#even if it did not actively intend to. turns out just changing the word 'ideals' to 'truth' is not enough to be compelling | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

shurisneakers · 3 years

Text

shut in [9]

Summary: When your high profile mission goes terribly wrong, you’re forced to hide in a safehouse with a man you’ve never met before. With seemingly nowhere else to go, you’re forced to work together to figure out who is trying to have you assassinated before it’s too late. (Sam Wilson x Reader, Hitman AU)

Warnings: cursing, anxiety, ptsd, shooting

Word count: 2.8k

A/N: ok ok ok ok sam deserves the world and im mad that he’s not getting it

i also appreciate feedback so if you would like to, please consider dropping me an ask or comment ly guys!!

here’s my ko-fi if you’d like to support my writing <333

Previous Part || Shut In Masterlist

He was gone.

10:00am

Time had begun to slip past you. Days where you were forced to wake up at 4am were just a dreary memory you didn’t want to revisit. The rough shoves in the morning to have you awake enough to be in training by 4:30am only fell into the category of things you had forgotten over the time you had stayed here.

Maybe sleep wasn’t a luxury you weren’t allowed to afford.

10:30am

By the time you step into the kitchen, the loose structure of the day you had ahead of you was forming. Maybe if you revisited the small makeshift shooting range you had set up for Sam and you to practice. A couple of old soup cans, a flat boulder for them to sit on and you were good to go. He had allowed you to use his giant board for knife throwing too, laughed when you asked for permission before saying it was for the both of you.

You made a sandwich for yourself, forcing it down your throat with water. Bread was starting to feel like cardboard and the jam just tasted like nothing. Peanut butter was even worse.

Losing appetite wasn’t an option, even though it had eroded a while ago. The best option was to just scarf it down with water.

11:00am

Sam isn’t in the house, you had deduced. A morning run or maybe just some fresh air.

You checked for the notes he sometimes left for you when he went out. Something along the lines of when he’d be back, or why he’d left, or where you could find him.

You looked on top of the fridge where he generally left them; someplace he knew you’d see. You didn’t find one.

You shrugged it off.

Something felt wrong about the arrangement of the kitchen but you couldn’t place a finger on what it was. All the chairs were in its place, trash appropriately in the bin, no bowls were left from soup day in the sink to wash.

The origami swan you had made still rested next to his paper airplane. Nothing seemed wrong or out of place.

You pushed yourself to shake off the nerves, to get dressed instead. The shooting range was waiting for you.

12:45pm

When you shoot for thirty and get all thirty, it tends to get a little boring. Not that you were complaining; if even one was off you’d spend the whole day trying to make up for it.

Violent hobbies weren’t ideal. They weren’t even hobbies per se. Just skills you needed to keep sharp if you wanted to survive.

You even shot at the targets that you had hung up on the trees. Dangerous and completely Sam’s idea. Said the wind made them act like moving targets. Nevermind the possibility of a ricochet.

The target board was empty too. Admittedly, knife throwing was a little harder to get used than shooting to but it still only took a few tries before you were hitting bullseye over and over again.

There just wasn’t anything to do. And you realised it had been this way for a while but you never noticed due to his lively chatter or how competitive it got with stupid games you were making up as you went.

1:00pm

You learned against the counter as you ate, eyeing the room, trying to figure out what you had misplaced. The air was cold, even more so after the shower, so you threw on an extra t-shirt to aid you.

You made a noise of disapproval when you couldn’t find what was wrong. A quick wash of your hands before you made your way to the TV, fully intending to doze off while watching Megamind for the fourth time.

You passed by the mini fridge on the way, noting how you needed to restock the ice cubes when you suddenly stopped in your path.

Your eyes peeled back to the small paper bowl Sam had crafted expertly that was still somehow managing to stick together. But that was what was wrong.

The keys were missing.

The fucking car keys and the pocket change you had taken from Pierce’s house were no longer there.

Your body moved on autopilot, dragging you towards the front door. You yanked it open, door creaking under the pressure you applied on it.

Your heart sank.

The car was gone.

1:20pm

You had all the possibilities listed out in front of you with the rest scratched out after you had rationalised it.

Someone had come in and taken the car, which wasn’t likely.

Sam had stepped out but hadn’t mentioned it to you. If he did, why would he need the car?

Someone had abducted Sam, which was absurd on paper but still left a twinge of uncertainty because you couldn’t definitively rule it out.

He had just left. Decided he was done and left.

You stared at the last option.

“Fuck,” you cursed.

You could feel his muscle shift as he looked at you.

“What’s wrong?”

You opened your mouth but shut it again. How do you explain it to him without sounding utterly ridiculous?

You wondered if it was that conversation.

He wouldn’t leave after you told him, would he?

You hesitated before shaking your head.

He’d come back. He would.

1:45pm

You had added a few more possibilities to the list but discarded it almost immediately.

You now found a place in front of the TV, watching but not registering what was said. Your fingers kept itself busy by playing with the hem of your shirt. You had thrown another one on since his jacket was missing with the rest of him. It had gotten colder.

The woman droned on about how much her husband loved the recipe she was making. It was Sam’s favourite segment, not because it was particularly fantastic or anything, but because it gave him forty five minutes of free content to trash talk.

Your eyes kept glancing up at the clock. Was it broken or was time much slower than you initially thought?

You almost felt like you were in a cognitive dysfunction; you couldn’t do anything other than while away time till you figured out what had gone wrong.

2:00pm

If you weren’t paying attention, you wouldn’t have heard the soft crunch of twigs. The whirring of the wheels as it turned gently only made you sit up straight, hands on the gun that rested on the couch beside you.

It came to a stop. The gun was fully in your grip now, TV turned off to determine what the noises were.

It was the most agonisingly slow minute you spent listening as the car opened and shut, muffled by the distance. You were near the door, using the adjoining wall as a hideaway.

The doorknob shook as someone tried to push their way in.

“Sam?” you called out cautiously against your better judgement, mentally cringing.

It took a second for his reply to return.

“Hey, sweetheart. Let me in, will you? Stupid door’s not opening.”

Of course it wouldn’t. It was fingerprint activated.

Relief flooded your system, letting yourself hold the gun with only one hand as you hastily made your way to open the door.

However, you paused. As much as you wanted to fling the door open blindly, you waited, hand on the knob.

“Is someone out there with you?”

“What?” he sounded confused. “No, it’s just me.”

You opened the door slightly, peeking out through the sliver of open space.

Sure enough, it was only him. The car was returned to the same spot that it was.

“Where were you?” You yanked the door open. You sounded way more aggressive than you planned to, you were sure. It didn’t matter though.

“Went to the store,” he said nonchalantly, stepping inside, and dropping the keys back where they were.

“What?”

He was so relaxed about it, like it was nothing. It only irked you further than you already were.

“Drove the car till the highway, walked into town and went to the store.” He set the bag down. “What’d you do all day?”

“You went to the town,” you emphasised. “To the fucking store.”

“Yeah, I figured you would be up by the time I came back.”

“You were gone for hours.” You crossed your arms over your chest, fighting the urge to yell. You could talk it out calmly. You didn’t have to snap

You hoped he had a good reason. You sincerely hoped, for his well being and security, that he risked his life to go to public space.

“We’re way further out than you think. Nearest dollar store’s almost the next fuckin’ state if you’re walking. Had to ditch the car because it’s a little too flashy, even for me.” He lifted up the bag next to him. “Got us some ramen. And juice. That’s all we had cash for anyway.”

You stare at him, mouth slightly agape.

“You could have been seen, Sam,” your tone was corrosive, the next best you could do instead of yelling. “For all we know, you could have been followed.”

“No one followed me. I made sure.”

That did nothing to alleviate the anxiety that was crawling into your head.

“You’re ridiculous,” you muttered. “Fucking ridiculous.”

“Where are you going?” You ignored him, turning on your heel and walking to the bedroom. You didn’t care if it was his day that day. He could rot in the kitchen with his stupid ramen for all you cared.

You cursed as you slammed the door behind you, launching yourself onto the bed.

There was no denying you were relieved that he was still alive and here. But fuck him. Fucking dickhead.

Fucking juice.

You spent the next couple of hours feeling absolutely embarrassed for yourself. Why did you spend hours worrying if he was safe when he was out there, gallivanting in public for some stupid noodles?

Both of you could have been absolutely fucked if he wasn’t careful. He may have just jeopardised your entire set up.

But deep down, no matter how much it was annoying to acknowledge, you knew he wouldn’t have. He was smart, strategic.

Why would he do something like this?

How much you were worried scared you. There was no time where it had occurred that maybe you were in danger too. Every possibility you came up with only pushed the thought of him possibly in trouble further into your head.

But the more you spend time overthinking, the more you realised that him being in danger wasn’t the entire cause of your worry.

What if he didn’t come back? Why’d he come back?

He had the means to leave, the will to and clearly was able to go undetected for a while. He didn’t need to return, but he did.

And for what; to give you some food he bought from the dollar store.

He seemed excited about it too, before you had closed the door on his face and decided to spend the next few hours self-destructing.

Fucking ramen.

Maybe if you could just lie there until you decomposed, then you wouldn’t have to have a conversation with him about this. That’s what you would have done a couple of months ago.

But now the idea of communicating had been implanted and implemented several times before. It didn’t feel right to push it away, not when you’d come so far. A chance to heal.

You groaned, shoving a pillow onto your face before getting up grumpily.

Fuck this man and his stupid, healthy methods of coping.

___

You opened the door slowly, creeping into the hallway to assess what he was doing. It had been a few hours of silence in the house. He had given you space, not come knocking on the door to explain himself.

You took note of the kitchen. The table had been laid with two bowls of noodles covered with a plate along with a glass each of juice. It was domestic. Cute.

He was watching Die Hard but the volume was turned down low. If he was anything like you, he wouldn’t have been paying too much attention.

You cleared your throat awkwardly to grab his attention.

His neck craned to look at you, surprise flashing across his face for a second before he leapt up, turning off the TV in an instant.

“Y/N,” he stated as normally as he could.

“Samuel,” your tone was steady.

He scratched the back of his neck nervously. “Wasn’t sure if you were gonna show up.”

“Neither was I.” You looked at the table, gesturing towards it with your shoulder. “Watchu got there, Gordon Ramsey?”

Because screw him, but the longer you stood there staring at the bowl, you were starting to understand the lengths he went to to get something other than bread, peanut butter and soup. As much as the prospect of being petty thrilled you, you had survived on nothing but them for the past few weeks.

“Got a few packs of ramen and a gallon of juice from the store. Thought you- we deserve somethin’ nice.” You noticed his quick coverup but didn’t acknowledge it. “It’s not Michelin star worthy, but it’ll do.”

You nodded, avoiding looking at him.

“I-”

“Hey-”

Both of you started at the same time, only to be cut off by the other. You mentioned for him to continue.

“Listen, I’m sorry. I should have told you before I left,” You didn’t expect the sincerity that exuded from every word he let out and you found yourself unable to look away. “I’m not used to people worrying about where I go... but things are different now. I won’t do it again.”

You weren’t used to the feeling of lightness that accompanied an apology. Relief.

“Thank you,” you said breathily. His face noticeably brightened. “But why’d you come back?”

His small smile left as soon as it came, as his face fell into a frown. “What?”

“You could have just left. You had the car, the-” you stopped yourself from listing out reasons why he should have. “Why’d you come back?”

He looked completely confused.

“Because I wanted to,” he voiced. “Leaving you behind was never an option. I wouldn’t-”

He trailed off, eyes never leaving yours.

“You’re stuck with me,” he urged softly. “We’re a team.”

You lingered on him longer than you wanted to admit. He wasn’t lying, you had realised.

“Care to join me for dinner?” he asked, extending a hand to you.

You rolled your eyes but took it, feeling the heat creep up your neck. He smirked at you and fuck, he was frustratingly cute.

You understood. You totally understood when you nearly died at the first bite you took, vowing to never take food like this for granted again. It may have been the absolute bare minimum; just the seasoning and noodles he had cooked in the microwave, but it was the best goddamn meal you ever had.

“Good, right?” He looked about as content as he could be.

“Best fuckin’ day of my life.”

He kidded around some more. You choked out a laugh at some, wholly ignored the others to which he took complete offence. You saw it as a way to humble him.

This was the normalcy you had crushed your craving for so long ago, accepting that it wouldn’t ever happen. A normal dinner with someone who made you smile, no impending doom lurking around the corner and maybe a shot at a glimmer of something happy.

It was strange that you found it with another hitman in a safe house, hiding from authorities and who knows what else, with food worth a couple of cents. You wouldn’t want it any other way.

Yet there were things that had to be discussed. Conversations that needed to happen.

“Sam, we need to talk about it.” You didn’t have to explain, he knew what you were talking about.

“What’s wrong?”

“I need to tell you something and I need you to hear me out before saying anything,” you pulled away from him, shuddering at the sudden cold that enveloped you.

“I’m listening.”

“We do,” he agreed, and you could feel the atmosphere in the room begin to shift. “But we don’t have to do it now.”

He reached across from where he was sitting, hesitantly interlacing your fingers. The sense of fluster you experienced wasn’t healthy, you decided.

You just ducked your head, fighting against the damn smile that was trying to make its way onto your face. You didn’t pull away.

“Okay.”

Next part

215 notes · View notes

leportraitducadavre · 3 years

Note

Well at first I was thought saying a coward in a moral sense, because I don’t Kakashi is a coward in that he afraid of death. But what I mean is Kakashi is coward in that he doesn’t stand up for what he claims to believe in and is willing to allow others to suffer ( his students) under a Village that he know his corrupt, but does nothing about it. Moral cowardice is mostly about choosing the path of least overall effort regardless of the fact that this path is in some sense wrong.

Let’s go for parts:

“But what I mean is Kakashi is coward in that he doesn’t stand up for what he claims to believe”

Not sure about this, Kakashi clearly stands up for what he claims he does: He does think that the way he acts is exactly the correct manner to defend his ideals. The “those who break the rules are scum, but those who abandon their friends are worse than scum,” that he repeated non-stop in the manga was just a twisted version of the original meaning that Obito intended. For Kakashi, abandoning one’s friends means turning their back on them and the village that saw them born and represents them, therefore, someone like Sasuke is an example of a scum.

(Not even when confronted with Obito was Kakashi able to disentangle his twisted-nationalistic version of the quote, so he internalized Obito's implication in Akatsuki by convincing himself that it was Obito the one who had changed in his views, rather than admitting he never actually understood what the phrase truly meant).

Konoha is full of people Kakashi cares for (and of people the ones he likes, care for, as well), not only his students but also his comrades, therefore, defending Konoha and the (corrupt) system that holds everything together is key. If Konoha stands, then everything he fights for has a chance at surviving, and the death of those close to him are not meaningless.

He twisted Obito’s words in order to fit them in his nationalistic viewing; something that turned out to be the moral compass that later on Naruto and everyone in the K11 internalized.

“is willing to allow others to suffer ( his students) under a Village that he know his corrupt, but does nothing about it”

As I said before, he concocted a mindset that allowed him to see suffering/death as a necessary (if not inevitable) sacrifice to protect something far more important than individuals’ safety: a symbol. He doesn’t force people to endure anything he would be unwilling to should he find himself in that situation, because to him, everything has a major purpose: Konoha’s survival.

The system is corrupt and he knows it, but he ends up tying those flaws to human’s course of actions instead of questioning the bases on which those individuals acted, which both led and allowed such conducts to occur.

“Moral cowardice is mostly about choosing the path of least overall effort regardless of the fact that this path is in some sense wrong.”

But that’s the thing, Kakashi has all the tools to see the wrongness of the system, and yet decides that the structure in place is still the best of all evils, so instead of improving it, it’s better to just keep doing what has been working until now in order to maintain the power (im)balance -that ultimately benefits Konoha the most-, and the temporary peace.

Minorities aren’t that important to him, Kakashi belongs to none of them so he knows nothing about what they’re enduring. The system was dirty to him as well and yet he thrived because he twisted reality to make himself believe (not without the help of a well-established educational system) that all his suffering was his own problem. Konoha had nothing to do with it, he was the one with issues, not the structure itself that forced his father and Rin to commit suicide (one because of shame, the other for a sentiment of protectiveness over a village that forced her into combat).

And you know, that might have been a nice and understandable excuse for a thirteen-year-old boy, but when you’re twenty-six and you’ve seen everything he did during his time in the shinobi force, then you turn from victim to accomplice, because you’re an active participant in the oppression -not only he did nothing to change things, he vigorously pushed his students in the nationalistic mindset.

Summarizing, I'm not sure about the "coward" stand when it comes to Kakashi's moral mindset, because it implies that he was just too terrified (or like you said, unable/unwilling to make an effort to question his ideals) to change things even when knowing and acknowledging the problems. I think he knew about the consequences of the system in place and took a stance to support it and reproduce it because of his nationalistic mindset. It's not that I don't agree with your points, but is the term to describe his moral compass the one I'm not sure about.

#anti kakashi #anti kakashi hatake #anti konoha #anti shinobi system #anti naruto #anti sakura #anti kakashi fandom #anti naruto fandom #anti sakura fandom #anti hiruzen

98 notes · View notes

seyaryminamoto · 3 years

Note

How much was azula and zuko blinded of the propaganda?I have seen someone say that" azula knew the propaganda was a lie and there evidence was the fire nation were willingly to burn ba sing sa to the ground so azula should have known better"

O_o um, no offense intended to that person but... where’s the evidence that Azula ever had any doubts about the Fire Nation’s supremacist views?

I can outright point at a key dialogue where Zuko blatantly proves he’s not blinded by his father’s propaganda: Book 1, episode 3. Zuko directly tells Zhao: “If my father thinks the rest of the world will follow him willingly, then he is a fool!”, quoted right out of the wikia. So... heh. Zuko seems to be critical of his father, of his conquest, of his colonialist pursuits...

... And yet he proceeds to continue chasing the Avatar, fighting against him, outright committing treason against his own nation by releasing Aang but ONLY so he could be the one to turn him in personally, still saying things like “My honor, my throne, my country, I'm about to lose them all.” (Book 1, episode 13), telling Iroh “I want it back. I want the Avatar, I want my honor, my throne. I want my father not to think I'm worthless.” (Book 2, episode 1), introducing himself in this manner: “My name is Zuko. Son of Ursa and Fire Lord Ozai. Prince of the Fire Nation, and heir to the throne.” (Book 2, episode 7), and the list goes on :’) basically, insert everything nefarious or gray Zuko does through the three seasons, and factor in that Zuko has proven he doesn’t believe his father’s propaganda since early Book 1... you get the picture.

So... what that line in “The Southern Air Temple” ends up telling us is that all his actions are self-serving! :’D Which takes away from Zuko’s big speech to Ozai, namely when he says that the argument about the war spreading the Fire Nation’s greatness was an “amazing lie”. No, it wasn’t an amazing lie, and no, he didn’t believe it, at least he didn’t ever since the show began, as far as we saw. Therefore... I give no free passes to Zuko over any arguments that he was doing Ozai’s bidding or acting in his behalf. No one who says “my father is a fool” with such conviction in the show’s very THIRD EPISODE can pretend he was completely unaware of how wrong the Fire Nation’s direction was until he finally had his change of heart and awakening to the goodness of the world. He knew it was wrong. He did everything he did because it didn’t matter to him that it was, his throne and honor mattered more.

And considering I could quote at least three different instances where he talks about the throne as his own, or meant to be his own, I think it’s damn clear it was constantly on his mind. The only occasion when he says anything about wanting to do right by the Fire Nation itself is with Mai in the Boiling Rock... and by then he’s “redeemed”. Ergo, he’s supposed to know better at last. Before redemption? Zero signs that Zuko believes the Fire Nation needs new guidance and that he realizes the problem is Ozai’s propaganda and ideological indoctrination. That line in episode 3 suggests he KNOWS his father can and should be questioned, but later on he doesn’t betray any interest in doing so until he outright confronts him in The Eclipse. And that’s the thing: Zuko knows Ozai is bullshitting everyone, but it’s not his problem. That’s not why he’s doing what he’s doing. He’s not here to further spread Ozai’s gospel, he’s here to get the Avatar and earn his ticket back home, and he’ll do ANYTHING to achieve that.

Meanwhile, Azula... anyone can say she’s not blind to the horrors the Fire Nation has committed, that she’s an active participant of the war, that she’s her father’s enabler too... sure. But I don’t think ANYONE can say with any degree of certainty that Azula had broken out of the Fire Nation indoctrination on any level by the time we meet her in the show. Azula, as far as I’ve always seen her, is a product of her upbringing: she is sheltered, troubled, capable of dismissing any moral dilemmas in the face of any mission, absolutely unwilling to fail at anything she ever does. But really... where’s the evidence that she KNOWS the Fire Nation isn’t inherently superior to the others? Where’s the evidence that she knows Sozin’s doctrines are just excuses? I’m not saying she’s not smart enough to figure it out, I certainly write her that way myself... but I don’t think there’s anything you can point to in the show, the way there IS, objectively, with Zuko, to say “Yeah she’s 100% aware that the Fire Nation supremacist ideals are BS and she just follows fit with them because she wants a throne for herself.”

In contrast: how many times does Azula say the word “throne” in the show?:

“The fact is, they don't know which one of us is going to be sitting on that throne, and which one is going to be bowing down.” (Book 2, Episode 20) -- not the Fire Nation throne, but Ba Sing Se’s. Ergo, a throne she took via strategic prowess... that she then abandoned and left in Joo Dee’s hands SOMEHOW (why... Azula, just... why?? xD) before returning to the Fire Nation instead of merely relishing in having obtained MORE POWER!

... That’s literally it.

Where Zuko constantly talks about “his throne”, Azula only displays genuine, overt, blatant interest in becoming Fire Lord when Ozai directly offers her the position. She doesn’t shy away from it at all, of course, but when she’s seen talking about her alleged future as Fire Lord, her wording is... curiously different from Zuko’s:

“My father asked you to come here and talk to me, didn't he‌? He thinks I can't handle the responsibility of being Fire Lord. But I will be the greatest leader in Fire Nation history.” (Book 3, Episode 20)

This isn’t even fully healthy Azula, so using her behavior here as representative for her genuine views is a tricky thing to do. And yet... she says she will be the greatest LEADER? She’s not looking at the throne as something she is owed, she’s looking at it as a challenge she needs to prove herself worthy of. She’s not looking at a crown or a throne exclusively: she’s looking at LEADERSHIP. She’s ambitious enough to think BEYOND obtaining the power, and instead she’s already thinking of how she’ll use it.

This is a fundamental difference between both Zuko and Azula. Azula’s motivation wasn’t the throne, or a crown, or anything like that until the finale. If she’d wanted more political power, like I always say, she would’ve stayed in the Earth Kingdom and ruled over Ba Sing Se herself, getting high on the thrill of finally controlling a nation of her own. She’s the main artificer of the take-over, the Dai Li literally answer to her, and yet she didn’t stick around: she left the city for other people to deal with rather than going wild over her newly acquired power. Doesn’t this speak lengths about Azula’s priorities? And once she’s finally being offered the throne she does value, her troubled mind is set on LEADERSHIP. And while of course someone can argue she’s just vain and wants to be remembered forever, kind of like Zhao did, the question of what kind of leadership Azula has in mind is still worth asking: if she didn’t want the Earth Kingdom throne, it suggests she actually cherishes the Fire Nation above all else, and another nation’s throne doesn’t suffice or particularly prove fulfilling for her beyond the initial conquest. Prioritizing the Fire Nation, WITHOUT being Fire Lord yet, above Ba Sing Se’s throne... strongly suggests a belief that the Fire Nation matters more than anything else. And that’s basically what the Ozai propaganda impresses upon his people.

For further evidence... I present to you the Fire Nation Oath:

“My life I give to my country, with my hands I fight for Fire Lord Ozai and our forefathers before him. With my mind I seek ways to better my country, and with my feet may our March of Civilization continue.” (Book 3, Episode 2)

Just one reading of this oath explains Azula’s actions and motivations immediately. Recapping her actions throughout the show:

She finds Iroh and Zuko under Ozai’s orders, attempts to take them home peacefully, then they rebel, she fights them and regards them as traitors, loses, still intends to continue chasing them after her defeat.

Gathers new allies for her quest, comes across the Avatar, decides to take him down, fails, decides she has two targets now.

Chases the Avatar, fights both him and Zuko, narrowly escapes before being defeated, all be it to fight another day.

Helps in the Drill’s operations in Ba Sing Se, nearly stops Team Avatar’s scheme, fails again once Aang finishes their plan perfectly.

Follows Appa, fights and defeats the Kyoshi Warriors, takes their uniforms, impersonates them and breaks into Ba Sing Se while no one’s the wiser.

Acquires crucial information about the enemies’ plans to attack her nation on the day of the Eclipse.

Acquires the support of the Dai Li, captures Katara, Zuko and Iroh, overthrows Kuei.

Offers Zuko one more chance to fight by her side, attempts to fight Aang and Katara by herself, then is shown willing to fight Zuko as well as those two until she joins forces safely with Zuko and they defeat Aang and Katara.

Takes Zuko home as a hero, he hides crucial information about the Avatar, Azula attempts to set up a trap so Zuko takes the fall if the Avatar isn’t dead.

Offers Zuko advice about not visiting Iroh so he stays out of trouble, which he disregards to no consequences.

Goes on a chaotic vacation with her friends.

Gives Zuko a history lesson with more than a few harsh burns.

Tells Zuko he should go to a war meeting, which he attends later to no consequences, and she was right to say he was expected to be in it.

Intervenes in the war meeting and cuts off Zuko before he says the wrong thing, Ozai extrapolates Azula’s suggestion into his perfect, megalomaniac villain plan, and she’s shown perfectly satisfied with supplying her father an idea he values.

Organizes and leads the resistance against the invasion, stalls the Avatar’s group, keeps her father safe.

Visits the Boiling Rock, presumably upon finding out her brother infiltrated the prison, and in all likelihood suspecting he didn’t do it alone, considering that she immediately barges into the interrogations about the escape attempts rather than appearing at Zuko’s holding cell.

Fights Sokka and Zuko, nearly dies when the Warden decides to cut the line but saves herself by flying off, loses her shit when Mai betrays her, gets chi-blocked, sends her friends to prison.

Attacks Team Avatar in the Western Air Temple, takes a near-fatal plummet but still manages to survive and return home while the enemies escape.

Intends to go with Ozai to set fire to the Earth Kingdom, loses her temper, Ozai loses his, he offers her the role of Fire Lord and becomes Phoenix King.

Loses herself to paranoia gradually, hallucinates her mother, pushes everyone away, agrees to fight an Agni Kai with Zuko instead of merely commanding to be crowned disregarding Zuko’s intrusion.

Loses the fight against Katara, is sent to an asylum.

I think there’s quite a lot in here that suggests Azula’s actions are meant to uphold the values and beliefs of the Fire Nation Oath. She gave herself completely to her missions, to the point of even facing deadly peril more than once. She fought many battles, lost a LOT of them, and yet she never backed down. She is by far the most strategic character in the Fire Nation side of the story, switching her tactics constantly while the show progresses... and what is she after? Victories. For whom? Herself? Why... again, if it were just for herself, why abandon Ba Sing Se, the crown jewel of the Earth Kingdom’s Ultimate Conqueror? Why allow Zuko to share in that big achievement, too, instead of merely locking him up someplace and taking all the credit for herself?

There’s seriously zero reason to believe Azula DOESN’T live by the Fire Nation Oath. I, personally, don’t see how any of her actions indicate she’s questioned her nation’s indoctrinated creed in any way. Do I think she’s smart enough to know that the war wasn’t about spreading “greatness”? Sure. Does this automatically mean she was doing everything she ever did for herself, and not for the Fire Nation AND her father? Absolutely not. And that’s where Zuko and Azula are crucially, fundamentally different: Zuko’s concerns are PERSONAL. Zuko’s battles are PERSONAL. Zuko wants HIS honor, HIS throne: Azula never says any similar words in the entire show. Azula’s biggest display of ambition is claiming she wants to be the Fire Nation’s greatest leader. Ambitious, yes, BUT... an ambition that is perfectly in line with the oath, again, especiall with this line: “may our march of civilization continue”. Whereas Zuko’s words and actions throughout the show honestly don’t strike any legitimate chords with the Oath, as far as I can tell?

And I’m relying on the Oath because it’s literally the only solid evidence we have of actual creed and speeches the Fire Nation people are taught. While we can make plenty of guesses as to what else their education includes, by judging Fire Nation people’s actions and behavior, the only solid things we have are the misinformation the teacher attempts to give the children in Aang’s classroom and the Oath she makes the children recite. I think it’s safe to guess most Fire Nation people would know that Oath by heart, and probably attempt to live by it, too.

But like I said, where Azula’s actions can easily be interpreted as morally awful ways of displaying the “values” present in the Fire Nation Oath, I don’t see how Zuko’s actions EVER had anything to do with those values. They plain didn’t. And that isn’t a bad thing, objectively speaking: it means Zuko wasn’t insanely attached to the Fire Nation to the point of valuing it above his own life, after all. And yet, it puts a spin on Zuko’s actions and behavior that definitely doesn’t do his character any favors: no, his actions aren’t motivated by the Fire Nation Oath or any similar creed, they’re motivated, above all else, by the hopes that his father will return his birthright and honor to him. And his redemption is, of course, coded as him realizing that Ozai doesn’t get to decide whether he has honor or not! Which... again... is a blatant way of saying that Zuko’s true motivation wasn’t “doing Ozai’s bidding and advancing the Fire Nation’s war”, it was his honor, his throne, and everything to do with what he’d lost after his banishment. The whole show is full of obvious signs that Zuko’s not motivated by any beliefs greater than this -- such as the fact that he returns home as a hero and it feels WRONG to him. It’s not only because his father now respects him under the false pretenses that he killed the Avatar, but also because he plain feels out of place and isn’t happy at all! Why? Because he “got everything back”, and it feels off. Why is it off? Because he wants honor and he doesn’t feel like he regained it at all in the first half of Book 3. Then he turns his back on his father and chooses a whole different path and he’s finally at peace with himself, so much he can’t even bend anymore :’D but the point is, simply, that there’s no evidence anywhere within the show that Zuko honest to gods was acting out of anything but his own, personal needs rather than a constant pursuit for the Fire Nation’s advancement.

And like I said before, this doesn’t have to be a bad thing. It probably makes his redemption “easier”, to a fault, since there’s less to address. Do I like it? No. Do I think Zuko is fundamentally a better human being than Azula because he questioned Ozai and she didn’t? Considering how many awful things he still did while proving he could question his father, not a chance. Do I think Azula is fundamentally a better human being than Zuko since her actions do seem to follow fit with what Fire Nation indoctrination looks like? Considering what that indoctrination entails, and the deeds she proves capable of to uphold it, the answer would once again be “not a chance”.

In short: neither buying the Fire Nation indoctrination or questioning it makes either Azula or Zuko objectively better people. Both are capable of amoral deeds and actions that should never be supported, encouraged or excused :’D and while I absolutely will impress that they have different motivations, which codify their actions, I don’t think Azula’s deeds would be objectively any worse if someone SOMEHOW finds solid evidence that she truly didn’t believe in any of these doctrines, just as I don’t think Zuko’s would be any better if it’s proven (though... I’d be pretty sure it can’t be) that he’s just as brainwashed as everyone else in the Fire Nation.

On a final note, directly answering your final concern there: both Zuko and Azula are shown reacting to the notion of Ba Sing Se being burned to the ground. Heck, Ursa is shown reacting to it too. If we need a refresher...

If this is somehow proof that Azula “understands” the FIre Nation is evil (How? She’s laughing like it’s a perfectly happy revelation? So is her mother? So is her brother? How does someone watch this scene and interpret this as “this messed up family KNOWS they’re the BAD GUYS!”, rather than “this messed up family thinks burning a city down is GOOD?!”), then it’s also proof Zuko and Ursa do. And they still laugh just as she does.

If the person in question was talking about Azula’s intervention in the war meeting? Zuko’s reaction shows he thinks burning down a continent is evil. Zuko’s betrayal of the Fire Nation shows he didn’t want anything to do with that (his reluctance to share this information with Team Avatar, however, is highly illogical?). Azula’s behavior doesn’t suggest at all that she thinks burning an enemy nation is anything but a sign of superiority, something both Ursa and Zuko are totally fine with in the scene above, and her suggestion, yet again, is something that is perfectly in line with the Fire Nation’s morally reprehensible values. As such, it’s not something that proves Azula somehow was acting of her own accord and is immune to Fire Nation indoctrination and propaganda, by any means.

So.

I’d think that answers that. :’)

#thea-here #yikes this got long #but #hopefully as it's so late #it won't bother anyone's dashboards #if it does let me know #and I'll read-more it #:'D #but really #why do people try to make arguments that can be deflated in a heartbeat #like...#I rambled on and on because I love to?#but man #there's zero substance in that theory #zero logic #zero analysis #*shrug*#just the truth

226 notes · View notes

whatifyoulivelikethat · 2 years

Text

about hobbies and passion

Sometimes I feel really dumb. I mean, I know I'm not. But I feel as if I am not really... good? Like, hobbies. I tried so many different activities during the years. Painting, sewing, drawing, writing, playing the guitar, dancing, editing. I even tried cosplaying once. And I'm just not good at anything. You know that rush you get when you feel like something is right for you? I don't have that. I don't know if I ever will. I want it. I am just tired of feeling unsufficient and stupid.

I am finishing grad school and I have no idea what my passion is. I just wanted to feel good doing things for me and not to attend a purpose (such as making money). I am sick of trying and trying and trying and just feeling bad all the time. Believe me, I tried. I don't quit when things get hard. I just get sick of spending months, even years, doing things that I don't connect to, and that makes me feel like a potato.

Hobbies are hobbies because doing them brings you joy. If you go into a hobby thinking that you need to be good at it in order to enjoy it, you won't maintain your interest in it for very long because you're not going into it not for the hobby itself, but to find a passion. Did you try all those activities because you had an interest in them and were happy doing them? Or did you do it so you could have something to call your passion, to find your "thing"?

When I enjoy my hobbies, it is a feeling of desire. I want to do it. It is how I want to spend my time. Some might find it not "productive" or "useful", but for me hobbies are for fun. Even if I am frustrated or annoyed (maybe if something isn't turning out as intended), I simply put it down and move onto something else for the day. It's unrealistic to think that every time you will enjoy every single second of your hobby. Some days you won't enjoy it and that is okay. You can always change it up and try a different variation of said hobby. You can stop at any time and leave a hobby for any length of time if it no longer feels like it brings you happiness.

What does it mean to be good at things? Is it when others tell you that you are good at it? Is it when you feel that you are better than others at doing that thing? Or is it when you feel satisfied in what you have done, because of the end product or because the process you went through was efficient? Or is it something else?

And

Why do we feel any need at all to be "good" at something?

The things that are "right" for me, I picked them to be the "right" things. I was shit at writing when I started. Absolute hot garbage. I'm glad I lost all those files so I never have to be ashamed rereading them LMAO I had years when I wrote a lot, years where I didn't write at all. The first couple years I had sex? In comparision to now, probably trash. XD I always had a high sex drive (lol) but I didn't always have the chance or right partner to improve with. Been gaming for years. I'm not a "pro" at any of the games I'm interested in.

In all three things, people would say I'm "good". I would say I have things to improve on in every one of them. I invest a lot of time (and in some cases money) into them. I like doing them. I don't always "succeed" but that's okay with me. Life isn't about success, achievements, milestones.

Life is about getting there, about living, to focus on...

(enjoying every moment. XD)

A passion in life... It's strange, this word has been used by companies for many years now to create an "ideal lifestyle" that one must have passion for something in order to be fulfilled in life. But passion does not necessarily mean being good at your passion. And that's okay. Perhaps the best way to look at it is to have passion for life itself rather than in anything in particular. After all, the person you should be good to, no, the best to is yourself.

You are ending a chapter in your life and entering a new one. Life is changing rather dramatically for you. It can be exciting and frightening at the same time. Search for the small happinesses in your everyday life. Focus on activities you enjoy doing just because. The connection you are looking for is memories of happily doing something you like, doing simply for the sake of doing it.

also

Potatoes can become a lot of things, fries, chips, hashbrowns, croquettes, baked, masshed, etc. All delicious. I have never met a potato I did not like. :)

13 notes · View notes

cinaja · 3 years

Text

Before the Wall part 60

Masterlist

----

Queen Andromache of Angolere is no stranger to anger. Like most humans, she has never been short of reasons to be angry, and the last seven years of war, for all that they have improved the general situation, have done little to ease that. The general unfairness of life, arrogant allies, hypocritical assholes, people who hate her for being mortal – she’s had to deal with it all.

In all those years, she has never been this angry, though. Never felt this close to combusting. It’s like she swallowed a lump of magma and it’s not lying in her stomach, burning her up from the inside. Even two days after the fact, her anger shows no sign of lessening. Instead, it only seems to grow worse, perhaps because she has not yet found an opportunity to let it out.

When the news arrived two days ago, she didn’t believe it. Outright refused to even consider it. More than five hundred thousand people dead in the blink of an eye – the numbers were too big to consider possible. The idea that Miryam, Drakon, and Mor, Mor especially, were all dead from one day to the next was too horrifying to consider. The notion of something as terrible as this happening after the war had already ended downright impossible. And there were no bodies, no way to be sure.

Andromache spent that entire day curled up in her rooms, first trying to convince herself that this had been some terrible mistake, then struggling to come to terms with the fact that it wasn’t. This was real.

The second set of news arrived that evening, chasing her out of her hiding place. The messages from four separate sources – three spies and the person in charge of Telique’s wards – arriving at roughly the same time, all brought the same news: What happened had been no terrible accident, no tragedy with no one to blame. It had been planned and brought about by their own allies. Shey. The Autumn Court. Others as well, many of them unnamed.

Again, Andromache refused to believe it. In general, it is her firm belief that one can never have too low an opinion of the Fae, but this… this still went too far. She could not wrap her mind around it, could not understand how anyone could do this.

Like most people in the Alliance, Andromache was well aware that Shey saw Miryam as a threat. But what she could not imagine no matter how hard she tried was what might have caused the level of hatred that would have been necessary to do something like this. Miryam had, as far as Andromache knew, never done anything that might have given her allies cause to hate her. Dislike, perhaps, but not hate. She certainly gave Shey and cause to hate so fiercely that her death wasn’t enough to satisfy him, that he had to have her killed in the cruellest way possible, killing most of the people she cared about, thousands of innocents, in the process and destroying what she spent most of her life working for.

“I don’t think it was hatred,” Nakia said when Andromache voiced her thoughts to her. “I think he just didn’t care. He wanted Miryam dead – everyone else was just collateral damage. Expendable.”

That was when the anger started.

Now, thirty-one hours later, Andromache feels ready to combust with the force of it. Still, her hands are surprisingly steady as she closes the straps of her armour. There will be an Alliance meeting in half an hour, the first one since Miryam and Drakon (and Mor, although no one but Andromache seems to care much about that crucial detail) died, and Andromache intends to use the opportunity to make the Fae regret it.

Her and the other humans met yesterday to agree on a plan. What they came up with isn’t ideal in Andromache’s mind – it doesn’t involve Shey dying painfully, which is truly a shame. It’s the best they could do in their situation, though, and Andromache sincerely hopes their demands will make the Fae regret their actions.

With one last look into the mirror, Andromache straightens and stalks out of the room. Her steps are firm as she walks through the palace’s halls towards the meeting chamber. A lucky side effect of the anger, she supposes. It doesn’t leave space for any other emotions. Otherwise, she would probably be dissolved in tears, unable to move or function. But even so, she can barely bear to think of Miryam and Drakon, and cannot think of Mor at all without feeling like someone punched her in the chest.

By the time she reaches the meeting chamber, it is already filled halfway. Usually, councilmembers would be chatting with each other before the meeting, the room buzzing with activity, but today, silence reins in the chamber. The tense atmosphere can almost be felt physically, like the air is thick as water and pressing anyone inside the room down with its weight.

Quietly, Andromache takes her seat. The silence is only broken by the ticking of the clock that has been places on the opposite wall. She watches the hand creep forward as more and more people arrive. The time when the meeting was set to begin is reached and passed without anyone stirring. Andromache realizes that everyone at the table is waiting for someone to open the meeting, but Miryam isn’t there and Andromache isn’t inclined to step in for her as she usually does.

Eventually, it is Shey who opens the meeting. When he starts spouting nonsense about what a “terrible tragedy” Miryam’s and Drakon’s death was (he doesn’t mention any of the other people who died) or how “devastated” he was by the news, Andromache immediately regrets not opening the meeting herself. When he starts talking about how much Miryam did for the Alliance and the war effort in general, Andromache briefly contemplates getting up and punching him in the face. It might help take the edge off her anger, but their plan is a different one and Andromache is forced to stick to it.

Finally, Shey seems to be done with his monologue of faked mourning and changes the subject. “Sad as we all are,” he says, “I think Miryam and Drakon, more than anyone else, would want us to focus on the future instead of dwelling on the past.”

Never mind. Andromache is actually going to punch him. “I think they mostly wouldn’t want to be dead along with thousands of their people, you fucking asshole,” she mutters, balling her hands into fists.

Shey’s eyes jump to her, narrowing slightly, but he seems to decide that she isn’t worthy of a reply. “I believe the treaty detailing what should happen now that the war is over is all but ready. All that’s left to do is to sign it.”

“If you think any of us are going to sign that contract after what happened, you’ve lost your mind,” Andromache snaps, louder this time. “Why would we want to work with any of you after this?”

Shey is far too well-trained to show any reaction, but Andromache hopes the bastard is shocked. He probably didn’t expect the stupid little mortals to figure out what he did.

“I don’t – “ he begins, but Andromache is already on her feet. The other human councilmembers rise with her.

“This Alliance is over,” she says, voice biting. “As far as I’m concerned, you can all go drown in an ocean.”

With that, she turns towards the door. As one, the human members of the Alliance walk out of the room. No one makes a move to stop them, no one even says a word. The Fae just remain sitting where they are, looking around the table like they are waiting for someone to find the words to fix the crack that is running through their alliance.

Had Miryam been here, she would have been the one to speak out now. She would have found the right words, maybe even managed to convince them all to keep working together. For the sake of the treaty she wanted so badly, she would probably have been willing to excuse even her own murder.

It’s really too bad for the Fae that they had Miryam killed. Because without her, there is no one there to stop the Alliance from shattering into a million pieces.

Without looking back, Andromache stalks out of the meeting chamber. When she returns to her rooms, she finds Mor sitting on her bed.

----

Mor never planned to simply vanish without a word to anyone, certainly not for an entire week. When first left the Black Land and winnowed straight to the Night Court, she only wanted to stay for a few hours, maybe spend the night in the cabin in the mountains to calm herself before returning to Telique.

But then, almost against her own will, she had found herself staying longer and longer. The cabin was so peaceful, and with each day she stayed, the thought of going back became more daunting. Going back would mean facing what Miryam had done, facing their argument. Probably facing Miryam herself. For all that she knew hiding would only make things worse in the long run, she simply hadn’t found it in herself to return.

So instead, she stayed. She visited Rhys a few times. Sat on the couch by the fire and read. Emptied bottle after bottle of wine and did her best not to think about water turning to blood, ice raining from the sky and the look on Miryam’s face before she left her standing alone in the sand. She didn’t want to return at all, but after a week, there was no way to put it off any further, not if she didn’t want to risk worrying her friends in Telique.

It might already have been too long, Mor thinks as she watches Andromache freeze in the doorway, staring at her like she is a ghost. Maybe she should have sent a letter. But surely Miryam told Andromache about what happened, and knowing that, it should have been clear to anyone that she was safe.

She opens her mouth to say something, but before she gets the chance, Andromache snaps out of her paralysis. Letting out a sound that sounds a bit like that of a wounded animal, she rushes towards Mor and sweeps her up in a hug. Her body is shaking, and Mor can feel her damp cheek against her neck. Awkwardly, she begins patting Andromache’s back.

“I’m alright,” she whispers, not entirely understanding why Andromache is this distraught. She wasn’t in any danger, Andromache must have known that. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to scare you.”

Andromache lets go of her and holds her at arm’s length so that she can study her. She is still clinging on to Mor’s arms, though, like she is scared to let go.

“How did you get out?” She asks.

Mor frowns. She doesn’t entirely understand the question. “I winnowed,” she says, then quickly adds, “I’m sorry for not writing. I just… I just needed space.”

Now, it is Andromache who seems confused. “What do you mean?” She asks.

Mor can’t help the sinking feeling that they are not entirely on the same page. Could it be that Miryam didn’t tell her about the argument? She wouldn’t have had any reason to keep that information back, though.

“We argued,” she says hesitantly. “I just…” She shrugs. “With what Miryam did… I couldn’t stand it, and she wouldn’t stop. We got into a fight over it. And then I left.”

Andromache stands and stares at her, completely unblinking. Then, slowly, she lets her arms drop to her sides. “What Miryam did?” She repeats, voice dangerously soft. “What Miryam did?”

“Yes, what Miryam did!” Mor replies forcefully. She can’t believe that Andromache seems to be taking Miryam’s side on this. “She burned down an entire country, Andromache! Thousands of people died. She – “

“You’re acting like she did it for fun!” Andromache cuts her off. “There were reasons.”

“What reasons are good enough to murder thousands?” Mor asks, throwing her hands up into the air in desperation. “You weren’t there, Andromache. You don’t know what it was like. This was the most horrifying thing I’ve ever seen, and Miryam happily allowed it to happen.”

“Well, then you’ll be relieved to know that Miryam is dead,” Andromache snaps.

The words hit Mor like a punch to the stomach. She actually stumbles back a step, gasping. “What?” She whispers.

“Yes,” Andromache says, her voice cutting as a blade. “Her, Drakon and everyone else.”

No. No. It isn’t possible. None of them were in danger when she left. Miryam was just in the process of single-handedly taking down the entire country, with an army of thousands with her to protect her. She was days away from winning – and actually did win, from the last news Mor heard from an enraged Rhys who complained endlessly about the war ending before he had a chance to kill Amarantha.

They couldn’t have died. They couldn’t have.

Oh Cauldron. Her last conversation with Miryam and Drakon was an argument that ended with Mor storming off. She doesn’t remember what she said to them, only that she was furious and desperate, and that they were both yelling at each other and then Mor left. She left them alone and then they died and she…

Mor presses a hand to her stomach, trying to reign in a sob. “I…” She whispers, but doesn’t manage to finish the sentence. She promised to protect Miryam. And then she left. And Miryam died.

“Get out,” Andromache says, voice still deadly soft.

Mor starts shaking her head. “No, I…”

“What Miryam did?” Andromache throws her words back at her with enough anger that Mor actually flinches. “You’re no better than the others.” With that, she pulls open the door. “And now get out.”

Words are escaping Mor. She opens her mouth, but no sound comes out. Tears are burning in her eyes, blurring her vision. Andromache is still staring at her, gaze hard, and so Mor ducks her head and rushes out of the room.

----

Andromache is shaking with fury. Pain and sorrow will come later, she knows, once she has calmed down enough for the reality of what just happened to sink through, but for the moment, she is just angry. Angry with the entire fucking world, but mostly with Mor, because from her, Andromache expected better.

How could she be so stupidly narrow-minded? What Miryam did. She sounded just like all these other Fae who called Miryam’s actions horrifying and then turned around and had her and five hundred thousand innocents murdered. What Miryam did. What about what the Fae did, now and for centuries prior?

She needs some way to let the anger out, or she might actually explode. With swift steps, she stalks through the room and to the cupboard that holds cups and plates. She is still aware enough of herself to avoid the expensive, gilded ones meant for formal occasions and sticks to the simpler pottery for private dinners.

One by one, she pulls them out of the cupboard and hurls them against a nearby wall, watching them shatter into a million pieces with grim satisfaction, hating the fact that this pointless act of rage is all she can do.

How she wishes she had Miryam’s abilities. If only she was able to turn blood into water, make the sky rein ice and fire and command the sun to stay away as she sees fit. Oh, how she would make them all pay for what they did. She’d show them horrifying.

A knock sounds at the door, interrupting Andromache’s fantasies of setting Shey’s palace on fire. She spins around, dropping the plate she had just pulled out of the shelf, and stalks over to the door. This better not be Mor…

It isn’t. When Andromache pulls open the door so hard it bangs against the wall, she instead comes face to face with Nakia.

“Oh,” she says, awkwardly running a hand through her hair. “Nakia.”

“Were you expecting someone else?” Nakia asks drily. She glances over her shoulder into the room and raises her eyes at the mess. “Someone to help you clean up, perhaps?”

Andromache can feel her cheeks heating. “I will clean that myself,” she says. She won’t make any of the maids clean up a mess she created on purpose.

“Do that. It will have to wait, though. For the moment, you are needed for a meeting. The Fae asked for a meeting; their representative is already there.”

Andromache groans.

Andromache would have liked nothing better than to refuse the meeting outright and tell the Fae exactly where they can shove their offers, but unfortunately, that is not an option. There are matters to be discussed, and there is no getting around that necessity.

It was agreed well in advance that Andromache would represent the humans for the meeting, as Angolere is the country whose leader is usually in charge of foreign politics. Andromache only finds out who the Fae sent when she steps into the meeting chamber, though: It is Zeku.

Some part of Andromache realizes that this is likely meant as a peace offering. Ever since the founding of the Alliance, Zeku was one of the Fae who worked together with the humans most closely. He was Miryam’s most prominent Fae ally, her, him and Andromache spent more hours than she can count sitting together over proposals and strategies. The Fae likely assumed his presence would appease Andromache, and under different circumstances, it might have. As it is, though, his presence is just another slap to the face.

“Your Majesty,” Zeku greets her, bowing deeply.

“Zeku.”

Greeting him by name instead of title is a capital insult, but Andromache stopped caring about the Faes’ rules for politeness the moment these rules didn’t stop them from murdering more than five hundred thousand people. All these rules ever did was bar anyone who didn’t have a Fae noble’s education from being taken seriously in their political meetings. Andromache played by their rules for far too long.

Zeku ignores the insult and takes the seat opposite her. He opens his mouth to speak, but Andromache cuts in before he gets the chance. Every moment she has to spend in the presence of someone like him is one too much.

“To make this clear right at the beginning,” she says, “I’m not here to play games. There are some issues that need to be settled, and I have no interest in spending more time than absolutely necessary in your presence, so I’d appreciate if we could deal with this as quickly as possible.”

Zeku sighs. “Alright, then,” he says, “But before we begin, just allow me to say how terribly sorry I am about what happened.”

Yeah, sure. She believes that right away. Once that conversation is over, though, he might actually be sorry.

“Well, I believe it ought to be clear to anyone that the continuation of the Alliance is no longer possible. The treaty we worked on is a thing of the past, as are any agreements we came to. We can no longer trust you, and so working together is no longer an option.”

Zeku, at the very least, does her the favour of not pretending he doesn’t know what she is talking about. “I know what happened was unforgivable,” he says, “but Miryam wouldn’t want – “

“Don’t,” Andromache cuts him off, voice sharp as a whip. “Don’t you dare talk to me about what Miryam would have wanted.”

Zeku lifts his hands as if warding off a physical attack. “Alright,” he says. “Forgive me. But the point remains that we need to work together. The situation is far from ideal, but together, you and I could still turn it around.”

Andromache lets out a sharp laugh. “You and I? Together?” She shakes her head, laughing again. “No, thank you. With what happened to the last human who worked together with you, I have little interest. Maybe if you wanted this alliance, you should have made sure she stayed alive.”

“I had no involvement – “ Zeku begins, but Andromache cuts him off.

“Oh, spare me,” she snaps. “Miryam might been willing to listen to your explanation. She might have played along with your game, pretended she believed and trusted you and maybe even agreed to work together with you again in spite of everything. For peace. She really wanted that, you know? A world where humans and Fae could live together in peace and equality. For that, she might even have been willing to look past what your friends did. But I am not Miryam.”

“I am aware,” Zeku says quietly.

“Maybe, but you don’t seem to understand what it means.” None of the Fae ever understood, and they never bothered to try, either. “You and your Fae friends always thought that Miryam was the only one of us worthy of being taken seriously, didn’t you? That the rest of us were meek and harmless and unimportant, and that without Miryam, we would be lost. Because she was the only one who could play by these stupid rules for politics you had designed to keep anyone who isn’t Fae nobility from being taken seriously in politics. She could smile and talk and behave just right, and she had magic, and so you took her seriously and dismissed the rest of us.”

“I never dismissed you,” Zeku says. “And you were always quite willing to take a backseat while Miryam dealt with everything, so you have little grounds to complain about any conclusions people draw from that.”

Andromache presses her lips together. How dare he bring this up, act like what happened was somehow their fault for making Miryam get involved? As if the human leadership at the beginning of the war willingly decided that an eighteen-year-old was the perfect fit for emissary. The entire reason they had to give Miryam that position was that there had been no one else. Learning Fae politics was a matter of years, and the humans lacked diplomats skilled in the rules the Fae so valued. That they found someone who was able to fill the position at all was a minor miracle in itself.

She doesn’t say that they only let Miryam take the lead because she was the only one able to navigate the Fae political landscape that had been so skilfully designed to keep anyone but them out, though, because that would only be one part of the truth. The unimportant part, for this specific conversation.

“None of us ever wanted to work with the Fae, did you know that?” She gives him a sharp smile. “We didn’t trust you. It was Miryam who convinced us to give it a try. She said we needed allies, and that there would be Fae territories that would be willing to help us.”

“And she was right,” Shey says. “We helped you win this war.”

“Yes,” Andromache says softly. “Miryam was right – she managed to secure us the alliance she had promised, she managed to make things work, and so we went along with her plans. We ignored the countless offences your side committed against us because Miryam had her strategy and it was working. And then, when she insisted that the only way to get peace to work after the war was to find a way to work together, to build bridges between our people, we went along with that as well. Because we trusted her, because you seemed to respect her.” She lets out a bitter laugh. “Do you understand now?” She asks. “We weren’t scared and meek without Miryam. She was the one who convinced us to work with you in the first place. But then, you killed her and you made it entirely clear that our lives are worthless to you, that no matter how much we try to work with you, you will never see us as equal.”

Zeku nods slowly. His face is grave. Now, he finally seems to understand. “So what now?” He asks.

Andromache leans back in her chair. “Miryam wanted to build bridges,” she says. “We were willing to go along with that, willing to give it a try, but then you killed her. So now what you are getting is a wall.”

----

Shey is waiting in one of the private meeting chambers. He is lounging on one of the chairs, idly flipping through the pages of a book that he snaps shut when Zeku enters.

“Your Highness,” he says with a slight smile, sitting up straighter. “How did the meeting with Their Majesties go?”

In answer, Zeku takes a slip of paper out of the pocket of his coat and throws it onto the table in front of Shey. “A list of discrete assassins and ways to contact them, since you don’t seem to know about the possibility of discrete assassinations yet,” he says. “You might want to look into it to save us any further scandals.”

Shey very deliberately places his book on the table. “I have no idea what you are talking about,” he says.

“Kindly do me the favour and explain that to Andromache and the other human queens. That might be amusing.” He shakes his head. “They know. And they are none too pleased, if you will allow the understatement.”

Shey, at the very least, does him the favour of not denying his actions a second time. After the meeting he just had, he doesn’t think he would be able to stand Shey’s games. He just shrugs. “Forgive me if I’m not shaking with fear at the prospect.”

The longer this conversation lasts, the more does Zeku understand Andromache’s feelings towards Fae nobility and their politics. To think that there was a time when he enjoyed these games… Now, all he can feel is disgust.

“You went too far,” he says, shaking his head. “This time, you really went too far, Shey.”

Shey waves him off. “It was a neat solution,” he says. “Everyone who had any cause for interest in Miryam died with her.”

“There are literally millions of humans who have a cause for interest in Miryam.”

Shey snorts. “Oh, not these mortals and their exaggerated sense of solidarity or whatever they call it, acting like any harm done to one of them is somehow a direct attack on all of them. If you ask me, they are just using it as an excuse to make themselves into the victims and give themselves the moral high ground in any given situation. Or do you see any Fae complaining about Drakon and his soldiers getting killed?”

That he thinks this is a negative reflection on the humans, not the Fae, probably says everything that needs to be said about what kind of person he is. Zeku doesn’t want to imagine what it will do to the Alliance – the entire Continent – if he gets put in charge. Had Miryam only been a little bit smarter, a bit more willing to play to win… She had everything necessary to leave her in charge of the Continent after the war ended. But she didn’t have the nerve to go through with it, and how did it end? Her dead, everything she was working for in shambles and the Continent in Shey’s hands.

Zeku could scream at how stupidly unnecessary all of it is.

Instead, he merely offers the barest shrug at Shey’s comment. “Regardless of their motives, our human allies seem out for your head over this.”

“So what if they do?” Shey asks. “Miryam is dead. Without her, there is little they can do.”

“They seem to disagree,” Zeku says. In spite of the seriousness of the situation, he can’t help but feel a little smug. “Andromache says they have proof. And that she will happily make it public should you not meet their demands.” He smiles slightly. “Not only will you and your friends be revealed as honourless in front of the entire Continent for betraying your own allies, I also imagine that some people will be rather cross with you for murdering hundreds of thousands of innocent humans after we justified that entire war with wanting to save the humans.”

Shey doesn’t reply. Maybe he just considers for the first time that justifying a war with wanting the protect the humans and then turning around to casually murder five hundred thousand of them was not a particularly smart move. Not to mention that over the past years, Miryam became the face of the entire war effort, which not only brought her a whole lot of popularity, but also made her into a symbol. And turning against the symbol for the war they just won is political suicide.

For a brief moment, Shey’s calm demeanour cracks as he seems to realize that he just made a catastrophic mistake. Then, he catches himself, summoning a calm expression again.

“What is their price?” He asks, voice entirely business-like.

Zeku wonders what he is hoping for. What price would, in his mind, be able to make up for a betrayal like this, the loss of thousands of lives? Knowing Shey, he probably doesn’t imagine it will be too much. A bit of money, maybe, or land. Trading rights and favourable treaties. A small price, as is appropriate for lives that were entirely worthless to him.

“Half of our world,” Zeku counters calmly. And yes, he does enjoy the look on Shey’s face at the reply. “They are withdrawing their consent to the treaty I worked out with Andromache, Miryam and Drakon.” Well, mostly Drakon. “They no longer trust us to live side by side with them, so they have come up with their own solution: They want to divide the Continent in two. One half to the them, the other to us, and a wall in the middle. They’ll take the south.”

For a few heartbeats, Shey says nothing at all. Then, he asks very slowly, “Have these mortal fools completely lost their minds?”

Zeku shrugs again. “They don’t trust us anymore, not after what happened, and I honestly cannot blame them.”

“And they truly think they will get away with that?” Shey lets out a laugh and jumps to his feet. “I’ll have them assassinated before I meet these ridiculous demands.”

“I am sure they have plans for that scenario,” Zeku says. “And should this be made public, I imagine they would have quite a few supporters. Miryam was very popular, as you know, and you might find many Fae care more than you anticipated. Especially since there were also so many Fae amongst those you had killed.”

Shey wrinkles his nose in disdain. “Lesser faeries,” he says.

And what am I? Zeku thinks, fighting the sudden surge of anger. Anger at Shey. At himself. After all, he always knew what kind of person Shey was, and still, he chose the way he did. Withdrew support for Miryam and hoped… yes, what did he hope for? That Shey’s disregard for human and faerie lives wouldn’t carry on into his style of ruling? That he would follow through with the promises Miryam had made after replacing her?

Maybe he should have risked sticking up for Miryam. Should have made it clearer to her what was at stake, helped her work out a way to come out of this on top. Instead, he took the safe route and withdrew support, marked his wager in working with her down as failed and cut his losses.

A mistake. All of it was a mistake.

You’re a coward, Miryam’s voice says in his head. He can still see her so clearly, standing in that hallway with tears in her eyes and fury on her face. I hope this haunts you.

A bitter smile twists Zeku’s mouth. It will, he thinks. Don’t you worry, Miryam. It will.

“You would do better to do as they say,” Zeku says. “Because if you don’t – or if you get the brilliant idea to make them disappear the way you did with Miryam – I can assure you that you will have a problem. Should it come to war, I will be the first one to side with them against you, but I will not be the last.”

Shey stares at him in disbelief. He opens his mouth as if to reply, then closes it again. Of course. He isn’t used to getting push-back.

“You went too far,” Zeku repeats. “And it will always be my greatest shame that I didn’t stop you sooner. But if you think I will let you take this any further, you are dead-wrong.”

If him and Andromache were still allies, he might have begged her to allow him and his people to join them on their side of the wall that is soon to be built. But he lost that alliance the moment he decided to cut ties with Miryam and he knows perfectly well that there is no getting it back.

He played. And he lost. And now, he will have to pay.

----

Without corpses, there is no real need to hold a funeral. Unless, of course, you are Fae and want to make a grand gesture about how terribly sorry you are about the death of the people you had killed, and so the Fae seem to have made it their mission to hold the most dramatic funeral possible for Miryam, Drakon and the others, perhaps in a vain attempt to cover up their guilt.

Had the idea come from anyone else, Andromache might even have been willing to admit that she thinks holding some kind of ceremony is the right thing to do. As things are, though, it only feels like a cheap publicity stunt. Hundreds of thousands of pyres erected, one for every single person who died during that battle, all of them lit at the same time – this isn’t a show of respect, it’s a political spectacle and Andromache hates everything about it.

The worst part is that she wasn’t even able to argue against the idea, not without making it seem like she doesn’t want to honour Miryam and the other dead. So instead, she has decided to use the entire situation to her advantage. Shey wants to use this funeral to improve his image? Fine, then Andromache will ruin that plan as thoroughly as she can.

The good thing about ceremonies like that is that everything, down to the choice of clothes, sends a message. Shey has apparently decided to show to the entire world how much he mourns Miryam’s death and respected her. He is wearing black with blue details, showing his mourning and pretending to the entire world that he respected Miryam, looked up to her.

Andromache and the other human councilmembers appear entirely in red.

Their choice of clothes draws stares as they arrive at the ceremony together. Miryam wore red details on her dress for Jurian’s funeral, but that was a different matter – then, at least everyone knew who she wanted to get revenge at. Now, with the war over and Ravenia, who is officially responsible for every death that occurred, dead, no one understands why the entire human fraction of the Alliance is publicly declaring that they want revenge.

Shey steps in Andromache’s way before she reaches her place at the front of the assembled crowd. His face is almost as red as Andromache’s dress. “What do you think you are doing?” He snaps.

“Whatever are you talking about?” Andromache asks, then glances down at her dress like she is only now realizing what his problem might be. “Oh, that. Well, I thought the choice of colour in a dress should reflect our feelings regarding the death.” She frowns at Shey. “Although you don’t seem to have taken that all too seriously yourself. What colour says ‘I had the deceased assassinated’ again?”

“Will you be quiet?” Shey hisses, looking around frantically to see if anyone heard. “I agreed to your demands, and in return, you were meant to keep your silence. If you aren’t able to do that, our agreement is over.”

“You are the one who made this funeral into a farce!” Andromache snaps back. “This isn’t an opportunity for you to improve your image and if you had any sense of decency whatsoever, you would never have tried.”

With that, she shoulders past him and goes to take her place with the other humans.

“Remarkable show of restraint,” Nakia says by way of greeting. “I thought you’d break his nose.”

Andromache shrugs. “Might still, depending on his bad his speech is.”

The first speech isn’t Shey’s, though. It is hers.

Andromache struggled against the suggestion that she should hold the opening speech. To her, it felt like she would be assuming a position she never held. She was a close friend with both Miryam and Drakon, yes, but she was never closest to either of them, and she didn’t know most of the others who died at all. It was only when she realized that anyone who was closer to them than her had died in that battle that she agreed to hold the speech.

Slowly, she steps forward, red dress shifting around her feet. She will not have to light any of the pyres as would be human tradition; they will be magically lit at the end of her speech with her only needing to give a signal. It feels wrong, somehow. Pyres are meant to be lit by hand, the person who was closest to them doing them that final service and bidding them goodbye in doing so. Magic takes away all of the intimacy of the moment.

Everything about this funeral-that-isn’t-one feels wrong. It is unworthy. Miryam and Drakon and all these countless others would have deserved better.

They would also have deserved a better speech than the one Andromache ends up giving. She did her best to find the proper words, she truly did. What point is there in talking about all the things that were wonderful about them, as if putting into words all that she lost will somehow make it better. Why would she tell the world about all the things Miryam and Drakon and the others would have wanted and deserved from the future, as if the one thing they would have wanted and deserved wasn’t to be alive. How can she call this a tragedy when she knows that in truth, it was a crime?

The only words Andromache wants to say are ones made from anger, condemning the ones responsible for these deaths, but those, she cannot speak, and there are no other words that might mean anything in the face of such a terrible, senseless crime. She still tries, and she fails, and she knows she does even as she holds her speech.

She is relieved when she is finally done and gets to return to her place. The pyres are lit by magic and Andromache tries to comfort herself with the fact that there are no bodies, anyways, that Miryam and Drakon and all the others are dead and will never know about the farce that is their funeral. It is no comfort at all, though.

The rest of the ceremony passes far too slowly. Andromache stands in her place, stares at the flickering flames and ignores the speeches the others hold. She only notices it is finally over when people start moving around her. She leaves her place as well, wandering around aimlessly for a bit. She doesn’t want to talk. She doesn’t want to eat, or drink. She cannot stand this.

Andromache turns away from the ceremony and stalks off into the darkness. Away from the crowds and the noise and the fire. Away from the empty pyres and the Fae pretending they care about the deaths that occurred.

For the first few steps, her posture remains stiff, her steps fast and firm with anger. But as she walks through the night, her anger seems to dissolve like smoke in the wind. It leaves her feeling cold and alone. Empty. Soon, her vision is blurry with tears and she is stumbling more than walking.

How could everything have gone wrong so quickly? Mere days ago, she was giddy with happiness, drinking to victory and a bright future with the others, but now… Now, Miryam and Drakon and so many others are dead, and she cannot imagine ever speaking to Mor again, much less spending the future together as they planned. Everything she had wanted for her future, blown apart in one terrible day.

She lets herself drop to the ground, not caring if the damp grass stains her dress, rests her head on her knees and cries.

There is a soft rustling in front of her. Andromache is on her feet within moments, hand going for the dagger she has hidden under her dress. She is suddenly acutely aware that she is all alone out here, no guards in sight, and almost unarmed.

“Who’s there?” She calls, slowly drawing her dagger.

No one answers, but there is another rustle. This time, Andromache can place where the noise is coming from. She looks down and finds a falcon sitting on a small rock a few feet away from her, staring at her from amber eyes. Andromache stares back.

Birds usually avoid people. They do not land mere feet away from them, or remain sitting this still. Andromache points her dagger at the bird, trying to shoo it away, but it merely cocks its head to the side and hops a step closer to her. There is something fastened around its neck.

Rationally, Andromache knows that there are several people who could be responsible for this. Miryam wasn’t the only witch in the world, and even discounting people who are able to control animals, there’s always the chance of some Fae or another being able to shapeshift into one to use its form to trick her. Rationally, Andromache knows perfectly well that it is a terrible idea to approach a weird animal with some item fastened around its neck. Unfortunately, that knowledge is overridden completely by the fact that the only person she ever met who had a particular affinity for animals was Miryam, and Miryam favoured falcons. And they didn’t find a body.

Slowly, Andromache steps towards the falcon. It doesn’t make a move to flee, merely looks up at her. Andromache crouches down and reaches for it. If I get ambushed now, that will be entirely on me, she things as she carefully unties the thin bit of rope fastened around its neck.

A small amulet falls into her waiting palm. It appears to be bronze, with a blue stone in the middle. Andromache frowns down at it, then at the falcon who is still watching her.

“And what am I supposed to do now?” She asks.

The bird clicks its beak and hops from one foot to the other. If there is any message hidden in that reaction, Andromache fails to understand it. She turns her attention back on the amulet, turns it around in her fingers. Nothing happens, but she notices that the stone seems slightly loose.

“What are the odds of me getting cursed from this?” She asks softly.

The bird offers no reply, and so Andromache reaches for the stone and turns it around once. There is a flash of light. When it recedes, Andromache is no longer standing on the soft forest floor, but on hard earth. She stumbles forward and might have fallen had there not been a hand ready to steady her.

Slowly, she looks up. Miryam and Drakon are standing in front of her, both very much alive.

----

An hour after the official part of the ceremony has ended, Mor is already drunk. She has foregone the food entirely and instead gone to the drinks directly after the last speech ended, and then proceeded to methodically empty one wine bottle after another.

By now, she is three-quarters through the third bottle and a merciful numbness in beginning to set in. Everything still sucks, but it no longer feels like someone is twisting a knife in her chest. She even manages to look over at Andromache, who looks particularly beautiful and just as furious in her red dress and ignores Mor entirely, without feeling like she is dying. Maybe with a few more bottles, it will stop hurting altogether.

She drains the rest of her bottle and makes for the table with the wine again, slightly unsteady on her feet. Once, she stumbles over her own feet and crashes into one of the other guests. With a mumbled “sorry” she continues on, finally reaching the safe haven of the table. She clings on to it with one hand as she carefully places the empty bottle on the table and reaches for a new one. Bounty in hand, she retreats back into the crowd.

The fires are still burning, and the light stings her eyes. So many fires… So many dead people… Miryam’s face flashes in her mind, the coldness in her eyes as they last spoke. Drakon telling her she went too far. Andromache, who isn’t dead but seems to wish Mor was, telling her she is no better than the rest.

She opens the bottle and goes back to drinking. Halfway through that bottle, the pain dulls to a soft throb and she begins to feel better about herself. Yes, everything is all horrible, but she sort of feels like she is floating, and the fires are very pretty. Like little glittering jewels.

Maybe she should talk to Andromache now. The prospect no longer feels as daunting as it did an hour ago. She will talk to her and tell her… well, she will think of something to tell her.

Mor drains the last of her bottle, letting it drop to the ground, and tries to stand up on her toes to scan the crowd for Andromache. Her sense of balance isn’t entirely up to the task anymore, though, because she begins to sway dangerously and stumbles. She would have fallen had there not been a pair of hands taking her by the shoulders and pushing her upright again.

“Oops,” Mor mutters.

The hands let go of her shoulders but remain nearby, as if waiting to catch her should she fall again. Mor looks around for the owner of the hands, finding a dark-skinned Fae standing in front of her. It takes her a few moments to work through the haze in her mind and place his face, then she smiles slowly.

“Helion. Want some wine?” She wants to offer him her bottle, but then realizes it’s not in her hands anymore. She looks around for it until she remembers that she dropped it earlier. “I’ll get us a new one.” Cauldron, forming words is difficult. Her tongue isn’t cooperating the way it should and the ground seems to have started swaying under her feet. She stumbles and Helion grips her by the shoulder again.

“No, thank you,” he says. “And you should probably switch to water for the rest of the evening, too.”

Mor shakes her head. “Spoilsport,” she mutters but doesn’t resist as Helion starts leading her towards the food.

“’m looking for An…” She stumbles over the name. Frowning with concentration, she tries again. “Andromache.” It comes out almost correctly. “She was very mean to me,” she adds. “Not nice at all. Not fair. Wasn’ my fault.”

Helion raises one eyebrow. “I think she left already,” he says, handing her a plate.

Mor looks down at the steaming food – and bursts out crying. It’s all so terribly sad. The entire world is sad and bad and hopeless, and Andromache hates her, and Miryam and Drakon are dead and it’s all because of her.

“’s my fault,” she mutters, words coming out even more unclearly now. “I was supposed to… to keep them safe and…”

Helion wraps an arm around her shoulders. His arm is very warm and very nice, and it makes more cry even harder.

“It isn’t your fault,” he says. “You couldn’t have known what would happen when you left – no one could have anticipated this.”

Mor buries her face in his jacked, sniffing. “But I said…” she begins. She would have continued the sentence, would have told him about all the horrible things she said as well as she remembers, but her mouth stops cooperating.

“Alright,” Helion says, and Mor feels herself lifted off her feet and picked up. “I’m bringing you to your rooms now, and tomorrow…” Helion hesitates. “Well, I’m sure things will look better tomorrow.”

There is a hint of bitterness in his voice, like he doesn’t believe what he is saying himself, but in her state, Mor doesn’t notice. She only vaguely registers that she is being carried up some stares and gently tucked into bed before she slips off into merciful oblivion.

----

For a few heartbeats, Andromache merely stands frozen in place and stares. A part of her wants to scream at them, shout her fury because how dare they scare her like that? Another part just wants to hug them, somehow convince herself that they are real.

“Andromache,” Miryam whispers and takes a step forward.

That breaks the spell. Andromache darts forward as well and wraps her arm around her neck. Hot tears sting on her cheeks.

“It’s alright,” Miryam whispers. “We’re alright.”

Andromache lets go of her and turns to hug Drakon. The first minutes after that are so hectic that Andromache only barely manages to keep track, the initial happiness giving way to fresh worry quickly. All three of them seem to be talking at once, questions and answers and more questions buzzing through the air. It would have gone far more quickly had they talked it through calmly, but they are all far from calm. Andromache can barely believe what she is hearing – the ocean parted, a battle on the ocean floor. It is a miracle that they all survived.

“Maybe we should go away from the camp for a bit,” Drakon suggests, nodding to the onlookers that have gathered.

“Good idea,” Andromache says, and Miryam, who has been unusually quiet after the initial excitement died down, nods as well.

They find a quiet place a bit away from the camp where the forest meets the ocean, only just within the bounds of the wards. Miryam leans against a tree, staring out at the ocean. Drakon sits down on the trunk of an upturned tree. Andromache remains standing.

“If you want, we can declare war that very day,” she says.

It’s an idea that has been passed back and forth between Nakia and Andromache ever since the news about what Shey did arrived. So far, they’ve always had to decide against it. They lack the military force to be able to successfully fight the Fae, and with so many of theirs newly freed from slavery, they cannot spare the resources. But with Miryam, who has shown herself capable of taking down entire countries by herself and who might be able to gather them support amongst the Fae… They would actually stand a chance.

Miryam doesn’t react at all, though. From the way she keeps staring at the ocean, unmoving, unblinking, Andromache almost thinks she didn’t hear her at all.

Drakon reacts, though. He spins around to her like she slapped him. “What?” He asks, managing to put all the disbelief in the world into the word.

“Declare war,” Andromache repeats. “That is the common reaction to a betrayal like this, isn’t it? Any Fae country on the Continent would do the same thing, so why shouldn’t we?”

“Because the only thing it would accomplish is get thousands of people killed and potentially undo years of work!” Drakon answers with more force than is usual for him. “What could you hope to accomplish?”

“What else could I do?” Andromache shoots back. “We need to react in some way, we can’t just allow them to walk all over us like that. They were willing to kill thousands of us. I wouldn’t expect you to understand – “

“Stop,” Miryam cuts her off, turning in a quick, precise motion away from the ocean. “They were willing to kill Drakon and his soldiers right alongside us – most of the people who actually did die were faeries.”

Andromache deflates slightly. She sighs and turns to Drakon. “Sorry,” she says. “I just…” She shrugs.

“You’re currently in the mood to strangle any Fae you come across?” Drakon suggests. “Understandable. No offence taken.”

Still, Miryam has a point. Maybe Andromache was wrong to draw the lines in this conflict simply as humans against Fae. In reality, the High Fae don’t have much more respect for faeries than for humans. There’s a total of two faerie rulers on the entire Continent, and for all that Shey just proved he didn’t care about killing thousands of humans to get what he wanted, he did the same to the faeries who were involved. Drakon’s status and the protection it should have offered stopped him as little as Miryam’s.

It’s an interesting thought. Isolated, it might be difficult for the humans to fight back, but if they were to work together with the faeries, if they realized that the differences between humans and faeries are far smaller than the ones between faeries and High Fae… An interesting thought indeed.

Unfortunately, Drakon’s thoughts don’t seem to go into that direction.

“War won’t make anything better, though,” he says. “This isn’t like this war where we had a clear, manageable goal: Ending slavery. That was simple. But how do you plan to win a war against the fact that they don’t see humans as equal?” He shakes his head. “Short of killing every one of them, what way is there to resolve this issue through war?”

He looks at Andromache like he expects her to say something. She remains silent. She hadn’t thought this far yet. Of course she doesn’t want to kill all Fae, not in the slightest. She doesn’t even hate them all, she just… How can Shey and the others get away with what they did?

“All a war would accomplish is kill millions of innocents,” Drakon says. “And we’ve already…” He shakes his head and starts over. “This war has already taken things so far. What lines are left that haven’t been crossed yet? And if we take this any further, if we now start a war with our former allies… it will tear this entire continent apart. And it will hardly even matter who wins, because either way, millions of innocent people will die and reconciliation or peace will be made impossible for generations to come.”

Andromache wrinkles her nose, but she is still unable to argue. That was also one of the reasons why Nakia especially argued against the idea of a military solution: To start a war now would mean to risk everything they have won.

“Drakon is right,” Miryam says. “War is not the solution. Too many innocents have already been dragged into this – I won’t allow for any more people to be made into collateral damage by jumping onto Shey’s game of trying to murder each other in the most catastrophic way possible.”

Andromache refrains from saying that this goes far beyond a political powerplay. She doesn’t want to argue with Miryam over something like that.

“The treaty is the best chance for peace we have,” Miryam says. “I won’t let Shey’s actions ruin that. I know circumstances are far from ideal, but we can still make it work.”

Andromache stares at her, not quite believing what she is hearing. After all that happened, how can Miryam still talk of her treaty? How does she not realize that this treaty died the second Shey betrayed them. Andromache wants to take her by the shoulders and shake her until she starts seeing sense. She has to forcefully remind herself that Miryam is likely still in shock from what happened and is desperately clinging to a solution that is no longer possible as a way to cope.

“That’s not happening,” she says as calmly as she can manage. “That treaty relied on mutual trust, and after what happened, I cannot see that coming about anytime soon.”

Miryam and Drakon both look like she slapped them. It actually makes Andromache feel bad for them. Her own stakes in that treaty were always low, she really mostly went along with it because Miryam and Drakon were so very convinced that it was the only way, but for them… She doesn’t want to imagine what it must feel like to watch a thing you believed in and spent years working for fall apart before your eyes.

“And what will you do instead?” Drakon asks.

“We have decided to split up the world. One half to the Fae, the other to the humans and a wall in the middle to keep us safe.”

Drakon frowns. “What kind of wall would that be?” He asks, but Miryam is staring at Andromache, wide-eyed.

“No,” she whispers. “No, Andromache. You cannot do that. Please. It isn’t necessary, there is still another way.”

The desperation on her face stings. Andromache wants nothing more than to give in, if only to wipe that look off her face, but she cannot. Not on this.

“I’m sorry,” she says, more softly this time. “But this is the way it is going to happen. You don’t want war, so I will not start one in your name. But after what happened, there cannot be peace either.”

Miryam shakes her head. Straightens. “Just give me one more chance,” she says. It’s the same tone she always has when she tries to convince people that she can handle a situation she cannot handle. “Let me talk to the Fae. I can still fix this.”

Andromache slowly shakes her head. “Are you out of your mind?” She asks. It is a struggle to keep her voice controlled. “They tried to kill you, Miryam. All of you. What do you think will happen if you go back?”

“This treaty needs to go through!” Miryam retorts. “This is important. It’s more important than… If we are to ever have peace, we need to find a way to live together. You – “

“Miryam stop,” Andromache snaps. Now, she actually does take her by the shoulders and shakes her slightly. “Do you truly want to die over this? Because this is what’s going to happen if you go back. They are going to kill you.”

“They already did,” Miryam mutters.

That throws Andromache off, but only for a moment. Chances are Miryam is just being dramatic, and if she wasn’t… well, then she will have to deal with that later.

“If you go back, you will die, and your death will be completely pointlessly,” she says, “You will not reach your goals, only get yourself killed. Is that truly what you want your life to be? Sixteen years as a slave, two years on the run and seven years of war. Killed at twenty-five in some pointless political struggle.”

Miryam starts to cry. Drakon makes to rise, but Andromache is faster, wrapping her arms around her.

“It doesn’t need to end like this,” she whispers. “You can still live, Miryam. You have won. Don’t just throw your life away like that.”

Miryam steps away from Andromache, already wiping her tears away again. She still looks completely miserable, though, as she lets herself drop onto the trunk next to Drakon.

“But what options do we have?” Drakon asks. He looks no less miserable than Miryam. “If we cannot go back, if we will never be safe after what happened, then what about the people in our camp? They are witnesses as much as we are. Some of these people have homes. Families. We have a home. We can’t just leave that, even if we had a way to vanish hundreds of thousands of people.”

Andromache bites her lip. She didn’t think of that yet. For the humans, she supposes she might be able to hide them amongst the other newly-freed slaves, since Fae never pay much attention to humans, but even then, there would be the problem of word of what Shey did getting around. And there is no hiding the Seraphim at all, not amongst the humans and not anywhere else. Miryam and Drakon alone might hope to hide somewhere, but what would the point be if their people were still left in danger?

She briefly contemplates saying that if they were to go to war, none of that would be a problem. But that would be a very cruel way to push Miryam and Drakon to take her side. Give up your home or agree to a war you know to be wrong is not a particularly fair choice, and certainly not one she should ask of her friends.

“We can’t just vanish,” Drakon continues. “And Andromache, you can’t just split the Continent in two and build a wall in the middle. How would that even work? Do you expect millions of people to get up and leave their countries to march to the other end of the Continent and settle down there? That’s a terrible idea, not to mention that the kind of wall you seem to be thinking of won’t be easy to get.”

Miryam seems distinctly uncomfortable in her skin. Apparently, she never told Drakon about the wall spell. Understandable, Andromache supposes. Until now, none of them ever thought that spell would become relevant.

“Let’s just assume that the wall is happening,” Andromache says. Let Miryam talk that one through with Drakon on her own. “The issue is what we do with you two.”

“No, that’s not the issue!” Miryam replies. “The issue is that this wall is a downright terrible idea and – “

“And not your choice to be made,” Andromache finishes. “The decision was unanimous, Miryam. I’m sorry, but even you cannot change that.”

Neither Miryam nor Drakon argue any further after this. Miryam merely reaches for Drakon’s hand, and then, they are sitting side by side in complete silence.

Andromache feels terrible about herself. The last thing she ever wanted was to hurt them with the solution she came up with, but there seems to be no way around it. She firmly believes that the wall is the only was to guarantee the humans’ safety in the long run, and for that to work out, Miryam, Drakon and their people need to disappear. It means that they will not get the future they wanted, and that Drakon and his people will have to give up their homes, and it is far from fair but Andromache doesn’t see a way around it so she simply stands around and stares down at her feet in shame.

Finally, it is Miryam who breaks the silence. “I think I know somewhere we could go,” she says softly. “Somewhere they would never find us. Where we would be safe.”

----

Tags: @femtopulsed @croissantcitysucks @aileywrites

#second-to-last chapter!!!#the fae are getting exactly what they deserve #i hope you'll like how i'm wrapping everything up #i feel kind of bad abt the way i have things end between mor and andromache (although this chapter isn't the end yet)#but well. canon dictates that their relationship ends and i like it better to have them break up than for them to be tragically seperated -#by the wall #before the wall #miryam #jurian #drakon

20 notes · View notes

thebeautyoffanfics · 3 years

Note

Okay thanks! Then can I request a Shijima Mei with a female reader who starts to see her as an older sister. The reader also draws (but she isn’t as good) so when she saw Shijima’s works she was just in aw.

She is also really bubbly around her and can act a bit childish loving hugs, head pats, and other fluffy stuff! She also go to Shijima when she’s sad and want to vent about life

The reader is alive and also Hanako assistant so they met at the fake world she made and she just stuck with her! (Confused Hanako wondering why reader isn’t like that with him lol)

Thank you! Headcanons please!

(platonic) shijima mei and f!reader

a/n: sure thing!! I haven’t written for her yet (despite my undying love- no pun intended), so let’s hope it turns out alright! You’re so very welcome, and thank you so much for requesting, especially such a cute prompt-!!

warnings: none <3

word count: 1,001

Shijima, at first, is a tad bit confused. After all, she doesn’t typically associate with very many humans. You managed to know the world she created was fake, so she knew it was safe to assume you were close with Yashiro and Kou- but a part of her found you somewhat interesting. Especially when you seemed so enthusiastic to meet her.

Nonetheless, once you returned again and again, she took you under her wing. She even looked forward to your visits, as they always seemed to brighten up her day.

Your cheerful childishness is definitely a reason that she starts to appreciate you as a sister more than just a human. Being alive is one thing, but you somehow just… feel alive? Your grins and giggles warm her heart, and honestly make her want to protect you. The way that you’re childish, especially in how you enjoy such simple acts of affection, brings out some sort of “big sister instincts” in her. Or maybe… you even remind her of the “true” Shijima?

One thing that Shijima also found interesting about you, a reason out of many that she became fond of you, was your interest in art!

While Shijima sees flaws in her own art, when you point out flaws in yours, all she sees are rooms for improvement- not mistakes. As she gives you encouragement and advice for your art, your enthusiasm towards hers makes her smile, even if she doesn’t agree with all of your statements. It really just… warms her heart.

Shijima would feel rather proud of herself should you incorporate her art advice into your art. Every time you bring her a piece, showing it to her with a half-nervous-half-excited grin, she’ll praise you, ruffling your hair affectionately. Should you be especially proud of a piece, she won’t be able to resist hugging you- most likely to your delight. She definitely returns your enthusiasm about your art, often tenfold since you’re bound to criticize your own art.

Offer to give the art to her, and she won’t hesitate to accept, placing it in a spot where she can look at it whenever she so desires.

While she, when upset with her art, grows frustrated and ends up destroying it, Shijima would feel a bit saddened if you did the same. She appreciates the stage that your art is in, and tells you to save it- especially since, as you get older, you’ll be able to look back and see even more improvement.

“It’s an amazing feeling, I’m sure,” she’ll tell you, smiling and trying to remember a point at which she could appreciate improvement in her own artwork. No, she never really got that… but the true Shijima certainly did. This Shijima, the supernatural girl, was sure that she was glad to see those little changes. You had every right and deserved to enjoy that feeling as well.

If you go to Shijima, informing her that something made you feel upset, she’s all ears. Vent as much as you need- raise your voice, cry. Let it all out, because she’s going to actively listen, and most likely get worked up alongside you. Once you finish venting, she’ll offer advice, and comfort you. Hug her as much as you need, as tightly as you need, for as long as you need- she won’t let you go until you’re feeling better.

Even after you’ve calmed down from venting, she usually prefers for you to stay just a tad longer. She’s honestly worried that you’ll leave, then start to think about it and feel sad again. Shijima’s a bit protective over you, and doesn’t want you to feel upset- so, she does anything within her abilities to make you happy/feel better.

She gets so genuinely angry if someone has done you wrong and caused you to need to get it off your chest. If you’re angry about it, she’ll voice her anger as well, eyes narrowing as she tells you that the person that did that is pure garbage.

“I promise you, (Y/N), send that jerk my way. No, no, for real- or send them Number 7’s way. I don’t care if your friend’s an exorcist- tell him to-”

Having someone understand your emotions regardless is nice, and Shijima is glad to be that person. She’s honestly very glad to have you as a little sister figure, and is glad that you consider her as a big sister. Shijima was made to be the more perfect version of the previously living Shijima, so she never personally got to experience family. You gave that joy to her, and she’s so happy that you found her interesting during those fateful events.

(Call her big sister, and she may cry about it later- actually, no, she definitely cries about it later. Then, she’ll proudly refer to you as her little sister. As if treating you like one was where her admiration for you ended!)

Overall, Shijima really is a 10/10 big sister. She cares about you so genuinely, and sees you as a big light in her afterlife. While at once, all she had were her fake worlds and art that never seemed to be good enough, she now had a real person from a real world. You made her feel alive- you gave her a reason to still love the world the original Shijima had been born into. Plus, there’s not a doubt in her mind that, if you met the Shijima Mei who once lived, she’d love you as dearly as the “idealized Shijima”, Number 4 does.

---

“I’m done sweeping!!” You exclaimed, putting the broom up, then turning to Hanako.

“I’m off, bye-bye-”

...

“I just don’t get it, Yashiro. What does Shijima have that I don’t?? She’s my assistant, not hers???? She doesn’t get the opportunity to clean in Shijima’s boundary :(( is that really any fun?? :((( wouldn’t she be bored????? :((((”

Poor Yashiro would sigh, suddenly somehow deemed Hanako’s therapist, while you had the kind Shijima to talk with……

21 notes · View notes

dothwrites · 4 years

Text

spn15 spec, destiel, post 15.18, mcd?? sort of???

---

And when your sorrow is comforted (time soothes all sorrows) you will be content that you have known me. You will always be my friend.--Antoine de-Saint Exupery, The Little Prince

---

Castiel opens his eyes in nothingness.

It’s not dark, though the air which presses around him is thick onyx. There is neither gravity nor weightlessness here. Castiel exists but he does so in a void so barren that he doubts his own mind. He opens his mouth to call out, but no sound escapes.

Castiel exists in ignorance for one, glorious moment. Then the weight of memory crushes into him. His chest buckles underneath the pressure. He tries to scream, but the vast emptiness swallows the sound.

---

“Cas, we can fight this!”

Dean, his Righteous Man, Dean, the shining beacon, his friend...The first real friend he’d ever made. Dean is ready to fight. Dean would fight God, has indeed fought God. But he can’t fight this.

The door shudders in its frame. Blow after blow rains down on the weakening wood. Already, the wood is splintering under the assault. The thin strip of light at the bottom of the door disappears underneath a sea of writhing black. The Empty is here. It wants what it was promised.

“Dean,” he says. He intends to say much more--It’s too late, let me go, thank you--but his voice cracks on the single syllable of Dean’s name.

He wants to stay. God help him, but he wants to stay.

“No, dammit Cas! You don’t get to give up! We can fight this thing, we can keep running, we can...” Dean’s voice trails off into nothing as he looks wildly around the small room.

Though he might protest, Castiel knows that Dean is a man bailing out a sinking ship. In his heart, Dean knows the battle is already lost. But he’s still defiant, still clinging to the faintest shred of hope.

Castiel loves him for that.

“You fought for the whole world.” Castiel’s voice is weak and pale against the ear-shattering thunder of the Empty’s attempts to break into the room.

“Cas, no--”

“But you can’t fight for me.”

The words shatter something vital in him. Castiel gasps as the agony shreds through him. He thought there would be more time. He thought that happiness was an ideal that no one could ever reach. He thought there would be time, he doesn’t want to go, he wants to stay--

“Cas, I can’t...Not again, I can’t lose you again, please don’t go--”

Black seeps into the room, slender tendrils snaking across the room towards where they stand. Castiel feels every second ticking away. He’s lived for millennia, seen worlds and empires rise and fall, felt the passing of centuries like nothing more than a passing breeze. Millions of years, and now, when it means everything, he has no time.

Castiel cups Dean’s cheek with one shaking hand. If this is it, then he doesn’t want to leave with any regrets. “Dean,” he croaks. That word has become his compass, his prayer, the star to which he hitched his wagon.

“I’m so sorry. I don’t want to leave you. If I had a choice, i would stay. I would stay with you through every sunrise and sunset, through every moment, the mundane and extraordinary alike.” Castiel’s voice catches in his throat as the door finally shatters and darkness pours into the room.

“You’ve taught me everything, Dean, and I...I’m so grateful that I got to know you. Without you...”

Castiel can’t continue. He’s immeasurably grateful for all he’s experienced with Dean, but he’s always been greedy. He wants more. He wants to see Dean’s hair continue to silver until it’s soft and grey. He wants to go fishing with Dean and discover the peace inherent in the activity. He wants to watch Jack grow into his own and Sam start a family. He wants, with a fierceness that takes his breath away.

Darkness curls around his ankle and winds its way up his calf.

Dean shakes his head. Tears well in his eyes but refuse to spill over, though his lower lip shakes. “Please,” he asks, tilting his head into Castiel’s palm. “I can’t...how am I supposed to do this without you?”

Castiel starts to respond, but his voice is cut off by the swift, hard press of Dean’s lips into his. His heart jolts and gutters in his chest before it picks up again, beating so hard he thinks it might escape through the confines of his ribs.

“I love you.”

The words tumble out of Castiel’s mouth, the same as they did years ago when he was rotting from in the inside out. The same frantic need consumes him now as it did then, when every beat of his heart dragged him closer to the edge of oblivion, when seconds were more precious than gold, when he was so close to losing everything--

Dean sobs. He clutches the lapels of Castiel’s coat and kisses him, teeth bruising behind his lips.

Castiel’s whole lower body is engulfed in darkness so complete that it feels as though it’s ceased to exist. His whimper is lost in Dean’s mouth.

“No,” Dean gasps, pulling away. Castiel already knows the cause of Dean’s denial. He can feel it, creeping up his chest and shoulders, slithering down to his arms. He remembers how it was to be devoured, remembers the noxious black ooze of the Leviathan crawling through him, but this is worse, is so much worse, because now he knows what Dean’s lips taste like, now he knows everything he has to lose--

“Cas, I love you,” Dean tells him, though his words echo strangely. The Empty crawls up his throat. Castiel chokes on it, but he doesn’t dare to blink. He can’t lose a second of this, of Dean’s face, horrified and tear-stricken though it is.

Seconds tick away like centuries, Dean’s face in front of him. Castiel can’t hear what he’s saying, but he can see the words shaped on his lips.

I’ll find you, I promise, I’m coming for you, Cas, Cas, I love--

And then.

Empty.

---

With the image of Dean’s face in his mind, Castiel screams.

There is no sound in the Empty, but he screams anyway. His agony and loss pour out of him, his grief and fear. Everything that he’s lost, Dean--

Castiel screams until his voice cracks and breaks, until his throat is shredded and raw, until he tastes blood in the back of his throat.

Hollow, he slumps to the side, curling into himself. His one consolation was that he would at least be asleep for the rest of eternity. He wouldn’t have to live with the weight of everything he’d lost. Now, even that slender comfort has been ripped from him. For the rest of time, he’ll have to exist with the memory of Dean’s glassy eyes, with the sound of Dean’s choked voice echoing through his skull, with the phantom ache of Dean’s lips against his. Castiel shudders, sobs ripping out of his throat.

“Jesus. So much for helping.”

Castiel blinks. The sound of another voice is foreign in this void where nothing should exist. He rolls over, looking up at the sardonic face staring down at him.

“Ruby,” he rasps, then remembers himself.

That’s not Ruby.

“Go away,” he mutters. He wraps his arms around his legs, pressing his forehead to his knees. There’s no point in having pride here, not when time is meaningless and every second is a torture. The Empty already knows his secrets, though why it chose Ruby’s form to torment him is a mystery.

“Look feathers, you were the one who screwed the pooch on this whole ‘fixing eternity’ thing. So I think I’m going to stick around for a bit.”

“There’s no point,” Castiel says miserably. “You got what you wanted. I’m here. I’m suffering. What more could you possibly want from me?”

“Were you dropped on your halo? I told you what I wanted the last time you were here. I want out, you moron. I told you to find a way out, and you wound up here, which is kind of the opposite of what I asked.”

Castiel blinks slowly, lifting his forehead from his knees. “Ruby?” he asks.

Ruby rolls her eyes and sighs for dramatic effect. “Yeah, dumbo. You know, I’ve only been trying to tell you that since the beginning.”

“I can’t trust that.” Castiel remembers all too well the last time he was here, the jolt of pleasure at seeing Meg once more only to realize that the Empty was aping her appearance to hurt him. “The Empty, it takes on your visage, your memories--”

“Yeah, you’re just going to have to trust me on this.” Ruby’s eyes flash black. “You know, as much as you can.”

“I’d pay attention to her, Clarence. If you don’t, then she’ll probably kick your ass.”

Castiel knows that voice. He whirls around. Meg’s face greets him, a tiny smirk twisting her lips upward. “Meg,” he whispers, an odd combination of grief and happiness twisting in his chest.

“The one and only,” she assures him.

A small shred of doubt clings at the back of Castiel’s mind, but he has to trust in something right now. Even if it’s two dead demons.

“Castiel. So lovely to see you again. Though I can’t say that I agree with the company you’re keeping these days.”

Make that three dead demons.

“Crowley,” Castiel breathes.

The demon looks exactly the same as he did the day he died. His suit is pristine, down to the pocket square. He looks at Meg and Ruby with disdain before he turns that expression on Castiel. “I suppose you’re doing your biannual visit to this dump? Feel like taking any passengers out with you when you make your escape this time?”

“I’m not...I made a deal,” Castiel whispers. He made a deal to save his son and he’ll never regret that, not for a second, but then he thinks of Dean’s face. “I’m not leaving.”

“Oh, I wouldn’t be so negative, Cassie. You do have a way of wriggling out of the tightest of places.”

Mingled guilt and joy sear through Castiel as he turns around. Balthazar’s familiar face looks at him. Balthazar raises an eyebrow. “No hug?” he asks.

“I don’t understand,” Castiel breathes. Surrounded by ghosts from his past, he feels weak. “None of you should be awake. That’s the whole point of this place. All of us, asleep, forever.”

“That’s the way it should be, but you have a habit of wrecking the natural order.” Castiel winces at Anna’s cool voice. Though there’s no real judgement in her voice, there’s also no real warmth. “It’s been changing here, ever since your last visit.”

“I woke it up.”

“And because you woke it up, we all started to awake as well.” Hannah’s calm voice joins their small group, though it’s growing steadily larger. “All of us, demons and angels, started awaking. At first, it was just for moments, but lately, it’s been distracted. More of us have been able to stay awake for longer. Eventually we started finding each other.”

“That’s my boy,” Meg says, unmistakable fondness in her voice. “Shaking up the natural order, wrecking the whole of the afterlife.”

Castiel’s eyes dart between all of them, former enemies, allies, and friends. “Is this all of you?”

“Were you not listening? Did they not just tell you that we’ve all been waking up, at least a little bit?”

Gabriel pops into existence next to Castiel. Despite himself, Castiel jerks back in surprise.

“So, what’s it going to be, Cas? Are you going to just pop out of here like always?” Crowley brings Castiel’s brain back to the present.

When he made his deal, he made it with full awareness that there was no coming back. He accepted that burden because he knew it was the only way he could save Jack.

But that was before he felt Dean’s lips against his, before he heard the words fall from Dean’s mouth. I love you.

When he made the deal, he had never heard those words directed at him. When he made the deal, he had nothing to fight for.

Now he does.

He made a choice long ago. You don’t have to be ruled by Fate. You can choose freedom.

Castiel looks at all of them, demons and angels alike, and makes a choice.

“We’ve got work to do.”

311 notes · View notes

peaches-writes · 4 years

Text

how to appease your asian aunties ch. 3 - spring break

* icym: this was prev. a guide to social gatherings but i changed the title bc i still think i’m funny that way

description: in the immortal words of blood-related aunts and aunts you’re not even related to but forced to call your aunt at reunion parties, “do you have a boyfriend?” member: jisung / han genre: fluff, fake dating au, implied rich kids au, eventual childhood / best friends to lovers au, college au, implied fem reader (but i still used they/them pronouns) word count: 5.4k chapter warning: food, a conversation calling out toxic asian family culture oops note: i’m not confident with this one bc i had to re-write this two times (?) with diff. plot directions + srsly idk what happened here what was the point am i ok + i didn’t post this accidentally this time !!!!

ch. 1 // ch. 2 // series masterlist

After seeing you and Jisung interact during your trip to the mall, your mom has started loving this new idea of you dating one of her close friends’ sons so much that she has not-so-discreetly started conspiring with Mrs. Han in order to see the two of you together as much as possible. From invitations for snacks and drinks at one’s house every day after school to whole-day activities on the weekends (usually to the mall or the cinema), it didn’t take long before you and your own best friend put two and two together and conclude that your respective moms have somewhat developed an auntie type of obsession over your fake relationship.

This idea that your moms would love you and Jisung together so much to this extent initially flew past your head when you started this fake relationship last Christmas. You were only thinking of casually fake dating your best friend, after all; such arrangement ideally confined only in social gatherings where invasive relatives and family friends ask about your love life endlessly. You genuinely did not expect that that Jisung would start tagging along to you and your parents’ Sunday movie dates and side with your dad every time you disagree on your selected movie’s ending; or that you would not be parting ways with Jisung after school anymore when you reach your house and he has to drive another block to get to his.

But for the most part, you’ve decided as the weeks fly by with this new added twist in your everyday, it’s fun and, even at times, cute. Though Mrs. Han dotes on you more now, like you’re her own child, and your mom is starting to be more talkative around Jisung since they now have you to talk about, you still get to eat snacks either your mom or Mrs. Han made, hog the extraordinarily fast wifi at Jisung’s house, and get free movie tickets and shopping bags from when you’re going out with the other’s family on the weekends. Plus, it’s made your workaholic mom come home earlier just to see you and Jisung lounging in your living room and Mrs. Han’s worries lessen now that Jisung’s busy with something else that isn’t academics or whatever it is he does with his Bumble and Tinder apps.

At times, it’s tiring having to hang out with your best friend under the guise of a couple, especially when you didn’t really plan for it to be this way, but you can’t deny that there are perks to it.

So, you wait more patiently for Jisung every day after your classes now even when he usually takes a lot of detours to see his friends before driving over to you on the other side of campus. You still hang out with your friends, Ryujin and Chaeryeong, after classes, of course, but you part ways with them just a little bit earlier now to anticipate Jisung’s Convertible pulling up in front of your building and unnecessarily yelling at you to get in even when he’s the one awfully late.

Because if you were to choose between your other best friends and a free expensive snacks, you’d always choose the latter without fail.

“You know,” Chaeryeong comments next to you on this particular Friday, stretching her legs down to the steps below you three while you scroll through your phone and Ryujin naps on your shoulder with her earphones still plugged in. “if I didn’t know that you’re ditching us earlier for free fake dating food, I would’ve thought that you and squirrel boy were seriously dating.”

“You always think we’re dating either way.” You roll your eyes, not even sparing a glance at the smug grin on her features. “Anyway, aren’t you happy we’re ‘dating’ now? It’s what you’ve always hoped for but, you know, fake.”

Only then do you turn to Chaeryeong over your shoulder, also scrolling through her social media on her phone. She meets your gaze after with a scrunched up nose and furrowed eyebrows. “Hm,” She pretends to contemplate, placing her index finger up to her chin. “I don’t know. I think I’ll have to wait until someone caves and you actually develop feelings for each other—like in books!”

“Seriously?” You deadpan with pursed lips, only making her laugh. “Of all things you could bring up.”

Chaeryeong shrugs in response with a knowing smile, chuckling when your expression doesn’t change. “You never know!” She replies in her defense, laughing all the way. “You did say after break that you’re just going to fake date if there’s an event but it’s Spring Break tomorrow already and you’ve been fake dating every day since classes started again.”

“Sounds like a romantic trope to me.” She comments last teasingly before you can even interject, swiftly dodging your hand when you reach up to try and smack her. Literature majors, really.

“For one, I don’t want to date Jisung, I’ve seen enough of him my whole life for that and I don’t think I’m in the mood to date in general. And besides, we’re only a ‘couple’ at home when someone’s mom is watching.” You counter as you retract your free hand back to your side, alternating your gaze between her and your other hand with your phone. Jisung’s last message is that of him informing you that he’s making a quick stop at the International Relations department today to hand Hyunjin his books ten minutes ago. Knowing him, if he didn’t get lost or got distracted by a kiosk selling coffee, he’s probably on his way now. “And you know I love free stuff, it just happens to come only if I hang out with Jisung these days.”

“So what happens when you ‘break up’? And I don’t mean the cute perks from the aunties.” Chaeryeong asks next, leaning back on her propped elbows now that the stairs going up to your college building have started to cool down from being exposed to the sun the entire day. “I mean, it’s back to normal for us as your friends—I do miss not having to remind my parents that you’re a couple now—but your moms are going to think it’s weird that you suddenly broke up and went back to being friends like nothing happened.”

“I already told you and everyone else, we’ll think about that when it happens.” You shrug both at her and the nagging thought in your mind that she has a point.

“And when exactly will that happen?” She prods on, smiling smugly at knowing that you and Jisung never talked about this certain part of your current predicament clearly. “‘Dating until everyone doesn’t think of Jisung as a fuckboy or when aunties stop offering blind dates’ sounds vague to me.”

You see Chaeryeong’s smile grow bigger when you don’t answer immediately, accidentally letting time pass until Jisung’s gray Convertible pulls up steps below you with an obnoxious honk.

“Y/N, my mom bought gelato today!” Jisung yells at you from his roofless car, his radio blasting Bermuda Triangle at an embarrassingly loud volume. “Let’s go!”

You then quickly shake Ryujin awake in response, gently moving her to Chaeryeong’s legs when her eyes open, before standing up and waving goodbye at your two friends. “Like I said, I’ll let you know when it happens.” You hurriedly conclude your conversation with Chaeryeong with a triumphant smile, making her roll her eyes. “See you after the break!”

Chaeryeong only shakes her head in disbelief, easily letting you go from her interrogation with a wave goodbye. “You be careful now, hm? Have fun with your ice cream, then!”

You chuckle as you run down the stairs, waving your hand up for her as you move away without sparing a last glance. “Don’t worry, I’ll take pictures!” At this, you open the front passenger seat to Jisung’s car and smoothly slide in, haphazardly discarding your backpack next to his at the back before closing the door next to you. “Hey, ugly. Glad you didn’t get lost on campus.”

“Speak for yourself, ugly.” Jisung teases back, shifting the car’s gear back to ‘Drive.’ “How was your day? You three look so bored out of your mind there.”

"Better now that we’re going to eat ice cream at home.” You put your seatbelt on as Jisung now drives the car home, reaching over to the radio in between the two of you after and lowering the volume. “Classes were tiring as usual. What flavors did auntie get, by the way?”

Jisung almost makes the wrong turn with your choice of words, quickly gathering his thoughts and shaking his head. “Fu—u-um, Ferrero, strawberry, and mint choco, that’s what she texted me.” He shrugs, making the correct turn to the nearest campus gate this time.

From the corner of his eyes, you nod with a hum as you sink back in your seat, completely missing the way you unconsciously caught him off-guard even with the screech of the car tires. “Oh, cool—no pun intended there.” You chuckle to yourself, leaning to the opposite side now to watch the college buildings pass by. “We’re watching The Conjuring 2, right?”

“Yeah.” Jisung scoffs, brushing off what remains of his sudden nervous feeling with the comment. “Tch, cool.”

Like every Wednesday and Friday that Mrs. Han prepares you after school snacks and drinks, you and Jisung go through tubs of ice cream and tumblers of water while a horror film is projected on the television of the Han’s ground floor living room. Mrs. Han, who has her office day off on Fridays, would occasionally drop by and either ask if the two of you need anything or comment on her distaste for horror under her breath.

“Oh, oh, dear.” She clutches her pearls dramatically, much like her son would, as she passes by for the sixth time to go to the kitchen and catches another glimpse of The Conjuring in the process. She then turns to you and Jisung after to calm her nerves, catching you still sprawled across the sofa with your legs lazily piled on top of Jisung’s.

Of course she’s seen you in the same position before in the few times you came over as one of Jisung’s friends but the sight now seems different under the guise that you and her son are a couple. Typical mom.

“Hi, auntie!” You greet her when you catch her from the corner of your eye also for the sixth time, waving your empty spoon in greeting with one hand while the other blindly reaches for Jisung’s laptop on the coffee table to pause the movie. Jisung hides his face under a throw pillow at this, already having enough of his mom snooping around for today and you giving her the time of day. Since when did you get comfy with his mom, anyway? “Do you need anything?”

Mrs. Han immediately shakes her head with a dismissive wave and smile. “Ah, nothing, I was just checking up on you two!” She clarifies again. “Do you need anything? Extra pillows? More water?”

You shake your head politely, holding up the water tumblers on your other side reassuringly. “We’re good but thank you!”

At this, Mrs. Han clasps her hands together in satisfaction. “Alright, if you need anything, I’ll be in the kitchen, then!” She concludes, taking a step back from the door frame. “You’re staying for dinner, right, Y/N?”

You glance over at Jisung, prying the throw pillow away from his face enough to see him shaking his head and making you feign a teasing frown for his mom. “You don’t want me to stay over dinner, babe?” You taunt with a smile, chuckling when he pushes the pillow back onto his face. Turning to Mrs. Han, you add, “I think Sung doesn’t want me staying for dinner, auntie, but I’ll gladly stay over if you want me to; anyway, my parents are coming home late today.”

“What? Oh, he’s just being shy!” Mrs. Han dismisses with another wave of her hand. “Please do stay for dinner. I’ll text your mom for you too.”

“Alright, if you say so.” You nod, giving her your sweetest smile now. “Thank you so much!”

With that, Mrs. Han then bids you goodbye and proceeds to the kitchen. When the sound of her stilettos fades outside the living room, Jisung removes the throw pillow in front of his face with a groan, scooting closer to you until his shoulders bumped into yours. “My mom, seriously.” He then smacks you on the shoulder with the throw pillow as you press ‘play’ on his laptop again. “Ya, are you seriously dining with us tonight?”

You kick his legs under yours in response. “I think it’s cute, it’s not like she caught us doing something weird.” You shrug in his mom’s defense. “And yes, I’m staying over because your mom is clearly cooking tonight and I can’t say no to an offer and free food.”

“I’ll have to get back at you when we’re back at your house on Monday.” He counters back, shamelessly dipping his spoon on the mint chocolate ice cream in your hands. As he bites on the small chocolate drops on the ice cream, a thought then crosses his mind and he asks, “Wait, are we still hanging out on Spring Break?”

You turn to him, swatting his hand belatedly before taking a big chunk of his strawberry ice cream. “I don’t know, my mom hasn’t mentioned anything and I don’t think my parents have any plans of going on vacation this break.” You answer truthfully before eating the spoonful of ice cream. “What about auntie?”

“Nothing from her too.” He shakes his head. “Though we’re definitely going on vacation this Break—my dad really wants to check out the new Jeju hotel.”

“When are you coming home?”

“Friday night, I think? We leave on Sunday.” He answers, taking a sip of water now that the taste of ice cream is now making his mouth feel sticky. He takes note of how you used the same word again, recovering quicker this time before he could even choke. “So we’re definitely not hanging out on those days.”

You hum against another spoonful of ice cream, this time from the Ferrero ice cream in the small gap between the two of you. “I mean, it’d be nice to be away from you for once—we’ve literally been joined to the hip after classes and most weekends since the New Year—but that would mean no free food which would be a shame; I really like your mom’s cooking.”

“Ouch, I didn’t know you don’t like spending more time with me just for me.” He clutches his chest dramatically, hugging the throw pillow again. “I thought you’d like this since I was away for a year.”

“We barely hung out before you even left.” You chuckle in amusement, grabbing the pillow from him again and this time lazily discarding it to the other end of the sofa. “I already thought you’re annoying the rare times we hung out before. Now, you’re just the bane of my existence.”

Next to you, Jisung laughs along belatedly, holding his ice cream tub away when you try and take another spoonful of strawberry from him. “Yeah but I’m the bane of your existence that you’re ‘dating’ in front of the aunties for free stuff and them leaving you alone.” He points out, giving in to you after when you almost topple over the Ferrero ice cream and handing you his strawberry ice cream. “So you can’t really complain.”

You roll your eyes as you exchange tubs of ice cream. In front of you, a jump scare goes unnoticed as you pay more attention to Jisung anticipating what your next words would be. “I’m grateful,” You clarify in a mumble as you chew on the ice cream. “But you’re still annoying as hell.”

“Not like you’re any better.” He rolls his eyes with another playful laugh, shifting in his seat. “Yeah, I think we shouldn’t hang out on Spring Break: we’re going to ‘break up’ if we keep meeting too much at this point.”

This time, it’s you who gets another thought at this comment. Shifting in your seat as well so you’re now facing Jisung, you ask in a change of topic, “Right, I meant to ask: when exactly are we ‘breaking up’?” You raise an eyebrow at him when his eyes widen in confusion. “It’s just that Chaeryeong and I were talking about it a while back and it had me thinking.”

“Hm? I thought we’ll do it a little after Chan and Miyoung’s wedding.” He shrugs nonchalantly. “There aren’t many events after that and I’m sure the aunties won’t bother you for a while since you’ll start working.”

“And if they do?” You ask back curiously. “Starting work at your own parents’ company while going through a ‘break-up’ doesn’t exactly guarantee a free pass from blind dates—remember the last time Yeji had a relationship the aunties knew about?”

“Right, that was quite chaotic.” Jisung replies, keeping his spoon in his mouth now instead of eating more ice cream as the unexpected question actually catches him off-guard. “But, I don’t know. I guess we can keep going a little longer after the wedding, until the aunties have someone else to bother or, you know—if you end up liking someone else.”

You then catch Jisung’s eyes light up at this idea and you hear him quickly add, “Hey, how about that?” He then removes the spoon from his mouth, placing his ice cream down in between the two of you. “You don’t have to worry about your elders and we don’t have to fake date anymore.”

“Actual dating?” You furrow your eyebrows. Jisung nods at this. “You know how I feel about that. I don’t think I want that for myself right now given the changes that are going to happen after we graduate.” You wave your hands around now, setting your ice cream and spoon down before sinking back in your seat. “And I especially don’t want that just for the sake of getting people to mind their own business; it’d be like giving in to the pressure in a way.”

You glance over at Jisung to see him nodding thoughtfully now, an unfamiliar look crossing his features before he meets your gaze and comments, “Okay, that’s fair—but we both know it’d be too troublesome to fake date for a long time.” He then sighs, sinking into his own spot and leveling with your gaze.

Suddenly, you feel a shift in the air around you as Jisung sets his ice cream down on his other side. “Aish, don’t you just wish you can talk back to older people?”

“Yeah.” You nod in agreement this time, pursing your lips. The air suddenly felt sincere now, a bit comical since the people keep screaming on the television in front of you but, for some reason, you don’t feel like laughing because Jisung isn’t despite obviously having the same thoughts. “I mean, we all know that the talks about dating and career and everything else are often in good-nature but a lot of times they’re just invasive and a bit rude.”

When Jisung doesn’t reply as quickly, you nudge his shoulder and add, “I especially think of the time you told some of the parents during Yeji’s birthday about your plans to study in Malaysia and how negatively they received it because they think you won’t graduate on time and that you should just finish college quickly and work.” Jisung’s eyes widen in surprise this time. “They don’t know how hard you work in your studies or how you really wanted to go abroad and explore and I really wanted to scold them for it.”

“Y-You still remember that?” He asks in disbelief, earning him a casual nod from you.

“Of course,” You confirm, your free hand unconsciously balling into fists on your lap at the memory. “I’ve never wanted to yell at my mom’s friends until that point even when you tried laughing it off so I’m glad you proved them wrong when you came back during Christmas and impressed them when they asked about it again.”

You see Jisung chuckle under his breath shyly, tearing his gaze at you for a moment. “You mentioned that night that you were annoyed. I never knew you were this annoyed.” He muses out loud. “Thanks.”

“Thinking about it now, I feel a bit bad,” You point out after, heaving a frustrated sigh. “You’re keeping up with fake dating me even though it just started as a little joke last Christmas to protect me in a way but I couldn’t stand up to you two years ago.”

Looking up at Jisung, he grins at you reassuringly and shakes his head, effectively easing the atmosphere back into being more lighthearted. “No, it’s okay.” He dismisses your frown. “Just knowing what you really thought then is fine already.”

“And,” He shifts in his seat after, transferring the tubs of ice cream in between the two of you now to his other side so he can scoot closer. “I get free food every other day from your mom because we’re ‘dating’ so it’s nothing, really.”

You scoff when he breaks out into laughter. “Right, of course.” You deadpan before breaking out into genuine laughs yourself. “What was I even thinking, talking about sincere things with you?”

The two of you laugh for a while, even more when Jisung pretends to complain that you just 'wasted’ the last act of the movie talking about ‘mushy stuff.’

“Stop complaining, dummy,” You smack his elbow, sitting up properly now as the credits begin to roll. “you entertained my rants instead of stopping me so it’s your fault too.”

“Because you brought up something of mine from two years ago!” He protests before moving away to gather all your scattered snacks to the coffee table, laughing in disbelief all throughout. “I had to respond or it’d be rude!”

You only roll your eyes at him, making the two of you laugh even harder. You then lean back on the sofa, stretching your hands above your head and removing your legs off of Jisung while he disconnects his laptop from the television and closes both electronic gadgets.

Turning to you, after, you see his laughs turn into a small sincere smile once again. “But seriously,” He says, glancing back at you from his shoulder. “Thanks.”

“For?” You prod him teasingly, earning you a groan of frustration from him.

“For almost getting mad at the elders?” He jokes back with a raised eyebrow before going back to being sincere again. “Nah, for being understanding with me and my choices.”

“Of course,” You reply casually. “even if we joke around a lot, you’re one of my best friends—well, as if I had a choice in that, you know me too well and too long.”

“Way to ruin the moment.” He frowns at you in feigned disappointment, making you chuckle, until another thought crosses his mind. “And, Y/N?”

“Hm?” You look up expectantly at him.

“We have to break up some time after the wedding but I’ll still try and protect you,” He clears his throat awkwardly. “from the ‘rude’ and ‘invasive’ comments after, I mean. You should do whatever you want to do freely and date seriously when you want, not when older people pressure you into it.”

At this, your gaze softens at him visibly, even more when he doesn’t make other hints that he’s joking. “Thank you.” You mumble, just loud enough for only him to hear when you see Mrs. Han pass by the hallway again. “You should too, you know, do whatever you want and date whenever you want to.”

Jisung opens his mouth to speak but, behind him, you catch a glimpse of Mrs. Han suddenly returning to the hallway and stopping by the living room entrance again, waving at you and unintentionally cutting her son off. “Y/N, Sungie, dinner’s ready!” She informs you before Jisung could even get a single syllable out, making him purse his lips in annoyance with his face hidden from his own mom’s view. “Y/N, I already texted your mom, by the way, and she said it’s fine that you stay over for dinner.”

You turn to the side and nod at Mrs. Han, chuckling when you see Jisung hiding his hands on his lap and exaggeratedly curling his fingers up in frustration. “Thank you, auntie! We’ll be right there!” You assure her, smiling up at her until she disappears back to the opposite direction of the kitchen.

Turning back to Jisung, you swat his finger tips back into relaxing with a laugh. “Guess we have to go back to adhering to the system and fake dating for now, though.” You conclude with a giggle, standing up from the sofa and fixing your clothes. “What were you going to say before your mom barged in?”

After a moment of silent contemplating, Jisung ends up shaking his head and following you, gathering the tubs of ice cream in his hands. “It was nothing.”

“Really?” You ask, elbowing him gently before picking up your water tumblers from the sofa. “Come on, tell me.”

“It’s nothing, seriously.” Jisung assures you with a laugh, walking ahead of you out of the living room and turning around to see you catch up. “Come on, leech, dinner time.”

You bump his shoulder with a laugh when you manage to catch up with him, “Shut up, you’re also a leech.”

“But not on this day, you’re in my house.” He corrects.

Dinner with the Hans regrettably passes too soon even with all of Mrs. Han’s questions on your school life and post-college plans; and Mr. Han bringing up embarrassing and, at times, even exaggerated stories from when you and Jisung were children. When Mr. Han is suddenly forced to retreat back into his home office to attend to a minor emergency (hastily bidding you and Jisung goodnight) and Mrs. Han managed to win in your argument over you helping her and the house helpers to do the dishes, the old grandfather clock at the house entrance strikes quarter to 9 PM which prompts Jisung to offer you company in walking back home.

“Yes, how thoughtful of you, Sungie! Do walk Y/N home!” His mom comments with a proud grin as she shoos you out of the kitchen. “I’ll see you after Spring Break, Y/N, okay?”

You nod, giving her one last side hug, careful of the dish washing liquid bubbling up on her pink gloves. “Have fun on your trip to Jeju, auntie!”

“I’d ask you to come along if it didn’t turn out so last minute, I did mention it on New Year” She jokes, much to Jisung’s horrified face. “Oh, Sungie, what’s that look for? Don’t you want Y/N to go on a trip with us next time?”

You giggle nervously, pulling away from the hug after and taking a step back to Jisung’s side. “Maybe next time, auntie? I have lots of deadlines this break, anyway.”

“Ya!” Jisung hisses at you discreetly, pouting again that you’re entertaining his mom’s antics. You only elbow him in response.

In front of you, Mrs. Han seriously contemplates on the idea before waving her drier glove. “Yes, it is quite last-minute right now since we leave on Monday.” She smiles fondly. “Next time, it is, then!”

“Okay, that’s enough planning for a future trip!” Jisung quickly interjects before you can humor his mom longer, placing an arm over your shoulder and turning you around to face the open door leading outside. “It’s getting late and I have to walk back here on my own after!”

You wave back at Mrs. Han, laughing when she rolls her eyes at her son before bidding you one last goodnight. “Goodnight, auntie!”

With that, Jisung gently pushes you into a run out of his house, haphazardly closing the door behind him and directing you across the front lawn, to their gates, then, finally, to the dimly-lit streets of your subdivision. You’re only pulled to a stop when Jisung almost pushes you to a car parked on the house across his, making you laugh.

“Ya, we didn’t have to run out so fast!” You protest, clutching your stomach with one hand while the other hits his side. “My stomach hurts.”

“You keep entertaining my mom’s ideas!” He playfully whines back in between tired pants, catching his breath quickly before throwing an arm over your shoulder. “If you’ll keep going like this, you might actually become best friends!”

You scoff, keeping his arm on your shoulder anyway as the two of you now walk to the direction of your house. “Watch your words, Han Jisung, or it might actually happen.” You warn him teasingly, adjusting your backpack on your shoulder. “Besides, I was just doing what you were doing on New Year—how did you call it?—’earning points.’”

“I also told you then that my mom already likes you so much,” He pouts, easily pulling you flush against him when a lone car passes by. Instinctively, he then moves you to his other side so he’s walking closer to the road. “You’re just going to be more annoying at this point.”

“Well, I like your mom, too, so I’m going to be extra annoying from now on,” You grin mischievously. “maybe until we ‘break up’ then everything’s going to be awkward for a while.”

Glancing over at Jisung from your side, you see him genuinely frown momentarily before sighing in feigned defeat. “Fine, do whatever you want.”

You want to ask him about the sudden frown but you end up shrugging it off as you cross the street to get to the right turn at the intersection. With the new direction you’re walking into, Jisung shifts you to his other side again.

“You know, it’s not like some car’s going to crash into us,” You move to his other side anyway and swiftly dodging another offer of him slinging his arm over your shoulder. “We’re inside the village? Where the speed limit is 20 kph?”

Jisung scoffs, dropping his arm back to his side “Your house is on your side of the street, dumbass, that’s why I moved you there.” And, as if on cue, you see your own house slowly coming into view among the towering gates and trees. “That little heart-to-heart talk we had must be getting to you, huh?”

“As if.” You elbow his side in retaliation, your backpack hitting his back slightly in the process which only fuels his teasing more.

“Aren’t you glad I’m here to walk you home?” He asks with a grin, just as you reach your gates. “Imagine if you got lost when we’re literally a block apart.”

“I hope the dog next door escapes and chases you back home,” You groan, walking a few steps ahead to open the smaller entrance on your gate with your key.

Behind you, Jisung only laughs, unfazed, before walking over to your side again and extending his arms out for a hug. “Okay, sorry,” He grins halfheartedly. “Come here, goodbye hug.”

You raise an eyebrow at him, swinging your gate open with one hand and stepping one foot on the other side. “What do you mean? My mom’s inside.”

“Yeah, but I haven’t hugged you alone in a while.” He points out while tilting his head sideways, earning him a genuine look of confusion from you.

“Ya, it’s not like we don’t hug platonically before all this.” He adds with a shaky snicker before pouting. “I’m going to get s—”

“Okay, fine.” You scoff with a small smile, stepping outside again to hug him. “Look who’s getting all mushy now.”

“Yeah, yeah,” He shakes his head against your neck, reluctantly pulling away from you after a while. Rubbing the nape of his neck bashfully, he adds, “It’s just that—everything’s been a bit different now since I got home.”

“It’s mostly your fault—”

“—I know and I don’t regret it,” He interjects quickly, wiping the smug smile of your face. “since I’m doing it to get you away from creepy guys but it’s just us now and I sort of...miss being casual.”

Your frown tugs upwards into a sincere smile as you lean back against the gates. “We are casual. It’s just that people are looking now.”

“Can we hang out sometime?” He suggests with hopeful eyes. “just us, like old times.”

“You call it old times like it wasn’t just two years ago,” You point out, chuckling now. “But—sure.”

Jisung nods with a big grin now, excitedly shifting his weight on his feet. “So, see you after the Break?”

“Buy me something nice from Jeju then we can talk.” You conclude, stepping inside now completely. “Night, Sungie.”

“Hm, goodnight.”

When you accompany one of the Han’s family drivers to fetch Jisung and his parents at Incheon International Airport exactly a week later, you only expected to see the box of imported chocolate snacks Jisung promised to buy you as the only unfamiliar thing that you’ll see, maybe even an entirely new carrier with Mrs. Han’s vacation haul if she did actually spent more time shopping than working.

What you genuinely did not expect, upon finally spotting your best friend and his parents waiting for you at crowded Seattle’s Best, is him holding more than just your box of chocolates.

“Hey?” You wave at Jisung in confusion as you stop right in front of him. To your right, you catch a glimpse of the family driver, Mr. Yoo, greeting Mr. and Mrs. Han on the next table before obligingly taking their luggage cart. “Who’s this little angel?”

Only then do you notice the two other unfamiliar people with Jisung’s parents, eyeing you curiously and whispering to Mrs. Han, probably to ask who you are.

Jisung waves his hand at you once before transferring the same hand over the nape of his neck, “Y-Yeah, um, this is—”

But before he could even finish and maybe even explain, the little girl on his lap shifts in her place and jumps to stand in front of you. “Hello!” She grins sweetly in slightly broken Korean, waving one hand at you while the other clutches Jisung’s bear plushie. “I’m Kitty!”

“Oh, hi, Kitty!” You bend your knees slightly to level with her gaze hidden behind round eyeglasses, briefly sparing a glance at Jisung after and raising an eyebrow at him before smiling again at the little girl. “I’m Y/N, it’s nice to meet you!”

“It’s nice to...m-meet you!” She politely returns the gesture, hugging Jisung’s bear plushie shyly after and making your heart skip a beat. “Will you also live with us?”

“At home?” Your furrow your eyebrows deeply now, standing up properly and turning to Jisung who you then belatedly notice has stood up as well and slung his backpack and Kitty’s over his shoulder. “Sung?”

Jisung stands next to Kitty and places a hand behind her back, clearing his throat awkwardly. “Kitty’s going to live with us for a while.”

ch. 4 // series masterlist

tags: @t-toodumbtocare @sandaigdigan-reads @pwarkhans @ruellelix @malai-barfi @mahalau @milkywayfelix @qweens-stuff @tenclouds @crscendoforsung @verobibble

118 notes · View notes

rainbowpacifiers · 3 years

Text

Twin Kingdoms (A3! Event story) - Epilogue: The Inheritance of G

Sorry for the delay! Reni talks A LOT. Some minor development concerning Hakkaku’s plans for the final play. Kindly excuse any potential mistakes!

Chapter 10 | Index

Reni: Thank you for taking the trouble to come. Board member A: Good work. It was the sprouting of a new GOD Troupe. Board member B: Both Asuka-kun and Takato-kun did great as well. They grew into fine actors. Board member A: Speaking of, Takato-kun no longer belongs to the GOD Troupe? Reni: That is correct. Currently, he's active as a member of the reborn MANKAI Company. Reni: If you would like, I want to introduce you to MANKAI Company's general director, who is in the back right now--. Board member A: I'm sorry, but we actually have a meeting. We will have to leave right away. Reni: Is that so?.... I will send you an invitation to MANKAI Company's next play, then. Board member A: Thank you. Board member B: It would have been nice if Amadate-san had been able to come as well, right? Being a theatre junkie too, he loves collaboration plays like this. Board member A: It appears he's in the middle of a business trip in the countryside, so there was no way around it. Reni: I see.... Board member A: We will be taking our leave, then. Reni: Take care on your way. Reni: (That leaves Syu--) Reni: (He left? I keep telling him to let me say hello, at least. Good grief.)

Izumi: That's a very lavish closing party. Azami: Are the ones here all staff members of the GOD Troupe? Tasuku: Yeah. The closing parties are always like this. Tsuzuru: What an incredible difference to ours. Haruto: Normally, we don't do such flashy things, but it's GOD Troupe's style to go all out when it's to reward the staff and actors. Azami: I want that yakuza to hear this, too. Tasuku: Feels like he'd only consider it after we earn as much as the GOD Troupe does. Azami: Urg. You're right, he totally would. Shift: Azami, the food is really awesome, so you'd better eat a lot. I always take some home in Tupperware. Haruto: You're the top actor; don't do something so miserly! Tsuzuru: Speaking of, there is so much food, I don't even know what to choose from... Izumi: Why don't we try a bit of each for now? Madoka: Hello, Minagi-san. Tsuzuru: Oh, Madoka, hey. Madoka: I wanted to say once more how nice it was to have been able to work alongside you. Thank you. Tsuzuru: The pleasure was mine. I learned a lot, and it was very stimulating. Tsuzuru: Thanks to working with you, I wondered if that was what it is like to have a conversation through a brush. Tsuzuru: For the first time, I experienced the feeling of exchanging ideas and feelings beyond speaking in words. Izumi: (Seems like this was even greater of an experience for Tsuzuru-kun than expected.) Tsuzuru: ....That reminds me. Director, there is something I would like to talk to you about. Tsuzuru: About the play that Hakkaku-san was envisioning - how do you feel about having his grandson help with the script? Tsuzuru: While working on the script with him this time, there were of course his skills, but it was also really easy do to. Tsuzuru: On top of the written interaction between Hakkaku-san and Madoka that would be born, I think it'd make Hakkaku-san happy that Madoka is writing for it. Izumi: Indeed, that might be a pretty good idea. Tsuzuru: Well, it all depends on Madoka, though. Madoka: --Of course, please let me do it. Madoka: If I could experience the ideas of the grandfather that I respected and work on writing a script for my brother, it would make me very happy, too. Tsuzuru: Great. Izumi: (Looks like Tsuzuru-kun was able to become friends with someone great to consult with. He did say that he didn't yet have the confidence to put what Hakkaku-san entrusted us with into shape.) Izumi: (But I'm sure it will work out with such a reassuring colleague like Madoka by his side.)

Host: The next number is--number 25! If you have a bingo, please come up! Shift: So, Haruto-san? Got one? Haruto: Not at all. Shift: Oh, you're one number away! If a 23 or 67 is called-- Haruto: I've never managed to get a win before, so it'll be a bust anyway. Shift: Eh, as I thought, you usually don't win at this stuff, hm? Tasuku: I've received stuff like a TV and a microwave. Shift: Seriously!? Haruto: You-...you usually play dirty. Also, stop showing off yer muscles by only wearin' short sleeves in the practice room! Izumi: Showing off muscles.... Tasuku: Haruto really is a pain when he's drunk... Izumi: And he's the type whose dialect slips out when he gets drunk, isn't he? Tasuku: He also gave me his real name, Yamada Genta, himself while he was intoxicated. Host: The next number is--23! Shift: Oh, Haruto-san, Bingo! Haruto: Huh? Shift: You've got a Bingo! Go up front! Haruto: Really...? Reni: Congratulations. Here is your prize. Haruto: Thank you. Reni: Ah, right. After the Bingo game, wait at the entrance for me. Haruto: --I will! Shift: Haruto-san, lead actor power! Azami: Congrats. Madoka: How great. Shift: What was your prize? Haruto: Erm...an eletronic kettle... Haruto: Sigh...you take it. Shift: Eh!? You sure!? Haruto: I've already got one. I can't possibly replace that, right? Shift: I can use it for cup udon! Haruto: Listen when other people talk!

Host: That concludes the Bingo tournament! Haruto: --

Haruto: ..... Reni: Sorry for calling you out here. Haruto: D-, don't be! Reni: I wanted to continue our conversation from the other day. About my coaching methods having changed... Reni: The main cause was that I realised my real feelings that were dormant within me. Reni: For a long time, I was obsessed, and I didn't have the room to properly consider anything but the members of my own theatre company. I failed as a chairman. Haruto: That's--you are my life, Reni-san! Haruto. --I, I'm sorry. I will mind my words. Reni: That's also a facade you put up, right? From now on, you don't have to hide it needlessly unless you’re on stage. Reni: ....You know that Tachibana, the father of MANKAI Company's general director, and I are old friends, right? Haruto: Yes. Reni: Even after I set up the GOD Troupe, I kept being influenced by Tachibana without realising it. Reni: Because of that, my field of vision became narrower, and my attention shifted to the individuality and variety each actor possessed　and I dared to avoid making use of that. Reni: Rather than the talent that Tachibana was blessed with, he emphasised making use of what each actor was born with and making them bloom "like" on a stage. Reni: I was against Tachibana's way of doing things and quit MANKAI Company. And therefore, I persisted with denying Tachibana's methods. Reni: If the GOD Troupe would succeed that way, I figured I'd be able to rank above Tachibana. Reni: ...But I was wrong. You guys made me realise that with your play. Reni: Tachibana's way was right. That's why I was enchanted by the man of the theatre named Tachibana Yukio. Reni: I had just intended to pursue my own ideals, but in the end, I am a merciless man who depends on one person. Reni: ...Are you disenchanted? Haruto: Na--no! Even then, I like the ideals you pursue. Haruto: As for my life as an actor, it will never change the fact that you are my greatest benefactor. Reni: Right...If I recall correctly, you broke away from your hometown in order to become an actor, right? Reni: Actors express something for the entire audience-- There is truth to it, but it's also part masquerade. Reni: Among the audience, there might also be one person whom you really want to reach. Who is that to you? Why do you continue acting? Haruto: At first, that was definitely my mother. Haruto: (She was very opposed to my moving to the capital, but even then, I'm sure she must have had great expectations for my future...) Haruto: (She must have also wanted to get back at all of those back in our hometown who knew that I wanted to become an actor and made fun of it.) Haruto: (After I'd entered the theatre company, I also discovered a rival that I absolutely did not want to lose against. But...) Reni: And now? Haruto: It's Reni-san. Haruto: Ever since Tasuku was in the GOD Troupe... Haruto: I was always wavering between a feeling of definitely surpassing him one day, and a feeling of possibly being no match for his talent. Haruto: This time, I lost sight of the meaning behind me continuing as an actor when I experienced my own powerlessness while once again being jealous of Tasuku's skills. Haruto: But, even if I can't win against the "real deal", I want to repay you and the GOD Troupe for the rest of my life. Haruto: That I'm going to continue with acting is for the sake of expressing my gratitude for being able to meet you and the GOD Troupe. Haruto: I want to make the superior ensemble that is the GOD Troupe eternal. Haruto: Being far from the world I dreamed of, I came to Tokyo with longing and met the GOD Troupe, which felt like my only destiny among many theatre companies. Haruto: The vague longing to go to a beautiful dream world has turned into a firm vow to carry on in/with the GOD Troupe. Haruto: So no matter what happens, I will never leave the GOD Troupe, I will never leave under Reni-san. Reni: --. Reni: ...During this time's rehearsals, I felt a little envious of Tachibana. Reni: While working on the conception with Tachibana's daughter, I felt a sensitivity within her that was close to Tachibana's. Reni: I'm sure that she must have inherited something akin to the theatre spirit that Tachibana believed in. Reni: I wished I had someone that could take over after me like that. Haruto: You have me. Reni: ...Yes, indeed. I was reminded of that just now. There is no one but you who could inherit the ideals of the GOD Troupe. Reni: Haruto, carry a strong spirit as an actor. Haruto: I will. Reni: A spirit that I.... The kind of spirit of being an actor that I have acknowledged as the chairman of the first generation of the GOD Troupe. Haruto: --I will engrave that in my memory!

____________________

Chapter 10 | Index

#A3!#A3! Event story #A3! translation #A3 event story #Twin Kingdoms #Act! Addict! Actors!#A3! Twin Kingdoms #God Troupe #Mankai Company #Asuka Haruto #Arakawa Shift #Arakawa Shifuto #Kamikizaka Reni #Takato Tasuku #Izumida Asami #Tachibana Yukio #Godza #my translations #chapter summaries

24 notes · View notes

girlsbtrs · 3 years

Text

How Countercultures turn Politics into Culture

Written by Lila Danielsen Wong. Graphic by Paula Nicole

In 1969, an academic named Theodore Roszak published “The Making of a Counterculture” and coined the term “counterculture” in order to describe the ant-mainstream youth movements of the 60s. Counterculture’s are not inherently good or progressive, both the punks and the skinheads are countercultures. Counterculture just means, according to the Merriam-Webster dictionary, a culture with values and mores that run counter to those of established society.

I’m not here to critique these movements. I am not writing this to critique how the Bohemian Romantics won respect for the arts because they mostly came from upper class backgrounds, and I’m not here to discuss the lack of intersectionality in the riot grrl movement. After starting this article I realized I had pitched a whole academic thesis, and maybe bit off a little more than I had intended to chew (why can’t I just pitch a listicle?). So, instead of focusing on the nitty gritty of what prompted these social movements and academically exploring their effects, I want to talk about the “culture” part of counterculture.

Nearly all countercultures are birthed around shared political ideas, but many seem to start within the culture itself, perhaps as a musical movement, a literary movement, a visual art movement, or even a fashion or aesthetic. As the movements expand, they come to encompass more of those aforementioned arts, and thus the politics that prompted the original movement become a culture.

An early example of a western subculture is the Bohemian Romantics of Europe of the 19th century. In pre-revolutionary France, artists were lower class tradesmen. Artists were seen as dirty and immoral. However, in post-revolutionary France, disillusionment prompted young bourgeois men to reject the typical hierarchy and launch the bohemian artist lifestyle we are more familiar with today. A critical event on this timeline was Victor Hugo’s “Romantic Army,” or his mob of young men that he assembled to protest theatre censorship by absolutely trashing a theatre. The Bohemian lifestyle often manifested as wealthy young artists electing poverty to reject the traditions they were born into, and to spend their time creating art unrestricted. Bohemian fashion was more utilitarian and rustic than the upper-class styles. The music of the Romantic era is categorized by its vigor and passion, pioneered by Beethoven himself. Beethoven challenged the strict and sometimes formulaic sonatas and symphonies of the past, favoring expression and inventiveness. Thus, prompted by the rejection of bourgeois values and principles, a culture was created: a lifestyle, an aesthetic, a literary movement, a new musical style.

Nearly 150 years later and 5000 miles away from Bohemian France, the riot grrl movement was brewing in the Northwest United states. The riot grrl movement, created by a group of women working to combat sexism in the western Washington punk scene, was a counterculture within a counterculture. While the Romantic movement originated in literature, the punk movement, and then the riot grrl movement, was born as a musical movement.

In 1970s Britain, the government was nearly bankrupt and giant cuts to social services were making life hard and creating a sense of alienation between the ruling class and the working class. British Punk emerged from this alienation. The youth used music to communicate their frustrations and anger. The rips and safety pins of punk fashion weren’t originally fashion, the punks just owned ragged clothing. The disillusionment with the political landscape and frustration with older generations resonated with youth all over the world, and it’s not hard to see why a Post-Vietnam and Watergate America would embrace the Punk movement with open arms. However, where British Punk was rooted in working class frustrations, American Punk took root with the middle-class suburban crowd, who, similar to the Bohemians, choose to reject the comfortable life they were born into. A notable difference that this created in the music was British punk had more pointed and explicit politically leftist lyrics, whereas this was not the focus of American punk lyrics.

This is especially important to understand when talking about the riot grrl movement because they put the politics in American Punk lyrics. In the early 1990s, a group of women from the Olympia, Washington punk scene had a meeting to address the sexism they faced in Punk. They started writing lyrics centered around the sexism and misogyny they face in Punk and in life. They created their own literature through zines when they could not get coverage. They wore clothing specifically intended to look like what respectable women weren’t supposed to wear. Again, we watch a group of people turn their politics into a culture, as a way to spread and practice their ideologies.

If you want a modern example of turning politics into culture via a counterculture, look no further than cottagecore (yes, really).

As I said at the beginning, countercultures don’t need to be radically progresive to be countercultures. Cottagecore dwells on romanticized pastoral ideals of a fantastic yesteryear that never really existed. Cottagecore gained some traction on TikTok as an “aesthetic,” made up of imagery such as women in long button up dresses flouncing through fields and making picnics. Absent were the rise and grind aspirations of pre-pandemic America. Absent were any signs of the labor often associated with pastoral living. It is no surprise that a counterculture that emphasizes solitary retreat, rest, nature, and crafting blew up during the first year of the covid-19 pandemic during which many experienced forced solitary retreats, a change in work environments (not to mention the want to not work), and boredom that could only be remedied with solitary activities such as crafting and enjoying nature. The pandemic dismantled all of the systems of normal life as we knew it, and cottagecore invited us to grow from this space, perhaps embracing a simpler, slower life. This political message was so subtly delivered through our social media scrolling that if you weren’t paying attention, you might not have even realized cottagecore had political ideals at all.

The rise of cottagecore is important in the conversation of how countercultures turn politics into culture because it showcases very blatantly how countercultures are not created, or at least do not catch on, without need and reason. Taylor Swift most likely did not create her surprise albums Folklore and Evermore (the unofficial cottagecore soundtrack) solely to cater to the cottagecore TikTok crowd, she created these albums as a form of personal escapism from how her own life was turned upside down by the pandemic, as a form of connection with her fans who were also experiencing the effects of the pandemic on their lives, and as art that represented certain feelings that came along with the pandemic.

Her albums came about for the same reason that cottagecore really caught on in the first place: it was what some people felt that they needed due to the circumstances of the time. It was for this reason, I would argue, that Folklore won album of the year. It was indicative of the times.

So, countercultures are born from a need. From this need comes politics, be it post revolution anti-bourgeois sentiments, mid-century British leftism, or a quiet call to slow down and reject hustle culture for a simple life. From politics comes art, and from art, culture.

Let’s talk about this in terms of an up-and-coming counterculture, hyperpop.

Though Wikipedia currently defines hyperpop as a “micro genre,” hyperpop’s rise is looking anything but “micro.” Hyperpop is described in The Spectator as “catchy synthpop or bubblegum bass tune with elements of EDM and typically a focus on either queer culture or Internet futurism”. The term “self-referential lyrics” is often thrown around. In the least complicated words possible, hyperpop uses it’s sounds and lyrics to make a camped-up parody of popular music. Hyperpop pioneers that have some mainstream following include SOPHIE, Charli xcx, and Caroline Polechek. Hyperpop often uses carbonated synth sounds and vocal modulation, and many of the trailblazers are part of the LGBT community.

What will hyper pop fashion and literature look like? What are hyper pop’s politics?

As for politics, there is something inherently political about queer artists carving out a space for themselves in pop music. Orange Magazine describes this as “pushing pop music to its limits and satirizing the gendered music industry. There’s an enjoyable sense of irony and juxtaposition.”

As for fashion, if we’re following the patterns we’ve established, hyperpop might bring gender non-conforming fashion that satirizes what’s been proclaimed normal. In terms of literature perhaps a Hyperpop literary movement will come from the controversial direction of Alt Lit, a community of minimalist writers that use the internet form and often reject intellectualized creative writing, create things that are weird for the sake of being weird, and use all caps and other purposeful spelling and grammar mistakes. A hyperpop literary movement might share the “self-referential” themes of hyperpop movement, while examining gender, sexuality, and personal identity in the internet age, seeing as the need to examine these themes in music indicates a need to examine these themes in other art forms. Maybe it will find creative ways to use internet platforms, as Alt Lit originators such as Steve Roggenbuck, a YouTube poet (well, a poet depending on who you ask), already have.

What I find most exciting about hyperpop is that it has the potential to create a culture guided by music first, similar to the punks or to disco. Fashion and visual art and literature all inspired by the glittery new sounds created in music. Maybe hyperpop will stay a “microgenre,” but maybe we will get to witness the rise of something new.

SOPHIE once said “I think all pop music should be about who can make the loudest, brightest thing. That, to me, is an interesting challenge, musically and artistically… just as valid as who can be the most raw emotionally,” and isn’t that a phenomenal thing to bring with us into a pent-up, fed-up, thoroughly exhausted, and newly vaccinated decade?

Sources

https://monoskop.org/images/b/b4/Roszak_Theodore_The_Making_of_a_Counter_Culture.pdf

https://www.sfgate.com/books/article/When-the-counterculture-counted-2835958.php

https://www.classicfm.com/discover-music/periods-genres/romantic/

https://www.mtholyoke.edu/courses/rschwart/hist255/bohem/tlaboheme.html

https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Punk_subculture

https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Riot_grrrl

https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Theodore_Roszak_(scholar)

https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Bohemianism

https://www.nme.com/blogs/nme-blogs/brief-history-riot-grrrl-space-reclaiming-90s-punk-movement-2542166

https://www.nytimes.com/interactive/2019/05/03/arts/music/riot-grrrl-playlist.html

https://www.nypl.org/blog/2013/06/19/riot-grrrl-movement

https://wildezine.com/3528/opinion/a-brief-history-of-punk/

file:///C:/Users/8lila/Downloads/history_initiates_vol_iv_april_2016_01_brooks_alison.pdf

https://www.theatlantic.com/magazine/archive/2021/03/hyperpop/617795/

https://www.billboard.com/articles/columns/pop/9595799/hyperpop-history-mainstream-crossover/

https://www.stuyspec.com/ae/hyperpop-the-defining-genre-of-the-digital-age

https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Hyperpop

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=0YRl4Kdnl2E&list=LL&index=4

https://theface.com/music/sophie-behind-the-boards-pop-scottish-producer

https://orangemag.co/orangeblog/2020/10/15/exploring-the-trans-roots-of-hyperpop

https://thebluenib.com/the-rise-and-fall-of-alt-lit-by-ada-wofford/

https://www.rollingstone.com/music/music-news/pc-music-are-for-real-a-g-cook-and-sophie-talk-twisted-pop-58119/

#lila danielsen wong

6 notes · View notes

masonscig · 4 years

Text

attached series | part one: comfort

pairing | mason x detective x felix [detective sofía olmos]

word count | 3.3k

tags | @choicesarehard ; @pixelsandkink ; @brightpinkpeppercorn ; @messofakind ; @raleiighcarrera ; @pixeljazzy ; @cellophanesheep ; @senatorraines ; @beccadavenport ; @wayhavenschronicles ; @hudush ; @pumpkinpeng ; @knightava ; @thebobbyfish ; @lucensei (lmk if you want to be removed)

author’s note | this is a completely self indulgent love triangle between my two favorites. more detailed description on ao3 below! not sure how many parts this is gonna be to be honest! not sure how nsfw it’ll get either but as for now it’s just mason being mason with all his innuendos you know

read it on ao3

•─────────────────•

He noticed it before she did.

Her pulse didn’t jump the same way it did the first dozen times he walked into the room. The blood didn’t rush to her cheeks, or creep up her neck, the crimson flush absent even when he tried his hardest to fluster her. And it normally took next to nothing to get her to turn into a bumbling mess.

Something was off, and he found himself curious to find out what exactly it was.

And he hated that.

He was the opposite of an obsessive person, so it annoyed the hell out of him that he was fixating on her so much.

Why did he give a fuck about her micro-expressions? Who cares that her pupils didn’t dilate as wide as they used to? Who cares if her breath didn’t hitch as loudly in her throat when he called her sweetheart?

Not him.

God, that was a fucking lie, and he knew it. It infuriated him that he couldn’t let it go. That it was nagging at him. That he couldn’t shake the pestering feeling. That her happiness had become a thorn in his side.

He didn’t know why he showed up to her apartment. He just… did.

After perching on the roof of the warehouse, blazing through a pack of cigarettes, gazing out at the treetops, comforting silence enveloping his normally overstimulated senses – he still couldn’t shake his thoughts of her.

Fucking weird, considering that was his ideal night. And it was ruined by the detective. The human that he warned not to get attached.

Mason was a lot of things, but never a hypocrite. This was new territory for him.

The heavy rainfall scraped against his skin like shattered glass, the freezing temperature adding an extra layer of sensory torture.

The rain stained the chest of his grey henley, droplets beading up and sliding off of the faux leather sleeves of his jacket. He retired his real leather jacket when she scrunched her face at it, clearly upset with the ethics of animal products, blah blah blah. He sucked it up and bought a new one – not because he cared. He just didn’t wanna hear her whine.

He sprinted up the stairs, taking them two at a time, eager to get inside.

With a heavier hand than he intended to, he rapped his knuckles across the wood with his right hand, his left arm pressed against the top door frame.

Sofía opened it, her expression one of genuine confusion. He couldn’t blame her. Usually they coordinated booty calls.

“Mason? Jesus Christ, it’s 3 a.m… What are you doing here?” She squinted, wiping sleep from her eyes with the crook of her finger.

“Can’t a guy drop by for a visit?”

“Depends if it’s business or pleasure.”

He quirked a brow at her, smirking. “Depends what you want out of me, sweetheart.”

He wasn’t sure if she intended on him catching the subtle fluttering of her lids as she glanced away, but he did. Usually her defiant eyerolls turned him on, but there was something negative about it that made his chest twinge involuntarily.

“Come in,” she sighed, pushing the door open, walking towards her kitchen without a second glance.

She was wearing his favorite pajama shorts that hugged her ass just right, and he couldn’t resist a couple glances at it, ignoring the godawful neon cheetah print pattern on the fabric.

He stepped inside, kicking the door shut with the back of his boot while he shrugged off his damp jacket, shuddering when the air conditioning hit his damp shirt.

She was insufferably hot natured, which meant her apartment was always freezing, regardless of the temperature outside.

He didn’t mind it when they were working up a sweat, but it stung his skin just as much as the active storm did.

He stopped at the open doorway to the kitchen, watching as she bent down to grab her water filter from the fridge. When she stood straight up, and he noticed the loose tank she wore, he decided why he’d headed over.

He definitely didn’t head over with the intention of fucking her brains out, but how could he resist when she looked like… that.

She poured herself a glass and tossed it back, throat pulsing as she gulped it down. And when she tossed the cup into her sink, tongue darting out at her corners to catch stray droplets, he couldn’t hold back.

He strode over to her, lightning fast, standing directly behind her. He splayed a hand across her stomach, teasing his pinky finger into the waistband of her shorts, satisfied when her breath hitched in her throat.

Normally he’d have to tug her long thick hair to the side to pepper kisses across her neck, but thankfully she already had it tied up in a messy bun, flyaways pointing to all the places on her neck that he could adorn with marks.

“Is this really why you’re here?” She asked, clearly annoyed, as he was trailing kisses up the side of her neck.

He shrugged. “Maybe. Why? Disappointed?”

“No.”

She was rigid in his grip, pushing his hand away from her stomach. She wheeled on him, expression angry. “What do you want from me, really? Just tell me.”

“Damn, where’d all of this come from?” He laughed breathily, leaning back against the counter. He tried keeping a casual composure as best as he could, but he was completely taken aback.

She blew out a huff of air, bracing her arms on the edge of the sink, gripping until her arms shook.

“Do you like me?”

He couldn’t help the way his lip curled, like her words left a bad taste in his mouth. He crossed his arms, tilting his head, not saying a word.

“I thought so,” she sighed deeply. “We really need to talk.”

“Before or after?” He smirked, cocking his head towards her bedroom. It was so easy to fuck with her, even moreso when she was annoyed.

“That’s what this is about.”

He arched a brow, waiting for her to respond. She met his gaze with a firm one of her own, eyes fiery and determined.

“Look, I’m just not cut out for… this,” she motioned between them. “Whatever it is. I thought I was, but I can’t handle it.”

“This?”

“Yes, this. The whole hook-up-but-leave-before-I-wake-up-and-pretend-I-don’t-exist type of shit.”

Before he could think about it, he shrugged. If deflection was his default, and snark was his defense, shrugging was his signature move.

“So you really don’t care? LIke at all?” Her lips tightened, chin dimpling as she narrowed her eyes at him.

So expressive. Why she wore her heart on her sleeve, he’d never understand.

“Told you not to get attached, sweetheart.”

Her jaw popped open, so fast that her tongue clacked against the roof of her mouth. She clenched her hands into fists at her sides, looking the most angry he’d ever seen her.

“Why are you so fucking condescending all the time? Jesus Christ, I swear I don’t know why I ever thought sweetheart was endearing in the first place,” she scoffed, hands shaking at her sides.

Ouch. He’d only meant it to be condescending half of the time. Probably a bad choice of words, but she had to know he was messing with her… right? He shook off the thought. No reason to linger on it.

She sighed heavily, and it bugged the hell out of him. Why was she sighing at him so much? “I need some space.”

He rolled his eyes. “Whatever you say.”

“Can you shut the fuck up for two seconds? Seriously, the one time I need you to actually listen to me, you’re giving me snide comments like a child,” she nearly growled at him.

She’s usually so level headed. Why the hell was she letting her temper get the best of her?

He clenched his jaw, teeth grinding to keep himself from being quiet. He was gonna let her let it all out without defending himself. Just this once.

“I’ve been thinking about you way too much and I can’t let this affect my work or my life or…” she trailed off, glancing away for the first time. “Forget it.”

He rolled his eyes. “If you have something to say, say it.” Okay, maybe one freebie.

“Nothing I say will get through to you in the first place, so why should I waste my breath?” She shrugged, flailing her hands and letting them slap against her thighs.

He arched a brow defiantly, keeping his exterior calm, despite how difficult it was to look like he didn’t give a shit while she was hurling her feelings at him.

“You want me to say it? Okay, fine. I want you more than you want me. And I deserve better than that. You warned me and I should’ve listened, and now I need space,” she held his gaze, the look in her eye unwavering. “I don’t want you to ruin me for other people.”

His lip curled, betraying his demeanor. He tried masking it by popping a cigarette between his lips.

“It isn’t your fault, but I’m gonna ruin myself if I keep giving myself hope that I know isn’t there,” she chewed the inside of her lip, using her fingertips to push her bangs out of the way of her glasses.

She’d deflated a little bit, her anger dissolving into sympathy. God, he hated how clearly he could read her. She couldn’t hold anything back. She was an open book that he had no trouble browsing. He could skim the pages, pick out his favorite passages, and bookmark them, and she was completely oblivious.

She didn’t even tell him to put out his cigarette.

He took a long, rebellious drag and blew a stream of smoke out, pursing his lips so it nearly hit her in the face. “That’s it?”

Her eyes widened, face contorting into an expression of fury, of pain, of exhaustion, that he distinctly remembered from her lowest points. He felt a twinge of guilt, but otherwise didn’t change his physical stance, relaxed and nonchalant.

Her hand darted out to grab the cigarette, but he’d already flicked the bud into her sink.

She sighed, eyes glassy, walking out of the kitchen, shouldering past him towards the front door. She opened it, wordlessly pointing outside. “Get out.”

“You sure you don’t want one last round?” He joked, hands shoved into his pockets.

“As much as I’d love to say yes, I can’t handle my heart breaking again,” she laughed humorlessly, motioning again. “Get out, Mason.”

What the fuck did she mean, again?

He stalked out of the apartment, left heel nearly slammed in the door.

Damn, she was livid. But she’d come around. She was always upset after they hooked up, but she always came back.

He tried to keep that in mind as he heard the sniffles through the door, trying not to wonder if that was the first time she’d spilled tears over him.

–––––

The angry tears fell before she could even slide the lock closed.

Why the fuck did she even bring any of that up? She said she was going to wait until she had more of an argument and could form coherent thoughts.

Her thoughts ran a mile a minute, and she had to get them out somehow. She stumbled back to her room, snatching her phone off of her nightstand and dialing his number before she could chicken out.

“Hey, Sofía! Why are you up so late –”

“Mason showed up at my doorstep expecting to sleep with me and I exploded on him,” she said through her soft sobs.

“Oh, hey, wait, are you crying?” “Yeah, but I’ll be okay. I just need to vent,” she lied, scrubbing the back of her hand across her eyes.

“You don’t sound okay…”

“I… I’m not feeling so great. I’m starting to regret yelling at him.”

An ear-splitting cackle rang out through the speaker of her phone. “You’re too nice for your own good, detective.”

His laugh was enveloping, like sunshine – if you were caught in its rays, you couldn’t help but bask in it. She let herself enjoy it, if only for a moment, before letting her feelings about Mason settle into her bones again.

“We talked about this, though. You wanted him to see where you were coming from, right?”

“Yeah, but I, uh, let my temper get the best of me,” she chewed the inside of her lip, picking at a loose string on the quilt on her bed.

“So… he probably didn’t listen, huh?”

“Surprise, surprise,” she muttered, sniffling. “I really wanted this to work out. I don’t know why the hell I expected more.”

Her voice broke, and she slapped her hand over her mouth to muffle her cries.

“Awe, hey, it’ll be okay! You planning on going back to sleep right now or would you like a handsome distraction?”

She laughed, rolling her eyes, thankful he couldn’t see her cheeks flush. “No, I’m awake for the day… I think.”

“Alright, I’m heading over now, and I’m bringing some movies. You want some of the kettle corn I popped earlier? It’s charred but maybe we could pick out some of the good pieces –”

“I’d love that, Felix.”

––––

If there was one thing Felix couldn’t do, it was stay still.

Even with the detective’s cheek pressed against his shoulder, lips parted, a serene expression on her soft features, he still tapped his foot incessantly, squirming in place.

C’mon hold it together for a little longer, he thought, drumming his fingers on his leg. Humans only need 8 hours of sleep right? Or was it 7? Maybe 4? Whatever.

He checked the clock on her wall, watching the seconds tick by. And when the second hand hit twelve, he gently shook her, noting how soft the skin of her arms were.

“Sofía? Hey, it’s pretty late,” he whispered, watching as her brows furrowed, and she cracked open one eyelid, arching her back into a stretch.

“What time is it?” She croaked.

“Twelve.”

She sat up quickly, eyes widening, lines etched into her face from the denim of his jacket. “You stayed here all night?” “Well, yeah,” He said matter-of-factly. “You fell asleep on my shoulder halfway through the first movie, and I didn’t wanna wake you up, so I just stayed.”

Her expression was sheepish, and he had no idea why. He really didn’t mind that she cuddled up to him… in fact, he really, really liked it. After what she’d been through the night before, he didn’t blame her for passing out from exhaustion.

“I’m really sorry for passing out on you like that,” she glanced away, not able to meet his eye.

“It’s no big deal. I got to binge watch all the Back To The Future movies and lemme just say, kinda makes me wish I would’ve fallen through the portal sooner so I could’ve lived during the eighties. I’m definitely going as Marty for Halloween, by the way,” he nodded contentedly, standing up from the couch.

She jumped up too, rushing to her kitchen, deftly moving around, whipping together a quick breakfast and coffee, like a well-oiled machine of one. She ripped her hair out of the bun piled on top of her head, shaking her head around and trying to rake her fingers through it simultaneously.

He caught himself staring at the way her wispy bangs framed her face, her length cascading down her back, the sleek silkiness of her hair practically beckoning for him to reach out and run his own fingers through it.

“Have you ever celebrated Halloween?” She asked, breaking his trance, as she poured herself a cup of coffee, taking a quick bite of her bagel.

“No, not like I want to,” he deflated a bit, screwing his lips to the side. “I know I’m a ‘grown up’–” he used air quotes around the word, “– but I wanna go trick or treating.”

“Wayhaven PD usually teams up with the elementary school and we do a mini-festival in the parking lot, with food, games, costumes, trick or treating… it’s great,” she said, taking a sip of her coffee. “I’ll definitely take you.”

His amber eyes brightened even more as a grin stretched across his face. “Really?” His voice rose an octave, and he could barely contain his joy. “You’re the best. Wait, should we do matching costumes? Oh my gosh. There’s so much to plan. It’s so soon!”

She swallowed her bite of food, holding back a laugh. “It’s fine, Felix. I swear we have time.”

He scrunched his nose. “Okay, I believe you.”

“I’ve got to go in a sec. I was supposed to meet Tina downtown today and I’m already late,” she checked the clock on the wall, blowing air upwards at her bangs in frustration.

“I’m sorry I have to cut this short. I really liked having you over,” she smiled shyly at him, and a little spark ignited in his chest, spreading warmth throughout his limbs, all the way to the tip of his fingers.

“I liked it, too,” he grinned even wider, stepping close to her.

Her breath hitched in her throat and she stood frozen in place, coffee cup in hand, shoulders raised.

“Felix…” she breathed, her eyes fluttering as she trained her gaze on his lips. She involuntarily leaned forward, nearly closing the gap between them.

“Yeah, Sofía?” he whispered, smile morphing into a near smirk.

“Do you think it’s really over between us?” She blinked, looking down at the floor.

His heart ached in his chest, head clearing immediately. Oh God, did I really forget that’s why I came here? I’m supposed to be helping her, not swooping in to sink my teeth into her like some sort of… Felix. Cheap joke. Don’t finish that sentence.

“I really don’t know,” he leaned back, searching her eyes, trying to show how sincere he was. “He’s never been around a girl long enough for them to dump him first.”

She sighed, the bottom of her mug clinking against the dark linoleum countertop. “Yeah, I figured.”

“Well, don’t give up now! When he gets in one of his moods, he just needs some time to come around, you know?” He scratched his head, pinching and twisting his curls between his fingers, fiddling with his beanie.

“I… don’t know if I want him to come around,” she chewed the inside of her lip, pushing her glasses higher on the bridge of her nose.

“You mean that?”

He must’ve looked surprised, because she sighed and took her glasses off, covering her face with her hands, scrubbing her skin with her palms.

“I just don’t know what the fuck I want,” she shook her head, bending over to prop her elbows against the counter, hands still over her face. Her voice came out muffled and pained, and he furrowed his brows, closing the distance between them to wrap a comforting arm around her shoulders.

She turned in his grip, burying her face in his chest. “Thank you,” she whispered, her breath tickling the exposed skin of his neck, right above his scarf.

“Of course,” he murmured, wrapping his arms around her, revelling in the warmth of her bare skin.

––––

#the wayhaven chronicles #twc #twc mason #felix hauville #agent m #agent f #twc fics #detective sofía olmos #god im so nervous but im so excited !!!!#my fic

79 notes · View notes

canarygirl1017 · 4 years

Text

Ghosted Chapter 2

Pairing: Reader / Jungkook, Reader / Taehyung (past relationship, friends to lovers to friends)

Genre: College!au, fluff, angst, supernatural drama, smut, friends to lovers, emotional trauma, hurt/comfort

Length: 9, 806k words

Warnings: language, episodes of anxiety, panic attacks, sexual themes in later chapters.

Summary: Living in a world full of things only you have the ability to see, growing up with Jungkook has been your island amidst the chaos. But when your best friend makes an impossible request, your friendship is fractured, and your sudden decision to cut ties and move abroad changes everything. Three years later, Jungkook is thriving at university as he begins his junior year. He’s a star athlete, member of a popular fraternity, and every girl’s ideal boyfriend. He tells himself that he’s long forgotten you and the friendship he never had a chance to mend – that is, until you show up on campus as a transfer student with new friends in tow. It’s been three years, and everything has changed, but the biggest change is you. Your new found determination to use your abilities to help the ghosts you used to live in fear of, no matter how dangerous it might be, makes Jungkook fear he’ll lose you before he has a chance to fix what he broke. College AU.

Disclaimer: Just for funsies, I don’t believe in real-life shipping. But I like to write, and I like fandom, so here we are. Please do not duplicate this work or repost anywhere else without permission.

Read Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Gettis University, and the surrounding town, were as full of creepy feelings and shadows as you’d expected. The strong presence of the otherworld could be felt as soon as you got within a couple of miles of the city limits, and the hot spots you’d passed as you drove through town would likely test your abilities in ways they’d not been tested before.

You paused in the great room of the old house where you’d be living for the next two years. It was a Victorian style home and though light, bright and newly renovated, you’d already felt the presence of something that you’d need to run out before you all slept that night.

You turned when you heard Yeontan’s little nails tapping on the floor behind you. You scooped him up and buried your face in his soft, black and tan fur. “Hi baby. Did you have a good walk?”

“He did,” Taehyung said as he walked in. “It’s good that we have an enclosed garden out back, but he loves the park down the street, too.”

“This house is way too big for two people, Tae,” you said, your tone admonishing. “What are we even going to do with all this space?”

“Well, we need space to set up an office for Namjoon and Chloe, plus the paranormal group they’ve been in contact with here will probably be over. We need extra bedrooms for when my parents visit because now that we’re back in the country, they probably will. And it was the only house near campus that also has a guest house for Joon and Chloe to have their own space.”

“Well, I’ll leave it to you to figure out what you want to do with all these rooms,” you said, knowing he probably did have some kind of plan for them. He’d need an office for himself since he often worked late on photography and art projects, and he liked having a home gym. “I’m glad your mom arranged to have it furnished before we got here. We just need to move in our personal things.”

“Yeah, Joon is sorting boxes outside.” Taehyung closed his eyes and rolled his shoulders. “I’m kind of sensing something here. Dark spirit?”

“A weaker one, but yes,” you answered. “We’ll deal with it after we get Joon and Chloe set up, and then we’ll hang talismans.”

While Taehyung couldn’t see the things you saw, with the rare exception that a spirit was strong enough to break through the barrier of the otherworld, he was sensitive to their energy. It was something that had wreaked havoc in his life before he met you because he didn’t understand why he had such dark and negative feelings all the time. When he’d started getting into trouble and drinking too much, his parents had sent him to England to attend boarding school with his cousin.

You’d known as soon as you saw him that he could feel the spirits that hung around him even if he didn’t know what they were. And so, one day after classes, you gave him one of your talismans and told him that he’d sleep better if he put it next to his pillow. You could tell by his raised brows that he thought you were kind of crazy, but he’d fallen asleep looking at it that night and finally slept better than he had in years.

At first, it had been weird to talk to someone other than Jungkook and Mrs. Kim about your abilities. You kept expecting him to think you were nuts and exit stage left because even your own mother had never believed you. But Taehyung never thought you were crazy. Even when you started exploring your abilities, looking into the resources you’d gotten from Mrs. Kim, and making contact with others whose work lay in the paranormal realm, he’d never acted like you were a burden, and he’d never abandoned you. His support had given you the strength to keep going on an increasingly scary and dangerous path.

While your academic focus was English literature and linguistics, Taehyung was most interested in art, photography and art history. Taehyung’s parents had expected him to return to California and perhaps study art at Berkeley or apply to NYU’s fine arts program. Instead, he’d followed you to Oxford when you were both accepted.

You had the support of a team now as well. During your Oxford years, you’d met Namjoon, a grad student who had been doing research on paranormal abilities as an unsanctioned side project while also studying experimental psychology. His girlfriend, Chloe, had a background in engineering and computer science and a similar interest in recording paranormal activity.

With their help and that of Mrs. Kim, with whom you’d remained in touch, you’d gradually built a network of contacts – people who were able to see the otherworld as you did, sensitives like Taehyung, and those who sought to understand the paranormal world. One of Mrs. Kim’s contacts, an elderly Chinese man named Mr. Lu, also had the ability to use Taoist amulets to banish spirits.

And not just spirits – you’d been stunned to learn that demons also inhabited the otherworld. You finally had an explanation as to how the ghostly man in the library had hurt you that night. While the strongest of the ghosts in the otherworld could also harm you if they gathered enough energy, burning someone with a touch was the specialty of low-level demons.

You had worked hard for the past couple of years to hone your abilities. It was a surprise to find that many of the spirits who inhabited the otherworld were harmless. They neither sought out human contact nor attempted to cause harm; they merely drifted in the remnants of a world that felt familiar to them, or they sought comfort by occasionally observing loved ones who remained among the living.

Some were nuisance ghosts who enjoyed playing pranks, but they were quite easily dealt with and did little to cause lasting damage. A small percentage fell into the realm of dark spirits – vengeance ghosts who were still angry at their manner of passing were some of the strongest ghosts and could pose real danger to people. Similarly, places that had seen evil acts committed, or mass deaths, were often portals of darkness which attracted demons and dark spirits alike.

Aided by Mr. Lu, you discovered that you had untapped potential to help spirits cross over to the light, as well as the power to harness dark spirits and banish them from the otherworld. Demons were trickier, but you were getting better at dealing with them. It had taken you time to recognize the power you held, but as you got older and it grew stronger, and as you became less afraid, you could feel it inside yourself – a little ball of light that you could coax forward and wield at will.

Learning to wield that power had not come easily. The burn mark on your arm wasn’t the only scar you carried on your body now either; you glanced down and traced the long, jagged mark that ran the length of your left arm from your inner elbow to your wrist. Strong fingers suddenly clasped yours and you looked up to see Taehyung looking at you with worried eyes.

“You can still change your mind about this,” Taehyung said softly. “We both know that being here is dangerous for you. If your friend still cares about you, he wouldn’t want you doing this for him.”

“I’m not just doing this for him, Tae,” you said truthfully. “I’m doing this for me. Because I have regrets about how and why I left, and I can’t keep running away from my past. There’s Jungkook, yes, but also Jin, and Jimin, and Emmie and Robbie. My mom. I ran away from everyone, thinking I was better off alone, and they were better off without me. Now I have to consider how I can merge my old life with my new one, at least enough to repair those relationships.”

“And if you can’t?”

“Then at least I’ll know I tried,” you said with a smile. “I know I can’t go back to how things were, but maybe there’s a way forward.”

Taehyung suddenly pulled you close, wrapping his arms around both you and Yeontan. “You know I’ll help you any way I can.”

Leaning your head against his chest, you nodded. “I know. I just hope your parents don’t hate me for dragging you to yet another university where you never intended to enroll.” It was one of the best universities in the country, and it did have an excellent fine arts program, but it wasn’t even on Taehyung’s radar before you applied for transfer.

“Hey, my parents love you. They credit you for getting me on the straight and narrow path, and even though I told them we’re not dating anymore, I’m certain my mom is still planning our wedding.”

Taehyung’s parents were Hollywood A-listers. His mom had a long film career that had eventually transitioned to television, and she was the popular star of a long running cable drama. His father was an English filmmaker who’d won two Oscars and now spent most of his time on documentaries. Taehyung had no interest in acting or film, but with his fine boned features, dark wavy hair and almond shaped, deep brown eyes, he did a handful of modeling assignments every year that fueled his interest in photography and fashion.

You pulled back and kissed his cheek before lifting Yeontan to give him a lick, making him laugh. “Come on, we should go help Joon and Chloe sort boxes and get things set up. Then I need to have a chat with this little spirit lurking about the place.”

___________________

You woke the next morning feeling refreshed after a deep, dreamless sleep. You and Tae had helped Joon and Chloe set up their equipment in the room designated for their office. Then you’d made up the beds and begun the arduous task of unpacking and organizing personal items. By the time the sun set, you’d been ready to tackle the dark spirit haunting the house.

Like most weak spirits, its energy grew as night fell, and you’d caught it at just the right time before it gathered enough energy to put up a real fight. Still, using your Taoist amulet drained your energy too, and you were exhausted by the time your dinner order arrived. The last task had been to hang talismans at centrally located windows and main entrances, both in the main house and in the guest house, concealing some among the curtains and hiding others behind the artwork that Taehyung’s mother had selected for the house.

Though you still thought the house was too large for you and Taehyung, you couldn’t deny you were happy to have a tranquil bedroom overlooking the garden, and you owed Tae’s mom a phone call to thank her for having it decorated in your favorite colors. The walls were the palest of lavender with cream trim, and the cream, padded headboard of the queen-sized bed dominated the far wall. The light purple of the silk duvet was accented with splashes of cream and sage, and the bed held an array of pillows in similar colors.

Dramatic, arching windows were draped in swathes of delicate cream fabric tied back to let in the light. Comfortable sage armchairs created a cozy reading nook in the corner, and a large area rug in an irregular but complementing color pattern covered the hardwood floor. She’d thoughtfully selected artwork for the walls – an abstract floral design here, a water landscape there. Considering the negative energy that you felt so strongly in town, you knew this space would go a long way towards helping you feel calm, focused and centered.

You’d been too tired the night before to take note of the spa-like retreat that was the adjoining bathroom. Its marble floors and tiles had been warmed up with sage accent colors and a teak wood double vanity, while a claw foot tub sat in front of the large window that faced the far mountains. You eyed the tub longingly before opting for a quick shower, enjoying the rainfall effect.

After drying your hair and applying light makeup, you put on a lemon-yellow sundress, a gossamer thin white cardigan, and clasped your gold locket around your neck. Then you selected the gold watch and earrings Tae had given you for your birthday the week before.

You had one suitcase left to unpack and set it on the bed to sort through its contents – mostly fall and winter clothes that it was still too hot to wear. You paused when you got to the bottom and saw the black hoodie. You’d found two of Jungkook’s hoodies in your room before you left for England. You left one of them in the box that you’d told Emmie to take to him when he returned from camp. The other, you’d thrown into your suitcase a few minutes before you left.

You remembered the night he gave it to you. A few weeks before Christmas during your sophomore year, Jimin’s parents had gone away for the weekend and as he always did when they were away, he threw a party. You were sixteen, and Jungkook had decided it was time to try beer.

Hauling his drunk ass home later that night was quite the experience.

You snorted with laughter as Jungkook stopped beneath a streetlight and did part of a girl group dance that Jimin had dared him to do earlier. But he’d forgotten part of it and had been stopping every few minutes on the way home, trying to remember.

“Damn it,” he said, frustrated as he shook his hips, arms up, and then paused. “Are you sure you don’t remember it?”

“Even if I did, I wouldn’t do it in front of Jimin’s drunk friends or here on the street,” you replied. You tugged his arm. “Come on, if we miss curfew your mom is going to kill us.”

“Nah, as long as we’re together, she doesn’t really worry. She knows we’ll take care of each other.”

“It seems like I’m the one doing the work tonight,” you said with a grunt as he leaned into you. “Geez, you are heavy.” Once he hit his growth spurt, making him nearly a head taller than you, he’d also started putting on muscle.

“But you love meeee,” he sang, spinning you in a circle.

You couldn’t help laughing even as you stumbled sideways again. “I think we need to sit and let you sober up a little. We still have about thirty minutes.” Since you were staying at Jungkook’s tonight, and you were only going to Jimin’s house, his mom had extended the curfew until midnight.

You’d reached the halfway point, a large park that connected your neighborhood to Jimin’s, so it wouldn’t take more than ten minutes to get home. The park was well lit and safe as well, rarely home to any spirits. You guided Jungkook over to the swings and helped him sit before sitting in the one next to him.

“Remember when I fell out of this swing?” Jungkook asked as he started swinging.

“Of course. You just had to get as high as possible and then jump.” He still had the mark on his cheek where he’d hit the ground. “Even when we were kids, you were never afraid of anything.”

“I am scared, sometimes,” he said after a moment.

“Really? Of what?”

“Of things that can hurt you. It’s the only thing I’m really scared of.”

You looked over at him to see him staring up at the sky, a lot more sober than he’d been a few minutes ago. “You never told me you were scared before.”

He scuffed his boots against the ground and then pushed off again. “I have this dream sometimes, or a nightmare, I guess. You’re in the water and something comes for you, and I can’t get to you in time.”

You had that nightmare too, which is why you never went near the water after your encounter with the water ghost. “I’m sorry.” It was the first time you’d realized that he was carrying the weight of your personal horrors, and you felt the guilt creeping in.

“It’s not your fault. I just wish I could take it away, you know? Like, I wish I could be the one to see them and you could be safe.”

“I wouldn’t wish that on you, though.” You twisted your swing sideways, back and forth, and then leaned back to look at the sky. The moon was almost full and very bright, and it reminded you of the moon in the storybook you’d read to Emmie earlier that evening.

“I love you to the moon and back,” you murmured, leaning back further.

“I knew you loved me,” Jungkook said, laughing.

“Funny. The moon made me think of that book I read to Emmie earlier.”

“Well, I love you. To the moon and back, and to Saturn and Jupiter, and back to the moon…”

You rolled your eyes. “Okay, okay. I love you too, to the moon and back.” You shivered as you stood up, holding out your hand. “We should get going.”

Jungkook stood and unzipped his black hoodie. “Here, put this on. I’m getting kind of hot anyway.”

You pulled it on and zipped it up. He laughed at you when you had to roll up the sleeves, his nose crinkling in amusement.

As you started walking again, Jungkook said, “I love you to…. infinity and beyond!”

“Shhh, God you’re loud. Please please be quiet when we get to your house.”

You ran your fingers over the soft material as you thought about that night. You’d worn the hoodie home the next morning and you’d just never given it back. It had become a type of security blanket over the years.

You carefully tucked it in a drawer, slipped on your sandals, and went to look for Taehyung. He wasn’t in the great room or the kitchen. Next you checked the downstairs master suite he’d claimed, but he was already up. Grabbing a cup of coffee, you walked past the guest house and out into the back garden where you spotted him sitting, legs crossed in a meditation pose, on a bench near the far wall.

He opened his eyes and smiled at you as you approached him. “Good morning. Feeling better?”

“Much.” You sat next to him and watched Yeontan nosing around the bushes. “I think I’m going to drive to campus and look around, get a feel for any hot spots. Do you want to come with me?”

“I can’t. The guy is coming to finish the water features.” Since water often served to deter spirits, Taehyung had enlisted a gardening company to install a water feature that ran along the walls of the back garden. The work had begun before you arrived; natural rocks had been carefully placed in a design that would create waterfalls flowing into small pools on either side of the garden. “Once they finish up today and get the water going, I think those pools will be deep enough for koi fish.”

“That will be pretty.” It was a lovely garden. Several trees provided shade, the lawn was expertly manicured, and lush flowerbeds and carefully pruned flowering bushes presented a pop of color among the greenery. “The water will make it cooler back here too. We could add a table and some lanterns and hang out here in the evening.”

“Are you okay going by yourself?” he asked, pushing his wavy hair out of his eyes as he whistled for Yeontan. “You could take Tannie with you.”

“Probably a good idea since they’re coming to finish up back here.”

“Hey.” Taehyung reached for a lock of your hair and tugged it gently. “Don’t confront anything by yourself. If you want to wander around, get your bearings, then fine. Just please don’t follow anything or let anything follow you until the rest of us are with you. This place is… dangerous. We need to be really careful here.”

“I know, don’t worry.” You reached for his hand and threaded your fingers together. “Thank you for coming with me, even though I was afraid to ask you. This would be so much harder without you here.”

You collected Yeontan’s leash and other essentials and drove to the main university parking lot, which was central to the sprawling campus. Yeontan trotted happily next to you as you took note of buildings. The Gothic architecture was a sharp contrast to the bright, late summer sun beating down, and you imagined the campus took on an entirely different aesthetic at night.

There were also plenty of hot spots. Dropping pins as you walked, you wondered exactly what type of spirits you would encounter here. You expected the usual vengeance ghosts, but you occasionally got impressions of something much, much darker as you walked. You dropped yet another pin as you passed the building that housed the pool and athletic departments. Mindful of your promise to Taehyung, you didn’t explore further.

When Yeontan got tired, you picked him up and followed a group of students chattering away with each other about classes beginning soon, upcoming mixers and welcome back activities. Soon you found yourself at a park that abutted a large, sparkling lake. You didn’t need to get too close to sense something in those waters, and so you kept a healthy distance as you turned your attention to the group playing baseball in the field.

And then you saw him. Jungkook wore loose black shorts, a white t-shirt, and a backwards black baseball cap as he stood with a group waiting for their turn at bat. From the people talking around you, you learned that it was just a friendly game between rival fraternities, which explained the number of girls hanging around.

This was your chance to talk to him – to let him know you were here. To explain why you had left. Seeing him again brought a wave of longing, and with it the familiar anxiety you felt when you thought of him.

“Oh, such a cute dog!”

You turned to see a very pretty girl about your age wiggling her fingers at Yeontan. Her dimples flashed when she smiled, and her eyes were such a clear shade of blue that you wondered if they were contact lenses. Her auburn hair was tied up in a ponytail, and she held a sign supporting Pi Kappa Alpha.

“I’m Sera,” she introduced herself. “And who’s this?”

“Yeontan,” you replied. “And I’m y/n. You can pet him if you want. He’s very friendly.”

“Are you new here?” Sera asked, scratching Yeontan’s head. At your surprised look, she nodded at the brochures sticking out of your open bag. “I recognize the welcome package.”

“I’m a transfer student from Oxford,” you confirmed, shifting the wiggling Yeontan in your arms. “We just got here yesterday.”

“Are you off campus? I’m in the Alpha Omicron Pi house.”

“We have a house – the old Victorian on Elmhurst Street.”

“Oh, I noticed they were renovating that house this summer. I grew up here,” she explained. “My parents live three streets over from you. That’s a big house – did you move here with friends?”

“My… friend, Taehyung, came with me,” you said. You weren’t dating anymore, but your relationship with Tae had fallen into something between friend and boyfriend, a kind of ambiguous realm you both were still feeling your way through. “And two other friends, Namjoon and Chloe, are living in the guest house.”

“That’s cool that you all came here together. I guess this will be a big change from Oxford. Hey, so tomorrow there’s a big welcome back picnic happening here around noon. My sorority is co-hosting. Why don’t you and your friends come? I can introduce you around.”

Your eyes drifted back to the field to see Jungkook up at bat. As expected, he hit the ball with a loud crack and took off running around the bases, making it to home before the outfielder had even retrieved the ball. He high fived a guy on his team who you recognized as Jimin when you saw his profile. Someone shouted Jungkook’s name and he suddenly looked in your direction.

Slipping your sunglasses back on, you let your hair fall to cover your profile. “I have to get going, but I’ll ask my friends about it when I get home.” With a wave at Sera, you turned and began walking back to your car as quickly as you could without drawing too much attention to yourself.

“Hope to see you tomorrow!” Sera called after you.

______________________________

Jungkook ran the bases with ease and did a shimmy on home base before high fiving Jimin.

“Such a showoff,” Jimin said with a laugh.

Jungkook grinned and glanced over at the crowd watching when he heard his name called, waving at Jimin’s girlfriend, Ayeong, and her friend Erin, who was waving her Pi Kappa sign enthusiastically. Then a girl in yellow caught his attention. He froze as the girl turned her face away before he could see her clearly. She was holding a small dog as she talked to Sera from the A O Pi sorority. Then she was hurrying away.

Jungkook didn’t realize he’d started walking in her direction until Jimin caught his arm. “Where are you going? You’re pitching.” Jimin followed his gaze, a troubled expression on his face. “I know that girl kind of looks like…”

Jungkook cut him off. “Let’s get back to the game.”

He tried to concentrate on the rest of the game, but he was agitated now, and pissed off. He’d promised himself two years ago that he’d stop looking for you in crowds and chasing the shadows of girls who looked even vaguely like you. That girl might have the same hair, and she might’ve been wearing one of those dumb, useless little sweaters you always liked, but she wasn’t you.

The problem was that now his head was full of you, and he did his best to push you back out like he always did when something reminded him of you. His team won, but he didn’t enjoy the victory, and he was silent in the car as Jimin drove back to the house they’d just moved into with Jin, who was enrolled in the theater program as a grad student.

“I’m glad you finally got permission from your coach to move off campus,” Jimin said. “I guess it helps that you’ll be living with family, so he trusts you not to get too wild or slack off on training.”

Jungkook leaned forward and turned up the radio, a signal that he didn’t want to talk.

Jimin sighed but fell silent. When they pulled up to the house, he jumped out and headed inside to find Jin had started painting the living room. He went straight through to the kitchen, ignoring his brother’s greeting.

“Hey, the least you could do is pick up a brush and help!” he heard Jin yell after him.

Jungkook got a bottle of water from the fridge and took a long drink. He could hear Jimin talking to Jin now.

“There was a girl at the game who looked kind of like y/n,” Jimin said in a low voice. “Plus it’s that time of year – you know how he gets.”

“Her birthday was last week, and his is coming up soon,” Jin said. “Not that he’s ever in the mood to celebrate it anymore anyway.”

Jungkook ignored them as he walked back into the living room and picked up a brush. “Let’s get this finished. Remember we have to go early to pick up the coolers and ice for the picnic.” He and Jimin belonged to the Pi Kappa Alpha fraternity, and they were co-hosting the welcome back picnic with the A O Pi sorority.

He let Jimin and Jin talk and concentrated on painting. He wasn’t going to think of you anymore and that was that. You hadn’t been back to the U.S. in three years – the last he’d heard from his mom, you opted to attend Oxford University. You’d cut everyone out of your life, and he wasn’t going to waste any more of his time thinking about the past.

That night he dreamed of you.

He stood at the edge of the lake, wading in when he saw you drifting further out in front of him. It always happened the same way; you would smile and stretch out a hand to him, and then you disappeared beneath the surface. And no matter how many times he dove under the water looking for you, you were just gone.

Jungkook woke in a cold sweat, gasping, heart pounding. He switched on his bedside lamp and sat up, glancing at the clock to see it was nearly four in the morning. Running his hands through his hair, he breathed deeply and willed his heart rate to slow.

He hated that fucking nightmare. He could tell himself all day long he wasn’t going to think of you, but then this would happen. He told himself that you were fine, wherever you were. If something terrible had happened to you, he would have heard about it from your mom or his mom. Your life wasn’t his business anymore.

Jungkook was sleep deprived and cranky the next day as he helped set up for the picnic. Students were arriving on campus now, and there were a lot of mixers and activities planned for the next week, many of which he was expected to help with because Jimin was a social butterfly who kept volunteering you both.

Ayeong and Erin were there as well, and he did his best to avoid Erin, whose crush on him was starting to make him uncomfortable. He didn’t want to hurt her feelings, but he didn’t want a girlfriend and she definitely wanted a boyfriend. The last person he had seriously liked was Grace, and they’d broken up before senior year started. Since then, he’d kept his relationships casual – maintaining his grades and baseball took up most of his time anyway.

An hour into the picnic, he was sitting in a shaded area with Jimin and Ayeong when a little dog ran up and panted at his feet. He smiled as he leaned over to pet the little ball of black and tan fluff. “Hey, little guy, who do you belong to?”

“That would be me – sorry.” A tall man with dark wavy hair approached holding a leash. He leaned down to clip it on the dog’s collar. “He doesn’t usually run away like that, but I think he’s excited about all the new people.”

“Cute,” Jungkook said with a grin as he scratched the little dog behind the ears. “What’s his name?”

“Yeontan,” the man replied with a smile. He held out his hand. “And I’m Taehyung.”

Jungkook shook his hand. “I’m Jungkook. This is Jimin, and that’s Ayeong.”

Taehyung’s smile faded. “I should get back to my friends.”

He was leaning down to pick up the little dog when Sera joined them. “Hey, it’s Yeontan!” She stroked the dog’s head and looked over at the man holding him. “Let me guess – you must be Taehyung?”

“Have we met?”

“No, but I met Yeontan at the game yesterday when I met your girlfriend.”

“Ah, you must be Sera.”

“So where is y/n? I haven’t seen her yet.”

Jungkook’s head shot up at the name. “Y/n?”

“Oh, there she is!” Sera waved at a girl who walked over to join Taehyung.

Since your eyes were on the dog, you didn’t notice him at first. “Oh, thank God. Bad Tannie!” You reached for the small dog and dropped a kiss on his nose. Behind you were two more people – a tall man with silver blond hair, and a woman with long, brown hair threaded with blue streaks.

It was a surreal moment seeing you again. You were wearing a dark blue, silky sundress and what looked like the same thin white sweater he’d seen you wearing the day before. Your wavy hair was held back from your face with little clips, and your gold locket hung around your neck just as it always had. The little dog yapped and licked your cheek, making you giggle, and you smiled up at Taehyung, who placed an arm around your waist.

“Oh, shit,” he heard Jimin mutter next to him.

That got your attention and when you glanced over to see him, you froze. Your eyes held his for several moments. Then you took a deep breath and said, “Hi, Jungkook.”

Sera was looking between you, her expression curious. “Do you know each other?”

When Jungkook didn’t answer, Jimin said, “We all went to school together until y/n left for boarding school senior year.” He stood up and walked over to give you a hug. “It’s nice to see you again.”

You smiled at him gratefully. “I’m happy to see you, too. I was going to call or something, but we’ve only been here for two days.”

Jungkook felt his jaw clench. He said nothing as Jimin introduced Ayeong, who seemed uncharacteristically shy as she greeted you and Taehyung.

“This is Namjoon,” you said, gesturing to the blond man. “And his girlfriend, Chloe.”

“I heard you guys moved into that big old Victorian house,” Sera said to Taehyung. “I was telling my mom about it when I talked to her last night. She’s an interior designer, so she was interested in how it had been updated.”

“You should come by some time,” Taehyung told her.

The way Taehyung kept looking between you and him told Jungkook that he knew who he was. That meant that you’d known he was here before you came. You’d probably seen him at the game yesterday and you’d still scurried off rather than talk to him.

He watched Sera lead you and Taehyung away, introducing you to other friends. You looked over your shoulder at him, but he averted his eyes rather than meet your gaze.

Jimin cleared his throat and looked at Namjoon and Chloe. “Are you students here too?”

Namjoon shook his head. “I met Tae and y/n at Oxford – I was in a psych grad program there. Chloe and I are researching paranormal activity, so we tagged along when we heard they were coming here.”

Jungkook felt Jimin looking at him again.

“Huh. Well, that’s interesting. It’s supposedly the most haunted campus in the country, so good luck with that,” Jimin said.

Namjoon and Chloe wandered over to join the group of people you were talking to.

“Are you alright?” Jimin asked quietly.

Jungkook tried to swallow down the hot anger he could feel building. “Why wouldn’t I be?”

“Do you guys know who that is?” Ayeong asked incredulously. “That’s Taehyung Kim. As in, son of actress Jinah Park and Oscar winning director John Kim. He models for big designers a few times a year – he has a verified Instagram account, too.” She tapped on her phone for a minute and held it out to Jimin.

Jimin scrolled silently for a few seconds. “He’s also a photographer?”

“Yeah. I think he’s had at least one showing in New York under the name Vante. It was a photo of your friend that got me interested in photography – about two years ago?” She took the phone back and scrolled for a minute before handing it back to Jimin. “That one. He called it The Sighting, and it still gives me the chills when I look at it.”

Jimin looked at it and then handed the phone to Jungkook. He took it and looked at the photo, a landscape shot of you next to a river. You were in profile, but the angle showed a haunting, pensive expression on your face as you stared across the water, arms folded across your midsection, your hair lifted by a breeze.

The Sighting was a good name for the photo, and he wondered what you had seen that day. After a moment of hesitation, Jungkook went to the thumbnail view of Taehyung’s Instagram page. It was full of you.

Some of the photos were more artistic and some were just little snapshots of happy moments. It was obvious that you had spent most of your time with Taehyung over the past three years, and that anger he’d felt earlier came rushing back. You couldn’t be bothered to let him know you were alive, but you could take cooking classes and adopt a puppy with the perfect Taehyung.

He carefully passed the phone back to Ayeong before he did something crazy like hurl it into the lake.

When Ayeong was distracted by a friend she was talking to, Jimin scooted his chair closer. “Seriously, the level of anger you’re repressing right now can’t be healthy. Can you please just talk to her? Maybe she had a good reason for not coming back until now.”

“I’m not interested,” Jungkook replied.

“You are so full of shit right now,” Jimin said evenly. “You told me that it was your fault she left to begin with. You were going to fix it, you said. Well, here’s your chance.”

“She’s not my fucking problem anymore, and I don’t care,” Jungkook snapped back. “So drop it.”

A quiet gasp made them both look up to see you and Taehyung standing a few feet away. You stared at him, a flush creeping up your neck betraying your emotions. There was something in your eyes that made him feel small in that moment because he knew he’d hurt you.

Without a word, you turned and walked away towards the lake. Taehyung shot a furious look in his direction before following you.

Jungkook spent the remainder of the afternoon battling conflicting emotions. He was mad at you, but he was also mad at himself for still getting angry about something he’d spent two years telling himself was over and done with. He was hurt that you’d just shown up like this with no warning and with new friends, evidence of how you’d replaced him.

He was also confused about why you’d come to this university when you had to know how dangerous it was for you. Jungkook couldn’t see or feel what you saw and felt, but here at Gettis, he occasionally got an uneasy feeling. It was enough that he’d hung a talisman at the window of his dorm, and he’d put up more at the house he shared with Jimin and Jin.

And now you were down by the lake like one of his nightmares come to life. As mad as he was, he was also fighting the urge to physically drag you away from the water. You’d been down there for an hour with Taehyung, Namjoon and Chloe. Thinking about what Namjoon had said – that he and Chloe were interested in paranormal activity – he had to wonder if you’d deliberately chosen to come here because you were looking, too.

He reminded himself again and again that it wasn’t his business, and what you did shouldn’t concern him now. He dredged up his anger to dispel the fear that curled in his stomach when he watched you walk to the end of the pier and lean down to touch the water before looking back at Chloe, who was looking at something on a tablet.

Jungkook guessed he had an answer – you were definitely here looking for something, and you displayed none of the fear that he’d expect, either. And somehow that scared him.

He was still sitting and watching you when Jin arrived.

“I guess Jimin called you,” Jungkook said.

“Where is she?” Jin asked.

He nodded down to the lake.

_____________________________________

“The readings here are insane,” Chloe said. “Look at this, Joon.”

“I see it.”

You closed your eyes and pushed out with your mind, searching. You heard the water ripple a few feet away – it could be mistaken for a fish, but you knew it wasn’t. Taehyung knew it too and crouched behind you to wrap one arm around your waist.

“Even after everything I’ve seen you do, these water ghosts are still the scariest,” he admitted as he anchored you.

They used to be the most terrifying to you as well, but you didn’t feel the same fear you used to feel when standing near the water. You were still scared, at least a little, and very alert to the danger. However, if it hadn’t broken you the night you went down to the lake alone three years ago, you supposed it wouldn’t now.

You could feel that Jungkook was still watching you, too. You didn’t need to look at him to know he must be wondering what you were doing down here. After all, the same fears that haunted you used to haunt him as well.

You’d been so nervous to see him, but once you were standing in front of him, you couldn’t deny the burst of happiness you felt. He looked the same in some ways, but there were little changes you committed to memory; he’d grown a bit taller, and he’d filled out even more. He’d lost the remaining roundness in his face, replaced by defined cheekbones and a sharp jawline. His hair no longer swept across his forehead, hiding his eyes, now replaced by an off-center part that exposed his strong brow.

You’d both grown up during these three years, though it was clear that he’d nursed a deep anger toward you. Maybe you deserved it, but it still hurt to hear him refer to you as a problem – one that he didn’t want to be a part of anymore.

“Y/n?”

You looked over to see Jin standing on the pier next to the lake edge. Taehyung released you as you stood and took a few tentative steps in Jin’s direction, wondering if he was angry, too.

Then he held his arms open, and you felt tears rush into your eyes. You closed the distance and wrapped your arms tightly around him. He just held you for a couple of minutes, petting the back of your head like he used to when he knew you’d had a bad day. His tall, solid presence instantly calmed you.

“I’m sorry,” you whispered.

“I’m maybe a little mad, but I missed you too much to show it right now,” he said. “I’m glad you’re back.”

You finally pulled back and wiped your fingers under your eyes before looking up at him. “I thought you were still in L.A.”

“I was there for a couple of years. I did a couple of commercials, had a few walk-on roles. Mostly I just saved money so I could apply to the theater program here. I finally got in.”

“I’m so glad you’re here,” you said, squeezing his hand.

“What are you doing down here?” Jin asked. He looked concerned as he glanced at the people behind you. “This lake can be dangerous from what I’ve heard.”

You quickly introduced him to Taehyung, Namjoon and Chloe. Jin raised his brows when you mentioned that you were living with Tae, but he didn’t comment.

“Tae and I both transferred from Oxford,” you explained. You debated how much to say, but then added, “Namjoon and Chloe are working on a research project related to paranormal activity. There’s no better place for that than here, so they decided to come with us.”

“I see.” He looked out at the water for a moment and then held out his hand. “Come walk with me.”

As you walked around the perimeter of the lake, you noted that Jin put himself between you and the water.

“Can you really see ghosts?” he finally asked.

You stopped and stared up at him. “Did Jungkook tell you?”

“No,” he said. “You forget how many times over the years you slept over. I can’t even count how many blanket forts I built for you two on the living room floor once you were too old to share a bedroom, and if you remember, I usually slept on the couch. I heard you two talking more than once.”

“And you believed it?” you asked doubtfully.

“No, not at first. I thought you two had overactive imaginations because of what happened to you at the lake that time which, I admit, was hard to explain. But then I saw how you were after the library fire, and after that night we found you at the lake, I guess I wondered.”

You sighed and looked out over the water. “Even my mother doesn’t believe me, Jin. The only people I could talk to were Jungkook and Mrs. Kim.”

“So, it’s true.”

You nodded and met his gaze. “The otherworld is real, though not many people are aware of it. Some people are sensitive to that negative energy – Taehyung, for example. He can’t see them, but he can often feel their presence. And then there are people like me, who can see and interact with them.”

“Then why would you come here?” he asked. “This place even gives me the creeps sometimes. You used to jump at every shadow that crossed your path, and now you’re strolling near the lake looking for what? Water ghosts?”

“More than one,” you replied. “I was trying to feel them out and see how many are out there.”

He looked at you incredulously. “For what purpose? I remember hearing you and Jungkook talk once about how they sometimes followed you. Isn’t this dangerous for you?”

“They recognize me as part of the otherworld, so yes, they often follow me,” you replied. “But I haven’t wasted these last three years, Jin. I’m still learning, but I’m able to use my power in ways now that I couldn’t even comprehend before. And with all the hot spots here, I think this will be a good place for me to test my abilities.”

“So what you’re telling me is that you and your team of ghostbusters over there are here to look for dangerous ghosts,” he said. His laugh turned into a groan, and he wiped a hand down his face. “You and Jungkook are going to give me gray hair before I’m thirty.”

“Please don’t say anything to your mom,” you told him. “I don’t need her or my mom thinking I need a psych admittance.”

“That’s debatable,” Jin muttered. “Jungkook is too mad and stubborn to admit it right now, but he missed you too.”

You looked back over at the water. “He made it clear I’m not his problem anymore, and he’s right. He was kind of trapped in that world with me for ten years. I don’t blame him for opting out.”

“Is that why you left?”

You shrugged but didn’t answer.

“Stubborn, the both of you,” he said with a sigh. “He waited for you to come home that first year and then he tried to forget you. Do you know he hasn’t celebrated his birthday since you left? Like clockwork, August rolls around and Jungkook is a walking wound for a few weeks, snapping at everybody. He can push you out of his head, but he’s never been able to push you out of his heart, y/n, even if he thinks he did.”

Tears blurred your eyes as you stared at the water, and you forced them back. “I can’t force him to listen to what I have to say, Jin. Maybe he’s right and it doesn’t matter anymore.”

________________________________

Jin spent the afternoon trying to reason through everything you’d told him before abandoning reason. That evening he called his mom and asked if she had Mrs. Kim’s contact information. If his mother was curious as to why he needed it, she didn’t say anything. She simply told him that she’d look for it and send it to him later.

When he got off the phone, he saw that Jimin and Jungkook had walked in with the pizzas they’d picked up.

Jimin looked at him curiously. “Why do you want to talk to Mrs. Kim? I don’t think I’ve seen her since before your grandmother’s funeral.”

“Oh, I don’t know. Maybe because y/n is here hunting ghosts. From talking to her this afternoon, I think she probably still talks to Mrs. Kim, and I’d like to know exactly how worried I should be.”

Jimin gaped at him. “Wait, what? She really sees ghosts? I thought Hanna and Lily were full of it when they started that rumor back in elementary school.”

Jin looked at Jungkook and then back at Jimin. “You didn’t know?”

“No.” He shot an accusing look at Jungkook. “Did you know?”

Jungkook was staring at Jin. “What do you mean she’s here hunting ghosts?”

“I mean exactly that. There are multiple water ghosts in that lake, by the way, so I’d advise you both to stay out of it.”

Jimin still looked stunned. “Water ghosts.” He visibly started. “Wait, is that what happened to her at the birthday party? And why she wouldn’t go near the lake again?”

“Apparently.” Jin grabbed a plate and loaded three slices of pizza on it.

“But then why would she be down at this lake if she thinks it’s full of water ghosts?”

“See, she seems to think that she can fight them now or something. She said she’s still learning, but it sounds like she’s here to test her learning curve by hunting ghosts in one of the most haunted places in America. And I can’t believe I just said that out loud.”

Jin watched his brother while eating. Jungkook stared at the pizza on his plate, brow creased. He might try to hide it, but Jin could see he was worried.

Jimin was still trying to put all the pieces in place. “That fire at the library was always weird. Was that a ghost? Because it would explain why she stayed locked up in her bedroom if it was. And those lucky talismans? I noticed you hung a few up here, Jungkook. I thought they were just things you got from your grandmother.”

“They’re not lucky talismans,” Jungkook muttered. “They keep away spirits. Things feel weird here sometimes, so I hung them up just in case.”

“I can’t believe you guys didn’t tell me about this,” Jimin said with a reproachful look. “I wouldn’t have told anyone, you know.”

“Can we please talk about something else?” Jungkook pushed his plate away and stood up.

“Hey.” When Jungkook looked at him, Jin said, “I don’t know what happened between you and y/n three years ago, and I get that you’re still mad, but I’m going to need you to pull your head out of your ass and help me out here. Because she’s still family even if you’re mad at her, Jungkook. I need you to help me make sure she doesn’t get hurt or worse doing whatever it is she’s planning on doing here.”

_________________________

Jungkook tried not to think about you, but after Jin’s revelations, your new ghost hunting hobby was damn near all he could think about. Telling himself it wasn’t his problem anymore was one thing when he thought you had the sense to steer clear of the otherworld, but it was harder to convince himself when he was worried you were actively seeking out trouble.

Jin had mentioned that your boyfriend was a sensitive – someone who could feel but not see the spirits. He supposed that explained how you ended up together, and he obviously supported your newfound insanity. He still couldn’t believe you’d gone down to that lake and touched the water, knowing that it was full of water ghosts. As long as he lived, he’d never forget the force with which that ghost had yanked you into the water all those years ago, and that was only one ghost. Even though Taehyung had been anchoring you, he knew that would be useless if multiple ghosts came after you at once.

Jin had called Mrs. Kim and left her a long voicemail, but he hadn’t heard back from her yet. It had been two days since he’d seen you at the picnic; Jin had gone to visit you at your new house, but Jungkook had refused to go. He still felt confused, his emotions too raw to deal with you.

Jungkook wasn’t in the mood to go out, but Jimin dragged him down to the pool in the athletic building that afternoon.

“You need to work off some aggression,” Jimin said. “I’m tired of you snapping at everyone, and so is Jin.”

They hit the locker room first to change and then walked to the pool room. Once classes started, it would be in use more, but it was peaceful at the moment. Jungkook set his bag down on a chair, noting one other bag there, though no one was around. Then he saw your gold locket.

“Is that someone in the water?” Jimin suddenly asked.

Adrenaline rushed through him as he scanned the water and finally saw the dark shape at the bottom of the pool. “No.”

Jungkook hit the water and dove deep, fear giving him the extra push he needed to reach you within seconds. He jerked you into his arms and swam up. When he surfaced and started pulling you to the side, he was relieved to hear you coughing.

You clung to the side and coughed again before wiping your face.

Jungkook was livid as he climbed out and then lifted you out of the pool. “Are you out of your mind?”

You pushed your hair back and looked at him. “I wasn’t drowning – at least, not until you surprised me, and I inhaled water coming up.”

Jungkook barely controlled the urge to shake you. “You were at the bottom of the fucking pool, y/n! Are you fucking crazy?”

“Don’t curse at me,” you suddenly shouted back at him. “I can swim just fine now. I didn’t need you to jump in and play hero.”

“Whoa, okay you two need to calm down,” Jimin suddenly cut in. “If you weren’t drowning then what the hell were you doing at the bottom of the pool? Because the last time we saw you, you were scared to death of water.”

You walked over to your bag and pulled out a towel, wrapping it around yourself as you faced them. “I learned to swim more than two years ago. Sitting at the bottom of the pool is something I do to practice holding my breath. I like to see how long I can stay down there.”

“What if something was down there?” Jungkook asked, jaw clenched.

“I’m not stupid,” you shot back. “There was a water ghost here, but I got rid of it yesterday. It’s perfectly safe to swim here now.”

His attention was suddenly caught by the long, jagged scar on your left arm. He didn’t even have to ask to know you had gotten hurt doing something dangerous. Something like you were trying to do here. Jungkook thought his head was going to explode. “Are you listening to yourself? Are you trying to die on this campus?”

“What’s going on?”

He turned to see Taehyung coming from the direction of the bathrooms. He didn’t look happy to see Jungkook there, and in his current mood, the feeling was mutual.

“Nothing,” you said. “I want to go home.” You slid your shorts on and pulled a t-shirt over your head before fastening your locket around your neck.

Jungkook held out an arm to stop you from walking by him. “I thought Jin had to be wrong when he told me you were here hunting ghosts. Because that’s just crazy any way you want to look at it, and there’s no way you’d be stupid enough to go looking for that kind of trouble. Right?”

You stared up at him, and the stubborn tilt of your chin made his heart sink. “I think I’m not your fucking problem anymore, Jungkook. So whatever I am or am not doing, you don’t need to worry about it.”

Watching you walk out with Taehyung, he wanted to hit something. He settled for kicking his bag off the chair and then sat, raking his hands through his wet hair. “Fuck.”

Jimin sighed and sat next to him. “Maybe yelling at her isn’t the way to go, Jungkook. She’s not a child, and we have no idea what she’s experienced the last few years. It’s obvious that she’s not the same girl we knew who was afraid of everything, and maybe she has reasons for that.”

Elbows propped on his knees, he clasped his hands behind his head and tried to calm down. “You have no idea what kind of danger she’s putting herself in, Jimin, because you found out about this a couple of days ago. I lived with it for ten years. What she’s doing? She could die.”

Jimin stayed quiet for a minute. “I can’t pretend like I understand because I know I don’t. You two have ten years of secrets – that’s a lot. But it doesn’t change the fact that she has her own secrets now. Three years of secrets, to be exact, and the only way you’ll be able to understand who she is now is if she’ll talk to you about them. I’m just saying yelling won’t accomplish anything.”

Jungkook stayed by the pool when Jimin left, thinking over his friend’s words. Talking to you without getting angry seemed an impossible task at the moment. It would require him to dig at the wounds you’d left him with, to forgive you and ask for forgiveness in return. You had years of hurt and issues to hash out, and frankly, he didn’t know if he was ready for that.

His other option was just to stay away from you, but now that you were back, he didn’t know if he could do that either. And beneath it all, there was his deepest concern – how to keep you safe while he was figuring it out.

A/N – Hope you liked the update! I also updated the Ghosted playlist if you want to check that out. I put a link in my Master Fic List. My asks are open if you have any questions about the story, and I’ll work on getting Chapter 3 up as soon as I can. Yoongi and Hobi will be introduced in the next part as the U.S. liaison to y/n’s ghostbusting team, Hobi rather reluctantly lol.

Tag List: @ggukkieland @jikooksgirl19 @waves-and-woods

#college au #jungkook x you #jungkook x reader #jungkook fanfic #bts imagines #jungkook smut #jungkook fluff #jungkook angst #ghosted

108 notes · View notes

cosmicheromp3 · 4 years

Text

let’s talk about snowbirds don’t fly for a second, shall we: the arc where roy’s addiction was first introduced, and how it actually affected the relationship between roy and ollie.

people’s perception of snowbirds don’t fly and the events surrounding it is so... weird, to the point where it often makes me wonder whether they’ve actually read the comic (and roy’s appearances right after, but i realize those might be less known) or whether they’re just going off a few very specific panels and inaccurate recounts – usually from people that will twist anything in their favour to call ollie a bad guy.

because, if you pieced together what most people seem to think happened – and this is what i was expecting to find once i decided to read it myself –, in snowbirds we should see: roy, not yet an adult and still under the active care of ollie, starts using drugs, and oliver’s so caught up in himself and negligent that he doesn’t notice what’s happening. when he finally finds out, he lashes out, hits roy and kicks him out of the house, leaving roy without a home. this makes their relationship crumble, and roy starts hating ollie because of it. they don’t speak to each other, and leave in awful terms.

and... in many aspects, that’s so far from the events you'll see if you actually go read green lantern #85 (snowbirds don’t fly) and #86 (they say it’ll kill me... but then won’t say when!). i’m assuming a lot of misconceptions happen because of a) writers with a grudge against ollie who retroactively, and unfairly, painted him in a bad light, and people took this at face value, and b) retcons that came with the new 52 reboot – but, i'll be honest, i don’t care enough to go read that mess even for this post. in general, i’m pretty sure we all agree that we ignore out of character comics; let’s not make roy and ollie the exception to that, yeah?

first i want to get something out of the way, that i feel like i need to mention even though there’s probably people that have talked about it better than i could. when we analyze this comic we should keep in mind that the characters in the story were meant to fill specific roles for the sort of... PSA comic that dc was trying to make, and in the 70s, at that. considering this, both roy and ollie are plot devices.

the creative team behind the story (o’neil and adams) have said that they chose roy to be the average “good” teen who fell into drugs – as a way to say “this could happen to anyone, even to this reputable superhero”. ollie was the caring but imperfect parent who missed the signs – not abusive but distant at the moment, he was meant to be more like a nudge to parents to pay closer attention. it was written to play as a sort of “this could happen to the best of us” situation. and in that context, ollie is made to react in a way that is at most "not ideal" for the standards of its time: he hits roy, and denies to himself that roy’s addiction is a real problem that needs to be dealt with delicately. this is used to send the message of “don’t react like this”.

that isn’t exactly the point of this post, and i don’t want to downplay the harm ollie did with his reaction or absolve him of any blame. the point of this post is: people seem to think that’s where the storyline ended, that was ollie’s final reaction, and those are the terms in which ollie and roy parted; which is just not true.

instead, ollie hitting roy happens in the very first page of green lantern #86 – we have an entire issue in which ollie is faced with his initial reaction and made to confront his mistake (which is more than we can say for, um, other father superheroes that have hit their children. i won’t name names.) the only moment you could read as him “kicking roy out” – which is the phrasing i’ve seen applied to this – happens the very next page, where ollie tells roy to “get out”.

the thing is, roy was not living with ollie at the moment. there was nowhere that ollie could kick him out from. “get out” means just that: get out of this room (and ollie didn’t intend anything more than that with his words.) the comic makes a point of stressing that roy is, by that point, independent, and old enough to be living without a guardian.

ollie, right after roy leaves, thinks: “but he shouldn’t need attention–at his age”. ollie is in the wrong here because of his close-minded view of addiction and because he’s not considering that, though a legal adult, roy is still young and needs care, but it still shows that roy was largely on his own by then. ollie’s reaction is definitively negative and a rejection, but can’t in any way be seen as “kicking roy out”, because it isn’t. (note, also, how ollie’s first thought is that he failed roy, but his denial and stubbornness get in the way and he shifts the blame. he’ll eventually have to get over this and change.)

we see that ollie plays the role of the father that reacts poorly, and he is directly contrasted with the adults who do take responsibility for roy – hal at first, and dinah after, are the ones who play the role of “this is how you should react.”

hal finds roy without knowing what happened between him and ollie, and his first reaction is to take roy to a doctor; he immediately recognizes that what roy needs is help – and will later say so to ollie. when roy refuses, saying he wants to kick the addiction on his own – to prove himself to ollie, because even though he doesn’t think ollie was right he still values his opinion and their relationship, but i’d say there’s something he’s trying to prove to himself, too –, hal recognizes that he doesn’t know anything about drug withdrawal or addiction, and he’s receptive to roy, asking him questions and listening without judgement.

so he takes roy to dinah, who is the one that (very kindly, might i add, because dinah and roy weren’t that close at the time) cares for roy while he goes cold turkey. roy, possibly rather unrealistically, though i’m no expert, kicks the addiction in the span of a few pages. before the ending of this arc, roy has already gone clean.

there’s a one week timeskip there, where we assume that out of the characters featured in this story, roy only interacts with dinah, and ollie’s been with hal. then, before the conclusion of this story, roy is given a place to confront ollie and call him out for his mistakes. roy calls him out for turning his back on him, and he gets to tell him – and show him, punching him in a scene where it’s implied that ollie completely deserves it, unlike the opposite situation that this issue started with – about the pain he’s been in. we are given, in text, a moment where roy can express to ollie what he’s been going through, what he did wrong, and how it affected him.

(this is a moment where the intentions of the comic are very clear, not only because roy practically turns to the camera to deliver the PSA, but also because of the wording: roy told ollie that he turned his back on him, and in the same page he talks about society turning its back on drug addicts, same wording twice. ollie and roy are both meant to represent something other than just themselves, even if this happened in continuity and ended up affecting their characters in the long run.)

and ollie – unlike in that first page, now ollie is shown to listen and understand. he’s not in the same place or mindset he was in when everything started. in the beginning, ollie thought that there must be something inherently bad about a person who does drugs, in a reflection of society’s – and parents’ – views of the issue. and that shows in his initial denial and reaction: ‘how could my son, who’s a good person, do this?’ then, in this scene, when roy tells him he beat the addiction, he answers “good boy” – roy immediately rejects this notion, and emphasizes that there’s more to it than his own goodness: what’s important is the help he received, namely from hal and dinah, and a caring environment. ollie, at the very least, begins to understand this, and in doing so understands very clearly what he needs to change about their relationship if he wants roy back.

this means that ollie starts undergoing character development in this one issue alone. the thing about ollie, in regards to his relationship with roy, is that he has made mistakes and the narrative acknowledges it; but, when well written, he realizes and admits it, making a point of learning from his mistakes. roy knows that ollie has fucked up, too, and doesn’t let him off the hook for it, but he also recognizes that he makes an effort to be better. especially after snowbirds, this informs their relationship a lot.

by the end of the issue they’re not hugging, and roy is leaving on his own, but that’s completely of his own accord. and these are the last panels in the entire issue:

the whole original comic, but mostly these panels specifically, is what makes me wonder about people’s perception of these events, and the misconceptions i previously mentioned – because i really am confused as to how you could reconcile these two opposite readings. unless, you know... people are speaking without ever touching the original comic. (i don’t want to blame anyone for not reading older comics, but please, if you’re gonna speak, especially if it’s to shit on a character or call them abusive the way people do with ollie, do it in an informed way.)

so, right after the events of snowbirds, because roy was allowed to speak up and ollie was made to listen, at least as much as can be expected through his stubbornness, they’re in much better terms than people usually think. if you look at roy’s chronology, he interacts with ollie in his next few appearances (barring the teen titans ones), teaming up as they normally would, with the one difference being the emphasis that’s put into the fact that roy has grown away from ollie – in the same way as any young adult would grow away from a parent. there’s also roy’s resentment for ollie’s actions, but this resentment is portrayed as deserved and it doesn’t turn their interactions into something negative. it’s still clear that they both care for each other, and there’s certainly no hate.

[from action comics #436/2]

this first one takes place a few months after roy goes his own way. roy is in the middle of working a case when ollie gets involved, and they work on it together. green lantern #100/2 is their next appearance and has a similar plot, this time with dinah working with them as well. in both of these, they still work well together, are able to communicate in action and have each other’s backs.

in the action comics issue, ollie insists that roy is still welcome by his side, and that he should still feel free to ask for help whenever he needs it. roy refuses in the way that’s shown in the panels above – saying that he needs to “be a loner for a while” and build a life of his own (though it’s not an exact parallel, because ollie is ollie and takes “loner” to a whole other level, the wording here reminds me of the way ollie tends to leave on his own whenever he feels like he needs to find himself). you’ll see that these interactions aren’t hostile at all – quite the opposite.

world’s finest #251/3 might be the one where their interactions are the most tense, and that’s mostly just in the end. when they’re done with the usual superhero team-up, ollie shows willingness to talk to roy:

“i can’t help out. roy’s back, and, well– we’ve got a lot of talking to do.” through these issues, we realize that ollie has learned: his previous mistake was not paying enough attention to roy, and not showing him that he could always count on ollie (both in noticing roy’s addiction, but also before, in not taking enough care so roy wouldn’t get to that point). he tries to make up for it every chance he has, but it’s always on roy’s terms. everyone is aware that ollie is the one who was in the wrong, and it’s up to roy to forgive him or not, but no one ever pressures roy to do so. when roy doesn’t want to stay and talk, ollie accepts it.

ollie atones again and again, and their relationship isn’t magically fixed and they don’t go back to being close without effort – effort which rightfully has to be done, again, mostly on ollie’s part. but they never, ever go so far as to hate each other.

then, in green arrow (1988) #75, ollie feels so bad about what happened between them, about the way he screwed up, he essentially says to roy that he wouldn’t fault him for wanting to shoot him. “so go ahead. god knows, you’ve got plenty of reason.” roy has been brainwashed here; he breaks through it because of ollie’s words.

and, after this whole ordeal is done, this is how they part ways:

by this point, roy already has lian and a life of his own. he’s gone back to being speedy and then arsenal, he’s in the titans again and he will become a renowned hero in his own right. he might have forgiven ollie a long time ago, but now that he has found himself – like he set off to do at first – he seems more prepared to make amends and see where he stands with him (maybe i’m attributing more consistency among these issues, that happen years apart, than we should actually give them credit for, but i can’t help trying to find the common themes.)

after these, which are the most immediate interactions after snowbirds, we have multiple instances of them being close again. it’s in every small moment they have together, really, but off the top of my head, a couple that are illustrative for their relationship are green arrow: the archer’s quest and justice league of america (2006) #7, even though they don’t directly interact in this last one. i was gonna include panels from both, but this is getting long enough; i urge you to read them, especially if you followed along reading the issues i’ve mentioned, because they’re great. what i am gonna include, cause it’s amazing, is this panel from justice league of america wedding special.

in my opinion, these misconceptions around ollie and roy not only are a disservice to their characters but also mean that people are missing out on what i think is a really interesting relationship. it’s almost rare to see a relationship evolve in a way that feels so organic in comics, not only because the interpersonal conflict here is shown to have real, tangible consequences but also because the characters are allowed to grow in a way that is gradual and natural and even satisfying.

ollie and roy's relationship might have never been the exact same after snowbirds – but which father-son relationship stays the same after the son grows up? and i think it's a testament to the strength of their bond that without ever ignoring these events (because, as i’ve shown, they’re very much acknowledged again and again) they not only never stop loving each other, but are also able to keep building something meaningful going forward.

#roy harper #ollie queen #green arrow #dc #dc meta #drug mention //#long post //#i was gonna put this under a read more but u know what. i'm not gonna give u the option to scroll past this. you are forced to read it #not really but u know hgsdhghsj #you'll notice how many times they call each other dad/son in these panels and that wasn't even intentional #not to keep comparing this to u know who but u know who could never

570 notes · View notes

youngjusticeslut · 4 years

Text

Into the Light

Fandom: She-Ra and the Princesses of Power Characters: Catra, Horde Prime. Mentions of Adora. Ships: Catradora Rating: T AO3

“You will not break me,” Catra snarls, and she means it with every fiber of her being.

Horde Prime’s voice chides her from behind. “My intention was never to break you, little sister.” He grabs something off the tray, something that Catra can’t identify. “I only wish to heal you.”

Catra suffers at the hands of Horde Prime.

Every one of Catra’s muscles burns with pain, but adrenaline keeps her from fully experiencing the wrath.

Two clones escort her to Prime’s throne room, her hands bound behind her back. It’s not an easy trip. She stumbles often, her legs giving out from exertion. The clones don’t care. Every time she falls, they drag her back up again, pressing forward with their task. Her arms burn from being held in such a stiff position, but the clones don’t seem to care, as they hold them firmly in place.

Catra’s instincts are raging at her. She should be fighting until she really has nothing left to give. At the very least, she should be trying to get out of this situation, just like she always does. Her mind, however, knows better. Fighting is futile at this point; she knows what’s coming for her.

Oddly enough, she doesn’t care. Despite Catra’s defeat in her fight against the clones, she still tastes victory. Adora is safe. She has Glimmer now, and that archer boy whose name she can’t quite remember, and thus, Adora will be fine.

They reach the throne room. Save for the sound of their footsteps on the pristine floor, the room is silent. Every sound, from her ragged breathing to the blood pounding in her ears, is amplified. The clones drop her in front of Horde Prime, and Catra doesn’t even need to lift her eyes from the floor; she can feel Horde Prime watching her every move. Even though she wants nothing more than to run as far as her legs can carry her, she holds herself steady and keeps her face blank.

Horde Prime sticks his boot under her chin, forcing her to look at him. If it were Hordak, Catra was sure he would be screaming, yelling, attacking her. But Horde Prime sits still and merely looks disappointed. “The Etherian ship has changed course,” he begins, getting to his feet. “But your treachery will not save them.”

“Prime casts out all shadows. Prime casts out all shadows.”

She does her best to block out the clones’ malicious droning. Instead, Catra focuses on Prime, whose rage is cool, but collected. “There is no darkness that my light cannot pierce,” he continues. “No distance that my hand cannot reach.” As his tempo rises, so does the clones’ chanting. Her efforts of drowning them out aren’t enough, and she finds herself turning to stare them all down.

“They will not be able to hide from me forever,” Horde Prime announces, more to the clones than to Catra. When the chanting stops, he turns his attention back to the feline. “You were beloved in my sight and this is how you repay me.”

Catra stares him down, then bursts into a laughter so rough it stings her injuries. She doesn’t know what it feels like to be beloved in anyone’s sight, but it’s certainly not this. Her reaction surprises Horde Prime, but he doesn’t interrupt. “What did you expect?” she asks, all too gleefully. “After all, us Etherians are so very emotional.” It feels good to use his words against him.

She focuses on Horde Prime, narrowing her eyes. “It doesn’t matter what you do to me,” she says, because it doesn’t. So long as Adora is safe, he can do anything he wants to her. “Glimmer is gone. And you will never get your hands on Adora.”

At this point in the conversation, Hordak would have barked orders to lock her up, or place her on the next transport to Beast Island. Horde Prime, however, remains still. “Oh, my child, you’re wrong. Everyone has a place in my empire.”

Horde Prime’s grabs her chin, his metal talon grating right against her mask. The action is enough to diminish some of Catra’s bravado; this gesture has never done any good for her. He smirks, almost as if he can sense the uncertainty coursing through her veins. “You will be of use to me yet.”

Before she can ask what that even means, Horde Prime lets go of her chin and glances at his clones. “Please escort our dear little sister to cell number 6.” A slow grin stretches across his pale face, and Prime reaches forward to smooth down her rumpled hair. Catra jerks back with a hiss, but she doesn’t get far. The clones yank her back to her knees and hold her in place.

Her reaction bears no effect on Horde Prime. He simply sits back on his throne, smiling to himself. “So wild,” he muses. “It is no wonder your Adora does not want you.”

Catra chokes on a bitter laugh. Those words are meant to break her, but she’s been broken long ago by a villain of a different name. “You think that’ll work on me?” she spits out. “Try telling me something I don’t know.”

Horde Prime doesn’t respond. He just sits there, watching her. After a few long, terse minutes, he snaps his fingers and the clones yank her to her feet. “We will meet again, little sister.” He crosses his legs again, giving her one long glance-over.

The look he gives her sends a chill down Catra’s spine as the clones lead her away. Any bravado, any victory she previously felt slowly begins to dissipate. Her mind flashes to the green pool, and Hordak’s screams, and she grits her teeth to keep her jaw from shaking. It’s fine. She can take pain. So long as Adora is safe, and far away from him, she’ll be okay.

She’s just collateral, after all.

—

Cell number 6 is nothing special, but it makes Glimmer’s cell seem like a palace. There’s no bed in it, nor any niceties. Just a white room with a green forcefield, forever emitting a threatening hum. The clones deposit Catra there and leave without giving her a glance. Catra prefers it that way. The less she has to look at those damn clones, the better.

Alone with her thoughts, Catra finally begins to relax. She pushes herself against a wall and pulls her knees to her chest, tail curled around her. As much as she tells herself she isn’t scared, she can feel her ears hanging low on her head. She’s been scared before, but not like this.

With Hordak and Shadow Weaver, she more or less knows what kind of trouble she can get into. Growing up in the Horde has left her with a thick skin— not as thick as she’d like, but thicker than most. She can prepare for those types of consequences at a moment’s notice.

It’s different here. Horde Prime is foreign to her, as are his methods. From her few interactions with him, it’s clear that he values little, and fears even less. Unlike his brother, Horde Prime is not someone who should be trifled with.

Yet here she is. If she thinks about it, the matter becomes almost funny. Here is the most terrifying villain Catra’s ever had to face, and what does she do? She serves him the ultimate betrayal. If it were someone, anyone else, she would have laughed.

With a sinking pit in her stomach, she realizes that it isn’t anyone else. It’s her. Now she’s left to deal with the fallout. Catra rests her chin atop her knees, letting out a low breath. She’s certain he’ll kill her, if only to use as an example. At the very least, she’ll be electrocuted and wiped, just like he did Hordak. It’s not an ideal circumstance, but she tells herself she accepts it.

Seeking greener pastures, her mind wanders to Adora.

I’m sorry. For everything.

Catra meant it, too. Maybe that was the saddest part of it all. What she wouldn’t give to see her one last time before Horde Prime ends her. She wants to see her blue eyes again, her smile. That dumb hair poof.

Of course, these are only fantasies. She’d made her peace with speaking to Adora one last time; she’ll never see her again. Adora won’t get anywhere near the ship, Catra’s done everything in her power to ensure that happens. For now, though, she lets herself indulge in wonder.

If she could talk with her again, she’d give her a real apology. She’d apologize to everyone she’s ever harmed. Glimmer. Scorpia. Bow— of course, now she remembers his name. What a stupid name to forget in the first place.

Why had she sounded so concerned? Catra mulls this over to pass the time, scratching at the floor when her hands become restless. Adora doesn’t care about her. She hates her. By activating the portal, Catra had destroyed things between them. And yet, a part of her dares to hope that maybe, just maybe, there’s a chance. The smallest chance that by saving Glimmer, Catra had found a way to redeem herself in Adora’s eyes. She laughs at herself as soon as she thinks it. It’s a ridiculous thought; Adora will never forgive her for the things she’s done.

The longer she waits for her atonement, the worse she feels. Her ears are plastered to the side of her head, and her hands shake so hard she can’t hold them still if she tries. What’s taking them so long? If they’re going to kill her, there’s no better time. She’s weak, and injured, and will put up little resistance.

Still, no one arrives at her door, and the time passes. Catra pounds at the green forcefield, she screams. No one hears her. No one acknowledges her. Just like every other corner of the universe, no one cares about her.

When it’s clear that her attempts are useless, Catra collapses to the floor and clutches at her hair. Maybe this is how he intends to kill her. Wait her out, starve her slowly. Let her thoughts ultimately be the end of her.

The thought chills her to her core. She never thought she’d die alone.

—

It feels like days have gone by before the clones finally come for her.

Granted, she has no way of knowing how long she’s been in the cell. The harsh white lines bear down on her at all hours of the day, and though sleep is the farthest thing from her mind, she’s frustrated at being robbed of the choice. Her body is wracked with exhaustion and begs her for rest, but between the growling in her stomach, the unsettling cell, and her constant tremors, she refuses to indulge.

When the green door opens, Catra almost believes she’s seeing things. Two clones enter the room. Neither of them hold a meal for her, and her stomach growls pitifully at the realization. They walk towards her, feet clanging against the cold metal floor, and she doesn’t even have the energy to scoot backwards. She flinches when cold hands wrap around her arms and unceremoniously drag her out, not even sparing her the dignity of letting her walk.

It’s okay, she tells herself, trying to quell the fear that bubbles deep inside of her. It doesn’t matter what they do to you. Adora is safe now. She repeats the words like a mantra as the clones drag her through the ship, almost as if willing herself to believe it.

Despite it all, Catra can’t deny that she’s afraid. Her tail bristles, and there’s a chill that hasn’t left since her last conversation with Horde Prime.

“Where are you taking me?” she asks, hating how ragged and pathetic her voice sounds.

Neither clone answers.

Left to her own imagination, Catra reluctantly lets her eyes close. She knows she shouldn’t. If she were herself, she’d be taking notes of her surroundings and figuring out how to best disable the clones and escape. But she’s tired. All she wants is a few moments of peace without her teeth chattering or her insides in knots. If Horde Prime plans to kill her, a few minutes of rest won’t change anything.

Catra returns to her senses when she hears the familiar chime of a door being opened. Her body resents her, begs her to continue on the path to sleep, but all thoughts of rest are put on hold as she takes in the room. It’s empty, save for a chair.

She barely has a moment to try to understand when she’s shoved into the chair. The hard surface digs into her skin, and she comes to the slow realization that nothing on this ship seems to be designed for comfort.

The door opens again and another clone enters, carrying a tray. His eyes bore white pupils, and he smiles when he looks at her. “Catra,” he greets with Horde Prime’s slithering voice. She cringes, but as much as she wants to look away, she forces herself to keep looking right at him. She’s not surprised that he isn’t here in person; it makes complete sense that her punishment isn’t worthy of his presence.

“No games,” she rasps, doing everything in her power to keep her voice from wavering. “Just kill me and get it over with.”

“Kill you?” The clone cocks his head to the side and hands the tray off. He closes the distance between him and Catra, trailing his finger across her jaw. “No, little sister. I have other plans for you.”

Catra grits her teeth and yanks her face away from his touch. “Not interested. I won’t help you.”

The clone chuckles, a cold, calculated sound that does nothing but intensify Catra’s nerves. “Such fire,” he notes, circling around her. “It must be tamed.”

“What are you going to do to me?”

For the second time, she receives no answer. Instead, the clone pulls off her mask in one swift motion. “What a paltry thing,” he muses, examining it in his palms. Catra winces when he drops it at her feet. “Dispose of it with the rest.”

The rest?

It’s on the tip of her tongue to ask what he means, but she stops herself. She doesn’t feel like receiving silence for a third time.

“Should we restrain her, Lord Prime?” asks the clone holding the tray.

The clone in front of Catra glances at her before shaking his head. “There’s no need for that.” He smirks. “There’s nothing for her to fight. Catra made her choice. Isn’t that right, little sister?”

You made your choice. Now live with it.

Catra swallows, holding back the whimper that rises in her throat. Adora is right. She made a choice to protect her. Now she had to live with the consequences, no matter how much pain they caused her.

When she offers no response, the clone spasms and jerks backwards in an unnatural bend. With Horde Prime’s control gone, the clone’s green eyes return, and he nods to the clone not holding the tray. In response, the second clone stands beside her, close enough to intervene in case she decides to try anything.

“It would be in your best interest not to move,” he warns, emphasizing his point.

Catra’s eyes widen. From her peripheral, she sees the first clone pick up an item off the tray. It glints in the glaring brightness of the room, but the clone to her side blocks Catra from getting a better look. She can only imagine what kind of torture lies in store for her, and her mind goes ballistic with the possibilities.

A hand grabs a strand of her hair and pulls it taught, so she clamps her jaw in preparation. She tells herself she won’t scream, no matter how much it hurts. Catra won’t give Horde Prime, nor his clones, the satisfaction.

However, the pain never comes.

The room fills with the sound of loud, methodical snipping. Her ears twitch in discomfort. She doesn’t understand what they’re doing— where is that sound coming from? Something lands at her feet. When she glances down, she realizes it’s her hair.

She refuses to cry, and bites her lip to keep from reacting at all. It’s just hair. It doesn’t matter, not really. Not when Adora is safe and far, far away from here.

Catra repeats it to herself, over and over, but it’s drowned out by the careless snipping. Her hair continues to drop on the floor, gathering in a steady pile. Catra pokes it with her foot, but it only makes the nightmare all the more real.

There’s a breeze on her neck. She can’t feel her hair on her back anymore, and that scares her. With her mask gone and her hair shorn, what does she have to hide behind? As the minutes go by, she feels herself growing smaller in the chair. Catra is sure that this punishment bears little purpose other than humiliating her., and to her dismay, it’s working.

By the time the clone steps away, Catra is trembling. The room spins beyond her control, but she balls her fists anyway and forces herself to focus.

A disjointed crack signifies that Horde Prime has returned. Catra keeps her face still, betraying no emotion, but it’s for nothing. He doesn’t face her again. “I believe this suits you much better,” the clone says with Horde Prime’s voice, trailing a cold finger down her neck. “Much more ideal for my plans.”

“You will not break me,” Catra snarls, and she means it with every fiber of her being.

If she had anything left in her, she would have laughed.

“Unfortunate as your betrayal is, it did come at a convenient time,” the voice continues. “I do hope my prototype won’t cause you too much suffering.”

An object is placed on her neck. Despite her efforts to prepare for pain, Catra hisses as the device leeches into her and sends white-hot flash down her spine. She jumps backwards, hissing wildly and clawing at the device on her neck, but the clones are quick to restrain her.

“All beings must suffer to become pure,” they remind her, and for the first time, she understands.

The pain leaves Catra disoriented. Images that aren’t hers start flashing in her mind, and no matter how hard she struggles, she’s unable to send them away. She doesn’t notice when the clones cart her out of the room, nor when they lead her to the purification pool.

When she opens her eyes again, she’s there, standing at the edge of the green liquid. Horde’s small army of clones circle the pool, chanting, watching her every move. Horde Prime stands at the center, arms open, a smile on his face. The moment Catra realizes where she is she scrambles to leave, but the chip on her neck sends a shock throughout her system and renders her immobile.

Horde Prime starts speaking, but the blood is pounding too hard in her ears for her to register the words. Too many thoughts are in her head, and she swears the malicious chanting grows louder by the second. As much as Catra wants to play brave and hold her head high, she’s terrified. Horde Prime’s screams as the pool shocked him are still etched into her head, and though a part of her knew this would be her fate, she’s not ready to face it.

“Step forward, dear sister. It is time you are free of your pain,” Horde Prime announces. Catra’s legs move of their own accord, and she’s too weak to fight them.

In the center of the pool, for a single moment, there is peace.

And then the electric current begins, and Catra wails in pain. Shadow Weaver’s blows bear no comparison to the torture of the green pool. She reaches out, hoping someone, anyone would make it stop, but the clones just continue to chant, and stare.

Catra feels herself slipping. Within moments, everything goes black.

—

“Why did you do it?”

Adora’s voice lulls Catra out of her trance. The feline slowly blinks her eyes open, finding Adora, her Adora, above her, cradling her head in her hands. Catra whimpers at the touch, and she wishes she had the strength to hold her back.

“I did it for you,” she says, her voice rife with pain. “You weren’t supposed to come back for me.”

“Of course I came back for you!” Adora has tears in her eyes, and they trickle down on Catra’s cheeks as she presses their foreheads together. “I’m not leaving you behind again. Not ever.”

Catra chokes on a sob. It’s all she ever wanted to hear. “You promise?” she croaks.

Adora responds, but no sound comes out of her mouth. The hands holding her start to fade, and Catra fights to keep them with her but it’s no use. Adora disappears before her very eyes, and Catra is left alone in the void.

“How interesting.” She turns to the voice, only to find Horde Prime in the darkness with her. “It would seem that your Adora means quite a bit to you.”

She shakes her head, closing her eyes and trying to will herself awake. This is a nightmare. Just a nightmare, and Horde Prime will be gone the moment she wakes up. She’ll be alone, in her cell, waiting for whatever sick games he has in store for her.

It doesn’t work. Catra trembles and gasps at her hair, but quickly yanks her hands away when she feels the shorn strands. It isn’t a nightmare. This is real.

“You aren’t here,” she stammers once she’s opened her eyes. “You can’t be.”

“Yet here I am,” he answers plainly. Horde Prime steps closer to her, and taps the chip in her neck. “I have freed you, little sister.”

“No,” Catra gasps, immediately backing away. “You aren’t real. You aren’t in my head.”

Any distance she’s placed between them, Horde Prime closes in an instant. He grabs her chin, but unlike Adora, it isn’t delicate. There’s no love there, only control. “Would you like to see?”

He turns her head to the side where a vision appears. She thinks it's her cell at first, but there’s a barrack, so it can’t be. Her cell had been empty. There’s a murmur of voices in the air.

Alpha Squadron set for departure to Erelandia.

Go in Horde Prime’s will, Brothers.

Catra grasps at her ears. The voices aren’t just in what he’s showing her. They’re in her head. “I don’t understand,” she says, looking to Horde Prime for an explanation.

“You will.”

She keeps watching. The bunk moves out of view. Instead, a mirror appears, nearing closer. When the reflection appears, Catra’s eyes bulge in horror. It’s her. No longer in her own clothes, she’s fitted in a white uniform. Her hair is cropped, slicked back, allowing green eyes to take center stage.

“No,” she hisses, lashing out and bringing out her claws, swiping at Prime. He dodges all too easily.

“Are you not satisfied, little sister? I have healed you.”

“Put me back,” she insists. “I am not yours to control.”

He brings his hand to the back of her head, rendering her immobile. “But you are. I have freed you from your pain, your rage. For that, you should be grateful.”

With an angry cry, Catra shoves him away and begins to run. She has to get out of here. There has to be a way, some way, to wake up. If she was under his control, who knows what he’d use her for.

The poisonous chuckle overpowers her head and sends her crashing to the ground. Still, Catra struggles to her knees and pushes forward. She’ll crawl her way out if she has to. Flashes of the cell appear in her mind. The harder she fights, the clearer it gets.

“Why do you struggle so hard, little sister?” The image disappears, and she’s inside the void again. Voices fill her head, all at once, and it’s hard to concentrate on anything. “Do you wish to feel pain again? To experience betrayal?”

Catra’s memories flash before her eyes in rapid succession. Adora, leaving her, over and over again. Shadow Weaver, abandoning her and leaving her to face Hordak’s punishment without a care. Attacking Entrapta. The portal. Double Trouble. Hordak. The old wounds in her chest slowly start to unravel, and with them Catra begins to feel the emotions she’s worked so hard to bury. “You would so willingly protect the girl that broke your heart?”

Catra fights past the pain, taking a shaky breath before glaring at Horde Prime. “She’s my friend. I’ll do anything to protect her from you.”

“Such brave words.” Horde Prime tilts his head to the side. “But bravery cannot distract from the truth. You said so yourself, your Adora is not your friend. Whatever she may mean to you, it is clear she does not feel the same.”

Adora appears in front of her, blue eyes are clouded with hate. “I don’t want you, Catra,” she states, and the words pierce Catra like a sword to the chest. “You made your choice.”

“No,” she whimpers, softer this time. “Adora, please. I—”

“You what?” Adora laughs, her face twisted with ugly hatred. “Did you really think it would be that easy? That I’ll forgive you? You hurt people, Catra. The only person you deserve is yourself.”

She starts to walk away, and Catra follows her, struggling to keep up. She takes her hand, holding it tightly in her own, afraid she’ll let go. “Please… Stay.”

Adora turns around, but her face changes from anger to fear. She stumbles, and Catra quickly catches her as they both come down to the ground. Something’s wrong. “Adora?” Her voice is shaking. Every part of her is shaking.

“Why’d you do it?” Adora asks, tears pooling in her eyes. What is she talking about? The portal? Catra’s hands are wet, and when she sees the blood on Adora’s shirt she chokes on a sob and pulls her closer.

“No,” she repeats, because it’s all she can think of to say.

“Catra, why?”

“You’re okay. Just stay with me, I’ll get you help. I can fix this.”

Adora shakes her head, her lip quivering. Her skin grows pale, and her blue eyes begin to turn gray. “I loved you,” she says.

Catra holds her tighter, burying her face in her neck. She’s only ever imagined that Adora would say those words, but not like this. Never like this. “Stay with me,” she begs into her hair, clutching her with a desperation she didn’t think she had left. “Please, stay.”

She doesn’t stay. Adora grows slack in her arms, and whatever resolve is left in Catra breaks completely. The apparition disappears and Catra crumples on the floor, tears streaming down her face. A guttural, choking sound echoes throughout the void. When the ringing dims from her ears, she realizes that it’s coming from her. Sobs escape her throat faster than she can keep them in, and they offer no relief.

For so long, she’s buried these memories, the pain she so desperately avoids feeling. All at once, it consumes her. Breaks her. Catra curls up on the ground, clutching at her arms and digging her nails into her skin. She wants the ache to stop, for the memories to go away and close the hollow roar in her chest, but it remains. The physical pain offers no relief for her emotional wounds. Not at this point.

Not when all she can see is Adora’s blood on her hands, her blue eyes turned gray and staring at nothing.

Horde Prime approaches her again, and this time she can’t hold back from whimpering. “So much pain, little sister.” The chip at her neck sizzles with electricity, begging to take full control. “Do you wish for freedom?”

Far away, she hears a voice in the back of her head, screaming at her to keep fighting. But she can’t. She’s so tired, and the pain is too much for her to bear.

She really is useless.

Adora appears again, as a little girl, resting her hand on her shoulder. “I promise,” she says with an innocent smile. Catra rests her hand on top of hers, tears running down her face. She has to protect her. She promised to look out for her.

“I’m sorry,” she whispers before letting go of her hand. “I’m so sorry.”

As the chip takes control, the memory slips away. Her attempts to hold it are frail, and Adora’s face slips from her mind faster than she would have liked. When it disappears, she lets go completely, and allows everything to fade to black.

She’s free.

—

The Etherian ship has entered the premises.

Catra feels nothing. There’s a smile on her face.

Pilot is alone. Identifies as She-Ra.

She-Ra is Horde Prime’s enemy. Horde Prime will bring her into the light.

Little Sister, I request your presence.

Catra stands obediently. She leaves her cell, joining two of her brothers. They exchange no pleasantries; those are reserved for Horde Prime. When they arrive at his throne room, she waits at the door.

“I don’t fight for the First Ones. I fight for my home, for myself, and for my friends.”

She recognizes that voice.

“Now for the last time, where is Catra?”

Adora.

She’s here.

For the briefest of moments, the chip ceases its control, and Catra sees her. She’s there, standing before Horde Prime, red jacket, ponytail and all.

“Adora?” she calls out shakily. She has to protect her. Horde Prime can’t get his hands on her. She moves to approach her, but as quick as the chip gives her control, it disappears, and Catra is rendered submissive once more.

“Catra? Where are you?”

She and her brothers step forward, approaching Horde Prime. The girl in the red jacket, the She-Ra, means nothing to her. She broke her heart. Horde Prime has fixed it, and given her peace.

She-Ra must be brought into the light, just like her.

Catra removes her hood, and smiles. “Hello, Adora.”

#she ra #spop #catra #adora #catradora #horde prime #she ra and the princesses of power #ariel's writing #yes #this is another one of those catra gets chipped fics #idc I'm throwing my take into the mix #it's far too long #but I live for the feels

104 notes · View notes