#[ sort of! only briefly referenced ]

[written-in-flowers]

Be the Light: Pt. 4 (SeongjoongxFem!reader)

Pairing: Hongjoong x Seonghwa x Fem!reader | Side pairing(s): Ateez x Fem!reader.

Word Count: 8k

Genre: angst, fluff, smut

AU: historical!au, arranged marriage!au, royalty!au

Summary: YN has spent her entire life in service of Han Sookmyung, Queen of Hanseong. She never dreamed above her station, or that she'd ever be in reach of Sookmyung's concubines, 'The Golden Ones'. But, when secrets are brought to life, her world is turned upside-down.

Warnings: graphic descriptions of violence, heavily referenced torture (briefly), heavily referenced abuse (briefly), heavily referenced sexual abuse (briefly), enslavement, slight gaslighting, lost sibling, political drama, historical drama, joseon!au, concubine!ateez, nsfw content, virgin!reader, polyamory, polygamous, throuple, threesome m/m/f, oral sex (m. and f. receiving/giving), cunnlingus, vaginal fingering, vaginal sex, virgin sex, virginity discussed.

Taglist: @scarfac3 @tunaasan @lelaleleb @sevngmin148 @meljoongiee @puppyminnnie @sunasmoke22 @kyourixr @yoongiigolden @lynnsqueendom @atinycafe @soocore @ethereally-lyann @blackbutterfly133 @ddaeing @pearltinyy @iweirdthingsblog @huachengsbestie01 @glintneon123

And a huge, huge thanks to my beta @daesukiii !!! Without them, this wouldn't be as good lol

Part 3 <; | > Part 5

***

A large crowd gathered at the pavilion in the middle of the lake. A man-made island, the tall white and red structure was usually the site for banquets, where the ruling monarch entertained guests. The only way on or off was the bridge crossing over the lake around the island, which fit three to four people abreast. Sookmyung’s palanquin barely fit through it, which meant you trailed behind the footmen carrying her across. Several nobles dressed in their finery turned their heads as their queen approached. Nobody cared about the handmaiden coming up behind her. 

"Announcing," the herald cried as his men drummed and blew their horns, "Han Sookmyung, Queen of Hanseong, Duchess of Gyeonggi-do, and Protector of Korea."

The people bowed to her as she reached the pavilion steps, smiling proudly at them. You hurried to fix her long red and gold train before she noticed the wrinkles, and then followed a few feet away. All eyes remained on her until she reached the place of honor at a long table. Usually the royal advisors would be attending a function like this, hoping to put forward their own sons as suitors for the young queen. Yet, when you looked around, you saw not a single one in attendance. You supposed they may come later in the evening; they had important work to do. You did not see Queen Jisoo either, which you found odd considering she arranged this gathering. Sookmyung took her place amongst fellow ladies of the court, and you began serving her a small plate of food. 

"I'm not hungry," she told you right when you set it in front of her. "Bring me wine. I'm parched."

"Yes, Your Majesty."

It was the sort of royal gathering you expected: lords and ladies enjoying a rich spread of food and drinks, listening to musicians play and catching glances of the fish and birds around the scenic lake. You stood in the shadows behind Sookmyung most of the time, only approaching when she called for you. Seeing the other ladies in their silk and satin hanboks, their hair done up in expensive adornments and wearing fine jewelry on their wrists and fingers, you imagined yourself amongst them. You could sip fine wine while talking to other court ladies about who is courting who. You can flirt and dance with handsome lords all vying for your attention. But, that can only be a dream. 

You're nobody. You're a servant, a slave. You are not meant to have dreams at all. 

"It seems the old woman was right after all."

You felt a presence shift on your left and you turned to see a man dressed in black and gold standing nearby. You knew by his high voice and long hair that it was Hongjoong. Butterflies fluttered around in your stomach at the sight of him so close to you. Out of all her flowers, Hongjoong is the one you’re forbidden to speak with. Immediately, you turned away from him. You knew better than to talk to her flowers. If she caught you, she'd lock you in her dungeon for sure. You remembered Lady Seulgi, and shuddered. Yet, Hongjoong did not leave your side. 

"Don't worry, I convinced one of the ladies to keep her occupied," he told you. You did not respond to him, too afraid your voice may carry to Sookmyung a few feet away. "You truly are frightened of her, aren't you?" 

You still did not speak, despite the urge to engage in the conversation. Hongjoong radiated a security and comfort not very common in people. Yet, Sookmyung’s presence kept your lips sealed together. What if there's a change in songs and she hears a whisper of conversation? What if she happens to turn around to see you? You tried thinking of a way to leave, but nothing came to mind. 

"You shouldn't be here," you muttered to him under the wave of music and chatter. "She is meant to be searching for a husband. If you’re here, she will be too distracted." And if she does not choose a husband by the end, Jisoo shall choose for her and that can only end badly. "I suggest you scurry off before she sees you."

"But why would I leave a party I was invited to?" He asked amusedly. 

"You were invited?"

"Yes, by Jisoo."

"Why would she invite you? That defeats the purpose of this entire thing then," you thought out loud. 

"Perhaps The Queen Mother wanted us to entertain someone else," he grinned playfully.

The tips of your ears burned at the grin. "Us?"

"The others came too."

"They didn't announce your arrival. You're supposed to arrive after her."

"I doubt she will complain about it," he said. "She hasn't even noticed we're here yet."

"She will if you keep standing there," you imagined what awful thing she'd do if she caught them here, "You all should leave before she sees you. It'll end badly for you if she does."

"YN," he said fondly, "Always thinking of others and never about yourself."

You turned to look at him, "Your meaning?"

"That you should worry about yourself a bit more," he explained simply. "She might favor you above most at court, or anywhere as a matter of fact, but you're not exempt from the dungeons."  

"That's partly the reason I'm telling you to leave," you hissed. "If she sees us speaking, she'll assume the worst and throw us both in there."

"'Partly'," he repeated. "Well, I have no intention of leaving, and neither do the others. We've been promised an exciting night." 

Another cryptic response. "Do not say you weren't warned. Enjoy the party."

You left his side to refill Sookmyung’s plate. You hoped distracting her with food gave him time to leave, and when you turned to check, he'd gone. 

"YN, tell the singers I hate this song," she told you over her shoulder. "Tell them I want them to play something more jovial, upbeat."

"Yes, Your Majesty."

You moved deftly through the crowd towards the musicians in the corner of the pavilion. That was when you noticed the guards. At most functions, you saw at least three or four, especially at an intimate gathering. Yet, as you walked, you spotted more than four. You saw several: two by the entrance, a man at each corner of the pavilion, three more patrolling the island area and four patrolling the outer banks. They stalked the grounds with swords sheathed on their belts. It unsettled you. Everything about the queen’s banquet seemed off. First, no advisors. Secondly, no Jisoo. Thirdly, concubines and lastly, a strong guard presence. You sensed a disturbance underneath the surface, watching and waiting to strike, and you didn’t know where it’d come from first. 

You reached the band of musicians, and told them Sookmyung’s request, which they obeyed immediately. When you turned around, you saw Wooyoung, San and Yeosang crowded together. Since anyone who values their life won’t speak to them, the three concubines talked to one another instead with drink cups in their hands. Hongjoong mentioned them being promised an exciting night. You wondered what it might be as you made your way back over to Sookmyung. Pleased at the change in song, she continued enjoying the company of the other ladies while you stood behind her. You stood by one of the pillars, your stomach growling from hunger and wishing Sookmyung let you leave. Then the herald called out in a booming voice, more drums and horns drowning out the musicians. 

"Announcing, Han Jisoo, Queen Mother of Hanseong."

People stepped aside and bowed as the queen moved through the crowd. You saw your mother pushing her from behind, neither speaking or smiling. However, Jisoo beamed and nodded at people she made eye contact with. Jisoo glowed with a kindness her daughter never inherited. You saw her in her olive green and white hanbok, her hair in a bun with a floral hairpin. She looked like a true queen, particularly when she was in front of Sookmyung, who tried hiding her hateful scowl. 

"Mother," Sookmyung stood, but did not bow, "I am so glad you managed to make it this evening. I thought your health might keep you."

"I wanted to be here to support my lovely daughter,” she said, being wheeled around to a place beside Sookmyung. “This is a very important night for her.”

“If it’s so important,” Sookmyung began when they both sat down, “Then why aren’t the old men here? I thought they’d want to see all their sons and nephews put themselves forward.”

“Don’t fret over them, love,” her mother replied, being served food by Chaewon. “They will be here soon.” She turned her head to see you nearby, and you bowed your head to her. Jisoo gave a look of concern, “YN, you look peckish. When was the last time you ate?”

“This morning, Your Majesty.” 

“But it’s been hours since then,” she said. “Come and eat, child. You’ll pass out if you don’t.”

Sookmyung snorted, “I remember the harvest festival when we were little. YN fainted in front of everybody and fell into a puddle of mud.” 

“A queen doesn’t laugh at the misfortune of others,” Jisoo scolded. “YN, come sit by me and eat.”

“She’s a servant,” Sookmyung argued, “She isn’t supposed to sit here with us.”

“She can because I said so.”

“I am the queen,” she retorted, “And YN listens to only me. YN, you stay where you are. I might have need of you.”

“And I am the Queen Mother,” Jisoo told you, “Come now.”

You looked between the two queens, and then to your mother worriedly. If you disobeyed Sookmyung, you’d receive a harsh scolding later. If you disobeyed Jisoo, you’d be hurting her feelings. Jisoo always seemed to favor you over the other palace servants. She went out of her way to make sure you’re properly cared for; she always offered you space in her home. You stepped forward carefully, and stood at the chair beside Jisoo. Your eyes flitted up to Sookmyung, who stared daggers into your face. By the amount of wine she’ll be having, perhaps she’ll be too drunk to properly punish you. She may even forget this moment if she finds a man she truly likes. Taking the seat, your mother serving you a hefty plate, you knew your hopes were too high. 

"I am sorry you had to witness that argument," Jisoo told you. "It will be the last time you do, I promise."

"It is nothing I am not accustomed to," you told her. You ate a bit of rice with savory meat and chewed quietly. "Sookmyung is very against the idea of marriage. She will not make it easy for you."

"And what about you, YN?"

"Your Majesty?"

"Sookmyung made a fair point, in her own twisted way," she began. "You are a beautiful young woman. You would have your pick of any man you wanted, yet you show no interest in it."

"I am far too busy to think about such things," you said. "The Queen takes up a good amount of my time."

'Sookmyung will never let me marry unless she chose them herself.'

"That's preposterous," she scoffed. She took a sip of tea your mother poured for her, and said, “Sookmyung has plenty of other handmaidens. Surely, she can tolerate them long enough for you to pursue any interests you may have.” She then gave a sly smirk, “You might even find someone favorable tonight.”

“Your Majesty, please,” you giggled with hot cheeks, “These are all men of nobility. Their families would never accept it even if a man did want me.” 

You didn’t dare mention they’ll likely take you as a concubine rather than a wife. 

“That may change after tonight.” Her eyes lit up when she spotted someone in the crowd, “Hongjoong looks particularly handsome tonight, don’t you think?”

“What?” You searched the crowd around to find him standing with Seonghwa and Yunho, the three men in deep discussion together. “Um, well, I suppose he does.”

“You suppose?” she furrowed her brow. “Put aside your fears for a moment, YN, and tell me what you truly think of him.” 

Your eyes finally met hers, seeing the sincerity in them, and you looked back at Hongjoong. While you both rarely spoke directly, he still showed care for you. Yesterday, he’d occupied Sookmyung for the day so you may spend time with your mother. He’d taken your place in the torture chambers, so you can sleep free of nightmares. Hongjoong might fear Sookmyung’s wrath like anyone else, but that seemed to fade in your presence. You knew the face underneath that veil: the short narrow nose, the prominence of his cheeks and soft lips. He’d been a prince once, and he still looked the part even now. He must’ve felt your stare, because his eyes glanced over to you and the room suddenly became warm. Seeing him there, you wished you could speak to him again. 

“He is everything a prince should be,” you whispered, not concerned if she heard you or not. “He is the sort of man you hear about in stories and songs: a chivalrous, courageous prince who comes to save the day. Even if we don’t speak, he shows his concern and care in different ways.” 

“If we speak technically, he is a king,” she noted. “His father is dead. His family is dead. Anyone with a claim to Wonju’s throne is deceased apart from himself.”

“Which is the precise reason Sookmyung covets him so much. She will never release him.”

“Let us not speak of the future as a fact,” she ate a few vegetables from her stew, and said. “The future can change in a single minute.”

“You speak as if you know something I do not,” you didn’t realize how accusatory that sounded until you’d said it. “Forgive me-”

“-Perhaps I do, little YN,” she smiled serenely, “Perhaps I do.” 

Drums sounded from the pavilion entrance, and the herald called out, “Chief Senior Advisor Choi Wonshik, with Advisors Kim Heechul, Park Taeyong, Do Daewook, and Jung Junhan.” 

All five of Sookmyung’s advisors walked into the pavilion to more head bowing. Wonshik walked ahead of them to Sookmyung’s table, and gave her a bow. 

“Senior Advisor,” Sookmyung said, “I am glad to see you.”

“I wish I could say the same, Your Majesty.”

The people sitting at Sookmyung’s table fell silent at once, even with the music continuing to play onwards. She kept her eyes directly on the elder, that familiar dislike showing on her face. You feared what might happen next. 

“What did you say?” she drawled, hands slowly curling into fists. 

“The council and I have been in discussion for some time,” he informed her. You saw the other advisors' stiff lips and stern faces. “We have argued back and forth and back and forth on this issue for several days, and finally we have all come to an agreement.”

“This is not the place to discuss politics, Advisor,” she said. “I am in the middle of a banquet, if you have not noticed.”

“I’m afraid this news cannot wait any longer. Han Sookmyung, by power invested in us by the people of Korea and The Crown, the Royal Council and I have declared you unfit to rule and have decided to strip you of your titles and crown.”

Sookmyung immediately shot up from her seat. Now, they had the full attention of everyone in the room. Every nerve in your body froze, and you braced yourself for what would happen next. 

“You cannot do that!” she howled. “I am the queen-”

“-Any fool who has to keep saying she is the queen is not a true queen,” Wonshik continued, unbothered by her temper. “As Master of Law, I will give Advisor Do the floor-”

“-You old bastards! I am part of the monarchy. I am a queen. You cannot arrest or depose me without just cause-”

“-According to paragraph three in section C3 of the Bill of Laws,” Advisor Do spoke, fixing the spectacles on his nose, “A monarch may be incarcerated if there is sufficient evidence that said monarch has committed crimes against the people. During your conquest across Korea, there are witness testimonies and hard evidence to prove Your Majesty committed several war crimes-”

“-You have no proof-”

“-These war crimes include,” he withdrew a scroll and he read out loud, “Intentional destruction and appropriation of property not justified by military necessity and carried out unlawfully. Intentional attacks against civilian populations. The torture and subsequent murder of prisoners of war; the taking of and enslavement of hostages. The murder of combatants who’d laid down their arms or have no means of further defense-”

“-These don’t apply to me! I am the ruler! I decide-”

“-The penalty for these crimes is the immediate removal from office, as well as stripped of all lands and titles-”

“-I decide what laws go into place! I decided who is charged and who isn’t-”

“-The Royal Council decides which laws are passed,” Wonshik intervened. “Your grandfather put this into practice before you were born, and it still stands today. Your Majesty was always welcome to take her place on the council and come to terms with us, but you felt that beneath you. Due to the crimes Advisor Do has just read, Her Majesty, Queen Sookmyung, shall be placed under arrest-”

“-What?!-”

“-Until such time as she is tried in a court of law and properly sentenced-”

The guards you’d seen before came forward to Sookmyung’s seat. She looked at Wonshik, unafraid of the men coming her way, “I am the queen. I am King Siwon’s only heir. Who could you possibly replace me with?”

“That is easily resolved.” It was Jisoo who spoke, and Sookmyung rounded on her. 

“How? What, you will sit on my throne? You are the King’s widow. You have no right or claim to my throne.”

“I might not, but your sister does.”

“My sister?” she asked in disbelief, “What sister? I have no sister!”

Chaewon turned Jisoo to face her daughter, “Yes, you do. Your father and I kept this information from court to avoid a succession crisis upon his death. But, seeing what you’ve become and the violence and destruction you’ve dealt out, I think it was a mistake to keep her hidden this entire time.”

“Who is she?” she glared at Jisoo, and you worried she might hit her. “Where is she? I’ll run her through!” She grabbed a knife from the table, and held it out at Jisoo. Sookmyung began looking about the room as if she expected this secret heir to appear from the shadows. “Who is she? Who?!” The guards drew out their own swords, ready to fight if she resisted. You remembered all those years in the training yard. Sookmyung is far too good with weapons for one’s liking. Jisoo, however, was not afraid of the blade in front of her. “Where is she, you snake?!”

“She’s right behind me,” Jisoo shrugged. 

A gasp escaped your throat, and Sookmyung turned to you. Nervously, you searched for anyone behind you but you quickly realized she meant you. You looked over to your mother. 

“Mother?”

“YN?” Sookmyung spoke before your mother, and said, “That’s ridiculous! YN is a lowly servant’s daughter. She’s not a princess, let alone a queen. If she was my twin sister, she’d look like me.”

“You’re fraternal twins,” Jisoo explained. 

“Fraternal…” she breathed out the word, her eyes landing on you. “Why…Why didn’t you tell me?”

“I didn’t know!” you squeaked. “I swear, Your Majesty, I didn’t know! I am as surprised as you!” 

And equally embarrassed. All eyes landed on you once the words were spoken, and you wanted to run and hide. Everyone stood in complete shock and awe. You saw some people whispering behind their hands, and others awkwardly looking away from you. 

“Liar!”

“Guards!”

Sookmyung lunged for you, knife raised in the air, before a guard stood in her way. Her eyes never left yours. Nothing but scorching hate burned within her brown eyes, that primal need to unleash her fury making her more and more desperate to reach you. Your heart thumped loudly in your ears, and you couldn’t stop your feet from taking you backwards. You’d walk all the way to the city and beyond if nobody stopped you. 

“YN…” 

His voice, low and deep, reached you right as your back bumped into his front. Seonghwa. You knew from the voice alone. Warm hands squeeze your biceps tenderly to keep you in place. 

“You little bitch!” Sookmyung screeched, “I will get you! I will get all of you! You will rue the day you tried taking my crown from me!”

Two guards took her by the arms, but they did not act quickly enough. Sookmyung pushed one of them away, and unsheathed the dagger from his belt. Stabbing it into his chest, panic went throughout the room as Sookmyung shoved him to the floor and turned on his comrade. Seonghwa stood in front of you, so you only heard the commotion going on several feet away from you. 

“Seonghwa, get YN out of here,” Jisoo ordered. 

“Come, YN.” 

He took your arm and started leading you away. You looked over your shoulder to see Sookmyung’s wig casted onto the floor and the overcoat of her hanbok discarded onto the ground. In the distance, you saw Sookmyung fighting off guards with a stolen sword. You’d never seen her in battle, but you’d seen her in the training yard in her youth. Sookmyung cut through men easily, using her hands and feet to keep them back. Then, you realized some of the guards did not fight her, but rather aided her. Soldiers fought as Sookmyung made her way out of the pavilion. When a lord tried stopping her, one of the guards cut him down to give her a clear path. As you ran across the bridge leading to the south, Sookmyung ran to the one leading towards the north where she fought men guarding the lake side. Seonghwa lifted you up onto a horse awaiting you by the bridge, and Sookmyung had the same idea on the opposite side. You gasped audibly when she stabbed the rider and took his steade. 

As you began riding with Seonghwa, you worried Sookmyung might chase after you. Everything in your body turned numb, and the only thing you felt was fear. You listened for more clopping hooves, and faint threats carrying through the air. You expected her to pull up beside you, sword in her hand, and the blade swishing at you and Seonghwa. Yet, as you crossed over another bridge to the southern part of the palace grounds, you realized she must’ve retreated. 

“We’ve been betrayed,” you heard Seonghwa curse to himself. “They said they’d be on our side.” 

“Seonghwa, what’s going on?” you asked him. 

He didn’t answer you, but instead rode towards the concubine residency. No guards stood at their posts nor any servants lingering nearby. Seonghwa dismounted first, then helped you off the horse before leading you into the house. Once you both entered the main room of the house, it felt as if the world was shut out. You walked into the middle of the room, replaying the events in your head. 

You’re a princess? Impossible. King Siwon could not be your father. Park Hyungshik had been your father. He’d been a stablemaster, handling the King’s horses for him. He’d died from pestilence when you were twelve, the sickness nearly taking your life as well before you recovered. Queen Jisoo could not be your real mother. Park Chaewon was. She’d nursed you in infancy, cared for you and loved you unconditionally. It sounded insane. If you were a princess, then you would’ve worn crowns and worn pretty dresses and danced with handsome lords. Not standing by Sookmyung’s side as she tortured and murdered people. 

“YN?” Seonghwa’s voice couldn’t pull you from your thoughts. 

King Siwon separated you to avoid a succession dispute? Why would there be one? If you and Sookmyung were twins, surely the council would have chosen the elder over the younger. Then, you remembered the crimes the council charged Sookmyung with and understood.

You studied the law and judicial system more than Sookmyung did. Everything Advisor Choi and Advisor Do said was true. The council had the power to remove the current monarch if they had just cause, and in Sookmyung’s case, they certainly had one. Hearing her crimes be listed out loud brought them into perspective for you. She’d raped, tortured, and killed so many people. She’d put entire villages to the torch, spreading fear and oppression throughout the kingdom. She continued to harm her subjects through her high taxation on the poor, causing many of them to go hungry or turn to unsavory means to avoid it. You’d hoped one day she may be stopped, but you never imagined yourself taking her place. 

“YN,” Seonghwa called to you again, coming up behind you, “Are you alright?”

“No,” you answered. Sookmyung will not let this ‘betrayal’ stand. She will come for you and anyone else involved in this coupe. “Where did she go? Did you see where she went?”

“She was running towards the northern gates,” he said. “I imagine she plans to escape that way, and if what I suspect is true, she’ll manage to get out of the city by the morning.” 

You looked out a nearby window to see the sun already setting. Footmen already lit the braziers around the grounds, and you saw lights inside the various buildings being lit. You did not have a view of the pavilion from the garden house, but you saw floods of lords and ladies being escorted by their retainers off the premises. Several palace guards moved quickly throughout the grounds, hands on their swords as they searched for the runaway queen. No doubt they’ll set up groups of men to go into the city soon. That won’t stop Sookmyung. She’ll find her way back into the palace, and if she had help, she’d find you for sure. 

“She’ll find me,” you said, keeping the trembling out of your voice. “She’ll find me, torture me and then kill me.”

“No, she won’t,” he assured you, putting his hands on your shoulders. “I wouldn’t let her.”

“As if that would stop her,” you rolled your eyes. Watching men moving past the house, you pictured her lying in wait in the bushes. You saw her waiting until dark to sneak into your bedroom, and plunge a knife in your throat. “She’ll never give up. Never. When she manages to get her throne back, she’ll punish every single person she deems responsible for this. It is stupid. It is foolish and in vain.”

“I won’t let that happen,” he said. Gingerly, he turned you to face him and you tensed in his embrace. Thoughts of Sookmyung’s fury made you step away from his touch. “She is not the queen anymore,” he told you, sensing your hesitancy, “She holds no power.”

“Yes, she does,” you told him. “Just because the council has dethroned her does not mean the people outside these walls know of this. It will take days to inform the dukes of the other cities, and by then, Sookmyung will have likely sought refuge with one of them. There may even be a simple farming family who shelters her because they’re under the impression she is queen.” You envisioned the very scenario, and it only ended with blood and tears. “Nobody is going to accept a new queen, especially one who was the former queen’s handmaiden. I mean..” you took a deep breath, “I am no queen. I am not royalty. I am a small, simple woman who walks next to palanquins and serves other people and takes care of everyone and everything and-”

“-You may not have been raised as a royal, but you are one,” Seonghwa interrupted you. “Word will spread after tonight. It is why the council confronted her in front of the entire court instead of somewhere private. People like to talk, and they’ll talk about how Sookmyung was deposed and her handmaiden is actually her secret sister.” 

“And they will say that I am not a queen and will likely try to put someone else in my place.”

“The only people who can truly make that decision are the advisors,” he said, “Nobody else.” 

He stepped forward again, his hand sliding across your jaw and cupping it. Sookmyung would’ve flogged you both for such a gesture. When you tried moving away, he kept you still. 

“The people may not know you, but I do,” he began. “You are a kind, generous, compassionate person. You sympathize and empathize with others. You always try to do what is right and protect as many people as you can.”

“I cannot protect anyone.”

“You’ve tried, and that counts. The other servants used to talk about how you maneuvered Sookmyung’s anger to keep her from harming others-”

“-I wasn’t always successful,” you admitted sheepishly. “She could be hard to handle when she is seriously upset.”

“But you managed. Also, it isn’t as if you’re a complete fool. You can read, write and do arithmetic. You know the politics, the law, and culture.” He gave a soft smile, “You should not doubt yourself so much. You are capable of great things, YN, and you’ll have people there to guide you along the way.”

You shook your head and moved away from him and the window. “No, no, this is insane,” you kept shaking your head, “There’s no way. This must be a trick or a joke.”

“Why would it be a trick?”

“Sookmyung likes to play games. This would just be another elaborate game for her to play on me,” you nervously wiped your palms on your skirt, “She’ll come back, laugh at me for reacting this way, and then tell me that ever dreaming of being more than what I am is pointless. It is the sort of thing she’d do. Yes, and being one of her ‘flowers’, you’d be forced to be in on the game.”

“YN, this is not a trick or a game. You truly are Jisoo and Siwon’s child; you are an heir to the Han dynasty-”

“-No, I’m not. No. I’m not falling for it,” you crossed your arms and plopped down onto a sofa. “I’ll sit here and wait for her to come and laugh at me like she always does.”

“YN-”

“-YN!” 

Your mother came rushing into the house, her footsteps thumping lightly until she reached the beaded curtain. She saw you sitting on the sofa and gave a sigh of relief. 

“YN, there you are!”

She knelt in front of you, cradling your face and checking for any injuries. You looked at her. You truly looked at her now. You tried finding a scrap of yourself in her face; you thought about your father’s face and did not find resemblance there either. Not in the nose, eyes, lips, ears, cheeks, neck, or body. Nothing. 

“Why didn’t you tell me?” you asked her softly. “Why didn’t you tell me that Queen Jisoo was my real mother and not you?”

Chaewon’s eyes filled with guilt. Her shoulders sagged and she stopped touching you. You saw the conflict going on in her mind, a struggle between honesty and lies. She sat beside you on the sofa, and held your hand gently. 

“I think that is a conversation for later,” she told you. “A lot of things have happened very quickly, and you must be very confused right now.”

“Exactly, so please explain the first part to me: how can I be a daughter of King Siwon, and not know it until this very day?” you demanded. 

Chaewon looked over at Seonghwa, the discomfort clear on her face. She stayed silent for a moment before she said, “Because we didn’t want anyone to know.”

“Who is ‘we’?”

“The Queen and I,” she answered. “Well, us two, Siwon, and Wonshik. Like what Jisoo said, Siwon had seen kingdoms be torn apart by a dispute over succession and he knew having two twin daughters may cause that. He’d planned to send you far away into the countryside where nobody would see you, but Jisoo pleaded for you to stay in the palace.”

“Why?”

“She didn’t want to be away from you. She wanted to see her daughters grow up together.” 

“Why did she pick you?”

“Because she and I have been together since our girlhood in Daegu,” she explained. “We both suffered from similar fertility issues after our marriages: she had a delicate womb; Hyungshik did not produce enough sperm for a pregnancy. When you and Sookmyung were born, and Siwon declared there can only be one, she offered you to me.” Your mother smiled warmly, taking both your hands in hers, “And Hyungshik and I loved you as if you were ours all along. The moment I held you in my arms, YN, I felt as if you were meant to be mine. It was as if the gods intended on giving you to me."

"You could have told me at any time."

"And what good would it have done then?"

"That perhaps we might not be in this situation at all," you reasoned. "The king and queen both saw what kind of person Sookmyung was; they saw her viciousness and callousness and still allowed her to be queen.”

“They believed she may grow out of it-”

“-Grow out of it?” you huffed. “What could possibly make them think that? Sookmyung used to chase around the palace cats and hang them from trees. She used to start fires in the stables and tormented her nurse. She only started paying attention in studies when she was told she’d be the queen one day. Do you know why she wanted to train in the yard with the men? Hm, do you?” you couldn’t keep the anger from rising in your voice. “Because then she’d learn how to kill people. She’d learn how to hurt people in the most efficient way. It did not occur to them then that perhaps their eldest child is not fit for rule? All this pain and torture and murder could have been prevented if her parents stepped out of their delusion and saw her as she truly was.”

You pictured every person Sookmyung ever tortured. Their faces haunted your dreams and kept you awake some nights. The stench of blood, bile, and other fluids clung to your nose even when outside the dungeons. They did not know. Her family never knew her true nature. Queen Jisoo might’ve suspected or been told by others, but she’d never seen it. You’d seen everything. You shut your eyes as visions of men being impaled on pikes across a battlefield came to you.

“No parent ever wants to admit their child’s faults,” your mother told you gently. “It was not until she came into rule that Queen Jisoo saw her daughter for who she is.”

“Someone should have said something,” you said, “Someone should have told me.”

“To tell you would be telling Sookmyung,” she soothed you, running your braid through her hands delicately. “You saw what she did to the other claimants. I never thought…YN, you must believe me, I never thought this day would come.”

“Did you ever plan on telling me? Ever?”

“Your father wanted to tell you,” she admitted, “When he was dying. We both thought you’d join him, so he wanted you to know the truth, but I disagreed. I feared telling you the truth would worsen your condition at the time.”

“I feel it now regardless of my health.”

“I know, and I do not expect you to forgive me right away. I only want you to know that I did this for your safety. Even if they did not want to admit it, I knew Sookmyung as well. If she learned you were her sister, she would’ve tried killing you at some point, and she proved that today.” 

Because she believed you’d betrayed her. The room felt hot. You realized then Seonghwa still stood nearby, listening even if he pretended otherwise.  

“Please, you must understand,” your mother pleaded. “We did what we thought was best at the time. None of us knew what Sookmyung would turn out to be later on in life, but we knew if Siwon died and had two heirs instead of one, things could be ugly very quickly.”

“Obviously it would have been Sookmyung. She was the elder of the two of us.”

“But anyone who saw her grow up would’ve petitioned to have you take her place,” she said. “Purists would say Sookmyung is the rightful heir, and Realists would say you are the appropriate heir. It would’ve caused chaos and uncertainty. It’d been during a very tremulous time in the kingdom: we’d recently gotten out of a war with a nearby nation, and were recovering from the financial losses. Siwon did not want to see his kingdom plunged into war.”

“And look how that turned out,” you said, playing with the red threaded ornament attached to your hanbok. On the red loop was a golden medallion with a crane etched into it. Sookmyung gifted it to you after her first victory. “It led to Sookmyung creating her own war in an attempt to seize control of the entire country; power and control she already had as the ruling monarch. It left us in a country depleted of hope and peace led by a madwoman who pulled out fingernails for fun.”

“We admit that we made a mistake,” Chaewon answered, “You’re right. We should never have lied to you. It is something we both deeply regret.”

“Yes, particularly in light of recent events.”

Your mother put her hand on yours, grasping the ornament. “We know it will take time for you to fully soak all of this in, so we do not expect immediate forgiveness from you. But, I want you to know that even if I didn’t carry you myself,” her hands went around yours, “I still love you as if I did. The moment you opened your eyes, YN, I knew you were mine.”

“Would you have told me?”

“If circumstances had been different, I would have.” 

You had difficulty believing her. If she lied about this, what else is she lying about? 

“YN, are you alright?” 

It was Jisoo, followed by Wonshik and the other advisors, all of them concerned. You turned from your hiding space to see them all standing by the door, watching you from afar. When you saw Jisoo, you couldn’t see her being your mother either. The only traces captured in her features was Sookmyung, her trueborn daughter. Then, you thought back to King Siwon. He’d stood lean and broad even in his old age. Thinking back to the warm, wrinkled face that always smiled at you, you saw yourself. You saw bits and pieces of yourself in that face. 

“I look more like him,” you said without thinking. 

She nodded, “Yes, you do. I used to tell him that whenever I saw you both together.” She wheeled herself closer to you, “Forgive me, YN. I did not want to keep this from you, but my husband forbade it. You must understand we did this to prevent war and-”

“-Sookmyung brought war and devastation on us,” you argued with her. “I don’t see how keeping my birth a secret prevented anything. If anything, it has made things worse.” 

“Yes, we see our mistakes now,” she faltered. “I’d seen it for a long time, but not Siwon. He had trouble admitting that he’d made a mistake in separating you both. I wanted to tell you, YN. We should have told you, and dealt with the consequences afterwards. This is the time to correct those mistakes.”

“You told Hongjoong and I that the other dukes would be on our side,” Seonghwa stepped in, looking at Wonshik. “I am not sure if you noticed, a few of them took up arms against us instead of with us.”

“Yes, it appears we’d been betrayed,” Wonshik nodded. “Sookmyung might’ve already known a coupe would be staged, but the shock of YN being her sister distracted her long enough for us to act.”

“Do we know who went over?”

“The Dukes of Daegu, Gongju, and Ulleungdo, as well as their bannermen,” Advisor Jung, a stern looking man with a balding head and long mustache and beard, spoke up. “I told Wonshik that trusting Daegu and Gongju would be a mistake. They benefited the most when Sookmyung took power, and know their continued wealth counts on her being on the throne. Ulleungdo was a surprise, though. They typically stay out of wars.”

“The son of Ulleungdo recently married the duchess of Daegu,” Jisoo told him. “They will need a proper fleet, and Ulleungdo has dozens of longships.”

“How did they find out?” exclaimed Advisor Heechul, a rotund man with salt-and-pepper hair. 

“Why don’t we discuss this tomorrow, gentlemen?” Jisoo intervened. “Her Majesty has learned far too much too quickly. She needs time to process these new changes.”

“It is important to act now, Your Majesty…”

‘Her Majesty’. They meant you when they said this. Not Sookmyung. Despite all the little fantasies you had, you never believed it would happen. You couldn’t possibly be a real princess, but the longer you sat there amongst these people, it sounded more plausible. It explained why the king and queen treated you so well. You saw the other servant girls learning practical skills such as cooking, sewing, cleaning and washing. You sat beside Sookmyung learning languages, geography, arithmetic, philosophy, and culture. You’d never cooked anything before or needed to sew. It was the other household servants who did that; you merely managed them. King Siwon showed particular interest in you. He even called you affectionate pet names. 

‘How is our little blossom today?’

‘Don’t wander too deep into the forest, okay sunshine? We don’t want you and Sookmyung getting lost.’ 

Queen Jisoo showed you nothing but kindness and concern. She appeared happier when she saw you in comparison to when she saw Sookmyung. You must be special to them, and what other reason do they have outside of being their child? You felt yourself stand up from the sofa, and begin walking away. They want to make you a queen. Your feet carried you throughout the harem, bypassing bedrooms and sitting rooms until you reached the outdoor veranda over the garden pond. Night time came over the garden fully, with the lit lanterns resembling stars amongst the dark trees and bushes. 

You spent your whole life believing Chaewon and Hyungshik were your parents. If you’d learned you’d been adopted from an orphanage or given to them by relatives, you might understand it better. You may not feel so bad. But learning your birth parents are a king and queen, and you are a princess worsened the shock. You gripped the wooden railing tightly, your fingers pressing into the painted wood as you imagined Sookmyung learning of this. It stunned her, and angered her like most surprises had done. You knew Jisoo and your mother were right: if you’d grown up as sisters, you wouldn’t be standing here. But, then you’d have grown up prepared to ascend the throne. 

“YN?” you recognized Seonghwa’s voice again, but felt nothing for it. 

You did not know the first thing about being a monarch. Yes, you might have come up with solutions to problems you heard from citizens, but you had no power to carry them out. You didn’t understand politics or diplomacy or sword fighting like Sookmyung did. You are a servant, a follower of people higher than you; you’re not a queen. You’re not a leader. 

“YN,” he took light steps over towards you, “I know this is far too much to take in at the moment. You must be so confused. I’ll admit, I felt the same when the Queen Mother and Advisor Wonshik told me of their plan.”

“Why would they tell you?”

“Well, I suspect they hoped I’d be of some use to them,” he stood beside you and looked out over the water. “My father was Park Jiwoon. He was the Senior Advisor to The Duke of Haeju for years. Before Sookmyung killed the ruling family and installed loyal lackeys to the seat, my father counseled the duke in all manner of politics. My father was brilliant. It’d been him who’d suggested that it be a council that makes the laws alongside the duke, instead of giving the monarch ultimate power."

He saw your worried expression. Your eyes fell closed when he gently touched your cheek, and made you look at him. He's beautiful. Undeniably beautiful. Round eyes gazed into yours lovingly, glancing down to your lips before looking back up. He was Sookmyung's, you thought. He's hers. Not yours. None of them could ever truly be yours. Especially not Seonghwa or Hongjoong. His thumb brushed your cheekbone, and he stood closer to you before the sound of wheels running over wood broke you apart.

Jisoo appeared with your mother. They both stopped when they saw you and Seonghwa alone. Neither woman said anything, and Seonghwa bowed his head.

"I must go speak with the advisors," he said. He gave you one more fleeting look, "Goodnight, Your Majesty."

It was when he'd gone out of earshot that you said, "I've only been a monarch for less than an hour and I already hate that. I'm not a queen."

"This is our chance to make things right," Jisoo said, continuing your conversation from inside. "The people need a leader who is compassionate, generous and caring. They need someone who understands their struggles, and would do their best to relieve them. You are that someone, YN, whether you believe it or not. There is a reason I ordered you to be tutored alongside Sookmyung.”

“I hardly remember any of those lessons now," you scoffed. "They weren’t important to me-”

“-Name the five major clans of Korea.”

“What?” you finally looked over at her. 

“Name the five major clans,” she repeated. “There is the royal family, the Han clan. Who are the other four?”

“Kim, Park, Choi and Jung,” you answered. 

“Han controls the middle plain region,” she said, coming up beside you, “Who controls the west, east, north, and south?”

“Kim controls the west, Choi controls the east, Park controls the south, and Jung is in the north.”

“What are their principal exports?”

“Clan Kim is famous for their gem and gold mines, as well as their silk and cloth fields,” you said. “Clan Choi are known for their expansive seafood industry, while Clan Park send spices and wines from their vineyards and fields in the south. Jung sends lumber, paper and stone blocks for building.”

“Sookmyung did not know that.”

“Of course she did.”

“She pretended to know,” Jisoo informed you. “I knew that because she never attended council meetings. Sookmyung only went to meetings when it concerned her money or her power. She did not know how to bring peace to people, or how to maintain it. I think you can do it.”

“I know you can do it,” your mother said, coming up beside you at the railing. When you did not reply, she continued, “You do not need to make a decision tonight-”

“-Chaewon-” Jisoo said incredulously, but your mother ignored her. 

“-Take your time with this. It is a big decision and there are more to come.” She put her arm around your shoulders and hugged you, “Let us take this one day at a time, hm?”

“I’d like that.”

You allowed her arms to comfort you as they’d done your entire life. Basking in the warmth and scent of her, you could not find it in you to think anymore. Jisoo decided you’d stay in the harem where there’d be plenty of people to watch over you until Sookmyung is apprehended. You couldn’t find it in you to care. Seonghwa offered you his chambers for the night, but you politely declined. You took the spare room, which was oddly untouched by anyone else. You undressed yourself, thinking about what you would be doing now if nothing happened. You’d be undressing Sookmyung instead, and leaving her in a warm bath while you turned down her bed. After applying creams and salves to her body, you’d help her into bed and make sure the room remained warm through the night. 

Instead, you stripped to your undergarments and took up the black silk robe left on a chair. Sookmyung’s robe. You recalled every time you slipped it over her shoulders, and tied it because she could not be bothered to dress herself. Tossing it aside, you slid into the bed amongst the soft sheets. Sleep likely will not come, but you’d force it to. If you slept, perhaps when you woke up tomorrow it'd have been a dream. 

An awful, confusing dream.

***

A/N: oooh the drama!! Thanks so much for the support and love you're giving this fic <3 it's my baby lol thanks also for being so patient with these chapters. I'm not going through the best time, but I wanted to put out something for you guys <3 hope you like this one

[slowd1ving]

Hello, I love your work, can you write a Dg x boyfriend! Reader who is like Osaragi from Sakamoto days please, take care of yourself, you are great

FAR FROM ANY ROAD ゜・DG

"And strange hands halted me, the looming shadows danced; I fell down to the thorny brush and felt the trembling hands." And after the numbing day concludes, after the rain swallows all your sorrows, where else do you return if not home? honestly anon when I got this request I was fully wondering whether you meant the full deal of osagiri and was going to write actual assassin reader... then I re read the request. anyways hope you enjoy this short fic because once more I was at a loss whether to write actual headcanons or a scenario.. pairing: diego kang x male reader warnings: canon typical violence, blood, sort of hurt/comfort? not comedic sorry :'( wc: 1.4k

LOOKISM MASTERLIST

MASTERLIST ・゜・NAVIGATION

Tonight, the rivulets of rain streaming down your body feel particularly heavy. Those drops chase the blood that stains your skin and seeps into your clothes: petrichor battling against the acrid, metallic reek; purification against the concentrated sanguine of your sins and the sins of these assailants. 

In this abandoned construction site, you feel much like these unfinished buildings. A crude facade with crumbling foundations. Of course, the unconscious bodies of these Workers resemble those decrepit structures far more—alas, you’re not referencing their physical state, but rather the slightly-numbed, slightly-exhausted mental state you’re in. 

The bruises and scrapes littering your skin might make any lesser man hiss at his incompetence in guarding his temple, but to you, you absently trace the wounds with curious fascination. One last moment of entertainment, before your fun and games abruptly end. 

“How unpleasant,” you finally utter—the bleak words are washed away by the rain, to be heard by nobody but yourself. It’s always a thrill to perform your Sacred Duty; that is, teaching these wrong-doers a salient lesson that is beaten into their very bones. Your transgressions are only to correct their own sins, not bound to any particular affiliation but yourself. 

Against your injuries, your gelid fingers don’t spark the same warmth he does. It is at this particular moment that the joy completely evaporates, it is at this moment where all you want is to take off the crushing black veil and retreat back home. 

Home. You’ll be late as usual—limping back to the dimly-lit apartment with carmine kissing your knuckles and a frown on your face. 

These hours, where the clouds swirl a rich black, and only the street lamps pity your lonely journey home, no longer feel so welcome. So it's despondently that you start the meander back to the city. 

゜・

It’s early summer when you transfer to his class—almost comically late in the year, James Lee notes. Right on the cusp of the holidays, you stand before your peers with caustically empty eyes and a careful blankness on your face. How dull, he dismisses before crunching down on his candy: an obnoxious gesture that swivels your pupils in his direction. But not much else changes in your face—it seems you’ll be just as boring as his classmates, if not slightly more weird.

Though, as you slip into your seat with almost serpentine grace, as you click your mechanical pencil in such a way he briefly wonders whether you know you’re wielding a writing utensil and not a weapon, as your loping gait starts appearing in the edges of his vision wherever he is—this is where his eyes start following your motions curiously.

These endeavours prove fruitless; you’re a model student, if not subpar to his own vast academic success. There’s nothing noteworthy about your clipped speech, nor about your penchant to eat heaping bowls of food in one serving on the rooftops. Maybe there is that feeling he gets—that you seem to be holding yourself back during sports and other activities—but he’s come to his own conclusion. Boring. And just like that, his interest wanes once more.

It’s in the holidays that he sees you once more. This time, you’re out of uniform and in such peculiar garb he half-believes you’re an apparition: clad in rich black with a veil thrown over your head.  Or at least, he would believe you were a ghost were it not for the heaps of unconscious gang members strewn around you, and the vibrant red staining your fists and face. And when he laughs, when your head finally turns to gaze at the boy at the abandoned parking lot—you look as nonplussed as ever, and that is perhaps the most interesting thing about this ill-fated encounter.

Even with the lacerations cutting deep, you barely wince. Even as he finds you, again and again and again as you’re guts deep in beating these ‘sinners’ up, you barely spare him any greetings as he watches on amusedly. Even as he’s taken to cheering you on from the sidelines, you ignore him just like he did you—though, it’s more matter-of-fact than malicious, like it would be unprofessional to acknowledge him. 

It seems James Lee has found himself a new form of entertainment: all wrapped up neatly in a parcel of a boy with weirdly haunting eyes. 

゜・

But with age, naturally, comes the act of growing up. As he sheds his crimson locks, as he slips on his new moniker and buries his name along with his past, as he finally puts a name on the captivation you’ve bound him in—no longer does he laugh as you throw yourself into danger. 

Rather, with each new scar you accumulate on the vast and brilliant canvas of your skin, he can’t help but feel each pain on his own body. 

This especially bodes true as you stumble across the threshold, back into the lonely recesses of your apartment. It’s a small thing in the suburbs—far from prying eyes that snag on the lace decorating your body, far from those that could pick up on your sins. 

When you shuck off the heavy boots—ever the contrast against the exquisite craftsmanship of your clothing—you want nothing more than to collapse against the cold tiles of the floor. As you take on the more fatal—the more perilous—jobs, the money proportionally increases. 

But you don’t get the chance to sink onto the ground, because warm hands suddenly catch your frigid body just as you’re about to keel over. 

DG, Kang Dagyum, Diego—he’s got many names. James. The man you’ve known for the past three years holds you close to his designer sweater. He willingly lets the plush fabric to be soaked in the sins that trailed in with you: clear, polluted rain, which seems to perfectly encapsulate your sullen mood; mud soaking the hem over your veil; and finally the sanguine, oily blood that never seems to wash off. 

“Sorry.” Guilt eats away at you as you watch the material seep with wickedness. “I ruined it.”

Laconic as ever, you feel worse for staining his clothes than you do for coming home bruised and bleeding. His heart seems as tattered as you look, wrenching and twisting through his flesh while you inhale the powdery scent of his freshly-laundered loungewear. 

“You’re not sorry for coming home to me like this?” he bites out. There’s not a trace of laughter in the tight lines of his mouth—for James can’t find these stupid jobs amusing any more. He makes enough, God knows he makes more than enough, for you to leave this cursed work behind and just stay by his side. 

“Um,” you murmur, and he can practically hear the cogs in your brain whirring as you wonder why he’s not mentioning the deep smears of crimson that assault his outfit. “I can change before coming in—”

“Stop.” He interrupts you with his tight grip on your body and the concerned, devoted glint in his softening eyes. “Can’t you worry about yourself for once?”

His job is harsh within itself: volatility and high-pressure wrapped in one, but the things you do for money are downright punitive. It’s paradoxically comical: a man who’s stained his hands with blood far darker and deeper than you have, versus a pseudo-vigilante whose life revolves around violence. Diego Kang, or more accurately, James Lee conceals his past as though it were a separate entity: while still keeping the dregs of yesteryear with him in the form of you.

No, that’s not right. He doesn’t keep you by him. He’s bound to you instead, he realises through his adoring gaze and tender hands, through the reverent kisses he presses to your glacial arms. 

You still as his fingers card through your skin: past the fragile, wounded dermis; weaving through the sinuous muscles, and past the tangles of veins; and finally, they hold tight on the steady thrum of your pulse. You’re alive. You’re alive and breathing, and your heart is still beating through all those layers. 

Only then does he gaze up at you. None of his past ghosts through his look: neither boredom nor the callous indifference he once regarded you with. He’s been destroyed and reborn anew within these three years, while you still remain the painfully reckless fool. 

He’s no longer James Lee.

No, there’s not a single trace left of the boy who once saw your endless struggle as entertaining: save maybe the part of him that’s always been enraptured by your existence.  

゜・

EXTRAS

DG: …

reader: yeah I beat up those haters who were harassing you on twitter

DG: …

DG: without me 🥺

[ohnococo]

Fight Night | CHAPTER 8 | MMA Fighter!Sukuna x Reader

Aoi Todo calls Sukuna out publicly, and it leads to a very uncomfortable discussion between you and Sukuna.

Warnings: Uncomfortable conversations, reader is slightly upset, kissing, fingering, biting, (light) pussy slapping

FIRST CHAPTER

LAST CHAPTER

From time to time, curiosity gets the better of you. It’s happened before with Sukuna, when you went without talking for months, and again when he alluded to his previous opponent being a bit of a wildcard. You could just ask him about these things now, of course, but sometimes you wanted to see how he was viewed through the eyes of others. You wanted to compare what the world thought of him to what you were coming to know of him.

As for this particular subject, Aoi Todo, you really just felt like it might be too awkward to bring it up. Not right now, at least, when things seemed to be going so well. Sukuna hadn’t brought him up since the video you’d watched together, only occasionally making vague references to training or “the fight.” So you look for information on him yourself to satisfy your curiosity, making the choice to try and avoid anything that might mention Sukuna’s brother, if they really were still training together like Sukuna had suspected. That was something you’d rather hear from the man himself.

It turns out it’s easy, with nearly no mention of the boy save for a site with an article about the Todo, where he briefly mentions training with his best friend. You see a picture of them together among many pictures of Todo and his coaches in a gym and wonder just how two siblings could seem so different, even just from a photo. The way he smiles brightly, looking hopeful, makes you wonder if Sukuna had ever smiled like that.

As you back out of the site, your search refreshes as hot news repopulates the top results. Articles referencing a recent interview with Todo, topped with pictures of the young man smiling and looking victorious next to pictures of Sukuna looking as terrifying as he always did in these promo pictures. It makes you cringe, but you know Sukuna is a sort of villain to a lot of these people with the way he broadcasts that he has no respect for those he perceives as weak, ready to be a winner at all costs - even if those costs are unnecessarily serious injury to his opponents.

He appeals to the masses in his own way - not a kind but strong hero with a flawless record of good sportsmanship, but someone to split the crowd into a dissonance of boos and cheers as he walks out and towards the ring. Someone to make fans nervous for even the best of the best when they faced him. And apparently, someone with whom Aoi Todo has quite personal beef.

You read through one of the articles, seeing his sentiments translated. Seeing that he’s promised to beat Sukuna to a pulp, for his best friend, his brother, whom Sukuna abandoned as a teen when he had no one else. He proclaims that the boy’s hope could not be crushed, and that he will one day join him in the same organisation. Big words from a newcomer. Big words about a man who, according to the article, has apparently gone through his lengthy and illustrious career without bringing any of his personal life into it. Until now.

It turns your stomach, it confuses you, it makes you want to ask Sukuna a million questions, but you know this little media frenzy over a blurb like that is only one of many sides to a story. You know you don’t feel comfortable bringing up a subject like this either, so you sit there regretting having looked it up in the first place, not liking this information festering in your mind. Not liking that you’d have to push it aside for dinner at Sukuna’s house in only a few hours.

When you arrive at his house he seems to be in his usual spirits, and you wonder if maybe he hasn’t seen the news. Then, as he takes you to his dining room after giving you your usual praise over what was becoming your typical (and much more comfortable) attire around him, you find that you’re grateful for Uraume’s momentary presence. It gives you something to focus on other than what you’re choosing to pretend you don’t know.

It also gives you something to focus on other than how Sukuna’s eyes narrow at whatever was different enough about your behaviour over just a few minutes to clue him in to you being off.

“Wow, Uraume, you actually can cook.”

Uraume is setting dishes down in front of you both, hair pulled back in a low ponytail, shorter locks kept from their face by a thin elastic headband. They shoot you a look, apparently unimpressed by the sass in your compliment.

“Of course I can, I’m not taking Sukuna’s money for nothing.”

“Okay, okay,” you relent, having meant the remark to be targeted at Sukuna’s eating habits rather than Uraume’s skills, “it smells delicious.”

Braised short rib, a healthy portion of roasted vegetables, coconut rice - you were starting to feel bad for your little running joke about Sukuna’s gym food.

“Thank you.” Uraume takes the compliment, hard feelings quick to dissipate as they now knew what to expect from your humour as much as you knew what to expect from their chilly demeanour.

They look to Sukuna, apparently waiting for his approval as well, but his eyes are locked on you, suspicious. Instead of waiting further, they clear their throat, “Will you need anything else?”

Sukuna finally completes his lengthy appraisal of you, focusing on Uraume with a little more warmth, “No, thank you Uraume, have a good night.”

They nod, dismissing themselves to clean up the kitchen, intending to leave shortly afterwards.

You grab your wine, lifting your glass in an invitation to cheers, hoping the food and conversation would steer your mind from the comment you were trying not to think of. Sukuna lifts his own glass of water, clinking it against yours before you make your toast to the only thing you can think Sukuna would feel was worth celebrating.

“To beating this Todo guy’s ass.”

He lets out a little laugh at that, just the smallest huff of air through his nose, and his shoulders drop a little. Though you still see the remnants of that suspicion there, you’re happy to get on with the evening as you both take a sip of your respective drinks.

Once you’re forced into silence by eating, other than you giving your praise to Uraume yet again even in their absence, you find yourself confronted with that look on Sukuna’s face.

He chews his bites slowly, looking you over, and it’s been some time since you’d felt like he was peering into your mind like that.

“You’ve seen what he said.”

Your cheeks are hot, like you’ve been caught with your hand in the cookie jar, like it’s a crime to look up a public figure. Although it was perhaps a grey area to search for so much surrounding a public figure you happened to be dating.

“I just got curious…”

He leans back in his chair, eyes still on you as he takes a long drink of his water, unrelenting even as you get increasingly uncomfortable under his gaze. Then, he shrugs, as if dismissing the tension outright, “It’s fine.”

His words are one thing, but you’ve come to know him well enough to see that his broad shoulders still don’t fully relax as he brings his fork to his mouth again, speaking before he takes his bite, “Although I don’t care for my business being out there like this.”

You understand how it could be invasive, then worry that he thinks you’ve been invasive too, finishing your own mouthful of food in a rush before you clarify. “That’s all I saw, I didn’t search for anything else.”

His brow quirks, lips falling into a line as he looks displeased that you’re lying to him. “I know you’ve looked me up more than once.”

If you looked a little embarrassed before, now it must be even more obvious, wondering just how he knew. He catches that surprise easily.

“You’ve let it slip before.”

His words have you wracking your brain for when you’d played it much less cool than you’d thought, and something in your face makes his expression soften. A small smile has his eyes crinkling as he takes another drink, apparently enjoying some part of revealing his hand, even if all that hand contained was the knowledge that you thought about him much more often than you let on.

You shake your head, pushing aside the several tangents he’d inadvertently sent your mind on before returning to your original point.

“No, I mean I didn’t look anything else up about your brother.”

Sukuna’s smile freezes, just for a moment, before his face returns to that uncomfortable brand of neutral that seemed to be conjured up when this subject came up. He looks through you as he speaks, “You wouldn’t find anything anyway.”

“I… that’s-“ you push food around on your plate, “well I’m glad not all of your business is out there.”

“Don’t mince words with me.” His tone is stern, broadcasting that it’s an expectation he’s set for you that’s much closer to a demand than a suggestion. Like he expects better.

“I’m not.”

“You are,” this isn’t how you want him to open up, with venom in his voice, “one question.”

Your brow furrows and you wait for this one question of his, then he sighs and clarifies.

“You get to ask me one question about it, then I don’t want it brought up again.”

The clang of metal against glass is louder than you’d like it to be in this room, as you set your utensils down on your plate, sitting back in your chair as you look everywhere but at Sukuna. “I don’t want to pry…”

“Yes you do.”

He can read you far too well now for you to tiptoe around anything, so you just ask your question. “Why don’t you talk to your brother anymore?”

There’s another silence, another step further back into Sukuna’s mind, then he answers. “I started fighting because I had to. And I was good at it. He started fighting just because I did. I wouldn’t support it.” He flicks his hand, in a ‘there it is’ gesture, as if he had really answered much of anything.

“He wanted to be like you?”

Sukuna’s eyes narrow, and you know you’re bordering on stomping over, rather than tiptoeing around the subject as you had been before, but the question is out there and he’s answering it.

“He’s nothing like me.”

“Why don’t you-“

“Enough.” He’s far from shouting, but there’s a power behind his voice that has your hairs standing on end immediately, heart racing as you feel a small chill on the back of your neck. “You’re overstepping.”

It’s cold, bordering on angry. A tone you’d heard him use many times with others on your nights out, but never ever with you. You know you’ve pushed your luck, and now you know feel both wrong for that and wronged for the sharpness of his words. Your tells are showing again, something you only realise when Sukuna’s face moves from forcibly neutral to surprised.

He says your name then, low and even, and it’s like you’ve had cold water poured on you. “I haven’t dealt with this. So I certainly won’t deal with it with you.”

It’s as if he means it as a platitude, but it only hurts more that he won’t let you help, even if it was just to listen. But you nod as if accepting it as an end to the conversation, and so does he.

For the first time since he’d suspected something was up, he looks away from you, and it makes you feel like you can breathe again. His shoulders relax, and he closes his eyes and sighs heavily, looking suddenly tired.

“I didn’t invite you here to talk about this, I invited you here to enjoy a meal and to ask you to watch my fight.”

“Oh.” This time the change in subject is welcome, otherwise the tension in the room alone might just suffocate you. You’d already planned to watch it, of course. “I mean, yeah, there’s a few bars by my place that show the fights live.”

“No, I mean do you want to come to watch me fight.”

“Oh… yes.”

He tilts his head down slightly while looking up at you, as if he’s trying to appear as non-threatening as a man like him could. “I’d like that.”

You’d be outright giddy if this had come prior to the conversation you’d just had, but your excitement isn’t too stifled to stop you smiling at him, “Me too.”

It helps put a salve over the tension of what had just happened, though you still feel uneasy for the rest of the dinner. When you bring your eyes up to watch Sukuna across the table you can’t help assessing, and reassessing his demeanour. He seems fine, like that uncomfortable conversation had been buried, but you’d be lying to yourself if you said it had been for you as well.

He catches this of course, sliding his hand next to yours on the table, placing one finger on top of the back of your hand and tracing along your knuckles. He keeps the conversation light for the evening. Your life this week, your plans for the next, when those plans could align with his increasingly rigorous schedule. You eat, you talk, and youdo happily make those plans, telling yourself that you just needed to sleep the unpleasantness of tonight off.

When it’s time to leave you’re grateful for the night being cut short for different reasons than you’d thought you would be. Initially, dinner on a work night when you had to get up early seemed like a good idea if only because you wouldn’t be able to linger in his home and do things you didn’t need to be doing. Instead, you were happy to leave just to have a chance to clear your head.

It doesn’t stop you kissing him at his door before you go, arms around his neck and clinging to his shoulders gently. With how high you were on your tiptoes, and how far you were leaning back to accommodate his kisses, you’d be in danger of falling backwards if he weren’t holding you in place by your hips. He keeps a distance between your bodies despite the firm grip and thumbs rubbing circles into your hips, though you do think of pressing yourself to him once or twice, wanting the confirmation that your lips on his affected him just as much as it affected you.

When you pull back, lips swollen and a little dizzy, you don’t need to feel it, when you can see it in his face - eyes sparkling with want even through his heavy lids and thick lashes.

You take his face in like this for some time, using it as a weight to tip the scales away from your previous discomfort, then finally blink the haze of lust from your eyes as he breaks the silence.

“Text me to let me know you’ve gotten home safely.”

“I will.”

Once you arrive home you start to do just as he’s asked, even typing out the words, “I’m home.” But leaving things with this pit in your stomach and the unsettled tension has you thinking back to the only other time you’d felt like this since you’d known Sukuna: when you thought you’d never see him again. So you delete the words in the unsent text, instead sending:

call me please

He does. Right away. You answer and he speaks first.

“Is everything okay?”

It catches you off guard, hearing him sound concerned. “Yeah, I’m home now.”

“Ah.”

“About tonight…” you trail off, half expecting some interjection but when there is none you continue, “I don’t want you to speak to me like that again.”

This time you let the silence hang longer, until he has to meet you where you are and respond. “Fair enough.”

“I hated how that made me feel. I felt like I was just some lackey-“

“You’re not-“

You cut him off, having to get everything into words before it eats you up from the inside, “Like you were telling me to know my place or like you were just going to throw me away if I didn’t.”

It feels like a lot, like too much, but it was just how you felt.

Sukuna is silent again, before speaking slowly, emphasising each word and making sure you really hear him. “You are not some lackey. I would not throw this away.”

Then he sighs, and you can hear his heavy footsteps as he moves through his home. “You could have told me this while you were here.”

He’s annoyed, but there’s an affected calmness in his voice that lets you know he meant it as a way to lighten the mood. Then, you hear the jingle of keys and sit up a little straighter.

“Now I have to drive over there.”

You barely have your door open, just the handle turned and an inch of space revealing Sukuna before he’s pushing the door all the way open and coming in, leading with his lips on yours. Your arms are around his neck and once he’s swung your door closed behind you he’s lifting you up and into his arms.

His tongue is hot on yours, and his cock is already straining in its confines as he wraps your legs around his hips, walking you through your home. He takes a wrong turn, heading towards the kitchen, before you manage to separate your lips from his long enough to gesture the opposite way and towards your bedroom.

He doesn’t get the chance to meet your lips again as you lean away, having a moment of clarity in the excitement of him needing to see you so badly after your talk, “Wait, what are we doing?”

“We aren’t doing anything. I’m showing you just how I’ll put you in your place. Properly.”

You don’t know exactly what that means, but from the joy peeking through his smile you do know it’s got a heat blooming within your body.

Then, you find that his proper way of putting you in your place involves stripping you down, something you allow him to do as you’re pulled and pushed along with your clothes coming off, before he’s pushing you down onto your bed. You lean on your elbows, watching him kick off his shoes and waiting for him to unveil his body to you, but he doesn’t. He tugs at your ankles just enough to have you flat on your back again, and climbs on top of you, kissing you, hands groping at your body, pinching at your nipples and groaning into your mouth as you whine and gasp for him.

He props himself up on one arm as he settles next to you, eclipsing the light above as he pushes his hand between your legs. You spread them, accepting his rough fingers sliding through your folds with a moan and a laugh bordering on manic.

“So eager…” He chuckles wickedly at your enthusiasm, circling your entrance as he licks at your open mouth. “Just because I’m not fucking you doesn’t mean you can’t fuck this pretty cunt yourself.”

His touch drives you mad as always, as he dips his fingers for just a moment before pulling them back out to smear your wetness over your pussy. Though it hasn’t left you so far gone you can’t bite back, “I’ve taken care of myself plenty.”

Skilled fingers find their way back inside you, delving deeper, hooking and stirring you up already as he lets the sounds of your pussy speak for themselves. Not for long as he can’t help feigning pity as he looks down on you with your fluttering lashes and wet, moaning mouth.

“Not like I can, hm?”

There’s no opportunity for you to respond, save for with a squeal of delight as he moves fast, fucking you with his fingers, palm slapping at your clit until you’re bringing your knees up as he tugs your orgasm out of what felt like nowhere.

Then, he pulls his fingers out, rubbing at your pussy, just enough firm pressure on your clit to have you clenching for him.

“Fuck,” you want more and you want it quickly, rubbing up against his hand and chasing your high one way or another, “well it’s easy for you.”

You give him that as you lean your head up to capture his lips again. Appealing to his ego, appealing to your need to have him at least keep kissing you if he wasn’t going to make you cum just yet. He kisses back with a force that leaves your body weak as you sink back down, mouth wet and tongue hot before he’s separating from your lips enough to kiss a path down your face and to your neck where he sucks and bites harshly.

You know he’s leaving little love marks, and you don’t care, shivering when he whispers low against your skin, “You don’t make this easy for me.”

He buries his face between your neck and shoulder, biting hard enough to leave you yelping as he slides his fingers back inside you, working you up more slowly this time, groaning out a low, “but I try.”

Sukuna’s movements speed up then, and you’re tangling your hands in his hair - petting his undercut as he gets you closer, then sliding your hands up to tug at the roots as his palm slaps against your clit and you see stars.

“If you ask me to fuck you I will.”

It takes you a moment to even process that he’d spoken, with you dangling so close to the edge. You have to think on it, licking your lips, trying not to let your pussy do the thinking for you. It’s hard, your mind is scrambled already, and you put your hand on his wrist to stop him so you can try and form a coherent thought, even if it rips another orgasm away from you for the moment.

It doesn’t deter him at all, movements steady, though he does place a wet kiss to your neck before speaking low in your ear, “Either way you’re going to cum for me.”

You can accept that much, releasing his hand, pussy clenching his fingers lightly as you feel his lips curl into a smile against your skin. He looks down, watching your pussy swallowing his fingers again and again, watching the way your thighs jiggle and twitch with the intensity of an end you hadn’t even met yet.

You don’t want him to look away right now, even if it’s to admire your body and the things he can do to it, so you hold his face in both hands, kissing his forehead. He looks at you then, slightly taken aback, like you’ve put his mind on ice. His arm is far from frozen though, as he keeps pumping his fingers into you, maybe even faster than before.

“Kiss me.”

The words are barely out of your lips before he’s complying, lips on yours, this time only the tip of his tongue brushes against yours and it’s the final straw that sends you over the edge. You raise your hips into his movements, moaning, panting, making a mess of his fingers and the sheets below.

Once the intensity ebbs, he pulls his fingers out, tapping your pussy firmly enough to leave you gasping as you clench your thighs around his hand to at least steady it. His lips are still on yours the whole time, drinking in your sounds, smiling against you as you whine and laugh when he goes back to rubbing at you firmly but gently.

He gives you a final peck, then another, then another before he leans back, resting his head on his hand as he peers down at you. He makes no effort to extract his hand from your still clenched thighs, and once he slides two fingers back inside of you, keeping them nestled and smiling at the odd twitch of your spent walls, you relax your legs and let them fall open on the bed.

“Feel better?”

You stare at the ceiling thinking, then look back at him incredulous. “Did you really just bust in here to finger it better?”

He sighs, pursed lips barely hiding amusement at your choice of words, ignoring your questions in favour of reiterating his own. “I’ll make you cum til you’re crying and calling in sick to work if you want?”

You did want, just a little, but you know you have things to do in the morning, and so does he. So you just laugh and slap his arm lightly, “Yeah I feel a lot better.”

He smiles, proud, happy, maybe even beaming. “Good.”

CHAPTER 9

[indianamgc11]

“makes me want to wreck you.” from the prompt list woth ethan landry 😇

eyes on you

a/n: hello! i wrote this with the intent of making a pt. 2, so lmk if you would be interested in that :)

warnings: cursing, mentions of weed and alcohol, touching, mentions of blood and the tiniest bit of violence, fighting, implications of sex, talking of body parts, ethan x f!reader (lmk if i missed any)

word count: 2,665

summary: reader and the group attend the frat party, but ethan and reader have their eyes, and minds, set on something else.

You never have really been a fan of parties, let alone frat college parties. But Chad had convinced you to go along anyways, saying you needed to “get out more.”

“C’mon! It’ll be fun! Maybe you could find a piece of eye candy to snack on.”

He laughs at his own comment and flexed his muscles in the air, jokingly referencing to himself, earning a playful eye roll and a sigh from you.

“Fine, I’ll go, just don’t try to find somebody for me, that didn’t go too well last time.”

You remember back to the last party you went to with the friend group, where Chad attempted to hook you up with a guy who ended up being some 30-year old freak who passed by the party scene, thinking he could get away with a girl or two. Chad ended up getting into a fist fight with the creep, leaving himself with bloodied knuckles and a red slap mark on his face, and the guy with a broken nose and a black eye. That was the last party you had gone too.

But you wanted to try again, seeing that you wanted to join this sorority with Tara for a bit, and figured that a party would be a good start (hopefully).

It was later in the day and you were getting ready with Tara in her room. Her, Sam, and Quinn were your roommates, and Sam wasn’t too fond of the “social gathering” that Chad had been talking about. She’s been very paranoid about letting Tara go out alone, or to any crowded event, since the recent Ghostface killings in your hometown of Woodsboro, California the previous year. Even with Chad saying him and the remaining friend group would be going, Sam still turned the idea down. Nevertheless, you and Tara still planned to go to the OKB party, you currently adding lavender body glitter to yourself while Tara was finishing pulling her hair up.

Tara is dressed as a pirate, while you were dressed as a fairy, sort of. Having a shimmery cropped top with feathers around the edge of the upper half, and a glittery skirt to go with it. It wasn’t a kiddy costume, but wasn’t an attempt to pick up any guys, they’d all be drunk or high anyways.

Quinn was, occupied, in her room with some guy you both didn’t know, so she definitely wasn’t going with you two. Instead she was going to cover for you both if Sam questioned your absences when she got home.

You both turn your lights off and shut your bedroom doors before leaving (so Sam might think you were sleeping), then shut the front door and started heading downstairs. Neither of you spoke a word, the only sounds to be heard were from your shoes hitting the floor and the air conditioning in the building. You did this just in case you ran into Sam, which was unlikely, but just for good measure. You make it out of the apartment building and join your group of friends, walking down the busy streets of New York. The sidewalks of the roads, and now the campus, are quite crowded, seeing various costumes on many bodies, including many Ghostfaces. You’re bumped out of your observations, literally, when you see a familiar face.

“Hey, Jason!” Tara says, glad to see her friend.

“Are you and Greg coming to the OKB party?” You ask him as you and Tara both stop to talk with him briefly, pointing behind you.

“Yeah, if he ever finishes his Spanish project.” Jason responds.

He continues to talk with Tara rather than you and asks if Sam would be there, seeming to take an interest to her. They finish conversing and you catch up with your group. You make it to the house, lit up with flashing lights, tables holding many plastic red cups and bottles of beer with lots of people around. You walk inside and are immediately hit with the smell of alcohol and many lit joints, which isn’t very surprising. You lose the friend group you arrived with, being left with Tara. It’s hard to hear nearly anything except for the loud bass of the music, and clips of conversations from everywhere you go. A course someone is taking, how Subway messed up their sandwich, or just plain horny college students at a poor attempt to start something up. But seriously, get a room.

“I’m gonna go find Chad”

You say to Tara, but end up nearly yelling for her to hear you, needing to repeat yourself. She gives you a thumbs up before you both wander off. You eventually see Mindy and her girlfriend, Anika, on a couch on the opposite side of the room. Anika has a pumpkin cropped shirt on with some blue flared jeans and a bucket hat, her legs over Mindy, who was dressed simply, but you could tell she was going for a simple costume look. You just couldn’t squint your eyes enough to see the same on the corner of her shirt. Your eyes lead you to Chad, who was without a shirt, but had a large cowboy hat, jeans, boots, and an obnoxious cowboy belt. Next to him stood his roommate, Ethan Landry.

Ethan was newer to the group, not always around but still present. You’ve known him for about 6 months, and within those 6 months slight came feelings for him. He was cute, really cute, having fluffy, curly black hair, plump lips, and eyes that could break your soul. You’ve always wondered how he doesn’t have any girls going after him. I mean, why wouldn’t they? He was also a typical nerdy guy. Being cute and a little dorky you thought was the perfect combination.

You walk over to the pair and see them both take a shot, but Ethan spit his back out into his shot glass. The guy wasn’t a fan of drinking, either.

“Hey cool kids”

You say to them sarcastically referring to their costumes, specifically Ethan. He smiles at you.

“Hey, y/n/n, you did come! I’ll bet you’re glad you did, huh?”

Chad says, nudging you with his elbow. You shrug your shoulders at the scene, looking around to the same wildness you saw before.

“Eh. It’s more of your scene definitely.” You shouted.

You look back to Ethan and scan him up and down, eyebrows knitting together, forming a guess in your head as to what he’s dressed as.

“I’m a knight from Murder Party.”

He says lightly to you, having that no one has been correct when seeing his cardboard costume. You nod your head and make an “ah” shape with your mouth. He then leans in so he can hear you better, and vise versa.

“A fairy? That’s not really what I thought you would go for,” He says closer to you.

“It’s what I got on short notice. Better than that stupid attempt at a sexy nurse or something. Also surprised that you got that.” You shrug.

Chad disagrees with the statement, but you nudge him in the side. You notice Ethan’s eyes linger on you every moment or so. Not to say you didn’t either. You never really noticed it, but the guy had muscles. He was wearing a plain long sleeve blue shirt underneath the cardboard, and even in the dark, his arms were defined.

It was hot. He was hot.

But that’s not something you would ever admit. Nobody had a clue, not even Tara, that you had a developing crush for Ethan. But you couldn’t help it. You were around him a lot of the time, and your eyes could just never seem to look somewhere else. Like at another guy.

You’re pulled from your thoughts when Anika approaches you three.

“Big guy. You’re needed.”

Chad glanced at you with quick worry along with Ethan, as you three follow Anika to the scene of some older looking guy dragging Tara up the stairs, mumbling something to her. You and Ethan make your way through the people gathering around to see what’s going on. Chad approaches the guy with a fake smile on.

“Hey pal. No private tours for this one, mkay?”

“Sorry bro, didn’t catch that.” The guy, Frankie, says, clearly drunk. His eyes were slightly glossy and his speech was slurred together, his eyelids drooping a little as well.

“Yeah, bro, you did. Tara’s good down here.” Chad says irritated.

Tara chimes in saying she wants to, followed by Frankie drunkenly agreeing with her and began dragging her by the arm upstairs, Tara’s expression turning from happy to discomfort, a tinge of fear evident. Chad grabs Frankie by his shirt and yanks him to ground level. Ethan quickly put his hand around your arm and pulled you back a little. You’re a bit surprised at his action but don’t try to pull away, leaning back to him. His fingertips were warm on your arm and his hands were soft. And you never realized how large his hands were. Pushing you once again from your thoughts, before Chad can show the guy, Sam comes in out of nowhere.

“Hey, sorry to interrupt, I’m just gonna taze you in the balls real quick.”

She then electrified Frankie and he fell to the floor screaming at Sam.

“Fucking bitch!” Frankie screams while groaning in agony.

Tara immediately storms through the crowd and out the door, mortified and angry. You glance behind at Ethan, then to Chad, seeing his face confused as to what all just happened, then you all follow suite to Tara and Sam.

You catch up, yet keeping your distance to the sisters as you hear them arguing, Tara fuming and unpleased. You all stop behind the two and witness the argument, eyes going back and forth from one girl to the other.

“That guy was an asshole and he was gonna take advantage of you-“ Sam starts but Tara cuts her off.

“So? If I wanna hook up with an asshole that my decision. My decision! You’re out of my life for five years and now you can’t leave me alone for five minutes!” Tara’s voice gets higher as she gets more agitated just talking about Sam’s actions recently.

“See why I don’t live with them? I love them, but the drama.” Mindy whispers to you, Ethan, and Anika. You purse your lips and look at Mindy.

“Sorry” Mindy whispers back, averting her eyes and stepping back to Anika.

Ethan leans down to your ear,

“Is it this bad all the time?” He questioned in a curious tone.

“Sometimes yes, sometimes no.”

Sam and Tara bicker quite often. Quinn has never been to bothered by it, usually doing other things, but you on the other hand, are always around to hear them. Occasionally you’ll go over to Mindy and Anika’s, but if they’re busy then you’ll go stay with Chad and Ethan. They normally know what it is when one of them opens the door to see you standing there with a pillow in your hand. Not that it’s a big deal, sometimes you just do it to spend more time with Ethan.

Usually you and Ethan would end up playing cards, study, or even watch a movie until you both fell asleep. You also used to just sleep on the couch, but Ethan has recently let you sleep in his bed while he either takes the couch or the floor. You refused at first, saying it wasn’t necessary, by the boy wouldn’t take no for an answer.

In the mornings it was Ethan who was up first, stretching and checking the time on his watch set on the nightstand. He was careful not to wake you, seeing as you were still sound asleep with the blankets all about. One leg would be over the covers while the other was under, you turned on your side and face against the pillow. One thing that Ethan noticed as well, was how you still looked perfect to him even after turning around all night. Your tank top accentuating your curves well, also being enough to where your cleavage would show a little. But Ethan wasn’t uncomfortable, in fact he got a little aroused by the simple sight of you a few times. But you also chose to wear that to bed, so maybe Ethan’s eyes might linger a little longer. Exactly how you intended.

What wakes you up is the closing of his bedroom door, leaving you alone to sleep for a bit. You sit up and stretch, feeling the warm sunlight through the cracks of the shut blinds. You swing your legs over to the floor and walk towards the door to the kitchen. You see Ethan, who is currently sipping a cup of coffee while reading his Econ textbook. His hair is quite fluffy and his eyes are intently focused on the schoolbook in front of him. When the cup moved away from his lips, they move against each other to savor the taste of the caffeine. He doesn’t even notice you standing there until you say something.

“Econ? Really?” You express as you walk over to sit with him.

He sets his mug down, giving a slight laugh and smile at your comment.

“I have an exam in two days, I can’t risk anything.”

You smile and shake your head, still loving the smart boy in front of you, even if he willingly reads from a textbook in his weekend free time.

You don’t notice it at first, but your eyes don’t leave him. He looks up at you before you can look away. He raises an eyebrow at you and smiles with the left of his mouth.

It stays silent for a while as you hold your coffee and take a sip, the steam still visibly coming from the caffeinated drink. Not many sounds are heard except the flipping of the textbook pages and the honks of cars from NY traffic.

You eventually finish your coffee and get up to refill it, knowing you have many lectures that day. You walk over to the machine and start to pour the liquid in the mug. You place the pot back in its place and then around, only to be met with Ethan’s tall frame facing you. You nearly shriek from the startle.

“Ethan! Why would you scare me like that?”

You say as you exhale and hold a hand over your chest, the other leaning against the countertop behind you.

Ethan doesn’t say a single word. He just continues to watch you, his eyes scanning over your figure.

“Eth? You alright?” You hesitated.

“Oh, I’m perfectly fine,” he nods and bits his lip a bit.

You then feel his hand snaking on your waist, slowly pulling you towards his.

“Last night, at the party..” He begins slowly.

“I couldn’t keep my eyes off you, you know.”

His voice is deep. He sounds like a sexy villain in a movie, almost. Why is he acting like this?

You can feel his breath on you.

“How could I not? Even going for a simple costume, I couldn’t look away..” He trails off.

You were now flush against him. Your mouth felt dry and you needed to clear your throat but didn’t want to ruin the silence. You felt your heartbeat quicken, your stomach whirl.

It felt good.

Ethan’s eyes were still on yours, burning with something. A passion. Something you couldn’t quite pinpoint, but so badly wanted to. His fingertips slightly squeezed your hip, his other hand to your side on the countertop. His arms were tanned, flexing from his hand slightly moving. His nostrils flared a bit with every breath out, his lips pursed a little bit.

He leaned closer to your ear, your eyes following him until they couldn’t anymore. Barely above a whisper, he muttered a phrase that made your heart beat everywhere, your palms sweaty.

“Really makes me want to wreck you.”

[selarina]

Out of Style

-> Suna Rintaro x Fem!Reader

Chapter 1: The Night of the Party

Summary: At a band's afterparty, the protagonist's protective instincts kick in when their younger sister encounters Suna Rintaro, the band's guitarist.

Content Warnings: celebrity au, rockstar!suna rintaro, actress!reader, reader has a sister, afterparty scene, alcohol, implied/referenced drug use, fluff, tension, eventual smut

Word Count: 2.9k words

Author's Note: Yes, the title is from Taylor Swift's 1989. Anyway, @renardiererin asked and I had to deliver <3

Series Masterlist | Read on AO3 | Moodboard

Your eyes take in the scene, a bunch of people sprawled on the couch, empty bottles of alcohol lined up on a pool table, and said pool table is adjoined to a torn net. You see a couple on the verge of getting to places you didn’t necessarily want to witness alongside your sister so you decide that going upstairs might be more than ideal, especially for your sister. You might even meet a bunch of people on the balcony above where you can find sober people to talk to.

Your sister is due to go college in a few months and this scene isn't exactly one she is familiar with. You decide that this scene is alarmingly akin to a college party, except you’re all wearing fancier branded clothing this time.

You look up towards the stairs leading into a calmer environment and upon getting a closer look, you smile. You can't help but notice the high chandelier that looks rather misplaced in the center of this scene, but again so does most of the modern decor clashing oddly against the inherent gothic features of the house.

The two of you find yourselves a drink first. You settle for orange juice, since you’re tired enough today as is. Plus, you’re with your sister this time. She doesn’t usually accompany you to these parties, and honestly, you don’t either, not if you don’t already know a person or two who are sure to be attending. That way you can piggyback off them, using them as a social lubricant.

“I’ll be back,” you tell your sister since you want to pee, and you swivel through the crowd. A few of them recognize you, and you have to stop to greet them. You keep it briefly because you still really want to pee.

While you're washing your hands, you hear a distant sound of commotion. You can't tell what’s happening, but you decide it's better to hurry up than leave your sister to witness whatever may be taking place, all alone.

You're not usually this on edge or this protective, even if your sister suggests otherwise. But, you only brought her here to attend some band's album launch afterparty because she begged and begged and begged, and so you relented like you always do. And it's her birthday, you think. Who would you be if you didn't make your sister happy on her birthday?

You sigh, discarding the tissue as you walk outside.

The people have gotten relatively quieter since the two of you walked in. The crowd seems to be more populated towards the secluded area from earlier that seemed to have a bunch of trophies of some sort on a shelf.

You cinch your brows, not wanting to stay down any longer as you start searching for your sister.

"I'm so sorry!" You hear, and you immediately swivel your head towards your sister's voice, heavily concerned about it coming from the center of the crowd.

It takes you all of 5 seconds to move through the bodies before you take in the scene.

She's holding her cup, and a man, who upon a second look seems to be the guitarist from the band, staring down at his shirt. His wet shirt.

You hold your breath, and you talk yourself up in all of the two seconds you have — that you will defend her, that you will fight off the urge to quiver before this man, whoever and however powerful of a connection he might be, that you can go home and have your sister's cake and sleep in your comfy bed if you feel like crying. It's okay.

But all of it crumbles to the ground, the moment he looks up, and he smiles like he's forcing himself to, a clear distaste for the way the wet t-shirt sits on him is visible on his face, the way it frowns ever so slightly. The way his eyes blink a bit too quickly for it to be natural.

"It's alright, don't worry about it," he says, saving his hand off as a gesture for everyone to leave.

"It's not okay, that costs a lot." A lady who was standing right behind him walks in between your sister and him.

It urges you to stand by your sister's side, who upon your arrival, immediately reaches for your hand, almost out of instinct she squeezes.

She's scared, so you're not, you decide.

"We'll pay you back," you speak up, firm but neutral. You won't back down and defend her but there's no need for you to be hostile yet.

"You won't be able to afford this sweetie," she turns her attention to you, her eyes moving up and down your body, in a way that's supposed to demean you but you feel anything but demeaned. Just a bit amused, really.

"Oh! Then I'm sure you guys can manage to pay for this yourself. Apologies for having the drink on you in the first place but we'll be leaving now," you say, and you can admit that the smile on your face is meant to be anything but sweet, cordial at best.

"And if you change your mind, feel free to let my manager know," you say.

Your assistant, you were not aware she was in this crowd really, but she immediately finds herself beside you.

"Of course, here's my card," she reaches her hand out to the lady, who snivels it away from her hand. You look at your assistant and can't help but be caught off-guard by how unlike herself she looks, her hair is down and strewn about, and her clothes are different, more colorful. You smile, you suppose she's more her now than she will ever be around you.

You can understand her frustration really, you would be a bit put off if the clothes you are wearing were something you had to pay for. You only mean that you would never actively wear what you are wearing today, but in all honesty, anyone here can pay for that t-shirt without even breaking a single sweat.

"Oh, you will be hearing from m—" the lady starts, but is stopped when the man puts his hand on her shoulder and puts himself in front of her.

"There's no need. This is my house, I can literally change upstairs." He says he's not smiling but you feel a sense of kindness from him, even if he's modeled to look like the antithesis of it. Or perhaps, you’re just judgemental. "Guys, go back to drinking, or… fucking apparently," he eyes the couple who's part of the crowd, seemingly to view what's happening, but also entirely too invested in each other mouths for that to be true.

And at that, the crowd dissipates. You're about to leave too, before you feel the urge to thank him.

You turn to him, "Thanks," you muster up.

"Thank you so much, and once again, I'm so sorry. I didn't know it was expensive," your sister says, sincerely.

"Don't worry about it. Was my fault anyway," he says as he quirks his lips up in what could only classify as a half-smile but you feel that it, whatever it is, is genuine before your eyes flit up to his face. in all fairness, he — he's really beautiful.

He's got good bone structure, you conclude.

You smile, and he looks at you this time.

"Hi, I'm Suna Rintaro,” he says. “I like your movies," he says, and you smile a bit too visibly harder at that. He almost sounds a bit too much like a sincere fan, but all people in this industry are actors, off and on screen, so you gauge this out as you usually do.

"What's your favorite one?" you say, and he frowns. You knew it. A cocksure smile can’t help but sit on your face.

"The one where you kill a group of men," he says.

Your eyes widen, "Hm, that doesn't narrow things down." You laugh, "But wow, you sound like a decent fan. Want my autograph?"

"Maybe just your phone number for today?" He's quick, and you realize it's only been a short exchange but he's standing really, really close to you. His eyes are narrowed down at you, so intently, and it makes you want to look away, but you peer back at him, focusing on the yellow in his eyes as you talk yourself into not looking away. There’s a soft tinge of gray in his eyes, and you think you can only see that because you’re so close to him. You can’t help but think he resembles a predator, strikingly similar to a cat. A pretty one, regardless.

"Maybe… I'll give you my Instagram for today," you say.

"I could live with that.” A compromise and a soft smirk on his face.

"Also…" your sister's voice comes from behind you, and it comes off soft and meek. You feel embarrassed, you forgot she was there for a moment. You look at her and she looks back at you, as though she's asking for something. Your eyes widen, and it strikes you.

"Oh! Yes. Um — In the interest of being transparent, I'm here for her really," you pull her from behind you so she's standing right next to you.

"And I think she'd really appreciate a picture with you. Only if that’s okay with you?" You don't want to push it, even as much as you love your sister. There are days when taking a picture with a fan makes you want to pull your hair out and run naked across the city's most paparazzi-invested zones.

"I don't mind. If you wait for a few minutes, I can get the rest of the band actually," your eyes flit to your sister's face, and it's gleaming so bright, you’re afraid they’re going to pop right out of her head.

You smile. "That would be great," you say before he takes off, his hands fiddling with his top.

You bring your hand in front of your sister's face, giggling, "Hello, I'd like my sister back. Could you please un-possess her for a quick minute?"

"This… is going to be the best birthday ever," she says. "I can't wait to tell Allie about this," she quickly pulls out her phone.

"Am I the best sister in the world or what?" you sigh, feigning tiredness, feeling anything but when your sister’s this excited.

"Yeah," she says, a hint of realness, although you presume she's more preoccupied with processing what just happened. "Thank you for today," she says, her hands coming to engulf you in a tight hug.

You pat her head, "Aw, you love me so much," and at that she backs away, scowling.

"Ruined the moment," she deadpans, sticking her tongue out, and right before you know it she's standing with the band.

Suna's wearing a different top this time and Atsumu brings his hand up, to hold her shoulder, and you think your sister looks constipated almost. So still.

You take a few pictures for her before you pocket your phone, walking over. "Thank you for this," you say. "I forgot to introduce myself, I'm—"

"The very pretty actress who kills men," Atsumu Miya swoops himself in front of you, and his hand is already taking yours to leave a kiss on it. Odd, you think. You didn't realise that was your reputation, despite all the recent influx of love interest roles.

"Charmed," he says, making sure to embellish it with a cocksure smirk.

You smile, a bit less genuinely than you have all evening. "Nice to meet you, Atsumu."

"Ouch, sweetheart," Suna walks towards the two of you, his hand coming up to his chest to feign hurt. "You know his name and not mine?"

"Well, h-he's more — reputed? I've heard about you before is all."

You look towards Atsumu. The onslaught of people in his dating history, the drug cases (even if it's just weed), and the obnoxious energy he radiates are enough for him to make some headlines that even you could catch.

"Only good things I hope," he says with a smile.

Definitely not, you want to respond but instead, you just smile back at him.

"We should get going," you say and that's all it takes for the band to disperse, you're sure they were told to form connections today as much as they could, even if they are a pretty popular band. Events like this are meant for that.

"Of course, I'll drop you out," Suna adds.

—

"It was nice having you," he says. His eyes leave your face to see your sister, "And you especially, ma'am."

Your sister smiles, a bit shy this time, "Thank you," she says.

His eyes find yours, and you look away. "Nice interior," you say, not knowing what else to say. You turn back to him again.

His eyes narrow and his head tilts in confusion, “Oh, most of the stuff in there is not really mine. Just recently bought the house," he says. "With the decor and stuff," he adds like he's aware that your odd comment was a consequence of odd interior choices.

"That explains a lot," you say. You feel odd, you didn't really know him before today either but you thought your observations could fill in the gaps to make up a person, but maybe not all the time.

The three of you wait in silence, a soft wind blows and it's enough to send a chill up your spine.

"Cold?" he asks, and you think he's talking to you. You’re ready to answer no because you know how this goes, he asks for the hoodie, you meet him again and really, you didn’t want to fall for the oldest trick in the book. But when you turn to look at him, you see that he's asking your sister. And at that, you smile.

She loops her hand through his jacket, her hands engulfed by his long sleeves. She thanks him, and he merely brushes it off, his eyes focused on the waterfall adjacent to where you stand.

His eyes looking at yours after a few moments, "I can get another jacket from upstairs if you can wait," he says.

"Nah, the car should be here soon. I'll manage," you say, and talk of the devil, and the devil arrives. Your car swoops through in front of the three of you, and before your driver could even rush out to open the door, Suna steps in. He opens the door, and your sister ducks into the car almost immediately. Maybe she felt colder than you thought.

"Thank you again," you say. "And congratulations on the album."

As the car door closes, Suna gives you a nod and a small smile.

He closes the door, but you press down to open the window. "It was nice meeting you both. Have a safe ride home," he says.

Your car revved before it takes off.

"He's not my favourite from the band, but he's so cool! I want his eyes," she gushes, almost morbidly. Your eyes widen before you break into laughter as you send her the pictures you took of them together.

"I can't wait to post this on my Instagram! You should have taken one too.” She frowns.

Back at home, you take a hot shower, carding through your hair, as you gently massage your scalp. The sole of your feet hurt as you stand, and you think maybe you would have chosen a different pair of heels for tonight. Not that you really had that much of a choice.

You walk to the kitchen, turning the dim yellow light on. You preferred having dimmer lights on in the evening or night, everything else was too bright, and it leaves you unmoving on the couch, as you fall into slumber.

You pull out two plates and two spoons.

Walking over to the fridge, you bring out the small pink box that sits on the top shelf, carefully pulling out the box so that the accompanying items don't fall out of the shelf.

You place it on the kitchen counter before you go to your sister's room.

Your sister's face front on her pillow, and she seems asleep.

You call out to her.

Nothing.

You turn the lights off after tucking her in.

Walking to the kitchen, you put on some cake, and walk to the living room.

Your hands, almost of their own volition, pull out Suna Rintaro's Instagram. It seems to be handled by him rather than his management by the looks of it. It's not as curated as yours.

Just as you're going through his photos, one that's entirely curated to be enticing, his hands on an untagged woman as your eyes flicker down to the caption.

Promotional photos for a music video.

Something urges you to watch the music video, it's a fairly common music video but leaning more on the provocative side, everyone's half-naked, and comfortable in their own skin.

But your eyes draw towards Suna and the untagged woman from earlier, as she tugs at the chain around his neck as he's looking up at her with something so fabricated, yet so primal and fascinating, to say the very least. Something in you twinges just a bit.

It's been less than a second since you're reeling but you hear the Ping!

suna_rintaro: it was veil of vendetta btw suna_rintaro: the movie of yours i liked suna_rintaro: rewatched it last night

[chryza]

I’m super mega not interested in discoursing about this so if you disagree please just scroll but. I suppose people being confused about Rosmontis’ role in Lone Trail is sort of expected given that she is like. Only referenced but she is and has been a Rhine Lab kid from the beginning. I can’t remember if Rhine is mentioned explicitly in her files but I think it’s at least referenced that Loken Watertank was funded by RL, and then of course she does pop up briefly in Dorothy’s Vision, so I for one really enjoyed getting some much needed closure on her story. Besides which. The entire plot of Dorothy’s Vision was predicated on the Rosmontis experiment. So.

As for the argument that it took the place of Ifrit’s character development. I mean sure I would always be down for more Ifrit Screen Time because she is daughter. But to be honest she’s kind of already had that character development I think people wanted off-screen. I see a lot of “well I shouldn’t have to read the manhua to know what’s going on in the story” and that’s fair (even if the manhua is free and is better than like 90% of the VN but whatever) but just going off her module and her oprec it’s clear that she’s growing up fast and developing a strong sense of responsibility. I think she’s forgiven Saria and Silence and she’s too laid back to care about much more, and that in and of itself was a delight to see in Lone Trail. We just happen to be catching the tail end of her character development and I for one felt just as much a proud mama bird as Silence. She got plenty of screen time it just wasn’t…her growing up I guess? But we already have quite a lot of that even without the manhua.

Literally my only Ifrit Complaint was that she didn’t get a confrontation with Parvis, or show any sort of emotional reaction to him being there whatsoever which was. Out of character for sure, thinking about her module. But that was about it, and I still enjoyed the wrap-up with Parvis and Silence. Ifrit is one of my favorite characters and LT got my stamp of approval so do with that what you will.

[velvetvexations]

i refuse to watch the clone high revival.

IT AIN'T GOOD

This is my full review I posted in a server back when it aired:

The cast changes are one of the biggest issues. It completely throws the whole dynamic off because they lost Ghandi, who, admittedly, was inconsequential in terms of long term character relationships even if he was like half the show, but they add THREE new people who are all supposed to be way more relevant to the serialized story. Two fall very flat and one is okay but still misplaced. Let's talk about that. Confucius, at first, seems like the obvious 1:1 replacement for Gandhi because he's a cheery dude who partakes in silly antics. He's not a full Gandhi clone [copy] because unlike Gandhi, who had a habit of just assuming he was cool and proceeded to act like it, Confucious is, like, trying to get popular on Tikstagram, I guess? That honestly didn't really come up a lot, he just sort of drifts around being there whenever they need a guy who's not JFK or Abe. Then near the end he ends up in a relationship with Harriet Tubman, which is like, okay, because she's the only character even more generic than he is. Seriously, there is NOTHING about Harriet, absolutely nothing, I can say about her personality beyond "once was briefly concerned about turning into a wine mom". Her design being completely unrecognizable as a historical figure really plagues her whole character, like I truly in my heart of hearts believe that if you read the scripts they would all say "TBD Woman of Color".

Which brings us to the sidelining of Cleo. In the first season, Cleo was a major character and focus of several episodes. She was the person JFK was dating, that Abe wanted to date, and that Joan was rivals with. The entire show revolved around that relationship chain. So it's super fucking weird that Cleo goes several episodes into the second season before she gets more than a handful of lines. Here's why I think that is: Obviously, the second season had to be finished or very nearly finished by the time the Cleopatra [Queen Cleopatra (2023)] stuff blew up recently, but I think even before that we've hit a point where people are a lot more aware that Cleopatra was not Egyptian Egyptian and that her portrayal as such in the first season would get a little more side-eyed. This is even more true considering the mandated loss of Gandhi, as she and him were the only non-white leads. Adding two or three more PoC characters made sense! But being so awkward with the handling of Cleo, who did at least manage to wiggle back into the main plot a little, was still weird, and it sucks that two of the three added PoC characters were so badly handled. So which one worked? Frida Kahlo was pretty cool. I don't know nearly enough about the IRL person, but I can at least define her character on the show as the hyper-chill laid back girl and she had several funny jokes, and based on the little I do know of who she is, they referenced her being an artist several times as well as her distinctive physical appearance. Also, apparently her bisexuality, because Frida ends up with Cleo. And, you know, that's fine, but fucking Cleo? Can I please get an episode or three or six or an entire season just about Cleo realizing she's gay, because fucking what? It comes out (ha) that Frida likes Cleo and from there it's like, cool, she just has to have the courage to tell her, but that makes no sense. Even in this season Cleo has multiple jokes about being The Girl Who Is Hyper-Competitive And Puts Down Other Girls, like from top to bottom the stereotypical cheerleader of 2003, because, hey, the whole premise is that the clones were frozen in 2003 and were just unfrozen! can I get anything dealing with that beyond Abe almost saying the r-word in the first episode? *The old clones are from 2003, the new characters were raised since then and that generation gap is actually interesting when properly explored which it barely fucking is.

Okay. Moving on. There's another new character, Christopher Columbus's clone who goes by Topher Bus because he doesn't want to be attacked for it, and that's the first of several funny jokes we get from him that make him way more likable than the show wants him to be. He's given the early flaw that he's a dick online, but not even in a racist way or anything like that? In fact, he's generally shown to be pretty woke, and the main cast casually shove him out of the way when he tries to get involved with things! If they wanted to depict someone who like, pretends to be woke but really is an asshole or something, they do a terrible job of it and have him come off more like someone who's trying but keeps getting kicked for literally zero reasons. "Oh, but he's mean online!" Yeah, to JFK, who was an asshole like literally last week from the perspectives of the older clones. I don't mind JFK getting hit with the likability stick, but like with Cleo being into women it comes out of nowhere aside from the Abe Says a Slur joke where that contrasts JFK being told he's so sex positive for a lame cringe reference to wanting to fuck and you're clearly meant to think "ah, the roles have been reversed, now JFK is just a confidant bro while Abe is in danger of being an angry loser incel", but it just! Needs! More! Development than that! One interesting part of that dynamic flip is that now instead of Joan secretly pining for Abe while Abe openly pines for Cleo, Abe is secretly pining for Joan while she continues to date JFK as in the first season's finale. It gets kind of lost in the politics of the gender swap, though. Like, Abe is now in that incel space, and he tries to manipulate Joan and then feels real bad about it and stops, but taking the way that's framed with other things that happen this season it's like, oh, it's bad for a guy to manipulate a girl like this, even though Joan did that exact kinna thing back in season one and it was more just "lol wacky hi-jinx!". I'm not trying to be all Misandry Double Standard here, but it's one more reason why it would always be really hard to modernize this show in the first place. Another thing about Abe along similar lines is the musical episode, where a big deal is made of Abe having White Guy Confidence, and that is fucking astounding to me. Like, what? Abe is a constantly anxious loser who is fully aware of that fact, I get that White Guy Confidence is a thing but why the hell is Abe getting tagged with it and not JFK, who absolutely has always suffered White Guy Confidence? Beyond the fact that JFK is now a cinnamon roll out of thin air and Abe's new arc is about avoiding the MRA trap?

In that same subplot you had Sacagawea, George Washington Carver, and Kublai Khan fighting to be exceptional enough to shine despite Abe's white mediocracy, and again like with the primary additions nothing is ever done with either who they were or who they are now. They are literally just there because Non-White, which I want to stress I'm not railing against as a concept, but their lines could be given to literally anyone. GWC was actually in the first season, I'm not sure about the others, and there were some Goddamn peanut jokes! Maybe boiling him down to peanuts is an unconsciously racist meme, as is boiling down all of Black science to "the peanut guy", but if the new series is above that then maybe use fucking someone else you are comfortable reflecting in a humorous cartoon fashion that people will understand? It's not necessarily a race thing, like "oh they were overly cautious with the PoC characters". I can think of one joke offhand - not that it was the only one, just the only one I can think of - where the minor characters had a reference to their historical selves, and that was technically delivered by JFK. Between that and how generic Confucius and Harriet are, I feel like the whole idea, the first word in the title, just completely went out the window. In the first season, beyond spear-carrying "some bit character in this large crowd needs to provide a reaction to something", you'd never have an extended scene where a minor character wasn't making a historical reference. It might seem logical to allow them to be more than that, but think about it: these are, after all, minor characters. With the main cast, not every line has to be Nothing Bad Ever Happens to the Kennedys, but it's like when The Flintstones has everyone go to New Rock City to see The Rockles play a 60s pop song. It's like, what in God's name is the point then?

A few days later:

Okay. I think I've mediated on it enough. I can now give my opinion on a reworked season two. Here's what I would have done, assuming only that the mandate Gandhi be absent is absolute: The group dynamic more or less starts the same, with Joan dating JFK and Abe pining for her, it's a great reversed setup. Abe starts to drift in an incel direction, but Topher is there to provide the "don't get this bad" warning that keeps him on the straight and narrow. Joan and JFK quickly realize they aren't working out, and Joan figures maybe she wants to try lesbianism, because she just seems so much like she would be a WLW. She starts to go out with Frida while JFK teams up with Abe and basically acts as the new Gandhi in terms of silly comic relief who's often hanging out with the protagonist. They support each other in Abe getting with Joan and JFK getting back with Cleo, who's started going out with Topher partly because she's desperate for a boyfriend she actually enjoys being with and partly because she really hates having lost both Abe and JFK to Joan, but Topher is actually also in love with Joan, which puts him at odds with both Abe and JFK. Eventually Joan realizes she isn't gay but Cleo realizes she is and Cleo and Frida get together, which is extra emotionally satisfying because Joan lost someone to her this time. The wacky misadventures of Principle Scudworth and Butlertron are basically the same as they are in season two as it exists, the addition of Candide Sampson wasn't bad at all and overall those b-plots were pretty good with the exception of the really terrible Butlertron origin episode, but the end result in the season finale is all the clones being frozen again just as Joan is about to pick between JFK and Abe. Confucious and Harriet Tubman are not present.

At the time I did not propose further characters of color to replace either Confucious and Harriet and would have to think on it a lot to figure something out. Probably people other than me would be better at selecting good fits that are recognizable to an American audience. I also didn't solve the issue of Cleopatra not being Egyptian, but maybe they find out she's actually the clone of a less well-known Egyptian woman who started claiming to be Cleopatra for the clout? That's certainly something Cleo would do.

[mayordea]

songwriting with meiko 🎙️

i have a few things to comment abt this which will be isolated under the cut so the post doesnt get too bloated :] mainly small hcs about meiko/kaito/miku hhhh

an idea that briefly popped in my head when i was brushing my teeth that i did not want to let get away. it was ambitious and i liked the concept of using my hc'd versions of the younger crypton vocaloids (miku's beta design and meiko/kaito's v1 designs) interacting with each other, so i went for it. i designed the general vibe of the background in animal crossing, ol reliable for these kinds of things, since i knew i wanted to cram as much detail in the environment as i could. i made a post about it on my personal account here since i was quite proud of this build.

as i was decorating, i kept spontaneously making headcanons for the younger meiko/kaito/miku unit in order to understand how to populate their living space with accurate clutter. i ended up totally overdecorating the whole thing and only referenced a small portion of the interior (like, why'd i go so hard on thinking about the yard? thats just what happens when i try taking this route) but i did like some of the ideas i came up with to explain my decorative choices. here's just a ramble.

oh yeah i guess i should get something i mentioned in the tags of that art i made w all the crypton gang's "younger" versions out of the way: i hc the character vocal gangs' "younger" designs to be their "IF" or beta designs. and meiko and kaito's younger versions are their V1 designs, mainly inspired by how they appear in the earlier project diva games (every time i look at them i just see them as awkward teens still trying to figure out who they are lmao)

also mentioned there that sakine meiko and meiko are one in the same and the fanloid and vocaloid arent separate entities. sakine meiko was meiko in her early music career as a relatable teen pop idol, with the "sakine" family name being made up to create that image. once meiko grew into an adult, she put the persona behind and just went by meiko, and around that time she met kaito and theyd be musical partners for a while

meiko sort of adopts miku into their unit when she recognizes her potential and serves as a mentor to her after then. kaito is the same but acts more as a supportive guardian in comparison. rin, len, and luka would come along later of course.

yeah i really fuck with the idea of the crypton gang being a little family :] i think it's neat! and this art/animal crossing build was a fun way to explore that hc a little

meiko is a physical media fiend, especially for music. loves collecting cds and vinyls and the like; they're littered all over the house. loves rock music too

kaito on the other hand has a knack for gardening and tends to the very modest garden outside their house. also collects a lot of art he finds in thrift marts and such for novelty's sake

miku always dedicated herself to improving her craft and finding her voice thanks to the help of meiko. she was also kind of a nerd at this era. very serious and dedicated

these folks did not know how to clean shit up, everything left lying on the floor ends up being an intentional decoration (probably not clear in this but i did like scattering stuff around to the best of my ability in the AC build)

ummm that’s it for now i guess i had less than i expected? but i’m glad to get this down somewhere lol feel free to share your own hcs if you wish, i love hearing them

[kitkatsudon]

A brief foray into the military ranks of TKEM characters…

It’s no secret that our favourite boys from the Kingdom of Corea have a history in the military - but apart from Gon being bottom of his class in the Naval Academy (as confirmed by Choi Gitae in Ep4), what else do we know? As with every tiny detail that sparks my interest in this show, I took it upon myself to find out, and gave myself a headache in the process. Let’s have a look, shall we?

Lee Jihun:

I’m starting with him because he’s the only one I could find a concrete answer for, thanks to him being from a universe very similar to ours. Though we only see him very briefly in Ep16, from that short scene we can glean a little bit of information about what he was doing:

To find his rank, one needs only to look at his epaulettes. You can see that his are black, with three gold stripes: two thick ones, with a thin stripe in the middle. This identifies his rank as follows:

He’s a Soryeong, which is the equivalent rank to a Lieutenant Commander.

However, what I find perhaps more interesting for Jihun is this badge he’s wearing:

Though it’s blurry when you zoom in, I’m pretty sure it’s this one:

You heard it here first, folks. Lee Jihun is a Navy SEAL. They didn’t have to include this detail - you’d probably have to be quite familiar with the military to recognise it straight away, and I doubt that even most Korean fans would be able to recognise it, because I can tell you for a fact that I wouldn’t be able to recognise the equivalent for my own country. Someone on the production team decided this, and I want to give them a big kiss on the mouth, because now it’s confirmed that the sweet little Jihun we saw grew up to be totally badass after his abusive father passed away. I sincerely hope that it was a good life that led him to joining this branch of the military, and not some combination of horrible factors that pushed him into joining one of the most intense and dangerous branches… hm. I’m not going to dwell on that, actually. You can all make your own conclusions here.

Now… to the Kingdom. *sigh.* This is where things start to get more vague and confusing. I’m going to start with ranks first, and then go onto what they were doing as one big section because, spoiler alert, I haven’t got any sort of concrete idea.

Lee Gon:

His rank is easiest to determine, because Choi Gitae says it explicitly when they met at his father’s funeral in Ep4. I cross-referenced this with the closed-caption Korean subtitles, and everything adds up nicely: though he’s the Commander-in-Chief of all the armed forces in the Kingdom, thanks to his position as the monarch, while he was actually serving, he rose to the rank of Daewi, or Lieutenant - the highest rank of the junior officers - before leaving the navy.

Jo Yeong:

When we see Yeong in his navy uniform in Ep6, this is what we can see:

Once again, that same pattern emerges on his epaulettes of two thick stripes surrounding a thin stripe - he’s a Soryeong, a Lieutenant Commander. This means that Yeong ranked one rank higher than Gon before he left the navy, which is something that brings me quite a lot of joy.

However, something I like even more than that is Yeong’s current title, as the leader of the Royal Guard. We all know him and love him as Captain Jo, but in Korean he’s referred to as 조영 대장 - Jo Yeong Daejang. This is what Gon calls him in the iconic “Are you having fun, Captain Jo?” and you can also see that title of Daejang on his character page on the official TKEM website. On WordReference, this is what happens if I search for 대장:

Ignoring the results about other things, it doesn’t seem to mean “Captain” explicitly, it’s more like a general kind of leader title. His rank isn’t necessarily “Captain,” it’s whatever Daejang is equivalent to. So… how good is a Daejang? Looking at the South Korean armed forces, in the army, air force, and marine corps, Daejang is equivalent to General, and in the navy, Daejang is equivalent to Admiral. To put this into context a little better, the only rank in the South Korean navy higher than Daejang is Wonsu, and this rank only exists on paper and has never been given to any officer of the South Korean armed forces. To achieve this rank of Wonsu, you’re appointed from the rank of Daejang when you have “distinguished achievements.”

In conclusion: Yeong has an incredibly high rank in the armed forces, second only really to Gon himself, assuming no one from the Kingdom has ever been appointed the rank of Wonsu either. However… there’s a first time for everything, and though I’m only speculating and of course could never say anything for sure, if anyone was going to get those distinguished achievements needed to be a Wonsu, it would be our Jo Yeong Daejang.

Choi Gitae:

I’m including him briefly because I have a bone to pick with the subtitles. In English, he’s Captain Choi. In Korean, Gon refers to him as Hamjang, which, as far as I can tell, doesn’t exist in the South Korean navy of our universe. In the Korean subtitles in Ep4, he’s named as 최 소령, Choi Soryeong, and he’s just… he’s not that. Let’s take a look at some pictures:

The epaulettes on the first picture and the star badge on the second tell us that his rank should be this:

He’s a Junjang, equivalent to a Rear Admiral (lower half). Not a Captain, and not a Lieutenant Commander. As for the Hamjang/Junjang disparity, I’m going to suggest that Hamjang is the Kingdom of Corea’s equivalent to the Republic’s Junjang.

So, what was everyone doing in the navy?

The only clue we have is a badge:

This is from Yeong’s uniform, but in Ep6 Choi Gitae was wearing the same, and Gon was wearing a gold version of it. However, for the life of me, I can’t seem to figure out what it is! The design seems to be that of a ship sailing through the waters, but that just gives ✨navy✨ in a general sense. Browsing google images, I’ve noticed the same golden badge that Gon wears on other high ranking members of the South Korean navy, so maybe it signifies a high rank? Or maybe it just means that the wearer is in the navy? I don’t know! I can’t work it out! What it tells us at least is, if Yeong isn’t wearing a “specialised” badge like Jihun… it’s unlikely that he served in any kind of special forces… which I feel is a piece of information that might break some hearts in the fandom as their headcanons shatter into pieces. I’m disappointed too, because when I saw Yeong’s badge without paying attention to any of the other characters, I thought that the two shapes on the sides looked a little like submariner dolphins, so I’ve spent half a year or so thinking that’s what Yeong did in the navy, before I realised that Gon and Choi Gitae had the exact same badge.

So, if anyone has been bothered enough to read this far and also happens to be a Korean military buff, I would love you forever if you could tell me exactly what this badge means, and whether it gives us any indication of what Yeong or Gon or anyone else was doing in the navy. However, maybe it’s good that it’s unclear, because that leaves fic writers plenty of room to wonder about what Gon and Yeong were doing in the military - whether they were doing different things, strengthening their bond as best bros doing the same thing, and if you’re on the same side of this fandom as me, whether they were repressing some big feelings at seeing each other in their military uniforms, or whether they were engaging in certain activities that are maybe stereotypical of sailors cooped together on the same boat without women to spend their nights with… there’s plenty of room for interpretation :D

[15fishes]

dystopian novel but its tumblr

💥thatonemitsurikinnie123 follow

ok but can we seriously talk about how effed up things have gotten that people are actually being arrested for saying swears? like they aren’t that bad that peoples lives should be ruined over them…saying swears is a human right imo…

💕ilikefrogsandcoffeealot🔁 thatonemitsurikinnie123 follow

no it’s literally not? why do you need to swear its literally vulgar and rude. how is not being able to say horrible words a human rights violation? Literally unalive yourself op.

♻️catraisdumbiamverysmart🔁 ilikefrogsandcoffeealot follow

thats not the point of the post you idiot. of course nobody here is saying that saying swears is moral or justifiable. people who say swears like **** and **** should all be unalived immediately, what op is saying is that the oppressive right wing government is trying to control our minds using sanitatized shows like steven universe that have secret hidden homophobic messages so that they can have a perfect word and make us do their bidding like were all sims! its not about the swearing, god, get some reading comreheion. compernmientoln. copresenion. whatever I dont have to pander to this literate-normative society.

⭐️starclansbravestwarrior follow 🔁 catraisdumbiamverysmart follow

prev obviously doesnt live in the US because saying g** is literally illegal too. “boo hoo we cant ssy swears anymore :(“ try living in the states for one day? honestly making a post like this is so insensitive like. did anyone here even consider that its harder for me? did you even remember america when you were making this post? non-americans are so selfish.

☹️thebananamuffinman🔁theblueberrymuffinman

pretty sure op is actually referencing when in 2036 over half the population of america all collectively shouted “****” in protest and then a bunch of people briefly went to jail? obviously op is opposing the new laws theyre only saying that that one time in america was pretty messed up…

💥 thatonemitsurikinnie123🔁 thebananamuffinman

WHAT!?! what are you all talking about!?! I am literally word for word saying that yes!!! I think people should be able to swear!!! why not?

⚽️ishipirlpeoplewhoplayfootball follow 🔁rpfismypassion follow

lol. “why not” ha. are you actually that stupid op? do you even understand the extend of the damage that swearing has done? my grandma literally UNALIVED herself because somebody sweared infront of her. how can you be so brain unalive that you cant see the harm of words that were literally INVENTED to be bad?

💥 thatonemitsurikinnie123 follow 🔁 ishipirlpeoplewhoplayfootball follow

killed.

⚽️ ishipirlpeoplewhoplayfootball follow 🔁 thatonemitsurikinnie123 follow

…what?

💥 thatonemitsurikinnie123 follow 🔁 ishipirlpeoplewhoplayfootball follow

not unalived. killed.

🩸vampireenthusiast🔁 thatonemitsurikinnie123 follow

excuse you? this is the sort of disgusting stuff that comes from opposing the law. it starts with wanting to swear and in less than five seconds op is BLANTANLY advocating for unaliving people

💥 thatonemitsurikinnie123 follow 🔁 vampireenthusiast

STOP SAYING UNALIVED IM LOSING MY MIND. KILL. DEATH

💟queersandbeersandbeesandknees🔁mangaspoilersonmyblog follow

are we just going to ignore the absolutely insane rant at the beginning of this post or…??

✨cutegirlnamedpencilcase🔁flowersandcutekitties

if you reblogged a post with vulgar language like this you’re actually part of the problem. block and unfollow me.

💥 thatonemitsurikinnie123-deactivated182828292929929 🔁 cutegirlnamedpencilcase

you literally just reblogged it fuck off

🖼️arthistoryismypassion follow 🔁yesmynameisactuallymilkstopasking follow

lol op got unalived by tumblr RIP BOZO

🎃ihatealliceskatersforeverandever 🔁acamallcopsaremeanies follow

BREAKING!! EVERYONE REBLOG THIS VERSION OF THE POST OR ELSE IM BLOCKING YOU!!! NEW LAW JUST DROPPED THAT PROPOSES BANNING LEARNING HOW TO READ FOR KIDS 10 AND YOUNGER!! EVERYONE CALL THEIR REPRESENTATIVES!!!!!!!

💥 thatonemitsurikinnie1234567 🔁mcytblog500 follow

im killingmyself for real this time

#tw s****** #illprobably get banned again for this but meh i want to add another digit to my name anyways #DONT check the notes btw lgbterfs (lgbt exclusionary radical feminists) found this post :( #also whats up with that guy who ships the soccer players lol i read some of his fics and its just like all really erotic dentist visits #im kinda into it

50,000 notes

🦝15fishes

I am a completely normal person who did not spend 1 hour making this tumblr post that will not even get 1 note :)

[ashintheairlikesnow]

His Word Goes Forth

CW: Referenced past child abuse, some emeto references (brief, vague), some dissoci@tion towards the end, alcohol references, prostitution references. Just a whole load of references. But I am so excited to finally be able to write this chapter and introduce... Gilly's children.

Bones in the Ocean Masterlist

The Hotel Import, Grand Island, the Colonies

Guilford Wentworth the Fifth - who went by Ford and told everyone who didn’t already know his parentage that his name was Wilford Prose, simply a cousin to the illustrious Wentworth name - woke up to sunlight streaming in through the gauzy curtains, bright like daggers against his closed eyes.

He’d been meant to go to the symphony last night and make some sort of connection with a man whose properties his father admired, a man named Hogarth or something who owned too much land and not enough good common sense to know to avoid anything to do with the Wentworth businesses. Ford had been told to convince him a visit to the Continent would do him good, to stop by the Wentworth estate and meet the elder Guilford.

He’d been told to make many such meetings before, and usually he did as he was told. Ford had ceased to be treated as a child and had become just another tool in his father’s toolbox since his mother died and could no longer shield her children. He’d been good at it at first. 

But now… He was only eighteen and already he was tired of this.

And last night, he’d decided to let tired win the day.

Instead of making contact at the symphony, he’d instead allowed himself to be distracted by the promise of further liquor in a dark men’s club down the street, and spent his night in pursuit of new ways to forget his hated name.

He had succeeded, however briefly.

Unfortunately, the end result was that Ford woke up knowing his own name very well still, but with a headache that threatened to split him in two from temple to chin, a tongue that felt like cotton stuffed into his mouth, and a stomach that was either threatening to empty itself or ravenous for food and it couldn’t seem to decide which.

“Damn the sun,” He groaned, still feeling the ebb and swell of the liquor from the night before within him, stretching against the sheets. There was an ache in his hips that he enjoyed more than he disliked it, and when he tried to open one eye to look down at himself, there were marks of red from someone’s rouge, he thought, along the insides of his thighs. “... huh.”

Rubbing his face, he slowly sat up, squinting against the pain. There was a bottle with at least two good drinks left in it on the table next to the bed, and he drank it all, feeling it burn all the way down.It would help hold off the worst of the ache, though, at least until he could find somewhere darker to hide away from the daylight and a draught of laudanum to send him back to sleep.

Then, when he woke up once more, he’d need to come up with an excuse for why Hogarth Whoever wasn’t already boarding a ship for the Continent, to be swayed by his father’s monster like everyone else was.

That could wait, though. At least for however long it took to sleep off last night, both the alcohol and the pleasures that came with the darker bars and the seedier places in the city. Ocean air and warm nights made pleasures easy to find, and there were plenty of people who wanted money to eat more than they wanted their own virtue intact.

Ford had plenty of money.

Although even the money wasn’t really his.

He sighed, dropping back into the bed. There wasn’t anyone in the bed, although there had been when he went to sleep. Or passed out. Whichever it was that he’d done.

There’d been a young man, his own age - what was his name? It didn’t matter. None of their names mattered. Once they had coins in hand he could call them anything he wanted and they’d do anything they were told. Nothing there beside him now but empty space.

 When he laid his hand there, it was still warm.

“Damn,” He whispered, then checked the other side, where there had been a lovely woman. Had the two known each other? He couldn’t remember. Well, in any case, that space was equally emptied, and it wasn’t warm at all. 

She’d left long before the man had. 

“Well… double damn,” Ford said, voice a little rasping. One of his last clear memories had been shout-singing along with the sea shanties sung by the sailors come on shore to drink and whore with the rest. Had the young man been a sailor on leave? Might have been... “If he told me his name, I forgot it. I rather liked them.”

His eyes drifted closed again.

“Of course you did,” His sister’s voice came, warm as the ocean nearest the shore, dry as the desert wind, breaking through his thoughts. “You like them all, because you are an idiot with money and that makes them like you.”

Ford gasped, his heart half-stopped before his mind caught up and he realized she wasn’t actually in the bedroom, but out in the sitting area where he couldn’t see her - and more importantly, she couldn’t see him. Even so, he felt himself flush and yanked the blankets up to cover himself, sitting upright all at once.

“Nathalie! What in the gods’ names-”

He heard the rustle of the morning paper. “Good morning,” Nathalie said, without even the slightest change in tone. “How are you, dear beloved sister? Oh, I’m fine, Ford, thank you for asking. Did you just arrive, Natty? Why yes, Ford, I did, it is so lovely of you to ask after my health-”

“Fine, fine, Nathalie, I get it. Just-... hold on, let me dress and I’ll join you.” Ford snorted, reaching blindly towards the floor and grabbing at the first pieces of clothing he found there. The suit he’d been meant to wear to the symphony, now a wrinkled mess - but it wasn’t like his sister would care, or even as if it were the first time she’d seen him in disarray after a night wasted. He had to fight a swell of dizzy nausea as soon as he was on his feet, leaning against the wall and letting his fingers scrape the textured wallpaper there, a series of flowers in dim pastels against cream. “How did you get in here, anyway?”

“I asked at the desk if my brother was here carousing with whores,” Nathalie said. The paper rustled again as she turned the page, as if punctuating her sentence. “And the sweet young man at the desk informed me that you were, indeed, carousing with whores. I paid him to let me in and threw out the whore.”

Ford swallowed thickly, walking with slow, careful steps along the cool wooden floor to the doorway, his shirt half-buttoned and the linen a mess of wrinkles. “There were two.”

“Of course there were.” Nathalie set the paper down and turned to look at him. She looked like their mother - both Ford and Nathalie looked like her, thank any god who might have been responsible. They had her delicacy, her bright wide eyes. Nathalie looked the most like her, though. And now she turned their mother’s look of solemn, disappointed judgment on him just like she had. “There was only one when I arrived. I sent him away.”

“Hmph. I thought he was quite nice, I was hoping to seek him out again. I can’t recall if he told me his name, though.” He dropped into a chair at the little breakfast table she’d set herself up at, slumping against the hard wooden back and tipping his head back. The world swayed dangerously around him when he did.

“His name was Darren,” Nathalie said, and when he opened his eyes to look at her, he found that the disappointment had become the slightest hint of a smile at the corner of her mouth. “Darren Meander.”

“That… He cannot have been speaking true to you.”

“I don’t care if he was or wasn’t, it’s what he told me. There, now you have a name if you want to find him again.”

“Thank you. Why did you bother?”

“You get on better with the whores than you do with your own class,” Nathalie said, as if the answer were obvious. “And you’re going to seek them out anyway. Besides, I use you as proof positive to myself of something I have always known.”

“What…?” 

“That I, Lady Nathalie Wentworth, shall never marry, since any man of means or with a good family name may be as dissolute and pointless as you are.” She winked at him, and he might even have found it in himself to laugh if his stomach hadn’t twisted angrily at the thought. “I do enough picking up after you, I don’t think I am in need of any other man to deal with.”

“I’m sure you can find a pious man and get to him before he joins the priesthood,” Ford muttered, his face hot with guilt. She really did so often have to handle things for him, things he should have handled himself as the eldest.

Nathalie was younger than him, only just now sixteen, but she’d always seemed older, more second mother than sister some days. Maybe because, since their mother had died - when he was eleven and she was only nine - she’d done all the mothering of the twins, all the hiding them from the attention of their father, holding them in the night after nightmares or when the coastal storms raged. 

Ford’s job, back then, had been to take the brunt of his father’s anger, keep Guilford’s eyes - and his fists - on him, and only him. It had kept Nathalie and the twins safe, for years… until their lordly father had split them all apart and declared the twins were old enough for finishing school, Ford was ready to take over the business interests in the Colonies, and Nathalie was old enough to run her own household and prepare for marriage.

Still.

They were all still far, far away from their father, and therefore safe from his direct influence, his attention, and his damnable monster.

Still.

Ford sighed, watching a shivery little rainbow from the sun shining through a window just right bounce off the ceiling. “In any case, I’ve hardly caused enough trouble to cross the channel and find you. What are you doing here, anyway?”

Nathalie didn’t look up from the paper she was scanning, but she gestured at a carafe before her. It had freshly-brewed coffee that steamed as he poured it into a teacup, and he sighed happily at the first sip. She hummed. “I came to see you.”

“You’re meant to be up at Howe House.”

“I was up at Howe House. I’ve been supervising it for months. It’s nearly habitable, which is lovely, considering I’ve been habiting there amongst the dust and the mouse droppings all this time.” Nathalie finally set the paper down, crossing her arms on the table and looking Ford over. She was pristine, in a light-blue linen dress made for the hot island days, her hair pulled back in a chignon to keep it from suffocating the back of her neck. “Oh, Ford. You look awful.”

“I feel awful, thank you ever so much for noticing.” He drained the first cup of coffee and poured a second, his tongue flat and numb from the too-hot liquid. He didn’t care. “So if you were at Howe House, why aren’t you there now? It’s a four-day sail to get here from there, and you sent no warning-”

“I absolutely did send you a notice, you shattered teapot of a man. You just haven’t been home in a week, I checked when I arrived. Your servants haven’t seen you since last Wednesday and not a single one had a clue where to find you except your butler.”

“Yes, well, he’s the only one I told when I left that I was going to stay here.” Ford exhaled. His sister’s constant piercing stare wasn’t helping his headache even a little bit. His stomach turned over itself and he fought back the urge to simply be sick all over this lovely table and Nathalie’s lovely dress. “... I hate the house. I avoid it whenever I can.”

“Clearly.” Something in his sister’s bristling manner softened, a little. She reached out to lay a hand on his arm. “I’m sorry, Ford. I know this… wasn’t how we hoped it would be, when we were young.”

Ford laid a hand over hers. His fingers felt chilled and numb - hers, by contrast, felt bright and warm and full of life. “We thought we could go farther from him, that he wouldn’t follow us. But…”

That had been when their mother was alive, and they had thought they could bring her with. Neither of them said it. Both of them heard it, anyway, even unsaid.

Ford cleared his throat. “... but if this is what our father wants, we must help to build and maintain the Wentworth name and fortune.”

“I know.” She squeezed his arm, brief but firm, and then let go of him, glancing back down at the paper. “I know. And we are, however we hate our parts, we play them. For the twins, at least.”

“For the twins. They’ll… be out of school in a few years, and by then, maybe-”

“Maybe.” She cut him off. She poured herself a coffee, then, holding it in both hands. Her nails were bitten nearly to the quick, the one bad habit that had never been broken in her no matter their father’s rages. “I should tell you, Ford, this is not a social visit. I was… sent here to pick you up.”

“You were?” Ford sat up straighter, and felt a frisson of dread like an electric eel moving inside of him. “By-... Nathalie, not by-”

“Yes. By… our father.”

He swallowed, his mouth suddenly dry. “... why?”

She took in a breath, wincing and pressing one hand to her side as the mere expansion of her ribs pushed against the tightly-fitted bodice. The style of the times, for wealthy young women, and Ford had spent more than a few nights undoing laces of young ladies wondering if ‘style’ was just a pretty way to avoid saying suffocation. At least the lower class women he spent most of his time with were allowed to breathe. 

Nathalie’s voice was so soft it was nearly a whisper. “You were supposed to be packed and ready to go when I arrived, Ford. I was supposed to explain it to you on the ship.”

“... what?” He blinked.

"Father's letter to me made it clear I wasn't to tell you until we were underway, but-... but I meant to regardless, just-... I expected you to have seen my letter."

"... Ah." The mere mention of his father had made his stomach try to rise up in his throat again, and the idea of going back on a ship - the weeks of seasickness and then the week of land sickness afterward when he had to get used to being solid and still once again - made it much much worse. He had to swallow hard as bile rose and lean over, resting his forehead on the cool surface of the table and pressing one hand over his belly to try and calm it with the pressure. 

The morning breeze blew in through the windows, bringing the salt-scent of ocean air with it. There came with the welcome salt the faint hint of dead fish, a simple fact of life everyone tried to ignore. You got used to it. Ford had gotten used to it, in the end. But it didn’t help his stomach feel any better now, or stop his heart from racing. “Father sent you... to pick me up? I am to live at Howe House with you now?” He groaned against the tabletop without looking up. “That house is full of ghosts!”

“It is not.” Nathalie rolled her eyes. He could hear her shoe tapping impatiently under the table and her cup clatter against the saucer as she put it back down. “That’s an old wives’ tale, I’ve never met a single one and I’ve been living there for more than a year.”

“Yeah, because you aren’t the heir, they don’t loathe you like they do me.”

“There are no spirits haunting Howe House,” Nathalie said firmly. “And if there were, why would they hate you?”

“The same reason I have such hatred for myself, due to the blood in my veins! His blood!"

Oh, he’d spoken too loud. The pain in his head spiked with his voice's volume, and he had to close his eyes tightly and breathe in quick, shallow pants until it ebbed again. 

Nathalie was silent, but her hand laid on his back, then, rubbing gently up and down. Just like their mother had, when they were young and came to her with sickness. She gave him a moment or two of quiet, which... it helped, honestly. “You cannot help the circumstances of your birth,” She murmured. “And remember what Mother said."

"It is only blood," Ford muttered, mouth barely moving. "She had no idea how deep the ties of blood run."

"Yes she did. And... I understand, Ford, I wish as much as you that we could change our names and be gone, but you know we can’t."

"The twins need us."

"Yes. Besides, Father-”

“Why, why would Father even think of me? I’ve done everything I can to get him to forget me entirely, Nathalie!”

“Oh, is that what the drinking and whoring were about? Being easily forgotten?” Nathalie’s humor was sharp, but it never quite cut deep. He knew her too well for that, and she was still gentling herself for his sake. He made himself sit up and look over at her. There was something in the set of her face that had his nerves singing in worry. “Listen to me, Ford. You aren’t coming to stay at Howe House.”

“Well, he can’t have sent you to scold me about… this.” He gestured at the wreckage of the hotel suite around him, bottles emptied or half-emptied. It looked as though at least one of his guests the night before had left their shirt behind. Or maybe that was one of his, and it had been unpacked… He’d never seen it before, but that didn’t mean much. Ford’s clothing was bought according to his father’s specifications, he never knew of it until he was sent for tailoring. “He doesn’t even know about it.”

“You cannot be sure, but… no, no, it’s not about this.” She licked at her lips, looking uneasily over to the window. Outside, the sun shone in a perfect, cloudless blue sky. The sound of people going about their lives down there filtered up to them. “... Ford. He calls us. We have been summoned... home.”

His heart chilled at the word. "No."

"Yes." Nathalie exhaled, folding her hands in front of her. She looked everywhere but him, and he tried without success to follow her gaze. “He’s… sent for us, Ford. You know why. You know what that means.”

“Either of us, really.” His voice was a whisper, airless. The hotel suite around him seemed suddenly transparent, as if he weren’t even seated here within it. As if it were all a pretty fiction, a daydream he had at night with Wentworth Manor crowding ever closer, his father’s eyes everywhere searching for faults, always finding them. His father’s monster with teeth bared and loathing in its dreadful eyes. “It could be for either of us. You’re sixteen, I’m eighteen, it could-... it could be for you, or for me, it could be-”

“... I think it’s for you.” She took his hand in both of hers again, and this time she held on tight. They looked at each other, with their mother’s eyes, and Ford felt the wave of fear he had spent his time here on the islands trying to escape breaking over his head, to drag him under again. “I think Father has found you a wife.”

The sun shone. Birds sang. The ocean was a constant dull, reassuring roar just outside the window. Despite the heat, Ford shivered with a depthless chill and felt water closing over his head, drowning him in the dark with all his fears coming suddenly to life.

“How-” His voice broke.

He had to swallow down terror, just like he had done since he was a child, and straighten his shoulders. He had to tell himself the world was only a play, and he was only a part his father had imperfectly cast. He had to keep his own life at a distance, and not feel it, or he would feel too much. The world had too many sharp edges, and he must stand apart from them or be slashed to ribbons. “Nathalie-”

“Please,” Nathalie whispered. “Please don’t ask, Ford. Don't, I won't know the answer, none of us know."

“How long?”

She didn’t answer, only looked away. He could see the glimmer in her eyes, knew it for what it was. It made the world feel even more distance, as if he were adrift in a lifeboat, the tide carrying him away from his own body. The escape was a gift or a curse, and he didn't know which.

His mouth still moved, without his consent. Without his decree. It asked the question neither of them knew the answer to, the question that haunted every Guilford Wentworth but the first.

“After I’m married, Nathalie... after he has given me to his bride, and the monster has taken my mind and will from me... after he has me shut up in his house again..."

His voice felt like someone else's. His body was only a creation that carried blood to a new generation, to give his father more power. He was far, far away from it.

"Nathalie-"

"Please, Ford-"

"How long will he... let me live?”

-

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[laurel-finch]

'I Don't Bite' S1.Ch13: Family

Summary: A brief calm before the storm... Referenced Episodes: mentioned S1 E16 "Shadow" CW: Mostly filler. Some fluff! Word Count: 5922 Recommended Song: Cecelia -- Simon & Garfunkel Previous Chapter -- Masterlist -- Next Chapter

I clocked out after about eight hours of driving and finally gave up on holding a conversation with the boys. The relief of surviving yet another hunt had finally washed away, leaving a bitter feeling hanging low over us.

The brothers were not happy, for similar and yet very different reasons. Both of them were pissed to hell that they had to say goodbye to their father not even an hour after reuniting. However, Sam was frustrated with the fact that it was his brother who sent John away – I could understand his pain. If I had rekindled relations with my father, wherever he might be, and then he suddenly left I would be upset too.

The brothers hadn't spoken much, only really conversing together when I was involved in the conversation. Eventually, I got fed up and did my best to fall asleep to the sounds of loud rock music. Despite Dean's claims about not liking Bon Jovi, he played it an awful lot.

I too was irritated in my own way. I couldn't help but replay the previous night's events over and over again until my head was reeling from exhaustion. Maybe if I had stayed put, John wouldn't have been led to the boys. Perhaps he wouldn't have gotten there in time and therefore not have gotten hurt- No, if we hadn't gotten there, the brothers might have been dead, or worse.

The more I thought about it, the fewer good options there appeared to be. No matter how I spun the story, I couldn't find a happy ending. Something would have gone wrong eventually.

I sighed and fluffed my coat - there was no way Dean was ever getting it back - and rested my head back onto it. It had already been two hours since I had given up on getting a conversation going and all I really wanted was to sleep. I hadn't gotten any at the hospital, and I certainly hadn't had anything more than a few hours while in Chicago. I shut my eyes and did my best to lull myself to sleep.

"Sammy, hand me one of my AC/DC tapes, would you?" Dean asked, extending his hand. Sam had just enough time to open the glove compartment before I spoke up.

"If you play that while I'm trying to sleep, I will skin you," I grumbled out, my words partially muffled by my coat.

Dean briefly glanced over his shoulder to catch my glare. "What's wrong with AC/DC?"

"Nothing, as long as it's not played at 10pm," I growled and nuzzled into the coat. Dean scoffed.

"It's just after 9:30," he muttered, gripping the steering wheel tighter.

"Close enough," I spat. I heard Sam chuckle and close the compartment. "You have my permission to play something like Journey, though."

Sam practically howled with laughter at this. "No way does Dean have any Journey," he said with a chuckle. "You're lucky he's got any Bon Jovi."

"They're not my favorite," Dean tacked on, "but, they do have a few good albums. I just hate their love songs."

I sighed into my makeshift pillow and squeezed my eyes shut. "Yeah right, Dean. I heard you tapping your foot to 'Bed of Roses' earlier." I cracked one eye open to see Dean's ears tinge pink and again Sam laughed. I grinned and shut my eyes once more.

The car fell silent after a few grumbles from Dean and the cassette that was currently playing came to an end. I hummed and burrowed once more into the coat, letting sleep finally overtake me.

I felt oddly warm, despite being enveloped in darkness. Shouldn't the lack of anything suggest cold, rather than heat?

I blinked open my eyes, or I assume I opened them. The lack of any sort of presence made it hard to distinguish the inky blackness of my surroundings from the shadows of my closed eyelids.

I looked down, seeing my calloused hands, shadowed and blanketed by the heavy darkness. My eyes scanned over my form, recognizing all the clothes I was wearing. They were the same ones I had fallen asleep in, jeans with ripped knees and cuffed ankles to fit over my tightly done hiking boots, and a loose sage green button-down that fit well over my bandages.

I stretched, soaking the warmth into my tired muscles, and suddenly jumped, expecting pain from my torn shoulder and feeling none. I rolled my shoulder questioningly - where was the pain? There wasn't even a dull throb.

I reached towards my back and felt under my shirt, searching for shredded skin, bandages, anything, and felt none. My back felt smooth. Frantically, I unbuttoned the tops of my jeans and pulled them back as far as I could, peaking at where the top of my mangled wound should be. It was smooth. Unblemished.

I felt sick. My eyes flitted around the inky darkness and my throat closed up. I scrambled at my throat. I couldn't breathe. Why wouldn't I breathe?

A faint noise caught my attention and I swiveled the best I could in the murk. My eyes widened with horror as my ears strained to identify the sound.

It was a growl.

I whipped in the opposite direction, searching my shrouded darkness. A shape moved in front of me and I squinted my eyes at it. My hands dropped from my throat, the lack of oxygen forgotten. I struggled to make out a shape in the dark, peering and hoping to see whatever had growled.

My eyes widened as they fastened to two red ones.

I woke with a jolt, using my good arm to propel myself away from the window. I fell to the side, putting pressure on my bad leg and catching myself with my sore arm. I yelped and pushed backward, leaning against the door with wild eyes and heavy breaths.

The car skidded as I startled Dean and he quickly corrected our course. Sam whipped around to face me, worry in his hazel eyes. "Woah, woah, the hell is going on back there!?" Dean shouted, sounding panicked.

I nodded and threaded a hand through my hair the best I could. I took a deep breath in an attempt to regulate my heartbeat and then nodded again, feeling more sure of myself.

"Nightmare," I wheezed out and dropped my hands on my lap. Could it even really be considered a nightmare? If anything, it was more unsettling than terrifying. I brushed my hair out of my face as it clung to my sweaty face. "What time is it?"

"Just after eleven," Dean replied. "You've been asleep for about two and a half hours."

I nodded and swallowed dryly. "So are we close to home?"

Sam nodded and handed me a bottle of water from the glove compartment. "Another twenty minutes." I sighed in relief and relaxed, shifting so my back rested comfortably against my seat. I uncapped the water and downed a third of it.

"Wanna talk about it?" Sam inquired quietly. I closed my eyes and inhaled deeply.

"I was in complete darkness, just kind of... floating," I mumbled. "I wasn't in any pain either. My wounds were just... gone, and there were no scars. Like nothing had happened." I sighed out and rested my fingertips lightly on my throat. "I couldn't breathe. It was like there was no oxygen, and... I heard this growl. When I tried to see what growled at me, I saw eyes. Red. Like fire." I shrugged and leaned my head back. "And then I woke up."

My eyes flashed to Dean as he chuckled darkly. "That's it?" he asked. "You afraid of the dark or something, Scoob?"

"-Dean!" Sam chastised his older brother for his apathy."Of course not," I scoffed. "I just- it was just unsettling. There was something... not natural about it."

"We specialize in 'not natural,' sweetheart," Dean continued. "You think it had anything to do with these voices you keep hearing?"

"I don't know," I mumbled, pressing a palm to my temple. My head was throbbing, like a dull headache. "Oh! I forgot to mention it earlier but- I heard the whisper again. Right before your dad attacked me, it told me to duck."

"It told you to duck?" Sam asked, obviously confused. "Why?"

I shrugged. "Probably because your dear old dad would have hit me in the back of the head if I hadn't."

"I dunno, maybe you deserved that for following us," Dean chimed. I glared at his stern features in the rearview mirror.

"And maybe you deserved that pretty cut across your face for being an ass," I snapped back. My harsh words only drew a rumbling chuckle from him. I resettled myself in my seat and shut my eyes once more as the interior of the car fell silent.

I jolted upon feeling the car take a familiar turn off the highway, one that would lead to my front door. I cracked a grin and straightened in my seat, leaning between Dean and Sam to stare out the front window.

Nerves hit me like a truck - was now really the best time to go back? My grin slipped from my face and instead I frowned, pondering. The boys had only just found their father, who supposedly had a huge lead on killing the demon that killed their mom. Killing a demon! What if they needed me?

My heart pounded. Calliope. Had she even made it to the pack? I should have called to check- I should have called to let them know I was coming home! God, that was stupid of me. They were my family, I needed to tell them these things.

Being a part of a family again was a lot harder than I thought.

I bolted upright again when I saw the lights of my house come into view. There was no way this wasn't my favorite place on earth. I beamed, remembering all the memories I had here. Repainting the house with Dennis had been one of the best - it had been an ugly beige color, but I somehow convinced him to go with an almost pastel blue. He had been so against it at first until we started doing it. He fell in love with the color after that.

I reached for my crutches and waited for the Impala to roll to a steady stop. Before Dean had even parked, my door was thrown open and I launched myself from it, struggling to walk and get my crutches under me at the same time. The pack bond was blazing, pulling me towards the painted house as I stretched the crutches as far ahead of me as I could to propel myself forward.

The front door was tossed open and from the opening popped Andrew's red hair, a wide, relieved grin on his features. He ran out the door and toward me, Sasha close behind with a dishrag in hand.

My crutches fell to the ground as Andrew threw himself at me, enveloping me in a warm hug. Sasha soon followed him, embracing me a bit more timidly after surely having noticed my injuries. I hugged back tightly, relieved that I was finally home.

I jumped and broke the embrace, hearing a squeal from the doorway. My eyes fell on Calliope, long hair tied into a loose braid and an apron draped across her front. In just a few bounds she had crossed the lawn and tackled me, practically knocking me over.

"You're back!" she exclaimed, pulling away and inspecting me with sheer joy.

"You're here!" I squealed back. "I was worried you hadn't made it!"

"Of course I made it! Why wouldn't I?" Calliope was practically shaking with excitement, her eyes raking over my form as if she hadn't seen me in years. Finally, her eyes settled with some confusion on my leg with a tight brace on it to restrict movement to keep me from further injuring my muscles. Her eyes widened with panic as they befell my crutches and her grip tightened on my upper arms. "What happened?"

A gentle hand rested on my good shoulder and I turned my head to meet Dean's green eyes, my backpack slung over one of his shoulders. "Just a couple thousand-year-old shadow demon," he said, smirking playfully. He extended his hand to Calliope. "Hi. Dean Winchester."

Calliope looked nervously between the two of us. "Your human friend?" she asked me. I nodded. She smiled softly and shook Dean's hand. "Calliope Jones. I’m a new friend." Her chest swelled with pride.

Andrew leaned forward to pick up my crutches and handed them to me. "What do you mean 'shadow demons'?"

"Ever heard of a Daeva?" I asked. He shook his head and I chuckled. "I wouldn't expect you to. I hadn't heard of them either. Basically, they're these shadow demon things that are really hard to summon and are vicious." The younger boy blinked in confusion, drinking it all in. I rolled my eyes playfully. "I'll fill you guys in later. Where's everyone else?"

"Booth turned in a few hours ago," Sasha chirped, her sweet voice music to my ears. I missed her- all of them. She was going to be pissed when she saw the state of my clothes. "Marcus and Caeden went hunting a couple of hours ago."

I nodded and turned to the Winchesters who were both rearranging luggage in the car. "Don't tell me you boys are leaving already?"

Sam glanced up at me, a woeful expression on his face. "We have to go," he started, straightening and brushing a long lock from his face. "We've got to find dad."

I scoffed and crossed my arms in irritation, much to my shoulder's displeasure. "John can wait a few hours. You boys are getting some sleep." I glared at Dean as he bolted upright to protest, silencing him. "I'll have you boys dragged in by your napes. You can head out tomorrow, but you're sleeping here tonight." I turned to Sasha, hobbling a bit as I spun. "Can you set up the pull out couch in the living room? I doubt they'll want to share the guest room bed," I teased with a glance over my shoulder at the brothers.

The six of us padded into the house and I breathed a sigh of relief as I sat on the living room couch. It had been too long since I was home, and the familiar scents and warm lights gave me an innate sense of comfort that I was sure nothing else ever would. This was my home. And of course, it could be argued that my pack was my home as well, but everyone needed roots. It kept us grounded.

I needed to be grounded.

I wasn't particularly worried about my self-control – as long as I remained around people I trusted and cared about, I had little concern. Truthfully, I was worried about my inability to change forms. How long would it last? And what the hell did I have to do to make it stop?

I must have dozed off at some point. The boys had gotten settled and wished everyone a pleasant night. After that, I remember staring at the ceiling for what felt like hours.

—

I bolted upright having been awoken by the sounds of a door opening, squeaking on its hinges. My eyes slowly adjusted to the room as I blinked furiously, peering through the darkness. My tired eyes latched onto a shadowed form on the front porch, just visible through the small window near the top of the door.

I rubbed a hand down my face, working the sleep out of my eyes. It was still dark out and couldn't have been any later than four in the morning, perhaps even earlier. I felt like I hadn't slept at all. With a deep inhale that rocked my lungs, I stood and reached for my crutches, making my way slowly towards the front door.

The door creaked as I pushed it open, but elicited no reaction from the figure on my porch. I sighed, recognizing who it was, and padded softly toward him.

"You're supposed to be sleeping, you know. That's the whole reason I told you to stay," I mumbled sleepily to Dean, rubbing a closed fist over my eye. He didn't respond, instead staring into the tree line with a tired expression.

"Did I wake you?" he finally asked, eyes unfocused and clearly deep in thought.

I yawned and placed a hand over my mouth. "Yeah, but I probably would have woken up soon anyway. What time is it?"

"’Bout three in the morning, I think," he mumbled back. I nodded and propped my elbow on the railing, resting my chin in my open palm.

"Then I would have been up in a couple hours anyway. Pretty much as soon as the sun started coming up," I reassured with a soft chuckle, almost unnoticeable.

Dean ran his fingers through his hair which was subtly less spiked. Clearly, he had at least laid down for a little while. He always slept on his stomach, it only made sense that his hair would be mssed because of it. "I thought skinwalkers liked to sleep during the day?" he teased.

I laughed a bit louder than I had intended, placing a hand over my mouth to muffle my laughter. "Yeah, some do. My sleep schedule has been all kinds of messed up in the last few months though," I yawned again. "I used to sleep the day away then come out at night. Everything just seems so peaceful and crisp at night, you know?" I sighed and smiled softly. "Even the air is better."

Dean nodded slowly and turned his head towards mine, green eyes swimming with unspoken thoughts. "I guess we messed up a lot more than your sleep schedule, huh?"

I frowned and locked yes with him, confused by his statement. "What makes you think that?"

Dean huffed and turned to face the tree line again, a resigned look resting on his tired features. "Ever since Sammy and I waltzed into your life, nothing's been the same. I mean, you're a hunter now, you've got a pack-" he chuckled darkly, "Hell, you've almost gotten killed a couple of times."

I hummed quietly, mulling it over. True, everything had changed, but I wouldn't say my life was messed up now. "I was bored out of my mind before you boys showed up." I inhaled deeply and spun around, back to the railing and elbows propped on it. "I had been on a few cases long before meeting you boys, but it had been a long time. Months before my uncle died." I paused and thought for a few moments. "Honestly, I think hunting was what I was missing. I love it, despite how crazy that sounds. I was raised on stories of hunting, and when I got a taste of it... I didn't want to let go."

I turned my head to meet Dean's eyes, his looking rather unsure. I mustered the sweetest smile I could and grinned at him. "I'm glad you boys dragged me back in. I didn't realize how much I missed it."

Dean scoffed playfully. "Why would you miss hunting? This life sucks."

“I think I like the… saving people part. I’ve done enough bad in my life, it feels nice to do some good.” I raised an eyebrow at him and nudged him in the arm. "Don't act like you wouldn't miss it."

He exhaled deeply, picking at his nails nervously. "If I could get out and have a life, then I would. White picket fence, kids, two dogs-"

"- Two dogs? I thought you didn't like dogs?"

"Yeah, two dogs – and I do like dogs, s'long as they don't shed. The apple pie life, you know?" He propped his chin in his hands and stared wistfully into the woods. "A house like this, too. Small, but warm, cozy, and out of the way of everything else."

"Would you get a normal job?" I inquired. He looked so peaceful, daydreaming about the perfect life. I wanted to see more of it.

"Yeah, I would," he said with a small smile. "Probably a mechanic, like my dad. I'd teach my kids all about cars, just like he taught me. We'd have pie on Sunday nights for dessert and have Sam visit from time to time..." his smile suddenly fell, replaced with a grim expression. He frowned, the skin between his brows wrinkling and dragging his eyebrows down with it in a sour expression.

"I want that for Sam," he continued, sounding almost lost. "And I want that for you."

Now it was my turn to frown as my own eyes perused his crestfallen features. "But not for yourself?"

"Of course, I want that for myself," Dean grumbled. "But it's just... not something I'll ever have. Kids, a wife, that whole life – maybe in another world that could be mine." He sighed and ran his fingers through his hair once more, tugging at it gently in frustration. "Sam got out of this life once. He can do it again. I want you to get out too, away from the hunting, the demons, all the conflict."

I scoffed. "I hate to break it to you, Dean, but it's not in the cards for me either." His green eyes whipped to mine, a deep-set scowl on his handsome features. "Maybe if I was human, or even if I didn't have a pack to look out for... but not now. Hell, I don't know if I'll even find a partner."

"Do you want kids?" Dean asked. The question startled me and I glanced at him with wide eyes. The last time I had even thought about the prospect of kids was my first case with the boys, with Missouri...

"Honestly, I've never really thought about it," I mumbled and scratched the back of my neck. Why was I so embarrassed? "Never really been the motherly sort, you know?"

Dean laughed and cracked a grin, one that brought a smile to my own cheeks. "You seem plenty motherly with your pack."

My grin grew into a smirk. "Yeah, but they can feed themselves and don't need their diapers changed." Dean chuckled again at this and leaned further forward over the railing.

"So I take it that's a no?" he asked. I hummed questioningly. "About having kids? I guess that means no?"

I froze. Did that mean no?

I shook my head. "Whatever happens, happens. I'll just roll with the punches. If I have a kid, or two, or three, then yeah, I'll be ecstatic. And if I don't-" I frowned. What if I didn't? Missouri said I would, and in the near future, but what if she was wrong? "- If I don't, I've still got a family." My voice cracked as I spoke, betraying how I felt.

I hoped Missouri was right. Maybe I would have some pups of my own and have that apple pie life. Get away from hunting, maybe appoint Booth as the new alpha... my stomach lurched at the sudden thought. Give it all up? Maybe that didn’t sound so bad…

"I still want all that for you," Dean mumbled, once more tearing nervously at his nails. He had a habit of chewing them when he was deep in thought and picking at them when nervous. "For you to have a happy life away from all of this, both you and Sam-"

"Sam and I are never going to be happy with a life outside of this unless you're part of it," I stated, sounding a bit harsher than I intended. "And you and I both know that if either of us had a life outside of this, you'd stay as far away from us, so you don't ruin it."

Dean glowered and glanced at me from the corner of his eye. "I do have a habit of doing that," he grumbled as his eyes lazily scanned over my injured leg and finally befell the crutches leaning against the railing by my side.

I scoffed loudly and turned my face away from his, a dismissive glare on my features. "You don't ruin things, Dean."

He hummed in response, as though he didn't believe me. "Yeah, sure I don't..." he huffed disapprovingly and turned his green eyes away from me. "I didn't exactly act the way I should have when I saw you again in Wyoming... that made things worse."

"No, it didn't," I stated firmly. "You were pissed, and you had every right to be, but the fact that we can have this conversation now tells me that nothing is ruined." He inhaled deeply, ignoring my gaze and glaring down at the ground.

"What'd you and my dad talk about?" he asked, confusing me with his question. Why'd he change the subject so quickly? "On the way back to the hotel in Chicago? You guys took a long time getting back."

I placed a hand on my aching shoulder, rubbing it a bit. I'd need to change the bandages soon. "Nothing much. He didn't believe who I was at first."

"How much did you tell him?"

"I didn't tell him I'm a skinwalker if that's what you're asking," I hissed out. "I'm not that stupid. I mostly told him the truth. Told him my mom died just a little after I was born, and lived with my dad until he left. Told him my uncle took me in and taught me how to hunt. Nothing too crazy or far from the truth."

Dean nodded, looking relieved. "Good," he muttered quietly. "He had your uncle’s number, didn't he? That's what you were trying to show me at the bar?"

I nodded. "Yeah, apparently they worked a couple cases together, though it had been years since they'd seen each other. Didn't even know he died." Dean nodded again, eyes scanning the horizon as the first blue-tinged rays of light dotted the sky. It was only four in the morning, but the sky was already brightening. I sighed and fluffed my hair, trailing my fingers through it in the hopes of undoing a few knots. "I'm sorry, Dean."

He perked up at this, casting me a rather confused glance. "What for?"

"For everything," I mumbled back. "Mostly for leaving. I didn't mean to hurt you."

He chuckled softly and reached to put an affectionate hand on my good shoulder. "You didn't hurt me. I get it, you had to go. Just... next time, let me know before you disappear without a word?"

I laughed softly and fixed my eyes on him, a smirk rising on my lips. "As long as you don't ask me to stay."

"No promises," he teased and spun, his back to the railing. "Thank you."

I straightened and looked at him quizzically. "What for?"

"For everything," he teased, mimicking my previous statement and earning a soft laugh from me. "Mostly for putting up with me. Not many people can."

"What are you talking about, Dean, you're a joy to be around," I said sarcastically.

"I try," he replied jokingly. He yawned, coaxing a yawn from my own lips. "I should probably try to get a couple more hours," he stated softly. "Got a long day of driving ahead of us."

"Where are you and Sam going to go?" I asked. John hadn't given any mention of where he was going.

Dean shrugged. "Sam found a case in North Carolina. Nothing too major, I think, probably just a vengeful spirit," I wrinkled my nose in distaste. I didn't like ghosts. "From there I guess we'll just... follow dad's trail. Try to track him down."

I nodded solemnly and fixed my gaze on Dean's once more. "If I asked you to stay, would you?" I asked quietly. Dean's eyes widened an almost imperceptible amount, his jaw becoming lax from surprise. His eyes surveyed mine with a certain wariness, as though he wasn't sure what to say.

"Yeah..." he finally whispered, trailing off as though he didn't believe it. "I think I probably would."

"Then you should go," I whispered back, standing and hoisting my crutches up next to me, my face only inches from his. "Before I ask you to."

He continued to scan my face with a certain bashfulness and confusion that I had never seen on him. "Do you want me to stay?" he asked timidly, leaning forward ever so slightly.

I gulped, my cheeks dusted with pink. Did I want him to stay? After another few long moments, I turned my face away from his. "You should go to bed, Dean. You've got a long day tomorrow," I said softly, leaning back against the banister again. Dean blinked, ridding himself of the confusion and sleeplessness plaguing his features.

"Yeah," he agreed. "Yeah, I probably should." He stood to his full height and turned away, his back towards me. With one last brief glance over his shoulder, he mumbled, "I'll see you around." And just as quickly as our conversation had begun, it ended, and once more I was left alone in the dark.

I covered my face with my hands when I heard the guest room door shut. My cheeks reddened from embarrassment. "God that was stupid," I muttered to myself. My cheeks flushed darker. I'd never seen Dean act like that before – I'd never seen myself act like that before.

What was wrong with me?

—

I woke mid-afternoon to the sound of Simon and Garfunkel, their wailing tones mixing with someone else's rough vocals. I blinked hard, adjusting to the bright golden lights filtering through my large windows, casting a soft glow onto my bed. When did I make it to my bed?

I stretched and reached for the crutches that leaned against the side of my bed and hobbled down the spiral staircase that led up to my loft. My leg was feeling a lot better than it had yesterday, but I doubted my tendons were even close to being fully healed.

The kitchen was just as bright, with the huge west-facing windows casting a massive amount of light into the room. I squinted and blinked, my eyes fighting to become accustomed to the light. Finally, my eyes landed on Marcus who was sashaying around the kitchen with various pots and pans and belting out the lyrics to 'Cecilia,' the sunlight bouncing off his blonde hair.

"Well look who finally decided to wake up!" he chirped, placing a soapy pan in the sink and pausing his music. "I thought you were going to sleep the day away, honestly."

I groaned and rubbed my eyes which were sore from an excessive amount of sleep. "I feel like I did sleep the day away," I said with a yawn as I sat at one of the bar stools on the edge of the kitchen. "Heard you and Caeden went hunting. When'd you get back?"

"About the time you and your hunter friend had your 3am rendezvous," he teased, scrubbing a pot that looked to have chili residue in it. "So what was that all about?"

My face flushed. "I heard him open the front door and decided to see what was up. We just... talked for a while."

"Mhm," Marcus teased with a smirk. "Yeah, I'm sure you two did a lot of talking." I didn't think my face could get any redder, but I was quickly proven wrong. Marcus sighed playfully and rinsed the pot, placing it on the drying wrack. "By the way, your boyfriend and his brother left a few hours ago."

"They left already?" I asked, a bit surprised by their sudden exit. Marcus nodded.

"Yep," he said, popping the 'p'. "And Dean said to give him a call when you woke up."

I frowned and contemplated a bit. They left without a word - though I suppose I deserved that, after how I left last time I saw them. "Did they say anything else?"

"Just that if you're up for a hunt when your leg heals, then they'd be willing to team up again," he replied, aggressively scrubbing some tongs. "By the way, Sasha changed your bandages for you after we brought you upstairs." I jolted at this, wondering how to hell they managed to do that without waking me – hell, I was in a pair of sleeping shorts now, the new wrappings clearly exposed. Somehow, despite all that, I slept through it. Marcus shrugged, seemingly knowing what I was thinking. "She's pretty gentle, and you were really out of it. Clearly, you needed the sleep."

"Yeah," I mumbled in agreement. "Yeah, I guess I did."

My mind was racing at nine hundred miles an hour, chasing any and all random thoughts that popped into my head. Did they really have to leave so soon? They could have at least waited until I woke up so I could say goodbye.

Maybe they got a lead they wanted to follow up on. Whatever their reason for leaving without any notice to me, I'm sure it was with good intention. I glanced towards the corner of the counter where my phone was plugged in next to the outlet. I contemplated calling Dean now, despite my throat being raw and dry from sleep.

Marcus dried his hands slowly, watching my eyes flicker around the counter in thought. Finally, he put the cloth down and rested his palms on the counter, leaning toward me.

"You care about him, don't you?" he asked, a serious expression on his face. This wasn't the usual teasing- this was sincere. I jolted when I met his green eyes, the sincerity in them shocking me back to reality.

"I care about both of them," I retorted, clasping my hands in my lap. "They're family."

Marcus' eyes regarded mine with scrutiny before he stood abruptly and tossed the dishrag over his shoulder. He reached to press play on his music, but I stopped him with a chuckle.

"Simon and Garfunkel, huh?" I teased, propping my chin on my open palm and elbow on the counter.

"Damn right," he exclaimed with a grin. "Best damn musicians, past, present, and future. I don't care what anyone says. The way they sang 'Bridge Over Troubled Water'?" he blew a kiss into the air. "Absolutely delectable! Nothing better."

I laughed, a wide grin spreading across my cheeks. "And what does Caeden think about that?"

Marcus huffed and crossed his arms over his chest indignantly. "Caeden has terrible taste in music. He likes Johnny Cash," he spat with a groan. "Wouldn't know good music if it bit him in the ass."

I giggled and brought a hand to cover my mouth, suppressing the loud laughter. Suddenly, an outstretched hand was thrust towards my face. My confused eyes traced the length of the arm back to Marcus, who wore a cocky grin on his face.

"Care to dance, alpha?" he teased, wiggling his eyebrows at me. I laughed once more and took his hand. He dragged me out of my seat and held me tight, tilting me slightly to the side to keep too much weight off my injured leg. He reached towards the counter and pressed play on his music, the opening notes of  'Mrs. Robinson' filling the room.

I giggled as Marcus and I swayed around the kitchen, the both of us belting out lyrics like there was no one else around.

[justplainwhump]

Mac

A short character intro of some sort, for the character that has lurked in the background of Adrian and Blanca's story since their very first chapter. The sixth guard dog.

[Pet Safety Masterlist]; this piece is referencing [Favor].

Content / warnings: BBU, (indirect) dehumanisation, captivity, briefly referenced/implied noncon.

In the nights in his cell - or kennel, rather, he didn't know why but there was a difference and it made his stomach uneasy - Mac had a lot of time for thoughts. And he used it. He thought about fights, about technique and strategies, about his opponents and their strengths and weaknesses. He thought about winning, about the feeling of triumph, and how stale it was. Like the tasteless, grayish mass that came from a dispenser in the kennel wall, a viscous nutri-shake, that fell into a stainless steel bowl welded to the floor. Victories in his fights were just the same. Bland, insipid, and utterly necessary to survive. 

Mac pulled down the lever and watched more of the nutri-shake fall into the bowl. Sometimes he thought about how long he'd have to hold it down until the room would be flooded. Sometimes he wondered, if the person he'd been before would've known how to calculate it. The pet he was now sure did not. He stared down at the food below him, let himself sink to his knees before he bowed down to eat it. He'd never been further from being a person.

He'd been allowed to eat at a table, real food, with taste and consistency, back at his owner's place. He'd had the others to talk to, Guards, like him. They hadn't been what people called *friends*, he wagered, at least he hadn't actually liked them, but they had existed together, shared a life and the dedication a common goal - to keep their master safe and satisfied. They hadn't been friends, but in lack of better terms, they'd been a pack.

Here, everyone like him was an adversary, who'd fight him to the death the next day or another. And those not like him were the ones who didn't care about if the others died, or Mac did.

It was exhausting. A feeling that wasn't going to bring him anywhere. That was why when Mac had time for thoughts, he didn't think too much about his pack. 

He thought about his owner.

—

Jack Donnell took great pride in his belongings, and that had always included his WRU-trained Guards. Six of them, all of the same height, featuring the same dark hair, same broad shoulders, same mannerisms. He employed a retired WRU Guard handler for some hours a week to make sure the Guards worked like one. He also bought the consulting services of a WRU Romantic Trainer - not for the Guards to be involved directly, but to make them part of intricate designed "scenes" that Mac learned to hate.

Jack wanted to be a ruler, a conqueror, and every once in a while he loved to dress his Pets up in accurate costumes, only to make them submit to him in every scenario possible.

Mac had endured. He'd been a good pet. Until the day a new business partner of Jack's had shown up with his Romantic.

Blanca.

Blanca was petite, with the sort of auburn hair that could look dark brown in one moment and light up like fire in another, with a seductive sway to her hips, full lips that curved into a knowing smile and clothes so tight they left nothing about her curves to the imagination.

Hot, Mac knew he was supposed to think. 

He didn't. 

Please spare her from this, he'd thought instead and closed his eyes. Prayed, almost. As if he knew, how to. 

As if there was a God who'd listen to a pet. No. Their only Gods were their owners.

And while her owner had all but fled the room and left his subject in the hand of another, Mac had stayed by the door, standing at attention, while he watched his master brutalize her.

It took hours.

And after Jack was done, he'd simply smiled to himself, sauntered towards Mac without another look at the broken figure of the Romantic behind him, and patted Mac's cheek. "Good boy," he'd said, and left. 

That moment had been the first in Mac's conscious life, that he'd felt something a Pet was never supposed to feel.

He'd felt hatred. Plain, pure, seething hatred, for the one man he was supposed to love. 

He'd felt it every day since.

-

--

tag list (let me know if you want to be added or removed): @gottawhump @flowersarefreetherapy @whumplr-reader @highwaywhump @tauntedoctopuses @pigeonwhumps @whumppsychology @labgrowndemon @whumpinggrounds @somewhumpyguy @whumpzone @tragedyinblue @theelvishcowgirl

[malevolentmango]

meta thoughts on Loki's role in What You've Already Buried

Yes, this is a meta post about my own fic. idk how I got here but I do in fact have a lot of thoughts about Loki and how I chose to combine the p5r persona, the actual mythology of Loki, and Goro's character arc, so here we are.

If you haven't read the whole fic and you care about spoilers, make sure to leave this for after! Also, this got... really long and sort of all over the place. I tried to organize it all but alskdjfa oops?

So, to start, I'll go through the various stories I referenced in the fic. Obviously we're playing fast and loose with the mythology here in general, but stick with me.

Chapter 2

The dream in chapter 2 was the result of me mashing together two different, unrelated stories. The poem Hyndluljóð briefly references Loki eating a woman's roasted heart, and no matter how many times I told myself I didn't need to include that imagery anywhere in my fic, you can see that it ended up there anyway because it's sexy as hell. The rest of that scene, where Goro/Loki talks about his fate and how they will always end up here, is a reference to Loki's role in the death of the god Baldr, which results in Loki being bound and eventually starting Ragnarök when he breaks free. This is the first real hint in the story that Loki is behind all of this - particularly when he refers to Akira as "the bleeding god," which is an epithet for Baldr.

Fun fact about the dream sequences, actually: originally there were only two, the very vague one in chapter 1 and the binding in chapter 3. As I was editing chapter 2, I realized that I wanted to start building up to the eventual reveal of Loki's involvement much earlier than I had while writing (and in fact, when I first started writing this, I hadn't even decided who or what created the app - I just wanted to get the concept down, and it all kind of snowballed from there).

From there though, I picked up a bit of a theme, and a progression. The dreams were meant to parallel certain scenes we get in Goro's confidant route - things like him joking about taking Akira out at the arcade, and the game of billiards that's one big metaphor about Goro's subterfuge. They act as warnings, and in the case of the dreams, rather direct ones: Goro is literally eating Akira's heart. Goro is the one who wanted to kill him, and therefore Loki, as a part of his heart, is a danger to Akira. But Akira never takes them as warnings. What he sees are cries for help, a cycle that Goro can't break out of on his own.

The parallels between Goro and Loki are pretty blatant in this one. Talking about his lies, the people he's killed, how "I can be no other than what I am." That line is actually a reference to the song No More What Ifs, which plays in Jazz Jin: "I do not / regret with my choices I'm rather proud / ooh I know I won't change anything / because I can only be me."

Chapter 3

The dream in chapter 3 was, as Goro himself explains later, the binding of Loki from the poem Lokasenna. This one is actually pretty close to the original, with the major differences being that Loki was bound with the entrails of his own son and the "poison" is actually venom dripping from a snake. I think it's neat that Loki's reaction to the venom touching him is what's thought to create earthquakes, so I wanted to include that as well.

As mentioned above, this dream was actually the first one I wrote. The idea just sort of came to me while writing and I really wanted to include it. This is why it's a bit different from the others, in that it doesn't take place anywhere that would be familiar to Akira, but rather in the Void itself. And I think the result is that it's even more pointed than the previous dream. This is Loki himself showing Akira exactly what he's getting into - that Goro, and by extension himself, comes with a whole helluva lot of baggage. That if Akira goes through with this mission, he will forever be the Sigyn who loves Loki too much to let him be hurt, and must watch him hurt anyway.

But as we know, Akira is too stubborn to let that stop him. Akira believes wholeheartedly in saving people, but especially in saving Goro Akechi. That determination is really put on display in chapter 4.

Chapter 4

The dream in chapter 4 is different in that it's not based on an actual story, but rather on the etymology of the name Loki, which is thought to originate from a Germanic root word related to loops, knots, and hooks. I'm just gonna include the direct quote from Eldar Heide that inspired this because it's pretty great: "There is quite a bit of evidence that Loki in premodern society was thought to be the causer of knots/tangles/loops, or himself a knot/tangle/loop. Hence, it is natural that Loki is the inventor of the fishnet, which consists of loops and knots, and that the word loki is a term for makers of cobwebs: spiders and the like."

It's important to note at this point, I think, that all three of these dreams take place in the story after Akira and Goro have a conversation in the previous scene about who Goro is and what he wants. In chapter 2, Akira dreams of Goro eating his heart in the interrogation room directly after Akira tells Goro what he learned in the Velvet Room and Goro tries to convince Akira that he isn't worth saving.

In chapter 3, Akira dreams of the binding of Loki after Akira tells Goro that he's worthy of Robin Hood, and then teases him about how he found Black Mask Goro, and by extension Loki, attractive. This was partially just for fun (I was imagining it a bit as Loki going "you don't have a book about me yet? well check this shit out--"), but it's also another moment of Akira reaffirming that he wants Goro around.

So chapter 4, then, takes place the same night that Akira sends the thirst trap pic of himself to Goro, and Goro responds with a last ditch attempt at intimidation - trying to insist that even if Akira cares about him, he won't be able to handle the depth of Goro's feelings for him, because they're too much. He's too selfish, too possessive. Unfortunately for him, Akira is into that.

And this dream thus breaks the pattern. The previous ones were about things happening to Akira - he couldn't even speak in them. He was a bystander, a victim. In this one, he is literally bound, a treat all tied up for Goro/Loki to enjoy. The more Akira tries to escape, the more Goro/Loki breaks down, talking about how he can't let Akira go, that everyone leaves him. And when Akira does escape and goes directly to Goro/Loki instead of leaving, he delivers on the promise he didn't even realize he was making two chapters ago: that he will pull Goro out of the cycle and set him free too.

Chapter 5

The PTs genderbending and being chased through a forest came from the Gylfaginning book of the Prose Edda, which details how Loki turned into a mare in order to lure a builder's stallion away from his work and thus cheat him out of his payment from the Æsir. This encounter results in Loki later giving birth to the horse Sleipnir.

Utgard-Loki

From the same book comes the story of Utgard-Loki (technically written Útgarða-Loki, but I chose to leave it as "Utgard" the way the Persona series does). Utgard is a giant who agreed to shelter Loki and Thor for a night in exchange for performing a feat. The reason the Thieves have to do four feats is because there are actually two children with Loki and Thor in the story, but I didn't want to get into all that here. For similar reasons, their feats are a lot more straightforward than, for example, Loki competing in an eating contest against the personification of a wildfire.

Fenrir, Sköll, and Hati

Next, in the forest, we get Fenrir and his sons Sköll and Hati. The two younger wolves are said to chase the sun and moon across the sky until the onset of Ragnarök, at which point they would be caught and swallowed. In the fic, this has already happened, as their light is visible when the wolves howl - implying that Ragnarök has already started, and the Thieves are moving closer to the final battle.

The place they lead the Thieves to, Fenrir's island, is a direct reference to the island Lyngvi (meaning "a place overgrown with heather") where the Æsir bind Fenrir with Gleipnir, as described in Gylfaginning. They do so by tricking him and questioning his courage, saying that if he truly can't break free of this simple ribbon, then he must not be a danger to them after all. In reality, Odin feared Fenrir, who the prophecies said would be the death of Odin, and the gods considered all children of Loki to be too dangerous to be free.

This is where a lot of the threads start to come together with regards to how I chose to portray Loki in this fic: as a deviant, as a trickster, as a murderer, but also as someone who (like Goro) was a victim of his role in the larger story he's part of. Ragnarök can't happen without Loki - it doesn't matter how much he aids the gods, how much he's a part of their ranks. The moment he pulls the strings of Baldr's death, he's an outcast. He is the unwanted, the persecuted, all because it's foretold that he will be. He cannot escape the cycle. No one escapes Ragnarök.

In talking about this story with a friend, I described my portrayal of Loki as being more sympathetic than a lot of other ones I've read in this fandom. I think that really comes through in this scene, even though Loki isn't in it at all. Part of that is because it's from Akira's POV and he has a massive savior complex, but really I just liked the idea of twisting the lens through which we think about Loki as a character and how we connect him to the actual stories about him.

When I was reading about Loki for this fic, the idea I kept coming back to was that he just seems... tragic. That as much as he delights in causing suffering, it comes at the cost of a deep, personal pain. Imagine having everything you've worked for, everything you've done and created, taken away from you at the whims of someone more powerful than you. A player in a game you were born to lose. That's Loki, and it is also, of course, Goro Akechi.

Loki in the Mead Hall

This piece was, of course, inspired by Lokasenna, Loki's Flyting. The Thieves hear the gods reacting angrily to Loki's insults as they approach the building, but ultimately don't understand what all that vitriol means. This was partly because there was no way in hell I was writing an actual flyting, but also because I wanted to show off a bit of Loki's power over this space. It's his realm, after all.

(Fun fact: the descriptions of the mead hall and the forest from the previous scene were loosely based on the truly batshit amount of time I spent playing Valheim.)

This encounter with Loki was actually the first thing I wrote that took place in the Void - I think it was around the same time that I wrote the dream in chapter 3. I wanted to show that Loki is someone to be feared, someone who by his very nature is crafty and powerful and terrifying... and I also wanted to show why that doesn't make him evil by more directly stating his intentions. This is the scene where the Thieves actually get an answer to why Loki is helping them and Goro - because he cares about Goro.

Which sounds like a simple answer - of course the source of Goro's persona cares about him - but it's not. One of the things that trickster figures are known for is defying expectations. The expectation for a god living separate from humans in the Void would be that they don't have particularly strong feelings for them one way or another. We see this in the previous scene when the Thieves encounter Odin, who was once Akira's persona - he acknowledges that connection, but still plans to trick them.

From the moment Loki captured Goro and then gave Akira the Crow app, he was defying his place in the cycle. Loki cannot change his own fate, but he can change theirs - that's what a trickster does. Similarly, Akira also defies expectations when he tells Loki that he wants him to be himself - Loki, who is meant to be a shapeshifter, who is meant to bring destruction by his very nature, is being told that that's okay. After all, Akira loves Goro just the way he is. Why wouldn't he do the same for Loki?

Plus, I just really wanted to make Loki sexy as hell in this scene. I mean Look At Him.

Jörmungandr

His appearance is brief and not as important as others, but there two important bits to take away from this. One, that Akira continues to empathize with Loki and his children where the Thieves are still frightened (this is more just to keep on theme). And two, that Jörmungandr is free - he's not biting his own tail and encircling the world, another sign that Ragnarök has begun.

Fimbulwinter and Ragnarök

So obviously there's a lot going on here. I wasn't pulling directly from any story here, just the general themes: Fimbulwinter is the harsh and unforgiving winter that precedes Ragnarök and puts an end to all life on Earth. Ragnarök itself is then characterized by the great battle in which many of the Æsir die, after which the world burns and is then completely submerged underwater. Only then can the world rise again and the cycle can continue.

An interesting note: While the Thieves battle Ragnarök Loki, the form that Goro's shadow takes, they never actually enter the part of this realm that is Ragnarök. They remain in Fimbulwinter because that's where Goro was being held - because Loki had to keep him far enough in to be safe, but didn't want to put him in the place where Loki himself is doomed to repeat his own death over and over again. It's another example of Loki's strange brand of kindness.

I'm actually pretty happy with how Shadow Loki turned out. The idea that Goro had to face his own shadow was one I took from P4, which a friend was streaming for me and a few others at the time I was writing this. Of course, in P4 it's about accepting a part of yourself you don't want to acknowledge or come to terms with, and that's not really the case for Goro. I think he knows exactly who he is - he's told both Yusuke and Haru outright that he doesn't regret what he's done. For him, facing his shadow is about proving that isn't all that he is - that he is more than the smiling prince and the bloodied assassin and the unwanted child.

And of course, the reason his shadow takes the form of a sort of amalgamation of Loki and his own Black Mask outfit is because Loki is the source of all that. He's the one who gave Goro the power to kill, and Goro used that power without restraint. Goro stepped willingly into the same cycle of violence that Loki has always known, and in this scene, he's finally breaking free of it.

After the fight, we finally get Loki explaining to Goro in his own words why he's done all this. It's slightly different from what he told Akira in the mead hall - to Akira, he admits that he cares for Goro, whereas to Goro himself he says he wants Goro to live because "one of us should." Both answers are correct, but I think the second one is more true to how Loki sees himself and how he sees Goro. Loki is limited by his nature as a god to never change, to always be both an agent and victim of fate, but Goro isn't. And rather than attempt to change himself using the so-called "leeway" afforded to tricksters, Loki uses that power to give Goro the life he himself can never have.

And finally, we have the moment where Goro gives the treasure he took from his shadow to Loki. As Akira learns later in the epilogue, this is a hair pin that belonged to Goro's mother, which he would use to hold a blanket in place around his shoulders when he pretended to be a hero. That he would give such an item to Loki - something he lost years ago after his mother's death, something he will never see again in reality - and thank him for lending him the power to survive as long as he did is, I think, really telling of their connection to each other. In a way, it's almost a challenge, even a threat - Goro is telling Loki not to forget him and what they stood for, no matter how many times he repeats the cycle. He's taking his own stance on the idea that Loki can never change, and that stance is "Try harder then."

And maybe he can. Or maybe he can't. One of the things that I really wanted to explore in this fic is the idea of how a persona and its user overlap with the stories that persona comes from, and Loki and Goro are a great example of this. Two characters bound by fate, doomed to die by their respective narratives. Of course they found each other. And of course Goro would never be happy with the idea of a part of his soul being controlled by outside forces. Whether or not Loki can really change, though, is up to interpretation.

In Conclusion

idk I just think he's neat. Which one of them am I talking about? Yes. If you read all of that nonsense, you're my hero.

And just for fun...

I actually did write an entire move set for Ragnarök Loki, even though it was completely unnecessary. Figured I'd include it here for anyone wondering just how tough a fight that would be!

Ragnarök Loki (2 actions/turn)

Call of Chaos - Boost self's attack but drop defense for 3 turns. Laevateinn - Colossal Physical damage to 1 foe. Megidolaon - Severe Almighty damage to all foes. Concentrate - Multiply user’s next magical attack damage by 2.5. Sigyn’s Burden - Inflict Despair (high odds) to 1 foe. Hel’s Retribution - Decrease ATK/DEF/AGI for all foes for 3 turns. Jörmungandr’s Venom - Medium chance of instantly killing all foes. Fenrir’s Hunger - Heavy Nuclear damage to 1 foe. Medium chance to inflict Hunger. Fimbulwinter - Severe Ice damage to all foes. Ragnarök - Severe Fire damage to all foes and inflict Fear (high odds)

[wangxianficfinder]

Arranged Marriage

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Marriage Principles series by Fahye (E, 38k, wangxian, LXC/JGY, canon divergence, arranged betrothal)

❤️ I Started From the Bottom/And Now I’m Rich by x_los (E, 57k, WangXian, WWX/Others, Mutual Pining, Marriage of Convenience, Arranged Marriage, No Sunshot Campaign, Fix-It, WQ Lives, Transmigration, Time Travel, Weddings, Sugar Daddy, Sugar Daddy, Black Widow, Protective Siblings, Dysfunctional Family, Family Bonding, Sugar Baby, consort, Politics, Implied/Referenced Sexual Assault, Crack Treated Seriously)

An Elegant Solution by giraffeter (E, 205k, niewangxian, canon divergence, arranged marriage, friends to lovers, fix-it, everyone lives au, courtship, polyamory, smut, Mojo’s bookmark)

cloudy autumn heaps the sky by anatheme (T, 23k, WangXian, Fantasy, Secret Identity, Dragon LWJ, Fox WWX, Strangers to Friends to Lovers, Timeline What Timeline, wwx is a little older here, wwx piling gifts on lwj and encouraging hoarding tendencies, Sharing a Bed, Literal Sleeping Together, Arranged Marriage, of sorts)

The Oriole Behind You by mercyandmagic (M, 97k, wangxian, LXC/JGY, JYL/JZX, JC/LQY, many other pairings, arranged marriage, greatest matchmaker WRH, family feels, angst w/ happy ending, everyone lives au)

of all the hands by typefortydeductions (E, 51k, wangxian, canon divergence, arranged marriage, emperor LXC, PTSD, nightmares, dual cultivation, mental health issues, fluff & angst, consensual non-con, pining, politics) 

💖 sweet chaos by eachandeverydimension (G, 86k, wangxian, arranged marriage, different first meeting, falling in love, getting together, lwj in lotus pier, Chinese culture)

💖 hot necromancer singles seeking dom daddies in your area by Mikkeneko (M, 19k, wangxian, yiling wei sect au, BDSM scene, dom/sub, brat wwx, rope bondage, caning, aftercare)

Neatly Arranged by thunderwear (T, 45k, WangXian, Arranged Marriage, Angst with a Happy Ending, lwj’s mother is here but only briefly, RIP, Shenanigans, Fix-It, of sorts, Canonical Character Death, but not all, did i forget to tag pining, because this fic is like 90 percent pining, Hurt/Comfort)

❤️ a stone to break your soul, a song to save it by rikke (M, 180k, wangxian, Canon Divergence, arranged marriage)

Into the Oubliette by Ruixx (M, 121k, WIP, WangXian, Growing Up, Fix-It of Sorts, Arranged Marriage, Time Travel, Sibling Bonding, Adopted Sibling Relationship, Canon Divergence, Light BDSM, Breathplay, Wwx protection squad, Sunshot Campaign, War Politics, Hostage JYL, Visions, LXC Redemption, general lwj, Internal Sect, Politics, Good Uncle LQR, Lan OC’s, No Golden Core Transfer, Empire Building)

Baby Whisperer Wei Wuxian by Preludian_Staves (T, 15k, WangXian, Accidental Baby Acquisition, Canon Divergence, Cloud Recesses Study Arc, Not Jiang Clan Friendly, Arranged Marriage, (eventually for reasons), endgame wangxian, Parent-Child Relationship, Soft WWX, Pining LWJ, Good Parent WWX, WWX Is Good With Children, Single Parent WWX, Fluff and Angst, Rituals, Protective WWX, Protective LWJ, Developing Relationship)

Instead of rabbits, I'll give you this by Bloodcoral (T, 94k, WangXian, XiCheng, Canon Divergence, Angst, WWX is a mess, Fix-It, Everyone Lives/Nobody Dies, LXC is the best, JYL deserves much better, no really...she does, Arranged Marriage, Did I mention angst, Canon Rewrite, Some people do die...just the bad ones, well adjusted Xue Yang)

Polishing Jade by Starra (M, 252k, WangXian, Modern AU, Arranged Marriage, Awkward Dates, Slice of Life, Most likely OOCness, Falling In Love, Everyone Needs A Hug Loneliness, Feelings Realization, Drinking to Cope, Implied/Referenced Abuse, Angst with a Happy Ending, Implied/Referenced Suicide, slow-ish build, Eventual Cohabitation)

The Distance Between Fondness and Something Akin to Love by countingcr0ws (M, 20k, wangxian, arranged marriage au, not canon compliant, war, romance, mistaken identity, impersonation, awkward flirting, wedding planning, Chinese tradition)

a light hidden and singing by occultings (microcomets) (E, 48k, wangxian, arranged marriage, pining, getting together, slow burn, misunderstandings, miscommunication, blood & injury, happy ending, smut)

A Little Stabbing by tuesday (T, 4k, WangXian, Arranged Marriage, Canon Divergence, Minor Violence, Light Angst)

use the wood brought in by the tide by Lirazel (M, 27k, WangXian, Arranged Marriage, Hurt/Comfort, Warning for Physical Abuse, Falling In Love With Your Husband, pining for your husband, Sibling solidarity, dealing with your in-laws, lwj's typical inner maelstrom of emotions, WWX Whump, Protective!LWJ, lwj&jyl friendship, intimate hair brushing, Skinny Dipping, Growing Up, Establishing boundaries)

The Measure of Happiness by Anonymous (T, 5k, WangXian, misunderstandings galore, Pining your name is WWX, Arranged Marriage, No Sunshot Campaign, Alternate Meetings)

like the sun coming out by Anonymous (T, 2k, WangXian, No Sunshot Campaign, Good Uncle LQR, Supportive LQR, Protective LQR, Arranged Marriage, Domestic Hurt/Comfort, Miscommunication, Light Angst, Crack Treated Seriously)

True Gold Fears No Fire by defractum (nyargles) (M, 64k, WIP, WangXian,  Royalty AU, Ancient China, Wuxia, Historical Inaccuracy, Arranged Marriage, Identity Porn, Mutual Pining, Emperor!LWJ, empress!wwx, Eventual Happy Ending, Misunderstandings) Imperial cultivator au with very fun identity shenanigans.

rebuttable presumption masterpost by sarah-yyy

permissive presumption by sarahyyy (G, 7k, WangXian, Royalty, Arranged Marriage, Pining, Mutual Pining, Misunderstandings)

🧡 hypothetically, of course by johnnyfucksup (G, 22k, WangXian, Arranged Marriage, Character Study, Kinda, Inter-sect politics, a little bit, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Strangers to Lovers, Getting to Know Each Other, Falling In Love, The Mortifying Ordeal of Falling In Love With Your Betrothed, Getting Together, Happy Ending, Love Confessions, very awkward ones at that, Slow Burn Speedrun)

Lead Me On Through by vesna (mrsronweasley) (E, 54k, WangXian, Arranged Marriage, Practice Kissing, practice other things, horny boys in love, questionable logic, Questionable Choices, slight knives, Happy Ending)

Give Me a Chance to Fall by brooklinegirl (E, 37k, WangXian, Canon Divergence, Arranged Marriage)

The Scarlet Lotus by rainbowninja167 (M, 137k, WangXian, Marriage of Convenience, Secret Identity, Fix-It, Angst with a Happy Ending, It Gets Worse Before It Gets Better, Canon-Typical Violence, canon-typical war crimes, Yunmeng Bros, the mortifying ordeal of getting seduced by your own husband, nonlinear chronology we die like cql, just kidding nobody dies in this fic, Slow Burn, Mutual Pining, Miscommunication)

Marriage Woe-nos! Series by oleanderedits (G, 10k, WangXian, Canon Divergence, Spite Courting, Comedy, fake dating to real dating, or maybe it was never fake?, Everyone else's p.o.v., Crass language)

With No Particular Affection by Chrononautical (E, 92k, WangXian, Modern AU, Arranged Marriage, Kid Fic, Miscommunication, Family Drama, JFM and YZY’s A+ Parenting, Good Uncle JC, Wedding Fluff, Genius WWX, Street Kid WWX, Homelessness, Rich LWJ, Oblivious WWX, Cinnamon Roll WN, Implied/Referenced Suicide, WWX Has a Pregnancy Kink, Domestic Fluff, Fluff and Angst)

I Have Arranged to Tie You to Me by xxxMiaHikarixxx (G, 47k, WIP, WangXian, Lan protective team, Time Travel, Past, LWJ oriented, Arranged Marriage, Boys In Love, Soulmates, Fix-It, Jiang siblings, not jiang parents friendly, JC is slowly becoming a good sibling, Soft LWJ, Protective LWJ, Genius WWX)

🔒 Only with Time by adrian_kres (E, 7k, WangXian, WIP, Arranged Marriage, Modern with Magic, fast then slow burn, Mutual Pining, they each sort of think it's unrequited love, it's complicated, possible dubcon depending on your interpretation of events, please see the author's note for chapter 3, Hurt No Comfort, It Gets Worse Before It Gets Better, but it does eventually get better! promise!, WangXian Endgame)

~*~

Accidental/Drunk Marriage

~*~

Being Known series by dragongirlG (M, 42k, wangxian, canon divergence, cloud recesses study arc, drunken confessions, oblivious WWX, humor, fluff & crack, accidental betrothal, family drama, political alliances, arranged marriage)

Kingfisher Feathers by anonymous (E, 122k, WIP, WangXian, Royalty AU, Emperor LWJ, Concubine WWX, A/B/O, Mpreg, Mutual Pining, Angst with a happy ending)

live from new york: an snl au Series by varnes (E/M, 105k, wangxian, JYL/JZX, Modern AU, SNL AU, slow burn, friends to lovers, pining, getting together, happy ending, Idiots in Love, and they were ROOMMATES, Frottage, Light Bondage, could not be lighter or gentler bondage, Secret Marriage, Accidental Marriage)

Magical Marriage Ribbons by starandrea (G, 2k, WangXian, Gūsū Lán Forehead Ribbon, Accidental Marriage)

Falling for You Series by Harleydoll (M, 12k, WangXian, Modern AU, Mild Sexual Content, Light Bondage, POV WWX, Oblivious WWX, Pining LWJ, LWJ Has Feelings, Accidental Relationship, JC is So Done, Wedding Planning, Fluff and Humor, WangXian get a Happy Ending, Protective LWJ, Possessive LWJ, POV LWJ, Supportive LXC)

Hangover by TriviasFolly (T, 83k, WangXian, Modern AU- College, Drinking, fluff? I guess, Las Vegas, Implied/Referenced Underage Drinking, drunk marriage, protective Jiang siblings, qiren being a bit of an asshole, Mental Health Issues, positive recovery, WangXian positivity, Healing)

Only Fools Rush In by vesna (mrsronweasley) (E, 27k, WangXian, Modern AU, Woke Up Married, alcohol use but no sex happens while drunk, Mutual Pining, Getting Together, what happens in Vegas etc etc)

Otherwise Engaged by DecemberCamie (G, 5k, WangXian, Modern AU, Professors, POV Outsider, Mutual Pining, Accidental Marriage, Getting Together)

Standing Engagement by x_los (E, 18k, WangXian, ChengQing, Misunderstandings, Accidental Engagement, Engagement, Sunshot Campaign, Golden Core Reveal, Canon-Typical Violence, Accidental Relationship, WQ Lives, Everybody Lives, Episode 19, Episode 21)

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[39oa]

Roope/Robo for the ship ask

A MOST BELOVED DOCUMENT. (sry anon for this insane reply pls feel free to stop reading after this first paragraph ahlsdfkh) basically 2124 are my favorite stars ship even though it's generally difficult to articulate what makes them so intriguing, but i also think that That in itself is why i enjoy them so much haha. imo the more subtle and unsurfaced and laborious to construct narratives for the better!

i spend possibly too much time contemplating robo's character and i know that we (or i guess i...) often talk about his Just A Guyisms, which i do believe are an effective assessment of his general demeanor but alsoooo 2124 is just so rifeeee with introspective potential that it krills me every single time i think about it. as @kitnita perfectly put it in this post getting to "work backwards from pre-existing intimacy" is what makes them so much fun, because they have arguably nothing that connects them off-ice and yet demonstrate an almost automatic complementary style on-ice. and the fact is that unlike pavs and robo who play within a similarly restrictive framework, the entire ethos of how 2124 play together is that roope's strengths lie in the negative space of robo's, and it's not so much just the inherent beauty of Your Line Is The Only One I've Ever Known (places hand on chest. this is of course a large part of it as well!) but really actionably that robo plays in such a tactical fashion that allows him to effectively activate roope's motor. and i think roope is the kind of guy who sees that and is like... This is what binds us together 4 life. and it's really like... the ultimate marriage of skillsets which is also what makes the way they eschew any journalistic effusiveness (esp roop although obviously part of that is language-barrier related) so fascinating. like top line hold themselves to an extremely high standard and i think robo is extremeelyyyy aware of the weight of his responsibility as a goal scorer, but they're also both reticent about overcommunicating the importance of their "chemistry" to the media and i feel like that makes it... even more delicious???

i don't know if any of this makes sense but tl;dr To Me the ultimate romance is when two people play beautiful hockey together :) and in my head i also like to live in a world where that's roope's biggest philosophy as well. like roope talks about his connectivity to the home crowd and how he feeds off that energy and although it's not like... necessarily evident, i love characterizing 2124 as basically: despite roope being the most complete player on the team and appearing more mysterious or withdrawn compared to robo's pr capabilities, robo is very much the one who hyperfocuses on singular, self-reflective assessments while roope is more inclined to contemplate his chemistry with robo. and i love seeing it as the Roope_Confessional being "i know that I Don't Need You to play good hockey but it's always better when you're here so why would i want to change any of that?" whereas idk whether robo is prone to the same sentimentalism. and that's what makes them fascinatingggg! like all these weird little unexpected nuanced reversals to Roope being obviously the "cooler" and fashionable one, but also frankly the sort of cringe diehard loyalist "soulbonded to the spirit of the aac" guy whose greatest joy is Buying Miro New Clothes, who cares in very bleeding-heart understated ways etc. all of that really lends dimension to their dynamic despite robo being seen as the antithesis to pretty much all his interests.

i also find their cultural context quite interesting but maybe that's for another day because this is already a ridiculous post.... but briefly something that really informs a lot of their dynamic both in practice and in fic is obviously the existence of finnmaf and roope and miro functioning as the heartbeat of it, and we have moments of robo facetiously referencing them and essentially picking up Spare Euros (aka swedes aka petey and nils) on the side and existing on the outskirts of their friendship. and robo is someone who's moved around a lot and has a pretty varied background and he's talked about how he didn't really recognize the weight of that until he became a public figure and grew into the responsibility of his professional role, and that shows a lot in how he carries himself and interacts with media. and with roope being an "unknown" quantity in some aspects with the language barrier and being from finland i loooveeee any potential fic/narrative that kind of peels back all those little cultural layers or even flips their situations (e.g. post-retirement fic set in finland, soulbonding with the ability to speak/understand finnish—but also Not Understanding and finding comfort in that is part of the appeal so there are a lot of places to take this... etc. etc.). 

i will stop here but beloved ao3 user murkya truly does a wonderful job of capturing them and probably in a more entertaining and digestible manner than anything i said here does :')