#also this posting fulfills my one fic a year quota

[rhainontheshelves]

Remember, Recover

Member: Bang Chan {Stray Kids} and afab!reader

Genre: Fluff, Angst, light smut description

Word Count: 4238

A/N: This is the complete version of a fic I posted back in 2019! Rip It finally passed my writer's uncertainty test so out it goes. Happy reading!- Rhin

     “... How long are you going to stay on my lap?”

     “However long it takes to finish this melody. Deal with it.” I said, plunking out a string of notes on the keyboard. Figuring out a concrete sheet of music was difficult when all I had was some sound clips Chan had come up with years ago. But, nevertheless, I managed to connect them and came up with a pretty good composition. I saved the file with a little “Yay!” and leaned back. 

     Chan groaned as my weight shifted further back on his legs. “Damn (Y/N), how many cheeseburgers did you eat today?”

     “Not as many as you. How many did you order, four?” I smirked.

     “It was only three, excuse me! And they were singles, you can’t blame me for cheating the system and getting three singles for less than a triple.”

     “Only because we’re broke and ordering off the dollar menu,” I said, twisting around to face him, “and two medium fries! Who are you, an unhealthy version of Gaston?”

     “Hey, don’t compare me to that jerk!” Chan tried hard to keep a straight offended face. “And I’m very healthy, thank you very much.”

     A couple moments of silence was enough to break my mask and burst out laughing. Chan’s face was too good not to. He chuckled along with me and stroked my hair as I leaned into his chest, trying to pull myself together. 

     “Wow, I’m tired,” I said, wiping tears from my eyes. “What time is it?”

     Chan glanced over to the computer. “Midnight on the dot.”

     “We have officially spent five hours in this dumb room.” I got up and grabbed a Pepsi from the minifridge. “Want one?”

     All Chan had to do was hold a hand out for me to toss one to him. Together, we unscrewed the lids and took huge swigs. We were in for a long night, so we needed all the energy we could get. 

     “Let’s take a break.” Chan said, rolling over to the couch and propping his feet up. “My brain is tired from trying to pull feelings and experiences from years ago up for lyrics.”

     I flopped on the couch, thinking of a way I could help out. To be honest, I hadn’t done anything of that nature since I graduated, and that was just about a year ago. The memory was pretty hazy (it was a black-out type of night), so that wouldn’t help out a lot.

     “(Y/N), do you trust me?” Chan asked out of the blue. 

     “What is that supposed to mean?”

     “Well, if this song is truly about sex, wouldn’t we need some moans in the background or something? The good ol’ bed creaks are getting a bit overused in this industry.”

     It took me a minute to process what Chan meant. “Wait… you want me to-”

     “No! Not if you don’t want to,” Chan’s cheeks turned red, “we can always pull audio from porn or something!”

     I looked at my best friend, sighed, and shook my head. “You’re lucky we need to get this track done by tomorrow afternoon,” I got up, turned off the lights, and went into the booth. 

     “Why did you-”

     “So I can still have some dignity by the end of the night,” I said into the microphone. “Can we just get a series and cut it into the song? It’s too tedious to do stuff at exact moments.”

     “That’s fine by me.” Chan affirmed. “Just say so when you’re done.”

     I awkwardly stood in the booth for a bit, trying to figure out the logistics of this. The microphone that was hooked up wasn’t omnidirectional, so getting into the right position for the audio to be captured was a big problem. Also the fact that Chan was here made me extremely nervous. I didn’t know why; we could usually talk for hours about this stuff. Maybe it was because it was for real instead of the usual imaginary scenarios. 

     Pulling up a chair, I sat down in it and carefully reached out toward the mic stand. I found the knob that adjusted the height and brought it down to its lowest position. Then, making myself as comfortable as I could be, I unbuttoned my jeans and slid a hand down. 

     “Any time now, (Y/N).” Chan’s voice boomed. The sudden fracture in the silence scared me and made me lose my start. 

     “Damn it Chan, I was just getting warmed up,” I muttered. “Just starting to get focused.”

     “Oh, sorry.” His voice sounded tiny over the speaker system. 

     “You’re good, just don’t do that again, okay?”

     “Got it.” With that, the static of an open line cut off, leaving me back at square one. 

     I sat there for a bit, trying to bring up a picture in my head that I could jack off to. Nothing in particular was coming to mind, except feeling something hard as I sat on Chan’s lap just a couple minutes ago. I zoned in on that feeling, and started to find something I could associate it with… and then my brain betrayed me. 

     “Hey Chan… do you remember that party we went to a couple years back? You needed to blow off some steam from being cooped up with the guys too long and I needed some relief from college?”

     Static started buzzing again. “Yeah, I remember that. It was a fun night.”

     “I don’t know any other way to say this, but… I can’t get this image of you out of my head… I think we did something that night.”

     “I wouldn’t be surprised if we did. We were pretty drunk.”

     “No, you don’t understand. All I can remember after the sixth shot of whiskey is undoing someone’s belt while they marked me up. Their shirt was red, like that one button-up you have that I like so much.”

     “Oh… that… yeah, that was me.”

     “You remember?” Honestly, I was shocked. I was certain that Chan got even drunker than I did.

     “Yeah, every second. I wasn’t as drunk as you then.”

     “Well, tell me about it then, since I obviously don’t remember.”

     “Um, okay.” There was some hesitation there. I knew Chan well enough to know that this was important to him for some reason; he would have told me about it sooner if it wasn’t.

     “Hey, it’s okay Chan.” I soothed him. “It won’t mess up our friendship.”

     “Are you sure?” his voice was shaky. 

     “I’m absolutely positive.”

     “Well, it started when you pulled me away from the dance floor. Apparently I was grinding on some girl you didn’t like. I could tell you were getting faded, so I didn’t take it too seriously. As you were ranting about it, you started to say peculiar things. Like, “you have no right to look that fine” and “if you had another button undone and your sleeves already rolled up when you picked me up we would have never left the house”, things like that. Obviously I had turned you on and drunk (Y/N) gets really bold and horny. I don’t really remember what you said next, but I couldn’t stop myself from kissing you.”

     I was starting to remember, recalling the atmosphere and how Chan looked that night. That was one of the top times where I just wanted to hop on his dick and ride the night away. I wasn’t proud of it, but it happened. 

     “You backed me up against a wall and started unbuttoning my shirt. I realized where we were going at that point and quickly picked you up and headed towards the nearest room so we could have some privacy. Luckily it was a bedroom and the door was able to be locked. You started working on my belt and I gave you two hickeys on your shoulder. Once that belt was gone, you started undressing and I lost it. Lust just burned through me and you seemed pleased that you brought it on.”

     Chan was slightly caught off guard as whimpers came through the other end of the mic. (Y/N) must be remembering and getting off on that. He couldn’t deny that his mind was roaming back to then as well. 

     “Chan, don’t stop talking. I want to remember everything.” (Y/N) whined.

     Chan could feel the lust creeping up again. It made him cocky; it made him want to hear what (Y/N) had to offer. “Everything?”

     “Everything.”

     “I picked you up and threw you on the bed, trapping you under my body. You pulled me down for another kiss, but I was already there. As we made out, my hands traveled around, We pulled apart for air and I swear you looked like an angel, all out on display for me. You begged for me to do something, anything… so I got on my knees and pulled you forward until I could devour you properly.”

     Chan described the rest of the encounter in graphic detail, and that was more than enough to help me out. By the end of it, I had cummed twice and moaned up a storm. I was confident that I had recorded good material. 

     “Alright, that’s a wrap.” I stated as I buttoned up my jeans. 

     Chan didn’t answer. 

     “Chan?” I called as I exited the room. 

     He wasn’t at the soundboard. The door was wide open though. 

     “Chris?” I called again, sticking my head out of the door.

     No one was there to hear me. 

     Concerned, I picked my phone off of the coffee table and there was a notification for a text - from Chan. 

     Went out to grab some food. I’ll be back soon

     I ended up spending the rest of the night in the studio- without Chan. I cut the audio and put it into the backtrack as best I could. I told myself that he would come back and rearrange it the way he wanted it to be, but around 4:30 AM I started to doubt that. I recorded my parts that were marked on the lyric sheet, but soon I was so exhausted that my voice didn’t sound like mine anymore. The smell I left behind made me so nauseous that I sprayed what seemed like half a can of air freshener all around the studio before crashing on the couch. 

     “... (Y/N)! (Y/N), wake up!” A voice called as they shook my shoulder. 

     “Huh?” My eyes finally registered the light and I put my arm over them. “What time is it?”

     “It is currently 9:30. Where’d Chan go?”

     With that comment, my eyes flew open and I got a good look at who awakened me. It was Jisung, another one of the Stray Kids members I had gotten close with. If Jisung was here… then Chan never came back.

     “He left.” I said bluntly as I sat up and rubbed the sleepiness out of my eyes. 

     “What?” 

     “He left. He went to get food and never came back.”

     “Shit.” Jisung breathed. He whipped out his phone and called someone, presumably another member. “Hey Changbin, did Chan ever come back last night? No? Well, (Y/N) doesn’t know where he is either. Yep- yeah. I will. See ya.” With that, he hung up and ran his fingers through his hair. 

     “He’ll turn up.” I tried to comfort him. “At least you all don’t have anywhere to be today.”

     “I guess.” Jisung sounded really bummed and concerned. “He never does this, not without contacting one of us first.”

     I let Jisung think for a minute before standing up and stretching. “Well, if you’ll excuse me, I need to run home and shower and change. Being in here for 11 hours isn’t too good on the hygiene.”

     “When will you get back?”

     “About 30, 45 minutes? Somewhere around there.”

     “Good, because I still need to think about whether I should help you finish this track or not. Judging by those lyrics…” he nodded toward the sheet of paper and grinned, “I don’t think I should be.”

     I turned a dark shade of red before darting out the door. I was too embarrassed about last night to stay in the studio one second longer. God forbid I was there when Jisung listened to what I had so far. I mean, I trusted him, but having him hear bare audio of me moaning was pushing the bar a little bit more than a lot. When effects and vocals and the other layers of the backing was put on over it, I wouldn’t have a problem with people listening, but in the raw form it was in now, it was too intimate.

     As I walked back to my apartment, I mulled over why Chan had left. I wanted to believe that it was for some normal reason, like he was feeling too uncomfortable to stay or he actually went to grab food, but something had distracted him. Maybe he was sleeping at the dorms and nobody had noticed yet, or he was back at my place sleeping. Maybe it was nothing to worry about and he would be back and fixing all of my mistakes when I got back to the studio. But, deep in my heart, I knew it was way more complicated than that. 

     The project was put on hold indefinitely until Chan could be found. I looked everywhere with the rest of Stray Kids, checking his most frequented places and even calling one of his relatives that lived in the area. Any place I recalled him liking, I went and searched every nook and cranny.  

     “Yeah, no luck on my end either,” I told Minho on the phone. “He’s dropped off the face of the planet.”

     “Damn! He couldn’t have gone far.” Minho growled. 

     “We should probably stop looking for him.” Jeongin’s voice came through. “It’s Chan. He’s not stupid. He’ll be back before we know it.” 

     I sighed, not wanting to admit that the youngest was right. “I’m still worried about him.”

     “Worrying won’t do us any good at this point. I agree with Jeongin.”

     “Okay. Make sure the others know. I’ll give you any updates if I have any.” With that, I was left alone with my thoughts.

     I wandered around the part of town I had ended up in. Ever since my brain had fully woken up, I had been replaying last night over and over, trying to pick out the point where Chan had dropped out. The frustrating part was, I had absolutely no clue. I had gotten so lost in myself that I had blocked Chan out. Now that we couldn’t find him, I felt extremely guilty. I found a bench to sit on and wait through the wave of fresh emotions. How could I have been so insensitive to his feelings about the situation? I should have sensed them sooner. 

     A cold drop of liquid on the back of my neck brought me into reality again. I watched the pavement turn darker as it started to sprinkle. Watching the rain... wait. 

     I was reminded of a very obscure memory. Chan and I had only known each other for a couple months. We had to meet up to finish a group project for school, and if I remembered right, we had met up in the park behind me. We were a paragraph out from finishing when it started to rain just like this. In a rush to protect our work, Chan pulled me to the cafe across the street. Had he? I couldn’t clearly recall. 

     Shielding my face from the rain, I wandered across the street, looking for a cafe. The other businesses looked so dry and inviting, but I couldn’t stop until I found what I was looking for. 

     Finally, I found a cafe a few blocks over from where I thought it was. By this point I was absolutely soaked, but I didn’t care. The thought of finally finding Chan was giving me a small adrenaline rush. 

     A little tinkling bell greeted me as I walked into the warm cafe. The smell of fresh pastries and coffee made my stomach growl. I had been so preoccupied with the search that I hadn’t eaten all day. 

      “Hello!” A kind voice called from the counter. 

      “Hello!” I responded. Walking up, I started scanning the menu. Now that we had called the search off, it wouldn’t hurt to take a break, right?

     “It’s certainly coming down out there, isn’t it?” the barista asked with a hint of amusement in her voice. 

     “Yes, ma’am. I must be a sight for sore eyes.”

     “You do look a little frazzled. Not the worst I’ve seen these past couple of days, though.”

     “Oh, really?”

     “Yeah. A guy came in late last night totally drunk. My manager took pity on him and got him a hotel room.”

     My breath hitched. “Did he happen to have curly brown hair? A little taller than me, muscular?”

     The barista raised an eyebrow. “Do you know him?”

     “I’m looking for him, actually. If you could tell me which hotel he’s at, I would really appreciate it.”

     “Lemme call my manager real quick.” the barista disappeared into the kitchen for a couple of minutes, then returned with a piece of paper. “Here’s the address and room number. The room’s paid for, so don’t worry about that.” 

     I took the paper from her. “Thank you so much! We’ve been worried about him.”

     “I’m glad someone cares. He was rambling on about letting someone important down. It was really sad.”

     That really concerned me. I had never known Chan to be a talkative or a sad drunk, nevermind the fact that he was drunk in the first place. Whatever he was battling, he really wanted to get away from it. “I would like to order some food and coffee to go. I imagine he’ll be hungry, and to be honest I am as well.”

     The barista’s eyes lit up. “Sure! What would you like?”

     Twenty five minutes later, I approached a local hotel with warm soup and coffee. The rain had stopped, but dark clouds still hung in the sky. It struck me just how late it had become; my phone informed me that it was nearing a quarter past five. The sun would go down soon. 

     The desk attendant looked up at me expectantly as I entered. “Hi, I’m here to visit the person in room 24?” 

     “Okay. You can go on up.” they went back to writing in the notebook they had.

     The layout of this small hotel was confusing, but eventually I found my way up to the second floor and found room 24. I cautiously knocked on the door, listening for any kind of response from the other side. Hearing nothing, I knocked again and said, “I brought some food for you.”

     A faint voice called back, “The door’s unlocked.”

     I sighed in relief, thankful that my best friend was alive and talking. Hauling the food into one arm for a moment, I turned the knob and poked my head into the room.

     It was a cozy little suite. One queen-sized bed, with the typical white duvet. An armchair in vaguely matching upholstery was placed near the window, alongside a circular coffee table. A door suggested either an attached bathroom or a closet. However, the main feature of the room was in bed, looking very sleepy and surprised to see me at his door. 

     “Hey Chris. I have soup and coffee, if you have the stomach for it. I don’t know how long it’s been since you’ve eaten…” I entered and placed the food on the coffee table. 

     The man’s expression was hard to read. There was confusion, like he was wondering how I found him, but there was also apprehension and guilt. The way he curled into himself as I sat next to him on the bed didn’t escape my attention. “Me and the boys looked all day for you. I’m so glad you’re safe.”

     Chan fiddled with his hands, avoiding eye contact.

     “Listen… I’m sorry about last night. It was selfish of me. I understand if we just don’t talk about it again.” 

     Chan’s silence was making me increasingly anxious. Normally, I would have thrown myself at him by now, begging for forgiveness or even a glance in my direction. But this was serious. The possibility of this ruining our friendship was suffocating me to the point of mirroring Chan’s attitude. “If you want me to leave, I can. This must have been emotional for you, I don’t want to make it worse.”

     At that, Chan reached his hand out, placing it in the space between us. LIke he didn’t want me to leave. Like he was telling me to stay. 

     I placed my hand over his, slowly curling my fingers until I was holding his hand. I didn’t dare ask any questions; he needed to work through this for himself. He would talk when he was ready. To distract myself, I looked out the window and watched the sunset through the buildings. 

     Chan buried his face in the crook of my neck. I could feel the remnants of tears on his cheeks and smell the day-old beer on his breath. My free hand slowly came up to run through his unkempt, curly locks in attempts to comfort him. If all he needed was to sit here for the rest of eternity, I would surely do it. 

     “I got hammered after.” Chan said low and rough and soft, like he hadn’t spoken for days and cried instead. 

     “...after?”

     “After we fucked at the party. I don’t know why it suddenly crashed over me, but I couldn’t deal with the fact that I felt like I betrayed and used you. I remember downing three of the highest concentrated beers they had in a row before passing out on the couch.”

     That explained why Chan was so much more hungover than I was. It also explained why he had distanced himself from me- then and now. In the days afterward, I had felt so confused and angry at myself because Chan avoided me at all costs. He wouldn’t answer my texts, he wouldn’t even look at me whenever we bumped into each other. I had to call Changbin to find out an inkling of the reason and proceeded to send a huge apology letter to Chan. Of course, Chan being Chan, he said “No, I should be the one apologizing.” and went back to being my best friend. Now, I realized that I made Chan go through that all over again and I felt extremely guilty. 

     “Chan, I’m so sorry for doing that to you. I was drunk and stupid and-”

     “You were just voicing something you had kept for a long time.” Chan’s soft voice brought my excitement down again. “I used you to satisfy my own needs.”

     “No!” I shook my head vigorously. “No, that’s not it. I know you, Chan. If there wasn’t a desire there, you would have carried me out of there and dropped me at home. There’s something else. Chan, do you- do you like me?”

     There. I had said it. The one question that had been on both of our minds pretty much since the time we met. There were green flags everywhere, and we were forcing ourselves to be oblivious to them out of fear. Our friends would constantly point them out, but we were scared that we would lose each other if we asked. That line we so clearly drew, and I just crossed it. 

     His answer was so quiet, I almost missed it. “Yes. Yes, I do.”

    “Good, because I like you too.”

     The relief that washed over Chan’s face was so freeing. He looked me in the eyes for the first time in what seemed like forever, and his eyes were shining brighter than the moon. Even as I leaned in to kiss him, a huge burden was lifted off my shoulders. 

     His lips were a bit chapped, but that was fine with me. Each kiss held a gentleness and a purpose that overrode any uncomfortable feelings. Chan latched his strong arms around me, pulling me closer to him. I smiled and brought my hand up to guide our motions in order to adjust to the closer proximity, but he grabbed my hand and brought it back down, intertwining our fingers. 

     When we stopped to catch our breaths, I was grinning from ear to ear, glad that this conflict was finally over. Glad that we could be happy again. 

Epilogue

     “Are you ever going to finish this, hyung? Didn’t you make a deal with the company over it?” Jisung picked up a piece of paper from off of the table where Chan had dumped out his lyrics portfolio. Half of them weren’t finished, but that was the best place to start when it was time to start working on a new album. 

     Chan furrowed his eyebrows. “Finish what?” 

     “The song you were pulling an all-nighter to make with (Y/N) a couple months ago.”     Realization dawned on Chan, making him sink into his chair. They never finished the fucking song. 

     “I gotta say, you were on some shit when you started writing this-”

     Chan snatched the paper out of the rapper’s hand. “It’s none of your business,” he muttered, turning back to his laptop to hide his embarrassment.

#bang chan scenario #stray kids scenario #bang chan fluff #bang chan angst #this thing is so old i had to edit Woojin out #there was a plan to put full-blown smut in the end section but it didn't feel right #also this posting fulfills my one fic a year quota #see yall next year #no actually i hope i can start writing more and posting more again #i say that a lot but now that i'm more settled i really wanna make it happen #my brainchild

[saiidahyunie]

these moments are everything with you

kim dahyun x reader 

synopsis: you thought you’d be better off alone, until you met her.

warnings: very very very small angst ; mostly fluff 

wc: 4.2k 

a/n: @gayforminatozaki @miinatozakiii i was perplexed with the lack of dahyun drabbles in your reblogs so don't mind me i'm just here to fulfill my quota in the dahyun works department (and also becuase she's my ult bias so i just had to write something for her cuz it would be a crime if i didn't)

had this one sitting the google drive for a couple days now so i thought now would be a good time to post this before i focus on finals for the next week and a half. :/

꒰ᐢ. .ᐢ꒱🎧｡°✩⭑: moments by michah edwards (this pushed the fic inspo a lot this song is so cute >.<)

—

there was only one word to describe you: average. 

anyone that was friends with you or in your family knew that you weren’t the most outgoing person to be around. you didn’t talk much only when it mattered in the conversation and your friends still accepted you for being that way. taking pride in being introverted while also willing to do whatever they asked was a strength in itself. 

once everyone went their separate ways for college, your small band of five friends were worried about how you’d handle the dorm experience. 

“how much do you wanna bet y/n will be friends with the instructors before any of the students?” 

“y/n’s a bookworm already as it is so i wouldn’t be surprised that the library or dorm will be the go-to spot.” 

you knew that jihyo and jeongyeon meant well and shrugged their comments off when they helped you move into your dorm the first year. in fact, you used the criticism as motivation as you were the top of your class, eventually rubbing it in their face when jeongyeon had to retake a chem class over the summer during your guys’ second year. as for bambam, junho, and ryujin, the other three friends in the group, they couldn't help but laugh at jeong’s blunder as you sat across from her with a sly smirk on your face. 

fast forward a year later and it’s finals week before the summer break. everyone is in a rush, the library was packed, cafes were having a field day, and you couldn’t wait to hear the infamous “midnight screams.” all throughout the week in your dorm. your main math building had several classrooms but you managed to find an open one that wasn’t occupied. you opened the door and scanned the dark room for anything out of the ordinary; sighing in relief, you stepped in the empty classroom and got to work. 

you scrounged up three desks together to make a mock table for your stuff as you got to work on the giant blackboard behind you. about forty-five minutes into your study session, you scribbled an equation on the board with a sturdy piece of chalk. you turn your head to the right side as you see the door open and see a girl with wavy raven colored hair with glasses, making eye contact with you stopping in her tracks. 

“oh shoot, i thought this room was empty.” she started saying, “this was my usual place to study since the library gets overpacked.” you stood there as she briefly apologized and started to turn around. it only took a split second, but you made a choice that would change everything, not even your friends back home would believe this if you said it the first time. you set the chalk down on the board and wiped your hands off with the remnants of it, coughing slightly because of the dust from your hands. 

“you don’t have to leave! i don’t mind if you study here too.” you called out to her, scratching the back of your head and sharply inhaling through your teeth, hoping that she’d take up on your offer. 

the girl stopped her movements when your voice reached her and turned back to you, pondering on your offer. she had a judgment call to make: either look for another room to study in or study with you, making a new friend in the process. thirty seconds had passed and with a blank expression on her face, she walked into the class, setting all of her study materials next to yours on the desk. once she got herself situated, she walked up to you, sticking her hand out. 

“i’m kim dahyun.” the girl said smiling, finally putting her name to the face. 

“it’s nice to meet you dahyun, i’m y/n.” you said, returning the same smile. 

usually you weren’t the kind of person to be flustered when meeting a girl for the first time, but there was something about dahyun that made your head spin and your heart go up an’ over. you shook her hand and held onto hers for a little longer than you should’ve before letting go.  

in a moment’s hesitation, you then picked the small piece of chalk up again, returning to the equation that you started earlier while also saving yourself from the embarrassment you gave yourself. finishing up the equation you step back to the desk island behind you, peering over to see the answer key in the textbook making an audible “tsk” sound with your lips, erasing the portion of your answer you messed up on. 

“shit, it wasn’t this.” you muttered to yourself as dahyun stepped up next to you. “are you in physics 460 too?” she asked, picking up another piece of chalk, scribbling the same equation in the blank blackboard next to you. you stood there in a slight awe as she elegantly finished up the problem, boxing up her answer under the work she just did. 

stepping back to admire her seamless work, you glanced at the board and the textbook to double check. your eyes shot slightly open than usual only to realize that her answer was correct. 

“whoa, h-how did you know exactly?” you stuttered. really? at a time like this? this didn’t happen before, so what the hell is going on with you?

dahyun shrugged her shoulders at you, smiling. “i took the class last semester. i assume it’s professor hyejin since she’s a really good teacher and all the students try to get in her class.” she said, “not an easy class, but she knows the material inside and out.” 

you just simply nodded at her explanation and leaned against the desk island, crossing your arms together impressed at her sharp intelligence. “i tried enrolling for her class at the beginning of the semester, but i got professor heechul instead. he’s an ass. doesn’t even grade things properly and acts like a kid when things don't go his way.” you huffed out with a sigh only to be thrown off with dahyun’s sudden burst of laughter. as she was laughing, you look down and smiled at yourself noticing her really cute laugh. 

“i’m actually a TA for professor heechul right now, so i can see where you’re coming from.” dahyun shook her head in agreement and smiled, walking to her bag to get her own textbook and started reviewing on her own classes. the room filled up with silence that wasn’t surprisingly awkward silence, but instead, it was something else. 

to be fair to yourself, your friends were right about you with everything that they predicted. you were well acquainted with the professors and you basically lived in the library from time to time. now that you’ve met dahyun, the little fire of hope in proving them wrong by being her friend lit a little more brightly. 

the blackboard was overrun with problems and equations left and right. you took a chair to sit down in small five minute breaks as you turned your head to see the clock at the back of the classroom, realizing that it’s been about two and a half hours. any more time spent here would have burnt your brain out with the workload you just did. over to your right side, dahyun continued to work. three textbooks were spread out on the desk island, her laptop was out, and she was triple checking her work on the blackboard as well. you were intrigued with the amount of energy she still had, seeing she was working double time compared to you. 

dahyun looked over to you, and you didn’t realize that you’d been staring for way longer than you should’ve. in a quick movement, your head shot straight down and cracked your neck before grabbing a textbook right after, not even catching the fact that it had been upside down. dahyun observed your last action and softly giggled at your surprisingly funny antic. 

four days had passed since then, you and dahyun were in the same room at the same time again. you pondered on how weird it was for her schedule to be in line with yours. were you gonna ask her about it? no. are you complaining? also no. in that short amount of time, you and her got to know each other better, accustomed to seeing her more and more often. 

“hey dahyun?” you asked with a sense of boldness today. dahyun turned around from the right triangle she drew on the board and looked at you with a smile. she always looked towards you with a sense of admiration, you didn’t think anything of it but it felt nice to have her look that way since it felt good. it was a nice change of pace to have a study partner, a really smart one too. 

“i was wondering if you’d want to grab a drink with me after finals? not a drink as in alcohol, but coffee?” you looked at her, trying to resist the sudden heat that was plastered over your face. you had some sort of idea why dahyun made you feel this way as if your body was going through an acupuncture treatment, but you could handle it. 

a smile stretched across dahyun’s face as she lightly bounced on the balls of her feet, heels touching the ground before lifting off again, excited at your offer.

“i’d love to!”

you simply nodded and smiled back at her while in your heart was doing backflips. “so it’s on me then?” you jokingly asked as she nodded at you again before you two went back to studying. the thought of this was just going to be a one time thing would be diminished at the revelation that you can tell your friends back home that you studied with someone for the week. 

—

finals week of your junior year came and went; not that anyone cared or saw coming, that “one time thing” coffee run turned into a second run, then a third, and then a fourth being an actual date. soon after that first date rolled a couple more dates and the rest didn’t need any further explanation. flash forward  ahead one year following a graduation ceremony later, you and dahyun would be moving in together at your new studio apartment. the discussion about it went smoothly before graduation since you had managed to convince dahyun that you had more space compared to her shared apartment with her friends. a big plus was that your landlord was more fond of dahyun than the previous one that she was with at the time. 

moving in wasn’t a simple task to tackle, the transition for dahyun was easier since you were the one doing all the heavy lifting for her. the boxes she had was a trove of items curated throughout her entire lifetime in addition to the pictures she took of various moments. the two small boxes you were carrying this time were just towers of picture frames with photos with a story to tell. 

one notable thing that you learned about dahyun early on in your relationship was how she loved taking pictures. whether said pictures would be on her phone, your 90s film camera, her polaroid, and just recently an old digicam that you found when you visited your parents back in spring break. dahyun would have at least one camera on hand whenever you two went out, taking pictures of friends, animals, cute architecture, or anything that she found aesthetically pleasing. some of those pictures were of you as well. 

rummaging through one of the boxes she brought over, a picture catches your eye. it was the third date which was a picnic and you were wondering what the clicking sound was at the time. dahyun had brought a polaroid camera and refused to show you the picture, claiming that it was for something later, even though she took twelve more later during the date. the memory flashed through your head as you held the picture in your hand smiling. dahyun scooched over to you placing her head on your arm while you picked up another picture that was you with headphones in and holding a vinyl of one of elton john’s songs. despite the fact how corny it was, you were glad that she kept that one.

click! 

“baby…” you groaned, turning around to see dahyun holding a camera behind you. tilting your head at dahyun as she looked at you with innocent eyes, slowly strolling over to you. 

“what? i can’t take pictures of my lover who looks insanely attractive hanging pictures up?” dahyun asked as she tiptoed to give you peck on the lips, lightly blushing at her sign of affection. 

“sure, you find my sexually appealing hanging a picture on the wall wearing sweatpants and a cream shirt with a soy sauce stain on it.” you said shaking your head, turning your focus to the picture that was slanted on the wall. bad pictures aside, you took pride in the ones that you took of dahyun. one being an amusement park date with her getting off one of the rides and the other one of her at the aquarium for your six months. now, both of these are on the wall in the living room. 

dahyun tiptoed a bit to adjust the picture on the wall before backing up, proud of her achievement. “ah, perfect.” 

“taking pride in your curation?”

“you’re annoying.” she replied back, rolling her eyes and smacked your arm, not even registering the teasing remark. “i was referring to the picture frame hanging on the wall now.”  

you smiled and kissed her temple, slotting your right arm on her waist. “i know. i was just messing with you. the pictures are always nice when you take them.” you looked at her noticing the slight color of pink on her cheeks. dahyun turned towards you, trying to cover her face as you grabbed the polaroid camera from her hands to take a quick pic, capturing the adorable look on her face. 

“hey! you’re so meannn. i don’t look good right now!” dahyun whined as she jumped up to grab the polaroid that was printed out, your hand straight up in the air, laughing at her desperate attempt . after she calmed down, you handed the camera back to her in your left hand, your right hand still clasping the photo. 

“if you’re gonna take a picture of me hanging pictures, i should be able to take a picture of you blushing a bit. it’s a fair trade no?” you claimed as you scrunch your nose at her, eyeing the picture that is now fully developed. you gasped with your mouth agape, enjoying dahyun’s distressed expression. 

“what? do i look ugly?” she asks.

you shook your head in response and turned the picture around, keeping the distance so she couldn’t grab it. “you look adorable in this, i could kiss you.” 

dahyun looked at you blankly, with a small glint in her eyes. “well, why don’t you then?.” she asks, pursing her lips together and leaning in. 

you smirked at her offer, gently placing your lips on hers. your hands having minds of their own finding their place on her cheek and waist as she pulled on your shirt, bringing you closer. a tender, loving kiss you and her shared until a smile creeps through dahyun’s lips as she snatched the picture away from your hands. 

“come on dahyun! you can’t use kissing to your advantage like that.” you complained as she stood there with a smug smile. 

“i can and i just did.” she triumphantly said, shrugging her shoulders as she still had the picture in her right hand. you slowly stepped closer to her, noticing what you were intending to do, this prompted dahyun to run across the apartment for a few seconds. a chase that only lasted two minutes and ended up with you two exhausted on the couch. the objective of getting the photo off of her was completely forgotten as she ran her fingers through your hair with you feeling her heartbeat on her chest. 

you shift over to lay down with dahyun as she held up the picture, putting her other arm around your head to get more comfortable. “i love when you take pictures. i really do, even if it’s the embarrassing ones you usually capture.” you said as you felt dahyun turn her head towards you, her lips giving a soft kiss to your cheek. 

“i know you do, but let me keep this one at least.” dahyun laid back down, adjusting herself to be on top of you and sighing happily. even though both of you were about to drift off to sleep, you knew what she said was genuine. the statement being that she loved you, how she appreciated you noticing the small minute things, and how you adored anything and everything about her. 

—

three years on and pushing to four, in the regular nine to five weekday routine with occasional outings on the weekends, it was easy to get lost in the neverending cycle of labor. the apartment was a lot more lively now with ari, dahyun’s dog now running around the place, things around here were now more filled with love. 

after a painstaking friday shift, you finally made it home first, discarding your shoes and placing your bag on the chair next to the kitchen island, sluggishly walking to the couch and flopping down. nothing was planned for the weekend and you intended to stay at home, without the thought of work running through your mind. you didn’t hate your job all that much, on the contrary, you enjoyed what you were doing with the marketing job despite the unhealthy hours at times. each day brought on a new task to encounter. 

as you melt away on the couch and your eyes become drowsy, you hear the door click open. on nights like this you were accustomed to the daily routine of getting home first and then hearing dahyun come in saying that she’s home, following your pathway to the couch, opening your arms for her to come to your embrace; though it was different this time as you heard a slight shuffle of shoes being taken off followed by her small backpack. 

dahyun then sauntered over to the couch and gently laid down on top of you, burying her head in your chest facing down. you adjust your arms eventually wrapping them around her back, patting it as you looked down to the top of her head. a slight concern stirred in your head since you noticed that something was out of the ordinary with her. out of respect for her state, you hugged her more closely as you muttered an “i love you “ lowly and stroked her hair after while she adjusted one more time before not moving again. 

most nights were always lively with good vibes, but you also liked how there was not much to be said, just simple actions carried so much weight with how much you and dahyun loved each other. as you and her just stayed quietly with the dim light coming from the kitchen and the quiet motor of the humidifier filling up the silence. ahri also did say hi to you and dahyun, but went back to his bed playing with one of his chew toys. 

as you felt the urge to sleep more and more, you felt dahyun’s soft breaths in a steady rhythm. you smiled at her head before you tried to close your eyes, only to be interrupted then. 

the small body laying on top of you stirred for a bit with a few sniffles being picked up by your ears. your eyes opened up slightly wider and propped your body a little bit upward, met with a teary-eyed dahyun. the sight of her shattered your heart as you pulled her closer to you, tears and sniffles soaking the right shoulder of your shirt. you let her collect herself after a few minutes through crying before you ask anything.

“honey what’s wrong?” you kissed her forehead and fixed the few strands of hair behind her left ear, rubbing her cheek that was stained with tears. 

“it’s- i was- i just…” she was struggling to say whatever she had on her mind as you shushed her, hugging her again and rubbing her back in small circles, something that she really liked you doing when comforting her. 

“it’s okay, whatever it is i’ll listen.” you firmly said to her as she wiped her face. “i had a really bad day at work today. my boss kept adding on to what i was working on and i- i was so worried that i wouldn’t be able to finish it all.” you stared at her as she explained what was happening at her work. “i was able to but- i didn’t want to fail and with all the stress i…” she covered her face as she felt more tears about to break through. 

you tilt your head, faintly sympathizing with what dahyun had to go through as you hugged her for the third time in the span of five minutes. knowing that it’s very rare that dahyun rants to you over something that stresses her, since most of the time it’s always happy and lighthearted. before she could jumble more of her words trying to get her point through, you silenced her with a quick peck that shifted to a subtle loving kiss to ease her train of thought. 

pulling back and gazing into her inviting black eyes you rubbed her cheek again, “i’m proud of you working through what your boss asked you to do. it’s all in the past now and you have me.” you bombard dahyun with kisses again all over her face, drawing her a soft giggle in appreciation of your task. stopping for a moment to look at you again, she simply nodded as her sign of thank you and kissed you again. 

“you’re the best y/n.” she softly says to you, “you know what to do and say to make me feel better and i’m thankful for that.” you tilt your head at her compliment as she shifts over to kiss your cheek before leaning back onto the couch sitting upright, rubbing her forearm in comfort.

“anything that i do should always make my girlfriend feel good. but since you’re not better yet, what do you want me to help with? i can cook us something for dinner or do you want me to stay with you longer?” 

it shouldn’t be seen as an anomaly for you to be more gentle and devoting to dahyun. now if you didn’t act like this at all with her, that was a huge problem in itself. dahyun had managed to bring that side out that neither yourself or your friends would ever think that you’d have in the first place. while you did have that guarded demeanor, she also made you more protective of her feelings. it didn’t take that long for you to learn every detail and quirk that dahyun would show through her expressions. you knew exactly when she’s happy or mad; even the times she would cover up that sadness with a fake smile that she perfected. 

“h-how do you expect me to feel fine if you say things like that?” she utters, “every time you do that my heart melts and i ca-” catching herself sniffling again, lightly punching your chest. you laughed at her statement, hugging her once again. 

“i have something to show you.” you say, eying the coffee table centerpiece that had various items in it. in between the remotes you fished out a note, “i want you to read this. as a reminder of how i see myself to you.” handing the note to dahyun and watching her unfold it. the small sounds of the paper crumpling in the dimly lit apartment is all that is heard as dahyun begins to read the note you wrote from a while back when she was fast asleep and you were finishing up a late night project. 

it took her about forty-five seconds to look at the short note that you written but once she finished reading it, she looked at you in awe. no tears were seen in her eyes as she closed the little space between you two in a loving hug. dahyun didn’t say anything nor did she ever have to with these tender moments with you as she pulled away, gazing into your eyes before giving you another long kiss and snuggled back into your chest. you picked the note away from her hand, holding it up high to look back on what you wrote,

dahyun, 

you have done wonders for me when i first met you. i would never have thought of the limitless possibilities of things that i could accomplish alone if it weren’t for you being a part of my life. i thought that i could be content with just existing without making any true connections to anyone that i already knew. but all of that changed when you came along. i’ve said this multiple times to you but i’ll say this once again, thank you for everything. for showing me the beautiful world through your eyes, for being the keeper of my love and memories. for being the one change i will never regret making back when we were in school and i will always love you with everything in my heart. 

love, y/n

#dahyun x reader #kim dahyun #twice dahyun #twice x reader #kpop x reader #twice imagines #twice fluff

[dogbearinggifts]

Elegy, Part Twelve

A/N: This is an AU, based on an idea by @daughterofthemoon99, where Imelda, rather than Miguel, visits the Land of the Dead within her lifetime. Previous chapters can be found here:

Part One   Part Two   Part Three   Part Four   Part Five   Part Six   Part Seven   Part Eight   Part Nine   Part Ten   Part Eleven

The whole fic is also available on AO3.

Also, just a heads up: I’m going to be traveling for work for a few days this week, which is why I wanted to get this chapter posted a day early. I’ll try to keep to my regular schedule of updating on Sundays, though apologies ahead of time if I don’t. 

*******

“Nothing’s gone wrong yet. Put Colima there.”  

It was an old joke among photo agents. Every Día de los Murertos, something went wrong. That something was often small—a misprint that at worst caused a photo to be filed among those of a different family, or a missed detail in the notes field of a photo. The worst Domingo Almarza had yet seen occurred in 1932, when the notes for four different women scattered between two towns were scrambled, causing all four families to wait meters from the bridge while border and photo agents sorted the chaos. The women had used the lost time to kindle a friendship, but supervisors still brought up the incident as a sobering reminder, and photo agents still joked that ay, if only someone had intentionally listed the wrong state, maybe the mix-up wouldn’t have happened.

It was only a joke, of course, one laced in superstition no one adhered to. No intentional mistake could prevent an unintentional one. Claiming the Granado family came from Colima rather than Oaxaca would have potentially left Domingo with two disasters to sort out—a family’s documents sent to the wrong bridge, and a living woman cursed to walk the Land of the Dead until she found a blessing or the sun rose, whichever came first.

But as he stood in the station watching blue uniforms swirl through the crowd as yet another officer stayed nearby and took notes, the old joke sounded more like advice he should have taken.

Nothing required him to stay with Imelda Rivera’s abuela—also la Señora Rivera, incidentally, though her given name was Antonia. She was not the only deceased relative led back to the Land of the Dead in hopes of bestowing their blessing; Muñoz had brought one of la Señora Rivera’s tías, Gallegos had found her parents, Vera had returned with a tío and a handful of others. Their names had been spoken, but Domingo couldn’t recall them. The introductions had happened so quickly, and there had been so many other things to hear at the time, but he should have remembered.

“You’re absolutely certain she wouldn’t have gone after her husband, Señora?” Officer Cáraves said.

“Former husband,” Antonia snapped. “As I’ve told you before, he left her.”

Cáraves was one of those officers who had resumed police work after death, rather than taking the opportunity to learn a new trade; and that career had left him with the unparalleled ability to maintain a straight face. The most impressive display occurred back in 1937, when a man huffed and puffed and demanded to know why such a modern station lacked even a single public restroom. “I know he just died,” Cáraves had said later, “but you’d think he would have caught on.”

Domingo had little idea what Cáraves might have concealed beneath that mask of professional interest, but considering Antonia had made the same point no fewer than four times without a mistake to prompt her, his patience had to be eroding.

“Perdóname,” Cáraves said, though whether in response to Antonia’s correction or because of the assistant hurrying toward them, Domingo couldn’t be sure. Cáraves exchanged a few words, accepted a sheet of paper, and turned back. “It seems,” he said, more to Domingo than Antonia, “that la Señora Rivera demanded her…former husband’s paperwork before leaving the station.”

Antonia frowned.

“I take it she didn’t know he’d died?”

“No,” she said slowly. “None of us did.”

“He didn’t try to contact you after his death?���

“He left,” she said. “That’s all we know.”  

“Well, whatever she saw on his paperwork caused her to leave the station,” Cáraves went on, handing the page to her.

Domingo peered over her shoulder—not enough to be impolite, but enough to see what she’d been given. The name Héctor Rivera adorned the top of the page. Down a few spaces was written December 7, 1921. His date of death.

Héctor Rivera. The woman who had threatened him with a boot, repeatedly demanded his badge, and asked question after question of a job she hadn’t known existed, had married a man whose impersonation of a photo agent nearly led to a complete audit of their practices—not days after the fact, but then and there, thanks to Rivera’s convincing performance and stunningly accurate knowledge of what the job entailed.

Domingo would never say it within earshot of his supervisor, but were Rivera capable of crossing the bridge, he would at least give the man an interview.

Antonia read the year aloud, slowly, as if expecting it to change with scrutiny, and lowered it with a frown.

“You weren’t aware, either?”

“No.” Shock faded in seconds, and she handed the paper back to Cáraves. “This changes nothing. He never tried to find us. Never.”

“Do you have any idea why, Señora?”

A small, mirthless smile quirked her mouth. “He left my granddaughter. Only a fool wouldn’t avoid her family after that.”  

*******

“Do you remember what was said during their argument?”

“She didn’t know her husband had died, and thought el Señor de la Cruz should have told her. He claimed he didn’t know.”

The border agent, a young woman named Consuela Ibáñez, was good at summing things up, nice and succinctly—a good skill for a job requiring condensed explanations. Gregorio Peralta needed details. “Why did she think he would have known?”

“They were close—her husband and el Señor de la Cruz. Or that’s what she said. She—she talked like they were. Called him—her husband—your brother.”

“How did he react to this?”

“He didn’t say she was lying. Or act like she was. Just….went along with it.”

Gregorio nodded. So Ernesto de la Cruz had concealed the existence of a close friend throughout his decades-long career. Interesting, but nothing about it suggested a reason as to why la Señora Rivera might run off into the city after demanding her deceased husband’s paperwork. “But he maintained he knew nothing of Héctor Rivera’s death.”

“He said he left in the middle of the night. No suitcase—she mentioned that specifically.”

“A man wanders off into Mexico City in the dead of night without additional clothes or money.”  

A small frown crossed Consuela’s face; evidently, she hadn’t given the story much consideration. “That’s what he said. I—I didn’t think of it too much.”

“Ernesto de la Cruz has been rather popular these past few months.” The presence of a celebrity could be rather distracting. 

“And he knew Héctor Rivera.”

Gregorio sighed. Whispered gushing over el Señor Rivera’s latest bridge-crossing scheme was as much a tradition among border agents as jokes about intentional mistakes fulfilling some sort of unseen quota was among photo agents. “Señorita, he is not some kind of celebrity.”

“I know.” There was an unspoken but in her words, but she didn’t finish her thought.

“Did la Señora Rivera believe him, or seem to?”

“No.” Consuela’s answer was quick. “I don’t think she believed him at all.”

*******

Among those in the station privy to details of the Rivera case, two theories prevailed.

The first, formed by officers who had interviewed Imelda Rivera’s abuela, tío, parents, two tías, and primo who had died young, held that somewhere within her conversation with el Señor de la Cruz, he had mentioned the unfinished tower and mansion he already called home. Once she learned the date of her former husband’s death, that unwelcome surprise had sent her across the city in search of said former husband’s apparent friend, with designs on dragging the full truth out of him.

The second, put forth by Gregorio Peralta, the officer who had interviewed la Señorita Ibáñez, agreed that Ernesto de la Cruz had simply not convinced her that her husband had wandered off in the dead of night. According to this theory, however, la Señora Rivera did not trust her former husband’s friend to give her the truth. As he was the one who had died, Héctor Rivera would be able to tell her what happened the night of his death; she might not believe everything he said, and he might not tell her the whole truth, but she would be able to sift through each account and form a clearer picture of what had happened.

Domingo wasn’t certain which theory he embraced. Antonia Rivera had insisted that her granddaughter would not run after her former husband. “She’s put him in her past, where he belongs,” she’d said. “She will not chase after him now, no matter what you think he knows. My Imelda has more sense than that.”

He was not inclined to disbelieve a woman’s abuela, or any abuela for that matter. And yet Officer Peralta’s account, of a border agent struck by a widow’s fury, by the contempt with which she regarded the man claiming to have been abandoned by his brother—that was convincing, too.

“How is she going to find him?” Antonia had stood with hands on hips, staring Peralta down. “We don’t know where that worthless músico lives; how do you expect a living woman to find him in one night?”

“She did know a few of his prior locations, Señora,” Peralta had said. “It’s not ridiculous to think she might have found him.”

“I thought you said he walked away from the bridge.”

“If they were searching for each other, it’s possible they found each other.”

“And where are they now? Do you have any idea how big this city is?”

“I’ve patrolled four separate districts, Señora.”

“Don’t sass me.”

Peralta had sighed. “Señora, we only want to cover as much ground as possible. Since there’s a chance she followed her former husband, we want to make sure there’s a chance she’s found along that route.”

“I still say she wouldn’t have done it,” she’d said. Domingo had remembered her insistence that her Imelda hadn’t listened to music for over twenty years, had sold her phonograph and anything else that reminded her of it, and wouldn’t so much as allow music near her home—so why on earth would she steal a songbook, of all things? He had nearly reminded her of it, and of the fact her Imelda had admitted to stealing it outright, but it was best to let the argument die there.

Now, as he watched deceased Riveras pair off with police officers to seek out their living relative, Domingo still wasn’t certain which theory he favored. No one in the police department had come down firmly on either side yet, either, and so the plan accounted for both.

“You’re sure we’ll find her by sunrise?” her Tío Guillermo asked.

“We’re doing all we can,” Peralta said, handing him three more cempasúchil petals.

Guillermo’s mouth drew into a line. It wasn’t the answer he’d sought—it wasn’t much of an answer at all—but Peralta had never been one to offer false hope.  

Minutes later, all seven Riveras had left the station, each beside an officer. Some fanned out in the general direction of Ernesto de la Cruz’s tower; others drifted toward Shantytown. Seven of her family, cempasúchil in hand, ready to bestow their blessing and send her home.

Seven family members. Had Imelda Rivera remained by the bridge or moved to an office somewhere in the building, the number would have seemed close to overwhelming. But with her adrift somewhere in the city, seven people seemed like nothing at all.

*******

Flesh and blood outweighed bone.

This was simply a fact, and an obvious one at that. Imelda wasn’t certain by how much she outweighed her attacker—her arms were bone below the elbow and she wouldn’t be surprised if the curse had done more damage she hadn’t seen—but she thought that if she only stood still, if she refused to move, he might have no means of forcing her along.

No means, that is, except the knife.

Hesitant as his steps were, he had not removed the knife from her throat. Stinging pain reminded her that he would not hesitate to use it, though if he hadn’t done so yet, perhaps he wouldn’t do so immediately. He was waiting for something, some signal or sign, and if she stopped in her tracks, she might be able to break his grip and run.

She didn’t stop, but she did hesitate before the next step. The knife shifted, moving closer to her jugular.

“You want to go home, don’t you?”  

Imelda gritted her teeth. Were she feeling bolder, she might have laughed in his face.

She only knew they reached an abandoned home by the gable that suddenly blocked out the sky, splintering wood just barely visible in the darkness. The attacker drove his foot into a door once, twice. It creaked open, and he pulled her through.

Near-darkness greeted her, broken only by flickering light from a lantern resting on a trunk shoved against a wall. There were shadows on that trunk, but Imelda’s attention was drawn first to the tall man wrapped in a dark coat, hood pulled over his features. She knew his identity even with his back to her.

Ernesto. How thoughtful of you to join us. She nearly said it, dripping with all the sarcasm she could muster, but the trunk, and the shadows upon it, gave her pause. One appeared to be a pile of soft things—strips of cloth, perhaps, or one long length of it. The other, positioned further from the lantern, was more difficult to make out, but she could tell it was partly flat, partly raised, one side sloping down opposite the mostly straight edge of the other.

A knife.

The attacker’s voice came again, louder but still close to her ear. “Want to tie her or gag her first?”

Ernesto turned, and she chose between fighting for her life and begging for it. She took a few frantic glances toward the trunk and around the room, drawing quick and frightened breaths. She wouldn’t glare at him. She couldn’t risk a glare. Rather than answer the question, Ernesto paused.

“Is Héctor in the trunk?”

“Sí. Climbed right in without much of a fight.”

Ernesto regarded her a long moment. The thought of groveling before this coward made her stomach turn, but if it bought her enough time to fight, she would grovel.

“Please,” she whispered. The knife did not threaten to break her skin, so she added another layer of pleading to her voice. “Por favor, Ernesto.”

Seconds passed. She let her knees sag, biting her lip. She only needed the knife to leave her throat. It might not be enough, but it would give her a chance.

“Take care of Héctor. I’ll bind her.”

“You sure?”

Another long pause. Imelda couldn’t identify the emotion that flickered across his face any more than she could believe her luck.

“Sí.” It came out more sigh than word. “Go.”

Ernesto’s personal murder valet tugged her close. “Bones still break, you know. If you scream, that’s what you’ll hear.”

A rough shove sent her to the floor, which was mostly absent of dust. Grime covered every window she could see, and yet the floor appeared to have been swept, albeit in a hurry. All the better to hide the number of footprints responsible for any bloodstains.

She put a hand to her throat because it was what Ernesto would expect, and was not surprised to see blood staining her calcified fingers. A dull ache had set in where the knife had pressed, but she didn’t know if he expected her to cough.

The door opened and closed. Ernesto turned back to the trunk and lifted a length of cloth.

She drew her knees to her chest and wrapped a shaking arm—she wouldn’t have to fake that, at least—around them.

Ernesto said nothing. She’d thought he would say something, send her off with some twisted toast, but she heard only the soft rustle of cloth.

One foot twitched at the other. Slowly, carefully, she moved her hand toward her loosened boot.

Ernesto took one step, then another, turning from the trunk. She kept her eyes open only slightly, only a slit each, halting her hand’s motion.

He approached her now, stretching a length of cloth between his hands.

Her heart hammered. Seconds. That was what she had. Only seconds to grab her boot and get to her feet.

Ernesto stood over her, a presence she felt more than saw.

Her hand grasped leather. 

******* 

A/N: Enjoying this fic? Read on to Part Thirteen.

#coco #pixar coco #coco spoilers #coco fanfic #elegy #au #coco au #imelda investigates au #imelda rivera #hector rivera #ernesto de la cruz #hector x imelda #imector #long post

[peachymess]

I don't know about this, but I've noticed that Fanon Eremin is usually portrayed as Eren gushing about Armin's greatness. I love that so much and it's amazing. But, I just really want to see Armin gush about Eren in future fanworks in the Eremin Fandom. I mean, isn't Eremin about equality? (Also what are your opinions on this?)

Hello, anon! I really can’t answer for other people than myself, but I’ll tell you what I believe, since you are asking for my opinion. 

If I go by my own stance on this, and apply that logic to the (majority of) the rest of the eremin fandom, I think there’s a really easy explanation for this - however, like I said, this is not the “answer”, just my theory on the matter: the same way that people have favorite and secondary ships, they also have favorite and secondary headcanons for their ships. This is the case for eremin as well; the most popular eremin headcanon/dynamic, is that of dom!Eren/sub!Armin. And I call them that not in the seme/uke way, but rather in the personality dynamic sense. On the surface, you see, it’s not incorrect to say that Eren is the more self-assured of the two, while Armin appears to be insecure and in need of positive affirmations from outside sources. Of course, we can analyze the depth of their characters separately - as well was their bond - for ages (because we all know there’s more to them than this), but this is a generally accepted surface-value for these two and eremin. It’s not wrong, and it’s perfectly fine to enjoy this dynamic (although it’s enriching to explore them more, hence why you’d appreciate a shift in the default). However, it has raised concern that this is the sole perspective being represented; if you saw them portrayed at dom!Eren/Sub!Armin for the first time today, you wouldn’t react - but as soon as you notice a pattern, you might. - And you’re not alone in doing so! I’ve heard this complaint many, many times in the last year or so! And I definitely second the notion that different takes on eremin would be refreshing - however, I do not share the idea that an overrepresentation of D!E/S!A* is a sign of people not appreciating Eren or neglecting him in their minds. What I believe is instead the cause behind this symptom, is that people can only “art” so much; I’m using my self as example here: I produce perhaps seven pieces of art in a year. And ever piece costs me a lot of effort, time and stress. Not to mention I’m doing it for free. I think most fandoms’ artists consists mainly of young artists, insecure artists and other artists making fanart in their spare time for free. What I mean by bringing this up, is that for the majority of fandom artists, the situation is this: for every one piece they produce, there are at least five piece ideas they wish they could make but can’t (for one reason or another). In other words, only the tip of the ice berg ever gets made what art is concerned. And when people know that their quota is limited, they have to pick and choose which very, very few of the ideas they have, they’ll get to make. Bringing it back to me: when I know I can only make five pieces in a year, I want to spend those slots on my favorite dynamic (D!E/S!A). Not because I don’t like S!E/D!A, or that eremin is the only ship I want to draw for (oh, all the ships I want to draw for but never get the time to, sigh), but simply because it’s my favorite dynamic of my most OTP’d ship. There’s a reason there’s a lot more talk about wanting S!E/D!A art, than actual art of it; we all agree that it’s toptier (I’ve never ever seen anyone say they have anything against this dynamic, in fact), but many of us are not at a stage where art is easy to produce, and therefor we’re still working on our #1 dynamic for our #1 ship from our #1 series. While the fandom may be oversaturated with it, our individual art is not (I don’t feel like five pieces of D!E/S!A is an overbalance, for instance). Now, some admirable artists take it upon themselves to work on pieces that there is a demand for instead of what they’d perhaps personally prefer, but for most of us, I think there’s the idea that “I will definitely draw for that ship/dynamic/series/etc - I just have to get better/more practice/make this one idea first”. And that is perfectly ok! Nobody owes anyone any particular kind of art unless you’ve agreed to take payment for said art! And I actually think that while wanting more S!E/D!A is important, spreading the idea that the lack thereof is a symptom of lack of appreciation for Eren is toxic. It can make people feel awful for preferring it the other way around, or feel demotivating or anyone working on the “problematic dynamic”. 

My opinion of this is thus, simply put: I wholeheartedly agree that Eren is worth fawning over, and eremin is beautiful for its balanced dynamic, but I have a problem with the spreading consensus that the imbalance in representation means Eren is mistreated or not cared about. Because for most of us, I don’t believe that’s true at all. Because I doubt I’m the only one who’s sitting on a bunch of ideas they’ll never fulfill. And because I know it’s possible to care deeply about other things than just the #1 thing that you end up blogging about. 

That being said, I’d love to encourage people to explore the S!E/D!A dynamic more. Due to it being so unexplored (compared to the opposite), there’s a good chance any one of you could be the “first” what ideas is concerned. Make a list of popular AUs: more of them are untouched in connection to S!E/D!A than to D!E/S!A - in all departments (art/fic/other). So who knows, if you jump the chance, maybe you’ll even start a trend! And for anyone worried that the imbalance is a sign of uncaring fans: I’d like to encourage a more relaxed state of mind where you can entertain the possibility that what you see, is just face-value (like eremin), meaning there’s more to every blogger than what posts/art makes it onto their blog; there’s love for characters that aren’t mentioned as often, there are more hobbies than anime analysis, and there’s appreciation for more things than one.*In this case, D/S refers broadly to how much emotional support the character needs, with dominance meaning independency what others’ feedback is concerned, and submission meaning a dependancy on external support to remain assured.