#and THINKS that he might be in love with her but he isn't and that's my insane obsession

[lostfracturess]

symptoms and causes | ch. 16

pairing — professor gojo x med student reader

summary — he's arrogant, self-centered, and he's your professor. renowned for his brilliance in neurosurgery and infamous for his allure. too bad you have to work with him on this research team. now you're stuck with dr. satoru gojo, delving into the complexities of both the brain and the heart — and of how far you'd go for a love that could destroy not only him but you as well.

word count — 11.5 k

warnings — 18+ ONLY. contains explicit sexual content, substance and alcohol abuse, dark and themes, unhealthy relationships, codependency, trauma, medical content and mentions of death, illness, abuse, and blood. full trigger warnings available on the masterlist. reader discretion is advised.

previously — unable to watch satoru turn to his abusive family for help with naoya's massive lawsuit, you're heading to his party against satoru's wishes, hoping to find something, anything, that might help his situation. but what happens when satoru decides to crash the party? and what will you find in that locked room?

author's note — hello lovelies, welcome back !! this chapter picks up right where we left off, but through satoru's eyes this time. also important note: this chapter contains a brief mention of SA concerning a background event not related to any of our main characters. as always, please mind all trigger warnings. and now enjoy the chaos <3

series masterlist + playlist + ao3 + wattpad

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I saw her the moment I stepped into that goddamn party, and everything inside me went still. 

Like that moment right before you drown, when the water first fills your lungs and the world goes quiet. Terrifying and so still.

She stood there under those cheap neon lights, looking scared and yet so beautiful—beautiful in that terrible way that makes you want to destroy something, that makes you want to tear it apart just to prove it's real.

Every fiber of my being screamed to go to her, to grab her and get her the hell out of here. Away from this place, away from him, away from all of it. 

But I couldn't move. Couldn't let the mask slip, not here, not with all these eyes on me. So I plastered on that easy smile and played the part of the mildly annoyed professor who just happened to crash a student party.

As if my skin wasn't crawling with the need to use again, veins begging for something—anything—to take the edge off. As if the mere sight of her didn't make me feel like someone had reached into my chest and ripped my fucking heart out, her next breath away from something I might regret.

She looked up at me with those pretty eyes of hers, and I saw the guilt there, swimming just beneath the surface. And for one horrible moment I thought, Good. Let it pull her under like it's pulling me. Let it fill her lungs the way fear is filling mine.

I almost hated her then — for lying to me again and again, for doing stupid things behind my back again and again, for making me feel this goddamn helpless again and again and again and fucking again.

But what lay beneath was worse. Because I knew why she was here. Always trying to save me, even if it meant throwing herself into the deep end, drowning right alongside me. And that's the worst kind of torture, isn't it? 

Watching the person you love cut themselves open on all your broken pieces, bleeding themselves dry, yet still reaching for more. And that thought made me want to scream.

"We'll talk about this later," I said, forcing that easy smile back onto my face though everything inside me was screaming to get her out of this goddamn house before she got herself into more trouble. "Now, if you'll excuse me, I think I need a drink."

I pushed past her, shoulder grazing hers, and I had to clench my fists to keep from turning back. Had to bite my tongue until I tasted blood to keep from saying something I couldn't take back. She had no idea what she did to me. Or maybe she did, and that was even worse.

Love and hate tangled together in my chest until I couldn't breathe. Because that's what she does to me — makes me feel everything at once, until I can't tell what's real anymore. Until I can't tell if I want to love her or ruin her. Until I can't remember which one would hurt more. Who I was before her. If I was anyone at all.

And it hit me then, as I left her standing there, all defiance and reckless stupidity and so unbearably precious it physically hurt—this must be what they mean when they say love and hate are two sides of the same coin. Because I loved her so much it felt like hatred. Hated her so deeply it could only be love.

Always on the razor's edge. One wrong step, and we'd both bleed out. Maybe we already were.

When was the last time I even went to a party like this anyway? Years ago, probably. Back when I could still pretend I had my shit together. Before I understood what it meant to love someone so consuming that self-destruction became a form of worship.

I needed a drink. Maybe ten. Maybe something stronger. 

Bass thundered through the floorboards as I shouldered my way deeper into the house, some shitty pop track slamming in my skull. Or maybe that was just the rage still burning in my bloodstream.

Sweaty bodies pressed in on all sides, but I barely noticed, lost in the chaos raging in my head. Lost in the desperate need scratching at my throat to turn back, to find her, to make sure she hadn't slipped away like every other good thing in my life.

I ordered vodka. First sip burned, but not enough. Never enough to wash away the fear, to forget that she was here, in this house, with him. The same bastard who'd tried to—My grip tightened on the glass. Yeah. Definitely needed something stronger. Here's hoping these kids still remember how to party.

"Professor Gojo! No way!"

A group of my students appeared beside me at the bar, their faces flushed with alcohol. Aoi, of course—that kid was everywhere. And Miwa, looking starstruck as always. Just my fucking luck.

"Is this what you all do instead of studying for my exams?" I asked, letting that easy smile slide into place.

"Come on, Prof, we've been killing ourselves over your damned hard exams," Miwa chimed in, all bright eyes and alcohol courage. "We deserve a break."

I let myself slip into the familiar role. The cool professor. The guy everyone wants to hang with. It was easier than I expected, letting their drunken energy wash over me, cracking jokes, making them laugh. Almost enough to wash out the withdrawal that made it nearly impossible to think straight. Almost enough to forget why I was really here. Almost.

Aoi was rambling about something, but I wasn't listening. Instead, I turned slightly, catching her gaze across the room. She looked at me like she wanted to kill me. Funny, how we wanted the same thing sometimes.

My woman. My stubborn, reckless, absolutely infuriating woman. Even now, with me watching her from across the room, I could see that defiance bright in her eyes. Even now, even here, in defiance of everything I'd asked of her, she stood her ground. 

It was admirable, really. And sometimes, that very defiance made me want to break her. Perhaps only to prove I could. To prove she wasn't in control. Perhaps because I was terrified that I wasn't. That I never was.

It's terrifying how thin that line is.

"See? Fucking legend!" Aoi raised his beer, at something I said, I think. I can't remember. Something clever, probably. Something that fits the role. "To the coolest professor on campus!" 

I raised my glass, I think. I can't remember. And that's when I caught sight of them by the front entrance. Suguru walked up to her, still standing where I'd left her, and cradled her face in his hands, tilting it up to meet his gaze. My god, could he be any more obvious about it?

I knew that look in his eyes. Had seen it countless times before, during all those long hours in the lab when he thought I wasn't paying attention. The way he'd lean in close to check her work, his hand lingering on her shoulder a moment too long. The way his eyes would follow her every move.

My best friend, in love with the love of my life. What a sick fucking joke.

He was examining her face now, probably making sure she was alright, being the good, caring friend he always was. His thumb brushed across her cheek, and something violent stirred in my gut. Because she didn't pull away. Of course she didn't. She never did, not with him.

They looked good together, standing there in the dim light. The brilliant researcher and his gifted student. No addiction between them. No sharp edges that sliced you open if you got too close. And I hated that.

I watched as she placed her hand over his, the gesture unbearably tender. Watched as he smiled down at her, that gentle smile he reserved only for her.

And just for a moment — one single, agonizing moment — I let myself picture a world where I hadn't reached her first. Where she'd chosen him instead. The better man. The one who'd never drag her down into his own personal hell.

The thoughts spiraled darker, louder, until I could barely breathe through the noise. Glass creaked under my grip. I needed a fucking pill. Needed something, anything, to make this stop. To make everything just fucking stop.

"Professor?" Miwa’s voice. "You okay?"

More students crowded the bar, blocking my view of them. One of them—what was his name? Third-year, not a complete idiot—shoved another beer into my hand. I chugged it in one long pull, their chatter fading to background noise.

"Well." That voice. That fucking voice. "Look who decided to crash my party after all."

I turned, meeting Naoya's scarred face with a smile that was all teeth and no warmth. "Zenin. Quite the gathering you've got here."

"Indeed." He signaled the bartender. "I gotta say though, I'm surprised to see you here, Professor. Don't tell me you're playing chaperone tonight?"

His words stripped away any pretense. He knew. Of course he fucking knew why I was really here. Not that I'd been particularly subtle about it.

"Just felt like reliving my youth," I said, taking the drink he offered. Anything to keep my hands busy, to keep myself from finishing what I'd started with his face.

Zenin's smirk widened, the scars pulling his flesh into something even uglier. "Ah yes, the good old days. Back when teachers knew their place and didn't go around screwing their students."

The fake smile slid off my face, the glass creaking in my grip as I pictured how easily his windpipe would crumple under my hands. How satisfying it would be to watch that smirk disappear for good.

"Careful, Zenin. Your face is already fucked up enough as is. Would be a damn shame if something happened to what's left of it."

He laughed, the sound grating on my last nerve like nails on a chalkboard. "Always so protective. But tell me, Professor, does she know the real reason you're here? Does she know about the—"

"Enough," I bit out.

"Oh, did I hit a nerve?" His eyes flicked across the room, landing on her. The way he looked at her made my vision bleed red around the edges. "She really is something else, isn't she? Too bad I didn't get a chance to get her alone that night—"

My hand lashed out before I could think, fisting in his collar. The fabric bunched in my grip as I hauled him close enough to see my own fury reflected in his eyes. "You fucking—"

Then Suguru was there, his hand slamming down on the bar between us. Silent, steady—a wall between me and a one-way ticket to unemployment. He didn't say a word, just fixed me with that look. The one I'd explicitly asked for earlier. Stop me before I do something I'll regret.

Fuck, I was really starting to regret that request right about now.

Then I felt her—her touch impossibly gentle as she laid her hand on my bicep, the heat of her skin seeping through my shirt. She leaned in close, "Satoru, can we talk for a minute?"

Her soft plea sliced through the haze, and suddenly I became acutely aware of the deafening silence that had fallen over the room, of the countless eyes boring into us.

I uncurled my fingers from Naoya's collar one by one, even though everything in me screamed to finish what I'd started. To paint the walls with whatever was left of his face. But I couldn't. We both knew. So I stepped back and followed her.

─── ·✧· ───

She led me through the crowd, her fingers still wrapped so gently around my arm. We pushed our way past the prying eyes, down a hallway, until she found what looked like an empty office. Probably belonged to Naoya's father, judging by the dark wood and that rich people smell.

For a moment, we just stood there, neither of us willing to shatter the fragile silence. Moonlight sliced through the blinds, turning everything silver and strange, like we were underwater. Maybe we were. I wasn't sure anymore. Her hand slipped from my arm, and suddenly I felt cold.

I collapsed into the chair behind the desk, the leather groaning under my weight. She stood silhouetted at the window, arms wrapped tight around herself, and I had to look away. Had to focus on something else, because I knew one glance at those eyes and I'd break.

My fingers found the pill on their own. Out of habit, really. Without thinking, I snatched up the silver letter opener next to me and crushed the pill beneath it, watching the powder scatter across the polished wood like fresh snow. I bent down and let the burn fill my nose, sear through my brain, numbing everything in an instant. 

When I looked up, she was staring. Always fucking staring, with eyes that flayed me to the bone. And she did it so effortlessly. Saw through everyone around her with that unnerving precision. Or maybe she saw through everything so clearly because she looked for the very things she wanted to hide from others.

"That's new," she said. Not an accusation. I was glad it wasn't.

"It's faster."

I averted my gaze and sank deeper into the chair, letting my head fall back against the headrest as warmth flooded my veins and the ceiling blurred and shifted above me. And then everything went soft around the edges, like looking through frosted glass.

A long exhale escaped my lips. Finally—fucking finally—the constant noise in my head, all that shit I can't shut up—the love, the hate, the fucking terror of it all—it faded to a whisper. The world got a little quieter, a little less sharp. A little more bearable.

For one perfect moment, I could actually breathe. Could almost convince myself I was in control. That this wasn't killing me. That I could walk away if I had to. That I wasn't fucking terrified of losing her. Of becoming him. Of everything.

I groaned, fingers raking through my hair, pulling, needing the pain. My hands were shaking again. Or maybe they never stopped. I couldn't tell anymore.

"You're angry," she said.

"No shit. What gave it away?" I scrubbed my hands over my face. "You showing up here after I specifically fucking told you not to? Or me nearly rearranging Zenin's face again?"

"Satoru—"

"Don't." I squeezed my eyes shut, fingers yanking at my hair again, trembling worse now. From the drugs, the rage, the fear, who the fuck knew. It all bled together these days. "You have no idea what he'd do. If something happened—" I stopped. Couldn’t continue.

"I'm not alone," she said, like that made a difference. "Maki, Yuta, Toge—they're all with me. We're being careful."

"Careful?" I sat upright, forcing myself to meet her gaze. "There's nothing fucking careful about this! It's reckless! You shouldn't even be—"

"I'm doing this for you—"

"Don't." I cut her off. "Don't make this about me."

"But it is!" She stepped closer, eyes blazing. "What, you expect me to just stand by and watch? While you fall apart?"

"This isn't your problem to fix—"

"Like hell it isn't!" Another step. Her eyes seared into mine. "I can't fucking take it anymore. You're in this mess because of me. Because you protected me that night. So don't you dare tell me this isn't my problem to fix."

I stared at her, something in my chest fracturing. "You think that's why I'm doing this? Because I feel obligated?"

"I think you're trying to protect me, like you always do."

"Then don't make me protect you all the goddamn time!" I shoved up from the chair and braced my hands on the desk. "I beat him within an inch of his life that night. I would've killed him if—" My throat closed around the words. "And I'd do it again. In a fucking heartbeat. That's what scares the shit out of me. What I become when it comes to you."

She went still.

"And if he hurt you again," the words scraped out of me, "I—I don't know what I'd do. So please. Just please don't make me find out."

I said the words I'd been turning over in my head for what felt like eternity. Don't make me find out, don't put yourself in danger, don't break my fucking heart. Which really meant break me all you want, just don't leave. I wouldn't survive it.

Her gaze dropped briefly to my hands, and she said, "You done?" 

Her question threw me. Done? God, this infuriating woman. But then I followed her line of sight and saw my hands clenched into white-knuckled fists around the desk’s edge. I slowly released them, my knuckles cracking in the sudden stillness.

I slumped back into the chair, exhausted, defeated, throwing an arm over my eyes. "God, I fucking hate you." The way she stood there, unflinching, unafraid—it made me insane. "I hate that you make me feel like this—so fucking terrified all the time."

"You don't hate me," she said.

"Sometimes I'm not so sure anymore," I answered.

How does it never get easier, I wondered. Loving her. Needing her. It just cuts deeper, spreads further, until I'm drowning in the ache. Until I can't breathe without feeling it in my lungs. And yeah, I hate her for that sometimes.

I couldn't look at her. I knew she'd be there, unyielding, waiting, enduring everything I threw at her, as she always did. Never breaking. Maybe that's what I hated most.

"You're so fucking stupid," I breathed, but it came out wrong. Too soft. Too much like 'I love you'. Too much like 'Please don't leave.' 

"I think that's mutual." She crossed the room then and leaned against the desk, arms folded over her chest. "I'm sorry I lied to you."

I lowered my arm and looked at her. "No, you're not."

"I am sorry for worrying you," she tried again, and I almost believed her, wishing desperately that she'd never have to worry about anything the way I worry about her. "Go ahead, say it. Tell me how stupid I was to come here. I know you're dying to."

"Why would you think that?"

She kept her eyes fixed on the floor. "Because it's true. I make the wrong choice every fucking time."

I watched her, this brilliant, stubborn woman that I love so much, beating herself up over choices that weren't really choices at all—just impossible situations with no right answers. Like there was ever a right answer. And sometimes she reminded me so much of myself. As if I hadn't spent years doing the same thing, and probably still do.

But seeing her do it—it was like staring into a mirror and seeing not just my reflection, but the reflection of everything I hated about myself.

"I think that's mutual," I echoed her words back to her.

With a heavy sigh, I pushed up from the chair, gripping the edge of the desk for a second. Then I reached for her, hands landing on her hips, tugging her close, needing her close. My lips ghosted over hers. Hesitant. Unsure. When she didn't pull away, I kissed her. My hand came up to cradle her face, thumb skimming her cheekbone as I deepened the kiss.

"Alright, what's the plan?" I murmured against her mouth.

She told me about the locked room upstairs and her plan to get it. So calm. She told it so calm. Like it was that simple. Like this wasn't the most insane thing I'd ever heard. But I knew she'd go through with it no matter what I said.

"You seriously think I'm gonna let you anywhere near him with alcohol involved?"

"No," she said. "I think you're going to help me."

"Times like this, I'm really feeling that age difference between us," I said, but we both heard the resignation in my voice. The moment I'd already lost this fight.

"So you'll help?" she asked, ignoring my comment.

Before she could celebrate her victory, I yanked her closer, fingers twisting in her hair. With a sharp tug, I forced her head back until she had no choice but to meet my gaze, her throat bared. Our eyes locked, and I saw the instant her breath hitched.

"On one condition."

"What's that?"

"When we get home, you're gonna make it up to me for all the stress you've caused. Got it?"

"Is that really how you want to play this?"

"Oh, love, I think we're way past propriety at this point."

A shiver ran through her — one that made me almost smile. I could feel her pulse racing beneath my fingertips, could feel the way she melted into me despite herself. It almost made this whole mess worth it.

"Now then." I pulled back just far enough to look her in the eye. "let's have some fun, shall we?"

─── ·✧· ───

So, here's the fun story about how I ended up playing beer pong with my arch-nemesis (besides Sukuna, that is) against my future lovely wife and some chemistry nerd who wouldn't shut up about covalent bonds. Not exactly the Saturday night I had in mind.

I mean, here I was, standing next to Naoya — yeah, the same guy whose face I'd rearranged a few months back — trying to aim at red plastic cups while you were absolutely wiping the floor with us. Turns out that whole '10 years of grief training in alcoholism over your dead father' wasn't just a cute phrase you threw around. Who would've thought?

But really, trying to out-drink an opioid addict? That's like challenging a fish to a swimming contest. Except the fish is in heavy withdrawal. So like, with no fin. Not my finest analogy. I blame the alcohol. What was my point again?

Anyway. Most annoying part? This chemistry department kid with these wide, bright eyes wouldn't stop talking to you about molecular structures. And you were actually entertaining him. At a party. About electron transfers. Of all the insufferable things.

"So if you consider the aromatic compounds—" he was saying, and I swear on my medical license, I didn't mean for the ball to hit him. And I definitely didn't mean for it to hit him that hard. Pure accident, really. 

The ball bounced off his shoulder, effectively shutting him up. They both turned to look at me. "Molecular restructuring in organic compounds? Really?" I shrugged. "At a party?"

She shot me that look. You know the one. The classic 'I-can't-believe-I'm-sleeping-with-this-idiot' glare. It's become quite familiar these days.

"Trouble in paradise?" Naoya said beside me, and I briefly considered rearranging his face again. For symmetry's sake, of course.

But then she bent over to pick up the ball, and suddenly organic chemistry was the furthest thing from my mind. I definitely shouldn't have let her leave the house in that skirt. Though knowing her, she probably wore it just to torture me. 

"Getting distracted, Professor?" she said, straightening up with that little smile that never fails to make me want to do wildly inappropriate things to her in very public places. She leaned across the table, deliberately tapping one of our cups with her finger, giving me her most innocent eyes. Because apparently, driving me insane was her new favorite pastime.

"Me?" I lifted the red cup she'd tapped to my lips, taking my sweet time with the drink, my eyes never leaving hers. "Never."

And somewhere in the haze of beer and the way she was looking at me, I tried to remember why the hell we were even here. Oh right—something about stealing keys. Real professional operation we've got going here. The medical board would be so proud. Their star surgeon, reduced to playing beer pong as a distraction tactic. 

Naoya's keys were right there on the table, practically screaming to be grabbed. But between her legs in that skirt and the way she kept biting her lip every time she lined up a shot, I found myself giving fewer and fewer shits about saving my career and more about how quickly I could get her alone. Priorities. I clearly had them. Alcohol might have scrambled them a bit, I guess.

I caught a glimpse of Suguru standing off to the side of the beer pong table. He was pinching the bridge of his nose, his eyes darting back and forth between me and her like he was watching the world's most stressful tennis match. I really owed him one for putting up with this shit.

Near the chemistry kid, a girl approached who looked a bit like Higurama's intern—though I wasn't entirely sure. She looked different, wearing makeup and dressed up. But that couldn't be her. She'd avoid places with flashing lights because of her epilepsy. I must be seeing things.

Then Naoya, because clearly this shitshow wasn't enough of a disaster already, decided to "level up the process." He snapped his fingers at a passing bartender, and before I could process what the fuck was happening, there was a tray of perfectly lined up tequila shots on the table. Complete with cinnamon and orange slices, because apparently, we're keeping it classy while trying to get my future wife drunk.

"New rule," Naoya announced, his scarred face pulling into what I can only assume was meant to be a grin. "Next shot I sink, you drink both. Beer and tequila."

I glanced over at her, my gut churning. Not from the alcohol—it'd take a hell of a lot more than this to get me there—but from the way she met Naoya's challenge with a nod. That stubborn tilt of her chin that always meant trouble. My palms started to sweat.

Of course, Naoya's ball dropped perfectly into her cup. Because the universe really does have a sick sense of humor.

Watching her reach for both drinks, I found myself wondering what the medical board would be more pissed about — me playing drinking games with students, screwing one of my students, or the fact that I was seriously considering murder. Again.

Then, by some physics-defying miracle or sheer dumb luck, the chemistry kid actually landed a shot. He looked as shocked as the rest of us when the ball plopped into Naoya's cup. But it was her next shot that really got my attention — perfect arc, clean landing, like she'd been doing this her whole damn life.

"Drink up, Professor," she said, but there was something different in her voice.

She reached for the tequila, and then—fuck me—propped one leg up on a nearby beer crate, the motion making her skirt ride up just enough to flash a strip of skin above her tights. Wait. Those weren't tights. Those were fucking stockings.

My brain short-circuited as I realized she'd been walking around all night in stockings. Actual stockings, with what I knew had to be a garter belt hidden under that criminally short skirt. The same spot where she was now deliberately sprinkling cinnamon.

The sight of that exposed sliver of skin between stocking and skirt made my blood boil. When the hell had she even bought those? Had she worn them just for tonight, knowing they'd make me lose my goddamn mind? Was she trying to get herself killed?

Because right now, watching her purposely dust cinnamon on that band of exposed skin, I wasn't sure if I wanted to murder her or fuck her. Probably both. My mouth went dry, and it had fuck-all to do with the alcohol.

"Well?" She tilted her head, all innocence except for that knowing look in her eyes. "Coming to get your tequila?" 

Like she had to ask twice. Yet I hesitated. With all these people watching? What was she playing at? It was reckless, careless, like she was deliberately trying to expose us. It was power play, a challenge. And I knew, that she knew, that I couldn't resist.

A slow smile spread across my face as I sank to one knee before her, the crowd fading into a blur of noise. All that mattered was her—the way her breath hitched as I gripped her calf, the way she tensed as she realized that I made a whole show for her (poor girl didn’t expect that now, did she?)—the feel of her skin on my tongue.

I took my sweet time with the cinnamon, letting my tongue glide over the exposed strip of flesh, feeling her shiver. My teeth grazed her skin, just enough to draw a soft gasp from her lips. If she wanted a show, I'd give her a show. And part of me wanted to shove that skirt higher, to chase that taste of salt and cinnamon further up her thigh until—

Focus. Fucking focus.

I straightened, stepping into her space. She held an orange slice in one hand, the shot glass in the other, and I couldn't help but notice how her pupils had blown wide, how her chest rose and fell just a little faster than normal.

I plucked the orange from her fingers with my teeth, my lips brushing her skin, then took the shot glass, using the movement to press closer, my mouth right by her ear, "What exactly is your plan here?"

"Create distraction," she breathed back.

God help me, but it was working. I was definitely distracted. Whole damn crowd was distracted. And watching her play this game—watching her play me—was probably the hottest and most infuriating thing I'd ever experienced. And I'm pretty sure everyone could see I was hard too.

"You're distracting the wrong audience," I whispered before knocking back the shot.

In the midst of trying to control my homicidal urges over those goddamn stockings, she caught my eye and subtly jerked her head. I turned, making it look like I was just checking something, and spotted them—Zenin, Okkotsu, and Inumaki hovering on the other side of the table behind Naoya, waiting for their chance. 

Right. The keys. The whole reason we were here. I almost forgot.

The game continued, the tension building with each shot. We were down to the last round — winner takes all. That's when she decided to really test my patience.

"Let's make this more interesting," she announced, her voice carrying over the crowd. "Losers jump in the pool." A pause, then because apparently she was hell-bent on giving me a coronary. "No clothes."

"You wouldn’t dare," Naoya scoffed.

"Try me," she replied. 

I shot her a warning look. She subtly chewed on her bottom lip, meeting my gaze with an unnerving calm, perhaps her way of saying everything's gonna be okay. It did little to ease the knot in my stomach.

One shot left. If she made this, Naoya and I would be stripping down for a midnight dip. If she missed—

I tried not to think about her in that pool. Tried not to think about those stockings getting soaked. Tried not to think about murdering every sorry bastard who might lay eyes on her. Either way, this woman was going to be the death of me. If I didn't kill her first.

Naoya landed his shot, fucking prick. I missed mine for obvious reasons. Chemistry kid missed too, leaving everything on her shoulders. The ball left her hand, arcing through the air in what felt like slow motion. It circled the rim, then rolled away.

The crowd went wild. Naoya's victory smirk made me want to punch his face in. I glanced over at her, wondering for a second if she'd missed on purpose. But there was no time for that.

"Well?" Naoya's voice. "I believe the losers owe us a show."

"The game wasn't exactly fair—" I started, but she cut me off.

"Isn’t this what you’ve always wanted, Naoya?" She turned to him, her words sharp. "To see me undress without having to drug me first?"

The crowd went dead silent. Naoya's scarred face contorted into something ugly. "Watch your mouth, little girl. You're not as untouchable as you think."

"And you're pathetic," she spat back, then turned away from him. "At least I get to choose when I undress, right?”

She started walking toward the pool, each step deliberate, commanding. I followed, caught between pride and sheer terror at what she was about to do. At the edge, she turned back to me.

"Don't," I pleaded, but she was already reaching for the hem of her skirt. It fell, revealing the dark lace of her stockings. Then her top followed, and I stepped closer, trying to shield her from the leering eyes.

"This is insane." But my protest died as she stood there in only black lace, and then I saw them—the bruises from the fire still painted across her waist and ribs. Dark purple and yellow marks that hadn't yet faded, cruel reminder of how close I'd come to losing her.

The sight sobered me instantly. Something twisted in my chest, sharp and painful. The bruises I'd carefully tended to, the ones that still made her wince when I changed her bandages—on full display for this crowd of drunk idiots, turned into a spectacle.

"Please," I begged, my voice barely audible. "Don't do this."

She met my gaze, and for a fleeting moment, I thought I’d reached her. But then that smile—the one that sealed my fate—touched her lips. "Sorry, Professor," she whispered, and then she was gone, falling backward into the pool, taking a piece of me with her.

The splash echoed in my ears like a gunshot, and I was already shrugging off my jacket, ready to either dive in after her or use it to cover her when she surfaced. A cold, hard fury settled in my gut. Naoya was going to pay for this.

The crowd roared as she surfaced, her hair plastered to her face, water tracing the curves of her body beneath the soaked lace. Our eyes met across the distance, me standing at the pool's edge, and I didn’t bother to hide my disappointment. Something flickered across her face—regret maybe, or shame—before she looked away.

Hell broke loose. Bodies crashed into the water, sending waves across the pool. Even Naoya stripped off his shirt and dove in, reveling in the attention. The whole party seemed to shift to the pool in a matter of seconds — clothes flying, drinks splashing, the pristine water turning into a churning mess. 

Perfect distraction.

But I barely registered any of it, my world had narrowed to her. I watched as she climbed out, leaving a trail of wet footprints on the concrete, practically sprinting past me, her gaze fixed on the floor, while water dripped from her hair, her skin, the dark lace clinging to her form.

Behind her, the pool had turned into chaos — exactly what she'd planned, I realized. 

I gathered her clothes from where they'd fallen and followed her inside. I caught a glimpse of Okkotsu's quick movements near the discarded clothes by the pool. 

Well played.

─── ·✧· ───

Her dripping form drew curious eyes as we moved through the foyer. Each step felt like a penance—hers for the recklessness, mine for letting it happen. Heads turned, conversations died, the sudden silence punctuated only by the soft drip, drip, drip of water from her hair.

Kento’s face flashed past, but I barely registered him. No doubt he'd give me shit about it at the university later, like he didn't already know something was up with me and her.

I wrapped my jacket around her shivering shoulders, fighting the desperate urge to reach for the opioids hidden in my pocket. Withdrawal, guilt, and fury burned together in my veins, making me want to crawl out of my own skin. 

I stepped in front of her, partly to block all those eyes on her, partly to hide how bad my hands were shaking. None of it was worth it. Not the keys, not avoiding my parents, none of it. How did we end up here? How did I allow things to get to this point?

Upstairs, she dressed quickly, water still dripping from her hair, leaving damp patches on her clothes.

"Are you cold?" 

"I'm okay," she said, avoiding my gaze. 

She was shaking. I could see the goosebumps on her arms. "You're shivering," I said and reached for her, but she pulled away.

“I’m fine, really.”

Despite her words, I pulled her close. She didn't resist this time, tilting her face up to mine. Her eyes were bright, and for a second, I thought she might cry. The world could have been watching, for all I cared. If those tears fell, it would be my undoing.

And then I thought of everything she'd done, everything she'd had to do—for me. My twenty-four-year-old student, forced to protect me from my own damn parents, to beg for my own money. Because I’d hit a guy who tried to hurt her. Why was it all so fucked up?

The high was long gone, leaving this gaping hole. My limbs felt heavy, detached, like they belonged to a stranger, unable to reach out and fix what I’d broken. And we were so far from where we started.

"You're disappointed," she finally said. She wasn't asking.

"We should leave." Because I couldn't bear to watch her sacrifice one more piece of herself for me.

"You can leave."

Before I could say anything back, Zenin came bursting into our corner, Okkotsu and Inumaki right behind her, her eyes all lit up. "That was fucking insane!" she yelled, waving something around—Naoya's keys. "But it worked! I can't believe it actually—" She stopped short, finally noticing the tension between us.

The win felt empty. Yeah, we got what we came for. But what did it cost? Looking at her, still shivering a little in my jacket, I wasn't so sure it was worth it. I was supposed to protect her. Instead, I just kept watching her throw herself in the fire for me. 

Some professor I was. Some man I was.

Strange how winning can feel so much like losing, especially when you realize you're not the one paying the price.

─── ·✧· ───

I stayed outside Naoya's room, playing lookout. At least that's what I told them. Truth was, I couldn't stand being in there, couldn't bear being near her, watching her fight my battles while I was barely holding myself together.

The itch under my skin had spread, making my whole body crawl with invisible insects while she did the dirty work. Even after everything, she was still trying to save me. 

And I was still letting her.

I slid down the wall, my head hitting the floor. How did we end up here? What the fuck were we doing? What the fuck was I doing?

I'm thirty-five years old, for fuck's sake. Why was I acting like a goddamn teenager? I should've stopped her, shouldn't have let her leave the house to begin with, should've been the adult. But instead, I let it happen, standing by and watching where it led. Again.

This whole situation was insane. We were in too deep, and I knew it. But I couldn't seem to find my way out, couldn't seem to stop this trainwreck we were on. It was like I was watching it all happen from outside my own body, powerless to change course.

What kind of man was I? What kind of professor? I was supposed to be her mentor, her… something more. Instead, I was dragging her down with me.

I thought back to that night, the one that started it all. The night I found her in the lab, working late, hunched over her microscope. She looked up at me with those eyes, those damn eyes that seemed to see right through me. And I was lost. I knew it was wrong. I knew I should have walked away. But I didn't. I couldn't. Drawn in. Consumed.

And now, here we were. Trapped in this fucked-up situation of our own making. I wanted to blame her, to say it was all her fault for being so reckless, so damn stubborn. But I knew that wasn't true. I let this happen. I didn’t stop it. But why? 

I could replay the events in my mind, frame by frame, but the crucial moment, the point where I should have intervened, remained a blur. It was as if some part of me had wanted to see where this ended.

Music still drifted up from downstairs, the bass thumping through the walls. It felt wrong, out of place. Like we were in a different world, a fucked-up one, while everyone else was living their normal, happy lives.

I squeezed my eyes shut, trying to block it all out, trying to pretend, just for a moment, that this wasn't happening. That we weren't here. That everything was okay. But it was happening. And I was in it, and I knew I couldn't hold my breath much longer.

My hands wouldn't stop shaking. Kept seeing things in the corners of my vision. Shadows that shouldn't move but did, faces that weren't faces at all. The wallpaper breathed. In and out. In and out. Like a lung.

Stop it. Just stop all of it. Make it stop. But it won't stop, can't stop, because she's in there right now, digging through his things, trying to save me save me save me why won't she just stop trying to save me?

Everything felt wrong, sick, twisted. Too bright and too dark all at once. My skin didn't fit right anymore. Nothing fit right anymore. God, I needed a goddamn fix.

A cough. I pressed my hand against my mouth. When I pulled it away, my palm was red. 

Huh. That's new. 

I stared at the blood, watching it pool in the lines of my hand. It looked wrong somehow, too dark, too thick. The longer I stared, the more it seemed to move strangely, crawling along the creases of my palm.

Was blood supposed to move like that? Like it was alive? Like it was trying to tell me something? I couldn't remember anymore. I couldn't remember a lot of things lately. The blood kept moving, kept spreading. 

Maybe this was it—maybe I was finally losing whatever scraps of sanity I had left, sitting here on a dirty floor watching my own blood drip down my palm.

A part of me wondered if he'd been right all along, that I was becoming him, the very thing I’d always feared. This wasn't how it was supposed to be. I was supposed to be better, different. Not this—huddled on a filthy floor at a college party, watching my blood move as if in psychosis, while she risked everything for me. Again. 

The door handle turned. Shit. I wiped my palm against the dark carpet, smearing the blood into the fibers where it vanished like it was never there. I scrambled to my feet just as they emerged. She moved quickly, shoving something beneath the waistband of her skirt. Before I could speak, she grabbed my arm.

"Let's leave." There was something like panic in her voice. "I'll tell you outside."

I gripped her hand, my own pulse quickening, and we went downstairs and pushed through the mass of drunk students. But then the music cut abruptly, plunging us into a moment of strange silence before panicked voices filled the void. 

"What the hell—?" Okkotsu’s shout cut through the din from behind us.

Then I saw the flashing lights—red and blue strobing through the windows. Fuck. 

"Cops!" Someone shouted, and the whole house erupted into chaos as people scrambled in every direction.

"Everyone freeze!" A voice boomed through the foyer. "Nobody moves!"

We reached the entrance as two officers shouldered their way through the front door. The bigger one looked like he benched trucks for fun, taking up almost the entire doorframe as he planted himself there.

"Listen up!" he bellowed, one meaty hand resting on his belt. "Party's over. Nobody leaves until we check IDs."

Perfect. Just fucking perfect.

I felt her tense beside me, those things hidden in her waistband might as well have been burning her skin. I could practically feel her panic.

"Look, officers." I stepped forward, forcing my voice into something professional. "There seems to be some confusion—"

"No confusion here," Truck-Bencher cut me off, the scar on his lip twisting as he frowned. "Got noise complaints, reports of underage drinking. Everyone stays put."

"I'm faculty at the university. These are my students and they're all over twenty-one. You're wasting everyone's time—"

"Nobody leaves until we say so."

"You really want to process IDs for over two hundred students?"

"You telling me how to do my job?" He shifted closer, chest puffed out despite me having two inches on him.

Withdrawal crawled beneath my skin like insects, each bite feeding the rage that built vertebra by vertebra up my spine. "Depends. Are you actually doing it, or just power tripping?"

"Back the fuck up." His hand dropped to his belt. "Last chance."

I felt her fingers digging into my arm, trying to pull me back. But the rage was a living thing now, burning away anything resembling sense or restraint. "Or what?"

The punch came fast. I dropped, and heard the sickening crack of bone against flesh—not mine. Some poor student next to me. For a heartbeat, everything stopped. Then chaos.

Bodies everywhere. Screaming. Shoving. Radio static cutting through the roar. Her hand in mine as we pushed through the surge. Her friends somewhere behind. Everything blurred. I can't remember when she let go of my hand.

I just remember the scream. Different from the others. Then her voice, "Get her on the ground!" I shoved through the mass of bodies. Saw the girl on the floor. Ice flooded my veins.

I knew that face. Higurama's intern. My patient. My responsibility.

I dropped beside her, my hands shaking so violently I could barely feel them. Her eyes rolled back. Withdrawal made everything too sharp, too bright. I couldn't think. Couldn't—

Satoru. Satoru. Satoru. Satoru. Satoru. Satoru. It was her voice. Fingers gripped my arm. "Satoru, look at me." I met her eyes. Steady. Unnerving. "Focus."

Everything snapped back into place. My phone was in my hand before I realized I'd moved. "This is Dr. Gojo from Jujutsu Medical. Twenty-six-year-old female, epileptic, pre-seizure presentation. We need immediate assistance."

My voice was mechanical, professional. Inside, my mind screamed. Why was she here? Had she been drinking? Were her meds interacting with something? I should know this. Should be better than this. Should be fucking better. 

Nausea rose in my throat and I'd never felt more like a failure in my entire fucking life.

Behind us, the fight continued to rage. A man’s voice bellowed, trying to restore order. Then Suguru was there, kneeling beside her, his hands gentle as he cradled her head. He murmured something, soft and low. The tenderness in his movements caught me off guard. 

"The ambulance is taking too long." His voice cut through everything. Before I could process it, he had her in his arms, head protected against his chest and moved.

─── ·✧· ───

I can't remember how we got to the hospital.

Everything blurred into fragments. Flashing lights, squealing tires, the weight of everything crushing my chest. Each breath scraped like broken glass. My hands wouldn't stop shaking until I swallowed three pills. Maybe four. I lost count.

The fluorescent lights overhead were too bright, too harsh, making my skull feel like it was splitting open. I wanted to crack my head against the wall.

Some part of me was still moving, still speaking in that detached doctor voice — rattling off medical history, medications, possible interactions. Years of training overriding the screaming in my head. But they never trained us for this.

Never trained us for how guilt tastes like acid in your throat while watching your mistakes breathe shallowly on starched white sheets.

They taught us to make clean incisions, to suture arteries, to restart hearts. But not how your own heart would seize when you recognize the face on the floor. Not how your girlfriend’s hands would be steadier than your own worthless trembling ones as you fumbled for your phone, your throat closing around the words "this is my fault", "please" and "I'm sorry."

Didn’t prepare us for withdrawal turning your hands into treacherous strangers while someone seized at your feet. For the shame that festers in your gut as you come down, struggling to remember basic fucking dosages through the need scorching through your veins.

They never warned us how love would carve you open worse than any scalpel, making you both butcher and victim, instrument and incision. Never warned us about loving someone while you’re falling apart. How it feels like drowning in open air, your chest cracked wide and your beating heart wrenched out into daylight, desperate and terrified and somehow still pumping, still fighting, still so fucking afraid.

Higurama's intern lay still now, the steady drip of the IV marking time like a metronome in the silence. I watched the gentle rise and fall of her chest, my mind replaying the medications, the dosages, searching for the mistake I must have made. There had to be one. There was always one.

Perhaps he was right about me after all. Funny how even now, even here, I could still hear his voice so clearly.

"You okay?"

She sat across from me, swallowed by my spare clothes—an old t-shirt and sweatpants that draped loosely on her frame, a blanket draped over her legs. Anything was better than those clothes from before, those fucking stockings I'd personally thrown in the trash.

"Satoru?" she tried again. "You okay?"

I couldn't bring myself to answer.

"Talk me through her meds again," she said, resting her head in her palm. Her eyes, piercing and unwavering, never left my face as she waited.

I rubbed my temples, trying to focus through the exhaustion. "Standard anticonvulsants. Levetiracetam, 500mg twice daily. Added phenytoin after the first seizure." I fell back into my chair, scrubbing my hand over my face. "She couldn't tolerate the Levetiracetam, so I switched to Topiramate, 500mg thrice daily."

She was quiet for a moment. "Side effects?"

"Minor. Tremor in her extremities sometimes, but nothing she couldn't handle. It was working." I paused. "It was supposed to be working."

"EEG results?"

"Showed mild abnormalities. Nothing that would explain a seizure this severe." I scrubbed at my face again, harder this time. "I should have seen it. Should have caught something."

"Satoru." Her voice held that gentle firmness I knew so well. "You did everything right."

"Then why did she seize?" I stood abruptly, the chair screeching against linoleum. I turned away, unable to bear her gentle gaze. Outside, dawn was breaking in shades of grey. No color, no warmth, just an endless stretch of concrete and clouded sky bleeding into each other. "If I did everything right, why is she lying here?"

"Because sometimes that's just how it goes. You know this better than anyone," she said. "Medicine isn't perfect. Neither are we."

My reflection stared back at me, ghostly and distorted in the glass. Dark circles, stubble, hair a fucking mess. A doctor coming down from a high while his patient lay in a hospital bed.

"I should have increased the dosage earlier. Run more tests. I should have—"

"Seen the future?"

"I should have been better."

"You are already the best," she said, but it felt like a lie to me. "But even the best can't control everything."

Higurama's intern stirred slightly in her sleep, and we both fell silent, the moment stretching taut between us. I dragged myself back to the chair, sinking down with my face in my hands.

"You didn't do anything wrong," she whispered, leaning forward to brush a stray strand of hair from the girl's forehead. "Sometimes life just happens, and all we can do is be there to pick up the pieces."

I wanted to believe her. God, how I wanted to. But the truth sat like stones in my stomach.

"I hate this," I whispered.

"I know."

Silence.

"Do you blame yourself?" she asked quietly.

"How can I not?"

Because it's stupid, you know this. I could feel them in my bones, the words forming on her lips before she could speak them. "How did that ever change anything?" I said before she could start.

She leaned back, the chair creaking slightly. "Do you think we are terrible people?" she asked, her voice so soft I almost missed it.

I turned to look at her then, really look at her. Even exhausted and worried, wearing my old clothes, she was still the most beautiful thing I'd ever seen. Like a drug I couldn't quit, a high I'd chase until it killed me. 

And what did that say about either of us? That I wanted to crack her open, crawl inside her skin and nestle myself in her marrow? Wanted to consume her, devour her, until there was nothing left but the two of us, fused together in the most depraved way possible?

It was as if we were always meant to find each other. But it was a penance, for both of us.

"I think I am what I am because of you," I finally said.

And it was the truth. She'd molded me, shaped me, just as I'd shaped her. We'd ruined each other for anyone else, stripped away the innocence and left only the filth and grit behind.

Her hand fell from her face, her eyes meeting mine. "And I am what I am because of you."

"Does that scare you?"

"I think one gets used to it."

"Yeah," I said finally, my voice rough. "I guess you do get used to it. Until you don't."

She frowned, but before she could voice something, Suguru stepped inside. 

He said we should leave, and maybe that was for the better anyway, though I couldn't quite shake the feeling that there was an edge to his voice. Anger, perhaps. But I couldn't blame him. Not really.

I grabbed her things, my hand finding its familiar place at the small of her back as we headed for the door. Suguru's voice followed us down the corridor. "What did you find in Zenin's room anyway?" he asked, as if it were something to be discussed in the doorway.

I walked ahead.

I didn't need to hear again about the unconscious women on the Polaroids. 

─── ·✧· ───

Too quiet.

He was never this quiet.

"How bad is it?" I asked, perched on the edge of the exam bed where the paper sheet betrayed every nervous shift of my weight with stupid crinkles. Pale morning light filtered through the blinds, casting thin stripes across the linoleum floor.

I'd coughed up blood again earlier this morning. More than last night. The metallic taste had filled my mouth before I even opened my eyes. I'd stumbled to the bathroom, careful not to wake her—she needed the rest after we spent the whole damn night at the police station.

I stared at the red running down the drain. Way more than there should be. I'd blamed it on stress and alcohol last time. But now? It meant my liver was probably failing faster than I'd thought. Coagulation system breaking down, blood vessels becoming fragile. Textbook end-stage.

I called him then. He was still at the hospital, had slept there while looking after Higurama's intern. His face had gone pale when he saw me walk in. Guess I looked as bad as I felt.

We ran tests. All of them. Blood work, chest X-rays, the works. And now here we are. I watched him reading what I assumed was my death sentence, waiting for him to finally look up, while the clock on the wall ticked away the seconds.

But he kept his eyes fixed on the test results, holding himself with the careful rigidity of someone handling explosives. Another bad sign.

"Suguru."

He exhaled slowly, finally meeting my gaze with eyes that said everything before his mouth could form the words. "You should have started treatment sooner. We talked about this months ago."

"Yeah, yeah, I know." I tried to wave off his concern. "What do the results say?"

His fingers tightened on the papers until the corners creased. "Your liver enzymes are through the roof. AST over 1000, ALT even higher. Bilirubin's climbing while albumin's dropping. Your PT/INR values—" He trailed off, shaking his head. "Your liver is failing, Satoru. Not just damaged anymore—failing."

I let the clinical terms wash over me. The doctor in me understood the implications perfectly. The addict in me wanted to laugh at the irony.

"Well," I said, forcing lightness into my tone, "guess I should have listened to you sooner, huh?"

Suguru's expression hardened. "This isn't a joke. Without immediate intervention—" He caught himself, but I could read the rest in his eyes as clearly as any lab report.

Without immediate intervention, I was dying. Fitting, really. That my body would choose to betray me just when I'd finally found something worth living for.

"How's the withdrawal going?" Suguru asked, setting down the test results.

"Managing." I ran a hand through my hair, trying to ignore how even that simple movement felt like too much effort. "Reduced the hydromorphone gradually. Down to about 5mg now."

"Satoru." His voice carried that familiar note of frustration, the one I'd heard a thousand times before. "You need to stop completely. Not reduce—stop. Your liver can't handle any more strain."

"I'm trying," I snapped, then immediately regretted the harshness. "Sorry. I know you're trying to help."

Suguru pulled up a chair, sitting down with a heavy sigh. "We need to start treatment immediately. The protocol won't be pleasant—high-dose corticosteroids, immunosuppressants, possibly plasmapheresis if things get worse."

"Sounds fun."

"It'll be brutal," he continued, ignoring my sarcasm. "The side effects alone—you'll need to be monitored constantly. Multiple blood draws daily, frequent imaging. And absolutely no narcotics—your liver won't survive it."

I absorbed this, the clinical reality of what lay ahead settling into my bones. "So basically, I get to feel like shit while you stick me with needles and watch me suffer."

"That's about right. But it's either that or start planning your funeral."

"At least you're honest." I attempted a smile that felt more like a grimace. "When do we start?"

"Tomorrow morning. I'll admit you tonight, get you set up in a private room," Suguru said, already reaching for admission forms.

"Monday morning."

He looked up sharply. "What?"

"I have a family dinner on Sunday," I shrugged. "Can't skip it."

"Are you insane?" Suguru's voice rose to fill the small room. "Your liver is failing, Satoru. This isn't something you can postpone for a damn dinner party."

"Monday morning," I repeated firmly. "I gave my word I'd be there."

"Your word won't mean much if you're dead."

"I can manage two more days."

"No, you can't." Suguru slammed the test results down with enough force to make me flinch. Since when is he always so fucking tense? "Your numbers are critical. Every hour we delay treatment increases the risk of complete liver failure."

"Monday."

"For fuck's sake, Satoru—"

"I said Monday. I need to do this, Suguru. Please."

He stared at me for a long moment, jaw clenched so tight I could hear his teeth grinding. Finally, his shoulders slumped.

"Fine. Monday morning, first thing. But if you show any signs of deterioration—any at all—I'm admitting you immediately. And no alcohol at that dinner. Not a single drop."

"Deal."

"I mean it, Satoru."

"I know," I said, trying to inject some levity into the heavy atmosphere. "You can do all sorts of things to me on Monday. Not like I have much on my schedule anyway."

"So Yaga has exempted you?"

"Temporarily relieved of my teaching duties until further notice." I tried to keep my voice light, but the words still choked me. "Apparently, licking your student's leg in public view isn't considered acceptable behavior. Who knew?"

"Everyone would have known that."

"Most people were too drunk to remember anyway, or too busy dealing with the police raid afterwards to care." I shrugged. "Silver lining?"

"This isn't funny. Do you have any idea how serious this is? Your career—"

"My career?" I almost laughed. "In case you missed the memo, my liver's failing. I think my career concerns just got bumped down the priority list."

Suguru fell silent.

"Besides," I added, "maybe it's for the best. Can't exactly teach while going through treatment, can I?"

"Yaga doesn't know about your condition?"

"No, and he's not going to. As far as he's concerned, I'm just taking some time to... reassess my professional boundaries."

"And when he asks why you're not fighting this?"

I sighed. "Let him think what he wants. I've got bigger problems right now."

"Like a family dinner you're insisting on attending despite being on death's door?"

"Exactly." I flashed him a grin, this one a little more genuine despite everything. "See? You're getting it."

"You're impossible."

"That's why you love me."

"That's why I'm going to enjoy sticking you with needles on Monday."

"Kinky."

His expression sobered, eyes searching my face. "You should tell her."

The mere mention of her sent a knife twisting in my gut. "No."

"Satoru—"

"I said no. She has enough to deal with right now. This stays between us."

Suguru shook his head but didn't argue further. He knew me too well to waste his breath.

"I will," I added softly, more to convince myself than him. "When I'm a bit better."

"This will kill her."

"I know."

Silence.

"I'm sorry," I finally managed. "For being an asshole. For everything. And... thanks for coming to the party with me."

"You already apologized."

"I mean it." I met his gaze. "You've always been there, even when I didn't deserve it."

Something shifted in his expression—a flicker of the friendship we'd shared before everything got so complicated. Before I'd dragged us both into this mess.

"Just don't die on me," he said. "I've invested too much time in keeping your stupid ass alive."

I pushed off the bed, steadying myself against the sudden dizziness that threatened to knock me over. "See you Monday."

"You're a stubborn idiot," he called after me. I didn't disagree. 

I stopped at the door, turning back. "Hey, what's going on between you and Higurama's intern anyway?"

Suguru stiffened slightly. "Nothing. Just concerned since she's my patient now too."

I studied him, noting the subtle tension in his shoulders, the way his gaze shifted slightly left—his tell when he wasn't being entirely truthful.

"Sure," I said, too exhausted to push it further. "See you Monday."

As I walked away, I wondered if he knew how obvious he was. Then again, who was I to judge? I was hardly an expert at handling matters of the heart.

─── ·✧· ───

I paused outside our apartment door, my hand trembling on the handle. Withdrawal clawed through me, a living thing twisting my gut. Each breath was a struggle, my lungs constricting as if they'd forgotten their purpose. Just breathe, idiot. In, out. You're almost there.

Relief flooded through me the moment I opened the door. Her shoes were there, neatly arranged next to my scattered ones. Her coat on the hook. She was home.

Strange how that simple fact could lift the weight crushing my chest, made breathing a fraction less painful. No matter how bad things were, coming home to her felt like breaking the surface after being underwater too long.

Dog bounded up to greet me, tail whipping back and forth, before darting off toward the bedroom. Smart boy knew exactly where to find her. I kicked off my shoes, let my jacket fall where it would, and followed.

She was there, sprawled across our bed in a sea of papers, bathed in the warm light of the bedside lamp. The sight of her stole what little breath I had left. Hair messily pulled back, drowning in one of my old t-shirts, completely lost in whatever she was reading. Beautiful. It was a beauty that made my heart ache.

Without a word, I crawled onto the bed, dragging myself up until I could rest my head on her stomach. I paused, remembering the bruises on her midsection. But before I could pull back, she gently tugged me closer and I surrendered, resting my head against her warmth. 

I wrapped my arms around her waist and her fingers found my hair instantly, like they belonged there, gentle strokes that made my eyes flutter closed and I thought, this was home. This was peace. Even as my body screamed for relief, even as guilt gnawed at me, here with her, I could almost believe everything would be okay.

"What are you reading?" I mumbled against her shirt, already knowing the answer. Why did she still throw herself into this project? Did it even matter anymore? But I already knew that answer too. Distraction.

"Research papers. For our project." Her fingers never stopped their magic. "Everything okay at the hospital?" I wondered for a second how she knew where I went, but then she said, "Antiseptic smell."

Did I always smell like that? Like the harsh, sterile scent of the hospital? I hated it. Hated how it seemed to cling to my skin no matter how many times I scrubbed my hands raw. Hated the way it reminded me of sickness and death.

I hugged her tighter, breathing in her familiar scent as that was so unlike the clinical smell of the hospital as I crafted the lie. Yeah, everything's fine, I told her. Had to check on something with a patient. Normal stuff, nothing to worry about. Standard procedure.

But even as I spoke, the guilt in my stomach twisted. The truth was, I wasn't sure how much longer I could keep going like this. I could feel myself slipping, losing my grip on the things that mattered most and I couldn't help but wonder if I'd even make it to the end.

If I'd be there to witness the results of our research, to stand by her side as we perhaps do something great. I squeezed my eyes shut, trying to drown out the intrusive thoughts, focusing on the feel of her beneath me, the steady rise and fall of her breath.

Her fingers paused momentarily in my hair, and I knew she sensed something off. She always could read me too well. But then she resumed the gentle stroking.

"You'd tell me if something's wrong, right?"

"Of course," I whispered, another lie to add to the growing pile.

I tightened my arms around her waist, as if by holding her close enough, I could somehow make up for my betrayal. As if loving her fiercely enough could somehow balance out the pain I was about to cause her. Monday felt both too far away and not nearly far enough.

Desperate for a distraction, I asked about how it went at the police station. She said it was fine, her friends were with her as they'd needed to clarify their statements, she explained, her fingers still weaving through my hair. Everything had been too hazy right after the party.

She mentioned they needed me to verify my own statement again too. I bit back the urge to say that they'd likely have to come to my hospital bed for that. Instead, I just hummed in response. Whatever it took to make that little shit pay for what he'd done.

"He won't hurt anyone else," she added. "We'll make sure of it."

Something about her struck me as odd. How could she be so unaffected by everything that had happened? Like we didn’t just discover that Zenin Naoya was—

"You're so calm about it." 

"And what would you have me do?"

I didn’t know. Maybe I should be grateful that at least one of us could keep it together. 

I turned my head, pressing a kiss to her palm. I wanted to tell her how proud I was of her, how sorry I was for dragging her into this mess, how I feared the rumors that would follow her through university halls. How fucking terrified I was. How much I loved her. But it all just crowded in my throat, tangled with all the other truths I couldn't voice.

Instead, I just held her tighter. "I'm sorry," I whispered.

"For what?"

I didn't answer. Couldn't answer. Or lie again. I clung to her, as if she were the only thing keeping me from falling apart, pressing my face into her stomach, trying to blur myself into her very being. "Satoru,” she winced, a small sound escaping her lips. "You're hurting me."

"Please," I pleaded, tears pricking at my eyes. “Just… bear it for a moment. Please.” But then, a sudden tickle rose in my throat, and I sat up abruptly, he movement sending the room spinning.

"You okay?" she asked, sitting up as well, her hand cradling her side.

"Yeah," I managed, before another cough clawed its way out. I stood, turning away from her, my hand coming up to cover my mouth. When I pulled it away, blood glistened on my palm.

"Satoru? You sure you're okay?"

"Everything's fine." I curled my fingers into a fist, watching red seep between my knuckles. "Just need some water."

I should call him again. Should probably head to the hospital right now. Every logical part of my brain screamed at me to seek help, to stop this madness before it was too late. 

But Sunday's dinner loomed in my mind. One last chance to fix things with her, to make things right before everything inevitably crumbled around us. Just two more days. I just needed to hold on for two more days and then I could let the chips fall where they may.

Even as blood painted the back of my throat red, I clung to that desperate hope, that foolish notion that I could make this right. I knew I was being stupid. Reckless. Playing Russian roulette with a fully loaded gun. 

But then again, what did it matter anyway?

<- prev chapter | next chapter ->

author's note — welcome back, i hope this wasn't too intense, even tho i went through all stages of grief writing this chapter, but i'm quite happy with how it turned out. hope you all survived seeing things through satoru's eyes once more. writing from his perspective is always both challenging and thrilling in some strange way.

quick note, as this is somehow not obvious to some people: i understand that this story deals with controversial topics and might not be everyone’s cup of tea but this is purely fictional work, and i'm just here to enjoy a stupid little hobby. i am not looking for criticism. if the story makes you uncomfortable, feel free to block me and move on.

for those following the spin-off: yes, this chapter runs parallel to remedies and reasons chapter 04 ! if you want to see how certain events played out from a different angle, definitely check out the suguru spin-off.

and i want to thank you all for your incredible support. your comments, messages, and theories continue to blow me away. seeing how deeply you connect with this story and catch all the little details i sprinkle throughout brings me so much joy. your thoughtful analyses and wild speculations make writing this stupid story so much fun !! :''))

also a massive thank you to @/nanamis-baker who beta reads all these chaotic chapters, listens to my rambling about plot points, and talks me down whenever i'm convinced everything i write is terrible <3

& second quick note about the alcohol consumption in this story: while it's serve the narrative of the story, please remember that alcohol is toxic to the body and brain, with no "safe" amount. please be mindful of your health and wellbeing.

next chapter we'll be back to our regular pov as we deal with the aftermath of... well, all of this. until then, take care of yourselves ! and as always, thank you for joining me on this chaotic journey and being patient with my slow updates <3

ps: if you want to get notifications for future updates, you can join my taglist here !

tags — @browrm @panteramarron @starlightanyaaa

@myahfig4 @rosebluod @bloopsstuff @depressedemosantaclaus @nanamis-baker

@tofumiao @shoruio @s3vtrue @rosso-seta @bnha-free-writing

@chiyokoemilia @bonequinhagojo @janbannan @mikkmmmii @yeiena

@coeqi @faustina @glenkiller338 @yenmrtnz @buni-bunnydoll

© lostfracturess. do not repost, translate, or copy my work.

[imagine-you]

Think I Only Want You Under My Mistletoe [Logan/Reader]

Summary: In which you need a fake date to your parent's Christmas party, Logan volunteers, and you realize that maybe your unrequited crush isn't so unrequited after all. May include: Fake Dating, Real Feelings, Meddlesome Friends, Terrible Parents, and Mistletoe. Word Count: 5.5k Author's Notes: Part of my In Another Life, Perhaps 'verse. In which they're stuck in a Hallmark Movie Universe??? Either way, Merry Christmas, y'all! 🎄

Read on AO3

"Ugh," you groaned, letting your face fall into your hands. You figured it was better than hitting your head against the table in the hopes that your situation would suddenly change.  

"What's wrong?" Ororo asked, studying you across the break room table.  

“My whole life,” you grumbled, knowing you were being childish, but glad that none of your students were around to see it.  

You had managed to get a brief moment of respite from the teenagers roaming the halls of the X-Mansion by retreating to the makeshift teacher's lounge located in a room tucked away near the kitchen. All of you had worked to make it your own space.  

Hank had lugged in a refrigerator and at some point a microwave had shown up on someone's repurposed nightstand. Charles had offered to pay for whatever the staff might have wanted, but all of you seemed to want to fill the room with personal touches and effects. So, someone had dragged in an old table that must have been stored in the attic and other people stole desk chairs from unoccupied rooms. Over time, a coffeemaker had been added along with a small cabinet full of snacks. There were also photos along the wall, candid and professional shots of the staff.  

Your favorite was a group shot where most of you were making a goofy face. Your eyes were always drawn to Remy doing bunny ears behind Logan’s head and Logan in the middle of snarling at Remy to cut it out, but there was just the tiniest bit of a grin peeking at the edges of Logan’s mouth.  

He swore he hated you all, but you knew better. He was part of the family and there was a reason he had stuck around despite his own protests.  

The lounge was one of your favorite places to be and it was even better when you were joined by your fellow teachers and friends. It was a bonus perk knowing that none of the kids were allowed. You loved teaching and you loved all the bright, young students taking up residence in the mansion, but it was nice to get a break from time to time.  

 Especially when you needed a safe place to vent your frustrations about every wrong turn your life seemed to take.  

“No, really, what’s wrong?” Ororo asked again.  

"My parents," you sighed, sliding the invitation you received earlier that morning across the table so she could read it.  

"What's the big deal, sugar?" Rogue wondered, leaning over Ororo’s shoulder so she could read the paper as well. "Sounds like a good time." 

"Every year, it's always the same," you explained, reaching out to grab the invitation when Ororo handed it back. "My parents invite me to their Christmas party and I go because I love them, but I end up having a miserable time." 

"If it's so miserable, why bother going?" Logan asked from where he was leaning up against the table that held the coffeemaker and microwave. He was sipping a beer and looked relaxed in a white t-shirt and grey sweatpants. You had a fleeting thought that Logan looked really good and you hoped Charles or Jean hadn't managed to catch that.  

Charles had only grown more meddlesome in his old age and you certainly didn’t need him trying to set you up with Logan. And Logan had been infatuated with Jean for as long as you had known him. You really didn’t cherish the idea of her knowing she had something you desperately wanted.  

"It's complicated," you tried, but rolled your eyes when Logan simply arched a brow at you, unimpressed with your attempt at deflection. "My parents aren't so fond of mutants," you finally conceded, unsurprised at Logan's snort and shake of his head.  

"I might be missing something here, but you're a mutant, aren't you?" Remy asked as he dropped down into the chair at Rogue's side. He let his arm stretch across the back of her chair and you noticed the way she leaned into him, careful not to let her skin brush against him.  

You hadn't noticed Remy enter the room, since you had been so focused on Logan. You shrugged your shoulders, staring morosely at the rest of your sandwich. "Yeah," you sighed, meeting Remy's gaze. "They love me. They do," you insisted at Remy's incredulous look. "But they want me to be normal. I only see them a couple times a year, since I'm usually here with the X-Men, and every year at Christmas, without fail, I show up without a date like an idiot. And then my parents try to set me up with some normal human guy as if that will make me somehow more acceptable to them." 

"That sure sounds a lot like conditional love, sugar," Rogue mused, quirking an eyebrow at you. "Why don't you just skip out on the party this year? Save yourself the hassle?" 

"Because as much as they've royally fucked me up with all their anti-mutant bullshit, I still love them. I can't help it. So, if I have to suffer through another year of trying to ward off some random jackass' advances while my parents stand there smiling as if they can't see how uncomfortable I am? Then I'll deal with the torture if I can make them happy for a few minutes." 

Silence invaded the room and you suddenly got the sense that every person in the room was staring at you. You didn't realize until you said it out loud just how fucked up your situation with your parents really was, but you were so deep into it that you didn't know if you'd ever be able to claw your way free.  

"Well," Ororo started, leaning forward across the table and placing a hand on your arm, as if trying to offer you comfort. "If you want them to stop meddling, then show up with a date. Break the cycle." 

"But that's the problem," you protested, crossing your arms over your chest. "I'm not dating anyone, so I don't have a date." 

"Well, it's not like it's got to be a real one, darling. Why I'm sure Remy would love to go with you. Your parents will sure get a kick out of him," Rogue offered, reaching out to settle a gloved hand on Remy's shoulder.  

Remy offered you a smirk before holding out his hand with his palm turned up. You furrowed your brow as you rested your hand in his and laughed when he pulled your hand close and kissed it.  

"It would be my pleasure," he vowed with a wink.  

You glanced from Remy to Rogue and then back again, realizing they were completely serious. You knew your parents would flip when they met Remy. He was charming, but chaotic, and sure to piss your parents off. If his red, glowing eyes didn't give away that he was a mutant, then you were sure it would only be a matter of time before he blew something up.  

Maybe it wouldn't be so bad showing up with a date. Remy was your friend and you knew that he would do whatever it took to make sure you weren't cornered by some asshole who had been misled by your parents into thinking you were on the market. You felt safe with Remy and maybe for once you might actually enjoy one of your parent's Christmas parties.  

 "Alright," you decided, nodding your head as you drew you hand back. "Yeah, that sounds like--" 

"I'll do it," Logan interrupted, startling you.  

You had completely forgotten he was practically standing right behind you. You turned in your chair to look at him. You were surprised to see him studying you, expression intent.  

"What?" You blurted, sure that you had misheard Logan.  

"I'll be your date," Logan offered before casually raising his beer and taking a sip, as if he hadn't sent your heart into a frenzy.  

"You don't have to," you assured him, not sure how you would be able to handle Logan as a date to your parent's Christmas party. It wasn't that you didn't want to go with Logan, because you absolutely did. The problem was that you had had a pathetic crush on him the moment you first laid eyes on him, but Logan was notoriously head over heels for Jean. 

 Even though she was married to Scott, you had heard time and again from practically every person on the X-Men that Logan had been in love with her from the first moment he met her. So, you wouldn't be able to handle a fake date with Logan, because you would spend the whole time desperately wishing that it was real.  

"I want to," Logan insisted, finally standing up out of his slouch against the table that had been converted into a coffee bar. He rolled his shoulders, like he was preparing for a fight, and you wondered why he was being so adamant about being your date.  

"That's sweet of you, Logan, but Remy already offered, and--," you tried before you were cut off by Logan again.  

"I'll do it," Logan stressed, a hint of a growl in his voice as he stared down Remy like he was challenging him to something.  

You glanced from Logan to Remy to Logan again.  

"What the hell is going on," you muttered, shooting a bewildered look at Ororo and Rogue to see if they were as confused as you were.  

Rogue looked amused and Ororo was watching Logan with an arched brow. But neither one seemed to be questioning the events that were playing out before them.  

After what seemed like hours of intense eye contact between the two, Remy finally held up his hands in surrender. He shot you a wink, ignoring Logan's grunt of protest.  

"I'm sure our Logan will do a fine job playing your paramour," Remy added, reaching out to run his fingers along your arm. "But if it doesn't work out, you know where to find me." 

Logan grumbled something under his breath before he strode over. He snatched the invitation off the table, succeeding in separating you and Remy, before he skimmed over the page.  

"How long will it take to get there?" Logan asked, glancing down at you.  

"It's about a three-hour drive from here," you told him, trying not to focus too much on the fact that Logan was so close to you that you could feel the heat radiating off his body. The fabric of his sweatpants was dangerously close to brushing against your arm and you had to force yourself to stay absolutely still, because you weren't even sure what you would do if you allowed yourself to move.  

"Be ready to leave by four tomorrow, then," Logan ordered before he placed his empty bottle of beer on the table between you and Remy and left the room.  

You stared at the door for a moment before finally turning your gaze on the three people patiently waiting for you to break free of your stupor.  

"What the hell just happened?" You wondered, still trying to catch up.  

"What happened," Remy started, leaning back in his seat and placing his arm along the back of Rogue's chair again, "my beautiful, clueless friend, is that Ororo here owes me twenty dollars." 

"What," you muttered, watching helplessly as Ororo handed Remy the money she evidently owed him.  

"It was only a matter of time," Remy continued, tucking the money away in his pocket. "Logan's wanted you for years." 

You scoffed, ready to deny it, but shut up at Ororo's eye roll.  

"I thought he would never make a move, but Remy had far more faith in Logan than I did." 

"A move? What move? There wasn't a move," you insisted.  

"Swooping in and stealing you away from a fake date with my Remy? That was a move," Rogue assured you, grinning at you. "It was only a matter of time. Everyone knows about Logan's feelings except for you."   

"There are no feelings, because he's been pining for Jean for years," you reminded them. You stood up, grabbing the invitation off the table, and fixed them all with a determined look. "You're all wrong, you know that? Nothing's going to happen between Logan and me," you told them before leaving the room.  

You clutched the paper in your hands and tried to ignore the fact that you really, really wanted something to happen between you and Logan.  

The next afternoon, you were nearly done getting dressed when someone knocked on your door. You glanced at the clock, realizing it was nearly four, and rushed to pull on your jacket as you walked to the door.  

You opened the door and stood, stunned, at the sight of Logan dressed in a dark t-shirt, jeans, and a leather jacket. This was as close to dressed up as Logan got and you didn't get why he was going to all the effort just for you or your mutant-hating parents.  

"Did you shave?" You blurted, noting that his usual scruff was a little more contained than usual.  

Logan shrugged his shoulders, stepping to the side and gesturing for you to lead the way. You narrowed your eyes at him as you passed him, making for the front door of the mansion. Logan reached out and stopped you with a hand on your elbow, steering you towards the garage instead.  

"Are we taking your bike?" Temperatures were quickly dropping outside and you didn't exactly want to freeze your ass off even if you would be pressed up against Logan.  

"Nope," Logan answered, not bothering to clarify until he was standing right beside Scott's car.  

"Are we stealing Summers' car?"  

Logan held up the keys, flashing you a quick grin. "Asked for permission this time," he informed you before rounding the car and pulling open the passenger side door. He stood there, watching you expectantly, before you finally forced yourself to move.  

"Thanks," you told him, gifting him with a smile, before settling into the passenger seat.  

Logan gently closed the door for you before moving towards the driver's side. It wasn't long before he was pulling the car out of the garage as you put your parent's address into the navigation system. Christmas music faintly played, filling the silence between you, and you kept shooting nervous looks over at Logan. His shoulders were tense and his hands periodically clenched the steering wheel tight. You couldn’t tell if he was regretting his decision or feeling just as anxious as you were.  

The silence began to feel excruciatingly awkward, but you didn't know how to fill it. You spent so long staring resolutely out the window that you didn't even notice when you began to drift off, your head lolling back against the headrest as your eyes closed.  

"Y/N," Logan called, his hand on your shoulder cautiously shaking you awake.  

"What?" You grumbled, reluctantly opening your eyes and squinting over at him.  

Logan looked enraptured, a soft smile on his face as he studied you.  

"We're here," he told you, prompting you to look out the windshield to the sight of your parent's home. Logan had parked the car in the long, winding driveway. There were already several cars parked along the side of it, which only made the driveway seem longer. "So, your family's loaded, huh?" 

"Yeah," you groaned with a grimace. "Why do you think they keep trying to marry me off to all their rich friend's sons? They want their legacy to continue or whatever bullshit goes on in their heads." 

"Damn," Logan sighed, shaking his head. "Good thing you won't have to worry about that this year, huh?"  

You nodded your head, finally making yourself look at Logan again. You reached out, tentative, and placed your hand on his arm. "Logan?" 

"Yeah?" He asked, staring down at your hand before turning slightly in his seat to face you.  

"Thanks," you said, pulling your hand away when you realized you had been touching him for way too long to be normal. "For doing this," you clarified, ignoring the way your cheeks flushed at his attention. "You really didn't have to, you know." 

Logan stared at you for one drawn-out intense moment and you fought the urge to look away. You inanely felt like you were in a predator's sights, which was stupid because Logan would never hurt you, but you still felt like you were being hunted. 

"Yeah, I did," he finally responded, his gaze lingering on you before he glanced away.  

Before you could question him, Logan got out of the car. You stared at the closed driver's side door for a moment before you took a deep breath and opened the passenger door. Logan met you just as you were getting out and he closed the car door for you.   

He held out his arm and you linked yours with his as you headed up towards the house. You had to stop yourself from swaying into Logan's side. There was a feeling rising within you that you weren't sure how to contain. It was anticipation and longing and fear, because if you fucked this up, then what would you do? It would be awkward living and working in the same place as Logan and you hated the idea of avoiding him all to save yourself some dignity.  

Before you were ready, you were standing on your parent's doorstep, hesitant to announce your arrival.  

"What's wrong?" Logan asked, nudging you in the side with his elbow.  

"We can leave," you blurted, avoiding his gaze. "We can leave and just skip this year and they never have to know I was here." 

Logan sighed before unhooking his arm from yours and wrapping it around your shoulders. "I've got you," he promised. "Now ring the damn doorbell." 

"That was almost sweet," you muttered, grinning at Logan's snort of amusement.  

You reluctantly reached out to ring the doorbell, wincing at the chime you had heard throughout all your childhood. It meant you were home and not where you really belonged at the X-Mansion. You were still debating the merits of just making a run for it when the door opened and you were met with the sight of your mother.  

She looked genuinely happy to see you, which was really one of the only things that was keeping you rooted to the spot. But then she realized you weren't alone and she turned her attention towards Logan. The warmth in her smile faded into something more polite and suited for company.  

"Oh, you brought a friend," your mom observed, the corners of her mouth turning down in disapproval.  

"I brought a date," you corrected her, trying not to startle when Logan dropped his hold on your shoulders and instead grabbed your hand. Feeling Logan lace his fingers through yours felt like the greatest thing ever and you hated that he was only doing it for show.  

"And who is this?" Your mom asked, already dismissive of Logan despite knowing nothing about him.  

She knew one thing, you thought, doing your best not to scowl at your mom. She hadn't picked Logan for you, so of course he wasn't good enough.  

"Logan, ma'am," he introduced with a nod of his head.  

"And how do you know my daughter, Logan?" Your mom interrogated, staring him down as if she could make him disappear if she concentrated hard enough.  

It was then you realized your mom was refusing to move until she got her answers. Your mom hated being perceived as rude and you knew she must really not want Logan there if she wasn't even going to pretend to welcome him.  

"Y/N and I work together and--" Logan cut himself off and shot you a wary look. You shook your head, letting him know not to tack on that you practically lived together as well. "We work together," he settled on with a small shrug of his shoulders.  

"Are you one of those?" Your mom asked, gesturing briefly towards you.  

You felt Logan tense up at your side and knew that trouble was fast approaching. Logan smiled at your mom, practically baring his teeth, and cocked his head to the side. "A mutant?" He supplied, practically not blinking as he met your mom's unimpressed stare with one of his own. "You could say that, sure," he added with a dangerous smirk that sent warning bells ringing in your head.  

You tightened your hold on Logan's hand, lending him your own brand of moral support while also hoping to shut him up. "Mom, it's cold out here," you hinted, quirking an eyebrow at her. “Maybe you should invite us in.” 

"Right," she muttered before stepping aside. "Why don't you and your...date," she practically sneered, "come in?" 

"Thanks," Logan told your mom, offering her a wide, unsettling smile. "Your hospitality is appreciated." 

You had never really seen Logan like this before. Maybe once or twice when he was in the same room as Scott and Jean and he wanted to get under Scott's skin. But this was somehow different and terrifying and just a bit thrilling.  

Logan was doing his damnedest to stand up for you while also pretending to respect your mom. You could tell your mom was disappointed in you, but you didn't even care. You found yourself wishing that bringing Logan as your date was real, but you would take what you could get. You would just have to enjoy Logan's attention for as long as you had it. 

Logan urged you forward with a hand on the small of your back and then helped you shrug out of your coat. “You weren’t kidding,” he muttered under his breath, sounding irritated. “You’ve put up with this shit your whole life?” 

“Yeah,” you answered, knowing it was starting to look really pathetic on your part.  

Your mom had retreated into the living room. You could see her talking to your dad and she pointed towards you and Logan. Your dad scowled before schooling his expression into something more neutral.  

"Shit," you hissed, before grabbing Logan's arm. "Let's go somewhere else," you suggested.  

"I go where you go," Logan promised, letting you lead him towards the dining room where you knew you would find a buffet-style spread of food.  

At the very least, this was something your parents always got right. Logan looked exhilarated as he piled a plate with all kinds of food, ranging from strips of steak to scalloped potatoes to slices of honey glazed ham.  

“Now this is a spread,” he approved, taking a bite of stuffed mushroom.  

“Eat up,” you told him, grinning at him. “You’ve earned it.” 

After eating and then drifting from room to room in a bid to avoid your parents, you realized that Logan was intent on keeping his word. He stayed right there at your side, letting you introduce him to your parent's friends and their kids with a smile on his face and a hand on the small of your back. 

You were beginning to feel flustered having Logan in your space, so you retreated to the one place you knew you could drop the facade for just a little bit and gain a tiny bit of your sanity back.   

You ended up hanging out with the children that had been left in a room near the back of the house. You had always hated being a kid at your parent's parties, because it meant you were stuck in a room with other kids and basically ignored for the rest of the night. But now, as an adult, it was the only true refuge to be found at your parent’s house during a party. 

You ended up entertaining them with your powers. You helped some float using your forcefields and you turned invisible and let them try to find you. All the while, Logan stood at the entryway of the room, watching you with a fond little smile that set off a fluttering in the pit of your stomach.  

After half an hour of Logan's undivided attention, you decided to give yourself a break. You planned on staying with the kids, so you doubted your parents would even find you. The plan was foolproof and would give you the time to calm your racing heart.  

"Hey, would you mind getting me a drink?" You asked Logan, glancing up at him from where you were crouched on the floor and letting Mrs. Hudson's granddaughter draw what you thought might be a unicorn on your arm.  

Logan nodded his head, pushing off the doorframe he had been leaning against. He looked so fond and you couldn’t take it anymore. 

"Any preferences?" 

"Surprise me," you told him with a grin, feeling just the slightest bit bold and playful.  

“You got it.” Logan winked before leaving the room, doing nothing to help you feel any more in control of the situation.  

"Are you and Mr. Logan getting married?" Mrs. Hudson's granddaughter asked you, adding what you assumed was blood beneath the unicorn's hooves. Either that, or she had run out of green for grass and was making do with what she had on hand.  

"Mr. Logan doesn't like me like that," you told her, obediently turning your arm over when she tapped it and shook a blue marker at you.  

"Yes, he does," she answered, as if it was that simple. She started shading in a sky and you hoped it would be easy to wash off later.  

"Well, isn't that adorable," someone drawled from the doorway.  

"Fuck," you breathed, instantly recognizing the voice.  

"That's an uh-oh word," Mrs. Hudson's granddaughter reprimanded you.  

"Sorry," you told her, patting her on the shoulder before standing up. You reluctantly turned to see your ex standing there. "What're you doing here?" 

"Your parents invited me," Timothy told you, studying you. "God, you look great." 

"Shit," you groaned, realizing that Timothy had been the person they were going to try to set you up with this year.  

"That's another uh-oh word," Mrs. Hudson's granddaughter informed you with a disapproving frown.  

"Right," you agreed before walking towards Timothy. "Maybe in front of the children isn't the best place for this conversation."  

You brushed past Timothy, hating that you were in the same room as him, much less signing yourself up for a confrontation. You had been convinced for three years that Timothy was the one until he told you that he would rather adopt children than risk you passing on any of your 'mutant genes' to them. It had crushed you, realizing that Timothy didn't fully love you at all, and you had packed up all your things and joined the X-Men.  

If anything, it should have made your parents hate Timothy for driving you away. Instead, they seemed to think he was the one who got away for you and you would never do any better.  

You stopped in the entryway of an empty guest room and turned to face him.  

"Look, I don't know what my parents told you, but I'm here with a date. I'm taken, alright? I don't want to get back together." 

"Oh, come on," Timothy said, moving forward until he was in your space. "There's no date. You don’t have to lie to me to make me want you more. I want you. I always have. And now we're here and there's a really good reason why I should kiss you right now," he continued with a quick glance up.  

You tried not to wince as you also took a chance and looked up at the frame of the doorway. "Mistletoe," you observed, hating that you had the worst luck. "It wasn't on purpose." 

"I already told you that you don't have to lie to me," Timothy claimed before bringing a hand up and cupping your cheek. "I'm all yours, babe. Just say the word." 

"Leave," Logan growled, approaching the pair of you from down the hallway. He had two wine glasses in his hands which he quickly set down on a table displaying family photos.  

"Who the fuck are you?" Timothy asked, barely even budging from his spot in front of you.  

"My date," you helpfully informed him just as Logan unsheathed his claws.  

"What the--" Timothy started just as you pushed him away with a forcefield. He went stumbling back, shooting you a look of betrayal. "You swore you'd never use that against me." 

"When we dated, sure," you reminded him. "But we're not together anymore. And we never will be again," you stressed, hoping he would get the message.  

When Logan kept coming towards the two of you, not bothering to put away his claws, Timothy's eyes widened.  

"Move it, bub," Logan snarled, looking like he was moments away from sinking his claws into Timothy. 

"Okay, okay, I get it, whatever. Tell your boyfriend I'm sorry," he rambled, practically scrambling to get away from you and Logan.  

You watched him scurry away, a grin tugging at your lips. "That was great," you exclaimed, turning back towards Logan. You nearly jumped when you realized that Logan was now standing right in front of you.  

He packed the claws away and reached up to frame your face in his hands.  

"What are you doing?" You whispered, your heart suddenly pounding so hard you were sure Logan would be able to hear it going crazy.  

"There's mistletoe," Logan reminded you, his voice soft and intimate. 

"We don't have to," you assured him. "I mean, it's just a dumb tradition, right? It's--" 

"What I want," Logan finished for you, expression intent and serious. His thumb gently swept along your jaw and you didn't even have time to process the fact that Logan wanted to kiss you before his lips were pressed against yours.  

Your brain went haywire trying to figure out what to do. You brought your hands up, unsure where they should land, before you settled them on Logan's shoulders. You were worried you would fuck the moment up by not responding, so you poured all your feelings into the kiss. You had wanted Logan for so long and if this was the only kiss you got from him, then you wanted it to be something you remembered for years to come.  

Logan's touch remained gentle, but his kiss was searching and all-consuming. You nipped lightly at his lips, testing for a reaction, and shivered when Logan moaned and reeled you in closer.  

By the time you pulled away, you felt like Logan had thoroughly claimed you. You nearly couldn't catch your breath, torn between giddy anticipation and fear that this was all about to come crashing down around you.  

You met Logan's eyes, unsure of what you would find there. You froze for a moment, sure that you were wrong, but you let yourself take the time to really look at him. You couldn’t afford to mess this up. There was way too much at stake. 

Logan was watching you like you were the only thing in the whole world. He was looking at you with affection and want and something that looked a lot like love to you. It was exactly what Remy, Rogue, and Ororo had claimed Logan had been doing all along.  

"I've really got to thank Remy," you muttered, realizing that he had been right that Logan had been making a move by agreeing to be your fake date. Except, Logan did have real feelings for you, but you were the only one who hadn't been able to see it.  

"What?" Logan growled, his grip briefly tightening on you. "You're really thinking about Remy right now? After what just happened, he’s what’s on your mind?"  

You shook your head, smiling at Logan. Logan had absolutely no reason to be jealous, because even if he might not be aware of it, there was no one who could ever compete with him. No one else had ever made you feel the way Logan made you feel. You felt like there was a warmth taking root in your chest and it was lighting you up inside. It was all Logan. His touch, his kiss, and his affection had you feeling invincible.  

As long as you had him, you truly could do anything. Including deal with your parents and their intolerance and shitty choice of suitors for you.  

Logan had volunteered to be your date and had spent a whole evening putting up with your parents and their snooty, prejudiced friends all for you. Logan had run off your ex and then kissed you like he wanted nothing more than to keep doing that for the rest of his life. Logan wanted you just as much as you wanted him and you felt like you were on top of the world.  

You didn't care that this had started out as fake, because now it was real and there was really only one thing you wanted to do now that you knew you had Logan.  

"You've got nothing to worry about. You're all I want," you assured him before reeling him back in for another kiss underneath the mistletoe.  

It wasn’t exactly the Christmas you had expected to have, but it was turning out to be the only one worth celebrating. 

Logan was truly the best gift you had ever received. 

All Logan Taglist: @i-left-my-cat-on-the-stove @slightlymediocree @snowyminty @i-wear-wet-socks313 @shizzybarnaclee

Series Taglist: @ayamenimthiriel @the-gentle-spirit @wolflover-20

If you would like to be added to the all logan or the series taglist, just let me know!

[lavenderprose]

Emmrich is a morning person and Rook is only a morning person under duress, which becomes only a minor issue after the gods are finally dead because Rook's ideal wake up time is roughly noon, and Emmrich's up at the asscrack of dawn every day whether he works or not.

It's six thirty AM and Rook's face-down on the bed, titties out and hair splayed across three pillows, and Elgar'nan breathed this last breath less than a week ago. Emmrich gave the various factions of Thedas exactly three days to demand Rook's attention and, on the morning of the fourth day, grabbed Rook with one hand and Manfred with the other and asked the Caretaker if there was an Eluvian that might deposit one anywhere in the area of the Cumberland countryside.

Emmrich apparently maintains a small country house here, for 'Whatever occassion might arise' (demented) and it's modest but pretty. Manfred trampled straight into the rose garden when they got here and hasn't emerged since, but Emmrich claims that's normal for him. Rook personally believes that Manfred, even, is still processing their mutual ordeal, but she's content to let him do it with the caterpillars and the rose petals. Not like a skeleton can be pricked by a thorn.

The moment they arrived, Emmrich sought out the housekeeper and told her that her services would not be required for the coming week, and to stand by on the subject of next week as well.

"Go celebrate the world not ending, Helga!" he'd said, maybe a bit too loud and manic, as he closed what was surely much more than a week's salary into her hand. Knowing Emmrich, there was already a very robust system in place to assure that his housekeeper received her generous salary every week--this was merely some sort of consolation pay for the very difficult task of being given a week of vacation.

Helga was Elven, at least as old as Emmrich and blinked at him like a vaguely surprised cat. She swept her gaze over Rook as well before leaving. She'd been smirking, Rook thought, as the door closed behind her.

Thus, they've been alone in the house, and Rook has been sleeping, staring vaguely into the distance, sleeping, reading from Emmrich's extensive collection, looking at the ceiling while trying to forget the sight of Bellara's blighted eyes, sleeping, bouncing on Emmrich's dick like it's her job, and sleeping sleeping sleeping.

They've been here for two days, more or less 48 hours, and many of those hours were spent in his lap. Fucking him, yes, but also just clinging onto him like an extra limb because right now, she feels like she might disintegrate if he isn't touching her. He reads to her. Smiles and laughs through so many stories from his life. She thinks about Solas disappearing into the Fade, maybe never to be seen again. The last God of her people.

When she goes too quiet, sometimes he tells her a joke or puts a little chocolate in her mouth. Once, he ate her out while humming the Nevarran national anthem and she laughed as she came. Sometimes he joins her in melancholy and they lay together and cope. Sometimes she cries, mostly from exhaustion and relief and grief, and he kisses her face. Sometimes he cries. From exhaustion and relief and grief, probably. She tucks her head under his chin and rubs her small hand up and down his broad back, and then she swipes the snot and tears out of his mustache with her very own thumb because she loves him, she loves him.

This morning, she flutters her eyes open and enjoys the texture of the silk sheets against her bare body (Last night, and for lack of a better term, Emmrich fucked her to sleep--apparently, when the world isn't in active peril, he's very into the whole tantric thing. Hours of crazy hot, dragging sex that destroys braincells, but only the ones she's better off not having.) and she does that for about thirty seconds before she realizes it's just barely light outside, blue and cool. Then she starts wondering why the fuck she's awake right now.

The answer becomes apparent immediately: Emmrich is in the ensuite bath, running water and making the weirdest, loudest noises. She thinks at first that he's managed to gag himself with his own toothbrush, but then he sneezes, blows his nose with a honking noise like a malfunctioning horn, and clears his throat so thunderously that Rook thinks he must somehow be drowning.

She rolls out of bed and wobbles into the bathroom, birthday suit and all, because clearly he's become sick in the night and it's now up to her to guide him back to bed and care for him. She's surprised, then, to find him looking hale and healthy in front of the sink. He's wearing nothing but silk pajama pants and down slippers. He's making an absurd clicking sound and swirling a finger inside his ear.

"Are you okay?" Rook demands, propped on the doorjamb.

Emmrich jumps a foot on the air, winces as he jabs his own eardrum, and says, "Ow! Darling, please don't sneak up on--"

"You are being so loud," she says, because the polite section of her brain hasn't woken up. "Are you choking? Are you sick?"

"No," Emmrich says slowly. "I just--oh, the door must have fallen open. The floor isn't terribly even here. I'm sorry, darling--sound does carry in this old house." He twirls a finger behind his ear and clinks again. "I fear I suffer seasonal allergies, dearest, and it's been a long while since I slept more than a night or two outside of the Necropolis or the Fade. There's quite a bit of...mucus..." He clears his throat.

"Gross," says Rook, and then, "It's dawn, Emmrich."

"Mm-hm." Emmrich is now leaning across the counter, two inches from the mirror and examining his mustache like a jewel appraiser.

"Why are you making heinous old man noises at dawn?"

His eyes veer towards her reflection in the mirror, and they make eye contact in the glass. Very neatly, and with a raised eyebrow, he says, "Heinous old man noises."

Rook starts making hawking, gutteral noises in the back of her throat. It's a pretty faithful imitation.

"Dearest," he yells over the sound. "I apologize for waking you--"

"I cannot believe," says Rook, "that I'm going to spend the rest of my life being woken up at dawn by the hacks and sneezes of a man who wears wing tip shoes."

She's halfway through a half-asleep snicker at the hilarity of her own statement when Emmrich fixes her with a surprised look in his wet eyes and she realizes she's never actually voiced the idea that has become an unspoken certainty in her mind: That he's the love of her life, and her life may not be as short as she was thinking it might be this time last week, and that she wants nothing more than to spend the rest of her ambiguously-numbered mornings waking up to him.

She also realizes the truth of the situation. The baths in the Lighthouse were communal, and one never knew which companion they might encounter during their morning routine. Emmrich is fastidious and spends a great deal of his energy in broadcasting the image of a man who is utterly put together in everything he does. Never a hair out of place or a thread loose. It's a privilege of the highest order to witness him this way. Sleep-mused hair, shadow on his jaw. The bleariness of sleep in his eyes and, yes, even the throat-clearing and nose blowing.

Emmrich clears his throat and whispers, "Forgive me. I've...lived alone. For a very long time."

Rook's eyes water as she croaks, "Not anymore. I don't...want you to."

A smile spreads his face. It is wobbly, boyish, and so so beautiful. The absurdity of the situation finally reaches her--she is very naked and he's only slightly more dressed and there is a perfectly warm, perfectly comfortable bed steps away.

"Come back to bed," Rook says. "Please?"

He does.

[just-your-average-shiz-student]

#this is basically confirmed when Fiyero #who is playing the same game as Glinda #(and don't get my STARTED on Dancing Through Life and Glinda actually being the one to constantly chase him and him leaving her behind) #anyway he's playing her game and he makes the same assumption she did initially #that Elphaba doesn't care what people think #but Glinda responds that Elphaba DOES care. she just doesn't want anyone to know #and Glinda realizes that Elphaba doesn't know about the game and that she hasn't been playing #Elphaba has been standing up for herself in the only way she can without getting even more ridicule #and Glinda suddenly realizes that she's a bully to Elphaba because she's been mean this whole time thinking thst Elphaba understood #but if Elphaba isn't playing the game #then she's might be actually getting hurt #and Galinda hurt her #so it's up to Glinda to 'apologize' and make it right #I LOVE THEM!!! #toxic yuri! toxic yuri! (tags from jenny-from-the-bau)

I've been so fascinated with how the movie pulls off the emotional climax at Ozdust, because I think its not nearly as simple as is seems to a lot of people. Like you can reduce it to "Elphaba did something nice and Glinda felt bad" and then one dance routine later they're friends

I think its a lot more than that though, and I think the movie kinda trickles things in gradually to show it throughout. And that kinda reduces it down to Glinda's guilt motivating the entire friendship, which I don't think is accurate either. Its less "Glinda feels bad" and more "Glinda and Elphaba realized they were playing entirely different games and had entirely skewed their reasons for hating each other" which included making Glinda also realize that she was being a bitch for no damned reason

Like, even their reasons for their rivalry are different from each other and so are their reasons for "maintaining" that rivalry. Their first interaction was them both mutually embarrassing each other, though only Elphaba was trying to embarrass Glinda. Which, to be clear, I'm not saying puts Elphaba in the wrong. Elphaba is very clearly in the right for I'm pretty sure all of this, and even if Glinda wasn't trying to embarrass Elphaba, it doesn't make her promising to degreen Elphaba in front of everyone any better. It's just important to understand their different perspectives on what is going on to understand the different places they're coming from. Glinda was putting on a performance of being a good person, at Elphaba's expense which she didn't even consider. Elphaba was pointing out how stupid that was and embarrassing Glinda to prove she's unbothered and correct.

That is kinda that best summary of how their rivalry goes. Glinda is performing, while Elphaba is responding to that but specifically in ways to piss off Glinda and show she's wrong. But they don't realize what the other one is doing. Glinda is performing to look like a good person and maintain the admiration of her classmates. By putting on this front of suffering by having to be in Elphaba's presence, she gets an easy win with her peers. In What is This Feeling specifically, you see them over and over again validating Glinda for just existing in the presence of Elphaba.

And given the girl sings a whole song about how "its not about aptitude, its the way you're viewed," you can assume that putting on a good appearance to her peers is probably the most important thing to her, period. Literally nothing matters more than that, and Elphaba provides an easy win. But she also has some clear attraction draw toward Elphaba that is strange and unspecified (she's gay), because she doesn't just suffer by being Elphaba's reluctant roommate, but clearly goes out of her way to partner with her, to find her at lunch, to make a scene with her in class repeatedly. Like she almost doesn't even count just having to privately live with her, she needs to bring it out in public too and spend time around her even when she should be happy to finally not have her around.

And making it all the more clear to me that all of this is, in Glinda's eyes, just a performance, we have the "looks like the artichoke is steamed" line, which is definitely one of the meanest things she says to Elphaba, but the way it goes down is fascinating. Because let's look at how that goes down:

Glinda makes a scene because Dr. Dillamond mispronounces her name.

Elphaba defends Dr. Dillamond and tries to embarrass Glinda.

Artichoke comment.

everyone is laughing at Elphaba.

To Glinda, this is what they do. They poke and poke at each other in public until one of them folds and wins, and if its her she gets public approval. But, what makes this clear to me that this is a performance is Glinda's immediate actions after the artichoke comment. When everyone is laughing, she exchanges a look with Elphaba, and the look is not mean at all. She doesn't look like she's gloating or like she just won, she just kinda nods and smiles and it seems like a genuine acknowledgment of...something. It's unclear what, but she doesn't seem like she's overly proud. It's like she's nodding to someone who just played a good game against her, but lost and she wants them to know they played well. It's bizarre the look here and fascinating.

And even more bizarre because Elphaba seems to acknowledge it as well and seems like she understands and almost smiles in response. But I think this also illustrates the disconnect in them for what their rivalry is.

So looking at Elphaba now, her approach to her rivalry began with her embarrassing Glinda, as mentioned before, and continued with her embarrassing Glinda. Most of what she is doing is trying to intentionally embarrass Glinda, which as I said before, isn't really wrong because Glinda is as far as we ever see, the one who is in the wrong and who starts the whole thing by embarrassing Elphaba. But as I said before, embarrassing Elphaba isn't the point of what Glinda is doing, she's trying make herself look better and is just using Elphaba, but literally how would Elphaba know this and why would it matter?

We see that Elphaba has been targeted and mocked her entire life, and that is basically what Glinda is doing to her now. But its also different with Glinda. Because before its always like, groups of people banding against her, with Glinda its personal. She certainly has her minions and all, and basically the entire school hates Elphaba just because they love Glinda, but Glinda isn't really using them. She's still doing everything herself and seems to actually go out of her way to go against Elphaba herself.

That, as far as we know, is different than any bullying Elphaba has experienced before, and what also makes it different is that Elphaba has an advantage of having something Glinda wants and something that prevents her from being pushed aside. Elphaba is basically going to be at this school however long Madame Morrible wants her there, and Madame Morrible also hates Glinda, so Elphaba can't be pushed away and she also has this one thing to hold over Glinda, because she's the one getting the attention that Glinda actually wants. And she's also potentially the only one that might help Glinda get it.

In a really weird way, this rivalry with Glinda might be the closest thing to a friendship that Elphaba has had from someone that isn't her sister or her nanny. Because its both of them personally going after each other and they both also have advantages over each other. And its clear that Glinda could be using her peers to target Elphaba but isn't. And Elphaba also makes it clear that she can ignore people she doesn't like, and yet she doesn't ignore Glinda. Because both of these freaks enjoy poking each other nonstop forever too much. There is something that draws them together (homosexuality) even when they supposedly can't stand to be around one another. Glinda is performing, but Elphaba is having the time of her life sparring with someone in a way she probably never has before.

Which takes us to the hat.

Elphaba approaches Glinda because, according to Nessarose, Glinda did something nice for her. We don't know specifically what Elphaba was going to say to Glinda, but it seems like its something she isn't comfortable with. Maybe she was trying to figure out what Glinda's motivations were. Maybe she was just going to thank Glinda for what she did. Either way, we don't know because Glinda interrupts her by giving her the hat and really talking up that damned hat too. Not only giving her the hat, but specifically inviting Elphaba to go out with them. Elphaba has probably never gotten anything like that before.

Elphaba, who has had the time of her life being antagonistic with Glinda up until this point, now thinks that Glinda is doing nice things for her and for her sister, for seemingly no reason. So she returns the favor and makes Madame Morrible accept Glinda as a student and tell her that night. That night, because this was going to be best night for Nessarose, maybe for Elphaba too now, so let Glinda have something too. Maybe this rivalry was turning into something else and maybe Elphaba was glad for it.

Only, Glinda wasn't being nice.

Glinda getting Boq to ask out Nessarose wasn't to be nice to Nessarose. She wanted Boq to leave her alone. And she didn't give Elphaba the hat and invite her out to be nice, she wanted to embarrass her after receiving validation for the idea from Pfannee and Shenshen.

What you need to know about Glinda here, is that she does not think about other people. She will throw a fit at Dr. Dillamond mispronouncing her name because he physically can't say it right and then repeatedly call Boq by the wrong name. She doesn't know if Nessarose wants to go to the dance or if Elphaba wants her to stop mocking her. She doesn't even consider these things when deciding to do something for her own benefit. She is doing as Glinda must do to perform as she needs for her audience (the entire world).

Which is how we end up here, at the emotional climax of the night. When she discovers that Elphaba did one very nice thing for her after she did something specifically to humiliate Elphaba, its not just guilt for this one moment, right? Its guilt for every little thing that she's done that she just assumed wasn't actually affecting someone else. Her mocking Elphaba and doing all these things wasn't actually about Elphaba, after all, it was about Glinda looking well. Because she didn't even really think about Elphaba, or how she might be interpreting what their dynamic is or that she might actually have been hurt by the things Glinda does. It was all a performance to Glinda.

But is was something else to Elphaba entirely.

And so we look at all the times, like the artichoke moment or their introduction, where Elphaba didn't seem all that upset and maybe Glinda realizes that wasn't always the case. She just wants people to think she wasn't. She was performing too, just not in the same way Glinda was. She was enduring the disapproval of others because she was maintaining this dynamic with Glinda, whereas Glinda was getting approval from others for enduring Elphaba. They were playing different games entirely and Glinda didn't know until Madame Morrible gave her the wand. It wasn't just the cruelness of the hat that she realized, it was the cruelness of single thing she's ever done to Elphaba.

And looking from Glinda's perspective, it makes sense if you see that she's forced to reckon with the fact that she's a terrible person and doesn't like herself, but look at what the situation is from Elphaba's. To Elphaba, Glinda is the first person that saw that she'd hurt Elphaba and then reached out to comfort her and try to help fix it instead of laughing or getting upset or doing nothing. Like I said before, the dynamic she has with Glinda before this is maybe the closest thing she has had to a friend, which is fucked up. But also part of me wonders, based on how they're seemingly drawn together when they could just ignore each other and based on Elphaba's reaction to Glinda's sort of nod after the artichoke comment, AND based on how quick Elphaba was to approach Madame Morrible, part of me wonders if Elphaba was just hoping for a moment when their antagonism would end the whole time. And that's why she's so willing to accept that once Glinda does something that Galinda is not supposed to do and makes a fool of herself to support Elphaba in front of all of the people she's supposed to be putting on a show for.

Which I think, makes Glinda joining Elphaba in the dance that much more important. Because, and I love this for the movie, she's not getting praised for doing so. Shenshen and Pfannee tell her to stop. The initial reaction she gets once people realize she isn't mocking Elphaba is scorn. For like, this one little moment they're on the same page. Glinda is getting disapproval for being with Elphaba here. And it ends in them being accepted by the party, but that almost seems to be unimportant. They hug before they realize that everyone else has joined in, and once they realize it, they leave the party together pretty much immediately. Their relationship has been a show in public for so long and so what happens next when they stop performing happens in privacy, just for them.

[thesummerstorms]

You know that conversation you can have with Emmrich where he asks what your plans are for your body when you die?

I think Arsinoë accidentally horrified him. Not by clinging to non-Nevarran ideals about cremation, but by telling him she never thought anyone would care that much one way or the other.

She would be dead, so she wouldn't care. And honestly, a majority of compradi die as Fledglings without graduating; she thinks their bodies were probably burned (since you have to do something with bodies) but they certainly don't have funerals, so it certainly wasn't worth worrying about then.

Emmrich interjects, trying to wrangle his own shock long enough to point out that she's not a Fledgling now, so surely...?

Well if she dies now, Arsinoë all but shrugs, it would depend on the circumstances, wouldn't it? She isn't someone important like a Talon or the scion of an established Crow family. She certainly isn't Caterina Dellamorte, who warrants something verging on a State Funeral.

If she died, there is still a non-zero chance it would be at another Crow's hands, in which case it's anyone's guess what happens after.

If she dies honorably fulfilling a contract, then Viago might feel obligated to do something if he isn't pissed off at her failure and she's isn't still in Exile. He's her mentor, so probably he would manage at least a small pyre. Maybe even a flower or two for the flames if he's letting himself feel sentimental. Teia would probably be there because Viago was.

But just as often, when a contract goes wrong, there's no time to go back for the body. The mark get ahold of it, or whoever's left on the contract has to focus on survival rather than the dignity of a corpse that can't feel any of it.

But really, none of that would matter to Arsinoë, would it? She'd be off wherever dead souls end up going, or maybe in oblivion, who knows. She doesn't have any family to be horrified by her corpse unless you count Viago, who is Fifth Talon, has bigger things to worry about, and will get over it.

But anyway, why do you ask, Emmrich?

Emmrich is too aghast to answer clearly at that point because every single point of Arsinoë's answer goes so deeply against everything that is ingrained in him as part of the Mourn Watch, from the belief that a corpse just doesn't matter to her sincere belief that no one would care enough about her for any particular mourning rights.

And the thing is Emmrich does care. It's his professional duty to care, but he's also become fond of his young friend and he cannot handle imagining that she could die on this mission or the next and potentially receive no rites at all.

Cue Emmrich starting to plan how he's going to have Rook interred in the Grand Necropolis when the time comes. It may involve some string pulling, especially if (hopefully) she dies not on this mission but in the distant future, and even more so if he precedes her and has to leave the job in one of his colleague's hands. But Maker help him, there will be a plan and her death will be respected.

When it comes to light, Neve is uncertain and a little weirded out, but also a little offended by all this. She's fallen in love with Rook, but even before that, the respect between them would have warranted a pyre and Arsinoë's name on the Wall of Light if there was no one else to arrange things. Is this why she's never asked about what happened after Varric-

Lucanis is horrified by the idea of Arsinoë as one of the spirit-possessed skeletons in the Necropolis or one of the jewel-eyed skulls in its many niches; he snaps at Emmrich about Nevarran obsession and respecting Rook as Antivan.

Emmrich refuses to budge. She expected the Crows to do nothing for her. She deserves better, deserves to be remembered, even if she isn't Nevarran.

Lucanis seems fully stunned by the idea that Rook believed this in the first place, given Viago's attachment. Given Lucanis's own growing feelings. Emmrich does soften a little bit when he sees that Lucanis truly didn't realize, but he also doesn't fully divert his plans.

Gathering a grave-dowry is normally left to a lover or family member if the deceased was themselves unable, and Emmrich is neither. But needs must, and though his friend now seems attached to Neve and Lucanis, hearts can be fickle. A plan is better. So he puts away small things here or there, eyes which of Rook's enchanted rings and amulets she seems to favor just in case.

It almost helps him live with the knowledge that Arsinoë believed she would die unmourned. Almost.

[secriden]

This line. God, this line! It has been eating me up inside for 2 days now, because let's not forget, this line isn't about love, it's about trust. And that has implications that make me want to scream.

It's a direct reference to this moment earlier in the episode:

At the start of this discussion, Style and Fadel still have a kind of playful air about their conversation:

Style: Oh? Not even me? Fadel: You're at 80% at best. I feel like you're hiding something from me in the 20%.

In this exchange, though, there's a sense that Fadel is issuing a challenge, like there's something specific which Style can do to gain Fadel's full trust. And while Style knows there are things he cannot (yet) reveal to Fadel, I think a part of him is determined to be as honest as he can be, which is why he issues a challenge of his own by asking for more specificity:

Style: What do I have to do to gain your complete trust?

Part of this question is a simultaneously inquisitive and deflective - What (and why) do you think I'm hiding (something) from you? - but there's also a moment after Style finishes speaking where he stills and goes quiet that feels... genuine, weighty. Or, as @airenyah has pointed out in her meta on Style in episode 4, the "grounded[ness]" in Style's demeanour is a signal that Style means what he's saying in the moment. Maybe about his own desire to be worthy of Fadel's trust, maybe about how he genuinely does want this relationship to be real in whatever way that matters to Fadel.

I think Fadel sensed that too, because the moment looses all the lightheartedness it had before. Fadel pauses, and then gets a look on his face that just... breaks my heart. There's a sombreness there, like he knows he's going to have to say something that makes him sad. Fadel looks away, and then down, before he seems to steel himself and says:

Fadel: It'll never happen. No matter how much you love someone, I just don't believe that you can completely lay yourself bare in front of them.

Fadel says this like it's fact. Like what he's expressing is something foundational and true and irrefutable. It's not even about his doubt in Style's honesty, because this statement has no qualifiers or conditions put on it to connect it to Style. Rather this is what Fadel fundamentally believes about relationships and trust: he finds the very concept of being fully known and still accepted an impossibility.

Sure, maybe this is because of the falling out (or betrayal or disappearance) associated with the former lover; but I also think it might be because Fadel is acutely aware not only that he's hiding a rather big and dark secret (not to mince words, but: actual literal premeditated murder), but also about what it implies about Fadel. Because being able to kill another human, coldly and clinically and without remorse, takes a certain type of person. Because, yes, Fadel has lived through an absolutely harrowing and traumatising event (his parents' murder), but it's also undeniable that it changed him. Because there's something about Fadel that twisted dark and which he never quite got back. There's an anger, a hurt that colours every moment of his life; that enables him to look a man in the eyes, smile politely, and pull a trigger.

And at this point in their relationship, Fadel's understanding of Style is that he's... well, kind of innocent. Especially in comparison to Fadel and Bison, and even Kant.

Style, who easily reveals facts about his life which Fadel already knows (winning a car tuning competition), making Fadel doubt his own instincts about Style hiding secrets. Style, who also reveals the things Fadel doesn't know, like the tender and secret pain of a mother lost to cancer (which, now that I think about it, Fadel may also know) and his worries about a father who "lost his bearings for a bit" (which he probably doesn't). Style, who tries to comfort Fadel in his own loss by offering a safe space and a sympathetic ear.

Style, who doesn't just see Fadel for his tragedy, but is asking to be given the chance to accept all of Fadel as a person. Style, who not only wants but has the capacity, to be the only person Fadel needs to rely on. Style who, despite the sea of differences between them, understands Fadel on a level that is so very foundational.

I'm going to slightly segue and mention something that may not resonate with everyone, but really hit me in the gut this episode: because I lost my father when I was 16 after he battled cancer for 2 painful years. And this revelation about Style has totally shifted and coloured everything Style has done in a new light for me. Because not only does this totally explain Style's sometimes almost stubbornly childish demeanour (it's common in adults who've had to 'grow up' too early), but also why Style shows seemingly random flashes of insight and maturity when they are most crucial. Notably, Style has this almost instinctive sense of when he needs to back off a sore point with Fadel that I couldn't quite put my finger on until this episode.

I've seen a few jokes about Style's awkward subject change, but I've actually got a friend who I hold very dear to my heart who was one of the only people to give me a sense of normalcy and comfort when my dad was on his last few days and then at his funeral. And part of that was the instinctive way she would know when I needed to just. Not be a grieving daughter for a few minutes. To get a small respite from the overwhelming hopelessness and sense of impending loss. To get a moment to breathe and gather my strength, because knowing I was never going to see my dad again, or hear his voice, or hold his hand was tearing me apart back then. Sometimes she'd talk to me about college drama, sometimes she'd introduce a new kpop video to me, sometimes she'd just ask me what I wanted to eat and take me to go have a meal with her. And sometimes there really just isn't anything else to say other than "I'm sorry." Nothing you say - nothing you can say - is going to ever, ever make this grief go away, and in most cases, it was better when people (especially those who couldn't really understand) didn't try.

And I think if you look at Fadel very closely, there's a moment of genuine surprise (Fadel wasn't expecting the subject change at all) and then... something that looks like fondness mixed with exhausted relief. Because I don't think Fadel was ready to talk about his parents yet. This was honesty he wasn't ready to give Style, mostly prompted because Style himself had willingly been so vulnerable that a part of Fadel wanted to reciprocate. But further down that path lies not only his darkest memories, but also the connection to the part of his life he is not willing to share with Style yet. So this subject change is a relief, it's a blessing, but it's also Style knowing when he shouldn't push any further with Fadel's fragile heart.

Which brings me back to how well the episode's theme of trust (both deserved and undeserved) was woven in this episode. This is true on multiple levels and characters but I'm not even going to attempt to touch Kant in this post because... Lord, that is beyond me at the moment. Someone else needs to do that, pretty please, so I can reblog it and scream.

It starts, somewhat unexpectedly, with Fadel asking for entrance into the intimate spaces of Style's life.

So, this episode was not about Fadel's fear of his own feelings, desires, or even affection for Style - that appears to be fully addressed in episode 4. I think that's why we see Fadel be so physically affectionate and indulgent of Style in this episode. He's come to terms with his lust for Style's body (hence his comfort in initiating sex), he's accepted Style as his boyfriend and so can enjoy Style's playful teasing (still reluctantly, but Fadel is still an introvert even if he's mostly enjoying Style's rambunctious nature), and give into Style's (and Bison's and Kant's) cajoling with relatively little fuss.

He's even comfortable toying with the edges of revealing his darker and more sinister side by reminding Style implicitly about how violent Fadel has the potential to be. Recall that Fadel knows Style knows some of his capacity for violence; he just doesn't know how very thoroughly Style is aware of the full scale of this truth. It does help that Style evidences no actual fear and, in fact, looks positively euphoric. Like, buddy, pal, dearest one... please control yourself.

And yet something very, very telling is the way the show makes it a point to depict Fadel very deliberately getting drunk during the double date. Even before the date has started, Fadel looks to be about half a beer in and we see him constantly drinking, drinking, drinking during the whole date. From the conversation about trust he has with Style while Kant and Bison are being off key and adorable about it, to after Kant leaves and Bison gets worried. And we've seen Fadel cope with emotional and mental distress with alcohol before, so we know that Fadel is internally fighting some kind of very intense battle even as he is also very clearly enjoying moments with Style on this date (most notably when they're dancing by the bowling lanes and when Style asks him to go home with him).

So here's my take: rather than being about love, this is about Fadel fighting to hold onto his own philosophy on relationships and trust. Because as much as I do believe Fadel believes he's telling the truth when he tells Style that 100% trust is "impossible", I think it's clear that's not what he wants.

What he wants is to finish this last job so that the only thing he can't be honest about with Style will finally stop being a factor in his life. What he wants is to fully and completely reciprocate the openness Style seems to be giving Fadel. What he wants is to switch off his brain and let his heart lead for once, to stop fighting a battle he has no desire to win anymore, only he can't. Trust (not love) is Fadel's final frontier, and one which he can't quite give up in spite of himself.

Which is why I think Fadel intentionally gets himself drunk here. Because he wants to let his guard down around Style. He wants to open himself fully, he wants to "lay himself bare" for Style, he wants Style to know the full truth and accept him anyway - and he gets so close, but can't quite get there - because he doesn't know that Style already has.

When Style says this, Fadel thinks it's empty words, not knowing that Style has long passed the bar Fadel thinks is insurmountable. And just like Style was able to offer safety and reassurance to the vulnerability Fadel was showing in episode 4, Style instinctively gets to the core of Fadel's darkest fears again:

Style: One day, I'll be your 100%.

This isn't (just) a promise that Style will wear Fadel's stubbornness down, or that Style is will be worthy of Fadel's 100% (which, already, has me in tears, ngl). Beyond that, this is Style promising Fadel isn't ruined for this; that it isn't too late, that whatever hurts and wounds Fadel has can be made whole again. That the kind of honest and all-encompassing and unconditional trust which Fadel says is impossible can, in fact, be his. That Fadel still has the capacity to trust and be trusted the way he so desperately, painfully longs for.

I know a lot of people have said Style in this episode is writing cheques he has no ability to honour, but I think it's more layered than that. Because in a very significant and profound way, Style is wholly deserving of Fadel's trust. Because in all the ways that Fadel has ever known he should want, Style actually IS worthy of his trust. Style knows the truth Fadel is hiding, knows what this man is capable of, knows the danger of being in his arms, knows the likely nonexistent future Fadel has to offer him -- and wants him anyway. Style is a man who would stare into Fadel’s darkness and reach out first. Strip away the complication of Kant being blackmailed and dragging Style into his mission, and Style is literally perfect for Fadel. He is exactly what Fadel wants (and possibly has wanted for a very long time). He is, in fact, exactly what Fadel needs to ever experience anything beyond the shadow of a life he's had so far.

But oh, the cruel narrative means that Style is also, simultaneously, painfully undeserving of Fadel's trust; and this is something Style is very much aware of. I think that's why he's trying so very hard to be worthy in all the other ways he can be. Style's awareness of what Fadel is hiding enables Style to (counterintuitively) be completely honest about his feelings for and about Fadel even as he cannot reveal his motivations. So he gives Fadel as much honesty as he can: offers the vulnerability of his own pain and hurts; the comfort of his true understanding and acceptance.

And just as Fadel's vulnerability in the abandoned factory was met with Style choosing a form of physical connection that prioritised Fadel's pleasure (it's made very clear that Style is jerking Fadel off and that all his focus in that moment was on Fadel, not his own pleasure), so too is this moment met with Style very intentionally choosing to worship Fadel's body with all the tenderness and genuine emotional weight that Style wanted Fadel to have in their first time in the storeroom.

Because, crucially, this was Style giving Fadel the chance to lay himself at least physically bare. This is the closest either of them can get to full honesty with the secrets they both are keeping. It's why Style tries so very hard to show the care and adoration and genuine feelings he has for Fadel. Why he makes sure that the vulnerability of Fadel getting himself as drunk and as relaxed and as trusting as Fadel can allow himself to be is tied only to gentleness and tenderness and pleasure.

Because Style actually knows that Fadel can't (and shouldn't) trust him in the way Fadel truly wishes to.

And as much as I believe that Style genuinely means this from the bottom of his heart, the horrifying full truth is that it is Style that has the metaphorical knife hovering over Fadel's chest. He is the one with the capacity to actually give Fadel a new scar that would truly matter. He is, in fact, the only one Fadel wants to fully trust -- and this, along with Style's compromised heart, makes it so that the circumstances will doom them both.

[wingedshadowfan]

this post has been met w/ a lot of support (endlessly grateful <3) but i'm aware i'm just in an echo chamber-y part of the internet bcuz i saw a video today of someone analyzing this scene in such a one-sided and way, i just had to comment on it.

they claimed:

caitlyn sees vi as lesser than: hot take lol, especially considering caitlyn is a character w/ almost no confirmation bias against zaunites however sheltered/uneducated abt their struggles she might be bcuz of her privilege. and before you pull up one of the 3 quotes you use to base that reading off of, let me debunk all of them.

her "why would i ever trust someone like you" (someone who got sentenced to 7+ years in prison as a teen with no record of their crimes and was moved to solitary confinement) which was at least partly in response to vi's own antagonistic attitude. sorry but i wouldn't trust vi either if i was alone in an unfamiliar place and situation and no one knew where i was like caitlyn was, and let's not forget caitlyn still let vi out (and fun fact she even forbid the use of that cell after she became commander) bcuz she believed she'd help her solve a crime so she did trust her and saved her ass multiple times at the expense of endangering herself

the convo with ekko where she refused to acknowledge enforcers were violent against zaunites (she obv didn't think zaunites deserved to be treated this way, quite the opposite - she didn't know this was a thing bcuz she believed enforcers were always protecting the innocent and that the world was just and beautiful aka baby's first realization she'd been brainwashed), and she still told ekko he can keep the gem if he deems fit and that the undercity needed healing (this is where vi fell in love w/ her btw)

the infamous "animals" quote: ignoring its contextuality and specifically caitlyn saying that now [that she's been personally hurt] she understands how easy it is to hate all zaunites - implying she didn't before (baby's first experience in understanding how prejudice works) and that she's battling those feelings - bcuz of the few ones who staged the attack and slaughtered a bunch of ppl, not bcuz of your average zaunite's characteristics or way of life. again, she's shown a desire to help and protect zaunites who were strangers to her multiple times before bffr.

and EVEN IF you somehow managed to prove to me that caitlyn has this insane prejudice against zaunites (which i don't believe at all), vi would still be an exception to that! caitlyn falls in love with her quickly, and wants to make it work (oil and water) despite their differences - i see no evidence in her words or behavior to believe she deems vi to be inferior to her, in fact, i believe she thinks vi is better than most, zaunites and topsiders alike

caitlyn is the one with greater capacity for violence: this is an interesting one bcuz i see how this can be true in general, but not in the breakup scene. in piltover's council room, miss decorated officer and leader of house kiramman has a greater capacity for violence against zaun through her name, privilege, money and subordinates in the form of armed enforcers invading zaun. and this is not bcuz she's more violent but bcuz she's got more resources she can take advantage of. that's... how privilege works. but in the vents, caitlyn who's almost just died again and is completely tweaking out that their mission failed, she let jinx get away, vi took the choice away from her after giving her the green light, etc, she does not have a greater capacity for violence than vi.

verbal violence: her words practically don't hurt vi at all imo (bcuz they're not jabs or insults, they're confirmed statements vi isn't ashamed of, "i thought you were different but you're not. it's her blood in your veins"), but vi's words ("what if you missed?", "then why are you the one acting like her?")? doubting/mistrusting her and comparing her to her mother's killer? that must hurt like a mf, caitlyn's arc and current mental state considered.

physical violence: caitlyn lashes out suddenly bcuz of vi pulling her back (she couldn't flee so she fought) and bcuz of vi's words. she hurts vi in the worst possible way she could've, but in any real fight, where vi would've anticipated being hit and defended herself, caitlyn would've eaten dirt. it's only circumstantial that she deals so much damage and it isn't after months of sparring with ambessa that she's able to drop vi.

violence/hurting the other wasn't the main goal of that altercation for either of them, it was something that just happened bcuz of a plethora of factors, none of which have to do with how vi and caitlyn truly feel abt each other.

caitlyn looks at vi with anger and contempt/caitlyn shoves her aside quickly, efficiently and coldly after vi did so much for her, caitlyn is brutal and cruel, leaving vi on her knees to rot in the vents: i didn't read any of her behavior that way, vi might've though - and maybe the truth is somewhere in the middle but here's what i got.

what vi did for caitlyn she did by choice and/or bcuz of guilt caitlyn isn't responsible for (i do agree caitlyn asked a lot of her but it's on vi for accepting instead of drawing boundaries). as far as i remember, caitlyn does not make eye contact with vi at all (so idk abt looking at vi with contempt lol) and i see how that can be interpreted as cold, quick and efficient. it's not. it's self preservation. it's bcuz eye contact is very important to caitlyn's character. it's how she understands and connects to people. it's safe to assume she's angry at vi but much more than that, evident in her words, she feels hurt, betrayed, disappointed and overwhelmed. she chooses not to look in vi's eyes, bcuz she wouldn't be able to bear it - she shuts herself off by choice, she doesn't want to connect in that moment, doesn't want to understand or be persuaded to stay (she knows vi has the capability of doing that), and it's not bcuz "contempt/the desire to shove her aside" are her true feelings for vi, it's bcuz caitlyn tried to remove herself from the situation but bcuz she's literally spiraling (please watch that scene again, ik caitlyn is really hard to interpret bcuz she doesn't scream, cry or blow things up, but this is her losing it in her own way), she snapped impulsively when she couldn't leave and put space between herself and vi

those are my two cents.

caitlyn grew up sheltered, she's privileged, uneducated and unaware of zaun struggles, zaun identity and generational trauma, zaun's history of oppression and piltover's of police violence. she's deeply in love with vi whom she sees as an equal (she sees all people as equals), is in the process of learning and relearning truths abt herself and the world, and in a time of immense trauma, stress and pressure, she lets her fear, anger, grief and guilt blind her to how vi really feels underneath her own guilt. she loses sight of what the right thing to do is. she commits violent acts, she makes bad choices. she's not violent or a bad person. she allows herself to be manipulated. she believes no amount of good will erase those mistakes. and she still tries to set things right and gives it her all.

some thoughts about the caitvi breakup scene

i saw ppl pointing out what looks like a tear running down caitlyn's nose after her and vi's fight w/ sevika and jinx (when she finally stops hitting the wall w/ her rifle and puts her forehead to it) and it could've been just sweat, but here's why i think it wasn't:

it's bcuz vi took the choice away from her.

we all know caitlyn's parents had been keeping her in a gilded cage since she was a child. we see this symbolically in her conversation with jayce when he gets kicked out of the academy after the explosion - he's outside in the rain, but she's within the gates of the kiramman estate, under an umbrella, protected, hidden. she tells him her parents don't allow her to talk to him anymore but she doesn't care. they're friends.

we know cassandra didn't approve of caitlyn's choice to become an enforcer either (we assume caitlyn had to fight for it and her family tried to stop her). even after that "win", her mother kept meddling and made sure caitlyn would always get safer tasks - out of harm's way and where she'd never be able to prove herself or do any actual good like she'd always wanted. her own coworkers make fun of her for being a kiramman and only "playing dress up" as an enforcer - a job she decided she wanted and had been working towards since she was a child, in order to help and protect people. she'd had to fight (not for the first time) to be placed on a case, in a real guard position, to be taken seriously.

caitlyn's choice and her agency - things she's barely been given in her own life, because of her parents, her name and how sheltered she'd grown up - she'd always had to fight for. she's had to fight to be able to choose, she's had to fight to defend her choices, and she's had to fight to prove herself over and over again.

then for the first time in her life, she didn't have to fight because vi (perhaps being swallowed by her own guilt for everything jinx had done to caitlyn) gave caitlyn the ability to choose what happens to jinx. unconditionally.

and caitlyn chose. vi agreed with her choice.

take the shot.

then vi took the choice away from her in the last possible moment, physically stopping her from shooting. (now, we can talk abt what that means to someone who's never been the stronger opponent in any physical altercation they've been a part of so far, but i won't)

this is the real reason caitlyn completely disassociates shuts down, not to mention the adrenaline after almost dying again bcuz sevika wasn't playing. caitlyn goes all out hitting the wall, lets out a single tear, refuses to look vi in the eyes and tells her, "i thought you were different but you're not"

she's yet another person who denies caitlyn the ability to make a choice in her life.

it's her blood in your veins.

vi's loyalties lie with the blood of someone who'd worked for silco in oppressing the undercity, lured and blown up caitlyn's coworkers, tried to kill caitlyn (and vi) multiple times, kidnapped her from her fucking bathroom, dressed her up against her will, kept her hostage for a full day in which she with almost 100% certainty tortured her, kept her as the only person gagged throughout the tea party, asked vi to kill her, then blew her mother up along with 4 more counselors and (allegedly) attacked their memorial. talk abt taking someone's freedom of choice away.

then why are you the one acting like her?

vi - not fully without reason - compares caitlyn to her worst fucking nightmare. a psychotic killer who's caused so much fear and trauma to caitlyn that she admitted jinx's smile is all she sees when she closes her eyes, up there w/ her own mother's lifeless eyes?? and yeah, vi has a point - caitlyn had indeed grown more violent and aggressive in her desparate pursuit for revenge. that doesn't mean it hurts caitlyn any less, especially when she'd been trying so hard to do the right thing (sending a squad to catch jinx instead of a full blown armed invasion, only her and vi having hextech, clearing the streets first), and vi knows this: she just automatically did what she does best - aimed for where it hurts the most. i think she even realizes she's overstepped but before she can do anything about it, caitlyn bites back reflexively and hits her with her rifle. there, in the place of the wound she once took care of herself.

the perfect storm.

the only question i have left is why everyone in this fandom keeps acting like caitlyn is the only one who hurt someone and vi is the only one who got hurt in that scene.

[syndrossi]

Do you remember ages and ages ago when we were discussing the idea of the mountain clansmen from the Vale coming down and accidentally falling in love with Jon because Jon + wildings, you know? I was just thinking about how Jon might manage to interact with some Vale mountain clansmen in Reverberate AU or Regnal AU when he and Rhaegar could ostensibly spend parts of their childhood in the Vale with Daemon and Rhea both. Maybe he gets in a huff and goes out on his own, leaving Rhaegar/Daemon/Rhea at Runestone, and gets lost and/or hurt and then picked up by a clansman. It's probably more likely if Daemon isn't at Runestone at the time... considering Caraxes' sniffing abilities, lmao. I could see Daemon or Rhea and the Runestone knights finally finding him only to discover he's gotten himself into mischief, like... the clan that found him has elected him their new leader, or he's accidentally gone and gotten himself married without knowing how. 😂

Meanwhile the angst of Rhaegar and the family when they realize they let Jon run off in an angry huff after a fight or disagreement and he's BEEN KIDNAPPED BY MOUNTAIN CLANSMEN. The ultimate enemy of the Vale! Oh no! Any thoughts?

We might need a way to take Qelebrys (and Shadow) out of the picture too, because if you think Caraxes's sniffing skills are impressive, Qelebrys and Shadow are uncanny at finding one another and their riders. (They don't have infinite detection distance by any means, of course, but you'd need quite a lot of separation.)

Perhaps a hunt in the Vale of Arryn gone awry while Daemon is called away to business in King's Landing and the boys want to do something with Rhea? The dragons are left at home, because they'll scare the prey and are jealous of the boys' falcons. Or it could be a hunt hosted by Lady Jeyne, where it's DEFINITELY expected that the dragons aren't coming along.

What age were you thinking them being in this scenario? Obviously it's scarier (and potentially funnier) if they're 8-10ish, though I wish Jon good luck going off in a huff with Ser Willam ready to sit on him if necessary. I feel like Allard would be along so that Daemon could go I TOLD YOU SO after all these years, even though he's innocent and just trying to aid in the search.

There are likely other young boys along if it's a bigger hunt, so it could be a game of chase (or hide) gone awry, where eventually someone (Rhaegar) notices that Jon's nowhere to be seen. Then there's the angst of "how could I let him out of my sight?" and "why did I suggest playing the game?"

(If they're older, it could be a horse race or something more adolescent/teen-driven.)

And now you've got Runestone a two week trip on horseback away, meaning they can't go get Qelebrys and Shadow without abandoning the search for that long, so an urgent raven is dispatched to KL. For the 4-5 days before Caraxes gets there, though, there's all manner of trouble Jon can get himself into...

(Poor Rhea, half convinced her baby boy is dead given the cruel savagery of the mountain clansmen, but trying not to make her fears obvious for Rhaegar's sake which of course fails because that boy is stupidly tuned to anyone's emotions but especially a mother's. So now she has to wrangle Rhaegar to keep him out of harm's way seeking Jon because she can't lose them both.)

[trainnster]

A Message for our Dearest Friends ✨

[[ Before anything, I do give a TRIGGER WARNING for those who may not want to read about anymore of Nirmal's escapades, and also who may not want to look into discussions of z!on!sm, harrassment of children, and just general nasty ass behavior from Karen Supreme over here. If you do read though, I very much thank you! ]]

So y'know unfortunately I was not added to The List™. Really sad, might just piss and die from it all. HOWEVER, I care about this fandom and I'm always for being petty, so I guess I'll take the bait and send a nice little message to our dearest friend @gordontheengineswifenirmal and her little bestie boo @drackara for trying to fuck with MY friends!! 😁

FIRST OFF, I am not nor will I ever take shit from some bitch who named herself after that fugly ass grey cat from Garfield, so no I am not scared of you and actually I'm SO happy you chose a fandom I happen to be in to try and be a little prick to so I can go into some of the shit you've done!! Like omg thank you SO much for this opportunity, girl! 😊✨

SECOND, you are old enough to be the parent to about 60% of this fandom yet lack the simple maturity basics that even a 5 year old has, so like idk but maybe you should look into going back to school and doing something with your life, since it's obvious you're just rotting in your friend's basement and don't have any sort of diploma or certificate to your name teehee!! 😘

THIRD, going on with how grossly uneducated you are at your crusty dusty ass age, let me remind you that nobody, I mean NOBODY- Actually, here, lemme add the definition so you can get it:

NOBODY [pronoun] / ˈnoʊ.bɑː.di / : not anyone

(SOURCE: Cambridge Dictionary)

Yeah, so that? Yeah, nobody owes you shit over actual families who are going through one of the worst mass humanitarian disasters we've seen in modern history! There's this other thing called "independence", yeah, and THAT means that we ALLL get to choose where our money goes! Isn't that so great? Yeah so that means… People get to choose if they want to monetarily support you!!! 🥳 Isn't that just so lovely?

And y'know, maybe it's just me, but I dunno if people would want to use their independence over their money to send it to a random 42 year old over helping people escape literal genocide. Doesn't sound so great does it? Yeah, maybe it's kinda like people have hearts and understand that genocide is far worse than some random 42 year old who spews z!onist rhetoric, disrespects sex work, and demands monetary gain from literal kids who she not only calls slurs but also actively exposes to NSFW content on her little confessions blog!

Y'know… maybe THAAAT'S why people don't send you money! Yeahhh it's cuz you're a basement-dwelling prehistoric z!onist toad who actively threatens the safety of literal children in online spaces!! I got it figured out!! And y'know, I got you figured all out too, darlin', because I sure as hell know this ain't your first rodeo and this post sure as hell ain't mine!

And y'know I could just keep going on and on, but considering you're probably red in the face and sobbing like the infant-minded subhuman creature you are over lil ol me simply going over just one single little atrocity you've committed on this fandom, I think I'll spare you from holding you to the mirror for ALL that!

Anyways, I do hope this all finds you just SO well, and maybe you can understand just a teensy bit why people y'know… Don't like you! Yeah, so uh hope your holidays go great, hope the new year treats you better than how you've treated ANY of us, and I do hope that poor single braincell gets some friends in the incoming year because he sure is real lonely in that hollow head of your's! Anyways buh-bye hon, hope you have a fantastic day 🥰

[cosmic-recs]

oh i've been SUMMONED!!! hana i went to a party last night and literally returned like an hour ago 😭 just so you can see my priorities 🩷🫶🏻 I COULDN'T WAIT TO READ THIS!!!

ok so, i finally understand more of why y/n is the way she is. i'm loving all the backstory we're getting fr!! she feels very human, but still so uptight 😭 god i'm back to wanting to fight her dad fr

the fact that his fuckboy tendencies have stuck with her more, his black sheep reputation, than his EXISTENCE IN ITSELF IS INSANE!!! 😭😭😭 bc wdym that's all you cared and were satisfied to know about him?? 😭 tbh for me, y/n seems very selfish at times but i truly blame her shitty ass parents for her lack of social skills

HANA!!! HANA I SCREAMED!!! I'M SOOO HAPPY!!! yes she listened to me and kissed him herself!! YES GIRLBOSS!!! next do it when he's awake i dare you 🤭☝🏻

can i just say, that might be bc we get to be in hyunjin's head and see what he thinks and feels about everything regarding his reputation and all that, but i feel soo bad that she doesn't fully trust him and is wary in a way. but like, it hit me she doesn't get to see all that so i get it? but hyun has never been shady or mean to her (and ik they were enemies at the beginning but i truly don't think he was ever that mean to her 😔) so like, pls start trusting him!!!

thanks for showing her pov and settling my anger bc if she would have left just like that, without remorse or reason i would have 😤 jumped her

he was so cuteee coming to check on her at work 😭 bringing her food and helping her with work 😭 my baby is a whole ass green forest why isn't she seeing it??

BUT YES!! THE KISS!! YES YES THE CROWD CHEERED!!! hehehe, hyun is so boldd 🤭 i'm glad he's finally going after what he wants!! and y/n too!!

loved loved LOVED this chapter!! 🩷such wonderful storytelling as usual 🥰🫶🏻 can't wait for the next one and to see who that painter guy y/n seems to hate is!!

Trophy Husband - Chapter 5

Hyunjin x Reader (fem.) Genre: Arranged Marriage au!, Marriage of Convenience-ish, Romance, Angst, Frenemies-to-Lovers, NSFW (mdni) Warnings: mentions of cursing, drinking, crude language, somewhat proofread WC: 6.0k A/N: Last chapter of the year! I hope the slight insight into y/n melts away any frustrations the previous chapter left. Our bickering-couple will see you again in 2025! Feedback, Reblogs, Likes are greatly appreciated! Happy reading! ── MASTERLIST

Synopsis: Two individuals with polar opposite lifestyles are thrown into an arranged marriage for the benefit of both their families, or so they claim. One is a frivolous playboy, living off familial wealth, while the other is an overly controlling workaholic. Navigating their marriage with a business-like approach, their relationship is marked by a whirlwind of bickering, banter, and societal pressures. Amid misunderstandings, they uncover layers of unexpected qualities, eventually discovering a sweet love neither saw coming.

Missed a chapter? - Chapter 1 / Chapter 2 / Chapter 3 / Chapter 4

CHAPTER 5 ───────────────────

As a child, Y/N Yeom had always been compared to a bird, lost in her own world. 

Soaring freely, high above, doing as she pleased as her parents’ only child. One of the perks of having no competition with a sibling. 

She chased her imagination, colorful dreams unfurling in her mind.

It was something her parents bragged about. How independent she was. How ambitious she was. How proud she would make them.

It was something her parents would come to regret as she entered her teenage years. The extracurricular activities they had piled onto her as a child, aimed at making her well-rounded and talented in many fields, from dancing to piano to art, would soon return to haunt them. 

Especially when the Yeom heiress declared she wanted to be an artist.

Her mother had laughed at it. 

A sound that still echoed in Y/N’s mind. It had been a laugh muffled by her fingers, her face a alight with amusement as she stared back at her young daughter, clearly finding the idea more humorous than anything else.

“Don’t say such silly things Y/N”

Words that still rang in her memories.

Her carefree world began to shatter.

Then came the hiding. 

The pretense of attending tutoring classes designed to prepare her to follow in her father’s footsteps, while she secretly slipped into the art program she had forged her mother’s signature to join, started swiftly.

For the most part, she had gotten away with it. That was, until her art teacher called her parents after she won a competition. One whose name she couldn’t even remember anymore.

Her father was furious when he found out. Perhaps she would have been too if she was in his place. Although, she believed she wouldn’t have allowed her child to hide their passions in the first place.

She wouldn’t have laughed at their dreams.

Y/N started growing bitter. Her carefree world shattered even more.

She had always been sort of an outcast amongst the other children in her social circle, although self-appointed.

They seemed to lack their own dreams, their own passions. Happily following the plans their parents had drawn out for them, while she struggled to even hang up her art pieces with pride. 

The first time Y/N had properly seen Hwang Hyunjin was back in school. The academy they attended was full of children of the elite, cliques of those who loved to flaunt their good looks and their parents’ wealth. One of which the second Hwang son was also in, though she never truly cared enough to acquaint with him, let alone keep his name memorized.

If she tried to recall when his name had become a familiar one in her memories, she would probably say that swim championship he had won for their school. A first time win after six years of their academy losing. Only for Hwang Hyunjin to hold the winner title for his entire academic career.

She had always been acutely aware of his existence, hearing his name here and there throughout school, catching glimpses of the supposedly handsome Hwang Hyunjin in the halls, at events her parents dragged her to. Types of events where she would hole away at some random empty room after initial greetings. 

The first time Y/N had taken a proper look at him was in one of these events, in her search for an empty room she would spend the evening in before it was time to leave. She had stumbled upon Hyunjin, the handsome second son of the Hwangs.

Handsome he was, his gaze snapped to hers the moment she entered. Their eyes locked for the first time as she stood frozen in the doorway, catching him in a …compromising position. 

His lips had been locked with the school president’s. But at the sound of the door, the two broke apart almost instantly. Hyunjin wiped his mouth casually, while the school president, usually prim and proper, sputtered, her eyes darting between his and Y/N’s equally stunned expressions.

   “Ah—Sorry...” Y/N had muttered awkwardly, closing the door behind her as she blinked at the odd combination she had walked in on.

The school president cornered her in halls the following day, pleading eyes already giving way to her request. To not tell anyone she was with Hwang Hyunjin, the apparent “black sheep” of his family, a detail Y/N hadn’t known until that moment, though it wasn’t something she even cared for.

She had her own problems to deal with, and who the school president was or wasn’t making out with, didn’t even register on her radar. She barely even remembered the event, let alone have time to run around and spread gossip.

Still, Y/N promised. And then, just a few weeks later, she found herself witnessing another scene, some other cheerleader pulling the “black sheep” of the Hwang family behind the bleachers.

A sight that would become more familiar than his existence itself.

────────────────────────

The shower water running down her skin should have felt relieving. Should have helped her loosen up, the hot scorching water that always managed to help her relax after a long strenuous day, tingling yet soothing. But as Y/N stood beneath the shower, the one place she usually found peace, her mind refused to settle. Instead, she found herself staring at the water swirling down the drain, her thoughts drifting back to what had happened between her and Hyunjin.

Back to the memory of her trophy husband, kneeling before her, his piercing gaze locked onto hers with a mixture of astonishment and something more. Something darker, more desirous.

And suddenly she was heavily aware of Hyunjin just outside, in the bedroom where he had trudged into after feeling lightheaded.

It seemed he really had exerted too much energy, the alcohol in his system, the confinement between her legs, the exhaustion afterwards. All overtaking him almost instantly. Y/N had even helped him into the bed. 

He had muttered things under his breath, a chuckle escaping through his mumbles as he had tried to keep his eyes open. Yet, ultimately he had lost that battle and soon his breathing had grown shallow.

Y/N had stared down at his passed out form, gnawing at her bottom lip as her eyes trailed over him. Ultimately retreating in for a shower to clear her head.

Yet the shower didn’t seem to clear anything at all.

Instead she felt even more conflicted. 

The scraps of Hwang Hyunjin she could find in her memories resurfaced as she tried to recall as best as she could. Yet every single one of them seemed to be of him with a pretty girl on his arm.

But now here he was, the pretty man on her arm.

The bathroom door had opened with a soft click, Y/N peeked out to glance back into the bedroom, her trophy husband’s body still tucked under the duvet as she had left him. The bedroom was lit dimly, the bedside lamp casting a soft glow, allowing her to look down at Hyunjin’s serene expression as she approached his passed out form.

Y/N instantly thought back to earlier in the evening. As if her mind hadn’t been replaying every moment of it in a loop ever since. The feeling of his touches, his gaze, his tongue, still burning against her skin, in her memories. 

Perhaps that was how his playboy nature worked.

His bold actions, his whiskey-laced breath. 

The way his tongue darted out to lick his lips, the sultry tone in his voice.

Which Hyunjin had it been this evening?

The playboy Hyunjin who knew the arts of pleasure?

Or…

She pictured the flush on his cheeks. The heat that radiated from his skin against her. 

The desperation in his wide gaze, his slightly shaky fingers tugging at her dress as he asked for permission.

Perhaps it was her husband Hyunjin.

The gallery director clutched at the bathrobe tightly, slowly crouching down to get a closer look at his face.

The ever so pretty Hwang Hyunjin. Her playboy husband, so serene, so angelic even in his sleep.

Her eyes traced his features, resting on his lips. The ones that had her chasing that orgasmic feeling that she hadn’t felt in what seemed like forever. 

His lips, that would curve into those smug smiles whenever he taunted her, irking her slightly, amusing her mostly. 

His lips, so kissable.

Y/N leaned in, her mouth pressing against his. A soft kiss, a simple peck maybe.

His breath felt hot against hers as he slept, a low sleepy moan escaping his mouth as she pulled away, peering back down to take in his sleeping expression. He shifted slightly, brows narrowing in a frown before relaxing. A sight that made her stifle a smile, fingers pushing away the stray hairs that fell over his face. 

The room quieted again after Hyunjin settled once more, his crouching wife observed this side of him.

She had always been the first to fall asleep. Always exhausted, easily slipping into her dreams once her head hit the pillow. Sometimes she would watch Hyunjin from her tucked in spot. The dark-haired man, who seemed to always be doing this or that on the other end of the bedroom. 

Sometimes reading on the recliner, sometimes standing out on the balcony. Oftentimes he would shuffle under the sheets once her eyes fluttered close. Her lids, heavy, yet aware of his presence beside her.

Oftentimes she wondered what he would do if she asked him to embrace her.

Engulf her in his warmth to soothe her of her day’s exhaustion, unaware if his arms would even have that effect.

Though, after tonight, maybe her assumptions weren’t too far off.

She often wondered what it would be like to make this man hers.

To allow him into her heart. The shielded, guarded organ that seemed to harden against love.

Or would she simply become his plaything? The one he would turn to whenever he needed to let off steam.

Hyunjin inhaled deeply in the midst of his shallow breaths, a low noise that was just loud enough to draw her attention back to just the two of them in this room. Y/N finally pushed herself back on her feet, glancing down at him once more.

Did she trust him enough? 

He hadn’t done anything that would have broken her trust, went against whatever clauses they’d laid out, whatever contracts they’d signed. Yet, there was that nagging voice in the back of her head.

The one that whispered to her.

That he was putting on some act, behaving himself only for a moment before he craved attention. Before he got bored of sitting still.

He’d done it before. Or atleast, from what she had read and heard in the past.

After some new scandal of his, he would disappear. Lie low for a couple of months before he was once again dancing in nightclubs. Even prior to their marriage, he had been engulfed in some incident. Something about a bar fight. The news that she read about after her father had thrown the marriage arrangement at her, left her tasting bitter.

Her husband turned in his sleep, sinking deeper into the mattress, his face turned away from hers.

Y/N reached out. Perhaps to push back some more stray strands of his hair, perhaps to lean down and press another kiss to his lips. But she faltered, the quiet hum on her cell phone vibrating against the dresser echoed in the bedroom, the sound had her already striding over, knowing well that these late night calls from her secretary were always urgent.

Knowing well that she had always been the kind to prioritize her work. Her ambitions.

That she would never be a perfect lover, let alone be a perfect wife.

The gallery director fidgeted with her wedding ring, inhaling deeply as her eyes glanced over the glass doors of the meeting room. 

Her secretary had called her late last night, finally arranging a meeting with a potential sponsor for Y Gallery’s upcoming project. 

Y/N had rushed out frantically, glancing back at her husband once, before she had to start preparing for this meeting in the early hours of the morning. But now that she was done, and had nothing to do besides wait, her mind trailed back to Hyunjin.

Back to her trophy husband who seemed to be ever so peaceful in his slumber. She wondered if he would remember what he had done last night?

A part of her cursed herself for not ensuring he was sober enough before agreeing to his ministrations. Although he didn’t seem it, the way he had almost collapsed afterwards had her worried slightly.

Her eyes shot to her cellphone, the discarded device that had a cascade of messages and notifications from people she didn’t care enough about to respond right away.

But no message from Hyunjin.

It made sense. It was still early in the morning, and over the months of being married to him, the gallery director had learned that her husband loved to sleep in. Especially on days after he had a few drinks.

She wondered if she should message him. Tell him to take it easy in case he wakes up with an aching head. Tell him to call her so she could ensure he was alright.

Hear his voice.

His groggy sleep-laced voice, memories of it running through her mind. From all the times he had muttered things as he made her coffee on those days he claimed she had roused him awake.

Y/N blinked at his contact. At the words she had typed out, staring at the letters almost as if they were foreign.

They felt foreign.

Types of words she hadn’t sent in what felt like forever.

Words of concern. Of worry.

Messages a wife would send her husband.

The knock on the glass door tore the gallery director out of her trance, her instant social smile spreading over her face as she stood. Arm extending for a shake.

   “Thank you so much for taking the time to meet me today Madam Kim.” Her voice dripped with confidence.

The gallery director’s husband rustled under the sheets, his brows furrowing in a frown, eyes still shut tight but awake nonetheless.

The silence in the room stretched and for a moment he simply just laid there.

But then as the gears in his brain began to work, the memories of the night prior surged down on him, replaying through his mind in a loop.

Hyunjin’s eyes shot open, slowly he propped himself up to glance around the empty room. His body slightly ached for some reason, and his mind was foggy as he scanned his surroundings. 

There was no sign of Y/N. 

No quiet rustle of sheets, no trace of her presence. No loud clatter of her attempting to be quiet but failing miserably.

The space felt oddly hollow, and an uncomfortable silence settled in as he fully sat up, trying to make sense of everything. Of the time, of the day. 

His fingers traced his lips, tugging at his bottom lip as he tried to distinguish whether whatever he was thinking about right now, whatever he had done, had in fact happened or had it all been a dream.

Hyunjin made his way out of bed, figure crossing the rooms to peer out in hopes to find a glimpse of her, or a clue that would soothe the anxiety that had begun to bubble within him.

The living room was silent, a familiar stillness that settled in at this hour. Times when Hyunjin would head to the gym and the entire house was empty. Yet, the silence felt eerie to the man who had just awoken, his hair rustled messily as he glanced around the room. 

A loud sigh had escaped his lips. The anxious feelings started to subside as he was almost to that conclusion that it had been all a dream.

Almost.

Hyunjin’s eyes flickered to the counter. His brows relax at the sight of the mug of forgotten tea.

The drink that had long gone cold, still in the spot last left. Right across the front island, where he had tasted his wife. 

Not a dream.

Hyunjin gulped, the dry feeling in his throat refusing to subside. And all his anxieties began crashing down.

The second son of the Hwang family had had his fair share of one-night-stands. Sometimes waking up alone, sometimes leaving alone. It had never bothered him enough for his mind to linger on it any longer than he needed to. Forgetting it all almost with the new day.

And although whatever happened between the business-couple wasn’t even close to things Hyunjin had experienced in his one-night-stands, it still pricked at his heart in a way he didn’t think it would.

He knew the kind of person his wife was. Knew her priorities, knew that she would be working at this time, especially on a work day. But he didn’t expect to wake up alone.

Didn’t expect these anxious thoughts to course through him when he was welcomed by silence. 

Perhaps that’s what love was. 

These foreign emotions that surged through him right now had never been present after his past…overnight escapades. The lingering feelings that never seeped into his thoughts the next morning were heavily weighing down on him now.

He must be overthinking it all, he had to be.

Like a love-sick fool who felt abandoned.

Hyunjin had never thought himself to be the clingy type. In fact, he despised the women who often clung to him, professing their adoration for him. Attraction, love, things that made his brows twitch in irritation.

Yet here he was feeling clingy. Being clingy. 

His fingers drummed on the steering wheel of his car as he sat outside his wife’s gallery, gaze wandering over the building. Doubts clouded his mind as he second, third-guessed his actions. 

The sudden knock against the glass of his driver’s side window made him jump, head whipping around to pull down the tinted glass. 

One of Y/N’s gallery employees looked down at him, eyes full of curiosity.

   “Ah, Mr. Hwang, it’s you.” 

Hyunjin forced a smile, attempting to hide the uneasiness that stirred within him. To not appear as suspicious as he thought he looked, sitting out here in the outdoor parking lot wracking his brains. 

Nervous, anxious, but painfully missing his wife.

   “...She left so early, so…” His excuse trailed off, trying to settle the nervous twinge in his tone with a clear of his throat.

The young woman smiled with her nod as she straightened, glancing back at the glass building of the gallery.

   “Director Yeom had an early meeting that ended not too long ago. But now, she’s holed up working. I’m slightly worried...” The employee sighed, her brows furrowing with slight concern.

Words that are just enough to push away all of Hyunjin’s second-guessing. 

The trophy husband was already stepping out of his vehicle.

   “Let’s get her to take a break then.” He mumbled with a gentle smile, nodding at her before he was already striding ahead.

The gallery director herself had indeed been holed away since the early morning. Reworking a proposal that she suddenly needed to do after her meeting. As a gallery owner, the majority of her work was centered around securing investment and funding to keep it running. From managing visitors, renting out parts of the pretty space for events and shoots, to attracting rich patrons and people who had enough money to spend on her, her hands were always full.

But she wanted to do something different this time around. A gala, where proceeds would go towards sponsoring aspiring artists. The rich would get a chance to flaunt their wealth, and the starving artists would get a chance to showcase their talent through her gallery.

Y/N would like to think the meeting went well.

Most of the people who were attracted to her gallery outside of everyday visitors, were the wives of the wealthy businessmen in their circle, familiar faces that Y/N had grown up around. They loved to show off their wealth. Purchasing pieces and hosting events at her gallery had become a popular trend of some sorts in the recent years. Maybe it was to do with the fact that Y/N was going against her family and doing something she was passionate about. The high society women lingered about to either scope out the gossip that surrounded that or maybe they were truly infatuated with the wonderful artwork she had collected and exhibited in her gallery.

Madam Kim was one such prominent woman in their high society. The madame of one of the country’s leading law firms, her late husband is still a respected figure even now, years after his demise. 

The gallery director had initially wanted to propose a potential partnership with Madam Kim’s daughter-in-law, a woman who was an appreciator of art, and a regular patron of Y Gallery. But when the director had reached out, she had gotten a response from the matriarch of the family instead.

Y/N wasn’t complaining. Madam Kim was one of the more tolerable individuals of the elite class, humble in her ways, yet still had an immense influence on the other women and wives of her social circles. Maybe she had gotten lucky.

Or maybe not. The extra work that Madam Kim had requested was starting to take a toll on the gallery director whose eyes were starting to sting. Tell-tale signs of an oncoming migraine already throbbed at her temples.

The knock on her door faltered her machine-like fingers typing away with a frenzy, her eyes shooting over her glasses to take a glance at the incoming visitor.

She expected to see her secretary, perhaps with the drafted email the gallery director had been awaiting. But instead, the long dark locks of her husband’s appeared in her line of sight, and she stiffened at the sight of his figure entering her office.

For a brief second, the two of them stare at each other, simply just taking in each other’s presence, eyes floundering over one anothers face after not having seen it in what almost felt like years. Hyunjin’s eyes flicked to her desk, at the bottle of pain pills that rested by her glass of water, a sight that made his brows furrowed with a frown.

   “Have you slept?” He questioned with a sigh, the concern on his expression deepening.

Her eyes followed his to the same pills. She had taken two in attempts to soothe that headache that pounded at her temples, but of course it hadn’t worked. Instead she decided she would push through this workload before taking a power nap.

   “Not yet.” Her response wasn’t surprising, making her husband groan slightly, his arms crossing over his chest.

   “Have you eaten?” He continued, already understanding what her response was from the silent stare she shot him.

Y/N wanted to break into a laugh, to point out the creases that settled between his brows as he looked at her with an upset frown, clearly displeased by her answers. 

She wanted to break into a laugh because he was one more question away from becoming a nagging spouse. 

Instead she stifled the urge, sighing as her eyes darted to the bright screen that burned her eyes, before they settled back on his form just a few feet away.

   “I’ll eat soon. I promise.” She muttered.

   “Ten minutes.” His words followed immediately after her apparent hollow promise, making her tilt her head in slight confusion.

   “You have ten minutes before I force you to eat.” He added, his brows narrowing.

His words caught her off guard, a tone of his that she had never heard before. An expression that looked foreign too, as he stared with her pointedly. Yet she didn’t hate the sight of it. Rather, it sparked something else in her. That familiar challenged sensation erupted within her. Mixed with something else. Something she couldn’t really describe without thinking about him on his knees again. 

   “Force me to eat?” Y/N repeated, raising an eyebrow.

She leaned back into the cushion of her chair, her fingers lacing together in front of her. The gallery director watched her husband uncross his arms from over his chest, sliding them into the pockets of his slacks before a teasing smile tugged on his lips.

   “Spoon-feed you if I have to. Airplane and all.” His words were laced with a mischievous edge, watching as she squinted for a second, before finally breaking into that laugh she tried her best to stifle.

The contagious sound made her trophy husband mirror, his eyes creasing as his chuckles followed.

His anxieties faded almost instantly at the sound. At the sight of her.

   “Give me ten minutes. I’ll bring you something to eat.” 

Y/N opened her mouth to protest. Maybe to refuse or maybe to lie about not being hungry. But Hyunjin doesn’t allow her to, pointing a finger at her with a commanding tone.

   “Ten minutes. Sit tight.” He shot, already heading out the door.

Ten minutes. She pressed her lips into a soft smile, staring at the empty spot her husband had been standing in.

True to his words, ten minutes later the gallery director’s husband returned. Nodding at her secretary who sat outside her office, his grin radiated almost as he carried whatever nutritious breakfast he could scour for his wife, though it was long past breakfast time. 

But when he entered the room, he was greeted by silence.

He had expected to hear more rushed typing, the sound of her fingers working against the keyboard was a sound so familiar to him, he was slightly stunned by the quiet.

His gaze shifted to settle on the gallery director. The sight of her slumped figure, passed out on her arms over the desk, both fascinated and awed him all at once. 

She lasted ten minutes, barely. Unable to keep her eyes open. He was slightly impressed when he had entered earlier, it was clear she was exhausted, yet would have pushed herself further if he hadn’t distracted her.

Hyunjin sighed, gently placing down the bag of takeout on the coffee table before walking towards her. His eyes skimmed over her desk, at the cluttered surface that resembled her make-shift workstation that was their living room table.

He picked up the crumpled balls of paper, pushing it aside before he pulled out the chair on his side softly, taking a seat across. He leaned against the leather, getting comfortable as he simply gazed down at the exhausted woman who would have sworn she wasn’t sleepy, wasn’t exhausted if asked. But here she was now, softly inhaling and exhaling.

His eyes drifted to her laptop, the screen still glowing brightly, clear that she had fallen asleep not too long ago. 

Gently, Hyunjin reached out, fingers pushing back a stray lock of her hair, a fond smile tugging on his lips as he watched her breathe softly. His gaze shifted to the notepad beside her, amidst the crumpled papers and stacked sheets of ink. 

The open notepad was covered with a jumble of words, arrows, and little annotations in her meticulous handwriting. Despite the confusion of the notes, a few familiar words caught his attention, prompting him to slide the laptop in front of himself. With a nod to himself, he leaned forward and began typing. His eyes flit over the screen once to linger on her form.

   “The things I do for you.” He muttered under his breath, patting her hair softly before diving into the task at hand.

The sound of the press of keys had been a distant sound, yet as she stirred away, it had grown louder.

The gallery director’s lids fluttered open, staring at a sight that should have been strange, yet it didn’t feel so. Maybe she was still dazed from her impromptu nap, refreshed eyes still adjusting as she took in the sight of her husband absorbed between the laptop screen and her notepad, his fingers meticulously working against the keyboard.

It should have been a strange sight. Seeing Hwang Hyunjin working. On something that he claimed not to know about, claimed not to care about. But it wasn’t strange at all.

Instead, her heart clenched, the shielded, guarded organ of hers, suddenly racing in her chest. And all she wanted to do now was reach over and kiss him. 

A incoming notification on her laptop broke the comfortable silence that had settled in her office. An email from her secretary sitting outside, the notification of the email draft Y/N had requested popped up on the screen. It instantly drew Hyunjin’s attention, his eyes scanning the subject-line almost instinctively.

   “Artist Armin…” He muttered, reading to himself.

Y/N’s brows narrowed, a wave of bitterness spreading over her tongue as she slowly sat up. Movements that have Hyunjin look up to her. His gaze softening at the sight of her awoken state.

   “Is it written ‘A-R-Min’ or ‘R-Dot-Min.” She asked, her tone slightly groggy. 

Hyunjin glanced back at the screen, at the notification that lingered on the corner.

   “A-R-Min.” He replied, looking at her with slight wonder.

Y/N inhaled deeply, before letting out a slight groan.

   “It’s supposed to be R-Dot-Min.” She grunted almost, reaching over for the laptop so she could send the corrections to her secretary.

   “I’ll do it. You eat.” Hyujin pressed instead, pulling the device closer to him. 

An action that made her arch and eyebrow.

   “Really? You want to be my personal secretary now?” A smile had spread on her lips.

Hyunjin shrugged, his smug smile returning on his face.

   “What does the compensation package look like?” He chuckled, already ready to type the email to her secretary.

Y/N stood, stretching before she headed towards the bag of food, slightly hungrier than she was before her nap.

   “Anything you want.” Her words are more casual, distracted fingers pulling out her breakfast and lunch.

Her words make Hyunjin pause, fingers hovering over the keys.

For a moment, he wondered if asking for a kiss right now, maybe even daringly asking if he could lift her onto her desk, would be enough compensation. But he caught himself almost instantly, clearing his throat before grabbing the laptop to join her by the couch.

   “R-Dot-Min, right?” He confirmed once again.

Y/N’s hands stilled against the container of food, tasting bitterness all over again.

   “Yes.” She almost spat.

Her gaze drifted off, her thoughts suddenly elsewhere as she ate.

Hyunjin watched her movements, the way her fork disappeared into her mouth, the way her lips wrapped around the bottle of water. It made his own throat dry, his thoughts swirling, and he had to bite back the urge to say something. He didn’t want to sound like some pervert who couldn’t think of anything beyond wanting her all to himself, but suddenly, he couldn’t help it. Those thoughts lingered, darting through his thoughts.

He dropped his gaze, staring at the shiny surface of the glass table between them. He had to remind himself to control himself. To stop thinking like some fuckboy after her body. The trophy husband gnawed at his lower lip, trying to steady himself, his mind.

The gallery director watched as she dropped the empty container of her now-devoured food, wiping her lips. Her eyes lingered on Hyunjin, sitting across from her, his teeth tugging at his bottom lip, before he glanced back at her.

   “Who’s R.Min anyways?” Hyunjin cleared his throat, sending the email corrections to her secretary.

Y/N fell silent at the mention of the artist, the one Madam Kim wanted to collaborate with simply because her grandson had liked his work. 

What do lawyers know about art, anyway? 

She had groaned to herself during the meeting, though outwardly she had smiled, offering her radiant social grin and empty compliments, promising to follow through and try her best for a collaboration.

   “He’s a painter.” She answered curtly, rising to her feet.

Silence settled between them once more as Hyunjin set the laptop aside. The sound of another email pinged, cutting through the quiet, and both of them glanced at the screen.

   “Your secretary sent the email to R.Min.” He read aloud, eyes drifting over her.

A flicker of irritation drew over her expression, arms crossing as she muttered something under her breath. Likely a curse, though Hyunjin couldn’t quite catch it.

   “Enough about that artist—Do you remember what you did last night?” Her voice was sharp.

Her blunt question made him stiffen, his eyes widening slightly as he watched her from his seated position, suddenly wanting to melt into the leather. He swallowed a few times, unsure of what kind of answer would ease the irritation still lingering on her face. The scowl shot towards him, ones he thought he would have gotten rid of after he had pleasured her last night.

   “I do…” He finally sighed, his gleaming gaze flickering from his fingers to her face.

   “Why are you nervous? Do you regret it?” She asked.

Another question that made his eyes widen, this time more from the fear of her misunderstanding than anything else. 

   “No!” He almost exclaimed, licking his lips to calm himself down.

She blinked, slightly taken aback by his loud response. The pressing expression, the piercing gaze that he stared up at her with.

Her eyes traced over his rigid form that looked up at her. 

Nervous. Passionate perhaps. 

Kissable.

The gallery director only needed two long strides.

Three steps and she was towering over him, her figure already leaning into him. Hyunjin reflexively drew himself back as she inched closer, until he was pressing flush against the leather of the sofa, trapped almost. He inhaled sharply, stunned eyes darting between hers to grasp exactly what was happening, why she was suddenly so close.

Could she hear his heart about to explode in his chest?

Y/N can’t help but stare in fascination. This up-close view of her pretty husband was even more breathtaking than last night, his open eyes boring into hers. She could see the nervous twinge in his gaze, something she hadn’t truly expected from the ever-so-cocky Hwang Hyunjin. Yet, seeing it now, she couldn’t help but smile at how cute he looked beneath her.

Her fingers ghost over his lips. The ones she had gotten a feel of after stealing a kiss in his sleep. Although she would never, ever admit she had done so. He shuddered almost, even without her touching him yet.

   “I-is this a dream?” He found himself muttering instead.

Her brow arched at his words.

   “You dream of me?” She countered, her tone laced with a teasing edge, a hint of amusement.

Hyunjin swallowed hard.

   “No.”

He was trying his best. To cling onto that fragile thread of sanity left in him. To not appear desperate, craving her touch, her lips. Ready to melt underneath her.

Y/N let out a breathy laugh, her gaze dropping to his lips for a split second before locking with his eyes again. Clearly unconvinced.

   “I don’t kiss liars.” She murmured smugly.

Hyunjin swallowed hard. The thread snapped.

His hands shot out, slipping behind her hair to rest again the nape of her neck, tugging her toward him. 

His lips crash against hers. Desperate, frantic. 

All control shattered, his sanity slipping away as he pulled her closer. 

Closer. 

Into himself, wrapping his arms around her, settling her over him, onto his lap.

Melting underneath her. ━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━ to be continued.

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[fellow-fandom-fruitifier]

AU where Edwin knows he's gay from the start would be fire me thinks.

Imagine if he thinks he deserved Hell but still wants to escape and feel so wrong and selfish for it. So he never tells Charles what actually happened between 1916-1989, Charles only knows whatever happened was very bad no good. Edwin would be horribly, painfully aware that he was falling for Charles. But that's wrong, isn't it? Boys can't like boys.

So he tries so hard to ignore it, tamp it down. He can't let Charles know. If he knows then he'll know why he's avoiding the afterlife, that he deserves to go to Hell.

Charles knows Edwin is scared of Death and the afterlife, he assumes that something happened from 1916-1989 that convinced Edwin he was damned but there's just no damn way someone as good as Edwin deserves Hell. But, selfishly, he never tries to convince Edwin to go. To leave for his beautiful afterlife.

Then Port Townsend happens.

Crystal is no idiot, she can tell Edwin's jealous from the start. She can tell Charles thinks it's because they're best friends, she can tell it's because Edwin's in love. That doesn't stop her though, she deserves one good thing after everything, doesn't she?

(I think Cat King would go very similar to canon, but it's less of "I'm not gay" and more of "I know what I am but these urges aren't okay".)

Niko loves love, she can tell Edwin loves Charles. She can tell Edwin doesn't know it's okay. Niko helps him through it, becomes his confidant, the first person he confesses everything to. I think they would have a huge conversation that ends in them both crying -- Edwin bemoaning his unrequited love, Niko mourning for him -- and cuddled up watching Scooby-Doo. (The sprites get teary eyed too but still mock them, Niko calls them out and they deny it. "It's dusty as shit in this old ass glass!" "Yeah, we're getting fucking pick eye in here!" "When's the last time you even washed this shit-ass jar?")

It all comes to a head with the Night Nurse. We all know her spiel, "I'm taking Edwin back to Hell and Charles to get processed." But Charles doesn't know Edwin's been processed. Charles doesn't know Edwin's assigned to Hell.

Niko is empathetic, not forcing Edwin to explain but not once thinking he did anything to deserve it. Crystal is up in arms, demanding to know what he did to deserve Hell, demanding to know why he hid it from Charles. Charles is confused, conflicted. Edwin's his best mate! There's no way he deserves Hell! But... but why didn't he tell Charles? Edwin is overwhelmed and panicked and no, no, no! Charles was never supposed to know!

Now, listen. Niko isn't one for confrontation, she doesn't like to fight. But hearing Crystal rip into an unresponsive Edwin while Charles lingers unsure on the back has her heart breaking, has her head hurting. So she steps in, shouts at them to stop, that they'll talk tomorrow when they've cooled off. And drags Edwin off to her room for the night. She doesn't demand answers and he doesn't give them.

The next day, everyone's off. The tension is high and only building. Crystal keeps sending Edwin pointed comments and Edwin is actively ignoring her existence. Charles is conflicted, caught between Crystal and Edwin; taking both their sides without taking either. And Niko doesn't know how to soothe any of it, so she sticks close to Edwin.

Eventually the four are leaving the graveyard, Crystal and Charles arguing when she rounds on Edwin. "And you! Don't think I forgot about you!" Niko tries to step in and stop it like she did last time but Edwin's tired, he's had enough, he breaks. "I was sacrificed! I was sacrificed and spent seventy-three gruelling years fighting to escape! There, happy? Might we please move on now?"

He storms past them all and for the first time since this dispute started, Niko is angry. She tells Crystal that wasn't okay, that it was cruel. And takes off after Edwin, leaving Charles and Crystal standing uselessly.

"I didn't know..." Neither remember who said that.

[purble-turble]

actually, you know what would be interesting and funny you brought up the whole rebounding thing but like... what if that situation happens completely by the others (including Redson and his echo chamber friends) jumping to conclusions and planting that seed of an idea in the two heads. Mk is naturally very affectionate, physical touch is a big part of his love language. he grew up alongside mei who was just as physical and no one actually encouraged them not to be. snuggling/hugging/kissing(like quick head and cheek pecks) your homies is very normalized. he's also dealing with family and friend issues because things are really tense and he's feeling everything at a 10 right know. its not just Red he can't talk too, he can even talk to Mei as comfortably and maybe lately feels like she avoiding him in favor of prioritizing Red.

Nezha. that boy is just starved of affection both verbal and physical. period. yeah its a bit overwhelming and confusing for him at first but after he gets used to mk's love language it's like 'Oh, hey this is really nice...huh...can i do this too?' and the answer was yes of course! he slowly starts implementing little touches here and there, initiating the hugs. it's still a bit awkward for him so he ends up utilizing other forms of love language, but the effort is there and mk is ecstatic. but it starts to make the other side-eye the situation. everyone (especially tang) was on board at first cause like....its a legendary celestial warrior, he's shown to be reliable and mature and so on. surly this could only be a good influence for mk. and yeah at first they only see good things, mk seems to get a little better over time, he's even getting extra exercise training like meditation, yoga/Tai chi. stuff that is supposed to support mental and physical wellness so of course Nezha must be good! Pigsy is the first to notice that maybe there starting to get a little too close, starts drawing parallels to how mk acted with Red. he brings it up with the others. tang isn't bothered and mei isn't either at first but now that idea is in her head, and it grows over time and now shes getting suspisiou as pigsy. and maybe a little pissed. nezha and mk of course havn'ty actually thought of each other like that, there just friends for god sake! he hasn't done anything with nezha that hes already done with mei. but mk gets confronted eventually and of course, tells Nezha after the fact. they both agree everyone's being ridiculous, they are just really close friends! but internally there both secretly like '....but what if?....' Red's group of friends are just shit starters, gold medalists when it comes to jumping to conclusions, especially regarding mk. they see monkey boy chatting up and getting close with another prince and run wild with ideas they of course share with Red. they see them being physically affectionate or hear something even vaguely suggestive they are not gonna look or ask for context. hell you can give them the full context they still cherry-pick it apart like the Christian bible. anything to make Mk look as horrible as they believe he is.

Yooooo I am vibrating in my seat right now i fuckin loooove this!! 💖

You’re so right about MK’s fam thinking that Nezha will be a good influence on him at the start of things.. they have no idea that Nezha approves of the attempted sacrifice MK made at the pillar. I mean, it’s a sore spot for all of them, so it’s likely just not brought up in casual settings. The first time they catch a glimpse of it is probably a tense moment where someone tried to point out to MK that he was taking on too much again and exhausting himself.. but instead of getting a bit sheepish saying he’ll take better care of himself like he might have done before, he stands firm and is like ‘No, I can handle this! These are my problems and I’m going to handle them.’ And Nezha is spotted in the background with a lil smile and an agreeing nod and… ok. That’s weird.

As for the romantic aspect of it, them being a little oblivious about their budding romantic feelings at first and having to have it pointed out by the others how close they’ve gotten is sooooo good! I’m always a sucker for oblivious MK, but I can fully see Nezha being exactly like that too.

Mei for sure shares with Prince Red that she thinks MK has gotten weirdly close to Nezha lately.. and Red has already noticed that MK has been coming by to try to win him back less and less… could it be he’s really been replaced that easily? It’s… kind of hard to think MK would move on so quickly, especially because he is probably still struggling with it. Maybe he even goes to check it out for himself and spots MK and Nezha out together on a stroll. And look, MK is holding hands with the lotus prince and… oh. kisses his cheek… that’s… pretty hard to not interpret as romantic.

Even if Red knows MK and a little niggling doubt in the back of his mind can be like ‘well, he’s like that with Mei too so maybe???’ If he’s already primed to be looking for it by Mei (and also his own already hurt feelings) then this would be pretty clear confirmation of his fear that MK has moved on and is romantically involved with Nezha now. Also yeah it for sure doesn’t help that all Prince Red’s friends are gonna add fuel to this fire once he tells them about it, just like you said. They never thought MK was good enough for Red, so why would they put it past him to move on from him really fast too?

Haha, anyway, once MK’s fam start asking more pointed questions about their relationship, MK and Nezha might even have a frank discussion about it. They’re more open with each other than they are with anybody else, after all, since there’s no fear of judgement or moralizing from sharing how they actually feel. In any case, even if they can’t manage to have the straight up discussion, the displays of affection definitely get more frequent on both ends and things progress that way regardless~

[becausebuckley]

michelle's buddie fic recs: week 51!

almost the last fic rec list of the year, can you believe it? like last week, i haven't cross-referenced this list with previous ones, so apologies for any potential double recs!

this is a mix of fics with all ratings, so some include NSFW content. please take a look at both the ratings and the fic tags before reading! some might also contain spoilers for season 8.

if you come across something you like in this list, remember to show some love to the author by leaving kudos and a comment!

before the night fades | MilenaDaniels/@milenadaniels| 8.6k | T

EddieAna and BuckTaylor double date and it ruins everyone's night. this fic is one of my favourite outsider povs ever! it does such a wonderful job of capturing our 911 characters as well as fleshing out a lovely cast of ocs <3

chicken alfredo | EiraLloyd/@unlifeira | 4.6k | T

when Helena laughs at the idea that her son is now able to cook well, Buck ropes Eddie into proving her otherwise. this captures the buddie dynamic so so well <3 also made me hungry lol

do you want me (or do you want me dead) | carpediaz/@sofa-king-lame | 2.3k | T

The one where Buck finds out Eddie wears reading glasses and loses his fucking mind over them, and Eddie knows exactly what he's doing. eddie in reading glasses is a VISION holy shit buck is so relatable in this. i love the silly fun!!

emails i can't send | heartbeatdiaz/@lonelychicago | 6k | T

buck should've known better than to let his email account open and then give his computer to a toddler to play with. i love love love the formatting of this one, with the emails and everything <3 so so good!! they're just french angelfish <3

i took a little journey to the unknown | 42hrb/@exhuastedpigeon | 4.3k | T

“I-it’s okay, you don’t have to talk,” Buck says and the comforting warmth is back on Eddie’s hand. The only thought that rings clearly through his head is that Buck’s hand is safe. Buck is going to keep him safe. “Just - can you squeeze my hand if you’re awake?” this is just such a lovely fic. i love the character study elements and the hand holding and just <3

in the dark (with the stars) | tawaifeddiediaz/@aashiqeddiediaz | 13k | M

Eddie’s relationship with food, anxiety and cooking, as told through the past and present. eddie's relationship with food in both canon and fanon is absolutely fascinating to me. i loved this take on it so much <3

last first kiss | songbvrd/@songbvrd | 3.4k | GA

Buck tries to say goodbye. Eddie isn't ready. frankly i think the best promo i can give this fic is exactly what i said in my comment here, which is "tim minear better be taking notes" because wow it's just that good <3

lucky boy | serenelystrange/@serenelystrange | 1.9k | T

In which Buck and Eddie are so bad at being in a secret relationship, but instead of show-typical angst, fluff! secret relationship buddie, the gift that keeps on giving <3 exactly the fic i needed on a cold early bus ride this week!!

platonic co-parents don't kiss like we do | thelikesofus/@thelikesofus | 7.1k | M

5 times other people see Buck and Eddie kiss + 1 time they really mean it. i love love love all these different types of kisses <3 the loveliest buddie fic from the perspective of the firefam!!

take what the water gave me | Daisies_and_Briars/@cal-daisies-and-briars | 20.7k | M

New transfer to the 118, Eddie Diaz, has a secret. And upon getting to know his coworker, Buck, who is also hiding something, he begins to suspect their secret is the same. He's wrong. i've been devouring every little snippet of this fic i've seen on tumblr and i was so so excited to see the full thing land in my inbox! and wow did it not disappoint. such great worldbuilding and such a fantastic characterisation of eddie <3

the bunkroom fic | exvichan | 11.5k | T

The Station 118 bunkroom has witnessed a lot over the years. Private conversations, spats, occasions of affection, joy, and anguish. It’s seen pranks, and games, and camaraderie. It’s even been privy to an unfolding love story or two. It holds the memory of each of these moments. the 118 bunkroom my beloved <3 i love these little moments so much, especially the conversations between the firefam!!

the wayward son | brewrosemilk/@gayhoediaz | 56.9k | E

Eddie misses his son, grows a mustache, pines after his best friend, and becomes a regular at a gay sex club. That last part is either an indulgence or an inevitable, somewhat self-destructive conclusion to several decades worth of compulsory heterosexuality and catholic guilt. Don’t ask him which. i can't even capture the vibe of this fic in just a few lines but holy shit is it brilliant. the most incredibly writing, great characterisation, and also just very hot stuff. an immediate bookmark and new favourite!

[sorceressofthesky]

Something that really strikes me about the Zauntrio flashback is the fact that Silco only has two lines in the entire 3-minute scene. First, he says, "Oh, you're sadly mistaken. I'm bozo 1." Then, "To Zaun, then; blisters and bedrock." That's all he contributes. He does shut his notebook and move closer to the group after Felicia shares the news, but that's it. He has no comments to make about his seemingly close friend's pregnancy. No questions, no reassurance, hardly even a reaction beyond the knee-jerk surprise and a few vague smiles.

I've seen people say that Silco's villain arc makes no sense with the context of this "happy family" scene, but the way I read it is the complete opposite. He doesn't seem particularly thrilled about kids being in the picture. He seems like he's suppressing something. Faintly smiling and throwing out vague uplifting statements but tactfully dodging the actual elephant in the room. Whatever he's thinking is something he wants to keep to himself.

By the time we've met up with them in Season 1, Silco wanted a revolution and control, while Vander wanted peace between Piltover and Zaun. It wasn't always like that, though, and the implication is that Vander's perspective changed once he became responsible for the kids. So I think what we're witnessing in the flashback scene is the very first cracks in the trio. It's Silco realising that it isn't always going to be just the three of them. It's him questioning what this all means for the bloody revolution and hard-earned independence he always envisioned.

It's only a few small fractures at this stage, but those cracks would've only grown once Vi and Powder were actually in the picture. If Vander's flashbacks as Warwick are anything to go by, Silco didn't have much of a role in raising the kids even when he was still friends with Vander and Felicia. A pseudo-family wasn't what he wanted, so he drifted apart from the trio, a force in the background trying to keep Vander's head in the game when there were so many distractions to pull him off track.

All this building tension culminates on the bridge, where Silco started the fight that got Felicia and Connol killed. That's where their paths diverge entirely; where Vander realises that family and community is his priority now, not blind violence and carnage, while Silco doubles down on his idea of revolution at all costs. Without Felicia there to hold them together, the two remaining halves split apart, and Vander attempts to drown him.

This would explain why Silco is so nonchalant about potentially killing Vi as early as Episode 3, despite her being Felicia's child. We know he believes that power "comes to those who will do anything to achieve it". I find it hard to imagine that mentality started only after Vander tried to kill him. It might have only been seeds of dormant ruthlessness back then, but it's enough to believe that this is the same Silco who threatens Marcus using his daughter and shows no regard for the death of Renni's son. Silco does not care about children or the sanctity of a new generation. He does not believe in family.

But despite all of this, I do think he recognised Powder. He saw himself in her when he witnessed Vi's abandonment and betrayal. It was easy to rationalise the decision to take her in; he recognised her potential to become an asset to their revolution. But whether there were deeper emotions there from the beginning or if those only formed with time, he definitely did not expect to love her like a parent. That was not his nature, as far as he knew. It was only after he was given the ultimatum by Jayce that he truly understood Vander's perspective, and by then, he was already undone.

[avelanlorelay]

Sorry to bother with questions but do we ever find out where Cardan was when he didn't return to bed with Jude those few nights? As he seemed to be avoiding the question when she asked. Was he with someone else?

Questions never bother me, I love to talk! I assume you're talking about that TQOF scene after Jude's presentation banquet. Feel free to disagree with me, but I think that to think that Cardan is just a womanizing boy is not to understand even half of his personality, especially when (I've already posted about this) he's the most sensitive character in the series.

In my view, it's implied in the book that Cardan's vice is drink, not sex. I'm not saying that he's a pure boy who didn't like taking part in orgies, but there are some points that show that it wasn't his priority. For example: Cardan isn't seen making dirty jokes or analyzing women's bodies like Valerian (except with Jude). He never had two lovers at the same time like Locke and Nicasia (I'm not saying that the intention of these two was just sex, but obviously there was a lot of desire for Jude on Locke's part and for Locke on Nicasia's part too).

And the main point for me, is that we see in TWK, when Jude invades Cardan's chambers at Balekin's behest, he is completely alone in bed, that is, at a time when he is worried about Jude and the situation of the kingdom is delicate, he doesn't have time to think about sex or anything like that, so to think that Cardan is still the same boy who only thinks about the pleasures of life and hasn't matured is to ignore his evident change in the second book. It's clear that in important situations, such as when the Crown of Blood is at stake, he no longer maintains the behavior of enjoying himself like a member of the circle of grackles.

It's not exactly proof, but on the same night that Jude breaks into his rooms, he confesses that Balekin forced him to take part in orgies, meaning that his perverted behavior was practically forced on him by his brother. It's no wonder that when he met a girl he liked, Cardan immediately committed himself to an engagement. And here, we all have to agree because it's obvious that he was always faithful in his commitment to Nicasia, their relationship was totally monogamous, otherwise he wouldn't have been so heartbroken by her betrayal.

Which brings me to the conclusion of your question: Cardan was faithful to Nicasia because he loved her and the two of them were engaged, in other words, they had a solid commitment. And he remained faithful to her until the engagement was broken. Cardan respects commitments, he has many faults but he is one of the few loyal characters in the books. So, throughout TQON Cardan and Jude had a real commitment, they were married by fairy law. Whether the marriage was consummated or not, I believe that he remained completely faithful to her. 1- Because he loved Jude and was completely fall with her.

2- Out of respect for their legitimate marriage.

3- Because he was too busy worrying about Jude's exile, her whereabouts after Madoc's invasion, her health and, most importantly, how to win her love. He wouldn't let himself be carried away by frivolous desires, especially when his greatest desire was her. I believe that when Jude asked where he was, Cardan didn't imagine that she might be jealous, so he answered without bothering to give details. Even when Jude expresses her feelings in words, he is still unsure and in doubt. Perhaps he was too embarrassed to say where he stood, or he was just a little slow to be objective. Someone here on tumblr already commented that he was probably in the Court of Shadows and I totally agree. And I would add that he probably spent nights drinking, playing cards and worrying about Jude's recovery and how to win her heart.

I think that sometimes, like Jude, we overcomplicate Cardan's thoughts and intentions, when in fact he is simple and even naive in his actions lol. Sorry for the long text, I hope I've answered your question 💗

[moonljte]

I HAVE AN ADDITION TO THIS!

Another duo of characters that I believe are the both sides of the same coin (in some way) is Aurelion Sol and Zoe.

Having Aurelion despising literally everyone, to have someone he tolerates is something.

Zoe is the kinda gal who is all about the fun and carelessness, but I truly believe that she isn't at all that naiive. She is mostly likely one of the most powerful beings in Runeterra. She can do whatever she wants, no limitations. As its shown on short stories, she tends to play with the human kids, but she ends up being cast out of the play or she ends up being bored. She knows she hasn't been a human for a long time. Zoe isn't stupid. She knows she is powerful, and little are the people who can match her. Now, if she does this on purpose or is simply an instinct I do not know, since every now and then, Zoe seeks Aurelion to talk and catch up on all the adventures she's been up to on Runeterra.

Aurelion's power clearly is no match for hers. Aurelion is also one of the strongest beings to exist. Even between his own species, he was clearly stronger, having slaughtered his brothers. Now, being a prisoner to the Targonians, he can not distract himself by forging his beloved stars anymore, Aurelion is truly alone. Doomed to serve the aspects will, he has grown lonely and bored since he doesn't have his constellations anymore.

The point is that they are both celestial beings that have been around for quite SOME time, and there is nobody else like them. Most of the aspects like Leona, Diana, Taric are recent hosts. No one understands the immensity of the power they owe. I believe Zoe seeks to him because he is the only one who might have the chance of understanding. She finds solace in that, even if that isn't she speaks of to him. It's shown that the girl visits him because she thinks he spends way too much time alone, and Zoe simply finds it sad. I believe she sees a bit of herself in him.

And for the dragon, he doesn't really have much choice, but through all his complaints about the annoying girl, he clearly appreciates it. He might not love it, but then it's better to have someone to hate than no one to really care about. She is said to take mooncakes to him and yap nonstop, this action is actually so cute. Zoe is the only one that doesn't go for him because she needs something done, it is simply for his company.

When he gets free, people theorize that he will end up sparing her life.

On the interaction:

" SPACE DRAGON! MAKE SOMETHING SHINY FOR ME!! "

" What about your favourite toy burning for the eternity? "

Clearly, the toy being Runeterra.

so idk I LOVE their dynamic, and I truly believe Aurelion is fond of their "friendship"

thinking about how swain and draven share qualities that explain why (at least to me) swain favours draven of all people to the extent that he does. like sure he's darius's brother and i guess he's also the face of noxian entertainment but what is stopping swain from crushing the life out of Some Guy who is annoying as all fuck most of the time and also doesn't even use magic (i.e. isn't really a threat compared to other players in the noxian faction). i think it's because swain understands that in some ways, they are both frauds, and rewarding draven is in some ways accepting his own position for what it is. here's this formerly disgraced (egomaniacal) public executioner playing showrunner and while he does have the skills to back up his claims, a lot of what makes draven feel like "draven" is not necessarily the actual display of skill, but the display of the grandeur around the act, the larger than life, loudmouthed personality that sets him apart from any other noxian hired as a contract killer, the constructed front of a self-made celebrity that is meant to entice and appeal to an audience vicariously seeking the thrill of spectacle. and on the other side of the same coin, here's this formerly disgraced (psychotic) nobleman playing grand general and while he does have the skills to back up his claims, a lot of what makes swain feel like "swain" is not necessarily the actual display of skill, but the display of the power around the act, the cunning and mysterious personality that is meant to instill an unshakeable fear in those around him and set him apart from his predecessors, the constructed front of a leader that is meant to entice and appeal to a citizenry seeking the crumbs of slightly better treatment. they are both performers who understand their roles well and rely heavily on their personas to obtain what they want, which is perhaps more fitting in the political landscape of noxus (e.g. ambessa's "be the fox and the wolf" lecture in arcane, leblanc as a literal manifestation of the illusions and deception at play behind the scenes) than the "traditional" concepts of self-identification with empire (e.g. loyalty, strength, etc.) as embodied by darius. and it would just be interesting to have swain, in an uncomfortable moment of self-awareness, realize that he and draven are not too different in their methods of self-preservation, and that if he is to crush draven in a fit of rage then is he really any better than a fraud who fears his own lies. idk to me they are just two guys who shared a period of existential crisis in their lives and are now besties.