#anon to lovers arc when
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harrylights ¡ 2 years ago
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for now, i’ve decided to anonymously keep flirting with you.. if that’s okay with you 🫣 ❤️
I MEAN….. u won’t hear any complaints from me fhdjsk just far off distant screams bc idk how to act now lmao
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liuhsng ¡ 15 days ago
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─────⋆˚࿔ ⋆ eyes on me ( lhs ! ) — part 2
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✩ˎˊ˗ enhypen masterlist
⤷ pairing — heeseung x fem!reader
⤷ part 1 | part 2 | part 3 ⤷ word count — 17.2k ⤷ based on this and this by my lovely anons ⤷ permanent taglist — open !
⤷ a/n — here’s part 2 as promised ! i fear this might not be the end though, a part 3 is definitely in the works as we speak. enjoy, loves ! please read gently, they’re both soft and stupid 🤍
⤷ warnings — idol au, idol!heeseung, dancer!reader, post-enemies to lovers tension, soft!heeseung, vulnerable!heeseung, emotionally repressed!reader, breakdown scene (emotional), loser!heeseung, comfort scenes, longing (so much longing), love confessions, mutual pining, reader is in denial, heeseung is not, soft touches, forehead kisses, subtle fluff, unresolved tension, healing arc (they’re both trying), fluff (finally), angst
✩ˎˊ˗ summary — three weeks. that's how long it takes for everything to change. one moment you're avoiding him in dance studios and dodging his eyes in crowded hallways—the next, you're alone together in dim lights and shared breaths, dancing like your bodies were made to move in sync. you swore he was just like the rest: all charm, all talk, all ruin. but lee heeseung breaks—and suddenly he isn’t just some idol with a reputation. he’s a boy with silver hair and glassy eyes who holds your hand like it’s the only thing tethering him to earth. or, where thawing hate turns into something warm, and you start to wonder if the heart you locked away was always waiting for him to find it.
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It was the third week of practice.
And you didn’t know if you were actually losing your mind or if the chaos of the schedule was finally eating at your nerves—bit by bit, rehearsal after rehearsal.
You stood near the mirrored wall, towel slung across your shoulder, sweat glistening on your collarbones as you caught your breath. Sunoo stood beside you, breathless too, fanning himself with both hands.
“Please,” he panted dramatically, “show me that turn again. I swear Ni-ki doesn’t explain it like you do.”
From the corner of the room, Ni-ki’s offended shout cut through the air. “Hey!”
Laughter erupted around the room, even from the staff in the back.
You cracked a grin, unable to help it. “I’m not trying to steal your job, Ni-ki.”
“You’d make a better teacher anyway,” Sunoo whispered loudly, winking.
You laughed again, relenting. “Alright, alright. Just this part before the chorus, okay?”
You moved to the center of the room with Sunoo trailing behind you like a puppy. The room watched with amusement as you demonstrated the turn, sharp and smooth, your body flowing from one beat to the next with practiced grace.
Sunoo watched you intently, nodding as you broke the step down and explained, “You need to spot when you turn. Keep your weight on your left foot, then shift.”
He mimicked you.
Not perfectly, but not bad either.
He landed the turn on beat—and his eyes widened. “Noona… I did it?”
You blinked. Then smiled wide and clapped. “You did!”
Sunoo gasped, stepping forward and throwing his arms around you in a quick, excited hug. “I’m a genius! You’re a genius!”
You chuckled, patting his back as he squeezed you before bouncing away again. “Okay—watch me again! Let’s see if I can do it twice in a row!”
Across the room, Heeseung sat beside Jungwon, mid-conversation before he went utterly silent—words lost on his tongue as his eyes drifted past the younger.
Past the choreography.
Past the noise.
To you.
To the way you smiled when Sunoo got it right. To the way you hugged him back.
To the way it wasn’t him.
Heeseung didn’t blink.
Jungwon followed his line of sight and sighed so deeply you could almost hear it over the music.
The younger leader placed a hand on Heeseung’s shoulder, firm. “You’re making it worse by not talking to her.”
Heeseung finally blinked. Swallowed.
“I wish it was that easy,” he muttered, voice low, rough at the edges.
Jungwon tilted his head. “It kind of is. She’s not scary. Just… direct.”
Heeseung gave a bitter laugh under his breath, running a hand down his face. “She’s terrifying.”
“Because she called you out?”
“Because she sees right through me,” he said, quieter this time. “Because I’ve danced with her, touched her, stood inches away from her face—and I still feel like I don’t know her at all.”
Jungwon stared at him.
And Heeseung’s jaw clenched again.
“She makes me want to try harder. But it’s like… the harder I try, the worse I get.”
Jungwon raised an eyebrow. “That’s not true.”
“I can’t even talk to her.” Heeseung sighed, the weight of his breath heavy in his chest as he turned to look at Jungwon.
His expression was tired—exhausted, even—not just from the dancing, but from the constant ache in his chest he couldn’t seem to shake.
His silver bangs stuck to his forehead, skin dewy with sweat, and his hands fiddled aimlessly with the drawstring of his sweatpants as if they needed something to do, anything to distract him from the truth sitting on his shoulders.
“She’s just…” Heeseung trailed off, brows furrowing. “It’s like she built a wall I can’t climb no matter what I do.”
Jungwon met his gaze, quiet for a moment. “Maybe it’s not about climbing over it,” he said softly. “Maybe you just have to wait until she lets you in.”
Heeseung stared at him.
Then looked away.
Because he didn’t know how much longer he could wait. Or if he even deserved to.
Like clockwork, his attention snapped again.
Your laugh rang across the practice room, warm and light, the kind that made shoulders relax and chests ease with air. It tugged at something in Heeseung’s chest.
He looked up just in time to see Sunoo stumbling over his own feet, arms flailing slightly as he lost balance mid-turn, nearly spinning himself right into a collapse.
“Yah!” you laughed, one hand flying to your mouth as Sunoo caught himself just in time, scowling in playful offense. “I thought you said you could do it?”
“I did!” Sunoo huffed, brushing his hair from his forehead with a dramatic sigh. “I did it earlier, I swear—something about your version’s throwing me off.”
“Oh, so now it’s my fault?” you teased, stepping closer with a tilt of your head.
“Balance your weight on your other foot,” you instructed, your voice dipping into something more firm—controlled, focused. “You’re putting everything on your right again.”
Sunoo blinked, then nodded as he glanced at his stance. “Okay. Okay, I got it this time.”
He planted his foot again, took a breath—and turned.
You broke into a grin, clapping your hands together as you stepped back. “There it is!” you said, eyes crinkling. “See? You just needed to trust yourself.”
Sunoo’s face lit up like a bulb, puffing his chest slightly as he struck a dramatic pose. “I’m a prodigy.”
“You’re a brat,” you deadpanned fondly.
“I learned from the best,” he chirped.
And from across the room, Heeseung stood still.
Because there you were—smiling, laughing, soft in ways he hadn’t been able to reach. Not even once.
And he hated how much he wanted that version of you to be meant for him.
He ran a hand through his hair, tugging lightly at the strands at the back of his head. His throat was dry.
God, he was so screwed.
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It was the middle of the third week. The music was still ringing in your ears when you moved away from Heeseung, his hands barely letting go of your waist as the choreo ended.
Heeseung immediately dropped into a crouch, elbows on his knees as he tried to catch his breath. His silver hair clung to the sides of his face, sweat dripping onto the hardwood.
A quiet thud followed when Ni-ki plopped beside him, not bothering with grace as he leaned his entire weight onto Heeseung’s side.
“Hey, hyung,” Ni-ki muttered, nudging his shoulder gently. “You good?”
“Yeah,” Heeseung nodded, barely above a whisper, eyes still fixed ahead. Not on the floor. Not on the mirror. But on you.
Across the room, Jay and Sunghoon approached you with soft steps—careful, like you might run the moment they got too close.
“(Y/N),” Jay called first, rubbing the back of his neck, “uh—can we borrow you for a sec?”
You blinked at them, raising a brow. “You two already know your parts.”
“We do!” Sunghoon piped up, already defensive. “But…”
Jay gave him a look, then turned to you again. “You just—add more detail. Your angles, the way you hit the lines—it looks cleaner, sharper. We thought maybe if you ran it with us once, we’d pick it up faster.”
You eyed them carefully, crossing your arms. “You’re not just saying that so you can take a break and let me carry your section, are you?”
“No—no,” Sunghoon rushed to say, hands up in surrender. “Promise.”
You sighed, but your expression softened. “Alright. Come on.”
You waved the two over to the side of the room, where the wall-length mirror reflected the three of you. “What part do you want help with?”
Jay immediately got into position. “Right here—this turn before we drop into the diagonal step? Mine feels too… stiff.”
You watched carefully as he ran through it, analyzing the movement.
“Alright,” you said, stepping beside him. “You’re locking your arm too early. Watch—” you demonstrated the move slowly, your wrist flicking slightly before the turn. “It should feel like a release. Don’t force it.”
Jay nodded, brows furrowed in focus. “Got it.”
Heeseung sat frozen, watching the scene unfold—your voice calm, your attention focused, your hands gently fixing the angles of Sunghoon’s wrist when he joined in. He couldn’t hear all the words from where he sat, but the image was enough.
You were helping them. Teaching them. Smiling.
You didn’t even hesitate to say yes.
Ni-ki tilted his head and followed his hyung’s gaze. “You could ask her for help too, y’know,” he said, matter-of-factly.
Heeseung didn’t respond right away. Instead, he sighed—long, deep—and reached a hand up to ruffle Ni-ki’s hair absentmindedly.
“Hey!” Ni-ki groaned, jerking away as he immediately ran his hands through the mess. “Why do you always do that?”
Heeseung cracked the ghost of a smile. “Because you’re annoying,” he muttered, and then, softer, “It’s not that easy.”
Ni-ki blinked at him. “Why not?”
Heeseung paused, watching the way your hand lightly tapped Jay’s arm in exasperation while you tried to show him the right count again. “We’re… partners, yeah. But it doesn’t mean she trusts me.”
Ni-ki stared. “Wait—after three weeks?”
Heeseung’s frown only deepened as his eyes trailed back to you. You were laughing at something Sunghoon said—probably an insult to Jay based on the way Jay clutched his chest like he was wounded and dropped to the floor dramatically. Your laugh was bright, breathless.
It wasn’t aimed at him.
And maybe that’s what stung the most.
“She looks at me like I’m one wrong move away from ruining everything,” he muttered, voice low. “And maybe I am.”
Ni-ki leaned forward on his knees, turning to face him properly. “Hyung, that’s dumb.”
Heeseung raised a brow. “Thanks.”
“No, I mean—you’re not one wrong move away from ruining anything. You just think you are because you’ve been in your own head this whole time,” Ni-ki said, shrugging.
“You do realize you dance fine, right? Like, objectively. You’re not messing up anymore.”
Heeseung hummed but didn’t answer. His gaze was still fixed on the way your lips moved as you spoke. The way your hands danced with every word. The way your head tilted back with the smallest laugh—and how he hadn’t been the cause of it in weeks.
Ni-ki watched him for a moment before speaking again.
“You should stop waiting for her to come to you.”
Heeseung blinked, finally turning to look at the younger. “What?”
“You keep acting like she’s the one who has to say something first,” Ni-ki said, arms now crossed. “But maybe she’s just waiting to see if you even want to fix things.”
Heeseung stared at him for a beat too long, silence thick between them.
“…You’re annoying,” he muttered again.
Ni-ki smiled smugly. “Still right, though.”
Heeseung didn’t say anything. He just looked back at you again.
Your smile had faded now—back to that practiced neutrality you wore so often in rehearsals. Like a mask. Like armor. And yet somehow, he still thought you were the most beautiful thing in the room.
“Alright,” one of the choreographers clapped loudly from the mirrored wall, snapping him from his daze. “Let’s run from the top!”
“Positions, everyone!” the other added, tablet in hand, already counting off the beats.
Heeseung blinked, slowly coming back to earth just as you stepped away from where you were helping Jay and Sunghoon. Your steps were even, posture steady.
But when you walked right past him—shoulder grazing air, gaze fixed ahead—it knocked the wind out of him harder than any routine ever had.
It shouldn’t have hurt, but it did.
Heeseung forced a breath into his lungs, swallowing back the sting clawing up his throat. Now wasn’t the time to fall apart. Not in front of you. Not again.
He shoved his hands into his pockets as he made his way toward the middle of the floor, right where he was supposed to be. Center.
Where everyone expected him to lead. Where you stood next to him, silent as ever.
“Start on my cue!” the choreographer called out.
Heeseung dropped his hands and rolled his shoulders back, trying to shake off the tension. The beat echoed in the speakers, low and steady.
You were already sliding into place beside him.
He didn't dare look at you.
Not when it felt like the smallest glance might unravel him all over again.
But he could still feel you there.
Like gravity.
And maybe that’s what scared him most.
“Five,” the choreographer counted. “Six… seven… eight—”
The music crashed in.
And so did he, every movement deliberate, every breath lined with effort.
Because if he couldn’t have your forgiveness yet, he’d earn your respect first.
So Heeseung let the music swallow him whole.
He threw himself into the rhythm, counting beats not to remember the choreo—but to keep his thoughts from spiraling. To stop himself from wondering if you were watching. If you were even thinking about him at all.
Every movement was tight, fluid, sharp where it needed to be and soft where it demanded intimacy. He pressed into the performance like it was the only thing anchoring him to the room.
Like the only way to make it all worth something was to lose himself in the sound, in the shape of his own body, in the push and pull of the steps you both had drilled into muscle memory.
For just a few seconds, Heeseung allowed the music to replace the ache.
To shove your silence to the farthest corner of his heart.
To let the performance be the one thing he could control.
Even if it meant pretending you weren’t standing two feet away, eyes trained forward, pulse matching his in every silent, heavy breath that followed.
Heeseung’s chest rose and fell with each breath, sweat dotting his hairline as he stared at the camera lens blinking red in the middle of the room.
The silence after the music ended felt louder than the beat ever had. He didn’t even realize how tight his jaw was clenched until—
“Take five!”
The call from one of the choreographers snapped him out of it. Heeseung blinked, exhaled harshly, and immediately peeled himself off from the middle of the room, walking to the far side where his water bottle was. He didn’t spare anyone a glance. Not even you.
“(Y/N), Heeseung? Outside for a sec.”
Heeseung's brows furrowed instantly, eyes flicking toward the door, then to you, who was already heading out wordlessly.
He swallowed, grabbing his bottle before trailing behind you, a few feet apart, always a few feet apart. Still close enough to match your silence.
Outside, in the hallway, one of the choreographers crossed their arms while the other tapped at their tablet, glancing at the footage. Neither of you spoke.
“Okay,” one finally said, “There’s definitely been improvements. You’re hitting the beats cleaner, the pacing’s more in sync.”
“But,” the other chimed in, tone softer, “you still look… guarded.”
You blinked. “Guarded?”
“Especially during the choruses,” the first choreographer nodded, “Heeseung looks like he’s afraid to touch you. Like he’s going to break something.”
And before you could even part your lips to speak, Heeseung blurted—
“It’s not (Y/N). It’s me. I’ll work on it.”
You turned to him, startled by the suddenness in his voice.
He didn’t look at you. He just stared straight ahead, fingers fiddling with the hem of his shirt, voice calmer now as he added, “She’s doing her part. It’s me who’s—” he paused, “—hesitating.”
The choreographers blinked, a bit surprised themselves, before one of them smiled faintly. “Okay, as long as you’re aware. You’re both doing well, but we need to feel that connection. Especially for camera cuts.”
“Understood,” you said simply, still eyeing Heeseung from the side.
He just nodded again, jaw tight, eyes still anywhere but you. The other choreographer clapped their hands, motioning toward the door. “Alright, back inside. We’ll run through the lift segment again after break.”
You walked in first.
Heeseung followed—silent, steady. Like a shadow. But not cold.
Just careful.
Because no matter how wordless it all was, it was clear.
Heeseung had spoken before you. Not to save himself. But to take the blame. To shield you.
And you felt it, heavy in your chest. The first crack in your walls.
And you hated that it felt warm.
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It was past ten in the evening.
The halls outside were mostly empty, lights dimmed down to their softer nighttime hue, but inside the small practice room, the quiet was louder than anything else. J
ust you and Heeseung—again. The soft hum of the building’s AC mixed with the occasional squeak of your shoes against the floor as you shifted in place.
Both of you sat with legs stretched out, the camera still propped in the middle of the room, the footage paused at a moment where your hand was just about to meet his shoulder.
You were watching the video with a critical eye, brow furrowed slightly in focus. Heeseung wasn’t watching the video.
He was watching you.
You didn’t even notice how long his gaze lingered until he spoke, voice low, hesitant, like it wasn’t meant to break the quiet.
“I could… step a bit closer. So you can hold on to me faster.”
Your eyes flicked to him briefly before nodding. “Yeah. That’d make the transition smoother.”
You hummed in agreement as you pulled out your phone and quickly typed a note in your shared checklist. The tapping of your fingers filled the silence, but you could feel Heeseung’s eyes on you still—never wavering.
Your thumbs slowed slightly, then stopped.
You stared at your phone screen, empty for a second.
Then, your voice came out soft, “Are you okay with that video?”
There was a beat of silence before Heeseung nodded slowly, leaning forward and reaching for the company-issued phone on the floor. “Yeah. Looks cleaner. Better than last time.”
His voice was quiet, careful—like every word was measured.
You stood up slowly, dusting off your sweatpants and glancing back down at him as he got to his feet too, not saying much. Just moving like he always did—steady, quiet, uncertain.
You slung your bag over your shoulder, watching as he walked toward the door.
And—of course—he got there first.
Wordlessly, Heeseung opened it, holding it open with one hand while the other clutched the strap of his own bag.
His fingers tapped against the canvas rhythmically, a nervous tic. You stepped toward the doorway and, without looking at him, murmured under your breath:
“Thanks.”
It was so quiet you didn’t even know if he heard it. But then—
Heeseung gave a short, stiff nod. “Of course.”
He didn’t smile. Didn’t joke. Didn’t meet your gaze. But he stood there until you were through the door. And he followed a few steps behind again, just like always.
Because it was always like this with Heeseung. He never walked ahead. Never got in your way. He was just there.
Trailing you in the dark, in the quiet, like someone trying to keep up without ever daring to ask if he could walk beside you.
The silence between the two of you lingered as you walked the familiar path through the corridor. Only the faint hum of city life bled in from the front doors.
Lights overhead buzzed softly, casting dim gold across the floor tiles as your footsteps echoed lightly—yours steady, purposeful; his just a step behind.
You stopped by the scanner first.
Finger pressed to the cool glass, the small beep of recognition echoed through the space as the main door lock clicked open.
Heeseung stepped up beside you and did the same, eyes flicking toward your side profile. He didn’t say anything—not yet.
You didn’t leave right away. You just… stood there. Still in your sweats, bag slung over one shoulder, arms loose by your side like you hadn’t made your decision yet.
Heeseung blinked.
His gaze flicked to your hands, your shoes, the way your weight shifted on your heels. You should’ve left by now. You always left first.
“…You okay?” he asked gently, brows furrowed as he tilted his head just a bit.
But you didn’t answer that.
Instead, still facing forward—eyes fixed on the tinted doors leading to the outside world, you said, low but clear enough to cut through the street noise beyond:
“Thanks. For covering up for me earlier.”
Heeseung froze.
His hand, still loosely holding his bag strap, tensed. His back went a little straighter, chest rising slightly with the breath he didn’t mean to hold.
The words—they weren’t sharp. They weren’t fierce. They didn’t cut, didn’t bite, didn’t come with fire.
They were soft. Almost careful. Like something you hadn’t meant to say out loud—but did anyway.
You didn’t say it with control, with sincerity.
And somehow, that was worse.
Heeseung swallowed hard, blinking fast like the moment had thrown him off balance. “I-I mean… it wasn’t really your fault,” he muttered, voice low, awkward. “It was mine. So… yeah.”
He scratched the back of his neck, fingers brushing the edge of his still-damp hair as he tried to mask the way his ears were heating up again.
You nodded stiffly. Not a single emotion passing over your face—at least none he could name.
And then you walked past him. No glance. No goodbye.
Just the weight of your words lingering between you like smoke.
He watched your figure retreat toward the street, shoulders square and firm, even as the neon lights from across the road painted your back in shifting colors.
He let out a sigh he hadn’t realized he was holding, fingers twitching by his side before reaching up to grab at the front of his shirt—right where his heart was thudding like a punch against bone.
“Way to go, Heeseung,” he mumbled to himself, voice dry.
Then he turned, slowly walking back inside.
The doors hissed shut behind him. He scanned his fingerprint at the rear corridor’s access panel, the green light flickering as the back wing opened up.
It was quieter here, dimmer, lonelier.
Heeseung slipped through the hallway like a ghost, making his way to the underground parking lot, shoes barely making a sound.
And even as he tossed his bag into the backseat of the van, even as he leaned his forehead against his hands for a second too long—he could still hear your voice.
Your soft but distant voice.
The way it didn’t hurt, but didn’t quite comfort either.
Heeseung sighed, the sound shaky as it left his chest. His fingers curled tighter against his hair, eyes fluttering shut for a moment too long.
“…Well,” he mumbled, voice barely audible in the stillness of the van, “at least there’s progress, right?”
He didn’t know who he was talking to—himself, maybe. The rearview mirror. The ghost of your tone still echoing in his ears.
And when no one answered, he just laughed under his breath, hollow and unsure, before sinking deeper into his seat.
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The main practice room was cold.
The kind of cold that clung to your skin no matter how many times you danced through it. The sun hadn’t even come up yet—just the soft buzz of fluorescent lights overhead, humming in the still air.
You rolled your shoulders back, bare arms prickling with goosebumps as you watched your reflection in the mirror.
You went through the chorus again. Again. And again.
The steps were clean. The angles were sharp. But it still felt like something was missing—like the beat wasn’t connecting, like the movement wasn’t breathing right.
You stopped midway, exhaling hard as your hands fell to your sides. Your back hit the mirror gently as you slumped against the cold glass. The echo of your own breath felt too loud in the empty room.
The door creaked open.
You immediately turned, your body stiffening, mouth already halfway open to scold whoever thought barging in at seven in the morning was a great idea—but then you saw him.
Messy silver hair. A hoodie that looked two sizes too big. Eyes wide like you’d just caught him breaking into your thoughts.
Lee Heeseung.
He froze in place, his hand still on the door handle. “I—I’m sorry,” he stammered, stepping in fully as the door clicked shut behind him. “I didn’t know you were in here.”
You stared. “You didn’t knock.”
He looked like he got hit.
“I—uh—right.” He nodded quickly, ears going scarlet. “I’ll knock next time. Or yell. Or text. Or, like, tap the glass? Or throw something at the mirror—I mean, no, not that—”
You sighed, dragging a hand through your hair as you waved him off. “It’s fine. Just… maybe don’t sneak up on people at dawn.”
Heeseung cracked a smile, small and sheepish, as he set his bag down gently by the wall. He walked toward you slowly—cautiously, like approaching a scared animal.
You raised a brow when he stopped a few feet away.
He hesitated, “Are you… okay?”
Your arms crossed. “Why wouldn’t I be?”
Heeseung shifted on his feet. “I mean. You looked frustrated. Earlier. I—saw you run through the chorus, like, five times. You don’t usually stop unless something’s bothering you.”
You blinked. How would he even know that?
“…Noticed that, did you?”
He looked down, rubbing the back of his neck. “I’m not trying to sound creepy, I just—I’ve been watching. You. I mean, not like—ugh.”
He groaned softly, hand dragging down his face. “You know what I mean.”
You let your brow arch higher, amused now. “You want to try again?”
“I just meant,” he mumbled, “you looked like you could use a hand.”
You tilted your head, skeptical. “You offering?”
He nodded instantly. “Yeah. If that’s okay.”
There was that twitch again—his hand fidgeting with the hem of his hoodie, the way his shoulders were just slightly pulled in like he wasn’t sure if he’d said too much. Or if you were about to push him away.
You sighed.
Then nodded.
“Alright,” you said, pushing off the mirror. “Fine. Come here.”
And Heeseung—he actually sighed like it was the first full breath he’d taken all morning.
He moved beside you, trying to keep a respectful distance even though the routine wouldn’t allow it for long. You didn’t comment on the flush still creeping up his neck.
Heeseung glanced at you once, eyes unreadable. “Where do you feel it’s off?”
You hummed, stepping back to the mirror. “Chorus, last transition beat. It’s supposed to fall between the pull and release—feels like I’m floating too far left before the downbeat.”
He blinked. “I noticed that, too.”
You turned, mildly surprised.
He shrugged. “I rewatched our recordings last night. Figured I’d try to… I don’t know, be useful?”
Something tugged at your chest.
You looked down at the floor, then back up. “Alright, partner. Let’s get to work.”
And for the first time in weeks—Heeseung smiled, just a little.
Not his usual smug, cocky smile. Not the fake polite one for choreographers.
A real one.
Soft. Crooked. Almost shy—like he didn’t know how to wear it anymore but still remembered how it felt.
Heeseung’s smile lingered for a second too long before he blinked, remembering where he was.
He straightened up quickly and turned toward the phone on the floor, still connected to the Bluetooth speakers, sitting right next to his bag.
He picked it up carefully like it was made of glass, eyes flicking up to you.
“Uh… may I?” he asked, holding it in both hands like it wasn’t yours, like it wasn’t the same phone you used in front of him every day.
You nodded.
He nodded back, a bit too eagerly, and walked over to you, tapping the screen a few times until the music app popped open.
“Can I, um, see the part you’re having trouble with?” he asked gently, his thumb already hovering over the cue bar.
You stepped away, brushing a bit of hair out of your eyes. “Yeah,” you muttered, pointing at the screen. “Start from here.”
He nodded again, mumbling to himself, “Okay… I’ll play it now.”
The track started softly, and you instinctively moved into place in the middle of the room.
The moment the pre-chorus passed, your posture changed—sharper, more focused, feet gliding into position as you performed the chorus on your own.
Heeseung stood still just a few feet away, watching.
Watching far too closely.
His eyes were wide but unreadable, mouth slightly parted as you cupped the air where his chin would’ve been—just a second too stiff. You completed the sequence with a firm exhale, pausing back in first position.
You turned to him, arms still half-raised. “Well?”
Heeseung blinked like he’d forgotten how to do that. “Uh—sorry.” His ears turned red as he fumbled to lower the volume on your phone. “That was—uh. Yeah.”
You crossed your arms. “You were staring.”
His lips twitched, mortified. “No, no, I wasn’t—I mean I was, but—not like in a weird way, just—I was trying to see what you meant.”
You raised a brow, but didn’t say anything.
Heeseung cleared his throat, gaze darting briefly to the ceiling before finally landing back on you. “I think… I think you’re struggling a little with the extension.”
You tilted your head. “How so?”
His hand raised in mid-air, mimicking your movement. “During the—uh, the part where you’re supposed to… uhm…” His face was flushed now. “C-cup my chin. Yeah. That part.”
You blinked.
He looked like he wanted the ground to eat him whole.
“I just think… you should raise your hand just a bit higher before you glide it down,” he mumbled, rubbing the back of his neck.
“You’re cutting the movement short. If you hold it up for a second longer, it’ll land better.”
There was a beat of silence. And then, you nodded. Serious. Thoughtful. Not mocking. Not amused. Like you were really listening to him.
And God, that did something to Heeseung’s chest.
“Wanna try it with me?” he offered, softer this time.
You nodded again.
“Okay,” he breathed out, almost inaudibly, as if the tension in his body had just released for a moment.
He gently placed your phone down between the two of you and turned toward you, trying his best to ignore the way his pulse suddenly spiked.
“You can… start when you’re ready,” he said, standing a little stiffer than usual.
You nodded, stepping just a little bit closer, close enough that your arm would graze his during the routine if either of you messed up the spacing.
The intro played softly from your phone, echoing against the dim, mirrored walls of the practice room.
Each movement flowed smoother than the last, your bodies slipping into rhythm—not perfect, not effortless, but aligned.
It wasn’t just the choreography anymore—it was muscle memory, tension, timing, the air between your hands, the way the mirror caught your silhouettes from every angle.
And when the chorus came, you raised your hand higher this time. Slower. Fuller.
Your palm cupped under Heeseung’s chin—not rushed, not forced—and his breath hitched for just a second as you slid past him, continuing your movement with clean lines and a steadier breath.
He followed, step for step, matching the beat as if the floor itself moved with the two of you.
It ended in silence. The music faded into the background.
You stood there, breath caught in your chest.
Heeseung let out a quiet gasp—barely audible—but he smiled. He actually smiled. That same soft one you didn’t know how to describe.
“Well…” he murmured, voice light and a little breathless. “You did it.”
You blinked, eyes finally meeting his.
It was the first time in weeks that he saw your face clearly. Really looked at it. Not through the mirror. Not from the corner of his eye.
Just you. Face to face.
And something flickered across your lips. Barely there. A subtle curve. A break in the walls you’d built so carefully.
“Yeah,” you said softly, nodding once. “I did.”
You didn’t look away. Neither did he.
A few seconds passed in quiet—comfortable, unfamiliar quiet—and then you cleared your throat lightly, eyes drifting for a second before returning to his.
“Uh… thank you.”
Heeseung’s smile didn’t falter. If anything, it got a little brighter—boyish. Earnest. His fingers fidgeted at his sides, brushing against the hem of his shirt.
“I guess I’m… not that useless after all,” he said with a small chuckle, eyes slightly crinkled.
You rolled your eyes. But this time, it wasn’t annoyed. It wasn’t cold. You actually smiled—this time visible. Not wide, not big, but enough to show your cheek twitch. Enough that Heeseung noticed.
That was the second crack.
The second moment where something inside of you softened.
You shook your head slowly, and for once, didn’t walk away immediately.
Heeseung’s gaze lingered on your face for a second too long before he cleared his throat softly and shifted his weight.
His silver hair moved with the motion, strands falling messily over his forehead as he stood up a little straighter—shoulders back, eyes steady. A bit more confident now, just a little less hesitant.
“I was, uh…” he started, his voice gentle, low. “I was wondering if you maybe… wanted to try doing the whole routine?”
You raised an eyebrow, but didn’t speak yet.
He scratched at the back of his neck awkwardly, eyes darting to the side. “Like—from the top. Just us. I-It might be a little awkward since it’s, um… y’know�� just the two of us… if that’s… if that’s alright with you.”
You exhaled, amused at the nervous stammer he still hadn’t shaken off despite standing so confidently now. The contradiction would’ve been funny if it wasn’t so… endearing.
You waved a hand dismissively. “It’s alright.”
Heeseung blinked once, then nodded. “Okay. Okay—cool,” he said a bit too fast, lips twitching into a grin he tried to bite back.
He moved toward the speaker, glancing at you before pressing play. “From the top, then.”
You stepped into position beside him, watching from the corner of your eye as he settled into place. His posture wasn’t as stiff anymore, his expression not as blank.
There was a subtle bounce in his stance, a lightness in his eyes as he glanced at the mirror once before straightening out his arms. He was… comfortable.
He was also smiling. Not at you—but because of you.
And you didn’t want to admit it, not even to yourself, but the way the deer-eyed boy beamed at the floor like this was the most exciting thing that had happened to him all week—it made something in your chest crack again.
A small one. Barely there. But it was a crack all the same.
You took a quiet breath, shook the thoughts from your head, and focused on the beat that was about to hit.
“Ready?” he asked, just loud enough to reach you over the soft intro.
You didn’t look at him.
But your nod came quicker than it had before.
And just like that, the two of you began to move.
You stepped into the first beat like a wave slipping into shore—natural, inevitable. And Heeseung was there too, not behind you, not beside you—but with you. Not a second too late or a step too soon.
The air between your bodies shifted with each sway and pivot, and the camera—silent in the middle of the room—caught the ebb and flow of two dancers whose hearts had somehow found the same rhythm.
You popped in and out of frame with trained ease, the lines of your bodies clean, carved with control and trust. You’d done this routine dozens of times. You knew the choreography like the back of your hand. But this… this felt new.
The way Heeseung’s fingertips hovered near your waist without trembling.
The way your eyes followed his movement without looking for something to criticize.
The way the space between your bodies felt charged, not cold.
Like the gods had crafted you both to dance under the same sky. Like the stars had aligned not in fire—but in quiet understanding. Like the moon was watching, patient and proud, as her two children found each other at last in the rising light.
And when the song ended, your chest rising and falling with a soft exhale, you turned to him.
Heeseung turned to you at the same time.
And maybe it was just a flicker. Just a ghost of a smile. Barely there and completely unspoken—but you smiled at each other.
Just a little.
There were no mistakes.
No second-guessing. No stiff limbs. No silence sharp enough to cut through.
Heeseung shuffled to his feet, dragging in a few deep breaths, hands on his knees before he straightened again. His gaze—warm and unreadable—drifted to you as you stood a few feet away, head tilted back, taking a long sip from your water bottle.
Then, to his complete surprise, you grabbed another one—unopened—and without a word, walked over to him.
He panicked. Internally, at least.
You held the bottle out casually, not even looking at him, like it was the most natural thing in the world. Like he hadn’t spent weeks thinking you hated his very existence. Like you didn’t see how his hands trembled for days after the last time your eyes met.
But you did it anyway.
His fingers brushed yours when he took the bottle—lightly, barely there—but he felt it everywhere.
He stuttered over his thank you. “Th-Thanks. Uh. Really. For the, um. The water. Yeah.”
You glanced at him—just the smallest tilt of your head—and replied, “You need to hydrate more, Lee.”
He choked on his own breath.
You didn’t even call him ‘Heeseung.’
You said ‘Lee.’
He would take it.
You turned away before he could see how the corner of your lip almost curved again. And behind you, Heeseung watched like a man seeing sunlight for the first time.
Because for the first time in a long time—it didn’t feel like drowning. It felt like a hand pulling him back to shore.
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It was the end of the third week of practice—and Sunoo genuinely couldn’t believe his eyes.
Like, really couldn’t. He blinked once. Rubbed at them twice. Even tilted his head slightly to the side like it would give him a better angle. But the sight didn’t change.
There, in the corner of the practice room—where the camera was still standing and the lights were dimmed ever so slightly—sat you and Lee Heeseung.
Talking.
And not the cold, clipped kind of exchange that had become the norm for the past few weeks.
No. You were sitting cross-legged on the floor, one elbow propped on your knee as you faced him, and Heeseung—sweet, silver-haired Heeseung—was talking.
Not in his usual awkward mumble either, but animatedly, hands flying with every idea that slipped out of his mouth like he couldn’t hold it in.
“I’m just saying—okay, wait—hear me out,” Heeseung said, brows raised with excitement, “what if during the second chorus instead of the usual turn you pause, like a half beat later, and I turn at the same time? It’s just a delay, but visually, it looks like you're pulling me in. Like—" He spun his fingers together with wide eyes, “—sync but with tension.”
You nodded slowly, eyes narrowing as you processed. “That could actually work. It makes the break feel intentional, not stiff.”
Heeseung grinned like he just won the lottery.
“Oh my god,” Sunoo whispered from the crack of the door, his jaw slack. “The gods do exist.”
Jay, who was half-asleep and leaning against the doorframe beside him, squinted. “What?” he mumbled, rubbing one eye. “Aren’t we going in?”
“Shh!” Sunoo hissed, grabbing the front of Jay’s shirt and yanking him back just enough to stay out of sight. “You’re gonna ruin it—they’re talking.”
Jay blinked blearily. “Who?”
Sunoo nodded his head toward the door. “Them.”
Jay peeked in, slow and careful. Heeseung was now sketching something on the back of a crumpled page—using a highlighter of all things—as he explained spacing to you.
You were leaning a bit closer, eyebrows furrowed in thought, completely immersed.
Sunoo slapped a hand over his own mouth.
“They’re not killing each other,” he whispered, eyes glassy. “They’re actually being… normal.”
Jay gave him a look. “You’re so dramatic.”
“No, no, this is historic.” Sunoo grabbed his phone and started typing. “I need to tell Jungwon—wait, no, I’m documenting this. For science.”
Back inside, Heeseung was still talking, now barely able to sit still. “And then the third repeat—we flip the direction. So, you pull me in first, then I pull you in, but it’s so subtle no one will notice unless they watch twice. Right? That way it builds without saying anything. It's like…”
He paused, smiling almost shyly, “…a conversation without words.”
You looked at him for a moment.
Then, softly, you said, “You think about this a lot, don’t you?”
Heeseung flushed, fingers stilling against the paper. “I, uh… yeah. When I can’t sleep.”
You nodded again, and something about the way your expression softened—barely there but there—made Heeseung’s ears go red.
Outside the room, Sunoo clasped his hands together like he was praying. “Please let this last. Please let this not be a fever dream.”
Jay rolled his eyes. “You’re insane.”
“I’m hopeful,” Sunoo corrected.
Because for the first time in weeks, the cold wasn’t sitting between your shoulders and Heeseung’s gaze wasn’t full of regret. For the first time in weeks, something shifted.
Sunoo couldn’t take it anymore.
He had watched in silence—well, mostly silence—for a full five minutes, practically vibrating in place behind the door.
So when you and Heeseung leaned just a little closer, heads nearly touching as you both stared down at the same scrap of highlighter-streaked paper, he gasped so loudly that even Jay gave up pretending not to care.
“Oh my god. That’s it. I’m going in.”
“Sunoo—what—” Jay tried to grab him, but the younger had already flung the door open with the confidence of a man on a mission, dragging the groggy older member with him.
You jumped slightly at the loud clang of the door. “Holy—Sunoo?” you yelped, hand flying to your chest as your eyes snapped to the door.
Heeseung, startled, nearly dropped the pen in his hand as both of you turned toward the intrusion.
Sunoo beamed. “Good morning!” he chirped like nothing was out of the ordinary, completely ignoring the way Jay groaned beside him.
Heeseung blinked, then chuckled softly, still flushed from earlier. “Hi, guys,” he said, smile honest and lopsided. “Good morning.”
You muttered a quiet, still recovering, “Morning.”
Sunoo gave Jay a look that screamed see, it’s working, before turning back to you two like the best third wheel in existence.
“Don’t mind us! Just here to bask in the morning sunlight that is—” he dramatically gestured, “—you two not being cold and terrifying anymore.”
Heeseung only laughed under his breath, shaking his head as he turned back to you, fingers brushing against the edges of the paper again.
“So, um,” he said, voice softer now, “you think that could work, right? With the delay in the second chorus and then syncing the snap right after?”
You looked at him for a beat, then nodded once. “Yeah,” you said, adjusting your posture slightly so you could hear him better. “It flows better that way. Doesn’t feel too sharp.”
Heeseung’s smile grew again—boyish, bright, like he couldn’t help it. “You wanna try it now?”
You nodded again, already getting to your feet. “Yeah. Let’s try.”
Heeseung stood too, brushing off the back of his sweatpants as he followed you toward the center of the room. He stole one glance back at the scrap of paper before placing it down gently on top of his bag.
You took your usual spot, glancing over your shoulder at Sunoo, who looked like he was watching a real-life drama unfold.
“Sunoo,” you called out.
He blinked, suddenly very upright. “Yes, noona?”
“Would you mind playing the music?”
He gasped, clutching his chest. “Noona. I would be honored.”
Jay leaned back against the mirrored wall, arms crossed, watching with a half-smile. “You’re so dramatic,” he muttered.
But Sunoo was already prancing to the speaker controls. “Let’s go! Live show! Main dancers in love—I mean, in sync!”
“Kim Sunoo,” you warned.
Heeseung flushed instantly, nearly stumbling over his own feet as he rushed to take his place in the center of the room.
You were already walking to your side of the mirrored studio, a hand brushing your hair away from your face, jaw tightening just a little—but not from anger.
Embarrassment? Maybe. Heat crawled up the back of your neck, and you pretended to stretch your shoulder to hide the small smile tugging at the corner of your lips.
Sunoo didn’t even flinch. “I said what I said!” he chimed, finger hovering dramatically over the pause button like a conductor preparing to cue a symphony. “And—three, two, one—go!”
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The soft chime of the iCloud upload completion echoed in the quiet of the small practice room, the faint buzz of the city just barely bleeding through the glass windows.
The clock on the wall ticked past eight in the evening, and your limbs ached from repetition, from dancing the same chorus over and over—but somehow, the fatigue didn’t settle in the way it usually did.
You leaned over your phone one last time, watching the blue bar finish its run as you whispered, “Uploaded.”
Behind you, Heeseung crouched by the center of the room, carefully dismantling the tripod.
The soft clack of the phone being removed echoed against the walls, and for a moment, he stayed kneeling—opening the camera app, screen casting a faint glow on his flushed face.
He turned the lens toward himself quickly, adjusting the angle without thinking. One snap. That was all he needed.
The photo popped up on the screen. He blinked, caught off-guard.
You were in the background. Your figure was slightly blurred, turned to the side as you fixed your hair, pulling it into a low ponytail, your expression neutral—focused. Unbothered.
And still, somehow, something about it made Heeseung’s lips pull into a soft, boyish smile. He stared for a second longer than necessary.
“You looking at yourself again?”
Your voice startled him.
“Wha—?!” Heeseung yelped, practically throwing the phone back down onto the drawer like it burned him. “No—I—uh, just… turning it off! Making sure it saves—company phone! You know—protocol!”
You blinked at him.
“…You always stutter when you lie,” you muttered under your breath, slinging your bag over your shoulder.
“I wasn’t lying,” Heeseung tried again, but his voice pitched high enough that even he winced.
“Mhm.” You raised a brow, pausing near the door as he scrambled to grab his own bag. His ears were red again. He adjusted his hoodie sleeve like it could hide the way his hands fumbled with the zipper
He finally caught up, just behind you, awkwardly opening the door like a schoolboy trying to remember if he should say something or not.
“Uh—after you,” he offered quickly, holding it open without looking directly at you.
You walked past him, letting out a quiet, “Thanks.”
And as the two of you stepped into the dimly lit hallway, silence stretched between you—comfortable for once, like something had settled. But Heeseung, still flustered, scratched at the back of his neck as he looked away.
The hallway smelled faintly of floor wax and fabric softener—old and familiar, like every late-night practice that came before this one.
Fluorescent lights buzzed above, soft and lazy in their glow, casting long shadows over the two of you as your footsteps echoed in quiet rhythm against the tiles.
Neither of you spoke at first. Just the steady shuffle of sneakers, the gentle thud of your bag against your side. Then, softly—almost timidly—Heeseung spoke.
"Hey… (Y/n)."
You didn’t stop walking, but you did glance slightly his way, a hum escaping your throat. A quiet, curious sound, inviting him to keep talking.
He hesitated, swallowing back the nerves that rose to his throat. “Can I… call you that?” he asked, voice barely above the hum of the lights.
You nodded—wordless, but not cold. More like urging. Like telling him to go on.
He cleared his throat, his hand slipping into the pocket of his hoodie, fingers curling around the hem nervously.
“Thank you,” he said quietly.
You blinked, then turned your head a little more. “For what?”
“For…” He shrugged, his shoulders rising like he wasn’t sure how to carry the weight of the words. “Letting me help you. Earlier. You didn’t have to… but you did.”
There was a beat of silence. Then you let out a soft chuckle—not sarcastic, not cold. Just tired and genuine.
“Yeah,” you said simply, shaking your head faintly. “It’s fine.”
And somehow, those two words carried more warmth than he expected.
The silence returned, but it wasn’t the strained, suffocating kind you both had known weeks before. It was soft. Like a shared breath. Like the calm after a storm.
You reached the front of the building first, scanning your fingerprint with a quiet beep. The door clicked open with its usual whirr.
Heeseung followed right behind, his own scan lighting the panel a faint blue. His steps were still careful—always a little behind yours, as if he was still learning to walk beside you instead of behind.
As the doors unlocked, he whispered again, just before you could step through.
“Thank you,” he repeated, softer this time. Sincere. Just for you.
You glanced over your shoulder—not quite a full turn, just enough to meet his eyes. Your face remained unreadable, the same neutral expression you wore like armor. But…
There it was.
The tiniest curve at the corner of your lips. A blink-and-you’ll-miss-it smile.
You didn’t say anything else. You just turned and stepped into the night, the wind tugging at your sleeves and your voice leaving only an echo behind.
Heeseung stood there, frozen for a second.
And then, slowly, that boyish smile crept onto his face.
He looked up—just briefly. The moonlight caught on his silver hair, bathing him in a glow that made him look more like a story than a person. His heart felt stupidly full.
Still grinning to himself, he turned and walked back into the building, fingertips brushing against the warm scanpad as the doors closed behind him.
And maybe—just maybe—that was enough for now.
Heeseung sighed contentedly as the glass doors slid shut behind him, a hint of warmth still lingering on his lips from your not-quite-smile.
His footsteps echoed faintly as he made his way down the dim stairwell leading to the underground parking lot, the buzz of late-night silence wrapping around him like a blanket.
He didn’t expect anything else tonight. Just the usual: his manager half-asleep in the front seat of the black van, maybe a bottle of water waiting inside, maybe a moment alone to think about the fact that you hadn’t walked away so fast this time.
But when he pushed open the heavy gray door to the parking garage, he blinked.
And then blinked again.
“…What the hell are you two doing.”
Jay and Ni-ki stood by the van—well, Ni-ki stood, his body twisted to the side as he held a crumpled piece of convenience store bread just out of reach.
Jay, disheveled and visibly sleep-deprived, was practically clinging to the younger one’s back, both of them wrestling like children in the middle of the dimly lit garage.
“Give it back, gremlin!” Jay hissed, reaching over Ni-ki’s shoulder.
“I bought it with my own money!” Ni-ki shot back, dancing around the parked car, bread flailing like a prized trophy. “You literally said you weren’t hungry!”
“That was twenty minutes ago! I am now!”
“Not my problem, old man—”
“Guys.” Heeseung pinched the bridge of his nose, a tired but amused smile tugging at his lips. “It’s bread. There’s another convenience store across the street.”
Jay glared at him while still holding onto Ni-ki. “It’s the last sweet milk one. The last one.”
“It’s always the last one,” Ni-ki grumbled.
Jay turned to Heeseung. “Tell him to share.”
Ni-ki scoffed, hugging the bread dramatically. “Tell him to bring his own next time instead of stealing from minors.”
Heeseung shook his head with a light chuckle, running a hand through his hair. “This is what I come back to after a good practice session.”
Jay finally gave up and dropped his arms with a heavy sigh. “Fine. But you owe me next time.”
Ni-ki shrugged. “Sure. I’ll save you the plastic wrapper.”
Heeseung walked past them to open the van door, the grin on his face impossible to hide now.
Honestly, it was kind of nice. The laughter. The way things felt a little lighter than they had in weeks.
“Can we just go home before you two start biting each other?” he muttered, hopping into the backseat.
Jay followed with a dramatic groan. “As long as Ni-ki stops acting like a raccoon in a bakery.”
Ni-ki climbed in last, still smug, bread safe and sound in his lap. “I am the youngest. I get priority survival rights.”
Heeseung leaned back against the headrest, the sounds of bickering and laughter still echoing inside the van as the engine rumbled to life.
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The final night of practice was nothing like the rest.
There was no laughter.
No playful bickering.
Just the sound of sneakers brushing against the hardwood floor. Of soft, controlled breaths. Of water bottles being set down too gently, like everyone was scared to disturb the focus in the room.
You stood beside Jake’s partner—someone you’d grown surprisingly fond of in the last few weeks—and she tugged lightly on your sleeve.
“Let’s do well,” she mumbled, her voice nearly drowned out by the silence around you.
You turned to her, nodding. “We will.”
The overhead lights buzzed softly, dimmed just enough to mimic the way it’d look during filming. Everyone was already in place, some crouched on the floor, others upright, heads bowed in concentration as the opening notes rolled in.
You spotted Heeseung a few feet away, standing exactly where he should be—center, eyes down, lips parted slightly like he was mouthing a quiet prayer.
Your chest tightened. Not because of him.
Just one more run-through before everything was set in stone.
You fell into your formation like instinct, like muscle memory, like ritual. Jake’s partner mirrored you perfectly, her steps sharp but fluid, grounded and light all at once.
And then there was Heeseung.
Sliding into frame like he was born to be there, every beat he hit sharpened with conviction. For the first time in a long time, his gaze didn’t avoid yours.
When your paths crossed near the second verse—your fingertips brushing in a fleeting moment of choreography—you didn’t flinch. Neither did he.
When the song ended, the room stayed still for a second too long.
Jake dropped to the floor with a heavy exhale. “Holy shit.”
Ni-ki sat down beside him, gulping water like he’d never tasted it before. Sunoo didn’t even speak—he just laid flat on the ground, breathless and smiling up at the ceiling.
You were still catching your breath, a little dazed from how smooth that run-through felt, when you turned—and met Heeseung’s gaze across the floor.
He wasn’t panting like the rest, but his chest moved a little quicker than normal. His bangs clung to his forehead, silver hair a mess from the dancing, and the tips of his ears were bright red when you nodded at him.
He nodded back.
He opened his mouth, like he was about to say something—
“Hyung!” Sunghoon’s arm slung over his shoulder with the grace of a collapsing tree. He leaned all his weight onto the older boy. “Save me. My legs are falling off.”
Heeseung huffed a startled laugh, stumbling slightly with the added weight. “That’s what you get for showing off during the chorus.”
“I wasn’t showing off, I was dying artistically.”
Claps suddenly echoed across the room—two sharp ones, then more, until the entire room was filled with tired applause. The choreographers stood in front, grinning.
“Great work, everyone,” the head choreographer called out, proud. “That was your cleanest run yet. If you keep that energy, the M/V’s going to come out incredible.”
A round of low cheers, pants, and relieved bows followed.
“Go home, get some sleep,” another added, “because we’re flying out first thing tomorrow. Plane call’s at five sharp.”
The entire room groaned.
Everyone bowed to the choreographers again, muttering quiet thank-yous and “good night!” before dispersing—some collapsing back on the floor for one last moment of peace, others shuffling to grab their bags.
You slung yours over your shoulder as you walked out of the practice room, only to realize—Heeseung was quietly pacing beside you, his steps matching yours.
He didn’t speak. Neither did you. But the silence wasn’t awkward—it wasn’t cold. Just… gentle. Like something understood, but not said out loud.
You both stepped out of the hallway and toward the building entrance when a familiar voice called out—
“(Y/N)!”
You looked up, surprised to see Yunjin and Chaewon waiting near the doors. Both of them waved, smiling, clearly having waited for you.
“We brought food,” Yunjin beamed, holding up a takeout bag. “Thought you might’ve skipped dinner again.”
But then her gaze shifted behind you—and her brows shot up in surprise.
“Oh…” she blinked, staring at the boy beside you. “And Heeseung-sunbaenim’s here too.”
Chaewon tilted her head slightly. “Hey.”
You turned to Heeseung, unsure what he was about to do—but to your surprise, he didn’t retreat or bolt. Instead, he offered them a small bow and a smile, the kind that was a little shy, but genuine.
Then he turned to you.
A boyish grin tugged at the corner of his lips. “Get home safe, okay?”
You blinked, surprised at how easily the words fell from him.
“…Yeah,” you mumbled, a little caught off guard. “You too.”
He gave a final nod, eyes crinkling just the slightest before turning and walking back to where his members were gathering near the elevators.
You watched him go for a second—his silver hair glowing under the hallway lights, the way Sunghoon elbowed him the moment he approached, like no one missed the little interaction.
Yunjin leaned close. “Was that…?”
Chaewon raised a brow, watching Heeseung’s figure disappear into the hall. “Lee Heeseung-sunbaenim?”
You didn’t answer.
Not yet.
The air felt colder outside the practice room—more real somehow. The adrenaline of dancing had faded, and in its place was the rush of a different kind of weight.
Chaewon waited until you were a few steps down the hall before she spoke again. Her voice was softer this time, but not any less sharp.
“So… what happened to heeding all of our warnings?”
You paused mid-step.
The hallway light flickered above you.
Warnings. Voices. Reminders.
That Lee Heeseung was a walking headline. That he didn’t care about anyone but himself. That he was a heartbreaker, a perfectionist, a charming mess behind the scenes who never gave anyone the same version of himself twice.
You had hated him for it. Avoided him like the plague.
You swallowed, tightly, your fingers curling around the strap of your bag as your mind scrambled for a response that didn’t feel like a betrayal of your better judgment.
“He’s just my dance partner,” you said after a beat, turning toward them with a smile that felt tight around the edges. “That’s all.”
Yunjin blinked, reading you easily—maybe too easily—but she nodded slowly. “Right. Dance partner.”
Chaewon’s eyes stayed on you a second longer. There was something unreadable in her gaze, something protective. She wasn’t convinced. But she also didn’t push.
“Okay,” she said quietly.
The silence that followed threatened to grow awkward, but Yunjin, bless her soul, looped her arm around yours and pulled the conversation forward like it was a lifeline.
“Anyway,” she chirped, “we’re this close to locking in the comeback concept. Chaewon-unnie wants to go full femme fatale, I’m still pushing for glitter and leather.”
Chaewon scoffed. “You just want another excuse to wear rhinestones on your eyelashes.”
You let out a small laugh—grateful. Grateful they were here. Grateful they knew when to stop asking.
Even if the questions still echoed in your own chest.
And as the three of you walked out into the night, your heart was still quiet—but your thoughts weren’t.
The stars above were barely visible, the city lights too bright to let them breathe. Kind of like your chest right now—tight, conflicted, too full of everything and still pretending it was nothing.
Yunjin and Chaewon kept talking, their voices warm and familiar, fading into background noise as you walked between them.
He’s just my dance partner.
You repeated the words like a mantra, like if you said it enough times it’d become truth. But the truth was slippery—and it had silver hair and eyes that kept looking at you like he wanted to say something but didn’t know how.
You hated him. Didn’t you? You had every reason to.
You remembered the stories. The rumors. The way everyone warned you—how they called him careless, reckless, too smooth with his words and too sharp with his tongue.
He was everything you told yourself to avoid. So you did.
You ignored him. Brushed past him. Pretended he didn’t exist even when he stood two feet away. Even when he opened doors and kept his head bowed and spoke your name like it was something he wasn’t allowed to say out loud.
Because that’s how you protected yourself.
Because the boy you saw in that practice room? He wasn’t some arrogant heartbreaker with too much charm and not enough sincerity. He was awkward. Shy. Gentle. Too gentle, even.
Heeseung stuttered when he asked you things. He flinched when you looked at him too long. He smiled like he wasn’t used to smiling in your direction and was scared you’d take it back.
He acted like a deer in headlights, not some villain with a pretty face.
And maybe that was the problem.
“…You’re quiet,” Chaewon noted suddenly, pulling you out of your spiral. She eyed you with concern. “You okay?”
You blinked. “Yeah,” you said, voice just above a whisper. “Just… tired.”
Yunjin slowed her steps, her tone gentler now. “Long day?”
You nodded. “Yeah. Just a long day.”
Neither of them pushed. You were thankful for that. Because you didn’t know how to explain it—not even to yourself.
That the lines were starting to blur. That your certainty had started to shift the moment he looked at you like you mattered. That maybe the worst part of hating him—was realizing he never hated you back.
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The set was somewhere deep in the countryside of Poland—or so they told you. You didn’t ask. You didn’t care.
The jet lag was a vice around your skull, your temples pulsing with the weight of back-to-back schedules and unfinished sleep.
The only thing keeping you upright was the cold air seeping in through the cracks in the massive venue they’d rented out for the shoot.
The studio lights were blinding, and the beat of the backing track playing faintly overhead echoed like a second heartbeat in your ears.
You sat wordlessly in a fold-out chair as a makeup artist dabbed at the outer corner of your eye with a small brush, sweeping a final shimmer of dark plum across your lid.
Another artist fussed with the fall of your hair behind the black silk mask strapped tightly to your face.
You were grateful for the mask. Not because it looked good—but because it hid you. Even just a little.
You didn’t have to smile. Didn’t have to speak. Didn’t have to see the way Heeseung was still staring from across the room like you were the only thing that mattered more than the camera.
His gaze burned hot and obvious, like it hadn’t stopped tracking you since you stepped onto the set an hour ago.
Like even here—in the middle of nowhere, half the world away, wrapped in pearls and velvet—he couldn’t forget the way your hands felt against his just three days ago in the dance room.
You could see him in your peripheral. Silver hair tousled, his expression slipping slightly as he fiddled with the pearl strings sewn into his sweater.
His fingers—elegant, nervous—twisted and untwisted the threads like they were the only way he could keep himself grounded.
“You’re good to go,” the stylist murmured beside you, stepping away after one last spritz of setting spray.
You blinked and nodded. “Thank you.”
Across the room, Jake burst into laughter as Jungwon elbowed him, both of them dressed in matching jackets that shimmered under the lights. They looked exhausted but lighthearted—like they’d slept at least a little more than you had.
You stood up, adjusting the fall of your black mask as you made your way toward the center of the set. The platform had been polished until you could almost see your reflection in it.
Choreographers bustled nearby, adjusting marks and camera angles as final checks were called out across walkie-talkies.
“Everyone in position in five!” a staff member called.
You kept walking, and so did Heeseung.
But as you both paused at your assigned marks—just a breath apart, the cold air curling between your shoulders—you heard it.
Heeseung’s voice. Low. Careful.
“…You okay?”
Your eyes flickered to him for the briefest second, the mask hiding the frown that pulled at your lips.
“I’m fine,” you said quietly.
Heeseung didn’t move, but you could hear the way he breathed in just a bit sharper than usual.
“You’re not sleeping well,” he said.
You didn’t answer.
He shifted slightly in his stance, adjusting the sleeves of his sweater where they clung tight around his wrists.
“I’m not either,” he added. “In case you were wondering.”
“I wasn’t,” you replied, voice clipped. But it wasn’t as cold as it could’ve been. It was more tired.
He chuckled once under his breath. Dry. Almost self-deprecating.
The seconds ticked by.
And even in a space filled with people and light and noise—you felt like it was only the two of you.
But maybe that was the problem.
Because the more you let yourself believe it—the more you let yourself notice the soft smiles, the hesitant stares, the way his fingers lingered too long after each lift or catch—the harder it became to shut your thoughts down.
It was exhausting. Tiring in a way no practice could match.
You really didn’t know what to believe anymore.
You hated the way your chest fluttered when he smiled at you during warmups. You hated the way your heart twisted when his eyes dropped to the floor every time you brushed past him like strangers.
You hated that you remembered every warning you were given about him—and yet here you were, slowly forgetting why you built those walls in the first place.
It was too much. Too loud in your head, too warm in your chest, and too dangerous in your hands.
The chorus cue came. You pushed the thoughts aside. Let the music take you.
Let muscle memory and muscle tension guide your body. The choreography was second nature now—each movement stitched into your bones. Heeseung’s hand slid behind your waist. Your palms grazed his collar. The camera passed.
But it was over too soon—too much.
And when the final beat of the chorus hit, you pressed yourself away—too fast.
Heeseung’s hand slipped from your side with no resistance.
He frowned. Just slightly. You didn’t see it, but you felt it. The shift. The falter.
Your steps were light, almost too fast as you moved to the other side of the set—your breath tight in your lungs as you stood next to Jungwon’s partner, who greeted you with a bright, hopeful beam.
“You looked so good out there,” she said, nudging your arm lightly.
You forced a smile. Let it rise behind your eyes where the mask couldn’t hide it.
“Thanks,” you said softly. “So did you.”
The moment felt safe—comfortable. Predictable.
And from across the room, Heeseung saw it all. The way you laughed—small, but real. The way you leaned a little closer. The way you didn’t flinch or shift away.
He swallowed the tight lump in his throat, watching you with unreadable eyes.
What happened? What changed?
The chill of your absence seeped through the space he used to hold beside you. He turned away before he could think too long about it. Before the ache in his chest got too obvious.
He didn’t want to think that maybe—for all the progress he thought you were making—this meant you were still running.
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The second day of filming began with breath clouds and red noses.
You huddled close with the other dancers beneath a shared gray blanket that barely kept the cold out.
The fitted red dress you wore clung to your frame, no sleeves in sight, no mercy from the biting wind. Your fingers twitched where they fiddled with the invisible hem of your sleeves that didn’t exist.
“This dress is evil,” Sunghoon’s partner muttered, her teeth chattering as she pressed her arms together. “It’s like—glamour meets hypothermia.”
You let out a breathy laugh, nodding. “Suffering for the aesthetic,” you joked, eyes crinkling behind the red mask you still hadn’t taken off. “We should get hazard pay.”
The girls around you giggled in agreement, pulling the blanket tighter around their shoulders. It was one of the rare moments you could pretend this was just another project. Just another set.
But then the call came.
“Dancers, to the platform!”
You hesitated before letting the warmth slip from your hands.
The blanket fell to the bench behind you like a defeated flag as you stepped onto the gravel path leading to the raised platform. Your heels clicked against the cold stone as the wind tugged at your hair. You walked with practiced grace—but your arms were stiff, skin prickling from the chill.
He was already there.
In the middle of the platform, Jake beside him, their postures relaxed but ready. Half of Heeseung’s silver hair had been slicked back, the rest tousled slightly by the breeze.
He was wrapped in the same dark regal jacket you saw during the earlier takes, layered over the white stage shirt that matched the shadows in his eyes.
His gaze caught yours.
Just a second.
One heartbeat too long.
And then—a small smile.
Tame. Careful. Almost apologetic. Like he knew he didn’t have the right to smile too brightly.
You didn’t return it. You simply nodded, small and impersonal.
Heeseung felt the air knock out of him anyway.
He looked away, jaw tightening just slightly as he shifted in place, trying to shake the thoughts out of his head. His hand adjusted the earring tucked near his ear as the director’s voice rang out loud and clipped from below the platform.
“Alright, places! We’re rolling in three!”
You took your mark silently, body coiling with tension as you took your place behind Heeseung—just off to his left like the choreography called for.
“Two!”
“One!”
Heeseung didn’t dare glance back at you again. Not when the cold wasn’t the only thing that had him shivering.
And as the music started—so did the silence between your bodies. Two dancers moving like fire and frost. Each step practiced. Each contact perfect.
But Heeseung still wondered if your heart was somewhere far away from him. Or if he’d ever be allowed to reach it again.
The director’s voice echoed once more, signaling the end of the take. The music faded, replaced by the familiar shuffles of movement and quiet congratulations.
You stepped away. Again. Same as you always did.
But this time—he moved faster.
Before you could even plant your next step, his fingers closed around your wrist—not tight, not rough, but firm. Sure. The kind of hold that said, Don’t walk away. Not this time.
“Wait,” he said, voice low. Not commanding. Not pleading. Just there.
Your breath caught. “Lee—?”
He didn’t answer. Didn’t give you the chance to protest again.
With a sudden tug, he turned, leading you away from the open platform, past a row of weathered pillars and toward the broken shadow of the ruined courtyard wall—one of the few places the cameras couldn’t see. Where no staff or backup dancers wandered. Just the wind. And your heartbeat.
“Hey—” you yelped softly, heels catching slightly in the gravel. You tugged at his hand, but it was useless. “What are you doing?”
He didn’t say anything.
Just glanced over his shoulder, silver hair windblown and eyes burning, and even in his silence, he was careful—his hand never left yours, but he slowed just enough to help you step over the uneven stones, guiding you gently until the two of you were out of view.
Out of reach. Out of excuses.
He finally stopped when the only sound between you was the faraway call of a raven and the hush of your breaths.
You pulled your wrist again. “Lee Heeseung—”
His grip loosened, not enough to hurt. Just enough that you could leave if you really wanted to.
But you didn’t. Not yet.
Still, he didn’t step back. He didn’t let go, either. And instead—his fingers trailed down. Slid slowly into yours like a silent plea.
The other hand came next—gentle, hesitant—trembling as it found yours and held on, palms warm despite the cold that clung to the ruins around you.
His breath hitched. Chest rising like he had to remind himself to inhale.
And when he finally spoke, his voice was small. Fractured.
A boy breaking.
“(Y/N)…”
His gaze flicked to yours and then away—like it hurt to be seen, but it hurt worse not to be.
“…Why do you hate me so much?”
It wasn’t a complaint. It wasn’t anger. It wasn’t said like he was looking for a fight.
It was said the way someone asks a god why the world ended. Like maybe they’d accept being ruined—if someone could just explain why.
“I don’t get it,” he whispered, shaking his head, silver strands falling into his eyes. “I don’t know what I did. I’ve been trying—fuck, I’ve been trying so hard to make this okay. To make this easy for you.”
He looked down at your hands in his. His thumb brushed over your knuckles. Once. Twice. Like he was trying to remember something he never got to hold properly.
“I never—” he blinked, hard, and his gaze dropped to your hands in his, thumbs brushing the backs of your knuckles like he needed to make sure you were real. “I never touched you wrong. Never spoke to you bad. Never treated you any different than the rest of them.”
His voice wavered, just slightly.
“So why is it that when I look at you… you look at me like I’m the worst thing that ever happened to you?”
You swallowed the burn at the back of your throat. The words felt sharp in your chest. You didn’t mean to. You didn’t want to.
But you’d looked at him like that, hadn’t you?
“I’ve spent weeks trying to make this work. To be good. To earn whatever piece of trust you’d let me have. And still—” he laughed, bitter, watery “—you keep flinching like I’m gonna hurt you.”
He laughed. Just once. It sounded bitter, like it tasted like rust in his mouth.
“I know I’m not your favorite person. I know I’m a lot of things. But I’m not… I’m not cruel. I’m not trying to make you hate this.”
He stepped closer—just enough to close the space. Just enough for you to feel the weight of every word between his trembling fingers.
And his eyes, they weren’t angry, they weren’t cold.
They were pleading. Wet at the edges, rimmed red like he’d been holding it in too long. Tired. Soft. So full of something he didn’t have a name for yet.
“So tell me,” he said, voice nearly cracking. “What is it? What did I do? Because I’m losing it here, trying to figure out why you hate me so much when I—”
His grip on your hands tightened. Not forceful. Just—rooted, desperate.
“I just… I want to understand. I want to fix it. I want to know why you hate me so much when I—”
He stopped. Bit his lip.
And it crumbled out of him.
“…When I think about you all the time.”
The silence that followed that confession felt louder than the wind against the ancient stones.
Heeseung’s breath hitched. His grip tightened—not painfully, but with the kind of desperation you only showed when you were losing something you never truly had.
You sighed.
A long, shaking exhale that fogged up the inside of your mask. Your fingers twitched in his, and without a word, you slowly reached up—peeling the red cloth down from your face.
Your lips were parted. Your chest rose and fell a little quicker than normal. You didn’t speak at first—you just stared at him.
At the silver-haired boy in front of you, head slightly bowed but eyes still locked onto yours.
Eyes that were red and glassy. Eyes that didn’t blink as they searched your face for answers he was terrified to hear.
You swallowed.
“I heard things,” you finally whispered.
Your voice wasn’t sharp. It wasn’t cold. It was quiet—like a confession you’d kept folded in your pocket for too long. About to crumble.
Heeseung blinked. His brows pinched in the middle.
“I didn’t… hate you at first,” you admitted, eyes flickering downward. “I didn’t know you. I didn’t care.”
You laughed—bitter, soft.
“But then people started talking. Telling me to stay away. That you were selfish. That you didn’t care about your members, or your partners. That you half-assed things when it didn’t interest you. That you flirted with girls like it was a game, just to watch them fall.”
You looked up again—and Heeseung’s face was starting to crack.
“They told me you’d never make this easy. That you’d just throw me under the bus if it got hard. That I should keep my distance or I’d end up the next girl crying over Lee Heeseung.”
Your lips trembled.
“So I did.”
And still—he said nothing.
But his eyes. His face. His shoulders. He was shaking.
You went on, quieter. “I convinced myself it was true. Every time you looked at me, every time you smiled or tried to talk—I told myself you were lying. That you were just playing the part.”
Your voice caught. You looked down at your heels.
“I was scared.”
Heeseung’s breath hitched, finally unable to hold it in anymore. He sniffled sharply, blinking fast—but one tear escaped anyway. Then another. Then more.
Still holding your hands, he stepped forward—just enough that his forehead hovered over your shoulder.
You didn’t pull away.
You let him stay there—his body still trembling, your hands still warm in his.
A tear slid down the side of your neck.
“I’m sorry,” he mumbled. Voice muffled against you. “I never wanted that. I swear. I never—”
He broke off. Shaking again. “I didn’t know they said that about me.”
And this time, it was you who clutched his fingers tighter.
“I didn’t want to believe it,” you said quietly. “But they were so sure. And you were so…” You paused. “You were so hard to read.”
Heeseung pulled back, just enough to look at you again. His face was soaked now. Lips parted, cheeks flushed from crying.
“I’m sorry,” he whispered again.
And before you could say anything—before you could even breathe—he made a sound.
Not a word. Not quite a sob.
It was somewhere in between—like his voice cracked around the weight of what he was trying to hold in. And then suddenly, it was like the dam broke.
“I didn’t even…” he choked, voice trembling. “I didn’t even date anybody. Ever. Not since debut. I swear—God, I swear.”
He pulled away just barely, not enough to let you go, just enough to meet your eyes.
His were rimmed red. Wet. Wide. Panicked.
“I don’t know who said that. I don’t know where that came from,” he said, words stumbling over each other, “I never flirted with anyone—I never… I didn’t do any of that. Because I didn’t want to.”
Another shaky inhale. His hands trembled in yours.
“I didn’t want anyone else. I didn’t care about anyone else. I only ever wanted you to like me. To even just—tolerate me.”
Heeseung bit down on his lip again, trying and failing to swallow the next sob. His whole body shook from the effort, from the exhaustion, from the weeks of holding it all in.
And then finally—he slumped. Not just physically—but emotionally. Completely.
His head dropped, forehead resting gently against your shoulder, arms still loosely holding your hands like he was afraid you’d vanish the second he let go.
You inhaled—shakily. Eyes wide, mouth slightly open.
You could feel his breathing now. Labored, broken. The small shudder of him trying to stop the tears even as they soaked the fabric of your dress. You let go of one of his hands—not to step away, not to push him off. You raised it instead.
Tentative. Careful.
And cradled the back of his head.
Fingers slipping gently into the mess of silver hair as you pressed his face just a little closer to you, letting him cry into your shoulder. Letting him break, here—where no cameras could see. Where no staff would interrupt.
Where it was just the two of you.
“I didn’t know,” you whispered. “Heeseung… I didn’t know.”
You said his name like it hurt.
And it did. Because maybe if you had asked. Maybe if you had just looked him in the eye earlier. Maybe—
“I’m sorry,” you said this time.
He didn’t respond. He couldn’t. His voice was gone. His body curled just slightly toward you like something inside him finally caved.
Like the mask he wore for the world had slipped—and all that was left was a boy who was tired of being misunderstood.
Your hand in his hair moved gently—slow strokes over soft silver strands, your fingers trembling as they threaded through the mess at his nape.
He didn’t flinch. If anything, he leaned closer, like he needed the grounding. Like if you stopped, he’d fall apart entirely.
So you pulled him just a little closer. Just enough for his nose to nudge the side of your neck. Just enough to feel his shoulders shake against you as the sobs continued to slip out, quieter now, but no less painful.
And you finally spoke.
“People told me things,” you whispered, the words shaky, just above the sound of his broken breaths. “Things about you. And I believed them.”
Your throat burned. You blinked hard—but it was useless. The tears had already welled.
“I shouldn’t have trusted them just because I knew them,” you said. “I shouldn’t have let their version of you decide everything for me. Because you’re—”
You paused, fingers curling tighter in his hair.
“You’re nothing like what they said.”
Heeseung didn’t move, but you felt his grip loosen on your hands—only for his arms to suddenly wrap around you. Fully. Desperately.
His entire body curled forward into you, pressing against your chest, his face buried deep in the crook of your neck as if trying to disappear into you entirely.
The force of it knocked you back just slightly—your shoulders hitting the cold stone of the castle wall behind. But you didn’t flinch. You didn’t stop him. Your free hand slid instinctively to his back, pressing there—steady, warm.
“I’m so—” your voice cracked. “So, so sorry, Heeseung.”
A choked sob escaped him again, and you felt it—raw, stuttering, like it had torn straight from his chest. His fingers gripped at your waist now, not to hold you back, but like he was terrified you’d disappear if he let go.
“Why didn’t you just tell me?” you whispered, tears finally slipping past your lashes. “Why didn’t you—why didn’t I ask?”
His only answer was to press further into you, body trembling, forehead still buried against your shoulder like the weight of your words might break him all over again.
And maybe it did.
Because Heeseung had never cried like this in front of anyone.
And you—you had never held someone like this either. Not like this. Not someone who once stood so far from you and now clung to you like you were the only solid ground he had left.
Heeseung’s arms tightened again. Not desperately this time—just closer. Like he didn’t want space anymore. Like he couldn’t handle distance for even a second longer.
His sobs had quieted, turned into soft, uneven breaths, but the tears didn’t stop. They fell naturally now—unguarded, unashamed—as if they’d been waiting for this moment, for you, to fall into.
You let your own tears drop, some falling to the sharp slope of his shoulder, others soaking quietly into the soft knit of his costume.
Neither of you said anything right away. The silence didn’t demand to be filled—it just existed, heavy and real and needed.
Then Heeseung whispered, barely audible.
“…Why didn’t you tell me you believed all that?”
His voice cracked again—not from crying, but from hurt. Not angry. Just… confused. Small.
You didn’t pull away. If anything, you pressed your forehead lightly to the side of his, lips brushing the shell of his ear as you exhaled. “Because I didn’t want to believe I was wrong.”
He sniffled. His fingers curled just slightly at your back, bunching your dress. “Was I really that easy to hate?”
You closed your eyes, throat tightening as you whispered, “No. That’s the worst part.”
He stilled in your arms. Completely.
Your hand smoothed over his hair again.
“You were… awkward. Quiet. You smiled at me like you didn’t know what to do with yourself. You stuttered. You kept your distance. But that wasn’t the boy they warned me about. That wasn’t the version I tried to avoid.”
You finally leaned back—just enough to meet his eyes. His cheeks were wet, eyes red-rimmed and glassy, lashes clumped together from crying. But he looked at you like you were all he could see.
Your hands, without thinking, slid to cup his face. Thumbs brushing under his eyes, catching the tears before they could fall again.
Heeseung leaned into your touch, nose brushing against your palm as he let out a quiet, trembling sigh.
His eyes fluttered shut for just a second—like he needed to gather himself, like he needed to be sure this wasn’t some kind of dream he’d wake up from cold and alone.
And then, barely above a whisper, fragile and hesitant: “…What now?”
Your breath caught. Your thumbs stilled where they gently traced the damp lines beneath his eyes. He looked so small like that.
Not because of size—but the way he folded into your warmth, the way the world seemed to weigh heavier on him than it should. And he let you hold that weight now, even just for a moment.
You didn’t answer right away.
Instead, your hands cradled him just a bit more securely, thumbs running softly along the apple of his cheeks. You leaned in slowly—so slowly he had time to move, time to flinch or pull away. But he didn’t.
And when your lips met the center of his forehead—soft, warm, sure—Heeseung froze.
His eyes fluttered open in surprise, just a little.
He just let his lids fall again, let his shoulders drop, let his body sink into yours like that simple, wordless kiss had done what a thousand apologies never could. As if all the jagged pieces inside him had stopped cutting for just a second.
He exhaled shakily.
“…That felt nice,” he mumbled, voice raspier now, lips barely moving.
You pulled back just a bit—not enough to break the closeness, just enough to see him again. “You needed it,” you said softly.
Heeseung opened his eyes again, gaze searching yours like he was looking for something he didn’t dare name.
“Do you…” His voice faltered, his ears already flushing. “Do you hate me less now?”
You couldn’t help the smile that ghosted across your lips, small and tired, but real. You brushed your thumb across the slope of his cheek again.
“I never hated you, Heeseung,” you whispered. “I was just scared.”
And for the first time in weeks, maybe months, his smile returned—not wide, not bright. But soft. Real.
Heeseung blinked up at you again, dazed, the ghost of his soft smile still lingering like a shadow on his lips.
He looked—content. A little fragile. A lot lighter. As if your quiet, careful love had soothed something no one else had ever thought to see.
You let your hand drift up, fingertips gently brushing through the silver strands that had clung to his forehead, curling slightly from sweat and mist and the heat of his tears. You tucked them aside with practiced ease, brushing them into place.
“Do you want to go back?” you asked, your voice low—barely audible, like asking louder might shatter the quiet between you.
Heeseung’s response wasn’t with words at first. He simply grumbled under his breath, barely coherent, and ducked away from your hand again—this time not from embarrassment, but sheer stubbornness.
And before you could fully register it, he’d pressed his head back onto your shoulder, cheek flattened there with the dramatics of someone who clearly had no plans of moving.
You let out a breathless, incredulous laugh. “You’re such a child.”
He mumbled something into the fabric of your dress. Something like, ‘Only for you.’
You sighed, amused. “If we have to,” he finally grumbled, dragging the words out like each syllable was a personal offense. “Let’s just… stay like this for two more seconds. Five. Five seconds.”
You counted in your head. One. Two.
But by three, you were already leaning back, pulling away.
“We’ll get caught,” you murmured, brushing your thumb under his eye one more time, like a promise.
You reached for his hand—still damp with tears and cold from the air. Your fingers slipped between his gently, tugging him forward with a softness that barely required any force at all.
“Come on, Bambi,” you said, half a laugh under your breath. “Your makeup’s all messed up now.”
Heeseung let you pull him, the tips of his ears turning pink again at the nickname.
“Well,” he said, sniffling once as he ran a hand through his hair, straightening. “That’s your fault.”
“Oh, is it?” you quirked a brow, still holding his hand as you walked out into the quiet halls.
He glanced down at your interlocked fingers—then at your face—and smiled, shy and fond. “Yeah. But I’m not mad about it.”
Neither were you.
Because even with everything still unresolved, for the first time—you weren’t walking away.
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The sun had dipped hours ago, leaving only the pale gold trail it dragged across the horizon—and now, the chill was all that remained. Breath fogged in the air like smoke.
Someone had thrown a blanket over Sunghoon’s head like a cape, and Jake was being chased by his dance partner, yelling something about “You look like a freezing golden retriever, get back here!”
You smiled at the chaos, chin buried into the thick collar of your borrowed jacket.
You sat quietly on one of the foldable black benches under the tent, knees tucked slightly inward, thumb lazily scrolling through your phone as you sank further into yourself for warmth.
The laughter echoed from a distance—but your corner was hushed. Your own little pocket of calm.
Until a shadow appeared next to you.
You glanced up to see Heeseung standing beside you, his face half-hidden by the blanket draped around his shoulders.
He said nothing—just held his own foldable chair in one hand and gently placed it beside yours with a soft thud. Then, he sat. Quietly. No preamble. Just… sat.
You blinked at him.
Before you could say anything, he shifted slightly—his body turning toward yours—and with a movement so subtle it almost didn’t register, he opened the gray fleece blanket around his shoulders and extended it to yours.
You stared.
His face was a little flushed from the cold, silver hair windswept and messy. He didn’t say anything, just looked at you expectantly until you hesitated and let him pull the other half over your shoulders. The warmth was immediate.
“You looked cold,” he murmured simply, voice low, his eyes focused somewhere in the distance—not on you.
You huffed a soft laugh, the sound curling visibly in the winter air. “Thanks, Bambi,” you said, patting his head like it was the most natural thing in the world.
Your fingers threaded gently through his silver hair, disheveling the parts that still clung to some neatness.
He didn’t say anything—just sank further into the shared blanket, his shoulder now pressed fully against yours as his chin tucked slightly like a content cat. You could feel the heat from his cheek seeping through the fabric of your coat.
You tapped on your screen, closing the Instagram app and turning the brightness down just a little. Then, without looking at him, you mumbled, “Do you wanna watch anything?”
Heeseung tilted his head slightly, catching your eyes for the first time in minutes. The light from your screen reflected off his pupils, big and blinking—and then, a smile bloomed slowly across his lips, lighting up his whole face.
Your eyes widened, then you burst into a laugh. “Seriously? Out of all the things?”
He shrugged, that same sheepish smile spreading. “It’s comforting.”
You chuckled again, already typing it in the search bar. “Forrest Gump it is, then.”
Heeseung leaned in even closer, the blanket pulled taut over your shoulders now. His hair tickled your temple. “You ever watch it with someone before?” he asked softly.
You shook your head. “Nope.”
He nodded, that smile still tugging at his lips. “First time for everything.”
Jay paused mid-throw, the balled-up scarf in his hands dropping to his lap.
“Wait,” he mumbled, elbow nudging Jungwon subtly. “Look.”
Jungwon blinked, confused, until Jay jerked his chin toward the tent tucked against the stone wall where you and Heeseung sat.
The younger squinted through the dim light filtering from the overhead bulbs—only to freeze.
Heeseung was fully curled into your side now, head snug in the crook of your neck, arm lazily looped through yours like it belonged there. His eyes were still fixed on the tiny screen, but his body said otherwise—completely relaxed, safe, folded into you.
What made Jungwon’s smile tug wider, though, was your hand. It rested gently over Heeseung’s, fingers slightly intertwined like it had been that way for years.
“Woah,” Jungwon whispered, unable to hide the grin spreading across his face. “I’m glad they’re finally getting along.”
Jay snorted softly, leaning back on his palms. “Getting along?” he echoed with a scoff. “Hyung’s been in love since day one.”
Jungwon turned to him. “No way.”
“I’m serious,” Jay said, holding up a hand as if swearing on it. “Remember the day of the partner announcements? Dude looked like someone drop-kicked his soul when he got her. Couldn’t talk right for a whole week.”
Jungwon stifled a laugh, watching as Heeseung nudged closer to you in his sleep-like daze. You hadn’t moved either—still scrolling quietly with your free hand, letting him lean as much as he needed.
“You think she knows?” Jungwon asked curiously.
Jay tilted his head. “Maybe now,” he murmured. “Or at least, she’s not running away anymore.”
“Good for them,” Jungwon mumbled with a smile, tucking the scarf around his neck.
Jay smirked. “Took long enough.”
And under the canopy of stars, the shared blanket still held two hearts—finally moving in rhythm.
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The hotel lobby was quieter than usual, the grand chandelier dimmed to a warm amber glow that softened the edges of the world around you.
Laughter and the clink of cutlery filtered in faintly from the dinner buffet upstairs, but down here, everything was hushed—tired. Like the building itself was finally winding down after holding so much energy for days on end.
You padded through the polished floors in white sneakers, hoodie sleeves falling over your fingers, shorts brushing against your thighs as the chill in the air-conditioning prickled your skin.
Your hair was down now, loosely falling past your shoulders, but the remnants of your filming makeup still clung to your face—lashes thick with mascara, eyes faintly lined in brown shadow, lips a soft red tint that hadn’t quite faded.
You rubbed your arms lightly as you entered the small cafĂŠ near the entrance of the lobby. The smell of roasted espresso beans and freshly baked pastries curled around you like a slow, comforting blanket.
It was late—past ten—but the place still buzzed with life. Staff, coordinators, some dancers still in half-costume, trailing glitter down the tiled floors.
The interior was cozy—gold linings framing the wide windows, soft yellow bulbs suspended from wooden beams, chairs cushioned in soft velvet greens and deep browns.
You admired the dĂŠcor for a moment, the way it felt nothing like the sterile, cold cafes of set days. This felt real. Homey.
You let your eyes sweep the room once, then quietly stepped into the end of the line.
It was long—nearly reaching the back of the room—and you sighed inwardly, pulling out your phone to keep yourself busy. Anything to avoid the half-drowsy small talk.
You scrolled aimlessly through your camera roll, watching low-res rehearsal clips play without sound. One showed you and Heeseung mid-chorus, arms extended, perfectly synced.
You didn’t realize your eyes lingered on his smile longer than they should’ve.
You tucked your lower lip between your teeth, peeking at the glowing menu board up ahead, trying to decide between iced mocha or hot matcha—until you heard soft footsteps settle behind you.
Followed by a breath. One you recognized.
“…Long line,” Heeseung’s voice came low, hesitant, behind you.
You turned your head just a little, eyes lifting from your screen.
He wore a dark, nearly black denim jacket thrown over a plain white shirt, black pants hugging his legs just right. His hair—fluffier now, no longer slicked back from filming—curled slightly at the ends, soft and boyish. His makeup was still there, faint shadows clinging to his eyes, but it only added to the quiet charm he carried.
He smiled down at you.
“Hey,” he said, stepping a little closer like it was second nature.
You blinked, trying to keep your face neutral, but your lips pulled into a smile before you could stop them.
“Did you… follow me?”
He laughed—low and breathy—as his hand automatically went to the back of his neck, rubbing it sheepishly. “I was gonna head to the elevators, swear. But then I saw you walking in here and… well.”
You squinted up at him, raising a brow. “So, yes.”
Heeseung chuckled. “So, maybe.”
You snorted, nudging him with your elbow. “Stalker.”
He tilted his head, smile slowly spreading, eyes crinkling just a little. “A handsome one.”
You rolled your eyes, biting back a grin. “That’s debatable.”
He gasped, mock offended, before draping an arm around your shoulders with the ease of someone who had always meant to be there.
“You’re lucky I’m cute,” he mumbled under his breath, looking up at the chalkboard menu.
“You’re lucky I’m too tired to fight you on that.”
He huffed a laugh, warm breath brushing against your hair. You didn’t lean in. But you didn’t lean out either.
His gaze shifted downward, eyes trailing past your hoodie and landing on your bare legs, peeking out from the hem of your shorts. A crease formed between his brows as he frowned, arm still lazily slung over your shoulder.
“Aren’t you cold?” he asked, voice a little quieter now. A little more serious.
You blinked, glancing down at your legs as if seeing them for the first time. “Not really,” you replied, shrugging.
He scoffed—so soft it was almost under his breath. “Liar.”
You grinned, caught. “Okay, maybe a little.”
“You’re insane,” he muttered, tugging you just a bit closer like that would magically generate warmth. “It’s literally freezing and you’re dressed like we’re in California.”
“It was either this or pants that make me itch.”
“Next time, I’m bringing you sweatpants.”
You laughed. “Is that a threat or a promise?”
He smirked, looking forward again as the line moved. “Depends if you behave.”
You snorted. “You sound like a dad.”
Heeseung made a face. “Take that back.”
“Nope,” you said proudly as the two of you stepped forward again, just one pair away from the cashier now. Heeseung’s arm stayed right where it was—draped easily over your shoulder, like it belonged there.
And without thinking much of it, you leaned into him. Just a little. Just enough to close the space between your side and his chest as your free hand scrolled lazily through your phone feed.
The warm lights of the cafĂŠ reflected off the screen, casting soft hues onto both your faces.
Heeseung peeked over your shoulder, his cheek nearly brushing yours as he watched you scroll. A laugh puffed out of him when you double-tapped three posts in a row without even really looking.
“You just like everything, huh?” he murmured, amused.
You gave him a side-eye, raising a brow. “Don’t stalk my habits, Bambi.”
“Hard not to,” he said under his breath with a small smirk, turning his head just enough to keep his laugh to himself.
You were about to retaliate when the line moved—and just like that, you were up next.
“Hi! What can I get for you?” the barista greeted, cheerful despite the hour.
You stepped forward, half under Heeseung’s arm as you spoke. “Can I get a hot matcha latte and… the blueberry cheesecake, please?”
The barista smiled, tapping it in. “Sure. And for you, sir?”
“Java chip frappé and a croissant,” Heeseung replied smoothly, his voice slightly deeper now with the cold and the hour.
As she repeated the order and the screen flashed the total, you instinctively reached for your wallet.
But before you could even tug the zipper open, Heeseung was already handing over his black card.
You blinked, glancing up at him in mild alarm. “Wait—Heeseung—”
“It’s fine,” he said softly, his voice a little smug, a little sweet. “I got it.”
“But I—”
He looked down at you, eyes soft with the barest smile on his lips. “Let me, okay?”
You sighed, whispering under your breath, “Show-off.”
Heeseung grinned, accepting the receipt and stepping off to the side with you as the barista called out, “We’ll bring it to your table!”
You rolled your eyes but didn’t argue further, walking with him toward a small round table tucked near the corner. His arm was still loosely around your shoulders as you both moved, like he didn’t even realize he hadn’t let go.
And maybe you didn’t realize you hadn’t wanted him to.
Heeseung pulled out the chair for you first—dramatic, with a teasing bow. “Your throne, m’lady.”
“Oh god, please stop,” you muttered, covering your face as you tried not to laugh.
He winked. “Can’t. I’m charming.”
You settled into the seat, shaking your head as he plopped into the one beside you—close, a little too close, but you weren’t complaining.
Especially not when he was smiling like that.
Especially not when he kept looking at you like that.
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⤡ part 1 | part 2 | part 3
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⤷ permanent tagllist — @m1kkso @ilovhoonie @jiyeons-closet @manobillie ⤷ piece taglist — @yohanabanana @sagegreenhairclip @dearestdreamies
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© 2025 liuhsng — reblogs are highly appreciated and please don’t hesitate to request some fics here if you want me to write anything !
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skmhlml ¡ 27 days ago
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Different anon) Love how you written Shadow Milk! If it’s alright, what would his reaction be, after everything he done to the gang, to Pure Vanilla, and especially to Reader Reader still stays with him, not as in staying at the spire, but like what happened with AWAKEND Pure Vanilla but with Reader with little differences Things gets very rocky at first until they get together, Shadow Milk is still the same, just improved a little(rehabilitation) This is, like, enemies to friends to lovers nghfughg
sorry if it’s long and too specific!
Shadow Milk Cookie x Reader
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Date Requested: 6/9/2025
▾Divider made by @sisterlucifergraphics
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🧿 After all the chaos, torment, manipulation, and his twisted games— you live. Scarred, worn, changed, but not broken. Not anymore.
🧿 Shadow Milk, for all his theatrics and illusions, did not expect you to make it out with your sanity
🧿 And he definitely didn’t expect you to come back—not to serve him, not to love him, but… to face him. To exist near him as something more than a victim.
🧿 “You should hate me. You should fear me.” “I did. I still might. But I don’t run from the truth anymore.”
—
🧿 You’re not chained to the Spire anymore. Maybe you visit. Maybe he visits you in dreams, or in the liminal spaces where Earthbread’s logic bends.
🧿 There’s tension—his ego bruises easily, and your presence makes it worse and better at the same time.
🧿 Shadow Milk lashes out, slipping back into manipulation at times. You call him out. Cold, clear, and calm.
🧿 He begins to watch you differently—not as a toy or puzzle, but as something stubbornly real. Unshakeable. That threatens him in the best way.
🧿 “You’re… not playing the game anymore, are you?” “I never was. You just thought I was easy to break.”
—
🧿 He still lies. Still thrives in chaos. But now, there’s hesitation. A moment of pause before the cruelty.
🧿 He hates it. He hates that your presence makes him aware of his ugliness.
🧿Sometimes, when he dreams, it’s not screams or laughter—it’s your silence. The look you gave him when he broke you once. That look replays in his mind. That’s the thing that starts changing him.
🧿 “I don’t want to be forgiven.” “Good. I’m not here to forgive you. I’m here to see if you’re worth anything after all that ruin.”
—
🧿 The romantic arc is messy. There’s no soft “falling in love.” It’s slow burns, snapped words, glances that linger too long.
🧿 He tries to provoke you. You stop reacting. That shakes him.
🧿 One night, he asks—not demands—if you’ll stay a little longer. And you do.
🧿 There’s the first touch, tentative, unsure. His fingers tremble, unused to gentleness. When you don’t flinch, something inside him cracks.
🧿 “You still look at me like I’m something… worth looking at.” “Because I want to see who you are without all the illusions.”
—
🧿 Eventually, Shadow Milk Cookie changes—not into a hero. But into something better. For you.
🧿 He never stops being unpredictable, chaotic, dangerous. But now, there’s intent. There’s care, however strange.
🧿 He’ll never beg. But he’ll ask. And when he holds you, he does it like you’re real, not a figment.
🧿 “You are the one thing I can’t twist into something ugly.” “Then stop trying.”
—
🧿 His illusions become gentler around you—less jarring, less cruel. He lingers. In shadows, in rooms, in your thoughts. He reaches for you in quiet moments, not because he needs control—but because he wants contact. You see it in his eyes: he’s scared of what he feels for you.
🧿 the first kiss. It’s not sweet. It’s desperate. Tension finally snaps. Maybe it’s after a fight—sharp words, unbearable silence, his magic crackling with unspent emotion
🧿 He kisses you like he’s angry at himself for wanting you. Teeth, lips, barely breathing between gasps. His hands shake. He hates that you make him feel unbalanced. You grip him back, because you’re not here for the pretty version of him—you’re here for all of it.
🧿 “This… this shouldn’t feel real.” “Then stop lying to yourself.”
—
🧿 as lovers, he's still sarcastic, still a manipulative trickster—but when it comes to you, he slips. He gets jealous easily. Not possessive, but insecure. He doesn’t know how to ask if you’re staying.
His affection is quiet: illusions of galaxies just for you, a familiar warmth in your dreams, fingers brushing your shoulder when no one’s watching. You don’t belong to him, and he knows that. And that’s why it means more when you stay.
🧿 One night, when the stars are wrong in the sky and he’s lying beside you, too quiet:
“I think I love you.” He doesn’t look at you when he says it.
“I know,” you whisper. “I just wanted to hear you say it.”
And for once, he doesn’t run from it.
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lurkingshan ¡ 11 months ago
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What are some JBLs you recommend that have good kisses AND a good romance plot
LOL I can hear the pain behind this question, anon. It’s true that a lot of JBLs with a good romance story fail to deliver on the physical intimacy side of things, though that is becoming less and less the norm. I do have some that I think do both reasonably well. I don’t know exactly what “good romance” means to you, but I’m going to assume we’re talking about well-executed romance plots, regardless of the show’s overall genre and focus, where the characters and relationship arc make sense and don’t randomly derail somewhere along the way. Here’s what I got:
I Cannot Reach You
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This is a high school friends to lovers (the cream of the crop for that trope, IMO). This is a story about realizing feelings and building the courage to change your most important relationship, so you’ll have to wait a bit to get those kisses but once you do, I think you’ll be pleased.
His
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The second chance romance for me. This is a bl film about two men who come back together after a bad breakup and figure out how to make it work. I love them and this story so much.
Old Fashion Cupcake
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There’s only one kiss in this short and sweet show, but it’s a real doozy. A super tight workplace age gap romance that knows exactly what it’s doing.
At 25:00 in Akasaka
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Two actors who went to college together meet again when they are cast opposite each other in a bl drama, and get tangled up in the blurred lines between their professional and personal relationships. Angst, baby!
The Pornographer
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This series features some of the best kissing and sex scenes you will see anywhere in the bl genre, but warning that it’s a twisted and wild ride. There are five installments and you gotta watch them all to see the full picture of the character and romance arcs. It’s so rewarding if you do.
The End of the World With You
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From the same mind of the previous entry and similarly hot and wild and weird. This show has more going on than the second chance romance at its core, but it themes come together beautifully.
Tokyo In April Is…
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Another second chance romance, this one features a lot of sex but also deals with heavy subject matter, so mind the CWs. It’s one of my favorites of last year and the love story in this one has really stuck with me; it’s beautiful and so hard won.
Love is Better the Second Time Around
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This one comes with a disclaimer that it goes off the rails in the final two episodes, but you asked for good kissing so it would feel wrong not to include it. Yet another second chance romance (are you picking up on a theme here?), this one gets two former high school lovers back together as adults to sort out their misunderstandings, lingering feelings, and buckets of sexual tension. It was so good—until it wasn’t.
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kirain ¡ 1 year ago
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Sigh....Galemancers really love to move the goal post when it comes to the grooming accusations huh? You found out Gale was a fully grown MAN when Mystra slept with him so now you have to say, "Well then he was emotionally groomed and the power dynamic is too vast." Mystra is a neutral good goddess because she's Midnight, who was a neutral good human. She hates that her magic has to be used for good and evil. Ao makes her share it evenly but she'd rather not. She would never do anything to hurt Gale. The writers of the game even confirmed she's not a groomer. People like you also downplay the point of Gale's entire story arc, which is he should've listened to Mystra! The whole point of his personal quest is he needs to learn to humble himself and listen to his goddess! He has no one to blame for his downfall but himself.
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There's no "post" to move, anon. The game and lore give us all the context we need. Grooming doesn't only apply to children, and people have proven right and left that Mystra is terrible at relationships. She's petty and abusive when she isn't obeyed by her partners, and that's been the case with all of her iterations. Even the narrator describes her as a "jealous goddess" when you visit her shrine. Plus, your information is wrong on many accounts; the most pertinent being that the Mystra of BG3/5E isn't technically Midnight. Cyric and Shar killed her, reducing her to her godly essence (lore-wise that means she died). The current Mystra is an amalgamation of the vestiges of Mystryl, Mystra, and Midnight, as told in the novel Elminster Enraged.
Now, this is about to get complicated, as it always does with Mystra, so from here on out I'll be referring to Mystra #1 as Mystryl, Mystra #2 as Mystra #2, Mystra #3 as Midnight, and Mystra #4 as 5E Mystra. Alright, let's get started.
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Elminster had to reform the fallen goddess by giving her fragments of all three iterations of Mystra. Since all three iterations are combined, our current 5E Mystra embodies the good, the bad, the beautiful, and the ugly. There's even a conversation with The Simbul (one of the Seven Sisters and a Chosen of Mystra) where the newly reformed 5E Mystra speaks of Elminster as her "longest lover". This puzzles The Simbul because that was something of the old Mystra (Mystra #2), not Midnight. The new 5E Mystra replies that she has become a combination of the memories of Mystryl, Mystra #2, and Midnight. This is all in chapter 25-30 of Elminster Enraged. I know it's confusing, but in short: 5E Mystra is not Midnight anymore, and the leading mind is clearly that of Mystra #2, hence her extremely poor judgement—a recurring theme with her character.
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Mystryl and Mystra #2 were originally lawful neutral. The alignment changed to neutral good when Midnight took up the mantle, because Midnight herself was a neutral good person. But now it seems 5E Mystra is true neutral, because you are right, anon; Ao won't allow her to do whatever she wants. Midnight tried and was forbidden. 5E Mystra absolutely does not have the same level of humanity or kindness as Midnight, and that may be because Mystryl had no human consciousness and Mystra #2 was a mess.
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Regardless of her alignment, she must embody her domain by Ao's decree, which means she needs to spread magic across all Realmspace. Since she has to maintain the balance, she approaches good, neutral, and evil mages with potential opportunities. This isn't a criticism (that's just how godhood works), but rather proof that Mystra is absolutely capable of good and bad. I don't want to hear any more of this "she's a precious little bean and Gale's victim" nonsense. Even if she wants to be, she's not. As Kikitakite said in their post, she's done some fucked up things.
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Whether or not the writers intended to make Mystra a groomer, that's exactly what they did. Sometimes writers don't realise they've written an abusive character until they're criticised. Take writer of The Notebook, Nicholas Sparks, for example. He didn't realise he'd written Noah to be an abusive piece of shit until Ryan Gosling pointed it out himself. Gosling has gone on record many times to say he hates Noah, and experts have labeled him an unrealistic and emotionally abusive/manipulative character. The same can be said for Stephenie Meyer, who wrote some of the most celebrated toxic relationships in recent media—with a dash of borderline pedophilia on the side. Therapists have weighed in extensively to tell people that Bella and Edward's relationship isn't healthy and shouldn't be emulated in real life. Indeed, perhaps the best thing to come out of the entire franchise is Robert Pattinson's hatred of Edward and the series as a whole. Jacob's actor, Taylor Lautner, even argued with Meyer's on set because of how weird the "imprinting" segment was and he didn't want to come off as predatory. Meyer argued it was "romantic". 😕
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Even if you don't agree Gale was groomed, Mystra is flagrantly responsible for his insecurities and she never should've put her hands on him. The power dynamic is too vast, and even god Gale (conceited as he is) realises it by the end. He only stays in a relationship with Tav if they allow him to ascend them alongside him as his equal. He recognises that anything else would be unhealthy and unacceptable. Also, I researched high and low regarding your claim, but none of the devs have dispelled the idea that Mystra is a groomer. In fact, the most I could find was one dev simply saying, "To Gale it was love, but he didn't know any better." If anything, that only confirms he was confused and didn't know what to do. Their "relationship" was a stunningly horrible idea from the start and that's not on Gale, it's on the literal cosmic being who initiated it.
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Moreover, Gale was very likely 17 when Mystra revealed herself to him. This perfectly fits into the 5E Forgotten Realms timeline. If so, no, he absolutely wasn't a grown man. He was a teenager. Mystra may not have slept with him until he was in his 20's, but that still makes it a disgusting teacher-turned-lover situation. Gale even tells us he was "young" when she took him into her fold, and he was only eight years old when Elminster started their lessons. Remember, Elminster is Mystra's biggest apologist. He would've taught Gale to revere her, which means there was almost never a point in his life when Mystra wasn't the main focus. You can tell by the way he speaks about her in Act 1. He's in awe, he's excited, he's proud she chose him. That does something to a child. Something irreversible. If anything, Elminster is complicit in what happened. I've said this before, but he couldn't even be bothered to visit Gale himself. He sent a simulacrum.
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As for your accusation that I'm "downplaying" Gale's story arc—you're damn right I am, because the writers made me! Most D&D players I know aren't very happy with how Mystra is portrayed in the game, and that's probably because even they know she isn't presented in a very flattering light. If you really think about it, it's obvious what the writers were going for, but they failed. For example, you said Gale should've listened to Mystra, right? Well, in Act 1 he admits his ambition was his undoing, blames himself for his downfall, and by Act 2 he's literally ready to off himself for her. In fact, he's the only one who sees her ultimatum as justified. Every other companion says she's being cruel and unreasonable. If Gale actually blows himself up at the end of Act 2, the results are catastrophic. The brain is destroyed, yes, but the tadpoles, free of the Absolute's control, complete their transformation and infect/enslave the entire Sword Coast. Anon. She. Is. Stupid. Even the Narrator is like, "You wanna ... you wanna try that again?"
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The entirety of Act 2 is Gale learning he shouldn't listen to Mystra. And then she has the audacity to lecture him in Act 3? If he'd listened, it would've been the end of everything. Maybe if Mystra was as infallible as she pretends to be, she would've put her three brains together and came up with a better, less vindictive plan. Because make no mistake, she wanted Gale to blow up in Act 2, which is ridiculous. I know this is an uncomfortable topic for some people, but gods aren't perfect, especially in fiction. They're flawed. They're selfish. Some of them are straight up assholes. The real irony of Gale's arc isn't that he has no one to blame but himself, it's that Mystra should blame herself. At no point does she even consider if she's being unreasonable or unfair. There's no self reflection whatsoever. And the writers expect me to think Gale's full of himself? I wonder where he got it.
Probably from his teacher. ✋🎤
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dustmusings ¡ 9 months ago
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hey!! loved reading your fives and rex fics!! could i possibly maybe request a captain rex x reader where the reader is a jedi and she's ina. similar situation to the one ahsoka was in during the final season (order 66 scene)? eek ilysm
where trust falls apart
Rex x F!Reader / Jedi!Reader
word count: 4.6k
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description: the end of the war is near, but when the clones turn on you, you come to understand that your hardship has only just begun
warnings/tags: angst! hurt/comfort, order 66, rex under the influence of the inhibitor chip, canon-typical violence, mention of the conspiracy arc, friends to lovers fluff at the end :)
a/n: hi anon ! thank you so much <3 I haven't written anything about order 66 yet so thanks for requesting, I hope this is the kind of thing you were looking for !
masterlist | join my taglist | read on ao3
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Looking out on the stars, you couldn’t help but muse on how the past few years, the years of your life that you had given to the war, were coming to a close.
There was something in the air, a feeling of calm, stillness, that felt oddly like being lulled into a false sense of security. The end of the war was nearing, everyone could feel it. Count Dooku had been defeated, General Kenobi had engaged General Grievous on Utapau, and you yourself had just come from Mandalore, having assisted in the capture of Darth Maul. There was a finality about the jump to hyperspace, as if leaving all grievances in the past, finally having prevailed against any and all adversaries.
Despite the relief you thought you might feel, there was something uncomfortable nagging at you from the back of your mind. You had thanked the clones alongside you for their part in the war, and then had retreated to a small room towards the back of the ship, with a window to the galaxy where you could just be alone with the stars.
It was emptiness that you felt, and you couldn’t figure out why. You should be happy, with the war ending, and hopefully being able to step down from your role as a General and become a keeper of the peace once again. However, the loneliness nagged at you nonetheless.
There was a knock at the door, and you pulled your eyes from the swirling blues of hyperspace to call for the person to enter. When the door zipped open, you were pleased to be met by the figure of the Captain of the 501st.
“General” he addressed you with a respectful nod of his head, though his expression betrayed something hesitant.
“Captain” you replied, “is everything alright?”
“Fine, sir” he confirmed, though didn’t elaborate as he stood in the doorway, gripping his helmet at his side.
”Did you need me for anything?” you asked, a little confused by his demeanour.
“No General, I just came to—” he paused, looking to the floor before he found your eyes again, “may I come in?”
You smiled, your questioning gaze softening at the timidity of the otherwise brave soldier, “of course”
Rex was a complication that you never saw coming.
With you not having your own battalion, you were placed wherever most support was needed, and in many of those instances, you had been deployed alongside the 501st. When you first met Rex, you had been struck by how easily confident he was, how collected he seemed in the face of a war that promised no end, and a General that sought to break his composure with every crazy new tactic he could think of.
As time passed, and you got to know Rex better, you became so effortlessly enamoured by him. He was charming and easy to get along with, if a little awkward at times, but that only endeared you to him more. You had spent many a campaign fighting at his side, and the feeling was always exhilarating. Your movements were harmonious with his in a especially instinctual way, working together as one unit without the need to tell him what to do. You understood each other, in a certain way.
Before you could think to pull yourself back, you realised your feelings towards him had reached the depths that no jedi should be indulging in. You tried to act as if it didn’t affect you, as if he didn’t affect you, but with every lingering look, every benevolent smile and awkward wave, you were failing miserably.
It was somewhat clear to you that Rex might feel the same way. He was always given away by the blush that spread across his cheeks whenever you thanked him or complimented his tactical skills, and as much as you felt you shouldn’t, sometimes you did so just to get that adorable reaction.
Rex was a restrained man. You knew that he’d never compromise your position as a jedi and as a General, and part of you was thankful for that, but there was also a part of you that wished upon every star that he would one day lose his composure and take what he so clearly wanted from you.
Now, as he closed the door behind him without taking his eyes from you, you took a moment to make another of those wishes.
“Are you okay General?” he asked, his voice cautious, as if he didn’t want to overstep.
“Yeah” you smiled softly, “just needed to get away for a moment”
Rex hesitated before he replied, “would you like me to leave?”
You chuckled slightly, “no, I’m glad you’re here”
The familiar blush spread across his cheeks as he shifted on his feet, forcing his gaze down to look at the floor.
“What did you come for?” you asked.
“Oh” the word fell from his lips as if he’d been caught, “I was just coming to check on you”
You couldn’t stop the way your heart fluttered, “why?”
Rex faltered, his eyes glued to his boots as he spoke quietly, “you know I care about you General, I—” he gulped, “I could tell that you weren’t feeling great after getting back to the ship, and I don’t want to impose but I couldn’t—”
“Rex” you placed a hand on his shoulder, stopping his rambling and making his head snap up to look at you with wide eyes, “thank you”
Rex didn’t speak, but the way his breath hitched, cheeks darkening further as his eyes dragged across your features, told you it had more of an effect on him than he’d let on. You shouldn’t test his patience, really, but watching him squirm like this was something that you relished in. You took your hand away from him, and he exhaled as if he’d been holding his breath.
“I’ve just been thinking a lot, about the war coming to an end” you confessed, turning back around the look out of the window.
Rex came to stand beside you, “what about it?”
You sighed, an action that gave away your fatigue, “I’m just not sure what comes next, it’s… troubling”
Rex nodded, “I understand”
His voice was quiet, and you turned to look at him. His amber eyes bore into you with an intensity that made your insides constrict. You’d seen the look before, but never in such close quarters, and the earnestness of it was startling.
“I’ll miss working with you, General” he said quietly, and the way his eyebrows pinched slightly as he spoke told you that his words meant more than he was saying.
You turned your body, resting the side of your head against the glass as you looked up at him, “so will I”
For a moment, neither one of you moved, too wrapped up in each other’s gazes to find a reason to look away. It was thrilling, holding his attention in this way, and before you could restrain yourself, you were speaking again.
“I’ll miss you a lot, Rex”
Rex sighed slightly, his shoulders sagging as he shifted closer to you. His gaze turned sorrowful, and his nervousness was obvious in the way his fingers fidgeted with the edge of his helmet.
“General, I need to tell you something” he whispered, and your heart lurched.
You took a step towards him so that your boots nearly touched his, and for once he didn’t look like he was going to move away. You pried his helmet from his twitching fingers and placed it on the windowsill, and his hands fell to his sides.
“What is it, Captain?” you asked in reply.
He looked nervous to speak, his mouth opening and then promptly closing when he couldn’t form the words. You hoped that the way you were looking up at him would give him the confidence to say what was on his mind, but you were pleasantly surprised when instead, he opted to lift a hand and sweep some of your hair behind your ear, then rest his palm against your cheek. His touch was painfully gentle, as if he was still trying to keep you at arm’s length, but it made your breath catch in your throat nonetheless.
”General, I—”
His gentle tone was interrupted by the shrill beeping of a comm device, and for a moment, he let it ring out, swiping his thumb across your cheek.
“Just give me a moment to see what this is about” he murmured, and then moved away to the other side of the room to receive the comm call.
Your blood felt hot, Rex’s touch still searing into your skin and sending tingles all throughout your body. You couldn’t believe that he’d actually crossed the line, and the anticipatory thrill that ran through you made you breathless.
You turned to admire him for a moment, and saw him clip the comm back onto his belt, and then slowly take a blaster from its holster. A cold feeling gripped you, a sharp pain piercing your mind and making your head ache. Rex wasn’t turning around, and you saw the way his hand trembled as he held his blaster tightly.
“Rex? What is it?” you asked worriedly, taking a few steps towards him.
“Get…” his voice was low, dangerous, and you froze, “get out”
You took another step but his voice was insistent.
”Run”
“Rex, what—?” you reached out to him, gently touching his arm, but you realised the error of your ways immediately.
He grabbed your wrist before you had barely touched him, and twisted your arm behind you at a painful angle, drawing a yelp from your throat. Your hand flung to your belt on instinct, calling your lightsaber to you, but Rex got his hand to your other wrist before you could get your fingers around it. The sound of the metal weapon clattering to the floor rang out in the quiet of the small room, and Rex pushed you into the wall, your cheek taking the full force of his strength. You groaned, feeling your face throbbing with pain as you heard Rex kick away your lightsaber.
You had barely had time to process what was happening, and it seemed so preposterous that you weren’t fully convinced that it was. Perhaps this was some sick daydream that you were having. That thought was knocked from you at the feeling of Rex pressing you into the wall, his palm against the back of your head.
“Stay put and be quiet” he spoke, and his voice was cold and harsh, two things you had never associated with him.
“Rex—”
“I said quiet” he growled in your ear, his breath tickling your neck and making you shudder.
You’d never been afraid of Rex, there was no reason to be after all. Though with the feeling of something shifting the tide against you, and knowing exactly the kind of things that Rex was capable of, a visceral fear gripped you body. You couldn't move, and luckily that's all he was asking for right now.
You felt the barrel of a blaster dig into the back of your head, earning another pained noise. You quickly felt hot tears springing from your eyes, threatening to fall down your cheeks.
“Rex what's going on? Why are you doing this?” you voice betrayed every inch of fear that held you captive. You sounded small, a quivering mess that tripped over words.
Before Rex could reply, if he even would have, a voice crackled through his comm, “Captain, sir, we can't find the target, have you got eyes on her?”
It was Jesse’s voice, and an unbidden whimper escaped your lips, earning a knee to the back and another grunt of pain from you. You couldn't understand why your men would turn on you in this way, and especially Rex.
The sensation that invaded your mind in the next moments was the most horrifying feeling that had ever seized you. You heard the cries through the force, their agony creating a wave of pain, a fever that wracked your body, making everything ache. You were brought to your knees by it, your chest constricting and feeling like you couldn't get enough air into your lungs.
“I'm dealing with it” Rex said simply, and pushed his blaster into your head once more, bringing you back to the present moment.
You could feel the way his hand shook, and you couldn't help but think that he should have shot you by now. You tilted your head back slowly, looking up at him as he towered above you with a steely expression that didn't suit him one bit.
“Rex, please” you whispered the desperate plea, and you could see the way his eyes shone, a watery layer of tears covering their surface despite the otherwise fierce look.
Without making any sudden movements, you gradually turned around and stood up. His blaster was now pressing into your forehead, but upon closer inspection you realised that he didn't even have his finger on the trigger. You slowly lifted your hands up, placing them over his, and trying to inject some calm into him, a soothing gesture through the force. All you could feel bouncing back at you was something cold and unfeeling, something bleak that didn't feel anything like he usually did.
Beneath it all there was a small flicker of light, which felt like it was trying to escape with every last bit of energy it had. It felt like Rex was being held captive in his own body, and the notion shook you to your core.
“Rex, it's okay” you tried to soothe, but he just pressed you back more, your head hitting into the wall and bringing a new discomfort.
He was close, watching tears slip out of your eyes from mere inches away, but the only thing he did was finally put his finger to the trigger. You squeezed your eyes shut, knowing what you had to do to get out of this situation.
“I'm so sorry Rex” you whispered, before mustering all the strength within you to push him back and send him careening into the wall opposite.
His head hit the durasteel with a sickening thud, carving a dent where it found its mark, and you cringed, hoping it hadn't done any serious damage to him. He was still conscious, barely, groaning at the injury and holding the back of his head in his hand. You took your chance and summoned your lightsaber, scurrying from the room and heading straight to the hangar with haste.
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It had been months, or you thought so at least. You stopped counting the days when you realised that it didn't really matter. It was in the past, that was all that was important.
You were a different person now, at least in the mind of those around you. You went by a different name, and it seemed fitting for how you felt like a shell of the person you used to be. You'd found work on some outer rim planet that you'd never knew existed until you almost crashed into its surface. It was far enough away from the core worlds that it was doubtful that anyone would recognise you, but you still tried not to make a show of yourself. It was easy work, fixing up speeders and other hunks of junk that people brought in. It was pretty mindless work, but you had always been good with your hands, and the pay wasn't awful.
Unfortunately, the mindlessness of it gave you plenty of time to think. It had been months, but you were still confused.
Rex was probably your closest friend, someone you had trusted with your life, but that trust had been proven futile the moment he put a blaster to your head. You knew that something had to have been seriously wrong to do such a thing. Even if he suddenly decided your friendship was worthless, he was a good man. He couldn't do such a thing in his right mind. The cold sensation that gripped you when you touched his hand still haunted your dreams, but you were not closer to figuring it out.
It was late, rain was pouring down outside the garage and providing a calming backdrop to your tinkering, and you were slid underneath a speeder, humming something to keep your mind focused with your hands buried in tangled wires. You felt someone approaching before their footsteps reached your ears, and an irritated sigh left your lips. You remembered turning the sign on the door to show you were finished for the day. Apparently this person had taken it upon themself to investigate anyway.
“We’re closed” you said in a flat voice, not enough energy to inject any warmth into your voice.
The person didn't reply, and you could feel them standing there still, unmoving. With another ennervated noise leaving your lips, you slid out from underneath the speeder to give them a piece of your mind, but your words died on your lips when you saw the person looking down at you.
You instantly pulled the blaster from the holster at your hip, and his hands shot up in surrender.
“Please don't shoot, I'm not going to hurt you”
You didn't know what to, or say. You had imagined what you might say if you came upon Rex again, you couldn't help it, but all of your previous thoughts were spilling from your head at the sight of him actually standing there. You stood up, keeping your blaster pointed at him, ready to run if need be. Of course you'd never shoot him, and he probably knew that, but it was still a protective measure you weren't going to neglect.
“How did you find me?” you asked, trying to keep your voice strong.
“Please put the blaster d—” Rex's please was cut off by you doubling down, stepping forwards with your finger on the trigger.
“I asked you a question” you remarked.
“I— Senator Organa told me where I could find you” he said carefully.
Your frown was deep and betrayed your mistrust before you spoke, “you're lying”
“I'm no—”
“Why would he tell you?” you pushed your blaster into his forehead, trying your best to be intimidating, but he just looked calm, his eyes piercing you as they had before he turned on you, a reverence in his gaze that gave you pause.
It made your heart stutter, but you couldn't give in so easily. He didn't pull away, he didn't do anything but watch you for a moment, and you could feel yourself giving in.
“Because I asked” he replied softly, bringing his hands up and placing them over yours.
You only realised then that you were shaking, with the steadiness and warmth of Rex engulfing your hands. You could feel none of the cold and harsh feeling that reached for your mind the last time you had touched him, only the warmth of his usual presence through the force. Strong and glowing, unyieldingly positive and steadfast, just comforting.
You felt Rex take the blaster from you and throw it away, holding your trembling hands in his and enrapturing you with his steady gaze.
“You don't need to be afraid of me” his voice was soothing and gentle.
“I don't understand” you whispered, your voice trembling, though no longer in fear.
Rex tentatively pulled you forward and wrapped his arms around you, and you took the bait instantly. You buried your face in his chest, your arms wrapped tightly around his waist, enveloping yourself in his warmth, his comfort.
“I'm so sorry General” he said softly, sounding utterly apologetic, “you're safe, I can explain everything”
It did feel safe, being in his arms, but you still couldn't so easily shake what had happened the last time you saw him.
“Why did you—” it was hard to say, hard to admit, “you were going to kill me”
His arms tightened around you, “I couldn't control it General, I—” he sighed and rested his chin on the top of your head, “I have a lot of explaining to do”
A small laugh escaped you even though you knew it wasn't a joke. Perhaps it was just that the situation seemed so ridiculous.
“You think?” you pulled back to look up at him, a small smile pulling at your lips.
Rex's hand found its place on your cheek as he smiled back, and you leaned into it, about to close your eyes until you noticed a thin scar on the side of his head.
“What's this?” you reached up and traced your finger along it.
Rex huffed a little, “the explanation”
You frowned up at him, not taking his meaning at all.
“I— it’s a lot, it's hard to—”
You stepped out of his embrace to gesture behind you, “why don't you come and sit down in my room”
Rex looked to the door you were pointing to across the room, hesitant for a moment before he met your gaze again with a small smile, “yeah, that sounds good”
After showing him into the small room, Rex took a seat on the old sofa that clung to the wall, while you went about making a batch of caf. You were suddenly struck by how different things were. You weren't entirely sure what was going on in the larger galaxy, having run away from it all, but what you knew was that whoever Rex was to you now, was something completely different. He was no longer a soldier under your command, you no longer his General. Something about it sent a thrill through you, but you tried to supress thinking about that until he'd explained himself.
You offered him the cup of caf, and grabbed your own, taking a seat beside him and bringing your knees to your chest. Rex looked despondently down onto his cup, swirling it gently before taking a sip. You saw his shoulders relax as he breathed out, his eyelids fluttering closed for a moment. You realised then just how tired and run down he looked, and you became more nervous for him to disclose what had happened to him.
He began by telling you about what happened to Fives, what he uncovered and what went down in the warehouse where he died. He told you how he held him in his arms when he took his last breath, how nobody believed him and he had to go on knowing about the chip in his head without the knowledge of what it really meant.
You remembered seeing Rex soon after it had all gone down, and thinking that he seemed changed, as if he was trying to hold it together for the sake of his men. You knew it had affected him more than he was letting on, you just hadn't known why.
He told you that after you'd run away from him when his chip activated, he'd gone looking for you and instead ran into Ahsoka, and how she had helped him remove it before their hard-won escape.
“I'm so sorry General” He looked over to you for the first time since he began speaking, and you could see the tears in the corners of his eyes, “I tried to control it, but…”
He stopped speaking, his face contorting in a frown as he tried to quell his emotions.
“I would never have— you know that I'd never—”
“Rex” you stopped him with hand over his when you could see his emotions getting the better of him, “I know. I knew something was wrong, that it wasn't you. I could feel it”
His brows pinched slightly as he let out a deep breath, relief flooding his expression. He sat back, slumping against the back of the sofa and resting his head on the wall as he closed his eyes. He looked so tired and overwhelmed, and your heart ached for him.
“So… all of the jedi, they're—” you stopped short of the painful word, but Rex understood.
He opened his eyes and nodded, “aside from Ahsoka... yes. as far as I know”
You tightened your arms around your shins and let out a long breath, resting your head on your knees and looking down. You had expected as much. The loss you felt though the force was crippling, there could be no other explanation for such an agonizing feeling.
“I'm so sorry” Rex said quietly and your eyes flicked back to him. He looked so remorseful, as if he was carrying to whole weight of the galaxy on his shoulders.
“It's not your fault, Rex” you shook your head, “you're a victim of this as much as I am”
“I know, but—” his eyes softened, “I know how much being a jedi meant to you, I'm just sorry that things turned out this way”
You nodded, a sad smile lifting your lips, “me too”
A silence stretched out between you, neither one of you deigning to speak again for a moment as the gravity of the situation overtook you. Though, there was something still playing on your mind, something you needed to know.
“Rex… when you—” you chewed on the inside of your cheek for a moment, wondering if you should bring it up, “before everything happened, you said you had something to tell me”
“Oh” his eyes widened for a moment, and you could see a blush grow on his cheeks, “I did say that, yeah”
You waited a moment, but when he didn't say anything else you raised an eyebrow, prompting him to continue.
“Ah, it's nothing” he spoke with a nervous chuckle, his hand rubbing the back of his neck as he looked away.
“Nothing?” you asked, tipping your head to the side, an almost teasing look in your eyes and a smirk crossing your lips.
He huffed slightly, his cheeks darkening further, “you shouldn't look at me like that, General”
Your heart pounded in your chest at his low and somewhat sultry tone, but it only spurred you on, “why not?”
“Because… you're my superior”
“No I'm not” you challenged.
You were no longer bound by the titles that once held you from each other, and you watched with a somewhat triumphant expression as you saw that realisation set into his face.
“No… you're not” he said slowly, quietly, as if testing the words to see how true they felt.
With an unhurried pace, but not hesitation, Rex reached out took your ankles, drawing your legs away from your chest and draping one one of them over his lap as he shifted towards you. He placed himself between your legs, taking your face in his hand and taking a moment to cast his gaze across your features.
“What are you waiting for?” you asked, your voice breathless.
Rex's lips quirked up slightly, in a coy manner that you'd never seen from him.
“My orders” he whispered, his breath fanning over your lips.
You bit into your lip as a surprised chuckle left you. You'd never known Rex act like this, but you weren't going to pass up the opportunity to take advantage of it.
“Kiss me, Captain”
“Of course, General”
His lips captured yours with a celerity, much less reserved an action that you’d come to expect from him. His hands snaked around your waist, his grip on you tightening as your met the intensity of his kiss with ardour, pulling him in by his neck.
His lips started exploring past the bounds of your lips, trailing kisses along the underside of your jaw and throat, his teeth dragging along your collarbone. You could scarcely believe it was happening, and your fingers pinched the skin of your wrist to make sure. You felt Rex huff a laugh against your skin before he pulled back from you, which only made you shudder.
“Did you just pinch yourself?” he asked in a breathy chuckle.
“Shut up” you laughed in reply, an embarrassed blush scorching your ears as you pulled his lips back onto yours.
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taglist: @darthnihila @cdblake1565 @heidnspeak
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silvermoon424 ¡ 7 months ago
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There is something about Usagi wanting to be a normal girl and tired of fighting in the first arc to the point she attempts to commit suicide near the end, and Sailor Cosmos, the ultimate Sailor Moon, being tired of fighting in the last arc to the point she advocates for condemning the universe to a slow death by destroying the Cauldron that has me staring at the ceiling. Naoko... ma'am... 😥
Anon I have been meaning to write a analysis post about this for the LONGEST time, like a decade at least lmao. But my idea is a bit different; I'd rather focus on how Usagi handles the Stars arc.
During the Silver Millennium, Princess Serenity committed suicide out of sheer grief when she saw Endymion get killed and her home get destroyed. Like you said, Usagi was super close to reenacting that in the first arc.
But then the Stars arc rolls around, and Usagi is forced to watch all of her friends, her lover, and her future child either get horribly murdered or fade away from existence. She loses almost everything she has, to the point where she wonders if she has anything left to fight for.
And then she keeps going. She gazes into the abyss of despair and finds the strength to say "I still believe in hope. I believe in the future of the universe, and I'm going to protect it." Her courage and ability to hope is so radical it inspires Sailor Cosmos, her future self who was unable to keep hoping.
I know some people don't like the Stars arc because of how heavily it focuses on Usagi to the determent of the rest of the Senshi (like, they're literally dead most of the arc), but as a character study of Usagi and as a thematic end to the Sailor Moon saga it's fucking impeccable.
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seraphont ¡ 10 months ago
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All jokes aside..what DOES Tessa see in J? She kinda..rude, mean, bossy, snarky, traitorous .. Tessa is the complete opposite!! #youdeservebettergurl /J
Sjdkl I see where you’re coming from anon, I wrote a couple of paragraphs below, please bear with my thought process, there’s a TLDR way at the bottom. This is how I interpret J’s character (if shes nuanced lol) with the little info we’re given:
in the series we see J at her worst, similar to how we see V, kinda sucking as well at the beginning of the series. The difference is V actually gets an emotional story arc and screen time LOL (and N- the person she cares for- is actually still alive and well).
We get glimpses of their past selves at the manor, and though Cyn states that their personalities were left unaltered, the trauma of their past certainly changed them. We see this drastic difference especially in V. we don’t get many moments w J (dead for over half of the series lol), but she also retained her memories, and I’d find it hard to believe she wasn’t effected similarly to V.
The only instances of ‘care’ we see in the series by J, is when Tessa rubs at her sore wrists from being manacled at the manor, when J was asking V to join her side Ep 8, and when she stated she got tricked by the solver - where it’s implied that J’s been killed many times by the solver, believing she has no other choice.
going back on another post I made, I think a tell for her character is the line “I didn’t need either of you anyway.” When V rejects her offer after J asked V to join her. This felt like an extreme cope and a tell on how she deals w things emotionally. I do think she wanted both N and V to be with her, but she’s got her walls up and is a stuck up asshole.
unfortunately LOL, much of this lays in assumptions based off of what little canon provided, we see J and Tessa were stuck at the hip at the manor, which to me at least implies they’re very good friends/close. the ripping royals talk, that J is a confidant/someone she could rely on and trust, even though she’s rather blunt. The swapping of weapons, no words needed -a tell that they know each others preferences well, another signal to closeness. the ‘stick in the mud’/cheerful friendship dynamic is also just kinda my favorite lol.
The way I interrupt J at the manor is a very toned down version of her angry self that we see on C9. Aloof, tactless, loyal (she turned on the “company” when breaking Tessa’s manacles), jealous lol, but inevitably there for her friend.
TLDR: it’s implied she was good friends with Tessa at the manor, and yes she’s an asshole lol, but never towards Tessa, the only character shes ever outwardly shown care towards. Tessa probably saw the J who didn’t have her walls up, a J, who though aloof- was her confidant, someone who took her weirdness in stride, and a constant that stuck by her side during her worst times at the manor. A great formula for a strong friendship, and I’m a sucker for friends to lovers lol.
At least that’s how I interpret it c:
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ven0moir ¡ 8 days ago
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hey how do u feel abt noah saying that people should not get their hopes up for season 5 of stranger things? he didn’t specifically say anything abt it being byler related but idk - a lot of fans think of byler when they think of will and so im worried he was trying to like subtlety tell byler shippers to not get their hopes up
hi anon!
IF he was referring to bylers in that sentence, then this is what I'd assume; I think he was speaking generally. the most beloved byler theories ( flickergate, loverslake, wallgate, heroesgate, ud kiss, etc ) do not fit with the tone of the show, so they're very beloved, but noah himself once said that the fans are very creative ... yet wrong about everything.
that's why I do not even attempt to make "theories" about how Byler's kiss will happen or entertain that idea, its just wasted creativity bc they don't WANT you to know. Prediction theories will likely be wrong unless the Duffers WANT you piecing things together ( like how they said that they left enough clues IN VOLUME 2 for someone to piece together why the UD is frozen the day Will went missing. They wouldn't have said that IMO if they didn't want to encourage fans to figure it out. Otherwise it's sort of wasting your fan's time for no good reason ..? )
IF byler's endgame, chances are some of their storyline ( and Will's arc ) won't be satisfying to some of them ( *cough cough* I think you might know exactly what I'm talking about ) bc from everything they've said so far they ARE departing from this 'hopeless, martyr Will who suffers in silence and waits for Mike' vision that the fandom expects for him when it comes to his feelings for Mike. ( I have a friend who believes the 'choice' is mike's and mike's alone and Will is important but in his love life, he gets 0 say like let's be so fr here for a second. One thing I think Milevens are right about, that Bylers refuse to accept is that Will let go of his idea of being with Mike romantically in that van, and any hope he had left after that faded when Mike gave that speech to El and essentially locked them in as endgame in HIS eyes lmao )
and I personally would rather not have byler endgame than them literally removing the power of CHOICE from the character named Will ( power of CHOICE/Free Will/Will power ) in the season that is his coming of age and that has centered his sexuality and feelings for Mike so much.
That sounds like a genuine snooze fest
like GIVE ME THE SUPERNATURAL AS A REFLECTION OF HOW THEY START OFF S5. GIVE ME FULL ON QUEER HORROR
BUT I'LL BE RIDING THAT WAVE BABY I JUST KNOW I WILL PERSONALLY LOVE IT AND BE CHEERING WILL AND THE DUFFERS ON FOR THAT
I'm pretty sure some of this expectation of 'martyr Will' comes from some confusion over S4 El's arc being projected onto him, ( and that's totally fine! honestly I'm still understanding stuff myself but damn some people around here need to rewatch the show and set aside their fanon version of Byler for a second ) but that's why the most common version of Byler endgame that Byler fans are expecting/hoping for ( and the GA doesn't buy, mind you ) is basically a rewritten version of S4 Mileven.
"Leave the station, Nina. Don't keep waiting for a lover that won't return."
She also resisted Henry's influence and tried to reach him despite everything he's done--much like how she reached Billy in S3. She's been coded as an angel, a Jesus figure, El literally means God, etc. SHE'S MY DAUGHTER I LOVE HER SM I'm scared for her ending the most omfg
I have the awful feeling she'll experience a metaphorical death ( like, staying in the UD and transforming it as the gatekeeper I SO HOPE IM WRONG PLEASE I HOPE THIS IS DUE TO MY LACK OF UNDERSTANDING STILL and not bc they will really do that to her hhh )
Will? imo Will's being set up to go batshit unhinged and reckless and careless and fucking up as he figures himself out and tbh so far, everything they've said falls in line nicely with what I was HOPING for.
thank GOODNESS
And whereas I do not believe for ONE second the Duffers are perfect ( thank god, perfection is so boring and artificial ) I AM choosing to trust they're choosing to be brave and genuinely love their show. The fact people on both sides will be pissed/triggered due to some of their writing choices I think will just be an unfortunate consequence. Sometimes we forget these guys are not rocket scientists and at the end of the day, they're DnD nerds who love their play. If you're not having fun analyzing, chances are you're not approaching it the right way since both DnD and the show are about community and connection. It's inherently what makes them both fun.
I already went through my "acceptance arc" where I internalized that I do not write this show and have 0 say in its outcome. I definitely recommend others do the same and be prepared for whatever happens bc we've put a lot of emotional investment into the show, and that's okay, we're in this together, but we gotta make sure we're prioritizing our mental well-being and I do worry about some Bylers in the tag that I do not think ... should be watching this show ... ( especially after the reactions I saw during that Bychance / Byler "Civil War" .... yikes )
but yeah let me know if any of this makes sense / share your thoughts!!! they'd be cool to know <3
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studentinpursuitofclouds ¡ 7 months ago
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Okay so i wanna see some more headcanons of the farmer ready to kick someone's ass so how about this:
Someone who is jealous of the farmer or like someone on like the enemy side, decided to kidnap their spouse to try and either ransom them or lure the farmer out, thinking it will be an easy win.
Then suddenly the next moment, the farmer already arrived before they could send a message to them (either the farmer got help from Mr.Qi or they track them down themselves), absolutely filled with rage and is now seconds away from beating the kidnapper.
How would the SDV/SVE bachelors and bachelorettes react to that?
I probably got the fastest rush of inspiration because holy cow, this is such a funny and cool scenario. Thank you so much, dear anon, for your ask! Enjoy! 💕
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The bachelors/ettes reaction to their kidnapping for revenge/ransom, where their spouse Farmer, furious, comes to rescue them
SDV bachelors/ettes:
"You're demanding... 500 gold bars for me? I'm worth twice that, you know, even more! That's just insulting..." The kidnappers had already regretted their scheme before Farmer arrived to rescue Elliott, because the writer's outrage is already giving them a headache. Even with a gag in his mouth he's still talking! And just when they think the day can't get any worse, Farmer arrived quickly and kicked their asses. "Can you believe it, they only asked for 500 bars for me! I'm worth more than that, right dear?" Elliott was indignant to the core. Farmer grinned as they freed Elliott from the ropes, confirming that he was worth much more than that.
Sebastian did not think that in such a situation he would feel so... annoyed. Sure, being kidnapped by strangers had instilled fear at first, but when the leader of the gang started telling a self-pity story about how "I deserved everything, not Farmer, now I've stolen their lover and they're gonna pay!", Sebby thought the leader was some kind of cartoon villain. How absurd. Farmer who came in a couple of hours later also looks annoyed when the leader started telling their "villain arc". But before they can start, they get a fist in the face from Farmer, going straight to the realm of dreams. This was where Sebastian chuckled, at least something here was funny.
Shane's kidnapper was confident and said with a snide smile that either Farmer paid 500,000 gold for Shane or Farmer would "get their spouse in pieces". "800,000 gold and I'll ask Farmer not to kill you specifically." The kidnapper was a little taken aback by those words and the fact that the chicken man was completely calm. It was as if he didn't care. When the leader heard the noise and shouts of his minions, whose voices were quickly silenced, he turned to Shane in a panic and pleaded: " I only have 100,000 gold! Please, mercy!" "Alright, deal." Enough for the coop upgrade that Shane and his spouse have wanted for a long time.
"Heyyy, chill bro. Let's just talk, ok?" Unfortunately, Sam's smooth speech was met with only a rude "shut up, worthless musician!" in his direction. "I'm actually pretty good on guitar... So rude.." he muttered. When Farmer, angry as an ox, entered the room where their husband and the leader of the kidnapping "party" were, the kidnapper tried to soften the situation for themself. "They called me a worthless musician." The kidnapper turned around in horror at a smirking Sam. "And they also hit me." It wasn't true, but the kidnapper was already pale as ghost when Farmer turned red with rage after Sam's last words.
"Let me go now, or I'll kick your asses!" Though the ropes around Alex were tight, the athlete was unwilling to give up without a fight and continued to break free. "Shut up! You're going to pay for what your stupid Farmer-" "Don't you dare say that about my spouse!" The bravery was commendable, but the kidnapper was losing patience by now and wanted to send him into a knockout. But ended up knocking out themself as they didn't notice Farmer behind them. "What an asshole. I would have punched them!" Farmer reassured their really angry husband, as if it was Alex who was saving Farmer from bandits, not the other way around.
"Oh, Yoba..." Harvey would never have thought he would be kidnapped by anyone, but here he is - tied to a pole, surrounded by the six thugs. "Now we have to send a letter to that Farmer, and wait for the ransom, hehe. Easy money!" Harvey had been here for half an hour and was starting to get a little worried, but then he saw something in the distance that helped him gain confidence. "I hope, my friends, you stole my first aid kit too." "Need a sedative, doctor?" The leader didn't even have time to laugh at their own joke before they felt a chill run down their spine and turned around to see Farmer, sword in hand and an angry look in their eyes. "Not for me. For you."
Neither the gag nor the ropes helped - Abigail, irritated and angry, kicked, bit, punched and screamed as hard as she could, not giving her captors a moment's peace. Even with her sword taken away, the fighting girl put on quite a show, which made the bandits decide that the idea of ransoming Farmer wasn't such a great idea anymore. They were just thinking of letting Abby go free when Farmer came in, just as angry as their purple-haired wife. Abigail took back her sword and stood beside her spouse. The kidnappers made a note that they (if they survive) vow to themselves not to steal any more adventurers.
"So much negative energy around you... My friend, you can't live like that!" No matter how much the kidnapper tried to say that Emily wasn't their friend, but enemy's wife, the blue-haired girl insisted on helping her captor. Yes, she realises she's been kidnapped, but the lair she was kept in was so dark and stuffy that of course this poor person is only thinking evil thoughts! Farmer who had made a huge hole in the wall with a furious punch had at least brought in some light. To the villain lying unconscious, Emily would leave a note with "get well soon!", diet tips and exercises for mind and body.
The criminals who had kidnapped Haley decided that if they were going to get any money for the already-not-so-easy job, they were going to spend half of it on hearing care. Because Haley was screaming so loudly that it looked like the kidnappers' eardrums had already burst. Plus the girl didn't spare her manicure and scratched the gangsters' hands, and someone's face. The leader was already tired, but Farmer literally breaking through the wall of their lair made it clear that it wasn't the worst yet. And Haley, freed from the ropes, ran to hug Farmer. Of course she wasn't afraid, for she knew her spouse would rescue her!
Penny sat as quietly as a mouse, afraid to anger the two thugs guarding her cage. She still can't understand how she was just walking from the farmhouse in Pelican Town to get groceries and a minute later she was kidnapped and ransomed from Farmer for 100,000 gold. Yoba, she's so scared, where is her spouse...? The answer to her question was not long in coming: Farmer kicked open the cell door, knocked out the guards, and took Penny in their arms as they both left the room. The girl was still scared and confused, which made Farmer want to kick the kidnappers' arse again. But their beloved wife came first, everything else - later.
To Leah's credit, before the gang of kidnappers could tie her hands, the artist managed to knock out two of them and throw a sculpture hammer at the head of the gang leader. Even being kidnapped, the girl did not lose her courage, giggling a little at the leader, who, already with a bump on their head, goes back and forth and promises that she and her spouse will pay for all the "humiliations they have suffered in the past". What those "humiliations" were Leah didn't have time to ask (and didn't really want to know) before Farmer broke into the room, knocked out the rest of the bandits and put another bump on the leader's head. All this to Leah's cheers. She wasn't scared at all.
Maru kept calm and thought of an escape plan. "Okay, no big deal. I memorised the path when they dragged me here. Now I need to break the ropes on my arms, sneak past the guards, turn left and-" Maru couldn't think of her plan any further as her spouse, furious at their wife's kidnapping, kicked the wall completely and started punching all the bandits left and right. "Oh, alright then." Considering she had only been kidnapped for less than half an hour, Maru didn't even have time to be frightened before she was already free, making her way around the kidnappers who were lying on the ground unconscious.
SVE bachelors/etter:
To be completely honest, Lance wasn't even that angry at his captors so much as he was slightly ashamed that he, the second in command of The First Slash Clan, had allowed himself to be captured by the amateurs, even if they had used magic for this. He made a note to himself to resume certain training. The pink-haired man already wanted to burn his ropes with magical fire, but his beloved spouse Farmer, agitated and angry as a swarm of wasps, kicked all the bandits' asses with sword and magic. Lance broke his ropes and joined the fight as well, though at first, the adventurer wanted not to rush his release, but to watch Farmer in battle with admiration and love.
"Again?" No need for Magnus' kidnapper to be so surprised - he is already old wizard, so he's seen a lot of things in his life and has been kidnapped before. Once even by mages from Gotoro, but that's a story for later. And while the kidnapper was able to take the wizard by surprise and strip him of his magic, it wouldn't work that way with his dear spouse. To which the villain shouted "I'll take away the Farmer's magic too!" Maybe, but Farmer would just start beating them with their bare hands. Which is exactly what happened half an hour ago. The enraged Farmer didn't leave a wet spot on the poor fella, so Magnus even cast a healing spell.
"Scared, white collar? Will you call your mommy for help? Or your spouse? Ha!" In any other situation, Victor would really be shaking with fear and not understanding whether the kidnappers would really hurt him if Farmer didn't pay for his ransom. But his spouse was Farmer, a man who just yesterday had slaughtered a hundred serpents at Skull Cavern as if it were a routine outing. "I'm afraid you're the one who's going to need help." And immediately after those words, Farmer burst into the room, angry and covered in blood (not their own). The kidnappers were pale, and Victor hurriedly closed his eyes, because he'd never seen Farmer so angry before. Which meant the bandits would get hurt. A lot.
"This is outrageous! How dare you take me against my will and steal my jewellery! Dragging me here, in this damp and filthy place where rats run around! Disgusting!" If the kidnappers were expecting cries for help, tears and pleas for mercy from Olivia, they will be quickly disappointed. She's a combative woman, and even huge bullies can't intimidate the ex-Joja accountant. She's dealt with worse, believe her. Well, the thugs think they'll at least get their money's worth, Olivia's dressed rich. Yeah, right... they'll just get a hit from an angry Farmer who turned up as soon as they found out where the bastards had taken their wife.
"They will pay... For all my creatures of darkness that they destroyed in Badlands, for all their exploits that made me unable to take over the Valley. Farmer will pay. And you're going to help me do it! When they come for you, I'll- Hey, are you even listening to me?!" Please forgive Claire, but the poor girl was so tired (work + family) that she slept through both her kidnapping and the gang leader's speech. The cashier woke up already when she felt someone carrying her in the arms. Her spouse looked at Claire with a smile, saying that she should immediately take a vacation and rest. Lying on the ground criminals, unconscious? Um, that was... part of a dream, yes. Just a strange dream.
"I advise you to let go, because when the Farmer comes here, you'll be sorry." At Scarlett's attempts to reason with her captors, the gang only mocked the girl. "We're waiting for Farmer, dumbass, it's an ambush!" Scarlett just sighed tiredly and waited - she had no choice. The bandits had already set traps everywhere, but Farmer was not only good at fighting, but also smart, and made an ambush on the ambush. Then caught the kidnappers off guard and kicked everyone's ass. "Warned ya," Scarlett even felt a little sorry for the bandits - they wouldn't be walking normally for a while.
Not knowing what was happening, trembling at the predatory grins of the strangers, Sophia cried quietly, trying not to make too much noise so as not to anger her captors. The villains haven't had time to get the ransom yet, and already they're arguing over who gets more gold. Farmer broke through the wall, shocking everyone. The tears on their pink-haired wife's cheeks were enough for Farmer to see red, and all the kidnapper-losers were knocked out. Before Sophia could even realise what had happened, she was already, freed, clinging to he's spouse's neck as Farmer carried her in bridal style. "Just like a fairy tale.... 💖"
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sanemistar ¡ 11 months ago
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Hey lovely! Is there any chance you’d do a Sanemi x female!reader (she’s a hashria) one shot?
She’s been dating him for ages but all of a sudden she breaks up with him and gets with some other guy straight away, so sanemi is super hurt/angry about it (he was about to about to propose). Anyway, fast forward to the hashria training arc and she’s there with the new guy (he’s a demon slayer), he can see that reader is super uncomfortable around this guy so he’s super suss about the whole thing. Sanemi ends up overhearing the guy she’s now dating that he was actually threatening reader to hurt everyone she loves (especially Sanemi) if she didn’t dump him and date her. But fight insures and blah blah blah, happy ending with them getting back together!
I hope that makes sense, but you have creative freedom to whatever you think is best! Also if you don’t want to write it I fully respect your decision, but if you do write it thank you so much ❤️
never let you go — sanemi shinazugawa
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pairing: sanemi x hashira fem!reader
genre: angst, fluff, lovers to exes then back to lovers
wc: 2.2k+
warnings: usage of threats, slight swearing, not proofread oops
a/n: i hope you enjoy reading <33 this was so fun to write thank you for requesting lovely anon !!
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you and sanemi have been dating for ages, everyone knows how madly in love you two are with each other. you two are basically inseparable, wherever you are you’re always seen with him, to the point where other people start whispering 'that's the wind hashira's girl' when they see you. you two are the epitome of love basically. so it’s to be expected that you two will end up married at some point, and that’s been your longtime boyfriend’s plan all along. he has been planning to propose to you for so long and today he’s about to finally take that next big step in your relationship.
on a lovely spring day, sanemi leaves you a message with his crow, asking you to come by his estate later because he wants to tell you something very important, so you prepare yourself and excitedly leave your estate to see him, wondering about what is that important thing that made your boyfriend so eager to see you. your train of thought is forced to cut short, though, when someone grabs your hand which stops you from going any further. you take a moment to inspect the person standing in front of you, he seems to be a demon slayer but one of a lower ranking based on his attire. but something about him feels odd and you feel slightly uncomfortable around him.
"going somewhere, y/n?" his way of addressing and talking informally to you as if you two are very familiar with each other pisses you off, can't he see your haori, does he not know you're a hashira and that he should speak to you respectfully?
"and why i should explain myself to you?" you push him out of your way and keep on walking, you don't want to be late for sanemi's meetup. but he grabs your hand and stops you once again, this time his grip is harder than the last time to ensure that you stay still.
"i can't let you go, y/n. i love you. please go out with me." you're taken aback by the sudden, uncalled for love confession. does this guy not know that you already have a boyfriend? and he's not just any boyfriend, he's the infamous wind hashira.
"don't you think you're too bold to ask me such nonsense? i have a boyfriend, you know?" you inform him, eyes looking sharp. he's clearly pissing you off, you should be in sanemi's arms right now, but instead, some random guy is wasting your time.
"i don't care, i'm not leaving until i make you mine." the guy is still persistently pestering you. no matter how many times you reject him, he still begs and pleas. you've had enough of his constant begging and finally reach your limit, so you quickly grab you katana and point it against his throat.
"if you don't stop what you're doing, you're going to regret what i'm about to do next." you speak sternly. but he doesn't seem to be fazed in the slightest. to your surprise, his entire demeanor changes and he pulls away your katana as it drops on the ground. and before you even get a chance to react, he quickly turns around points his own katana very close to the crook of your neck.
"i think you're the one who's going to regret what i'm about to do if you don't go out with me, someone might get hurt, like your boyfriend for example." he whispers into your ear, with a voice full of threat. you know sanemi is a very strong man, but you simply don't want to put the love of your life in danger because of you, you'll never forgive yourself if anything happens to him. so you choose to give up and surrender yourself to the man's demands, all for the sake of sanemi. you always put his safety and wellbeing before everything else, even before your own desires.
"i'll let you go for now, you know what to do, right?" he warns you. you grit your teeth, trying to suppress the tears eager to fall down your cheeks. it pains you to leave the one man you love the most in the world and the only one for you, after you had promised each other to never be apart until death do you part. you can't believe you're about to break your promise in the worst way possible.
with now a heavy heart, you walk towards your boyfriend's estate and sanemi instantly greets you with a tight embrace. you bury your face deep in his warm, bare chest. you wish you could stay there forever, but the words from earlier ring vividly in your ears, causing you to jolt, startling both you and sanemi.
"you 'kay, y/n?" sanemi asks in both confusion and worry, he's sensing there's something unusual about you today, but he can't seem to know exactly what it is.
"i'm... fine." you try your best to assure him. though he's still convinced you're acting strange, he decides to drop his suspicions for now. he has something much more important to tell you, his long awaited proposal.
"i have something to tell you." you both say in unison, but sanemi insists that you should go first. you take a deep breath, your heart weighs heavy. you feel tongue tied, as if your body refuses to let you say what you're about to say next, but you force yourself to.
"i... i want to break up, sanemi." your words drop on him like a bomb, he's surely never seen this one coming. he's hurt and angry, he knows you love him so much, so why are you suddenly asking for a breakup.
"shit, tell me what is it that i did wrong? i promise i'll fix it, just please don't leave me, y/n." you've never seen sanemi this vulnerable before, you can clearly hear the pain and desperation in his tone. it breaks your heart knowing that you're causing him to be in this state, but you're left with no choice. you have to protect him, even if it costs you to earn his hatred for the rest of your life.
"there's no point. it can't be fixed. thank you for everything and goodbye, sanemi." you kiss him goodbye one last time before you quickly run away as the tears you've been holding for so long finally get released, forcing yourself to never look back. because you know that you'll get weak and throw yourself in his arms once again if you do. he watches as you slowly disappear from his line of sight before he breaks down, he's feeling utterly bitter at you for leaving him behind just like that without telling him why.
fast forward a while later, amane-sama summons all the hashiras and announces that there will be a hashira training to prepare for the final fight against muzan, and everyone must participate, which means that you’ll meet up with sanemi more frequently. if it were any normal occasion, you’d be very happy to spend time with him. but with everything that has happened, you’re not looking forward to it.
after the meeting is done you immediately prepare yourself to leave, unable to stay a minute longer knowing that sanemi is right there but you can't hold him in your arms. obviously the rest of them notice how awkward you behave around each other now, wondering why you broke up with sanemi and left him for some random guy who seems to be much less than what you deserve, especially when you and sanemi were so perfect for each other. but they decide not to pry into the matter further in respect of your private life.
the minute you step into the training grounds, you're met with your 'new boyfriend' waiting for you at the entrance as he wraps his arm around you. the sight of him brings immense pain in your heart, you can't stand seeing his face.
"how was it, baby?" your stomach turns upset upon hearing his voice and you feel sick to your core the moment he lays finger on your skin.
"good." you reply nonchalantly. you always keep your replies to a bare minimum, usually reply with a short sentence, sometimes even with just one word. you'd rather not talk to him at all, but you force yourself to.
sanemi notices that you're feeling very uncomfortable around the guy, it’s very clear to his eyes despite him standing at a distance. which makes him instantly feel something is wrong about the whole thing. like why would you date someone you're not comfortable with? he knows this is unlikely of you, so he starts to investigate further.
even after the breakup, sanemi still has feelings for you. he's never moved on from you, he’s only ever loved you, no matter how many times he tries to. he has no interest in any other girl, you're so exceptional he can't seem to find a girl that's as amazing as yourself, you're the only one in his eyes. so he promises himself to do everything he can to bring you back to him once more.
then one day while he's cooling off after a long training session, sanemi sees a bunch of low-ranking demon slayers gathered around a guy and he immediately recognizes his face, it's the guy that stole you away from him. he tightly clenches his fists until his knuckles turn white, furious is an understatement to describe how he’s feeling right now.
he accidentally overhears them asking him how he got you to break up with one of the strongest hashiras and date him instead, and he tells everyone how he threatened you to hurt your loved ones, especially sanemi himself, if you refuse to break up with sanemi and date him.
everything makes sense now, why you broke your promise to him by suddenly asking to breakup without giving any justifications whatsoever. sanemi is incredibly enraged by his statement, his blood is boiling and his veins are popping up, his vision is blinded by all the pent up anger. his body moves automatically towards where the guy is and delivers a strong punch onto his face, completely destroying that cocky look smeared on it.
"you fuckin' asshole!" sanemi shouts angrily as he continues to ruthlessly punch that jerk multiple times to a point where his knuckles start bleeding, no one is daring to intervene in any way. they just let sanemi beat him to his heart's desire. after quite some time, sanemi finally stops and grabs him by the collar.
"you better fucking never show your face to y/n or bother her ever again, ya hear me? try being near her again and i'll fuckin' kill you." the guy only nods in fear, not even being able to speak. sanemi lets go of him and drops his now passed out body on the floor.
desperately searching for you, sanemi keeps running and running asking everyone around for you. until he finds you as you're about to enter your estate. he rushes to you like crazy and embraces you from behind, startling you.
"why did you handle this all by yourself, y/n? why didn't ya tell me?" sanemi asks you in between his crying, and your whole body flinches upon hearing his cries. you know how sanemi hardly ever cries in front of anyone, especially you. because he doesn't want you to worry about him, so he only shows you his strong side.
"i had no choice, i wanted to protect you. i wouldn't have forgiven myself if you had been put in danger because of me." you join him in sobbing as you turn around and bury yourself in his chest once again. you cry your heart out in his arms as he pats your head softly until you slowly begin to calm down. he cups your delicate face in his hands as his calloused thumbs wipe away your tears gently.
"i love you, y/n." he speaks softly, as if he's whispering. you feel butterflies all over your stomach the moment you hear your name slipping out of his lips, you've missed his voice so much.
"i love you too, nemi." you reply back, looking at him ever so endearingly. you lean closer and capture his lips in a loving, passionate kiss. you feel his hands move from your face and rest onto the sides of your waist, pulling you closer to him and you smile into the kiss.
after some time, the two of you break the kiss. yet your eyes are locked on his big, lilac ones.
"i'll never let you go, not now, not ever." sanemi kneels down on one knee, grabbing out a small box with a beautiful ring in it. you feel tears slowly forming into your eyes yet again, this time they're happy tears.
"will you marry me, y/n?" he finally proposes to you, sure the proposal isn't the most grand or extravagant. but you don't mind it in the slightest, this is more than enough to you, the fact that you're finally back together with the man you adore the most is what's important to you.
"yes, of course. my nemi." no hint of hesitation is to be found in your tone, it's the easiest and quickest yes you've ever said. you can't believe you're about to spend the rest of your life with your one and only love. you have no idea what life has in store for the two of you, but one thing for sure is that no matter what happens, you'll always be by sanemi’s side and never leave.
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linkspooky ¡ 4 months ago
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THE GREATEST REDEMPTION ARC OF ALL TIME IS NOT ZUKO'S
Apparently, I like getting hate in my inbox so let's continue criticizing a series that most people consider to be an untouchable masterpiece. Here's my controversial statement for the day. Zuko's redemptoin arc is... fine. It's just fine. (Remember to send all of your anon hate to linkspooky dot tumblr dot come slash ask). It is a servicable character arc where Zuko is clearly in a different place then where he began, but when I think greatest redemption arc of all time I think Spike from Buffy the Vampire Slayer.
So now in order to make my point I'm going to compare the two seemingly unrelated franchises which both feature a bad guy who eventually joins the heroes side.
What is a Redemption Arc?
So I'm going to start off by blowing everyone's minds by saying that I hate the words "redemption arc". If only because the term is so overused, and the word 'redemption' itself is subjective and tied up in personal beliefs of what morality is that 'redemption arc' basically has no meaning. It's kind of like how people use the word 'enemies to lovers' to describe stories like Pride and Prejudgice, because like in most romance stories the two main characters start out the story disliking each other.
Redemption arc is now a buzzword, and every time a villain shows even a small amount of humanity a new discourse on whether or not they deserve a redemption arc starts up. So is the problem that there are too many redemption arcs?
No, not at all.
In fact off the top of my head I can only name a couple of redemption arcs that actually complete and don't end with the character dying, Spike, Zuko, Catra, and uhhhhh..... uhhh.... Raskolnikov from Crime and Punishment.
There's not nearly enough redemption arcs and yet there's so much debate over the term 'redemption arc'. So here's my solution stop calling them redemption arcs, because using the word 'redemption' requires that the reader make a moral judgement on whether or not they have done enough to be morally redeemed.
A redemption arc is just a character arc. If you take out the word 'redemption' and just judge a redemption arc as a character arc, an arc where a character needs to change in a singificant way and be in a significantly different place than they were at the start of the story it becomes easier to discuss the quality of a redemption arc without turning it into a morality debate.
A redemption arc is just a regular character arc, where a character starts off in a much, much lower place.
You can describe most "redemption" arcs in the same way you would describe a regular character arc, in terms of a need / want arc. In most stories the main character starts out with a want, that drives them forward. In a disney movie, this takes the form of a disney princess "I want" song. The want is an external need that the main character actively pursues. My favorite disney princess Elphaba Thropp starts the story singing "The Wizard and I" about how she wants the Wizard to recognize her and see her for more than just the color of her skin, and make it so she's seen and accepted for who she is for the first time. Dorothy sings "Over the Rainbow" because she WANTS to get away from her dreary existence in Kansas and go somewhere else.
Contrasting this want is a need. This is something internal that they need to fix about thermselves in order to have a complete character arc. Oftentimes, the character is so distracted by what they want, they spend most of the plot failing to realize what they need to do in order to fix themselves. The need is a lesson, only attained upon self-reflection and self-evaluation, an honest step towards self-fulfillment. A character usually demonstrates growth by realizing what is important to them, what they need to do, instead of focusing only on what they want.
Elphaba realizes her want for acceptance is distracting her need to do right by outcasts who are just like her, which is why she chooses to become the wicked witch rather than stay by the wizard's side in Defying Gravity.
"You can have all you ever wanted." "But I don't want it. I can't want it, anymore."
Dorothy's I want song is all about how she wants to go somewhere far away, but at the end of the movie her greatest desire is to go home, and she's finally able to return to Kansas by clicking her heels after realizing how important home was to her. Glinda even says that Dorothy always had the magic inside of her to go home to begin with, she just needed to realize it, and her journey to Oz was all so she could make the internal realization of how important home was to her. Dorothy, the Tin Man, the Scarecrow, the Lion all go to the wizard to ask him to grant him their wish, something that they WANT, only for the Wizard to turn out to have no magic. The Wizard instead points out to all of them they already had those qualities inside themselves, he gives Scarecrow a Diploma because Scarecrow was always smart, he gives Tin Man a heart shaped watch because Tin Man was the most sensitive of all, and he gives the Lion a Medal because the Lion was always courageous never running away despite the faft he was a scaredy cat.
Anyway, the point of this tangent is I can put Zuko's arc in these simple need / want terms even though he starts the story as an antagonist, because a redemption arc is a regular character arc.
Zuko starts the story with a conflicting want and need. He wants to capture the avatar in order to restore his honor and gain his father's approval, but what he really needs to do is question what "reclaiming his honor" truly means. He needs to question the values of the country that he was born in and realize that the fire nation is wrong and what the fire nation is doing to the world is wrong. This conflict with his want, which is his desire for his father's approval, because in order to gain his father's approval Zuko has to act like a fire nation prince and contribute to the war effort.
Much more simply you could say that Zuko wants to meet his father's expectations and be a good son, but what he really needs to do is learn to be a good person by his own definition of right and wrong not his father's.
I would compare it to Elphaba's arc, Zuko would start singing "When I'm with the Wizard" and when he finally realizes that he doesn't want to exist to please his father especially when his father is hurting the world and so many people he'd bust out into "Defying Gravity."
My point being that Zuko is no different from any Disney Princess.
No, actually my point being that what Zuko is going through is just a regular character arc, it's just more complicated because he has more flaws than any of the other main characters.
But, every character starts out with a flawed understanding of the world. Every hero should have severe flaws that they need to overcome in order to learn and grow.
If anything I think the reason redemption arcs receive so much focus is that they are much more clear cut character arcs, because the characters who receive redemption arcs have glaring, obvious, flaws.
All characters should have flaws, there's no reason for a character to grow if they start out the story perfect. However, often the good guys, because they are the good guys will either be less flaw, or the plot will brush over their flaws and won't challenge them as much which is why their arcs will come off as less compelling than redemption arcs. Not because redemption arcs are automatically deeper, but because a redemption arc always starts out with a more obviously flawed chracter and the narrative HAS to address those flaws which is going to lead to a better character arc.
Redemption arcs are just regular character arcs, and I'm going to judge both Zuko and Spike's arcs as regular arcs in order to illustrate why in comparison's Zuko's is incomplete.
BTVS vs. ATLA
Buffy the Vampire Slayer seems like a strange show to compare to Avatar the Last Airbender, but they actually cover a wide range of similiar topics. They are both about the burden of being the chosen one, Aang being the Avatar who reincarnates again and again to try to lead the world to balance. Buffy is the Slayer, one girl in all the world who can hunt vampires.
Briefly, Buffy the Vampire Slayer is a show by Joss Whedon based around the concept of what if the Cheerleader who died in the first five minutes of every horror movie wasn't a victim, but instead was the thing that monsters were afraid of.
Buffy is a normal teenage girl whose life changes when she finds out she's the slayer, a girl gifted with super strength and combat ability who is tasked with using these abilities to fight off an endless army of demons and vampires that come her way. Usually at least once a season she fights a big bad that threatens to end the world. While at the same time, Buffy tries to maintain some form of a normal life, with her mother, her friends, and her mentor who teaches her how to be a better Slayer.
Aang, is a normal teenage boy who finds out when he is twelve years old he is the reincarnation of the spiritual leader of his people, the Avatar who is tasked with maintaining the balance between the four nations. Aang runs away from this responsibility and ends up frozen in the ice for 100 years. When he wakes up he finds out the fire natoin has killed all of the airebenders, and invaded over 3/4s of the war, and that if he doesn't master all four elements before Sozin's comet returns a year from now then the fire nation will likely use the power of the comet to permanently win the war.
She is also one in a long line of slayers, but while avatars reincarnate, the Slayer fights until they die and then a completely new Slayer takes over from there. Aang is able to bend all four elements and has a connection to the spirit world, Buffy has super strength and the ability to have visions. Both characters want to live a normal life, but because they are the chosen one they are forced to fight to save the world. They're both surrounded by a gang of friends who follow them because they are the chosen one, Buffy has the Scooby Gang, and Aang has Team Avatar / The Gaang.
Both stories are not only deconstructions of the pressures of being the chosen one, they are also bildungsroman that are about their main character growing up and learning adult responsibility alongside learning how to fulfill their role as the chosen one. They both die once and are magically revived. (Buffy voice: "Hey, I've died twice".)
Perhaps the biggest connection and the one this post is about is both shows are thematically about redemption, and eschew traditional Christian ideas of good and evil in favor of a more nuanced look at morality.
BUFFY He wants forgiveness. GILES Yes. I imagine he does. But when James possesses people they act out exactly what happened that night, so instead he's experiencing a form of purgatory. He's doomed to kill his Miss Newman over and over again - and forgiveness is impossible. BUFFY Good. He doesn't deserve it. GILES To forgive is an act of compassion, Buffy. It's not done because people deserve it. It's done because they need it. Now Buffy goes off - her spite palpable. BUFFY No. James destroyed the person he loved the most in a moment of blind passion. And that's not something you forgive. No matter why he did what he did. No matter if he know now that it was wrong and stupid and selfish. He's just going to have to live with it. XANDER He can't live with it Buff, he's dead.
They are both shows about forgiveness above all else, and this is why a major plotline in both shows feature a character who starts out as an antagonist making a long journey and eventually changing sides to join the heroes.
ZUKO VS SPIKE
So, since there are really no objective ways to determine the quality of a "redemption arc" because the idea of redemption is entirely subjective and based upon your personal beliefs, I am just going to judge Zuko's redemption arc by comparing it to what I consider a complete arc.
I am going to oultine the stages of Spike's arc, and why I consider his arc to be a complete arc and then compare Zuko and see if he checks all of the same boxes that Spike does.
There's really no objective criteria for judging redemption arcs. It's not like the hero's journey. So, in order to give this post some organization I'm going to make up my own template based on Spike's character arc, because I consider it to be a complete arc. I will be judging Zuko based upon how far he progresses through the different stages I outline in Spike's arc.
These stages are Origin - usually a tragic backstory, but is just a backstory that describes why the villain is the way they are currently and what circumstances led to their current motivations.
Season Two Spike - The character is just a straightforward antagonist, though usually with some redeemable qualities so the audience can see the potential for a future redemption. In terms of character arc, I would say that this is when a character is entirely guided by their mistaken assumption of the world.
Season 4 Spike - A dramatic change in circumstances for the villain, that forces them to re-evaluate their life. The antagonist usually loses their spot as main antagonist to someone else, or stops being an antagonist entirely but also has yet to join the good guys. This major shift in circumstances is what causes the antagonist to start re-evaluating themselves, it's meant to be a shocking eye opener.
Season 5 Spike - The hero now wants to be on the side of the good guys, but for all of the wrong reasons. They make overtures at redemption, but it's not true redemption yet because while they might be trying to do the right thing it's for mostly selfish reasons, or they still don't know what right and wrong truly are.
Season 6 Spike - Character regression, this is an inevitable part of almost any redemption arc, and honestly should be a part of good character arcs. Basically, the character regresses right before the big change, they get worse before they can get better, this is what adds tension to the story. This regression is necessary because a temporary reversion to their old self, and overcoming that regression is a way to demonstrate that the character has indeed permanently changed.
Season 7 / Season 1 of Angel - Spike The character is truly redeemed because they have done the work that they need to change, and as proof of that they have re-evaluated their previously flawed moral code, and now have invented a new set of morals to follow and live by. This is what I consider the most important part of a redemption arc, the character has to show proof that their way of thinking has changed. Every character starts with a flawed understanding of how the world works, and one of the biggest benefits of going through a character arc is the wisdom gained as a part of that journey. Every character arc should end with the question: "So, what have you learned?"
ORIGIN: The Storm vs Fool for Love
So this is going to start out making Zuko look like a way better character than Spike, but bare with me for a second. Zuko and Spike both receive entire episodes devoted to their backstories (Zuko gets two, but we're only discussing the Storm for now).
In the storm we learn the circumstances for Zuko's banishment, in parallel to learning exactly why Aang ran away from his own destiny as the avatar and how he ended up frozen in Ice. During the course of the episode, after Zuko orders his crew to sail right into a storm they start to express their displeasure about Zuko's treatment of them until Iroh takes one man aside and explains how Zuko was banished. That Zuko used to be a more idealistic prince, who was banished because he spoke up in a war meeting against the sacrifice of young fire nation soldiers. That the Zuko of the past was punished for trying to defend fire nation citizens and that's why the current Zuko is so desperate to find the avatar to restore his honor he disregards the safety of his crew.
At the end of the episode we are shown a glimmer of the old Zuko who once spoke out against sacrifice soldiers when he goes out of his way to save the life of one of his crewmen during the storm and drags them back onboard.
Spike's origin was that he's bad poet, and everyone laughed at his poems so he decided to become a vampire.
See when I describe it like that, it makes Zuko sound like such a better character, because his backstory is obviously more sympathetic. If the reason Zuko was banished was because everyone laughed at his bad poetry, I think it would be much harder for audiences to connect with him on an emotional level.
However, Spike's backstory works in spite of the fact that it's not immediately sympathetic. It doesn't need to be a tragic backstory, because it establishes the same thing that Zuko's does, once Spike was a normal person before he was led astray.
Both of these backstories exist to portray the humanity of the antagonist, and also the reasons why they want the thing they want. I'm going to simplify both characters for the sake of comparison, but arguably both Spike and Zuko want the same thing. They both want love and approval from an external source. They are both chasing love, for Zuko it's chasing his father's love and approval, and for Spike it's chasing first Drusilla's love, an d then Buffy's. Both are also willing to completely remake themselves into someone they're not in order to get their love, Zuko acts like a much harsher version of himself that's obsessed with war and conquest because he thinks that's what his father wants. Spike basically remakes his entire personality depending on the person he's in love with, he decides to be a good guy only because he falls in love with Buffy and decides that if he's good now Buffy will love him back. However, before that Spike remade himself into a vampire because he thought that is what would impress Drusilla.
They've both completely remade themselves in order to please someone else, but there remains some hints of their original self. By the end of the episode after spending the whole episode acting out their aggressive persona, Spike and Zuko give a sign that the person they were in their origin story is still there. Zuko saves a crewmember from drowning, and Spike ends the episode trying to comfort Buffy even after she's rejected him and made it clear that there's no chance of a relationship happening between the two of them.
Buffy looks up at the sound, her face wet with tears. BUFFY What do you want now? Spike is about to pull the trigger when he sees her tears and through them, her pain. His rage vanishes in an instant. SPIKE What's wrong? BUFFY I don't want to talk about it. Spike lowers the g*n. SPIKE Is there something I can do? Buffy says nothing, the reality of her mother's situation hitting her like a steel weight, overcoming her. Spike sits down next to her and tentatively pats her back, trying to comfort her. She lets him.
Both of these episodes follow the same formula, and the Storm is my favorite episode of Avatar the Last Airbender, but I'm still going to elaborate right out the gate on why I think "Fool for Love" does a better job at spinning an origin story.
This is where I'm going to start outlining one of my major problems with Zuko's redemption arc too, in that it cares more for audience pathos than it does the actual events that happen in the story. Zuko basically wears a t-shirt that signals he's going to get a redemption arc, so a lot of the steps in his arc feel signposted.
Starting with the episode itself, like we learn about Zuko's tragic backstory, because Iroh was explaining to the crew that this is the reason why Zuko was treating him poorly, and therefore the crew should feel sorry for him. This isn't who Zuko really is, this is who he is as a result of trauma, and let me explain the trauma so you will now sympathize and understand him better.
It's not bad, it's just less organic. You can see the author's fingerprints what I'm saying, and remember this is my favorite episode of ATLA so I'm not saying this is a bad episode. I just prefer Fool for Love because it's more interested in exploring Spike as a character, it's not telling the audience to feel sorry for him.
Fool for Love is an episode that begins when Buffy accidentally slips and is stabbed by one of the random mook vampires, the ones she usually kills without a problem every night. This small slip almost killing her leads to her to have a crisis, as she tries to figure out what went wrong exactly.
She ends up going for Drinks with Spike, and pays him money to tell her about the two slayers that he's killed in the past one hundred years. She's hoping that since Spike has killed two slayers, he can tell her what her mistake was, what her weakness is so she can fix it.
Spike who has fallen in love with Buffy that point, ends up treating the entire night like a date. He tells Buffy his entire life story, as a means of answering her question. First that he was nothing more than a poet named William Pratt, called William the Bloody for his Bloody Awful Poetry. That he fell in love with sire Drusilla and had an eternal love with her that lasted more than a hundred years, and in the process reinvented his personality from a sensitive poet to a violent vampire that relished in bloodshed. That he eventually became bored with his immortal existence and started to chase after slayers because they are the only thing that can kill vampires as powerful and old as he, and killing one in the boxer rebellion, and one in the 1970s.
In between the story of the two slayers he killed, we also see a highlight reel of Spike's romantic failures. Spike confessed to a girl asking her to see that he was a good person deep down only for her to say she was beneath him.
SPIKE I know I'm a bad poet but I'm a good man and all I ask is that... that you try to see me- CECILY I do see you. That's the problem. You're nothing to me, William. You're beneath me. She stands and walks off, leaving Spike devastated and alone.
Spike then is eventually rejected by Drusilla his forever love, and the girl he became a vampire to try and impress. Then at the end of the episode he's rejected by Buffy in the exact same manner.
BUFFY Say it's true. Say I do want to. She shoves him to the ground and looks down at him with disgust. BUFFY It wouldn't be you, Spike. It would never be you. She tosses the wad of cash at him contemptuously. BUFFY You're beneath me. Buffy turns and walks off into the night, leaving Spike alone in the dark alley.
Spike became a vampire because he was too sensitive to survive as a normal person. Yet deep down he wanted to be loved for who he is, not for the person he is pretending to be, yet every time he asks someone to see the real him he's told again and again that he's beneath them.
The entire episode is basically about all the ways that Spike changed himself, in order to hide that softer version of himself and try to be a version of himself someone would loved, and how that failed over and over again.
A character needs to start out the story with a flawed understanding of the world. Spike and Zuko both have a very flawed understanding of what will get them love, Spike sees becoming a vampire as the greatest thing that ever happened to him, and Zuko sees that he needs to be a better, more vicious prince like his father wanted him to be and capture the avatar to restore his honor.
BUFFY So you traded up on the food chain. Then what? SPIKE No, please. Don't make it sound like something you'd flip past on the Discovery Channel. Becoming a vampire is a profound and powerful experience. I could feel this new strength coursing through me. Getting k*lled made me feel alive for the very first time. I was through living by society's rules. Decided to make a few of my own. Of course, in order to do that... I had to get myself a g*ng.
However, the story is much harsher on Spike. No one really takes Buffy aside and sits down to explain to her "Here's why you should be more patient and understanding with Spike, because before he turned into a vampire he was a very different person." No, in fact Spike explaining his entire backstory to Buffy doesn't win him any sympathy points in her eyes at all. After learning everything about him he's still "beneath her".
Arguably it doesn't really engender much sympathy with the audience either. Who is more sympathetic, the guy with the obvious facial scar who was kicked out of his home by his abusive father and is now pursuing the avatar because it's the only way for him to return home... or the guy who's a bad poet who's sad because his girlfriend dumped him.
However, I find Spike's to be more complex because it doesn't tell the audience that Spike is sympathetic and redeemdable, it just shows that through his last action of choosing to comfort Buffy when he saw her crying alone on the porch in spite of the fact she rejected him. Zuko's origin story episode does the same thing, and if you had cut the fact that Iroh was explaining this to Zuko's crew so they'd go easier on him it'd be entirely show and not tell.
Jeel: I'm sick of taking his orders! I'm tired of chasing his Avatar! I mean, who does Zuko think he is? Iroh:Do you really want to know?
Imagine if it was Zuko explaining his backstory to one of his crewman, and then at the end much like Buffy the crewmember went "I don't care you're still an asshole" and then Zuko had to save them anyway. That would make the moment feel a lot less telegraphed and a lot more earned.
SEASON 4 of Buffy:
I'm going to skip the seasons where Spike and Zuko are main antagonists, because I think I already established what their flaws are, and what their want/need arc is. Both Zuko and Spike wrap themselves in anger and aggression, in order to mask their softer sides. They want love, and they pursue it by trying to earn it by accomplishing external goals, instead of doing the hard work of fixing themselves. They need to become better people, but they ignore this need in favor of their want.
This is most apparent in Season 2 of Avatar, and Season 4 of Buffy the Vampire Slayer. In season 4, Spike returns to Sunnydale only to have a chip put in his head that shocks him every time he tries to harm a human. Now that he's incapable of being a vampire, Spike has an existential crisis that leads him to re-evaluate his life. However, Spike does not conclude that he needs to become a better person.
In fact Spike spends the entire season in denial of the change of the circumstances in his life. Instead of trying to change for the better, Spike just wants to get the chip out of his head so he can go back to being a vampire.
Denial of the change in circumstances, and wanting to go back to being their old selves is what colors this stage of the redemption arc. Zuko also, is declared an enemy of the fire nation after his actions in the seige of the north pole. He no longer has his ship and crew, has to live the life of a refugee, and his much more competent sister takes down hunting the avatar.
During this season changing sides does not cross Zuko's mind either. He spends the entire season wanting to go back to being a prince, and in denial of his change of circumstances. He cannot accept that he a royal is now living the life of a beggar. He steals an ostrich horse from a couple who helps heal his uncle. He declares himself the prince of the fire nation after fightnig off some bully earth army soldiers and then acts confused as to why the locals seem disgusted with him.
All characters start the story with an incorrect view of how the world works, and instead of mending their incorrect beliefs, Zuko and Spike in this respective stage of their arcs choose to keep clinging to those incorrect beliefs. They are still pursuing that want, and ignoring what they need even though that want gets farther and farther out of reach. The idea that Spike might want to change sides to the good guys does not even occur to him, because he defines himself as an evil monster.
Spike: (looking around) I admit, it's a bit of a fixer-upper. Needs a woman's touch. (looks at Giles) Care to have a crack at it? Giles: While I'd loved to go on trading jabs with you, Spike, perhaps I'll come to the point. As much as it pains me to say it, um, I owe you a debt of gratitude for the help you provided me in my recent . . . metamorphosis. Spike: (rubbing a crick out of his neck) Stuff the gratitude. You owe me more than that, mate. Giles pulls out a small bundle of dollar bills and offers it to him. Giles: Three-hundred. Count it if you'd (Spike snatches it out of his hand). . . like. Spike: I'll do that. While Spike starts counting the money, Giles looks the place over. Giles: Um, thinking about your affliction and, uh, your newfound discovery that you can fight only demons; it occurs to me that (chuckling) I realize this is completely against your nature but I-I-I-- Has it occurred to you that there may be a higher purpose-- Spike: Ugh! You made me lose count. (faces him) What are you still doing here? Giles: Talking to myself, apparently. Spike: Well piss off, then. (indicates the money in his hands) This bit of business wraps up any I got with you and your Slayerettes. From here on I want nothing to do with the lot of you. Giles: Your choosing to remain in Sunnydale might make that a little difficult. Spike: Well you and yours will just have to show a little restraint is all. Get out. Giles doesn't say anything and heads for the door. Spike: (following) And I don't want you crawling back here knocking on my door pleading for help the second Teen Witch's magic goes all wonky or little Xander cuts a new tooth. We're through. You got it? Giles opens the door and Spike flinches away from the brightness. He looks over his shoulder at the vampire and his eye twitches. His feelings might be a little hurt. Spike: (callously) Honeymoon is over. Giles leaves without a word.
Spike in particular receives help from the good guys several times, and refuses to change sides because of his denial of his change in circumstances. When Spike first escapes after getting chipped, he receives shelter from Buffy and Giles, lives with them under hiding for a long time, only to spit on them several times and learn nothing from the experience. At the end of the season he even betrays them to the bad guy for the chance at having his chipped removed so he can go back to being a vampire.
Zuko receives an offer from Katara to help heal Iroh with the same hostility. Though, there are more consequences to Spike spitting in the face of the Scooby Gang, because in season 5 and season 6 when he decides he wants to start getting along with them because he's in love with Buffy they are all reluctant to let him join because they all collectively hold him accountable for his previous behavior.
Either way though the pattern of behavior is the same, Zuko and Spike refuse to acknowledge the changes to their lives and leap at the opportunity to go back to their old life. They only think about their wants to the point where it distracts them to the reality of the situation.
Iroh: So, the Blue Spirit. I wonder who could be behind that mask ... Zuko:[Sighs and takes off the mask.] What are you doing here? Iroh: I was just about to ask you the same thing. What do you plan to do now that you've found the Avatar's bison? Keep him locked in our new apartment? Should I go put on a pot of tea for him? Zuko: First I have to get it out of here. Iroh:[Starts yelling.] And then what!? You never think these things through! [Points at him.] This is exactly what happened when you captured the Avatar at the North Pole! You had him, and then you had nowhere to go! Zuko: I would have figured something out! Iroh:No! If his friends hadn't found you, you would have frozen to death! Zuko: I know my own destiny, Uncle! Iroh: Is it your own destiny, or is it a destiny someone else has tried to force on you? Zuko: Stop it, Uncle! I have to do this! Iroh: I'm begging you, Prince Zuko! It's time for you to look inward and begin asking yourself the big questions. Who are you, and what do you want?
Both Zuko and Spike are refusing to answer the big questions, and only focusing on getting what they want, even as what they think they want gets farther and farther out of reach.
I'm not going to speak too unfavorably of Zuko's arc in comparison of Spike's here, because the denial of both characters is portrayed well except to say that Spike's is harder hitting. If only because as I'll cover later, the Good Guys actually remember the multiple times they saved Spike's life and he spat in their faces for it, and this infleunces their behavior towards him in later seasons and makes his redemption arc harder.
SEASON FIVE of BUFFY
This part I'm going to have to go slightly out of order because Spike follows this order, in season 5 he redeems himself for the wrong reasons, in season 6 he regresses as a character, and in season 7 he finally redeems himself for the right reasons after climbing back from his lowest point and committing to the work of self improvement. The regression stage is important because it's what shows the audience that the redemption will stick, that the character won't fall back on bad habits.
Zuko's arc is slightly out of order. Instead of the redeeming himself for false reasons, he skips right to the character regression stage. He chooses to go back to the fire nation, spends ten episodes regressing as a character after betraying his uncle in favor of everything he's ever wanted, and then finally after the Day of Black Sun joins the good guys in order to correct his mistake.
However, I think by skipping the "redeems himself for the wrong reasons" stage we are missing out something critical, which is why Zuko's redemption in the last half of season 4 reads to me as so rushed and incomplete. Now, let me attempt to explain the reasons for my reading, by explaining what I think is so brilliant of Spike's arc in Season 5 of Buffy.
To begin with I am going to explain what I mean by Spike is redeeming himself for the wrong reasons. In order to do that I am going to borrow a lot of quotes from this meta on ao3, Spike, Buffy, Angel & Romanticism.
When I say Spike is redeeming himself for the wrong reasons, what I mean is Spike is genuinely trying to help the good guys, but his understandings of good and evil are flawed because he is a soulless monster without a conscience that helps him judge between good and evil. For Spike, much like Zuko, most of his jugdements are based on what he thinks will give him approval. He is chasing external validation from others, and therefore he has no internal moral code. Even when Spike is trying to help out the good guys in Season 5, his motives are impure (he's just trying to score good boy points because he thinks if he demonstrates he's a good person Buffy will fall in love with him). He also has not truly changed, because Spike is still seeking external validation, he just wants Buffy's validation instead and he thinks acting like a good guy is how he will earn it. He's changed the person he's trying to please, but he hasn't really changed anything about himself.
Yet, Spike spends the entirety of season 5 convinced that he is a monster who is redeeming himself. That is one interesting layer of both Zuko and Spike's arcs, they both think they are on journeys of redemptions. Zuko thinks that capturing the avatar will redeem his honor, because in the eyes of his violent culture that is what will redeem him by fire nation standards. He doesn't stop to think whether or not fire nation standards are incorrect, or like Uncle suggests whether this is his destiny or jsut a destiny someone else forced upon him.
Spike on the other hand sees himself as a romantic figure, much like Zuko. When he falls in love with Buffy, he convinced that loving Buffy is what redeems him and he will become a good guy out of love for her. Just like Zuko, he views himself as a protagonist of a story about a man on a redemption quest but has absolutely no idea what true redemption would even entail.
However, Buffy goes a lot harder on deconstructing Spike's view of himself as a romantic hero. Spike is a poet, he is a romantic, he sees the world through a certain romanticized lens like it is a story where he is the main character and Season 5 goes through great lengths to disabuse him of that notion.
Moreover, the episode reveals his entire aesthetic and personality to essentially be a construct. But most tellingly of all, it reveals him to be an idealist. Spike is not just a performance artist; he yearns for the “effulgent”, for something “glowing and glistening” that the “vulgarians” of the world don’t understand. In other words, he yearns for something bigger and more beautiful than life: something romantic. Later, he chases after “death, glory, and sod all else.” Spike may be a “fool for love”, who has a romantic view of romantic love specifically, but the episode is very clear about the fact that he is also a romantic more generally. When Drusilla turns him, she doesn’t tempt him by telling him she’ll love him forever. She tempts him by offering him “something…effulgent”. (Which, in typical Spike form, the episode immediately undercuts by having him say “ow” instead of swooning romantically). The fact that “Fool For Love”, Spike’s major backstory episode, is so determined to paint him as a romantic–and in particular, a disappointed, frustrated romantic–that it is willing to contradict canon to do so, tells you that this choice was important for framing Spike and his new, ongoing thematic role. (Impalementation)
Zuko and Spike both start out with a flawed understanding of the world. They have this certain narrative about themselves, and if they follow the script then things should work out the way they expect it to. Zuko's script is if he brings the avatar back home he'll earn his father's love and restore his honor, which is continually frustrated by the fact that Zuko is not the person that he is trying to be. He's not competent enough to bring the avatar back, not ruthless enough to survive in the world of fire nation politics. He's doing everything he can to follow the story, but the story keeps proving to be false and Zuko can't cope because he's working with a flawed understanding of the world., The narrative lens which he applies to everything is twisted by Fire Nation propaganda and his own trauma, and because he hasn't seen anything else he can't see it.
Spike is basically doing the same thing, he is a vampire who has read both Dracula and Anne Rice, he knows the tropes of the soulful vampire. As impalementation points out above Spike is a romantic and a disappointed romantic at that, he longs for a world that plays out like the stories he's read, longs to roleplay the chivalric romance of a knight protecting their love, first with Drusilla and then with Buffy, only to be disappointed at every turn. Spike has read lots of books, and he too thinks that reality is supposed to function like a story though in Spike's case it's a love story between a loyal knight and the one they serve, and when reality goes off script Spike cannot cope.
We’ve talked in the past about how season five is all about the tension between the mythical and the mortal–between big, grand, sweeping narratives, and the reality of being human. Buffy is the Slayer, but she’s also just a girl who loses her mother. Dawn is the key, but she’s also just a confused and hormonal fourteen-year-old. Willow is a powerful witch, but she also just wants her girlfriend to be okay. Glory is a god, but she’s also a human man named Ben, and finds herself increasingly weakened by his emotions. And Spike embodies this tension perfectly. He’s a soulless vampire with a lifetime of bloodshed behind him, but he’s also this silly, human man who wants to love and be loved. He wants big, grand things, but every time they are frustrated by a Victorian society, a rejection, a chip, a pratfall, or dying with an “ow”. Furthermore, his season five storyline is all about the tension between loving in an exalted, yet often selfish way, versus loving in a “real” or selfless way.  (Impalementation).
Both ATLA and Buffy explore the idea that these characters are following false narratives, that they're thinking of themselves like characters in a story. ATLA goes a long way to deconstruct what Fire Nation propaganda is, and the way Zuko's understanding of honor is tainted by the culture he grew up in, that despite being obsessed with honor he doesn't really understand what restoring honor would truly mean. However, it doesn't go to quite the lengths that Buffy does, in completely peeling away the romanticism until the reality is left underneath.
All throughout Season 5, every time Spike attempts to be good it's purely transactional. Spike thinks of himself as a vampire who is redeeming himself out of love, so he thinks if he starts performing good deeds that Buffy will begin to see him in a different light. Only to be rebuffed (haha) again and again when characters refuse to play along to his script.
Rupert Giles : We are not your friends. We are not your way to Buffy... There is no way to Buffy... Clear out of here. And Spike, this thing... get over it ...
The Scooby Gang doesn't want him hanging around because he spent all of season 4 spitting in their faces every time they tried giving him a chance.
So at first, Spike’s “deeds” tend to be shallow and vaguely transactional. He tries to help Buffy in “Checkpoint” even though she doesn’t want it (and insults her when she doesn’t appreciate it), he asks “what the hell does it take?” when Buffy is unimpressed by him not feeding on “bleeding disaster victims” in “Triangle”, he rants bitterly at a mannequin when Buffy fails to be grateful to him for taking her to Riley in “Into the Woods”, and he is angry and confused when Buffy is unmoved by his offer to stake Drusilla in “Crush”.  But these incidents of self-interested narrativizing are also continuously contrasted with scenes in which Spike reacts with real generosity, or is surprised when he realizes he’s touched something emotionally genuine. When Buffy seeks him out in “Checkpoint”, his mannerisms instantly change when he realizes she actually needs real help (“You’re the only one strong enough to protect them”), rather than the performed help he offered at the beginning of the episode. At the end of “Fool For Love” he’s struck dumb by Buffy’s grief, and his antagonistic posturing all evening melts away. He abandons his romantic vision of their erotic, life-and-death rivalry in favor of real, awkward emotional intimacy. In “Forever” he tries to anonymously leave flowers for Joyce, and reacts angrily when he’s denied—but this time not because he wanted something from Buffy. Simply because he wanted to do something meaningful.  (Impalementation).
Season 5 goes to great lengths to show the duality between the real and the romantic, when Spike's actions are motivated by his grand ideas of romance, and when the real selfless gestures of affection are shown.
Expressly, Spike does not get a reward, even for his real moments of generosity. The season begins with Buffy telling Spike that she's beneath her. At the end of Season 5, Spike's realization is that Buffy doesn't love him, but she treats him like a man and that's enough, and he has that realization when she's standing on top of a staircase still above him. Spike has learned in some part the difference between real selfless love, but he isn't immediately given what he wants for it. The reward is the revelation itself, a one hundred year old vampire slowly learning what real love is.
The season doesn't even reward Spike for acting like a true selfless knight at the end of the season, because even after he laerns how to finally be selfless the romanticsism is ripped away. Spike no longer makes demands of Buffy's love, and he's happy just being able to help fight with her and protect her, and he fails to both protect Buffy's sister Dawn in spite promising to, and is unable to do anything but watch Buffy jump to her death.
Spike spends the entire season trying to redeem himself for the wrong reasons, and even when he finally does start fighting for the right reasons he's not magically rewarded because Buffy the Vampire Slayer is much more interested in the reality of exploring what it would mean for a soulless monster to redeem himself even though the universe doesn't give him a reward for getting enough good boy points, then it is the romantic story of a beast being saved by the power of his selfless love.
SEASON SIX of BUFFY
In season Six of Buffy, and the first half of Season 3 of Avatar the Last Airbender, both Spike and Zuko hit their character regression and lowest points after being given everything they think they want. For Spike that is a relationship with Buffy that quickly spirals out of control, and for Zuko that is his father's approval and a seat at his father's side in the war room.
When Zuko returns home to the fire nation, he finds himself too changed to be satisfied by the things he thought he wanted when he was thirteen. This leads him to succumb to paranoia, send assassins after Aang, have frequent explosions of anger, and finally do some deep introspection.
Zuko: [Turning around.] For so long I thought that if my dad accepted me, I'd be happy. I'm back home now, my dad talks to me. Ha! He even thinks I'm a hero. [Close-up of Azula, who smiles.] Everything should be perfect, right? [Aerial view of campsite.] I should be happy now, but I'm not. [Turning back to the others.] I'm angrier than ever and I don't know why!
Spike and Zuko are both given what they want, just when they were starting to learn to let go of the idea of chasing that want and it throws them for a loop. The scoobies begrudgingly accept Spike's presence, and Buffy begins to reciprocate Spike's affection for the first time. Only for that relationship to spiral into one that is mutually unhealthy and codependent.
The regression brings about an identity crisis in both characters. As Zuko and Spike both are still trying to cling to stories in order to provide them with answers for who they are, and what they are doing wrong. Except Zuko is starting to see through the fact that most of the stories the fire nation told him are lies.
Buffy finds herself unable to live up to her personal ideal, and Spike becomes confused about what ideal he’s supposed to be living up to. As their identities dissolve, both of them try to fill the emptiness with different stories. As for Spike, his identity begins to dissolve and he uses romantic stories as a crutch to tell himself who he is, he plays the brooding vampire boyfriend because he is "no longer a monster" but he can't be a man either.
From their very first kiss, it’s clear that the Buffy and Spike relationship will be about using stories to hide out from the confusion of life. Notice how Buffy’s line that “This isn’t real, but I just wanna feel” is overlaid by the trappings of a cliche Hollywood clinch. It’s less to me about what Buffy “really” feels for Spike, and more of a meta statement: stories aren’t real, but they do make you feel something. And that’s what Buffy wants. Their kiss is the culmination of Buffy trying and failing to be the things expected of her. She tries to dress up like the bot at the end of “After Life”, she tries to act the competent applicant in “Flooded”, she tries on all sorts of identities in “Life Serial”, and in “Once More, With Feeling” she sings openly of how she cannot either live up to her Slayer self, or “be like other girls.” (One of the most brutal images in season six to me, and which foreshadows this arc, is Buffy in “Bargaining, Part Two” in her black funeral dress, watching the idealized Buffybot in white get ripped to pieces). Spike, similarly, has been at a crossroads of identity for years. In season four, he tried to cling to the “bad” identity the Initiative stole from him, and in season five, he tried to replace that identity with a noble, Knightly, Lover identity instead. But when Buffy pulls that identity out from under him too, treating him not “like a man” but as a “dead man” who “isn’t real”, the longstanding shakiness of his selfhood becomes undeniable.  (Impalementation).
Either way what the regression demonstrates for both characters is that no change they try to make ever sticks, because their sense of self is so shaky, because for both Zuko and Spike they have been building up themselves based entirely around what other people want. In order to have a stronger sense of identity, they'd have to stop clinging to stories which provide them an easy answer to who they are and instead figure out who they want to be.
Spike is quite literally forced to re-evaluate who he is when he is no longer allowed to play the part of a monster. The ugliness of reality, and of Spike's actions when he does the REALLY BAD THING (which I'm not discussing because I don't want to put a trigger warning on this post) breaks him free of any kind of role he's trying to play.
SPIKE: You know, everything used to be so clear. Slayer. Vampire. Vampire kills Slayer, sucks her dry, picks his teeth with her bones. It’s always been that way. I’ve tasted the life of two Slayers. But with Buffy… (grimacing in anguish) It isn’t supposed to be this way!  He grabs a piece of furniture and shoves it over, with accompanying crashing noises. SPIKE: (angrily) It’s the chip! Steel and wires and silicon. (sighs) It won’t let me be a monster. (quietly) And I can’t be a man. I’m nothing.
Both Spike and Zuko are put through character regression for two reasons, one to illustrate to them that the things that they wanted aren't what they want and won't make them happy, and two to make them question the stories that they've been told to strip away romanticism, and be real people.
In order to grow as people, they must first learn to question all of the stories they've been told, and stop listening to stories and think of what they want, to form their own identity. The only way to change as a person, is to... look at yourself critically as a person.
Thus the resolutions of Buffy and Spike’s arcs in season six are all about personhood and change. They’re about letting go of stagnant, destructive illusions and embracing the idea of living and growing in the world. They’re about seeing beyond romantic roles, and accepting responsibility for one’s own identity. (Impalementation).
This is where I once again will argue that spike's redemption is superior, because while Zuko and Spike both reach their lowest points it's Spike who actually has all of his narratives stripped away and is challenged to become his own person and think about how he is and what he wants, whereas Zuko never fully stops thinking of himself as a romantic hero. By the end of season 6, Spike is on a journey to learn who he is as a person, whereas on the day of Black Sun and the rest of Season 3, we're still following the story of a prince on a journey of redemption.
It's because by the end of season 6, Spike's journey has entirely focused on the internal, how can he be a man? If he's a soulless monster, then is it possible for him to be a person living in the world like Buffy is? On the other hand, Zuko's arc never changes from an external to an internal goal.
Zuko is still tied up in notions of destiny and honor like he is a main character in a story.
Iroh: Because understanding the struggle between your two great-grandfathers can help you better understand the battle within yourself. [Zuko sits down, with his head facing down.] Evil and good are always at war inside you, Zuko. It is your nature, your legacy. But, there is a bright side. [Zuko looks up.] What happened generations ago can be resolved now, by you. Because of your legacy, you alone can cleanse the sins of our family and the Fire Nation. Born in you, along with all the strife, is the power to restore balance to the world. (Season 3, the avatar and the firelord).
If Iroh didn't tell Zuko that good and evil were at war inside of him, and that he's from a special bloodline because he's descended from both Roku and Sozin and therefore this means it's a part of his destiny to bring balance would Zuko have done the same amount of self reflection?
While Spike is faced with unrelenting reality, Zuko has the notion that he is a romantic hero reinforced over and over again, most particularly by Iroh. Spike doesn't have anybody sit there and point out for him that he's at war with himself and doesn't know whether to be a man or a monster, because Spike is actually capable of self reflection. Whereas, Zuko seems to do everything because he's told that destiny said so. He doesn't move until he's told he's the romantic hero following a pre-planned destiny.
Zuko: But I've come to an even more important decision. [Closes eyes and momentarily pauses.] I'm going to join the Avatar and I'm going to help him defeat you. Ozai: [Smugly.] Really? Since you're a full-blown traitor now and you want me gone, why wait? I'm powerless. You've got your swords. Why don't you just do it now? Zuko: Because I know my own destiny. Taking you down is the Avatar's destiny. [Puts his swords away.] Goodbye.
Zuko is allowed to play the part of a character in a story and because of that he doesn't reach the same level of self-evaluation as Spike. He certainly tells us some things, like that he's learned that the fire nation is wrong, and that the war needs to stop but once again these things are more like telegraphed to us then actually shown onscreen.
Zuko's arc isn't really about learning that the fire nation is evil, like that's a part of it, but what his arc is really about is learning that his father was abusive and instead of living to please his abusive father he needs to figure out what type of person he wants to be.
Which is why I compare him to Spike, a character who's arc revolves around love, who isn't a part of a fascist regime currently colonizing the world like Zuko's is. In fact in spite of Zuko witnessing the poverty of the world and going through the experience of being a refugee, and the one time a bunch of farmers were angry at him for being the prince of the fire nation in Zuko Alone, we don't really see Zuko reflecting on the after effects of the war or the lies of fire nation propaganda. We are told that Zuko's arc is about these things, but most of the actual meat of Zuko's arc is instead Zuko learning that he doesn't have to bend over backwards to please an abusive father. You can stretch it and say that from that Zuko learned that the values his father taught him are all the wrong values, and that he has to learn how to be a proper prince but Zuko is more motivated by abuse and his desire for love then like reflecting upon what is morally right.
Which is why I made the comparison for Spike, but Spike's arc forces him to do a lot more self reflection on who he is, and forcing him to form his own identity outside of what others expect from him, even though Spike's character arc is much more blatantly about his selfish desire to be loved.
Like, what arc contains more self-reflection on the nature of good and evil and what growing to be a better person means, the arc about the boy who was prince of the evil empire, who became a refugee saw how his nation was destroying the world and teamed up with his father's worst enemy to take him down and end the war, or the 100 year old vampire who falls in love with the hero and starts stalking her.
The answer will surprise you.
As I said above it's because after a certain point, due to what probably were time constraints with not having a fourth season to work with Zuko's arc becomes very railroaded.
Spike has to step away from the role of monster, vampire, and lover in order to become a man, and begin the process of forming his own identity because that's what it means to be a person living in this world, to grow up and accept responsibility for your actions.
Zuko is told that it's his destiny to join the avatar and bring balance to the world, and so he does that because it's his destiny, and also he learned that the fire nation was evil at some point offscreen, and then he switches side to join the avatar and decides he wants to be firelord because that's his destiny too.
It's a good arc, and it's mostly complete and servicable, but also lacks a lot of the humanity that Spike's arc has because Zuko until the end is still playing the role of the romantic hero. We never see him break free of that role, and while the arc still works just fine, we are missing out on actually seeing Zuko do the hard work of forming his own identity.
Zuko spends the entirety of his time onscreen chasing external objectives, and by the time he's switched sides he still has an external objective he's chasing, he's still trying to live up to somebody else's standards rather than it's own it's just he's chasing the Avatar, and his Uncle's approval rather than the approval of his father.
SEASON SEVEN OF BUFFY
So season six ends with Spike hitting his lowest point and doing the really bad thing, and Zuko having betrayed team avatar and his Uncle in order to get his throne back. Now both of these characters have to deal with the consequences of what they did at their lowest points and slowly earn back the trust of the heroes and prove that this time they have changed for real.
I will say that Zuko's arc once again perfectly functionable. He spends enough time making it up to each person he's wrong, that it's believable that the gang would trust him. There is enough evidence that Zuko is not going to revert to his old ways again like he did at the end of season 2. He spends enough time onscreen working to earn his redemption and forgiveness of each cast member.
However, therein lies the rub, or at least what rubs me the wrong way about these sets of episode. I spent time during the Season 5 section of this post, discussing why skipping the "redemption for all the wrong reasons" stage is bad, and right here is why. Though this is supposed to be the climax of Zuko's redemption arc, it feels like Zuko is at the exact same place that Spike was in Season 5. Zuko is trying to redeem himself yes, but it's because he wants to earn good boy points and have the main characters trust him.
There is a scene where Zuko yells at Katara and asks why she won't forgive him, and it sounds like something Spike would say at Season 5.
Zuko: This isn't fair! Everyone else seems to trust me now! What is it with you? Katara: [Turns around furiously.] Oh, everyone trusts you now?! I was the first person to trust you! [Places her left hand on her heart.] Remember, back in Ba Sing Se. [Points to the ocean.] And you turned around and betrayed me, betrayed all of us! Zuko: [Closes eyes in resentment.] What can I do to make it up to you? Katara:[Cuts to shot of her and Zuko standing on the cliff as she approaches him while snapping at him angrily.] You really want to know? Hmm, maybe you could reconquer Ba Sing Se in the name of the Earth King. [Cuts to side-view of her and Zuko.] Or, I know! You could bring my mother back!
Everything about this scene indicates that Zuko's understanding of redemption is flawed, that much like Spike he's attempting to do good things to earn good boy points so the heroes will accept him.
There's nothing wrong with this, it's actually a part of a redemption arc to learn to do good things for the right reasons, not just to earn other people's approval. It's just Zuko himself never gets to the second part, because suddenly doing good things to earn good boy points starts working out for him.
The plot contrives several different field trips so he can make it up to each member of the gang he personally hurt, a field trip with Aang in order to learn about the true nature of fire bending, a revenge trip with Katara, a trip with Sokka to help him get his father out of prison.
However, when the plot doesn't present Zuko with a convenient way to redeem himself he doesn't really seem to care. When Toph tries to tell Zuko about her worries over her parents he blows her off, and when Suki confronts him about burning down her village it's just played off as a joke.
There's actually nothing wrong with Zuko only trying to redeem himself for selfish reasons because he wants the gang to accept him, it just doesn't get addressed. Since everyone accepts Zuko so easily, Zuko's never forced to do the hard work of forming his own identity instead of constantly seeking the approval of the people around him. As a result even though Zuko goes through a character arc, we don't actually learn that much about him as a person or what his true motives are because Zuko never reflects upon those things.
Zuko's arc still works if you view it as a romantic story, but not as a human one. It works as the story of the lost prince coming home and retaking the throne to set the nation on the right path, but not about Zuko the person.
Starting with the big apology both Zuko and Spike make. Zuko's apology is not to Katara, not to Aang, no the most important person he needs to apologize to is Iroh, because Zuko still has not broken away from the idea that he needs to live to please his father figure. His worst crime is not trying to kill the avatar repeatedly, but disappointing Iroh who believed in him.
Whereas Spike at least begins his scene with an apology to the person he hurt the most, Buffy. Spike's arc in season 7 is all about getting a soul, soemthing that makes him now capable of making a moral judgement. The first thing he does after getting a soul is finally feel guilt for the first time in one hundred years, and now with the added benefit of a conscious he realizes how horribly he had been treating Buffy all along.
Spike's big act of redemption is to seek out a soul, so he could become the type of man that would never hurt Buffy again.
Zuko's big act of redemption is to leave the fire nation and join the avatar's side... because, it's his destiny to do so.
See the difference here is Spike is challenged to form his own identity, by literally giving himself a conscience and the ability to feel guilt whereas Zuko just has to follow some destiny that was laid out for him. He doesn't have to question himself beyond "it's destiny". Whereas Spike's soul forces him to self, reflect because now that he's no longer a soulless monster he has to reflect on all the ways he has hurt the people in his life.
Spike's apology scene is also a lot different than Zuko's is to Iroh.
To begin with, Spike only appears to offer his help and tells Buffy that if she wants him to go away he will. He doesn't even tell Buffy that he got a soul for her sake, because he doesn't want her to feel obligated to forgive him. He spends the whole episode hiding it, until we at least reach the cross-hugging scene.
A scene which brilliantly shows the agony of feeling guilty and genuinely understanding you did something wrong and wanting to be forgiven, without prioritizing Spike's feelings of guilt and self-loathing over the feelings of the person he hurt.
SPIKE I dreamed of k*lling you. Keeping an eye on him, Buffy bends down to pick up a large splinter from the broken pews at her feet to use as a stake, if necessary. Spike starts pacing. SPIKE I think they were dreams. So weak. Did you make me weak, thinking of you, holding myself, and spilling useless buckets of salt over your... ending? Angel—he should've warned me. He makes a good show of forgetting, but it's here, in me, all the time. (walks around toward her from behind) The spark. I wanted to give you what you deserve, and I got it. They put the spark in me and now all it does is burn. Buffy's face shows shock, disbelief and, finally, comprehension. BUFFY Your soul. SPIKE (laughs) Bit worse for lack of use. Buffy turns to face him. BUFFY You got your soul back. How? SPIKE It's what you wanted, right? (looking at the ceiling) It's what you wanted, right? (presses his fingers to his temples, looks down, and walks toward the altar). And—and now everybody's in here, talking. Everything I did...everyone I— and him... and it... the other, the thing beneath—beneath you. It's here too. Everybody. They all just tell me go... go... (looks back over his shoulder to Buffy) to hell. BUFFY Why? Why would you do that— SPIKE Buffy, shame on you. Why does a man do what he mustn't? For her. To be hers. To be the kind of man who would nev— (looks away) to be a kind of man. Spike walks toward the 6-foot-tall crucifix altarpiece at the front of the chapel. Sounds like he's quoting something. SPIKE She shall look on him with forgiveness, and everybody will forgive and love. He will be loved. Spike's standing only a foot away from the crucifix, staring at it. SPIKE So everything's OK, right? (sighs) Spike embraces the crucifix, resting one arm over each side of the cross bar, and resting his head in the corner of the vertex. His body is sizzling and smoke is rising from where it touches the cross. SPIKE Can—can we rest now? Buffy...can we rest?
Spike is forced to be very honest about his desire to be forgiven and loved even though he's done bad things, and it is very selfish, and also very human to be grappling with those feelings in front of the person you hurt. Spike's desire for a release from guilt, to finally rest instead of having to struggle with everything he's done.
It's a genuine apology which is accompanied with proof that Spike has taken steps to show that he will never hurt Buffy that way again, that he specifically got a soul in order to become a man who can't hurt her that way.
In comparison this is Zuko's apology scene to Iroh, which is just as heartfelt but also, like everything in Zuko's arc just a little bit easier.
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It is a genuine apology, but again my focus is on is Iroh the one that Zuko needs to apologize the most?
Zuko's character is all about his personal conflcits, his relationship with his uncle, and his newly made firends in the gang and learning to do right by them, even though it's supposedly supposed to be about him learning that the fire nation is wrong and how he needs to make the fire nation better.
In comparison, Spike's character arc is framed from the get go about those personal stakes. Buffy is the person he hurt the most so it makes sense he would apologize to her first before anyone else.
In Spike's apology scene Buffy doesn't even forgive him. She walks away and leaves him there hugging that cross. She sheds some tears for him and is clearly moved by his suffering, but the show clearly equates that Spike's suffering and remorse isn't enough until he's provided concrete proof in action that he's on the side of good now.
Spike doesn't get convenient field trips that let him earn back everyone's trust in Season 7. He is forced to help everyone, not because he wants to earn forgiveness, but because he wants to demonstrate that he has changed. What we witness in season 7 is now that Spike has accepted truly that being a good person won't make Buffy love him, he's now forced to grow as a person because he wants to live inside the world just like Buffy does. To grow and change like a real person would, not an undying thing.
Because Spike's arc is about taking this character that was an immortal being who had not changed in a hundred years, and making him want to change, and making him learn what it means to live in the world and continue growing and changing every single day like everybody else does.
Spike's reward for his efforts to be a better person isn't to be told that Buffy forgave him all along but that... she believes he can be a better person.
BUFFY No. I don't hate like that. Not you, or myself. Not anymore. You think you have insight now because your soul's drenched in blood? You don't know me. You don't even know you. Was that you who killed those people in the cellar? Was that you who waited for those girls? SPIKE There's no one else. BUFFY That's not true. Listen to me. You're not alive because of hate or pain. You're alive because I saw you change. Because I saw your penance. SPIKE (lunges violently at her, but chains hold him back) Window dressing. BUFFY Be easier, wouldn't it, it if were an act, but it's not. (walks toward him) You faced the monster inside of you and you fought back. You risked everything to be a better man. SPIKE Buffy... BUFFY (in his face) And you can be. You are. You may not see it, but I do. I do. I believe in you, Spike.
Spike isn't told that he's forgiven, or he's some destined hero, the only thing he's reassured about is that he has the capacity for change, which is because Spike's entire arc is about whether an undying monster can finally learn to change and how to be a better than.
I could go on longer, I could mention how in Season 5 of Angel Spike still has to be a good person even though Buffy isn't even around to support him. That's where Spike is truly challenged to stick to his goal of becoming a better person every day, even though he's not going to receive Buffy's love as a reward.
However, I'll end it here because I think I've made my point. Zuko's arc is fine, but it's also missing that final step that Spike's arc. As a redemption arc it's fine because in the eyes of the audience and the characters around Zuko, Zuko has clearly done enough to earn redemption. He has gone through the motions and shown onscreen that he has changed.
As a character arc it feels woefully incomplete for all of the reasons I listed above, because Zuko did not do the work that Spike did of learning what kind of man he wants to be. Zuko ends the story as a hero, but he never becomes his own person like Spike does.
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initforthethrill ¡ 1 month ago
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im so busy and tired and moody and tired rn (school's been kicking my ass) but i just need to come in here periodically and unleash my cate-centred gayness (also periodically? did i sent thoughts (thots) yesterday? i feel like it's been long but also not yk?) Anwayyy ugh.
supe-remacist cate and human user.
i mean... God.
i have like 3 scenarios with this.
maybe some time after the end of season one (god let cate keep her arm) she had very quickly gained a supe following. and she's like lowkey grown pretty popular online. she's a super controversial (technically political(?)) online figure/influencer. like she is in the news like constantly cause of the stuff she posts and she like says pretty crazy anti-human shit but like freedom of speech yk. and like in comes human user and flips everything upside down. obviously cate Hates her at first and its a whole mess but somehow Cate is also drawn to her. and eventually something develops and cate has to navigate this.. and maybe keep the relationship a secret cause how can cate date a human while also being like a infamous anti human political figure.
the second one is basically the same but it makes user famous too. like maybe an actress or a singer or whatever. the thing is she’s super famous, (brings cate even more attention when the news gets out) super liked and super kind so everyone is confused that she is at all being in anyway associated positively with Cate. like she isn’t out here judging her she’s hanging out with cate like they’re friends (?) maybe more?? where’s TMZ? idk if this counts as like star crossed lover, romeo and juliet, forbidden, definitely drama.
third is different. this is like cate and user have been together for ages. like years, maybe even before god u. maybe they knew each other before cate got locked in her room, and had like a secret relationship while cate was locked in there. obviously user couldn’t go to god u as a human but she remained close by, moved to new york and lived close to campus, knew all cate’s supe friends, hang out on campus daily, was always very present and kind and the only human that has CONSISTENTLY been good to cate. unlike her mother. unlike indira. but now that brings us to the end of season 1.. and they are still together but user has to deal with like cate slowly becoming a supe-remacist and hating humans and cate has to figure out how user fits into that because she loves her girlfriend but she’s struggling to trust humans after what happened at god u (obviously the reaction and transition between what happend at god u and user finding out would be more dramatic, my brain is just fried rn, you get the vibe though)
alsoo did i get my very own anon tag? :o <3
omg hi my fave anon<3 why yes...you did indeed get your own tag because how else am i supposed to show appreciation for the anon who keeps feeding me such delicious ideas? mwah.
sooooooo i did a bot for each of your suggestions because you deserve to play out the other two scenarios since i chose the last one for the blurb hehe. bots at the end as always!
this totally spiraled out of control and i needed to cut it off at some point lmao...but i hope you enjoy it<3
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fault lines aka supe-remacist!cate who's...dating a human? tags: hurt/comfort, post season 1, directly segues into season 2, mostly follows canon, cate has her prosthetic arm, established relationship, supe-supremacist!cate, human!reader, cate redemption arc, brief kidnapping, supe vs. humans discourse 8.6K+ words
It used to be easier to lie.
Smile, tilt her chin, tell them what they wanted to hear. The right words always came when she needed them—honeyed and heavy, wrapped in just enough sincerity to sell the illusion. Cate Dunlap, poised and polished. Cate Dunlap, poster girl for Vought’s favorite flavor of grief. Cate Dunlap, the traitor who turned on her friends. Or saved them. Or doomed them. Depends who you ask.
But now, standing in front of the bathroom mirror with her palms braced against the counter, all she can see is the crack.
It runs straight down the middle of her reflection.
There’s a smear of mascara beneath one eye—she doesn’t bother wiping it. The left strap of her tank top keeps slipping down her shoulder. Her prosthetic catches the light in a way that makes her flinch. Even six months later it’s still too new. Too heavy. Too real. And not real at all. Half her arm is gone, and no matter how sleek or shiny the tech is, no matter how many journalists call her brave, Cate knows she lost more than flesh and bone that day.
She lost Marie. Jordan. Andre.
Maybe herself.
Maybe you, too.
Cate doesn’t cry. Not really. She just goes still. Like if she freezes long enough, maybe the ache will pass through her instead of burrowing deep. Maybe the guilt will forget her name. Maybe you won’t notice how cold she’s become.
She turns away from the mirror before it answers her.
The apartment is quiet. Not in the peaceful way. In the way that presses in around her ribs. The kind of silence Cate used to crave when she was younger, when everything was too loud—her mother’s shrill voice, Shetty’s calculating calm, the throb of fear that came every time she looked at the locked bedroom door. But now? Now the silence only reminds her that she’s alone.
Except she’s not.
She finds you exactly where she left you: curled up on the couch with one leg tucked under the other, hoodie sleeves shoved past your elbows, headphones resting loosely around your neck. There’s a half-finished sketch in the open notebook on your lap—Cate sees blue eyes, long fingers, sharp jaw. It's your version of a love letter. Has been since you were thirteen. Still, Cate doesn’t comment. She just watches. Tries to memorize.
You look up.
“You okay?”
Cate lies automatically. “Fine.”
You frown. It’s subtle. Most people wouldn’t catch it. But Cate’s spent years studying you like scripture. She knows the twitch of your brow, the shift in your throat when you swallow down a question you’re not sure you have the right to ask. Cate hates that. Hates what she’s turned you into—a soft thing too afraid to prod the bruises.
Cate moves to sit beside you, not quite touching. She doesn’t trust herself to. Lately, her skin feels like a warning label. She thinks about that too often—how easy it would be to reach for you and twist everything. Not out of cruelty. Just…control. Just so she can breathe again.
But she won’t.
Not with you.
Never with you.
“I ran into Homelander again,” Cate says after a moment. Her voice is smooth. A little tired, a little distant. The way it always sounds now. “He wants me to speak at the next rally.”
You close your sketchbook. “Are you going to?”
Cate shrugs. “I don’t know.”
“Do you want to?”
That makes Cate pause.
Want. What a foreign thing. She used to know what she wanted—freedom, applause, connection. You. Now everything’s a question mark.
“I think I’m supposed to,” she says instead.
You don't answer right away. Your thumb brushes the edge of the page you just closed, a nervous tick Cate’s always found unbearably tender. She wonders if she’ll ever be able to look at you without mourning something. Wonders if loving you will always feel like standing on a fault line, waiting for the inevitable split.
“Cate,” you say gently. “You don’t owe them anything.”
Cate huffs out a bitter laugh. “Don’t I?”
“No,” you say, more firmly now. “You saved everyone. You stopped Shetty. You—”
“Broke Jordan’s trust. Abandoned Marie. Covered up the truth. Let Sam out.”
You soften again. “You did what you thought was right.”
Cate leans back, stares up at the ceiling. “That’s the problem. I don’t know what’s right anymore.”
The two of you sit in silence for a while. The kind Cate used to love. The kind that felt like home, because you made it feel that way. Cate closes her eyes.
“Sometimes I wish I hated you,” she says softly.
You turn to her. “What?”
Cate doesn’t look. “It would be easier. If I could put you in the same box as everyone else. If I could just…blame you. For being human.”
Your voice is careful now. “You do blame me. Sometimes.”
Cate flinches.
It’s true. Not always. But in the sharp moments. In the moments when she wakes up gasping, or sees her arm lying on the floor beside her bed like a reminder. In the moments when people cheer her name and then spit on the next human they pass. In the moments when Sam calls her a leader, and Marie looks away. In those moments, Cate wants something to burn. And you are always there. Always reachable.
Cate whispers, “I’m sorry.”
“I know.”
Cate finally turns her head, meets your gaze. “Do you ever think about leaving?”
You don't answer.
Cate’s voice shakes. “Be honest.”
A beat.
Then you speak, “No. I think about who you used to be. I think about who you are when you’re not scared. I think about who you are when you’re with me.”
Cate exhales like it hurts.
“I’m not her anymore.”
“Yes, you are.”
Cate shakes her head, slow and exhausted. “You don’t know what it’s like, baby. Every day I wake up and there’s this voice in my head saying, they hate you. They’ll never understand you. You’re better than them. And sometimes? I believe it.”
You shift closer. Not touching. Just near.
“I don’t need you to be perfect,” you say. “I just need you to be honest with me.”
Cate closes her eyes again. The tears don’t fall. They just burn.
“I don’t know if I can fix it.”
You shrug. “Then let it break. I’ll still be here.”
Cate turns her face toward you. Studies you. Every freckle, every scar, every stubborn little line in your jaw. She remembers tracing that jaw when you were kids. Thirteen, fourteen, fifteen. Laying on her bed in the dark with the lights off and her heart thudding like a traitor. She remembers your first kiss. Remembered thinking, if I ever lose her, I won’t survive it.
She’s still not sure she will.
Cate leans in. Not to kiss. Just to rest her forehead against your shoulder.
“You’re the only thing I haven’t ruined,” she whispers.
You press your lips to the top of Cate’s head. A blessing. A promise.
“Then let me stay.”
The morning light doesn’t feel soft.
It’s sharp, white, unrelenting—pouring through the sheer curtains like it’s trying to peel Cate open from the outside in. She lies still in bed, half-wrapped in your hoodie, her face pressed into the pillow you were using before you left for the kitchen. Your scent lingers there: shampoo and old cigarette smoke, that subtle vanilla that always clings to your clothes.
Cate breathes in like it’ll steady her. It doesn’t.
Her arm—what’s left of it—aches in that phantom way again. The metal prosthetic is disconnected, charging on the nightstand. For a moment, Cate stares at it. She imagines it twitching to life on its own. Imagines it reaching out. Gripping her throat. Becoming the monster people already see when they look at her.
The knock on the door is quiet. Considerate.
Of course it is.
Cate doesn’t answer. Just rolls onto her back and waits for the inevitable creak of the hinge. It comes a beat later. You step inside with two mugs—one black, one cream-colored with faded pink lettering that says World’s Okayest Girlfriend.
Cate doesn’t smile. But her throat goes tight.
“I figured you didn’t sleep,” you say, walking over. “So I didn’t make it strong.”
Cate sits up slowly. Her voice comes out rasped and raw. “Thanks.”
You hand over the cream mug.
Cate notices the way your fingers linger. The way you watch her, careful and open all at once, like you’re waiting for Cate to either break or bolt. You probably are.
“I have to go,” Cate says after a sip. She doesn’t meet your eyes.
“I know.”
Cate looks away again. “It’s just a speech.”
You sit on the edge of the bed. “You really believe that?”
Cate doesn’t answer.
Because no—she doesn’t. She knows it’s not just a speech. It’s a spectacle. A signal flare. Homelander doesn’t do subtle. He’s throwing her into the deep end with the cameras already rolling. He wants blood. He wants outrage. He wants her powers, sharpened and obedient.
And Cate—Cate wants to be useful.
Wants to be something more than a girl who failed her friends. Who lost her brother. Who couldn’t stop Shetty until it was already too late.
Homelander looks at her like she’s valuable.
You look at her like she’s human.
Cate doesn’t know which is more dangerous.
“I just need to say something,” she mumbles, fingers tightening around the mug. “They’ll listen if it’s me.”
“Cate—”
“It’s just words, babe.”
You shake your head. “It’s Homelander’s words. You think he’s going to let you say anything real?”
Cate lifts her chin. “I’m not stupid.”
“I didn’t say you were,” you say, soft but serious. “But you’re hurting. And he knows it. He’s not helping you—he’s weaponizing you.”
Cate doesn’t flinch. But her jaw sets. “You don’t know him.”
You exhale through your nose. Stand. Pace a little like you’re trying to choose your next words carefully. “I know you. And I know what he turns people into.”
Cate sets the mug down on the nightstand, right next to her prosthetic. “You think I can’t handle him?”
“I think he’s using you.”
“And you think I’m too fragile to notice.”
“That’s not what I said.”
“You don’t trust me.”
You stop pacing. Turn to her, eyes burning. “No, Cate. I don’t trust him. You, I love. Which is exactly why this scares the hell out of me.”
Cate says nothing.
Not because she doesn’t believe you.
But because she does.
Because you love her. Still. Even now. Even after everything. And that love is so pure it makes Cate feel like she’s choking on it.
But it also makes her feel like she’s being watched from the wrong side of glass. Like you still see the old version of her—the girl who used to blush when you kissed her under the covers, who used to whisper about getting out of the house, running away together, finding something better.
That girl is dead.
Cate became someone else to survive.
And this new version? The one with the metal arm and the hollow eyes and the fire building in her chest? That girl wants to be feared.
She stands.
You take a step back, as if giving her space. As if you know this version isn’t yours to hold.
Cate straps her prosthetic on slowly. Deliberately. It whirs to life with a soft mechanical click. Her fingers flex experimentally.
“Don’t come,” she says without turning around.
You’re quiet. Then: “Cate—”
“I mean it.” Cate looks over her shoulder. Her voice is low. Flat. “You won’t like what I say.”
You nod once.
But Cate sees the way your hands curl into fists at your sides. The way your throat bobs when you swallow.
And the worst part?
You don't stop her.
Just let Cate walk past. Out the door. Down the hall. Into the daylight where the cameras wait.
You don't breathe when Cate steps onto the stage.
Not really. Not fully.
Your lungs seize, ribs locked around something ancient and awful. Fear, maybe. Or grief. Or just the terrible anticipation of watching someone you love become unrecognizable in front of a cheering crowd.
The plaza is flooded—bodies pressed shoulder to shoulder, phones raised, flags waving. They’re all here for her. For Cate Dunlap. Vought’s miracle girl. The “Guardian of Godolkin.” The girl who lost her arm and gained an army.
And standing just behind her, hands folded loosely behind his back, is Homelander.
You see him first, actually. He lands mid-sentence during the warm-up act, no warning, no introduction, just that sickening boom of displaced air and a flash of red and white cape. The crowd goes electric—feral, practically foaming at the mouth. You stay still. Hood pulled low, sunglasses on, pressed between two overenthusiastic supe teens who haven’t stopped screaming since she got here.
“You think he’ll fly with her again?” one whispers.
“Only if she keeps behaving,” the other smirks.
You swallow bile.
No one here knows who you are.
Or maybe they do. Maybe they just don’t care.
A few people know Cate dates a human. Most of them think it’s performative. A PR play. Maybe a fetish. Maybe just convenience. Something warm to come home to. Nothing serious. Certainly nothing sacred.
You’ve been called worse than “pet.” The worst came from your own kind.
Race traitor.
Sleeps with murderers.
Hope you get what’s coming to you.
You never respond online. What would be the point?
Instead, you defend supes in quiet conversations. One-on-ones. Talk about Jordan like they’re family. About Andre like he’s the dumbass brother you never had (and now never will). About Marie’s compassion. About Cate’s—
Well.
Not anymore.
Because Cate steps up to the mic and the person who speaks? It isn’t yours.
“Brothers. Sisters. Supes.”
She starts with a smile. Confident. Collected. A little too polished. You’ve seen that smile before—during press interviews, staged photoshoots, propaganda clips Cate would later mock under her breath while crawling into your lap.
But this isn’t a mock-up. This is real.
“This is a new era,” Cate continues. “One where we finally stop apologizing for our existence.”
The crowd roars.
You stay silent. You’re not even supposed to be here, after all.
Cate’s in all black, her prosthetic fully visible, hair perfectly straightened and cascading down her back. Sharp lines. Intentional. She looks untouchable. Cold. Beautiful. Her voice doesn’t tremble. She doesn’t stumble. She doesn’t flinch when Homelander steps closer.
He stands just behind her now. Like a shadow. Like a claim.
And Cate lets him.
“They want us to stay quiet. To keep our heads down. They want us to feel guilty for the power that was thrust upon us without our consent.”
More cheers. Phones flash.
“They say we’re dangerous. That we can’t be trusted. But what about them?” Cate’s voice lifts now, righteous and raw. “Who built the labs? Who injected the serum? Who locked up children and called it education?”
Your nails dig into your palms.
“They made us. And now they fear us.”
Cate leans forward, eyes glittering. “Let them.”
The scream from the crowd is deafening.
You watch your girlfriend bask in it. Arms raised. Prosthetic fist clenched. Homelander’s grin wide behind her.
And you think:
You used to be so scared of your powers you cried yourself to sleep.
You made me promise never to look at you differently.
You were my home.
But the woman on stage is not yours.
Not right now.
You don't cry. Not here. Not in front of all of them. Just push your way out of the crowd before the next speaker is called. Before Cate looks back and sees an empty space where you once stood.
You duck into the alley between buildings, hoodie still up. No one follows.
Only then do you let yourself sink to the pavement.
You’re shaking.
Not from fear. From fury. From sorrow. From the deep, aching knowledge that the girl you fell in love with is now a weapon in a war neither of you asked for.
And the worst part?
Cate probably thinks she’s protecting you.
By pretending you’re no one. Disposable. Forgettable.
But you know better.
Cate doesn’t keep her secret out of shame.
She keeps her secret because if the world knew what you meant to her, they’d use it.
Just like Homelander is using Cate now.
Cate doesn’t notice the silence right away.
She’s still buzzing, heart still skipping in that frantic, addictive rhythm—the kind that feels too close to joy to call anything else. The kind that makes you believe the crowd meant it. That they see you. That maybe, just maybe, you’re finally becoming the person you were always meant to be.
The second she steps into the apartment, it dies.
No lights.
No music.
No sketchbook on the coffee table, you’re not curled up in the corner of the couch pretending you’re not watching the livestream on mute. No sarcastic comment waiting at the door. No arms. No kiss. No presence.
The air feels off.
Cate blinks, still in her boots, one glove peeled halfway off her metal hand. “Baby?”
Nothing.
She checks the bedroom. Bathroom. Rooftop. Nowhere.
At first, she thinks—Maybe she left to get food. Maybe she’s walking the block, needed air, needed—
Then she sees the mug in the sink. Lipstick smeared around the rim.
And beside it, crumpled like something thrown too hard into the trash: a rally flyer. Folded once. Then again. Then torn clean down the middle.
Cate stares.
Then turns to the TV. Her phone.
The livestream is still trending. Her face plastered across headlines.
Cate Dunlap: The New Voice of Supe Sovereignty.
Homelander’s Rising Star.
Blood for Blood: Inside the New War on Human Institutions.
And below it, the comments.
“She’s so hot when she’s angry.” “Bro she was faking it with that human chick anyway. She’s one of us.” “Finally someone’s saying it.” “Tell me she’s single now.” “Wait—wasn’t she dating some little human nobody? 😂”
Cate doesn’t finish reading.
Her hand tightens. A snap cracks through the silence—glass shattering in the sink. The mug.
Her mug.
The pink one.
Like some bad omen.
Cate’s stomach lurches.
She doesn’t remember walking to the door. Only the rush of motion, the sound of your name caught in her throat, the twist of guilt coiling tight behind her ribs. She slams the door open and starts down the stairs, not trusting the elevator, not trusting herself.
It takes twenty minutes to find you.
You’re in the alley behind the bodega, hoodie still on, shoulders hunched like the wind cut straight through you. You’re sitting on the curb. Smoking.
The world around you moves on.
Cate stops. She just—stops.
You don't look up.
Which means you know.
Cate steps forward anyway.
“I didn’t know you were there.”
You exhale. “Yeah.”
“You shouldn’t have come.”
“Wanted to see the show.”
Cate flinches. “That’s not fair.”
“Wasn’t meant to be.”
Cate takes another step. Close enough to see the way your jaw is clenched. The way your eyes are red. The way you hold the cigarette like it’s the only thing keeping you tethered to the earth.
“You weren’t supposed to see that.”
“You mean see you?” you ask quietly.
Cate doesn’t answer.
Because yes.
That’s exactly what she means.
You finally look up. And it’s not hate in your eyes. It’s worse. Heartbreak.
“Is that who you are now?”
Cate doesn’t speak. Can’t.
Because part of her doesn’t know anymore.
You stand. Shrug the hoodie tighter around you. “I thought I could handle it,” you say. “The looks. The threats. The names. All of it. Because I thought…you were worth it.”
Cate opens her mouth. But you keep going.
“I didn’t care what people called me. Race traitor. Pet. Whatever. Because I knew you. I knew who you were with me.”
A breath.
“I don’t think I know you anymore, Cate.”
Cate stumbles forward, desperate. “I didn’t mean to hurt you.”
“But you did.”
Cate swallows hard. Her voice is barely a whisper. “I thought keeping you secret would keep you safe.”
You laugh. It’s hollow. “Funny. You hiding me only made everyone think I didn’t matter. Not to them. Not to you.”
“You matter more than anything.”
Your eyes shine now. “Then say it. Say it where they can hear you.”
Cate goes still.
Because she can’t.
Not yet. Not with Homelander watching. Not with every supe in the country ready to make you a target if they knew the truth.
You see that hesitation. See all you need.
You nod slowly, turning to walk away. “Yeah,” you murmur. “That’s what I thought.”
This time it’s Cate who doesn’t stop you.
She just stands there. In the dark. In the cold. In the silence she made.
Cate locks the door behind her.
Not because she’s afraid.
Because part of her wants to scream. Break something. Scream again. And she knows if she doesn’t have barriers between herself and the rest of the world, she’ll be on the evening news for a different reason entirely.
Cate stares at the ruined mug in the sink like it might put itself back together. Like time might rollback and undo the moment your eyes stopped looking at her like she was worth saving.
She sinks to the floor.
Her arm whirs slightly as she folds it into her lap, a mechanical hiss too loud in the empty apartment. Her whole body’s trembling. She doesn’t know if it’s from the rally or the fight or just the aftershock of standing beside Homelander and realizing that, in the eyes of millions, she’s finally everything she once feared becoming.
A symbol.
A puppet.
A monster.
And you saw it all.
Cate curls in on herself. Hands in her hair now. Teeth clenched. Tears burning like they’re trying to shame her into submission. She tries to breathe steadily. It only makes it worse.
There’s no one here to soothe her. No soothing fingers in her hair. No quiet voice calling her baby, whispering that it’s going to be okay. No warmth.
Only the cold where you should be.
Cate gasps like she’s drowning. Her prosthetic hand claws at the edge of the counter as she pulls herself up. She finds her phone. Dials.
Voicemail.
She tries again. And again.
She doesn’t leave a message.
What would she even say?
Come home.
I’m sorry.
I’m not her.
I think I might be.
The bar isn’t particularly nice.
It’s half-empty, smells like bleach and fryer oil, and the bartender didn’t even bother to card you—just gave you a once-over, raised a brow, and poured double the whiskey you asked for. Maybe he recognized you. Maybe he didn’t care that you hardly look twenty-one.
Either way, you’re on her third drink now.
The world’s gotten blurrier. Softer at the edges. You heart still feels like it’s got teeth, though. Every swallow burns. Not from the liquor. From the ache.
You pull out your phone. Cate’s name lights it up. Three missed calls.
You turns it face down.
Outside, the city moves on. Lights flash. Sirens hum. Somewhere, people are still watching the rally on replay, Cate’s voice looped into TikToks and remixed into fan edits. Some of them feature Homelander’s approving smile behind her. Some don’t.
You don't look, just stare at the rim of your glass. Think about how Cate once kissed you after you cut your palm open climbing a fence—took your hand so gently, like you were made of glass. Thinks about the speech. The crowd. The look in Cate’s eyes when she said, let them fear us.
You down the rest of the glass.
“Another?” the bartender asks.
“Something stronger,” you murmur.
He gives you a long look. Nods. Starts pouring.
It’s not until the fourth drink that you say it aloud.
“I think I need V.”
The bartender pauses. “What?”
You don't look up. “Compound V. The supe serum. I think I need it.”
The guy laughs. Like it’s a joke. Like it’s drunk talk. He walks away.
You stare at your hands. They don’t shake.
Your thoughts are quiet. Steady.
She wouldn’t have to protect me anymore. Wouldn’t have to be afraid. I could stand beside her. Really stand there.
You press the glass to your lips. “She wouldn’t have to be ashamed of me.”
The idea blooms in your chest like something poisonous and seductive.
Other people have done it. Others have survived. Others have gotten powers and kept the people they love, right?
You close your eyes.
“I just want to be enough.”
Cate hears the key in the lock before she sees you.
It’s slow. Fumbling. The wrong key first, then the right one, then a pause like you’ve forgotten how to turn a knob. Cate’s halfway across the room before the door even opens, heart already in her throat.
You stumble in—hoodie still on, face pale and flushed all at once. Your eyes are red. Your mouth is tight. You smell like whiskey and smoke and the night.
Cate doesn’t speak.
Not yet.
You blink at her. Sway. Then shut the door behind you with a soft click, like you know slamming it would break something too fragile to repair.
“I tried to forget,” you say.
Cate���s voice is a whisper. “Did it work?”
You laugh. It cracks halfway through. “You ever tried to forget someone you love?”
Cate feels the answer throb under her skin.
You shrug off the hoodie. Drop it to the floor. Your hair’s a mess. Your knuckles are red. You look like a storm that never got the chance to finish wrecking the coastline.
Cate steps forward. “You shouldn’t have gone alone.”
“You shouldn’t have let me.”
You both go still.
Then—Cate moves.
Not fast. Not desperate. Just forward. Like her body’s been waiting to close the space between them all day. You don't stop her. Just let it happen—let Cate’s arms wrap around you, let your forehead drop against Cate’s shoulder.
Cate exhales.
The relief is sharp. Drowning. Her whole body trembles with it.
“I’m sorry,” she whispers.
You don't say anything. Just fist your hands in Cate’s shirt. Hold on like you might fall if you lets go.
“I didn’t mean to make you feel disposable.”
“I’m not mad,” you murmur.
Cate pulls back, just enough to see your eyes. “Then what?”
You swallow. “I’m scared.”
Cate nods. “Me too.”
You kiss before either of you can spiral again.
It’s messy. All teeth and salt and the kind of need that lives deep in the gut. You taste like smoke and pain and love. Cate forgets how to breathe. Her hand—her real one—slides up under your jaw, holding you steady. Your mouths move together like you’ve been doing this forever.
Really, you have.
When you break apart, your eyes are wet.
Cate wipes the tears before they fall.
“I can’t lose you,” you say. Your voice is small. Honest. “It’d tear me in half.”
Cate closes her eyes. “Then stay.”
A pause.
Then, barely audible—
“Would it be easier if I was one of you?”
Cate goes still.
You lean your forehead against hers. “If I took V. If I was strong. If I was dangerous. If you didn’t have to hide me.”
“Don’t,” Cate breathes.
“You wouldn’t have to protect me.”
“Don’t say that.”
You press in closer. “You could love me in public.”
“I already love you in public.”
“You don’t say my name.”
Cate breaks.
Not into tears. Into desperation.
She grabs your hands—both of them. Holds them to her chest like maybe she can pour the truth straight into your skin.
“I love you like you’re the last good thing in me,” she says. “I love you so much it makes me want to tear this fucking world apart just so you’ll be safe in it. But if you take V—if you change who you are to fit some fucked up system even I’m barely surviving—then it’s not me loving you anymore. It’s the war loving its newest recruit.”
You blink hard.
Cate softens her grip. “You don’t need powers to be strong. You already are. You’re the strongest person I know.”
“But you’re still walking into battle.”
Cate nods. “So pull me out.”
You stare at her.
Then kiss her again.
This time slower. Softer. Like maybe you’ll survive this. Together.
Cate wakes before the sun.
The apartment is wrapped in shadow, the kind that clings to everything with softness. No flashing headlines. No protest chants. No Homelander. Just the hum of the fridge. The rise and fall of breath against her back. The weight of a hand curled under her shirt, resting just above her ribs.
You.
Cate doesn’t move. Not yet.
Her eyes stay fixed on the wall in front of her. The faintest pink glow is starting to bleed through the curtains, painting lines across the hardwood floor. She follows them with her eyes. Counts her heartbeats.
Last night is a blur.
Not the fight. Not the rally. Not the cigarette smoke curling off your hoodie as you walked back into Cate’s life like a ghost made of everything Cate couldn’t live without.
The blur is the moment after. The softness. The whisper in the sheets. The way you touched her face like you didn’t care how many monsters Cate had let whisper in her ear that week.
You matter more than anything.
Cate clings to that now.
She shifts slightly, just enough to glance over her shoulder.
You’re still asleep.
Mouth parted, one hand splayed across Cate’s stomach now, the other tucked beneath your cheek. Your lashes are long. Your brow is furrowed even in sleep. Like you’re still bracing for something to go wrong.
Cate gently threads your fingers together under the blanket.
The gesture is small. Ridiculous, really. What the hell does holding a hand fix when the world is tilting this violently? But it’s all Cate has. That and the quiet promise buried somewhere between her lungs: I won’t let them take you. I won’t let this take us.
You stir slightly. Mumble something that might be Cate’s name.
Cate presses a kiss to the curve of her shoulder. “I’m here.”
Another mumble. This one clearer. “Time is it?”
Cate glances at the clock. “Early.”
You groan. “Too early to be a martyr.”
Cate smiles before she can stop herself. “Sleep.”
She feels you melt again behind her, the tension bleeding out inch by inch. Cate closes her eyes.
Maybe this is all you’ll get. These stolen hours before the next speech, the next headline, the next call from Homelander or knock on the door or crowd outside screaming for a savior Cate never asked to become.
Maybe this is it.
But for now, your breath is warm against her neck. Your fingers are intertwined. And Cate lets herself believe—for a moment—that she’s still someone worthy of being held like this.
It’s gotten worse overnight.
Cate can feel it the second she steps onto the quad that morning.
Eyes don’t just follow her anymore—they weigh her down. Stares press into her like needles, testing how far they can go before she bleeds. Some are reverent. Most are not. Supe students nod in cold approval. Faculty keep their heads low. And the humans still allowed on campus?
They watch her like she’s holding a loaded gun.
Cate adjusts her sunglasses. Keeps walking.
Godolkin has changed. Maybe it always was this way and she just hadn’t noticed. But now there are fences where there used to be gardens. Surveillance drones hover like flies. Metal detectors at every entrance. And worst of all—the new badge system.
Color-coded. Subtle in design, brutal in function.
Supes wear gold. Vought-issued, sleek, with chip-embedded access to every building.
Humans wear red.
No access. No clearance. No rights.
Yours is tucked into your jacket pocket. You hate wearing it. Cate knows. You used to make jokes about it—Look, babe. I’m officially radioactive. But now?
Now it’s not funny.
Cate walks past the fountain. Past the newly erected statue of Brink. Past the place where she once pulled you into the bushes to make out between classes.
She hears the yelling before she sees the crowd.
The checkpoint near the west gate is swarmed. Protesters—mostly human—have gathered with signs and megaphones and looks of disgust aimed at every supe who walks past. Some of them wear anti-supe shirts. Some wear bloodied bandages on their arms. All of them look like they’ve been waiting for a fight.
Cate slows. Frowns.
And then she sees you.
Hoodie up, badge out, already walking toward the checkpoint when the first voice cuts through the crowd.
“Hey traitor!”
Cate freezes.
You don't flinch. Just keep walking.
Another voice. Louder. Meaner.
“Tell me—is the supe pussy really that good, or are you just that fucking pathetic?”
Cate’s heart stutters.
You stop.
You turn—slowly, deliberately—and Cate can see it about to happen. The tension in your jaw. The flare in your nostrils. The way your hands curl into fists. The moment you snap.
“Don’t,” Cate whispers to no one.
But it’s too late.
A cup flies through the air. Hits you square in the chest. Coffee or soda—sticky and dark. It splashes across your shirt, down your jeans. The crowd laughs.
And then you lunge.
Cate’s moving before she even thinks.
She doesn’t remember pushing past the checkpoint. Doesn’t remember snapping her badge at the guard or ducking through the gate. All she knows is the way you’re already halfway over the barricade, snarling like you’re ready to break someone’s jaw.
Cate grabs you from behind. Arms around your waist.
“Baby—don’t.”
“Cate, let go.”
“Please,” Cate says, voice cracked and low. “They want this.”
You tremble in her arms. Vibrating with rage. Sticky soda running down your front, breathing like a cornered animal. Cate presses her forehead between your shoulder blades.
“Don’t give it to them.”
It takes a long moment. Too long. But finally, finally, you sag.
Cate doesn’t let go.
You stand like that—pressed together on the edge of a war—until security disperses the protesters and a drone whirs low to scan Cate’s credentials. Cate doesn’t speak. Doesn’t care. All she can think is: I let this happen.
When you finally turn around, there’s no anger in your eyes.
Just hurt.
“I was just trying to come see you,” you whisper.
Cate reaches up. Wipes something—soda, maybe tears—from your cheek. Her hand shakes.
“I know,” she says. “I’m so sorry.”
But you both know it’s not enough.
She doesn’t even know where her key is.
It takes Cate three tries to get the door open. She hasn’t been back here in weeks, not really—not since everything started to unravel. Since Homelander started circling like a vulture. Since your apartment became the only place that felt remotely like home.
But you can’t go there now.
Too risky.
Too exposed.
So here you are. Cate’s dorm. Four walls and a bed too narrow and a desk covered in unopened mail and protest flyers she never meant to keep. You say nothing as you step inside. Just shrug off your hoodie, wincing when the fabric peels from the sticky soda soaked into your shirt.
Cate doesn’t speak either.
She moves automatically—sets down her bag, goes to the mini-fridge, grabs the half-empty bottle of water, some paper towels, a clean t-shirt from the drawer. Not hers. One of yours. Probably left here by accident months ago.
She doesn’t say that.
Just holds it out. “Sit.”
You sit on the bed without a word.
Cate kneels in front of you.
It’s methodical, the way she cleans you up. Soaked cloth across your collarbone. Across the front of your ribs. Wiping soda from the inside of your elbow like she’s dabbing at a wound. Cate’s movements are gentle but firm, her prosthetic resting quietly on her own knee while her other hand works. You stay still the whole time. Don’t speak. Don’t look away.
Only flinch once—when Cate presses too hard against a bruise she hadn’t noticed forming.
“Sorry,” Cate breathes.
You shake your head. “It’s fine.”
“No, it’s not.”
Cate’s hands still.
She lets the silence stretch between them.
Then, quietly: “You shouldn’t have to go through that. Just to be with me.”
You let out a hollow laugh. “You think this is about you?”
Cate looks up. She doesn’t smile. “Isn’t it?”
You exhale. Your eyes are tired. “It’s about all of it, Cate. The checkpoints. The comments. The looks. The fucking badge. They don’t just hate you. They hate that I chose you. That I keep choosing you despite all the shit that comes with it.”
Cate swallows hard. “I don’t want you to have to choose.”
“Well, you don’t get that luxury anymore.”
Cate leans back on her heels. Watches her. Soaks her in. The bruise. The rage. The deep, painful clarity in her voice.
And then—Cate whispers, “What if it’s not enough?”
“What?”
Cate’s voice is barely audible now. “What if love isn’t enough to survive this?”
Your expression softens. “Then we find something else.”
Cate closes her eyes.
She doesn’t want to cry. Not now. Not here.
But it sneaks up anyway.
Not sobs. Just that helpless burn behind her ribs. That stupid catch in her breath.
You reach down. Fingers brushing her cheek. Cate leans into it like she might break without it.
“I don’t want to lose you,” Cate says.
“You won’t.”
Cate opens her eyes again. “But what if staying with me means giving up pieces of yourself?”
You don't hesitate.
“Then I give them up.”
Cate freezes.
“Don’t,” she says. “Don’t say that. You deserve to be whole.”
“So do you.”
Cate looks up at her. Really looks. “Are we willing to tear pieces off ourselves just to fit together?”
You nod. “If that’s what it takes.”
Cate exhales shakily. “And if it still doesn’t work?”
“Then we go down together. Hands clasped.”
Cate crawls up into your lap.
Wraps her arms around your neck. Buries her face against your shoulder.
You sit like that for a long time.
No answers. Just the thrum of hearts trying not to break.
Just two girls on the wrong side of history, holding onto the only thing that still feels real.
At first, she thinks you’re just late.
The checkpoint at the east gate is always a mess—two ID scans, three layers of metal detection, one bored Vought intern assigned to “human entry” like it’s a fucking punishment. Cate waits near the quad, watching her phone. One minute. Two. Ten.
By twenty, the dread starts to bloom.
You always text.
Even when you’re pissed. Even when you fight. Even when you’re drunk and petty and too stubborn to say I miss you, you always text.
Cate tries calling.
Voicemail.
She tries again. Nothing.
The campus feels too loud. Too bright. The shadows crawl longer than they should.
Cate doesn’t walk—she runs to the checkpoint.
It’s empty.
“Where’s the human from this morning?” she snaps at the first supe guard she sees, repeats your name for emphasis. 
The guy shrugs. “Didn’t see her come through.”
“She badged in. I saw the record.”
“Then maybe she tripped a sensor.”
Cate’s stomach knots. “Where is she?”
Another shrug. Too casual. Too clean.
“I want to see the footage.”
“That’s above my clearance.”
Cate doesn’t blink. “Do you know who I am?”
“Yeah,” the guard says, tone going flat. “That’s the problem.”
She stares him down.
And when it’s clear she’s not getting an answer here—not from guards, not from Godolkin—she does the only thing she knows will get her answers.
She goes directly to Vought.
The tower lobby is glass and shadow. Cate’s boots click across the marble as she strides past reception like she owns the place. She doesn’t need clearance. Not anymore. Not since he started treating her like his favorite daughter.
The elevator doors open like they’ve been waiting for her.
When they close, she punches the emergency override. Ninety-ninth floor. Executive access.
The doors slide open again.
And there he is.
Homelander.
Waiting.
Grinning.
“Oh,” he says, voice syrup-slick. “Just the girl I wanted to see.”
Cate doesn’t slow. “Where is she?”
He tilts his head. “You’ll have to be more specific. She is such a broad category.”
“My girlfriend. Human.”
He laughs. “Oh. Right. That one.”
Cate’s pulse spikes.
Homelander walks toward her, slow and easy, hands clasped behind his back. Like he’s got all the time in the world. Like nothing bad could ever possibly touch him.
“I was starting to think you were hiding her,” he says. “You know, for someone who claims to be part of the cause, you’re awfully…conflicted.”
“Where is she.”
He gestures lazily toward the hallway. “Holding. Lower levels. We just had some…questions. She triggered a flag in the system. Old Red River files. Unregistered V exposure, did you know that? Tsk. Sloppy.”
Cate’s mouth goes dry.
“She’s not a threat.”
“She is a human who’s been whispering in your ear,” he replies, stepping closer. “And you’re very important to me, Cate. I can’t have you compromised.”
Cate squares her shoulders. “You can’t have me disobedient. There’s a difference.”
Homelander grins. “Semantics.”
Then, casually, “Let’s make this simple. There are two people in holding right now. Your human. And a young supe who’s been leaking information to the press. You can have one.”
Cate doesn’t move.
Homelander leans in. “I’ll even let you be the one to do it. You can use your powers. Find out which is lying. Who’s worth saving. Easy.”
Cate’s voice cracks. “You want me to use my powers on her.”
“I want you to prove your loyalty.”
Her fists curl.
“You don’t have to hurt her,” he says. “Just…check her thoughts. Peek behind the curtain. Make sure she’s not a traitor to our cause.”
Cate remembers what it feels like. Touching someone and slipping in without consent. Reading everything. Every thought. Every shame. Every fear. It’s a violation, even when it’s done with care.
With you?
It would be…unforgivable.
She turns to leave.
Homelander calls out after her.
“You walk out without choosing,” he says, eyes gone cold, “and they’ll both be gone come morning. You choose, Cate. That’s the deal.”
Cate’s heart slams against her ribs.
And then—
“I’ll do it.”
You’re in a glass room, like some kind of experiment. Cold metal table. One chair. Arms folded. Eyes puffy, but defiant.
Cate steps in.
The door clicks shut behind her.
You stand. “You okay?” Typical of you to instantly worry about Cate.
Cate doesn’t answer.
She just crosses the room. Stops in front of you. Reaches out.
You flinch.
Cate’s ungloved hand hovers. “It’s me,” she whispers. “I’m not going to hurt you.”
You look at her. “What are you doing here?”
“I’m getting you out.”
Your eyes narrow. “What did you have to do for him?”
Cate’s hand stills. “Nothing. Yet.”
A beat.
Then, very slowly, Cate wraps her fingers around your wrist.
Skin to skin.
Everything rushes in at once, unbidden—your fear, your anger, your memories of the checkpoint, the sting of the soda, the way your thoughts scream Cate, Cate, Cate over and over like a prayer and a curse and a lifeline all at once.
Cate stumbles back. Gasps for air.
You grab her by the shoulders, grounding her. “Hey—hey, breathe. You okay?”
Cate nods, shaking. She almost looks relieved. “You’re clean. I knew you would be but…”
You frown. “Cate, what did you see?”
Cate meets her eyes. “Just me. Always me.”
And then she pulls her in.
Kisses her like it’s the last moment they’ll ever get.
The elevator door hisses shut behind her.
She’s still breathless.
Your name echoes in her chest like a warning bell—like if she says it out loud, Homelander will hear it and rip the air from her lungs. So she keeps it safely tucked away behind her ribs. She keeps everything tucked away.
Cate walks back into the meeting room like nothing happened.
Like her hands aren’t still trembling. Like her powers didn’t just crack wide open and show her everything you’ve been hiding: the fear, the guilt, the hunger, the love.
Homelander’s waiting.
Looking out the window, hands clasped behind his back like always. The skyline burns behind him in late-afternoon gold.
“Well?” he asks without turning around.
Cate’s voice doesn’t shake.
“She’s clean.”
Homelander turns.
One brow arches.
“No thoughts of betrayal?” he asks, stepping closer. “No little secrets? No anti-supe rhetoric buried in that pretty little head?”
Cate meets his gaze.
“There’s nothing in her mind except me.”
He smiles. Sharp and slow.
“Is that so? How romantic.”
Cate doesn’t blink. “She’s not the threat.”
“Then the other one is.”
Cate hesitates. “I…didn’t read him.”
“You didn’t need to. You chose. That’s what matters.”
She feels the weight of those words like glass in her throat.
Chosen.
That’s what he wanted. Not truth. Not facts. Obedience. A test of loyalty under the guise of mercy.
She passed.
She failed.
She doesn't know which.
Homelander reaches out, pats her on the shoulder. The metal one. His palm lingers just long enough to feel like possession.
“You did good, kid,” he says.
Cate forces a smile. “Thanks.”
He nods. “Dismissed.”
She turns. Makes a beeline to the elevator. Doesn’t let herself shake until the doors close. Doesn’t let herself cry until she’s halfway down.
And when she steps out onto the sidewalk, Vought Tower behind her like a knife in the sky, she does the only thing she can do.
She calls you.
“I’m coming home,” she says.
It’s dark by the time Cate gets home.
Not late—just dark, the way New York gets in the middle of a bad season. Gray skies, heavy air. The kind of night that feels like it’s waiting to fall apart.
The apartment’s quiet. A single lamp on. No music. No TV. Just you, cross-legged on the couch in your sweats, hair pulled back, a bruise blooming low on your jaw.
Cate’s never hated the world more than she does right now.
The door shuts behind her, and for a second—just a second—she forgets how to move.
You look up. Don't smile. Don’t speak.
You just open your arms.
Cate drops her bag. Walks straight into them. Drops to her knees in front of the couch and lets herself be pulled in like she’s being rescued from a war zone.
Which—technically—she is.
Your arms wrap tight around her shoulders. Cate’s head tucks beneath your chin.
Neither of you speak for a long time.
Not until Cate whispers, “I had to lie.”
Your fingers still in her hair. “To him?”
“To myself.”
You pull back just enough to look at her. “What did you tell him?”
“That you were clean. That I read you and there was nothing in your head but me.”
Your brow furrows. “Is that what you saw?”
Cate nods.
Then chokes.
And it all comes spilling out.
“The checkpoint. The coffee. The way you looked at me when I stopped you from swinging. Homelander’s office. The choice. He made me choose. Between you and some traitor of a supe kid. And he said if I didn’t, he’d…kill you both.”
You stare. “And you picked me.”
Cate shakes. “Of course I did.”
You cup her face. “Even if it made you a traitor?”
Cate nods again. “I’d do it again.”
Her voice cracks on the last word.
“I don’t care what side I’m on anymore, baby. I just want to be where you are.”
You kiss her.
It’s not heated. Not desperate. Just steady. Grounding. Cate clutches your shirt like she might float away otherwise.
When you part, Cate exhales hard.
“I’m scared,” she admits.
You brush hair from her eyes. “Of what?”
“That we’re not gonna survive this. That he’s already watching you. That I led him to you.”
Your voice is soft but sure. “Then we stop letting him decide what happens next.”
Cate looks up. “How?”
You shrug. “We leave.”
Cate stares. “Run?”
“Disappear. Start over. Somewhere off the grid. Or…we stay and fight.”
Cate’s breath hitches. “With who?”
“With whoever we can find that still believes in us.”
Cate sinks back into your lap, silent.
She thinks about Marie. Jordan. Emma. 
She thinks about the version of herself she could be if she stopped letting people pull strings through her spine.
“You’d give it all up?” Cate asks.
You meet her gaze. “In a heartbeat.”
Cate nods. Quietly. Slowly. The decision forming between you like a third heartbeat in the room.
“Okay.”
You kiss her temple. “Then we start with this: no more hiding.”
Cate lets out a shaky breath. “I’m scared.”
“I know,” you say. “But this time? We’re scared together.”
Homelander says yes. Without fanfare or resistance.
That’s the part no one really expected.
Cate pitches it like strategy. Like optics. “They’re powerful. They’re visible. You don’t need to punish them—you need to use them. Turn them to our cause.” And he listens. Smirks. Says something about how charming she is when she’s ruthless.
The next morning, Jordan and Emma are cleared to return to Godolkin.
But that’s not the hard part.
The hard part is standing in the quad waiting for them to arrive. Waiting for the transport Vought sends, an armored truck from Elmira, security detail posted like it's a celebrity drop-off, and not two super-abled twenty-somethings who were nearly disappeared by the very institution that claims to protect them.
Cate’s hands shake. You stand beside her, close but silent. You haven't spoken much since you decided to stay. To resist. To try.
Cate’s scared to look at you too long.
Scared she’ll see the same expression she expects from Jordan and Emma: betrayal.
The truck pulls up.
Doors open.
Jordan and Emma are huddled together. Afraid. Well, at least until they see Cate. Then that fear turns into something closer to disgust. Disappointment.
Jordan steps out first—hair longer than before. They look tired. Thinner. Like a flame burned too long. Their eyes flick across the quad, then land on Cate again.
Emma follows, weary, careful to stay hidden behind Jordan, orange uniform hanging loose from her body. Her lip is split. Cate doesn’t know if it’s old or new.
They both stop when they see her.
No hugs. No greetings. Just silence.
Cate steps forward.
“Hey, you guys,” she says softly.
Jordan’s mouth curls. “Brought out the welcoming committee just for us, did you? Fun.”
Cate flinches. “You were cleared this morning. By me.”
Emma tilts her head. “Why?”
Cate’s voice is steadier than she feels. “Because I owe you both more than I’ll ever be able to repay.”
Jordan crosses their arms. “You working for him now?”
Cate doesn’t answer.
Emma scoffs. “That’s what I thought.”
“I’m not working for him,” Cate says. “I’m playing him.”
Jordan laughs, but it’s bitter. “Oh, that’ll end well.”
Cate nods. “Probably not. But if you’re building something—resistance, rebellion, whatever it is—I want in.”
Emma stares at her. “You think we’d trust you after everything?”
“No,” Cate whispers. “But I’m not asking you to trust me.”
Jordan’s voice is low. “Then what are you asking?”
Cate looks at them. Really looks. At the bruises. At the weight. At the grief. At all the cracks she helped cause.
“I’m asking you to let me help fix what I broke.”
A pause.
Then you speak, soft but sharp. “She means it.”
Jordan looks at you.
Something shifts.
Emma doesn’t move. But she doesn’t turn away either.
Finally—Jordan says, “You get one shot.”
Cate nods. “That’s all I need.”
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♡ | strange worship ♡ | unlikely friendship ♡ | the only exception
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tunaababee ¡ 4 months ago
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Hi! Can you share your five favourite ACOTAR fics?
ah!! hello beautiful anon!! i am blowing you so many kisses but also this is SUCH a difficult question. there are so many i absolutely adore each and every one is unique in its own way! these are not ordered in any particular way, and i love all my fellow authors <3 ur all stars fr.
while its not all feysand, i will admit that most of it is because mommy?? sorry. daddy?? sorry.
one i ALWAYS come back to is Good Luck Charm and the sequel, Third Time's The Charm by the STUNNING @whatishowedyouinthedark. GLC and TTTC are such comfort fics for me and the writing on rhys and feyre as well as the cast surrounding them is SO fun. these count as one to me - you cant have one without the other!!
Lover Like Me by mmvalentine was one of the earlier fics i read when i started in the fandom and it has also lived in my head rent free ever since!! cute and a little unhinged in perfect balance <3
Madam Librarian by faerielibraryofthings was a nessian fic that caught me completely off guard but in the best way. that shit made me CRY. very beautifully written arc and such a sweet story!!
Time can (never) break your heart by @littedidyouknow was one of the best gifts i have ever received in my life. sci-fi-ish is not normally something i read, but by GOD did sophie knock it out of the fucking park. she is so talented and was the BEST secret santa!! it's an In Time AU and it was so so SO fun and had me on the edge of my seat every chapter.
The Thief And The Rake by the beautiful @popjunkie42 is ongoing but PERFECTLYYYY scratches my consistent itch for regency feysand. every chapter feels like a little treat spoonfed directly into my mouth.
of course, these are just what's on my mind at the moment! i genuinely couldnt make a list of my proper top fics if i tried because there are so SO many talented people that i struggle to narrow anything down. this fandom truly has some top quality writers that i have been so blessed to both read and get to know!
some other personal recommendations of mine include, but definitely aren't limited to:
Queen of Thieves by @the-lonelybarricade
Your Eyes Whisper Have We Met by @climbthemountain2020
darling.exe by @damedechance
listen through the wall by @shardminds
Red Earth & Pouring Rain and also Don't Blame Me by @separatist-apologist
Whiskey Over Wine by @shadowriel
shaking, pacing (i just need you) by @rosanna-writer
Know You Better Now by @belabellissima
The Velaris Memorial Hospital series by Violetasteracademic
i could name like fifty billion others but this is primarily off the dome. please read through these authors and their back catalogues!! there is so much good stuff!!
thank you so much for this question!!! i love talking about my fave fics and my beloved fellow authors and friends <3
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virginiaisforvampires ¡ 2 months ago
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I don't think Rolin cares at all if some idiots on twitter lack basic media literacy. It's twitter. Sam said that Rolin is a "freakishly brilliant" writer and storyteller, and that he's bold enough to let the audience be upset or uncertain until more information is revealed. I think Sam has absolutely been right about some of the things he's talked about (like Lestat saying "I didn't want this"), but I think Rolin is right about a lot of stuff too.
It kind of reminds me of something Mike Nichols once said--that he wanted actors who had their own ideas and viewpoints and brought that into the work, because if they just did what he told them, then it was as if he'd hired an architect to build something for him and the architect was just like sure, whatever you want to do is fine (because then he'd feel like, so why did I hire you if you're not going to bring your own ideas?).
And Rolin talking about things like actively working with Sam and Jacob to get the reunion scene to where it needed to be, and Sam saying that Rolin gave them the gift of knowing something that he didn't know about their characters---I love that collaboration and respect. I don't love every single choice Rolin and Hannah have made, but I think a lot of what they've done is pretty incredible. The show wouldn't be what it is without Sam and Jacob and what they bring to the characters, including pushing for things they want or feel are right, but I think it's the writers AND the actors who are making this magic.
You do have a point, but I'm not just talking about the idiots on Twitter.
I would implore you to look through my "rolin jones" tag and "hannah moscovitch" tag, because 1x05 is just one of the many writing blunders and just one example of Rolin and Co. demonstrating a fundamental lack of understanding of these characters and their arcs and the main themes with which Anne grappled.
Rolin turned a book about grief and existential crisis into a love triangle soap opera that basically gutted what the main theme was supposed to be about — Claudia aka Michele Rice — and he took a brilliant character in Lestat and turned him into the monster he always feared he was but never truly was, which is totally erasing the entire tenet to Lestat's character.
The writers are wonderful when they get things right. However, when they fuck up? They fuck up massively and in ways that have negative repercussions for the entirety of the book arcs moving forward.
For example, Louis' and Lestat's grief over Claudia doesn't land like it should've landed for the simple fact they are now the two selfish parents who threw her to the wolves to save each other, and that was never the case in the books.
You can admire Rolin and Co. for all the good they've done. I do agree Rolin is technically a brilliant writer and, as much as it pains me to admit, Hannah is technically a good writer as well. She wrote 2x05, and it's probably my favorite episode of S2 and one of my top episodes overall.
However, that doesn't erase the fact they've also massively fucked up where Lestat, Claudia, Loumandstat, and the overall book arcs are concerned.
And I will say this. I can respect the fact Rolin, as much as some of his creative choices kill me, is an unhinged sicko and totally owns what he does. I think he and I could share a good-natured laugh about the show's issues, because he delights in pissing people off, and I do respect the real ones who own their shit whether I agree with them or not. 😅
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Like I said to the anon above, when he gets it right, he gets it really right. Just look at how he knows those raw emotions are what the show needs i.e. not allowing Sam to re-record some of the most gut-wrenching lines.
All I'm saying is he doesn't get the book arcs or get why it was a bad idea to depict Lestat as the complete antithesis of who he actually is or why it was a bad idea to make Claudia's death all about Armand's scorned ex-lover revenge plot.
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Can someone please find this Rolin interview?!
He said it back during some of the earlier interviews. Circa 2022-2023. I (very angrily) discussed it at the time, but for the life of me cannot find the post now.
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genericpuff ¡ 1 year ago
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What are your thoughts on the whole Hestia x Athena thing in LO? Personally it always infuriated me with how hypocritical it was of them to date each other despite them both being members of/Hestia being in charge of TGOEM. It especially annoyed me how Hestia constantly told Persephone that as a TGOEM member she can't date anyone but later saying that her relationship with Athena doesn't count. I give some credit to Artmeis for calling them out when finding out, but it wasn't enough
The hypocrisy is one thing but it at least could have been expanded on as a plot point (Hestia didn't even have the spine to return the coat and apologize, Artemis had to do it ???), but what REALLY ticks me off is that Rachel clearly tried to include queer rep through Hestia and Athena who are two traditionally aro/ace goddesses. So really all she did was erase their original queer identities, both of which are still massively misunderstood and argued over whether or not they're "real". And shit, we even see that in her old asks that lesbian sex "doesn't count" and that asexuality is somehow just a sliding scale / stepping stone towards "becoming" another sexuality (in this case, gay).
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Like... you can be asexual and also still be romantically attracted to the same sex, "becoming gay" doesn't automatically erase someone's asexuality. Artemis can be gay and aroace. Lesbian sex is still sex and isn't a "loophole" to retaining one's virginity. To be fair, the whole "vestal virgins are flaming lesbians because you can be a virgin and still have hot lady sex" thing came from an anon, but like... she doesn't do anything to challenge that idea in LO either, if anything it's reinforced through Athena and Hestia using their relationship as a "loophole" within TGOEM (and the narrative never actually stops to analyze that.)
And then the cherry on top is Rachel removing the sexualities - sometimes even entire character identities - from canonically or commonly-accepted queer gods and giving them to others. Crocus is no longer a lover of Hermes, but a one-dimensional nymph who was killed as a plot device and then never spoken of again. Ampelos is no longer a satyr loved by Dionysus, his name now belongs to Psyche, a heterocis black woman who doesn't know how to read and has been basically forced into slavery. All of Aphrodite's children who ranged in gender and sexual identities are now replaced with one-dimensional cutout characters with no specific labels or characterizations beyond the translations of their names. Eros has been reduced to the "gay best friend" whose first introduction into the story is inebriating a 19 year old girl with the intent of dumping her in an older man's car. Apollo has been turned into a generic big bad whose only goal is getting his hands on Persephone and nothing else, with zero nuance to his actual characterization or plot arc, he's just "the rapist" who conveniently becomes a pawn in some bigger nefarious plan that makes zero sense. Dionysus and Achilles have both been turned into babies.
If Rachel wanted queer rep, she was already in the right place. The entire Pantheon was her oyster. But instead she managed to go the complete opposite with it and not only erase the queer identities of Greek gods in LO, but went the extra mile of egregiousness by replacing those queer gods with token-queer stereotypes and one-dimensional characters who are just there to say they're gay for the brownie points before being shoved back into the closet. They're out, but they're still not seen.
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