#edit: ITS DELAYED FOR OVER AN HOUR??
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me thinking i was going to miss the episode just to find out it was delayed
#big brother#bb26#edit: ITS DELAYED FOR OVER AN HOUR??#there’s still an hour long show after 60 minutes??????
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Transcript:
I'd like to congratulate you on getting your CPR certification.
Now remember, when you’re going in for compressions, it should sound like somebody is standing behind you with the worlds largest Dorito and cracking it open!
Go in firm and hard and snap as many ribs as you can on the way down, that means you’re doing it right.
You save that life. Good luck.
Or... Or... Or kill them, I don’t fucking care.
Audio source
#ultrakill#gabriel ultrakill#congratulations this is misinformation and by listening to it you have actually gotten a bit dumber <3#you're welcome!#anyway. this is the first post using a new method for the filter. my second time completely redoing it lol#can anyone but me tell the difference? probably not! did i spend hours trying to figure it out? yes!#basically what i did was download an unedited audio from his patreon and compared it to the edited version (the srimp special if u care LOL#and did edits- then compared it to the edited version. over. and over. and over........ and over.......................#ANYWAY.#turns out i have been delaying too little#before i had done between .025 to .075 depending on the audio#its more around .1#i also downloaded reaper to add the bitcrush#so its about as close as i can get it without having the exact number that the filter is supposed to be delayed by#i could not for the life of me figure out why mine has less 'echo' but its close enough..#plus the audio from the streams is not the best quality and already has a slight filter on it anyway so like- theres only so much i can do#cough. so anyway i brought my laptop to work today and spent a long time figuring that out#paid to shitpost on company time~#also i have no idea if this is too loud or too quiet cause the audio levels on my laptop are weird#like anything over 10% volume is super loud#i was at 6% while editing but idk how that is going to translate over to other people uhhhhh idk let me know if its ok
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Little bright colored outfit with a fun vest ~
(shoes from ebay like 10 years ago. everything else is thrifted)
#ootd#jfashion#fashion#fantasy fashion#mori kei#....like... adjacent... lol#no idea what style this would be lol.. makes me think of like whimsical vaguely fantasy themed childrens book character#finally posting one of my aforementioned seven million drafts of actual outfits and costumes i have finished and edited#the photos for but just never feel like posting lol..#I need to find one of those people whos like 'omg i am ADDICTED to social media ugh i wish i could get off of it#im just browsing and posting like 60 times a daaaaay!!!' and take a little magical bottle and suck some of the social media#enthusiasim out of them. for moi. In exchange they can have some of my 'literally just never in the mood to post or interact with the#outside world ever' energy. We can balance each other. huzzah and so on#Though I think maybe it's part of the general thing I've heard of like.. I can't remember if it was in reference to adhd or just some sort#of general execcutive functioning issue type of thing - but the idea that things have to be ''just right'' before you do something. like#'oh i need to do this task. but i have to wait until XYZ first' or 'oh i can do this but only if X specific condition is met' or etc#The fact that I even have to be in a Specific Mindset to post. or sometimes will delay posting on social media because like 'oh well#I'm going somewhere tomorrow. somehow this matters. i cannot spend 5 minuts posting TONIGHT. clearly it will interfere#somehow schedule wise with the doctor appointment i have 15 hours from now. yes. yes. i must wait until my appointment is over#tomorrow afternoon. THEN i shall post' or etc. etc. lol. NOT even taking into account the many days#I just genuinely and physically sick and it's not even a mental thing. I just physically dont feel like sitting at the computer lol..#ANYWAY.. trying to get back into it. trying to get a business bank account.. make a proper paypal so i can start selling sculptures again.#selling clothes and sculptures.. posting about such things then of course as one must. etc... chanting to hype up and motivate myself lol#But yes. this is my favorite outfit out of the bunch so I am posting it first I guess.. maybe others later..#Also the purple dress says its from shein. which I've heard is bad fast fashion stuff. but maybe okay since its second hand? I havent#been to the bins since like 2020 or late 2019 even. and I think stuff like shein and temu has only become poular in the past few years#but I bet if I went to the bins now I might would find a good handfull of that stuff. Probably now not much different than what you#find in a walmart or a forever 21 or actual physical stores you can go to though. I hear quality of clothing is down everywhere no matter#where you get it or whatnot. What bountiful joys unfettered capitalism and exploitation bestows upon us (<being sarcastic).#Wearing one of my favorite little vests though. I love the texture of it and the clasps on it
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well i played the bus schedule lottery. and lost so bad.
#tütensuppe#where is everyone GOING holy fuck get OFF the road#i stayed longer bc i thought i could wait for the traffic to clear some but nah#took a rental bike to my switch stop and passed 4 of the buses i normally take to go there#the bus i wanted to catch has been lost so the app just says its on time despite the other buses#having 30-60 minutes delay#at least i got the ethernet on my pi to work again..??#edit well that bus had been lost completely. i got the one after that with a good 10 minutes delay#i assume we will collect some more in the tunnel#maybe i can leave early tomorrow :(#i stayed over an hour longer than planned today#(but at least i got to put that down as working time. rather than just spending an ass amount of time waiting around)
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Just Like Him
Summary: When you argue with Jason, you slowly start seeing less of Jason Todd and more of Bruce Wayne. (Jason Todd x reader)
Word Count: 1.9K
Notes: I legit came back home from a night out and sat here editing this till 3am cause I refused to miss a post haha. A little bit shorter due to that and I'll do a second look over it later. Only warning for this is mentions of violence as usual for most of these, and that it hasn't been as edited cleanly as usual. Tomorrow's post might be really delayed too since I've got events tomorrow too. Anyways, enjoy my Lovelies~! xx
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You had loved Jason. You did love Jason.
You loved the boy who was too awkward to hold your hand when you went out in public, who left you notes at your door when he was too frustrated and too pent up to explain himself properly. You loved his habits, his quirks, the way that he cooked you food if he knew he was going to be out for a few days, silently leaving it in the fridge in the hopes you’d keep yourself healthy.
You also loved the dark sides of him, the nightmares he woke up to, skin sticky with sweat. You loved him even when his eyes were lost in the darkness, unable to tell who you were exactly but still seeking the comfort of your arms to shield him. You loved him even when he tensed outside in public, a sound, a smell, setting him off and making him clench onto your hand. His eyes were scared, but you didn’t mind bringing him back into reality, letting him know that you were here for him.
Yet on nights like these, you love for him faltered slightly. These were the nights that you couldn’t temper, the ones here he burned angrily and bit hard. He was currently pacing the kitchen, hands in his hair after a rough patrol.
“You just don’t understand.” He murmured over and over. “Maybe you just don’t get it. Maybe you just never will. How could you even try to?”
That hurt you, the way he talked like you weren’t even there. Like you weren’t in tears on the other side of the kitchen island. Like you hadn’t been having this argument for an hour how, sunset drinking its way into the dusk.
This was the part of Jason that hurt you, the coarse side that snarled and growled at you like he was an injured dog. The side that looked at you with those striking green eyes narrowed into slits, who spat words like he’d never seen you before.
“I do understand Jason.” I you sigh. “You want to protect this city, you want to change Gotham, but don’t you dare tell me what I know or don’t, when I’m asking you to just be home more. Is it really that hard to protect the city and go out for a date?” You sigh, heart beginning to falter under the scrutiny of his gaze. “I know you can’t always be there. Neither can I, but please,” you say, folding your arms across your chest. “Please be there for me.”
“I am.” He groans back out, making a flicker of irritation spark in you.
“Not you’re not.” You counter. “You leave dates, you leave dinners, you don’t come home some nights. No warning, no text, no notice.” You snap back. “Being there for me is being at those dinners, going on those dates, coming home, spending time in bed with me.” You snap. "it's not cold sheets, cold food, cold feet on date nights. Step up."
He throws his hands up in the air, teeth clenched. "Can't you see I'm trying to save the city? trying to stop it from eating itself from the inside? You know its corrupted, you know about the violence. Hell, you got shot." he snaps back. His fists are tightly clenched by his side, eyes burning into yours. You stare back at him defiantly, and it makes the frustration in him rise.
He knows he's not good at words, knows that he's rough around the edges. The voice in his head tells him that when he sits up at night, when he finally comes home. His head leans back against the headboard whole you sleep peacefully beside him, rolled completely onto your side. His fingers twist in the sheets, as it speaks at him, tells him that he's not good enough to be with you. That the city isn't safe enough, that he needs to make it safer. He wasn’t the safest out of Batman's gang of protegees. He had a hit list that had started while he was just a young teenager and continued to have names added every other week. He'd been shot at, stabbed, thrown into and off of buildings, and that was something he was fine with. that was his job, his burden.
But when you got shot, that's when life really had caught up with him. It was like he had been living his life in slow motion up until that point, until it all rushed forward like a wave on double speed. He hadn't erven been there, halfway across town with Nightwing on some stakeout when he got the call. Dick had let him go without a word, merely watching him speed away on his bike before calling in backup from the cave to replace him. He didn't care that Bruce would get mad at him for abandoning his post, he could go to hell. What he cared about was you, and the fact that he hadn't been able to protect you, been able to stop it from happening. He heard about it only when the hospital called him, informing him that you were being prepped for surgery immediately.
How bad was it? Was it just one shot? Did it go cleanly through? Where were you hit? What calibre? What make? What model? Where did it take place?
Those were all questions that Red Hood might have been allowed to ask if he had worn the mask and marched through the emergency department, but he couldn’t do that. If he did it would be a giant target on your back, associating you with his vigilante life in the most obvious way possible. Instead, he had to race through the doors breathless as Jason Todd, the worried boyfriend who had to be held back by security trying to get to your ward.
You had of course recovered, learnt to walk again on the leg that caught a stray bullet from a gang shoot out in Lower Gotham. It had been worryingly close to your artery, but you had pulled through. Jason couldn’t deny the fact that his status as a Wayne kid helped your care and the way the hospital aided your recovery. With a harsh word, Jason could have any of their licenses revoked.
That's why Jason did it. To make sure that the fear that gripped his heart that night never had the chance to wrangle him like that again. He'd fight night after night and come home with a string of broken and bloodied knuckles if it meant that you would be okay. It's all he can think about as he stares you down in the kitchen, watching your jaw twitch.
"Don't you dare use the fact that I got shot, against me." you seethe, hand coming up to point at him. "That wasn’t my fault, and it could have happened to anyone in the town, it's Gotham, Jason." you bite back, and he throws his hands up.
"That's exactly the problem! It's Gotham." he shouts. "You can get shot, or stabbed, or killed. Anyone can. one day you're here, the next you ain't. You really want to go out there, sweetheart? You got shot and you want to tell me not to clean the streets up? The sheets are cold? Well, they'd be a lot colder if you were dead." he spits back, and you are too stunned to say anything. You shake your head, a look of realisation coming over you.
"Oh my god," you breathe out. "you're just like Bruce. You’re no better."
That makes something in his freeze, halting all of his movements and shutting down his train of thought. You see it, see the way his bright green eyes widen and his head tilts slightly, making the white tuft in his hair flop over his eyes as you continue. "You're so obsessed with cleaning up the city. So obsessed with fighting out there that you can't give it up even for a second. You both can't. You criticize the man, tore him apart for his neglect just to do the exact same god damn thing.” Tears begin to prick your eyes in helplessness, lump building in your throat.
"You can’t see yourself out of that stupid helmet." you say, choking up as the tears clog your vision. "When was the last time that you read?" you ask, sniffling. "When was the last time you did a hobby, or rode your bike as a civilian? When's the last time we went on a date or held hands, or went to the park, or the library or anywhere?" you yell at him, hand coming to claw at your heart.
"When was the last time you were Jason?" you whisper softly. "Because right now, I feel like Jason Todd has died for a second time." you choke out. "Except this time, it wasn’t Joker who killed him."
You wipe your eyes with your sleeve while you leave him stunned, pushing past him to go into your bedroom. When the door slams harshly it snaps him out of the stupor he had found himself in, body swivelling on his heel immediately to follow you.
You didn't respond to his soft knocking at the door, or his calls. You didn’t accept the apologies he murmured into the wood, didn't bother to listen to his promises or ways that he swore he could make it better. It was only when he began knocking desperately, worrying building, that you swung it open violently.
Your face is a mess, sticky with tears and chin wet. Your breath comes out in small hiccups as you try to collect yourself, still mid sob as you shout at him. "Couch." you seethe, your puffy eyes glaring at him with a hurt filled dagger before the door slammed in his face. He sighed, forehead against the wood before pushing off the door frame with a click of his tongue. He plops down onto the living room couch with a groan, legs thrown over the side to try and accommodate for his size. He raises an arm to cover his eyes, other arm grabbing a couch cushion and bringing it to his chest.
"You're just like Bruce, no better." rattled around in his skull, making him chew at his lip. He didn’t like that. He didn’t like being compared to Bruce, even if he respected the man at times. He had come back, intending to be everything for others that Bruce had failed to be for him. Yet according to you, he was walking the same steps the man before him had traced.
Was he really no better than Bruce?
He groans and removes his arm from his eyes. He casts them over to the turned off TV, catching the sight of a much younger Robin peering back at him. With a smile the boy took off the domino mask and revealed the childish figure that was young Jason Todd. He raises a hand to his face as well, mirroring what he had just seen the reflection do. Except when he pulled his hand away, studying the digits instead of the TV screen, he could still see the remnants of the Hood he failed to leave at the door.
#messenger of babel#angstober 2024#day 25#fanfic#angstober24#angstober#angst#dc comics#dc fanfic#dc x reader#dc#jason todd x you#jason todd#jason todd angst#jason todd x reader#dc robin#red hood#red hood dc#red hood x reader angst#red hood x you#red hood angst#red hood x reader#dc jason todd#jason todd dc#dc red hood#jason peter todd#the red hood
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Spider-Verse Artists Say Working on the Sequel Was ‘Death by a Thousand Paper Cuts’
Why don’t more animated movies look this good? According to people who worked on the sequel, Across the Spider-Verse, it’s because the working conditions required to produce such artistry are not sustainable.
Multiple Across the Spider-Verse crew members — ranging from artists to production executives who have worked anywhere from five to a dozen years in the animation business — describe the process of making the the $150 million Sony project as uniquely arduous, involving a relentless kind of revisionism that compelled approximately 100 artists to flee the movie before its completion.
While frequent major overhauls are standard operating procedure in animation (Pixar films can take between four and seven years to plot, animate, and render), those changes typically occur early on during development and storyboarding stages. But these Spider-Verse 2 crew members say they were asked to make alterations to already-approved animated sequences that created a backlog of work across multiple late-stage departments. Across the Spider-Verse was meant to debut in theaters in April of 2022, before it was postponed to October of that year and then June 2023 owing to what Entertainment Weekly reported as “pandemic-related delays.” However, the four crew members say animators who were hired in the spring of 2021 sat idle for anywhere from three to six months that year while Phil Lord tinkered with the movie in the layout stage, when the first 3-D representation of storyboards are created.
As a result, these individuals say, they were pushed to work more than 11 hours a day, seven days a week, for more than a year to make up for time lost and were forced back to the drawing board as many as five times to revise work during the final rendering stage.
"For animated movies, the majority of the trial-and-error process happens during writing and storyboarding. Not with fully completed animation. Phil’s mentality was, This change makes for a better movie, so why aren’t we doing it? It’s obviously been very expensive having to redo the same shot several times over and have every department touch it so many times. The changes in the writing would go through storyboarding. Then it gets to layout, then animation, then final layout, which is adjusting cameras and placements of things in the environment. Then there’s cloth and hair effects, which have to repeatedly be redone anytime there’s an animation change. The effects department also passes over the characters with ink lines and does all the crazy stuff like explosions, smoke, and water. And they work closely with lighting and compositing on all the color and visual treatments in this movie. Every pass is plugged into editing. Smaller changes tend to start with animation, and big story changes can involve more departments like visual development, modeling, rigging, and texture painting. These are a lot of artists affected by one change. Imagine an endless stream of them."
"Over 100 people left the project because they couldn’t take it anymore. But a lot stayed on just so they could make sure their work survived until the end — because if it gets changed, it’s no longer yours. I know people who were on the project for over a year who left, and now they have little to show for it because everything was changed. They went through the hell of the production and then got none of their work coming out the other side."
#across the spider verse#spider man: across the spider verse#spiderverse#spiderman#marvel#atsv#phil lord#film#animation#vfx#post production#read the whole thing pls!
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Change My Mind [3]
Pairing: BTS x reader
SUMMARY: As a make-up artist, you were expected to glamorize your clients with brushes and products that cost a week-worth of food, not to befriend them outside of work, let alone have them save you from dates yet here you are five years later as one of their closest confidants.
Being a stylist of the world's biggest boyband is no easy feat, someone is doing flips, someone can't stay still and one's asleep but its fine, you can work around their chaos but then one day, you find out they're all your soulmates, a whole different can of chaos you don't think you can handle.
Tags: Soulmates AU, Friends to Lovers, Eventual Smut, Not Beta Read, Slow Build, Polyamory, Attempts at Humor
Words: 8.8k
ao3 is down so I'll update it first here. Chapter got delayed since this wasn't originally part of the roster. its currently 1am so there will be mistakes I missed but that's for future Winter's problem.
edit: please comment if you want to be added to the tag list :DD
<<<Prev || MASTERLIST || Next>>>
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For a guy with his heart on his sleeves and his emotions displayed so loudly on his face like neon signs with gigantic arrows, Taehyung is an enigma.
It didn’t help that he had experience in acting, if anything it made it harder to understand him.
One moment he's supportive of your quest for a perfect husband then another, he's raging with a jealousy even the power of the thousand burning suns couldn't replicate. Even when Guwon has long disappeared, Taehyung didn't stop from hanging off of your arm when the three of you had entered your home.
In the short time they had stayed over, he made sure he was somehow close to you or having you within his sight while Jimin returned to being the sweet boy he had always presented himself as but the glint of something dark in his eyes never disappeared.
But it didn't make any sense. All of their behaviors, even Jimin, is confusing.
Taehyung had introduced a date to the group before, and had hooked up with a few people from the after-parties if the others’ words were anything to go by. Jimin is the same, although he took every chance to flirt with you at any time and everywhere, you always thought it was him being his playful self. But after last night?
You don't know.
And you hate not knowing.
To find out that Jin still liked you was shocking already, then comes this new realization—along with the impacts of Jungkook’s confession—to knock you off of your feet. You thought he had moved on like he had said years before, but last night's conversation had told you otherwise.
“That's the tenth time I've heard you sigh just this hour alone and we're only drinking coffee, what’s wrong?”
Your head shot up to meet the concerned gaze of the oldest make-up artist. Jihae is one of the original staff back from 2013, the woman who had picked you up when you tripped in front of the BigHit building crying with your bag spilled out, having been given a low grade in one of your subjects.
They were lacking in staff back then, urgently searching for another body to help with the debut look and when she saw your cosmetic bag, she tugged you inside and told you to agree with whatever they were going to ask.
Stunned, you followed the woman without question.
A month later, you dropped out of the nursing course your mother had insisted you take and pursued cosmetology.
Many times have you looked back at the memory and grimaced. It could've gone wrong, she might've been leading you into a trafficking ring but nonetheless, you're glad you had accepted it.
All because Jihae had seen you with mascara-stained tears and somehow deemed you skilled enough for the job. Up until today, you still wonder what she had seen in an emotional teenager who had comically tripped face-first in the company’s front yard, mascara running down her face and thought: ‘She’d be a good addition’.
Whatever it is, you're thankful.
“Hey, you still with us?”
Snapping out of your trance, you wearily smiled at her. “Yes I am, unnie. Just frustrated about something...”
At this, multiple heads turned to you, their stares a varying mix of curiosity and teasing. Suddenly reminded of the group lunch Jihae had proposed that day, a bonding exercise for the entire make-up artists roster, for better teamwork, she had said and internally facepalmed. You had forgotten that it wasn't just your friends sitting on the table with you and you had just aired your problem out in the open for them to hear.
Fuck Kim Taehyung and his confusing attitude. You should beat his ass next time you see him for being the catalyst to the dilemma haunting your mind.
Leaning closer to you, Nabi—another friend of yours—crossed her arms and flashed a shit-eating grin.
“Is it boy problems?”
Instantly, the table explodes into chatters, all of their questions drowning each other.
“Which one of them?”
“Did someone from Bangtan confess to you, unnie?”
“Is it Hoseok? Please say it is! I have a bet with someone from the styling department.”
“Was it Taehyung? I always thought he had a crush on you for a whi—”
“It's not any of them, please we're just friends.” You interjected before they dig further and find truth in their questions. “It's a different guy I've had two dates with.”
Never had you sounded more unsure of yourself until now and you had wished nobody had noticed. But one look around the table says differently. Your friends’ eyes glinted, all of them telling you that this discussion was far from over and you find yourself already dreading opening the groupchat once you're home. But unlike them, someone wasn't satisfied with your answer and crossed her arms from the other end of the table.
“Why so dismissive, unnie? We're all friends here, no need to be so defensive.”
Immediately, the ones closest to her snapped their heads at her with a scandalized look. Alexa was a new recruit, A half-Korean and half-Chinese who lived in the States for a better half of her life, had just joined the week before the first leg when one of the crew went into labor and had recommended her cousin as her last minute replacement until she could return.
In the short time she had been in the company, there had been whispers and none of them were positive. Rumors of an unhealthy obsession hidden beneath the skillfully applied make-up that granted her a younger and cuter appearance, hushed stories of their encounters where she'd reveal her soulmate mark—inked initials, and written on her wrist is a K.S.J, something she boasted around with a smug look, as if to imply something you refuse to entertain.
It was absurd.
Seokjin was untethered, if he got a soulmate mark out in the open, he would've screamed it on top of the world. Delighted and in cloud nine at the thought of having someone destined for him. Not to mention, it meant that he didn't need to go through any of the shit you've gone through, going through dates after dates looking for someone better to settle down with only to be met with constant disappointment at the end of the day.
(You'd also be the first to know. He would've ran to you and asked if you manifested a mark too, but for your sanity, you pushed the thought at the back of your head as soon as it came.)
To say, to imply that Seokjin’s soulmate is the kid on the side of the table, it almost made you grimace.
“Hey Alexa, I know you're just new and a foreigner but that doesn't mean we'd let you disrespect your seniors!” Minhyuk, someone who had quickly wormed into your friend group last year, had jumped to your defense.
Alexa scoffed. “I'm just saying, no need to be so secretive, unnie. Everyone in this table knows how close Bangtan is to you. Everyone is wondering if you've at least dated one of them.”
“Hey Alexa, that's a bit…”
“Why are you guys looking at me like that? I'm just saying what you're all thinking,” She looks back at you. “I've seen how they look at you, surely you've at least had a fling with someone.”
Your brows shot up, incredulous and shocked by her audacity but before you could bite back, Minhyuk stood abruptly, face darkened with pure unadulterated anger.
“Oh this—” Nabi and you were quick to tug him back down to sit.
At the commotion, everyone in the cafeteria shifted their attention to your table, inquisitive and curious of what might've set off the resident social butterfly, someone who everyone knows the name of and has been at the end of his constant kindness.
Minhyuk is a passionate soul, especially towards his job and friends. Having been kicked out for being himself, he turned to the very skill that had his father screaming expletives at him. Recommended by Jihae, who had been visiting a nearby friend at the time and was passing by his street, had found him crying in the rain, outside the gate of his family house. She had taken him home and the rest was history.
There's never been a time when you've all hung out, five emptied bottles of Sojus later, where he wouldn't be crying, thankful for the chance your eldest had given him before turning to you, sobbing loudly and hugging you and the rest of the group in a tight grip. Heart full of gratefulness for his new found family.
So there was no shock that he had been the first one to jump at the first sign of aggression towards your group.
“Everyone is looking, hyuk. Let's calm down.” Nabi whispered to him, eyes cautious and Minhyuk grunted.
“She's lucky we're in public, I would've torn her down for that comment.”
At the end of the table, Alexa scoffed, incredulous. “Are you seriously mad that I'm saying my opinion? Is it a crime to express their own opinion these days?”
“Not when it's as rude as yours.”
Jihae sighs. “Calm down the both of you. Remember that you're working right now.”
You didn't doubt that everyone in the company has speculated about your relationship with Bangtan. It's hard not to when the maknaes hang onto your words and comfortably play around with you, especially not when you have dinner at their dorm every other week so you didn't blame the newbie for being curious.
That's what you would've felt if she hadn't been going around planting ideas into people's heads that she might be Jin’s soulmate like the delusional slug she is.
You had half a mind to loosen your grip on Minhyuk and let him wipe the floor with her unnecessarily expensive work clothes.
Shrugging both your and Nabi’s arms from his, Minhyuk stands up again only to walk away from the table. Instantly, the rest of your group follows him as he marches through the gathered crowd in the cafeteria and in front of the closed elevator.
You trailed behind him, waiting for his eventual frustrated explosion as he always does after an encounter with Alexa since she was hired. Once you were all far enough, hidden away from the prying eyes of the public, he threw his head back and let out a loud, exasperated groan.
“That girl I fucking swear!” He growled as combed his long hair back. “Why did we even let her continue working after the tour?! We could've just found a better alternative, she's getting into my fucking nerves!”
Nabi sighed. “It's not like we have a final say in this, hyuk. Whether you like it or not, we'll be stuck with her until Hyuna comes back.”
“God,” He groaned. “You should've let me hit her once! I'm so tired of hearing her bullshit! Surely, you've heard the lie she's spreading around right?!”
“Like Nabi has said, we can't do anything unless it starts to hurt the reputation of the idol. She's smart for not saying it outright and somehow containing it within the styling departments.” Jihae responds with a defeated shake of her head.
The answer didn't satisfy Minhyuk, who then turned to you with a pout and wide puppy eyes before promptly stomping over and taking both your hands in his.
“Surely you can pull some strings, noona? Tattle off to Namjoon hyung or Seokjin hyung, surely one of them would do something, right?”
You almost considered his suggestion. Alexa had been grating your gears ever since she arrived to replace Hyuna. You had excused her lack of cooperation with the team for being a newbie and clumsy mistakes of haphazardly leaving her items everywhere for the stress of the new environment she was suddenly put in. But for her to go around implying Seokjin is her soulmate is another can of worms you didn't even want to open.
The mere thought of her existing on the same floor as Seokjin invokes an unsettling feeling in the pit of your stomach.
But unfortunately, even if you had tattled to Namjoon about her, nothing would happen since it's not too drastic of an event to fire someone over for. It's also just not a good idea overall. The tour is set next Wednesday and while Alexa doesn't cooperate with most of the team, she unfortunately got the skill to back her up. Her skills nearly compensate for her rude personality.
Almost.
“They won't fire someone over a small argument, Hyuk. Just suck it in until Hyuna returns.”
“Which will be in December after Japan,” He mulls it over before shaking his head. “Yeah no, I don't think I can tolerate her nasty ass that long.”
The elevator opens—Jihae had called it the moment they've arrived, bless her—and everyone piles in. It was a quick ride, the stylists being on the floor below the cafeteria. In a flash the metal doors parts opened and you all walked out. But before you could follow your friends back into your department, your phone vibrated from your pocket.
Slowing down, you pulled the device out and looked at who's texting you.
[13:02] Hobi: can ask you a favor [13:02] Hobi: just an itsy bitsy favor 🤏🤏 [13:02] Hobi: I promise it's harmless😁
There's also a text from Guwon not too long ago. Something you missed while you were lost in your thoughts earlier.
[12:30] Guwon: Eat your lunch soon! [13:03] You: hi sorry late reply, I was having lunch with my co-workers, couldn’t use my phone during. [13:03] You: I hope your lunch was good😁
You grimaced at how robotic your reply sounded before returning to Hoseok who had sent another text.
[13:03] Hobi: don't leave me on seen please😢 [13:03] Hobi: noona noona noona noona noona [13:04] You: hoba hoba hoba hoba hoba [13:04] Hobi: YAY [13:04] You: how can I help you? [13:05] Hobi: can you deliver lunch to hyung?😁 [13:05] Hobi: I would do it myself but I'm currently helping Seokjin hyung and Namjoon with the dance [13:06] Hobi: and we both know Yoongi hyung wouldn't eat on time if I do it [13:06] Hobi: can you do it for me?🥺 [13:06] You: sure, you guys still in the dance practice room? [13:07] Hobi: ur a life saver [13:07] Hobi: an angel in disguise [13:07] Hobi: but yes😁 [13:08] Hobi: just knock on the door when you're here😁
“Y/N?” Jihae asks and you look back up to see your group waiting for you.
“Who is it?” Nabi adds.
“Better be news of Alexa getting fired. If not, I don't want to hear it.” Minhyuk says as he crosses his arms. You shook your head and he threw his hands up in frustration.
“Got asked to help with something but I'll be back in a moment.”
With a brief goodbye, you turned back to the elevator and directed yourself to the floor where the dance practice rooms are at.
The walking distance from the elevator is not too far from the dance room but seeing five familiar teenage boys speaking in hushed whispers and hitting each other's arms in front of the vending machine just a feet away from the door easily distracted you.
If they had been crowding around the machine, you would've thought they were fighting over the last snack but instead they were all facing the same direction as your destination.
Sneaking up to the five giants, you're slowly introduced to the dilemma they were hitting and pushing each other for.
“You're the oldest, you should go and knock!”
“Just because I'm the oldest doesn't mean I should always be the first! Why are you even ordering me around?! Go ask Huening Kai instead!”
“Why me? I can't talk in Korean, I-I’m foreigner.”
“Oh don't you pull that shit on us. How are you only a foreigner when it matters?!”
“What are we talking about?”
Three shrill screams pierced through the air as the five of them jumped back, awkwardly long bodies falling against and clutching onto each other for dear life, all of them huddling onto the next body for protection. But once they recognize you, Yeonjun immediately regains composure and breaks off from the cluster to stomp over to you with his bottom lip jut out as he dramatically latches onto your arm.
“Noonaa, why would you scare us like that?!”
When you first met Yeonjun, he was standing in front of the cafeteria bar in front of the exhausted cashier and the long irritated line of workers, peering up onto the menu before looking down to count his money. He looked like a little kid lost in the sea of busy adults, painfully alone and helpless as the hungry customers behind him began to complain loudly.
He had been holding up the line as he recounted his change once more, hoping he had miscounted and that he could afford what he was eyeing. Seeing his hopeful expression crumble into defeat was enough to make you approach him and buy him lunch.
Yoongi had teased you when he found you being trailed by another kid, saying you were collecting every doe eyed kid in the company and becoming their reliable older sister. Especially when his soulmates began to follow his footsteps.
“What were you guys doing? Fighting against who gets the last chip?”
Beomgyu then ran to wrap his arms around yours, the sweetest and most innocent smile plastered on his face as the two boys began to walk you forward, the destination? The dance studio.
“You know that we love you right, noona?”
Why these kids are genuinely intimidated by your sweet Hoba is beyond you. The man screams and flinches at the smallest of bugs daring to exist two feet away from him. Still, you entertained them with a raise of an eyebrow and Yeonjun continued.
“Our favorite make-up noona, the greatest sister figure we have ever had, my savior and my salvation, our dearest credit—”
“Okay, what do you guys want?”
You all stopped in front of the dance room door. IDOL was blasting on the other side of the wall, the floor vibrating with the beat. Although muffled, you could pick up the sound of shoes squeaking against the floor and heavy footsteps accompanying the song.
“Could you pretty please knock on the door?” Beomgyu asks, pleading and also hopeful and the rest of his brothers chimed from behind you with their own versions of the request which ended up sounding like a bunch of warbled words.
“Couldn't you have done that yourselves?”
“But they're busy and J-Hope sunbae is scary.” Taehyun quietly adds behind you.
“Hoba? He's the sweetest though?”
“Okay, let's not lie to ourselves now,” Huening Kai shoots back before motioning to the door. “Just… knock and we'll handle it from there. We promise!”
“Cross our hearts.” Taehyun says, drawing a cross over his chest. The other four follow.
Dance teacher Hoseok to you is a hoax. You've never been subjected to his intense scrutiny and harsh perfectionist side, always managing to slip past or only being able to meet him outside of the workplace where he'd be far relaxed and cheerful.
Sure there's been plenty of photographic and recorded evidence posted in the group chat but you still find it hard to believe he's more frightening than the bugs that scare him off the room.
“He's not that scary, guys.”
Taehyun scoffs. “Easy for you to say.”
“Crush privileges.” Soobin quietly adds.
“What—”
The door swings open before you could ask what he meant and Jungkook steps out of the room.
In a span of a second, the memories of his drunken confession flashed before your eyes. From the moment he had entered your home with bags of snacks to the way his voice had sounded, hushed and shaky, when he asked you for a kiss.
Seeing him again outside the concert where Namjoon and Yoongi had made sure there were no contacts between the two of you, evoked a weird sense of longing within you. Having absolutely no contact with Jungkook for two days had you missing and recollecting your past memories with him. In the short amount of time you've been away, you wondered about many things.
From something as headache-inducing variations of hows and whys questioning his attraction to you to something more simple and short like ‘how is he feeling right now?’.
It was a dumb question with an obvious answer yet you wanted to know. Curiosity and anxiety clawing at your chest.
Is your friendship still okay?
Did rejecting someone this time finally ruin your entire dynamic with the group?
Should you have chosen someone like your sister had told you to do?
They have plagued your mind and haunted you in your waking days yet the moment you finally see him, your mouth dries up and your voice dies in your throat.
But before you could even muster the courage to talk to him, he turned his attention to the boys who had retreated behind you the moment the door opened and greeted them with a short bow before walking away, completely ignoring you. Pain blooms in your chest like a thorned vine wrapping and strangling your heart tighter and tighter as you watch his back disappear around the corner.
“Did sunbae just ignore noona?”
“Is that even possible?”
“I didn't hallucinate that, right?”
“Noona, are you okay?” Soobin’s concerned voice, soft and cautious, brings you back to reality and you turn to them, a precariously built smile on your face.
“Why wouldn’t I?”
The five shared a look as you stepped into the studio, exposing you to the two figures laid on the floor, heaving and panting. The main topics of your thoughts were sitting at the far corner next to the black plastic table while Hoseok stood in the middle of the room, unaffected by whatever had happened and was chugging the water from the small bottle in hand.
As if he had grown a sixth sense for you, he suddenly spun around, a wide grin brightening his stern face.
“Noona!”
At this, the two men on the floor perks up. Namjoon merely waves before promptly dropping back down, Jimin and Taehyung only smiled at you, looking spent from whatever routine Hoseok had them do before turning to the two tallest. Seokjin had pushed himself up to stand and approach the black plastic table from the other end of the room where a dozen take outs were.
As Hoseok approached you, his gaze then found the cluster of five heads peeking through the sides of the entrance and laughed.
“You’ve got five ducklings following you, noona, didn't know you started collecting more after our maknaes.” He jokes before turning to the teens and waving them over. The group then spread to occupy the space in the doorway and bowed. “What can I do for you guys?”
They suddenly disappear behind the wall but you hear them hitting each other and their whisper-shouts, it took a long while before Soobin was pushed out of the shadow and forced to talk to their sunbae. The painfully shy teen shuffles over, shoulders folded forward and taking the smallest of steps forward before stuttering a bow.
A wide smile brightens Hoseok's face, endeared by the boy’s overly formal actions.
“H-Hi sunbae.”
“Hello, Soobinie.”
“We-we we're just wondering if we-we could watch you guys? Practicing dancing I mean—Not that you sunbaes need it cause you're professionals!—I mean of course you still need to practice to be better at dancing and—wait no—”
“Yah Soobin, stop embarrassing us like this!” Yeonjun scolds and immediately, the boy almost broke his neck with how face he looked over his shoulder.
“Then go do it yourself!”
“We don't mind, as long as you guys stay in a corner like good kids then we'll all be good!” Hoseok cuts in before an argument ensues.
There's a tap on your shoulder and you look over to see Seokjin standing behind you, a gentle smile playing on his plush lips, both hands hidden behind him.
There's an awkwardness that hung in the air as you both gazed into each other's eyes before he cleared his throat and began.
“Have you eaten yet?”
“Yes.” You lie. Jin caught it.
Turning to face him fully, he then takes one of your hands and forces your fingers to hold the neatly folded top of a paper takeout bag.
“I've packed Yoongi’s portion here as well as an extra for you.”
“You didn't need to, I already ate.”
“I even had them order some soft tofu soup, you were craving it last week, right?”
It was sweet being loved so selflessly by him. It tasted like the sweetest nectar from the garden of Eden with a foul aftertaste once your mind reminded you of your sins against the man and the thorned tendrils of guilt coiled tighter around your chest, its sourness easily overlapping the sweetness of his love.
After Jungkook pretending you didn't exist earlier, having Jin, someone who you didn't even know still admired you all these years while you had messed around with many faces and came to work with some of their marks on your skin, expressing his care had you almost bursting at the seams.
It enrages you thinking about Alexa going around spreading her bullshit spiel about being Jin’s soulmate. As if she deserved a morsel of his attention.
Nobody deserves Seokjin, not even you.
“Thank you Jinnie, but I already ate.” You then remembered your promise to return to your friends soon. “And Jihae is expecting me back immediately.”
“Coffee and toast is not lunch.” He deadpans as he takes your hand and forces it to close around the pack. “Just eat it with Yoongi, he'd be happy to be able to eat with someone and I’ll handle Jihae noona.”
“How the hell did you know what I had for lunch?”
Shock crossed over his face and he brought a hand over his mouth. “I was right? I just had a hunch on what you ate.”
“That’s a bit creepy, old man.”
“Maybe it’s a soulmate mark manifesting.” He shrugs but you doubt he meant it in a joking way.
“You’re way past the age, give it up hyung.”
You both turned to the door at Jungkook’s voice. Like earlier, he had strode in without acknowledging your presence, something Seokjin had noticed immediately. His eyes slid to the five boys tentatively pushing each other to the empty corner of the studio before looking back at their youngest.
“How could you insult me like this? I fed you with my hands, you should be addressing me formally with a full 90° bow!”
“I should’ve bitten your hands at least once back then.” Jungkook jokingly muses.
Before you could witness their banter explode, there’s a tug on your shirt and you spun around to face Hoseok who had nudged his head to the door. Jin had already marched towards the maknae before you could even thank him so you left.
Once you were both outside the studio, Hoseok closed the door behind and hugged you.
“Wh-what is this?”
“A thank you hug for being the sacrifice and feeding the grumpy dragon instead.” He says with a laugh but you knew what he was trying to do.
“I’m fine, Hoba. I didn’t expect us to be buddy buddy again after what happened.”
He sighed.
“He still shouldn’t have done that. I’m sure Seokjin hyung will talk to him about it later.”
Stepping back, you shook your head. “No need, I understand why he’s acting like that.”
His eyes regarded your face for a moment before pulling you back in for a hug and nuzzling his head on top of yours. “You don’t have to defend him noona, he’s acting like a child. It's our duty as his hyungs to fix that up.”
“Please don’t. It feels like you’re taking sides, he might think it's unfair.”
He laughs. “Are you kidding? ‘Cause from what I’m seeing, he’s being a petulant child. He should handle the rejection with more grace when it's his fault he’s in this predicament. You know Seokjin hyung warned him, right?”
“He told me when he and Tae took him home.”
“Then you should know better than defend him.” You opened your mouth to refute but he pressed a finger to your lips. “Don't start. He's not the same sixteen years old we had to raise back then, he needs correcting.”
With two hands on your shoulders, he then spun you around and began to push you towards the elevator, leaving no room for an argument.
Once he had led you back to the locomotive, he briefly stepped in to push the correct button for the production floor and stepped back and waved as the elevator wall slowly closed to a shut.
“Now go feed hyung and yourself before you go back to work. Thank you again noona and see you later.
“Special delivery for a grumpy hairless cat!”
A beat.
Then came a grumbled: “Come in.”
Punching the proper strings of numbers on the door code, you open the door to the genius lab to find Yoongi sitting in front of his computer, one ear off of his headphones as he goes back to a specific second again and again.
Situating yourself on the couch next to the door, you place the paper bag on the coffee table and slowly unload all its contents, hoping its smell is enough to deter him from his work just for a second.
Taking one of the containers, you open it to see bulgogi generously sprinkled on top of rice. The savory smell of the dish wafting out almost immediately, and Yoongi visibly perks up from his table; if perking up meant him temporarily stopping his incessant clicking and head tilting a little to the side.
“Is it all bulgogi?”
Placing down the container, you opened the other one to reveal the same dish except this time with fried rice.
“Yeah, you want fried rice or no?”
“Whatever you like less.” He grumbled as he returned to his work.
“That's not a proper answer.”
“Just take whatever you want, I like either.” He muttered.
Staring at the food on the table, you found yourself at a crossroads. The fried rice looks more appetizing than the plain white rice on the other container but you've had enough sodium for the week, having challenged Taehyung, Jimin and Jin to who can eat more ramyeon in one sitting the day before the concert.
But today just doesn't feel like a plain rice type of day.
But fried rice isn't healthy.
“Just choose please, I don't know what I want either.” You groaned out, frustrated.
With a grunt, the man took off his headphones and turned to face you before maneuvering himself closer to the table and picking up the container with the plain rice.
“Stop thinking so much about what is healthy or not,” He remarked as he took a pair of chopsticks from the paper bag. “I could hear your thoughts even with my headphones on and my back turned.”
“Then why tell me to choose if you already knew?”
Yoongi only shrugged as he took his first bite, prompting you to take yours. He seems to mull over something as he chews, staring at the food on the table for a while before placing the container down and leaving the room without a word.
You had learned not to question his confusing actions throughout the years, even then you couldn't help but be bewildered.
When he returned, he was carrying two drinks in one hand. Sprite and Kombucha. Settling back on his chair, he placed down the bottle of Kombucha in front of him before opening the can of sprite and placing it in front of you.
“I don't have any straws on me so you'll have to just chug it.”
People don't usually notice it but you think Jin and Yoongi are more similar in how they show their affections, just in different volumes. Seokjin’s care is always voiced out, always asking whether you want something or not and offering to do or make it for you while Yoongi just somehow always knows what you want and does it wordlessly. Both of them are always willing to provide.
If you had asked them for something as ludicrous as fried cotton candy with melted cheese on top, Jin would complain and express his disgust openly, ranting about the strenuous process while holding the handle of the pan and a spatula in the other while Yoongi would cook it without questioning your sanity.
Either way, it never fails to make your chest warm.
“Thank you, Yoongs.”
He suddenly takes a huge bite, bringing the container close to his face before humming out his response, easily flustered as ever.
You both eat your food in silence. With years of friendship under your belt, you have learned to enjoy the serenity Yoongi brings. It had been rough at the start, his quietness matched with his stoic expression had often led to misunderstandings where you often thought he thinks of you badly for being close to his brothers, especially after Jin’s confession.
He had confronted you once he heard it from Namjoon—who had immediately tattled onto his hyung after you had told him not to tell anyone—, saying he simply had problems expressing himself. You could remember how his hands, despite being entangled with each other, shook with his voice, could recall how he had forced himself to hold eye contact with you when he always had difficulties in holding one.
It was thoughtful and that was the first time you had felt the tingles of warmth in your chest. Teenage you had her feet swept off by a stuttering mess of a guy with eye contact issues.
Despite Jin being the first in the group to confess, Yoongi was the first to touch your heart.
“Why are you looking at me like that?’
You tilt your head. “Like what?”
A conflict of emotion crossed his eyes as he struggled to find the words but before he could, your phone vibrated from your pocket.
[13:54] Guwon: I'm at the cafe close to your building
You almost choked on your spit, surprised by his message and Yoongi hurriedly put his food down to pat your back. His office was on the other side of the city, why would he drive so far just to get some coffee with you during work days?
Love, a voice answers and you immediately waved it off.
There was no way he had fallen in love with you in such a short time. You have been on two dates with him yet he hadn't asked you to be his girlfriend when there's been multiple times throughout those days and nights he had the chance to do so.
During nights where you'd restlessly toss around on your bed, you found yourself facing one more problem outside of your friends.
You didn't notice when it started when Guwon began to make your stomach churn and it bothers you to the nines at how you were being suspicious of him.
Guwon is a genuinely nice guy with a legit and grand background from what you learned throughout the short time you've been hanging out, his case stories of helping out women stuck in abusive relationships and bringing justice to those the law has failed once proven true when you've typed his name on Naver. The man didn't deserve the doubt twisting in your stomach nor the aversion you were slowly gaining towards him.
Your conflicting feelings surrounding your friends' confessing and odd behaviors shouldn't be affecting your relationship with the man you will marry at some point yet it ended up doing so.
There was something foul and bitter simmering in your guts these days whenever you force yourself to think about him during your time. It burns like bile and tasted like betrayal, almost like unfaithfulness; you try not to think hard on why you feel this way but it's hard not to when Jimin and Taehyung's jealousy keeps flashing behind your eyelids with every blink.
[13:55] You: Oh wow, which one? [13:55] Guwon: The one on the left side, Areum Cafe. [13:55] Guwon: Are you free to get a cup of coffee with me? [13:56] Guwon: Sorry for springing this up on you [13:55] Guwon: I missed you🙁
“Who is it?”
“It's Guwon,” You say, scratching your head. “He says he's at the cafe down the road and wants to meet up.”
Yoongi placed down his food and stared at you, long and hard. Cat-like eyes narrowed and observing as he leaned back on his chair. You feel his eyes regard your body language before sighing.
“I assume you need help getting out? I'm not as… bold as the younger ones but I think I can help… somehow”
His appearance would surely help tamper down the discomfort that had bloomed with the recent revelations. Yoongi is intimidating as he is caring, having him next to you would ensure you a shorter time spent with the man, as well as prohibit him from pulling another surprise kiss on you.
But why are you so uncomfortable spending time with Guwon anyways?
You didn't have any problems before, even wanted to sleep with him the night prior so why now?
“How’d you know I need help?”
“You looked like your mother just told you to come to another date.”
Immediately, you ironed out the frown you didn't realize had marred your face.
“I thought you would've been delighted you've finally met your match?”
“I-I am.”
Yoongi clicks his tongue, the sound echoing louder in the silence of the room. “Try again. A little more sure this time.”
You sighed and relented, knowing the man wouldn't let you take a step out of the door if you lied to him again.
“Everything just started feeling wrong for some reason.”
He raised an eyebrow at that, eyes widening with surprise. “How so?”
“You know, when Jimin and Taehyung came over last night to make sure I got home safe, they were acting strange towards Guwon.” When he made no move to respond, you continued. “When Guwon suddenly kissed me, Taehyung looked… scary. Jimin too, if you can believe it.”
“I actually do.”
“What do you mean by that?”
Yoongi goes silent again, mulling over something as his gaze finally met yours for the first time that day. “For someone so perceptive, you're a bit oblivious.”
“What is it?”
“I won't elaborate, I'll let you realize things on your own.”
You groaned, facepalming because ain't no way Yoongi just added more fuel to the forest fire that is your thoughts. The man doesn’t even look aware of what his words had done, reaching over and innocently sipping on his kombucha once more.
“Back to what you were saying, why do you think it felt wrong to see Guwon?”
With his calm voice and the deafening silence of the room, you found yourself comparing Yoongi, who even has his hands folded over his crossed jean-clad legs, to a therapist and laughed.
“Didn’t know I was due for a therapy session when I dropped off your lunch.”
“Well I did, so deal with it,” He placed down his bottle. “Do you need my help or not?”
“Is breathing important? Obviously yes.”
He nods and stands, but not before saying, “I hope you know this conversation is far from over.”
While his presence had given you more peace of mind, leaving the BigHit building with Yoongi—who had forgone his usual outdoor style of beanies and big prescription glasses matched with a black mask in order to appear more intimidating, claiming the beanie softens his edges, something you playfully rolled your eyes at—still felt like walking into your doom.
The moment he steps out of the building, suddenly everyone's eyes are on him. The cool stoicness surrounding him commanded attention and the people listened without complaint, not when Yoongi looked like every highschool teenager's bad boy wet dreams.
Strolling into the cafe is easier with Yoongi trailing behind you like a guard dog; or in his case, a guard panther.
There's something about having the rapper, who has never shown a hint of romantic attraction to you in all your years being their friend, accompanying you to meet the man you might marry once the discomfort born from conflicting feelings subsides. It makes your heart jittery and your stomach twisting uncomfortably, the nerves from meeting Guwon only adding fuel to the fire.
It felt improper somehow, as if you were breaking an invisible rule you're yet to uncover from the depths of your soul.
The tempting aroma of freshly baked buttery goods and roasted coffee beans greeted you the moment Yoongi had pushed the door open for the both of you. In the controlled volume of mixed chatters from different tables, a calm acoustic instrumental flies through the air and you almost forgot what you came here for.
It didn't take long for you to find Guwon sitting on the table farthest from the entrance, secluded and away from the wide glass pane windows. When the door had opened with a chime, the man had raised his head from his phone and met your eyes. You try not to linger on how his expression stiffened when he realized you had Yoongi in tow before a smile wipes it away.
“You see him?” Yoongi’s voice grumbled from behind and you nod. Guwon stands, the sound of the chair scraping against the floor catching his attention. “That him?”
“Yeah, I don't think he's happy I brought you with me.”
He chuckled lightly. “Good.”
Guwon met you both halfway, arms opened wide to greet you with a hug and you let him. When you pull away, his hand casually falls to your waist and your skin scrawls.
Immediately, Yoongi’s eyes drop to look at it but before any hint of emotion breaks onto his face, his cool eyes are already back on your suitor’s face.
“Which one of your kids am I given the pleasure of meeting this time?” Guwon asks before offering his free hand to Yoongi who had taken it with a carefully crafted blank expression and unrelenting stare.
Seeing him remain in eye contact with Guwon surprises you. The man, even after your years of being friends, had never held eye contact for longer than five seconds outside the time he had opened up to you about his struggle with expressing himself.
It made you curious. Why is he provoking him? Is he testing Guwon?
“I'm not one of her kids, I'm actually older than her. Min Yoongi.”
“Yoo Guwon, a pleasure to meet you.”
Even when both their hands had long pulled away from each other, their eyes lingered longer. Challenging on Guwon's part, and taunting on Yoongi's as he stared back, completely unfazed.
Seeing them silently engage in a dick measuring contest, something you didn’t expect Yoongi to ever partake in since he had been loud in his distaste for his own gender, irked you. The tightening grip on your waist didn't help, wanting nothing but to slap it off if it wasn't for your promise to your mother to not fuck this up.
‘If you don't tell them what you're uncomfortable with, then they'll continue on doing it. The other guys out there aren't like us who'd feel guilty if we knew, I fear that they might take advantage of you instead, noona.’ Hobi’s voice echoes in your mind.
Sorry Hoba, I'm trying to make this work. But if this behavior continues, then I'll listen to you.
“I thought you idols are often more busy than the average folk?”
Yoongi sucks air through his teeth before responding. “We were in the middle of a fitting prior. I hope you don't mind me keeping watch, can't have our staff getting distracted by heartthrobs like you.”
Guwon laughed, a little louder than usual.
“She's been telling you guys about me?”
“All the good things, don't worry.” He then turns to you, eyes searching your face for a hint of extreme discomfort before continuing. “I'll go order the others some food.”
Sparing one last nod of his head at the man next to you, Yoongi then turns towards the counter to order. The moment he was out of earshot, dread drops onto your stomach like an anvil and you looked up at the Guwon whose eyes were already trained onto yours, a lazy smile stretched on his lips.
“I assume you’ll be needed back once he’s done?”
“ Yeah, I’m sorry it's just… Wrong timing.”
He waves you off. “Nonsense, it’s my fault for bringing you out of your work. They won’t fine you for this, right?”
“I went with one of my bosses, of course they won’t.”
His eyes studied your face for a moment, searching. For what? You don’t want to know. When he had found whatever it was, his face melts into a softer, more mellow expression and your heart clenches. The outpouring of awe in his eyes felt heavy and thick, it clogs up your throat and weighs your already strained form.
“I missed you.” He whispers with the sweetest of voices. “Did you miss me?”
“I-I do, kept thinking about you...”
The lie weighted like lead on your tongue and burned like acid. Compared to the genuineness practically dripping from his lips, your words fall short in your ears. With the way his softened expression crumpled into a frown, you knew he also noticed the hesitance in your voice.
“What’s wrong?”
“I’m sorry. With the tour being so close and more sponsorship offers coming in, it got a bit stressful than usual.”
When his arms reach around your shoulders and pull you flush to his chest, you will yourself not to tense. You were both hugging in the middle of the coffee shop and you could feel the nearby patrons’ stare pressing onto your body, judging and unpleasant. Embarrassment burns your cheeks and the desire to push him away grows.
Even Jimin and Taehyung doesn’t dare to get affectionate in public, none of your friends ever did anything more than a hand on your shoulder to lead you to the correct direction or a pat on the back when Jungkook had more sleep and food ingested, and was bouncing off the walls and you just happen to be assigned to him.
You wanted nothing more but to tell him to back off but the words got stuck in your throat.
“Just a tip, she doesn’t like PDA so maybe step away?”
Immediately, Guwon scrambles off of you.
“I’m sorry, I didn’t know.” Guwon says, his hand falling from your shoulder and down to your arm. You shivered.
A firm and familiar hand lands on your shoulder before Yoongi tugs you back to stand next to him. There’s a set in jaw as his eyes narrowed down at Guwon, the hand replacing Guwon on your arm is tense and rigid but not enough to hurt.
You sensed that he had a lot to say once you were out of sight, all of them expressing his distaste for the man you’re set to eventually marry. Even when you were all standing there, you could already imagine the curses and nitpicked details pouring out of his lips.
“We’ll be going back now,” Yoongi says to Guwon, voice tight as if holding back his emotions as he curtly bowed. “Our leader is already demanding us to come back so we’ll have to cut this meeting short. It was nice meeting you.”
Guwon looked incredulous at the turn of events, eyes shuttering before he nodded in understanding and turned to flash a smile at you.
“Message me when you’re home, alright?”
Yoongi didn’t even linger long enough for you to respond, already walking away. By the time you turned to look at him, he was three gaits away from leaving the coffee shop. With a dip of your head, you sprint to follow closely behind the man now pushing through the door.
You could understand the reason for his irritation, always the most protective out of the bunch and the one with the most to say about men. To see your closest female friend be made uncomfortable by her suitor, a stranger in his eyes, there was no doubt he’d be livid.
But why does he have to walk so fast?!
You’re not physically built to match his pace, he takes one step and you have to do three. It was infuriating but you couldn’t exactly scream at him to slow down in public, catching the attention of other people would only create more problems than you both could take on.
He eventually slows down to a halt in front of the double glass doors of the BigHit building and you were able to finally catch up to him. In the lobby, you both calmly approached the elevator, a complete juxtaposition of how hasty you two were not a moment before.
But the moment the metal doors of the elevator shuts, isolating you and Yoongi from the rest, he begins.
“I don’t like him.”
It was stupid but you wanted to know what specific trait he had found irksome.
(Deep down, you knew you were finding a reason to stop, to let go of Guwon and stop this stupid charade.)
“He didn’t even notice you were uncomfortable earlier. When you told us that he’s good, I thought he’d be decent, not top grade bare minimum.”
“H-He was actually good, believe it or not.”
“So he's a pretentious prick?”
You sighed. “H-He just—”
“Hyung wouldn't approve.” Yoongi cuts in, his hardened eyes now piercing through yours, almost taunting you to bite back. “Not just him, everyone wouldn't. You'd break poor Jiminie’s heart if you continued seeing him once he found out how he acted today.”
You knew he was guilt tripping you and it was working. But you swore Guwon was better than the others, he had treated you with a gentleness and care your friends had shown yet something had changed after that night.
Was Taehyung's clinginess, their presence in general, been the catalyst?
Had he felt threatened by them showing up? You had established early on that they're your boss and your mother would've mentioned your relationship with the boys in passing at least, so why would he feel threatened by them?
“I know what you're thinking but it doesn't work like that.” His voice, now softer than it had been earlier, pierces through the trance you’ve submerged into. “Even if you had said you’re only friends with them, it's human nature for us to still feel intimidated even if we're just friends.”
“That's dumb.”
He shrugged. “Men are dumb, I'm just slightly better than the rest.”
“That's debatable.” You joked and he raised an eyebrow.
“Your taste is questionable.” He shot back and you hit his arm in response, making him laugh but it dissolves as fast as it came. “I'm serious, hyung won't like it if you continue meeting Guwon.”
“I know, I can already hear him and we're not even there yet.”
“Don’t be dumb, if you want a husband so bad, tell aunt to wait for us to renew our contract this October then I'll marry you.”
He meant it as a joke, you knew that, but you couldn't stop the butterflies in your stomach from fluttering wildly. You're suddenly reminded of a scene from years ago, his alcohol-flushed cheeks pulled taut by the dopey smile stretching his lips wide and his slurred voice admitting something you—until today—have no recollection of what had been uttered.
You both have been battered to the nines, drunken out of your minds and stumbling over the smallest rocks on the street by the time Seokjin and Namjoon had found you halfway home. It was a miracle you both got off unscathed with how giggly and dumbed down you both were.
“Bold of you to assume I'd say yes.”
“I got wealth, I got a good mug on me, what else would you need?”
“Seokjin also got those.”
He pondered long and hard, sucking air through his teeth before he turned to you again with a glint in his eyes.
“You know what they say about my tongue right?”
He couldn’t say he didn’t expect the punch in the arm that followed soon after.
When the elevator door opens and you both go straight for the dance studio, the conversation about Guwon is put on pause and you dread the moment Seokjin hears what had transpired in the coffee shop when suddenly, Yoongi stills and hissed out a curse.
“Shit, I forgot Jungkook’s muffins.”
#bts x reader#bts x fem!reader#bts x reader poly#bts x y/n#bts x you#kim namjoon x reader#kim seokjin x reader#min yoongi x reader#jung hoseok x reader#park jimin x reader#kim taehyung x reader#jeon jungkook x reader#soulmate au#ot7 x reader#namjoon x reader#seokjin x reader#yoongi x reader#hoseok x reader#jimin x reader#taehyung x reader#jungkook x reader
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❥ ROCKSTAR!HANGE
rockstar!hange who is the fiery-spirited bassist of flügel der freiheit — a german rock band famous for their fierce music, moody lyrics and masks made of bandages.
rockstar!hange who thrives in the spotlight, playing unforgettable solos and performing crazy stunts, from flips and back bends to knee slides and stage dives.
rockstar!hange whose body is all silver piercings, colourful nerdy tattoos and a few too many dumb not-always-drunken mistakes.
rockstar!hange who is positively unmatched in the headbanging game, jumping and thrashing until their hair has fallen out of its ponytail and their bandages are halfway off.
rockstar!hange who always knows exactly how to hype up the crowd or entertain them when there’s a delay or technical issues.
rockstar!hange who has countless scars from stage stunt accidents and is way too eager to recount the stories in grossly excessive and gory detail during interviews. their bandmates call them a reckless idiot, but they claim that ‘scars make good ice-breakers’ and ‘look badass’ and also ‘were totally worth it’.
rockstar!hange who strikes ridiculous poses and pulls weird faces in fan selfies — a total 180 from their promotional photoshoots, where they’re always slightly smirking and matching the serious vibe of their bandmates.
rockstar!hange who loves their fans, almost as much as their fans love them, and would probably stop to take a picture or give an autograph to every person who asked, if not for their management team and bandmates literally dragging them away.
rockstar!hange who is just as unhinged online as they are in real life, often scrolling through edits of themselves, commenting on fanwork and posting memes and goofy photos with nonsensical captions. luckily this is all limited to their personal socials because miche and levi got sick of them doing this on the band’s joint official accounts and changed the password to keep them out.
rockstar!hange who talked and rambled so much during the band’s GENIUS interview that most of it didn’t make it to the final cut.
rockstar!hange who, despite how it may seem, is actually really intelligent and practically the backbone of the band’s revolutionary music; always thinking outside the box, suggesting weird ideas and experimenting with concepts that neither miche nor levi had even thought to try.
rockstar!hange who you met through miche’s girlfriend, nanaba, when she invited you to see them play their first show, back when they were still a no name trio playing at school proms and empty bars.
rockstar!hange who had you hooked from the moment they stepped on stage, unintentionally charming you with their silly antics, dorky chatter mouth and intense bass playing.
rockstar!hange who would proceed to see you at the end of every show after that because they’d been hopelessly charmed by your looks, laughter and lovable personality. they flirted with you so blatantly that levi scolded them more than once, but you didn’t mind, of course, because you were flirting back just as much.
rockstar!hange whose relationship status didn’t become public until later, breaking the hearts of thousands, to the point that it was trending on german twitter for almost a week.
rockstar!hange who insists on a good luck kiss from you before every show.
rockstar!hange who doesn’t really care for paps — sometimes even likes the attention — but will not hesitate to confront them in the act if they try to snap a photo of you, levi or miche without your permissions.
rockstar!hange who gushes about you so often to their fans that you’ve accumulated a sort of fan club of your own.
rockstar!hange who is rarely seen off-stage without you at their side and an arm lazily thrown over your shoulders or a hand tucked into your back pocket.
rockstar!hange who will find out your current favourite song so they can add it to the set list last minute to surprise you.
rockstar!hange who is super clingy after touring, going out of their way to spend every waking hour with you — yes that includes following you into the bathroom — and then spooning you the entire night, only to do it all again the next day.
rockstar!hange who calls you the ‘rock’ to their ‘star’ because you’re always there to keep them grounded; to remind them that, at the end of the day, they’re a person just like all their fans, who gets tired, or needs a break, or worries and suffers burnout. it’s thanks to you that they’re able to keep doing what they love, and they make sure that everybody knows it.
#i'm feral for this concept tbh#x reader#hange zoe x reader#hange zoe x you#hange zoe x y/n#hange x reader#hange x you#hange x y/n#hanji x reader#hanji zoe x reader#hange fluff#hange headcanons#aot headcanons#snk headcanons#{♡} juno writes !!
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Since you enjoy the trope, how about "only one circuit slab" with your choice of bot? :3 you know who my #1 is but go with whoever you think it would be most fun with. (If you want a more specific setup I'd be happy to toss some ideas around with you)
hopefully these are good...i had to go with OUR #1 and a couple other bots :3 although you already know that bc you helped with the silly ideas. did not edit this btw my bad if its all over the place
also human reader!! These turned out way longer than I thought, I think idk how to write headcanons and end up writing short imagines but eh, I was inspired
Post includes -> Swerve, Rodimus, and TFP Ratchet
MTMTE Swerve
A completely normal day on the LL, Swerve had closed down his bar for the day and you had stayed back to talk to him even as the last bot left the place. Being the friendly bot he is, he offered to give you a ride back to your room which you accepted
As you rode down the halls of the ship, Swerve mentioned how he has been looking for a roommate for like, ever, and since his room was big enough for another bot it was surely perfect for you.
You agreed of course and he immediately made plans to show you around his humble abode
Well guess what?
You turned the corner and instead of seeing his room there was a big ass crater in place of it
Your jaws dropped and agreed that he can stay In your room instead...at least until his room is rebuilt. Roommates, right?
Only problem blessing was that you had one bed
After some light arguing of who sleeps where, you both settled that you'll sleep awkwardly next to him where he wouldn't crush you and he would turn the other way. You settled down and stared at the ceiling as you stiffly lay there, wanting to give him his space. He respectfully gave you your space but continued to try to make conversation, although it was a bit awkward since you two weren't facing eachother
Another problem arose, you were on the edge of the bed and weren't use to not being nestled into your blankets, the ship was cold, you started shivering.
"I don't even know if you can hear me right now, I mean its not that muffled right? I can always speak a little clearer or louder but I shouldn't keep you up. Are you tired yet? I don't want to-"
"Swerve? Can you turn around?"
He turned and faced the ceiling while his helm turned towards you, he was about to inquire but was immediately silenced when you started climbing him and put down your pillows and blankets on his chest.
"It's uh, its cold. I could always move if you mind th-"
"No."
He blurted out. You could feel the metal beneath you radiate pure heat, more than usual. It was comforting. You sigh and lay down, cuddling up against your blankets and well, him, the best way you could. You could feel the soft hum of his spark beneath you, it was comforting. You didn't pay attention to the way your face heat up as your eyes fluttered shut
Swerve could only lay there, absolutely frozen. For once he was at a loss for words and he wondered if you could tell his spark felt like shooting out of his chest
He slowly reached out, his servo hovering above you for a second. You said you were cold, right? He hesitantly placed one servo above you, it ever so gently cradled your sleeping form.
You bet with that amount of warmth you got the best sleep of your life
He was NOT able to recharge that night. On one hand, he was keeping you safe and warm. On the other, the massive grin on his face would not go away
Maybe his room should get destroyed more often, or just maybe he can delay the reconstruction of it
MTMTE Rodimus
The LL had gone onto another one of its expeditions and you just so happened to have gotten lost with the most reckless but endearingly dedicated mech
It's been hours since you've been treading along this strange planet and during that time, you found out that the locals are not human-friendly whatsoever
It gets to the point where the two of you have gone way too long without any rest/recharge, Rodimus has sent an emergency signal and hoped that someone from the crew would find you two soon. However it gets apparent you both need to make a stop before you both pass out from exhaustion, especially you
Rodimus insists on transforming into his alt mode and you sleeping there until the morning, but you're equally as stubborn and insist on keeping watch for him.
He only agreed because of how blushy that made him. You, his special human, want to protect him even in these circumstances? Fine, you can sit on his shoulder and keep watch while he settles down to avoid using any more energon
Not even 10 minutes later, he feels your head suddenly rest near his neck-cables.
"Y/N?"
No response except your soft breathing, there's a soft smile on his faceplates knowing that you had fallen asleep.
He carefully takes you from his shoulder and transforms, in a split second you were laying down and peacefully sleeping in his alt-mode.
It may not be a bed/circuit slab but you're the only human he'd let sleep in his alt-mode, expect the seats to be warm when you wake up or his engines to purr if he's driving
Absolute endless teasing back on the LL btw, WILL ask for you to sleep in his alt-mode again or to have some sort of sleepover
TFP Ratchet
This medic is the definition of overworking yourself
Rarely ever he gets to recharge NEAR you and you swore you have never seen him actually recharge without Optimus or you begging him
This specific day wasn't any different, except you kept tossing and turning in your bed. Something was bothering you and you weren't sure what, it just did not let you sleep. No matter how tired you felt, your body would not let you rest.
Cue you going to accompany Ratchet and him being concerned and scolding you as to why you were up at such an hour
You responded with a slow frog blink
"I can't sleep."
He lets you stay with him a while and just hopes you'll fall asleep eventually, it had happened before after all. He puts you on his shoulder and otherwise continues working, fully expecting you to fall asleep in a couple of minutes
30 minutes go by and you're still awake somehow, your half-lidded eyes staring and probably getting fried by the screen. He has a small mental battle with himself before he sighs and decided to...stop working (explodes)
"Will you get some sleep if I...if I stay with you?"
He says it almost reluctantly. But only you know that its a genuine offer. If you weren't so tired you would've leaped up in the air and shouted YES!! But instead you sleepily nodded your head and clung onto him.
He groaned and headed over to his room which was bland besides some belongings, gifts from the kids, and his unused recharge slab.
There he would lay down, expecting to wait for you to sleep and then continue his work. But he didn't expect it to be this relaxing
You laying there with him, near his shoulder armor and neck-cables, softly breathing and huddled against him. It didn't take him long for his exhaustion to finally catch up to him. He blames you for being so...calming and wonderful.
Before he drifts into recharge, he turns his helm towards you so his cheek is still in contact with you. Hes just trying to make you comfortable obviously, no, it's not out of his own enjoyment. Hes just tired, okay?
Speak of it in the morning and suddenly he forgets how to talk and cant get an explanation out without sputtering
#tfp x reader#tfp ratchet x reader#tfp ratchet#ratchet x reader#maccadam#mtmte x reader#mtmte swerve x reader#mtmte rodimus x reader#swerve#rodimus x reader#lost light x reader#transformers x reader#one bed trope#yipe
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My work for Project: End Poem :D
i like this player / it played well / it did not give up
I like this player.
Dream’s shitty apartment is too small for pacing, but he does it anyway. Back and forth and back and forth over and over, the sounds of his footsteps drowned out by the buzz of his thoughts.
He’s felt out of balance for a while now- ever since he uploaded that first video. Before (before before before) everything was planning and studying and notes and calls with anyone he could get to agree to it. And then it had become filming and editing and that eternal moment before he pushed the button that would make the video public. A beginning. And an ending, of the before.
Planning had felt real. He could scroll through the words upon words stored in documents, or even rifle through the notebook he kept on his desk, the pages soft and well-used in his hands, his writing jumbled and messy. But the numbers now- they feel like a dream, almost fittingly. Climbing impossibly higher every time he checks, far surpassing any expectation he’d had.
But they can’t be real, because he can’t pay his rent this month.
His savings have run dry, exactly in the amount of time he’d predicted they would. It had been more than enough time. But he can’t pay rent.
His parent's words echo in his head- if you do this, you won’t be moving back in with us. That had certainly lit a fire under his ass- prove them wrong, prove everyone wrong. But the time is ticking down, and he can’t pay rent.
Oh, sure, the money’s on the way. His first check from YouTube, delayed by paperwork, is more than enough to cover this month’s and the next. But it’s not here. And the numbers keep going up, but Dream’s life is the same. Same shitty apartment, same 24 hours in a day.
His laptop sits open on his bed, and he’s doing his best to avoid looking at it. The looping screensaver plays on repeat, catching in the corner of his eye when he passes it, and he has half a mind to close the damn thing, end its taunting. Oh, you thought you could make something of yourself online? Think again.
He freezes in the middle of the room so abruptly that he nearly falls forward with the momentum of it.
And before he can talk himself out of it, he scoops the laptop up and enters his password, starting a Teamspeak call before all but running to his desk to grab headphones and returning to sit on his bed with the laptop balanced on his thighs, the call initiating.
This is a familiar action- late night (early morning?) calls with friends. Dream has never been shy about asking his friends for input on ideas, or thoughts of their own, especially his friends who are well-established in the field he wants to play. It's them he has to thank for a large part of his motivation. And it's them he calls on now, when his mind spells doom and his circumstances feel suffocating.
“Dream?” a voice asks, marred by digital interference but comforting all the same.
Dream smiles at the screen. “Bad,” he says. “I might need your help.”
“New video idea?” Bad asks, and the quality of the call seems to settle, Bad’s voice far clearer. He yawns, and Dream makes a point of not looking at the time.
“Not quite,” Dream mumbles.
“What was that?”
“It’s not a video idea. Or anything similar,” he swallows. As confident as Dream is in his friends, money is a different matter. Can ruin lives, friendships, and especially new YouTube channels if one isn’t careful.
Bad hums reassuringly. “Whatever it is, you can ask. I can’t guarantee that I can help but it never hurts to ask.”
“You’re so wise Bad,” Dream jokes. “And old.” He feels himself relaxing, and in tandem, his mind clears.
“Aren’t you asking for my help? I could leave right now.”
“No, no! I’m sorry, You’re not old,” Dream says quickly, adding not that old to himself.
“That’s what I thought,” Bad says smugly, and Dream can hear his chair squeaking and imagines him leaning back in it with his arms crossed, although, strangely, his minds eye seems to envision Bad as a the shape of a person with his Minecraft character overlaid, rather than the very real person Dream knows Bad to be, and has seen on video. He’s been spending too much time inside- it’d be good to get out once the rent issue is solved.
“Well,” Dream starts. “I told you about my problems getting money from YouTube, right?”
“You did.”
Dream sighs, thinking of all the trouble it’d been so far just to get the first check. “Well, it’s still not here. And my rent is due in a few days, and if it doesn’t get here in time I’m- I’m out of luck. And money.”
“Why didn’t you tell me sooner? Dream, you muffinhead, how much do you need?”
And Dream giggles, the small smile on his face growing impossibly bigger as he tells Bad the amount, and as they go back and forth on whether Bad should just send the money right away (Dream argues that there’s still a chance the money could come in time, while Bad says he might as well just send it now- just in case).
In the end, they hang up the call a half hour later, Dream’s worries assuaged and with a promise to Bad that he’d tell him immediately if he’ll need the money.
And when Dream wakes up the next day to a check from YouTube deposited in his account, it’s not just Bad who joins a call to celebrate with him- George and Sapnap are there too, and finally, finally, everything feels real.
It played well
“That was perfect!” his instructor says, and Dream smiles before slouching against the wall, entirely out of breath.
No one ever told him dancing would be so hard.
Well, some had. His instructor, the nice lady who now hands him a water bottle and tells him to take a small break, had warned him plenty. But he’d foolishly thought she was only saying it as a courtesy, so he’d have an excuse if he struggled- and boy, did he.
Maybe it was a consequence of being locked inside for years, or maybe it was just his natural affinity for clumsiness.
Either way, he’d been preparing for his concert for a few weeks now, and it feels like he’s hardly improved. Between vocal coaching and dance lessons- ‘choreography’ he insists when George and Sapnap tease- it had been nonstop learning and working in LA. Away from his cat, and his house, and his friends. And content.
But the smile doesn’t fade from his face even as he finishes off the water and steps away from the wall to stretch, arms over his head and legs extended until he’s balancing on his toes. And the burn of his muscles is so good.
A physical reminder of his work, his improvement. Sure, he’s still not the best, but he’s gotten better. And his future spells more lessons, more growth, until finally, finally-
He steps on the stage in a mask.
Orlando. Home. Lights and screaming and music, counting down and counting in. And he’s more nervous than he’s ever been, because finally, finally, finally, the numbers are real.
It did not give up.
Code is swimming in front of Dream’s eyes like a school of fish, and his head is aching something dreadful, but he refuses to look away from his monitor.
He doesn’t know what the time is- sure that if he did check, he’d have some sort of crisis. Every other member of his (albeit small) team went to sleep hours ago, the project left in lines of unfinished code and an increasingly bizarre contraption sprouting from the gym floor.
But Dream, better than anyone, knows how close they are.
Testing earlier had gone well- messing with particle mechanics and getting the shape so, so close. But something in the actual imaging kept going wrong, so they’d called it for the day.
And Dream had tried to sleep, really. But every moment lying in bed felt like time he could be using to work, and sleep was elusive. So he’d ended up back at his computer. Alone in the dead of night.
The world fades away around him as he works, until he falls asleep at his desk- keyboard an unfortunate pillow. He wakes with the letters imprinted on his cheeks, and code he doesn’t remember writing. But it looks good. It looks complete and promising and so full of potential that Dream is out of his chair and heading across the house to the gym before the indents of his keycaps have faded from his skin.
George is in the kitchen.
“Dream?” he asks, setting a yogurt cup down. “You’re up early.”
A glance at the clock on the oven tells Dream it’s nearly three in the afternoon. “I want to try something,” he says. “You wanna come with?”
George nods, following him out of the house and to the gym, yawning several times as they go.
“You’ve got something on your face by the way,” George giggles, but it quickly turns to a frown. “Did you sleep at your desk?”
“I didn’t mean to,” Dream grumbles, pushing the door to the gym open and flicking the lights on. George snorts.
They’re quiet as Dream fiddles with the mess of a contraption in the middle of the room. He’s careful with it, always so careful, and George watches from the sides. When everything is in place, Dream’s hands are shaking with excitement. There’s something in the air that tastes like success.
“Do you want to go in?” he asks, gesturing between the machine and George. George shrugs, then nods, careful as he ducks into the contraption. “Okay just- I think it’s going to work.”
“Really?” George asks, and for as much as he teases Dream about deadlines, for as often as Dream is wrong, it sounds like he believes it too.
Dream can’t speak in the moment, so he just nods.
They’ve got a PC set up in the gym, and he turns to it, loading into the server they use for all testing of FUSION. He’s alone in the world, for the moment, the rig George stands in waiting to be called on by a command.
Dream types it in, having to go back and re-enter the letters several times with his hands still unsteady. And when everything is ready, he pauses before hitting enter, looking up to meet George’s eyes.
“Ready?” he asks.
“Ready.” George responds, bouncing on his feet. “What do I say? Hello world?”
“You’re so dumb,” Dream snorts. He doesn’t look away from George as he presses the final key, watching the flickering lights of the machinery, scared to look at the screen and see if he’s done it.
“Stop being an idiot.” George says after a beat, waving his arms and looking pointedly at the monitor.
Dream takes a breath, releases it. Turns his head.
And there it is.
George, in stunning resolution for being projected into fucking Minecraft, waving at him.
He looks between the two. Looks again.
“Holy shit,” he breathes. “We did it.”
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everything has changed (alhaitham x gn!reader)
ONE. i just wanna know you better
masterlist next
SUMMARY - alhaitham was positive that he was not worthy of anyone's love, nor was anyone worthy of his. but after bumping into you on a random wednesday morning, he was ought to be wrong in many ways. also; in which you attempt on asking alhaitham out a grand total of three times; three different ways, three different places, and three different situations, in hopes of him reciprocating your so called love— people do say that third time's the charm, right?
A/N - i have delayed this for far too long. i have maybe slept while editing this draft for around 4 times. i was supposed to post this last week. forgive me pls
“three times.”
“pardon?”
you smiled at the gray-haired man at his desk, holding up three fingers as you repeated yourself once more. “i'll only ask you out three times, and if you decline all three of them, i won't ever bother you again. you can trust me on that.”
if there's one thing about you that alhaitham could describe, it's that you are… maybe a tad bit weird.
no, scratch that, you're insanely weird.
it's silly, he thinks. you're a well-known and respected scholar slash biologist from the amurta darshan. there's no one in the akademiya who doesn't know you, not when you're widely known for your eccentric researches and experiments. no, alhaitham definitely did not look into your work profile after that little incident. and even if he did, it was purely for work purposes, he was mainly doing his duty to report about it to the higher ups, lest he craves punishment or a lecture from grand sage azar.
anyway, frankly speaking, you should be professional, at the very least. hell, you have a doctorate. the title itself should be written all over you.
so why are you speaking to him like… well, he doesn't know. like you're a fool? a desperate moron in love? whatever it is, it's anything but professional to him.
see, this all started due to that sudden incident from a few weeks ago.
nothing ever beats the rush hour in the akademiya on a wonderful wednesday morning, it seems.
as a full time worker at the prestigious institute, it was just another day for you and your overworked colleagues. however, getting errands done during this time around would be a death wish, everyone within the akademiya walls knew of that, and of course, you do too.
yet it seemed like you had just dug your own grave.
honestly— who wouldn't? you needed to head over to your lab immediately, the specimens in the crate you were currently carrying needed to be experimented on within the fifteen minute timeline you had mentally set up in your head, so it was obvious that you had no time to lose.
and to speak; the crowds in the house of daena honestly weren't that bad— maybe a little less spacious than usual, but still merely nothing for an experienced scholar like you. see, that's what you had initially thought before getting back to your private lab.
you just need to head on over to the biology section of the house of daena to retrieve a book titled ‘fungi and its extraordinary lives’, and you'll be set to continue conducting your ongoing research project. look— you did think of snatching the book way earlier before you even set out on an adventure of getting your crate of supplies, but it would've been too much work for you to go back and forth from your lab, as it was already close to the house of daena.
you figured it was best to do it on your way back instead, which, in full honesty— was not even a bad idea. it was just that things just had to escalate a whole lot differently than you had intended to.
see— your first mistake was keeping your eyes busy on your task instead of what's in front of you. which, in another sense, is what any other normal person would do. well, you know your way around the akademiya like the back of your hand. the shortcuts to aisle number thirty-six in the house of daena, the bathroom to the end of the hall on floor two, the shortest route to the archive room of the akademiya, you name it. so you thought you could just waltz your way through the library easily. again, your first mistake.
your second mistake was that you were clearly doing anything but walking, understandably so. you're well aware of the akademiya rules: no running in the institution, no careless mistakes, no idle chit chat and gossip— among many others. right, the handbooks weren't a stranger to you. there was even a point in your life where you were forced to memorise it from a to z by one of your professors because you were unfortunate enough to have unintentionally broken one of the many minuscule rules that one time, which in your opinion was quite the torture for a mere student like you back then. you may or may not still hold a grudge against the said professor.
as you were double checking your to-do list with a pencil and piece of paper on your beloved crate, you hadn't realized that you were walking towards someone. okay, maybe the correct word for your actions right now would be sprinting, but you'd hate to admit that you were in the wrong.
now, this is your last mistake. the person that is about to bump into you is not a mere scholar, whom you can't just apologize to once or a few more times and move on with your day.
next thing you knew, you collided into the person's chest that was so hard it felt you just crashed into a wall, and much to your dismay, caused you to harshly fall on the pristine floors from the impact, along with your precious, precious crate, which is now most likely a lost cause as your specimens and other important stuff you had worked so hard to look for earlier were all over you and the extravagant floors of the house of daena. disgusting, you know, but that was the least of your worries right now.
as if that wasn't already downright embarrassing enough, you're now covered in gooey fungi, you have totally made a fool out of yourself, and all eyes are currently on you, scholars and students alike whispering amongst themselves at the scene they were witnessing. a monstrosity, truly.
you were sure that you'd be the main topic of gossip for at least a week. maybe two weeks at best.
the house of daena was silent, with only the chit and chatter amongst the scholars as an exception. at first sight, you wondered why everyone would pay so much attention to you instead of continuing on with what they were doing just a fleeting second ago. surely this happens in the akademiya at least once, no?
you've made two revelations to this; one, you were so ungodly hideous that everyone just had to stare. or two, you had probably just bumped into some hot-shot akademiyan.
of course, the first thing any sane person would do is look up to the perpetrator who had cause you this much damage. (it was your fault to begin with.)
so you did.
and of course any normal person who had just been bumped into would have thought of the same thing: have every reason to be angry at the person who bumped into you, whether they were in the wrong or not.
so it was only natural that you too, had the same thought in mind.
but the second you laid your eyes on him, it's as if the whole world stopped, and you finally understand why everyone was so adamant on just standing there and whispering about your little incident instead of helping you out like any decent human being would. and the latter of your revelation was definitely on spot. you would've done a victory dance if you were in any other situation except this.
because the person you had just bump into is none other than the scribe of the akademiya, the one and only, alhaitham.
you've heard of him a few times— apparently he's quite the reserved man, yet would not hesitate to call you out on your wrongdoings or foolish mistakes. well, that's what you heard anyway; as a mere worker who is trying to make ends meet, you are in no position to judge people based on what your fellow juniors run their mouths about these days.
for as long as you've been both an alum and full-time employee at the akademiya, it's truly a wonder that you've never actually seen the scribe in person. right, that's also what you've heard people say— that the scribe can hardly be spotted, nor can he be found easily to begin with. he's never in his office, and it's not often that you'd find him within the akademiya walls; the man is anywhere but at his working place, and somehow gets away with it because he's the scribe, whose presence is not of importance unless he deems so.
and if you are granted the position to say this; it is mainly because the higher ups of the akademiya takes great pride in their respected positions, so it is not a shocker that someone with an official title like grand scribe can frequently get away with such things.
egocentric, blunt, unambitious and many more— those are the few descriptions you've heard over the past few years from scholars about the scribe.
but out of all of the mysterious things you've miraculously heard about the man, you've never seen or heard people point out how attractive he is.
how could they not? he’s got a broad frame that could actually knock the breath out of you (which in this case, quite literally did knock you down), a set of clothes that somehow just screams him, despite the fact that you know next to nothing about the guy, tuft of gray hair that bounces graciously and looks luscious enough it makes you envious how he even manages to take such great care of it, and lastly, a pair of turquoise eyes that looked like an oasis from the sumeru desert, one you could just stare into forever, ever and ever.
this man is a whole package.
it was like the gods had granted you the perfect opportunity to present yourself in front of an attractive man, like the gods have finally decided to fill a bit of colour into your hopeless romantic and workaholic life, and gave you this blessing— except for the fact that this, this might be the most embarrassing way possible in doing so.
oh how you want the ground to swallow you up right now.
after what seemed like forever (it was less than thirty seconds), the man of the hour finally speaks, startling you with his voice. “would you rather sit down there like a fool or will you stand up?” ouch. maybe it's safe to say that at least one of the things people say about him are, in fact, true.
you blinked, once, twice, before you could pick up on what what he said and hurriedly stand up, glass jars of your specimens that were previously all over you clinking to the floor a little too loud, some already having been broken and shattered, but you could care less when the man in front of you was currently glaring at you like you have committed one of the six cardinal sins.
before he could even jab you more with his next few blunt words, you decided to bow down to a complete ninety-degree and started profusely apologizing, all previous thoughts of wanting to blame everything on him for ruining your prolonged experiment were thrown out the window (again, it is your fault in the first place.)
sure, this might hurt your pride and ego, but you'd rather do this than having the possibility of listening to the scribe giving you a lifelong lecture on the basic rules of the akademiya, or yet even worse, you get sent to the grand sage and have your doctorate and title revoked for being unprofessional, unethical, or whatever nonsense grand sage azar would demote you for. call yourself dramatic and insane, but you'd rather not inflict any chances of ending up humiliated or jobless. or both.
a beat passes, and you're still mumbling out apologies, causing alhaitham to clear his throat in order to cut you off.
“you… you can stand upright now,” he said, and it takes you another few seconds before you reluctantly do as he says, and the first thing you see is him looking at you with a puzzled expression plastered on his face.
“i apologize once again, scribe. it was my fault, i wasn't looking,” you looked down as you spoke, staring at your ruined materials on the white tiles.
alhaitham all but sighs, and tells you to look where you're going next time. you couldn't help but only nod, not even glancing at him once out of embarrassment. “you are fully aware of the akademiya rules, are you not? act one-o-three; no running in the institution unless–”
“–an emergency occurs, or and if ordered to by either of the six sages, grand sage included,” you finished his sentence with the slight of an eye roll, before remembering that this was the scribe, not your annoying biology professor who countlessly had you memorise the five-hundred-page worth of akademiya rules. truthfully, there was no need for a teaching institution to have that many rules.
then, he prompts another question: “do you perhaps need any help…” he seemed to have trailed off, and you flickered your eyes to him just for a fleeting second to see what he was doing. “amurta scholar?” he finished his question as he stared at your lab coat, a small badge to your left with the amurta logo pinned on it, indicating which darshan you are from.
“uh… no– it's alright,” you say sheepishly as you quickly crouched down, already starting to pick up your glass jars and whatnot. “you should get going, scribe. you must have a lot of work to do here in the akademiya.”
alhaitham could only nod as you tell him that, not even minding the fact that you were not able to see him as of the moment. he merely tells you to watch where you're going next time and starts to walk away; which in your opinion was maybe just a tad bit rude— the least he could do was help you out. but knowing him, as per what people talk about, that'd be nigh impossible. also, you did say that you didn't need any help, so you couldn't blame him per se. honestly, if you were in his shoes you'd probably have done the same.
so you hurriedly finished cleaning up your mess and ran to your lab, all in your splattered–with–gooey–fungi glory. as you sighed behind closed doors, you prayed to the gods above that your project would go smoothly and peacefully. fingers crossed.
well, maybe after yet another exhausting trip to the avidya forest for another set of fungi, that is.
but of course, it was only wishful thinking, there's not a lot to hope for when alhaitham pretty much occupied your mind the whole day. it has even gotten to the point where your fellow juniors had to snap you out of your daydream so that you could actually focus on your research.
sure, call yourself a hopeless romantic (maybe a crazy lunatic in this case), but who wouldn't fall for him at first sight? and who the hell cares about the things scholars gossip about him? a man with that sort of pretty privilege could run over your toe and you would gracefully thank him for it.
and, point in case— alhaitham isn't that bad. okay, sure, maybe a little too blunt and too uncaring for his own good, but he is not as bad as people make him seem.
maybe you should get to know alhaitham more, right? not because you're interested in him (you are, but that could be pushed aside for now), you merely want to debunk the bad rumors about him going around (they aren't even half as bad, just highly exaggerated and overall childish) and make sure that everyone knows that alhaitham is not just the egocentric and arrogant guy people always see (he probably is just exactly that, but it's worth the try).
you firmly believe there's more to the scribe than what meets the eye.
so, you make it your mission and goal to get to know alhaitham better, even if it may be the worst idea possible.
spoilers: it absolutely is the worst idea possible.
after the minor incident you had, you tried your very best to encounter him during work hours, which honestly wasn't as challenging as you thought it was. sure, he's not around much, but after maybe a week or so of hanging around the house of daena (stalking would be the ideal word you're looking for), you finally got to know his routine— well, only for when he's around the humongous library, but that will suffice for now.
evidently, alhaitham would only visit the house of daena on wednesdays, and weirdly on saturdays, at ten in the morning sharp. for what reason you quite have no clue, but he's frequently around the linguistics section, reading a book or two about ancient runes and that sort of stuff, sometimes even seen squabbling with a certain architect from the kshahrewar darshan too. you don't know kaveh much— but apparently he's acquainted with alhaitham, of all people.
but now that you know a part of his routine, you can probably catch the opportunity to get to know him. so ever since then, you have been, quote unquote, “bumping„ into him nonstop.
the first few times you bumped into him, you had greeted him a couple of times, and after a bit of coaxing, you somehow managed to drag him into small talk. you've even gotten to the point where you're asking him when he's free— reason why? of course, you just want to take him out for a bit during lunch break to make up for the incident you two had just a few weeks ago, definitely no ulterior motives whatsoever; which unfortunately, alhaitham kept declining because he quotes that “it would be a waste of time,” and that “things should just be left in the past.”
but that clearly didn’t stop you from trying, again and again. your guardians clearly didn't raise a quitter.
one thing you did find out about alhaitham after a few conversations with him is that the man is anything but fond of small talk, which was expected. and after countless attempts on trying to get him into one, you eventually had to go on a different route to get his attention.
so, here you are now, somehow having managed to reach your way to his office— and miraculously enough, alhaitham just so happens to also be present at the time, which gives you the perfect opportunity to raise the deal that has been dying to escape from your throat.
look— there's no denying that you are here for work purposes; you were requesting for one of your documentations to be cited and reviewed, and although alhaitham is mainly responsible for documenting data regarding the akademiya and the six darshans, he offered a helping hand during one of your small talks you had successfully managed to coax out of him.
and you did come here for that, but you just couldn't help but blurt everything out.
and it doesn't really help that alhaitham is looking at you like you've submitted the worst thesis possible. you haven't even handed it to him yet.
alhaitham continues to frown. “would it not be a hassle to be asking me out that much? why would you even be interested in me?” he had asked, and he didn't bother waiting for your reply as he continued speaking. “you could use those three times right now and i'll decline all of them instantly. that way, you won't have to bother me again.”
“well aren't you quite rude, scribe,” you huffed, retracting your hand back to your side. talk about rude; you're here for the sole purpose of asking him out. “give me a chance, would you? i'm confident that you'd have changed your mind by the time i'm on my last chance,” you grinned as you quirked your eyebrows up and down, and alhaitham almost rolled his eyes as he folded his arms over his chest and leans back on his chair. almost.
“i highly doubt it,” he says.
you tucked your files closer to your chest. “have you ever heard of the saying ‘third time's the charm’, scribe?”
“i believe so, yes,” he nods, then adds: “you'll only ever hear obsessive gamblers say that sort of nonsense when they've lost their current gamble, in hopes of winning the next round.”
in an instant, your jaw drops. “are you implying that i am gambling my love life?” see, if you look closely— alhaitham was this close to smiling.
“i am just saying that there is no point in pursuing something, or someone, in this case, when you've already failed the first time, biologist,” well, now you understand why scholars say he is unambitious. “it would be a waste of time to be around me, or be with me, for that matter. i doubt that i could ever reciprocate your feelings.”
ouch. you'll probably have to double check your list of alhaitham's personality chart again.
“please?” you plead, and alhaitham stares at you for a little too long that you eventually had to break eye contact to avoid his intense gaze. “i promise you that i will never bother you again, you can trust me on that. you won't even see my face on the grounds of the akademiya.”
he looks at you confusedly. “are you not the famous biologist with fifteen awards on their name? i am bound to bump into you in the near future, in one way or another.” he says, tapping his finger on his forearm.
huh, how did he know that you have won fifteen akademiyan awards? as far as you know, this guy knows nothing about you, the fact that he had to check which darshan you are from during your incident was enough proof.
maybe you're not the only one who is interested in the other.
“that's not the point!” you groaned, rubbing your temple with your free hand. this may or may not be directed to both your thoughts and him.
okay, maybe this was a bad idea after all— alhaitham is an impossible man. you'd think that you were capable enough to break his façade, to see the true him after a bit of pestering, but nooo, you're pretty damn sure this is him. there's no such thing as a façade. he's just… alhaitham. which could either be a blessing or a curse, if you ever manage to steal his heart. that, or maybe both. but then again, it still doesn't change the fact that he is one tough nut to crack.
alhaitham sighs. “will you really leave me alone?”
“huh?”
“will you really stop bothering me once you're over with your… shenanigans?”
you blinked. then, you widen your eyes, nodding. “of course. i won't pursue you again, scribe. all i am asking is for you to lend me your time for the duration of— uh, actually, i'm not sure what i am supposed to call this,” you mumble the last few words, but still audible enough for the gray-haired man to hear.
“say, hypothetically, what would you do if i were to agree to one of your three chances of asking me out? what will you do then?”
“oh,” you shift from one foot to another, awkwardness coursing through your veins at the lack of answer you could think of at the top of your head. “i… i am not quite sure. that's for future me to worry about, i guess?”
alhaitham raises a brow, but doesn't question your uncertainty. instead, he says something else in return: “alright, then. i will indulge in your antics for as long as you'd have me as your… social experiment.”
social experiment is just an over exaggeration, right? it has to be. no rational person says it like that.
“what?”
“i'm saying that i will agree to the terms you have given me, but you will stop bothering once your chances are up. do you understand?” he enunciates his words carefully, and you almost dropped your files, right then and there.
gulping, you nod, a small grin tugging at your lips, and alhaitham already regrets his words when you say: “of course.”
well, be prepared for a rollercoaster ride.
extra note - ok guys please keep me in your thoughts and prayers 🙏 writing slump is crazy this is the first work i’ve posted in over 2 months. that is ridonkulous. hope i don’t disappear again
taglist; @isotofl @dancinghillary @heartswonder
taglist is still open!! :D
#alhaitham x reader#alhaitham x you#genshin x you#genshin impact imagines#genshin impact x reader#genshin impact reader insert#genshin x reader#al haitham x reader#genshin alhaitham#h✧˖— writes#h✧˖— everything has changed#i went through the five stages of grief writing this#yet somehow i still hate it
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“I wish to be with you in my final moments, my love”
Satoru x Suguru X Non-Sorc!Reader
DEAD DOVE : DO NOT EAT — FEMPOV
content warning : gore, thoughts of cannibalism, death, angst, miscarriage, alcohol, mention of rape, horror themes, psychosis, suicide
You’re currently on : PT I
long a/n : cw contains the overall warning of the fic, this chapter won’t have all of the warnings contained in it. also okok i get it, it’s a short chap but whatev. suguru isn’t introduced in this chapter yet heh. . . i js posted this cuz i am extremely delayed when posting this. this fic won’t be as good as well since i rushed it, i will edit it throughout trust me
August 10th, 2017, at around dawn,
Jane Doe has been found deceased.
Your eyes shot open, rapid breathing taking over what seems to be the left overs of your lungs as you laid on the grounds of the Tokyo alleyway. Cold. Empty. The pouring raining punching your lifeless body as you were alone as the only source of light was the billboards shimmering at night.
Your wish wasn’t able to be fulfilled.
Oh, poor you. Poor y/n. It was going to happen either way, you were destined to this fate even if they wanted to protect you and hide you away from it. It was already planned to happen.
Just barely conscious, you could still make out that outstretched curse made up of the body’s of a human flesh and fluid with its umbilical cord still drooping. It was just digging away into your stomach as if it was a starving, remorseless hyena scavenging at the remains of it’s prey; whilst paring its skin with it’s fingers. It’s shit eating grin invariably plastered on its prolonged face gave you deja vu, glistening its overwhelmingly amount of teeth. Too large to be humane but yet too small to be inhumane.
You wanted to move, to scream as you felt the agonising pain of your pancreas squelching against your intestines as if a child was playing with your guts like slime, except this was no child. . .
Its eyes wider than anything human just bore into your’s as it toyed around with your digestives. Squish. Squish. . Squish. . . The metal smell stinging your nose as you didn’t feel no anger, sadness, fear or anything. Except, desire to help it. Assist it grab your body parts and just gollop it down your dry throat.
Its disorientated voice squalled out, verbally struggling to word out the words it desired to say towards you.
. . .
“Maama. . .”
══════════════════
4 months prior to the accident.
The room was dim as you lay sprawled out on your stomach on the king size bed, the white sheets covering partially of your bare skin. That night. . . That night kept replaying in your mind, his unwelcome hands touching you. The only thing you could recall that night was his sinful words with that revolting shit eating grin.
As your hands grasped onto the silky sheets, your breath hitched as you wanted to get him out of your head. Until you felt a pare of welcoming hand slithering across your arm towards your hands before interlocking with them which made you loosen grasp of the sheets. The feeling of a warm muscular skin flushed against your back as you felt some legs entangling with yours.
“You’re so tense. Is something on that pretty mind of yours sweets?. . .”
The raspy whisper spoke as you knew straight away it was Satoru. Only he had the spare keys to your penthouse — that he supposedly bought even knowing he only sleeps there with you when he doesn’t have to teach nor have any missions otherwise he’s in the jujutsu dormitories due to his tight schedule of only 3 hours of sleep. You would turn around to face your boyfriend making eye contact with his icy blue eyes, a soft hum slipping out of his lips as he leant in to kiss your lips that lingered quite sometime. Just his way of showing who’s his girl.
“Toru, it’s nothing. Just stretching my fingers.”
You tenderly spoke through the kiss as he pulled away. Silent. . . Than all of a sudden his lanky fingers started stretching your cheeks with a goofy smirk on his lips, he was pulling your skin like a granny teasing her granddaughter as a devious chuckle flowed out of his mouth
“Hehe.. Look you’re a pufferfish, glob glob glob!!”
You would shoot him a glare as now he started smacking your cheeks gently to make your lips pout out like a pufferfish before he slowly stopped with one last smack and a ‘glob’ before retracting his hands and a look of a child caught red handed grabbing cookies from a jar plastered all over his face. Sometimes even you have to treat your own damn boyfriend like a child for him to control his antiques, but yet again, it somehow made you get that thought from that man out of your head.
“Anyways, you staying for the night? I thought you normally stayed at that weird little Hogwarts place.”
Your fingers brushed his white bangs out of his face so you could clearly see his charming face. As a non-sorcerer you never really understood Satoru’s wizard of oz world of sorcerers, I mean after all you were born without a cursed technique. Satoru did try to explain cough cough I mean teach the whole thing to you even his uh— what was it called again? Seven eyes? Number eye? Whatever and how he’s like a ‘god’ amongst everyone, but at the end of the day you just saw him as an average person. Except for his white locks and striking eyes. Damn, you can never get tired of staring at him, maybe he is a god with that beauty. Who knows.
The ironic thing about this is that he dated you not just for your oh so cute little face but also the fact you viewed him differently and also your morals, which were somehow quite similar to Suguru’s except in a more of a less sorcery way. Even though he preferred to focus on his life and also desired somebody merely as strong as him; yet he still chose you and somehow you also chose him even knowing he wasn’t that all faithful.
“Mmmmm. . . Naaaaah. . I’m staying for the night. And it’s not called Hogwarts! It’s Jujutsu high! Thank you verrrryyy much.”
He even emphasised on the word ‘Jujutsu high’ to remind you the name of the school he worked at before quickly cutting himself off and looking down to your chest, his goofy grin reappearing again after trying to put on the tough guy act when correcting you. His fingers wiggling in a way he’s ready to fondle with them, your eyes darting from his hands to your chest than back to him, your brow raised with a small giggle escaping your lips.
“Zooweee mama! My little girls are looking just as beautiful as they usually are, come to daddy!!”
With excitement and exaggeration he would pull the sheets over him and snuggle up his face between your chest whilst wrapping his brawny arms around your waist like a belly chain, a highschool girl giggle vibrating against your skin and then with with a content sigh, he would’ve shut his eyelids in relaxation. Your hand would slither into his white locks, giving them a massage as you closed your eyes and kissed his head with your eyes fluttering shut as a heartwarming smile forms.
“Goodnight toru. ‘M love you.”
As y/n falls into a slumber, Satoru would halfway open his eyes with seriousness that he usually doesn’t show. His infinity warps around them both as his six eyes senses something or somebody watching afar from the glass walls in their large bedroom that looked down the Tokyo city, possessively pulling himself more into your body and his grip around you tightens.
“Tch. . .”
══════════════════
May 11th, Thursday at 1200
Your mouth would widen as a teary yawn escaped, your hands would rub away the tear remnants. The heel of your shoes making contact to the concreted ground with taps whilst making your way to the shops. A soft hum slithered from your lips as you pulled out your phone to see any new messages, noticing you have 16 new ones from Satoru.
My Blue Eyed King of Big Backness 🩵💙
baby
Sweets
penis
oK soz
sweetie boo boo bear my little queen of grumpiness and sexiness
i heard ur going to the shops
plz buy sweets
i beg i have been such a good boy. . . heh
can u also go to the new bakery
wait nvm i will go muself and drag nanami with me
love
ove u
pove u
. . .
looooovvveeee yyuyy
bro the fuck
love you 😘
also the kids say hi (dw they don’t know who you are I didnt tell them who u were)
today, 9:30am
pls send nudes of yoy back bending 🙏
today, 11:00am
Jesus Christ. It’s ironic how all of your notifications were just Satoru trying to just even say he wants sweets. A heavy sigh left your lips as you put away your phone and walk into the store you just arrived at to buy groceries. . . And sweets.
As you exited the store with a whole bag and of food for restock and the other bag filled with sweets, you would make your way back towards the penthouse. The weight the of the bags being extremely heavy causing you to drag them across the ground slightly. Before you could even straighten your back you felt a shudder through your spine.
You couldn’t even move a muscle, you felt as vulnerable as a deer at headlights. Beads of sweat would drool down your forehead as you felt your breath hitch against your throat. The shopping bags fell to the ground as the beating of your heart started beating rapidly with a gut feeling inside of you lacerating you to look behind. . . But you couldn’t. The agitation you’re feeling right now is preventing you to do such movements.
“MY GOD Y/N!! You never told me the guys here in Japan were this cute!”
The loud shrill behind you of a voice that spoke English with a high pitch eventually made your body snap around to see a blonde girl dressed up in a revealing outfit with a massive gleeful smile printed on her face. You knew her. . . It was your old high-school friend : Addison.
You felt deja vu from the sight. Addison? What is she doing here?. . . Your eyes hastily scanned around the place, it was a large bathroom with the echo of loud music in the background and flashing lights flickering through the door of the room. Your head glanced towards the floor mirror. You were also dolled up.
But, you were just—
“Hey! Hey?!! Earth calling y/n? Don’t tell me you’re drunk already!! We just got here, ughhhh. . . I knew drinking all of those boozes wasnt a good idea.”
Her dramatic groan made you look back at her face, your features now softening as you felt comfort around her presence. Still trying to put a finger to what is happening you would sigh tenderly and loosen your shoulders, you were probably drunk as hell. It was said drunk people do hallucinate when intoxicated, maybe that’s what you were experiencing.
“Sorry, Addy. I think I might be a lil drunk. . .”
You spoke in a gentle tone but loud enough to be heard over the muffled up-beat music, your hand rubbing the back of your neck. You felt her hand interlock with yours and drag you out of the bathroom in a rush of adrenaline, a laugh erupting from her lips.
“A lil?? Your drunk boo!! Now let’s have fun and don’t be too drunk, I will need that translation for the Japanese we will be hearing!”
As she dragged you out of the bathroom the music got louder, the bright lights flaring would cause somebody with epilepsy have a seizure and the stench of heavy alcohol hits your nose without warnings. Everything felt so real. Until, you noticed around Addison’s neck was a black choker that almost resembles a rope, it almost seemed like a mockery the choker.
Shit. This wasn’t Addison, you remembered. . . She shot herself almost half a decade ago.
Coming into an abrupt stop, you teared your grip away from Addison’s grasp. Your breathing now coming to a fasten motion. Addison would also halt and tediously turn around towards you, her face now cold with dispassion. That same shudder from before came back crashing towards you as you took a step back, fumbling.
The glares. . . You felt eyes stabbing into you as Addison’s emotionless features continued looking, with hesitation you teared away from her eyes grasping contact with yours to only realise all those glares were from everybody in the club. . . Everybody was staring right at you, the exact same expression as Addison, same petrifying looks that could curse you.
Except for one. One in particular. A tall, almost same height as Satoru, maybe 10 centimetres shorter. He had long raven-like black hair that was lustrous and a disturbing but yet alluring features upon him. You felt the eyes subside the longer you look at the man, the feeling of betrayal and anger with a tint of mournfulness now took over your emotions as he began mouthing words. The only thing you could understand from the spoken words he tried to proverb were—
Everything was cut off as your eyes flutter open, peeping down you would notice Satoru wide awake and his icy eyes glowing, his seriousness dissipating as infatuation was now plastered on his face. As Satoru saw you awake, his eyes would soften whilst lifting his head up from your chest to give u a large goofy grin.
“Hey sweets, did I wake you up?”
══════════════════
Thank you for reading — pt II will come. . .
Love,
Norissisca
#jjk#jjk angst#satosugu x reader#satosugu x you#geto x gojo x reader#jjk fluff#satoru x suguru x reader#satosugu x y/n#satoru x suguru x y/n#geto x gojo x y/n#satoru x y/n#suguru x y/n#gojo x y/n#geto x y/n#gojo x reader#suguru x reader#geto x reader#satoru x reader#jjkfic#jjkhorror#jjk x you#jjk x reader#Norissisca
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The Phantoms Part 2: Wake Up | Bang Chan
Part 1 | Part 2 (You are here) | Part 3 | Part 4 | Part 5 | Part 6 | Part 7 | Part 8 | Part 9 | Part 10
Synopsis: It was supposed to be a huge night for Chan, Changbin, and Han; they would be playing their biggest show yet at the Orpheum! Yet, it all slipped from their grasp within a matter of a few seconds, as all three passed away just hours before the show. What happens when they end up on their old garage floor and meet a someone who can make their dreams come true again?
Pairing: phantom!Bang Chan x fem!reader [Occurs somewhat in this chapter]
Genre: Julie and the Phantoms/3RACHA AU, Crack, Angst, Fluffy Moments
Warnings: Mentions of death, grief and loss of a parent, slight bullying
Notice: Hello, my loves! I decided to split episode one into two chapters so it would not be as long! I feel as if this part is a bit repetitive and perhaps a tad rushed, so I do apologize :,) I would also like to clarify that a few aspects of the plot have been edited or removed to fit the concept of this imagine and for brevity! As always, I do NOT own the rights to 'Julie and the Phantoms,' nor any of its characters!!! Enjoy the story!
"Alright, we have one final performance. Y/n?"
The sound of your name snapped you out of your daydream, your pen freezing mid-doodle on the back of your sheet music. The teacher's eyes were fixed on you, expectant and unyielding. Panic shot through your chest like a jolt of electricity. You had been counting on the bell to save you, to delay your performance just one more day; however, it seemed as if luck was not on your side.
Growing up, you loved music; your mom, ever so patient and passionate, had taught you how to play every instrument possible, from piano to guitar even going so far as to learn a few drum beats to turn you into the ultimate musical prodigy. Of the plethora of instruments, piano was your speciality; your mother always joked that you could play a Mozart composition with your eyes closed. Music was always the niche for you and your mom.
Now, your mom had passed away, and with her died your passion for playing.
Your newfound disdain for music had not just seeped into your personal lift; it was starting to dismantle the diligent work you had put into your high school’s prestigious music program, one you had worked tirelessly to get into. Motivation to participate in performances, showcases, or even simple rehearsals had evaporated, leaving you adrift. The consequences of your disengagement were becoming painfully clear. Just yesterday morning, the program’s director had pulled you aside, her tone sharp and uncompromising. She made it clear: if you did not perform in this week’s showcase, you would be removed from the program.
Thus, you found yourself rising from your seat in class, the screech of the chair legs pushing back cutting through the silence of the classroom. Your heart pounded against your ribcage, each beat seeming as if it were a signal of the impending doom ahead. You dragged your feet against the ground, anxiously gazing at the piano placed directly in the center of the classroom; the class's gaze followed your heavy, hesitant steps. As you reached the instrument, your trembling hands fumbled with the sheet music, placing it on the stand with an almost imperceptible shake.
"It's okay, y/n," your teacher gave your back a slight pat. "Take your time."
Her words echoed in your mind, yet they did little to ease the dreading ache in your heart; you felt as if every action you took was being rerecorded in slow motion. You hesitantly sat down on the piano bench, the familiar creak of the wood grounding you momentarily. You shakily adjusted your sheet music, perfectly aligning the papers. Your hands shook lightly as you hovered your fingers over the piano keys, hesitating in your dormant abilities, perhaps even questioning them. The weight of expectation bore down on your shoulders, and you felt a pricking sting in the corners of your eyes; tears were threatening to spill over into the vulnerability you were trying so desperately to suppress.
In that moment, all you could think of was yourself as a little girl, perched on your mom's lap. You remembered the warmth of her hands as she gently guided your small fingers to the keys, her voice soft and encouraging as she taught you your first ever composition. The memory was so vivid, it almost felt as if you could hear her voice again, but your heart aching pulled you back into the present.
Your fingers twitched as you attempted to play a note, but your hands came into contact with your lap instead of the instrument, frozen in hesitation. You let out a deep, aggravated sigh and hung your head down, the pressure of your failure too much to bear.
"I'm sorry," you mumbled to your instructor. "I can't do this." The teacher's gaze saddened, her sorrowful expression laced with understanding. She gave a small, sympahtetic nod before gently instructing you to head back to your seat. Swallowing the lump in your throat, you hurriedly gathered your music sheets, the papers messily fixated in your grip. Keeping your eyes fixed on the floor, you quickly navigated your way back to your chair, where your best friend, Flynn, waited. Her presence was postulating and comforting, offering quiet reassurance as you sank into the seat besides him.
"Hey, it's okay." Flynn reached out, her hand rubbing soothing circles into your back. Her demeanor was mellow, a blend of sadness and empathy as she leaned closer. "You tried. That's all that matters."
"Is this the part where we clap?" A shrill, grating voice pierced your ears. There was no mistaking it; it belonged to Carrie, your ex-best friend, who seemed to envy your every breath.
"Watch it, Carrie," Flynn warned, side eyeing her deviously as the bell to dismiss class sounded.
It was surreal to think Carrie had once been your closest friend, someone you entrusted every secret with. Yet, everything changed when her father struck gold; he was a musician, and an incredibly famous one at that. The release of his first album catapulted him, and subsequently his daughter, into a wealthy lifestyle; this newfound luxury altered Carrie entirely. The warmth and loyalty you once knew were replaced by traits of arrogance and a biting jealousy that only grew with time.
Flynn motioned for you to walk with her, but you stayed behind for a minute, dejectedly looking towards the teacher. She gave a sad smile, her eyes conveying her despondent tone before she even spoke.
"I'll miss, you, y/n."
---
You pushed open the front door of your home, the familiar squeak of the frame echoing in the quiet entryway. With a weary exhale, you shrugged off your backpack and tossed it down in the corner of the living room, not bothering to check if it landed upright. The events of the day replayed begrudgingly in your mind as you trudged your way towards the stairs, each step feeling heavier than the last.
"Oh good!" you heard your father exclaim from the kitchen. "You're home. I was about to go watch your brother's game, but then I got a phone call." As you reached the top of the steps, you paused and turned around, your gaze landing on your father's stance in the doorway; he had his camera in hand, yet the familiar device seemed almost out of place with the tension rising in the atmosphere. His expression was undeterminable, but the weight of his stare made your stomach churn with guilt. A regretful look crossed your face, figuring he already knew about your removal. from the music program
"Yeah, I figured as much," you confessed, your eyes glued to the ground.
"Well, it was my realtor friend."
A wave of relief washed over you, the weight on your shoulders lightening; for a fleeting moment, you were grateful for the small miracle. Yet, as you looked up at him and noticed the optimism on his face, a knot tightened in your stomach. Taking into account the gravity of his statement made your solace disappate.
"Oh, right. That." In hindsight, this phone call was not any better. Since your mom's passing, your dad had constantly brought up selling the house, convinced it was the best way to get a, "fresh start." He thought moving away from the place that held so many memories of her would help him escape the grief that lingered in every room. But to you, this house was more than four walls; it was the last place where everything still felt whole, where her presence could still be felt.
"Yeah, and she says if we are serious about selling the house, then she wants me to take some pictures for the website." He motioned to his camera briefly. "Which means we'll have to do a lot of cleaning and get rid of some stuff, and I was hoping maybe," he stopped speaking for a moment, taking what seemed like a reluctant breath, "you could tackle mom's studio? I mean, you're the expert. Your brother and I wouldn't even know where to begin."
Your eyes widened and your gaze was back to staring at your shoes. You felt a lump in your throat as you anxiously pondered the idea.
Since your mom’s passing, you hadn’t been able to bring yourself to step back into the garage she had lovingly transformed into her music studio. The guitars stood untouched, their strings quietly gathering dust. The drum kit sat still, its once lively rhythm now replaced by the soft whispers of the wind. Even the piano keys, once vibrant under her fingertips, were now dulled by neglect. You had tried to go back once, but the memories overwhelmed you before you even reached the stone path leading to the building. Now, knowing that your family home, and your mom’s studio along with it, would soon be sold made the weight in your chest unbearable. The thought of losing this last physical connection to her filled your mind with an ache you couldn’t shake. Your dad, watching you wrestle with the turmoil, caught onto your fearful hesitation, his expression softening as if he could sense the storm raging inside you.
"Honey, if you don't want to, it's okay," he reassured you. "I can always-"
"No, it's fine," you interjected. "I'll start on it tonight." You nodded, a blend of hesitance and determination flickering across your face. Deep down, you were not sure if you were sure that ready to face the ghosts of your past, but you were sure that you were tired of letting fear hold you back. Even if the weight of your emotions felt insurmountable, you knew you could not let cowardice define you, not when it came to your mom’s musical legacy. You at least owed it to her to honor her craft. You had to do this.
"Yeah?" your dad inquired hopefully. You nodded your head and your dad clasped his hands together in delight. "Awesome, sweetheart, thank you!" He made his way to the front door before suddenly stopping and turning back to you. "And uh, don't forget the loft. You know those old instruments that were there when we moved in? Like, the drumkit and the red bass and such? They need a new home."
"Mom would like that," you agreed, reminiscing on your mom's kind heart.
"Yeah, she would." Your dad checked his wrist-watch, his solumn expression quickly changing into one of worry. "Oh no, I am going to be late." He scrambled around the living room in search of his car keys.
"On the counter," you called to him; his gaze shifted to the countertop in the kitchen, and he caught sight of the silver key ring.
"You're a lifesaver!" He snatched his keys and shot a playful finger gun towards you as he made his way out the front door.
---
Night time came much too fast.
You begrudgingly trekked down the cobblestone path leading to your mom's studio. The night was quiet, the stars and moon being the only sources of illumination down the path. Your hand quivered as you reached for the door handle; you paused for a moment as you fully grasped the handle, taking a deep breath before opening the door and flicking on the light switch.
The studio looked untouched, frozen in time, exactly as it had been the last time you stepped inside with your mom. The faint scent of wood polish and sheet music still lingered in the air, like a fragile whisper of the past. You stood in the doorway for a moment, taking it all in, your eyes scanning the familiar space as if seeing it for the first time. Every detail, from the neatly stacked sheet music, to the instruments resting in their usual places, felt both comforting and saddening; it was a bittersweet reminder of a world you could not bring yourself to fully return to.
Your feet carried you to the piano first, your finger absently tracing a line through the thin layer of dust that had settled on the keys. The instrument, once vibrant with life, now seemed like a relic of a distant past. Your gaze drifted to the small table beside it, landing on a framed photo that had remained untouched. It was a picture of you and your mom, taken on a sunny day at the amusement park. The two of you were grinning ear to ear, your laughter practically radiating from the image. Now, the sight of those bright beams brought a hollow ache in your chest. You picked up the photo, the cool metal of the frame grounding you as your thumb gently brushed over its corner.
"I'm so sorry, Mom," you regretfully apologized as you made eye contact with her photograph. "I'm sorry I haven't been out here." You delicately sat down the picture frame and made your way to the opposite corner of the room. Here lay your mom's "treasure chest," as she referred to it. Truthfully, it was a chest that contained all of her collectibles from over the years, from music albums to band t-shirts she had decorated with shimmering sequins and jewels.
Curiosity tugged at you as you knelt before the chest, its lid creaking slightly as you pushed it open. You began sifting through the items inside, each one layered with the dust of forgotten time. Your fingers brushed over fabric, paper, and finally something smooth and hard. Your nails clinked against the plastic, piquing your interest. Gripping the object, you pulled it free and held it up to the light; it was a CD encasing. Its cover was black with bold, curving white letters spelling out the band’s name across the front.
"3RACHA."
'"I guess some music while I'm cleaning wouldn't hurt," you thought aloud. You walked over to the coffee table, sat in front of the brown, leather couch in the center of the studio; sat atop the table was a retro CD player your mom had found at a garage sale about five or so years ago. Carefully, you removed the disc from its casing and deposited it into the player, pressing the play button once it was fully inserted. You began making your way up to the loft, deciding to tackle that area first as the music began to play...
"Take off Last stop Countdown till we blast open the top Face first, full charge..."
It was here that the music began to sound a bit strange. The melody began to warp, becoming almost unrecognizable as it was gradually overtaken by a disturbing sound that sounded like...screaming? At first faint, it quickly swelled, rising to an unbearable intensity that made your skin crawl. The screeching noise clawed at your senses, so sharp and overwhelming that you instinctively clamped your hands over your ears, desperate to block it out.
There was a flash of light, and three guys appeared on the garage floor out of nowhere. They groaned in pain, their bodies stiff as if waking from a long slumber. You let out a bewildered gasp, the scene before you surreal. The three of them got to their feet, their eyes wide as they took in their new surroundings. They looked around, dazed and amazed
"Woah!" the middle one spoke, his tone laced with a moderate Australian accent. "Woah! How did we get back here?" he inquired to nobody in particular, pointing at every facet in the studio.
A horrified, prolonged scream escaped your mouth before you could comprehend the sight in front of you, causing all three boys to look at you; fear was present in all three of their gazes as well. Before you knew it, they were screaming as well, squirming around in terror and holding onto each other for dear life. You were still shrieking as you ran out of the studio, fleeing back to your house as fast as your legs could carry you. You only ceased your sprint when you ran into your dad.
"Woah, slow down!" he chuckled while commanding. "You look like you've seen a ghost!"
"I have!" you spit out without thinking, making your brother express his intrigue. You did not respond, however, fleeing up the porch stairs and running into your bedroom. You immediately pulled out your cell phone, texting Flynn your emergency code.
'SOS!'
---
"Come on, Flynn," you groaned as the minutes dragged by. "SOS means SOS! Why aren't you answering me?"
"Sweetheart?" you heard a knock at your door and squealed at the noise, instantly calming down once you saw that it was your dad. "Sorry. Just wanted to make sure you were alright." He took a seat besides you on your bed, looking down at you concerned.
"You don't believe me, do you?" you inquired, your gaze intently focused on your pillows.
"Of course I do, honey," your dad responded. "I see your mom all the time!"
"This isn't like that."
"I know, it's different for everybody, but-"
"Dad, you're not listening to me!" you interrupted, exasperated out of frustration. "I saw something out there, something that wasn't mom."
"Okay, I'm sorry," your dad threw his hands up. "Tell me what you saw. Nobody else is listening, and this is not a judgmental environment."
"You sound like the psychiatrist," you told him bluntly.
"Yeah, well maybe seeing the psychiatrist again isn't such a bad idea," your dad attempted to crack a joke, but the comment riled you up further.
"Can we just drop this?!" you asked, your voice rising to an octave near a yell, the frustration and confusion in your words impossible to contain. Your dad let out a heavy sigh, his shoulders slumping as he stood up, the weight of your question settling between you.
"Okay. Dropped."
---
You tried to talk yourself out of returning to your mom’s studio, but curiosity gnawed at you, pulling you back. You needed to understand what you had seen, to prove to yourself, and to your dad, that you were not losing your mind. With a hesitant breath, you made your way down the cobbled path until you stood before the familiar door of the studio. In your hands, you gripped a makeshift crucifix, hastily crafted from sticks
"Are you still here?" you quieried the empty building. "Whatever you are?" You spun in every direction, your eyes scanning the shadows and corners, searching for something—anything—that might explain what had just occurred. stopping when you turned back to the front entrance. When you finally turned back toward the front entrance, you saw nothing. The room was still, silent, as if it were mocking you. A wave of frustration washed over you, and with a defeated sigh, you dropped your hands, letting them fall to your sides. The emptiness around you felt suffocating, and you wondered if you were just imagining it all.
"I know I saw something, I'm not crazy!"
"Well, we're all a little crazy, mate." You heard the same Australian accent from earlier behind you; you swiftly circled around to see the same three boys standing behind you. They all had small smiles plastered on their faces. Reflexively, you began to scream once more, holding out the crucifix in front of you; this time, you were quickly shushed by the Australian boy.
"Please stop screaming!" he pleaded with you, and you did as demanded, albeit reluctantly.
"W-who are you?!" you interrogated. "What are you doing in my mom's studio?"
"Your mom's studio?" the Australian bewilderedly asked as he took a few steps toward you; you swiftly pointed the crucifix towards him, chasing him throughout the middle section of the garage as if he were some demonic being that was about to possess you.
"This is our studio! Trust me! Okay sure, the grand piano is new, and..." Your efforts caused the teenage boy to scramble over the aforementioned instrument; however, his attention quickly fixated on the couch. His eyes widened, seeming as if he was looking at an old friend for the first time.
"MY COUCH!" he yelled in delight as he threw himself onto the piece of furniture, kicking his feet up onto one of the arm rests. His eyes closed in a restful manner; when they opened once more, they trailed to the guitar beside the couch, the sight of which made him stand up once again. His eyebrows knit together as he pointed to the unfamiliar instrument. "But that is definitely not my six-string." He hurriedly shuffled back over to the other two, confusion rattling in his brain. "Give us a second," he gave you a brief, somewhat phony smile before turning around and forming a huddle with the guys. You listened in on their conversation:
"Guys! What is going on? How did she get her stuff in here so fast?"
"Maybe she's a witch? I mean, there are chairs on the ceiling," the shortest of the three suggested, pointing up at the ceiling; he was buffer than the other two, sporting a white, tight fitted t-shirt, a leather jacket, and a red flannel wrapped around his waist.
"Okay, witches aren't real," the boy who you could best describe as looking like a squirrel shook his head in disbelief; he had on a black backwards cap with a pink hoodie snug under a jean jacket.
"You sure? Because I used to think ghosts weren't real!"
"Fair point."
"Okay, so we're definitely going with witch," the Aussie decided, looking in between his mates for reassurance on the claim; he was wearing a white band tee with the sleeves cut off and a blue oversized jacket over top.
The buffer boy nodded his head in agreement; however, the squirrel knitted his eyebrows togehter, waving his hand dismissively in contrast.
"No, we are not! Okay, she is not a witch; she is clearly just scared. So let someone with a softer touch handle this!" He concluded his monologue with a sharp clap of his hands toward the other two, the sound echoing in the stillness. He began to approach you, his steps slow and deliberate, dragging as though he had all the time in the world. The air between you thickened, and you couldn't help but feel a sense of unease as he drew closer, his movements unhurried but somehow foreboding.
"Why are you in our studio?" he asked, accentuating his mouth in a strange motion. In a burst of sheer fear, you thrust the makeshift cross forward, driving it straight into his middle. You gasped in horror as the crucifix passed through his form as if he were nothing but a faint, shifting hologram.
"Oh my gosh!" you shrieked as you pulled the cross away; your panicked eyes flickered first to the cross, then horrifiedly shifted back to the boy. "How did you do that?!" He looked back at the other two narrowing his eyes out of conclusive annoyance.
"Okay, clearly, you're not getting it," he condescended, rubbing the corners of his eyes once he turned back towards you. "Okay, we are ghosts," he motioned to himself and the other two. "We're just three ghosts who have no idea how they got back home but they are really happy to be here! So thank you for the new decor, it really brightens up the room, but we've got it from here."
"We're actually in a band called 3RACHA," the Australian chimed in, causing you to swiftly adjust your head in order to get a good look at him while the shorter boy chimed in with, "Tell your friends!"
Woah, he was hot. Not in the typical high school heartthrob way, but more in the supernatural sense, like someone you would never expect to develop a crush on, yet here you were, inexplicably drawn to him. His smile was dazzling, cheeky, and almost too perfect, while his loose band tee couldn't quite hide the way his slim yet muscular frame moved with an effortless confidence. You found yourself lingering on every detail, but you snapped out of your daze when he spoke again, grounding yourself back in reality.
"Last night was supposed to be a huge night for us," he explained. "It was supposed to change our lives."
"I'm pretty sure it did," the short one responded, earning a flick on the back of the head from the Aussie. You were convinced you were losing it, even if everybody was, "all a little crazy."
"This is freaking me out," you exclaimed. In order to prove their claims, and reassure the doubt lingering in your gut, you pulled out your cellphone from the back pocket of your jeans.
"What is that? What are you doing?" The Australian peered over your shoulder, motioning to your cellphone.
"It's my phone," you started to expound, but quickly caught yourself, biting back the words before they could spill out. Instead, you shifted the conversation, turning the focus back to yourself with an awkward yet determined attempt to regain control. "Nope! Stop talking to them! They aren't real! There's no such thing as cute ghosts!"
"Aw, she thinks we're cute!" the shorter boy cooed. His adoring realization elicited a warning eye from you, prompting him to silence as he pressed his lips into a thin line. Your attention refocused on your phone, and you scrolled through social media applications and gaming selections until you found your search engine. Your fingers fidgeted as you typed the band's name into the search bar in a rushed manner.
"Who ya calling?" the boy with the squirrel-esque features inquired. You jerked your head up to face him, annoyance washing over you after being inquired for the second time that night.
"I'm googling the band Sriracha."
"THREEracha," all three of them corrected at the same time. You jumped back slightly, quickly correcting the name in the search bar. As soon as you typed in the band’s name, the first result that popped up was a news article titled, "3RACHA: A Hollywood Tragedy." Intrigued, you clicked the link, and within seconds, a photo of four boys appeared on the screen. Three of them were unmistakably the ones standing right in front of you.
"Okay! There is a 3RACHA." You spoke to yourself, relieved that this was not just your imagination. The three guys nodded as if to say, "Obviously!" You read the first paragraph of the article, which stated as follows:
"Last week the music industry lost an up and coming band that could have taken the world by storm and topped the charts. 3RACHA was a local band out of Hollywood having sold out its showcase on Saturday. Unfortunately, the band never made it to the stage. Three of its members, Chan, Han, and Changbin, tragically died when they ate bad street hot dogs. It was supposed to be their biggest night, opening live at the Orpheum Theater on the Sunset Strip. They were only 17. There was a surviving band member, Hyunjin, but no one has been able to track him down and talk to him about his friends dying that fateful night."
You focused particularly on the date the article was released: July 29, 1995.
"You did die," you muttered upon seeing it. "But not last night. You died 29 years ago." As the words fell from your mouth, all three boys exchanged glances, their faces twisted in confusion, eyes wide and mouths slightly agape in disbelief.
"What? No way. That's not possible. After we floated out of the ambulance, all we did was go to that dark room where Han cried." Upon the shorter boy's statement, the squirrel-esque boy began to stammer.
"Well," he prolonged his high-pitched voice. "I don't think, I think we were all pretty upset, y'know?"
"But that was only for like an hour," the Australian boy jerked his head up, the look in his eyes nothing short of perplexation. "We just showed up here."
"Look, I'm just telling you what my phone says." You turned your phone around so they could read the article for themselves. "You died in 1995 when you were all 17. It's now 2024. All three boys looked at each other, their expressions a mix of utter confusion, as if their very souls were trying to make sense of what was happening.
"So, it's been 29 years?" the squirrely boy raised his hands behind his head, his posture tense, as if he were on the verge of a breakdown. "I have been crying for 29 years?! How is this possible?!"
"Well, you're a very emotional person," the shortest attempted to put his hand on the boy's shoulder in hopes of comforting him, but it was immediately shrugged off.
"I AM NOT."
You sighed in frustration at the boys' conversation, turning to leave the studio. But before you stepped out, you paused and glanced back at them, your brow knitted in vexation.
"Look," you began sternly, "I am very sorry for what happened to you guys, but this isn't your studio anymore. You need to leave." You attempted to exit again, but the Australian member called for you to wait.
"We never got your name," he tilted his head and slightly smiled in an attempt to be friendly.
"Y/n," you answered bluntly.
"Cool, I'm Chan..." he moved towards you, resulting in the crucifix being raised once again, "...by the way, and this is-"
"Changbin! Hey, I'm Changbin," the short, buff boy introduced himself, his soft voice not matching his build in the slightest.
"I'm Han, how's it going," the squirrel-esque male was the last the greet you. You shrugged your shoulders and pursed your lips.
"Okay?" you muttered, shaking your head before storming out of the studio. You slammed the door behind you, leaving the three boys standing there, dazed and speechless.
"Y/n seems nice!" Changbin beamed after a few seconds. Chan raised an eyebrow, a puzzled frown tugging at his lips, while Han’s gaze flickered between Changbin and him, clearly thrown off by the awkwardness of the situation.
"Did you miss the part where she kicked us out, Bin?"
---
After setting the table and blessing the food, you tried your best to settle into what should have been a normal family dinner. As normal as it could be, at least, considering the bizarre events of the day; after all, encountering three ghosts that no one would believe you about was not something you could easily put behind you. You poked at your plate absentmindedly, lost in your thoughts, when suddenly, you felt a hand clamp down on your shoulder. You jolted, glancing up to find your aunt standing behind you, her face serious. She had come over for dinner, but now her presence seemed even more weighty, as she leaned in and whispered how she needed to have an important conversation with you.
"Now, sweetie," she began sugarly, "I want you to know there is absolutely nothing to be ashamed of?" Your eyes widened in alarm, a cold wave of realization washing over you. You could feel the weight of her words hanging in the air, and you knew exactly where this conversation was headed.
"Uh, that's so funny of you to say!" you tried to blow off the conversation.
"Well, honey," your aunt continued, her voice soft yet firm, "all I was going to say was that now that you aren't in the music program anymore, you can focus on your academics!" You let out a quiet breath you didn’t realize you were holding, your body unwinding with the release of tension. But as your eyes flickered toward your father, you immediately sensed the disappointment etched across his face, further proven by the way he dramatically cleared his throat. The action hung there like a shadow, unspoken but heavy, and it made the room feel colder. Your aunt looked at him, her expression etched with confusion.
"You got the email from the school, yes?" she asked.
"We're still discussing it," your dad replied harshly. His angry, piercing stare never left your solemn gaze, causing your heart to sink down to your stomach.
"Eh, no matter," your aunt dismissed. "Now, excuse me. I have to run to the restroom." She strutted away from the table, seemingly in attempts to escape the conversation she had started.
"So, when were you going to tell me?"
Before you could formulate a response, a sudden blast of rock music pierced through the air, reverberating from somewhere in the distance. The unmistakable beat of the guitar and heavy drums echoed from the garage, loud enough to drown out the quiet tension at the table. It was jarring, almost out of place, and it drew your attention away from the conversation.
"What is that?" your father inquired, his voice laced with alarm.
"Uh, I must have left the stereo on in the garage!" you exclaimed. "Let me go turn it off!" You darted out of the house and out of the conversation. Your heart raced as you made your way toward the garage, and as you rounded the corner, the noise grew louder. You froze for a moment, eyes wide, as you took in the sight of the three boys. They were completely immersed in their music, jamming out with an ease that left you speechless. Somehow, they had found their instruments and were tearing through an old rock song, the sound of their music filling the air like an electrifying presence.
"Guys, cut it out!" you yelled. They did not listen to you, however, drowning your command out with a crescendo of music. You rolled your eyes, reaching down to unplug Chan's guitar from the speaker; you threatened to do the same with Changbin's bass, but the music halted before you resorted to that measure. "The whole neighborhood could hear you! I thought I told you guys to leave." To your surprise, the band looked more delighted than depressed.
"People can hear us play?" Chan asked, a cheeky smile spreading across his face as he looked at you. His confidence was almost teasing, as if he were fully aware of the effect his music, and perhaps his presence, was having on you. It took every ounce of willpower to keep yourself from blushing, your heart suddenly racing for reasons you could not quite explain. The playful glint in his eyes only made it harder to focus.
"Yes! My dad specifically!" you snapped, your voice a little sharper than you intended. You tried to mask the shy undertone with feigned anger, crossing your arms as if that might make the situation feel less awkward.
"So, only you can see us, but everybody can hear us?" Changbin asked rhetorically. "What kind of ghosts are we?!"
"Who cares man!" Chan yelled out enthusiastically. "People can hear us play!" The three of them came together at Han's drumset, fistbumping and high fiving one another.
"We may be dead, but our music isn't!" Han remarked. You sighed, frustration bubbling up as you stood there, irritated by the bizarre turn of events. Everything about this situation felt off, with your dad, and now the ghosts casually playing rock music in your garage. It was all too much to process, and yet, here you were, stuck in the middle of it all.
"Why can’t you guys be normal ghosts?!" you shouted, your voice higher and sharp with frustration. The words burst out before you could stop them, making all three boys flinch in surprise. "Hang out at an old mansion! I hear Pasadena’s nice!" Without waiting for a response, you stormed out of the studio, the door slamming behind you with a force that seemed to shake the walls.
"I've always wanted to go to Pasadena," Changbin muttered, completely oblivious to your frustration. Chan was the first to react, teleporting out of the garage with Han close behind him. Changbin, still lost in his Pasadena fantasies, followed after he snapped back to reality. Within seconds, all three of them appeared in front of you just as you reached the steps leading up to your house. You squealed in shock, your heart skipping a beat at the sudden appearance of the ghosts. But before they could say anything, annoyance quickly washed over you, the frustration you’d been holding back resurfacing in full force.
"What now?!" you asked them, your tone encapsulated by rage. You crossed your arms, your gaze impatiently moving between all three of them as you waited for an answer.
"Look, I know this is all completely insane," Chan began to tell you, "but you do know how rad this is? People, actual people can hear us play!" He was absolutely stoked, contrasting your sorrowful demeanor.
"Yeah, it's just I've just had a really, really awful day. I gotta go." You attempted to evade the pep-talk, but Chan began again before you could get too far.
"Well, I'm sorry you had a bad day, but three guys just found out that they had a bad 29 years," he retaliated, "and then they found out that the one thing they lived for in the first place they can still do. That's pretty rad."
"You're right. It's just..."
"Your bad day. Yeah. I know," Chan interjected. "Look, I'm sorry we came into your life, but what I just felt in there actually made me feel alive again. We all felt alive again. So, you can kick us out if you want, but we're not giving up music. We can play again. That's a gift no musician would ever turn down."
You sighed, the sound a mixture of irritation and a lingering sadness that weighed heavy in your chest. The frustration from earlier still simmered, but Chan’s words caught you off guard. "You gotta know that. Clearly, your mom was into music." His voice was gentle, almost too understanding, and it only made the ache in your heart grow stronger. You shifted your gaze from him to the ground, the quiet pressure of his statement settling in. It felt like a reminder you were not ready to hear.
"Was," you corrected softly, your voice catching slightly. "She passed away." The words hung in the air, heavy and final. The boys exchanged a glance, their expressions shifting from playful to somber.
"I am... so sorry," Chan murmured, his voice filled with genuine regret. He moved as if to place a comforting hand on your shoulder, but his ghostly fingers passed straight through you, the gesture falling short. Despite the ethereal nature of his attempt, the warmth of his intention still made your heart skip a beat, leaving a strange mix of comfort and sadness swirling within you.
"Yeah, we didn't know," Han explained, his mind racing with panic.
"It's all right," you breathed out, regret now present in your voice. "You guys haven't seen her anywhere, have you? From wherever you're from." You figured they would not have, but it never hurts to ask.
"Um..." Chan hesitated. "No. No, I mean, you're kind of the first person we've seen."
"Yeah, but she's not dead, so it doesn't answer her question," Changbin put his two sense in, earning an irritated side-eye from Han.
"Yeah. I think she knows what we mean. I'm sorry for your loss," Chan commented once again, his eyes just as dejected as yours were.
"Thanks," you shook your head in understanding. "Sorry I got mad. You guys are kinda good."
"Kinda?" Chan sounded playfully offended. "Y-Y-You know that's like 29 years of rust just getting dusted off." For the first time since meeting the boys, you smiled at them, and your grin made Chan's eyes light up.
"Yeah," he mumbled, his gaze lingering on you with an almost admiring intensity. He didn’t say anything more, until Han, with a knowing look, smacked his shoulder to snap him out of it. Chan blinked, visibly shaking himself from the moment. "Uh, do you play the piano too?" he asked, his voice suddenly more tentative, trying to shift the attention away from his earlier slip. The change in his tone was almost too obvious, but the question itself felt genuine.
You dithered slightly before responding: "No. No, I don't play. That was my mom's stuff in there. She's an amazing songwriter." You puzzled yourself by the lie, knowing full good and well you could play.
"She was," Chan nodded in agreement. You looked at him, furrowing your eyebrows slightly.
"Wait. How would you know?"
"There's a song on the piano," Chan explained. "If it's hers, then your mom was really talented." His tone had a certain fondness to it, as if he knew your mother like an old friend; it made your face go hot. The compliment of your mother's abilities caused you to reconsider your prior statements.
"I guess," you began while grinning, "if you guys need a place to stay, you can stay here." The boys widened their eyes in delight, their mouths forming into bright grins. "There's a bathroom in the back and a couch that turns into a bed if you still use any of that stuff." Upon finishing your words, Changbin instantly threw his hand up.
"Dibs on the shower!" You side-eyed the boy but laughed at his strange actions. "I just really like showers and sometimes the occasional bath."
"You are so weird," Han commented while throwing an arm around the boy and leading him into the studio. Chan giggled at the actions of his bandmates before turning around to face you.
"Thank you, y/n," he nodded, his close-mouthed smile warm and sincere, as if your kindness meant more than words could express. "See you tomorrow?" His voice was gentle, a hint of hope behind it, but you could not bring yourself to meet his gaze. You looked down at the ground, your heart beating faster as your timidness took over.
"Yeah, you will," you finally nodded meekly; Chan bit his lip excitedly before joining Han and Changbin in the studio. You shook your head in disbelief, smiling at nothing in particular.
"This is too weird."
---
All night, you thought about what Chan had said:
"There's a song on the piano. If it's hers, then your mom was really talented."
What song could it have been? You thought back to all the songs your mom had written before her passing. She was undeniably talented, but most of them were not the kind that would have evoked such deep, overwhelming emotion. With this thought spinning in your head, you reluctantly woke up early for school the next morning. The darkness outside still held onto the quiet of night, the sun just beginning to grace the horizon with its pale light. You dressed quickly, your movements automatic as your mind continued to race. Despite the overwhelming sense of dread you felt every time you approached the studio, there was something else undeniable pulling you back. It was ironic, really, that this was your fourth visit to the studio in just two days, and yet it still felt like stepping into a place that had been off-limits for years. The weight of it all settled in your chest, but you could not shake the nagging feeling that you needed to be there.
You walked straight to the piano, the familiar coolness of the keys beneath your fingertips positioning you as you hesitated for only a moment before pressing your fingers gently against them. The sound was quiet, barely a whisper, but it was enough to settle your nerves. Your gaze quickly found the song Chan had mentioned, your eyes scanning over the notes as if searching for something you could not quite name.
This song was new; it was not like any other one your mom had taught you how to play. You read the lyrics, tearing up as each word resonated deep within your soul; it was almost as if this was her departing message to you. Your eyes flicked to the bottom of the page, a handwritten note from your mom reading: "Never give up, y/n. I love you, forever."
You sat down on the piano bench, your fingers finding the starting notes. Taking a deep breath, you began to play, adding your own rhythm as the melody unfolded. As your voice joined in, it felt natural, almost as if the song had always been inside you.
"Here's the one thing I want you to know You got someplace to go Life's a test yes But you go toe to toe You don't give up no you grow."
The lyrics poured out softly, carrying the weight of memories and emotions you hadn’t known you were ready to face. For a brief moment, it was as though your mom was right there with you, her presence lingering in the music.
"And you use your pain 'Cause it makes you you Though I wish I could hold you through it"
The last line caused your voice to waver, the emotion swelling in your chest. You wished, more than anything, that your mom were here with you now—holding you through the grief that had been building for so long. The ache of her absence hit harder than ever, and for a moment, the music felt like the only connection left.
"I know it's not the same You got livin' to do And I just want you to do it
So get up, get out relight that spark You know the rest by heart"
The notes grew stronger as you reached the chorus, your fingers pressing the keys with growing intensity. A sense of pride swelled within you for your mother’s songwriting talent, and with it came a surge of confidence. As the music enveloped you, it felt like a reclamation of something you had lost, a reminder of your own strength through the melody she had left behind.
"Wake up, wake up if it's all you do Look out, look inside of you It's not what you lost It's what you'll gain Raising your voice to the rain"
"Wake up your dream and make it true Look out, look inside of you It's not what you lost Relight that spark Time to come out of the dark Wake up Wake up"
The sun began to rise over the treetops as you reached the bridge, its golden light spilling over the landscape. Unbeknownst to you, your father stood on the porch, bathed in that same light. His eyes sparkled with quiet joy, a soft smile on his lips as he listened to your voice carry through the air. In that moment, he knew: his daughter was back. The music had returned, and with it, the hope he had thought was lost.
"So wake that spirit spirit I wanna hear it hear it No need to fear it you're not alone You're gonna find your way home"
The final lyric soared into a high note, your own subtle twist on the song. With each note that filled the small studio, you felt your passion for playing reignite. The music flowed through you, every chord more powerful than the last. You finished with a dramatic low note, the sound lingering in the air. Your eyes remained fixed on the sheet music, drawn to the note at the bottom. You read it over and over, as if trying to unlock a secret it held just for you.
You did it. You woke up.
You woke up and rediscovered your love for music. You woke up from the long, paralyzing nightmare of your mother's death and escaped the grief that was holding you back. You woke up and found yourself, realizing who you were:
You were Rose's daughter, the child of a musical genius, and you were not going to let her legacy pass on with her.
You breathed in deeply, joyful tears filling your eyes as your heart pumped with a newfound courage.
In that moment, although you were not aware of it, four pairs of eyes shimmered...
#stray kids#stray kids imagines#stray kids oneshots#stray kids fluff#stray kids angst#stray kids crack#lee know#hyunjin#felix#seungmin#jeongin#bang chan#bang chan imagines#bang chan scenarios#bang chan fluff#bang chan angst#changbin#changbin imagines#changbin scenarios#changbin fluff#changbin angst#han#han jisung#han jisung scenarios#han jisung imagines#han jisung fluff#han jisung angst#julie and the phantoms#jatp#jatp au
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I’ve had this thought brewing up since early to mid November about the life series. In case it wasn’t obvious I didn’t like wild life due to its overly complicated gimmick. It wasn’t for me and that’s okay.
In saying that, I’ve been having some thoughts along with others about a potential redo of third life. Back to basics you might say. Grab the full 18 cast and throw them into the classic “three strikes and you’re out” rule. Maybe on the same seed as third life or even better the old map (with chests empty a course)
But many others disagree to that as they think it would be boring and over the top mechanics is what keeps the series interesting. Having it be simple minecraft again isn’t everyone’s cup of tea.
But I built on that thought along with a suggestion the community talks about extensively:
New players
We know Doc has shown interest but explained that adding new players, even if they’re close friends with Grian, is very hard (if someone has a timestamp to that stream that would be wonderful <3)
Along with that many fans make posts both on here and the reddit about players they want. Some being Doc, False, Fwhip, Cub and CaptainSparklz, just to name a few.
And while I would absolutely love for these people to play, 18 is a lot of players for one series. You have to organise recording sessions, have backup plans in case someone must miss a session and you as a creator only have so much time to edit your video before posting it. Imagine having to all record and edit other videos or stream. It’s a lot. Now we have had Bdubs delay his pov before and released it months later as a single 12 hour video, but I’m not too sure if that will happen again. I would imagine that was a one off test.
But what if we built off of that idea of new players? How about a whole new cast plus Grian?
Unfortunately this means Grian, the series creator, will be the only returning original member but it is his series. It would be strange for I don’t know Doc make a rip off of third life. Technically many smaller creators get together with friends for their own fan life series seasons but having close friends of Grian doing it without him? Seems a little bit weird.
But also who knows the man might not care and could be glad that he doesn’t have to have another series to work on.
Anyway as I was saying, a new cast of creators would be amazing! They get a spotlight on them, new dynamics, people interacting with each other either for the first time or the 100th time and we get to see how other players interact with minecraft in their own way.
Where would Joe Hills base? Would Shubble and Katherine be allies or enemies? Is the Captain blood thirsty?
So many potential plot lines and builds and kills and-
I think you get the point.
Now with all that said if you made it this far I will like to put out a disclaimer. I don’t hate the life series creators and want to replace them with a new cast. I love the 18 players we have. But I yearn for a simpler mechanic and would love to focus more on players vs players and not players vs the environment. I just want to build upon the idea of new players but also the passion that comes with a simple set of rules.
Anyway, I hope you enjoyed this strange ramble :3
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Jodie Whittaker returns to Doctor Who
Big Finish Productions, in partnership with BBC Studios, today announces the first ever Thirteenth Doctor audio dramas as Jodie Whittaker returns to the Whoniverse alongside Mandip Gill as Yasmin Khan.
First seen on screen in 2017, Jodie Whittaker made TV history as the first female incarnation of the beloved Time Lord in Doctor Who.
Now she’s back in a brand-new series of twelve, hour-long, full-cast audio adventures in time and space, due to be released from July 2025. By her side in the TARDIS, as ever, will be her best friend Yaz, once again played by Mandip Gill.
Jodie Whittaker said: “I’m over the moon to be joining Big Finish for more adventures in the TARDIS. Recording the Thirteenth Doctor and Yaz is a really lovely thing to revisit. One of the things Mandip and I used to love on Doctor Who was getting in, doing a new episode and meeting a brand-new cast. I just can’t wait to step back into the boots, pull on the coat and get cracking. One thing’s for sure, it’s going to be brilliant.”
Mandip Gill added: “Doctor Who has been a huge part of my career and personal life and I am looking forward to seeing how I can further enrich my character through this exhilarating series. To be able to work with Jodie again is a dream come true, we have such a special friendship, I’m sure the recordings will be filled with laughter.”
Big Finish’s Chairman, Jason Haigh-Ellery said: “This year Big Finish is celebrating its 25th anniversary of producing full-cast Doctor Who audio drama – so, when we were granted the licence to create new stories set during the Thirteenth Doctor’s era, we immediately set to work.
“I am delighted that the inimitable Jodie and Mandip have decided to return to their roles with us and I’m excited to welcome them to Big Finish. Alongside our two other forthcoming series for the Fugitive Doctor (played by Jo Martin) and the Master (played by Sacha Dhawan), 2025 has never looked brighter for the Thirteenth Doctor and her fam.”
Big Finish’s Creative Director, Nicholas Briggs added: “Jodie and Mandip were so welcoming to me when I worked on set with them in the TV show, so I’m looking forward to repaying the compliment. They’re lovely people and they’re full of enthusiasm for this project.”
Big Finish listeners can now pre-order The Thirteenth Doctor Adventures, starting at just £11.99 (per story on collector’s edition CD + download) or £9.99 (download only) exclusively from www.bigfinish.com.
A complete series multibuy bundle of all twelve releases is also available to pre-order at the specially discounted price of £126 (on collector’s edition CD + download) or £102 (download only), again exclusively from the Big Finish website.
All the above prices include the special pre-order discount and are subject to change after general release.
Please note that Big Finish is currently operating a digital-first release schedule. The mail-out of collector’s edition CDs may be delayed due to factors beyond our control, but all purchases of this release unlock a digital copy that can be immediately downloaded or played on the Big Finish app from the release date.
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Razor’s Edge
Chapter Five || Chapter Six || Chapter Seven
Also available to be read on AO3, here
It's imperative for me to mention MAJOR trigger warnings for this story; blood, violence, sexual content, alcohol usage, and mentions of abusive situations and suicide. I will add and edit tw's as needed.
WC; 6109
Notes;
this chapter includes particularly dark themes, it is of the utmost importance for me to remind you to please check trigger warnings again if needed. sorry for the delay in updating! this chapter was especially difficult for me to write, i will say that good things are on the way but this story will continue on track with its darker themes.
with that, all the love in the world xx
(Not Beta Read)
The sliver of heaven you shared with Charlie was all you had to hold on to. The autumn air was growing bitter and cold at a head splitting pace.
Friday morning came with a sharp dose of reality, pulling you from your thoughts that had, for the better part, been consumed by Charlie.
It was the early hours of the morning; the sun had only begun to rise. You were in bed all alone, awoken by the deafening buzz of your phone’s ringer.
You scrambled straight upwards, searching for your phone in the mess of your sheets, subconsciously searching for Charlie’s body besides you as well. This had been the first night this week that he had not spent beside you.
You mumbled, finding your phone, answering it without looking at the caller ID. Your eyes were heavy and still half clouded with sleep.
The half-hearted sedation was quickly shaken out of you as your aunt’s frantic voice came through in the other line.
“Oh my God, Oh my God! You’re okay!” Irina sobbed in relief.
Your entire body stiffened in an instant, as though a bolt of lightning held you straight up in bed. You pulled your phone away from your face placing the call on speakerphone, now seeing the previous missed calls and voicemails your aunt had left you prior flash on your home screen.
You could barely make out your own voice over the now deafening drum of your heartbeat. “Yes, I’m okay. I’m so sorry I missed your calls. What happened?”
Your stomach had already begun twisting itself up in knots, you subconsciously knew what must’ve transpired.
The line was silent for a moment; you understood that you were both just trying to find the right words to say.
“Do you know who it was?” You whispered. You weren’t entirely sure you wanted to know. There was only one reason she must have called you so frantically and so early; another murder had taken place in Woodsboro.
Your aunt’s voice was muffled as she answered.
“What?” You croaked out.
She spoke the name again. Still, it was entirely too surreal. You couldn’t have caught it without asking her to speak again.
“No…” you stated, “who was it?” the tears were now steadily pricking up against your lash line.
“Scott Anderson. Did you know him? He was in your grade. Oh, dochka. I’m moving my flight. I’ll be home as soon as possible. I promise. I’m so sorry…”
You were swept through a wind tunnel, head blaring at her words. Her voice just seemed to ramble on and on into a catatonic hum.
Anderson? Dead? Murdered?
You couldn’t recall what you said afterwards. Couldn’t recall the end of the phone call. Couldn’t recall how you pulled yourself out of bed and made your way into the parking lot of Woodsboro High School.
You had hardly known the first two girls who were murdered, but knew from others that they were good, that they were decent people. You tried your hardest to convince yourself that they must’ve been targeted, specifically, for some unknown reason. But their murders must have been isolated. Right?
“The Woodsboro Senior, captain of the football team, Scott Anderson, was found butchered, gutted, in the early hours of this morning. This brutal murder can now be reasonably placed in correlation to the murders of two Woodsboro girls who had been killed just days prior.”
A female newscaster’s voice spoke from somewhere behind you as you pushed your way through the growing crowd that had formed outside of the school.
“It is now more apparent than ever that Ghostface has returned to Woodsboro. Their clear motive is still unavailable at this time.” The newscaster continued as you moved just out of earshot.
It was undeniable now; you had tired your very hardest until this point to deny it.
You dropped your things onto the floor beside your first period desk.
You couldn’t pay any attention to the surrounding students, to Kirby, or Jill.
You didn’t know what you needed, didn’t know what to do. You sat paralyzed until the first bell rang out around you.
You couldn’t get the image out of your head. The newscaster’s words buzzed in your mind. ‘Gutted.’ ‘Butchered.’
You gripped the corners of your desk with white knuckles, watching the clock tick onwards as the pit grew in your stomach.
You did your best to hold it all together until the feeling of nausea sent you up from your desk before the class was even dismissed.
You ran to the bathroom towards the end of the hall, falling to your knees in the stall, letting the contents of your stomach fall from you like loose change in your pockets.
After you spent minutes dry heaving above the toilet, you sat back against the cool tiled walls, pulling your knees into your chest.
You were sick.
So sick.
But it wasn’t the thought of Scotty begging for his life, or the thought of his insides turned outwards that caused this feeling alone.
It was the fact that the thought of all of this brought you so much relief, alongside a feeling of twisted vindication. You were quick up onto your knees again, retching.
You sat there on the bathroom floor until well into second period.
You forced the thoughts away, trying your best to clear your mind. Anderson was gone. There was a serial killer somewhere close whose motives and next course of action were completely unknown. There was nothing you could do about any of it besides pull yourself up and be strong.
You were standing in front of the bathroom mirror, rinsing your mouth out thoroughly when you heard your phone buzz in your back pocket.
You used your elbow to wipe your face in lieu of a paper towel and reached for your phone.
A message from Irina appeared. “The earliest I could change my flight was for Sunday morning. Less than two days, love, I’ll be home soon.”
You cleared your throat, typing your response. “Okay, I’ll be okay.”
You were sure you must be okay. Your aunt would be home within the next few days. And maybe you wouldn’t have to spend the nights alone. You could always invite Charlie to stay again. Charlie-
How could you have not spoken to him yet today?
You couldn’t bring yourself to ask him to stay again last night. You knew he had things to attend to in the home he was responsible for. He hadn’t pushed to stay either, you had assumed he also did not want to overstay his welcome. There was no welcome he could possibly overstay with you, but you knew he was trying to be respectful.
But, with another murder, you were certain you’d both finally be on the same page that it wasn’t smart or safe for either of you to be alone.
You went to call Charlie but immediately ended it after the first ringer tone played through.
‘Idiot.’ You murmured to yourself. He was surely still in class, just like the rest of the student body, unlike you were.
You looked yourself over in the mirror. Your eyes were bloodshot, skin sallow and pale from the episode you had just pushed through. This wasn’t a good look for anybody.
If there were any day to just go home and lock the doors behind you, it was this one.
You fixed yourself as best as you could, adjusting the hemline of your shirt, splashing cool water over your warm face once more.
You pulled out your phone again to send Charlie a message before exiting the bathroom.
“I’m going home for the day. Not feeling well, please let me know if you’re okay. Call me after school.”
You sent the message, shoving your phone back into your pocket and pushing open the bathroom door.
The hallways were a cruel and cold sort of empty. You kept your eyes glued to the ground, kept your body close to the lockers that lined the walls.
All you could hear was the dull hum of the fluorescent lighting above as you rounded the corner that led to the exit of the building, until-
Familiar voices reached your ears before you could make out the words they were saying. You spotted the familiar frame of Jill’s back towards you. She was speaking to someone in a small nook in the hallway. It wasn’t until you were nearly right beside Jill that you made out who she was speaking to-
“No, no. I’m done Jill.” Such a familiar voice. Even though hushed and barely audible, you could’ve recognized it anywhere. “Please.” It was Charlie.
Your heart skipped into your throat as you caught his line of sight.
His eyes were deep red, black circles laced tearfully under his waterline.
You couldn’t have spoken up if you had found the words.
He immediately stiffened as he realized you were passing by in front of him, as though you were the last possible person he could’ve expected to see.
You must’ve only held his gaze for a second. A minute.
You couldn’t have been sure.
Jill’s head snapped back to face you as your hands met the school entrance’s steel handles. Her expression overflowed with sickly venom.
Click.
You were out of the school within a second.
‘Done?’ Done with what?
Your head felt as though it had been crushed and spun by a mallet.
What could that have possibly meant?
You had no idea they even spoke to each other anymore. Charlie had made it seem as though they hadn’t kept in contact in years. And what could he have meant by ‘done?’
Your feet carried you forward mechanically, left-right-left-right.
You weren’t sure why your eyes were welling with tears.
You could hear your name being called out from somewhere behind you.
Click.
You slammed your car door behind you, peeling out of the parking lot as quickly as you could possibly have had.
What could he possibly have been speaking about with her?
The thought of it nearly sent you spiraling again. It’d be a lie to say that you hadn’t almost had to pull over a number of times to empty your stomach all over again.
Was he seeing her? Was he telling her that he was done, done with whatever relationship they had formed?
You knew they weren’t friends. You would’ve seen them talking more, he would’ve mentioned it if that were true.
You slammed your front door behind you, stumbling up the steps to your bedroom.
It was just too much. You needed a second, a single second, to just pretend that this day had never happened.
Your phone began to ring, over and over and over again.
You knew who it must’ve been without checking the Caller ID.
You’d call him back later, you just needed a minute to try to sort this all out.
You turned off your phone, curling up in your bed below you, rocking yourself to dispel the thoughts of the day.
You weren’t sure when you had eventually drifted off into a sickly and disturbing daytime slumber.
In your dreams, you stood above Anderson’s body. You watched intently as he cowered in fear below you.
There was something sick there. Something that built and consumed you.
You had all of the control.
It was power.
There was a sudden sense of starvation for it as you thought back to the horrible things Scotty had said and done to you.
The twist of the blade in his stomach, the smile you felt on your face as you cut him again, and again.
A familiar coo could be heard behind you, somewhere in the distance. The voice praised you, instructed you on how to twist the hilt of your knife.
The familiar figure grew warm, traced its hands along your waist as you slashed the man who had previously made you feel so weak and powerless.
“Just like that doll, so perfect.” Charlie whispered behind you, urging you to turn and face him as your knife caught in Anderson’s chest.
You let the handle go, face contorting in pleasure as you watched Anderson’s breathing grow shallow.
You turned to face Charlie then, turned to return the kisses he placed gently alongside your neck. It was bliss.
You had never felt so strong as he carefully guided you and urged you on. You had never felt so safe and protected as you had in that moment. It was real to you. It was so incredibly real.
Click.
You shot up in bed. Chest heaving, hands grasping at your throat to try to catch your breath as the dream you had just had replayed itself over quickly in your mind. You were drenched in sweat; the room spun and shrunk around you.
The sun had set, you couldn’t have possibly made an accurate guess at the time.
You brought your hands down in front of you, your fingers trembled as you searched for blood you knew realistically could not be there under the dim lighting of the lamp on your desk.
You sat there for a moment, eyes glued to the ceiling, adjusting in the dark. A burn in your throat sent you carefully out of bed.
It seemed as though every sound was amplified as you crept to your bathroom down the hall.
You tore out of your damp clothing that clung and suffocated you, dropping it all in a disregarded pile on the tile flooring. You turned on the shower faucet, allowing the water to cool as much as possible.
You stood under the steady stream. The icy water was a needed comfort. You held your mouth open, swallowing the water until it made your stomach heavy.
You nearly fell back against the shower floor, pulling your knees into your chest again, letting the frigid water shock away any horrible thoughts that could cling to your mind.
After an indescribable amount of time had passed, you worked slowly, lathering soap across your body and through your hair. Your nails scraped and scratched across your skin in the process.
After getting yourself together as best as you could manage, you made your way back into bed.
You grabbed your phone, knowing it was time to face Charlie. You weren’t sure what you would say to him, he had left you more missed calls and text messages than you could easily count.
The phone rang, rang, and continued to ring until you were sent to his voicemail box.
You pulled the phone away from your face, ending the call. ‘Strange.’ You hummed to yourself.
You called him back again. You were met by his voice mail, again.
Your fingers hovered over your keyboard as you thought up what to say.
“I don’t know what’s going on, but I am ready to talk. Please call me back ASAP.”
You sighed, setting your phone back down on your chest.
The house was so quiet, you could make out the distinct sound of the crickets outside. The noise of your stomach groaning in hunger was quick to fill the air. You pushed yourself up and out of bed, sliding your phone into the waistband of the shorts you had put on after your shower.
There was no point in waiting around, starving, for Charlie to get back to you. You prayed that this was all just a simple misunderstanding, something he could easily explain. You refused to let yourself dwell on any other explanation.
You just hoped he’d get back to you quickly, the thought of going to bed tonight entirely alone after yet another murder sent a chill up your spine, made the dread build up inside you.
You rounded the top landing of the staircase, the far-off dim lighting of the kitchen illuminated your way down the steps.
You had just nearly come into view of the entryway when your heart skipped up into your throat.
The front door was opened just a sliver of the way, just enough so that you wouldn’t have noticed it if you hadn't been paying careful attention.
You froze immediately, all of your senses heightened at once as you tried to steady and conceal your breathing.
You could’ve sworn you had closed it on your way in.
A terrible thought hit you then. Had you forgotten to lock it in your hurried daze to find some semblance of solace in your bedroom?
You listened as hard as you could for any sound that seemed out of place, searched for anything else that seemed out of the ordinary.
You weren’t sure how long you stood there in silence. You debated running back up into your bedroom, debated making a run for the front door.
But if someone would have come in… you would have heard them, surely, right?
Right?
You took an unsteady step forward, wincing as you heard the step creak below you.
“Hell- hello.” You called out, cleaning your throat.
You waited for another moment for a response.
“If there’s someone here, show yourself.” You took another step forward until you reached the entryway, your eyes quickly darted around as you reached for a candleholder that sat on the entryway table.
Nothing.
Complete and total silence.
After another moment, you sighed in relief, placing the candle holder back on the table and hurriedly shutting the door the rest of the way. You made sure to slide the lock shut this time.
You must not have closed the door like you believed you had. You scolded yourself for being so reckless. You had to be more careful than this.
Your stomach was still in knots as you made your way towards the kitchen. You were just on edge, that was all.
Click.
You processed the feeling of your phone slipping from your waistband and the sound it made falling to the floor and just out of reach before you processed the sudden overbearing feeling of a figure pressed up behind you.
You processed the feeling of a heavy and strong arm draped around and in front of your chest, holding you in place tightly and without room to writhe away before you noticed the sharp, nearly piercing, cold blade against your neck.
Silence.
This couldn’t be happening.
A thousand thoughts seemed to pass through your mind in an instant.
This was it.
It was all over.
You imagined Irina coming home to find your lifeless body in the hallway beside the living room, the room where you had shared so many of your most precious memories with her.
You imagined Kirby’s reaction when she learned the news of your passing.
Imagined how this would make Charlie feel-
Charlie…
Oh God, you would never see his face again; be in his arms again. You said a silent prayer that he wouldn’t hold himself responsible for any of this. You wished you wouldn’t have ignored his calls earlier in the day, you wished more than anything that his last memories of you alive would have been of something good. It all seemed so meaningless now.
You wished you could have just told him you loved him one last time.
You were truly just so grateful in that moment that he was not there, that he would not have to face the same fate you were about to.
Your eyes welled over with tears, the surrounding air had long been sucked away. You were standing in an empty vacuum of time and space.
The fear you held was quickly consumed by resignation and peace. There would be no fighting your way out of this.
You sucked in what you assumed would be your final breath. The first tear slipped down your face, you waited, waited for the searing pain that was bound to come.
Only it never came at all. The grip around you tightened incrementally, if only for a second longer, before disappearing all together.
You heard a heavy thud behind you as the assailant fell to their knees.
You coughed and sputtered as you realized what had just happened. You scrambled for the knife that laid in front of you, your adrenaline now kicking into high gear.
You held up the knife and spun to face the masked figure that knelt in front of you.
You watched with shaking hands and blurred vision as a dark gloved hand came up to rip off the Ghostface mask to be thrown across the hall.
The sight that unfolded in front of you was more horrible than anything you could have prepared yourself for.
“No…” Your voice cracked on your words.
Charlie sat before you. The tears streaked down his face in a constant stream, his hands grabbed through his hair before falling back at his sides in resignation.
“I can’t do it, fuck I can’t do this.” He spoke more to himself than you. It nearly seemed as though he was begging you to do something, anything.
You couldn’t even begin to process the emotions that took hold of you at that moment.
Charlie went to move closer to you, you instinctively held the blade tighter pointed towards him in response.
He looked so incredibly pained by your movements.
“Get the fuck away from me.” You spat between broken breaths.
Charlie Walker was the murderer who terrorized Woodsboro. And what was worse, you had trusted him. You loved him. Loved a killer.
And now he was here, to hurt you. To kill you. In a single instant, he had destroyed every shred of faith you had in him.
The entire rug of reality was swept from underneath your feet in one swift motion.
He shifted backwards, putting more space between you in some sort of offer of comfort.
He raised his hands above his head, grimacing as he watched you flinch.
“Please, you have to kill me. Please, I can’t hurt you. I can’t do this anymore. I’m begging you.” Charlie’s voice was just above a whisper. You could tell he was trying to hold it together as best as possible. He was failing miserably.
The entire room seemed to tilt and turn upside down and back again at his words.
What did he mean by this? Kill him? He had come here to kill you.
The sincerity in his tone and expression as he softly pleaded with you over and over broke you completely apart again.
Could you do it? Could you really kill him?
Your grip on the knife faltered for a moment as you looked him over.
“What are you talking about, Charlie?” You begged, you wished he could give you some sort of explanation for all of this.
He shook his head violently, you could tell each second that passed brought him even more pain.
“I couldn’t let her do it. I couldn’t…” He continued, catching on his own words.
“Her?” Your eyes were wild now, your mind worked at breakneck speed, trying to puzzle this all together.
“She didn’t give me a choice, she decided you had to be next. I couldn’t let her… If she would have been the one to get her hands on you,” Charlie continued, seemingly ignoring your question. “I thought I could at least make it painless, take away any of your suffering. But I can’t, it has to be me. If you kill me, there will be too many eyes on you. There won’t be any way she could touch you then. You’d be safe.” He spoke in rapid succession.
It hit you then, Jill’s expression earlier that day in the hallway, the conversation you had overheard, the both of their absences that night of the party when the first murders had taken place.
Clang.
The knife slipped from your hands as you went nearly completely slack at the realization.
Jill and Charlie, working together, murdering together. She had decided you were to be their next kill.
“With Jill?” Your lip quivered at the question. He nodded, you already knew the answer.
You dropped to your knees in front of Charlie.
Your vision went in and out, dark and light splotches clouded your line of sight. You could barely make out Charlie’s figure or voice just in front of you.
This couldn’t be happening.
“I didn’t have time to plan, I would’ve gotten you to safety. I would’ve turned myself in. I had no choice but to come tonight, come when I did. She thinks I’ve told you something, that you know something about all of this. She decided today, she would’ve come if I hadn’t begged her to be the one to do it instead. All I could think about was keeping you out of as much pain as I could.”
You could hardly understand what he was saying. He took a deep breath, steadying himself before continuing.
He wiped away at his tears, composing himself before speaking again. “But now I see. You have to be the one to kill me, she’ll let you go then. She’ll have to.”
“No…” You murmured. How could you bring yourself to do something so horrible?
How could he have been involved in these crimes? The man in front of you now seemed entirely transformed from the sweet boy you once imagined.
You thought back though, carefully, on the story about his father, that night he had stepped in between you and Anderson. You had so many questions; it was right in front of you all this time.
“Please, doll. You have to do it.” He was growing increasingly desperate.
You shook your head again. If he were truly just a monster, truly just began all of this because it was something he wanted to do; then maybe you could choose your life over his own. There had to be more than this, though. There had to be a reason behind this all.
“How did this all begin, Charlie? I mean, was any part of you that you’ve shown me even real? If you tell me the truth…” you paused for a moment, swallowing hard, eyes flicking between the discarded blade and Charlie’s gaze. “I’ll do what you want.”
He took a deep breath, nodding, easing back a bit more.
You tried to keep yourself as composed as you could possibly manage in that moment. You made sure to settle on your knees with easy access to the blade if you needed it at any time. Something in his expression calmed your nerves, even if only slightly.
If he had complete intentions of harming you, he would have done so when he had total control, right? You could allow him to explain all of this.
He cleared his throat before speaking. “I just want you to know that this, us, is real. I do love you. I’ve always meant that.”
You bit your lip hard, nodding, urging him to continue.
“The story about my father was true. I did murder him to save my mother and I. Jill was the only one who knew, and she…” He paused for a moment, eyes dropping to the ground. “We lost contact after everything had transpired years ago. It wasn’t until this summer that she approached me, told me her plan.”
“What plan, Charlie?” You were trying your hardest to process and retain all the information he was sharing with you.
He inhaled deeply. “I’m sure you know by now who her aunt is.”
You nodded yes, Sidney Prescott. But wouldn’t her relation to Sidney make her a likely victim of all of this? How could she resort to perpetuating a nightmare her aunt had survived years ago?
As though Charlie understood your confusion without having to voice it, he continued. “She is tired of living in her aunt’s shadow. She wanted the fame. She wanted to be the perfect victim.”
You felt your face twist in disgust and horror.
“And you… you’re doing this to help her… become famous? Are you doing this because you want the fame too?” Your voice raised as you questioned him. You subconsciously shifted closer to the knife.
Charlie looked devastated at your words, as though he felt entirely ashamed that you could assume so low of him.
He shook his head vehemently. “No, no. Not at all. When she first told me her plan, I laughed in her face. I didn’t think she was serious. But she- she grew angry, told me I didn’t have any other option but to help her in all of this.”
“What do you mean? You didn’t have a choice?” You questioned him, not fully believing what he was telling you. He had to have had some other option than to resort to planned murder.
“What I didn’t know before all of this, she had recorded the phone call I had made to her after my father’s death. She had proof that I had planned to do it. She said if helped her, she would delete the evidence. When I told her no again, told her I’d rather turn myself in…” the tears began to run down his face again. “She threatened my mother, and I knew she meant it.”
You sat in stunned silence. How could she be so cruel? So calculating? She would’ve turned him in if he refused, then with him behind bars she would’ve murdered his own mother. You wouldn’t have ever imagined her capable of this.
You weren’t sure why you trusted Charlie at this moment, but you believed him, wholeheartedly.
“That was months ago now, when the school year started, I still had hope that she would let this all go. But she only grew more obsessive. I should’ve known better. I should’ve stayed away from you. I almost didn’t go through with those first murders that night of the party, but…”
He held your gaze intently, you hadn’t realized just how long you’d been holding your breath.
“But what, Charlie?” You knew the answer already.
“She threatened you.” His voice cracked on his last word.
“She promised me that you’d be safe through all of this. She promised me that you would be off limits.”
He couldn’t stop himself from grabbing you in his arms then, pulling you closer to his chest. You shivered at his touch, only you couldn’t pull away, couldn’t bring yourself to love an inch away from him.
“I’m so sorry, I know you’ll never be able to forgive me, never be able to remember me the same way. I’m so, so sorry. I love you more than life itself, and I’m the reason you were ever in any danger at all.”
You were in shock, complete and utter shock. You knew something had been going on with him. You had no idea how much he was hurting, how much he was carrying. He’d done this all to protect his mother, he’d done this all for you.
And now…? It couldn’t all be for nothing. It couldn’t end like this. That evil, manipulating bitch has used and abused Charlie into nothingness with complete disregard.
You knew he meant what he said, could read him like a book. He would never hurt you, would choose your own life and well-being over even his peace of mind. She destroyed your sweet boy, used his most traumatic experiences against him to bend him to her will, knowing he’d comply for the people he loved.
Your hurt and terror and confusion was slowly but surely bubbling up into something dark, something you had never felt before. It was rage, murderous rage.
Your face contorted, the tears that streaked your face grew hot against your skin and dried completely.
You pulled away from Charlie, holding both of his shoulders in your hands. Your face was just inches in front of his own.
“We have to end this.” You spoke with more determination than you had ever spoken with before.
Your expression was drawn in shrewd control as your growing plan developed in your thoughts. Your solution and way out was decided at that moment.
Charlie seemed equally surprised and confused by both your sudden actions and words.
“What do you mean?” He asked, trying to steady his voice to meet your focus. You could tell your idea had not yet been thought up by him.
Your lips twitched upwards cruelly, as if you were about to recite some sick joke. “We have to kill her, Charlie.”
He shook his head, eyes widening in disbelief. “No, no. If we both live tonight, she will know for certain that you know. You will be in even more danger, I’m the one who has to die.”
Your smile widened. You could both come out of this. You knew you found your only other option.
“No, see,” you grabbed the blade in one hand while forcing the hilt into Charlie’s grasps with the other. He seemed in pain to even be holding it. “If you just make it look like you tried, like you tried to kill me, she won’t suspect anything. It’ll at least buy us time, Charlie, to figure out a real plan.”
He looked at you in disbelief, the disbelief was quickly overshadowed by realization as you gently guided his hand upwards until the tip of the knife pressed against the small space below your shoulder.
“No, baby, I can’t hurt you.” He was so sincere, so gentle.
You would need time to process this, need time to heal. But at this very moment, neither of you had the gift of another option that didn’t result in certain death and time was ticking by.
He had done so much for you, because he loved you.
It was your turn to return the favor. You would do this because you loved him, you would truly die for him, die to bring some safety and peace back into his life.
“Please, if you help, just here,” you shoved the knife forwards a bit until it just pierced your skin through your t-shirt. You both winced at the contact. “It will be done and over quickly. I’ll phone the police as soon as you leave.”
You tried your best to be convincing that this plan would work.
He knew this was the only way, completely hated himself for it all. You could read it all in his expression. If he took your place here, it would be too obvious that he was involved.
You wrapped both hands around his own and held the blade even tighter. He needed the reassurance more than you did.
“I’ll be okay, I promise. No vital organs here.” You tried to laugh, giving him a sorrowful half smile.
His lip quivered, eyes darting between you and the blade quickly before landing steadily and softly on your face.
You leaned forward, pressing your lips against his own. The kiss was so incredibly gentle, it was the kind you knew you’d never experience again.
He kissed you back, running his free hand gently over the back of your head.
“I love you Charlie.” You whispered, inching forward even closer.
“I love you, more than life itself.” He replied earnestly.
With that, you pushed his hands forward with all your might.
White, scalding, blinding pain.
You couldn’t hold back the throat tearing scream that escaped from between your lips.
Charlie removed the blade quickly as your hands fell to your sides.
He recited a string of obscenities and ‘I love you’s’ as he took such gentle care to lower you to the ground.
He stood, you could barely focus on his frame in front of you.
He knelt down one more time, kissing across your lips and face. “I’ll meet you at the hospital.”
He wouldn’t let go, you knew this was killing him. It was killing you.
“Go, I’ll be okay.” You stated as firmly as possible, time was of the essence.
His lip quivered as he stepped back, quickly grabbing his discarded mask and blade.
You reached for your phone that laid right beside your fingertips and dialed the numbers 911. You could hardly bring yourself to answer the operator’s questions. You pressed your hands tightly to the wound as your vision came in and out in darkening waves.
You willed your eyes open to watch Charlie walk out of the home through the front door until he disappeared, closing it behind him.
The last thing you could recall before slipping into unconsciousness was the familiar blare of sirens and flashing lights coming through the bay window.
You could only pray that this plan would be enough, even just for now, even just to buy some time, to ensure safety.
It just had to be enough.
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