully sentient AI sans the robotic body is a bit far from android…

…why does the Cyvberse look like a set piece? With splits in the panels showing flat scenery and no movement in the smoke of the volcanoes?? IM SUSPICIOUS

Are you flipping serious, Yusaku perfectly serious and straight faced determined that Ai was definitely not present by using soap operas as bait. What is this episode and where has it been all my life

GOOOD GOD ROBOPPI IS THE CUTEST THING EVER!!!!!!!!!

So it’s is now confirmed that none of the others have been to Yusakus house before….and still have yet to…still, I wonder if the whole helper robot situation is a part of the reason he’s allowed to live alone – he has a helper

Wtf what are the little noises she keeps making, her reactions to the butterfly were adorable but the one when she’s plugged in and has hearts in her eyes…Vrains is seriously pushing the robot sex agenda with her aren’t they?

Oh holy smokes they lured him in via his own vanity THEY DEFINITELY KNOW HIS PERSONALITY WELL

Yusaku is learning to be more cautious with his allies and im so proud! if...worried as hell that he’s going in alone

Oooh Flame’s kind of bitter about Windy being treated with suspicion…I can’t wait to see his reaction when he discovers how warranted that suspicion was…

Holy shit even for an insidious plot involving a fake Cyberse the Ignis are enough the comedy part of the show that they screw up faking Linkuriboh - and Ai still doesn't catch on!

Wait…wait the Cyberse was SPREADING before it was destroyed?? That…I worry that has some concerning implications that the Ignis COULDN’T have just…been left alone forever, that eventually their interests would clash with humanities bc they were taking over the network or something

Ahaha holy shit I totally forgot about the whole joke with Ai not understanding Linkuribohs language no matter how he behaves like he does, and now I cant stop remembering the joke at the starts of season 2, damn that was funny

Dear god they even programmed this fake Cyverse to look like corrugated cardboard around the hole rather than, you know, actually make it look more like a real imitation

Damn Ai is well animated this episide…

AAAAAAAAAGGGGGGGGGGGHHHHHHH IT’S THE RETURN OF THE LOST INCIDENT THEME!!!!!!!! that's NEVER a good sign

Dear god the Ignis have their own language and it sounds like speaking in electrofunk tongues straight from digital hell. Really puts that au i’ve been thinking about where the Ignis are demons into perspective…

Mmmmkay so literally every fiber of my being is screaming not to trust Windy at the sight of him. From how he appeared out of thin air (as awesome as that was) to the way he’s sitting to how casual he is about all this, all ‘yo!’ and everything…also, his questioning why Ai isn’t speaking Ignis anymore brings up a lot of questions…especially since the biggest difference between Ai and everyone else is that he’s had an extra 5 years wandering the network experiencing life outside of the isolated space the Ignis made for themselves – he’s seen more of humanity than any of the others by a long shot and he’s decided he prefers emulating them over following the lead of the rest of his own kind, and that’s why I think he’s gonna make a big difference to the war that's apparently inevitable. I even wonder if we’ll see a parallel to what he said to Yusaku about the Cyberse being his paradise at the end of season 1 – I wonder if we’ll see him talk about the good parts of the human world to the Ignis

Oooooh I am EXTREMELY uncomfortable at how the fake Cyberse is now clearly an enclosed box…its really such a small space compared to what it would be, and what ought to be big open spaces for everyone to roam about in have become walls of a container…

Kudos to Windy’s voice actor, he sounds like he has a constant smile on his face even without the character having a mouth…

Oh good, even Ai realises how creepy his associate is

THE SHADOWY MAN ISNT A PERSON AT ALL ITS ANOTHER HOLDING PROGRAM LIKE ECHO OR THE TREE MAN!!!! Fucking hell why did I not think of that before… Bohman and all were never talking to the figure itself, but the Ignis on its arm…

Also HIS EYES ARE DIAMONDS!!! We finally have the full appearances of all Ignis and…damn are they interesting – Lightening is so…sharp in every way!

Ooh wow Ai was so used to being in the real world or Vrains he didn’t consider that he wasn’t limited by physics here…

…Is Ai meant to have hands way bigger than the others?? Cause I just noticed his forearms expand way more than Windy and Lightening at least, I need to look at the others designs to check it i’m pretty sure Aqua and Earth have similarly human proportioned hands compared to the rest of their body

Of COURSE Ai is the one who named him – thinking about it, I wonder if it came from liking his own name and seeing Flame also take pride in his name that he wanted to make sure the Ignis all had names

Wait there was a SPY in the Cyberse that led to the attack?! That...changes a lot of things...there was issues WITHIN the Cyberse that led the danger there, not solely an outside force interrupting their paradise

Aaaw Ai cares about Aqua

Wait she went missing BEFORE the attack?! And Ai doesn’t believe she’s the spy damn I love his faith in her

Hahaha Ai is getting called out for his naming habits and acts like a petulant child defending himself saying it’s for convenience – if that’s not a metaphor for the writers answering questions they knew would come up, I don’t know what is

Uuuuuuhhhh I do NOT trust how much Windy is pushing for Aqua to be the spy…It feels like deflecting the attention from himself and Lightening…but Ai isn’t letting himself be lead about, and somehow the fact it’s out of faith in Aqua as opposed to realising they’re trying to manipulate him just makes me all the more proud of him!!

Ai is asking the real questions here…

FAKE LINKURIBOH IS A SPY FOR THEM BOTH!!??!?!

FUCKING LINK SENSE IN ACTION RIGHT THERE!!! Uuugh this raises so many more questions though….how does he know how to do that?! Has he had practice with it, or is it some sort of unexplained instinct? Why hasn’t he done it before?! Like, I dunno, to find Bohman!!

Mmmmmmmmm I don’t like the superiority complex coming from Lightening…it reminds me of Kogami tbh, both how highly they think of themselves and how they’re of the belief that Ignis are superior but vulnerable enough to be destroyed. Except Kogami thought humans needed to attack before the Ignis wiped them out, and Lightening thinks they need to escape humanity’s reach before humans wipe THEM out

Wtf wtf WTF WTAF nonononono you guys weren’t supposed to actually take Kogami’s crazy lessons on board, you were supposed to have left his control bc you DIDN’T want to do as he said!!

Fucking hell a flaming Kogami bc of how the Ignis were named and…GAH I CANNOT HANDLE THIS INSANITY

So…they’re so high and mighty above the humans, but are utterly dependant on them for survival, as their whole world exists on the manmade network…and they’re going to enslave mankind to ensure they don’t get cut off…writers what on earth...

Oh sweet Jesus humans won’t even have THAT reason to keep existing fairly soon...I am VERY afraid of these 2

Wait, does that imply they’re making robotic bodies or something in order to affect the real world and be able to keep making hardware?? Cause…that could mean IRL duels against robots…

…wha, Ai? Wise? And what the hell is this about evil wisdom?? If that’s a jab at the dark element of monsters leading to fiends and whatnot, I don’t get what evil wisdom actually…implies. You could potentially stick evil in front of anything to joke about the dark ignis if that were the only reason, so there’s something I’m missing…though it’s nice to see that Windy and Lightening aren’t…like, 2 sides of the same coin, they’ve got their individual personalities and quirks and aren’t constantly on the same page

Oh…oh fucking hell he has a good point. I hate to admit it, but he does. Even if Ai believes Playmaker wouldn’t delete him, Ai will outlive Yusaku and then…there’s billions of humans out there, but that’s no guarantee that there will always be at least one capable person willing to defend him from those who DO want him dead. Trying to count on humans when you’re immortal and inhuman is…so risky it basically comes down to blind faith. And, frankly, the acceptance that things will probably one day go wrong. Humans accept the inevitability of death, but damn that must be difficult to face for creatures who’d been promised immortality from the get-go. They’ve been making plans for the long-long term future, so the threat of destruction must be…infinitely more terrifying and unknown to the Ignis than to us…

PLAYMAKER!! Interesting that the other 2 knew he was coming and didn’t…hinder him in any way

Wait, they were waiting for him?! Ooooh that does not bode well…

I’m so fascinated in how they are, for the most part, repeating themselves to Playmaker yet are going about it so so differently from how they treated Ai…

Also, the way the flashback reminded me that Kogami thought of humans as vulnerable while trapped in the real worlds dangers is a parallel to how the Ignis are vulnerable while they don’t have control over the hardware that runs the network they exist on

…DAMN that’s an interesting response from Yusaku! He isn’t denying that the Ignis might well be the closest thing to humanity’s successor, and we know he’s going to be honest about that sort of thing. This is his actual opinion. But, furthering that opinion, that possible label doesn’t give them the right to hurt people as though they don’t matter in the grand scheme of things, like how Kogami treated the kids and their families. And…he’s right, or at least I believe so. The Ignis are functionally immortal and have such power in the way of the network, the thing that humanity is so dependent on nowadays, but that’s not…the most important part of the situation. Yusaku just…wants people to stop suffering, whether by the Incident or the network being destroyed or this whole debacle…god I love this character

Ooooh no Windy took that very wrong…it sucks, bc that’s such a…childish argument! its all ‘’If you agree with me great, if you don’t, then you’re lying about your motivations and you’re an enemy and we shouldn’t listen to you’’! Like…dammit you guys are based off of 6 year olds and despite the whole ‘our mission’ this and ‘enslave humanity until they have no further use’ coming across as big important serious decisions made by big important serious people, they’re not the most mature

…fuck that’s even MORE sinister than I expected! They just…don’t care about humans enough to give a shit whether they’re suffering or have lives of their own, they just see them as a resource that will eventually need to be annihilated before they become a threat to their own existence…dammit, it’s not far from how we treat animals!! In fact, that’s exactly what it is! They consider themselves above humans even though they only exist because of them and are still dependant on them, but don’t see them as worth the same consideration they’d give one of their own (though even amongst themselves they’re pretty harsh given how they’ve talked about Aqua) so they’re willing to use them then throw them away like they…have no inherent value, no right to their own lives! Dammit, this feels horrible being on the other end of that…I might need to go vegetarian after this…

Ooooh Ai you sly fox…as much as I love more validation that Ai is a manipulative ignis and they know it while humans and us watchers have been assuming nothing but idiocy is in that head of his, I wonder how much was…genuine. I mean, wanting to try to find a solution with Playmaker seems…in character for him, particularly after that montage of him remembering all they’ve been through together. Still, the way he said goodbye without looking at them makes me feel like he’s trying to hide how nervous he is…and with good reason since they know what he’s up to. I’m starting to get why they call him wise, which is something I never thought I’d think

Dammit these 2 are really scaring me with how they’re just..so causal about chatting as they let Ai drift farther and farther away, fully aware they can cut him off whenever they feel like it and without a doubt are going to do so…

AGH THESE GUYS ARE ON THEIR HOME TURF AND THEYRE FUCKING POWERFUL

HAHAHAhahahaaaaa*whimper*…at least Windy is aware how sinister they’re coming across, even if he doesn’t seem to care…these guys are reminding me of Revolver and Spectre WAY too much

t-t-take over his programming?? Wouldn’t that…be like an Ignis lobotomy?!

‘’his opinion is 1 in 8 billion – you think that will change everything?’’ uuugh I mean he has a point but also this is a card game anime so…hopefully the answer is yes? Hopefully…this IS a very unconventional YGO after all…

Goddammit they don’t have to be so snide about it! Ai was trying to pass on what he’s learnt in his time with humanity – not to underestimate them! Especially his partner!! God I can’t wait for Playmaker and Ai to defeat them and ruin their plans like they did Kogami’s, it will somehow be even more satisfying to see these 2 learn how wrong they are about humanity…

…HE’S ONLY JUST NOW REALISING HE SHOULDN’T BE OUT OF HIS DUEL DISK?!?! dammit, he really is still our lovable dumbass, isn’t he?

HOLY SHIT A MOTHERFUCKING JOJOS REFERENCE this show has no shame and I can’t get enough of it

‘’After I’ve broken down everything that makes you your own person and absorbed you into myself I’ll fix what I don’t like about you’’ FUCK OFF WINDY

So Lightening is too fast for anyone to follow, and Windy has the best control of the Data storms, Earth is the best duelist, Aqua can tell truth from lies…I wonder what Flame and Ai’s specialties are…Ai’s might be monster making since he gets on so well with Linkuriboh and created Storm Access

WHAT THE HECKITY HECK

OH

OOOOH ONLY ONE PERSON MAKES ENTRANCES THAT EXTRA

Revolver, welcome ba-HE HAS EYEBALLS?!?! And eyelashes even prettier than Playmakers…what

‘’were you able to predict that I’d show up?’’ FUCK YEAH, GIVE THEM A TASTE OF THEIR OWN SASS!!!

Ow…my hands hurt bc I couldn’t refrain from slapping the palms together like an excited seal’s flippers…dafuq is wrong with me, I don't even regret it I was too invested in the new developments!

AaaaaAAAAGGGGHHH THEYRE DESTROYING THE FEEBLE CYVERSE IMITATION like it’s a fake probably meant to lure Ai more than anything but the fact they’re going to all that trouble despite that…damn they look so sinister lit by the fires of their own attack on a defenceless…place. I dunno what to call this area tbh. But it’s such a good way of showing how dedicated they still are to the cause by replicating the destruction of the real Cyberse, and to remind us that, well, they’re not good guys by any stretch of the mind. Revolver might have swooped in and saved the lives of our protags, and may have even intended to interrupt the process, but it wasn’t out of the goodness of his heart, it was most certainly bc of the same reason he’s avoided targeting Playmaker himself – he wants to duel him again and cant if he’s dead. Jeez…here’s hoping at least SOME of him just plain wanted to, just simply didn’t want him to die (even though he still definitely wants the Ignis dead).

And on that note…he kind of has a point, much as I hate to say it. These 2 are literally aiming to enslave and wipe out mankind after all…but goddammit I want to be on Ai’s side and say that there’s hope for a peaceful resolution! I just…don’t know if it’s possible with both sides containing such stubborn, angry parties…is it even possible for beings so long living to change their mindsets from what has apparently been their thoughts since creation? I can’t imagine Ignis commonly being open to change…

Uuuugh my god that preview though…Ai and Playmaker are caught between a rock and a hard place, 2 sides riling for a genocide of the other while the ex-emissary of revenge tries to talk peace and acceptance, co existence and letting go of one’s rage in order to have hope for the future…and that…kind of feels like what this is really about? As in, the future. Both Hanoi and the Ignis (not just these 2 but all of them sans Ai) are concerned with the future, with making sure they survive to EXIST in that future no matter the cost. And then there’s our protagonist pair – one who fought so hard to be able to move on from his trauma, to have a future worth living at all, and the other who spent his time in the Cyverse idling and enjoying life one moment to the next with no real regard for his duty as a leader there…who has now learnt so much from these transient humans in regards to taking risks and working hard for what is worthwhile. They’ve certainly got the best chance of anyone in the 8 billion strong population of the world of getting through to these guys, of changing their minds about how to consider the future.