#These kinds of shots are still tricky and a challenge but they work when they work | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

whump-town · 9 months ago

Note

saw the hotchgon and was craving hotchniss after 🥹🥹🥹

I have seen more than one request for Hotchniss in my inbox and I swear to god I have been thinking about writing it for ages but I am sometimes very slow and very unmotivated... nonetheless, here we are --

Ask

Hotch gets shot, Emily has too much time to worry

Word Count: 5k

This is already on A03 if you'd prefer to read it there!!

Emily’s been conflicted. Uncertain about the one thing that she knows without a question of a doubt. That’s the problem with knowing the right answer but not having the bravery to do the right thing. Is this the right thing? There isn’t even such a thing. No way to know except when it’s somehow obvious, but only when it’s wrong. How would Emily even know if this was right? It only appears right, but mirages exist solely in confoundment, in the vulnerability of need.

Hotch leaves socks everywhere. His nightstand always has at least three glasses of water and various other things stacked atop its small surface – Hotch’s glasses precariously at the top. He shaves in the sink and “cleans” it but there’s always little hairs everywhere. He uses three-in-one soap in the shower. Snores. Hogs the covers. Sweats in his sleep.

But… Emily has never needed Hotch, he’s always been there. She couldn’t explain the feeling because it isn’t just one. It’s like a live wire connects them, courses from one of them to the other in a constant exchange of energy. Which makes it a physical matter, her body knows his well in this exchange of equal parts. She had felt a disturbance in her chest, like her heart couldn’t quite work as well as it wanted, before she had found Hotch in the hospital after Foyet’s attack. Her body stung with the burns from the near severance, the entry and exit of burning high voltage through delicate skin. The wire throws sparks, sizzles and arcs a bright white heat but it stays connected.

Toe to toe, lip to lip. A give and take of equal parts, understanding until her hand moves to the sore spot on his side or his rough thumb exactly where the throb is in her head. The shivers of desperation and adrenaline, cold lips. The smell of sterility and medicine. The taste of salty tears or copper blood. Love in only desperation, love without bravery and dedication. Love as it exists rawly.

She knows that he loves her. It soothes her aching heart just a little to consider the warmth. The way that he extends his fingers out to her, waiting for her to take hold of him. Never speaking, never needing to. He looks at her the way no one else ever has – understanding her. Knowing what she wants, how she needs it. There is never a hint of annoyance, of inconvenience. He wants to love, and god Emily hopes she’s shown him the same.

He could die and she will never know or he may live and she still doesn’t know how to change it. Mostly, she can’t.

She sits. Pacing becomes taxing, her legs now trying to shake embarrassingly with adrenaline now useless but ever present through her. Reid doesn’t seem to mind that she chooses the chair beside him. He’s chosen to sit right beside JJ, and now Emily is forced to hear the trance-like information in his dry, never fluctuating monotone as if all he is stating is merely facts. Devoid of the attachment they all know Reid has for Hotch. But Hotch has been on blood thinners for years, all kinds of medications that Spencer could recall with incredible accuracy and no hesitation to bridge the gap between prescription names and the duty they fulfilled. These things accounted for how Hotch had panicked, why he had fought them so ceaselessly as they tried to slow the rapid dumping of his blood onto the floor. He was in shock.

The team is already in shambles. Uneasily, none of them know where or how to stand by each other. Trust is such a delicate thing, such a tricky feeling to have alongside love. And that’s what the problem is – love. And if Emily dying and now suddenly being alive was not challenging enough, Hotch has made it worse. He’s made it impossible to feel petty. Forced open again were the roles they know instinctively with one another. Reid and Morgan had kneeled down beside one another, calling to JJ for help on the radio as Hotch lay crumpled on the floor. It didn’t matter that Hotch had lied to them, his warm blood spreading beneath their fingers had warned of distance with permanence. He wouldn’t be across the ocean this time, technically only one emergency phone call away. And so they placed their hands over the wounds, trying to ward off the black closing in Hotch’s vision.

It’s haunting imagery even as Reid recounts it so factually.

Somehow, it makes the doctor’s news go down more smoothly. Emily’s thinking about how the surgeon looks very much like a nonsense kind of military guy, seems very trustworthy, like the perfect guy to be working on Hotch. It takes a moment to hear the doctor and she frowns, “what?”

“We’re going to take Agent Hotchner up to surgery but the operation room won’t be ready for another twenty minutes.” The doctor says this slowly, watching Emily’s face still mixed with confusion. “He’s asked for you, I can take you back to his room.”

Dumbly, Emily onlys nods. Her numb lips mumble out, “Yeah, okay.”

They go just down the hall, turn and the doctor motions her forward into a room. Fidelity, Bravery, Integrity – not a single trait she possesses at this moment. Professionalism stripped. Masks out of place. The fear of losing Hotch sits immensely on her chest, enough that she can’t stand the reality of seeing him. Had he faltered in her doorway like this? Too afraid to see her attached to machines, in moments so intimate and tense Emily’s mind has wiped them from her memory. It scares her that she might see through him here, feel his weak heart and his dying breath.

Still, she can’t resist seeing him. Emily has spent so long without them all but even now Hotch feels so far away. She can see that parts of him are not here, have not arrived yet from the plane overseas. Maybe he can see that about her too.

Emily’s stomach sours at the familiarity of the sight of Hotch laying still. His head turns ever slowly towards the noise at the door, his lips cracking upward feebly. Unable to stop herself, Emily smiles at Hotch.

“Em–” he mouths the rest of her name and Emily moves faster to him, around the other side of the bed to take his cold, clammy hand. He opens his mouth again and Emily presses her lips to his, preventing his voice from catching on her name. The oxygen canal under his nose is wedged between them, plastic digging into the skin of their faces but deterring neither. Emily moves just enough to touch her forehead to his, their breath hot against the other’s face and still Hotch tries to tip his head up. “Emily,” her name is so loose on his tongue that it’s no better gargled out but it’s her’s.

“Shh,” tears finally fall down her face and Emily stands back up, hearing the distressed noise that leaves Hotch. She wipes her eyes and when her hands move from her line of vision, his pale fingers are stretched up in search of her. Emily doesn’t think about taking his hand, wrapping both of hers around his, so gentle and mindful of the wires and lines poking under his skin and monitoring his body. His grip is delicate but desperate, her own possessive.

They say nothing. Tears wedge from the corners of their eyes. Uselessly, Hotch opens his mouth and weakly his voice tries to obey his mindless command to say her name. It seems the only thing he’s capable of, the only thing he needs or wants to say. She brings his hand to her lips, first to kiss and then gently pressing a little bit of warmth back his fingers. Emily holds his hand to her face, closes her eyes and relaxes into the feeling of his fingers gently spreading to touch her cheeks, the corners of her eyes, her nose.

Overcome by some sort of sorcery, Hotch lies perfectly still, his unseeing eyes are aimed at Emily, fingers loosely woven in her’s as the doctor’s prepare to take him to surgery. Emily knows any sort of separation between them would snap him from wherever he’s sunken to, because she knows he’s only kind of here with her. Tethered by the curl of her fingers around his. She watches his eyes sink as sedatives swirl into his IV, the moment that he becomes tired and fights it.

Irritatedly, Hotch tries to shift and he groans, not feeling pain, but his body is still aware of the injury. His fingers clench and Emily steps a little closer, watching his face as she holds his hand tighter, their palms together. His face relaxes against his will, eyes sinking and hardening in intensity for the briefest moment on her.

“Don’t go–” he chokes out, she feels a fleeting strength in his grip on her hand. Where his fingers press into the skin of her hand, trying to keep her here. There’s a sharp clarity in the request, in his eyes. He knows what comes next, knows this feeling, he wants to wake up and find her here. He wants her holding his hand. He wants… her.

“I–” her voice is no stronger than his, it breaks more tears from her eyes. I can’t – but she can. She could. Emily is here now, she could be here when he wakes again. She stands watching him watch her, the neverending stream of tears following the soft lines of age in the corners of his eyes. Stray tears that slide down the tip nose. But she’s not brave enough to love him like this when he’ll remember.

“Emily.”

“Relax,” Emily manages, her voice wet and suddenly Hotch’s hand is so very heavy. “You’re going to be fine,” she says gently, moving her grip to hold the weight of his arm. Mirroring tears fall from their eyes as weakly Hotch tries one last time to speak her name. Only his lips move, his eyes on her until they finally shut, tears falling down his face. His fingers give a twitch and Emily squeezes his hand back quickly.

She can’t let him go. His hand is limp in hers, tears that Emily caused are fat and damp on his dark eyelashes. She hears the doctors and nurses preparing to move him, she knows she needs to place his hand back on the bed, but she holds it. Maybe he is still awake, still fighting desperately to twitch his fingers again, to move his slackened lips to form her name. She squeezes his deadened fingers and this time it’s his name that goes unanswered. “Aaron?” Emily reaches to touch his face, not hearing a nurse trying to direct her out. “I love you,” mindlessly, Emily brushes a tear from his eye. “Aaron?”

It feels as though there is nothing to say. Dreadfully, aimlessly Emily walks back to the waiting room. The floor… the walls… tile… She moves on feet that just seem to know where to go because her head is empty. Stuffed, almost, with soft cotton like a doll. She can feel the soft, dry edges touching her skull. Maybe it’s just bellows of smoke, nothing solid at all but graciously containing quantities of heat in bursts.

Whatever it is – it hurts.

—----------------

The knife bites under the side of Emily’s chin and burns where her skin splits under the blade. Blood rushes in her ears, drowning out Ian’s grumbled monologue, the hairs on her arms painful pinpricks. Ian stays close, his hot breath burns her cold skin as he breathes her name, Lauren, against her neck. He comes up, lips brushing above the bleeding cut on her jaw, to her ear. Emily can hear Ian’s smile as he whispers into her ear, making her twitch, trying to flinch away from proximity. “That looks like it hurts.”

Emily takes a shuddering breath, stills herself, and looks over to Ian. Her lips tight, her voice hissing as she reminds him, “You’ve done worse.” She looks into his eyes, unnerved by the knife point touching her skin at one sharp point. Ian had hurt her worse, putting his hands on her too many times to count. Their relationship was always real, regardless of the details. Years ago, she loved him too much, stood in his kitchen with tears in her eyes, glass shards in her hair, and around her feet. Ian would come back a few days later with purple lilies the same shades as her healing bruises.

Ian smile sours, twists into a snarl. He grabs the back of Emily’s hair, jerking her head back, and Emily shouts at the sudden strain, her toes pushing at the floor as much as she can as he pulls for her to move further than she can. Ian puts the knife back against her throat, against where her throat bulges at the angle, but Emily doesn’t look away. There is no fear. She’s not afraid of him. When Ian sees it, he releases her with a chuckle. Emily rocks back down with a thud, she leans forward, dropping her hair over her face as she wills her tears to go away. She can’t cry. She can’t.

Ian crouches down in front of her, putting his hand on her knee and guiding it up until he’s touching her side. He’d bound her arms and legs to the chair, knowing how clever his Lauren could be when presented with a challenge. He just looks at her, taking his time, she can’t go anywhere. Ian reaches up from her side and touches her cheek with the back of his hand. He smiles when she leans her head away. Shaking his head, Ian sighs. “I wasn’t talking about you,” he says sweetly. She’s startled and doesn’t flinch when he reaches up to push his hand through her hair and hold the side of her head. Bringing her close to him. “I know what you can take, Lauren.” Emily flinches as Ian stands too suddenly, his hands coming down, and grabs the sides of the chairs and jerks her around. “I was talking about him.” The spin startles her, making her unable to gather her bearings for a moment. Staring through a spinning room full of black dots, it takes her a moment to realize what she’s looking at. Who she’s looking at.

Laying semi-conscious on the floor in front of two of Ian’s men is Hotch. Emily tries to keep a straight face, seeing his drained complexion and his mouth hanging open to suck at laborious breaths while his eyes rest aimlessly on the concrete below.

Ian gives a silent gesture and the men nod, hauling Hotch upright. One grabs Hotch by the hair, pulling his fallen head up, and places the blade under Hotch’s chin, drawing blood.

Hotch’s face is pale, white and his throat bared to her as one of Ian’s men holds Hotch upright by his hair. She can see the whites of his eyes. Hotch makes a small sound, a ragged breath, and Emily watches his eyes move. But his efforts get him nowhere, his chest moves faintly with his shallow breaths, his blood just keeps rushing down his front. His pants are soaked. The floor's puddle is only growing. He’ll bleed to death, Emily realizes. He's going to die. Stop. Stop. Stop. Emily sets her eyes forward. Ian starts talking again but she can hardly think, let alone hear. Foyet had Hotch for an hour, at least. Video footage, she’d watched it all, and Hotch had survived each slow-moving second. Survived. She glances over at Hotch again, watching his eyes slowly roll forward again, his consciousness fleeting but there. Still there.

Caught in Hotch’s deadened glaze, Emily sits perfectly still. She can’t look away from him. She watches blood trickle down his neck, slipping down below his collar to gather and soak into his shirt.

Ian says nothing. The man with the knife smirks and nods his head.

“No!” Emily yelps but it’s too late.

Hotch clutches at his throat, not pain twisted on his face but confusion, and he’s looking right at her. His mouth opens and Emily tries to scream his name but she can make no sound, suddenly doesn’t have the breath to. The men release their hold on him and Hotch falls limply forward, head hitting the ground, and he lays on his stomach.

Emily watches as he twitches and shakes, as the blood begins to puddle out and slowly stops.

It isn’t until Ian steps between them that Emily truly believes what’s in front of her.

“Tell me where Declan is, sweetheart. Don’t make his death senseless.”

Death. Hotch is dead. He’s really dead. Emily’s eyes rake over his prone form, waiting, until she realizes that he has fallen completely still. No longer shaking or twitching. She’s the one shaking, that she has snot and tears soaking her face. She can’t look away from the back of Hotch’s head, all the short hairs on the back sticking this way and that. All Emily can feel is pain, bright and heavy from her shoulders to her stomach. The nevers. All the things that will never happen again. The fact that she’s sitting here and he’s… and he’s gone and all she wants is for him to come back already. The weight of it sucks at Emily’s air, her hope to live right now bled to death in front of her, and no matter how she gasps for it, every breath isn’t enough.

“Emily!” Ian is in her face in an instant. “Emily!”

Emily suddenly finds her arms free and wildly, eyes pinched shut, blindly she swings at him. Her shoulders are grabbed and Emily jerks with the hard shake she’s giving. Opening her eyes, Emily finds herself inches from Dave, his too-tight fingers holding onto her arms. “Emily?”

She blinks, eyes adjusting to the darkness in the room. Looking at Dave all she can think of is Hotch on that floor. Dave would be devastated, and Emily realizes she’s still crying, still sucking at the air – she’s devasted. Dave says nothing more, wrapping his arms around her and pulling her against his chest. His hand rests atop her head and he sways them gently. Emily clings to him, her fingers aching with her hold on his shirt.

“Oh sweetheart,” Dave whispers, rubbing her back. “I’ve been waking up in the middle of the night and worrying myself gray over that man for the last twenty-years.” Pressed against him, Emily can feel him take in a deep breath and shake his head. “Showed his age a little today, huh?” He shivers a little at the thought. Aaron had shuttered, laid there for moments far too long, too still. Even when Aaron had opened his eyes, his mouth had opened to and the only noise to leave was ragged, gasping breaths he took greedily like the air in the room had been thinned out.

Emily hides herself against him for a moment, knowing immediately that her dreams must not have been very silent. That she must have screamed for Hotch like she had tried in her dream.

“Do you want to talk about it?”

She’s there again in an instant, Hotch’s ashy face looking back at her. “No.” Emily sits up, turning her head away as she wipes at her face with the end of her t-shirt. The weight of the grief is still there, it’s pressed and wedged itself up under her ribs. And any thought of it brings another wave of tears and she can’t keep them at bay.

Dave looks at her softly, “alright.” He knows even if she won’t say – he doesn’t know but he is correct in the educated guess he’s made. She was dreaming about Hotch, not a happy dream. “He’s probably awake,” Dave offers, “old habits die hard.”

Hotch is an insomniac. The coffee he consumed never helped but Hotch is a nocturnal man, Emily knows he’d normally be awake. The hospital had released him with medication, cocktails of things that should certainly put Hotch to bed early tonight, but that is dependent on him taking them as prescribed and… Emily knows he hasn’t taken them.

“They checked him over good,” Dave reaches over and wipes a tear from the side of her face, “he’ll be moving slow for a while, but he’s okay.” Dave pats Emily’s leg, “might wanna splash some water on your face.”

Emily nods and stops, narrowing her eyes a moment at the ground. She looks at Dave for a moment, compulsively going to question how he’d made the assumption she was going to leave their room and go look for Hotch, and then deciding better. She wipes at her face with her hands again and moves with Dave to stand. Her legs shake beneath her but Emily rights herself, finding them not weak just unstable. All of her is shaking. As she walks to the bathroom, Emily can hear Dave opening the hotel door, peaking outside.

He comes to the closed bathroom door and gives a soft knock, “He’s getting something from the vending machine.”

“Okay,” Emily says back. She doesn’t look closely at herself, just under her tired eyes to make sure she really got her mascara off before. Checking the water with her fingers, Emily bows her head and splashes some water over her face, an immediately regrettable decision as she closes her eyes and there he is again. Pale bloodless face and all the white’s of his eyes. The back of his head and the cowlick he can never tame.

She can’t keep seeing him like this.

Emily says nothing to Dave as she leaves, attempting to look inconspicuous without any hope. Nothing she has done in the last forty-eight hours has been very low profile. Most of the first day is blank. Vividly, Emily remembers the hospital but after she left Hotch’s room she had just moved like a robot. For the team she scraped together a few words, Hotch was conscious but too weak to speak. And then she went to the precinct, picked up all the paperwork she could find, and has been cooped up in her hotel room since. Which has been fine because Rossi has stayed at the hospital except tonight Hotch is in the hotel too, waiting with the rest of them on arranging travel plans in the morning.

Emily steps out into the cold and she sees Hotch immediately. He’s at the end of the hall, leaning on the last bit of railing against the brick. She hasn’t seen him since she’d gone back before his surgery.

He looks better than he had before. He’s back in his own clothing, only a t-shirt and what looks like pajama bottoms. Naturally, she thinks, he wouldn’t think to grab a coat. Emily tries to make her eyes wander, she scans miscellaneous trash scattered along the ground, cigarette butts left nearby but seldomly within pots that likely once had flowers but not recently, but she looks back up.

Hotch backs up from the rail, holding onto his chest, and his head down.

Only a few steps away, Emily moves her foot out and nudges a flowerpot. She smiles when Hotch’s head snaps up. The pain is quickly hidden behind by accusing squinted eyes, “Sneaking up on me?”

Emily rolls her eyes, “if you weren’t going–”

“What?” Hotch interrupts, loudly.

“Nothing,” Emily puffs. She was going to say deaf, if you weren’t going deaf… He should have heard her coming. He needs to get his hearing checked again. “Nevermind. What’re you doing out here?”

Hotch painfully straightens himself up and nods his head toward the vending machines humming in the alcove. “Snack,” he answers simply. “I could ask you the same,” he cocks his head to the side in a way that very much means that he is asking.

Emily hums, stepping around him, and nodding her head toward the machines – she expects that he’ll understand her silence, as that’s how it’s supposed to go – but he stays right where he is, that gloomy glare all the more frightening without any lights to soften it. “What?” she asks, finally.

Hotch shifts himself carefully, his hand never leaves the railing, “Why are you awake?”

Emily huffs, “That was not the question we agreed on.”

Silence.

More gloomy glare.

Emily sighs, “I’ll tell you, alright?” She motions her hand toward the machines, “But I need a snack first.”

Hotch accepts the bargain with a nod and his face tenses, jaw clenched as he drags himself forward a step, releasing his grip on the railing, his safety. The next step is stuttered, stiff –

Emily mutters and steps up beside him, wrapping her arm around his back. “Thought you got shot in the shoulder, not the leg.” She can think of no better excuse to invade his personal space and Emily finds comfort in the feeling of the muscles in his back constricting and pulling. Emily can’t help but look up at him, wondering if this is a good excuse in his mind too.

“I’m bruised head-to-toe,” Hotch manages slowly, wrapping his arm around her, each word spoken one by one. “My head hurts…”

The sound that comes from Emily is wet, a little less dismissing huff than she would have preferred. She can just see his eyes losing their focus as he thinks, it’s half a laugh and half… not. His pain is unbearable, worse than her own somehow.

Hotch looks at her, steps not exactly moving in a straight direction and therefore reliant on Emily to keep them going forward. Drugs have made his tongue loose in his mouth, and without his normal filter, Hotch raises an eyebrow, “that can’t be why you’re awake.”

Emily repeats the noise and she can see it’s even more confusing for him, and still an unconscious confirmation. She rolls her eyes, “no.”

“Very convincing.”

“Not everything’s about you, Aaron.” Looking at him, Emily can’t help but smile and he can’t seem to help it either. Emily turns to the bright lights of the vending machine, slipping out from under Hotch. “I need chocolate. What’re you getting?”

Hotch leans against a machine, looking at his options. “Pretzels.”

Emily makes a face but makes the selection, watching his treat fall to the bottom of the machine. Her eyes rake over the options, consciously ignoring Hotch’s even gaze on her.

“I have an appointment with an orthopedic surgeon Tuesday.”

Emily gets a Snickers, puts in the code, and bends down for the snacks.

“It was a relatively clean shot. The bone should heal on its own without a second surgery.”

Emily’s lip twist, “not very clean.” It leaves only a whisper but when she stands, she can tell he’s heard her. He’s looking at her with a flat, interpreting gaze, like he’s right inside her head, floating around with her racing thoughts. “It wasn’t.” Her voice is tight, her whole body fighting his invasion. “You–” her voice cracks. She’s not fighting him, she’s fighting the tears that have been trying to fall all day.

Hotch steps forward and Emily throws her hand up. “No,” she says, firmly but softly. “Please…” her voice is still shaky and he stands still, waiting patiently as she takes a deep breath. Emily clears her throat and wipes her eyes, she looks up at him with a smile. Eyes still wet, she laughs, “I can’t handle a hug right now just–”

Hotch nods, understanding.

She smiles tensely, forcing another laugh, trying to shake the rest of the feelings away. “God, Hotchner,” she scrubs her hand down her face, “why do you always do this to me?”

Hotch’s lips tighten.

Emily takes another shaky breath and she rolls her eyes at the expression on Hotch’s face. “Your face is going to get stuck like that one these days,” she says, raising an eyebrow at him.

His dark eyes keep seeing right into her, his silence strong. With the release of a breath he relaxes just a little, “how do we know it hasn’t already?”

“Good point,” Emily agrees. “It does usually look like that.”

“Mmm,” Hotch hums. Seeing the face he’s making, Emily already feels annoyed before he speaks. “I can only assume you have more on your mind tonight besides my face being stuck like this. It’s never kept you up before, at least.”

Emily narrows her eyes, smiling, “you’re relentless.” He seems unbothered by the accusation. Emily’s smile falls into a tense grimace, “it has nothing to do with– … you.” She really wants to finish the sentiment strongly but she meets his eyes. Lying is fun, it’s easy. When lying can also hide her carefully behind the safety of its shade, there’s nothing she would rather do. But she doesn’t want to lie, not when she’s looking right at him.

“It’s just dreams,” Emily’s voice surprises herself, how softly, tentatively she speaks.

“They’re never just dreams.”

Does he know? Somehow, Emily thinks he can see right to the dream itself. A strange mirroring image of the man standing over her now and the one on his knees – both looking at her, waiting on her. “It was a different dream tonight,” her eyes dart between his, “but the same thing always happens…”

He has to know. He’s looking at her like he can see himself, like he can see her thrashing in her imaginary bonds. “What happens?”

His voice is too soft, he’s too gentle. Emily doesn’t want to cry but her lips are bunching up, betraying her with an ugly cry building itself up. She can’t look at him. “I lose you,” her voice breaks.

“Emily.” Does she say his name like this? There’s little time to wonder, eyes closed she goes where he tips her chin up, knowing he’ll taste the tears falling down her face when his lips press to hers. “Emily,” she can feel his breath on her face. She could hear him say her name over and over. He says it like no one’s ever spoken her name before. The thrill is like hearing your mother language in a foreign country. Like hearing it for the very first time. “I’m here. I’m here.”

“I know,” she complies miserably, “I know.” She cries anyway and he comes closer. Emily realizes that she’s leaning into his side. His side because his arm is strapped securely between them, bound to his chest. His hand on the back of her head until she’s done, left with only a little embarrassment.

“I have something for you,” Hotch says and Emily laughs wiping at her face.

“What is it?”

Emily feels with giddy excitement to take Hotch’s hand to go back down the hall to try and silently slip through the room he’s sharing with Reid without waking him. She’s surprised the genius is sleeping at all but the last few days have been exhausting, she doesn’t know how she’s awake. Hotch opens the door to the little porch connected to the room. “Wait,” Hotch whispers, easing the door shut.

She waits anxiously outside, shivering with excitement encouraged with the chill of the wind. It’s all of a minute and the door is opening as Hotch comes back out. Emily can see at once that Hotch’s nerves have taken him over, making him unsure of himself.

“It’s… kind of strange,” he says, not meeting her eyes, and she finds the gift curled in his fingers. She moves her hands close to his to accept it into her hand. “The bullet chipped my collar bone,” his cheeks are flushed, red with embarrassment. “You don't have to keep it. I thought… I thought you might want it.”

Bone, his bone. A chip of his bone. Emily closes her fingers around it, squeezing it in her palm. When her fingers open the bone feels so different. Her thumb strokes it curiously. “I love it,” she says, examining it between her thumb and forefinger.

“Y– You do?” Emily looks up – he seems so surprised. Surprised and then warm, something incredibly warm shines over his eyes, changing the way that he’s looking at her. “I love you.”

Emily opens her mouth, she’s only more confused by Hotch’s certainty. He makes no move to take it back. No nerves. He’s looking right at her and he knows it, he’s just telling her. It’s more than that. She can tell it’s more. He knows she loves him too.

“You were all I could think about.”

He had asked for her in the hospital. Had he been saying her name all that time before she’d come back? The same persistence or worse than what she’d seen when she had been right beside him holding his hand. Emily looks all the way up at him as he stands closer and closer. Her lips part for his and she lets him kiss her again, barely restraining from leaning fully into him.

“I couldn’t stand the thought of dying without seeing you one last time,” he whispers against her lips, looking deep into her surprised eyes. “You’d better be the last thing I see before I die.”

Emily’s breath stutters, her eyes dart down to his lips, before coming back up to his eyes. “Ask for me,” she whispers.

“I’ll always ask for you, Emily.”

#criminal minds #criminal minds fanfiction #aaron hotchner #emily prentiss #hotchniss

20 notes · View notes

idontknowreallywhy · 8 months ago

Text

Resurface 28 - Rend

Story so far

I’ll be honest - this next section has fought me because while it’s easy enough for me to say “Noo the puppy pile makes us feel better but isn’t going to Fix them, they need to Talk like Grown Ups”, it’s been tricky to drag them into a place where they are ready /willing to do it, big bros especially.

Thus it seemed possible the motivation that might be most effective might come from a littler bro-who-must-be-protected actually needing that talk. Hence Alan needed to be broken first.

Except then Gordon had a bit of an internal breakdown himself (because I couldn’t just make Alan cry, nooo I had to make him bleed didn’t I? 😏) so this next part is a bit of a scene set for that / catch up on all their mental states from the POV of a certain squid who could challenge big bro for his racing inner monologue crown…

Apologies if it’s kind of slow / doesn’t seem to go anywhere. I promise I’ve written the end and I think it’ll be worth it when we get there.

💚💛❤️💙🧡💚💛❤️💙🧡💚💛❤️💙🧡

Gordon leant heavily against the kitchen sink and dabbed ineffectively at his damp hands with an even damper towel.

They looked clean now.

They weren’t.

Something about a brother’s blood lingered, invisibly, and when he closed his eyes to catch his breath he could still feel the warm slickness of it. Somehow oily, it made his fingers unnaturally frictionless as they moved against each other and his stomach churned at the sensation.

Once lowered, his eyelids felt heavy, itchy. Swollen. Realistically at least one of them was going to end up blackened by the dizzying impact between his face and a fury-fuelled elbow. He’d not seen that coming…

Leaden as they were, his eyes shot open again in surprise as something tickled his big toe. The cleaning bot having finished its consumption of the broken glass was nudging at his foot. The googly eyes he and Alan had superglued to it on a carefree whim so many months ago were jiggling away and it looked for all the word like a sentient being trying to reassure him.

It wasn’t of course, but he suspected there was one behind its behaviour and glanced instinctively up at the ceiling.

The bot butted him more sharply and he redirected his attention to the rest of his family. Apparently unaware that the glass threat had passed, they were huddled on a pool float island in a kitchen floor sea. It would be comical if there weren’t so many things wrong with the picture.

The first one was obviously that his only little brother had been leaking blood all over the place from several nasty slices to his hands and fingers. It was nothing short of a miracle none of the tendons were compromised and - he knew they should be thankful - but it was hard to focus on that right now. Not in these circumstances… when the injuries were… recklessly… bizarrely… self-inflicted. Where a frenzied Alan had tried to force the tumbler back into its proper shape with his bare hands, as if he believed he could fuse glass with sheer willpower. And when he failed Alan had actually fought Gordon rather than allow him to help prevent the cuts getting any worse.

That had been... well. Very Wrong.

Scott and John were nearly as pale as the little guy was. This wasn’t unexpected, he supposed - there was something about Alan being hurt, even relatively trivially, that really messed with all of them on a kind of primal level.

Another big problem with the picture was that the person doing the patching up wasn’t Virgil. It was always Virgil, unless it was Virgil doing the bleeding then… well, it was usually Gordon actually. They were all highly trained first responders and perfectly competent, and Gordon in particular had worked hard under his wingman’s eagle eye to become nearly as proficient. However, it was an unwritten Tracy law that when ol’ Steady-Hands Virg was present, he did this stuff.

But he wasn’t. He was there, sure, holding Alan on his lap, but no more than that. Not advising, not encouraging or doing any of the other Virgilly things he should be doing. Just… watching, not entirely present, like he was stuck behind some bloody curtain.

And obviously nor was it Gordon armed with the suture needle, which was just as well because he wasn’t feeling so steady-handed himself right now. Which was not unrelated to how Done he was with that curtain. And the fact Alan’s grip on things had shattered more violently even than the glass he’d sideswiped with a wildly gesticulating arm… Gordon was a split second too late seeing crunch coming. He hasn’t seen the result coming.

He should have seen it coming. Of course he hasn’t been as fine as he’d pretended. Alan had pulled a Scott on him and no mistake.

Grandma would have been the obvious next candidate for first aid administration but had backed away quietly at the high-intensity-blue-lasered command even she knew it was best to heed without argument.

It was Scott. Scott who snatched up the tweezers to painstakingly remove the remaining shards from shredded flesh, Scott who now wielded the needle. Because for some reason Scott wouldn’t contemplate anyone else doing it. Gordon suspected that the chance to fix anything… to do one practical thing to help was something his biggest brother desperately needed before he fractured too. Gordon was a little concerned someone would have to stitch the Commander’s bottom lip up next, such was the abuse it was undergoing. John was watching Scott’s every move with the mind of calm, neutral expression that failed to conceal, from Gordon at least, a few fault lines of his own.

The only one missing was Kayo. And Kayo was likely burning out Shadow’s engines somewhere over the Pacific Ocean as she hurtled back towards the Island. Nobody hurt Alan on her watch, not even Alan.

Hell they were a mess.

A sudden release of breath and Scott presented Alan’s hands for Grandma’s approval. Then there were bandages gently applied, baby brother knuckles kissed twice by the only real father figure the kid really remembered and then a pause while everyone avoided everyone else’s eyes and wondered what on earth to say next.

In the end Scott took the blunt approach:

“Why, Allie?”

“I had to fix it. It was for Virgil and I had to fix it.”

“Fix… your glass?”

“The mess… I had to… You don’t… you wouldn’t understand!!!”

Scott’s face was evidence enough of that but his voice was far calmer than the turmoil Gordon could see in his eyes

“No… I really don’t but I need to, what’s got into you Allie?”

“It was all my fault I’m sosorryVirgil. I’m so sorry, I’m always so damn cl-clumsy.”

The only one not looking baffled by now was Virgil but Gordon couldn’t be sure if that was because he was still a bit out of it and hadn’t been following. Alan huddled in his lap, Virgil had wrapped his arms around his little brother and his chin rested on the top of his head. He looked tired…

No. Not just tired… Virgil looked… resigned?

Gordon knew his eyes had widened as the realisation hit - Virgil knew. He knew what was going on. What on Earth had happened between the two of them that nobody else had noticed?

“Allie, talk to us. What is your fault? Whatever it is, Virgil isn’t holding it against you, right Virgil?”

Virgil just pressed his lips into Alan’s hair and closed his eyes.

Alan himself took a breath and appeared to steel himself.

“It’s my fault Virgil got sick.”

#thunderbirds are go #thunderbirds #thunderbirds fanfiction #scott tracy #virgil tracy #gordon tracy #alan tracy #john tracy #idontknowreallywhy fanfic #resurface fic

16 notes · View notes

nintendowife · 4 months ago

Text

I rolled the end credits in Easy Come Easy Golf on Nintendo Switch in June. Very fun arcade golf game, filled with good vibes.

Easy Come Easy Golf is the latest title by the developer Clap Hanz famous for Everybody's Golf / Hot Shots Golf series. Their golf game expertise and pleasant design philosophy shows here too.

There's a twist on the normal golf formula here: you don't play as one character but as a team of 9 characters. Each character is assigned to tee off on one hole of the course and the next character handles the next hole. Your characters gain exp and their stats improve as you use them.

Easy Come Easy Golf was originally a mobile game and unfortunately that shows in the gameplay mechanics that have been simplified a bit. The triple-click shot mechanics are fine and work well but they lack the more intricate real-time mechanics that were used to apply spin in the Everybody's Golf games (here spin is applied on ball before swinging, not during). As a result the gameplay doesn't feel quite as engrossing and satisfying. Also the visual feedback on swings and ball travel has been toned down which takes away some of the excitement of making a successful swing.

Weather, ball lie, surface, etc. affect how the ball travels, just like in their earlier games. There are some differences here it seems and I still have trouble predicting how much wind affects the ball. Reading the green based on the animated grid is quite similar with earlier titles. I still haven't managed a hole-in-one on a regular cup course and I've been playing the game for some time now.

If we continue with the negative points, the music department here is lacking. Gone are the fantastic course specific tunes for example. Most of your golfing is spent in silence, accompanied by some ambient sounds.

The golf courses are well designed with some tricky narrow points, water hazards and bunkers. Carefully weighing the risks is a key to success - will you attempt to cross a lake with a top spin swing to have the ball bounce from the water surface or will you play it safe and take a detour, resulting into extra shots? Progression is a bit grindy as you unlock more courses and playable characters by earning stars from tournaments. You can also unlock alternate costumes and color variations for characters.

Difficulty level is very forgiving. The game's CPU opponents feel significantly easier than the ones in Everybody's Golf / Hot Shots Golf, so don't worry if you're not the best golfer out there.

What this game truly excels in is character design. The whimsical caricature-like designs really hit the spot for me. There's 30 different characters with a lot of variation on body shapes, ages, personality, etc. The characters have their own strenghts and weaknesses - some are great playing in the rain, some may have great power but poor control in their shots. Character animations are unique and quite humorous at times. Rosie Weaver, a calm teenage girl with bad posture is one of my favorite characters, along with the refined lady Madam D. and older grandma-type Bella Donna.

What I especially like in Clap Hanz's games is the way the game encourages you to improve your skills. Challenging yourself and noticing how you're getting better and better is an addictive feeling. Even if you're bad at the game at first, the game gives you positive feedback and gently pushes you to try again. You might lose a tournament but at least you got to see some funny animations when your character is boiling with rage! The cheery, positive mood is a great stress-reliever and infects with a good feeling.

My experience on the game is purely from offline single-player mode. The game also offers some kind of online multiplayer possibilities which require Nintendo Switch Online subscription.

Based on the single-player content on offer here, I'd recommend Easy Come Easy Golf to anyone looking for an enjoyable, laid-back golf game. This game offers a lot of good fun but it is a downgrade from Everybody's Golf / Hot Shots Golf in some ways. It took me about 45 hours to roll the end credits. After that there's still tournament ranks to reach and more characters to unlock so you probably won't run out of content too fast. I'm hoping one day Clap Hanz will delight us with a sequel that's been built for Switch from the ground-up, includes more finesse on gameplay and adds music on courses.

#easy come easy golf #everybody's golf #golf game #nintendo switch

2 notes · View notes

rwrbmovie · 2 years ago

Text

RE: filming the movie

Quotes from interviews on #RWRBMovie about the filming process

This post will be updated as content is released

Click here for the other roundups

Notice something missing? Here's my inbox

Last updated: August 8

From Glamour

For López, the most challenging scene was the wedding scene that opens the film. “We shot it over the course of three days,” the director says. “It was a huge scene with hundreds of extras in a grand ballroom and huge dresses and a seven-foot high wedding cake and stunts and lots and lots of frosting. It was also fairly early in the shooting schedule so I was still a fairly unpracticed director at the time. I wasn’t unpracticed at the end of it.”

Galitzine, meanwhile, says his most rewarding time on set came during the film's emotional climax, when Alex and Henry must decide if—and how—they're going to move forward in their relationship. “It's the emotional height of the movie in a lot of ways, and sometimes as an actor, you can very much get in your head about that,” he says. “But Taylor really was just so emotionally present that it helped me. We got to a vulnerable, beautiful space. Those kinds of moments are where you drift into a level of truth and sincerity that feels very real. That's what we're always aiming for.”

We did this scene fairly early on,” says Galitzine of the infamous cake-falling incident that kicks off the events of the story. “It was a lot of fun to film because we just had several members of the cast hitting us in the face with cake, which I'm sure they probably would've enjoyed to do at the end of the process after we irritated them for three months [laughs].”

“My absolutely favorite scene to film was the night we shot inside the Victoria and Albert Museum,” says López of the scene depicted here. “We arrived at 10 p.m. and filmed until sunrise. To have access to that museum at night without any other people around made you feel what Henry and Alex must have been feeling the night they go there together. What made it so special is that, for one of the first times in the shoot, it was just me, Taylor, and Nick working. No other actors, no background players. It’s a magical scene in the book, and it was a magical night for all of us.”

From Vanity Fair

"...the wedding cake food fight, a chaotic sequence that, ironically enough, had to be carefully choreographed. Those three days of filming contained “the least bit of goofing off on set,” López explains. “We really had no room for error. And so we all really approached that with a sense of seriousness, which I hope does not in any way translate onscreen.”

From What to Watch

One of the most iconic scenes in the book is Alex and Henry's fight at the royal wedding where the cake falls on them. How tricky was that to film — did you have multiple cakes for multiple shots? "We hedged our bets a bit! For the most part it was a styrofoam cake, it was a squishy polystyrene I think, which had a latex coating on it. It was so lightweight that actually my production designer lay down on the floor and had her team drop it on her head just to show us that it was safe! For a lot of what you see in the movie we got away with using a very durable, indestructible cake, and a lot of the aftermath of the cake disaster was also not real cake, because one of the things that was really important to us was to make sure that we didn’t waste food needlessly, so most of the cake in that whole thing is not real cake. The real cake was saved for when we had to just like throw it in their faces, and we did it once. The shot of the cake landing in their faces, we got once, we got lucky, it landed perfectly where we wanted it to be. It was actually me and my production designer throwing cake in Taylor and Nick’s faces, which was very cathartic for me after a few weeks of filming!"

From Out Smart Magazine

The film’s set had strong familial energy, which made the director’s job that much easier. “The cast and crew all really wanted to be there. We all were really happy that this was our job. I think that energy, that love of the story, that genuine affection for one another really shows on the screen,” López notes.

From Variety

What kinds of movies did you look to for inspiration? I wanted to make the kind of movie that I hadn’t seen in awhile. I wanted it to be contemporary, but feel classic in its structure and delivery. I kept going back to movies like “Bringing Up Baby” and “The Philadelphia Story” and “Broadcast News” and “Moonstruck.” Those movies have scenes that often work best when the directors just put the actors in the frame and let them do their thing. There’s not all this cutting. And I asked my actors to prepare to make this movie like they would prepare for a play. That meant knowing their lines when they came to set, not learning them in the makeup chair. We rehearsed this movie for two weeks before we started filming.

From The Queer Review

“It was mostly Taylor and Nick who I rehearsed with, but I also brought in the whole cast at a certain point, those who I could get ahead of time for a few days, like Sarah Shahi, Rachel Hilson, Ellie Bamber, and Thomas Flynn. I wanted Taylor and Nick to begin to form real-life relationships with the people who they were going to have onscreen relationships with."

From Attitude

Away from the serious side of acting, López also told Attitude that they all had fun on set. Occasionally, he explained, he had to be the one to calm the fun so they could shoot. “And I loved working with them. And I know that they took their jobs incredibly seriously. But, we made sure that we never took ourselves too seriously.”

From Tatler

One of the film's locations, Somerley – a Georgian Grade II*-listed estate in Hampshire – even served as the setting for Highgrove in The Crown. 'I'd be watching Dominic West and think, "That's Henry's piano room,"' says López.

From CineMagna

Nick: The cake dropping scene was probably one of the most fun scenes to film. It was just such a couple days. First of all, I just love being with the rest of the cast. It's just mostly been Taylor and me throughout the entire process, but when you get to really spend time with the other actors, it's just so much fun, the group of us together. There was so much pomp within this room. We had about 200 extras dressed to the nines, and just the act of this cake falling on top of us is just a very bizarre day at work that most people don't get to experience. I'd say also doing the polo was a lot of fun. I love riding and I love horses and just being able to get back to the literal horse was a lot of fun. I think whenever you get to learn a new skill for a job and actually do it yourself on camera is incredibly gratifying.

#rwrb movie #red white and royal blue #rwrb #matthew lopez #nicholas galitzine #taylor zakhar perez #tzp

13 notes · View notes

palfriendpatine66 · 1 year ago

Note

for the year in review ask: 1, 6, 12, 19, 20, 25 (but for 2024) :D (you don't have to answer all, whatever you feel comfortable answering)

From the writing year in review asks.

Thank you sooo much for indulging me💕 answers below the cut

1)What’s something new that you tried in a fic this year? How did it turn out? Would you do it again?

I’ve been trying a non linear timeline for my obikin serial killer au (Criminal Minds). It’s…going. I like that it’s letting me hilight certain themes and parallels between Obi-Wan’s and Anakin’s experiences that might not come out if read linearly, but it’s tricky to figure out. There’s too many variables of how I can arrange things, when to reveal them. I might do it again if a situation specifically calls for it, but not just for funsies.

6)Did you write for a new fandom or ship this year?

I did both actually! In Star Wars I dipped my toes, very lightly, into some Quin/Obi. Would love to do more. I love them so much. I also recently wrote two smutty one shots for Fellow Travelers! I’ll probably add a few more. This show is still turning over in my mind.

12) What were you go-to writing songs?

None!! I write in silence.

19) What's something that surprised you while you were working on a fic? Did it change the story?

I’m not a very detailed planner so it’s very often that a chapter or story goes in a different way than I first intended.

I was surprised by how much positive feedback Can’t Buy Me Love got. It’s making me try to stick with it because I haven’t had any clear ideas and might otherwise have let this one really fall by the wayside, but I’m trying to find some words and add to it because I feel like a lot of people are waiting for it.

20) What did you use to write? (programs, paper & pen, etc.)

Mostly google docs. BUT I got a kindle scribe for Christmas and I think it’s going to be a great tool for me. It makes me just write it out without constantly going back and rewriting what I currently have. It’s way more efficient for me and then I can send it to google docs for editing

25. What’s something you want to write in 2024?

I have a million ideas at all times but I’ll name 3 y’all probably maybe don’t know about yet

A threesome, even though I have no confidence in my ability to write one. Lol I’m going to put together some kind of threesome challenge for posting around Valentine’s Day - because that’s what I want to read lol - so I figure I should write one to submit myself.

A cheating fic I think. It’s been on my mind a lot and I haven’t been willing to commit to it. Probably because I have a hard time making Obi-Wan make bad choices.

And related to that, hopefully a sith Obi-Wan fic - whether a one shot or a much more lengthy idea remains to be seen.

#ask game

4 notes · View notes

eastofthemoon · 2 years ago

Text

Chapter 1 Chapter 2 Chapter 3 Chapter 4 Chapter 5 Chapter 6 Chapter 7 Chapter 8 Chapter 9 Chapter 10 Chapter 11

Rating: PG

Series: Voltron Legendary Defender/Avatar the Last Airbender

Summary: After the fight with Zarkon, Shiro accidentally gets tossed into another reality where humans have the ability to bend the elements. His best shot at returning home is with someone called the Avatar, while he waits he might as well take on the job of being the Firelord’s bodyguard.

-----------------------------------------------------------

Keith had to admit that, in a way, Slav was kind of amazing. This wasn't due to intellect or dedication to his work - it was because Slav was one of the only people Keith could think of who had ever made Shiro lose his temper. Shiro had always made it a point of pride to approach challenging situations calmly and maintain self-control, so Keith couldn't help but be impressed that Slav had driven Shiro to the point of shouting in a rage. It was honestly incredible.

Keith had no clue how he was supposed to keep his own temper in check. He was just grateful Hunk was the one that had to pick him up since Slav refused to go into the Black Lion with Keith.

Slav didn’t like that Keith’s red armour didn’t match the Black Lion. Lance and Allura had been placed into the same boat with him and he had yet to hear any of them complain. Having the honor of Slav riding with them wasn’t exactly something anyone was desiring.

Once Slav arrived, and seemed to mostly approve of the lab set up, it didn’t take long for them to explain the situation.

“So, what do you think?” Pidge asked.

Slav’s third and fourth arms were crossed as he stroked his chin with his second arm.

“And you are able to confirm at least 89 percent that he is there?” he asked.

“Yes,” Keith stated firmly and pointed over his shoulder. “From what I sense from the Black Lion he is there 100 percent.”

“Hmmm,” Slav said as he rose from his and began to pace. “It will be tricky to pinpoint, but if we are precise with how much quintessence we use we might have a probability of 72 percent.”

“That chance of success should increase given we should be able to use Shiro’s connection to the Black Lion to track him,” Allura said.

Slav narrowed his eyes. “While that is very true, Princess, we still need to be very careful.” He waved the fingers on his second and third arms. “Crossing into another reality can be very difficult.”

Lance gave a shrug. “Well, we already did it once, so it shouldn’t be too hard.”

Slav’s arms became still. His eyes widened in alarm as he slowly turned his head to Lance. “What do you mean?”

“As Voltron,” Keith explained. “When we were trying to retrieve a comet we accidentally made a tear into another reality and-”

“YOU DID WHAT?!” Slav cried as he leaped out of his chair and seized Keith by his arms. “Do you have any idea how dangerous that is?! You could have shattered all of reality!”

“Whoa, whoa!” Hunk said as he pried Slav off of Keith. “What are you talking about?”

“Every time you cut through reality you run the risk of severing quantum strings and creating instability that threatens to unravel localised space-time!”

“He means it would be bad,” Pidge stated as she adjusted her glasses. “But it was one tear, and you’ve created pocket dimensions.”

“My pocket dimensions are localised in eddies of gravitational curvature! No tearing of reality is necessary if you’re CAREFUL!”

“But that is the Black Lion’s ability,” Coran replied. “It’s how Shiro got into this other reality in the first place.”

“From what I’ve been able to analyse, the Black Lion is a different case,” Slav ranted as he waved his hands. “It seems to be able to access this ‘astral plane’ through direct fifth-dimensional movement vectors, allowing it to travel without rending holes in the universe. The combined power of Voltron, on the other hand, seems almost designed FOR tearing apart universes!”

“So, what are you saying?” Hunk asked. “We can’t go as Voltron?”

“NO!” Slav said as he held up a finger. “Only the Black Lion may go to retrieve Shiro and that’s it! That is the only way I will agree to assist you.”

Keith sighed, but shook his head. “Alright, fine.”.

Slav seemed satisfied with this.

“It will make getting back a bit trickier,” Coran commented. “If you went with all of Voltron you could find your way back by tracing its energy trail, but with just the Black Lion it will be harder to track if you take too long.”

“But if the other lions are left behind we can use our connection to them as our guiding point so we’re not so rushed for time,” Allura offered.

“Then that’s what we’ll do,” Keith said as he crossed his arms. “I’ll go fetch Shiro and bring him home.”

Lance raised an eyebrow as he placed his hands on his hips. “Excuse me? What’s this ‘I’? nonsense?”

Keith resisted rolling his eyes. “It has to be me. I’m the only one who can fly the Black Lion and I’ll use my connection to the Red Lion to get us back home.”

“Yeah, sure, but that doesn’t mean the rest of us can’t just go in the Black Lion with you,” Lance retorted.

“He’s right,” Pidge replied. “Did you forget we all got here because we all got into the Blue Lion?”

Keith couldn’t deny that. “Yeah, but we don’t know what this other reality is like. There’s less of a risk if it’s just me-”

“And what if something happens to you and Shiro ends up stuck?” Hunk argued. “There’s safety in numbers.”

“He’s right,” Pidge replied. “If the rest of us go with you then in the worst case scenario we can use our own connections to our lions to get Shiro home.”

“Agreed,” Allura said with a smirk. “You’re not winning this argument, Keith. The rest of us paladins are coming too.”

Keith looked amongst his friends. He could keep arguing and even pull his rank as leader, but they did make solid points. He didn’t like putting them in needless danger, but they all agreed they had to do everything they could to get Shiro home.

He would never hesitate to take the same risk if the roles were reversed.

“Alright, we’ll go, but it’ll be a tight squeeze,” he replied.

“Can’t be any worse than when we were all travelling in the Blue Lion,” Pidge said and glanced at Lance. “Just as long as SOMEONE doesn’t decide to ‘hear something’ again.”

Lance snickered. “No promises.”

Allura frowned. “What are you referring to?”

Lance’s snickering halted as Pidge grinned. “Oh, you don’t know? You see Lance decided to-”

“She doesn’t need to hear that,” Lance said as he slapped a hand over Pidge’s mouth. “And it’s nothing, nothing, Allura.”

Allura still looked baffled as Hunk began to pace. “Um, but we still have the problem of how we get there? I mean, the Black Lion isn’t strong enough by herself, right?” Hunk said. “We only go into that other reality because we were all combined.”

Lance sighed. “Couldn’t we just…I don’t know, take the energy when we’re Voltron and store it in a giant battery or something?”

“That’s…” Pidge started, but then paused as she slowly grabbed her chin, “not a bad idea.”

Lance blinked. “Really?”

“Yeah,” Hunk agreed as he crossed his arms. “It’ll probably take us a couple of days, but we could build a battery, form Voltron and fill it with just enough of its quintessence to give the Black Lion the boost she needs.”

“We’ll need help with the design though,” Pidge said as she glanced over. “Willing to help with this?”

“Yes, this plan would be acceptable,” Slav confirmed.

“Then it’s settled,” Keith declared. “You three work on the battery while the rest of us will get supplies ready.”

Lance raised an eyebrow. “Do we need that much? This Aang said he and his friends were taking care of Shiro, right?”

“We still don’t know how truthful he was being,” Coran stated, “and as my Uncle Yevern would said ‘You don’t want to be caught short on acid when facing a one-eye Dunga.”

“Exactly,” Keith replied even though he didn’t quite understand the saying. “Shiro’s counting on us so we can’t afford any mistakes.”

The others nodded as Keith’s body tensed.

We’re coming for you, Shiro. Hang in there!

-----------------------------------------

Katara sighed as they walked down the palace hall. “Sokka, will you stop pouting?”

Sokka glared as he kept his arms crossed. “I’m not pouting, I’m grumpy and can you blame me?” He pointed over his shoulder. “I liked that shop and Toph and Shiro got us banned.”

“We’re not banned,” Aang added hastily. “It was just heavily implied for us to not come back for a while.”

Shiro rubbed his neck. “Does it help to say ‘sorry’-”

“No, Shiro, no it does not,” Sokka snapped as he whirled around and pointed. “I expected that kind of behaviour from Toph, but not you!”

“Hey, guys,” Suki cried as she rushed to greet them. “Glad you guys are back-” She trailed off as she noticed her boyfriend’s face. “What happened? Didn’t you have fun?”

“We did,” Sokka said as he pointed, “until Shiro and Toph got us, me included, banned from that weapon store I liked.”

Suki blinked as she glanced at the others. “How?”

Aang gave a nervous laugh. “Toph kind of metal bended one of his new and very expensive swords.”

Toph shrugged. “Hey, if a man claims he has the ‘strongest steel in all the Fire Nation’ and gets cranky because someone metal bends it, it’s his own fault.”

“Ookay,” Suki said. ��Couldn’t you just bend it back to the way it was?”

“Tried to,” Toph said with a scoff. “But the owner was all huffy that it wasn’t straight enough.”

“That’s when I stepped in and tried to use my cybernetic arm to help,” Shiro said sheepishly as he raised his arm. “And…kind of accidentally snapped it in two.”

Shiro did feel bad about it. It didn’t happen often, but it could be hard at times to predict how much strength his arm had. He had tried to get better ever since he accidentally broke one of Coran’s favourite tools.

Granted, at least Coran didn’t cry about it like the poor shopkeeper did. At least, not while Shiro was watching.

“Still say it wasn’t a strong sword in the first place if you could do that easily,” Toph commented.

Sokka groaned. “I had a discount there.”

Suki gave a soft laugh. “Well, it’s good you guys are back.” She clicked her tongue. “We’ve had some developments.”

Shiro frowned. “What kind of developments?”

Suki sighed as she rubbed the back of her neck. “I think it’s best if Zuko explains.”

The group exchanged anxious looks as they followed Suki. They found Zuko and Iroh in the meeting room.

Iroh finished setting up tea cups and greeted the group with a smile. “Welcome back. Did you get a nice tour, Shiro?”

“I did,” Shiro said as Iroh began to pour tea, “but we can discuss that later.” He glanced over to Zuko. “Suki said something happened?

“Yes,” Zuko said as Katara took a seat next to him. “We were given a message.”

“Ookay,” Aang said as he scratched his cheek, “I don’t see how that-”

“From Ozai,” Zuko finished.

The group went silent. Katara's eyes narrowed as she touched his shoulder. “Is it actually from Ozai? Maybe someone-”

“No, it’s him,” Iroh said as he handed her a cup. “A guard gave me the message and I went to confirm it myself.”

“It’s been three years,” Sokka retorted as he took a seat. “What could he possibly want to say to you?”

“Not to me,” Zuko said and looked up. “He requested to speak to Shiro.”

Shiro's eyes widened. “Me?”

“He claims to have information.”

“That still doesn’t explain why he wants to talk with me,” Shiro said as he sat down and took a cup of tea. “I’ve never met him.”

Zuko sipped his tea. “If I had to guess, he heard the rumours about you and wants to attempt to convince you to turn against me so he can gett back on the throne.”

Sokka stroked his chin in thought and gave a slow nod. “Yeah, that would track.”

Shiro raised an eyebrow. “You honestly think he would waste his time on that?”

“He’s been stuck in a jail cell for three years,” Aang said as he crossed his arms. “He’s probably willing to give anything at least a try at this point.”

Shiro frowned, but gave a slow nod. Aang was probably right.

“So, I guess the real question is do you think Ozai is telling the truth and actually knows anything?” Suki asked as she leaned against the wall.

“Considering how long he’s been cut off from the outside world, I want to say no,” Zuko said and sighed. “But it’s not impossible.”

“So, I should probably go and talk to him,” Shiro said.

Zuko frowned. “I don’t think that’s a good idea. You’ve never met him and he has a way of getting into people’s heads.”

“I agree,” Katara replied as she touched Zuko’s shoulder, “especially since he’s probably lying.”

“Except we don’t know for certain, do we?” Shiro said as he crossed his arms. “We can’t afford to not take any possible leads.”

“I have to agree with Shiro,” Sokka said as he stroked his chin. “As much as we hate it, we can’t ignore his claims either even if they do end up being false.”

“Then why not have Toph go with him.” Aang sighed as he glanced at Toph. “You would be able to detect if Ozai was lying, right?”

Toph sucked air between her teeth. “Probably? I mean, he can be tricky but he’s not as hard as Azula. I should be able to handle it.”

“At the very least you’ll be solid back up if Ozai tries to pull anything funny,” Zuko replied.

Shiro frowned. “Do I really need back up though. Aang took away his bending, right? What could he do behind a prison cell?”

“Truthfully, not much,” Zuko admitted, “but I don’t like taking any chances.”

“Even a defanged spidersnake can still hold a deadly bite,” Iroh admitted.

“That’s fair, but whatever Ozai wants to tell me he might not be willing if I have company,” Shiro replied.

“I can just stay hidden,” Toph said with a smirk. “I don’t have to be standing next to him to tell, just close enough to feel the vibrations. I could probably just hide in an empty jail cell next to him.”

“That could work,” Shiro said.

Truthfully, Shiro would have felt better going on his own. If this Ozai was as dangerous as the others feared he would rather not put any of them in danger. However, he needed Toph’s ability to determine if he was telling the truth or not.

“I guess we should get going then,” he replied.

“Not before tea,” Iroh said as he gestured. “There is nothing better to strengthen the mind before battle than a cup of tea.”

Shiro gave a slight chuckle and he sat. “Alright, but I’m not heading into battle.”

Iroh frowned. “Not of the body, but of the heart. Be wary, Shiro. My brother is not to be taken lightly.”

Shiro gave a thoughtful nod as he slowly took a sip.

--------------------------------------------

Shiro and Toph didn’t talk much as they approached the prison cells.

“Are there any other prisoners kept here?” Shiro asked.

“Ozai is the only one as far as I know,” Toph replied. “Sparky once explained to me it’s only for members of the royal family. Granted, I think everyone feels safer Ozai’s in a place where he can better keep tabs on him and he can’t gain ‘friends’ with other prisoners.”

“Makes sense,” Shiro replied and then frowned. “Wait, was I near Ozai when I was put in a cell?”

“Naw,” Toph said with a hand wave. “The prison here has levels to it and you were in an upper one. Ozai’s cell is in the deepest one.”

Two guards were stationed outside the entrance. Shiro couldn’t resist a smile as he spotted a familiar face between them.

“Hey, Ling,” he said with a wave. “It’s been awhile.”

Ling gave a smirk and poked her fellow guard in the rib.

“See, Azai, I told you he’d remember me.”

The other guard sighed as he rubbed his side. “Yeah, yeah, you win the bet. I’ll treat you later.”

Ling chuckled, but it quickly turned back into a frown as she turned back to Shiro. “Should I assume you’re here to see Ozai?”

“I am,” Shiro said, “but how do you know about it?”

Ling sighed. “Because I’m the one that had to deliver the message to Prince Iroh.”

“I see,” Shiro said and then gestured to Toph. “Um..I don’t know if you two have formally met.”

“Not personally, but Master Toph’s abilities are famous within the palace,” Azai replied. “Especially with the gardeners considering that damage you cause-OW!” Azai rubbed his arm and Ling glared. “What? It’s true.”

Toph smirked. “Relax, I’m not offended. I’m just glad my reputation precedes me.”

Shiro gave a small smile as he patted Toph’s shoulder. “Toph is going to accompany me.”

Ling grasped her chin. “I’m not against the idea, but I’m fairly certain Ozai was implying to speak with you alone.”

“And as far as he knows, he will,” Toph replied as she crossed her arms. “I’m planning to stay out of his sight. You just need to direct me to the closest cell where he won’t see me and I’ll handle the rest.”

Azai rubbed his neck. “He is the only prisoner down there currently, so that shouldn’t be too hard to do.”

Ling went quiet as she thought, but gave a nod. “Yeah, alright,” she said as she turned to open the door. “Azai, you stay here and I’ll take them down.”

“Don’t have to tell me twice,” he said as he stepped aside.

Ling gave a smirk as he patted his arm and then led the way inside. No one spoke as they went down the stairs. Once they reached the bottom, Ling gestured towards a nearby empty cell.

Toph responded with a nod as she quietly stepped inside it and leaned against the wall.

Ling then continued to the next cell which was not empty. A man sat in the centre of the cell with his back to them.

“Lord Ozai, you have a visitor,” she said.

There was a chuckle. “Oh, do I?”

He rose and turned around smiling. “And who do I owe the pleasure?”

Shiro narrowed his eyes.

Having only heard about Ozai, Shiro didn't know what to expect. On Zuko’s orders all portraits of the man had been removed from the palace. However, he wasn’t surprised by what he saw either.

He was wearing prison clothes similar to what Shiro had been given when he had first arrived. Ozai was tall, with long black hair and a beard. Shiro could see traces of some of Zuko’s features in the man, but not in the eyes.

He had the same cruel eyes he had seen in Zarkon and Sendak.

No compassion, no empathy and all calculating. Definitely the eyes a formal tyrant would have.

Shiro crossed his arms. “I’m Shiro,” he replied curtly. “You sent a request to see me?”

Ozai smirk tightened. “So I did,” he said and then sharply turned his head to Ling. “Leave us.”

Ling looked prepared to argue, but Shiro reassured with a nod as he patted her shoulder.

“It’s okay,” he said.

Ling sighed as she bowed.

“Let me know if you need assistance,” she said and then turned to leave.

Ozai didn’t speak until the two of them heard Ling walk up the stairs.

“So, you must be Shiro,” he said as he approached the bars. “You’re quite famous within the palace these days.”

“Am I?” Shiro said with a raised eyebrow.

“Oh yes,” Ozai purred as he tucked his hands behind his back. “Bujing’s defeat and sudden retirement spread like wildfire. The ‘living dragon’ is what some of the guards are calling you.” His eyes landed on Shiro’s cybernetic arm. “I find myself curious how you were able to acquire such a powerful arm. The Fire Nation’s technology is quite advanced but even-”

“Is there a point to this?” Shiro cut in. “I doubt you called me here just to ogle my arm.”

Ozai smiled. “Forgive me, I seem to have picked up some of my idiot brother’s habits while being cooped up in here. I fear I was about to offer you tea.” He gripped the bar cells. “I wish to make you an offer.”

“Oh, really?” Shiro replied. “And what would that be?”

Ozai released his grip on the bars and began to pace in his cell. “My son is weak. He doesn’t have the strength it takes to rule.” He turned to Shiro. “Help me break out of here and restore my rightful place on the throne. If we succeed, I guarantee you honor and glory beyond just being a bodyguard for a failed heir to the throne.”

Looks like Sokka and Zuko’s hunches were right, Shiro thought. “What about the assassins? You claim you knew about them.”

Ozai shrugged. “Why do they matter beyond proving the pretender to the throne is unworthy of it? I just said that to convince him and my brother to let you down here.”

“So, you don’t know anything then,” Shiro said simply, “which means you’re just wasting my time.”

Ozai glared. “Should I take this to mean you’re refusing my offer?”

Shiro turned to walk away. “We’re done here.”

Ozai gripped Shiro’s human arm through the bars. “No, you must assist me!”

Shiro glared down at him. Ozai didn’t seem intimidated by it. Either he was very stupid or very desperate.

“I don’t have to do anything-”

“The brat doesn’t have the conviction to do what needs to be done! He isn’t strong like you and I!”

Shiro paused and blinked. “What the hell are you talking about?”

“My son is a weakling, following my brother’s foolish philosophy. He refuses to believe killing is necessary.” Ozai smirked. “Unlike you.”

Shiro became still. “I don’t know-”

“I heard how your angi kai went, the ruthlessness that brought you victory,” Ozai continued. “Had it not been for that weakling’s presence you would have removed Bujing permanently as a threat.”

Shiro’s hands tightened. “You don’t know a thing about me.”

“I know the signs of a killer,” Ozai said with a smirk, “and an experienced one. How else could a non-bender take down a top general so easily.”

Images flashed through Shiro’s brain. Faces. Screaming. Blood. What had he done? Focus on the enemy. No time for distractions!

“The worthless pacifist lacks the resolve that we have,” Ozai continued. “At my side, you could be my greatest weapon-”

Shiro lunged and sent his arm through the bars. He seized Ozai’s neck and yanked him forward to slam against the bars.

Ozai gasped for air. He frantically tried to break free, but Shiro kept his hold.

“You shut up,” Shiro snapped as he brought his face closer. “You don’t know a damn thing about me!” His grip tightened on Ozai’s neck. “From everything I've heard about you, everything I’ve seen, I should do everyone a favor and just end your life right now.”

Ozai coughed as he attempted to lift his head to stare at Shiro’s glare.

“Go..ahead,” he spat. “Do what my son is too weak to do.”

Shiro glared, every human muscle tensing, his fingers tightening, but after a moment he shoved Ozai to the ground, standing still as a statue.

“The only reason you’re still alive is because of Zuko,” Shiro snapped. “There’s a lot of people who would love to see you gone. If I were you, I would be careful with my words because I imagine even Zuko’s patience can only hold out for so long.”

Ozai coughed, trying to gather the breath to say something. Whatever it was, Shiro blocked it out as he focused on walking down the hall. Once he was out of Ozai’s sight, he braced against the wall and covered his face with his hands.

I’m not a killer, I’m not a killer, he repeated in his head.

“Shiro?”

He jumped, sharp breaths coming rapidly, his heart in his throat-only slightly calming when he saw it was Toph.

I forgot she was still here, he thought as he hastily gave a smile.

“Sorry, I needed a minute.”

Toph frowned. “I think you need more than that. I could feel your heart racing, still can.”

Shiro swallowed. “I’m fine, Ozai just brought back some unpleasant memories. That’s all.”

Toph touched his arm. “Do you want me to get-”

Shiro pulled away. “No, I’m fine, really,” he insisted and went to the doors. “I just need to be alone. I’m going to the garden a bit, alright?”

Toph was still frowning. She didn’t look convinced.

Shiro opened the door and went up the stairs. “I’m fine, really.”

He didn’t bother to turn his head, but he could hear her say.

“You’re lying.”

#a paladin in the fire nation #atla #vld #gen vld

4 notes · View notes

thepancakewitch · 11 months ago

Text

Alola! It's Me!

Pokemon Sun and Moon drabble for myself, it's one of my fav gens of Pokemon and I love love looovveeeeeeeee Guzma!!!

Camellia is a debutante from the Kalos region. Her family moved to the Alolan islands to escape their aristocratic life in Kalos. While she misses the cooler temperatures, she loves the island trials and all of the culture of Alola. She specializes in Poison types and adores their move set and style. She gets easily excited about crushing her opponent, her entire team can feel her passion. Dexter is her childhood Pokemon so she allows him to stay on the team, even if he doesn’t really match it.

Team:

Dexter the Furfrou // Kabuki Trim ~ Pharaoh Trim

Dragalge

Alolan Muk

Arbok

Scolipede

Nidoking

<3’s Guzma, Colress

---

Escorting kids was harder than it looked. Camellia joined the traveling troupe of island challenge goers for fun and recreation, to learn about the new home she moved to. Sun, Moon, Hau and Lillie, they were all beautiful children. She loved to feed Hau, give battle tips to Sun and Moon, and shop and care for Lillie.

Fixing her hair, she hummed and walked through Heahea. Lillie had been frightened of the thought of Team Skull attacking her and Nebby, but it didn’t matter much to an accomplished trainer like Camellia. Still, she managed to find them, but in the next town over.

“Hand over the bottlecap!”

The vulpix defiantly turned away from the grunts. It was clear this Pokemon was uninterested in them. Camellia strode forward, interfering. “What are you children up to?” She asked in a taunting manner, smiling.

“This vulpix got a bottle cap I want! Kind of a waste on a Pokemon, ain’t it!?” The grunt complained, both still gesturing to flaunt and flex.

“Not really. I could think of better things to get worked up over.” Camellia laughed. “Like a battle.”

“Ya wanna battle us!? Team Skull!?!” The female grunt paused. “Yer on!”

Throwing out Dexter, Camellia laughed. “Fine. Wipe the floor with them, dear.” She looked to her Furfrou. He was well groomed, always trimmed with a new style when she felt the need. He was sporting the Kabuki cut as he gave an affirmative bark in response. A swift head butt slammed into the grunt’s rattata. The rattata’s bite in response didn’t seem to make the Furfrou flinch what so ever.

“What! Get ridda that goofy hair cut mutt! That’s not a real Pokemon, it’s just a spoiled pet!!” The grunt wailed. “Use another bite, Rattata!”

The rattata charged forward again, biting. The furfrou seemed uninterested and retaliated with another head butt, knocking it out.

“He is spoiled, but also well trained, unlike your Pokemon.” Camellia laughed, pointing to the grunt. “Tell the rest of your friends if you want to be crushed, come see me, Camellia.” She cooed, brushing her hair behind her back. Furfrou trotted back to its owner as she took out a brush, grooming him gently. The grunts whined.

“Well it was a stupid bottle cap anyways!!”

“We ain’t done with you lady!!”

They ran away.

The Vulpix and its owner thanked her for rescuing them. Camellia chuckled, “Ah it’s no worry. I am always in the mood to battle, as is Dexter.” The furfrou barked in response, wiggling back and forth on its paws in an excited and playful manner.

“Ya want a beating!?!” Guzma grinned, tilting his head.

Camellia threw her hair back. “Only if you’re prepared to get it ten fold. Bring it.”

A large, shapeless blob emerged from the Pokeball. It was multi colored, eyes and a mouth emerging. It was a Muk. Guzma scoffed as he threw out his Ariados.

“That’s it? A Muk?” He snorted.

“You clearly have no idea what it’s capable of. Gunk shot.” She lifted up her hand, smiling as she did so. “Drown it in poison.”

The muk gasped before shooting out a large ball of gunk. It splashed onto the Ariados, then the Muk moved in to continue its assault. It took some tricky maneuvering from Guzma to help guide his spider Pokemon out of the pool of poison. “String shot it!” Pockets of the Muk were bound together, slowing its mobility down.

“Muk, poison the webbing and throw another gunk shot.” Camellia ordered.

The moving sludge managed to disintigrate the silk thread, throwing another shot in the process. The ariados was knocked out, falling down in gunk.

“Don’t think this is my only pokemon, girly! I’m just gettin’ started.” Guzma returned his fainted Pokemon.

“I hope so, you’re not giving me any sense of challenge.” Camellia smiled. “Muk doesn’t feel it either.”

–

Allamanda is an ex Team Rocket admin. She escaped from Johto to get to Alola and lead a simple life as a police officer. (( ALLAMANDA ISN'T A PIG!!! >:( )) She says she regrets her past life but most people don’t trust her.

She specializes in Dark and Dragon pokemon.

Team:

Alolan Persian

Lycanroc ( Night )

Krookodile

Turtonator

Sharpedo

Kommo-O

<3’s ??

---

#Mabel Writes #Mabel's OCs #text

1 note · View note

benligginsscreen · 2 years ago

Text

Sound design

This was an entirely new experience for me and even though it didn't seem necessary to do a whole lot, and thus I didn't feel as if I needed to use Ableton, I still spent a considerable amount of time trying to match the audio gains of different clips, EQ them, and unclip some of the more harsh sounding ones on Premiere and Audition. As well as this I had to rerecord a couple clips by myself without the help of my performers, which was slightly challenging as they obviously have their own unique voices. Despite none of them talking, they still groan and moan in the clips which was surprisingly tricky to work around. For the most part I just left these moments out, but I did still include some rerecorded audio of licking and smacking sounds. I think this turned out alright. The plan was to make the audio feel a bit overstimulating so the change in volumes and the sudden presence of wind or intense white noise that I couldn't hide when cutting between shots actually kind of benefits the chaos and the rigid style of the audio and the shaky visuals. For the most part I did still try to hide the difference in sound between shots within the same scene through the use of "exponential fade" and "constant power". In trying to replicate an exponential fade when the effect wasn't doing it justice, I did also just decrease the volume or audio gain over time through keyframing.

Being limited to very little takes during the actual filming process meant that I wasn't always able to get the desired audio, however in working with what I had, I think I did alright. But I still dont really know. I've listened to it too many times to be able to have a clear perspective on it and any one that I've shown is just incapable of being as harsh as I am, so I'm still a little unsure about this aspect of the work.

For the most part though, including audio and visuals, I did my best with the material that I had.

0 notes

whitecatindisguise · 3 years ago

Note

Hello there, I've been wondering about these headcanons for the sonic movies and have been thinking, sense sonic, tails and knuckles come from a different universe and such, wouldn't they need to get these earth vaccinies? And if so how would they react..just very curious about it!

I actually remember reading about the exact subject in some fanfiction I've found.

I think that yes, they would need to get vaccinated at least for some of the earth illnesses. The dosage and what vaccines they would need to get would be a little bit tricky to figure out, since they are not human but not exactly like earth animals, but I'm sure Maddie and Tom could find a way.

As to how they would react:

Sonic would pretend to be brave but he'd be completely terrified. I mean, someone is driving a needle into his arm and pushing some kind of liquid into your body and it hurts? Yeah, he'd be scared of vaccines, but always pretends it's nothing (everyone can see through him, but nobody says a thing). Taking him to shots is a challenge, and several times they had to threaten to use dart gun on him (not that they would, obviously) to get him into the car. And they have to watch him all the time so he doesn't run away. Setting an example for Tails works, though. He really wants to appear brave in front of his younger brother.

Tails would be scared, but after Maddie explains to him what exactly is going to happen and why they are doing this, he calms down. He still needs his favourite plushie to keep him company and comfort himself. And he needs to look away when the needle is used. He doesn't need to be persuaded when the time comes to have another shot. He understands they are important for him to not get sick. Doesn't mean he likes them though.

Knuckles would not understand why he needs to be vaccinated and claim he will conquer all the illnesses without it. The only way they manage to persuade him is to make him show Sonic and Tails vaccines aren't scary. The first time he got a shot, he got surprised by the pain after it and almost accidentally broke the nurse's arm. Tom had to quickly step in and explain things to Knuckles to avoid anyone getting hurt. Since then, Knuckles is the one that's second easiest to persuade to get another shot, right after Tails.

#I'll defeat the sickness on my own just watch me!#vaccines are nothing I'll show you #vaccines #yeah they would need to get them #sonic is a scaredy baby pretending to be brave #tails understands and agrees why he needs to do it but is still a little scared #knuckles is like #but also #tails headcanons #sonic movie 2 #sonic movie 2 headcanons #miles tails prower #sonic wachowski #knuckles the echidna #maddie and tom wachowski #kitty mom answers

55 notes · View notes

lisatelramor · 2 years ago

Text

last day I’m participating in hakukai week. already missing spring as the weather slides firmly toward autumn. =_=

Did You Really

“What do you mean you lost the key?” Kuroba Kaito demanded.

Saguru winced at the sheer, incredulous rage those words held. To be fair, they were more or less deserved. It was mostly Saguru’s fault that they were up on the roof of an apartment building only accessible by ladder, handcuffed together, with Kuroba having no way to pick a lock. On the other hand, Kuroba was Kid at the moment, so Saguru had felt entirely justified for taking the opportunity granted by a shift of wind and Kuroba accidentally gassing himself in the face instead of Saguru.

“As I said,” Saguru said, trying to remain calm because one of them had to, “I do not appear to have them in my pockets anymore. They must have been lost in the scuffle at the heist earlier.”

Saguru may have been a bit overly creative in his cuffing method. Taping Kuroba’s hands shut and handcuffing him behind his back would likely have been enough. He had felt paranoid and only had perhaps five minutes before Kuroba started stirring, no doubt somewhat immune to his own sleep gas concoction, and had ended up handcuffing himself to Kuroba as well as an extra precaution to keep him from just jumping from the roof or some other ridiculous tactic.

Thus the current problem. The roof was only accessible by ladder. Kuroba’s hands were behind his back. And Saguru was stuck to him. Put together, it was tricky at best, impossible at worst to try to get off the roof without uncuffing.

And Saguru had lost the key.

“Great,” Kuroba huffed. “Wonderful. And how were you planning to get me down to arrest me?”

Saguru pressed his lips together tightly, unwilling to admit that he hadn’t thought that far ahead. He had tried to train himself out of acting on impulse, but it seemed he still had a lot of work to do there. “I’ll call Nakamori-keibu,” he said after a moment, pulling out the police handheld transceiver. He’d barely blipped the button to speak when a shoulder knocked it from his hand.

With rising dread, Saguru watched it skip off the flat roof with a crack before sailing over the edge. Somewhere below there was a crash. Saguru looked at where it had disappeared and took a breath. “Or we can not do that and stay stuck up a roof all night,” he said sourly. If only he hadn’t left his phone in the car. After the last time he broke one vaulting over a railing…

“Oh, so I’m supposed to sit still and let myself get arrested?” Kuroba shot back. He glared over his shoulder. Saguru didn’t know how Kuroba thought he was being subtle or hiding anything. Sure, he’d lowered his voice a bit and added some contouring to change his face shape, but his eyes were the same strange shade of blue and he had the same shape of lips. The hair peeking from his hat’s brim was the same dark brown. And he’d covered it in makeup, but Saguru could still see the tiny raised bump of a mole by Kuroba’s right ear. It was entirely obvious who he was and that Nakamori couldn’t see it was because he was blinded by biases.

Saguru tugged on where their wrists were connected, making Kuroba brace to keep his balance and not wrench his arms. “As a criminal, yes, you are supposed to let yourself get arrested once caught.”

“What kind of criminal goes quietly?” Kuroba complained. “And did you have to tape my thumb under all my other fingers? What if I fell on my hands? That’s practically a guaranteed broken thumb.”

“If I didn’t take your thumb like that, you could likely dislocate it and slip free.”

“Exactly. It’s really inconvenient.”

Saguru scoffed. Kuroba thought he was funny. He wasn’t. He was irritating and a challenge.

Kuroba jerked and Saguru staggered forward a few steps.

“What are you doing?” he asked.

“Oh you know,” Kuroba huffed as he moved his torso in ways that he shouldn’t be able to with his hands behind his back. “Just trying to dislocate a shoulder.”

“Are you insane? Even if you did, you’d only have succeeded in injuring yourself!” Saguru was jerked forward again by his wrist. They were both going to be bruised by the end of this, weren’t they?

“Well do you have an idea to get out of this?”

“…I could probably untape your hands.”

Kuroba raised an eyebrow and thrust his hands back pointedly. Saguru looked up because he realized another miscalculation. Namely that by cuffing his hand to Kuroba’s wrists, it was stuck right next to Kuroba’s butt. Which was currently emphasized by Kuroba’s posture.

Tape. He would pick off the tape, they would free themselves, and Saguru would just chalk the night up for his loss because he didn’t actually want to spend the night on a building until someone miraculously managed to find him just because he was too prideful to let Kuroba go.

He plucked at the tape. And plucked some more. The angle was wrong and he could only effectively use one hand. He breathed hard out his mouth as his short-cut nails failed to catch the edge yet again.

“Wow, this is sad to experience,” Kuroba deadpanned. “A detective who can’t even manage the tape he put on me in the first place.”

“Shut up.” This would be easier if it wasn’t night for one. Saguru tore a few bits off here and there. The tape, irritatingly, refused to come free in a strip. He could feel the flex of Kuroba’s fingers under its surface, but after ten frustrating minutes he had to pause. “This isn’t working.”

“No shit, Sherlock.” Kuroba rolled his shoulders as much as he was able, probably trying to relieve the strain on them from the position. The cuffs clinked, mocking them. “How are you at lockpicking?”

“Not good? I haven’t had much reason to do more than pick a lock on a diary or something similar.”

“Of course.” Kuroba sighed. “Thankfully handcuffs don’t have complex locks. Even you should be able to pick it. They’re pickable with even a bobby pin.”

“So grateful for your vote of confidence,” Saguru said sarcastically.

Kuroba craned his neck around to frown at him. “I have picks, but clearly I can’t get them. Just grab one and get us loose.”

“Grab from where?” Saguru wasn’t about to do a strip-search to find a lockpick. The idea made his cheeks heat though.

“Oh, any of five places,” Kuroba said lightly. “The easiest would be in one of my chest pockets.”

“Right.” Saguru paused a moment to contemplate how he would reach before internally shrugging and stepping closer, right hand reaching around and into Kuroba’s suit jacket. He could feel Kuroba freeze, muscles like rocks and the breath stopped in his chest as Saguru had to press bodily against him. He felt along Kuroba’s body-warm silk shirt, the edge of the tie, before turning his hand to feel for pockets in the jacket.

A few seconds later, he concluded that there were far too many pockets to guess.

“Which one?” he asked, hand skimming up toward Kuroba’s neck. There were pockets there too. How did he keep such a clean suit line with so many hidden pockets? Against Saguru’s chest, Kuroba’s frame shook with a delayed breath. If he hadn’t been touching him, Saguru would never have noticed.

“Left,” Kuroba said, “and down—not that far!” He twitched away, ironically pulling Saguru in closer as Saguru’s fingers skimmed his lower ribs. Ticklish? “I really don’t need you setting off a smoke bomb right on top of us.” Ah, not ticklish. “It’s up against one of the darts. Right against the seam. A little right, maybe a centimeter up…”

Saguru’s fingers found something made of metal, one end rounded into a knob that made it easier to grasp and pull. There were three others, lined one after another. Saguru slid one free, his hand leaving Kuroba’s jacket. The air felt shockingly cold compared to the warmth of Kuroba’s body.

“Good, yeah, that’s the one I meant. Now pick the lock.”

Saguru looked down at the tangle of cuffs. Thought about angles. Crouched. His face burned and he was fiercely glad that Kuroba couldn’t see him all but pressed against the back of Kuroba’s thighs, too mindful of proximity to give into leaning against them. This was mortifying. Saguru was rethinking his stance on handcuffing people to his person. There had to be a better way. Like handcuffing to a railing or something.

The lock didn’t click open easily. Saguru blamed the fact that he hadn’t picked a lock in three years, but it was a bit humiliating knowing that it would take perhaps a second or two at most for Kuroba to free himself from all three locks.

The lock clicked. Saguru held the pressure as he eased the teeth of the cuffs off and open from one of Kuroba’s wrists.

“Oh thank fuck,” Kuroba muttered, pulling his wrist free and releasing his shoulders from their tensed state. He immediately started attacking the tape on his hand with his teeth. Finally able to turn and see Saguru without awkward acrobatics, Kuroba lifted an eyebrow above his monocle and rattled the wrist where they were still linked together.

“I thought you would appreciate not having your hands behind your back before anything else.”

“I’d appreciate—bleh—not having tape—rrgh—all over my hand! How many layers are there?!”

Saguru averted his eyes and went to work on the cuff connecting them. He…may have used a good portion of a roll on each hand.

“You,” Kuroba grunted around gross sounds of trying to chew through tape, “are on my shit list, Detective. Next heist, be prepared.”

Saguru stopped picking the lock to scowl up at him. “I could leave us locked together and force you down the ladder and to the station.”

“You couldn’t,” Kuroba said confidently. “Try to get me down the ladder and I’ll definitely get us both injured.”

“You wouldn’t.”

“Could and would. You underestimate what I’d do to escape.”

Saguru had the mental image of a raccoon flash into his head, chewing off its paw to escape a trap. Actually causing Kuroba physical harm was the last thing he wanted. The lockpick slipped and he had to duck down to get it, fingertips scraping concrete.

“You’re terrible at that,” Kuroba said, or more, “Yr trrble ah dat” as his teeth were tugging at a thicker chunk of tape.

“Not all of us make a point of knowing dubiously legal skills.”

“Lockpicking is perfectly legal to know.”

“And perfectly illegal to use on someone else’s lock without permission.”

“Details.”

The lock clicked free and now Kuroba had two sets of cuffs dangling on one wrist and two hands still mummified in tape to resemble an old, low-quality pixel game character.

Saguru could leave Kid there, go and try to get Nakamori, and come back likely before Kid could chew through all the tape. But Kid probably didn’t actually need to use his hands to grip much in order to escape.

He had well and truly lost this one by trying too hard.

Ah well.

Saguru mustered a bit of boldness in his defeat and stepped forward. Kuroba eyed him like he was a stranger’s dog as Saguru held out the lockpick.

“What do you expect me to grab that with?” Kuroba asked.

“I don’t.” He took another step closer, body heat mixing with body heat. He had the pleasure of watching Kuroba’s eyes widen and his mouth drop open in shock as Saguru slipped his hand back into his suit jacket. Finding the right spot was a bit tricky from this direction, but he found where he’d gotten the pick from and slid it back into place.

It felt a bit like winning as he noted the hint of pink in Kuroba’s cheeks as he drew his hand back.

“Since I’m letting you go, I might as well give that back,” Saguru explained.

Kid blinked several times, rapidly. “You’re a jerk.”

Saguru raised an eyebrow. He took a step back.

“…You’re leaving me on the rooftop with my hands covered in tape, aren’t you?” Kid said, resigned.

Saguru smiled. “Good luck with getting free. But then you’re a world class thief. I’m sure you’ll manage.”

“No, you’re a bastard.”

“My parents were happily married when I was born,” Saguru said grinning. This, at least, was a win over Kuroba. Over Kid. “Goodnight, Kuroba-kun.”

“Who are you calling Kuroba?” Kuroba sputtered.

Saguru waved and stepped neatly down the ladder. He could hear Kuroba’s muffled curses above him. Perhaps this counted as a draw. Saguru could live with that.

#hakukaiweek22 #magic kaito #fanfiction #my writing

26 notes · View notes

lilblueorchid · 4 years ago

Photo

Thought process and easter egg on the Digimon Anniversary Illustration!

Hello everyone, today I feel like explaining some stuff over my Digimon Illustration, mostly why I drew thing this way or point out some little details and easter eggs you might have missed. ;)

Click on read more if you want a LENGTHLY explanation with a lot of rambling from me, or if not you can just enjoy the process gif. <3

The Digimon illustration was a special one for me for different reasons. Firstly, obviously, Digimon! It was a show I grew up with, and I find it quite fitting that after a tough year of graduation movie under a pandemic, in which I really experienced the pain of growing up, I ended up finding back Digimon.

Secondly, as a child, I remember spending HOURS looking for fanarts online! I would save all the ones I found pretty and keep them preciously, i still have the folders actually haha. While pursuing art, I always had in mind thatI wanted one day to make a fanart my child self would have gone crazy over! And, i think I achieved that with that one haha.

Anyway LET’S START! Shall we?

First off : the illustration process

When I do an illustration I always do a quick draft first, and most of the time, in colors. I think I’m more of a “color” person than a “line” person, I tend to need to see colors quickly in order to see if it’s ok.

For this one, I’ve always had in mind it would be a double illustration, with the older Tai’s silhouette acting as a frame for the children illustration. It was a bit tricky, I had to make the children illustration fit nicely into his silhouette, it was hassle around the neck area, that’s why I made little Taichi stand up haha. Also used Mimi’s hat to balance the picture : the bottom part is very heavy and there’s only sky in the upper part, adding the hat helps making it more balanced.

The character were the longest and the most challenging part by far. As you can see I had 3 different steps : super rough, they’re almost like stickmen and smiley face, a more detailled one in which I figure out their actual pose and anatomy, then a last one in which I fix some proportion, add details and clean. Fun fact I don’t clean over a new layer... i just erase the unwanted part of my sketch. :’D

I did a quick pass over the BG after that, then I colored the characters in flat colors before rendering them. It was a back and forth between the BG and the characters to make sure everything was working together nicely.

Now was the time to render the BG, I did the tramway first, the flower field after. Fun fact, I did my flower field study in order to know how to approach the flowers in this illustration! If your have the time, i totally recommend finding a photograph close to the kind of BG you wanna do, and make a study of it so you can try your hand at it first and go into your own BG later with an idea of how to approach this.

Adjust colors, add flower petals and butterflies and emotional text, slap over a paper texture, and THERE. You have it! On to the next part now...

The meaningful details and easter eggs

Be aware there will be spoilers for Digimon Adventure 01 (but I assume you already know it), but also for Digimon Adventure : Last evolution Kizuna, which is the conclusion of the first serie. So read at your own risk!

The tramway is obviously a reference to the end of Digimon Adventure 01. The kids used it to go back to their world, so It was their goodbye to their Digimon at this moment. In Kizuna, Tai and Matt find the tramway trapped in crystal in Menoa’s fake memory world. Hinting that had they been caught by her, their memories would have brought them back here.

Tailmon has Kari’s whistle! At the end of Digimon Adventure 01, Kari gives it to her as a memento.

When I drew Sora, I had in mind how she was in Kizuna, very stressed out by her mom’s expectation, which led her to neglect Piyomon. She realized it too late, and after that she refused to fight because she wanted to keep Piyomon with her as long as possible. Tragically, she was the first one to lose her Digimon. Here I tried to convey a softness and a kind of “I won’t forget to appreciate you” vibe in the way she holds Piyomon’s hand. As for Mimi and Palmon, in Digimon adventure 01 Palmon was very emotionally affected by Mimi’s departure, so, a hug was fitting. :’)

The screens on the Tramway display DA for Digimon Adventure, and also 01.08.1999 which is the date of the children’s journey’s beginning. :)

The little drawings also show the 8 crests.

There are butterflies flying over the illustration, it’s a reference to Butter-fly, the first Digimon opening, by the late Koji Wada.

"I'll become a happy butterfly, and ride on the glittering wind, I'll come and see you soon. “

Now, let’s the see the counterpart of the illustration. The one with the grown up Tai from Kizuna.

I made him wear the hoodie he had in his very last adventure with Agumon.... but truthfully the reason is that I think hoodies are cool lol. And the hood’s volume gave me more space in the silhouette, which made it easier for me to do the other illustration inside.

You don’t see it clearly, but he is holding his Digivice, albeit the darkened version once his partner bond with Agumon is broken. The Tai in this illustration has already lost Agumon. (Yes it was painful for me to go fetch the screenshots)

He is also holding his dear signature google he used to wear as a child. Fun fact, I rewatched the older movies, and as a kid he even used to sleep with it, how cute haha.

Also yes, the crest of Courage over his hand, which is his own. I’m so dumb I realize I should have made the time counter from the movie instead of the crest for a maximum emotional hurt impact.

And the quote is from one of the trailer for Kizuna, I think.....................

But then you go : Oh that illustration is so depressing then! Well. Yes. But no. but yes. But not really.

One of my favorite shot of the movie is this one : this is after Tai and Agumon learn their time together is limited. Agumon asks him if they will have to go separate ways once Tai is all grown up. Tai doesn’t answer, and takes him to eat something instead, as Agumon was hungry. In this shot Agumon eats to his heart content next to Tai, who’s not eating at all and just watches him fondly. I love that the framing doesnt show agumon. It’s a foreshadowing of their unavoidable separation.

At the very end of the movie, Tai write in his thesis about Human and Digimon’s relationship that Agumon was like a part of himself.

In a way, Agumon symbolizes childhood, the carefree days we would spend as a kid, with our big dreams and hopes. When you grow up, you tend to forget those simple emotions because you get swallowed into the stress of studies, figuring out your carreer, your life path. Just like us, Tai forgot this part of himself. In the madness of growing up, he lost Agumon.

However, it’s not the end. He will pick himself back up. He will move forward in life despite his worries and incertainities, and he will find himself again. Therefore, he will find Agumon again. The kids in the illustration are waving goodbye, but it’s not goodbye, it’s a see you later. In the meantime, Tai is holding on to these precious memories, until they meet again.

#Digimon #Digimon adventure #Yagami Taichi #Digimon adventure : last evolution kizuna #illustration process #kinda analysis #listen im actually writing this for myself #I spend 4 days on that illu with a lot of feels and I need to write them down #This is basically what my close friends have to endure each time I get an obsession

223 notes · View notes

kpopfanfictrash · 4 years ago

Text

Raise the Barre (Ch. 6)

Author: kpopfanfictrash

Pairing: Jimin / Reader

Rating: 18+ (Eventual Smut)

Genre: Enemies to Lovers / Dance Academy!AU

Warnings: Underage drinking, sexual harassment (not from any of the main characters)

Word Count: 7,295

Summary: You and Park Jimin have been rivals for as long as you’ve known one another; ever since he tripped you in the front row of your first dance convention. When you graduate from high school and enter Russet Ballet Academy, you tell yourself you’re leaving all past quarrels behind. The main problem with this though, is that your past seems determined not to leave you alone.

Worse still, the obstacles you face while out in the real world might prove more challenging than anything your enemy has to offer.

Dr. Gonzalez’s assessment of your ankle turned out to be correct; by the end of the week, you were feeling much better. You had to give some of the credit to Jimin, who’d been like a hawk in his watchfulness all week. The second you landed a difficult jump, Jimin would pop up beside you like the worst kind of clickbait, scolding you for not marking your movements.

At first, it drove you crazy – it was like having your parents out on the dance floor. Each time you pliéd, Jimin would clench his jaw hard enough to crack walnuts. It got to the point though, where you began to find it amusing, pretending to do something full-out just to mess with him.

Jimin didn’t find this as amusing as you did.

The Monday following your injury, you returned to Dr. Gonzalez’s office for a check-up. After examining your ankle and a few routine tests, she nodded in satisfaction and declared you fit to dance. A massive weight lifted from your chest, you practically bounded upstairs and into ballet.

Mr. Vlad’s ballet class wasn’t the type of place people usually bounded to, so you drew several stares when you entered the room. Dropping your bag beside Noelle, you stood at the barre and began to shed your warm-ups.

“It feels so good to be back,” you groaned, lifting your leg.

Noelle grinned, mirroring your movement. “It’s good to have you back,” she agreed. “I felt like a worried mom all week, constantly watching out for your ankle. Now, I can finally be selfish again.”

You laughed. “Well, thank god for that.”

“Miss Y/L/N!” Smiling, Mr. Vlad came to a stop alongside you. “Good as new, I take it?” he said, glancing down.

“Yep,” you said, rolling your ankle in a circle to show. “Dr. Gonzalez cleared me to dance earlier this morning.”

“Good, good.” He nodded. “I’m glad to hear it. It’s always a shame to see talented dancers injured. Make sure you don’t jump back in too quickly, though. Take it easy.”

“Will do,” you said, somewhat dazed as he turned to walk away.

Noelle leaned forward. “Dude,” she whispered, staring at his back. “Mr. Vlad just called you a talented dancer. Mr. Vlad. Vlad Copson.”

“I know,” you whispered, trying to stifle a laugh. “Wow.”

It was a wow moment indeed, since before now you hadn’t been sure whether Mr. Vlad even liked you. He’d given you and Jimin a compliment a few weeks prior, but everything else you received from him was criticism. Despite knowing this to be his reputation as a teacher, you honestly had no idea where you stood with him at all.

Hearing him call you talented was enough for you to hope it would be a good day. Barre passed by quickly and, true to your word, you tried not to overdo things. Despite your initial positivity, it soon became apparent you’d fallen behind. By the time you finished barre and walked to the center, your earlier enthusiasm had somewhat waned.

Although you’d improved since the start of the year, taking a week off had put a damper on your progress. Even just seven days of marking was enough for you to feel lost while moving through the combinations. Luckily, Jimin was there to help you remember the steps.

‘Luckily, Jimin’ was never a phrase you thought you’d say and yet, here you were. Aligned by the same goal, Jimin had proven himself to be a useful partner. Nearly a month into your truce, things were going well between you. Steps came easier once you were certain he wouldn’t drop you on purpose.

Obviously, you still had work to do between you, but it was easier without constantly wondering what Jimin was thinking. Trust was tricky enough without years of rancor between you, but somehow you and Jimin were making this work.

Miss Britt had explained during your first week that pairings at Russet were random on purpose. It was one of the most valuable lessons your first year could teach you, she’d said – learning to trust someone you didn’t choose for yourself.

Oftentimes, your company or choreographer would pick your partner. Even if you didn’t like them as a person, you needed to learn to trust them as a dancer, which was something you had no experience in before. By this point though, you found you no longer harbored dislike for Jimin as a person or as a dancer.

Jimin helped you during the week, walking you through tricky steps you’d missed the week prior. He even stayed late one night to practice a lift without you even needing to ask. By the time Friday rolled around, you felt almost completely caught up in your classes.

Miss Britt’s class was quickly becoming a favorite. She was more modern than some of the other teachers, choreographing to contemporary music instead of the traditional classical. This alone was enough to make you ecstatic, but she also encouraged improvisation.

You supposed this was why Miss Britt had suggested you practice the fundamentals. It was impossible to learn the fun, partner lifts if you couldn’t even complete a pirouette.

Today’s combination was one of the hard ones – Miss Britt tended to do that on Fridays, adding more complicated moves as a way to end the week. This turned out to be both blessing and curse, since it was fun to branch out, but it came at a cost.

“And – from the top!” Miss Britt called from the front. “Sissonne, sissonne! Cabriole, and chassé – tour jeté! Plié! And rise – hold! Plié, battement and grand fouetté!”

Seokjin stood at her side, demonstrating the moves with grace and poise. Every now and again, Miss Britt would join in to show particularly tricky footwork.

By the time you executed the combination full out, you and Jimin were sweating, fingers slipping while you grabbed at each other’s hands. Grand fouettés – sometimes called Italian fouettés – were difficult enough without adding pointe shoes and a partner. In grand fouettés, the woman did a grand battement effacé (facing forward), swept her leg through first position while turning, only to end up facing the same way with her leg in attitude derriére (behind her, and bent). All of this, of course, occurred within two counts of eight.

Jimin helped you balance, although he needed to move fast to avoid getting kicked in the head by your leg. The combination moved across the floor, starting in one corner of the room and ending up in another. By the time you’d practiced the moves a few times, both of you were dripping sweat on the floor.

“Shit.” Gasping for air, Jimin lowered both hands to his knees. “Miss Britt isn’t taking things easy on us, huh?”

Silently, you shook your head no, as you fought to catch your breath.

“Alright!” Miss Britt clapped her hands together. “Line up in the corner and we’ll go two couples at a time. Sabrina, Paulo, Alex and Jasmine – you’re first.”

Sabrina and Paulo were practicing close by, dutifully finishing the steps of the combination. While you watched, you saw Sabrina wobble and Paulo’s hand slip from hers. Sabrina managed to keep her balance, but her timing was thrown, and she missed the last fouetté.

“Sabrina!” Miss Britt called out sharply. “Be sure to stay on the beat!”

Stricken, Sabrina’s head turned as she finished. Landing in fifth, she managed a nod before she turned to cross the room. Paulo followed suit, swallowing at the look of annoyance she shot him.

Once they were in the corner and ready to go, Miss Britt motioned the accompanist to play as she crossed her arms.

As the music began, the first group moved forward. This time, Sabrina got her timing right for the fouetté turns, but still didn’t seem happy. Finishing the combination, Sabrina struck her ending pose – only to exhale, expression dropping as soon as she stalked from the floor.

Miss Britt didn’t seem to notice, her attention already moved on to watch the next group. Nudging Jimin with your elbow, you indicated you both should move up in line. Noelle and Eamon were in the second group across the floor, so you two would be next, along with Irene and Brian.

Waiting to start, Jimin exhaled and rolled his neck. Glancing sideways, you were surprised to find you also felt nervous. This was a difficult combination, so you couldn’t expect to do things perfectly, but the fact that Sabrina had failed didn’t bode well for you at all.

“Next group!” Miss Britt called.

Breathing deeply, you placed your hand in Jimin’s and fell into tombé. Your first steps were in unison, feet skimming the floor while you traveled forward. Jimin’s hands gripped your waist, lifting you easily to set you back on the ground. Each step flowed to the next, barely allowing time to think as your limbs found each other.

Even the complicated footwork section was in tandem, Jimin’s plié matching yours when he lifted you overhead. The ending segment – a series of partnered jetés, culminating in a grand jeté – happened easily, making you feel as though you were floating on air. When you landed and struck your ending pose, your heart hammered against your ribcage.

“Very good, Y/N and Jimin!” Miss Britt smiled before she moved on.

Schooling your expression to stay calm, you felt almost giddy as you ran from center. Jimin was close behind, barely able to contain his excitement.

“Did you hear that?” you gasped, spinning to face him.

“A very good from Miss Britt.” Jimin wriggled both brows. “Might as well move us to the top of the class now.”

“Don’t get cocky,” you warned, though you laughed when he high-fived you.

Walking off to the side, you joined the rest of your classmates who were waiting in line. As you waited to reverse the combination on the left, you practiced the steps in your mind.

Miss Britt continued to yell corrections and when your turn finally came, you took a deep breath to relax. Emptying your mind, you forced yourself to focus only on the movement. For the first time since your arrival at Russet, the steps felt almost natural.

Partnering had been difficult for you to learn after so many years of solo competition. Unlearning your independence as a dancer was hard, but you finally felt as though you were making progress. When you and Jimin finished on the left side, you realized with some amazement Miss Britt hadn’t yelled out any suggestions.

As soon as everyone had gone, Miss Britt motioned for the pianist to stop and walked to the center.

“Good job, everyone,” she called. “Just a few notes today. Irene, be sure and keep your weight centered in attitude. Don’t rely on your partner to keep you steady. Louis, make sure you really push Ari across the floor. Her momentum should come from you, not just her legs. And Sabrina,” Miss Britt said as she turned.

Sabrina straightened, clearly expecting a big heaping of praise. Miss Britt always had something nice to say for her star pupil. It wasn’t bitterness which made you say this – Sabrina was just that good at ballet. As much as you disliked her as a person, you couldn’t deny Sabrina’s prowess as a dancer.

Miss Britt frowned. “Don’t step so far forward next time. Paulo had to rush to catch up, which is why your timing was off. And Y/N,” she said, moving on.

Sabrina froze, staring wide-eyed at Miss Britt’s back. The shock in her expression was clear and if Miss Britt hadn’t moved on to you, you would’ve relished for longer in Sabrina’s confusion.

“Excellent work.” Miss Britt smiled. “That was a beautiful combination. Have you been practicing with Jimin as I suggested, Y/N?”

Instantly, heat rose to your face.

“I, uh,” you stammered, searching for words. “I’ve been working with Sana Minatozaki, actually. She graduated last year from Russet?”

“Ah, Sana!” Miss Britt’s face lit up. “Did Seokjin introduce you?”

Seokjin nodded, giving you a thumbs up as soon as Miss Britt turned.

“Well, it was wonderful,” Miss Britt continued. “Much improved, both of you – keep it up. Jasmine,” she said, moving on. “You’re lowering your chin right before you turn.”

In the corner of your eyes, you saw Jimin glance in your direction, but chose instead to stare at the clock. Pretending as though the time needed your undivided attention, you managed to avoid him for the rest of class.

Across the floor leaps were always the last combination of class – they were considered the ‘fun’ part of ballet, so of course teachers chose to save them for the end. As you turned and jetéd across the floor, your stomach churned imagining what to say to Jimin.

Maybe you could pretend Miss Britt had been confused. You could say she mistook you for another student, or that you’d never considered asking Jimin for help – even as you thought this, you released a small sigh. You should just tell him the truth and get it over with. If Jimin had proven one thing to you over the past couple of weeks, it was that he wasn’t the person you’d always made him out to be.

Still, it would be humiliating for Jimin to know how close you’d been to being kicked out. Miss Britt had told you to seek help barely a week into classes and now, Jimin would know that.

A part of you hated this since that same part of you thought often about that one practice session. The night Jimin had stopped and said he loved watching you dance.

You still weren’t sure what to make of that night, but you couldn’t deny it was something you often returned to.

As soon as Miss Britt ended class, you made a beeline for your things and plopped down on the floor. Undoing your pointe shoes as fast as you could, you tossed these in your bag and pulled on some sweats. Throwing your bag over your shoulder, you garbled an excuse to Noelle about needing to go and frankly ran towards the hall.

Glancing over your shoulder, you checked to make sure the coast was clear – only to crash into Jimin as soon as you left the room.

“Whoa!” Jimin caught you by the arms. “Careful, Y/N. You’ll sprain your other ankle.”

“I didn’t sprain my ankle,” you huffed.

Arching a brow, Jimin continued to hold your arms. His dance bag was slung over a shoulder, sweatpants pulled on over his ballet clothes. Dimly, you realized he hadn’t had to take off any pointe shoes. Stupid male dancers and their stupid male benefits.

Behind Jimin, you saw Noelle exit the classroom. Tossing a beseeching glance in her direction, Noelle saw you and paused – only to wink and continue walking away. Aghast, you stared in shock at her back.

Traitor, you decided. She’d pay for that later.

“Can we talk over there?” Jimin nodded down the hall.

“I – sure,” you said, unable to think of an excuse. Why couldn’t you think of an excuse?

Releasing your arms, Jimin turned to leave and you followed. Once you were far enough away from class to not be overheard, he turned around. Coming to a stop, you fiddled with the strap of your bag pulled across your chest.

Oddly enough, Jimin seemed as nervous as you were. “What… was that?” he asked, glancing towards the ballet room.

“What was what?”

Jimin gave you a look. “That comment from Miss Britt. Were you going to ask me for help, or something?”

Wincing, you glanced away. Hearing Jimin speak brought back all the resentment you felt when Miss Britt first pulled you aside. You thought you’d grown since then – and maybe you had – but remembering that day still made your stomach sink. If there was one thing you hated, it was admitting you weren’t perfect.

“I – well, no,” you said, looking up.

Jimin’s expression remained unsure and after a moment, you sighed.

“Alright, yeah,” you said. “Kind off. Miss Britt… suggested I ask you for help at the start of the year.”

“Oh.” Jimin’s face was unreadable.

Someone laughed far off down the hall and another door banged open, a different ballet class letting out. Jimin glanced away, hesitating a moment before his gaze returned to yours.

“Want to get going?” Jimin offered. “The next class is starting, so Danley is going to get crowded.”

“Sure,” you said, following as Jimin turned around.

You were silent the entire trip down the hall and even outside, as you began to walk down the sidewalk. Jimin was correct; Danley Hall was crowded at this time of day. After Miss Britt’s classes on Fridays, you didn’t have any set schedule unless you chose to take an afternoon master class.

Jimin walked next to you on the sidewalk, brow furrowed and seemingly lost in thought. About a block away from Danley, he glanced in your direction.

“Why didn’t you ask me for help?” Jimin said.

Rolling your eyes, you hitched your bag higher. “Oh, come on,” you sighed, shooting him a look. “It wasn’t like we were on the best of terms. You wouldn’t have said yes.”

“Maybe I would’ve.”

“Be serious.”

“Maybe I would’ve!” he insisted, cracking a smile. “Look – you’re not the only one who needs extra practice. What did Miss Britt say you needed to work on?”

Falling silent, you stared straight ahead and considered what to reveal. The air around you was crisp, the sky blue overhead and the leaves orange against it – in other words, it was a perfect fall day. You hated to ruin something so wonderful with talk of improvement.

At long last, you sighed.

“Technique,” you admitted. “You know that my background isn’t as a ballerina. Miss Britt thought it would be a good idea for me to take lessons from someone strong in ballet.”

“Hm.” Jimin considered. “I guess that makes sense.”

“Hey!”

He looked your way in surprise. “What? You’re the one who said it was something you needed to work on!”

“I know,” you grumbled. “It just sucks hearing you say it.”

“What’s wrong with hearing me say it?”

“You know,” you said, gesturing vaguely. “You’re you. Park Jimin. Hearing you say it just reminds me of all the ways we’re different. All the ways you’re… better than I am.”

Jimin didn’t react in the way you expected. You thought maybe he’d deny it, or maybe even gloat, but instead he just frowned.

“Different doesn’t mean worse,” Jimin said slowly. “It just means… different. You need help with ballet technique? Well, I need help with performance.”

“You – what?” you said, caught off guard.

Jimin gave you a rueful smile. “I kind of wish you’d said something sooner. I got feedback last month that I needed to work on emoting. Apparently, my technique is good, but I forget what to do with my face in difficult combinations.”

“Really?” you blinked, somewhat amazed. “I’ve always thought you were good at that.”

“Well, I’ve always thought you had great technique.”

“Was that... an actual compliment, Park?”

“Don’t act so surprised.” Jimin snorted. “Most people think I’m a really nice guy.”

“Yeah, well. Most people haven’t had you tell them to break a leg and mean it.”

“I didn’t mean it.” Jimin’s lip twitched. “Most of the time, anyways.”

“Aha!” you said, leveling a finger in his direction. “So, you admit it. You meant it some of the time.”

Jimin shrugged. “What can I say? I wanted to win. Sometimes it felt like… I don’t know, sometimes it felt like you were the only thing pushing me.” He paused, then continued, “There were some days things were so bad, I just wanted to quit. I wanted to give up, but then I’d think about you. I’d think about our bet, our next competition and… I’d keep going,” he said, finishing quietly.

You remained silent for a moment, allowing this to sink in.

Deep down, you understood what Jimin meant. Dance was difficult; that much was obvious from your first semester at Russet. It was hard to find the drive to keep going. You’d be lying if you said you hadn’t sometimes felt the same way. There had been weekends in high school you just wanted to be a normal student and hang out at the mall – but then you’d remember Jimin’s maddening smirk when he won and force yourself to work harder.

“I guess fear is a great motivator,” you said softly.

Jimin hesitated, then nodded. “Don’t get me wrong. It’s not like you were the only reason I danced. It’s just… on some days, you were that push.”

Again, you knew what he meant. The mental, physical and emotional exhaustion of dance could eat at a person until there was nothing left. An iron-clad will only got you so far – on some days, you just needed something more, something external. That push.

“I get it,” you said, glancing his way. “I felt that way sometimes about you, too.”

Jimin straightened. “Really?”

“Yeah.” After a moment, you shook your head. “But seriously – would you be interested?”

“Interested in what?”

“In helping me practice,” you said before you could talk yourself out of it.

The words hung in the air between you, Jimin blinking while he considered your proposition.

Immediately, you wondered if you’d made a mistake. Sabrina’s easy dismissal came to mind, but you tried not to jump to any negative conclusions. For all the difficulties you’d had in your past, Jimin hadn’t done anything detrimental to you in nearly a month.

At some point, you needed to learn to move on.

“Does that mean you’ll help me, too?” Jimin glanced hopefully sideways. “I wasn’t kidding about the feedback I got. I’ve been trying to find someone to teach me for weeks.”

“Deal,” you said, offering him a smile.

Jimin nodded, digging around in his pocket for his cell phone. “What’s your number?” he said, glancing up. “I can check the practice room schedule and let you know what’s available.”

Rattling off your information, you waited for Jimin to send you a text. When he did, you pulled out your phone and saved his information.

“Cool.” Jimin shoved his phone back in his pocket. “I guess I’ll see you around, then. What’re you doing tonight?”

Normally on Fridays, you’d take one of the available master classes, but part of your new deal with Finn had been to see each other at least once a week. Tonight, you were heading to a club with Finn and his friends despite having ballet tomorrow. This had been a compromise on your end, which was something you realized you hadn’t done much of.

“I’m going out,” you said with a shrug. “What about you?”

“Before Mr. Vlad’s ballet class?” Jimin raised a brow. “Brave of you, Y/N. I’m probably just going to read, go to bed early. Real wild stuff.”

Adjusting your bag, you laughed and turned away. “Brave or stupid?” you called as you climbed the steps. “Don’t knock yourself, though. Your night sounds pretty great to me. Self-care and all that.”

“Yeah, sure.” Jimin laughed. “Have fun at your thing. See you tomorrow, Y/N!”

When you reached the top of the stairs, you turned and saw him wave goodbye. Returning the gesture, you pulled your key from your pocket and let yourself in. As soon as the door swung shut, leaving you in darkness, you realized Jimin was saved in your phone.

After a moment of pause, you continued your walk down the hall. If you’d told yourself one year ago that this would happen, you would’ve assumed it to be a prank or a joke.

It only went to show how easily people changed.

Except for people in clubs, it seemed.

Seated in a back booth of Excelsior nightclub, you drummed a hand on your knee and gazed around the warehouse. A strobe-lit dance floor lay directly before you, a DJ booth situated on a table several feet above the dancers.

Sweaty, half-naked bodies writhed to the beat of deafening music. Watching this from afar, you couldn’t help but wince. It wasn’t that you hated dancing – obviously, not. It was just this form of dancing which always confused you. There was no intimacy to it, no emotion, and no connection to gain from grinding your ass on someone’s crotch.

Most men didn’t bother learning to dance, anyways. Most were content just to sway side to side, watching their woman do all the work. Finn was amongst this crowd, but you couldn’t really blame him for that – the man truly had no rhythm. This led to you oftentimes being bored on the dance floor; there was only so much you could grind with a stationary being.

Even the people who went to these clubs were annoying. Eager, college freshman waiting to try out their new fake IDs. Tipsy sorority girls at the bar, sipping on cranberry vodkas and scanning the room for a partner. Around the edges of the dance floor lurked creepy men, attempting to grab on before their faces were seen.

You hated all of it, but you especially hated it sober. Had you been drunk, maybe you would’ve found the noise and crowd to be tolerable. As it was though, you were completely sober and found everything around you to be incessantly annoying.

Finn and his friends had pre-gamed before your arrival at his dorm. By the time you reached them, Finn was already three beers deep, red-faced and tipsy when he threw open the door.

“Y/N!” he had cheered, pulling you in for a hug.

You’d already forgotten several of his friends’ names by now, although this wasn’t entirely due to your faulty memory. Half kept calling one another by nicknames, making it difficult for you to keep up with their discourse.

Compared to the other girls in the party, you found yourself to be severely underdressed. They all were wearing tight body-con dresses and stilettoed heels. You, on the other hand, had thrown a cardigan over your tank top before you left in case it was cold.

The look on the other girls’ faces when you entered continued to burn uncomfortably in your mind. They’d looked at each other over the rims of their drinks, clearly unimpressed. Their meaning had been clear enough. This was Finn’s girlfriend?

Usually, you didn’t care what other people thought. As Jimin had pointed out, you weren’t the type who acted insecure. In that moment though, surrounded by Finn’s inner circle and feeling entirely out of place, you’d had a brief lapse of inadequacy.

Not being able to drink had solidified this wedge between you. Friendships were often forged in the throes of drunken adversity – your sobriety placed you firmly on the outside.

To his credit, Finn did his best to include you. He’d stayed by your side the entire evening, pulling you into games and introducing you to everyone in the room as his girlfriend. It was physically impossible for him to be everywhere at once though, so there were some unavoidable moments when you were left alone.

The pregame had started nearly four hours previous – sometime around midnight, you’d traveled downtown to the club and now the time was close to 1:00 AM. You kept glancing at your watch, wondering with increasing anxiety when you would leave. The group showed no signs of slowing down and your ballet class started at 8:00 AM the next morning.

You probably should’ve discussed this with Finn earlier, but he’d just been so happy to know you were coming. You hadn’t wanted to throw a wrench in this excitement by demanding he make a schedule.

Toying with the rim of your water, you glanced over at Finn and realized he didn’t seem bored. Ben was seated on his other side, a guy named Rico across the table and two of the blondes were sandwiched on either side.

The rest of Finn’s group were already on the dance floor, having found suitable partners soon after arrival. Two of his friends were currently sucking face by the DJ booth, and you’d seen another two earlier try and sneak towards the bathrooms.

Rico snorted, which prompted laughter from the rest of them. You didn’t see what had been so funny about Ben’s joke – it had seemed kind of demeaning towards women – but the two blondes at the table didn’t seem to mind. You tried not to think less of them for that, lips tightening as you looked away.

Given how stifling the club was, you’d removed your cardigan soon after arrival and tied it around your waist. The air felt sticky on your skin, heavy with the musk of so many people. Finn had smiled when you did this, slipping an arm around your waist to pull you closer. It’d been a sweet gesture at the time, but now the warehouse was boiling and you felt dangerously close to overheating.

As the music switched to a new song, one of the girls across the table gasped and jumped to her feet.

“This is my song,” she said, clapping both hands. “Come on, guys – let’s dance!”

Grabbing her friend and Rico, she pulled them onto the dance floor. Ben downed his drink and joined them, so Finn moved to stand.

“You in?” he said with a grin.

Hesitant, you glanced around. “Can we sit for a while?” you yelled, fighting to be heard over the music. “I’m kind of tired after today.”

“You sure?” Finn called back, also fighting to be heard. He frowned. “Come on, Y/N. Just one dance!”

The rest of the group proceeded to enter the dance floor, hands up while they sandwiched themselves between other people. The sight looked frankly nauseating, but you caught the look of open desire on Finn’s expression.

Knowing he wanted to join them, you pushed aside a sigh and stood. “Okay,” you said, slipping your hand into his. “One dance.”

Finn instantly brightened, tugging you along towards his friends. Shoving your way through the crowd, you tried your best not to breathe through your nose. Slightly claustrophobic at the best of times, clubs had the ability to become your worst nightmare. Especially when everyone was drunk except for you; it made you feel even less in control.

Turning around, Finn lifted your arms and placed them on his shoulders. “See?” he said, sliding closer. “This is fun, right?”

Tilting your head upwards, you nodded and concentrated solely on him. Usually, you found Finn’s touch soothing, but tonight his grip felt too hot and people kept bumping into you from behind. All you could think about was how badly you wanted to leave. It had been such a long day of dance and you needed to wake up early tomorrow.

Pressing yourself closer, you tried to lose yourself in Finn’s normally clean scent. Tonight though, he smelled like sweat and alcohol, and so you released a sigh.

Hearing this, you felt Finn’s arms tense around you. Lowering his lips, he brushed them to your ear. “You’re not having fun, are you?”

Stricken, you looked up. “No – no! I am.”

Finn gave you a look.

“Alright, fine,” you admitted. “I’m just… tired, Finn. I didn’t know we’d be out so late.”

Rather than apologize or offer an explanation, Finn tensed a bit more. You knew from his face he was drunk; you’d known this objectively, given all the beer he consumed. When Finn drank though, he tended to resort to stubbornness. Seeing his expression harden, your heart slowly sank.

“You didn’t think we’d be out late at a club?” he asked you, brows raised.

“I thought we’d pregame, head to the club and then leave,” you said, somewhat defensive. “How long can you dance with the same, sweaty bodies?”

Finn’s jaw clenched and he looked away. “Don’t you mean – how long can you dance with me?”

Eyes widening, you pulled away.

“What? No! Finn, what are you even saying?”

Although his hands remained on your waist, his grip wasn’t gentle. Finn’s expression stayed tight, looking over your shoulder in order to avoid your gaze.

“You love to dance,” he said slowly. “So, what you’re saying is you don’t want to dance with me.”

“Finn.” You stared at him in amazement. “That’s not what I’m saying. I’m just tired – that’s all! I had dance early today, I have dance early tomorrow. Can’t we go and grab food somewhere? Just the two of us?”

Finn exhaled and it seemed as though he might acquiesce – but then he exhaled and returned to you.

His gaze seemed clouded, and you wondered in alarm how much Finn had drank. You didn’t know how much he’d had to pregame and found yourself wondering if he might throw up. Finn had a very thin line between tipsy and puking.

“Why don’t you like my friends?” he demanded, hurt in his gaze.

Taken aback, you could only stare. “I – what?”

“See?” Finn looked away. “You didn’t even deny it.”

“No, I – you just took me by surprise,” you said, reeling a little. “Your friends are fine, Finn. They’re just not my friends. I don’t know them very well.”

“Well… alright,” he said, slightly chastised.

Unsure where this was coming from, you stood there a moment and let everything sink in. Finn wasn’t a yeller – he still wasn’t really yelling – but something was clearly bothering him. Maybe it was the dance club around you, but you had a feeling it wasn’t just that.

“What’s this really about?” you said, having to yell in order to be heard over the music.

Finn shrugged. “Nothing.”

“Finn.”

“Nothing!”

“Why don’t we go somewhere so we can talk,” you said, stepping back. “My head’s starting to hurt, anyways. We can go –”

“No,” Finn said abruptly, cutting you off. “I don’t want to leave.”

Your eyes widened in amazement. “No?”

Finn met your gaze. “You said this was our night, Y/N,” he said, stepping closer. “I haven’t seen you all week and you promised we’d go out together tonight. This is what being out looks like, Y/N!” he said, sweeping an arm. “Look around!”

“I – okay,” you said, baffled. “But I have class in the morning.”

“You always have class the next morning.”

“Because I do!”

Dropping both arms, Finn took a step backwards. His expression hardened a little, but beneath all that exterior you saw an undercurrent of hurt.

Lifting a hand, you rubbed at your temples. You hadn’t been lying when you said you felt a headache coming on. This was the same argument you’d had weeks ago, but you thought that had been settled. A few weeks prior, you wouldn’t have come out to the club at all but now here you were, nearing 1:00 AM.

“Nothing’s changed, has it?” Finn asked, his voice louder than normal. “You still don’t want to be here, do you?”

“Want to be here?” you blurted. “I mean, no – not really, Finn! I wanted to spend time with you and instead, here we are. Clubs kind of suck!”

“Well, sorry the things I want to do aren’t fun enough for you.”

“Do you seriously want to be here?” you asked in disbelief. “You want to be sweat on by strangers while drinking a watered-down rum and coke at 1:00 in the morning?”

“Yeah, kind of!” Finn huffed. “Sorry if my interests aren’t high-brow enough for you, or whatever.”

“That’s not what I meant,” you groaned.

“Well, that’s what you said.” Shaking his head, Finn glanced away. “Fine. You know what? If you want to leave so badly, then go.”

“Well, I don’t want us to leave if –”

“Not us,” he corrected, returning his gaze to yours. “You. You can go if you want Y/N, but I’m staying.”

Before you could respond, Finn spun on his heel and shoved into the crowd.

You stared after him in shock, jaw dropping as he disappeared between people. Before you could run after, someone stumbled into you hard from behind. Cold soda and ice poured down your back, making you yelp as you jumped.

Nearly slipping on liquid, you spun around – only to realize your perpetrator was wasted. The girl giggled, then hiccupped, not realizing her drink was empty as she raised it.

“Sorry,” she slurred, blind to your distress.

Rolling your eyes, you stalked past her. Yelling at someone that drunk would offer no sense of retribution.

Scanning the crowd, you searched for Finn’s clothing but saw nothing. He’d been wearing a dark t-shirt and jeans, so he unfortunately blended easily into the crowd. After tapping several strangers on the shoulder and in turn, getting hit on by several strangers – probably due to your soaked, see-through tank top – you gave up and walked towards the edge of the dance floor.

Vision starting to blur, you yanked out your cell phone and swiped up. Your fingers hovered over the call button a few times before you gave up and shoved your phone in your bag. The logical thing to do would’ve been to find Finn, or to find one of Finn’s friends and convince them to leave but for some reason, you just couldn’t.

The idea of seeing Finn right now made you furious. He’d been a jerk and you knew if you saw him, you’d only end up saying things you’d regret. Instead, you clutched your bag tighter and spun towards the front.

As you passed by the coat check, you slowed enough to notice the line outside. People stretched down the block – if you left the club now, there’d be no getting back in. Turning around, you once again searched the crowd.

The booth you’d sat in wasn’t far away, but it remained empty, all of Finn’s friends still out on the dance floor. Had you seen Finn at that point – had you seen anyone familiar – you might have decided to stay, but as it was, you saw no one. Finn hadn’t run after you, he hadn’t called and he hadn’t sent a text. Clearly, he didn’t care what happened to you tonight.

Buoyed by this knowledge, you gritted your teeth and walked out the door.

As soon as you stepped outside, the air dropped ten degrees. Shivering a little, you pulled out your phone and checked the Uber app. The moment you saw the surcharge, you winced. The cost for a cab back to Russet was three times the normal price. If you had to pay that, you’d be screwed.

Exiting Uber, you opened the train schedule and again checked the time. When you saw 1:15 AM, you groaned. All trains in this neighborhood stopped running at 1:00 AM. This was why you’d planned on splitting an Uber home with all of Finn’s friends.

“Hey, you! Princess!”

Head jerking upwards, you found an unfamiliar guy leering at you from line. Glancing over your shoulder, you realized he was talking to you.

“Yeah, you!” he said, hanging over the ropes. “Want to come in the club with us, princess?”

Immediately, you wrinkled your nose. “Why would I want to go back in the club?” you responded. “Didn’t you just see me leave?”

His smile dropped. “Damn, I was just asking. No need to be rude!”

Rolling your eyes, you stuck your middle finger up in the air as you walked away.

“Whatever, bitch!”

Fighting back a shiver, you continued to walk until you were halfway down the block. It was quieter there, but that wasn’t always a good thing. Glancing around, you saw several alleys and tried to place yourself strategically away from the shadows. You hated going to parts of town you didn’t know, especially at night and especially alone.

Suddenly, your rash decision to leave the club struck you as foolish. Opening your phone, you pulled up Finn’s number and pressed call. Screw your dumb pride – you’d forget all about the fight if he’d come stand outside. Finn may have been drunk, but he wasn’t an asshole. You knew if Finn knew your situation, he’d immediately leave the club.

His phone went straight to voicemail.

Blood turning cold, you stared straight ahead for a moment. Hand shaking, you pulled your phone away and stared at the screen. Finn’s outgoing message continued to jabber, but to you the audio seemed almost blurred.

Trying his number again, you once more reached voicemail. At this point, you began to see red. No matter how annoyed he’d been at you, Finn had absolutely no reason to turn off his cell phone. And yet, it was the only explanation.

Spinning around on your heel, you marched back up the block and to the front of the line. Tapping the bouncer on the shoulder, you waited until he turned around.

“Yeah, hi,” you said, not bothering with a preamble. “I need to get in.”

The man gave you a strange look. “Huh?”

“To the club,” you said, jerking your chin. “I need to get back inside.”

“Uh, sure. You and the rest of the line.”

“No, you don’t understand,” you said, crossing both arms over your chest. You were just now remembering the spilled drink from earlier. “I was in there earlier. Look,” you said, showing the stamp on your wrist. “You must’ve seen me exit a few minutes ago. Just let me back in!”

“No can do, sweetheart.” He shook his head. “Rules are rules. When you left, we let someone else in. The club’s already at capacity.”

Stomach sinking, you stared at him for a moment, but he refused to budge. Glancing over his shoulder, you could see the dance floor in the distance, strobe lights flashing and bass thumping. Before you could try anything else, the leering guy from the line reached the front.

Seeing you, he did a double take. “Princess!” he said, slurring a bit. “Did you change your mind? You want to come party? I’ll forgive you if you give me somethin’ in return…”

Teeth gritted, you immediately turned and walked away. The guy continued to call after you, so you sped up your pace to put distance between you. Fighting another chill, you forced yourself to keep walking and not turn around.

In one hand, your thumb hovered over the emergency button on your phone. If the guy broke from the line, you weren’t above calling the cops. Finally, both his shouts and the sound of the club faded away.

Paused on the sidewalk, you realized you were in the same place as before. Knowing this was a bad situation, you reluctantly opened the Uber app once again. Screw the cost – better to be in debt than abducted from an alley.

As soon as you opened the app, you saw the surcharge remained at 3x and the wait time had risen to fifty minutes.

“Oh, hell no,” you groaned, closing the app.

Staring at the street, you went through your mental checklist of options again.

The train was a no, as was Uber – you could walk and find a cab, but this was an unfamiliar part of the city and you didn’t like those odds. You had none of Finn’s friends’ numbers and Noelle was likely asleep. She didn’t have a car to come get you, anyways.

Still, she could probably figure out a way to find you if you asked. Sighing, you thumbed through your contacts until you found the right number. It took you a long moment before you forced yourself to press call.

Lifting the phone to your ear, you hugged yourself with one arm while you waited. When the person on the other end answered, you squeezed your eyes shut.

“Hey,” you sighed. “It’s me. Can you… come pick me up?”

Author’s Note: Thank you for reading 😊 New chapters of Raise the Barre will be posted weekly; dates are listed on the series Master List. Requests for updates will be deleted.

RAISE THE BARRE MASTERLIST

#bangtanarmynet #btsbookclub #jimin fanfic #bts fanfic #jimin writing #bts writing #jimin series #bts series #jimin dance au #bts dance au

1K notes · View notes