#and darker fics tend to get less interaction

[turtles-allthewaydown]

The regret that crosses Husk's feline face is so clear that Angel can feel it himself, that sucking pit in his stomach the same as when he thinks about his golden contract with Valentino. Husk isn't even looking at him now, lost in his own memories. "So I know what it's like to regret the choices made and… knowing you can't take it back."

It's not the same, Husk was a powerful overlord who made a deal to save his power. Anthony was just some junkie who made his deal because- because… Angel Dust isn't very smart, is the thing. The deal he made — who he made it with — why he made it — proves that.

So it's not the same, Husk's deal and Angel's. But maybe… maybe there's something similar there. Gambling, drugs, love — addictions. Regret.

---

Chapter 4 of Late Night Devil (Put Your Hands On Me) is on AO3. Featuring Husk throwing a dude across a bar, how Niffty died, more emotional support Fat Nuggets, and "What a gentleman," Angel says, then tips forward and vomits on his shoes. Researching this fic I found out angel dust is actually a painkiller and made myself sad with Implications.

Chapter CW: drug and alcohol abuse, addiction and recovery, canon attempted non-consensual drug use (drugged drink), extremely brief mention of attempted suicide, mention of overdose, panic attack, dissociation

[vhstown]

writing neutral readers; a guide

(neutral = unspecified gender, race, appearance, etc.)

hi hi here's vee, the one of (hopefully) many neutral fic writers for atsv, showing YOU how to write a neutral reader for your character x reader fic!!!!

this is mainly about romantic x reader fics!!

lil disclaimer: you don't have to write neutral readers if you don't want to! this is just for people who do and might want some advice :) all of these are what works for me — there are plenty of ways to write a neutral reader!

contents page for your sanity:

avoiding white-coding

being gender-neutral

re-direction / re-phrasing

my general thoughts and opinions

before we get started: why are neutral readers great?

inclusivity! a lot of the times it can be hard to find a fic right for you especially if they tend to be for a certain demographic

forces you to think outside of the box — you can't rely on describing the reader, so you have to describe character interactions more creatively (as you'll see me try to do a lot in this post 😭)

helps with immersion! a lot of the time overly-descriptive reader inserts can make it hard to... actually insert yourself into them

your fics can reach a lot more people if they're neutral (though this is just an added bonus lol)

some colour-coding for your wellbeing: blue = general advice + examples, pink = my personal input

1. avoiding white-coding

this is a big point i'd like to address first because it doesn't get talked about enough! and all of this is in reference to a post i saw like a week ago lmao

i haven't seen this term being used a lot but the general idea is when a piece of writing is catered towards a white reader (usually implied through description)

this is usually done unintentionally but avoiding white coding is an important part of writing totally neutrally!

general things to avoid

describing physical attributes such as hair + skin tone

for example describing hair as silky/smooth implies that it is straight + excludes the majority of other hair types / styles etc

also things like running your fingers through your hair can be impractical w certain hairstyles

i tend to just avoid hair in general ? if you want you can focus on other gestures (hand holding, cupping readers face or sumn)

or just reverse the roles entirely and have reader do the comforting gestures to the canon character

skin tone is definitely more subtle however it can be implied especially through things like blushing

people with darker skin tones DO blush, but it generally tends to be less visible or not at all

instead i tend to describe the feeling rather than the outward changes (face getting warm, getting flustered, heart rate increasing, sweating, stuttering etc)

2. being gender-neutral

okay this admittedly can be difficult to write sometimes

the general rule for a gender neutral reader is to avoid referring to the reader as male or female AND any physical description specific to a certain sex

gendered terms

some people like to use they/them when reader is referred to by other characters

instead of boyfriend/girlfriend you can use partner

i personally don't do these things as you'll see in my next point about re-direction!

there are PLENTY of gender neutral pet names in english

for languages like spanish which have masc and fem versions of words i tend to use nouns (usually non-living or abstract) which have a set gender (such as my heart, my love, etc — one of my favourites is cariño (darling) because it doesn't change based on gender)

though again i rarely write terms of endearment in other languages so i suggest you do your research!

physical terms (sfw only)

also for body inclusivity

again this mainly to try and avoid implying fem!reader but also body types just a tiny little bit

i tend to avoid mentioning body shape but if i do then i use something vague like "shape of your body" rather than "curves" or anything specific

you can just write down the body part without describing it physically (chest, waist thighs, etc)

eyelashes are ... unisex! no way!

you might want to avoid makeup but this is just a *general* suggestion

i tend to NOT describing clothing choices unless it's relevant to the premise of the fic — usually vague references like your school uniform, pajamas, shoes, favourite shirt, etc

you can also cheat this if reader is wearing the other character's clothes 😭 next point re-direction WOOO

3. re-direction / re-phrasing

(a personal choice of mine + totally optional)

re-direction is when you change the focus of a sentence in order to get rid of any words descriptions that may take away from the neutrality of the reader (as you see me talking about in the little pink text everywhere or in the little suggestions in blue)

Re-direction can be used for anything! I think there's a book that exists that uses no words with the letter e and a book that uses no pronouns at all (but don't ask me what they are because I have no clue)

It's not particularly easy or straightforward all the time and you might have to change more than one sentence but re-phrasing your writing can be a good challenge! (if you choose to do so)

for me i tend to re-direct to avoid using any sort of third person pronouns (he/she/they etc) or gendered terms and to avoid using insert tags like y/n

example on pronouns & gendered terms

for pronouns i usually change "he/she/they" to "you" or a noun

"She's not welcome here" could become "Your friend isn't welcome here"

Or the sentence may change entirely to convey the same meaning. The woman turned to you, speaking one simple command: "Get out."

I also tend to use more masc / neutral terms in casual settings like "dude" or "bro"

I also avoid the use of "partner" (though this is just nit-picky) ex. "Is this your partner?" might become "Oh, [character] talks about you all the time!" (entirely dependent on context and if you care enough lol — one of the less clear-cut redirections)

while you could obviously use they in this scenario i personally don't out of preference (to me they/them is an nb set of pronouns if the gender isn't ambiguous and blah blah blah) but it doesn't really matter

example on insert tags

"(Y/N), wait!" can become "Hey, wait!"

Or you could use "your name" rather than a placeholder. He called your name, running behind you. "Wait!"

like i mentioned before things like clothes and favourite foods all tend to revolve around the character rather than the reader. in a lot of cases writing about the foods the character likes or wearing the clothes the character owns can actually be more immersive than inserting your personal preferences into a pair of brackets (in my experience at least)

4. general thoughts and opinions

one big thing i wanted to point out is that it's actually good for your writing to "ban" yourself from using certain terms and descriptions. i find that i focus a lot more on describing events, emotions and character interactions rather than being caught up on the reader.

fem!reader and masc!reader are GREAT too! amazing beautiful wonderful keep writing those — but i think gender neutral readers help to avoid a lot of biases that might (albeit unintentionally) come with a specific gender

and being inclusive for all kinds of readers when you're writing a neutral reader is so important!

to conclude

if you exclusively write one type of reader that is absolutely fine :) write what you want and be happy doing it

neutral readers are GREAT but so difficult to write so pls don't worry if u mess up sometimes 👍

i am still figuring out ways to make my writing more inclusive and i wouldn't know without other people's input! so please feel free to drop ur personal gripes or advice

this post is subject to edits (cuz i always forget to add something and it is very ranty spammy random lol)

this post can be found in the "favourite posts" section of my navigation (pinned)!

reblogs r appreciated if u found it useful <3

[optiwashere]

Fanfic Writer Questions

Yay, thanks for the tag @askweisswolf! 💜

I'm gonna tag a few folks to do this if they want, but anyone that sees this and wants to join in can consider me tagging them! @bottombatch @jasminethetransvampire @centaursniper @underworldobsessed @quitefair @siyurikspakvariisis @riteontime

1. How many works do you have on AO3?

89, but that's not quite telling the whole story. I've written a number of one-shot collections, and those have upwards of 200+ short fics in them.

2. What's your total AO3 word count?

As of right now, my stats page says 829, 334 words, but that's not correct really. I've abandoned/deleted/orphaned some works. The real number is probably over 1M.

3. What fandoms do you write for?

I only write for Baldur's Gate 3 at the moment and that's gonna color the rest of the questions. Once I find a fandom that I like writing for then I tend to stick to that fandom for years. I'm interested in dipping my toes into the Pathfinder WOTR ficdom eventually, but probably only a little because my Golarion knowledge is real slim. If Dreadwolf is good, I'll probably wind up writing something for that as well. I wasn't very interested in video game fandoms for a long time, which is odd because it's only become more compelling as I've gotten older when I'm also playing fewer games.

4. What are your top 5 fics by kudos?

Currently? I'm actually not at all surprised by this order, except for the one OC fic that managed to find its way there. That is pleasantly surprising, and I'm glad it's one that I also like a fair bit. 1. Take Me Under Your Wing (E-rated Aylin/Shadowheart/Isobel) 2. Black and Red and Smoking All Over (E-rated Shadowheart/Karlach) 3. Her Private Shore (E-rated Shadowheart/Asheera) 4. Arcane Mishaps (E-rated Shadowheart/Karlach -- yay, some t4t made it!) 5. Tasting Moonlight (E-rated Aylin/Isobel) Now, this tells a certain story on its face, but you have to remember that 4/5 of these were posted in Kinktober only two months after the full release of the game. That was the height of its popularity on AO3, and I highly doubt if these fics were released today they would have hit the same numbers. That also includes the Shadowheart/Asheera fic, by the way. I could see that one barely breaking 40-50 kudos these days. P.S. Stats are silly

5. Do you respond to comments?

Yes, all of them. I get quite a few, and with so many fics across a fresh fandom it means that I occasionally get newcomers to various niche fics. Sometimes people stumble into a pile of fics that they like in one of the ships, and it's so delightful when I see it. Same with people that I see reading Light Casts a Shadow in order :') Most of the fun in fandom is interacting with like-minded people, anyways. Kudos and such are also people saying they like the thing, but people actually coming out to talk to me are my #1 priority. I like to hear y'all's thoughts and even wind up chatting a little in some cases :)

6. What is the fic you wrote with the angstiest ending?

When Everything is Dark and Guided Through Gardens Gray both have fairly angsty endings, but I think Melpomene might be one of the darker endings of my smutty fics. Fragrant is My Many Flower'd Crown is absolutely my angstiest non-smut ending though.

7. What's the fic you wrote with the happiest ending?

Almost certainly it's the final ficlet of my headcanuary collection, The Missing Piece. It's open-ended, but it's overwhelmingly saying that things will be all right.

8. Do you get hate on fics?

Yeah, occasionally. The open stuff is a lot less common now, but there are a couple fics that have gotten pretty ugly comments. I moderate those away without locking down because my skin is plenty thick. I get a fair few anons, again thankfully reduced these days, that absolutely despise me. They make me laugh more than anything now because I've blocked so many. I've also seen some passive aggressive vague posting about me here and elsewhere, which is always hilarious.

9. Do you write smut? If so, what kind?

Oh yes. Kinky, vanilla, descriptive and action heavy, flowery and emotive. All kinds, really. Usually trends towards loving and hopeful and sweetly emotional.

10. Do you write crossovers? What's the craziest one you've written?

I haven't for BG3. Yet. There's a BG3/WOTR crossover that I really want to write, but I need to find the time for it between everything else.

11. Have you ever had a fic stolen?

Yep, twice. And it was way more than one fic both times!

12. Have you ever had a fic translated?

I don't think so? At least, not that anyone has ever told me. I'd love for someone to feel the urge to do that, though.

13. Have you ever co-written a fic before?

I don't think so? Technically, at least? I've certainly had writing brainstorm sessions that could count for this, but never anything where either of us wanted to call it co-writing.

14. What's your all time favorite ship?

Ouch. I don't really have an answer for this tbh. I like to compartmentalize ships to fandoms. BTW, it's Shadowheart/Original Female Character for BG3. Yeah, all of your Tavs and Durges. Asheera's my favorite, of course, but I've never been so invested in a Canon/OC ship.

15. What's a WIP you want to finish but doubt you ever will?

There's a fantasy AU I wrote for Parks and Rec with April Ludgate as a witch/vampire that I know I'll never get back to.

16. What are your writing strengths?

Emotional forwardness, probably. Maybe solid grammar? Writing speed? Anyways, I like to explore emotions explicitly with characters where they really feel everything to extreme degrees. It's hyperreal, but I think it's also compelling to both write and read.

17. What are your writing weaknesses?

Plotting, weak metaphors, and consistent characterization.

18. Thoughts on writing dialogue in another language in fic?

I do it fairly often in fantasy fandoms without qualms. Also, I tend to use the italicized text in fiction to indicate that it's a different language, not that it's "wrong" or anything like that. Doing that in nonfiction, however, feels pretty gross. Real world languages? I don't do it unless I'm familiar with the language or know someone that can beta it.

19. First fandom you wrote for?

Technically wrote for? That's really hard to remember for me, but it was probably something like R.A. Salvatore Drizzt fanfic tbh. Could have been any number of fantasy series at that age though. The Dragonlance books, Black Company, or Discworld, maybe? Hard for me to really think back that far because I know for a fact that I used to write stories as a kid, but it's all very foggy and I lost all that stuff in a flood years ago. Posted for? A fandom I don't really want to associate with anymore.

20. Favorite fic you've written?

Bend to Break to Mend is my favorite thing I've written for BG3, followed closely by It Is the Wound She Gave Me and Like I Am Safe Again.

[mostlymaudlin]

Twenty Questions for Fic Writers 💫

thank you @decaflondonfog for the tag !! ill tag @sillyunicorn @starwarned @urban-sith @tea-brigade

1. How many works do you have on AO3?

98!! (woah) plus an unrevealed t&n fest fic, so 99. wow i need to do something rly crazy for 100 lol. what if i do a ridiculous crossover of all my fandoms and everyone in the fandom tags will hate me. 

2. What’s your total AO3 word count?

544,914. (again. woagh)

3. What fandoms do you write for?

mostly all for the game and simon snow series, have dabbled in & posted even less for check please, captain america, and one direction! i feel like i’m missing something but regardless my fixations are hardcore, so all except like 4k of that posted wc is for either aftg or ss hahahha

4. What are your top 5 fics by kudos?

all are andreil! boyfriend privileges (4k, T) / Trigger (62k, E) / flashes of intimacy (10k, t) / Would you still love me if I was a worm? (6k, T) / Inside Thoughts (1k,T)

man this is long, rest is going under the cut lol

5. Do you respond to comments? Why or why not?

not very often, but i wish i did. i am stricken with a combination of being really awkward when people are nice to me & being bad at interacting with anyone in ways i fear could be perceived as ingenuine. im not sure if that makes sense LMAO. and sometimes when i put a story out, i kind of feel like i’ve said my piece — i’ve put so much into it that i don’t really know what else to say!

anyway, i always reply to questions, because that’s got clear social boundaries hahaha, and i DO love talking abt my stories!! and sometimes i’ll reply to comments that really get me thinking. but yeah, i know i reply less than i could, and i want to like double down on the fact that i am endlessly grateful for everyone who has ever left a comment on my work <3

6. What is the fic you wrote with the angstiest ending?

i have killed simon snow twice lmfao. i’d actually classify icarus as rather hopeful — it’s about grief & healing. but legacies is just fucked up lmfao

7. What’s the fic you wrote with the happiest ending?

oh man, i write a lot of happy endings haha. i feel like even when my story is tonally darker (rare), it still has a happy or at least hopeful ending. this is probably not the correct answer, but i think sing of the moon has a really vividly happy ending. like — the sun rises for the first time in the whole fic! amazing. or maybe my high school au, We Can Live Forever, which is just the happiest thing i’ve ever written. 

8. Do you get hate on fics?

not really, thankfully! people are smartasses sometimes but overall ive been lucky. there have been a couple of fics where ive winced before hitting post, but it usually ends up fine

9. Do you write smut? If so, what kind?

yessss. i guess i mostly write tender smut, bc i write tender things in general. i think my smut tends to be rather exploratory/playful as well? intentionally sloppy and awkward choreography hahaha

10. Do you write crossovers? What’s the craziest one you’ve written?

sort of LOL. once upon a time i was betaing @tea-brigade's medieval snowbaz au, Reliquary of an Arsonist, and there’s this part where three highway bandits mug simon and baz and then get blasted by simon’s chosen one magic. i am sick in the head so im in the google doc like “lol what if its kandreil.” and then i was like… what if it was kandreil….. and so i wrote Reliquary of a Bandit

11. Have you ever had a fic stolen?

i don’t think so

12. Have you ever had a fic translated?

yes!!! and i’m really thankful for everyone who has done so <3333 shoutout to russian aftg translators, yall go HARD

13. Have you ever co-written a fic before?

i recently collaborated with @thewholelemon on our episode of Star Trek: Redemption, Heart-Shaped Box. by which i mean: i wrote the outline & a few scenes, got really overwhelmed, and jenny turned it into something worth reading! 

i also wrote Good Boy in the snowbaz stoner verse with @starwarned, which was rly fun — we sat in the google doc for like, 5 hours trading back and forth on POVs as we wrote pure porn together LOL. it’s funny to think about this, because lauren knows like everything abt me now but we did not know each other as well back then!!! and we were just like “yeah lets write porn together” hahahahha 

14. What’s your all-time favourite ship?

right now it is deeefinitely andreil… they are everything to me for reasons i just cannot possibly be brief about LOL so ill just leave it at that

15. What’s a WIP you want to finish but doubt you ever will?

i have a postcanon snowbaz time travel/time loop wip that i was going to try to write for COBB this year but i fucked up the deadlines then the brainrot was like “guess that means more andreil !”. i did SO MUCH research for it and i think it’s rather clever and smutty and fun bc they are yeeted back to watford era! but it’s also dealing with snowbaz, who are in their late 20s and are like in a relationship low point/actively fighting when they end up in the loop… so they are dealing with that tension at the same time as they are trying to get out of the loop. and also fucking around watford to fulfill fantasies HAHAHA

16. What are your writing strengths?

characterization is the thing i care most about! and i think that’s the draw of fanfic in particular to me — i love getting such a grasp on a character that i can translate them into endless situations while still making them feel true to self. i rarely let myself publish anything until i can read through the whole thing without any he would not fucking say that moments hahahha. this is of course pertaining to my own interpretations of the characters, which is the only thing i care abt lmfao

17. What are your writing weaknesses?

i rely a lot on body language because im always writing abt reticent fuckers who cant use their words. but i think i sometimes overcompensate, or describe actions that don't actually fit the scene. i've seen this described as "cheek-biting" -- like, throwing in action during a conversation just to delay the pacing/further the tone, but when you really look at it, it's not necessary. (cheek-biting being like, "character bites at their cheek" in the middle of a tense conversation)

18. Thoughts on writing dialogue in another language in fic?

i don’t really know any other languages! i think i’ve put a little bit of french in neil/kevin/baz POVs before, but my french knowledge is elementary at best. love the idea of it though.

19. First fandom you wrote for?

one direction babyyyyyyyy !! i wrote quite a bit of it in like 2012-2015 but published very little. there’s 1 on my ao3, some lost somewhere on fanfiction.net (i dont rmr my username lol), and tons in my folders from my old laptop lol.

20. Favourite fic you’ve written?

hmmmmm. im gonna cheat bc i cant pick a single favorite. i always say i think No Turning Back is some of my best writing from a craft standpoint, and it also includes my favorite type of conflict (andrew self-destructing lol). however, i reread both that fic & We Can Live Forever on a plane trip recently after not having touched either for 6+ months — and the solidness of We Can Live Forever actually surprised me, especially because i wrote the majority of that fic while i was stoned and also view it as just exceedingly silly. the world of it is just very rich, and also very very different from the typical character backstories, and i’m very proud of how much that reread played with my heartstrings.  

ok last one — there are several installments of my flashes of intimacy series that i come back to a lot, because i’m proud of what they each accomplish in 500 words. especially because i often turn to those when im trying to express my own emotions lol. specifically, my favorites are picking fights, i don’t mind, swimming lessons, and practicing gratitude.

that was such a bullshit and cocky way to answer this lmfaooooo. but tbh i am my own biggest fan and that is by design — i write stuff so that i can reread it months later and have it be perfectly catered to my tastes. i love all my fics <3

[scienceoftheidiot]

Find the word tag

My words were : sun, clouds, wind, rain, lightning

Your words if you want to do it : leaves, field, wildflowers, scent, dirt (I like the idea of keeping a theme !)

I am keeping the OPEN TAG.

Please anyone who sees this and write, do it and tag me !!! We don't have to be mutuals or have interacted. It's fun to read what people get with those words !!!

Stole this from @residentdormouse 's open tag 😝 I am mostly working on two (Royai) fics these days, "dismissed Roy" and "1923", but one other has popped there and once I'm done with these two absolute monsters which are going to be SO. LONG. I'll probably go back to this one. Everything is riddled with pain and angst and hurt/comfort there, I'm sorry, I guess that's all I do (continued under the cut).

I want to state that I will NOT tag anything I write as "whump" even if I tend to really torture poor Roy and sometimes Riza too, mostly because for me whump isn't what I do. To me the point of pushing them so low through angst or pain and often both is most of all to have them overcome or deal with whatever, one way or another, together or alone, by themselves. Even if I can be awful there is always some kind of hope for them in the horizon, and that hope is the point, the fact that they carry on, too.

Here, end of disclaimer. 😅

Sun - WIP codename "Stop the cavalry"

The drop of sweat finally fell into her eye, blurring her vision, the salt stinging. She wiped it quickly. And indeed, as she was moving ever so slightly, Mustang, as far away as he was, seemed to catch the reflection of the sun on her lense. He squinted, his gaze looking for her in the distance, and she could see him frown. Hawkeye swore under her breath. She couldn't allow herself to be sloppy. Mustang, his eyes finally stopping still on her, or rather on where he knew she was, blinked slowly, then returned to his own duty.

As the war progressed, she had spied on him this way less and less. Over the months, she had seen his face harden, the glint in his eyes fade and disappear, while the circles under them grew darker. It was… a little scary.

Riza wondered if, could someone else see her the way she could see Mustang through her sight, she would look the same. Aged. An old, tired soul in a body that had not yet reached its prime. More than probably. But that was a price she was willing to pay. She told herself so every morning.

Clouds - WIP codename "dismissed Roy"

“Where are you?”

“I’m at the window, sir. The sunset is especially beautiful this evening.”

Roy walks to the window, guided by Hawkeye's voice. He likes that she doesn’t shy away from telling him when she’s got interesting things to look at. He’s noticed a reticence in most people. It’s irritating.

Hawkeye isn’t. He knows he is sometimes irritating to her, but she’s never to him. Never has been.

“Oh. How so?”

“Hum.”

He’s close enough now to hear her breath, and his shoulder brushes against hers.

“I’m not very lyrical, so, I’ll try, sir, but I’m not sure it’d do it justice.”

“Try anyway, Lieutenant. Please,” he smiles. He was politely curious, but now he’s also interested in the way she’s going to tell him.

“The sky is this very pale blue, almost a light turquoise, but really bright. There’s big, long clouds… their underside is lit by the sun, and that makes them bright pink, when you can see the top is already in the dark, making them a striking dark purple against that bright sky. It’s really such a show of colours… I haven’t seen one like that in a while.”

There's a short silence, during which Roy's memories stir.

“I think I remember one. When I was at your place, actually.”

Hawkeye hums again. She sounds pensive.

“Yes. I think I remember some like that in the East, indeed. We had the most beautiful sunsets, from home.”

“I’m glad they still can be beautiful.” On a whim, he lets his hand climb up her shoulder. “Thank you, Lieutenant.”

Wind - WIP codename "dismissed Roy" (lots of this one since it's now over 50K. Arghh)

No matter that their little party was out of uniform, they stayed soldiers, even Roy, and they kept silent as they walked further in, while the bigger part of the escort stayed outside, the number of footsteps echoing on close walls reducing to half a dozen pairs. He had not needed Falman to precise they were getting inside – it was logical, and before they did he could already feel the wind had disappeared. Half a minute later, the warmth of the sun was replaced by a coolness that made Roy happy he'd kept his coat on.

The town hall felt empty. Roy couldn't really pinpoint what told him so – the cold, the faintly stale smell of dry dust and slowly decaying furniture, the sounds that echoed, hollow, being only from them and from nothing that was already inside. Falman didn't tell him anything about this, and yet it struck him so powerfully he felt empty himself. An old ghost walking ruins of his own doing. Even if this one had not been specifically his.

Doors squealed on rusty hinges and they stepped from the corridor into a bigger room. Or at least something that sounded different. It was probably set under the half collapsed dome Falman had described earlier, for Roy's hair was suddenly ruffled by a gust of warm wind and the sun was back on his skin, heating the dark coat on his shoulders.

"You'll excuse us for the state of our meeting room. Someone dropped a bomb on the amphitheater." Scar's voice drew away, his footsteps seemingly inaudible.

Rain - WIP codename "Stop the cavalry"

"Private Hawkeye !"

The incredulous bark came from a very known voice, this time. Luckily for the soldier, she didn't startle, she didn't think. In an almost too quick to be seen gesture, she stored her gun back in her holster, turned around, and clicked her heels in a salute.

"Major Mustang, sir!"

"What the hell, Hawkeye ?" Now Mustang’s tone was furious, and not one bit incredulous anymore.

"Sir, she -"

"Didn't ask you, private." Mustang gave the darkest of his looks to the soldiers. "Any of you harmed ?"

"No sir, but -"

"Then you better go back to your side of the camp. Now."

The soldiers exchanged a look, and seemed to decide that following the Flame Alchemist's order was the safest option.

"Yes. Sir."

They too, clicked their heels, and left. Rather quickly.

"With me, Hawkeye."

This didn't warrant any answer.

She followed him in the maze of tents, her gaze fixated on the back of his head, in the raven black of his hair. He didn't turn around even once. Finally, he slipped his head into a tent that was slightly remote from the others, and gestured for her to follow.

"It's empty. Come in."

It was a storage unit. Piles of ammunition and explosives in wooden boxes were stacked under the fabric roof, protected from a rain that would never come. She entered. There were still no thoughts in her mind.

Lightning - WIP codename "1923" (lucky me !!! That's the only occurrence of it and I wrote it YESTERDAY)

Roy carefully gets rid of the cigarette's butt on the table – at least the smoke hides the smell of the ointments and rubbing alcohol and his own sweat that fill this room constantly – and dozes off, turned to the window. His eyes close over the occasional flashes of blue in the angry skies.

As long as he's fully awake.

Clash of thunder. They're onto them. Roy startles. He needs to find shelter, and ensure the safety of his men.

Roy's pulled back into reality by a searing, mind wiping pain in his side.

And the steel grip of a hand over his mouth.

He's still dreaming. That's a boche, who snaked in their trench, a knife in his hand, ready to gut him and slaughter his –

Roy opens his eyes wide and another flash of lightning shows him it's not a German soldier but a tall, square man, with a bushy light brown beard, his blue eyes gleaming. There's no knife in his hand, but a pillow. It takes a while for him to understand what the intruder says, through his thick accent and the blood thumping in Roy's ears.

[like-rain-or-confetti]

Hey vanity I remember you saying something about if you wrote twilight again you'd make the Romanians and the Volturi darker. Any headcanons on that?

Please Vanity I need my fix. I'd remember you said you'll fund it because you don't do rehab.

Hey I'll pay if I have to... just name the price

(This is a joke btw. Don't feel pressured. I loved that last fic you posted)

When I tell you this had me hysterically laughing 😂😂😂...

Headcanons, I don't really have- mostly just thoughts of what I could differently and revamp some characters.

So I tend to wonder myself. Like a part of me thinks, they're less approachable. A.K.A Demetri and Felix- I'm looking at you buds.

I also wonder if some -like the Romanians- have any kind of compromising bone in their body? Like realistically, women have had to spend years fighting for their right to be heard and taken seriously. We still have people out there who would take that away and they aren't centuries-old vampires. So would a very old vampire male who has always gotten the first and last word be willing to give up that kind of power? I see this as one of the Volturi or Romanian covens thinking "Oh you want to do this? Tough shit. It's my way and that's that." Covens like the Cullens that interact more with humans have changed with the times but I wonder to what extent older and isolated covens would still be stuck in rigid ways and how that would go with humans who are of this time?

Beyond a revamping of sorts for Demetri and Felix- I tend to think about the level of violence. The Volturi have definitely gotten their hands dirty over the years and the Romanians literally enjoy torture.

Although all of this could be utter bullshit because I've recognised from writing for different fandoms that I have written for twilight frightened of what people take of my writing and what people will accuse me of rather than just let the story write itself without fear of judgement of those few who take it too seriously. Whereas say for Batman, it has been a case of expect shitty actions from shitty people. I think we all know the Volturi and the Romans especially are a collective of shitty people so anticipate shitty behaviour that's driven by outdated philosophies.

But I'd definitely say Caius, Demetri and Felix needed to be amped up a notch.

The flirty or goofy Felix should be reserved for those he is friends with or more at a certain time or place.

Demetri should be almost silent, as he has been in the books and movies. This might be mistaken as being shy but is really a predator ready to strike at any given moment. When he's interested romantically, that's when he becomes the irresistible dude he knows he is😂😭

For Caius, I'd like to put him more to use. Whilst he is undermined and overruled by Aro constantly throughout the movies. I'd like to display this as a rarity rather than a constant crutch. The two are sadistic lil' shits who bond over this.😂

For Marcus, I think I'd like to have him more of darker side too. Like beyond Chelsea there's a reason why he's still there. He isn't always this zombie who saves the day per say because he likes a good love story- all of that.

I dunno, these are just things that pop into mind. I think their brutal reputation could be kicked up a notch in my writing but worry about the consequences of that since this blog is only for fun and only intended to have fun. Not to mention I think I'd like to have the other Volturi guards more known in my writing.

I'm curious! Let me know what you guys think!❤️

P.S.

what did I say I'd fund now!? What did I get myself into this time?😭😂

My price...

Hmmmmm...

Could do with more Volturi and Romanian content? Anyone willing to annoy SMeyer into giving me that Volturi book or Romanian coven stuff? Not sure if I trust it but beggars can't be choosers!👀

[dairy-farmer]

Thinking about Bruce in suicidal Tim au and the implications for his character and such.

I think Bruce as a character is really driven by certain moments that he allows to become fundamental pieces of his existence. Aka, the murder of his parents and how it transforms him into Batman, and that’s who he is now. The death of the Graysons, and suddenly Batman is not a monster, but a father. These become catalysts, blueprints for his existence. The keystones of his soul. The transform who he fundamentally is.

I think Jason’s death neatly became one of these— transforming Batman into a darker, less heroic figure. He nearly breaks his no-kill rule, and thus, his older mission and self, but is rescued by Tim becoming Robin.

I think Tim’s near-death is one of these moments, not just for Bruce but for the whole family. It fundamentally changes them, who they are and what they view as their goals and mission. They get along better, interact less with the outside world, view each other for the first time as a real *family*. It verges from sweet into the realm of cult-like. If you’ve ever read any dark batfam fics, I think a lot of the dynamics there can apply here.

Part of the danger of this paradigm shift is that it essentially replaces Bruce’s previously held convictions. I once saw someone talking about how Bruce is ultimately the moral compass of the batfam, and how the rest of the batfam are good, ultimately because he is. If Batman killed or was not good, the others would follow, even if not consciously, with the apparent exception of Jason, who tends to be a rebel. This can actually be seen in a lot of the canonically ‘dark-earths’.

I think this shift of the family into something condependent would have Tim as their fragile, beating heart, the thing that binds them together. They become scarier, more ruthless, and most importantly, more competent, because they’re not fighting each other all the time. I think there would be real danger of the no-kill rule being broken— maybe only covertly, when nobody would know, because the *idea* of the bats as being no-kill is important, even if they no longer care about its actual practice. Maybe even just Bruce secretly funneling ‘problems’ to Jason, so that the Red Hood may take care of problems the other bats can’t publically tackle.

Most of this wouldn’t really be apparent to Tim in obvious ways, as they make stringent efforts to shield him from any aspects of the outside world, whether it be corporate or super-related. But it would be something that effects the world at large.

Bruce becomes terrified of the idea of Tim being in any way isolated, and implements rules so that Tim will never be in a room alone, ever. He (correctly) views isolation as a major contributor to Tim’s ‘troubles’, and fashions Tim into this heart of the family. Even if he isn’t directly participating or speaking because he’s tired, or fuzzy, Tim is at every meal, never ignored. They have movie and game nights, always gently ask Tim questions about the current conversation if it’s appropriate and he seems alert.

In Bruce’s head, Tim was made to be a sort of hearth-figure for their family— if you know Greek mythology, he sort of crafts him into this Hestia-like figure in his fucked-up head. He fantasizes about a Tim who is spoiled and loved and *happy*— him laughing during game nights, cushioned in a nest of pillows on the floor that allows him to gently rest, partially reclined, while still reaching the board. Him gently bantering with his siblings during dinner, his cushy wheelchair (designed to be largely only mobile via an outside pusher) knitted blankets over his lap and feet, cheeks rosy.

He definitely sort of rationalizes and deifies and does all sorts of other stuff in his head and reality to Tim— in some way, I think he believes that it was meant to be this way, that Tim being disabled was fated and maybe even righteous, so that he could be cared for and protected by his family, never able to runaway like he previously had a habit of doing. As long as he’s not in pain, he rationalizes. He doesn’t need to be strong. He has us for that.

I wrote a little Drabble in my notes app I’ll drop in ur askbox after this cus this is already getting long but. Many thoughts head full.

!!!!!! I love this analysis of bruce’s character!!!! the way you deconstructed him to his very base self because this is absolutely something that would happen to him!!!

i think i’ve talked about this before- about trauma pausing someone in time, that’s why you see so many takes today on people ‘healing their inner child’ by doing things that soothe them from the time where they experienced a lot of turmoil and trauma.

bruce is a mentally unwell man, he’s a person who definitely hurts himself and others at times because he is unable to place as much dedication to his healing as he does to what he thinks he should be doing.

this takes a toll not just on him but his relationships.

before this all happened i think the bats were more like a collection of people with shared history living together but not quite a family. they didn’t have that level of emotional investment, sure they may have cared for each other but love? they’ve all been stalled in their development for emotional connection in so many ways and since bruce was the one who raised them at very important points in their adolescence where they’d have needed guidance for how to develop and manage relationships...

bruce was just never fully equipped to take on this task. he was woefully underqualified and while he did put in an effort he didn’t do what needed to be done so that all his kids understood that while he couldn’t express it well he did love them.

this fundamentally is what sets him down on this road where tim nearly commits suicide and only survives because they got him help and time and even then, tim has permanent damage. (damage that he could be rehabilitated from and allow him to live and independent life but that’s not what bruce wants.)

I remember in one of my classes a girl did a presentation on the psychological needs of the family members of people who have attempted suicide. many get ptsd, anxiety, and even depression. family members are often considered to play vital roles in preventing future attempts as well as assisting in the rehabilitation of the person who attempted but the thing is most people aren’t equipped to assist with that kind of care.

100% tim’s suicide attempt pressed hard on their already cracked psyche, it put the family into a sort of ‘hunted’ state where they can’t help but feel like something horrible will happen. so they become possessive, they become violent, lashing out not at each other but the rest of gotham’s underbelly because that’s the only ‘acceptable’ way for them to channel those frustrations, fears, and anxieties. (they don’t have a healthier way of doing it, they’ve never been taught)

on some level they were always like this, they were already teetering on the edge and it was this thing that pushed them over it. if bruce had been slightly more mentally well, if the rest of the family had learned decent coping mechanisms from bruce, their primary caretaker in their adolescence, this may never have happened.

but it did. and the only ones they all feel like they can turn to for support, who they think will understand, is each other.

bruce becomes this very paranoid, obsessive man who develops a codependence on tim and the others follow by example whether they realize it or not.

bruce is sick enough to justify it all in his head, rationalizing his actions as very logical things to do.

telling the world that his son died from his suicide attempt and making all the friends and acquaintances outside of gotham believe it so no one goes looking for him. 

keeping him isolate not from the family! but the rest of the world. in bruce’s mind tim doesn’t need anything aside from them.

because losing tim almost made them lose it because he can remember the sight, the heart stopping minutes when he was so sure he was dead and he never wants to feel like that again.

the only way tim never ends up in that sitaution again is to make sure he’s never able to get onto a roof again. tim becoming wheelchair-bound seems more like a blessing and a second chance.

and sure maybe bruce never really dedicates himself to healing tim’s legs or making sure he can regain that ability. but it’s for a reason. the way that bruce and the others will 100% not see anything wrong with their actions because at least tim is alive and with them..

poor tim. it truly is a monkey’s paw. he got what he wanted. but not the way he wanted it.

[feanorianethicsdepartment]

Alright, I read your recent post and need to know - what is your interpretation of Maglor’s relationship with the twins?

askjdhslkjag my biggest self-inflicted problem in this fandom is that my take on maglor, elrond, and elros' relationship is so intensely detailed and specific i am forever tormented by none of the fic i read ever quite getting it right (from my perspective; i’ve read plenty of fic that presents a good interpretation on their own terms, it’s just never mine.) it’s simultaneously way darker than the fluffy kidnap dads stuff and nowhere near as black-and-white awful as the anti-fëanorian crowd likes to paint it, it’s messy and complicated and surrounded by darkness, and yet there’s also a sincere connection within it which mostly serves to make all those complications worse. angry teenage elrond is angry for a great many reasons, and the circumstances around him being raised by kinslayers account for at least half of them. there’s lots of complexity here, and i don’t see it in fic nearly as often as i’d like

(warning: the post... feathers? i already have an internet friend called faeiri this could be awkward - anyway, the post she’s talking about includes the line ‘everyone is wrong about kidnap dads except me.’ this post follows on from that in being as much a commentary about why various popular interpretations of both how the kidnapdoption went and the way people subsequently characterise the twins just don’t work for me as it is a setting out of my own ideas. i’m not really interested in getting into discourse here, i’m just trying to get my thoughts down. i’ve read fic with these interpretations before that i’ve liked, even, don’t take this as a Condemnation, aight? also this turned out long as hell, so i’m putting it under a cut)

i can never buy entirely fluffy depictions of kidnap dads

which isn’t to say i don’t read them! sometimes all i want is something sweet, for these kids to get to be happy for once. it’s not like i think their time with the fëanorians was completely devoid of laughter

it’s just. the pet names, the special days out, the home-cooked meals, it can get so treacly it stops feeling like the characters they are in the situation they’re in and turns into Generic Found Family #272

it soaks out all the complexity - which is the thing i am here for - and acts like oh, these kids were never in any danger, they were perfectly happy being abducted by the people who murdered everyone they knew, there’s nothing possibly questionable about this relationship at all

and... yeah. that’s not the characters i know. that’s not the context i know they belong to

i just can’t forget the circumstances that led them to meet

rivers of blood, the air filled with screams, a town ablaze, a woman choosing to die. every interaction the three of them have is going to proceed from that nightmare

(sidenote: i tend to hold it was maglor that raised the twins, with maedhros looming ominously in the background not really getting involved. it’s mostly personal preference, i’ve been in and out of the fandom since before this kidnap dads thing blew up and when i joined that was a perfectly standard reading)

(also the cave thing was a dumb idea, old man, if only because it implies beleriand had streams safe enough for children to play in at that point. the way it separates the twins from the third kinslaying is also something i don’t particularly vibe with)

probably my least favourite angle i’ve seen on the situation (edged out only by ‘maglor was actively abusive towards the twins’ which no no no no no no no no NO) is the idea that maglor (and/or maedhros, append as necessary) took the twins specifically to raise them

like, i get where it’s coming from, but it makes maglor come off as really creepy

(i have read fics where it is indeed played off as really creepy, but that’s not a maglor i have any interest in reading about)

(’mags 100% bad’ is just as facile a take to me as ‘mags 100% good’)

even if you’re saying maglor took them in because they had no one left to take care of them - i highly doubt they were the only children the fëanorians orphaned at sirion. idk, it always makes maglor seem much less sympathetic than i think it’s meant to

i prefer to think of it as more... organic? something that evolved, not something that was preordained. them growing closer gradually, the twins finding an adult who might maybe be on their side, maglor becoming invested in them almost by accident

and then the twins are so comfortable with the second scariest monster in amon ereb they frequently sass him off and maglor’s gotten so used to not hurting them he’s not even thinking about it any more. no one’s quite sure how it happened, but they’ve made a Connection

‘wait aren’t they a murderous warlord of questionable mental stability and a pair of terrified small children who’ve lost everyone they ever knew? isn’t that kinda fucked up?’ yup! that’s the point! complexity!

another idea i don’t like is the idea that maglor was an objectively better parent to the twins than eärendil or elwing

other people have talked about this already, i won’t rehash the whole thing. i will say that while i don’t think elwing was a perfect parent - someone so young, in such a horrible situation, i wouldn’t blame her for screwing up - i do think she (and eärendil) did the best by them they possibly could

this is one of the few things they have in common with maglor

something i come across now and again is the idea that sure, elwing and eärendil weren’t abusive or horrible or anything, but they were a couple of basically-teenagers with so many other responsibilities, there was only so much they could do. maglor, on the other hand, is an experienced adult who could take much better care of the twins

and...

first off, it’s not like mags doesn’t have a job. he’s a warlord, he has a fortress to help run, military shit to handle, lots of other stuff that needs to get done to stop everyone from starving or getting eaten by orcs. i feel like sirion had enough of a government there was plenty of opportunity for elwing to take days off and play with her kids, but in the fëanorian camp nobody really has the time to chase after a couple of toddlers, least of all one of the last points on the command network. they just don’t have the people any more

(seriously, the twins getting a formal education with tutors and classes and shit is a weirdly specific pet peeve of mine. this is a band of renegades, not a royal household; if there’s anyone left with those kinds of skills they almost certainly have more important things to do)

more than that, though - well, a quick glance through my late stage fëanorians tag should tell you a lot about what i think maglor’s mental state is like at this point. he is so accustomed to violence death means nothing to him, he’s lost most of his capacity for genuinely positive emotion to an endless century of defeat and despair, he hates everything in the universe, especially himself, he’s only able to keep functioning through a truly astounding amount of denial, and he covers it all up with a layer of snark and feigned apathy, which he defends aggressively because he’s subconsciously realised that if it breaks he’ll have absolutely nothing left

(maedhros, for the record, is... i’d say more stable, but at a lower point. maglor may interact with the world mostly through cold stares and mocking laughter, but at least his mind is firmly rooted in the present)

(on the other hand, at least maedhros lets himself be aware of what they are and where their road will lead)

which... this doesn’t mean maglor doesn’t try to be kind to the twins, or rein in his worst impulses around them

there’s just so little of him left but the weapon

he stalks through the halls like a portent of death and gets into hours-long screaming matches with maedhros and has definitely killed people in front of the twins

not even as, like, a deliberate attempt to scare them, but because when you solve most of your problems by stabbing them it’s pretty much a given that people who spend a lot of time around you are going to see you do it at least once

and sometimes, he curls up in an empty hallway, and weeps

... suffice it to say i don’t think elwing’s the more preoccupied, or the less mentally ill, parent here

just. in general, the fëanorians aren’t cackling boogeymen, but they’re not particularly nice either

no one has the energy left for that. not these isolated and weary soldiers at the end of a long losing war and the beginning of the end of the world. they don’t really bother to guard the kids against them escaping. where else are they going to go?

the sheer despair that must have been in the fëanorian camp after sirion, the knowledge that the cause cannot be fulfilled, that they are utterly forsaken, that they’re really just waiting to die -

it can’t have been a happy place to grow up in, under the shadow of loss and grief and deeds unrepentable, and the slow march of inevitable defeat

they would have had a better childhood if they stayed in sirion, raised by people who knew how to hope

but that isn’t the childhood they had. and despite everything i’ve said, i don’t think that childhood was an entirely awful one

yeah, see, this is where the other side of my self-inflicted fandom catch-22 comes in. just as much of the pro-kidnap dads stuff comes off as overly saccharine and simplified to me, i find much of the anti-kidnap dads stuff equally simplistic in the opposite direction

the idea that maglor and the fëanorians never meant anything to elros and elrond, that they had no effect on the people they became at all, that it was just a horrible thing that happened when they were children, easily thrown in the rear-view mirror...

that’s even more impossible to me than the idea that life with the fëanorians was 100% fluffy and nice

like, i’ve seen the take that elros and elrond hated the fëanorians from start to finish. they were perfect little sindarin princes, loyal to their people and the memory of doriath, spurning every scrap of kindness offered to them and knowing just what to say to twist the knife into the kinslayers’ wounds

... dude. they were six. hell, given their peredhelness, mentally they could easily have been younger

what six year old has a firm grasp of their ethnic identity? what six year old is fully aware of their place in history? what six year old would understand the politics that led to their situation?

don’t get me wrong, i can see hatred in there. but something else that doesn’t get acknowledged alongside it often enough is the fear

some of the stuff i’ve read feels like it gives the kids too much power in the situation. they’re perfectly happy to talk back to and belittle the people who burned down their hometown and killed everyone they ever knew, like miniature adults who don’t feel threatened at all

and, like, six. i can see them going for insults as a defensive measure, but it is defensive. it’s covering up fear, not coming from secure disdain

(and a lot of those insults sound, again, like things an adult who’s already familiar with the fëanorians would say, not a scared child who’s lost almost everything. why would a six year old raised by sindar and gondolindrim know what the noldolantë is, let alone what it means to maglor?)

(... i’m just ranting about this one fic that’s been ruffling my feathers for five years straight now, aren’t i)

i mean, i write elrond as the world’s angriest teenager, who snipes at maglor pretty much constantly, but the thing about angry teenage elrond is that he’s angry teenage elrond

he’s spent long enough with the fëanorians he has a pretty secure position within the camp, and he knows that maglor won’t hurt him from a decade and change of maglor not, in fact, hurting him

but as a small and terrified child abducted by the monsters his mother had nightmares about? he fluctuated wildly between ‘randomly guessing at things to say that wouldn’t get him killed’ ‘screaming at maglor to go away in words rarely more complicated than that’ 'desperately trying not to do or say anything in the hopes of not being noticed’ and ‘hiding’

(and i don’t think the twins were never in any danger from the fëanorians, either. quite besides the point that before they started orbiting maglor nobody was really sure what to do with them... well, they wouldn’t be the first children of thingol’s line the minions took revenge on)

(fortunately for them, maglor did, in fact, take them under his wing. by this point even their own followers are shit scared of the last two sons of fëanor, nobody’s going to mess with their stuff and risk getting mauled. tactically, it was a pretty good decision for a couple of toddlers)

more to the point, i feel like a child that young, in a situation that horrible, wouldn’t reject any kindness they were offered, any soothing touch in a universe of terror

in a world full of big scary monsters, the best way to survive is to get the biggest scariest monster possible to protect you. that’s how elros rationalises it when they’re, like, eight, mentally, but at the time they were just latching on to the only person around them who seemed to care about them

that’s how it started, on their end. two very young very scared children lost in a neverending nightmare clinging tightly to the lone outstretched pair of hands

as for maglor...

i’ve called mags evil before, but i see that as more of a... technical term? he is evil because he did the murder, he remains evil because he won’t stop doing the murder. hot take: murder bad

but that doesn’t make him, like, a moustache-twirling saturday morning cartoon villain. he is deeply unhappy with the position he’s in and the person he’s become, and he’s always trying not to take that final step over the edge

it’s not that i can’t see a maglor who is abusive or manipulative or who sees the twins more as objects than people. it’s just that that characterisation is one i am profoundly uninterested in. i do occasionally read fic with it, but it never enters my own headcanons

horrible people can do good things!! kinslayers can do good things!! the fallen are capable of humanity!! people can do both good and evil things at the same time, because people are complicated!! maglor is not psychologically incapable of actually taking pity on these kids!!!!

it’s... again, complexity. the fëanorians straddle the line between black and white, which is a lot less sharp in the legendarium than it’s sometimes characterised as. it’s what draws me to their characters so much, why i have so many stupid headcanons about them. pretending they fall firmly on either side of the line is my real fandom pet peeve

and, like, this moment? this sincere connection between a bloodstained warlord and two children who will grow up to be great and kind in equal measure? i may not entirely like the direction the fandom’s taken it recently, but that beat, that relationship, it still gets me

so no, i don’t think elrond and elros’ years with the fëanorians were an endless cavalcade of abuse and misery. i think there was love there, despite the darkness all around them

an old, tired monster, and the two tiny children it protects

maglor never hurts the twins, not ever, not once. his claws are sharp and his fangs are keen, if he so much as swatted them he’d rip them in half. instead he folds down the razor edges of his being, interacting with them ever so carefully. he has nightmares of suddenly tearing into their skin

seriously, the power differential between them is so great, maglor so much as raising his voice would break any trust they have in this horribly dangerous creature. fics where he does corporal punishment always get the side-eye from me

the mood of their relationship is... i find it hard to put into words. melancholy, maybe, like a sunny afternoon a few days before the end of the world. three people who’ve lost so much finding what respite they can in each other as the world slowly crumbles around them

there are times when it feels like the three of them exist in a world of their own, marked out by the edges of the firelight. maglor telling stories of the stars, elros giving relaxed irreverent commentary, elrond getting a few moments to just be, all their troubles kept at bay

they are the last two lights in a world sunk into darkness, the last two living beings he does not on some level hate. he will tear his own heart out before he sees them in pain

he teaches them to ride, he teaches them to read, he gives them everything he still has left. the twins should never have been in this situation, maglor probably isn’t entirely fit to take care of them, but it is what it is, and they take what love they can

(maglor depends on the twins emotionally a bit more than any adult should rely on any child. he’s still very much the caretaker in their relationship, but that relationship is the only one he has left that’s not stained by a century of rage and grief. he’s obsessed with them, maedhros tells him frequently. maglor’s standard response to this is to try to gouge maedhros’ eyes out)

(that particular darker side to their relationship, where maglor’s attachment to the twins turns into a desperate possessiveness - that’s not something i think i’ve ever seen in fic. which is a shame, it feels much closer to my own characterisation than the standard ways this relationship gets maleficised. darker, in a different way than usual. horribly compelling in its plausibility)

however you want to read it, i don’t think you can deny this is a relationship that defines elrond and elros’ childhood. they were raised in the woods by a pack of kinslayers, the text is quite clear on this

but i’ve seen a lot of talk about how elros and elrond are only sirion’s children. they are completely 100% sindarin, they love and forgive eärendil and elwing thoroughly and without question, they identify with doriath over - even gondolin, let alone tirion. the fëanorians - the people who raised them - had zero effect on the people they grew into and the selves they created

and that, more than anything else, i find utterly unbelievable

look, i get what this is a reaction to. a lot of the kidnap dads stuff paints the fëanorians as elrond and elros’ ‘real’ family, and i’ve already talked about what i think of the idea that maglor-and-possibly-also-maedhros were better parents than eärendil and elwing. i think it’s reductive and overly optimistic and just a little too neat

but to say instead that elrond and elros held no great love in their hearts for maglor, no lingering affinity with the fëanorians, no influence on their identity from the people they grew up around, none at all? that after it happened they just left it behind and resumed being the same people they were in sirion?

that strikes me as just as much an oversimplification. it sands down all the potential rough edges of their identity, all that inconvenient complexity that stops them from fitting into any well-defined box, and replaces it with a nice safe simple self-conception i find just as flat and boring as declaring them 100% fëanorian

we can quibble over who they call ‘father’ (i personally find that whole debate kinda petty) but denying that it was actually maglor who was the closest thing they knew to a parent for most of their childhoods, and that that would, in fact, affect the way they thought of themselves and their family, elides so many interesting possibilities out of existence

(i’m not even going to get into the most braindead take i have ever heard on the subject, namely that because their time with the fëanorians was such a small fraction of elrond’s total lifespan it was like being kidnapped for two weeks as a toddler and had no greater significance than that. do you not understand what childhood is????)

like, i tend to think of elrond as a child as being very loudly not-a-fëanorian. elros is more willing to go with the flow - hey, if the creepy kinslayer wants kids, elros is happy to play into that in order to not be murdered - but elrond is very firm that he’s not happy to be here and he doesn’t belong with them

(this is after they get over their initial terror, of course, when they’ve realised they won’t be fed to the orcs for the tiniest slight. even so, elrond only really gets shirty about it around people he’s comfortable with, whose reactions he can reasonably guess at. naturally, the first person he does it to is maglor)

elros calls maglor their father exactly once, when they’re... maybe early preteens? this is because elrond hears him do it and immediately loses his shit. they have a dad, elrond says, in tears, and a mum, and any day now their real parents are going to come to pick them up and take them home

... right?

it gets harder to believe as the years roll on, as their memories of sirion fade, as they find their own places within the host, as maglor watches over them as they grow. elrond still mentally sets himself apart from the fëanorians, but it’s more of an effort every year. life in the fëanorian camp is the only one he’s ever really known. he can barely remember his mother’s voice

then the war of wrath starts, and the fëanorian host drifts closer to the army of valinor, and the twins come into contact with non-fëanorians for the first time in forever, and it becomes clear just how obviously fëanorian elrond is. he always insisted he wasn’t like the kinslayers at all, but he dresses like them, talks like them, fights like them

the myth cycles the edain tell are almost completely unfamiliar to him, he barely remembers the shape of the songs of lost doriath. even these sarcastic commentary and subversive reinterpretations he made of maglor’s stories - those were still maglor’s stories! he’s been trying to guess at the person he was meant to be, but it’s growing nightmarishly blatant how little elrond ever knew about him

instead, the people he was born to are as alien to him as the orcs of morgoth. he is a fëanorian, through and through

... yeah, elrond (and/or elros) having an absolutely massive identity crisis upon being reintroduced to his quote-unquote ‘true kin’ is another angle i’d love to see in fic that i don’t think i’ve ever come across. all those potential grey areas around who they are and who they’re supposed to be sound utterly fascinating, and i think it’s the complexity i hate to see elided over the most

i really, really doubt they could effortlessly slot back into being eärendil and elwing’s children. not when they’ve been surrounded by, lived alongside, been raised by the people who were supposed to enemies for most of their lives

they just don’t fit into that box any more. they can’t

speaking of eärendil and elwing, while i do agree that they both (especially elwing) get a lot more flak than they deserve, i don’t agree that therefore elrond and elros were never the slightest bit mad at them and fully forgave them for everything with no reservations

because, well, they were left behind. elwing had no other choice, but they were still left behind; it led to the world being saved, but they were still left behind. all the best intentions in the universe don’t erase the weeks and months and years of waiting, of a hope that grew thinner and frailer until it finally quietly broke

that’s a real hurt, and a real grievance. even if the twins rationally understand that their parents were making the best out of their terrible situation, you can’t logic away emotions like that. it’s perfectly possible for them to know they have no reason to resent eärendil or elwing, and yet still harbour that bitterness and pain

(i did write a thing once where elrond loudly rejects eärendil as his father in favour of maglor, but something i didn’t add in that i probably should have is that elrond later regretted doing that)

(not like, several centuries later, when he’d grown old and wise. two hours later, when he’d calmed down. but he was still legitimately angry at eärendil, because the one thing angry teenage elrond was not lacking in was reasons to be mad at the adults around him, and before he could figure out if he had anything less furious to say the hosts of the valar left middle-earth behind)

(it’s another element to the tragedy of the whole thing. in that particular story, which is mostly aiming for maximum pain, the only thing elrond’s birth parents know about their son for thousands of years is that he hates them)

(and he doesn’t, not really. you can’t hate someone you’ve never known)

not that i think they couldn’t ever make up with their parents! fics where elrond and his birth parents work past all the things that lie between them and form a functional familial bond despite it all give me life. i just don’t like the idea that there’s nothing difficult for them to work past

i don’t like the idea that elrond and elros would naturally, effortlessly identify with the mother they last saw when they were six and the people they only vaguely remember. i can see them doing it as a political move, i can see them going for it as a deliberate personal choice, but i can’t seeing it being immediate and automatic and easy

no matter how great a pair of heroes eärendil and elwing are, that doesn’t change the fact that to elrond and elros, they’re at most a few scattered memories and a collection of far-off stories. and so long as the twins stay in middle-earth, they’re never going to draw any closer

compared to the dynamic, multifaceted, personal, and deep bonds they have with the fëanorians - who, and i know i keep saying this but i think it gets tossed aside way more casually than it should, are the people who actually raised them, their birth parents must feel like a distant idea

and that’s why i can never buy interpretations of elrond as 100% sindarin, a pure son of doriath, with no messy grey areas or awkward jagged edges to his identity. given everything we know about his life, it seems almost cartoonishly simplistic

honestly it seems like a narrative a bunch of old doriathrin nobles trying to manouevre elrond into being high king of the sindar or something would propagate. it's neat and nice and tidy, something that’d be much more convenient for everyone if elrond did feel that way

but i just don’t see how he can. this narrative is easy and simple in a way real people never are, it ignores all the forces pulling him apart. elrond being uncomplicatedly sindarin with the life he lives and the people he's close to - that doesn’t make any sense to me

which isn’t to say i think he’s 100% noldorin, from either a gondolindrim or a fëanorian perspective. (i find it a little more believable, given, again, who he grew up around and who he hangs out with, but it’s still a bit too reductive for my tastes.) it’s also not to say i couldn’t believe an elrond who made an active choice to emphasise his sindarin heritage

it’s not how i think of him, but it works. i don’t have a problem with other people interpreting the complexities of the twins’ identities differently

i just have a problem with people acting like it doesn’t exist

in general i think there’s a lot untapped potential that gets left behind when you declare the twins, separately or together, as All One Thing

they’re descended from half the noble houses of beleriand, and they have deep personal ties to most of the rest. they belong to all of the free peoples even the dwarves, somehow, probably and i feel like that was kind of the old man’s point? so many peoples meet in them, to say they wholly belong to any one species is probably an oversimplification

they sit at a crossroads of potential identities, and rather than narrowing down their worldviews to one single path, they take the hard road and choose all of them. that’s what you need to do, if you want to change the world

and, to bring this back to my ostensible topic, in my estimation at least this mélange of possible selves does include them as fëanorians! it’s not overpowering, but it’s certainly there, and the adults they grow into long after they’ve left the host still bear influence from their childhood

nothing super obvious, nothing that wouldn’t stand out if you didn’t know what to look for, but there’s something almost incandescent in how fiercely elros reaches out for his dreams

there’s something almost defiant in elrond’s drive to be as kind as summer

as for who they publically claim as their family... honestly, it depends. while it’s usually more tactically prudent for elros to connect himself to his various human ancestors, on occasion he does find a use for his free in with the elf mafia, and elrond, code switcher par excellence, is famously the son of whoever is most politically convenient at the moment, which is rarely, but not never, maglor

(in the privacy of their own minds, well, eärendil and elwing may have been the parents elros was supposed to have, but maglor was the parent he actually had, and elros doesn’t particularly care to mope over what might have been. elrond, for his part, figures that after all the shit maglor has put him through, the least that bastard owes him is a father)

but honestly? i think before any of their mountain of identities, before thinking of themselves as sindarin or gondolindel or hadorian or haladin or fëanorian or anything, elrond and elros identify as themselves

they are peredhil, they are númenóreans, they are whoever they make themselves to be. that’s how elrond finally resolved his identity, figured out who he was and found something past the pain and the rage

he wasn’t doriathrin, or gondolindrin, or falathrin, or fëanorian, or whatever else. he was elrond, no more and no less

and that person, elrond, could be whatever he chose to be

... elros came to a similar conclusion, with much less sturm und drang that he’s willing to admit. being able to go ‘hey, i can’t possibly be biased towards any one of your cultures, because i’m descended from all of you and i was raised by murderelves’ makes it a lot easier to unite people around your personal banner, turns out

the stories other people tried to force on them shattered into pieces, and the peredhel twins were free to shape themselves into anything they could dream of

and as the new world struggles alive, these lost children of an Age of death begin to bloom into their full glorious selves -

i just. i love the poetry of that. despite every single shadow that hangs over their past, despite all the clashing notes pulling them apart, they harmonise it all into a greater, kinder theme, determined to make their world a better place in whatever way they can

they fail, of course, but so do all things. the inevitable march of entropy doesn’t diminish the long millennia they (and their descendants) held onto the light

and their growing up in the fëanorian host definitely had a huge effect on the noble lords they became. you can see it in elros’ loud ambition to create a land of happiness and hope, elrond’s quiet resolve to heal all the hurts inflicted by this marred reality

it wasn’t a perfect time by any means, but neither was it a nightmare. it was what it was, a desperate existence at the edge of a knife where, nevertheless, they were loved

even after years upon decades upon centuries have passed, it’s hard for the wise king and the honourable sage to separate out and identify all the conflicting emotions swirling around their childhood. they never knew eärendil or elwing, true, but they also never really knew maglor

not as equals, not as adults, not as people who could truly understand him. he disappeared into the fog of history, leaving only childhood memories of razor-sharp, gentle hands

it’s messy and it’s complicated and getting any real closure would be like shoving their way through a thornbush with bare hands even if elrond could find the shithead, and yet at the core of it all, there is light. not the brightest of lights, maybe, but an enduring one

that contrast, above all, that note of warmth amidst the shadows, is what fascinates me so much about their relationship. three screwed up people in a screwed up world, finding a little peace with each other

and the fact that somehow, it does have a good ending - the children grow up magnificent and compassionate and just, they become exemplars of all their peoples, lodestars of the new world born out of the ashes of the old - that makes it seem to me like this relationship must have contained some fragment of happiness

but, fuck, all the darkness that surrounds that love, all the tangled-up emotions its existence necessitates, all the prefabricated self-identities it can never slot into - nothing about it is simple, nothing about it is easy, and i find that utterly enthralling. especially how, despite everything, that flickering light never goes out

well, i don’t think it does, anyway. my take on this relationship is both complicated enough no one else ever quite gets it right and well-defined enough every single ‘error’ in other people’s interpretations sticks out like a kinslayer in rivendell

it is an entirely self-inflicted problem, i will admit. other people are allowed to interpret those complexities differently from me, and it’s entirely my own fault i lack the :waves hands around nebulously: to write my own hypothetical fic on the subject at a pace faster than glacial

still, though. i do wish there was more fic out there that engaged with these complexities. a lot of the common fandom interpretations of this relationship just sweep it all away

[jikookiekosmos]

Stay With Me || jjk

➥Pairing: best friend!jungkook/reader, husband!jungkook/reader

➥Summary: Being married to Jungkook was everything you’d wished for and more. There wasn’t a problem the two of you couldn’t tackle together, and building this life with the person you loved most was all you could ask for. But when a ghost from your past returns and threatens to pull you two apart in whatever way they can, will things still be the same?

➥Genre: established relationship, heavy angst (I’m so sorry), smut, fluff, hurt/comfort

➥Rating: 18+

➥Words: ~14.2k (more of a one shot than a drabble I know, oops)

Before you continue there are darker themes explored in this drabble; please read at your own risk. Appropriate warnings are listed below.

➥Content Warnings: POV switches, feelings of anxiety from being in danger, jungkook is protective (and for good reason), we see a pissed off hoseok, (tw: harassment, violence, implied/attempted kidnapping, reader gets injured), yoongi & jimin to the rescue (bless them), jungkook is pissed off (again for good reason), jungkook cries, reader also cries, jungkook has feelings of insecurity and not being good enough, they have ✨very emotional sex✨ up against a wall, cursing (fuck is said a lot), slight hair pulling, fingering (very brief), jungkook has a big dick, unprotected sex (safe sex is great sex), dirty talk, rough sex, cumming inside, aftercare, jungkook is actually the sweetest, reader and jk are so in love with each other it hurts, also jk saying ‘only for you’ is a thing i started and can’t stop now oops except there’s a twist this time around

A/N: hello! This is part of my Only for You (OFY) Drabble series, but it can be read as a stand-alone! However, I would highly recommend reading OFY beforehand so as to better understand the relationships between these characters since there’s a lot of history behind everything that will make more sense. (I also mentioned this in the post for OFY but for those who haven’t read it, the Kun in the story isn’t referring to any other irl person specifically, it was just a name I chose to make the initial story easier to write.)

The POV switches between the reader and a few of the characters, but this will always be indicated by the name in the switch being bolded (i.e. you or Jungkook will be in bold, etc.).

I always do this but thank you to @dntaewithluv​ for keeping me sane during the writing process and giving me feedback as well as the motivation to continue when I feel discouraged, I love you so much 💜

I’ve written a few other drabbles and will list them below, along with a general timeline:

Use My Best Colors For Your Portrait - ~6 months after OFY

When I Dream Of You - ~1 year after OFY

This fic takes place a few months after the dream drabble. I welcome feedback, so if you ever want to talk to me about my writing, please do! I hope that if you read this, you enjoy it~

➥OFY Spotify Playlist (songs I listened to for inspo)

➥Series Masterlist

➥All Works Masterlist

taglist: @inlovewiththemoonn @diorkookie @swee3tcreature��� @sugaslittlekookies​ @moonchild1​ @bangtanhome​ 

⊱──────── ✬ ✬ ✬ ────────⊰

Visiting Jungkook at the bar during his shifts had become one of your favorite pastimes over the last few years. And not just because you got to see him, but also because it gave you a chance to get closer to some of his - and now your - friends as well.

Take tonight for example: you stopped by on your way home from work, and everything happened like it usually did. Jungkook’s smile was typically the first thing to greet you when you walked through the door before he and Jimin got into a playful bickering match about bar duties.

You parked yourself in your usual stool at the bar and watched the scene before you unfold - Jimin tossing one of the bar towels to Jungkook, who caught it with ease, all the while mumbling ‘less distraction and more action, Kook.’ Jungkook slung the towel over his shoulder before making a big show out of walking over to you.

“Hey pretty lady, what can I get for you tonight?” Jungkook’s voice was dripping with charm and it made you giggle. He leaned across the bar, resting his forearms on the wood. Even when he was just standing here in a plain black t-shirt with his dark hair curling in front of his eyes you still thought he was the most ethereal person you’d ever seen.

You hummed. “Hmm, I think I’ll have just a water, thanks.” Jungkook was already moving to fix your beverage before you even finished. “Do you always greet people like this,” you teased him as he sat the glass down in front of you.

He was wiping his hands on the towel still perched on his shoulder. “Nah, I only save it for the special ones. I am a married man, after all.”

You giggled again and he reached further across the bar to give you a quick kiss before being interrupted by Jimin again.

“You two are adorable, I love that, but I really could use some help over here, Kook!”

Jungkook playfully rolled his eyes before he excused himself to tend to his actual job. You just sat and observed while you drank, looking at him with loving eyes. He was really in his element here and it showed. All his customers were always happy patrons because he treated them all well.

Yeah, everything was playing out as it normally did on nights like these.

What you weren’t expecting, however, was for that to change.

On your way to find Yoongi so you could stop by and chat with him before heading home, you passed by a booth where a few rowdy men were seated. You tried to slip past them and pay them no mind-

-until one of them caught you by the wrist.

You froze. You wondered if maybe this was someone you knew and had possibly offended by not saying hello, but one look at the table let you know you’d never seen these 3 men before in your life.

“Hey, where you off to in a rush, baby?” The pet name made your skin crawl and you wanted nothing more than to just slink away and pretend like this never happened. But it was happening, the man’s tight grip on your wrist a reminder of that.

One of the other booth members spoke up. “Yeah, why not have a seat with us and talk for a bit? You look like you’re in need of some company.”

You shook your head and tried to muster a small smile so you could turn them down easy. You’d read and heard way too often about moments like these that could turn out badly if you acted a certain way.

“No thank you, I was just on my way out,” you hoped that would be the end of it, but the man holding your wrist wasn’t having it. He jerked you down to where you were seated right beside him in the empty space of the booth, making you whimper in pain when you hit the seat hard. His other friends laughed boisterously at your distress.

You situated yourself and looked up to see if you could spot someone, anyone around that you knew. You were unfortunately at the back corner of the bar, since Yoongi’s office was around here.

You tried to get up and make a break for it, but the man pulled you down again. “C’mon sweetheart, we don’t wanna hurt you. We just wanna talk, that’s all.”

Before you could respond, another voice cut through.

“Hands off,” the voice was low and stern, making all heads at the booth turn. When you looked up you saw Hoseok standing above you, arms crossed and looking pissed.

“Hoseok,” you breathed out, grateful that he was working the floor tonight and had stopped by before the situation escalated.

Hoseok didn’t say another word as his eyes drifted down to you quickly before glaring at the man still holding on to you.

“Lighten up, man, we’re just trying to have some fun-”

“I saw the whole thing and she’s clearly not wanting to engage in your idea of ‘fun’ so again: hands off.” Hoseok’s fingers flexed around his forearm, and apparently that was all the warning they needed.

The man let go of you and shoved you away from him, almost making you fall to the ground if Hoseok hadn’t steadied you. He wrapped an arm around you before calling out.

“Joon, Jin, need a hand here!”

Within seconds, the bodyguards of the establishment - also friends of yours - were at the table, looking as intimidating as ever. The 3 men still seated were starting to look a lot less pleased about the ordeal.

“I think these 3 have had it for the night,” Hoseok stated, starting to walk the both of you away so your friends could work their magic. You looked back at them one last time, just barely catching their interaction, which consisted of Seokjin promptly putting one of the men in his place when he tried to throw a punch.

When Hoseok had you seated in an empty booth at the other end of the bar, he knelt down beside you.

“Hey. You ok?” His voice had lost all its frightening timbre, now laced with nothing but concern. You didn’t realize you were still a little shaky until you noticed yourself trembling. You nodded, the best answer you could give right now.

Hoseok patted your knee before he stood up. “Stay here, I’m going to go get Kook-”

You reached out lightning fast to grab onto his sleeve before you pleaded “Don’t.”

Hoseok’s brows furrowed in confusion. “What, why not?”

“I don’t- I don’t want him to worry.” You were telling the truth; Jungkook had been on edge lately, and things were finally starting to get somewhat back to normal. If you didn’t have to add to that worry, you didn’t want to.

Hoseok’s frown deepened. “Y/N-”

“There you are!”

That voice that always managed to make your heart flutter only made you panic more in this instance. Jungkook was walking over to your booth quickly with a huge smile on his face, waving to the two of you. Hoseok moved out of the way so Jungkook could see you more, and you tried your best to smile back.

“Hey, I’ve been looking all over for you,” Jungkook addressed you as he pushed his hair out of his face. “I thought you went to go talk to Yoongi, but he said he hadn’t seen you yet.”

“Yeah, I was just on my way, but I ran into Hoseok-”

“Y/N,” Hoseok warned. Jungkook’s smile turned into one of confusion.

“What’s going on,” Jungkook was quick to ask before you could respond. It was then that he fully noticed how you were seated, somewhat curled into yourself.

“You need to tell him,” Hoseok’s eyes were burning into yours, and Jungkook felt a small pit of unease settle in his stomach. He knelt down beside you, similar to how Hoseok had done moments prior.

“Angel, hey, talk to me. What’s this about?” Jungkook took one of your hands in his and shook it slightly before placing a kiss on the back of it.

“It’s nothing, really-”

“Some guy put his hands on her.” Hoseok clearly was over you beating around the bush.

“What,” Jungkook’s tone was slipping into one you didn’t recognize and for good reason: he sounded furious. His hand tightened around yours.

Hoseok nodded, Jungkook’s attention on him now. “Yeah, I’m glad I noticed. Saw some dude grab her wrist and pull her down into the booth with them.”

Jungkook was up on his feet, hand disappearing from yours.

“What the fuck, where did they go,” he started to walk off but Hoseok held him back.

“Joon and Jin already took care of it, don’t worry. But I still just thought you should know.” Hoseok patted Jungkook on the shoulder and you watched as his body, still visibly tense, relaxed somewhat.

“I gotta get back to work, you can take a little time though, yeah?” Hoseok started walking off after giving you one last look, almost as if he was saying sorry but you knew he did the right thing.

Jungkook took a deep breath before finally looking back at you, his face softening instantly. He slid into the seat across from you, placing his palms on the table as he looked down.

“Koo-”

“Are you ok, at least,” his voice was low, but you could still hear it just over the faint tunes of the jukebox.

“I’m fine-”

“Define fine,” he scoffed. It was clear the two of you wouldn’t get anywhere like this, so you did the only thing you could think to do: you reached out and took both his hands in yours.

Jungkook looked up then through the curtain of tresses still falling into his eyes. He sighed.

“Sorry, baby, I know I shouldn’t be acting like this. It’s just- with everything we’ve been through with him I can’t help but worry about stuff like this.”

You understood completely because you were in the same boat.

Both of you had recently been experiencing less than pleasant encounters with your ex-fiancé, Kun, who for some reason decided he had a vendetta against the two of you. A vendetta that only got worse when you both made it clear you wanted nothing to do with him ever again.

The past week had been pretty quiet, but neither of you could shake the awful feeling that Kun wasn’t gone for good. And tonight’s fiasco did nothing to help that.

“Well it’s over now and I’m ok and I didn’t get hurt so let’s try not to focus on it, yeah?” You squeezed his hands for emphasis and he sighed. The last thing you wanted was for Jungkook to be worried the rest of his shift, and he still had a few hours left.

“Yeah, I’ll try. I’m just so glad Hoseok was around...are you still wanting to talk to Yoongi?”

You nodded, happy to see Jungkook had relaxed some more from when he first sat across from you.

“I’ll take you to his office, then.” Jungkook got up, pulling you with him since his hands were still in yours. When you both were standing, he wrapped his arms around your waist to pull you into a hug.

He looked down at you before placing a soft kiss on your forehead. “Also I hate to ask but do you mind staying until I get done with my shift? I’m not too keen on the idea of you going home alone now with everything-“

You giggled and caressed his cheek. “Of course, Koo. I’ll come sit at the bar when I get done talking to Yoongi.”

Jungkook brushed his nose against yours. “Thank you.”

“Anything for you,” you responded before you reached up to place a gentle kiss on his lips. His hold around you tightened, and he deepened the kiss for only a moment before pulling back.

“Fuck, I forgot I’m at work, I need to be careful when you’re around.” He carded a hand through his hair before shaking his head to let it fall back into place.

You laughed at his flustered nature, feeling a bit flustered yourself at the fact that even now you still had such an effect on each other. “Well we are back here in a dark corner where not many people are around,” you teased.

Jungkook smirked before tickling your sides, making you laugh louder as you squirmed to get away.

“Don’t tempt me. I’d rather not get fired for public indecency if I can help it.”

“Fine, fine, I guess just take me to see Yoongi then,” you pretended to pout and were rewarded with a chuckle. He led you to the back now where Yoongi’s office was at, his hand wrapped around yours while he scanned the bar the whole way there.

When the two of you reached the familiar door, Jungkook gave your hand one last squeeze and kissed your cheek.

“I’ve gotta get back to the bar, just come chill up there when you’re done, yeah?” His eyebrows were slightly furrowed like he was still worried, but your gentle smile helped smooth them out.

“Of course. I’ll see you soon.”

You knocked on the door and after hearing Yoongi’s muffled greeting you opened it to walk through, not sparing another glance at Jungkook.

“Y/N! I was wondering when you might be stopping by.” Yoongi smiled brightly at you, always making you feel welcome no matter the circumstance. You took a seat in your usual spot across from his desk where he was currently reclining in his chair.

“Hey, Yoon. How are things?” It’d been a little while since the two of you had properly caught up since things had been so chaotic lately.

Yoongi shrugged. “Can’t complain. Business is good and we’ve been pulling in more regulars. I’d like to say it’s thanks to Jungkook but don’t tell him I told you that. Kid has a big enough head as it is.”

You couldn’t help the proud grin that stretched across your face. Jungkook had been working hard to help turn the bar into a more welcoming environment and increased his work hours to also assist with some building upgrades Yoongi had been wanting to install for years. Their business had increased exponentially as a result, so you knew Yoongi meant it when he said he had Jungkook to thank.

“I’ll be sure to keep it our little secret,” you brought your hand up to mimic a ‘shh’ expression and Yoongi chuckled.

“Perfect.” He leaned forward then, an elbow resting on his desk and his head supported by his palm. “So tell me: how’s married life?”

“It’s everything I could ever want and more. I can’t say much has changed except the whole ‘legally being bound together’ thing, since we still act the same. It’s just…nice. Really, really nice.” Your gaze drifted down to your wedding ring, and as it was with every other time you saw it, you could feel something akin to butterflies fluttering inside your stomach.

Yoongi gave you his trademark lopsided grin. “Glad to hear it. You know, I was always rooting for you two from the start.”

You feigned annoyance, playfully rolling your eyes. “I know, I know, you only tell me every chance you get.” Yoongi never took a liking to your ex-fiancé and had always favored Jungkook, this much you knew. Even before Kun turned into the person he was now, Yoongi never cared for him. And he made sure it was known.

“Have you thought about when you’re going to pop the question?” You decided to switch gears and put him on the spot, giggling at the way he seemed flustered.

“Well I uh, I’ve thought about it I just- it’s hard to figure out the right time, you know? And is she even ready for that, I can’t tell-”

“Min Yoongi, you stop that right now. She is so in love with you that I bet she’s ready for you to ask any day now, just so she can say yes like she’s been wanting to for so long now.” You had spent enough time around Yoongi and his long-term partner to know that the two were head-over-heels for each other, nearly rivaling you and Jungkook in how easy it was to tell.

Yoongi grinned. “You think so, huh?”

“No doubt in my mind. In fact-” you were cut off by the feeling of your phone vibrating in your pocket. You hastily took it out, not sure who could be calling at this hour.

It dawned on you then that you had been expecting a new client to call, and the number on your screen was one you didn’t recognize so you figured it could be them. Your boss had heavily expressed the importance of this client and their business venture they were offering, so without giving it another thought you hopped out of your chair.

“Sorry Yoon, I need to take this real quick. Do you mind if I step out the back door? It shouldn’t take too long.” You were already heading to leave his office, trying to catch the call before it stopped ringing, barely missing his soft “Go ahead.”

You bolted through the back door of the establishment, out into the dimly lit parking lot. As soon as you heard the door shut, you swiftly answered the call.

“Hello, this is Y/N speaking, may I ask who’s calling?” You gave your usual greeting for work related or other conversations when you didn’t recognize the number. The silence that you were met with on the other end made a chill run down your spine.

You froze altogether when the other voice spoke.

“Hasn’t anyone ever told you not to answer calls from numbers you don’t know?”

You felt your lower lip tremble. “K-Kun?”

A dark chuckle from the other end of the line. “Missed me, sweetheart?”

‘Just hang up,’ your brain was screaming at you, but you were holding your phone in an iron-tight grip, knuckles taut.

“Leave me alone and never contact me again,” you were finally able to respond, moving your arm to bring your phone down to hang up.

Your phone hit the ground before you got the chance.

Someone had come up behind you and pulled both arms behind your back, a hand coming around to muffle the scream you let out.

“Shhh,” someone whispered beside your ear. “You don’t want to make this harder for yourself, hm?”

That voice, why did you recognize that voice?

The person started dragging you off into one of the darker corners of the parking lot, ignoring your futile attempts to kick and writhe out of their grasp. You continued screaming into their palm but to no avail.

When you reached where they wanted you to be, they let you go and pushed you down onto the ground, causing your back to hit the wall and briefly knock the breath out of you. Before you could pick yourself back up, 2 other shadowy figures blocked your path. There was just enough light for you to finally make out the faces of the 3 people standing over you.

They were the same ones from earlier in the bar, the ones who had harassed you and yanked you down into their booth.

“What do you want,” you sobbed out into the night air. You were too terrified to try screaming again, afraid of what they might do. Especially now that you were across the lot, away from your phone and any chance of contacting someone else. Not to mention the fact that it was loud inside the bar, so screaming wouldn’t do you many favors anyway.

And if someone walked by, nothing would look out of the ordinary since it was just dark enough where you were to obscure the vision of anyone looking from the outside.

Before any of them could answer you, there was another sound you heard faintly in the distance: footsteps.

“Hel-,” you started to cry out, but as if they knew what you were planning, one of the men dropped down and covered your mouth again, now letting you see who was approaching behind them. Your eyes widened in terror as you took in the newcomer’s sinister grin.

You watched as Kun nodded to the other 2 men and they moved aside, while the third one still keeping your mouth covered moved slightly out of the way. Kun knelt down and moved his hand, replacing it with his own before you could scream again.

“Well well, fancy seeing you here.” Kun reached out and caressed your check with the back of his other hand, making you let out a strangled whimper as you tried to move back and away from him. He shook his head at your action and grabbed onto one of your arms now instead, pulling you and himself up in a swift motion.

His grip around your arm was painful, making you wince. Kun either didn’t notice or didn’t care. One look into his eyes was enough to see that the man you’d spent many years of your life with was completely gone with no trace left whatsoever. You didn’t know this person standing in front of you now.

And you didn’t ever want to.

“Now, I’m gonna move my hand, and you’re not gonna scream. Got it? Because if you do,” he moved forward to where his face was inches away from yours now. “I promise this will be so much worse for you. And you know I always keep my promises, don’t you?”

Kun was laughing before you could react at all, knowing good and well he’d broken several promises during your time together. He must have taken your silence as compliance because you could feel his hand relaxing around your face.

“Good girl,” the words made you shudder repulsively, wanting nothing more than for this to be just a terrible figment of your imagination and for you to be back inside at the bar waiting on Jungkook.

Jungkook. The thought of him caused a lump to form in your throat. You had no idea what Kun had planned for you, and that caused your heart to constrict as the vision of Jungkook smiling lovingly at you flashed through your mind.

You squeezed your eyes shut and felt a tear roll down your cheek. You opened them again once you felt Kun’s hand disappear.

“Ah, so you can take direction well. I guess Jungkook’s trained you somewhat since you’re his bitch now-”

“What do you want,” you asked through gritted teeth. The last thing you wanted to hear come from this man’s mouth was the name of your beloved. You didn’t want him brought up at all, the less this was focused on Jungkook the better.

But, since it was Kun, that obviously didn’t happen.

Kun laughed again, a loud, ugly sound. “What do I want? The same thing I’ve always wanted. Isn’t it obvious?”

The 3 men were crowded around both of you now, and it dawned on you then that they were blocking any means of escape for you. That didn’t bode well for you and you knew it, but you held your ground. You didn’t want to give Kun any more of the upper hand than he already had.

Kun finally dropped his other hand from your arm in favor of now caging you in against the wall. You were trapped even more now, but you just stared back at him, trying your best to look unfazed. Kun dipped his head down and you held your breath.

“What I want,” you could feel him barely hovering over your lips and the feeling made your skin crawl, “is for Jungkook to pay.”

“Pay for what,” you couldn’t help your annoyed tone. Kun’s obsession with Jungkook and ‘coming out on top’ – whatever that even meant, you weren’t entirely sure – had gotten old and you were beyond sick of it. “He owes you nothing, we owe you nothing.”

Kun hummed and shook his head, his nose almost brushing against yours, but you turned your head and let it graze against your cheek.

”I don’t think you get to decide that, not in the position you’re in, anyway. You see, I’m tired of seeing Jungkook get literally everything handed to him without trying-”

“Jungkook has worked hard for everything he has, something you wouldn’t know about,” you spat back. Kun was right, you were certainly in no position to be talking back right now, but you wouldn’t stand idly by while he slandered Jungkook just because he felt like it. “You’ve always been jealous of him-”

“Shut up, shut up!” Kun snarled, all but yelling in your face before he grabbed you by the jaw. You grimaced from the pain of it, a sound something like a scream starting but dying in your throat.

“You fucking infuriate me sometimes, you know that? I can’t believe I wasted so many years with you.” His grip around your jaw tightened as he finished talking, making it almost too hard for you to respond.

“Likewise,” you managed to get out, not being able to help the sob you let out when he squeezed more.

“Doesn’t matter.” Kun’s face stretched into that evil, Cheshire-like grin and for the first time that night you felt genuinely horrified about what his true intentions might be. “I’m not concerned with you or how you feel.”

Kun finally let go of your jaw and you let out the breath you didn’t realize you had been holding in. He grabbed one of your wrists and tugged you closer, knocking you off balance and unfortunately causing you to brace yourself against his chest.

He hugged you to him and whispered in your ear: “What I do care about is seeing Jungkook’s reaction when his precious wife is suddenly nowhere to be found.”

That kicked you into fight or flight mode, eyes widening and mouth opening to scream as you flailed your hands around. Your flailing did little to help you because Kun was already dragging you alongside him away from the wall, still holding you close.

“Let me go, you psycho!” you screamed, only causing him to turn you around and put a hand over your mouth again while his other arm held you firm against his torso.

“One of you bring the car around,” Kun ordered, and you saw one of the men dashing away. As you were pulled further away from the bar, your vision was clouded with a film of tears and your muffled sobs were hidden behind Kun’s hand. You were no match for his strength, and he proved it because he was literally dragging you across the concrete despite you being so uncooperative. Gentle raindrops had just started falling from the sky, further impairing your vision.

It was then that you heard a pained grunt followed by a thud coming from a little further away, in the direction the other man had ran off to. You tried to focus your eyes to see what was happening when the next sound that graced your ears was fast footsteps as they pounded against the pavement.

“Get your fucking hands off of her!”

A familiar voice made you cry out with joy and fight harder against Kun.

“Yoongi,” you cried out, still muffled but enough to draw his attention to your face now. He was running toward Kun fast, and when he saw the position you were in, he sped up, determined to free you by any means necessary.

You briefly worried about the other men behind him, until you saw that another was already knocked down and someone else – you thought it might be Jimin – was currently fighting with the third man. While your attention was on them, you didn’t register Kun tossing you aside until it was too late.

You slipped on the now wet pavement and fell down, barely able to brace yourself for the impact in time. Your earlier vision of Jungkook smiling was the last thing to flash through your mind before your head hit the ground.

⊱──────── ✬ ✬ ✬ ────────⊰

Yoongi glanced at his watch for the second time. It’d been about 10 minutes since you stepped outside to take your phone call, and he figured it had to have been important if you were still outside.

As he was wondering whether or not to call you himself to see if everything was alright, Jimin stuck his head inside the office, peeking around the door. “Hey boss, is Y/N around?”

Yoongi sat up straight. “Yeah, she stepped outside to take a call but it’s been a few minutes. Why?”

Jimin’s face blanched. “She went alone?”

“Yeah... Jimin’s what’s going on?”

Jimin took a deep breath. “It’s probably nothing, but earlier there were some guys that straight up harassed her. They were thrown out but-“

Yoongi held a hand up. “Wait. Pause. Someone harassed her? Why is this the first I’m hearing about it?”

Jimin had stepped fully into the room now, rubbing at the back of his neck as he looked at the ground. “Well it wasn’t that long ago, so maybe nobody had the chance yet.”

Yoongi’s brows furrowed. “Does Jungkook know?”

Jimin nodded. “Yeah, he’s the one who asked me to come check on her without being too obvious about it. I think the whole thing has him spooked.”

Yoongi didn’t like the feeling that was slowly creeping up on him. He dialed your number and put the receiver to his ear, hoping to hear a busy signal on the other end.

When he was met with a series of rings, his heart started beating faster. He was up and out of his chair fully by the time he heard your voicemail greeting.

“Fuck,” he mumbled out loud to no one in particular. He was jogging over to the back door, a confused Jimin following close behind.

“Yoongi, what-”

“Not now, Jimin.” He picked up his pace, feeling his chest tighten as he approached the door. He was hoping that when he opened it you would be on the other side, because maybe you just lost track of time and your phone was on silent.

Wishful thinking helps in times of peril, right?

Yoongi pushed the door open quickly, letting it bang against the side of the bar. You were nowhere in sight, his eyes frantically searching through the lot for a trace of you.

What he was met with, though, was instead the sight of 3 - maybe 4? - dark figures across the lot, huddled in a suspicious way. His heart dropped to his stomach.

He started running, not knowing what would meet him when he did, but not caring either. As he approached, one of the figures tried to block him. He took them down easily with a single punch, making them groan in pain as their body connected with the ground. Yoongi never stopped running for even a moment.

His heart wrenched when his vision finally adjusted enough to the darkness outside and he could see you and exactly who was holding you.

“Get your fucking hands off of her!” He shouted as he continued running, getting ready to barrel into Kun at any moment.

Hearing your faint cry of his name only made him go faster when his eyes landed on your horrified face.

It was raining now but Yoongi wouldn’t let that stop him from saving you. What he didn’t anticipate was for Kun to throw you in the opposite direction, making him conflicted about who to go after now. He settled for pursuing Kun still, finally reaching him and grabbing him by the shirt.

“What the actual fuck is your problem,” Yoongi yelled in Kun’s face. Kun brought his hands up to try and tear Yoongi’s away, but they wouldn’t budge.

Kun stopped trying to fight back and smiled at Yoongi, making a fresh wave of disgust cascade over him. When Kun spoke, his voice had a calm edge to it. “I’ll just keep coming back, no matter how many times you and those idiots in there,” he jerked his head in the direction of the bar, “try to keep me away.”

Yoongi quickly spun Kun around and forced him to the ground, keeping his hands behind his back and not giving him a way to escape. “Jimin, call the cops,” he called over his shoulder before leaning closer to Kun’s face. “We may not be able to keep you away, but they certainly can with all the dirt we have on you.”

Kun chuckled slightly before grimacing when Yoongi twisted his arm further. “You know,” he huffed out, “Y/N was pretty off balance when I threw her earlier.”

Yoongi stilled. He realized that Kun was trying to distract him by making him worry about you, and unfortunately for Yoongi it was working. Especially when his eyes fell on your unmoving figure several feet away, lying on your side.

“Shit,” he jumped up and ran over to you, completely abandoning Kun, beyond caring at that point. He knelt down and turned you over. He swallowed when he saw the way your arm landed limply on the ground beside him. He embraced your upper body within his arms, shaking you a little.

“Y/N, hey, wake up,” he begged. He could feel that you were still breathing, but it was very evident your fall had knocked you out. And Yoongi knew there was no telling what happened before he even got to you, so he had no clue how injured you might actually be.

He heard footsteps approaching from behind him, splashing against the puddles that were starting to form in the parking lot. He didn’t have to look up to know it was Jimin, since the other man was calling out his name before he got there.

“Yoongi, I called them, they said – wait where did he go?” Jimin was standing over Yoongi now, looking from one area of the parking lot to the other, but Kun was nowhere in sight. “Did you let him leave?”

Yoongi’s silence prompted Jimin to finally look down and his mouth dropped open as he himself dropped to kneel next to Yoongi.

“Holy shit, what happened,” Jimin reached out to gingerly touch your arm, frown deepening when he got no response from you.

“She probably hit her head when that bastard threw her earlier. She’s just knocked out, I think,” Yoongi’s voice was lined with unbridled anger. “Go see if you can find Jin since he’s the closest thing we have to a medic right now. And get Kook.”

Jimin nodded and without another word took off toward the bar. Yoongi couldn’t fathom how Jungkook would react but he knew it wouldn’t be good. As he waited, he held you closer, trying to shield you from the rain.

⊱──────── ✬ ✬ ✬ ────────⊰

Jungkook’s fingers were drumming against the bar absentmindedly as he listened to one of his regular patrons drone on about their week as they usually did on nights like tonight. He was genuinely trying to focus on what they were saying, truly he was, but his mind had been so muddled ever since the incident earlier that he found it hard to think about anything else.

Which is exactly why he had asked Jimin to casually check in on you and Yoongi.

It’d been a few minutes and Jimin still wasn’t back; Jungkook hoped that they were all 3 chatting and Jimin was just taking his time. He did want him to be inconspicuous about it, after all.

His patron finally excused themselves to go to the restroom, and Jungkook offered them a soft smile. For a second, he allowed himself to take a deep breath and try to push any lingering negative thoughts out of his mind so he could make it through the rest of his shift.

Jungkook should’ve known better than to hope for a moment’s peace.

He heard Jimin before he saw him, colliding with the other end of the bar. Jungkook cautiously started walking over to him, trying to ignore the heavy feeling that settled over his body like a suffocating blanket.

“Kook,” Jimin panted, “we need you. Now.”

The expression on Jimin’s face and the urgency of his voice made Jungkook’s blood run cold. He wasted no time in leaving the bar as he followed Jimin, nearly running him over when Jimin stopped once they were outside. As his sight adjusted to the drizzling rain, he saw something that made him run as fast as he could before eventually falling to his knees, panic seizing his heart.

“No. No no no no no,” Jungkook was chanting over and over as he stared at you, huddled against Yoongi as he held you close. Your eyes were closed and you weren’t moving.

Jungkook’s hands were shaking, and he could feel his lips quivering. Yoongi stared at Jungkook somberly before gentle passing you over to him.

He immediately drew you to him, burying your face in his chest while he cradled the back of your head with his palm.

The rain started pouring down harder now and he knew it was pelting against his back, cold and wet enough to chill him to the bone. But Jungkook felt nothing. There was nothing but numbness as he continued to rock you gently in his arms and placed a kiss on the top of your head.

“Hey angel, I’m here,” his voice was unsteady. “It’s me, baby, I’ve got you. You’re gonna be ok,” his arm that was wrapped around your back tightened its hold on you and he placed his head in the crook of your neck. You still didn’t rouse, no matter what he tried, and his shoulders started to shake.

“Kook-” Yoongi had to talk loud to be heard over the sudden downpour. “We need to get her inside.” He tried reaching out to touch Jungkook’s arm but Jungkook flinched away, embracing you even tighter now as if he was trying to protect you from anything and everything.

He just wanted to protect you. And the fact that he had failed was currently eating him alive with regret.

Yoongi sighed but tried again. “Jungkook,” he said it softer this time but still loud enough, “let’s take her inside. You don’t want her to get sick.”

At the mention of your well-being potentially suffering further damage, Jungkook started to somewhat come back to his senses. He held you tight and stood up with a little help from Yoongi, making sure to keep you as close to his chest as possible so you wouldn’t get soaked and because right now, he needed you near.

When the 3 of you were inside, Yoongi ushered you all into his office since there was a small couch in there were you could lie down. Jungkook placed you as gently as possible on the couch, feeling his heart break piece by piece every second you remained unmoving. The only thing that could offer him solace was the faint rise and fall of your chest as you breathed.

He dropped to sit on the floor beside the couch, holding one of your hands in his while he used his other one to brush some of your wet hair out of your face. He leaned his forehead against the arm of the couch and inhaled shakily.

Yoongi was leaning against his desk with his arms crossed, looking at the two of you. Jungkook appreciated Yoongi for giving him time to try and calm down before talking again.

“What happened,” Jungkook managed to croak after a minute or so had passed.

Yoongi took a deep breath. “Kun was here.”

Jungkook whipped his head around fast, his hair splaying water droplets on the couch. His eyes were glazed over with unshed tears, and Yoongi had never seen him look so angry.

He’d never seen Jungkook look so hurt.

“Kun did this to her,” Jungkook asked, tone low and dark, but it came out more as a statement because he already knew. He could tell by the angered inflection in Yoongi’s voice when he mentioned Kun.

Yoongi nodded. “Unfortunately. When I first made it outside, he was holding onto her, dragging her away-”

“Dragging her where,” his hand that was holding yours involuntarily squeezed harder.

Yoongi shrugged, shaking his head. “I don’t know, it looked like he was trying to take her to a car…”

Jungkook didn’t miss the way he trailed off. He waited for Yoongi to collect his thoughts.

 “Jungkook, I- I think he may have been trying to abduct her.”

Jungkook felt like the room had suddenly tilted. The idea of that – God, the idea of anything remotely close to that – made him feel violently ill.

He looked at your face then, noticing how it wasn’t scrunched up in pain; you actually looked quite peaceful despite the circumstances, almost like you were simply in a deep slumber. He tried hard to swallow around the ever-growing lump that was still forming in his throat when he brushed his fingertips along the length of your arm.

You were here, physically here. He could see you and he could touch you. Yoongi had saved you in time before you had been whisked away to who knows where. The fact that Kun had even dared to try to take you away… the possibility of you being gone and Jungkook not knowing where you had been taken to or if he’d ever see you again-

It made Jungkook see red.

This isn’t the life he wanted for you. He never wanted you to have to look over your shoulder in fear at the idea of someone following you, like you’d been doing the last several weeks. He never ever wanted you to get hurt, especially in such a way as this.

He could feel anger flowing through his veins, seeping into his bones and consuming him, with the only thing able to ground him right now being the feeling of your soft hand enveloped by his own.

Yoongi was saying more but Jungkook couldn’t make it out over his own voice screaming at him inside his head. His mind was waging a war with itself, questioning so many things-

Was he really the best person for you?

Was there someone out there who could protect you, who could keep you safe in ways he couldn’t?

…

Would loving you be enough if he could never fully promise you peace?

What if-

“Jungkook,” Yoongi’s stern voice cut through the thick fog of his mind and Jungkook shook his head to try clear it completely. He focused his attention on his friend that was now staring at him, sporting a frown on his face full of concern.

“Did you hear anything I just said?”

Jungkook gulped. “Honestly? No.”

Yoongi’s frown intensified. “Kook-”

“Don’t, just- please repeat it. Please.”

Yoongi sighed, closing his eyes for a moment before he continued. “I was saying that Kun threw her to the ground and that’s how she hit her head.���

Jungkook’s unoccupied hand balled into a fist and he clenched his jaw. Yoongi could see him tense up but continued speaking.

“I asked Jimin to fetch Jin seeing as he’s had more medical training than any of us and I figured it’d be better than waiting on an ambulance.”

He had barely gotten the last word out before there was hurried knocking on the door. Yoongi walked over to the door quickly to open it, and Jin rushed in without a moment’s hesitation.

“Sorry it took so long, I needed to get supplies.” He made his way to the couch, crouching down in front of it next to Jungkook. He placed the bag he was carrying down onto the ground beside him as he started sifting through it to find other things he needed. Jungkook watched Jin without really seeing him, flinching a little when he felt a hand on his shoulder.

“Kook,” Yoongi said softly as Jungkook looked up at him. “We need to let Jin look at her. C’mon,” he patted his shoulder before walking away, and Jungkook knew Yoongi expected him to follow him.

Jungkook also knew Yoongi was right, and he needed to let Jin get to work. He hated the thought of leaving you, but he knew he wasn’t going far. In fact, he wasn’t even going to leave the room, and if he was encouraged to, well-

There wasn’t anything anyone could do to make him leave that room short of physically removing him themselves. And with how wound up Jungkook was about this entire situation, that wouldn’t be an easy feat by any means.

Thankfully, Yoongi didn’t ask him to leave, opting instead to offer him his office chair. Jungkook graciously accepted the offer and sat down, briefly observing how Jin carefully examined you from across the room before he placed his head in his hands.

⊱──────── ✬ ✬ ✬ ────────⊰

Some time passed before Jungkook felt like he could properly breathe again. And he was only feeling like that now because you had finally started to stir.

As soon as the faintest noise was heard from you, Jungkook was out of his seat and in front of the couch again.

You groaned as you rubbed your eyes, trying to adjust to the light by blinking a few times. After doing this, you tilted your head to the side and your eyes landed on Jungkook. He inhaled sharply, feeling like he might break apart when you gave him the sweetest smile.

“Koo,” you breathed out softly as your hand reached up to caress his cheek. He vaguely heard Jin telling Yoongi something about you still having decent control over your motor skills being a good sign, but right now all his focus was on you specifically.

Well, he was also focusing on not having a breakdown, but you were most important.

His hand came up to cover yours that was still on his face and for the first time in what felt like ages, his lips curved upward into a smile.

“Hey, angel,” he responded. “How are you feeling?”

 Your eyebrows furrowed. “Well, my head hurts but otherwise I’m fine? A little sore, though-”

“That’s probably from your fall earlier,” Jin interrupted, pulling your attention back to him. You looked at him, bewildered.

“I fell? When did I fall?”

Yoongi and Jungkook shared a look then, and Jungkook would be lying if he said you not remembering what happened didn’t worry him.

It worried him a lot, actually.

Jin hummed. “We can talk about it later. I need to examine you now though, ok? Make sure you don’t have any signs of a concussion or something else.”

The scared look on your face made Jungkook’s chest tighten.

“O-ok, yeah, sure. Do whatever you need to,” you said as you tried to sit up straight, Jungkook and Jin both helping to steady you as you did.

It didn’t take long for Jin to conduct his examination. While he was checking you over, Yoongi relayed the events from earlier to you and Jungkook observed as the look in your eyes switched from one of confusion to one of horror the more Yoongi went on.

“I-I remember now. Right before you came out there, Kun told me-” you trailed off, speaking to Yoongi but looking over at Jungkook now. His heart started beating painfully when you paused.

“What did he tell you, baby?”

You inhaled unevenly, the sight tearing Jungkook up even more on the inside. “He told me that he wanted to see your reaction when I was nowhere to be found.”

This time, he swore his heart stopped.

So Kun had not only planned to take you away, but he wanted to make sure you couldn’t be found?

Jungkook made a promise to himself then and there that if he ever saw Kun again, he’d-

“Koo?”

Your pleading tone made Jungkook’s eyes snap back up to your face. You were trying to give him a small smile, but he could still see the fear lying behind your eyes.

“It’s going to be ok,” you attempted to reassure him. “Don’t worry.”

Jungkook had no idea how you could sit here an expect him not to worry but he didn’t want to fight you on it. You’d both had enough excitement for one night so all he did was nod and hope that would suffice for now.

His mind was starting to race again with the same kind of thoughts he had earlier, plaguing him with questions he didn’t know the answers to.

Frankly, he didn’t even know if he wanted the answers either.

Jin stood up from where he was seated on the floor, straightening himself up and stretching his long limbs. “She’s going to be fine. Just keep an eye on her for the next few days, but I don’t see anything to be alarmed about. If anything changes, you can call me but also if you’re more comfortable going to a hospital, that’s fine too. I won’t be offended.”

Jungkook smiled at his eldest friend. “Thank you, Jin. Seriously, thank you.”

Jin nodded, offering a warm smile to you before exiting the room.

Yoongi walked over to the couch and ruffled your hair. Jungkook watched the exchange with fondness, seeing two of the people he cared about most in the world also caring for each other.

“I’m so glad you’re ok,” Yoongi said, sounding utterly tired. You thanked him again for what he had done, and Jungkook left the two of you alone momentarily so he could check on Jimin and Hoseok at the bar. They entertained him for all of maybe 5 seconds before shooing him away, assuring him that they could handle things and that he should just take you home and be with you right now.

Jungkook thought nothing sounded better.

When he made it back to Yoongi’s office, he saw that you were now sitting on the armrest of the couch. Yoongi must have helped you get up from the couch, seeing as he was standing beside you, and Jungkook strode over to take his place now with an arm around your waist. Yoongi didn’t say anything about him leaving other than to wish you both a goodnight and that he would talk to Jungkook later.

Jungkook helped you walk to the car, not letting you go for even a fraction of a second, despite your teasing him about being able to walk on your own. Be that as it may, he still wouldn’t let go, because the truth of the matter was he was just too scared to.

It wasn’t until you were both in the car riding home that Jungkook let those negative thoughts devour him once more.

And this time, they were almost impossible to shake away.

⊱──────── ✬ ✬ ✬ ────────⊰

When both of you finally arrived home, Jungkook opened the door and surveyed the room before letting you go inside. You knew his paranoia was at an all-time high right now and frankly you couldn’t blame him; you were still really unsettled, too.

But you were more of the mindset that it’s in the past now and there’s nothing anyone can do about it. You never liked to dwell too long on things and Jungkook was becoming better about that as well.

You weren’t sure if it’d be that easy this time, though.

He’d barely said a word to you the whole ride home, and even now as you were both standing by the front door while he locked it, he was still eerily quiet. Once it was sufficiently locked enough by Jungkook’s standards, he gave you one last look before he started walking down the hallway. You frowned and followed him.

“Koo?”

No response.

“Baby? Talk to me.” It looked like he was trying to go to the kitchen, but it was still dark in the house since he’d barely turned on any of the lights, so you weren’t sure. Still no answer.

“Jungkook.” You called out sternly this time and just barely spotted him as he disappeared into the kitchen. When he heard you walk in, he finally spoke.

“You should eat something, what do you want?”

His voice broke your heart.

“I’m not hungry-”

“You can go lay down, Jin said you didn’t have a concussion so it should be fine. I can bring some food up for you.” He was leaning against the counter in front of the sink, his back turned to you and his head hanging somewhat.

He sounded not at all like himself, and it scared you. Not in the way that you were scared of him, but you were scared because you didn’t know what to do.

Talking was obviously getting you nowhere, so you instead walked up to him and wrapped your arms around him from behind, placing your cheek against his back. He flinched.

“Baby, please,” his voice sounded like it was breaking so you just held him tighter, hoping he could feel your love from the way you embraced him as if you never wanted to let him go.

“Koo, I need you to talk to me. I need to know what’s wrong-”

“What’s wrong is me,” he gritted out, tone louder than before and it made you jump. He then released himself from your arms and tried to walk away.

“Jungkook, wait,” you scrambled to go after him, catching him before he could disappear into another room, this time turning him around to face you. He was leaning against the wall and didn’t try to move past you anymore, but he avoided your gaze.

“Koo, look at me,” you stressed, ducking down to peek up at him. He finally raised his head so you could look into his eyes at a normal level. You noticed the tears in the corner of his eyes, and it nearly made you start crying yourself.

Jungkook never hid his vulnerability from you, he never hid anything from you. But even so, it was still a rare sight to see him cry.

“Why do you want to be around me right now,” he questioned, voice wavering and you recognized the sound. He was trying to hold himself back from crying.

“Koo, what do you mean, why wouldn’t I want to be around you? I love you-”

“I couldn’t protect you,” his voice rose in pitch, not to talk over you but because he was just so upset. “I couldn’t save you, I wasn’t around to help you- God, baby, you got fucking attacked and I wasn’t there.”

He was trembling and you tried to steady him by placing your hands on his shoulders. Tears were flowing freely down his cheeks now, and they were bound to start pooling in your own eyes any second.

“None of that is your fault,” you emphasized your words by squeezing his shoulders. “Ok? No one could have predicted what that psycho was gonna do, not you, not me, not Yoongi, nobody.”

“For fuck’s sake, he almost kidnapped you-”

“But he didn’t and I’m here.” You brushed his cheek to wipe some of the tears away and he choked back a sob. “I’m here, with you, and that’s what matters.”

“I could have lost you,” he said it just above a whisper as you moved to brush the tears away from his other cheek.

You blinked back your own tears. “You didn’t lose me.”

“But I could have. We have no idea what the fuck he’s capable of and just- every time I think about what might have happened if no one got to you in time, I start to lose my mind.”

You wrapped your arms around his neck and reached up on your tip-toes to place a gentle kiss on his lips, heart lurching when he actually kissed you back and his hands found purchase on your waist as they usually did.

“You didn’t lose me. You have me. All of me. I’m right here,” you kissed him once more. “And I’m not going anywhere.”

Jungkook let out a sob as he pulled you closer, nearly crushing you with his embrace. You ran your hand through his hair to try and soothe him when he leaned his forehead on your shoulder.

“I was so fucking scared,” he said against your skin. “So terrified. I love you so much,” a tender kiss was placed on the side of your neck now, and you could feel his lips still trembling.

“I love you,” your response prompted another small sob from him, “I love you more than anyone or anything else in this world and I’ll show you that everyday for the rest of my life, as long as you let me.”

“Baby-” Jungkook’s voice cracked with so much raw emotion and you couldn’t help yourself anymore. You were determined to show him your conviction behind your statement, so with your hand still buried in his hair, you pulled him down to your level once more as you crashed your lips together.

You’d never felt anything quite like the emotions that coursed through you every single time you kissed Jungkook. It didn’t matter if it was the cute good morning kisses upon waking up, the silly, laughter-filled ones that happened in the midst of playing around, or the intense ones bursting with passion that always led to something more. Each one was different and better than the last, and it was like a language between you both filled with unspoken words that demonstrated exactly what you felt.

This was one of the many ways the two of your expressed your devotion to one another, through an action as simple as kissing yet the feelings it always evoked inside of you were anything but. And even during times like tonight when you’d both endured something extremely emotional, you could still find comfort in each other through these gestures.

When you finally broke apart, you were both panting breathlessly, and Jungkook rested his forehead against yours.

“Sorry, baby,” Jungkook breathed, voice somewhat raspy. His fingers had started gripping your waist harder during the exchange, but you felt them start to loosen.

That was most definitely something you didn’t want, so you placed your hands on the sides of his face and looked him in the eyes.

“Koo,” you spoke softly, cautiously, as if you were testing the waters. “Can I give you all of me?”

His eyes sparkled with the realization of what you were implying, and for a moment you wondered if he would reject you. And if he did, that would be completely fine with you because his comfort mattered most of all to you right now, as it always did. Tonight had been a lot to deal with and you weren’t sure what mindset he would be in about this sort of thing-

That thought remained unfinished in your mind as Jungkook captured your lips again and all other rational thought went out the window. All you could focus on now was how Jungkook’s body felt melded up against yours, how his mouth was exploring yours like he’d done so many times before, how his fingers dug into your skin like he was afraid to let you go.

You jumped up and Jungkook wrapped your legs around his waist, never breaking the kiss while he turned you around so that your back was against the wall. You heard a low groan come from him as you intensified the kiss before he pulled away.

“Angel, are you sure about this?” He was holding you up with help from the wall, hands placed on your thighs just underneath your ass. Your hand was playing with the hair at the nape of his neck since you knew how much he loved that. “The last thing I want to do is hurt you-”

“Koo, I’m fine. I feel fine and I’m not in pain. I promise. I want this. I want you,” you gave him another searing kiss that you felt yourself melting into. “But only if you want it too.”

Jungkook’s next kiss knocked the breath out of you and he swallowed the surprised whimper you let out. “Of course, baby. I always want you.”

His words never failed to make you feel warm all over, with love and adoration as well as arousal. Right now, you were feeling all of these things as he situated your legs around his waist in a more comfortable position.

“Do you want to do this here,” he panted as his eyes met yours again. You could tell he was getting worked up just having you like this here against the wall, so you wasted no time answering him.

“Yes Koo, please,” you urged him to continue. “Wanna feel you close. Don’t wanna wait.”

“Fuck, I mean, I could take us upstairs-” his words ended with a grunt as you drew him closer by wrapping your legs tighter around him, making him grind against you. His head dipped down to rest against your shoulder as he let out shallow breaths, his fingers threatening to make indentations in your skin.

In a somewhat frenzied manner, Jungkook put you back down on your feet so the both of you could remove your clothes, too impatient to take everything off and only getting rid of what was necessary. When both of your lower halves were bare, he secured you around his waist once more, his length rapidly hardening against your now naked thigh.

You reached in between the two of you to wrap your hand around him, and the feeling was enough to have him inhaling sharply before he kissed you with a newfound urgency. You could tell by the way he was moaning against your mouth that your teasing caresses were working and within no time he was ready. You let out a stuttered moan when Jungkook’s long fingers disappeared inside of you so he could make sure you were stretched enough.

When he deemed you prepped enough – and when you started rocking against his fingers with impatient whimpers – he withdrew so he could line himself up with you. Your already soaked folds were threatening to pull him in, and it was almost too much for him to handle in his heightened emotional state.

He pushed in slowly, inch by inch, as he always did. The stretch made you lean your head back against the wall, his soft curses only spurring you on even more. On other nights you might would try to coax him to be a little rougher because you knew you could take it, but tonight you weren’t in a rush for anything, and neither was he. Tonight was about you two being together as one, relishing the way you shared this connection with each other and conveying it through this intimate act.

Both of you sighed in pleasure when Jungkook bottomed out, finally experiencing that complete closeness the two of you craved more than anything else right now. His hands gripped your ass firmly to start moving you up and down his length in slow, steady strokes. He didn’t want to take things fast or go hard tonight – he just wanted to enjoy this feeling, having you so close and yet still wanting to pull you impossibly closer.

The feeling of your warmth around him mixed with the tousling of your hands in his hair was driving him crazy. Every touch from you, no matter how small, always ignited something within him that he couldn’t explain. He was so unapologetically, wholeheartedly in love with you.

And he’d just come so close to losing you.

Pain twisted his heart as he stared at you, watching your face scrunch up in the most beautiful way. Your head was tilted back with your eyes crinkled shut while his name was falling from your lips in hushed whispers. Each thrust was pushing you further up the wall before he would bring you back down again, and your arms wound themselves around his neck to help anchor yourself further.

You looked ethereal, and Jungkook was trying so hard to focus on you and not the negative thoughts that were once again settling uncomfortably in his mind. His body was fighting itself on whether he should succumb to the pleasure he was feeling or if he should submit to the dark cloud blanketing his mind.

His change in demeanor didn’t go unnoticed by you.

Jungkook continued to move inside of you, keeping a consistent pace, but something wasn’t right. He was looking at you, but he wasn’t looking at you. He had a pained expression on his face, and that’s what kicked your own worry into gear.

“Koo, baby, hey what’s wrong?” You held his face in both of your hands and watched as he crumbled underneath your touch. He had slid his hands up to rest against your back now in an attempt to embrace you further, hands trapped in between you and the wall.

You almost started panicking when you saw the tears start to brim in his eyes again.

“I just-” he choked on a cry and your heart wrenched at the sound, “I can’t stop thinking about it.” He was still moving but his pace had slowed down to a near stop.

“Thinking about what?” You weren’t sure you wanted to know but you needed him to talk to you.

“Thinking about losing you, I can’t-”

His hands reached up higher to grasp onto your shirt you were still wearing, clenching the fabric in his fists as he dragged it down. You could feel the collar of the front of your shirt tightening around you while he hid his head in the crook of your neck and started to shake. You wrapped your arms around him as tightly as you could and ran a hand through his hair, trying to soothe him.

“Please stay,” he whispered, almost too quiet for you to hear. “Please stay with me.”

“Koo-”

“I love you so much, I don’t want to lose you,” more sobs wracked through his body. He had otherwise stilled inside of you but made no effort to move away. “I can’t lose you, I-”

“Baby, look at me.”

Jungkook slowly brought his head up to face you, the sight making you want to break down yourself. He looked so defeated, so broken, and his eyes were shining with tears he didn’t bother hiding anymore.

You cradled his face in your hands, rubbing your thumbs across his cheekbones before they travelled to trace along the curves of his jawline.

You placed a gentle kiss on his forehead, listening as he tried to control his erratic breathing. “I won’t leave you.”

A soft kiss on his lips. “I’ll never leave you.”

You brushed his hair back from his face, and his eyes captivated you as they swirled with so much intense emotion.

“I promised you forever, and I intend to keep it. Nothing, and no one, is going to keep me from you. I love you too much to let that happen,” you granted him a sweet smile and brushed your thumb across his lower lip that had started to quiver. He sniffled as you continued.

“Do you remember our wedding vows?”

Jungkook swallowed as he nodded, seeming a little calmer now.

Your smile widened, and your own set of fresh tears had gathered in the corners of your eyes, ready to spill. “Remember how I told I would give you all of me? That I would give you the best of me?”

He nodded again, and your heart soared at the tiny smile he presented you with.

“I promised you those things. So, no matter what happens, I’ll never leave you. And with everything life throws as us from here on out, we’ll make it through together.”

His smile was widening into the familiar, bunny-like grin you knew and loved dearly. Your Jungkook was coming back to you, and it was almost like you could see the dark fog that had surrounded him evaporating before your very eyes.

“I love you, Jeon Jungkook.” You leaned up to tenderly press your lips to his once more, smiling into the kiss as he let out a content sigh. “You’re my person. My forever. Please always remember that.”

You had swept a long lock of hair back from his face as you finished your words, and while you were distracted with that, Jungkook stared at you like you hung the moon and all the stars.

Your declarations of love stirred something inside of him and it dawned on him then that he was still inside of you. This was made more evident when you shifted in his embrace, probably to make yourself more comfortable since you were still against the wall, but it caused your walls to clench around him.

He closed his eyes and groaned, the sound causing arousal to radiate throughout your body. The two of you clearly must have forgotten the position you were in but that was no longer the case when you felt him twitch inside of you.

“Fuck,” he moaned at the sight of you when he opened his eyes again, his hands letting go of your shirt in favor of settling on your waist. Your cheeks were still flushed, with drying tear stains running down them. You were panting softly and Jungkook’s heart felt like it might burst with all the love he had for you.

“I love you,” he declared while he brushed his nose with yours. “And I honestly cannot believe I forgot I was fucking you, like how does that even happen.”

You giggled, kissing the tip of his nose before you drew back to rest contentedly against the wall. “I’m not sure, but do you perhaps want to finish what we started?”

You moved your hips as best you could at your current angle, and it pushed his cock further inside you, making you both moan at the action. He captured one of your hands in his and brought it up to place a kiss on your knuckles.

“Will you still let me give you all of me,” you reiterated your phrase from earlier in the night before all of this started. Jungkook’s eyes had darkened now with lust and he gave you a sly smile.

“Always, baby,” was his response. “Question now though,” he leaned down to let his lips ghost along your neck, making you shiver, “is can you take all of me?”

You tugged on his hair for him to look up at you, making him hiss in the process. You gave him your best challenging stare, and hoped it was convincing.

“Always,” you copied him, “I can easily take anything you give me.”

Jungkook arched an eyebrow and you felt his length twitch at your words. “Is that so?

You barely had time to nod before he was pinning your hand that he was holding on the wall beside your head, his other one gripping your waist hard enough now you knew it would leave a mark.

He pulled out almost all the way before he thrusted back into you hard, making you whine embarrassingly loud. He chuckled dark and low then, squeezing your hand as he intertwined your fingers.

“Too much for you, angel?” Jungkook knew he couldn’t keep this up forever and that he’d eventually crack himself, but he never missed an opportunity to tease you like this. “Thought you said you could take everything I give you.”

You nodded vigorously, not an easy feat with your head leaning against the wall. “I can, I can take it,” you breathed out, clenching around him to try and persuade him to move again. He stuttered out a low moan, determined to not lose his composure just yet.

“Yeah? You sure? Does that mean you want more?” He was shallowly moving inside of you at a torturously slow pace, the drag of his cock against your walls pulling a loud noise of desperation from your throat.

“Please,” you begged, not even caring how desperate you sounded. You just wanted to feel him, all of him, and your core throbbed at the thought of him finally relenting and fucking you how you wanted. “Please give it to me. Please give me more.”

“Fuck, baby, I love hearing you beg for me,” Jungkook moaned, readjusting his grip on your hip. “Gonna give you exactly what you want.”

He hungrily kissed you for a few moments, sinking further into you before he pulled back, panting as he placed his forehead against yours, eyes closed.

“Angel?” His voice was low and just the tone alone made you clench.

“Y-yes?”

He opened his eyes and smiled. “You might wanna hold on tight.”

You just had enough time to wrap your unoccupied arm around his back before he started pounding into you like his life depended on it. He slammed into you repeatedly, making you scream out his name over and over again whenever he’d hit that bundle of nerves inside of you. You gripped his shirt to have something to ground yourself with, and your eyes rolled back as he increased his pace.

Jungkook was grunting into your skin, teeth grazing against your neck. “You feel so fucking good, always so tight and perfect for me, my perfect angel.” He squeezed your hand hard enough that his knuckles were taut, but it didn’t hurt you. If anything, it turned you on more because he was finally letting go, caring more about just being in the moment with you than potentially hurting you.

And you knew he still did care about that, he always would; he was Jungkook, after all. But time and time again you had pleaded with him to stop handling you like you would break under the slightest amount of pressure. This was the first time he did without hesitation or working himself up to it.

And you fucking loved it.

In fact, it was overwhelming enough to the point where you knew you weren’t going to last long at all with the way he was drilling into you. All the emotions the two of you had endured tonight mixed with the passionate entanglement you found yourself wrapped up in now, it was no surprise that you were hurtling toward your undoing at a very fast pace.

“Koo, baby, oh my God-” you finally found your voice again, running your nails down his back, hard enough that if he hadn’t been still wearing his shirt, you’re sure it would have left scratch marks.

“Fuck, angel, can feel you around me, always so good for me,” his tongue darted out past his lips before he captured your bottom one between his teeth and tugged on it gently. “Always my good girl.”

His words made you spasm around him, and he moaned loudly at the feeling, eyes fluttering shut. His damp hair was falling into his face so you brushed it back, gasping at the sight of him.

You’d seen Jungkook like this many times before, but this time? This time was different.

A few curls were still framing his face but he had his head tilted back and his lips parted as the most amazing sounds escaped from them. His brows were furrowed and he looked almost pained, but in a completely different way than he had earlier that night.

Your heart ached at the memory, but you didn’t have long to think about it before he pulled you more flush against his chest, now opting to grab your ass with both hands so he could move you up and down his cock with his strength alone.

“Holy shit,” he breathed out, “I love you so much, angel, just wanna stay with you like this forever.” He was speeding up again and with the new angle, your body felt like it was on fire. You couldn’t even make a noise as the stimulation kept hitting you in wave after wave.

“You said earlier,” Jungkook continued, a little breathless now but never letting up on his powerful thrusts, “that I was ­– fuck – that I was your person.”

You nodded, still not really able to say anything or make any sound because your orgasm was approaching fast and you didn’t want it to happen so soon. Not until you knew he was there with you.

“Did you mean it,” he asked, hooded eyes trying to search yours. You kissed him with all the strength you could muster, swallowing down his moans as your walls clenched around him.

“Of course I did. I meant everything I said earlier.” A high-pitched moan tore itself from your throat when his hips snapped into you harder at your words.

“Fuck, it always does something to me when you say things like that,” he was losing his composure now, you could tell it by the way he sounded.

His admission made you chuckle fondly. “You know, you said something similar the first time we were together.”

Jungkook opened his eyes to stare at you and grinned at the memory. “Yeah, I did. Meant it then and I mean it now too.”

“I’m glad I still have that kind of effect on you,” you responded, breaking off to moan loudly at a harsher thrust. Jungkook’s grip on you tightened, and he increased his pace, finally pulling you over the edge.

“You do, holy shit, you really do. I hope I can say the same- fuck,” Jungkook knew you were close with the way your walls kept spasming around him every few seconds. “Gonna cum for me, baby?”

You nodded and whined, holding onto his shirt for dear life while he rocked you through the first stages of your euphoric bliss. He was panting right by your ear now, the sounds making your eyes roll back.

“Go on, cum for me then. Fucking love when you cum all over my cock,” Jungkook’s filthy words had you moaning out his name. “My beautiful angel,” he continued, pulling down the collar of your shirt slightly so he could place a kiss on your collarbone. “Always so pretty for me.”

“Fuck, I’m close, Koo, want you there with me,” you opened your eyes in time to see him pulling his lip between his teeth.

“I’m right there, baby, let go for me,” he reached in between the two of you and barely brushed your clit before your sudden orgasm made you clench so hard around him that he had to throw his head back and let out a guttural moan.

“Angel, fuuuuck, I’m right there, I’m-” you crashed your lips against his and swallowed down every loud noise he made, feeling his lips tremble against yours as his hips stuttered when he filled you up with his release.

He broke apart from you with a gasp, leaning his head back and letting out a strained “holy fuck” before he looked at you again. He slowed down now, thrusting a few more times before he stilled completely, breathing hard.

He moved you away from the wall, and you thought he might put you down but instead he tightened your legs more securely around him and walked the two of you over to the nearest bathroom to shower, his lips never leaving yours the whole way there.

Thank fuck Jungkook had such great muscle memory and knew where he was going because you definitely couldn’t have pulled that off.

He stayed inside you until he was able to put you in the shower, helping you discard the rest of your clothes before he did the same and joined you. It was your usual ritual and preferred form of aftercare since the water from the shower soothed any sore muscles and it helped you get clean in the process. Not to mention it was another way for you to be close to Jungkook, him only reiterating that truth now and he pulled your back against his chest so he could massage shampoo into your hair.

“Love you,” he whispered softly, placing a kiss on your temple since you leaned your head back at the feeling of his touch. He treated you so delicately now, the complete opposite of how he was just fucking you up against the wall. You loved moments like this just as much, always receptive to everything Jungkook did, every touch that flittered across your skin.

“I love you,” was your response as you turned around to wrap your arms around his neck and pulled him into a chaste kiss. He smiled into it, his fingertips brushing against the skin right above your waist.

After your shower, Jungkook carried you upstairs, ignoring your attempts at getting him to put you down because as you told him repeatedly your legs worked just fine and you could walk by yourself. His response?

“Don’t care, still wanna carry you.”

All you could do then was huff, pulling a laugh from the man you loved so much, the sound always beautiful and able to make your heart skip a beat.

When you were both snuggled into bed, you found it hard to sleep. There were still things you two needed to discuss, but you didn’t have the energy – and not really the want – right now to bring them up.

However, Jungkook did.

“Hey,” he was running his hand through your hair as you were laying your head on his shoulder. You hummed in response.

“I’m sorry,” he started, and before you could interrupt he quickly went on. “I’m sorry I wasn’t there to protect you, but I’m also sorry about how I acted earlier.”

“Koo, it’s fine-”

“Please don’t,” his eyes were pleading and you let him continue.

“It’s not fine, it’s- I get in my head sometimes and it can be hard to come back from that. You’re always able to bring me back, but tonight…fuck, it was bad.” There was a frown on his face now and you tried to make it disappear by placing a kiss on his cheek.

“I kept thinking about how maybe I’m not the best for you-”

You couldn’t help interrupting this time. “Jungkook, you are the best for me.”

“We don’t know that though-”

“I don’t have to, because I know in my heart that you’ll do whatever it takes to make sure we have the best life together, the same as I’ll do for you.” You brushed a curl out of his face before you continued, “Only for you.”

He cracked a smile. “That’s my line.”

You shrugged, giggling when Jungkook began trying to poke your sides. “Regardless though, I don’t want you feeling that way. You’re enough, Jungkook, you’re more than enough.”

His smile widened. “Really?”

“Really.” You thought about it for a second. “What can I do to convince you?”

He raised an eyebrow, eyes full of mischief. “Well, I can think of a way…” he said in a suggestive tone, making you roll your eyes before you turned away from him. His laughter fell on your ears and you couldn’t help the smile that broke out on your face.

“Hey, c’mon, you know I’m just kidding,” he turned you to face him again, running his hand up and down your side now.

“No you’re not,” you snorted.

He pretended to think about it for a moment. “Ok, you’re right- but­ I know you’re too tired so I’m half kidding? Sorta?”

It was your turn to laugh then, huddling closer to him as you wrapped your arms around his neck and placed a kiss on his throat.

His hands found their way into your hair again, and he continued to run them through the strands long enough that you almost fell asleep until he spoke up again.

“We need to do something about him, though.”

The way he said ‘him’ let you know exactly who he was talking about.

You nodded, sliding your head up to lay in the crook of his neck. “We will. But that’s a problem for another day. Right now,” you yawned, “we need sleep.”

He chuckled and kissed the top of your head. “Get some sleep, angel. I’ll stay up a little bit to make sure you’re ok. Jin said it was a good idea for tonight, anyway.”

You were already nuzzling deeper into his embrace, barely registering his words. “Mm-hmm,” came your sluggish response. “Goodnight, Koo.”

“Night, baby,” was his last response you heard before slumber took over, the feeling of his strong arms around you more comforting than anything else you’d ever known.

Jungkook stayed awake for a few hours, listening to your soft snoring and observing you as you slept peacefully. There was a gentle ache tugging at his heart as he remembered everything that you’d been through that night, but when you unconsciously snuggled closer, he felt the ache dissipate.

He made a promise to himself that whatever happened in the future, he would be there for you. He would keep you as safe as he could, and love you with everything he had.

After all, you were his person, just as he was yours, and he hoped that’s how it would stay.

[moonbeamsung]

You’re Just a Boy in a Blueberry Field

No fruit is sweeter than a summer love.

member: haechan

au: blueberry farmer!haechan x gn!reader

word count: 5.0k

genre: fluff, very light angst

warnings: mentions of food

author’s note: It’s here! I actually wrote most of this last summer, but only recently did I find the time to edit and get it ready to be posted. I added some parts and changed a few things, and now I like it quite a lot, so I hope you do as well! Thank you @astroboy-lele​ for beta-reading :) As always I would love to hear any feedback on this, and I hope that you enjoy the fic!

taglist: @astroboy-lele @kyuwoyo @rvse-hvvck @nakamotocore @kisshim @leejunini @chicksung @mrkcore @radiorenjun @moon-jun @jisungiest @stayctday @byutafy @jujubean23 @treasurehobi​ @bluejaem​ @lyshoonn​ @vera-liscious​ @allegxdly​ @cupfullofjeno​ @thats-a-jen-no-no​ @yo-ddream​

network tags: @kpopscape @neo-constellations @culture-cafe @dreamlab-nct @k-dinernet 

Thank you lovely Ana @rvse-hvvck for this additional header!

Donghyuck knows everything there is to know about those blueberries.

Without even pausing for the briefest of moments to think, to instinctively recall the information instilled in him throughout his childhood spent on the farm, he can answer any question that’s thrown at him. He can point out just the right color of berry to pick so that they’ll be ripe when you eat them later. Likewise, he can also tell you which ones are best to eat now, as you pick them, pretending not to notice when you pop one or two into your mouth and grinning when your eyes light up from the sweetness.

A day comes where he, filled with mischief as usual, places a not-so-ripe blueberry into your hand, and you, being so wrapped up in the peacefulness of the morning that surrounds you, fail to notice its red color and don’t think twice about lifting it to your lips, biting into it with your teeth. When the tart taste meets your tongue, your face contorts into an expression that elicits a raucous fit of laughter from him. You’re the first one in the fields that day. When the sun had risen on the horizon, the fleeting touch of color in the sky that dawn left behind still lingering above, he had been there, sitting on the front porch as always to greet customers.

Donghyuck knows every bug that loves to rest on the branches of the blueberry bushes. After spending so much time next to you as you scan them for the pops of vivid blues and purples that are hidden behind jade green leaves, he begins to learn that you are not fond of any bug, no matter how harmless. It’s cute, he thinks, how you inspect every berry that you drop into your basket, fearing that some small creature is lurking on it. If you do find something, he hears a small noise of both surprise and disgust before you fling the perfectly good berry away from you. It also hurts a little, knowing that it’s one less for you to take home.

When more people arrive at the farm after you, he’s forced to leave your side and get them started on their own search for the delicious fruit that’s nestled among the branches of nearly every bush. And if they ask where the best ones are, he specifically points them in the direction of the fields where you aren’t. It isn’t a lie, really, because they’ve had a good harvest everywhere this year.

...Okay, so maybe it’s a little selfish on his part, but who can blame him for wanting you to have some of the most plentiful bushes all to yourself?

Wednesdays are his favorite because it’s always the least crowded of all the mornings they’re open for business, and he can spend more time following you as you make your way down the rows, admiring the focus on your face and the way that you sometimes pause mid-reach, closing your eyes and standing still as the sun peeks through the clouds and casts its warm glow down onto the farm. A gentle sigh tumbles from your lips, darkened by the violet nectar that remains from the countless blueberries that have crossed their usually pink-tinted threshold. You resume your search after a few seconds, catching his eye and returning a smile he didn’t even know was there.

He makes the berries taste a little sweeter when he’s next to you. The purple juice that stains your fingers is a little darker. The sun feels brighter and warmer than ever, its heat shining down onto your skin.

One particular morning, after you finish picking all the blueberries you can carry, you decide to accompany Donghyuck on the porch, sitting beside each other in matching rocking chairs that first belonged to his great-grandparents, the farm’s founders. The familiar sounds of birds chirping and the low mumbling amongst customers meet your ears. You both gaze fondly at the horizon while immersed in casual chatter, all the while tending to several families as they come and go.

Whenever a car turns off of the two-lane, paved road and onto the noisy gravel path leading into a small grassy area that functions as a parking lot, Donghyuck excuses himself from the lively conversation both of you always find yourselves sharing. He stands, brushing his hands off on his faded denim overalls that are only slightly too large for his frame. His hand lifts up the baseball cap he always wears while the other runs through his hair, and your gaze falls on the back of his neck where it rests in longer strands. You always wonder why he keeps it like that since he complains about how hot it makes him feel. The humid summer air is stifling enough as it is, after all. The thought vanishes only moments after it arrives, though, and he flashes a brilliant grin at you over his shoulder as he descends the wooden stairs leading down to the patio.

Today, a happy looking family gets out of a shiny silver minivan. The mother and father with two kids, a boy and a girl, make their way toward the covered patio and Donghyuck bounds down the steps like always, grabbing 4 stacked pails in his calloused hands. You lean forward a little in the creaky old rocking chair, your weight in your toes, ears just barely picking up his conversation with them. He greets the parents warmly, shaking their hands and then he kneels down to be eye-level with the small children. The little boy seems shy as he clasps his fingers in front of him, thumbs twiddling back and forth, while his sister is clearly the opposite. She skips over to the much taller boy, saying hello.

“Do you two like blueberries?” He asks them, one arm resting on his knee and the other extending a pail out in front of him. The young girl nods enthusiastically before she takes the container from his hand and turns around, passing it to her brother as he nods, making eye contact with Donghyuck for the first time. A small smile grows on his face when he’s met with the wider one of the unfamiliar but still welcoming stranger. His sister speaks up again, “Every Friday we get to help Mom make her famous blueberry pie!”

“Is that right?”

“Yep! In the morning we always go to the supermarket and get fresh blueberries,” she explains. Her mother leans down, softly telling her that this week they’re here to pick blueberries instead, fresh from the farm they were grown on.

“Really? So that means we’re not buying them at the store anymore?”

“Well, honey, today we can pick enough blueberries to last us for a whole month’s worth of blueberry pies.”

“And besides,” Donghyuck starts, still kneeling on the ground next to her, his boot leaving an imprint in the dirt underneath it, “it’ll taste even better since you picked them yourselves, don’t you think?” The boy punctuates his question with a wink.

The young boy steps up for the first time, grin stretching even wider as he finds the courage to happily agree with the wise words. Exclaiming eagerly and in a way that only a child can, he takes his sister by the hand that’s not holding his small bucket before scurrying off, their parents close behind after grabbing pails for each other as well as a third that their daughter had forgotten in the midst of the excitement.

As Donghyuck joins you on the porch once again, you can’t help but smile as you remember how he interacts with each and every customer that passes through the weathered fence surrounding the property. When he talks to kids in particular, his eyes seem to light up, and you see just how much of a kid he still is deep down. His playfulness never fails to make an appearance whenever you spend time with him.

You’re thankful for the moo of a cow in the distance that interrupts his question of why you’re smiling like an idiot and hopefully drowns out the steady sound of your pounding heart.

The next week he tells you that the rest of his family is out of town, and he’s been left with the responsibility of running the farm all on his own. He usually does most of the work himself these days anyway since he’s getting older and more mature, although some of his jokes say otherwise. You miss the way his mom would poke her head out of the upstairs window of the main house, calling out a greeting to you both from across the property, overjoyed at the sight of her son spending time with the particular customer he’s mentioned so many times before. Whether he would share an amusing anecdote of yours with his siblings at the dinner table or point out something that reminded him of you, it was far too easy for her to figure out how he feels about you.

In an effort to spend more time with him, keep him company and just help out in general, you offer to stay at the house with him for a little while. Or at least until his family gets back from their trip, and to your delight, he agrees. You arrive in the late evening, on a day when the fields are closed, just in time to catch the setting sun as it disappears behind the trees and power lines that seem to stretch for miles in the distance. Tugging an overnight bag of belongings with you, you knock twice on the wood of his front door.

It opens swiftly and Donghyuck welcomes you inside, wearing an apron that he must have outgrown 10 years ago, at least. You snicker at the snug choice of attire and he shoves your shoulder, though not with enough force to make you stumble. He whines a little in that saccharine-sweet voice of his that makes your heart clench, but you don’t give in. Not this time.

When the farm is closed for the day, the family has a chance to pick from some of the bushes that are planted in a more secluded area, all to ensure that they also have a big enough supply of the fruit to last them for the season. So Donghyuck had woken up at the crack of dawn, although you aren’t sure why. He had made his way downstairs and out into the dewy air of the morning, gathering just enough blueberries to bake a cobbler that night when you came over, since he’d learned it was your favorite treat after hours of conversation about anything and everything. The recipe comes straight from his great-grandfather, he informs you, and it’s written on a yellowing piece of paper in handwriting that you couldn’t read even if you tried. He, however, can somehow decode the seemingly nonsensical swirls and lines on the page. You suppose it’s part of the magic of the family recipe that gets passed down with it.

Donning an apron yourself, you join him at the sink as you begin washing the berries, gently grabbing a handful at a time as you let the tap water clean them. When you both reach into the large container at the same time, your hands brush and you almost scoff at the swell of your heart that you feel inside your chest.

As you’re working together to make the batter that you will soon pour into his mother’s finest glass baking pan, Donghyuck briskly swipes his fingertip on the side of the bowl where the mixer had splattered the combined ingredients, extending it in your direction. You raise an eyebrow at the boy and said fingertip before turning your head away.

“If you really think that I would lick that off your finger, then you’re terribly mistaken.”

Coyly, the mischief-maker in question retorts back as you glance at his impishly delighted expression. “Are you sure?” 

“Positive,” you state rather firmly, but matching the mirth in his eyes with a glimmer of amusement in your own. “I’ll settle for the spatula, thanks.”

“Suit yourself.” Donghyuck rolls his eyes, your answer completely expected. At least he tried. 

You won’t deny that you enjoy sampling a bit of the batter of a dessert as much as anyone. But not that much.

Left with no choice, he takes himself up on his own offer and sticks his finger into his mouth with an audible ‘pop,’ exaggerating the action just to get a rise out of you, feeling the upward curl of his lips when you react ever so slightly with a silent chuckle.

You’re adding the last bit of flour to the mixture when you accidentally get some of the powdery substance on your hand in the process. Turning the automatic mixer off, you momentarily forget about your stained skin and you make the mistake of wiping your face with the back of your wrist, smearing the white stuff on your cheek. Donghyuck notices, of course, and an innocent attempt to help clean up the mess only ends with the two of you blushing like crazy.

“Let me help you,” he speaks up.

“Don’t be ridiculous, the pan’s not that heavy, and even if it was, I’m strong enough anyway—”

You’re about to pick up the glassware but his sudden strides over to you from across the large kitchen cause everything you were saying, doing, and thinking to come to a complete stop. You’ve never really had a problem with personal space before, but right now he’s leaning down and his face is so close that you’re afraid to even breathe for fear that the action might just throw you off balance and towards him. For fear that you might not push his chest away with your hands if that happens.

He’s bending his knees to match your eye level and his hand lifts from its place at his side, hovering in midair not far from where the flour still lingers on your skin. His eyes had been so focused on the stain but the shrinking proximity between you and him pulls his gaze from your cheek to your eyes, blown wide and confused because you still have no idea that there’s something on your face.

The undoubtedly palpable tension in the room almost reaches down his throat and pulls the words from his vocal chords in an effort to dispel the heavy air circulating around the both of you.

“There’s… uh… you have flour…”

Donghyuck still hasn’t broken the less than comfortable eye contact, but he’s unable to look away for reasons unknown to him. After an agonizing amount of seconds your brain switches on again, albeit slowly, and you’re able to properly process the position you’re currently in. Your own hand starts to lift and though the movement is slight, it’s enough to draw his eyes down to it and he finds the strength to complete his goal at last.

His thumb swipes across your cheek and without even thinking he pops it into his mouth once again, forgetting about the unpleasant taste of flour. The way that the boy’s face scrunches up when the bitter powder meets his tongue doesn’t eliminate the awkwardness completely, but it’s a start. You hastily make an effort to avert your gaze as you frantically wonder if he caught your face that’s surely as warm as a blazing fireplace, all because he did the unthinkable with that stupid finger of his.

You won’t let yourself dwell on how his hand is just the right size to cradle the side of your head, or how much nicer his lips look up close, or how they must taste like the blueberries that he snuck into his mouth as you made the cobbler, or how you wished he had used his lips on your cheek instead of his thumb.

How you wish he had closed the almost nonexistent distance between your flushed faces.

These thoughts do nothing to ease the steadily growing heat that’s currently taking over your skin. Your eyes land on the glass pan and you take the opportunity to grab it, acting as a sort of distraction for your mind and also as something to snap you both out of your embarrassed hazes.

You get the finished dessert into the oven with no trouble after that, and now you have a little over half an hour of time to kill before it’s ready, so Donghyuck leads you into the nicely furnished family room and plops down onto the plush couch. When you don’t immediately follow he glances up at you, sensing that you’re still hesitant after the awkward moment. He smiles softly and almost apologetically, as if he’s sending a silent signal that you’ll both move past it soon enough, an invitation to put the incident behind the two of you. And you accept it.

You take a deep breath before you sit down next to him, sinking into the cushions underneath and behind you. The material dips slightly under the weight of both your bodies and gravity itself seems to be in control as it pushes you together, shoulders bumping and the sides of your legs being pressed up against each other. Thankfully, the television roars to life with the laughter of a live audience on one of your favorite shows, and you exhale a puff of air you didn’t even know you were holding in. With every scene that lights up the large display, you curl up further and further into his side, his arm migrating across the back of the sofa and winding around your shoulder only a few centimeters at a time.

This feels like home. Donghyuck feels like home.

The buzzer of the oven interrupts when you’re halfway through another episode, prompting you to jump to your feet just as abruptly as the alarm-like noise had started blaring. Consequently his arm flops down by his side as he mentally curses the loud intrusion into what had become a comfortable atmosphere, an atmosphere that was finally surrounding you again after what felt like an eternity but had really only been an hour.

In no time, you’re returning from the kitchen, the warm blueberry contents of the cobbler oozing out onto the flowery pair of plates you had grabbed from the cupboard. Handing one to him and setting the other aside for yourself, you quickly go back around the corner to grab two tall cups of cold milk. Your second time joining him on the couch comes more easily, almost all of the earlier tension having dispersed into the room, wafting out the windows along with the delicious scent of the fruit baked into the sweet, flaky crust. In fact, you’re fairly sure that it’s strong enough for even his neighbors down the road to smell. Which reminds you: you need to package some up to deliver to them tomorrow, per Donghyuck’s suggestion.

You’re most definitely sure that he smells the aroma, of course, because it’s hard to ignore the eagerness with which he takes a large bite of the dessert. “We make better bakers that I thought we would,” the boy comments, taking a sip of milk. The white mustache that it creates above his top lip when he lifts the glass to his mouth is enough to make you giggle, and you’re unaware that this predictable reaction was his objective all along. He grins, rather satisfied.

With your stomach now full, a head-plaguing drowsiness begins to set in. It slowly fills your senses enough for you to drift off, fork nearly falling out of your hand and onto the floor before he catches it, along with your weight when you slump down against his shoulder. Donghyuck is barely able to reach one of the end tables, and he sets the dishes and silverware down next to the now empty cups. Your body unconsciously clings to his like a koala to a branch, with both hands clutching one of his arms and a leg hooked over his thighs.

He takes one look at you and wishes he could pause time, to stay here forever. It’s not every day that he meets someone who can easily match the amount of snark he possesses. Simultaneously, you also balance out the friendship you share with your compassion and sense of wonder about the world, always evident in your morning routine when you come to the fields. Donghyuck has noticed that you bring out those same qualities in him, perhaps more than anyone else ever has. And just like you’re holding him right now, he vows to hold on to you.

As much as he doesn’t want to get up and for the evening to progress, he knows he should, that it has to. So he manages to detach from the hold of your limbs, gently pushing himself up and off of the couch so he doesn’t disturb you.

Glancing at the large antique clock above the doorway that leads out into the hall, Donghyuck realizes it’s much later than he thought. He decides to turn in for the night, but on a regular day he usually finds himself still awake well past midnight, despite the need to wake up early the next morning and run the farm from the crack of dawn.

Since you’re tired and he doesn’t want to risk you waking up alone in an unfamiliar bed and place, he comes to the conclusion that he’ll join you. Only leaving your side for a moment, he puts the cobbler into the refrigerator and turns off the kitchen lights behind him as he goes. Softly padding halfway up the stairwell, Donghyuck makes sure there’s enough light for him to see where he’s going before making his way back into the living room one last time. He tucks one arm underneath both of your bent knees as tenderly as he can, and places the other behind the middle of your back, hand gently curling against your waist. He carries you with probably the most delicacy he’s shown in his entire life.

Going upstairs is generally an easy task, but doing so while carrying another person is a different story. He would never forgive himself if he were to hurt you in any way. If even your foot happened to bump the wall next to you, a burst of frustration at himself and his own carelessness would surface regardless of the impact’s intensity

Your position in his arms gives him yet another opportunity to gaze upon your peaceful expression, and he begins to think more deeply about what you are to him. Looking forward to your visits makes his work so much more enjoyable and worth it. You’re someone who truly appreciates what he and his family do for a living and you faithfully support them with your business as a customer whenever you can, which is a rare thing to find in most people that come. Most are just bored and in need of something to occupy themselves or their kids. Sometimes they don’t even pick that many berries. But you always make sure to bring your own basket, which holds just as many as if not more than the ones the farm provides, and fill it to the brim. In his eyes, you’re special.

Amidst the mostly-asleep state that you’re in, your eyes just barely open far enough to see a blurry picture of Donghyuck’s face as he carries you through the house and up into the bedroom he had suggested you share. He sets you down onto the soft mattress before pulling the covers up to your stomach, retreating into the attached bathroom to quickly change into a thin t-shirt and his favorite pair of plaid pajama pants.

The memory of that conversation floods back to you. Initially, you refused the offer, saying that he would rest better if he had more space to move around. But being the clingy person he is, he had pouted desperately as you struggled to stand your ground in the discussion. “Fine,” you had huffed, only half-frustrated with those doe eyes he always uses to get his way, and your lips had great difficulty holding back a smile.

The hum of electricity that can be heard emanating from the next room snaps you out of these thoughts, and is enough to wake you up a bit more. Your gaze scans the surroundings for a minute or two before he opens the door again, his eyes now looking as heavy as your own.

Donghyuck joins you under the blanket and shifts to lay on his side, facing you. It’s funny that you’re both able to adjust to a situation so intimate and new almost instantly. Still on your back, your head turns and you’re conscious enough to raise an eyebrow at the boy. There’s that pout again.

“Please?” He mumbles, his bottom lip jutting out in an action he’s perfected. You know exactly what he’s after: cuddles.

You don’t even try to hide the playful roll of your eyes as you scoot a little closer, but it’s not close enough for him. He gets impatient, meeting you halfway, and this time it’s him that flings a leg over yours. An endearing, small noise of contentment from him fills your ears as you take notice of his arms, now interlocked behind your neck and around your shoulders. You melt into the snug position, a hand landing on his forearm that’s laying across your chest. Turning ever so slightly to the side, your other hand winds around his middle and eventually rests just above his hip, pulling him into you even more. Donghyuck nuzzles his face into the side of your neck, a few strands of your hair tickling his skin as he sighs in complete and utter bliss.

Determined to savor the moment until the irresistible inevitability of slumber starts to overtake you once more, you fight to stay awake with all of your might. But in what you thought was only the blink of an eye, the glittering stars visible through the bay window’s sheer drapes morph into the pale golden rays of first light. There’s a soft murmur of your name along with an unintentional, almost imperceptible peck to the place where his lips meet your skin, and you’re wide awake. Not to mention a little shocked.

He’s utterly unfazed, though, slowly waking up now that the sun has gotten brighter, its beams filtering into the room and hitting his already glowing face that becomes a gorgeous honey-colored hue.

Donghyuck reluctantly withdraws his arms from your form after one last embrace, effortlessly rising from the wrinkled bed sheets and offering his hand to you when you start to do the same. A sleepy smile makes a home on his features and he reminds you of your task to deliver a portion of the dessert you made to his next-door neighbors.

That’s exactly what you do, first making yourselves presentable in the bathroom by smoothing down wild bed hair and freshening up your faces with cool water. Being around to see each other’s natural morning states is a major act of trust, and he doesn’t miss an opportunity to poke fun at you for it.

“How long does it normally take for you to do your hair every day before you come here?” His tone is dripping with feigned innocence, but the sly grin on his lips says otherwise.

“Shut up, Hyuck.”

Tupperware container in hand, your shoes step in rhythm with his as you amble along the grassy shoulder of the street together. Somehow you end up hand-in-hand by the time you reach his neighbors’ front patio.

“Donghyuck!” The elderly woman at the door greets him with a twinkling voice, her husband coming into view soon after. “Look who it is, honey,” she motions fondly to the boy who they both once knew to be much shorter and younger, but now is all grown up before their eyes. “You’re getting so tall. It seems like only yesterday you were scurrying through the blueberry fields and waving to us through the gaps in the fence.”

“Yes ma’am, it does,” he responds politely. The couple has been living there for as far back as he can remember, and quite honestly they feel as if they’ve become part of his family, too.

Her warm brown eyes light up. “Is this the customer your mother was telling me about last week? She mentioned how close you’ve become, and now I’m finally seeing it for myself. You make a lovely pair.”

“Oh—” Donghyuck startles. Not much can get him flustered, but he hadn’t exactly been anticipating for his mom to recount all the things he’s said about you to the sweetest and most innocent of elderly couples. Of course they would assume that there’s something going on.

Not that there’s anything wrong with that, with you. He wouldn’t mind at all, really. He’ll just need to have a word about a little thing called privacy with his mother later.

You see the glint of panic in his eyes and speak up. It’s not often he makes such an easy target for teasing. “Thank you,” you state graciously, the smugness in the statement only noticeable to him. “We’re very happy together.” He feels you lean into him, fingers unwrapping from his and gripping the other side of his waist. You know exactly what you’re doing, and so does he.

Almost forgetting to hand over the slices of cobbler you’d cut earlier, Donghyuck nudges you to do so, and the four of you exchange thanks and farewells before you’re on your way back to the farm.

“Happy together, huh?”

“Shut up, Hyuck.” You mumble something else afterwards that he doesn’t quite catch.

“What’s that? Didn’t hear you,” he sings, stopping in his tracks. You do the same. “Shut up and what?”

“...And kiss me.”

After many days and many nights spent wondering, you can confirm that his lips do, indeed, taste as sweet as the blueberries in those fields.

[tsarisfanfiction]

For the Fanfic Writer asks, could I please request D, T, and Z please?

D: What’s the most personal fanfic you’ve written?

@gaviiadastra also asked this one.

Considering how much I've written, the answer to this is a lot easier than I thought it would be. Two fics immediately sprang to mind; both are ventfics I wrote while life was tough about a year ago (it's amazing how you just don't see how low your psyche's got until you're out of the situation and can look back on it in horror), and both of them I was blessed by other authors adding to, which felt genuinely like a personal reassurance and hug that people saw me and wanted to help me.

The first of these two is Bloodbath, which @gumnut-logic wrote an amazing part two for. It's one of the darker things I've written, in terms of imagery, I think, which tracks with my mood at the time.

The second of the two is Easier, which @gumnut-logic and @thunderbird-one-ai both added to, which prompted me to be able to round it off with a concluding chapter where everything started looking up again.

The sheer love I got from the fandom in response to these very personal ventfics was humbling, and pulled me out of somewhere that was a lot darker than I think I realised at the time.

T: Any fanfic tropes you can’t stand?

I am reasonably open to most things, but if it gives me second-hand embarrassment then it's absolutely out. Misunderstandings often falls into this category, especially in ship fics. I love emotional angst, as I'm sure all my followers are aware, but I don't do so well when it stems from that sort of plot, for some reason.

Romance fics in general I tend to get a little side-eye-y at. Romcom stuff is a no, coffee shop AUs etc. are normally a no, and high school AUs are something I've gained less and less tolerance for over the years. ABO fics are very rarely done in a way that appeals to me (I have found one or two with fantastic worldbuilding and character dynamics, but more often than not they're thinly-veiled excuses for terribly characterised porn fics, and I'm an adult who will read some nsfw but terrible characterisation is a fast way to get me to hit that close tab x). This also goes for things like genderbending, which can be done well so I occasionally brave them, but often I find myself bored or worse by them and back the hell away.

Z: Is there a story you’ve written that doesn’t seem to get much love?

There are several, but that comes with the territory of writing as much as I do, honestly. If you separate out all of my collective-works into their individual stories rather than the collection story I post them as on AO3, I've got somewhere in the region of a thousand stories out there, and of course as I've written for lots of fandoms over the years, I have to take into account fandom size and activity.

For example, my TAG and TOA stuff doesn't get much interaction compared to, say, my Detective Conan works, but the fandom sizes are barely comparable - and let alone when you then look at my One Piece stuff, where I often write for a popular character in a huge fandom. Crossovers also tend to have a notable drop in engagement, presumably because most readers (like me) tend not to bother with them if they don't know all the involved fandoms.

My Lord of the Rings drabble collection Vulnerabilities is probably top of the list, though; it's the only one that got so little interaction that I gave up even trying to get to the one hundred chapters I aimed for with the other fandom drabble collections, and yet the fandom itself is huge and very active. It's also intimidating and terrifying to write for because the fandom seem to be so well-versed in the nuances of lore I could never grasp (I still haven't been able to get through The Silmarillion, for example), and I can only assume my writing and interpretations simply wasn't up to par. Was that a little disappointing? I won't lie, it was. But was it unexpected? Not very, honestly. A little, because I'd thought a fandom that huge would still have something to give me and I got almost nothing, but not so much that it surprised me.

Fanfic Writer Asks

[birdhouse-of-shadows]

Hello everyone! So here is a fic that I left in my askbox for a hot minute lol. This was all submitted by an anon who you may or may not have seen a few times. This is a compilation of all of the asks and the whole story.

My comments will be in green, any notes from the author will be in blue and the rest will be in the normal text color.

PLEAAASEE be careful if you are sensitive to the following subjects:

Tw: Child Abuse, torture, multiple abusive foster homes, bondage(kinda, quirk inhibiting cuffs), Heavy injury, blood, smoking,

im currently running on no sleep and a bottle of pepsi, sour this is sloppy asf I apologize in advance 😗

im in an angst mood, so i come with this.

Tokoyami’s biological parents abandoned him when he was four. To this day he has no idea why, and has very little memory of them. All of his memories take place in one of the seven abusive foster homes he lived in before he entered U.A.. Over the course of that time, Fumikage has accumulated a large variety of scars, from deep, jagged scars, to cigarette burns, to just really, really bad bruises. Out of all the foster homes he’s been in, none of Fumikage’s foster parents have been fond of mutants, or mutant-type quirks. In several of the foster homes, Fumikage was forced to wear quirk suppressant cuffs 24/7, since his parents “didn’t want a monster running rampant in their house.” Between his mutation, and the violent tendencies of Dark Shadow, Fumikage was basically what nobody wanted in a child. His foster parents would yell every possible derogatory insult at Fumikage, saying he should’ve never been born, even though they weren’t even his real parents. Over time, the verbal abuse would mess with Fumikage’s mind. He’d stare at himself in the mirror, wondering why he was born the way he was, and why he’s the monster everyone says he is. And just when he thought the verbal abuse couldn’t get any worse, as he got older, his foster parents would resort to physical punishment. At first, it wasn’t that bad, at least, in Fumikage’s eyes. Just a slap here and there, plus some cigarette burns on his arms and shoulders. It was painful, but he fought through it, knowing no one would come to help him. But over time, the “discipline” would get even more brutal. It doesn’t matter what he did, every little thing seemed to set his parents off. From accidentally breaking something, to giving a snide comment unannounced, it wasn’t often that Fumikage went to bed at night without being beaten sometime before then. He would be pinned down by his throat and violently beaten with whatever blunt object was nearby. He eventually gave up trying to apologize, as it somehow only upset his parents even more. Once, when he was eleven years old, Fumikage was beaten with a glass vase after pushing one of his foster siblings. The glass eventually shattered, and the broken ends of the vase dug into Fumikage’s back, leaving horrible, jagged cuts all over him. Witnessing Fumikage being beaten day after day made Dark Shadow feel overwhelmingly guilty. Fumikage was in quirk suppressant cuffs ninety percent of the time, so Dark Shadow was pretty much helpless in most situations. Those damned cuffs made it feel like an invisible wall was put up between where Dark Shadow resided, and the outside world. A wall that agonizingly sat between Dark Shadow, and Fumikage’s safety. There were nights when Fumikage lay flat on his back, staring at the ceiling, his body numbed by pain. Whether he was laying in a bed or not, unfortunately varied by foster home. But it was on those nights where Dark Shadow would apologize profusely to Fumikage, saying that they’re nothing more than the monster that brought misery to Fumikage’s life. Saying that they’re the reason Fumikage gets beaten so often, and yet do nothing to help him. They vow that once they’re in a safer home, away from their abusers, that they will always protect Fumikage. Always. But by then…Fumikage had already fallen asleep.

Overall, Tokoyami’s home life…was nothing worth smiling about. Thankfully, his time at school was less painful. He often got comments about his looks, saying that he was ugly and all that, but by then, he was more than used to it. Eventually, he faded into the shadows (no pun intended) at most of his schools. He eventually was just forgotten about, which truthfully, didn’t bother him. It was a bit lonely, sure, but it was much better than constantly being beaten simply for existing. In Fumikage’s eyes, school was just a break from his disastrous home life. Though, he tended not to talk during class, and had very little interaction with his teachers, for…reasons. Even so, it was actually during his first year of middle school where Fumikage discovered his dream of being a hero. Just because he was spared from the excessive discrimination of mutants, others happened to be less fortunate. Fumikage would witness how his fellow mutants were treated by others. They had their work stolen, their bags dumped out, over were overall just treated like dirt compared to everyone else. So anytime Tokoyami saw a fellow mutant, or anyone really, being bullied, he’d go and help them, telling them that they don’t deserve to take shit for the way they look, or what their quirk is, and that quirks don’t make villains, it’s how those quirks are used, meaning that the people bullying them are more like villains than they will ever be. With his newfound motivation, Tokoyami decided that he wanted to become a hero to show others that they don’t have to fear who they were born to be, or, as he put it, “To not be daunted by their inner darkness. Instead, to embrace such, and with it, become your best self.” Love that for him honestly. One of the students he helped was a tall, slim girl with a head reminiscent to that of an elephant, her most notable feature being her long trunk that was about the length of her entire upper body. She was shy, and avoided any sort of conflict like the plague. At one point she was harassed by another group of girls, before Tokoyami came and stopped them. He gave his long winded, motivational speech to her, and saying she was grateful was quite the understatement, and the next day, as a thank-you gift, gave Tokoyami a red choker, saying that it was just like the one Dark Crystal wore, knowing how much Tokoyami admired the hero. (In other words, he never shut up about him) Tokoyami relayed his gratitude countless times to her, and the two agreed to become friends, even though they wouldn’t see eachother often. Reluctantly, the girl also pointed out the horrible scars and bruises on Tokoyami’s neck, and figured that he’d want to cover them. Tokoyami stiffened at the mention of his scars, but continued thanking her anyway. The two often saw eachother in the halls and waved at one another, on friendly terms, but strangely enough, they never spoke again.

It was also around that time that he became more interactive with Dark Shadow, and began to explore more darker concepts. He founded a love for reading, specifically horror novels and manga. He also became fascinated with poetry (specifically the edgy variety), both reading and writing it. He found that writing poetry gave him an outlet for expressing both himself, and Dark Shadow’s feelings, without having to risk angering his foster parents. Eventually, the tone found written by his favorite poets began to make its way into Fumikage’s speech patterns. He felt more comfortable with it, and it wasn’t something people easily understood, which ultimately meant his foster parents would just ignore him, thinking he was going through an emo phase. And miraculously, it worked. Although he was still physically and verbally abused throughout his middle school years, his foster parents eventually backed off, as Fumikage became more introverted. Now, he’d look in the mirror at all of his scars, and use his past trauma as motivation for becoming a hero. Though, it wasn’t easy. Those painful memories would always come flooding back whenever he looked at those scars. Since he spent most of his life surrounded by abusive adults, he believed that most adults were the same way, and refrained from speaking with adults at all, in fear of angering them. Hearing them yell would make him flinch out of pure instinct, and being stuck alone with an adult would make him an anxious mess. But he did his best to mask this fear with the brooding, edgy side of him. It was his best, and pretty much only way of coping with this fear. He tried his best to overcome his anxiety, but it was never that easy. But he managed to get through middle school mostly unscathed.

And finally, after three agonizingly long paragraphs, Fumikage makes it into U.A.. Of course, that didn’t exempt him from any of his current foster parent’s rules. He had to keep quirk cuffs in his bag at all times, and if he came home without them on, he would be beaten. Tokoyami remained obedient, not wanting to show up to his first day at U.A. beaten half to death. Armed with his scars, his motivation, and of course, Dark Shadow, Tokoyami entered U.A with confidence. And everyone… was so nice???? Almost immediately after he sat in his designated seat in class 1-A, people came up to him, talking to him. He met a variety of different students, some more…mellow than others. But overall, he liked his class. But the teacher? Well…not so much. In Tokoyami’s eyes, the man who dubbed himself their homeroom teacher, Mr. Aizawa, was completely and utterly terrifying. ‘He probably has a machete hidden in that sleeping bag ready to kill us at any moment-‘ Dark Shadow said on the first day. Tokoyami couldn’t help but agree. But not in a comedic way. Something about Aizawa was all too reminiscent of one of his foster fathers, specifically the one who gave him all of the scars on his back, after beating him with a glass vase. Any time he was around him, he was anxious. But eventually, little did Fumikage know, this man who he deemed “terrifying” would eventually become one of the people he trusted the most.

okay okay I’ll stop for now, I’ll write more eventually, but I’ll wait until this is answered so I won’t be flooding your asks, and I promise I will never submit anything this long ever again 😖

part 2 yee yee

also, as you can tell, i have heavily observed canon, and elected to ignore it :)

Fumikage’s year so far was hectic. No, scratch that. It was hellish. It seemed like everywhere the class went together, they were attacked by villains. Aizawa seemed to be getting more and more tired by the day. Fumikage didn’t blame him, as he had a class full of trouble magnets. But following the skirmish at the forest training camp, and All Might’s retirement, things seemed to be looking up, at least a little bit. However, there was rumor going around that U.A. was planning to implement a form system, leaving Fumikage with mixed feelings. One on hand, he was ecstatic. He could finally, even if it was just for a short time, get away from his foster home. The training camp incident left Fumikage shaken more than he’d like, and having to deal with verbal abuse at the hands of his father wasn’t doing him any favors. After being released from the hospital, his father berated him four what felt like hours after hearing that he’d lost control of Dark Shadow. The day he got home, without any second thought, his father grabbed him by his shirt collar (which hurt more than it should have due to the fresh bruises on Fumikage’s back) and mercilessly screamed at him. Even though it only lasted about ten minutes, it felt like forever. He was forced to stand just inches away from his father, the thick smell of cigarette smoke emitting from his breath. Dark Shadow shrunk within him, trying desperately to drown out the heinous comments that they’re directly responsible for. Following the “lecture”, as his father like to call it, Fumikage was put back into his quirk cuffs, but this time, as what his parents described as a “precaution”, he had a thick, tight quirk suppressant collar locked around his neck. It dug through Fumikage’s skin, and it felt like he was being strangled. Even so, just like everything he’d been through up to that point, he had to bear with it. He tiredly trudged back to his room, or, well, it was a linen closet. He had a small pile of blankets that acted as his bed, as well as several books lined up neatly against the wall. He’d read most of them several times already, but other that his phone, it was pretty much his only source of entertainment. The closet was always freezing, and he was rarely allowed out. But Fumikage always forced himself to be grateful for having a roof over his head at all, since he knew there were always going to be people who were less fortunate. With a sigh, he lay down on his small pile of blankets. He curled up within himself, trying his best to keep warm. Normally, one of his siblings slip whatever packaged food their parents gave them under the door. It always tasted like it went bad two weeks ago, but at this point, to Fumikage, fuck it, food was food. But much to his dismay, Fumikage’s parents told him that he was “on punishment”. And while on punishment, he knew well enough, that they refuse to feed him. Over the last 18 months that he’d been living in that foster home, he’d been on punishment five times, and during that time, he lost a very unhealthy amount of weight, and his overall health tanked. But, like he said for every terrible thing that’s befallen him over the past 12 years, he was used to it. So, Fumikage went the next three days without eating a single thing.

But it was after those three days, when Fumikage’s life changed. Whether it was for better or worse, he was forced to wait and see.

One morning, or…was it evening? It was hard to tell when you’re stuck in a dark linen closet with no sense of time whatsoever. But anyway, Fumikage woke up shivering, not that he wasn’t used to that. But he did hear the faint sound of his parents talking. However, there was one other voice. Fumikage’s hearing wasn’t the best, with him being a bird and everything, but he knew that voice. He knew that voice from anywhere. It was Aizawa’s. Fumikage forced himself up. His back was stiff, and the thick collar around his neck weighed him down. His stomach was begging for food, but that wasn’t important. He smoothed out his feathers best he could, and quietly opened the closet door. He could hear Aizawa conversing with his parents, and they talked about the newly constructed dorms. Aizawa explained that for the Fumikage’s safety, he requested that Fumikage lives in a secure dorm system. He’d have his own room, full access to a kitchen full of food, and of course, he’d have a common space to mingle with his peers. To Fumikage, it sounded like heaven, but unfortunately, his parents weren’t having it. They went on and on about how Fumikage would put his peers in danger with his destructive quirk. Aizawa, thankfully, wasn’t willing to put up with them either. He went on to tell them about how Fumikage has excelled with the control of Dark Shadow. Fumikage felt a warm feeling in his stomach after hearing his teacher, that same one he’s so afraid of, speak so highly of him. But there was one thing that left Aizawa’s mouth that his parents really couldn’t respond to. “Well, why not let Fumikage have a say in this? Where is he?” he asked them. There was something about his teacher’s tone that showed that he knew exactly what he was doing. Fumikage looked down at himself. He was still wearing the same black long sleeved shirt and blue jeans that he’d worn three days ago. His quirk cuffs were tight around his wrists, and his collar, though he’d gotten used to the feeling, was madly uncomfortable around his neck. He had two choices. Go down there and let Aizawa witness firsthand the extent of Fumikage’s constant neglect, and risk being punished even further by his parents, or play it safe, and potentially let Aizawa find him on his own. But…the world was never that nice to him, so instead, Fumikage heard an irritated sigh, and footsteps coming up the stairs. Hurriedly, Fumikage shut the closet door and sat back down against the wall. Just moments later, he watched the closet door open, and felt his father’s sultry gaze fall on him. He grabbed his arm and pulled him up to his feet. He took the cuffs off of Fumikage, and let them fall to the floor. Before taking off the collar, he leaned down, glaring daggers at his foster son. “You say anything out of place boy, and I reopen those cuts on your back, god help you.” he said in a low growl. Fumikage stiffened, the memory of jagged glass tearing his skin open flashing through his mind. He nodded, and took a breath of air as the collar was removed. He really didn’t care that all he breathed in was cigarette smoke. That feeling of being strangled by a metal collar was finally gone, even if just for a little while. His father grabbed his wrist, and dragged him down to the living room, where Aizawa sat across from his mother.

Aizawa knew right away that there was something seriously off. Tokoyami had a few feathers out of place, and his shirt hung limply over him. He looked like he hadn’t eaten in a week. But what pisses Aizawa off the most, was something Tokoyami was clearly trying to hide, and that was the dark ring of bruises around his wrists. He really needed to confront his student about how these two were treating him. But for now, he just needed to get the kid to agree to move into the dorms. He watched the avian teen sit down between his two caretakers. The boy looked very uncomfortable, almost afraid. Aizawa felt his gaze soften upon seeing his student in the state he was, but he had to do what he came here for. So he directed his gaze to Tokoyami, and asked him his thought of moving into U.A.’s dorms. It concerned him hearing how fast Tokoyami answered. “I’d be glad to.” He responded almost instantly. “It would be a great opportunity to get to know my peers better, no?” He looked to his mother, who gave him an irritated look. Aizawa held back a smirk. The kid had a way with words, that was for sure. Aizawa cleared his throat, and spoke up. “Well, it seems he’s all for it.” he said, looking at the two adults in front of him. They looked very unamused. The boy’s mother rubbed her temples, and sighed. “Fine, fine.” she grumbled. “But if Fumikage has any issues with behavior whatsoever, so let us know.” She said, giving her son a pointed look. Aizawa nodded, and stood up. “I doubt that will be an issue, he’s very well behaved.” he said, tucking a loose strand of hair behind his ear. His eyes fell to his student. He once again noticed the loose feathers sticking out from the sides of the boy’s head. There were only about two or three, but Aizawa took the initiative anyway. He leaned down toward Tokoyami, and smoothed out his feathers carefully. The boy stiffened, but relaxed. Once Aizawa was satisfied, he stood back up. Tokoyami brought a hand to the side of his head, and gave Aizawa a dumbfounded look. The man gave him an amused look, and turned around toward the door. “I’ll see you in a few days, Tokoyami.” he said, laying his hand on the doorknob. The teen nodded in response, and Aizawa left the house.

As soon as he shut the door, Aizawa clenched his fists. Of course he noticed Tokoyami’s disheveled-looking appearance. But there was one thing, one tiny little thing, that Tokoyami did. Since the moment he sat down, to the moment Aizawa left. Tokoyami rested one arm on his leg, and began tapping his knee. Aizawa didn’t think much of it at first, but then he remembered something he learned while he was still in training. Whenever someone did that, no matter the age, it was a warning sign. Tokoyami was trying to get his attention the entire time.

There was something seriously wrong.

And that’s it for part two I suppose. I feel like this part is significantly worse than the last one, but when it comes down to it, consistency isn’t my thing 🙃

i forgot to proofread part two before submitting it so uh….if there are typos to there aren’t <3

Its perfectly fine!! I never saw them~

part 3 let’s goooo

After Aizawa left, Fumikage relaxed his hand over his knee. He really hoped his teacher noticed his warning sign, but whether he did or not, he was still stuck with his parents until he moved into the dorms. A sudden wave of unease fell over him. He knew his parents were staring him down. And he knew they were not happy. He took at deep breath, and met his father’s gaze. The man’s eyes narrowed. “You got somethin’ to say, brat?” he spat through gritted teeth. Fumikage shrugged. He knew he wouldn’t be living with his foster parents for much longer, which made pushing their buttons much more tempting. He held back a smirk. “Me? Oh no. Although, judging by that look on your face, I figured you’d have something to say, no?” the teen hummed. He rested his elbows on his knees, and tilted his head. Fumikage watched his father’s eyelid twitch. It was quite amusing, really. “Just get your ass upstairs, brat. I don’t want another goddamn word outta you.” The man hissed. “And put your cuffs on too.” Fumikage let out a sigh, but nodded anyway. He’d best be obedient now, since, if possible, he’d like to make it to U.A.’s dorms in one piece. He stood up and shoved his hands into his pockets, before trudging back upstairs to his “room”.

After closing the closet door, Fumikage took another look at the cramped area he’s forced to call his bedroom. For the last eighteen months, he was stuck in this hellhole of a house. He had felt more alone than any other point in his life, even with Dark Shadow around. He had no freedom in this house. Hell, he can hardly think of a time he’s ever had any freedom throughout his life. He’s been chained down, locked in cages like an animal, abused in pretty much every way possible…he hated it. More than anything. For most of his early life, it was hard for him to tell if Dark Shadow was really his quirk, or just a voice in his head, given how rarely the two would be allowed to see eachother. But to Fumikage, quirk or not, Dark Shadow was his closest friend. His only friend. And the idea of them getting an entire room, bed and all, just to themselves, with no restrictions, made Fumikage feel more excited than he had ever felt before. Fumikage put a hand to his chest, letting out a relieved sigh, and couldn’t help but smile. Even if it was just for a little while, he, alone with Dark Shadow, could finally be free.

While he was lost in his thoughts, Fumikage’s eyes eventually fell to his quirk cuffs, laying menacingly on the pile of blankets before him, his collar just a few inches away. He felt Dark Shadow stir restlessly within him, not wanting to be trapped by the cuffs. Even though Dark Shadow never got the chance to come out while they were off, it felt liberating to not be bound by what was, in the long run, thick pieces of metal. They’d felt more relaxed for those tense twenty minutes during the conference then they had been throughout their entire time living there. But they knew, for Fumikage’s safety, that, at least until they moved into the dorms, that the cuffs had to stay on. With a sigh, Fumikage grabbed the cuffs, and, after lining them up with his already existing bruises, snapped them shut. Dark Shadow felt like chains held them back the second the cuffs came on. They let out an agitated whimper deep within Fumikage. The teen sighed, bringing a hand to his chest. He hated when his quirk felt like this, but he knew it would all be over soon. He picked up the collar, feeling the cold metal in his hands. With a huff, he threw it aside, and sat down against the wall. He looked up at the ceiling, and reached deep within himself. It was faint, but he managed to connect with Dark Shadow. “Just a few more days, Dark Shadow…” he whispered. “It’ll all be over soon. Not for long, but…things will lighten up. I promise.” That promise was a bit of a stretch, in Fumikage’s opinion. But it would be that promise that got them through the next few days. Fumikage laid down on his “bed”, and reached for one of his books. He didn’t care which one, since he’d read them all about a million times each, but he just needed a distraction. The book he’d ended up grabbing, he knew was more philosophical than he would’ve preferred, but hey, he wanted a distraction. So he opened the book, and proceeded to read.

Fumikage had gotten about 90 pages in before he heard the lock on the closet door rattle. The door swung open, letting a wave of light into the room. Fumikage looked up from his book, and low and behold, his father stood over him, an angry look on his face, as always. “Can I help you?” Fumikage asked, laying the book down on his lap. The man in front of him snorted. “Get up, brat. It’s bath time.” he said, an amused tone in his voice. If he could, Fumikage would’ve raised a brow. That tone in his father’s voice was never a good sign, but Fumikage didn’t have much of a choice. So he laid the book aside, and stood up. His father grabbed his wrist, and dragged him out of the closet. Fumikage had no idea what his father meant by “bath time”, but as the two walked directly passed the bathroom, Fumikage knew, that his parents had something else in mind…

and that’s it for part 3. i never actually have a set plan for these, i just go until I feel like stopping. These also aren’t written beforehand, I just chill in your asks for an hours writing these, making things up as I go along. I basically treat it like my notes app lmao

I'm glad my ask box has served well as your notes app! Just be careful that things save!!

part 4. this was so fucking hard to write you don’t understand 😭 and im too tired to proofread this shit so if you see typos no you don’t. enjoy.

You're doing great!!

Trapped within his father’s grip, Fumikage nearly tripped as he was dragged down the stairs. Being dragged around like a rag doll was uncomfortable enough already, but having thick quirk cuffs clamped around his wrists, digging into his skin, made the whole ordeal more painful rather than uncomfortable, but either way, whatever his parents had in store for him, like always, Fumikage wasn’t looking forward to.

Before Fumikage knew it, the two were in the kitchen. A metal bucket sat in the kitchen sink, hot water running into it. Next to the sink stood his mother, a sultry grin on her face. Thick clouds of steam rose from the basin, and suddenly it hit him. Fumikage’s breath hitched, and he froze in place. He stumbled back, pressing himself against the wall behind him. His father let out a low chuckle. “What’s the matter brat? You were all smug n’ shit earlier. Where’d all that giddiness go?” He asked, leaning toward Fumikage. The man gave a sultry grin, blowing a cloud of cigarette smoke into Fumikage’s face.

Fumikage’s eyes fell to his mother, who had her hand laid against the bucket. The painful reality all started coming together. Much quicker than Fumikage would’ve preferred, given that he’s on the receiving end of yet another one of his parent’s grueling “punishments”. His mother had a heat quirk. Not fire, but heat. She could alter the heat of any object she touches, reaching heats of up to 315 degrees celcius. Fumikage has been burned before. Several times actually. It hurt like hell, but nothing he’d ever felt before compared to the searing, agonizing pain of being touched by anything heated by his mother’s quirk. And here he was, backed into a corner, at his parent’s mercy.

He knew what was coming. As much as he hated what was about to come next, there was no getting out of it. Not with both of his parents right in front of him. As Fumikage watched that bucket of water begin to boil over, and his mother’s grin grow wider. he felt Dark Shadow begin to tremble within him, helplessly. He could feel his hands begin to shake, and without even having to look, he could hear his father chuckle in amusement.

Fumikage clenched his fists. He couldn’t just submit himself to his parents so easily. But then again, at the end of the day, he was helpless. As always. There was no escape, because when has there ever been? Fighting back was pointless. It always has been. Because to him, this wasn’t torture. This wasn’t abuse. To him, this was just another punishment. Another, grueling, agonizing, painful, god-forsaken punishment.

He was used to this.

Fumikage felt tears prick at the corners of his eyes. He looked up at his father. What was this sudden burst of emotion? Fumikage had never felt like this before. Was it anger? Fear? Whatever it was, it made his head spin. Either way, he planned to use his sudden rush of negative energy for something he should’ve done months ago. And the consequences that came with it?

Fuck the consequences.

A twisted, pained smile forced it’s way to Fumikage’s features. Tears rolling down his cheeks, he locked eyes with his father. “Sick bastard.” he muttered. “You know I’ll be out of this hellhole in two days, so you take every opportunity you have to put me in as much pain as possible.” Fumikage wiped a tear from his eyes with his sleeve. “Sounds like you’re getting desperate, wouldn’t you agree?” Fumikage grinned upon seeing that irritated look wash over his father’s face. Oh, how much he loved that look.

Over the years that Fumikage has been in foster care, he was never liked by this parents. They blamed it on his violent quirk. Funny enough, almost none of them had even seen his quirk. Fumikage never got around to asking about that, since a lot of the time, talking ended up getting him in trouble. Looking back on it, Fumikage realizes just how stupid it was. Talking, of all things, got him in trouble. What was next? Breathing?

And this foster home was no different. If he “talked out of place”, as his father liked to put it, he was punished. It was hard to decipher exactly what was considered talking “out of place”, since it seemed like nearly everything Fumikage said warranted punishment. So eventually, he opted not to speak at all. But there were always those times, now included, where talking back just felt so right. When Fumikage is finally able to stand up for himself, despite the inevitable consequences that came with it.

And boy, were there consequences.

Before he knew it, Fumikage’s head was slammed against the wall behind him, beak first. With how sensitive his beak was, that pain rung throughout his brain, dazing him. Then he was kneed in the stomach, three times actually, right on one of his fresh bruises. Fumikage let out a choked sob as his breath left him. Even if it only lasted seconds, Fumikage felt as though he were suffocating. And as much as he hated the feeling of air leaving him, that just so happened to be the least painful thing he experienced that night.

Through his pain, Fumikage caught a glimpse of something shiny. Because of course he would. It looked to be metal, with a sharp tip. In his dazed state, he could only guess that it was his Father’s six-inch knife. And right he was, because that exact knife tore down the back of his shirt, exposing all of the scars that littered his back. Pinning him against the wall, his father ripped off his shirt, before kicking him to the cold hardwood floors. Just as Fumikage attempted to sit up, he felt another hard kick to the back of his head. The teen brought his hands to his head almost immediately, gripping tightly at his feathers in an attempt to ease his head’s throbbing pain. But at that moment, Fumikage realized, he had let his guard down.

Just seconds later, he felt it.

That agonizing, searing pain.

All over his body.

He let out a gut-wrenching scream as he felt blisters rapidly forming all over his back and arms. He found himself clawing at his arms, in a desperate attempt to ease the stinging pain, only for thin, deep cuts to form on his pale skin. He felt his quirk cuffs reacted to the heat, getting ever more tighter around Fumikage’s thin wrists. Any and all obscenities his parents threw at him were drowned out by this unbearable pain. Through his sobs, Fumikage began to wonder, was it really worth it? Was it ever worth it? He almost didn’t care. He just wanted it all to be over.

He just wanted the pain, the suffering, the torture, all of it, he just wanted it to go away.

Once the pain died down to the point where it was at least bearable, Fumikage forced himself up on his hands and knees, struggling to keep himself stable on the wet hardwood. Between both the burns, and the quirk cuffs nearly suffocating his wrists, his hands were blistered and swollen. Fumikage locked eyes with his father, who looked down at him, satisfied with his work. Fumikage’s breathing was slow and heavy, as he tried to fight through the pain. “Is…is that all you got?” he managed to choke out. “Two kicks and some hot water? Is that your last line of defense? Seems pretty lackluster if you ask me.” His entire body trembling, Fumikage managed to get to his feet. Steam emitted from his entire upper body, and he was throbbing with pain. That satisfied look on his father’s face suddenly turned to one of pure rage. Without a word, the man walked toward Fumikage, his knife in one hand, and empty glass bottle in the other. Pressing any further in this situation, with this many injuries, Fumikage knew, would be incredibly risky. But then again, heroes are supposed to take risks.

Fumikage forced his beak back into that same twisted grin he wore before, but this time, it was more reluctant. Either way, there was no turning back now.

“Bite me.” he muttered through gritted teeth.

It went dead silent. You could hear a pin drop. But that silence was short lived.

Fumikage heard the deafening sound of glass shattering. There was a sudden flash of bright light, leaving as quick as it arrived, and Fumikage’s world became black.

i dont plan on writing any more violent scenes, simply because they’re hard asf to write lmao, so the next part is basically an unneeded time skip because im lazy <3

I'm sure whatever you will write will be perfect!!!

part 5 bitches. or is this part 6? idk this feels like a part 6. anyway proofreading is out the window, it was a long time ago, but either way this might look at but messy. fuck it it’s 3am idc anymore. enjoy.

Fumikage’s eyes opened. His eyelids felt heavy, and his back was stiff, but other than that…he felt no pain. He sat up and looked around. He wasn’t in the linen closet. In fact, it didn’t look like he was in his foster home at all. He looked to be in an apartment. It was on the small side, but it felt…comfortable. The furniture wasn’t dusty, and the air was free of cigarette smoke. Beneath him, was a dark grey couch. He had to have been sleeping on it for a while, as he had shed a single feather onto the fabric of the couch. But either way, Fumikage somehow felt…safe.

Then, he caught something from the corner of his eye. Well, not something, rather, someone. A tall figure, their face and body obscured by shadow, stood in the doorway to the kitchen. The figure began to walk toward him. Their hands were tucked into their pockets, and they stalked toward him, almost tiredly. It felt so…familiar. But Fumikage’s world felt fuzzy. It was hard to tell if what he was seeing was even real. The figure kneeled down in front of him their obscured face looking him in the eyes. He watched their lips move, but there was no sound. Fumikage wanted to speak, but all he heard was his own confused, stuttered breathing.

The figure tilted their head, and their eyebrows furrowed. They reached a hand behind Fumikage’s head, ruffling his crown feathers gently. The figure spoke again, yet Fumikage was still met with silence. The figure’s face, as far as Fumikage could see, was painted with concern. But before Fumikage could make another attempt to speak, another figure appeared from a hallway. They were taller, slimmer, and just like the first one, their body and face was completely obscured. The second figure came over, kneeling next to the first, trying to get Fumikage to say something. Anything. But the world around him was completely silent.

Fumikage felt his vision blur at the edges. What was happening? Who were the people in front of him? Why did they look so worried? His mind was runny by a mile a minute, not knowing where he was, who he was with, and why any of them were there. Fumikage looked around desperately for anything that could pose as a distraction. In the midst of his panic, he saw one of the figure’s shadowy hands reach toward him. Fumikage swatted at the hand and tried to back away, but instead was blocked by the back of the couch. His gaze went back toward the two figures in front of him. Once again, one of them reached toward him, carefully grabbing his arm. The touch felt cold, and staticky, much like how Dark Shadow felt. Fumikage squeezed his eyes shut, and he felt tears run down his cheeks, afraid of what’s to come next. But, much to his surprise, he felt a pair of arms wrap around him, holding him tight. Through the haze, Fumikage could finally make out what this person was saying. It was a faint, hollow echo that rang through his ears. “It’s okay, kid. You’re safe.” They said.

Fumikage’s breathing slowed as he lay his head on the figure’s shadowy shoulder. “I’m…safe…” he repeated, almost hypnotically. Then he heard the second figure join in. “That’s right. You don’t have to be scared anymore. You’re in a new home, with a new family.” they said. Their voice was slightly higher, and had a softer tone to it. But those words…

Fumikage lifted his head slightly, just enough to see over the figure’s shoulder. His vision was hazy, and he felt as though he were in a trance.

“Family…” Fumikage whispered. That word…that word alone. ‘Family’. It just felt so…right. As though what Fumikage saw as paradise was finally coming to pass. He felt tears well up in his eyes. But unlike before, he felt tears of relief. For the first time in what felt like years, he really felt safe. Fumikage lifted an arm, and whipped away his tears with his sleeve. When his vision cleared, yet another figure appeared. However, this one was…small. Then Fumikage realized, it was a child. His head tilted as the obscure figure carefully walked over to him. They kept their hands in front of them, almost as if afraid to hurt him. Although Fumikage had relaxed, he still felt dazed, and somehow, his movements almost didn’t feel like his own.

Just like when he reached his arm out toward the child. They were just barely out of reach, but in response, they brought both hands to Fumikage’s, and a smile came to their obscured face. They looked…happy. And for the first time in what Fumikage felt like forever…so did he. He felt a small smile form on his beak. He hated kids. Normally, anyway. But right now…this wasn’t so bad.

He felt the older figure pull away from him, still carefully running their hand through his feathers. The second also leaned back, relaxing a bit. Fumikage lay back against the couch with a sigh, before looking over the three figure’s one last time. Was this really his family…? Hell, whether they were or not, he could get used to it. He just couldn’t help it. After years of pain, years of terror, a family, a kind, loving family, was what Fumikage had always dreamed of.

He eventually felt his eyelids, as well as his whole body, become heavy. He felt his grip on consciousness slowly slip, the world around him slowly swirling into a dark grey void. That same word echoed through his mind throughout, becoming more faint each time he heard it. Family. family….family….

Fumikage’s eyes slowly opened one last time, but this time, he didn’t just feel tired. He felt cold, he felt sore, but above all…he felt uneasy. That cold, painfully familiar feeling washed over him. And painful it was. The second he dared to move, Fumikage felt a sharp pain up his back. He sighed, letting his body relax. He looked up at the ceiling, but couldn’t stop the tears from forming in his eyes.

He was home.

and that’s it. i feel like i use too many commas, but fuck it im sleep deprived i do what i want :D anyway the next part will be done…whenever the fuck i feel like writing it idk lmao

Please sleep, you're doing great!! I too suffer from overuse of commas, but I don't think they hurt too much!!

sigh. part 7. maybe. idgaf anymore lmao

toward the end I pretty much forgot how to write, so this is uh, a mess to say the least. but enjoy I guess? yea

Fumikage slowly sat up, and let his hands fall solemnly in his lap. With his level of pain and exhaustion, it was hard to keep himself stable, and his quirk cuffs acting as six-pound weights wasn’t doing him any favors. Which, now that he noticed, wasn’t the only thing Fumikage was wearing. He felt his quirk collar clamped around his neck, even tighter than before. He was surprised that it hasn’t cut off his airflow by now.

Fumikage brushed off the pain, still in awe by his dream. As abstract as it was, it just felt so…real. Everything around him felt as though it were really there. And those shadow figures….he felt their words, their touch…as strange as it was, it just felt right. Fumikage leaned back against the wall behind him. ‘Dark Shadow…’ he whispered. ‘Did you…feel that? In the dream?’ Within him, Dark Shadow stirred restlessly in response to their host’s bewilderment. ‘Mhm…but…Fumikage? Would it be weird to say I…miss it?’ they asked. That restlessness quickly turned solemn as Dark Shadow deflated a bit, wrapping themself protectively around Fumikage’s rib cage. The teen hummed quietly to himself in thought. ‘Well, as weird as it is, you aren’t alone. I don’t know why but…that dream world just felt so surreal. It was…at least compared to what we’re used to, amazing.’ Fumikage replied. He lay his head against the wall behind him as he felt tears in the back of his eyes. Dark Shadow seemed to mimic his movements in a way, as Fumikage felt them curl within themselves, hugging Fumikage’s ribs tighter. ‘I just want a new family…’ they said, barely a whisper. Fumikage felt tears slowly roll down his cheeks, soaking his feathers. It feels like every day that passes, Fumikage feels more and more isolated. More and more alone. It’s just him and Dark Shadow. It always has been. Fumikage thrives off of his quirk’s company. Dark Shadow is the only reason he’s kept a positive outlook on life throughout his last few painful years. If not for Dark Shadow, Fumikage’s life would have ended long ago. But even with Dark Shadow around, Fumikage couldn’t help but feel lonely. He wanted someone else to talk to. A human to talk to, because let’s face it, Fumikage’s social skills are…underwhelming. He never speaks unless he knows exactly what he’s going to say and when. He comes off more confident that way, because otherwise, he’d let his anxiety get the best of him.

Having a kind, caring family around, and having other people in general around, just made Fumikage feel safer. Even his foster siblings. They all despised him, but when they were around, his parents were less violent with him. There was always less expected of him when there were others around to steal all of the attention. But that didn’t mean Fumikage didn’t want attention, he just didn’t want negative attention. And every foster home he’s been in, year after year, has been exactly that.

He just wanted to feel loved, was that so much to ask?

Fumikage slouched back against the wall, only to quickly regret it as he felt a sharp pain shoot up his side. He sat back up with a groan. What exactly happened to him? He knows he blacked out at some point, but it was hard to tell what happened after. His body was numbed with pain; his back and arms were covered in burns that sting when touched, and he had a large, dark bruise right in the middle of his abdomen.

His memory of the previous night was cloudy, among other things, but he does faintly remember that sharp glint coming from his father’s knife. Fumikage put a hand to the source of the pain, feeling around for anything of interest. The closet was nearly pitch black, and as good as Fumikage was at seeing in the dark, he couldn’t do much other than carefully feel his wounds to make sure there isn’t anything too serious. But at this point, getting out of a punishment unscathed would be a miracle.

Fumikage ran his fingers across what felt like a gash along the side of his waist, approximating the length. He winced at the stinging pain, but kept going nonetheless. The wound went from just above his waist halfway up his chest. Pulling away he felt something warm and wet lining his fingers, which he could only assume was blood, given the stinging pain that shot through his body right after.

The teen let out a low groan in response, before wiping his bloody hand on his jeans. Slumping back against the wall, Fumikage looked as his blood stained hand. Even in the dark linen closet, he could still see the dark, smeared blood stain his palm and fingers. Suddenly he felt a surge of negativity rush through him, and he clenched his bloodied fist. Was it disgust? Frustration? Or just pure, justified, rage? It was always so hard, just trying to identify this one, burning, unbearable emotion. Fumikage felt it so often but could never tell what he was really feeling. Dark Shadow growled in reponse to their host, growing increasingly larger, metaphorically, desperately wanting to break free and release this unbearable surge of negativity. It didn’t take long before Fumikage boiled over, and slammed his fist against the wall behind him, causing the paint to crack and a dent to form in the wall. Fumikage looked to the wall next to him, and the result of his outburst. And just like that, he deflated, completely, and utterly, defeated. Defeated from what? It was hard to tell.

The teen choked out a sob, curling up within himself, burying his face in his knees.

Just one more day.

yeah. that’s it. short and painful sweet. no comments, bc i cant think of any. next part coming in uh….idk like a month? who’s to say lmao

I absolutely loved this!! I am so happy you shared this! The writing was phenomenal and this is such an interesting take on Tokoyami’s past. It has the perfect dose of angst~

I hope everyone else enjoys this as much as I did!

[ithinkthingsaboutstuff]

Going Rogue: Penance

This is a fic series, that looks at the ecosystem of Arkham asylum, How the rogues interactions with one another and how therapy is or is not administered. The partnerships, the connections, the feud’s and the all the madness that rest inside the padded walls. This part is following Oswald's letters to the outside world.

Going Rogue:

part 5: Penance

Date: October 31st

Dearest Penelope

I hope this letter finds you well, my dear. as the state of things here have become rather pear-shaped as of late. It seems that times arrow marches ever forward once again, I only hope that it does not strike me dead. The walls seem to be getting smaller these days and there is less and less room to breath, speaking of, Dr Isley has been rather quiet as of late do to an incident with a Mr Lyle Bolton, and Edward fairs no better. You remember him don't you dear? the man clad in green and which you most pointedly called an 'over grown leprechaun' that still makes him angry at the mere mention of it. I for one enjoyed all your observations.

anyway my dear, do not fear for me as I always find a way to turn things to my favour one way or another.

With my love.

Oswald Cobblepot.

----

Date: November 12th

Dearest Penelope

I seem to have underestimated the wilds and wiles of Mr Bolton. He seems to have made good on his promise to make Arkham as much as a prison as he is able. I tend see my fellow 'inmates' less and less. Poker night was the first thing to go, and our recreation time has been cut in half. However the most troubling thing is not a single soul has seen or heard from Dr Crane since he left for the third floor some four weeks ago. Not even my informants are speaking to me as of late, Mr Bolton seems to have covered his bases, for now.

that reminds me did you get the flowers I sent you? white and purple Lilac's your favourite if I recall correctly.

But my dear I have to say, I fear things are going to get far worse before they get any better. But I promise you that I will prevail as I always have, one way or another.

With my love

Oswald Cobblepot.

----

Date: December 31st

Dearest Penelope

A new year is upon us and it looks far darker then usual it would seem. I apologise for the lateness of this letter my love. It has been hard to find a spare moment to write and even harder to get a pen to write with, I had to have this one snuck in. But I doubt Mr Bolton fears for our safety and the sharpness of the pen may have on the skin, it would be better used to pierce his neck, than our own, but I also suspect that he does not wish for us to write to the outside to tell tales of his new 'reform program'.

Do not fuss over me though my love, as I seem to be lower on Mr Bolton's list of threats as it would be. lucky me, I just get to observe, which is what I am best at, looking for gaps and openings so I can take and gain as much as I can.

Though it seems may others don't get that curacy. Dr Crane is still missing it would seem, he has not escaped the asylum I am sure of that. If he had we would hear of it by now, and I have not seen his obituary in the paper so he must still have breath in his lungs. mind you his safety is of little concern but his fate does set the tone for what to expect it would seem.

Penelope my love, it is nights like this that I miss you most, your bright eyes and round soft cheeks going red in this cold fill my thoughts fondly. And the day I see you again makes me feel at ease in even this dark hole where not light can stay for long.

With my love

Oswald Cobblepot.

----

Date: January 10th

Dearest Penelope.

How can I explain the madness that has taken this place. There has always been insanity here, that is to be expected, but this is something else.

I manged to get my hands on some information, and it's weighing on me heavily.

fate is a funny thing isn't it, fate put me here, fate separated us, and fate has now handed me a choice.

silence or breaking the news.

I don't normally feel so conflicted about what to do with certain truths. I have had men killed, others ruined or bats and birds dancing on strings, when I control the stage. But this, this make me wonder.

Have I grown, attached to this mad medley that the city calls, rouges?

You know that I am a man that is full of love, a man that wants my heart to shrink so that I may be what I am destined, the king of Gotham. you my love, know that my heart is my greatest fault, its why I could never hurt the bats little birds to much, or sell drugs or weapons in schools, its why I never come out completely on top, my heart gets in the way. I let my self grow fond of people and they betray me. But this has me wondering,

what is my own survival worth to me?

who is it worth to me?

if I say nothing I can get away with not much harm to myself, but if I speck I put my self on the chopping block with the rest of this mad house. But I would lose them, and for those who don't wilt away if they find out I kept this to myself I am is good as dead.

But who would be left to kill me I wonder?

I will have to ponder this further. Good night my dear.

With my love

Oswald Cobblepot.

-------

Date: January 23th

Dearest Penelope.

my last letter to you was filled with ambiguity and rather coy musings. I need you to understand that only you know the true level of the love in my heart. I can't let that weakness leak from me so freely around this place, with these people.

These people, who I have a certain fondness for as much as it pains me to admit. Oh the curse of a bleeding heart, I only wonder who's blood it will end up being? oh Penelope, my love, I have to bare my soul to you once again.

I know what has become of Jonathan Crane.

He was attacked on Halloween night, the same evening he suffocated Dr. Isly, I also know that Edward was beaten by the same individual. The newest, first and self appointed warden of 'Arkham prison'.

A Mr Lyle Bolton.

I came across this information when in my therapy session with a Dr Quinzel. She openly worried for Crane, think of it, a doctor at Arkham actually fearful for a patient, this place has once and for all gone mad.

She tells me that Crane had been in a coma the better part of two months, he is only just coming around now, he will be coming back to the second floor in the next few days. I can't help but wonder what will become of all of us if a man who can not feel fear is beaten halfway to death. If I speck to the others, if I can reach out to them, if I can make sure they get the message, maybe, maybe I can save them from a worst fate?

Why should I risk myself for them?

What can I gain from their survival?

How can I, maintain my cold front like this winder air hitting my window?

Perhaps I can say that, I am concerned for only myself, after all, how long until Bolton runs out of targets, and he aims his scabbard at me?

Yes they will believe that, I might even let myself believe it in time.

But you Penelope, you will know the truth, you always know the truth of me. That I am a foolish man, with a foolish heart. As I wish to save these already lost souls in a way, I was never able to save you. Keep them safe in the way that I failed to keep you safe.

I will forever miss you my kid and I will forever regret that I will never see you grow into the woman you were destined to be.

I will see you again my dear but when I cross through the vale I will meet you as a man that has killed every single soul responsible for taking you from me, and I will need alleys to do such a thing.

I have already lost you and my mind I don't need to lose others who share the pain of madness as well.

With All my heart, your loving Father

Oswald Cobblepot.

[livebloggingmydescentintomadness]

Hi momdad! I have a question. I’ve seen a bunch of post on your blog and others about purity culture and cancel culture and just general online bullying and it’s made me very scared to post things or interact with people in fandoms online.

I’d pretty much stopped participating in online fandoms 5-6 years ago do to physical and mental illness and I’m really wanting to write fics and draw fanart (I blame you for my current hyperfixation on The Untamed and MXTX’s books. THANK YOU SO MUCH!❤️) but I’m too scared to post anything for fear that people will get mad at me.

I loved being in fandom in the past. But with the current climate is it even worth it?

hello, dear! i completely understand why you have these worries.

ideally, i'd tell you that you have nothing to worry about whatsoever and everyone will always be nice and encouraging, but of course i can't promise that. but i can at least say that i've published four fics in the last couple years, to a relatively large audience here, and i was blown away by how supportive people were. i didn't get any hate at all.

there ARE people who just live to be mean and critical, but they're by no means the majority in fandom spaces. most people who consume fic and art are happy and excited to see new content, and most who see something that they don't like or doesn't agree with them understand that they need to just keep scrolling instead of being hateful.

it can get a bit trickier if you want to post darker, more controversial subjects in your work, such as incest, underage relationships, rape, suicide, abuse, and so on. i believe that you have every right to explore dark content in your work, whether it's to cope with your own issues or literally just because you feel like it, but that's the stuff that tends to draw the most ire from the purity/cancel culture types.

so if you want to publish any that deals with heavy/trigger-y topics (at least, ones that aren't canon-typical; everyone who reads MDZS fic expects there to be some stuff about death and necromancy), i would probably recommend that you start by building up your confidence with lighter content first. it's definitely less nerve-wracking to post stuff that almost no one could find offensive.

but if you're not into dark stuff at all, you're like, "i just want to write about lwj and wwx kissing," then i wouldn't worry too much about it, honestly. if it's a popular pairing in a well-established fandom, you're likely to get almost entirely positive feedback. probably your biggest problem might be just getting lost among the crowd, not getting picked on.

i know it's scary to think about a horde of morality police descending on your work and cruelly picking it apart, but those people are a loud minority, not the standard. most fandom content consumers are kind and supportive, and getting positive feedback on your work feels wonderful.

it really sucks when people get mad at you, believe me i know, but if we let the fear of people getting mad at us paralyze us into never taking any risks, we'll end up with a lifetime of regrets over all the things we were too scared to do and be. we have to step out and take a chance on being vulnerable in order to gain the rewards of acceptance. and to be an adult, we have to learn how to deal with someone getting mad at us without falling apart.

if you're interested, i have a drawing tag, writing tag, and ao3 tag that have advice and useful info for creating and posting fanworks. creating is good for you and good for the world, so practice, face your fear, and click 'publish'. you can do it. 👍

[cywscross]

I just finished reading your AiB x KnB work today and I love the interactions between Kuroko and Hanamiya. Thank you for your hard work! Little rant up ahead about these characters:

“Every single one of them proved themselves to be more messed up than the last; it's just that Kuroko apparently hid it a lot better than the rest.”

This line really stood out to me. Especially the last part. Kuroko might not be popular among the fandom but every time I analyze his character..you just realize how much he hides or brushes off what he’s been through. Although his running gag is being invisible...if you take a realistic look at it, being invisible like that is quite..painful? It doesn’t matter if he does have the best poker face in the world, I bet it does impact him in some way. Do you have any recs that analyzes his character and where he is not so easily ignored or he gets the help he needs? Been having a hard time finding good ones.

It’s been a couple weeks since I re-read “When Opposites Attract” but I gotta say, if I hadn’t read such a masterpiece, I wouldn’t have understood characters such as Kuroko and Hanamiya in depth. Especially Hanamiya coz I did dislike him before but then your writing always manages to make me see things from a different perspective (which is really refreshing) and omg I cannot believe you made me like Hanamiya..! Hanamiya of all people..I guess I’ve seen the light your honor haha.

Their dynamic is interesting. I kind of see it as Hanamiya being selfish and Kuroko is the selfless one? I always come back and re-read the scene where Kuroko is near the ocean while it’s raining and he’s on the phone with Hanamiya:

“You can’t keep running after people for the rest of your life,” He concludes with finality.  “In fact, it’s downright unhealthy.  You've got your own life to live, and you of all people should know that that’s hard enough as it is.”

I tend to be a very selfless person and re-reading this quote and basically the whole scene again makes me feel grounded in a way..it’s a good reminder I guess. And it’s crazy but you really do have a way with words. I’ve read almost all your works and I’m just..thankful an author like you exists? I discovered you through those Bleach fics (Sight, Swinging Pendulum and Hero, Martyr, Idiot) I read last year and I’m glad I stumbled upon them. You continue to write such masterpieces. I hope you realize that you’re so appreciated and loved!! I’ll stop ranting now (didn’t intend it to be this long whoops) but I meant every word! Thank you and have a wonderful day!

- M.C

!! This is the best kind of rant, I’m so glad you’ve enjoyed my fics! HanaKuro in particular I know is a very rare ship so not many people’s interested in it, but it’s my otp so what can I do but write them lmao.

Kuroko is def my favourite character precisely because he’s such a reserved person who hides what he feels most of the time and it’s a lot of fun exploring what his personality when you look beyond that surface innocent, determined, friendship is everything layer. Coupled with his lack of presence and the far-less-funny-than-canon-portrayed consequences of something like that, and there’s a lot I can play with when it comes to his character. He just has so much potential as someone with a darker/more damaged side, and I like throwing him in with Hanamiya because if anyone can draw it out or make him feel that he doesn’t have to hide part of who he is, it would be Hanamiya. Also I like how their playing styles could be considered similar, they both have to read the court really well when it comes to Kuroko’s passing and Hanamiya’s spider web, with good enough observational skills to keep track of both teammates and opponents, and hilariously enough, Hanamiya’s team probably comes the closest to ideal teamwork after Seirin because you need good teamwork for Hanamiya’s play style to function as well as it does. And I feel like Hanamiya and Kuroko would click really well together if they ever played on the same team. Imo their dynamic has just the right amount of similarities and contrasts to make it interesting.

I can’t say I really know any fic recs for this fandom, I actually haven’t read that many KnB fics in general, and none that really focuses on the negative impacts of Kuroko’s lack of presence (which is why I wrote it lmao, gotta feed myself if I want the food). You could try Of Unlikely Friendships, Sneaky Bets, Shogi and Sake by itsthechocopuff for HanaKuro + Kirisaki Daiichi more or less adopting Kuroko because Seirin and the GoM sort of unknowingly drop the ball there + Kuroko growing into himself as an individual. And you can always scroll through my KnB bookmarks here for something you might like.

Thanks again for reading and dropping by to let me know what you thought! I will hopefully get the next chapter of that AiBxKnB fic posted soon.

[palmett-hoes]

this was originally meant to be a response/follow-up to @i-did 's post about race in the aftg fandom (that you should read). i ran it by him first and asked permission to add, but then we decided it was too long so i should make it its own post

---

i want to talk about fandom's take on the twins' race because it's rather glaring in the fandom that andrew (and then aaron by necessity) are often portrayed as the only white characters on the team and i have to question why?

there's nothing in the backstories that would mean writing them as POC would fling them headlong into offensive stereotypes that the fandom hasn't bypassed over to make another fox a POC.

they have a history of addiction? but it's okay for matt and seth to be addicts and be brown.

they're violent? but it's okay for renee to be non-white and a former gang member.

they're blond and 'pale'¹? but allison can be a WOC and bleach her hair without saying it explicitly? renee can have white rainbow hair no matter the AU? neil can be a blue-eyed redhead and still be drawn darker skinned half the time?

'pale' in and of itself is a very vague word that's only brought up in the context of comparison to notably dark skinned nicky. it's completely relative, and multi-racial families where people look wildly different from each other exist (pretty commonly). or if you're prescriptivist how about the multiple ways a POC can still be a natural blond including but not limited to pigmentation conditions or being mixed race? similarly, i think less than a quarter of the FCs i've seen for andrew over the years have been natural blonds themselves.

so if our holdups aren't about racial stereotyping and they aren't about the incredibly vague character descriptions, then why are the twins always white when it's approached as a good thing that no one else is? when i've seen multiple different posts lauding the fandom for adding diversity where nora didn't write it, except for here?

.

to be completely, bluntly honest, it's because we as a majority-white fandom are uncomfortable when we are not the central characters. or maybe we are uncomfortable when people of color ARE the central characters. i don't think there's much of a difference.

we are comfortable writing and drawing nicky, the upperclassmen, then kevin (in that order) as poc because, simply, we use them as background characters. they are rarely the main characters of fics, or have their own storylines in them; it all revolves around andreil.

.

additionally, while i've used neil up to now as an example of the fandom being OKAY with writing POC, let's also admit that it's an,, imperfect representation, as he will often be racially ambiguous with no explicit ethnicity, he will be the lightest skinned of the foxes of color, and he will still have eurocentric features. also it's genuinely a toss up as to whether he's drawn brown or not, there are still plenty of white neils, much more than there are white dans and matts and renees (not an attack on anyone who draws white neils, simply a statement) and FCs and edits of him still tend to be white people.

he's a bit of a schrödinger's person of color, not really any one thing or another, very few people being willing to take a hard stance on him and do the work of taking that decision under consideration when writing and drawing him.

(quick shout-out here to @hi-raethia for making content about an explicitly chinese interpretation of neil).

(additionally, to be as clear about my intended message as possible, this isn't a statement on the politics of passing or undermining the ethnicities of lightskinned poc, this is about a lack of detail being put into making a character a character of color in any thoughtful, meaningful, or significant way)

.

so when i talk about the centralization of white people in fandom, neil gets to be included, perhaps with a footnote indicating that this is somewhat of a more complicated statement than it is with lily-white andrew minyard.

nevertheless, i feel comfortable saying that 75% of fandom content revolves around andrew and neil, major exceptions only being jerejean which are often stand-alone from the foxes, and the rising branch of kevaaron shippers. however both of those ships are actually subject to this exact same criticism, as ships between a a flat-out white character and a dubiously "non-white" character who can also be white sometimes. it varies.

conspicuously, content about the UPPERCLASSMEN tends to revolve around andrew and neil.

fics where the upperclassmen are the pov character are often outside-perspective fics on andreil.

HC posts about the upperclassmen, especially matt, will devote major portions to his time spent helping, hanging with, and thinking about andrew and/or neil.

secondary ships like danmatt or renison tend to be just that, secondary ships moving in the background of andreil-focused works. they get more of a,,, scenic shout-out than a storyline

it is only comfortable for us to write these characters as characters of color if they revolve entirely around white characters

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so after all that? what should we do, as a white-majority fandom? what should YOU, specifically, as a white person, do?

i hate to talk about a problem without also talking about solutions, and i try not to carp on something i don't want to be an active part of fixing. public criticism without an action plan only leads to hurt feelings and guilt, and that's never my intention when bringing this up. my goal is to address a general problem, not anyone specific's personal failings.

in all honesty leaning completely into all of the foxes being people of color, though i think neat and i certainly support, is not the best solution, and would be more of a hollow action than anything else without addressing the underlying problems that lead to the development of this dynamic.

i think the best thing to do would be to 1. do some research on writing poc, usually by following some writing-specific blogs like @writingwithcolor or @pocinmymedia . look up the 'black best friend' trope and really spend some time tjinking about it. spend an hour seeking out a random assortment of blogs that interest you that are also run by people of color. checking through tags like drawingwhileblack or blacktober may be good kickoff points.

tumblr is great because with an hour of active work to find these blogs, you can then go months passively seeing content from them. try not to interact, actually, simply watch and listen and become familiar with general trends and concerns in different communities. remember that every blog is run by an individual person, not an elected representative of their race, and always keep this in mind.

you are teaching YOURSELF that people of color are individuals, they have interests and inner lives that don't revolve around whiteness, that don't revolve around YOU

at the same time, 2. challenge yourself as a creator to make more content about the upperclassmen, specifically. make art about them doing stuff as a group separate from neil and andrew's group. find a compilation of 'draw the squad' memes and draw/tag the upperclassmen only. make jokes where they talk to each other. write some meta about their character motivations. write a fic where andreil isn't even mentioned, it can be super short, you can even use a prompt generator.

as a reader, reread their backstories in the extra content. reread son nefes. use ao3's filtering system to read some fics about JUST the upperclassmen, few and far apart though they may be.

if we've decided that the upperclassmen are people of color then lean into that, and learn to CARE about them on their own merit, because they are the most underutilized characters in the fandom. we need to make content centralized around them to combat the fact that fandom centralizes whiteness