#but in reality he was behind having a heart attack at my actions and taking off after me

[drawnfamiliarfaces]

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[mariasont]

Date Night - A.H

a/n: i have been so obsessed with the nanny recently so this is kind of based off that

masterlist

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pairings: aaron hotchner x nanny!reader

summary: you get home from the world's worst date

warnings: none i think, IDK IM SO BAD AT THESE

wc: 0.9k

To put it quite frankly your date sucked. He was disrespectful to the waiter, made really unsettling noises while eating, talked incessantly about his ex, and worst of all, he didn't let you get a word in edge wise (a major issue because you really like to talk).

Saying you were disappointed would barely scratch the surface. The rarity of your dates, thanks to your demanding role as a live-in nanny for Viriginia's most occupied FBI agent, made your free time all too precious. Mr. Hotchner was home this weekend, which granted you some time off, well-deserved you might add, but you had wasted it on some sad excuse of a man who made you believe that chivalry really was dead.

You had a clear mission when you entered the house: to drown the evening's disappointment in a generous pour of red, slip into your comfiest pajamas, and indulge in trashy reality TV, which, by comparison, casted your night in a much more flattering light. You were beginning to accept that maybe, you were meant to be alone, only because men sucked.

You all but threw your jacket into the closet, kicking off the pumps that had spent the night punishing your heels, and bent to rub the throbbing pain, releasing a sigh steeped in disappointment.

"You're home early."

Your heart leapt to your throat, hand flying to your chest on reflex as you whirled around to face the sight of Mr. Hotchner lounging in the armchair, a whiskey glass cradled in his hand. The light from the lamp beside him served to accentuate the shadows beneath his eyes, no doubt caused by his job. So, what he was doing up was beyond you.

"Geez, Mr. Hotchner, are you trying to give me a heart attack here?"

A mock frown creased your face, and you sauntered over to his chair. You settled on the armrest beside him and smoothly relieved him of the glass, taking a small, savoring sip. Annoying him was one of your favorite pastimes, one that was all too rare with his usual absence.

"So, what's the occasion? Waiting up for me?"

He wasn't amused, clearly, his face unchanging. With a deliberate motion, he took the glass back, taking another casual drink, and despite his stern look he didn't move away from you. His eyes shot you a sharp glance, withholding any spoken response.

With a light tap on his shoulder, you hopped down from the arm of the chair.

"It's okay, you don't have to say it. I can read you like a book," you tossed him a wink, your dress flirting with the edge of modesty at the quick action. His eyes briefly betrayed him, moving towards the expanse of flesh now on display. "Ahem, Mr. Hotchner, my face is a little higher."

You gently nudged his chin upward with your finger, guiding his attention to your eyes. You loved his eyes, a cocoa brown color that reminded you of rich, velvety chocolate truffles, a comparison you were pretty sure had slipped out when he interviewed you.

"Careful," he cautioned in a low murmur, easing himself from the chair and setting his glass aside. "As your employer, it's reasonable for me to be concerned about your well-being, you are the woman who raises my child."

"Oh, absolutely, sir. Your concern is most reasonable and duly noted," you replied with an exaggerated formality, lightly tapping his cheek before neatly tucking your hands behind your back.

He traced his brow with his fingertips, as if to smooth away the beginnings of a headache, undoubtedly brought on by you. A sigh of exhaustion followed. "I trust I don't need to remind you of who signs your paycheck."

With a beaming smile, you sing out, hands moving to rest on your hips. "Totally clear on that, sir!" You turn and head up the stairs, your mumble just loud enough for him to catch, "A little raise wouldn't hurt though, just saying!"

He's close behind as he warns in a low voice, "Don't push your luck."

You stop so suddenly he almost stumbles into you and you feel his hands steady you on your hips, dangerously close to the curve of your ass as you glance back at him.

"Oh, I wouldn't dare, sir."

A slight shake of his head and those perceptive eyes convey all he doesn't say as his hands fall away, the space they leave behind feeling oddly empty. 

"So, the date didn't go well?" he asks as you reach the top of the stairs.

"No, I didn't say that. It was wonderful, perfect actually." You'd always been a terrible liar, and naive for thinking he'd fall for it. "He might just be the man of my dreams."

He gives you a look that tells you he sees right through your bullshit. "Let me guess, he probably ordered for you without asking, talked over you, and didn't even bother to walk you to your door."

"Uh, no, that's not--," you start, voice squeaking slightly. His unimpressed look makes you fold--something you found yourself doing way too often around him. "Okay, fine. But really, using those weird FBI skills on me? That's playing dirty, Mr. Hotchner."

"No 'weird FBI skills' required," he replies, the slightest smirk gracing his stupidly handsome face. "Your taste in men is just... consistently interesting."

"Interesting is better than non-existent, which I believe is the current state of your dating life, Mister."

He moves closer, the narrowing space nudging you against the wall. "Well, considering my days are filled with work, parenting, and apparently, babysitting you, dating isn't exactly a priority."

He was kind of hot when he was mad. His eyes narrowed at you. Okay, not kind of, definitely hot when mad.

"Oh, Mr. Hotchner, it sounds like you need a night off from all that babysitting," you purr, placing your hands on his shoulders as you grace him with a smile. "Why don't we discuss your options over dinner? My treat?"

A sigh of exasperation escapes him, a telltale sign that he's done with the conversation, which actually is how a lot of your discussions end. He steps back and opens the door to your room. "Goodnight."

"Goodnight, Mr. Hotchner, see you in the morning," you say, your hand pausing on his arm just a beat too long. "Sweet dreams--though I'm sure I'll be in them."

taglist: @hotchhner

[herstoryheaven]

Descendants Harry Hook x Reader: The Pirate's Enchanted Locket

Prompt: Y/n has an ancient locket that transports her to The Isle of the Lost. Captured by Harry Hook, he initially suspects her of being a spy. As he grows fascinated by her, he defends her against a rival gang’s attack. In a moment of intense emotion, Harry confesses his feelings.

Reader: Female

Word count: 3584

Average reading time: 13 min

Category: Hurt/Comfort

Warnings: This story contains themes involving emotional distress, fear, and harassment. If you are sensitive to these topics, please read with care.

The full moon hung high in the sky, casting a silver glow over the restless sea. Y/N stood at the edge of a rocky cliff, her heart pounding with a mix of excitement and anxiety. Clutched in her hand was an ancient locket, a mysterious inheritance from her mother that promised to bring you what your heart desires the most. The locket felt warm in her palm, as if it had a life of its own, pulsating with a gentle rhythm. As she carefully opened the locket, wisps of magic light surrounded her, pulling her through time and space.

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Disclaimer: All events portrayed in my stories are fictitious. Any resemblance to actual events is purely coincidental. Any actions or behaviours portrayed by the characters may differ from reality and cannot be connected to any actual person. This work is purely fictional and intended for entertainment purposes only.

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When the light faded, Y/N found herself on the deck of a pirate ship, the grimy structure silhouetted against the dark waters of the Isle of the Lost. The smell of saltwater and smog filled the air, and the sound of creaking wood and flapping sails was almost deafening. Disoriented, she stumbled across the deck, trying to make sense of her surroundings. The ship was bustling with activity, rough looking pirates shouted orders and heaved ropes, their faces shadowed by the dim lantern light.

Harry Hook, Uma’s fierce first mate, appeared, his sharp eyes immediately spotting her. He was a tall figure, his dark hair hiding underneath a black pirate hat, a silver hook gleaming dangerously in place of his left hand.

“What do we have here?” Harry’s voice was a low, dangerous growl. His accent was thick, his tone dripping with suspicion. “Someone trying hide, or perhaps a thief?”

Y/N’s heart raced. She had heard the stories of these pirates, the children of villains of old tales, but never imagined she would meet them. “I’m not here to steal anything. I was just—”

“Save your breath, Lass,” Harry interrupted, his voice cold and commanding. He stepped closer, his eyes narrowing. “We don’t take kindly to intruders. Especially ones who appear out of thin air.”

Before Y/N could protest further, Harry took her arm with surprising strength and dragged her below deck. The narrow, dark passageways twisted and turned, lit only by the occasional flickering torch. Other pirates stared as they passed, their expressions ranging from curiosity to outright hostility.

They reached a small, dark cell at the far end of the ship. Harry shoved her inside, and the heavy clang of the iron door as it shut behind her resonated with finality. The cell was cold and damp, the air thick with the smell of rust. Y/N sank to the floor, her mind racing with confusion and fear.

“What have I gotten myself into?” she whispered, clutching the locket tightly. She could still feel its warmth, a faint reassurance in the darkness. 

Time passed slowly in the cell. The sounds of the ship and the ocean were muffled, creating a deafening silence. Y/N's thoughts were a whirlwind of worry and regret. She thought of her grandmother’s stories, the tales of magic and adventure that now seemed all too real.

Just when she thought things couldn’t get worse, the door creaked open. A confident pirate girl, with turquoise braids and a mischievous glint in her eyes, entered. It was Uma, the sea witch’s daughter and the ship’s captain.

“Well, well,” Uma said, her voice smooth and taunting. “What do we have here? A little runaway, or maybe something more?”

Y/N looked up, her eyes meeting Uma’s. Gathering her courage, she replied, “I’m not a runaway. I was brought here by magic. This locket” she held it up, its faint glow illuminating the small cell, “it brought me here.”

Uma’s eyes widened slightly at the sight of the locket. She leaned closer, inspecting it with interest. “That’s no ordinary locket.” she murmured. “Where did you get this?”

“My mother.” Y/N answered truthfully. “She said it would bring me what my heart desires the most.”

Uma’s expression shifted, a calculating look in her eyes. “And what does your heart desire, little one?”

Y/N hesitated. “Adventure,” she said finally. “And maybe something more.”

Uma laughed, a sound both sweet yet disturbing. “You might just get what you wish for,” she said. “But remember, magic always comes with a price.”

With that, Uma left, leaving Y/N alone in the dim cell but with nothing but her thoughts and a glimmer of hope. She clutched the locket tighter, its warmth still present.

-----

Days passed in the cell, at first Harry occasionally came to check on their prisoner by Uma’s order. But soon Harry’s visits became more frequent, yet the fear of her situation never quite faded. The walls, slick with dampness and grime, seemed to press in on Y/N, their oppressive presence a constant reminder of her imprisonment. Yet, each day, as Harry’s visits became more regular, a subtle shift began to take place.

Harry’s demeanor, once arrogant and indifferent, softened. His initial curiosity about Y/N’s resilience grew into genuine interest. He began to linger longer during their conversations, and the tone of his voice, previously sharp and commanding, carried an undertone of care. There was a tension in the air, an unspoken connection that neither of them acknowledged directly but both felt deeply.

One evening, as the cell was bathed in the dim, flickering light of a single bulb, Y/N’s curiosity overcame her usual caution. She looked up from her seated position against the wall, her face illuminated by the pale light, and asked, “Why do you keep coming here?”

Harry leaned against the bars, his usual arrogance tempered by a weariness that spoke of long, restless days. His expression was a blend of annoyance and hesitant interest, a reflection of the internal struggle he faced. “I’m not sure I’ve ever met anyone quite like you, Lass. You’ve got spirit.”

Y/N’s eyes met his with a mixture of resistance and fatigue. “I don’t cower.” she said, her voice carrying a steely edge. “I just don’t see the point in making things worse.”

Harry’s gaze softened slightly, revealing a glimpse of the conflict within him. He crossed his arms, his posture less rigid than usual. “You’ve got a point. It’s not every day someone ends up on Uma’s ship with nothing but a locket.”

The mention of the locket brought a flicker of emotion to Y/N’s eyes. It was a small, delicate piece of jewelry, a token from a life that seemed impossibly distant now. “The locket belonged to my mother.” she said quietly, her voice barely more than a whisper. “It’s all I have left of her.”

Harry’s expression changed as he looked at her. The hardened exterior he maintained was marred by a rare hint of empathy. He looked at the locket as if seeing it for the first time, acknowledging the significance it held for Y/N. “She must’ve meant a lot to you.”

Y/N nodded, her gaze dropping to the floor. “She did. And it’s more than just a memory. It’s a reminder that there was a time before all this, a time when things were different.”

For a moment, the cell fell into a thoughtful silence. Harry seemed to wrestle with his own thoughts, the weight of Y/N’s words evident in the furrow of his brow. Finally, he spoke, his voice softer than before. “You know, Lass, you’re not what I expected. There’s something about you, something that makes me think maybe, just maybe, there’s more to you than meets the eye.”

Y/N’s gaze lifted to meet his, her eyes searching his for any sign of him lying. “And what does that mean for me?”

Harry’s expression was unreadable, a mask of guarded contemplation. “It means,” he said slowly, “that you’re not entirely alone in this. And maybe, just maybe, there’s more to be learned from each other than either of us thought.”

As the silence stretched between them, the tension in the cell seemed to ease, if only slightly. Harry moved closer to the bars, his fingers gripping the cold metal as he leaned in, his face inches from Y/N’s. “Why do you trust me enough to talk about her?” he asked, his voice a hushed murmur.

Y/N’s breath caught in her throat. She could feel the warmth of his breath, the intensity of his gaze. “I don’t know if I trust you,” she admitted, her voice trembling slightly. “But I think you’re different from most. There’s something in you that’s... kind.”

Harry’s eyes darkened, a mixture of frustration and longing flickering in their depths. “Kindness is a dangerous thing around here.” he warned, his voice barely audible. “But maybe you’re right. Maybe you’re bringing out a part of me I thought I’d lost.”

Their eyes locked, and for a moment, the cell seemed to disappear. The tension between them crackled with unspoken words and suppressed emotions. Harry’s hand reached through the bars, his fingers brushing against Y/N’s cheek, a fleeting touch that sent a shiver down her spine.

“Harry...” Y/N’s voice was a breathless whisper, her heart pounding in her chest.

“Y/N,” he replied, his voice heavy with an emotion he couldn’t name. “Be careful. This... whatever this is between us... it’s dangerous.”

Y/N’s hand covered his, their fingers entwining through the cold metal bars. “I know.” she said, her voice steady despite the turmoil inside her. “But I’m willing to take the risk if you are.”

Harry’s eyes softened, a rare smile tugging at the corners of his mouth. “You’re something else, Lass. I don’t know what’s going to happen, but I promise you this, I won’t let anything happen to you.”

-----

The nights grew colder, and Harry’s visits became a small comfort. However, one fateful night, the tranquility shattered as the ship was attacked by a rival gang of villains. The sounds of battle swords clashing, men shouting filled the air, growing louder as the intruders neared.

Y/N's heart pounded as the chaos drew closer, each step of the invaders echoing her rising dread. The cold metal of her cell door creaked open violently, the sound slicing through the din like a knife. A rough hand yanked her from her confinement, dragging her into the harsh light of the battle-torn deck.

"Look what we have here," one of the attackers sneered, his breath hot and foul against her ear. He gripped her waist with brutal force, his fingers digging into her skin. "A pretty little thing, aren’t you?"

Terror surged through her veins as she struggled against his iron grip. Another attacker, his eyes gleaming with malice, leaned in close, his lips brushing her cheek as he spoke.

"Why don’t you give us a kiss, darling?" he taunted, his voice dripping with cruel amusement. Y/N turned her head away, revulsion twisting her stomach.

“Get away from me!” she cried, her voice trembling with fear. She twisted in their grasp, desperate to escape their leering faces and grasping hands.

"Help! Someone, please!" Y/N’s voice trembled, barely audible over the surrounding tumult. Her pleas seemed swallowed by the night, lost in the brutal frenzy.

Her captors laughed at her desperation, their taunts ringing in her ears. “Scream all you want, girl. No one’s coming for you.”

But they were wrong.

Harry’s blood boiled when he saw the attackers’ rough treatment of Y/N. With a roar that seemed to come from the depths of his soul, he burst onto the deck, his sword gleaming with deadly intent. His eyes blazed with fury, locked onto Y/N even as he swung his weapon with lethal precision.

"Back off, you scurvy dogs!" Harry's voice was a thunderclap of rage. "Touch her again, and I’ll have you all walk the plank!"

The attackers hesitated, the ferocity of Harry’s assault breaking their resolve. They had underestimated him, and now they were paying the price. One by one, they began to retreat, their faces pale with fear as Harry cut a swath through their ranks, his determination an unmistakable force.

The attacker holding Y/N released her, shoving her roughly to the ground. She scrambled back, her heart racing, watching as Harry fought like a man possessed. Each swing of his sword was a vow to protect her, his movements a blur of deadly grace.

One of the attackers, emboldened by desperation, lunged at Harry with a dagger. Harry parried the blow effortlessly, his sword flashing in the dim light as he disarmed and incapacitated the man with brutal efficiency.

When the last of the attackers had fled into the night, Harry's attention turned to Y/N. She stood trembling, her face pale, tears carving silent paths down her cheeks. Her eyes met his, wide and haunted, a mix of fear and relief swirling in their depths.

Harry approached her slowly, his expression softening, the pirate's fury melting into concern. Gently, he placed his hands on her shoulders, his touch a grounding anchor against the storm of her emotions.

“It’s over now,” Harry said softly, his voice a soothing balm against her raw nerves. “You’re safe.”

Y/N collapsed against him, her body wracked with sobs. Harry held her tightly, his embrace a shield against the horrors of tonight. For a moment, the world was reduced to the two of them, the warmth of his presence pushing back the cold grip of fear.

“Thank you,” she whispered, her voice muffled against his chest. “I was so scared…”

“I know,” Harry murmured, his hand stroking her hair gently. “I won’t let anyone hurt you. Not ever again.”

-----

His arms wrapped around her, carefully lifting her in his arms. Y/N’s heart fluttered as she felt his warmth and strength surrounding her. She buried her face in his neck, her tears flowing freely. The world outside seemed to fade as Harry carried her through the remaining chaos, his movements both strong and tender.

“Harry…” Y/N’s voice was muffled against his skin. “They—they were touching me… I was so scared.”

Harry’s breath hitched at her words. He tightened his embrace, his heart aching at the thought of her suffering. He carried her to his quarters, the soft glow of lanterns casting a warm light around the room. Gently, he set her down on the bed and knelt beside her, his eyes full of concern.

“No one will ever touch you like that again,” Harry vowed, his voice firm yet gentle. “I swear it on my life.”

Y/N looked up at him, her eyes filled with gratitude and increasing affection. “Thank you for protecting me, Harry. I don’t know what I would have done without you.”

Harry’s gaze softened. He brushed a stray tear from her cheek, his touch light and comforting. “You don’t need to worry about that. You’re mine to protect, and I’ll do whatever it takes to keep you safe.”

The room was filled with an intense, charged silence. Harry’s hand gently cupped Y/N’s cheek as he leaned in closer. His gaze was locked on hers, his eyes burning with a mixture of fierce protectiveness and deep affection. 

Slowly, he pulled her closer, his hook wrapping around her waist in a tender embrace. With a gentle yet firm grip, he tilted her chin up with his other hand. The proximity between them was electric, and Y/N’s breath caught in her throat as Harry’s lips hovered near hers.

Without breaking eye contact, Harry leaned in and pressed his lips to hers. The kiss was gentle at first, a soft, reassuring touch that spoke of his promises and his unspoken feelings. As the kiss deepened, it became more passionate, filled with the urgency of their emotions and the relief of their survival.

Y/N’s hands found their way to Harry’s chest, feeling the strong, steady beat of his heart beneath her fingertips. She clung to him, her fingers gripping the fabric of his shirt as if anchoring herself in the moment.

When they finally broke apart, their breaths mingling in the warm, intimate space, Harry’s eyes were filled with a mixture of relief and something deeper, something that Y/N recognized as love.

“I’m yours.” Y/N whispered, her voice trembling but resolute. “I want to stay here with you. I want to be where I belong.”

Harry’s eyes shone with a mixture of pride and tenderness. “And I’m yours, Lass. I’d let the world flood if it means knowing you are safe.”

Y/N felt a profound sense of safety wash over her. She reached out, her fingers tracing the lines of Harry’s face, committing every detail to memory. The flickering lantern light played off his features, casting shadows that danced and flickered with a life of their own. 

“I never knew I could feel this way,” she admitted, her voice soft and filled with wonder. “Like I’m whole when I’m with you.”

Harry’s expression softened even further, and he took her hand in his, bringing it to his lips and pressing a tender kiss to her palm. “You complete me, Y/N. You’re my strength and my reason. I’d do anything to see you smile again.”

Tears welled up in Y/N’s eyes, but this time they were tears of joy and overwhelming emotion. “You already have,” she said, her voice breaking slightly. “You saved me, Harry. In more ways than one.”

Harry’s eyes glittered with unshed tears of his own as he pulled her into another embrace, his arms wrapping around her protectively. They sat there for a long moment, holding each other, finding comfort and strength in their shared connection.

Finally, Harry pulled back slightly, looking down at her with a serious expression. “We’ll face whatever comes next together. You and me. No one can stand against us.”

Y/N nodded, a sense of determination filling her. “Together.” she agreed, her voice steady and confident. “Always.”

They stayed close, the warmth of their bodies mingling as they found comfort in each other's presence. Outside, the world continued its relentless march, but inside Harry’s quarters, time seemed to stand still, allowing them a precious moment of peace and love.

Harry brushed his lips against her forehead, a gentle promise of his unwavering commitment. “Rest now, Lass. You’re safe with me.”

With a sigh of contentment, Y/N closed her eyes, allowing herself to relax fully for the first time in what felt like forever.

-----

With the dawn of a new day, Y/N knew she had to make a choice. The locket’s magic had brought her here, but if she wanted to truly stay with Harry, she had to break the bond that tethered her to her world. Without hesitation, she took her mothers locket no matter how much it meant to her and broke it, the magic dissolving into the morning light.

Harry watched her with a mixture of pride and deep affection. As the last piece of the locket crumbled, he pulled her into a close embrace, his arms wrapping around her protectively.

“You’ve chosen to stay,” he said softly, his voice filled with gratitude. “And I’ll be here, always.”

Y/N nodded, feeling a profound sense of belonging.

He took a deep breath, the weight of his words heavy with promise. “I want more for you than just this Isle of the Lost. You deserve a life full of beauty and opportunity, not one mired in darkness and danger. I’ll get us out of here. We’ll find our way to Auradon, and I’ll give you the life you’ve always dreamed of.”

Y/N looked at him, her heart swelling with emotion. “Harry, I don’t care where we go or what we do, as long as I’m with you. You’re my home.”

Harry’s gaze softened. “Then we’ll make a new home together. I promise you, Lass, I’ll fight every step of the way to give you the life you deserve.”

As they were completely lost in each other's embrace, the door to Harry’s quarters creaked open. Uma, the formidable pirate queen and Harry’s captain, stepped inside. Her eyes flared with curiosity and a hint of amusement as she took in the scene before her.

“Well, well, well,” Uma drawled, her voice filled with her usual commanding presence. “Seems like you two have been busy. Thought I’d check in on my first mate and supposed to be prisoner.”

Harry’s posture stiffened, but he quickly masked his surprise with a smirk. “Just taking care of things, Uma.”

Uma’s gaze softened slightly as she looked at Y/N. “You’ve caused quite a stir, girl. This place is no vacation. But if Harry’s vouching for you, you must be something special.”

Y/N, feeling a bit awkward under Uma’s scrutiny, managed a small smile. “I’m just trying to find my way.”

Uma nodded, her expression becoming more serious. “Well, if you’re sticking around, you’d better be prepared. Life here isn’t exactly gentle.”

“I’ve learned that the hard way,” Y/N admitted.

Uma’s lips curled into a faint smile. “Good. Because you’ll need all the strength you can get. But if you’re with Harry, that’s a good start. He’s not one to take chances with those he cares about.”

Y/N glanced at Harry, who looked back at her with a mixture of pride and affection. Uma’s approval meant something—especially if it meant a smoother journey ahead.

“Well, since you’re both set on staying,” Uma continued, her tone softer, “let’s make sure you’re prepared. Harry, we need to talk about our next move. And you, Y/N, might as well come along. If you’re with Harry, you’ll be part of the crew. It’s best to know what you’re getting into.”

With Uma’s words hanging in the air, Y/N felt a newfound sense of determination. As Harry’s hand slipped into hers, she knew they were on the brink of a new chapter, one that promised adventure, challenges, and a future built together.

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[pocketjoong]

☾₊‧⁺˖⋆noctem⋆˖⁺‧₊☽ 〘act 1, chapter 2〙

〘Synopsis〙『Your hatred of dragons is a hate born of witnessing their flames consume your village, leaving nothing but destruction in their wake. The worst of all is the beast that haunts your dreams, the very dragon whose memory fuels a burning desire for revenge within you. But life has a way of unsettling even the most steadfast convictions. And when you stumble upon a truth that shatters the boundaries of your understanding, you begin to question the very essence of the world you live in.』

〘Pairing〙『Night Fury!Seonghwa x afab!Reader』

〘Genre〙『FANTASY, ACTION, SMUT』

〘Word Count〙『2.5k』

〘Chapter-specific Warnings〙『Based on How To Train Your Dragon. Canon-compliant violence. Mentions of dragons attacking the mc's village. Mentions of fire. Passing mention of injuries. MDNI.』

〘Banner Credits〙『@playmetheclassics』

please note: there will be NO taglist for this series

By the time you finish tending to the injuries of those who had been sent to the infirmary, the sun is rising in the distance. A weariness settles over you as you dress the wounds of the last person you have to tend to, and you look forward to the two weeks of peace after a dragon attack.

You rinse the grime and blood from your hands in the basin tucked in the corner before rushing out of the building. Relief washes over you at the sight of familiar figures at the edge of the cliff that overlooks the port. Even though they’re merely silhouettes against the morning light, you know each of them well enough to recognise them by their shadows.

As you move closer, you note that Yunho, Wooyoung, and Mingi, the village blacksmith, look battle-ravaged and tired. But they are watching the sunrise with content smiles. You approach them with a smile of your own, but you can’t help but scan their figures for any injuries that might need healing.

Amusement dances in your brother’s eyes at your worried expression, “I'm fine. Mostly unharmed save for a few small bruises and the soot lining my clothes.”

When you turn your focus to the others, you find them grinning back at you. “And you guys?”

“No open stitches or any new injuries. I told you I’d be careful,” Wooyoung declares, his tone light-hearted.

Mingi ruffles your hair while he offers his own reassurance, “I’m fine as well. I stuck to my workshop until the very end, only leaving when Yunho and Wooyoung needed assistance with the ballista.”

“Let’s go back home and get some rest. Wooyoung and I have a meeting to attend at the hall in a few hours,” Yunho says, leading you towards your home with a guiding hand on your shoulder. Mingi trails behind silently, waving in farewell before taking the dusty path to reach his house, which also doubles as his workshop.

You, Yunho, and Wooyoung share the house overlooking the village. All three of you moved here after losing your families to a brutal attack years ago. Despite being only a few months older than Wooyoung and barely a year older than you, Yunho seamlessly assumed the role of guardian for both of you. The weight he shouldered at the tender age of twelve, stepping into the shoes of a village leader after the tragedy, often made you feel bad for him. His duties far exceeded what any child should bear, but he bore them with a grace beyond his years.

The dream claws at your consciousness, a relentless reminder of the incident that tore through your family. You can handle the sympathetic looks of your fellow villagers, but the nightmares are another story. You hate them, for they persist, leaving you exhausted and weary even after a full night’s sleep.

You unlock the door, ushering the two males inside. As the door creaks open, the comfort of the space envelops you like a familiar embrace, and you can’t help the sigh of relief that leaves your lips.

────────────── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ──────────────

You know you are dreaming, but the panic that grips your throat is a tangible force that twists your heart and leaves your hands shaking. It’s a suffocating reality that is too familiar, too hauntingly real.

Your surroundings are too hot, too bright, and suffused with smoke that blinds your vision. The orange flames dance menacingly in front of you, searing painfully against your skin. Your brain is screaming for you to do something, to move. But you are frozen in the face of danger and struggle to comprehend the unfolding nightmare.

There’s a presence beside you, but the ringing in your ears drowns their voice. Squinting through the smoke, urgency compels you to find an escape route. If you don’t move, you’ll be burnt to a crisp by the flames, and you won’t let a dragon be the reason you meet your end. 

There’s no time to waste, you realise when there’s a crash in the adjacent room. The sound is what finally jolts you into action, and without hesitation, you grab the person next to you and bolt towards safety.

The relief when you escape the fire all but vanishes as the sight in front of you changes, and you find Yunho trapped in the claws of a massive dragon. His desperate struggle mirrors the fear etched in his eyes. The image shakes you to your core. It’s new, and you know why you’re seeing this: every time Yunho is out fighting the dragons during an attack, you can’t help but worry about his safety.

There’s a beat of silence as if the world has stopped around you before you jump towards the creature holding him hostage. But you’re too late. You meet the ground with a crash while the dragon takes off, taking Yunho away from you.

You jolt awake, your heart pounding so hard that you feel it wants to escape your chest. You’re covered in cold sweat, and you feel it trail down your back. You gasp for air, for the relief that comes with your lungs being filled with oxygen. Instinctively, you look down to check your hands, half-expecting to find the remnants of blood and soot on them.

Dazed and disoriented, you rise, stumbling towards the bathroom. Looking into the mirror, you wince at your wide-eyed and tear-stained face. You’re breathing fast, too quick to be considered normal. Staring at your trembling hands, you run them beneath the water before splashing the cold substance on your face.

Feeling a presence next to you, you turn around to find your brother gazing at you worriedly. But before you can ease his worry, Wooyoung walks in through your bedroom door, which is now wide open courtesy of Yunho.

“Is everything okay?” Wooyoung breaks the silence, voice is still gravelly from sleep. You feel bad for waking them up and worrying them like this, but right now, all you can focus on is the raging panic inside of you. “I heard you screaming, Y/N.”

You blink; your throat definitely feels raw, but you can’t remember hearing yourself scream.

“I think it was a bad dream,” Yunho mutters softly, eyes still trained on you.

Dream?

It’s almost as if everything falls into place when you hear Yunho’s words. You had the nightmare once again, the same one you had had since you lost your family during an attack when you were ten years old. With clammy hands, you tightly grip the bedside table in a futile attempt to steady yourself. Stumbling, you crash onto the floor as you try to calm your furiously beating heart.

Yunho scrambles to kneel next to you, brows furrowed in worry. “Y/N, breathe with me, c’mon. ’S okay, you’re safe.” You let him tuck you into his chest, the touch becoming an anchor to help you ground yourself. You breathe deeply, timing your breaths in tandem with Yunho’s. You remind yourself over and over again that he’s safe and sound.

“Was it the same dream?” Wooyoung’s voice is closer now, and you open your eyes to see him in front of you. You shrug as an answer to Wooyoung’s question.

“I’m sorry for waking you up,” you whisper apologetically, but they quickly shush you.

“Do you want to go back to sleep?” Wooyoung murmurs, rubbing the sleep from his eyes as if he already knows your answer, “Or would you like to help me with lunch?”

“Brunch,” you declare, carefully disentangling yourself from Yunho, who has fallen asleep. Little snores leave his mouth, and you suppress a giggle. You grab a pillow from your bed, gently supporting his neck to ensure he sleeps comfortably even if he’s on the floor.  Quietly, you follow Wooyoung into the kitchen.

“What are we making?” You question, standing in the middle of the room while Wooyoung rummages through the cupboards.

“How do omelettes and buttered toast sound? Yunho bought bread from the village baker last evening, and I’m sure we haven’t run out of the jam we prepared,” he stops his hunt and starts gathering the things needed for the proposed meal.

“We also have some leftover meat pie,” you inform him, fishing out the pie from the pantry and setting it on the table. Grabbing a large bowl, you crack some eggs while Wooyoung chops the vegetables, the two of you falling into rhythm easily.

Wooyoung reaches over to add the chopped vegetables to the bowl, stirring them with the eggs as you place two pans on the stove. Soon, you have two omelettes sizzling in unison. Carefully, you add different spices and ingredients to each one based on your individual preferences. Spotting extra vegetables, you throw them in a pan to sauté them while Wooyoung handles the omelettes.

“Wow,” Yunho walks into the kitchen, drawn in by the aroma of food. He peeks over your shoulders. “That’s a feast right there.”

Eventually, you and Wooyoung finish cooking and carry everything to the table with Yunho's assistance. The three of you happily devour the food, joking, teasing, and laughing between bites.

“I have to go into the forest to gather more herbs. It’s amazing how fast we burn through them after the attacks,” you sigh, already tired by the mere thought of having to haul a huge batch of herbs from the forest.

“Be careful,” Yunho warns you. “The forest is safe right now, but you can’t be careful enough.”

“Don’t worry,” you reassure with a smile. “I’ve done this so many times.”

After bidding goodbye to the two males, you follow one of the trails behind your house that leads into the forest. You hum a small tune as you walk through the woods. Despite the village being attacked every fortnight, the forest is safe because the dragons avoid lingering for fear of getting captured. The chirping birds and the small animals frolicking around in the undergrowth lift your spirits. You take a deep breath, unable to stop yourself from breaking into a smile.

The sound of a nearby waterfall catches your attention, prompting you to change course towards the opening through the trees. However, you halt in your tracks when you spot broken trees and upturned earth, suggesting that something came barreling down from the sky.

The only thing that would crash down from the sky is a dragon.

Unsheathing your shortsword, you slowly approach an outgrown rock where the wreckage seems the worst. You take a deep breath to calm yourself before peeking to check if you’re right, only to hide behind the rock once again quickly. There, on the other side, is a dragon you’ve never seen before.

It doesn’t take a genius to identify it as a Night Fury, also known as ‘the offspring of lightning and death itself.’ The beast’s scales are pitch black, adorned with small horns that spike from above its eyes, down its neck, back, and tail, the tip of which fans out like that of a whale. Surprisingly, it doesn’t look as terrifying as its reputation suggests, resembling more of a feline than a vicious reptile. For being a dragon dreaded across the seven seas, the beast looks tamer than the ones you’ve come across over the course of your life.

Peeking from behind the rock again, you realise the dragon is tangled in rope. There are signs of struggle, showing that it tried but failed to free itself from the binds. As it seems to be asleep, you approach cautiously, awed by the sheer size of the creature. The dragon likely hears you because, even though it can’t move, one of its eyes opens, fixing a stare at you. It releases a warning growl when you move even closer, but you scoff, knowing fully well that it won’t be able to harm you.

“You know, you really look more like a cat than a dragon,” your tone is belittling as you tilt your head to meet the dragon’s gaze head-on.

The dragon emits what seems like a scoff, earning an eye-roll from you. “You should be nicer to me. After all, I could kill you, and then what would happen, huh?  Your little family would find it harder and harder to attack us, considering that you’re the one who makes it difficult for us to bring down the rest of your kind.”

It hits you that this would be your first dragon kill, and for some reason, it gives you a sense of satisfaction. Eliminating the Night Fury is a step closer towards your goal to avenge your family and the countless others who were destroyed by these beasts.

Raising your blade, you look down at the beast with a blank expression. The dragon gazes at you with big, pleading eyes, its pupils round and sparkly like that of a cat. Your grip on the weapon falters, and sensing your hesitation, it lets out the most pathetic of whimpers.

“You have some nerve, really,” you sigh, the urge to harm the creature gradually ebbs away the longer you look into its eyes. It’s a living, breathing creature, and it goes against all your ideals as a healer to kill a sentient being. “First, your kind kills my family, then you guys literally cause so much damage to my village every time you attack, and here I am, wanting to spare you? Why can’t you be as ugly as a Gronckle?”

The dragon blinks at you in confusion.

“Stop looking at me like that!” You scold it, only causing the dragon to huff, this time in amusement. Sensing that you’re not going to kill it, the beast lets out another whine and closes its eyes.

Sighing once again, you use your sword to cut through the ropes, loosening the bonds that bind the poor creature. That is your second mistake because the moment it is free, the dragon lunges at you, pinning you against the rock as you gasp in shock. It growls at you, keeping you restrained with its claws.

“Oh, isn’t that just lovely?” you mock the dragon. You know you’re playing a dangerous game, but you can’t stop taunting it. “I save your sorry life, and you thank me by pinning me to a rock? Quite the peculiar way to express gratitude, I must say… and quite kinky.”

The beast regards you with a look of sheer disbelief, scoffs dismissively, and turns around to fly further into the forest. Only when it crashes into an outcrop of rocks, do you notice the unsteadiness of its flight.

Is it injured?

Your brows furrow as a pang of worry pierces through your heart, but before you can act on it, the realisation of how late it it dawns upon you. You haven’t even started collecting the herbs you had ventured into the forest for. Deciding to return tomorrow to check on the dragon, should it still be around, you start the laborious task of gathering the herbs you need.

[cosmicjoke]

Alright... okay... I just... need a moment.

Fuck, I'm emotional. I'm trying to gather my thoughts, but it's difficult. So I'm going to try my best.

First, I just want to say thank you, thank you, thank you to everyone involved in the creation of this anime, of this story, of this masterful, masterful piece of art. The animators, the composers, the writers, the voice actors, the directors, the producers, just, everyone. And most especially, to Hajim Isayama, who, without doubt, has created one of the greatest stories ever told.

And with that said, I'm just going to say this. "Attack on Titan" is, in my opinion, the greatest show ever made. I mean that, sincerely, and with all my heart. It's the greatest show, and one of the greatest stories, of all time. It's truly a masterpiece. A pillar of great art. I don't think that's hyperbole. I think that's absolutely true.

I don't even know where to start.

I'm just blown away. Completely blown away.

Ahh, well, I guess I'll just start by talking about some of the changes that were made, and what wasn't, and how much I appreciate both. I knew they would stick with the overall story and not change the ending, and I'm so glad they didn't, because it was always the right ending. I don't care what anyone says, what anyone's criticisms are. This was always, always, always the right ending.

The obviously biggest change was the conversation between Armin and Eren near the end, and I think, given the controversy caused by this particular moment in the manga, I'm not surprised, and I think they did an excellent job of clarifying what Armin actually meant, and most importantly, that he wasn't ever condoning Eren's actions. That they had Armin instead take on and shoulder the responsibility of Eren's actions, in a show of love and friendship to Eren, was incredibly moving and gut-wrenching at the same time. That Armin blamed himself for what Eren did as much as Eren himself, and said that they would be together again someday, in hell, was actually incredibly shocking to me. But then, it makes perfect sense for Armin's character. Armin, who from the very beginning understood and accepted the bleak reality of war, of having to abandon one's humanity in order to accomplish victory. Armin's never shied away from who he really is, or what he's capable of, or tried to console himself with an idealized self-image. It doesn't surprise me that he blames himself for Eren's actions, or takes on as much responsibility for them as he places on Eren. Though one could argue all day against Armin's self-condemnation, I think it makes perfect sense for his character. I also adore how they really clarified and left no room for doubt as to the motivation behind Eren's actions. He just flat out admits at the end that it was because he wanted to "see this sight", meaning a world completely devoid of humanity, of life. He admits to Armin that he's a "slave to freedom", that this outcome came about because of who he is and for no other reason. Not to make the alliance into heroes, not to save Paradis. It was because Eren couldn't accept a concept of freedom beyond what he'd seen in Armin's book. Because, as he says of himself, he was an idiot who came into power. 80% of the world's population died because of that. But as Historia also admits in the end, it's also a result of ALL their choices. I always have maintained that AoT is a cautionary tale of what happens when we blame and persecute and hold accountable people for the sins of the past. Eren, an idiot, only came into that power to begin with because of Marley's persecution of the Eldian's, continuing to punish the Eldian people for the crimes of their ancestors. Indeed, Historia was correct. It was a culmination of all of their choices. Violence begetting more violence, and on and on the cycle continues.

The Jeagerist's created an army out of fear of reprisals from what remains of the outside world, but in doing so, they sealed their own fate. In becoming so hostile to begin with, they ensured those reprisals. That's the great irony. They formed an army to protect themselves, they became a hostile nation, an isolationist nation, and in the end, it lead directly to them being destroyed. As Armin tells Eren, his violence and desire to see a world wiped clean of humanity leaves them with nothing but the lesson of kill or be killed. It leaves nothing but a legacy of continued violence. That's the whole point of this story, of course. That violence only ever leads to more violence. Even when we don't have a choice, even when we're backed into a corner and there's no way out but to fight, even when it's the right and only choice. That's the tragedy of violence. That's the tragedy of the world. That's the tragedy of humanity. It's not that violence is always wrong. Violence isn't always wrong, but it's always tragic, and it always only leads to tragedy. Armin's condemnation of Eren and his actions here, telling him that he's robbed the world of even the small hope of one day understanding one another, that's the condemnation of Eren's violence, the condemnation of the cycle of violence. He pushed Paradis toward armament through his actions, but so did the rest of the world. People will always fight one another. There will always be war as long as there are people. The only way there won't be war is if there are no people, as Armin says, and that's the biggest joke of all. There's no such thing as lasting peace. Paradis meets its demise in the very end because it falls to the same trap, the same cycle of violence, the same cycle of continued hate that drives all war and that, saddest of all, is intrinsic to the human condition. Violence is intrinsic to the human condition, and to nature itself. In the end, Paradis brings about it's own demise, just as, in the end, Marley and all those who persecuted the Eldian's, brought about theirs. This is an anti-war story. That's what it's always been. Anyone who says otherwise is a fool. But it's also a story about the tragedy of humanity and the inescapability of our nature as a species.

So, okay, now, because I'm primarily a blog which talks about Levi, and because Levi is probably, far and away, my favorite character of all time, I have to talk about him.

What can I say?

Levi was the hero of this final episode. Of this final bow of what, again I repeat, is the greatest show I've ever seen, and one of the greatest stories ever told.

Levi is a hero.

First, if anyone, if I see anyone ever, ever, ever question Levi's commitment to humanity and to saving it ever again, after watching this episode, I will come down on them like a fucking bomb myself.

Levi saved humanity.

They all did, of course. They all contributed.

But Levi... Levi was the leader that saved humanity. He became the leader in that moment that humanity needed. For all the talk and accusations thrown Levi's way, of robbing humanity of it's greatest chance at survival in Erwin, by letting Erwin die, it was in a time of humanities greatest need that Levi stepped up and took the reigns and didn't let humanity fall.

Levi wasn't the strongest in this battle. He wasn't humanities strongest soldier anymore. He wasn't the most affective in battle, or able to single-handedly turn the tide of the battle, like he might once have been able to. But he didn't let anyone give up. He didn't let anyone give in. He didn't let anyone lose hope.

I've been saying this since the manga ended, but seeing it brought to life like this only drives it home all the more.

Levi rallied and organized and held together his soldiers when they were all ready to give up and give in. When his own body was ready to give in and give up, Levi's heart and will wouldn't. It was Levi who enabled Mikasa to deliver the final, killing blow to Eren by not giving in to despair or fear or grief when it became clear that everyone on the ground was going to turn into a pure titan. It was Levi who, in the end, fulfilled the dream of his fallen comrades of a world without titans, by keeping it together and giving out orders, by abandoning his own driving need to save lives, like he's always done, since the beginning, in order save more, in order to save the lives of people who had done nothing, in fact, but condemn and persecute him his whole life.

Levi is a hero. He's a pure hero. He has the purest heart of anyone. He's the best of them all.

And I think the change they made to Levi's final scene just drives that truth home all the more.

I'm not gonna' lie, I nearly burst into tears seeing what they did in Levi's last scene. To have him sitting there in his wheelchair, his body not even a fraction of what it had once been, but still finding a way to help people, to help, especially, children, again, it drives home without doubt what Levi is. A hero. To see him handing out candy to children, to see the happiness he finds in that simple act... Jesus Christ, I really don't even know what to say about this. It was maybe the most beautiful moment in the entire series. Shit, I'm gonna start crying just talking about it. To see him smile, again, at last, to see him truly at peace. He found a way to be a hero, even with his strength gone. He found a way to be a hero without having to be a weapon, because Levi's heroism was never in his strength. It was never because he was physically strong, or a weapon. It was never because being a hero was easy for him. It was because of his heart. Because his heart is the heart of a hero. His heart is the heart of someone who has only ever wanted to help and protect others. That he still wants to and does help people, despite already having given everything...

Yeah, don't nobody ever, EVER say to me again that Levi doesn't care about humanity. He helps even when he doesn't have to. Even when he deserves to be selfish.

He cares more than anyone.

Man, that's all I have for now. I'm pretty speechless about this episode. I'm just beyond words.

Greatest show ever. Not anime. Just any show, ever. One of the greatest pieces of cinema ever made. One of the greatest stories ever told, with some of the greatest characters to ever exist.

Thank you Hajime Isayama, for giving this gift to the world.

[kathaynesart]

What do you take from the Rise movie’s “This isn’t about me,” message? *It’d be interesting to see this become a Tumblr thread cause I’d love to see what others think too.

That's... an important line to decipher. Deep enough to mean so many things but vague enough to be easily taken out of context. I have a lot to say about it, but I'll keep it under the cut to save others the trouble.

TLDR: Future Leo's a dum dum hypocrite

I think... when Leo used the line in the future timeline. He was trying to remind Casey of the harsh reality that they existed in. That this was a world where they sometimes had to set aside their personal wants for the greater good. It's for that reason that Leo was able to ask Mikey to do the unthinkable and sacrifice himself in turn.

What I find fascinating about the movie, is that it both supports and counters this message. It tries to find that healthy middle ground, between present Leo's narcissistic attitude in the beginning and the downright sacrifice he's willing to make by the end. Because him sacrificing himself was NOT the happy ending. And while we get that "ending" for only a moment. We can see that method doesn't feel right either.

In that way, I don't think "it's not about me" isn't actually the "message" of the movie as some might assume at first glance. Merely a gentle reminder to check yourself before you wreck yourself. Because technically, yes, "it's not about me" does apply to many aspects of life. We can get so caught up in our own worries and concerns and perspectives and it just... muddles reality in a way. We need to see how our actions and words affect others and understand that there's so much more out there than our own little bubbles. But we also should understand our own worth within the big tapestry of life and be willing to fight for the things that matter to us.

That's why I think the actual message of the story isn't "it's not about me." It's about balance. It's about the knowing look Leo and Raph share in the end and the fact that Mikey was able to achieve the true, best ending with his brother's help to save Leo, because they know that the world may mean more in the long run, but they mean the world to each other, and I think it's really important to understand.

But that's just my long-winded opinion on the subject and there’s plenty of other interpretations I think I can totally get behind as well. It will be an element within Replica but let's also remember that Future Leo is kind of hypocrite with this line. He's says "It's not about me" but that's coming from someone who the entire resistance has centered around as its leader. He's probably a little tired of the idolization by now and does not like the idea that he's somehow more important than others. I think that's where that line really stems from for Leo. It's obvious that Casey isn't just talking about his importance as a leader, but Leo with the same line is asking him to set those feelings aside even if he is one of the most important people in Casey's life.

And then Leo turns around and throws one of the most important people in his life through the portal. A damn hypocrite (/positive)

EDIT: I was sort of ending it on a silly note but @dandylovesturtles added such a great point that I haven’t been able to put into words but feel in my heart when it comes to future Leo and definitely something I want to show with the healing process he’s been going through in Replica: and that’s the “not all about you” sometimes just means that bad things happen but you can’t just blame yourself for it, and it’s not some cosmic attack for your mistakes. The world did not come to an end because of Leo’s mistake, even if he might have once felt like that. What’s more it means you can’t put the whole world on your shoulder or always try to fix things on your own like how Leo tried to after Raph’s capture. It’s ok to seek the aid and support and ideas of others your trust. It really lines up so well with a lot of the events in the film.

Thank you @dandylovesturtles and everyone else’s amazing comments! I want to hear all of them and take notes.

[abombihoney]

my thoughts as I read the new (6 months old) chapter of ethnoentomology bc i said would live blog it and this is least annoying way i can do so.

Hornet really just fucking pulled a gun out im like 1 minute fucking in jesus girl.

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ooooooooh my fucking god he's literally a sopping wet little meow meow. i WILL be coming back 2 this.

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what this fucking pronoun fuckery i need to reread this shit im onto something. i need to add all my annotations together. i need a conspiracy board. i need to make a chart with color coded lines

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I wish Hallownest’s official language was anything other than “cryptic riddles.”

me too dude the fuck.

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CHANCE BEING EMOTIONALLY INTELLIGENT???? telling lurien he isn't at fault for the radiance's actions

however... how could he think anything else really. he is all for blaming the radiance for everything.

i'm feeling a delicious mix of "can i even trust my own thoughts" mixed with Chance trying to separate what was him versus what was other.

What happens when (if) he manages to separate what actions were wholly him with no outside influence? What will he regret? What will he desperately try to justify?

How would he even determine what is him and what is the influence of the radiance? He has no memory of past actions to compare against. He can't necessarily even trust the memories he does have, they're full of hallucinations, gaps in memory where he doesn't know what he did. If it was "him" that did it. AAAAAAAAAAAUGH

___

is chance checking out of reality a lot rn or am i looking too deep. there seems to be a lot of "jump cuts"

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back 2 valleri. info dump for me lurien i only read a handful of chapters of midnight rider.

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 "I couldn’t tell you how many times she would’ve been jailed or worse"

wait wasnt she jailed tho. didnt she like. immediately punch pk in the face or am i misremembering. does lurien not know this. i feel like he should be told this information somehow bc like. i feel like it would give him a heart attack.

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VALLERI LEFT SOMETHING FOR CHANCE???? THE PLOT THICKENS HELLO???

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why is chance so gay he is SO focused on lurien all the time jesus christ man. i feel like i keep getting trapped in one of them slow burn fics where they keep almost kissing.

FUCKIGN 2 SECONDS LATER:

Having grabbed something from a small drawer in the table behind Chance, Lurien settled back, (disappointingly) further away from him.

chance ur down bad. this is going to blow up in his face spectacularly somehow. good 2 know i wasnt imagining the horny descriptions of lurien from last chapt.

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new theory: valleri is a time-traveling post-transition chance. source: my other theory that valleri and chance are closely related. similar temperament and appearance. both from california or w/e.

wait i think i remember valleri have future seeing powers. i refuse to finish reading midnight rider until ethno is done tho so i'm keeping my theory

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Chance reflexively rejected this information before he could begin processing its implications.

side effects of having magic powered by belief: may decide to just ignore things bc if u believe it you make it true. denial is a powerful drug

wait. hmmmmm.

did the radiance take chance's memories? or did chance want to forget? like could also totes be the cool magical barrier that wipes ur memories to prevent the radiance from escaping the corpse of hallownest. but now i am thinking of all the fucked up implications of something so horrible (by a teenagers standards) that chance wanted to forget everything.

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TUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUSK MY BABY TUSK POV TUSK POV TUSK POV

oh no the baby is injured.

They needed to find Chance. He would heal them, like always—

ur honor they love each so much!!!!!!!!! might be becoming a lil codependent but ITS FINE

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checks out that hornet was a vicious little child lmao

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“For Hallownest, there is no cost too great. That is what I told Him.”

OH SHIT

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oh fuck yeah i fucking love use of game mechanics in stories for problem solving. go little guy go!

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HEY WHAT THE FUCK WHAT THE FUCK

Like life’s just a script and she’s waiting for her cue.

OH? paralleling what lurien said about PK. INTRIGUING.

(fucked up evil theory: The parallels between PK and Valleri that are being drawn here... from what I understand Valleri became INCREDIBLY close and attached to hallownest. What if Chance is Valleri's hollow knight?)

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The White Palace was destroyed. But so was the Watcher’s Spire, and Chance could put that back.

my sweet child, you are going to fucking kill chance

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Too cowardly to confront her own cowardice.

ruh roh raggy. hornet's going to have to contend with the fact that she has killed her own siblings in cold blood eventually. possibly soon

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fuck yeah i love worldbuilding. tell me more about how the fictional bug city built in a wet cave functioned and how the class divide determined transportation methods.

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*slaps chance* this baby can fit so much PTSD in it

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this is spelling euphoria isn't it.

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hey wait doesn't chance have boat trauma??? didn't he see a corpse under a boat in the last chapter of act 1???

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something bad is going to happen. we're building so much suspense.

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"Chance"

??????? WHAT THE FUCK IS GOING ON NOW???????

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 draped half overboard like a dirty wet rag

chance's natural state really.

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something in their Void was churning

This happens directly after Chance has his little episode with the boat. Are Chance and Tusk connected by the void? Didn't something similar happen in the last chapter??

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Hornet i love u. She's so spiderman coded.

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—Tusk whacked the switch to the elevator and went up and away. “Wh—Vessel! Hold on!”

see u idiot

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Ah Lemm, the confidence of a man who is very very wrong. he'd shit his pants if he saw all the human shit in the junkyard lmao.

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Several photos were attached to the line and dangled from ceiling to floor. Dozens of lines around the room like party streamers, a hundred little memories swaying gently in the dust.

megamind ass organization system

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burned painting frame.... coating the room in ash.. im sure this holds no significance whatsoever and won't come up again.

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Tusk has so much youngest sibling energy lmao

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uh oh hornet. ur getting attached.

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this is to hornet also, isnt it?

WAHT THE FUCK

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oh okay they are connected. poor tusk and chance. they r gonna become a feedback loop up fucked up huh

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wait does chance not know shes the princess. lmao

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aww hug fest JEREMY REAL??? or is hornet infected too hello????

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IM GOING FERAL VALLERIS SEEING SO MANY THINGS AT ONCE AND REACTING TO ALL OF THEM HELLO?????

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oh my god i feel like ive been punched seventeen times in a row. i have so much hype i need to run a marathon. im fucking spinning in circles im filled with unrestrained summer fun oh my god im supposed to sleep soon i dont know if i can manage stop thinking long enough to do that holy shit

[restlessmaknae]

back to life

Jinyoung didn’t deserve to be believed, being misunderstood was his punishment for not being able to help his friend when he would have needed it. He felt like he could have a redemption only if he finished school without anyone talking to him, so why... why did you want to see him when he wanted to be invisible?

➳ Characters: high school senior!Jinyoung x female reader/you

➳ Genre: high school au, coming of age, real-life bittersweet

➳ Words: 5.2k

➳ Warning: due to the connection to the CIX story films, there will be mentions of Yonghee's suicide attempt, bullying, violence, minor character death (Seunghun's mother), blood, hospital visits, plus panic attack, insomnia and a lot of guilt, negative self-talk on Jinyoung's part, reader has a non-specified digestive disorder, so please, do not read the story if you feel triggered by such topics!

➳ A/N: This was a story that I came up with even before the Save me, kill me MV and the following story films (ep. 6-10) were released, so there are parts that do not cover the story films, yet this is my general interpretation of its lore, plus additional fictional parts. Hope you enjoy it! ❤️

➳ CIX taglist: @wccycc, @dat-town

Jinyoung knew that he deserved the glares, the stares, the malicious whispers behind his back. If that was what he had to bear for what he had done (or hadn’t done) to Yonghee, then so be it. He could never suffer as much as his friend had done so.

He deserved it, he knew that, he deserved it all.

So he kept his eyes on the ground, avoiding the endless sea of judgemental faces, shut his ears to block out the noise of rumours, and kept his emotions at bay to prevent further bursts of fury to unleash onto someone who didn’t deserve it. After all, if he had just been kinder to Yonghee, if he had just treated him gently instead of using violence, maybe this would have not happened… If… In this world, ifs didn’t amount to anything. They couldn’t bring back the happy memories they shared, they couldn’t turn back time prior to the tragedy, and they couldn’t magically bring Yonghee to consciousness. Despite the fact that the boy was still alive, the heart monitor beside his hospital bed indicating that his heart hadn’t given up, the doctors weren’t that positive regarding his condition.

“He fell from such a high building…”

“He lost so much blood…”

“The fall was rough, he hurt himself badly…”

As if the boy hadn’t struggled enough before, he was still in so much pain, and seeing his body attached to all those wires, oxygen mask on his scarred face, impossibly white sheets covering his injured body, Jinyoung felt even worse. Whenever he visited his friend in the hospital, whenever he looked at Yonghee’s face, he was reminded of their last encounter, and it was enough for him to want to scratch at his skin for it was too unbearable to deal with the consequences of his own actions.

Even though Hyunsuk had tried to tell him that it wasn’t his fault, Jinyoung didn’t believe him. After all, Yonghee had jumped the day he had pushed him to the shelves, yelling at him, asking if he had been crazy to want to hurt himself over a bad grade. He could never understand the obsession of Yonghee’s parents regarding their son’s good grades, let alone how much it impacted the boy since he himself had never been a good student, nor had he tried to be one.

If he could have just been a bit more empathetic, if he had just opened his eyes to the signs a little earlier…

Jinyoung felt the rush of guilt creeping into his veins, taking over his heart and mind, and he welcomed the feeling almost like a familiar visitor by now. He balled his hands into fists, his nails digging deep into the flesh as he tried to let it wash through him, let it drown him. He wanted nothing more than to drown in this feeling, but reality always brought him back to life - this time, it was you.

“Oh, sorry,” you apologised hastily as you noticed the boy sitting on the floor between two bookshelves, and he looked up, albeit a bit hazily. It was as if you had woken him up from a stupor, he still didn’t feel like his senses were his, his surroundings were real. It was always like this when guilt pulled him under.

He kept quiet, waiting for you to break eye-contact or outright leave this particular section of the school library that he had found to be quiet, so he could hide here while the others were having lunch at the canteen. Not that he had a good appetite these past few weeks, but bearing the watching eyes of others while eating would have been too much, all too much. So just like before, he was a coward, and cowardly chose the easier path - running away.

After transferring schools, somehow rumours followed him, and now everyone here thought that he had killed a student aggressively at his previous school, and he had only managed to avoid juvy because his parents were rich and bribed the jury. While in reality, Yonghee’s case was classified as a suicide attempt for now, and the boy had neither died, nor had Jinyoung been the bully in his case. Not that it mattered when his friend was still lying in bed, still in a coma.

“Do you mind if I join?” You inquired instead of leaving, and confusion brought Jinyoung back to the here and now. Why were you trying to join him when he was a so-called murderer? And why did you bring your lunch box to the library? Did you not eat at the canteen like the others?

He merely looked at you, unfazed, and only spoke up when you didn’t leave.

“Why? Don’t you believe what they say about me?”

“I don’t,” came the answer immediately, and the fast response took the boy aback. “If you had indeed killed someone, and your parents would have bribed the jury, they would probably not want anyone else to know about the bribery, so word wouldn’t have gotten around. Besides, you would probably not be as lifeless as you are now if you had indeed killed someone in cold blood,” you explained thoroughly, your tone almost diplomatic. Ah, now he knew who you were - not by your face but by your voice. You were the top student of the other class, and you went to English classes together. You were always the one who had to give the right answer when no one wanted to speak up.

“Why believe in my innocence when you don’t even know me?” Jinyoung protested, not letting the topic drop. He didn’t deserve to be believed, being misunderstood was his punishment for not being able to help his friend when he would have needed it. He felt like he could have a redemption only if he finished school without anyone talking to him, but instead, looking down on him, and labelling him as a murderer.

So why, why did you want to see him when he wanted to be invisible?

“I know prejudices are scarcely right, and besides… you are in my usual hideout place,” you remarked as you pointed around you. Jinyoung could have believed that the autobiography section of the school library wasn’t that frequently visited, but for you to have it as your usual hideout place meant that you must have frequented it.

Jinyoung found himself unable to say anything to that, and you took that as a sign of approval, so you lowered yourself down and sat on the ground, your back to the shelf opposite of the one Jinyoung leaned towards. You were at a decent distance from each other, but the boy still felt oddly bare given the visibility. It was as if he was afraid that you would get to know how torn and broken he was if you got any closer. Which you didn’t, thankfully.

Instead, you opened your lunch box, and took a bite from your seemingly homemade food. You stared at the books in front of you instead of looking at him, and he was both relieved and frustrated by this. All of this just for you to sit there to eat?

On the other hand, Jinyoung knew that he had no reason to question you. Not you out of all people. So he just let you have your lunch in peace while he was slipping back into his own self-destructive thoughts, glad that they didn’t change. Someone like you might have believed that he was innocent, but Jinyoung knew very well that he wasn’t. If anything, he might have been the worst of them all. Even Seunghun could forgive Yonghee after what had happened to Seunghun’s mother, but why couldn’t Jinyoung move on from that day and wish for his friend to wake up?

Because he knew very well that he would need to face him, and he wasn’t ready for that. He wasn’t sure that he would ever be.

Jinyoung should have known that when you meant that the autobiography section in the school library was your hideout place, you meant that you went there frequently, but he didn’t give it too much thought. In fact, he didn’t really give anything too much thought apart from how he should have been there for Yonghee, and how much he wished he could have turned back time to make everything right.

On the other hand, you did come back day after day, and the boy didn’t have the heart to send you away, nor did he find a different hideout place when students were all over the building and the schoolyards during lunch break, so there was nowhere else to hide. Here though, no one bothered you. To be precise, Jinyoung was bothered by your presence at first, but since you didn’t push him for answers, you just greeted him when he showed up or vice versa, and finished your lunch in silence, he couldn’t find a reason to be bothered by you. He merely didn’t understand why you weren’t bothered by him.

“Why don’t you eat with the others?” He found himself asking once, eyes narrowing as his eyes found yours. You blinked a few times at him as if you were surprised that he had actually asked a question from you, and gulped down your food before answering.

“I don’t have any friends, and I don’t want anyone to comment on my food. I have enough of that on school trips,” you sighed out, your voice carrying an all too familiar emotion - bitterness. Raw, deeply personal, and fragile. Bitterness wasn’t a feeling that he had been familiar with before, but now, if one emotion could embody what he was going through, it would be this one big mess of bitterness without seemingly an end in sight.

The boy assumed that you would leave it at that, but you didn’t. He found that he didn’t exactly mind.

“I have gut problems, so I need to bring my own food, but they make fun of it as if I chose to eat this way. You don’t realise how isolating it can be when you can’t eat the food that others eat, but here, no one bothers me,” you added as you looked around the huge, still shelves of books that could indeed not ask stupid questions, let alone judge her for spending her lunch break here. He could understand the sentiment well.

“That’s ridiculous,” he snorted in disbelief, but your lips trembled and sadness moved into your eyes, so he felt the need to add. “That they make fun of you for that, I mean. It’s not your fault,” he justified solemnly, and your shoulders easened as if you had been bearing a weight for so long that had just come off now.

“You’re the first person who says that at school.”

Jinyoung was about to open his mouth, but he couldn’t utter a word. It had never been him who had caught onto someone’s change in their body language or who was said to be the most empathetic. After all, if he had been, Yonghee wouldn’t have laid in a hospital bed… So for you to voice out that he was the first one who took your side, he didn’t even know if he should have protested or shared that it was only natural in his eyes.

He closed his mouth, and looked down at his own intertwined fingers - ones that pushed those away who wanted to keep him close, ones that pushed Yonghee away quite literally when he should have needed help the most. He felt himself going back into his usual spiral of destructive thoughts when your voice pulled him out.

Again.

“Where’s your lunch? Aren’t you eating?”

He was so surprised by the question that his eyebrows elevated and his eyes widened. He was sure that he seemed pretty dumbfounded because you let out a short-lived yet beautiful (thus fragile) giggle, and explained that you figured out that he was here during lunch break because he didn’t want to eat with the others. However, unlike you, he didn’t have food with him.

“I don’t feel like eating.”

“You should. You need the energy to bear all the weight of those malicious rumours,” you pointed out almost gently, giving him a small smile before turning back to your food and proceeding to eat.

You didn’t say a word afterwards, nor did he, but now he wasn’t sure whether his lack of response was because he didn’t find it in himself to tell you that he didn’t care, that he was fine, that he deserved it, that you didn’t know anything, or because he was awestruck by the fact that someone cared. That you cared whether he ate or not, whether he was affected by the malicious rumours or not.

That you cared about him in the first place.

Jinyoung wouldn’t deem it a habit, but you still came back day after day, and he did come back day after day as well, and somehow you fell into this unfamiliar rhythm of silences filled with occasional, more or less vulnerable questions, and his heart was open to answer them. Even when you inquired whether he didn’t want to fix the broken watch around his wrist and he said that it was a friend’s, so he didn’t want to, he didn’t mind telling you, and you didn’t push for more details, so he left it at that.

He didn’t admit though that the watch was Yonghee’s, and that he found it with a torn glass lens on the rooftop of the school - from where Yonghee had jumped from. He had picked it up alongside the boy’s phone, and selfishly kept the watch, so that it could remind him of the only time that mattered - of his friend’s lifespan; so that it could be a compass for him - to show where he was supposed to go; so that it could be a guide for him - to indicate what he was supposed to do, what was the right thing to do. Such as not beating up the bullies at his previous school even though he had wanted to.

You also shared how tough it was to constantly live up to the expectations of your parents, teachers and classmates, and how you were always supposed to give the right answer even if you were an outcast, even if you were ridiculed for your health problems, even if you were never enough. Hearing that, Jinyoung couldn’t help but be reminded of Yonghee (when wasn’t he reminded of his friend, honestly?), but you seemed to be floating above all the criticism well.

When he inquired how you managed, you shared that you worked with a therapist, and the boy was surprised both to hear that and to hear you admit that, yet you confessed that asking for professional help had probably been the best decision of your life. You knew either way that school would be over soon - as you were seniors -, and you hoped university would be different. Besides, you hoped that you would meet people who could understand you like you had found Jinyoung.

The boy was never one to feel touched, but when you confessed that you deemed him someone who could accept you for who you were, he felt immensely moved. He was overcome with this inward urge, this deep want to keep you safe that was just so jarring, he felt like catching his breath while only staying still. Yet, he couldn’t tell whether it was because he didn’t want history to repeat itself or because he genuinely wanted it to stay this way. He was, as always, torn, and he wasn’t sure whether he could get an answer to his turmoil of emotions.

Nevertheless, when you didn’t come to the library for a few days, Jinyoung immediately jumped to worrisome conclusions, and he even went as far as to ask from your homeroom teacher whether you were absent because of an illness or because something had happened to you. The elderly man reassured him that you caught some bug, so you would probably come back a few days later, and unbeknownst to him, he was relieved, lungs working to full capacity again, heart quitting those crazy palpitations he had while worse and worse scenarios were going through his head.

Interestingly so, the next time you met wasn’t even in the library, but at the sports day event where everyone was supposed to participate, at least as spectators, and he found you sitting alone on the bench of the grandstand, so he headed towards you.

You looked up as he approached, and there was a small smile hiding in the corner of your lips as you realised who he was. Upon the sight, he was yet again overcome by that feeling of protectiveness. He knew that just as much as he could make you smile, he could hurt you as well, and he didn’t want that, but he didn’t want to run away either. Not from you. Not from someone who didn’t push him for questions, who didn’t care that he didn’t talk a lot about his past, who didn’t care that odd rumours were spread about him.

Besides, his internal turmoil in the past few days prompted him to appreciate the time you two could spend together, and so he wanted to keep these times within an arm reach, he didn’t want them to slip through his fingers, to crush and burn, and be just a faded, bitter memory in the future of what ifs and could haves.

So he took the first step towards you, and then the next, and before he knew it, he was sitting beside you, both of you watching the currently playing students on the field.

“You didn’t come in the past few days,” he pointed out matter-of-factly while still keeping his eyes on the football match. He saw from the corner of his eyes that your shoulders tensed a bit, and you audibly took in a deep breath before answering.

“Yeah, well… I wasn’t really feeling well. The meds that I’m taking for my gut suppress not only the harmful stuff but the beneficial bacteria, so I’m more susceptible to illnesses. It’s not the first time it happened either,” you concluded a bit bitterly, and he could hear the hurt in your voice. Though you tried to mask it, though he had not always been good at picking up on the signs, he could tell that your condition bothered you - the fact that you were tending to one illness while leading the way for others.

“Are you feeling better now?” Jinyoung inquired genuinely after clearing his throat, and looked at you just in time for you to look at him. As your gazes connected, something inside of him burst, and it flew through him in waves of warm, comforting reassurance. Just the fact that you were beside him, seemingly safe and sound, lifted such a heavy weight off his shoulders, he felt like he could breathe again.

At least for the lifespan of this conversation.

“Yeah, I think so. Don’t worry.”

“I didn’t,” the boy tried to protest immediately, but you narrowed your eyes as if you were trying to decide whether to question his words or not. In the end, you did speak up.

“The homeroom teacher told me that you asked about me. He thought I was tutoring you or something like that, and that’s why you asked about me,” you replied without batting an eye, however, Jinyoung couldn’t bear to look at you anymore. Instead, he looked away, finding the currently running boys on the field much more interesting.

The truth is, the boy didn’t know why he was embarrassed about the situation. Worrying about someone after what had happened to Yonghee was still an unfamiliar feeling to him. He didn’t even know he was concerned about you until you didn’t show up at the library, but if there was one thing he had learned from the past few months behind him, it was that he couldn’t take anything for granted. Or anyone, for that matter.

“Anyways, do you want to exchange contacts? At least, I can tell you next time if something like this happens,” you suggested warily, breaking the silence that fell upon the two of you. Jinyoung slowly shifted his eyes from the field to you, but you were looking down at your intertwined fingers, your phone resting under your hands.

“Sure,” he found himself saying even though he wasn’t sure that it was him speaking. Even you were a tad bit surprised that he had given it so quickly, but either way, you exchanged contacts before you were called for a jogging race and needed to leave him behind.

Nevertheless, as you were walking down the stairs, you halted and looked back over your shoulder, directing a gentle smile in the boy’s direction. Whenever he saw you smile like that, the only thought that he had was for how long you could smile like that before he would paint it with agony and hurt, before he would ruin your blossom of affection, before he would break the heart you held out to him.

“Thank you. For worrying about me.”

Your voice broke through the overwhelming mass of his own destruction that was ready to bring him down anytime, and suddenly, in that moment, his heart whispered something else: maybe your smile was one for change, one for hope.

Jinyoung knew that they all blamed themselves for what had happened to Yonghee, and they had all changed since their friend had tried to commit suicide. Byounggon, for one, had dropped out of school altogether after he had realised that he had no power as someone who lived alone on a rooftop, abandoned by his parents, struggling to make ends meet with school and his part-time job. He had started working full-time instead. Seunghun, who had aspired to become a dancer before, had given up on dancing after he had not been able to go back to the practice room because it always reminded him of how his mother had died. He was completely lost for now. Hyunsuk, who had always tried to do well at school - to gain his parents’ love and his father’s attention who lived far away since his parents’ divorce - had started dropping in rank, even going as far as attempting to steal because he could no longer tolerate who he was, and how the supposed-to-be perfect Yoon Hyunsuk had not been able to help his friend because he had been blinded by his own suffering.

And Jinyoung, well… He had changed schools, but his guilt followed him everywhere. His parents said that they didn’t even recognise him anymore, but Jinyoung couldn’t either. Whenever he looked into the mirror, he saw his friend’s face as he had grabbed Yonghee by the collar and pushed him to the shelves, and he wished he could break the mirror, punch the glass until his knuckles bled, scream at the top of his lungs until he became speechless. The truth is, he felt like a part of him had died on the day Yonghee had jumped from the rooftop. Living was painful, but sleeping wasn’t peaceful either. He was constantly tormented by nightmares, and not even the sleeping pills could help - they helped with actually going to sleep, but not with chasing away his nightmares.

He wasn’t one to believe in miracles because he had tasted the bitterness of life, but you, you seemed to shine some light in the darkness. A kind of light that warmed him but also scared him at the same time. What if you were suffering in silence, and he wasn’t able to help? Again. What if he was to hurt you, either literally or figuratively? Again. What if he couldn’t take care of you? Again. The thought of anything happening to you made his already agonising days even more frightening. Staying away from you seemed as much of a bad idea as getting closer to you. He was truly lost in his sea of emotions, he felt like drowning.

And just when he thought that he was doing better, he realised that the hardest part was still left: letting go of the guilt when his friend’s state was still uncertain. However, if you hadn’t told him to think from Yonghee’s point of view, he would have never realised that Yonghee would want him to be happy. Yet, he had a panic attack once when you were in the library and he got a message from Seunghun saying that Yonghee’s heart had stopped for a while, but they had managed to resuscitate him. Afterwards, words just spilled out from him, and it was like an avalanche: sweeping everything up into the air, raging through slopes and destroying anything that got in its way.

Jinyoung told you that he blamed himself for everything, and that he was the reason his friend had still not woken up, and you let him speak until his mouth ran dry, until his words bled together, until his heart was finally brought out from the shadows, put in front of you to hold and decide whether to break it or tend to it.

You seemed to decide on the latter.

“It’s hard to say for sure at times like this, but usually, a decision like this is more about a handful of different things coming together at the wrong time, and consequences seeming daunting. Your friend might have also wanted things to be different,” you mentioned tentatively after you had let him tell you whatever he wanted. He figured that you had a feeling that if you interrupted him, you would hold him back from sharing the whole story, and he was sure that it could have gone down that way because he wasn’t one to talk about his emotions, especially not the ones regarding Yonghee.

“I don’t know…”

“He might have been happy while you had been together. It might have given him strength to hold out for so long. Something in him still wants to fight,” you reasoned gently, your words rolling off like drops of rain on a tranquil night just between fall and winter.

These were just words, mere syllables put together, but Jinyoung was struck, he felt his heart clench, his mind flooded with the memories they had made in the movie club, flashbacks of Yonghee smiling, the twinkling eyes of the boy, the childish giggle of his… and in that moment, Jinyoung realised that his mind was clouded by all the pain of the past few months, and he couldn’t see the joy, the care, the happiness before… It was as if everything else had been erased from his life apart from his wrongdoings and the events that followed Yonghee’s fall.

And in that moment, he found himself collapsing like pillars of a building that gave in to the massive weight on top of them, and cries broke out of him. Ugly, raw, heart-wrenching sobs that you didn’t try to muffle, you didn’t try to calm down, you merely let him like it all out.

And for that, he would always be thankful because he felt like he had been holding out for so long, he had tried to keep it all together before because he couldn’t crumble, he couldn’t cause more pain to others around him, but maybe it wasn’t about being a burden to others, it was about being human.

After so long without being in the same room together that was not the hospital ward, the four boys got together to read Yonghee’s letter, back at the music club of their old school. To be precise, Jinyoung and Byounggon’s old school. And you were right, Yonghee confessed in his letter that the only happy times he had were the ones he had with the four of them. Damn it, you were right.

No wonder tears were shed, words were exchanged, and after watching the movie they had worked on together, Jinyoung felt like something mended. It was as if with Yonghee’s fall, they had all fallen apart like broken pieces of a vase because there wasn’t a glue anymore that held them together - there wasn’t Yonghee there to keep them together. Yet, now they were together like this again. For a while after what felt like eternity, they were themselves again. It felt like maybe they forgave themselves. Not entirely but maybe forgiveness wasn’t as far as they had thought so.

And coincidentally, the next morning when Jinyoung was at school, zoning out during Maths class, he received a message in the groupchat that Yonghee had woken up. He didn’t think twice, he disregarded the exclaims of the teacher, the stares of his classmates and ran through corridors, streets, hallways, hopped on and off buses until his legs could give in and fall to the ground beside Yonghee’s bed.

Byounggon was already there, but through the waterfall of his tears, Jinyoung couldn’t see what state the boy was in, he could only see Yonghee's face breaking free from the stern lines - the ones that made him resemble a statue for so long - and his eyes - wide and bright as usually - focusing on him.

“Jinyoung…” He muttered quietly, and his voice - the one he could only listen to in videos on his phone before - seemed both familiar and brand new. He couldn’t believe his ears. His friend had not only woken up, but he also remembered him. “I’m so glad you’re here,” he added, voice raspy and words a bit uncertain, but the message was there, and if Jinyoung could fall even deeper, he would have.

“Thank you…. Thank you so… much… for coming back,” Jinyoung cried out, interrupted by his jarring sobs. Yonghee’s lips curled upwards slowly, and Jinyoung found himself smiling with him through his tears. Gosh, just how easy it was to smile again.

He didn’t know what he would have done if Yonghee’s heart had given up for good, but now, he knew that he wouldn’t take anything for granted again. Not his friend’s silent plea for help, not his parents’ support towards him, not his friends’ care, not the smiles and laughs and jokes, not the silly little nothings and the “I’ve told you so” sentences, and not you as well, not the chances he had been given to feel alive again, not the friends he had mended his relationship with again, and not the bond you two had created. He would cherish all of it as much as he could, and make sure that he would voice it out. Because he now knew that life was so precious, and despite it being hard on the living, it might have been more difficult on those who had left or chosen to leave.

Something within him gave in, and he felt like his lungs were working on full capacity, but not because he couldn’t breathe - but because he was ready to welcome more air, more life. He was coming back to life bit by bit.

A/N:  If you or someone is in need, don't hesitate to reach out for help! A list of worlwide helplines can be found here.

We are never alone.

I want to clarify that I believe one could be a support to a person struggling, but it's still the person in question who has to find the will in themselves to keep going. So I purposefully didn't make it into a romance-focused story where the reader "saves" Jinyoung because Jinyoung needed to forgive himself and "save" himself, but the way the reader supported him, showed him a different way of life and put things into a different perspective helped him tremendously to deal with everything that he was going through. They both helped each other, to be precise.

In my story, I wanted Yonghee to wake up from the start, but only after the boys forgive themselves, yet in the story films, I think there might be a different ending regarding Yonghee's condition. However, we can see the boys slowly coming together and moving on in their own way, and I wanted to showcase that same kind of hopefulness by the end of the story.

I'm super proud of CIX for having such a storyline, for taking it so seriously and for showcasing all the different ways a person can deal with such things and find some salvation. Super proud of them for their acting, too!

As for my story, I know it might not be able to do the storyline justice, but I hope it could spark something in your nevertheless. Thank you so so so much for reading it!❤️

If you want to read more stories of mine, let it be for CIX or for other bands, consider signing up for my taglist here.

Hope you have a lovely day/night! Take care! ❤️

[dilemmaontwolegs]

Running from the Flames {14}

Pairing: Pierre Gasly x OFC Warnings: 18+ only, fem rec oral, smut, reliving historic domestic abuse, panic attack - this is a work of fiction and the events are not based on reality. Chapter: One || Two || Three || Four || Five || Six || Seven || Eight || Nine || Ten || Eleven* || Twelve || Thirteen || Fourteen || Fifteen || under construction

I was lost without Addie and I was constantly looking around for her only to remember she was with dad. Pierre had taken it upon himself to distract me and he was filling the huge spa bath, the fruity scent of strawberry bubble bath drifting on the air to where I waited in the bedroom. 

Since we got back to the hotel he had put me on bed rest and refused to let me do anything but lay down and relax while he did everything. He had set the tv up and placed the remote in my hand, made me a cup of tea, given me my pain killers and ordered room service for us. 

The bathroom door opened and a bit of steam escaped before he closed it behind him and when it cleared I saw he had already stripped down to his underwear.

“How am I meant to rest when you show off all that?” I asked, waving a hand over his almost naked body.

“It’s not my fault you have no restraint, ma chérie.” My heart rate spiked at the heated look in his eyes and he swaggered across the room to me. “This is my favourite part, undressing you.”

His hands were warm and wet from testing the temperature of the water and I shivered as they ran up my thighs, gathering the material of my sundress. 

“You’re just being a tease now,” I said with a pout as he had me sit up and pulled it over my head. 

“I’m taking care of my girl,” he said with an innocent flutter of his lashes. 

“Then take care of your girl,” I dared as I took his hand and ran it down the valley of my breasts, his smirk growing the lower we went. 

Just before our hands reached the waist of my panties he pulled back and shook his head to clear the thoughts that had threatened to take over. Scooping me up in his arms, he carried me to the bathroom with a promise, “behave and I will.”

He perched me on the bathroom sink and rechecked the water before giving me another warning look as he hooked his fingers into my panties and drew them down my legs. It was a reflex action to part my legs for him and he groaned as he saw how wet I was for him, the longing swimming in his eyes before he gave into his desire and dropped to his knees on the tile floor. 

His breath was hot on my thighs and he pulled me to the edge of the vanity so he could bury his face between my legs. My soft moans echoed around the bathroom and slowly grew louder as his tongue teased over my clit before he pressed it flat making stars dance around my vision. 

“More, Pierre, please,” I begged as I laced my fingers in his hair and guided him lower, crying out when his tongue grazed my entrance. “I need you.”

His need equaled my own as he rose to his feet and shoved his boxers down his legs before stepping between mine. I was wet and ready when he stroked his hard length and guided his cock to my dripping cunt, filling me inch by tantalisingly slow inch until our bodies met and we moaned in unison. 

“This is not behaving,” Pierre murmured in my ear between the kisses he traced along my neck.

“No, this is much better.” My nails grazed down his back before I gripped his ass and urged him to move faster.

The water wasn’t as hot as I liked it by the time Pierre stepped into the spa and sat down with me in his lap but it was still a good temperature to relax in as he hit the button to start the jets. 

“Oh god, that feels good,” I sighed as the water jets massaged my lower back while my head rested on Pierre’s shoulder.

“I’m the only thing that you can say that to.”

I nipped at the skin on his collarbone and chuckled at the goosebumps that pricked over his skin. “Don’t be jealous, babe, it’ll still be you sharing my bed tonight.”

He closed his eyes and leaned back comfortably. “And the next, and the next, and every one after that.”

I shifted onto my stomach and lay down across the length of his body so I could look up at him. “Until I start work and then I’ll have to be in Paris Monday to Friday.”

His eyes snapped open and he sat up, pulling me closer and making the water lapped dangerously close to the lip of the bath. “When do you start?”

“After the Belgium GP.”

Tension in the atmosphere skyrocketed as he ran through the races in his head before it fell back with a heavy thud and he sighed. “That’s like halfway through the season.”

The disappointment was palpable and I wished I could erase it from his eyes as he looked away. Unable to stand seeing him sad, I straddled his lap so I could cup his jawline and turn him back to face me. 

“I’ve checked flight lengths and I can make it to most of the qualifiers and race days. Sometimes I’ll have to leave straight after the race finishes to make it back in time for work but at least we will get to spend some time together.”

He dropped his forehead to mine and shook his head ruefully. “I knew this was coming but it still…it sucks.”

“I know, but it’s also only three hours to Paris so you can come and stay with me and Addie on your days off?”

He nodded but the sadness still lingered in his eyes as he pressed a kiss to my forehead. “I miss her already.”

The admission made me smile and I relaxed against him as we just held each other tight while the water cooled around us. 

“We will make this work, Pierre, I promise.”

“We have to,” he said sincerely, “I can’t imagine my life without you in it now that I have you.” 

—

Every part of my body hurt but the worst radiated down my leg and I fought against darkness closing around my vision. Nausea rolled in my stomach as my brain realised what my eyes were seeing and I vomited as my head spun. 

Blood, so much blood. It leaked through my fingers as I tried to cover the bone sticking out of my thigh. 

My vision blurred as liquid ran over them and I tried to wipe it away but more leaked down my face and I saw the same sickening shade of red on my hand. I tried to use my other but more pain lacerated me and it refused to move where it hung limply across the once-white shaggy rug. 

“Help,” my voice was as weak as my body and a dark laugh echoed in my mind. I felt like someone had dumped a bucket of ice water over me. “No, no, this isn’t real. You’re gone. You’re not here.”

Erik stepped out the shadows at the top of the stairs and looked down at me. “You did this to yourself,” he said as he leisurely stepped towards me. “You should have just done what you were told. It’s all your fault.”

I shook my head and tried to crawl away but I was too weak. I could do nothing but close my eyes as he finished what he started. 

I knew this wasn’t my recollection of that night, this was just what my brain was able to create from the information the police had pieced together. I would never know the truth of what transpired in the empty void of my memory for those hours because everything Erik said were lies. 

The suffocating weight of Erik was pulled off me and I thrashed as another pair of arms wrapped around me.

“Shhhh, it’s just a nightmare,” Pierre said softly as he ran his hand up and down my back. “Breathe, mon amour, deep breaths.”

I tried to calm my rapid breaths but it was a struggle when I still felt Erik’s hands on me and the sheen of sweat on my skin reminded me of the blood that coagulated around me. 

“I can’t get rid of him,” I panted as the room started to spin. “I can’t. I can’t. Breathe.”

I tried to get up and make it to the balcony that had the promise of the cold night air I needed to shock my lungs back to life but Pierre was still holding me tightly. I couldn’t form words in the panic that gripped me by the throat and struggled in his arms until he pulled away. I couldn’t dwell on the look he gave me as I scrambled off the bed and threw the glass door wide open to gasp in the salty offshore wind that slammed into me. 

“I’m sorry,” I whispered as I stared out over the water crashing upon Sant Miquel Beach in the pre-dawn light. I knew he was behind me, I could feel his presence like a warm blanket I wanted wrapped around me but I needed to ground myself to my own body. I needed to erase the feel of Erik before I could welcome Pierre.

“Bri, you have nothing to apologise for,” he said just as quietly. “How often does that happen?”

“The nightmares used to be every night. The panic attack hasn’t happened for a while.” I reached blindly behind me and felt his fingers lace with mine and he seemed to sense that it was the most I could offer him for the moment. “I think the pain from today might have triggered it, it reminded me of when it was broken that night.”

I closed my eyes as fresh tears leaked out and it felt like they turned to ice on my cheeks as the cold wind kissed the droplets. “You should go back to bed, you need to be rested for your race today.”

My eyes fluttered open when I felt his thumb wipe away my tears and he shook his head. “I’ll be fine, mon amour. Tell me what you need.”

My heartrate had slowly been dropping but it spiked as I turned to him, his intense stare waiting expectantly. He stayed frozen as he waited for me to make the first move and he shuddered as my cold hands slid around his bare waist. “Call me that again.”

I felt his smile that he hid in my hair before he brushed it back behind my ear and kissed the sensitive spot just below it. “You own my heart, mon amour.”

Click here for chapter fifteen.

Tagging: @my-only-way-tocooperatewithlife @anotheroneiforgot

[hyunjins-orange-slice-too]

Regally Smitten

chapter 5: the coronation

synopsis: A future king and his servant are bound by their forbidden love. With the odds stacked against them, and a jealous brother out for blood, will their love prevail? Or will history repeat itself?

chapter word count: ~4.2

warnings: homophobia (specifically religious homophobia, this is a period piece so these beliefs are a reflection of the time period being portrayed, and the characters themselves, and do not reflect my personal beliefs. please read with caution and remember to take care of yourself. ily.) descriptions of violence, main character injury (no main character death), foul language, suggestive themes, brief mentions of anxiety, depression, and panic attacks. one mention of suicidal thoughts (but no action)

disclaimer: this is a work of fiction and in no way represents any member of stray kids in reality. this is a fanfiction and should be treated as such. this is not me “shipping” them, these are simply characters based on real life people. i don’t need the minsung antis coming for me.

authors note: only one chapter left after this! hehe

series masterlist • main masterlist

Han’s heart shattered. His knees buckled. He gripped the stone wall he was leaning against to avoid crumpling to the floor. Of course, this was the right decision on Minho’s part. Obviously he had to choose Lady Astrid. But Han was unprepared for the pain he would feel of hearing it spoken aloud like that. I choose Lady Astrid. The words kept ringing in his mind. He thought he may never forget the way they sounded, the way they hung in the stale air around them. Tears filled Han’s eyes at the finality of it all. He knew the approaching wedding, he knew their fate. But everything felt so much more real in this moment. He would never be with Minho. Would never kiss him. Would never fall asleep next to him, looking into those chocolate eyes. The pieces of his heart splintered and poked at the surrounding tissue. He bled internally.

"Obviously I choose Lady Astrid." Minho announced. "as there is nothing going on between my squire and I."

Nothing. What they had was nothing.

Rian didn’t seem convinced. "Then shall we get rid of him?" he asked, looking over in Han’s direction. "People have been executed for less."

Minho’s blood was boiling. It was bubbling under the surface of his skin and felt like it was about to burst out of his ears. He was so enraged he could barely hear. It sounded like he was underwater, like Rian was screaming at him from the surface. "Execute him? For what?" Minho asked.

"I dunno." Rian said, looking around at the council members. "For… propositioning the king."

"That’s a lie!" Minho snapped.

Rian held his hands up in surrender. "I saw what I saw, brother. You were holding hands. Someone had to start it."

"We were not holding hands." Minho said through clenched teeth. "I told you, I will not rule like my father. We are not barbarians. We don’t kill for fun."

"Butt this isn’t for fun." Rian argued. "It’s for the sake of the kingdom. We can’t have his kind in the castle. He’s unholy. An abomination."

"Who is king here?!" Minho was raising his voice now, his patience growing thinner and thinner by the second. But Rian wasn’t scared. This is what he wanted. Let Minho lose control. Let the council see how he truly feels.

"No one yet, brother." Rian said calmly. "Not until tomorrow."

"Assign me a new squire, put Han back in the kitchens if you must, but we are not killing him. He did nothing wrong." Minho took a few steps closer to the door. "That’s an order. From your future king." He strode out of the room, slamming the door behind him, not once looking in Han’s direction.

——

Minho felt like death the following morning. A new squire had woken him up, some boy named Sam. Though there wasn’t much waking up involved. Minho hadn’t slept. He waited, hiding in the halls while the council members headed back to their chambers. Once he made sure Han made it back to his room safely, and then once he checked and double checked that he was still safe in his room, he finally allowed himself to go to bed. But sleep eluded him. He replayed the council meeting over and over in his head. Was he convincing enough? Did they believe him? He hoped they had.

Had Han believed him?

His body felt heavy at the thought. He was sure he heard sniffling coming from the other side of Han’s door the night before. And Minho hated himself for causing that pain. He should have just kept his feelings to himself. Had a little self control. He knew where they could end up. He was just glad they we both alive. Though he wasn’t sure for how much longer that would be true. He just had to make it through the coronation. Once he was officially king, his brother could do nothing about it.

He pulled his clothes on, his body almost unaware of itself as his heart yearned for Han. He was just going through the motions. This was his life now. The rest of his existence being spent on autopilot as his soul tried to forget the way Han’s lips felt against his own, the way he stuffed his cheeks with food. "you’re cute with your cheeks filled with food like that. Like a little chipmunk."

He pulled his boots on, trying to tie the laces, his fingers fumbling. He clenched his jaw as squire Sam brushed through his hair. His mind filled with images of Han’s tiny hand holding the same brush, delicately detangling while Minho bathed.

He let squire Sam help him with his vest, as Han had done many times before. The whole room reminded him of Han. Everything in it had been touched by him in some way. Minho swore the room even smelled like him.

— —

"How do you know this information is true?" Erin asked, his arms crossed.

Hyunjin thought the Hand of the king was a scary looking man. Very big and tall and muscley. Hyunjin felt small under his intense stare. And it didn’t help that they were in Hyunjin and Han’s shared closet of a bedroom, which Erin took up most of the space.

"One of the maids found this in prince Rian’s room." Hyunjin said, pulling out the flower embroidered undergarment from behind his back. He had managed to get it from Meredith early this morning. He handed it to the large man. “I guess there’s no concrete proof that it belongs to Lady Astrid, but the flowers and the initials sewn into the fabric seem to point that way."

Erin was quiet, holding the item in his large hand.

"I-I’m not trying to start trouble, honest." Hyunjin said, his voice cracking. "I’m just worried for my friend’s safety. We can’t go up against prince Rian. I just thought that this might help Han keep his life.."

Erin grunted. "Tell no one about this conversation." He ordered, shoving the clothing item into his jacket, and exiting the room.

——

The throne room was full to the max. Minho could hear the people mingling, their voices all blending together, sounding like a dull roar on the other side of the door. The future king was alone in this room. Everyone else was out there, waiting for him.

He paced back and forth, his boots scuffling on the stone floor. He could do this. Everything would be fine. He would go out there and say his vows, wear his crown, and mingle with the people, his future wife hanging on his arm. Minho groaned. Carding his fingers through his hair, he sighed. Is this truly what he wanted? He turned down a prime opportunity to leave all of this behind and start anew, somewhere else, with his beloved. But, as much as his heart wanted that, his conscience wouldnt let him leave his people with Rian as their king. The kingdom would descend into madness.

Minho's stomach turned with nerves. Surely it was almost time, right? Minho just wanted to get this day over with. He wanted to move on. He needed to focus on what was next, keep moving, dont let the pain catch up to him. Being alone in this room with only his thoughts for company was not helping.

Just then the door opened. Erin's large body filled the frame as he stepped inside.

"Your Grace." the large man bowed. "They are almost ready for you."

"Good." Minho said, taking a deep breath and standing up straight, putting his best kingly facade on. "I’m ready to get this over."

Minho made for the door, but Erin put his hand out to stop him. Minho looked up at the large man, confusion on his face.

"My apologies Your Grace, but there is something you need to hear first." Erin said, reaching his hand into the inside pocket of his coat.

----

The crowd was massive. Han didnt think he had ever seen so many people in the throne room at one time. King Heinrich had been the only king that had ever served since Han was alive, so this is the first coronation he would bear witness to. And both of the princes were not at marrying age until recently, so there were no royal weddings to witness either. This was the first large gathering that Han had been apart of. And it was starting to get to him. The large group of people, all confined into one space, people brushing against him as they made their way past, the loud roar of the collective voices, was making Han feel panicky. His heart was beating hard, his hands clenched into fists. He focused on his breathing, inhaling for a few seconds, holding it, and then slowly exhaling.

Han had been in a little bit of a dark place for a while. Trying to come to terms with his feelings for an unobtainable man. And then the council meeting the previous night had made everything worse. Hearing Minho say that what they had was nothing, was some of the worst pain that Han had ever felt. Han was one half of that relationship, he experienced everything just as Minho had, but did he? Had Minho ever really liked him? Or was he just something to use to pass the time? A conquest to fill his boring princely life until he had a wife? And then what was to come of it? If they hadn’t been almost caught, would Minho continue to see Han on the side? Han didn’t want to be anyone's second choice. He deserved his fairy tale love. But it obviously wasnt with Minho.

Han felt embarrassed. Hyunjin was right about not letting things get too far. He was right about how it was dangerous to develop feelings for someone as high up as the prince. But Han couldn’t help it, he tried. He tried and he failed. But Hyunjin wasnt an I told you so kind of person. He just held Han all night as he sobbed. He forced him out of bed this morning, and made sure he made it to the kitchens for his duties. And that’s how he was now in the throne room, standing at the end of a table, refilling goblets of wine, and clearing away dirty plates.

Just then, a door on the far end of the throne room opened wide. The roar of the crowd quickly died down to a soft murmur. The hand of the king, ser Erin, stepped out of the room first, followed by a weary looking Minho. Han’s eyes were still swollen from all the crying he had done the night before, so he wasn’t sure if he was seeing things correctly, but Minho looked like he hadn’t slept in days. Though Han had just seen him hours before. The prince looked rough as he approached the front of the dais, walking slowly, almost as if he were walking to the gallows instead of walking to his throne.

His mother and his brother who were sat on either side of the throne, stood up and bowed slightly when he approached. Ser Erin stood off to the side, and Minho stood directly in front of his golden throne. The old man from the council meeting was dressed in elegant robes of purple as he approached the steps of the dais. He carried a long fur cloak, draped over his arms, and in his hands was a large pillow, cushioning the heavy weight of the golden crown. At the base of the dais, the man bowed as much as he could with his arms full, and then he ascended the stairs. Once at the top, he stood next to Minho and turned to face the crowd.

"Today is a glorious day." He announced. "Today is a day that we fill the void left by his late majesty, King Heinrich, may his soul rest in peace."

The crowd gave a soft applause. The old man continued. "Today is the day that we crown a new king, and a mighty good one at that."

The man gestured for Ser Erin to approach. He did and he delicately took the pillow form the man's arms. The man then draped the cloak over Minho’s shoulders. "The cloak of many kings." The man announced. "Part of the Lee dynasty since the early ages." The man then, using only his fingertips, lifted the crown off of its pillow.

"If you would, Your Grace, please kneel." he said, his elderly voice shaky, but kind.

Minho did as he was asked and dropped to one knee in front of the man, who delicately placed the crown atop Minho's head. Han thought he had never seen such a beautiful, yet heartbreaking sight. Minho looked perfect up there. Looked like he truly was meant to be a king. Tge crown fit him perfectly, and the cloak only just brushed the floor as Minho stood. Han thought he looked so handsome, but at the same time, that crown was the thing standing in their way. The only thing keeping them apart.

"There is nothing going on between my squire and I."

Well, maybe it wasn’t the only thing keeping them apart. Han had to remind himself that Minho was raised for this, that Han had only known Minho for a few short months. How could he really know his true feelings? His true intentions? It all felt so real though.

"Your Grace, do you so swear to protect the realm, no matter the cost?" the man asked.

"I do so swear." Minho said, his voice slightly shaken.

"Do you so swear to rule justly, and mercifully?"

"I do so swear." Minho's voice was growing progressively more watery. He knew the next and final oath. Had been dreading it and practicing his answer.

"Do you so swear to protect the church and enforce all of its laws?" the man asked. Minho knew this was a standard question. The standard oath that every king had taken for centuries. But he was not every king that came before him. He didn’t agree with all of the churches teachings. Specifically how the church felt on same sex couples. But he knew that there was only one answer he could give. Any other answer would draw attention, draw speculation, put Han in danger. Minho's eyes brimmed with tears at the thought of Han. He blinked hard, and put the boy out of his mind. Minho swallowed, and with a watery voice said: "I do so swear."

"Finally, does anyone have any objection to this man becoming king?" the old man announced to the room. This question, though customary, very rarely had any answer. No one in their right mind would stand up at a coronation and explain why they thought the future king would fail. Well, no one except maybe Rian.

The price stood, clearing his throat. "I may have an objection." Rian announced. There were a few gasps from the crowd, the murmuring grew louder. Han thought he might throw up in the wine pitcher. This had to be about him. What other reason would Rian have to refuse? Minho was a perfect match for king. Rian had no other ammunition. Han braced himself for impact. This was it. Rian was going to announce to basically the whole kingdom, that their king was in love with a man. Their execution would soon follow.

Minho turned to face his brother. Rian had his usual smug look on his face, Minho narrowed his eyes. "You don’t want to do this, brother." Minho said quietly, so that only those on the dais may hear.

"Oh, I think I do." Rian replied, venom lacing his voice. "I know what I saw. You leave me no choice. The people of this realm deserve to know their true king."

"Please." Minho begged. "Don’t do this. You’re my brother."

"Brothers only by blood." Rian said, before he stepped in front of his brother to address the crowd.

Han noticed that Ser Erin had slipped off of the dais, but Han didn’t see where he ran off to. Han thought it was strange, that the hand of the king wouldn’t remain by the king's side when there was surely danger to his safety. Once Rian says this out loud, the people will revolt against their king.

"My brother has a secret he has been hiding from you all." Rian announced to the silent room. The crowd hung on his every word. The air was thick with anticipation.

"Rian. Don’t ." Minho pleaded one last time.

"He is in love." The whole crowd had a sigh of relief. They ooed and awed, thinking surely that prince Rian was talking about Lady Astrid, who was stood atop the dais as well, off to the far left.

"Ah you did not let me finish." Rian said, holding up a finger to hush the crowd. "He is in love, but it is not with Lady Astrid." He motioned to the woman. "He is in love with his squire. A young man named Han." The crowd erupted into a collection of shocked gasps, and words of disbelief. Rian had put emphasis on the word man and really drove his point home by pointing Han out in the crowd. Everyone turned collectively to look at him, their faces filled with disgust. Some of them looked downright mad.

Han’s breathing came in ragged gasps now, his legs and arms starting to go numb. Minho could see Han from the dais, everyone was looking at him, shouting hurtful things in his direction. Han looked like he was about to pass out, or cry, or both. It repulsed Minho, how his citizens could treat other people with such hatred, how his own brother could stir up such hatred, especially directed at someone as pure and wholesome as Han. It made Minho very angry.

"You don’t expect anyone to believe that, do you?” Minho scoffed.

Everyone turned to face the dais once more, turning their attention away from Han. Slowly, he was able to regain control of his breathing, but he wasn’t sure for how long. He felt a gentle tug on the back of his tunic. He turned to see Ser Erin. The large man gestured for Han to follow him. Ser Erin led Han to the edge of the room, his back against the stone wall, and Erin stood in front of him. Erin was so big that Han thought no one could even see that someone was standing behind him. And that comforted Han in a way.

"Should we tell them about your previous squire?" Rian asked.

"There’s no need to make up more lies." Minho argued. "We all know what you’re doing." Minho crossed his arms, looking annoyed.

"Please, do explain." Rian said, his voice smug. His face, very punchable.

"This is obviously a last ditch effort to get the throne." Minho said.

Rian laughed. "This is no such thing. I am merely a servant of god who feels that the people should know the truth about who their king likes to warm his bed with at night."

Minho clenched his jaw. He had never once seen Rian attend church, and frankly, it was no one’s fucking business who Minho wanted to hold at night. He could feel his skin flush with rage.

"If it’s not an attempt at the throne, then you are trying to ruin my relationship with my Lady." Minho gestured to Lady Astrid. "Tell me brother, are you jealous?"

Rian’s smile dropped quickly. His demeanor shifting from smug to almost nervous. Han felt like he was watching a drama. Felt like he was no longer in the room, but somewhere else, observing the scene that was unfolding. Had Minho found out about prince Risn’s affair?

"Jealous?" Rian said, trying to sound argumentative but coming across as anxious. "Why would I be jealous?"

"Oh you’re right." Minho agreed, nodding. "To be jealous means you envy someone else for something that they have and you do not. You’re right. You’re right. Jealous is the wrong word to use. You can’t be jealous, because you already have her. Don’t you?" Again the crowd gasped, and the room filled with hushed murmurs. "Why don’t you tell everyone how you have been sleeping with my Lady behind my back?"

Lady Astrid looked shocked. Rian looked between her, and Minho, and the crowd. Unsure of what to say next. "You have no proof of that. That’s absurd!"

Minho turned slightly and reached for something that was laying on the floor behind the throne. He pulled out a jacket, Ser Erin’s jacket to be exact. And hiding under the jacket was Lady Astrid’s brassiere. Minho pulled it out and held it up. "So you don’t know how this was found under your bed in your chambers?" Minho asked. the murmuring of the crowd grew louder.

"You’re her future husband!" Rian yelled, feeling backed into a corner. "Of course you have access to her undergarments."

"Are you also accusing me of premarital relations?" Minho asked. "Could the witnesses please come forward." Minho announced to the room. Two bodies pushed through the crowd, pausing at the bottom of the steps and bowing. Han peeked around Erin’s large frame to see Hyunjin and Meredith at the base of the dais.

"Thank You." Minho smiled down at them. "Could you please explain to everyone what happened?"

Hyunjin and Meredith exchanged worried glances with one another. "It’s alright." Minho said. "I promise no harm will come to you. You may speak freely."

"I- I was cleaning the prince’s room." Meredith started. "Me and a few of the other maids. And I found that under his bed." Meredith said quietly, pointing to the undergarment in question.

"And Meredith confided in me about it." Hyunjin’s voice filled Han’s ears and he worried for his friend. "When I found out about it, I took the information to Ser Erin. because I felt the king should know the truth."

“And I very much appreciate your loyalty." Minho praised. He turned to face Rian . "So, brother, are you saying that the entire maid's staff is lying? Are you saying that Ser Erin, who has been hand of the king longer than you and I have been alive, are you saying that he doesn’t properly vet his sources before taking action?"

Rian stumbled over his words. Not really saying anything, as he had no defense to stand on.

Minho turned to the crowd. "Who do you believe?" he yelled, so that even the people in the back could hear him. "Do you believe the lies he spews? Or do you believe the evidence?" Minho held the undergarment above his head. The crowd started yelling things back, supporting their king and calling for Rian's head.

"What should his punishment be?" he asked. The townspeople yelled a variety of things but the one that kept repeating in Han’s ears, was beheading. They wanted him executed, no doubt. But they specifically wanted him taken to the guillotine.

Minho turned to his brother again, who looked panicked. His eyes looking every which way, searching for an exit.

"People have been executed for less." minho said, quoting his brother from the night before.

The crowd was cheering on their new king, even though the ceremony had not been completed, people saw Minho as their leader. They wanted him to be avenged. Minho turned to the crowd again, smiling down at them, but feeling sick. Could he execute his own brother? He vowed to himself he would not rule like his father, and he vowed to his people just moments ago that he would rule mercifully. But a part of Minho, a part that he wasn’t proud of, thought that Rian deserved this. Minho's previous squire had been beheaded after Rian suggested it to his father, who could never turn down a good execution. And Rian would have executed Han in a heartbeat and made Minho watch. His brother was a vile, evil human being and he deserved this. Even though Minho may not feel it was right in his heart, the people would accept no other outcome. They were yelling at him to have him executed right there on the spot. They were yelling at Minho to use the sword at his side, which had never seen blood before, to behead his brother right there in front of everyone.

Minho searched the crowd for Ser Erin, hoping that he had successfully found Han. After the Hand had shown Minho the evidence, he knew that things could get ugly. So he told Ser Erin to protect Han at all costs and to not worry about anything else. Minho searched desperately, his eyes squinting in the evening light streaming through the stained glass windows, but he couldn’t see them.

And as he searched, Rian took his opportunity, his brother's attention was elsewhere, the crowd was too busy yelling out their ideas to kill him, and Ser Erin was nowhere to be found. Rian snuck up behind his kingly brother, and slipped the dagger from its sheathe.

♡ pls reblog if you liked it! it truly helps a lot and makes me smile :) ♡

©hyunjins-orange-slice-too i do not give permission for this work or any of my work to be translated, copied, or reposted.

[chaomother]

imagine he's having a hard time one night, feeling guilty and horrible, mentally calling himself a monster and slowly remembering what happened to him for once, but before it turns into a panic attack you twitch in your sleep and wake up with a long yawn, looking at him with tired heart eyes and calling him your hero, which makes him forget about everything that makes him sad completely

cw: descriptions of ptsd/mental illness, violence, & family abuse

the repugnant stench of iron was palpable, emanating from every corner and asphyxiating the origin behind such immorality.

"you're evil! just kill us already...!"

repulsing, corpse-like screams pulsated around sonic as he unremittingly continued to shred through the remains of a shattered town. "you shouldn't have of opposed the doctor, or you wouldn't be in this mess," sonic retorted, detached from the situation as he crushed another weapon under his heel.

sonic's stomach churned, the wreckage of his actions laid out before him in the shape of a bloodied carcass. as if a pebble dropped, he dashed to the source of noise on instinct alone—his foot clashing with a body milliseconds later.

"please, spare us! she's just a child!!" weeping, a mother shrouded her daughter from sonic's onslaught; gritting her teeth to obscure the pain she felt from his kick.

rivulets of dirt and blood smeared across the mother's dress, the sight enough to bring sonic back to his senses. his breath burned with depravity. he felt sick, disgusted with himself beyond words.

bolting upright in bed, helpless sobs ravaged sonic's throat⁠—the walls felt so dry, yet so taut and it was difficult to breathe. "just a nightmare..." he whispered hoarsely, rubbing at his wet eyes.

sonic tried so hard to tie a muzzle over his heart, stuffing and closing away his regrets, yet the afflictions were always struggling against the chains.

there were so many innocent people he hurt, irrevocable sins committed in the name of his adoptive father. a hand innately moved onto his chest, hoping to steady the erratic pounding of his heart.

"fuck, it burns," sonic cursed between sobs, eyes raw from gaping, "dad stop monitoring my pulse like that, it hurts, get these machines off me, god, just stop—i can't take it anymore!"

thrashing around and rubbing his hands all over his body, ripping small pieces of fur out in a desperate attempt to forcibly eject wires from himself, sonic felt nausea overcome his mouth; even though this was all the consequences of his paranoia.

from beside him, your ethereal figure shifted beneath the blankets before your eyes fluttered open. the movement from you was enough to jar sonic into peering over at you, and he stared vapidly.

"mmm," a long yawn spilled from your lips as you gently scrubbed your tired eyes. through your own tired haze, you discerned his hunched-over figure shaking. "what's wrong, my hero?"

"huh?" sonic stuttered, his entire being resetting as your voice called out to him. 'my hero', you said... you said it with such sincerity, with such tender love. "oh, um, i had a bad dream."

trying to laugh it off, sonic's breath hitched in his throat when your hand reached up and cupped his cheek. the sensation of your soft, warm palm caressing his tear-stained skin had sonic snuggling into it.

the ripples of harrow and torment previously pervading throughout his body dissipated. he felt grounded back to reality, as if suddenly all his demons couldn't do more than reach for him.

"it can't hurt you anymore. i'll protect you," you quietly avowed, wrapping your arms around sonic's neck and dragging him back down with you, "shh, i'm invincible. nothing will get past me, like i'm your personal dreamcatcher."

your fingers cascaded through his quills, soothing him. sonic tightly coiled his arms around you in return, soaking up your divine warmth. "... thanks, angel," he exhaled, his breath fanning across the nape of your neck. "ever since i first saw you, you've been my dream."

you could tear his heart out right now and he'd thank you for it.

[sklifasofski]

Another Modern COTL AU

Sounds like the Spider-Man theme: "Wall of text, wall of text! I'm so in love with wall of text! 🤣"

My brain will never tire of creating stories for me. Anyway, I'm now thinking about an alternate version of the story on the Cult of Lamb. The action takes place in modern times and some details of the original story have been rearranged. So now Narinder and the other Bishops are members of the same mafia family (with Shamura in charge), where their relationship is still strained (Cat only has a relatively warm relationship with Hekat). Lamb Lambert is now the leader of a small commune with a religious bent (but without the fanaticism and sacrifices) and he himself has become a very charismatic and dodgy manipulator.

I haven't yet come up with the main reason why the Mafia decided to pay attention to the Commune. Probably a matter of money or expanding influence. But in general at first there was a quiet confrontation, where the Mafia showed its power in every possible way, but Lambert did not give a damn. He basically treated the threat with a slight chuckle, as it seemed to everyone. Narinder was sent to him first as a scout and then as a liaison. The relationship between Narinder and Lambert was like a meeting between two strong predators, looking for weaknesses in their rival. But since Lambert is a manipulator, he easily figured out the cat's type and built up a behaviour to be liked by him. Lambert just didn't take into account that his "game" might become something closer, but he accepted it without any arguments in the future.

🐑: Every relationship starts with play. With the interest of "can I do this?" and then "what does he like/dislike?". And that's how friendship is gradually born, followed by love, if the heart desires it – that's what Lambert will tell Narinder one day in private.

At one point, along with Narinder, Lambert is visited by Leshy. I made him a savage, that he is a bit crazy from the power and the fact that he is blind is his thing (blindness does not prevent him, as he perceives the world differently, but it occasionally makes itself known). In general, Leshy bursts with all his authority right into Lambert's ceremony. For weight behind him goes his thug Bulldog with a bat, Narinder stayed at the exit from the hall (the cat in principle was not rude by nature although he tried to show the opposite every time). In general Lambert and Leshy got into a verbal altercation (Lambert is calm, Leshy is a pompous turkey), where the lamb noticed the blindness of his rival and allowed himself to come closer. At one point Leshy gets fed up and pulls out a gun and starts threatening not only Lambert but also the commune members sitting in the hall. Lambert is not frightened by this and plays the surprise perfectly: "Why did you pull out the pipe?"

He needed a second's hesitation from his opponent to make a sharp jerk and hit Leshey in the sternum, from which the latter flew almost to the very exit. The thug came to his senses a second later and tried to hit Lambert with a bat, but the latter, due to the size difference, easily dodged until he intercepted one of the blows and toppled the attacker over himself onto the empty seats (I wonder if it's easy to break benches with a human body in reality or not?). In the end the thug lies down and in the next moment Lambert gives him an ultimatum with Leshy's gun in his hand and he has to obey. After that the lamb calmly turns away and going towards the exit to Leshy discharges the pistol according to all safety rules.

In the meantime, Leshy comes to his senses and becomes furious. "How dare you?!" he shouts and snatches the knife. Lambert throws an unloaded pistol at him with a precise movement that hits the worm right in the forehead. The worm explodes with screams and curses, until Lambert comes over and simply lifts the stunned worm by the scruff of the neck and waist, as if he were just some kind of sack. Ignoring more screams and orders to let go, Lambert walks further towards the exit, nodding to Narinder to open the door, which he does.

It's worth mentioning that in front of the hall there is also a hallway with a sort of reception, where an unfazed hen is sitting. Lambert reaches the front entrance and with a little spin throws Leshy out of the building. And before the thug and Narinder leave the building following on their own feet, Lambert holds the cat for a moment. And though his hand rests on the cat's shoulder calmly, you can see from Lambert's face that he's enraged.

🐑: Tell your boss not to send any more bushwhackers like that to me.

Next up is an episode of Lambert working with the Mafia. Primarily to steer the Mafia away from the Commune I think, or to prove that there can be co-operation between them. Eventually Lambert manages to get a "proficiency" assignment from Shamura and is given the task of collecting a debt from a former Mafia member (or just a debtor?). Narinder is put as his overseer, aka assistant.

At first the dialogue with the debtor fails. Although Narinder tried to push, Lambert persuaded him to give the lamb time. A week later, they are back again and this time Lambert brings some information with him, causing the debtor to change his mind about being impolite. Lambert still maintains his decorum, does not enter uninvited, wipes his feet on the mat, takes his shoes off in the hallway, and generally does everything he can to make the debtor no longer feel particularly threatened by him. Narinder doesn't really follow this plan, though doesn't show any resistance to it.

As a result of some persuasion and suggestion, Lambert decides to offer the debtor a deal. Interestingly, he takes out a contract already prepared and explains that one of the hospitals is under construction, which will be taken over by the Mafia (Kallamar has a place in the health care of the city where everything happens, he is also one of the main Mafia members). The debtor clarifies if this is slavery, to which Lamb also clarifies "are the other alternatives better?". Narinder realises too late that Lambert has taken the debtor out from under the Mafia's nose, because they won't get the money. Lambert has also thought about the money and has demanded only a third of the amount needed from the debtor, the rest of which he will pay with his labour. And so the debtor agreed to this bargain with a heavy heart.

Of course Shamura was not happy with this result, but he recognised Lambert's ingenuity. Only to note that the remainder of the debt was now on Lamb. Neither the Lamb nor his Commune could repay such a sum without consequences for themselves, but Lambert has no choice. But even here he finds a solution, with a slyly mischievous grin.

Narinder had been assigned to watch Lambert, so the cat had to follow the lamb to the night strip club. At first he couldn't understand why Lambert had decided to come here at all, until the lamb told him to sit down and enjoy the show. Lamb seized the moment and climbed onto the stage and started his dance. He danced so skilfully with the pole that Narinder could only marvel. And unsurprisingly, Lambert began to receive a lot of money. However, even this was not enough and Narinder realised this and decided to help by slowly making his way through the crowd "looking in their pockets".

When they were both able to leave the establishment through the back door, Narinder asked if Lambert was not afraid for his reputation. He replied that he didn't have one, as he dressed back and tried not to lose all the loot. But then the one-eyed Ratau, the owner of the nightclub, pulled him by the ear. In the course of a small skit Narinder and Lambert learn that Ratau is a mutual acquaintance of theirs, and Ratau about Lambert's debt to the Mafia. Ratau suggests a game of "knucklebones" since Lambert needs the stolen money so badly. To which Lambert, under Narinder's irritated look, agrees. The cat only urges him to get the lamb fully dressed.

So all three of them enter the club again, but Ratau leads them roundabout to the back rooms, where a small club of dice-draggers has been set up. All the rules and its look are taken from the game. A couple of other players are already in the room, and they are happy to see Lambert again. This is how we learn that the lamb is at home here, which Narinder strongly disapproves of (here we can reveal the beginning of a warm relationship between the cat and the lamb). Having learnt what is about to happen, everyone is eager to get to the table where Ratau and Lambert are seated.

The dice game itself seems to me to be just dialogue between the characters (it could be written here how Narinder is explained the rules of the game, how Ratau is interested in Lambert's affairs, it could be also added a hint that this is where Lambert got the information about the Debtor). But in the end Lambert wins by a large margin, but before he can collect his winnings, Ratau smartly offers to up the ante. He's willing to pay the missing amount to Lambert's debt if he loses, but if he wins, all the money will go back to him. And before Lambert could say anything, Narinder tried to stop his friend. He realised all too well where this could all lead.

👑: You have a debt to pay. Take the money and let's go.

🐑: Come on, Nari! One more batch wouldn't hurt, hee hee!

👑: Idiot! Do you really want to risk everything for a measly game??

🐑: Who doesn't risk doesn't live!

And Lambert gets into the game. Narinder leaves the room in anger. Once outside he was about to leave, but something stopped him. Some friendly feelings prevent him from just leaving Lambert. In the end, sighing heavily, he returns. Then there are purely shots of a tense game, there could be inserted a moment with whispering from the watchers "Fortune is hungry for a spectacle" in the sense that both the lamb and the rat get equal dice, until we find ourselves in the moment with the last roll of the dice that will determine the winner. Ratau is leading by a wide margin on points. Lambert has one last square of his field to cover.

Lambert picks up the dice... and then offers Narinder a roll. The cat has been sitting at a distance all this time, still very sullen. At Lambert's persuasion, he got up and walked to the table. Before he took the dice, he asked earnestly.

👑: Do you not care at all what will happen to your Commune?

🐑: It will be fine. My personal account can cover the debt. I'll have to tighten my belt if I lose, but that's okay. It won't be the first time. – He smiles back at him calmly.

When he realised that Lambert was not going to retreat, Narinder only sighed. Blowing on his fist for good luck, the cat threw the dice. It hit the wall of the table and started spinning. Everyone (excluding Narinder, Lambert and Ratau) reverently whispered "Knuckle of Fate!" and Lambert and Ratau raised their hands from the table so as not to disturb the spinning dice. This scene must look very tense, breathtaking. The dice keeps spinning and spinning, coming towards the wall to get away again. And then it stumbles and the six fall.

Quickly assessing the situation on the table, Lambert jerkily grabs the bone and puts it in the only free square on his field, thus knocking out the neighbouring sixes from Ratau's field. And takes the lead on points. There are sighs and gasps all around, Ratau is overcome by the realisation of his loss, and Lambert jumps up from his chair full of joy at his victory. Narinder smiled involuntarily at his friend's joy.

The action then moves to Narinder's car, where he and Lambert get in to leave. But the Cat is in no hurry to start the engine, thinking deeply about something.

🐑: We forgetting something?

Narinder sits unmoving until he looks at Lambert.

👑: Why are you like this?

🐑: Like what? – Smile. Before Narinder can articulate anything, Lambert answers for him. – Crazy? Unleashed? Chaotic? – A brief pause to see the look on his friend's face. – Because it's fun!

👑: And that's it?

🐑: For the most part, yes. I know it seems silly and unhealthy from the outside, but otherwise I'd be really moody. It's like... um, a way of confronting the world? Its sullenness, its greyness. Because the alternative is to fall into the depths of darkness. Better to have a good time while you can, don't you think?

👑: Yeah... and how were you raised like that? – The question was rhetorical as Narinder started the engine and they were off.

After some silence, Lambert asks.

🐑: Do you want to meet my parents?

👑: What?? - he slows down.

🐑: To meet my parents. – Lambert replies casually. – We can do that right tomorrow if you don't have anything else to do.

👑: Again... WHAT?

Transition to the moment of Lambert and Narinder trip to Lamb's parents. The cat still doesn't understand why he agreed to go. This action is shown in silent shots where Lambert says something to his people at the commune (perhaps warning them that he will be gone all day). Next we see the two friends travelling by public transport. Through the picture dubs, we learn that Cat wonders why they didn't take his car, and Lamb replies to him that it would ruin the secret. Narinder still doesn't understand what this is all about, but decides to stay.

When they arrive at the right place, they walk down an almost empty street. Lambert goes into a small flower stall and buys two small bouquets of flowers. The stall owner, a white ferret, seems to know the lamb. Narinder still doesn't understand anything. So they walk a little more until they reach a high brick wall, along which they continue on their way.

Narinder notices that there are hardly any houses on this street, and that they are practically on the outskirts of the town. Looking up at the brick wall he notices a small arch in it. Beneath this small archway stood a winged statue with a few roses lying lonely beneath it. Narinder remembers that such statues are only found at graveyards or old churches... and we see his expression change at the blood chilling realisation. Stunned, he looks at his friend. Lambert notices the cat lagging behind and their gazes meet, then he beckons him to follow. Lamb smiles softly the whole time.

So they make their way into the cemetery grounds. The guard knows Lambert and waves to him, Lamb nods back. So they walk along the rich tombstones, with lithographs, flowers and monuments. They leave the main street and Lambert leads him between the fences of simpler graves, but no less unique. Narinder involuntarily looks around, noticing the details: there is a well-maintained gate behind which there is a small tombstone engraved with the name of the deceased on white tiles, and next to it are the rusted bars of another forgotten grave, long since overgrown with grass and bushes, of which only a rusty cross is left. He would keep staring at the land of death until they arrived.

Lambert walked behind a blue wicket with white bars, treading carefully on the gravel and placing bouquets beside each headstone with names and photos. Narinder can't help but notice that it's as if the photos have been cut out of some sort of context, as if there were no others where both of Lambert's parents were just staring into the camera.

Lambert greets both tombstones, talks a bit about what happened to him, and then introduces Narinder to them. The cat has been standing outside the wicket the whole time, not finding the strength or desire to go in.

🐑: Oh, don't be like that. Come on in. Make yourself at home. – the lamb smiles at him.

The cat didn't come in immediately, but he did. This is where the debt arch and the close encounter with Lambert ends.

Then there are small scenes of Narinder and Lambert getting close to each other when they are already a couple. I have an idea that Narinder took the love between them... more or less calmly. There's not a lot of passion between them, really, mostly cuddling, spending time together, and kissing on occasions (when Narinder is in a good mood). There's an idea to show how they came to this, but so far it's all murky.

There's one scene I have where they're both lying on the couch undressed. Or rather, Narinder is lying on the couch and Lambert is lying on top of him. In this scene, I imagine there's a dialogue between them about their relationship.

That's enough for now, but I'm not done yet XD

[missywritesfor7]

🌺 Promise Flower | PJM 🌺

Synopsis: Jimin is a popular dance student and the best one at his university. Mina is a photography student and has known Jimin since high school. An idea for a photo project finds Mina getting closer to him than she ever has before. She learns how big his heart is, but also learns how closely he guards it. Every time she thinks he'll let her in, he pulls away again. Is it even worth the trouble?

Pairing: college student!Jimin x fem!oc

Warnings: depression, anxiety, panic attacks, alcoholism

Previous Chapter | Next Chapter | Masterlist

|| Ch. 3: Phoenix ||

Thanks to Namjoon being an amazing reporter and writer, his story about Jimin got picked up by a few local publications, which gave Jimin a big boost in fan base. With that and the great feedback he’s received, he’s been feeling more empowered and confident in himself.

He’s still hard on himself though. He felt the dance he was working on needed some changes so he spent the entire weekend revamping his routine. He let me know he would be working on it in the practice studio on Wednesday if I wanted to come by for more pictures.

I love that’s he’s gotten much more comfortable when I’m around. He was a bit embarrassed and a little stiff at first, but he’s finally loosened up and it shows in the photos. He used to shy away from looking at the photos of himself but now he gets excited to see what I captured. He claimed that I just take really good pictures, but I don’t really have to do much when he looks as amazing as he does, whether he’s dancing or just standing there.

Wednesday after class I head over to the dance studio where he’s already begun practicing. I can tell that he’s made changes to his routine. It actually looks like an entirely new routine, but what do I know.

“Hey,” I say pulling out my camera. “Did you change the entire routine?”

“Not the entire thing,” he says taking a sip of water. “Just…a lot of it.”

“Park Jimin,” I laugh. “Never satisfied.”

“Is that a problem?” He jokes sassily.

“Of course it’s not, your highness.” We both look at each other and laugh. I love teasing him this way. It makes him cringe a bit but then he’ll either play along or bless me with his contagious laughter.

He steps back out on the floor and begins practicing his routine some more. I position myself in the front corner of the room and begin snapping away.

Something about getting action shots always excites me. When I catch him doing a quick spin, or graceful leap it always comes out so perfectly. He looks like he’s flying being carried by invisible wings.

I try catching every movement he makes as he slides across the floor. My camera lens follows every jump as he flies up and comes down to make his landing.

And something pops.

And he’s on the ground.

“Arrgghhh!!”

“Oh my God!” I yell putting my camera down and running over to Jimin in a heap on the floor. “Are you ok??”

“I don’t know I don’t know,” he says clutching his knee in pain. “Something popped and it hurts so bad.” That can’t be good.

“Let me call an ambulance.” I grab my phone out of my pocket and make the call while trying to keep a soothing hand on Jimin’s arm.

He’s in tears and the amount of pain he’s in is written all over his face. I try my best to keep him calm by giving him water and rubbing his shoulder, reminding him to breathe until the paramedics arrive.

I grab his bag and make sure I don’t leave anything behind and follow him out as he’s taken away on a stretcher. It’s a scary sight and I can’t imagine what may be going through his head as all eyes are on him while he’s loaded into the ambulance.

I feel like I’m waiting in the emergency room for hours for someone to come tell me how he is. In reality it’s only been 30 minutes, but it seems like it’s been an eternity.

I sent Hoseok a text when I arrived at the hospital letting him know what happened. He’s usually good about responding but he hasn’t yet so I assume he’s out practicing his own routine. I just hope he checks his phone soon.

Another half hour passes and I’m finally able to see Jimin. He looks so distraught it breaks my heart. His eyes are red and I can tell he’s been crying.

“How are you feeling?“ I softly ask stepping up to the side of his bed.

“They gave me some pain medicine,” he whispers not taking his gaze off of his fidgeting hands in his lap.

“How bad is it?”

He takes a moment to answer and that lets me know it’s definitely not good. His eyes well with tears as he tried to choke out a response.

“I tore my acl.” He closes his eyes trying to keep the tears inside. “I’ll need surgery. And I won’t be able to dance. For a while.”

Those words bring the tears out again. He’s probably hurting more about not being able to dance than any physical pain he’s in. My heart is shattering and I’m not even sure what I can do to comfort him. Without thinking I reach out and hold his hand. Rather than pull away like I thought he would, he actually squeezes my hand tighter.

“I’ll have surgery in two weeks,” he continues. “Then it could be 6-9 months or more before I can dance again.” He looks up at me with his big glassy eyes. “What am I supposed to do if I can’t dance?”

“I’m so sorry, Jimin. I wish there was something I could do to help.”

“You don’t have to do anything,” he assures me. “Thanks for being here.”

Just then Hoseok comes into the room looking out of breath as if he ran all the way here. His lips are pulled into a worried frown.

“Jiminie are you ok? What happened?” He asks.

Jimin tells him about his injury and once again tries his best to hold back his tears. If anyone can understand the level of heartbreak this causes it would be Hoseok.

I can tell Hoseok also doesn’t know how to console his friend, but he tries telling him about someone else he knew that was able to recover from a torn acl. I know he’s just trying to show Jimin that it’s not a career ending injury and he can very well bounce back, but it doesn’t seem like much of that is registering right now. The only thing he’s stuck on is not being able to dance for 6-9 months. For someone that lives and breathes dance, that’s a very long time.

A nurse comes in to give Jimin his discharge papers. He’s given a list of light stretches and exercises to do leading up to his surgery. He’ll still be able to walk on it but they advise him to keep it to a minimum as to not make the injury worse. In two weeks he’ll have surgery and that’s when the hard part of his recovery will begin.

Hoseok takes him home in his car and for some reason I feel the need to follow behind. I don’t know why, but my heart won’t feel at ease until I see him all the way home. They don’t mind me sticking around a bit to help Jimin get settled.

I get him tucked into his bed and give him back all of his things that I took with me from the dance room.

“Thanks again,” Jimin says. “I’m sorry I ruined your project.”

“You don’t have to apologize,” I assure him. “You didn’t ruin anything.”

“But what are you going to do? If I can’t dance what will happen to your project?”

“Don’t worry, I’ll think of something. I’m more worried about you right now.”

“You are?” He asks in disbelief.

“Well…yeah, and you should be worried about yourself too and not my project.”

“Right,” he nods. “Just let me know if there’s anything I can do for you.”

“Right now I just want you to rest. That’s what you can do for me.”

I leave him to get some sleep and head back home where I learn that news travels fast across campus. Jin and Namjoon are hanging out in the living room and as soon as I close the door behind me the questions begin.

“What happened?” Jin asks.

“Is he ok?” Namjoon adds.

“Are we talking on the record or off?” I ask Namjoon. I don’t mind telling him what’s going on, I just want to make sure that if anything about Jimin is put in the paper that it’s something he’s ok with. If he wants the whole campus to know then that’s for him to decide, not me.

“Off the record of course. I just want to know if he’s ok.”

“People are saying he passed out,” Jin says with concern. “I heard someone else say he might have a heart problem? He didn’t have a heart attack did he?”

“A heart attack?” I ask shaking my head. It’s crazy the things people come up with. “No, he was practicing and I guess he went down wrong. He’s ok. He will be ok. But he tore his acl.”

Both guys let out an audible gasp. They look at me a moment then at each other.

“He won’t be able to dance?” Namjoon asks. “What about his recital?”

“How long will he be out?” Jin follows up.

“Does Yoongi know yet?”

“Will he need surgery?”

“You were there and saw the whole thing? How did it happen?”

“What will he do if he can’t dance?”

“Will he have to drop out of school?”

“Guys!” I yell overwhelmed with their questioning. “Most of these things you can ask him yourself. But yes, he’ll need surgery and recovery could take 6-9 months. I don’t know what he’s going to do and I don’t think he knows himself right now. He’s home resting now.”

“Sorry,” Jin says. “It’s just things were crazy once word got out that it was Jimin being taken away in the ambulance. We didn’t know what to believe.”

“Yeah, the rumors were getting crazy,” Namjoon added. “I wasn’t going to write anything until I spoke to him first, but as a friend I just wanted to make sure it was nothing serious.”

“Thankfully it’s not,” I sigh. “But you know how he is. He’s going to have a hard time coming to terms with not dancing for a while. Everything he’s been working for is getting put on hold. Poor thing.”

I pull out my camera remembering that I may actually have a picture of how he went down. I scroll to the last shots I took and just as I figured, I have a sequence of about 10 photos taken in quick succession from the moment he lifted up for his jump right to the moment his entire body went down to the floor in pain.

“Did you get something?” Namjoon asks.

“Yeah,” I say unsure if I want to share. There’s nothing graphic since it’s not like a broken bone or anything, but the last photo of him on the floor in pain has my stomach in knots.

Both guys continue looking at me expectantly so I hand my camera to Jin to let them scroll through the photos. Both look just as pained as I did when they see the sequence of photos.

“So,” Jin asks breaking the solemn silence. “Is this how your project ends?”

“I’m not really sure,” I sigh. “I’ll figure something out.”

It’s hard to have to change my entire project when we’re already over a month into the semester. I can stick with what I have but it would seem unfinished since the main focus was Jimin’s performance. If he’s not able to perform then my project no longer has much of a point.

I think hard the rest of the evening and into the next day on how I can salvage this and not completely fail this assignment. Taehyung comes home with me to hangout and work on his own project and I use him to bounce ideas off of.

“What if you just follow a different dancer? Or multiple dancers. Then you can say your subject is all of them and as long as at least one of them are able to perform in the end then you should be fine?” Taehyung suggest sitting at the table on his laptop and snacking on chips.

“That means I would have to befriend more dancers when Hoseok is the only other dancer I know. I don’t know if that would even make sense to have all of this footage of Jimin in the beginning but no one else until later. It doesn’t really flow well.” Just thinking about this has been exhausting.

What’s worse is Jimin has been texting me more apologies for “ruining” my project. The last thing I want is for him to feel like he’s responsible for what happens with my assignment. It’s not his fault, it’s no one’s fault. Accidents happen, I just don’t know how I’m going to adjust at the moment, but I’m sure he’s thinking the same thing about his dancing.

“How’s your project going anyway?” I ask.

“Great! I found a dog and two cats roaming around, and I think soon I may be able to become leader of the campus squirrels.”

“What?” I ask laughing.

“Tutu is their leader now, but I think a lot of the squirrels are starting to trust me more. If I can get them all on my side then I’ll be the new leader,” he says with a straight face.

“Tutu?”

“I named him.”

“Tae,” I say laughing hysterically. “You know you’re only supposed to take pictures of them, right?”

“Really?” He throws a few chips in his mouth and smiles.

“You’re a mess.” I give him a playful nudge still laughing at his silliness.

While he’s showing me his pictures, I get another text from Jimin. Aside from apologizing way too much, he’s been watching a drama I recommended and texting me his live reactions and it’s so entertaining.

[Jimin]: OMG!

[Jimin]: WHY WONT THEY JUST KISS ALREADY!! 😫

[Me]: Lol just be patient

[Jimin]: I’ve been patient for five episodes! 😭

[Me]: I can’t wait until you get to episode 8

[Jimin]: WHAT HAPPENS IN EPISODE 8?!

[Me]: You’ll see 😏

“I got it!” Taehyung shouts.

“Huh?” I say a little startled. “You got what?”

“You and Jimin are already friends and known each other a while, just keep him as the subject of your project. Then you won’t have to start all over.”

“How? He’s not able to dance.”

“Follow his recovery. Maybe he won’t mind since you two are friends, he won’t feel like some stranger is following him around while he’s trying to rest and get better.”

“You think it could work?”

“Of course! You already have photos before he got hurt and photos from when he got hurt.”

It seems odd but the more I think about it the more it makes sense.

“So I could change it from following him to his performance to following him to return to his former self.” I stroke my chin in an exaggerated way thinking that he may be on to something.

“Exactly! It could be like the story of a phoenix rising from the ashes!”

“Ok calm down,” I laugh. “I guess I could ask him and see if he’d be ok with it.”

[Me]: Hey, could I maybe keep taking pictures of you for my project?

[Jimin]: Why? The semester will be over before I’m even close to being able to dance again.

[Me]: I know, but I thought I could just change the angle of my project and document your recovery instead.

[Me]: Only if it’s ok with you. If it would make you uncomfortable you don’t have to.

[Jimin]: Would you go with me to the hospital when I have my surgery?

[Me]: Only if you want me to.

[Jimin]: I’m asking you to.

[Me]: Of course I’ll go with you.

[Jimin]: Then you can keep taking pictures of me 😊

[Jimin]: Thank you, Mina. For everything.

What exactly is everything?

[kiarazuri]

Chapter 6: JJ

The Cakerie opens at 7:30 AM but JJ doesn’t want to look too eager so he waits till 9:30 AM to go in instead—even though all he wants is to finally get inside one of the DuCiel storefronts without AJ lecturing him about not taking food from strange supernatural creatures. JJ’s tried to tell him it doesn’t make sense for the DuCiels to fuck with their own customers, but his little brother is moreso of the CC Hunters’ belief: supernatural = bad.     It’s only because it’d look suspicious if JJ denied Lottie DuCiel’s hospitality while still hanging around Bonbon Street that AJ’s allowing him to go in the first place. (How’d my little bro become my keeper?)    Eya thinks the situation is amusing.    AJ thinks JJ has a death wish.    JJ’s choosing to trust his husband’s judgement—after all, Eya is less, uhh, biased when it comes to supernatural creatures.     When JJ opens the Cakerie’s front door, the bell attached gives a bright, tinkling chime.     “Bienvenu!” A semi-familiar voice calls out from behind the display counter. Lottie DuCiel’s beauty hits JJ like a freight train.     He’d assumed he’d over-estimated just how beautiful the man would be beneath the custard. He was so, so wrong.     Lottie’s glass skin is a deep, almost black brown gleaming with life. His thin black dreads are styled in the same messy beehive as the day before, this tine with purple and gold ribbons threading through the strands. The definition in Lottie’s thick black brows is immaculate, topping his deep brown eyes like crowns. His waterline is painted a bright purple that compliments well against the ribbons, dapper purple suit, and gilded fake lashes. His lush lips are tinted purple and topped with a thick layer of gloss. He’s got three little unicorn-skin gemstones dotting his cheeks like beauty marks.     His beauty is—inhuman.    JJ’s chest clenches hotly.     When Lottie finally recognizes him his face lights up like a kid on Gift Day morning. The clench that follows that gorgeous glance is so painful, JJ almost thinks he’s gonna have a heart attack.     The gorgeous man finds an empty expanse of counter and begins to lean over, mouth open to say something else, when he suddenly jerks, squeaks “sugar!,” and falls forward, slamming his chin against the counter. Hard. The Cakerie erupts into concerned gasps and a few loud giggle-snorts from someone JJ recognizes as another DuCiel.     Shit! JJ rushes forward. “You okay?”     Lottie groans and gingerly lifts himself from the counter. He sends a death glare to the other DuCiel before giving JJ a strained, wobbly smile. “You keep seeing me at my worst.”     There’s a hairline fracture snaking across the glass but Lottie’s chin looks unhurt. Pristine.     Definitely magic, the man should be covered in blood.     “What happened?”     Lottie leans down, and picks up a banana peel.     JJ blinks at it owlishly. “You serious right now?”     Lottie smiles conspiratorily and leans in, motioning with a crooked finger for JJ to do the same. This close, JJ can see the slight sprinkling of glitter in the DuCiel’s gloss. When his blackberry scented breath brushes across JJ’s cheek he wonders if his lips taste the same.    Fuck, I wanna kiss him.    Lottie is definitely JJ’s type. Damn.    “Trickiness is next to godliness in this household,” the glimmer in Lottie’s eyes is warm and terrifying, like a fire beckoning to a moth.    JJ can’t deny it’s call. Lifting a hand to cup Lottie’s miraculously unhurt chin, he touches his thumb against the cleft before he can think the action through and gives it a soft, almost imperceptible, push. Ostensibly the action is to check him over but in reality JJ just wants to feel how soft his skin is.     “You sure your okay? You went down hard.”     The glimmer in Lottie’s eyes turns molten, his plush lips parting slightly. JJ wants to press his thumb to the bottom lip till he opens wide and—    Stop it, JJ reprimands, running his thumb across the soft skin of Lottie’s chin instead.     Lottie smiles. Then grimaces in pain.    JJ lets go—to both their disappointment.    “You came,” Lottie says into the resulting silence, relief and happiness in those two simple words. “What would’ya like?” he asks, motioning to the counter beneath them.    When JJ looks down—the crack is gone. He stops himself from bringing attention to it and looks pointedly at the cakes inside. His eyes go wide and he takes a step back to take them all in: chocolate, carrot, cheese, sponge, angel, pound, cup, fruit. More cakes than JJ’s ever seen in his life.    “What can I have?”    “Anything you want.”    You.    JJ coughs. Pushes the thought down. “Don’t take this the wrong way but… this selection kinda scares me.” It’s a truly daunting amount of cakes.    Lottie’s smile grows wide and—fangy.    JJ double takes. The fangs are gone. Not human, JJ really needs to stop forgetting.    “U-uh, any limits or restrictions?” JJ stammers, eyes dancing back to all the different options.    “Nope; any cake, any amount.”    JJ’s eyes widen. “Uh, what d’you recommend?”    The overwhelmed hunter doesn’t fight as the DuCiel moves him down the counter where a single seat sits separated from the rest. The second JJ’s ass connects with the seat though, it’s like a switch is flipped. Instead of lights flipping off or on—it’s sound.    Silence fills his ears.    Not silence like what happens when you’re ears get clogged but like… suddenly the waves on a beach died and the water became still as stone.    It’s so encompassing that for a moment JJ thinks everyone in the Cakerie just dropped dead, but when JJ turns his head even just a little, his body rebels. Like it’s refusing to see whatever’s overshoulder or even in the corner of his eye.    It has to be magic.    When JJ turns back to Lottie, he’s leaning over the counter with his elbows on the marble and his head in his hands, watching JJ with excited, sparkling eyes.    What are you?    “Wanna play a game?”    JJ’s warring fear and attraction have very different reactions to the seemingly innocuous question. He takes a deep breath to calm the churning in his gut and smiles. “What’d you have in mind?”    “A blind taste test.”    The surge of fear that shoots through JJ’s entire being shows plainly on his face. Lottie laughs. “Chill, cher, I ain’t gonna poison you. Promise.”    JJ shouldn’t believe him but for some reason… he’s not suspicious at all.    “A’right, I’ll play.”    This is why AJ’s my keeper.    “Perfect,” Lottie’s smile grows manic. “Why don’t you put this on.” He says, pulling a long, thick ribbon from behind his back and placing it on the counter between JJ’s hands. It matches the purple ribbons in his hair.    More fear surges in JJ’s blood.    “Uhm.”    “Come on now, you said you’d play with me,” Lottie pouts, eyes dancing merrily.    JJ swallows. And picks up the ribbon.    It’s soft and silken like a crisp, cool river.    As JJ ties it obediently around his eyes, the soft sound of Lottie’s amused laughter is the only thing he hears in the unnaturally quiet room, sweet but slightly mocking.    “Ready for the first round?” He asks, his voice mischievous and playful and curling around JJ’s ears. It slides across the silk like a caress. A plate clinks against the counter as a fork is pushed into JJ’s hand. “Bon app’!”    The fork glides smoothly through the cake like a knife through warm butter. Only at the very bottom does it meet resistance. The bite is larger than JJ intended, and when it enters his mouth fear rattles in his blood—until the flavor explodes over his tongue.    A silky cheesecake with a slightly maple syrupy taste, a buttery graham cracker crust, and topped with a jam that’s soft and sweet.    “What d’you think?”    “Incredible. What is it?”    “Candy cap mushroom cheesecake with olallieberry coulis.”    JJ chokes, coughs. “MUSHROOMS?!”    Lottie’s laughter is loud and boisterous, definitely please. “You should try the ice cream sometime. It tastes like maple syrup.“    “I’ll have to check it out,” JJ admits. He’s simultaneously nervous and curious about the next flavor. “Next?”    JJ can feel the smile on Lottie’s lips.    “As you wish.”    Clink!    The second cake feels like normal cake cake—and when JJ tastes it, the texture is kind of like a funfetti cake but instead of little sugar bits the pips are like pieces of fruit. Like…    “Raspberry?”    “Very good. What other flavors do you taste?”    “Definitely vanilla cake. I think the frosting’s some kind of tropical fruit and… that’s all I’ve got. It’s delicious though.”    Lottie’s laughter is sweeter than the cake. “It’s vanilla cake with raspberry pips, lychee jam, and light mango cream cheese frosting.”    “10 out of 10, hands down.”    “It’s one of our best sellers, though I usually only make it for birthdays.”    “But you had some for me? How sweet. Happy Unbirthday to me.”    Lottie laughs, and places another plate in-front of him.    The fork does not go smoothly through this cake. The top has a hard but crumbly layer that breaks apart with a crackling sound. The cake is moist and clings to the fork as JJ pulls it through.    He expects the top to taste like a streusel and is surprised to find it’s actually—kettle corn?!    He takes another bite just to be sure. Definitely kettle corn. And the cake itself is very similar to carrot cake except instead of carrot it’s sweet corn. Moist and sweet and spiced.    “I… I’ve never had corn in a cake.”    “Sweet corn cake with kettle corn crumble and a light weaving of buttercream frosting.” Lottie explains. “What d’you think?”    How the hell is the popcorn still crispy? Shouldn’t it have soggified or something? JJ wonders, running through the possibilities in his head. He reaches up to take the blindfold off, curious to see the cake for himself, when Lottie’s hand curves over his own. His skin is warm and soft and stops JJ in his tracks. He goes stiff as a board, barely even breathing. Waiting.    “None of that now, Cher. You’ve still got a cake to try,” his voice is melodic and warm and—    He’s caressing his thumb across the back of JJ’s hand, pulling it gently from the blindfold.    “Yes, Sir,” JJ acquiesces. “Bring it on.”    Lottie places a plate down and waits patiently for JJ to take a bite.    And JJ bites confidently—only to immediately choke. To say he was surprised to bite into a piece of dense cake and taste tamarind and mango chili candy would be an understatement.    Lottie doesn’t stop him from snatching off the blindfold this time.    The DuCiel’s expression is mischievously victorious.    JJ meets his eyes a total of 5 seconds before looking down at his plate and laughing at the straight up tamarind paste candy latticeworking beautifully across a spiced pound cake.    “Who the hell thought of this?!” He asks, breathless.    “I don’t actually remember. But it’s good, non?” Lottie asks, a knowing gleam in his eyes.    “Hell yeah it is,” Eya’s gonna be so confused when he smells my breath later. “Confusing as all hell, but delicious nonetheless.”    “Thought you’d say that,” Lottie announces, pulling a finger through the candy-laced frosting. JJ can barely concentrate when he licks the skin clean.    He coughs to clear his throat. “Oh yeah? I predictable or somethin’?”    Lottie shakes his head. “You’re from the West Coast, I made an educated guess and took a shot.”    How’d you… JJ doesn’t know whether to pass that off as logic or magic. “You guessed right. Damn.” JJ replies, and continues eating. He goes between the flavors, commenting on them left and right till each one is finished.    “Okay, so every single one of those was amazing,” JJ praises. “My fave was the corn cake, second was the chili-fruit cake, then mushrooms, and my unbirthday cake coming in last,” JJ lists, rubbing his stomach with a satisfied groan. At some point Lottie pulled out a little notebook and started jotting down JJ’s comments. What am I, your guinea pig? “How do you decide which recipes to sell every day?     Lottie stops writing to glance up at him through his gilded eyelashes. The look is calculating and JJ can almost see him doing the math in his head. He sets his purple and gold pen down, smiles, and gives JJ his full attention.     “Do you like baking, Jay?”     JJ rears back, blinks, and laughs nervously. “Uhm, yeah I love it. I cook more than I bake though ‘cause otherwise I’d eat everything,” much to Eya’s annoyance.     “Then what d’you say to seeing our behind the scenes?” Lottie asks. JJ’s eyes widen in surprise. “You serious?”     “O’ course, but that’s only if you don’t mind getting here before sun-up.”    “……how early?”    Lottie purses his lips. “5 AM, give or take.”    JJ groans. Unless it’s to stake-out nocturnal Supes coming home after a night out or for the purposes of a road-trip, as a rule JJ doesn’t usually wake before 8 AM.    At 5 AM he’d probably be a zombie.    Still… JJ wants to say yes. He knows it’s reckless but he wants to be alone with Lottie (actually alone, not magically cut off from those around them like they are now), baking in the Cakerie with him and seeing him in what JJ can only assume is his natural element.    So of course he says: “Tomorrow?”    AJ’s gonna kill me.    Lottie smiles like the cat who caught the canary—fear and arousal bloom in JJ’s gut at the expression, a confusing mix of moths and butterflies churning nauseatingly inside him.    “It’s a date.”

To Be Continued in Chapter 7 💗

[ardentprose]

I resonate with this post as someone who adores Foggy Nelson and is exhausted by sifting through dredges of misunderstood takes and downright hatred for a character that is dear to me.

I've spent my time in fandom culture for a good number of years now. There's good and bad sides to every fandom and I'm not naive to think everyone will agree on everything.

That being said, there should be a line of respect.

It was and continually remains disheartening to watch my favorite character be misunderstood, disregarded, or malaciously treated while other characters are praised no matter how "immoral" their actions are.

To your point, these are all fictional people. Our theories and opinions and preferences do not really matter in the grand scheme of reality.

In this way, it pains me deeply to watch people ridicule Elden as a man, beyond the character he portrays. When he mentioned in an interview how people stopped him in the street to criticize Foggy, I was baffled. There is a line between reality and fiction and not enough people see it.

I have my own thoughts and feelings about characters, but never would I have the right (nor the audacity) to disrespect the actor for a fictional character's actions. I really hate to compare characters, but for this example, I have to ask why on earth would people hate Elden for Foggy disagreeing in an argument, while Jon or Deborah are praised for the, at times, heinous actions of Frank and Karen? Be consistent if you are gonna blur the lines between fiction and reality. (That's sarcasm. You should not be attacking real people for fictional actions.)

Do not misunderstand this for hate. I love Frank Castle as much as Foggy Nelson. Jon and Deborah are very talented actors. That was an example.

However, I would also argue and encourage you to see that these fictional stories still have an impact. Art has an impact. It's meant to make you feel, think, cry, laugh etc. There's nothing wrong with getting emotional over these characters who are meant to represent real humans, real emotions, and real (ish) scenarios.

The issue is when people take their displeasure beyond the stories. When they take their dislike of Foggy and attack Elden, or his fans, or his physical appearance. When they send death threats or nasty messages. When they say there's no place for him here at all. Now these people are being cruel. Now these people have crossed the line.

And yes, I empathize with these fans, though I struggle to have patience for their comments. I know it comes from a place of loving Matt Murdock so much that they can't bear to see him ever hurt. Whatever the feelings, they are being moved so strongly by them that they get angry and defensive. I just wish they could see the irony.

Reality is not black and white. People and relationships are complex and grey at best. Two things can be true. You can disagree with someone and love them. You can be angry with someone because you love them.

(But I will keep my endless tirade about the Nelson v Murdock scenes for a separate time.)

This post is much too long so I'll try to wrap up my bleeding heart and get off the damn soap box.

I support your decision to wait to post live action Foggy and I am with you when it comes to leaving behind something that no longer brings joy. I cherish Matt and his journey but I also am wary of the new show's intentions. If the show decides to execute Foggy on screen or off, I will be hard pressed to watch it. Call me what you will, Foggy means a shit ton to me and I don't want to watch him die. I'd almost rather him not be there at all then to witness that. Does that mean the show is horrible? No. It could be great. It just won't be a show I enjoy watching. But that's life. I'll find another show to enjoy. I won't go online and tear apart the actors or harass writers because I disagree with their plot choices.

I suppose that restraint and respect comes with experience and time. (i.e. Maturity.)

I hope those of us who love Foggy Nelson will find each other and our own pocket of space to exchange our stories, art and love for him in peace. And I hope the Daredevil fandom grows to be more accepting of conflicting views within their space.

That's kinda DD's whole sctick when you think about it.

I created this blog with the intention of posting comics and live Foggy.

However, with the release of the series approaching, I will leave Elden's Foggy aside until I'm sure he won't have as dark a future as I fear he will.

I was thinking yesterday (while deleting my content on Twitter) how something that used to bring joy, unity and a spirit of belonging has today become a silly, unfair, and pointless war. People offending and harassing each other to show who is more important in Matt's life. Matt, a character from a comic book!

I've been blocked by people I admired and thought liked me for expressing my displeasure and honestly, I'm not going to change my mind.

Over the years, since 2018, between sadness and joy to bring this series back, I realized that Elden was the only one who didn't have enough support. Between some kind words of appreciation from Charlie, he was always alone.

Foggy/Elden gets hate posts all the time, his fans get anonymous asks all the time with words that are, well, not kind at all.

There is no one to defend him. No one cares.

And I'm not referring to his little fandom when I say that no one cares.

And there I was, losing my temper while expressing my displeasure, and then I was the only one hated. I understand what Deborah meant, I understand that she has a heart in Born Again, and I understand that she is satisfied with her scenes. I understand.

I understand completely. I just wish Foggy got the same treatment as her. They were Matt's family, after all.

And Daredevil fans seem so comfortable with Elden being left out of the events, the images, the comments... it's so weird and painful to see. It's like Foggy hasn't been Matt's best friend for years.

It's like Foggy didn't save Matt by bringing him his costume in The Defenders, it's like he didn't save Matt on the roof right after Matt got shot by the Punisher, It's like Foggy didn't call Claire when he discovered Matt bleeding on the floor of his apartment and stayed with him.

Foggy was upset, but he had a reason to be. Matt disappointed him a few times too, after all, no friendship is perfect. But he ended up accepting his friend's secret life. It was heartbreaking when Karen told him not to forgive Matt and Foggy refused to take her advice. And if we had a fourth season we would see scenes like Mark Waid's portrayed beautifully.

And here I am, talking about comic book characters as if they were flesh and blood.

Matt loves Foggy like a brother and Charlie and Elden seem like true friends in their scenes. They had a really beautiful chemistry together.

I fear Born Again will kill that.

I totally respect anyone who hates Foggy and Elden, I truly understand that. I've been respecting people hatting on them for years. I understand Karen and Punisher fans who don't care. There is a minority who don't want Foggy to die, however. I respect Deborah for reposting that unfortunate Marvel post and I hope she didn't make fun of Foggy's death. I can understand and respect everyone. But that doesn't stop me from being disappointed and leaving when I see that it doesn't make sense for me to stay.

I just wish Daredevil and fans would reflect a little, that there will always be a good Daredevil story without Foggy. But the best stories are the ones with Foggy in them.

[dearyou-aproject]

date: october 13th, 2006

i was told by my counsellor to write this out, because it might help me process some… things. so, here goes nothing:

dear you,

my grandfather died from no, that doesn’t sound right.

my grandfather was killed by no, that still isn’t it.

how about -

dear you,

when i was five years old, you killed my grandfather.

it wasn’t intentional, you said. i didn’t mean to. it just happened. it’s not my fault.

excuse after excuse came out of your sorry excuse of a mouth, and not once were you able to take responsibility for your actions. it wasn’t because he was walking too slowly and you needed to get to school faster - it was because you were ashamed of him and didn’t want to be seen with him. it wasn’t because he was careless and didn’t pace himself - it was because he was worried about you. it wasn’t because - it wasn’t because of any of these stupid lies that you keep spouting, that you keep trying to hide behind like a shield of grandeur when in reality: it’s nothing more than a pitiful display of your selfishness and cowardice.

he was healthy and whole and hale when he arrived to our home, and you were the one that made him frail and sickly and so damn tired.

the paramedic said that he would have survived his heart attack. in fact, he should have survived it. but his shortness of breath is what ultimately killed him.

you did that.

you did that.

i hate you.

I HATE YOU

i hope you die. i hope you never get to achieve anything you want in life. i hope you get the punishment you deserve and rot for a thousand years in hell. i hope you’re cremated alive with all the sins that you’ve committed and all the lies that you’ve spoken, and the fire can’t burn you alive so you suffocate on the smoke wafting from the burnt ashes of the trauma you’ve inflicted on not just me, but everyone around you.

i hate you. i hate you so much. i wish you were dead. i wish i could kill you. i wish -

i -

i…

…why you?

why am i stuck with you? why do i have to spend the rest of my life knowing that someone like you exists and is associated with me? lives with me? haunts my every step, my every move and every single thing i ever do?

maybe i would be able to tolerate you if you could just do one thing right in your entire damned existence. your presence is a curse to every life that touches your corrupted form, a blight that taints even the most innocent and precious of beings and warps them into a twisted amalgamation of their darkest desires.

when he died, he told my parents to take care of you. not me, you.

he told them to protect you, to nurture you. he had faith in every fiber of his ailing being that you would succeed, no matter what.

i’m so much better than you are.

i’ll show you. i’ll show them all.

we are nothing alike.

leave me alone.

please.