#i am in the bottom part of a spiral and i do not like where this is going | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

staybabblingbaby · 10 days ago

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Soulmate Garden AU Ch.4 (Lewisia) a3d2

[Caution: These are not full fics, or even full parts of fics for some, these are part of my writing progress archive!]

Concept: Growing up, you knew Soulmates weren't all that they cracked up to be. So when, on your 18th birthday, your skin is painted with a garden of flower buds, you resolve to hide it from everyone. Who had ever heard of someone with 8 soulmates, anyway?

Or; Reader has 8 soulmates and no issue avoiding all of them. It's up to SKZ to show her that while every soulbond might not be made of fairy tales, theirs certainly could be.

Word Count: 10,680

Notes: Holy shit, it's been like 3 months?????? In my defense, holidays are awful, and this is a fuckin' beast of a chapter. Binnie would NAWT shut up T^T She almost matches the word count for the entire fic so far TT^TT Plus 10 images of texting. Y am i like this??? Huge shout outs to my lovely, patient, amazing betas who made this chapter at ALL possible, @lazyfacecowboy and @brbwritingfanfic. Seriously, this would not have been written without y'all, everyone say thank you! Also special mention for @chancloud8 for negotiating me through the last bit of the chapter LMAO. She kept feeding me fics, they were my reward for doing the writing UvU

Hope y'all enjoy! And I hope it was worth the wait <3

(p.s my ass did NOT do a real final readthrough. If the formatting is weird pls forgive me, I'm sick of looking @ her T^T)

Dividers by @saradika

Warnings: Allusions to past domestic violence, flashback of verbal abuse (very vague, but still there), panic attack, she/her reader

Leave me comments or questions or anything! Love hearing from folks <3

Masterlist <3 | Prev Part | Next Part (Coming Soon <3)

The next morning marks a return to routine.

You roll out of bed half awake, sleep-mused and ready for murder. Your mood isn’t improved by the way you’d gone to bed - still in your work clothes with day-after mascara gluing your eyelids together.

A quick stop by the restroom to strip and scrub your face is a necessity, otherwise you’re liable to just crawl back into bed and rot there. You honestly wish you could. Just rot away and let all this soulmate business pass you by as you slowly return to the earth.

Alas, capitalism waits for no man.

You examine your reflection when you’ve finished, doing your best to ignore the remaining traces of grey streaks down your cheeks where your eyeliner hadn’t been as waterproof as advertised.

You try to hold onto the flash of irritation the sight brings you, to cling to the normalcy of being irritated that your makeup is waterproof enough to be a pain to remove, but not to stay through your tears. Then you remember what you’d been crying over and the pit of fear and shame that’s been your companion the last few days comes rolling back.

You don’t even know why you’d cried. Don’t feel like you deserved to cry. After all, it’s not like you were the one rejected by your soulmate for no reason.

You do your best to shake off the incoming spiral, ambling your way into the kitchen. You just need to fall back on your routines and feel normal for a bit. You’re not entirely convinced that ignoring your problems won’t make them go away, despite the dark feelings trembling in your chest.

You press your lips together to stop the bottom one from trembling and open the fridge. There’s a plate of eggs, fruit, and toast inside.

Taylor, freak of nature that he is, has been up for hours already, you know. He’d probably been up and out the door before the sun had even thought about rising. Weirdo.

Your roommate is well aware of how non-functional you can be in the morning, so it’s not unusual of him to leave you leftovers when he makes breakfast. Especially when he knows you’re not feeling your best. The little note on top isn’t new either: usually a reminder, grocery list, or a little encouragement for your day. The whole thing makes you smile, usually, and you’re always touched by his consideration.

Today that little note makes your eyes prick with a new wave of tears.

‘Give yourself a chance. Bet’s still on <3’

The $20 you’d slapped onto the counter last night is taped to the back. It feels a bit like a stone hand is crushing your heart under the weight of something unknowable and precious when you carefully tuck both the money and the note into your wallet.

You very deliberately do NOT cry, though it’s a near thing. You’d done enough crying last night. But if you sniffle a bit into cold eggs, well...

That’s for you to know, isn’t it?

It’s a Tuesday, so after breakfast you drag yourself back to your room to throw on your largest, rattiest, t-shirt and a pair of leggings to head to the gym. You’ll drag yourself through your routine with leaded limbs if you have to, you’re going to have the most regular day you can manage and everything will be fine. It has to be.

You can’t help it when eyes catch on the newly-bloomed marks on your skin as you strip away your sleepwear. The sight makes you uneasy, almost uncomfortable. It takes you a moment to realize why looking at your mark, a daily ritual you’ve kept for years, feels so foreign to you today.

It’s almost alarming to acknowledge that you haven’t actually looked at your mark since you’d met your first soulmate. The concert feels like a lifetime ago, now, despite having been barely two days ago. You’re a bit ashamed to admit that you’d been avoiding looking at it since you’d felt the first flowers bloom.

It’s no wonder looking at it feels weird, you muse as you study it now. It might as well be a whole new mark, for all the changes that have happened since you last saw it.

You decide, in the name of returning to your routine for good, that you can’t skip even this tiny part of your daily rituals.

You shuffle over to your closet, swinging open the door to reveal the full-length mirror hanging on the other side. You don’t bother with your usual rounds of self-depreciation or daily affirmations. Instead, you find your eyes glued to droopy purple petals and blankets of white stars across your abdomen.

Something wilted and small within you mourns the loss of the buds that had brought you so much comfort since they’d appeared. The new blooms are beautiful, of course, vibrant and radiant and full of so much meaning. Still, the change wounds you.

Only time will tell if it’s the healing sort of hurt.

You find your eyes glued to the fresh flowers. Their names come to mind with ease as you trace gentle fingers over echoes of delicate petals. ‘Bellflowers’ You recite to yourself, drawing your finger up thin stalks and back down dipped heads, ‘for gratitude, affection, and endurance’. Your fingers dance a bit lower. ‘Edelweiss’ you muse, lightly tapping each fuzzy white star, ‘for devotion, nobility, and courage’.

The knowledge comes easily to you, not from any cosmic force, but because of course it does. Your sister hadn’t been wrong when she’d said that asking a person’s favorite flower had been basically an obsession of yours.

The habit had started well before you’d gotten your mark. Before you’d even properly known what soulmates were, really.

It started with lazy summer days you’d been almost too young to remember. A slim hand engulfing your tiny wrist, being made to sit next to your mother while she did something in the dirt, her shadow your only shelter from the blistering sun.

Gardening with your mother had started as a way for her to drag you out of the house to get some sun while keeping an easy eye on you. Before your sister was born you’d spent many hazy afternoons learning to work the soil beside your mother.

After the advent of your favorite gremlin, you’d spent those afternoons tending to the family garden alone.

You remember being grateful to the newborn back then. Those solitary afternoons were some of the most peaceful in your memory.

At some point the ‘family garden’ had become more ‘your garden’. Your mother wouldn’t even bother to plan it out with you by the time your sister had reached her toddler years. She’d drive you to the store, hand you a bit of cash, and leave it all in your tiny capable hands.

You’d spent hours researching the best ways to nurture your plants.

What flowers liked being planted together, which ones should be separated. You learned about soil types and the nutrients found in them. You learned about ph values, how to measure them, and why they mattered. Anything to have your garden thriving more brightly, more beautifully, for longer.

If you weren’t in the garden, you were in the library by your house, nose buried in a gardening book.

You vividly remember the day it all went wrong.

It hadn’t even been that dramatic, as you recall. At least, not in terms of your parent’s usual fights. It was heartbreak—despair— that had marked the day, instead of fear.

You’d been digging up weeds, clawing up deep roots with your gloved hands and a trowel, when your father had come storming outside.

You don’t remember what he’d said. It’d been nonsense, just vitriol for vitriols' sake. Something about you always taking your mother’s side because of your shared hobby, you think.

Never mind that the woman hadn’t put so much as a toenail to the dirt since your sister had been born.

He hadn’t let up for quite a while, if memory serves. Stood there yelling at you in your safe space for close to an hour. Maybe two, but your child-brain couldn’t be trusted with the time.

It may have just been minutes, now that you think about it.

Nonetheless, he’d yelled, and yelled, and yelled. He hadn’t trampled on or broken anything. He hadn’t even made sense.

And yet, when he’d finally left, everything was different.

The blooms you’d worked so hard to nurture were no longer beautiful, the soil you’d once called home no longer safe.

You hadn’t tended another garden after that season. You’d seen your plants to winter, and you’d let go. You’d turned away from the sun and soil and leaned into your books and silly questions to fill the hole left behind.

You’re sure you’d left claw marks in the dirt.

Something like a gentle humming emanates from your soulmark, and its warmth draws you back to the present. You look down at it, noticing how tightly you're clutching at the garden around your waist, your arms wrapped around you in a weak semblance of a hug. Each of your fingers had managed to directly touch a flower.

The awkward sprawl of your fingers feels natural, as if you’d never sought to comfort yourself any other way. As if seeking out your bond, your link to total strangers, for comfort was all you’d ever done.

It was natural, you muse. It was human nature to seek resonance in their bonded. It was the universe’s way of assuring you that you’re loved. Your soulmate’s way of assuring you that they’re still there.

You gingerly pry your hands away and blankly study the crescent moons you’ve left behind, soft skin indented where petals should have ripped.

You wonder if you’ll leave claw marks in this garden too. If they’ll leave claw marks in you.

You tear your eyes away from the mirror, ignoring the warm, gentle tingling up your side where your fingers had dug in. You know it means the people on the other end are pressing against their own marks. You know it shows their care, how that gentle sensation masks the stinging ache your fingers should have left behind.

For some reason, you miss the pain.

You quickly toss on a camisole, forgoing your usual privacy wraps, and your t-shirt over that.

There was nothing for emptying your mind quite like running yourself into the ground at the gym. With full awareness that you’re going to regret your gym session later, you flee your apartment, your mind pleading normal, normal, normal.

Maybe jogging all the way to the gym wasn’t such a great idea. It’d sounded fantastic at the time, a head start on your cardio and a way to remove yourself from your negative headspace before you tried to toss around weights you barely knew how to use.

It had sort of worked, but now you hadn’t even entered the building and you were already a sweaty, panting, mess.

You enter the building after guzzling down half of your water bottle, resignation in your heart. Cardio wasn’t even your focus today.

The automatic doors slide open with their usual swish and you’re greeted by the familiar stale smell all gyms seem to share, no matter how clean. It’s comforting, even if you do kind of wanna go home already.

There’s someone already at the receptionist’s desk when you approach, talking in slow and measured English. You try not to be annoyed with the tiny delay, but while you’d successfully outrun your demons (for now), your bad mood had stuck around.

Alas, you’ve ventured into the public and found the public there. A travesty. Knowing that you just have to deal with it, you cross your arms and bite back the irritation this complete stranger hadn’t done anything to earn.

Luckily enough, the low and measured cadence of the stranger’s voice is soothing enough to zone out to. Unfortunately, he’s also the only thing around to rest your eyes on, so you find yourself studying his form.

His back is broad and built, huge biceps on display in a tight fitting black t-shirt. You kinda wanna squish them. A vivid tattoo sleeve runs all the way down to his wrist, and you find your stare glued to it.

Large, boldly colored flowers take up the majority of the space, vague outlines of crashing waves and rolling mists filling in the rest with a luxurious combination of oriental art styles.

Beautiful as it is, you can’t help but think it doesn’t look finished.

Dragging your eyes away from such gorgeous ink is quite the task, but you don’t want your admiration to be mistaken for judgement. It gets easier when you start to notice just how fine the man himself is.

You really can’t help the way your eyes trace up and down his body, now that you’re no longer anchored to his tattoo. It should be impossible, you think, to somehow bulk up in only the right places, but by Jove this man has done it. You’re jealous, honestly.

Your eyes come to a rest on the stranger’s backside. Quite jealous, indeed.

You try to shake yourself from your admiration, reminding yourself that there were very many well-muscled men in this place and that you’d always endeavored to keep a polite line-of-sight, even when they didn't. It hadn’t even been a hard ask, until now.

You drag your gaze back up to the back of his head.

You’d be polite if it killed you. Even if neither the stranger or the scrawny receptionist had noticed your wandering gaze. Especially then.

While you were.... distracted... the man’s conversation with the receptionist seemed to have gone a whole lot of nowhere. From what you can gather, he’s looking for a short-term membership, and the receptionist is trying to tell him they don’t do that.

You know that’s true, the receptionist isn’t trying to scam the guy. Even the trial period for this place was an entire month. You’d specifically chosen this gym for that reason. If you hadn’t been able to stick it out for a month, you know you’d have never used the place enough to justify a membership.

You send your sympathies to this stranger, it seems he really just needs a little less than a week. You know there are some no-commitment type places not too far though, so you wonder why he’s stuck on this place.

Their back and forth goes a while longer, but it’s evident that the beautifully-built stranger can’t really argue his case properly. Whether because of the obvious language barrier he’s working with, or because he’s run out of arguments, you can’t be sure.

Eventually he steps to the side to make a call, and you’re able to approach the counter.

The receptionist (His name is Jake, you remind yourself by reading his name-tag. The owner’s nephew, if you recall) looks relieved to see you after whatever hassling the stranger had given him.

He lazily waves the clipboard and its sign-in sheet at you in greeting. You take the clipboard, trading him your membership card and driver’s license for it, and turn to prop your knee up on the counter to balance it while you write.

Incidentally, your choice of position keeps the stranger in your line of sight.

It also happens to give Jake a view of his own, but you magnanimously ignore his gaze wandering to your chest. If only because you’re still looking not-so-respectfully at the tattooed stranger a few feet away.

You weren’t close to the receptionist by any means, but Jake is easy to chat to, when you take the extra minute to do so. The type of acquaintance you’d never remember the name of if it weren’t pinned to his lapel, but you've seen pictures of every dog he’s ever had.

It makes it easy to pry him for gossip.

“So what was that all about?” You query as you hand back the clipboard. He shrugs at you, typing a second longer.

“Some big-shot who needs a security detail,” He answers, unimpressed, “Says this is the only gym in, like, five miles of his hotel that he doesn’t need an entourage to go to.”

You hum your understanding, now trying to place if the handsome stranger was someone you knew of.

Situations like that weren’t uncommon for this gym. Celebrities that actually lived in LA weren’t spotted here very often but, since it was settled very close to quite a few high-security luxury hotels, the building saw its fair share of famous faces.

Due to its occasionally high-profile clientele, security was kept quite tightly, and a certain code of conduct was expected amongst the gym’s members. It was another justification for the long trial period, wherein one could only access the front room with the basic weights and machines. All the fancy stuff (including a pool, rock wall, dance studio, and all sorts) was in the back.

Non-members weren’t allowed past reception at all.

It was also another reason you yourself were a patron here. The high security and strict standards made for a quiet and comfortable atmosphere.

At least, as long as you ignored the judgmental looks. Most people who utilized this space were much more fit and put together than you. You tried not to let it bother you.

“What’s the issue, then?” You question Jake, “Doesn’t the owner make exceptions for celebrities?” You phrase it as a question, but you know he does. The unfamiliar faces that pop up for a few days every now and then wouldn’t show up otherwise.

Jake just sighs like he’s had this conversation a thousand times. Considering the celebrity(?) waving his hands around as he spoke rapidly into his phone not far away, maybe he had.

“He does, but he’s out of town and no one else can adjust the contracts.” He eventually explains. He finally hands you your stuff back, and you hum consideringly as you put the cards back in your wallet.

Another glance at the furrowed brows on the stranger’s masked face has pity welling up your throat.

You turn your gaze to focus on Jake.

“Do I still have that visitor pass?” You ask him, knowing that he still has your details up. Jake glances at you with a raised eyebrow, but obligingly checks the computer.

“Yup,” He confirms, “You’ve been paying for it since you dragged your poor roommate in here that one time. Why?”

“Can he use it?” you nod your head to the frustrated stranger. From where you’re sat, still perched on the edge of the desk, it looks oddly like he’s begging whoever’s on the other line.

Your visitor pass wasn’t all-access, of course. It’d just get the poor guy into the main front room plus the locker rooms and showers, but you figured it’d be better than nothing. It wasn’t like Taylor would step foot in here after you’d run him ragged last time, not even for the moral support.

Jake levels you with his most deadpan stare. It’s quite a good one, completely unimpressed. You think it must be something about customer service that allows him to make that face. Or maybe it’s just you.

“You realize that your visitor pass is you vouching for your visitor’s character, right?” He reminds you, “If he does anything, breaks anything, pisses off the wrong lifeguard- it’ll be on your head.”

You just shrug. It’s not like you couldn’t find a new gym if you had to. You’d miss this one, with its quiet atmosphere and abundant amenities, but you didn’t require its security and discretion like some of the other members did.

“I’ve got a good feeling about it.” Is all you tell Jake. It’s not even a lie.

The poor boy just rolls his eyes at you. He still turns to rifle through the desk for the right form for you to fill out though, so you’ll take it.

“You a fan of his or something?” Jake asks, handing you a different clipboard. “There are easier ways to bag a celebrity.”

“Nope!” You answer cheerfully, fully ignoring the suggestion of your motives as you start to fill out the form, “No idea who he is.”

Jakes huffs an incredulous laugh, and turns a considering gaze on your new friend. And the stranger does have to be a friend now, because ‘some guy’ is not an option on your paperwork.

“I bet he’s a wrestler,” he finally says after a long moment, “Or a sportswear model.”

You gently bop him on the head with your clipboard, “I refuse to participate in your speculation.” You admonish, ignoring his whining.

“I’ll show you his picture when you leave,” He smirks back, “and whatever google says about him.” He shrugs when you send him a cutting glare, “What? It’s public information.”

“Respect your customer’s privacy, you weirdo.” You scold. He just laughs as you hand him the form, all filled out and just waiting for the stranger’s signature. You know full well that Jake will go through with his research, regardless of what you say, so you give up easily.

It’s not like he’ll be fired for doing it, as long as you don’t go blabbing about the poor celebrity outside of the gym. Privileges of nepotism.

You exchange farewells as you hop off the counter, and he begins to wave over Mr. Celebrity. You meet the eyes of your on-paper friend and offer him a quick nod before you scuttle off deeper into the building.

Hopefully he’d be too grateful for your offer to find you terribly strange.

You manage to make it all the way through your warm-ups before your good deed gets punished. You suppose you’ll be grateful to the universe for letting you find your zen on your yoga mat before it dropped the other shoe.

You notice the legs in the mirror before you realize someone is trying to speak to you. You accidentally ignore the newcomer for several long moments, assuming they were approaching to use a different part of the mirror. When you finally realize they’re waiting for you to acknowledge them, it’s been just shy of too long.

You ease out of your last stretch and stand up, automatically taking an earbud out as you turn to face them.

“Sorry, did you need me to move?” You question as you finally look up. You‘d had your most emo playlist blasting in your ears during your warm up, an attempt to process your feelings through movement or whatever that one instructor from forever ago had tried to teach you.

So of course it’s with perfect clarity that A. Jay Popoff sings “I am my own worst enemy” into the empty space between you and Seo motherfuckin’ Changbin.

Your mental plea for a normal, routine sort of day dies a horrible death when you make eye contact with the pop-star.

And you realize you really must be your worst enemy as you do, because you easily recognize the outfit he’s wearing and the vivid tattoos on his arm.

Of course your good deed for the day led you to one of your soulmates. Of. Fucking. Course.

You’re not sure what you’d done to Karma recently for her to be throwing all of this shit at you right now, but you’d appreciate it if she’d just let you apologize instead of whatever cruel punishment this is.

Changbin must realize you recognize him, because he shyly raises a hand to fiddle with his earrings as he replies.

“Ah, no, I uh...” The hand slides to the back of his neck and he clears his throat uncomfortably. You quickly school your expression back into a semblance of normality when he glances away. You feel like you might still be a bit wild around the eyes, though.

“I just wanted to say thank you.” He concludes. He looks like he wants to say more, but you figure he might not have the English words to do so easily. It’s okay, you don’t really have the Korean to describe how you’re feeling right now either.

Your first instinct is to offer to speak Korean for him, but the air between the two of you is already wildly uncomfortable. Vastly different causes for both of you, you’re sure, but it’s enough to make you second guess your every move.

“Oh, uh, no problem.” You assure.

You stare resolutely at his nose when you speak. If you look into his eyes again you’re sure you’ll spill your entire life story. And if not that extreme, you’ll at least spill the whole soulmate thing. Something about being directly confronted with your problems makes you chatty.

But also if you look away from his face, knowing that body is supposed to be compatible with yours... It leads to some very impolite thoughts. Cute as it is, his nose is the safest thing for you to look at right now.

You offer the idol a thin-lipped smile when you realize the interaction hasn’t ended. Dear god, why has it not ended?

“Anything else I can do for ya?” you offer, inwardly cursing your manners. You’ve lived here long enough that you know people outside your tiny country-side town take that as an invitation instead of a dismissal.

Sure enough, Changbin starts to speak again, his words slow and careful. You watch him wipe his palms on his shorts, idly wondering if he’s shitting himself internally as much as you are right now. And what he’s freaking out about if he is.

“You... Recognize me? Are you STAY?” He gestures a bit while he talks, like he’s trying to cast a spell on you to understand what he’s trying to say. You think it might work, because your mouth is running off without you before you quite process the words.

“Ahh.. hah, uh,” You chuckle awkwardly, your fingers rising to pinch your lips nervously, “My roommate is. We were at your concert the other day, actually,” And even as you say the words your eyes flick down to his arm. You refocus, hopefully before he could notice the quick glance, but you can’t stop your thoughts from spiraling.

After all, he didn’t have that kind of ink at the concert. You and Taylor were front row, right up on the barricade, you’d seen all eight Stray Kids up close and personal. You’d have remembered such a vivid tattoo. And there were only so many reasons to cover a sleeve like that so completely.

Something complicated settles in your stomach as you realize that Changbin is probably a ‘loud and proud’ kind of soulmate, if he’s showing off his mark like this outside of his work. Work you know prevents him from showing off his mark.

Your mouth keeps running without you while you have your little crisis.

“I didn’t recognize you at reception, I woulda had you sign something for him.” You can’t help the rush of embarrassment that sweeps through you, even as you laugh uncomfortably at your own joke.

Why on earth would you say something like that? This situation is already uncomfortable enough! On so many levels!

Somehow, this seems to have been the right thing to say, though, as Changbin’s eyes light up at your joke, the tension easing a bit.

“I can sign,” He suggests, “It would make me feel...” He starts gesturing again, looking for the word he wants, “Less bad?” He finishes like a question.

And suddenly you understand his awkwardness a lot better. It always sucks to feel indebted to someone.

You laugh a little more freely with your new understanding, “Oh, you really don’t have to,” You assure, “I was just joking.”

He shakes his head, “Think of it as.. trade.” He nods, satisfied with himself.

You bob your head to the side, pressing your lips together with a tiny, frustrated, whine, “I really didn’t want anything from you,” you insist, “I hold onto that pass for my roommate, but he never comes with me anyways. You’re doing me a favor using it, seriously.”

You try to speak slowly and clearly, taking a page from Changbin’s book and letting your hands roam while you speak. You hope your spell of understanding works as well as his did.

He takes a moment to respond, mouthing along to some of your words. It’s kind of fascinating to watch someone translate in real time, especially when the process is written all over their face. It’s a little surreal to be on the other side of it.

Eventually his face clears, and he makes a little ‘ah!’ noise that you really shouldn’t find as endearing as you do. You’re in the middle of rejecting your soulmates, you should not be finding one of them cute right now.

“If it is roommate’s pass, more reason to sign, yes?” He reasons, looking proud of his logic. You huff a tiny laugh at him, absolutely charmed.

“Sure, big guy,” You sigh with defeat, though you can’t seem to wipe the smile off your face, “Sounds like a fair trade. I’m sure he’ll be thrilled.”

The two of you stall for a moment, the atmosphere leagues lighter than before.

When the moment seems over, you make a show of looking down at your pocket-less outfit, and then at the ground around you.

“I don’t have a pen on me,” you trail off meaningfully. He looks surprised for a second, like the possibility had never occurred to him.

“Oh,” He looks around as well, lost for a moment, “I can see if front desk has one?” he asks, like he’s looking for instruction. Another thought seems to occur to him then.

“Do you have...” He starts to gesture again, but you cut him off with a nod, fairly certain you’re sure what he’s trying to ask.

“Yeah, I’m sure I can find something for you to sign,” You point in the direction of the locker room, “I’ll probably have to look in my bag though.” You glance between him, the door to the locker room, and the door that leads out to reception.

“Meet back here in 5?” you propose. He seems content with this plan and nods in agreement. “Oh!” You stop him before he can fully turn around.

“Ask for a sharpie,” you instruct, “I’m not sure I’ll be able to find regular paper.” In fact, you’re pretty sure you’ll be sacrificing the spare ball cap you keep in your bag for this. You hope Taylor likes tie-dye.

With that, the two of you go your separate ways. It takes you no time at all to locate the bright monstrosity of a hat, a souvenir you abhorred from one of your father’s many ‘business’ trips. It would be no loss to you, but you take time to see if you have any actual paper around. You need the processing time.

Stars above, what were you thinking? There was no way you were getting out of this without another soulmate bond, but here you were, casually chatting with the guy instead of getting the fuck out of dodge!

You really couldn’t help it though.

Even when he’d been no more than a stranger to you, you hadn’t been able to help the way you gravitated toward Changbin. Now that you knew he was your soulmate, your actions made a lot more sense to you.

You’d always been on the people pleasing side of helpful, but vouching for a complete stranger was new for you. Even now, you were obediently grabbing an item for him to deface with a signature you don’t even want (no matter how thoroughly Taylor would murder you if you’d passed it up) just because you could tell how uneasy Changbin was with just accepting the visitor pass.

It didn’t help that the man was endearing as hell. Every little thing he did seemed cute to you, and you’d barely known him for ten minutes!

You felt like this was a new low for you. Doing things you didn’t really want to, for a man. Taylor would be so disappointed in you.

Having stalled for maybe far too long, you settle on sacrificing the atrocious hat to Changbin’s pen and put your stuff away. Something heavy and squirmy settles in your chest as you make your way back out to retrieve your prize from the man of the hour.

Surprisingly, there’s no accidental meeting of hands when Changbin autographs your hat. He did give you a bit of a bemused look for the choice of item, but you’d just shrugged at him. It was all you were willing to sacrifice, and Taylor should be grateful for even this much, in your opinion.

Unsurprisingly, the lack of first contact does not ease your mind at all. In fact, it rockets up your anxiety another thousand notches. You can’t help checking over your shoulder at every opportunity, despite the fact that Changbin hadn’t left the weights area since he’d settled there and couldn't follow you through the door to the rest of the facility regardless.

Look, you know how the whole first contact thing worked, okay? Fate would put two soulmates in the same place for whatever stupid reason, and find an even stupider reason for them to make skin-to-skin contact. You’d experienced it twice now, and you couldn’t help but think going out of your way to avoid everything Changbin was wouldn’t help you very much.

Even still, you can’t stay paranoid and vigilant forever. When nothing happens while you finish your cardio, or when you work your way through both the pool and the sauna, you admittedly let down your guard a bit.

Maybe that’s why, after you’ve made your way back to the front room to try and finish your workout, when you’re mid-stretch and staring daggers at a weight machine you’re sure you’ll figure out how to use if you glare long enough, you jump about five miles out of your skin when you hear Changbin’s voice behind you.

Jumping from such a precarious position is never a good idea, and your sudden movement has set your head on a one-way collision course with the gym’s hardwood floors about it.

Hands fly around your middle, catching you awkwardly around your ribs. Unfortunately, all this noble attempt to catch you does is slow your descent, giving you just enough time to flinch violently enough to bring your arms up and prevent your head from meeting the ground and brace for impact.

The rest of you still hits the ground pretty hard, and Changbin’s knees and elbows meet a similar fate, his own head saved by headbutting your stomach, knocking the air out of you even harder than it already had been.

The two of you sit there a moment, groaning with the pain of your fall. At least you don’t have a concussion. You’ll take every small mercy with the way the universe has treated you lately.

Some part of you is cognizant enough to give the heavens a heartfelt thank you when you notice that none of your aches and pains are from your soulbond activating. Somehow, through that entire debacle, and even considering the amount of exposed skin between your t-shirt and his, you hadn’t managed to touch. You’re still safe.

As the shock starts to wear off, you start to become aware of the warmth of large hands still resting heavily against your sides, both soothing and wildly distracting. It’s like every fiber of your being is focused on where he’s touching you, warm and weighty. Changbin’s head still buried in your abdomen doesn’t help with the building fluster taking over your brain.

You swear one of his thumbs has landed squarely on one of the flower buds directly opposite Lee Know’s Bellflowers, and the tingly feeling of the bond weakly trying and failing to establish through the thin barrier of your shirt is not helping your mushy brain at all.

You tip your head back to stare at the ceiling, pulling your bottom lip between your teeth to prevent yourself from doing something stupid, like confessing all of your sins to Changbin right then and there.

Maybe you did have a concussion after all.

It’s probably been less than a minute since the two of you hit the floor, but it feels like ten hours have passed when Changbin finally lifts his head, wide eyes finding yours frantically.

“Oh my god, are you okay?” He asks, “I’m so sorry, I didn’t mean to scare you, are you okay?” He uses his hold on you to gently lift you to a seated position, removing them in favor of hovering politely as he fusses. You don’t think he’s realized he’s reverted to his native Korean in his panic.

“I’m alright, I’m okay,” you assure him in the same language, “Just bruised a bit, I’m fine.”

He continues to fuss a bit more, running you through a quick series of concussion tests even after you tell him that you hadn’t hit your head at all. It’s only after he’s helping you to your feet, respectfully allowing you to use a clothed part of his arm to help yourself up, that he clocks the language the both of you are using.

“Are you sure you didn’t hit your head?” He teases, “You speak Korean all of the sudden.”

You can’t help the little laugh that escapes you, nor can you help how his smug little smile makes your heart flutter. “I’ve spoken Korean the whole time.” You inform him.

“And you didn’t tell me? You just let me struggle?” The fondness in his smile assures you that he’s just joking, so you respond in kind.

“You were just trying so hard...” You shrug sheepishly and delight in the full body laugh that tears out of him. You wait for him to calm before you ask, “What did you need, by the way? I didn’t catch what you said before, well..” You gesture helplessly at the floor.

It’s his turn to look sheepish now, shoulders hiking up and a nervous hand making its way to his neck, “Ah, that.” he shrugs, “I was just saying that you had a pretty soulmark.”

The sudden compliment catches you off guard, and you suddenly become aware that your camisole has come loose from where it had been tucked into your sweats. Your hand flies up to cover the now-covered skin of your stomach, feeling sick.

You can’t remember when it happened, and the thought of however many strangers seeing your soulmark, no matter how little of it, sends a sharp note of dread through your body. You suddenly feel eyes digging into your skin, despite being covered again as soon as you’d stood up. You feel a bit sick, your skin crawling with discomfort.

You’re aware that your camisole would have ridden up to your lower back, at most, but there’s no telling how much of your mark anyone might have seen. What Changbin might have seen, what he may have noticed.

Changbin must notice your sudden pallid complexion, and continues on, trying to reassure you, probably. You barely hear him over the heartbeat in your ears, your trembling hands trying to discreetly tuck the undershirt back in while he speaks.

“I just meant that it’s very colorful and vibrant,” He explains, smile fading from his face as concern starts to cloud it at your reaction, “Whoever your soulmate is, they’re very lucky.”

“Ah, I don’t know them yet,” You counter. It’s even the truth. You hadn’t spoken much to any of your soulmates so far. Well, until now, you guess.

“Oh, well, I stand by what I said.” He asserts, his easy grin betrayed by the pinch between his brows, “Whoever your soulmate is will be very lucky to have you.”

“I don’t know about all that,” You tilt your head with self-deprecating consideration.

Maybe it’s a lingering guilt for how you’ve been handling your soulmates so far that makes you continue the thought, instead of laughing it off like the joke it should be. Maybe you just want him- want them- to know why you’ve been acting this way, “I don’t even know if I want to meet them, so I’m not sure how lucky they could be to have me as a soulmate.”

Changbin levels you with an absolutely baffled look, as if you’ve just challenged the very foundation of his worldview.

“Why not?” He asks, “Doesn’t everyone want to meet their soulmate?”

You wrap yourself in a loose hug, one hand rubbing soothingly at your elbow, and shrug, “I just... I haven’t had great experiences with soulmates, is all.” You can’t keep your eyes from straying to his soulmark, vibrant and full.

It’s an image that would be hard to elbow your way into, and you can’t imagine a way that the addition of you could possibly enhance it. It still feels unfinished to you, but it doesn’t look that way. You feel both better and worse about yourself, knowing that they didn’t need you.

A glance at Changbin’s utterly lost face has you opening your mouth before you can think about it, shoulders beginning to climb up to your ears.

“Not all soulmates get along, you know?” You mutter sullenly, almost to yourself.

Changbin seems to consider this for a moment, head tilting cutely to the side as he takes in your claim.

“I mean, sure.” He draws his words out slowly, carefully, with a little furrow between his brows. “Everyone fights sometimes, but you get through it together, right? That’s what makes you soulmates. Choosing to stick together.”

You couldn’t hold in the scoff and eye-roll combo that rips out of you if you’d tried. “Yeah, maybe.”

You’d feel bad about the venom in your voice, or the way it causes Changbin to shift uncomfortably from foot to foot, but you can’t find it in yourself to care at the moment. Something sick and dark twists around your stomach, and the battle to keep a deep scowl from your face is the only one you’re willing to fight right now.

“I have a feeling that was the wrong thing to say,” Changbin smiles wanly at you, and you meet his eyes for barely a second before you find yourself melting beneath his earnest gaze. The thorns around your heart ease just enough to bleed, and you shrug at him again.

“When people stay together just because they’re soulmates it only makes things worse.” you tell him, “Nothing gets magically fixed just because you’re soulmates.”

Surprisingly, Changbin agrees easily, “Well, yeah, that’s not the kind of sticking together I’m talking about,” He explains, “I meant more, like,” He gestures as he tries to find his words, and your heart positively aches as you realize the habit transcends languages.

You find yourself softening more and relaxing out of your defensive curl out of sheer endearment. You’re sure you’d be making absolute heart-eyes at Changbin right now if the topic at hand wasn’t so deeply uncomfortable for you.

“Ok, let me try an example,” He eventually decides, his eyes following your gaze where it had once again returned to his soulmark without your permission. He flexes a bit, making the flowers on his skin bounce and dance with a small, fond, smile. “I’m soulmates with the other members, right?”

He says it easily, casually, like it’s the most obvious thing in the world. You almost nod along, before you remember that the world at large definitely does not have that information, even if you do, and you meet his smug little smirk with wide-eyed shock.

You can’t help but gape at him for the casual confession, glancing around the empty gym like someone else might’ve heard Changbin’s brazen confession. He’s already waving you off before you can sputter out the questions stuck in your throat.

“It’s not a big deal, don’t worry about it. It’s not like we try very hard to hide it.” He does a weird little half-nod-half-shrug motion at his soulmark, “But yeah, we’re all soulmates, and we all pretty much knew before debut, even though Innie’s mark hadn’t shown up yet.”

You do nod this time. Slowly, though, as you try to figure out where he’s going with this. Changbin takes it as permission to continue, and so he does.

“Well, Jeongin’s our baby, and even though marks show up at 18, you’re not an adult in Korea until 19, so there’s a lot we had to leave him out on.” He grimaces a little, “Being an Idol is stressful as it is, throwing a new soul bond and puberty and all that on top wasn’t very helpful. We were all volatile and fragile. But Innie definitely took it the worst. He felt left behind and unfair and angry with it all.”

He chuckles and gives a little shrug, “We had our share of knock-down, drag-outs.” He admits sheepishly, “It wasn’t an easy time for us.” He rolls his head toward the ceiling and, despite Changbin’s efforts, you can easily spot the smitten look on his face along with his cherry-red ears.

“But we made it through,” He says softly, “We took the time to dig into all of his insecurities and find what we could do to help him. He made the choice to be vulnerable and honest with us. It took time to get here, but we made it through.”

Changbin meets your eyes again, “That’s what I mean when I say soulmates are about choosing to stick together. You work through the hard times and disagreements together, work toward something better. Soulmates are destiny, but love is choice.”

You let his words rattle around your brain as you get lost in his earnest gaze. Let the idea settle into you like something entirely new, like it wasn’t your understanding of healthy relationships beforehand. Of course that’s the ideal, you know that. No one is perfect and all that, everyone disagrees sometimes. It’s discussing it and finding solutions together that makes a partnership work long-term. You know that.

For the first time, you wonder if you’d just always considered soulmates an exception to the rule.

You’d automatically assigned soulmates as a concept a failing grade at working their problems through. Your parents certainly never worked out their issues, and every soulmate you’d ever seen in the media was an automatic happy-ending. As soon as that bond snaps into place, the story’s over. Happily ever after.

You’d always thought ‘ever after’ must be an awful short time.

‘Love is choice’ echoes through you like something divine.

You break Changbin’s gaze and offer him a half-hearted shrug. “I guess.” you concede, “My soulmates probably have a lot of work cut out for them with me, though. So I still don’t know if they’d want me.”

“I think it’d be worth the work,” Changbin smiles gently at you, “To be your soulmate, I mean.”

You feel heat rush up your neck and bless your genetics for keeping it from showing on your cheeks. You disguise your bashfulness by lightly slapping Changbin’s shoulder (and woah is he solid under your hand when you do) and loudly complain about him being a flirt.

He responds by doing his best to fluster you, clearly enjoying putting those fanservice skills to use. You complain with every flex and smoulder, especially when he starts unleashing the aegyo, and the two of you let the banter and laughter chase away the somber mood.

Eventually you settle, and Changbin nods at the very intimidating machine you’d been staring at what felt like a lifetime ago now.

“Did you need a spotter?” He offers. You hem and haw for a moment, before sheepishly admitting that you need a teacher more than a spotter. When he lights up and offers to be that, too, you can’t help the way your eyes travel up and down his body with open admiration.

He certainly looks plenty qualified, and really, you’re only a girl. If your once-over leaves him with red ears and a smug grin, well. You’ll consider it your revenge for now.

You very quickly realize your mistake in letting him coach you.

Changbin tours you quickly around various machines, explaining their functions and the proper ways to use them to avoid injury. All well and good, and you ask permission to record short videos of him doing so in case you find yourself forgetting his advice, which he graciously allows on the condition you don’t share them anywhere.

You agree after negotiating for viewing rights for Taylor, with the reasoning that the lure of the videos might actually get your roommate back into the gym with you. It makes Changbin laugh enough to indulge you.

And then he actually starts you on a machine, after getting a rundown on what you’d already done today, and you experience hell on earth.

The thing is, he’s unfairly good at coaching you through it. He keeps up a steady stream of warm encouragement and light jokes even as you curse him out for steadily increasing the weights on each machine you work through. He’s right there to help you through the sets the moment you start to get too tired and is almost preternaturally good at pushing you to only just above your limits.

And his hands are always right there. He’s almost always touching you somehow, throughout the whole thing. His touch is light, coaching and clinical, and unfailingly polite. Still, the warmth of his skin through your flimsy gym-wear feels heavy. Nearly threatening. Distracting, at the very least.

You’ll definitely need those videos later.

It’s a relief when it’s over. You’re sore and sweaty and you have to go sit at a desk for six or more hours when you leave, which you’re very much not looking forward to.

Changbin splits with you to hit the showers, but somehow you still come together again before you pass reception.

“Thanks for today,” you say as the two of you stall your goodbyes, “I had a lot of fun. You’ve more than earned that guest pass.” you tease, smile wide and mischievous.

He’s smiling too, even as he shoves your shoulder and complains about you extorting him.

When you run out of things to say, you shuffle lightly in place. It’s not like you expect him to give you his number, he is an Idol after all, but still you can’t quite make yourself leave. You find yourself casting around for something, anything, to say to make the moment last. To stay in his presence just a second longer.

You shake yourself out of it once you notice. You might not be running from them anymore, but you certainly weren’t trying to make friends with your soulmates. The longer you stayed in his presence, the more likely it was that you’d end up with another first contact.

At last, after a far-too-long moment of silence, you hold out your hand and offer a flat, closed-lip smile.

“It was really nice to meet you, Changbin.” You tell him sincerely, eyes locked on his. You swear looking your soulmates in the eye is some kind of hypnosis, the way you always get lost in them when you do. Something about it just makes you feel a tiny bit dumb, like your brain gets switched off.

“You too, y/n.” He agrees, reaching for your offered hand. You only realize what you’ve just done as your name leaves his lips, your eyes widening as they dart down to his hand and yours, but it’s far too late.

Your breath hitches a moment before his skin makes contact with yours, and you watch it happen in slow motion. He grasps your hand and pulls you in instead of settling for the more distant and formal farewell. All too quickly you’re settled into his grasp, completely enveloped in him and dizzy with more than just his warmth as soft prickles dance up your side.

You feel more than you hear him gasp, his hold on you so complete. Your head ends up on his shoulder as you stumble into him from his pull, and you get a front row seat to the top of his shoulder filling in with outlines and shadows from your place tucked against his neck, dull colors adding a definition to the images in his soulmark and settling like they’d always been there.

Distantly, you feel chest tighten with completion, with satisfaction and something smug and proud at the sight, even as your mind starts screaming.

Changbin is solid against you, comforting and almost stiflingly warm from both his workout and shower. You catch a whiff of his soap, the scent muting the alarm bells blaring in your brain even as you lay limp against him with the shock.

And then his hold on you tightens just a bit, only for a moment, but it’s all that it takes for you to break.

Your breath begins to hitch, visions of sweet touches turning sour and threatening violence causing you to flinch violently in Changbin’s comforting embrace. You feel your eyes begin to wet as you start to struggle, needing out, out, out.

It must have been less than a second, but Changbin pulls back, still holding you by your shoulders like he doesn’t know how to let go.

“Y/n?” He asks, voice small. You can only shake your head, breaths coming out in harsh gasps, limbs trembling violently. Changbin hurriedly lowers the two of you to the floor, much more prepared than you are for your limbs to give out halfway down.

He finally releases you as you settle and you curl tightly into yourself. The places where he’d held you feel frozen now, the cold viciously settling into your bones, even as Changbin does his best to get your attention and guide you through a breathing exercise.

You can’t focus on him though, the sensation of flowers blooming on your skin overwhelming, the memory of his touch both welcome and suffocating.

“S- ‘orry, I’m-” You hiccup, “I’m so- so s’rry-” If Changbin is at all put off by your sudden breakdown, he doesn’t show it. He just tilts his head and offers you hushed words of assurance.

“Nothing to be sorry for, y/n,” he assures, “It’s alright, just breathe, ok?”

He offers you a hand and you can’t help but take it, the warmth startling a breath into you that you hadn’t been aware you needed. Changbin guides your hand to his chest, instructing you to breathe with him, and you automatically focus on the heavy thump of his heartbeat under your palm.

He keeps talking to you, trying to keep your attention, but your mind spins wildly away from you even as you finally manage a deep inhale under Changbin’s attention.

You need to tell him that you’d known since he’d first spoken to you who he was. Who he was to you, even, but you can’t open your mouth to do more than gasp another apology. You’re sure he’ll hate you, leave you there on the floor of the gym to die like you deserve, especially after all you’d told him about how you feel about soulmates.

He’ll hate you for putting his soulmates through rejection, for refusing to speak to them or even look them in the eye. He’ll leave you here, humiliated on the gym’s floor, and you’ll deserve it because you’re a horrible person who wouldn’t even give them a breadth of a chance because you were too damn scared-

A hand grasps your spare one, the one not touching him, not keeping you just barely above the waves of hyperventilating, and you hadn’t even noticed it scrabbling at the stretched out neckline of your t-shirt until it’s gently pried away and guided to a wall of firm muscle.

Your fingers instinctively grasp what’s suddenly underneath them, and your vision stutters back in as a soft tingling rockets its way up your arm.

You distantly acknowledge that it was probably a bad thing that your vision had faded off with your eyes stuck wide open, staring blankly at legs you couldn’t feel. Right now, however, all you can experience is Changbin. His mark under your fingers, grip clawing and desperate. His heartbeat under your palm, faster than it should be, but steady and loud and feeling like it’s part of your own body.

Like he knows he has your attention again, Changbin ducks down to catch your eyes. You find nothing in them but concern and a soft emotion you couldn’t hope to pinpoint.

“Y/n,” He calls softly, “Y/n, do you mind if I touch you?” The gentleness he speaks to you with is devastating, like he’s trying to place your panicked mind on a cloud of care. You want so desperately to accept that care from him.

You nod, small jerky movements to indicate your agreement even as gasping sobs still stutter in your chest.

Changbin immediately moves, shuffling closer to you on his knees and releasing the wrist of your hand, the one still grasping at his mark like it’d disappear if you relaxed so much as a millimeter. He uncrosses his arms from the awkward reach he’d had to use to maneuver your hands where he wanted them, and reaches his now free hand to rest gently but firmly on your waist, right over his place within your own mark.

The resonance from his touch is weaker, the material of your shirt in his way, but with both sides active the feeling floods you in a way you could never describe.

You know, in the back of your mind, that you’ve read about resonance before. That you know all about the flood of endorphins and other feel-good hormones that it causes, that you’ve read first hand accounts from all sorts of people swearing up and down it feels better than any orgasm ever could. In the moment though, you feel like your brain has been reset completely. Back to factory settings, entirely blank.

You come back to yourself in slow blinks, resonance still echoing brightly between you and Changbin. Your one hand is still tightly clasped to his chest, and you’re sure you’re only breathing right now due to the steady rise and fall of Changbin’s chest. The two of you are still gripping each other’s marks.

You feel unsettled as awareness returns to your body. You feel floaty and not all there, even as you calm enough to feel the numbness of your legs and the pain in your knees from hitting the floor. An increasingly familiar tingling feeling is emanating from each of your active soulmarks, despite the fact that you know the other two should have no idea how you’re feeling right now.

Your bond wasn’t strong enough for that. You hadn’t given it the chance to be.

The thought that they might just be thinking of you gives you a soft and fluttery sort of feeling.

Finally, Changbin pulls back, removing his hand from your mark and sliding up your arm to gently pry yours from his bicep. You’d wince at the marks your nails had left on his skin if you didn’t still feel like your bones were vibrating on the astral plane from the intensity of a reciprocal resonance.

He gently holds both of your hands in his and settles them between you, catching your eye again.

“You back with me, bubs?” He asks, smile light and tone even. You’d think him unaffected if not for the redness of his ears and the slight haze in his eyes.

Right. Eight soulmates. He’s probably used to it.

He’s also trying to get you down from a panic attack, you remember as your hands begin to faintly tremble in his grip. You nod slightly at his question, apologizing again.

“Hey, no.” Changbin scolds softly, eyes locked on yours, “You’ve nothing to be sorry for, it’s okay. Do you want to tell me what happened?”

You shake your head in refusal of both ideas, opening your mouth once, twice, three times, before huffing irritatedly at the lack of words falling from your lips. Changbin squeezes your hands to keep your attention on him, expression open and accepting. His silence allows yours to end.

“I just- It’s just that I-” You breathe harshly through your nose, squeezing his hands back to ground yourself, “I knew from when I realized who you were that you were my soulmate.” you grind out in halting words, the trembling spreading from your hands up to your chest. You take in a shuddering breath, “That’s why I was apologizing. Because I knew and I still said those things to you.”

You can tell your confession takes Changbin off guard. The man blinks rapidly as he takes in the new information, slotting your earlier behavior against your reaction just now and having trouble connecting them.

“Soulmates terrify me,” you confess quietly, before he can ask, “You’re so nice, but you’re so fucking scary to me, I’m sorry.”

With that, you remove your hands from his, and Changbin just sort of helplessly lets you go, a lost expression taking over his face. You try to stumble to your feet, and he scrambles up to help you, caring even through his confusion.

You can feel the trembling travel to your legs, and you’re glad for his steady hold despite yourself. You feel like a stiff breeze might knock you over.

“I need- I- I’ve gotta- argh!” You clench your teeth with frustration, taking a deep, bracing, breath, before trying again. “I need to go home.” You’d like to say it came out strong and self-assured, but the words leave you in a breathless whimper that makes you feel small and pathetic.

Everything about this makes you feel small and pathetic.

Changbin catches your eyes again, brows creased in concern.

Except for him.

“Of course, whatever you need,” He assures, “Can I call a car for you? A friend? Your roommate?”

You shake your head, hopelessly endeared by his need to help you. You feel guilty for refusing him when he’d just pivoted from the bombshell you’d dropped on him to focus on your care but you- you needed to go home. You needed to leave, and it was taking every ounce of effort you could spare to keep from bolting.

“No, I can- I’ve got- I want- shit.” The curse spills from you unbidden, frustration with the vestiges of your panic refusing to leave you building sharply. If anything, Changbin’s concern only grows deeper as you struggle to express yourself.

“I need to move, I’ll walk.” Your mouth finally allows you to spit out, almost aggressively. Changbin almost seems to despair at your declaration.

Looking at your own condition, you can’t blame him. Trembling like a leaf and barely able to speak, you’d never let yourself leave if you’d been in his place. You can’t spare the energy to explain that if anyone tried anything at you in this condition you’d probably try to kill them first and ask questions later.

You don’t handle stress well.

Still, despite his obvious reluctance, Changbin lets you leave his embrace.

You’re more stable on your feet now, and a deep breath fills you with a facade of confidence that will see you home. Changbin’s hands still hover around you, as if waiting for you to shatter apart again.

“If you need anything, please call me, okay? Anything at all, please call me.” He pleads with you. You only manage to give him another tiny nod before you dip into a full bow and turn to flee.

Changbin watches you go with a face full of concern and confusion.

‘I think it’d be worth the work, to be your soulmate’ he’d said. You can’t help but wonder, as the gym disappears behind you, if he still thinks that.

Tag Garden: @brbwritingfanfic , @braveangel777 , @breathlessbookworm , @chancloud8 , @roseynoodles , @katsukis1wife , @alisonyus , @imnotsop , @pixie0627 , @velvetmoonlght , @upsidedownchaire , @unusuallyshy , @interstellar-equilibrium , @staytinyluv , @m00njinnie , @staaaa4 , @yourcrypticreaper , @beas-24 , @stars4jo , @scented-morker , @tirena1 , @min-doesnt-know , @glitterveins992 , @yumuramma , @shoganaiiii , @4ng3l-ch1ld , @linospetsitter

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#stray kids fanfic #skz fic #skz x reader #stray kids x reader #skz fanfic #w.i.p fic #w.i.p #baby writes #Stray Kids soulmate AU #SGAU #Soulmate Garden AU #soulmate au #skz soulmate au

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suugarbabe · 2 months ago

Text

Origin Stories

(part 3)

summary: baby first year matty arrives at hogwarts and the first person he interacts with seems to not know him at all. matty is unsure how to feel when someone treats him like just another person instead of the dark lords son

warnings: fluff, angst, hurt but comfort after, slight magical child abuse, sad baby matty ; ; ; she's a long one folks

an: forever thankful for @musingsofahufflepuff and all the wondrous thoughts he puts into this, the editing he helps with, just everything <3; you're all welcome, yes there is another part, there will always be more

Magical wounds don’t always heal quickly. They also don’t always heal without scars. Mattheo learned that if a diffindo charm is cast with enough hatred and precision a simple episkey charm won’t do the trick.

That or his first year wand work just isn’t as practiced. His mother forbade his elf, Feindre, from healing it for him, and Salazar knows she wasn’t going to do it.

Which left little newly twelve year old Mattheo standing in his bathroom staring in the mirror. It wasn’t even bleeding; the dark magic that his mother emits singed the edges of the cut as she made it.

He really did try to heal it the best he could, but it seemed like he was going to always have a prominent scar running through his right eyebrow.

His first thought after it all happened was how disappointed you’d be. That was his internal rationale as to why he was going to avoid you when he finally made it back to the castle.

He couldn’t fathom his nightmares coming true. For you to tell him that you hated him. That he was a monster for what he did. That he deserved what his mother had done.

He didn’t tell anyone where he was going, intending on just wallowing in self-pity. So when you found him hidden behind the wicker baskets near your common room entrance he was surprised.

The sniffling alerted you. You were able to hear it as you neared the bottom of the spiral staircase. At first you thought maybe a fellow first year had forgotten the password, looking ahead of you to try and find someone from your dorm.

But two steps past the stone tree base of the stairs and you heard sniffling again, this time from the nook that held the baskets.

If he hadn’t made any noise, no one would be any the wiser that there was a Slytherin first year crouched behind the tall baskets in the stair nook. A crying one at that.

“Matty?” Your voice startled him, quick hands swiping away his tears and fluffing his hair. “Matty, is that you back here?” Your head poked around the basket just in time to see him straightening out his robes.

He turned his back to you. Part of him was hoping you’d just leave him there to rot in his miserable pit of shame and sadness. Part of him was glad you were there.

“I know you can hear me, Mattheo.” The use of his full name made him flinch and he turned around to face you. While his back was turned you had joined him on the floor, legs criss-crossed and hands resting in-between.

He kept his head down, curls covering his forehead, “Are you here to yell at me?”

“Why would I-” your sentence was interrupted as he raised his head, fresh scar on full display.

“I’m assuming Theo or Enzo told you, so you found me to tell me off and tell me what a shit friend I am. But don’t worry…I’ve been telling myself all of it already.” His voice wobbled at the end of his sentence, tears welling in his eyes.

You didn’t understand what was happening, “Matty, talk to me, what- why would I be mad at you?”

He sniffled again as he wiped at his eyes with the heel of his hand, “I b-broke your promise.”

You inched closer to him, just slightly. You didn’t want him to run off; he was apparently good at finding places to hide. “Matty, what promise are you talking about?”

He couldn’t look you in the eyes as he said it, “I couldn’t let it go, I…he just..Draco is a fucking prat and he deserves what I did.” You nodded, face unchanging, “What did you do, Matty.”

He took a shuddered breath, willing himself not to cry while he explained himself, “He just looked so smug at the party - his family’s christmas party they throw every year - and I just couldn’t stand it

“Not with me knowing what he said to you, how he made you feel. It wasn’t right that he was laughing with his brainless friends that follow him around. I just kept seeing you crying in the back of my mind.”

There was a rush of heat to your cheeks, something about knowing Matty was still dwelling on how awful you felt was stirring something inside you but you couldn’t tell exactly what.

“I guess he must’ve told a joke or something,” Mattheo continued, staring at a point on the ground like it was replaying live in his brain as he told you, “Crabbe was cracking up and Draco just had that smirk on his face and I knew it was likely the same when he was being awful to you.

“So I had to do something, I couldn’t stop myself. I pushed through the crowd and I went right up to him and I just…lost it. I punched him in the gut first. Then he tried to take out his wand from his pocket and I just grabbed it from him and threw it into the crowd of adults around us.

“I just kept hitting him, and hitting him and I couldn’t stop. When he started crying I just thought good, he deserves this. I wanted him to physically feel the pain he had emotionally caused you.”

He felt the tears start to fall, but he couldn’t find it in him to care anymore. If you were going to stop being friends with him, he wanted you to know everything, to know he got rightfully punished already so that hopefully when you told him off you weren’t as harsh.

“My mother stopped me. Well she…hit me with a stupify jinx and I guess she apparrated us back to our manor because she hit me with something else to wake me up so she could berate me.”

He spared you to the details of his mother’s words. ‘You horrifically idiot child, do you know how embarrassing that was for me? For your father? Over a Mudblood, Mattheo. Mudblood we aim to rid our world of, we do not defend them.

“Is your mother the one who…” you trailed off, but he knew you were staring at it. “She was teaching me a lesson,” was all he could respond with.

He saw you shake your head in his peripheral, “No. Absolutely not, no Matty that is not a lesson that’s abuse. C’mon. C’mon let’s go right now, we’re going to Madam Pomfry, I’m taking you to the infirmary so she can fully heal it.”

You stood up then. He didn’t move, “No, I can’t do that.” You held your hand out for him, “Just, let’s go Matty she can heal it up really well I’ve seen her do it on one of my dorm mates before.”

Mattheo just shook his head, “You don’t understand…she’ll just do it again. She wanted it like this, made me heal it myself and everything it’s…it’s a reminder.” He heard you scoff from above him.

“What could that possibly be a reminder of? That she hates you?” Your mind was filled with so much purity, Mattheo almost didn’t want to tell you. He didn’t want to ruin how you saw the wizarding world, the excitement and joy you had on the train.

But he also couldn’t lie to you, so he did his best to say the tamest version of what it really was, “It’s her reminder that she could if she wanted to.” Your sweet soul just couldn’t comprehend, “That she could what?”

“Anything.”

You stood in a silence for a moment. To Mattheo it felt like forever. Like you were deciding all of it was too much. That he was too much. When you started speaking he couldn’t help his reflexive tensing, waiting for the rejection he figured was coming.

“Will you let me give you your Christmas present then? It might cheer you up?”

Between the crying and standing up quickly Mattheo went slightly light headed for a moment, “Y-you got me a gift?” You gnawed on your lip slightly, “Well, erm, I didn’t actually buy you something but I…made you something.”

You were staring at your hands, fingers fiddling with one another. Mattheo grabbed your hand suddenly, ignoring the rapid rhythm of his heart getting stronger and louder at the contact as he started dragging you down the hall.

You glanced quickly at the pile of barrels that was your house entrance as Mattheo stopped in front of a portrait on the wall about ten feet down. “Erm, Matty. Why are we standing here,” you mock whispered, mirroring his position and looking at the portrait.

“I’m waiting for you to say your password,” he turned to look at you, face scrunched in slight confusion. A grin broke on your face, “This is not my house entrance, goofy.”

You begin to walk away from him, Matty following closely like a new puppy as you stop in front of the pile of barrels. You take a step closer to the barrel two from the bottom, knocking in time with the name ‘Helga Hufflepuff’.

The front of the barrel begins to roll upwards into itself and you start to walk forward, Mattheo immediately behind you. “Your password is just knocking?” You nod, “Mhm! And it’s never changed and we were told it never will change. So you can’t tell anyone.”

Mattheo nodded, “I won’t.” You turned to him then, “Do you pinky?” Mattheo couldn’t stop the instinctual tilt in his head, “Do I what?” You held a fist out towards him, your small pinky finger the only thing outstretched, “Do you pinky swear?”

His quickly mimics your hand position, confusion further settling in his brain as you hook your pinky finger on to his. You jut out your thumb, bringing it to your lips and kissing it quickly.

Again, Mattheo does the same, not understanding what’s going on. “Okay, now seal it,” you lean your fist against his, your thumb reaching over. He touches his thumb to yours and his face and neck begin to feel hot.

His heart is beating quickly and he sort of feels light headed again, but you’re smiling, so he’s smiling and then you’re opening the door to your room.

Enzo was the first to notice it, pointing it out loudly from across the dorm. “Whatcha carryin’, Matt?” Mattheo set the gift bag, your gift bag, down on his bed before shrugging off his robes.

He was digging in his trunk, top half nearly fully inside while looking for lounge clothes when he heard the crinkle of tissue paper. By time he was able to get back to his bed Theo had revealed one of your gifts.

“S’that a little dragon?” Enzo walked over enthusiastically to the opposite side of the bed Mattheo was on. Theo was currently holding the crocheted Antipodean Opaleye high in the air.

Theo’s slightly longer limbs gave him the advantage he was hoping for as Mattheo reached for it, “Give it back, it’s not yours. It was made for me, not you!”

Enzo climbed up on the bed next to Mattheo’s, giving himself a few good jumps before launching himself over and on top of Theo. “Oof– Enzo what the fuck,” Berkshire had snagged the handmade stuffie and was now settled against Mattheo’s pillows inspecting it.

He turned it this way and that, looking from its long neck to its wings and down to the tail before Matty grabbed it back from him. “Cut it out you gits, you’re gonna break him.”

“What’s that string on your wrist?” Theo reaches to grab Mattheo’s forearm but he pulls it quickly into his chest. He grabs hold of his wrist, shielding it from view.

The incessant whine of Draco’s voice wafts from his curtains, “Two handmade gifts? Your little badger friend poor or something? No surprise for a mud-”

The rage in Mattheo grew nearly as high as the night he tried to beat Draco with his bare hands. Thankfully you had done more than just crochet and stuff the dragon; Mattheo held the Opaleye towards Draco’s bed, pulling strongly on its tail.

A stream of flames emitted from the stuffed dragon’s mouth, immediately igniting the middle of the drapes on Draco’s four poster.

“Wicked…clever little badger charmed it?!” Theo sounded highly impressed and Mattheo gleamed with pride. With Draco now distracted with his flaming curtains, Mattheo turned to his friends.

Enzo couldn’t contain his laughter at the sight, hands clutching his belly as he rolled to his side. Theo had his palm outstretched, giving Matty a ‘give it here’ motion with his fingers while holding a finger to his lips.

Mattheo passed the dragon over just as Draco managed to put the first fire out. Theo then gave the Opaleye’s tail another tug, another stream of fire reaching Draco’s bed. The blonde boy let out a high pitched squeal of terror, attempting to throw a stinging jinx towards the other boys.

An impressive protego charm was thrown up by Matty as they all ran out of the room and towards the common room in a fit of giggles. As they all settled near a fireplace in separate chairs, catching their breath, Theo was the first to break the silence, “Where’d you learn that protection charm, amico? Isn’t that a sixth year charm?”

“You know who his parents are-ow!” Theo wacked Enzo in the back of the head, “Futtuto idiota!” He turned back to Mattheo, “Sorry ‘bout him.”

Mattheo just shook his head, gnawing lightly on his bottom lip, “S’okay, he’s right. Feindre-erm, my house elf taught it to me.” His face warmed slightly at the admittance.

Enzo, trying to gracefully recover from his earlier statement, smiled far too widely, “Well that was - erm, nice of him?” Theo groaned, shaking his head and pinching the bridge of his nose before changing the subject, “You gonna show us what’s on your wrist now?”

Mattheo shyly held his hand out in front of him. Both Theo and Enzo leaned forward, trying to get a closer look at the twisted and knotted pattern of greens, black and white on his wrist. Matty’s heart beat a little faster, something akin to protectiveness over your handiwork coming over him.

“Badger made that by hand you said? No magic at all?” Enzo was now sitting on his knees in front of Mattheo, peering closer at the bracelet on his wrist. “Merlin, Enzo, back up. Where’s your boundaries, mate,” Theo pulled Enzo back by his collar causing the boy to fall backwards.

“They said it was a friendship bracelet,” Mattheo said the phrase with some pride in his tone. Theo huffed, crossing his arms over his chest, “Where’s our friendship bracelets?” Mattheo shrugged, “Dunno, maybe you guys aren’t really friends.”

“Oi! We’re friends!” Enzo defended, “We stand next to each other in Herbology, we were partners just last week!” Mattheo laid across the sofa, putting his hands behind his head, “Partners do not equate friends, Enzo.”

Matty smirked to himself when he heard Enzo begin to grumble. “Well we’ll just find out at breakfast tomorrow won’t we.”

You didn’t show up for breakfast. Mattheo’s mind went in a bit of a spiral because of it. He ran through everything that happened the previous evening, all of your interactions together.

Was he not enthusiastic enough about his gifts? It wasn’t that he was not excited, he just never received such a thoughtful gift before.

He never received any gifts before.

He didn’t eat at all. The thought of you being upset with him made him feel physically ill and the idea of eating sausage and eggs made him want to vomit.

He had been pulling at his curls during his walk to charms, gnawing on his bottom lip harshly. He was just about ready to explode from the weird rush of heat that seemed to be encompassing him the more he thought about you when he finally heard your voice.

“Matty!” You were waving your hand high as you walked through the doorway. Without giving it thought Mattheo did the same, raising his arm high as he waved, his new friendship bracelet now on full display.

Your grin was so large Mattheo was sure your face was about to split right in half, “You wore it! I’m so glad, I was afraid you’d find it a little bit cheesy.”

Mattheo followed your gaze to his arms now crossed on the table, bracelet still peaking from his robes. The bridge of his nose and tips of his ears suddenly became very warm as he pulled his sleeve to cover it fully.

“Erm, yeah. I’ve never gotten a present-Ehm, a present like that before. How did you make it without any magic?”

You turned in your seat to face him, hands animated as you spoke, “Last summer I visited my cousin in America and we went to this thing called a summer camp and we learned how to do all sorts of cool stuff, bracelets were one of them.”

Mattheo had a bad habit of staring and not responding. He supposed it was likely something he developed to cause less negative reactions from his mother.

However you were now running your hand through your hair, cheeks seemingly warming and waiting for a response. “What’s, erm, what’s a summer camp?” Mattheo finally found his voice but he wanted to smack himself.

You sound so stupid, everyone probably knows what those are. He clenched his fist tightly, then relaxed them; a skill Feindre taught him a few years ago.

Your eyes seem to brighten once more, launching into a long explanation about the experience and all the activities you got to do and what they meant.

It all sounded like Gobbledegook to him, but seeing how happy it made you to get the opportunity to explain something that excited you was satisfying enough for him.

Charms was the only class he had with you Monday mornings. Thus, once Fitwick dismissed everyone he was stuck to survive without you until lunch. Mattheo, therefore, felt numb for the next two classes.

Theo was about to ask Mattheo if he needed to go to the infirmary on their way to lunch as it looked like he’d been walking around brain dead for the last two lessons. That is until he noticed you at the lunch table, next to Enzo. Sitting right next to Enzo.

Theo also noticed this, grabbing Mattheo by the elbow and dragging him to the other side for the both of them to sit across from you. Mattheo contemplated if it would be too dramatic of him to climb over the table and sit on your free side.

“So what’d we miss?” Theo started piling food on his plate, a passing glance at you and Enzo the only indication of where he was directing the question.

You rolled your eyes as Enzo responded, “I was just asking our little badger here why Matt got a friendship bracelet but we didn’t.”

They’re my badger not our badger you twit, Mattheo squeezed his eyes shut trying to shake the negative thought from his brain.

Theo hummed, biting into one of the several pasties he now had on his plate, “Hey, that’s right! Why didn’t we get one?”

You shrugged your shoulders, “Matty was my first friend.” Mattheo’s chest swelled, the smallest hint of a smirk tugging at his lips. Enzo scoffed, “We were your second and third friends! We deserve bracelets too! What, do you hate us all of a sudde-ow, ow, oi what the?!”

Enzo’s hand covered his forehead where you had just landed a particularly hard flick with your finger, “Lorenzo don’t be selfish.” The boy next to you slumped his shoulders slightly, a soft and grumbled ‘sorry’ leaving his lips.

Theo took another bite of pasty, “M’kay so when we’re all as close as you and Matty do we get two gifts, too?”

“Well one was for Christmas and one was for his birthday.” You said it so casually, like it made perfect sense. Mattheo, however, was looking at you with wide awestruck eyes before quickly looking down at his plate.

The other two boys looked slightly guilty. ”Mate,” Enzo looked toward the older boy, “your birthday was over holiday? We missed it?”

Mattheo just shrugged, “You both were around. It was the same day as Malfoy’s little soirée.” Theo and Enzo looked at each other before Theo turned to Mattheo, “You mean the same day your mum-”

“Yeah, the same,” Mattheo pulled on the curls by his forehead trying to hide the still healing scar by his eyebrow. Noticing his uncomfortableness, you tried to change the subject.

“Did he show you guys his dragon’s special skill?”

Mattheo was thankful for the distraction. The other boys taking pride in the slight torture they all instilled on Draco. You tried to reprimand them slightly but Mattheo saw the edges of your lips curling upwards.

Enzo, as always, was being enthusiastic in his storytelling. Hands flailing and body moving to illustrate what his words were describing. As he described getting the little dragon from Theo, he mimed launching himself off the bed and then wrapped his arms around you to simulate what he did to Theo and Mattheo suddenly felt horrible.

A weird twisting started appearing slowly in his stomach and spreading throughout his body. It only became more intense as you laughed, pushing Enzo off you. A low heat began emanating off Matty as Enzo continued to bump or nudge you throughout his storytelling.

Mattheo gripped his fork harshly, the prongs scraping against the table as a means of distraction (and not hex Berkshire at the lunch table). Someone must have asked him a question because Theo nudged him with his elbow, nodding his head towards you.

“Are you okay, Matty?” Your eyebrows were knit slightly together, eyes darting from his to his fork making four deep marks in the wood of the table. Mattheo dropped his fork to the table, “Oh, yeah, I’m sorry. Did you ask me something?”

A small smile appeared on your features, “I just asked what you were thinking about.” Mattheo wracked his brain for a viable excuse. He wasn’t sure how you would feel about him plotting Enzo’s demise due to his proximity to you.

“Ehm, I was, erm, just thinking about what to get you for, erm your birthday? W-when is it again?”

Through a mouthful of sausage Enzo answers for you, “ ‘ts in March.” That twisting feeling started brewing again, thankfully Theo asked what Mattheo was wondering. “How do you know when their birthday is?”

Enzo sat a little straighter, “Because we’re friends.” Then very unceremoniously, he stuck his tongue out at Matty.

“I’ll cut that tongue out, Enzo,” Matty threatened and the boy immediately sucked his tongue back into his mouth. You playfully scolded the curly haired boy, “Oh hush, Matty you will not. And yes, Enzo we’re friends, Theo you are also my friend but Mattheo is my best friend.”

Mattheo felt like his heart was swelling, the smile exploding on his face was out of his control and his legs started bouncing slightly. Then he turned back to Enzo, sticking his tongue out at him.

“I’ll cut that tongue out, Matty,” Enzo mocked his friend's earlier words. You rolled your eyes, Theo apparently doing the same. “Are they always like this?”

Theo leaned his head on his fist, elbow supported on the table as his eyes darted back and forth at the two other boys flinging insults at each other, “Honestly this is new, but I don’t think it’s going away anytime soon.”

Now that he had learned when your birthday was, Mattheo was determined to get you a gift. He had two months to plan, and he was really wracking his brain about what would be good enough after all you’ve done for him.

He did his best to listen intently (as if he listened any other way around you) for any idea of what to get you. Mattheo knew he was rich, all of his friends were. He could buy you anything you wanted. He wanted to buy you anything you wanted.

But everything you talked about loving or wanting wasn’t material whatsoever.

A month and a half later Matty was slumped in a lounge chair in his common room. He was looking especially moody, which made Theo a little hesitant to even ask, but he considered Mattheo a good friend now.

“You wanna tell me what’s wrong, Matt?” Theo lounged sideways over the chair next to Mattheo’s, his continuously growing limbs hanging over each side. Mattheo stayed brooding, “Why do you care.”

Theo shrugged, “We’re mates, I care about you. I don’t wanna see you all sad and mopey all the time.” Mattheo felt a slight pang in his chest, looking over at Theo and his shy grin.

Mattheo sat up straighter, “I don’t know what to get y/n for their birthday and it’s only like two weeks away now.” Theo nodded, “Have they mentioned anything they want?”

A scowl crossed over Matty’s face, “Don’t you think I’ve been listening for that all this time?” Theo threw his hands up in defense, Mattheo sighed, “Sorry, I’m sorry Theo it’s just. Ugh, they’re so great, you know? They made me gifts. How can anything I buy top a handmade gift?”

Mattheo sunk into the chair again with a groan. Theo pulled at his bottom lip as he thought to himself, then shaking his head as if to disregard whatever he was thinking. “You know they still haven’t made us bracelets? Enzo was complaining earlier saying he was just going to make them himself but he can’t figure out how they did it.”

Mattheo’s eyes widened, and then a wonderful idea occurred to him, “I don’t say this often, Nott…but you’re a bloody genius. I gotta go.” And with that he sprinted from the common room.

Mattheo slowed as he reached the library. He really hoped she was in there. He didn’t particularly have a problem with her, per say. But he knew she had a problem with him and all of his friends. Maybe his cousin in particular.

As typical, he spotted Hermione Granger alone at one of the library tables, parchment and textbooks spread all about, quill moving vigorously.

He stood in front of her table for a moment before he realized he’d have to actually say something for her to get out of whatever study trance she was in. Matty cleared his throat, “Em, hello.”

Her quill stopped abruptly, eyes slowly lifting until she realized who was in front of her. Mattheo took her silence as a guide to keep talking, “You’re, erm, muggle born right?” The shift in her eyebrows told Mattheo he started off with the wrong thing, quickly trying to back track and start over.

“No, not like that! I just mean…you know what this is right?” He pulled his robes up, showing off the intricate pattern of string in his house colors. Hermione set down her quill, “You’re asking me if I know what a friendship bracelet is? What are you up to Riddle, some sort of prank?”

He quickly calmed the bit of anger that arose inside his chest, “It’s Mattheo…and no, it’s not a prank. Do you know how to make these? Where I could get the stuff for it?” She set down her quill, clasping her hands in front of her.

“Why should I help one of Malfoy’s little friends?” Mattheo scowled for a brief moment, then cooled his face back down, “First of all, we’re not friends. Our proximity is by force not by choice, Granger. Second of all, I’m the one who gave him the black eye after Christmas.”

They stared at each other in silence, Hermione very clearly trying to analyze if he’s being truthful. Mattheo did his best to keep his stoic, however he couldn’t hold her stare, eyes darting around at everything but her.

“Fine…I’ll tell you, but just the basics.”

Mattheo had never sat down so quickly at a library table all year. Hermione pulled out a piece of fresh parchment from her bag, ripping off about six inches. “There’s that much instruction?!” Mattheo was beginning to feel defeated, but Hermione just held up her hand to silence him.

“I’m just writing basic instructions and a very rough illustration,” she turned the parchment to face him. Mattheo’s eyes danced over the words, desperately trying to make them all make sense. Hermione then tapped the tip of her wand to the parchment, the illustration now repetitively demonstrating how to start the knots.

Mattheo had to stop his jaw from dropping, “Woah.” Hermione shrugged, “That’s the best you’re getting, don’t expect a real life example from me. It’s not going to be easy if this is the first time you’ve ever attempted it, I hope you know that.”

His mouth flattened into a thin line, “I’m well aware…but erm, thanks for this.” He stuffed the parchment in the pocket of his robes and stood up.

“Thanks for punching your cousin,” Hermione wore a small smile as she began focusing back on her work. He began to walk away before turning round to face her once more, “Where would I find the right-”

“Any common string will work, Ri- Mattheo.”

He nodded, thanking her once more before leaving the library. He started down a random corridor, trying to wrack his brain on where in this ginormous castle he would find what he was looking for.

The bracelet you made him was his house colors, would you like it if the one he made was yours? Fuck what was their favorite color again? Did they tell me? I’m such a shitty listener, Mattheo felt like he was going insane. This had to be perfect.

His mind was going a mile a minute, round and round of what he might need, where he was supposed to get it. Then a door appeared next to him on the corridor wall. It looked like an entrance to a broom closet. He looked both ways down the corridor before shrugging his shoulders and turning the doorknob to walk inside.

“Bloody hell…” the room did turn out to be about the size of a broom closet. But it also held about every color of string Mattheo could think of. There were also small bins of tiny beads, all different colors, some white and round with black little letters.

As he searched for materials he noticed all of the house colors seemed to be sectioned off together. He walked over to the black and yellow of Hufflepuff before noticing another few sets of bins with different beads in them. Black beads, boring. Yellow beads, boring-er.

Then he saw the perfect touch he wanted to add. A little gold bead with a tiny little black badger. Perfect, he thought, a badger for my badger.

When your mother is Bellatrix Lestrange and your father is Voldemort, a lot of things will come easy to you. Magic, for instance, was something that Mattheo started to show signs of at around one year old.

It was almost unheard of, but no one was really surprised. From what he’s told he was able to levitate his bottle to him whenever he wanted it. Since then most things would just come to him if he tried it or willed it.

So why he was struggling so badly with making a simple bracelet out of string and beads he could not figure out.

“Oh fucking hell,” he cursed out loud before trying to undo the last three knots that he had just realized were the wrong pattern for that line of color.

Enzo tsked from across the room, “You still tryna work on that, Matt? You know their birthday is tomorrow.” Mattheo grumbled to himself getting up from his desk to go and punch his pillow a few times.

“I’d say he knows, Berk,” Theo was laying out his uniform on his desk chair. “You do have a back up plan though right, Matty? I mean this as a friend who cares…you’re not finishing that tonight.”

Mattheo flopped down into his bed face first and screamed for five seconds straight. He then turned his head towards his friends, “I can buy them a hippogriff…they always talk about how that’s their favorite magical creature.”

Enzo couldn’t control the bubble of laughter that left his throat as Theo quirked an eyebrow, “Mattheo…what would they even do with that? Where would they keep it? Just a hippogriff hanging in the Hufflepuff common room?”

“They are the more nature loving house, Theo,” Enzo was biting his lip to stifle his giggles. Theo threw him a glare, turning back to Matty, “Where would they keep it over summers? Christmas holidays? Are they going to bring a hippogriff to their home in muggle London?!”

Enzo held out both of his hands in front of him, “Let’s not be too hasty, I definitely think Matt should get ‘em one. It’s a great idea.”

Theo hopped of his bed, walking over to Enzo’s before giving the back of his head a good thwack! “Idiota de merda!”

Enzo rubbed the back of his head with a grimace, “I’m getting tired of you sods bloody hitting me all the time.” Theo jumped back onto his own bed, “Then stop deserving it.” They started to lightly bicker back and forth, Mattheo just ignored them for the moment.

Mattheo then glared at both of them, each boy turning away and mumbling something about it getting late and needing to go to bed. Mattheo followed suit, climbing completely under his covers and drawing his drapes.

He felt like a great weight was on top of him. Pressing him further and further into his bed. Squishing him down further into a pit reserved for the worst friends known to man and wizard kind. Maybe if he just succumbs to the darkness then he won’t have to wake up and disappoint you.

He grabbed hold of the dragon you made him, holding it close to his chest and tucking it under his chin. He knew getting an actual hippogriff was a little crazy. But he could afford it, it wasn’t like it was out of his means.

He tucked his face into his stuffed dragon, thinking again about how thoughtful and talented it was of you to make him the little stuffed animal. Then, right before sleep took over, a fantastic idea began consuming his thoughts.

Mattheo slept through breakfast. He woke up with a start, covered in a sheen of sweat. He likely had a nightmare, of what he wasn’t sure. There were about three in rotation right now.

In a rush he got ready and nearly sprinted to charms, getting to his seat beside you slightly out of breath. On the desk in front of him was a biscuit with jam. Gooseberry, his favorite.

“Boys said you were sleeping when they left. Figured you might be late…and hungry,” you were smiling at him in that kind way that you do. He was thankful he ran that last bit to class as now you wouldn’t notice how intensely he was blushing.

“T-thanks, but shouldn’t everyone be getting things for you today?” Mattheo had a shy smile on his face. You tilted your head slightly, he continued, “Because it’s your birthday. Erm. Happy Birthday, Y/n.”

Your smile was unimaginably wide, “Thank you, Matty.” Flitwick entered the room from his office at the front, effectively silencing any conversation being had.

The lesson went on in a fog, you studiously taking notes and Mattheo trying to figure out if he had enough time after potions and before lunch to grab your gifts from his room.

Once Flitwick dismissed everyone, Mattheo walked you to your next class. “You didn’t have to do this, aren’t you going to be late to potions?” Your chest felt warm and you couldn’t stop smiling.

Mattheo shrugged, “It’s your birthday, you deserve all the attention today.” You thanked him again before waving goodbye and entering your next classroom.

As soon as your back was turned Mattheo started sprinting towards the dungeons. The only time he was thankful for his father being the Dark Lord was when it came to Professor Snape.

Mattheo had been late to potions the most out of all of his courses this year. Each time Snape had given him a look, asked him to find his seat, but not taken any house points. Today had been the same. He did as asked, sitting next to Theo.

“You figure out what to get your little badger?” Theo flicked his wand and ignited the flames beneath his and Mattheo’s cauldron. Mattheo nodded, “Yeah, gonna give it to them during lunch.”

Theo continued to bug Mattheo throughout potions and the next lesson about what he ended up getting you. But Mattheo didn’t budge. He didn’t want anyone else to know your gift before you. He wanted it to be special, just like yours were to him.

Mattheo told Theo he would meet him in the Great Hall, rushing back down to his dorm to grab your gift bags. When he finally made his way back up all the stairs, he found you sitting across from Theo and Enzo near the end of the Slytherin table. His rightful spot beside you free just for him.

As he walked over he noticed two more gifts sitting in front of you. His face must have displayed his confusion as you happily clarified as he sat down, “Theo and Enzo got me gifts, isn’t that nice of them?” Mattheo turned to the other two boys. Theo wore a tight lipped smile, while Enzo showed all his teeth.

Mattheo sat both of his bags next to the others as you took the first small bag and began to open it. Theo sat up straighter, grin growing as you pulled out his gift. “Ice cream?” you asked, causing Theo’s face to turn up slightly in disgust.

“Ice cream?? No, no, compagno, it is gelato! I don’t know if you know this, but I’m Italian, we do not eat ice cream. Would never let that monstrosity touch my tongue,” Theo fake gagged, sticking his tongue out.

You couldn’t help but laugh softly, “Thank Merlin you told me. I couldn’t quite tell by your thick accent, so I’m glad you clarified.” A smirk adorned your face as Theo stuck his tongue out.

“I owled mia mamma and she sent some over for me. There’s a chilling charm on it so it will always be cold, you don’t even have to put it in, erm,” Theo had his hand in front of him moving it in a circular motion, “como si dice��your cold box?”

Enzo rolled his eyes, “The freezer.” You nodded in understanding, “Thank you, Theo. That’s so cool! Tell your mum thanks from me too.” Theo gave you a small nod as you grabbed the next bag.

It was a little smaller than the first. You pulled off the top tissue paper to see what looked like a piece of ripped parchment. You held it up in front of you, staring at the blank piece of parchment. “Erm…thank you, Enzo.”

Enzo displayed a toothy grin, shaking his head, “Turn it over.” You did as told, reading in small, sloppy scrawl, Coupon: good for two free flicks. You burst into a fit of laughter, holding your stomach. Mattheo had to shoot his arm out to catch you from falling backwards.

“Care to share with the class?” Mattheo took the piece of parchment from you as you handed it over. “Good for two free flicks? Really Enzo?” Theo reached over the table, pulling a quill out of his back, “Let me notarize the back of this so he can’t go back on his word.”

Enzo took the quill from Theo, signing below him, “I’m serious. You can use them whenever you think is necessary.” Mattheo and Theo rolled their eyes in sync. “Don’t use them all at once, I’d save them up if I were you.”

Mattheo nodded, “Keep that parchment in a good place, I say make him wait a year or two and then go for the attack.” You took the ‘coupon’ back from Theo and folded it neatly, putting it in a safe pocket inside your bag.

You went to grab the next gift, “These last two both from you, Matty?” He nodded shyly, “Em, yeah…Christmas and your birthday.” You beamed, beginning to take the tissue paper out of the bag before reaching inside. The first thing you pull is a pack of cauldron cakes.

“Oh yum, my favorite, thank you Matty- Holy Helga is this…is this a little niffler?” You hold up the small stuffie of a baby niffler, turning it and showing it to the other two boys. Mattheo nods with a grin, “It has a little pocket in it’s belly like a real one. I figured you could keep your wizard money in there when you're on breaks or something.” He scratched at the back of his neck nervously.

“That’s brilliant, thank you!” You grabbed for the second gift and Mattheo started unconsciously picking at his thumbs. You pulled out another stuffed animal, this one being, “A hippogriff? Mattheo…you didn’t!”

Theo huffed, “Be happy he did this, he almost bought you a real one.” Mattheo’s cheeks were instantly aflame. Enzo continued on, shrugging his shoulders, “I still think it would’ve been a good idea.”

Mattheo cleared his throat, trying to distract from his friends, clearly trying to embarrass him, “Touch, erm, touch your wand to it’s tail.” You pulled your wand from your robe pocket, doing exactly as Mattheo told.

No sooner did your wand meet the back of the hippogriff did its little stuffed wings begin to move, flapping up and down as the animal started lifting from the table, its head moving this way and that before touching back down to the table and becoming imobile once again.

Mattheo always had a way to make you smile until your cheeks hurt. Today he had made your birthday one of the best you had ever had. “I-I don’t know if I can say thank you enough times for this, Matty.”

The curly haired boy just shook his head, “It’s not as good as what you got me. I mean, Salazar's sake you made my gifts. I just bought these and put a simple flying charm on one. I tried to make you something but it, erm, I haven’t-”

“This is perfect, thank you,” you turned to Theo and Enzo, “all of you. Best birthday ever.” Enzo made the four of you cheers with your pumpkin juice, vowing that in a few years it’d be something stronger. You threatened to use one of your flicks almost immediately.

Mattheo continued to try to work on his own friendship bracelet for you, any of the boys walking in on him at random times bent over his desk fiddling with colored string and randomly cursing.

He became so determined that he frequently ignored Enzo’s requests to play exploding snap or Theo’s requests to play wizards chess. Mattheo just kept saying he was ‘busy’ or he ‘needed to just finish this one part’, frequently working until he couldn’t tell the strings apart and just decided to go to bed for the night.

“Fucking finally! Ha!” Mattheo stood abruptly from his desk shouting in victory and causing Enzo to nearly shut his trunk on his fingers with a yelp. “Fucking hell, Matt, what is it?”

Theo folded one of his sweaters and placed it in his trunk neatly before turning around, “Finally manage to make a bracelet, eh, Matty?” Mattheo walked over, proudly holding his creation for them to see.

Enzo peered at it closely, “It looks…” Theo interrupted, “Perfect. It looks great, amico.” Mattheo nodded after getting his friend's approval, setting the bracelet on his night stand before going over to his closet, grabbing all of his things in a large pile and tossing them messily into his trunk. “There, all done,” he pretended to dust his hands off before going over to his bed and climbing in.

He held his dragon close to his chest, whispering quietly to himself, “M’gonna have to hide you in my trunk over summer. Have to soak up the cuddles now little buddy.”

The next morning was nothing short of chaos. Dozens of students in the slytherin common room shouting what they were still missing. Things like ‘accio scarf!’ Or ‘Has anyone seen a bag of marbles?’ could be heard across the expansive space.

Mattheo ignored all of it as he, Theo and Enzo made their way from the common room to the main halls. Just as they left the common room entrance, Enzo stated that he forgot something in his trunk that he wanted for the train.

Theo graciously, but not without eye roll, agreed to go back with him. Mattheo trucked on ahead, stating he was going to meet you by the great hall before heading to the boat docks.

As expected, you beat him there, waiting by the large hall entrance for him. You were wearing muggle clothes, jeans and a relaxed t-shirt. Mattheo was dressed in very neat and very expensive wizard robes. “Don’t you look dashing,” your tone was teasing but you wore a smile as you said it.

Mattheo’s face heated all the same, “And you look…comfortable.” You laughed, “More comfortable than you I assume. You going to a ball right as you arrive home?” The two of you began the walk and subsequent descent down the many many stairs to where the first year boats were docked.

“Erm, no ball but this is what my mother believes proper pureblood wizards should wear all the time..” he trailed off a little shyly, pretending to be hyper focused on not falling down the last few stairs.

Hagrid greeted you both kindly, sitting you in a boat with two ravenclaws before pushing it off the dock and towards Hogsmeade Station. “Welp, hope Theo and Enzo don’t kill us for leaving without them.”

Mattheo shrugged his shoulders, “I’m sure they’ll find us eventually. Might as well enjoy the calm while we can.” You turned and looked behind you, taking a last glance at the castle for the year.

“I’m gonna miss Hogwarts this summer. Do you think you will?” Mattheo watched you as you watched the castle, “Yeah, I’m gonna miss it a lot.”

Once the boat docked Mattheo followed behind you on the platform and onto the Hogwarts Express. He didn’t understand why you were passing so many empty cars until you finally stopped and opened one. The same one you both rode to school in last September.

“S’gotta be tradition now, doesn’t it? Riding in the same car each year. Do you think we can manage it?” you sat on one of the car benches and kicked your feet up, stretching out. Mattheo thought about how early Feindre had gotten him to the train for his first year. It was likely always going to be that way.

“I don’t think it’ll be a problem.” He sat down across from you, stuffing his hands in his pockets and pulling out a small envelope. “Hey, erm, I-I wanted to give you this before the others showed up. A going away present I s’pose.”

You took the envelope from him, noticing your name printed across it in pointed and scratchy writing. “What is it? Oh, poo, I didn’t get you a going away gift,” you flipped the envelope over, pausing before opening it to pout slightly.

Mattheo shook his head, “S’alright, not needed. Just..open this one and tell me if you like it.”

You broke the seal, lifting the edge and peaking inside, “Is this what I think it is?” Your eyes suddenly grew wide as Mattheo gnawed on his bottom lip and shrugged. You opened your palm out flat, turning over the envelope. Out of it fell a black and yellow handmade bracelet with a single gold bead.

“You made me a friendship bracelet?” Your voice was almost a whisper and you rubbed your fingers over the detail, holding it close to your face to inspect it. “Well…I made you a best friend bracelet. Now we match,” Mattheo’s voice sounded a bit small, but it was all the confidence he could muster.

You shook your head with a smile, quickly turning over your wrist and attempting to tie it on with one hand. Mattheo picked at his thumbs for a moment before standing up and bridging the small space that was between the two of you, “Here lemme help.”

His fingers fumbled slightly but he eventually was able to tie a knot correctly. You looked up from your wrist, meeting his eyes, “Thank you.” Mattheo held eye contact, “You’re welcome.”

The train car opened with a slam, causing Mattheo to jump slightly before immediately sitting down on the bench beside you. You could feel the heat of his thigh on yours, but you didn’t say anything, Enzo’s mouth going a mile a minute with complaints.

“I forget one bloody thing and you two go off and run to the train without us? You know Theo and I waited for like..five whole minutes at the Great Hall doors before saying screw it and just heading toward the docks. Only to see yet again that you two have left us.”

Mattheo slumped back into the seat, “You’ve got to be kidding me, has he been like this the whole way?” Theo nodded, looking slightly exhausted, “You haven’t been listening to it for the last twenty minutes. Made us look in every train car window until we found you.”

You looked around the car, laughing at your friend’s going back and forth at each other. Theo and Enzo started in at each other once again, causing you and Mattheo to make eye contact before bursting out in laughter.

Mattheo smiled to himself. For the first time in probably his whole life, he would be confident in saying that at this moment, he was truly happy. For the next ten hours, he was determined to soak in as much of this happiness as he could, hoping it would last for the two months he would have to spend away from you.

#year one is officially overrrrr #he did it #little babe #this one is long but its so gooood #and sadddd #thank you micah babes <3 #my best editor boy #slytherin boys #mattheo riddle #baby matty #enzo berkshire #baby enzo #theo nott #baby theo #mattheo riddle x reader #origin stories series

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save-the-villainous-cat · 9 months ago

Note

Hiya! Hope you’re havin a good day! Adore your writing, so mayhaps I can make a humble request of ye?

I was thinking, top hero x bottom villain where the villain is big n kinda scary — they’re silent, cold, intimidating, all that jazz — but then the hero accidentally does something intimate (like, maybe they kiss them, or the two get in a ✨ scandalous position ✨) and they’re a bit worried about how the other is gonna react. Then it’s revealed the “big bad” villain is just a shy, sweet, needy little thing, who begs them to finish what they started >////< Cue the hero taking full advantage, hehe ;)

Generous helping of da spicy, thank you! ^^

“I’m supposed to be married tonight.”

“Oh?” The hero grabbed the villain’s hand and turned it around as they studied the golden ring. “I wasn’t invited to the wedding? What a shame.”

Although their voice was drenched in fake annoyance, they grinned mercilessly at the villain. The villain who was all dressed up, basically embed in filthy rich clothes. The villain who was as observant as ever.

The villain who’d probably get their hands dirty later.

Although the hero was fully aware that their nemesis was stalking their prey before they bit down into bone, it was probably better for everyone involved if the villain spent more time with their nemesis.

The hero had always considered it a curse. The villain took what they wanted and they always prioritised their own plans. They were, in some sense, the most hard-working person the hero knew.

“You know there was no wedding,” the villain said, lowering their voice. “Nonetheless, you should keep your distance.”

“Why on earth would you think that I am going to sabotage your marriage?” The hero took another step closer and let their fingertips ghost over the villain’s wrists. Their eyes were fixed on the ring.

Admittedly, they felt some kind of possessiveness deep in their stomach.

True love was something they couldn’t afford and they caught themselves being jealous of married couples quite often.

Nevertheless, they pulled themselves out of that thought spiral and flashed a grin at the villain.

“I’m not married,” the villain hissed. Their ears were red. How adorable.

“You just told me you are.”

“Fucking—” The villain took in a deep breath and grabbed the hero’s arm. Without giving themselves a second chance to think about it, they pulled the hero away from all the people who were already staring at them. They managed to find some quiet and dark corner, far away from the crowd at the exhibition. “—you know that’s part of my plan.”

“Oh, so you got married for a plan?” Was the hero playing with fire? Undoubtedly. Did they like the thrill of it? Of course they did.

The exhibition was something the hero attended voluntarily. Most of the time, art provoked other people or even connected them. The hero didn’t like the idea of mainly rich people doing their business in a museum.

So, meeting the villain here was a fresh relief. Their sweet, sweet villain who loved to punch answers out of people.

The hero knew they still had a bunch of work in front of them.

“Do you want me to spell it for you?” The villain looked down at them and the hero had to admit it. Their nemesis was scary. They looked scary. With a stern look and a terrifyingly strong body, they made the hero feel weaker than they actually were.

But at the same time, the hero felt protected by them. They’d been through too much bullshit together. They’d saved each other too many times.

“Explain it,” the hero whispered.

The villain looked around, grumpy as always. A scary frown on their forehead. The hero loved to rile them up a little, especially when the villain was the jealous sort of type that wanted the hero to know they were available.

Obviously the villain didn’t know they were that type of person yet. But the hero did.

“I am supposed to be married to the other villain tonight. As a cover. It would probably be best if you didn't interfere. They do get quite angry.”

“Would you just stand there and watch? If they found out I was having a little fun with you?” The hero turned away from them and stared at the exhibition from afar. The paintings and sculptures were striking. No wonder they were so popular.

“What? Of course not,” the villain said. Something in their voice had changed. “I know you can take care of yourself, though.”

“Hm.” The hero leaned back, pressing their body against the villain’s and to their surprise, their nemesis let out something like a laugh or sigh and grabbed their waist.

“What are you doing?” they whispered in the hero’s ear. They sounded quite helpless and the hero only smiled as they pressed their back against the villain’s chest. Maybe it was cruel of them to tease the villain like this. Maybe it was mean to push their hips against theirs.

But the wedding ring was bothering the hero quite a bit, even though it was fake.

“Oh, you know…” The hero grabbed the villain’s left hand, found the ring and pulled it off their finger. “I’m just making sure you know whom you belong to.”

They turned their head to kiss the villain’s jawline.

“You…” the villain whispered. They seemed utterly desperate and the hero couldn’t for the life of them explain why.

“Don’t tell me you’ve never been with anyone before, hm?” the hero asked. They let their breath ghost over their enemy’s neck and the villain froze.

“Can I tell you something?”

“Always.”

“Something very vulnerable?” the villain asked. Now it was the hero’s turn to freeze. Immediately, their heart started racing.

Was the villain actually opening up? To them?

After all this time?

Their hand around the hero’s was cold and they did seem quite startled. The hero had to admit, they’d never been this bold before. Touching and flirting with the villain like this was dangerously intimate.

Maybe they’d fucked up.

“Of course,” they said. It felt like they’d been holding their breath for forever. They couldn’t let their own jealousness get in the way of this…relationship.

Despite being unbelievably powerful, the villain was also reasonable. The hero liked them and they didn’t want to make them feel miserable.

“…I’ve been with a bunch of people for the sake of my plans…I actually lost my virginity like that.”

The hero’s eyes widened.

“Because you needed to sleep with someone?!”

“Because I needed information, yeah. Sometimes I’m not sure if I used them or if they used me. I…I did some things I’m not comfortable with to get intel.” The villain was quiet and the hero turned around fully. They wanted to put a little bit of distance between them but the villain’s hands were still on their waist. “That’s why…it’s a little difficult for me, I suppose. But if you really like me and if you would like to and could help me, maybe I…”

“What do you need?” the hero asked. They’d never considered this to be the reason why the villain distanced themselves from everyone.

The villain seemed so huge, so strong, as if they could say no to anything. As if they could never get hurt.

“I need you to continue. I need you to take care of me. I really really like you and I’d like to change.”

The hero hadn’t expected that. They swallowed. This seemed like a lot of responsibility to carry but, honestly, they were used to that by now, weren’t they?

They gave the villain the second keycard to their hotel room.

“Room 241,” they said. “Whenever you’re ready.”

Apparently, there was no need to be jealous.

#ahhh the connection was kaka so I couldn’t upload anything sowwy #writing snippet #heroxvillain prompt #heroxvillain snippet #heroes and villains #hero x villain #hero #villain #an answer for an ask #request

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bwat5-blog · 29 days ago

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Did Jinx Love Vi?

**Spoilers For All Of Arcane**

Okay. First let me say I am not here to attack or insult Jinx. The title is literally just addressing the question I'm hoping to answer so.. put down the torches and pitchforks. I recently had a very nice short talk with someone on one of their posts, and it was primarily to do with this issue of how Jinx treats Vi in the show. And in truth, I share a lot of their feelings. For the most part, we never really get a moment of Jinx outwardly showing any sympathy or kindness to Vi at all until almost the end. As I always do for clarity let me be crystal clear. Vi is my favorite character. But I think most people watching objectively can agree she tries really fucking hard for the people she loves and gets kicked in the teeth almost constantly.

*Not writing in my usual spot to look up these quotes so some may be paraphrased*

" Never thought my sister would turn blue-belly"- Literally there because of what Jinx did

"I'm a hero. I busted half of Zaun out of prison while you were passed out at the bottom of a mug"- Vi completely spiraling after losing literally everyone she loves and Jinx knowing full well she didn't step in for Zaun until they took Isha

" She used to be pretty cool, til I kicked her ass"- literally the fight where Jinx lured Vi down there hoping to die and it ended with her on her back urging Vi to finish her.

Smirks at Vi when Vi sees the Mural of her and Vander. Even though Jinx literally betrayed everything Vander ever stood for and considers the man who murdered Vander and caused the deaths of their brothers her father. All while Vi is nowhere to be seen.

Now, there is obviously history between them, Jinx has her reasons to be angry just like Vi does. NEITHER ARE PERFECT. But these few examples are not exaggerated or spun. And they are just a few of many. It can really come off like Jinx just does NOT care what happened to Vi at all:

Seven years in Stillwater undergoing god knows what kind of hell

Almost killed getting back to her in the undercity before being taken by firelights

Almost killed by Jinx on the bridge

Almost killed by Silco at the same event where she begs Cait for Jinx life and Jinx responds by murdering Caitlyn's mother

Has clearly been driven so far by Jinx's actions and what has happened that she becomes Enforcer

Abandoned by Caitlyn and on self-destructive spiral that will very likely kill her because Caitlyn has lost her self after everything Jinx has done to her.

However, I think there are some things we need to remember to better understand this issue:

Jinx is severely mentally ill. I know this is obvious. But it matters because everything she says and does is filtered through a different lens than the average person.

Jinx hates herself and in season 2 especially, wants to die until she bonds with Isha. She gives us evidence of this repeatedly but the moment I most remember is when she meets Isha for the very first time and describes knowing she could die at any time as the best feeling in the world. Then goes on to associate herself with cursing a a sister, a family or a society, I think it was.

"I'm losing my snappy comebacks"- Part of Jinx's whole schtick is verbally lashing out. She mocks everyone, at all times, for any reason. It doesn't make it kind or right. It's just what she does. She also absolutely knows precisely what to say to piss her sister off. Like any good little sister would. Additionally, you may be the person yourself but if not, we all know that person whose defense mechanism is cruel or sarcastic words. While Jinx is plenty dangerous, more often than not when she feels insulted/threatened/uncomfortable she goes for the death blow verbally.

Considering all of that, while there are moments I wish she could have shown Vi alittle more kindness and love, especially with how much Vi loves her, I think Jinx's love for Vi remains constant throughout the show, even if her motormouth sometimes makes it hard to see:

The Reunion:

Even after all the terrible things in their childhood, including the incident for which Vi carries so much guilt and some of the fandom think a fifteen year old Vi should have been crucified for, this is how their reunion starts. Vi apologizes immediately and embraces her. Jinx is crying and ashamed of how she has changed but Vi accepts her and loves her. It only goes wrong when Jinx sees Caitlyn, and why is she mad at Caitlyn who she has never seen or met?

Cyclops and lefty to the rescue. Silco to turn Jinx against Vi and Sevika intentionally trying to damage Jinx's mental health, both of these figures poison Jinx against Caitlyn ruining the next several times they get close. But all throughout that series of events we see Jinx trying to overpower the voices in her head because she knows Vi loves her, and she loves VI. Just unfortunately, she does not win.

2. Seeing Vi As An Enforcer:

Now this isn't a happy moment of course. But Jinx isn't so distraught at seeing Vi in the uniform because she doesn't care about Vi. She is seeing what she believes is the total rejection of her by the last person she has who loves her and who she loves, all wrapped up in the package that killed her parents

3. Jinx VS Vi:

Even during the fight Jinx wanted to end in her death, when Isha gets involved and sticks a gun in Vi's face Jinx IMMEDIATELY screams no.

4. Jinx At the Pit:

If you slow down the cinematic of Vi's time in the pit, is actually shown a few times not just the once. Now I admit this is head-canon and probably the least provable one of these. But I don't think Jinx would have show up again and again to take pleasure in or mock Vi's pain. I think she was just checking on her in the best way her mind knew how.

5. Vander:

I already mentioned how their last interaction went, and the fact that Jinx came to Vi anyway to try and rebuild their family knowing full-well Vi would likely want to kill her is impressive and a clear sign of JInx's desire for them all to be together again.

There are plenty more examples to either point (particularly the MASSIVE example of how Jinx feels about vi in the end of the show), this was quick and not my usual quality. But the thought struck me and I wanted to jump on it. Feel free to share your thoughts same/different or otherwise, I appreciate all of you who take time out of your day to read my thoughts. Even when they are quick and slap-dash like this.

The story of these sisters is one that for me, will live on forever. Have a great day.

#arcane #arcane season 2 spoilers #vi arcane #jinx arcane #vi and jinx #powder #arcane vi

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josphitia · 7 months ago

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Josie's Cow HRT Journey Part 5 - Groceries and Friendship

*BeepBeep* *BeepBeep* *BeepBeep*

“Alright alright, I'm up…” *Yawn* “Ugh, my hair’s a mess…” I said groggily, reaching for the cheap comb I kept in the drawer by my mirror. “How is my hair so tangled and what is with this headache…” As I began to sift my hair, suddenly-

*Snap* was the sound as the teeth of the comb broke off, spiraling to the ground. They struck something hard, something unexpected, something that were-

“H-horns? *My* horns?” I muttered as I investigated the source of where the comb struggled and lost. I started to tear up as I parted my hair with my fingers. There they were, two small buds that had emerged from my skull. The first official start of my transition into the boviness I really was. Crying was the beginning of my morning that day, but it was a release of pure joy. I just kept staring at the two small glints of keratin that were stubbornly pushing their way through my scalp.

From there the changes came quickly one after the other over the coming days. I could see, I could feel, my body gratefully and ecstatically accepting the new hormones coursing through my body. Every day I found new developments to investigate: My ears began to taper into a point. My nails were taking on a dark, cloudy tint; as well as hardening themselves into stronger material. My canines were slowly becoming duller. There was a small nub at the bottom of my spine, a tail waiting for the right encouragement to spring forth. I felt a constant warmness radiating from inside me, with a growing hunger rising each day reminding me of the fuel I needed for my advancements.

Small, rounded, lattice-work hairs started to sprout over the whole of my body. It was like a thousand small needle pricks. A subtle stinging that I felt constantly over every inch of my skin, but focused primarily on my arms, legs, and face at these early stages. The Endo theorized that I can expect my fur to be the same color as the hair on my head, if a few degrees lighter in shade. My fur is going to be a beautiful shade of creamy brown, she said.

But the most prominent mutation was with my face itself. The pain was a numbing fire as I could feel my face elongating, my muzzle slowly growing to a flattened point. As if to fill any empty space created from my changes, my tongue was also growing suit. If my canines were still sharp I would be worried about the relentless stabbings they would inflict. Instead my body was in harmony, each change benefitting the way my body was transforming.

It is an odd sensation to feel euphoria from the growing of fur in places you had previously endured painful hair removal procedures on. It’s hard not to feel pangs of loss at the years I spent moving my body towards a direction that ultimately wasn’t for me. Pangs of jealousy at the people who have started their journeys before me. Pangs of resentment towards myself at not realizing what I needed to do, *what I could have done,* sooner. But I am on this journey now and more and more the only feeling filling my heart was *pride.* I look in the mirror and I'm finally starting to see *me.*

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

I had been spending the first transformative week in my own home, journaling my changes like some amateur documentarian. But, I was beginning to run low on the essentials. Fresh greens and produce had begun to be the only things I could reliably eat, and unfortunately, those are products you must purchase with regularity. With horror, I knew what I had to do: Make a trip to the grocery.

While I felt happiness and pride at my current state, one thought clouded the back of my mind: You're not there *yet.* You don't *pass.* That concept can be toxic, and it has led to many persons to focus on their own appearances to an unhealthy degree. But it is predicated on one simple notion: It's not safe for me to simply *exist.* This society is one built upon conformity in all aspects. To be different is a threat. It signals to the establishment that they have not done enough to control you. To your fellow citizens, it raises feelings of contempt. *They* were following the expectations laid before them, why can't you? It is sadly easier for many to lambast and degrade another rather than to focus their energies inward to self-discovery.

And so I donned an outfit similar to the ones I wore early in my first transition. A baggy hoodie, a pair of loose jeans, and old shoes. All articles of clothing chosen for one primary purpose; to conceal as much of my body as possible. However, these clothes did not obfuscate my appearance as well as they did in the past. For starters, my tail had finally emerged from its dormancy. I had hoped I could simply squirrel it away inside my pants' leg, but that proved too uncomfortable. I simply had to let my new limb be free, even if it was a signal to those behind me that I was of a different sort than them. But, the biggest identifier of my otherness was the wide muzzle that my face had been contoured into. No matter how I wore my hood, my flat nose poked through. I relented, the rumbling in my stomach rising with every minute I fuddled with my appearance. This was simply the best I could do, the beginnings of a cow wearing clothes too big for her, with a small tail above her jeans and a pink snout leaning out from her hood.

The mUver driver gave me many side glances, before simply asking me “Is there one o' dem furry conventions in town?” I lied, to protect myself, and said “Yeah. A small one.” The answer proved enough to satiate his curiosity and the rest of the ride we both partook in an alliance of silence. He dropped me off in front of the store. 5 stars, I instinctively input, not wanting to somehow offend the man who provided me passage. I held my empty bags close and walked through the store.

“Most people are just trying to live their own lives. They won't notice you” I chanted to myself, a mantra to get me through this obstacle called shopping. I made a straight line for the produce and began to stockpile, doing the math in my head between how much I *could* buy, how much I *could* eat, and how much *would* spoil were my math wrong. While comparing between two particularly small heads of cabbage, I heard the first comments regarding my appearance.

“Mommy, what's wrong with her face?”

It alarmed me, as anyone talking about you but not to you would, but it didn't frighten me. This little girl was simply curious about the world around her. There *was* something different about my face, something she had never witnessed before. There *was* something wrong with my face, it hadn't grown to its full splendor yet. But the next thing I heard killed any confidence I had been building during this excursion.

“Don't look at him, sweety” the mother sniped as she yanked her child in the opposite direction of myself.

Him. *Him.* The pronoun I had been able to avoid being labeled was back. The anxiety built within me. Was it simply that the mother did not give herself a proper look at me, using the first pronoun that came to her? Did the clothes I wear obscure my appearance so much that I presented male? But the thought that pushed all others out, rising to the forefront of my consciousness was one I had never considered: Was being bovine a trait seen as inherently male to the greater public? It was a notion so at odds with my own perception of reality. Being a cow was the greatest expression of my femininity. How could that be seen as masculine, of all things?

I deduced I had picked up enough food for at least a few days. I headed to the registers, I needed to leave. But, of course, the bored cashiers were now replaced with ones frantic as their lines were packed with irritable customers. I searched but to no avail for the self-checkout lanes. I always avoided interaction as a standard practice, but at this moment such an exercise felt paramount to my own safety. And thus I relented, slipping myself to the back of a line.

I put my face into my phone, trying my best to ignore my material reality. To my shock I had a notification I had never seen before: “You have 1 new follower.” I had begun to post about my transition online like so many others had done, but I never imagined someone would actually be interested in *mine.* I didn't know what to do except look at the profile of this person who had taken an interest in my own. She was a stunning tiger my own age who was following all sorts of other Therians. But before I knew it, my self-induced bubble was popped by the reality around me.

“Ew what the fuck is wrong with their face?”

The first of many whispers to come. At least this time they gendered me somewhat correctly. But I wasn't prepared for the insults to come.

“Ugh, another ugly bitch thinking she's a dragon”

W-what? Why did that hurt so much? I was gendered correctly, albeit rudely… But why did not being recognized as a cow hurt so bad? Dragons are cool, so many people I look up to are dragons… Shouldn't I be honored to be considered one?

“Dude what are you talking about?” said another voice.

“That girl over there. Look at her face and she's obviously hiding horns underneath her hoodie. It's all the rage nowadays amongst people like *them.* Thinking that being a dragon will fix all their problems.”

“Whaaa?? Dude that's just crazy”

More talking behind my back that felt like daggers into my shoulders.

“Wait, she's a dragon??”

“I don't think people like that should be allowed in public”

“Yeah what happens if she just up and snaps? I've seen videos about it”

I try to ignore them. They're gendering me correctly. They don't know. But now I can feel everyone's eyes on me. I feel like I'm on a stage. Try as I might their words penetrate any barriers I try to erect. One word keeps permeating the air:

“Dragon”

Everything goes white. My ears are ringing. The blood rushes to my face. I can't contain it anymore. I close my eyes and shout “I'M NOT A DRAGON! I'M A COW!”

Silence except for hushed whispers and laughing. I feel a sudden drop in every aspect of myself as my adrenaline plummets. I approach a cashier who does their best to showcase their contempt for me, but I have no strength to defend against their attitude. I pay for my goods and wait outside for my mUver. One thought permeates my mind through the ride: I need to find people like me to talk to.

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

I reached out to the tigress who had followed me earlier. We began talking and I was just happy to have someone who understood my trials. Someone I was finding camaraderie with. After a few days of talking, she presented me with an opportunity: “Hey, so there's a Therian meetup happening in a few days. If you're able to, would you like to attend?”

How could I not?

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

I arrived at the place. It was an average looking community center. I walked through to the lobby and with one glance the receptionist gestured me to the hallway to my left. I guess I looked the part. I had decided to forgo my previous attire of baggy clothes and wore something more true to me: A tank top emblazoned with a skull & flowers and some jean shorts.

I walked trepidatiously down the hall. I knew I would be meeting people (animals?) that were traveling the same road of self discovery and expression that I was. I would be meeting the nice tigress whom I had already talked to and formed a rapport. So why was I anxious? I guess it was because, if I alienated even these people, it meant I would truly be alone on this journey.

I found a door with the simple words “Therian Meetup” taped haphazardly to the door. If it wasn't evident by the sign, the noises inside would be a telltale indicator. I opened the door to a cacophony of sights and sounds, yet somehow all pleasing. Animals of all sorts were each having a myriad of conversations amongst themselves and others in makeshift groups.

A lamia was at the far side of the room in a wheelchair. Her scales were a shade of deep blue and shined like sapphires in the light. Her eyes were slit yellow pupils with almost pitch black sclera. “People, pleasssse sssstay on topic” she said in a distressed tone, clearly caught off guard by her own newfound speech pattern. But soon enough she was smiling, joining in with her own insights and interests with one of the ongoing discussions.

To her right was a king cobra looking man, with green hair and brilliant black scales. He was in deep conversation with a horned goat girl. She had white and black fur across the whole of her body and she already had her hooves. Her horns were like mine, visible but clearly still growing in.

On the opposite side of the room was a kind looking man with primarily dark hair, red and blond highlights, black/red striped armbands that ran up to his elbows, and many rose tattoos scattered throughout. He was holding hands with a *very* buff werewolf girl with sharp teeth and hairy forearms. She was enraptured, hanging onto his every word with vigorous nodding and smiling. They were both speaking to a towering snake woman using a walker. She had black scales and green hands, green eyes with gray sclera and rows of sharp teeth. She had a long tongue that lent her to the same speech pattern I heard previously of elongatting her S’s.

Closer to me was a slime girl and an androgynous snake, wearing glasses and using a wheelchair, engaging in banter and laughing fits. The girl had an orange amber tone to both the patches of skin still remaining on her and to her slime. She had bones floating about in her, vestiges of her previous form. She was holding her phone and, her slime unconducive to a touch screen, used a stylus to navigate. She showed the snake something else that caused them to laugh with a hissing sound. Their chuckling was punctuated with the same speech pattern of multiple S’s that I quickly learned was a telltale quirk of the snakes and lamias among the group. Their clawed hands were completely covered in shimmering purple scales that extended, in a patchwork pattern, the length of their arms.

Everyone was having a fun time. Did I really belong with such a group of eclectic happiness? But before I could give such notions a chance to take root, a white furred tigress with faded purple hair started waving to me. It was the same woman who had invited me to this group in the first place. She beckoned me to an open seat between her and… another cow?? And it was the same girl I saw eating a bowl of grass way back when! She had come along so well in her transition. She was a different kind of cow than I was, highland to my jersey. Her hair, a shade of brown with streaks of red, had grown thick over her eyes and her horns were growing magnificently.

I sat between them and the three of us just… simply talked. About memes. About life. About anything. Eventually we all drifted to other conversations to mingle in. I talked to all sorts of animals that day. It was one of the most relaxing yet exciting experiences of my life. I felt comfortable. I felt wanted. I felt like, for the first time in my life, I had found my people.

I had found friends.

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

Josie's Cow HRT Journey

First|Previous|Next

This was the longest one yet! I never thought that this AnimalHRT thing would connect me with so many wonderful people! Thank you to everyone who has become a part of my life's journey, both in this story and irl.

In no particular order, the people appearing in this story are:

@ariathelamia

@home-sweet-hive

@queenofwerewolves

@starwaycereal

@kontonord

@tigergirltail

@pennymations

@robins-warudo

@sandyca5tle

@thecrystalmountainsystem

#transgender #transisbeautiful #transgirl #animal hrt #cowstoryhrt #cow hrt #therian #therian hrt #otherkin #otherkin hrt #furry #furry oc #oc #creature hrt #oc story #sfw furry #fursona #josphitia

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domm1etae · 5 months ago

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Rings of Desire

yunho x mingi

oneshot | mdni

880 words

Yunho gets obsessed with the idea of Mingi jerking him off while still wearing his rings, and when they finally try it, the combination of cool metal and rough hands drives Yunho wild

nsfw tags under

m/m, top mingi, bottom yunho, masturbation, hand kink, rings on

author's note: just a small yungi drabble because GOD DAYUM I LOVE MINGIS HANDS AND HIS RINGS, I AM READY TO RISK IT ALL FOR THAT MAN

Yunho couldn’t stop thinking about Mingi. The thoughts invaded his mind like an obsession, creeping in at the most unexpected times. It wasn’t just Mingi’s presence that occupied Yunho's thoughts—it was his hands. Those big, rough hands, capable of being so gentle yet undeniably strong. Yunho found himself fixated on the idea of those hands wrapped around his cock, imagining how the roughness of Mingi’s calloused skin would feel against his most sensitive parts. But it wasn’t just that. It was the thought of Mingi still wearing his rings while doing it.

Those rings were a part of Mingi, almost as much as the man himself. They adorned his fingers almost every day—silver bands, some smooth and polished, others rugged with intricate designs, and a few with small, dark gems embedded in the metal. The image of Mingi’s rings combined with the texture of his hands became an idea that Yunho couldn’t shake. It was all he thought about, all he fantasized about, to the point where it consumed him.

He would imagine it late at night when he was alone, his thoughts spiraling as he touched himself, but it was never enough. The thought of the cold metal pressing against his heated flesh, the contrast of the silver against his skin, mixed with the warmth and roughness of Mingi’s hand, drove him wild. He craved it, wanted it so badly that it became a nearly unbearable need.

So, when a casual, friendly kiss between them one day turned into something more, Yunho didn’t hesitate. The kiss deepened, their tongues tangling in a way that was both familiar and electrifying. It wasn’t long before the heat between them escalated, their breaths mingling as they pressed closer together. Yunho could feel Mingi’s desire, could sense the urgency in his movements as he started to fumble with Yunho’s zipper, his hands trembling with want.

But just as Mingi started to slip off his rings, out of habit, Yunho’s hand shot out to stop him. His fingers wrapped around Mingi’s wrist, halting his movements. Mingi looked at him in confusion, his brow furrowing. He always took his rings off when they got intimate, a ritual of sorts that was almost second nature to him. But Yunho, his heart pounding in his chest, shook his head and whispered in a voice thick with anticipation, telling Mingi to keep them on.

Mingi stared at him for a moment, searching Yunho’s face for any sign of hesitation. But when he saw the intensity in Yunho’s eyes, the desire practically radiating off him, Mingi just shrugged and nodded, deciding to go with it. He continued to tug at Yunho's pants, pulling them down far enough to expose his aching erection.

When Mingi’s fingers finally wrapped around Yunho’s shaft, the sensation hit him like a freight train. The cold touch of the silver rings, stark against the heat of his skin, combined with the rough, calloused texture of Mingi’s hand, was even better than Yunho had imagined. His breath hitched, his body reacting instantly as he bucked his hips, thrusting into Mingi’s grip, desperate for more of that intoxicating contrast.

Mingi’s hand moved with a steady, confident rhythm, his grip tightening just enough to drive Yunho crazy. Yunho could feel the coolness of the rings sliding along his length, the metal almost biting into his skin with every stroke. And then, there was the sensation of the tiny gems on one of the rings, pressing into his flesh, creating a delicious friction that Yunho had never experienced before. It was almost too much, the sensations overwhelming him as he teetered on the edge of ecstasy.

Yunho’s head spun, his mind going blank as all he could focus on was the feeling of Mingi’s hand, the rings, the roughness, the cold metal. He was completely lost in it, thrusting into Mingi’s hand with a desperate need, chasing that high. And then, just when he thought he couldn’t take it anymore, Mingi tightened his grip even more, and Yunho felt the gems dig into him, sending a jolt of pleasure-pain straight through him.

That was it. Yunho couldn’t hold back any longer. He came hard, his orgasm ripping through him with a force that left him shaking. For a moment, everything else ceased to exist—there was only the overwhelming pleasure, the feeling of Mingi’s hand, and the cold touch of the rings.

After it was over, they lay together, both catching their breath. Mingi glanced down at his hand, now sticky with Yunho’s release, and clicked his tongue in mild annoyance. He looked at Yunho, a mock scolding in his eyes, and told him off for cumming all over his rings, saying that they might be ruined now.

Yunho, still breathless and completely satisfied, just chuckled softly. He looked at Mingi with a lazy grin and told him not to worry—that he’d buy him new ones if these were ruined, even though they both knew that any new rings would probably meet the same fate. The thought of doing it all over again, with new rings, new sensations, and the same overwhelming pleasure, made Yunho’s heart race with anticipation. It was an experience he was eager to repeat, something that had surpassed even his wildest fantasies.

#ateez #ateez fanfic #ateez fic #ateez smut #mingi #yunho #ateez imagines #ateez oneshot #mingi smut #yunho smut #yungi smut #kpop #kpop smut #yungi #yungi fic #atz #rings #hand kink

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tothepointofinsanity · 1 year ago

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Observation Log Series: Sayaka [III]

Today on: Visual metaphors for depression and the actual “magic of friendship”.

Images are taken from this Magia Record game video on YouTube.

I am pretty sure someone else in the ages past had already covered this bit, so I suppose I will add this to the archives for my own documentation purpose. Or for just anyone who feels like reading it, really.

Sayaka’s magical girl transformation in this sequence is very interesting. There are a lot of jokes about how she’s yeeted everywhere by the Holy Quintet in her own transformation, so here are the notes:

The beginning of her transformation is shot in the sequence of a downward spiral. Sayaka falls through the hoops and into the ocean as her opening, a reference to her descent into madness (keep in mind: the sea as a metaphor for an inescapable expanse of darkness; the abyss) in the main show, as well as her deteriorating mental health. The spiral drawn to resemble piano keys (🎹) is also no coincidence, but they break apart when Sayaka plummets past them, much like music becoming discordant and incoherent.

Right after that, she gets thrown around respectively by her friends, each of whom gets her to the destination of being fully transformed. What is important to notice is that for the majority of this part, you cannot see Sayaka’s face, and she appears completely indifferent and motionless as others pass her around without hassle. You would think someone like Sayaka, who typically exhibits stubborn tendencies, would be resistant to being literally thrown around, but I feel that there are reasons for this:

• Sayaka being shown not as weightless, but rather as something heavy that makes an impact wherever she goes. She’s literally dead weight in the water despite her Witch being a mermaid. There is no attempt whatsoever we see from her where she tries to swim gracefully or float naturally in the sea. She just seems to be…there, being moved rather than performing her transformation by herself like all the other magical girls.

• The Holy Quintet are the essence of friendship that help Sayaka not necessarily out of her depression, but rather giving her a massive boost by flinging her to the next appropriate person. Given she is portrayed as dead weight, she doesn’t transform manually and do fancy dances, instead heavily reliant on the support of the crew to help her get changed. The sequence where she’s thrown onto the bed and lies there before being flung out again is very reminiscent of the tragedy that individuals struggling with mental health problems can barely get out of bed on their own at times, even to the point where it seems they might never leave said bed. Homura has to pick up Sayaka in a bag before tossing her to Kyoko, where it unfurls and it becomes her cape.

It is also interesting to note that the bed is surrounded by mirrors of all sizes and shapes that don’t reflect Sayaka at all, but rather the oceanic creatures and environment. Her self image is nonexistent and replaced by the sea. When she’s thrown to Kyoko, it is only then she is “stopped”, and we finally get to see her face. Her hair is long, unlike the appearance of her short hair that we are used to. Kyoko helps her with the last part of her transformation by putting on the gold hair pin.

Kyoko being the one to not throw Sayaka but rather casually stop said impact is likely symbolic of their relationship. The ocean is stopped by the unmovable rock.

• In the very last part, Sayaka appears standing on a platform that arises from the sea, and only then she seems fully refreshed and ready to go. Once again, instead of swirling out of the water or something, she needs something solid to stand on and raise her to the surface as she is incapable of doing so herself. Her entire transformation seems to highlight that others need to be on standby to support her, or else she will likely just dwindle and sink motionlessly to the bottom of the ocean. By the way she’s posed, it also seems to imply that she has complete trust in her friends, who were there at every turn to assist her transformation.

Something else I thought about as well is the irony that despite being mermaid coded in terms of her own Witch and backstory, Sayaka is almost always portrayed as a sinking vessel the moment she hits the water. A finless mermaid, yet frustratingly a mermaid that cannot even swim or float. I find that this interpretation would fit into the existing narrative that Sayaka and the Incubators view her as useless or inadequate. What good a mermaid who sinks in the sea? What good a magical girl who needs others to help her transform proper? Noting that Sayaka’s transformation always involves her emerging out of water seems to tell us that she has always pulled her weight out of the abyss by herself.

TLDR: It wouldn’t hurt to show that Sayaka requires support from everyone in order to do her best.

#Sayaka Archives #madoka magica #puella magi madoka magica #magical girl #pmmm #pmmm sayaka #sayaka miki #mahou shoujo madoka magica #magia record

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geodraws04 · 10 months ago

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PKMN ScarVio DLC AU ~ Possessed!Kieran

Just finished the page for my contribution to the good ol’ Toxic Chain theory :OOO

I recently finished the Teal Mask and finishing up the Indigo Disk DLC and while i really did like the fact that Kieran’s actions were all his own and makes him a much more realistic/relatable character, I am feeling a little robbed we didn't get a possessed!kieran + i really did not like the direction they took w/ Mochi Mayhem. I felt like it was WAAAY too silly/comedic for my tastes (if you liked it more power to you tho!), and wish we had more lore/backstory and involvement of Pecharunt and the Loyal 3 respectivally.

so i wanted to try killing two birds with one stone and try to mash ID and MM together somewhat! So heres some sketches and concept stuff ft. My PKMN!Violet sona. And also make this AU ANGSTY AS FUCK-

im not a comedy/crack/silly person when it comes to stories involving manipulation/mind control type of stuff because i just get second hand embarressment for those under doing wierd stuff while not aware so if your looking for a “silly haha!” AU with this type of concept ive got bad news for ya… this AU aint gonna be for you-

Starting off… my design for when Kieran is fully possessed by Pecharunt!

I still really liked the fact that Kieran was like. FULLY aware and in his own mind/body during ID; so i want to keep that in this AU too - for the most part.

id like to think that once making a deal with Pecharunt and offering himself to it in order to become stronger, the little peach would slowly feed him mochi that would “numb the pain and guilt if he ever feels doubtful.” At the time of Pecharunt’s debut to the start of ID, pecharunt is extremely weak and thus, its influence isnt as effective or strong. However, when we meet Kieran again, he’s definately beginning to change. throughout the story, we see Kieran’s spiraling descent into madness as he becomes more intimidating and cynical.

i dont have a specific spot where hed have this outfit change, but ill figure it out lol.

However, i def think it would be a bit after his panic attack/mental break down when we defeat him. Since at this point he couldnt uphold his end of the deal with Pecharunt, it has no choice: he offered his body and mind to it to get stronger, but he couldnt keep it up. So now, he has to pay the price.

(This would be right after the Ex-Champ bit - fuck you Draydon)

however, instead of telling himself to get stronger like in canon… he mumbles something indescernable and unintelligable… and then he starts… laughing?

“K-Kieran…?”

“Uh… yo, earth to ex-champion… you doin’ alright-?”

Suddenly… he glares at us… no. He glares at you, tears streaming down his face but an animalistic and crazily wide smile is plastered on his face as he stumbles back up, hugging himself while letting out what one would think is the most maniacal, despairing, crazy cackling laughter one could hear.

That's when you see it - his eyes, formally a light yellow, now a bright yet darkly sinister shade of violet-magenta. The scrunchie he was wearing began growing two strings of toxic chains that waved around like tentacles, and lifted him up in the air like stilts, purple smoke filling the area.

what was happening… whats happened to Kieran.

no, whatever that was…

Thats not Kieran.

The bottom sketch is a small scenario i had in mind!

i want pecharunt to have a larger role so here they are! After returning the teal mask to me and carmine and running off, he stumbles upon an injured and weak Pecharunt, and secretly nurses it back to health. Behind everyone’s backs the two spark a friendship/partnership!

i like to think pecharunt has good intentions and did genuinely want to help kieran get stronger, but i like to think that the toxins it gave to Kieran not only began to mess with Kieran’s mind, but with Pecharunt’s too.

how exactly? No idea just yet lol- ill figure that out later on down the line lol. Along with the loyal 3’s roles in the story as well.

Heres a few for fun and more funny sketches i made to fill up the empty space lol-

also feat. Moi, yuma and shinigami jykghhfjhfdjhygjuy-

QUICK DISCLAIMER! IM NOT SHIPPING MYSELF W/ KIERAN SINCE HES IMPLIED TO BE A TEEN AND IM A LEGAL ADULT!! the DLC came out when i was 17; almost 18 (released a few days before my bday actually!)

i like to think that when this story and AU respectively take place, Kieran is 14 while im 16 turning 17 that fall in Teal Mask (Carmine being 18 or 19?), then in Indigo Disc Kieran is 16, im 18, and Carmine is 19/20. So me and kieran are 2 years apart, while me and Carmine are 1-2 years apart.

Its mostly because id like to think me and kieran’s dynamic is similar to a close friend i have irl and wanted to write it as such while retaining the canon story too. If that makes sense lol.

And one more sady drawing when kieran is freed from Pecharunt’s control!

i think i speak for everyone that we needed a scene where we hugged kieran after all the shit he’s been through-

justice for my baby boy kieran. :,,,))

AAAAAAANNNNNNDDDDD THATS ALL I GOT FOR NOW!!

what do yall think :000

any suggestions/ideas, critiques, whatever is on your mind about this AU is appreciated!! Im gonna get back to my remnant designs lol-

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pacificwaternymph · 3 months ago

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Arcane season 2 arc 2 thoughts

First of all. LOVED it.

Second of all: I'm DISTRAUGHT

Third of all: Where. The fuck. Is Ekko.

Okay but in all seriousness.

I did quite enjoy these episodes. And the emotional impact, as always, was phenomenal.

They did a fantastic job attaching us to Isha. Like we all saw her death coming, right? And it was still a devastating blow.

I am curious if this is going to cause Jinx to regress? I mean Isha was a big part of her newfound stability and... well, we all saw how she reacted when Isha was just captured. Now she's gone, gone because of Vander, no less.

It was absolutely heartbreaking seeing her attempt to still get through to Vander. Also. Vander's tears. I am going to break something.

The parallels of Sevika pulling Isha away as Jinx attempted to sacrifice herself and Vi pulling Jinx away as Isha sacrificed herself. AUGH.

Also. Potential Vi, Caitlyn, Jinx teamup? Let's fucking go?

Does this mean that the conflict in arc 3 is going to be noxus versus everyone else? Because HELL YEAR.

I will be completely honest, almost all of this arc blindsided me. It didn't go anywhere near where I thought it would.

I thought the whole conflict here would be focused on topside vs bottom. I thought the war between the two would be in the spotlight a lot more than it actually was. I thought we'd spend a bit more time on Vi's spiral and a lot more time with Commander Caitlyn.

In fact, I feel like that whole part of the Arc was... just a little rushed? Vi and Caitlyn's reunion honestly felt... too easy. Like no acknowledgment of the last time they saw one another? No apologies? No hostility? Just like that?

I mean it reflects how neither of them could ever really let go of the other, and how they both carry regrets, which I get. But I'm hoping they'll take time to actually address that in the next arc, even in a small way, as well as the lingering hostility between Jinx and Cait.

Honestly I think the immediate switchup as soon as Caitlyn saw Vi again was a little funny. Insert joke about average lesbian situationship.

and of course. JAYCE. BITCH. WHAT THE FUCK.

Admittedly, Viktor's commune was definitely a cult. But still. My guy.

Also how are all the Skye fans doing? Y'all feeling alright?

I personally find all the stuff with the arcane super fascinating. And it's crazy that all of that shit takes a backseat to the lesbians and the dysfunctional family. The unnatural amalgamation of magic caused by Jayce and Viktor messing with forces they don't fully understand, with the potential to destroy or permanently alter reality is the b plot. Tell me that's not hilarious.

Also if Mel dies I will be suing for emotional damages :)

I saw some people theorizing that Mel's armor/gold plating had some sort of magical properties. So uhh... how are you guys feeling about being half-right?

Uhh... anything else?

Oh yeah. WHERE THE FUCK IS EKKO.

Alright. I'm done.

#arcane #arcane league of legends #arcane spoilers #arcane season 2 #arcane s2 #vi arcane #caitlyn kiramman #caitvi #jinx arcane #isha arcane #viktor arcane #jayce arcane #mel medarda #mel merdada #mel arcane #ekko #ekko arcane

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fayedartmouth · 9 days ago

Note

Hi! 2 questions!

1. Do you have an update on your progress with your fix it? There are so many good ones on ao3 right now, but i check your page every day just to see if you comment on it or post a snippet! I literally can’t wait! So i would love to hear where you are in that process!

2. Something i just started thinking about. I remember in season 1. Kie talks about her kook year and she mentions how she got so depressed she was starting to consider self harm. It’s like never brought up again, but it is something we know she has struggled with in the past. Obviously we know JJ struggles with some similar things. It felt like such a waste to me that we never saw those two characters talk about it. especially considering everything jj went through in season 4 and the fact they were dating. I would loved to see them connect over that and talk through and heal together from that. Sooooo I was wondering if that’s something you plan to address in any of your future fics and if not if you would be willing to write a one shot about it? Either where they talk about it or where one of them tries to hurt themselves and they talk about it? or it could be on the boat in season 4. You know when he’s fully spiraling and nobody does ANYTHING.

Anywayyyyy, I love all your fics so much! You’ve been a huge part of this grieving process!

I wish I could write faster, like so much faster. Fix-it is currently pushing 150k. That's good! I just think it's probably only like half complete. And since I don't post unfinished fics to AO3, it just means there will be some waiting involved.

(As an aside, I'm also working far too much on the SECOND fix it fic because I keep talking to @woudsohfiv about it and she keeps asking me to and now I have 25k of THAT fic done as well. And I'd be lying if didn't say I had written a few scenes for the THIRD fic as well. I just like some scenes, lol.)

So I will have to post snippets to keep people interested -- and believing that I am, in fact, writing this monstrosity.

I'll dump one below.

As for point two! I hadn't really thought about it BUT arc 2 is going to have a lot of Kiara's struggles. She's in a very bad head space and she hits her rock bottom in arc 2. So I can probably definitely weave that into her POV. And arc 3 is reconciliatory for JJ and Kie, and they will both be confessing a LOT of secrets -- I can probably also bring that in. Given what JJ has to confess to her, her sharing that might actually really help and make sense, all things considered.

Okay, so snippet below! Let me ask this -- I'm never unsure of how much is too much -- or if spoilers are a problem. Do you prefer snippets that don't reveal too much? Or do you like snippets that provide key plot points? I'm just really bad at picking them!

The scene below is set at the end of their stint on the OBX in season -- when they set out to sail for Morocco. One huge thing I'm working with is providing more insight into the characters -- so we're getting more of JJ's trauma and a lot more concern from the Pogues. Everyone will be more likable and sympathetic than whatever it was we saw on screen.

“It’ll be the last time we see her, I guess,” JJ said.

John B looked at him, a little taken aback. JJ’s face wasn’t colored with hurt; if anything, he seemed calmer than he had been. As if looking in the face of the inevitable had solidified him somehow.

It was unsettling, to say the least.

But could John B say it was surprising?

Was any of this surprising?

He was pissed at JJ – he was. JJ had cost them everything, and he had put them all on the line.

But he’d said it before, back when they were just kids. It didn’t matter whose fault it was. This was a relationship, and JJ was his best friend. JJ was his brother.

JJ was hurting; JJ was reeling.

He was watching JJ unravel in front of him, and anger didn’t get him anywhere. Not when JJ’s troubles came from a place of pain, a place so deep in JJ that he hardly let it show. A place so encompassing for JJ now that he didn’t know how to hide it.

His heart ached, then, as he watched JJ’s face. Staring at the only place he’d ever felt happy.

The only home he’d ever had.

JJ wasn’t bidding goodbye to Poguelandia.

He was bidding goodbye to the very idea of home.

The very idea of family.

“JJ,” he said, and he wet his lips, looking for the words. “We don’t know that.”

When JJ looked at him now, his expression was funny. There was something there, seated deeply in his eyes. Not quite amusement; not quite reassurance. Almost like he wanted to believe John B – but knew he couldn’t.

It was almost pity.

“John B, I’m wanted for murder. I burned down the town. Breaking, entering, looting, arson–”

John B felt his chest start to tighten. “Shoupe said we could make it go away.”

JJ smiled. But tired. Small. Weary. “The things I’ve done can’t just disappear,” he said, and he nodded back at the retreating view of Poguelandia. “I’m the reason we can’t go home. I’m the reason it’s gone. Me.”

Back on the beach, with Shoupe on their tails, he had wanted to hear that. He’d needed JJ to take responsibility and own up to it. For losing their home. For putting them all in danger. For putting Sarah – and the baby in danger.

But that was the problem, in the end. JJ knew his faults. JJ knew them better than the rest of them. He had internalized them all his life. Luke had made sure JJ understood that much: that he was the problem.

So much so that JJ made himself the problem.

During the last 18 months, John B often let himself forget that those memories still haunted JJ.

Standing there with him, looking back at the wreckage of the last week, he reminded himself how willfully naive he’d been. Like 18 months could undo what JJ had spent 18 years learning.

JJ didn’t need to take the blame.

JJ needed to believe – for the first time in his life – that he could do better. That he had a future. Not the one Luke beat into him. Not the one Groff had left him behind for. But they one they were going to build – together.

Blame and fault – that was what went before.

Hope and change – that was what had to get them forward.

JJ had plenty of the former and, John B realized with a growing dread, almost none of the latter.

JJ lips quirked up, his smile wry. It didn’t reach his eyes as he shook his head and looked down again. “I’m the reason we lost it,” he said quietly, and there was no condemnation they could make that matched what JJ already felt for himself. “I’m the reason we lost everything.”

John B swallowed, and when he blinked, his eyes were burning. “It was just a house, JJ. It was land,” he said.

JJ looked up, eyes wide. He made a choked off laugh, pointing to the shoreline behind them. “It was our business, our home – everything.”

It had never been just a house. It had never been just land. John B knew that; that was why it’d been so easy to forgive JJ after he blew so much money buying it. He knew what it meant then, to own it, to take it back for himself.

He knew what it meant now, to lose it.

Denial, though, was the only friend John B had, more long-lasting than JJ. He drew himself up, shaking his head. “Well, we’ll find the Blue Crown. We’ll get another fortune. And we’ll make another one.”

He spoke it with conviction. Did he believe it? Was it something he was sure of?

He had to believe it. They’d done the impossible before – so many times.

All because John B told them they could.

JJ had never doubted him.

But now, standing there on the deck, he could see the change. JJ doubted him now.

John B’s passion had always been enough for the both of them.

JJ had lost too much, though. Passion, hope, belief – not even revenge. John B had the growing fear that none of it would be enough for JJ now. People weren’t inexhaustible. Spirit wasn’t indefatigable. Humanity had limited resources, and everyone ran out when pushed too long and too hard.

Even JJ.

Especially JJ.

“You make it sound easy,” JJ said finally, and his voice was small. There was no anger; there was no vitriol. But the sound was laden with regret.

The life not realized.

JJ had seen it for a second – a fleeting second – the possibility.

Now, he was standing face to face with a bleaker reality. One he could no longer see his way past.

He couldn’t bullshit this. He couldn’t pretend like it wasn’t real, not when they were running from the law, making a last-ditch effort to save everything. “It wasn’t easy last time.”

John B knew his own hubris had started this. It had been his insistence that set them on this path, putting all of them in danger time and time again. JJ had wanted him to stop once.

Now, he wasn’t sure JJ could keep doing this at all.

For all their sakes, he had to.

“B, that’s the point. I don’t know if we can do it again – if we can capture that same magic that got us here,” JJ said with a short, hot exhale. He shook his head, gesturing helplessly to the horizon, where land was growing distant. He looked down, seeming to shrink into himself. “I don’t know if I can do it again.”

JJ had always been able to do that, to make himself smaller somehow. The way he held himself, the way he tried to make himself disappear. As if he could will himself out of existence once and for all.

John B reached out, taking JJ by the shoulder to keep him from retreating further. “We’re going to find that crown. We’re going to fix everything.”

Looking out across the water, JJ seemed to sigh. He knew JJ, better than anyone. He knew JJ had a finite ability to fight. He knew that his defenses only last so long before they just fell.

He was pretty sure they were almost there.

Or, as he looked at JJ’s face, looking tiredly across the water, he thought maybe they were already there.

“I want that,” he said softly. His voice was quiet over the sound of the engine almost lost in the churning of the water beneath the hull. He looked at John B. “For you guys. I want that.”

John B felt the twinge in his chest. “For us.”

He said it with force and certainty. It was an effort to convince JJ.

But JJ just looked away again. “I don’t know anymore.”

The admission was small – and huge all at the same time. That twinge deepened, and John B felt the flutter in his chest send a wave of panic down his spine. “JJ, I’m serious,” he said. “This is for us.”

It wasn’t enough to bring JJ’s gaze back to him. If anything, the sadness seemed to settle. It seemed to take hold. “Maybe it shouldn’t.”

The words were soft.

They hit hard.

There was something about them. Something futile. Something resigned.

Something like giving up.

All the years, he’d known JJ. JJ hadn’t quit. He’d gone through so much shit – too much shit – and always got back up swinging.

Something had changed.

Looking at JJ, he worried everything had changed.

And he didn’t know how to undo it. He didn’t know how to fix it.

John B didn’t know how.

“What?” he asked instead.

JJ shrugged with a quiet sense of loss. “You said it yourself,” he said, giving John B a tired look. “This is my fault. All of this. Is exclusively my fault.”

It was true, was the thing. John B had said it. He’d practically demanded it, pinned JJ down, backed him into the corner until the admission was forced out of him. In the moment – as it all came crashing down – he’d needed JJ to take that accountability. He’d needed JJ to stop and realize what he’d done.

With emotions high – and stakes higher – it had mattered.

Because JJ didn’t think. He never thought.

But then, John B had always known that.

And he knew why.

JJ didn’t know how. JJ had no means for it. He had no emotional grounding for it.

When most people were drowning, they saved themselves. It was normal human reaction to put yourself in the lifeboat first. It was what they all did. It was what John B did.

It wasn’t what JJ did.

When push came to shove, JJ would jump out of the boat every single time.

JJ would drown so they could float.

And sometimes, it was easy to let him.

“I know,” he said, sighing heavily. “But I didn’t mean–”

JJ looked at him. The look on his face was hard to explain. It was something John B hadn’t seen before. JJ had been beaten down a lot in his life.

But John B had never seen him broken.

Not like this.

“You did,” JJ said. There was no malice; there was no anger. Just acceptance. “And you were right. All of you were right. I ruin everything. Everything falls apart because of me.”

John B felt his gut twist. That had never been his point. “I just wanted you to think about the consequences of your actions–”

“I know,” JJ said. “I’m a moron. I’m just stupid. I mean, come on. Luke wouldn’t have beat a kid who did it right. And Groff – he wouldn’t have tried to kill me if I was worth anything.”

The self loathing now rippled just beneath the surface. JJ’s face was taut with his, his voice heavy. “JJ, shut up,” he said. He inhaled sharply, curbing his emotions as best he could. “That’s bullshit, and you know it.”

But JJ didn’t.

JJ didn’t know it.

JJ didn’t know it at all.

The funny thing about it all was that JJ didn’t need accountability. No one hated JJ – more than JJ himself. Luke had beaten him down. Groff had broken him.

And John B had scattered the pieces all across the OBX in a self-righteous haze.

It wasn’t his fault.

But what was it he’d said? That it wasn’t about blame?

It was just about the way two people who loved each other could hurt each other. It was just about how two people who loved each other owed the other one everything, just for one more chance to make it right.

“JJ, good things are going to happen,” he said, stepping closer and holding his gaze. “I swear, J. This is going to work out. It is.”

In the dying light, JJ looked stripped down. The color washed from his face and the pretenses gone in his eyes. John B had a sudden, horrible thought, that no matter what happened on this trip, no matter what they found, it would never make up for what JJ had lost.

“I don’t think I get good things,” JJ said, and he exhaled, a small breathless smile with no humor. “I don’t think I get any good thing, B.”

It wasn’t just the words, the fleeting thoughts.

It was the certainty.

It was the plain certainty written all over JJ’s face, carried like a weight on his shoulders that he would never shrug off.

And John B had wanted to place blame.

Like JJ hadn’t spent his entire life thinking it was his fault.

“JJ,” he said, his own breath catching. He shook his head. “Why would you say that?”

He knew why. John B had known why since the first day JJ showed up at the Chateau, bloody and bruised. The day he insisted, swore up and down that he was fine, that he was okay, that his dad loved him.

The only way to love a world that hated you, after all, was if you took the blame.

And carried it all your life, right down to the grave.

“I don’t deserve them anyway,” JJ said. “I mean, I had a good thing — I had the best thing, everything I ever wanted. I had you guys, I had the charter, I had Kie—“

His voice broke, the weight of his words filling the void between them as John B didn’t trust himself to speak.

“And I threw it away,” JJ continued, voice falling soft into the stillness as he looked back across the water. He looked at John B, swallowing hard. “And worse, I took all of you down with me.”

John B stepped closer, taking JJ by the arm. “Hey, none of that bullshit," he said.

JJ frowned. “But you said—“

John B rolled his eyes. “I was mad. I was stressed. I didn’t mean it.”

JJ’s face contorted. “You should have,” he said and quickly shook his head as he pulled out of John B’s grasp. “You did. You were right.”

“No, because this isn’t just you or me. It’s all of us together,” he said. “P4L, remember?”

JJ physically flinched at the familiar invective.

John B pressed it. “We went down together, okay?” he said. “We’ll get back up together, too.”

And for a moment, JJ held his gaze. For a moment, JJ heard him,

For a moment, JJ believed him.

But the reality crashed back in, and JJ looked away, blinking hard as he breathed heavily. “We’ll see,” he mumbled, wholly unconvinced.

He wanted to reassure him. He wanted to fix this.

Because JJ was his best friend. JJ was his brother. John B had lost too many people. He couldn't lose another one, not JJ

It wasn’t the same, though. It didn’t work the way it used to.

JJ was right here with him, and he’d never been further away. John B had known this from the start. JJ wasn’t reckless for the sake of pissing them off. JJ wasn’t reckless because he was stupid or selfish. JJ was reckless because he was scared.

JJ was reckless because he would rather choose his own pain than endure what others gave him. The race had been a sign that JJ was losing control, and John B hadn’t done anything. Then with Luke, Groff, the land, the riot.

John B had been so wrapped up in himself that he’d lost sight of JJ.

Now, even as he tried to steer them to salvation, he worried he might lose JJ altogether. Death took many forms, he knew this from experience. The worst ones happened while your heart was still beating and air still moved in your lungs.

Because JJ was right here.

But he felt further away than ever.

#my asks #my fic: second chances verse

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