#I was going through a family tragedy at the time this fic posted

[phoenixcatch7]

Deep in my ff7 rereads so here are my favourite fandom fics, hands down.

End as you mean to begin <- 130k+ of time travelling cloud parenting the remnants, seeking asylum in a war torn wutai to keep all four of them out of shinras hands while sephiroth is absolutely Going Through It in midgar. Great Genesis characterisation and cloud mothering his way to an international incident. Bonus gender hijinks, hilarious misunderstandings and zack. Unfinished.

The fear of falling stars <- 500k+ and soon to be completed. Cloud and insane!Sephiroth time travel back to their shinra days and I cannot emphasise enough how much cloud is Not Doing Well. Gorgeous wordplay and top tier banter. Utterly unhinged blood enemies to ??? to ?????? to lovers sefikura. It's E rated and probably the tensest I've ever been reading fic lol, it is not lighthearted! But it's incredibly well written and the characters are phenomenal (zack my beloved) so if you've got strong nerves (and like a quarantine pairing) I'd definitely recommend it.

Voice of the gods <- 170k+ of almost idyllic gods and avatars au. Slow, soft and full of world building, it's a lovely relaxing read of cloud getting anointed the envoy of sephiroth, god of war, and slowly growing into his role and joining the ranks of envoy. Lots of side characters take larger roles here, and sephiroth himself is a darling without losing his sharpest edges. Unfinished.

I CAN FIX HIM (series) <- possibly my favourite sephiroth characterisations ever. 130k and growing of pure shaking this man like a doll in a perfect mix of almost delirious crack and gutting angst (often both at once!). Very good writing, every single funny moment hits like a truck and keeps building until you're choking with laughter. Bonus points to ROADTRIP! for being utterly, utterly insane. I cannot emphasise enough just how GOOD every single character and their dynamics are written.

Just anything ff7 written by AimeeLouWrites, if you've been in this fandom for any length of time you'll have heard of her. Great concepts, great executions and aus for DAYS.

Five hearts to make him whole <- 130k+ of time/dimension travelling cloud getting sent to a world of soulmates - and his alternate self bagged all four soldier firsts. Alternate cloud also died violently a few years ago and boy did those soulmates (not) take it well. Our cloud, of course, was not read in on any of this. Shout out to the emotional support chocobo! Unfinished?

Shall I find rest <- another soulmate agszc (?) dimension cross but this one is 100k+ of post AC cloud and Tifa waking up and deciding to make it everyone else's problem. They're so done with all the drama. Bamf nibel duo to the end and Tifa is the mvp. Unfinished.

Advanced release <- 250k+ and it's sephiroth receiving the original game in a strange packet that appeared in his room. It spirals into a messy and painful exposure of conspiracy, lies and inevitable tragedy. Video game logic is a running gag and zack remains the only actually stable person in the whole sorry mess but he's also Having a Terrible Experience. Really well written!!! Unfinished.

On broken wings <- 160k+ of pure post AC sephiroth redemption from his pov. Him struggling to find his place in a new world and experience real human connection evolves into MOOGLE EMBASSY need I say more?? Unfinished.

With Great Power Comes Meddling Fucking Gods <- 470k+! Poly WEAPON cloud gets yoinked back to the past (feat agzs), dies for a few days and misses his family SO bad but he is determined to change the future for the better. Probably the most healthy and mature cloud ever lol. Unfortunately for him, insane!sephiroth is pulling a inner hollow and gaia herself isn't talking. If you like symbolism, whoo boy!! The dream sequences are a DOOZY (and drowning in eroticism). Wonderfully written, the divide between sane!sephiroth and his counterpart is really cool to see. E rated at times but it's absolutely DELIGHTFUL and WEAPON cloud is such a treat. And I cannot emphasise enough the symbolism. Zackkura (kinda) and slow burn! Unfinished.

A brand need not be seen <- 180k+ in a world of soulmates where the four firsts have clouds name on their wrists. Trooper cloud is tentatively, desperately hopeful. Then a smoking hot op af adult cloud appears, with no names on his wrists at all. It's a really cute flirty fic despite covering shinra politics, identity crises, huge self worth issues, lots of trauma, and finding your own place in the world. Unfinished.

Memory's struggle <- 250k+ of cascading time travel. Basically everyone goes back, which goes great XD. Everyone... Except cloud. I read this a while ago but I do remember poor cloud just getting loved and spoiled by literally everyone and freaking out about it lmao. He was so confused! Unfinished.

[artgroves]

young Joyce and Jim Hopper for what a lucky man he was by @nnocres

for @strangerthingsreversebigbang

[redflagshipwriter]

The Proposal

This mini fic was inspired by the anon prompt to @faeriekit linked here and all the development that Faeriekit did for the idea. This fic is perilously regional. I half expect angry yelling from other areas of the Midwest.

Original post

Word count: 2718

Masterpost of my Archive Down Fics is here.

Jason came to with cream cheese stuck under his fingernails and in the creases of his fingers. He looked around the room wildly, trying to understand the situation he was in. The kitchen smelled fucking weird. He sniffed the air. Meat? Like, ham and also vinegar?

He washed his hands really well, grimacing at the greasy texture. Then he reconstructed what must have happened by the debris. This was not his first post-blackout rodeo, but usually he was reconstructing a literal crime scene.

There was an empty pickle jar on the countertop. There were packets of deli meat in the trash.

There was some kind of abomination on his nicest plate, which was obviously made of cream cheese wrapped around pickles, blanketed by the meat, and sliced thin like sushi rolls. It was lovingly protected by a perfect sheet of cling wrap.

“The fuck?” Jason said, a little scared and pissed off.

He paced the kitchen for a while and then went to pace on the balcony, because he needed a smoke to process this culinary abomination but something in his gut wailed at the tragedy of ruining it with cigarette smoke. Which was absurd, partly because the plate was in the refrigerator. He sensed in his bones that it needed to cool until the cream cheese was as hard as it would get, so that he could safely transport it. Transport it fucking where? Was this an assassination attempt against Batman? That sappy motherfucker was probably the only man in the world who would choke that down to make Jason happy.

He had a long drag on his cigarette and tried to ignore the way his fingers shook.

“Okay,” he said, squeezing his free hand shut and opening it. Maybe stimming would prompt his brain to go brr and explain this. “Did I have a stroke? Maybe I was possessed?”

It was hard to tell. He ground out his cigarette and tossed the butt in the tray before venturing back inside. He was calm. He was more centered. He flicked on the kitchen fan to clear out the pickle stink and then he went and put on his coat and grabbed the plate.

Why was he doing that?

The compulsion led him three blocks before he realized where he was going.

Not far away from the safehouse he was in, some college freshman had wasted the Joker when the clown tried to drag him into a van. He had called the police, crying the whole time in shock about being a murderer.

Jason had not been on the scene. He had only heard through comms. He had been out of town when the Joker got out. He had been rushing back on his bike, heart pounding and sick with nerves at the thought of his family out there without him.

And then the fucker had failed to secure the first victim for whatever sick play he’d had in mind, and the poor out of town kid who had apparently never heard of the Joker was breathing a sigh of relief that ‘oh, this wasn’t like, a birthday clown? Whew, that’s alright then,’ previous guilt over ending a life all gone.

Jason liked that. It was hugely undignified that the Joker had been got by someone who didn’t even know who he was. If he’d known, it would have killed his ego. As it was, Jason had laughed himself nearly sick before barricading himself inside to read the file Timmers put together on Danny Fenton.

Well. If his gut said that he should deliver this horrific dish to Fenton as thanks for the murder, well…

Jason grimaced. He just wouldn’t be seen doing it. If Fenton thought it was an assassination attempt and called the cops, Jason would never fess up.

He broke into Fenton’s apartment, very glad that the guy was in class at the moment. He mourned the loss of his plate but honestly, this was the least destructive black out he’d had, so it was whatever. He put the pickle rolls in the fridge, looked around, and then left. He was done. He’d thanked Fenton, or whatever (maybe he’d attacked him, honestly, Jason didn’t know how he would react to finding that trash in his fridge.)

It could end now.

The next morning, Jason scrubbed away a yawn and realized that he had just scraped a mess of chopped snickers bars into a bowl that already had clouds of something white and -

He took out a piece and bit into it to confirm that it was perfectly cubed green apple.

“I am possessed,” Jason said in horror, looking around the counter to see what the Pit Madness had cooked up this time. Why did the fucking Lazarus Pit know these recipes?

The white shit was a mix of cool whip and vanilla pudding, apparently. There was an untouched bottle of caramel sauce waiting innocently.

“...Does that go in?” Jason wondered, vaguely horrified.

Well, maybe an evil witch was doing this to him. Bottoms up. He poured caramel in until it felt right, guided by what had to be someone else’s goddamn ancestors, and then mixed it all up with a spoon.

This looked a lot better than the last thing. Jason scraped it into a bowl and then stole a spoonful of it to try.

“Holy shit. It’s like eating a caramel apple,” he said, muffled around the food. He swallowed and genuinely considered taking more.

Nope! His gut said nope. This was another offering for–

“Hold up, offering?” Jason put it in the fridge, clingwrap on top, and let his mind be blown. He put his face in his hands and just reeled. He was making offerings for this motherfucker now. He opened his phone, intending to search the things he’d been blackout making and froze.

His lock screen was Danny Fenton’s police intake photo, looking pretty relaxed after he'd been told the booking was a formality.

“I don’t remember doing that!” Jason frantically changed it back to his old lock screen, a grimy alleyway with a hilariously shaped filth puddle and one of his favorite rats.

He snuck this dessert thing into Fenton’s fridge, collected his clean plate with some relief, and left. He didn't know if Fenton had eaten that shit or if he'd thrown it away, but at least he'd washed the plate.

“That was the last time,” Jason told himself, pacing around his room. He wasn’t– that was two days in a row now that he had a normal day, went out on patrol, went to bed, and woke up in his kitchen. It wasn’t going to happen again.

He chainsmoked all day to such a degree that Stephanie Brown saw him, whined “Dude,” in disbelief, and jumped off a building while holding her nose to get away from him. It was a fair reaction. He had a shower before patrol so that no one could make a connection between Jason, stinkiest man in Gotham today, and the Red Hood, a guy who owned a shower.

Patrol went fine. He caught himself veering past Fenton’s shitty apartment building twice but no one was nearby enough to call him out for it.

He went to bed and got a jumpscare because at some point of his most recent fugue state he'd gone out and bought a bunch of wedding magazines and made them into a nest. He made a roar of frustration and pushed them off the bed with only a twinge of interest in what that swan centerpiece was made of.

Jason went the fuck to sleep, determined to walk this off.

He woke up the next morning in his kitchen. “Cream cheese, again,” Jason complained. He gave the bowl he was mixing a furious stir and then shoved it in the fridge.

Cream cheese, chopped meat, and chopped green onion. He searched the internet to identify the fucker. This was a cheeseball.

…He frowned, thinking of the fugly mess in the bowl.

It was the larval form of a cheeseball, he amended.

Why did he know this shitty recipe.

Stomach tight with dread, he looked up the other things. Day one was a pickle roll. Day two was snickers salad.

These were all real Midwestern potluck dishes. He hadn't made them up. Why did the pit know these recipes?

The Snickers salad offended him as a concept and he bitterly regretted finding it delicious.

“Salad,” Jason repeated in aggrieved disbelief. It was good but it was no goddamn salad. “I could just make him a real salad. Will this end if I bring Fenton good food?”

It wasn't the worst idea. He put a pin in it.

Grimly, as if he was going off to war, Jason researched how to shape the ball. If he was doing this, which apparently he was for no goddamn reason, he was going to do it to perfection. When he was done he wrapped it up tight, got an assortment of crackers, and left it at Danny Fenton’s apartment with a sort of tired resignation that this might as well be happening.

This time was different. This time, Fenton was home.

Jason barely avoided being seen by rushing out the window over the sink and hiding from the immediate line of sight. He was, however, close enough to hear–

“Holy shit, is that a cheeseball? Who loves me?” and then some truly ghastly, wet crunching as Fenton tore through the crackers and cheeseball like a wild beast. It felt like being in a horror film. Jason very badly wanted to leave. Jason very badly wanted to crawl back inside and present himself for a scrap of Fenton’s approval.

What the fuck? What the fuck!

He fled. And this time, he decided to take action. He was going get out of this sick mind trap and-

“Nothing wrong with you, it's not a curse,” Zatanna said, bored about it. “Whatever is going on is safe, sane, consensual, and none of my business.” She portalled away before Jason could argue that it did not feel sane. He was having an entirely new category of mental breakdown and when one of the Bats found out about it, he was going to be a case study.

Fine. He gritted his jaw. New plan. Maybe he could beat the curse by showing it up.

He called out of crime for the day and ignored the confused commentary in the background of his phone call– can he do that? Of course he can, he’s the friggin’ boss– and spent it furiously researching. He needed a crowning achievement. He needed to find out what was sacred in this culinary tradition, master it, and then tell the compulsion to suck on bricks.

Casserole. The answer was a casserole.

Jason scrolled through dozens of recipes, scowling fiercely. That was no good. That offended his senses. He just knew that would be bland. He-

“Do I want to make that?” Jason asked aloud, puzzled by his fixation on the old-fashioned goulash casserole recipe. Worcestershire sauce– he didn’t have that in this safe house for sure. Beef, pasta, tomatoes… yeah, okay. This was the one. For no fucking reason at all, this was the one.

He went out shopping like he usually went on life-or-death missions, full of grim purpose.

He got back and assembled his ingredients. It was not exactly a challenge to follow the recipe. Jason turned off the stove top and froze in place. “I don’t have an ancestral pan,” he said, horrified. Holy fuck. How could he dare to give it in a regular baking pan- he had to get one. Where the fuck does one acquire an ancestral casserole pan on short notice?

Panicked, he called the Manor, hands shaking as he packed the whole thing up and stuffed it in the fridge to keep it food safe until he could bake it.

Bruce answered, sounding a little choked up. “Hello, Jason, so glad-”

He hung up. He texted Tim. “I need you to steal something for me from the Manor.”

“You’re allowed in, you gigantic freak,” Tim wrote back.

Jason did some meditative breathing and resorted to outright pleading immediately. “What do you want? I will give you whatever you want. I just need an ancestral casserole pan.”

“I am NOT stealing from Alfred’s kitchen,” Tim wrote back. Which was fair. “Drake ancestral pan alright?”

Jason thought about it. It was still a family pan, sorta. By the transitive property, and that was a perfectly good property. He sent back a thumbs up, his GPS pin, and the word “Hurry.”

A while later, Tim dropped off a glass dish, loudly said “I don’t wanna know,” and slammed Jason’s door shut.

Fine. He was already moving his stuff from the now-cold frying pan into the casserole dish. It went into the oven from there. Jason spent the bake time trying to think of new coping mechanisms, because apparently smoking wasn’t up to this level of mental fuckery.

He waited out the bake time. He let it cool enough to be safe to travel with but hot enough to deliver warm. Jason grappled to Danny Fenton's apartment for the fourth time in four days, let himself in, and nearly jumped out of his boots when he realized that Fenton was in the kitchen watching him.

“Hey,” Fenton said. He was sitting on his counter in his pajamas, eating ice cream out of the bucket with a spoon. He was certifiable. Jason wanted to cross the room and kiss whatever Fenton would let him. Hands, face, feet, whatever.

Wow, weird.

“...Hey,” Jason said, way too late.

Fenton crunched down on his ice cream. “...That a casserole?” He said.

Jason nodded wordlessly, feeling very grateful that he had his hood on. He put the casserole down on the counter. He took a step backwards to flee.

Fenton pointed at Jason with the spoon, wholly unintimidated by the heavily armed man who'd broken into his house. “This is a proposal.”

Oh. Oh, motherfucking shitsocks. Jason felt weak through the knees. It was. Why was- why was he proposing??

Fenton took in his shock with a detached air. “Huh,” he said, like he'd learned something from this. “Um, it's nice of you and all. Have you been like, fixated on me for a while or- ohhh. I avenged you, didn't I?” He dropped the spoon in his ice cream carton and slapped both his palms down on the countertop. “He killed you? That sucks, man,” Fenton empathized. “I get it. I think if someone smashed the portal with a hammer I'd be down on one knee.”

Jason's brain was simply not running any program any longer. He gaped. He wasn't coherent enough to ask why Danny knew he'd been murdered by the Joker, but he had his shit together well enough to be fixated on the point.

“Um, it's not usually me being chased,” Fenton said. He made a face. “I… huh, I think I'm flattered.” He very obviously gave Jason a once-over. “I suppose this is your way of showing that you're a provider.” He heaved himself off the counter and went to investigate the casserole, sniffing and lifting the lid. “Oh, fuuuuuuck,” Danny groaned. He sniffed appreciatively. “Good demonstration of your husband material, t-b-h.”

Jason resisted the urge to tackle him to the ground.

“That's the good stuff.” Fenton closed it back up, but not before giving his ice cream spoon a considering look.

Oh, yuck. This guy was so grungly. Jason needed him badly. He shuddered.

Fenton looked at him.

Jason looked back.

“Do you wanna try moving in and see how we get on?” Fenton offered. “Take it slow, no wedding just yet.”

“Absolutely.” Jason full-body twitched with just how eager he was. “How do you feel about swans?”

“Neutral,” Danny said, after a brief moment of consideration. “I like stars, though.”

Okay, so that would be their wedding theme.

Jason only realized he'd said that aloud when Fenton's eyebrows shot up. Mortified and really wondering what was wrong with him, Jason offered a weak smile.

Fenton made a considering noise. He crossed his arms. He looked Jason up and down. “...Can you grill?” He asked. “Like, beer chicken?”

[jensthwa]

mountebank chem pt. two (JYH x reader).

part of the love's an uncharted path universe ★.

SUMMARY:

* 𝐦𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐭𝐞𝐛𝐚𝐧𝐤: 𝐭𝐨 𝐛𝐞𝐠𝐮𝐢𝐥𝐞 𝐨𝐫 𝐭𝐫𝐚𝐧𝐬𝐟𝐨𝐫𝐦 𝐛𝐲 𝐭𝐫𝐢𝐜𝐤𝐞𝐫𝐲. The first time you met Yunho, you knew he was going to be part of the biggest tragedy of your life: the loss of your freedom, of your free will. You didn't know why back then but what you did figure out is that you and Jeong Yunho were going to, eventually and very publicly, date each other at some point. Is that reason enough to hate his guts? Well, of course! Now, when the time comes to fulfill the prophecy, how the hell are you going to pull it off? And, most importantly, what do you need to do to not fall in love with him in the process?

PAIRING: rich!yunho x rich!reader.

GENRE: enemies to friends to lovers.

WORD COUNT: 14k (i'm so sorry).

WARNINGS: eventual SMUT ☽ (MINORS DNI) attempt !!! at comedy, crying, mentions of drinking and drunk behavior, mature language, petty behavior, insults, hwang hyunjin and hwang yeji cameos omg, yunho being a misunderstood puppy i fear, yunho and reader really hate each other but not so much anymore, pet names (princess), negative mentions of body image, mention of panic attacks/panic disorder, no smut on this part but so, so, so much tension oh god these two idiots.

NOTES: hi everyone! so, sorry for almost taking a month to finish the next part of this mini series that is PART OF THE LOVE'S AN UNCHARTED PATH / SHOW & TELL UNIVERSE. there's mentions of the last installment plot so, if you're new around here, you can always find the rest of the stories on my masterist! i also forgot to mention before that gunho is older in this universe bc i think he's younger than yunho irl?? i'm not sure bc i don't look into their families like that lmao. this is 100% self indulgent, as all fics should be, and i think i've re-read it so many times that if you find a typo or something that just doesn't make sense, you can blame it on english not being my first language i guess lmao. i hope you enjoy it and if you do feel free to send to my askbox/reblog/type in any feedback or thoughts! <3

POSTED: october 12th 2024.

masterlist - part one - part three.

Yunho has never been more stressed in his entire life. 

It's easy to tell and it's an issue for you. When it's evident someone is not comfortable, that's when the vipers get together and organize their attacks. 

And right now, he's your date for the night, so you can't really let that happen. 

The gala is breathtaking, as expected. The room is lit with fairy lights all around the roof and they mimic stars. It's the theme of the night and the beautiful dresses and suits everyone is wearing it's enough to let you know both your mother and Yunho’s mom kindly threaten everyone to follow their delusions as well. 

It looks like a very expensive prom and it's pretty but you hate it. Maybe because of the overall situation you went through today or your lack of sleep but you hate it. 

Or maybe it's the amount of eyes you have on you tonight. Twice the usual amount, if the warmth on the back of your neck is any indication of how much people are gossiping about you and Yunho right now. 

When you walked in half an hour ago, Yunho on your arm, everyone went silent as you said your hellos and went to your assigned seats. 

And then the murmurs started to fill the room slowly until they became unbearable and, eventually, you started to acclimate to them, like you always do. 

Yunho is a completely different story. It shows that he's not used to this, the fidgeting of his feet and his leg going up and down and bouncing the table cloth on both his and your leg triggers something that only causes further annoyance.

You're seated (just the two of you, because your brother and his are at a completely different table for some reason) at one of the main tables, near the stage where a talented kid who, you're sure, is the son of one of your father's friends, is playing the violin beautifully and you can't even focus on that because Yunho keeps sighing like he doesn't want to be here. 

Now, you know he must definitely would rather be doing anything else but, like you told him before, he agreed to this so he has to start fucking owning it. 

Leaning in, you curl your lips up in feign sweetness and discreetly place your hand over his leg “You need to stop that before someone notices it.” 

Head snapping back at you, he leans in as well and blinks a few times “How would anyone not—”

“They will,” you assure him, smile never leaving your lips and you hear as the people around you start to clap their hands for the end of the performance “Now clap and hold your breath because my mother has been itching to get on that stage.” 

Leaning back, you get to clap for a few seconds before the commotion dies down and then, just as you predicted, your mom gets on the stage. 

You don't even turn to see Yunho’s reaction at all but you do hear him clapping for your mom once everyone starts clapping too. 

“What an spectacular opening act that was,” she points to the various musicians that filled that half hour of snobbery and you try to repress how much you want to cringe at that. Your mother never really cared for the arts at all “I want to thank you all for attending…” 

Her voice fades into the background as you zone out, like you always do. The way of coping with the long, long events you're forced to attend to has always been zoning out and letting your body do the work for you. 

You clap, you smile, you bow and react accordingly like a robot that has been programmed to do so. Like an extra in a movie who gains the attention of the audience because someone always comments on your appearance, your posture or a specific expression you made at a random moment of the evening. 

Magazines, papers and social media users who don't have anything better to do are always that audience you strike to appeal to. That has always been your job, that's why your mom is using you to try and restore the image of Jeong Tech, too. 

The people outside of the tinsel circle love you, the people inside of it pretend to love you and everyone gets their end of the deal at your expense. 

You feel kind of bad that Yunho got to experience life outside of it and now it's being dragged by his mother to the eye of the hurricane, where everything it's mostly silent until it's not. There’s this question on the tip of your tongue, this curiosity nagging at you since earlier today. 

After witnessing the hurt on his face and the indifference to his feelings displayed by his mother, you can only come to the conclusion you got their relationship wrong all these years. 

The safe detachment you felt for him is suddenly teetering the dangerous line of interest you’ve always drawn in between you and it’s enough for you to feel bad when you turn to see him and catch him forcing a soft smile that, to everyone else, might seem genuine. 

But you know him better than that. At least, you know his mannerisms well enough to not be fooled by it. Even if you didn’t know his true feelings about tonight, about what’s about to happen now that you hear your mother utter your dad’s name to introduce him and bring him to the podium, you wouldn’t be fooled by it. 

There’s another round of applause for your father that you barely follow because, you suddenly notice, you’ve been a little too entranced by Yunho for a few seconds too long. Turning to the man who’s partly responsible for your headache tonight, you catch his speech exactly where you’re supposed to. 

“... And thanks to them, we’re positioned in a place where we can help new companies navigate and grow in a market that’s typically eager to chew and spit them out. When I first came up with the idea of Kim Innovation, there was one man who stood beside me as I presented it to the board. My best friend and someone who, barely a few years later, came up with the idea of revolutionizing the tech industry as a whole, please welcome…” 

Sometimes, you wonder if your dad loves Yunho’s dad more than he ever loved you, your brother or your mom. Turning to Soohyun, he sends you a smile and a look that hints to you that he’s probably thinking the same thing. It takes a lot for you to not giggle but the smile that curves the corners of your lips is somewhat genuine for the first time since you sat down. 

Hell, for the first time today. 

There’s cheers on a closeby table and you don’t have to turn to know it’s Yunho’s mom. She might truly love that man, which is a lot considering they did to her what she’s doing to her son. 

Arranged and married off. You never considered actually falling in love before but falling in love with the man who was cherry picked for you sounds like an actual nightmare. 

Thank God that’s not a possibility when it comes to Yunho. 

Again, your selective hearing works wonders because you are able to straighten your spine and prepare for the part of the speech that actually matters to you: “... And now we’re even blessed with the chances of our family remaining bonded forever. I’m sure you all noticed our youngest walking in together, huh?” The room makes an amused noise and you shake your head at your dad, pretending to be playfully ashamed by the call out “It’s impossible not to when they look so good together. We wanted to let everyone know tonight instead of announcing it through a notice or the press. But I'm blessed to call Jeong Yunho, the future of blockchain engineering and cybersecurity at Jeong Tech, my son in law. Yunho, you have always been like a son to me, so I trust you to take care of my dear daughter’s heart long enough to see my dreams of officially bringing our families together come to life.” 

You want to gag at the thought. You want to cry and scream and beg everyone to see right through this lie but everyone erupts in cheers for the fake relationship you’re officially in so the only thing you can do is force yourself to think about something that makes you blush and turn to Yunho to pretend you’re moved by your father’s words. 

Only to find him already staring at you with the same artificial emotion. There’s an understanding in his eyes that you think might show on yours as well and he hesitates a little before grabbing your hand in his hand over the table, visible for everyone. 

Your heart doesn’t skip a beat, your stomach doesn’t flutter with butterflies but instead drops at the oh’s, ah’s and aw’s you hear around you. When his father takes the microphone from your father’s hands and you’re sure the image of you both is no longer on the screen placed above the stage, you lower your hands under the cloth. 

He squeezes yours before harshly letting go and you open and close your palm to get a grip on yourself so you can endure the rest of the speeches with a smile. 

Your brother and Yunho’s brother take the stage for what it feels like another fifteen minutes and after that they announce that dinner is about to be served in five and to enjoy the rest of the gala and the music and the acts for the rest of the night as they step down, so you take the opportunity to get up. 

Looking at you like a child that’s about to be abandoned at the grocery store line, Yunho gets up as well “Where are you going?” 

“To get a drink,” you return immediately with a kind smile that’s far from honest and lean in a little for only him to hear you “Notice how the only thing they’ve been bringing us is water? That’s my mom’s doing,” taking a few steps into the drink table, you turn to him over your shoulder and speak a little louder this time “Want anything, babe?” 

It looks like it takes a lot from him to not grimace at the nickname and you internally laugh but your fun dies as soon as he takes your hand and pulls you to the table himself “I’m coming with you, there’s an old lady that has been staring at me for the past twenty minutes and I’m scared.” 

Feeling overwhelmed by the sudden physical intimacy you both are displaying, it takes a few bits for you to answer. At the table, you grab a champagne flute and try to have some self control but end up downing half in one gulp “Ah, grandma Park. You might know her granddaughter Sooyoung,” looking at him, he stops sipping at the own flute he got ahold of and shakes his head. You sigh in disappointment, now that no one is close enough to hear you “Of course you don’t. She’s pretty and one of the only genuine girls I know. I can get you her number after this whole sham is done.”

“Y/N, I don’t want you to play cupid for me. In fact, I don’t want to hear from you once we break up,” he nudges you softly with his arm and the look you send in his direction makes him groan a little. You both know there’s not a chance in hell of that happening but wishful thinking never hurt anyone “You know, I—”

A voice behind you both interrupts him and you close your eyes tightly when you recognize it right away. 

“Well if it isn’t the it couple of the month,” as you turn, the Hwang siblings smile at you with what you can only recognize as mischievous delight. Yeji is exclusively staring at Yunho and Hyunjin’s eyes move from your date to you before he chuckles like he knows something no one else does “I couldn’t say I saw it coming but it was a pleasant surprise nonetheless, wasn’t it, Yeji?” 

His sister ignores him. 

“I don’t believe we’ve been formally introduced. I know Y/N, of course, who doesn’t,” she giggles and your smile tenses a bit, so you hide it behind your glass and gulp the other half of the flute down “But we’ve been missing each other a lot, mister Jeong.” 

“It seems like you know him well enough,” you half-heartedly joke and her brother smiles at you with a complicity you don’t really want “Yunho, this is Hwang Yeji and this is her brother, Hwang Hyunjin. I am sure you know their father, he owns HW Records.” 

“Yes, of course. Huge fan of his artists,” he says with such kindness you might actually start to believe him and then he bows a little “It’s a pleasure.” 

“The pleasure is all mine!” Yeji returns brightly and batting her fake lashes. She’s so pretty, you think, but that doesn’t really work in your favor when it’s blatantly obvious she’s flirting with who is supposed to be your boyfriend. 

Yunho notices it too, because his hand moves to your back and he takes a step closer to you. 

Hyunjin’s brow arches a bit as he takes his actions in and then there’s that glint in his eyes, the one you see on mean people when they secure a target to bother for the day. Because that’s exactly what he intends to do “I have to say, Y/N, I didn’t think you had a taste for… Humble men.” 

Without outright saying it, you know he’s challenging you. He’s testing whatever you have with Yunho because he’s a smart, privileged and cunning little shit and, as soon as he sees a crack on the foundation of your lie, he’s going to run his mouth. 

You can’t let that happen. Knowing he suspects something else is going on pisses you off because it means you’re not doing something right and you hate losing. 

Pretending you're confused, you furrow your brows a bit before chuckling “Is that not something to look for in a partner?” 

“I was never expecting you to come public with a relationship in the first place,” he says, hands behind his back and not-so-innocent smile on his lips. Then, he looks Yunho up and down with squinted eyes “But I was certainly not expecting you to come forward with someone who chooses public education over private, for example. Should I take this as a hint that you're furthering your education in a private school, Yunho?” 

He's trying to strike a nerve and you pray Yunho is smart enough to catch him in the act. Turning to him, your smile doesn't waver as you wait for his answer.

Taking a deep breath, he lets it out while he answers, forcing himself to smile “It’s not in my plans, no.” 

“But Y/N did… It just doesn't really make any sense, does it, Yeji?” 

Snapping out of whatever spell Yunho's presence got her in, she shrugs “No, it doesn't. Private schools are better and you don't mingle with people whose connections are useless for your future.” 

Immediately, you can tell that's what their parents told her. An easy way to fool the dummy into perpetuating their status. It's pitiful and, quite honestly, infuriating. 

“Useless for your future,” her brother repeats with a nod “That's an interesting way of putting it, isn't it? Kind, even,” they both nod and you swear your eye twitches a little “Really, Y/N, I have to give it to you. You always end up surprising me one way or another.” 

Yeji joins right after “You have a lot of status, girl! It's really inspiring that you can overlook such a big difference in your relationship,” she says, like she's not trying to jump Yunho’s bones “I'm cheering for you guys!” 

That does it. Is not the blatant classism or the fact that they are deliberately trying to get under your skin but it is the fact that neither of them has any actual indication your relationship with Yunho is fake. Meaning, they're trying to mess with your family intentionally. 

Because you might hate Yunho as much as he hates you but he's still, somewhat, family. 

“The last time I checked Yunho is the son of the owner of one—If not! The best cyber security company in the country,” you start, kind tone slipping right through the cracks and you hope they take it as a I had enough of you making fun of my man instead of what it truly is “A company he's going to work for if he wants to because you got, what?” you turn to Yunho, who's staring at you with an unreadable expression on his face “Two, three badges and one trailblazer award already? For that program you helped develop your second year?” he nods and your smile comes back when you turn to the siblings “And he hasn't even graduated yet! But I'm sure you didn't know that, did you?” 

Yeji blinks like you just spoke in a foreign language and Hyunjin’s smugness has disappeared completely. 

“You didn't know it because he's humble enough to not parade around like he owns the place, which… He kind of does,” it's your turn to shrug before turning around and placing the flute down back on the table “Oh! By the way, Hyunjin, I heard you placed second on that competition last month,” pouting you make a show of truly pretending you're sorry for him “That really shows us that it doesn't really matter if you go to a private music school or that your dad is a great producer, we can't always come on top, hm?” 

It's a petty and middle-schooled argument but you simply don't care. If people target Yunho, they're now targeting you as well.

And you can't stand when people like them try to stomp you to the ground. 

Hyunjin is about to retaliate but you turn to Yunho quickly, a different glint in his eyes now “Dinner is late, isn't it? Well, we better take the opportunity and go for that dance you promised me, babe,” seemingly tongue-tied, he only manages to nod “It was lovely to talk to you two, as usual.” 

When you drag Yunho to the dancefloor, where there's only a few old couples you recognize and he probably doesn't, it feels like you can breathe a little bit more. 

If you're being honest with yourself, you would really like to scream and pierce a hole through a wall with your fist. Your chest isn't heaving but the sensation it normally brings spreads around your body and it takes over as you secure your arms around Yunho’s neck and start swaying to the sound of an… Ed Sheeran cover? You're not really sure, you're not paying that much attention either. 

“I swear I could kill them,” you mutter under your breath and that finally jolts your dance partner back to reality, because he looks at you like he can't believe you defended him and holds your waist softly, at a safe distance, a little unsure on why you brought him to dance “They're so useless, living off their daddy’s money and gloating.” 

Yunho chuckles “I think you might hate them more than me.” 

Squinting your eyes at him, his joke does little to quiet down your anger “Don't be jealous, Yunho, you still hold the first place for most annoying human being in my heart.” 

He doesn't seem to mind the insult “You didn't have to do that.” 

“Do what?” 

“Go off on them because they were trying to bring me down,” he whispers “Or bring me to the dancefloor, either, we could've just walked off, I mean… You're not good at this.” 

“We went to the same ballroom classes, Yunho, we've danced before,” you remind him, rolling your eyes a bit “And I had to defend you because you weren't saying anything back.” 

“Because I don't really care what they think, Y/N,” he explains softly and you gulp as your eyes roam around his face. You prefer when he's screaming at you, insulting you even. This soft, fake mask he puts on whenever he's in public makes you forget who he truly is: the annoying kid who played with worms on your first playdate “And you shouldn't, either. They were clearly trying to pick up a fight.”

“No, they weren't,” you hate that your experience in these types of situations is shining so much but Yunho seems clueless even if he just firsthand experienced what you tend to experience with the circle you move in “They weren't picking a fight, they were trying to catch us in a lie.” 

“How would they know we're lying, Y/N?” he sounds a little exasperated as he steps softly to the beat, moving you with him. 

“Because they know how this world works. Not your world, not your friends' world, but my world.” 

“Your world it's the same exact one as mine,” he counters quickly, getting a little annoyed judging by his tone “There's truly not much of a difference—” 

“I'm glad that at least you got to experience what ninety nine percent of the world's population experiences, Yunho, but you got away from it and forgot everything about what goes on in here,” moving your head carefully, you signal to the gala and the attendees “I need you to remember highschool and everything that you lived there: The falseness, the appearances and the cliques. The importance of money and grades and education, of connections… It all matters here.” 

You shouldn't be instructing him. That's not really part of the deal and, at first, you thought he was faking aloofness out of spite. Now that he seems as confused as a free spirit being trapped in a glass bottle and put out for display, you feel the need to. 

So he doesn't drown you both. 

“Think of it as one big highschool where the wrong decision, the wrong response can get not only you but me and our families into great trouble.”

As the song ends and everyone claps for the performer, he lets out a sigh “I hate this.” 

“It's your life now,” you remind him and that sorry feeling stirs up inside you as well. You're not one to regret decisions but it does sting a little that you didn't fight more for your stance on this fake relationship. It makes you dizzy and so you take a step away from his barely there embrace as you see the food trays start to make an appearance through the doors “I need to go to the bathroom.” 

“I'll go with you.” 

“To the bathroom?” 

“I don't want to—” 

Sighing, you step closer again and bring your hand to his cheek, thumb caressing the skin there roughly and plastic smile on your lips “Go and bother our brothers. I'm not fucking babysitting you, Yunho, you were born first so you're technically older than me.” 

He pouts for a second and you pinch the skin on his cheek condescendingly. When he notices, his jaw clenches and you smile in victory. 

“Witch.” 

“Grown ass baby.” 

You hear him mumble a whatever under his breath when you turn around and head to the bathroom to get yourself together and hopefully get through the rest of the night without any newfound and unnecessary drama. 

Locked in a stall, you make sure to delete all social media apps. With the speech your dad gave tonight, there will be more speculation now than ever. You can already see the headlines and it draws a sigh out of you because, well, you hate the press as much as the next nepotism baby out there but, most importantly, you hate that the media reads your character wrong. 

No, not wrong. The press usually gets the manufactured part of your personality, one that has become a part of you after all these years of perfecting it. People on social media, though? They read you wrong. 

You hate being misinterpreted. Your mom once said that it was a blessing because then the people who actually know who you are will be the ones closest to you. 

And that's yet to be seen. 

If the earlier encounter with the Hwangs gives away anything, is the fact that you don't actually get to be yourself around anyone ever. 

Except your brother. 

And Yunho. 

The thought of Yunho being one of the few people who know you the best brings a shiver down your spine for the second time today. 

Yunho?!

You should consider making actual friends. That's so sad. 

Not sadder than the way you freeze when you stand up and try to reach for the stall lock. Voices echo through the bathroom and it only takes you a quick second to realize who it is. 

“Yeah, I genuinely don't know who the fuck she think she is,” Yeji’s voice is not the sweet, dumb and whiny tone you are unfortunately forced to hear everytime you speak with her and it would startle you more if it weren't for the fact that she's talking shit about you on the phone “And she probably gets to kiss him tonight and every night from here on out. They were dancing together… In matching outfits! Girl, I know,” she complains, groaning a bit “Like I haven't been thirsting over Yunho’s fine ass for years.” 

Wanting to smack some sense into her again, you move your hand on the lock but she goes on with her babbling and that makes you stop again. 

“There’s absolutely no way they'll last. Not privately, at least. Have you seen her lately?” she scoffs and you hear something move, like makeup in a bag and you assume she's reapplying her lip gloss or something because you can barely hear what she says next. 

And you really, really wish you hadn't. 

“She can barely fit in that tight dress, the hair is getting old too. She's bo-ring,” breath getting caught in your throat, you look down on your dress and suddenly you can see on yourself what you normally see on the mirror “I don't know how but I'm totally getting his number tonight and when he gets to know me that's when he'll realize she's nothing but a kind-of-pretty face and money,” she giggles “I have to go back… Yup, love you, bye!” 

Heels clacking against the polished tiles of this pristine bathroom, you listen carefully until the door closes again and let out the shaky breath you've been holding in. 

What's sadder than Hwang fucking Yeji having a friend she can call to gossip in the middle of a function while you don't? 

Hwang fucking Yeji being able to cut through you with her words. 

Getting out of the stall, you make quick work of washing your hands and avoiding the mirror while you do it. You get out, the sound of cutlery softly hitting plates and fine conversation leaking through the main door that leads you back to the gala it's enough to make you gag a little. 

Like actually gag, the smell of food on top of passing by trays makes you gag. There's a waiter to your left with a tray full of champagne flutes, so you stop her with a genuine kind smile and take two from her. Thanking her, you turn to the door again and make sure nobody is looking in your direction. 

You need to get yourself together, so you make your run for it. Passing the main door in a dash, you walk up the stairs that surely would lead you to a room. 

You've been in this venue many times so the halls are familiar and the room you're aiming to is unlocked and with its lights on, like it's been waiting for you to find comfort in the mild emptiness of it. 

There's a big floor to ceiling arched window with white curtains drawn and a sill wide enough to be converted into a reading nook if someone from your circle actually cared to read and not gossip at an event like this. 

There's a table in the middle with a lovely white cloth covering the surface and a vase in the center of it. You never had a favorite flower, but foxtail orchids are beautiful and the pop of color they bring to every space usually brings you some sort of joy before you remember the significance of them. 

Love, beauty and strength. 

Three things you ardently wish you had but seem to lack. 

Luxury is usually attached to the meaning, fertility as well but the main significance of it does nothing but replay Yeji’s words in your head and you can't even enjoy the fucking flowers as you should right now. 

Moving to sit by the window, on its sill and with your back against the white fabric and the glass, you let your eyes close as you try and remind yourself the reason this event took place. Who you are, what you mean to the people downstairs and the duty you have to fulfill tonight all blend together into a big mush of junk inside your head and all you can see it's the flashes of the paparazzis and how awful you're going to look on those goddamn photos. 

Being mugged down by Jeong Yunho of all people. Fucking great. 

Circling back to him, your mind lands on the same thought you had before Yeji barged into the bathroom. Yunho knows you. 

Hell, he might've been your only actual friend. Even for a day, that first playdate in his backyard, but he probably was your first and only friend even if it ended before you two could make proper good memories together. 

That's so sad. 

Again, you should consider making actual friends. But yet again, you have to admit to yourself that there's no one that can understand you better than him and even then… 

He would never get it. He has a solid foundation, a bed he can fall onto at the end of the day, full with love, comprehension and genuine laughter, probably. 

You've been giving him shit all day for forgetting the world he was born into but now, as you take in a wannabe calming breath and then sip the sorrows away, you kind of wish you two would get along. 

Would he introduce you to his friends if you two actually liked each other? Not romantically, of course (because that's never going to happen), but would he, if you two were friends to begin with? Would you be accepted into their group? Would they make you feel an ounce loved and supported? Is that what Yunho feels when he's with them? 

What do they make him feel, exactly? 

“Ugh.” 

The alcohol is making you sappy instead of angrier. You should be angry. That's the only way of facing things here, in the real world, in the one you actually belong to. Instead, you just feel sad. 

You take a second to wonder again how he must be feeling right now. Leaving him all alone, you hope he at least got the sense in him to attach himself to his brother's hip or yours so someone can stop the vipers from getting to him and his pride. 

You know how easy it is to get his ego hurt by something so silly as insulting his choice of lifestyle, his detachment from this (to them) superior whirlwind of falseness and money. 

But, yet again, he didn't even attempt to defend himself earlier. It's conflicting and it confuses you a bit because… Why didn't that side of Yunho come out? The one who's so eager to back his choices up, the one who yelled at his mother back in your living room? 

Does he really don't care at all what people think of him? 

Must be a blessing, to have that side of you quiet and locked away. You don't have the same luck as him because, even now, as you chug the first flute down in an attempt to silence Yeji’s voice and drown out her words in your head, you know you care. 

You care, you care, you care. 

You care so much you try to hide the champagne behind the curtain when you hear footsteps approaching and the doorknob turns, heartbeat picking up because you definitely don't want to see your mother, your father, your brother or anyone right now. 

Only to reveal the current subject of your obsessive mind, with a plate on his hand and his eyebrows furrowed before his eyes focus on your form hiding behind the table. He's tall enough to see you all the way from the door (of course he is) and your shoulders deflate as you pull your drinks from behind their white haven. 

“Ah, it's just you.” 

He closes the door behind him, scoffing and pointing at the second glass next to you “Were you expecting someone?” 

“The grim reaper, maybe.” 

“My mom? Your mom?” He asks and it's funny but you don't laugh “Well, she's looking for you.” 

You straighten your back at that and take a gulp out of your flute “I've been gone ten minutes, what could possibly be so important for her to be looking for me?” 

“Something about a picture with the governor's grandson?” he shrugs “I didn't pay attention to her, I was fixing you a plate.” 

He offers the food and you sigh, shaking your head to reject his seemingly nice action. 

“And why would you do that?” He looks annoyed when your eyes scan his form and then he uses his chin to point towards the cup next to you and then the one that you elegantly raise to your lips before emptying it. 

“Is that your second or third? I don't remember how many you had at the main table earlier.” 

“I can handle my alcohol pretty well, Jeong.” 

Walking towards you, you take the hint and put the empty flute down on the floor, taking the second one and creating some space for him on the sill “Still, you should eat something.” 

“I’m not particularly hungry right now.” 

“Still…” He offers the plate again and you glance at the food in it. It’s some brown rice and chicken with steamed vegetables. It smells delicious but instead of desiring it, your physical reaction is to swallow a gag. 

“I'm good.” 

Scooting a little more to create more space in between you, you close your eyes again and gather some patience because the sigh he lets out tells you you're going to need it. 

Nothing happens. He doesn't say anything but you do hear the clanking on the fork against the plate and peel your eyes open so you can catch him eating the food that was supposed to be for you through the corner of your eye. 

It's always entertaining seeing how much of a foodie he is.

Instead, he's extending the utensil towards you with some food in it. 

“I'm going to ram that piece of asparagus so far up your—” 

“Okay, I give up,” the fork clanks against the plate again and he gets up momentarily to leave the plate on the table “Didn't really want to deal with your drunk ass tonight, but that's alright.” 

“You've never dealt with my drunk ass because I don't get drunk around you,” you turn to him, crossing your arms. Your back is against the window frame, the way it uncomfortably digs into your spine keeps you grounded “In fact, I don't even get drunk. Ever.”

He imitates your movements “You're such a liar.” 

“Am not.” 

“Yes, yes you are. Do I have to remind you of our graduation party?” 

“Do I have to remind you of our graduation party? I think you're projecting again.”

Especially when it was filled with drunken babbling and awkward energy, the one you can only tell is in the room by being kind-of-sober. 

Yunho was definitely gone and faded, texting with someone (a friend, you remember him saying) on his phone for most of the night and then something happened with said friend (again, his words not yours) so he took your drink from your hand and a bottle from the table and made out with three boys and two girls that night. 

Right in front of you. 

It was traumatic, really, because you never wondered how kissing him would feel until that night. 

And never again since then. 

Your special power, you want to tell him, is remembering every single time Jeong Yunho looked and felt like an actual human being around you. 

Like just now, for example. Getting you food and trying to feed it to you is not really something he Yunho you know would do. So… 

“What's gotten into you? Pity?” cutting right to the chase, your eyes move around his face to catch any movement that might give away that you're right “Because of what you saw this afternoon?” 

“Guilt. Because of what I did this afternoon,” he corrects and your eyebrow raises, his lips go into a thin line before a pout sets on it and you fix your stare on it before looking at his eyes again “You were asking me to stop yelling at you and I didn't listen.” 

You hate that. This. The sudden vulnerability and the thread it's starting to knit between the two of you. 

“That was going to happen regardless of you yelling or not,” you assure him, chugging the drink down and resting the flute next to the other one, on the floor “You don't have to worry about that or me.” 

“Of course I worry,” the softness in his tone is sickening. The way it tugs at your icy heart strings and threatens to break your walls down it's disgusting, so you turn to him with a scowl “I worry about you running your mouth about this… relationship.” 

You scoff out a chuckle “Oh, of course you suddenly worry about that,” nodding, your eyes shut closed again while a bitter and sarcastic smile curves your lips “The dirty little secret will always be safe with me, Yunho, don't pretend you don't know that. Even if you don't want to tell me the reason you came here tonight or the thing that made you not curse your mother for involving you in it, it's safe with me.” 

Yunho’s voice is stern and yet it sounds like a whisper away when he speaks again “Why are you doing it?” 

“Because it's my duty and I owe it to them,” you answer without missing a bit, a little matter of factly and all “What kind of question is that?” 

“No, it's not—”

“Yunho, it was clearly a question—” 

“No, dumbass, shut up for a second,” he lets out an exasperated breath and you look at him, very annoyed. “I'm saying that it's not really your duty.” 

“Yes, it is.”

He makes a face “Not really.” 

“Yes, really,” you push him with your hand on his shoulder and he barely moves “I know you're not familiar with gratefulness or anything close to that feeling but they really gave me everything I own and made me everything I am, Yunho.” 

Clicking his tongue, your fake boyfriend looks disappointed at your reply “They didn't give you your brain, that's for sure,” he murmurs, shrugging “Your intelligence is all yours.” 

“Well, they put me through the best schools and paid for my tuitions and tutors and programs and—” 

“Acquired knowledge and connections are meaningless when you're not smart enough to know what to do with them,” he says like he can't believe you would say that out loud “And you know what to do with them, Y/N.” 

Rendering you completely speechless, the only thing you manage to do is stare at him while your chest vaguely heaves and your mind twists and turns at his words. It strangely warms your heart that he thinks you can give yourself credit for your brains and, in normal circumstances, you would agree with him. 

But this is Yunho and you have to say something to antagonize him, right? 

“W-well, I—” 

“Oh, there you are!” 

Great, the grim reaper. 

It's a little pathetic how quick you stand up and try to cover up the flutes on the floor. Yunho gets up as well and your mother looks delighted to find you both in a room together but you're sure it's because it serves some kind of purpose in her agenda of delusions. 

“Good, you're here too. Yunho, dear, you've been splendid tonight. Did you like the suit?” your fake date nods and smiles a little and she looks satisfied with that “Good, good. I'm glad it fits you just right, not like…” her eyes land on you briefly and then go back to him “Well, not everyone has that privilege, hm?” 

“I'm sorry?” he asks and his tone lets you know he's actually a little taken aback by the sudden jab (you are too, not being used to your mother doing it in front of everyone else). 

It's also a little pathetic how quick you recoil when her eyes locate the plate on the table, untouched, but a plate of food is worse than ten bottles of alcohol in her eyes. 

“Oh, that's why the dress looks a little tight!” she says, condescendingly “Y/N, dear, have you been eating?” 

You feel it again. The stillness before the chaos, the way your body locks up in place and your mouth trembles with fury but it's unable to speak up, to tell her everything she needs to hear. 

Monster. Wench of a woman masquerading as a sadistic piece of—

“I-I haven't, mother.” 

“You're already wearing a somewhat tight dress, Y/N!” 

“Auntie—” Yunho’s voice cuts through but she takes a few steps in his direction and ignores you completely, even if you have started to shake a little. 

Feeling small, useless, helpless and humiliated, you turn to the white wall and start counting the imperfections on it. If you distract yourself, you won't have to fix your makeup later. 

If you distract yourself, you won't have to hear her calling you out for “overreacting” to her words. 

If you distract yourself, you save Yunho from feeling any pity towards you again. It doesn't matter if he said that's not the motivation behind his behavior tonight, you know there has to be some part of him that pities you. 

Like there's some part of you that pities him, just a bit. 

“Now that you are going to have to spend some time together, dear, you have to stop her from doing these sorts of things. The editors work overtime trying to hide it and even then…” 

Her words, Yeji’s words, your own words that you whispered to yourself earlier today in front of the mirror, they all feel heavy on your neck, threatening to crush it under the weight. 

Under your own weight. 

Oh, you feel sick. 

“Auntie, you can't speak to her like that.” 

Yunho is not raising his voice by any means, but the tone is stern and firm and leaves no space for mistaking it as other than a warning. 

Whatever that means for your mother. 

“Now that you're going to have to spend some time together,” she repeats, dismissing Yunho’s warning “You're going to learn that this is the only way you can shut her up when she gets going, dear. She's a very grumpy human being, aren't you, Y/N?” you don't answer or turn and she sighs “See?” 

Closing your eyes, a heavy sigh leaves you before another one follows it and soon your chest is heaving and your hyperventilating while trying to blink away the tears that gather on your eyes. 

Back connecting to the wall, you look up to find Yunho staring at your mother like he discovered some part of her that's new, like he's disappointed and somehow never saw this coming but he says nothing. You also find your mother staring at you and after assessing you quickly again, she rolls her eyes and steps away. 

“She’s also, apparently, very sensitive and can't take constructive criticism well,” she says and when she reaches the door, she looks at you both over her shoulder “Compose yourselves and come out. We have some pictures to take in five minutes.” 

When she closes the door behind her, you release another trembling breath and Yunho practically runs towards you. 

“I've never heard her talking like that to anyone, does she… Y/N, is she—” you shake your head, clearly not having the energy to explain or defend your own mother and he takes the hint immediately “I just never heard her saying anything like that.” 

“You're really lucky, then.” 

He quickly scans your face for something you're not sure he's going to find. You're trying to steady your breath and scare the tears away with the breathing techniques you were given in therapy. 

Yunho finds whatever he's looking for anyway. 

“Don’t listen to her,” he starts and, just like in the afternoon, he looks unsure of what to do with his hands, so he just raises them and lowers them before swallowing hard “You can eat everything you want and this dress would still look beautiful on you,” and his words do nothing but to raise your panic levels a little bit more. Why the hell is he complimenting you? You chest raises and falls a little harder now, your heart beats a little quicker and you whimper a little “Oh, fuck, no, I'm sorry I didn't mean… I did mean it, actually.” 

“Huh?!” 

“To tell you that you look beautiful! Because you do and— Fuck, princess, please don't cry, it's not worth it” he whispers the last bit when cover your eyes with your hands softly and you nod, trying to assure him you won't without saying a word “Did you bring the—” 

Did you promise you were going to bring them? You don't even remember. If you did, you wonder what makes him think you would follow through with that silly promise, considering you're trying to cover your issues up in the first place. 

“No, I didn't. I can't just pop them whenever I feel like crying, Yunho, they're only p-preventative,” you mumble but the question is enough to distract you, to ground you. The only thought passing through you being: don’t let them know. Don't let it show. Don't become carnage for them to pick apart and consume even more “I've been drinking, too, it's not safe to take them.” 

The stillness of the room when you both shut up is what allows you to come up to the surface after almost drowning in your panic. Your breathing steadies, your heart only pounds a little faster when you feel hands on top of yours and soft fingertips caressing the skin of them when they bring them down. 

Opening your eyes to find Yunho staring at you it's not unexpected, the cautious way he regards you is. You can't even bring yourself to break eye contact with him because he did, after all, just tried to help you. 

Again. 

And God knows you don't own Jeong Yunho absolutely anything but you can try and not bark at him when he slowly inspects your face, pupils coming and going like he's trying to read you even more. 

He seems to ignore that this, and the way he saw you earlier today, is as vulnerable as you can get. 

“You know what? Fuck this.” 

“What?” 

“Fuck this. We're leaving.”

Next thing you know, your mind catches onto your body's movements when he already dragged you to the hallway and to the top of the stairs “Yunho, we can't.” 

He takes a few steps down and you follow, a little irritated. 

“Fuck this and what they want from us, Y/N.” 

“I can't.” 

He pauses and turns to you, you take the opportunity to release yourself from his grasp and raise your chin a little. From this position, you're taller than him but not for much, especially not when he climbs up a step back. 

“You're seriously going back out there after all the shit your mother just gave you?” 

“Yes,” you answer right away and you can visibly tell that he's pissed at you. Only this time, it comes with zero gratification for your pride. “You're free to leave and do whatever you want but I have a responsibility with my family that I can't just walk out of.” 

“But—” 

“But what, Yunho?” shoulders deflating and arms dropping to your sides, it feels like you're never going to get yourself, your reasons, through his thick skull “What are we going to do if we get out of here now, hm? Get in a car, go for some fast food? End up on a rooftop somewhere or a park or whatever spot you think is cool and calm to reflect on our shitty families, Yunho?” 

He doesn't say anything but the tick of his jaw it's indicative of how your words are hitting him. You're glad and not out if pure pettiness or spite, for once. 

“And then you expect me to magically renounce everything I have, everything I am, because you have a little revolutionary anti chaebol spirit inside of you?” you scoff, leaning in a fraction “This is not a movie, Yunho. I'm not a damsel in distress, I don't need you to tell me how awful my mother is or to save me from her. Now,” you lean back and then take the steps down “I'm going in there, I'm taking the stupid pictures she wants me to take and, if you're planning on staying, I'll leave with you when all of our parent's friends are drunk enough that they don't notice us leaving.” 

You look back up at him and he closes his eyes, indecisiveness written all over his expression. 

And that's, probably, the biggest difference between you both. 

But you feel some sort of safety when he opens them up again: There, pissed and all, is the image of the Yunho you know. 

And that’s exactly who you need tonight. 

“Please don't leave that plate of food up there,” you mumble and he's about to say something else when you interrupt him “I don't want to eat it, I just want you to go back up there so I can go inside first. The last thing I want is for people to think that I'm so in love that I lost all of my decorum in a staff closet or something.” 

It takes him a second, but words come out of his mouth and under his breath “Ew.” 

Your eyes almost meet the back of your head at that. 

“You wish, Jeong.” 

You take the rest of the steps down and then take a huge breath before stepping back into the gala. 

The first thing you do is look for another drink. 

And drink you do. 

You only notice Yunho didn't leave after his brief debauchery of anarchy when you feel his presence next to you, his hand on yours or your arm or your hip the rest of the night (as fake as it feels, it’s a good facade for everyone who’s playing close attention so you welcome the fact that he’s not pissed enough to blown your cover off with a tiny bit of gratefulness), especially when Yeji gets too close or attempts to initiate a conversation. 

You hate that your chest swells with victory when you see her face fall after the last attempt to steal your fake boyfriend. 

But you don't really notice if she puts more effort into doing it. After a particular coctel, you're left dizzy enough that the rest of the night passes in a blur and you're operating in autopilot by the time Yunho leans in and whispers that he's taking you home. 

Why is Yunho taking you home out of all people? 

Well he's not, not really. He’s not driving you anywhere. In fact, he’s making you freeze as he waits for something, hands on his hips and everything. 

“Where's your driver?” 

He looks around the empty street, waiting for the car that brought you two to the gala to appear and you drunkenly giggle, back against the brick wall “Home with his family, I hope.” 

“So who's driving us?” 

“The helicopter, it's parked on the roof.” 

He turns to you “The what?” 

“I'm getting an uber, Yunho. Get yours.” 

“I said, I'm taking you home.” 

“Did you?” you frown as you look through the apps on your phone until you find the one you need. Quickly typing the name of the place hosting the event, it takes a few clicks till it lets you know they're finding a driver for you “I don't remember you saying that. I remember you stuttering in front of grandma Park when she called you handsome,” you lock your phone and look back up at him “Oh and you blushed just like that, too. You look so dumb.” 

Defensively, he stutters out “I'm not blushing.” 

You giggle again and point at his silly, stupid, concerned face “Yes, you are,” a notification makes your phone light up “My car is a minute away.” 

“Our car.” 

“Oh my God,” you groan, “you're a pain in the ass.” 

“And you're drunk!” He points out and you roll your eyes “I despise you princess, truly, now more than ever, but it's against my principles.” 

You scoff, loudly and then laugh at him, at his words, at his mask “You can stop pretending now, Jeong. I don't buy it like everyone else does- Oh, the car.” 

As the uber comes to a stop, you manage to not stumble your way to it and to ignore Yunho’s hands (open and willing to catch you in case you fall) because you certainly don’t need his help. He should know it by now. He shouldn’t even open the door for you, but here he is, ever the gentleman in front of everyone else and a total ass behind closed doors.

Although today…

No. Pushing the thought aside, you ironically bow to “thank him” for his kindness. 

“Buy what exactly?” He asks before you can get in. 

The door is open now, yellow light on both yours and Yunho’s faces, and the driver is trying to conceal (very badly) the fact that he’s paying attention to your conversation, so you put on a smile and shrug to dismiss his question “I’ll tell you later, dear. Thanks for walking me to the car,” his confused expression makes you want to giggle again, but you save it “Text me when you get home, hm?” 

Before he can argue with you some more, you get into the car and welcome the warmth radiating from the leather seat before attempting to close the door. 

Only for it to be pulled open again “Move,” he says a little harshly and then looks at the drive “m-my love.” 

Oh, he’s so bad at this. 

But he doesn’t really leave room to kick him out of your uber when he forces his way in “Good evening.” He says to the driver and smiles at the man behind the steering wheel as well before the door closes and the car is surrounded by darkness again. 

Hands grasping the seat and Yunho’s arm, you think maybe you should've listened to him when he told you to eat something. The world spins a little when the car starts moving and it really takes everything in you, for the first time ever, to pull away from Yunho’s firm arm and make space in between you like you always do. 

There’s silence at last. Until there isn’t. 

Your mind it’s never truly quiet, is it? 

Dizzy and everything, you start planning the rest of your night and your next day. You don’t have to go into the office, so you can take care of everything at home. Okay, cool. There’s this thing you need to talk to HR about and also you need to schedule the lunches you’re bringing to the orphanage. What day is it? Ah, right, you still have a few more days to make everything pretty for the children. Is Yunho on your schedule for the week? You forgot to check, you forgot to ask. The calendar should be updated by now, considering your mom’s main assistant was not at the event tonight and that means she’s working overtime tonight. Probably making sure there’s no wrong headlines on the immediate news outlets and curating the comments on the instagram posts and—

“Whatcha' thinkin' about?”

Silence again. 

Only this time, it’s because you notice Yunho’s fingers on your arm and your head snaps towards him so fast it makes you dizzier. 

Nothing you care about, you want to tell him. Nothing important, nothing that would make an actual impact and close the bridge between you and him enough for him to be handling you with some much care for the umphtenth time today.  

“I’m just really tired,” you say instead and, for once, you’re not lying or deflecting. You’re so fucking tired “I didn’t sleep last night. I was working on something.” Again, not a lie, even though you were working on ways of preventing this entire day from happening. 

“Well, we’re a few minutes away.” 

“I’m a few minutes away.” You correct in a whisper which makes him giggle under his breath and that prompts you to stare bitterly at him.

You don’t ask him what the fuck is so funny but you find out once you reach the gate of your house. Not waiting for him to get down and open the door for you (because you don’t expect him to get down with you at all), you bid your goodbye to the driver -not Yunho- and get out of the car so fast it feels like someone pressed the fast forward button on you. You’re more sober now than what you were at the start of the car ride but it still proves difficult to slide the panel of your front door up and let it read your thumb print to gain access. 

“Stupid fucking thing.” You say in a distracted murmur when it wont read the print and almost let out a scream when someone grabs your opposite thumb and raises it to the panel. 

It reads right away and you turn to Yunho with a scowl on your face “I hate you.” 

“My brother designed this thing before Jeong Tech moved on to cybersecurity exclusively,” he reminds you “Careful with what you say about it.” 

Looking at the street, you find it empty again “Walking home or what?” 

“Stop pretending to not know I’m going to help you in, Y/N.” 

“I don’t need your help!” 

He looks at the thumb he’s still grabbing and the back at you before raising a brow “Sure.” 

Groaning, you take your thumb back to open the gate. You don’t even attempt to close it on his face but you don’t wait for him as you speedrun your front garden and, when you get up the stairs to your front door, it opens on its own. 

Well, not on its own. There’s a staff member smiling kindly at you. She’s one of the new ones, the young ones (younger than you, even) who won’t even tell you their names at your mothers petition, so you usually don’t insist on it because it causes them stress. You shake your head “Did she make you stay up late tonight?”

“Yes, miss Kim. She instructed me to stay the night in case either you, mister Kim or her needed some help.” 

“Help with what?” you say with a tint of annoyance in your tone and you see her bow instinctively at Yunho, who you presume is right behind you now and she offers her hands immediately to take his coat from him but you wave yours so she can stop “Please, go to your room and sleep. If she gets angry because she doesn’t find anyone to help her undress tonight, I’ll deal with it.” 

“But… Miss Kim, your guest—”

“Mister Jeong Yunho,” you don’t turn to him but you guess he bowed to her again because she hurriedly does the same “He’s not staying for long,” you hope. “Please go and get some sleep, dear.”  

She hesitates and your face softens at the slight panic you recognize in her eyes very, very well. 

“I’ll deal with her,” you promise with a genuine smile tugging at your lips “Now, go.” 

Obeying, she bows deeply at both of you before smiling back at you for a split second before disappearing through the staff aisle. There’s not many staff who stay in the property after hours and the ones that do usually stay when your parents need them but you find it quite annoying. 

Not for you but because you’re grown people. There’s not many things the staff do for you besides your breakfast every morning and your clothes -because you couldn’t convince your mom to let you do it yourself- but for her? For your dad? They do almost everything.  

At their grown age. Ugh. 

Getting into the house, you slip your high heels off and you hear the door closing and some shuffling, letting you know Yunho is doing the same. 

“You’re not welcomed here, Jeong, please go away.” 

“Shut up and look at your phone, will you?” 

“Hm?” 

Unlocking it, it’s immediately floated with messages from a new group chat that consists of Yunho, his brother, your brother and you. 

The texts are very clearly written by two drunk idiots (your brothers) and one sober idiot (Yunho) and there’s even a selfie taken in the very same room Yunho found you in earlier today. Frowning, you move to the last texts. 

kim soohyun: mjom and dad 4nd mom and dad are going home to have a little after party in like an horu hbtw  gunho oppa ♡︎: so wer’e going otoo! hehe. stay in your room y/n if u don’t eant to deal with yaunti she’s a lil hdrunkies  kim soohyun: mhm but n o funnhy business  kim soohyun: oh wait  kim soohyun: you’re anot actually ua thing hahahahaha @yn u loser 

Oh you’re going to kill him. Both of them. The three of them, actually, now that Yunho takes the opportunity to send a laughing emoji at what your brother said and when you look up at him, he’s giggling again. 

“What the actual fuck.” 

“He’s funny!” He defends himself right away and you groan before heading for the stairs. The texts and the fact there’s going to be some sort of movement on the house when it’s supposed to be cold, empty and, most importantly, in total silence, it’s enough to sober you up. 

“This is the worst day of my life.” 

Yunho does not follow you. But this house, at this point and with him disregarding your wishes of exiling him out of your life, is as much his as it is yours, so you just let him be downstairs while the darkness of your room engulfs you. You move like that, with the street lights and the moonlight leaking through the big balcony window and toss your purse and phone on the bed. 

Getting your accessories off, they clink and clank on your vanity by door and breathe a little more calmly now that the weight of them is not on you. Slowly, but surely, the stress and sensory overstimulation of the night makes it way off you as well. 

It’s not only until you get to the zipper of your dress that you remember why you needed someone to get you into the dress in the first place. It’s stuck, per se, but you can’t really reach it no matter how much you bend and twist and there’s some noise downstairs that it’s making your eye twitch a little bit. Maybe what’s making it is the ice machine built in on the fridge but you also hear some pans and you find it hilarious that Yunho, out of everyone, is the first non-contractually obligated person to touch the kitchen in years. 

Losing the battle against the zipper and sweating a little bit, the last wave of dizziness from all the drinks you had comes in and so you lower yourself to the floor, near the balcony door and just close your eyes. 

Now that you're home, the lack of sleep really gets to you. It feels like ten minutes or ten hours  simultaneously when someone turns on the light in your room and the sudden intrusion of it burns you a bit when you open your eyes and stare at the ceiling. 

Yunho scoffs from your door and you hear your foodsteps approach until he’s on your line of vision, eyebrows creasing at the sight of him “You’re so fucking weird, I swear.” 

You mumble your jab out “Yeah, laying on the floor in the dark after an exhausting day of dealing with your presence it’s not as weird as it sounds, buddy.” 

He ignores you.

“Made you some food.” 

Suspicious. Slowly, you sit up. There’s a tray on your vanity with bowls and glasses of water and you want to yell at him for putting it there in the first place but the smell of buldak invades your nostrils and your stomach grumbles in response.

You didn't even know you had buldak anywhere in this house. Weird. 

“Is it poisoned?” 

“Maybe,” he shrugs “why don’t you find out?” 

Your stomach grumbles again, begging. Your heart races as you glance at the tray again, anxious. Your rotten mind makes you delay your words, already telling you you’re going to regret it. 

But you’re so hungry. 

“Did you put cheese on it?” 

Yunho is sitting at the edge of your bed now, manspreading and with his elbows on his legs, his hands in between them. This coat is off now, you don’t really know where he left it at but it’s gone and his hair it’s not perfect anymore, like he ran his hand through it a couple of times. He smiles a little at you when he answers, low and teasing, like he can’t believe you asked him that “Obviously.” 

You wish you could convince yourself that the gulp you just did it’s due to your sudden appetite. And it kind of is. But the truth of the matter is that the ramen had nothing to do with it. 

He looks good like this. He doesn’t necessarily looks like the manchild you know and even if it irks you a little that he insists of taking care of you with this little, insignificant detail (after all, he’s going to get out of your life and your complicated relationship with food will endure till the end of times), you can’t really deny the sudden blush it brings to your cheeks. 

Clearing your throat and reaching behind you to open the balcony door, you point to the tray with your chin “Alright, bring it here.” 

It’s truly a shame you can read it in his face that he’s counting this as some sort of victory and, if it were anyone else, you would hate to disappoint them when they inevitably notice further on that this effort of correcting your nasty habits are futile as long as your living with the source of the issue under the same roof. But since it’s Yunho, you don’t really care. 

You don't care, you don’t care, you don’t care. 

The way your heart squeezes and you feel like crying when he intently watches the first bite you take out of the noodles it’s nothing, it’s just your emotions getting mixed in with the spicy taste of them and the cheese and the way your stomach finally gets some sort of relief after being partially empty the entire day. 

You don’t care that he made a little bowl for himself as well. And you definitely don’t care that he’s sitting beside you, eating his food and occasionally glancing at you to check your reaction and you hate him for it. 

It triggers the part of you that doesn’t really know how to behave, the same part who thought of him fondly this afternoon when he wiped your tears away and calmed your nerves. When brought you food upstairs at the gala, when he brushed his fingers against your arm in the car, when he helped you in. 

When you saw his expression after his mom yelled at him. When he got upset after your mom yelled at you. 

It's like you can see it: the knitting needle moving faster than ever, interspersing your lives even more and in the worst way possible, the only way you don't want it to happen is because it's unexpected and you haven’t prepared for it, because it's unnecessary. 

The way your heart is beating for him right now is totally unnecessary. 

“What?” He asks when he notices you staring “I know it’s not that bad, princess, I live in a dorm most days of the week,” he adds, laughing a little and you look down at your noodles again, halfway done “If there’s one thing I know how to do, it’s ramen.” 

“We had this or did you bring it with you?” Stupid question but right now you need to distract yourself from your sudden burst of feelings and vulnerability. 

He looks at you like you’re a weirdo, again “And kept it where?” 

“In that birdnest you call hair, for example.”

“Okay, you know what—” he stops when he hears you laugh and drops his argument alongside his chopsticks, only to laugh a little as well “Smartass.” 

“I’m just hilarious, dude,” you say, shrugging it off like you’re humble or something “Where do you think Soohyun got it from?” 

“Definitely not you.” 

“Tsk,” you shake your head “you have no humor. I don’t know how mister Park stands you.” 

That seems to bring the memory back. Assuming he forgot because you both had better things to focus on, he brings his palm to his head rather harshly and you cringe at the sound it makes. 

“Right! How do you fucking know him, Y/N? I thought you only knew Yeo.” 

“Who?” 

“Yeosang,” at your furrowed brow, he turns a little in your direction and sighs “The guy I was with that one time you saw me at the bowling alley, like a year or so ago I think.” 

Oh, that guy you totally didn’t remember existed until now. Barely remembering that day, you recall it was one of those days you went along with the plans your classmates had at the time. A bowling alley? A public bowling alley? It seemed like such a normal endeavor until you spotted Yunho at the entryway talking with, you assumed at the time and confirmed now, his friend. 

When he saw you and barely raised his hand to wave at you, you remember the feeling of embarrassment washing over your and your cheeks turning red and then excusing yourself and leaving the scene immediately, like you were caught red-handed enjoying shit you definitely shouldn’t be enjoying. 

“Ah,” you tilt your head “I forgot about that,” you obviously didn’t, but you pretend you did “I didn’t know his name, though, I didn’t say hi to you or anything.” 

“Didn’t expect you to,” he shrugs it off “He asked me if you liked me that day and I asked him what gave him the impression you did,” that takes you off guard and you the noodles get caught up on your throat a little before you force them pass it and mumble out a tiny what? “Mhm, I didn’t understand either and he told me to forget it but I remember it because he didn’t even see you that well that night.” 

“Maybe he’s fucking crazy,” you offer and he gives you a look “It would suit you if you friends were crazy, I’m just saying.” 

“Suit me? That's crazy.” 

“Did I stutter?” 

“How do you know Hwa, Y/N?” 

You almost ask him who that is when it clicks on his head that he’s talking about Park Seonghwa. Thinking about him, about your tiny hiccup early this morning and the acute possibility there was of him saying yes to your proposal makes you scrunch your nose in momentary resentment. Because, really, you’re glad he said no. 

Yunho might not be used to this world of tinsel and fakeness anymore but he’s cut for it. Seonghwa? He didn’t look like he would last a second actually involved in it. 

Good for him. 

“He’s working for my brother,” you finally answer after a few seconds of staring at your noodles and sipping a bit of water and Yunho open his eyes at the new information “He’s working on his spaces and aligning his chakras or whatever Soohyun is into these days,” sighing, you think about that dumb tree he made you paint on his wall and then stare at the half finished canvas that’s facing the wall next to your vanity for a few seconds “Probably going to renovate his apartment, too. Soohyun said he’s tired of minimalism or something?” 

“That definitely sounds like Hwa,” he nods and you wonder what he means by that but don’t pry “And his girlfriend?” 

“The mechanic?” you ask and Yunho shrugs “He told me she was his mechanic,” you clarify before continuing “He brought his motorcycle to the building because something was wrong with it, I guess. They’re together together now?” 

“I’m not sure.” 

“She’s really cool,” you smile at the memory of the girl “She looks really cool, at least.” 

“Yeah but he just met her.” 

“And?” 

“Isn’t a little too early to call her his girlfriend?” 

“How the hell would I know that?” you ask and you don’t mean to sound defensive… But you do a little bit so you clear your throat and shrug one more time and decide to joke your way out of it “Should he wait like fifteen years so that his mom forces him to be in a fake relationship with her or something?”

Yunho doesn’t laugh. 

You finish your noodles in silence until he groans and you turn to him.  

He stares at his phone and then closes his eyes, regretfully “God, they’ve been calling me for a few hours now.” 

“They found out?”

“I don’t know.” He whines, resting his forehead on his palm as he looks through some messages. 

You take the opportunity to distract him, tease him a little bit if that’s able to get him off his phone “Do you know anything ever?” 

“I know you’re annoying as fuck even when I make you food and all.”

It works because he locks his phone and stares at you with a pout that feigns innocence and  hurt. 

“Oh, wow,” you gulp the rest of the water down and wipe the corners of your mouth with your fingers before propping yourself up on your knees and then all the way up “And just when I thought we were finally getting along.”

He gets up as well “Is that a thing?” he asks, taking the tray from the floor and leaving it on top of your vanity again, which gains him a look that he ignores “Us being friends?” 

“Well, no,” you turn to him on your way to your walk-in closet “We were born to hate each other and that’s the way it’s supposed to be.” 

“We should at least try, Y/N. I have a schedule with you now.” 

You don’t hear him follow you but when you turn after finding your pajamas for the night, he’s resting his shoulder on the door frame and the same thought as before crosses your mind. 

Why is he attractive like this? Under the soft light of your walk-in closet and with his tie loose and messy? 

You don’t if that is what possesses you to walk towards him, slowly, like a lioness towards her prey and stop just before your chest touches his middle “Is that why you want to get along? Or is it because you’re still pitying me, Jeong?” 

He says nothing, eyes lidded and breath picking up along yours. 

“Is that why you brought me food at the gala? Why you suggested us leaving, defy our parents' wishes only after you saw the way she treated me? Is that it?” 

You want him to tell you yes, that’s exactly what it is. Because that alone can effectively kill the desire that suddenly rushes through you, unbidden and foreign. If you lean a little, if you grab his tie and pull him down towards you… Maybe he’ll reject you, maybe his rejection will kill the feeling down too. 

So you lean in just a fraction. 

And Yunho stays put. 

What the hell is going on? 

“I don’t pity you, Y/N,” he lets you know for the second time tonight “I understand you,” he says, his eyes scanning your face and looking for something. He seems to find it, he seems to be satisfied with it as well “I finally understand you and I think you understand me too. Do you?”

It takes you a bit, but you nod and he tilts his head just a little bit, like saying see? 

“And because of that, you want us to be friends?”

He breathes out and it hits your cheek. Your chest heaves a little at that “Don’t you think we could at least try to get along, princess?” He asks in a whisper. 

You take your time pretending to think about it like the proposal isn’t tempting, like you didn’t already answer yourself inside your head. Truly, you’re a little lost at the closeness and a little dizzy at the way his pupils seem to be committing you to his memory. 

There’s this sudden tension you never let yourself feel before and your mouth hangs open a little when he leans in another tiny, molecular fraction into your space. 

And then common sense takes over. Pushing him away and into your room just to move past him, you shrug “Truce until we break up, it is.” 

“Truce, then.” You don’t need to turn to him to know he’s smiling. 

“They updated it?” you don’t have your phone with you but you can already foresee the amount of activities you have together just to put up with the charade. He looks at you, confused after whatever that was “The calendar?” 

“O-oh, yeah, uhm… I don’t see you for the rest of the week except on saturday morning and afternoon, here it says, um…” at the day mentioned, you freeze “It says: Ask her to take you with her to her saturday activities?” 

“You don’t need to, I’ll tell them you were with me.” You dismiss the idea right away, pretending it’s not a big deal and moving to your big mirror to try and unzip the dress one more time. 

“Why? What do you do on saturdays?” 

Giving him a look, he puts his palms up defensively. 

“I thought we were friends now!” 

“Having friends means sharing your personal agenda with them?” You ask, beyond confused.

“It’s technically my agenda too, so…” 

“I don’t know why it’s your agenda too because what I do on saturdays it’s not necessarily public information and… Oh, stupid zipper,” you look around your vanity for something that can help you get it down “And,” you continue, failing at the task in hand “It’s not really something for everyone. So I’m guessing it’s some sort of way your mom or my mom are punishing you for lashing out this afternoon.” 

“Ok, but what is it?” He murmurs and you stop your movements. Yunho is suddenly behind you. Entranced with finding something that could help you out, you didn’t even notice him closing the distance in the background on the reflection on the mirror. But when you look up he’s there and your poor, poor heart picks up again.

“I volunteer at an orphanage that’s not really… Well, it’s not the best at taking care of the kids but I’m working on that,” you answer, cautiously, catching his surprised expression in the mirror “I bring them some food and toys and since it’s nearing halloween we wanted to decorate the space a little bit but the kids they’re not… Sweet and innocent,” you try to explain, gulping when Yunho raises his hands and his fingers start fidgeting with the zipper “They’ve been through some shit so they cause a little bit of trouble when people go and visit them. They’re used to seeing me but not you, so…” 

“They’re going to bully me?” he asks, regarding you through the reflection with a tiny smile “I can help you this saturday if you like… It’s stuck,” the pout returns to his lips and you can only hope he’s not able to hear your heartbeats the way you hear them of your ears, the way you feel them on your throat, especially when the zipper gives in and it slides easily down the length of your body. He leaves it at an appropriate distance, where it doesn’t show too much skin and it doesn’t feel impossible to pull it down yourself, either “There.” 

“T-thanks,” you stutter out fast, wondering why he’s not pulling away and time stops ticking when you catch him taking a look at your exposed skin, his cheeks darkening a bit or so you think “I t-thought you had that thing this weekend?” 

“Honjoong’s gig,” he nods “that’s at eight that day. So I can go with you on— I want to go with you.”

What is this? What’s this sudden change of heart? What’s this tension, this mutual understanding, this sudden feeling of wanting to have him around for that? 

Your walls are falling down and that’s dangerous. 

Your clothes might fall down too, if he keeps staring at you like that. 

“Sure,” you mumble out and, for the first time in forever, you welcome with a hug and a kiss on the forehead the sound of the garage door opening and signaling that your parents and his are finally home “Y-you should—” 

He pulls away, awkwardly and almost tripping with the carpet. 

“Y-yeah, no, definitely—”

“I’m going to t-take a shower, so…”

“Oh, yeah, you stink again, um—”

He almost makes it through the door when he turns around and takes the tray “Thank you, by the way.” 

It catches him off guard, you can tell.

“Thank you for today. For showing up, for making me food and everything else.” 

His smile brings that fluttery softness emotion back and you point to the door before he can say anything back. 

“Tell them I’m asleep, please.” 

“Yeah, okay, hm… See you saturday?” 

“Sure.” 

“Okay,” he smiles again and you walk to the door so you can see him out of your room and lock it like his brother suggested over text “Goodnight, Y/N.” 

“Night, Jeong.” You whisper and, finally, you breathe in the normalcy of your room again. 

Only this time, you look around and see the image of Yunho at the edge of your bed. And again, sitting by your balcony with you. And again, when you move through the walk-in closet to get to your bathroom behind it, you turn and the memory of him leaning on the door frame plagues your mind like a virus. 

You’re in so much trouble. 

If you read all the way down here: THANK YOU SO MUCH. This is part two of three (possibly more if the story extends that far). Any feedback would be greatly appreciated!

© jensthwa, 2024.

[bluemantics]

here’s a list of all my fics! i won’t be able to post and reblog much since I’m traveling the next week and a half, so I’ll compile all my works here in the meantime :-)

will also update this list as i write more!

klance:

midnight snacks don't exist in space

G | 1.7K | RP/BP dynamics

There are no rules about eating at 3:00 AM if you're in the far reaches of the universe.

In a bright kitchen while the team is asleep, Lance and Keith find each other, as they always do.

Why We Fight

T | 5.7K | truth-telling au

With the Rebels in need of resources, the team ventures to a planet known for its raw materials in hope that they'll join the coalition. Here's the thing: they need to prove that they can be trusted by telling the truth about why they fight.

Lance finds this more difficult to voice than the others. Unfortunately (thankfully), Keith has returned from the Blade and is more than willing to listen.

"This is bigger than any of us alone."

A Keith By Any Other Name

T | 8.2K | coffee shop rom-com AU

Lance McClain was dared to hit on Keith. Keith thought that’d be the first and last time they’d meet. However, Lance keeps coming back, charming Keith with his jokes and charisma.

Here’s the catch: Keith refuses to tell Lance his real name.

“I’m not telling you my name unless you order and move on.” Keith pointed to the register screen.

“Alright, I’ll do a cappuccino.” Lance pulled out his wallet from his jacket pocket and slid his card over to Keith. “Now will you tell me your name?”

“My name is Yorak.” Keith passed the card back to Lance, who looked shocked at that answer, his eyebrows raised to his hairline. Keith was beginning to realize how dramatic Lance could be.

“Really?!” Lance demanded. He looked pityingly at Keith, and irritation welled up in his gut.

“No!” Keith rolled his eyes.

“You’re the worst,” Lance huffed.

a billion light years from here

T | 8.5K | post-canon fix-it

Keith and Lance reconnect over letters. Through their writing, Keith learns to open up, and Lance learns what a home is.

"For all the game I talked on the castleship about missing home, now that I’m back on my family farm, I kind of feel like there’s something missing. Like, even surrounded by all of the juniberry flowers Allura gave us, and even with my parents, I still feel lonely. Or restless."

Or: A post s-8 fix-it AU told entirely through letters between Lance and Keith, both sent and unsent.

out of my head

G | 1.2K | high school au

Keith didn’t even want to watch the spring musical auditions. Forced by Pidge to accompany them, he finds himself surprised at the talent of a particular actor. He also finds himself surprised by his own response. 

OR:

Lance is ridiculously good at singing and Keith is a lovable, impulsive jock.

baptism by fire

T | 1.5K | canon-compliant angst

Prompt: write a private scene between two characters with no dialogue, of just them two alone.

Lance just witnessed the unthinkable. Keith offers his company in wake of the tragedy.

kiribaku:

unstoppably, immovably, unbreakably you

G | 651 | canon-compliant

A character study.

An unstoppable force meets an immovable object.

Katsuki Bakugou’s hand implodes against Eijirou Kirishima’s arm; a flurry of sparks surround them with a sound that rings between his skull.

This is something he knows how to do well. With every blow that Katsuki unleashes, he feels Kirishima retaliate with more, responding like a dance to his every movement. Katsuki is a fine-tuned instrument of destruction, every muscle on his body worked with the intention of winning.

as always please let me know what u think thru asks & comments on ao3!! ill answer asks between travel, but im going to frequently be in spotty service.

[oceaneyesinla]

I just watched the demon slayer and I can't stop thinking about my favorite character. Sanemi, unfortunately, there are very few scenarios and posts about it. Please, it doesn't matter to me what you write, just write to me from him, please😭

Hi! Thank you for being my very first request! <3 Requests OPEN (see link for details)

I hope you've been enjoying Demon Slayer! My heart is breaking for Sanemi and Genya this season so lets call this fix it fic. If this wasn't what you were looking for, let me know (i am always happy to write for Sanemi <3)

CW: implications of domestic violence (not between Sanemi and reader)

Spoilers for the new season of Demon Slayer, and for Sanemi and Genya's backstory

Divider by @/cafekitsune

You knew something had happened. Sanemi was making a valiant effort to hide the pain clawing at his heart, but you knew him too well for that. You could see the frown that slipped onto his face whenever he thought you weren't looking, and you never failed to notice when he slipped out of your shared futon in the middle of the night. He tried to slink away unnoticed, but you stirred every time the warmth of his body pulled away from yours.

For a few days, you allowed it - you continued your usual routine; sharing a tender kiss before he left for training as the sun rose, and welcoming him home with a freshly cooked meal once he finally returned from his extra training with Iguro and Tokito. You feigned sleep as he carefully extricated himself from your hold and left your side.

After a week, you couldn’t stand it any longer. Your husband was hurting, and you knew he would never willingly confide in you. Not because he didn’t trust you, never that, but because he would never think of burdening you with the monsters of his past and the darkness that came with life as a Demon Slayer. He treated you like the only star in a moonless sky and while you loved to be his guiding light, you wanted nothing more than to descend from the heavens he held you in and cradle his battered, bruised heart in your hands.

Which is why, on that seventh night, when you woke to him escaping your grasp, you reached out and wrapped a hand around his wrist, blinking sleep out of your eyes as you stared up at him. What you found there made you more alert in an instant - wetness, shimmering on his skin in the moonlight through the window. Your Sanemi, usually the picture of composure, was … crying.

He must have noted your concern, some shift in your expression, because he used the hand not grasped in yours to roughly wipe at his cheeks, as if he could wipe away your memory of this at the same time as the tears.

“Go back to sleep. Sorry I woke you.” His voice was rough, and even if you had been planning to do as he said before he opened his mouth, you would have changed your mind upon hearing him.

Instead, you sat up, gently tugging him closer to you, encouraging him to sit by your side. Slowly, he complied, never meeting your eye as he did so but also never pulling his hand out of your weak hold. You cradled his hand in both of yours, stroking gentle trails across his palm and down his thick forearm, taking extra care over the scars littering his skin. You didn’t ask - he would talk in time.

A deep sigh left him, as did another couple of tears making silent trails down his cheek. You just kept up your loving affection, and eventually, he spoke again, soft even in the quiet of the night, “I … had a nightmare.”

Your poor Sanemi. His life had been full of tragedy, and as much as he claimed that your love was his saving grace, you wished there was more you could do to soothe the deep scars in his heart and mind. You wondered what had haunted him tonight - was it the memory of pure terror as his mother mindlessly attacked her precious children, or was it the crippling grief of returning to an empty home, greeted only by the lifeless bodies of his beloved little siblings?

“There’s something I never told you, about my family.” He looked up to meet your eye, finally, and you hated the haunted look behind the deep purple you loved so much, “One of my siblings survived.”

What? He had revealed everything about the tragedy that tore his family apart and left him alone in the world to you. He stumbled over the words under the cover of darkness, on a night not unlike this one, not long after you began courting. He had told you all about the way he wrestled his mother away from his siblings, and the way he hit her with all his strength, focusing only on protecting his family. He broke down as he confessed that he felt just like his father as his hands connected with his mother’s body, knowing that he had no other choice.

In hindsight, you remembered how he hesitated to explain the moments between dragging his mother into the street and returning to his home once the sun rose and her body crumbled away. At the time, you never questioned it - he was just a child when all this happened, and he was recounting the most traumatic experience of his life. Now, you know that hesitation was because he was editing the story as he told it.

“Genya, the eldest. He was holding little Koto … Ma only managed to catch across his nose.” Your heart ached as you imagined that poor boy - left clutching his baby brother, surrounded by the corpses of the siblings he had made a pact to protect. What had happened between them, to lead to them being so distant that Sanemi never mentioned that he lived?

“This nightmare was about him?” You lifted Sanemi’s hand to your mouth, pressing a kiss to his knuckles. He looked far younger than his twenty one years as he stared at you, as if he had been expecting words of anger instead of your gentle gesture.

The innocent surprise quickly turned to something far darker as guilt lined his face. He tried to pull his hand out of your hold but you wouldn’t allow it, tangling your fingers together instead. A little huff escaped him at your stubborn act and it reassured you, if only a little. There was the Sanemi you recognised.

“He tried following me into the Corps, but he can’t even use a Breathing Style! The idiot will never stand a chance.” Sanemi sounded frustrated, but you knew him well enough to hear what he wasn’t saying.

“You’re scared you’ll lose him too. It doesn’t matter if he hates you, as long as he’s alive.” Your voice was soft, but Sanemi still looked at you like you slapped him. Another couple of tears welled up on his lash line and broke free, rolling down his cheeks.

“I told him I don’t have a brother. I attacked him. I nearly -” His voice broke, and so did your heart. For both of them. For Sanemi, trying desperately to protect his little brother in the only way he knew, and for Genya, who you couldn’t help but imagine as a little boy with Sanemi’s eyes and a scar across his face.

You were putting the pieces together, and everything seemed clearer, “This happened last week, didn’t it? I knew something was wrong. I wish you said something sooner, love.” He just blinked at you, watching your face as if he thought you would suddenly turn on him and declare his actions unforgivable. You refused to play into his self loathing. The way he treated his brother, his only remaining family, was harsh, but you knew your husband. The front he showed the world was just that - a front. You knew the man underneath that harsh exterior. This was the man who helped you with chores even when he had been awake all night fighting demons, and this was the man who held you like the most delicate flower and looked at you like the finest artwork in the land.

“Did that work? Did he give up on being a Demon Slayer?”

Sanemi shook his head, scowl on his face, “Nah. He’s at Himejima’s now, for Hashira training.”

“You should bring him here.” At your suggestion, Sanemi went to shake his head but you carried on before he could shoot you down, “I want to meet him, and it might be time for a different approach.” You reached up to cradle Sanemi’s cheek, hoping to soften the blow of your next words, “Something big is coming, my love - even I can feel it, and I’m not a member of the Corps. You should make amends. You would never forgive yourself if he died thinking you hate him.”

Sanemi flinched at the mere mention of his brother dying, but his gaze never left yours. His expression was still guarded, as if waiting for your judgement. You brought your other hand up to hold his face between your palms as you spoke, “Stop looking at me like you expect me to berate you. You wanted to protect Genya. That doesn’t make you a monster.”

His face crumpled, “I laid hands on him. I nearly blinded him. I will never deserve his forgiveness.”

“Genya is the only one who can decide that, love.” Your thumbs brushed over the sensitive skin under his eyes, wiping away the remnants of his tears as a soft smile tugged at your lips, “You’re a good man, Sanemi.”

As soon as those words settled in his ears, he was moving - surging forwards to clutch you against him, face pressed into the juncture of your neck. With some effort, you manoeuvred you both into laying down - his hands never leaving you. You let him hold you close, running  a hand through his soft, white hair. The path to reconciliation between the two brothers would almost certainly be difficult, but you would be by his side through whatever may come. Your husband deserved to have peace, and he deserved to be a big brother again.

[beingsuneone]

Tragedy

PART ONE | PART TWO

SYNOPSIS: You hadn’t lived in the Spring Court for a long time, not since the Night Court murdered your entire family except yourself and your brother, Tamlin. You don’t think about it much, except when you argue with Rhysand, when it becomes a threat. You always promise him that you’re sick of him and you’re going to return to Spring but you never do. Until you do.

FANDOM: A Court Of Thorns And Roses

PAIRING(S): Rhysand x Tamlin’s Sister!Fem!Reader

RATING: G

CHARACTERS MENTIONED: Cassian, Azriel, Tamlin, Mor, Amren

GENRE/AU: Pre-Amarantha/cusp of, some fluff, some angst, Lost Royalty Au (Tamlin’s lost Sister)

WORD COUNT: 3.2k

WARNINGS: Physical Violence (thanks Tam), mentions of arguments. LITERAL PHYSICAL ABUSE. TAMLIN SLAPS YOU.

A/N: the dividers looks best on dark mode, also dividers and header made my me :) also, this is both the first thing I’ve finished and the first fic I’ve posted since last year!! (My old fics aren’t up anymore) I reeeallly wanna write a pt 2.

DEDICATIONS: n/a

CREDITS: n/a

The snow crunches softly under your feet, which are already halfway to freezing and you’re only fifty paces outside of the townhouse.

You’d just had another fight with Rhysand and had threatened— for the millionth time— that you were going to return to Spring Court and live with your brother, Tamlin. The only member of your blood family still alive.

Both Rhysand and yourself know it’s not true. You’ve never made it down the first street in Velaris before you’re crawling back and begging Rhysand to forgive you. (Or visca versa)

Partly because you love him and largely because you’re terrified to return to Spring, No matter how petty your pride wishes to be.

When you were a young Fae, you had gone for a walk in the garden with your guard; It was late at night and you had been up due to nightmares. However, when you got closer to the Manor in Spring you heard a distinct scream and several loud noises, and your guard had immediately herded you as far as he could from the manor. All the way out of spring, and through the wall.

There, you were shunned by humans, and hunted by many; until a small family took you in, not caring about your pointy ears or inhuman beauty. They didn’t mind the flowers you magicked into existence or how you made their human babies laugh by shape-shifting. You were never dangerous to them, so they protected you until the day they died.

That was the day you returned to Prythian, mourning the loss of the only real family you had ever known.

Eventually you ended up in Night Court, wandering aimlessly around the vast nothingness of the court; you wondered why such a large and powerful court would seem to have almost no Fae in it— or even civilizations, for that matter. All you could see for miles and miles was mountains, trees, grass… anything in nature but no Fae.

You settled into a cave on the side of a cliff and foraged whatever food you could find. It wasn’t much but it kept you alive.

Until one day, a large winged man at the entrance of the cave, scared the ever-loving shit out of you.

“Oh- my Cauldron!” You had exclaimed, staring at who you now know to be Cassian.

He had given you a weird look and rudely remarked. “You’re awfully small for a Fae.” Then he amended, “although Amren is much smaller.”

You hadn’t known who Amren was, or what in the world he was talking about. “Who are you?” You asked him skeptically.

Cassian had opened his mouth to reply but then Rhysand walked through the door.

“I feel we should be asking you the same question.” He said smoothly. You had been immediately taken by him, his Deep Purple eyes and shadowy aura.

So much so, you almost hadn’t noticed the Mating Bond snapping into place.

Your eyes widened and one of his twitched as his cool expression dropped a moment. Rhysand, as good as he is at masks, wiped his emotions from his face a moment later.

He said, “Why don't you come along with us and tell us along the way.” He had paused and looked you up and down. “Certainly, it will be better than staying in this cave?”

You had just stumbled to your feet and nodded, taking Rhysand’s hand when he had extended to you.

That’s the moment that breaks you every time, what makes you turn right back around into Rhysand’s arms.

You remind yourself that he’s been with you for centuries now and he’s helped you heal more than you ever could on your own.

He’s the one who told you, despite his history with your family, that Tamlin was still alive; he was honest about his Family’s and his involvement in your family’s murder.

It had been hard not to hold it against him but you eventually forgave the man he is, not the kid he used to be. Besides, Spring had killed his family first, so, you supposed it had become an even playing field.

“Love,” Rhysand’s voice comes from behind you. “Please come back, I’m sorry.”

You turn around slowly, your eyes stinging with tears that threaten to flow. “Why do I do this every time?”

He sighs, and gently laces his fingers with yours. “We don’t think rationally when we’re arguing, Darling. It’s okay,” He pulls you closer and you feel yourself relax.

“Besides,” he continues. “I think you should go visit your brother— as much as I hate the thought of it.”

You pull back and look up at him. “Surely, he can’t have grown to be that terrible, Rhysand, he was a good brother when I left.” You think back to before you’d left but it’s so long ago it feels a bit blurry and out-of-reach. “Maybe inattentive but certainly not mean.”

Rhysand looks into your eyes, there’s an emotion loaded in his that you don’t take the time to decipher it because you aren’t sure you want to know. “My personal feelings skew how I see him, Darling, you have to see for yourself.” He pushes a stand of hair out of your face, and gently kisses your forehead. “Maybe it will be different with his own sister.”

You rest your forehead on his chest and he wraps his arms around your waist.

“Can we go back inside now?” You ask quietly. “My feet are freezing.”

Rhysand just chuckles and disconnects from you, save for taking one of your hands and leading you back towards the townhouse. “My love, next time you threaten to run away, please wear a coat and proper shoes.” He says playfully, flashes you a teasing smile.

You mock-glare at him, but can’t stop the smile that spreads on your face. “No, actually, I think I’d quite like to freeze to death before I ever make it out of Night.”

“Of course you would.”

…..

“How far you make it this time?” Cassian smiles when you and Rhysand walk in the door, Azriel is already building a fire and Mor is smiling brightly in a chair in front of the budding flame. Amren is sitting in one of the other chairs grumbling about the lack of good blood to drink or something— you loved her but she’d always confused you.

“Didn’t make it down the block.” Rhysand says back to Cassian, before he sits you down in front of the fire to warm up.

You shrug him off, not needing him to baby you. “Knock it off, Cassian.” You say roughly, not actually mad but feeling even colder now that you’re in a warm space. You turn your head back to Rhysand, who's already leaning on a wall across the room. “And you, Mister Automatic-Heater, come back here.”

“Yes, Ma’am.” He says as Mor snickers at you. Rhysand sits down next to you and pulls you into him, using his magic to warm you up. You both know the fire never works fast enough.

You sit there for a long time, just lost in Rhysand’s presence, long enough that the others clear the room and go off to do their own things.

It’s only when everyone is finally out of earshot that Rhysand leans down, brushes his lips against the shell of your ear and whispers, “I love you, darling.”

You shiver and turn your head to face him before you place a kiss on his cheek and whisper back, “I love you more.”

“Impossible.” He shakes his head, pulling your face upwards, with two fingers under your jaw and his thumb under your chin.

You reach a hand over his and brush his hair out of his face, before you push his arm down and settle your hand on his cheek.

Then, you press your lips to his.

…..

“Okay,” Rhysand sighs, you know he’s nervous about leaving you here. “I probably shouldn’t enter Spring, so I’ll wait here. Use the bond if you need me, please.”

You place a hand on his cheek, and get closer to him. “Rhysand, I promise you, I’ll be okay.” You swipe your thumb soothingly on his cheeks. “I have to do this.”

He nods, placing his own hand over yours, while nuzzling into your hand. “I know, my love, you can absolutely handle yourself.” He pulls back, and gives you a reassuring smile. “Alright, go.”

You nod your head once and walk over the border to Spring; before you take another step, you turn back. “I love you, Rhysand.” You say, assuredly. The words have more weight to them than normal, like you’re trying to convince both yourself and Rhysand that everything is going be alright.

Luckily, the Manor rests right on one of the edges of spring, so it’s easy to find after all this time.

After a few minutes, you reach the front gates. A guard tilts his spear into your path so you have to stop.

“What is your business here?” He says gruffly.

You straighten your back and try to find the most regal parts of yourself. “I am Y/N of spring court, High Lord, Tamlin’s sister.” You're sure you said it so demandingly that he’d just let you in but the guard just looks you up and down.

“Spring Court High Fae… In Night Court Clothes?” He shakes his head. “Plus our Y/N died several Centuries ago.”

You sigh. “I don’t need to convince you, I just need to speak to Tamlin. Please.”

The guard stamps his spear, as if to tell you to go away.

So, you pull out your last playing card. “Okay, Fine. As the High Lady of the Night Court, I demand a meeting with your High Lord.” You pause. “Unless you’d like to directly deny both myself and my High Lord?”

This sends the guard into a tizzy. He opens the gate and leads you inside. He abandons you there though, and leaves you with a red-haired man.

“Who are you?” You ask.

He raises an eyebrow. “I am Lucien. Who are you, and how did you convince the guard to let you in?”

You straighten up once again. “I am Tamlin’s sister, Y/n.”

He looks you up and down and gives you a ‘you’re joking, right?’ Look. “You’re in Night Court clothes.”

You throw your arms in the air and let them fall back down. “Yes, thank you for stating the obvious. Obviously, I believed all my family to be dead and sought a home elsewhere.”

“In the Night Court. The home of the people who killed your family.” His voice is flat.

“I ended up there, but it is not where I originally went. My personal guard, Claude, took me to the human world to keep me safe from the previous High Lord of the Night Court. He was hunted down for being Fae.” You stop, feeling the annoyance bubbling under your skin; still, Lucien looks as though you’ve just spun an elaborate story. “Just let me see Tamlin, he will recognize me.”

Lucien doesn’t move.

You continue. “Do not make me use my status again please.”

This catches his attention. “What status? because if you really are from Spring Court, you certainly don’t have any.”

Rolling your eyes, you pull out the ‘High Lady’ card, once again. “If you must know, and I’d much prefer you leave me to tell this to Tamlin, but I am the High Lady of the Night Court, and that is how I got inside.” You stare at him for a moment. “Can I see my brother now, or must I find him myself?”

Lucien practically scoffs at this point. “Now I really don’t believe you. It’s unbelievable enough that Tamlin’s sister would live in Night Court but, High Lady? That is not even a real title.”

You are really starting to get annoyed. “Okay, well, first, I didn’t even know that Night Court was the one to kill my family until I’d already met Rhysand, and second, we’re mates! I don’t really get to choose that, do I?”

You’re about to say something else but you stop. “Why in the world am I arguing with you. I don’t even know you. Where is Tamlin?”

“I’m right here.” A new voice enters the conversation; it’s deep but familiar, and there’s a new edge to it that makes your skin crawl.

When you turn to face him, he stops in his tracks. His eyes widen a fraction, and his lips purse.

“Y/n?” He says, taking a tentative step towards you. “Is that you?”

You sigh in relief. “Yes, it is. Although I’ve had a hard time convincing everyone else of that.” You close the gap between yourself and your brother and hug him.

“I thought you were dead.” He says quietly. “We never found your body. I assumed the awful Night Court took your body just as our father took their wings.”

You freeze at the mention of the wings. They are Rhysand’s Mother’s and Sister’s wings. Then Tamlin seems to notice my attire. The air turns cold, a power you thought only Rhysand and maybe the Winter Court possessed.

“Why are you wearing Night Court clothes?” He says, tugging on your sleeve. You pull away from him, just a few paces.

“When I escaped,” you start, feeling inexplicably nervous as Tamlin stares down at you. “Claude took me to the human world. I lived there for at least a century before my human family died and I came back here.” You stop, gauging his reaction. “Then, I assumed everyone else had died that night and couldn’t bear to come back to spring, So…. I just walked, and walked, and— you get the point.

“Eventually I ended up in the Night Court and I lived in a cave for a long time before Rhysand found me and—”

Tamlin cuts you off. “Rhysand? Why do you talk about him with so much familiarity?” His teeth grind and he looks positively fuming. “You do know that he’s the reason our family is dead, right?”

“Well, yes, but—”

“You would betray our family like this and become part of the Court who caused our demise?”

“No, Tamlin—”

He turns his face away from you, his fists clenched. “No sister of mine would behave this way.”

Your mouth drops open, but you snap it shut. “Tamlin, when I met Rhysand, I didn’t know who killed our family.” You explain calmly. “I was just a starving woman, living in a Night Court cave.”

He glares down at you, an air of superiority hanging around his head. “And how did you learn that it was Night Court? Who killed them?”

You take a deep breath. “He told me. Honestly, truthfully, he simply told me.” You stretch your shoulders nervously, and prepare to tell him that thing that you suppose will anger him most.

It's a reasonable reaction, you think; after all, if you’d been in his place, you’d be plenty angry that your sister was conversing with people who killed your entire family.

Before you can get out though, Tamlin speaks again. “You will come live in Spring with me.” It’s not a question, he is telling you what you must do.

Your eyes soften. “I cannot do that.”

“You can and you will.” Tamlin says with a finality in his voice.

You give him a pointed look now and reiterate, “No, I cannot and I will not.” A tug on the bond pulls your attention away briefly, and you realize how sick with worry Rhysand must be. You tug back to reassure him. “Tamlin, I live in the Night Court, that is my home.”

You know sugar coating your situation will not help, but based on his reactions, it’s becoming hard to get out.

“This will be your home again.” He says it so plainly, and though he tries to leave no room for argument, you know that you must argue.

“I’m the High Lady of the Night Court, Tamlin. This cannot ever be my home again.” You say sternly.

He falls quiet and unmoving for just a moment before he explodes.

“Not only have you been cohorting with our enemies, but you have married the worst one of them all?” He roars, you haven’t heard someone yell at you so thoroughly for a very long time. Even when you argue, Rhysand never yells.

“Rhysand is not a bad man, Tamlin, no matter what you may think!” You snap back.

It takes you a moment to register what happens next, but, before you can, you're on the floor and your cheek has a harsh sting.

When you compose yourself and realize what happens, you whisper. “Rhysand was right about you.”

His face goes red once more but he just releases a strained breath and spits, “High Lady’s do not exist, no matter what he tells you, dear sister.” Then with the meanest sneer you’ve ever seen in your life, he says, “Do not come crawling back to me when your life falls into shambles.”

You rise to your feet, dust off your pants, and try to retain your composure. “You are not the brother I remember, Tamlin.” Then, you turn and begin walking to the door. “In fact, I am not sure you are that brother at all.”

The manor’s door shut behind you and you tredge back to Spring’s edge where you know Rhysand’s comforting arms will be waiting.

You see him before he sees you, but his jaw clenches as soon as he does.

“What did he do to you.” He says it so flatly it doesn’t sound like a question; he closes the distance between you two and runs his thumb over what you assume is a mark on your face.

You try to make light of the situation to hold back the tears that are gathering in your eyes. “Things got a bit physical.” You amend, “on his end, at least.”

Rhysand does not appreciate the joke. “I should’ve gone with you, he never would have tried anything in front of me.”

You shrug. “I suppose that shows the kind of man he is.”

Rhysand turns your cheeks to get a better look at the mark. “No, Darling, I think this does.”

He lets his hand fall from your face, and so you wrap your arms around his waist, burying your stinging face in his chest. “You were right, Rhys. I should have listened to you.”

You can feel him shake his head. “No, you needed to see for yourself; I should’ve been there to prevent the worst of it.”

You pull away from him and look back towards the Manor. You spot Tamlin watching the two of you from a balcony, but you are far enough away, you can’t make out his expression.

Rhysand stares back, a silent promise for retribution, one way or another.

“Can we please just go home?” You tug on Rhysand’s sleeve. “I want to rid my mind of this interaction.”

He looks back down at you and smiles tenderly. “Of course, my love.”

…..

You had fallen down into your shared bed with Rhysand and let the tears silently fall while Rhysand goes off to do whatever it is he needs to do.

You had told him you wanted a minute alone; after probably only ten minutes you had drifted off to sleep.

Now, you’re being shaken awake by Mor.

“Y/n, wake up.” She sounds panicked so you shoot up.

“What is it? What’s wrong?” You say, as your heart pounds, every fear you’ve ever had races through your mind.

She looks deep into your eyes. “We can’t leave Velaris,” her expression reflects sorrow. “And Rhysand is gone.”

All content belongs to @beingsuneone , do not repost, copy or post on other platforms without my permission.

[antimony-medusa]

So what kind of a dad is q!Phil anyways?

So, Phil getting Tallulah and Chayanne to wear armour and learn how to fight. Also Bad doing this with Dapper, and the Brazilians trying to do this with Richas, and the french with Pomme, but when it gets discussed, it's mostly focusing on Phil because of the contrast of Wilbur not wanting his kids to have to fight. There's some really fun discussion that comes up with that!

And the interesting thing is that when we're trying to pull up other cultural touchpoints to compare phil-and-fighting-and-the-kids to, a lot of the other characters have very specific vibes, so to speak. I was in a discussion the other day where someone compared Phil in this with the dad in Supernatural, and him getting his sons to follow him on hunts. Cause he's a dad training his kids to fight, right? From a very young age? However, I don't think this is a perfect comparison, and I wanted to share the one that comes to mind for me, despite the fact that it deals with some pretty dark topics. This whole post deals with some dark topics, you might want to check the tags, just so you know.

Anyways, I never watched Supernatural, so I didn't do much more than think emoji in the moment when this comparison came up. But I checked in with friends who have watched it, and I think Phil QSMP and John Winchester Supernatural are acting from some pretty different places. John Supernatural is teaching his kids to fight because they have a duty and a lineage and have to help save the world, but at the same time there's this tragedy there that implies that he's so focused on his duty as a hunter that he's not seeing that maybe you don't need the kids for that. They could start when they were older—or maybe they could not start this! He essentially conscripts them into a battle that shapes the course of their lives, as little warriors, and they never have a choice in it. And he's not above using them as bait, because they're warriors, right? The battle is so important? They want to be involved, they want this (of course they want this, you're their dad, and they believe you that this is important). He's a true believer.

Whereas Phil is faced with a world that actively and constantly wants to kill his kids, and he's trying to train them to defend themselves. He's trying to say that there's danger out there, you take care of yourself, I'm going to put myself on the line for you, but if I fail, if I'm not there, you won't be defenseless if it comes down to it. I have had my beef with fics that take on this topic, in fact, because I've seen people write Phil as using his kids as bait to get to the codes or forgetting his kids in his code battle, and that's not how I interpret the character motivattion and actions. For me, the way I see it, Phil is always thinking of how best to defend the eggs, and everything else is in service to this. He's a man with anxiety on an island that wants to kill his kids, not a warrior in an epic battle.

Does this mean that the eggs are gonna grow up and go to therapy about their childhood full of danger? Hell yeah they wll. This is not an ideal childhood. But— and this is the crucial thing— they're going to grow up. Same with Dapper, same with Richas, same with Pomme— living your life under constant need to teleport out to safety is bad, objectively, but when the alternative is living in the moment until you die, I think the teleporting out is better, actually.

And the comparison that comes to mind for me, because of my personal experience, is not examples in media of parents training their kids to fight, but examples in media or in real life of parents dealing with serious and or terminal illness in kids. Cause that's what my family did. And boy is there resonance there.

I don't know of any parent of a kid with cancer who likes putting their kid through treatment. Chemotherapy sucks, radiation sucks, surgery sucks, immunotherapy sucks, none of this is good. I have seen this tear up parents (and siblings) inside. But it's better than letting their kids DIE, isn't it? And before you say well, obviously everyone is on the same page when it comes to things like chemotherapy, I have *seen* people go out there and post at cancer families about how they can't believe they're putting poison in their children's bodies when they should just eat better, etc. (This take reminds me strongly of the "she shoudln't wear armour cause she shouldn't have to fight" take about Tallulah.) Serious illness in kids forces you into terrible situations, but the only saving grace is that they're better than the alternative, you hope.

The only thing that makes me go ehhhhh maybe with Phil and the Mr Supernatural is him letting Chayanne fight, but Chayanne is a kid being hunted whose sister (also being hunted) is disabled, and this happens whether or not Chayanne is involved, and he wants to try and defend her so bad. I don't think saying "let her die if necessary, don't intervene" is going to be a conversation that ends up with less trauma, if you know what I mean. That is simply a situation that has no real win conditions out of it. At least this way he feels like he has some control? (Note: this is a bad situation, there's no getting around it.)

QSMP is so often a story about forces beyond our control trying to destroy us, and while Supernatural and its ilk also has that tone, within Supernatural there's at least a population that doesn't have to be part of the battle, so opting into the battle becomes on some level a choice, and involving children in that is also a choice, one that you can hold up to the standards of allowing children to have a childhood and go "is this ethical". On Quesadilla island, there's literally no opting out of this fight. There are malevolent forces that are directly trying to destroy you, destroy your children, and the question of allowing children to have a childhood has been effectively taken out of your hands. You simply have to do the best with the situation you have, and have a birthday party while keeping the armour on. And this reminds me much more strongly of situations like childhood cancer, than it does of cases in media of people concripting their children into battle.

In both cases children are trying to fight malevolent entities that want them dead, as pushed to fight by their parents, but boy, at least to me, the tone is pretty different. I think the question of "is it self defense or did you choose to be here" is pretty important.

[slytheringlambert91]

Masterlist (of sorts)

For ease of me remembering, I'm posting a list of my WIPS/fics/future ideas

I'll include links to published works, all on Ao3

Pretty much all my fics are Jason-centric

Also as a disclaimer, I have not read the comics. Everything I know comes from other fics, and my comic obsessed friend who will go on rants about it.

you guys can pry good parent bruce wayne out of my cold, dead, hands, alright?

Also my other most common trope is jason and Damian met in the league and are really close. It makes my beta reader happy, and anything to keep her from taking me off her WIPS xD

Also I will take requests!

POSTED:

The Haunting of Wayne Manor...By Jason Todd: Canon Divergence, Jason doesn't go with his original plot for Gotham, but sneaks into the Manor and lives there in secret. Based on this post

(Don't) Leave Me Alone: Jason is hit with Fear toxin

In Which Jason Is a Little Bit of an Idiot: Jason gets hit with cuddle pollen way too many times and, like an idiot, refuses to ask for help. it causes issues for everyone involved

The Cat Distribution Center (But Magic?): Jason finds a cat. That's the whole fic.

The Power of Brotherly Love (And Therapy): A fix-it of my friend's fic, who wrote her whole fic just to torture me. This one is a lot heavier and deals with suicide and self-harming.

No, Tim, You're Not Being Kidnapped! (Except Maybe You Are...): No Capes AU where Jason drags Tim into the family because he is just meant to be a middle child. (Based on this post)

^Also I think this will be a series I update when ideas strike, the first story will be inducting Tim into the family, and we'll go from there.

”Emergency”? FUCK! Jason dealing with chronic pain and his family convincing him to accept help

Doomed by the Narrative: pretty much just 2800 words of Jason spiraling, several references to Greek tragedies, and a little panic attack and dissociation thrown in for fun. there's a happy ending (or at least hopeful ending) I promise

No Grave Could Hold My Body Down: Jason gets buried alive again, hurt/comfort, bruce is a good parent

Whumptober 2024 Day 1: tim and jason are caught in a cave in, jason nearly loses control of his pit rage.

That Time Jason Almost Died (Again...): Whumptober days 10 and 22, (bleeding through bandages, slurred words). A mission goes wrong for Bruce and Jason, pretty much what the title says

The Tragic Demise of Damian Al Ghul-Wayne: Exactly what it sounds like and I feel bad about it, I apologize in advance.

Theft in the Family...By Jason Todd: Jason is tasked by Talia to take Damian to Bruce. This changes a few things. (primarily fluff, because I've done a lot of angst lately)

ONGOING:

A one shot in the no capes universe: Tim’s first time getting a bad grade while living with Bruce

Theft in the family

Mafia au

Dick and Bruce talk, and that's about the whole fic

no holds barred beatdown, I know it's not whumptober anymore but still. Jason notices how much anger Dick suppresses and gets him to spar, no holds barred

IDEAS:

Possible Mafia AU

Shifter AUs

Someone will be getting transfigured into an animal

Time Travel where everyone has time traveled but is convinced they're the only ones who have time traveled (Based on this post)

Justice league meets batfam for the first time

Fic based on Nobody’s soldier by hozier (edits are haunting me and I must)

[maxzinn]

What bothers me after all this drama is that those users that made the posts calling out the type of fics they were bothered with, didnt actually include like a list of those fics (probably to avoid an entire purge and hatred), and everyone in the comments of those posts just suddenly at a flip of a switch, all could only think about one. single. story...and that was the 2 part fic from the now deactivated account.

So for a fic which diverges from canon by having Aventurine NOT go through the entire rollercoaster of drama and be given a chance at a normal life, everyone and their mother jumped to bully the writer. Please, gimme a break, he could've still become the same charismatic gambler we all know and love, just he would've had an oh idk- a little support system given by the person that got him out of a much crappy life? Seriously, how many fics AREN'T out there which diverge at one point from canon?! Or, even better, ignore the canon completely and they are their own thing! HOW MANY- A LOT OF THEM ARE!

It's like they were bothered that there can be a "what if Aventurine was saved before he went through the rest of that hell?", as if his canon story is the only thing that matters and shouldn't be changed at all - THE MAN IS IN SHAMBLES. HE WANTED TO UNSUBSCRIBE FROM LIFE. And I cant be the only one who doesnt believe that him, as he grow up, didn't wish for someone to come to his aid, to take him out of there, but the more time passed, the more hope he lost and he just "well, guess I'll do this on my own". He. Has. No. One. To. Talk. To. Without. Him. Hidding. Behind. The. Persona. He. Created. No one.

Anon you have said exactly everything that I wanted to hear ‼️

(They all started this mess so I’m not gonna stop till I get my point straight across their faces)

These people CANNOT tell me that Aventurine didn’t want to be saved. They CANNOT tell me he didn’t hope for a helping hand throughout this whole hell.

The IPC had failed him and his race from the very beginning when they failed to protect Sigonia IV and the Avgins from the Katicans, and yet I still see people saying that creating a fic where he was saved is disregarding his effort in surviving like pls- my girl… he wanted to DIE to be with his family again and he’s literally in the clutches of the very same company that FAILED him and his kind. His life is literally in their hands and NO ONE would ever want to be at the mercy of the very same people who failed you.

He’s tired. He thinks so lowly of himself. He thinks he has no worth. He has no self-esteem.

All of that could’ve been avoided if someone had helped him, way before his neck was branded by the slave mark, or even during the time he was enslaved.

Like you said, there are already tons of fics that diverts from the canon story of the character into something that is almost disregarding it, so why is that an issue now?

We all love him the way he is, but don’t you think it’s also insensitive to say that when he himself hated the process or events that transpired to become what he is now?

I give him credit for his hardwork and efforts for staying alive and getting past the hell, but that cost him EVERYTHING. He survived, but he thinks so lowly of himself. He still think he’s only worth 60 tanbas. He didn’t refute Ratio and Sparkle’s insult. He throws his own body on every gamble because he thinks that’s his only worth… and now a simple harmless fic that aimed to provide him a normal life free from that tragedy was frowned upon by everyone just because the reader “bought him as a slave”.

[eliaskew]

Found a post on Reddit talking about possible Marauders AU's and thought I'd throw my own hat into the ring so, here are some, specifically british shows/movies I think could be adapted into brilliant fics and AU's.

The History Boys-

A group of Sixth Formers from a poor area in Yorkshire achieve the highest grades in their A Levels that the school has ever seen. Consequently, the principal makes them stay an extra term so that they can prepare to get into Oxford and Cambridge universities (the most prestigious universities in the UK).

There's a wide variety of characters, including an eccentric "general studies" teacher who takes the boys on "special" motorbike rides and feels them up at stops, a young history teacher brought in to get them ready for Oxford, despite being a fraud, and the boys themselves who are all colourful and weird in their own ways.

The story has tragedy, heartbreak, exam stress, lots of very British banter and an excellent commentary on Queerness and Queen relationships. It's the British answer to the Dead Poets Society and has adaptations on the BBC.

The Full Monty-

Another British film, once again set in Yorkshire (both around the canon time period too). After the Thatcher administration, hundreds of miners in Yorkshire lose their jobs, as do many factory workers.

This film follows a dad attempting to raise money so he can fight his ex-wife in court for joint custody of their son, his best mate who feels insecure about his weight, a depressed young queer man looking after his mother and a few others besides as they try and fail to look for jobs now their steel factory is bust.

They see hoards of women watching male strip shows and decide to give that a try as a way to raise money. Hijinks ensue including stripping, intimidation of repo men, running naked from the police, terrible dancing, hilarious auditions for the troupe and more.

It's a commentary on class, desperation and male friendships which remain wholesome throughout. There is also a queer relationship between two characters which while not particularly explored in the film could be explored in an au.

The Importance of Being Ernest-

Oscar Wilde's most famous comedy where two upper class gentleman pull a long con on the people around them by each pretending to be a fictional "Ernest". Of course, the core of this revolves around the women they're interested in:

Jack Worthing invents a brother named "Ernest" for the people of his country home, while his friend Algernon Montcrieff creates an invalid friend called Bunbury. Both characters invented by these men as reasons to skive off their duties and pursue romantic encounters.

Jack is interested in Algernon's cousin, who has a fascination with men called Ernest and Algernon hears about Jack's ward and, seeing her as a way to raise himself out of debt, pretends to be Jack's non-existent brother "Ernest" to get in with her.

It's a comedy of errors entirely befitting of the Marauders era with a lot of British tongue-in-cheek humour, romantic moments and convoluted deception.

Derry Girls-

A more modern entry than most of the others on my list. Set in an all girls school (minus James the wee English fella) in Ireland it follows a group of girls and James as they go through the trials and tribulations of living in Ireland during the Troubles, school life, religious guilt and sexuality. Again, it's incredibly funny, heartbreaking in moments and highly relatable. Definitely a good choice for an AU, especially if one wanted to focus more on the friendship side than the relationship side of the Marauders fandom.

Sex Education-

Fairly self explanatory, a group for British pupils at a Sixth Form College discovering their sexualities, learning about sex in a way that wasn't taught at school. Very queer, very funny at points with moments of family troubles, harder topics and exam stress. Modern day as opposed to Derry Girls which is set in the 90's so more wiggle room if you're someone who prefers modern au's. Large and diverse cast with individual stories and character growth so another one that's perfect for including the entire Marauders Ensemble.

Good Omens-

An Angel and a Demon are both sent to earth, one to bring miracles, the other to tempt people to sin. Along the way they get to know and care about each other, forming a pact where they will occasionally help each other out on jobs since they're effectively cancelling out each other's usefulness.

6000 years later and the Antichrist is born, Crowley (the demon) has the idea for them both to raise the boy together so that he neither turns out good OR evil, which Aziraphale (the angel) agrees to. However, due to an entirely human mix-up at the Antichrist's birth, they end up raising the wrong boy.

And the Actual Antichrist begins the end of the world. Crowley and Aziraphale have to work together to find him, and stop it, despite the risk of their respective sides catching wind and punishing them.

This is essentially a very British 6000 year long slow-burn between two male presenting entities and would be ideal for an enemies to lovers situation.

The Holiday-

In fairness, I think I have seen someone do an AU of this film but I can't remember the name of the fic so I'm going to put this forward anyway.

A british Publisher finds out that the man she's in love with is marrying someone else after leading her on and becomes incredibly depressed by this. At the same time, in America, a producer has caught her long-term boyfriend cheating on her and though she is devastated by this, she cannot cry. Instead of both of them wallowing in there maudlin, they decide to go on holiday and end up swapping houses for a while.

There are cultural differences each must overcome including the british lady's drunke, widower brother stumbling into her house while she isn't there and entering a relationship with the American, and the British lady encountering an American composer whom she quickly falls for despite him being in a relationship already.

Very sweet, very touching with explorations of romance, self and belonging. Another wide cast of characters but more focused on the romantic aspect of the four leads.

BBC Ghosts-

Specifically the British version of this, because while the American version is brilliant, this is focusing on British media.

Allison and Mike are a married couple who are struggling with their finances. When a distant relative of Allison's dies they're gifted her Manor house in rural England with plans to turn it into a BnB and earn some money. The ghosts inhabiting the house, varying from a Tory Politician who died in a sex scandal, to a woman burned as a witch and a caveman who died on the grounds- aren't very happy about this and do their best to scare them away.

An accident leaves Allison dead for a few minutes before modern technology is able to bring her back and from that moment onward she is able to see and speak to the ghosts.

Various hijinks ensue where the ghosts and Allison must learn to get along despite the issues with the house, the failing BnB business and Button House being put on the map through various historical discoveries.

This would be another great one for an Ensemble feel, historical discoveries and shenanigans around the different ways each character was raised (and subsequently died.) Incredibly funny, very British humour and very on brand for the Marauders.

And finally: Twelfth Night (or really, any Shakespeare, Twelfth Night just happens to be my favourite and I'm incredibly biased)-

Another comedy of Errors. Sebastian and Viola, twins from Medici (if I remember correctly) are caught in a storm and shipwrecked, both believing the other is dead. Viola washes up on Illyria having been saved by a local captain and decides her best bet at survival is to put on Sebastian's clothes and pretend to be a man so she can seek employment under Duke Orsino.

Duke Orsino is head over heels for Countess Olivia, whom is mourning her family and also hates the Duke. Viola, as Cesario her male disguise, falls for Orsino, Orsino sends them to court Olivia in his wake, Olivia falls for Viola/Cesario and then Sebastian washes up with his pirate "friend" and all hell breaks loose and no-one is able to tell one from the other.

Theres a side plot involving the members of Olivia's household sending a man insane because he's a dick which is just as funny as the rest of it.

Very funny, lots of deception and a brilliant exploration of relationships, self-discovery, identities and queerness. It's not a stretch to see Viola/Cesario as trans, Orsino and Olivia as queer and Antonio (Sebastian's pirate "friend") as gayer than a bottle of crisps.

Plus, I think there should be more Shakespeare Au's and this one, while the plot is complicated, fits the Marauders characters brilliantly well.

[buddiesmutslut]

Okay so Eddie is absolutely going to be queer this season, & I’m taking that from Ryan’s interview about how Eddie sees Hen & Buck living their truth and how he wants that for himself. Of course, we’ve already talked about him mentioning the two canonically queer characters, BUT!

I haven’t seen it talked about who he DIDN’T mention, & by that, I specifically mean Howard “Chimney” Han.

Chim, who’s canonically straight.

Chim, who JUST got married to his wife & the mother of his child this season.

If Eddie’s comparing & basing his life off of somebody, wouldn’t Chim be the obvious answer? His friend, who’s happy & settled into married life with his wife and their child, doing kind things like fostering his friends’ kid so they don’t have to be apart. Despite my personal feelings about Madney, they’re canonically a happy, healthy, married, straight couple. If Eddie’s straight, shouldn’t that be EXACTLY what he wants??

Even Bobby, who he’s bonded with over the death of a spouse. Bobby & Athena, who are also married & happy & straight, making it work after tragedy.

But no, instead of those people, he picks Hen & Buck. Hen, a married lesbian woman who’s fighting to get her daughter back (not in a GREAT place atm) & Buck, who just figured out his sexuality, is taking it slow with a man he hasn’t even called his boyfriend yet (I only mention that bc again, Eddie is a nester, he wants a family)

I think who he didn’t name is equally as important as who he did & that’s why I fully believe in queer Eddie Diaz at some point, & I think it makes the most sense at this point in his story.

(I think it would’ve also made sense after Ana & his breakdown & all the therapy he went through THEN, but I can only go back in fics, so s8, post-Chris leaving, blowing his life up time it is)

[jensthwa]

mountebank chem pt. one (JYH x reader).

part of the love's an uncharted path universe ★.

SUMMARY:

* 𝐦𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐭𝐞𝐛���𝐧𝐤: 𝐭𝐨 𝐛𝐞𝐠𝐮𝐢𝐥𝐞 𝐨𝐫 𝐭𝐫𝐚𝐧𝐬𝐟𝐨𝐫𝐦 𝐛𝐲 𝐭𝐫𝐢𝐜𝐤𝐞𝐫𝐲. The first time you met Yunho, you knew he was going to be part of the biggest tragedy of your life: the loss of your freedom, of your free will. You didn't know why back then but what you did figure out is that you and Jeong Yunho were going to, eventually and very publicly, date each other at some point. Is that reason enough to hate his guts? Well, of course! Now, when the time comes to fulfill the prophecy, how the hell are you going to pull it off? And, most importantly, what do you need to do to not fall in love with him in the process?

PAIRING: rich!yunho x rich!reader.

GENRE: enemies to friends to lovers.

WORD COUNT: 9,7k.

WARNINGS: eventual SMUT ☽ (MINORS DNI) attempt !!! at comedy, crying, mentions of drinking and drug usage, mature language, petty behavior, insults, yunho and reader really hate each other i fear, pet names (princess), negative mentions of body image, panic attacks/panic disorder, negative??? (or so they think) tension. no smut on this part, it's an introduction to these two characters, their families and the chaos they bring to poor yunho's and readers life.

NOTES: hi everyone! i know i posted the hwa fic ten days ago or so, but i wanted to get started with this mini series that is PART OF THE LOVE'S AN UNCHARTED PATH / SHOW & TELL UNIVERSE. there's mentions of the last installment plot so, if you're new around here, you can always find the rest of the stories on my masterist! this is 100% self indulgent, as all fics should be, and i think i've re-read it so many times that if you find a typo or something that just doesn't make sense, you can blame it on english not being my first language i guess lmao. i hope you enjoy it and if you do feel free to send to my askbox/reblog/type in any feedback or thoughts! <3

POSTED: september 14th 2024.

permanent taglist: @hotteokkay, @potatomountain, @fairylover68, @e3ellie, @alsomimi

masterlist. - part two - part three.

A trembling finger is all you can see in the still dim light of the room. 

It's quiet, very quiet. You haven't heard anything but your thoughts all night. It grosses you out, so you wait for the clock to turn to six and press the button you've been hovering on for, at least, half an hour.

Park Seonghwa is your only hope right now. 

The conversation doesn't go as planned. 

“No, I will not go to the party with you and no, I will not pretend to be your boyfriend.” 

Not even your great pitch could've turned him around to help you. Sighing, you replay the conversation in your pounding head. 

“This is very inconvenient for me but I hope you and the cool girl I saw yesterday are happy together… Even if it ruins my happiness forever!” 

Your happiness was probably ruined the day you were born. Sighing again, you turn to the window. 

It’s raining. 

You didn’t notice until you ended the call that was, if you’re being honest with yourself, your last resource. 

Brain rotting away the entire night, wine drunk and edible high, you didn’t even notice the rain accompanied you through your misery. 

The sound of the droplets hitting your studio window and the sun trying to break through the gloomy clouds adds insult to injury: You’re running out of time. 

Any time now, your mother is going to call you up to let you know you’re possibly getting promised tonight. Not engaged, but promised and presented. 

Like you’re some sort of property your parents can give away. 

Nails connecting with your glass desk, the noise syncs up with the rain pattering on your window sill and, to your tired mind, it also mimics the tic-tacking an old clock would make.

You figured, if you show up with someone on your arm tonight, they might finally leave you alone. 

And not marry you off to Jeong Yunho. 

There’s not enough hours in the day to plan a perfect escape, there’s not enough will left inside you to reach out to someone else and make everything seem genuine, organic, like you’ve known each other for years and kept it a secret all this time. 

There's not enough time to save yourself. 

Because there's this… unspoken agreement you’ve known about since you were eight. 

Your parents and Yunho’s parents are friends. Your mom went to school with his mom and your dad met his dad when they were teenagers and they all got married off respectively because it was what worked for their families at the time so, after hearing the superficial love story at the age of seven, you knew you were going to meet the same fate eventually. 

And the next year, you met Yunho. 

He was an hyperactive little kid with a lot of energy and facts about the earth you didn’t care to listen to because the second you started playing with him in his huge backyard and turned to check if your mother was watching you, you realized that was not a casual playdate. 

Smiling ear to ear, both your mother and his, it signaled to you that it has started. 

Your planned love story with Jeong Yunho had sailed smoothly in their eyes and there was nothing you could do about it. 

Naturally, you have hated him since then. But you were taught etiquette and were media trained since you turned three and could form complete sentences, so your hatred only really showed when you two were alone. 

Turns out, he didn’t really care if you liked him or not. 

He’s always been good at pretending as well. 

That chirpy personality, kindness and humbleness he exudes in front of everyone else? An act. 

And you were proud of yourself when you saw right through his bullshit when you were both eleven and left alone so he could show you around their new, bigger house. 

Gone too soon was that child who wanted to teach you about worms in his backyard and in its place there was this distant tween who’s smile disappeared as soon as your mothers were out of sight. 

“Listen, I don’t know why we’re being forced to hang out but I don’t like you.” 

Dumb kid. 

“Good, because I don't like you either but they can’t find that out.” 

He scoffed, crossing his arms and frowning at you “I’m planning on telling mommy that you… chased me around with a knife or something, so she can see how psycho you actually are and stop forcing me to be around you!”

Eyes lighting up, that was the first time you saw a possible escape from all of this “You think that would actually work?” 

Annoyed and a little freaked out, Yunho pointed at the smirk on your lips “See? That’s exactly what I mean: Psycho.”

And you both only grew hostile at each other since then. Sure, saving face in front of your parents and older siblings was necessary to not get scolded and revoked of your privileges (and you actually liked to be alone with him, only if it meant you could take a break from your mother and her judging gaze), but pretending to like Yunho proved to be more difficult than what you had imagined. 

Especially when you both outgrew the phase where you tried anything and everything under the sun to piss the other off. Not so harmless pranks were pulled and the petty behavior got you both in trouble with your oldest brothers a couple of times but, no matter how hard you tried, it never “accidentally” got to your mother. Or his, for that matter. 

So when you two stopped trying to get your point across and grew cold towards one another, that's when it got really ugly. Vile words cut through both of your egos harshly, family vacations that include his were uncomfortable and holidays were your personal hell. 

December thirty-first and January first have always felt like purgatory. Christmas was always spared because you have family living on the other side of the world who you travel to see every year but it's never truly enjoyable when you know that, in the next couple of days after that, you'll see his dumb face. 

But you have always smiled brightly at him and hugged him when he comes in with his unnecessary luggage at your home. You hold his arm and bat your eyelashes when you know your mom is watching from a distance and it all but confuses him every single time. 

Remembering the time you both were thirteen and you went through very sudden puberty makes you smile. The look on his face when your kitty heels helped show how tall you got over the summer was fantastic. 

“Look at what the cat brought in!” Scrunching your nose and squeezing his cheeks in fake affection, you noticed it took a lot for him to not swat your hands away. 

But you also remember noticing that he was blushing when you pulled away. 

“You look like a very ugly gigant,” he whispered with a smile, matter of factly and all “It doesn't really suit you.” 

He was a pain in the ass. A manageable pain in the ass, but a pain nonetheless. 

It all took a wrong turn when he caught up on your mothers plans by age fifteen. By that age, you've known for a while and the mercy you had on him, on explaining everything you believed to be true, was simply a way of keeping everything at arm's length from you. 

The second he put two and two together, your guesses had automatically turned into a possible reality you couldn't cope with. 

A reality that's about to hit you in the face and leave a bruise that doesn't really go with your polished image. 

The rain picks up and you close your eyes in hopes of coming up with a new idea. 

It only makes your headache worse. 

You really should get going with your day. 

There's appointments you need to get to, meetings you have to fill the space in because your brother is going to fail to show up as usual and you have to get your hair and make-up done for tonight. 

You really shouldn't be crying right now. 

Are you even allowed to cry? 

Your fate was probably decided the day you were born, five months and a few days after Yunho. 

“Shit.” 

Sobbing is useless, so you get in the shower. You do your skincare routine and plan the outfit you're going to wear to the office while you cover your eyebags and try to make it look seamless, natural even. 

If the struggle shows up in your face, you're going to get yelled at downstairs. 

Living with your parents might be a bigger nightmare than getting presented with Yunho tonight but there's really nothing you can do about that, either. 

Working in their company, gaining connections through them and being praised by simply having your last name attached to your first makes you completely useless when faced with a situation where you simply want to tell your mom to fuck off. 

“Y/N, I hope you already weighed down the options for the dress you're wearing tonight,” is what greets you when you enter the dining room, breakfast laid out perfectly across the table both your parents sit at. She's glancing at you in warning “And I hope you know that the navy blue dress is the best option. It's on theme and it's classy, it shows your figure too.” 

Fuck off. 

You might've been taught a bunch of things while growing up in this tinsel bubble but never ever were you taught how to stand up for yourself. 

It shows in the way you nod and smile and sit down on your designated spot next to your dad and in front of your mom. 

“Navy dress it is, ma'am.” 

The nod she gives in approval makes you nauseous. At least she's not saying anything about Yunho. 

“Excellent choice, dear.” 

You swallow the food on your pre-portioned plate with a tight throat and, after sipping your black coffee, you turn to your dad. 

Feeling a little delirious on lack of sleep and a little bold, especially when it comes to work related matters, you take the opportunity to press on the other thing that kept bothering you the entire night. 

“Father—” 

He sees right through you. 

“No, Y/N. It's not an open discussion, the deal is signed and sealed.” 

“It's not a smart choice.” 

“Kim Y/N!” slamming her utensils down on the table and making everything shake in the process, you barely flinch at your mothers warning “Are you calling your father dumb?” 

“No, of course I'm not,” you defend yourself immediately, the softness in your voice hanging by a thread because all you want to do is scream at her to stop putting words in your mouth “All I'm saying is that he's too generous. That company is not profitable and he gave them half a floor in the building and an initial investment that's going to backfire,” you calmly explain to her what you told him the day before “There’s not really a market for physical media anymore.” 

“And they're trying to bring it back,” your father returns, his eyes never straining from his food “I think it's a great idea. You said a couple of months ago that eighties and nineties style is coming back.” 

“As a trend,” you remind him with a tight smile “And trends tend to die down rather quickly.” 

“Soohyun approved it,” he finally looks up and his next words have you biting your tongue bitterly “You don't have a say on the final decision and you know it.” 

Damn right you fucking know it. 

“Are we clear on that?” 

Glancing at your mother, you notice how she's picking on her food to try and avoid sticking up for you. Not that she normally would but you think, as the years pass, the mistreatment must give her some sort of guilty feeling she can only escape if she avoids your eyes.  

Straightening your spine, you fix your face and smile with fake acceptance “Yes, sir.” 

The tinsel bubble brings in unnecessary amounts of money and privilege, but it doesn't really save you from tradition and misogyny. 

Soohyun is the firstborn, after all. 

He's also a complete fucking idiot. 

You love him a lot, but he's completely useless when it comes to this business. 

Although trained separately and for completely different positions, you always paid close attention to the company. 

You studied hard, you graduated early at the top of your class and went to business school as soon as you were able to. You even got to be valedictorian last year at your graduation and even then you knew you weren't getting your father's role once he took a step back from being the face of the company.

But you couldn't help but wish. 

Wishing and imagining was your way of coping with it. What if you were born a boy instead? You surely wouldn't be in this predicament. 

What if your brother wasn't pampered the way he was growing up? You surely didn't have to step in to save apparences with your employees.

Your day to day would probably flow so much smoothly if he actually wanted to do his job like he should. 

Heels clacking on the marble floor, you strut the hallway into his office to aggravate your headache just a bit more: The space is a mess and when you glance at the tree you started to paint on his wall when he asked you to help him quietly turn the space around but never got to finish it brings your mind to the man who declined your offer this morning. 

And the clock in your mind starts ticking again, faster and louder this time. 

Soohyun’s voice comes out of a corner in the big office, behind some piled up boxes   “Well that's not good.” 

Snapping out of it and turning to him, you cock your head to the side “What is it?” 

“You,” he comes out of his hiding spot, suit barely ironed and hair a little messy which makes you cringe “Usually, you complain as soon as you close that door,” he points at it with a tiny and concerned smile “So now I'm worried they cloned and replaced you, sis.” 

“Well, you made a mistake yesterday and there's nothing I can do now to cover it up so,” raising your arms before tossing your purse on the free loveseat that serves as his lounging area, you sigh “Nothing to complaint about today, except—” you squint your eyes, making a show of pretending to be thinking about it “Oh! I'm probably getting married off tonight.” 

The fake happiness laced in your tone makes your brother scoff. He walks to his desk, sitting down on his chair and shaking his head in disapproval. 

“It's not an engagement, Y/N. It's more of a… Public relations matter.” 

“Oh, so you agree with it?” Blood pressure skyrocketing, you quickly make your way across the space until you stand in front of him “You're fine with it?!” 

“Don't act like you didn't already know this was going to happen eventually,” leaning back, he gives you an apologetic look. That's how you know there's nothing he can do about it either “Jeong Tech is the largest investor, or primary partner and basically the first big successful business we helped to launch here.” 

The explanation is unnecessary. You know. You know he knows you know. 

“And after the stocks falling over that little… Hiccup they had last year—” 

“The selling clients information hiccup.” You recall with a tight smile. 

Soohyun gulps. 

“Yes, that, they need to rekindle their image with the press and, in the process, we gain a few reputation points in the market by association. You know how this works,” looking away for a moment, he bites the inside of his cheek before pressing on “And you two are loved and shipped by everyone online already. Grandmas swoon at the potential TVN drama they could make about your love story.” 

What fucking love story? 

It's more like a gruesome, slashy horror movie to you. 

“Okay, is that why they don't marry me to Gunho instead?” 

“No, Y/N, they don't marry you off to Gunho because he's in love and soon to be engaged to a complete nobody,” he responds right away with a shrug “Besides, you and Yunho—” 

“We hate each other. We—” 

“Now, I wouldn't say that—” 

“—Completely and utterly despise one another. He's the unwanted dirt under my Louis Vuitton heel, he's the bee I want to kill but can't because they are needed for the environment,” you continue without taking a breath “He's somehow needed to this environment,” meaning the company “Although he's attending a public university and detaches himself from his responsibilities because he already has a brother who actually takes care of it all, unlike me!” 

Soohyun doesn't seem hurt at that and you're annoyed he's not. That he knows you well enough to know you're trying to sink your claws into his pride because yours is flat lining as the minutes pass. 

That does nothing but fuel your anger. 

“Unlike me,” you repeat “Who has to take care of your responsibilities because you are too busy playing renovation simulator in your stupid office to attend your meetings! Because if you did attend them you would know yesterday’s decision was a mistake and—” 

“There it is!” 

“—You're going to cost us millions of won for nothing.” 

Soohyun sighs and the way the scowls at the scattered papers on his desk lets you know he's not about to entertain this conversation any longer. 

For the third time today, you are about to lose. And you're a sore loser. 

“You're not getting engaged,” he reminds you, standing up and fixing his hair with his hand, his expression kind and sweet like you didn't just yell at him “You don't have to marry Yunho.” 

You scoff “For now.” 

“Or never, if you don't want to,” rounding his desk, Soohyun pats your head softly like you're a child “Just pretend for a bit and then let him break your heart publicly so that the media doesn't treat you like a stoned hearted bitch.” 

“I am a stoned hearted bitch.” 

He shakes his head “You're not but even if you were no one has the right to call you that,” your expression softens and you kind of want to cry at that, but you don't “Except me. Now, we have a meeting to go to, don't we?” 

Duty calls, like it always does. Your brother steps away and rushes to the door. 

Grabbing your purse and following him out, you fix your own hair in the reflection of the glass separating the cubicles from the hall “Do you even know what it is about?” 

He smiles back at you “Nope but you're going to tell me on the way there anyway.” 

“I hate you.” 

“No, you don't.” 

The call comes after the meeting, when the sun is finally breaking fully through the clouds and your headache is starting to go away. 

Only to come back in full force once you see Yunho’s face as soon as you make your way to your own living room. 

Wearing a formal black blazer with matching trousers and a white shirt, the asshole doesn't even spare a glance at you even when you're sure he knows you just walked in. 

The room started to fill with negative energy. He must have felt it, right? But he doesn't show it. 

He's on the phone, eyebrows almost melting together as he pays attention to what the person on the line is saying. 

“What do you mean he met this girl two days ago?” 

Oh, he's gossiping. Your eyes almost meet the back of your skull when you roll them and, with a sigh, you throw your purse at him. 

He catches it without making that much of an effort. 

Asshole. 

“End the call.” 

“Wait, wait,” he covers the microphone with his hand and frowns at you instead “Shut it up, princess, this is an important call.” 

“Princess? Who are you calling princess?” It's not hard to hear the person on the other line, a poor confused guy, talking back. 

“My mother's friend’s daughter,” he shoots back and gives you a tired look, putting the phone to his ear again and signaling you to close your mouth “Anyways, is Seonghwa sure he wants to introduce us to her? Isn't it too soon?” 

At the name, you perk up. Gears turn in your head, one by one because you're tired and your machinery probably needs another coffee to oil everything up there, but then it hits you. 

That's where you knew Park Seonghwa from. 

You were not proud of yourself for letting curiosity tickle you enough to check Yunho’s instagram page merely six months ago. On your burner account, of course, the one with a fake name and fake pictures so that people don't know you stalk them when you're bored. 

There's this picture on his finsta where they're all sitting around a bonfire. It looked cozy, like they actually love each other which is a crazy concept for you. 

All your friends are fake. Also, the concept of a bonfire is insane. Bugs? Acoustic guitars and careless laughter? 

Insane. 

But it seemed genuine the first time you saw it and it made you burn with jealousy of a life you could never have. 

And in that picture, Yunho was hugging Park Seonghwa. 

Huh. You wonder what would've happened if he accepted your proposal earlier today. 

“Well, okay, uhm… I probably can't tonight. I know I said— Yes, Wooyoung, I know,” he sighs deeply as you sit down right in front of him, one leg over the other with rehearsed poise “I’ll see you all at Hongjoong's gig this weekend, yeah? Okay, bye… I love you too, oh my god,” he giggles and you frown, disgusted “Bye.” 

You immediately go for it.  

“Your boyfriend?” 

“My husband,” his smile is fake and tight and it makes you want to punch him in the face “That's what I'm telling our mothers in fifteen minutes, by the way.” 

Rolling your eyes again, you let out a tired breath “As if that would ever stop them.” 

“So I reckon you know what's going on?” 

“You don't?” eyebrow rising inquisitively and expression turning into a pitiful one, you wonder if that's why he seems so laid back at the moment “Please, indulge me and tell me you do.” 

“Of course I know what's going to happen,” scoffing, he crosses his arms and looks at the living room double doors “Just trying to figure out if you're out of the loop so I can put you up to speed on our escape.” 

“Oh, please,” you huff out a bitter laugh “If you really wanted to escape you would have been out of the country by now. Don't pretend you're not a people pleaser, Yunho,” looking back at you, that familiar wrath burns in his brown eyes and it makes you smirk “Passing the opportunity to hang out with Park Seonghwa and the rest of your public university crew is not usually what you do. You were probably given an ultimatum by your mother and that's why you're here, isn't it?” 

Watching his expression shift from annoyance to confusion to anger in the span of seconds gives you the satisfaction your lost fights of the day took away from you. 

“She's really pretty, by the way. His new girlfriend, the mechanic,” you smile, moving your eyes to the ceiling like you're trying to remember something “Didn't catch her name, though. Tell her I say hi when you see her. Oh, and tell Mr. Park I say hi as well. You don't really have to explain to anyone how you know me after tonight anyway.” 

“How the hell do you know them?” he's full on frowning now and the corners of your lips twitch in amusement “Are you stalking me, Y/N?” 

“Wouldn't you like that, hm?” clicking your tongue in disappointment of his guess, you rest your arms over your knees and lean your weight on them, like you're about to share your secret “I always know everything, Yunho. It's my superpower.” 

He imitates your movements, jaw clenched and chest heaving “And here I thought it was being spoiled and annoying.” 

Shaking your head, you lean a little further now “You're so silly, Yun, you know that's yours… When will you stop projecting your shit on me?” 

“When you stop ruining my fucking life.” 

Oh, he's so easy to mess with. 

“Glad to know you think I have that much power over you,” you bite the inside of your cheek for a second and then sigh loudly and dramatically “Sadly, I can't control what my parents want me to do. Or do you really think I would choose you, the hypocrite who pretends to run away from his responsibilities, out of all the men in the industry?” 

That cuts deep. His face lets you know it does, you also know it's hypocritical on your side to criticize him for getting the treatment you wanted to get to begin with. 

He leans in a bit more “As if I would ever choose you, the most cold hearted snake out of the elite.” 

Fuck him. 

You lean in more, chin up “Mama’s boy.” 

Doing the same, he griths out: “Spoiled brat.” 

“Rakehell.” 

“Psychopath.” 

Laughing, you dismiss the fact that your noses are almost touching to shoot back “I hope you enjoy the way the media is going to tear you apart when it comes out that you cheated on me, asshole.” 

“And I hope you enjoy when Dispatch digs up what you did at that party four years ago, princess. Falling off a table for mixing your drinks and your drugs and yelling at the staff as they tried to helped you out is quite embarrassing, isn't it?” he returns immediately and it fails to intimidate you but the fact that he knows about that angers you and it sparks in your eyes, so he smirks “Not that I would ever leak that information, of course.” 

“You stupid fucking—” 

“Ah, good! You're both here already.” 

Pulling apart and standing up, you both try to regulate your breathing and conceal your flustered state as your mom and his walk straight towards you. 

They're here early, you think. You couldn't possibly have argued with Yunho for fifteen minutes straight. 

“I beg you save the public displays of affection for later, though,” his mom says and with a hand on your back she directs you to sit on the sofa Yunho was occupying before. You sit and he does too and you both make sure to leave enough space for the holy spirit and all deities in between you “We're going to need them for the cameras.” 

Uncomfortable, you fidget on your seat until the warning look from your mother forces you to stop. Yunho gulps beside you, probably just as uncomfortable as you. 

Both women smile brightly like they're not about to lay on you the saddest news of your life. 

“As you both know, tonight's gala is a celebration of the twenty years Jeong Tech and Kim’s Innovation have joined creative forces and built the empire we have the pleasure to see unfold today…” 

Is your mother reciting your dads speech? It sounds robotic, rehearsed, fake and forced and it's not something new from her but you hate it either way. 

“And in celebration of our families friendship, loyalty and alliance,” Yunho’s mom continues and you take in a breath “We're finally making your relationship public!” 

Finally? 

“Finally?” Yunho asks and you lick your lips “Mom, Auntie… We don't have a relationship.” He tells them plain and simple and you don't look at him when you nod in compliance with the statement. 

“Oh, you two have been in love since forever!” His mother dismisses what she just heard “It's only fair to finally let everyone confirm it. This way, you can actually be seen together without our public relations team having to rush to cover everything up.” 

That has never happened. You prefer to stay as far away from Yunho as possible when your free will is actually yours to live with. 

“Mom, we—” 

“We are friends, obviously,” you interrupt Yunho before he dives head first into the depths of hell and his head snaps to you, eyebrows creasing a bit “But it's very much platonic. I don't feel—” 

“Yes you do,” your mother interferes, tone stern and fake smile falling for a second as a result before she composes herself “You have loved him since you both were kids and he saved you from falling in the pool at you tenth birthday,” that never happened and slowly but surely you realize they have a whole story planned out for you “And you, Yunho, realized you loved her when she stayed by your side when you had the flu at age thirteen. When she cried over your high fever and came over everyday until you got better. Right?” 

The question floats in the air for what feels like eons and she has successfully shut you up for good.

You knew, when you first met Jeong Yunho, there was no way of escaping this. 

And he, ever so hopeful and foolish, can't seem to accept it the way you do. 

Standing up, he looks at his mother with so much hurt you wonder if you still have that amount of delusion inside of you “You can't do this to us!” 

“Dear, do not raise your voice at me—” 

“This is the stupidest idea you had yet! I don't care how many years you've been planning this, it's not fair!” He paces around the space and you sigh, looking down at your lap. His voice echoes around the living room and you can practically feel your mom scowl with annoyance at the recklessness “You can't marry me off to someone like it's the eighteenth century! This is ridiculous, I—” 

“You'll do it,” his mother stands up as well, voice firmer than you have ever heard. She's a soft spoken woman, a sweet woman even. She's never raised her voice in your presence and you don't let it show how by surprise it takes you “And you know what happens if you don't.” 

You don't know why you relate to the pained expression on his face. You really shouldn't because you two are, clearly, on two different ends when it comes to pleasing your family. 

His family seems loving, the way his mother treated him growing up felt so genuine you always wished you could switch places with him. Even at times where they thought they were alone in the room and you hid to witness the cracks on the foundation of their love, it never happened.

Until now, when he storms off and she seems rather unaffected by his pain. What she gives off is annoyance, just like your mother, she's annoyed that this didn't go as smoothly as imagined. She moves to follow him. 

“Jeong Yunho!” 

After she leaves the room, there's screaming in the distance, probably at the end of the long hallway. And then, there's silence until your mother breaks it. 

“Well that was an unfortunate mess.” 

Your throat feels like it's closing up but you push through it, standing up when your mother does too. 

“Mother, I don't really think this is the best way to—” 

She frowns at you.

“What are you wearing? A suit?” 

“W-what?” 

Dumbfounded, you look down at your choice of outfit that she saw this morning and then back up at her. 

“I understand there's really nothing that can be done about your body shape but wearing silhouettes like these makes you look very masculine, Y/N.” 

She's doing that thing where she belittles you into submission. Vulnerable because of what you just lived and what you just witnessed, you stand there and take it. 

“And are you wearing makeup? Your eyebags, darling… I can't believe you let Yunho see you in this state.” 

If only she knew you stayed awake the entire night trying to sabotage her plans. 

This triggers you beyond belief. It starts with your heartbeat picking up, with your inner child begging you to stand up for yourself and banging at the walls of the safe you locked her up so many years ago. 

When you both hear footsteps coming down the hallway, she looks down at her watch and your chest starts heaving. 

“You need to get your hair and makeup done in an hour and a half. No need to go to the salon, I arranged things and they're coming over,” she informs you camly, putting on her fake smile when Yunho’s mom sighs at the doorway and when she turns away from you to get to her and loop her arm around hers, you catch his eye as he makes his way to you “Now, how about I show you what they did with the garden, dear.” 

They walk away from the wreckage with a giggle that only raises your panic. 

The fire of it burns your pride, your self image and your capability of keeping it together in front of your sworn enemy.

It doesn't help that he comes in with full vengeance, ready to take out on you what he obviously couldn't take out on his mom. 

“Why didn't you say anything?!” his voice fills the room once again and you physically recoil, which makes him reconsider. He looks you over once and then takes a deep breath before pressing “Why did you tell them that we're friends? We're not friends, Y/N! You should've… You should've told them that you hated me, that y-you were in love with somebody else, anything!” 

Tears cloud your vision and you can only reply in a faint whisper that sounds far away “Yunho, shut up.” 

“Are you seriously letting them get away with this?” his index points at the door and he looks at you like he doesn't know you. He doesn't but he does know what your family is like, so you don't know why it surprises him “Are you seriously going along with this stupid charade?!” 

Air leaves you. You can't breath but you try to and you faintly hear him say something else but it sounds bottled up, like you're underwater. 

“I c-cant.” You try again but it barely comes out.

Breathing in with your mouth, you close your eyes and focus on the way your head pulses. Migraine in full force, it only aggravates the feeling of complete loss of control over your body. But your feet move before you can think, to the couch, to look through your purse because damn it if he finds out. 

He follows you. 

“Is this some sort of sick revenge against me or—” 

They're not there. Why didn't you bring them with you today of all days?

God damn it. Yunho is, somehow, still talking. 

“Because if we don't go out there and let them know that—” 

“Yunho, shut the fuck up! Stop it!” 

Turning around with tears streaming down your face and hyperventilating seems to shut him up for good. 

“What's wrong?” 

He stops, breathing hard with a confused look on his face and his eyes follow you when you quickly move around him to get out of the room. 

“Y/N, wait—” 

You don't wait to see if he's following you upstairs. You only know he is because when you trip midway, his hands are there to catch you.

Physical contact with him is so strange and unfamiliar that you have to push his helping hands away and, quickly and still hardly breathing, you make your way to your room. 

Neatly done by the staff assigned to ready it up everyday before you get home, the order gets destroyed by your panicked state. You look through your vanity drawers messily, full on sobbing and mumbling incoherently as you do and you slam your fist down on the thing when you fail to find your pills. 

“Where the fuck is it?!” You sob out, hand hurting and shaking until you fall to the ground.

You try to recenter, pressing your shaky palms into the soft material of the carpet and sinking your nails hard in it until it starts bunching up beneath your fingers. Eyes closed, you can't see when Yunho knees down next to you but you do jump in fear when his hand touches your arm. 

Looking at him, you see when he removes his hand until, hesitantly, he places it firmly on your shoulder “I need you to breathe with me, Y/N,” he starts demonstrating, breathing in once, holding it in for a few seconds and letting the air go next. You choke out a sob “Breathe with me so you can tell me what I can get you.” 

You want to scream at him to stop pretending to care and get out but you can't. 

Instead, you listen to him. You breathe in when he does, hold the air a second longer than him and let it out afterwards. You do a few rounds of this, just staring at him with tears still falling down your cheeks until the fog in your brain starts clearing. 

It's agonizingly slow and it pains you to let yourself be seen in these circumstances, especially by him. 

“Now, what were you looking for?” 

Coughing uncomfortably, you attempt to get up the floor but he stops you from doing so “You can leave, Yunho, I can get it myself.” 

“You're shaking, Y/N,” it takes for him so say it to look down at your hands, which are barely grasping the carpet now and just hovering above it as they tremble “What do you need?” 

“My pills,” you tell him in a murmur after a few seconds, closing your eyes because, to you, this whole thing is very embarrassing “I don't remember where I put them, m-maybe in my nightstand?” 

“Drugs?” he asks with a frown and you shake your head, too panicky to get offended at the insinuation “Ah, actual pills, I see, um…” He gets up and you open your eyes to him walking over to your bed, sitting down to open up the drawer of your nightstand “You have a lot of shit here. What do they look like?” 

“Prescription bottle, not a blister.  Translucent, white cap.” You're taking control over your own body now, breathing starting to normalize and mind syncing up with the situation again.

Your head hurts still, but it's better than five minutes ago. 

“Here it is,” you hear him say and he's on his knees next to you a second later. You take the bottle from his hand, unscrew the cap as fast as you can and shake it to get a pill out of it “It was behind a bunch of stuff. I'll get you some—” putting the pill on your mouth, you crane your head back and force yourself to swallow it “Water.” He finishes in a whisper. 

When you look back at him, he looks a little freaked out. 

“What?” 

“N-nothing… Do you still need some—” 

“No. Thank you for getting me these, you can leave now.” 

Your tone is cold. The memory of him yelling at you downstairs returns so now you're pissed off and still very, very vulnerable. He's not allow to see you this way or any way for that matter. 

But he just did. 

He stays still and you're about to ask him if he didn't hear you or what but then you follow his eyes and notice he's staring at the way you hands still shake a little while trying to get the cap on the bottle again. You presume he's trying to read the label on it, too. 

“How long have you had them?” 

“The pills? This is a new prescription, so like… A month or so.” 

He sighs, closing his eyes and sitting fully on the floor next to you  “You know what I'm talking about, Y/N.” 

Looking away, you hate that the cat is out of the bag. If only your mother didn't comment on your appearance maybe, just maybe, you could've keep the secret to yourself and take it to the grave with you. 

You hate that Yunho, out of all people, found out. 

But he helped you, so you decide to please him with an answer. 

“I started getting them when I was ten, I think. I didn't know what was happening for a while and then at fourteen I learned what a panic attack was,” you recall, tone sounding breathy and tired and a little annoyed. He nods “And then I got officially diagnosed with panic disorder at twenty, so not that long ago.” 

Eyes back at him, you see him frown and then nod again as if the information you just gave him is hard to digest. It's not, it's actually extremely normal for someone like you. 

It makes you wonder if he has ever felt the same. 

Taking another calming breath, you speak again “I would appreciate if you keep this in between us. Not tell your brother or anything,” you clarify before he can respond “Because your brother is going to tell my brother who is going to tell my mom and that's a whole disaster I don't really want to deal with.” 

“They don't know?” 

“Of course they don't know,” a bitter laugh makes it past your lips “If they knew, don't you think I would be the image of a visibility campaign against anxiety or something like that?”

“They're your family, though.” 

“Blood is thicker than water but I'm allowed to have my secrets,” it's pathetic, the way your vision clouds once more and tears trail their path down your face once nor3 “And you of all people know how exploitative they are, so don't tell them.” 

What happens next takes your breath away again. Not for the reason you expect but it does and, for the first time in your life, Jeong Yunho is able to make your brain malfunction. 

You don't really think he realizes his hand is on your cheek, thumb whipping away your tears so softly it turns to you to a puddle right away

The last time someone handled you with that much care was… 

Never? 

Unable to look away, you catch the second he notices what he's doing and, by the time he does, he already leaned in a fraction into your space. 

Snapping out the weird, dizzy moment you two just had, he lowers his hand and you clear your throat to try and shake your feelings, all of them, off. 

Off. Away. You need to get your shit together and work on depuffing your face before the makeup artist and hair stylist arrive. 

“Listen, if you want to mysteriously disappear tonight and miss the gala you can totally do it and I'll cover up for you. I wouldn't blame you and I don't really care if our parents take it out on me,” your words are fast and your tone lighthearted. Like you're making a joke but, also, you're totally not “In return for you to keep your mouth shut about this,” you shake the pill bottle “I wouldn't do it out of kindness, of course, after all I am the most cold hearted snake of the elite.” 

Scoffing, he closes his eyes and lets his head hang low for a few seconds “You’re so—” 

“Beautiful? Smart? Outstanding?” You offer. 

He looks back at you again “Insufferable.” 

You squint your eyes at him before your lips turn upwards in a sardonic smile. 

Yunho lets out a heavy sigh “I'll do it.” 

“Run away to Timbuktu and change your identity?” 

“Be there,” he corrects, clearly tired of your antics “I’ll be there tonight. We are up to our necks in this bullshit, both of us,” he reminds your “And I'm sure my mother wouldn't let me get far if I did try to run away.” 

The ghost of a genuine smile curls in your lips “Pussy.” 

He rolls his eyes. 

“See? Annoying as fuck.” 

Your smile fully widens at that. Finally, some sense of normalcy after whatever the hell happened a few minutes ago. 

“What dirt does she have on you to make you bend to her will all of the sudden?” 

“She—” 

“I'm sorry to interrupt,” both looking up at your door way, you try your best to hide the pills under your thighs as you eye the staff member suspiciously at his interrupt “But misses Jeong is calling for Yunho downstairs. She says that you have to leave to get ready and misses Kim urges you, miss Kim, to get a shower.” 

“Yeah, she smells kinda bad, doesn't she?” Yunho jokes but the staff member doesn't laugh at his quip. Instead, he earns a push from you before getting up “I'll get going then.” 

The guy bows and disappears at that. 

“Finally.” 

You feel like you have to thank him again for what he did. With words, not actions. But he doesn't look like he's expecting it and the words hang on your tongue without making it past your lips because it's against your morals to thank Jeong Yunho for absolutely anything. 

“See you tonight, Y/N,” he says and you make a face that makes him smile for some reason. He moves to the door but stalls and, as you get up, you see him turn to you one more time “Bring them with you,” he points at the bottle on your hand “Just in case.” 

You huff and close the drawers of your vanity, stashing the pills in one of them “Don't tell me what to do.” 

“I wouldn't dare,” mimicking the staff member, he bows dramatically and you groan “Goodbye, princess.” 

You close the last drawer with a little more force than you intend to as soon as he's out of eyesight and then whisper and amused: “Asshole.” 

Now that's a couple of hours later and your head allows you to lock back in, to focus on the matter at task and prepare for what's to come. 

Sitting in the car, your chauffeur takes the hill up to the Jeong’s so you can pick up Yunho and show up together to the event. 

Hair beautifully done and makeup beat to the gods, it irks you that your mothers have everything so planned out down to the last details. There's a tablet on your lap and you're rehearsing the backstory they put together for this made up relationship. 

As they told you earlier, you have to pretend you two have been in love since childhood. There's some paragraphs narrating how you supposedly felt like you owe him your life after he “saved you” from failing into the deepest part of the pool when you didn't know how to swim. 

Which is true, you didn't know how to swim at that age but Yunho never saved you from anything. 

Except maybe today, only after aggravating the situation to the point you couldn't help but break down in front of him. 

Pressing a finger down on your temple, you close your eyes and try to wipe the image of him helping you away. Instead, the way the washed your tears away pops into it and you groan, earning a curious look from your driver. 

“Is this hill endless?” you ask in a way to cover up your true grieving and he laughs a little, which makes you smile before complaining again, as a joke. Kind of “That's why they usually come to our house, it takes a whole business day to get here.” 

That seizes your driver's curiosity and you look out the window when their mansion comes in full view. It's majestic, it's modern and it looks really pretty from your balcony at night, when it's all lit up even when you know the probability of someone actually being there is scarce. 

His dad and brother are always at the office, his mom is always at a meditation class or the gym or the mall with your mom and Yunho, well, you can only assume he's never actually there. He seems to have a very active social life and you don't think his mom would necessarily approve of his public university friends being there. 

When the car comes to a stop in his driveway, you look back down and scroll to that part of the document: You're supposed to be supportive on his choice of avoiding a private education, call him humble and down to earth if the question gets asked but not praise the public education system because your dad endorses a really expensive school, the one he and your fake father in law graduated at. 

The one you graduated at. 

It was so freeing not looking at his face in the halls when you started uni and you, quite frankly, don't think about him often enough to wonder why he was allowed to attend the university of his liking and study what he pleases. 

Now you're curious but, as you see him descend the stairs that lead to his massive front door, you're not sure you want to talk to him outside of business for too long. 

He's all dolled up in a navy three-piece, color matching your dress and all. Hair done and out of his forehead, you hate to say it does more for him than the usual style he wears it in. You don't remember the last time his bangs didn't cover his eyebrows and now you're wondering if you pushed all the times you did to the back of your mind. 

It'll be hard to pretend you don't think he looks good because he does and you don't want it to show in your face, so you stay focused on the tablet as he makes his way to the car. 

The driver gets out and attempts to open the door for him but you hear Yunho telling him it's okay. 

“I'll do it, thank you, thank you,” he opens the door and so you hear him more clearly now and he slides on the seat next to yours with ease, a disappointed look on his face when he notices you “Ah, you're here.” 

“They didn't tell you?” sounding boring as hell, you scroll to the bottom of the document and pass the tablet to him, avoiding to look at him again “We're supposed to arrive together so the photographers waiting outside can start speculating and reporting to the media outlets that something might be going on.” 

He grabs the tablet, looks at the document for five seconds in total and then hands it back to you “Oh, yeah, I didn't read that.” 

Your driver gets in his seat and starts the car, maneuvering out of the driveway in seconds and so you have to brace yourself on the seat to avoid sliding down on it as you're driven down the hill. 

“You didn't read it?” your head snaps back at him and he shrugs “Yunho, we're supposed to pretend we're madly in love with each other and you didn't study?!” 

“We've been pretending to get along in front of our moms for over a decade, Y/N,” he deadpans “We're doing the same tonight, only at a bigger scale. It's not that complicated,” shrugging again, he looks out at the street for a second before looking at you again, a disgusted expression on his face “I hope you're not expecting me to be all over you because now that I can't fake.” 

“Because you're never felt the touch of a girl in your entire life? I know that, loser,” he's about to retaliate but you stop him with your index finger “You've been away from the spotlight for way too long. You don't know how ruthless and scrutinizing the people attending are, I do. So sit pretty and study this.” 

You shove the tablet back and he groans, looking through the document briefly again. 

“And how do you know who's attending?” 

“Page ten through twenty five. There's a detailed list with names, occupations and hobbies so you can have possible topics of conversation. I also took the time to highlight in pink the ones I want to avoid,” you point out and he moves his finger on the screen until he gets to the list, scoffing in amusement a second later “You should avoid them too. Especially the Hwang’s,” he gives you a look, asking for an explanation “They gossip too much, their friend groups are filled with snakes who can't take an NDA seriously and the girl is a little in love with you, so she'll flirt with you the entire night.” 

“I don't even know her.” 

“You don't have to, she's in love with the idea of you and your family's influence. Seriously, Yunho,” you let out an annoyed noise, crossing your arms over your chest “It's like amateur hour with you. You should know this.” 

“I live a normal life, princess, I don't know any of this because it's not important to me,” he states as simple as that and you shake your head in disapproval “It shouldn't be important to you or to anyone, really.” 

“Oh, but it is,” you return and when you look at him he's looking back. There's this electricity passing in the space in between you, something dangerous that's the tail tale of how different you both are and you start asking yourself how are you going to pull this whole thing off “And now, it is to you. You're about to enter a ballroom filled with people who admire you for simply being a Jeong, people who want to be you. It's hard and it’s pressuring but you declined my offer to not show up earlier today, so fucking own it.”

There's a pause where you see his jaw clenching, you see him shift uncomfortably and adjust his tie before presumably telling himself to relax. 

“And study as much as you can, I'm not covering up your mistakes.” 

The rest of the ride to the venue is silent and, when you get there, you exchange a look with your driver that's both apologetic and a request for discretion. You know your staff is discreet but you thank them every time you can because it's a lot of shit to handle. 

“Here you go, honey.” The pet name almost makes you gag but you take the electronic from his hand, lock it and give it to the driver to safekeep. 

“I prefer Y/N,” or even princess, because you're used to it “Don't try that inside.”

Rolling his eyes, he sarcastically lets out “Anything else your highness wants from me before we get off?” 

“Yeah, for you to shut up and leave me alone forever after tonight but that's not really going to happen, hm?” You can see through the tinted windows how people gather outside to try and see who's inside the car and so you fix your hair with your fingers and then turn to fix Yunho’s tie. He makes a noise of disagreement but you shush him “Oh and for you to open the door for me?” 

He levels you with his stare “Can't do it yourself?” 

“Fucking do it and stop asking questions, Yunho.” You say under your breath and he smiles a little, triumphant like he just won something only for pissing you off. 

Neither one of you want to lose the staring contest you suddenly have going on and it's, once again, electric. The tension is palpable and not in a positive way but you have to act quick when his brown eyes scan your face and linger where they don't need to. Hand still on his tie, it's tempting to try and choke him with it so instead you just tighten it a little more and it serves as a 

“Now, Yunho.” 

When he gets out of the car, you hear people gasp. He's not usually at these types of events because his mother must indulge him a lot. But also, he's usually seen with a frown whenever he does attend, so it must come to a shock to everyone he actually showed up. 

It came with a shock for you too, you're not going to lie. You fully expected him to back out on his word and leave you hanging to deal with the shitshow yourself, no matter what he said this afternoon. 

Rounding the car, he doesn't make the dramatic pause you were hoping for before opening the door and offering his hand to you. The gasps intensify once you elegantly get out, flashes going off and blinding you for a second before you take your surroundings in and loop your arm around Yunho’s. 

There's people screaming both your names, asking questions that you don't get to answer because it's not the time for that and this is not a red carpet you have to walk through. 

You wave your hand at the cameras, bow to the photographers and smile brightly when a girl behind an iphone tells you how pretty you look. 

That would be the first person to compliment you today.

You don't turn to see what Yunho is doing, probably handling the attention in his own weird, detached way like he normally does and when someone signals you both to get going inside, you follow the person until the doors of the venue closing behind you drown out the paparazzi noise. 

In the solitude of the initial hall, you see how Yunho lets his posture fall and lets out a breath “Well, I hated that.” 

Condescendingly, you smile at him “Poor baby,” you lean in a bit into him “We’re only getting started.” 

The horror on his face as he stares back brings out a nervous feeling inside you, but soon you're dragging him by his arm and following the staff member down the hall. 

And when she opens the door into the ballroom, you let the feeling overcome you for a second and you gulp because of it. 

Only getting started indeed. 

If you read all the way down here: THANK YOU SO MUCH. This is part one of three (possibly more if the story extends that far). Any feedback would be greatly appreciated!

© jensthwa, 2024.

[epersonae]

Do you think you could fall in love again?

On the one hand, this is a wildly personal question, anon, and from the reaction of my knitting group, it would be totally appropriate for me to just abandon this in the depths of my unanswered asks.

On the other hand, if it is possible to know one thing about me as a person, just from my blog, it’s that I was deeply madly in love, and that that person died. And also: you have in fact activated my trap card.

Because I thought about this, almost as soon as they died, and not in a way where I was ready to fall in love immediately, but I think I said to @faintvox maybe the next day: can you be polyamorous with a ghost?

Because when I got divorced from my first spouse, I thought I wouldn’t find love for a long time. I expected to be single for years, because I had so much trauma from that, because I had loved him and it had broken me, because I thought it would be too hard to start over after more than 20 years with someone else.

And when I told Ryn that, after we started dating, they laughed at me. “There is no way you were going to be single for five years,” they said, which how long I said I’d expected. (For the record: I left my ex in August 2018; Ryn and I started dating in October 2019.)

Because Ryn and I were in a polyamorous relationship when we started out, and we were just trying to figure out how we wanted to do that again, more deliberately, and instead cancer-wedding-death. Our wedding vows deliberately included that space in our lives, in a way where it also was about our friendships, and was also something that would not be totally obvious to a couple of my older relatives.

Because I realized, after they died, that we together had written me a way through it — the fic we wrote together, one of the central characters is a widower, and the guy who created him always said “Magnus never loves again,” and we said “Fuck that,” and we said (altho this is I think @nekosd43's formulation originally), “Magnus is made for love,” and we shipped him in stories set before his marriage and we shipped him in stories set after. And Magnus’s grief and love for Julia is woven through the love that we gave him in the stories we wrote with him and Taako and him and Lucretia, and the love and the grief are both important. (JFC I WROTE A PIECE ABOUT LUCRETIA ASKING HIM ABOUT A TATTOO HE GOT FOR JULIA.)

Because among many other things, for the benefit of all the broken hearts is in part about what it means to have love that isn’t The Love, what it means to find love in the aftermath of tragedy, to find love in places you didn’t expect.

Because people in my family live a really fucking long time, and the idea of living another 30, 40, 50 years without romantic love, without being in love, is kind of horrifying to me. (No offense to my aromantic pals, but could not be me.) Especially given that I am already of a mindset that it is possible to have romantic love for more than one person at a time — to say that I couldn’t have it again at all is just not realistic for who I am.

No one is ever going to have the exact place that Ryn did and does. No one will ever be them, no other relationship will be the one that we had from when they first messaged me in 2017 until I lay next to their corpse in a hospital bed in 2021. Even in death they are literally my safe space.

And yet.

So the scene in OFMD 1x10, where Stede asks Mary what love feels like. I have always associated that with Ryn, and with my own little montage, because that is what our love felt like. (There are so many things about s1 Ed and Stede that are ridiculously us.) If we’d been married a year later, I bet some of that would have been in our wedding ceremony.

And yet.

I haven’t posted about it on Tumblr, but there is a somebody, and I am quite in love with them, and one time last summer I was watching Our Flag Means Death, as you do. And I got to that scene, and my mind was doing the montage overlay thing with moments of Ryn…and also moments with this other person. And I knew that I loved them, that I was in love with them, but to have that connection happen? I burst into tears.

Because I had known intellectually, but I felt it in a different way, deeply and truly, the simultaneousness of that love, the way it overlaps, and neither makes the other less, and there was love, and there is love, and whatever happens next there will be love.

[redwolf17]

It’s such a tragedy with what happened to Steve Attewell. He was such a talented writer and historian. I loved Race for the Iron Throne. It’s the best asoiaf analysis site.

I agree 😔 Cancer fucking sucks.

For those who may not know, Steven Attewell, aka Race For The Iron Throne, was a labor historian and a titan of the ASOIAF fandom. For over ten years he posted extremely thoughtful analyses about Planetos, not to mention posts about IRL medieval history, labor history, and American politics.

Funny thing- I'd read Steven's work long before I got involved in the ASOIAF fandom; his post about why Steve Rogers is defined by the context of the New Deal era is a classic. His writing on labor rights was also deeply informative and built on a foundation of righteous fury at the current status quo versus the possibilities of effective union organizing and overhauling of current anti-labor laws.

Race For the Iron Throne is, in my opinion, the definitive ASOIAF analysis site/blog. The chapter recaps, the comparisons of the worldbuilding of Planetos to real medieval history... Steven Attewell was a brilliant, insightful, compassionate guy, and it showed in every post. His blog was an incredibly useful resource when I first started working on the fic, and when he mentioned The Weirwood Queen once, I geeked the hell out for like a week. Someone I respected so much not only hearing about TWQ but actually taking time to read some of it was... I dunno, really unexpected and encouraging?

It's so weird to think that Steven is gone. I made sure to check his blog every few days, and it will never update again. I can't even imagine what his friends and family are going through; from all I've heard, those who knew Steven found him to be a thoroughly decent dude, and he's going to be dearly missed. May he rest in peace, and may those who knew him find comfort in how well he used the too brief time that he had.

[ofmermaidstories]

From your posts so far I feel like you have such a wide variety of understanding complex characters. How do you think you would tackle writing for Todoroki Touya, and have you ever considered any storyline for him? What kind of civilian reader do you think you’d craft for him if so?

beyond a post-canon bonnie and clyde AU, i’ve never really seriously considered a fic for dabbers. 🧐 he’s a fun character in canon, but to me that’s because he’s a walking tragedy—his hatred and desperation for his father. his resentment of his perfect baby brother. the way both of those things blindside him to his other brother, his sister, their mum. i don’t see him as like, the fun flirty bad boy that i think was a given read of him, earlier in BNHA—i think what he eventually goes through will profoundly change him, if he lives. it’ll take hard work for him to get to a place where he can be like, happy with the family that’s reaching out to him—his father, his mother, his siblings…. his perfect baby brother.

for a post-canon dabbers fic, i’d probably strike at the in-between time between him physically and mentally healing—like, his injuries have been treated, he’s gotten physical therapy. maybe he has a prosthetic arm like his arm, or a cane to help him walk but he can do things, he can physically be apart of the world again—but he still bubbles with his resentment. touya’s a massive fazacon in canon and everyone who disagrees with me can argue with a wall LMAOOO i’m right about this forever, but like, for a x reader fic i think that means competition for his attention on a very base level, you know? like, how do you bond with and romance a guy that’s constantly sour about how his father ruined his life??? to me that means you benefit best from having a Reader-insert who either has their own baggage, or is nihilistic enough to laugh his off LOL. and i think if you’re going to make them both like, kinda unrepentant assholes, you’re almost obligated to give them a happy ending??? or rather—that’s how i would write it. like with the dabi/bonnie & reader/clyde idea, i would set it up so that they both think they’re gonna die at the end of it, that the reader (lowercase) thinks they’re gonna die, that endeavour and rei and the todo siblings (minus Shouto) think they’re gonna die—and then at the end they don’t. one of them—maybe dabi himself, because i think we owe him that chance—tries to pull a stunt that like, lets Reader live, say. maybe he meets up with his perfect baby brother at some stage during the Crime Spree and it’s Shouto who’s like, I can help you. I can help both of you, please let me, and at first Dabi’s furious (how fucking dare this useless squirt of endeavour’s hot fucking snot talk to him like a hero) but then. you know. he gets attached like a chump, or whatever. maybe he sees more of himself in you than he wanted to, or maybe being outside of the careful, clinical surveillance he was under before means he has to confront like—what the point of it all is, you know? he failed in killing his father, his baby brother, himself. he got patched together and now endeavour’s grovelling like a worm for forgiveness Touya doesn’t want to give him, almost (it’s not atonement or forgiveness he wants—he wants the family he should’ve had, the power he should’ve had from birth, perfect and whole). and it’s like—the choice is either go out in a blaze of glory or…. i don’t think he’d even let himself imagine it, LOL. you and him and your fucked up issues like linen in the cupboards of some cute little house with a tidy fence around it? bullshit. pathetic.

(but you patch each other up. and the way you laugh when someone eats shit trying to run during one of your robberies makes him think of his days with the League of Villains—the way everyone was so unrepentative in what they were after, the hurt they wanted to inflict. And yet Toga’s out there somewhere, getting rehabilitated back into society and last Touya heard Spinner was working with heteromorph discrimination programs after a rough recovery—and you could still make it, he thinks in disdain. He’s on his last, last chance but you—you could still have that tiny home, somewhere. The linen cupboards that hold more than the issues that sent you to the same centre he was languishing in. You could still have a future, and later that night when you’re asleep he walks away from the car you’ve traded (stolen) the van in for—and calls his perfect baby brother, who answers the phone silently, waiting.

“You wanna help?” Touya asks, dry. “Then help, Hero.”)