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minhosbitterriver · 10 months ago

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──── * ˚ ✦ ECHOES OF US ( stray kids )

❛ After a painful breakup, you and Jeongin struggle to maintain a civil front for your mutual friends, but when he accidentally calls you by your old pet name, unresolved emotions resurface, forcing you both to confront the lingering feelings between you.

𝐲𝐚𝐧𝐠 𝐣𝐞𝐨𝐧𝐠𝐢𝐧 + gender neutral reader ೯ ( 𝐡𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐜𝐚𝐧𝐨𝐧𝐬 )

𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐝 𝐜𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐭: 12.6k 𝐞𝐬𝐭𝐢𝐦𝐚𝐭𝐞𝐝 𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐭𝐢𝐦𝐞: 50 mins

꒰ 💌 ꒱ ミ Say hello to my very first long-fic! It took me an eternity to get this done, but I'm actually very proud of how it turned out! Also, my very rough draft for this was accidentally posted a few days ago, so if you saw that...no you didn't! This was anonymously requested! (Anon, I'm sorry it took me a hot minute to finally finish this, but I hope I made up for it with how long it ended up being 🫠) Reblogs for this teaser are always appreciated! Requests are currently open! ── ( 𝐥𝐢𝐛𝐫𝐚𝐫𝐲 )

𝐜𝐨𝐧𝐭𝐞𝐧𝐭 𝐰𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬: Mentions of sibling death and grief, very brief mention of a dysfunctional home, use of they-them pronouns for Y/N, brief explanation of sibling death, Y/N's sibling has their own name, mentions of being abandoned, heartbreak, awkward re-encounter after almost a year, discussions on mental health, a whole lot of angst, comforting ending, let me know if I missed anything!

( 𝐠𝐮𝐢𝐝𝐞𝐥𝐢𝐧𝐞𝐬 ) ( 𝐭𝐚𝐠𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭 & 𝐚𝐧𝐨𝐧𝐬 ) ( 𝐫𝐞𝐪𝐮𝐞𝐬𝐭 𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭 ) ( 𝐭𝐢𝐩 𝐣𝐚𝐫 )

When Jeongin stepped through the door he had once shared with you, a sense of dread already coiled tightly around his heart, squeezing with every breath. He knew you'd kept your promise to move out by the end of the week, but the reality of it hit harder than he could have imagined. The front hallway, once cluttered with a chaotic jumble of shoes that you always left haphazardly by the entrance, now stood painfully bare, save for his own neatly aligned row of frequently worn sneakers. The absence of your presence echoed louder than any argument ever had, and suddenly he found himself longing for those moments of trivial annoyance—wishing, with a deep, aching desire, that he could quarrel with you about it just once more.

He kicked off his sneakers, setting them carefully amongst the rest of his now lonely footwear. For a moment, he stood there, hesitant, almost willing to call out your name, hoping against hope that you might answer from the bedroom or kitchen, your voice cutting through the oppressive silence that now smothered the apartment. But he knew better. He moved forward with heavy steps, not even bothering to put on his house slippers. The silence that greeted him as he wandered further inside was a deafening reminder of what he had lost. You were gone, and with you, the vibrant energy that had once filled these walls had vanished too.

The living room—once a collage of your combined tastes—was now stripped of the personal touches that made it home. The furniture remained, the couch where you both had laughed and argued, the coffee table marked with rings from careless mugs of tea during lazy mornings. Yet, all the little decorations, the framed art you insisted on hanging, the plants you’d tried so hard to keep alive—they had all disappeared with you. The emptiness was jarring, like a canvas half-painted and abruptly abandoned, leaving every wall and surface barren, the once warm and cozy atmosphere now reduced to a cold, unfamiliar space.

By the time Jeongin reached the bedroom, the last thread of his fragile composure snapped. The bed—where countless memories had been woven—was stripped down to its bare mattress, the sheets gone. The framed photographs of the two of you were turned face down on the bedside table, as if you couldn’t bear to look at them one last time. His eyes moved to the corner where your ridiculously large collection of stuffed animals had once spilled over, crowding half of the bed. That too was empty now. An overwhelming wave of loss washed over him, dragging him to his knees.

Jeongin's breath came out in shaky gasps as he looked around the hollow shell of what had been your shared sanctuary. You were truly gone. Though he had been the one to end things between you, a decision made in a moment of confusion and pride, he was still hopelessly, painfully in love with you. The realization of his own foolishness crashed over him with unbearable weight, suffocating him in the silence that was once filled with your laughter, your presence, and your love.

Jeongin couldn’t summon a shred of resentment toward you, even if he tried. He understood, all too painfully, that everything that had unraveled between you over the past year was nothing but a sorrowful consequence of your grief. You had once been a soul overflowing with light, always searching for the silver lining amidst the clouds, a spirit who could find a glimmer of hope even in the darkest of times. You, who would often conspire with his mischievous best friend, Seungmin, forming a relentless duo to tease him until he’d feign a pout, forcing you to shower him with kisses until he laughed again. You, who came home every evening brimming with stories about the children you counseled at the school, your eyes alight with passion and care for each of them. All that Jeongin had loved so deeply about you seemed to have been buried alongside your sister, Nari, and this loss was a truth he still grappled with, even now.

As he crawled onto the empty, cold bed that had once been a warm sanctuary for both of you, Jeongin curled into himself, his body folding inward as if trying to shield himself from the harsh reality. His sobs came in ragged waves, tearing through him so violently that he trembled, his breath hitching with each shaky inhale. He missed you more than words could convey—he missed everything about you. The sound of your laughter echoed in his mind like a haunting melody, its tones shifting with your moods: soft and lyrical when merely amused, and loud, unrestrained when joy truly overwhelmed you. He missed those sounds, the ones that used to fill this now desolate space with life and love.

He missed the lazy afternoons you'd spend together, brainstorming new exercises for his music therapy sessions. Those moments would often devolve into impromptu concerts, filled with your carefree, barefoot dancing across the living room floor and his voice following your lead, blending into a harmony of shared happiness. It was in those moments that everything felt right in the world, where nothing existed but the two of you, lost in your own little universe of melodies and movements. He missed those afternoons like one misses the warmth of the sun after too many days of rain.

He missed teasing you in those quiet moments when you were deeply focused, often catching you sticking your tongue out ever so slightly—a quirk of concentration that never failed to endear him. He’d gently pinch it between his fingers, earning himself a mildly exasperated huff as you’d swat his hand away. But he knew that a smile would inevitably creep up on your lips, and you’d turn away to hide it, cheeks flushing with a mix of amusement and affection. It was the kind of simple, tender moment that spoke volumes about the depth of your bond, a bond that now felt irreparably severed.

Every corner of this home whispered memories of you, and he was haunted by them all—the good, the bad, the ones that made him laugh, and especially those that made him cry. Your absence left a void that nothing could fill, a hollow silence where there had once been laughter and love. And even though he knew it was your grief that had driven a wedge between you, he couldn’t help but wish he could find a way back to you, to the person you used to be, and to the love that once made him feel whole.

The night that shattered your world was meant to be a day of celebration: your younger sister Nari’s high school graduation. Jeongin could still see you in his mind's eye that morning, almost vibrating with pure, uncontainable joy. Your eyes were bright, brimming with excitement, and your smile—so wide and beautiful—tugged at his heart each time it graced your lips. Nari was the center of your universe, your pride, your joy, your true soulmate in a world that often felt uncertain and cold. You had been more than just a sister to her; you had been her guardian, her comforter, her everything. You were the one who took on the weight of raising her through the chaotic turmoil of your parents' messy divorce, providing stability where there was none.

Jeongin could recall countless times Nari would recount how you shielded her from the constant, venomous arguments that echoed through your childhood home. Despite your own young age, you found ways to distract her, to pull her out of the chaos—whether it was with whispered jokes or made-up games that filled her mind with something brighter than the screaming. To Nari, you were a star, someone who had hung the moon just for her. She often spoke with a mix of awe and adoration about the afternoons you both spent sneaking into the little ice cream shop on the way home from school, spending hours laughing over melting cones until you were sure your mother had left for work.

Jeongin also remembered the quiet, tender moments he would witness after you had graduated and moved out. Nights when Nari would sleep over, curled up beside you, as if you were her very own safe haven in a world that could be so unforgiving. There was a beauty in how you held her close, how you seemed to provide her with an anchor when everything else felt adrift. Yet, no relationship, no matter how deeply cherished, is without its storms. For as vividly as Jeongin could remember the soft, loving moments, he could just as clearly recall the bitter weeks leading up to Nari's graduation—weeks marked by harsh words and heated arguments.

You and Nari shared many things—your fierce loyalty, your protective instincts—but perhaps most notably, the sharp edge of your words. When tempers flared, both of you possessed a mercilessly cutting tongue that could lash out with a force that left deep, stinging wounds. Jeongin hated those fights, hated the cruel things you would shout at each other in the heat of the moment, words that cut so deeply and yet meant nothing once the anger faded. The conflict had started when Nari began dating an older guy who had already graduated. Neither you nor Jeongin liked him, sensing the danger in his recklessness, his penchant for illegal activities that threatened to drag your sister down a path she wasn't prepared for. But Nari, stubborn and convinced she had found the love of her life, refused to listen. The tension between you both grew unbearable, each argument driving another wedge between you and your beloved sister, and Jeongin could do nothing but stand helplessly on the sidelines, watching as she slowly pushed you away.

The real fracture came on what should have been a night of celebration. Nari was supposed to have dinner with you and Jeongin to celebrate her graduation. She promised to meet you both, to share in the joy of her achievement, but instead, she turned off her phone and ran off with her boyfriend to a party that everyone knew would be dangerous. For hours, you and Jeongin called and texted, reaching out to everyone who might have known where she was, each unanswered ring heightening the tension, every minute stretching into a painful eternity.

And then, the call came—the one that brought your entire world crashing down. Nari had been found dead inside her boyfriend’s car. Both were intoxicated when he decided to drive, his recklessness steering them straight into a tree. The impact killed them both instantly.

Jeongin would never forget the sound that tore through you in that moment, a wail of agony so deep and raw it seemed to shatter the very air around you. It was a sound that would forever echo in his heart, a haunting melody of a love lost too soon and a pain that could never be soothed.

The piercing sound of Jeongin's phone ringing in his back pocket cut through the thick, oppressive fog of memories that had been drowning him ever since he stepped into the cold, empty apartment that was once alive with the warmth of your shared moments. His body still trembled with the aftershocks of his own heartbreak, his face still wet with a cascade of tears that seemed endless. For a moment, he considered ignoring it, letting it fade away into the void of everything else that felt lost to him. But something compelled him to move, to reach into his pocket and pull out his phone. The screen flashed with a name: Chan.

Jeongin’s first instinct was to let it ring out. He wasn’t sure he could bear the gentle, pity-laden concern he knew he would hear in Chan’s voice. The idea of facing someone else’s worry, of being forced to articulate the emptiness clawing at his chest, felt like too much. But he also knew that Chan wasn’t just calling for the sake of it—he was worried. Maybe that thought, the notion that someone still cared enough to reach out, was what finally convinced Jeongin to answer. With a shaky breath, he pressed the phone to his ear.

“Yes?” His voice came out rough and broken, as if he’d swallowed shards of glass, a hoarse rasp that even he barely recognized. On the other end, there was a sharp intake of breath, a small hitch that spoke volumes, followed by the sound of Chan clearing his throat in that awkward, nervous way he had when he didn’t know how to approach a delicate subject.

“Hey, how are you holding up?” Chan’s voice was gentle, tentative, as if afraid that anything more might cause Jeongin to shatter completely. The simple question, so innocuous yet loaded with care, brought fresh tears to Jeongin’s eyes. He swallowed thickly, trying to keep his composure, not wanting to add more weight to Chan’s worry.

“As well as I can be...everything is gone.” The words felt heavy on his tongue, sinking like stones into the silence that followed. There was a sigh on the other end, deep and empathetic, filled with an understanding that was both comforting and unbearable.

“I’ll stop by later, yeah?” Chan’s offer came with a note of encouragement, trying to lift the heavy blanket of despair. “I can bring Minho so he can cook you some food, and we can figure out what comes next.” There was kindness in his words, an attempt to pull Jeongin from the pit he’d found himself in, but the weight pressing on Jeongin’s chest didn’t budge, didn’t ease in the slightest.

“Maybe another time, Channie, thank you,” Jeongin murmured, his voice carrying the exhaustion of someone who had been running a losing race against his own emotions. “I think I just need a few days alone.” The silence that stretched between them after was telling, thick with Chan’s unspoken disapproval. Jeongin could almost see the frown on his friend’s face, the way he’d be chewing on his lip, holding back what he really wanted to say.

Eventually, Chan spoke again, his tone carefully measured, almost as if he were walking on eggshells. “Right. Um, hey...Felix wanted to pay Y/N a visit to make sure everything’s alright and to help with the moving. The problem is, none of us really know where they moved, and we thought that maybe they might’ve told you or something?”

The mention of your name was like a punch to the gut, a sharp twist of the knife that had already been embedded in his heart. Jeongin’s breath caught, and he could feel his throat tightening, the sting of tears threatening to spill over once more. He squeezed his eyes shut, willing himself to stay composed, to not break apart all over again.

“No,” he sighed after a moment, rolling onto his back and staring up at the empty, featureless ceiling that seemed to stretch on like an abyss. “I thought you guys would’ve known... but maybe Y/N needs some time alone for a while too. I’m sure they’ll call when they’re ready.”

The words felt hollow, a brittle hope that tasted more like ash on his tongue, but it was all he could offer. And in the silence that followed, Jeongin could only listen to the faint sound of Chan’s breathing, the weight of their shared helplessness settling in like a cold, unwelcome presence in the room.

Jeongin had clung to a fragile hope that, in time, you would reach out to the circle of friends who had once been your shared lifeline. He never imagined that you would confide in him directly—he knew all too well that the pain of his departure still festered like an open wound. You had made it painfully clear how much you resented him for breaking things off when you needed him most. He could still hear your voice, raw with anger and hurt, echoing in his mind as you stormed out of the apartment for the last time.

But never in his darkest nightmares had he expected you to vanish completely, as if swallowed by the earth itself. There wasn't even a whisper of your whereabouts, not the faintest trace left behind to hint at where you might have gone. It was as if you had been erased from existence. When you left, you didn't just walk out of Jeongin's life—you walked away from everything that had tied you to this place. You resigned from your job as a school counselor, the one located just a short distance from Jeongin’s apartment where you had once found solace in guiding young lives through their own turmoil. Your phone number had changed, your social media accounts lay abandoned and untouched, gathering digital dust like forgotten relics of a past life.

For what felt like an eternity, each member of your once tightly-knit group of friends wore the weight of worry like a second skin, tirelessly searching for any sign of you, some confirmation that you were still out there, somewhere, still breathing. Nights were spent in hushed conversations and whispered theories, each one more desperate than the last, wondering if you were even alive. The silence you left in your wake was deafening, a void that consumed every bit of hope they tried to hold onto.

Yet, as the months dragged on and there was still no word—no signal, no letter, not even a single fleeting message—Jeongin and the others were forced to confront a harsh new reality. The absence of your presence became a palpable thing, a hollow emptiness that settled in their chests. Slowly, reluctantly, they began to understand that they might never see you again. And in that painful understanding, they had no choice but to piece together their broken hearts and try, however feebly, to move forward.

But even as they moved on, a part of Jeongin remained anchored in that lingering silence, waiting for the day it would finally break.

✦•······················•✦•······················•✦

Eight months had passed since you vanished without a word, leaving behind a void that swallowed everything and everyone you once knew. Jeongin found himself seated on a low stool in the center of his sunlit office, a space designed to cradle broken spirits. The room was filled with warmth, the soft, earth-toned walls bathed in a gentle, golden glow that made it feel like a sanctuary amidst the chaos. Around him, cushions were scattered like islands of comfort, and the soft hum of a guitar rested against his body, its strings vibrating gently with each subtle shift of his calloused fingers.

In front of him, a small group sat in a circle, each person a vessel of silent sorrow. Some had their eyes shut tight, trying to shut out the world, while others stared ahead, their gazes distant, lost in the labyrinth of their own pain. Today’s session was centered around grief—a familiar theme that Jeongin had come to understand all too well. His eyes swept over the group, his expression soft and understanding, a silent invitation for them to share their burdens. Directly across from him, a young woman who had recently lost her mother sat rigid, her shoulders taut as bowstrings, her fingers anxiously picking at the frayed edge of her sleeve. Beside her, an elderly man kept his gaze fixed on his wrinkled hands, folded so tightly in his lap it seemed as if he was afraid he might fall apart if he let go.

Jeongin's fingers began to dance over the guitar strings, coaxing out a few gentle notes that floated through the room like a soft breeze on a warm day. The melody was simple, almost like a lullaby—tender and soothing, a soft hand reaching out in the enveloping darkness. It was a song he had crafted with your help, your voice whispering in his mind, guiding the melody with your mesmerizing ideas and gentle critiques. He tried not to think of you now, of the countless hours you'd spent together creating this very piece, but the memory lingered like a ghost.

“Let’s take a deep breath,” he murmured, his voice a low hum that barely rose above the delicate strumming. “Breathe in... and out. Feel the music as it moves through you.” His voice was smooth and warm as he began to sing, threading through the air like a comforting embrace. The lyrics were a balm for weary souls, speaking of finding peace amid the storm, of a quiet place where one could lay down their burdens. He watched the room with quiet intent, observing as the music began to weave its subtle magic.

The young woman’s shoulders, once so tense, began to loosen ever so slightly, her breath easing into a more natural rhythm. The elderly man’s grip on his hands softened, his fingers unclenching as if the melody had given him permission to let go, if only for a moment. Jeongin’s heart ached as he shifted the melody into a new key, a hint of melancholy now woven into the notes. His voice leaned into the emotion, allowing it to crack and falter in just the right places, like a mirror reflecting the fractures of a breaking heart.

He knew the power of those small imperfections—the way a slight fracture in the music could resonate with the cracks in a person’s soul, giving them the courage to confront their own pain. The room felt heavy with unspoken sorrow, yet somehow lighter, too, as if each note was drawing out a little of the darkness from within. And as he continued to sing, Jeongin allowed himself to feel the weight of his own grief, letting it pour into the song, knowing that sometimes, in the quiet beauty of shared pain, there was a kind of healing.

Moments later, a soft sob broke the fragile silence. The young woman's face crumpled as she brought a trembling hand to her mouth, tears spilling down her cheeks in rivulets that caught the light. Jeongin’s heart ached for her, a deep, familiar pain unfurling in his chest. His mind flashed back to countless moments where he had seen that same expression etched across your own face—the anguish, the vulnerability. But he didn’t stop playing. Instead, he allowed the melody to swell, his fingers coaxing the guitar strings through the dark waters of sorrow and guiding them back toward a glimmer of hope, like a lighthouse in a storm.

“Let it out,” he murmured, his voice a soft, comforting undertone to the music. “There’s no need to hold back here.” His words were a gentle invitation, a permission to release the emotions that had been held back for far too long. And as if on cue, the room filled with the raw sounds of grief—soft, stifled sobs, muffled cries, the quiet sniffles of those who had long forgotten how to weep openly. Jeongin continued to play, his music becoming a vessel for their pain, a safe harbor where tears could flow without shame or judgment.

Across the circle, he caught a glimpse of the elderly man, his head bowed low, his lips quivering as he mouthed the words of the song. His eyes were squeezed shut, as if trying to ward off a memory too painful to face. Jeongin’s gaze softened, and he let the melody shift, his fingers moving with practiced ease into something softer, gentler—like a lull after the fury of a storm. Each note was deliberate, a quiet caress to soothe the raw edges of the room's collective sorrow. He watched as the weight of grief began to lift, ever so slightly, and the room took a deep breath, exhaling the heaviness that had clung to them like a shadow.

When the final note faded into the stillness, Jeongin let the silence settle, heavy but not suffocating. He set his guitar down gently, his eyes meeting each person’s in turn, offering a silent acknowledgment of their pain. “Thank you for sharing this space with me,” he said, his voice a soft balm even as his own heart bore the scars of past regrets. Too often did Jeongin lose sleep over how he, despite his profession, had failed to help you through your own grief. “Grief is heavy, but together, we can carry it, even if just for a moment.”

The young woman wiped at her tears, her face still etched with the rawness of her emotions, but in her eyes, there was a faint spark—a glimmer of relief, as if, for the first time in a long while, she felt a little less alone. The elderly man’s shoulders sagged, a heavy breath escaping his lips, as though a burden had been lifted, if only for a moment. Jeongin offered a small, gentle smile, a subtle curve of his lips that spoke of understanding and quiet encouragement. He picked up his guitar again, fingers brushing against the strings with a familiar, comforting touch.

“How about we end with something light?” he suggested, strumming a few upbeat chords, his eyes brightening with a hint of mischief. “Maybe a song that reminds us of hope. Even when it’s hard to see, it’s always there… waiting for us.” His words hung in the air like a promise, a tender reminder that there was light even in the darkest of places.

And so, with his voice soft but steady, Jeongin led them into another song—one that spoke of healing, of finding strength in the most shattered places, and of a quiet, enduring joy that could bloom even in the darkest seasons of life. This was a song Jeongin had written and composed in the wake of your absence, in the silence that followed your sudden departure. It was a song born of hope, crafted in those long months of not knowing, a song he had always dreamed of sharing with you. And as he sang, he let that hope fill the room, weaving through the notes, a quiet, resilient thread that held the promise of brighter days.

Nearly thirty minutes had passed since the group therapy session had officially ended, but Jeongin's office was still filled with the quiet shuffling of his patients gradually making their way out. This wasn't unusual; some of them often lingered, seeking a few more moments to connect or share their thoughts, and Jeongin never minded. He found these moments invaluable—an opportunity to touch base, to offer a final bit of encouragement or reassurance.

As Jeongin turned to watch the last patient leave, he was surprised to find his friend Changbin leaning against the doorframe. Changbin’s muscular arms were crossed over his broad chest, his eyes twinkling with a mix of admiration and amusement. A soft smile tugged at the corners of his lips, and it only grew wider when Jeongin’s gaze finally met his. "Bin," Jeongin greeted with a slight bow, his dimples appearing as he returned his friend's smile. He moved toward his desk on the opposite end of the room, a space that served as both his office and a therapy room within the clinic.

Without waiting for an invitation, Changbin followed him, settling himself comfortably into the leather chair meant for Jeongin. With a roll of his eyes and a shake of his head, Jeongin let out a small huff of amusement at his friend's antics. He took a seat in one of the smaller chairs intended for his patients, his gaze fixed on Changbin. "What are you doing here?" Jeongin finally asked, watching his friend lounging back in the chair, hands interlocked casually behind his head.

Changbin's playful demeanor slowly shifted, his eyes losing their mischievous spark as they settled into something more serious. He sighed, leaning forward to rest his forearms on Jeongin's desk, the sudden shift in atmosphere making Jeongin's heart pick up a little in pace. He tried to keep his expression soft, maintaining a small smile even as he braced himself for whatever Changbin had come to say.

For a moment, the room was filled with a heavy silence as Changbin seemed to struggle with his words, his brows furrowing in thought. Finally, he cleared his throat and spoke, "You know how Yongbok and Hannie wanted to have a joint celebration for their birthdays this Friday, right?" Jeongin's brows knit together in confusion; he hadn’t expected such a mundane topic. Still, he nodded, waiting for the real reason behind Changbin's visit.

"Well, everything will be pretty much the same... but we wanted to tell you this before you showed up." Changbin paused, his worried eyes meeting Jeongin's increasingly anxious gaze. After a deep breath, he continued, "Y/N moved back here a little over a week ago and reached out to us almost immediately. We helped them settle back down, and we've been spending some time with them, catching up on everything. Yongbok and Hannie wanted them to be included in their birthday celebration, but we also wanted to check in with you. Make sure you're okay with that first."

Jeongin felt his entire world tilt on its axis, Changbin's words crashing into him like a wave he hadn’t braced for. A million questions stormed through his mind, so fast and furious that he couldn’t quite grasp a single one. "Wait." His hand shot up, signaling his need for a pause as he shifted forward, perching on the edge of his chair. His voice, tinged with betrayal and hurt, spilled out in a rushed breath, "What do you mean Y/N moved back here a week ago? Why am I just learning about this now?"

A look of guilt shadowed Changbin's face, his expression softening with regret. "Y/N asked us not to tell you for a little bit because they weren't ready to handle it yet... but now that everything's settled, they have a new job and everything—Y/N is ready to meet with you if you'd like." He hesitated, and a flicker of panic widened his eyes as he quickly added, "But you didn't hear that last part from me. Y/N wanted to be the one to reach out at some point today or tomorrow."

The silence that followed was heavy, all-consuming, wrapping around Jeongin like a thick fog. He struggled to wrap his mind around the news of your return, the idea of seeing you again so unexpectedly unsettling. The weight of your absence, the questions left unanswered, all resurfaced in that single moment, leaving him adrift in a sea of emotions he wasn’t prepared to face.

Jeongin didn't quite know how to feel about you moving back into town after leaving him without so much as a goodbye. The news of your return stirred a storm of emotions within him, each one more complicated than the last. On one hand, he understood your reasons for leaving—the desperate need to escape from everything that reminded you of your younger sister, Nari, and the weight of your relationship with him, which had grown heavy with grief and unresolved pain. He could see why you had to flee, to distance yourself from the memories that clung to every corner of the town like shadows that wouldn't let you breathe.

But understanding didn't erase the sting of abandonment. Jeongin couldn't ignore the countless sleepless nights he’d endured, his mind spiraling into an abyss of what-ifs and could-have-beens. He thought back to the moments when your relationship had still felt beautiful and safe, long before it had quietly begun to crumble beneath the weight of tragedy. In truth, he realized, the love between you had started to fray the very moment you received the devastating news of Nari’s fatal accident. It had unraveled slowly, painfully, until there was nothing left but a hollow shell of what once was. By the time he officially ended things, the love you shared had already been gone, replaced by a haunting emptiness.

For months after you left, Jeongin had nearly driven himself to madness, caught in a vicious cycle of regret and self-blame. Every waking moment was spent agonizing over all the different ways he might have pulled you out of your grief. Could he have said something different, done something more? Could he have been more patient, more understanding? He had replayed these thoughts over and over, like a broken record stuck on a painful refrain. There was a time when he couldn’t even look at his own reflection without being reminded of his failure—his inability to be the anchor you needed in the storm of your sorrow. He blamed himself for your sudden departure, believing that if he had fought for you a little harder, if he had held on just a bit longer, maybe things would have turned out differently.

Slowly, though, Jeongin had begun to emerge from the shadows of his own grief. He had started to come to terms with the loss—not just of Nari, whom he had loved deeply through you, but also the loss of the future he had imagined with you by his side. He’d begun to accept that his own heartbreak, mixed with the suffocating weight of guilt, was something he needed to release in order to move forward. Jeongin had finally allowed himself to realize that in the grand scheme of things, staying by your side would have meant losing himself in the process, trying to bring back a version of you that had vanished the day Nari did. He’d come to understand that you were never going to be the same person again, and neither was he.

And now, just when he was starting to find a semblance of peace, you chose this moment to step back into his life. It felt like the ground he had just managed to steady himself on was beginning to shake once more. Jeongin wasn’t sure if he was ready to face you again, to reopen wounds that were only just beginning to scar over. Yet, there was also a flicker of something else—a hope, perhaps, or maybe just curiosity—about what this new chapter could bring. But whatever it was, it left him feeling unsettled, standing on the precipice of a past he had tried so hard to leave behind.

As his mind continued to swirl with a torrent of thoughts, Jeongin was startled by the bitterness that began to simmer beneath the surface of his heart. The resentment was unexpected, an emotion so potent that it almost frightened him. It clawed at him, leaving a sour taste in his mouth, a stark contrast to the calm demeanor he usually carried. But as his gaze lifted, his eyes locked with Changbin's, and he saw the concern etched in his friend's face. The anxiety in Changbin's sincere eyes was unmistakable, quietly tracking the cascade of emotions that flickered across Jeongin's vulnerable features like a storm passing through.

Despite the sharp sting of betrayal—the feeling of being kept in the dark by his closest friends, who had not only hidden your return from him but also lied to him so they could spend time with you—Jeongin found a small measure of solace in Changbin’s quiet empathy. It was as if Changbin's presence anchored him, a silent reassurance that he wasn’t navigating these turbulent waters alone. In that brief moment, Jeongin’s chaotic thoughts cleared enough for him to take a deep, steadying breath. He slumped back into his chair, his eyes dropping to his sneakers, suddenly feeling the weight of his own exhaustion. His shoulders sagged, heavy with the burden of emotions he could no longer ignore.

"I don’t know if I’ll be ready to meet with Y/N before the party," Jeongin confessed in a low murmur meant only for Changbin’s ears. The sadness in his voice was unmistakable, a raw and tender ache that clung to every word. He took a moment, trying to gather his thoughts that seemed to scatter like leaves in the wind. "But I’m not going to stand in the way of Y/N joining the birthday party—especially since it’s not my place to decide that. I’ll still be there, and I want to be as civil as possible. So, please, don’t let anyone make it more awkward than it needs to be, or I don’t think I’ll be able to handle it."

His voice trembled by the end, his courage wavering as he finally lifted his eyes to meet Changbin's once more. There was a flicker of something fragile there, something almost hopeful, despite the tangled mess of his emotions. Changbin nodded, a soft smile pulling at his lips, a small gesture of gratitude and understanding. He stood up, moving closer to lay a firm, reassuring hand on Jeongin’s shoulder—a rare show of affection, knowing how Jeongin tended to shy away from touch, especially when his emotions were laid bare like this.

"I’ll talk to the boys," Changbin promised, his voice steady, grounding. It was the most he could offer in that moment, aware of how delicate the situation was.

With that, Changbin turned and quietly exited Jeongin's office, leaving the younger man alone with his thoughts. The room seemed to close in around him, heavy with the weight of everything he was yet to fully comprehend. Jeongin remained seated, lost in the labyrinth of his own complicated emotions—anger, sadness, regret, and something else, something almost like a glimmer of hope—all swirling together in a chaotic dance that he had no idea how to untangle.

✦•······················•✦•······················•✦

In the three days leading up to the eagerly awaited joint birthday party on Friday—an event hosted by Chan for Felix and Jisung—Jeongin found himself ensnared in a relentless spiral of anxiety and anticipation. The looming prospect of encountering you after nearly a year of absence gnawed at him with a persistence that bordered on torment. He grappled with a thousand imagined scenarios, each one an intricate tapestry of potential outcomes and emotional landmines. The uncertainty was a constant, unsettling presence in his life.

Jeongin’s small apartment, once shared with you, had become a labyrinth of memories and regrets. He often wandered its confines, the soft thud of his footsteps a mournful echo of the unease that had taken residence in his chest. The apartment seemed to sigh with each step he took, as if mourning the lost echoes of a time when you had been there. Despite his efforts to bury himself in work, the thought of you lingered like an unwelcome shadow, a constant undercurrent that refused to be ignored. He would catch himself staring at his phone, repeatedly re-reading the message you had sent him just hours after Changbin’s visit—a message that had become both a lifeline and a tormentor.

Your text, which read:

Hey, Jeongin. It’s been a while. I know I left without much of an explanation and cut off contact... I’m sorry for how I handled things. I’m sorry for a lot of things, actually. But I wasn’t in the best place back then, and I needed time to figure things out on my own. I’m back in town now, and I’d like to talk sometime if you’re open to it. No pressure—I just feel like there are a lot of things that were left unsaid between us. Take care!

Every time Jeongin read these words, a storm of emotions would churn within him. The initial formality of your greeting felt like a cold draft from a distant past, a stark contrast to the warmth that had once existed between you. The passage of time loomed large, a reminder of the endless stretch of days that had passed since your sudden disappearance. He was struck by a poignant blend of nostalgia and pain, the abruptness of your departure a constant reminder of how unfinished your story had been.

Your apology, though a balm of sorts, stirred a complicated mix of relief and frustration within him. On one hand, it acknowledged the hurt you had caused, but on the other, it left a multitude of unresolved questions hanging in the air. Why did you leave so suddenly? Why did you sever all contact? Jeongin understood that you were not in a good place and needed space, but that understanding did little to soothe the sting of abandonment he felt. The sense of being left in the dark, coupled with a profound sadness over his inability to help you, left him grappling with a blend of guilt and anger.

The mention of wanting to talk now jolted him, a surge of conflicting emotions rushing to the surface. He was torn between the desire to reconnect and the fear of reopening old wounds. The prospect of addressing the myriad of things left unsaid between you brought with it a flood of memories—regrets, unresolved issues, and a yearning for closure. Each re-reading of your message plunged him deeper into a whirlpool of complicated thoughts and emotions, the turbulence of his feelings both paralyzing and consuming.

Ultimately, Jeongin found himself unable to craft a suitable response, and so he chose silence. His decision not to reply was one shrouded in uncertainty, a choice that left him questioning whether it was the right one. The silence that followed was both a refuge and a torment, a delicate balance between preserving his own peace and the unresolved echo of your return.

The night of the party arrived under a canopy of crisp, clear sky, the stars shimmering with an almost mocking brilliance. Jeongin drifted through the evening like a specter, his senses overwhelmed by a world that seemed too bright, too noisy, and far too indifferent to his turmoil. His apartment, once a sanctuary, had become a chaotic jumble of discarded outfits—each one cast aside with a frustrated sigh and a sense of resignation. The fabric of his clothes lay strewn about like the remnants of a battle fought and lost against his own anxiety. Nothing felt right, and the more he tried, the more he was convinced that nothing ever would.

Eventually, he settled on a modest ensemble—simple, unobtrusive, and devoid of any hint of personal flair. As he dressed, he glanced at his reflection in the mirror, and what he saw was a stranger staring back—an image of confusion and trepidation. He attempted a smile, one that was supposed to be confident and reassuring, but it fell flat, a mere shadow of what he hoped to project. By the time he arrived at Chan's place, his nerves were a live wire, sparking and fizzing with every heartbeat.

The apartment, already abuzz with the lively hum of music and the warm murmur of laughter, was suffused with the rich, inviting aroma of a feast. Jeongin took a deep breath, steeling himself before stepping into the vibrant chaos. Felix, ever the beacon of warmth, was the first to greet him. His smile was a radiant crescent, eyes sparkling with the playful twinkle of a galaxy etched upon his cheeks and nose. Felix enveloped Jeongin in a tight, enthusiastic hug, and Jeongin could almost gauge the number of drinks Felix had indulged in by the exuberance of the embrace. As he disentangled himself from the fervent welcome, he was met with a slew of half-hidden concern and reassuring smiles that nearly suffocated him with their well-meaning pity.

He made his way to the kitchen, where the counter was a tableau of gifts—boxes and bags for Felix and Han piled high in cheerful disarray. Jeongin added his own contribution to the heap and then sought refuge in the cool solace of the fridge, pulling out a bottle of water to soothe his parched throat. But then, as if fate itself had conspired to make this night even more unbearable, you appeared in the kitchen doorway.

You had been laughing lightly, a melodic sound that seemed to dance on the air, but upon spotting Jeongin, you froze mid-step. The sight of you was like a flash of brilliance in an otherwise dim landscape. You looked as radiant as ever, with a glimmer of the light that had once illuminated your eyes returning to them—a light Jeongin had once lost himself in with reckless abandon. At that moment, the gravity of his own emotions hit him with a brutal clarity. Despite having ended the relationship, he realized with a heavy heart that he was still desperately, achingly in love with you. Even after nearly a year of separation, the feelings remain undiminished.

You slowly composed yourself, though your body remained taut with the remnants of surprise. The smile you gave him was both disarming and electrifying, sending a shiver through him. With a polite bow, you greeted him, your voice soft and warm as you said, “I’m really glad to see you again, Jeongin.” The way you spoke his name made his knees feel weak, the sheer depth of his longing crystallizing in that single, familiar sound. He had not fully grasped how much he had yearned to hear his name on your lips again until that very moment.

Unable to find words, Jeongin merely bowed in return, his smile shy and tremulous. He watched you turn and leave the kitchen with a hurried pace, your earlier purpose forgotten. The realization dawned on him that he might need more than just water to navigate the emotional maelstrom of the evening.

Chan's party was a sanctuary of familiarity, a gathering of a close-knit circle of friends who had weathered years together. The night had unfolded in a haze of laughter and lively banter, and now, as Jeongin found himself pleasantly intoxicated from the endless rounds of drinking games, he couldn't help but revel in the camaraderie that had once again enveloped the room. It felt undeniably comforting to have everyone gathered under one roof again, especially you.

The past year had cast a shadow over the group's dynamic, your absence an unspoken void that lingered between them, palpable despite the silence. Yet now, with your return, the room seemed to breathe with a renewed vitality. It was as though the very air had shifted, carrying with it a sense of ease that had been sorely missed. Jeongin observed you from a distance, his gaze drawn to you as you reengaged with the group. He noted with quiet awe how you moved through conversations with an effortless grace, the same grace that had once been your hallmark.

It was apparent that you had emerged from the clutches of your grief, a revelation that stirred a profound admiration within Jeongin. The way you laughed, genuinely and freely, was a testament to your resilience. Though you had left without a word, seeking solace far away, you had returned with a newfound lightness. The laughter that now danced from your lips was a melody Jeongin had missed, a balm for the aching absence that had haunted him throughout the past year.

Jeongin watched with a bittersweet smile as you engaged with everyone—how your eyes crinkled at the corners when joy sparked within you, how they would occasionally meet his gaze with a fleeting, shy acknowledgment before darting away, leaving behind a gentle blush. Each moment was a delicate brush stroke on the canvas of your reunion, painting a picture of someone who had found a way to heal and reconnect.

The sight of you dancing playfully with Han to a song you both claimed had been crafted just for you was particularly poignant. Your movements were a symphony of carefree delight, a stark contrast to the somber image Jeongin had harbored of you. In these shared, joyful moments, as you reintegrated into the tapestry of old friendships, Jeongin felt his heart tugged with an intensity that defied explanation.

Though the effects of alcohol swirled around him, amplifying emotions and blurring the edges of reality, Jeongin knew that the depth of his feelings for you transcended any inebriation. The love he harbored was as real and potent as ever, a force that no amount of alcohol could replicate or diminish. He was falling for you once more, each glance and shared laugh reaffirming the connection that had never truly faded, only waiting for the right moment to reawaken.

Despite the undeniable truth of his lingering affection for you, Jeongin remained uncertain of how to navigate these turbulent emotions. For now, he chose to keep his feelings veiled in silence, retreating into the solitude of his thoughts. The haze of confusion was abruptly dispelled by the firm, reassuring weight of Minho’s hand settling on his shoulder, grounding him in the present moment.

Minho, his eyes glazed with the soft blur of alcohol—though not nearly as intoxicated as Felix and Han—clapped his hands together, a signal for attention. His voice, amplified by cupped hands, cut through the ambient noise of music and conversation. "Guys! Guys!" he bellowed, drawing the attention of the increasingly inebriated crowd. The room fell into a collective hush, eager eyes fixed on Minho as he continued with a grin that spoke of mischief. "As per Yongbok’s request, we’re about to kick off a game of UNO! But there’s a twist: every time someone lands a Plus Four card, we all take a shot. And the loser—well, they get a revolting concoction of mixed alcohols and juices!"

The announcement ignited a burst of enthusiastic cheers, the crowd’s energy crackling with anticipation. Laughter and playful shoves accompanied the clumsy shuffle to the circular coffee table at the heart of the living room. Jeongin, with a flicker of hope in his heart, watched as you navigated the sea of friends. His wish to have you beside him was met with a hint of disappointment as you chose a seat directly across from him, nestled between Hyunjin and Seungmin.

The seating arrangement became a familiar circle of camaraderie and chaos: You directly across from Jeongin, Seungmin to your right, Chan to Seungmin’s right, Felix to Chan’s right, Jeongin to Felix’s right, Minho to Jeongin’s right, Han to Minho’s right, Changbin to Hyunjin’s right, and Hyunjin bridging the gap between you and Changbin. The table soon overflowed with the raucous sound of drunken laughter, mischievous plotting, and playful bickering.

Jeongin found himself in an unexpected streak of triumph, his luck seemingly endless as he conquered each round of UNO. The others began to whisper suspicions of cheating, their playful accusations accompanied by slurred speech and tipsy frustration. Chan’s voice, tinged with exasperation, rose above the din. "How is it even possible that you’ve been winning non-stop?" he demanded, his words distorted by a chorus of drinks and Seungmin’s relentless strategy.

Jeongin rolled his eyes, a gesture that had become almost automatic in the face of such claims. Han, who had just suffered the fate of the foul concoction, gagged dramatically as he placed the empty cup down with a groan. The room’s attention shifted to you as you slammed your palm onto the table, a spark of mischief lighting up your eyes. The gesture was a beacon of playful challenge, and it made Jeongin’s heart flutter unexpectedly.

"Stand up then, if you’re not cheating," you teased, your voice laced with both suspicion and amusement. The room buzzed with agreement, and Jeongin could not suppress the smile that tugged at his lips as he rose to his feet. He had sobered somewhat since the game began, the action feeling less consequential for him than for the others.

Throughout the night, the games were interspersed with moments of easy banter between you and Jeongin, a reminder of the lighthearted days before the heartache had set in. Each playful remark, every shared glance, and the way you laughed at his jokes tugged at him, rekindling memories of warmth and affection. The realization of how deeply he missed the feeling of being in love with you clenched his heart painfully.

As Jeongin turned around slowly to prove his hands were empty, he couldn’t resist a smirk. "You didn’t empty out your pockets," you persisted, your stubbornness both charming and exasperating.

He met your gaze with a playful smirk of his own, the words slipping out before he could fully process their impact. "Come on, baby, don’t be like that," he said, his tone teasing.

The room fell silent in stunned unison, the playful atmosphere abruptly shifting to one of surprise and second-hand embarrassment. The weight of Jeongin’s unintended endearment hung in the air, leaving everyone, including him, to grapple with the sudden shift in the night’s delicate balance.

Jeongin’s heart sank as he watched the color drain from your face, a pallor of shock and disbelief that spoke volumes in the charged silence that followed. The name he had unintentionally let slip—a relic of a time when you were together—seemed to strike a chord deep within you. For a fleeting moment, your eyes revealed a heartache that cut through the pretense of composure you so desperately tried to maintain. The expression of hurt was almost palpable, like a silent scream against the fabric of the night.

You managed to reassemble yourself with a stubborn facade of mischief, your smile a delicate mask that barely concealed the storm within. Your words, though laced with playful banter, seemed to cut through the tension with a sharp edge. "I just think it's unnatural how many times you’ve won," you remarked with a smirk that didn’t quite reach your eyes.

Jeongin’s slip-up hung in the air, a tangible weight that seemed to sour the atmosphere of the gathering. Despite your attempt to downplay the incident with a light-hearted quip, the sting of the old nickname echoed like a ghost of past intimacy, making the room feel suddenly foreign and strained. The previously buoyant mood had shifted, leaving behind an undercurrent of unease that neither the laughter nor the playful jabs could dispel.

Jeongin could feel the churning turmoil within him, his heart pounding relentlessly in his chest. The game continued around him, but he found himself withdrawing, purposefully avoiding your gaze. Each stolen glance, each forced smile, was a reminder of the painful reminder of how things had changed. The night, which had started with such promise, now felt heavy and laden with unresolved emotions.

As the hour grew late and the laughter waned, the group, sensing the shift in energy, collectively decided it was time to call it a night. The revelry that had marked the evening dissolved into a subdued murmur as everyone prepared to leave. For Jeongin, the end of the night came as a relief, though it was tinged with a sense of lingering regret and an unspoken wish for things to be different.

As Jeongin made his way through the dimly lit apartment, exchanging farewells with the departing guests, he caught a fleeting glimpse of you darting out of the building. His heart, already heavy with a tumultuous mix of emotions, quickened its pace as he instinctively sought to follow. With an urgency driven by both concern and an aching need to make things right, Jeongin scrambled to retrieve his jacket and pull on his shoes, the night air already beginning to bite at his skin as he hurried after you.

He managed to intercept you just as you stepped out onto the cold street. Your name slipped from his lips before he could catch it, a desperate utterance that hung in the frosty air between you. You paused, your breath visible in the night’s chill, and both of you stood there for a moment, hearts racing in unison. Jeongin's breath came in ragged bursts as he caught up with you, the weight of his impulsive actions settling heavily on his shoulders.

“Let me walk you home,” Jeongin implored, his voice trembling slightly with a mixture of anxiety and hope. The words, simple yet laden with his longing, seemed to hang in the air, as though the night itself held its breath in anticipation of your response. Your eyes softened, reflecting a tempest of emotions as they met his, and your lips parted slightly as if struggling to find the right words.

Instead of speaking, you turned and began walking forward, your steps deliberate yet hesitant. Jeongin, interpreting your silence as tacit consent, fell into step beside you. The street stretched out before you, unfamiliar and shadowed, and the air between you was charged with unspoken sentiments and lingering regrets. Walking side by side felt oddly reminiscent of days gone by, a bittersweet echo of times shared with friends, now tinged with the ache of what had been lost.

In the week since Jeongin learned of your return, he had been trapped in a cycle of conflicting emotions. The pangs of missing you, of realizing the depth of his feelings that still burned despite everything, battled with the frustration of your unexplained departure. Each time anger threatened to overwhelm him, guilt swiftly followed, a reminder of the suffering you must have endured. His internal struggle was a storm of longing and resentment, a turbulent sea he had yet to navigate.

As he stole glances at your profile in the dim streetlight, the familiar contours of your face brought an unexpected rush of grief. Memories of your younger sister, Nari, flooded his mind—her laughter, a joyful sound that once filled the air, her enthusiastic embraces that had always greeted him with warmth. Your eyes, once so bright with shared mirth, now seemed dimmed by her absence.

The realization that Nari would never again tackle him in playful greeting, that her laughter would never again ring out, was a heavy burden. It pressed down on Jeongin’s heart, a reminder of the irreplaceable void left behind. The twinkle that once danced in your eyes when you laughed at Nari's jokes was now a distant memory, a reminder of how deeply her loss had affected both of you. As you walked together through the unfamiliar streets, the weight of these lost joys seemed to bear down on Jeongin, making each step feel heavier than the last.

Engulfed in the whirlpool of his own somber reflections, Jeongin barely noticed when you came to a halt before an old, weathered apartment building. Absorbed in his tumultuous thoughts, he continued forward for a few steps, his mind adrift in a sea of regret and longing. It was only when the melodic sound of your giggle reached his ears, a playful echo that cut through the fog of his melancholy, that he realized he was walking alone. With a start, he turned, his face flushing with a sheepish smile as he moved to stand before you.

You were standing there, your knuckles clenched tightly around the strap of your bag, a telltale sign of the anxiety simmering beneath the surface. Your lips were caught between your teeth, a nervous habit that Jeongin had come to know all too well. The sight of your distress mirrored his own internal turmoil, causing his foot to tap restlessly on the pavement as he waited for you to speak. The tension in the air was palpable, a heavy shroud that seemed to settle between you.

After a few moments of strained silence, you released a shaky breath and offered him a small, timid smile. "It was good to see you again," you said softly, the words tinged with a trace of the anxiety that laced your voice. It was the same sentiment you had voiced earlier in the night, when you had first reappeared in Chan's kitchen after an eight-month absence.

This time, Jeongin’s response came with a gravity that reflected the depth of your absence. "I’m glad you came back," he said, his voice carrying the weight of the months spent apart, yet softened by a flicker of genuine contentment.

Your smile, though hesitant, shone brightly against the backdrop of the night. It was a beacon that pierced through the haze of Jeongin’s heartache, and despite the unresolved tension, he couldn’t help but return it with a warm, albeit uncertain, smile of his own. The air between you crackled with the weight of unspoken words and unresolved feelings, a delicate balance between the urge to bridge the gap and the inability to articulate the depth of your emotions.

As you cast an awkward glance back at the entrance of your apartment, Jeongin understood that you were grappling with the same indecision that plagued him. "This is me," you said, your voice betraying a trace of nervousness as you cleared your throat. "My place is a bit of a distance from our—sorry, your apartment. If you’re comfortable, I can offer you my couch for the night."

Despite the initial reluctance that had gripped him, the prospect of spending more time with you, however fleeting, was too inviting to resist. Jeongin found himself smiling softly, a gesture of acceptance that was both hesitant and heartfelt. Your genuine, wide smile in response seemed to illuminate the night, lifting the veil of uncertainty that had surrounded him. With a renewed sense of hope and a lingering trace of longing, Jeongin followed you inside, each step towards your apartment a tentative step towards mending the fragile thread that connected your hearts.

✦•······················•✦•······················•✦

Your new apartment, though modest in size, exudes a quiet charm, nestled in a serene part of town far removed from the familiar streets you once traversed with Jeongin. The moment he crosses the threshold, he is enveloped by a dissonance of emotions—a strange fusion of comfort and estrangement. The space is distinctly different from the apartment you once shared, yet your presence lingers in every corner, making Jeongin feel both intimately connected and like an outsider peering into a world that has shifted just out of reach.

The living room, modestly furnished, reflects a minimalist elegance. A soft, neutral-colored couch rests against the wall, draped with a knitted throw blanket that adds a touch of warmth. This room is a far cry from the eclectic mix of your past home—a space once filled with a vibrant blend of your belongings and his—but it still bears the subtle imprint of your personality. A small shelf brims with books, many titles familiar from your old collection, but new ones have also appeared, whispering of the changes and growth you’ve experienced in your absence. The windowsill cradles a few houseplants, their greenery a delicate contrast to the sprawling flora that once filled your old living space. They are smaller, more contained, reflecting a more subdued chapter of your life.

Jeongin’s gaze drifts to the walls, bare and unadorned, stark in their emptiness. Gone are the framed photos and art prints that once animated every corner of your shared apartment. The absence of pictures—particularly those of the two of you—leaves an unexpected sting, a painful reminder of what has been left behind. Instead, there is a single framed photograph of your younger sister on a side table by the window, surrounded by a cluster of candles. It stands as a quiet tribute, a poignant memorial that tugs at Jeongin’s heartstrings, reminding him of the grief that ultimately drove a wedge between you both.

The apartment is imbued with a subdued quietness, a stark contrast to the lively energy of your former home, where laughter and soft music once intertwined to create a vibrant ambiance. Here, the atmosphere is more solitary, introspective, as if the space has been intentionally crafted as a sanctuary for healing—a refuge from the chaos of the past. A small kitchen table, cluttered with a few empty glasses and a half-read book, suggests many solitary evenings spent with your thoughts, lost in the pages or gazing into the distance, ensnared by memories.

The kitchen itself bears no evidence of the late-night culinary adventures you used to drag him into, those joyous moments of laughter and flour-covered countertops. As Jeongin takes in the scene, he is overwhelmed by a complex weave of emotions—nostalgia for what was, sorrow for what has been lost, and a poignant ache for the version of you who now stands before him. The differences are striking, revealing a careful, deliberate solitude you’ve constructed around yourself in this new space. It feels as though you’ve created a bubble of tranquility, a place where you can breathe freely from the weight of the past, and he wonders if there is still a place for him within it or if you have moved on to a new chapter without him.

The emptiness of your new apartment weighs heavily on him. It’s not merely the physical void but the absence of the vibrant, unfiltered you that he used to know. Standing there, a guest in what might have been his world, Jeongin is acutely aware of how much has changed and how deeply he still yearns for the comfort of what once was, now replaced by the stark reality of what is.

As Jeongin steps into your new apartment, he takes in its subtle details with a blend of curiosity and nostalgia. You move about with a quiet, almost anxious energy, as if the mere act of tidying is a way to manage the fluttering tension between you. Your hands, unsure of their purpose, engage in small, inconsequential tasks: smoothing the corner of the knitted blanket draped over the couch, adjusting the book that rests on the kitchen table, and shifting a houseplant slightly to the left. It is evident that you are aware of his gaze, but you strive to give him space to absorb his surroundings.

The silence stretches until you break it, your voice soft yet resolute. "It's not much, but... it's mine." There’s a delicate balance in your tone, a mixture of pride laced with vulnerability. You glance at him, seeking to gauge his reaction, your eyes reflecting a world of untold emotions. As you move towards the small kitchen area, you open a cabinet and retrieve two glasses. "Do you want some water? Tea? I think I have some wine if you'd prefer that." Your words tumble out in a gentle stream, an attempt to fill the quiet with something tangible, yet they carry an earnestness that reveals your underlying uncertainty about where you both stand.

Jeongin watches you, his gaze softening as he observes the careful grace of your movements—each gesture imbued with a quiet protectiveness, as if you're safeguarding something tender within yourself. The silence deepens for a moment before he responds, his voice subdued and tentative. "Water's fine." It is clear that he is navigating this new terrain with caution, his tone reflective of the delicate balance between past familiarity and present distance. You nod and move towards the fridge, your back turned to him as you pour the water.

Jeongin’s eyes wander around the apartment once more, deliberately avoiding the back of your head as you focus on the task at hand. When you hand him the glass, your fingers brush against his, sending a shiver through him. It’s a sensation he’s not quite accustomed to after all this time apart. He accepts the glass with a quiet "thanks," savoring the cool water as it soothes his dry throat.

"Let’s sit," you suggest, motioning towards the couch. There is a steadiness in your voice that carries a quiet confidence, reminiscent of the times you had managed to ground him amidst the chaos. Jeongin follows you and settles beside you on the couch. The cushions feel foreign and different from those he remembers, amplifying his sense of longing for the comfort of the home you once shared.

For a brief moment, Jeongin is at a loss for words, overwhelmed by the tangled emotions in his chest. He is unsure where to begin, but you gently ease the tension. "How’s work been?" you inquire, your voice a soothing balm to the heaviness in the room. "Are you still at the same clinic?"

Grateful for the opening, Jeongin nods. "Yeah, still there. We started a new program recently... working with kids who've been through some really tough stuff. It’s been challenging, but rewarding." He watches as your eyes soften, a sign of the empathy and kindness he’s always admired in you. The sight of your genuine smile, the one he’s missed so dearly, is like a balm on a wound that has long ached.

"That sounds so nice. You've always been so good with children." Your compliment is heartfelt, and Jeongin feels a pang of longing.

He responds with a light-hearted joke, "That’s more your area of expertise," referring to your work as a school counselor. You chuckle softly, taking a sip of water, and Jeongin senses there’s more you wish to share.

"And... what about everything else? How have you been holding up?" Your question is gentle but probing, and Jeongin’s grip tightens around his glass.

"It’s been... different," he admits. "The apartment feels empty without you there. Like something’s missing."

Jeongin hadn't intended for his words to emerge with such raw intensity, but they tumble out before he can rein them in. He watches as they land upon you, the way your gaze falls and a shadow of sorrow flits across your face. "I'm sorry," you murmur, the words almost lost in the quiet of the room. "For leaving like that. I didn’t know what else to do."

Your apology strikes a chord deep within him, a resonance of shared pain and regret. "I know," he replies softly, his voice carrying the weight of understanding. "I don’t really blame you. We both had to figure things out." The atmosphere between you shifts, the earlier tension giving way to something more tender—like an old wound beginning to mend.

Jeongin sits beside you on the couch, his nerves stretched taut, a wire humming with unspoken words. His hands are clenched in his lap, a desperate attempt to hold himself together as the silence stretches, thick and heavy. His gaze is drawn to you, to the way you hold your glass of water—fingers wrapped around it as if it were a lifeline, anchoring you to some semblance of normalcy.

He recognizes that look in your eyes—the one that signals you are about to reveal something profound, something that has been weighing on you. "When I left," you start, your voice so faint it nearly dissolves into the air. Jeongin’s breath catches in his throat. He had no clear expectations for the evening, but he can feel that whatever is coming will be laced with pain.

"I didn’t really have a plan," you continue, your voice trembling with the weight of your confession. "I just... needed to get away." He watches as your eyes drift to the water in your glass, your reflection shimmering and distorted. The impulse to reach out and offer comfort is almost overwhelming, but he remains still, his focus entirely on you.

"I ended up halfway across the country," you say, your voice gaining a faint thread of strength. "I reached out to Lily. You remember her, right? From college?" Jeongin nods, a wistful smile tugging at his lips despite the ache in his chest. He recalls Lily’s vivacious spirit, her constant care for you, and feels a pang of gratitude that she was there for you in a way he couldn't be.

"She didn’t ask questions; she just told me to come," you add. Jeongin’s heart clenches at the image of you in a strange, distant place, the weight of your grief looming like an oppressive storm. He loathes the thought of you feeling so alone and adrift, needing to travel so far for solace.

"She lives in this tiny coastal town," you continue, your voice lightening slightly as you recall the memory. "For a while, I thought maybe that was what I needed—being somewhere far away from everything." Jeongin can almost visualize it—a serene seaside town where the waves gently erase footprints, a place where time seems to stretch indefinitely, offering a balm for the wounded soul.

Yet, beneath the surface of your words, Jeongin senses an undercurrent of dissatisfaction. The coastal retreat, while soothing, evidently fell short of the healing you sought. His heart aches, burdened by the realization that he wasn’t able to provide the support you needed, even as he too was grappling with his own struggles. The distance between your shared past and the present feels vast, and he yearns for a way to bridge that gap, to be the anchor you needed, even though he was floundering himself.

You pause, and Jeongin watches as you swallow hard, the movement of your throat a testament to the weight of your words. "I eventually realized that it wasn't enough," you say, your voice trembling with the effort to hold back tears. "I needed more help. So, I checked myself into a grief recovery program..." The words falter, and Jeongin feels a tightening in his chest, the emotion reflected in your wavering tone. "A place where people go when they've lost someone and don't know how to keep living."

He stares at you, his vision blurring as he grapples with the magnitude of your suffering. He's known grief, but seeing it through your eyes—so raw, so utterly consuming—is a new experience for him. Guilt crashes over him like a relentless wave. He wasn't there for you. He couldn't help. He didn't even know how to begin.

Jeongin opens his mouth, an apology poised on his lips, but you continue, your voice cutting through the silence with a quiet determination. "There were days I wanted to leave, but I stayed. I wrote a lot. I planted a small garden there, just to feel like I was nurturing something again, you know? And slowly, I started to remember things without feeling like they were completely breaking me."

His hands tremble in his lap, the truth of your words stirring a deep regret within him. He should be happy that you found a way forward, relieved that you began to heal, but instead, he is overwhelmed by the ache of not being there for you—by the realization that he had abandoned you when you needed him most. His eyes search yours, desperate for some sign that you don’t harbor hatred towards him.

"I can't imagine what that must've been like," he finally manages, his voice thick with emotion. "I'm sorry... I'm sorry I ended things when you needed me. I didn’t know how to help you through it, and I—"

You shake your head, a wistful smile curving your lips. "I didn’t know how to let you help me, either. And I wasn’t ready to accept Nari’s death and move on yet. That’s why I left." Your words settle into the spaces between his ribs, a cold weight pressing heavily on his chest. He wants to explain, to tell you that he was lost too, that he struggled to keep his own head above water while watching you drown. But he stays silent, knowing that this moment belongs to you, just as much as it does to him.

"I needed to find a way to live with the grief," you say softly, "to not let it define every part of me. And maybe I needed to see if I could come back and face everything, including you."

Jeongin’s heart skips at that, a flicker of hope igniting within him. There is a softness in your eyes that he hasn't seen in so long, a hint of something that almost resembles hope. He takes a breath, feeling a slight loosening of the weight of his own regrets. "I'm glad you did," he murmurs, his voice barely above a whisper. "I missed you—missed this, even if it wasn’t always easy."

You nod, and he sees a myriad of emotions dance across your face—relief, uncertainty, and perhaps the faintest trace of affection. There is much to unpack, many layers to explore, but for now, this moment of quiet honesty, of shared pain and cautious hope, feels like a tentative step towards understanding.

Jeongin notices his hand is closer to yours than he had realized, and for a fleeting moment, he wonders what it would be like to reach out, to touch your skin once more. But he doesn’t. Not yet. For now, he is content to sit beside you, to listen, and to cherish the hope that this—whatever it is—might be the beginning of finding each other again.

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chronicallyonline101 · 5 months ago

Note

PLS I NEED A RIZ FULL DETAILED BACKSTORY 🙏🙏🙏🙏🙏

To tell the truth, i WAS going to say no ONLY CUZ Risotto's backstory will eventually be in my fic BUTTTT i realised his BG is in chapter 22, and thats... a long while away... SO i'm being nice and i'm gonna give you a sneak peek of chpt 22 :3 - WARNING THIS IS A FIRST DRAFT, so it has a lot of mistakes in it; it'll probably be different once it's put in DK

TW: Graphic depictions of violence, Character death, References to Self-harm, Intrusive Thoughts, Stalking.

Until it Sleeps:

Moonlight splays in through an open window. It brings with it rays of silence. Eyelids, heavy as leather, fall to a close, and envelop with them a warm cloud of comfort. But the soft glow of the night did little to soothe the cry of a child, torn fresh from the womb; swaddled in blankets, with the warming love of a mother and father. Yet that warmth would soon turn sour - the sky had been a dark crimson the night he was born.

Continued under the cut!

When a baby opens their eyes for the first time, they should see smiles and kisses. What he saw; stares of horror and gasps of upset, were the opposite of that. For when he had pried his eyelids apart for the first time, he revealed to his family the eyes of Baphomet; blood red, enveloped in a black cloak. He appeared to them a bad omen, a punishment for whatever sins they'd committed. They held no love for their problem child, and so, begged anyone they knew to rid themselves of him:

Despite being so young, Risotto could remember those first few years well. His name hadn't been Risotto Nero back then.

No amount of tossing or turning could ease the pressure in his head, where fatigued thoughts linger; rocky amongst a mind that crashed and rolled like the ocean during a mid-summer storm. He grew up obedient, polite, yet sleepless; his Aunt and Uncle were kind enough, but he feared their rejection more than anything. If his parents could throw him out without so much of a glance, what was stopping them?

As if he were on probation, he spent all his time offering the world a façade of himself. Eleven years he spent inside this shell, hidden inside himself - nobody knew who he truly was, nobody, aside from ---

"What are you thinking about?"

His cousin. His hair was the same white as that of an angels wings, and his eyes the same holy gold that lined the gates of Heaven. His cousin opposed everything he stood for, and yet younger than him by a year, lacked the awareness that adults held - his cousin wasn't afraid of him.

"My parents," He had mumbled, almost ashamed at having been caught so lost in his own thoughts. His gaze turned to look at the houses lining the streets they walked - Sicily was pretty during this time of the year, he had always appreciated the greenery in which the warm weather brought with, but his mind was elsewhere; his parents lived on this street. Just around the corner from where he was staying with his relatives.

Distracted, he didn't see the confused, disgruntled grimace that settled across his cousins face. "Why?"

He had asked. As far as he was aware, there was no need for the older boy to worry over people who would never bother involve themselves in his life. He didn't understand the pain his cousin felt.

Risotto remained quiet as the two passed the aforementioned abode. He kept his silence as the two rounded the corner, and when his cousin realised that he had nothing to say on the matter, changed the subject:

"I found my dad's record collection yesterday, after school," An evil, childish giggle passed his lips. His cousins words caught his curiosity: "Do you want to look at them with me?"

In the doorway of his relatives house, Risotto came to a halt. His silver brow furrowed, unsure.

"Are we allowed to do that?" He murmured. He didn't want to step out of line - those records belonged to his Uncle, he had no right to snoop around where he didn't belong. He'd never be able to forgive himself if he broke one, even accidentally; it would solidify his status as a bad omen to the family.

His cousin could only laugh at his hesitance, grabbing him by the sleeve so that he could forcibly drag him inside the house. "Of course it's allowed, if he wanted to hide them from us he would have put them somewhere other than his office!"

At the time, Risotto had wanted to argue against his cousins insistence; mentally, he had countered with the fact that the two probably shouldn't have been in his Uncle's office altogether. However, looking back on it, he was glad he had let his cousin take charge - it was that day, the cage he had built around himself slowly began to unlock.

The feel of thin plastic between his soft fingertips; scarlet and black, a name ringing through his head. It was so familiar, and yet, this had been the first time he had ever heard of the band. His eyes traced over the album, decorated as if it had been covered in blood, hardly appropriate for an eleven year old to be looking at - while he and his cousin had been busy moseying about the room, they'd hardly taken note of a third person slipping into the room.

"Kill 'Em All," The voice of his Uncle called out; Risotto near jumped out of his skin at the intrusion, scampering to put the album back in its place on the shelf. A grin graced the lips of his Uncle, eyes crinkling upward in joy. "It's Metallica's first album, you've got a good taste."

Upset that he had been caught where he shouldn't be, Risotto hardly registered his Uncle's amusement. He found his head tipping down to the floor in shame, apologies spewing from his mouth: "I'm sorry, I didn't mean to, this won't happen again---"

But his apologies were cut off by his Uncle's laughter. He brushed off Risotto's concern, instead, moving to grab at the album from the shelf.

"If you two wanted to listen to music, you could have just told me. No need to sneak around like little criminals!" He moved over to ruffle the white hair of his son; envy tugged at Risotto's heart at the sight, but was quickly settled when his Uncle played the music for them - he treated Risotto with kindness, he always did. But, this time it felt different.

Risotto had been disobedient - a menial crime, sure, but his parents would have taken dire offense to this kind of behaviour. All of a sudden, it was as if the crimson night had cleared; welcoming a warm sky, his turmoil soothed over and he found himself settling amongst the family of his Aunt and Uncle. They regarded him as if he were their own child, and he looked to them like a mother and a father.

No longer fearful for how he was perceived; he took an acute interest in music. Metallica was his favourite, he liked the guitar. On his twelfth birthday, he was gifted a small, acoustic guitar. His Aunt had saved up for him to have a years worth of lessons for it. Though it didn't sound the same as the loud, electric ones they used in all the songs he listened to - and as he learnt how to play, his cousin grew interested. The next year, he asked his parents for a drum set, and their small, two man band had began.

As strange as it was, Risotto truly felt as if that was where he belonged; in his Uncle's garage, delicately strumming the strings of his tattered guitar while his cousin bashed the soft paper of a drumkit. Though, as sweet as it was, it didn't please everyone:

In the kitchen of their shared home, Risotto's Aunt - a delicate woman, who shared the long white hair of his cousin - held a hand to her forehead. "Sweetheart,"

She uttered, tone hushed. Her husband looked to her curiously, and a desperate expression befell her. "Could you please tell them to do something else?" The sound of bashing and strumming and horrid singing echoed in the background, painkillers could no longer subdue her headache. "Anything else?"

Risotto's Uncle remained still, his gaze flickering between his wife and the door that would lead him to the garage. He simpered bashfully: "Oh, but they are having fun! The Summer will be over soon, and they won't have the time to play their little band---"

"---They've been playing for months," She pinched at her temple; her tone was growing sharp, she never usually took this tone. "Why can't they go to the arcade or something like normal kids."

"Hey, hey, let's not start that right now." Her husband grumbled, he didn't like insinuating that the two were anything other than ordinary - just because they were passionate about something didn't make them different. His brows eased to that of pity. He turned toward the garage door. "I'll tell them to do something else."

She didn't thank him as he left the room, only turning away sourly. She, on the other hand, didn't like it when her husband shut her down like that - the two couldn't avoid these problems forever. At this point, Risotto was fourteen, and their son thirteen. She knew they were both being bullied at school, and teenagers could be harsh; they lived in a world of their own creation, it wasn't healthy.

The sound of cymbals clashing grew louder and louder as their Uncle entered the room - he held his hands to his ears, unappreciative that his son had taken to doing what he liked to call a 'metal solo', where he banged his drumsticks against the cymbals repeatedly until he felt satisfied with how 'metal' it sounded.

"Hey you two..." He spoke up, but his words went ignored. The cymbal solo ended, but was quickly replaced by the rhythm of drums and guitar. The Uncle stepped further into the room, presenting himself in front of the two; he caught his sons gaze first, and when the sound of drumming came to a halt, Risotto quickly looked up - confused. "Hey, your mother has a headache, so I was thinking maybe you two could go play outside?"

Though reasonable, his words weren't received well. Pursing his lips, Risotto looked to his Cousin. The two shared a brief, silent glance, before turning to the Uncle once again.

"We need to practice," Was their reasoning, and the two felt just in this reason; how were they supposed to become famous if they stopped practicing every time someone got a headache? James Hetfield didn't stop for anyone, and neither would Risotto.

Huffing in frustration, his Uncle turned around. His gaze flittered about the room, only briefly, before landing on a small football - he quickly plucked it from the ground, bringing it to the two with a soft smile. "Why don't you play with this? It'd be nice to see you both in the sun, for once."

"But we're enjoying ourselves in here," His cousin pouted, his splintered drumsticks hovering over his kit in anticipation. "Can't mama go somewhere else?"

The two really were stubborn; refusing to leave despite how much his Uncle would plead. He knew his wife would tell him off for feeding into their bad habits; but then, he knew she would also be upset if he let them continue playing their instruments. So, rifling his hand through his pocket, he pulled out a few wads of lira - waving them in the direction of the two boys, their heads perked up immediately.

"If you play ball, you can have this."

In a matter of seconds, the instruments were discarded - tossed, delicately, to the side in favour of crowding around the Uncle. He raised his hands high in the air, frowning at the two indefinitely. Their expressions shifted to something akin to confusion, and so, he pointed toward the door to the kitchen: "You have to play outside for at least an hour before you get this."

Risotto and his Cousin shared a sour glance; it was hardly a fair deal, alas, the two wanted that money. Risotto thought that it could help them with their band - maybe they could buy some blank cassettes and record over them with their own music. It would bring them just that little bit closer to their dream. His cousin, on the other hand, thought of sweet shops and tat stores; Sicily was known for its markets, he couldn't wait to browse each stall and buy whatever he wanted!

So, despite their glares and grumbling, Risotto took the red ball from his Uncle. He and his cousin made their way out of the garage, greeting their now smiling Aunt as they crossed the threshold of their kitchen.

That day, despite the horror Risotto held in his heart, had been warm. Sun-dried leaves rattled across the pavement in a swift swoop, carried along by a gentle breeze that did little to dampen the heat radiated by the midday peak. And though most would have appraised it has a perfect day, it certainly didn't feel like that for Risotto.

Flinching, he brought a hand up to shield his delicate eyes from the sun - they were sensitive to light, a fact that had only driven his mother and father deeper in their belief that he was a sinful night-breed. He never liked being out much; Why torment himself with the outside world when he enjoyed sitting indoors with the lights dim?

Nonetheless, determined to pry lira from his Uncle's hands, he tossed the ball to the ground. Kicking it pathetically; it rolled across the lawn for a few short seconds, but was eventually brought to a halt by his Cousin, who planted his foot atop of the ball securely.

"Can we play Palla Priogioniera?" He plead, Risotto's brow could only furrow at the request.

"There's only two of us," He'd been hoping they'd play something simple, like kicking the ball back and forth or maybe tossing it in the air. Palla Priogioniera was a complex game, usually requiring a two small groups of people, rather than just the two that were there. Similar to dodgeball, the two would stand on either side and lob the ball at each other until one team ran out of players.

Despite Risotto's dismisal, his Cousin was certain that they could play; he bent down to pick the ball up, spinning it between his fingers playfully. "We can make it work!"

He threatened to toss it toward Risotto a few times, laughing at the short flinches it wrought from the older boy.

"I don't think we can." He grumbled. He appreciated the eagerness his cousin upheld, but still, there were only two of them - there was no possible way they could play that game.

While mulling over his own thoughts, Risotto hardly heard his Cousin yelp out a playful: "Look!" And he didn't take note of the ball that flew toward his face - had he known it was coming for him, he'd of dove to the ground to evade it's torment. To no avail, it slapped him square in the face.

When he fell backward, he winced, hardly registering the ball, which rolled off elsewhere; something warm trickled down his chin, and in horror, he brought his wrist up to wipe at the underside of his nose - streaks of red coated his sleeve. The action had dazed him, his vision blurred, and he found himself gripping at his skull in pain.

A startled gasp left his cousins throat. Darting toward Risotto, the younger boy trembled in panic:

"Sorry, I'm so sorry! I forgot you bleed," He reached out to try and help the older boy up, but his kind actions were brushed aside by Risotto, who grunted in pain. "Please don't tell mama and---"

"Just go get the ball." It took him a few moments, but eventually, Risotto levelled himself. As if he didn't have enough on his plate, as if his childhood hadn't already been wrenching enough - Risotto suffered from haemophilia - he hadn't enough iron in his body to thicken his blood; it ran thin like water, and it caused him to bleed excessively.

Looking back on it, Risotto had missed that time in his life, where his only concerns where whether his band would make it big or if he'd start bleeding at inconvenient times. It was frustrating, but it was simple, and that is why he had hated how he had treated his Cousin back then:

He knew his Cousin had meant no harm; he was only playing around, but he had hurt Risotto and in turn the older boy had neglected to throw caution in the water.

Get the ball.

He had ordered. His Cousin had obeyed: golden gaze flickering upward to scan the street - the ball had rolled away from their lawn, sitting narrowly on the road, just near where the street coiled around a corner.

Wanting to please Risotto, the younger of the two teetered out to the pavement - he spared both sides of the road a brief glance, before running out to pluck it from the ground. He had intended to quickly make his way back onto the lawn, but upon staring at the dull surface of the ball, he caught a glimpse of little specks of red; an ode to how he had hurt his older Cousin.

Turning to look at Risotto - who had since gotten to his feet and was pinching his nose to stop it from bleeding, he swallowed thickly: "We can play whatever you want to play."

He had hoped it would appease Risotto, and at the time, it had: Risotto wished more than anything that he had just agreed to play Palla Priogioniera with his Cousin. He had been such a ball of energy; even if there had only been two of them, he was sure his Cousin would have made up something fun.

But good things could never flourish, not on this sick planet;

"I want to play my guitar." Is what he had wanted to say. It's what he should have been able to say; but instead, with the sound of a blaring horn and tires screeching against asphalt - a panicked: "Get out of the road!" Left his throat, torn with fear while he lurched forward, hands splayed open as if it would offer him some kind of solace.

There was nothing he could recognise more than the snap of bones; the spray of a crimson ichor across black tarmac. Something inside him squirmed, writhing beneath his skin at the sight - it urged him forward, despite the tears that pricked at his eyes, despite the man who had since rolled down his window to slur out drunken curse words, despite how much his logical mind wanted to freeze and cry, he ran into the road; kneeling down before the large vehicle and clawing at his Cousin.

Twice more, the sound of a car horn shot through the air; the man in the drivers seat was yelling something, but Risotto had hardly registered it - his Cousins wrist was limp in his own grip, mangled in multiple directions and stained a dark red.

The commotion the driver had decided to bring to their small, typically quiet street, alerted Risotto's Aunt that something had gone wrong; her startled shriek clearly scared the driver, for in just a matter of seconds he had reversed his car away from the two boys and swerved from the scene - desperate not to get caught.

Only a year later, his Aunt and Uncle separated; it wasn't a divorce, they had told him, but they needed space from each other - his Uncle moved inland, while Risotto remained with his Aunt in Sicily.

The sight of his Cousin splayed out across concrete, a body contorted against in such a foul, inhuman way, was something Risotto would never be able to shake from his mind. They tried to hide the cadaver from him when the paramedics came to take it away, but he had already seen far too much, and the blood that coated his hands and arms served only to make his skin crawl in discomfort. It itched. Writhed; like something was living beneath it. It was all too much for him to handle, tears flowed from his eyes freely.

Thing's could only spiral down from there. Though she tried to hold him in a kind regard; he wasn't her son. In the soft light of the sun, his silver hair reflected white, and for a few moments she could pretend her child was still with her - but then, Risotto would look to her with eyes a dark maroon and she would be reminded of the thing she invited into her home.

Maybe his mother had been right. Maybe he was a bad omen. His misfortune took her child, the day his Cousin died, he was robbed of his life - he could have been human, he could have been loved; but he was less than that now.

The older he got, the less he tried to deny the title his family had inflicted upon him. His youth was spent in isolation - rumours spread quickly, nobody wanted to spend time with the boy who killed his own Cousin. Nobody wanted to befriend someone as socially inept as himself; not even his Aunt could look him in the eye. He quickly began to resent the people around him - his Aunt, his classmates, every school teacher that ignored his clear suffering, any counsellor who brushed his upset aside - labelling him as shy, meek, socially anxious; he was ill, he needed help, he needed someone to look him in the eye and tell him to get a hold of himself before he spiralled into something he'd resent - but no one ever did that. Nobody came to his rescue.

He could still remember the first time he had ever held a blade; it had been smooth and sharp against his supple skin, leaking blood that pricked and pooled across his arms. And even after all this time, he could never wash away those lacerations; pale scars, there to forever remind him of a time in which he was at his lowest.

He had grown quite a lot since his younger years; stretching taller than most, though at this point his frame had been lithe. He hardly took care of himself, forgetting to eat properly most days. His silver hair descended past his shoulders, but it wasn't pretty; greasy and unbrushed, and dressed in all black, he looked like someone to avoid. The people who had any sense to them did avoid him, only foolish people full of themselves had any incentive to mess with him; and it just so happened, the wrong person did exactly that.

He liked to collect different kinds of blades.

It started small: Craft knives, swiped from his schools art class, and small kitchen utensils, until eventually he was loitering at markets after hours to buy decorative switchblades - he carried them with him everywhere, though, he had never quite been sure why, not until he was seventeen years old.

It was a day like no other, in that the finest details had been lost to time; but if there was one thing he could remember better than anything else, it was the face of that wretched man. The man who had taken the life of his Cousin - loitering near a booze shop, no less. The anger Risotto felt had been visceral; he was sure that man had gone to jail, to see him stood here not even three years later chatting with friends, with no hint of regret or upset for what he had done, it sent pure rage through Risotto's veins - red, hot fury, burning deep in his mind. It stopped him from thinking straight; his knife weighed heavy in his pocket, and before he could even think about what he was doing, he had it's handle clutched tightly in his grip.

Yet, he'd had more restraint that day.

He'd held back. He wasn't a murderer, not like that man.

But he just couldn't let the thought go. The thought that a singular man had brought so much suffering to his life; in one short minute, this man had ruined him. Risotto would never be the same, no matter how hard he tried, the weight of his melancholy would never lift from his shoulders - he knew he would never be happy, not until he had his hands wrapped around that mans throat, squeezing out every last ounce of justice from his body.

He would write things down in a journal, things that he hoped would never grace the light of day; excerpts detailing all the different ways he would kill that man, how sick he felt, how much he wanted to hurt himself and how often he wanted to hurt others.

His thoughts were sudden and intrusive. He knew they were wrong, he knew it was wrong to feel this way, but he couldn't help it.

Every waking moment he spent thinking of how horrible his own life was, when he had never done anything wrong. Why was it that someone so evil could prosper?

Urged by the uncontrollable itching beneath his skin, he'd find himself walking the streets late at night, bathed in shadows where no one could see him. In pursuit of this man, Risotto had discovered that he had a family - a wife, who he'd known since before the incident, and a two year old daughter, who he'd had since getting out of jail. He'd stopped drinking. Had a job, friends, he was a good person - this should have discouraged Risotto, it should have helped him realise that maybe people can change, however, it only fuelled the fire burning in his heart.

It wasn't fair that he could move on. It wasn't fair that after all this time, Risotto still suffered from the loss of his Cousin, and yet this man could be happy, he could have a family, he could pretend nothing had happened.

Risotto had always held pride in his self restraint, but that night, something inside him snapped. His frayed ends of insanity finally burnt up.

On the Eighth of August, Nineteen Ninety-One, Risotto Nero took his first kill; he stabbed that man thirty seven times. Police statements described his body as 'maimed', the mortician report claimed that it was likely he had been tortured before death. Many criticised his work; they called him careless, he'd been caught breaking into his house on video and both the mans wife and neighbours knew something had happened, but Risotto had never tried to be careful.

When his Aunt's house was searched, they found his knives, and they found his journal - Risotto remained silent during his court hearings, he had nothing to say on the matter. He had killed that man, what was the use in lying?

They charged him with first degree murder. Murder with the intent to kill - though, Risotto would disagree. He hadn't intended for anything to happen that night. He had just lost grips with himself. What had happened next, though, Risotto wasn't quite sure whether it was a blessing or a curse:

Passione had found him.

He spent a few months in jail, only to find that a man by the name of Polpo had paid off a large sum of money to have him removed - bribing his judge to offer him freedom, Risotto was let out on the condition that he follow Passione's orders blindly. Polpo displayed himself as someone Saintly, a saviour, who Risotto owed his all to, and at first, Risotto had followed that sentiment willingly; with no purpose, he had allowed Polpo to pull wool over his eyes. Why shouldn't he have?

Polpo had trained Risotto - by the time he was twenty one, he had bulked up from the scrawny, ratty thing he had once been. He was granted a stand; and suddenly, his affection toward all things metal and sharp made sense. Unconventional as most stands went, it lived inside him, and provided a strange explanation for how often he would feel his skin crawling. And after all that, when he was finally ready, he was granted a team:

La Squadra Di Execuzioni was a team built on trust. Risotto owed Polpo his life, but the dedication he held to Passione wasn't nearly as thick as a loyalty he had to his team. They gave him purpose, meaning, authority - he even fell in love, things he had never experienced before suddenly coming to fruition. So when things hit the fan, when his team had finally fought back against the mistreatment they received;

With three dead,

Two bedridden,

Three severely injured,

And one so depressed he'd refused to do anything but sit in bed and stare at his laptop.

It only made sense that Risotto sought revenge. He had been turned to a weapon, and now he would ensure that those who tormented him and his team knew no peace; even if he failed, he would ensure that his name would never be forgotten. Whispered betwixt shadows, people would shudder when they heard of the Risotto Nero, and all the things he was capable of.

"Sardinia,"

It was a name settled at the very tip of his tongue, yet, uttering it aloud brought bile to the back of his mouth. He stood broadly, eyeing one of his teammates from the corner of their new hideout - the rugged little apartment hardly held the entire team, but it was the safest place they could lay low, just until this entire thing blew over.

He teetered closer to his teammate, brow furrowed. "That is where they are?"

Slowly, as if a weight was pressing down on him, Ghiaccio lifted his head to look at his leader. A choked sound left his throat, courtesy of the blood-soaked bandages he had wrapped around his throat. "Y..es,"

He croaked, his voice hoarse. Since sustaining his injury, he had been struggling to talk; it was horrid, but, he was thankful he had left that fight mostly intact. He could have returned to his team looking like Prosciutto, or worse, Illuso. Taking a few moments to cough, Ghiaccio grumbled unsurely:

"Melone c...claims they suddenly shifted their direction once they made it to--" He coughed, "Venezia, but," A short, uneasy grimace settled across his face. "We haven't been on best terms since... well," He paused for a moment, biting his bottom lip. "He think's she's still alive. Apparently, while following their team, Babyface has been picking up on traces of her DNA, but---"

"---That's enough,"

The room was enveloped by a blanket of silence. Risotto's lip quivered, he had wanted to say something on the matter, but found himself at a loss for words. He had been evading that topic like some kind of plague; his grief was still fresh, yet, he had no time to be thinking of anything other than getting what he needed.

Turning away from Ghiaccio, Risotto stormed toward the door to their hiding place. "I'm going to Sardinia. If I do not return, then you leave."

He turned to look over his shoulder, shooting Ghiaccio a stern, authorative glare. "All of you. You will leave Italy; maybe even Europe, if you have to---"

"---You're going alone?" Ghiaccio seemed a little taken aback at the suggestion. Bucciarati's team had decimated every single member of their team, even some of the most agile and powerful members like Prosciutto had been near killed. But, Risotto held no regard for the dangers his self-inflicted mission held.

"Yes," He huffed, turning back around to grab at the door which would take him outside. He heard a sound leave Ghiaccio, an attempt to argue back; but his hoarse voice wouldn't let him. Risotto huffed. "Don't try to dissuade me. This is something I must do - even if I took someone, the rest of you are far too injured to do anything." He glanced over his shoulder once more, the crimson of his eyes near glowing amongst the dark of their hideout. "It will take me a day to get there, and a day to return, at the very least. If I do not return by the end of this week, then it's safe to assume I never will."

Though he was avoiding saying the words, Ghiaccio knew all too well what Risotto was suggesting. He swallowed thickly, nodding his head, and it was with that, Risotto stormed out of the house. With nothing on him but a couple thousand lira and a burning desire for revenge, Risotto would travel to Sardinia.

It's what he should have done in the first place.

---

HIHI SO THERE IT IS i think this is the start to chapter 22 of my fic, BUT ITS STILL A DRAFT - i write scenes as they come to me, and often they change quite a bit when they actually get put into the fic SOOO chapter 22 of DK could very well start differently, and YOU NEVER KNOW this could get pushed or pulled to be either earlier or later... also i figured out how to make text small arent I cool?

i didnt know whether i wanted the title to be 'Enter Sandman' or 'Until It Sleeps' cuz while Enter Sandman is a GREAT song that really suits Risotto, it's Metallica's most popular and i fear there are other songs that are underappreciated SO i decided on Until It Sleeps, it's one of my favs and i think it suits Risotto :3

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riddles-n-games · 10 months ago

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Let It Hurt

Pairing: Avery and Jameson Summary: A rewrite of Ch. 54 in the first book. Alternate take post first kiss at the Wayback Cottage where Avery is more angsty and doesn't let Jameson go that easy. Length: Moderate Story Type: Rewrite

ANNOUCEMENT: I'm starting a tag list. If you want to be included, comment down below! Also, to access my TIG master list of fics, here's the link to the expanded view of my blog: riddles-n-games.tumblr.com. Click the icon Hawthorne Vault, that's where you'll find hidden treasure.

A/N: Hi guys! I'm sooo excited to be posting this one. It's been a long time in drafts and I was lost with how to continue it but I just know I really wanted Avery to be hurt but accidentally didn't try hard enough to make Jameson stop kissing her again. This gets deeper in their feelings and so it kinda makes Jameson sound like he's his THL self but still in line with his TIG self as well. Enjoy!

youtube

Kissing him felt like fire. He wasn't soft or sweet, the way he had been while washing away the blood and dirt. I didn't need soft or sweet. This was exactly what I needed.

Maybe I could be what he needed, too. Maybe this didn’t have to be a bad idea. Maybe the complications were worth it.

He pulled back from the kiss, his lips only an inch away from mine. “I always knew you were special.”

I felt his breath on my face. I felt every last one of those words. I’d never thought of myself as special. I’d been invisible for so long. Wallpaper. Even after I’d become the biggest story in the world, it had never really felt like anyone was paying attention to me. The real me.

“We’re so close now,” Jameson murmured. “I can feel it.” There was an energy in his voice, like the buzzing of a neon light. “Someone obviously didn’t want us looking at that tree.”

What?

He went to kiss me again, cupping my cheek in his hand and with my heart sinking, I sadly wasn’t fast enough to turn my head away as his mouth connected with mine. I couldn't stop the lone tear that slid down my face. The shock of his words only started to hit me then and I wished it didn’t hurt so much but it did, even as I subconsciously reciprocated the kiss.

For a moment, I tried to will the hurt away, to pretend that this was what it was like to get kissed by a boy that liked me. I hated that his body felt snug against me and how it felt right. We didn’t actually like each other in that way, he just needed me to solve his grandfather’s last mystery and then I’d be discarded. I was no Emily but then, I never would want to be her anyway.

She was a life lesson of what not to be; a spoiled little girl who was more trouble than she was worth, got everything she wanted and got away with anything. Even if something was most definitely her fault, somehow everyone else was responsible. Well, the princess fell from the tower at some point. But even though I was tired of being associated with a dead girl that was six feet below the ground in a grave, I was continuously being dealt that card to no avail.

The biggest irony of all was that I was in the house where her presence was most felt, like the ghost of her was overhead, hovering behind me, following my every move.

When he pulled away, I pushed at his chest and turned on my heel, trying to put as much distance between us. Hearing him grunt in surprise was only the tiniest bit satisfying as I made my way back to the room. There was some muffled mumbling that sounded an awful lot like “deserved that” but even so I didn’t care.

I stopped at the beds and looked from one to the other. Which was hers? As I took in every fine detail of the quilt, my hand subconsciously went to my chest, ghosting over the pattern of the wound. I was in a dead girl’s room. I was almost killed tonight. There had been wood in my chest, there could have been a bullet buried there instead. Jameson could have been hurt or killed; if the bullet had ricocheted, it easily could have hit him.

Both of us could have come out of this very differently if it weren’t for those “hadn’t beens”. But Jameson didn’t seem to see it that way. No, because he was busy thinking about a tree. Anger flared inside me at the reminder. I understood he had laser focus but I thought he had room for a little bit of empathy and logic.

My mind shot to alertness when I heard nearby shuffling until I realized it was coming from the bathroom and heard him step into the bedroom. I crossed my arms and kept my eyes trained on the bedpost in front of me, not letting myself look up when I knew he was right behind me. He sighed softly.

“Heiress?” I didn’t reply. Another sigh. “Look, I know I came off as in-

“I could’ve been shot.”

“Pardon? I didn’t-”

“I said I could’ve been shot.” I spun around, catching him blink in surprise. “Shot, Jameson. Do you know what that means?” I stared at him sharply for a long moment before he looked aside, something like guilt or shame evident on his face. “I just inherited your family’s stupidly big fortune which made me a target of basically everyone related to you and anyone else in the world that made me their problem. I could have been killed. You could have been. Don’t you get that?”

He looked up again and tilted his head, giving me a small wry smile. “Don’t worry about me, Heiress. A bullet still wouldn’t stop me.” My jaw dropped; he was still attempting humor.

“A-Are you being serious right now? Do you hear yourself?” He stayed silent. “Oren just pulled a chunk of wood out of my chest and if things had worked out a little differently, he could have been pulling out a bullet. Same goes for you. And meanwhile you’re over here thinking about a damn tree? This mystery, us running around acting like we’re Mystery Inc, you figuring out why your grandfather chose me, it’s all meaningless to you if I die. And if you got shot, your family would be out for me, we both know that much. And then what? Not everything is a game, Hawthorne.”

“Perhaps you’re right but that’s just it, MG. If Emily taught me anything, it’s that everything is a game. Even this.” I was about ready to throttle him. But I withheld and rolled my eyes, laughing anxiously instead. “Jameson, get real. Emily’s dead, I almost died, your grandfather is dead, you’re not one of the heirs, your family hates me, the inheritance is not in the rightful hands, and now someone is after me. This is reality for me and you right now. This isn’t in your head. Life comes with risk, I know, but this isn’t a game.”

That elicited a reaction. His jaw got tight and his eyes narrowed. “You don’t think I know that Heiress? Unfortunately, my grandfather raised us treating everything like a damn game from the moment we could talk and think. Don’t pretend you even know the beginning of my life story, we’d be here all day.”

“And I’m not. But you are acting like what just happened is something to push aside. Newsflash, it can’t be. I can get you pretending that covering me with yourself in the woods, cleaning my wound, our kiss doesn’t matter but not my life or yours being on the line for some stupid mystery. That’s all I ask.” That’s when it hit me. “Why do you act like that? Like you don’t matter?”

I caught the panic in his eyes when they widened for a brief second as he turned away from me and ran a hand through his hair, sighing deeply. He’d been doing that a lot. After a long pause he spoke. “Because I’ve done worse. There’s a lot of things from my past that I’m not proud of. Things with Gray, things with Emily, things with Xan and Nash, the old man…” I put a hand on his shoulder. He side-eyed me and smirked knowingly. “If you’re expecting for this to turn into a confession, you’re going to be sorely disappointed.”

This time I sighed and shook my head. “No, I don’t. I don’t expect you to say anything you’re not comfortable sharing. But Jameson? We’ve all done things we’re not proud of, don’t be so hard on yourself for that.”

He turned his head toward me fully and the smirk turned into his signature crooked grin. “Don’t pity me, Heiress. Self loathing is a very good look for me.” But I saw the sadness in his eyes and something about it gave me a hollow feeling, like he’d been holding it in for so long. Yet that didn’t last either. “I know what you’re thinking and contrary to what you believe, I deserve it. Call it my role in the family.”

My hand slid from his shoulder and swiped at the mussy hairs stuck to my forehead. Then, I sidestepped him to pace around the room. I wasn’t sure how much more beating around the bush I could take.

“I thought that was my thing,” he said. I glared at him in passing. “What? Did I say something wrong?”

“Can you just let me think in silence for a second? I mean, would it kill you to stop making everything a joke?”

“Hey, this wasn’t ever going to be a pity party, Heiress. Not my style. I’ve been honest about that mu-”

“Stop it! Just… stop.” I walked over to him and took his hands in mine. “Look at me, Jameson.” He did, surprisingly. I lowered my voice and spoke gently. “I know you’re not okay. I know you’re sad. You have been for a long time. It’s caused you deep pain, I’ve felt that way, too.” I felt him go very still and for a long minute, he was quiet.

He exhaled shakily and his eyes were averted. There was the rawness again. “I’m not very good at this, Avery. I’m terrible at hurting.”

Avery. He said my name; that’s when I knew he meant it. I let go of his hands and cupped his face in mine which made him meet my gaze. I felt like crying just seeing his misery. “I know you are. You can take all the time you need. But you can’t fix the issue by avoiding it.”

Jameson inhaled sharply and rose to his full height, shaking his head again and went to stand against the wall. “I can’t. I’m sorry but I can’t.” His voice had gone so quiet, I could barely hear him. I followed after him and while I stopped just far enough that he had some space, I still reached an arm out and placed my hand on his back. He flinched slightly but didn’t tell me to move it and I didn’t retract either.

“Look, I’m sorry that this might be pushing you too far.” He didn’t say anything. “You can be mad at me like I am at you for tonight but in truth, I think you’re just mad at yourself.” His head tilted to my side and I saw his mouth open but I plowed on. “You don’t have to tell me anything about your past. You don’t have to clarify. We can pretend everything else is a game. But not this. You matter Jameson and hate me for telling you that but that’s something you’ll have to eventually admit to yourself. It doesn’t have to be out loud with anyone around. It just has to be you admitting to yourself that you matter because you do.”

“I-”

“And I know this sounds worse but there are people who care about you: your brothers, your Nan, your aunt, I think, and you know, I’d even say me. You matter to me, Jameson. I may not know too much about you but I know a bleeding heart when I see one, especially one who hates themselves. I’ve been there myself, Libby too.” That’s when I heard the broken laugh.

“You really don’t know when to quit, do you?”

I shook my head. “Nope, why do you think I’m still here?” He turned around and leaned on the wall, eyes red and hair covering his right eye but he was smiling that crooked smile. It was raw and edgy but it looked good on him.

My stomach did a little flip flop. Stop it, now’s not the time. I stepped closer to him, swiping at the forelock but when I pulled my arm back, he gently wrapped his fingers around my wrist and tugged me to him. I shuffled forward a little more till I was practically leaning on him and his other hand went to my hip. The hand that was entwined with his was resting on his chest and it seemed like he was mindlessly rubbing circles into the back of my hand, as if distracting himself. We stayed in silence for a few minutes which seemed to stretch into an hour. Finally, Jameson spoke up.

“Listen, Heiress, I owe you an-”

“I forgive you.”

He shook his head. “Nuh-uh-uh. Not so fast. You got to give your little speech without interruptions. Now that I am in the mood to talk, you want to interrupt? Tsk-tsk.” I arched an eyebrow at him and he simply winked. His voice lowered, “I’m warning you though, this might be a shitty apology.” Oh, I’m prepared for that. But I didn’t say that out loud, just nodded and waited for him to continue.

“Hmmm-ahh. Hah, I’m already failing this. I’m sorry for what happened back there and here. I know it was serious and could’ve been bad news for both of us.” He looked to my wound and brought a thumb over it, air tracing it but hovered so close to my skin that I could practically feel his touch. “I was worried about you, still am.” Then through his teeth I heard him mutter something more softly. It sounded something along the lines of “Maybe-something-always.” but I couldn’t be sure.

“That wound could have been fatal and I am angry we didn’t spare that but it doesn’t change the fact you’re still here kicking. Avery, if there’s anything I can give you full credit for, it’s your tenacity. I admire that a lot.” I felt a smile tugging at my lips. “About the tree thing, um, that’s how I learned to push away all the bad stuff, by focusing on the next clue. Those Saturday games helped me learn to focus on one thing even when there was something in the back of my mind. And to your final point; you are right. If I got shot or died, Nash would find a way to bring me back just so he could whoop my ass.”

I smirked at the last bit. “I’m sure he would. I could try to protect you, though.”

“Heh, you can try. But I wasn’t wrong when I said this was a game.”

“Jameson…”

“Hear me out. This is a game, a dangerous one and because of the risks and stakes, this,” he pointed to my wound, “is exactly what can happen. People will be out for you, more now than ever. But, if you still want to find out why my grandfather chose you, then the reward is considered higher than the risk. However, that’s up to you. And I can go back myself because I know these grounds.” He stared at me intently and I knew what he implied with the unspoken words. He wants me safe. The feeling warmed me but turned to ice shards because I knew he still wanted to risk himself.

I shook my head. “Jameson, you were with me. I don’t know if that person was potentially after you too. I don’t want you to risk yourself.” What if the bullet strikes its mark this time? I leaned my head against his chest but he didn’t let me be that way for long. He cupped the back of my head and made me look up at him.

“Do you trust me?”

“No.” He smiled.

“Good. But do you trust that we’re a good team?” I bit my lip but nodded in the end. “I can take worse risks, Heiress, and I found ways out of shadier spots. I’ll look through the security logs to find a safe path to the tree, I can promise you that much. Also, tell Oren to block that fireplace entrance in your room.” I nodded frantically. Then, he whispered the quietest I ever heard him. “I know you don’t have reason to trust any of us but me and my brothers don’t have anything against you even though Gray was acting like you’re a conwom-,” I snorted while he briefly smirked but quickly turned serious again, “If there’s anything good the old man taught us it was loyalty to each other no matter the circumstance.”

I nodded again for what felt like the hundredth time. Then, I carefully wrapped my arms around his upper torso and hugged him, burying my head into his shoulder. His went to the small of my back and I felt him rubbing circles into my shirt like earlier. “Thank you, that means a lot. I still think you’re an idiot for wanting to do this but I won’t stop you. I’ll even distract Oren.”

“Great, does that mean I can kiss you again?” I pulled away from him immediately and raised an eyebrow in question. He was smiling cheekily and winked. But his eyes held that same intensity when he was focused and were tempting me. Well? Will you? Before I could think twice, I pulled him down by his hoodie strings and pressed my lips to his hard. Jameson had no trouble catching on and he lifted me up by the thighs, letting me wrap my legs around his waist before readjusting his arms to my back. I also curled my arm around his shoulder and clutched the fabric of his hoodie at his shoulder blade. It was a deep kiss but it was sweet. Ok, so a bit sweet isn’t bad.

When we parted, I was panting but he wasn’t. What a shocker. Instead, he was observing my face and I could imagine what he saw; the cuts, raw and red, scratches from the bark. Before I could ask anything, he leaned close and pressed soft kisses to each one. I closed my eyes. When he kissed my forehead last and he pulled back, I opened them again to find him smiling softly at me. It made me smile too and I didn’t hesitate to lean forward again to give him a light kiss in thanks.

Unfortunately, at that same moment a hushed gasp came from the hall.

A/N: Hope you guys enjoyed that. See you next time. Also, I'm updating my master list of fics so the last few including this one will be there for you.

#avery kylie grambs #avery grambs #jameson winchester hawthorne #jameson hawthorne #averyjameson #averyjameson fics #the inheritance games fanfics #tig fanfiction #the inheritance games #tig #Youtube

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pix-writes · 10 months ago

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Continuing with my last question cause I just thought this; what does a friendship with Stan looks like? To be more specific, if the reader is a female-presenting person, would her friendship with Stan look different than if the reader were a man? Mostly I wondered because Stan is a ladies' man, and I was wondering if a friendship with a woman would make him wonder if he likes the person or if they are just friends, idk if I explain myself aaaa

Almost thought I'd lost this ask! 😅 It was just in my drafts I hadn't accidentally deleted it thank goodness!

Nah, I think I've got what you're saying!

(a little long, so I've put it under a read more to be mindful of ppl scrolling!)

With Stan I think a relationship with a man and a woman would be a bit different, whilst I perosnally HC that he's bisexual, I do think he is more drawn to women, either as just personal preference and/or because its more recognisable/acceptable societally for him to flirt with women easily.

Whilst Stan is a bit of a ladies man, he does admit to Dipper in Roadside Attraction, that he's not actually good at building relationships/dating women; more often than not his flirtations gets the door slammed in his face. I'm guessing this is because he just is naturally a flirt/pick up artist and is therefore not particularly selective when it comes to flirting with people in general. So with that in mind, he'd be likely to be quite flirtatious in the beginning of getting to know a female friend, but he's (mostly) kidding around, so its not serious if you don't see him that way, I mean you hardly know each other at this stage. It also depends on your interactions together and how you respond to his jokes over this initial stage too. If you flirt back, you guys are mostly going to skip over the friends stage to lovers!

I think Stanley has gone so long without having any friends/close friendships, though, that he's just happy to find a someone who will share the same hobbies or is a 'kindred spirit' of sorts. So, I think he would be likely to drop the flirting act with you once he realises you're not picking up what he's putting down, but you could be a friend. And geniunely, too, he's not just waiting around for you to change your mind, he simply forgets about it and hangs out with you as a friend. Once you become close friends though, I think it would be harder for him to shut off feelings for a female friend, you spend so much time together he can't help but fall for you. He'd try to draw back and rationalise to himself that he's just lonely, so of course he would think about being with you, even if you're not interested (cue the angst). But obviously, that won't work, and his feelings do slip out in the way he acts around you at times!

With a male friend, its much more hanging out together and becoming aquaintance to friends to lovers, I think Stan wouldn't be as likely to initiate things or flirt with a guy right of the bat in most cirucmstances; but he's been around and travelled the world, he's had the occaisonal thing with another fella before, and it's not all about smut either, but romance too. I think he'd be a little less flirtatious, but it once he'd realise he's starting to like them that's when the flirtation will start. I think he'll be a lot more cautious to start it seriously, though, because some of the time he has lost a male friend to flirtation in the past. He'll only do it if he thinks he might have a chance and will lay it on thick, because, what has he got to lose?!

For Stan, the dynamic is different based on his past and also the way he was socialised (living in a heteronormative society, eh?!), so I think a relationship with a guy compared to a girl he'd be slightly different in the way he interacts with them, but he's still a terrible flirt all the same! ^^

Friendship with Stan will look like:

Sitting on the porch, having a drink (of pitt ofc) and telling each other stories

Playing cards or other games you can bet on at the kitchen table, this can go on for hours after dinner

Watching any old thing on the TV (when the kids have gone to bed/are out, it's definitely period dramas - but only if you're into them and put them on, as Stan won't admit he likes them... but you know he does! ^-^)

Fishing on the lake in Gravity Falls and drinking something more alcoholic, will have to stop Stanley from getting into some kind of altercation if it's tourist season when you go out, and boat to the shore tipsy

Being goofy together - generally joking around with each other, making witty/snarky comments to the other nearly all the time, maybe the odd harmless prank here and there - or if one of you has been cheating at cards actual pranks OR some kind of competitive rematch as revenge!

Helping him and Ford on their adventures in some way, even if you don't go with them, you'll be involved somehow whether you like it or not. Will ring you every time they stop at a port to give you an update (it's mainly so you don't worry - you know he's got places safely and he knows you haven't fallen into the bottemless pit whilst he's been away)

Spending summerween/halloween together and competing to see who can be the most scary/has the best decorations/costume out of the two of you etc. One time you enlist Ford's help to give Stanley a scare and totally win. He says that you'll be the death of him one day in response. Once you both watched horror movies, there was a regional power cut and you both got spooked and ended up sleeping in the living room instead of going home/going to bed.

Enabling or discouraging (depending on the situation) each other's devious plans or crimes.

You have a running joke that Stan owes you money. Except it's not a joke. He does. (it just so happens that anytime you get it back is also in step with times you have to pay him back for something as well, so you end up exchanging the same $20 note or whatever)

#ask asnwered #pix replies #stanley pines imagine #stanley pines x reader #stan pines x you #gf hcs

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ldrfanatic · 4 months ago

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Don't Let Me Fall II

one three

my bookcase slytherin boys masterlist

part 2 of the theodore nott hockey au. posting all of the other parts tonight as well. this has been sitting in my drafts just waiting to be edited.

It had been a week since you’d accidentally spilled your drink all over Theo Nott’s jersey, and yet, you still couldn’t stop thinking about the encounter. You hadn’t expected Theo to even acknowledge you, let alone ask you to grab a drink. But here you were, standing outside a small café, nervously checking your phone for the third time in as many minutes.

Your heart was racing, but it wasn’t from nerves about the drink. No, it was because you had no idea what you were even doing here. You didn’t know anything about hockey, and sure, Theo was good-looking, but that didn’t mean you knew how to talk to him either. You were used to being in your own world—one of books and quiet afternoons. What did you even have to say to someone like Theo?

Your thoughts were interrupted when you heard the sound of footsteps, followed by a smooth voice.

"Hey, Y/N."

You looked up to find Theo standing there, wearing a casual hoodie and jeans, his hands shoved into his pockets. He looked... different, somehow, out of his hockey gear, more relaxed. He smiled at you, the same small, easy smile from last week.

"Hey," you said, trying to sound casual, but the nerves were still there. You gestured to the door behind you. “I, uh, already ordered, if that’s okay.”

“Perfect,” Theo replied, following you into the café. It was warm inside, a welcome change from the chilly evening outside, and the familiar scent of coffee beans filled the air. You led him to a small table in the corner, and after a brief moment of awkwardness, you both sat down.

"Thanks for meeting me," Theo said, his voice smooth as he settled into his chair. “I’m surprised you actually showed up.”

You shrugged, still trying to seem unaffected by his presence. "I didn’t want to leave you hanging after I ruined your jersey," you said, forcing a lighthearted tone. “Besides, I figured a drink wouldn’t hurt. I’m not sure what I’m doing, but hey, who does.”

Theo laughed, a genuine sound that made you smile in return. "You don’t need to know what you're doing," he said. "I didn’t invite you here to talk about hockey. Trust me, I’ve spent enough time on the ice this week to last me a lifetime."

You raised an eyebrow. "Is that a complaint?"

"Not at all," he said, shaking his head. "It’s just… nice to be outside of the rink for a bit. I spend so much time there, sometimes it feels like the world is just hockey and nothing else." His eyes met yours then, and there was something almost vulnerable about the way he looked at you, like he was peeling back a layer of the carefully crafted image he put out into the world. “It’s good to get away from all that, you know? Especially with a pretty girl like you.”

A blush coated your entire face from the neck up but you nodded, understanding in a way you hadn’t expected. "I get that. I’m kind of the same way. I spend most of my time with my nose in books, and sometimes it’s nice to step outside of my little bubble.”

"Books, huh?" Theo asked, leaning in slightly. "What kind of books do you read?"

The question caught you off guard, but in a good way. You weren’t used to talking about your hobbies with someone you barely knew, but it felt surprisingly easy with him. "Mostly romance," you said with a smile. "Big into love at first sight and kisses in the rain. I like getting lost in another world where I can believe love like that really exists."

"I get that." Theo smiled again, his gaze softening. “I’m not much of a reader myself, but I get the appeal. The way you can just disappear into something else. It’s kind of like… hockey, in a way. When I’m on the ice, I’m as vulnerable as ever. Nothing else matters."

It was refreshing to hear him speak so openly, without the usual bravado that came with being a star player. You found yourself relaxing more, drawn to the honesty in his words. “I get that, yeah. When you’re fully immersed in something, it’s like you don't even notice that you're an open book.”

Theo’s eyes lingered on you for a moment, and there was a quiet understanding between you. For a second, you both just sat there, letting the silence settle comfortably around you before Theo broke it.

“So, you really don’t know anything about hockey, huh?” he asked, his smile teasing. “I thought maybe you were just pretending not to care so you could get out of talking about it.”

You laughed, shaking your head. “I’m serious. I have no idea what’s going on most of the time. I just show up to be supportive, I guess.”

“That’s sweet,” Theo said softly, leaning back in his chair. “I can’t say I’ve met many people who care about me but don’t really care about hockey.” His eyes twinkled with amusement as he added, "Most of my friends just want to talk about the game, the plays, the wins. It’s refreshing to talk about something different.”

You didn’t know why, but something about that made you feel special. Maybe it was the way Theo’s walls seemed to come down just a little when he was with you. Maybe it was the fact that, in a world full of people who wanted something from him—whether it was his skill or his fame—he didn’t expect anything from you. It felt nice, in a way that made you want to get to know him more.

"Well," you said, “I could always learn about hockey, if you’re up for the challenge of explaining it to me.”

Theo raised an eyebrow, a playful glint in his eyes. “Are you sure? It might be a lot to take in."

“I’m up for it,” you replied, giving him a smile. “Besides, I won't let you just talk about your sport all the time. I’ll keep you on your toes.”

He chuckled, shaking his head in amusement. "Fair enough. But I warn you, it might get boring fast."

"Then I’ll just distract you with something else,” you teased, feeling the comfort between you growing. You weren’t sure where this was heading, but for the first time, talking to someone just felt... easy.

As the evening wore on, you found yourselves slipping into a conversation that was casual and yet surprisingly meaningful. You talked about music, your favorite books (which Theo pretended to be more interested in than he probably was), and even your plans for the summer. The more you talked, the more you realized that you were genuinely enjoying Theo’s company.

By the time you were both finishing your drinks, you felt like you had learned more about him than you expected. And despite all the uncertainty you felt going into the evening, you couldn’t help but feel a little excited for what came next.

"Thanks for coming out tonight," Theo said as the two of you stood up to leave. "I’m glad we did this. I think… we should do it again sometime."

Your heart gave a little skip. "I’d like that."

That night, something shifted between you and Theo, like the first few, delicate threads of a new connection weaving their way through the fabric of your lives.

Theo Nott, the hockey star, didn’t seem so far out of reach anymore.

#slytherin boys #slytherin #theodore nott #theodore nott x reader #slytherin boys x reader #theo nott #theo nott x reader #theo nott imagine #theo nott x you #hockey au #dontletmefall

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in1-nutshell · 2 years ago

Note

Hey, not sure if you're down for writing a continuation of the “Megatron 'accidentally' adopting human Buddy who fears nothing” post. But there was a line “Rung has a line of bots that express the same worry for Buddy one day doing something dumb and not being able to come back from it.” that I think should be expanded upon. Dangerous things are constantly happening to the lost light crew and Buddy must have the devil's luck to come out of everything that happens unscathed. I'd like to see that luck run out. I'd like to see the crew panicking because Buddy got hurt badly and there's been no news if they'll recover or not. I want to see Megatron deal with the impending mortality of his newly adopted kid poorly. And I want to see everyone on the lost light panic even more because if Megatron doesn't start a war if this kid dies, Whirl absolutely will. P.s please let buddy live, I may crave angst, but not that much.

Have a good day, love your writing

Ooooh! Have you been peaking at some of my drafts? haha! I have been thinking about what would happen if Buddy ever got hurt on Megatron's watch. But now more bots are going to watch.

Hope you enjoy!

Megatron and Fearless Buddy who gets seriously hurt

SFW, familial, platonic, angst but happy ending, mention of injuries but nothing graphic or detailed, Human reader

MTMTE/LL

As we all know Buddy fears nothing

And this put some stress on their friends and new dad, Megatron.

“Hey Megs!”--Rodimus

“Rodimus, don’t call me that.”--Megatron

“Yeah, not gonna happen. Anyways I was wondering if you’ve seen Buddy anywhere. They were supposed to show me something?”--Rodimus

“Show you what?”--Megatron

“Something about being a present for being Brainstorm’s ‘Guinea pig’?”--Rodimus

Buddy flying by on a jet pack.

“Hi Roddy! Hi Megs! Bye Roddy! Bye Megs!”--Buddy

“…”—Rodimus and Megatron

CRASH!

Both mechs start running

But as time continues to go on, their little antics are just normalized. Sure, there are still some bots that know the true fragility of the human life span. Such bots included but not limited to Ratchet, First Aid, Velocity, Swerve, Rung, Megatron, and Whirl

“Where are you going with those pilars?”—First Aid

“It’s nothing illegal, yet.”--Buddy

“What type of answer is that!?”—First Aid

But for the most part the crew thinks Buddy is almost as durable as they are. Yes, even Megatron has been guilty of this type of behavior. He isn’t too proud of that.

“C’mon Fleshy jump and do a flip!”—Random Bot

“Bet—”--Buddy

“I think not.”--Whirl

“Whirl?!”--Buddy

“If you break your dumb fragile bones who else is going to come with me on planet expeditions? Cyclonus? I think not. He sucks out all the fun.”—Whirl

“I am literally right here.”--Cyclonus

So, let the angst begin.

The place was being invaded by space pirates.

The pirates where taking the bridge and had successfully barricaded themselves in.

“Why can’t we just break the door down?”--Buddy

“The main room has delicate equipment. One wrong move…”--Megatron

“Okay that’s a bad idea then.”--Buddy

“We just need an opening from the main door and we can figure out the rest.”--Rodimus

“Hey, I’m tiny enough to fit through the crack under the door. I can open the door!”--Buddy

“Absolutely not.”--Megatron

“For once I’m agreeing with him.”--Whirl

“Hey, its not like we have many options here. Unless someone else has a better idea then I am quite literally the only thing stopping these guys.”--Buddy

“…go then…”--Megatron

He was going to regret saying it like that. The computers dashboard in order to unlock the door or at least give it an opening. So, when they were sure that the aliens weren’t looking, they sprinted over to the console by swinging up with a grappling hook to the chair and began running towards the buttons.

They had indirectly activated the plasma screens.

These were holoscreens all over the ship that would show what was happening on the bridge. Everyone had a front row seat to Buddy sprinting across the console. There where cheers as Buddy was coming closer and closer to the button

“They made it!”--Rodimus

“Way to go Buddy!”--Tailgate

“Just press the button.”—Ultra Magnus

“That’s my Amica—”--Whirl

It was right there…

The alien came out of nowhere…

“EW! A Rat!”--Alien

“A ra—"--Buddy

They swatted Buddy across the room in one swift movement. They’re tiny body hurdling across the room and off screen. A small sickening crack was heard.

It was barely noticeable.

But it caused a deafening sound across the entire Lost Light.

Good news for the crew, Buddy’s shoe came off from the force of the hit and successfully pressed the button opening the door.

Everyone is lined up to take these aliens down.

Megatron and Whirl are at the forefront of it.

Megatron is trying to find Buddy while Whirl is absolutely destroying everything.

Megatron spots Buddy slumped over in the far corner of the room.

No motion, nothing

He is just frozen in place.

“Buddy…”--Megatron

“…”--Buddy

“Megatron! Move!”--Ratchet

Ratchet snaps him out of it as he is trying to help Buddy.

Megatron snaps out of it a cover him.

Buddy is rushed out an into the medbay.

Everyone is waiting.

The sudden gravity of Buddy’s mortality weighs heavily on the minds of everyone involved.

Megatron sulks in his room thinking about how he failed them. He can’t bear to sit by Buddy in the med bay. Ratchet understands and tells him that he when Buddy wakes up.

Whirl on the other hand, stays by Buddy’s bed side the entire time.

“Hey Tiny. It’s been a hot minute since you’ve open those little eyes… You mind opening them up?”--whirl

“…”--Buddy

“Fine be like that…”--Whirl

“…”--Buddy

“Well, you’ve missed a lot since you took that hit. One you have a ton of inner most energon by your room and a growing number of get-well gifts. I personally made sure none of you’re a secret bomb. Megs is still in his room and its giving everyone the creeps.”--Whirl

“…”--Buddy

“… Don’t tell this to anyone… but we miss you, you scared the ever living Pits out of us.”--Whirl

“…”--Buddy

Whirl has lost every good thing in his life. He is going to make sure that this one thing does go so soon.

Buddy does wake up

“Hye Whirly Bird?”--Buddy

“Buddy?!”--Whirl

“Why you looking at me like that? Someone died?”--Buddy

“You nearly did Tiny!”--Whirl

“But I didn’t, huh? It takes more than a hand to stop me.”--Buddy

“…I guess huh.”--Whirl

Megatron is zooming over when he hears. Buddy is trying to play off their injuries to try and keep the peace.

“Hey Megs.”--Buddy

“Buddy…”--Megatron

“You okay? You look like you’re dying.”--Buddy

“… that was a poor choice of words.”--Megatron

“Yeah I guess— woah, Megs?"—Buddy

Megatron gently holding Buddy’s hand the best he can

“Just let me hold you please, just a little bit.”--Megatron

“Sure Megs.”--Buddy

As they are recovering Buddy is treated with a bit more respect than they had before. Good thing too, they did after all manage to save the ship after all.

#transformers #transformers x reader #idw mtmte #mtmte x reader #mtmte megatron #mtmte rodimus #mtmte whirl #maccadam #mtmte x platonic reader #human buddy #fearless buddy

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crybabyddl · 6 months ago

Text

Black Coffee

Eddie Munson x Fem!Reader

Chapter Two

Warning: swearing, miscommunication, awkwardness, coffee shop au, modern au

Author's Note: I apologize for the abrupt end to the first chapter. I wasn't sure how to connect the next plot, so I just decided to post it instead of letting it rot in my drafts like I usually do. Enjoy! :)

Previous Chapter - Next Chapter

----

Eddie spent the day unpacking more boxes, crushing the cardboard down with his boots. He told himself he had to do four hours of productive work before doing anything fun. However, around hour three, he was hanging up his beloved guitar. As his fingers accidentally brushed against the strings, he couldn't resist the siren call of his instrument.

Eddie indulged in his craft, getting lost in the fluid movements of his fingers and the melodies they produced. Today's setlist was comprised of songs from Rush's catalog, as well as some deep cuts from Metallica and Judas Priest.

It was two hours later when his hand started cramping up, and Eddie placed his prized possession back on its mount. Looking down at his watch, he made the executive decision to treat himself to a coffee.

Could he have made some from the Keurig he'd set up on the counter just hours earlier? Sure, but where's the fun in that? Eddie would much rather take a stroll down to the coffee shop he discovered yesterday. He needed to try the coffee a few more times before making the final verdict on this shop being his favorite.

That's how Eddie wound up ordering another small black coffee in the cozy café. To his disappointment, the girl who took his order yesterday didn't appear to be around. Regardless, Eddie tucked himself into the closest two-seated booth, slowly letting the caffeine seep into his bloodstream with each sip he took. He had to admit, it was really good coffee--just as good as it was the day before.

Despite his appreciation for the sepia-toned ambience and warm atmosphere that the coffee shop had, the sound of the pop music station, other customers' conversations, the espresso grinders, and the whirring of the milk frothers became quite overwhelming for Eddie. Not to mention the tension headache he could feel coming on due to the dim, yet concentrated overhead lighting.

As he went to throw his cup in the garbage, Eddie decided to take a risk.

"Excuse me." he approached the side counter where a chestnut-haired gentleman stood, drying dishes.

"How can I help you, sir?"

"I was just wondering if, uh, the barista with the cool eyeliner was working today."

The man paused for a moment before seemingly putting together who Eddie was talking about.

"No, she's not. Did you want me to take a message?"

"No, that's alright. Thank you."

"Sure thing."

Eddie knew better than to say anything, for fear of coming off as creepy. It was already slightly odd to be asking if a specific employee was working there. Maybe it wasn't as weird as it felt, but every action felt awkward, forced, and out of character for him lately. It's part of the reason why he packed up and relocated to the small town his parents moved to when they retired. There was a therapist he was going to start seeing, one that was actually supposed to help him work through his problems, not just listen to him rant about what was bothering him.

On the walk back to his apartment, Eddie tried to anticipate all the talking points his mother and father would bring up when he went to visit them tomorrow after his first appointment with the new therapist. How was the appointment? Did you tell her everything? Did you finish unpacking? Do you need to go grocery shopping? Did you sleep last night? Are you eating enough? He knew his parents were just looking out for him, wanted to make sure he was doing alright, but Eddie was twenty five years old, he was more than capable of taking care of himself... most of the time.

---- the next day...

8:00am

"Oh my god, you guys," you began in a tizzy. "I almost slid into a ditch on my way here."

"The roads are that bad?" asked Nancy, who'd been at the café since five this morning.

"Yeah," you reached behind your back to tie your apron. "It was really coming down over at my house. I think it's supposed to start here around noon."

12:02pm

The cafe had been steadily busy throughout the day, but the hours still seemed to pass far too slowly for anyone's liking.

Two minutes late, like always, Steve makes his grand entrance, bundled in a navy puffer jacket and a plaid scarf, likely from Ralph Lauren.

"Holy shit," he panted exasperatedly as he hung up his coat and scarf. "I almost ran myself into a ditch."

Nancy's eyebrows quirked as she glanced over at you to see if she was hearing your coworker correctly, but you'd since gone over to help a customer.

Once you returned, you and Steve exchanged stories of your treacherous commutes while Nancy tried to predict which of your fellow baristas scheduled for today would be the next to come in with a similar tale to tell.

"Oh, Y/N, someone was asking for you yesterday."

"Really? Who was it?"

"I didn't get his name, but he just asked if the 'girl with the cool eyeliner' was there."

You thought for a moment, trying to recall if any of your friends from high school or other jobs were slated to be in town this week, but nobody came to mind.

"I have no idea who that could be. Most of the people I know either wear just as crazy of eyeliner as me, or would know me by name. What did he look like?"

"He was probably around our age, maybe older. Long wavy brown hair, leather jacket, had on a shit-ton of rings."

You stood up a bit straighter upon hearing Steve's description of the mystery man. It sounded like the cute guy from a couple days ago... he ordered a black coffee... Eddie! His name was Eddie.

"Did he say anything else?"

"No. Do you know him?"

"That's the guy I was telling you guys about the other night."

"Oh, okay. Yeah, that checks out."

The rest of your shift went by much faster, knowing you'd made just as much of an impression on Eddie as he did on you. Even though he didn't come into the shop by the time you finished your shift, just knowing he wanted to see you was enough to hold you over for a while.

7:03pm

Your phone buzzed. A text from Steve.

Stove: Btw that guy came in an hour after you left

Your phone buzzed again, another text from Steve.

Stove: I gave him your number

----

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bi-focal12 · 8 months ago

Text

updated intro post 🌱

hi! nice to meet you! my name's bi_focal, im 21, and this blog is a mix of writing and fandom content. asks/comments/DMs are always welcome!

fandom-wise, i mainly post about MHA (main ships including bkdk, togachako, seroroki, and more, though I enjoy platonic readings of shipped pairs as well). i also take requests every couple of months! my fake tweets series' are for mha and idolish7

for the writeblr, im always looking to connect with fellow writers so feel free to tag me in games or send asks/DMs to talk about writing things! theres no specific genre i really stick to but i enjoy coming-of-age stories and queer characters quite a bit. i do my best to provide content warnings for heavier topics and nothing i write is nsfw

fic updates are pretty regular on here but as i spend more time on my original stuff ill prob be able to post more about those WIPs as well. for now ill include a brief overview of them at the bottom of this intro (to be updated as i work on them)

my ao3 username is bi_focal and here is a list of my tumblr-only fics & original writing (<-prompt responses, usually. original WIPs will have their own tags, listed under the cut)

for more info abt me/my blog pls check out my caard !

-for easy tag searching-

fulfilled writing requests (and posts about prompt requests being open) can be found under #request, fake tweets under both #fake tweets and #incorrect quotes, and anything writing related under #writeblr :)

-bi_focal's original WIPs-

Sealed (planning/ first draft stage) | Horror/thriller, mystery, sapphic

A sapphic, coming-of-age story set in a small town where ghosts are reviled, ghost-catcher's are revered, and violent attacks are starting to pile up. An unlucky medium named Nishtha forms an unlikely bond with Veronica, a Catching prodigy, when their secrets are exposed to each other entirely by accident, meanwhile the bond between childhood sweethearts Cherry and Carter is put to the test when Cherry is offered a Catching apprenticeship by her mysterious uncle and the medium cousin who almost killed Carter as a child is released form jail with a story to tell that Carter doesn't want to hear. (Multiple POV) Under #sealed | WIP intro post | Navigation post

All It's Worth (planning/ first draft stage) | Sci-fi/fantasy, adventure, queer romance

Set on a dying planet fraught with drought, Meric thinks his life will finally change for the better when the Prophets announce that there are two from his farming town with a Calling. Instead, he accidentally thwarts an assassination attempt on the young heir of House Myre and is forced to watch on as his neighbors pay the price. Ten years later, Meric has finally faked his way into the Priesthood when a chance encounter with the boy he saved so long ago thrusts them both into the heart of a conspiracy far older and far more dangerous than they realize Under #aiw

Forest Fire (planning/ first draft stage) | Mystery, magical realism, new adult fiction

Lincoln was fourteen when he went crazy and got lost in the woods, fourteen when he was rescued from something he still refuses to talk about, and fourteen when he left his town behind without a second glance. It’s at 22, though, when Lincoln falls apart. Forced to bring Peggy, a young girl who can’t get in contact with her father, and Sylas, the little brother he never expected to see again, back to the town where everything went wrong, Lincoln will have to decide if it’s also the place where he can finally set things right or if the ghosts of the past will drag him down with them Under #forest fire

#blog intro #writeblr #fake tweets #incorrect quotes #request #mha #writers on tumblr #idolish7 #ao3 writer #bkdk #sealed #aiw #forest fire

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storiesofaot · 3 months ago

Note

Do you take fic requests 👀 if yes may I request a one chapter fic where Hange and Levi go through an arranged marriage because they're too busy with their work to think about marriage or maybe because one of them went through a bad break up or something that makes he/she lost feeling to start a new one. They would ignore each other but nevertheless they still sleep in the same bed because of family and they don't think it's a big issue plus they don't have feelings for one another. But then of course there's an accidental cuddling and all that, at first of course it's awkward but then they realize the cuddling or the presence of each other makes their sleep better (especially Levi of course 🤣) and like a cliche stranger to lovers story, they started to fall in love and all that. To the point where one of them started feeling jealous, protective etc 🤣 if you don't take request please ignore all that, and even just ignore the ask hahahaha you don't have to reply to it. I don't want to force you or anything! Oh and Happy late Valentine's 😘

It’s been almost exactly two months, Anon, since you sent this request, and I’m relieved to finally be able to share the first chapter of this story, which you can read here! A bit of a ramble under the cut! 😁

I’ve never read an arranged marriage fic before, and it took me some time to figure out how I could personally tackle that trope - which ended up being in the context of a mission. A rewatch of one of my favorite shows, Agent Carter, then gave me the plot idea for this fic.

I initially tried to put everything into a two-chapter oneshot, but it ended up being six chapters long, oops. xD The updates will depend on how quickly I can edit the draft. 🤞🏼 I also had been dying to write a spies/agents Levihan fic, so I’ve truly had a blast writing this - it’s probably one of the fics I’ve enjoyed writing the most. The plot may not be the most well-wrought (and hopefully coherent, lol) - I’d say it’s about 50% plot and 50% bonding/some fluff - so I really, really hope this fic still matches what you had in mind when you sent the request. 🥺

And I finally got to lock Levihan into a closet - yey!

Okay, long, unnecessary ramble over, sorry! I really hope you’ll enjoy this first chapter!

#levihan #asks #anon ask #thank you so much for the request!#I guess that’s what happens when a fic is written in a (beautiful!) frenzy lol 😆#Also; I wrote this instead of writing what I had started writing instead of what I started planning xD

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ot8spreadsheetstay · 7 days ago

Text

organizing my thoughts here because 1) accountability, 2) the drag and drop to rearrange paragraphs function is actually kinda peak, so

LONGING OF OUR PASTS

(aka LOOP, a kpdh reincarnated soulmates au)

headcanon bible

note: no one has to follow all (or even any) of these if they choose to create anything in a reincarnation and/or soulmates au of kpdh; i do not own or claim the concept of a 'reincarnation kdrama romance' au, nor the concept of a 'rujinu soulmates' au, but i wanted to create a solid and fleshed out 'sandbox' to play in if folks want to, like the big aus for homestuck, miraculous ladybug, mlp:fim, etc

this 'bible' is only intended to keep myself oriented in the process of writing my own fic. but if you want to use the names / characters / relationships / life events i came up with (so like, the archer in the gen1 hunter trio being named sungji and jinus sister biasing her, NOT like rumis mom being called miyoung because thats canon from the movie), please feel free to! i only ask that you just include a link back to this post in whatever you upload that was inspired by it, because i have put SO MUCH RESEARCH AND EFFORT into this silly little pretend make believe story. also maybe shoot me a link to whatever you create because i wanna seeeeeee

JULY 3 2025 EDIT: also my deepest apologies for accidentally publishing this before it was ready. theres still some things i need to figure out, like names for the rest of the gen1 hunters, names for jinus parents, etc, but like... i thought i had entirely lost this post when i couldnt find it in my drafts the other day, so im just glad i didnt lose all that work. anyway, if anything is culturally inaccurate, please tell me so i can fix it; i know so little about joseon era, korean naming conventions, etc and i want to know more

table of contents

the most important aspect of zs reincarnated soulmate au

name meanings and pronunciation guide

things that are canon to this fic

things z did not make up, that are canon to the movie

secret bonus content

1. the most important aspect of zs reincarnated soulmate au:

rumi and jinu are romantic endgame soulmates. there will be a happy ending for them (and for their loved ones)

spoiler warning for kpop demon hunters below the cut

also content warning for mentions of canon-typical violence, brief suicidal ideation, and major character death (not suicide)

2. name meanings and pronunciation guide

gwima: 귀마, 'gwi' 鬼 ghost / demon / sinister, 'ma' 魔 devil / fiend / unnatural; vowel sounds rhyme with 'weed moss', with the w having an almost h aspect to it, and almost no oo at the beginning of the w sound

also, unlike all the other names on this list, im confident that this hanja reading is canon because the word for demon ghost / devil / satan / evil spirit is 'magwi' 마귀 (魔鬼) so they would have just swapped the characters around

jinu: 진우, 'jin' 珍 precious / treasure / rare, 'u' 愚 foolish / stupid / fool JUST KIDDING, 'u' 佑 assist / help / protect, sounds like 'jeen ooh' just like in the movie

named this way because his father was a farmer and his mother hoped he would grow up strong and able to help out

i picked this reading because he was a precious protector to rumi

eunjung: 은정, 'eun' 恩 mercy / favor / grace + 'jeong' 貞 pure / virtuous / faithful; vowel sounds rhyme with 'good just'

named this way because her parents hoped she would grow up kind and gentle and be a dutiful daughter

i picked this name because she was so faithful to jinu that she even got herself reincarnated for another chance at saving him

sungji: 성지, 'seong' 聖 noble / holy / sacred, 'ji' 知 knowledge / understanding / wisdom; vowel sounds rhyme with 'but beet', sounds like the english words 'sung gee'

given this name to bless her with a steady mind as she carries out her noble mission

i picked this name as a tribute to han jisung honestly, but also because she wasnt the 'leader' of the first hunters, but she was the ranged fighter, so she would probably be more of a strategist than the rest

miyoung: 미영, 'mi' 美 beauty / beautiful / pretty, 'yeong' 永 eternity / forever / permanent; vowel sounds rhyme with 'beet but', sounds like the english words 'me young'

named this way for the lasting beauty a shaman predicted she would bring to the world. tragically, due to her losing her life at a young age, she is in a way permanently at her most beautiful

i did not come up with this name, it came from the flashback to the gravestone, but i chose this reading because i like the irony of her name including 'forever' instead of the more common reading of 'flower petals' (英) because yknow... she died young

jinjoo: 진주, 'jin' 珍 precious / treasure / rare, ju 珠 pearl; vowel sounds rhyme with 'sheep shoe', just like jinus name does

same generational name as her brother, but with the hope that she would grow up beautiful and resilient in spite of her struggles in life, like a pearl forming because of sand and grit

i chose this because of the pearlescent colors of rumis ultimate-form demon stripes and huntrixs 'what it sounds like' outfits, because i think it hits harder if the three of them reminded jinu of his little sister in that moment and thats why he chose to be self-sacrificing instead of selfish, to try to make up for failing his sister back then

3. things that are canon to this fic

things about huntrix and the sunlight sisters

rumis mother was named miyoung because a shaman predicted before she was born that she would bring about a beauty in the world that would last forever [see section 2]. this was commonly interpreted by fans of the sunlight sisters as being about her music, as she was the primary songwriter of the trio, but amongst the hunters, it was taken as proof that they would be the generation that would succeed in turning the honmoon gold (it actually was a prophecy about her future daughter, but thats the thing about prophecy, you cant know whether or not you are interpreting it correctly until it happens. quantum uncertainty or whatever)

ryu miyoung [see section 4] went by 'ryumi' with her friends ever since she was a preteen, because there were usually at least two other miyoungs in her classes (the other sunlight sisters would usually just call her 'unnie' though). only her family and romantic partners ever called her 'miyoung'. her stage name was aurora (the third sunlight sisters stage name was stella)

miyoung met the man who would be her future husband, byungho (병호, 'byeong' 炳 bright / luminous / glorious, 'ho' 昊 vast sky, vowel sounds rhyme with 'yum oh'), at an airport when a fan pushed her off-balance and she fell into his arms (he was disguised as a bodyguard, and was intending to kidnap the sunlight sisters, but he fell for miyoung immediately upon making eye contact with her, and was done for when she smiled and gratefully thanked him for saving her. absolute anime meet-cute moment)

celine was secretly in love with miyoung, and as she watched miyoung get closer and closer with byungho, hated him more and more every day because of it, even without knowing or even suspecting that he was a demon. but, what with celine being a pro idol, you would never know it

after a few years of reliably guarding the sunlight sisters, byungho was promoted from bodyguard to manager. whenever gwima asked him what was taking so long to follow through on his plan to defeat the hunters once and for all, he would insist that they didnt yet trust him enough

when miyoungs engagement with her manager and former bodyguard was announced to the public, the majority of sunlight sisters fans were overjoyed because of an enormous fan theory that all the love songs miyoung wrote were about someone she worked closely with (before the airport incident, she had never written a love song, only girl power songs, with one exception: a song called 'yearning' that was about wishing to find ones soulmate, and that was only ever performed live, never officially released. she sang it at her wedding as well, but it is now considered lost media)

when the sunlight sisters discovered that byungho was a demon, stella was convinced there was a way to use their powers to purify his soul. celine, on the other hand, was furious, feeling like she had been betrayed by both stella and miyoung. this was the beginning of the end for the sunlight sisters, as the trust was, from celines perspective at least, irrevocably broken (how could she trust someone to have her back while fighting demons, when that same someone chose to marry a demon)

celine is a reincarnation of the first generation hunter with the hat. she betrayed the hunter with the bow and arrow so deeply that she had to be reincarnated as her caregiver and face being abandoned by the child she raised poorly

the first time rumi had her patterns appear was after the idol awards celine took her to as a child (where she wore the ruffly pink dress, and the idol awards logo was gold on black with a star) because that was the first time she felt real shame over who she was. some comment about her moms passing made her feel like it was her fault, and if she hadnt been born, the world would still have the sunlight sisters

things about the first hunters and rumis past life

the first generation of hunters were born around the same time as the first humans were fully turned into demons by gwima. they were meant to save human souls from shame and despair (aka gwima) by igniting them with hope and love, and the honmoon was supposed to be a gate they could pass through at will (like everyones favorite tiger and magpie can) to save human souls from gwima, not a fortress to keep demons out of the world. in fact, the golden honmoon was never going to permanently seal all demons away, because demons are a natural part of the world; it was going to make it easier for the hunters to enter (and exit) the underworld. the problem was not with dokkaebi and jeoseung saja and all the other demons interacting with humans, the problem was with gwima forcing them to steal human souls for him to consume, which kept those human souls from being reincarnated (think billionaires hoarding wealth instead of that wealth circulating freely in the economy)

in her past life, roughly 400 years ago, rumi was the hunter with the bow and arrow, in the very first hunter trio. her birth name was eunjung, but when she left her village to train as a hunter, she was given a 'stage name' to protect her family. this name was sungji

eunjungs best friend growing up was a boy four years younger than her, named jinu, who would always follow her around and play his bipa while she sang. sometimes he would even sing with her

when sungji and her fellow hunters saved a gisaeng house from a demon attack, one of the noblemen who had been visiting the house invited the hunters to live at the castle

one day, the king heard a rumor that there was a bipa player with an incredibly beautiful voice in a certain village, nearly skilled enough to rival any one of the hunters themselves in terms of performance. the king summoned the hunters to a private meeting to tell them of this rumor, suspecting that such a voice must belong to a demon if it truly compared to the power of a hunters song. when sungji admitted that the village in question was actually her hometown, the king ordered that this performer be found and brought before him. if that village could produce a singer as incredible as sungji, then maybe this bipa player was worth adopting into the kings circle of entertainers (especially since the hunters had to travel the land fighting demons, and thus were absent from the castle as often as not)

the bipa player was brought to the castle while the hunters were on a mission fighting demons, and when they returned, eunjung and jinu finally reconnected, quickly shifting from childhood friends to secretly courting each other

jinu kept sungjis past as eunjung hidden (as much as he could, but the more demonic he became, the more access gwima had to his thoughts, knowledge, and memories) and she tried her best to keep their blossoming relationship from the other hunters so as to not let them think she had a priority greater than that of demon hunting

jinu only ever asked sungji for one favor: to protect his family in his stead if they were ever again threatened by demons (he couldnt admit to her that he was the threat he was most afraid of)

one of sungjis biggest fans, ever since the hunters saved her and her mother from a demon attack in the middle of the night, was a widowed farmers daughter named jinjoo

jinjoo had lost her brother to royal servitude only months before the attack that introduced her to sungji and the other hunters

sungji was jinjoos bias because she taught her how to shoot a bow and arrow the day after the thwarted demon attack, so she could protect herself and her mom while her brother was away serving the king (it was jinjoos request and she would not take no for an answer)

things about jinu and his family, prior to his deal with gwima

as a child, jinu had a puppy love crush on a village girl four years older than him, eunjung, who had a voice like magic, even from childhood. he started studying the bipa at a young age to impress her, because he knew he would never be as good at singing as she was, but he was still her dedicated accompanist for all her performances in the village, playing his instrument and occasionally singing harmonies for her

jinu was ten years old when his father died defending his family in a demon raid (i truly do not care if that is ten international years or if he was ten by korean age reckoning, it doesnt make any functional difference, i just feel like a ten year age difference between him and his sister makes sense and will be easily remembered) and about half a year later, his younger sister was born. the first time he heard gwimas voice was the first time he visited his fathers burial site with his heavily pregnant mother, realizing that he would never be able to carry the weight his father left behind

when eunjung came of age, she was 'discovered' by a traveling merchant who told her family that she was good enough to sing before the king (the 'merchant' who took her in was actually a shaman who had seen a vision of how to defeat the demon king, and was searching for performers who could ignite souls). jinu was heartbroken to see her leave their village, but also proud of her, so he worked hard from then on, determined to someday be able to be by her side again and accompany her with his bipa in a performance fit for royalty

but as much as jinu wanted to focus on music, he still had to help his mother tend to their farm and help raise his baby sister. they lived a modest life for a few years, but when their family farm was destroyed in another demon raid, jinu started performing with his bipa in the local village. it was such a small and poor population, though, that it didnt do much to support his family. still, he stubbornly refused to pursue any other career path, determined to succeed with his music so that he could someday be reunited with his first love

jinu rejected gwimas offers for years before he finally gave in when he told him that a reunion with his first love would be possible if he lived at the castle

things about jinu during his enslavement to gwima

jinu was not the first human to make a deal with the devil, and he was certainly not the last, but he was one of the early ones. as far as demons who used to be human goes, hes considered a 'senior in the industry' for sure

jinus voice was not a gift from gwima, all gwima did to get jinu into the kings good graces was to send a few demons to kill and replace some palace guards, and have them talk about an incredible performer in a certain village where the king could overhear. jinus voice was so good because he grew up singing with eunjung (which was effectively like jogging every day with weights on your ankles)

the castle jinu moved to, after his deal with gwima, was actually pretty far from his home village, and the memory of his sister holding his hand at the castle gates as guards pointed weapons at her and his mom was originally a nightmare he had on his first night away from home, traveling with disguised demons (eventually, gwimas manipulation and memory modification would convince him it was real). in reality, he left his family under cover of night after kissing his sister on the forehead while she slept. his mom knew that he was going to perform music for the king on a long-term basis, but not that the noblemen who told her this were demons in disguise

at the castle, during the first festival he was able to attend there, he met the hunters, and despite having been out of touch for years, he immediately recognized the magical voice of his first love

jinu was still mostly human when the first honmoon was created. it was weak and fragile, but it managed to quiet the voices in his head for the first time since he had lost his father. whenever the honmoon was at its weakest, gwimas voice in his head was at its strongest. for the first few years, the hunters didnt know how often the honmoon needed to be restrengthened. eventually, it was discovered that it had to be reinforced at least once a year, with the support of as many people as possible. this was done at the castle in the form of a festival where the hunters would perform for the king (and for the people, of course)

the hunters had to travel often, but whenever they returned to the castle, jinu and eunjung would try to steal private moments together. he taught her how to play the bipa and she told him stories from her travels

jinu tried his best to hide his spreading patterns, but he knew that it was doomed to fail sooner or later. he knew that eventually he would lose his humanity entirely and become a demon just like the ones that had destroyed his home, killed his father, and fought the hunters. so one night, after trying to tell her the truth but chickening out at the last moment, he asked sungji to do all she could to protect his mother and sister

one night, right before a honmoon reinforcement performance, jinu saw his family in the crowd, and gwima took advantage of the weak honmoon to convince him that he was a failure of a son for abandoning them to chase a silly childhood romance, with someone whos entire life was dedicated to hunting and vanquishing monsters like him. he pushed his buttons until he snapped, losing himself in a demonic rage

that was the first time jinu and the hunters met each other on either side of a battle, and he nearly killed one of the hunters before sungji, who recognized the bracelet she had tied onto on his wrist the night before she left their village, threw herself into his arms, begging him to come back to his senses

this did not go over well with the other hunters, who did not recognize that the demon was jinu, but who had already been suspicious of him in the first place just because of how he always tried to get sungji to come out on her own with him

the honmoon ritual the next night nearly failed because sungji was preoccupied worrying about jinu

when jinu next saw eunjung, with the honmoon freshly restored and his senses returned to him, he apologized for hiding the truth from her. already full of regret and shame over his cowardice, and expecting to never see her again because a born demon hunter and someone who chose demonhood could never be together, eunjungs earnest forgiveness overwhelmed him with guilt, giving gwima a chance to break through even the fully powered honmoon and dig his claws into him once more. he lashed out in a blind rage, seriously (but not permanently) injuring eunjung, and when he saw the fear in her face, he vanished, arriving at the foot of gwimas mausoleum

gwima tortured jinu for his defiance and corrupted his memories of everything that meant anything to him; his father (what a disappointment you must be to him, abandoning your family like that. though perhaps they are better off without a leech like you who wont do the hard work your father did, only chasing fame and glory and comfort), his childhood friendship with eunjung (no wonder she abandoned you as soon as she could. youve always been selfish. even if you werent a demon, you would still have to share her with the world. she has a duty. but you wouldnt know anything about duty, would you. you just do whatever you want, regardless who it hurts), and his time at the palace (you should feel ashamed of yourself for enjoying all this comfort while your mother and sister starve)

when gwima was satisfied that jinus spirit had been thoroughly broken, he offered him a single mercy: 'i can make you forget all of it. no more regret, no more guilt, no more suffering. all you have to do is bring me the soul of a hunter, and i will make all this pain go away'

jinu agreed (because torture will do that, eventually the tortured person will agree to anything just to escape the agony) and was sent back to the surface, just in time for the preparations for the next honmoon ritual festival. in broad daylight, fully demonic in appearance, looking out of his mind. the hunters were summoned immediately, and sungji was the first to arrive. jinu fell to his knees and begged her for her help, forehead to the ground. while the other hunters watched uneasily, ready to attack him if he made a single wrong move, sungji brought him someplace private

jinu told her everything he had been through, and she held him through reliving it all. she promised to help him, to free him from gwimas clutches no matter what it took

'he wants me to give him your soul... but how could i take something so precious?' 'my soul is already yours, along with my heart. it always has been. i have always belonged to you, and you have always belonged to me. how else do you think we were brought back together like this? we must be fated to be together' 'do you really think so?' 'if it isnt so already, i will reshape our fates with my own two hands and make it so. no force in the universe could ever keep me from you'

the next day, the hunters and jinu decide to take the fight to gwima. mostly eunjung convincing the other two while jinu tries to hide the guilt and shame and worry filling his head. the hunters (and jinu) pass through to the underworld through the door they created, and they even manage to rally some demons to their side, reminding them of the time before gwima started using them as his servants, but even with their support, it does not go well. one of the hunters (not the one with the hat) is consumed by gwima, and jinu (along with the other sympathetic demons) puts himself in the way so the other two can escape back to the human world

when they are back in the human world, eunjung calls for the shaman who trained them, but the other hunter (the one with the hat) slices her throat 'so that gwima wont be able to steal your soul. i hope, in your next life, you know better than to trust a demon'. she holds her as she dies, weeping over needing to kill someone she once trusted with her life. the shaman arrives, the only living hunter says that they were betrayed by the demon from sungjis village, and sungji and the other hunter are given burial rites, even though they only have sungjis body

months later, after more torture, jinu makes his way back to the human world by following a pair of spirit messengers (its the only way for him to pass through before the honmoon grows weak again, because he cant pass through a strong honmoon without the hunters) but when he finds the gravestone with the name sungji carved into it, he falls into despair, guilt, shame, misery, etc. gwima offers to erase jinus memories in exchange for the soul he brought him. jinu, who would rather be dead in the ground alongside his love than listen to another word from gwima, tries to tear his own throat open, but despite his sharp claws, he can do no harm to himself. gwimas laughter is mocking 'you think you can end your own life? you belong to me. you die when i allow it. not before. but... since you did bring me a hunters soul... my offer still stands. i will let you forget her. entirely'

jinu leaves the bracelet she gave him on her grave and accepts gwimas offer. because of how much of his life was centered on eunjung, he is left with only the memory of the nightmare he had about abandoning his family to live at the castle, not why he wanted to live in the castle in the first place, not why he started playing bipa, not anything from his own childhood, nothing real from his human life. only a false memory that gwima twists and embellishes, convincing jinu over centuries that he was always a selfish coward

for hundreds of years, all he knows about the hunters is what the other demons talk about: how their songs sealed gwima out of the human world and now they are his slaves. all he knows about himself is from that nightmare: poor, starving, willing to abandon his family for comfort and success. he doesnt know he was in love with one of the hunters, or that he was ever anything but selfish

...until his humanity is restored to him, by rumis connection with him. he is freed from gwimas control and memory suppression (by gwima killing him and thus nullifying his contract with him), and he (now nothing more than a soul) realizes that rumi is the soulmate he had been missing for so long without realizing it

now he just has to figure out how to be with rumi as an actual person, and not just as her sword

4. things z did not make up, that are canon to the movie

... or at least would have been canon if not for executive meddling (rip isac scene, you will always be remembered)

rumi wore a sleeveless dress to an idol awards show celine took her to as a child, and did not have visible patterns. this could have been makeup celine put on her before going out into public, but it could just as easily have been before any patterns started appearing on rumis skin

rumis moms name on her gravestone was ryu miyoung (류 미영)

rumi plays guitar. this was actually one of the first facts that made me want a reincarnation au, because i imagined her being drawn to learn guitar because of her past life connection with a handsome bipa player who might have taught her how to play it in secret (i cant find any screenshots of her actually PLAYING her guitar, and i cant take one myself, thanks netflix and their imho excessive drm, so we have to settle for it in her room on its stand, by the balcony windows. its just past her right side, in front of the curtains, mostly hidden by the bed)

the first hunters saved a mother with a pitchfork and her daughter whose soul illuminated when she made eye contact with one of them, and that mom and daughter looked A LOT like jinus memories of his mother and sister

the first hunters had a member who had a bow and arrow, and a long braid

like the archer in the first hunter group, rumi has a pauldron on her right shoulder as part of her 'golden' outfit

not quite AS canon, because it got scrapped due to executives not knowing what isac is, but rumi and jinu were originally gonna be doing archery together while talking about her patterns and how much she hates them, rather than signing autographs

"That [scene] eventually became a fan signing event. But, for a very long time, they had Rumi and Jinu doing archery, as they were having that conversation." [source: Forbes, ‘KPop Demon Hunters’ Director On Getting K-Pop Culture Down]

5. secret bonus content

sequel title: TIED (together in every dream)

or, a kpop demon hunters missing scene / missing first person narration / missing context / etc movie novelization meets fix it fic

it was fun when i did it for ofmd, might as well try doing it for this one too

threequel title: BOND (before our nights disappear)

or, a kpop demon hunters previous generation flashback fic that follows the relationship between miyoung and her demon husband, and also follows rumi meeting her father and getting his help bringing her soulmate back to life

because i accidentally put too much development into miyoung and byungho to never write about them

#kpop demon hunters #kpdh spoilers #kpdh theories #kpdh loop au #kpdh reincarnated soulmates au

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